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Chapter Text

Sasuke seemed to gradually hate the gym environment.

By an unfortunate coincidence, the only time he had available during the day was precisely the time when everyone in the city had the same idea as him and decided to workout too. The equipments were always crowded and he had to take turns with three, four, sometimes five other men­—and they didn't always give in. The excuses varied. Once, a guy had the audacity to say that he was too much of a wimp to pull weight and, therefore, wouldn't give up the machine. Before walking away, Sasuke noticed a vein popping out on his forehead when he strained on the handles of the peck deck, probably weighing about 130 lbs, and he chuckled.

If it wasn't the lack of equipment, it was the instructors. Sasuke hadn't even managed to talk to any of them, since they were all too busy paying attention to the girls in tight leggings and low-cut tops. It was disgusting to watch—lots of unnecessary touches around the hips when they helped them lower themselves into sumo squats or the not-so-discreet glances when their bodies stretched out in an airplane position on the leg pulley, legs taut as far as they could, glutes contracted. Meanwhile, Sasuke was killing himself trying to figure out how the abductor chair worked.

He hated social interaction in general but the gym just had deepen the feeling. He discovered the worst of the people there, how the whispers spread like static when someone outside the norm risked improving their health, or even over the annoying radio of the Zumba class right next door. Sasuke remembered a time when a girl, who probably was in her early twenties, fumbled with the treadmill's speedometer, tripping over her own feet. Since she wasn't thin, the people around her cackled—audible or not—and she ran out the first door she saw, completely embarassed. He was warming up in another corner when it happened. He wouldn't know how to help if he had the courage to approach her but he hoped his empathy would be transmitted mentally wherever she was.

All these little things added up and made Sasuke want to go to the gym less and less. But he couldn't. He had a doctor's recommendation—which felt more like an imposition if he had to be honest—after a frightening episode that had landed him in the hospital. At 33, Sasuke wasn't exactly a healthy person. He was a tech leader for a multinational company and the demanding routine of his job was making him increasingly neglect himself. He, who had never been one to pay attention to his body's signals, one day felt a throbbing pain on his left side, slowly creeping up to his shoulder.

By the end of the day, the twinge had become an unbearable pain. He was grateful to work from home and live with his brother Itachi, who flew to the nearest hospital in his compact Toyota Pixis. Three fines for minor traffic violations arrived in the mail a week later.

Sasuke was rushed to the ICU. He didn't remember much, just three nurses and a doctor running around, fleeing out of his sight and reappearing with a syringe or electrodes to measure his heart rate. The orange identification band on his wrist seemed to be constricting his blood flow—Sasuke remembered the assistant nurse saying that that was the color of emergencies. Itachi asked if he was going to be okay, his voice sounding strange in his ears. Suddenly, he couldn't see his brother anymore. The doctor resurfaced with a clipboard, far too calm in front of a patient on the verge of death, saying that he might need surgery.

He woke up some time later, alone in a hospital bed surrounded by a rubbery curtain. He registered the sounds around him: random chat, devices beeping, a distant television, children crying. His body still collected electrodes and his left arm sustained an intravenous line connected to a bag of what appeared to be normal saline. Further to him, Itachi slept awkwardly in a chair. Sasuke frowned. If it was a new day, he felt sorry to see his brother wearing the same clothes up until that moment.

The curtain opened and a different doctor greeted him—perhaps it really was a new day. Sasuke tried to sit up but the doctor beckoned, indicating that it wasn't necessary. Itachi shifted in his chair, slowly waking up as all his joints cracked almost like a song. The doctor introduced himself, gave a brief summary of Sasuke's situation, and said that he wouldn't need surgery, which made Itachi sigh in relief. Sasuke also took a deep breath at the news but he couldn't help but wonder what had happened.

The diagnosis was pericarditis. The doctor laughed softly as the two brothers exchanged confused looks—and, in that motion, Sasuke could quickly notice Itachi’s cheek wrinkled on the right side, the texture of the sweatshirt he was wearing prominent on his skin. He explained that it was an inflammation of the membrane that surrounded the heart and the symptoms were similar to those of a heart attack but, in Sasuke’s case, it was caused by a bacterial infection due to his low immunity. The questions soon came: do you eat well; do you exercise regularly; do you experience stressful situations.

Sasuke answered positively to the last one and the doctor wrote it down firmly on his clipboard, making a long sound in his throat that he couldn't tell if it was disapproval or just agreement with the answer. Before leaving, he gave Itachi a prescription with two different antibiotics that should be taken rigorously, and referrals to a nutritionist, an endocrinologist and a cardiologist, in addition to recommending a balanced exercise routine and a one-week medical certificate. Sasuke listened to it all with great disgust but a ghost of a smile cut his lips when he read his discharge summary.

Then he realized that Itachi had actually been wearing the same clothes for not one but two day. And he got upset again, leaning against the car window as they drove home and his brother gave him a long lecture like a father would, without taking his eyes off the road, swerving between cars and receiving agressive honking in response. Two more traffic fines arrived in the mail days after the first ones.

It took a few weeks for Sasuke to fully recover from the side effects of the heavy antibiotics he had to take, administered religiously by Itachi—like a mother would. He had been more or less fulfilling these duties for Sasuke for the past ten years, after the young Uchiha had left their childhood home at the countryside to try a new life in the capital. And yet, Sasuke hated feeling vulnerable around him.

However, even after getting his life back on track after the medication and the infection itself ended, Sasuke was traumatized. It was like a near-death experience, where he saw his life flash before his eyes, just as other people who have witnessed similar situations describe. He suddenly realized that throwing himself so deeply into work was not worth it. That his body had always been sending out important signals before the pericarditis, such as sleeping four or five hours every night and feeling exhausted in the mornings; or not bothering about not consuming a single pound of vitamin; or drinking little to none water; or seeing how irregularly he went to the bathroom; and all these things that should not be normal for a guy his age.

Sasuke showed up for his doctor's appointments on the right days. He listened to what they had to say, did all the exams, and actually came back for them to interpret the results. Itachi started making him weekly lunches so he could eat properly and also showed up at his bedroom door as an insistent reminder that he had to drink water or eat a piece of fruit. He stopped dedicating himself excessively to work, clocking in at the right times, much to the dismay of his boss who was used to seeing him available after eleven at night or on a Sunday morning. And, in a way, he liked this new routine.

