Archive of Our Own ^beta

Smoke filled his lungs. His fingers snatched the cigarette, dragging deep—smoke poured from his lips like a gasp he didn’t know he’d been holding.,
His thumb brushed the lighter. A spark—then golden flecks danced as the flame caught, flickering weakly against the dark. He didn’t wait. The cigarette met the fire, and for a moment, that was the only warmth he let himself feel.
Still, he felt cold.
Not from the air, but from the silence. From the way their bond had fractured, delicate threads snapping one by one until there was nothing left.
He looked up, jaw tight—because even that goddamn sky still reminded him of him.
A soulless black draped overhead, scattered with faint traces of twilight like dying embers. Just like him.
And then the moon—
Bright. Distant. Untouched. It still shone like it owned the night, commanding attention without trying. Just like him before. Just like him.
His moon.
He laughed. A full, bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm—There was no way Sasuke would ever think about him. Not even just a little bit.
…..
“I’m home!” he called out. Silence.
Then something clicked. He’s gone now.
He left him.
For strength. For power. For something colder, something bigger than what they had., The word echoed back to him like a ghost—home, but without him, it was just a place. Empty. Quiet. Not his anymore.
His shoes felt too loud against the floor, each step a reminder that no one would come around the corner. No footsteps running to greet him. No lazy insults. No half-lidded glances from across the room.
Just silence.
He stood in the center of it all—same walls, same light, same faint scent of burned-out incense. But it felt like someone else’s life now. A version of himself that didn’t hurt every time he breathed.
He sat down on the couch, the one they used to share. His fingers brushed the cushion where the other used to sit, still indented. Still faintly warm, like a lie.
“You said you’d stay,” he whispered. No one answered.
Because Sasuke was gone. Gone for strength. For power.
And he was just the collateral.
Slowly, he walked around, as if he hadn’t lived here for the past three years. Every corner looked unfamiliar now, touched by absence. He sank to the floor, back resting against the couch, head tilted up toward nothing.
Quiet.
He let it settle over him like dust, like memory., The laughter echoed faintly in his mind. The stupid jokes. The way their eyes used to meet—like nothing else in the world mattered.
It all felt so close, and yet, completely gone.
He leaned back, head against the couch, eyes stinging. Everything was too quiet. Too still.
His hand trembled as it slid down his pants, touching the base.,moving it downward—slow, almost robotic. He wasn’t doing it for pleasure.
He just needed to feel something. Anything.
Maybe if he moved fast enough, rough enough, he could erase the way Sasuke used to touch him. Or maybe… maybe pretend it was still him, but it never felt the same. It never would.
His breath caught—sharp, uneven. His fingers moved without tenderness, without care. Just motion. Just friction.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Pretended. Lied to himself. Let the memory play like it was real—Sasuke’s voice low in his ear, that grip, that heat, that look.
But his body didn’t believe it.
The silence mocked him. The cold against his skin reminded him he was alone.
He bit his lip hard enough to taste iron, like pain could anchor him. Like maybe hurting himself a little would make the emptiness less loud.
“Fuck…” he muttered, voice cracking. It wasn’t pleasure. It was desperation.
He came with a choked breath, back arching slightly, but there was no release. No warmth. No one to pull him close or kiss his jaw after.
Just the aftertaste of guilt. Of longing.
He wiped his hand on his shirt and didn’t bother to move., The moonlight hit the couch, highlighting the absence.
And he couldn’t help but whisper his name again—
“Sasuke.”
As if that would bring him back., It never did.
….
He stopped saying Sasuke’s name out loud after that night.
What was the point?
Days bled into each other—barely eating, barely sleeping, drifting through missions like a ghost in someone else's skin. Kakashi noticed. Sakura asked once. He’d just said he was tired., Weeks passed.
He started avoiding the places that reminded him of him—Ichiraku, the training grounds, even the apartment rooftop. It didn’t help. Sasuke was everywhere. In the way the wind tugged at his sleeves. In the silence between footsteps. In the ache behind every smile he forced.
One night, he collapsed on the couch again, same spot, same moonlight tracing the emptiness beside him. But he didn’t touch himself this time. He didn’t cry either. There was nothing left to wring out.
He grabbed his phone, not even knowing why—maybe to scroll, perhaps just to hold something. And that’s when he saw it—a notification.
**Sasuke.**
He stared at the name, pulse slamming through his throat.
Unread.
A single message.
He opened it. Slowly. Like it might explode.

