Summary: 'Yesterday comes crashing down on him. Not all the day, but the evening. What he had done, what he had allowed to happen. The space next to him is empty.'

Pairing: SasuNaru

Warning: ManxMan and drug use.

Beta reader: Vorazlov28

Please read!

XXX

Want and need

His hands are trembling when the dark haired man pushes past him into the small apartment. Still with trembling hands, now loudly pumping heart too, he closes the door and somehow locks them. Twitches the keys and the two locks just above it, then pulls the metal out of the lock and puts it on the nail near the door.

For a moment he debates with himself if he even wants to turn around; if he wants to face the man inside his house. He doesn't know what to expect from him today. He doesn't know in which mood he is. It's always different; always. Suddenly a wave of fear washes over him. Run. He needs to get away, far, far away. Yet, he can't. The door was locked. Guess he had already decided… Guess there was no turning back…

That doesn't stop the trembling lips, the pained expression, because the dark haired man returned. He swore he wouldn't, said so many cruel things, breaking people, and vanishing. Still, he came back. Like always... He should have known.

Slowly he passes the closed door of kitchen and steps into the dark living room. Not stopping he heads forward to his bedroom. In the darkness, somehow he manages not to hurt himself.

He still wears his boxers and the grey t-shirt he put on when he went to bed, but he wishes he had put on his pajama bottom too. He feels naked even if he isn't, and doesn't want to open the door in front of him and face the man. At least, not in the darkness, wearing almost nothing.

There's no choice. He thinks he might feel like he owns something to the man. That one thing he had never been able to give. He knows he's not the best option, because he can't help, he doesn't know what to do. He feels vulnerable, because he fears failure and rejection. Always has… and it always come…

In the end, he feels the cold metal under his fingers and the door opens. There he is, sitting on the end of the bed holding his head in his big, strong hands. Why? Swallowing thickly, he dares himself to hope.

For a second, things don't look too bad. Then the other lifts his head and looks into his blue eyes and every muscle in his body tenses. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. His face is bruised, blue, black, and red. The bruises are old, a week or so, but it still pains him, almost feeling the sting of the hits and tasting the blood in his mouth. Almost like he had been the one received those blows.

He can see those hands too. Knuckles. Bruised with drained blood on them. And his eyes. Those black eyes are looking at him, shining with the familiar addiction. To what?

Everything is the word that runs through his mind: him, fighting, pills, and needles. It was all there. He could see the want and need mixing until there was no difference between what he wanted and what drove him to the very edge.

In a flash, it disappears. It's lost behind the desperation in those pools of black. Something stirred deep inside him, unfurling in his gut and tingling down towards his toes. Warmth. Affection. Just for that one moment, it felt like this had never happened before. If only it hadn't. If only he could force his heart to believe that.

His chest clenches and his hands start to tremble again, only this time from relief. What had he feared so much? This man in front of him wasn't like the last time. This was a completely different person. Things were safe.

Slowly he walks closer to the figure on the bed and hugs him to his stomach. Cold hands wrap around his waist pressing his body closer to the dark head. Two smaller hands tangle themselves in those delicate locks and he murmurs, assuring that everything will be alright, that it's okay, that he'll make it through. How much he believed in his own words he didn't know at the moment. Everything that mattered was the man in his hands, and making him feel better. In any way possible.

He doesn't even want to think about the things he must have gone through again. It would be too much to bare. Who cared if he was high now or just wanted a good fuck. For once, he wouldn't think about it. It didn't matter. There was no other option. No matter what, he'd always be there for him whenever he needed him.

He can feel and hear the soft sounds and trembling of the other man. He's crying. Frowning, he pulls him closer torn with the desire to whisper loving nothing's in his hair. None of it mattered now.

He crawls on top of the man pulling him even closer. Their faces are so close to each other he can feel the coldness the other radiated. The smell of alcohol and dirt is nearly overwhelming. It is so thick he can taste it on his tongue. Despite that, his breath doesn't stink. Sighing, he closes his eyes for a moment. He hadn't drunk anything at all. At least he isn't wasted this time, even if he stinks of it. It isn't like last time. Or any of the other times really.

Crawling further onto the bed, he closes his eyes and sighs, giving into the feelings of his body. Hands ghosting up his skin. Feather like touches caressing his body. Stirring him awake. Only when he feels him settle between his legs does he open his eyes, reaching up and tangling his hands in his hair and pulling him into a kiss.The mouth moves to his neck and he can't help but let those noses escape him. Moans and whimpers and grunts he saves for these situations with exactly this man.

Hands hurriedly pull his boxers away and throw them somewhere. He doesn't really care. The hands and mouth ravishing his body is too distracting. So delicious.He doesn't even notice how something presses inside of him, but only hopes the other put a condom on. For a moment, both of them still and he can hear the harsh breathing. Surprisingly, it's his.

It's then he notices that the other isn't crying anymore. He can't see his face or eyes, but just hopes that this isn't a way to relieve some anger and frustration. A bitter lump blossoms in his chest. So many nights he'd just been a tool, a means to an end. It made him sick. So sick and tired of it all. If only it could just be more. Maybe it's not fair to ask, but he wants the same thing as the man over his body. To be loved… Even once.

Letting out a gasp, his back arches, feeling the man sliding out. It's not slow; it's not careful, but everything about the other at the moment screams loving. Everything he does, every little kiss, touch, and every little word that pass his lips is meant for him, just like this night. Some part of him demands he closes his eyes and basks in the pleasure and passion building up in the pit of his gut like a hot pooling flood of desire. No. He can't miss this. Any part of it. As he strikes just the right spot in him, he sees white for a second and his mouth falls open. Who knows when the next night like this will come?

Soon they both reach their climax with a little stimulus, and with relief, he doesn't feel the other cum inside of him. The man pulls out and falls on the bed next to him. He shutters at the feeling of emptiness that consumes him. It vanishes instantly as his lover wraps his hands around his waist and kisses his neck. Humming to himself, he sinks into the feeling. Slowly he lets himself to wrap his hands around the man's neck.

"Good night," he murmured before closing his eyes.

However, he doesn't fall asleep. Not yet. As tired as he is, he can't help to think about what just happened. Did it mean something this time? Would he still be happy and loving in the morning?

That's when he hears it. Two simple words and not 'good night' he expected.

"Love you."

His heart stops beating for a moment. For a second his mind is blank. Nothing. Stunned. Silent. Then a million questions exploded in his head and he can't stop the beaming grin that slid across his face.Did he hear that right? He actually said those words. He actually… Someone out there actually…

He wants to reply, but doesn't know if he should, if he could. The love of his life, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with just admitted he loved him. There are no words for something like that. He just presses his body closer to the others and kisses his cheek. That was his way of saying those words.

Then he doesn't care about anything else. Only about the man next to him, and like in the past he falls asleep thinking that together they can live down anything. Even the worst things people in the world have to face.

