Naruto could barely focus on the sidewalk ahead as they made their way to Kiba's. Sasuke's possessive declaration—that single word—echoed in his mind with each step. His skin still burned where Sasuke had touched him, claimed him. The moment it happened, Naruto had practically vaulted from Sasuke's lap, his muscles protesting the sudden movement.
Naruto bolted to the bathroom on trembling legs, hastily washing away the evidence of what they'd done. When he finally emerged, he froze in the doorway. There was Sasuke, lounging on his own bed in a crisp black button-up and dark jeans that made Naruto suddenly self-conscious of his rumpled clothes. But what really knocked the air from his lungs wasn't Sasuke's outfit—it was how casually he scrolled through his phone, as though the earth-shattering thing between them moments ago had been nothing but a mundane Tuesday.
The whole way to Kiba's, Sasuke stayed a step behind him, face blank as fresh snow, shoulders relaxed like he was just out for an evening stroll. Nothing in his expression betrayed what had happened between them an hour ago. When Naruto's sneaker caught the edge of a pothole and he stumbled forward with a yelp, Sasuke's hand shot out, pressing firm against the small of his back. The touch vanished almost instantly—there, then gone—but Naruto's skin burned with the memory of it for the next three blocks, like a brand that wouldn't fade.
By the time they reached Kiba's apartment complex, the sky had deepened to the color of an old bruise, and streetlights buzzed overhead in an uneven staccato. The front door closed with a soft pneumatic hiss, and the lobby smelled faintly of pine cleaner and someone's attempt at curry. Naruto squared his shoulders and bounded up the stairs two at a time, determined to act as though nothing had changed, that his body wasn't still humming with the aftershocks of Sasuke's hands and mouth and the way he'd spoken that single word—"mine"—with a hunger that had rearranged the contents of Naruto's chest.
Kiba opened his door just as Naruto reached the landing. He wore a plaid brown shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, his hair styled with actual product, and jeans without a single tear for once. The apartment behind him was modest but tidy—IKEA furniture arranged with surprising care, a small potted plant on the windowsill catching the last of the evening light. Naruto tugged at his own hoodie, suddenly self-conscious.
"Jesus, what took you so long? I thought I'd have to leave without you," Kiba said, locking his door. "Everyone's already at the bar, just around the corner." He slung an arm around Naruto's shoulders as they descended the stairwell, but before they'd gone three steps, Sasuke's fingers closed around Naruto's hood, tugging him firmly backward.
Naruto's heart hammered against his ribs as Kiba turned, eyebrows raised. Sasuke merely shrugged. "Stairs. Not the place for horseplay." That seemed to satisfy Kiba as they continued downward, but it didn't stop Naruto from stealing glances at Sasuke, cheeks burning, that single word—"mine"—still echoing in his head.
Shushu-ya glowed from the inside out, its windows sweating amber light onto the wet city sidewalk. Even before they stepped inside, bass rolled out with every swing of the door, thick enough to vibrate the soles of Naruto's shoes. He held the door for Kiba, who sidestepped with a toothy grin and immediately greeted the bouncer by name, then turned to Naruto, nearly winking. "My cousin says tonight's the 'good' crowd. Should be chill."
Naruto nodded, barely listening. Every molecule of his attention was wrapped around Sasuke, who stalked behind them in a pressed black button-up and jeans tight enough to look illegal on campus. The shirt's collar was open, framing the knife-line of his throat; the sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms dusted with freckles and scored with blue veins. Dress shoes, immaculate, shone in the puddle of neon just inside the threshold. Next to Sasuke, Naruto felt like a crayon in a box of fountain pens: he wore his battered orange hoodie zipped to the chin, the hood up despite the bar's steamy warmth, and his old jeans, threadbare at the knee, still damp from the walk over.
He only realized he was staring when Kiba elbowed him. "Don't get lost. You wanna lose a kidney? Stand in the doorway like a tourist."
Naruto flushed, muttered "Sorry," and followed the Beta past a row of battered barstools and through the cloud of bodies clustered near the jukebox. A shock of chilled air brushed his skin, lifted by the old wall AC's desperate churn, but the atmosphere was dense—shadows, heat, pheromones, and something spicy burning in ceramic bowls on every table. Incense, maybe, but stronger than any Naruto had ever inhaled; it tingled his sinuses and instantly numbed the scent of beer, sweat, and bleach.
Sasuke trailed them with feline composure, eyes already scanning the corners for threats, or maybe just an exit. "You said Neji would be here?" he asked Kiba, but his gaze didn't linger on either of them, already fixating on a distant booth where a familiar angular profile leaned over a highball glass. Next to Neji sat Hinata, her sweater sleeves bunched at the wrists, hands folded like she was praying not to be noticed. She'd managed to claim a corner seat, tucking herself behind a mountain of throw pillows and sipping a soda through a paper straw.
