What You Deserve to Hear
gaara x reader
-.-.-.-.-
You have always been the kind of person who folds in on yourself when something hurts.
Not out of weakness, not because you cannot speak, but because somewhere along the way, you learned that discomfort is quieter when kept inside your chest. You learned how to smile through it, how to tuck your thoughts between your ribs and pretend they are not clawing to get out. You learned how to convince yourself that things are fine, even when they are not.
It is easier that way. Easier than asking questions you are not sure you want answered.
So when he tells you not to worry about her, you listen. You nod, soft and agreeable, even as something unsettled curls low in your stomach. He says it casually, like it is obvious, like the very idea of you being concerned is almost amusing. She is just a friend. You are overthinking. You always do this.
And you hate that he is right about that part.
You have always overthought things. Always read too deeply into tone, into timing, into the way someone’s attention shifts just slightly out of reach. So you swallow it, press your lips together, and tell yourself that this is one of those moments where you need to be better, less sensitive, less fragile. You tell yourself that trust should come easily when you love someone, and try not to think about the fact that trust is not supposed to feel like convincing.
At first, it is small things. A mention of her name more often than before, a laugh that lingers a little too long when he is reading something on his phone, plans that shift at the last minute because something came up. You don't ask what that something is, don't ask where he is going.
You do not ask why he has stopped looking at you the way he used to.
Instead, you sit with it. You sit with the quiet unease and let it settle into something familiar. Something you can carry without dropping. You tell yourself that relationships change, that comfort replaces intensity, that this is normal. You repeat it enough times that it almost begins to sound true.
It is not until someone else notices that the illusion starts to crack.
He is not loud about it. He never is. Ever since you've known him from school, Gaara does not interrupt, does not pry, does not force words out of you that you are not ready to give. He simply exists beside you, steady and unmoving, like something that cannot be shaken no matter how strong the wind becomes.
You don't remember when it started, exactly. Maybe it was the way he began to linger after conversations, as if making sure you were not left alone too quickly, maybe it was the way his gaze would rest on you just a second longer than necessary, not invasive, not demanding, just present. Or maybe it was the first time he asked you to go somewhere with him.
It had caught you off guard.
You had been expecting silence, the usual quiet understanding that passed between the two of you without needing to be spoken aloud. Instead, he had looked at you with that same calm expression and said your name, as if grounding the moment before it could slip away. You remember hesitating, not because you did not want to go, but because you were not used to being asked. Not like that.
There had been no expectation in his voice, no pressure. Just a simple offer. You could take it or leave it, and he would accept either answer without question.
You went.
You tell yourself it is because you needed a distraction, tell yourself it is because you had nothing else planned. You don't acknowledge the small, quiet relief that settles in your chest the moment you step into something that feels uncomplicated. The evening is simple. There is no grand gesture, no attempt to impress you with something extravagant or overwhelming. Just a quiet place, soft light, and conversation that does not feel like it is pulling something out of you that you cannot give. A cafe, nestled into the streets that let you have a moments peace.
Gaara doesn't ask you what's wrong. He doesn't need to. He talks about small things, the kind of things people usually overlook. The way the air feels different just before it rains, the patterns the wind leaves behind when it moves across sand, things that do not demand anything from you except your attention.
And somehow, that is enough.
You find yourself responding without thinking, offering small pieces of yourself without the usual hesitation. It's not difficult, doesn't feel like something you need to brace for. It just happens. When the night ends, you realize that your chest does not feel as tight as it did before.
You simply let it be.
It becomes a quiet pattern after that. Not frequent enough to draw attention, not deliberate enough to feel planned. Just moments that seem to fall into place when you need them most. A walk when your thoughts become too loud, shared meals when the silence at home starts to feel suffocating, conversations that drift easily, never forcing you into corners you are not ready to face.
Gaara never pushes. He never asks about your relationship directly. Never asks about him. But there is an awareness in the way he watches you, in the way his presence shifts just slightly closer when you seem smaller than usual. You wonder if he knows, and think he probably does.
It becomes harder to ignore the changes after that.
Your boyfriend grows distant in ways that cannot be explained away so easily. Messages go unanswered for longer stretches, plans become afterthoughts. His attention feels like something you have to reach for, something that slips through your fingers no matter how carefully you try to hold onto it.
You don't confront him.
You think about it, rehearsing the words in your head, over and over, trying to find a version that doesn't sound accusing, doesn't sound desperate, doesn't sound like you are asking for something you are not sure he is willing to give. But every version feels wrong, so you stay quiet. You tell yourself that if something is wrong, he will tell you.
