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He tucked a silky black strand behind his ear, the comfortingly cool touch of the late afternoon wind lost in the depths of his thoughts. Below him, students flocked out of the imposing building, chatting with their friends as they enjoyed the end of another school day. Impassive dark eyes stared up the horizon and, as his eyes took in the vastness of blue with its growing splashes of orange and pink and hints of purple, he idly wondered what the idiot would tell him in a few minutes.
He snorted.
If there would be talking at all.
He smirked, his dark eyes suddenly amused, alive, arrogant with a triumph that he couldn't wait to gloat over the moron. It was another round in their ritualistic competition and he knew he had won again. He had won again the way he was always meant to win—not like the losses he had been experiencing the past days. His self-declared rival had been winning more against him lately and it was admittedly hurting his fierce pride, so he had decided to finally use a trump card that he knew the other would never see coming.
Rather, never thought to be used against him.
The moment she had accepted, he knew he had won—and he couldn't wait to see how the idiot would retaliate.
He chuckled, not with as much coldness as the sound used to have.
If he could.
Then, the steel door of the rooftop flung open. He lowered his eyes to glance to his left, meeting eyes the sky in its blue hue could never hope to defeat.
Loud footsteps drew nearer and he smirked.
Victory was eternally sweet and he could taste it once more.
They had been at each other's throat since their first encounter. For three years it went on—they competed over everything and he always lost. She would always yell at him to stop, stop because he was a loser and he would never beat her love and he would never amount to anything.
"Baka! I'll always love him and someday he'll love me back. There's nothing you can do so give up already!"
Those words stung.
But how could he give up on her, when she herself won't give up on someone she never really knew? How could he give up on her, when he had loved her since the first time he saw her?
His rivalry with the arrogant prick went on. It had forced him to attend classes everyday, forced him to pay attention to his academics because someone had to bring the asshole down a few feet. Someone had to make the bastard realize that the world would not always be turning in his favor, that ordinary mortals like himself could work hard and rise above his air-ness.
The one-sided rivalry that had turned into a no-holds barred competition had given him focus, another goal. Another dream.
He would win her heart. And he would surpass him.
Four extremists hi-jacked Konoha Airlines' Flight TM7 from Tokyo to Milan with samurai swords a little after midnight.
They had always been fighting. And then one day, they weren't anymore.
Everyone in school had immediately noticed the difference. No one knew what happened but one Monday, a week after the strange absence of the more destructive of the deadly duo, suddenly it was peaceful as it had never been those years ago.
The teachers and administrators breathed a sigh of relief—they were finally freed from the headaches that the two competitive students always pounded into their heads in the past. The students were a bit restless and confused over the loss of entertainment, though everyone was happy that the balance disrupted years ago had been finally restored—the school's most popular and worshiped student was back on the pedestal where he belonged, and the school's dead-last and clown was back in the rung where he was meant to be.
Where before an explosion would occur when one was in a room with the other, an unnerving type of peace took its place. They never insulted each other anymore, never even talked to each other—they treated each other with familiarity accorded a stranger, and sometimes the others wonder if the loud moron was actually going out of his way to avoid the silent genius contrary to the past. And while this new peace was relaxing, refreshing—
Everyone wondered.
When they sighted a particular chatty student hovering on the school heartthrob more than the usual, they all understood why. They breathed a sigh of relief—they didn't expect the peace but they were glad the war was over.
No one saw the way those dark eyes lingered on sun-yellow hair, shining obscenely bright amidst the crowd of leaving students.
No one knew that he realized too late that he needed that brightness, that warmth, after all.
Dobe.
He hated him, hated him with the heated passion of a piping-hot ramen.
Shit, now he's hungry again.
He had heard a lot about him in the past, mostly from the girl he had worshiped since his eyes landed upon her. She had been profuse with her praises over him, and he had felt such an intense dislike for this guy who was making it close to impossible for him to win her heart. Still, he decided that it wasn't worth his irritation—he recognized her feelings for him as an intense crush, and maybe if he worked hard, showed her that what he felt was true, that he would do anything for her and love her the way a woman was meant to be loved—
Maybe she'd finally give him a chance.
