Chapter 15.5

 

Nara Shikamaru silently applied stroke after meticulous stroke to the clean white scroll. The tangy scent of treated ink tickled his nose, but he ignored it as best he could. The task took most of his focus, and allowed for no imperfections. It required all the care for detail that he could muster.

Each stroke brought him one step closer to completion. Each—

—His muscles clenched as he suppressed a project ruining flinch in direct response to the unnerving silence as it loomed. He was just in time too, as not even a moment after he did, a loud crunch sounded off to his right.

He silently berated himself, as his focus had almost cost him yet another project. Luckily, he'd mostly adjusted to the timing.

Like clockwork, in regular intervals Chouji would shove a palm full of chips to his mouth. The first set of bites were always distractingly loud, but fortunately, the noise levels afterwards were within an acceptable range.

They were white noise, at most. Still distracting, but not overly so.

Shikamaru eased himself back into his task, safe in the knowledge that he'd have a full half minute before he'd have to pause again.

Or perhaps not.

"What's that one for?" Chouji's question was interlaced with soft sounds of chewing, and Shikamaru found the next suitable place to stop—after fully completing a particularly masterful stroke.

When he spoke, it was with his deliberate lazy drawl that belied his intent focus, "This one will provide a constant, consistent bright light source when activated."

It was much like—"So a flashbang then?"

Shikamaru grimaced and decided to explain with more detail, "It's not a flashbang," he glanced at Chouji's resulting half smirk and clicked his tongue, "It's not. It stays lit, for one, and has no sound effect—"

"—So it's just a flash then," Chouji interrupted the start of his rant in a flippant tone before shoveling more food into his gullet.

Shikamaru wanted to correct him, he really really did, "Yeah yeah," but instead, he just shook his head with an exasperated sigh, "Just a flash."

He knew Chouji didn't really care about the details, the specifics of what it did, the why or how it worked; He only wanted a simple explanation, something to fill the silent air. It used to frustrate him that none of his peers even tried to follow his explanations, but not so much anymore. These days, he didn't quite care as much.

Even so, he lamented the fact that he didn't get to brag about how blindingly bright it could get.

Chouji covered his mouth and chuckled. Good, he knew not to get crumbs all over his room—especially not when he was working.

Shikamaru returned to applying his brush to the paper, and the room once again returned to silence. He blinked. Silence? He immediately clenched his muscles in preparation to suppress another flinch—but no egregiously loud noise came.

After a beat, he turned to glance at his friend, only to see an unexpected sour look on his face, "What's up?"

"Nothing," Chouji responded quickly, his expression didn't ease at all. His lower left eyelid twitched as he glanced away—a lie, then. Small, meant to deter— and he seemed to prefer his left side as he leaned into his seat.

Odd.

An injury? When? Training? Shikamaru gleaned as much as he could in those short moments, but there were no other overt physical tells. It wasn't serious, then.

However, he saw enough to know that his friend wanted to say something. Something difficult. It would only require a bit of pushing to get him to open up, given their closeness.

"Chouji," he switched his tone to be more at ease, and instilled a bit of curiosity into his voice, "What's bugging you?"

Shikamaru's best friend grimaced, and started speaking after only a moment's wait, "It's just…" he carefully rubbed the right side of his abdomen with a pained grimace, "Dad's really been putting me through hell. I dunno if I can keep up."

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, and considered giving support, but decided against it as Chouji had more to say, "None of the other teams have to work this hard, you know."

Shikamaru didn't know. He hadn't been paying attention to the other teams. Hadn't had the time, or the desire. It was too much effort. That wasn't what he said, however, "I know. It's like a fire got lit under our dads' asses."

What was left of his free time had been mostly diminished since. Once upon a time, his dad had been mostly accepting to let him grow and be at his own pace.

Those days were long gone, and he found himself offering a silent prayer in reminiscence. Gone were the days where he'd be able to lay in the sun and watch the clouds pass.

His dad tried to get him to be more physical, but all parties involved knew that wasn't a winning endeavour—no matter how much his mom nagged him. It was just the opening gambit though, one to be bartered down from.

And barter he did.

Shikamaru was "convinced" to take up "art" as a hobby.

