undone

Naruto had never been one for subtlety. His mouth moved faster than his brain most days, and he wore his heart on his sleeve with a shamelessness that either charmed or infuriated everyone around him. So when Sasuke moved in as his roommate at the start of their freshman year of college, Naruto took it as a challenge to break through that annoyingly cool facade.

At first, the silence in their apartment was awkward. Naruto had tried everything: dragging Sasuke to ramen shops, forcing him into movie nights, even leaving passive-aggressive notes about who had eaten the last of the cereal. It took almost three months before Sasuke started to tolerate his presence without rolling his eyes every five minutes.

They found a rhythm eventually. Mornings meant Naruto sprawled half-dressed over their kitchen table, grumbling about early classes, while Sasuke brewed coffee with surgical precision. Evenings were Naruto’s Netflix marathons and Sasuke’s textbooks spread over the living room floor.

It was subtle at first—little things that didn’t quite add up, but Naruto was never great at piecing things together unless they hit him over the head.

Like how Sasuke never ate in front of him. At first, Naruto assumed it was just another one of those weird, antisocial quirks, like how he refused to use emojis in texts or how his bed was always perfectly made. But then Naruto started noticing the specifics: the untouched plates during their shared meals, the way Sasuke would pick at his food with detachment before excusing himself. And how, no matter what, he always ended up in the bathroom afterward.

At first, Naruto didn’t think much of it—Sasuke had a tiny bladder, big deal. But then there were the other things. The times Naruto would come back late from class and hear the sink running for way too long, or the way Sasuke’s voice sometimes came out raw, like he’d been gargling gravel. There was also the smell—faint but sharp, something acrid beneath the usual scent of expensive shampoo and mint toothpaste.

And then there was the weight.

Sasuke had always been lean—one of those unfairly perfect types who looked sculpted without even trying—but lately, he looked… smaller. His collarbones jutted out more sharply, his clothes hung a little looser, and when Naruto, half-asleep, had playfully slung an arm around him on the couch one night, he’d felt the ridges of ribs he didn’t remember being so prominent before.

The realization sat uneasily in his gut, like a puzzle with missing pieces.

But Sasuke was Sasuke—aloof, composed, untouchable. If something was wrong, he wasn’t about to tell Naruto. And maybe that was the worst part. Because for all of Naruto’s loudness, for all of his desperate need to understand the people he cared about, Sasuke still kept him at arm’s length.

And Naruto was starting to hate the space between them.

Naruto had always been the kind of guy who noticed things. Maybe not always in the way that mattered, not when it came to reading between the lines, but in the little everyday ways. Like how Sasuke always furrowed his brows just slightly when he was reading something he actually cared about. How he hovered his fingers over his laptop keyboard for a full second before typing, like he had to map out every word in his head first.

There were things Naruto had always thought were cute about him. The way he rubbed at his wrist absentmindedly when he was lost in thought, his thumb tracing over the sharp angle of bone. The way he never actually admitted to liking something, but Naruto could tell when he did—how his eyes lingered on a certain page of a book, or how he never complained when Naruto dragged him to the same ramen shop over and over.

But then there were things Naruto used to find cute. The way Sasuke never let him take pictures, always scowling and shoving Naruto’s phone away, as if he was just being his usual antisocial self. The way he meticulously picked at his food, pushing things around on his plate, only taking small, careful bites when he thought Naruto wasn’t watching. The way he had this quiet, almost graceful routine of disappearing into the bathroom after meals, like clockwork.

Naruto hadn’t thought much of it at first. But now, all those things he brushed off, all the little habits he once found funny or endearing, weren’t so funny anymore.

Like how Sasuke was always cold. Not in the usual ‘I’m an asshole and my heart is made of ice’ kind of way—Naruto had joked about that plenty—but actually cold. His hands were like ice, his skin too cool even when the apartment was warm, and sometimes, when they sat next to each other on the couch, Naruto could feel him subtly shivering. Sasuke always brushed it off, always had an excuse—he just ran cold, it was no big deal, Naruto was imagining things.

Except he knew he wasn’t.

And then there was the way he looked at himself in the mirror.

Naruto had caught Sasuke staring at himself more than once, his face unreadable, seemingly disassociated as his fingers pressed into his ribs like he was searching for something—something Naruto didn’t understand. He used to think Sasuke was just vain, that he liked looking at himself because, well, of course he did. But sometimes, his jaw would tighten, his expression would go dark, like he was seeing something Naruto couldn’t.

And Naruto didn’t know what was worse—the fact that he had no idea what to do, or the fact that Sasuke clearly wasn’t going to let him in.