Naruto followed the HR rep like a condemned man. Uchiha Corp's executive floor screamed power—gleaming walls, silent carpet, surfaces that reflected warnings back at him. The woman was tiny, severe: a navy suit and ice-blonde hair cut with mathematical precision. Susan? Sue? He couldn't ask now, two hallways in and already behind.
She never looked back. Naruto shuffled behind, white-knuckling his messenger bag. At intersections, she'd pause just long enough to confirm he followed, then march on, heels clicking a dare, until she sat at a desk and gestured for him to do the same.
"Sign here," she said, shoving documents forward. The paper felt cold, the Uchiha crest embossed in silver. His signature looked like cardiac arrest. She handed over page after page—noncompetes, waivers, NDAs in triplicate, legal clauses that might as well have been hieroglyphics. He signed without reading, hand cramping, thumb seeking purchase on the paper's edge, pen hesitating before each new line.
Susan checked her watch. "Seven minutes until your meeting." Her lips pressed into a line.
Naruto forced a smile. "I'm sure it's all standard," he said, signing with a flourish that collapsed into a scribble.
As he wrote, memories flickered: Sasuke's whiskey-laced mouth; hands both freezing and burning; waking to find that face inches from his own. He tried suppressing them, failed.
He pictured Sasuke with this paperwork—reading every clause, marking every detail. At sixteen, Sasuke had turned in assignments with corners perfectly squared. When asked why, he'd only shrugged: "Control what you can. The rest is noise."
Right now, the only thing Naruto could control was the way he wrote his own name. By the sixth signature, he switched to block letters just to see if Karin would notice. She did, but said nothing.
At the final sheet, she produced a notary stamp from some hidden pocket and pressed it into the paper with a force that dented the wood beneath. "That's it," she said. "Come with me."
The walk to the executive suite felt like a death march. His dress shoes betrayed him on the polished hardwood, each step announcing: outsider, outsider, outsider. Framed photographs lined the walls—corporate events with the Uchiha logo prominently displayed—a trophy room that doubled as a mausoleum.
Susan paused at a door identical to the others except for Sasuke's initials in brushed nickel. She pressed a panel, and a soft chime sounded inside, followed by a barely audible "Come in."
She turned to him, pale blue eyes pinning him in place. "He's waiting," she said, then pivoted and left Naruto alone with his racing pulse.
Naruto stood there for a moment, just breathing. He adjusted his collar, wiped his palms on his thighs, and tried to slow the panic thumping in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to turn and run, but instead he reached for the door handle, counted to three, and stepped inside.
Sasuke's office was vast and spare, each item curated to both impress and intimidate. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, winter light bleeding across the glass and throwing hard shadows onto the minimalist furniture. A desk of black wood—no, probably some expensive composite that looked like wood—anchored one end of the room. Two chairs faced the desk, but a leather couch sat near the window, as if daring any visitor to relax in Sasuke's presence.
Sasuke himself stood with his back to the door, arms folded behind him, shoulders squared and chin tilted toward the skyline. He looked like a warlord contemplating which city block to conquer next. The cut of his suit was flawless, the line of his neck sharp enough to cut. Naruto felt suddenly, painfully underdressed, and resisted the urge to tug at his tie.
He took a single step forward, just enough to announce his arrival. Sasuke didn't turn, but spoke in that same cold, even tone:
"Sit."
Naruto hesitated, his gaze darting between the leather couch by the window and the stiff-backed chairs facing Sasuke's desk. The couch seemed too casual, too intimate—the kind of seat you'd offer a friend, not someone you'd slept with and abandoned. The chairs, though, positioned him like a job applicant or worse, a supplicant. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of how long he'd been standing there, paralyzed by a decision that shouldn't matter but somehow felt like choosing which weapon to fall on.
Before Naruto could come to a decision the door opened with hydraulic smoothness, and a woman entered carrying a leather portfolio. She stalked to Sasuke's desk without acknowledging Naruto's presence, her heels striking the floor with military precision. "The quarterly projections," she said, extracting documents and arranging them before Sasuke as if Naruto weren't even in the room. Her hair was a shade of red that defied nature and corporate policy alike, her glasses perfectly balanced on the thinnest bridge he'd ever seen. She leaned across Naruto's line of sight to point at a figure on the third page, her body angled to create a wall between them. Only after Sasuke had signed did she straighten, her eyes finally flicking over Naruto with the same level of interest most people afforded a stain on new carpet.
