Naruto let himself back into his apartment with the dazed, shuffling walk of someone who wasn't sure which direction was up. The door slammed shut behind him, rattling a shelf already buckling under the weight of unshelved books and a row of empty ramen cups that had long since transitioned from food container to permanent fixture. The space looked like it had been ransacked by an especially literate hurricane: manuscript pages skidded across the floor in the draft from the closing door, and the coffee table was half-buried beneath storyboard sketches, outlines, and an uncapped Sharpie leaking a black halo onto a coaster.
He kicked off his shoes—one landing with a soft thud, the other catching on a stack of galleys and rolling away. For a moment, he stood in the center of the living room, arms hanging loose, hair wild from the rain and the rush of the last two hours. His mind kept cycling back to the car ride: Sasuke's profile in the dash light, the sharp edge of his jaw, the way his voice had softened at the café until Naruto had almost—almost—leaned across the table.
He scrubbed both hands over his face, dragging fingers through his hair and muttering, "Idiot, idiot, idiot," as if repetition could bleach away the memory. It didn't. It clung to him like sweat, beading beneath his collar, seeping into the roots of his hair. He drifted to the kitchenette, opened the fridge, found nothing but an abandoned can of soda and a single, ancient lemon. He closed the door, stared at the greasy handprint he'd left, and laughed under his breath.
The phone buzzed on the counter, a burst of vibration that made the can rattle against the glass. For a moment he considered letting it ring out, but the thought of standing alone with his own head for even five more minutes made him snatch it up with a desperation he hoped no one could see.
"Naruto!" The voice on the other end was loud enough to startle him, and only one person he knew came with that level of unfiltered optimism: Rock Lee. "Are you coming tonight? We have not seen you in weeks! You promised to celebrate my promotion and Gaara's new grant!"
Naruto barely remembered the promise, but the words pulled at something warm and old in his chest. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just got back from a—" He paused. Was it a date if it involved location scouting and repressed emotional trauma? "—work thing. What time?"
"Eight sharp! The usual place. I am bringing energy drinks in case you attempt to flee before midnight again!" Lee's laugh was a contagious, explosive sound. "Also, Gaara says if you do not show up, they will find you and staple you to the booth!"
"Very motivational," Naruto said, and for the first time that day his smile was real. "I'll be there. Tell Gaara I'm looking forward to their death glare."
"Excellent! I will prepare a training montage playlist! It will be the youthful night of our lives!"
Naruto hung up, the static of Lee's cheerfulness still humming in his ear. He stared around at the chaos of his apartment, the mess that mirrored the inside of his head, and for a second he considered just… not. Not going out, not seeing anyone, not doing anything that would require him to explain the mess or the ache in his chest or why he was suddenly haunted by the ghost of a boy he'd sworn off half a decade ago.
But the thought of Lee's relentless positivity, Gaara's silent, sardonic judgment, and the way neither of them would ever let him spiral alone was enough to get him moving. He peeled off his soaked t-shirt, kicked it into a corner, and made for the bathroom.
Steam billowed from the shower as he stepped in, pressing his forehead against cool tile. The water couldn't wash away Sasuke's grip on his wrist or those words that echoed in his skull. Behind closed eyes, he saw blue ink on his chapbook—"THIS IS NOT HOW IT ENDS" scrawled with violent affection.
He scrubbed until his skin burned, then dressed in whatever was cleanest: a shirt from the bed pile, too-tight jeans, mismatched socks from the laundry basket.
The mirror showed him a wreck—dark-circled eyes, sallow skin, tense jaw. He stuck out his tongue, smoothed his shirt where it clung to old bruises, and practiced his smile until it almost looked real.
"You're fine," he told his reflection. "It's just a drink. With friends. Nobody is going to ask about Sasuke."
His reflection didn't believe him. But he set his jaw, pocketed his phone, and shouldered out the door anyway, each step down the hallway a little lighter than the one before.
