undone

The nightmares were getting worse. More vivid. More suffocating. They’d always been bad, always left him waking up in a cold sweat, his chest tight, throat dry, stomach rolling with nausea. But this was different. It wasn’t just the distant echo of something lost in the gaps of his memory anymore—it was real. It was sharp, pressing in on him with a weight that felt unbearable.

And it all started after he’d seen him.

The first time had been in the restroom. The second time, in the hallway near the cafeteria. It was brief—just a glimpse, just a second—but it was enough. His whole body had seized up, his heart slamming against his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped breathing until Naruto had bumped into him from behind, laughing about how Sasuke was in his way. But Sasuke couldn’t move.

The janitor—Orochimaru, his mind supplied instantly, automatically—had barely even looked at him. He’d just walked past, pushing a cart with cleaning supplies, his expression unreadable. No recognition. No hesitation. Just another stranger in a crowded hallway.

But Sasuke knew better.

That night, when he closed his eyes, it was like something cracked open inside of him. The vague discomfort he’d always felt when trying to recall that missing year—the one his brain had conveniently locked away—was gone. In its place were images. Sensations. His skin crawling. A hand on his shoulder. A voice murmuring something too soft to hear, too gentle. The feeling of something warm pressing against his cheek, his throat, his—

He shot up in bed, his stomach lurching.

He barely made it to the bathroom in time.

Afterward, he sat curled against the tub, his hands trembling in his lap. His body felt like it wasn’t his own. He dug his fingers into his thighs, trying to ground himself, trying to force the memories back down. But he felt them now. Felt them in his bones, in his gut, in the way his skin suddenly felt dirty.

And the worst part—the part that made him want to throw up again, made him want to claw at his own flesh until he could peel it all away—was the fact that sometimes, buried underneath all the horror and revulsion, was something else. Something that made him feel even sicker.

Because if what he was remembering was really true… then it meant someone had wanted him. Someone had loved him.

His stomach twisted and he retched again.

Fuck, he was so disgusted with himself.

—

His body was wrecked. He could feel it in every sluggish movement, in the way his limbs ached, in the way his head swam when he stood too fast. His stomach constantly hurt—either from stretching too much or from the acidic burn left behind afterward. His throat felt raw, his chest tight. He knew this wasn’t sustainable.

But it wasn’t like he could just stop.

Before, he’d been strict with himself—four times a week, never more. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let it get worse than that. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what happened to people who let it spiral out of control. He’d read about electrolyte imbalances, heart failure, the way your body could just stop working one day.

And yet, here he was.

Four times a week had turned into every day. Often more than once. The nightmares. The memories. The way he couldn’t sit still without feeling like something was crawling under his skin. Every second, his body felt wrong, like he was going to burst out of it, like he needed to get rid of something, anything.

And the only thing that worked—the only thing that made it stop for even a moment—was this.

But it wasn’t helping like it used to.

Before, when he did it, there was relief. That brief window of time where his mind would go blank, where nothing else existed. Now, it was starting to feel hollow. His body wasn’t recovering in time before he did it again. He was exhausted, dizzy, constantly freezing no matter how many layers he put on. His hands shook when he wasn’t paying attention. His skin had a strange, dull look to it, like something sickly and lifeless.

Naruto noticed. Of course he did.

And Sasuke hated that.

He hated the way Naruto’s gaze lingered too long when they ate together. Hated the way he made those googling something he’s concerned about faces when he thought Sasuke wasn’t looking. Hated the way he kept randomly offering him snacks, shoving his own food toward him with an easy grin, playing it off like it was nothing, like he wasn’t completely suspicious.

Sasuke had been careful. He was careful.

But maybe—just maybe—he was slipping.

—

It happened so fast.

One moment, they were just walking—heading out of the building, Naruto talking about something, his voice a steady hum that Sasuke had only been half-listening to. He was exhausted, barely keeping up, but at least he was here. At least he was functioning.

And then he saw him.

