Chapter Text
Naruto collapsed onto his bed, his heart pounding against his ribs as if it were trying to break free from his chest.
The Uzumaki-Namikaze house was a haven of warmth in the heart of Konoha, with its polished wooden walls that smelled of cleanliness and his mother's home-cooked meals.
That night, the moon filtered through the blue cotton curtains, casting dancing shadows on the carpeted floor where his ninja shoes and a crumpled jacket lay scattered. The air was thick with the lingering scent of dinner—homemade ramen, of course, because his father always insisted it was the food of champions—but Naruto barely noticed.
His room was an organized chaos: posters of legendary heroes plastered on the walls, a forgotten kunai on the desk, and his unmade bed with tangled sheets that now clung to his sweaty skin. He felt like a thief in his own home, locked behind the wooden door that creaked slightly when he turned the key, as if that could keep the remorse gnawing at him at bay.
It had all started the morning before. The memory hit him again, sharp and painful: the training field, dust kicking up in clouds under their boots, the sun filtering through the leaves. Sasuke had taken him down in two seconds flat, that arrogant smirk curling his lips as he looked down at him. "Idiot." The word still echoed in his ears, mixed with the rage and humiliation that had driven him to steal the notebook. He just wanted something embarrassing to show Sakura, something that would make her forget about him forever.
Now, locked in his room with the door bolted and his heart thumping in his throat, Naruto felt like the worst thief in the world.
If asked, Uzumaki Naruto couldn't say exactly when he started hating Uchiha Sasuke.
He didn't have a specific date. No day marked in red on the calendar.
Their families got along well. He knew that because they'd told him a thousand times. Iruka-sensei had tried to explain it with adult words: something about political tensions, about a possible coup that the Fourth Hokage had prevented at all costs. Naruto had only understood half of it. He just registered that, at some point, the Uchihas and the Namikazes had been on the same side.
His father, Minato, had even told him once—with that calm smile that always seemed to have all the answers—that he'd like it if he and Sasuke became friends.
That it would be good.
That it was the right thing.
And his mother adored Mikoto. They laughed together in the kitchen. Shared recipes. Stories. Confidences.
Everything pointed to Naruto and Sasuke being inevitable.
But Naruto refused.
Because Uchiha Sasuke was a jerk.
And the worst part was that Naruto had tried. He really had. In the early years at the academy, he'd sit next to him, talk to him, crack jokes, invite him to train. He put in the effort.
And every time, without fail, Sasuke turned his back on him.
Silence. Coldness. A "don't bother me" without words.
A clean, surgical disdain.
Naruto didn't understand it.
He was nice. He was funny. He was the Hokage's son, for God's sake; people usually liked him before he even finished introducing himself. What was wrong with trying to be friends?
After months of blank stares and brush-offs, Naruto got tired. He gave up. Decided he wouldn't push where he clearly wasn't wanted.
Much later, he found out Haruno Sakura was obsessed with him.
With Sasuke.
And then everything was simpler.
Naruto decided, with the same determination he'd once used to try to be his friend, that he definitely hated Uchiha Sasuke.
The theft happened at night, during the C-rank mission that had taken them to the forest on the outskirts of Konoha. It was simple surveillance: tracking a group of minor bandits prowling the trade routes, nothing that required real combat, but enough for Kakashi to have them camp out one night to "practice discretion."
The forest was dense, with tall trees whispering under the night wind, the ground covered in dry leaves that crunched with every step, and the air heavy with the scent of resin and damp earth. They'd set up an improvised camp: a small campfire to avoid drawing attention, sleeping bags spread out in a clearing surrounded by bushes, and guard shifts to keep watch. Sakura had taken the first shift, sitting by the fire with a book in her hands, her green eyes reflecting the dancing flames. Kakashi, as always, was lost in his orange novel, leaning against a tree trunk in a pose that seemed relaxed but which Naruto knew was alert.
Luckily for him, that night Sasuke was the first to succumb to sleep—something that rarely happened. He was lying in his sleeping bag, back to the fire, his black hair splayed across the fabric like spilled ink, his breathing slow and deep, his face relaxed for the first time all day. The notebook peeked just barely from his side pocket, that damned book he always carried with him, the one Sakura had mentioned so many times with curiosity. Naruto, during his "rest" shift, couldn't resist.