He doesn't even know how stupid and cliché that sounds… and how wrong he is.

XXX

The sun shines through the light material curtains that hung around his bedroom window. There is only one window and the room is dark. The sun isn't warm or bright. It hadn't had time to become the same hot ball it will be throughout the day. Right now, it barely peaks over the tops of the buildings, just casting enough light to pester.

Slowly he opens his eyes. He's tired, his eyes sting and back hurts. The moment he moves, he feels the sheets wrap around his legs. Bare legs. Naked. Yesterday comes crashing down on him. Not all the day, but the evening. What he had done, what he had allowed to happen.

The space next to him is empty.

Frowning, he rolls to his side and touches the cold covers. There's no one. Not in his bed, not in the room and he doesn't hear anyone in his apartment either. Once again he's gone. It is the same as every other night, but it still aches in the center of his chest. Sighing, he rolls back over on his back, letting the thought sink in.

Disappointed, a bit relieved.

It's not as if this is something new. In a way, he expected this to happen. Maybe that is why it stings so much. For a second, he let himself hope… Then again, what would he have done if he stayed? It probably is better this way. If the other would stay they would have to deal with the morning awkwardness and who knows what else. Maybe even violence or shouting.

No, actually, he knew in that case there would be violence and shouting. That always happened those few times he had stayed and woken next to him. Things are definitely better this way.

Why does it still hurt then?

He sights again trying to get ride of those terrible thoughts. Yesterday, even if surprisingly, had been a nice day. He had needed that visitand not only because he was sexually needy. He was glad to know that the dark haired man was okay and he had needed someone to hold him. Love him.

And the other actually did. He had said it himself.

Again, he can't stop but smile, beaming at the memory. His heart flutters in his chest. Racing. Pounding. There is nothing but undeniable joy repeating those words in his head. Will he ever grow tired of them? Will he ever hear them again?

Combing his hair with his fingers, he sits up and finds his boxers. Pulling them and the shirt from yesterday on he steps out of the room into the hallway and closes the door.

His apartment, like always in the morning, is cold. The hairs on his arms stand up and he rubs them to gain some warmth. It's not like he could really complain about the coldness though. He's already used to it. Plus, there's no point in doing so. The heat's broken.

He makes his way through the living room just like the night before and reaches for the kitchen door handle but it's not there. Frowning, he furrows his brow. Unable to process why the handle isn't in his hand, he leaves his hand frozen in the air. Every night he closes all the doors in his apartment before going to sleep.

When he lifts his eyes they meet darker and amazingly clear eyes of his lover instead of nothing, and he understands. In one second, he puts everything together in his mind just by seeing that beautiful face of him.

He had stayed the night.

Not even knowing, he feels something. But it's a better feeling than the false seriousness about it being better if he doesn't stay. The second dread and anticipation washes over him something softer and lighter unfurls in him. Maybe relief. Joy. Tenderness. Hope. He couldn't tell.It sounds weird, but everything had always been better when he's around, even if things then are worse. It was confusing, but true.

The dark haired man just sits there and sips coffee. He is wearing a shirt, but it's not the same from the night before and he thinks he owns one like that. The dark haired man nods at him offering a light smile. He looks calm and collective, to some even happy, but he can see past those masks. He can see the need and want, just like few hours ago.

He still needs it. Unable to help it, his blue eyes falls to the floor a bit sad. He had hoped he would be enough to make those desires disappear, had hoped that love was enough, but again, he was wrong. Failure. He was useless to the man of his dreams. What good was a lover that couldn't satisfy?

Three steps and he's standing by the table. He pulls the chair out and sits down across from his own desire that keeps smiling that small smile, like nothing's wrong.

Was he trying to lie to himself, or to him?

"Morning," His voice hadn't changed since the last time he had been here. It's still deep and confident. Still caries across the table and hits his fragile heart with such force he thinks he might fall over. Maybe if he said what he felt yesterday, it would be enough to force those desires deep down in hell. After all of this he is sick and tired of always having to be used. Maybe it would be easier to face him now, knowing that he had done everything possible.

"Morning," He mumbled back, not lifting his eyes. He can't look at that pretend expression right now. He was always so good at faking moods. It is impossible to tell what is real. If anything is real. Instead, he stays still, playing with his fingers. The predicted awkwardness wraps around them and squeezes tight.

The other man rises from his seat suddenly, brings back a cup of dark coffee, and puts it down in front of him. The small smile is still on the other's face. He takes it—it's warm—and sips. It is black, without sugar and he wants to scream, wants to hit the other for not knowing that he likes it with sugar and milk. He'd rather drink tea instead of that dark poison.

He doesn't. It's not the other's fault. He had never given him a chance to get to know him. After all, when had they actually talked about things? When did they really get a chance to actually talk at all?

Then again, the dark haired man had never shown interest in anything besides fucking and drugs. Why was he here?

It puzzles him that the other suddenly… tries to be sweet? He didn't know. He had never experienced that.

The silence is unbearable and he doesn't like it or the fact that he doesn't know what to say or do now. More than anything, he doesn't want to have to sit here and keep drinking this toxic mix of bitter death in his hands.

"How was your week?" The man asks so normal, like they had done it so many times before and he doesn't like it. But when it comes to this person, he doesn't like many things. And for some reason he looks up. Why? Maybe because of the simple question that normal people would ask. Maybe because he tries to be that normal person.

And after few minutes, it might not even be twenty, and after some more empty words exchanged, he finds himself pinned to the kitchen wall. The other buried deep inside of him making him scream and moan lauder than yesterday. The pale man's lips are on his, swallowing every sound that passes his lips but it's not enough. Arching, clawing, kissing.His neighbors probably could hear him anyway.

He thinks about those hands holding his thighs apart and about how close the other is, the feel of his cool skin rubbing against him, delicious friction between them, about how confused he looks. Almost like he doesn't understand where he is and what he's suppose to do. Not in a sexual way, because he does that perfectly. More in a way that resembles living.

For the first time since he first lay underneath him, he feels like they have something in common. He feels understood.

XXX

It'd been a week and he's still here. Every time he returns from work at the small café, the man's on the couch or in the kitchen looking at nothing, eyes dead, but then they notice him and that fake smile stretch his face. That had never masked his true feelings he can easily read in his eyes. Need. Maybe want…

He expected him to crack, storm out, get high, and return after many days looking for warm bed to spend night in. But it doesn't happen. And with every day he returns and is greeted with that face, the part of him hoping maybe he is going to be strong and change grows. At the same time, the other part that said 'it will happen soon' grows too. Just like the true emotions in those dark eyes.

He tried not to think about it and focus… on anything else. Not that there was anything to focus on. His work was easy and nothing beside that and the man in his apartment happened to him nowadays. Practically, he is his life.

