(closed) everything you feel, and everything you think

[chokuto]

WHO: Uchiha Sasuke & others.
WHERE: Around Stygia.
WHEN: Month of October.
WHAT: Catch-call for event prompts / other scenarios.
WARNINGS: None atm, will updated if needed.


[ ooc — plotting comment for the event here, comment for the general CR meme here. flexible to do things outside of the event as well!]

Comments

𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐰 | harvest hunt

[chokuto]

[It isn't entirely his choice to be drawn into the hunt. Sasuke's found his way over to the maze due to its resemblance to the underground labyrinth he'd discovered in his exploration of Stygian borders, though he hasn't yet committed himself to entering. Given the murmurs of the crowd, evidently he's not alone in his notice. An interesting way to celebrate — not that he can find any blame among the resident Restless. Distractions in caricature and merriment, sometimes, take the mind off of the horror of reality.

They've assigned him a role, but it isn't one he's performing. Prey. The word calls to mind too many things that he isn't — and as the walls of the maze close around him, corn stalks tall and wreathed in eerie fog, the rest of the world slips into the back of his mind. Darker thoughts are louder, resonant, sibilant with the urge to act on what he's repressed all this time, every deferent I'm fine, it's different, I understand myself a pale mirage of some other person. Someone he isn't.

Sasuke doesn't navigate the maze with any urgency to escape. His movements are methodical, eyes a bright gleam of mismatched red-and-purple in the dark, mapping every turn to the layout in his mind that keeps him centered. The moon and the stars above are beacons of guidance; the distant noise of voices enjoying the festivities are too far away to matter.

Eventually he stops abruptly at the juncture of two paths. He only turns his head to look behind him.]

Come out. There's no way that you would escape my eyes. [A low, drawling voice.] I sensed you before. You and another out in the Shadowlands. [Not chakra, but something like it, some spiritual energy he can't name, faint and flickering.]

[arrancar]

( he couldn't pass up the beckoning of a hunt, even one that is only supposed to be for festive fun.

the rules seem too... tame for him. he is only meant to pursue and capture — no more, no less. it doesn't sate him, so he'll just have to pile on a few addendums of his own. after all, it wouldn't be fair if only one party was having """fun""". besides, an activity of this nature is bound to attract some prospective preys, right? he made sure to emphasize that he wanted a fighter in there, but it's questionable whether the restless in charge of the maze actually understood what he wanted.

fortunately, his wish was granted. he sensed them the moment he stepped foot into the labyrinth of corn stalks.

but just as his prey doesn't seem to be in any rush to find an exit, grimmjow takes his time navigating through the winding path of the maze towards them. there are easier methods of reaching his target but he wouldn't want to take away possibly their one advantage over him. he is pleased to find that his prey could perceive him as well though, a wide grin spreading across his face as he soon as he hears him beckoning for him to show himself.

grimmjow turns the corner to feast his eyes on his target, delight swelling up in his chest at the sight of him. )

Hahaha. You sensed that, did you? ( he sweeps a slow gaze over him. ) Seeing how you ain't 'bout to piss your pants, you must be ready for this to finally turn fun. ( he jerks his chin at him. ) C'mon then, make your move, boy.

[chokuto]

[If there's any recognition at the sight of Grimmjow, after having browsed the profiles on the form created by the Hierarchy, he doesn't show it in his expression. Crass first impressions aside, his own gaze evaluates the threat in front of him — lack of fear a telling flag among others. Outside of these shadowed corridors, Sasuke might have sought words before combat, not because he has any particular talent at diplomacy, but because fighting for the sake of fighting alone isn't appealing to him... Unless in exceptional cases, reserved for one person in his life.

But they're here for a reason. And he's been hunted. And that darkness swells, loud in his mind, a second living heartbeat, thundering violence like a spell that overtakes him.

So he doesn't say a word. His right hand lifts, completing the one-handed equivalency of a seal — sleeve noticeably charred, on second glance, from several previous attempts until he got this right — before he unleashes katon. The narrow path between them suddenly becomes a scorching tunnel of hot flame, and the blast is headed straight for Grimmjow, leaving blackened and smoldering stalks of corn in its wake.]

