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“Sing with me.”
The voice that accompanied hers was as deep as it was intoxicating. Every pitch and melodious sound in tune with the anguish and emotion of the song. His voice was perfection next to hers. She closed her eyes, singing with him; her timbre harmonious with his.
He was a genius composer and engineer and it showed in his composition and wordplay; this was his song, not hers. She was merely along for the ride. Allowed to partake in the melodic masterpiece that he had created. It was intoxicating.
Never could she have predicted that fascination was reciprocated. And dangerously so.
Sakura Haruno wanted nothing more than to perform and lose herself in the art. Her whole life was a stage. Her love of the theatre began when she was very young. It blossomed behind the scenes, as her father would never allow such ‘tom foolery’ in his family. Kizashi Haruno was a well respected man after all, and no member of his family was prone to whims of the lesser person’s fancy.
Her life was a stage play; she entered the Kabuki Theatre under an assumed name but her lack of professional studies hindered her. That was until he noticed her. She’d stolen into the theatre after hours to use the acoustic of the auditorium. The pink haired girl did not know that someone lived in the building - below it, like a custodian to the theatre. She was not expecting to be watched as she practiced. And evaluated.
But Sakura had been told about him.
They told her he was a freak and the manager only hired him because they couldn’t get rid of him. A red haired monster who had murdered a stage hand who had the audacity to speak to tell him how to do his job. There had been several “accidental” deaths since his hiring. And they said anyone who was smart was scared of him; his family had rightfully abandoned him and even the police couldn’t contain him. So he was just left to his own devices, a horribly disfigured beast of a man that nobody loved.
Frankly it all sounded so far-fetched to her. As someone who had been bullied in her childhood, Sakura detested presumptions, wild accusations, and tattletales. But when he emerged from the pit and stood in her peripherals (in the house curtains), it was all she could do not to scream in fright.
There stood a man, not a beast, but for the strange half mask and feral look about his eyes. He had tousled red hair and wore clothes not dissimilar from the usher uniform with no name tag; as she peered closer, she noticed a strange kanji tattoo on his forehead. The only visible section of his forehead.
She’d heard that those who were disfigured wore such things to hide, but she wondered if he knew that mask drew enough attention on its own - white porcelain and clinging to his face like a second skin.
When her shock wore off, Sakura remembered her manners and introduced herself. She waited patiently as he seemingly debated whether or not she was worthy of knowing his name. An internal battle that didn’t fully register on his face, perhaps because of the mask.
“Gaara.”
“Gaara?”
She took his slow blink as an affirmative. Sakura engaged him in conversation and quickly learned he wasn’t as opposed to human interaction as she’d been led to believe. And she learned that the song she’d been practicing - it was a part of the play she was auditioning for - was his. He was a genius word smith and she had no qualms about agreeing when he offered her his help in perfecting it.
She did not ask how he had achieved such a high distinction as to be the composer of such a well thought of song, fearing her ignorance might offend him. He sung it to her; the inflections and tone were perfect and she found herself mesmerised by him. What she could see of his face was normal enough looking, if a little pale. He must spend his days in the theatre, never going out.
“Sing with me.”
This was how she found herself singing along with him, mimicking his enunciation. She felt like her soul was on fire, kept from burning alive by the sheer force of the ice in his heart. They were like starlight; blood and ice meeting darkness and fire.
Sakura longed for the cold quiet between them; the silence of his very being. She couldn’t explain with words how it felt - the push and pull between them.
But she had a lot to learn, so Sakura asked that they practice like this each day until she perfected his song. He seemed amicable and so they began a tentative teacher-student relationship. It was a meager description for the odd sense of eternal balance between them, but she was happy to be friends with someone who had no expectations of her.
Friends.
Sakura had begun bringing him things in thanks for his help; a picnic basket of food and good drinks. She shared dinner with him, in the gallery and talked; or rather tried to talk - he would speak nothing of his own past. She’d heard he’d had siblings and parents but he refused to elaborate.
But when she let slip that her father had promised her hand in marriage to some high society son, the glass in Gaara’s hand shattered and she was too frightened by the murderous look on his face to stick around and help him clean up the blood and glass shards.
