Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You were so small, when you were born.

Just a tiny little miracle, a tangible love.

There was so much we wanted you to be, so many things we wanted for your future. We couldn’t wait to see what you bloomed into, and how you would tackle the road of life. You had eyes like the sky and hair like the sun. You were just made to be the centre of our world.

We watched you grow, we watched you change, we watched you learn to love.

And now, you can take on the world. Now you can be whoever you want to be.

Now, we get to see who you really are.

Now, you start to become your own person.

So now go do the best things in life.

Shine your light on this world.

It was seven thirty already.

“You’re not going to school until you eat something,” Ino said firmly.

Inojin stared at the kitchen table, chewing pensively on his lower lip. “We’ve got a test today. I have to go.”

“And if you’ve got a test, you’ll need energy. Eat, or you’re staying home.”

Inojin sighed, pushing his bangs away from his face. “But Mom-“

“No ‘but Mom’s, we’ve talked about this before.”

“I can eat with Shikadai later. I told you, I’m not hungry-”

“And you’re only ‘not hungry’ when something is bothering you.” Ino crossed her arms, staring her son down. “Talk to me, or go back to bed, but you’re not ignoring the problem.”

Inojin made a disgruntled groan under his breath. His head snapped up as Sai entered the kitchen, looking distractedly at a handful of paintbrushes. “Dad, Mom won’t let me go to school and I have a test.”

“Uh-huh,” Sai said, eyes still on his brushes.

“You’re not listening,” Inojin protested.

“And you’re not talking,” Ino said. “Your dad isn’t going to be sympathetic if you don’t communicate. Do you need me to talk you through your routine, or can you do it alone?”

Inojin groaned again.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Hm, fine,” he slouched further in his seat. He let out a loud breath. “I can see you and Dad and the window, and I can hear the birds and the fridge running and  . . .” He trailed off, needing to focus. “And Dad’s footsteps. I am feeling frustrated, and my tummy hurts. That enough?” he looked hopefully up at Ino.

“That’s enough,” she assured. “Now, I know you’re frustrated at me, because I’m not letting you get away with avoiding things. Do you know what you were feeling before you were frustrated?”

He spoke into his chest, sinking lower in his seat. “. . . Tummy hurts.”

“Why?”

“. . . ‘Cause ‘m upset . . .”

“What’s upset you?” she asked softly, sitting down next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“S’nothing.” He leant into her.

“Come on, sunshine, you know better than that. Now, what’s wrong?”

Inojin shrugged, staying silent.

“Are you fighting with one of your friends?”

He shook his head.

“Is someone teasing you at school?”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, pushing harder into her, as though to hide.

“Nothing usually means you’re embarrassed,” Ino said.

“M’not.”

Sai finally seemed to notice there was a conversation happening. He asked, wonderingly, “What are we embarrassed about?”

“Nothing,” Inojin mumbled. He closed his eyes, hoping to block out the world and the conversation, but Ino nudged his chin with a finger.

“Eyes open, sunshine. You don’t get to hide while we’re talking.”

He opened his eyes with a strangled whine, squirming in his seat, the whole situation setting him on edge. He knew, though, that Ino would persist until she had pried the information from him. It was easier to give in.

“Field trip,” he finally muttered.

“What field trip?” Ino stroked a hand through his hair.

“Mist.”

“Inojin, think and then speak.”

He made a shallow, frustrated noise, but finally added, “The class is going on a field trip to Mist. For a week.”

Ah, Ino thought. He’s nervous. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

Inojin’s head shot up at her words, quickly realizing they were a cleverly disguised way of saying ‘You’re going whether you want to or not’. “But, Mom-“

“No buts. You’ll be fine. It’s good to get out and try new things.”

“But a week.”

“Shikadai will be right there with you. So will Chocho.” Ino squeezed him reassuringly. “And you can call me if you need to. And you know exactly what to do if you get worried, don’t you?”

Inojin answered sulkily, “Three things I can see, three things I can hear, and what I’m feeling.”

“Perfect,” Ino squeezed him closer, dropping a kiss onto his head. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?”

Inojin made a face. “I’m not hungry.”

“Not an option, and you know it.” Ino stood up. “Toast it is. Peanut butter or cheese?”

The whole class was talking about the trip to Mist. It loomed over Inojin like a dark cloud, and he approached his friends, hoping to gain comfort from the familiarity of being with them.

Boruto and Sarada were arguing again – it was all they ever seemed to do – and Chocho was mediating loudly.

“Need a hug,” Inojin muttered, thunking his face onto her shoulder.

Chocho wrapped her arms around him without question, squeezing firmly, and not once breaking her streak of reprimands. Inojin relaxed into her a bit. Hugs, he discovered, could be wonderful things. They were warm and soft, and the pressure helped him feel like he wasn’t falling apart.

There were only a few people he was comfortable enough with for hugs, and Chocho was always one of the first he would go to if he needed anything. He still recoiled from physical contact with other people, finding their unfamiliar touch to be off-putting, but it helped having friends who were willing to do whatever he needed.

And Chocho gave the best hugs.

“You smell like peanut butter,” she informed him.

He smiled against her shoulder. “Breakfast.”

“Hey, Inojin, everything okay?” Boruto asked.

Inojin didn’t have the energy to look at him, but he nodded. Interacting with Boruto could be draining, with his exuberant presence often pulling all Inojin’s energy away from him. Things had been tense between them in the past, but these days they mostly got along well. Boruto had learned not to push, and Inojin had learned not to look, and they did fine together.

Boruto’s genuine concern warmed Inojin’s stomach, but he was still a bit much to handle sometimes.

“Are you excited for the field trip?” Sarada asked, in a far gentler tone. Inojin liked the way she spoke to him – she was always patient and aware. She kept her tone as neutral as possible, and that helped, because sometimes Boruto’s torrents of emotion confused Inojin, and he couldn’t understand what was being said to him.

Sarada was clear spoken and clinical when she talked to him, and he could always understand her.

“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure how to answer. It sounded like fun, but at the same time worrying.

Chocho finally released him, having decided she had squeezed him enough to recharge his confidence. He stayed close to her side, not quite touching, but in her space.

Boruto and Sarada took up their argument again, and Inojin was content to listen. Most of it went right over his head – he had trouble following rapid speech, and hated arguments because he could never keep up with them. He relied on Shikadai to do the talking when things got heated.

Speaking of, he hadn’t seen his best friend that morning. He nudged Chocho’s arm, whispering, “Shikadai.”

“Hasn’t arrived yet,” Chocho shrugged. “Probably sleeping in. If he doesn’t come you can sit next to me.”

Shino chose that moment to arrive, and the class scrambled into their respective seats. He made it halfway through the first lesson before Shikadai sauntered in, looking unapologetic.

“You’re late,” Shino said flatly.

“Family issue.” Shikadai plopped into his seat next to Inojin.

“You know that’s not an excuse.”

“Wanna call my mom and tell her that?” Shikadai asked, with one raised eyebrow. Chocho sniggered behind her hand.

Shino’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he said slowly, “No. Don’t let it happen again.”

Inojin shifted into Shikadai’s space, relieved to finally have him close by. He didn’t feel up to talking, and that was okay because Shikadai didn’t mind if he couldn’t speak. Shikadai gave him a sideways smile, and it instantly made Inojin relax.

He dropped his eyes down to the surface of the desk for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knew he was supposed to pay attention to whatever Shino was saying, but it was hard to listen sometimes. He stared out the window instead, eyes on a nearby tree.

There were no birds on it, but he studied the leaves, noting how they swayed in the gentle breeze. There were a few clouds drifting by as well. He was counting the clouds when Shikadai elbowed him.

“Huh?” he dragged his attention back inside the classroom.

“Inojin,” Shino said reproachfully. “Pay attention.”

“Sorry,” he murmured. He heard someone snicker behind him, and his cheeks flushed pink.

He tried, he really did, to keep his attention on Shino, but there were too many other things that held his interest. The wood grain on the desk was fascinating, and he loved to stare at it and find pictures and shapes within the swirls and variations. He could find different things almost every day, and he traced his fingers over the new findings.

There was a shadow and a knot in the wood that looked like a bird. He ran his nail over it, imagining what it would be like to draw it. He smiled to himself, moving on to the next shape. This one was a daisy flower, his mother’s favourite, and right next to it was a butterfly.

His musing ended abruptly when Chocho laid her hand over his wrist, halting his tracing. He startled slightly, a low squeak escaping him.

“It’s break time,” she said gently.

He looked at the clock, startled. Class had only just started. “When did . . . What did I miss?”

Shikadai sighed loudly. “It’s a drag, but here’re my notes.” He shoved a page under Inojin’s nose. “Give them back when you’re done copying them. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Outside?” Inojin asked, as the rest of the class started milling out the door. He wanted to draw Shikadai. He loved drawing Shikadai, and it helped that Shikadai was easy to get laying still.

“Yeah, sure,” Shikadai shrugged, and Inojin smiled. “A nap in the sun sounds nice.”

Inojin was meant to be doing his homework, but his mind was wandering. He could see birds through the window, and was watching them flit around outside, watching how they moved and hopped.

He liked doing his homework at the kitchen table; it meant he could watch the birds and listen to Ino moving around, and sometimes she would leave the TV on so there was a constant drum of indiscernible noise in the background.

“Inojin.”

He blinked, wondering when Ino had appeared next to him. “Hm?”

“I’ve called you three times. Did you not hear me?”

He shook his head, adding, by way of explanation, “Birds.”

Ino studied him. His focus was growing worse. Shino had spoken to her more than once, observing Inojin zoning out during class, and often she called him for meals and received no response. She worried about him, concerned his attention would drift at a time when he needed to focus.

“This is your new medication,” Ino said, plopping the bottle in front of him. “We’re starting at a half dose for a few days, to see how it goes.”

“The other medicine made me feel weird,” Inojin muttered.

“That’s why we’re trying a new one,” Ino reminded him. “And you still need to take your anti-anxiety medication, at the same time.”

“I don’t need it.”

“It helps you concentrate.” Ino sounded patient. This was not the first time having this conversation. “Remember how hard school was before we tried it? And life is only going to get harder. You graduate in a few weeks, then you’re taking missions. You need to be able to focus for the whole day.”

“No one else has to take medicine every day,” Inojin grumbled. He pushed the bottle of pills away, getting them out of his space.

“You don’t know that,” Ino said airily. “Maybe some of them do, and you’ve just never seen it.”

“The other one made me feel sick.”

“I know. This one shouldn’t do that. But when you weren’t taking anything, you couldn’t focus on anything, and you didn’t do very well in school. You’re doing much better now. Try this, and we’ll see how it goes. You can let me know if you don’t feel well.”

Inojin sighed. “Don’t like it.”

“I know, love.” Ino ran a hand through his hair, moving to stand behind his chair. She smoothed her palm along his forehead, brushing his hair back. “I don’t like it either.”

She wished he didn’t have to suffer. She wished he could just spend each day like everyone else did. She wished he wasn’t burdened with so much. Medicating had felt like defeat, and she had spent weeks agonising over whether or not it was the right decision. It felt like masking the problem, it felt like a crutch, like a cover up. It felt like she was unable to teach her child to live his life.

It had taken a long time to come to terms with the fact that it was necessary. There was no shortcoming in her parenting, or Inojin’s learning. Sai had repeated that endlessly, carefully parroting Sakura’s words, until Ino had eventually slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed, “I know, stop saying it over and over again!”

Now, she continued to fidget with Inojin’s hair. She wanted it longer, but he liked it the length it was. It was still gorgeously smooth and silky, and she leaned down to breathe him in, revelling in how open he was to contact when he was relaxed.

She had to grab hugs and kisses in between bouts of adolescent tantrums and over-stimulation that left him grumpy and uncomfortable with anyone’s touch. Moments like these, when he smiled and let her do what she wanted to his hair, were ones that she cherished.

He was reading the bottle of pills, shaking it occasionally to listen, and humming tunelessly to himself as Ino combed her fingers through his bangs. His head snapped to the door as Sai entered.

“Dad!” Inojin sat up a bit straighter in his seat, but didn’t escape Ino’s hold. “You’re home already? You said you’d show me how to use watercolour paints properly. Can we do that now?”

“Homework,” Ino reminded him gently, letting his bangs fall across his forehead again.

“It’s almost done,” Inojin tipped his head back. He locked his eyes onto Ino’s for as long as he could, before he had to wrench his gaze away.

“Finish it first,” Sai said, coming fully into the kitchen. He leaned over to give Ino a kiss on the cheek, which she returned on his mouth.

Inojin made a face, looking back to his homework. His parents were gross. He picked up his pen, getting his attention back on his work. It was easier to focus with Ino staying behind him, talking to Sai in a low voice and running her hands through his hair. He liked the way it felt. He hummed under his breath, content and relaxed.

“How is he doing?” Sai asked later, watching Inojin through the window as he sat on the grass sketching flowers.

Ino sat next to Sai on the couch, with a slight grimace. “Not so great. Shino says he’s struggling to concentrate. He’s getting distracted too easily. It’s hard for him to focus when everyone is talking at once in class.”

Sai nodded. “That sounds like it might become an issue.”

“It’s already an issue. If he’s struggling in a class, imagine what it’ll be like in the field. When missions start – he needs to be able to focus on his task. I get worried that he’ll get into a fight and get overwhelmed.”

“But he copes okay in training,” Sai pointed out. “He trains with his team and doesn’t get distracted.”

“Temari says the other two cover him too much,” Ino leaned back into the couch. “She says Chocho blocks all the attacks on Inojin and Shikadai keeps him at the back of formations.”

“When last did you train with them? Is he really struggling that much?”

“I haven’t had a chance in the last few weeks,” Ino passed a hand tiredly over her eyes. “Temari and Karui have taken on most of the training sessions this month. I’ll try fit one in with them soon.”

She fell silent for a while, just watching Inojin. After a few minutes, she spoke softly, “I got a new medication for him to try.”

Sai looked at her. “Are you okay with that?”

“Not really.”

“It helps him.”

“I know. But that doesn’t make me feel like any less of a failure. I know I shouldn’t compare him to anyone else, but we’re the only ones with a kid who needs help to function day to day.” Ino shifted a bit closer to Sai, trying to push away the nagging feelings of defeat.

“You know that’s no one’s fault. It’s not your fault.” His words were carefully rehearsed; this was a conversation they had had multiple times.

“I know. But I still . . .” Ino shook her head. “I know that rationally there’s nothing I could have changed, and I did nothing wrong, but I still can’t quite shake that I’m the problem.” It was a constantly lingering thought, that she had failed Inojin as a mother.

And now, with his career as a shinobi looming closer, it felt like all those worries were starting to become real.

She was terrified for him.

Chapter Text

There had been a blissful period of a few years where Inojin had seemed to settle into himself. He talked more, grinned and sometimes laughed, and volunteered to start casual conversations. A lot of the hurdles of his toddler years had been overcome – while he was still a fussy eater, at least he would eat at every meal, even if the variety Ino wanted wasn’t there.

He found hobbies to immerse himself in – drawing, and learning about flowers. Inojin knew the common and scientific names of every flower in the shop, as well as their care and meaning, and sometimes he repeated those facts to himself under his breath to keep himself grounded.

Things had been ticking over so smoothly, until the rapid onset of his teenage years, and the flood of hormones threw off his tenuous control over his emotional state. The fluctuating changes in his body sent him reeling, unable to figure out why he was feeling things.

Sometimes he would be angry for no reason, and since he had learned to attach anger to some sort of event, its out of nowhere appearance only incited him more. Sometimes he would feel sad for no reason, sometimes it felt like his skin was crawling when people stared at him for too long.

There had been loud shouting matches as Inojin tried to figure himself out, frustrated at how life had become hard again, when he had established his routines and likes and nervous ticks, and having everything thrown into confusion again made him feel alienated within his own body.

Ino’s one saving grace was Shikadai going through the exact same thing. Inojin looked to his best friend for guidance constantly, and knowing that Shikadai also experienced out of nowhere surges of emotion helped settle him. It helped him feel less singled out.

While Inojin’s outbursts tended to be loud – stomping around the house, slamming doors, irritated growling – Shikadai tended more towards simmering brooding and caustic, biting remarks.

“Please tell me we weren’t this bad when we were teenagers,” Ino said wearily, sinking down into her seat at the tea house. She and Sakura had grabbed an hour together, to talk and catch up, and, more often than not, discuss the troubles of parenting.

“You were way worse than Inojin,” Sakura replied, grinning at her friend.

“I was not!” Ino defended, although she knew it was true. She had been prone to very loud emotional tantrums, and hers had outmatched Inojin’s by miles, largely because he lacked the verbal creativity to top some of her more descriptive screaming monologues at her parents.

She rolled her eyes when Sakura giggled. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little hard to handle. How’s Sarada?”

“Not too bad,” Sakura said. “Tends to get a little moody, but she’s been even keeled.”

She sipped her tea, eying Ino over the rim of the cup. “How’s Inojin’s new medication working?”

Ino shrugged one shoulder. “It’s working. He concentrates better.”

“You don’t sound pleased about that.”

“I hoped to get him off medication,” Ino admitted. “You know . . . so he could feel a bit more normal.”

“That might be an option after puberty, but he needs the help right at the moment. Especially now,” Sakura said, “Because everything’s changing, and he’s starting to really notice that he’s different.”

“I know.” Ino sighed. “He compares himself to Shikadai all the time. Shikadai doesn’t take medication, and Shikadai doesn’t feel sick if he uses his chakra too much, and Shikadai’s allowed to skip breakfast . . . the list goes on.”

Sakura nodded sympathetically. “Well, he did choose a genius as his best friend.”

Ino turned her teacup around idly.

“What about the trip to Mist?” Sakura asked. “How are you handling that?”

“I’m terrified.” Ino looked at Sakura. “I’m so scared he’s going to shut down and something will happen to him. I can’t sleep at night wondering if he’ll be okay. Sai’s worried about me worrying about him. He thinks I’m overprotective.”

“You are.”

“With good reason.”

“I know.” Sakura shook her head. “I miss babies.”

“Me too. I love that Inojin’s growing and I get to experience that, but I miss when he was little.”

“They’re all going to be fine. This is what we aim for, as parents, to see them grow and make their own paths and . . . go off into the world. Mist is good steppingstone for that.”

Ino nodded slowly. She knew Inojin needed to experience the world, but it was so hard to think of letting go. She wanted to hold his hand forever, to keep him close and safe. She wanted to keep her special little sunshine boy for as long as she could. These looming milestones – graduation to genin, beginning his teenage years – had been far away for so long.

Now, in one sudden rush, her boy was growing up and everything was changing. Inojin was not the only one going through abrupt adjustments. Ino needed to relearn her role as mother, no longer purely nurturing, but also preparing him for the world outside and all its perils.

She offered Sakura a tentative smile. “I hope so.”

