fanfic: Step-wise
Title: Step-wise
Author: kauru_ryu (aka ursancanine)
Rating: K+ to T (for now)
Genre: Canon-ish, Angst, and Drama.
Wordcount: 5000-ish
Summary: Wherein Naruto knows Sasuke's dreams better than the man himself.
A/N: This was a challenge to write. Kind of. It kinda oozed out of my ears when I started writing it. x3
A/N and DISCLAIMER:
W00H00! First canon fic in… years. Yes. I started this with Damien Rice’s Cannonball playing in the background and I felt so sad I just had to write an overly emo Sasuke. He might be a little bit OOC here, since it’s oozing with so much Hurt by Nine Inch Nails. And then I started listening to a NaruSasu FST I got from the lj comm (props to the person who made When a Tornado meets a Volcano NaruSasu FST!~ I have to find your username because I forgot to save it with the FST TTATT) and Come Home by One Republic started playing… Okay so this didn’t happen overnight (over-month actually lol) and I kept adding songs to my playlist while writing this so it’s chock-full of tear jerky.
The premise: Sasuke comes back to Konoha and after two years of setting himself straight, he says/does something to Naruto. Then this happens.
I do not earn anything from this but that ounce of satisfaction when someone reviews. And maybe faving/alerting this story. Teehee.
Oh and Kishimoto owns Team 7. Copyrighted and licensed. Yep, hep.
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Step-wise
Arc 1, Part 1: Baby Steps
By ursancanine
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It’s twelve in the morning and he’s been sitting on that lumpy sofa for over five hours now. His eyes are glazed with fatigue, tinged with a little exasperation, and a bit of knuckle-white persistence. It took them six weeks to finally get to this tipping point and he feels like he’s fucked up beyond repair for what had transpired in the last three weeks.
Silence is a friend in most cases. It kept the badgering, oppressive sense of public curiosity penetrating the privacy of his life. But this silence is a worse oppressor. Not only does it stunts whatever growth he’s allowed himself to go through, but the bitter aftertaste of reality is vomit-worthy. He swallows it, bile, spit, and grime, just for the sake of stepping forward again.
He exhales his frustration loudly through his nose. Whipping off his glasses, he rubs at his eyes and sighs why he is the one going through so much effort to patch things up between them. And then he remembers- recovery.
His hand lingers on his face, palm pressed against his forehead. He thinks of the first three weeks, the first three before the shit hit the fan, immersing him in metaphorical fecal matter inch by agonizing, rising inch from his toes to his waist in a span of another three weeks. He thinks of the way he pushed him, farther, further, testing the time for when he will snap.
He keeps thinking it is (was) a game, but the three weeks of solitude has eaten enough of his brain that his heart’s the only functioning thing anymore. And he lets it beat, lets the blood run its course, letting it make him feel just so he can contemplate the sins he has once again done to the both of them. He doesn’t know how to go forward, not without the other facing him, pulling him so. It hurts to realize that it really is your fault from the very beginning. He can’t deny it any longer.
Opening his eyes, he stares at the stark brightness of the room as the television set’s glass reflects the light from the lamp behind him. He wishes that it would reflect more than the light. He wishes to see a face.
Tongue thick against the roof of his mouth he swallows his ineptitude, trying his best to stand up for this, for them, that maybe if he does, he can face him again. He pushes himself off the sofa and stands up. His hands smoothes the creased fabric of his shirt, trying to look presentable (as if that matters) and he maneuvers around the sofa, bracing himself as he walks across the hall and towards the closed bedroom door.
The door stood mockingly before him, much like the metaphorical brick wall that built itself in three weeks.
Biting his lip, the frustration mounts so desperately at his sides; it was now or never. He’s never been good with words, words pertaining outside of him, beyond him. He’d rather let the other do the talking, besides, it’s not like he has much to say. Contrary to what the other believed anyway. His right hand is raised, wavering an inch from the waiting wood, the motion reminiscent of the other numerous, cowardly times he has tried this. But in the end it was he who waited for the knock on his door because, really, he’s much more a damsel in reality. Thinking like that is emasculating yet at the same time empowering. Who knew he has that power over such a man?
His lip is practically waiting to burst bleeding any moment now. He can feel his nails dig on the palm of his hand, the annoying twitch of hesitation itching across the slightly sweaty arm he’s holding up against this stupid door. One knock- he only needs to do one knock.
A deep breath heralds the last count in his head, allowing his knuckles to rap on the door. His fingers linger on the door, waiting for any sign of life on the other side. He breathes in again, moving his hands to place a second knock on the door. The sound barely reverberates in the silent hallway. He scowls so deep now, angry at this almost humiliation and proceeds to pound on the door, frustration billowing out like steam through the spout of a kettle. Open up.
No.
Letting out a sound of frustration, he backs away from the door, hands threading through his hair, slightly pacing, trying so hard to get himself back together. He hates dealing with these things, especially this thing, as it was unbecoming of him; he’s the one who gives up not him. He comes toward the door again, this time with a reinforced sense of self and will, hand, grasping the handle tightly. I’m going in.
There is no time to hear a reply as he forcefully went into the unlocked room (the knocking was pointless after all) throwing his whole body without any restraint. And then he went tumbling in, headfirst, introducing his forehead to Naruto’s bedpost. The shock overtook his brain, stars dancing at the back of his eyelids. Forcing his eyes to open, he looks around the room as if there isn’t a throbbing spot above his eyes; he really should’ve checked if the door was locked.
Oh and there he was, above him, blond hair mussed and face contorted in a constipated mixture of disbelief, anger, frustration, and amusement. Sorry.
Say that to my bedpost you ass.
Sasuke had the audacity to look confused. The other boy sighs, moves away from the crumpled body beneath him, and goes into his bathroom. This was not how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to go the way he planned it in his head, where he goes in and (for the very first time) be the one to confront Naruto, to be the one to say sorry, be the one on the hurting side, the one who’d try so very hard to show any semblance of pain due to what they have, had. Sasuke remains on the floor, eyes half-lidded trying to recover from his blunder of an entrance; it’s as if he’s the idiot then, not the genius everyone was raving about. He listens to the sounds of water and squeaking faucets, biding his time before proceeding to the next step of the hastily conjured mental manual on working-out relationships. Not that he had any prior experience outside the context of Naruto’s existence- it’s all about logic, right?
