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Naruto never moved out of his old apartment, that small place with its smaller kitchen and only one window. Only two things have changed: the photo of Team 7 by his bedside is gone because it lives at his office now, and the single bed frame and mattress have been donated and replaced with a futon, a well-made one that’s large and wide and plush enough for two.
As with most mornings at Naruto’s apartment, Sasuke wakes up with Naruto’s leg thrown over him and a blanket bunched up around his own body. Naruto’s bare chest is exposed, the sun drawing lines across smooth, perfect skin through the thin blinds.
Outside, shadows shift.
Sasuke rolls to the side to face Naruto, who likes to sleep in nothing but those ridiculous frog-patterned boxers, and pokes him in the ribs. “Wake up, dobe.”
A side effect of living as a shinobi is the ability to wake at the lightest touch, something even Naruto has not forgotten, despite his years off missions, because he blinks awake almost instantly.
He makes a sleepy sound, eyes closing again. “Nothing’s on fire.”
Sasuke grabs a shirt off the floor and slips into it before leaning over Naruto’s sleeping face. He bends down, slowly and slowly, until their noses touch and blue eyes flutter open to meet his. Sasuke dips down a little closer and when their lips touch, he feels Naruto’s mouth curve into a smile.
He draws back up. “Wake up, dobe.”
“‘s better. I can think of an even better way...”
Sasuke swats his hand away. “There’s ANBU crawling around outside. Again.”
“That’s what bodyguards do. They guard the body they are supposed to,” Naruto says, cradling his arm with a pout. Sasuke contemplates kissing it off his face.
“You’re not worried that news will spread?”
“About us? Nah. ANBU answers directly to me, not the village. Not even Shikamaru will find out. I don’t know how many times they’ve seen me wrestle with the packaging of my instant ramen...and lose.”
“And you don’t question their loyalty?”
“They don’t have seals on their tongues like Root, but we’ve been doing this for weeks and no one has said anything, right?”
Sasuke frowns. “Seals?”
“Right, I forgot you and Sai barely know each other.”
“Who?” Sasuke asks in mock innocence and this time, Naruto is the one who tries to jab him in the ribs.
“Root agents had a seal on their tongue so they couldn’t talk about Danzo.”
Sasuke looks at him, and Naruto stares right back.
“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Naruto says with a groan.
“Isn't there something fundamentally wrong with an organisation that pledges absolute loyalty to one single person?”
“In case you forgot, Sasuke, we’re still shinobi even though it may seem we’re more like boring, old politicians these days. We are meant to do awful things all the time.”
“Not now, not in awhile,” Sasuke counters swiftly. “Not when—”
“You have the power to change things. Don’t talk to me about drafting a policy to limit the powers of ANBU or whatever. It’s too early in the morning for your ideas,” Naruto replies, taking his pillow and pulling it over his head before burrowing dramatically into the mattress.
Sasuke reaches out. Naruto puts up a half-hearted fight before surrendering to his fingers, his hands, his pull. He draws Naruto’s back against his chest and he’s inundated by the scent of skin and a warmth that soaks him to the bone. Naruto makes a happy sound and Sasuke can’t help but smile into his hair.
They have the rest of their lives: to do this, to change the village.
It has been seven weeks to be exact; forty nine days in Konoha with no end date.
There is no more reason to leave, not when they both agreed to have ANBU assigned indefinitely to the investigations Sasuke has been looking into.
He even has his own place in the village now, at the Daimyo’s official residence. He waved off Naho’s offer when she proposed it and told her patiently he would find his way and his own place, like he’s always done, but she refused to budge.
Of course, the Daimyo always wins.
Keep the place in working order, she had said with a smile, and that was that.
The Daimyo’s official residence is a circular, three-storey building at the edge of Konoha. As the closest thing to a palace in the village, it’s poised away from the centre and its main arteries, which Sasuke is grateful for. Here, there’s enough unobstructed sky and silence that if he closes his eyes, he could be anywhere in the world.
The ground floor houses the meeting room, an expansive dining room and kitchen, while the second floor is filled with comfortable rooms for attendants and officials. The topmost floor is reserved for the Daimyo: a Western-style bedroom with an adjacent office, which Sasuke leaves bare and empty.
