A/N: The artwork that was the inspiration for this fic can be found here: http : / / i295 . photobucket . com / albums / mm139 / jaderlife / 09072008024 . jpg (remove spaces) by ryuusei-illusion on DeviantArt. It is beautiful so please take a look at it.

Wisdom to Relent

Act II

Sasuke reflects, in brief flitting moments of extreme boredom, on what might have happened had he chosen not to listen to his instincts that day and, instead, led Naruto on a chase through northern Fire Country and left his questions behind to be answered another day, if ever.

But Sasuke is unaccustomed to regret, however it has plagued him in recent months, so he doesn’t linger on such suppositions.

A month ago, he returned to Konoha with Naruto and Sai and the fact that he isn’t now rotting in an underground prison beneath ANBU headquarters is testament that the Hokage and what remains of the council are working as quickly as possible during reconstruction to decide what to do with him.

A decision which seems to have been made.

Sasuke stands with arms tensed at his sides as Tsunade and her assistant file into his cell and face him from the other side of the barrier.

“Good morning, Sasuke.”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow and he says nothing. Regardless of his actions now, he can see she has already sentenced him in her eyes—he has only to await its announcement.

“The Obon Festival has begun.”

To his credit, he does not flinch. He is aware that the Obon Festival had been quickly approaching and that it would be the first time in four years that he would be in Konoha for it, within a reasonable distance of his ancestral home. In previous years, from the privacy of his room in Orochimaru’s base, he had lit incense and asked forgiveness from his family and his clan for another year passed in which he had not yet avenged their deaths.

Now, knowing what he does about the massacre, he has no idea who to ask forgiveness from anymore.

“Considering your situation, I have decided to allow you the next twenty four hours to return to your home and do what you will to honor the memory of your family. A lantern has been set out for you to light tonight.”

Sasuke tries to swallow but cannot for the way his throat tightens, lodged with questions he doesn’t know how to ask.

She nods to her assistant, who leaves the room while Sasuke is still trying to decide whether or not this allowance is a taste of the freedom to come or the chance to say his good-byes before permanent exile or imprisonment.

A moment later, something flickers in the room and Tsunade nods. Sasuke is dubious but he steps forward without hesitation. There is no effect on his chakra—the barrier is gone.

“Of course, there will be an ANBU guard nearby at all times, although anything you do inside the privacy of your home will be respected. You are to report back here in twenty four hours time.” She pauses and levels him with a meaningful look. “I would advise against defying those orders.”

Sasuke nods and resists the urge to clear his throat. It would only make his uncertainty more evident. “I understand.”

“Good.” She reaches into the sleeve of her tunic and withdraws something wrapped and tied in white cloth. “Take this with you and use it as you see fit. I trust you will not disappoint Konoha again, Uchiha Sasuke.”

Sasuke takes the object from her and knows the second it slides into his hands that it is a tanto. He pauses, just noticeably, before bowing and tucking the knife inside his shirt.

***

There are several small districts that have been sectioned off for future reconstruction, and even more that have been designated as beyond recall. The Uchiha district is, as a whole, a heap of splintered wood and shattered stone, the destruction so utterly complete that, in some areas, the debris is no larger than split firewood.

The whole of the district has been marked for clearing. There are a few houses left standing, having withstood the full brunt of Pain’s attack due to high stone walls surrounding the main buildings. Those, too, will eventually be demolished and cleared along with the rest of the area and left bare until the Hokage decides what to build in its place.

Incidentally, his home is one of the few left partially intact. The entire right side of the estate is in ruins. The roof above the antechamber is partially caved in and looks liable to fully collapse at the smallest provocation. The left side of the estate is, however, in one piece. The foundation is cracked and the walls slant to the left but otherwise, it appears safe enough to wander through.

Sasuke admits that he is disappointed this section of his home wasn’t destroyed. He is surprised any portion of his home still stands at all, but if any there were a room that he wishes had been turned to dust, it is the dojo.

Sasuke moves on silent feet across the brittle tatami mats, his feet sliding over layers of dust and decay. He sinks to his knees before the patch of sunlight that falls across the floor through the window and bows his head low, his forehead nearly touching the aged mats. Then he rises and sets about cleaning what he can of his childhood home.

