Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The email from his tutor had arrived at 2:47 on a grey Tuesday afternoon, and Sasuke had been trying not to think about it ever since.

Year Out Placement: Deadlines and Opportunities

He'd read it twice, then closed his laptop and stared at the wall of his cramped student halls for a very long time. The wall was beige. There was a stain in the corner that looked vaguely like a map of South America. He'd spent a lot of time staring at that stain over the past eighteen months.

Year out placement. The words sat in his chest like pebbles worn smooth by age.

Every architecture student needed one.

A year in industry between the second and third years, working for a firm, gaining experience, building connections. The kind of thing that students with parents in the industry arranged over dinner. The kind of thing that students with family friends who were partners at practices sorted out with a casual phone call.

Sasuke had none of those things.

His father had been a mid-level manager at a company that no longer existed. His mother had been a housewife, then a widow, then not anything at all. The family house had been reclaimed by creditors eighteen months after the funeral, and Sasuke had arrived at UCL with two suitcases and a scholarship that covered tuition but little else.

Itachi was in Shanghai.

Itachi was brilliant at batteries. Lithium-ion, solid-state, the kind of engineering that Sasuke didn't fully understand—but Itachi didn't know anyone in architecture. Their phone calls were weekly, scheduled around a time difference that made conversation feel like a transatlantic cable, and Sasuke never mentioned the placement because there was nothing Itachi could do about it anyway.

So he stared at the stain on his wall and tried not to think about the future.

His phone buzzed.

Sasuke closed his eyes.

Karin Uzumaki.

They'd shared halls in first year, and she'd developed what Sasuke had politely tried to ignore as a crush. She was relentlessly cheerful, relentlessly persistent, and relentlessly wealthy in a way she never quite acknowledged. Her glasses were Prada. Her coats were wool and cashmere. Her hair changed colour with the seasons. Rose gold in autumn, icy blonde in winter, now drifting towards something peachy and spring-appropriate and Sasuke had learned enough about expensive hairdressing to know that those tones didn't come from a box.

He'd never led her on.

He was careful about that. When she'd kissed him at a party in first year, he'd gently extracted himself and said, I don't think of you that way. She'd been upset for a week, then decided to be friends instead, and Sasuke had accepted this because he didn't have so many friends that he could afford to lose one.

But the crush lingered. He could see it in the way she touched his arm, the way she insisted on buying him things, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't watching. It made him uncomfortable. But it also made him guilty, because she was kind, and he couldn't return what she wanted, and he kept showing up anyway because Suigetsu and Jūgo kept telling him he had to.

He would miss her birthday, actually. He absolutely would. But he couldn't say that.

The three kisses were a lot. Sasuke set his phone face-down on the desk and went back to staring at the stain. At least that didn't ask anything of him.

By Friday evening, he'd almost convinced himself he could get out of it.

He was in the kitchen of his halls a space that smelled perpetually of someone else's forbidden and illegal microwave fish curry, when Suigetsu slouched in with his lank looking pale hair, grabbed a beer from the communal fridge without asking whose it was, and leaned against the counter with the expression of someone about to be annoying.

"So," Suigetsu said. "Tomorrow. Karin's thing."

Yes—he was absolutely about to be annoying.

Sasuke kept his eyes on the instant noodles he was not eating. "I don’t think I can go."

"Yes you are."

"I have work."

"When don’t you?" Suigetsu cracked open the beer (which was definitely not his) and took a long swallow. He peered at Sasuke as if he was about to have an existential crisis.
"Look, I get it. She's Karin and she’s a bit much. But it's her birthday, and she will be so upset if you don’t go."

Sasuke's jaw tightened. "I have other commitments."

"Sasuke, you’re on a first, you can afford one night off." Suigetsu's voice was casual, but there was an edge to it. "Jūgo agrees. You have to come. For the good of the group."

"The group," Sasuke repeated flatly.

"Yeah. Us. Your friends." Suigetsu gestured with the beer bottle.

Sasuke looked at his noodles. They'd gone sad and soggy.

"I can't afford it," he said quietly. It was humiliating to admit, but Suigetsu never said anything, which was the closest Suigetsu came to tact.

"Karin will buy your drinks," Suigetsu said. "You know she will."

"I don’t want her to."

"Stop being difficult." He frowned at Sasuke. "It’ll be mostly painless, just learn to smile."

Sasuke was silent for a long moment. The kitchen hummed around them the old fridge, the out of sync microwave clock, someone's forgotten washing machine in the basement.

"How upset do you think she’ll be if I don’t go?" he asked.

"Devastated.”

There was a long pause.

"Fine," he said eventually. "But I'm not staying late."

Saturday evening was cold.

Early spring in London meant winter hadn't quite given up, and the wind cutting through Green Park had teeth. Sasuke dug his hands deeper into his jacket. It was an old navy thing that had once been Itachi's, warm but worn at the cuffs. He followed Suigetsu and Jūgo up the steps from the tube station.

He'd tried, this afternoon. He'd stood in the shared bathroom with the door locked (a rare luxury as the lock kept breaking) and washed his hair with the cheap shampoo that left it clean if not exactly silky. He'd combed it carefully, the way his mother used to when he was small, coaxing it into something resembling order. He'd put on his best clothes: dark jeans that had only one small rip, a black jumper that was mostly free of pilling, the navy jacket that was technically out of style but warm enough that he didn't care.

He'd looked at himself in the mirror and seen exactly what he was: a boy in hand-me-downs, trying to pass.

The walk from Green Park to the bar was short but brutal, the wind funnelling down the streets and cutting through every layer. Suigetsu was talking (he talked constantly) about something that had happened in his seminar, some argument with a tutor about something Sasuke couldn't follow. Jūgo walked in silence on Sasuke's other side, a steady presence that required nothing.

They turned onto a street that looked like any other in Mayfair: elegant buildings, discreet signage, the kind of quiet that meant money. And then they stopped.

OCTO at Amazónico.