Shino was droning on about the rules for Mist, and the things they would do. There seemed to be very few people still listening to him. Inojin had heard Boruto snore a few minutes ago.

Shikadai had his handheld game under his desk, eyes down as he played.

“Shikadai.” Inojin tugged his sleeve. He had an important question to ask, one that had been on his mind for days. Until now, he hadn’t had the courage to ask it.

“Hm?” Shikadai barely glanced at him, not entirely paying attention, and looking to his game again.

“In Mist . . . Will you . . . will you hold my hand?”

Shikadai stiffened slightly. He cleared his throat, “Um, in public?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Inojin didn’t see what difference that would make.

Shikadai didn’t answer for a moment, brows creasing together. Inojin waited patiently. Finally, he said dismissively, “Probably. Should be fine. If we have to.”

Inojin felt some of the tension leave his system. With so many unknown variables, he was trying to get something consistent in place. With Mist threatening to leave him nothing within his comfort zone, he needed something familiar and grounding. Holding onto Shikadai would be one point of consistency in an otherwise tumultuous and unpredictable world, because it was something they commonly did.

“Thanks,” he breathed softly.

Shikadai didn’t say anything in return. He sent Inojin another sideways glance, just a brief flick of his eyes, but Inojin knew that Shikadai only needed a second to gather all the information he wanted. Inojin liked the sideways looks he got from his friend – because it wasn’t confrontational, and he didn’t need to look into Shikadai’s eyes, but he could still see them, and Shikadai’s eyes were beautiful.

One day, he wanted to draw them properly. One day, when he could look for long enough.

He smiled to himself, trying to imagine it.

Shikadai looked at his game again, but his lips quirked up slightly.

Inojin sat on his bed, staring at the list of things he needed for Mist. The words looked blurry on the page, the enormity of leaving home for so long hitting hard. He swallowed. “Mom?”

“Yes, love?” Ino glanced up at him from the foot of the bed, where she had been neatly folding his clothes.

“. . . Mist is going to be scary.”

“Yes, probably.”

He whined softly, unsure of how to voice his concerns.

“You’ll be fine,” Ino said. “I’m meeting with Shino-sensei in a few days to make sure he’s prepared if you aren’t managing.”

Inojin sunk a bit further into his blanket.

“I want to talk to Shikadai as well about what to do if you shut down,” Ino deftly folded clothes onto Inojin’s ever growing pile.

“But that hardly ever happens anymore,” Inojin protested, flaring to life again. “He doesn’t need to fuss over me like you do!”

“I will fuss; you’re my child.” Ino reached over to muss up his hair. Inojin ducked away, pouting. “All I’m trying to do is make sure you’re able to have the best trip ever. It’s your first time away; you should enjoy it.”

“Will enjoy it,” Inojin muttered. “’Cause you won’t be nagging me.”

His emotions flipflopped back and forth on how he felt about going away. Part of him was excited, because the rest of the class was excited. It would be cool to see new things, to experience a new country. And a whole week with his friends – with Shikadai - was appealing. However, a week of broken routines and different places was intimidating. A week of being uneasy and off balance worried him. He wanted to go, but he also very much wanted to stay home.

Uncertainty in his own emotions made him doubly uneasy.

“You’ll be fine, sunshine,” Ino said encouragingly. “And remember, Shikadai will be right there.”

Inojin huffed out a breath. “Yeah.”

“You’ll have fun. Just take your meds, and try to relax.”

Inojin whined again, a frustrated sound.

“Everything will be fine. And you can call me any time. Just let Shino know you need help. And Shikadai will be keeping an eye on you, in case things become too much for you to handle.” She smiled warmly at him, and Inojin met her eyes for a few seconds, somehow dredging up the strength to smile back. “You’ll be fine, darling.”

Chapter Text

Things proved too much to handle the moment Inojin stepped off the ship.

Mist’s harbour was alive, there were countless people all moving in different directions, at different speeds, and it looked so much more modern and intimidating than the Leaf. Inojin’s legs felt shaky, and he tried to focus on staying upright and moving with his class. He almost walked into Shikadai’s back, perspective scrambled, and spent much of Shino’s initial lecture on the trip staring at the circle on the back of Shikadai’s jacket.

He couldn’t understand anything Shino was saying anyway; the teacher’s words were drowned out by too much noise outside, and an equal amount of noise inside his head. He didn’t think he was going to be able to keep up with the class. It felt like he was swimming, with the activity around him blending into a confusing mesh of colour.

The rest of the class began to move off, and Inojin found himself unable to follow. He wasn’t sure he had full control over himself. Not here, not in a new place, with too much and too much . . .

Inojin’s fingers closed around the hem of Shikadai’s jacket, seeking something to anchor himself with. Mist was busier than he thought it was going to be. It was bustling and overwhelming, and there were too many sights and sounds and smells all at once.

He wanted to stop and try to make sense of everything, his mind scrambling itself trying to make out what was happening, but stopping wasn’t an option with everyone already beginning to move off.

Shikadai glanced back at him as he felt the tug on his clothes. “You okay?”

Inojin shook his head, feeling as though all his words evaporated out his brain. He shook his head again, hoping that would telegraph what he was feeling. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move forwards as the rest of the class started to blend into the crowd.

“Can you walk?” Shikadai asked. “Holding onto me is fine, too, by the way.”

Inojin swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if he heard Shikadai correctly, his voice was getting lost in the slew of activity around him.

“Oi, Boruto,” Shikadai called. “We’re gonna be a bit behind you guys.”

“Okay!” Boruto called back, with a cheerful wave.

Shikadai turned to face Inojin. “Okay, I think you’re shutting down. I need you to not lose me completely. Can you hear me?”

Inojin nodded uncertainly.

“Can you talk to me?”

That one he knew how to answer. Inojin shook his head definitively.

“Can you walk next to me?”

Inojin shrugged, unsure. Maybe he could. His body felt fine, but everything felt far away and confusing. Colours were bleeding together, and different smells were making his stomach churn. His skin felt like it was crawling, like all the sights and sounds were running around over his body.

Shikadai blew a loud breath out the corner of his mouth, thinking his options through. “Do you need me to touch you?”

Inojin nodded. Maybe that would make everything else go away, if he had only one thing to focus on.

“Okay. I’m going to hug you for now, then we’re going to try walking to catch up to the others. Doesn’t matter if it takes a while.” Shikadai pulled Inojin close, one hand moving to block Inojin’s ear. With half of everything muffled, Inojin felt himself calm a little.

And Shikadai’s heartbeat was smooth and slow. He was warm, and he smelt familiar. Inojin dug his nose into Shikadai’s shoulder. He wanted far more time, but Shikadai was pulling back too soon, saying softly, “We’ve got to go now. I’m going to keep holding you, though. Nod so I know you heard me.”

Inojin was tempted not to, and just keep standing in Shikadai’s space and warmth and familiarity, but he nodded his head anyway, trying to hide away in Shikadai’s shoulder.

Shikadai draped an arm across Inojin’s shoulders, and that helped. It helped hold Inojin to the ground, because he felt like he was going to float off. But the ground was firm underneath him, and Shikadai was firm over him, and wedged between two pieces of solidity, Inojin felt a bit better. He stumbled slightly as they started walking, before his brain caught up and let him move like normal.

He wanted to let Shikadai knew he appreciated him, but he knew he wasn’t able to speak at the moment. He made a mental note to mention it later, when his words came back.

He was silent for the rest of the day, following the circle on Shikadai’s back. Having just one thing to worry about was easier than trying to understand the thousands of things happening around him all at once. He found, though, that as the day wore on, sights and sounds started to settle and make sense again, and when they returned to their lodging in the afternoon, he could actually look around and see where they were.

He felt better after supper. He wedged himself between Shikadai and Chocho as the class sat in a circle, talking animatedly about the day so far. He knew Shino was eying him, and he shrank further into Chocho’s side to hide. She draped an arm over him casually, talking in her loud and commanding way, and that made him feel much better.

Chocho was still normal. She was still herself, and he anchored onto something familiar, fidgeting his fingers together so he had something interesting to look at.

Shikadai glanced at him occasionally, looking him over and assessing if he was needed. Inojin managed to give him a reassuring smile once, that morphed into something far more genuine when Shikadai smiled back fondly.

After a few more minutes of chatting, Boruto urged everyone up to go exploring the city. The sun was starting to set, and the whole world was looking different.

Chocho pulled Inojin to his feet when he didn’t get up immediately, fussing over him.

He pushed her away with a small laugh. “I’m fine.”

“You zoned out,” she chastised softly.

“I’m here,” he assured. “I’m feeling fine.”

Shikadai came to his shoulder. “Better than this morning?”

“Yes.” Inojin nodded, moving to follow the rest of the class as they left the room in a loud, hurried crowd.

“Inojin,” Shino-sensei called him back. He waited until the others were out of ear shot before adding, “Did you take your medication today?”

Inojin hesitated. The answer was ‘no’, but if he admitted that, he would have to go and take it. And he didn’t want to, because everyone was waiting for him. He didn’t want to be singled out, didn’t want to delay the entire group just for something that seemed unimportant.

“Yes,” he said slowly, hoping he sounded convincing.

“Alright,” Shino nodded. “Carry on then.”

Inojin turned to run after his friends. Shikadai and Boruto had paused to wait for him.

“Everything okay?” Shikadai asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Inojin couldn’t look him in the eye. “Nothing important.”

Shikadai tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing, but he didn’t say anything more. He just shrugged, and seemed to accept Inojin’s explanation. Relieved at not being singled out once again, Inojin fell into step at Shikadai’s side.

He sought out the other boy’s hand, his relief mounting even more when Shikadai didn’t shake his hand loose. He smiled, content, at the ground as they walked together, and thought that maybe the trip wouldn’t be too hard after all.

The room was completely silent, but Inojin’s mind was racing, and his stomach was churning. Everyone else was asleep, the only sounds being the occasional snuffle and rustle as someone moved.

The blankets felt weird. They were scratchy and loud, and he felt like they were poking into his skin. The mattress was wrong as well, sinking in the wrong places, and his pillow didn’t smell like home and the cover was different and pushed at his face.

Inojin swallowed hard, pushing down the rolling feeling of nausea. He hated the disruption. He hated the change in routine. He hated how the sheets felt. It unsettled him, and he couldn’t focus enough to calm down. And whatever feeling he had, he couldn’t name it, and that was making him anxious.

It was something new, something he didn’t know how to deal with, and he wanted to throw up. He sat up, staring at Shikadai’s bed. The other boy had been the first to fall asleep, conking out easily despite the talking that had still been going on at the time.

Hesitantly, Inojin slipped out of bed and took the few steps to reach Shikadai’s side. He shook his shoulder gently. “Sh-Shikadai?”

There was no response.

“Shikadai,” he shook him again, a bit harder.

That earned a muted “Hm?” and Shikadai’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “Wha? Inojin?”

“Can’t sleep,” Inojin whispered.

“Well, I can, so go away,” Shikadai drew the blankets irritably up over his head.

Inojin felt his lip quiver. “Shikadai . . .”

There was a moment of silence, then a resigned groan from beneath the blankets. Shikadai threw them aside, sitting up, “Okay, fine, I’m up. Come with me.”

He stood up, grasping Inojin’s hand in his own, and led him to the balcony door. Boruto let out a loud, reassuring snore as they passed him, and Shikadai was pleased they hadn’t woken everyone. He fiddled the door open, dragging Inojin out into the cool night air, and closed the door.

Inojin sat down on the balcony with a thump, resting his back against the wall, and wiped the tears off his cheeks. They were flowing without permission, frustration at his lack of control over himself, and miserable pity because he felt sick and didn’t want to.

Shikadai sat next to him, staring at him. “You didn’t take your meds, did you?”

Inojin shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak.

“You’re such a drag sometimes,” Shikadai sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Why didn’t you? We would have waited for you.”

“Everyone would know,” Inojin whispered.

Shikadai shrugged one shoulder. “I would have gone with you. We could have made an excuse together, if you don’t want anyone to know.”

The sick feeling in Inojin’s stomach rose higher, and his breath left him in a wet shudder, more tears flowing from his eyes. He squeezed them shut, bringing his knees up to his chest and sobbing into them quietly.

Shikadai threw an arm around his shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently, “You’re gonna wake everyone.”

Inojin answered with a sob.

“Come on, let’s get away from everyone,” Shikadai stood up, hauling Inojin to his feet with him. “We’ll go down to the harbour. Watch the waves for a bit.”

Inojin snivelled, fruitlessly wiping at his cheeks again. But he nodded, and Shikadai led him by a hand around his wrist, hopping casually over the balcony railing and into the street below.

The water was calm, lapping gently at the edges of the stone steps that they stood on. Moonlight rippled on the surface, and the streetlamps were dim enough not to overpower it. Eventually, the tears dried on Inojin’s cheeks, and he calmed his breathing down.

“Next time you need to take your meds,” Shikadai said softly, watching the water. “Tell me, and we’ll do it together.”

Inojin nodded.

“What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” Inojin’s voice shook a bit. “Not sure what it is . . .”

Shikadai scratched the back of his head. “Tell me about it.”

“Feels like . . . like anxious but isn’t the same . . . My head feels weird.”

“Overwhelmed, probably,” Shikadai suggested, followed by a wide yawn. “It’s okay. It’s normal.”

“Other people feel it too?”

“Yeah.”

Inojin nodded shakily. That made him feel better. He liked to know that he was normal, felt the same things that normal people felt.

“Let’s go back,” Shikadai said, offering a hand for Inojin to hold. “And you can sleep in my bed with me, if you need to.”

Inojin’s face brightened. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Eh, a little,” he admitted. “But it’s fine. You need it.” He tugged at Inojin’s hand, guiding him back.

Inojin smiled at him, silently grateful.

They returned silently to the others, and to Inojin’s relief, no one had woken. He bypassed his bed entirely, going straight for Shikadai’s.

The young Nara sighed, looking resigned, but he climbed in next to Inojin anyway.

It was still difficult to fall asleep, but Inojin felt a bit more settled with a hand in Shikadai’s shirt, and staring at the back of his neck. He fell asleep eventually, snuggled in between Shikadai’s shoulder blades, breathing in his scent, and woke up feeling anxious and nauseous.

He rolled out of bed without a word, glancing at the window to guess the time. It was early morning – not too early to be up, but not yet late enough for everyone to start rising. He pattered to the bathroom to gain some privacy, unsure if he needed to just sit quietly, or throw up, or even cry a bit.

He leant against the bathroom wall once he closed the door, running one hand through his hair. He felt hot and sticky, his mind feeling oddly disjointed from his body, and he almost sighed at himself.

Don’t shut down, he thought, slightly angry at himself. Just cope, nothing’s even happening. You can do this.

Awareness of his own shortcomings was frustrating him. No one else worried like he did. No one else had times where they couldn’t focus enough to hear what was being said to them. No one else had days when they couldn’t look at anyone else. No one, just him, he was the only one.

He was the only one who was different.

He squeezed his eyes shut, both hands in his hair, gripping tight. A low, frustrated noise escaped him. Stop it, stop it, stop it, he thought desperately. Stop thinking, just stop it.

He tugged at his hair, trying to distract himself from what was happening inside his head.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Inojin just shook his head when he heard Shikadai’s voice, not opening his eyes. He whined again, sinking down to crouch in a miserable huddle. Stop it, stop it, stop it –

“Hey,” Shikadai sat down next to him, reaching out to grip Inojin’s wrist. “Let go.”

Inojin snatched his arm away with another violent shake of his head, still not daring to open his eyes and face the world. He wanted to say more, wanted to add Please don’t touch me right now, I can’t take it, but the words were gone and he had no way to get the thoughts in his head out.

He wanted his mother. Because she didn’t need him to speak, and she could still listen to him, and the world was overwhelming him.

“Inojin,” Shikadai said patiently. “I’m not going to touch you unless you ask me to. But please let go of your hair. It’d be a drag telling your mom you’re trying to hurt yourself.”

Reluctantly, Inojin let his hands fall into his lap, folding over a bit more. He rested his forehead against his knees.

“What’s going on?” That was Boruto’s voice, laced with sleep.

Go away, Inojin thought. Don’t look at me.

“We’re fine,” Shikadai answered. “If Shino-sensei comes just tell him we’ll catch up later.”

“Is Inojin okay?”

Inojin could hear Boruto step closer, and he flinched ever so slightly.

“Yeah, he’s okay.” Shikadai sounded warm and soothing. “You can leave us. I’ll let you know if we need help.”

“If you say so . . .” Boruto didn’t sound convinced, but to Inojin’s absolute relief, he pattered out of the bathroom.

Inojin and Shikadai sat in silence, while Inojin struggled to calm his thoughts. He didn’t know how long it took before he felt able to lift his head and open his eyes. He supposed the time didn’t matter, because Shikadai could sit still doing nothing for hours.

The other boy had his eyes closed, head back against the wall, looking as though he had fallen asleep where he sat.

“Sh-shikadai?” Inojin mentally slapped himself. He hated when he stuttered. It was stupid, and annoying; it shouldn’t ever happen.

“Hm?” Shikadai blinked his eyes open.

“I’m okay.”

“Ah, good.” Shikadai stretched leisurely, before standing up. “Ready to go back to the others?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t get up, though. He stayed in a huddle, staring at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“’Bout what?” Shikadai asked, with a wide yawn.

“. . . Being me . . .” He had a lot more to add. For always getting in the way of things. For always taking up your time. For always being different. For making you spend an hour sitting in the bathroom for no reason.

Shikadai’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Inojin. His analysis continued for a few minutes, then he said, slowly and plainly, “It’s okay.”

Inojin swallowed hard, eyes never moving. He nodded once, getting to his feet slowly. He could feel Shikadai’s eyes on him, but he didn’t have the courage to look at him. He wiped a hand across his eyes, trying to push his thoughts away, trying to drag whatever he was feeling off his face.

He felt exhausted, and the day had only just started. How was he meant to function for the next twelve hours? His stomach was twisting and he felt sick.

Shikadai didn’t say anything, but wordlessly held out a hand.

Inojin stared at it for a moment, then reached out and entwined their fingers, and let Shikadai pull him gently out of the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Ino had been staring at the phone for half an hour.

Sai had been watching her stare at it. Eventually, he asked, “Are you expecting something to happen . . .?”

“Should I call Shino? Should I check on him? What if he’s not coping?” Ino’s stare didn’t waver.

“If something had happened, Shino would have called,” Sai pointed out, as reasonably as he could.

“You don’t know that. Maybe he doesn’t want to worry us.”

“. . . Because there’s nothing to worry about?” Sai was a bit lost, unsure of how to handle Ino’s circular logic.

“What if Shino can’t call us to tell us what the problem is, because Inojin can’t tell him?”

Sai blinked. “He could still call. He just couldn’t be specific about why he was calling.”

“Ugh,” Ino dropped her face into both hands. “I hate this.”

