The universe offered no mercy—not even a moment to luxuriate in post-coital bliss—before the outside world crashed in. A jackhammer pounding on the bedroom door, loud enough to set Sasuke's teeth on edge, came with the war cry of Naruto's mother, Kushina.
"Naruto! Ten minutes until breakfast or I'm coming in there myself—with whoever you're hiding!"
Sasuke sat bolt upright, the adrenaline surge so abrupt he nearly headbutted the wall. On reflex, Naruto tried to yank the covers up, then realized they were already tangled halfway off the mattress and wrapped like a tourniquet around his own ankle. It was only when the pounding stopped that either of them dared to breathe.
"She's going to kill me," Naruto whispered, eyes wide and bloodshot, hair electrified into a corona of golden spikes.
Sasuke blinked, registering the sunlight, the mess, the ache in his hips, the throbbing at his temples, and the unyielding mattress jammed against his spine. "She's going to kill me first," he corrected, voice scratchy from sleep and disuse. "I'm not even supposed to be here."
Naruto's lips twitched, but the panic in his eyes betrayed him. "I should've set an alarm. Or barricaded the door. Or—" He broke off, yanking his hand free from where it had migrated overnight to Sasuke's bare stomach.
A second, lighter knock—more like a warning shot—echoed through the house. "And brush your teeth!" Kushina's voice had the unique resonance of a woman who could make a two-story home vibrate. "We're having company!"
A mutual, silent calculation: they had less than nine minutes to re-enter the world as two upstanding, not-at-all-messy, definitely not-in-bed-together adults. They moved at once, colliding at the edge of the mattress, then shoving off in opposite directions like magnets flipped to repulse.
Sasuke, naked but for the half-sheet clinging to his thigh, reached for his discarded pants—only to find them wadded up under the wheel of the ancient desk chair, half-obscured by a pile of Naruto's hoodies. Naruto scrambled for his own boxers, yanked them up backwards, and then bent double, pawing under the bed for a t-shirt. The blue glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling blinked down in silent mockery.
"This is like a bomb went off," Sasuke muttered, snagging the edge of the desk for balance as he tried to extract his slacks from the hoodie trap.
Naruto, who had just freed a pair of mismatched socks from the foot of the bed, grinned despite the emergency. "Sorry. My cleaning lady quit when I was twelve. Mom says she left a note, but I bet she's just in witness protection now."
Sasuke glared, then tugged his pants on, wincing as the zipper bit into skin. He found his shirt draped over a lampshade—how?—and jammed one arm through, giving up on buttoning it for now. "Do you always wake up like this?"
Naruto fished his shirt off the floor, gave it a heroic shake, and crammed his head through the wrong hole. "Only when there's an Uchiha in my bed."
They nearly collided again at the tiny dresser, Sasuke fighting with the top button of his shirt while Naruto used the mirror to finger-comb his hair into some semblance of order. Sasuke attempted the same, only for his own hair to rebel into soft, uneven waves.
"Great," Sasuke said flatly. "I look like I've been attacked by a vacuum cleaner."
"You look hot," Naruto said, catching his eye in the mirror and immediately flushing scarlet. "I mean—like, dignified. You look dignified."
Sasuke grunted, but the color on his cheeks suggested otherwise. "Your mom is going to know."
Naruto shrugged, then checked the door, lowering his voice. "She already knows everything. Mothers have a sixth sense for this stuff. She probably installed a motion sensor under the mattress."
Sasuke raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe not a real sensor, but you know what I mean," Naruto said, hopping into one pant leg and nearly eating floorboard. "She's unhinged. Last year she baked a cake for the mailman's birthday and then followed him home to make sure he ate it."
"That's not 'unhinged,'" Sasuke said. "That's… Actually, no, that's unhinged."
They both paused at the same time, realizing they'd be leaving the room together—hair mussed, shirts askew, faces raw with sleep and something deeper. There was no way to sell this as anything but what it was.
Naruto eyed the window. "Maybe you could sneak out and come in through the front? Or, like, go around the house and pretend you just got here—"
Sasuke looked at the battered screen and the three-story drop to the hedges below. "No. Your mother would have a heart attack, and your father would be out there with a camera."
"You're probably right," Naruto said, relenting. Then, after a beat: "Unless you want to hide in the closet for an hour."
"Why," Sasuke deadpanned, "so your mother can find me and add breaking-and-entering to my list of crimes?"
Naruto snorted, then started gathering the rest of their scattered clothes—socks, an undershirt, the Uchiha t-shirt that had become a casualty in the night's chaos. The morning light revealed old stains on the carpet, the perpetually-ajar closet door, and the posters curling at the corners: Ramen Monthly, a few All-Japan wrestling legends, one extremely dated band photo that featured a blond kid with a bowl cut who looked suspiciously like Naruto at thirteen.