There was no sign, not really. Just a door, dark wood, with a small brass plate that might have been the address. A man in a black suit stood outside, his expression professionally neutral.

Suigetsu gave a name. The doorman consulted a list. His eyes travelled over the three of them. Over Suigetsu's deliberately casual clothes that cost more than they looked, over Jūgo's bulk, over Sasuke's worn boots.

The boots. Sasuke saw him look at the boots. Saw the micro-expression that flickered across his face (what was it? Disapproval, assessment, dismissal? All three, likely) before it smoothed away.

For a terrible moment, Sasuke thought they wouldn't get in because of his boots.

Then the doorman stepped aside, opening the door, and they were through.

The descent was theatrical. A narrow staircase curved downward, the walls lined with dark velvet, the lighting low and amber. At the bottom, the space opened out like a dream.

Sasuke stopped walking.

He couldn't help it. The room was opulent.

Plush shell-shaped chairs in jewel tones clustered around low tables. An enormous octopus chandelier hung from the ceiling, its tentacles curling outward, each tip holding a glowing orb. The walls were draped in deep greens and golds, and behind the bar a sweeping curve of polished dark wood a mural of an underwater scene stretched floor to ceiling, all exotic fish, coral and impossible vegetation.

People filled the space. Beautiful people, expensively dressed people, people who belonged in places like this. The women's dresses caught the light. The men's watches glinted. The cocktails in their hands were works of art, garnished with edible flowers and gold leaf and things Sasuke couldn't name.

He looked down at his boots. The leather was scuffed at the toes, worn pale at the creases. They'd been good boots once, when Itachi bought them, but that was five years ago and they'd walked through a lot of London since then.

"Oh." Suigetsu's elbow in his ribs. "There she is."

Sasuke looked up. Across the room, Karin was waving—no, not waving, waving, her arm in the air, her face split in a grin that was visible even through the crowd. She was wearing something silver and shimmery that caught the light, her hair a perfect peachy-blonde cascade over her shoulders.

She looked like she belonged here. Because, of course, she did.

"Sasuke!" Her voice carried. People turned to look. "Sasuke, over here!"

Karin was there, right there, throwing her arms around him before he could brace.

"You came!" Her perfume was expensive and floral, and her grip was surprisingly strong. "I knew you would. I told everyone you would."

"Karin." He extracted himself carefully. "Happy birthday."

Her eyes were bright, made up in some complicated way that made them look larger, shimmering. "Thank you. God, you look—" She stopped, looked him over, and something flickered in her expression. Concern? Pity? He couldn't tell. "You look good," she finished, but there was a beat of hesitation that said otherwise.

Sasuke's jaw tightened. He knew what she saw. The too-thin frame, the shadows under his eyes, the clothes that didn't quite fit the room. He stood a little straighter anyway.

"Drink," Karin declared. "You need a drink. Come on, I'm buying." She grabbed his hand her fingers warm and insistent and started pulling him towards the bar.

"Karin, I can—"

"It's my birthday and I'm buying." She didn't look back. "What do you want? Something good. They do this thing here with passion fruit and chilli that's incredible."

Sasuke's mind raced. He couldn't let her buy him the most expensive thing on the menu. He couldn't. But he also couldn't pay for himself, couldn't even offer, because offering would mean admitting he couldn't afford it, and that was worse.

They reached the bar. Karin leaned against it, still holding his hand, and smiled at the bartender with the ease of someone who'd done this a thousand times.

"Two of the Leblon special," she said. "The one with the tamarillo."

The bartender nodded, already reaching for bottles.

Sasuke's throat was dry. "Karin, that's—"

"Delicious. You'll adore it." She squeezed his hand. "Relax. It's my birthday. Let me do something nice for you."

He wanted to argue. Say that’s not how birthdays work. He wanted to pull his hand away and retreat to a corner and disappear into the velvet upholstery. But Karin was looking at him with those bright, hopeful eyes, and Suigetsu was watching from across the room with an expression that said don't you dare ruin this, and the bartender was already shaking something in a silver cocktail shaker.

So he stood there, letting Karin hold his hand, and waited for a drink he couldn't afford.

The cocktails arrived in elegant glasses, pale gold with a deep red streak swirling through them, garnished with something that looked like a dried flower. Karin released his hand to take hers, then raised it in a toast.

"To twenty-two," she said. "And to my friends."

Sasuke raised his glass. The rim was cold against his lips. The drink was—good. Actually good. Not just sugar and high percent alcohol but sharp and sweet and complex, the cachaça warming his empty stomach, the tamarillo adding something savoury underneath.

He'd have to make this last all night.

There was no way he could afford another.

Karin leaned in and kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft, warm, lingering just a moment too long.

"You have to dance with me later," she said, pulling back with a smile. "Promise me."

Sasuke tried not to grimace. "Hn."

"That's not a promise."

"Hn."

She laughed, apparently delighted by him, and tugged him back towards the group.

Suigetsu raised an eyebrow. Jūgo gave a small nod of acknowledgment. Other people were there too, friends of Karin's he didn't know, beautiful and polished and speaking a language of private schools and skiing holidays and gap years that meant something.

Sasuke took a small sip of his cocktail and retreated.

He just—drifted. Slowly as the group expanded and contracted and conversation flowed around him.

He found a spot against the wall, near one of the plush shell chairs, where he could observe without being observed.

The bar burbled around him. Laughter rose and fell. The octopus chandelier glowed overhead, its tentacles casting strange shadows on the walls. People moved through the space like they owned it, like they'd been born in places like this, like the idea of a seventeen-pound cocktail was nothing to think twice about.

Seventeen pounds.

That was half his bloody grocery budget for the week. A week of instant noodles and tea and the occasional apple if he was feeling extravagant. Gone. Poof. In four measly sips.

He took another small taste, deliberately restrictive, and watched the room.

A group of men in suits near the bar, laughing too loudly. A woman in a dress that probably cost more than Sasuke's entire wardrobe, including the boots. Couples tucked into the shell chairs, heads close together, drinks forgotten.

