Happy Thanksgiving, all you Americans.


"Could you have saved him?"

"Yes. But not both of you."

For ten long days and ten equally as long nights, that brief exchange of words had infested Naruto's mind in its entirety. Not because it had brought morbid finality to a tragedy he still refused to believe had happened, but because of the countless loose ends it'd given birth to. The uncertainty, the guilt. The 'what if'.

Maybe he could've saved him. If he just hadn't lost consciousness. If he had been the one driving. If he'd just tried harder, been better. If. What if?

It had begun as a hammering pounding in the back of his head, before evolving into the full definition of him as a human being. And nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered anymore, but that massive question of 'what if'.

It had been exactly ten days since Naruto had watched his dearest friend burn alive. Ten days since the end of an era, and the beginning of his very own, personal ground zero. And those ten days he had spent at the lowest level of life imaginable. He'd lost his ability to function even in the most basic of ways. He'd refused to eat, had only barely slept, and virtually hadn't spoken a single word. Not even to himself. At times, he found himself not breathing. Even his heartbeat had slowed down to a comatose pace. All of him stood on motionless standby and absolutely none of him could've cared less.

The stillness dominating his body had taken over his mind as well. Though he was slowly letting himself literally wither away with sorrow, he couldn't quite feel it. He couldn't feel much at all. The empty void he'd descended into the instant he'd realized Sasuke was gone, had remained unaltered. That hungry void had swallowed him in the blink of an eye, followed him through the dark woods, throughout the entire twelve hours it had taken them to finally find their way home. And instead of having denied the void access, he'd invited it inside.

In a way, Naruto was glad the void existed. Hadn't it, he probably couldn't have left the burning wreckage behind, wouldn't have cared about the searchlights looking for other survivors, would not have minded being found. But even if it'd temporarily aided him to maintain some low level of action, it'd robbed him of the ability to mourn his loss. And that made him hate the void much more than appreciate it.

He hadn't cried. Hadn't even felt like crying. He'd tried, but failed. He might've fed the void by having spent ten consecutive days blind drunk, but blaming it all on harmful self-medication would've only been a lousy excuse. The first few days he'd still been able to blame that inability to mourn on plain denial and disbelief, as he'd clung onto the slim chance of Sasuke having survived. But then came the call. The call.

On day three, Naruto had jerked awake from his first short sleep since the accident. Woken by the sound of his phone ringing, he'd already known. Known right away, judging by the sound alone. It'd sounded demanding and ominous, regardless of the nonexistent science behind such a claim. And while his mind had silently screamed against it, his hand had already made a move to answer the phone. The call itself fell dramatically short of being overwhelming. Like most everything so far, it hadn't felt like much at the time. Barely lasted for three minutes, a monotone voice stating Naruto listed as Sasuke's emergency contact, and then breaking the news.

Uchiha Sasuke had passed away. Died at the scene of the accident, killed by numerous traumas and carbon monoxide poisoning.

Hearing somebody say it aloud had brought a sense of confirmation, but hadn't been able to stir any solid reactions. Not sadness, not sorrow, not even relief for finally having confirmation. No real emotion really awoke during or after that call. It wasn't until the next call, the one Naruto wished he wouldn't have had to make, that finally something began to tighten in his throat. For the entire duration of that call, he lived in crippling guilt.

It'd been so many years, since he'd last heard Itachi's voice. But he sounded the same. Exactly like Sasuke, perhaps less generally bitter. And as he picked up, he seemed glad to hear from Naruto. With so many years of mutual silence in between, and that moderately cheerful tone of voice greeting him, it broke the blonde's heart to tell him that his brother had died.

Naruto had never heard Itachi cry. Neither did he then. What he heard, was a sincerely pained and angry scream of denial. One he had never imagined could've left that stoic man's lips.

The line had gone dead after that. And for another two days, Itachi would maintain radio silence. When he finally called back, he sounded calmer. Less angry, more neutral. Naruto supposed he had found the road towards acceptance. The road he himself certainly hadn't, and doubted he ever would. He didn't want to.

The topic of a funeral wasn't something Naruto had wanted to even think about, but knew couldn't be avoided. He and Itachi had agreed to meet up and talk it through. The older Uchiha had kindly offered to fly over, so the blonde wouldn't have to. More than relieved, Naruto accepted the gesture. The less he had to go anywhere he'd be forced to exist in any other form but an incoherent and drunken mess, the better.

Apart from his brief discussions with Itachi, the blonde had remained indifferent towards everything and everybody else. He'd left all calls unanswered, had refused to speak to anybody. Including Gaara. Having locked himself inside the bedroom, only exiting when absolutely necessary, Naruto had mostly succeeded in avoiding the redhead. Though the man had stubbornly attempted to make contact of any kind, every last of his efforts to achieve such had been immediately shut down. Surprisingly enough, he'd been unexpectedly submissive to the blonde's determination not to acknowledge him. Naruto supposed the man felt guilty. Not that he really cared.

He couldn't lie. He had grown to resent him. Whether it was a pathetic attempt to minimize his own guilt and involvement in the tragedy, or that he truly did believe it all to be the redhead's fault, Naruto could no longer look at him without wanting to see him suffer. There'd been an instance or two, at which he'd found himself wishing the man had died along with Sasuke, instead of leaving him behind. But he'd been quick to catch himself and push such malevolent thoughts away.

He might've started to resent the man, but hadn't stopped loving him. He supposed, anyway. The void made it hard to tell.

He knew Gaara felt guilty. He could tell by the way he acted and didn't act. Opposed to everything that he normally was like, the man hadn't tried to force Naruto to talk, hadn't blamed him for being as useless as he was. Even any opinions he might've had about the blonde's self-medicating he'd kept to himself. He felt guilty, perhaps even ashamed. But none of that would bring Sasuke back. And for that reason alone, Naruto refused to even talk to him.

He felt very conflicted about being home. Even though there was nowhere else he would've rather been, he also hated it. Hated everything about it. Sharing it with the redhead reminded him of what the man had done, Sasuke's belongings reminded him of everything he'd lost, and the thought of having to go through them at one point or another seemed like an unclimbable mountain. He wanted it all gone, but also didn't want anything gone. He wanted to burn the house down, yet also never wanted to leave it. And really all he truly wanted, was for Sasuke to be alive.

Why? Why did he have to die? It was unfair.

Naruto had somewhat expected for the police to come knocking at some point. But so far, they hadn't. He found it strange, somehow. Considering the circumstances of several vehicles having crashed on a highway, traces of gunfire on their mutilated bodies and rounds of ammunition undoubtedly scattered along the road, foul play must've been the core point of the investigation. But then again, they'd been careful not to leave traces throughout their trip. Having used only cash, fake identification and illegal, untraceable weaponry, no evidence of them ever even having been there should've existed. Any potential fingerprints and DNA inside the car must've been destroyed in the fire. Naruto had even asked Kiba to use his credit card back home to create an electronic presence in his behalf. And if none of those searching for survivors had noticed them, they had remained invisible.

He supposed that was good. He didn't really care, anymore.

Naruto blinked, slowly. For the first time in perhaps minutes. The room was dark, despite it being early morning. He sat on the bed, dead eyes staring at the wall across him. After ten days, it was beginning to bore him, yet not enough to make him look away. Also, it was likely he'd pass out, were he to attempt movement. Which again reminded him, today was the day he'd agreed to meet Itachi.