[arrancar]

( not even a word of acknowledgment, eh?

he likes the seriousness. it makes this all so much more promising, doesn't it? it means that he won't be disappointed because the only thing worse than silence is objection. he watches the boy raise his hand, curious to see what he will do. will he manifest a weapon? will he construe a blast?

the hand motions must serve a purpose, so he stands in wait to see what it does first and, to his absolute relish, his patience is rewarded by a large burst of flames. he meets it head on with a manic cackle and a red stream of light that erupts forth from his own hand.

it's cutting it close, but his cero collides against the oncoming flames. the impact between them is gonna be devastating — at least for the poor stalks of corn.

consider: not burning down the entire maze, guys. )

[chokuto]

[Isn't his attack acknowledgment enough? It should be.

Something collides with his nature transformation; he can't tell what it is, but it carries the same signature as what he felt out in the wilderness days ago. Only further proof this is who he was anticipating when he began winding a path through the maze.

The impact is devastating, an explosion of power that ripples out through the stalks and immediately garners the attention of both onlookers and guards. He hears cheers at first; they're being encouraged. Then, too soon, the cheering turns to gasps and shouts as the corn catches fire and begins to blaze, funneling black smoke in a pillar toward the night sky.

As soon as his flames fade, Sasuke rushes in, too quick for normal sight to follow—he weaves another sign one-handed and electricity rips up his arm, crackling like a thousand birds, aimed directly at Grimmjow through the haze of smog.]

[arrancar]

( first, fire; now, lightning? what else can he do just by moving his hand?

he has never encountered anyone who could generate and manipulate the elements in this way, no less switch between them as seamlessly as the boy is doing now. it's undeniably tied to his strange energy, channeled outward through specific hand maneuvers.

it's remarkable, really; to the point of momentarily distracting him and slowing his reaction down by a fraction.

grimmjow recovers quick enough to dodge out of his way with sonido, evading his attack and materializing in the air behind him. he doesn't have any fancy elemental moves, but his strength alone is enough to compensate. sweeping his leg out, he aims to land a kick to his side.

the panicked cries and urgent shouts around him, drowned out by the crackling of a blazing flame and wholly lost to the regale of the moment. )

𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 | feast

[chokuto]

[Bad decisions are often cumulative, and in the bleak dawn of tomorrow, Sasuke will reflect on this with irony and discontent and a smaller, milder amount of relief that collateral damage was not fatal. Yet when he is accosted on the streets of Mirth with a sampling of goods — Grablenuts, the vendor tells him — he is complacent enough to accept. There is no reason to suspect ill intentions from many of Stygian's citiznes; many are simply trying to live their lives and better their trade with the looming presence of Oblivium's dark corruption at the persistent perimeter of their thoughts. So he cannot begrudge them the distraction of a festival celebration.

And he is hungry. The large, brown nut is foreign to him, but as he peels into the spicy center, he decides that he likes it. After he's finished — hardly noticing yet the blunted warmth of his surroundings — another vendor has offered him a glass of amber liquid. At this point, Sasuke would have turned it down, but he watches himself reach out to accept the drink as though witnessing someone else act on his behalf. The part of his mind thinking, This is a bad idea, doesn't reach the threshold where he restrains himself from doing it. The loss of control is mild, but alarming.

The streetlights are very bright, hung in crisscrossing strings of neon over Mirth's avenues, casting everything in color that occasionally flashes to an unknown rhythm. He can feel the burn in his eyes, luminous halos even behind his eyelids; he feels strange and unfocused, bleary, heart picking up a faster pace as the minutes begin to gel together.

He makes it to the corner of the road. He hears his name called in a too-familiar voice, Sasuke, and whips around — but there is no one there. No phantom of the past; that one remains locked behind the door in the Shadlows. So he leans himself against the post of a streetlight and wills the world around him to stop.]