And everywhere, money.

It was in the cut of their clothes, the ease of their movements, the way they never looked at prices. Sasuke could feel it like someone pressing at his temples, reminding him with a sharp: tap, tap, tap, that he didn't belong.

Sasuke stayed against the wall, nursing his drink, watching the beautiful people. The tamarillo flavour lingered on his tongue. The warmth of the cachaça spread through his chest. The octopus chandelier cast its strange light over everything.

He wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to belong here. To order another drink without thinking. To laugh with the ease of someone who'd never worried about grocery budgets or worn boots or year-out placements.

He'd never know.

The thought should have been depressing. Instead, it was just a fact.

He took another small sip and settled in to wait out the next hour.

Around him, the party continued. Karin laughed, danced, held court. Suigetsu found Jūgo. Strangers became briefly familiar and then faded away. And the cocktail got lower and lower in Sasuke's glass.

Time moved strangely in places like this.

Sasuke had noticed it before, in the few expensive bars he'd accidentally ended up in—the way the minutes seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, how you could look at your watch and discover that an hour had passed when it felt like twenty minutes, or twenty minutes when it felt like an hour. Something about the lighting, maybe. Or the drink. Or the company.

Here, with his cocktail long finished and nothing to do but watch, time felt like it was doing both at once. The crowd around Karin had grown, a swirling mass of beautiful people that seemed to expand and contract with her laughter. She was in her element here, holding court, pulling people into her orbit with the effortless gravity of someone who'd never known what it felt like to be on the outside looking in.

He hadn't eaten today, hadn't been able to face food, nerves and the memory of that email about placement deadlines making his throat tight and the cachaça had gone straight to his head. Not drunk, exactly.

Just... looser.

Fuzzier at the edges. Like the world had been turned down a few notches.

He should eat something. There were probably canapés somewhere. Karin's kind of party always had canapés.

Before he could move, Karin was there, right in front of him, her silver dress catching the light and her face flushed with birthday joy.

"Sasuke!" She grabbed his hands. "You've been hiding all night. Come dance with me."

"Karin, I—"

"It's my birthday." She was already pulling him towards the space that had become a makeshift dance floor, bodies moving to something with a beat he couldn't quite identify. "You promised."

"I didn't promise."

She was stronger than she looked, or he was weaker than he should be, and suddenly they were in the middle of it, surrounded by moving bodies and pulsing music and Karin's laughing face.

Sasuke danced. Well, sort of.

He moved his feet, shifted his weight, tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Karin didn't seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm; she was too caught up in the music, in the night, in the sheer joy of being twenty-two and beautiful and surrounded by people who loved her.

For a few minutes, Sasuke almost let himself relax. The alcohol helped. The beat helped. Karin's happiness was infectious, even to someone as immune to happiness as he generally was.

Then a hand touched Karin's shoulder, and she turned, and her face lit up even more.

"Lee!" She threw her arms around a young man with a bowl cut and an enthusiastic smile. "You came! I didn't think you'd make it!"

"Wouldn't miss it for anything, Karin!" Lee had an energy that was almost exhausting to witness. "The train was delayed, but I ran the rest of the way!"

Karin laughed, still holding his arm, and Sasuke saw his opportunity.

He slipped away.

One step, then another, then he was at the edge of the dance floor, then past it, then disappearing into the crowd. Karin wouldn't notice. Not for a while, anyway. And by the time she did, he'd have regrouped, found another corner, resumed his observation post.

He was maybe halfway across the room when a hand caught his wrist.

Not Karin's hand. A man's hand, cool and dry, with long fingers and a grip that tightened when Sasuke tried to pull away.

Sasuke turned.

The man was older. Maybe forty, maybe older, with the kind of face that made age hard to read. Long dark hair fell past his shoulders, sleek and oil-slick. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the low light, and his eyes which were dark, hooded and assessing travelled over Sasuke with a slowness that made his skin crawl.

"Leaving so soon?" The man's voice was low, smooth, with a quality Sasuke couldn't quite place. An accent, maybe. Something European. "The night is young. And you—" His gaze lingered on Sasuke's face, dropped to his chest, his waist, his too-loose trousers. "You look like you could use another drink."

Sasuke pulled his wrist free. "No.”

A pause.

“Thank you."

"Just one drink." The man stepped closer. Too close. His hand reached out, fingers brushing Sasuke's sleeve. "I'm Orochimaru. And you are?"

"Really not interested."

Sasuke tried to step around him. The man moved with him, blocking his path.

"Don't be hasty." The smile on his face was thin, reptilian. His tongue—too long, Sasuke noticed that with a lurch of disgust, it darted out to wet his lower lip.

Something cold settled in Sasuke's chest. "I said no."

"And I heard you." Orochimaru didn't move.

Sasuke's jaw tightened. "Then piss off."

The man's eyebrows lifted. For a moment, Sasuke thought he'd succeeded, thought the insult would be enough to drive him away.

Instead, Orochimaru laughed. A soft, pleased sound, like Sasuke had confirmed something for him.

"Feisty," he murmured. "I like that." He stepped closer still, close enough that Sasuke could smell him—something musky and cloying. "I'll pay you, of course. For your time. Name your price."

Sasuke's heart was pounding now. The alcohol that had felt warm and pleasant was suddenly sickening, churning in his empty stomach. He looked around for Suigetsu, for Jūgo, for anyone—but the crowd had shifted, and he couldn't see them, couldn't see anyone he knew.

"I don't have a price," he said, his voice flat. "And I'm not interested. Leave me the fuck alone."

Orochimaru's hand reached out again, fingers brushing Sasuke's cheek this time. Sasuke flinched back, but there was nowhere to go—the wall was behind him, and the man was in front of him, and the crowd surged on around them, oblivious.

"Everyone has a price," Orochimaru murmured. His thumb traced Sasuke's cheekbone, feather-light, terrible. "Some of us just take longer to find it."

