Two hours after the overwhelming feast, political threats disguised as polite diplomacy, and enough emotional whiplash to kill a less stubborn man, Naruto Uzumaki found himself unlocking the door to his apartment—with Sasuke Uchiha trailing silently behind him.
The second the door creaked open, the cozy, familiar smell of instant ramen, cleaning spray, and warm wood greeted them.
A sanctuary of cluttered peace.
Sasuke, still in her white ceremonial kimono, stepped inside without a word.
Her gaze wandered, cataloguing the space—framed photos, the frog-shaped alarm clock, a half-packed ninja pouch on the table, an absurdly large toad plush in the corner.
She moved to the couch and sat down, expression unreadable as usual.
Naruto scratched the back of his head, kicking off his sandals.
He glanced over at her, then at the kitchen, then back at her again.
“Uh… ramen?” he offered, gesturing awkwardly toward the pantry.
“I mean, not for any particular reason, just… y’know, habit.”
Sasuke turned her head slowly and gave him a flat, unimpressed look.
He raised his hands.
“Alright, alright, just checking.”
She looked away.
The silence settled like dust.
Naruto, still trying to not combust from residual ceremony tension, gestured toward the hallway.
“Anyway, you should, um… freshen up. Change out of that thing. Must be heavy, right?”
She raised a brow.
“You have clothes, right?”
Sasuke didn’t answer.
“Oh… you don’t.”
Naruto paled.
“Crap, I didn’t think of that. You’ve been… y’know. In prison. Or, uh, on ‘probationary confinement under diplomatic scrutiny.'” He forced a chuckle that died halfway.
Still silent.
Naruto rushed to the side closet, pulling out a wooden box.
“These are… uh, clothes from the Uchiha vault. My mom stored them after… yeah. They’re yours now.”
He held out a folded dark gown—simple, but elegant.
Black silk, crimson accents.
Traditional Uchiha make.
Sasuke looked at it, then at him.
She took it without a word and disappeared into the bathroom, the soft click of the door shutting leaving him alone.
Naruto exhaled and slumped against the wall.
“This is gonna be one weird night.”
He walked into his bedroom—and stopped dead in his tracks.
There, standing proud and evil, was the bed.
A king-size monstrosity of fluffy pillows, soft sheets…
…and rose petals.
And sakura petals.
Real ones.
“WHAT THE—?!” he shrieked.
Where did these even come from?
Was this Ino’s doing?
No—Kiba? Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Maybe Sakura’s weird idea of ‘fun’?
Or was this some sick prank by Kakashi?
Either way—absolutely not.
There was no way he could let Sasuke see this bed and think he had set this up.
She’d fry him.
He grabbed a pillow, a blanket, turned around—
—and nearly collided face-first into her.
Sasuke stood in the hallway, now changed.
The gown fit her like water around stone—graceful, sharp, soft in unexpected ways.
Her bangs were pushed to the side now, both eyes exposed—the Rinnegan dim, the other steady and clear.
Naruto blinked, and then turned away quickly.
“Ah! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—uh, you startled me.”
She glanced at the pillow and blanket in his arms.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he blurted.
“You can take the bed. I’ll clear it—there were petals. Not my idea. I swear.”
Sasuke stared at him.
“You want me to sleep on that?” she said flatly, pointing toward the flowery nightmare bed.
“Fair point,” Naruto muttered.
“Still. I can’t let you sleep on the couch. I’m not a total jerk.”
“Then give me a futon.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then I will sleep on the couch.”
Naruto shook his head.
“No, you sleep on the bed. I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”
“I said I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re the guest—”
“You’re the one who invited me.”
“It was a political arrangement!”
They stood there, eyes locked, argument teetering toward absurdity.
Then Naruto smirked.
“Alright. I’ll sleep on the bed.”
Sasuke narrowed her eyes.
“No, I’ll sleep on the—wait, what—?”
Too late.
Naruto had already slipped past her, still holding the pillow and blanket, and collapsed on the couch.
“Good night,” he called out.
“Enjoy the bed of roses!”
She stood there, arms crossed, seething—though it was more exasperation than anger.
After a long moment, she stepped into the bedroom, turned off the lights, and lay on the now mostly-cleared bed.
The silence stretched again, this time softer, deeper.
The moonlight filtered through the window, tracing gentle lines across the floorboards.
Somewhere distant, a dog barked.
Maybe Kiba’s.
Naruto stared at the ceiling of his living room, still in his yukata, eyes open.
Kurama’s voice rumbled in his head.
You’re a fool.
“I know.”
You had one bed.
“I noticed.”
And she’s in it.
“…Yep.”
You should’ve at least asked for half.
Naruto rolled over and buried his face into the pillow.
“I’m not going to negotiate sleeping arrangements with Sasuke. I value my life.”
Kurama sighed, a deep fox-like grumble.
You married a feral queen with enough chakra to level the moon.
And now she’s in your house, in your bed, and you’re here sulking like a child.
Naruto muffled his reply.
“I’m not sulking.”
You’re sulking.
There was quiet from the bedroom.
No movement.
No sound.
She was probably asleep already.
Or meditating.
Or plotting a coup against the furniture.
Eventually, Naruto’s breath evened out.
Not quite rest, but no longer war.
In the bedroom, Sasuke opened her eyes slowly, staring at the ceiling.
The scent of sakura petals was still in the air.
She hated how familiar it smelled.
Like old springs and soft disasters.
She turned on her side, eyes drifting toward the sliver of light escaping under the door where Naruto slept.
She didn’t regret signing that scroll.
Not because she believed in the peace it demanded—but because somehow, despite everything… this felt like a beginning.
Not forgiveness.
Not redemption.
Just… something real.
And real was enough.