Summary: Should anyone ever look up the word paragon in the dictionary, they'd find a definition similar to: a model of perfection. Right next to that particular definition, they would also undoubtedly find a picture of Sasuke Uchiha. NaruSasu

Warnings: NaruSasu, which means yaoi. You have been warned. Maybe some rough language too. Ya know, the norm.

A/N: I started writing this in August sometime, and it's not the middle of October. Sorry it took so damn long. I don't know what happened. Really, I don't. But school has started once again, and I just had a huge urge to get this story off my back.

So, here is chapter thirteen.

If you guys are awesomely amazing and review a whole bunch (if anyone still reads this), I might add a bonus chapter. That's right- a bonus chapter!


Paragon
Chapter Thirteen
Author: Alley-Oop


"Mmm. I don't wanna," I moan groggily, rolling over.

"Naruto, get your ass out of bed and make me breakfast," Sasuke demands, pushing on my back with his long, slender hands that are so cold I shiver.

"But-" I try to protest, but Sasuke interrupts.

"Do it now, or no sex for a month."

That is an ultimatum I cannot risk, and so I stretch slowly before getting out of bed, feeling the best that I have in months. After I pull on a pair of boxers and before I leave the room, I turn to look at Sasuke, who is glaring at me, his head resting on his hand, and the sheet barely covering him. He looks hella pissed, and I can feel the smile die on my lips before it even existed—a smile abortion, in a way.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not really knowing what else to say. Did I do something? Did he not like last night? What?

He sighs heavily, as if I could not possibly be so stupid. "Nothing," he growls.

"I'm not a mind-reader. If I did something wrong, you should tell me."

Sasuke's glare lets up, and he sinks back down to the bed so that his pillow cushions his head. Well, my pillow, but the pillow that he uses. "It's not your fault. Just go make breakfast before I get even more pissed."

And that's an order. I take the cue and leave, heading out to the kitchen. Miraculously, when I open the fridge door, there are actually a variety of things. I can't remember going grocery shopping lately, so Sasuke must've brought food with him yesterday. The thought of it makes my heart give a painful throb. He really must've put a lot of thought into last night if he remembered to bring food to my practically barren apartment.

In fact, Sasuke does a lot of nice things for me, now that I think about it. A lot of them are subtle and hard to notice, but they still count. And what have I ever done for him that's nice? I've never asked his biggest fantasy so that I could play it out, or made him breakfast (well, I am now, but never before), or anything boyfriend-esque like that. I swear, I must be the worst boyfriend in history. No wonder Sasuke's so angry. I was even going to skip out on making him breakfast this morning, had he not directly threatened my sex life. Which wasn't even really a valid threat, because I doubt Sasuke would want to go a month without sex, either. Or maybe after last night he thinks a month break wouldn't be so bad. I hope he's feeling okay. Maybe that was why he was so angry? Surely he's in pain after everything that happened last night….

My thoughts float around aimlessly through my head as I pull the eggs out of the fridge and start the yolky process of making omelets, not that I mind. Cooking is a great way to relax, says the lady I watch on TV in the wee hours of the morning before school, when I have spare time. It's also a great vent for creativity and helps the mind to focus, but I'm not concentrating on why I'm cooking. I'm on autopilot by this point.

I don't know what it is that finally lures Sasuke out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, but the hibernating bear (or skunk maybe, judging by the strange smells that he pulls along with him from the room. Sex and sweat. Not too bad, but not the best, though the smell of Sasuke is still very prominent to my trained nose) skulks into my cook-zone and sits his happy (or not so happy, considering) ass at the table.

He says nothing, but rests his head on his arms, sighing in what seems to be content, though I could be wrong. As well as I've gotten to know Sasuke, I still can't read him exactly.

"It smells good," he finally tells me.

"You sound surprised." A smile tugs at my lips. So Mr. Uchiha had it in his head that I couldn't cook? How wrong he was. I happen to be a fantastic cook… when I want to be.

"You don't seem like the cooking type." Sasuke lifts his head and rearranges his arms so that he can prop his chin on a fist. His eyes search the ex-kitchen, current disaster/demolition-zone with something akin to distaste.

"I never said I was clean about my cooking," I comment. It's not often that I actually do cook, because of lack of money, which means lack of groceries, which means lack of cooking possibilities in general.

