Once they'd left the meeting, Naruto peeled Sai's fingers from his shoulder one by one. Sai's smile never faltered—the man had the emotional range of a houseplant. "Nice work in there," Naruto said, already backing toward the elevator, "but I'll have to raincheck on drinks. Three days without sleep and I'm basically a zombie." Sai shrugged, and just like that, the moment dissolved into the familiar rhythm of their professional relationship.
For a week, at least, everything in Naruto's life went back to how it was before the Christmas party, Then came the morning Naruto found himself hunched over his keyboard at an ungodly hour, his office looking like a twelve-car pileup on the highway to creative genius. Manuscript stacks threatened to breach the levee of his battered desk. Every horizontal surface was colonized by coffee rings, neon-tipped sticky notes, or the shrapnel of mechanical pencils dismembered in fits of frustration. Outside, the city was the color of old dishwater, pre-dawn fog oozing between buildings. Inside, the only light came from his monitor, the blueish glow bleaching all color from his hands as they hovered above the keyboard.
It was 6:20 a.m.—a time reserved for lunatics, subway rats, and, apparently, editors with a death wish. Naruto sucked down the dregs of last night's coffee, tongue curling at the taste. He was about to go in search of something drinkable when the door banged open hard enough to rattle the window glass.
"Morning, sunshine!" Jiraiya's voice flooded the office like a busted fire hydrant. "You look like a war crime." He slammed a manila folder onto Naruto's desk, scattering a precarious column of rejected query letters.
Naruto grunted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "How are you even here already? Did you sleep in the broom closet again?"
"I don't sleep," Jiraiya announced, plucking a donut from the open box on Naruto's shelf and biting into it with a blissful groan. "I hibernate in forty-five minute bursts. It's the only way to keep up with you." He chewed noisily, then gestured at the folder with pink-sugar-coated fingers. "Open it."
Naruto hesitated, suspicious. Jiraiya had the energy of a man who'd already mainlined three Red Bulls. The last time he'd seen his godfather this amped, it had ended with an impromptu karaoke night and a hungover apology to the HR department.
Jiraiya's grin widened, somehow both predatory and paternal. "Just do it, kid. You're not gonna regret it. Or maybe you will, but at least you'll regret it at a higher tax bracket."
Naruto flipped open the folder with two fingers, as if it might bite. The top page was Uchiha Corp letterhead—heavy stock paper that probably cost more than his monthly coffee budget. His eyes locked on the signature in the lower right corner, the strokes so precise they might as well have been carved in diamond. Sasuke's signature. His stomach dropped through the floor.
"No way," he whispered, scanning the opening lines. "Dear Mr. Jiraiya, Uchiha Corp is prepared to proceed with the investment as discussed, pending the following condition: that Mr. Uzumaki serve as chief editorial and creative lead..." Naruto's eyes widened. "...and attend regular planning meetings with the Uchiha executive team, including Mr. Sasuke Uchiha." He looked up, mouth dry. What game was Sasuke playing now?
He didn't need to read the rest. His head snapped up, blinking rapidly as if the words might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. "This is a joke, right? Some elaborate prank?"
Jiraiya's eyes gleamed. "I'm very serious. Serious as a heart attack and twice as fun."
Naruto pushed back from his desk so hard the chair slammed into the shelf behind him. A framed award tilted precariously. "What the hell is Sasuke playing at?" he muttered, running both hands through his hair. "First the hotel, now this? No. Absolutely not."
"Naruto—"
"I said no!" Naruto paced a tight circle, hands balled into fists. "Whatever game he's running, I'm not playing it. I'm not working with those—those corporate vampires."
Jiraiya, unfazed, took another bite of donut and sat on the corner of the desk, making the ancient wood groan. Powdered sugar dusted his shirt like dandruff. "Kid, you realize what's happening here, right? Most investors would sooner drink bleach than let the original author within fifty feet of an adaptation. Remember Kishimoto? Poor bastard wasn't even allowed in the same building as his own movie premiere."