The bar was called The Latchkey, a narrow wedge of half-basement where Naruto had first stumbled in three years ago after his editor rejected his manuscript. A bartender with full sleeve tattoos had slid him a free shot and said, "Whatever happened, it's not happening in here." Tonight, he descended the chipped cement steps, ducking under the sign that flickered between "The Latch e" and just "The Key," and felt his shoulders drop an inch. Inside, the same beautiful chaos greeted him: a drag queen sharing pickles with a construction worker, the old woman who'd been writing her novel at the same corner table since 1987, and the usual mingling of warehouse staff, art students, and neighborhood regulars who nodded at him without needing his name or story.
Rock Lee was impossible to miss: he sat in the deepest corner booth, his green windbreaker electric even in the dim light. He was mid-lecture to Gaara, who sat across from him with arms folded and eyes half-lidded, like an extremely patient cat being taught quantum physics by a caffeinated border collie. Lee spotted Naruto before Naruto even cleared the threshold; he shot out of the booth, toppling a glass of water in his rush, and practically tackled Naruto into a hug.
Lee's voice cut through the bar noise like a beacon. "Naruto!" he shouted, arms already outstretched. "You made it!"
Something in Naruto's chest loosened at the familiar sight—Lee's ridiculous enthusiasm hadn't changed since college. He stepped into the hug, feeling Lee's arms crush his ribs with that borderline-painful affection he hadn't realized how much he'd missed. When Lee finally released him, Naruto's eyes found Gaara standing behind, hands in jacket pockets, watching with that flat expression that had once terrified him and now felt like coming home.
"Hey, Gaara," Naruto said, voice catching slightly. Gaara's head dipped a fraction—the barest acknowledgment that, after weeks of absence, made Naruto's throat tighten with a rush of gratitude he couldn't voice.
Lee steered Naruto to the booth, chattering the whole time: "We have already claimed the best seats, and the bartender remembers your aversion to hoppy beer so they reserved a cider keg just for you—such loyalty!—and Gaara has a new hair color you failed to comment on, which is a major oversight."
Naruto squinted in the bar's gloom and realized Gaara's hair, usually a muddy auburn, was now a shock of brick red, buzzed close on the sides and wild on top. "Looks good," Naruto said, and Gaara shrugged, not bothering to feign indifference.
Drinks arrived almost immediately, summoned by Lee's earlier enthusiasm: a pitcher of Lee's favorite energy drink/vodka blend (which Naruto had once dubbed 'Youthful Offense'), a bottle of clear sake for Gaara, and a pint of cider for Naruto, set in front of him with ceremonial care.
Lee toasted, all sincerity: "To the friends who make life worth fighting for!" He downed half his glass in a single go and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, already pivoting to his next topic.
Gaara sipped the sake without visible reaction, his green eyes fixed on Naruto. "You look like shit," Gaara said.
Naruto snorted, tension uncoiling a fraction. "Thanks, I guess. Long day."
Lee thumped the table, beaming. "You have no idea! Naruto has been working like an engine at redline, which is highly admirable but also potentially lethal if left unsupervised. Which is why," he leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "we must intervene and apply the restorative power of positive peer pressure!"
Gaara looked at Naruto over the rim of his glass. "What happened?"
Naruto tried to laugh it off. "Just work," he said, but his fingers tightened around the glass, cider threatening to spill over the edge. He stared into the golden fizz, searching for a way to phrase it that didn't sound insane.
Lee noticed, because Lee noticed everything, and switched gears. "If you do not want to talk about it, we can just drink and play darts. Gaara can even arm-wrestle you again, if you crave humiliation."
Naruto's fingers tightened around his glass. He stared at the amber liquid, watching bubbles rise and pop against the surface, then drained it in one long swallow. "Sasuke," he said, the name like a stone dropped into still water. "He's back."
Lee's mouth fell open. Gaara's eyes narrowed to slits, the rim of his sake cup frozen halfway to his lips.
"The one who—" Lee started, voice rising an octave.
"Yeah." Naruto's laugh came out brittle. "That one."