The only thing that bothered him at the moment was the gym ambience; all those people around were getting in the way of the only time he had to do his sets. Like at that exact moment when Sasuke needed to do his back workout and had already given the muscular bowl cut guy two warnings in the last five minutes but he simply wouldn't get off the machine. He had already done approximately 80 cross-overs. His chest felt like it was going to explode with the next pull-up until it didn't, and Sasuke mentally regretted it.

“Hey,” he tapped his shoulder again, thinking about the incredible firmness of those deltoids. “Can I use the machine now?”

The muscular bowl cut guy ignored the question, deciding to count the pulls out loud. 89, 90, 91... Sasuke considered the possibility that he was making up numbers but the veins that bulged around his triceps might have said otherwise.

He could have insisted with him, made him collaborate more incisively or simply looked for another equipment that also worked the back muscles to finally wrap the day but Sasuke simply picked up his backpack and left, squeezing the water bottle tightly against his mouth. A few drops fell on his shirt but the piece would go into the laundry basket as soon as he stepped into the shower so it didn't matter. He waited for Itachi outside the gym, following his brother's instructions that he had gone to the grocery shop to buy ingredients for the week's lunch boxes and would pick Sasuke up on the way so they could go to their apartment together.

It took no more than five minutes for the Toyota Pixis to park on the sidewalk, the same time it took to convince—unsuccessfully—the big guy at the pulley to share the machine with him.

“Hey!” Itachi called out as he rolled down the car window.

Sasuke turned around and got in, settling into the passenger seat.

“You’re all sweaty,” his brother teased and started the engine, maneuvering through traffic when he realized the path was clear. “How was the workout?”

“The usual,” he detachely replied. “Fifty people sharing the same equipment, horny instructors. The unbearable Zumba class...”

Itachi laughed, a deep howling that held no compassion for Sasuke.

“My poor little brother, so antisocial,” he scoffed, receiving a middle finger in response.

“I just want to go to the gym I pay for and use the equipment I’m entitled to,” he said, outraged by the plainess of it all. “I don’t want to have to fight for possession over a dumbbell.”

“Okay,” Itachi agreed. “But if you go to a popular gym during peak hours, this is what you get in return. Plus, you don’t pay anything.”

Sasuke had purchased the cheapest plan on the gym app that the company he worked for had an agreement with because it was the only one that didn't deduct the amount from his paycheck. It wasn't exactly money that came out of his pocket.

He glanced at Itachi sideways and clicked his tongue when he saw the ridiculous little smile he was wearing.

“Tch. Fine,” he gave in after a few seconds. “But even if I don’t pay, I think I deserve some dignity. This fucks up my whole training.”

“I didn’t say you don’t deserve it—” a brief pause to put on the left signal and make a gentle turn, “—but you won’t get it there. Why don’t you hire a personal trainer? There’s a gym in our building.”

“If I already sign up for the cheapest plan so I don’t have to spend...” Sasuke deadpanned.

“Well, I think we can figure something out,” he turned the car toward the building on the right on a one-way street, reaching for the device on the roof of the car to open the garage door. “Nagato has a cousin who has a degree in physical education. I think he’s even famous on social media for giving workout tips and stuff. Maybe we can get a discount.”

Itachi ran over the reflective studs on his way down to the building's parking lot and the Toyota Pixis swayed slightly, causing Sasuke to slightly hit his temple on the glass, but he didn't seem to mind. Paying a low price for a professional who would set up his workouts and was truly an instructor in the literal sense of the word—and not an old dog in heat ready to mate with any student who showed up wearing tighter shorts—was an interesting proposal. They lived in a building where mostly elderly people lived and they rarely used the gym. There was no risk of having to share equipment. Not to mention the exclusive attention he would receive for an hour a day.

A very interesting proposal indeed, he would say.

“I can ask Nagato for his Instagram profile, if you want,” Itachi added as he parked the vehicle in the tight spot between two huge SUVs. “Then you two can talk.”

“Maybe,” he replied as neutrally as he could but the excitement was palpable. He could cut it with a knife if he wanted to.

As they went up in the elevator, both carrying heavy groceries, Sasuke just wanted to take a shower and do a little research on the profile of his... Future personal trainer.

Sasuke was relaxing on the couch after an unusually long shower. He was a budget savvy person and ten minutes in the shower was enough to clean his entire body but today he felt the need to go all out to get rid of the heavy energy from all that crowd at the gym, including that weirdo who didn't take turns using the pulley with him. He looked at the time on his phone and wondered if he was still there, starting his ninety-third series of cross-overs or something like that, completely hypnotized by the machine, filled with pride at having to share it with someone. He laughed to himself.

Wrapped in a comfortable robe, he waited for Itachi to finish not only that night's dinner but also Sasuke's other lunches for the next week. He wrinkled his nose when he saw his old brother preparing a portion of okra salad, the repulsing slime that impregnated the other ingredients already sliced ​​on the cutting board, but Itachi insisted that he try it before judging. You'll be surprised, he said, certain of the impressive flavor of a recipe he had learned hours before on YouTube. Sasuke asked him to add more soy sauce to the salad, receiving a slap on the arm in response. I don't wanna go back to the hospital with anyone because of high blood pressure!

He watched his brother work from afar, legs crossed to hide any intimacy that might escape through his robe. He could feel the droplets of water still running down the hair on his legs, as well as the ends of his locks, which trailed a wet path over his collarbone. They were usually silent at home, despite the living room having a TV. Every now and then, Itachi would hum songs while he cooked and Sasuke ended up adapting to the ambient sound, especially in recent times when he had given up work after the pericarditis scare. It was what pulled him back to reality.

All the hospitalization and routine changes made Sasuke get closer to his older brother. His parents had been dead for a few years and it was terrible to think that, on the day of his mother's funeral, he had to travel to the United States at last minute with his boss. The last link that united the siblings had just left. Sasuke remembered well how hurt Itachi was when he returned home after three days and the harsh words he spat in his face, as if he wasn't human enough to leave that damn multinational for the first time and prioritize the ongoing life around him.

Sasuke only understood what his brother meant when he himself went through a risky situation.

Itachi's company in the small apartment they shared in a quiet neighborhood in Tokyo was the most pleasant thing about his day. Even with the clear differences in their personalities and all the times they fought over stupid things, they were brothers and, more than ever, they needed to be together. That's why he would accept eating the okra salad and all the other possible demands that would come in the future.