Compelled, yet too tired to actually sigh, Naruto scowled. He didn't want to go. Didn't want to leave the room, the bed or the sea of empty bottles surrounding him. Eyeing at it, he wondered if he'd drank everything he owned already. It certainly looked like he might've. Didn't matter, really. He could, and would, buy more. If there was anything he was motivated to do, it was maintaining a steady level of intoxication. For nothing else could keep him sane anymore. Either that, or it just prevented him from noticing his sanity crumble. Both options worked just fine.

As much as he wanted to avoid the whole thing, he knew he'd have to check the time. 7 a.m, claimed the numbers on the screen of his phone next to a plethora of missed calls. Naruto cringed. He'd promised to meet Itachi at the funeral home at 10 a.m. sharp. Three hours till that dreadful moment, and he was drunk out of his mind. The idea of meeting the man quickly became even more dreadful.

Realizing that some form of sobering up would have to happen, Naruto forced his numb and weak body to move. Crawling out of the bed, dragging himself to the closet, he began to find clothing more sufficient than a pair of sweats he hadn't changed out of for ten days. He acknowledged the fact that a shower would've been in place, but there was only so much action his near comatose state was willing to forgive. Not bothering with the shower, he changed into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. The thought of pulling on socks being too overwhelming, he willingly left his feet bare.

It must've been an ungodly sight to look at, him opening the door and facing daylight. Too used to the darkness of the bedroom, the rising sun flooding in through the windows felt like a stab in the eyes. But determined to make it at the very least downstairs, he courageously defied the urge to crawl back under covers and stepped into the hallway. There he stopped to stand still and listen.

The house was quiet. So was Gaara most of the time, but this was a different kind of quiet. The deserted kind. He must've gone out.

Not the least bit bothered by the solitude, Naruto dragged himself down the stairs and into the kitchen. Now certain that he was alone, he felt comfortable enough to make a cup of coffee. Though pouring the water into the correct compartment was somewhat of a challenge for his intoxicated self, he managed. In the hopes of achieving a clearer state of sobriety, he disregarded the risk of possibly foul taste and cooked it twice as strong as usual.

While waiting for the coffee to drip, he took a while to walk and gaze around. As strange as it was, most of the rooms in his house he hadn't seen in over a week, despite not having left it once. In general, everything looked the same. Nothing had been moved from its place, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There weren't many signs of living life having visited in a while. Hadn't it been for the furniture, the house would've looked uninhabited. It made Naruto wonder, had Gaara spent time there at all?

Naruto almost dared to guess he hadn't, until he made it back to the kitchen. Something he hadn't noticed just a moment ago caught his attention. A candle, placed in the center of the table. It'd burnt unevenly, as if it'd been lit several times. The blonde frowned, slowly walking up to it. He took a seat on the closest chair and stopped to look at the half-melted candle. Only then did he notice the picture frame, laid flat against the table.

Too curious not to, Naruto reached out to pick it up. The glass facing downwards, he couldn't tell what might've been placed behind it. But upon turning it, he felt his breath hitch. A familiar photograph from years ago met his surprised gaze. One he'd forgotten all about. Two young men, one with blonde hair, the other with locks as dark as the night. He and Sasuke, roughly ten years ago. Standing side by side, neither really looking into the camera. But both of them smiling, in their own individual ways. Naruto didn't really notice his hand beginning to subtly shake.

For several minutes to come, he could only stare at it. Stare at that distant moment in time, captured on paper and caged behind glass. It took him a long time to even begin wondering where it'd come from and why it was there. But even his drunken, dense mind could figure it out eventually. Though he'd never expected Gaara to understand sentiment of any kind, it couldn't be anything else but a result of exactly that. He must've gone through Sasuke's things and found it, the picture.

Naruto flinched. He was quick to place the picture back down and stand up. With somewhat clumsy, yet rushed steps, he made his way to the room Sasuke had claimed for himself when he'd moved in. And though not sure what he'd expected, he still found himself skipping a breath at what he saw.

Boxes. Boxes everywhere. Laid on top of one another, fit tightly next to each other. And around them, nothing. Just emptiness. An entire room, an entire lifetime, packed into boxes.

Two things happened. And unfortunately at the exact same time, leaving Naruto clueless of how to really feel. On one hand, he was overwhelmingly relieved to see that somebody else had sorted through Sasuke's belongings, leaving him with an organized assortment to work with, when he one day was ready for it. But on the other hand, somebody else had done it. Somebody else than him. And that, was unacceptable.

Frozen in place, he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to feel, what to think or how to react. Maybe he could've figured it out, hadn't the sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted that important process. Half hysteric, half upset, he left the spot and rushed his way to the hallway. There he came face to face with the man he'd done his very best to avoid at all costs, the words escaping before he even decided to let them go.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did you do it?"

His voice came out both hurt and angry. Gaara, who stood by the door, turned to look at him in confusion. For a while, he said nothing. Simply watched Naruto stand there, surprised to see him in the first place. Then the frown fell on his face. The one questioning this sudden outburst.

"Do what?" the redhead finally asked, setting down the black duffel bag hanging off his shoulder.

Naruto's breath trembled with...several things. Crippling anxiety, mostly.

"That", he said, pointing towards the room he'd just exited.

Gaara glanced in the direction Naruto was pointing towards, before meeting his indescribable stare. Very little expression could be seen on the redhead's face. A hint of annoyance, if anything.

"Same reason I've been doin' everything for the past week and a half", the paler one then grunted. "Cause you're too drunk to."

The blonde's gaze turned less anxious and more angry. The redhead's indifference, that angered him.

"You had no right", he stated. "It wasn't your fuckin' job."

Gaara clenched his jaw in annoyance. He perhaps shouldn't have, but found the other's reaction ridiculous.

"Calm the fuck down", he growled. "It's all there. I didn't throw anything away."

Naruto couldn't have imagined anything more infuriating than being advised to calm down. How was he supposed to calm down? His best friend was dead. And the one person he'd thought he could trust was to blame. Stripped of any intellectual inputs, only immature insults escaped his mouth.

"I hate you."

The redhead barely even bothered to roll his eyes.

"What's new about that?"

Making his way past the blonde and into the kitchen, he blocked out any other childish remarks that might've followed. But the shove, one that barely budged him yet easily annoyed, was harder to ignore. Turning around, he didn't even try to hold back the attitude.

"The fuck's your problem?"

The blonde's face fell, as if astonished by how the other one even dared to ask such a question. But since he did ask, Naruto found no reason to return his ignorance with kindness.

"The fuck is my problem?" he snarled. "My best friend is dead cause of you, and you dare to ask what my fuckin' problem is?!"

Apart from a minor twitch of his brow, the redhead's face remained as blank as ever.

"How?" he asked lazily. "How the fuck is it my fault?"

Judging by the vein just about to burst out of his forehead, Naruto found the question as ignorant as the previous one.

"You left him to burn the fuck alive. That's how", he growled. "You killed him."

Finally, a flash of anger visited Gaara's otherwise plain features. But only briefly, before being subdued by indifference again.

"No, I didn't", he argued.

The blonde barely let him finish. "You could've saved him!"

