Chapter Text
Sasuke slips back into Konoha under the periwinkle evening sky. There’s a small crevice in the outer stone walls, hidden behind an outcropping of boulders and overgrown foliage. He heaves himself onto sun-baked stone, toes a few unwieldy branches to one side, and slides down through the opening.
He emerges cautiously on the other side, deposited into a sparsely populated neighborhood, more abandoned, open field than residential. The expanse of dried grass is bordered by a distant line of rundown traditional-style houses. Clothes lines stream at haphazard angles, wheelbarrows and other farming equipment gather moss beneath them, a stray cat leaps from the tiled roof of one abode to the adjacent.
The cacophony and spectacle of the mid-summer festival doesn’t reach this far out from the village center. Instead, the warm, grass-scented air gusts gently across the dried grass, and the occasional dog bark overlays the nightly chorus of crickets.
Sasuke crouches close to the perimeter and keeps his motions contained. He follows the wall, letting the darkening night cloak his slinking. Eventually, the unkempt grass becomes a dirt path that snakes its way into a less rural section of the village. Sasuke steps nimbly between rocks, broken tiles, empty sake bottles, and discarded knickknacks. He flits across an alleyway, the faint cadence of laughter echoing down towards him. The lampposts are dripping with red streamers and paper lanterns.
There are a handful of streets between him and his destination now. Sasuke eyes his surroundings with mild distaste, grimacing at the distant sound of drumming and the red glow of festival lamps. He turns and leaps onto the nearest rooftop, its wooden shingles creaking under his weight. Light on his feet, he traverses one, two, three rooftops before landing neatly before the torii gates of an old stone shrine, its lanterns unlit and dusty, its shimenawa draped unevenly. Behind the shrine, there’s a small grove of maple trees, and behind that, an abandoned tea house, hidden away on the furthest edges of the Uchiha property. His shoulders finally loosen.
He toes his sandals onto the engawa, slides open the shoji, and drops his travel pack onto the tatami mats. The space is a standard affair, not much bigger than his childhood bedroom. There’s a low table in the middle, a kettle and portable gas stove on the tokonoma, and a sleeping mat rolled out along the opposite wall. At the head, there’s a stack of worn books, a few loose scrolls, and an incense holder. At the foot there’s an old shelving unit, dragged to the tea house from one of the other derelict Uchiha residences.
Arranged inside are the items Sasuke could bear to bring from his parents house: a desiccated lotus pod from the garden, packages of incense, a particularly black river rock found in Itachi’s room, and his mother’s porcelain teacups, which he never touches. Alongside those are spare knickknacks he’s gathered since his return to Konoha: a poorly-whittled, wooden fox from Naruto, a random omamori charm—also from Naruto—, a half empty pack of cigarettes from Shikimaru, a branch of dried lunaria flowers from Sakura, and several odd tea cups of his own, picked up during his travels.
Sasuke goes out back to the well. There’s a small basin by the spout—he fills it, sheds his clothing, and cleans himself in a perfunctory manner. Once he’s done, he steps into fresh clothing and fills the kettle as well. Inside, he sets it on the stove and lights the gas with a match—he could light it himself, he supposes, but he’s never been any good at producing gentle flames.
From a scuffed wooden caddy, he shakes a handful of dried tea material into an earthenware vessel—an old shiboridashi purchased from a flea market in the Land of Rivers. The leaves from his aunt’s overgrown tea trees are unevenly withered, non-uniform in size, and tossed in together with stems and buds. Sasuke doesn’t know a single thing about processing tea, a fact which didn’t deter him from inexpertly harvesting from the abandoned tea garden, trying fruitlessly to recreate a taste from childhood.
Still waiting on the kettle, he rummages through the cupboard under the tokonoma for dinner, finding only a serving’s worth of dry rice and a jar of pickled plums--he didn’t bother to stop at a market on his way home. Ochazuke it is, then.
There are soft footfalls along the cracked wood of the engawa.
“No,” Sasuke intones without turning. He focuses on pouring from the kettle to the shiboridashi. Fragrant steam blossoms upwards from the lip.
