[As usual, Naruto knows exactly what to say to cut straight through that sensitive center, like a knife to the layers that shelter him from harsher realities, from putting words to the thoughts in his head and enduring judgment. The composure he's carried since being ripped from the Shroud hours ago seems to flake apart—Naruto's hand is firm on his shoulder, a physical anchor as always, and he's turned to face his best friend. The expression on his face is brief but salient and Naruto will see it: a tight frown that crumbles into a grimace, brows furiously knitted, the look of a child who years ago learned not to cry. He doesn't shake off the hand, but he does turn his head away as Naruto plainly states the shape of his emotion like he's seeing it out in the open.

Fear. If that is the genesis for everything he's ever felt, he doesn't know how to overcome it. He's tried. Defensiveness forms the protest on his tongue, but Naruto won't hear it, so he manages only a quiet tch through teeth and waits until—eventually, eventually—he is released from the spotlight of that hold.

I can wait. He doesn't know what to say to that. The embarrassment is shared, it seems, vulnerability such a strange thing between them, still in the infancy of healing. He's had Naruto's life in his hands, and vice versa, yet putting words to that sentiment is difficult. They speak far more easily with their fists.

Grateful when Naruto changes the subject, he snorts, dry amusement coloring over the tenderness of a moment ago.] After you were just telling me I'm not in any shape to fight you, now you want to enlist me on a mission? [Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sasuke.] I have time. What is it?