The corridor at the top of the stairs was never meant for two grown men to loiter in. Even less so when those two men—one blond, one black-haired, both nearly vibrating with adrenaline—were about to walk down and confront not only a table full of childhood ghosts, but the combined authority of both their families. Still, Naruto and Sasuke stood there, side by side, as if by mutual agreement neither was allowed to take the first step.
Below, the Sunday din of the Uzumaki household had shifted from breakfast chaos to the low, dangerous hum of holiday anticipation. The kitchen was alive with the sound of ceramic clinking, drawers opening, something heavy being dropped and then muffled curses from Kushina. Naruto inhaled deeply; Sasuke copied him a beat later, their lungs filling in sync, the exhale just a hair out of time. Sasuke's hand found Naruto's at their sides, a quick, dry squeeze.
"Ready?" Naruto whispered, like he hadn't been asking himself the same question for hours.
"No," Sasuke replied, but he straightened his collar anyway.
The stairs creaked traitorously as they descended. Naruto tried to make his feet lighter, but the ancient wood had other plans, announcing every step with increasing volume. Halfway down, a movement caught his eye—his father, Minato, had paused at the kitchen threshold, watching them with that look of low-key dread parents reserve for hospital bills and surprise parent-teacher meetings.
Before Naruto could gauge whether this was encouragement or a last chance to flee, the doorbell rang, its aggressive buzz echoing through the foyer. Kushina's voice, artificially bright, called out from the kitchen: "Naruto, would you—?"
"I've got it," he called back, and then instantly regretted volunteering, because it meant the next thing he did would be open the door to the Uchiha clan matriarch, possibly holding a bouquet of weaponized roses or an actual katana.
But when he reached the foyer, Sasuke a careful half-step behind, it was only Mikoto standing there, framed in the glass, a scarf artfully draped around her neck and a look on her face that said she'd seen worse but not by much.
"Mrs. Uchiha," Naruto managed, and pulled the door wide.
Mikoto glided inside, the air shifting around her. She wore the sort of scent that made you think of well-furnished boardrooms and polite wars. For a moment she studied Naruto—eyes sharp, mouth gentle—then her gaze flicked to Sasuke, and something in her face relaxed, just a fraction.
"I'm so sorry for the last-minute change," she said, voice perfectly modulated. "Fugaku insisted we wait, but honestly, I didn't think you'd make it," she added, the 'you' loaded with years of exasperation. "We didn't hear from you at all last night."
Sasuke's mouth opened, then shut. Naruto felt a brief surge of panic, then heard his mother's footsteps approaching, quick and unapologetic. Kushina rounded the corner, drying her hands on a festive towel. She caught the tail end of Mikoto's statement, and her grin split her face.
"About that," Kushina interjected, waving the towel like a flag of truce, "we had a bit of a surprise guest last night." She tilted her head toward Sasuke and, with the subtlety of a freight train, gestured to where Naruto and Sasuke now stood shoulder to shoulder. "Didn't we, boys?"
Mikoto's eyebrow arched. Her eyes, dark as river stones, locked onto Sasuke's. "You could have texted," she said, the words landing softer than expected.
Sasuke attempted a smile. It had the effect of a lightbulb in a blackout—weak, but meaningful. "Sorry, mother. I was… distracted."
Naruto glanced up at him, and for a moment, the tension ebbed, replaced by the shared memory of their narrow escape from Kushina's early morning offensive.
There was a shuffle at the door, and then Fugaku appeared, silent and square-shouldered. He wore a dark suit, his only concession to the holiday a crimson tie that gleamed in the light. He did not enter immediately, but instead assessed the hallway as if memorizing an exit strategy. His gaze lingered longest on Sasuke, then Naruto, then back to Sasuke.
"Good morning," he said. The words were more a courtesy than a greeting.
Sasuke inclined his head. "Father."
Kushina, sensing a lull that could detonate at any moment, rushed to fill the void. "Why don't we all move into the living room? Brunch will be ready soon, and there's fresh coffee." She all but herded the Uchiha parents down the hall, pausing only to deliver a half-hug to Mikoto, who looked briefly startled but accepted it with grace.
Naruto and Sasuke followed in their wake. The living room had been staged for maximum diplomacy: sofa fluffed, all breakable objects nudged out of reach, and a centerpiece of white lilies perched on the coffee table. Minato was already stationed in an armchair, a mug balanced on his knee, the picture of serenity.