“Inojin’s fine,” Sai edged towards her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You know he is. He’s been doing well.”

Ino was muffled behind her hands. “But he hates new places, and everything is going to be so busy. I can’t help it; I worry about him all the time. I know he’ll be fine but . . . he spent so long not being fine, it’s hard to remember he’s growing up and becoming more independent.”

She sat up with a loud sigh, letting her hands fall into her lap. “Aren’t you worried about him?”

“Of course.” Sai looked surprised by the question. “He’s my son, I always worry about him. But he’ll be okay. He always has been.” He sighed lightly, folding his arms and adding on, “You and I have done what we can for him. He’s got to find his own path in life now.”

When Ino said nothing, Sai ventured on with caution, “Isn’t that what we’ve both been wanting? For Inojin to be able to manage without us?”

“Yes,” she exhaled heavily. “Of course it is. It still is. But Sai . . . letting him go is even harder than holding onto him. I miss my baby boy who used to come home with a flower in his hand for me. I miss how he used to hide behind me all the time.” She smiled fondly, “I miss mornings when he wouldn’t eat breakfast because he was trying to tell me what he dreamed and couldn’t find the words. He’s changing, from who he used to be, and I . . .” She trailed off.

“He’s changing because of you,” Sai said gently.

“I don’t want to change him,” Ino shook her head.

“You changed me,” Sai pointed out, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He forged on, “You changed me into someone better. I wouldn’t be with you today if you hadn’t been able to help me the way you did. We wouldn’t have Inojin. We wouldn’t have any of this. You change everything around you into something better.” He smiled sincerely. “Now it’s Inojin’s turn.”

Shikadai drummed his fingers on the table, jaw skewed as he frowned at Inojin.

The other boy avoided eye contact, tracing a pen absently on his sketch pad. He wasn’t drawing, just wasting time. He could hear the rest of the class in the other room, loud and enthusiastic.

“Inojin,” Shikadai finally said. “You’ve got about five minutes. We’re going out soon.”

Inojin sighed. “It tastes funny and makes me feel weird.”

“Only the new one,” Shikadai said, a slight tinge of exasperation in his tone. “Take your meds, Inojin. We can’t sit here all day while you whine about it.”

“I’m not whining,” he rolled his eyes.

“You are whining.” Shikadai’s green eyes narrowed. “Come on, don’t be a drag, just get it done.”

Being different was starting to gnaw at him. He was starting to feel singled out at every turn – because he couldn’t always listen when people were talking, and he couldn’t always try new foods, and he couldn’t just go out and play with his friends because his mind wouldn’t slow down and stop buzzing all the time.

“I hate this,” Inojin said miserably. “I hate having to be different, and I hate taking my medication, and I hate that I can’t be like everyone else.”

Shikadai tipped his head back. “It’s not something you can change. It’s something you have to live with. So do what needs to be done, and let’s get on with the day.”

It was easy for him, Inojin thought, rather grumpily. Nothing had ever been difficult for Shikadai. Everything in life came so easily to him – be that talking, or thinking, or being a shinobi. Shikadai didn’t know what it was like to struggle. Shikadai just cruised through everything – ahead of the curve, ahead of everyone.

“Come on, Inojin,” Shikadai’s voice sharpened, his patience wearing thin.

Inojin slumped in his seat. “Don’t wanna.”

“Fine. Don’t.” Shikadai stood up. “Then whine at Chocho when you feel sick later. I’m going.”

“Don’t,” Inojin blurted out. Don’t leave, please. Please stay with me.

Shikadai paused, waiting for an explanation.

“’M doing my best,” Inojin mumbled. “Don’t leave.”

“Just take your meds, and get it over with,” Shikadai said wearily. “Everyone is waiting.”

Inojin sighed heavily. “Sorry.”

“Just do it.”

“Everyone will talk.”

“They’re talking already, ‘cause you’re taking too long.” Shikadai shook his head. “It’s our last day. Don’t spend it closed in on yourself.”

“. . . Hold hands . . .?”

Shikadai paused again, jaw working slightly as he thought. “Yeah, okay.”

Inojin smiled at the table, slightly embarrassed he couldn’t look at Shikadai and smile. He reached for his medication, swallowing down his pills with a grimace. He packed everything away, then joined Shikadai, ready to leave.

Shikadai gave him a slight approving nod, and then left the room.

“What took you so long?” Boruto demanded instantly. “You were ages in there.”

“My fault,” Shikadai said smoothly, with a casual shrug. “Was busy with some things.”

“We’re wasting our last day,” Boruto claimed. “Now can we go?”

“Yeah, we can go.” Shikadai shoved one hand into his jacket pocket, and reached the other one back. Inojin took it with a gentle, grateful smile, and let himself be dragged away.

The journey home was easier.

Inojin planted himself in Chocho’s lap for most of the boat ride, and she fussed with his hair while talking animatedly to her friends about some cheesy romance novel she was reading. It was soothing to listen to her, even though he found her descriptions of ‘falling in love’ confusing and difficult to follow. It didn’t sound like anything he had felt before, and he wondered in passing if he could love other people who weren’t his parents, or if that was another thing he couldn’t do. He mused over it until the ship stopped in Konoha, and the familiarity of home washed over him like a flood of comfort.

Inojin was relieved to be home again, feeling as though he could smile properly, and relax.

Shikadai and Boruto claimed they were going off together. Inojin considered going with them, but he was still feeling queasy from the ship, and just wanted to go home and lie down.

“Hey,” Chocho stopped him. “You okay?”

He nodded.

“Can you get home on your own?”

Another nod, and a small smile, and Chocho patted his shoulder. He sent Shikadai a glance, and Shikadai nodded at him to let him know he had been noticed.

Inojin waved goodbye to them, heading eagerly in the direction of home. Normal sights and normal sounds settled him, and he felt a blanket of exhaustion envelop him. He wanted his bed, where he could crawl in and lay down and just relax.

He had barely opened the front door before Ino came flying around the corner into the hall.

“Oh, thank god, you’re home okay.” She held out her arms, ready to scoop him up into a tight hug.

Inojin flinched back, not quite ready for being smothered in affection. His grip on the door handle tightened. “Don’t . . .”

Ino stopped herself. There was a short, tense moment, then she dropped her hands back to her sides, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She chewed it, looking him over carefully.

He stayed where he was, hesitant.

After a moment, Ino crossed her arms, trying hard to fight down the instinct to hold her child.

“How was it?” Ino asked, looking away from him, trying not to be too confrontational.

“Mostly good,” Inojin answered, fully entering the house. “Some bits didn’t feel so good, but I was okay.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Inojin dropped his bag on the floor. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

“You feeling okay?”

“Ship made me feel funny, but I’m fine.”

“Do you need me to come and lie down with you?”

“No,” Inojin shook his head. “Don’t wanna touch anyone for a bit.” His skin felt weird, wired and damp, from too many people too close, too many crowds and jostles, and he desperately craved space and quiet for his busy mind and tired body.

“Okay,” Ino nodded her understanding. “Close your bedroom door if you don’t want to be interrupted for dinner later.”

“I think I’ll be okay then,” Inojin slid past her. “You can talk to me then.”

The urge to grab him and hold him close was almost overwhelming, and Ino found it difficult to ignore. She had missed him terribly, and wanted nothing more than to bury her nose in his hair and breathe him in, and feel his warmth and reassure herself that he was fine.

But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just hold him and cuddle him when he didn’t want it. It was frustrating and infuriating at times, that there had to be a limit on her love. She hugged her arms close to her body as he slipped past, in case the urge overwhelmed her and she reached for him. It was hideously counter-instinctual, not to have him within her grasp, not to have him close against her.

His adversity to contact made her heart clench at times, so against what she felt as a mother. It had been hard not to take it personally, as he grew up and objected to out of nowhere hugs, shrugged hands off his shoulders, asked quietly that she not touch him for a while.

“I love you,” she said, as he rounded the corner on the way to his room.

He paused, one hand on the wall, to lean back and beam at her with Sai’s smile, wide enough to crinkle his nose, wide enough to close his eyes, and said back, clearly, “Love you too.”

And that had to be enough for now.

Ino sighed once he was out of ear shot. It was hard. It was hard holding herself back, it was hard going against a violent, primal, maternal instinct. Because he was rattled and she longed to comfort him, but the only way she knew how was the way that made him uncomfortable.

Sometimes it felt like there was a rift between them, one she didn’t know how to cross. Inojin was sweet and affectionate, but from a distance, and Ino was used to closeness and contact, and craved that with her own child. As he grew older and more independent, he wasn’t as willing to allow her to do what she wanted to him.

He loved certain things; he loved when she fiddled with his hair and he loved when she brushed her hand on his shoulder, but he shied away sometimes from hugs and cuddling. She missed the way he used to clamber onto her lap to talk. She missed how he used to beg to be picked up on long walks.

Now he skipped ahead of her, finally showing that vibrant, youthful energy that had been missing, and while it made her heart swell with pride to see who he was becoming, she couldn’t help but long for the days when he needed her for everything.

She pressed herself close to Sai that night, desperate for someone who wouldn’t push her away.

Chapter Text

The classroom was buzzing with voices, mostly discussing the upcoming graduation exam. Inojin sat at his desk, drawing quietly. Shikadai lay along the bench, head on Inojin’s lap, one foot on the bench, the other on the floor, arms crossed loosely over his stomach.

Inojin wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. Shikadai hadn’t moved in a while, stretched out and peaceful. He didn’t want to ask if he were awake, because then Shikadai might move, and that would ruin Inojin’s sketch.

Boruto burst into the room with barely contained excitement. “Shikadai!”

To Inojin’s irritation, Shikadai opened his eyes. He did not sit up, though, which was helpful.

“Hey,” he said lazily. “You’re loud.”

“It’s exciting!” Boruto bounded over to them, standing and grinning down at Shikadai. “The countdown has begun.”

“Only a week of this left,” Shikadai said, holding out a fist.

Boruto bumped it affectionately with his own, grinning broadly. “Yeah, it’s gonna be so cool. Graduation’s gonna be easy.”

Inojin glanced up from his paper, shifting uneasily.

Shikadai tipped his head back slightly, eying the underside of Inojin’s chin. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Inojin flipped his sketchbook closed. It would be easy enough to finish the drawing later. Shikadai was often to be caught napping somewhere. It wasn’t the drawing Inojin wanted, but the end goal of being able to study the emerald bright depths of Shikadai’s eyes was still out of Inojin’s reach and capability.

Boruto hopped onto the desk, staring down at Shikadai and chatting animatedly about something.

Inojin wasn’t listening. The mention of graduation drawing nearer made him tense.

Everything was going to change.

The easy routine they had settled into for years was going to change.

There wouldn’t be predictable classes and familiar people.

Everything would be different.

Inojin swallowed nervously, feeling his stomach clench slightly. He stayed quiet for the rest of the day, sticking close to Shikadai and brooding over the future.

He walked home alone, eyes down, steps sluggish.

Shikadai and Boruto were happy about graduating. They were excited and keen to move on to new things.

Inojin did not feel the same way, and it clouded his mind. Was something wrong with him? Was he feeling the wrong emotions? Did he not feel the same way other people did? Maybe all the emotions he learned were wrong. Maybe everything about himself was wrong.

It had to be wrong, because he was the only one feeling this way. He was the only one feeling sick with dread, when everyone else was alive with anticipation. He was different, and wrong, and he stumbled home in a state.

A low growl of frustration escaped him, and once inside he kicked off his shoes. He was angry. At himself, for being wrong all the time. At Shikadai, for being normal. At Boruto, for also being normal. At life, for trying to change.

Just angry, and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

It coiled in his chest and stomach, hot and overflowing. He wanted to scream, maybe hit something, just do something, anything, to get rid of the feeling.

He went into the lounge, eyes down at the floor, and almost startled when Ino spoke.

“Inojin?” she looked up from the couch, immediately putting her book aside, sitting up straighter. “Is everything okay?”

He shook his head, throwing a glare out the window. There were no birds to watch.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Ino asked, in a patient voice.

“Me.” Inojin turned to face her for a second, then had to turn away again. Her eyes burned him, and he couldn’t meet them. It sparked another hot flush of frustration, because looking at people shouldn’t be hard, and why couldn’t he do it if it was so, so easy for everyone else?

“What’s wrong with you?” Ino asked, sitting quietly, not moving. She didn’t want to distract his focus.

He shook his head, blond hair whipping around violently.

“Love, tell me what’s bothering you-“

“Don’t wanna be different!” Inojin shouted, the volume of his voice surprising him. “Don’t wanna always be different!” He clutched at his hair, too frustrated to speak, but desperately wanting to make his thoughts known. He had so much to say and no way to say it.

“Okay,” Ino said soothingly. “Settle down.”

“Don’t wanna!”

“Do you have things you need to say to me?”

He nodded frantically, moving restlessly around.

“Come here,” Ino held her arms open.

“Can’t.” Inojin stomped his feet.

“I’ll listen to you if you come here and try to calm down.”

A frustrated whine wrestled its way from Inojin’s throat, but he stalked over to Ino, falling into her lap.

Ino placed a hand across his forehead, holding him gently still. “If you don’t like what I’m doing, I’ll stop. You don’t have to say anything, you can just push my hand away, okay?”

“’Kay,” Inojin said, staring rather blankly at nothing. He twitched as Ino’s hand glowed faintly green, breath speeding up in nervous anticipation.

“It’s okay,” she murmured into his hair. “I’ve got you, sunshine, it’s fine.”

He could feel himself calming down, leaning more heavily against her, eyes almost drooping closed.

“Inojin,” Ino said softly, “I’m going to see what you’re thinking about, okay? Same rules as always, you can stop me anytime you want to.”

“Hmm,” he hummed softly, head growing heavy. He leaned against her hand, breathing slowing down to a more normal rate.

As gently as she could manage, Ino eased her chakra into him, cautiously probing into his thoughts. His thoughts always ran on and on, twisting and turning and never making sense, but she could pick up bits of what was upsetting him, and, staying completely calm, managed to influence him into calming as well.

His racing thoughts began to align more coherently, and Ino pulled them carefully to the front of his mind.

I don’t like being different all the time. I don’t like taking my medication because then everyone knows there’s something wrong with me. I don’t like not being able to feel the same things everyone else feels. It worries me when they look at me, and sometimes I can’t look at them back and people make fun of me for it. Graduation is scaring me because everything will change and I have to have a new routine and I don’t know what’s going to happen. Everyone else is excited and I want to be like everyone else.

“Okay,” Ino murmured. “Okay, I get it.” She smoothed his hair off his forehead, and he leaned a bit further into her. “Sunshine, you are different, though. That’s not something we can change.”

He inhaled sharply, a low whine in his throat. Ino recognised it well. He was trying not to cry.

“I know you don’t like taking your medication, and you feel like you’re being singled out, but you need it. Just like how Sarada needs her glasses. It’s just part of who you are. And it’s okay that change worries you. Do you know,” she said softly, kissing his hair, “When you were young, I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to feel emotions properly. But look at you now, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve done so far. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re upset, but that’s okay.”

She paused while he sniffled, waiting until he was quiet again before continuing, “Things will change after you graduate. But life moves forward. We’ll do our best to keep things consistent for you, but we’re also going to have to find ways to help you cope with change, because it’s going to keep happening. You can manage. You can do it. I know you can, and I’ll be right there, all the time.”

He shifted a bit more in her lap, weighty against her chest, but his breathing had evened out into normal.

“And your Dad is here, too, and so are your friends. We can manage.”

He felt so small against her, and Ino swallowed down her doubt. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to take on the world – not the danger, not the quick-thinking decision-making situations she had learned through. He shouldn’t be graduating, and honestly she was terrified.

She was terrified he would freeze against an attacking shinobi. She was terrified his team wouldn’t be able to cover him. She was terrified he would stop talking and be unable to warn his team of danger, and someone would get hurt.

He was still delicate and young, and she wasn’t ready to let him go. She didn’t know if that was something all parents felt, or if this heavy, visceral feeling belonged only to her, since her child was so different from the others.

“It’s going to be fine,” she repeated softly, feeling Inojin’s tense muscles start to relax. “You can handle it.”

She felt like a liar.

Graduation was tomorrow.

Inojin lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling, wishing he could relax and fall asleep. Everything felt tight and hot and wrong, and he had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours.

With a low groan, he threw his blankets aside, getting up and pattering out his room.

His parents’ door was open, which meant he had free reign to enter. He knew it didn’t matter how quiet he was, he would wake both of them the moment he stepped inside. Even so, he took small steps, trying not to make too much noise, and approached Sai.

“Dad,” he whispered. “Can I sleep here for a bit?”

Sai shifted up slightly, wordlessly lifting a corner of the blankets so Inojin could climb in. Inojin slotted into his arms, shuffling his back against Sai’s chest so he could still watch the moonlight on the walls. He felt a bit better when Ino reached over Sai to lay a hand on Inojin’s shoulder as well.

Not knowing what to expect worried him. What would the exam be like? If it was just like the tests they had in school, he could manage that. But it could be anything, and he wouldn’t know until it was happening. There was no way to prepare. There was no way to plan ahead.

The uncertainty made him feel sick, and he groaned again, low and agonized, shifting over until he could stick his face into Sai’s chest.

He knew he was the only one doing this. None of his friends were feeling this way. Shikadai didn’t have to go to his father because he couldn’t sleep. Boruto wouldn’t be awake agonizing over what was going to happen. Chocho wasn’t afraid for the future. Sarada would already be prepared for anything.

It would just be him, struggling alone. Different, all the time. The only one who couldn’t do something as simple as sleep.

“It’s alright,” Ino said softly. “Don’t get angry at yourself.”

“Only one,” he mumbled sullenly.

“You’re not the only one worrying. The others are worrying, too.”

“Only one.” He wished he could tell her about his previous thoughts. He struggled out a sentence, “Shikadai isn’t . . .” He wanted to add more to it, to explain that Shikadai never worried over anything, and everything was so easy for him, and Inojin wasn’t jealous but sometimes it felt unfair.

“Shikadai worries as well. He just worries a bit differently to you.” Ino rubbed her thumb gently back and forth on Inojin’s shoulder. “You’re not alone.”

Sai kept quiet during all this, since Ino had always been better with words, but he held Inojin firmly, because the pressure helped him feel secure. Inojin sighed, settling down even while his thoughts remained jumbled and out of control.

“You’re gonna be fine, sunshine,” Ino murmured, hoping he would believe her.

Inojin closed his eyes, letting out a long, low, frustrated whine. Sai moved one hand to Inojin’s hair, pushing his bangs back and resting his hand across his forehead. The contact relaxed Inojin a bit; it was a familiar motion both parents did frequently, and Inojin liked the feel of smooth warmth on his head.

He focused on that feeling, on that point of contact, and managed to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ino knew she shouldn’t spend the entire day brooding at home, but she couldn’t help it. She was sick with worry over Inojin, and uncertain of what his graduation exam would consist of. She knew Kakashi was in charge of it, and that could mean anything.