He chooses a room on the second floor, one that faces the lake.
It’s simple and not nearly as elegant as his room in Akako, but it’s comfortable enough and he has his own bathroom and the firm futon is big enough for Naruto, too.
Sasuke doesn’t always sleep over at Naruto’s apartment, because more often than not, Naruto spends his nights at the Hokage’s office. If Kaguya was paperwork, Naruto likes to lament, everyone would still be stuck in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.
When Naruto is not around, Sasuke has this slice of silence to go through scrolls scribbled with his thoughts and recommendations. It takes him back to the days of years past, back to a failed uprising and the burden of an impossible decision, set upon the shoulders of his only brother.
This too is like a coup.
This time, he is armoured with ideas and a pervasive influence, and he’s still learning how much stronger it is than a blade or any bloodline limit.
Today, he makes his way towards the Hokage’s office.
The route from the Daimyo’s official residence takes him past Konoha Hospital, and as its peach walls and baby blue roof comes into sight, Sasuke smiles.
Construction was fast and efficient. A new wing, painted in the same peach and blue with matching green accents, towers proudly from the back of the existing hospital.
It’s the home of the Mental Health Unit, now known as Sakura’s Mental Health Department.
Sometimes, he catches sight of her through the wide windows, pink ponytail swinging as she walks briskly in deep conversation with nurses, therapists, or government officials in foreign garbs. Her hair is longer now.
There are many things he’s done that cannot be taken back, even if they can be forgiven. As a fellow teammate on Team 7, Sakura was and always has been too forgiving; resolve too weak, heart too open. As a friend, she is one of the few he knows he can trust completely.
He’s never needed friends - he’s always been surrounded by people. As a child at the Academy, he was its star. In Team 7, he was the centre of attention: Sakura’s adoration, Naruto’s push-pull interest, Kakashi’s focus. At Otogakure, he was the chosen one. In Team Taka, he was its treacherous heart.
Naho probably counts as a friend, and his most powerful one too.
At first, he doesn’t understand why she would be willing to do so much as to trust him. He had asked why, back when he was at Akako as her guest after the coronation, all she says is his name and instantly, he understands. She goes on to explain, though.
“That day, Naruto said you had a lot on your mind and asked if I could forgive you. Honestly? I was terrified of you. You saved me from that fall, but you were going to kill that man with your bare hands. Naruto said you were a good guy, and I knew the guy who saved me had to be someone good.”
“Ah,” he replies. “Naruto.”
“He’s a great guy,” she continues. “His name has travelled far - even to our ranks! I’m glad he’s the leader of Fire’s hidden village.”
“Me too,” he answers honestly.
“What happened to your arm?”
He blinks at her and she looks right back, cheek in hand, eyes brimming with innocent curiosity despite the change in subject and invasive question. She’s one of the few who doesn’t see him as his last name or felt the weight that comes with the history of his eyes. To her, he is just Uchiha Sasuke, the boy who once saved her life.
She reminds him of Naruto. Those big, round eyes and the radiating honesty do not help.
Sasuke tells her, as honestly as he can. “We fought. There was so much to lose...in the end, all we lost were our arms and he saved me.”
“So you guys worked it out at the end.” And then she smiles at him like they are already friends.
A week later, she invites him to join her in a stuffy meeting room, filled with advisors dressed in tall red hats and unreadable expressions.
Five days after that, she appoints him as her executive representative to Konoha.
“Naho-hime, I don’t think I can accept—”
“Something happened, right? Before your fight. That was why he said you were a different person?”
“...Yes.”
“Have those things been fixed?”
For several breaths, he tried to find the word. He settles with the closest version of the truth. “Mostly.”
She nods. “I’m new to the job, but I have eyes and ears. I may be young but I’ve heard stories about how hidden villages are dark places, and I want to see the village thrive under my reign. Take this as a chance to clean everything else up.”
It always circles back to him and Naruto, to halves and hemispheres. During the war, they were sun and moon, two parts of one higher power. Here it returns to them as the power of the Feudal Lord and its Hokage, an imperial country and its military village.