“Otou–to—” Itachi sing-songed as he emerged into the living room, a stained floral apron draped over his body and a dish towel resting on his shoulders. “Dinner’s ready! Set the table, please.”

He left his cell phone on the couch and went to the sideboard that held the television and other decorative accessories. Since space was limited, they had to improvise with the furniture, choosing multipurpose options so as not to live crammed like fugitives. Sasuke took two plates and two glasses from there and Itachi was already heading to the dining-and-other-things table—cluttered with sealed mail, bills about to come due and important papers that must have been part of Itachi’s job as a condominium administrator, along with a worn-out notebook—with the rice cooker in his hands, gesturing for the younger Uchiha to get rid of all the junk and make more space for the other things he would bring from the kitchen.

Sasuke glanced at a twenty-day overdue traffic fine but didn't comment on it.

As he settled into one of the two available chairs, he watched Itachi return with a casserole dish filled with pieces of chicken and grilled vegetables on a skewer, along with the dreaded okra salad.

“There!” he exclaimed smilingly, undoing the apron tie and throwing it over the messy dining table. “Want me to serve you?”

“Please,” Sasuke offered the plate to his brother. “Just don’t put too much of that slimy salad on it.”

“I’m gonna put it in and you’re gonna eat it,” he scolded in an amused tone. “And not just today. There’s okra salad in your lunchboxes this week.”

“Yuck...” he grimaced, poking at the okra slices with his chopsticks as if they were dead insects. He chewed a piece with difficulty. “Yeah... I think it really needs a little more soy sauce.”

“No soy sauce for you, foolish little brother,” Itachi said, waving a bottle of soy sauce in front of him and pouring it onto his own plate, chuckling at the low curse Sasuke let out. “Don’t be rude. I got Naruto’s profile for you.”

Sasuke knitted his eyebrows together.

“Naruto?”

“Nagato’s personal trainer cousin, remember? I texted him while I was making dinner and he answered me back almost immediately.”

Sasuke remained casual and didn't ask anything else, even though he was curious to check out the instructor's profile; he just rummaged through the food, adding a piece of chicken to the okra to see if it would improve the taste of the salad.

“You can actually eat this grub if you put other things in with it,” he said with his mouth full, his voice sounding muffled.

Itachi glanced at him sideways.

“If you’re interested, and I know you are—” he announced with a hint of teasing, “his at name is UzumakiFitness.”

He smiled victoriously when he noticed the younger’s posture change a little with the information. Sasuke was constantly the victim of dates set up by Itachi. Not all of them worked out, especially when he could use the excuse of being stuck at work, but now under his brother's constant surveillance, he felt obliged to accept any man or woman that Itachi thought was the perfect match for him. He never understood where he knew so many people from but Sasuke, like the great reserved and introverted guy that he was, always dismissed the company after thirty minutes of conversation, apologizing for his maniacal brother.

With this “Naruto”, the situation seemed to be the same. Itachi took advantage of Sasuke's discontent with the gym and searched deep down in his mind for the most suitable candidate, without a criminal record or other oddities that could put his life at risk. Although the idea of ​​never having to deal with lazy muscleheads and teachers who thought with their lower heads was tempting, Itachi's intentions with all of this were clear—one of the new habits that emerged shortly after he left the hospital. When his plan was discovered, the argument was the same: you need to enjoy life, otouto.

They finished dinner in silence. Sasuke went to his room after Itachi offered to take care of the dishes. The personal trainer username was still buzzing through his mind as soon as he closed the door.

Lying in bed on a Friday night would seem depressing to most people at his age but Sasuke had never been one to wander around. Much of the blame for his lack of a social life was certainly his job; all the extra hours he worked on the weekends to get some project done on his boss's orders left no room in his schedule to explore the city. And when he did set foot out of the house, it was usually with Itachi at one of those bars on the outskirts of Tokyo, acting as a chauffeur for him and his friends who were always too drunk to put one foot in front of the other.

Sasuke hated the frantic motion of nightlife. He hated the taste of beer, the smell of cigarettes, the drunken conversation. He hated having to drive around carrying four loudmouths in Itachi's Toyota Pixis, which was as cramped as the apartment they lived in.

After the pericarditis incident, Itachi took a break from going out to dedicate himself whenever possible to Sasuke's well-being. On the one hand, it was great because it led to nights like this, where he could relax in his room knowing that his brother was doing the same next door. The new routine ended up establishing specific sleep times for both of them and, without the drinking, Sasuke noticed that Itachi slept much better—there was no deafening snoring invading the cracks in his door or the sharp sound of vomiting in the bathroom in the middle of the night, often a consequence of the gastric problems prolonged by his lifestyle. Without meaning to, Itachi was taking care of himself too.

However, he couldn't deny that his old brother often overreacted. If Sasuke was out and didn't answer the messages after a few minutes, Itachi would call him desperately to understand why he was taking so long. Once, he tried to convince Sasuke to install an app that would show his location whenever possible and the two had a huge fight over it. And all the times he didn't trade his weekly lunchboxes for a delivery snack, even on a Friday night like that when they could order pizza and chat about this new relationship that had grown between them. Itachi was as traumatized as Sasuke, maybe even more. And that increased the uncomfortable feeling of being watched all the time.

That's why he relaxed his body on the mattress when Itachi appeared in his room saying he was going to take a shower and sleep—but he huffed as soon as he left telling him to keep the door open in case something happened. He tried to understand the concern, pondered everything that had happened so far and why Itachi acted that way, but sometimes the days were just hard. Every now and then, Sasuke longed to have his own little spot, no matter how small it was, that he could decorate however he wanted or lock the door to his room whenever he wanted. But only three months had passed since the episode; it was almost impossible for his brother to allow him to leave.

The shower in the shared bathroom closed and, soon after, Itachi appeared in his pajamas. His hair, with gray strands here and there and always tied in a low ponytail, was loose that night—something quite rare that only happened before bed time. He waved to Sasuke and wished him good night, the light in his room turning off soon after. Itachi also kept his door open but Sasuke thought it was more of a whim than anything else, as he knew it would be hypocritical of him to lock himself in the room when he forced his younger brother to leave his practically wide open. From where he was, Sasuke could see Itachi's legs stretched out on his bed.

It was a little after ten at night and he noticed he was still wearing a robe, so he went to the closet to put on some underwear and an old T-shirt. He also turned off the lights to get comfortable under the covers but he still wasn't sleepy. Facing his door, Sasuke reached for his phone on the nightstand and opened his Instagram account almost immediately. He swallowed hard when he realized it.

