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Seeing Sasuke behind bars was something Chouji wanted to avoid, generally speaking.
Most inmates incarcerated in Konoha’s quasi-prison didn’t stay longer than one month. They would be sent off to whichever prison within the Land of Fire the jurisdiction saw fit, and Chouji wouldn’t hear from them again.
The building was côte à côte with the T&I department, small windows allowing little light to pass through the iron bars of both structures. Isolated walls and wards placed on every surface made for weird decorations, and the tensely air-conditioned airflow of the units allowed little heat to pass the concrete flooring.
Chouji didn't like their prison.
To his chagrin, since the Uchiha's demise, the Akimichi were assigned with the upkeep of the inmates. The tasks included cooking, cleaning units and ensuring safety, but primarily, this new responsibility called for filing a lot of paperwork.
Chouji, as he walked down the empty hallways of the prison, handing out food, thought that paperwork was a better waste of his time than confronting silent and demoted inmates.
Sasuke was much the same in that aspect. Every time Chouji walked past his cell, he saw Sasuke meditating, legs crossed and arms loose by his sides. He never greeted Chouji on those rare occasions he’d hand him his food, and Chouji didn't mind— most of the inmates didn't talk with him.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted Sasuke anyway, humming a song as he crouched to slide over his food. “Here’s your lunch,” he then looked at Sasuke, who was staring at him uninterruptedly. “Is something wrong?”
“Why?” Sasuke asked, his brevity misunderstood by Chouji’s already limited knowledge of the man.
“You have to be more concise,” Chouji scratched his head, a wobbly smile on his lips. “Is there something wrong with the food?” It was the only other thing he could think of as to why Sasuke was even addressing him in the first place.
“No,” Sasuke didn't seem willing to talk anymore, and after a minute of awkward silence, Chouji turned to push the trolley forward.
He saw Sasuke the next day, and funnily enough, before Chouji could either greet the man or push his tray of food forward, Sasuke spoke up: “Why do you act like that around me?”
“Good evening,” Chouji raised his brows and pressed his lips into a thin line, pondering on the inquiry for some time: “How do I act?”
“Like nothing happened,” Sasuke’s reply was fast enough to interrupt Chouji’s line of speech. “You never honed me as a disappointment,”
Chouji pushed Sasuke’s tray into his cell and stood up to look at him. He was standing eerily close to the heavy bars of his cell, watching Chouji’s every movement. Chouji caught a glimpse of the handcuffs blocking his chakra pathways, wrists bruised and bloody from consistent attempts to break free. It goes to say that his cuffs were refastened every day.
“You did what you did,” Chouji’s words were chosen as carefully as when he’d have to talk to Ino on her bad hair days. It wasn't a pleasant experience, but he pressed forward, saying: “I have my faults— everybody has. I think your choices were the reaction and repercussions of everything that went wrong in your life. I can't hone you a disappointment because you aren't one,”
When Sasuke looked like he was expecting Chouji to continue, Chouji scratched at his scalp once more. “I’m not going to hold your actions over your head— I think everybody does that enough already,” Chouji had heard both Naruto and Sakura talk with Sasuke during their visits. If it were Chouji in Sasuke’s place, he would've been just as insistent on fleeing.
“Okay,” Sasuke said, crouching to pick up his food. He didn't say anything else and Chouji turned away once more, the glasses of orange juice rattling in their trays.
A week later, Chouji had to cook for the inmates again. This time he made sunny side eggs and rice with a serving of his best kimchi on the side. The moment he walked out of the kitchen to head for the corridors, he heard the voices of Sakura and Naruto crying and yelling at whatever Sasuke had chosen to frustrate them with that day.
He headed to Sasuke’s cell first, figuring that the loud noise was enough to wake the entire unit up with a frown. “Good morning,” he greeted the two loud enough to be heard over their bellows.
Sakura was hunched over on the concrete floor with tears in her eyes. She looked at him with an amount of annoyance Chouji didn't see fit as a greeting. Naruto nodded his head, but the frown on his expression didn't dissolve his anger.