But what caught Naruto off-guard, what made him fumble his step and nearly trip over his own sneakers, was the third person at the table: Sakura Haruno.
She looked almost exactly as she did in Biology 101—pink hair cropped in a geometric bob, pale skin so clear it looked airbrushed, every movement deliberate. She wore a cropped moto jacket and a skirt short enough to show off her knees, her posture aggressive even as she scrolled her phone one-handed. Her other hand cradled a cocktail glass full of something violently blue.
Naruto blinked twice, recalibrating. "Why's Sakura here?"
Kiba barked a laugh. "Relax, man. I think they have some classes together—Hinata probably invited her." He shrugged, leaning in close enough that Naruto caught the scent of his gum. "Honestly, I'm not complaining. Have you seen how fast she made that Alpha back off when he wouldn't take Hinata's 'no' last week? Like watching a shark attack."
The moment they neared the table, Neji looked up, eyes sharp and flat as river stones. "You're late," he said, but the edge in his voice was dulled by the haze of whatever he'd been drinking. He wore a white linen shirt, open at the neck, and the faint trace of Alpha aftershave trailed him like a threat. He nodded once to Sasuke, then to Naruto and Kiba. "I reserved this booth for a reason. There's a Beta rugby club up front, and I'd rather not have to engage with them unless absolutely necessary."
Hinata peeked over her drink, hair swinging like a curtain. "Hi, Naruto," she whispered, barely audible over the music.
Sasuke slid in first, claiming the corner against the wall. Naruto followed, hyperaware of their thighs nearly touching as he settled beside him. Kiba dropped onto the end of the bench, boxing him in. Across the table, Sakura's eyes tracked their movements over the rim of her glass, her gaze lingering on Naruto's face before drifting to Sasuke. Naruto's skin prickled under her scrutiny, and he tugged his sleeves down to cover his wrists, bunching the hoodie's cuffs until they squeezed the tips of his fingers.
Naruto tensed as Sakura turned to face Sasuke, her smile catching the bar light just so. "It is so good to see you, Sasuke." Her lashes fluttered, and something twisted in Naruto's gut—part jealousy, part unwilling admiration. He couldn't help noticing how her perfume cut through the bar smoke, how confidently she leaned forward. He hated that he could see exactly why Alphas gravitated toward her, hated even more that part of him wished he could command a room the same way.
Sasuke gave her a minimalist nod. He radiated a practiced indifference, but Naruto could sense the line of tension along his thigh, the way his boot tapped slow, even beats against the floor.
Naruto felt Neji's eyes on him before he even turned. When he did, Neji was smiling—not quite predatory, but something adjacent to it—one eyebrow slightly raised as if they shared a secret. Naruto's stomach knotted even as he found himself smiling back, hating the automatic response. "Would you like anything to drink?" Neji asked, voice smooth as river stones. "I will buy your first round."
Naruto's mouth fell open to decline when a warm palm settled on his thigh, gentle yet unmistakably claiming territory. His pulse skittered beneath his skin as he fought the impulse to yank his leg away from Sasuke's touch. The fingers tightened slightly, and Naruto's voice emerged too loud, too bright: "No thanks! I'm good!"
Kiba's fingers closed around Naruto's elbow. "Bar run," he announced with perfect timing. "First round's on me, everyone." He tugged, and Naruto practically leapt from the booth, grateful for the excuse to escape Sasuke's possessive grip on his thigh.
Naruto trailed Kiba to the bar, his shoulders loosening with each step away from the booth. He couldn't help glancing back once—caught Sasuke's dark eyes tracking him through the crowd before Sakura leaned in, pink hair falling forward as she spoke. Across the table, Hinata's pale fingers circled her glass, gaze fixed downward while Neji's smile remained fixed in place, calculating and serene.
At the bar, Kiba waved over a bartender with a half-shaved head and twin silver hoops through his nostril—his cousin, he explained. "Hey, we need three beers and a couple ciders," Kiba called over the noise. He nudged Naruto with his elbow. "Plus two Jägerbombs. Those are just for us though. Liquid courage before facing that table again."
Naruto grinned, grateful for the distraction. "Trying to get me messed up?"
As the drinks were poured, Naruto let his eyes wander over the bar's crowd. There were older Betas from the city, a group of postgrad students in a heated debate, two girls slow-dancing by the jukebox, and at least a dozen solo drinkers hunched over their phones. Nobody here looked like trouble, at least not the kind of trouble Naruto had been expecting.