He finds the broom exactly where it had been the last time his mother had set it there and raises up a dust storm in the dojo, clearing away not only the evidence of years of neglect, but the resultant dust that had settled into the cracks of the room in the aftermath of Pain’s attack. Afterwards, he drags a dirty rag along his family’s altar, picking up the remaining dirt with reverent fingers. In the rubble of his mother’s kitchen, he finds a few sticks of incense that haven’t crumbled, along with a matchbox with three sticks left inside.

It is tedious work, but manual labor is a welcome alternative from the cramped confines of his cell. Muscles he hasn’t used in a month begin to ache by the time twilight descends on the village. Sasuke pauses in his efforts and glances out the single window of the dojo. He rests a cheek against the handle of the broom and tightens his lips.

The buzz of festival goers rises over the wreckage, their voices jovial despite recent events—or perhaps, in spite of them. Just one street down, the roofs of reconstructed buildings smolder with the glow of strung lanterns. Sasuke holds no envy for their joy.

Finally, when the sun has set, Sasuke wipes his dirty hands down the sides of his pants and kneels before his family’s altar. He bows his head and expects that he should probably pray but his thoughts are strangely empty.

What exactly is he meant to be praying for? Salvation? Forgiveness? Were those things meant to be gained through the tanto still tucked in his shirt? And at whose behest? His own or Konoha’s?

Sasuke has no desire for forgiveness, much less from Konoha. He does not care about Konoha. He is prepared to accept its judgment only because he has known from the start that he would have to yield for the chance to find his answers. For that price, he is prepared to up give his life, because it only ever had meaning in the light of revenge it could exact first for his clan, and then for the wrong done to Itachi.

Except, from the moment they’d put him in his prison, he has been doubting whether or not anyone even has those answers. He has yet to get a decent glimpse of what remains of the records hall and if the Hokage refuses him access after freeing him, he will have to defy her and yet again compromise his position in Konoha. Even then, he knows the risks, the possibility of finding nothing at all except memories and ghosts in the streets of Konoha... and then what? He is constantly plagued by this question: then what? If he were to leave again, would Naruto bother returning to their chase?

Sasuke’s fingers twitch against his thigh. Naruto. Naruto, who had continued to goad and hope and linger despite having finally succeeded in his self-appointed task to return Sasuke; who had, rather than defaulting to whatever budding relationship he seems to be nursing with Sai, continued to permeate Sasuke’s thoughts simply because he was always there, assailing Sasuke with his incessant optimism and sowing thoughts in him that had no place in his tenuous future.

Realizing he is thinking of Naruto while bent before his family’s altar, Sasuke straightens and draws in a deep breath through his nose. Then he gathers a few stored blankets—tattered and eaten through in some spots by mold or insects—and lays them in neatly folded layers in the middle of the room. At its edge, he sets the tanto, unwrapped from the cloth the Hokage had placed it in.

He draws it from its sheath and lifts an eyebrow at the gleam of the blade. It has been honed to a razor edge. It would cut through skin and bone with little pressure. Sasuke concedes it would probably be a quick death. He has not yet decided what he plans to do and the fact that the idea of killing himself registers no immediate reaction inside him should probably concern him. Instead, what does concern—or rather, annoy—him is the indecision. He doesn’t know where to go from here and the uncertainty drives him mad.

He can’t help but wonder, if Naruto were there, what would Naruto say? Naruto wears his convictions strung around him like a string of lights so that he virtually glows with his sense of purpose. Had Sasuke ever shone with such purpose? What would he give now... to regain what he’d lost?

Not his clan, nor the revenge that had driven him for so long—those things are forever lost and Sasuke knows better than to dwell on the impossible. But with Naruto’s inspiration, Sasuke’s thoughts stray toward the hazardous and he wonders what he might give to regain the purpose he’d had with Team 7, when bonds hadn’t been a prohibitive weight but avenues from which he’d drawn the strength to protect his precious people.

Does he even have any precious people left? Has he failed them all?

Sasuke sighs. Would he have returned to Konoha if he’d known such desires still existed in him? Does he have any right to want such things again? He stares down at the tanto’s bared blade before setting it back against the blankets.

He pushes to his feet and locates the box of matches before making his way to the front steps. True to the Hokage’s word, a paper lantern has been set out at the top of the landing, on the last floorboard still upright.

Bending over, he strikes a match and carefully lights the wick. Light spills across the broken stairs, illuminating the aged wood and casting the grains in sharp relief. Sasuke traces the whorls with the tip of his finger before lowering himself to sit at the edge of the top stair where the beams can still support his weight.

