The orange dawn through the dorm window was the only soft thing in 327. Everything else—the desk, the beds, the worn gray carpet—felt stridently institutional, scrubbed of warmth by fluorescent afterglow and the collective anxiety of its residents. Naruto sat cross-legged on the bed, a dull ache in his hips reminding him of the night before, and the morning before that, and every other morning for the past week.
He stared at the object in his palm: a translucent, robin's-egg blue pill case, the kind found in pharmacy checkout bins or on the keyrings of overprepared grandmothers. This one was no different, except that the days of the week had been carefully blacked out with permanent marker, leaving only the oblong compartments, each filled with a pink-and-white capsule. Birth control, technically, but Naruto could only think of it as insurance. The word 'contraceptive' made his cheeks burn, especially now, especially after Tsunade's lecture.
He ran a thumb over the smooth plastic, then thumbed the case open. The day's pill was still there, glinting in the slant of early sunlight. He tapped it out into his palm, closed his fist, and just sat for a moment, letting the shape press into the sweat-creased lines of his hand. It was impossible not to think of Tsunade in her office, white coat straining at the seams, voice sharpened to a surgical edge.
"If you're going to let an Alpha—" she'd started, then snapped her jaw shut, as if the words themselves might start a lawsuit. "If you're going to have unprotected sex, you'll take this every morning. Every. Single. Morning. Or you'll end up on the registry with a newborn and no legal recourse, and no one to blame but yourself. Do you understand?"
Naruto had nodded, face burning with a heat that wouldn't subside. Even now, the memory of Tsunade's sample pack sailing past his ear made his neck flush crimson. She'd lectured him first—"Next time just call me"—then sighed that heavy, disappointed sigh before yanking open a drawer and fishing out the pills. "These come with your suppressants from now on," she'd said, voice clinical but eyes knowing. Those five words—"You need to be on birth control"—had triggered something primal in him, an electric current that still buzzed beneath his skin, impossible to ground.
He popped the pill in his mouth, dry-swallowed, and shut the case with a click.
On Sasuke's side of the room, all was perfect silence. The blanket on the bed was smooth and flat as a pressed shirt, the pillow exactly centered, as if Sasuke had measured its position with a ruler before leaving for his morning run. His desk was nearly bare, only a single laptop and a charging cable on the surface, with textbooks stacked vertically at the edge. No sign of the chaos of the night before, the rawness, the mess.
Naruto looked at his own side and grimaced. Papers everywhere: printouts, notes, pages torn from the student directory. Three pens (one empty, one half-chewed, one with the cap gnawed off) and an open notebook where he'd been mapping out the timeline of Kurama's disappearance. The edges of the desk had been worn smooth by years of anxious elbows. A bowl with the crusted remains of instant noodles from yesterday sat precariously close to a stack of photos. Naruto's phone, screen lit up with half a dozen missed messages from Gaara, buzzed again and then stilled.
He reached for a marker, then hesitated. Instead, he let his hand drift to the side of his neck, where the shadow of a bruise was just visible in the mirror. Not a full bite—Sasuke never bit him hard enough to break skin, not unless Naruto begged—but enough to leave a fingerprint. Above that, a necklace of smaller bruises traced his collarbone, each one fading from blue to green to that sickly yellow that signaled another day, another round of explanations. He tugged the collar of his shirt higher, but it did nothing to hide the memory of Sasuke's mouth.
The worst part was, every time he saw the bruises, he wanted more. He wanted the rush, the clench, the feeling of being split open and filled, even as his rational brain insisted he should want to be anywhere else. He should be finding his brother, not letting an Uchiha use him up and spit him out like a spent cigarette.
Naruto's fist tightened until the pill case bit into his skin, leaving tiny half-moon indentations across his palm. He dragged his attention back to the scattered notes before him. Chimera Protocol. Juinjutsu, Inc. Second phase. Orochimaru. Uchiha Corp. The words swam together—fragments that refused to form a complete picture. According to Gaara, Tamari's boyfriend Shikamaru hadn't cracked the school's database yet despite working day and night. The waiting was the worst part.
The door rattled; Naruto's head snapped up. A beat, then two. He tucked the pill case under his pillow and swept a hand across the desk, pushing notes and wrappers into a single pile. He'd gotten good at this—hiding evidence, smoothing out the chaos, making it look like he'd been working on homework instead of spiraling. Sasuke had a nose for disorder; he'd notice if anything was off.
