Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Rich girls in fitted Ralph Lauren polos and white tennis skirts that caught the breeze - this was exactly what Sasuke Uchiha liked best. All of them were tanned, slim and single-minded in what they wanted - and it was him. After all, he was everything a girl like that could dream of. More than that, even - more than just obscenely rich, more than simply beautiful and more than merely intelligent.
He caught his own reflection in the rearview mirror of the convertible he was driving far too fast, narrowing his eyes as that unwelcome ripple of doubt slid in again. Almost absently, he gave a small shake of his head, as if to scatter the quiet, undermining thoughts that had lately begun to press against his certainty. Of course he was all of that. What else could he be? He was the youngest son of the Uchiha family, and in a small town like this, that meant fame, deference, and a kind of untouchable prestige. Rosewood was one of those suburbs where the rich and beautiful were collected like pearls on a string - and he, naturally, belonged among them.
Here, good manners meant you sailed, you played tennis, you did volunteer work. The last one, in particular, looked immaculate on applications to the elite colleges. Since Sasuke had no use for water and even less for other people, tennis had been the obvious choice. And of course - just as always - he was brilliant, winning every match.
Well… almost every match, a treacherous voice in him added.
His mouth tightened. He pressed harder on the gas at the memory of the rare losses - those matches that had ended with his racket hitting the ground and him walking off in a storm. Shame prickled at the thought of his teammates’ startled faces. To drive it out, he swung recklessly into an overtake in the middle of town, sliding back in just a breath ahead of the other car. His teeth clenched, as his dark eyes cut a sharp glare across the lane. He couldn’t explain where these thoughts kept coming from. His brother had simply thrown everything out of orbit. Moments later, with a squeal of tires, he pulled into the Rosewood Country Club lot, easing in among the rows of polished, expensive cars.
-
Weary from the match, Itachi Uchiha slung the oversized tennis bag over his shoulder and left the courts of the Rosewood Country Club. The vast grounds stretched away in manicured green, boxwoods clipped into shape, the overblown clubhouse rising like a monument to wealth. Too ostentatious for him - though, in truth, so was everything else in Rosewood. In recent months, the town’s posturing and excess had begun to grate on him in a way that was almost anger. No one here was honest. Everything was money, or the currency of being seen - at charity galas or at the terrace of the Country Club. None of it had ever meant much to him. But since what had happened in Cancún, questions had begun to surface that he could no longer ignore.
He would never dare tell his parents. The Uchihas were among the wealthiest and most influential families in Rosewood and his parents guarded their reputation with an almost religious obsession. Sooner or later, he would be expected to take up his inheritance and run the family law firm. No one had ever asked if he wanted to. His own wishes had never even entered the conversation. If it were his choice, he would study medicine, work to help people - not bury them in lawsuits and strip them of everything they had. His parents had driven more than a few into bankruptcy, forced others from their homes, all to enrich themselves and their elite clients. The thought of it stirred nausea and resentment in him. There’s not even a spark of empathy in them.
There was, in truth, no real space for his own life to take shape, the path had been set from the day he was born. The college had been chosen, the career prescribed and every single move plotted beforehand by his parents. Sasuke, unlike him, seemed perfectly content with the life laid out for him. He had become exactly what their parents had wanted - sliding neatly into the Rosewood tableau, as arrogant as anyone in it, as fixated on wealth, as cold and self-serving as their father. Itachi sighed. Once, it had been different with Sasuke. He could still remember the boy who had seen no lines and differences between himself and anyone else. But the truth was, his younger brother - whom he still loved - had been spoiled rotten by money and the hunger for prestige. It pained and unsettled him to watch Sasuke sow intimidation and vanity in equal measure, surrounded by people who only cared for the weight yet glow of the Uchiha name. And beneath it all, Itachi thought full of sorrow, Sasuke must be lonelier than anyone realized behind this very facade.
“Oh - hello.” - A familiar voice cut into his thoughts, which, as so often, had been circling others - most of all his brother. He turned to see Sasori, one of his oldest and closest friends. Itachi raised a hand in greeting, a hesitating glance toward the bench where the redhead was sitting. Perhaps he should sit with Sasori and have the long-delayed conversation they both knew was coming? But before he could decide, Hidan appeared, grinning, “Hey, Itachi! Heard the latest? Orochimaru’s been getting handsy with yet another girl.”