Shikamaru was no fool, though. He knew there was more to it, but it seemed harmless enough at first, and it was surprisingly enjoyable. That is, until he'd learned that "art" was only a precursor to Fuinjutsu. Until he'd learned how repetitive the practice was.

If he'd known, he would've refused.

A part of him wished he'd caved to the physi—

—No. Absolutely not. That was an egregious lie.

Chouji groaned, which broke him out of his musing, "You're lucky all you have to do is draw a bunch."

"Fuinjutsu is more than just drawing, man," oh how Shikamaru wished it was just drawing, "There's a lot of studyin—"

"—Uhuh, looks like art class to me."

Shikamaru's finger twitched in agitation, and he was glad that he hadn't been holding his brush. Even so, he took that for what it was—an out from the topic in question. He grabbed his brush, and returned to his strokes.

Or he would have, if his focus wasn't entirely shattered. It would take effort to get back into the rhythm.

He stared at the page, searching for meaning within the chaos—

"—So what's been bugging you lately?"

Shikamaru didn't even look up from his project as he sighed, "That obvious?"

Chouji grunted his assent.

"I'm just…" Shikamaru looked to his wall with a far off look, eyes glancing over the numerous pictures of his team. His eyes roamed the group pictures in chronological order, from youth all the way up to graduation. Every year.

He looked at the pictures for insight, for where it all went weird. Went wrong.

Even though he knew.

His thoughts always seemed to cascade in a certain direction, after all, "I'm worried," he stated simply, and Chouji only gave him a confused grunt in response. "I mean… you saw what happened to the shuriken yesterday, right?" He suppressed a shiver at the memory of the bright orange metal as it melted and flowed around thin pale fingers.

Unmarred fingers, at that.

"You have to be close to Ino in our formations a lot. Anything can happen, man," the temperature his other teammate exuded was stifling, and he found himself sweating just being in the vicinity. The fact that his teammate didn't seem to mind it at all didn't provide him any comfort. Nor did the fact that she seemed so absentminded. So enthralled.

How much longer was it until someone got hurt? What if that someone was Chouji?

He couldn't have been the only one thinking that. Combat was messy, and while fire was obviously damaging, that sort of heat was… something else.

"That's why she's practicing so much though," his friend's simple reply didn't allay his concerns. He already knew that, after all. He knew she'd never really endanger them. He also knew it wasn't the real issue. He knew it was just a scapegoat, a low hanging fruit.

He knew he was stalling.

Troublesome.

He chastised himself for wasting time being indirect, "It's not just that, though."

Chouji only looked at him with patience.

Shikamaru found himself squirming in his seat, unsure how to broach the topic. He'd been thinking about this for weeks. Months, even. He thought in circles, with each rotation bringing him no closer to a solution.

It was like a puzzle he couldn't figure out. He knew what the issue was. He knew it shouldn't have been an issue, but he was keenly aware that it could be an issue, and that it wouldn't even be that hard for it to become one.

Eventually, he decided to just say it, "You're not even a little bothered that she can just mess with our minds like that?"

He regretted it as soon as he said it, and wished he would've thought a bit more on how he worded his plight. Regardless, the shuriken was thrown, and Chouji only raised both eyebrows as he relaxed further into his chair, "She's a Yamanaka, Shika; That sort of stuff comes with the name."

Was he really the only one bothered?

He hesitated, but decided to continue nontheless, "It's not the same and you know it," his tone was as careful as his wording, "Yamanaka can't just do these things, not so freely."

"Still," Chouji shrugged in a flippant manner, which only made Shikamaru think that he really was just overthinking it, which wasn't abnormal, "It's Ino, man."

Shikamaru sighed.

Of course he knew that.

It's Ino.

His eyes roved over the pictures on his wall yet again. They'd grown up together, the proof was there. His memories weren't fabricated, unless she'd awoken long before then.

It's Ino.

He'd learned a lot about the dichotomy of people from her. She was a terrible actor. A terrible manipulator. She couldn't lie if her life literally depended on it.

But, what if?

It's Ino, he thought more strenuously, as if to will his doubts away.

They hadn't always been friends—especially not during the phase where she'd been mean to Chouji for no discernable reason— but they'd always been close.

He knew he could trust her. He knew he shouldn't have doubts.

"I know," He knew it beyond all doubts, but still, "I'm just worried."