“Get fucked,” Naruto replies without missing a beat.
Sasuke bits the inside of his cheek. He’s filled with dread. He’s filled with longing. Naruto pads across the floor and kneels opposite Sasuke at the table. The blond’s in his festival happi and pants, both a garish orange. He flushed in the cheeks, smiling boyishly, one forearm propped up on the table, the other arm dangling a plastic bag from two fingertips.
“Brought ya some dinner.” He shakes the bag invitingly.
“Don’t need it,” Sasuke replies automatically, a response based on principle.
Naruto’s grin remains steadfast and easy. He sets the bag down and shuffles to the drawers to fetch a tea cup. Sasuke peeks into the bag while the blonde’s back is turned—handmade onigiri wrapped in wax paper, probably from the festival. A vague pang of hunger twists his gut.
“Hey Sasuke,” the blond begins, sliding his cup next to Sasuke’s just as he’s about to pour. “Come out to the festival with me—after this.” He unwraps one of the onigiri, splits it in two, and hands one half to Sasuke, filling-end first. It’s salted salmon and burdock root.
Sasuke plucks it from the other’s hand before it can get used as a bargaining chip. “No,” he responds shortly, biting into warm rice.
“Eh, come on, Sasuke,” Naruto whines through his own mouthful. “The stand by Ichimaru’s has half-off sake. Kiba’s obliterated right now—think about how badly you could rile him up, I know how you love that.”
It’s a tempting prospect, to be sure. “Why the fuck would I want to hang out with your drunk friends, Naruto?” He asks instead. The idea of walking into the village center is nearly sickening.
“Sakura’s been waiting for your return all week! She’d be stoked to see you,” the blond tries instead.
“I’m sure Sakura will live,” Sasuke reponds dryly, blowing across the top of his tea. He takes a sip. It’s bitter, overly vegetal, and unpleasantly earthy, easily the worst tea Sasuke’s ever tasted. He drinks it every night.
Naruto sighs unhappily and brings his own tea cup to his lips. Sasuke observes the way that his forearms contract with the motion, the slight swell of his bicep, the gentleness with which his fingers cradle the cup. He swallows down some undefined emotion.
The blond’s features twist into a grimace. “God, that’s vile,” he’s frowning into the tea as though personally offended.
Despite himself, Sasuke feels his hackles rise. “Give it back then, if you don’t like it.”
Naruto turns his frown on Sasuke. “No, fuck you, it’s mine.”
There’s a long silence, punctuated by sipping and chewing.
“Surprised Suigetsu’s not out tonight,” Naruto diverts to neutral territory. “Seems like his scene, ya know. Matching Kiba drink for drink.”
Sasuke swallows the last of his half. “Took a detour to the Land of Waves on the way back—a lead on another sword, probably.” He and Suigetsu had left a month prior to escort Juugo to an apprenticeship at an animal sanctuary in the Land of Valleys.
Naruto snickers, “Be honest. Is that guy overcompensating for something?”
Sasuke flicks a stray clump of rice at the blond. “Wouldn’t know.” He reaches for another onigiri.
“Not what I’ve heard,” Naruto responses, tone salacious. Sasuke rolls his eyes. Lately, the blond’s fixated on a rumor that Sasuke and Suigetsu slept together—no doubt started by Karin after the two of them excluded her from a night out. Naruto seems entirely convinced of its veracity, despite Sasuke’s denial. Frankly, it’s bewildering.
“Not my type,” Sasuke replies shortly, trying to prevent the conversation from progressing further.
“Hmm,” Naruto responds in kind, nodding thoughtfully. “Juugo then?”
Sasuke scoffs, “Not a chance,” as though he hasn’t entertained the thought once. Or twice.
“Karin?”
Sasuke glares and Naruto cackles.
The blond perseveres gleefully. “Eh, how about, hmm—Gaara?”
“Pretty sure that’s your type, dobe,” Sasuke retorts calmly, alarmed when Naruto sputters around his tea.