He pressed the search button and typed in the username that was still fresh in his memory.

@UzumakiFitness

Naruto Uzumaki, 26

P.E. Teacher

I wanna teach you everything about your body! Hit the button!

Sasuke giggled at the biography but he was afraid of being heard. He imagined Itachi entering his room and seeing the silhouette of a stupid grin illuminated by the artificial light of his phone.

The first picture on his profile was actually a video—pinned, so that it could be accessed more easily by visitors. The cover showed Naruto flexing his arms in a tight black tank top, with a huge smile plastered on his face, and his blond hair was long and pointy, different from the short style of the photo he used as his avatar on Instagram. Sasuke was curious. He always kept his device on silent but he checked the volume anyway, increasing what he thought was just “a little bit”.

“Hey guys–!”

“Fuck!” Sasuke cursed under his breath as the sound of the video echoed through the space and hid his phone under his pillow. He looked into the room across the way; Itachi seemed motionless.

Carefully, he reached back to the nightstand to grab his earpods, making sure they were properly connected to the Bluetooth. He played the video once more.

“Hey guys! I’m here to let you know that this week I’ll be chatting with Sakura Haruno, a physiotherapist specializing in high-performance sports, and bodybuilding guru Maito Gai, on the Shannaro podcast! This Thursday, at 8pm, on your favorite streaming platform. I invite you all to listen, it’s gonna be a blast!”

The video ended with the same pose as the previous cover. Sasuke looked at the date of publication—last Monday. The podcast must have aired yesterday. He thought about searching for the episode on Spotify and listening to it until he fell asleep but it seemed ridiculous.

He went back to his profile instead. Next to the pinned post was a picture of Naruto hugging a pink-haired girl and a yelp escaped his throat as he recognized the muscular man with the bowl cut on his left side. He buried his face in the pillow and chortled, a sincere and incredulous laugh. He opened the post that had been made almost a day ago.

@UzumakiFitness: A great chat with @Sakura_Physio and @MaitoGai_Official on @ShannaroPod! We reflect on the impacts of bodybuilding with a lot of respect and knowledge. I guarantee you the episode is amazing! #Fitness #Lifestyle #SelfLove

Sasuke noticed that the post was a collection of media published at once and swiped it to the side. The next click was a selfie of Naruto, winking and sticking his tongue out in a victory sign, next to one of the props that were supposed to be part of the podcast's set. The orange Nike shirt he was wearing hugged his biceps perfectly, which weren't as defined as he'd expected, but Sasuke found himself staring too much at the tight fabric around the muscles just for a single photo.

He moved on to the next and found another video. Naruto was in a studio, the camera completely focused on him, while he casually chatted with what appeared to be a person in front of him and another to his side. Instagram always started the videos on mute and Sasuke was distracted for a few minutes by the edited subtitles. He quickly glanced at the bedroom door and, even with earpods on, he could hear Itachi snoring softly. He turned on the sound, burrowing deeper under the covers as if he were doing something forbidden.

“—but I really admire bodybuilders, Gai. I find it unbelievable how you guys take the human body to the extreme and always find a way to raise the bar even higher. You guys are machines! But the human body is a wonderful instrument, that’s what I always tell to my followers. Finding balance is essential, you know? Bodybuilding has a lot to teach us about our limits and how we can challenge ourselves a little more each day. That’s the deal.”

Naruto tried to sound inspiring but Sasuke thought it was all nonsense, just like most of the discussions on these podcasts these days. Lots of cheesy, empty words, a false hope varnished by social media where any idiot with a microphone could say whatever one wanted. He wondered what the muscular bowl cut guy—who now he knew the name was Maito Gai—would have answered next. Did he get emotional? Or did he crouch embarrassingly in the middle of the studio in a stereotypical bodybuilder pose?

Sasuke was sure that at least himself was unmoved.

But Naruto, however superficial he sounded in that small cutscene, seemed likeable. The way he had with words or how he spoke directly to his audience was charming. Working in a corporate environment for so many years had given Sasuke certain skills that were not suited to his position. Identifying subtones in a speech was one of them. He didn't even need to look at the demographics of Naruto's followers; he knew that they were, for the most part, young people like him, his age or less, by the fluidity of his sentences and the informality with which he communicated.

And of course he knew it. He knew his profile was attractive and interesting. Otherwise, Sasuke, who rarely spent more than five minutes on Instagram, would never have browsed it for so long.

And he browsed indeed. He opened a bunch of other photos: Naruto in a half marathon, biting a medal; Naruto teaching how to control your breathing while on the treadmill, his torso sweaty over his black Dry-Fit T-shirt; Naruto doing an ad for a supplement brand, his shorts tight on his toned thighs while holding a packet of whey protein; Naruto in his swim trunks on the beach, a photo of just the lower part of his body on a sunny day; Naruto posing in front of the mirror, eyes half-closed and partially covered by his phone; Naruto and a dog, lying on the couch with the caption “on Sundays we’re allowed to chill”—the track for this post was The Lazy Song, by Bruno Mars, and Sasuke laughed at the obviousness. Naruto was way too corny.

Sasuke was sold, his mind deafening in a sequence of ding-ding-ding as if he were at a chaotic cattle auction and had bought the most valuable head there. He didn't even realize when his fingers quickly typed in the private message box of Naruto's profile.

@UchihaSasuke: Hi

@UchihaSasuke: Good evening

@UchihaSasuke: I'm Itachi's brother, who’s your cousin Nagato's best friend, and he recommended you to me

@UchihaSasuke: As a personal trainer, obviously

@UchihaSasuke: Can we talk about this?

Then he gasped as he realized what a load of crap he had written.

“Oh no, no, no—” Sasuke regretfully tried to delete the messages, aching in despair, but froze right after.

Seen 10:58pm

He closed Instagram in a second and stuck his phone under his pillow, his body rigid under the covers. He didn't want to know if Naruto would respond as soon as he saw it or if he would just ignore that ridiculous request—as a personal trainer, obviously. Sasuke groaned and just closed his eyes. He would fall asleep by force, even if he had to bang his head against the wall to do so.

Chapter Text

Sasuke was used to wake up early. Even working from home, he found it important to be ahead of his actual schedule to be able to do some morning activities, like having a proper breakfast—often with Itachi. This was something he incorporated into his new routine and enjoyed doing as he felt the day became much more productive and he was more willing to complete the necessary tasks within the normal work schedule; unlike the old Sasuke, who was always too tired to get out of bed and physically felt his vital energy draining from his body with each passing minute.