He sits up, ignoring the slightly dizzying rush of blood to the head, looking towards the bathroom door. The lights are still on- and by the look of the untouched bed Naruto was just as awake as he was since he arrived. Practically crawling across the space between the bathroom and where he lay prone in front of the slightly abused bedroom door, he tries to make do with his blundered entrance, formulating the right words, the right tone, the right disposition to address the surprisingly unresponsive blond. Naruto was supposed to react damn it. But then again, Sasuke wasn’t acting like frigid bastard he came to introduce to Naruto. Even in those first three weeks, he wasn’t the one initiating any form of event between them.
Frustration is one of those condescending emotions Sasuke is all too familiar with. But that doesn’t mean he actually knows how to handle it.
Naruto.
The bathroom door remains shut; it was silent save the thrum of electricity. Sasuke feels like crying but he thinks he’s far too inside the bedroom to give up and break down now. His back is on the wall, prepared to jump the idiot if he ever comes out. He mulls things over and over again in his head, hopelessly preparing an apology or anything to divert the anger and frustration into realms more suited for better communication. He may be bad at dialogues pertaining to situations such as this (affective talking distorts logic, he hates that) but he’s neither dumb nor dense and talking with a little more objectivity might simplify matters.
He exhales loudly at the fifth minute of sulking beside the unmoving door. He just wants to talk; the first time in a very long while (probably even never) and Naruto should at least take things into perspective, that this is an opportunity to grab, a chance to hammer away at the chipped construct called Sasuke. Lips thinning to a line, he gets up and faces the bathroom door, steeling his conviction, and recapping the apology in his head. The motions of inviting the door to open for him recur, a fisted hand hovering over the red door, and he thinks there’s a trickle of sweat sliding down his back, accompanying the nervous gesture of confrontation.
His knuckles hit the wood, rapping once, twice, thrice, four times, and then a muffled No sounds out. He grits his teeth, this time, making sure of the door’s state of un/lock, before plunging into the white light reflected by the linoleum that blinds him.
Straw hair matted with moisture against the forehead, cruel blue eyes staring at him through slivers of eyelids greeted him. Naruto is upset, the hanging tension between them stretching thin and taut against the belly of a monster breathing down Sasuke’s neck. The temperature seemed to drop and the annoying beads of sweat that seem to be materializing on his back and temples aren’t helping calm his nerves. Never before had he confronted Naruto like this, an undercurrent of dread stalling the apology forming on his tongue.
Well?
Standing mute and clammy, Sasuke could only stare at him with expressionless eyes, brain cells and neurons running at breakneck speed to catch up with the present situation. A pale hand is still fisted around the doorknob, the open door allowing a cool breeze from the air conditioned room into the bathroom. Naruto is sitting on the closed toilet bowl, hands on his lap, and his pointed glare unwavering towards Sasuke. It was as if he was waiting for this (maybe), this conundrum of an action displayed by the usually stoic Uchiha.
Naruto sighs and lets his head fall, palms covering his eyes; he is tired. He couldn’t get a wink of sleep knowing that Uchiha Sasuke was in his living room, sitting on his couch like a Molotov waiting for a lighter to its head. It was not as if he expected this bizarre turn of events. He knew that it was not in the man’s nature to stop and turn back for anyone except for a person such as his brother. And to add to that, there is no other person like Sasuke’s brother who could as easily persuade the younger Uchiha to act even with indirect contact.
I apologized to your bedpost.
Something snapped inside Naruto with the statement. What it was, he didn’t know, he doesn’t really want to indulge himself in mocking Sasuke. He was looking back at him now, mouth slightly agape, hands limp on his side, looking baffled by Sasuke’s statement. The other simply stood there, a bit disconcerted by his apology, knowing that he got off the wrong start, again.
It’s not like he should expect a sneer or a teasing grin from Naruto, this situation is, after all very serious. He’s so wound up he seem to be stumbling for something (thoughts, words, actions) to ease the situation. That joke of a statement may be one of those unconscious ones, those which he kept under heavy sedation in his brain (why hello there humor) but his not so impeccable timing makes it all the more strained, a sharp kind of irony that stings. He grips harder on the doorknob involuntarily.
I should probably ease up a little on my doorknob, too, huh?
He really should shut up now. He’s not Naruto goddamn it. He’s Uchiha Sasuke, where comical wit is superseded by nasty intellect. Lame jokes are not his forte. His poker face gives that much already. But then again, permanent poker face and all, the blush forming on his cheeks is something uncontrollable and embarrassing. Naruto’s disturbed expression (think of a five-year-old suddenly forced to watch Disney porn) bleeds into something akin to terror and mania, a sign that Sasuke may have hit his forehead a little harder than he thought he did.
Back as stiff as a board, Sasuke could do nothing but grit his teeth at his idiotic statements, hand gripping and trembling around the metal knob, unable to let go as Naruto continued his flabbergasted stare at him. What in the world did that hit to the head do to his tongue? He’s afraid to say anything more now, a trickling IV drip of fear being fed into his system. Naruto is most dangerous when silent. He’s seen it first-hand once, right before the blond raged against them, when all things seemed lost in the haze of war.
The silence snaps as laughter discordantly falls like heavy blows against Sasuke’s paranoia, each ha of breathe from the now wheezing Naruto disorients him. His tense jaw loosens, mouth slowly gaping, eyes growing wider- Naruto’s doubled over now, head curled over his knees, hands tucked into his stomach. Sasuke thinks he might have just unleashed some dormant stand-up comic inside him.
But as each racking laugh turns into a cough, each cough sounds wet, and he knows it’s not laughter anymore, and Naruto’s here, tired and unwilling to what Sasuke’s trying to give him, whatever it is that Uchihas try to give to the people they want to make peace with. Three steps forward, hands reaching toward, these are the motions the man can only give to the other as the keening sound of breaking smiles become uncontrollable sobs, piteous and pathetic.
Sasuke thinks his lip will bleed tonight, canines biting so hard on tender flesh.
Naruto-
His wails are muffled under cloth and skin, telling the other off, to go away, just leave, that’s how things are anyway. Pale hands wrap around shoulders, tan fingers gripping and pushing away, enough is enough because he’s given so much already there’s no more here, no more, there’s no point bringing a person back when he’s already here. It’s enough and he’ll deal with it even if it hurts because that’s reality, and reality states that Sasuke is back, smack dab in the same incongruous situation yet just as still, unchanged, emanating pigheadedness and pride. That Uchiha Sasuke is almost as good as his brother with lies, like Sharingan, weaving stories into the minds and hearts of the weak, and yes, he thinks, he’s weak because that’s how the red-eyed world goes, under the rising sun that shines in Sasuke’s Mangekyou world.