“I think you should leave,” Chouji said as softly as he could. “It’s nine in the morning,” he added when the two of them looked at him, offended.
“You can’t throw us out,” Sakura said all matter-of-factly. Perhaps she came to the prison straight from the hospital, and that would explain her lack of rationale and the blue bags under her eyes.
“Uh— I’m pretty sure I can,” Chouji pushed his trolley just hard enough to make every tray rattle and shake. It was as much authority he allowed himself to show. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to have my food thrown back at me,” he smiled a little apologetically because as much as their attitude frustrated him, he sort of understood where it came from.
“Fine,” Sakura wiped her snot with her dainty handkerchief, a sound which didn't compliment the pale pink of the fabric well. She stood up and walked away with no regard for Naruto who attempted to fall in her steps. He waved Chouji goodbye.
Chouji wondered who kept letting the duo in for visits at ungodly hours. He hadn't been called on a patrol shift the past few weeks, but knowing Sasuke’s teammates, he wouldn't put it past them to visit with no regard to the other inmates whenever they found the time and nerves to do as much.
“Good morning,” he greeted Sasuke, crouching to slide over his hot food. Usually, he’d be one of the last inmates to receive his food, and the puff of steam warned burning tongues. Chouji thought little of it until Sasuke’s hands hovered over the rice, feeling the heat warm up his fingers.
Sasuke didn't greet him, but he did blink up at him shortly, his dark eyes less miserable and more apathetic. Perhaps it was gratitude Sasuke was trying to convey in the slight flutter of his eyelashes.
Chouji wanted to laugh, but he refrained, choosing to push the trolley forward and continue his round.
The only thing Chouji liked about the prison was its industrial kitchen. It had been rebuilt after the prison collapsed in on itself during the war, and the new appliances Chouji begged Shikamaru to approve were the best, functional investment the administration ever made— in Chouji’s biased opinion.
He was wiping the stainless steel countertop when his cousin waltzed in, her two ginger ponytails swaying and twirling as she jingled on her feet. “Are you done?” He asked her, not seeing the trolley he had sent her with anywhere near the door.
“I am!” She jumped to hug him, a smile on her face as she felt Chouji’s arms around her narrow shoulders. “The man with black hair said ‘hi’ back!” It wasn't often that Chiho helped at the prison, but she had been adamant to her parents that she, with her six years of age, was old enough to face criminals. “The one in cell forty-two!”
Apparently, she was old enough to face Sasuke Uchiha himself, handing him his food with the most childlike enthusiasm she could muster, and she was brave enough to greet him shortly, even receiving an answer from the otherwise silent inmate.
“Oh!” Chouji was indeed surprised. He let go of Chiho and went back to cleaning the kitchen before the next Akimichi doing rounds could jump on his back about his uncleanliness. “Sasuke doesn't talk much,” Sasuke barely spoke to his teammates.
“He seems nice,” Chiho sat down on the stool across from Chouji, not touching the newly sanitized surface, just like she had been taught to do. “Why’s he in here for? And why for so long already?” Chiho’s curiosity made it hard for Chouji to push away his first instinct of telling her about war crimes and betrayal.
“I think it’s best I explain it to you when you’re older,” Chouji said at last, smiling softly at her. “It’s a difficult situation to explain. Very complex,”
Difficult. Everything surrounding Sasuke’s incarceration was difficult. Shikamaru told him about the back and forth between him and the defense ministry of their country, showing him a few long letters providing contra arguments to any statement the other made.
“I want Sasuke gone,” Shikamaru told him one day, back slouched on the same stool Chiho had sat at a few weeks back. Chouji hadn't had a shift at the prison since then, and it was with delight that he prepared the inmate’s dinner once more.
He was searing onions, chemical compounds making his eyes water. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” With his fingers, he tore shiitake mushrooms apart into manageable strips, and he was happy he was only supposed to cook for twenty people.