The lantern flickers, heat sketching along his side like brushstrokes, and then abruptly sputters out. Sasuke glances down at the wick and frowns.

He reaches for the matchbox and strikes the last match. It flares bright and angry before settling back into a steady flame. He presses it against the burnt tip of the wick, where the flame stoops and shudders and goes out in a tiny hiss and a wisp of smoke.

His brows narrow as he lifts the match to his eye level and glares at it, as if that could prompt spontaneous combustion. Tossing it aside, he glances from the lantern to the dark entrance of his home and knows well enough that there were no more matches to be found, and he has very little desire to rummage through the rubble for anything else. Short of blowing a katon at it, he has nothing left to light the lantern with.

Frustration blossoms in his temples and he rubs at them with stiff fingers before slumping back against the stairs. Music has erupted a few streets down and it reverberates in the emptiness around him, the utterly hollow walls of his home and the Uchiha district where no ghosts have come to visit because there are no lights to guide their way. Here, Sasuke sits with his head bowed and fingers laced in his lap. The darkness is heavy against his shoulders, while laughter and the animated voices of villagers, so happy to simply be alive, thrum through the village like the wild beat of drums.

The dark lantern sits like the weight of a manacle beside his foot. Even this one small thing, this simple task for the memory of his family and his clan, he has failed to do, as if even his ancestors want to punish him for his follies, as if they want him to suffer alone, silent, forgotten...

Sasuke stiffens. Comprehension creeps upon him, taking form in degrees, sliding into focus like the gradual fall of grains from an hourglass. He sits upright and eyes the lantern again with renewed interest. Then he sighs, closes his eyes, and straightens his shoulders. Beyond the unanswered questions, beyond the uncertainty, is this what he’d been waiting for? A sign?

Yes, there is silence all around him, despite the echo from the festivities down the next street over. There are no spirits returning to hover over the ruins of their old homes, no solace to be found in the scraps of a distant past. Sasuke is the only one left here. They have all moved on.

They have all moved on.

And finally, finally, he sees.

Sasuke’s lips curl into the barest of smiles. “All right. I understand,” he says.

He returns inside where he bows again before his family’s altar, for what he is certain will be the last time. He moves to clear away the mat on the floor just as a shrill creak echoes down the hall. He straightens, eyes narrowed, as the footsteps of someone less discreet announces his presence with screeching floorboards and a muttered curse.

Light draws nearer like the slow tread of dawn and then the door swings open and Naruto is standing in the threshold, a flashlight in his hand, which he lifts and shines directly into Sasuke’s eyes.

“Here you are. Geez, you could have at least lit a candle or something. What kind of weirdo wanders around an old house in the dark?”

“Turn that away, idiot.”

Naruto does so, scanning the room with it. “I figured I’d find you here.”

“Why are you here?”

“Checking in on you. The old hag said she let you go for today,” Naruto says.

Sasuke can practically hear the smile in his words. It doesn't annoy him half as much as it should have. He turns back toward his pile of folded blankets just as the flashlight shines across the tanto. The blade catches the light, gleaming bright for an instant, long enough for Naruto to pause and refocus on it.

“What... ? Why do you have a knife? What are you...?” Naruto tilts his head, brows narrowed and Sasuke can see the exact moment his mind processes just what it is Sasuke has set up on the floor because his eyes widen, fear and anger and disbelief all welling up inside him, the excess threatening to spill into the room. “What the hell is this?! What were you doing?”

Sasuke grinds his teeth to restrain himself from snapping back and telling the idiot to stop shouting before moving to pick up the tanto. He sees Naruto stiffen but ignores it as he sheathes the knife and tosses it back against the blankets. “Nothing. I wasn’t planning anything, so don’t jump to conclusions.” He rolls the blankets up, leaving the tanto within the thin folds and stands to place the bundle back in the corner.

“Where did you get that knife?” Naruto’s voice is shaking and for some reason, this calms Sasuke.

“None of your business. Leave it alone.”

“Sasuke,” he whispers. His hands lower at his sides and the beam of his flashlight casts a bright orb of light on the floor beside his feet. “You weren’t...?”

Sasuke steps close and meets Naruto’s searching gaze before saying, “No. Stop being stupid.”

The pain in his eyes give way to his anger and they narrow into glittering blue slits. “Good,” he says, voice a hoarse rasp. “Here’s a reminder not to.”