He crept closer, his heart pounding so hard he swore Sasuke would hear it, the leaves crunching under his feet like traitors. The forest seemed to conspire against him: an owl hooted in the distance, the wind rustled the branches, and Naruto froze for a second, watching Sasuke's back rise and fall with each breath. With trembling fingers, he pulled the notebook out slowly, centimeter by centimeter, feeling the soft leather brush against the pocket fabric. Sasuke didn't move. Naruto hid it quickly in his own backpack, under a layer of provisions, and backed away, pretending to check the perimeter.
No one noticed anything.
At dawn, when Sasuke woke and patted his pocket with a subtle frown, Naruto feigned surprise along with the others.
"Maybe it fell out," he'd said, his voice too high, his stomach churning with guilt.
Sasuke said nothing, but his dark eyes swept the camp with suspicion, and Naruto knew he wouldn't let it go easily.
Now, back home with the loot in his hands, he wondered if it had been the worst mistake of his life.
He opened the notebook with trembling fingers, the soft leather under his touch, the Uchiha symbol embroidered on the cover gleaming under the dim light of his bedside lamp. Immediately, he felt ridiculously invasive, as if he were desecrating something sacred. The first page had a dedication, written in Itachi's elegant calligraphy:
Dear little brother:
To apologize for my long missions and time in ANBU, I wanted to give you this so you can carry the clan and your heart everywhere.
This is another book for you to write in. I noticed the old one was almost finished.
When i return from my mission with Obito and Shisui, I can seal it, if you want. That way no one else reads your thoughts.
Mom helped me embroider the Uchiha symbol sewn on the cover. I hope you like it.
Your big brother,
Itachi Uchiha
Naruto swallowed hard, a knot forming in his throat. Itachi, the prodigy, giving something so personal. Sasuke wasn't just a rival; he had a family that loved him, brothers who thought of him.
He flipped the pages carefully, finding random writings: descriptions of places in Konoha, like the serpentine river under the bridge where they used to train, or poetic phrases like "the wind carrying whispers of the past."
He was wondering on which page Sasuke had written something truly useful when he found the first poem.
Naruto read it, and his face flushed to his ears, heat rising up his neck like a flame.
Gleaming, twinkling
Eyes like sinking
Ships on waters
So inviting
I almost jump in
I don't like a gold rush,
I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush
I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you
Walk past, quick brush
I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush
Everybody wants you
But I don't like a gold rush
What must it be like
To grow up that beautiful?
With your hair falling into place like dominos
I see me padding across your wooden floors
With my blue t-shirt hanging from the door
My mind turns your life into folklore
I can't dare to dream about you anymore
At dinner parties
I call you out on your contrarian shit
And the coastal town
We wandered 'round had never
Seen a love as pure as it
And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea
'Cause it could never be
Gleaming, twinkling
Eyes like sinking
Ships on waters
So inviting
I almost jump in
Naruto blinked, stunned, his mind spinning like a whirlwind.
Who was Sasuke writing about?!
Since when did he write?!
The words were deep, intimate, as if Sasuke had poured his soul into ink. Naruto felt almost guilty, a weight pressing on his chest, but he couldn't stop.
The papers before him were irrefutable proof: Uchiha Sasuke was human, vulnerable, capable of falling in love like any idiot. He started racking his brain. Sasuke never looked at the girls in the academy, not like the others. Not even Sakura.
Naruto knew he should return it as soon as possible, but curiosity devoured him like a jutsu's fire.
Forget his stupid plan; he just wanted to read everything Sasuke had ever written.
He kept turning pages, finding more poems. One had him rereading several times:
You left your typewriter at my apartment
Straight from the tortured poets department
I think some things I always say
Like: Who uses typewriters anyway?
But you're in self-sabotage mode
Throwing spikes down on the road
But I've seen this episode and still love the show
Who else decodes you?
And who's gonna know you, if not me?
And who's gonna hold you like me?
Who was he writing to?
Naruto frowned, imagining Sasuke in love, with that focused expression he wore when writing, his black hair falling over his dark eyes, his lips barely moving as he searched for the perfect word.