She spent the morning rearranging Inojin’s drawings – he made dozens a week, mostly flowers, some quick sketches, some meticulously detailed renders. A few were inked and brought to life via Sai’s jutsu, that Inojin had a good grasp on. These flowers Ino gathered together, handling them with care, and placed them in a large vase on the kitchen table. They would break down eventually into splatters of ink, but as Inojin’s chakra control was improving, the flowers were lasting longer.

She picked a daisy from the bunch, studying it. She missed the days when Inojin would come home with a flower in his hand for her. It used to be a little ritual, a part of their routine, but as he had grown older, new routines took over, and now Inojin liked to come home and sketch. It still meant that Ino received a flower nearly every day, but paper flowers were not the same as real ones.

When Sai came home at dinner time, he brought with the news that the graduation exam would be extending until the next day.

“Oh, god, Kakashi would make them stay overnight,” Ino paced the kitchen, chewing absently on the tip of her thumb. “He’s not going to take his meds, we know he’s not, and what if everything goes wrong?”

“Shikadai is with him,” Sai reminded her.

“We can’t keep relying on Shikadai like this.” Ino shook her head, moving to cross her arms and drum her fingers restlessly against her upper arm. “Inojin needs to learn to cope on his own. We ask Shikadai for too much.”

“He’s happy to do it.”

“That is not the point. Inojin needs to learn to manage without Shikadai around. Shikadai is not going to be there all the time,” Ino spun to face Sai. “He’s not always going to have his friends at his side. He has to be able to function on his own.”

She realised how hysterical she sounded, and tried to calm herself. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap at you. I’m just nervous. It’s a long time to be under pressure. I’m worried about him.”

“He won’t get hurt,” Sai said. “Not for the graduation exam. This is a valuable lesson for him.”

“What if he does everything wrong and Kakashi won’t promote him?” Ino resumed her pacing. “He could fall behind his team.” It would absolutely destroy his self-confidence.

“We knew these issues would arise eventually.”

“I know.” They had been on her mind since Inojin started at the Academy. But all those years of worrying and planning hadn’t prepared her for the now, for things to start happening, for Inojin’s life to suddenly be in motion.

Ino was under no illusions – it had been sheer, dumb luck that Inojin had kept pace with his classmates so far.

But now it counted. Now it was his future hanging in the balance.

Now the luck was running out.

Shikadai hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, just sitting quietly in the grass, brow furrowed in concentration. He ignored all activity around him, all the movement and shouting, all the complaining from the rest of their class as they attempted to puzzle their way through the graduation exam.

Chocho had run out of snacks, and had been iterating her loss to anyone who would listen. Right now, she lay on her back in the grass, sighing dramatically. Inojin lay perpendicular to her, his head on her stomach, fingers twitching slightly. He would have liked to draw something, to calm down, but that wasn’t an option right now, with everyone verging on panic.

His throat was dry, and he couldn’t focus on anything. He stared at Shikadai, the only person sitting still amongst the hive of activity. Boruto and Sarada’s voices sounded far away and foreign, and Inojin rubbed a hand over his eyes, hoping to bring the world back into focus.

He startled slightly when Chocho’s hand tapped his head.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

“Hm,” he sighed. “Tired.”

“I’m just hungry. How long is Shikadai going to take to think of something?”

“Maybe he’s fallen asleep,” Inojin considered. He groped around on the ground for a rock to throw at his friend. Before he had the chance to, Shikadai straightened up slightly.

He slid his green eyes sideways to Boruto, clearly finishing considering, then said, “Inojin, you up for some more?”

“Yeah.” Inojin shrugged. He could manage. His head was clear enough, and it was soothing hearing Boruto and Sarada bicker endlessly. The familiarity kept him grounded.

“Okay,” Shikadai scratched his ear. “I have an idea.”

Ino was waiting for the door to open. She had faffed around the house for hours trying to keep busy. Inojin had to be home soon, and she was awaiting his return with high anticipation.

Eventually, her head snapped around as she heard the door open, and she took a deep breath before poking her head from the kitchen. “Inojin?”

“Hm?” He was bent over, pulling his shoes off, and she came to meet him. He straightened up, eyes bright and expression wonderfully relaxed and pleased. He grinned, unable to hold her gaze for long, and stared at the floor.

There was a shiny new forehead protector around his head, the leaf symbol bright between his bangs.

“Oh my god, you did it, I’m so proud!” She launched herself at him, excitement overcoming her usual control, and snatched him up in her arms.

Inojin tensed momentarily, surprised by her sudden attack, limbs stiffening as his mind seized, but after a moment reality eased back in, and he embraced her back.

“Did you cope okay? Was everything alright? How did it go?”

“Was fine,” Inojin said softly, still reeling slightly from her sudden movement.

Relief flooded her, and she set him down again, smiling warmly. “And Shikadai and Chocho?”

“Everyone,” he said, by way of answer.

“That’s amazing,” Ino resisted the urge to squeeze him again. “Did you meet your sensei today?”

“Tomorrow.”

Ino smiled broadly. “That’s great. Oh, I’m so happy. How are you feeling?”

He took a moment to consider. His chest hurt slightly, but it had been doing that since a few hours into the graduation exam. There was a strange warmth beneath his breastbone that he couldn’t name, and it bubbled into his neck and face, tugging a smile from him. “Dunno . . . not sure?”

“What does it feel like?” Ino asked, still smiling at him softly, and gently caressing a hand through his hair.

“Not quite like happy, but warmer?” He hesitated. “Like a warm happy, but a bit excited?”

“Well,” Ino brushed her thumb over the Leaf symbol covering his forehead. “That sounds like pride to me.”

He grinned, pleased at finding a new feeling to add to his repertoire. “Okay.”

Ino was still looking at him with an affectionate, glowing smile. “Look at you. You’re a shinobi now.”

One looming black cloud had vanished, one massive obstacle in Inojin’s life finally overcome. Ino felt her eyes water slightly, her pride and love almost overwhelming. She ran her hand through his bangs again, pushing them away from the metal plate across his head.

“I’m so proud of you, sunshine,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the Leaf symbol instead of his face.

Inojin’s grin widened. “Happy.”

“I’m glad you’re happy. It makes me happy, too.”

He stepped back out of her space, moving past her to go and admire himself in the bathroom mirror. He had been studying his forehead protector when he heard the front door open again, and he sprinted into the hall, “Dad! Look! I passed!”

“Did you?” Sai instantly turned his attention to his son.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Hm,” Sai glanced at Ino. “Told you he would.”

“Don’t sound so smug; you were just as worried as I was,” Ino said reproachfully.

“But I quite like saying I told you so,” Sai mused. “It’s been enjoyable.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ino retorted.

He looked at her fondly, taking in the way she was still glowing with pleasure.

“Dad,” Inojin tugged at his sleeve. “Can we train together? Now?”

Sai sent Ino a look, and she nodded. He gently detached Inojin’s grip from his sleeve. “Sure. I think it would be a great idea to train with a real shinobi.”

Chapter Text

Inojin skipped out the house the next morning, feeling light and airy and ready for anything. The class was gathering one last time, at the Academy, to be divided into teams and to meet the Jounin who would oversee their missions and training.

Inojin tapped his thumb against his forehead protector as he walked, still growing used to the feeling of it being there. It made a pleasant ‘ting’ sound, and he smiled to himself. He liked brushing his fingers across it, to feel the coolness and smoothness of it. And it was a constant band of warmth across his face, like when his parents laid their hands over his forehead, and he was finding the feeling comforting.

The Academy class was loud, everyone milling around, and it took Shino longer than usual to call everyone to order and begin dividing everyone up. It wasn’t a surprise to hear his name called with Shikadai and Chocho, but even so it was a relief to hear he had his friends on his team. They knew him, and he knew them, and Inojin was relaxed with them.

He stood proudly beside Shikadai, expression content, as Shino pointed Jounin to various groups of children. Shikadai slouched next to him, his trademark pout in place, and Chocho was beside him, munching through a bag of chips in a very nonchalant manner.

Shino beckoned Moegi over, moving her to the side and beginning to speak in a low voice that Inojin couldn’t hear. He stiffened a bit when Shino looked towards him, and then Moegi looked at him as well, nodding.

He moved half a step closer to Shikadai, feeling singled out. Shino was probably telling her how different he was, how he wasn’t like everyone else. Inojin didn’t want her to know. Why couldn’t Shino have just kept quiet, and let Moegi think he was normal? It would have been fine.

Most of his classmates didn’t even know, because he had learned enough to blend in when needed. And everyone just thought he was shy, and Shikadai did all the talking for him, and it had been fine like that.

Shino isn’t warning her about the others, he thought bitterly. Why am I always the one to be stared at?

It made the proud feeling in his chest evaporate into dull, nagging disappointment. He hung his head, not looking up when Moegi approached.

“Okay, you three, I’m Moegi,” she announced brightly. “I’ll be training you and taking you on missions from now on. Today we’re just going to talk a bit and get to know each other – things like what you like and don’t like, hobbies, what you think of being a shinobi. Shikadai, since I know you the best, why don’t you start?”

Shikadai sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Seems like a drag, but whatever. I like naps and gaming, don’t really like working hard but my mom makes me do it anyway. My hobby is taking naps – Chocho shut up, it’s an extreme sport dodging my mom – and I guess I like being a shinobi. That all?”

“That will do,” Moegi nodded. “Chocho?”

“My name’s Chocho,” she didn’t stop eating. “I like food, and being fabulous – I heard that snort Shikadai – and I don’t like diets and waiting for meals. My hobbies are trying new foods, and I think being a shinobi is pretty cool.”

Inojin swallowed, keeping his gaze to the floor as Moegi looked at him. He fidgeted his fingers together. It was an old habit, a way to occupy himself when his mind threatened to overwhelm him. He spoke softly, “I like drawing. And I don’t like crowds and noises. I just draw. And I wanna be a shinobi like my dad.”

“I see,” Moegi continued to smile at him. “Anything else?”

He kept staring at the floor, a bubble of anger in his stomach. No, there was nothing else. He would have said so if he had wanted to add anything.

You want me to tell you I’m different, he thought bitterly. That’s all.

“No,” he said sullenly. Don’t want to tell you, don’t want you to know, so there. He forced his hands apart, trying to stop the urge to fidget.

There was a short, tense silence, which Shikadai chose to break.

“We’re used to working together,” he said, angling one shoulder protectively in front of Inojin. “So it shouldn’t be hard to start missions. We have a few battle formations as well.”

“Yeah, we’ve been practicing together since we were little,” Chocho added in, instantly protective as well.

“Okay,” Moegi looked at the three of them in turn, and once they volunteered no further information, she added on, “Well, let’s go the training grounds. We can talk and get to know each other, and maybe you can show me a bit of what you know.”

Shikadai remained firmly in the front of the trio, blocking Moegi from getting near Inojin, and Chocho stayed at Inojin’s side.

The happy feeling he had been holding onto since yesterday had dried up and gone.

Ino waited anxiously outside the Hokage building, looking around. She knew getting excited wasn’t helping, but finally all her worries and fears were taking life, and she needed some reassurance that Inojin would be okay on missions.

Her gentle, special, sunshine boy was now a shinobi, and with that came danger and uncertainty, and she couldn’t protect him anymore, the way she was used to doing.

Finally, she saw Moegi approach her, looking open and cheerful.

“Moegi,” Ino smiled, relieved. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Shino said you’d probably want to talk to me.” Moegi said. She glanced around. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Inojin. I don’t know how much Shino told you.” Ino chewed absently on her lower lip.

“Not much, just that Inojin has some extra challenges.” Moegi shrugged. “What do I need to know?”

Ino hesitated, wondering how to explain everything. “He needs extra help, sometimes. Please make him talk, he relies on Shikadai too much. Don’t let Shikadai answer questions for him. I know he’ll be home in time most days, but if he’s out past dinner time, he needs to take his medication when he eats. He tries to avoid it, so make sure he does. He’s trying, though. He’s trying hard. New situations bother him, and he can get overwhelmed . . . But he’s a good kid.”

She drew in a nervous breath. “The other two keep an eye on him, and sometimes he can’t answer questions when you ask him, but he always hears you, so don’t be angry at him. Shikadai knows what to do if he . . . if he shuts down and can’t talk. He’s getting better, but sometimes he can’t help it.”

Moegi nodded. “Okay. We’ll be fine.”

“He’s not mean, but sometimes it sounds like he is. He can’t help it; he doesn’t always know what’s worth getting upset over and what isn’t. Don’t take anything personally. And he hates being different. He feels like everyone knows and everyone is judging him. So . . . try not to let him know that you’re treating him differently.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Ino studied her closely, gathering her words and worries and figuring them out.

“Moegi,” Ino said sincerely. “Look after my baby. He’s not like the others. He needs the extra help. He doesn’t learn as fast. But if you just take your time and try to understand him, he’ll do his best for you. But, please,” she knew she sounded worried, “Keep him safe. I know the world is dangerous, and I know I can’t protect him from everything, but he’s the world to me, and I couldn’t face something happening to him.”

It was out of her control. It was out of anyone’s control. She couldn’t keep Inojin safe and sheltered forever.

All she could hope was that he was prepared enough to take on the world.

They started off with easy missions, and easy field exercises after the day’s work was completed. Moegi was just trying to get a grasp of their personalities and how they worked together, and had so far not asked anything serious of them.

Today, however, she had a goal in mind. She gathered them in an open clearing of one of the training grounds. The previous week she had allowed them to attempt to attack her, watching how they formed strategies and attacks together, and now that she knew what basics they had, it was time to start pushing them to improve.

“Okay, guys, easy test today,” Moegi announced. “We’re just going to do some simple field exercises. Chocho, you’re going to be with me. We’re going to get a one-hour head start and set traps up along the route. Shikadai, Inojin, follow us after one hour and take all the traps down, or make a note of where they are if you aren’t sure how to disarm them.”

Shikadai nodded. “Easy.”

“There’s a time limit. You have half an hour to reach me and Chocho in the centre. Got it?”

“Easy,” Shikadai repeated. His laid-back attitude to everything reminded Moegi starkly of his father, but Shikadai’s confidence was definitely a new thing to be seen in the Nara line. He was the one that interested her the most, seemingly filled with the most potential.

Chocho was unmotivated, often choosing the easiest route to get to where she wanted, sometimes too self-involved to take shinobi training seriously. It didn’t bother Moegi; it was something that was easily trainable, and she would have it fixed soon enough.

Inojin was the one to worry about – heavily reliant on both team members to keep him focused and grounded. Moegi wasn’t sure how well he would perform alone. He waited for cues from the other two, rarely taking initiative in anything on his own. She knew he was smart, and she had to figure out how to get him closer to his teams’ level without overwhelming him.

She had her work cut out for her getting them to a decent level. Or, at the very least, getting Inojin to close the gap. She had a feeling Shikadai would outstrip both teammates within months.

“Everyone clear on what we’re doing?” Moegi asked.

She received three nods.

“Good. Chocho, let’s go. Boys, we’ll see you soon.”

She and Chocho were gone in a flash, and Shikadai flopped down into the grass, hands behind his head. Inojin settled next to him. He fidgeted with the Leaf symbol tied on Shikadai’s sleeve. It was hard to explain, but the metal felt different to his own forehead protector. He liked to feel Shikadai’s with one hand, and his own with his other hand.

After a few minutes of that, Inojin took the opportunity to draw, studying Shikadai carefully. He was always so relaxed, never getting worked up. It wasn’t false confidence either. Shikadai always had situations under control. He could think fast and react fast, and sometimes Inojin wondered if the feeling that boiled in his belly was jealousy. It didn’t seem fair, sometimes, that Shikadai could waltz through life without a care, while Inojin still struggled with easy interactions.

He stared at the grass, reaching out to pluck a clover stem. He studied it, twirling it between his fingers, before holding it out with his head tilted. He looked at Shikadai again, at the way his eyes moved from side to side as he tracked clouds across the sky.

Inojin leaned over him slightly, trying to look at his eyes without Shikadai catching his gaze.

Shikadai cocked an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Your eyes.”

“That didn’t tell me anything.”

Inojin flushed slightly. “You don’t have Konoha eyes.”

Shikadai blinked. “I what?”

“They’re not . . .” Inojin broke off, with a small whine as he tried to align his thoughts. He spoke slowly. “You don’t have Konoha eyes. They’re different. Different shape and different colour to everyone else in the village. They’re . . .” He floundered for a word. “Exotic. Foreign. Not from here. No one else in Konoha has eyes like yours.”

One side of Shikadai’s mouth quirked up. “One other person does.”

“I wanna draw them,” Inojin mumbled. “But I don’t know how, ‘cause I can’t look at you long enough to see them properly.”

“Huh.” Shikadai shifted his gaze to the clouds again. He seemed to be thinking. Finally, after a long silence, he said, “Maybe one day.”

Maybe one day when Inojin was better at being normal.

Inojin tugged at the grass with one hand, then smoothed his fingers over his forehead protector, pressing into the etched Leaf symbol. A stray thought came back to him. “Shikadai?”

“Hm?”

“Do you . . . think I know how to love someone?”

“Huh?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Chocho’s stories, that she reads all the time,” Inojin tried to elaborate. “People all fall in love. And it’s so easy. Do you think I can do that, too?”

“It’s just stories, Inojin. Don’t listen to her.”

“But what if I don’t know how to love someone? Chocho says it’s a lot to feel all at once, and what if I can’t do that? Does that . . . is something wrong with me if I can’t?”

Shikadai looked away. “Boys don’t fall in love like girls do.”

“How do boys do it?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be a drag.”

“I think it sounds nice. I want to love someone, one day. If I can. It’ll feel normal.”

“You’re fine as you are,” Shikadai muttered.

“Do you love someone?”

Abruptly, Shikadai sat up. “Time’s up. We need to move.”

The sudden change startled Inojin. He faltered, “What?”

“We’ve got half an hour.” Shikadai stood up, brushing grass from his clothes. “Are you ready?”

Inojin hesitated. “Okay . . .”

Shikadai waited until Inojin was standing up, then flashed him a confident, sideways smile. “I’ll keep time. Just keep up with me. Thirty minutes, starting from . . . now.”

With one easy leap, Shikadai was into the trees, and Inojin took in a sharp breath, and leapt to follow him.

The pressure was a bit unnerving; Inojin wasn’t comfortable. Time limits made him nervous, made his brain scramble itself in endless loops of never-going-to-happens. He followed Shikadai’s lead, mouth feeling dry, eyes scanning the forest.

A flash of light caught his attention.

“Shikadai,” Inojin said. “Shikadai.”

“Yeah?” Shikadai glanced back at him.

“Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” Shikadai immediately skidded to a halt.

Inojin twitched nervously. “Need to tell you something.”

“Okay? Go ahead.”

Inojin twisted his fingers together. “Shikadai . . .”