That is scary. How depended he'd become. How much effect the dark haired man had on him. Had always had. And the thoughts about how they met, how they got to the point they were now often hounded him. How he had, in the end, found love, despite what others thought or said.

So he doesn't say anything. Doesn't try to provocate the other. He lets those hands touch him whenever he wants, and take off his clothes when that itchy feeling nibbles at the other's skin. He lets the man claim him over and over, thinking, wishing that helps.

That was the only way he could help him, with his love and being there for him. The feeling from the night week ago hadn't left. The feeling of vulnerability, because in the end, he always fails. It's never enough.

With every night they spend so close to each other he becomes more forceful and demanding. Starts talking, wants things to be returned. He doesn't mind. Actually, he doesn't care. He does whatever the other asks and never complains about bruises that cover his neck or hips or thighs. He never ever mentions how much it hurts, mostly because the pain disappears as soon as he hits the right spot.

This can't go any longer. Soon he will snap and return to his old life. Not caring and not coming back. Somewhere deep inside him, he knows it without a doubt. He always has. For now though, he would take what he could. The feeling of belonging to someone is much warmer than empty and cold bed he used to wake up in every morning. He wants to keep that feeling.

Even if the belonging to someone is in the words most literal meaning, he doesn't care. His life wasn't anything great and he never hoped for anything better. How could he? Everyone in his life hade made it clear as a day that he was useless and that they didn't need him. He is who he is. He knew that when he grew up and when he barely finished high school, when his mother hit him and boys at school made fun of him. He knew that when finally he was thrown out of the house he spent his childhood in and was forced to live on his own.

No one in the world was allowed to judge him if he had never judge all those things that made him like this. If he wants to belong to someone, the world could go fuck itself.

XXX

He sits on the coach, watches television. He isn't interested in another stupid football game. Nevertheless, it seems to help his roommate. Mostly he lets the other watch anything he wants. Nothing on that box interests him anymore. There are always the same old things-murders, horror movies, robberies, frauds. There are enough depressing things in his life and he doesn't want to think about others too.

He closes his eyes and pretends he's sleeping. The soft sounds of the game tempt him to let the darkness take over but cool hands pull him back to reality. The television is off. The room is dark. Everything he can hear is harsh breathing in his ear when the other leans closer to lick his neck. For some reason he'd stopped going for his mouth.

He lifts his own hands and tangles them in hair, breathing in the scent. It smells like his shampoo, just like his own hair.

Slowly the other makes his way to his collarbone and pulls the shirt down as he goes further south. He grounds his erection into his knee realizing a growl that he can feel on his skin. It burns, but he says it okay quietly to himself.

This was far from the night weeks ago when it was all about him. Now it was all about the person leaning over him, about his wants and needs that he couldn't satisfy. So he was stuck with him. Nobody. He hadn't even heard those words anymore. Those three words that would make his heart explode… in a good way.

Just being there, helping the other, not needing anything back, was harder than he thought. He had always done that and it had always lead him in one direction, but it wasn't enough now. He wanted those three words.

He swallows hard as his hands slide to the other's shoulders and tries to push him away. But it doesn't help. The dark haired man is glued to him. He sucks and licks, bites driving blood, making bruises, and hickeys he will have to cover up the next morning.

He knows this pattern. It'd gone this way so many times. It is far from how he wants, but when everything is done and the man had come inside of him, long ago the other had stopped using condoms; they lay on the small coach in the moonlight. He is on the pale chests that raise and fall quickly. His fingers don't draw circles or smiley faces on them anymore. He feels dirty, but is afraid to rise to his feet. He better pretends he's asleep and maybe next morning the man would be calmer.

Slow words startled him, makes him open his eyes.

"I wish I was different," The man mumbles clearly. He's awake.

Still he doesn't say anything back, not sure if that was meant for him. He shuts his eyes tighter, trying to make himself to fall asleep. He doesn't want to listen to this. He doesn't want it all to be lies, because at this moment what happened weeks ago seems like lies so God damn much.

The man under him sights and rubs the top of his head.

"You are the only thing that keeps me sane," He whispers, voice trembling. That was the last thing he says. Then he falls asleep, snoring softly in the smaller's ears that couldn't find the sweet dreams for hours afterwards.

XXX

It's another day and he's shouting again. He picks up the full cup of hot coffee from the counter and throws it at him. He doges it but splashes of the hot drink burns his back a little as it shatters against the wall. Quickly he jerks away from the pain.Forward to the man.

He shouts again, nasty things. Says he's nothing, that he should die, that he's a son of a whore who fucked an old dog. He says that no one will ever love him and that it's so fun to take him again every night, that he's so tight spite how many dudes had beaten that pussy up.

And all those things hurt more then he had ever hurt him physically.

When he calms down he hugs him. Says how sorry he is, that he didn't mean it. Tells him how hard it is to stay away from drugs and other shit he needs. Says he loves him and needs him more than pills and fighting. Promises he will never say anything like that again, all the while trembling, sweating, and craving the things he claims to not want.

And he believes. He knows he shouldn't, but he does. He lets the other lead the way to his bedroom where they fuck. Again. They don't make love. They never had. It's just a way to beat someone up without actually doing it. Because that's how it feels for him. And the other's words from earlier rings in his ears. Beat that pussy up. He had just done that.

He feels more useless now than he ever had, and he wants to pull the blanket over his head and never come out, but the other holds him so tightly, so close to him. He can't.

The man needs him.

XXX

It's been few more days with shouting and angry words thrown at him fallowed by apologizes and make up sex. If you can call it sex. He tries to recall when he stops coming during it and when the other stopped noticing, but can't draw the line.

But it's not important. The most important thing is to keep his lover away from the life style he lives for years. Away from constant partying, drinking, and injecting mystical liquid in his arms in dump wrecks. It was like he had said: he's the only thing that keeps him sane. The only things that can help him get through this. And he smiles about that. It might not be much, but it is all he has. Finally, he had found a place to belong. Someone understood him and wants to be with him. Loves him.

He makes his way to the kitchen and like always, he finds the other already in there, drinking coffee. The dark haired man smiles at him and he winces due how fake it looks today, but doesn't comment. He sits down and smiles slightly back.

Then the other raises and brings him coffee, kisses his forehead and walks away saying he's taking a shower.

He is left in there alone with a mug of black coffee. He picks up the red cup and sips a little. That's as mush as he can drink. It's too bitter.

XXX

Another long day of work he had successfully got through.

He opens the front door and steps inside his apartment, closing and locking it after himself. He takes off his coat and fingerless gloves and the wet sneakers. It is snowing outside, and sneakers aren't the right shoes for that kind of weather.

Not that it matters. He doesn't have money to buy new shoes anyway.