But the scent in the air—it was off. He could still smell the memory of Sasuke, clinging to the inside of his hoodie, and he wondered if anyone else could sense the trace of Alpha on his skin. He tugged the hood a little lower, trying to hide the pulse point on his neck, where Sasuke's teeth had left a faint, raised mark. It throbbed now, like a phantom limb.
Kiba noticed. "You okay, dude?"
Naruto blushed, pretended to study the row of liquor bottles. "Yeah, just nervous."
Kiba grinned, unbothered. "Just say the word if you need to bail early. I've got your back." He loaded the drinks onto a battered tray, then set two shot glasses down with a decisive clink. "But first—liquid courage."
Naruto hesitated, eyes drifting back to their table. Sakura had slid into the space beside Sasuke, one knee angled toward him, pink hair falling forward as she leaned in to speak. Her lips moved close to Sasuke's ear while he offered only minimal nods, expression neutral. Something twisted in Naruto's chest—sharp and possessive.
He grabbed the shot without another thought, clinked glasses with Kiba, and knocked it back in one burning swallow. The alcohol blazed a trail down his throat.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Kiba clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Now let's deliver these drinks before they send a search party."
They returned to find the seating arrangement reshuffled. Hinata murmured "Thank you" as she accepted her cider, pale fingers curling around the glass with practiced delicacy. Sakura had migrated into the space Naruto had vacated beside Sasuke, her shoulder nearly touching his. Kiba slid in next to Hinata without missing a beat, already leaning toward her with a grin that showed his canines. Naruto paused for half a heartbeat before claiming the only remaining spot at the end of the bench—now separated from Sasuke by Sakura's perfumed presence.
Naruto picked at the paper napkin in front of him. He could feel the fabric of his sleeve rubbing against the bite mark, a constant, fevered reminder of what had happened less than two hours ago. If Sasuke had any opinion about it, he kept it buried behind that blank-eyed cool. Sakura, on the other hand, had moved on from subtlety: she touched Sasuke's forearm as she laughed, and when she caught Naruto's gaze, she winked—teasing, but edged with something sharp.
Naruto wished he could disappear under the table.
He stuck it out for ten minutes, answering Hinata's questions about the English final ("I think the curve will save me") and dodging Neji's pointed remarks about "the importance of self-advocacy among the lower caste." When Sakura started retelling the story of how she'd gotten banned from the campus pool for "aggravated lifeguard harassment," Naruto tuned out, fixating instead on the way Sasuke's hand rested on the back of the booth, inches from Sakura's shoulder.
He needed a break. Or a bathroom. Or, ideally, both.
Kiba caught the subtle panic and bumped Naruto's knee under the table. "Let's scope the pool tables, yeah? Maybe Gaara's already here." He didn't wait for an answer, just slid out of the booth and nodded toward the stairs.
Naruto followed, shoulders hunched as they cleared the table. The air felt cooler at the back of the bar, the bass thumping through the floorboards. Kiba glanced back at him, brow furrowed, then leaned against the pool table. "Dude, you're acting weirder than normal tonight," he said, lowering his voice. "What's going on with you and Uchiha? The tension back there was thick enough to choke on."
He grabbed a cue from the wall rack, avoiding Kiba's eyes as he fumbled with the chalk. Blue dust scattered across his fingers. "You want to break?" he asked, thrusting the triangle rack toward Kiba without acknowledging the question hanging between them.
Kiba studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, man. Whatever you need."
The pool game lasted exactly eight minutes, during which Naruto lost spectacularly but didn't care. His head wasn't in it—not with the constant, magnetic tug of Sasuke's presence at the far table, or the increasingly aggressive body language Sakura deployed every time Sasuke shifted in his seat. By the time Kiba sank the last stripe, Naruto had replayed the image of Sakura's hand on Sasuke's arm so many times it might as well have been branded on the inside of his eyelids.
They put away the cues and headed to the bar, which was now two rows deep with townies and off-duty servers. Kiba elbowed his way forward, unashamed, and flagged down the bartender with two fingers and a shout. "Hey, Akane! We'll do three more, and add whatever my guy here wants!" He nodded at Naruto, who hovered in the shelter of Kiba's broad shoulders, hood still up, hands jammed in the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt.
Akane lined up the drinks with practiced efficiency—three beers sloshing to the rim, two ciders with perfect amber clarity, and a pair of shots that glowed like liquid amber under the bar lights. "On the house," he said with a wink. "You look like you're having that kind of night." Naruto started to shake his head, but Kiba's hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Don't even try to argue," Kiba said, his grin wolfish in the dim light. "I can practically see the tension coming off you in waves."
Naruto's shoulders slumped in surrender. "Fine. Just this once."