Sasuke's footfalls were as precise as everything else about him. He entered the room, gaze flicking from Naruto's messy nest to his own blank desk, then back to Naruto with that unreadable tilt of his head. He wore a black compression shirt and track pants, his hair still damp from the run. The Alpha was a force of nature in a room this small; even just standing there, he seemed to crowd out the air, oxygen drawn toward him like gravity.
Sasuke turned then, sweat tracing a glistening path down the column of his neck, disappearing beneath the tight compression shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle. Naruto's mouth went dry. The Alpha's scent hit him in waves—clean sweat mixed with something darker, earthier—making his inner Omega whimper. Sasuke's eyes caught his stare, pupils dilating slightly before his lips curved into that infuriating smirk. He stalked across the room with predatory grace, each step making Naruto's pulse quicken and his thighs press together involuntarily.
The fog of desire cleared from Naruto's mind as he recognized the predatory intent in Sasuke's eyes. He'd promised Gaara he wouldn't bail on lunch again. "I can't right now," he said, pressing his palms against Sasuke's chest as the Alpha leaned closer. "I said stop!"
Sasuke's jaw tightened, but he retreated to the desk chair with fluid grace. "Since when do you have plans?" he asked, voice low and controlled.
Even the way Sasuke sat in a chair made Naruto's mouth go dry. The Alpha lounged there like he owned the furniture, all lean muscle and sharp angles. Naruto blinked hard and forced his gaze away. This was getting ridiculous. Without answering, he stood and gathered his things, shoving the notebook filled with Kurama research into his backpack. The weight of Sasuke's stare followed him across the room, patient and expectant. Naruto zipped his bag with more force than necessary. "Meeting Gaara for lunch," he finally muttered, not looking back.
Behind him, the chair creaked as Sasuke stood. Naruto's pulse quickened; his teeth found his bottom lip without thinking. What would Sasuke do? The thought flashed through his mind before he could stop it. He shook his head sharply. No. Not again. As Sasuke's footsteps approached, Naruto grabbed his backpack and bolted for the door without looking back.
—
The cafeteria at Konoha Elite College was designed for maximum efficiency and minimal joy. The overhead fluorescents reduced everyone's skin to a palette of sickly shades, the sneeze guards on the buffet line glared with backlit fingerprints, and the noise level was always two notches higher than comfortable. Every surface was engineered to be easily wiped down, every meal tray the exact shade of beige calculated to suppress appetite and conversation alike.
Naruto perched at a two-top in the dead center of the dining hall, a plastic fork clutched tight in his right hand. He'd been staring at the same square of meatloaf for almost ten minutes, having managed only to carve it into progressively smaller and more unrecognizable chunks. The vegetables had gone cold, fusing themselves to the partitioned tray. The mashed potatoes oozed into the green beans in a slow-motion landslide, but Naruto didn't seem to notice.
Gaara sat across from him, back straight as a ruler, hands resting on a napkin he'd folded into perfect quarters. In just a week, he'd become Naruto's confidant, a surrogate brother when Naruto needed one most. His tray contained nothing but a glass of water, which he occasionally lifted to his lips with mechanical precision. Those pale green eyes studied Naruto without blinking, patient as a desert predator. The silence stretched between them until, apparently satisfied with his observations, Gaara finally spoke.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Naruto's head snapped up. "About what?"
Gaara blinked, unphased by the defensiveness. "You haven't touched your food, and you keep looking at your phone. That usually means something's wrong."
Naruto opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Gaara had a way of skipping past social preamble and landing on the truth in a single bound. There was no point in pretending. Naruto toyed with the edge of his tray, then exhaled in defeat.
"I'm…" He fished for a word, any word that wasn't the truth. "Distracted."
Gaara nodded. "Because of your brother?"
Naruto hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, but that's not—" He took a steadying breath. "It's Sasuke."
Gaara's eyebrows lifted by a fraction, the bare minimum required to signal surprise. "Is something wrong with Sasuke?"
"No," Naruto said, "I mean… yes, but not—" He grimaced, then forced the words out. "We've been, uh. Hooking up."
The phrase sounded juvenile in the echo chamber of the cafeteria. He regretted it immediately.
Gaara processed this for a moment, then gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. "Is it serious?"