“I’m waiting.”

Inojin whined, frustration mounting.

“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Shikadai frowned, voice tinged with annoyance.

“I don’t know how!” Inojin shouted at him, fists clenched.

Shikadai’s jaw shifted to one side. “Fine. What are you feeling?”

“I’m angry.”

“At me?”

“Yes, at you, because you won’t listen and I need you to listen!”

“Settle down,” Shikadai clicked his tongue. “I can’t listen if you don’t talk.” Shikadai waited until Inojin was standing still, glaring at the ground. “First off, look at me.”

“I can’t,” Inojin said tightly. He pressed his lips together.

“Okay.” Shikadai took a moment to think his options through. “Tell me three things you can see.”

“You, me-“

“I know all that. Try harder.”

Inojin huffed. He raised his head slightly. “A chestnut tree. A mountain. And a bird – it’s a cardinal, I think.”

“Okay. Good. Now, did you want to tell me something important, or something that can wait until we’re home?”

“Important.”

“Will it affect the mission if I don’t know about it?”

“Yes.”

“Will it put you in danger if I don’t know about it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Shikadai nodded. “Is someone following us?”

“No.”

“Did you see a trap?”

“Yes.”

“Can you show me where it is?”

Inojin nodded, biting his lip.

“Okay. Good. See, that wasn’t so hard? One more thing for me,” Shikadai laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me, count to three. Eyes on mine, okay? Just ‘til three.”

Inojin made a pained whimper, squeezing his eyes closed.

Shikadai’s hand on his shoulder tightened a fraction. “Come on, now, don’t shut me out. Stay with me. Just ‘til three – you can count as fast as you like, and you don’t have to count out loud.”

Inojin shook his head, whining a bit more.

“I know you can.” Shikadai’s voice was patient. “We’ve got time. But we’re staying here until you do.”

Inojin stepped closer to him, trying to hide his face against Shikadai’s neck. Shikadai let him, saying softly, “You’re not hiding away from me, I still expect you to look at me before we continue.”

“Minute,” Inojin mumbled.

“Okay. In a minute.” Shikadai scanned the area around them. It looked fine; no imminent danger. “Inojin, we’re on a time limit. Understand?”

Inojin closed his eyes.

“Inojin. Answer the question.”

“I understand.” He mumbled it softly, but it was still an answer.

“Times up. Come on.” Shikadai took a step back, keeping both hands on Inojin’s shoulders. “Eyes up.”

Hesitantly, Inojin looked at him, his baby blue gaze wavering slightly. He had enough time to count five different greens in Shikadai’s eyes before he wrenched his eyes away.

“You with me?” Shikadai asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Show me where the trap is.”

Inojin led him back to it, and Shikadai assessed it easily, dismantling it, and leading him further into the forest. Shikadai found the next three, taking them down with seeming ease. They met Moegi and Chocho one minute past their allotted time, and Shikadai just shrugged.

“I got stuck,” he said, with a nonchalant raise of his hands. “Couldn’t figure a trap out.”

Moegi looked at him shrewdly, but didn’t say anything more. “Okay, team, good try. We should have a regular mission tomorrow. And Shikadai?”

“Hm?” He lifted his chin slightly in acknowledgement.

“I don’t expect you to get stuck with something again.”

Shikadai shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got it under control. No need to worry.”

They walked home together, and Inojin wanted to say something to him. Wanted to thank him, for everything he did and was, but he didn’t know how. Instead, he sought out Shikadai’s hand, entwining their fingers.

Shikadai glanced at him, face set in his soft and peaceful smile, and Inojin smiled back.

Maybe he didn’t need words to talk to Shikadai.

Chapter Text

Inojin chewed absently on his lower lip, frowning in concentration over his sketchbook. He was doing his best to focus, gripping his paintbrush a bit too hard. Watercolours were not as easy as he had hoped. So far he had been unsatisfied with the results of any of his paintings.

It lacked the precision of pencils, and required more discipline that the ink he was used to using for Sai’s jutsu. He sat at the counter in the flower shop, eyes flicking up to the lavender bush that was his current subject. He had abandoned the previous painting of poppies.

“Inojin?”

He paid no attention to the voice to his side. He wasn’t even sure if he had heard it. He moved his paintbrush carefully, watching the colour appear on the page.

“Inojin.”

“What?” he huffed, finally looking up.

Ino looked at him. “You and I are meant to have a training session.”

“I trained with Dad yesterday.” Inojin eyed the new line he had painted.

“I know. But you and I were supposed to work together.”

“I don’t like Mind Transfer, so I don’t wanna practice it,” he said dismissively.

Ino gathered her patience. “We still need to practice a bit. Just once or twice.”

“I’m drawing.”

“Inojin,” she sighed. “Just once. You need to know it.”

He stared at his page, mumbling, “I don’t like how it feels.”

“I know. But remember, you’ve got your new medication, and we haven’t tried it with that before, so it might feel different now. That was the whole point of sticking with medication.” There had to be some payoff for it, since Ino didn’t want him to be on medication, and he liked it even less. Inojin felt singled out; Ino felt inadequate.

But she couldn’t see another way around getting him to focus and learn, and with missions getting harder and more frequent, she needed him to be competent and confident with Mind Transfer.

“We can practice outside,” she offered. “Just sitting on the grass. It won’t take long.”

He shifted on his seat, making a low pitched, plaintive whine.

“We’re just going to try it and see how it feels. Please.” She needed him to know this, she needed him to have as many weapons and techniques as possible, because he was already at a disadvantage in the field. The more he knew, the more scenarios he was equipped for, and the safer he would be, and the less she would worry.

Sensing he wasn’t going to get out of this, Inojin put his paper down carefully and dropped his brush into a jar of water.

“You can come right back to painting,” Ino assured.

He grumbled under his breath, but followed Ino outside into the garden. Before his attention could wander to the tree – he liked to watch the birds and count the leaves - Ino called his name again. She sat on the grass, waiting until he grudgingly sat opposite her, staring down at the green lawn, and remaining silent.

Ino sighed slightly. He was reluctant to try new things with her, but he needed to branch out. A lot of things had started off being difficult for him, but with time, and practice, and patience, he could grasp most of what she needed to teach him.

“I want you to use Mind Transfer on me, okay?” she started. “That way you get to control what happens. And I’d like to see how long you can hold it for.”

Inojin shifted in place. “Just once?”

“Just once,” she confirmed. “Just to check if it feels any different from last time.”

Last time made his skin itch. It made it felt like something strange was crawling inside him, and it buzzed in his ears. It wasn’t something he saw himself getting used to any time soon. Reluctantly, Inojin put his fingers together, raising his arms in front of him. That was the easy part. Gathering chakra was also easy. What wasn’t easy was looking Ino in the eye at the same time as keeping his chakra focused.

But Ino stayed still, since the whole point of the exercise was to make things easy for him.

Inojin threw his chakra forwards, felt the unsettling rush of the Mind Transfer, and the uncomfortable twitchiness that accompanied looking at people. There was a moment of dizzying disorientation as he made the leap from his consciousness to Ino’s, and for a moment all he could feel or hear was a strange roaring noise as he struggled to figure out where he was.

A little burst of awareness sparked, and he could see his body flop down softly onto the grass. There was still nothing but a high-pitched ringing, and he tried to sort through it to find some place of calm.

I don’t like it. I want to stop.

Hold on a bit, Ino’s voice was hard to hear over the ringing, and Inojin wanted to shake off the sensations. Wait for things to settle and see how that feels.

Feels bad. Feels bad. Inojin prepared to release his chakra and return to his own body. Before he could, Ino caught him lightly within her own mental grasp, trying to hold his mind steady with her own.

In a moment, she said soothingly. I’m right here, and you’re fine-

Wanna stop. He didn’t know how to break her hold. He had never been taught how, since the odds of someone trying to hold him in his Mind Transfer, rather than try to push him out, was not a scenario he expected to ever face in the battlefield.

Just calm down, and see if it feels different.

Stop. Now. Now. He struggled against her hold. Within a second his panic peaked, and his chakra flared almost against his will, overtaking Ino’s and pushing himself out of her mind with one last, high pitched shout, Go away!

Ino let him go, sitting up a bit straighter as she felt him leave her mind in an abrupt snap. Oh, god, had she pushed him too much again? She waited for him to regain his senses, squashing down the urge to gather him up into her arms.

He lay still for a moment, disoriented, before he seemed to regain control of all his limbs and rolled onto his stomach to push up onto his hands and knees. He got up in one fluid motion, and Ino was half up at the same time. “Inojin.”

“No,” he said, although what exactly he was saying ‘no’ to, she wasn’t sure. She assumed it was ‘no’ to her, for pushing him, for constantly being around him, for just being too much for him to handle.

Inojin made a swift path for the house.

“Inojin,” Ino moved to follow him, “Love, come back.”

“No!” He ran inside.

Ino was right behind him, calling out helplessly, “Inojin-“

“Dad!”

Ino didn’t think she had ever heard him shriek so loudly. She hurried after him.

Inojin was already in the lounge, Sai halfway across the room to meet him with a very confused, very concerned look on his face, before Ino caught up to him. Ino reached out to lay a hand on Inojin’s shoulder, then thought better of herself, and snatched her hand back to her chest.

Sai’s eyes met hers, and Inojin stopped, looking uncertainly at the floor.

“Dad,” he said in a shaky voice.

“I’m right here,” Sai assured. “What do you need?”

Inojin just shook his head, clenching both hands into fists.

“Sai,” Ino began, cursing internally at the way her voice wavered.

“Okay,” Sai said slowly. “There’s only one of me and two of you wanting attention, so-“

Inojin solved the problem, spinning on his heel and bolting for his room, slamming the door as hard as he could.

Ino’s face crumpled, and Sai made the wise move to go to her.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“It was me,” she whispered, feeling tears well up. “Me again. I pushed too much, like I always do.” She inhaled sharply, trying to stop herself from bursting into tears. “Why am I so terrible at interacting with him?”

“You’re not,” Sai assured, placing his hands on her shoulders.

She closed the distance between them, holding him tight. “I am. He’s doing so well, and I just wanted him to learn a bit, just get used to it-“

“To what?”

“-And I didn’t let him go when he asked,” Ino ignored Sai’s question. “I thought he’d be okay. He’s so good with his chakra now. Now he’s upset with me, and I just wanted us to spend some time together!” She sniffled against Sai’s chest, wiping tears off on his shirt. “I just wanted some time with him.”

“But you spend time with him,” Sai was puzzled. “Every day.”

“I just want something with him. Just something for us to do together. He has so much to do with you – he draws and paints with you, and he loves practicing with you, and I just . . . need . . . something to keep us close.” She sniffed loudly. “I loved training with my dad. I loved the time we spent together. I just want that with Inojin. I know he’s got his own interests now but can’t I have one thing with him? One thing!”

Inojin was edging away from her, spending more time with friends and on missions, losing himself for hours in books and on sketches. Ino’s life had always revolved around being a shinobi, and she had always wanted to share that with Inojin, to pass that on, because that – to her knowledge – was how parents spent time with their children.

Sai didn’t speak immediately. He rested one hand on the back of her head, thinking carefully before speaking. “Is this about the Mind Transfer again?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because he needs to know it.”

“Yes, but why?”

Ino lifted her head, looking at him. “Because he’s a Yamanaka. Because that’s what expected of him. Because there’s so much pressure for him to be able to do it. Because he’s going out in the world and this is a tool that can save his life.”

Old arguments, and old fears. Shikamaru had already given her a lecture on ‘expectations’ which she had heard and taken to heart but . . . But hearing it and acting on it were two different things. She knew Inojin wasn’t going to be what she expected. She knew she needed to temper her own thoughts and aspirations for him. But she thought, maybe, if she just took it slow, just gave him time to adjust, just let him go at his own pace, then he would be able to do what she had done at his age.

“I’ll talk to him,” Sai said gently.

“Because you know how,” she murmured. She extracted herself from Sai’s arms and moved to slump onto the couch. And I don’t. I never how to talk to him. She felt Sai stand behind her and run a hand through her hair. She wasn’t quite ready to offer him a smile, but she whispered, “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sai promised. “Don’t worry.”

A bit late for that, she thought. She was always worrying over Inojin, and that was one thing that didn’t look set to change any time soon.

Inojin’s bedroom door was not locked, and Sai knocked softly. When no answer came, he opened the door and went inside.

There was an Inojin sized lump on the bed, under the blankets. It shifted a bit as Sai entered.

Sai sat down on the edge of Inojin’s bed, just watching the boy for a minute.

Inojin curled into a tighter ball, leaving nothing but wispy blond hair sticking out from the edge of the blanket.

“I never knew what to say to your mom when I met her,” Sai began, seemingly at random. “Or anyone, really. I said the wrong things all the time. I found it very hard to make friends. And I think, if your mom and Sakura hadn’t had as much patience as they did, I probably would have never made friends. Except for Naruto. But everyone is his friend.”

Inojin did not move.

“But she was patient enough to take her time with me, even though I said a lot of things to upset her. And I took a very long time to learn how to be happy and how to love her. But she stuck with me anyway. Even though there were easier people to be with.”

Inojin mumbled something from beneath the blankets.

“I’m telling you this,” Sai continued. “Because she’s just trying to do the same with you. Take her time, and keep trying, in the hopes that you’ll be the best version of yourself. That’s all she wants for you.” Sai laid a hand on the blankets just below the blond hair sticking out.

Inojin squirmed a little, shifting around until Sai’s hand was firmly across his forehead.

“I don’t think you realize how much she wants to see you happy. And she thinks learning Mind Transfer might help with that. Because all Yamanakas can do it, and it means it’s another way for you to fit in. To feel normal. She doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It does,” Inojin mumbled, barely audible.

“So did holding Shikadai’s hand, at one point. But you do that now. You also hated using your chakra, but you can now.” Sai shifted a bit closer to Inojin, keeping his hand firmly in place. “You’ve made a lot of changes to yourself, growing up. Your mother just wants to help you with that.”

The pile of blankets moved, and Inojin peered out at the wall.

“How are you feeling?”

“Dunno,” Inojin replied dully.

“I think you do.”

The boy squirmed a little, face falling into a frown.

Sai waited patiently.

Eventually, Inojin tried, haltingly, “Feel . . . sad?”

“Why?”

“. . . Think Mom’s mad at me . . .”

“She’s not.” Sai smoothed Inojin’s bangs back, the way Ino loved to do, and Inojin closed his eyes and pushed into the contact. “She’s worried that she’s upset you.”

Inojin shrugged, unsure what to say next.

“Can I bring her in here to talk to you?”

Another pause, and then Inojin nodded slowly.

Sai stroked Inojin’s hair back once more before getting up and leaving the room.

Ino was hovering right outside, asking anxiously, “Is he angry with me? Upset?”

Sai shook his head. “He says he thinks you’re the one who’s upset with him.”

“I’m never upset with him,” Ino glanced at Inojin’s door. She poked her head inside, “Inojin, love, I’m not upset with you.”

“But I can’t do what you want,” he whispered, just peeping out from under his covers.

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out eventually.” Ino came into his room. “It’s meant to be for you, not for me. So you’re safe, no matter what happens on missions. So you can be like the rest of your clan. But I’m not upset if it takes you a little bit longer to learn.”

He sighed. “So . . . it’s okay that I’m not so good at being a Yamanaka . . .?”

“You’re perfect as you are,” Ino assured. “If it takes years to learn the clan techniques, that’s okay. If we can only do it for three seconds at a time, that’s okay too. And I’m sorry for not letting you go when you asked. Can you forgive me for that?”

Inojin nodded.

“Can I hug you?”

He took a second to consider that, before shaking his head.

“Okay.” Ino took a step back, trying not to sound too disappointed. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone again. I love you.”

He made an agreeable humming noise and ducked beneath his blankets again.

Sai looked at Ino, face set in a worried frown.

She let out a deep breath, turning to leave Inojin’s room. Sai followed her, closing the door softly behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I feel like that went better than it has in the past. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m overbearing and always doing the wrong thing-“

“You don’t do the wrong thing with him,” Sai said, frown deepening. “You try your best with him.”

“Which it seems is never good enough.” She bit her lip. “God, Sai, what am I meant to do?”

“Same as we have been. Take our time, go at his pace. And maybe,” he tilted his head slightly, “Stop being so hard on yourself?”

Ino looked at him. She shook her head. “Hold me?”

“Of course. Any time.” Sai closed the distance between them, gathering Ino into his arms. “Have you . . . when last did you do something fun? You get tense when you haven’t had a chance to relax.”

Ino exhaled into his shirt. “It’s been a while. Since Inojin started missions I guess I haven’t really focused on myself. Maybe we can go out sometime soon, or something like that.”

“Sakura mentioned she wasn’t too busy,” Sai stroked a hand through Ino’s hair. “Why don’t you call her and talk to her?”

“I guess.” Ino nuzzled closer to him. He was warm and comforting, and softly protective. “I’ll give her a call tomorrow and see if she can come over for tea.”

“Good. You always feel better after talking to her.”

Ino pulled her head back to look at him imploringly. “Do you have any work to do this evening, or can we go to bed early and just lie together for a while?”

Sai tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “If that’s what you need, we can do that.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. At least she could get things right with Sai.

“I want to bash my head into the wall.”

Sakura sent Ino a sympathetic look. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I’m just worried about his progress. Things are getting harder, missions are starting to challenge them a bit, and I don’t feel like Inojin’s keeping up with Shikadai and Chocho.”

“Has Moegi said he’s falling behind?” Sakura frowned.

“No. Not in those words, exactly. She’s mentioned that Chocho babies him a lot, and Shikadai is constantly keeping an eye on him. Moegi has said once or twice that it takes Shikadai’s focus away from what he should be doing. She keeps trying to separate them in field exercises, now.”

“I bet Shikadai has something to say about that,” Sakura said, with a broad smile.

“He does,” Ino admitted, and she couldn’t help returning the smile. “You can’t pry the two of them away from each other.” Her smile fell. “I feel like that might be a problem later.”

“Then worry about it later,” Sakura advised. “Maybe stick to things that are real problems, for now.”

Ino nodded, looking silently out the window.

“So,” Sakura prompted gently. “What is the real problem? You look like there’s something on your mind.”

Ino took her time to consider how to say what was bothering her.

“Moegi is not the right teacher for them,” Ino chewed worried on her lower lip. “She’s too inexperienced. Shikadai does a better job leading that team than she does.”

“We always knew Shikadai was going to take over that team.”

“Is it wrong for me to ask for a change in sensei? Is that interfering too much?” Ino huffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m not sure Moegi’s equipped to handle them. She and Shikadai argue all the time as well.”

“About training?”

“About Inojin. Shikadai’s been described as . . . over-protective. And possibly the most stubborn and vocal Nara to ever exist.”

“Well, we know where he gets that from,” Sakura shrugged one shoulder dismissively. “Give them time to settle. It’s only been a few months.”

