Naruto stepped from the taxi into a slurry of city-issue sand and half-melted snow, the wheels crunching as it pulled away. The Uzumaki house flowed into view through wisps of his frozen breath—unchanged, not even a little. The porch railing still curved away from the stoop at that proud, impossible angle; holly and fake snow cascaded from the window boxes; strings of blinking lights swam up the drainpipes and rippled across the roof in waves of color. Standing at the foot of the walk, suitcase trailing behind him like a reluctant pet, he breathed in the current of scents—pine cones and cinnamon drifting together with whatever candle his mother had recently fished from the Home Goods clearance bin.
He'd braced for nostalgia to flatten him, but instead the whole place flowed past him like a movie set, colors bleeding into one another, every detail rippling one shade too bright. The inflatable Santa on the porch had sprung a leak; its left leg melted across the steps while the wind sent waves through the fabric, making it gasp against the welcome mat. Naruto let his eyes drift over the deflating figure, then rolled his shoulders forward and pressed the doorbell.
Sound poured from inside—feet streaming across hardwood, a door crashing shut, and his name rising like a tide: "NARUTOOOO!" The door swung open and Naruto was swept into Kushina's cinnamon-scented current. Her hug flowed around him, arms curving like river bends, red hair cascading into his mouth and eyes until he surrendered to the undertow, forgetting to breathe as she pulled him deeper into her embrace.
"Mom," he croaked, voice muffled in the sleeve of her sweater.
"You're so skinny!" she said, ignoring both his muffled complaint and the laws of physics as she rocked him back and forth. "You're not eating in that city, are you? You are all sticks and bones."
"I eat plenty," Naruto said, gasping as she finally released him. "I'm in training for the competitive eating circuit."
Kushina's smile rippled across her face. "You're definitely my boy. And that hair! Still a wild ocean up there. New York stylists drowning in their own product, huh?"
He flowed into her touch as she ruffled his hair, ten years melting away before he slipped from her grasp and streamed his suitcase into the foyer. The house enveloped him in waves of pine and cinnamon, with undercurrents of something deep-fried that swirled around the baseboards and washed over his glasses in a fog. After wiping them on his shirt, he blinked into the current of familiar chaos. Gold garland spiraled down the banister while nutcrackers, reindeer, and snowmen flooded every surface—an orderly tide of decorations arranged with precision.
"Let him breathe, Kushina," Minato's voice drifted from the living room, smooth as still water. "He just washed ashore. Don't sweep him away before dinner."
Minato lowered his newspaper and looked up. His reading glasses sat on his nose, and silver touched his temples now. He stood and gave Naruto a quick one-armed hug.
"Hey, kiddo," Minato said, patting Naruto's shoulder. "Long flight?"
"Not bad. I slept most of the way. Had a window seat, but the guy next to me wouldn't stop talking about Bitcoin."
Minato laughed. "Sounds worse than turbulence."
"We have real food here," Kushina said. "And normal people. Take your stuff upstairs, then come down for cocoa. I made the kind with the mini marshmallows."
Naruto smiled and carried his suitcase up the stairs. Gold tinsel from the banister fell onto his hoodie. He watched the flecks drift down as he climbed, thinking how nothing ever changed in this house.
His old bedroom was exactly as he'd left it. Not just in the "childhood memento" way, but in the literal sense that the detritus of his high school life had simply been dusted around rather than removed. The bedsheets were the same navy with orange highlights, the closet still held his ancient sneakers and unworn blazers, and a shelf over the desk sagged under the weight of manga volumes and model kits he'd abandoned in pursuit of more grown-up obsessions. A faded pennant hung by the window: KONOHA STATE—GO FOXES! He wondered if his mom had left it there on purpose or just never bothered to take it down.
He dropped his suitcase by the bed, sat for a moment, and let the silence settle. It felt strange to be here—not exactly uncomfortable, but like slipping into a shirt that was a size too small.
A muffled crash from downstairs, followed by the thump of someone wrestling a vacuum cleaner, shook him from his daze. He peeled off his jacket and wandered to the dresser, eyeing the photo collages that lined the top: Naruto at five, in a home-cut bowl haircut and missing two front teeth; Naruto and his parents at the beach, his dad pale as mozzarella, mom grinning with an ice cream cone; Naruto at the high school science fair, flanked by an annoyed Sasuke and a beaming Sakura. He lingered over the last one, tracing the edge of the frame with his thumb, before placing it face down on the dresser.
He opened the top drawer for a clean shirt and found a note on top of the folded clothes. In his mother's bold, loopy handwriting:
Dinner at 6. Be on your best behavior!