Gaara shut his eyes in frustration. Maybe it was the other's screaming, maybe the days' worth of no sleep, but something caused an abrupt change in his mood. In a split second, he stopped caring about dignity and willingly descended to the same level as the drunken mess shouting at him.

"He wouldn't fuckin' let me!" he screamed back at the blonde. "You honestly think I didn't fucking try?"

Whatever remark the other one might've had waiting never made it out. Beyond caring about the fact that the blonde smelled like he'd soaked in a tub of whiskey for an entire week, Gaara brought his face close enough for a mere hiss to be enough.

"He didn't want to be saved", he assured. "He was trapped inside crushed fuckin' metal, couldn't feel his legs and was probably paralyzed from the waist down. He knew I wouldn't be able to carry both of you."

Naruto's narrowed gaze widened just enough for the mild horror to show through. But he never said anything. Not that he was given a chance to begin with.

"He died, so you'd live", Gaara continued. "So whatever the fuck you're drinkin' yourself to death for, I hope it's worth wasting his sacrifice."

The quietest, most oppressive silence followed. Naruto's angry eyes had allowed a vaguely ashamed look to join, but unfortunately, that shame didn't make it all the way to his brain. Whether he was already too deep in the bottomless pit of self-loathing, or simply too drunk to even try to see beyond it, his mind never wandered too far from himself. The bitter tone of his voice wouldn't sway.

"He made a mistake. And so did you", he mumbled. "I would rather have burned with him, than deal with this shit."

A sense of utter disbelief washed over the redhead. He could not believe how egocentric the blonde could be. Rarely had he felt as taken aback by somebody's inability to see beyond their own pathetic existence.

"Do you ever think about anybody else but your fuckin' self?" he questioned, sincerely amazed. "Has it even crossed that tiny mind of yours that maybe this ain't fuckin' easy for me either?"

A mere scoff was all he received in return.

"Since when have you given two shits 'bout anyone else?" Naruto sneered.

Gaara felt himself tip over the edge of absolute disgust. It was an entirely new kind of disgust, one he'd never felt towards the blonde before. Suddenly everything about him was repulsive to him. The man's self-centered attitude, his refusal to even try dealing with what had happened and instead letting it rot him from the inside out. But above everything else, he hated what the blonde medicated his psychological wounds with. He loathed what it turned him into. There'd been an instance at which Gaara had assured he'd beat the other one unrecognizable, were he to ever drink again. So far, he hadn't acted out on that promise. But the threshold for it was rapidly lowering. And he knew that if Naruto did not disappear from his sight in an instant, it'd seize to exist altogether.

"Get the fuck out."

It was no request. Naruto could've come up with a million different reasons why not to do as told, but amazingly, didn't abuse a single one. Why bother, when he wanted to be there no more than Gaara wanted him in his view.

"With fuckin' pleasure."

Turning his back to the other man, he stumbled his way to the front door. As he was stepping out, the redhead's thoroughly angered voice still managed to reach him.

"Unless you pull your fuckin' shit together, don't come back."

No vocal reply happened. Only an extended middle finger, followed by the sound of a door violently slamming shut. Left alone to deal with the blood in his veins about to reach boiling point, Gaara found release in nothing other but ramming his fist into the cabinet door beside him. His anger left noticeable marks on the surprisingly fragile surface. As a way of achieving a stable state of mind, his outburst did very little good.

There were many things in the world he disliked, but very few that he truly loathed. And somehow, every last one of those few things managed to culminate in the blonde. Even on a good day, he usually found at the very least one infuriating element worth picking a fight for. But adding repulsive amounts of alcohol into that already disastrous equation turned that man into a walking definition of everything Gaara found enraging. And he was fucking sick of it.

Every inch of him about to explode like a ticking time bomb, the redhead pulled open the cabinet he'd just struck his fist into, revealing the reason behind most of his current problems. Watching at the alarming amount of alcohol stored inside, he wondered why he'd let it all just sit there for so long. Deciding that there was no need for it to be there in the first place, he took out every last bottle and placed them on the counter beside the sink instead. Not a hint of hesitation crossing his mind, he began to empty them one at a time.

He'd expected to find even a little joy in watching the liquids of several colors, but all of the same foul smell go down the drain. Yet he didn't. If anything, he only felt angrier. Maybe it was the smell he'd grown so incredibly tired of, maybe all the enraging things it reminded him of, but it didn't make him feel any better. Before he even realized it, he'd stopped calmly emptying the bottles, and instead begun shattering them against the bottom of the metal sink.

Every last loud crash, every big and small shard it resulted in, it all channeled his anger far more efficiently than any silent sulking. The mental image of the target being the blonde's face instead of an inanimate sink brought him far more joy than watching it slowly go down the drain. His anger far exceeded the amount of bottles he actually had to shatter. And even more disappointingly, he never made it to the last one. After seven or so, the one in his hand managed to break awkwardly enough to cut open his hand. Though he couldn't feel it, the sight of blood beginning to coat the small mountain of glass alerted him of it. Reluctantly, he stopped to watch the surprisingly deep gash traveling across his palm.

"Fuck."

The word left his lips tiredly. Only then did he realize his hand was shaking. As was the rest of him. Suddenly, all of him felt tired and shaky.

He no longer felt angry. He felt exhausted. Anxious, somehow helpless. Instead of continuing his outburst, he found himself taking as many steps back as the space let him, allowed his back to hit the counter behind him, and eventually sunk down to the floor. All anger gone and only emptiness left behind, he remained seated. He was burning out, and knew it. It'd never happened before. Considering his less than carefree profession, this seemed like such a useless thing to burn out for. Yet there he was, standing on the brittle edge of a mental breakdown. He hated it.

He hadn't slept in days. Most of his time he'd spent away from the house, away from all the misery it'd trapped inside. Unfortunately, it was the kind of misery to follow him wherever he went. It wasn't guilt he really felt. Or sadness. A very rare occurrence of second-hand pain, maybe. He hated seeing the blonde suffer. How he'd ended up being so pathetically sensitive to that man's pain, he didn't know. And didn't care, as knowing wouldn't have made a difference in it being a fact.

He was angry, too. Not just at Naruto for being miserably drunk around the clock. But at himself, for not having prevented it from happening in the first place. He didn't feel responsible for Sasuke's death, yet still felt like he'd failed. He'd known how much that man had meant to the blonde. As someone who would've brought the moon down from the sky for him, he should've been able to save what'd mattered to him the most. The feeling of failure, it was something he'd never get used to. Not that he was supposed to. If it ever came to that, it'd mean he was failing more often than not. That wasn't an option that existed.

Gaara was the first one to admit he was terrible at reading human emotion, but was fairly certain that Naruto hadn't even attempted to mourn. He hadn't cried. Had he, his eyes wouldn't have looked as dead as they did. All of him had seemed hollow ever since that day. The anger from a moment ago was the first flash of anything human within him in a week and a half. For what it was worth, witnessing it had been a relief of sorts. Perhaps not a pleasant experience in general, but a relief nonetheless.

The redhead grunted bitterly. Realizing that he'd spent a full five minutes staring emptily at nothing at all, he supposed he should get up. It turned out to be easier said than done. Staying on the floor and allowing himself to wither away until only a skeleton remained seemed far too tempting of an option. And it was while battling the urge to do just that, when his gaze happened to catch the one bottle still left intact. There it sat on the counter, staring back at him despite lacking that ability. And he just couldn't help but wonder, did a drunk oblivion really solve problems that seemed otherwise permanent?