Before the village and his goals, he is fixing what he can for his friends first. A new hospital wing is easy; decreasing the amount of paperwork for Naruto is harder. The solution that comes to him is so simple he almost laughs.
The Hokage’s Mansion looming ahead breaks him out of his reviere. He enters the building, where ANBU defer with bowed heads to allow him access into the office.
It’s empty, save for the Hokage who is slouched over the desk, pen loose in his bandaged hand.
“Sasuke!” he says, perking up. “Are you here to save me?”
“How can I do that?”
“You can let me take you home and f—”
Sasuke gives him a look. “Finish that sentence here and you’ll lose that other arm, Hokage-dono.”
“...We can go to Ichiraku for a nice, normal dinner between two old friends,” Naruto finishes instead.
He nods. “Pack it up and bring your paperwork with you.”
“I can just finish it here after dinner…”
“I’m going to help you, dobe.”
“You don’t know my signature. It’s fancy and very hard to imitate.”
“I have the Sharingan.”
Naruto’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t I think of this before…?”
“Because you’re still an idiot.”
“Shut up,” Naruto says happily, standing up to gather together a bunch of papers. “In case you don’t know, it’s extremely illegal and goes against everything in the Hokage’s rulebook of ethics—”
“Who’s going to stop us, ANBU?” Sasuke asks with an easy smirk.
Naruto beams and Sasuke feels something swell up in his chest. Naruto doesn’t know this, but he has never needed a Rasengan or the Kyuubi to kill him - every time Sasuke faced those eyes, this smile, it carved away something in him for a tiny, excruciating death. How easy it still is for Naruto to steal his breath away, after all these years, even after all this time.
He wakes up slowly with Naruto curled up like a comma next to him, their spines soft with sleep and limbs tender with pleasure. They’re in his room, the lake outside the window sparkling and shifting under the early morning light.
“Sasuke,” Naruto says as a good morning, tugging him close. “Do you realise Konoha doesn’t have a police force?”
“Hn,” he mumbles sleepily. He does know, but it’s something he doesn’t think about often. The Konoha Military Police Force died with the clan. “It was never restored.”
“What do you think?” Naruto asks carefully, words heavy and tone feather light at the same time. “Do you want it back?”
Sasuke stares at the ceiling, vision focusing as the sleepiness dissipates. “It’s not about what I want. Does the village need a police force?”
“I think it’ll be a good pathway for shinobi who don’t want to leave the village for long-term missions. It could bridge the space between civilians and shinobi too, since the police force is just a domestic shinobi organisation.” Against his shoulder, Naruto presses a warm cheek into his skin and he feels a surge of pure contentment. He’s never felt so steady, so anchored in any moment before.
“Does the village have the budget?”
He can feel Naruto chew the inside of his cheek. “We can work something out. Do you think Naho can help?”
Sasuke nods. “I can draft out a proposal. No more scapegoating it to a single clan. There can be applications and tests to pass. It will be set up as an independent entity, held accountable to the village and its people.”
“Sounds good,” he replies happily.
Sasuke turns his head and Naruto’s face is too close. There are darker flecks in Naruto’s unblinking eyes. “Naruto, thank you.”
He knows he’s not the only one pushing for change, and the knowledge that he’s not doing this alone is enough to make the back of his throat seize up.
Naruto’s eyes burn as he tugs at his hand and this is enough to move Sasuke in and close the gap between them. Even now, his heart still trembles like it did when he was a teenager. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever get used to the feeling of Naruto pressing up against him; his one and only, his Hokage, his everything.
In between kisses, Sasuke pulls away to breathe Naruto in and speak. “You’ll need to bring it up to the council while I—”
“Stop talking, you bastard,” Naruto pants into his mouth.
He wants to keep going just to rile Naruto up but acquiescing is too easy when happiness is right here, perfect in its simplicity: the sun pouring down over them, the shadows kept in their corners, Naruto’s hot mouth on his, Naruto needy hands pushing into his pants.
The ANBU Captain has questions.
“Will the budget for this police force come from fresh funds? Or will it be channelled from existing organisations?”
