Political Science 202 was a windowless room in the sub-basement of Konoha Elite, all concrete and sour bleach. Even the motivational posters had been denatured by the light: "Leaders Inspire!" hung askew behind Professor Mitarashi, her voice somehow both shrill and soporific as she dissected the week's lesson on historical power structures. The class, which convened at the hour of 3:00pm, was populated mostly by Betas who looked like they'd been decanted from the same vat—grey hoodies, faded T-shirts, under-eye bags like parentheses around eyes already half-lidded. The only other Omega in the room, a transfer from the international dorm, always sat in the back row with headphones buried deep, the silver registry band on their wrist glinting like a scar.
Naruto was not much more present than the rest of them. He'd taken his usual seat by the door, the better to escape as soon as the hour tolled, but spent the entire class fidgeting with his phone. The device was nearly dead, its cracked screen glowing pale blue with the latest missed texts from Gaara and an old, unsent draft addressed to Kurama: "I'm doing everything I can. Please be okay." Naruto thumbed it away before the ache could tighten his chest further, then checked the time for the eighth time in as many minutes.
Mitarashi's voice bled through the background, every word dissolving into a paste of academic jargon. Naruto tried to focus, but the shapes on the board flickered like the afterimages of a migraine. All he could think about was the last week, which had become a parade of escalating weirdness.
Sasuke had gone feral. Not "feral" in the sense of destroying property or starting fights—Sasuke was, if anything, even more composed than usual—but "feral" in the way he'd attached himself to Naruto, shadowing him between classes, monitoring his meals, and—most mortifying of all—walking him to and from the dorm every single day. If Naruto tried to shake him off with a brush-off or an errand, Sasuke would simply wait, standing in whatever vestibule or alcove was closest, arms crossed and jaw set. If Naruto disappeared for an hour in the library stacks, he would find Sasuke at the circulation desk, reading his phone or a dry history of postwar governance, expression neutral but eyes ticking up at Naruto's approach.
Naruto had never had a real boyfriend, but he was almost certain this was not what one was supposed to do. It was like being assigned a very broody bodyguard, or a probation officer with a persecution complex. There was no label for it in the texts he'd read about Alpha/Omega dynamics—and that was exactly the problem. Sasuke acted like they were something, but never once said what that something was. No "boyfriend," no "mate," not even a casual "we're together." Just possessive actions with zero definition, leaving Naruto suspended in relationship limbo. And yet, despite the annoyance and growing frustration, Naruto couldn't bring himself to demand answers. Because every time he thought about confronting Sasuke, the memory of that night—the way Sasuke had held him, the way he'd said "mine" with a voice like a brand—would break him into a thousand pieces and leave him trembling for more.
The possessiveness wasn't just physical. It was logistical, tactical, relentless. Sasuke checked his class schedule daily, and if Naruto tried to eat lunch somewhere new, Sasuke would show up within fifteen minutes, tray in hand, sitting down across from him with a precision that bordered on psychic. He never commented on it, never acknowledged what they were becoming, not even in that infuriatingly dry way he usually did; he simply took up space, like the inevitability of gravity, and watched for any sign of threat. Once, when a pack of Alpha jocks from the rugby team got too loud in the dining hall, Sasuke locked eyes with their leader for a split second, and the entire group found a reason to leave. Naruto had wanted to shake him then, to scream "What are we?" into his perfect, impassive face.
The sex was… nightly. If that was the right word. After the first time, Sasuke had set a tempo that was as much a challenge as an invitation. Sometimes he was rough, sometimes almost gentle, but always with the same undercurrent of need, as if Naruto's existence was the only antidote to something burning inside him. It was exhilarating and terrifying; it was all Naruto wanted, and it was also, somehow, not enough.
Because after, Naruto always went back to his own bed.
He told himself it was because Sasuke slept like a corpse, limbs locked in place, one hand clutching the sheets with a death grip. He told himself it was because their room got too warm, or because the mattress was too small, or because he needed the buffer to keep his own thoughts from bleeding out in the dark. But the truth was, Naruto couldn't stand the way his body betrayed him—the way his heart leaped at the sound of Sasuke's voice, the way his breath caught at the mere brush of a hand on his shoulder. The way he felt safer with Sasuke than he had ever felt with anyone, even Iruka or Kakashi or the half-remembered ghost of his mother. He was terrified of it, and so he did everything he could to keep it contained, corralled behind a wall of sarcasm and distraction and the endless, gnawing pursuit of his brother.
Now, in the toxic half-light of Political Science, Naruto stared at the phone screen as if willing it to ring with news. Kurama was still out there, somewhere, and every hour that passed with no update twisted the knot in his stomach tighter. Gaara had promised a breakthrough—some kind of database dump, maybe a list of test subjects, maybe even an address—but there had been no new messages since yesterday.
He thumbed through old photos, each pixelated image another knife: Kurama with his arm slung around Naruto's shoulders, both of them squinting into the sun; Kurama at a ramen shop, mouth open wide, ready to slurp; Kurama scowling in a cap and gown, his hair too long for the occasion. Naruto forced the phone off, but the afterimage persisted, overlaying itself onto the classroom until the line between memory and present started to blur.