Probably not. But it was worth a shot. Or twenty.

Pulling himself off the floor, Gaara decided to extravagantly flip off the entire universe, and grabbed the unopened bottle from the counter. Lazily he made his way over to the kitchen table, slumped down on a chair, and stopped to just scowl at thin air. He soon took notice of the picture left to lie at the center of the table, next to the half-burnt candle. His scowl deepened.

One hand reaching out, he took hold of the picture frame and flipped it over. Too angry with the blonde, he consciously blocked the man out of the photo, and instead stopped to gaze at the other one immortalized within it. The redhead couldn't help but smirk. Judging by the picture, Sasuke had looked unimpressed with the world his entire life. Admirable dedication, he supposed.

Gaara had found the picture by chance. He'd happened to come across it while sorting the man's belongings. The only picture of Sasuke he ever found. Only picture of anyone, in fact. Just him and Naruto. But then again, that was all he'd ever had. Or needed.

It was strange, really. Gaara had felt more or less annoyed with the man, from start to end. But he supposed that it would've been obnoxious of him to claim that the pain in the ass hadn't grown on him at all. He had, in his own infuriating way. Only a handful of people had managed to do that. Ironically, most of them were dead by now. And like always, it'd take a while to get used to this one being gone as well. He would, eventually. He always had. It was one of those things a man got used to happening after a while.

Setting the picture down to stand, the redhead dug out a pack of cigarettes. He then flipped open the lid of his lighter, intending to light one up, but paused at the mere intention. Instead of lighting it right away, he instead lit the candle. The way he had for a week and a half so far. He'd never tried honoring anyone's final departure in such a way before, and after ten days of doing so, he still couldn't claim he quite understood the idea behind it. Maybe he wasn't supposed to. Maybe just giving it a try was enough. And if nothing else, the dead dumbass better appreciate the effort.

Finally lighting up the cigarette, he also opened the bottle left to wait on the table. Only briefly did he scowl at the idea of drowning his problems in overpriced whiskey. Shrugging the though off, he turned to glance at the picture once more, and lazily raised the bottle in its direction.

"Cheers, fucker."


Naruto stood in front of the building he'd concluded to be the funeral home. Everything about it made his stomach turn with nausea. The look of it, the feel of it, the very idea it represented. The boxing up and burning of dead corpses in exchange of a small fortune. He would've rather been absolutely anywhere else but right there and about to step inside. And in all honesty, he wasn't sure he'd be able. It felt like too big of a step towards finality and acceptance. He didn't want either of those things. He didn't want to do this at all.

He wasn't ready. But then again, when would he possibly be ready to bury his best friend?

He'd stood there for two whole hours by then. And he already knew that no time in the world would make it any easier to deal with. Just as the blonde had swallowed down the anxiety clogging his throat and gathered up courage to face the facts, a familiar voice from what seemed like another lifetime startled him.

"Naruto?"

Jumping at the sound of his own name, he turned around. His surprised gaze met a familiar set of dark eyes, the mildly amused look in them causing him to feel embarrassed. Somewhat overcome with surprise, and perhaps a distant sense of nostalgia, he barely managed any reply at all.

"Itachi", he finally said, shaking off the initial pause.

The man smiled, weakly. And Naruto felt his knees go equally as weak at the sigh of it. He'd forgotten how alike the two brothers had always looked. Unprepared, he hated it.

"How are you?" Itachi asked, as a short while of silence had gone by.

Wondering if they really were going to go through with this polite bullshit, the blonde didn't know what to say. Shifting uncomfortably, he tried to force out the proper kind of reply.

"I'm...", he began, but instantly trailed off and broke the act. "I'm sorry, I can't do this shit. How the hell do you think I'm doing?"

The words fell off his lips so tired, so weak. And looking at him, Itachi could tell that was exactly how he felt. Tired and weak, that's how he was doing.

"Probably as terrible as you look", Itachi supposed, then pointing at his own face. "Don't worry. There's bags under this makeup, and they ain't designer."

Naruto couldn't help but raise an amused brow.

"Makeup?" he snorted.

Itachi scowled. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

It might've been that the man was simply trying to lighten the mood however little it was possible, but Naruto did appreciate the effort. Suddenly, it was as if the ten years of no contact between them had never happened. And that made facing the inevitable just an ounce less terrifying.

Naruto surprised himself by how well he was able to handle the business part of it. The place itself was one of the most depressing environments he had ever stepped foot inside. Overflowing with coffins and urns of all kinds, set up like an extravagant parade for death and sorrow. But the personnel at the funeral home, they were polite and kind. Trained to handle grieving customers, taught to only ask the absolutely essential and avoid the unnecessary. It made it easier, the little it could.

For the entire time there, all the blonde could think about was how much he would've hated to be there all alone. Having Itachi there was a blessing like no other. He spoke when Naruto clammed up, made decisions the blonde couldn't. The hour or so they stayed there seemed to drag on forever, but in the end, they ended up with a well thought out plan. It would be kept simple and traditional, the way Sasuke would've wanted. They faced no troubles compromising and agreed to split the cost. With an estimated timeline given to Itachi by the forensic team in mind, the date was set a week away. By then, Sasuke's remains should have been released from the investigation. And for reasons Naruto had decided not to think about, no open casket wake would be held.

When they finally left the funeral home and stepped back outside, Naruto felt like he could breathe again for the first time in an hour. Perfectly happy to set the whole idea of a funeral aside for the week to come, he'd been prepared to go back home and curl up under a pile of blankets for another seven consecutive days. Exactly how Itachi managed to persuade him to have a cup of coffee in public instead, he couldn't say. Upon finding himself at a café far too busy for his anxious mind, he hated himself for agreeing. If there was any silver lining to be found, it was the cup of coffee he'd ended up not having at home now in front of him. Clinging onto that small positive element, he almost did not mind the crowded surroundings.

Taking advantage of the momentary silence between the two of them, Naruto took a while to subtly study the other man. There wasn't much new to notice. He still had the same pale complexion, lean figure and long, black hair, though now neatly tied back. His clothes looked smart and expensive, as expected from a man in his position. Really all that'd changed in the decade or so was the rehearsed dialect and cleaned up appearance. Maybe, just maybe, a few faint signs of aging. Developed in the same dignified way that fine wine aged.

"How's work?" Itachi asked, taking a sip from his overpriced cappuccino.

Staring into his cheap cup of plain, black coffee, Naruto shrugged.

"Haven't been there in a while", he admitted. The other's smile lessened just slightly.

"Ah, that's understandable."

The blonde huffed. "Yours?"

"Fine."

Short silence fell. Though short, it was quick to grow mildly uncomfortable. And after a while, Naruto couldn't stop himself from pointing out the issue he'd so far kept silent.

"How are you so...okay?"

The last of Itachi's smile fell, replaced by a far more serious look. And it was only then, when the mostly plastic smile was gone, that Naruto noticed how tired the man truly looked. The bags he'd mentioned, they appeared. And the faint lines that the late thirties tended to cause, those became visible as well. A broken sigh fell from his lips.