[wrists]

[ the festival itself is reminiscent of a routine dinner in arles — excessive food, excessive drink, and excessively misplaced hedonism. there is far too much languid affection going around to feel normal in a place plagued by such darkness, so laurent spends his time fitting together the pieces of this falsely glimmering puzzle, observing behaviors and patterns until the picture begins to become clear in his mind — and not a moment too soon, because his pale hand grips a dewy glass he doesn't remember accepting, smelling strongly of spirits.

it's in the drink. the food. inhibitions lowered, poison in the bloodstream. he studies his drink and ignores the prickling cold at the nape of his neck, the sense memory of hazy pliancy, silken sheets, heavy hands holding him down. at least these memories, these terrors, are his own, brought on by a logical thought pattern, not inflicted by drink or a poisonous morsel. there are far too many people here controlled by whatever they've consumed, so laurent takes his leave, moving quietly to the streets and carelessly tossing the contents of his drink aside.

only — the drink splashes directly onto someone currently busy withering beneath a streetlight. laurent just barely refrains from lobbing the glass, stopping short when he recognizes the dark hair, the mismatched gaze. his shoulder gives a sudden throb, healing nicely but protesting the reminder of his first night, of soft fabric clutched in his hand, of pitiful words falling senselessly from his mouth. sasuke. he'd made a point to discover the man's name after the fact, of course not by asking him directly but by other means. his plan was to never speak to him again.

now sasuke smells like strong drink, and he looks like... well. laurent can tell right away he's consumed one or more of the mind-altering substances being served like children's candy at the festival. ]

You looked so pitiable, I didn't notice you. [ laurent reaches into an inner pocket of his dark jacket, pulling out a silken handkerchief — a royal blue, embroidered with a golden sunburst — and offers it out. he meets his gaze steadily. ] My apologies.

[chokuto]

[The drink splashes a plain, white, high-collared shirt buttoned to a spot just beneath collarbones where it gapes to show skin; the stain blooms dark over the fabric, and he can smell it under his nose, sourly acerbic. It brings him out of the dark daze of his thoughts, but the look he turns onto the stranger is glowering, a snap of irritation that isn't smoothed by the nervy composure he feels on better days. This is a worst day — as the silken piece of cloth is offered out, Sasuke looks at it, then past it, then snatches that slender wrist and yanks in an almost perfect imitation of their first meeting, whipping Laurent around and throwing him against the streetlight he had previously occupied. The same arm falls over Laurent's chest like a steel bar, unwilling to let him move from beneath its pressure.]

You again. [His eyes are burning, iridescent red and pale purple, like two vivid candles.] I considered breaking your arm last time, should I do it now? There's nothing you could do to stop me if I tried. I can tell that you're weak.

[His thoughts are mired in a film of darkness, and for a moment it isn't a stranger in front of him, but another blond-haired, blue-eyed young man, and he had promised that person once that he would end his life. 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐭?

Sasuke's brow wrinkles, the crease tight between his eyes as the hazy cloud of intoxication floats in and out of awareness. That crushing pressure eases on Laurent's chest; he takes a deliberate step back.] You're nothing like him. Who are you.

[wrists]

[ this reaction is not entirely expected, considering this time laurent is offering a handkerchief instead of brandishing a blade. clearly, the details make little difference. he's caught like the prey he feels too much like most days, though he doesn't quiver in this snare, remaining perfectly still as he gazes back into the pair of dissimilar eyes. the senses on this man are far too sharp for the colors to be a defect of some sort. ]

Me again. It's very irritating, isn't it? [ he listens to the show of bluster, though there is no doubt strength behind the threat — laurent can feel it in his musculature. but there is something else here, a wavering, and it's because of this that laurent doesn't struggle to free himself despite the bruising force at his chest. his shoulder gives a throb. it becomes slowly apparent that sasuke is not entirely in control. his shadow, maybe. too much food or drink back at the stalls. or a worrying combination of both.

sasuke is alone, as laurent had been. it would be easy to leave him here — and it's quite a compelling thought, once sasuke relinquishes the heavy pressure of his arm, but laurent makes the mistake of assessing him too intimately, recognizing the disoriented haze that he knows all too well, memories from childhood that cling to him too strongly even now. his gaze hardens. ]

Laurent. [ he makes himself nonthreatening, even casual, though his eyes are sharp as they follow sasuke's movements. he's still holding his empty glass in one hand, which he lifts now, carefully, before tossing it into the bushes. in the other hand he holds the silk square of cloth, once rejected, but sasuke is still wet from laurent's earlier carelessness, and he makes a second attempt at an offer. ] Who did you think I was?

[ he's not altogether expecting an answer, but he does step closer, this time pressing the cloth directly to sasuke's open collar. his skin does not make contact, but he can feel the damp seeping through the silk, wetting his fingertips. ]

Take it. [ he withdraws his hand and rolls his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest. ] You have friends. In your state, you should go be with them.