Relieved by the interruption and Hidan’s brazen ease, Itachi let out a quiet laugh. “I heard you’ve been getting handsy yourself”, he teased. Inwardly, his expression soured. Orochimaru - one of the club’s tennis instructors - had a habit of letting his gaze and his hands wander, something Itachi had seen more than once. Hidan grinned wider and clapped him on the shoulder, “Well, Bestie! The girls you don’t touch, I’ve got to touch for you!” The smile fell from Itachi’s face in an instant. That, it seemed, had struck a nerve. Sasori glanced away, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features. And with good reason, Itachi thought. Sasori was not entirely blameless in the fact that he no longer knew which gender he preferred - or in the way he now found himself questioning his entire identity.
THE LAST SPRING BREAK
It had been meant as an escape. With a handful of friends, Itachi, Sasori, and Hidan had flown to Cancún to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Rosewood’s picture-perfect life. For Itachi, especially, it was a chance to step - if only briefly - outside the expectations and obligations that had always hemmed him in, and perhaps to feel more himself somewhere far from home. Every day was the same: too much alcohol, and a rotating cast of barely-dressed girls in their hotel rooms. Only Itachi found himself unmoved by it, detached in that strange, familiar way - as though the scene belonged to someone else entirely.
One night, when one of Hidan’s dubious holiday acquaintances pressed a bright pill into each of their hands, Itachi had taken it without hesitation, desperate for anything that might quiet the war inside him. The older he grew, the harder it became to force himself into the mould his parents demanded. The more he complied, the more he felt that diffuse emptiness opening inside him.
Being with his friends usually bridged that gap for a while. Hidan - irreverent, cocky, forever pulling laughter out of him - made it easiest to feel like a human instead of a role he’d been born into. His parents disliked Hidan’s influence, but they tolerated their friendship since the construction empire of Hidan’s father was one of their firm’s most lucrative clients. The fact that they disliked him, only made Itachi like Hidan more. And made him spend even more time with him.
With Sasori, the connection ran deeper, nearly symbiotic. They had known each other since childhood, and Itachi often envied the quieter and much more free space in which Sasori had grown up. The Akasunas were wealthy, but nowhere near as high-profile or scrutinised as Itachi's family - or Hidan's. His parents had earned their place, and it showed - in their restraint, in Sasori’s easy habit of keeping the truth of his privilege veiled. Itachi knew there were fractures laying in the Akasuna family, too, but often wished he could trade places with him. He wanted, more than anything, to be someone else.
So he swallowed the pill, as the others did. And for a while, it worked: He forgot the contradictions tearing at him. He forgot his parents, their demands, the part he had been forced to play. In truth, he forgot almost everything - except the handful of moments that would change his life.
The memories were fragments, flickering like a heat-drunk film: Hidan dancing on a bar counter, bottles flashing past, a half-naked girl draped across his lap. And then - what, exactly? Time was missing. Whole stretches gone, leaving only the disjointed images that remained. He was in a narrow, shadowed alley. Sasori was next to him, his golden seeming eyes glistening with desire. His hands were pressed against the wall, breathless, his own voice breaking into gasping, moaning sounds as Sasori pushed deeper into him. Looking down, trembling with want, as Sasori lowered himself toward him, about to close his lips around his length. The raw thrill of being wanted, of being free, of doing something brazen and shameless in the open air. And then there was only darkness, sudden and complete, as if the light had been switched off.
When he opened his eyes the next morning everything was different. At breakfast, the truth began to take shape in his mind - this had not been a dream, not a trick of the drug. The ashamed look on Sasori’s face confirmed it: he knew, too. Hidan chattered blithely about the previous night’s exploits and adventures, while the two of them sat in silence. On the way back to their hotel rooms, Sasori caught his arm. And just like that, the memories surged back like waves - how they had touched in the night before, how lustful it had felt - and Itachi felt his cheeks flush, his pulse stumble. Shame rose with it. Sasori cleared his throat, “There wasn't anything, was there? That... didn't happen?” Itachi shook his head, not knowing what to answer. “Itachi, we won't tell anyone, okay?”, Sasori said quietly. “As you just said, it’s not like anything happened”, Itachi answered, his voice flat. Sasori nodded distracted and released his arm, “See you at the pool then.”
Itachi had only nodded and shut himself in his room. He couldn’t even bring himself to look in the mirror, afraid that he wouldn’t recognize the person looking back. It felt as though something had broken free in him - something he could no longer keep hidden. Relief came with the thought, but so did shame and guilt. Tears pricked as he imagined the disgust on his parents’ faces and especially his brother’s rejection. They would not forgive him for this.For the rest of the trip he and Sasori barely spoke except in Hidan’s presence, so he wouldn't notice something was off. But the silence between them was thick with everything neither of them could say.