"I'm glad you ask that, actually", Itachi mumbled. "Means my act hasn't crumbled yet."

"Your brother died. Why act?" Naruto scoffed. Itachi sighed yet again.

"It's the job. The status. All that bullshit", he muttered.

It wasn't perhaps the best of reasoning, but at least it was honest. Knowing what the pressure of keeping up the appearance was like, Naruto could understand. Itachi seemed somewhat relieved to receive no harsh judgment for it. Perhaps as a sign of gratitude, his voice was free of judgment as well upon bringing up the elephant in the room.

"You've been drinking, haven't you?"

Naruto sighed. Since it seemed to be so obvious, he supposed there was no need for him to lie.

"Hn. Yeah", he admitted. "I don't know what else to do."

Itachi tilted his head curiously.

"You got anyone to talk to?" he questioned. "A girlfriend? Wife?"

It was instantaneous, the darkening of the blonde's gaze. Obvious enough for Itachi to have noticed it, no doubt. Yet out of courtesy, the man never mentioned it. Fighting back the anger beginning to crawl back to the surface, Naruto forced out a reply of the civil kind.

"It's...complicated."

Keen to change the subject as soon as possible, he brought up a topic he'd so far avoided at all costs. Partly because he didn't want to risk exposing his involvement, partly because he just didn't want to know anything about it.

"How's the investigation going?" he asked, stifling the stutter he nearly let slip.

Itachi released a deep, tired sigh. One that clearly told he'd had to deal with the subject far more than he would've desired to.

"It's...a dead end, mostly", he grunted. "Three crashed cars, bullet casings, four deaths. A link to yakuza, but nothing that'd explain my brother's involvement."

Naruto frowned. A dead end? They had literally left an entire untouched crime scene behind, and no useful information could be gathered from it?

"What about witnesses?" he asked cautiously. "I mean, it happened on a highway. There must be witnesses."

Itachi shrugged. "Nobody's come forward. Not as far as I know."

Weird. No, more than weird. Was this truly the level of forensic science these days, or was yakuza slithering their way out of the investigation again? If so, undoubtedly with the aid of Akatsuki.

"There's something weird about this", Itachi stated, very confidently. "Corruption, maybe. I don't know. But I know that my brother was a good man. He didn't deserve to get involved."

The bitterness coming through in his voice was so tangible, it sent shivers of guilt down the blonde's spine. Swallowing down a knot in his throat, Naruto carried on conversing. If only to hide the lurking nervousness.

"You think it was just that?" he asked. "He became collateral damage in a mafia feud?"

Itachi's empty gaze turned somewhat helpless. As if he didn't know what to say anymore.

"I don't know", he said, shaking his head. "That's what I was told."

His eyes fell shut, a brief look of pain visiting on his usually plain features.

"I almost wish he'd been involved", he admitted. "Cause otherwise, he died in vain. Died for nothing."

Naruto found himself skipping a breath. He suddenly was reminded of what Gaara had told him. How Sasuke had refused to be saved. How he'd rather been left behind and died, so Naruto wouldn't. And it took everything he had in him not to correct the other man. To tell him that Sasuke hadn't died in vain. Only barely could he catch himself about to do it.

"Have you been involved in the investigation?" he asked instead, forcefully keeping up the interested tone. Itachi shook his head.

"No. Not really", he told. "The family relation prevents me from getting involved. Not that I really want to be."

The blonde simply nodded. He could see why the other man would've felt that way.

"But I did go through the reports", Itachi then revealed. Naruto frowned.

"And?" he pried. The older one shrugged.

"Nothing worth mentioning."

Another stiff nod and silence was all Naruto could offer in return. Itachi didn't seem to mind. He seemed thoughtful, perhaps even distracted. For a long while, neither one spoke. And it wasn't until the visible hesitation on the paler man's face finally lifted, that the silence came to an end.

"I lied", Itachi suddenly admitted. "There are some things that don't fit in."

The blonde frowned. "Such as?"

"The car he was driving, for starters." Short pause, askance glance. "Stolen."

Naruto had never realized how difficult shock was to fake.

"Stolen?"

Itachi nodded, not noticing the forced tone of surprise laced between the blonde's speech.

"Remains of a semi-automatic rifle were found inside as well", he then told, further complicating Naruto's display of reactions.

He probably should've been prepared for a discussion of this nature, but somehow, hadn't even considered it. It made him feel uncomfortable, to say the least.

"It couldn't have been his", he stated, confidently. "I can't explain the car, but the gun couldn't have been his."

Surprisingly, Itachi nodded in agreement.

"I know", he muttered thoughtfully. "That's why I suspect somebody else was with him."

Never before had Naruto fought anything as hard as he did the flinch about to slip. He feared his voice might give away the lie.

"Nobody could've survived that crash."

The stutter was almost inevitable. Almost.

Itachi scowled. "Why else would my law-abiding brother have been found dead in a stolen car, not to mention with illegal weaponry?"

It was a moment Naruto hadn't anticipated. A moment at which he had no idea what to say or how to react. He could only hope his silence was interpreted as sincere shock. Since Itachi fell silent as well, it seemed he did accept it as that and nothing more. After a short while of quiet contemplating, the man frowned in a confused manner.

"It's not just the stolen car and rifle, you know", he then spoke. "What puzzles me the most...is that he quit his job two weeks prior. Without notice."

For the first time during their conversation, Naruto finally felt and displayed sincere shock. Looking confused, he wasn't certain if he'd heard correctly.

"He what?" the blonde asked, though knew it was unlikely he'd misunderstood the older one. Itachi nodded.

"Yeah", he stated, then raising a questioning brow. "You didn't know?"

Naruto took his time, before shaking his head slowly. He looked as deeply confused as he felt.

"No", he replied. The other man scowled.

"Hn. I see", Itachi grunted. "I contacted the forensic team he worked with. But nobody could tell me why he'd resigned so suddenly."

The blonde said nothing. There was nothing he could think of saying. He truly hadn't expected to be presented with such shocking news, and wasn't sure how to react. Eyes filled with silent questions, he paused to wonder why Sasuke would've done such a thing. And kept it a secret, nonetheless. No explanation felt plausible enough to be taken seriously. But since Sasuke had been a strictly rational man, there must've been a reasonable explanation behind his every action as well. Right?

Naruto's silent questioning came to an end as the keen gaze laid on him became harder to ignore. He turned to face the other man, meeting the intense stare. There was no harsh judgment in the look given to him, but the stern, contemplating look wouldn't sway. And after a while, Itachi spoke in a manner that matched the look.

"I'm only gonna ask you once, Naruto", he spoke, slowly and firmly.

The blonde wasn't sure what to expect, but knew it wouldn't be a question he'd feel comfortable answering.

"You knew him better than anyone", Itachi reminded. "Are you, or are you not hiding something regarding his death?"

Two things happened. The pain, that came first. And it struck right where it hurt the most. But then came the guilt. And balancing on the thin line between the two, Naruto forced out yet another lie.

"No", he assured. "How can you even ask that?"

It felt so wrong, to lie to this grieving man's face. But knowing how skilled and experienced Itachi was at his job in the forensic science field, Naruto had no choice but to fake an offended attitude. His guilt only grew stronger, as the other's harsh gaze softened with sympathy.