(Yes, both Uchiha brothers are coming. Try not to make things weird.)
Love, Mom
Naruto's stomach knotted. The thought of Sasuke sharing the same room felt like living his nightmares. No fantasies of everyone smiling over charcuterie here. He tugged on a clean T-shirt, smoothed his hair with damp fingers, and faced the mirror above the desk.
The last encounter with Sasuke was a hazy memory: that graduation party tuxedo, the venom in Sasuke's eyes, and the word "fag" flung like a dagger. Now Naruto's face was sharper, the softness of youth replaced by sleepless nights and caffeine-fueled days. Crow's feet at the corners of his eyes betrayed him. He nudged the bags beneath them and forced a smile—a smile to assure that everything was fine.
The mirror showed a nervous, sweaty face. He tried again with a more neutral look: relaxed mouth, calm eyebrows, peaceful eyes. Perfect—now he looked like a real adult with a book deal and no problems whatsoever.
His mom slammed the oven door downstairs. Family time was coming. Naruto gripped the desk, took a deep breath, and made his face look normal again. The house seemed to buzz with excitement about the party, the Uchihas coming over, and all the bad memories that would return with them.
With squared shoulders and a brave face, Naruto headed downstairs to face his family—and his past.
Within a few hours, the house filled with noise. A hundred voices competed for attention. The air smelled like perfume, citrus, and overcooked ham. Kushina had invited too many people as usual. She always thought more people meant more fun. Every room was packed with relatives, neighbors, and strangers who came for free food and drinks. Christmas lights blinked everywhere, and holiday music played beneath the loud conversations.
Naruto stood by the drinks table with his arms crossed tightly. It felt like the only safe spot in the chaos. The table held cheap champagne and fancy sake bottles someone had brought to show off. He poured himself a glass and drank it in two gulps, wincing as the bubbles stung his nose. He poured another drink and pretended to look for friends while really searching for ways to escape.
Minato glided through the crowd, patting shoulders and refreshing plates, his politician's smile never faltering. From the kitchen came Kushina's explosive laugh, rising above the chatter of her gossip circle like a flare. The football game blared from the den, where his dad's voice occasionally surfaced in celebration or protest.
Naruto's hand trembled slightly as he poured his third glass of champagne. The first had burned going down; the second had spread warmth through his chest. This one, he hoped, would finally numb the jangling anxiety in his stomach. He took a long swallow, closing his eyes as the bubbles hit his empty stomach and rushed straight to his head with a pleasant dizziness.
"If it isn't the prodigal son!" A heavy hand clapped Naruto's shoulder, sloshing champagne over his fingers.
Naruto spun to find Kiba's canine grin flashing white in his tanned face. "Look what the cat dragged in."
"Wrong animal." Naruto wiped his wet hand on his pants. "And I see you still hit like a linebacker with spatial awareness issues."
"Missed you too, asshole." Kiba's nose twitched as he sniffed the air. "Fancy cologne. Big city's rubbing off on you."
"It's called 'shower.' You should try it sometime."
Kiba snorted. "Why bother? Dogs like me natural." He reached past Naruto for a sake bottle. "The ladies too."
"Still using that vet school line to pick up women?"
"Works better than your sad writer routine." Kiba downed a shot with practiced efficiency. "So, Shakespeare, how's life with the big fish?"
Naruto swirled his champagne, the bubbles spinning like his thoughts. "Remember when we'd sneak your sister's wine coolers behind the gym? Now I'm drinking overpriced fizz in Manhattan and fighting with editors about Oxford commas."
Kiba punched his shoulder—that same too-hard jab from when they were fourteen. "Dude, a fucking book deal though! Your face is gonna be on those cardboard displays at the airport."
Naruto ducked his head, heat rising to his cheeks despite himself. He traced the rim of his glass with his thumb, the way they used to make those cheap cups sing. "Yeah, well. If it doesn't tank."
Kiba's voice dropped, just a tick, as he leaned in. "You hear about the Uchihas?"
Naruto's fingers tightened around his glass. He took a long, slow sip before answering, eyes fixed on a woman's gaudy Christmas sweater across the room. "What about them?"
"They're coming tonight. Whole family. Even the golden boy." Kiba's tone mixed admiration and jealousy in equal measure. "You haven't seen him, have you?"
Naruto shrugged one shoulder, reaching for a handful of mixed nuts from a nearby bowl, taking his time to pick out only the cashews. "Not since graduation."
Kiba's gaze softened, just a hair. "Dude's making waves. Uchiha Corp's blowing up—he's running like, half the business, even though the old man still acts like he's top dog."