He usually woke up at 7:30. That was enough time to add a shower and browse the latest news before finally clocking in.

But there was Sasuke, at six in the morning, prostrated at the door of his building's gym like a sentry—a little shaky he would say, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his sports jacket because of the inexplicably cold wind for a spring day, and a curse snarled by the cold escaping his lips, cursing himself for having chosen to wear shorts.

On Saturday, he'd actually woken up at his usual time but his eyes drifted off on their own, too heavy to stay open. It took Sasuke a while to fall asleep, that Instagram message floating mockingly through his mind as if he were attending a lecture on the greatest idiots in history and he were the main topic, the footage displayed to thousands of people through a ridiculously large projector—as a personal trainer, obviously; seen 10:58pm. Overcome by exhaustion, Sasuke allowed himself a few more minutes in bed, which turned into hours, and he only woke when someone tapped his shoulder.

It was almost one in the afternoon and Sasuke felt his eyelids sticking to the edges of his eyes—crusted with boogers—and a sharp headache as he stared into the bright light of the room, the hair on the back of his neck sweaty, as if the sun had decided to pay him a visit and watch him sleep. Right next to him, Itachi: a worried expression but his face completely straight, even at the thought of the solar system's largest star being too close.

Runny eyes, fever, throbbing head, crazy dreams and too many hours of sleep. He should have closed the window, should have put on some pants; he had to be sick. There was no other way.

"Good morning, otouto," Itachi greeted and, as Sasuke's vision adjusted to the light, he realized his brother wasn't all that apprehensive. “I mean, good afternoon,” he joked.

“What—” he said, his voice sounding strange, his throat itchy as if he hadn’t hydrated in days. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A lot,” he laughed, even more so after observing the uncharacteristically frightened expression on the younger man’s face.

Itachi stood in the doorway, one arm supporting the relaxed pose he sported beneath a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, and off-white shorts. A pair of sunglasses framed his hair, tied in its usual low ponytail. The amused look, suspended between two slits that marked his age under his eyes, caused Sasuke to snort—a little awkwardly, however; he was still processing his existence and the effects of gravity on his body.

“I’m gonna make lunch,” his brother blurted out as he released himself from the doorframe, his voice still thick with humor.

As if he knew something.

As soon as Itachi disappeared, Sasuke quickly reached for his phone that must have been somewhere on the mattress, desperately groping for it. The device was hidden between the wood of the bed and the wall it was leaning against, cold from the lack of contact, silently begging for help before it fell to the floor. With difficulty, Sasuke shoved his hands into the small space and grimaced at the deafening sound of the phone scraping against the wall, holding it for dear life.

He unlocked the screen as soon as possible, wiping away the paint and concrete splatter from the glass. The chat was still there, intact, his messages sent in the same shameful way they had been conceived the night before. The difference was that, instead of the view notice, an audio track of approximately thirty seconds took its place.

Sasuke swallowed hard before executing, his fingers hesitating with the same force as they were drawn to the play icon. He didn’t even considered using earphones.

"Hey, man! What’s up? Woah, that's great you contacted me. I only hear about you from Nagato! Hahahahaha! Cool, we can schedule a trial session. You tell me your bodybuilding goals and, if you like my job, we can set up a session! Monday morning. You in?”

Silence.

Naruto's voice sounded exactly like the videos he'd seen on his social media profile: friendly, likeable and overly informal. It corroborated his brief analysis that he knew exactly who he was communicating with, an image carefully constructed and cultivated for the convenience of his audience. After all, an instructor who claimed to be so passionate about the human body must do whatever it takes to attract young people to a more active lifestyle, to tell them that exercising can be as fun as it seems.

Sasuke knew all this. He'd already accepted that Naruto was predictable, shallow, superficial and utterly cheesy—and yet that audio writhed through his system, a burning sensation in his belly that made him seem foolish in the face of the oppressive silence that, minutes ago, had filled the space with such subliminal violence, the words too intimate, like those of a longtime friend, the voice rasping through the phone speakers, crossing the room with the force of a deadlift, crossing the corner of the room until it surely reached Itachi's ears.

He could already see the stupid smirk playing on his brother's lips, that ridiculous expression that clearly said he was right about Sasuke needing to enjoy life and all that nonsense he'd spouted after his pericarditis episode. He could picture Itachi and Nagato gossiping among the shelves of pasta and tomato sauce at the grocery store, exchanging giggles as soon as he spoke—you should’ve seen Sasuke enchanted by the audio Naruto sent.

He took a deep breath, as if meticulously organizing his thoughts before uttering yet another stupid thing that he would regret the next moment.

@UchihaSasuke: Sure

Simple. Succinct. Even a little disinterested, he would say, but that was certainly the surest way to be misunderstood.

And yet, Sasuke locked his phone screen and dropped it face down on the bed, then stood up with a sudden surge of energy that blossomed over his body, completely unlike the deplorable state he'd awakened in minutes ago—as if he wanted to maintain his indifferent posture at all costs, avoiding the glimpse of a new notification popping up in the corner of his eye, or the barely perceptible sensation of the device buzzing between the sheets. He didn't want to seem like a fool, the kind who felt anxiety seeping through his fingers the moment Naruto answered, the uncontrollable, incomprehensible urge to get confirmation of a trial workout session as soon as possible.

He pushed the thought away and, barefoot, walked to the living room table, feeling the coolness of the laminate flooring under his feet as if he wanted to reassure himself that this was real life, the texture of the pressed wood panel giving him the balance he needed to keep him standing. The dishes were already set and Sasuke realized that the mess from the previous day was no longer there and this notion brought a scent of pine disinfectant to his nostrils; at some point during his involuntary sleep, Itachi decided to do some cleaning, probably before going to do the groceries. It was pretty common for his brother to do a general clean-up on Saturdays but it was nothing more than a superficial sweep of the floor and throwing all the junk in a corner that was less visible to potential visitors. Deep cleaning was something new.

A mop rested at the kitchen entrance—their grimy bristles hinting at the severity of the apartment's filth. His field of vision was soon taken by Itachi, wearing his usual apron and holding a bamboo turner.

"Oh, you're up!" he said cheerfully, seeing Sasuke with his hand on one of the chairs, ready to sit down. "I'm making your favorite today, pasta primavera. Wanna help me grate the carrots?"