"No, you didn't. And I don't think you would've had to tell me," he says, still looking strangely at my filthy kitchen. It's not quite repulsion, but not any better than it was a few moments ago, either.

"You know, I didn't even ask you; Do you like omelets?" I ask, curious. Looking at the amount of eggs left, I sincerely hope that, for his stomach's sake, he does. Otherwise I might have to find something else to make my starving boyfriend.

"Sure. Though I prefer dippy eggs more," he says. I can feel the look of horror and stupidity on my face. Did I completely sabotage breakfast? Would Sasuke be angry?

He notices. "Omelets are fine. I'm so hungry I could just eat a fucking raw chicken, at this point. It doesn't matter."

I grimace. "That doesn't sound healthy." And it really doesn't. What are the odds of getting a deadly disease from eating raw chicken? Not to mention it would definitely taste awful. The thought of digging my teeth into the tough, pink flesh of a raw animal is enough to make me gag, so I quit thinking about it. However, when I think about Sasuke doing such a carnal thing, I don't know what to think. The image is so hilarious—Sasuke wearing a loincloth and hunting down a chicken to eat—but at the same time, also disgusting and, in a way only my twisted and weird mind could think, erotic, that I just have to laugh. It's the funniest thought I've had in days, and I nearly double over, clutching my stomach.

"What?" Sasuke asks, sounding irritated because he is out of the joke. I slap a hand on the counter in answer, unable to respond properly.

"What?" Sasuke grumbles again, sauntering over to the counter in his boxers, looking furious and hot. Furiously hot. I imagine him with shifty eyes and carnivore teeth, chasing after a chicken, and laugh all the harder.

With a sigh and roll of his midnight eyes, he steps over me and to the stove, where I hear the dial click into place on "off". The omelet must be done. I hear Sasuke open and close cupboards, digging around for a plate. By this point, I'm over my laughing fit, and get back to my feet.

I grab a plate and hand it to him. He looks a little… disgruntled, but not overly angry. He doesn't ask what was funny again, and I don't feel inclined to explain, though I can tell it's really bugging him to not know. But he should have realized by now that I'm just a retard and laugh at the most random things.

Sasuke takes the plate, eyeing me strangely as he does so, like he might catch whatever disease I've developed, but he says nothing. Not even thank you. Jackass. He could've been digging in the cupboards all day. I almost wish I had let him.

"Bastard," I huff under my breath, watching as he slides the eggs from the pan onto the plate, but I don't mean it. He pushes past me, towards the table, and I try not to let his surly mood get to me.

I can only think of two reasons he would act like this. One: he has something on his mind and is about to drop a bombshell on me or start a very awkward conversation. Or two: he is in extreme pain from last night, and trying not to show it. Or both, I guess.

I grab my own breakfast and join my discourteous boyfriend at the table. It's quiet for a long time before I get really sick of this whole thing. "Okay. What's up your ass?"

Sasuke throws me the most evil, terrible glare I've ever seen him bestow, and I instantly realize my fatal mistake. Before I can apologize, though, Sasuke sighs and puts his fork down beside his plate. These sudden mood swings are getting me confused, so I just don't say anything. And I don't have to. Sasuke starts this conversation.

"I've been thinking…" he says, and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

"Uh-huh?" Where could this conversation possibly lead? Hopefully back to my bedroom, in the best-case scenario, but I highly doubt the probability of that happening at the moment. Sasuke shoots me a look—a warning—that says to be serious, so I decide to take his unspoken advice before I get myself into a heap of shit. "I mean: about what?"

Sasuke averts his eyes, vouching to stare down at his yellow blob of eggs before answering, "Your parents."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. However, I can feel my good mood slipping away second by second.

"You haven't told me about them yet."

"I didn't plan on it," I say in a tone much more gruff than I intended.

"I only think it's fair that I should know." Sasuke sounds like he'll protest until he gets his way, but I know that I'm just as stubborn. What a pair we make…

"Life isn't always fair." I know I'm being ridiculous, but do we really have to talk about this?

"I want to know."

"I'm sure you do. But I haven't exactly heard much about your parents, either."