He steps inside the kitchen and turns on the lights but no one is there. Then walks to the living room and finds it empty. Thinking that the other might be in the bedroom stressed out again he walks there to check the room, but it's empty too.

Panic settles inside his stomach when he realizes that except himself there is no one else in the apartment. There is absolutely no one.

At first that scares him, then terrifies him, and at the end angers him. So the dark haired man had turned back to his old habits right when he had thought everything was going so well. The yells and attacks had lessened and it really looked like the other had gotten better. His hands had stopped trembling and scratches he noticed on the man's upper hand started to disappear. But he guesses that was as long as the other could bear it. And no wonder. He had never experience such a strong need for something as he knew drug addicts had to face.

He closes the bedroom door coming back to the world. He hadn't even detected that he is standing in the doorway when he spaced out.

Feeling tired physically and emotionally he sits down on his coach. More like falls into it and closes his eyes. He tries to calm his body to not jump some walls, but it doesn't help.

Almost a month. That is how long he could help. That's how useful he is. A month.That's how much he's worth.

He loses the track of time and when someone knocks on the door it might be eight as well as midnight. It's the same thing to him. He just rises from his seat with a fogged mind and reaches for his keys to unlock the door. He doesn't even ask who it is.

Then he opens the door and is graced with a disapproving frown.

"Why did you lock the door?" The man asks and the voice is the same as the man's he lived together with the last weeks.

He opens his eyes wider and can't help but smile. His lover is standing in front of him. Hehugs him close to his chest squeezing the life out of the dark haired man who just grunts and pushes him away to get inside.

When the door is closed and there's not much light, only the one coming from living room, he can't see the other's face very well. But he can bet the fake smile is in the same place he last saw it in the morning.

He lifts his hand to brush the other's cheek but the limb is hit away.

"Bedroom. Now." The voice doesn't leave any room for arguments and he turns around. He can feel the other following him; can practically see the black eyes eyeing his round ass. It makes him stumble in his steps, but he continues.

When he lies back on the bed, head on the pillow he doesn't rise his hands to tangle them in the man's hair. He just lies there and lets small moans escape his lips. Lets the man take off his closes and when only his old boxers are still on he rolls to the side.

The other tries to roll him back so he would face him, but he isn't movable. His mind is full of thoughts that he does not like. He wonders where the other had been, why he'd returned and if he was high. It doesn't look like the last, but he doesn't let himself to relax this quickly.

Finally he finds his voice and asks the question that makes shiver run down his back. And not in a pleasant way.

"Where were you?" His voice is soft, small, weak. He feels so weak.

"None of your business," He answers and bits his neck making it bleed. It hurts but he stays quiet.

How can it not be his business? He is living in his home, using his food, watching his television… spending every night in his bed. How could it not be his business?

"I want to know," He doesn't let go of the subject. He wants to know it now more then ever before. His voice this time doesn't sound so weak, but still comes off aspowerless. Afraid. More of the answer he might get, then the man that will give it to him.

"And I said it's none of your business," He snares and forces him to roll over on his back. In a second his boxers are gone and he trusts inside, ripping something deep inside him. He doesn't wait his permission to move. He doesn't wait for anything. He just trusts and grunts in his ear and it hurts.

He feels like a corpse lying there, taking all the other throws his way. He can't move, can't push the man away. Just closes his eyes and waits until the other finishes. But when that happens he doesn't pull out. He stays inside breathing in his ear, chuckling whenever he gets his breath back.

"The best fuck. Ever." He stretches the words and then curses. Pulls out and walks away. Doesn't even close the door when he leaves to fall dead on the coach.

Only when he knows the other is asleep he allows one tear run down his face. Even then, it's quickly wiped away. He was defiantly high.

XXX

The little holes in his skin where the bones of his hand meet become bigger and more with every day. The man now wears shirts with long sleeves only.

He has no idea what the other does when he's away, but he had a clue. He doesn't say anything, though. Maybe he's afraid that that night will repeat, maybe that something worse will happen. That the man will become mad and beat him till he's dead. He doesn't want to die… he thinks. Then again, could it be any worse than this? Isn't that what he deserved being such a failure?

Maybe it's something different. Maybe he is tired of him, of trying to fight the other's fights. It looks like the other had given up, then why would he try to win it? He couldn't even win his own fights.

Plus—and he hates himself for thinking this way, but the second the thought crosses his mind it spreads like a poisonous disease—who would do this to a person they love. The dark haired man had said it himself. A long time ago, that seemed like a lifetime, but still. Emotions don't die so quickly. He would know.

So day after day he wakes up next to that man, dresses and goes to work. There isn't a cup of coffee waiting for him anymore and there's no cold kiss on his forehead when he leaves. The man just sleeps, spent from night before.

Day after day, he returns. Sometimes he's there, but more frequently, he isn't. Usually he comes home around midnight, drunk or high, with new bruises on his face, sides, and knuckles.

He never asks where he had been. Or what he had done. He just lies there. Sometimes it's okay. Sometimes it's not. Each time, he reminds himself he's the only thing keeping him sane. He should at least try. Besides, what love works without sacrificing something? Big deal. He still has the rest.

But no matter what he does or doesn't do, the dark haired man never stop.

Slowly he discovers that his money starts missing. His wallet would be on the couch or kitchen table in the morning half empty. All the money he had put away for rent or food would vanish. Those times he rushes out of the apartment as fast as he can, hoping for that discovery to be lies… but knowing it isn't. That scares him. Not knowing where it's spend.

Few weeks away he had felt safe there, but now he is staying longer at work or walking around the block, wishing he wouldn't have to go back.

How could everything from so good, turn into so bad in just couple of days?

He stops eating with time, stops washing his blonde hair, stops talking with the people at work. But they never question him. In the end they weren't friends, they didn't have heart to heart conversations. Everyone around him had their own problems that simply couldn't be told others. That's why they're called they problems.

He feels weak and can see how his body becomes thinner and smaller. He can feel his ribs when he wraps his hands around his body at night. He can see how his eyes changes from bright blue to dull and pale color. He can hear his soft sobs in the shower even over the water.

But the other never point out those things, never even sees them.

He can also see how the other's fake smile is still in place. How he doesn't yell anymore but his voice is more dangerous than he had ever heard it. Now it's full of nothing but threats and sneers.And he leaves needles in the bathroom in the morning after he had gotten high.

But he too keeps his mouth shut, but not because he doesn't notice these things, because he does. He doesn't want to anger him again.

He tries to pretend that none of that happens and that those nights are just nightmares and not reality.

But he can't pretend he doesn't love the other man. He can't stop his heart. He still hopes all those things the man said weeks ago are true, that he loves him back and needs him.Desperately, he tries to make himself believe he's the only one who can help in this situation. Why couldn't he be the only one who can bring the other on the right path? Why?