As everyone took seats, a silent hierarchy emerged. Fugaku claimed the end of the couch, his posture ramrod straight, arms folded loosely. Mikoto perched beside him, hands resting in her lap. Kushina sat closest to Naruto, practically vibrating with the effort to keep her opinions in check. Sasuke, with minimal fuss, positioned himself next to Naruto at the opposite end of the sofa, legs crossed, hands folded with identical precision to his father's.
There was a collective inhale, the prelude to disaster or miracle, no way to know yet. Naruto found himself picking at a loose thread on his jeans, the movement hypnotic. Sasuke's hand crept to his knee, fingers just brushing above the kneecap—a casual gesture, except in this room, in this moment, it was the equivalent of detonating a firework.
Naruto's mother seemed to notice, her eyes going wide, but instead of commenting, she clasped her hands tighter in her lap. Mikoto's gaze tracked the contact and then lifted, meeting her son's eyes. Naruto wondered if she saw the barely contained tremor in Sasuke's jaw, the way his breath shivered in and out of his chest.
It was Sasuke who broke the silence. He cleared his throat—a small, polite sound—and squared his shoulders. "There's something Naruto and I wanted to share."
Kushina gave a tiny, encouraging nod, like a booster shot of maternal resolve.
Fugaku's eyes narrowed a fraction, but he didn't speak.
Sasuke looked at Naruto, and for a split second Naruto wondered if he was supposed to do the talking. But then Sasuke turned back to the group, and his voice was calm, level, almost gentle.
"Naruto and I are together," he said. "As a couple."
The words fell into the room like a dropped glass. They didn't shatter so much as vibrate, sending out ripples that collided with every surface. Mikoto's eyes widened, the carefully composed mask breaking just a little at the edges. And Fugaku—well, Fugaku's reaction was so still, so silent, that for a second Naruto thought the man had simply chosen to ignore the entire announcement.
But then Fugaku leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and said, "For how long?"
Sasuke didn't flinch. "A few months," he replied, voice steady.
You cannot be in a relationship with Naruto," Fugaku boomed. The words hit the room like a gunshot; Kushina, who had just returned with a plate of cookies, froze in the doorway, eyes wide. "You are the heir to Uchiha Corp. How do you intend to preserve the family line? Who will produce heirs? And what about your engagement to Sakura? That arrangement is crucial to the future of the company."
Naruto's stomach dropped as if he'd missed a step on a staircase. His ears began to ring, drowning out the rest of the room. Engagement? The word repeated in his mind, each echo hollowing him out further. He turned to Sasuke, searching his face for denial, for explanation, for anything that might make the last five seconds unhappen.
Sasuke's jaw set. "I broke off that engagement months ago. Sakura knows. She—"
Naruto's mind stuttered. Engagement? Broke off? Months ago? Each word hit like a separate blow. So there had been an engagement—a real one—while they were together?
"Don't be dramatic," Fugaku snapped. "You made a commitment to Sakura's family, and to ours. And if you throw that away for—" His eyes cut to Naruto, voice dripping contempt—"this childish infatuation—then you're becoming just like your brother. Reckless. Selfish."
Naruto jerked as if struck, and Sasuke's hand tightened around his, oblivious to the hurricane building inside him.
"That's not fair," Sasuke hissed, anger boiling up. "Don't compare me to Itachi. I'm nothing like him."
Fugaku's face darkened. "You're more like him than you know. The same disregard for tradition. The same weakness."
Naruto's head spun as the words "engagement" and "Sakura" ricocheted inside his skull. He tried to focus on what was happening now, but his thoughts kept fragmenting.
"At least Itachi is doing what he wants now," Sasuke spat, and suddenly the two Uchihas were shouting across the living room. Naruto struggled to follow their rapid-fire accusations, each one layered with history he didn't fully understand.
Kushina tried to intervene. "Everyone, please—"
Sasuke's fingers wrapped around Naruto's wrist, pulling him upright. The touch anchored him momentarily, though his legs felt unsteady beneath him.
"No," Sasuke said, voice low but steady. "You want the truth? Here it is: I don't care about your mergers. I don't care about keeping up appearances." His grip tightened on Naruto's wrist. "I want to live my life with Naruto, and I will."
Fugaku barked a humorless laugh. "You think you have a choice?"
"I'm not the one without choices anymore," Sasuke replied, something cold and final settling in his eyes. "You are."
Fugaku's face hardened to stone. "Explain."