"Yeah, I get that," Naruto shot back, voice rising. "But I'm not doing it if it means dealing with Uchiha. Not after—"
He cut himself off, suddenly aware of how thin the walls were.
Jiraiya leaned in, napkin crumpled in his fist. "They specifically demanded you. Not me, not some Hollywood hack. You." His eyebrows lifted meaningfully. "Sasuke sat there in that boardroom and said—and I quote—'We want Uzumaki or we walk.' His exact words. I've never seen anything like it." He tossed the napkin into the trash. "This is your shot, kid. Don't throw it away because you two have... whatever it is you have."
Naruto glared at the folder, his knuckles white against the edge of his desk. "There's got to be another way. I can do the work, but I don't have to—"
Naruto looked away, throat tight, pinching the bridge of his nose until his vision went white. His fingers trembled against his skin.
Jiraiya's chair creaked as he leaned forward, the scent of aftershave and sugar cutting through the stale office air. "Kid, look at me." His voice had lost its usual bombast, dropping to that rare register Naruto had heard maybe three times in his life. "Remember when you were eighteen? That night you called me from airport?" He reached across the desk, his calloused hand covering Naruto's. "You survived that. This is just another wave to ride out."
Naruto's throat worked as he tried to swallow. "And if I say no?"
Jiraiya's eyes crinkled at the corners, not in humor but something deeper. "Then we find another way. Always have." He squeezed Naruto's hand once. "But I've known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. You don't back down—it's your best quality. Also your most annoying."
The silence between them deflated like a punctured balloon. Naruto slumped back, the folder still open on his desk. "Fine," he whispered. "But I swear to god, if that asshole tries anything—"
Jiraiya cut him off with a raised hand. "He won't. I'll run interference." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I still know where to hide bodies. Metaphorically. Mostly."
Naruto snorted despite himself. "That's not as reassuring as you think it is."
"Never meant it to be." Jiraiya snatched another donut, this one jelly-filled. "Just make the book bulletproof. Show them what you can do."
Naruto stared at the Uchiha Corp letterhead. The signature at the bottom—Sasuke Uchiha—looked like it had been practiced a thousand times in a corporate penmanship boot camp.
"You ever regret chasing something this hard?" Naruto asked, voice lighter now.
Jiraiya bit into his donut, sending a glob of raspberry jelly onto his tie. He considered it with philosophical detachment. "Only when I catch it. And when it ruins my wardrobe."
Naruto's laugh came out rusty but real. Jiraiya squeezed his shoulder, leaving a sticky fingerprint on his shirt, then vanished down the hall, already barking orders at someone on his phone.
Naruto closed the folder with a snap, then grabbed his own donut. If he was going to face Sasuke again, he'd need the sugar.
Naruto picked up the contract again, fingers tracing Sasuke's signature. What was the bastard playing at? If this was revenge for the Christmas party, it was elaborate even for an Uchiha. Maybe it was a power trip—get Naruto under his thumb professionally after getting him under his body physically. Or worse, maybe this was just business to Sasuke, and Naruto was the only one still caught in their tangled history. He flipped through the pages, searching for hidden traps, legal clauses that might explain why Sasuke would demand his involvement. Nothing. Just standard corporate language and a career opportunity too good to refuse. His head slumped to the desk as fragments from the hotel room flickered behind his eyelids—Sasuke's mouth at his throat, whispered words he couldn't quite remember, the weight of a body he'd spent years trying to forget.
Naruto slammed his palm against his forehead, trying to dislodge the memory fragment that kept surfacing. "People change," Sasuke had said in the hotel bathroom, voice low and intimate, but the rest was a blur of skin and sheets. Naruto yanked at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut until stars appeared. Nothing. Just that phrase hanging in darkness.
He kicked his desk drawer closed with enough force to rattle his pens. Fine. Whatever happened that night was over. Naruto straightened his tie with a sharp tug. This time, he'd be the one dictating terms. This time, when he walked into that meeting, he wouldn't be the stammering teenager from high school or the drunk mess from Christmas. This time, Sasuke Uchiha would be the one caught off-guard.