XXX

He sits on the coach. There's no food in the apartment, because he didn't have money this week to buy anything. There's no electricity either, because of the same reason. It's cold even under the blanket, but he can't do anything about it. Tomorrow he will get his paycheck and will pay all the bills. And maybe buy some food. His stomach rumbles angrily at the thought.

He clenches his fists and yaw to stop the trembling. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wishes the other would come home to do the usual stuff. Maybe then it will become warmer.

How ironic, he thinks and wants to laugh. Does he really think that? He must be masochist then. And a soft chuckle explodes in the quiet rooms this time. It's not a happy laugh; it's bitter, just as bitter as those coffees he used to drink in the mornings. How stupid? He actually drank them not to hurt the other's feelings.

He hears the door slam shut and shoes being thrown at the ground. He can hear the man's steps coming closer and closer. He doesn't turn his face away, doesn't even flinch. He's amazed, at how calm he is about all this; how he knows what's about to come, but can't force his heart to feel a thing.

"Why it's so cold in here?" The dark haired man stands in the doorway and his voice sounds sleepy. He turns to look at him and his face is bloody again, but he notices that knuckles aren't. Why is that? He wonders, but instead of voicing his question, he just stares. Tries, but even if he doesn't fear the man, he is threatened into being submissive anyway.

"Hey?" The man comes closer and takes his face in his hands. "Is something wrong?"

That's the first time he hears worry in the other's voice and he can't take his eyes off the black balls. He knows his own face shows all the emotions he feels at the moment - confusion, fear, and concern. But he can't turn away. He's frozen.

The other slowly pulls him into a hug that surprises him even more. The man's warm and wraps his hands around his shoulders and he now feels safe. He feels safe with this man. He was fucked up. His mother was right.

He wants to pull away, but can't. There's hope in him that maybe he changed again. Maybe things will be better now. It can be possible, right? People change! They just need to be given a chance!

"I won't hurt you," He says and runs his hands up and down his back and arms and the coldness and loneliness disappear momentarily. "I will never hurt you again. I'm so sorry, so sorry. I never… I never meant those things. I never… I love you." He mumbles in his ear and with every word, he feels his heart slowly stopping until it stops completely and his breath hitches with the last words.

"I love you too," He says for the first time since they've known each other, for the first time ever, and it feels so good. His heart starts beating, just now twice as fast and he feels happy. After all the bad things that happened with the two, everything will be all right now. He knows. Love wins everything. Love is everything he's been looking for and now he has it. The man holding him had made mistakes, but mistakes are made to be forgiven. Who would he be if he didn't?

The man pulls back a little to look in his face and eyes and small smile graces his face.

He can't tell if it's real or fake, but for the first time he doesn't try to see that. He doesn't care, because no one can fake this. No one could possibly lie this well. He was certain.

He stands up and without a word takes the pale hand in his and leads the way to the bathroom. He pulls out a first aid kit and makes the man sit on the tub's edge. Slowly, carefully, he cleans the man's beautiful face and the smile on his and the other's lips never disappear.

When there's no blood, he patches up the cuts and kisses his forehead. He can feel the man's hands on his hips and he knows this is where he must be. With this man, and no one else. This is his life, this man is his life, but he already knew that. He had always known it. That was why he always came back from work and never gave up. He knew a day like this would come. He knew his place.

They walk into the bedroom and he starts to take off his closes but the man stops him. He whispers in his ear those three words that make his knees shake while laying them both down on the bed and covering them up with a blanket. They lay there in silence for a while before the man kisses him full on lips. His tongue finds its way in his mouth and licks his own, before he pulls back.

"I promise, I will never hurt you again." He says against his temple and after a moment he sights and continues, "And I will never use again."

That was the first time he ever promised that, first time he had directly said that he was using, that he was a junkie.

XXX

The next morning he wakes up tangles in the blanket and hugged by the man he had wished to wake up next to one day. Now it actually happens. He looks the man in the face and traces his yaw line and lips with his eyes. He is truly beautiful even with bruises covering up half of his face.

He gets out of the bed and changes into clean closes. Then brushes his teeth and decides to wash his hair. It is another half an hour before he has to go to work, it will dry until then.

When he walks out of the bathroom with a towel drying his hair he almost crushes into strong chests. He lifts his face that is soon grabbed by two pale hands and then someone kisses him. He can feel who it is and relaxes in the touch, but he doesn't have time to answer the kiss before the other pulls back.

"Morning," He says looking up to see the face that he studied earlier.

The man smiles. Then they're heading toward the kitchen and sit down.

He notes how close the other is and how he keeps his hand on his thigh while they drink their coffee. And maybe due to that hand he doesn't even mind drinking the terrible drink, but focuses on the warm, fuzzy and safe feelings he experiences now.

They smile at each other, but stay quiet until they finish their coffee and then the man stands up and goes to wash the cups. The hand disappears and the smiles too, suddenly the room turns cold and unfriendly. He doesn't like that and finishes drying his hair, hoping the feelings will vanish then.

But they don't. Only when the man he's in love with turns around the old ones replace them.

"Hey, I was thinking, maybe you should buy something to eat. The fridge is completely empty," He says and opens the fridge to show him just how empty it is. And he has to say, it's completely empty. He sights.

"I will today when I get my pay check, okay? Then maybe we can go out for pizza or something," He suggests combing his hair with his fingers. He's nervous, but hopes the other will agree. It would be their first date.

The man looks thoughtful for a moment eyeing him, then nods.

"You get your pay check today?" He asks and walks closer.

He nods to answer and stands up too. It's time for him to go otherwise he will be late for work.

"Great. That sounds good," The other smiles.

They say goodbye to each other, and then he's out of the door. The morning air is cold and burns his neck and nose so he moves quickly, the only thing in his head he can think about at the moment is how happy he is, that he finally relieved his deepest secret aloud.

XXX

Something had been bothering him all day. He can't really put his finger on it, but it's something about the man that waits for him back at the apartment. He thinks it might be something he had done or said, but can't recall anything suspicious. It'd been bothering him all day, since the moment he started working. No matter how hard he tries to think though, he can't find what itches at the back of his mind. Eventually it was time for him to head back home.

It's getting dark outside and small snowflakes are falling, making the view of the city look fantastic. He had never thought that this ugly, grey place would ever look anything more than disgusting to him, but here's the proof. Perhaps he thinks that's because of how happy he is. Silly.

He can't wait to get back home, snuggle up to the man of his dreams tonight, and just enjoy his warmth and closeness. He wants to get back home as fast as he can. The very thought makes him smile. It feels like it had been weeks since he's smiled so much.

He takes off his work jacket and says bye's to his friends in the kitchen and then walks out of the café through the back door. It's colder than in the morning, but he just rubs his hands together and hides them deep into his coat pockets.

When he gets out of the alleyway his sneakers and feet are wet again, but he tries not to worry about it. His apartment isn't too far.