"Did you see him?" Gaara asked, setting down his cup with deliberate care.
Naruto's gaze darted between them, then fixed on a water stain on the table. His shoulders slumped. "Not just saw him. We've been... talking. Working together. It's—" He swallowed hard. "It's complicated."
Lee sat up straight, the tendons in his neck going taut. "Was it bad? You said last time—"
"It wasn't—" Naruto's hands fluttered in front of him, searching for shapes in the air. "He just showed up at this meeting and acted like—" He stopped, started again. "And then we had to—" Another halt. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in blonde spikes. "It's like I opened a door I thought was locked, but it wasn't even closed."
Gaara's eyes never left Naruto's face as he drank, waiting.
"What does he want?" Gaara finally asked.
Naruto's laugh came out too sharp. "Hell if I—" He stared at his glass, swirling the amber liquid. "Maybe he wants to prove he can still—" His throat closed around the words. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between his friends, then down to his white-knuckled grip on the table edge.
Lee reached across the table, his calloused fingers gripping Naruto's shoulder with the same intensity he applied to everything in life. "Maybe he just missed you." His round eyes shone with that impossible optimism that had gotten them through finals week, three apartment floods, and Lee's catastrophic breakup with Neji. "Sometimes people change, Naruto. I have seen it!"
Naruto flinched. "Not that much. Not when the last thing they said to you was—" He stopped, jaw clenching so tight a muscle jumped beneath his skin. "It doesn't matter."
Lee squeezed once before letting go, leaving a warm imprint behind. Gaara set down his sake with deliberate care, the tiny clink drawing both their attention. He'd removed his rings—the ones he normally wore as armor—and his bare knuckles were pale against the dark wood.
"You don't have to forgive him," Gaara said, the words careful, measured in a way that betrayed how much he'd thought about this. "But he doesn't get to steal tonight from you either."
Naruto's drink trembled in his hand. The bar noise swirled around them—someone's raucous laughter, glasses clinking, music throbbing beneath it all. Lee's choppy bangs fell forward as he leaned in to refill Naruto's glass without asking, his movements gentle in a way they never were on the basketball court. Gaara lifted two fingers to signal another round, his eyes never leaving Naruto's face.
Naruto's fingers tightened around his glass. He stared at the amber liquid, watching bubbles rise and pop against the surface, then drained it in one long swallow. "Sasuke's company is investing in my book. We're working together now. Every day." His voice cracked on the last word. "I didn't know it would be him until he walked into the meeting."
Lee's mouth fell open, but Gaara just nodded once, as if confirming a long-held suspicion. Lee recovered quickly, clinking his glass against Naruto's with enough force to slosh cider onto the wood. "Then tonight is your victory lap! Working with your nemesis and still standing—that deserves celebration!"
They spent the next hour talking shit, playing darts (Lee: champion, Gaara: deadly accurate, Naruto: mostly comic relief), and making increasingly poor decisions about what to order from the battered bar menu. The world outside shrank to the warmth of the booth and the glow of the lamps above, until even the thought of Sasuke seemed like a distant, manageable thing.
But it was Gaara who, as always, could not let things slide.
"You slept with him, didn't you?" they asked, low enough for only Naruto to hear.
The blood drained from Naruto's face. His fingers froze on the glass, knuckles white against the rim. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, but couldn't meet Gaara's eyes.
"What if I did?" Naruto's voice came out like gravel. "It's not like—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "I don't even remember it."
Gaara's pale fingers tapped once against the table. "Don't let him decide who you get to be."
Lee, oblivious to the tension crackling between them, returned from the bar with another pitcher, announcing, "I have acquired the next round, and also a plate of something called 'Gator Tots,' which I believe are like regular tater tots but more powerful!"
Naruto grabbed a handful of tots, stuffing them into his mouth like armor. They raised their glasses, Lee's voice booming above the crowd: "To overcoming adversity! And to friendship!
The toast went up, and for a moment, Naruto almost believed it would be enough.