Then on the first day of his life as a first-year high school student, he and that guy became classmates.
He watched with a pang in his chest as she lavished him with her attention, attention that he longed for and would show appreciation for. When that guy merely ignored her, even going as far as telling her that she was annoying and a waste of air—
Teme—!
He snapped.
He stood up and headed to where that bastard, looking as cool as a rich snob condescending to overwhelm mankind with his obnoxious presence, lounged. He glared down at the asshole and the other merely stared back, and he declared that he couldn't see why girls would flock to him when he was just obviously a prick with an ass for a head. He inwardly sneered when the other's shoulders tensed, when the other's dark eyes narrowed as he continued to fire off his compliments. As he yelled on, an idiot decided to push against him and he landed on the asshole.
The bastard stole his fucking first kiss.
And he had to stay in the clinic for a whole fucking day.
The ring-leader, Masaki Shishimoto, pushed aside the flight attendants at sword-point to make his way into the unlocked cockpit of the tri-jet Boeing 727, but was stopped by one of the famous Sannin, the internationally-acclaimed author Sennin Jiraiya.
He wasn't there last night. The most awaited night among graduating students and he wasn't there, hogging the dance floor to make his asinine movements he liked to call dance. Wasn't there laughing like the idiot he was with that bubbling laughter that he secretly liked. Wasn't there to point at his face and challenge him to a dance showdown that he would never accept but would be forced to anyway, because that moron knew what buttons to push and he would prove the dumbass wrong.
And the next morning, graduation day—
He wasn't there either.
After delivering his valedictory address, after receiving his diploma, after trying to bask under the praise of his family and his father's approval that he had worked his ass for ever since he was a child, he turned around to look for a glimpse of sun-yellow hair. But—
He wasn't there.
He clenched his fist.
"Inuzuka."
Said person jumped in surprise before turning to him with a wary, questioning look. They had never addressed each other outside of school-related functions—Uchiha hardly addressed anyone outside of school-related functions, period—so why was he being subjected to this torture of a cold, dark stare? Now, when he had graduated after those fucking sadistic years?
"Where is Uzumaki?"
Inuzuka Kiba stared at him in bewilderment. So shocked was he that he couldn't think of an answer—who would expect the valedictorian to ask about Uzumaki Naruto, of all people? It was a good thing that Nara Shikamaru had overheard and decided to answer for his rarely-dumbfounded friend.
"Naruto already received his diploma last Friday," the lazy salutatorian drawled. "He left Japan last night."
Of all the possible answers, this was the last thing that he had imagined to hear. He left last night? Left Japan?
Left—
"What?"
Left him?
"His term's about to start," Kiba said, finally snapping out of his stupor. "That week he was absent, he was composing some sample shit and it was accepted. Seems it was good enough to get him to Italy."
Composing?
"You're pale, Uchiha."
Italy?
"Dude, are you like sick or something?"
He looked up, feeling—feeling what? He didn't know what he was feeling anymore. He was nauseous, he was angry, he was confused, he was hurting—
Naruto...
He was cold.
They never knew how it happened but gradually, their fights toned down into harmless verbal arguments. Their usual taunts against each other had almost become nicknames—terms of endearment, according to the brave few—and with their constant dirt-digging against the other, they had began to understand and appreciate each other. They knew so much of each other that they had seen a bit of themselves on the other, pieces that no one else had ever seen and no one else outside of them would ever truly understand.
"Shut up, teme!"
They weren't enemies anymore. Rivals still, but almost-friends as well. Like brothers, even, who fought one moment but teased each other the next.
"Tch, dobe."
It was a very strange relationship that no one understood but to them, it didn't matter.
"Sasuke-kun, Naruto-baka! Leaving already?"