The snowflakes are still falling and covering the dark payment, making the city look white and clean. He had always liked the city in winter more than any other time of the year.

He stops suddenly when he hears someone calling him. He turns around and sees a figure running toward him waving a little. The snow makes it hard to see who it is, but when it's close enough he makes out the form and clothes and those dark hairs and eyes.

"Hi," He greets unsure. Why would he come here? Did he come to get him so they can go to eat pizza?

The man nods and pulls him by the hand into the alleyway he came out from. His grip is hard and when he's pressed against the brick wall, the man leans over him squeezing him. He can feel the other's breath on his cheek and something hard pressing against his hipbone, but his brain doesn't have time to think about what it might be.

"Did you get your paycheck?" He asks his breath stinking of cigarettes.

"N-No." He mumbles trying to push the other man of off himself. The bricks are painfully digging into his back. "I will get it next week."

The man glares at him and snares letting go of his arms and stepping away. He moves away from the wall, but not much.

"You said you'll get it today." He's still glaring arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah, but t-they didn't have money to pay me right now, s-so I will get mine next week." He desperately tries to think of anything that will change the conversation, but can't think of anything. He feels trapped, like he doesn't have any ways of escaping even if the street is right next to him.

He looks to his left and sees a man walk past him not even looking at his pleading face. He doesn't know what's happening, but knows enough to understand that he needs to get away. This isn't the same person he kissed this morning.

"B-But I asked Konan to give me some money f-for food," He looks back at the man remembering of the five bucks his co-worker gave him. Usually he didn't ask anyone for money, but he didn't have any and he wasn't sure how they would live down until next week.

"How much?"

With trembling fingers, he pulls out the five-dollar bill of his pants pocket and gives it to the dark haired man. He can't make himself look in those dark eyes so he keeps his own eyes on the man's lips.

He notices how they twitch when the bill is pulled out of his fingers. And it's followed by a hard shove back and he's leaning over him again.

"Five bucks! What the fuck will I do with five bucks?" He yells in his face and the breath makes him sick. He wonders if he is drunk or high too. It doesn't really matter. Even if he broke the promise of never using again it was nothing compare of breaking the promise of never hurting him again. His heart stings.

He tries to form some kind of words, but his lips are trembling too much and he's too scared and sad. Was yesterday just lies? He wants to scream, but is afraid of the hit that will defiantly follow.

The man spits to the ground and steps back again. One more look down at the green peace of paper, before it's tucked into the dark coat of the aggressive man.

They stand there for a moment. The snow is still falling, but he doesn't do anything to get it off his coat or pants and his feet now are cold from the wetness. His eyes are on the other's lips watching how they pull back in a smirk slowly. His hand is grabbed again and he's pulled of the wall and against the man's chest.

"Let's take a walk." He doesn't have time to answer, not like he would, before he's pulled along the other, the grip on his upper arm leaving marks.

He so desperately tries to think of a reason to get away, but can't. So he desperately looks at everyone that passes him, but no one cares. He's scared and worried and doesn't know what to do except to follow the man. But he doesn't want to. He wants to curl up on his coach and cry for no one wanting and needing him. He doesn't want to live this way. Anything is better than this. All the years of loneliness were better than this.

Small sobs escapes him and the other shakes him for that.

"Don't think of crying like a girl," He snares into his ear and that action alone makes him want to cry harder.

"Where a-are w-we going?" He gathers enough courage to voice.

He's ignored. He doesn't have courage after that so he just snaps his mouth shut and tries not to worry.The trembling in his hands isn't from the cold now.

Over and over again, he repeats it's going to be okay in his head, but there's still that little boy who knows the truth - nothing will be okay.

After a while they stop. They're far from his apartment, but he recognizes this area and knows enough to not come here after dark. Nonetheless, the other's hand is gripping his so tight he thinks it will fall off soon. His heart is still pounding. Racing.

The man holding him hums, and then turns sharply and walks into an alleyway. It's dark already and the space between the high buildings is wet, full of snow and garbage and stinks or urine and junk. He looks up at the other, but doesn't find what he is looking for. The other isn't scared. He obviously knows this place.

When they stop again by a garbage can, he can make out two figures further into the alleyway. They notice them too and slowly walk closer. Their hands are in pockets and their faces hidden in their coat collars. They both look like they might be about thirty years old and he has to admit, they both look strong. Hopefully, their big coats make them that way.

For a moment, everyone's still. The two strange men look at them and he tries so hard not to look them in eyes, but he knows his friend proudly holds their gazes, challenging them. It doesn't work.

Abruptly the tension ends when the man holding in back laughs lightly.

"What? Yesterday wasn't enough? Want more?" He laughs mockingly.

"Shut up, you shit. Like two against one is fair," The dark haired man growls fisting his fists, tightening his hold on his arm.

"Oh, oh, since when do we play fair?" The man's laughter dies down but there's still a smirk on his lips. "If you don't have money then we don't have your stuff," He stretches the word 'stuff' to make it clear what they are talking about.

He breaths hollowly understanding that they are his lover's dealer that he came to get more 'stuff' from. Now it was clear as a day that what the other said yesterday were lies. How could he believe that? It was so unmistakable; everything he wanted was his money and body.

"Although," The man in the back continued now looking directly at him, "I might be able to give you something for him," He nods his head toward him and a shiver runs down his back. He suddenly understands why he's here, why the dark haired man had taken him here. The other would never… right? He has to mean at last something! Doubt prickled his mind.

"Oh, he's not for sale," The dark haired man says, hand moving from his hand to the back of his neck gripping there. "He's all mine, find your own whores," He spats at them leaning closer to his ear and taking it into his mouth.

There go all the hopes the other truly loves him… Stupid, stupid, he was so stupid!

Any relief he felt for not being sold is crushed hearing all he truly means to him. After all this time, he is nothing more than a whore.He doesn't like to be called a whore at all, and he doesn't like to be talked about like that, but decides to stay quiet. God knows, what might happen if he tries to protest. The other might as well give him to those men for another fix.

"Ah, then we can't help you. Sorry." The man in back smiles a wicked smile and touches the other's shoulder briefly. Then they're heading back the one who hadn't said a word not turning his back on them.

They hadn't gotten far before the man breathing in his ear pulls away and pulls something out of his pocket. He knows what it is and his eyes widens that exact second.

"Give me everything you have, you mother fuckers!" He yells at them pointing the gun in both men direction.

They look unaffected, maybe even bored. And it's far from the reaction you would hope to get if you decide to point at someone with a gun. It's defiantly far from how he reacts. His hands are trembling and he can't take his eyes off the black gun. He wants to run away and knows this is the perfect time, but can't. A scene of the dark haired man shooting him repeats in his head.

Would he? After using him, his house, and his money? Would he kill him?

Yes.

"You heard what I said!" He yells again taking few steps closer.