Shikamaru sighed very loudly, and the black notebook he had been scribbling math equations in was left unattended for no longer than two seconds. “It isn’t. He’s a menace,”
“He had his reasons. We grew up with loving families,” Chouji let his statement linger in the air for a while, watching Shikamaru’s pencil move with experienced haste. “He didn't. Maybe try putting yourself in his shoes for once,”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m being narcissistic?” Shikamaru laughed, not looking up from the open page of his notebook. “I think Sasuke’s actions hold a lot more meaning than my silly ego,”
“You have your faults too,” Chouji said because it was the easiest thing he could’ve said to push Shikamaru’s buttons. Shikamaru knew Chouji never approved of his avenge of Asuma, he knew Chouji thought it’d be hypocritical to not hold Shikamaru accountable for his faults like everybody did with Sasuke.
Shikamaru stayed quiet after that, and he looked just as bothered having his serving of prison food presented under his nose. Chouji went on his merry way to deliver dinner to the inmates, a short round in which he had to wake more people up than not.
As he approached Sasuke’s cell, Chouji had to wonder if the air conditioner was pushing out sleep-inducing fumes, because he had never walked in on Sasuke sleeping, not even during his rare night paroles around the unit. “Uh— good evening,” he greeted, thinking perhaps Sasuke might sit up from his starfish position with the echoes of Chouji’s voice.
“Sasuke, dinner is ready,” at the sound of his name, Sasuke stood up rigidly as if he had been called for a mission instead of dinner downstairs.
Sasuke looked at him almost angrily, and he approached the bars, seeing Chouji crouch and slide over his food. When Chouji rose to his feet again, he watched Sasuke’s hands grip the metal tightly. “Your cuffs are loose,” Chouji held his hand expectantly, the routine of fastening the cuffs while unfamiliar to himself, a standard part of Sasuke’s day.
“I want out,” Sasuke whispered, even as he handed Chouji his wrists. Chouji didn't dare look in his eyes, the fresh cuts and bruises on Sasuke’s wrists told him enough about his well-being— or lack thereof.
With the best chakra control he could muster, Chouji let his hands glow green, healing some of Sasuke’s wounds even if the action went against the protocol. “I understand,” Chouji didn't know what else to say, and despite his clean record, his words rang true. He had seen enough inmates run themselves wild within the constraints of isolation, and Sasuke, regrettably, was no exception.
“I want to see the sky, sun, moon— anything,” Sasuke added, distinctively quiet. Chouji dared to look at him, his eyes bordering the edge of the Sharingan, but maybe Chouji hadn't been looking hard enough, and it was Sasuke’s desperation that made Chouji see red.
“Are you trying to ask me something?” Chouji asked, unsure if he wanted Sasuke to be more direct for the sake of it or his actual lack of understanding.
“Just ten minutes,” it sounded like a plea, the way Sasuke had said it, and Chouji preoccupied himself with the mechanics of his cuffs instead of watching his expression. “Take me to the courtyard— ten minutes,”
“Has nobody let you out since your arrival here?” Inmates were allowed a weekly courtyard visit after two weeks of incarceration, a deadline most inmates didn't surpass. Sasuke had been imprisoned for five months by then, and looking at his pale complexion in the middle of August should’ve told Chouji more than an immediate affirmation.
“No,” Sasuke shook his head, remembering the same protocol Chouji knew by heart. “It isn’t right— nobody but you listen,”
“Okay,” Chouji said after a moment of silence, trying to unpuzzle the lack of regulation within the prison’s walls. It infuriated him enough to want to throw the whole building up in the air. “Tomorrow at noon,”
“Just you and me, please,” Sasuke’s voice still held that pleading tone, which, interchangeably, made it easier for Chouji’s anger to simmer. Chouji wasn't sure if Sasuke added that to avoid the possibility of his teammates walking him around the courtyard Ino decorated with flowers and garden gnomes, or if he genuinely didn't feel comfortable around any of Chouji’s extended family who took care of the inmates whenever Chouji was busy elsewhere.