Sasuke... in love?
The idea squeezed his stomach in a strange way, warm and painful at the same time.
Was it possible that this cold, distant Uchiha had a heart that beat like that for someone?
Well, this notebook was the proof
Naruto began to worry that Sasuke would rip his eyes out if he found out he was reading this.
But he couldn't stop.
The next poem hit him like a punch.
My love was as cruel as the village I live in
Everyone looked worse in the light
There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven
I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye
I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you
I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you
I've been sleeping so long in a hundred-year dark night
And now I see daylight, I only see daylight
Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky
And so I became the butt of the joke
I wounded the good, and I trusted the wicked
Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke
Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down
Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town
Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now
It's brighter now
And I can still see it all in my mind
All of you, all of me intertwined
I once believed love would be black and white
But it's golden
Like daylight
A broken sigh escaped him.
Sasuke wrote... Sasuke was incredible.
Naruto wondered if that stick-up-in-his-butt expression he always wore was because he was thinking about what else to write in his notebook.
The book was new; Naruto had seen him switch it out recently. That made him wonder if Sasuke had written things like this before, about not knowing if he was in love, or about a restlessness in the middle of the night.
Suddenly, Naruto felt a deep desire to read everything Sasuke wrote and more. He wanted to know if he had a favorite writer, if he drew inspiration from someone's style. How he built his ideas: did he rush to jot them down or save the thought for later? Probably the latter, that perfect idiot.
Naruto knew he should stop, put the notebook down, but... what if he'd written about him on some page? About Kakashi? He wanted to know.
I can see you.
I've been watchin' you for ages
And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it-
But what would you do if I went to touch you now?
What would you do if they never found us out?
What would you do if we never made a sound?
Cause I can see you smiling and covering my mouth
Naruto dropped the notebook for a second. Sasuke... was desiring, fantasizing. The idea was so strange, so intense, it took his breath away.
Besides, he never thought Sasuke liked dominant girls.
And I could see you up against the wall with me,
I could see you in your stupid jacket
And I could see you being my addiction
What would you do if you know
That I can see you?
Naruto swallowed hard. He recognized himself as a hormonal teenager, but he never imagined Sasuke was one too. That he even wrote about that.
He decided to start the other poem. He felt so guilty. Tomorrow he'd return it to Sasuke without him knowing. And if he finds out, he'd say he only read the first one... yeah! And ask him if he wanted to talk about the person he was writing about. Everyone liked Naruto! He was sure he could help him. Besides, she'd be thrilled with those poems. He hoped Sakura never found out about this side of Sasuke. Naruto was sure he couldn't compete with that.
But then came the poem that changed everything.
My boredom's bone deep
This cage was once just fine
Am I allowed to cry?
I dream of cracking locks
Throwing my life to the wolves
Or the ocean rocks
Crashing into him tonight
Naruto let the notebook slip from his hands.
What?
He read it once.
Again.
Him.
It said "him".
He read a couple more lines
Naruto let out a broken sound, half sob, half incredulous laugh.
Sasuke wasn't just writing about fantasizing with someone, but writing about a boy.
Sasuke...
Sasuke was writing about a boy.
He's a paradox
I'm seeing visions, am I bad?
Or mad? Or wise?
What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh
Only in my mind?
One slip and falling back into the hedge maze
Oh, what a way to die
I keep recalling things we never did
Messy top lip kiss
How I long for our trysts
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?
Sasuke was writing about a boy. About messy kisses, about bodies crashing in the dark, about desire so intense it hurt to read.
His mind fired off like a kunai out of control.
He reviewed every interaction Sasuke had with the boys on the team, from the academy, from anywhere.
Kiba: Sasuke barely looked at him, tolerated him with disdain.
Shikamaru: distant respect, nothing more.
Lee: ignored him almost completely.
Neji: cold rivalry, no warmth.
Kakashi: professional admiration, nothing romantic.
Choji: absolute indifference.
No one.
No one fit.
No one seemed enough to make Sasuke write like that, with that mix of adoration and torment.
And yet... the blush wouldn't go away. The heat wouldn't go away. The images wouldn't go away.