[chokuto]

[The threat passes, though clarity continues to prove some hopeless dream. Before him, Laurent is ghostly and unreal — familiar and wholly alien to him at once, whatever features recalling the most significant person in his life washed out to the realization they are not the same. Laurent is paler, leaner; his hair is longer and his gaze is colder; he is a glass doll to a monument of stone. Sasuke exhales through his nose, closing his eyes for the brief moment it takes to hear that voice speaking to him and process its meaning.

He looks again only when there is pressure on his chest, and there is a minute flinch of reflexive muscle in his body, but he holds still.]

No. [Friends. Is that what it is? It's exactly the word Naruto would use.] In this condition, I can't. I am dangerous to them.

[The hand of his right arm lifts as Laurent withdraws, passing contact in the graze of a wrist over the backs of delicate knuckles to ensure the handkerchief isn't dropped now that it's no longer attended. He presses his palm flat to the damp silk; it feels as though he's holding it over a wound.]

... His name is Naruto. [Hesitantly, this confession slips from his lips unwilling — the part of him that viciously guards such secrets now weaker, depleted, unable to keep up its guard tonight.] I thought you looked like him, but you don't.

[wrists]

[ naruto. the blond, loud one. laurent has been trying to learn the citizens that arrived around the same time, not by getting to know any of them, really, but by watching and listening. some of them seem to get along well. sasuke seems to have known this one from before. ]

He's your friend. If you go to him, he'll watch over you until your — state has passed.

[ he's reciting information he has an understanding of but lacks experience in. laurent has not made any friends or allies of his own — not here, and not back home, if arles can be called that, and has never had anyone to watch over him. not since auguste, and the little boy that used to look up to his brother no longer exists. if not for sasuke, on his first night here, he likely would have found himself lying vulnerable in a gutter somewhere, ready to be exploited by the first hands that found him.

it bothers him, enormously, that he'd come so close to such a fate. that he's already lived it, again and again, stained in a way so permanent that no amount of time and effort will save his bloodline now that auguste is gone. and now he owes sasuke a debt, because he hadn't taken his coins or his stolen goods, and owing the man chafes against his desire to never speak of what transpired in the first place. ]

If you mistook a stranger for him, he's at the forefront of your thoughts. [ best to push him toward someone better suited for this rotten work. ] Is he at the festivities? I'll fetch him. I'm certain he'll come if you ask.

𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐨 | feast

[chokuto]

[Many of the effects of a delirious night have faded, but some remain, vestiges clinging to the edge of his awareness so that everything has become pleasant and unfettered. He's had those Grablenuts, spice still on his tongue; he's also had a cup of warm crimson tea pushed gladly into his hands, its heat a comfort to the skin. Neither are sweet, and he is grateful for that. Tomorrow he'll wonder what caused him to disregard caution so completely, ignorant to the fact that what he's consumed has stripped him of inhibitions enough to uproot every flag of concern in his mind. Thankfully, the damage is minimal — he is still himself.

Yet he is cold. Sasuke shivers against the invisible chill, finding his path turned toward the outer edges of Mirth, where the streets are less populous, less brightly lit, where festival-goers have built small, contained campfires where the road leads to the corn mazes and distant farmland. And where he can sense Naruto's chakra through the tether of dual resonance — a torch that draws him easily, effortlessly, in this altered state. An unconscious comfort luring him out of the chill of his surroundings, his own mind. The hot immensity of that presence is at the center of attention; there's no way he could turn anywhere else.

And still, amid his dreamy contentment, a part of Sasuke remembers their last conversation. It's what makes his approach now feel significant. He doesn't disguise himself, and he's been tracking Naruto's whereabouts for most of the night — it seems only natural they would come together in the end.

He sees his friend near one of the campfires, smiling, watching a group of children chase each other in weaving circles around bales of hay. His voice rises high enough to be heard.]

Naruto.