It was just the beginning.
xxx
His dislike of her future plans outside the theatre were like a dark cloud over his head over the next few days; he continued to help her, keeping her at a distance and gazing at her longingly when he didn’t think she could see him.
But he didn’t say a word about it.
It wasn’t like she had a choice though. And Sakura didn’t know how to let him know she wasn’t marrying that man out of love. She’d defied her father enough but auditioning in the first place, and wasn’t about to push her luck by refusing the hand of a wealthy and very powerful man.
Sakura sighed and opened her mouth to repeat the verse she’d been focusing on, the red headed menace a good five feet away from her and stewing in his own anger.
“You’re taking the high notes wrong.”
Sakura paused, cleared her throat, and then tried again.
“Better. Don’t slip again.”
She’d never had proper training before, but as the days turned to weeks, they both noticed the increase in her quality. She would never get her voice to the silky smooth tenor of her teacher, but Sakura worked hard and practiced every day until finally, he told her she was ready.
Now she only needed to audition.
xxx
“I did it! I got in!”
Sakura was so excited that she forgot about his personal bubble - that space between her and him he always maintained even as he watched her with calculating and appraising eyes.
He stiffened as she hugged him, her letter of acceptance in one hand and with bone crushing enthusiasm. His hands went to her back, palms flat against her dress as she giggled and held him tighter. Her happiness was infectious and he reciprocated by letting her into his personal space for as long as she needed to be.
It was when she was finally pulling away and handing him her acceptance letter that she realised what she’d done. She turned a soft shade of red of embarrassment but ignored her antics, watching as he read the letter.
Sakura had gotten to know him only so far as she could without knowing the truth about his past. He was good to her, and never asked for more than she was willing to give, but she saw the cogs working in his head. Something was bothering him about this.
Maybe he’s still upset I’ll be getting married soon.
It was clear to her that he’d developed an attachment. After his first outburst, she’d researched the history of the theatre and found a grain of truth behind the malicious rumours about him. Most notably that several people had died in the short twelve months since his hiring at the theatre. But…
He’d never hurt me.
She forced a smile as he handed the letter back wordlessly. She had to get out of here, regardless. She liked him, she really did, but he had a worse temper than her and she’d seen his destruction of company property.
It doesn’t mean he’s a killer.
“Wish me luck, Gaara.”
He watched passively as she left. “Break a leg.”
xxx
She was avoiding him now. Sakura’s father came to the auditorium looking for her and Gaara sent him home with a broken nose and fractured ribs.
He wasn’t ready to admit she had a life outside him, and if she wowed the audience and talent scouts at the upcoming show, Sakura would have offers pouring in from all over the country.
She’s mine.
He understood this better than he understood himself.
The days he got glimpses of her, practicing with her fellow actors, Gaara noticed she was losing weight - from stress or not eating properly, he couldn’t tell. But something was definitely bothering her. And if she noticed him watching her, she never gave any indication.
He wanted to feel her underneath him. He wanted to taste her.
But Gaara did understand her reservations; he’d beaten up her father and intimidated him into not pressing charges. It made less sense to him that she’d willingly give herself to some strange, uptight fellow though, and he wrote her letters telling her just that.
I want to see you on opening night.
It’s important.
We need to talk.
You owe me that much.
Was he loosing his mind? And over a woman? His father would be so disgusted if he cared to know. They could all rot in hell. Finally, something good and pure had come into his life and he wasn’t letting her go without a fight.
Sakura finally sent him a note the day before the opening night. It simply said:
I will meet you one last time.
He burned it.
xxx
The opening night was a success. Her father had not attended, out of spite, but her mother and the man she’d promised to marry were in the audience.
All was going according to plan.
Sakura was the most beautiful on the stage that she’d ever been. He watched her effortlessly move through the high pitch of the song. Her voice was lovely; a perfect of parody of his own. Gaara almost closed his eyes to enjoy it, but couldn’t tear his eyes from the irresistible image she made, singing his song.
Their eyes met when she turned away and she hesitated for a moment before returning to her act; in that moment he’d seen both fear and resolve. She had seen into his soul. She knew he wasn’t letting her go. She knew what he would do to keep her.