Because they did.
Jiraiya-sama, 55 years-old, tried to convince Masaki, 43 years-old, to withdraw his threat. After 20 minutes of intense negotiation, Masaki attacked Jiraiya-sama.
This was it. They were graduating in three weeks and there would be a graduation ball the night before. He had never stopped pursuing her despite her flat-out rejections, despite her daily proclamations of undying love to his rival. He loved her—her temper, her intellect, her beauty, her gorgeous smile, her hidden insecurities—he loved everything about her.
He didn't know why. He just did.
He had a feeling that this was his last chance—he somehow felt that if she rejected him, it would hurt the most of all. This was his last chance to ask her, the only chance to get her to agree with him to take her to the ball. After their graduation, all their lives would change and, if he managed to compose the perfect piece in a few weeks, he would have to be far from her. And as much as he wanted to follow his dream, he couldn't bear the thought of losing touch with her.
He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
"Sakura-chan?"
His voice was softer, more subdued than he had used so many times before. He almost stopped breathing when those green eyes landed on him, a small smile on those pink lips he had dreamed of touching with his. In the years he had pursued her, she had become more tolerant of his antics—her slaps and punches were sometimes tinged with affection, her insults to his mental capacity had toned down, and she was laughing at his jokes with him more and more.
So maybe, maybe, he had a shot after all.
"Will you go to the ball with me?"
He watched as that small smile remained.
"I'm sorry, Naruto."
Watched as those eyes dimmed with sadness. Pity.
"I want to go with someone else."
Watched as his hope died before his eyes.
"I'm sure there's someone else who would love to go with you."
And Naruto couldn't watch anymore.
He closed his eyes, breaking into a smile as a hand rubbed the back of his head. "Maa, maa, it's okay, Sakura-chan! But if you ever change your mind, y'know I'm here, na?"
Sakura laughed and he felt himself relax even for a little. He swallowed a burning lump in his throat.
At least—at least she was happy.
Laughter erupted from the other side of the grounds. He didn't have to look up to know who was laughing the loudest of all, but he wanted—needed—to see.
For as long as he could remember, the idiot had always been as annoying like the hot and bright sun that liked to ruin his birthday. He found it annoying, and what made it more annoying was that he couldn't ignore him. Like the blasted sun that insisted on shining despite his curses over its boiling embrace. Like the irritating brightness that insisted on burning into his eyes and leaving shadowy imprints behind his eyelids. Like the suffocating heat of the early afternoon that insisted on melting the asphalt before his house into a disgustingly happy puddle of ooze.
He had disliked that sun at first sight and while he would normally look for a patch of shadow in his stoic silence, he couldn't help but respond to its presence. In time, he had come to look forward to it, had come to enjoy himself in the presence of that brightness and heat. He felt the most alive when he was trying to find ways to rile the idiot, to see if he would burst into bright fireworks or set off into heated explosions. He was having fun, he had admitted to himself—and against himself, he was also grudgingly pleased at the unplanned closeness that had grown between them as they continued to compete about everything with each other. The idiot was someone who understood him and accepted him for who he was, not for who others imagined him to be.
He clenched his fists as the laughter rang out once again.
But he had lost it, that sun.
He stood up, dark hair shielding his eyes.
He lost his sun and he never regretted something so much in his life.
His protégé, Uzumaki Naruto, threw himself in the line of fire and was slashed from shoulder to thigh, before grabbing the katana from the shocked Masaki to stab the hi-jacker in the heart.
His heart thundering in his ears, he pushed the steel door open. He reflexively shut his eyes at the onslaught of light, before finally adjusting enough to settle on his rival, his almost-friend, his brother—and secretly, the one he wanted to be.
Dark eyes slid to the side and he almost choked as he forced himself to meet them with his own. He would be a man about this, he told himself. He would be a man and leave this all behind him, because he knew that nothing would ever change and it was time to wake up.
It was time to wake up.