He barely registered the end of class until the scrape of chairs snapped him back. Mitarashi was still talking, but the students had already begun to shuffle out, some in clusters, most alone. The Omega from the back row was already gone, leaving only the faintest trace of vanilla and burned coffee in their wake.
Naruto stayed behind, packing his bag with unusual slowness, his fingers fumbling with the zipper. For once, Sasuke wouldn't be waiting outside—his Advanced Mathmatics ran until 4:30pm on Thursdays. The corridor would be empty of that particular dark-eyed presence, that silent sentinel who'd become as much a fixture in his life as breathing. Naruto's hands stilled over his textbook. The absence felt wrong somehow, like missing a phantom limb, and the sudden lightness in his chest confused him more than the weight ever had.
Naruto barely made it two steps into the hallway before Kiba materialized at his side, sneakers shrieking against the polished floor. The sudden velocity of Beta energy made Naruto flinch back—Kiba had a tendency to operate at full volume, even in corridors lined with hungover humanities majors and sleepwalking business students.
"There you are, man!" Kiba yanked Naruto by the arm, nearly spinning him into a locker. He was flushed and winded, his face lit up with manic excitement. "I've been looking for you everywhere. We are meeting Gaara at the usual spot in the Library."
Naruto braced himself, expecting a full-body shake or, worse, a noogie. "Why?"
Kiba's grin widened, canines flashing. "Got a hit on one of the names from the list. Gaara's already camped out in the library stacks—told me to drag your ass over there ASAP."
Naruto felt his pulse quicken. The last time Kiba had a lead, they'd found Gaara—and now this could be the breakthrough they needed. His fingers hovered over his phone screen, Sasuke's contact already pulled up. "Should we wait for Sasuke?"
Kiba's face pinched. "Dude, we could be on the moon and Uchiha would still materialize like some creepy shadow. I swear he's got radar or something." He snorted, but his eyes darted toward the hallway as if checking that Sasuke hadn't already appeared. "Besides, I'm tired of watching him hover over you like you're made of glass."
"Fine," Naruto said. "Let's go. But if Sasuke shows up pissed that we left without him, you're taking the blame."
Kiba grinned, instantly mollified. "Deal. C'mon!"
—
Naruto followed Kiba into the library's cavernous main hall, their footsteps muffled by the worn burgundy carpet that had absorbed decades of whispers and secrets. They wound past shelves sagging with leather-bound volumes and ascended the spiral staircase at the far corner, its wrought iron steps groaning softly beneath their weight. Three flights up, they ducked through an unmarked door and emerged into their sanctuary—a forgotten alcove tucked between Medieval Literature and Ancient Philosophy, where dust motes danced in shafts of amber light from the stained-glass window, and the distant hum of the building's ventilation system masked their voices perfectly.
Gaara was already there, hunched over a battered laptop at the table closest to the wall. He looked up at Naruto with a small, clinical nod, then glanced briefly at Kiba before turning the screen away from view.
What Naruto hadn't expected was the extra company. A blonde woman sat with her hair pulled into four spiky ponytails, her sharp eyes marking her as Gaara's older sister even before Naruto registered that he recognized her from somewhere.. Across from her, someone else slumped forward at the table, face buried in folded arms, neat brown hair pulled back into my spike of hair. The steady rhythm of his breathing punctuated the library's silence.
Gaara rose from his chair, the movement stiff and economical. "Temari found out about our meeting," he said, gesturing toward the blonde. "She wouldn't take no for an answer. The one using our research table as a pillow is Shikamaru."
Naruto extended his hand toward Temari with a nod. He understood her presence—after all, she was searching for a missing brother too. She rose to shake his hand, then paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. Her grip loosened.
"I know you," she said, letting her hand fall back to her side.
Naruto's shoulders tensed. "Your face is familiar too, but I can't remember from where." The words came out softer than he intended. Temari held his gaze for another moment before dismissing the connection with a shrug and reclaiming her seat beside the sleeping Shikamaru. Taking his cue, Naruto slid into an empty chair, Kiba dropping into place at his side.
All eyes shifted to Kiba, who whipped out his phone with the dramatic flair of a magician revealing his final trick. Naruto's pocket buzzed against his hip. He pulled out his phone to find a new group chat had materialized—himself, Gaara, Kiba, and Sasuke's name hovering at the top despite his physical absence. A blue link appeared, followed by Kiba's impatient typing animation as he waited for everyone to click through. "Temari, Shikamaru—need your numbers if you want in on this," Kiba said, fingers poised over his screen. Temari rattled off her digits without hesitation, simultaneously delivering a sharp kick to Shikamaru's chair that jolted him from his slumber with a startled grunt.
Naruto glanced away from his screen to study the stranger. The man straightened in his chair with the reluctance of someone who'd been comfortable in their slouch. Heavy-lidded eyes surveyed the group, his expression a masterclass in practiced disinterest.