The quiet man slowly tries to put his own hand in his coat pocket, but the other stops him by digging the end of the gun in his forehead.

"Don't do anything stupid. And you," He addresses the other again, "faster or your friend will lose his head."

It all happens so quickly. The man carefully pulls a bag with needles out of his pocket and gives them to the man with gun. Then he tosses them to him and orders to get out of the alleyway. He doesn't look back, and doesn't even care what happens to those men. He just wants to go home so he complies, waits a little while before the other comes running out of the dark corner, and pulls him along.

They run until his side starts to hurt, and then until he can't breath anymore, but that doesn't stop them either. He can't take his eyes off the bag in his hands so he doesn't notice where they are running. He just wants to get as far away as possible… from everything. From his life. But he knows he can't until that man is running next to him.

When they finally stop, he's pulled into yet another alleyway and he leans against the wall. He breaths deeply trying to catch his breath, but without any results. He can feel all his limbs still trembling from the adrenaline. The coldness is forgotten and replaced by burning flames inside of him. He feels like he had burned himself. Like he was going to be sick.

"That was fun," The man says his voice breathless, but not as much as his.

He looks up and sees the other's face in complete bliss. Does he do this kind of things often? Where the hell had he gotten a gun?

The other man straightens, the weapon gone, and runs his fingers through his silk like hair.

"Okay," He sights, "Give me back my bag." He opens his eyes and looks at him with that want and need, but it's not how he wants to be looked at. That need is for the thing in his hands not for him and he hates it. He feels so worthless and even jealous and it's stupid, he knows, because it's just drugs. You're not supposed to feel jealous of drugs.

"N-No," He squirms pressing the paper bag against his chests. He couldn't be this useless… It couldn't be that he always failed. He wanted to help him. He wanted to accomplish something.

"What did you say?" The man asks taking a step forward, closer.

"Don't come any closer o-or I will crush it!" He yells this time with more confidence and holds the bag closer to his body.

"Don't do anything stupid. Give me the bag and I won't hurt you. I know how much you don't like when I hurt you," He goes on in his sweet, velvet voice. His face is so innocent that for a moment he wants to believe he's not asking for drugs, but for candy or ice cream.At any other moment, it might seem like he is talking about the weather.

"No, don't come closer. I swear I will crush it." He lowers his voice swallowing hard. He's scared to blink, scared that the other will use that moment to attack him.

But the man just stands there, hands in pockets, head tilted to one side. And he still looks so innocent and pure, how can a man like this turn into a monster? It's not possible and he'd never believe that, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes and experience it with his own body. He just wants this to stop!

"Very well," The man sights and pulls out the gun and points it toward him. That's all it takes to make him froze. He can't think, can't say anything, and can't run anymore. Everything he sees is the gun and the fake smile behind it. And he understands what was bothering him so much.

Those smiles this morning, they were fake.

It's stupid, but it looks like that cruel expression pulls the trigger instead of the man.

The bag is pulled out of his hands and he falls to the ground in snow. It's snowing again, pure, white, beautiful snow. It makes him sad his blood is ruining it, but can't do anything about it. The man is no longer with him, long gone and possibly high. He's left here.

He leans his head back against the wall behind him and inhales deeply. It hurts so much that he thinks he will pass out from the pain, but it's not even close to the pain he feels because of the betrayal. Guess he will never be enough for anyone if he wasn't enough even for the worst person on this planet. It is almost a numbing thought.

He even wants to die.

It's what he's wanted for a long time.

XXX

His head hurts and his eyelids are so heavy he can't open them. It's a good thing he can't feel the rest of his body. If he could, it would hurt a lot more.

He breathes slowly and sounds come to him. First the beeping from his right then a pen scribbling something down, then a sight. He doesn't understand what is going on and can't even concentrate enough to figure it out.

Then all the other senses come back along with the rest of his body. He discovers he can move his legs a bit, but he's too tired. His stomach hurts like hell, even breathing hurts.The pain in his chest, the hole where his heart should have been, hurts the worst.

He tries again and this time his eyes slowly open. At first, everything is blurry and white, but after a while he can make out the light green wall in front of him and the edge of the bed he's on.

Still, he can't put it all together, just guesses he's probably alive and that means he will have to live his miserable life again. That thought makes him depressed enough to close his eyes again. He couldn't even die right. How messed up is that?

"Hey," A soft man's voice brings him out of his pain and self-pity. The voice is so close the person must be standing next to him. He jumps, surprised, and the faint beeping he hears races for a moment. "Are you awake?" It asks again.

He doesn't answer, just opens his eyes. Something about this voice makes him want to see the person's face.

When he gazes at the man next to his bed, he sees a young, pale skinned man with dark black hair falling in his face and two completely black eyes. They look exactly like those eyes of the man who shot him. The only difference is, these eyes doesn't reflex need or want. They are kind, warm, and questioning.

"Hey," The man says again showing him a smile that makes his breath hitch. He hadn't seen this honest smile for a while now. "You're in a hospital. We found you on a street with a shoot wound in your stomach, but didn't found any documentation with you. What's your name?"

He thinks what to answer.

It still doesn't make any sense to him, he should be dead, but here he is. In a hospital. What was this? Was God punishing him? Clearly he didn't want to live any longer. Now he had to. He can't think clearly, memories fog his mind. What was the question again?

"What is your name?" The man repeats not sounding irritated.

"N-Naruto… Uzumaki" He gets out. His mouth is dry. Talking makes his chest hurt even more. It's worth it when he sees the man smile at him one more time, before writing it down on the paper he's holding.

"Nice to meet you Naruto. I'm your doctor Sasuke Uchiha."

XXX

It's not even an hour after he wakes up that two police officers are standing at the foot of his bed, one holding a little note pad, the other looking at him like he is the reason behind all the evil in the world. Maybe he is. Maybe he should have never let that man inside.

There is one more person in the room. The doctor with the warm smile. He stands in the corner looking down on his notes, writing something down. He wonders if the doctor is listening, if he hears his voice clamp shut every time he tries to answer their questions.

The police officers are patient though. They don't get irritated if they have to repeat their questions twice even or four times before he can master the will power to answer.

They ask various things. Where does he live? Does he have a job? Family? What does he remember? Why would someone shot him in the first place?

He does a decent job, he thinks, in answering those questions. There's only one he can't think of how to answer.None were easy, but the last is near impossible.

"Sir," The one with a not pad speaks up. He hates being called that maybe because he had always associated that word with respect. And he doesn't deserve that. "Do you remember? It's all right if you don't, but any details would ease our job," He says it like they are seriously wanting to find the man who shot him. Could they be? In a world with people like him using and shooting people, could anyone really be good?

He stays quiet, looking down at his hands. He isn't sure how to answer that. Does he want the dark haired man in jail? Would that satisfy him? Make him happy, wanted, loved? The answer of course was no. Then why was he thinking so much. Why is it so hard?

