Chapter Text
Gaara is given the flower shop to run after his mother's passing.
No one is more surprised than him. However, he would warrant that most are more resentful. His father, his uncle, his siblings know that it's his fault, after all. She'd never fully regained her strength after his birth, fading slowly over the years before finally leaving him alone to the wolves of his blood both internal and external but a short month after his 19th birthday. He is cut off, cast out—but legally, the shop is his. In fact it is the only thing that is his, so in the weeks after the funeral he was not invited to, he becomes determined to make it work.
Unfortunately he has no talent for gardening or flower arrangement.
Each day he crawls out of hell and into a hotbox. Off the bedroll in the back room, cleaning and clearing another corner of his mother's life's work. By the time he finally has stock of the inventory it's far too late. The buds in the back greenhouse have burst and then bloomed and then wilted. He tries spritzing, a different pot, more soil, but what he doesn't lack in resources, he lacks in skill. He remembers spending spare hours with his mother here, among the colors and scents. She spent more time telling him which were her favorites than describing their care routines. Carnations, lilies, and daffodils. Still he tries. He wraps the cellophane with twine, arranges the bouquets still alive towards the front, hides his failures in the back.
The weeks pass. Income is scarce. Expenses are not.
Just as the greenhouse supply begins to dwindle, he receives his first guest of the day, just an hour before closing.
"Whoa, it's like super dead in here. No offense." The voice drops from Gaara's ears to his heart like a stone. He stands frozen with his watering can, staring at his brother for the first time since before the funeral. Kankuro holds up his hands, "Ok, ok, some offense…" he drops his hands, "Sorry, lil bro."
Gaara should resist the impulse. He shouldn't trust that the easy ribbing, the teasing smile, that Kankuro's mere presence indicates forgiveness, but it's been so long since he's seen a single familiar face. He launches forward, fighting hard to ignore Kankuro's momentary flinch, and throws his arms around his brother.
"I am sorry," comes the plea, buried deep in Kankuro's shoulder, "I am so sorry I took her from you." The fabric of Kankuro's shirt feels wet beneath his cheek.
"Whoa, Gaara, hey slow down," the hands grasping Gaara's shoulders are a sweet relief he didn't know he needed, "It's not your fault. It was never your fault." Kankuro grips the back of Gaara's neck and forces him to lock eyes. Gaara is shocked to see the pain, frustration, and anger is inwardly directed. "Geez, I really should've come sooner. Temari and I have been trying to sneak out, ya know."
Gaara realizes with startling clarity that Kankuro is trying to apologize. "He wouldn't let us come see you," Kankuro continues, "Temari's got him distracted but I— we… we should've come sooner."
Gaara wipes at his burning eyes, still reluctant to believe that his brother is here, that he came to see if Gaara was ok, that he forgives him. That he's sorry. "You haven't missed much," Gaara says, desperately trying to steer the conversation back towards sturdier ground, "It seems all around me is destined to die..." A fool's errand. His voice cracks and he clears his throat, graceless and cursing himself.
There is a beat of stillness as Kankuro's eyes widen, clearly trying not to peek at the wilted arrangements over Gaara's shoulder. Then, miraculously, he laughs. The sound is bright and sharp, and it instantly belongs in this place where it had been so conspicuously absent. "I missed you, man. Ever thought about selling sturdier plants? Cacti and succulents are, like, really popular right now," Kankuro grabs a bone-dry rose that practically disintegrates in his hand, "or I guess there's always potpourri?"