They stood, glaring. From across the water; from atop the statue of Uchiha Madara's head – where they would always be standing, statues themselves; from the tallest branch of Wave's massive trees; from the edge of the collapsed tunnel Naruto still stood in – would always be standing in, immobilized; from across the dinner table; the field, their eyes met. From inches; miles away, he could see Sasuke's mouth form the words he'd always, never wanted to hear.
In his dreams, Naruto never managed to substitute in time. The words slipped out, unedited; uncensored; unadjusted for the target audience. In his dreams, Sasuke pressed close from inches, miles away, and hissed,
"Don't ruin it all with romance."
In the reality, Naruto always managed to substitute: "I hate you, bastard."