Sasuke felt his lips twitch into an awkward smile. He rubbed his eyes, still a little heavy with sleep, to wake himself up and followed his brother to the kitchen in silent agreement. Two small, peeled carrots were already waiting for him on the cutting board, next to the grater. Itachi went to the stove to continue sautéing a batch of cherry tomatoes in olive oil and chopped garlic, while a pan began to sizzle, the farfalle dancing in the boiling water about to announce that it was ready.

Clean house, no frozen lunchboxes, Itachi happier than usual. His favorite dish. Sasuke chuckled to himself in disbelief. Gossipy, he thought. They actually chatted in the pasta section.

Now, with his arms wrapped around his body on a chilly Monday morning, Sasuke watched from afar the figure of a blond man in a black shirt with a fluorescent orange Adidas logo, baggy gray shorts that hung way above his thighs, and a crossbody bag he held as if his entire history were within it, absently surveying the surroundings of the building. As he approached, Sasuke also noticed that his pair of sneakers were also fluorescent orange, perhaps more fluorescent than a traffic cone lost in the middle of the road at night.

Naruto. Impossibly tackier and more predictable than on social media.

As soon as he was finally seen, Sasuke was faced with the silliest smile he had ever seen in his life, 500 watts of white teeth illuminating his vision in such a way that it was as if a camera flash was being fired directly at his face. He felt disoriented for tenths of a second but it seemed like enough to not even realize that Naruto was close enough and extending a hand to him.

"Oops! Sorry I'm late," the blond said sheepishly but that smile never left him. "I'm terrible at finding my way around. If I don't attend a certain area often, bang! You can be sure I'll get lost."

Sasuke blinked at him two or three times, trying to register the words that followed funny paths to his ears like a leaf carried by the wind. Maybe it was the cold, or the sleep that still clung to his muscles after just getting out of bed, or the anticipation violently turning into dread at finally having Naruto's imposing presence before him, the personal trainer too caricatured in appearance and personality. He hesitantly squeezed the blond's hand, feeling the unexpected warmth of his skin against his frozen fingers.

"Woah, cold hand!" Naruto shouted and Sasuke immediately flinched, tucking his hand under his self impromptu embrace. "No, just kidding! I'm the one who's hot-natured," he laughed, the sound of it bouncing back and forth as if they were trapped in a box—not outdoors, with nothing around.

"Hn," Sasuke replied, a gesture more mechanical than anything else. He shifted his gaze to the blond's sneakers, the socks practically swallowed up by the flashy Olympikus Pride from two miles away. He compared them to his own, a pair of Vans Old Skool that had bravely withstood the test of time, black socks that comfortably covered his calves.

They really were very different from each other.

"I think I'm gonna do enough talking for both of us," Naruto chuckled, his eyes closing like a child overjoyed just to be alive. "I guess we can start by introducing ourselves. I'm Naruto but I think you already know that." he scratched his head, his fingers disappearing into his spiky locks. "And you're Sasuke, but–"

“But you already know that too,” Sasuke interrupted, more bluntly than he intended.

"That's it!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "I knew that too. Sorry, I just talk too much. Someone has to tell me to shut up every now and then or I'll go on and on for a whole day. You can do that too if you want!"

Even with his relaxed tone, Sasuke felt his stomach lurch at the implication.

“The gym–” he said instead, pointing to the glass door behind him, “–is here.”

"Of course, of course! The gym! That's why we're here so early, right? Otherwise, we would simply be curling ourselves in our own beds," Naruto joked, watching Sasuke swipe a card through an electronic lock and the door click softly. "Excuse me..." he muttered to himself, entering the gym right behind him.

It was a building with few apartments and, for the most part, elderly residents, so the gym was nothing more than a room of, more or less, 107 square feet, with reasonably painted walls—except for one or two hidden holes that exposed the concrete to those who paid close attention to the details, or the mold that had spread in the corner of the ceiling for the third year in a row and that was never discussed at meetings since practically no one used the space. Among the few pieces of equipment, it had a treadmill, an exercise bike and a simple weight station, along with a halter rack, three old mats and a slightly deflated Swiss ball.

Naruto circled the space as soon as the lights came on—a fixture with three white tubular bulbs, one of which blinked at random intervals. He studied the equipment, making sounds to himself as if taking mental notes, running his hands over the treadmill's control panel, then walking toward the weight station, carefully observing all its components, pondering the possibilities of exercises that could be performed there.

At least that's what Sasuke imagined when Naruto's fun and slightly silly expression gave way to calculating eyes that might even seem out of place at first  but that matched his face and the blond's robust structure. Sasuke stared too long at the shape his hand took under his chin, thumb firmly on his jaw and index finger roaming his lips, blue eyes narrowed between the handle and the peck deck. He felt the need to widen the collar of the T-shirt he was wearing, the weather much milder than the intense wind whistling outside.

"It's pretty good for a condo gym," Naruto concluded, his posture slowly returning to normal like muscle memory. "Of everything here, what do you usually do?"

“Erm– well...” he was surprised by the question but not because he wasn’t expecting it; he had just been caught red-handed, too vulnerable after watching the personal trainer for so long. “I think all of that,” he pointed to the weight station.

"Cool..." he quickly glanced at the machine again before walking toward Sasuke. "You mind, um..." he pouted thoughtfully, looking him up and down as if searching for the right words. He gestured with his hand around Sasuke. "Take off your shirt? I just need to see what your body looks like nowadays."

Sasuke's eyes widened, suddenly feeling trapped in a space as small as that gym. Naruto scratched his head, a nervous smile playing on his lips and his hands fidgeting as if unsure of what to do with them. The gym was located in a relatively secluded area of the building but surrounded by glass windows large enough for anyone to clearly see what was going on inside, as well as the door, also made of glass, which almost entirely covered one of the walls of the room in a not-so-discreet manner.

And, at that time of the day, it was common for elderly residents to be out and about, as they were all extremely diurnal. Sasuke couldn't bear the burden and embarrassment of having elderly women commenting to each other in horror about two men—one shirtless, the other a complete stranger—staring intensely at each other in such a visible setting.