Kneeling and gripping, it’s all Sasuke can do. He’s run for so long; his feet only knew directions away from here. But what he’s coming after is right in front of him, that even if he denies it over a thousand lifetimes, the chase was never about Naruto getting at him, it was really, Naruto never giving up for him because the truth is, against these mangled words Naruto is shoving against him, neither never really got stronger in the end.
And he could only hold on, even with the force against his chest, the faint thudding of a raging pulse trying so hard to keep up with the sudden lack of oxygen as sobs overcome each and every breath. Sasuke feels like crying again, eyes stinging, and he can only close his eyes as he forces an embrace around the defiant blond. Never before has he thought of acting this way, not even unconsciously; and he thinks it’s not weakness, this vulnerability, this compassion he is suddenly capable of giving.
Growing up with nothing but a rigid sense of honor and duty, tainted by poisonous vengeance, the Uchiha name withheld everything but cold hard affluence and a distinct distaste for personal acquaintanceship. Sasuke knew this and begrudging as he may be, this is the very reason why he’s here, clinging onto something as a means to escape, for now anyway. But with the way things are going, he can’t help but leave whatever misgiving that had grown with him, and realize that this is it, not a mere step towards absolution, but the very destination itself.
He’s damning himself for letting the Sharingan see on its own.
It is awkward, the way he is draped around him. The tension has snapped and oozed out slowly in between them, giving way to a less stifling silence, as if the cards are now laid in front of them, the next move will be the last decision to make for tonight. They may be ninjas but they are also human- and the protest of limbs and veins underneath their skin tells them that the morning is fast approaching and the little rest will do them much better the next day.
There is a chin on his shoulder blade, a chest on his face, and two arms trying to envelope the sunshine. Naruto feels pathetic, he knows he’s failed to not give up; this reckless display of weakness towards Uchiha Sasuke would cost him eternal embarrassment and insult. As if it matters- there’s no more here. He thinks he should drive away this event, sleep on it and wake up thinking that everything’s back to normal (or as normal as it should be, supposed to be).
Don’t. Don’t even-
I’m tired. Just… leave. Go. You’re good at that.
Their words are muffled, fabric trying to lessen the impact of the quiet words. The loose embrace tightens, trying to suffocate him. Naruto uselessly pushes him away. Sasuke does not budge.
You’re Naruto. You’re supposed to make me stay.
It’s different now. Just go.
No.
He bites his lip, indignant, knowing that Naruto’s stubbornness is his fault, a backlash of something he’d thrown so violently into the wind. It’s just them now and he knows it, so much so that the actualization of the thought is heavy in his heart. He didn’t mean to do those things, the things that gave way in those three of the six weeks of trying so hard. He needs Naruto to know this because it’s the truest truth he can ever muster, unbidden and revealing, this awkward mess of an apology.
The sad thing is he just can’t say it.
And so he holds on, white hands whiter than ever, gripping around the slowly-becoming boneless man under him and wishing for a courage untrained in his mind, bidding his tongue to work right this time because the first two apologies was just as pathetic as him crashing into Naruto’s bedpost. The blond shifts under him, coercing his hold to unravel into something akin to a caress, body against the other, stiff and scared, but away and still there. Black eyes can’t look down, they still stung, especially at the corners.
His breaths are heavier than he remembered, hot air colliding against the Uchiha’s abdomen, straw strands mashed onto Sasuke’s right breast. It was unreal and wrong and it was supposed to be. Somewhat, it makes sense, even in its unfathomable absurdity, that this is as far as the other can go, stumbling and mumbling in admittance of fault.
They never were people of good words. They are people of action, bruising and painful, fists to the jaw, to the plexus, to the right-side temple until bleeding. They are people of violence, hard taps to the skull, elbows onto sides, and kicks to the face. They were spiteful in tongue, insults and curses only secondary (introductory) for even more painful jutsus. That was what was and supposedly is normal. That was them.
This- this is painful. Yet in retrospect, this is not them. And Naruto couldn’t help but let out a whimper, that this is not them, let him go back to the way things were, where he can just hate and love and never think about deeper things that made this hurt so much. This is betrayal because he knows there are no other words to describe this mess that they are in. Let go.
Why won’t you-
Because you’re supposed to come back and redeem who you are- a second chance to grab on, not this. Go where you’re supposed to go, not here.
I’m supposed to be here.
No you’re not.
His pale hands slide off, arms limp on his sides, knees sore against the linoleum. His head bows, his cheek sidling Naruto’s crown, and he thinks, feels his eyes droop, the stinging gone. To leave now is to give up and maybe that’s the answer. But the refreshing taste of saline as it touches his lips makes everything feel cold and abnormal, pulling him back to that place in his mind he had run away from, from the moment he let balls of his feet land on Konoha’s gates.
He doesn’t want to run away- he just wants Naruto to let him. Just let him back in, trying to shove back the idea in Naruto’s head that he’s worth the risk, the pain, and the madness. It’s true, he is madness to the other, there is no other way to explain it, and Naruto has to see this, that this is Sasuke, the one precious person valued higher than anyone else. He is Sasuke and for three years of defection, two years of rehabilitation, twelve months of re-entering the normal world, and that three sweet weeks of lucid reality is the real truth, and the last three weeks was nothing but a span of cold mistakes, wrong decisions, and not betrayal.
Let me. Please.
And Naruto could only keep pushing away because this truth Sasuke’s feeding him is a lie, a treachery to their bond and to what Sasuke is supposed to be; the old aspirations of the past must persevere. He’s given up already, settling down to the reality of Sasuke’s return and inevitable future as the Uchiha Sasuke, and now this thing the man is pushing onto Naruto’s contentment is far too wrong and far-fetched, somehow overriding the first pain of having to understand that his precious person wants to kill him, did try to kill him. He thinks Sasuke’s just trying to finish the job. Maybe that’s all there is to him- hate.
Naruto-
Fuck, just go away Sasuke.
Damn it- LISTEN.
Fuck you.
No. Fuck you! You NEVER listen. You-
There is a certain kind of rage palpitating under his skin, anticipating the words Naruto’s about to throw at him-
You’re always out of your mind!