Naruto's bookshelf was a disaster of manga, battered school textbooks, and survival guides; on top, a row of science trophies and a fake samurai sword stood sentinel over the room. Sasuke ran a finger over the edge of the blade, surprised to find it dusted but real.
"You kept this?" Sasuke asked, tone almost gentle.
Naruto, mid-struggle with a sweatshirt, glanced over and shrugged. "Mom wanted to throw it out, said it was 'bad energy.' I hid it under the mattress for years."
Sasuke nodded, but the look in his eyes softened. He'd forgotten how much of Naruto's life was preserved in this tiny space—his awkward, stubborn, messy essence, intact even as an adult. The room was a shrine to unfinished business, and today, Sasuke was its chief relic.
The final panic was over deodorant: Naruto couldn't find his, and Sasuke's preferred brand was probably illegal in this state. They ended up sharing a travel-size stick, passing it back and forth with the seriousness of a military handoff. Sasuke caught Naruto's wrist as he passed it, just a moment—brief, but enough for both their pulses to trip over themselves.
"I'll be right next to you," Naruto whispered.
Sasuke squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Let's go before your mother calls in a tactical team."
At the door, Naruto hesitated, hand on the knob. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Sasuke squared his shoulders, pulled his shirt straight, and nodded. "I survived your mother's lasagna at thirteen. I can survive this."
Naruto grinned, then, before he could lose his nerve, yanked open the door and led the way into the light.
The hallway was empty, but the kitchen at the base of the stairs roared with life. The sound of pancake batter hitting a hot skillet sizzled beneath the drone of a morning news show, and the unmistakable tang of burnt maple syrup clung to the air like an accusation.
Naruto led the way, feet dragging with each step. Sasuke followed, schooling his face into its best imitation of a man who was not, in fact, mortified to his very soul.
They rounded the corner and found Kushina in her natural element: back turned, red hair tied up in a fighting ponytail, wielding a spatula like a short-bladed sword. She was deep into a one-sided conversation, voice carrying through the clatter of the kitchen.
"—and next time, at least text me if you're sneaking someone in, because I nearly had a heart attack in the hallway and your father almost gave himself a concussion—"
She turned, pancakes in mid-flip, and froze.
The spatula hovered in the air. Her eyes went wide. For a long, silent beat, she just stared. It was only when the pancake started to smolder that she snapped out of it, flipping the disk onto a plate with surgical precision.
"Sasuke?" Her voice, when it returned, was an octave higher than usual.
Naruto's ears burned. "Hi, Mom."
Sasuke straightened his shirt and bowed, the movement automatic and so perfectly measured it made Kushina's brain skip a beat. "Good morning, Mrs. Uzumaki. Thank you for having me."
Kushina blinked twice, then barked a short laugh—relief, surprise, something else tangled in it. "Oh, honey. You didn't say it was you." She pointed the spatula at Naruto with a maternal ferocity honed over decades. "And you—when did you two even—never mind, we'll talk about it after you eat."
She whirled back to the stove, but not before shooting a quick, conspiratorial glance at Sasuke. If he noticed, he didn't show it. He took the nearest chair, hands folded neatly on the table, posture so upright it might have shamed a drill sergeant.
At the far end of the table, Minato nursed a mug of coffee. He wore a threadbare college sweatshirt, and the half-moon shadows under his eyes suggested he'd been up since dawn. He watched the drama unfold with the mild curiosity of a man who had seen everything, survived it, and now found it mostly amusing.
He lifted his mug in greeting. "Sasuke. Long time."
Sasuke inclined his head. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Uzumaki."
"Not at all. You're always welcome here." Minato gestured at the empty chair beside him, then at Naruto, who still hovered in the doorway as if expecting to be shot for desertion. "Sit down, both of you. Eat."
Naruto darted to the cupboard, retrieved plates, and set them on the table with the urgency of a man hoping that action would forestall conversation. He spooned out a pile of pancakes for Sasuke, then one for himself, drowning both in syrup with a heavy hand. His fingers trembled so badly that a blob of butter missed its target entirely and skidded off the edge of the plate.
Kushina watched, arms crossed, the spatula now a gavel. "Did you sleep okay?" she asked, gaze landing on Sasuke.
Sasuke gave her the faintest hint of a smile. "The bed was… comfortable." A glance at Naruto. "If a little small."
Kushina's mouth twitched. "It was Naruto's favorite. He refused to upgrade, said the bigger ones were for cowards." She slung the spatula onto the counter and grabbed the coffee pot, filling mugs for everyone, even though the table was already crowded with juice, jam, and a suspiciously homemade tub of whipped cream.