But his fingers had already slid the zipper of his coat, which was slowly sliding down his shoulders until it fell to the floor. The hem of his worn My Chemical Romance T-shirt was rising millimeters up his body, revealing the pale skin hidden beneath the fabric, which he had never, under any circumstances, revealed to anyone. He was in a lot of pain when the nurses removed his clothes and replaced them with a hospital gown. He was high on morphine when the doctor had to expose his chest to other emergency room staff and connect the electrodes to measure his heart rate again.

In the building's gym, facing Naruto, Sasuke was completely conscious. And he shivered when a breeze brushed his back, just as he had when Naruto lightly touched his biceps after excusing himself, something he hadn't even heard before, so shocked was he to be shirtless in front of a guy he'd only known personally for minutes.

"Good..." Naruto said softly as he squeezed the muscles in his arm, gently moving them down to his abdomen.

“A-aah–!” Sasuke let out a warning or an involuntary moan as Naruto's fingers trailed over the beginnings of a six-pack that was forming there.

That same meticulous expression with which he studied the equipment now leaned over him, like research material in a laboratory, eyes too serious that didn't suit him well but that made Sasuke imagine things against his will.

"You're working out well," the blond pointed out, once again returning to his usual character: a brilliant smile from end to end. "Put on your tee, I think you must be cold," he grinned.

“I-I…” he stammered, a pang of embarrassment turning into a tsunami, washing over him from head to toe. “Okay…”

He tried to turn the fabric, which was inside out and held tightly between his fingers, to the right side but he struggled with it like someone fighting a wild animal. His palm burned from the force with which the shirt was held there, something he hasn’t noticed as Naruto explored his body in the most unprofessional way possible—but perhaps it was just his inexperienced mind playing tricks on him, conjuring up scenarios that couldn't even be called hypothetical because Naruto was a trainer hired to help him reap the benefits of strength workout that he couldn't achieve on his own at the local gym—and nothing more.

And Sasuke absolutely wished it was nothing more than that. He took advantage of the move to put on his T-shirt and shook his head, as if his black strands were misaligned, but it was just a reminder for his brain to stop with all that balooney and feeling conditioned by Itachi's stupid ideas about "getting someone".

"Can I ask why you sought out a personal trainer?" Naruto asked, arms crossed as he leaned his body against the treadmill.

"I work out at a gym nearby but it's hard to get anything done when the instructors would rather flirt with girls than actually do their job," Sasuke replied as he picked up his coat from the floor and threw it onto the exercise bike next to him, his indifference returning to normal as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't lost his composure when his abs was touched by a stranger.

The blond laughed, that protruding laugh from earlier that now had a closed space to reverberate according to the laws of physics.

"It's true, these popular gyms are a great way to work out at a low cost but the people hired to provide the service are deplorable..." he stepped onto the treadmill and fiddled with the buttons on the panel, already faded with age. "And why did you start working out?"

Sasuke considered. There was no harm in telling him about the incident that had left him hospitalized for two days and all the bad habits he'd acquired over a lifetime of self-neglect but he thought showing such weakness sounded pathetic. And it wasn't as if Naruto really wanted to know the reasons behind his new routine. Of course, he was a teacher and possibly an enthusiast of all things about human body, as his Instagram profile clearly indicated. Even though it was na important medical information, Sasuke no longer had the symptoms that had plagued him three months ago. It was a one-time infection. There was no need to be so impersonal.

“New habits...” he said, his tone as concise as possible, staring at Naruto’s fingers, motionless on the treadmill’s panel.

"I see..." Naruto said reluctantly, his curious eyes quickly analyzing everything that made up Sasuke, physically and emotionally. He stepped off the treadmill and motioned for Sasuke to step onto the equipment. "Okay, let's warm up. You usually do cardio?"

“No...?” he answered questioningly, afraid of saying something wrong to the instructor. He was standing on the treadmill, rigid as a soldier waiting for orders from a general.

“How do you warm up before training?”

“Well, I... I stretch my legs and...” he trailed off and, suddenly, felt a rush take over his body. Naruto watched him categorically, even though something in his face softened the gaze, but Sasuke couldn't tell if that was better or worse.

“Okay, okay,” the blond shrugged in an amused tone, like a kindergarten teacher who loses his patience when he sees a child fumbling for words but gently interrupts them to explain the correct way. “If we’re gonna do exercises that impact the muscles, the ideal is to warm up by doing some cardio, either on the treadmill or the bike,” he explained, turning on the machine as soon as he realized Sasuke was safe.

The treadmill beeped, followed by other similar sounds, as Naruto adjusted the speed and a countdown appeared on the panel. Sasuke gripped both arms of the equipment with his hands, feeling the rubber mat slowly move beneath his feet.

"Let's do ten minutes on the treadmill," Naruto declared once he finished setting the incline levels. "That's enough time for you to warm up and practice on other equipments."

Sasuke nodded, returning his attention to the blue-lit speedometer in front of him. He was walking at 1mph, 2% incline, while other gauges on the dashboard measured the distance walked, the time spent exercising and his heart rate, thanks to heat sensors attached to each of the treadmill's arms. He stared at his feet, repeating the movement of the treadmill, one step in front of the other, and mentally counted the intervals between them—one, two, three, like a robotic waltz, automated by instructive buttons and lacking the charm of a dance hall.

Beep, beep, beep. He looked at the display and now the speed had increased to 1.5mph.

"Every minute of walking, we increase our speed by 0.5," the trainer explained without Sasuke even asking, anticipating the question as soon as his expression curved slightly into a question mark. "This increases the impact on the muscles and helps you perform more intense exercises because you're gonna be well-warmed up. It's like we're stretching a rubber band, you know? Gradually giving it shape."

He didn't answer but he understood perfectly what Naruto had said. And it made sense. The more force he applied, the more the elastic expanded, molding itself to the pressure placed on it. His feet still mechanically tracked one in front of the other but the blond fumbled with the buttons on the panel again and suddenly felt a slight effort in his legs to complete the next step.

"I went up the incline a bit too," he simpered as he watched Sasuke adjust his posture as the treadmill rose. "Used to climbing hills?"

“No,” he replied, his voice sounding a little breathless, and he felt embarrassed that he was already tired even though the display said he was still about to complete the third minute of exercise. “It's not like this neighborhood has many hills either.”

"You're right," he agreed and once again increased his speed. "But Japan is a mountainous country. Have you ever considered hiking?"

At 2mph, Sasuke could already notice an increase in pace, however discreet it was. The mental waltz between one step and the next no longer existed because his foot was on the mat between two and three before he could lift the other.