Sasuke's voice cut through the air. "Thank you, Karin. That will be all."
Karin's fingers curled into the fabric of Sasuke's suit jacket, leaving five small indentations on his shoulder. Her eyes flicked between Sasuke and Naruto, calculating something. She leaned down, lips nearly brushing Sasuke's ear, her body angled to block Naruto's view.
"I can stay for the meeting," she murmured, just loud enough for Naruto to hear. "Or we could reschedule for when I don't have that conference call."
Sasuke's jaw tightened. "That won't be necessary."
She straightened, but her hand remained, thumb now tracing a small circle on his shoulder. Her eyes locked with Naruto's, a silent claim staked. "I'll be right outside if you need me," she said, the words dripping with sweetness that didn't reach her eyes. "Just press the intercom."
Only after Sasuke nodded did she finally step away, each heel strike against the floor deliberate and lingering as she retreated.
The room felt emptier with just the two of them in it, but the pressure in the air doubled. Sasuke moved behind his desk and gestured toward the seating area. "Sit on the couch," he said, the command devoid of inflection.
Naruto hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the edge of the dark leather as if it might swallow him whole. The couch was stiffer than expected, the cushions refusing to yield. He set his bag down and clasped his hands together, resting them on his knees to keep from fidgeting.
Sasuke crossed and sat, not in the center but close—far closer than etiquette or comfort demanded. His knee almost brushed Naruto's, and the proximity sent a jolt up Naruto's spine.
They sat like that for a moment, neither speaking. Naruto stared at the glass coffee table, which held a single decorative paperweight: a cube of perfectly clear crystal, inside which a flower was suspended in some impossible state between life and fossil. The way the petals curled reminded him of the azaleas that grew wild behind his childhood home, and for a second he was thirteen again, sneakers caked in mud, chasing Sasuke through the woods until they'd both collapsed in the dirt, gasping with laughter.
Now, the only sound was the hum of the city through insulated glass.
Sasuke cleared his throat, a sound so slight Naruto barely registered it. "You seem... uncomfortable," Sasuke said.
Naruto risked a glance, but the expression on Sasuke's face was unreadable. He looked away, back at the paperweight, and forced his hands to stillness.
"I've never been great with offices," Naruto said, the joke dying halfway out. "Or interviews. Or couches, apparently."
Sasuke's mouth quirked at the edge. "Yet you do well in boardrooms."
Naruto shrugged. "At least in a boardroom, you are prepared to fight for your life."
Sasuke considered that, then nodded as if it explained everything. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and studied the skyline as if it held answers to questions only he knew.
"You did well with the investors," Sasuke said, voice pitched low. "Better than I expected."
Naruto let the compliment slide past, unwilling to believe in it. He watched a tiny fissure in the paperweight, tracing the line with his eyes. It occurred to him that if you looked closely enough, even the most flawless things cracked under pressure.
Sasuke shifted, angling his body to face Naruto more directly. "You're avoiding me," he said, blunt as a hammer.
Naruto snorted, eyes darting to the door as if calculating an escape route. "Avoiding you? That's—" He tugged at his collar, the fabric suddenly too tight. "I've been busy with the production schedule. If you wanted my attention, maybe you shouldn't have called me in for a private meeting first thing Monday."
Sasuke ignored the barb. Instead, he stared at Naruto, his gaze so intense it felt like a spotlight. "Why did you leave?"
Naruto blinked. "What?"
"After Christmas," Sasuke said, his voice softer now. "Why did you leave?"
Naruto's fingers dug into his knees. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed him.
"Christmas," Sasuke said, leaning forward. "The hotel. You know exactly what I mean."
The question dropped into the silence like a stone into black water. Naruto felt it at the base of his spine, an impact that traveled up his body and out his mouth as a soundless exhale. His fingers drummed against his thigh, picking up a rhythm only his nerves could hear.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Naruto replied. The words came out hollow, stripped of their usual bluster.