Uzumaki Naruto broke into a bright smile, feeling his heart splintering within his chest.
It was time to give up.
It was Friday already.
He could feel the worry, the fear, choking him as he struggled to maintain his outward calm. It was Friday and he wasn't here and hadn't been here since Monday and he—
He felt so scared.
He knew it was bad when Sakura turned to him, green eyes concerned.
"Sasuke-kun? Is somethin—"
"I'm fine."
He knew it was worse when, instead of shutting up as she would have done so, her white brows furrowed.
"But—"
"I'm fine."
And he knew it was worst when he heard a subdued voice across the room, a voice that was usually so loud, almost as loud as his.
"Any of you guys up to it? Naruto hadn't been answering my calls and he wouldn't open his do—"
More than the fear, there was pain.
The bell rang.
He never thought he could hurt as much as he did, standing inside the classroom as they waited for their teacher, as the happy chatter within the room began to settle down, as the light from the sun filtering through the window touched him with its warmth—as the world continued on its course without the presence of the one sun he would give his heartbeat to see again.
He didn't know he could hurt so damned much.
Uzumaki, 17 years-old, was supposed to be a scholar in Milan, Italy, under the tutelage of Jiraiya-sama's acquaintance and fellow Sannin, the world-renowned composer Fuuma Orochimaru.
"Sasuke."
He almost raised an eyebrow in surprise. Naruto rarely called him by his name, and never with such a tone as he was using right now. Suddenly, he felt an uncanny chill run up his spine. His earlier feeling of triumph was replaced with uncertainty.
He inwardly shook his head as his eyes narrowed. But maybe it was the idiot's plan, to throw him off. After all, with what Sasuke had done, he was sure that the last thing Naruto would be was indifferent. The idiot might even go as far as to try to throw him over the rooftop in burning rage.
But why did he feel so—
"I - I heard."
—so alarmed?
"Hn."
Naruto nodded jerkily. It was getting harder and harder to speak—the speech he had earlier planned wouldn't do, because he couldn't breathe and he couldn't speak and he couldn't stop the tears from burning at the back of his eyes. So he'd just say something, something short and sweet, so he could run away and break down in peace.
He closed his eyes and smiled, and he had never felt so whole and broken at the same time.
"Congratulations, Sasuke."
This time, Sasuke flinched. He didn't see this coming, didn't expect this reaction. Where were the yells of outrage, the punches of frustration and the kicks of desperation? The alarm clawing at the back of his mind escalated into a strange, almost palpable fear, and he forced himself to ignore it in favor of studying the younger student before him. That smile was genuine, and yet—and yet—
His chest constricted and he gasped, his heart twisting painfully at the tears sparkling at the corner of those shut eyes.
It was a game, all a game—all a fucking game—
"Take—Take good care of her," Naruto said, his voice slightly wavering. He couldn't open his eyes, because he knew tears would drop down and the last thing he wanted was to break down before this outwardly-bastard Uchiha, his almost-friend, his brother, the one he secretly admired and wanted to be. "She... Sakura-chan... she loves you—has loved you for a long time—"
He could feel a crushing weight on his chest suffocating him, his ears disbelieving as Naruto spoke in a voice so soft it was surreal, so light it was almost a dream. Sasuke didn't understand, couldn't understand why—
"You really love her," he said, his voice almost accusing, almost breaking. But why, why?
Naruto laughed, the usually bubbly sound coming out as a broken sob instead. "I guess I do."
He had loved Haruno Sakura so much, so very much for so long. For a long, long time.
Sasuke took an unconscious step forward. He didn't know why, didn't know what he wanted, but his chest hurt and his heart ached and his eyes burned and he wanted—he wanted—
He froze when Naruto laughed once more, a sheepish pink smile in a sea of honey skin.
He wanted to pry those eyes open, see the blue once more.
"So I guess this is it."
—What?
