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The bed shifts; Sasuke barely stirs. Even in sleep, he can smell Naruto's chakra as clearly as he can smell the fresh flash of pine in a wood fire: familiar, warm, safe. Safe as long as the fire's circled with big white stones and the surrounding dirt cleared of brush, anyway. Safe, as long as you keep your wits about you and remember a fire is a fire after all.
A hand clamps across Sasuke's mouth like a vice, fingers digging dents into his cheeks, and the scent flares in a way that makes Sasuke feel as though he's stumbled right through a scattering of stones and stepped knee-deep into lit tinder.
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