The end comes in a way that feels both sudden and inevitable.
There is no fight, no raised voices, no moment where everything spills out at once in a way that forces resolution. Just a conversation that feels strangely detached, like you are watching it happen from somewhere just outside your own body. He tells you it is not working, tells you he needs something different, tells you that you deserve better, in that vague, empty way people use when they have already made their decision and are simply trying to soften the impact.
You listen. You nod. You tell him you understand. You don't cry until after he leaves.
It is not graceful.
There is no quiet dignity in the way it breaks out of you, no controlled release of emotion that can be neatly tucked away once it has run its course. It is messy, overwhelming, the kind of grief that takes up too much space and does not care if you are ready to hold it. You try to stop it. Then, thinking back to that quiet friend of yours, his words of advice that tell you to feel: you let it happen.
You don't know how long you stay like that.
Time loses its shape when you are in it, stretches and folds in ways that make it impossible to measure. All you know is that at some point, the air feels too heavy, the walls too close, and you need to get out before you suffocate under the weight of it.
You just move.
The night is quiet when you step outside, the kind of stillness that makes everything feel distant and unreal. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled to make sense of, and you focus on putting one foot in front of the other just to keep from unraveling completely.
You didn't expect to see him, but you hoped he could hear you, somewhere. Gaara is not someone who appears by accident. And yet, there he is. Standing a short distance away, as if he had been there long before you arrived. As if he had known, somehow, that this is where you would end up when everything finally broke.
You stop.
For a moment, neither of you say anything. He looks at you, really looks at you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the unsteady way you are holding yourself together. There is no surprise in his expression, no confusion, only understanding.
It is enough to undo you all over again. You thought you had already emptied yourself out, that there was nothing left to spill. But the moment he steps closer, the moment his presence settles around you in that quiet, grounding way, something in your chest gives way.
Your name leaves his mouth softly, and that is all it takes.
You close the distance without thinking, your hands gripping the fabric of his clothing as if it is the only thing keeping you upright. He does not hesitate. His arms come around you immediately, steady and sure, holding you in a way that does not feel fragile. You cry into him, your face pressed against his shoulder, your breaths uneven and sharp.
He doesn't try to stop you, doesn't tell you it will be okay. He simply stays. His hand moves slowly against your back, a quiet, repetitive motion that anchors you when everything else feels like it is slipping out of place. You do not know how long he holds you like that. Long enough for the worst of it to pass, long enough for your breathing to steady, even if the ache remains.
When you finally pull back, your eyes are swollen, your voice still unsteady. You try to speak, but your voice breaks, breathe catching in your throat, and nothing comes out.
He watches you for a moment, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface of his usual composure. Then, carefully, as if the moment itself might break under too much pressure, he reaches up and brushes a stray tear from your cheek.
“I know this is not the time you would have chosen,” he says quietly. You feel it, the shift in the air, the weight of something unspoken pressing forward.
“But I need you to hear this.”
His gaze does not waver.
“I care about you. I love you. I have, for a long time.”
Simple. Direct. No embellishment, no attempt to soften it into something less than what it is. Blunt, the truth of it all at once, laid bare at your feet, done exactly the way Gaara does stuff in life. Your chest tightens, but not in the same way as before. This feels different, in the way his hand is warm against your back, in the way his heart in thundering under yours. His love feels like giving, not like something is being taken from you, feels like something is being placed gently into your hands, with no expectation that you will know what to do with it right away.
Gaara’s expression remains steady, but there is something there now, something more open than you have ever seen before.
“I am not asking for anything from you,” he continues. “Not now.”
His voice is quiet, but it's roaring in your ears.
“I know where you are. I can only imagine what this feels like.”
Of course he does, this caring man, trying so hard to pick his words, worried for you. The look in his eyes have you wanting to look away. But you can't. The sheer level of love and understanding take your breath away. He's always understood things without needing them to be explained.
“I will wait,” he says.
Not a promise meant to pressure, not something heavy or binding, just a statement, a quiet certainty.
“You do not have to decide anything. You do not have to be ready.”
His hand lowers, but he does not step away.
“And I'll still be here.”
The words settle into you slowly. You don't respond right away, are not sure you can, but for the first time since everything fell apart, the ache in your chest shifts into something that is not entirely unbearable. Shifts into something that feels, faintly, like the beginning of warmth.
And when your fingers tighten slightly against his sleeve, when you do not pull away, he understands.
He always does.