The man in a janitor’s uniform, leaning against his cart. Dark hair. Sickly pale skin. Yellowed eyes glinting in the dim hallway light.

Sasuke’s entire body locked up.

He didn’t know why—he didn’t—but something deep inside him, something primal, recoiled at the sight of him.

The janitor’s gaze flicked to him. And then he smiled.

It wasn’t an unfriendly smile. It wasn’t anything that should’ve made Sasuke’s stomach drop the way it did. But it did.

He said something—words, directed at them, but Sasuke couldn’t hear them. His ears were ringing too loud. His vision swam.

The only thing he felt was cold. A deep, bone-deep cold that wrapped around his chest and squeezed. His fingers tingled. His throat tightened.

And then the man walked away, his footsteps fading, and Sasuke—

He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving until Naruto grabbed his arm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Naruto’s voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t casual. It was sharp, worried. “Sasuke—what the hell, are you okay?”

Sasuke wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t.

His lungs weren’t working. His chest felt caved in. His vision was tunneling, his entire body trembling like it was rejecting itself.

Naruto was saying something else, shaking his shoulder now, but Sasuke couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think.

He had no idea why, but his body remembered something he didn’t.

Naruto barely thought before acting—he just grabbed Sasuke’s arm, guiding him forward, trying to get him the hell out of there before something worse happened.

Sasuke wasn’t talking. Wasn’t fighting him, either. He moved when Naruto pulled, but it was stiff, uncoordinated, like he wasn’t fully there. His breathing was too shallow, too fast.

This was bad. Really bad.

He didn’t know what had set Sasuke off—if it was the janitor, or something he’d said, or maybe just another one of those things he refused to tell Naruto about. But none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was getting Sasuke home before he completely lost it.

The walk back to their dorm felt endless. Naruto kept checking on him, kept saying something—“Breathe, bastard,” “Hey, just hold on,” “We’re almost there”—but Sasuke didn’t respond. His hands were clenched into fists, his head dipped low, and Naruto swore his legs were barely carrying him.

By the time they got inside, Sasuke looked even worse. His skin had gone pale, pupils dilated, and his shoulders shook with every breath.

Naruto kicked the door shut behind them and turned to him, heart hammering.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” he demanded.

Sasuke didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. He was just standing there, breathing too fast, his hands curled so tightly at his sides Naruto thought his nails might break the skin.

He’d never—never—seen Sasuke like this.

Sasuke was cold. Detached. A sarcastic little shit, sure, but always controlled. This? This was the opposite of that.

“Sasuke,” Naruto said, softer this time. “What—what happened back there? What’s going on?”

Still no answer. Sasuke’s shoulders twitched, and his chest heaved with an uneven breath, but that was it.

Naruto ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up alongside the worry. What was he supposed to do?

“Okay—look, just—just sit down or something, alright? You’re shaking, and you look like you’re about to pass out again, and I—” He exhaled sharply.

Sasuke swayed. And for a second, Naruto thought he might actually listen, that he might sit down and say something, anything—

But then he finally spoke. And what came out was nothing Naruto expected.

“…I don’t know,” Sasuke murmured. His voice was barely there, distant and frayed, like he wasn’t even talking to Naruto. “I don’t know why—” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Why do I feel like I know him?”

Naruto frowned. “Know who?”

Sasuke’s eyes flickered to his. Haunted. Hollow.

“…The janitor.”

Naruto blinked. "What?"

Sasuke didn’t answer. He just stood there, chewing harshly at his bottom lip, his shoulders tight, his entire frame rigid like he was barely holding himself together.

Naruto had seen Sasuke pissed. He’d seen him annoyed, exhausted, smug—hell, he’d even seen him embarrassed once or twice. But this? This was something else.

He looked uneasy. There was something deeply, deeply, wrong.

“The janitor?” Naruto repeated. He took a cautious step forward, eyes scanning Sasuke’s face. “What do you mean, you know him?”

Sasuke swallowed, gaze darting away. His lip was practically raw from how hard he was biting it, and Naruto was half-convinced he’d draw blood at any second.

