Naruto's apartment was a disaster, and that was before the sun set the whole mess ablaze with gold and blood-orange. The sliding window above his desk filtered in the day's dying light, throwing long bars across the battered hardwood and onto piles of loose manuscript, each stack a haphazard timeline of his creative process: wild inspiration, manic revision, followed by stretches of paralyzing self-doubt. The coffee on his desk had cooled to the temperature and viscosity of motor oil, but he drank it anyway, a last-ditch attempt to outpace the heart-thud rhythm of his own nerves.
On the couch, his phone rested on a spiral-bound notebook, screen-up and stubbornly inert. He stared at it the way he sometimes stared at the blank pages in front of him—willing a message to appear, knowing full well that the next notification might either make or ruin his night. The device was set to vibrate, but it didn't need to be; he'd trained himself to hear even the phantom buzz, a sixth sense that could distinguish Sasuke's number from all the others before the pixel-lit name even resolved.
He picked up the phone, thumbed it open, and scrolled the text thread—an embarrassing habit he'd fallen into lately. There, in blue and gray, was the evidence of the last week's unraveling: a string of workmanlike, at-first-professional exchanges that devolved into after-midnight ramblings, memes, and one-liners. The emoji escalation alone was enough to make his face hot. What would Tenten say if she saw how he saved every "..." like it was a digital pressed flower?
He scrolled back to the most recent entry, from Sasuke: [Redacted: meeting location. Will bring the draft. Don't be late.]
Naruto rolled his eyes, but the urge to reply was a living thing, itching at his fingertips. He typed: [You planning on reading it to me, or should I wear my glasses?] He hovered over the send button for a full thirty seconds, then, at the last possible second, deleted it. He set the phone down with deliberate care, as if it might explode.
He could have cleaned the place up. Could have started dinner, or run through notes for tomorrow's pitch, or finished the stack of line edits sitting accusingly on the kitchen counter. Instead, he sprawled on the couch, staring up at the slow-moving ceiling fan, letting his mind replay every absurd, dazzling minute of the last seven days.
It had started with the ramen shop, after they'd left the upscale restaurant place Sasuke had insisted on. They'd ducked into Ichiraku's soaked through, Naruto's dress shirt clinging to his shoulders, Sasuke's expensive hair plastered to his forehead. Something about being equally disheveled had broken the ice. The familiar smell of broth, the plastic menus they both knew by heart—suddenly they were talking, really talking, chopsticks gesturing as words flowed easier than they had in years.
The next week brought cautious coffee meetups and walks through the park that stretched longer each time. Tuesday: their knuckles brushed while reaching for the same sugar packet, and Naruto's fingers tingled for an hour after. Thursday: Sasuke's pinky hooked around his while they sat on a bench, so briefly Naruto wondered if he'd imagined it. By Sunday, they were circling the same pond three times without noticing, arguing about movie endings with Sasuke's entire hand wrapped warm around his, hidden between them.
Wednesday: Sasuke's palm on the small of his back, guiding him into the elevator after the budget meeting, then the sudden press of his mouth once the doors closed, hot and desperate against Naruto's neck, gone before the fifth floor.
Friday: Sasuke pulling him into the supply closet when Karin stepped out to take a call, fingers tangled in Naruto's tie, whispering "Three minutes" against his lips before kissing him senseless between copy paper and toner cartridges.
Monday: Sasuke waiting in the parking garage at midnight, leaning against his sleek black car, tie loosened, jacket off. "Forgot something in your office," he'd said, then proceeded to press Naruto against the concrete pillar, stealing kisses that tasted like coffee and promise.
There had been texts, too. Naruto's heart would skip, then race at each notification. His thumb hovered over one message for twenty minutes before replying with a casual "lol." He'd caught himself grinning at his phone like an idiot during meetings. Once, in the office bathroom, his phone buzzed against his hip. [Do you always take this long? Or are you imagining my hands?] Naruto had nearly dropped his phone in the urinal, face burning even as he bit his lip to keep from laughing.
But each time his fingers flew across the screen, something cold would settle in his stomach. He'd remember the lake, the tears he'd fought back, the years of silence. Sometimes mid-conversation, Sasuke would say something that made the air freeze between them—some reference to before—and Naruto would find himself unable to swallow, his reply dying before he could type it.
Tonight, Naruto's leg bounced as he sprawled on the couch. No plans. Just waiting. He picked up his phone, put it down. Picked it up again. Checked the battery: 87%. Enough.
The phone vibrated against his palm—once, then again. Sasuke's name appeared, and Naruto's chest tightened even as his lips curved upward.
Naruto's thumb landed on the green icon. His voice, when it emerged, was loose and stupidly happy: "Hey."
On the other end, Sasuke's tone was razor-sharp as ever, but softer around the edges. "You're home," he said, not a question.
"Just got in," Naruto lied. "What's up?"
A pause, then, "Are you alone?"
Naruto's eyebrows shot up. "You calling to check if I have company?"
Sasuke snorted. "If you did, you'd have bragged about it already." There was the briefest sound—maybe ice clinking in a glass, maybe a page turning. "You want to come over? I made too much food."
Naruto's heart skipped, then raced. He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling as if the right answer might be written there. "I, uh—I should probably stay in tonight. Still have to finish those notes for tomorrow."