Sasuke's hand came up to shove him away—and then—

A warm arm slid around his shoulders.

A broad chest pressed against his side.

And a voice, low and warm and utterly unbothered, said: "There you are, darling. Sorry to keep you waiting so long."

Sasuke blinked.

The man beside him was—there were no words for what he was. Gorgeous wasn't strong enough. Striking wasn't precise enough. He was in his early thirties, maybe, with tanned skin that spoke of sun and health, and hair the colour of spun gold, messy and artless and perfect.

His eyes were blue. Not just blue—cornflower blue, summer sky blue, the kind of blue that made you think of holidays you'd never taken and places you'd never been. He had crows' feet at the corners of those eyes, tiny lines that crinkled when he smiled, and he was smiling now at Orochimaru with the easy confidence of someone who'd never been intimidated in his life.

He smelled, Sasuke thought, incredible. That was the first coherent thought Sasuke had, past the shock of his arrival. Clean soap and something else—woody, warm, with a hint of citrus that made him think of sherbet lemons and expensive cologne. Ambergris, maybe. Something that spoke of money and taste and the kind of effortless sophistication Sasuke had been envying all night.

Orochimaru's eyes narrowed. His hand dropped from Sasuke's face.

The blond man's smile widened, but didn't warm. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, his voice still that easy, lazy rumble. "But I promised my boyfriend here I'd buy him a drink, and I'm a man of my word." His arm tightened slightly around Sasuke's shoulders. "You understand."

For a long moment, no one moved. Orochimaru's gaze flicked between them, assessing, calculating. Sasuke felt the blond man's foot nudge his, a small, subtle signal and something in his chest unlocked.

He leaned into the warmth beside him. Let his shoulder relax against that broad chest. Looked up at the blond man with an expression he hoped looked like fond exasperation.

"I thought you’d forgotten about me," he said.

The blond man looked down at him, and for a moment, something genuine flickered in those blue eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or appreciation. Then his lips curved in a smile that was (there was truly no other word for it) gorgeous.

Truly, devastatingly gorgeous.

The kind of smile that made Sasuke's stomach flip in an entirely different way than Orochimaru's attention had.

"Never," the blond man said softly. "Just got held up." He looked back at Orochimaru, and the smile shifted, became something cooler. "We're going to the bar now. You have a good night."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even really a suggestion. It was a dismissal, delivered with the kind of casual authority that came from never having been disobeyed.

Orochimaru's eyes narrowed further. For a terrible moment, Sasuke thought he might argue. Then the snake-like smile returned, thin and cold.

"Of course," he said. "Enjoy your evening." His gaze lingered on Sasuke one last time a look of unfinished business—and then he melted back into the crowd.

Sasuke exhaled. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath.

The blond man's arm was still around his shoulders. It was warm. Solid. Sasuke should move away. He should.

He didn't.

"Come on," the blond man said, steering him gently towards the bar. "Let's get that drink."

The bar was quieter at this end, away from the main crush. The blond man released Sasuke's shoulders to lean against the counter, and Sasuke immediately missed the warmth.

"What do you want?" the man asked. "Something good. My treat."

Sasuke opened his mouth to refuse, he'd had enough of people buying him things he couldn't repay. But then he closed it. The man had just rescued him from a genuinely uncomfortable situation. Refusing a drink would be churlish. Bad manners. Itachi would have called him a bad sport.

"Whatever you're having," he said.

The blond man's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded, turning to catch the bartender's attention. Sasuke used the moment to study him properly.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered in a way that suggested he worked out, but not in the gym-obsessed way of some men. It was natural, somehow, like his body had just decided to be beautiful and he'd let it. His clothes were simple; dark trousers, a crisp linen shirt in pale blue that probably cost more than Sasuke's monthly rent. But they fit him perfectly, draped over his frame like they'd been made for him. Which they probably had.

His hands were nice, too. Sasuke noticed hands. Long fingers, tanned, with a gold signet ring on one and a simple leather band on the other. He gestured as he talked to the bartender, easy and familiar, like he'd done this a thousand times.

When he turned back, two cocktails in hand, Sasuke was still watching him.

"So," the man said, sliding one of the glasses towards Sasuke. "I haven't had to do that in a long time."

Sasuke took the drink automatically. It was something pale gold with a twist of citrus, beautiful and expensive-looking. "Do what?"

"Play the jealous boyfriend." The man's smile was crooked, self-deprecating. "Worked, though."

Sasuke's jaw tightened. "I didn't need saving."

"I know." The man's voice was easy, unbothered. He took a sip of his own drink. "But you also didn't need the hassle of getting thrown out because you punched him, and that's where that was heading, right?"

Sasuke blinked. He hadn't…he wasn’t—but yes. That was exactly where it had been heading. Another thirty seconds of that man's hand on his face, and he would have swung.

"How did you know?" he asked instead.

"Lucky guess." The man shrugged, the movement doing interesting things to the collar of his shirt. "Also, you had that look. The one people get right before they do something they'll regret." He tilted his head, those blue eyes sharp and assessing. "I'm Naruto, by the way. Since we're apparently dating now."

Despite himself, Sasuke felt his lips twitch. "Sasuke."

"Sasuke." Naruto said it like he was tasting it, rolling it around on his tongue. "Good name. Strong."

Sasuke didn't know what to say to that. He took a sip of his drink instead. It was good—complex, botanical, with a hint of something herbal underneath the citrus. He'd probably never afford another one.

"So," Naruto said, leaning against the bar with that same easy confidence. "What do you do? When you're not being accosted by creepy older men at bars?"

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. The question felt like an intrusion, somehow. Like giving an answer would be giving something away. "Why do you want to know?"

Naruto's eyebrows rose. "Making conversation. It's what people do."

"I'm not most people."

"No," Naruto agreed, and there was something in his voice—amusement, maybe, or interest that made Sasuke's skin prickle. "I can see that."

Silence stretched between them. Sasuke took another sip of his drink. Naruto watched him.