Sasuke just barely dodges. Naruto’s fist glances off his shoulder and Sasuke stumbles back, surprised. He is given no time to recover as Naruto launches himself at him and they both go stumbling to the floor, the old tatami mats crumbling beneath the roll of their bodies. Dust from Sasuke’s poor cleaning job rises up in mushroom clouds, draping their clothes in a gritty film and coating their faces in streaks of ashy gray.

Naruto’s fingers dig into his arms, his legs twisting around his, trying to find leverage to pin him down. Sasuke snarls back, hands grappling, thighs bracing thighs, fingers sliding into coarse hair, nails digging into his scalp. There is no rhyme or reason to their impromptu fight, no point to the angry jerk of their limbs, no victory to be gained at the end of this childish display. And perhaps that’s the point, that there is no greater meaning, no objective, no underlying ambition, nothing beyond the heat and strength of Naruto’s body, the bizarre joy of holding his own in their tangle of dirt and bruises.

“Sasuke,” Naruto gasps. He sounds surprised, although Sasuke supposes that might be because Sasuke is kissing him, and when did that happen? Sasuke can’t be certain. But, sure enough, Sasuke’s mouth is on Naruto’s and they’ve both gone still, Naruto rigidly so.

And the moment stretches on, growing thinner with each passing second. The fragility of such an extended moment is a foreign concept and Sasuke refuses to accept it because this is Naruto, Naruto, and nothing can tear him down—not scathing words, nor bloody fists, nor the vengeance of a nine-tailed demon.

So Sasuke draws back and Naruto clutches at him, legs tightening around his, as if terrified that he will leave. But Sasuke only pulls back far enough to gaze down into Naruto’s dazed face.

Naruto swallows and Sasuke follows the movement of his adam’s apple with increasing interest. “W-What about... what about Sai?”

Sasuke fists his hands in Naruto’s hair, satisfied with how Naruto winces but doesn’t resist. “What about him?”

Naruto slides his hand over the curve of Sasuke’s shoulders, fingers burning trails up the skin of Sasuke’s neck before furrowing into his hair.

“I’m not making any promises,” Sasuke says, despite that he’s fairly certain a few have already been made without his consent.

Naruto’s mouth tightens but he nods, once, before he yanks Sasuke’s head down again and crashes their lips together. And then they’re grappling at each other again, although in an entirely different way which Sasuke finds he is perfectly okay with. Naruto arches into his touch, ankles locked around his calves, pressing upward. Sasuke fumbles past the layers of Naruto’s clothes until his hands are sliding up smooth, hard muscle, his fingers counting ribs as Naruto slides his tongue into Sasuke’s mouth and Sasuke drags his teeth along its rough surface.

And then Naruto twists his hips and rubs himself with wanton abandon against Sasuke and Sasuke decides that thinking requires far too much effort at this point so he continues on reflex, which apparently tells him to tug Naruto up with him until they are stumbling from the dojo. Their lips never part for more than a quick draw of breath or a hitched sigh, Naruto’s hands shoving down and up and wrenching with impatience at bits of cloth. Sasuke tugs Naruto along even as he hears the ragged tear of cloth. Naruto grunts in triumph as his hands claw at Sasuke’s naked back.

“Sasuke,” Naruto says, and the husky pitch, the guttural desperation that edges his words in gruff tones sends a jolt of white hot lust through Sasuke.

Sasuke’s back bumps against the wall and Naruto takes the opportunity to flatten him against it, hips rotating in agonizing circles against his. Then Sasuke shoves back and they go careening back down the hall until instinct tells Sasuke they’ve reached their destination and he reaches out blindly to shove aside a door that immediately caves in on hinges long gone, raising up another cloud of choking filth.

Naruto pulls away just long enough to cough and mutter, “Fucking hell,” before Sasuke drags him back, his mouth drowning out the rest of Naruto’s curses. He pushes Naruto down into the bed, his teeth dragging down Naruto’s jaw, tasting the bitter film of dust. He licks at the crevices of Naruto’s skin, finding the hollows that make Naruto squirm, that turn his breaths into thin reeds of sound.

Sasuke has no idea what he’s doing, but he seems to be doing a fine job of it, judging by the way Naruto trembles and presses into his hands, the way his eyes—so brilliantly blue—bore into his with the kind of intensity Sasuke has only seen in the battlefield. And then Naruto snaps forward, sinks his teeth into Sasuke’s bottom lip and tugs lightly before letting it slide free.

