The first date of his life, and Naruto couldn't pick an outfit. He'd cycled through every pair of jeans, every faded tee, every sweatshirt that didn't reek of two-day-old ramen, and still nothing looked right. He caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink—hair sticking up in twelve different directions, a thumbprint smudge beneath one eye, and the beginnings of a hickey climbing the left side of his neck, just under the jawline. He pressed a finger to the bruise and winced. It wasn't even the biggest one.
Naruto paced the tight rectangle of the dorm room, hands alternately yanking at belt loops and flattening his hair. He muttered to himself, running through every possible disaster scenario for a first date: spilling food, accidentally insulting Sasuke's taste in music, getting lost on the walk there, and, worst of all, saying something dumb and ruining everything. His stomach twisted. He checked the clock—still an hour to go. Maybe he should shower again.
He was halfway through debating whether a double-shower made him look clean or desperate when a sudden knock ricocheted off the door.
"Crap," he hissed, nearly tripping over a pile of laundry as he scrambled for the handle. He cracked the door open a cautious inch, expecting to find an overzealous RA or, worse, a delivery guy who'd gotten the wrong room. Instead, Gaara's pale face loomed in the gap, expression as deadpan as ever. Behind him, Kiba leaned on the wall, hair spiked and eyes lit with conspiratorial glee. A few steps back hovered Hinata, fingers twisted together in her sleeves, eyes huge and uncertain.
Naruto blinked. "What are you guys—"
"We're here to rescue you," Kiba announced, wedging a sneaker into the jamb and muscling the door open another foot. "Or, at least, your fashion sense." He shouldered into the room, immediately picking up a rumpled hoodie and examining it with a critical grimace.
Gaara slid in next. "It was necessary," he said, voice flat but not unkind. "You didn't answer your phone." He nodded to Kiba, who was already rifling through Naruto's dresser drawers with the abandon of a raccoon in a trash bin.
Naruto's cheeks burned. "I was—getting ready," he protested, but even as he said it, he realized how thin the excuse sounded. He glanced at Hinata, who hovered just inside the door, eyes flicking nervously between the chaos and Naruto himself.
She offered a shy, almost apologetic smile. "I, um, just wanted to say—I'm genuinely happy for you. It's rare to find someone you can truly bond with." The way she said it, so quietly and with so much earnestness, made something in Naruto's chest unclench.
"Thanks, Hinata," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to say more, to tell her that those words meant more then she knew, but the words jammed in his throat, and she seemed to understand without needing them.
The intervention began in earnest: Kiba tossing shirts onto the bed with ruthless efficiency, Gaara holding up each one to the light and discarding anything with a stain or a frayed seam. The pile of rejects grew faster than Naruto could keep track. Hinata sat on the edge of the mattress, folding each shirt into a perfect square as soon as it landed. She was, he realized, the only person in the room who looked more nervous than he felt.
Kiba emerged from the closet with a horror-struck expression and a truly blinding orange hoodie pinched between two fingers, holding it at arm's length like a soiled diaper. "Dude, do you have anything that isn't, uh—" He squinted, then read the print on the front, "—'Believe It'? Are you legally required to wear orange every day or does it just feel wrong not to?"
Naruto grabbed for the hoodie, but Gaara intercepted, plucking it from Kiba's hand and folding it neatly. "You'll thank us later," Gaara said, not looking up.
Kiba cackled, rooting around in the closet's depths until he surfaced with a pair of dark jeans and, miracle of miracles, a button-up shirt in a shade of orange so muted it was practically a neutral. He held them out with a flourish. "Here. Wear this. Trust me."
Naruto eyed the shirt suspiciously, but when he glanced in the mirror, he had to admit: it made his eyes look good. Maybe even great. The color wasn't loud, and the sleeves actually hit his wrists at the right spot. He slipped it on, then yanked on the jeans, ignoring the way Kiba wolf-whistled and Gaara gave a rare, approving nod.
"Don't forget shoes," Gaara said, pointing to the battered heap by the door. Kiba selected a pair that looked least likely to get him thrown out of a restaurant. Hinata smoothed the collar of his shirt, then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Naruto spun once, self-conscious but trying to own it. "Do I look like I'm trying too hard?" he asked, voice small.
Hinata shook her head, her smile growing. "You look really nice." Her gaze lingered on his neck, and for a split second he thought she might mention the hickey. She didn't.
Gaara sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded. "Where is Uchiha taking you, anyway?"
Naruto shrugged. "No idea. He said 'a surprise.'" His heart beat faster at the thought, not all of it nerves.
Kiba's mouth twisted in a mock sneer. "Probably a library. Or a graveyard."
Naruto snorted. "As long as there's food, I'll survive."
A brief, contented silence settled over the group. For a moment, they were just four friends, awkward and alive and safe in the confines of their tiny, messy dorm room.
Then the handle rattled, and the door swung open to admit Sasuke, whose very presence made the temperature drop a degree or two. He stopped dead in the threshold, taking in the scene: Naruto half-dressed, Kiba elbow-deep in the laundry basket, Hinata blushing furiously, Gaara looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Sasuke's eyebrow arched a millimeter higher than normal. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, voice dry as sandpaper.