"All right," Naruto said finally. "I'll guess. You don't have to tell me anything. Just nod or shake your head. Fair?"

Sasuke considered this, then he nodded slowly.

"Do you work? Like, a job job? Nine to five?"

Sasuke shook his head.

"Student, then."

A nod.

Naruto's smile widened, like he was enjoying himself. "Which one? Let me see..." He studied Sasuke with those too-blue eyes, taking in the way he held himself, the shadows under his eyes, the charcoal dust still faintly visible under his fingernails despite his attempts to scrub it off before coming out. "Not LSE. You don't have that look."

"What look?"

"The look of someone who's going to run the country and is an insufferable pig about it." Naruto's grin was quick, teasing. "Imperial?"

Sasuke shook his head.

"UCL, then. Has to be. You've got the slightly dishevelled intellectual thing going on." Naruto gestured with his glass. "So, UCL. What subject? Something that makes you stare at ceilings the way you were staring at that chandelier earlier."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed again. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything." Naruto's voice was light, but his gaze was sharp. "So. Music? You've got the hands for it."

Sasuke looked down at his own hands, then back at Naruto. "No."

"Art?"

A pause. Then, reluctantly: "Related."

"Related." Naruto leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Art-adjacent. Design? No, too commercial for that look you're giving me. Something purer. Something that makes you look at the world like you're measuring it."

Sasuke didn't respond. He didn't nod or shake his head. He just watched Naruto watch him.

"Architecture," Naruto said softly. "It's architecture."

Sasuke's breath caught. "Did you—"

"The chandelier," Naruto said simply. "You weren't just looking at it. You were studying it. The way it was hung, the way it interacted with the space. Most people see a pretty light. You saw engineering." He smiled, that gorgeous curve. "Also, the charcoal under your nails. Architecture students always have it. My cousin's the same."

Sasuke stared at him for a long moment.

Then: "You cheated."

"I observed. There's a difference."

"You had inside information." Sasuke's voice was flat, but there was something beneath it—surprise, maybe, or the beginning of grudging respect. "Your cousin. Architecture student. You've met one before, so you recognised the signs."

Naruto laughed, that warm genuine sound. "Guilty. But I still had to put it together. Give me some credit."

Sasuke took a sip of his drink to hide the fact that his lips were threatening to twitch. "Fine. You're observant. Congratulations."

"High praise." Naruto's eyes were bright with amusement. "So what brings an architecture student to a place like this?"

"I was harassed into coming to my friend’s birthday party."

"Friend's birthday. Right." Naruto nodded, but his expression said he wasn't quite satisfied. "And you're here because you're a good friend."

"I'm here because my friends are annoying."

"Also already established." Naruto leaned against the bar, closer now than he had been, the lemon sherbet smell assailed Sasuke’s senses. "You could have left earlier. Why didn't you?"

Sasuke's jaw tightened. He didn't have an answer for that. Or rather, he had too many, and none of them were things he wanted to say to a stranger.

"None of your business," he said.

Naruto's smile widened. "You are barely being polite. But you're still here, still drinking my very expensive cocktail." He gestured with his own glass. "Why?"

Sasuke could feel his ears heating. It was the alcohol, probably. Or the lingering adrenaline from the encounter with Orochimaru. Or the way Naruto was looking at him, like he was genuinely interested in the answer.

"Because it's free," he said flatly. "And I'm not stupid enough to turn down free things."

Naruto laughed again, but there was something different in it this time—appreciation, maybe. "Honest. I like that." He tilted his head, studying Sasuke with renewed interest. "You're not used to asking for help, are you?"

The question landed like a stone in still water, ripples cascading across a still surface. Sasuke's expression didn't change, but something in his chest tightened.

"What makes you say that?"

"You just told me you don't turn down free things. But the way you said it—" Naruto's voice was thoughtful. "It wasn't gratitude. It was defiance. Like accepting anything from anyone costs you something." He paused. "Am I wrong?"

Sasuke was quiet for a long moment. The bar hummed around them, music and laughter and the clink of glasses, but it felt very far away.

"Help is never given freely," he said finally. "It's always got strings attached. Always."

The words came out harder than he'd intended. They hung in the air between them, sharp and defensive and more honest than he'd meant to be.

Naruto didn't look away. Didn't laugh. Didn't offer some platitude about how not everyone was like that. Instead, his gaze travelled over Sasuke, a slow deliberate look taking in everything. The worn boots. The jumper that hung slightly too loose on his frame. The careful way he held himself, like he was braced for something.

That gaze. It should have made him uncomfortable. It did make him uncomfortable. But underneath that, something else flickered—something he didn't want to examine.

"Is that what you learned?" Naruto asked quietly. "That help comes with strings?"

Sasuke's chin lifted. "Yes. Because it does."

He waited for the dismissal. For Naruto to decide he was too difficult, too prickly, too much work. People always did, eventually. Even the ones who started out interested.

Instead, Naruto's smile curved—slow, intrigued, like Sasuke had just become more interesting rather than less.

"Good," he said.

Sasuke blinked. "Good?"

"Good that you learned it. Good that you're careful." Naruto took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Sasuke's face. "Most people your age haven't figured that out yet. They walk around thinking everyone's nice, everyone's genuine, and then they get hurt." He shrugged. "You're not most people."

Sasuke didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't pity. It wasn't condescension. It was just an observation of sorts. Naruto had seen something in him and named it, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything else that had happened tonight.

"What about you?" Sasuke asked, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why are you here? Don't tell me it's a friend's birthday."

Naruto laughed. "Fair point. I'm here because my cousin's having a birthday. Karin Uzumaki. Apparently turning twenty-two is a big deal."

Sasuke's eyes widened. "Karin's your cousin?"

"Second cousin, technically. Our grandmothers were sisters." Naruto's smile turned wry. "She's been texting me all week to make sure I showed up. Something about wanting to show me off to her friends." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Apparently I'm the 'cool older cousin' card she gets to play."