Naruto's stomach twisted into another knot. He stared at the carpet pattern, counting the swirls while his pulse hammered in his ears. First the engagement bombshell, now whatever this was. He couldn't even look at Sasuke anymore, just waited, shoulders hunched, for whatever revelation would shatter what little remained of his world.
"Effective yesterday, I hold majority shares in Uchiha Corp," Sasuke announced beside him, voice steady where Naruto felt anything but. "That means I am no longer bound by your board, your contracts, or your decisions."
The silence was apocalyptic. Even Kushina's breathing seemed to stop.
Mikoto was the first to speak, her voice trembling. "Sasuke, what are you talking about?"
Sasuke's face was pale, but he didn't flinch. "I leveraged my positions, bought out the proxy votes, and I have Itachi's trust in my name. I'm in control now."
The pieces suddenly clicked for Naruto—Sasuke's bloodshot eyes at 3 AM, the hushed phone calls, the legal documents hastily shoved into drawers whenever he entered the room. The constant coffee, the way Sasuke's hands sometimes shook from exhaustion. He'd been planning this for weeks.
Fugaku looked as if he'd been struck. "Impossible. The shareholder agreement—"
"I read every word," Sasuke said. "And every word that wasn't there."
Fugaku's voice went low and icy. "You think a few pieces of paper can sever your responsibilities to this family?"
"I think it severs my responsibilities to you," Sasuke replied.
The words hung in the air. Naruto felt them in his bones—the final cut that freed, but also wounded.
Fugaku turned away, then wheeled back, a new confidence straightening his spine. "Your little power play means nothing," he said, voice low with satisfaction. "Have you forgotten the collaboration contract with Jiraiya Publishing?" His eyes flicked to Naruto. "Section 27-B states that any personal relationship between key stakeholders constitutes a conflict of interest. The moment you two go public, the entire movie deal collapses."
Naruto felt the floor tilt beneath him. Two years of drafts, countless sleepless nights hunched over his laptop—all of it crumbling away in seconds. His throat closed as he pictured Jiraiya's disappointed face, the team of artists already sketching character designs, the writers who'd trusted his vision. He gripped the edge of the couch to steady himself, knuckles white against the fabric.
The room went still.
Sasuke's mouth twitched, a flicker of the old, mean smile. "I had our lawyers review those terms this morning," he said. "Jiraiya himself signed the amendment. The project continues regardless of who I'm dating."
Naruto's head snapped toward Sasuke. This morning? Amendment? The realization hit him like ice water—Sasuke had gone behind his back too, had changed their contract without telling him. Had spoken to Jiraiya, his own godfather, about them. About this. His throat closed around a question he couldn't voice as Fugaku's face drained of color.
Sasuke leaned in, and his next words were measured, almost gentle. "You lost, father. And you know what? I don't even care about winning. I just want the chance to be happy."
Fugaku's face, so long a mask of power, crumpled for just a second. Then he straightened. The room fell into a silence so complete Naruto could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. When Fugaku finally spoke, his voice had shed its anger, leaving behind something ancient and weary.
"You think this is victory," he said, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond his son. "I was twenty-three once too. I thought I knew better than my father." He shook his head slowly. "Thirty years running this company has taught me one thing, Sasuke. Freedom always comes with a price."
Sasuke's shoulders tensed, but before he could respond, Fugaku continued, each word measured as if drawn from a well of hard-earned knowledge. "The world doesn't care about your happiness. It only respects strength. And someday, you'll understand what I've sacrificed to protect you from that truth."
Naruto stood frozen, suddenly aware he was merely scenery in this Uchiha family drama. The corporate takeovers, the secret amendments, the calculated chess moves—none of it had involved him. Not once had Sasuke asked what he wanted. His dreams, his career, his publishing deal—all just collateral pieces on Sasuke's game board. The realization hollowed him out from the inside. He wasn't Sasuke's partner; he was a prize being fought over.
Sasuke stepped between them, shoulders squared, playing the hero in a story Naruto hadn't even known was being written. But Fugaku merely tilted his head to maintain eye contact with his son, his voice dropping to a surgical precision. "How can you claim to love Naruto if you can't even see that he's hurting?"
Every eye in the room swiveled toward him. Naruto felt his skin burn under their stares, like he'd been shoved center stage without knowing his lines. His throat closed as if someone had reached inside and squeezed. The argument that had nothing to do with him suddenly had everything to do with him, and the worst part was Fugaku was right. Sasuke hadn't seen it. Nobody had asked him what he wanted. Nobody had even looked at him until now.