-always think me as someone-
You never cared-
-who never cares. I care Na-
-and he thinks that Naruto has got it all wrong, he is himself, not some crazed maniac still obsessed over the death of his own brother-
-you only wanted to reach your goals-
-ruto! My goals?! Do you really think-
-and I was ready you asshole, I was there goddamnit I was, AM-
-THAT IT WAS ALL I WANTED?!
-YOUR TEAMMATE. I WAS A FUCKING BROTHER TO YO-
-I CARE NARUTO I FUCKING CARE-
-U AND I SWEAR TO GO-
-because he loved Itachi and Itachi was his world before Naruto and Konoha ever got a hold of his heart, his dreams, he loved them, he -
-I SAID I FUCKING LOVE YOU GODDAMNIT JUST LET ME-
-AND YOU’RE TWISTING EVERYTHING AGAI-
-AND I’M SORRY JUST- FUCK!
-n.
- has nothing else but this and it’s true, he did love him because at the end of all things, there was only sunshine and blue skies, just the way the world was after Itachi had let him go, let him live, a smile on his face as the first ray of the sun struck his dying brother’s face saying nothing but to live.
And Naruto has his fist grasping his shoulder because he’s crying and he doesn’t know how to apologize and make things right because he’s not Naruto, he’s Sasuke and he grew up wrong and twisted and that he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t even feel the tears running, just the tan fist gripping so hard that it hurt and he’s tired and he has nothing else to show or say because Naruto will not accept it, this, won’t let it because this was supposedly not who he is.
It was as if they were standing at a precipice, waiting for the other to pull (to push), and their bodies are shaking, breathing staggered, anger and hurt warring amidst the space between them. He lost everything once, even purposefully (on his whims, his stupid teenage whims) running away from the offer of a power he thought was weak because the only power he knew then was the potential power of his hands electric digging into the chest of the one person who offered that power, the one he was too jaded to see.
Sasuke-
His eyes are burning now, blurry as he remembers that he left his glasses on the couch, and he suddenly feels the fear again, creeping at the back of his mind that he might not be able to see anything anymore and he scrunches his eyes shut, as his throat constricts, letting out a keening sound of hurt. He really is a novice at these things, talking things out with words, and he thinks that this is over now because he realizes that the salt on the tip of his tongue was a tear and the rushing he feels rising from lungs isn’t is his breath. His tongue is thick again and he bites it to keep it loose. Pursing his lips, he bows his head and tries to get Naruto’s fist off of his shoulder.
Sasuke-
He feels weak, lamely grasping Naruto’s wrist, pulling, taking it off sluggishly, his nails lightly clawing at it. It gets heavier as Naruto suddenly grasps both his shoulders, sending a tremor through his whole being, and he thinks he’s going to fall now and break down because his knees aren’t cooperating. For all those years of trying so hard to get stronger and stronger, it really is pathetic to crumble into this pathetic being he calls himself. And maybe he’s not him anymore; maybe Naruto does know his goals better than he does because this isn’t him. The regret of saying those words earlier is consuming him.
Sasuke- stop.
The trembling won’t stop and he realizes he made another blunder, much like the first one he made that started the last three weeks of loneliness. He grits his teeth, feet moving backwards, outwards the bathroom, shrugging away from Naruto’s iron-grip. He made a mistake- he was wrong and Naruto’s right. It was stupid to even think of going here to make things right. He’s far too damaged to fix anything. And no one can fix him so he can never fix anything, not before, not now, not ever. Shaking his head as he tries to get away from Naruto, he feels himself stumble away; muttering apologies and obscenities under his breath, letting his mistake swallow him whole.
Sasuke!
Naruto makes a grab for him, trying to shake him out of his thoughts. He feels Naruto’s hand trying to force his head up, to look at him straight in the eye. He doesn’t let him, bowing out of the blonde’s grasp, his almost-silent litany of regret flowing out of his mouth through gritted teeth. This was a mistake. Five hours of getting his wits together and it was a mistake. As Naruto tries to grab his arm again, he moves away so quickly, his back hits the bedroom door’s knob as it stayed open throughout this whole discomforting ordeal. The spike of pain that shoots up from the right side of his spine is enough to clear the mumbling thoughts away, the apologies cut short by his thinning lips.
I came here to apologize. I don’t expect to be forgiven for what I did or said. So, I’m sorry.
The blonde stays rooted on his spot, eyes searching for something in Sasuke, as if this really is all there is to it. Sasuke doesn’t look back, his eyes trained to a spot on the bedpost, letting the silence affirm the words he had just spoken. There is a heaviness that hung in his chest as he slowly moves away from the door, the pain on his back numbing slowly as he lets the cold cement the last brick on that wall that built itself in three weeks.
He turns away, leaving the room, grasping the bedroom door knob, closing it as he moves out of the room, and the only thought in his head is that he made a mistake again and no forgiveness is in sight. He sees nothing but the blurry outline of the apartment’s hallway, the silence ringing in his ears.
He takes the unfolded glasses from the couch and puts it back on. His eyes sweep across the living room one last time before he catches Naruto’s reflection off the television set. The glasses help him see the words forming on Naruto’s mouth yet he doesn’t listen to the words, he doesn’t even hear.
And Naruto’s face is anguished, his mouth moving in syllables Sasuke doesn’t even get to understand because the last thing he gets to sense is Naruto’s hand on the nape of his neck, stunning him without anything else but his touch, words falling away into the silence that devoured his mind.
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I hope you understood the dialogue in this fic. I hate using quotation marks because it’s such a hassle to type. Okay, so not really, I just think they’re annoying. And constricting. I like dialogue embedded in my fics. If you have any questions regarding the backstory of everything (on this fic) don’t hesitate to ask :D I already have this humongous (insert dreamy goofy grin here) plan for this fic; I might even make it into a series of two-shots (yesss this is a two-shot ;>) with some pr0nz in it. Cos I want to practice my pr0nz-writing skillz. Please tell me if I need to correct the grammar in some parts (I think I keep switching between past/present tense) because I AM trying to get better with writing stuff like these. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reviewing! /hint hint lol
PS: Here are the songspirations for this fic: Cannonball by Damien Rice, Come home by One Republic, Death Cab For Cutie’s I Will Follow You into the Dark, Hundred by The Fray, NiN’s Hurt, Barricade by Stars, and Personal by Stars. Cripes I’m a sap.