“I don’t…” Sasuke started, then trailed off.

Naruto felt his stomach twist.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to Sasuke being hesitant.

Sasuke always had something to say—whether it was a sharp insult, a bored comment, or just a flat-out refusal to answer. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t Sasuke choosing not to respond.

This was Sasuke not knowing how.

“…Okay,” Naruto said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady. “So—what? He just looked familiar or something?”

Sasuke’s throat bobbed as he swallowed again. He was still biting at his lip, still looking so off that Naruto felt like he was watching an entirely different person.

“…I don’t know,” he said again. And then, after another tense moment, “I feel like I know him. But I don’t know why.”

Naruto felt his skin prickle.

There was something wrong. Really wrong.

Sasuke wasn’t just weirded out—he looked unnerved. Like something deep in his gut was telling him run, but he didn’t even know what from.

Naruto exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Look, maybe you’re just freaking yourself out—”

Sasuke shook his head, tight and immediate. “It’s not that.”

Naruto frowned. “Then what is it?”

Silence. Sasuke’s teeth scraped his lip, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.

“…Forget it,” he muttered finally. His voice was quieter than before, but Naruto didn’t miss the way it wavered. “It’s probably nothing.”

Naruto clenched his jaw.

He didn’t buy that. Not for a second.

But before he could call him out on it, Sasuke was already moving.

“I’m going to bed,” he said flatly, brushing past Naruto before he could get another word in.

Naruto turned to watch him disappear into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

And he stood there, frowning, unsettled.

Because whatever had just happened—whatever had put that look on Sasuke’s face—was not nothing.

Sasuke had been bad these past few weeks. Naruto knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But this? Whatever this was—this was something different.

And if Sasuke wasn’t gonna tell him what the hell was going on, Naruto was gonna have to figure it out himself.

—

Sasuke’s sleep had been fucked for weeks now, but tonight was different.

Tonight, his body gave out the second his head hit the pillow, exhaustion pulling him under like a riptide, dragging him straight into the kind of nightmare that didn’t let go.

It was dark. A dimly lit room, the walls yellowed and stained. The air was thick, humid, making his skin feel sticky, wrong. The floor pressed cold against his knees. The smell—God, the smell—a mix of something musty, something heavy, something nauseatingly familiar that made his stomach turn.

There were hands on him. Familiar hands. They were too warm, too firm, gripping too tightly as something sickly sweet drifted in the air.

"You’re such a good boy, Sasuke. You know that?"

His stomach lurched.

No. No, no, no.

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the images didn’t stop. The feeling of hands moving, pressing, taking. The breath against his neck. The way his body tensed, locked up, but didn’t fight.

The way he didn’t fight.

A voice, whispering, sickly sweet,

"You like this, don’t you?"

His chest heaved. His throat felt like it was closing up, like something was pressing against it, trapping the air inside his lungs.

No. No, this wasn’t—his brain was just making this up. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t—

No.

He jerked awake with a choked gasp, his entire body trembling, drenched in sweat. His sheets were twisted, strangling his legs, his hands clenched so tight his nails had dug into his palms, leaving deep red crescents.

His stomach churned. His skin crawled. His mouth tasted like bile, and suddenly he needed—he needed—

Sasuke barely made it to the bathroom before he collapsed in front of the toilet, shoving his fingers down his throat, trying to force something up despite the fact there was nothing in his stomach.

His body shook. His arms trembled against the porcelain.

He spat out a few mouthfuls of bile, gasping, his forehead pressing against the cool seat.

His chest ached. His throat burned. His mind raced.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

His brain was just fucked up. He was just fucked up.

He was being dramatic. He was being an attention-seeking, pathetic little whore, making up sick fantasies in his head because that’s just the kind of disgusting person he was—

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The words echoed in his head, distorted and sickly sweet,

"You like this, don’t you?"

Sasuke dry-heaved.

He felt filthy. Like something rotten had settled deep inside of him, soaked into his bones.

He needed to get it out.