It was times like these that made Ino miss Asuma so, so much. Because he would have handled the team with ease, with years of experience behind him, and with already handling one generation of Shika-Ino-Cho. It was hard enough finding people to teach Naras – and Shikadai especially, who was not like his father and did not just sit quietly while the world exploded around him, but rather snapped and spat and solved the problems alone. He still complained all the while, but he wasn’t as passive as Shikamaru had been.

It meant that he and Moegi clashed frequently, and Chocho was always quick to back Shikadai up. It worried Ino, because teams were supposed to listen to their sensei, were supposed to form a strong bond with them, and as things stood now, she felt like Moegi could stop showing up altogether and Shikadai wouldn’t care.

They both turned their heads at the sound of the front door closing. After a moment, Inojin came wandering in, sketch pad held between his hands. He stopped when he caught sight of Sakura.

“Hello, Inojin,” she said warmly.

He offered a shy smile, before looking down at his sketchpad.

“How were missions today?” Ino asked, wondering if he would be prompted to talk in front of Sakura. He could be uneasy and silent in front of people.

“Good,” he said. He opened the sketchbook to a certain page, and held it out for Ino to take.

There was a rough pencil sketch of a wildflower.

“Found this. Don’t know what it is.” He backed up a step, eyes flicking briefly to Sakura. “I’m gonna look it up.”

“Okay,” Ino nodded, and Inojin padded quietly out of the room.

“Still shy?” Sakura queried.

“Chocho has taken over as his official speaker,” Ino said, absently flicking through the sketchbook. “I finally get Shikadai out of the habit of talking for him, and the other one takes over.” She wasn’t upset, though. It delighted her that his team was so keen to help him.

Sakura shifted closer to look at the drawings scattered through the book. “Flower, flower, Shikadai, flower, Shikadai, Shikadai . . . Does he draw anything other than flowers and Shikadai?”

“Birds, mostly,” Ino said, stopping at an ink painting of Shikadai sleeping, propped up against a tree. “And Chocho. He likes to watch people.”

“He’s very good,” Sakura noted.

“At the moment, he’s aiming to draw Shikadai’s eyes.” Ino closed the book. “That’s his goal in life.”

“Do you think he ever will?”

“I hope so.” Ino leaned back into the couch. “If he does, I feel like it’ll be the confidence boost he needs. It’ll show him that he’s fully capable of doing whatever he sets his mind to.” And that’s what she needed him to believe, to know that he could step out into the world confident in himself.

“So, how’s he going to do it?” Sakura asked, pursing her lips in thought.

“I don’t know,” Ino admitted. “But, hopefully, one day, he’ll figure it out.”

Chapter Text

It was meant to be a simple mission. Just carry intel from Konoha to a drop off point where they would meet another team of shinobi from another village. No threats expected.

So the ambush by a group of opportunistic bandits took Inojin by surprise. It all seemed to happen in a second – too fast to make sense of, too much to process, and Inojin only managed to fling a handful of shuriken and raise one dragon of ink before he felt the world close in around him, and his ears rang, and his fingers prickled, and his stomach clenched.

His opponent made short work of the ink dragon, and Inojin knew he should do something. Move, or attack, or . . . or anything, but . . .

He froze. Every thought in his head stopped, every movement of his body seized, and he couldn’t think of anything. “Sh-sh . . .”

He wanted to call out. Wanted to let Shikadai know I’m shutting down, I need you, it’s too much, but there was no way to do it. He watched in frozen, fascinated silence, his blue eyes wide, as the bandit lunged at him.

There was a weird, locking sensation throughout his body, then a moment of nauseating disorientation as he was suddenly flung to the side, with no physical contact. Somewhat dazed, he thought, Shikadai?

Then there was a high-pitched clang of metal on metal as Shikadai leapt in front of him, kunai raised, knocking the bandit aside. Inojin flinched where he landed, still staring blankly as Chocho’s massive fist swung over him. Shikadai followed the bandit as his body arced away, and Inojin blinked, trying to get his thoughts in order.

“Inojin,” Chocho crouched in front of him. “Hey, you okay?”

It took him a moment to hear her words, with the world around him still buzzing strangely. Hesitantly, he nodded.

She stood up, holding out a hand towards him. He stared at it, willing his body to cooperate. It felt like an age before he could reach out to her, and she pulled him to his feet.

“What just happened?” Moegi demanded, catching up to them, all threats taken care of.

Chocho ignored her in favour of looking Inojin up and down.

“Inojin?” Moegi asked. “What was that?”

He couldn’t answer her. He looked to Chocho uncertainly.

She squeezed his hand, turning to their sensei. “He’s okay.”

“Yes, but what-“

“Move,” Shikadai snarled, getting between Moegi and Inojin. He placed a hand each on Inojin’s shoulders, and Chocho stepped back. “Inojin, can you hear me?”

He nodded.

“Can you talk to me?”

He paused. He wanted to say yes, but . . . After a second, he shook his head.

Shikadai sighed, some of the tension leaving him. “Okay. Are you hurt?”

Another shake. He was fine. Just confused.

“He’s okay,” Chocho said. “I looked at him.”

“Shikadai,” Moegi said. “What just happened?”

Shikadai flicked his eyes from Inojin to Chocho. “Chocho, stay with him.”

He looked at Moegi, jerking his head to one side. “Come with me, I’ll explain.”

Inojin’s knees were shaking, and he sat down abruptly. Chocho sat down next to him, holding out a hand in case he wanted to hold hers. He shook his head; he didn’t want to be touched for the moment.

After a few minutes, he looked at her. “I’m okay.”

“Good. I think you scared Shikadai.” Chocho grinned. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Inojin stood up, pleased to find the world had stopped spinning. Everything was still too loud, and it felt like his skin was prickling with something, but he could think clearly. He looked around, trying to find Shikadai.

The other boy was standing a short distance away, hands in his pockets, in the middle of a heated talk with Moegi. Inojin wondered what they were talking about. He almost never saw Shikadai so worked up – green eyes blazing and snapping out words, chin jutted out defiantly . . . It was a new side to Shikadai.

When Shikadai flicked his eyes to him, despite the distance, his gaze hit hard, and Inojin had to look away almost immediately, feeling his cheeks burn.

It was a few minutes before Shikadai stalked back to him and Chocho, muttering under his breath.

“Home,” he said shortly.

“Are you okay?” Chocho asked.

Shikadai hesitated, his stride faltering slightly. He looked at Inojin, who shrank under his gaze.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Chocho looked worriedly between the two of them. Shikadai was already walking again, shoulders set tensely. Inojin hurried after him, catching up quickly.

He reached out a hand, trying to get Shikadai’s fingers twined within his own, just to ground him, just to make things normal again.

To Inojin’s shock, Shikadai snatched his hand away. Inojin didn’t know what to call the feeling curling in his chest, but it ached. He tried once more, hesitantly, but Shikadai moved away again.

“We’re not holding hands, Inojin. We’re not doing that anymore. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Today proved that.”

“What . . . what?” He had wanted to add on ‘why’, but the shock of what was happening took the extra word away from him.

“I can’t have eyes on you all the time,” Shikadai said in a low voice, hands shoved in his pockets. “You need to do better.”

Inojin sniffed.

“You’re going to have to figure out some way to handle yourself, because if we get sent out on a mission with any real danger in it, you’re gonna have to be able to keep thinking and moving. I won’t always be right next to you.”

“I know.” He was grumpy and unhappy, feeling like a failure compared to everyone else. Everyone knew he was the weak link in the team.

“And we’re going to have to think of something if you’re going to freeze up like that,” Shikadai growled. “Maybe it’ll go away with practice or something, but it’s a problem you need to fix.”

“I know!” Inojin shouted, startling himself slightly with his volume.

Shikadai froze in place.

“I know I’m pathetic, I know I’m the worst, I know I’m different!” Inojin clenched both fists. “Do you think I like being like this? Do you think I’m not trying? I’m trying, Shikadai, I’m trying! I’m not . . .” He broke off with a loud, frustrated growl, words suddenly jumbling together. “I’m not perfect like you are, ‘kay? I’m trying. Trying!”

“Hey,” Chocho broke in gently. “Calm down, Inojin, it’s okay.”

It was not okay, but Inojin couldn’t get that out, not with Shikadai still staring at him. He balled his hands into fists, but even the feeling of his own skin was unwelcome and felt weird and over stimulating. He brought his fists up to his face, trying to hide behind them, trying to make some sense of the world.

He wanted to say that he was doing his best, and he hated the way he was sometimes, but the words stuck in his throat and jumbled in his mind, and he couldn’t get them straight. Frustrated, angry, and still frightened of what had happened, he opened his hands and yanked at his hair.

“Inojin,” Chocho came closer, not touching him, but hovering her hands close to his. “Come on, don’t do that.”

He growled, staring squarely at Shikadai’s chest.

He saw Shikadai’s jacket move with a deep, heaving breath, then Shikadai turned away, and said tightly, “Chocho, take him home. Moegi and I will complete the mission.”

Inojin said nothing, dropping his gaze down to stare at the floor.

“Come on,” Chocho said softly, stretching out a hand to hold. “Let’s go.”

He shook his head at her offered hand. Her skin felt different to Shikadai’s, and it wasn’t what he wanted. He followed her though, taking careful, measured steps. He hoped Shikadai would say something. Would call out to him. Would stop him – would take his hand.

Chocho and Inojin walked home in silence.

Once he had calmed down a bit, Inojin tapped the fingers of one hand against his forehead protector, in a repetitive pattern. He kept it up until they were home, and Chocho said a few things to him that he didn’t hear and wasn’t listening to. He shrugged off her goodbye, and closed the door on her.

“Inojin?” Ino could be heard from the lounge. “You’re home early; is everything alright?”

No words volunteered themselves for answer, so Inojin ignored her question and just pulled off his shoes, throwing them down in a fit of anger. Everything felt like boiling bubbles around him, and he stomped his way into the lounge.

Ino stood up from the couch as he entered the room, her face falling into a concerned frown.

“Inojin,” Ino said softly. “What’s the matter?”

Inojin made a loud, irritated noise in his throat, but otherwise didn’t answer her. He stared around the room, almost frantically, looking for something grounding. Something that hadn’t changed. Something that wouldn’t turn around and completely ignore an action that had been a constant in his life for years.

His frustration overwhelmed him, and he kicked irritably at the floor. The frustration didn’t leave. He didn’t know how to make it leave. He didn’t know how to handle anything, ever, because he was made all wrong and nothing ever felt right –

“Inojin,” Ino said, gently trying to get his attention. “Look at me.”

“No,” he squeezed his eyes shut, resisting the urge to reach up and pull at his hair. He clenched both hands to stop himself, whining slightly.

“Do you need me to listen to you?” Ino asked, holding out a hand towards his forehead.

“No,” Inojin mumbled, pushing her hand away. “No, no, no, no.”

“What do you need from me?” Ino tried to keep her voice level, knowing that any excitement on her end of the conversation would likely send him spiralling into panic.

“Don’t need to listen, stay out of head,” Inojin turned away from her, steps dragging slightly. “Don’t wanna talk.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No. No,” Inojin shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. I’m going to sit down, then.” Slowly and smoothly, she sat on the couch again, watching Inojin pace restlessly around the room. She stayed still, keeping calm, and eventually he seemed to notice there was nothing happening around him, nothing trying to grab his attention.

He stopped pacing, whining loudly as he tried to organize his thoughts.

Ino waited patiently, not trying to prompt him along.

Inojin stood still, hands coming together. He seemed to realize what he was doing, and forced his fingers apart, holding both arms stiffly at his sides, hands clenched into tight fists. He pressed his lips together, staring at a spot on the floor.

Ino was prepared to wait him out, however long it might take.

“Shikadai won’t hold hands anymore,” Inojin blurted out. “Doesn’t want to.”

There was a powerful sense of relief flooding Ino’s system. This was workable. She could handle this. “Oh. Did he tell you why?”

“Just said no. Said no.” He hated getting stuck on words, hated that he could recognise that he wasn’t making sense, but it didn’t matter how much he berated himself, his tongue just wouldn’t cooperate and move onto the next thought. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t say anything else.

“How does that make you feel?” Ino asked, wondering if Inojin could get what he was experiencing into words.

He sent her an exasperated look, and shook his head.

“You don’t want to talk?”

He shook his head again, shooting his eyes somewhere else.

Ah, Ino thought. He’s annoyed with himself again. “Sunshine, it’s okay if it takes a while, you know that. And it doesn’t matter if you get stuck on a word, it goes away eventually.”

“Annoyed,” he muttered.

“I know it annoys you. But you shouldn’t let that stop you from expressing yourself.” She waited for him to speak, and when he stayed silent, she added encouragingly, “You can do it. It’s fine. It’s just you and me, and we’re not in a hurry.”

Inojin clenched and unclenched his fists, and Ino was impressed that he wasn’t twisting his hands together. In a tight, irritated tone, Inojin snapped, “Shikadai said. Said. Not holding hands anymore . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, face contorting in obvious frustration.

Ino tried to wait him out, until he put his hands in his hair and tugged. “Inojin. Don’t do that.”

“Stuck,” he said irritably.

“If you’re stuck, do you want me to look into your head and see what you’re trying to say to me?”

“No. No, too much, stay out.”

“Okay.” Ino tried to be patient. She sat back in the couch, keeping her posture relaxed and calm. “I’m just going to sit here unless you need me to leave.”

She watched as Inojin paced a bit, confused and upset by too many emotions that he couldn’t get out. Eventually, he calmed down, and sat down on the floor near the window, looking out at the tree. Ino studied him carefully. He was a bit twitchy, fidgeting as he sat.

You’re not taking your medication as often as you should, she thought, as she watched his focus flit from the tree to the sky.

Finally, Inojin sighed, and mumbled, “Shikadai said we can’t hold hands.”

“Does that upset you?” Ino asked carefully.

“Hm. We’re friends. Has been fine, just suddenly not fine.” He took in a few deep breaths, and once he had settled his breathing, he spoke more clearly, “I don’t know why he’s changed his mind suddenly. He didn’t tell me.”

His attention was caught by a bird outside, and Ino watched as he followed it some of the way across the garden, before his gaze wandered off.

No focus, she sighed lightly. “Inojin. Stay with me.”

“I want to hold his hand, like how it feels, helps me, but he said no-“ Inojin cut himself off, and almost frantically moved to tug at his forehead protector.

“Inojin. You need to calm down before we can talk properly. Can you tell me three things you can see? One inside, one outside, and one far away.”

The specifications got his attention, and Inojin took in a deep breath. He pressed his lips together. “Picture frame inside. Daisy bush outside.” He paused to think. “Cloud is far away.”

“Well done, sunshine. Now, what do you want to do to calm down?”

“Gonna draw,” he mumbled.

“Alright. Will you okay on your own? I need to go somewhere.”

He nodded.

“I won’t be long. Close your bedroom door if you want to stay alone, otherwise I’ll come and sit with you as soon as I’m home, and we can talk if you want.”

Inojin nodded again.

Ino stood up. “Would you like a hug?”

He shook his head swiftly.

“What about a kiss?”

That coaxed a small smile from him, and he nodded. “Okay. Sounds nice.”

Ino walked to him and bent down to press a soft kiss to his hair. She pushed his bangs back with one hand, sneaking in a little extra affection, pleased when he didn’t duck away. She had to grab these small moments when she could, since when Inojin was upset he tended to shy away, and those were the times she longed to hold him and coddle him the most. “Be safe, sunshine, I’ll be home soon.”

“Shikamaru!” Ino pounded her fist on the Hokage’s office door. “I know you’re in there!”

There was a pause, then a weary voice, “Come in, you troublesome woman.”

“What is the matter with you?” Ino started boldly, opening the door and slamming it closed behind her.

Naruto looked somewhat startled, sitting behind his desk with wide eyes, but Shikamaru stood quietly to the side, expression resigned.

“You,” Ino hissed, “Are impossible.”

“Not the first time I’ve been told. What’d I do this time?” He stared unblinking at her.

“Your shitty, stupid, archaic gender role crap is affecting my son, and your son, and if you don’t fix it I’m going to throttle you!”

Naruto looked even more bewildered now. “What?”

Shikamaru drew back a bit as Ino stormed up to him, standing on the tips of her toes to glare into his eyes.

“You go home and tell your son, right now, that it’s perfectly fine for boys to hold hands!”

Understanding lit up Naruto’s face. “Ah! I get it now!”

“Ino,” Shikamaru began, only to be cut off with a sharp finger in his chest.

“No, you listen to me, you jerk,” Ino snapped. “Inojin’s upset because Shikadai suddenly decided they shouldn’t hold hands. They’ve always done it, and it’s one of the things Inojin likes. They’re friends, for gods’ sake, let them be friends. Keep your hang-ups to yourself, but stop forcing them onto your child. Especially when it affects my child too.”

Shikamaru took a moment to think, expression mild in the face of Ino’s fury. It wasn’t the first time she had screamed at him, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Alright, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“I didn’t tell Shikadai anything,” Shikamaru said, in a placating voice, the effect of which was completely lost on Ino. “If he’s changed his mind about something, he’s done it all by himself.”

“No, he hasn’t; we know it’s your influence, mister ‘boys shouldn’t cry in front of people’ – which you do, all the time, you hypocrite!”

“What do you mean, all the time?” Shikamaru sounded defensive now. “I don’t!”

“Hehe,” Naruto chuckled. “Ever notice when you two talk, you just act like you’re seven years old again?”

Ino shot him a death glare, and Naruto fell silent again. She turned her glare to Shikamaru, who had long since become immune to it. “I’m serious, Shikamaru. Talk to him. Do something. Or I will.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Talk to him!” She crossed her arms. “And do it soon, because if you don’t, I’m going to make your life miserable.”

“You’ve been doing that for years; how much worse can you make it?” Shikamaru sighed. “Also, I don’t think blackmail is the right way to go about this.”

“That’s what I’m going with. Now, are you going to talk to your son?” she met his eyes stubbornly.

“Sounds like I don’t have a choice.” Shikamaru sounded resigned. “I don’t think anything’s going to change, but if it’ll get you off my case, I’ll see what I can do. It has nothing to do with me, though. I have no idea why you’re coming after me for something Shikadai’s done.”

“You probably said something stupid, or did something stupid. I don’t care what it was, just fix it.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him this evening.”

“Thank you,” Ino said sharply, well aware her tone conveyed anything but gratitude. She shot him one last haughty look before turning on her heel and marching from the office. Once in the silence of the corridor, she paused, unclenching her hands and trying to calm herself.

She was about to storm out, when Sai came around the corner, stopping when he saw her.

“Oh, Sai, I thought you were heading home soon,” Ino said.

“Almost done.” He looked at her curiously. “Is everything alright?”

“Just needed to yell at Shikamaru,” Ino explained, passing a hand wearily over her eyes. “Shikadai and Inojin had a difference of opinion today.”