“Sasuke,” he says and what the hell is it about the timbre of Naruto’s voice that keeps sending shocks of heat and lust pooling in Sasuke’s groin?

Naruto presses a hand to Sasuke’s shoulder, tips them over and rolls. Sasuke blinks up at him. He wonders why his jaw is aching and realizes it’s because he’s been clenching his teeth too hard. He forces it to relax just as Naruto’s mouth descends on his skin and then it seizes up again, an agonized breath shuddering from his chest.

“Naruto.” He tugs at Naruto’s hair, his skin, curls his fingers beneath the cut of Naruto’s jaw. “Come here.”

And remarkably, Naruto obeys. He raises himself over Sasuke and Sasuke realizes for the first time that they are both naked, their clothes torn away in the frenzy, likely lying in a haphazard trail in the darkened hallway. Coherence is fleeting though because Naruto descends again, all hard planes and sharp angles, his mouth slanting over Sasuke’s in lingering, wet kisses that steal the breath from his lungs.

When Naruto pulls away again, Sasuke is vaguely appalled to find himself dragging in air by the lungful, his head swimming and his erection aching.

“Let me, Sasuke,” Naruto says and Sasuke is disinclined to argue.

Naruto slides downward, mouth mapping the line of Sasuke’s neck, the jut of his clavicle, the plane of his chest. His lips latch around Sasuke’s nipple, tongue flicking, teeth nipping, and Sasuke turns his head into the old comforter to muffle his voice. He breathes in dust and mold and he’ll probably need no less than three showers after this, but he can’t be bothered to care with Naruto’s mouth on his skin and the hard press of Naruto’s erection against his thigh.

Naruto’s fingers are gentle against his cheek as he turns Sasuke’s face away from the blanket. “Don’t. Let me hear you.”

Sasuke is tempted to tell him to fuck off but the urge wars with the way his hips twitch at Naruto’s words and he inevitably falls silent as Naruto continues his way south. His tongue is wet against Sasuke’s stomach, swirling around his belly button before sliding to the right. His teeth bite down on the curve of Sasuke’s hip and the ridge of muscle leading down to his pelvis.

Then Naruto presses his lips to the side of his cock, slides his mouth up the length, parts his lips and pulls him down into warm, wet, suction. Sasuke’s hands convulse against the bed sheets, his thoughts a streaming litany of ‘shit, shit, shit, Naruto’. He digs his heels into the muscles of Naruto’s back and opens his eyes long enough to glance down between his legs where Naruto’s blond head moves with surprising rhythm and an enthusiasm Sasuke has no problem appreciating.

Then Naruto pulls away and Sasuke gasps at the loss of contact. “Nnnfgg.” He’d meant to say ‘Naruto’ but his brain seems to have disconnected from his mouth.

Naruto looks up at him through hooded eyes and a thick fan of gilded lashes and slides a languid tongue around the head of Sasuke’s cock. Sasuke groans and drops his head back.

“Shit, you’re beautiful.” There is genuine awe in Naruto’s hushed voice and Sasuke feels his stomach flip.

“Shut up,” he says.

Naruto chuckles as he pulls himself up, his thighs bracing either side of Sasuke’s hips. He bends over, mouth pressing to Sasuke’s. There is momentary silence as they kiss, broken only by the uneven tempo of their breathing. Then Naruto leans back and scoots up higher until he’s straddling Sasuke’s ribs. The looming shape of Naruto’s hard cock is clear in the dim light and Sasuke surprises himself with the desire to rise up on his elbows and take the damp head between his lips.

Naruto cups one hand beneath his balls, his other sliding through the blond hair at the base of his erection before taking his cock in hand. He leans forward and smears the clear fluid leaking from the tip across first Sasuke’s left nipple, then his right. Sasuke bites his lip, attempts to regulate his breathing and fails horribly.

Then Naruto flashes him a grin—pure mischief and heady desire—before bending over and dragging his tongue over the wet skin. His lips close around the flat nipple, sucking with relish, moaning softly to convey his pleasure. When he has licked it clean, he moves onto the other nipple and gives it the same attention until Sasuke is writhing against him with knees bent, thrusting up into nothing, toes curling and digging into moth-eaten blankets.

And it’s so strange, so strange the way his hands clasp at Naruto’s upper arms, the way his control spins wildly out of orbit, the way he feels so suffused with emotion that he’s convinced he’ll break from the force of it. The way Naruto moves with undeniable experience and it’s strange, but not in a bad way. Naruto leans forward again, presses his tongue between Sasuke’s mouth so he can taste the residual stickiness. Sasuke sucks hard on it, because he can, before Naruto pulls back again and slides their groins together.