Naruto took his seat beside Sasuke and immediately began shoveling food into his mouth, hoping sheer caloric density would keep him from dying of embarrassment. Sasuke, unfazed, poured himself a glass of water and sipped it with slow, measured care.
Kushina let them get three bites in before she deployed the next barrage.
"So how long has this been going on?" she asked, brandishing her fork in an arc between the boys. "And don't even try to lie—mothers can sense it."
Naruto's mouth was full; he made a muffled, choking sound and thumped his own chest. "It's not—uh—what do you mean, 'going on'?" he managed after a gulp of orange juice. The eyes he shot to Sasuke were desperate, pleading for rescue.
Sasuke set his utensils down with a soft click, perfectly composed. "If you mean our relationship, Mrs. Uzumaki, we started seeing each other again a few months ago." He didn't glance at Naruto, but his foot nudged Naruto's under the table in silent reassurance.
Kushina's eyes narrowed. "And when were you going to tell me, honey?"
Naruto's brain went through a whole Rolodex of possible answers—some true, most embarrassing—and settled on, "I was going to, Mom. Just wanted to make sure it wasn't… you know, a one-time thing." He immediately realized how that sounded, blushed, and backpedaled. "I mean, like—uh—we're taking it slow?"
Sasuke's hand found Naruto's on his lap, squeezing it once. "It's not a one-time thing," Sasuke clarified, looking Kushina dead in the eye. "I'm committed to your son."
Kushina stared at him for a second—searching, maybe for a hint of sarcasm or a flicker of insincerity. She found neither. Instead, she let out a huff and jabbed at her pancakes with renewed vigor. "Well. At least you're honest. More than I can say for some people." She shot a look at Minato, who was reading the comics page upside-down and pretending not to listen.
Minato lowered the paper a fraction, just enough to peer over the top. "I've had my suspicions for a while," he said, the twinkle in his eye ruining any pretense of surprise.
Kushina made a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. "You never said anything!"
Minato shrugged. "Didn't seem like my place. Naruto's an adult, and he knows how to pick 'em." He shot Naruto a wink. "Usually."
Naruto's head hit the table with a soft thunk.
Kushina, satisfied with the state of the pancakes, reached over and refilled everyone's coffee. She scrutinized Sasuke's cup as she poured. "You take it black?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She set the mug down in front of him with a clatter. "And you, Naruto?"
"Uh, cream and five sugars?"
Sasuke choked on his own coffee, coughed into his napkin, and fixed Naruto with a look that said so much with so little: That's an entire dessert. Naruto grinned, all dimples and hope.
"So," Kushina said, folding her hands under her chin and fixing them both with her best school-counselor gaze, "what are your plans? I assume you're not going to hole up in Naruto's bedroom forever."
Sasuke set down his mug with both hands, as if bracing for impact. "We planned on telling everyone at the brunch this afternoon." His face was composed, but Naruto could feel the tension running through Sasuke's arm.
Kushina's face softened and nodded. "Are you nervous?"
Sasuke considered the question for a full breath. "I'm not, but Naruto might be."
"Hey!" Naruto said, affronted. Then, softer, "Okay, maybe a little."
Kushina looked at Minato, then back at them. "Well, I always did like you, Sasuke." She said it with an air of finality, as if daring anyone to contradict her. "And if you two are going to be idiots, at least you're idiots together."
Naruto's shoulders slumped in relief. Under the table, Sasuke's fingers twined through his own, cool and steady.
"Thanks, Mom," Naruto said, and even Sasuke smiled—a real one, not the razor-edged kind, but a soft, open expression that transformed his whole face.
They finished the rest of the meal in something resembling peace, Kushina only occasionally slipping in questions ("Will you be living together?" "Do you need more bedsheets?" and Minato offering noncommittal hums from behind his paper.
When the food was gone and the table had quieted, Kushina stood to collect the plates. "You know, Naruto," she said, stacking syrup-sticky dishes, "the walls in this house are thinner than you remember."
Naruto choked on his coffee mid-sip, spraying a fine mist across the table. His face blazed crimson to the tips of his ears.
Kushina leaned in, close enough for only the two of them to hear. "Just keep it down next time, okay? Your father needs his sleep." Her voice was warm, but her eyes danced with mischief.
Naruto couldn't meet her gaze, suddenly fascinated by a spot on the tablecloth as Sasuke's hand tightened around his under the table.
The kitchen was bright, and for the first time in ages, Naruto felt like he could breathe. Maybe the rest of the world was going to be harder—maybe the brunch with the Uchihas would be a total disaster—but at least they'd survived this, together.
And that was enough, for now.