[acknowledgement]

[Twilight has gently eased the way for night now, the stars glittering above in a dark cosmos so unlike their own. Naruto recognizes no constellation here, though he cranes his neck to look for nearly half an hour. With each passing day, it seems less and less likely that they will be returning home anytime soon. Maybe someone else would have lost steam, but he has continued relentlessly searching their new environs for clues. Beneath the baggy, wide-collared orange hoodie he wears, his body slowly heals from the latest attempt to gather information; with how unreliable his abilities have become, the Netherworld has proven exceedingly dangerous to traverse. He might have enlisted Sasuke or Sakura for backup, but—

ʜɪs ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ʜᴇʟʟʜᴏʟᴇ ʙʏ ɴᴏᴡ. ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇ ʜᴀʟғ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴋᴀɢᴇ ᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴏ ᴡᴀs. ʜɪs ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴏɴ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ. ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀᴄᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴜsᴇғᴜʟ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴛᴏᴘs ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴜᴇ...

Crack.

Blinking, Naruto glances downward. The outer shell of the grablenut that he had been holding split under the pressure of his tightening grip. Well, he supposes now is as good a time as any to start picking at it. With a mental shrug, the young man banishes the bleak thoughts from his mind and begins to eat absently. Meanwhile, his gaze searches the crowds. In doing so, he catches the eye of more than one passerby. Though he offers an amicable smile each time, only a few Restless return the expression. Still, it’s a better reception than the kind he received as a boy back in Konohagakure; Naruto remains in high spirits.

A group of children begin playing nearby, drawing his attention. But even as he watches them in vague amusement, the jinchūriki’s focus homes in on the chakra signature making a beeline for his position. Sasuke. The simple fact his best friend has sought him out comes as a sharp relief, manifesting in an exhale that seems to relieve some of the invisible weight clinging to his heart. Their last conversation had not ended on a pleasant note—and it was unusual for them to leave tension hanging by a thread without culminating into a physical fight. Naruto almost messaged Sasuke a dozen times in the interim, hoping to smooth things over. Words had failed him every time. “I’m sorry” was not a phrase common to their shared vocabulary.]

Hey, [he greets his friend, and despite an anticipation for the moment to be awkward, Naruto finds himself only capable of a pleased, sincere smile as soon as his eyes land on Sasuke.] Surprised you’re here. Didn’t think you were much of a partier.

[Naruto startles. His hand, completely without conscious thought, has spanned the gap separating them to fasten securely around Sasuke’s wrist. The action, for all that he’s surprised by it, still feels natural. So the blond doesn’t resist the prickling urge demanding he tug Sasuke closer—shoulder to shoulder, warmth radiating along their seams like they were two halves of one former whole.]

[chokuto]

[He hadn't thought he would be turned away — Naruto isn't seemingly capable of such coldness, no matter their differences over the years — but the friendlier welcome is unexpected. That hand leashes his wrist, left to right in a reunion of lost pieces, pulling him in around the fire. Naruto is smiling; there's a sincerity in bright, blue eyes that he's seen before. He'd anticipated anger, or disappointment, or discomfort, or any other emotion discolored with negativity, yet all he finds in his best friend is an effusive warmth. His own shirt is a darker contrast to Naruto's brightly loud jacket, but that's as familiar to him as that smile. It would be stranger if he'd found Naruto in a duller color.

And if it was anyone else, Sasuke wouldn't have allowed himself to be reeled in uncomplaining, compliant despite the permanent tension that he tends to hold in his body always. For a moment, a fraction of that washes away — physicality isn't a new phenomenon between them but rarely is it gentle like this. Companionable, still, but more purposeful. He accepts the close press between their sides, grateful for the heat that radiates from Naruto's body. He nudges at that shoulder with his own.]

Do I look to you as though I'm partying? [The remark is dry, not sharp or actually defensive.] If anything, I would have expected you to be in the crowd, yet you're all the way over here.

[There's a huff behind the observation, like he's exasperated by having to go and search for Naruto, but it's not real sentiment. They weren't lost from one another. They can find each other easily. Mismatched eyes lower to the remnants of food from before, recognizing the brown shell of the Grablenuts.]

Did you like it?

[acknowledgement]

[That nudge earns the young man a huge, conspiratorial grin. Since childhood, Sasuke has rarely tolerated physical affection; for him to now return it, even in so small a gesture, lights up the darkest corridors of Naruto’s troubled mind. Though they may not be soulmates by Netherworld definition, the presence of his best friend now chases away the corrupting influence of the shadow just as effectively. For the moment, the jinchūriki can breathe without the hot press of old anger and resentment bearing down upon him like the wrath of the midday summer sun. For the moment, he can simply be himself. No, more than merely himself—with Sasuke by his side, Naruto is whole again. This is how it was always meant to be between them, he thinks. Together, in every sense of the word.

ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴛ ʜᴇ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ sᴀsᴜᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ—ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴋᴏɴᴏʜᴀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴏ. ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀɢʀᴇᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ sʜɪɴᴏʙɪ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴀ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ sᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀs. ɪғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴏɴ ᴅɪғғᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴀᴛʜs ɪɴ ʟɪғᴇ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡᴀs ɪᴛ? ғᴏʀ sᴀsᴜᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ, ғᴏʀ ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴋᴀɢᴇ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ... ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ. ᴀʟʟ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ. ALL WRONG.

Naruto tunes out the inner voice trying to sow the seeds of chaos and strife. With a companionable squeeze in parting, he releases Sasuke’s wrist and then takes a seat on a log set before the fire. The heat generated by the crackling flames feels good on his skin, even as some of the fading bruising at his collarbones shies from the light.]

Like it…? [he echoes after a time, distracted. Something within him aggressively answers very much so, but Naruto can’t be sure what it’s in reaction to. Eventually, his gaze follows the mismatched pair to his hand.] Oh, ha! It’s good. Spicer than it looks. Want some?

[Unaware that his friend has already partook in the fruit, he offers up the remains now.]

C’monnn, try it! Betcha you’ll like it too. Or are my germs too much for ya?

[chokuto]

[The longer he stays in Naruto's company, the more relaxation begins to bleed through him, a low warmth that spreads through limbs and edges a line of contentment. Not something he's accustomed to, but where its presence would normally attract attention or obsessive analysis — Sasuke lets it go, and simply follows the flow of the moment as he moves after his friend to the log by the fire. He takes the space beside him; there is a reasonable gap between their bodies, but far less than he might ordinarily place. Only a sideways lean would connect them again.]

I've already had some. [Then, why is he reaching for the remnants of the Grablenut all the same? Sasuke scoops the peeled, flaky outer shell into his right hand and lifts it up, making quick work of the soft, gooey center in efficient licks before he crunches on the shell. He speaks after he's swallowed the remainder and wiped his hand clean on a knee.] ... It isn't bad. I don't mind the spice, but there's some sweetness I don't like as much. At least it isn't that strong.

[And it feels good, a fact that in Naruto's reassuring presence isn't half as alarming as it should be. It hits him immediately — a heady rush that leaves him looser, less concerned with the voice of his own thoughts, less preoccupied by problems and questions and obstacles. A delirious sort of distraction that causes him to nudge in to reinstate physical contact between their shoulders.]

What are you doing out here alone?

cw: stupid oblivious gays

[acknowledgement]

[Even such a miniscule gap separating their bodies feels intolerable, though Naruto is distracted from a niggling need to close it by the exchange of fruit. Beaming with approval, he watches his friend closely as the nut is carefully consumed—searching for even the slightest shift in expression to indicate that Sasuke is enjoying it. As to be expected, the brunet complains about the sweetness, which Naruto had personally not noticed. A surge of affection sweeps through him at the simple fact that the other boy’s preferences haven’t changed since their time together as Team Seven. For Sakura, sweet or sour tastes were best. For Sasuke, salty or neutral. Despite a poor history of cooking for himself, Naruto is suddenly inspired to try preparing meals for both his teammates. It would be worth the mess, he thinks, if it would bring them even a small measure of happiness. He owes Sakura especially; she facilitated a custom order and delivery of ramen for him in this strange world, after all.

Sasuke slides in, their bodies now touching casually from shoulder to shoulder. It’s both overwhelming and too little all at once. Blissfully unaware of the intoxicating effect that the Grablenut has had on him, Naruto turns and wordlessly hauls his best friend into his lap—single arm locked tight around Sasuke’s middle to hold him in place. This is better, he decides happily, pressing his forehead to the patch of bare nape afforded by the shirt Sasuke wears. Much better.]

Heh. I’m never alone. [A remark that should be in reference to Kurama; the tightening hug of his arm indicates someone else entirely.] Not anymore.

[The press of Sasuke’s bony spine against his chest aggravates some of the bruising, but the blond hardly registers the dull throb of pain. Warmth and contentment spread throughout his limbs like a drug, reminding him of the best moments in his life—meeting his parents, traveling with Jiraiya, sharing food with Iruka… If only it could always be like this.]