Naruto popped a cashew into his mouth, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. "That tracks."
Kiba poured another round, sliding a glass to Naruto.
Naruto's head swam as he downed the drink, his fingertips tingling. He squared his shoulders and practiced his neutral expression in the reflection of his glass—eyebrows relaxed, jaw unclenched, the mask of someone who hadn't spent five years trying to forget the way Sasuke's voice sounded when it broke on that final slur. He inhaled deeply through his nose, held it for three seconds like his therapist had taught him, then released it slowly between barely parted lips. Not enough. He reached for the bottle again.
He didn't have to wait long. A hush rippled through the crowd, starting at the foyer and rolling through the living room like a weather front. The volume dropped; heads turned. And then—there they were. The Uchihas. Naruto's throat closed.
Fugaku led them in, same as always, same as the thousand dinner parties before. Mikoto glided behind him, her shimmery dress catching the light just like it used to when she'd bend down to fix Naruto's collar before photos. And then—
Naruto's glass froze halfway to his lips.
Sasuke.
God, Sasuke. The same dark eyes that had once rolled at Naruto's jokes across the cafeteria table. The same mouth that had curled into that half-smile when Naruto would say something particularly stupid. But now that mouth was set in a firm line beneath cheekbones that hadn't been so sharp before, in a face that belonged to a stranger in a perfect charcoal suit. His hair—the hair Naruto had once tugged during their wrestling matches—now swept back in an elegant style that made Naruto's chest ache with how foreign and familiar it looked all at once. Five years collapsed and expanded in Naruto's mind like a faulty accordion, leaving him dizzy with the sensation that no time had passed at all, and yet everything had changed.
For a moment, their eyes met across the crowded room. Five years of carefully constructed defenses crumbled in an instant. His lungs seized, throat closing around a name he'd forbidden himself to say. Sasuke's face blanched, his perfect composure fracturing just enough that Naruto caught the flicker of something desperate behind those dark eyes—before shutters slammed down and Sasuke's gaze cut away with such deliberate coldness that Naruto physically flinched.
Kiba let out a low whistle. "Damn, he cleans up nice," he muttered, then followed it with, "but he still looks like he wants to murder everyone in the room."
Naruto forced a laugh that scraped his throat raw. His pulse hammered in his ears as he drained his glass and reached for the bottle again, sloshing champagne over the rim. The bubbles blurred before his eyes. Maybe if he drank enough, the knot in his chest would dissolve. Maybe if he kept pouring, his hands would stop shaking.
The Uchihas cut through the crowd like sharks through water. Mikoto's perfume reached him before she did, that same jasmine scent that used to cling to his clothes after sleepovers. She air-kissed Kushina with practiced grace while Fugaku and Minato exchanged those stiff nods that said everything without saying anything. Itachi glided toward the football game, untouchable as always.
And Sasuke—God, Sasuke stood alone for just a moment, looking almost human in his discomfort. Naruto's heart seized as those dark eyes swept the room and then, like a physical blow, locked onto his. His lungs forgot how to work. The glass nearly slipped from his fingers.
The nod was barely there—just a twitch at the corner of that mouth Naruto had memorized years ago, a fractional dip of the chin that sent electricity crackling down his spine. Then Sasuke turned away, leaving Naruto drowning in champagne and memories.
Naruto slugged back the rest of his drink and poured another with trembling hands, the champagne burning like acid down his raw throat. His chest tightened as he backed away from the drinks table, heart hammering against his ribs as he cut through the suffocating press of bodies until he found refuge by the window where he could gulp down air that didn't taste like memories.
He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, staring blindly at the Christmas lights bleeding color across the frozen yard. God, he couldn't do this. In the reflection, he caught the shape of Sasuke—shoulders squared, head tilted in that familiar, infuriating way that made Naruto's stomach twist with a longing so fierce it threatened to tear him apart from the inside. Five years of trying to hate him, and still his traitor heart leapt at the mere silhouette.
Kiba sidled up beside him, glass in hand. "You good?"
Naruto smiled, the expression cracking across his face like thin ice. "Never better."
"Liar."
Naruto's laugh came out choked and desperate. He watched the snow erase everything in its path, wishing it could do the same to the ache spreading through his chest, the one he'd carried since that day Sasuke had looked at him with such disgust.
The party closed in around them like a fist, each new arrival dragging in more ghosts from a past Naruto had spent years running from. He drained his glass in one burning swallow, his vision blurring—from the alcohol or unshed tears, he couldn't tell anymore.