"There's not much to say. My dad is a businessman, my mom used to be a stay at home mom, but now that Itachi and I are old enough, she travels with him all over the world. They're home about two weekends a month. Otherwise, it's just me an Itachi. That's the whole story. Your turn."

I'm still not convinced that I should spill the beans. "I think I'll pass."

"Naruto, it's my question."

"What question?" There's a question?

Sasuke sighs in frustration. "The question I get to ask for telling you about Kiba."

"Oh." That question…

Sasuke looks at me expectantly, and the more he stares, the more I don't want to talk. But he's right. Fair is fair. And I have to tell him eventually, either way. The sooner, the better, right?

"My mom died giving birth. My dad committed suicide when I was five. I lived with my Aunt Tsunade for nine years. That's it. That's the story. Not quite as thrilling as you'd thought it would be, huh?" I'm being bitter about the whole thing, and I know it, but I don't care. Sasuke wanted to know, and now he knows. It's not like it was some huge secret- I just don't like talking about it.

Sasuke looks away, but doesn't say anything. At least he didn't say, "I'm sorry." I hate it when people say that. I'm not a charity case- I don't need their pity. If they really wanted to help, they'd tell me that they just finished their prototype time machine and want me to go revisit my parents one last time. But, since no one ever says that, I don't like it when they give me their pity instead.

The conversation dies in its own wake of awkwardness. So, we eat instead. My appetite has left me, but I force the food down anyway. I can tell Sasuke is doing the same. We don't look at each other; we don't say anything. The only noise in the entire apartment is the clashing and grinding of forks on plates. If I strain my ears enough, I can hear the birds outside singing jolly little tunes. They always seem to be happy, no matter what. They could be sucked into a tornado, and I bet they still be twittering away. Bastards.

When we're done eating, we both sit there in silence. I feel like I might scream. Maybe I would prefer pity to this… weird silence.

"What's on the agenda?" Sasuke finally asks.

"I don't know. What do you want to do today?"

"Take a shower. You might want to… um… wash your sheets." I think my eyes may be deceiving me, but is there a tint of pink on Sasuke's cheeks? Amazing. Slowly but surely, I feel my shitty mood starting to trickle away.

"That's a good idea. You're always so messy about things, Sasuke," I tease. His blush increases just the slightest before disappearing altogether.

"There wouldn't be a mess to begin with if it weren't for you. So who's really at fault here?"

"I'll proudly take the blame for that." I smirk, and Sasuke glares playfully (yes, a strange combination, but it just happened) at me before pushing out his chair and standing.

"I suppose I should get in the shower, then."

"Yes. Dirty people should take showers." Sasuke and I exchange glances out of the corners of our eyes.

"I'll be in a minute," I say, catching his unspoken words. He nods and I head his footfalls pad softly in the direction of my bathroom.

Now that I'm alone, I clear the table and go sit on my couch. I hear the water in the bathroom come rushing on, but I don't hurry to join Sasuke. Instead, I take a few moments to just breath. I feel tears stinging at my eyes, but I don't want to cry, so I do my best to push them away, but one still escapes and makes it's speedy trek down my face. I don't wipe it away, but instead let the moisture grow cold.

I never really thought that I—Naruto Uzumaki—could ever truly be this happy. I never thought that I would get my fairy-tale ending. But here I sit, having gotten just that. In just a few short weeks, my life turned from a living hell into a paragon, and it was all because of Sasuke, the one boy in the world that could change so much for me in so little time.

No, this wasn't a paragon. This was more than just a model of perfection. It was, in fact, perfect.


A/N: So, guess who finally finished Paragon? That's right, this was the final chapter.

I know, I know: disappointing all the way around. I agree. But I didn't really know what else to do. But, like I said, possible bonus chapter in the future for reviewers!

Also, Naruto's parents' story wasn't even worth the secrecy. I just couldn't think of anything, and apparently neither could any of you readers, because I was open to suggestions for, like, ever. But I do appreciate those of you who took the time to reply, and especially those of you that shared your ideas. You're the best.

Speaking of you readers—Thank you all so much. This story would have been impossible of not for all of you. Sorry I'm such a shitty author, or I would have remembered to thank you all throughout the entire story, and not just as the end.

So, peace out until my next story, which will be one of the ones listed at the bottom of my profile.


Paragon
Fin
--Alley-Oop--