The new Executive Council is made out of an ANBU Captain, a Jonin Captain, a director from the Konoha Hospital, a senior teacher from the Academy, and an administration official. The executive representative of the Daimyo, the Hokage, and his advisor complete the group that represents the interests of Konoha.
“It’ll be both,” Sasuke explains. “Some funds will be directed from ANBU and a part of it will be an increase in the budget.”
They’re holding this meeting at the Hokage Mansion, around a large round table in a basement meeting room. Naruto is right on the other side of him. The ANBU Captain has a Hawk mask on, so Sasuke can’t see his expression but from the way his chakra distorts and the amount of effort he’s putting into suppressing it, Sasuke doesn’t think he’s very happy with the answer.
“What does the Hokage think of this proposal?”
“This is actually my proposal. Shikamaru will double check my calculations later, but from my numbers, nothing will be affected on the payment or manpower side of things. I’ve been thinking of reducing the number of personal guards assigned to me anyway, so we’ll have more agents in the general pool,” Naruto says, pointedly looking everywhere except in Sasuke’s direction.
This is news to Sasuke; he bites down a chuckle.
“With all due respect, Hokage-sama, Sasuke-sama. These...reforms aren’t easy to swallow,” the ANBU Captain says neutrally. His chakra pathway is anything but neutral.
“I agree,” Sasuke replies. “Rebuilding a broken system isn’t supposed to be easy.”
Sasuke makes it a point to walk around Konoha.
Back then, he looked but never saw - the village was always just a prop, a backdrop in the grand scheme of things. The narrow alleys and wide main streets were a foreign land; most of his time during happier days were spent in the comfort of the Uchiha compound, filled with friendly faces and his favourite snacks.
They learn at the Academy that shinobi should never place all their eggs in one basket. Sasuke doesn’t grasp the weight of Iruka’s lesson until he loses his family, his home, his world, all at once.
Ever since his parents died, no place has felt like home. Oto’s subterranean tunnels feel more familiar than these streets; Konoha is a meaningless symbol on a headband. People have always been more of a home to him than any physical place: Team 7 was its own world of mismatched teamwork and inside jokes, while hunting Itachi down was vengeance as much as it was a homecoming. Now, there is Naruto.
Still, he walks. One foot in front of the other, over and over again.
He stocks up on groceries from small shops and he doesn’t hide his face when he makes his way down the winding pathways filled with civilians and shinobi, adults and squealing children. When he buys eggs, he puts them into two separate bags.
Sasuke likes to think that the village is healing, slowly but surely, because Naruto’s face is carved into the rock and his open, warm face, with those whiskers etched into cheeks and so very close, is the last thing he sees before he surrenders to sleep.
Three months in Konoha.
Once a week, Sasuke helps Naruto with paperwork back at his room, Naruto’s messy notes surrounding the space, Naruto’s scent in his sheets, Naruto’s sheer exuberance ringing in his ears.
Naruto complains he never sees Sakura any more, not since she got her new wing at the hospital. The establishment of the police force is coming along, bit by bit. Sasuke knows he can’t rush change - sometimes all it takes is a heartbeat, the same amount of time it took for his and Naruto’s lives to be destroyed, but sometimes it takes the better part of a lifetime, like all that it has taken for them to arrive here.
This will be the biggest upheaval Konoha will see.
Sasuke’s favourite place to discuss revolution is in bed. He explains it calmly and clearly to Naruto, who rubs sleepily at his eyes but Sasuke knows he’s listening.
“Are you okay with this decision?” Sasuke asks, when he’s done outlining his plan.
“Is this what you really want?”
“Yes.” He’s given it a lot of thought.
“Then don’t think so hard or worry so much,” Naruto says with a yawn. “I told you I’d sign off on anything you propose, and I never go back on my word.”
“I don’t want an agreement just because you feel obliged to. I want to know if this is something Konoha’s Hokage would agree with, not just Uzumaki Naruto.” His eyes fall on the plant in the corner, a slight thing with large verdant leaves, something Naruto gifted him recently. A new friend for your new room!