Sasuke stared at him. Karin had mentioned a cousin once, maybe. A successful one, she'd said, with a flat in London and a job that sounded vague and impressive. He hadn't paid much attention. He never did.

"That's—" He stopped. Started again. "You're really her cousin?"

"I really am." Naruto's eyes glittered with amusement. "Why? Does that make this whole situation weirder or better?"

Sasuke didn't have an answer for that. He took a long sip of his drink instead.

The silence that fell between them was different now. Less guarded. More curious.

"So," Naruto said eventually. "Architecture student at UCL, doesn't trust people, accepts expensive cocktails out of pure defiance." He ticked each point off on his fingers. "What else? What do you do when you're not being rescued by strange men in bars?"

Sasuke's eyebrow rose. "You didn’t rescue me."

"Assisted, then. Facilitated. Expedited." Naruto's grin was insufferable. "What do you do?"

"I study. I work. I sleep occasionally." Sasuke shrugged. "Not much else."

"Sounds lonely."

"It sounds like being a student."

Naruto hummed, non-committal. His eyes were still on Sasuke, still that sharp assessing gaze, but there was warmth in it now. Interest.

"You know," he said, "for someone who just told me help always comes with strings, you're not very good at deflecting."

Sasuke's jaw tightened. "I'm not deflecting."

"You're answering questions. Barely. But you're still here. Still talking to me." Naruto leaned in slightly, close enough that Sasuke could smell him again—that clean soap and woody ambergris and that sugared lemon smell. "If you really wanted me to leave you alone, you'd have walked away by now."

Sasuke should have. He knew he should have. The sensible thing would be to finish his drink, make his excuses and disappear into the London night.

Instead, he said: "Maybe I'm curious."

"Curious about what?"

"About why you're still here." Sasuke met those blue eyes, held them. "I've been borderline rude since we sat down. I've given you nothing. And you're still—" He gestured vaguely. "Entertaining me."

Naruto's smile softened into something almost gentle. "Maybe I'm curious and entertained."

"About what?"

"About someone who expects the worst and still hasn't left." Naruto's voice was quiet, genuine. "About someone who looks at a room like he's measuring it, who drinks expensive cocktails like they're medicine, who tells a stranger that help always has strings and then waits for that stranger to prove him right." He tilted his head.

Sasuke's heart was beating too fast. It was the alcohol. It had to be the alcohol.

"You don't know me," he said.

"No," Naruto agreed. "But I'd like to."

The words hung in the air between them. Sasuke's mouth was dry. He took another sip of his drink just to have something to do.

Across the room, Karin's laughter rose above the crowd. The moment stretched, fragile and charged.

Sasuke put the glass down, he’d entertained this enough. They were being pulled out into treacherous waters.

"I don't date," Sasuke heard himself say. The words were out before his brain could catch up, tumbling into the space between them with more force than he'd intended.

Naruto's head tilted, just slightly. Those blue eyes, impossibly bright in the dim bar light, seemed to look straight through him.

"You don't... date." It wasn't quite a question. More like he was turning the words over, examining them from different angles.

"I don't have time." Sasuke's voice came out flatter than he meant it to, a defence mechanism he couldn't shake. "I study. I go to class. I sometimes eat and sleep." He gestured vaguely at the opulent bar around them, the velvet and gold and people who belonged here. "This—" The word came out sharper than intended. "This is an expensive exception. Because I was bullied into it."

He expected Naruto to laugh. To make some casual dismissal and wander off in search of easier conversation. People usually did, when Sasuke deployed his full prickliness (hedgehog mode activated). But it was efficient. And it usually worked.

Naruto didn't laugh.

"I see," he said, but his expression wasn't the polite dismissal Sasuke had anticipated. There was something unexpected in it—a glint of amusement, yes, but underneath that, something sharper. Something that looked almost like... intense interest.

Not the kind of interest that made Sasuke uncomfortable, the way Orochimaru's had. This was different. This was like Naruto had just been presented with a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve.

"So," Naruto said slowly, drawing the word out, "just to be clear. You don't date. You study, go to class, and occasionally eat. And the only reason you're here, drinking my very expensive cocktail—" he gestured with his own glass, "—is because your friends ganged up on you."

"Yes."

"And you've been standing in corners all night, looking like you're mentally cataloguing the fire exits."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed.

"Lucky guess number two, I’m on a roll tonight." Naruto's smile widened. "You've glanced at them four times since we started talking. Either you're expecting a fire, or you're planning your escape route."

Sasuke didn't respond. Which was, he supposed, a response in itself.

Naruto laughed, that warm genuine sound. "God, you're intense. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You wouldn’t be the first."

Naruto's eyes sparkled. He leaned against the bar, closer than before, his shoulder almost brushing Sasuke's. Almost. "So what do you do," he asked, "when you're not doing all that? The studying and the class and the occasional eating. There has to be something else."

Sasuke could feel the warmth of him, that clean soap and woody scent. He should step back. He didn't.

"This," he said dryly, "is me being social against my will."

"I can see that." Naruto's voice dropped, just slightly. "It’s fascinating."

Sasuke's breath caught. The words were simple, neutral even, but the way Naruto said them, low and warm and deliberately casual, made them feel like something else entirely. Something strangely intimate.

"No one likes me," Sasuke said, it was almost defiant, wrapped up in something like the truth.

"Do they not?" Naruto didn't seem bothered by the assessment. If anything, he looked more intrigued. "But I’m still here, talking to you even though you’ve tried quite hard to put me off." He tilted his head, that infuriating knowing smile playing at his lips. "Something is keeping you here."

Sasuke's jaw tightened. "I wanted to finish my drink."

Naruto laughed then, a warm genuine sound that made Sasuke’s spine tingle. He had been nursing the same cocktail for what felt like hours, taking tiny sips just to have something to do with his hands. The ice had long since melted, diluting what was left into something watery and pale.

"I'm a student," Sasuke said flatly. "I make things last."

