Chapter Text
Quiet Nights Poured Over Ice ( and everything is shattering)
It’s a little after four in the morning, the musky smell of sex and sweat hangs in the air, but it’s been more than an hour now and a chill, quiet permeates the room. Around them, there are posters taped haphazardly up on the walls, of soccer stars and baseball teams, misshapen piles of papers and junk scattered around the room, an old soccer ball in the corner, childhood toys (like the ties they’d stolen from Itachi to play ninja with) strewn about and pictures too. Nearly every one depicts the same three children, three heads (blonde, black, pink) bent together, laughing or fighting, or making silly faces.
Beside him, on the bed they’d made forts in as kids, Sasuke doesn’t stir. The duvet has slipped down enough that his shoulder’s exposed and fine collarbones on display, defiant hickies already bruising for the whole world to see.
Like this, Uchiha Sasuke is beautiful. His dark hair splayed out, ink-like on the pillow, long eyelashes casting tiny shadows flush against his pale cheeks. He has a certain aristocratic look, like a noble out of a surreal fantasy or something, high, delicate cheekbones and a strong nose, sharp chin too. His fingers are long and slender, like a pianist or perhaps a swordsman, one laying palm facing upwards on the pillow beside his face, loosely curled; the other is entwined in his bed partner’s own, much stockier, hand, fingers tangling.
Naruto tucks the covers around them both, up to Sasuke’s chin, watching as his best friend’s chest rises and falls softly. The cover shields the black flower pattern, tucked small in the juncture between his neck and collarbone, a soulmark.
Outside the hush sound of rain seems to mute the sounds of the town, drowning out any sounds that might be heard in the quiet before daybreak.
It might be easier, perhaps, if this thing between them is something sudden and unexpected. If this happens because one of their fights getting too heated, and they turn to a different outlet, hot mouths crashing together, hands wandering and gripping and angry. If they were kissing blood and snarls away.
But that’s not how this happens. And it’s not how this began either.
Two boys in the dark whispering about destiny and fate and “I don’t have one” whispered fearfully to the other and then “I don’t believe in them anyway” the other breathes, like sin. “Can ! – can ! see yours, your mark?” A black cherry blossom, in a perfect closed bud, and then their heads are leaning closer, eyes locking in the silence of the night, an inhale and closer still…
In this quiet, it’s so so easy to imagine that they’re lovers, that tomorrow he can wake up to Sasuke smiling at him, devoid of the shadows that have marked his face so recently. That tomorrow he can bring Sasuke his coffee, half a teaspoon of sugar and a generous splash of rich cream, in bed and kiss him good morning. That tomorrow they can hold hands and go on a date and –
But a tomorrow like that will never come.
Because they will never hold hands, or go on dates, because despite the lasting kisses, the sex, because despite knowing the exact way he likes his coffee, because despite all their desperately whispered promises, and desperation?
Naruto knows he doesn’t stand a chance. That Sasuke, whether he knows it or not, always goes back to Sakura, no matter how much he claims to be annoyed by her. They gravitate and call to each other in a different way than he does with Naruto. And with her, he’s even tempered, kinder, even tender, but with him – with him, they bring out the worst in each other. Bruising, and biting, and bloodied until it begins to feel like watching a car crash. Naruto loves him, so much it aches, but he knows it will end.
He’s never told Sasuke that he’s always known who the only other person in the world to bear the black cherry blossom bud is. And that he’s probably prevented two soulmates finding out about each other, two souls made perfect for each other. And that he’s kept his bestest friends from their destined happiness.
And Naruto doesn’t care that it’s selfish, because it’s still nice to imagine and pretend. That maybe in some other universe, he and Sasuke might be in love instead of whatever this farce is between them. That they might somehow work out, not some dirty secret like they are now but something real, and maybe he might get something back instead of always being the one giving. They’ll buy that house out on the hill by the forest, build a pool there so they can play waterpolo in summer, and have enough room for baseball games round the back. They’ll have nights where they snark at each other, holding glasses of Tanqueray close. They’ll bicker about the colour of the living room walls, the last person to fill the ice tray up, which soccer team is best, what they should name their kids…
He swallows, and turns his head to look again. He knows people have called Sasuke hot, cute, dashing even. He knows that some might call the boy beautiful.
Devastating – is what he thinks instead. His heart clenches.
Naruto is so desperately in love with this boy, this devastating boy. He has been for so long, but what they have isn’t real. Sasuke is meant for greater things than this sleepy town, where his ambitions are stifled, and people remain stuck and forgotten. Sasuke isn’t meant to be chained to a penniless orphan boy, with no real hopes or dreams, and unmarked.
He knows that if he asks, he can make Sasuke stay, not forever, just a little while longer. Prolong the inevitable.
Uchihas are not meant to be constrained like this. Naruto is not meant for Sasuke, not like this, unmarked and marked.
Naruto was a fool for ever thinking otherwise.