"You won. Finally, completely won. Sakura-chan clearly chose you over me and I accept." Naruto's smile wobbled and he swallowed. Be a man be a man be a man. She had rejected him already, a lot of times before, but he knew that this one would be the last and he needed to be a man about this. Be the man that he should have been right from the start, be a man like Sasuke who she clearly chose to be with. "Congrats, dude. If I can't have her, there's no other I'd rather she choose to be with than you."
Then he quickly spun around, swallowing a sob that was desperate to come out. He couldn't talk anymore, couldn't stay in the same place as him anymore. He needed to get far, get away, get out and forgetforgetforget and maybe he could move on, maybe he never would, but he had to go and forget and move because he couldn't stop the tears anymo—
Sasuke grabbed Naruto's arm, his body moving of its own volition. A voice laced with desperation came out of his lips, his words coming out in a hurried whisper.
"Dobe, you can take her! It's just a ball, I can get someone else! I'm not serious and you know I don't love her. I just want—I thought it's a—a good way to beat you because I know I'd clinch this—"
But Naruto couldn't hear him because he wanted to run. He wanted to leave, wanted to cover the sound of his tears crying in his ears. So he turned around, a watery smile on his lips as he gently pried the fingers on his arm and gave the milky-white hand a comforting, supportive squeeze.
Sasuke gasped at the soft touch, his eyes widening at Naruto's teary and unfocused smilingweepingbreaking blue eyes bravely swimming before his own.
"Love her for me, teme," Naruto choked out. The world was blurry and he couldn't see how his lips almost touched lips that had stolen his first kiss. "Make her happy."
Sasuke wanted to make him stay, wanted so much to close the distance between them, wantedwantedwanted—
"Goodbye, Uchiha."
And Sasuke felt the bright and hot sun hide from him forever.
It was with profound emotions that he sat down and poured his heart out before a battered rented piano.
The white-haired pervert had been puzzled over his manuscript, with its creases and inks and its obvious tear stains. The old man had even tried to get him to talk but he just smiled and shooed the geezer off to send his composition already. Everything had taken him a week without food and sleep—it was an admirable and idiotic feat, but the result had been worth all the lost of his precious ramen and sleep.
He ignored that he had skipped his classes too.
He sighed. He can finally chase his dream and maybe this passion of his would be his key to a new life.
Artists are lonely people. They remember everything, especially the scars, remember moments much better as they are painted, as they are written, as they are sang, as they are danced than as they are lived. They work while they could in desperation and in brokenness, until there is nothing left but the numbing kindness of silence and emptiness. They work best in their heartaches and they live better in their suffering, and they create the most memorable pieces in remembrance of their most painful memories.
With his loneliness, he had composed what would someday be called his greatest masterpiece.
He smiled. He had done it. Not moved on—years of devotion to the girl he loved could never be cured easily in a week—but he could move away, and maybe the distance would help him heal. Maybe he would understand why that love was never meant to be, because he had always known it but he hadn't wanted to accept it. Maybe he would find a love that was intended for him, a love greater than the loss that was still hurting him right now. Maybe he would find the right person at the right place and at the right time, and maybe he could finally shower all the love and devotion in his lonely heart to the one he was meant to be with.
He had been alone far too long—surely life won't be so cruel as to ordain him to be alone all his life, right?
He closed his eyes and sighed once more. He remembered that he felt the least alone when he was fighting with Sasuke.
He rubbed on the area over his heart, feeling the painful squeeze that always came with his name. He closed his eyes and thought of his dreams, his passion. He thought of the happiness that was surely waiting for him. He thought of the peace and love that was surely to come his way. Because Naruto—
Naruto decided not to suffer anymore. He may be an artist, and someday he may become a composer, but he decided that he won't suffer after this. Who said that artists had to be poster-kids for angst and all things emo? Besides, if artists live better in suffering—
He would just live best in bliss.
His body will be laid to rest in the Heroes' Memorial Park as a tribute to his selfless act of sacrifice.
He watched his classmate walk away.