Hey, a friend of mine told me about a game called football. It’s all about kicking a ball into a net or…something. [Well, Jonas had meant soccer, but it’s understandable how Naruto confused the sports.] We gotta get him to teach us. Then I can kick your ass a whole new way.

𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚 | parade

[chokuto]

[He sees her first before she sees him.

The parade is chaotic: a mass of moving bodies clad in colorfully patterned fabric, rhythmic music in the air, children darting around longer legs to wedge in closer to the street for a better view. Sasuke isn't there with keen interest in seeing or participating in the parade as its audience — it's simply impossible to escape. He'd taken one road to navigate out of Mirth in the deepening night, only to find his way obstructed by streamers and volunteers blocking the path of the procession. So he had turned and doubled back and found himself further enmeshed in gathering crowds, somewhere closer to the heart of the district.

He considers, in a state of heightening agitation, the feasibility of leaping to the tops of the buildings to take a more direct exit. In readiness, he even gathers chakra into the soles of his feet and begins looking for an accessible route.

Then he catches sight of a head of pink hair in the crowd, accompanied by that familiarly crisp, cool chakra signature, and Sasuke hesitates too long. They're close — it would only take a few steps to reach her. He wonders why she's here. For the parade, or some other aspect of the festival? It's the first he's seen her outside the docks up to her elbows in medical work. He remembers their last conversation, sharp as it had lingered in his mind. So when a child rams into his legs from behind, Sasuke is off-guard enough to stumble, right hand out to catch her shoulder—]

Sakura, wait—

[... only, as his stomach swoops with the tilted nausea of sudden disorientation, he finds himself looking up at... himself? Looking up?

At himself?]

What...

[craters]

（ it was one of the people she'd helped at the docks who pulled her towards the parade, affixing ribbons to the collar of her jacket in a gaudy array of colours like the spill of a waterfall towards her hips. she'd tolerated it, as much as having anything as easy to grab as long hair put her on edge — but after all, part of being a shinobi is being able to blend in with the population anywhere. there's no real reason not to participate. she lets herself be guided along, lost in the thronging crush of bodies. people are eager to hand out candy she politely turns down, and drink she graciously refuses.

it's funny, that even years after the fourth war, her mind can relate everything back to it somehow. this innocent gathering, where there's no real danger to be had, harkens strongly to the mobs of white zetsu they'd fought on the fields, and she finds herself smelling blood and offal even when there's none. the crowd presses in, people butting shoulders and arms against her, children careen senselessly into her legs, shrieking in what has to be delight but that translates through that war-filter to horror and fear. perhaps that's why she misses him at first. why, when he stumbles into her she barely reaches to steady him, and when her fingers clasp on at his arm it's as if the world has given way beneath her feet. the weightless lurch leaves her breathless, and her vision is strangely blurred. she feels completely severed from her senses, the uncanny out-of-body experience she's heard people describe near death — looking at her own face wearing a mask of confusion and lingering horror.

at first, it's taken clinically. she's experiencing an adverse reaction to the crowds, she's disassociated from the experience — she just needs to sit somewhere quiet a moment and breathe. but when she opens her mouth to say as much, her teeth feel wrong. they sit strangely behind her lips and the press of her tongue finds a faint chip to an incisor she's certain wasn't there before.

she blinks, and looks down. why is she so tall? and what is she —

she wearing?

she makes a sound that's a perfect marriage between dismay and shock, and then claps a hand over her mouth because the sound that came out was absolutely nothing like her. that hand — the right one, because that's the only one this body has — stifles the high-pitched squeak that would have otherwise followed, because this is sasuke, she's in sasuke's body somehow.

her first thought, apropos of nothing, is that she's somehow performed ino's mind transfer jutsu completely by accident. enough strange things have gone on with her powers that she'd be willing to believe it, but even that explanation falls feebly flat.

one thing is certain, they need to get out of this crowd.

she grabs... herself, her own body, and starts cutting diagonally to get out of the crowd. later, perhaps, she'll think of the fact that people developed a tendency to scatter rather than remain in the path of her onward march, but at the moment she's only thinking of getting out.

safety, in this instance, is the beacon of a crumbling wellhouse, and she shoulders the door in and hauls both herself and — her...self? inside. her chakra feels wrong, static and ozone rather than the gentle solidity of earth, and it's making her so unsettled she feels claustrophobic. ）

Sasuke — （ no time for honourifics, her voice is low and urgent and as familiar as her own in a way that's still startling to hear — ） is this something the Rinnegan can do?