Naruto squeezed his eyes shut, but he saw them anyway: Sasuke against a wall, neck exposed, breathing ragged, lips swollen from fierce kisses. Sasuke flushed to his ears, eyes glassy, murmuring something unintelligible while hands—strong hands, shinobi hands—held him by the nape and kissed him until he was breathless.
Naruto snapped his eyes open, his chest heaving violently.
He ran his hands over his face again, trying to erase the images, but it only made the heat spread more.
Against what his head was screaming, he kept reading:
I keep these longings locked
In lowercase inside a vault
My brother told me:
"There's no such thing as bad thoughts
Only your actions talk."
These fatal fantasies
Giving way to labored breath
Taking all of me
We've already done it in my head
Naruto let out a choked sound from his lips.
What the hell?!
My bedsheets are ablaze
I've screamed his name
Building up like waves
Crashing over my grave
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?
This cage was once just fine
Am I allowed to cry?
When he finished, Naruto bit his lower lip so hard he almost drew blood. His mind filled with images without permission: Sasuke beneath him on the grass of the training field, sweat glistening on his collarbone, hair disheveled and stuck to his forehead, lips parted as he breathed heavily. And then, worse: Sasuke flushed, cheeks tinted a soft pink, eyes half-lidded as someone—a boy with a blurry face—pushed him against the wall, large calloused hands sliding up his waist, kissing him with hunger, with rage, with tenderness. Naruto imagined the sound Sasuke would make gasping against that unknown mouth, the way his fingers would dig into the other's back, the way his whole body would arch seeking more contact.
Sasuke in his bed, sheets tangled, face flushed, sweating, whispering a name Naruto couldn't hear while fingering himself thinking of that boy with the blurry face.
Did Sasuke want a boy? A shinobi? A comrade?
It drove him crazy.
Who?
Who was the idiot who had Sasuke so in love?
Contrary to what he was sure of, Sasuke didn't imagine himself in the future gently treating a woman or kissing her with tenderness and softness, or maybe he did, but when he wrote this, he had other things in mind. Maybe the scrape of stubble, brute force, tongues clashing, competition, even in kissing. Calloused hands from training.
Naruto began flipping the pages until something caught his eye on one.
There were small wrinkles on the sheet.
Naruto recognized them, remembered them well: the evidence of his mental battles when he tried to memorize history at the academy and couldn't, and he'd shed some tears of frustration that fell and then dried on the page.
Sasuke had cried writing this.
Just reading the poem's title made Naruto's stomach knot:
His Futuristic Lover.
One look, dark room
Meant just for you
Time moved too fast
You play it back
Buttons on a coat
Light-hearted joke
No proof, not much
But you saw enough
Small talk, he laughs
Ramen at midnight
He says, "Look up"
And your shoulders brush
No proof, one touch
But you felt enough
I can hear it in the silence,
I can feel it on the way home,
I can see it with the lights out,
He would be in love.
True love.
Morning, his place
Burnt rice, Sunday
You keep his shirt
He keeps his word
And for once, you let go
Of your fears and your ghosts
One step, not much
But it said enough
You kiss on sidewalks
You fight and you talk
One night he wakes
Strange look on his face
Pauses, then says
"You're my best friend"
And you knew what it was
He is in love
You can hear it in the silence,
You can feel it on the way home,
You can see it with the lights out,
You are in love
And so it goes,
You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round,
And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown,
And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars,
And why I've spent my whole life trying not to put it into words.
'Cause I can hear in the silence
I can feel it on the way home
I can see it with the lights out:
He would be in love with you,
Like I'm in love with him.
Sasuke's tears had left small wrinkles on the paper. Naruto touched them, the knot in his throat so big he could barely breathe. He couldn't imagine Sasuke crying. He couldn't stand the idea that someone had Sasuke so broken, so in love, and didn't want him back.
How was that possible?
Sasuke could have anyone he wanted. Naruto was sure he'd come in second himself.
Naruto dropped the notebook onto his chest, stared at the wooden ceiling with burning eyes, the blush still throbbing in his cheeks, his heart a knot of guilt, curiosity, and something bigger, hotter, more dangerous that he didn't dare name.
What the hell was he going to do now with everything he knew?
How was he going to look Sasuke in the eyes tomorrow without everything he'd read burning on his face?
What the hell was he feeling?