In the weeks that followed, Naruto became intimately acquainted with the many ways a man could be surveilled, summoned, and gently stalked without ever once feeling the click of handcuffs.
It started with a calendar invite—subject line, "Content Sync / 7:30AM." The sender: S. Uchiha, who, as far as Naruto knew, had never set foot outside his glass fortress before noon. The location was not the office, but a café in the art district, three train stops away from Uchiha Corp HQ, and only two blocks from Naruto's apartment. He squinted at the screen, certain it was a mistake, but there it was: the corporate logo, a Google Maps pin, and the digital signature at the bottom, stamped with more gravitas than a state document.
At first, Naruto told himself it was a fluke. Maybe the breakfast place had a PR partnership, or maybe Sasuke was just committed to the bit of "creative collaboration." But then, two days later, a second invite: "Editorial Briefing / 18:00 / S. Uchiha" at a downtown izakaya, a spot so discreet the only reviews were in Japanese and all the photos showed tables half-occluded by lacquered wood screens. The invite suggested "smart-casual," and when Naruto hesitated at the RSVP, a follow-up arrived, terse and inevitable: "Attendance required. See you there." It was signed, as always, with the sharp cut of Sasuke's initials, the digital equivalent of a wax seal.
By the third week, Naruto had mapped the pattern. Sasuke never asked, never suggested, only declared—and each time, the meetings grew less plausible as business and more like strategic sieges of his calendar. Breakfast at a French patisserie on Tuesday ("Menu Tasting & Brand Alignment"), a Thursday "site visit" to a local indie cinema that doubled as a bar after five, and, his personal favorite, a Friday "late-stage revisions" meeting scheduled for 10:30 p.m. at a private coworking suite, because nothing said productivity like two men sitting alone in a space designed for after-hours entrepreneurs.
Naruto tried ignoring the invites. He tried declining them, once, and at 7:01 a.m. the next morning, his inbox pinged with a new message from S. Uchiha. The subject line read simply "Missed Meeting." Attached was a PDF of the calendar invite, highlighted in yellow, with a single line in the body: "Let's not make this a habit." No sign-off, no pleasantries. Naruto capitulated after that. It was easier than explaining to Jiraiya why he'd been missing from half his own project briefings.
But attendance did not mean participation, and in every encounter Naruto took pains to keep the conversation strictly on-script. He arrived on time, took notes in immaculate block print, and responded to every personal question with either a non sequitur or a redirection. He never sat with his back to the door. He never let his phone out of reach. If Sasuke noticed, he gave no sign.
The first breakfast meeting set the tone: Naruto entered the café, an aggressively minimalist place where the chairs looked like torture devices and every plate came with a botanical garnish. The barista pointed him to a corner table screened by potted olive trees, where Sasuke already waited, perfectly poised, his dark suit absorbing the early light.
He did not rise when Naruto approached, only gestured at the chair across from him with a flick of his fingers. There were two coffees on the table—one black, one a frothy, caramel-laced abomination that Naruto had ordered every morning in high school.
"You remembered," Naruto said, then cursed himself for noticing.
Sasuke ignored the bait. "Project milestones," he said, sliding a folder across the table with the same clean motion he used to decapitate arguments. "You're two days ahead on the manuscript. I wanted to discuss ramping up deliverables for next quarter."
Naruto opened the folder. Every page was already color-coded, annotated, and signed off by half a dozen people in Legal and Compliance. "This could've been an email," he muttered.
Sasuke sipped his coffee, watching Naruto over the rim of the cup. "Emails are easily ignored. I prefer to make my expectations clear in person."
Naruto's skin prickled at the scrutiny. He flipped through the pages, nodding at the relevant points. "Fine. I'll have the next pass done by Friday."
Sasuke's lips twitched. "Good." He set his cup down, gaze unwavering. "How's your mother?"
Naruto's fingers stilled mid-page turn. The sudden pivot from deliverables to family made his jaw tighten. "We should probably stick to the project timeline," he said, tapping his pen against the production schedule.
"Still running the school library?" Sasuke continued as if Naruto hadn't spoken.
Naruto exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. Still obsessed with book drives." He flipped to the next section in the folder. "About these character designs—"
"And your father?" Sasuke cut in.
Naruto glanced up at the ceiling, then back down at the papers. "Retired. Backyard projects." His pen tapped against the folder twice before he set it down. "Can we get back to the marketing strategy? I have another meeting at nine."
Sasuke leaned back, crossing his arms. "You haven't changed," he said, not quite a compliment.
Naruto's jaw tightened. "You have." He caught himself leaning forward, stopped, but couldn't pull back now. "What happened to the guy who used to make me recite every single step of our plans before we left the house? The one who'd text me three times to confirm I was wearing the right shoes?"
Sasuke's eyes flicked down, then up again. "People adapt. Or they're left behind."
Naruto scoffed, shoving the folder back across the table hard enough that papers slipped free. "That what happened to your last assistant?"
Sasuke leaned forward, his voice dropping to a register that seemed designed to bypass Naruto's ears and go straight to his spine. "Not everyone can keep up." His gaze lingered on Naruto's face, a slow, deliberate sweep from eyes to mouth that left heat in its wake. When he reached for his coffee, his fingers brushed Naruto's knuckles—a touch so light it could have been accidental if not for the way he let his hand linger.