Something flickered in Naruto's expression—not pity, thank God, but acknowledgment. Like Sasuke had just confirmed something he'd already suspected.

"Fair enough." Naruto raised his own glass, still mostly full. "Then let's make this last together. You can tell me about architecture, and I'll pretend to understand, and we'll see how long it takes for you to run out of patience with me."

Sasuke stared at him. "You want me to talk about architecture."

"I want you to talk about something you actually care about." Naruto shrugged, the movement easy and unselfconscious. "You've been defensive all night—which, to be fair, you had good reason for. But I'm guessing there's more to you than 'I don't date and I study too much.'" He smiled, and it was different this time—less teasing, more genuine. "So. Talk to me. What do you love about it?"

The question caught Sasuke off guard. No one asked him that. People asked about deadlines, about grades, about where he wanted to work. No one asked about love.

"I—" He stopped. Started again. "It's complicated."

"Good. Complicated is interesting."

Sasuke looked at him for a long moment. Naruto looked back, patient and waiting, those blue eyes steady and warm.

"I like the way light moves through spaces," Sasuke heard himself say. "The way a building can make you feel something just by how it's shaped. The way shadow falls on a wall at a particular time of day, and for a few minutes, everything is perfect." He stopped, suddenly aware of how much he'd said. How much he'd revealed.

Naruto didn't laugh. Didn't look away. Instead, his expression softened into something almost reverent.

"That's beautiful," he said quietly.

Sasuke felt heat creep up the back of his neck. "It's just—it's what architects think about."

"No, it's beautiful." Naruto's voice was firm. "Most people walk through the world without ever noticing how light falls on things. You notice. You care." He smiled, that gorgeous curve. "That's not nothing."

Sasuke didn't know what to say. He looked down at his drink, at the watery remains of something expensive and complex, and tried to remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. Like he was interesting. Like what he said mattered.

"I should go," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Probably." Naruto didn't move. "Are you going to?"

Sasuke looked up. Naruto was watching him with that same steady gaze, not challenging, not pushing. Just... present. Waiting.

"No," Sasuke heard himself say.

Naruto's smile widened, slow and warm. "That’s good."

They stood at the bar, shoulders almost touching, while the party swirled around them. Sasuke's heart was still beating too fast, and it definitely wasn't the alcohol anymore.

Across the room, Karin was laughing, dancing, holding court. Suigetsu was making his way towards somewhere else entirely, intercepted by a girl in a green dress. Jūgo was a steady presence near the wall, watching the crowd with his usual quiet vigilance.

Sasuke looked back at Naruto, at those impossible blue eyes, at the way the bar's dim light caught the gold in his hair.

Naruto let the silence stretch, comfortable in it, his gaze steady on Sasuke's face. Then he glanced towards the dance floor, lifted his hand in a lazy wave. Sasuke followed his gaze and saw Karin spot them, her face lighting up as she waved back enthusiastically. She was dancing with someone Sasuke dimly recognised from the architecture faculty—Kankurō, a third-year who'd helped with a studio critique once. His hair was weird, pulled back in some complicated style that Sasuke had never understood, but he seemed harmless enough.

Naruto was already signalling the bartender.

"Two shots of the Yamazaki," Naruto said. "The 18-year."

The bartender nodded, already reaching for a bottle that looked like it cost more than Sasuke's monthly rent. Sasuke's stomach dropped.

"Naruto—" he started.

"Relax." Naruto's voice was easy, unhurried. "It's just a drink."

The shots arrived in beautiful cut-glass tumblers, the whiskey amber and warm in the low light. Naruto pushed one towards Sasuke.

Sasuke didn't touch it.

"I can't pay you back for this," he said flatly. "I need to be clear about that. I can't—" He stopped, jaw tight. "I don't have the money for this. Any of this. The cocktail, the shot, any of it. So if you're expecting—"

"I'm not expecting anything."

"Everyone expects something."

Naruto looked at him for a long moment. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes softened. Then he nudged the shot glass closer, his fingers brushing the base.

"Alright," he said quietly. "I-don't-date-Sasuke. I'm not trying to get you into bed. I'm not expecting you to owe me anything." He paused, letting the words settle. "I have a proposition for you. A business proposition."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. "What kind of business?"

"The kind where I pay you for your time." Naruto's voice was low, matter-of-fact. "You come and study at my flat. The light's good—I mean it, I've got floor-to-ceiling windows facing south. Perfect for drawing, if that's your thing. Maybe do a bit of light cleaning now and then, nothing major. Sit in if I've got a package coming and I'm travelling. That sort of arrangement."

Sasuke stared at him.

The bar hummed around them. Someone laughed, too loud, somewhere to his left. Suigetsu had disappeared into the crowd, following the girl in green. Jūgo was still near the wall, watching nothing in particular.

"You want to pay me," Sasuke said slowly, "to study at your house."

"And maybe water some plants. Feed the cat, if I ever get one."

"You don't have a cat?"

"Not yet. But if I did, you'd be perfect for the job."

Sasuke's brain was struggling to catch up. The whiskey sat between them, untouched, amber and beautiful and absolutely not something he could afford to accept.

"Are you—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Are you propositioning me? For money?"

The word hung in the air. Sasuke felt heat flood his face—actual, physical heat, spreading from his cheeks to his ears to the back of his neck. He couldn't believe he'd said it. He couldn't believe he was standing here, in this ridiculous bar, asking this gorgeous stranger if he was trying to pay for sex.

Naruto looked at him.

For one terrible, endless moment, his expression was utterly unreadable. Those blue eyes, sharp and warm and impossibly knowing, studied Sasuke's face like he was reading a book.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a mean laugh. It wasn't mocking. It was genuine, surprised, delighted—the kind of laugh that turned heads, that made people smile without knowing why. Naruto's whole face transformed with it, crinkling at the corners of his eyes, showing teeth, showing genuine amusement.