He thrusts once, twice, before taking both their erections in his hand and moving it in quick, even strokes. It’s too much and not enough and so fucking surreal, because they are two ninjas who happen to be boys who happen to be teenagers and isn’t this the kind of superfluous crap other teenagers who aren’t them are meant to be doing?

Naruto is staring down at him with eyes that are nearly luminous in the dark, jaw slack and lips parted on quick, chaotic breaths and Sasuke is left in wonder at how young Naruto looks.

For ninjas, age is just a number, a statistic. A child could make genin at four and take his first life at eight and Sasuke can’t help but think that fucking around at sixteen seems a bit late on the agenda. Sasuke has experienced enough in the last few years to fill up a lifetime. And yet, even after all the fighting and the missions and the anger and the revenge, they are still just sixteen year old boys, and whatever the hell kind of revelation that’s supposed to be, Sasuke has no idea and feels no desire to pursue.

So instead, he stops thinking altogether and lets himself drown in the focus of Naruto’s eyes, in the little shivers that dart through his body as Naruto’s hand moves over them both, the tight friction growing unbearable. Naruto’s other hand finds Sasuke’s splayed against Naruto’s thigh and forcibly twines their fingers together. He squeezes tight and Sasuke has no choice but to squeeze back as he fails to ignore the happy curve of Naruto’s mouth that spells out in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t letting go, no chance, don’t even think about it.

And then he throws his head back and there is nothing but the explosion of white lights behind his eyelids, his voice hoarse and embarrassingly loud, body singing, hips jerking and Naruto’s body moving over him, all fluid motion and surprising grace. He sags against the mattress that can barely hold them any longer and lets his body cool as Naruto releases him and pumps a few more times into his hand before stiffening. Sasuke swallows, watches through half-lowered eyelids as every muscle in Naruto’s body grows taut, as he spills himself messily onto Sasuke’s stomach, Sasuke’s name a barely audible groan on his lips.

Naruto smiles down at him before sinking to the bed, half covering Sasuke’s body with his own. He stares up at the ceiling, which is cracked down the middle and peeling, and watches the way the distant lights from the festival glows orange and yellow against the cracked glass. To the right of the window is a slip of paper tacked into the wall, still hanging despite the years. Sasuke squints and realizes it is a drawing, one he’d done himself when he was seven years old. His eyes dart around his old room as something lodges in his throat.

Something happens far away at the festival because the buzz of voices suddenly rises up in chorus, making the silence of the room, the house, the district ever more palpable. Sasuke wonders if the Hokage had truly expected him to make use of that tanto... but it no longer matters because he is still alive. He’s alive, in Konoha, in his old bed in his old home where no one else, apparition or otherwise, has likely tread in years because everyone else has moved on and it is damn well time for Sasuke to do the same.

His throat feels tight suddenly and he’s gasping for breath. His face and chest feel overheated, not at all in the way it had before, and when his eyes begin to sting, his limbs jolt into movement, scrambling to sit up and shove Naruto off of him.

Naruto rolls away with a grunt. “What the fuck, Sasuke?” His hand closes around Sasuke’s wrist and if Naruto doesn’t let go, Sasuke will rip Naruto’s arm off if he has to.

“Let go,” he hisses. He hears the panic in his own voice and tries to stem it as he looks back at Naruto. He pauses when Naruto’s eyes widen.

“...Sasuke?” He reaches forward, fingertips brushing lightly at the corners of Sasuke’s eyes and Sasuke jerks away from the touch. He opens his mouth to yell at him but realizes with a dawning sort of horror that Naruto’s fingers had come away damp.

“What...?” Something wet splashes against his cheek and his own eyes mirror Naruto’s surprise, except it has no effect on the way his chest begins to ache, breath coming in short, and humiliating heaves. “Let go.”

“Sasuke,” Naruto says. The hand around his wrist tightens before Naruto lunges at his back, arms circling his torso and pulling him back against Naruto’s naked chest.

“Let me go, you worthless shit,” Sasuke shouts, ready to throw whatever insults necessary for Naruto to back off. The noises issuing from his throat are terrifying and foreign, nothing he could identify as his own. Stop, he thinks desperately. Stop, stop, stop.