"I want the truth," Sasuke said, voice so even it sounded pre-recorded. "I want to know if it meant anything. Or if you just—"
He stopped, the sentence unfinished, the threat of it hanging between them. Sasuke's eyes didn't waver, and for the first time in years, Naruto recognized the look: not the cold calculation Sasuke wore in boardrooms, but the raw, wounded gaze from their final fight in high school, the night before everything fractured.
Naruto looked away, out the window at the city, then back at the impossible clarity of Sasuke's face. His leg started bouncing, heel tapping a nervous rhythm against the carpet. "I blacked out," he said, voice rising slightly. "That's what happens when you mix tequila, champagne, and old trauma." He tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat as his hands twisted together in his lap. His breathing quickened, words tumbling out faster. "I woke up, and you were there, and I couldn't—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair and messing it up completely. "It was a mistake."
Sasuke's jaw tightened, the only sign the words had landed. "That's not what you said that night."
"I don't remember what I said that night," Naruto shot back, sharper than he intended. He regretted it instantly.
Sasuke inched closer, his knee pressing against Naruto's, the contact electric. "You said you loved me." The words were soft, almost gentle, but they left a bruise.
Naruto closed his eyes, shoulders rising toward his ears. "That doesn't count." His voice went high-pitched, the same defensive tone he'd used at eighteen when Sasuke had called him those names. "People say a lot of things when they're drunk. Doesn't mean—"
"But you meant it," Sasuke said. He said it like a diagnosis.
Naruto's eyes snapped open, a familiar coldness spreading from his chest outward, the same protective numbness that had gotten him through freshman year of college. "You don't get to tell me what I mean."
Sasuke leaned in, the space between them shrinking to nothing. "You can't keep running away from this," he said, low and urgent. "You can't pretend it didn't happen."
Naruto's shoulders hunched forward as if bracing for impact. His fingers curled into fists against his thighs, knuckles whitening. "I can, and I will. That's what I'm good at."
"You think it's easier to run than to admit you still care?" Sasuke's voice was soft, almost gentle.
"Who said I care?" Naruto snapped, crossing his arms tight across his chest. His eyes darted toward the door, calculating the steps to escape.
Sasuke let the silence drag. Naruto's jaw clenched so hard he could feel a muscle jumping in his cheek, his body rigid as if wrapped in invisible armor while Sasuke's proximity made the room shrink around them.
"You changed the ending," Sasuke said finally.
Naruto's shoulders tensed. "What?"
"In the manuscript," Sasuke clarified, voice softening. "You changed the ending so the rivals got together. You never would have written that before." He paused. "Unless you wanted it for yourself."
Naruto's throat closed. He crossed his arms tight against his chest, a physical barrier between them. "Don't psychoanalyze my writing," he said, voice sharper than he intended. His knee bounced faster.
"It was just a story," he added, softer but quicker. "It's my job to give people the ending they want."
"But what do you want?" Sasuke pressed.
Naruto's jaw clenched. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, focusing on it with unnecessary intensity. "What I want?" A brittle laugh escaped him. "That stopped mattering a long time ago."
Sasuke let out a long, slow breath. "You know, for someone who fights so hard for everyone else, you're the worst I've ever seen at fighting for yourself."
Naruto stared at the paperweight, its flawless surface fractured by that one tiny line. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his knee on the table, and shouldered his bag with jerky movements. "If there's nothing else, I should get back to work."
Sasuke stood, too, blocking Naruto's path. For a second, neither of them moved. Naruto's shoulders tensed, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. When Sasuke leaned slightly forward, Naruto flinched backward, chin tucking down as if bracing for a blow.
Instead, Sasuke stepped aside.
"You're not as good at running as you think you are," Sasuke said, voice low.
"I've had plenty of practice," Naruto shot back, the words escaping before he could stop them. He walked to the door, his shoes soundless against the carpet, arms wrapped tightly around himself. At the threshold, his hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white.
Behind him, Sasuke stood by the window, his silhouette rimmed by cold morning light.
"This isn't over," Sasuke said, not turning around.
Naruto gripped the door handle, his knuckles turning white as bone, throat constricting around words that tasted like ash. "It was over a long time ago," he choked out, voice cracking on the final syllable. His chest felt hollowed out, scraped raw, as if Sasuke had reached inside and torn something vital away again. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall—not here, not now, not for him.