"Are there trails that high?" he asked and, even though his breathing was a little ragged, he smirked proudly at that little taunt thrown to Naruto. "I think climbing a children's slide is the same."

“Really?” the instructor asked back. “You might be surprised if you can’t walk up a slide if you haven’t prepared yourself to.”

Beep, beep, beep. Naruto increased the incline to 7% and chuckled as Sasuke's fingers curled around the treadmill's arms at the sudden change in gravity.

"But there are several beginner trails across the country," the blond continued the conversation as he watched the time on the panel reach four minutes; he added another half mile. "In Saitama, for example, there's Chichibu-Tama-Kai National Park. It might not be as challenging as a kiddie slide to you but it has fresh air and is a great natural cardio workout."

Sasuke huffed, a lone bead of sweat trickling from within his bangs and falling tortuously down his right temple. The soles of his feet were beginning to ache from the factory rhythm that the treadmill imposed on him, as if he had no choice but to follow that endless path on the rubber mat that never stopped circling itself for even a second. The display showed that his heart rate was close to 100 and for a moment he wondered if that old equipment was really telling the truth. How could he be tired just from walking at such a slow speed? Who could guarantee that this was work the way it was supposed to?

Beep, beep, beep. Halfway through the predicted treadmill time, Naruto increased the speed to 3mph.

"You good?" he asked and, faced with the imminent fatigue spreading through the muscles in his legs, Sasuke thought, for the first time, that Naruto's smile was more insolent than friendly.

But he wouldn't let himself be put off.

“Yeah...” he said almost in a whisper, as if the wind from outside had escaped through some crack in the walls and emitted a whistle too similar to a human voice.

“Alright, that’s it!” Naruto cheered and his fingers went straight to the tilt buttons.

Beep, beep, beep. 10%.

Sasuke laughed under his breath but he couldn't quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was an involuntary reaction from his body, a sign of nervousness about what the next five minutes on the treadmill had in store for him. His toes inside his sneakers pressed with unnecessary force, and even through his socks, he could feel the checkered fibers of the Vans' soles. Another drop of sweat threatened to plunge but it fell from the black threads directly onto the mat, disappearing and returning between the continuous, and now faster, movements of the equipment.

"I think we've reached the peak of the warm-up," Naruto announced and Sasuke could physically feel the effort of walking gradually diminishing in his calves as the incline lowered. "Fast walking at a high elevation, got it? Now I'm gonna gradually decrease the tilt and increase the speed."

And so he did as the counter ticked to six minutes, the sound of that damned treadmill echoing painfully through his ears with each button press. At 3.5mph, Sasuke could no longer count the intervals between steps, nor could he pay attention to the rubber weld seams on the mat, which he'd noticed quite a bit in the first few minutes of the workout. He simply focused on not collapsing like a house of cards, tripping over his own feet, or stepping on the laces of his sneakers which threatened to come undone at any moment.

Beep, beep, beep. Seven minutes. Naruto kept his cheerful expression but behind that friendly mask, Sasuke could see his eyes constantly assessing him, taking in every feature of his face—how he must have been pleading for help as he felt his muscles burning more and more, or how his bangs stuck to his forehead, giving him that stupid look of someone who'd been exercising the wrong way for the past few months, or how he was gasping for air like a stupid fish that had jumped too high and was now thrashing on the ground for water.

Beep, beep, beep. Eight minutes. 4.5mph. Sasuke's throat was scratching desperately for water and he mentally cursed himself for not bringing at least a bottle. It was very cold and he hadn't thought he would be doing so much physical exertion but now he could clearly see that this experimental month still held the worst physical and psychological tortures that one human being could inflict on another without violating any constitutional rights.

“Final sprint,” Naruto commented, his voice too amused as his fingers approached the panel.

Beep, beep, beep. Sasuke watched the seconds on the display unfold into a myriad of numbers. His feet practically trotted along the treadmill, faster than he had ever walked before. His shoelace finally came untied, bouncing from time to time with the impact of the mat, but he was too worried with making the clock finally close in ten minutes, the longest ones he had ever lived so far. He glanced sideways at Naruto, who was keeping his attention on the panel and could have sworn—or was already on the verge of hallucination—that the personal trainer was quietly counting second by second.

Instinctively, Sasuke also counted them. In a loud, almost breathless voice, his vocal cords begging for a sip of water.

57. 58. 59.

“Done, done, done,” the blond pressed the huge red button labeled as “stop” and Sasuke felt the treadmill brake slightly, the display showing the speed dropping, dropping, dropping, until it reached zero.

He stepped off the device and his legs felt like they were made of jelly.

"You’ve done well!" Naruto placed a hand on his back and Sasuke tensed at the sudden contact, which poked the skin beneath his sweaty shirt in small taps, the personal trainer assuring him that he was pleased with the result. "Congrats!"

“T-Thank you...” he thanked, still trying to catch his breath, one hand resting on the arm of the treadmill to prevent him from collapsing embarrassingly.

Naruto removed his hand from his back and Sasuke felt a strange emptiness, as if his palm were now tattooed there. He ran his free fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, the strands still hanging back as if he'd just stepped out of the shower, and used the collar of his T-shirt to wipe away the lingering residue that still insisted on running down his face. From afar, he heard Naruto rummaging through the shoulder bag still resting on his shoulder and felt a cold, metallic touch on his arm.

“Here,” he offered a small black thermos. "Hydrate ‘cause we're gonna start the real workout now. And make sure you bring a bottle next time, teme," he warned, his tone always fun and impersonal in the new nickname he'd given Sasuke.

He smiled, accepting the thermos and drinking with pleasure, his throat expanding inches after being dry for what seemed like days. A little water escaped his lips and ran down his neck, dying as it was absorbed by the fabric of his shirt. Sasuke noticed Naruto following the move, his distracted, even slightly cloudy eyes memorizing every part of the wet trail the simple act of drinking water had left, and let himself blush slightly.

Naruto swallowed hard.

“R-Ready?” he asked, uncharacteristically nervous, pointing to the weight station just behind them.

Sasuke handed the bottle back to him, their fingertips brushing along the way. He wiped the mess the water had made with the back of his hand, watching as Naruto stuffed it into his backpack and then slung it off his shoulders to place it somewhere in the gym.

He smirked, even though he didn't mean to, at the blonde's change in posture.

“Ready,” she said finally, smoothing his hair back once more and positioning himself in the equipment chair.

He was ready for the next thirty days with Naruto.