Kiba nudged Naruto with his elbow. "Check it out," he muttered, nodding toward their table. "Sakura's practically in Sasuke's lap."
Naruto glanced over his shoulder. The pink-haired girl had eliminated any pretense of personal space, her body curved toward Sasuke like a question mark, knee pressed firmly against his thigh. Her laugh cut through the bar's din, too bright and sharp. In the corner, Hinata studied the amber depths of her drink as if it contained secrets, while Neji sat perfectly still, one arm stretched across the back of the booth, eyes methodically sweeping the room in slow, calculated arcs.
Naruto tore his eyes away, teeth grinding together. Something hot and sharp twisted beneath his ribs—not exactly jealousy, but its bitter cousin, the kind that reopens scars you thought had healed.
"Ready for another?" he asked Kiba, who was tetris-ing drinks onto a tray that had seen better decades.
Kiba's face split into a grin. Their glasses clinked, and Naruto tipped his head back. The liquor scorched down his throat, exploded in his gut, and somehow made the world steadier. He was setting the empty glass down when movement caught his eye—Neji, cutting through the crowd with the fluid economy of a predator who knows exactly where his prey is standing.
He braced himself. There was no way this wasn't intentional.
Neji slid onto a stool next to Naruto, ordering a whisky with two fingers raised. The bartender poured it neat, no ice. Neji's posture was relaxed, but every muscle in his body seemed coiled, ready to move at a moment's notice.
For a moment, neither spoke. Naruto could feel the attention from the table like static crawling across his skin. He dared a glance over his shoulder and caught Sasuke's gaze, dark and unblinking, a black hole in the mass of shifting faces. Their eyes locked for one hot second, and Sasuke's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Are you and Uchiha together?" Neji's voice was low, almost gentle, but the words cut through the music and chatter like a scalpel.
Naruto nearly dropped his glass. "What? No. Are you crazy?" He stared at Neji, but the Alpha's expression didn't so much as twitch.
Neji's mouth curled at one corner. "You don't have to be ashamed. It's obvious to anyone with a nose." He leaned closer, and the scent of his aftershave—clean, sharp, expensive—cut through the haze of old beer and incense. "Sasuke coated you so thoroughly in his pheromones that everyone here can smell it."
Naruto's stomach went cold. His mind reeled through the last hour: the way the hoodie clung to his neck, the bite mark, the lingering sense of being owned. "We're just roommates," he said, voice thin.
Neji's eyes softened around the edges as he traced his finger along the rim of his glass. "You're too nice, Uzumaki. That's your problem." He turned to face Naruto fully, their shoulders almost brushing. "Someone like Uchiha sees that and knows exactly how to manipulate it. He'll use your kindness against you until there's nothing left."
Naruto's fingers tightened around the glass. "I know what you're implying," he said, voice steadier than he expected. "But I make my own choices. Sasuke doesn't—" He caught himself, jaw clenching. "Nobody tells me what to do. Not him, not you." The words came out with an edge that surprised even himself, a flash of the stubborn kid he used to be before college complicated everything.
Neji's gaze softened, as if he pitied the whole messy situation. "I'm just saying, you have options." Then he leaned in, lips close enough that Naruto felt the words brush his ear. "If you ever get tired of him, let me know."
Naruto's hand froze mid-air, drink suspended between counter and lips. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. Wait—what? He blinked rapidly, trying to process Neji's words as they ricocheted around his skull. This was supposed to be about Kurama, about the investigation. Not... whatever this was. He set the glass down with a sharp clink, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. The conversation had veered so suddenly off-course he felt like he'd been shoved into oncoming traffic.
He risked another glance at the table. Sasuke's fists were clenched on the Formica, knuckles white, the tendons in his neck drawn taut. Sakura was still talking, oblivious or pretending to be, but Sasuke's attention was laser-locked on Naruto and Neji at the bar. Hinata watched as well, face unreadable behind the screen of her hair, but there was something sad in the set of her shoulders.
Neji stood, smoothed the front of his shirt, and turned to leave. He paused just long enough to let the air between them charge up with potential, then gave a short, respectful nod. "Enjoy your evening, Naruto." He moved off, steps precise, as if he was already calculating the consequences of what he'd just said.
Naruto set his drink down with a sharp click against the bar top, a retort forming on his tongue—something about not needing Neji's "options" and minding his own business. But the words evaporated when his gaze caught on a figure at the entrance. Red hair. A dark tattoo etched on pale skin above narrowed eyes. Gaara. Everything else—Neji, Sasuke's eyes, the whole crowded bar—blurred into background noise as Naruto's focus narrowed to a single point: the person who might finally have answers about Kurama.