“I want to change the village as much as you do. The process is not going to be easy,” Naruto admits, “but when has something like that ever stopped us?”
When Sasuke turns back to him, Naruto is already asleep, limbs akimbo and he presses himself a little closer. He allows himself to melt into the moment, muscle and bone and soul, heart soft and full.
This revolution, like love, comes quietly.
The process goes something like this: he runs through his ideas with Naruto on lazy mornings first. It’s not just a forewarning but Naruto’s chance to veto his recommendations as Hokage. Naruto never does. Next, he sends a scroll to Akako to seek the Daimyo’s approval. Naho always does. When it comes back with her seal, ink barely dry, Naruto will call a meeting with the Executive Council to discuss Sasuke’s recommendations, even though it’s nothing more than an illusion because these recommendations have already been approved by the Daimyo herself.
Politics and genjutsu are uncannily similar.
This time, he’s seated in the informal meeting room at the Daiymo’s residence, across Homura and Koharu and next to Naruto. There’s no audience and there no pretense, just the sound of scrolls unravelling in the hands of the two retired Councillors.
Sasuke watches them read the document. Next to him, Naruto’s spine is rigid with focus.
Finally, they look up, almost simultaneously. “What do you want from us?” Homura asks.
“Sign it. It cannot be any harder than agreeing to the order that night,” Sasuke says.
In their hands are two identical documents that summarise the truth of the Uchiha clan massacre. It names the leaders of Konoha as its instigators and concludes by clearing Uchiha Itachi’s name, only some twenty years too late. A section at the end of each scroll is left blank for their signatures, as formal recognition of their crimes.
“What will happen after this...?” Koharu whispers, all at once sounding very, very old.
Sasuke won’t lie - he had considered everything, from life imprisonment to execution. He tells them this, and they stare at him, barely blinking, their faces fixed with an expression so blank it’s as smooth as the masks ANBU hide behind. “Those who serve on the Executive Council will be told the truth. The scrolls will be housed in the library for public record and the truth will be included in the Academy’s history syllabus once you both die.”
“Of natural causes,” Naruto adds helpfully.
“There will be no more charges brought against you both,” Sasuke says, and he’s done. He has nothing left to say to the two of them.
Wordlessly, they pick up the pens placed on the table. The silence settles over them, thick as the blanket of leaves beyond the fence of the Daimyo residence, the one that borders the rolling hills. When it is done, it’s almost anti-climatic.
They do not apologise, but Sasuke is not here for that. It’s too late for those who truly deserve it: Itachi, Shisui, the clan, his eight-year-old self.
Konoha needs the truth more than ghosts need an apology.
Naruto signals for ANBU, and Sasuke sits in the chair and keeps his breathing steady as they are led out the room. He will not see them again. When they are alone, Naruto leans in close and takes his hand into his, one palm on top of the other, squeezing.
No blood spilled, no revenge taken, just a lie that has defined the lives of the last two Uchiha, acknowledged.
On the next exhale, Sasuke speaks. “We did it.”
“You did it.” The quiet pride in Naruto’s voice makes him react automatically. He reaches out to pull Naruto onto him, where Naruto lands half on his lap and they find themselves in an awkward, uncomfortable hug. Naruto’s surprised laughter bubbles up against his neck, hot and ticklish, at the very point where he can feel his pulse pound. It’s perfect.
Another comforting truth remains. There is, too, a future for his twenty-eight-year-old self here: of healing, in this village, next to Naruto.
Five months in Konoha; this is the longest he’s stayed voluntarily in the village since they won the war.
These are other truths he has collected: the plant lends a soothing presence to his room, Naruto still can’t cook anything other than instant ramen and miso soup, Konoha is turning over the leaves of its past.
It’s not always easy. On some days, Naruto says the wrong things and he says them too loudly. Other days, all he can see is his brother’s futile sacrifice and the unyielding way of their world, and his fingers itch because nothing can be saved so everything should be burned clean to the ground.
But the truth endures. He loves Naruto, sometimes with a smoldering ache, but mostly with a gentle, comforting inevitability. In time, with a lot more work, he knows he could grow to love the home that this new Konoha will become.