“Wha—no!” The blond’s face is tomato red and turned away. Hot jealousy spikes through Sasuke. He tells himself to let it go and the moment passes.
“You know,” Naruto announces abruptly, “you don’t have to keep sneaking back into Konoha.” Immediately, Sasuke feels his shoulders tense and climb. “You’re free to come and go.”
“No, I’m not,” the brunet intones. He thinks of Sakura’s mouth, frozen open in absolute disbelief and betrayal. Of Kakashi’s stare as it hardens into something lethal. Unending disgust for the things that cannot be undone.
“You were exonerated.” Naruto presses, as he always does.
Sasuke feels as though he’ll choke on his own sudden grief. “Only technically.”
The blond visibly deflates. His lips are thin, eyebrows drawn together. Worst of all, Sasuke suspects that the sad gleam in those blue irises is pity. It’s utterly intolerable. The brunet wants to leave, but he’s already in his own dwelling. He wants to run, but he’s just returned.
Finally, Naruto sighs, “Just. Just come—to the festival. With me,” quietly into the last onigiri before shoving a third of it into his mouth.
Sasuke exhales with his whole body. “It’s better if I don’t.”
“I want you there.” The admission is quiet, but steady with conviction.
Sasuke snorts, a short, sad thing. His heart sputters momentarily, then returns to normal. “That’s because you’re a dobe.” Who doesn’t know what’s good for him, goes unsaid.
The brunet stands, gathers the wax wrappings and plastic bag, and bundles them into the trash basket. He stoops to retrieve his travel pack, reaches into the front pocket, and retrieves a small, cloth wrapped tin. He shoves it at Naruto, who scrambles to catch it as it’s pushed into his chest.
“Wha—sweets?” The blond asks giddily, tossing the furoshiki carelessly to the side, like a used tissue.
The tin is filled with three rows of brightly colored confections—round rice cakes with various fillings. Sasuke had bought it in the Land of Valleys, with the blond in mind.
“The pink is sweet bean,” the brunet mutters, waving a hand loftily. “The orange and purple have apricot and plum jam.”
He doubts Naruto’s even heard him—the blond’s already shoved one into his mouth, one cheek bulging as he chews away loudly.
“Oh my god,” he hears the blond whisper after swallowing. “These are fucking delicious.”
Sasuke rolls his eyes and kneels back at the table, pouring some fresh hot water into the shiboridashi. When he glances back up from the task, the tin is empty and Naruto’s licking powdered sugar from his fingers. He grins playfully at Sasuke as he sucks the last vestiges off the side of his thumb.
“You’re so good to me, baby.” Despite the overly-facetious tone, the brunet feels his collar and cheeks flush. Naruto snickers. Sasuke feels off-center.
“Get out, Naruto,” Sasuke hears himself order. “I want to go to bed.”
The blond groans up at the ceiling. “Come on, at least tell me about your trip! You and Suigestsu always get up to such weird shit—”
“No, we don’t,” Sasuke immediately interjects. “He just gets us kicked out of every place we go.”
“But you go along with it.” Naruto’s got one index finger pointed straight at him.
“Only under duress.”
“Whatever!” The blond waves his hand around as though the distinction is irrelevant. “I want that side of you—I want to see that side!”
Personally, Sasuke’s not sure there’s anything for Naruto to witness.
“Tomorrow,” he promises anyway. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
Again, Naruto sighs unhappily as he heaves himself to his feet. He pauses at the entrance to slide his sandals on, pouting as he does so.
“Go hang out with your friends, dobe,” Sasuke encourages, trying to lighten the blond’s disappointment.
Naruto huffs. “I’m trying man.” He’s shaking his head in the manner he always does when he thinks Sasuke’s an idiot. “I’m trying.” The blond then jumps off the engawa and departs with a backwards wave.
Sasuke sips his tea and watches as the garish orange of Naruto’s clothing fades into the night. He holds the tepid liquid in his mouth, letting it settle on his tongue until it no longer registers the bitterness. Then he swallows it down.