Whatever it was that led Sasuke to say what he had said, Chouji nodded because he wouldn't have called either Naruto or Sakura to come and destroy the quiet. If Sasuke was thinking of a way to take advantage of Chouji’s lax demeanor and break free, Chouji didn't really care. He’d put up a fight, and he doubted Sasuke could control his chakra after five months of being unable to twinge it slightly to the left or right.
Sasuke had always underestimated Chouji, and for good reason— Chouji hadn’t ever been as ambitious about combat as either he or Naruto. “Hope you enjoy the food,” he added, letting go of Sasuke’s wrists and watching them pick up the tray.
Sasuke looked like he wanted to say something, he opened his mouth before closing it again. “Your meals always taste the best,” he commented at last, quiet if not a little bit shy over his admission.
“Thanks,” Chouji smiled before turning to finish his shift.
Chouji didn’t get a lot of pushback from his cousin from whom he had taken away the noon parole shift, and after he had done a few rounds checking in on the inmates, he settled on turning to Sasuke’s cell. Unlike the day before, Sasuke appeared more calm, and he was back to sitting cross-legged on the floor, meditating. Chouji assumed he was meditating, anyway.
“Good afternoon,” Chouji greeted, fetching the keys inside of his pockets. Sasuke looked up at him, surprise clear on his expression.
“You came,” Sasuke said simply, standing up and showing Chouji the tight fit of his cuffs.
“I said I would,” Chouji shrugged, and upon the twist of the lock to Sasuke’s cell, the loud sound of the wards manipulating their chakra made Chouji shiver harder than the airflow of the air conditioner. “Come,” he held the door open for Sasuke, who walked out barefoot in an almost trance-like state.
Sasuke was unsteady on his feet as they walked over to the courtyard, a big, heavily secured door guarding their entrance like the plague. Chouji opened each one of the locks — a total of seven wards — and the two were greeted by the mid-August sun, a warm breeze perturbing the cold, dry corridors of the prison.
Chouji looked at Sasuke squinting his eyes at the sun, and what should’ve been a funny scene, made Chouji more miserable than amused. Seeing Sasuke in broad daylight made him appear more frail and weak than the muted, cool-toned lighting behind the bars did. His cheekbones were sunken and his wrists, the only skin exposed beside his neck, face, and feet, were hanging loosely from his thin ligaments.
He was paler than Sai, Chouji noted, and the lack of color on his skin made Sasuke appear more like a ghost than a healthy, capable shinobi. “I’m sorry,” Chouji found himself saying, hoping Sasuke didn't take offense at the pitying way he was staring at him.
Sasuke didn't look at Chouji, he continued trying to adjust his eyesight to the daylight instead. “Why?” He asked, voice ragged and tired.
Chouji didn't answer, he didn't know what exactly he was apologizing for anyway. Instead, he walked further into the small courtyard, watching the slowly darkening leaves sway under the autumn breeze. “Ino takes care of the flowers,” he said, absentmindedly.
“Nobody comes here, no?” Sasuke could see the corridor leading to the courtyard from his cell, just like he could see the entry to the kitchen if he leaned far enough over the bars. He probably had seen more inmates come and go than Chouji had working there on a semi-regular basis.
“Besides Ino, not really,” Chouji was beginning to wonder if this was Sasuke’s attempt at small talk. He probably already knew how the prison processed inmates, the low capacity, and the way they secured the ward, so his asking about things he was well aware of was bizarre.
Sasuke swayed on his feet, feeling the grass tickle his toes and the sun warming his cheeks. He looked awkward standing the way he was, he shifted around as if his legs were unused to feeling the weight of his torso for longer than the moments he stood to fetch his food.
Chouji turned to give Sasuke some privacy, finding more interest in the fig tree than Sasuke’s reverie outside of his unit. A minute went by when he heard Sasuke’s cuffs clink against each other. He slowly turned to face him, seeing him struggle in his cuffs, his wounds from before open and bleeding.