"Hey, doc," The other police officer turns to his doctor. Both of them raise their eyes. Sasuke is looking at the uniform clad men through his glasses; he on the other hand can't take his eyes off him. "Is it possible he have some kind of brain damage? Memory loss?"

The doctor's gaze slides to look at him, and then back to the cop.

"No, highly impossible actually. There were no head trauma," He answers in a professional voice.

"Well, then maybe he's retarded or something. Can't he answer a simple question?"

"He's in shock, confused and on medication. How clear do you think you would be able to think with a condition like that?" The man bits back, clicking his pen. The cop turns back to him, the doctor's eyes too.

"So, do you remember anything?" The third man tries again. He swallows.

"I-I don't know his last name…" He admits guilty. He had slept with the man for God's sake, so long, and all he ever had was a name that probably is fake anyway.

"You know the man?" He shakes his head. He describes him in details. His short dark hair, his black eyes, around twenty five maybe, the places he likes to hung out at, the neighborhoods he'd seen him.

They write it all down, like it's important. Like they will try to catch him. Like it matters.

At the end, they ask one more question before they leave. "What is his name?" And he answers, because he has nothing else to lose.

"Sai."

XXX

The regular check ups are the best part of his weeks. Even the wait in the oddly smelly hospital is worth it all, when his name is called out.

It's a routine.He rises, takes his bag, and heads in the direction of the same office. He knocks, opens the door, and sits down by the table while the man, he's grown to like, sits across from him filling out some papers. After a moment, he finishes and looks up.

"Hi," Sasuke greets, a smile playing at his lips.

He nods his greeting back.

The doctor points at the table by the wall just like every other time. He stands up, puts his bag on it, takes off his jacket and shirt, then hops on the table waiting for the other man to come and check him.

And Sasuke comes. His warm fingers room over his ribs and stomach, leaving cold trails and clenched teeth when that's finished. He checks his pulls, blood pressure, all the while asking the usual questions on which he receives the usual answers. This is familiar.

He's given the green light that he can get dress now and that's what he does. He goes back to his place on the patient stool as his doctor writes some things down again.

"Have there been any pain recently?" Sasuke doesn't lift his eyes.

"No."

"Because you're using pain killers," This time he looks up.

Naruto shakes his blonde head. "Good boy," And they both chuckle at that. This was so familiar. Like old friends talking. "And how life's other then that?" The doctor asks him and he shrugs his shoulders.

"Good I guess, not much going on," He admits. At the same time, he's happy that his life is boring… not that he's happy. The doctor hums finishing the papers and adding them to his file.

"Do you want to go for dinner tonight?" Sasuke asks out of the blue. This isn't familiar. Not at all.

"I…" He doesn't know what to say. It's been months… but he feels like he's had enough dating for the rest of his life. Sasuke nods, like he understands.

"It was worth to try," He chuckles. They part at that.

XXX

A month passes before Naruto takes his doctor on his offer. They spend a wonderful evening. And at the end of it all Sasuke walks him to his new apartment door, hugs him, and wishes good night. Nothing more, nothing less.

There is no pressure, no rush, and no need for those things. It is comfortable and warm. Sasuke is always warm. He never asks for things he isn't ready to give, never makes him think he is useless, and a failure. Naruto knows he is but Sasuke… it's like he's blind, if he's sticking around him. Yet, he doesn't question his intentions or reasons.

Another month pass. And another. Call him crazy, too young, stupid, but he's not afraid. He sees want and need in these dark orbs, but it's different. He can't put it in words so lets his hands and body tell it for him. And Sasuke understands… or at least, that's what Naruto likes to think.

He must be going insane trusting this man, who is so like the man who once hurt him, but he can't help it. After a while, he understands he's not stupid at all. He used to be stupid, when he lived a life that didn't suit him, because he was better. He was stupid, because he thought he loved that other man, but actually, come to think about it, he loved the thought of being loved. Didn't he? With Sasuke, it's different. Hopefully. He needs it to be different.

XXX

They're in a park. Sasuke is sitting on a bench and Naruto is sitting next to him. The sun is high up the skies and it's warming his exposed face and palms. It strangely hot for autumn.

He catches the sight of the blond reading a book, eyes following words on the pages with much more enthusiasm then he have ever seen in anyone's face while reading. He wants to make a comment about it, maybe tease him, but at the same time, he looks so peaceful. Lately the other has been stressed about work and this is his only moment of silence; he doesn't want to break it.

Sasuke leans further back on the bench thinking it have been a good decision to get outside for a change. It is a lovely day.

"Did you know that millions of kids die in Africa?" His boyfriend puts down his book and looks up at him.

"Happens," He answers only half listening.

"Don't you even care?" The blond doesn't let go of the subject and slides closer to look in his eyes.

"Africa is too far away from me to make me worried. When something like that will happen here, I will start to care," He says and closes his eyes to not look in the bright sun. He sights when the other takes his hand in his and shakes it a little so he's forced to open his eyes again.

"You're terrible," The young man smiles not taking the lack of interest too much to heart. Sasuke can feel Naruto wants to say something else, but lets him decide when to say it.

He just sits there, with closed eyes, trying to catch the last rays of sun this year. He never seems to get enough of it, because of his work, not even in summer. He hears a sight that he knows is always followed by something serious so he sits up straighter.

Naruto still smiles the most mesmerizing smile he had ever seen. And it's still wonderful even after he found out that he didn't always smile like that before. Actually, that makes the smile even greater, because it's meant just for him.

"About this month's bill," The blond starts looking down. Slowly his smile fades. "I don't know when I will get my salary so-"

"How many times do I have to say this - don't worry about it." Sasuke doesn't let him finish. He knows how much his boyfriend likes to take control of things, but they had gone through this conversation so many times already…

"I know you always say that, but I still feel weird that you have to pay the bills," He mumbles finally looking up.

"Then stop. We're together now, and that means everything that's mine is yours and what's yours now is mine. Get it?" And he receives a nod. "Great."

He takes the other man's face in his hands and leans closer to kiss him quickly. How he loves to do that. The other then would have this look, and it's so wonderful.

"I love you," The doctor whispers against the pink lips of his ex-patient, opening his eyes to look into two sky blue orbs. How he loves those eyes.

"I-I love you too, Sasuke," The blonde utters, stumbling on his words. But that's ignored with a tense jaw. The doctor kisses the blonde again, taking away his insecurity, knowing he will never get it out of the other's head completely.

"I will take care of you, Naruto," He whispers quieter then the last time somehow hoping the other hears it and at the same time wishing he doesn't.

"And never hurt me?" The blonde man asks a sad smile on his face.

"Never."

XXX

Anyway, I hope you liked it and thanks to all who read it until the end because I know, it's pretty long.