Two months had passed since, but the matter remained untouched between the both of them. Neither had dared to touch the subject, afraid what it meant for their lifelong friendship that felt changed forever. In public they kept their poise - they smiled when they had to, played their parts flawlessly, careful not to draw attention. Yet underneath the surface laid a raw, unspoken ache. Itachi felt like they were good actors on a fragile stage, but every time they couldn’t circle around each other and had to put on this show left him bleeding quietly inside.
„Guys?“, Hidan asked, looking from one to the other, “everything okay with you two?”
Sasori’s smile was quick and convincing. Itachi almost startled at his own distance from the moment and the way he had been absorbed in his own thoughts. Ever since the springbreak he had been even more lost in thought than before.
“I’m fine”, he said, gripping the handle of his tennis bag a bit too tight, “Just thinking about that exam next week. I should’ve been home ages ago. See you tomorrow in school, yeah?” He turned and walked briskly toward the parking lot, tossed the bag into the trunk, and slid behind the wheel. Only then he noticed how fast his heart was beating, how hard he was breathing, how hot the tears were streaming down his face.
Everything he did felt wrong and he had no idea how to set it right. Why couldn’t he simply be someone else? He could almost feel the weight of his father’s condemning gaze were he ever to uncover that his prodigy of a son was homosexual. His throat felt constricted. He pressed his palms over his eyes. The expectations had already been unbearably high before Cancún. He had worked so hard to be the perfect son, the flawless heir. Even before it had been become more and more difficult to keep up the facade and come to terms with the fact that his further life had been decided for him.
But now - after having felt something entirely his own for the first time - there was no going back. The thought of another life broke something open in him and a sob escaped before he could stop it. The sound unsettled him. I can’t keep living like this. He couldn’t endure it any longer.
-
“Kisame, I am truly sorry, but you do understand there’s nothing more we can do for you at this point, don’t you?”, The woman’s voice on the phone carried a sharp edge of impatience that he didn’t like. And he didn’t believe her apology for a second. Desperation tightening his throat, he tried again, “You don’t understand - this is my only chance.”
“Well, your performance simply isn’t meeting our standards. There’s nothing I can do about that. Compared to the other candidates, your chances for a scholarship are… not great”, she sighed into the speaker, “Look, if it were up to me, I’d give it to you. But this is about performance, and we don’t hand out pity scholarships.”
Pity scholarships.
Kisame swallowed hard. Something in his chest turned to lead. I am pitiful, aren’t I?
Maybe he had always been. He’d always had to work twice as hard as everyone else - where others could lean on natural talent, he had to force himself into discipline and grind for every inch of progress. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Without a scholarship, he was done. Without a scholarship, he would never set foot on a college campus. Without a scholarship, he would end up like his father: a broke fisherman, hands raw from the salt and nets, and not because of gripping the racket too hard. And just like him with no perspective. His father had scraped together every last coin, given up on countless things for years, just to give him a chance - just to get him into Rosewood’s prestigious tennis academy, where scouts prowled the sidelines looking for the next prodigy. In hope that Kisame might be the one, they were looking for and life would maybe become better.
For them all, actually.
At the thought of their weekly phone calls, Kisame felt a coldness creep through him. Every Sunday night, the hopeful, yet expectant voice would ask, How’s it going at the academy? Anything on the horizon yet?
“Are you still there? I really am sorry”, the woman said after clearing her throat, “Perhaps other colleges have lower requirements, maybe they’d take you?”
“…Yeah. Thank you,” Kisame said quietly, ending the call. He sat motionless, staring out the window of the cramped apartment he was calling home. How could he tell his father? How could he say that everything the man had worked and sacrificed for had been a waste? The thought made his throat clench. He felt like a failure - an old, familiar feeling that sat heavy. The truth was simple and he couldn't just deny it: he wasn’t good enough. He trained every day until exhaustion blurred his vision, slept through the last remaining classes because his body was too spent to stay upright - and still, it wasn’t enough.
The phone was still in his hand when a message appeared:
Trainer Kakashi 17:32
Hey! Running late - happens a lot with me. Guess you’ll get used to it. Why don’t you go ahead and get to know the new group?
See you in a bit.
Kisame’s mouth twisted. His eyes, full of sadness, went to the tennis bag leaning against the door. In thirty minutes, he was due for his first training session with a new group - some of the best players in the academy. More than anything, he wanted to crawl into bed and never come out. But that wouldn’t change his situation. And he’d never been good at sitting alone with himself. So he got to his feet, moving as though gravity had thickened, grabbed his bag, and headed for the courts of the Rosewood Country Club.