But Naruto holds on with stubborn determination, and Sasuke sags against the cage of Naruto’s arms, mortified with himself and livid at the way Naruto whispers quietly soothing words that aren’t soothing at all against the skin of his neck.

Eventually, his body grows still although Naruto’s embrace doesn’t ease up. The opposite, actually, as his lips skim Sasuke’s shoulder blades. He presses his cheek against the curve of Sasuke’s back and slowly laces their fingers, as if giving Sasuke time to decline the gesture. But Sasuke is too tired to rebuff him; and, anyway, there is a measure of peace in way the Naruto’s even breaths warm his skin, encouraging his own lungs to imitate the steadiness.

Peace, Sasuke thinks, is perhaps not so conflicting an ideal after all.

***

At dawn, Sasuke rises to return to his prison and Naruto convinces him to wait a bit longer, at least until the full twenty four hours are up, with lips against the shell of his hear and fingers creeping between his legs. For the next hour, Sasuke forgets the colorless tones of the cell awaiting him in favor of finding ways to make Naruto’s voice reach new octaves. In turn, Sasuke spends the following hour making indecent noises into Naruto’s pillow.

At some point in the night, they had scavenged enough of their clothes to dress and make their way across the village to the apartment that had been issued to Naruto at the start of reconstruction. A series of temporary apartment complexes had been the first buildings constructed in order to provide residence to everyone whose homes had been destroyed—thus, the majority of the population now lives in several clusters of apartments scattered throughout the village.

The apartment is a sight better than the one Naruto owned previously although it is still small and furnished with only the bare essentials. The bedroom, in particular, is rather bare. Aside from the bed and Naruto’s various clothing and weapons paraphernalia, the only thing remotely decorative is the photo of Team 7, tacked into the door of his closet. The photo is torn in one corner but otherwise unharmed. Sasuke hadn’t asked how Naruto had managed to recover it.

As morning wanes, Sasuke finally escapes to the shower where Naruto promptly ambushes him. But Sasuke needs the privacy Naruto hadn’t allowed him the night before so he kicks Naruto out and cleans up to meet his jailor in peace.

Tsunade greets them in an office in the opposite wing of Sasuke’s prison, hands folded over her desk and eyebrow raised at their entrance. Sasuke is an hour early. Naruto trails in after him, glowering at everything in general.

Sasuke tilts his chin and holds her questioning gaze. He doesn’t know what she’d expected when she’d given him the tanto—whether it had been a snide tactic or if she had truly expected him to be brought back today in a body bag. But he has returned on his own two feet, and, unlike when he’d left, he now has something to lose.

Tsunade stares him down and Sasuke refuses to look away. He is not ashamed to still be breathing and he will not be intimidated into it.

After a tense silence in which Naruto shifts from foot to foot and sucks his cheeks in to keep from speaking first, Tsunade’s face finally cracks into a wide grin. She pushes to her feet and extends her hand to him. Sasuke hitches an eyebrow and withdraws the tanto from his shirt.

At his side, Naruto stiffens. “When did you—?”

“I’m returning this to you,” Sasuke says, cutting Naruto off. He steps forward and Tsunade takes it from him with a secretive smile.

“What...? What the hell? You gave that to him?!” Naruto strides up to her desk, arms gesturing wildly. “How could you? What were you—?”

“Either shut up and let me talk or you can wait outside.”

Naruto snaps his mouth shut, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. “Fine,” he mutters.

“Uchiha Sasuke,” she says. Sasuke straightens. “Congratulations. You will report to my office at the tower next Monday at 8 a.m., at which time we will discuss further the conditions of your freedom. And, possibly, your reinstatement.”

Sasuke tries very hard not to blink and say ‘Come again?’ Naruto does it for him.

“Wait, what? He’s free?” Naruto edges forward again and his hand falls on Sasuke’s shoulder, a point of warmth to ground him.

Tsunade nods. “You’re free to go.” She slides back into her seat, still smiling in that enigmatic way that makes Sasuke want to take a step back. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint Konoha again.”

Sasuke somehow finds his voice long enough to utter, “Thank you.”

Naruto follows him out, his hand sliding down to fit into the small of Sasuke’s back. “Now what?”

Indeed. ‘Now...’ Sasuke thinks he finally knows the answer.

He looks at Naruto, takes in the smile that consumes the entirety of Naruto’s face, and steps forward.

---

“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” -E.M. Forster

---

The End