Kiba grinned, tossing a sock over his shoulder and hitting Naruto in the face. "Not at all. You're right on time, Romeo."
Sasuke ignored him, locking eyes with Naruto. There was a flicker of amusement there, or maybe pride. Naruto couldn't tell, but it made his chest flutter. Sasuke took in the new outfit, nodded once, and said, "Not bad. They finally made you dress like a human."
Naruto rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
Hinata gathered her things, rising to her feet. She offered Naruto a final, encouraging nod, then ducked past Sasuke, nearly colliding with his shoulder before vanishing into the hallway. Kiba followed, but not before clapping Naruto on the back hard enough to make him lurch forward a step. "Knock him dead, tiger," Kiba said, winking.
Gaara brought up the rear, pausing in the doorway to appraise Sasuke with a long, unreadable look. Then, softly, to Naruto: "Enjoy yourself. You deserve it."
The door shut behind them, and for the first time that morning, the room felt still.
Sasuke crossed the distance in three long strides, stopping a foot away. Up close, his hair was perfectly disheveled, his jawline precise enough to have been cut from stone. He studied Naruto, then reached out to adjust the collar of the orange shirt, fingers brushing warm against the hollow of his throat.
Naruto's breath caught. "So, uh. Where are we going?"
Sasuke's mouth curved, just slightly. "You'll see." He stepped back, holding out his hand. Naruto hesitated, then took it, feeling the rough callus of Sasuke's palm, the steady anchor of his grip.
As they left the room together, Naruto glanced over his shoulder at the chaos left behind—hoodies scattered, shirts still on the bed, the lingering scent of cologne and nervous energy. He wondered if he'd ever be this nervous again, or if this, right now, was as bad as it could get.
He hoped so. Because as the door shut behind them and Sasuke tugged him down the hallway, Naruto had the sudden, wild thought that maybe, for once, everything was about to go right.
—
They walked into town, Sasuke's hand a steady weight around Naruto's fingers. The sun was just sliding beneath the rooftops, throwing everything into a soft, burnished gold. The main drag was already buzzing—students, couples, old men in cardigans, the scent of frying oil from the bakery down the block. Naruto tried to walk normal, to pretend this wasn't the first time he'd ever gone anywhere with a date, but every other step his shoe squeaked or he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk, and every time, Sasuke just squeezed his hand a little tighter.
The ramen shop was three blocks off campus, tucked between a pawn shop and a barbershop that hadn't changed its signage since the seventies. The windows were fogged, the neon OPEN sign casting everything inside in a warm, red glow. Naruto hesitated for a second—he knew the place from a thousand solo dinners, a dozen study sessions with Gaara and Kiba, but somehow it looked totally different with Sasuke next to him, like the night itself had shifted into a parallel universe.
Inside, the air was thick with steam and the smell of pork bone broth. The tables were scuffed wood, lacquer peeling at the corners, each one separated by little dividers. Sasuke gave the hostess a look, and they were shown to a booth in the back, half hidden by a wooden partition hung with faded paper lanterns. The Alpha let go of Naruto's hand just long enough to pull out a chair for him.
It was such an old-school move that Naruto almost laughed, but when he looked up, Sasuke wasn't being sarcastic—he actually looked proud of himself. Naruto sat, trying to play it cool, but his knees were bouncing under the table and his hands wouldn't stop fidgeting with the chopsticks. Sasuke slid into the other side, folding himself into the space like he'd been doing it all his life.
A waitress dropped off menus, but Naruto barely glanced at his. "Ramen?" he asked, just to fill the silence.
Sasuke didn't even look. "I know it is your favorite."
Heat crept up Naruto's neck. Ramen—his comfort food since childhood. The fact that Sasuke had chosen this place, had somehow known without being told, made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. He fidgeted with his chopsticks, desperate for something to say. "So, uh... you come here often?"
"Last week," Sasuke said. "Three times."
Naruto blinked. "Alone?"
Sasuke's lips curled at the corners as he let the silence stretch between them. Finally, he said, "I did reconnaissance last week. Three visits to make sure the broth wasn't watered down." His dark eyes never left Naruto's face. Naruto felt his pulse quicken—Sasuke had been planning this before he'd even said yes, had been thinking about him, about this moment, all along.
The waitress returned for their order, and Naruto rattled off his usual, adding extra pork and corn. Sasuke ordered the same, but with an egg and a double shot of chili oil.
Naruto shredded the corner of his napkin into tiny confetti pieces, his tongue suddenly too large for his mouth. It made no sense—they'd literally been skin to skin, had shared breaths and sweat and everything else—but sitting across from Sasuke in public, fully clothed with nothing but conversation between them, felt like standing naked in a spotlight.