[chokuto]

[It's wrong. Everything about this is wrong. In the stunned wake of his own horror, there's no resistance to being pulled along, although reflexively he expands his senses to determine whether they've been cast into a genjutsu — but the reach is limited, stopped short by the fact that he does not have Sharingan. He doesn't possess it at all. The heirloom, birthright, and powerful tool he's sheltered in himself since birth is completely gone, and it feels as though he's lost another limb in place of the left arm he's regained. The world feels blunted, slowed to a terrifying crawl where anything could happen and he wouldn't be able to stop it. Paranoia is a sudden rushing physical sensation of panic — sweat, racing heart, warped vision, tightness in his chest. He can't breathe.

The nightmare doesn't end even when they've stopped moving, and Sakura — supposedly it is Sakura who looks like him, wearing his eyes and his face — asks him a question that he almost can't hear. He reaches out to take his own body by the throat and slam it against the wall, pulsing with someone else's chakra, with her chakra, monstrous strength in the swing of his arm driven by the spike of reactionary alarm and his own Shadow's propensity for violence, and — he stops with his hand on his own throat.

Sakura's hand on his throat. His eyes are wide, pale green, staring with an expression contorted with so much fear and anger both it doesn't look right.

Anyway, no. Hopefully that answers your question.]

[craters]

（ 10-4, answer received loud and clear — but also, learn some fucking manners, sasuke.

she recognizes the fear in her own expression, scraped raw with rage, and she realizes that if she doesn't fight back he might actually choke her unconscious with her own calloused hands. she needs to put distance between them, and fast.

there's a spot on her right side, torn open several days ago from a reaper's scythe, half-healed with the chakra she could spare at the moment but still very much an injury that adrenaline has likely dulled down to nothing in his mind. she lifts his right arm, braces it on her body's right wrist and then twists, delivering a kick sharply to that area to knock sasuke back. her own body may be physically stronger when enhanced with chakra, but sasuke's is quicker, and he's never thought much of her taijutsu anyway — he probably won't be expecting her to use her own vulnerabilities against him. ）

Stop it. （ she hisses out, angrily. ） It's me, it's Sakura — calm down.

（ sasuke has more reason than most to be distraught over someone else being in his body — and she gets that. but she's not going to tolerate him trying to grind her into paste against a wall, either. she can be gentle with him later, but right now she needs him to stop panicking. ）

1/2

[chokuto]

[He's not adjusted to the body that he occupies, hasn't had time to catalogue or assess its present state — she knows exactly where, how to strike. Sasuke doesn't buckle over or fall, but his grip slackens and he's driven back, like a dog's jaws unhinged from vulnerable prey, corralled by pain. It radiates from his side, surprising him; he didn't have a wound there before. His own body is run ragged from the past few days exploring the territory of the Netherworld, right arm singed and sore and aching from continuous practice with one-handed seals, but all of that is gone and this injury is new.

It doesn't belong to him. Cemented, then, into the reality of what he's facing, Sasuke stands panting in the narrow, cramped, dark room close to the window, light from festival strings illuminating his harrowed expression.]

What the hell is going on?

[Calm insofar as his mind is functioning again outside the deep pit of panic and fear, but the anger burns cold inside of him nonetheless. He feels weak. The deep pool of his chakra has shrunken, a more finely tuned instrument he doesn't know how to use. Wrong.

Sasuke's head drops, and he looks over himself.]

[chokuto]

[Oh. Those... sure are... there... on his chest.]

Sakura. We need to fix this.

[craters]

（ what are you. what are you looking — WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? SASUKE, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY ZERO REASON TO LOOK DOWN RIGHT NOW!! sakura goes red right to the tips of her borrowed ears, and then she is ripping the cloak right off her (sasuke's) shoulders and slinging it aggressively around her own body, where it goes disappointingly past her knees (who ever let him get so much taller than her?!) and looks a little like a formless sack but at least that's better than this. ）

Stop looking! Stop even thinking about it!

（ ahhHHHHH THIS IS NOT HOW SHE EVER IMAGINED SASUKE BEING INSIDE HER BODY???? ）