-
Sasuke leaned against the waist-high fence of the tennis court. Beside him Hidan, his older brother’s best friend, both watching Sakura and her friends play doubles. Hidan was coarse and shameless, always up for a laugh, never hesitating to take what he wanted - and he always got away with it. Sasuke was often struck by the sheer scope of what Hidan could pull off and how he wasn’t ashamed to do so at all. In the end though it was only the intimidating aura of his father - regarded as the godfather of Rosewood - that secured him his status as the untouchable everybody’s darling no matter how far he pushed it.
Sasuke, in contrast, had to live within the Uchiha corset - whether he wanted to or not. His unruly temper only made that harder. Unlike Hidan, who could indulge every whim, he was expected to embody perfection and to perform flawlessly. And yet, with a bitter sort of irony, he knew: he could also do as he pleased - and he often did. The weight of his parents’ name would also shield him here in Rosewood. They all forgive me everything too, he thought to himself, but my parents never do. And it was tragically, unshakably true: the Uchiha name wouldn’t protect him from the one person he most needed to be protected from - his father himself and his cold wrath.
Out of the corner of his eye, he took in the slicked-back hair of Hidan, the glint of a gold chain catching the evening sun. A question burned on his tongue, but even the thought of asking it sparked such a blind rage in him that his fingers twitched toward the fence wire, clawing into it. Before he could speak, Sakura came running up to the fence, her face lit with a smile, “Hi!” Sasuke exhaled through his nose, annoyed. Pull yourself together. He tried for a smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “Hey, sweetheart”, Hidan drawled, flashing her a wicked grin. Sakura giggled and turned to Sasuke, “Do you want to come to my parents’ holiday house this weekend?”
No, I don’t, he thought, but said, as politely as he could manage, “Sure.”
What one didn’t do for one’s parents. In truth, he had little choice. Sakura’s father ran a vast empire of high-end medical products and three months ago, at a country club party, he’d struck up “business” with Sasuke’s parents. Bile surged in his throat. Business with me, he thought bitterly. That same night, Sakura’s mother - chief physician at the local hospital - had confided to Mikoto Uchiha that her daughter was oh-so-madly in love with Sasuke. His parents had decided, without hesitation, that he should spend time with her to keep the business ties warm.
Sometimes - in those sleepless nights when unwelcome thoughts had more room - this "arrangement" whispered to him like something close to prostitution. But those moments were fleeting, and the discomfort quickly buried.
This was simply how it was.
His parents had been clear from the beginning: this was how you attained a position like theirs, and how you kept it.
And besides, Sakura was useful. She was beautiful, good in bed and adored him. Things could be worse. Sasuke smirked faintly as he overheard Hidan teasing her about the weekend, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Sakura blushed, looking down, then laughed when he blew her a kiss and walked off toward the parking lot. Both of them watched him go. Then those green eyes turned back to Sasuke.
“I’m really looking forward to the weekend”, she said with a shy smile. He lifted the corners of his mouth just enough to pass for a smile, nodded, and sidestepped the truth. “I should get going”, he said, cooler than intended, tacking on a “Have fun” when her smile faltered. She blew him a kiss and jogged back to her friends.
He turned down the long gravel path toward the academy’s main courts, which sat just beyond the country club grounds. Training with his coach Kakashi was about to start. Kakashi was a gifted player with a string of high-profile tournament wins to his name. Sasuke had arrived - deliberately - fifteen minutes late as Kakashi was never on time and Sasuke had no desire to make conversation with the “new group” his coach had put together.
Strolling through the manicured grounds at an unhurried pace, he spotted Kakashi already waiting on the center court, white shorts bright in the late light, his expression sharp with annoyance. “You’re late, Sasuke.”
“And you’re early. Surprising”, Sasuke replied, tone flat. He cared about Kakashi’s opinion more than most, but he couldn’t stand being reprimanded. Criticism, any kind of criticism to be fair, made his jaw tighten and something like rage in him burn up.
“This is your new training group. You know Sai and Shikamaru from the academy. And this“, Kakashi gestured toward the last player, “is Kisame. He came to Rosewood a while ago and is a very promising player with great potential.” Kisame stepped forward and offered his hand. Sasuke hesitated, weighing the temptation to ignore it. He had no interest in wasting time on someone “promising” and no interest in meeting anyone new. But since they’d be training together, he finally took the hand. Kisame was tall, broad-shouldered, his grip firm as he looked down at him. Sasuke said nothing - just met his gaze without blinking.
Let’s see what you’ve got.
-
Naruto yawned. How long had he been asleep in here? What time was it? Oh Gosh - hopefully no one had caught him or even noticed he’d been missing. He needed this job at the country club badly, and getting found napping in the equipment shed - wedged between the lawnmower and a crate of tennis balls - probably wouldn’t do wonders for his prospects. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, still half-asleep. Not that any of the polished elite ever come in here, anyway.