Sasuke turned, and the horror in his eyes was real this time. "Naruto?"
Naruto's chest caved in like something had punctured it. His lungs refused to fill, as if the air itself had turned to cement. The walls of the room seemed to press inward, crushing him from all sides. His vision tunneled, faces blurring into smears of color, voices warping into a distant roar. He needed to run, to escape, to tear himself away from these people who talked about his life like it was just another business transaction.
Kushina appeared through the fog, her hands finding him as he swayed. "Naruto, honey, look at me. Look at me. Breathe with me."
He tried. He really tried. But the breaths came faster, shallower, until he felt lightheaded, close to passing out.
Sasuke reached for him, voice breaking. "Dobe, I'm sorry—"
Naruto recoiled, shaking his head, tears spilling before he could stop them. "Don't," he managed, voice barely a whisper. "Just—don't."
He turned away, bolted from the room. He heard Sasuke calling after him, heard his mother's voice, but he didn't look back. He sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, and slammed his bedroom door behind him, pressing his back to the old, battered wood.
He slid to the floor, heart pounding so hard he could barely hear. The tears came in ugly, shuddering waves, salt and snot pooling on his lips. He curled in on himself, fists clenched so tight his nails left little half-moons in his palms.
He wasn't sure how long he sat like that. The world outside faded to a dull, watery roar—maybe the adults arguing, maybe just the blood in his ears. He heard footsteps on the stairs, then a cautious knock.
"Go away," Naruto muttered. He didn't care who it was.
There was a pause. Then, softly: "I'm not leaving. Not until we talk."
It was Sasuke. Of course it was.
Naruto pressed his forehead to his knees, refusing to look up. "You lied to me," he said, voice muffled. "You kept all of this secret."
Sasuke's voice was quiet through the door. "Naruto, there was a reason—"
"What reason could possibly justify this?" Naruto's words scraped his throat raw.
A long pause. "I can't... not here. Not like this. If you'd just let me in—"
"No." Naruto pressed his forehead against the cool wood. "I'm done with your excuses. Done with you making choices about my life without me in the room."
He heard the sound of Sasuke sliding down against the other side of the door. "I'm sorry," Sasuke said, his voice cracking on the last syllable. "I never wanted to hurt you."
Naruto's hand moved toward the doorknob of its own accord. His fingers trembled inches away, aching to turn it, to fling the door open and collapse into those arms that had held him just last night. His chest burned with the phantom warmth of Sasuke's body against his. But then he remembered the cold calculation in Sasuke's eyes as he'd outmaneuvered his father, remembered being nothing but a pawn in their game, and his hand fell away. Of course Sasuke had done this. Of course.
"I can't do this," Naruto whispered, his voice breaking into pieces between them.
There was a moment of silence. Then Sasuke's voice came again, lower, urgent. "Naruto, please. Just open the door."
Naruto pressed his hands to his face, breathing in the smell of old sweat and new shame.
"I'm not leaving," Sasuke said, his voice cracking. "I'll sit here all night if I have to."
Naruto forced himself to stand on shaking legs. He crossed to the window, flung it open. The cold air hit him like a slap.
"Naruto, please." The desperation in Sasuke's voice was new. Raw. "We can fix this."
Naruto's hand hovered over the doorknob. He turned it slowly, pulled the door open just enough to see Sasuke's face—eyes red-rimmed, hair disheveled.
"I need a break," Naruto said, the words like glass in his throat. "From this. From you."
Sasuke's face crumpled. "Naruto—"
"I mean it." Naruto closed the door again, this time with quiet finality.
A soft sigh filtered through the door. "I'll be here when you're ready to talk. Not before." Footsteps retreated down the hallway, each one lighter than Naruto expected, as if Sasuke was giving him permission to breathe again.
Naruto collapsed onto his childhood bed, the springs creaking in familiar protest. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the photo gallery. He tapped it open.
There they were—gap-toothed seven-year-olds with popsicle-stained grins. High school graduation with Sasuke's arm possessively around his shoulders, before everything changed.
His thumb paused on last night's blurry selfie—Sasuke's rare, unguarded smile directed not at the camera, but at him.
Naruto let the phone drop onto his chest. The ceiling offered no answers, just the same glow-in-the-dark stars they'd stuck up there at thirteen.
Where the hell did they go from here?