PPS: OMG I REACHED MY 5K WORD GOAL YEEEY~
Author: kauru_ryu (aka ursancanine)
Rating: K+ to T (for now)
Genre: Canon-ish, Angst, and Drama.
Wordcount: 5000-ish
Summary: Wherein Naruto knows Sasuke's dreams better than the man himself.
A/N: This was a challenge to write. Kind of. It kinda oozed out of my ears when I started writing it. x3
A/N and DISCLAIMER:
W00H00! First canon fic in… years. Yes. I started this with Damien Rice’s Cannonball playing in the background and I felt so sad I just had to write an overly emo Sasuke. He might be a little bit OOC here, since it’s oozing with so much Hurt by Nine Inch Nails. And then I started listening to a NaruSasu FST I got from the lj comm (props to the person who made When a Tornado meets a Volcano NaruSasu FST!~ I have to find your username because I forgot to save it with the FST TTATT) and Come Home by One Republic started playing… Okay so this didn’t happen overnight (over-month actually lol) and I kept adding songs to my playlist while writing this so it’s chock-full of tear jerky.
The premise: Sasuke comes back to Konoha and after two years of setting himself straight, he says/does something to Naruto. Then this happens.
I do not earn anything from this but that ounce of satisfaction when someone reviews. And maybe faving/alerting this story. Teehee.
Oh and Kishimoto owns Team 7. Copyrighted and licensed. Yep, hep.
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Step-wise
Arc 1, Part 1: Baby Steps
By ursancanine
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It’s twelve in the morning and he’s been sitting on that lumpy sofa for over five hours now. His eyes are glazed with fatigue, tinged with a little exasperation, and a bit of knuckle-white persistence. It took them six weeks to finally get to this tipping point and he feels like he’s fucked up beyond repair for what had transpired in the last three weeks.
Silence is a friend in most cases. It kept the badgering, oppressive sense of public curiosity penetrating the privacy of his life. But this silence is a worse oppressor. Not only does it stunts whatever growth he’s allowed himself to go through, but the bitter aftertaste of reality is vomit-worthy. He swallows it, bile, spit, and grime, just for the sake of stepping forward again.
He exhales his frustration loudly through his nose. Whipping off his glasses, he rubs at his eyes and sighs why he is the one going through so much effort to patch things up between them. And then he remembers- recovery.
His hand lingers on his face, palm pressed against his forehead. He thinks of the first three weeks, the first three before the shit hit the fan, immersing him in metaphorical fecal matter inch by agonizing, rising inch from his toes to his waist in a span of another three weeks. He thinks of the way he pushed him, farther, further, testing the time for when he will snap.
He keeps thinking it is (was) a game, but the three weeks of solitude has eaten enough of his brain that his heart’s the only functioning thing anymore. And he lets it beat, lets the blood run its course, letting it make him feel just so he can contemplate the sins he has once again done to the both of them. He doesn’t know how to go forward, not without the other facing him, pulling him so. It hurts to realize that it really is your fault from the very beginning. He can’t deny it any longer.
Opening his eyes, he stares at the stark brightness of the room as the television set’s glass reflects the light from the lamp behind him. He wishes that it would reflect more than the light. He wishes to see a face.
Tongue thick against the roof of his mouth he swallows his ineptitude, trying his best to stand up for this, for them, that maybe if he does, he can face him again. He pushes himself off the sofa and stands up. His hands smoothes the creased fabric of his shirt, trying to look presentable (as if that matters) and he maneuvers around the sofa, bracing himself as he walks across the hall and towards the closed bedroom door.
The door stood mockingly before him, much like the metaphorical brick wall that built itself in three weeks.
Biting his lip, the frustration mounts so desperately at his sides; it was now or never. He’s never been good with words, words pertaining outside of him, beyond him. He’d rather let the other do the talking, besides, it’s not like he has much to say. Contrary to what the other believed anyway. His right hand is raised, wavering an inch from the waiting wood, the motion reminiscent of the other numerous, cowardly times he has tried this. But in the end it was he who waited for the knock on his door because, really, he’s much more a damsel in reality. Thinking like that is emasculating yet at the same time empowering. Who knew he has that power over such a man?
His lip is practically waiting to burst bleeding any moment now. He can feel his nails dig on the palm of his hand, the annoying twitch of hesitation itching across the slightly sweaty arm he’s holding up against this stupid door. One knock- he only needs to do one knock.
A deep breath heralds the last count in his head, allowing his knuckles to rap on the door. His fingers linger on the door, waiting for any sign of life on the other side. He breathes in again, moving his hands to place a second knock on the door. The sound barely reverberates in the silent hallway. He scowls so deep now, angry at this almost humiliation and proceeds to pound on the door, frustration billowing out like steam through the spout of a kettle. Open up.
No.
Letting out a sound of frustration, he backs away from the door, hands threading through his hair, slightly pacing, trying so hard to get himself back together. He hates dealing with these things, especially this thing, as it was unbecoming of him; he’s the one who gives up not him. He comes toward the door again, this time with a reinforced sense of self and will, hand, grasping the handle tightly. I’m going in.
There is no time to hear a reply as he forcefully went into the unlocked room (the knocking was pointless after all) throwing his whole body without any restraint. And then he went tumbling in, headfirst, introducing his forehead to Naruto’s bedpost. The shock overtook his brain, stars dancing at the back of his eyelids. Forcing his eyes to open, he looks around the room as if there isn’t a throbbing spot above his eyes; he really should’ve checked if the door was locked.
Oh and there he was, above him, blond hair mussed and face contorted in a constipated mixture of disbelief, anger, frustration, and amusement. Sorry.
Say that to my bedpost you ass.
Sasuke had the audacity to look confused. The other boy sighs, moves away from the crumpled body beneath him, and goes into his bathroom. This was not how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to go the way he planned it in his head, where he goes in and (for the very first time) be the one to confront Naruto, to be the one to say sorry, be the one on the hurting side, the one who’d try so very hard to show any semblance of pain due to what they have, had. Sasuke remains on the floor, eyes half-lidded trying to recover from his blunder of an entrance; it’s as if he’s the idiot then, not the genius everyone was raving about. He listens to the sounds of water and squeaking faucets, biding his time before proceeding to the next step of the hastily conjured mental manual on working-out relationships. Not that he had any prior experience outside the context of Naruto’s existence- it’s all about logic, right?