“Did Shikadai hurt him?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. Inojin wasn’t very forthcoming about details.” Ino sidled up to Sai, leaning her face into his chest. “I should go home and check on him.”

“I know he’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Ino sighed against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m fine.”

“Are you? Isn’t going out of your way to shout at Shikamaru a bit . . . much?”

“It’s a mother thing. Being overprotective. I just . . . he’s got so much against him already. And Shikadai’s been so snappy with everyone lately, I’m scared he’ll push Inojin away. I don’t want them to fight.”

“Shikadai’s a good kid. He’ll do the right thing.” Sai waited for Ino to let him go. She did not. “Beautiful? You have to let me go eventually.”

“In a minute,” she mumbled. “Inojin didn’t want a hug. But I need one.”

In response to that, Sai closed his arms around her. Ino felt a hot rush of affection for him. He might not quite understand all her worries and troubles, but he tried, and he was always there when she needed him. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, and Ino giggled softly.

“Another one,” she demanded, nuzzling his chest.

Sai obliged.

“And another.”

“I’m not sure we should be doing this standing in the hallway,” Sai replied, but he kissed her anyway.

“Fine,” Ino pulled away, looking up at him. He gazed back adoringly. “We’ll pick it up again when you get home.”

“I’ll try to be quick,” Sai promised.

“Good.” Ino stretched up on the tips of her toes to give him a fleeting peck on the lips. “I’ll see you at home.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai was nowhere to be seen when Shikamaru came home. After searching the house, and not finding his son, he called wearily, “Hey, Tem?”

“Yeah?” she shouted back from the lounge.

Shikamaru wandered to find her. “Is Shikadai home?”

“He’s on the roof, having a good sulk about something,” Temari said. “What happened?”

“Inojin, apparently,” Shikamaru shrugged. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Is Inojin hurt?”

“Don’t think so. Ino came to scream at me about something Shikadai did, but it doesn’t sound like anyone got hurt.”

Temari glanced up at the ceiling. “He’s been up there since he got home.”

“Why didn’t you talk to him?”

“Because I’m tired of his snippy attitude, and if he wants to sulk he can do it alone.”

“It’s your attitude he inherited.” Shikamaru waited warily for an answering rebuttal. When Temari chose not to rise to it, Shikamaru sighed heavily. He made his way outside, following Shikadai’s usual path onto the roof.

Shikadai sat with his knees up to his chest, arms clasped around them, and his chin tucked into his chest. He didn’t move when Shikamaru climbed up next to him, sitting down with a slight grunt.

Shikadai closed his eyes. “Am I a bad person?”

“No. You’re not.” Shikamaru leant his weight back on his hands. “What did you do that makes you think that?”

Shikadai shrugged one shoulder.

“Whatever it was, the fact that you’re beating yourself up about it tells me you’re not a bad person. A bad person probably wouldn’t care.” Shikamaru studied his son for a long, silent moment, before saying softly, “Ino came to talk to me.”

Shikadai’s eyes opened again, and he stared blankly forwards.

“Something about you and Inojin having a problem. Now, everyone makes mistakes or does the wrong thing occasionally, so I’m not worried, but she was. Seemed to think you and Inojin had something you needed to work out.”

Shikamaru wondered if Shikadai would volunteer any information. He seemed determined to stay silent, huddled up and miserable.

“Of course, Ino does overreact,” Shikamaru mused, looking at the stars. “So maybe it’s not a big deal. Something small can sometimes seem like a huge problem, but if you just think about it for a second, you’ll see there’s a perfectly simple solution.”

Shikadai’s dark jade eyes slid sideways to eye Shikamaru. He seemed to be weighing his words, and Shikamaru waited patiently. Eventually, Shikadai said dully, “Inojin almost got hurt on our mission today.”

He paused then, thinking some more, before continuing hesitantly, “Waiting for me. He needed me to come to him. Just to get him back on track. Like we do in training, just needed to get him focused again.” Shikadai shifted uncomfortably. “He froze.”

“Do you feel like that’s your fault?”

Shikadai grimaced. “No. I know it’s not me; he would have frozen even if I wasn’t there but . . . I was there. And he was waiting for me.”

Shikadai heaved a sigh, and Shikamaru had a feeling the real issue was about to come out.

“I was scared, and I got mad. So I yelled at him. Like, a lot. I didn’t mean to, it just came out . . .”

“Why were you scared?”

“He needs me too much,” Shikadai murmured. “It’s dangerous. Moegi-sensei says I need to stop taking the fall for him, because I’m not always going to be there. I yelled at her, too. But she’s right.”

Shikadai shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not gonna be there for Inojin forever. I’m not going to be able to watch his back all the time. So he’s gotta . . . learn to make it on his own. ‘Cause I don’t wanna . . . I don’t wanna protect him and keep him safe and then I’m not there and he gets hurt because he was waiting for me to help him . . .”

“Ah. I see.” Shikamaru relaxed slightly. “So, the holding hands thing? How is that the issue?”

Shikadai winced. “That . . . okay, I was mad and just said that. I don’t know why. I guess I was freaking out over how much he needs it and I wanted him to learn to go without it. I didn’t mean that, either. I . . .”

“Sounds like you acted without thinking. You don’t usually do that.”

Shikadai wasn’t listening. He stared dully ahead, mind racing, and before Shikamaru could add more, Shikadai closed his eyes tight.

“What if I’m the reason he fails?” Shikadai asked, and immediately moved to mumble into his knees. “What if I’m not there, or not fast enough, and I’m the reason something happens to him?”

Shikamaru didn’t say anything, waiting to see if Shikadai would continue.

“I can’t watch him die because of me. Because I couldn’t be there, or because he couldn’t do something without me. It’ll be my fault if anything happens to him. I’m in charge of that team, so anything that goes wrong is my fault. So I have to teach him how to manage without me. Even if,” Shikadai bit his lip, “Even if that means leaving him alone.”

Shikamaru shifted into a more comfortable position, looking at the sky. Moegi was supposed to be in charge of that team, and he thought it interesting that Shikadai hadn’t mentioned her. Clearly, Shikadai felt like he was the only person able to successfully lead them. Shikamaru let the silence linger, until he was sure Shikadai had stewed in his uncertainty for long enough.

“And what happens, if you walk away from him?”

Shikadai looked startled by the question. “. . . What?”

“If you quit on him. If you give up on him. If you leave him to struggle through things on his own, when you know your presence would help.” Shikamaru looked at his son. “Life goes on anyway. Inojin will still be a shinobi. He will still go on missions, without you. He’ll still be at risk. The difference is that you won’t be there for him. You won’t be able to step in when he needs you. Someone else will be there – someone not as smart as you, someone who doesn’t know him as well. And maybe he’ll get hurt, maybe he’ll die, and you can sit here and live with the knowledge that you could have made a difference.”

Shikadai flinched.

“You are best equipped to lead your team. So you owe it to them to give it your best shot. Man up, and do the right thing.”

Shikadai stayed silent.

“As long as you are able to help your team and be there for them, you have a responsibility to do so. You don’t get to run away from your problems. You don’t get to push them away because you’re scared. That’s not how you solve them. So you better come up with a plan that doesn’t involve Inojin being on his own, even if you think it’s for his own good. Because running away? That’s the coward’s way out.”

Shikadai sank further into his knees.

“Is that what you want to be?” Shikamaru asked. When nothing greeted him but silence, he asked again. “Shikadai. Are you going to spend the rest of your life labelled a coward while your friends are out risking their lives, and dying, because you gave up on them?”

“No,” Shikadai muttered.

“Good. Because you’re better than that, and I expect more from you. Now get up, get over yourself, and come inside.” Shikamaru patted him on the shoulder, and stood up. Shikadai did not move to follow immediately, so Shikamaru left him to finish brooding, and jumped down from the roof, almost landing on Temari, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

“Hm,” Temari cocked an eyebrow. “That sounded familiar from somewhere.”

Shikamaru gave her a rueful smile. “It’s good advice.”

“Think he’ll come down for dinner?”

“Maybe. Maybe he just needs time.”

Up on the roof, Shikadai shifted, looking up at the stars. He spent a long time thinking, then brushed himself off, jumped off the roof, and went inside to start planning.

Inojin was about to throw his pencil at Chocho. “Stop moving all the time!”

She raised an eyebrow. “I can’t help it. It’s exciting.” She brandished her book around. “You haven’t read this; you don’t know how exciting it is.”

“I’m trying to draw you; stay still!” he said irritably. Chocho had been sitting so nicely, relaxed on a bench with a book in one hand and the other delving into a bag of chips. His sketch was only half done, but she had begun fidgeting too much.

“I’ll pose properly another day,” she promised. “But today is not a good day for sitting still.”

“How is a book more important than my drawing?” he muttered.

“It’s so romantic,” Chocho continued. “The girl falls in love, and her heart beats faster, and she feels butterflies in her stomach, and she blushes all the time-“

Inojin grimaced. “Sounds awful. You said love was good.”

“It is good. It’s romantic. You’re a boy; you wouldn’t understand.” Chocho sniffed. “And then they live happily ever after. Because she’s in love and feels so much for the boy.”

“I like that part.”

“You’ll get there one day,” Chocho assured. “Love might feel a little different for you, but you can fall in love, too. There are lots of ways to do it.” When he cracked a small smile, she put her book on her lap and held out her hand. “Let me see.”

“S’not finished,” he grumbled, handing her his sketch pad. “Because you moved.”

He rubbed his forehead protector, liking the smooth coolness. It was a predictable feeling, and it didn’t have weird textures that made his nerves stand on end. He liked touching it, because it gave him a sense of being grounded when he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

It also stopped him from twisting his fingers together, a habit he knew bothered his father.

“Hm,” Chocho eyed the page critically, tilting her head this way and that. “I like it.”

Inojin felt a pleased bubble of pride in his chest, and he smiled shyly at the ground, shrugging in lieu of a verbal answer to her praise. He held his hand out for his sketchbook, and Chocho gave it back.

Inojin shuffled a bit away from her, the feeling in his chest making him tense and cloistered, but he didn’t feel the need to leave completely.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the sun and the quiet, until Chocho finally stood up, stretching her arms leisurely above her head.

“I should head home,” she said.

Inojin nodded, eyes still down on his book.

“You want me to walk you home?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Are you alright?”

He was able to nod and even offer her a smile, eyes fixed on her hands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Bye!”

Inojin waved at her, then flipped through his book until he found one of his unfinished sketches of Shikadai. He traced his fingers over the lines, curling in on himself. Would he ever get the chance to draw him properly? Would there ever be a day when Inojin could look into his eyes long enough to capture the myriad of colours in there, the way the light caught blue flecks and little spots of browns? Shikadai’s eyes were like marble, so many colours that looked like green at a glance, but it was so much more than that.

Inojin whined a bit, unsure how else to express himself. He missed Shikadai. A lot. It felt strange not to have him hovering. But Moegi had taken Shikadai out separately for the last few days, stating that he had other things he needed to work on, and they hadn’t had a chance to speak since their last mission.

And Inojin didn’t know how he was feeling about Shikadai’s absence. His feelings were too tangled and knotted to make sense of. Inojin could recognise the anger, but it seemed to fade and be overshadowed all the time. There was too much going on.

Inojin closed his sketchbook, and tucked it under his arm, and wandered home.

It was unusual to see Shikadai surrounded by books and papers, making notes, muttering to himself and frowning. He had spread himself out across most of the TV room, the device humming along in the background.

Shikamaru eyed him. “What are you doing?”

“Learning the Anbu hand signals.” Shikadai didn’t look up. “And writing a code.”

“You’re doing what?” Interested, Shikamaru came to sit down with his son.

“For Inojin,” Shikadai said distractedly. “Hand signals, so our team can communicate all the time, even if he can’t talk to us. And I’m making a code for us so he can send messages if we’re out of sight, that no one else can understand. We don’t learn the field hand signals in school.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Shikadai made a note on a page. “I was looking at other common Konoha codes before developing my own. We need to learn a common one anyway in case Inojin ever has to take information back to the village and can’t tell anyone about it.” He was very focused, eyes scanning books and pages.

“You came up with this idea by yourself?” Shikamaru questioned.

“Yeah. Had to think of something.” Shikadai bit his lower lip, chewing at it worriedly for a moment. “I . . . Need to keep him safe.”

“What are these?” Shikamaru picked up a page of Shikadai’s scribbles and odd diagrams.

Shikadai glanced up. “Phrases I need him to learn. Those are the hand signals for when he’s shutting down. Chocho has to learn them, too. I’m gonna ask Moegi-sensei if we can work on it after our next training session.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

Shikadai hesitated. His words came slower, less surely. “Well . . . we’re a team . . . so . . . it’s . . . okay . . .?” He was uncertain now, unsure of he was being praised or questioned. Shikamaru’s lecture on the roof still stung, and Shikadai had been fighting back a nagging twist of guilt since then.

Shikamaru put the page down again, giving Shikadai a fond, sideways glance. “I’m not suggesting you don’t do it. I just wondered why you felt the need to.”

“To help him.” The answer was painfully obvious to Shikadai. He kept his eyes pointedly down, cheeks burning. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a lot of work, if it’ll help him, then . . . then I’ll do it. He’s my best friend, and part of my team, and I’m responsible for keeping him and Chocho safe. So . . . Yeah, I don’t mind the work.”

He pulled up the courage to meet Shikamaru’s eye. “No one dies on my team. Not while I’m in charge.”

It wasn’t often that Shikamaru felt a hot rush of fondness, but it surged through him now, and he nodded, unable to mask the pride in his voice. “That’s my boy.”

Shikadai meticulously arranged his papers.

“When are you seeing Inojin next?”

Shikadai grimaced. “I don’t know. I’ve still got separate missions from him.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re ahead of them in level, it makes sense to challenge you more.”

Shikadai’s expression was unreadable. “That’s not why Moegi’s doing it. She wanted me to think about how I acted and ‘re-evaluate my attitude’,” his voice dropped to a grumble, and it amused Shikamaru. His son was usually an even-keeled, laidback Nara, but there were flares of Temari’s temper breaking through that Shikadai had to learn to deal with. “I already apologized to her for yelling. I don’t know why she’s still singling me out.”

“It’s not for ever,” Shikamaru assured. He paused, assessing Shikadai’s mood. “How is Inojin? Have you spoken to him since that mission?”

Shikadai kept his eyes down. “Um, no. I . . . still owe him an apology. I just . . . haven’t figure out how to say it, yet.”

“How does Inojin say things to you?”

Shikadai sighed. There was an obvious answer there, and he made a grumbly noise in the back of his throat. “. . . I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

When Inojin opened his bedroom door, he was faced with a handful of purple hyacinth flowers.

Shikadai stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what hyacinths mean?” Inojin asked flatly.

Shikadai shrugged. “You talk about flowers all the time. I know what it means.”

“You . . .” Inojin blinked. “You listen to me?”

“I always listen to you.”

Inojin stared at the flowers. He swallowed slowly, trying to organize his thoughts. “I like purple.”

For a second, he wanted to yank at his hair for a stupid, half formed thought that had no real meaning escaping his mouth, but he noticed Shikadai lift his head very slightly.

“I know.”

“Second favourite colour.”

“Second?” Shikadai rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I thought it was your favourite. You always wear purple.”

“Feels better.” That was something he found hard to explain – colours felt different, and purple didn’t make him feel itchy and closed in. It was gentle on his skin.

Shikadai cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyway . . . I’m sorry. Look, you scared me on that mission. I thought, what if couldn’t get to you in time, and what if you called for me and I didn’t hear, or you couldn’t call me and I wasn’t looking at you and I . . . I guess I thought if you and I were separated you would learn to manage without me and I wouldn’t have to be scared of things like that.”

Inojin took the flowers, studying them meticulously.

“And Moegi said I had to quit covering for you all the time, that it was going to end up hurting you more than helping you. And I have a lot of other shit going on that’s pressuring me and I . . . I guess I overreacted. Or just reacted wrong. Fuck, feelings are confusing sometimes. So, like, I’m sorry. And . . . yeah. Sorry.”

There had been a lot of emotion to sort through, and thoughts that Shikadai wasn’t certain what to do with, but he had said what he really needed to say.

Inojin blinked slowly, processing Shikadai’s words. “You . . . you get confused about feelings, too?”

“Well, yeah,” Shikadai scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

Inojin stared at him, for a moment able to stare at those captivating green eyes, then he looked down, something warm flaring in his chest. Shikadai struggled too. Shikadai had feelings he couldn’t understand too. Inojin wasn’t alone in that, and he wasn’t different all the time. Even perfect Shikadai had things he found difficult.

Inojin brought the flowers to his nose, inhaling their delicate scent. He pressed close enough for a petal to touch his lips, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sensation, feeling less alone in the world.

“I made a code,” Shikadai mumbled. “For you to learn. And some hand signals, so if you ever need me again you don’t have to shout. Thought it would help. If you want.”

Inojin looked at Shikadai’s chest. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“I can . . . stay for a bit, and start teaching you. If you want me to. If you’re not busy.”

“I’m not busy.” Inojin mumbled into the flowers. He wondered what the warm buzzing in his ears was, and he could feel his heart pounding. It was a strange feeling, and he would have to ask his mother about it later. For now, he pushed it down, next to the revelation that Shikadai was like him, and had troubles just like he did, and Inojin squeaked into the flowers.

He finally backed away from the door so Shikadai could come inside.

Shikadai sat hesitantly on Inojin’s bed, taking a scroll from his pocket and opening it. “I just brought some of the easier ones to learn. And we can teach Chocho, as well.”

Inojin sat at his desk, laying the hyacinths down carefully. He would put them in water soon. For now, he grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a pencil, biting on his lower lip to suppress a smile, still caught on the notion that he and Shikadai were the same with something.

Shikadai started with the first of the hand signals on the scroll, and Inojin sketched and nodded.

He learnt better when he was busy, and so Shikadai lectured and demonstrated, content with Inojin just flicking his eyes up occasionally to catch a hand signal. Inojin replicated the signs with his free hand, finding that he liked the way it felt. It was like fidgeting his fingers together, except it had a real purpose and could help him.

He grinned at his sketch pad, pleased with that revelation. It felt like he was equal to Shikadai now – with them communicating in a way that was to his advantage, and both of them swimming in confusing emotions.

Inojin drew a beautiful, colourful bird taking flight.

“Our main issue,” Shikadai said, standing squarely in the middle of an open training field. “Is that if you freeze up, you can’t signal that you need help. It’s all fine if Chocho and I can see you, but if we can’t, or if we get separated, we have a problem.”

Moegi was watching from a distance, waiting to see how Shikadai would puzzle his way through Inojin’s issues. She had spent the last week drilling him on his techniques, pushing him in every area she could, until she was certain he could concentrate not only on what he was doing, but keep half his mind on his team as well. He had not disappointed. Shikadai was, by far, filled with the most potential, and Moegi had been working hard to cultivate that.

