It’s late. past midnight, when the knock comes. Not the usual three-tap rhythm you’ve come to associate with Sasuke. It’s more heavy. Off-balance.

You swing the door open and barely have time to register the silhouette against Konoha’s inky black shadows; tall, slouched, rain-damp hair clinging to a familiar face, before Sasuke stumbles in, the faint bite of sake sharp in the air around him.

His cloak is slung half over one shoulder. His eyes are glassy but focused, like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t, like he’s trying not to see it. His cheeks are flushed in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with what he’s trying to drown.

“Sasuke—” you start, but then—

Sasuke kisses you. It’s not careful. It’s not shy. It’s raw. He fists the front of your t-shirt, crushing hour mouths together like he’s starving for it, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he doesn’t close the space between you fast enough. It’s teeth and tongue and something bruising underneath. Months of unsaid things, maybe years of things he’s tried to lock away. You taste rain, sake, and months, maybe years, of things unsaid.

Your breath catches, staggered by the force of it, but your hands come up anyway, bracing Sasuke by the shoulders, trying to steady you both.

“Sasuke—what—”

“I can’t,” Sasuke breathes against your mouth, voice hoarse, bitter with alcohol and something deeper. “I can’t stand seeing you smile at him. Who the fuck does Shikamaru think he is?”

The words drop between you like stones. You still. Your hands tighten around Sasuke’s arms. You should’ve known he was watching— watching you and Shikamaru laugh as you walked through the streets together. Sasuke does that, lingers in the shadows of Konoha, always on the edges. He’s been pardoned but he still doesn’t sit in Ichiraku with you and Naruto, doesn’t visit Sakura at the hospital. He stays in the shadows and watches because he knows nobody’s really forgiven him beyond his team, even then they’re still hurt, still hold him at arms length. Even Naruto. But never you.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say softly. You and Shikamaru are friends, close like all of the Konoha twelve are, growing up together. Sasuke grew up with you too, before he left, chasing a vengeance that soaked him in blood.

“You’re not mine either,” Sasuke snaps, low and broken, like it’s hurting him to admit it. “You’re not. You shouldn’t be. But I—” He breaks off, exhaling hard. “I hate that I care. That I feel this. That I—need—“ his eyes squeeze shut. “You’re my friend,” he breathes out even though it’s selfish. “The only friend I have left. I want— I want to be your only friend.”

Sasuke leans in again, pressing your foreheads together. “You don’t get it. I’ve done everything to not need anyone. I wasn’t supposed to need you.”

Sasuke makes a wounded sound and kisses you again, slower this time, messier, hands trembling where they grip your shirt. It's not just desperation now. When you finally part, breathless, Sasuke’s gaze drops to the floor, unable to look at you.

“I didn’t come here to do this,” Sasuke breathes. “To beg you and be this pathetic. To want to be your only friend.” He’s never been good at sharing, even when he was a kid, even after growing up.