With a groan, he pushed himself upright and stretched. He didn’t feel much like doing anything, but it had to be close to the end of his shift. Best to at least look busy for the final stretch. He eased the door open, peered out, and stepped into the fresh air. Evening sunlight washed the club and its courts in warm golden light, somewhere nearby birds sang and in the distance came a burst of laughter. The scent of fresh-cut grass hung thick in the air. Out in front of the clubhouse small clusters of people sat at tables with champagne flutes in hand, deep in conversation.
Naruto picked up a watering can and wandered toward the flowerbeds near the terrace. The closer he got, the more the guests looked like they’d been poured out of a catalogue - they all seem so unnaturally polished, somehow. And suspiciously friendly to one another. Snatches of conversation drifted to him and he had to suppress a laugh: yachts here, horses there, yesterday’s golf game, tomorrow’s cosmetic surgery. The rhythm of every conversation was so rehearsed and so over exaggerated. Look at what I have - what you don’t have. Sure thing.
He carried the can - which could also have been golden at this point - toward the center court, where the academy’s top young players usually trained in the evenings. At least they put in some effort, he thought. His gaze drifted to a knot of girls he recognized from school. One of them was Sakura Haruno. He’d admired her often in class - for her brains but especially for her beauty. He couldn’t help but glance down at himself: the badly fitting polo shirt with Rosewood Country Club Staff printed under a large crown.
Well… at least it’s clean.
Not that anyone here paid him much attention. Bit he couldn't care less about that - and about how he looked here. Keeping the job was what mattered. He circled the court, watering the beds, when a sharp voice cracked across the space, “Hey! Drag your ass over here, ball boy! You’re late!”
Naruto didn’t think it was aimed at him - until a “What are you waiting for, you idiot?!” came in his direction again. He raised his head.
Ball boy? I don’t know a thing about tennis, all I know is how to sweep the damn courts. Irritation flared hot in his chest. Who the hell talked to him like that? He didn’t have to take it - especially not from one of these stuck-up country club princelings!
“Give it a rest!”, he yelled back before he could stop himself, then winced. If he wanted to keep his job, he was going to have to rein in his temper. “Yeah, coming…”, he muttered and made his way toward the court.
When he saw who was waiting, he almost laughed at himself. He should’ve recognized that possessive, arrogant tone instantly. Of course. His eyes found the young man on the left side of the court instantly. He flashed the blonde a condescending smirk.
Sasuke Uchiha.
He should have known. Who else could it have been?
Most people in this town at least pretended to be friendly, even if it was all veneer. Not Sasuke. He moved and spoke like the world belonged to him - and judging by the way every girl in sight seemed to melt, maybe it did. Naruto couldn’t fathom it. Sasuke treated people like dirt. Before his thoughts could spiral further down this angriness, a blond guy with hair tied back in a ponytail turned to him, “Hey, mate. Guess we’re the ball boys today, huh? Haven’t seen you before. I’m Deidara. You?”
“Naruto,” he said, still blinking at this outrageous situation. Was he seriously supposed to let the Uchiha pelt him with balls now, too?! Or however this was supposed to go. He had thought he was supposed to mow the grass, water some flowers, clip the bushes and tend the courts today. What one had to endure in today's world, hm?
“But don’t you think they could bend down and get their own balls?”
He threw the line with a crooked grin. Deidara grinned back, lowering his voice, “Wouldn’t that be nice? But nah - too precious for that. Come on, before Sasuke throws another tantrum.”
Naruto did his best, but the speed of the balls and the constant darting from corner to corner, remembering which was the right one, threw him off. He nearly collided with a player multiple times, stumbling in front of their feet. Sasuke's glare was accordingly when Naruto was supposed to catch the balls for him after a change of sides,
“Can you do anything right, you idiot?, the tall and lean Uchiha looked him up and down with a raised brow, his gaze catching on the red clay now streaking Naruto from head to toe. His tone was sharp enough to cut. It took everything in Naruto not to snap back. He could feel his body starting to tremble in irritation. This was intolerable - Who the hell does he think he is?! Even if he was „just“ staff, he still had rights and he didn’t have to put up with being insulted. His hands were shaking with the effort to keep his mouth shut. He had to - but too late. The words burst out of him before he could stop them:
“Yeah - I can kick your arrogant ass, you disrespectful prick!”
A ghostly silence fell over the center court, sudden and complete. Every head turned in shock. Sasuke, especially, lowered his racket and stared at him, stunned.
Oops.