He took a step closer to Sasuke, gently taking his hands away from his wrists. “I hate it here,” Sasuke whispered, and if he was talking about Konoha or the prison itself, Chouji was unsure. Something in his heart turned when he saw Sasuke’s desperate eyes, glassy in the sunlight.
Chouji couldn't help him, he couldn't reassure him either. At that moment, the only thing he could do was concentrate his chakra on Sasuke’s wounds, hoping at least some of the physical pain could go away.
He brought Sasuke back to his cell after a while, and it had never felt so hard for Chouji to close a door before.
He turned, and he left.
Sasuke didn’t vacate Chouji’s mind after his last shift, he had been too busy to even think of anything other than work. He had broken his left arm, and so, he was called to cook at the prison in the evening once more.
He made his rounds, handing out food to fewer inmates than last time. Chouji thought it to be a good thing, and while he cooked a hearty meal consisting of beef stew and pickled radish, he wondered about Sasuke’s well-being once more.
“Good evening,” he saved Sasuke’s portion for last— he had an idea. He waited, half-expecting Sasuke to greet him back. When he continued staring at his waiting form, Chouji asked: “Want to eat in the courtyard?”
Sasuke’s eyes lit up for a brief moment, and he stood on wobbly legs, hands reaching over the bars for Chouji to check his cuffs. Chouji fetched his keys, looking at the healed bruises on Sasuke’s wrists with a small smile. “It’s yours,” he waved at Sasuke’s tray on top of the trolley, hoping he’d understand the inflection in his voice.
Sasuke took his tray, and he followed Chouji down the corridor, mindlessly looking at him open the locks on the door. He was half expecting Sasuke to fetch his keys, but with the distance the tray put between them and Sasuke’s weak steps, he didn't worry much.
They walked to the narrow bench in the corner of the courtyard, and Sasuke began eating very slowly. “What’s with your arm?” Chouji was surprised to hear Sasuke initiate a mild conversation. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in the two weeks Chouji had been away.
“Mission,” Chouji shrugged, looking at the cast around his forearm. “High-ranked assassination,”
“Since when do you do those?” Sasuke’s question held its merit. Generally speaking, Chouji never agreed to assassination assignments— it wasn't his purpose as a shinobi, anyway.
“Since the entire Anbu fell sick,” Chouji wasn't sure he should’ve shared this information with an inmate, for the lack of defenses within the borders of their village was concerning, but he figured Sasuke had heard much more intel and unsolicited updates from Sakura and Naruto combined than this short twist of tongue.
Sasuke hummed, recognizing Chouji’s statement and nothing more.
“And you?” Chouji asked, more as an afterthought. “How have you been?”
Sasuke shrugged, picking up the pickled radish and examining it like he was looking at botulism under a microscope. “Your little cousin brought me food a few times. She talks a lot,”
“Chiho?” Chouji laughed a little louder than the atmosphere allowed. “She’s sweet, isn’t she? She always wants to help me out,”
He didn't expect Sasuke to say anything else, but he shrugged, perhaps agreeing with Chouji’s words. “She shows great initiative,” Sasuke said, eating his pickled radish.
Chouji laughed again, this time a little quieter.
When Sasuke had finished his food, they continued sitting on the bench, side by side in approachable silence. Sasuke put the tray between them, shivering a little as November’s weather picked up Nordic winds. Through the slightly visible stars overhead and the rustle of fallen leaves, Sasuke told Chouji: “Thank you,”
Sasuke’s gratitude was unexpected. Chouji raised his eyebrows and turned to look at Sasuke’s expression, his eyes watching the fig tree sway and rattle. He was fiddling with the cuffs, but not forcing them over his wrists, and Chouji reached forward, placing his hand on top of Sasuke’s.
Chouji smiled widely when Sasuke’s gaze turned to his, an encouraging gesture that made Sasuke confused. Chouji could only assume that due to the slight frown on his face.
Chouji squeezed Sasuke’s hands, and he let go.