That inkling of worry. That what if. The small chance that could be. He worried about that inkling of a chance. About what she could do, with all that power. With so much seemingly intuitive control over all the people around her.

The Ino of the past. The Ino of the present, he had no reason to fear either. No reason to be wary.

But the Ino of tomorrow? The Ino of a month from now? He knew people changed, and Ino was just as susceptible to that as others—perhaps even more so, given her circumstances. What change would be needed for her to just decide to start toying with people?

He didn't know.

He didn't know, and he didn't want to find out.

Chouji studied him carefully before giving him a look, "And you know she can feel that."

Shikamaru gulped, before his tense expression eased into a grimace. He leaned back into his chair with a sigh intertwined with a groan.

There was a lot that was wordlessly said in that interaction. There was understanding. They'd been friends straight out the crib, after all. A lot could be conveyed with just a look. There was acceptance. Chouji may have been slow in some aspects—compared to him—but he wasn't stupid. There was sadness. He looked at Shikamaru with a serious glare, teeth gripping his bottom lip.

There was admonishment.

Guilt riddled Shikamaru’s frame. He knew that he needed to get over himself. That he'd been worrying over nothing. That the fact that he could worry was proof in and of itself. That the longer he worried, the more strain he put on their friendship.

He knew all that and still… it wasn't easy.

Annoying.

His hands trawled down his face in frustration; Chouji's serious expression eased into a calmer one before he shrugged, and he reached a hand into his bag of chips. Deeper than before, so Shikamaru guessed he'd only have to suffer under a few more repetitions before Chouji would run dry.

He was content to wait it out, but perhaps… perhaps he could speed it up.

He would need a change in topic, then. One unexpected. One to put Chouji on the backfoot. Simple, "So what was with you and that girl from the forge?"

Now, Shikamaru was no mind reader, but even he knew that Chouji didn't want to touch that topic. It was obvious with the way that Chouji shoveled more and more chips into his mouth rapidly in response.

He knew his friend was shy, that he had a litany of issues around his sense of self worth and esteem. It seemed he didn't know the full extent of it though, as he'd never seen his friend look so small as he did that day.

The genin schooled his face into one of disarming indifference, and pressed through the awkward silence, "If you want my help, you just have to say the word, man."

"I know, it's just…" there were a lot of things he'd noticed about his friend. The way his face scrunched up when he'd glanced at his own reflection. The way that he was always so surprised when he proved to be the physically strongest of the three of them. Hell, he'd never forget the look of surprise when Chouji was first to scale the wall, "I don't even know her."

They both knew that wasn't even close to the real reason, but Shikamaru didn't call him out, "Then fix that."

Now, Shikamaru didn't consider himself a ladies man—at all really. He didn't have the patience. He didn't have the tolerance required. But even he knew that it started with the interested party putting themselves out there.

Hopefully not to the detriment of the other.

"I-it's not that easy."

"I know," he didn't, not really, but empathy required nothing but air, "But you have nothing to lose," he reached over and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder in support.

"I guess…" Shikamaru could tell it would require a lot of work on both their ends to overcome the mountain ahead of his friend, but he'd stick by his friend nonetheless. Through thick and thin.

Even if he found it to be a waste of time.

Chouji reached his hand into the bag of chips and grimaced as his hands returned with nothing but crumbs, "What about you? Any girl catch your eye?"

Shikamaru had to fight to suppress an annoyed frown, "Every girl I've met convinces me more and more that all of them are more trouble than they're worth."

Chouji's nerves dissipated as he laughed freely, "Sure, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru returned to his practice and revelled in the blissful silence. However, the world soon proved itself to be a cruel cruel companion. Before long, the focus he'd fought to regain ended up being interrupted by a knock on the door. His mom poked her head through shortly after, "You kids want anything to eat?"

It honestly irked Shikamaru slightly that he was still being treated as a kid, even though he was both legally and physically an adult, but the rational part of his brain always reminded him of how much inane work running a household entailed. So he put up with it.

Chouji however didn't seem to care at all, and gave an emphatic "Yes please!" in response. She left with a laugh, and returned shortly with lunch.

Luckily, she wasn't a saboteur, and brought food that didn't sound like rumbling mountains as Chouji ate.

He returned his brush to the page, as he mused about fire suppressants.