"I'm not trying to offend you", Itachi assured, just a hint kinder. "But try to see it from my point of view. My brother got torched alive, was literally scraped out of a car seat. And I need to know why."

The mental image of that sent chills of disgust down the blonde's spine. He could feel himself crumble under the other's watchful gaze. Too focused on trying to hold himself together, he failed to realize that for the first time since the accident, the void surrounding him was beginning to crack.

"I know", Naruto said, voice weak and weary. "Trust me. I want to know why this had to happen just as much as you do."

It wasn't a lie. Not really. Though he knew how it'd happened, he still did not understand why it'd had to. It was doubtful he ever would. Itachi turned to gaze out the window beside them, falling silent. For a while, he seemed detached, as if stuck in another time and place.

"Last time I saw him...", he spoke quietly, "...was seven years ago, Naruto. Seven years."

The blonde felt a vague sense of surprise. He hadn't realized it'd been so long. A sudden string of bitter laughter shooed his brief surprise away.

"You know...sometimes I wish we'd never left the streets", Itachi revealed unexpectedly. "Life wasn't good, but at least it felt like living."

Naruto's eyes fell shut, for no other reason but relief. Why he felt so relieved to know that he wasn't the only one missing old times, he wasn't sure.

"All this", Itachi grunted and gestured around, "It's shit. Not worth the effort."

Naruto glanced around. Surrounded by people who all seemed perfectly normal, so very comfortable with their mediocre lives and material goods, he felt out of place. The way he always had. And he knew exactly what Itachi was talking about. The endless hunt for socially constructed perfection that in the end always fell short of a life stripped of all unnecessary flamboyance. Money couldn't buy happiness. Status didn't compare to freedom. And achieving the invariant standard of normalcy never seized to disappoint. Sometimes, less really was more.

"But I guess it's too late to regret that now", Itachi supposed. "Regret won't bring Sasuke back. Or all the years I wasted building this useless life."

Naruto said nothing, only watched the thoughtful man seated across him. It was astonishing, really. Though on the outside Itachi had remained almost unaltered, the inside had been renovated in its entirety. The Itachi he'd known all those years ago had been much colder and decisive. In the cruelest of ways. He hadn't held much appreciation towards his fellow men, hadn't really cared to even act like he did. Would never have spoken in such a sincerely vulnerable tone. But looking at him now, Naruto supposed that it'd all been just an essential part of his self-defense system. Left alone to care for his brother in a world that knew no mercy, it couldn't have been easy.

A sigh left the older man's lips, his gaze turning back towards the blonde. A somewhat artificial smile very typical to him lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Better not get too depressed", he said, forcibly carefree. "Sasuke would hate that."

Naruto stifled a scoff. Though Itachi might've been right, he wasn't anywhere near to accepting that his best friend was gone forever. But in the name of good manners, he wouldn't argue it aloud.

"Hn. Probably."

Itachi tilted his head curiously, the smile on his lips lessening. After a while of what seemed like hesitation, he voiced a request.

"Please don't turn up drunk to the funeral."

Naruto instantly grew awkward under the demanding gaze, but nodded nonetheless.

"I won't."

It was mildly doubtful, the look Itachi gave him. Distantly realizing what kind of image he gave out of himself, Naruto felt determined to prove him otherwise. Determined, yet just the slightest bit afraid he was promising too much. But that wasn't something he would've admitted aloud.

"When you gonna fly home?" he asked, subtly turning the discussion into a less uncomfortable direction.

Itachi took notice of the swift swerve, but apart from a lopsided smirk, didn't bring it up.

"Tonight", he then told. "I still have a few things to organize. Gotta visit the grave site, fill out forms...shit like that."

Naruto nodded, paused, and wished he hadn't felt so inclined to offer assistance.

"You need help with those?" he asked, though audibly reluctant.

Itachi shook his head, appreciative of the gesture, yet well aware of how badly the blonde wished he'd decline.

"Thanks, but no. We both know you're not ready for all that yet."

The sigh of relief Naruto released wasn't one he even tried to stop from escaping. And he received no judgment for it.

"I don't know how I'd handle this if you weren't here", the blonde very openly told. Itachi chuckled kindly.

"Well, I am. So no need to worry", the man reminded.

The cup in his hand had been mostly emptied. Taking one last sip of now lukewarm coffee, Itachi set it down on the table and began reaching for his jacket.

"I hate to abandon you, but I need to get going", he explained, pulling the clearly designer coat on. "A lot I need to get done before my flight takes off."

Naruto nodded, glancing down at his own cup. He'd barely gotten through half of it, and frankly, didn't feel the least bit excited to finish the rest. Willingly abandoning what'd been left, he too put on his jacket and rose from his seat. Itachi was properly clothed and seemed ready to leave already. Not wanting to slow the busy man down, Naruto opened his mouth to say a goodbye of some sorts, only to realize that no words seemed to fit his mouth with ease. In the end, he went with a perhaps slightly pretentious option.

"Thanks, for everything", he quietly told. "And sorry for your loss."

Itachi's gaze softened, as if pitying the blonde's struggle to maintain a sense of composure. Sighing, the older man shook his head.

"Thank you. But I think we both know who suffered the bigger loss here."

His speech flowed out part sympathetic, part guilty. Sympathetic for the sake of Naruto, guilty for having been such a lousy brother. Not that guilt would've made a difference anymore.

"Oh yeah, I nearly forgot", Itachi then said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

From there he took out a small plastic bag. Naruto laid a curious look on it, but said nothing. The older man brought it closer to him, as if offering it.

"It's not much, but there's the few things they found on him", he told and sighed. "I thought you might want to keep them."

Naruto's lips parted, mostly out of surprise. But then closed again, a sense of uncertainty taking over. He wasn't entirely sure if he did want it. At that moment, he didn't. But knowing he'd one day regret not accepting it, he shook off any hesitation and took what he'd been offered. Not pausing to look at its contents, he put it into the safety of his pocket and flashed Itachi a weak smile.

"Thanks. I'll take care of 'em."

It was bittersweet, the way their long overdue reunion came to its end. Itachi left to run essential errands, and Naruto was left to figure out his next move. Having watched the other man disappear behind a corner along the busy street, the feeling of emptiness was quick to return to him. Finding himself all alone again, he felt lost. He did consider going back home. But as the idea of having to face the redhead stirred only instant anger and nothing else, he abandoned the option at mere consideration. The list of actions his tired and tortured self was capable of taking remained as steadily short as it'd been so far. And thus, for several hours to come, Naruto would spend his time sitting on a lonely park bench, hugging a bottle of lukewarm sake and watch life drift by. It was every bit as sad as it sounded.


It was eight in the evening. Maybe nine. Gaara couldn't tell for sure, as his interest towards time and life in general fell nothing short of nonexistent. But it was dark. So definitely past six.

An entire day had gone by, yet it'd felt like the blink of an eye. After the first hour or so, he'd sat himself down at the furthest corner of the kitchen floor, but for the ten that'd followed, he hadn't moved an inch. The candle had burned out hours ago, leaving him without light. It was pitch dark and he couldn't see a damn thing, but neither did he want to. Temporary blindness to the surrounding world made it easier for him to pretend it didn't exist at all.