He sits up, ignoring the slightly dizzying rush of blood to the head, looking towards the bathroom door. The lights are still on- and by the look of the untouched bed Naruto was just as awake as he was since he arrived. Practically crawling across the space between the bathroom and where he lay prone in front of the slightly abused bedroom door, he tries to make do with his blundered entrance, formulating the right words, the right tone, the right disposition to address the surprisingly unresponsive blond. Naruto was supposed to react damn it. But then again, Sasuke wasn’t acting like frigid bastard he came to introduce to Naruto. Even in those first three weeks, he wasn’t the one initiating any form of event between them.
Frustration is one of those condescending emotions Sasuke is all too familiar with. But that doesn’t mean he actually knows how to handle it.
Naruto.
The bathroom door remains shut; it was silent save the thrum of electricity. Sasuke feels like crying but he thinks he’s far too inside the bedroom to give up and break down now. His back is on the wall, prepared to jump the idiot if he ever comes out. He mulls things over and over again in his head, hopelessly preparing an apology or anything to divert the anger and frustration into realms more suited for better communication. He may be bad at dialogues pertaining to situations such as this (affective talking distorts logic, he hates that) but he’s neither dumb nor dense and talking with a little more objectivity might simplify matters.
He exhales loudly at the fifth minute of sulking beside the unmoving door. He just wants to talk; the first time in a very long while (probably even never) and Naruto should at least take things into perspective, that this is an opportunity to grab, a chance to hammer away at the chipped construct called Sasuke. Lips thinning to a line, he gets up and faces the bathroom door, steeling his conviction, and recapping the apology in his head. The motions of inviting the door to open for him recur, a fisted hand hovering over the red door, and he thinks there’s a trickle of sweat sliding down his back, accompanying the nervous gesture of confrontation.
His knuckles hit the wood, rapping once, twice, thrice, four times, and then a muffled No sounds out. He grits his teeth, this time, making sure of the door’s state of un/lock, before plunging into the white light reflected by the linoleum that blinds him.
Straw hair matted with moisture against the forehead, cruel blue eyes staring at him through slivers of eyelids greeted him. Naruto is upset, the hanging tension between them stretching thin and taut against the belly of a monster breathing down Sasuke’s neck. The temperature seemed to drop and the annoying beads of sweat that seem to be materializing on his back and temples aren’t helping calm his nerves. Never before had he confronted Naruto like this, an undercurrent of dread stalling the apology forming on his tongue.
Well?
Standing mute and clammy, Sasuke could only stare at him with expressionless eyes, brain cells and neurons running at breakneck speed to catch up with the present situation. A pale hand is still fisted around the doorknob, the open door allowing a cool breeze from the air conditioned room into the bathroom. Naruto is sitting on the closed toilet bowl, hands on his lap, and his pointed glare unwavering towards Sasuke. It was as if he was waiting for this (maybe), this conundrum of an action displayed by the usually stoic Uchiha.
Naruto sighs and lets his head fall, palms covering his eyes; he is tired. He couldn’t get a wink of sleep knowing that Uchiha Sasuke was in his living room, sitting on his couch like a Molotov waiting for a lighter to its head. It was not as if he expected this bizarre turn of events. He knew that it was not in the man’s nature to stop and turn back for anyone except for a person such as his brother. And to add to that, there is no other person like Sasuke’s brother who could as easily persuade the younger Uchiha to act even with indirect contact.
I apologized to your bedpost.
Something snapped inside Naruto with the statement. What it was, he didn’t know, he doesn’t really want to indulge himself in mocking Sasuke. He was looking back at him now, mouth slightly agape, hands limp on his side, looking baffled by Sasuke’s statement. The other simply stood there, a bit disconcerted by his apology, knowing that he got off the wrong start, again.
It’s not like he should expect a sneer or a teasing grin from Naruto, this situation is, after all very serious. He’s so wound up he seem to be stumbling for something (thoughts, words, actions) to ease the situation. That joke of a statement may be one of those unconscious ones, those which he kept under heavy sedation in his brain (why hello there humor) but his not so impeccable timing makes it all the more strained, a sharp kind of irony that stings. He grips harder on the doorknob involuntarily.
I should probably ease up a little on my doorknob, too, huh?
He really should shut up now. He’s not Naruto goddamn it. He’s Uchiha Sasuke, where comical wit is superseded by nasty intellect. Lame jokes are not his forte. His poker face gives that much already. But then again, permanent poker face and all, the blush forming on his cheeks is something uncontrollable and embarrassing. Naruto’s disturbed expression (think of a five-year-old suddenly forced to watch Disney porn) bleeds into something akin to terror and mania, a sign that Sasuke may have hit his forehead a little harder than he thought he did.
Back as stiff as a board, Sasuke could do nothing but grit his teeth at his idiotic statements, hand gripping and trembling around the metal knob, unable to let go as Naruto continued his flabbergasted stare at him. What in the world did that hit to the head do to his tongue? He’s afraid to say anything more now, a trickling IV drip of fear being fed into his system. Naruto is most dangerous when silent. He’s seen it first-hand once, right before the blond raged against them, when all things seemed lost in the haze of war.
The silence snaps as laughter discordantly falls like heavy blows against Sasuke’s paranoia, each ha of breathe from the now wheezing Naruto disorients him. His tense jaw loosens, mouth slowly gaping, eyes growing wider- Naruto’s doubled over now, head curled over his knees, hands tucked into his stomach. Sasuke thinks he might have just unleashed some dormant stand-up comic inside him.
But as each racking laugh turns into a cough, each cough sounds wet, and he knows it’s not laughter anymore, and Naruto’s here, tired and unwilling to what Sasuke’s trying to give him, whatever it is that Uchihas try to give to the people they want to make peace with. Three steps forward, hands reaching toward, these are the motions the man can only give to the other as the keening sound of breaking smiles become uncontrollable sobs, piteous and pathetic.
Sasuke thinks his lip will bleed tonight, canines biting so hard on tender flesh.
Naruto-
His wails are muffled under cloth and skin, telling the other off, to go away, just leave, that’s how things are anyway. Pale hands wrap around shoulders, tan fingers gripping and pushing away, enough is enough because he’s given so much already there’s no more here, no more, there’s no point bringing a person back when he’s already here. It’s enough and he’ll deal with it even if it hurts because that’s reality, and reality states that Sasuke is back, smack dab in the same incongruous situation yet just as still, unchanged, emanating pigheadedness and pride. That Uchiha Sasuke is almost as good as his brother with lies, like Sharingan, weaving stories into the minds and hearts of the weak, and yes, he thinks, he’s weak because that’s how the red-eyed world goes, under the rising sun that shines in Sasuke’s Mangekyou world.