So he forced himself up, dragged himself into the shower, and started scrubbing.

His hands, his face, his arms—he scrubbed until his skin was raw, until his fingers burned from the friction, until the memory of hands gripping him was drowned out by the sharp sting of his nails digging into his own skin.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

—

Sasuke couldn’t shake it.

The images, the words, the feeling—it clung to him like filth, seeping into every crack, every moment of silence, every second he let his guard down.

It wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real.

But it felt real. Too real. The way his stomach twisted when he thought about it. The way his skin burned under the memory of hands—hands he swore had never touched him, hands that had no reason to feel so familiar. The way his breath caught every time he caught his own reflection, like something inside of him knew, even though he refused to let himself believe it.

He had no proof. No real memories. Just flashes, just feelings. Just a sickness that wouldn’t leave his body, sitting heavy in his gut like something rotting.

And maybe that was the worst part—not knowing.

Because if he didn’t know, then maybe it was fake. Maybe his brain was just playing tricks on him, just like it always did, distorting things, twisting them until they didn’t even make sense anymore. Maybe he was being dramatic. Maybe he just wanted attention, like his family always accused him of.

Maybe he was just some sick, delusional freak imagining things that never even happened.

The thought made him feel even worse.

So he did what he always did. He buried it.

He kept his head down. He stopped talking even more than usual. He threw himself into his work, even though his focus was shot to hell and half the time he had to reread a single page five fucking times just to absorb a single sentence. He tried eating a little when Naruto was watching, but it didn’t matter, because he was just going to get rid of it later anyway.

And when Naruto called him out on how exhausted he looked, when he got that look in his eye, suspicious and worried—

Sasuke just rolled his eyes and muttered something about midterms.

Because what else was he supposed to say?

That he couldn’t sleep because his mind kept playing sick little movies of things he didn’t even know were real?

No.

Absolutely not.

He needed to suck it up and stop being so dramatic.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Sasuke could barely stand it.

Naruto had always been like this—handsy, warm, physically affectionate in a way that should’ve been annoying but never really was. A hand on his shoulder, a nudge to his side, an arm slung around his neck when he least expected it. It had always just been Naruto.

But now—now it made his skin crawl.

Now every touch felt like it was burning into him, seeping past his skin and into him, like it was tainting something wrong and rotten inside of him.

And it wasn’t Naruto’s fault. It wasn’t Naruto, he knew that, but—fuck.

What if Naruto felt it?

What if he touched Sasuke and felt how fucking filthy he was?

What if he somehow knew—could tell just by putting his hands on him that Sasuke was nothing but some disgusting, sick thing who let himself be used, who probably liked it, who probably wanted it—

Sasuke sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling against the hem of his sleeve.

He had to stop thinking like this.

He had to stop entertaining this, letting it exist in his mind like it was anything but a fucking delusion. Because if he thought about it too much, if he let his mind wander too far, then—

Fuck, no.

No, no, no.

What if he started thinking about Naruto like that?

What if he started imagining things, fucked-up things? What if he took Naruto’s stupid, easy touches and twisted them into something they weren’t? What if his mind started distorting Naruto, tainting him with Sasuke’s own filth?

God, he couldn’t—he couldn’t let that happen.

He refused to let that happen.

Naruto wasn’t like him. Naruto was good.

Naruto was clean.

And Sasuke—Sasuke wasn’t.

So he started pulling away.

He didn’t let Naruto’s arms settle around his shoulders anymore. He flinched away when their hands accidentally brushed. He made sure there was always space between them.

And Naruto noticed. Of course he fucking noticed.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he frowned, eyes narrowing as Sasuke stepped back from a touch that should’ve meant nothing. “Since when are you so fucking weird about this?”

Sasuke shrugged, heart thudding painfully in his chest. “I don’t like being touched.”

Naruto scoffed. “Bullshit.”

But Sasuke didn’t respond.

He just crossed his arms tightly over his chest, clenched his jaw, and willed himself not to fucking shake. He felt like he was going to fucking cry.