That was his new favorite game now. Refusing to believe in the real world. He'd considered telling other people about this revolutionary idea, but had then realized it already existed and went by the name of schizophrenia. Not that it stopped him from thoroughly enjoying the dissociation.

He no longer felt as angry and miserable. Partly because he refused to acknowledge such emotions existed, partly because he was tweaked off his balls on booze and sedatives. Either way, he was feeling exceptionally fine. Not much he'd done, apart from sitting on the floor and staring into the darkness, but that was just fine. The majority of time he'd spent thinking about nothing at all, a small part of him wondering if he should've been packing his shit – since Naruto undoubtedly would throw him out sooner or later – and the rest acknowledging the fact that he was horny as hell. All in all, quite a wide range of wonderment going on.

Gaara wasn't certain if the blonde would come home. Tonight, tomorrow, ever again. He suspected the first, doubted the last, but couldn't say for sure. Assuming that the man would appear at one point or another, he'd tried to figure out how to greet him. From what'd initially been a long list of varying options, he'd eliminated all but two. He supposed it'd largely depend on how he'd feel about seeing the blonde's face again. Only two outcomes seemed probable. Either his high and drunk self would feel less angry than horny, proceed to beg on his knees to get laid out of pity if nothing else, most likely fail, and end up twice as miserable as before with no dignity left whatsoever. Or, he'd feel less horny than angry, find the other's face to be the most annoying thing the world contained, smack some life into that virtually lifeless mug, and finally, repeatedly smash it against something unpleasantly solid.

Two outrageously different approaches, yet both equally as tempting. Could go either way.

Gaara came to find that Naruto possessed quite the ironic timing, as at the exact moment he finished his latest thought, the front door slammed open. Since it was dark, he couldn't see the blonde stumble in, but judging by the noise alone, he could tell the man was twice as drunk as he'd been in the morning. A series of definitely drunken actions followed, starting with less than stable walking, and ending in an awkward search for the light switch. Much to Gaara's dislike, Naruto eventually succeeded in locating it, bringing the darkness to an abrupt end. Closing his eyes tightly shut, he let out a displeased groan. The sound caught Naruto's attention, his glassy gaze turning to glance at the redhead.

Now, Naruto wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected to find upon returning home, but this definitely wasn't it. The sight of Gaara lazily seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, tightly holding onto a mostly devoured bottle of whiskey as if it was about to run away. And no matter how drunk he himself might've been, he could tell right away that whiskey wasn't the only poison running through that man's veins. His eyes sat in their sockets still and dull, pupils dilated, as if channeling a sedated animal. He was absolutely, positively high as a kite on something or other. Naruto dared to guess that were he to check, the bottle of Valium in the medicine cabinet would've mysteriously disappeared.

There was this strange ten second long moment that followed, both of them just silently staring at one another, the number of eyes open at the same time alternating from one extreme to another. It was ridiculous, really. To any onlooker, it would've been absolutely ridiculous. But to the two of them, being wasted beyond belief, it was less hilarious and more simply challenging.

Naruto leaned heavily against the wall, most of his focus put into staying on his feet. Gaara remained seated on the floor, contemplating on whether or not to attempt getting up. He was distantly aware of the likeliest outcome, were he to give it a go, but not aware enough of anything in general to actually care. Thus he did make a move to haul himself up, and amazingly enough, succeeded. His footing seemed about as reliable as a hooker's compliment, yet against all odds, he stayed upright. Impressive, in the strangest of ways.

Gaara tilted his head curiously. Though he'd been staring at the blonde's face for a good ten seconds by then, he still wasn't sure how he felt about it. In his delirious mind, very few things made sense. And this, this was no exception.

For a long while, not much happened. Since both of their minds continued to drift in and out of the room, and reality in general, it was no big surprise. Naruto found himself wondering whether the strange feeling located somewhere within him meant that he was about to pass out, or throw up. Gaara still tried to figure out if he felt more angry than horny, occasionally getting distracted by the headache already creeping its way up his neck. Whether it could be called fortunate or not, both of them found the answer to their wonderment simultaneously. Naruto concluded that he absolutely, definitely was about to throw up, and while he stumbled his way over to the kitchen sink to do just that, Gaara decided that he was absolutely, definitely not at all horny anymore.

Were there any upside to the blonde emptying his stomach into the sink, it was that he hadn't eaten in days, and thus, it could've been worse. But that hardly made it any more fun for anyone involved.

Naruto had to admit, there was very little dignity attached to leaning against the kitchen counter and gagging out poison out of his system. But if nothing else, it made him feel less like shit. He did take a moment to stare at the pile of broken glass he'd apparently purged over, but cared nowhere near enough to ask about it. Lazily straightening his hunched over posture, he turned to face the one still deliriously staring at him. And despite the glare being glassy and out of focus, it was a clear statement. A threat, even. One Naruto could've ignored and walked away from, had he been smart.

But he wasn't smart. He was angry, miserable and three sheets to the wind. He would've fought a rabid tiger just for the sake of it.

It was hard to tell which of them was the first to charge at the other one, but the blonde definitely put more force into it. For someone as absolutely hammered as him, he did possess remarkable strength. And for someone as ridiculously plastered as Gaara, the lack of balance shouldn't have come as such a surprise. Not that he let it bother him much. An indisputable upside of abusing diazepam was the dulling of physical pain. Even that of getting crushed between a hardwood floor and 170 pounds of belligerent maniac. And while Naruto might've been fucked up on nothing else but good old booze, he certainly did not feel – or at the very least didn't care – about the pain in his arm anymore.

It was astonishing, really, how quickly their nearly comatose minds shifted gears from standby to overdrive. And it became very clear, very quickly, that this confrontation was far from drunken wrestling on the floor. In the short span of a few seconds, anger escalated into rage and a desire to overpower into sincere will to harm. Nearly achieving the unanimous goal of trapping the other one in a choke hold alternated between them in turns, the one close to failing always finding a way out. Unimaginable creativity became involved as quickly as they ran out of ideas how to win the fight using their bare hands only. Naruto utilized a cabinet by violently smashing its door against the other's head until the thing became unhinged, Gaara found a friend in the set of house keys he managed to snatch from the table. Trapped inside his fist, a few of them sticking out from between his fingers, they made a brutal variation of brass knuckles.

Any humor the idea of two drunken morons fighting might've normally stirred, definitely did not reside under that roof. The blonde could've assured to any doubter that having his face torn open by dull keys was not his idea of fun. And the redhead definitely did not enjoy the feeling of getting assaulted with an unhinged cupboard door. It seemed never-ending, the back and forth abuse. And might've been, hadn't one of them eventually made a mistake.

Naruto should've known better than to try and get up. Maybe he'd underestimated the redhead's reaction time, or overestimated his own, but regardless of the reason behind it, Gaara managed to bring him back down long before he had a chance to avoid it. In an instant, he was on the floor and in the worst position imaginable. Trapped under the other's weight and a merciless hold tightening around his throat. It wasn't the kind he'd gotten used to in the past months, but instead reminded him of the first time they'd fought. It possessed no hesitation, left no loopholes. It was fueled by pure rage and homicidal intention.

Naruto quickly realized, whether it was because of the drugs or simple rage, Gaara had lost his sense of reality. And if he didn't do anything about it, the man wouldn't stop before he was positively dead.