Kneeling and gripping, it’s all Sasuke can do. He’s run for so long; his feet only knew directions away from here. But what he’s coming after is right in front of him, that even if he denies it over a thousand lifetimes, the chase was never about Naruto getting at him, it was really, Naruto never giving up for him because the truth is, against these mangled words Naruto is shoving against him, neither never really got stronger in the end.
And he could only hold on, even with the force against his chest, the faint thudding of a raging pulse trying so hard to keep up with the sudden lack of oxygen as sobs overcome each and every breath. Sasuke feels like crying again, eyes stinging, and he can only close his eyes as he forces an embrace around the defiant blond. Never before has he thought of acting this way, not even unconsciously; and he thinks it’s not weakness, this vulnerability, this compassion he is suddenly capable of giving.
Growing up with nothing but a rigid sense of honor and duty, tainted by poisonous vengeance, the Uchiha name withheld everything but cold hard affluence and a distinct distaste for personal acquaintanceship. Sasuke knew this and begrudging as he may be, this is the very reason why he’s here, clinging onto something as a means to escape, for now anyway. But with the way things are going, he can’t help but leave whatever misgiving that had grown with him, and realize that this is it, not a mere step towards absolution, but the very destination itself.
He’s damning himself for letting the Sharingan see on its own.
It is awkward, the way he is draped around him. The tension has snapped and oozed out slowly in between them, giving way to a less stifling silence, as if the cards are now laid in front of them, the next move will be the last decision to make for tonight. They may be ninjas but they are also human- and the protest of limbs and veins underneath their skin tells them that the morning is fast approaching and the little rest will do them much better the next day.
There is a chin on his shoulder blade, a chest on his face, and two arms trying to envelope the sunshine. Naruto feels pathetic, he knows he’s failed to not give up; this reckless display of weakness towards Uchiha Sasuke would cost him eternal embarrassment and insult. As if it matters- there’s no more here. He thinks he should drive away this event, sleep on it and wake up thinking that everything’s back to normal (or as normal as it should be, supposed to be).
Don’t. Don’t even-
I’m tired. Just… leave. Go. You’re good at that.
Their words are muffled, fabric trying to lessen the impact of the quiet words. The loose embrace tightens, trying to suffocate him. Naruto uselessly pushes him away. Sasuke does not budge.
You’re Naruto. You’re supposed to make me stay.
It’s different now. Just go.
No.
He bites his lip, indignant, knowing that Naruto’s stubbornness is his fault, a backlash of something he’d thrown so violently into the wind. It’s just them now and he knows it, so much so that the actualization of the thought is heavy in his heart. He didn’t mean to do those things, the things that gave way in those three of the six weeks of trying so hard. He needs Naruto to know this because it’s the truest truth he can ever muster, unbidden and revealing, this awkward mess of an apology.
The sad thing is he just can’t say it.
And so he holds on, white hands whiter than ever, gripping around the slowly-becoming boneless man under him and wishing for a courage untrained in his mind, bidding his tongue to work right this time because the first two apologies was just as pathetic as him crashing into Naruto’s bedpost. The blond shifts under him, coercing his hold to unravel into something akin to a caress, body against the other, stiff and scared, but away and still there. Black eyes can’t look down, they still stung, especially at the corners.
His breaths are heavier than he remembered, hot air colliding against the Uchiha’s abdomen, straw strands mashed onto Sasuke’s right breast. It was unreal and wrong and it was supposed to be. Somewhat, it makes sense, even in its unfathomable absurdity, that this is as far as the other can go, stumbling and mumbling in admittance of fault.
They never were people of good words. They are people of action, bruising and painful, fists to the jaw, to the plexus, to the right-side temple until bleeding. They are people of violence, hard taps to the skull, elbows onto sides, and kicks to the face. They were spiteful in tongue, insults and curses only secondary (introductory) for even more painful jutsus. That was what was and supposedly is normal. That was them.
This- this is painful. Yet in retrospect, this is not them. And Naruto couldn’t help but let out a whimper, that this is not them, let him go back to the way things were, where he can just hate and love and never think about deeper things that made this hurt so much. This is betrayal because he knows there are no other words to describe this mess that they are in. Let go.
Why won’t you-
Because you’re supposed to come back and redeem who you are- a second chance to grab on, not this. Go where you’re supposed to go, not here.
I’m supposed to be here.
No you’re not.
His pale hands slide off, arms limp on his sides, knees sore against the linoleum. His head bows, his cheek sidling Naruto’s crown, and he thinks, feels his eyes droop, the stinging gone. To leave now is to give up and maybe that’s the answer. But the refreshing taste of saline as it touches his lips makes everything feel cold and abnormal, pulling him back to that place in his mind he had run away from, from the moment he let balls of his feet land on Konoha’s gates.
He doesn’t want to run away- he just wants Naruto to let him. Just let him back in, trying to shove back the idea in Naruto’s head that he’s worth the risk, the pain, and the madness. It’s true, he is madness to the other, there is no other way to explain it, and Naruto has to see this, that this is Sasuke, the one precious person valued higher than anyone else. He is Sasuke and for three years of defection, two years of rehabilitation, twelve months of re-entering the normal world, and that three sweet weeks of lucid reality is the real truth, and the last three weeks was nothing but a span of cold mistakes, wrong decisions, and not betrayal.
Let me. Please.
And Naruto could only keep pushing away because this truth Sasuke’s feeding him is a lie, a treachery to their bond and to what Sasuke is supposed to be; the old aspirations of the past must persevere. He’s given up already, settling down to the reality of Sasuke’s return and inevitable future as the Uchiha Sasuke, and now this thing the man is pushing onto Naruto’s contentment is far too wrong and far-fetched, somehow overriding the first pain of having to understand that his precious person wants to kill him, did try to kill him. He thinks Sasuke’s just trying to finish the job. Maybe that’s all there is to him- hate.
Naruto-
Fuck, just go away Sasuke.
Damn it- LISTEN.
Fuck you.
No. Fuck you! You NEVER listen. You-
There is a certain kind of rage palpitating under his skin, anticipating the words Naruto’s about to throw at him-
You’re always out of your mind!
