It wasn't dark enough in Inari's bedroom. The blinds were old, and moonlight reflected on the waves and from there on the ceiling. And the sea was so... noisy.
The brat's mother had insisted Sasuke get Inari's bed. He didn't see what was so different. Frankly, he would have slept just as badly in a futon in the living room with Kakashi and Naruto.
He turned on his side carefully, scowling as he put pressure on a few of his wounds. The problem was, he had wounds all over. Except his face, the soles of his feet ... and his ass, though the one on his hip had been close enough -- and so deep it had almost gotten stuck in the bone. He wouldn't have expected needle wounds to hurt quite that much. They were closing easily enough, but they were so deep that every little twitch reminded him of yet another place where cold metal had been imbedded in his flesh.
There was just no way to sleep, with the wounds and the moonlight and the stupid waves. So when he heard someone ghost up the stairs, he was waiting, with a kunai in hand. And it was good that he hadn't been asleep, because he would probably have stabbed Naruto before even waking up properly otherwise.
Naruto stood at the door, his eyes shadowed by that stupid nightcap, and Sasuke wondered what the hell he was waiting for.
It seemed weird to hear a voice right now; darkness and moonlight and waves lapping at the pier made it sound out of place. From Naruto's hushed voice, he seemed to understand that. It was strange; if there was one thing Naruto wouldn't be accused of, it was knowing when to be solemn.
"... it's cold downstairs."
Sasuke, on the other hand, had never been accused of being slow, and for some reason Naruto's uncharacteristically serious voice was especially easy to read. Shrugging, he rolled away, facing the wall, and pretended to go back to sleep. There was a moment of silence, where he couldn't even hear Naruto breathing, where he thought that maybe the idiot had misread him again, and then the blanket was lifted, and the bed dipped under his weight. Sasuke stared at nothing in the darkness, listening to Naruto settling down behind him.
And then there was an arm around his shoulders -- a clumsy hold, pressing over a few of his wounds, but one that meant, "I'm not letting you get out of my reach any time soon" -- and a forehead against the base of his neck, which meant, "don't you ever fucking die on me again" -- and the blanket shuddered with Naruto's unsteady breath, which meant -- things Sasuke didn't want to think about. Things he knew, anyway, like he knew who he was.
He didn't move; he just waited, pretending not to notice, and eventually, Naruto let go to roll on his back again.
It wasn't dark enough, and it was too noisy, but somehow darkness and silence weren't as efficient as Naruto's breathing to lull him into sleep.