The food came fast—two huge bowls, noodles piled high, broth shimmering with oil. Naruto reached for his chopsticks, then froze. Sasuke was watching him, dark eyes intent, and suddenly Naruto was acutely aware of his own hands, his posture, the way he always slurped too loud. He'd eaten with Sasuke a hundred times in their dorm, but this felt different. Public. Official. He picked up a single noodle with exaggerated care, tried to eat it delicately, and still managed to splash broth on his chin. Sasuke's eyebrow arched as he leaned across with a napkin, dabbing at the corner of Naruto's mouth.
Heat flooded Naruto's cheeks as Sasuke's lips curved into that infuriating half-smile. "I've never seen someone try so hard to eat ramen properly," Sasuke murmured, voice low enough that only Naruto could hear. Naruto's chopsticks clattered against the bowl as he snatched them up, refusing to meet Sasuke's eyes as he attacked his noodles with renewed determination.
They ate, the world shrinking to the glow of the table lamp and the cloud of steam around their bowls. Every few bites, Naruto would look up and find Sasuke watching him, not in a creepy way, but like he was cataloguing every tiny detail. It made Naruto feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and a little terrifying.
They finished their ramen in companionable silence, punctuated by the occasional jibe or accidental nudge under the table. Naruto leaned back with a contented sigh, full and happy in a way he couldn't remember being in months.
When the bill came, Sasuke snatched it up before Naruto could even reach for his wallet. Naruto protested, but Sasuke fixed him with a look so firm that he shut up instantly.
"Next time," Sasuke said, a promise rather than a suggestion.
Outside, the night was cooler, the city lights flickering on in waves as the sun vanished completely. Sasuke started down the street, but instead of heading back toward campus, he veered left, leading Naruto deeper into the heart of the town. The crowd thickened—young couples out for ice cream, clusters of Betas trading cigarettes and laughter, a line already forming outside the old cinema.
Sasuke didn't explain where they were going. Naruto didn't ask. He just let himself be tugged along, savoring the friction of their joined hands, the steady beat of Sasuke's steps next to his own.
After a few blocks, they stopped in front of a storefront lit by the chaotic pulse of neon and the noise of electronic bleeps. It was the arcade—a place Naruto had seen in passing a hundred times, but never dared go inside, convinced he'd look like a dork or get lost in the crowd.
He stared at the sign, then at Sasuke. "You're joking."
Sasuke arched an eyebrow. "You said you wanted to have fun."
"I just—" Naruto gestured helplessly at the window, where a bank of machines blared some racing game, kids and adults alike crowded around in clusters. "I didn't think you were the kind of guy who…"
Sasuke's smirk was pure challenge. "Any place where I can demonstrate my superiority over you is exactly my kind of place."
He pushed open the door, and the blast of sound and color hit Naruto like a wave. The air inside was thick with static, sugar, and popcorn. The carpet was sticky, the lighting a jittery strobe of reds, blues, and purples. They made their way to the change machine, Sasuke deftly feeding a bill and catching the cascade of coins before they spilled everywhere. He handed half to Naruto, who fumbled with the unfamiliar weight.
Sasuke jingled the coins in his palm. "What's your game?" Naruto scanned the arcade, his eyes locking on the racing simulators where two players were hunched over plastic steering wheels. A memory flashed—Iruka cheering as fifteen-year-old Naruto crossed the digital finish line first, birthday cake waiting at home. He pointed, a grin spreading across his face. "Those. I'm about to humble you, Uchiha."
Sasuke's lips curled into that infuriating half-smile as he gestured for Naruto to lead the way. They hovered behind the racing games until the previous players surrendered their seats, then slid into the molded plastic chairs. The countdown flashed across the screen—three, two, one—and Naruto's thumbs flew over the controls. Four minutes later, he stared in disbelief at the "PLAYER 2 WINS" banner flashing mockingly above Sasuke's car. He pushed himself up from the seat, legs stiff. Sasuke's eyebrow arched. "Ready to lose again?"
They battled through three more games, each ending with Sasuke's victory smirk growing more insufferable. During the motorcycle race, Naruto's digital bike pulled ahead on the final stretch—until Sasuke executed a perfect drift around the last corner. When they spotted the vintage Pac-Man cabinet tucked in the back corner, both gravitated toward it without discussion. Sasuke went first, his fingers precise on the joystick until a pink ghost cornered him in the maze. Naruto's turn came, and when he surpassed Sasuke's score, he pumped his fist skyward with a triumphant "Believe it!" He turned, expecting Sasuke's scowl, but found instead dark eyes filled with something softer, almost tender.
For the first time in months, Naruto realized, his mind wasn't racing with worries about Kurama, or upcoming exams, or whether his next dose of suppressants would arrive on time. He was just... here. Present. Before he could second-guess himself, he threw his arms around Sasuke's neck and pressed their lips together in a quick, clumsy kiss.
He pulled back just as quickly, heart hammering, and tugged at Sasuke's wrist. "Come on! I bet there's a shooting game around here I can kick your ass at."
Sasuke allowed himself to be led through the maze of flashing cabinets, the corner of his mouth lifting. "One lucky game doesn't make you a champion, dead-last."