And then it was over. His bated breath came out in a long winded sigh.
She went immediately to her peers and family.
Gaara grit his teeth and growled under his breath as she accepted the polite hug from her mother and hand kiss from her fiancé; it was cordial and chaste and everything it wasn’t between himself and Sakura. There was no underlining, romantic or sexual tension between them.
An arranged marriage.
But that didn’t matter. This raven-haired man was going to get his hands - and other parts of his anatomy - on his Sakura and there was no way Gaara was going to just let that happen.
He waited until she finally graced him with a glance before inclining his head to indicate she meet him. Now.
She nodded and turned away from him.
xxx
When all the celebrations had died down and Sakura managed to escape long enough, she sought Gaara out in the substage area, where he did most of his work. He sat at a desk, far removed from the machinery nearby and the stored equipment. She immediately felt that pull to him. That irresistible tug she’d always felt toward him.
But can I forgive him?
What he’d done to her father had been bad enough that she should’ve ran the moment she’d realised what Gaara was capable of.
He’d never hurt me.
She still believed that, no matter what. It was the people she cared about that she worried he would hurt. Or kill.
“Gaara?”
He tilted his head toward her and she gasped; he’d removed the mask. Deep scars and twisted flesh greeted her innocent eyes and she couldn’t look away. She’d known there was an attractive man under there - not that it mattered - but it was overshadowed now, but the ugliness of his disfigurement. It was confined to one side of his face and looked fully healed (no sores or pus or anything unseemly like that), but it still made her wary of him.
“Don’t leave,” he murmured when she shifted slightly. She stopped moving. “I wanted you to see me as I really am.”
She’d shared so much with him. If he was going to keep her, she deserved to see now instead of later. The scars coupled with his haunting presence around the theatre had earned him the nickname Phantom of the Opera. He was a shadow; not a man or beast enough to belong to any world wholly.
Society had decided he was shameful. But he wanted her to see something different in him.
If she runs, chase her.
If he had to, he would. But he would never hurt her.
Licking her lips nervously, Sakura walked over to him, forcing herself to look into his eyes instead of at his scars. She knelt down in front of him, ignorant of the view her dress was giving him, and reached up to touch his scar.
He almost baulked at her audacity.
“I care about you,” she said slowly. “But it takes more time to develop the bond you wish us to have.”
“More than an arranged marriage?”
He was right. She knew he was.
Sakura smiled. “I can’t defy my father-”
“You have and you can again.”
“Will you hurt him if I say ‘no’?”
Gaara didn’t answer.
“I can have the police-”
“They don’t come here looking for me, anymore. Nobody does.”
He sounded disappointed by that.
“Your family?”
Gaara stiffened. “Not an issue.”
“If you want me to stay with you and not him, you need to give as much as you take.”
Gaara didn’t bother reminding her that her note had said they’d be speaking one last time. He held onto that hope - that burning cold that erupted and clung to her as his hands grasped hers. She started slightly at the contact, forgetting his hands were always so cold.
“I will not be a threat to them.”
“Not if I came with you?”
He nodded. “Marry me instead.”
She sighed. “And where would we live? Here?” She indicated to the storage room.
Gaara shook his head. “No. I have money.”
And a family that will soon no longer need it.
Sakura was surprised by that. She didn’t know what to say. If he had money, what was he doing squatting in a theatre house? So many questions. So little time to make up her mind. She needed more time. But a little voice in her head told her that you hadn’t needed any time to agree to that arranged marriage, so why be so hesitant to enter an agreement with someone who actually cares about you?
She had no answer to that. But she had one for Gaara.
“I will give you the time you need to prove I’m not making a mistake.” She drew it out, watching the expectation on his face; ignoring the scar that now somehow didn’t matter anymore. “And when it’s over and there are no casualties to speak of, then yes Gaara, I will marry you.”
Gaara pulled her into a soul searing kiss. She melted into him immediately and let him have his way, for now. When he finally pulled away, and she struggled to breathe after the intensity of his need for her, Gaara nuzzled her.
“You will learn to love me. … In time.”