-always think me as someone-
You never cared-
-who never cares. I care Na-
-and he thinks that Naruto has got it all wrong, he is himself, not some crazed maniac still obsessed over the death of his own brother-
-you only wanted to reach your goals-
-ruto! My goals?! Do you really think-
-and I was ready you asshole, I was there goddamnit I was, AM-
-THAT IT WAS ALL I WANTED?!
-YOUR TEAMMATE. I WAS A FUCKING BROTHER TO YO-
-I CARE NARUTO I FUCKING CARE-
-U AND I SWEAR TO GO-
-because he loved Itachi and Itachi was his world before Naruto and Konoha ever got a hold of his heart, his dreams, he loved them, he -
-I SAID I FUCKING LOVE YOU GODDAMNIT JUST LET ME-
-AND YOU’RE TWISTING EVERYTHING AGAI-
-AND I’M SORRY JUST- FUCK!
-n.
- has nothing else but this and it’s true, he did love him because at the end of all things, there was only sunshine and blue skies, just the way the world was after Itachi had let him go, let him live, a smile on his face as the first ray of the sun struck his dying brother’s face saying nothing but to live.
And Naruto has his fist grasping his shoulder because he’s crying and he doesn’t know how to apologize and make things right because he’s not Naruto, he’s Sasuke and he grew up wrong and twisted and that he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t even feel the tears running, just the tan fist gripping so hard that it hurt and he’s tired and he has nothing else to show or say because Naruto will not accept it, this, won’t let it because this was supposedly not who he is.
It was as if they were standing at a precipice, waiting for the other to pull (to push), and their bodies are shaking, breathing staggered, anger and hurt warring amidst the space between them. He lost everything once, even purposefully (on his whims, his stupid teenage whims) running away from the offer of a power he thought was weak because the only power he knew then was the potential power of his hands electric digging into the chest of the one person who offered that power, the one he was too jaded to see.
Sasuke-
His eyes are burning now, blurry as he remembers that he left his glasses on the couch, and he suddenly feels the fear again, creeping at the back of his mind that he might not be able to see anything anymore and he scrunches his eyes shut, as his throat constricts, letting out a keening sound of hurt. He really is a novice at these things, talking things out with words, and he thinks that this is over now because he realizes that the salt on the tip of his tongue was a tear and the rushing he feels rising from lungs isn’t is his breath. His tongue is thick again and he bites it to keep it loose. Pursing his lips, he bows his head and tries to get Naruto’s fist off of his shoulder.
Sasuke-
He feels weak, lamely grasping Naruto’s wrist, pulling, taking it off sluggishly, his nails lightly clawing at it. It gets heavier as Naruto suddenly grasps both his shoulders, sending a tremor through his whole being, and he thinks he’s going to fall now and break down because his knees aren’t cooperating. For all those years of trying so hard to get stronger and stronger, it really is pathetic to crumble into this pathetic being he calls himself. And maybe he’s not him anymore; maybe Naruto does know his goals better than he does because this isn’t him. The regret of saying those words earlier is consuming him.
Sasuke- stop.
The trembling won’t stop and he realizes he made another blunder, much like the first one he made that started the last three weeks of loneliness. He grits his teeth, feet moving backwards, outwards the bathroom, shrugging away from Naruto’s iron-grip. He made a mistake- he was wrong and Naruto’s right. It was stupid to even think of going here to make things right. He’s far too damaged to fix anything. And no one can fix him so he can never fix anything, not before, not now, not ever. Shaking his head as he tries to get away from Naruto, he feels himself stumble away; muttering apologies and obscenities under his breath, letting his mistake swallow him whole.
Sasuke!
Naruto makes a grab for him, trying to shake him out of his thoughts. He feels Naruto’s hand trying to force his head up, to look at him straight in the eye. He doesn’t let him, bowing out of the blonde’s grasp, his almost-silent litany of regret flowing out of his mouth through gritted teeth. This was a mistake. Five hours of getting his wits together and it was a mistake. As Naruto tries to grab his arm again, he moves away so quickly, his back hits the bedroom door’s knob as it stayed open throughout this whole discomforting ordeal. The spike of pain that shoots up from the right side of his spine is enough to clear the mumbling thoughts away, the apologies cut short by his thinning lips.
I came here to apologize. I don’t expect to be forgiven for what I did or said. So, I’m sorry.
The blonde stays rooted on his spot, eyes searching for something in Sasuke, as if this really is all there is to it. Sasuke doesn’t look back, his eyes trained to a spot on the bedpost, letting the silence affirm the words he had just spoken. There is a heaviness that hung in his chest as he slowly moves away from the door, the pain on his back numbing slowly as he lets the cold cement the last brick on that wall that built itself in three weeks.
He turns away, leaving the room, grasping the bedroom door knob, closing it as he moves out of the room, and the only thought in his head is that he made a mistake again and no forgiveness is in sight. He sees nothing but the blurry outline of the apartment’s hallway, the silence ringing in his ears.
He takes the unfolded glasses from the couch and puts it back on. His eyes sweep across the living room one last time before he catches Naruto’s reflection off the television set. The glasses help him see the words forming on Naruto’s mouth yet he doesn’t listen to the words, he doesn’t even hear.
And Naruto’s face is anguished, his mouth moving in syllables Sasuke doesn’t even get to understand because the last thing he gets to sense is Naruto’s hand on the nape of his neck, stunning him without anything else but his touch, words falling away into the silence that devoured his mind.
--------
I hope you understood the dialogue in this fic. I hate using quotation marks because it’s such a hassle to type. Okay, so not really, I just think they’re annoying. And constricting. I like dialogue embedded in my fics. If you have any questions regarding the backstory of everything (on this fic) don’t hesitate to ask :D I already have this humongous (insert dreamy goofy grin here) plan for this fic; I might even make it into a series of two-shots (yesss this is a two-shot ;>) with some pr0nz in it. Cos I want to practice my pr0nz-writing skillz. Please tell me if I need to correct the grammar in some parts (I think I keep switching between past/present tense) because I AM trying to get better with writing stuff like these. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reviewing! /hint hint lol
PS: Here are the songspirations for this fic: Cannonball by Damien Rice, Come home by One Republic, Death Cab For Cutie’s I Will Follow You into the Dark, Hundred by The Fray, NiN’s Hurt, Barricade by Stars, and Personal by Stars. Cripes I’m a sap.
PPS: OMG I REACHED MY 5K WORD GOAL YEEEY~