"God," he said, still chuckling. "No. No, Sasuke, I am definitely not propositioning you." He shook his head, still smiling. "For one thing, I value my kneecaps. And you've got that look—" he gestured vaguely at Sasuke's face, "—that says you've got a hell of a right hook when you want one."

Sasuke's face was still burning. "I don't—that's not—"

"I'm messing with you." Naruto's voice softened, the laughter fading to something warmer. "But seriously. No. That's not what this is." He leaned against the bar, closer now, his voice dropping so only Sasuke could hear. "I'm not asking for anything from you except your time and your company. You study, I work, maybe we talk sometimes. That's it."

Sasuke stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"That's insane," he said flatly. "That's the most insane thing I've ever heard. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me. Why would you—" He stopped, gestured vaguely at himself. "Why would you pay me to exist in your space?"

Naruto's gaze was steady. "Because I can," he said simply. "Because I've been where you are—not exactly, but close enough. Because sometimes people need a hand, and pretending you don't is just pride with extra steps." He shrugged. "Take it or leave it. No strings."

Sasuke's heart was pounding. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in his temples, in the tips of his fingers. His toes, he realised distantly, were right at the end of his boots—the worn leather pressing against them, the boots that were a size too small because they were once Itachi’s and he couldn't afford better.

He looked at Naruto's face. Really looked, the way he looked at buildings he was trying to understand. The architecture of him—the strong line of his jaw, the slight asymmetry of his smile, the tiny scar at his eyebrow that Sasuke hadn't noticed before. The way his eyes changed in the light, shifting from cornflower to something deeper, more complex.

"What do you get out of it?" Sasuke asked quietly.

Naruto's smile curved, that gorgeous, infuriating curve. "I get out of it what I get out of it."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." Naruto's voice was soft. "Call it selfishness, if you want. Call it curiosity. Call it—" He paused, seemed to reconsider whatever he'd been about to say. "Call it whatever makes you comfortable. The offer stands."

Sasuke opened his mouth to argue, to demand a real answer, to walk away from this insane conversation and never look back.

Then Naruto said, very quietly: "I promise I won't touch you."

The words felt like they were tumbling down the side of a snowy hill.

Sasuke blinked at him. Naruto's expression was open, honest, utterly without guile. He meant it. Whatever this was, whatever he was offering, he meant that part.

"I—" Sasuke stopped. Started again. "You're serious."

"Deadly." Naruto reached into his pocket and pulled out a napkin—one of the bar's, with the octopus logo embossed in gold. He produced a pen from somewhere, a sleek silver thing and scribbled something on the napkin.

He slid it across the bar.

Sasuke looked down.

"We can discuss your rate then," Naruto said. "And any other details you want to hash out. Consider it a meeting. No obligation." He smiled, that slow devastating curve. "You can even bring a friend, if you want. Someone to wait outside and make sure I'm not a murderer."

Sasuke stared at the napkin. The address was in a part of London he knew only by reputation—expensive, exclusive, the kind of place where buildings had doormen and views cost millions.

"Why Saturday?" he heard himself ask.

"Because it's the day after Friday." Naruto's eyes sparkled. "And because I'm busy on Sunday. And because—" He shrugged. "Why not Saturday?"

Before Sasuke could respond, Naruto picked up his shot. He raised it slightly, a silent toast, and downed it in one smooth movement. His throat moved as he swallowed. Sasuke watched, transfixed, and hated himself for watching.

Naruto set the glass down and pushed off from the bar. For a moment, Sasuke thought he was leaving—just walking away, disappearing into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.

Instead, he walked towards the dance floor.

Towards Karin.

Sasuke watched, frozen, as Naruto approached his cousin. Karin spotted him halfway and flung her arms around his neck with a shriek of delight. Naruto laughed. That warm, genuine sound and Sasuke felt his stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just—twist.

Naruto danced with her for a few minutes. He wasn't a graceful dancer, exactly, but he moved with that same loose-limbed ease and confidence he did with everything else, comfortable in his own skin in a way Sasuke couldn't imagine being. Karin beamed up at him, saying something that made him laugh again. Kankurō said something too, and Naruto responded with a grin and a gesture that looked like friendly dismissal.

Then he extracted himself, gently, with a kiss to Karin's cheek and a wave to Kankurō. He started moving through the crowd, towards the exit.

Women watched him pass. Sasuke noticed that. Several women, their eyes tracking him with obvious interest. Naruto didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't react. He just walked, easy and unhurried, towards the door.

Just before he reached it, he turned.

His eyes found Sasuke's across the room. Through the crowd, through the dim light, through the haze of alcohol and music and expensive perfume. Found them and held them for one long, electric moment.

Then he smiled. That slow, gorgeous, devastating smile—and walked out.

Sasuke exhaled. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath.

His fingers found the shot glass. The whiskey was still there, waiting. He picked it up, feeling the weight of it, the warmth of the glass against his skin. He brought it to his lips and drank.

The whiskey burned. It was smooth, complex, nothing like the cheap stuff students drank at parties. It tasted like money. Like something he'd never be able to afford on his own. It burned all the way down and settled warm in his empty stomach.

He set the glass down. The bartender reached for it—and for the napkin, crumpled slightly now, the address still visible.

Sasuke's hand moved before his brain caught up.

He put his hand on the napkin. Pressed it flat against the bar. The bartender looked at him, questioning, and Sasuke felt his cheeks flush with heat.

He didn't explain. He didn't say anything. He just picked up the napkin, folded it carefully, and slid it into his trouser pocket. An address, evidence that this night had actually happened.

His heart was pounding. His face was warm. His fingers, when he pulled them from his pocket, were trembling slightly.

He looked around. Suigetsu was still with the girl in green, laughing at something, oblivious. Jūgo was still against the wall, watching the crowd with his usual calm. Karin was dancing, happy, surrounded by people who loved her.

No one had noticed. No one had seen the exchange. No one knew about the napkin in his pocket, the address, the insane proposition, the promise.

Sasuke's heart pounded against his ribs.

He blamed it on the alcohol.

He knew, even as he thought it, that he was lying.