He had accidentally stumbled over the two as he prepared to leave the building, and he decided to wait it out to see what would happen. He didn't miss anything and while he felt slight worry over his younger classmate, he thought that the idiot could handle himself. After all, it was just a crush and he would probably ask again the next day. The moron had never given up in all those years, there was no reason to give up after that—what, hundredth rejection?
Besides, he was still a bit irked. The dumbass had defeated him in the track field earlier, and even scored higher than him in English. He wanted to find a way to show the moron that he was still better than those obvious flukes.
"Sasuke-kun?"
He hardly raised his eyes. She was pretty, Sasuke would give her that. But he couldn't see the appeal that had captivated his rival in all those years. She wasn't even worth his trivial attention.
"Will you... Will you go to the ball with me?"
He observed idly as she stammered, as she fidgeted, as she blushed under his indifferent gaze. Just what was it that the dobe saw in her? She was nothing spectacular. Even her figure wasn't anything to be excited about.
His mind replayed the scene he had witnessed earlier and he smirked. A plan began to form in his mind—the idiot had been shot down by this girl. Naruto had failed.
There was a calculating gleam in his dark eyes hidden under the long fringes of his hair.
But Sasuke wouldn't.
"Hn."
Because he would always win.
"Na—"
His eyes flew open.
"Naruto!"
He blinked back tears as a blurry face loomed over him. He could sense the concern and confusion, and, as his sight focused, he fought back the overwhelming pull to break into pieces.
"Bad dream?"
He wanted to assure himself that it was not real, not true. Instead, he curled his shaking fists on the blanket as he struggled to even his breathing. He was too distraught to be ashamed, too overcome with fear and denial and desperation to be angry at showing this weakness.
A weakness that had never quite disappeared even after many years.
He swallowed a shameful sob when gentle hands pried his white, bloodless fists from the cloth. Surrendering to his weakness, he dropped his head on a warm shoulder. He released a shuddering breath as a hand rubbed soothing circles on his back—it wasn't the comfort he wanted but it would be enough.
It had to be enough.
"Want to tell me?"
There was a thin thread of hysteria in his voice as it shook with his whispered broken words. "He's dead. Naruto's dead. He died because of me because I took you from him. I killed him. I—" he blinked back tears he couldn't stop from forming once again, "I killed him."
Sakura slowly shook her head. "Sasuke-kun, you have to let this go. It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault."
"I killed him!" he hissed. "He gave up on you and he died because he couldn't bear it that I took you from him!" Sasuke choked as a vision of a prone figure overtook his mind. "I killed him."
"Sasuke-kun—"
He drew back, not wanting to see her anymore. He covered his eyes with a hand. He knew that what he said weren't true, but sometimes, sometimes—
"Thank you, Sakura. You may leave."
He winced at the sudden light when the pink-haired woman forcibly pried his hand from his eyes. He almost flinched when her deceptively-gentle hand gripped his wrist until his hand was a bloodless white once again.
"Look at your hand, Uchiha Sasuke," she ordered softly. Her tone left no room for argument. "Look at your stupid white hand and tell me what you see."
"A ring," he replied dully. "Now unhand me."
"No, you idiot," Sakura returned calmly. "Now whose ring is it and what does it fucking stand for?"
Sasuke decided to humor her. His hand was getting numb already and he was partial to his left hand. "My ring and it stands for my engagement. Now unhand me."
The woman nodded and smiled. "Very good. Always remember that. You're engaged to—"
"Me."
Sasuke's eyes widened as strong arms wrapped around him. He began to shake as warm lips touched his temple, and he turned his head to meet blue blue eyes he hadn't seen in three long months.
"Why so sad, teme?"
"Dobe."
Sakura smiled at the couple as she replied in her friend's stead. "He dreamed that you died again."
Naruto's embrace tightened on the now calm Uchiha, sighing. "I'm kinda afraid of that," he admitted. "The last times I flew to Italy, he dreamed about it too." He drew back at the punishing grip on his arm. "Itai!"