> *“I don’t know why I’m writing this.”*
> *“But I saw your shadow today. It looked like you.”*
> *“And I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”*

Naruto reread it. And again, his hands curled around the phone like it might vanish.
He didn’t know what hurt more—the silence that came before it, or the fact that Sasuke still couldn’t say what he really meant.
And yet… his thumb hovered—
Reply? Delete?
He dropped the phone onto the couch, covered his face with both hands, and laughed once, broken and tired.
Of course, Sasuke would send a message that said nothing, and still leave him aching.
Some things never change.
He sat there for a long time., The phone lay beside him like it had teeth. Like touching it again might draw blood. He could still see the message, burned into his brain like a seal:
>*“I don’t know why I’m writing this.”*
>* “But I saw your shadow today. It looked like you.”*
>* “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”*
What did that even mean?
What did Sasuke want?
Naruto tipped his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. He could hear the low hum of the fridge, the soft whoosh of wind outside. Everything else was quiet., He reached for his phone again. Opened the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He typed:
>*“You don’t get to do this.”*
Paused.
Deleted it.
Typed again:
>*“I think about you every day.”*
Deleted that too.
For a second, he just sat there, staring at the blinding screen. It felt like it was mocking him.
Finally, he settled on:
>*“Why now?”*
But he didn’t send it. Not yet.
He locked the screen and let the phone fall to the floor.
If Sasuke wanted to come back, he’d have to mean it. Not with half-buried metaphors or vague regrets. Not with shadows.
Naruto curled into himself on the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees like he used to when he was a kid—back when he thought loneliness was just temporary.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in weeks, he dreamed of Sasuke.
Not the way he left. But the way he used to be.
Warm hands.
A smirk just for him.
That rare, quiet laugh—so soft, so real.
And in the dream, Sasuke touched his face and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
But even asleep, Naruto didn’t believe it.,
The dream didn’t fade like dreams usually did.
It clung to him the next morning—sharp, saturated, too vivid. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as his mind replayed it on a loop.
But the worst part?
It wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory.
They’d been sitting on the rooftop, years ago, legs dangling off the edge like idiots. No words. Just silence, the good kind—the kind that filled things instead of hollowing them out.
Sasuke had looked at him then, eyes softer than usual, not quite a smile on his face, but something close.
“Don’t fall,” he’d murmured.
Naruto had scoffed. “You’d catch me.”
He didn’t know why he’d said it.
Didn’t expect an answer., But Sasuke didn’t look away.
“I would.”
That was it. Just two words. But they stayed.
Buried deep. Untouched. Until now—
Naruto sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. The memory left his chest raw. Everything good between them felt like it had happened in another life.
The phone was still on the floor. He reached for it.
Opened the message again.
>*“I saw your shadow today. It looked like you.”*
He stared at it for a full minute. Then his thumbs moved, not hesitating this time.
He typed:
>“You saw a shadow and thought of me. Cool.”*
>*“But when I was falling, you didn’t catch me.”*
He hit send before he could think twice.
The screen dimmed in his hand, and suddenly he felt like throwing the whole phone across the room.
He didn’t. Instead, he sat very still, waiting for a reply, hating himself for wanting one.
Naruto lay down, waiting., Not really.
The message still burned behind his eyes, every word carved into him like fresh scars. He told himself he wouldn’t check his phone again, but the glow of the screen dragged at him like gravity. Still no reply.
His eyes stayed fixed on the phone, waiting for a reply. Each second dragged, twisting in his head like some cruel trick. His lips parted, then pressed shut again. The device mocked him—whispering lies, feeding him false hope of regret.
Then—a buzz emerged.