"What a drag," he muttered, fishing his phone from his pocket and swiping to the link Kiba had sent.
Naruto glanced back at his screen and froze. The tiny "Read" indicator beneath the link showed Sasuke was already aware of their impromptu meeting. A knot formed in his throat as he pictured those dark eyes narrowing at the phone, calculating the fastest route to the library. He forced his attention back to the matter at hand, silently cursing how easily thoughts of his roommate could derail his focus when Kurama's whereabouts hung in the balance.
Naruto's thumb hesitated before tapping the link. The screen loaded to reveal a local news article from three months prior, its headline stark against the white background: "Former Konaha Student Found Dead in Abandoned Warehouse." His eyes skimmed the text, catching on phrases that seemed to leap from the page: "Matatabi, 19," "sudden withdrawal from university," "no known next of kin to claim remains." The reporter's tone shifted from factual to moralizing in the final paragraph, lamenting how "another promising young life was cut short by the scourge of substance abuse." Naruto's stomach clenched as he read between the carefully crafted lines.
Kiba's voice cut through the silence. "Look, it's terrible what happened to him, but this confirms something—not everyone who disappeared ended up in Orochimaru's lab." Naruto couldn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on Matatabi's school portrait—the slight tilt of his head, the hesitant half-smile of someone unused to being photographed. He'd died alone, his absence a footnote rather than a mystery worth solving.
Gaara's eyes met Naruto's across the table. Without a word, he rose and circled around, arms encircling Naruto's shoulders in an embrace so unexpected that everyone stilled. "We will find them," he murmured, voice low enough that only Naruto could hear. The gentle pressure of Gaara's arms broke something inside him; a sob tore from Naruto's throat before he could swallow it back. Kiba's mouth fell open, his gaze darting between the others—Temari's lips pressed into a thin line, while Shikamaru's fingers continued tapping at his phone, eyes carefully averted from the display of emotion.
Gaara released Naruto but remained beside him, his pale fingers curling around Naruto's wrist—a quiet tether in the storm. He slid into the empty chair at Naruto's side.
"Can someone fill me in on what I'm missing here?" Kiba's voice cracked through the silence.
Naruto's throat worked, but no sound emerged. The weight of Gaara's hand against his pulse kept him from drifting entirely. Across the table, Shikamaru's slouch had vanished. He leaned forward, shadows deepening the hollows beneath his eyes.
"It means," Shikamaru said, each word measured and grave, "that when they're done with their experiments, they dispose of the evidence."
The color drained from Kiba's face as understanding dawned. "Oh," he breathed, shoulders sinking. Then his eyes widened slightly. "Wait—if they only dispose of failed experiments, doesn't that mean Kurama and Shikaku could still be alive somewhere in that lab?"
Shikamaru's shoulders lifted in a lazy half-shrug. "Alive, dead—it's all troublesome speculation at this point." His fingers drummed once against the table. "I'll dig deeper into Matatabi's case. The pattern of disappearance might reveal more than the aftermath. Find how they're vanishing," he said, eyes narrowing slightly, "and we find where they end up."
Naruto nodded, his shoulders loosening a fraction. A thin thread of hope wound through the knot in his chest. If failed experiments were discarded, then maybe—just maybe—Kurama was still breathing somewhere in that lab, waiting. He clenched his fist under the table. No more distractions. Not his complicated feelings for Sasuke, not his unpredictable heats. Nothing would derail him now.
Temari rose from her chair, nudging Shikamaru to follow. Gaara remained seated beside Naruto, his pale hand still resting protectively over Naruto's wrist. The library's quiet was broken by quick footsteps as Sasuke appeared at their table, breathing controlled but with a faint sheen of sweat visible at his collar. His dark eyes found Naruto's immediately, then dropped to where Gaara's fingers curled against Naruto's skin. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Temari snapped her fingers. "That's it. Housing office. First day of semester." Her eyes narrowed with recognition. "You were those roommates begging to switch rooms."
The memory clicked into place for Naruto. The administrative desk. The clipboard. Temari's bored expression as she'd shuffled his paperwork into a stack without even looking at it.
Then she smiled knowingly. "Funny how things change. There was an opening in the Alpha Dorm last month that Sasuke refused." Naruto's head snapped toward Sasuke, whose dark eyes had turned to ice as they fixed on Temari, his expression tightening like she'd just revealed something he'd never intended anyone to know.
Heat flashed through Naruto's body, but this time it wasn't from pheromones—it was pure rage. All this time, Sasuke had a way out? While Naruto suffered through unexpected heats and doubled his suppressants just to function, his roommate had casually declined an escape route. The realization tightened around Naruto's throat like a collar. Of course. Why would Sasuke give up his perfect Omega, the one that let Sasuke fuck him regularly? The bastard couldn't even admit what he wanted, but he sure as hell knew how to keep Naruto exactly where he wanted him.
Naruto tore his gaze from Sasuke's unapologetic face and found Gaara watching him, the redhead's fingers pressing just a fraction tighter around his wrist. When their eyes met, Gaara offered a subtle, reassuring smile and a single, determined nod.