Naruto stabbed at the meatloaf with enough force that the plastic fork bent sideways. "I don't know," he said, voice cracking. "I think it is? But I don't—" He set the mangled utensil down, fingers trembling slightly. "I've never hooked up with anyone before. I don't know what's normal or what it's supposed to feel like when it's..." He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on his tray. "When it means something."
Gaara's gaze was unwavering, his pale eyes cool and clinical. "Do you want it to be serious?"
Naruto's face went hot, the color rising up his neck so fast he half-expected steam. "I—I don't know," he lied. Then, seeing Gaara's expression, he said, "Maybe. I think? But that's stupid, right?"
"No," Gaara said, as if the answer were obvious. "It isn't stupid." He let the words settle, then followed up. "Do you think he cares about you?"
Naruto chewed on the inside of his cheek, then shrugged. "That's the weird thing—sometimes he does seem to care. A little too much, even. Last night he, uh..." His voice dropped as he traced a finger along the edge of his tray.
Gaara seemed to understand the implication without further explanation. "So what is the problem?"
Naruto's jaw clenched, then released. His fingers traced the edge of the lunch tray. "He hasn't said anything. Not once." He glanced up, then away. "Last night he practically growled when I mentioned going to the library with Kiba, but then this morning, nothing. Just... silence. He acts like he cares, but he's never actually said it."
The next question was delivered with surgical bluntness. "Are you in love with him?"
Naruto's fork slipped, skittering across the tray and landing on the floor with a clatter. He ducked to retrieve it, buying himself a few seconds of cover. When he straightened up, he tried to keep his voice steady. "I think I'm falling for him," he said, voice barely more than a whisper.
Gaara regarded him with an intensity that was almost comforting. "Then you should tell him."
Naruto stared, as if the solution had never occurred to him. "What if he doesn't feel the same?"
Gaara's head tilted, birdlike. "Then you'll know. Better than not knowing."
Naruto shook his head, vehement. "It's not that simple. We're stuck as roommates. And I still need him for the Kurama stuff. If I fuck this up, I lose everything. The investigation, my shot at finding my brother, maybe even my dorm room. You know how hard it is to get reassigned in the middle of the semester?"
Gaara's lips curled into what might have been a smile, or just an exposure of teeth. "You could move in with me."
Naruto almost choked on air. "What?"
"You could," Gaara said, as if the idea was utterly unremarkable. "I have an extra room, no one is using it."
Naruto didn't know how to respond to that, so he pretended to study the fractured remains of his mashed potatoes. After a minute, he said, "I already tried to get a room change, when they first assigned me with Sasuke. They wouldn't let me."
Gaara's gaze did not waver. "You made the request before you ever met him. That's unusual."
A bead of sweat ran down Naruto's temple. He forced a smile, but his eyes darted to the cafeteria entrance, as if hoping for rescue. "I guess I was just paranoid," he offered, voice cracking. "Didn't want to get murdered in my sleep."
Gaara continued to stare, his expression unreadable. For a long time, neither of them spoke. In the background, the clatter of trays and the drone of students rose and fell, the world beyond their table oblivious to the crisis unfolding in Naruto's chest.
At last, Gaara relented. "If you ever need a place to crash," he said, "the offer stands."
Naruto nodded, relief and something like guilt mixing in his stomach. He reached for his water glass, fingers trembling, and took a long sip.
The conversation drifted elsewhere—Temari's search in the schools data base, Gaara's continued search through his fathers paperwork—but Naruto's thoughts kept sliding back to Sasuke like water finding its lowest point. The curve of his mouth when he almost smiled. The way his fingers had gripped Naruto's hip that morning, leaving five perfect bruises. Naruto caught himself mid-nod, realizing he'd missed Gaara's question entirely. He pressed the heel of his hand against his thigh, trying to anchor himself to the present, but Sasuke's scent lingered in his memory, dark and insistent as a promise.
Lunch wound down. Gaara stood first, gathering his tray with military efficiency. "You'll text me if anything happens?" he said, voice softer than before.
"Yeah," Naruto replied, and meant it.
Gaara left, silent as a ghost, threading through the crowd with impossible ease. Naruto watched him go, then turned his attention back to the tray. The food was stone cold, but he forced down a bite, chewing methodically.
He wondered, for the thousandth time, whether telling the truth would be worse than hiding it.
Probably.
But maybe not forever.