"Don't speak of me as if I'm not here," Sasuke snapped, glaring.
"But it's true," Naruto pouted. "It's the stupid reporter's fault for announcing to the country that I'm dead. I mean, geez, they're supposed to report facts, not their fucking fantasies." He recoiled at a punch on his arm, this time from Sakura. "Sakura-chaaaaaan!"
"Baka," the woman admonished. She glanced at her watch, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, Lee's flight is almost here! Let's meet again at the terminal cafe, ne, Sasuke-kun, Naruto?"
Naruto nodded and Sasuke grunted. With a last smile, Sakura ran to the arrival area, leaving Sasuke with her pink blanket covering his lap.
"Pink kinda looks okay on you," Naruto commented. He laughed nervously at the dark glare Sasuke threw his way.
"Why were you delayed?" Sasuke demanded.
The composer pouted. "You can ask how I am. Y'know, our plane coulda been hi-jacked again and—" He cursed when Sasuke turned a ghostly-white and he hurriedly embraced the older man, who struggled halfheartedly from the placating gesture. He settled instead to squeezing the tanned fingers until he heard something cracked.
"Fuck my big mouth," Naruto said, remorseful and wincing for his poor hand. "Sorry, teme. But you really have to forget about it. I forgave you in the hospital, remember? You didn't have anything to be sorry for but you just wouldn't stop. When would you forgive yourself?"
"I took her from you," Sasuke's voice, muffled by Naruto's dark suit, floated to his ears. "You loved her very much."
Naruto rolled his eyes, unseen by his fiancé who seemed to be inhaling him. "Yeah, loved. Y'know, past tense?" He sighed and raised Sasuke's head, his left hand stroking a cheek as he ignored the half-accusing, half-mollified glare. "C'mon, teme. You have my ring. I have your ring. What does it tell you?"
Sasuke blinked at Naruto's smile. It was and always will be the most beautiful smile in his eyes. Even the sun just rising up on the window behind his lover couldn't rival its brightness and heat. He found himself tilting a corner of his lips, and he watched Naruto's smile widened further in delight of his rare smile.
And the last of his fears, his doubts, finally melted into nothingness under the smile of the sun.
"It means we like rings."
"Yeah, it means we—what?" Naruto squawked. He scowled at Sasuke's smirk. "You're such a bastard. Why do I have to hook up with the most unromantic asshole in the world?"
"Hn. Dobe."
Naruto rolled his eyes once more and straightened up. "Whatever, Sasuke-yarou. C'mon, I'm hungry. They don't have ramen in Italy, y'know. All I see are pasta drowning in tomato sauce. I mean, c'mon, tomato? Who the fuck eats that shit?"
Sasuke scowled. Love or not, no one could diss his tomato. "Usuratonkachi."
Naruto laughed, loud and bubbly and straight from the heart. He extended a hand to pull the bastard up. "Com—" He screeched when Sasuke pulled him down instead, landing on the bastard's lap. "The fuck, teme? In public?"
Sasuke smirked as he leaned closer. "Hn. We like rings, remember?"
And, just as he had wanted to do all those years ago, on that horrible horrible day when Naruto walked away, Sasuke sealed the distance between them with a kiss.
On a news exclusive... Business tycoon Uchiha Sasuke and most sought-after composer and conductor Uzumaki Naruto announced their engagement after seven years of dating and three years after coming out in public as a couple. There are no specific date and place as of yet but the honeymoon is slated to be in Milan, Italy. Uchiha, 27 years-old, announced that Konoha Airlines will be flying commercial flights free of charge on the day of their wedding and Uzumaki, 26 years-old, will be conducting at Konoha Opera House a full week before the intended wedding date for the Konoha Central Orphanage. For more information, please text the numbers at the bottom of your screen or log on at our news website.
This has been Haruno Sakura for Shin Nihon Patrol. Shannaro!
