Naruto: In Defence of the Time I Wasted
I.
Mouth curled in an unfamiliar smile, Sakura comes and she stays, perched on the stool at the end of the bed. She peels apples in the shape of bunny rabbits.
She knows he won’t eat them, but -
“For Naruto, when he comes by” she laughs, placing them on the bedside. Sasuke knows better than to disagree.
The fragrance she wears, floral, doesn’t quite mask the scent of hospital that’s infused in her skin. Her fingers, antiseptic, and her clothes the perfume of hallway bleach. Feminine, she crosses her legs at the ankle, covers her mouth with her hand when she laughs. Lipstick, the colour of peaches.
Sakura brings news and gossip, friendly tidings, and other things that don’t interest Sasuke. But it’s better than paying attention to the sharp pains in his reforming leg.
A long and painful recovery, Sasuke recalls. A doctor in a white coat with short sleeves; a brown backed clipboard and the taste of blood humming in his throat. An electronic heartbeat sounding distantly and the fixed drip drip of his IV.
The memories are dim, and growing fainter. Images pressed in his brain shutter dizzily whenever he shuts his eyes. The feeling is of being reborn in a vaguely dysfunctional body.
He looks out of his one good eye at his fingers, and stiffly forms a fist.
Sakura looks away, then back again. “Sasuke, the doctors tell me you should be ready for release at the end of the week. Won’t it be good, to go home?”
Sasuke thinks. “Yeah.”
II.
Kakashi is there when they remove the bandages from his eye, standing to the ready with a pair of crutches.
Sunlight floods and he bites back a gasp; his eye pours tears and Sasuke clamps his hand over the top.
“I got us eye-patches,” Kakashi says brightly, holding up two leather patches with scull-and-crossbones on the front. “We can match.”
Sasuke doesn’t manage the glare, so he settles for a “Fuck you.”
Kakashi just grins. Or Sasuke imagines he does, behind the mask. Sasuke blinks furiously until the sight more or less returns, a little white washed and spotty, like an old photograph.
The crutches are smooth and cool against his palm; he resolves that he won’t need them for long, and the pulls himself off the bed. Kakashi rocks back and forth on his heals, easing from friend to teacher. He doesn’t offer to help.
Sasuke takes the stairs down.
On the walk to his apartment he is given a wide berth. Not that he’s complaining, as it makes walking a little easier, but it makes him feel a little Naruto, and that makes him think a little softer.
Kakashi opens the door with a flourish, and announces, “The return of the warrior after a long absence fighting demons.”
Sasuke rolls his eyes and pulls himself inside. And steps on a cockroach. He wrinkles his nose and Kakashi frowns, “Well, what did you expect? You weren’t here for four years.”
He stares, mutedly, and Kakashi says, “Welcome home.”
Sasuke sighs. “Yeah.”
III.
The knocking on his window is always Naruto; he refuses to use the door on principle.
Sasuke no longer needs the crutches by the time the two of them manage to get the house clean. The floor smells of wax and the insect population has been… well, fried.
New sheets and new clothes; something like this must be designed to be cathartic, but it doesn’t quite work that way. He runs his thumb over the worn corner of his bed-post. The cupboards smell like the residue of old emotions. Sasuke finds that old frame, that old photo; only four years ago now, but it seems a lifetime.
“Hey, Sasuke,” Naruto pops up from the other room, “Look what I found!” He dangles a skull-and-crossbones decorated eye patch from his index, and Sasuke glares at it. Stupid Kakashi.
Naruto ties it on, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“Upside-down, idiot,” Sasuke says, and he pulls it off, letting his fingers run lazily through Naruto’s hair as he does. It is warm on his fingertips, and Sasuke thinks: There must be words, for moments like these.
Naruto doesn’t flinch or stiffen, and that must be a Good Sign. Sasuke’s leg hurts, his eye stings, and he hasn’t be able to sleep in days. Slowly, carefully, he lowers his head onto Naruto’s shoulder, forehead against his neck, nose against his collarbone.
Tentatively, Naruto rests his hand on Sasuke’s back. “Glad to be home, then?”
“Yeah,” Sasuke breathes, and this time he means it.