Panic was as quick to settle in as breath was to leave. And it took Naruto a considerable amount of concentration to deny his body the right to go into shock. The less air traveled to his brain anymore, the harder it became to think and the more tempting he began to find the idea of giving up. But still distantly aware that it was only the alcohol talking, he refused to listen to it. He knew he had to get free, but being straddles by the other man and dangerously close to suffocating, there were very few actions he could take. Really all he could do was gather up all the strength he had, use it all at once, and hope it'd be enough.

Holding in the little breath he still had, Naruto moved one of his arms over those reached out to strangle him, forcibly pushed his hips upwards, and tilted his body as much as he could. It might've been nothing but luck, but came as a big enough surprise to the redhead for his balance to fail him. He was forced to let go. Realizing that he'd managed to throw the other one off him, Naruto wasted no time to get away. He didn't care if it made him a coward, for he knew that if he stayed still, Gaara would kill him.

Finally free to breathe again, he desperately gasped for air, while already pulling himself away from the other one. His head felt light and heavy at the same time. He knew his legs wouldn't carry him, and thus didn't even try to get up. Instead he crawled across the floor as fast as he could, towards the counter and the knife block placed on top of it. He felt a hand grasp him by the leg and attempt to pull him back, but managed to kick it off. And it was only by a single second that he outran the other one.

In that one second, he forced himself on his knees, reached up his arm and grabbed the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of the wooden holder. The blade slid out, his body turned, and equipped with all the strength he possessed, the knife sliced into the first thing in its way.

Gaara didn't get a chance to dodge. Didn't really even see it coming. Only barely had he pulled himself to his knees and lifted his gaze up, when it'd already happened. And unlike any other pain so far, he felt it. Felt the blade hit the left side of his face, travel across his cheek, and slice open his skin. The sturdy edge, that sunk the deepest. And the tip of it, it didn't cut neatly, but instead tore through skin and flesh like a dull canine. The instant the blade was gone, the blood was free to flow.

It was rare for him to react to pain in any way elaborate. But as it felt like his face was on fire, he instinctively pressed his hand against the wound and stumbled to his feet. It might've been the surprise, might've been the shocking amount of blood suddenly exiting his face, but all the previous rage and anger gripping him was quick to let go. As he backed his way into the corner behind him and slid down to the floor, holding his face and staring emptily ahead, he finally realized what he'd done.

His gaze eventually turned to look at the blonde. Now on his feet, still breathing heavily and the knife tightly held by a shaky hand, Naruto returned the stare. He eyed the hand pressed against the fresh wound, watched the blood spill from between pale fingers. Neither one spoke, neither one was sure what would happen next. Gaara had an eerie feeling that he should've felt nervous. But even when the blonde finally began to take slow steps towards him, he still did nothing to stop the man. He let Naruto reach him, let him drop down close to him. There wasn't much to read in the other's blue eyes, but as he then felt the knife's blade press against his throat, the need for such disappeared.

For a while, nothing happened. Gaara let the blade rest against his throat, Naruto showed no sign of lowering it. Everything stood still.

The redhead took a moment to wonder if he would've minded dying there. And as he realized that he wouldn't, he questioned if he'd lost his desire to live altogether. Considering what life had become, he might've. He had made mistakes lately, many of them irreversible. He'd found someone he'd reinvented his entire self for, only to succumb to his old ways after all. He'd wanted to give him the world, but instead had let half of it burn into the point of no return. Watching the blonde, he realized that only a shadow of him remained anymore. He'd broken him, beyond repair. And by doing so, he'd lost his purpose in the world. Even if he'd wanted, he didn't deserve to live.

The hand pressed against the wound twitched. As if hesitant, maybe nervous. It then slowly left its place, moving down. The blonde's hold on the knife's handle tightened, obviously assuming Gaara would try to take it from him. But he didn't. Instead he placed his bloodstained hand on the one gripping the knife, and gently took a hold around it. His hold only ever tightened to pull the blade firmer against his skin. And he felt it cut. Just enough to let a single drop of blood out, left to run down like a lonely tear.

Naruto flinched, surprised. His gaze dropped down to glance at the hand, then moved back up. And it wasn't until he saw the look on the redhead's face, that finally dread spread across his own. Perfectly calm, a reflection of absolute ease. That was the look on Gaara's face. And it was terrifying. Naruto released a sound he hadn't planned to, hurriedly pulled away the knife and threw it away as if burned by it.

What the hell was he doing? What the fuck was wrong with him?

Glancing at the other man, he saw in his eyes what seemed like disappointment. They watched him tiredly, as if asking why he'd cowered away after all. Naruto stared back at the other man, an expression of horror slowly settling onto his features. At first, he wasn't entirely sure what it was that horrified him, but then realized that there was very little that didn't. He couldn't help but wonder, how had he been so blind to it for so long?

As far as timing went, a groundbreaking revelation made next to no sense at all right then. He was incoherently drunk, sleep deprived beyond belief and had come only an inch away from murdering the only one he still had left. Yet despite it all, that became the moment at which the void surrounding him finally shattered under its own weight. Weighed down by bottled hurt and sorrow, it could no longer protect him, and fell apart with a sound only he could hear.

He couldn't lie to himself anymore. Sasuke was dead. And no power in the world would ever bring him back.

Naruto felt his body begin to tremble. The knot in his throat was quick to tighten and the burning behind his eyes grow uncontrollable. And the second he finally let the first tear run down his bruised face, an unimaginable sound escaped his lips. Body attempting to cave in on itself in pain unlike any other he'd ever felt, he wrapped his arms around himself and screamed out in honest anguish. It was a sound he'd never thought he would make, and one neither of them had ever heard before. It was the sound of his insides being crushed by something intangible, trying to murder him from the inside out.

Gaara's lips parted in surprise. For a split second, he let himself feel frightened. Not for himself, but for the blonde. He had seen countless people in agony of all kinds, seen so many lose all they had, seen so many die. But never before had he heard a sound as pained and tortured leave a human being. And though he didn't quite know why, the sound alone felt like a stab through his heart.

The fright was quick to fade. It was relief that replaced it. No matter how much pain the blonde might've been in, he was relieved to see him feel. Feel anything at all. He was hurting, but he was hurting for the right reason. He was crying, nearing hysteria, but only because he should've. And that was the exact moment Gaara knew that one day, everything would be okay again.

He wasn't hesitant to reach out, take a hold of the blonde and pull him as close as possible. And Naruto never even considered fighting it. Instead he pressed himself as tightly against the redhead's chest as he could, face buried in the front of the man's shirt and every last inch of him desperate to feel every last inch of the other one. His fists closed tightly around any part of the man they could find, nails dug into his skin. Perhaps painfully, yet not once did Gaara say he minded it. Distracted by the realization of how much he'd missed holding the blonde, he didn't care.

Naruto cried the entire night. And Gaara held him even after he ran out of tears to shed. They didn't speak, didn't even try. Though it was a night filled with hurt and sadness, it had to happen. And while neither one realized it at the time, both of them faced the next day as men very different than the one before. When morning finally came, the first rays of sunlight beginning to stretch out from behind the horizon, the blonde had finally fallen asleep in the other's arms. And that would be the first day he'd no longer wake up alone inside the void, but instead peacefully between love he didn't want to waste, and a ghost he'd have to accept.