It always came at night; always the message came at night. Never during the day, never during the early morning, it always came at night.
It was their way of concealing things between them. It was a way of shrouding their entire beings in the darkness. It was comforting—in a way—that their messages and their deeds were always done at night. It was something that was constant in their otherwise unstable world.
But sometimes Naruto hated the concealing, the lying, and the sneaking out. He hated having to act like he hated Sasuke during the day, only to make love to him at night. He hated the fact that he couldn't hold his hand in the day, or kiss him plainly on the cheek in public. But he never hated the relationship.
No, he could never hate the relationship they had. It wasn't disgusting or wrong as he had pictured in the beginning. It wasn't immoral or awkward or unnatural—though that is what most people think about their kind of relationship. It wasn't even all that physical. Of course there was the sex—the amazing sex he might add—but it was an act of love, not an act of lust. Naruto only wished people could see that about them.
Their meetings were never talked about. They never said anything or acted on anything in the day. Sasuke would send a message to Naruto's apartment in the night, and Naruto would come the next night. They would spend time together, usually making love, but sometimes just to watch T.V. or eat together. Then Naruto would leave in the middle of the night, at gaudy hours in the still dark morning. There was never a good-bye when the blonde stepped out of the house, never one last look or one last kiss. It was harder if they said good-bye. Leaving without saying good-bye was like leaving a conversation open ended. If they never said good-bye, they could take comfort in the fact that they might see each other again.
The message came and so did Naruto the next night. He entered with feverish kissing, hardly stepping across the threshold before he pulled Sasuke to him, hardly closed the door to the apartment before their lips were locked and they were panting for breath. He kissed his lips, his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He removed his shirt to kiss his chest and each and every scar. He wanted to kiss every inch of Sasuke, every inch of his lover, to touch every part of him, to be a part of him, to memorize the feeling of Sasuke under him, to memorize the way Sasuke would moan or gasp, to always remember the feeling of Sasuke on top of him, thrusting, kissing, loving him. And at the height of it all they would cry out each other's names, pant, kiss once more, and fall asleep in a tangled mass of arms and legs.
Never did they worry about who might watch in the night, never did they worry about not waking up in time, never did they worry about the noise they were making. In Sasuke's apartment they never worried about anything. It was their sanctuary, their secret safe haven, their utopia. They weren't judged here, they weren't rivals here, they didn't hate each other, insult each other, or hurt each other here. Here—in Sasuke's apartment—they were safe. Safe from what others might think of them, safe from ridicules and judging glares, safe from harsh words and insults, safe from the world that denied their love.
But when they did wake up, they knew that it was time to part. Sasuke knew that Naruto could never stay the night, and Naruto knew that he could never wake up next to Sasuke. And sometimes they were okay with that as long as they had each other.
And the other times? Well… The other times Naruto would get home, and sob and have that empty feeling. And Sasuke would close the door long after he lost sight of the blonde walking away from his apartment and slump in a heap on the floor, crying out and hating the world. They would sleep alone in the night and wake up in the morning at different times, in different rooms, in different beds, wishing the world were a different place. They would put on a bitter face, a hateful charade, and argue in front of Kakashi and Sakura. They weren't lovers in the day, they were bitter rivals.
It wasn't their charade that hurt the most. What hurt the most was the fact that the world would never change to fully accept their love.