"I don't remember asking about your notes," Sasuke replied, voice carefully neutral.
Naruto's thumb traced a slow arc on the phone case. "Yeah, well. Jiraiya will have my ass if I show up unprepared again."
Silence stretched between them. Naruto waited, nerves pinging. Finally, Sasuke said, "Bring your laptop then. You can work here." Another pause, softer. "Or we could just talk. Like this."
Maybe another night," Naruto said, the warmth in his chest warring with the cold knot of old fears. "But I can stay on the phone."
Silence followed, neither of them quite knowing how to fill it. Naruto found himself counting his own heartbeats until Sasuke cleared his throat. "So, work?" Sasuke ventured, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. They traded stilted anecdotes about colleagues, each laugh a little too eager, until Sasuke suddenly said, "My mother asked about you last week." A pause. "She still loves you, by the way." Naruto barked a surprised laugh, genuine this time. "Well, I will have to see her at some point," he said, fidgeting with a loose thread on his shirt. "It's been a long time," Their words came faster then, overlapping sometimes, both speaking at once then stopping to let the other continue.
At some point, the topic veered toward childhood. Naruto, emboldened by the dark and the distance, asked, "You ever miss the lake?"
Sasuke hesitated, and for a second Naruto thought he'd crossed a line. Then: "Sometimes," Sasuke said, voice so soft it was almost a secret. "Mostly I miss the quiet. Before everything got loud."
Naruto smiled, an ache blooming beneath the skin. "You know, I always thought you liked the noise."
"I like your noise," Sasuke replied, then cleared his throat like he hadn't meant to let that slip. "I mean—I did. Back then."
Naruto's face went hot so quickly he had to press the phone against his cheek to cool it down. His heart hammered wildly, and he was suddenly grateful Sasuke couldn't see him grinning like an idiot into the darkness of his apartment.
They talked until the blue hour bled into black, until Naruto's eyelids drooped and the coffee's last fumes surrendered. The phone, cradled to his ear, was a live wire—transmitting, receiving, holding him in the current of Sasuke's breath.
When the call finally ended, Naruto set the phone down gently, a smile lingering on his lips even as sleep crept in. He didn't clean up the mess on his desk, didn't finish the edits, didn't even bother changing out of his clothes. Instead, he let himself float in the wreckage, warmed by the light of something rekindled, small but impossible to ignore.
Somewhere in the night, his phone buzzed again—just once. He didn't open his eyes, but he didn't need to.
He already knew who it was.
The morning at Jiraiya's office was a study in controlled chaos—phones bleating, printers churning, the air scented with scorched toner and the desperate optimism of interns clinging to their first real jobs. Naruto arrived fifteen minutes late, which was unheard of, but nobody commented except for the ancient receptionist, who eyed him over the rim of her polka-dotted mug and said, "Early worm gets the editorial notes, kiddo." He grunted something that passed for polite and beelined for his office, careful not to make eye contact with anyone who might slow his momentum.
Inside, he closed the door, collapsed into his chair, and let the silence settle over him like a blanket. He had forty-seven minutes before he had to be at Uchiha Corp, but instead of reviewing the meeting brief, he unlocked his phone and scrolled to last night's message: [Don't sleep through your alarm.] Sasuke, as ever, could sound both maternal and adversarial in the span of a single text. Naruto read it four times before deleting it, just in case anyone decided to snoop.
He tried to lose himself in work, but his brain ran a split-screen—half the time on the script revisions, the other half tracking the memory of Sasuke's voice, soft and unguarded through the phone line. He was mid-sentence, rewording a paragraph for the third time, when the door banged open and Jiraiya breezed in, a whirlwind of cologne and barely contained glee.
Jiraiya's shadow fell across Naruto's desk before his booming voice did. "Third time this month," he said, dropping a stack of files that sent ripples through Naruto's coffee. His eyes narrowed, taking inventory—the slightly rumpled collar, the hair still damp from a rushed shower. "That's not like you."
Naruto closed his laptop with a snap. "Just finishing some notes for the review," he said, shuffling papers that didn't need shuffling.
Jiraiya's eyebrows lifted as he leaned against the file cabinet. The usual lecture didn't come. Instead, he studied Naruto's face, the tension that had lived between his shoulders for years somehow... lighter. "You know," he said, reaching for a jelly donut from Naruto's not-so-secret drawer, "I was ready to pull you from this project when the Uchihas signed on." He bit into the pastry, a contemplative chew. "But whatever's happening, keep it up. First time in years you've walked in here without looking like you're headed to a funeral."
Naruto, cheeks threatening to betray him, fixed his gaze on a memo tacked to the wall. "I'm just trying to be a team player."
Jiraiya chewed with unhurried satisfaction, then wiped his hands on Naruto's own stack of post-its. "Whatever works. Just don't let them eat you alive in there, okay? Those boardroom types can smell blood in the water." He winked, snapped his fingers, and left, trailing the scent of powdered sugar.
Naruto exhaled, slow and shaky, then turned to the battered shoulder bag hanging on his chair. He double-checked the contents: marked-up agenda, extra pens, copy of the "official" script, and, for good luck, a battered photo of himself and Iruka from undergrad—a reminder of why he did any of this in the first place. Satisfied, he zipped up, straightened his tie (blue, not orange—he was learning), and left for the subway.