Naruto jerked back, nearly knocking over his cup. "If this is your way of asking if I'm going to quit, don't worry. I'm not giving you the satisfaction."
"Satisfaction?" Sasuke's mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smile. He tilted his head, exposing the clean line of his throat. "I can think of more interesting ways to be... satisfied."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the hiss of the espresso machine and Naruto's suddenly uneven breathing. Then Sasuke's phone vibrated, a custom notification so quiet only Naruto would notice. Sasuke glanced at the screen, then back at Naruto, eyes half-lidded.
"Next time, try arriving five minutes earlier," he said, gathering his things. "The bread is fresher then." He left Naruto alone with the empty cups and a bill already paid.
The dinners were worse. The first was at a ramen bar so authentic it didn't take credit cards, and when Naruto arrived, the hostess led him past a line of waiting customers to a private booth in the back, where Sasuke sat, tie already loosened, sleeves rolled. There was a bottle of sake on the table, two glasses, and a plate of appetizers neither of them touched.
Sasuke gestured at the empty seat. "Sit."
Naruto considered refusing, then thought better of it. He slid into the booth, deliberately keeping his distance.
Sasuke poured the sake with the precision of a chemist. "You look tired."
Naruto grunted. "You'd be tired too if you lived on coffee and Jiraiya's donut bribes."
Sasuke ignored the joke. "You're taking on too much."
Naruto bristled. "You don't get to decide that."
Sasuke poured his own glass. "You're still working from six in the morning to midnight. No days off. Even your emails are timestamped at insane hours."
Naruto stabbed a chopstick at the air. "Says the guy who sends me calendar invites at three a.m. I'm convinced you don't actually sleep."
Sasuke's lips twitched. "Sleep is overrated."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the quiet slurp of noodles and the clink of ceramic bowls. Sasuke didn't speak again until Naruto set his chopsticks down.
Sasuke's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. "Those illustrations for chapter three—"
Naruto looked up, waiting.
Sasuke's gaze lingered on Naruto's face a beat too long. Something flickered behind his eyes—a question forming, then dismissed. He set his chopsticks down. "Never mind. The deadline's fine."
Naruto drained his sake, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You finished?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sasuke said, watching him. "I'm done."
Sasuke paid the bill at the register, fingers lingering over the receipt before folding it precisely into thirds. Outside, their shoulders nearly brushed as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the night air carrying Sasuke's cologne—sandalwood and something Naruto had never been able to name but would recognize anywhere. Streetlights caught in Sasuke's hair, turning the edges silver.
At the corner, Sasuke's hand moved, almost reaching for Naruto's arm, then fell away. "You're still angry," he said, his voice low enough that Naruto had to lean in slightly to hear.
Naruto stepped back, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "You're still an asshole."
Sasuke's eyes flicked to Naruto's mouth, then back up. "I can live with that."
He turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Naruto standing under a flickering streetlamp, his breath steaming in the air, fingers curled into fists inside his pockets to keep from reaching after him.
The late-night meetings were the worst. They were always in empty offices—conference rooms with the lights half-off, the city glittering outside in the dark. Sasuke would sit at the head of the table, laptop open, and force Naruto to go through every line of copy, every design change, every single revision, as if nothing in the world mattered more.
Sometimes, late enough, the conversation would drift. The space between them would narrow as Sasuke leaned in to show Naruto something on his laptop, his shoulder brushing Naruto's, lingering there a beat too long. One night, Sasuke slid a coffee across the table—black with two sugars, exactly how Naruto had always taken it. Another time, he'd absently pushed Naruto's hair back when it fell into his eyes, fingers grazing his temple, then withdrawing as if burned. Once, he quoted a line from one of Naruto's old fanfics, his voice soft, almost intimate.
"Remember when you wrote that?" Sasuke asked, his chair now inexplicably closer to Naruto's than it had been minutes before.
Naruto stared at the table, hyperaware of Sasuke's knee nearly touching his. "I try not to."
Sasuke closed his laptop, sliding it aside to eliminate the barrier between them. "It was good. Better than this corporate stuff."
Naruto's jaw clenched. "Why are you doing this?" He meant to sound angry, but his voice betrayed him, coming out almost like a plea. Naruto stood so abruptly his chair toppled. "Stop pretending you care."
Sasuke didn't move, but his fingers twitched toward the empty space Naruto had left. "I never stopped."
Naruto left, slamming the door behind him, but not before catching the way Sasuke's hand had reached across the table, grasping at nothing.
Naruto jabbed the delete key on each meeting notification, only to restore them seconds later. "Professional courtesy," he muttered to his empty apartment. He set his phone face-down, then immediately flipped it over to check if anything new had arrived.
One morning, his phone lit up with three new meeting requests: "Breakfast Debrief / 6:30AM," "Lunch Strategy / 12:00PM," "After-Hours Editorial / 22:00." All from S. Uchiha. All flagged "high priority." Naruto snorted. "Micromanaging bastard," he said, thumb already hovering over 'Accept All' as he told himself it was just to avoid workplace conflict.
He caught himself straightening his collar before the 6:30 meeting. "It's just because he's such a judgmental prick," Naruto explained to his reflection, ignoring how he'd tried three different shirts.
At night, he'd rehearse arguments for their next encounter—clever retorts and cutting observations that would put Sasuke in his place. He practiced them in the shower, in bed, while brushing his teeth. He never used them.