Naruto slumped in his chair, spine bowed, arms draped boneless across the armrests. The conference table, so recently a battlefield, lay pitted with abandoned water glasses and jagged plastic pens, some shattered by the force of their owner's anger. The overhead lights had dimmed automatically, sensing the mass evacuation. The only illumination left was the late-day sun, slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows in thick yellow bands that painted everything with the dull gold of an old bruise.
Sasuke stood at the far end, hands braced on the back of his chair, knuckles white at first but slowly—painfully—bleaching back to a dull, human flush. The two of them seemed, for a time, like hostages waiting to see if the ransom would be paid.
Naruto let his head fall back, jaw pointing at the ceiling. "You're going to fire me, aren't you." He meant for it to sound like a joke, but his voice was soft, almost hollow, and the corners of his mouth didn't lift.
Sasuke didn't answer. He straightened, the movement abrupt but lacking its usual crisp authority. He circled the table once, then again, making no effort to hide the way his gaze darted between Naruto and the windows and his own reflection in the black mirror of the monitor at the far end. He seemed—if such a thing were possible—uncertain.
When Sasuke finally spoke, his voice caught on the first syllable. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You always do this," he said, not quite looking at Naruto. "You blow everything up and then act like there's nothing left worth salvaging."
Naruto's hands twitched on the chair arms, but he didn't argue.
Sasuke rounded the table to stand behind his usual seat at the head. He wrapped his hands around the backrest, fingers digging into the leather, then forcing themselves to relax. His next words were so low Naruto almost missed them: "I used to think it was because you were reckless. Or maybe a masochist. But now I realize you're just scared."
Naruto snorted, but it came out tired. "That's rich, coming from you."
Sasuke didn't rise to the bait. He let go of the chair and walked to the window, staring out at the city with his back to Naruto. "You once told me," he said, "that there are some stories that can't have happy endings. That sometimes the best you can hope for is honesty." His silhouette cut a thin, sharp line against the sun.
Naruto sat up, forcing his body to cooperate for the sake of posture if nothing else. "You said you hated those stories," he said. "You said they were for cowards who couldn't commit."
For a long moment, Sasuke was silent. Then he turned, the light cutting hard lines into his face. "That's not what I meant."
Naruto's jaw worked, but he didn't trust himself to answer. The silence that followed was heavy with all the arguments they hadn't had in the last five years, all the conversations left to rot.
Sasuke crossed his arms, then immediately dropped them, as if remembering that posture was off-limits now. "Do you want to know why I said those things to you? That night at the lake?" His eyes flicked up, fixing Naruto in place.
Naruto shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "No," he said, but the word meant yes and they both knew it.
Sasuke moved to the table's edge, hands flat against the cool veneer. His fingers splayed wide, pressing down as if to keep himself from floating away. "I was terrified. My brother had just walked away from everything—just quit, left it all behind. Suddenly every expectation, every responsibility my family had ever placed on him landed on my shoulders instead. You were the only thing that made sense. The only thing that ever did. And that scared the shit out of me." His voice shook on the last word, but he didn't look away.
Naruto's throat felt like sandpaper. He stared at the tabletop, tracing the faint outline of a coffee ring left behind.
Sasuke pressed on, his voice growing steadier as he went. "I didn't hate you. I hated myself. I couldn't admit what I felt, not even to myself. When you—when you said what you said at the lake, it was like someone shined a spotlight on every part of me I'd spent years trying to hide. I lashed out because that's what I do. Because it's easier to destroy something than to fix it."
Naruto opened his mouth, but Sasuke cut him off with a raised hand, palm trembling just enough to be noticeable. "Let me finish," he said, and for once, Naruto obeyed.
"I'm not telling you this because I expect forgiveness. Or even because I want it. I just need you to know—I always loved you." The words seemed to cost him, each syllable dragged from somewhere deep and bleeding.
Naruto's vision blurred, but he blinked hard and forced himself to meet Sasuke's eyes. "If that's true," he said, voice cracked and small, "then why did you let me go?"
Sasuke's lips quirked, not a smile but the memory of one. "Because I was an idiot. And a coward. And maybe because I thought you deserved better than someone who couldn't say what he felt without hurting you." He let out a long, shuddering breath and slumped into the nearest chair, all the tension leaking from his body at once.
The two of them sat, the table between them no longer a barrier but a bridge. For the first time, Sasuke looked less like an executive and more like a man who had spent too many nights staring at his ceiling, wondering what he could have done differently.
"I know this doesn't fix anything," Sasuke said, voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't want you to leave thinking you were the only one who cared." He reached for the water glass nearest him, turned it slowly in his hands, then set it down with exaggerated care.
Naruto stared at his own hands, now clenched white-knuckled around the edge of the table. He realized with something like wonder that he wasn't angry—not really. Just tired. So fucking tired.
The silence lasted exactly as long as it needed to, which was both an eternity and the blink of an eye. When Naruto finally spoke, it sounded less like speech and more like a confession dragged from the root of him, somewhere deep and raw.
"You know," he said, "I thought I'd be angry forever." His voice cracked on the last word, and he ducked his head, letting the fringe of blond hair shield his face. "But mostly I was just… broken. I spent my whole freshman year of college trying to patch myself together with ramen and bad decisions." He snorted, but it was a brittle sound. "Didn't work."
He ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up at even wilder angles. The sunlight caught on his skin, painting his knuckles orange. "Do you know what it's like, hearing someone you love call you a freak?" he said, not waiting for an answer. "It's like—" His hands clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again. "It's like watching someone set fire to your house and then blame you for the smoke." He closed his eyes, searching for the words. "I couldn't even look at a photo of us. I deleted every text. I tore up every book you ever gave me. But it didn't help. You were in everything. I couldn't even go home without seeing the mark you left."
Sasuke sat perfectly still, his face a mask of blankness that did nothing to disguise the tremor in his hands. The light made the scars on his knuckles gleam.
Naruto kept going, the words gaining momentum as if, once started, he couldn't stop them. "I started therapy. I had panic attacks every time someone brought up your name. I started dating people who were basically the opposite of you—loud, chaotic, impossible to control." He laughed, a ghost of the old sound. "It didn't work, either. Turns out, trauma doesn't have an off switch." His fingers drummed a nervous, arrhythmic pattern against the table. "I hated you for a long time. But I hated myself even more."
He looked up, eyes glassy but defiant. "Do you have any idea how much it took for me to walk into this building and pretend to be fine?"
Sasuke inhaled, slow and shallow, as if air itself might betray him if he moved too quickly. "I do now," he said. It wasn't an apology yet, but it wasn't a denial, either.
Naruto pressed his hands flat to the table, steadying them by force. "I guess what I'm trying to say is—you broke me. But you're the only one who ever made me feel whole, too." He coughed, the sound suspiciously close to a sob. "So I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with that."
Sasuke sat forward, elbows on the table, face in his hands for a long moment before he dropped them to his lap. The mask, the armor, the entire executive persona—gone, like a shed skin. He looked less like the man who'd inherited a family dynasty and more like the kid who used to climb trees with skinned knees and a mouth full of secrets.
"I'm sorry," Sasuke said. The words were quiet, but they vibrated in the space between them, the rarest and most dangerous of all their exchanges. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I let you think you weren't enough." He paused, and when he looked up, the force of it nearly knocked Naruto back in his chair. "I can't take it back. I can't undo it. But if you ever want to try—really try—being with me as who we are now, not who we were then…" His voice trailed off, uncertainty blooming in the air.
He stood, slowly, as if testing the strength of his legs. He moved around the table—not fast, not predatory, just steady—and took the seat next to Naruto instead of across from him. There was a distance left, a single unoccupied chair, but it felt like progress.
"Only if you want to," Sasuke said, and this time, his hands stayed open and visible.
Naruto leaned back, letting the chair catch his weight. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest, then scrubbed a hand through his hair so hard it almost looked like he was trying to root the memory out by force. "I'm tired," he said. The words hung there, simple and unadorned. "Not just right now. I mean, like, cosmically tired. Of being angry. Of pretending I'm over you when I'm not." He dropped his arm, letting it dangle at his side. "But I still don't know if I can trust you. Not really."
Sasuke absorbed this, face drawn tight. He nodded, once, like he'd been waiting for the verdict and found it both merciful and damning.
Naruto turned toward him, the late sun catching on his lashes and turning them gold. "There's something else," he said, voice gone low and secretive. "That night at Christmas—the one where we…" He trailed off, unable to say it. "I don't remember all of it." He met Sasuke's eyes, searching for judgment and finding only confusion. "I blacked out. I remember flashes. A hotel room, you holding my hand, the sound of you breathing. I remember thinking maybe if I just gave in, I'd finally get closure. But the next morning, well I didn't know what to think."
Sasuke's eyes widened slightly, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the old, buried ache. "Nothing?" he asked. His voice was barely audible, but the truth of it rang through the sterile room. "I remember all of it."
Naruto nodded, looking away. "I wish I did. Maybe then it would make sense." He picked at the edge of the conference table, fingernails digging into the smooth finish. "I found out something, only recently. My mom told me. The morning after graduation, you came looking for me."
Sasuke's mouth opened, then shut. He stared at Naruto, shock washing over his features in a way that was almost comical if it weren't so devastating. "She never told you?"
"No." Naruto gave a small, hollow laugh. "I spent five years thinking you hated me. Turns out, I just missed the message."
Sasuke slumped back in his chair, exhaling a slow, shaky breath. "That explains a lot."
They sat, letting the truth find its own level. The only sound was the soft, steady hum of the building's ventilation—a noise so constant it felt like a stand-in for a heartbeat. The light through the windows shifted from gold to blue, and the shadows of the city stretched farther, thinning as they crossed the vast conference table and pooled at the far end.
Naruto watched the skyline, the last glimmer of sunlight painting everything in impossible color. He could feel Sasuke watching him, the weight of it both familiar and strange. "You know," Naruto said, "I always thought the worst part of losing you would be the loneliness. But the worst part was knowing you'd moved on, and I hadn't." He looked down, voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't want to keep losing you, Sasuke. But I don't know how to trust that you won't hurt me again."
Sasuke's hand moved across the polished surface of the table, hesitant at first, then deliberate. His fingers brushed Naruto's knuckles before sliding between them, intertwining their hands in a gentle lock. Naruto's breath caught, a flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He stared at their joined hands but didn't pull away.
"I want to try again," Sasuke said, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his fingers. "Not like Christmas. Not like before." He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "Would you—" The confidence that carried him through boardrooms faltered. "Would you go on a date with me? A real date. Just us."
The city lights winked on one by one beyond the glass. Naruto's face burned hotter, but his fingers tightened around Sasuke's. In the quiet, in the not-quite-dark, it felt like a beginning.