The other two stood in front of him, Chocho nodding along, Inojin twisting his fingers together and staring at the ground.

“Here’s what I’ve been thinking,” Shikadai said. “The obvious solution is to pull you from missions altogether, quit being a shinobi, and find something else to do. But,” he added, when Inojin’s head snapped up, ready to protest. “We’re not doing that. Not if you want to keep trying.”

“I do,” Inojin said softly. “I want to be a shinobi.”

“Then we move onto the next best thing.” Shikadai heaved a sigh. “We can’t depend on only doing low level missions. There have been D-rank missions that turned into B-ranks, or higher, due to unforeseen events. There have been C-rank missions turned into A or S-class. So the fact is, if you want to be ready for the world, you need to be ready for the worst the world has to offer.”

Inojin tensed a bit at that, but Chocho wrapped her fingers around his reassuringly.

“We have a non-verbal communication system in place. That’s what we’re practicing today in combat scenarios.” He threw a glance to where Moegi was watching. “Moegi-sensei is going to be attacking us, and we are going to do the entire fight without speaking. Got it?”

Chocho nodded keenly, with Inojin a bit slower to respond.

“These signals need to be second nature,” Shikadai said. “No mistakes, no delays. Can you manage that?” he asked Inojin.

Inojin thought hard. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” He threw a glance at Moegi. “We’re ready.”

Inojin looked uncertainly to Shikadai. He wasn’t sure about a whole training fight without speaking. It was different, and he never did well with sudden changes. But he drew in a deep breath, and watched Shikadai’s hands.

Shikadai’s signals came fast, but Inojin had learnt them all, and didn’t have to hesitate to interpret them. He found, as their battle wore on, that it was easier to fight like this. There was no noise to distract him, and even if he heard too many sounds, he didn’t have to waste energy trying to listen to them. He could watch Shikadai’s hands, and that meant he didn’t get uncomfortable meeting his eyes or wondering at his facial expressions. And if he kept his eyes down, watching Moegi’s legs and arms and never looking at her face, his skin didn’t crawl and he didn’t have weird shudders of uneasiness up his spine.

By the time Shikadai held up a hand to stop, Inojin was gasping for air, but grinning. Chocho skipped over to him, beaming, “How was that?”

“Easy,” he panted. He sat down, and Chocho plopped next to him.

Shikadai sauntered up, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“One problem,” Moegi sent Shikadai a look. “If your hands are occupied with your Shadow Binding seal, then how are you planning on talking to your team?”

In answer, Shikadai placed his hands together, extended his shadow and caught Moegi where she stood. He looked directly at her, before pulling a tendril of shadow free at his side. He lifted it off the ground and shaped it into their symbol for ‘WAIT’.

“Already thought of that,” he said smugly, releasing his shadow.

“Nice job, Shikadai,” Moegi nodded. “Good to see you stepping up more and more.”

He shrugged casually, sitting down at Inojin’s knee. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. You’re leagues ahead of where you should be for your age and experience. You should be proud of yourself. You have a lot of potential, and I expect you’ll continue to show it.” She smiled at him.

Shikadai did not return her smile. He shrugged again, dismissive, and turned his attention to Inojin. “Next problem. If we can’t see you signal for help, would you be able to send one of your ink creatures to us easily?”

“Yes, but if I’m . . .” Inojin hesitated. “What if I’m stuck? Then I might not be able to get paper and ink and everything.” Using Sai’s jutsu was almost second nature now, and required very little thought or effort, but pressure made everything worse.

“You infuse your chakra into the ink, not the paper,” Shikadai mused. “Right?”

Inojin nodded.

“If Chocho and I can’t see you,” Shikadai said slowly, planning as he spoke. “Would you be able to contact us with ink?”

“But if you’re far away, and I can’t get the bird or whatever to you-“

“What about if it’s on us?” Shikadai asked, and Chocho perked up.

“I see,” she said. She sent Inojin an encouraging look. “If you had a symbol on us already, and just activated your chakra when you needed us. Could you do that?”

Inojin looked confused. “How?”

“Here,” Shikadai held out his hand. “Paint something on me.”

Inojin obliged, quickly swirling a pattern onto Shikadai’s palm.

“Now activate your chakra and lift it up,” Shikadai instructed.

Inojin did so, and the ink flashed off Shikadai’s skin. Shikadai drew his hand back.

“I felt that,” he said. “So it’ll get my attention even I’m not looking at you. Do it again, and this time I’m going to go to the other side of the field and turn my back on you. Activate it whenever you want, and I’ll see if I can still feel it.”

“Okay,” Inojin painted a butterfly on Shikadai’s wrist. He and Chocho sat in silence while Shikadai left them. Once Shikadai had wandered far out of ear shot, his back to the other two, Inojin sent Chocho a questioning look.

“Try now,” she said.

Inojin flicked his chakra outwards, looking at Shikadai’s back curiously.

A mere second after Inojin’s ink moved, Shikadai raised his other arm in a thumbs up gesture.

Chocho patted Inojin’s shoulder. “There, see? You can do it.”

Shikadai returned to them, still looking like he was thinking hard. “Okay. So you can get our attention if we can see you, and if we can’t. That’s half the battle won.”

“But if I freeze up again, then what?” Inojin murmured. He stared at his lap. “I’m sorry. I know I can’t do everything you need me to. And I don’t . . . I don’t want you to get angry at me again.”

Shikadai sighed. “That wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It was,” he trailed off, trying to figure out his thoughts. “It was just a shock, seeing you freeze up in an actual fight, and there was a lot going on and I didn’t handle it well.”

He shook his head. “Everything that happens out there is on me. Every mistake, every failure, every injury. It’s my fault. I’ll figure it out, and I’ll make our team better. And it won’t happen again.”

Shikadai sat down with a casual thump. “For the rest of the week, we’re doing extra training to practice our new techniques. It’s for you,” he looked at Inojin. “Because I’m not going to watch you fail, knowing I could have done something to help.”

The odd, warm, glowing feeling was back in his chest; one that Inojin sometimes felt around Shikadai and couldn’t quite explain. Unsure of what he was supposed to say, he instead reached out a hand carefully. To his delight, Shikadai took it without question, and Inojin grinned at him, catching the emerald green of Shikadai’s eyes for a moment. Tentatively, he squeezed Shikadai’s fingers.

Shikadai squeezed him back, and Inojin felt like things were back on track again. Whatever oddness and awkwardness had been between them seemed to fade away. Shikadai was grumbling to Chocho about training and learning, and Inojin let his voice just fade away into nothing, and enjoyed the familiar feeling of Shikadai’s hand in his own.

When Shikadai asked Temari to help them train, Ino came as well, to see how they were doing. She stayed out the way, trying not to interfere, because Shikadai selected Temari because he knew she wouldn’t hold back and wouldn’t sugar-coat. If there was a flaw in their teamwork, and their techniques, Temari would point it out swiftly and brutally.

Ino had to hide a smile behind her hand, as Shikadai protested indignantly at being singled out once training began.

“You’re covering Inojin,” Temari explained. “As an enemy shinobi with no information about you, I’m going to assume he’s the most important part of the team, or you wouldn’t be protecting him. So if I get you out of the way, I get access to him.”

“Fair enough,” Shikadai grunted. He failed, consistently, to trap her in his shadow. He was signalling Chocho and Inojin into place, and Ino was impressed with the speed at which Inojin was responding. Without the stress of trying to process verbal commands, he was flicking his gaze between Shikadai’s hands and the rest of the battlefield, and coping remarkably well.

It gave her hope, and she had to stifle a laugh when Shikadai was knocked flat on his back, and Temari stopped the edge of her fan a mere inch away from his throat. Chocho and Inojin paused, waiting to see what would happen next.

“You’re dead,” Temari said. “What happens to Inojin now?”

Shikadai pushed the fan away from his neck and sat up. “I made a mistake. Can we try again?”

“You can’t make mistakes when someone is trying to kill you. And not if someone is trying to kill Inojin.”

While Temari was talking, Shikadai signalled Chocho behind his back. She attempted to attack Temari from behind, taking advantage of her distraction speaking to Shikadai. She didn’t get close enough to do anything before Temari casually sent a blast of wind flying at her, before intercepting Inojin in his attempt to come forward and attack as well. Ino noted that Temari was gentle in rebuffing both Chocho and Inojin, but not Shikadai. While her defence was nowhere near as powerful as Ino knew she could be, she was definitely making things much harder for her son.

Ino checked on Inojin, who was up on his feet again, and planning his next move. He seemed fine, out of breath, but very present and not struggling to keep up with Chocho. It was encouraging to see, and Ino felt some of her tension leave her.

Shikadai dropped to one knee for stability against the wind, hands clasping together to form a seal. When Shikadai’s shadows failed once more, Temari turned to face him. “Shikadai. What was that?”

“A miscalculation,” he replied grumpily. He signalled Chocho and Inojin to stay back.

“By how much?”

“Three degrees, and two inches.”

“So why didn’t you correct it?” she asked.

Shikadai groaned. “Come on, it was barely even wrong.”

“If you miss by an inch or a mile, it’s the same. Get it right, or don’t do it at all.” She jammed the edge of her fan into the ground. “Inojin, what could have done to help?”

He straightened, surprised at being asked. “Um . . . I don’t know?”

“Keep moving when you can. If these two are taking the time to cover for you,” she looked at Chocho and Shikadai in turn, “Then don’t make yourself a target. Later this afternoon I’m going to give you an opening to attack me. Don’t miss it, and don’t waste it.”

Inojin nodded.

“And no more mistakes,” Temari narrowed her eyes at Shikadai. “You want to keep Inojin on your team, keep him safe, keep Chocho safe, and keep yourself alive?” Temari asked. “Then you need to be better than perfect. You have no margin for error, now.”

Shikadai stood up, wiping dirt off his chin.

“Take a break,” Temari said. “You need to rest.”

Shikadai let out a relieved breath. “Cool.”

He wandered back to his team, plopping down to sit and see how things were going.

Ino came up to Temari, sending a worried look at Shikadai.

“Aren’t you being a little hard on him?” Ino asked softly.

Temari eyed her. “No.” She flicked her eyes to Shikadai, then back to Ino. “It’s no secret that Inojin pulls that team down. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is? Inojin’s the most likely to get hurt, so why go at Shikadai all the time?”

“Inojin might be the weakest, but he’s not the most likely to get hurt.” Temari looked at Ino seriously. “Who on that team is most likely to die protecting him?”

Ino looked uneasily at Shikadai.

“It’s not about your child, Ino,” Temari said softly. “It’s about mine. He’s taken on this team as his own. And he’s willing to put his life on the line for your son. You want to protect Inojin from the dangers of the world – and I want the same for my son. The only difference is, mine has chosen to be a shield for yours.”

Ino looked at the ground, her stomach twisting slightly. Temari was right. Inojin was a danger to his teammates, and especially to Shikadai. They had known this was coming ever since Shikadai had shown an interest in learning how to help Inojin. Since they were much younger, Shikadai had always been Inojin’s shield against the world. “What . . . what can I do to help keep Shikadai safe?”

“We already know the odds of Inojin ever performing missions alone are not good. But still, he needs to be better at working alone.” Temari flicked some dirt off her fan. “Spend as much time as you can working him alone. Do whatever it takes to get him used to high stress situations.”

Ino chewed worriedly on her lower lip.

“He’s not hopeless,” Temari said. “But the odds are against him. He’s never going to be at the same level as Shikadai and Chocho. You need to decide if it’s worth the risk to let him keep doing this.”

“Missions are not as dangerous as they used to be,” Ino pointed out, hoping for some sort of comfort to hold onto. “The world is at peace.”

“The world may be at peace, but people are not.” Temari looked at Shikadai again, who was holding his arm out for Inojin to paint flowers on his wrist. “You can’t hope for the best. Rather prepare for the worst.”

“Am I wrong for letting him keep trying?” Ino asked. “Would it be better to quit now, before he gets hurt, and find a different path in life for him?”

She had met Sakura at her home this time.

Sakura sat back in her seat with a heavy sigh, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. “You said Temari had them for a session. How did that go?”

“She’s picking on Shikadai because she thinks he’s going to kill himself protecting Inojin.”

“But . . .?” Sakura asked. “I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming. Because Temari doesn’t do things for no reason.”

“I don’t know about that; she’s been pretty ticked off with Shikadai and his attitude lately.” Ino offered a wan smile. “But . . . they are improving. And Sai and I were talking, and we’re thinking of changing Inojin’s medication again. Shikadai has got him focused on looking for signals from his team and with that system in place, Inojin isn’t trying to think about two things at once, because he doesn’t have to watch and listen. He’s just watching.”

“So he doesn’t get as overwhelmed,” Sakura realized.

“Exactly. Since he doesn’t have to stress as much, we’re thinking of dropping his medication to a lower dosage.”

“That,” Sakura stood up and went to the kitchen counter. “Deserves celebratory chocolate chip cookies.”

“He’ll probably never be able to cope without it,” Ino added quickly. “And I’ve come to terms with that. But,” she smiled, more genuinely. “He’s doing so much better.”

“Are you a little less worried about him now?”

“No,” Ino shook her head. “Again – should we even bother? Is he endangering himself and his team?”

Sakura sat down again, offering Ino a cookie. She looked thoughtful for a few minutes. “Okay. I’ll try explain this the best way I can. We’ve all got issues.”

“Yes, but his are worse than others.”

“Are they?” Sakura clasped her hands together. “No, I don’t think so. Lee made a very successful shinobi career unable to even use chakra. Naruto came from being dead last to Hokage. Tsunade-sama is a medical shinobi afraid of blood. Your husband didn’t know what an emotion was when you met him, and now look at how much he loves you and Inojin. People can overcome great obstacles if they want.”

Ino nodded. “I suppose.”

“Yes, Inojin isn’t curable, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t able. He can use chakra – he just gets tired quickly. So do a lot of shinobi. He freezes up occasionally, so he’ll never be able to manage a solo mission. But he was born into a clan that never needs to go solo, because he’s got two friends beside him. One of which is a genius.”

Ino nodded. “Okay, yes.”

“And he’s got fantastic parents looking out for him, and doing everything they can to keep him safe.” Sakura reached over to grasp Ino’s hand. “You’re not a bad mother for doubting yourself. Or him. You’re just trying to do what’s best for him. The fact that you worry so much is one of the best things about you, because you’re always, always trying to find new ways to help him.”

Sakura squeezed her fingers gently. “He’s doing amazing, thanks to you. Even if genin is the best he’ll ever do.”

“But maybe I should keep him safe at home,” Ino murmured. “Where he’s less likely to die.”

Sakura mustered up an unimpressed look. “He could choke to death on a cookie, Ino. You can’t keep him safe from everything. So let him go out there and live his life.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, team,” Moegi cornered the three of them at the edge of the training grounds. “We’ve got something important to discuss.”

“The lack of snack breaks while training?” Chocho questioned, drawing a chuckle from Shikadai.

Inojin watched the flowers in the grass. There were a lot of different colours, and he wondered if he could collect one of each to put on his desk at home and look at them while he was drawing. Shikadai nudged him, and Inojin hummed at him. “I’m listening.”

“I want to talk to you three about the upcoming Chuunin exams.”

Inojin felt Shikadai’s fingers twitch against his arm, and he stared curiously at Shikadai’s hand.

“The other Jounin teachers and I have been discussing it, and we think it would be a good idea for you all to apply and try it.”

“Oh, cool,” Chocho said, and Inojin nodded, thinking it might be fun. It would be another step to being normal, to being like other people, other shinobi.

Shikadai spoke quietly, “What if we don’t want to do the exams?”

Moegi narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, obviously, it’s your choice. But the exam must be done in teams of three, so if one you refuses, none of you get to do it.”

“Come on,” Chocho said. “It sounds like fun. And we get to see everyone from other villages. There’ll be new people to meet. Maybe some cute boys.”

“You’re above average,” Moegi. “Everyone’s expecting you to do well.”

Shikadai’s jaw tightened.

“Your father passed the first time around – it’s unusual, but there’s no reason you can’t as well.”

Inojin stared at Shikadai’s hands, in case he formed one of their new signals. Shikadai stayed still though.

“I don’t want to do it,” Shikadai said, with a casual shrug. “Seems like a drag.”

Inojin tapped Shikadai’s hand to get his attention, and formed the signal ‘OKAY?’

Shikadai nodded reassuringly at him, swiftly signing back ‘I’M FINE.’ He sighed. “Maybe next year. Thanks for bringing it up, but we’ll wait.”

Moegi stared at him, clearly taken aback. Once she gathered her wits, she asked tightly, “Shikadai, can I speak to you alone?”

“I guess.”

Inojin turned to Chocho as Moegi and Shikadai walked off, asking, “Did I miss something? Is Shikadai okay?”

“I’m as confused as you are,” Chocho replied. “I mean, sure, Shikadai doesn’t like to work hard, but he doesn’t usually dismiss things out of hand. He usually thinks about things.”

“Hm.” Inojin felt a twist of worry in his stomach. Something had to be wrong. From a short distance away, Shikadai was frowning, shaking his head and saying something. Inojin edged closer to Chocho, watching Shikadai worriedly.

Shikadai threw a glance at him, and Inojin felt his cheeks burn under Shikadai’s intense gaze, and he had to look away. Was he the problem? Was he the reason Shikadai didn’t want to do the exams? Did he think Inojin would ruin his chances of passing first go?

Inojin fumbled a hand around until his fingers caught Chocho’s wrist, and he gripped her arm, mumbling, “Is he mad at me?”

“No,” Chocho answered, but she didn’t sound as self-assured as usual. “He’s not.”

Inojin turned to her, resting his face against her shoulder. “Hug.”

Chocho obliged without question, squeezing him tight. She held him until Shikadai separated from Moegi, then jostled Inojin slightly to get his attention back from wherever it had wandered. “Hey. Shikadai’s done talking.”

Inojin jerked out of her arms, turning to face Shikadai.

The young Nara approached with his eyes cast down, hands in his pockets. He clenched his jaw, before saying shortly, “I don’t think we should do it.”

“Why not?” Chocho asked.

“We’re not ready yet.”

Inojin twisted his fingers together. “Um . . . we’re not ready, or you don’t think I’m ready?”

Shikadai lifted his head to stare at him, and Inojin’s face burned, and he had to turn his face away. “Look, Inojin, there’s no hurry for this. We can wait. As a team, we’re still inexperienced.”

“But you’ll do really well,” Inojin murmured. He forced his hands apart. “You might pass.”

“We’re not doing it,” Shikadai said. “I don’t think you’re ready, and I don’t want to have to watch you get hurt for no reason.”

“You’ll be there to protect me,” Inojin said softly.

“That’s exactly what we’re trying to work on,” Shikadai sounded exasperated. “That’s what I mean – you’re not ready to be without me and Chocho, and there are individual fights in the exams.”

Inojin edged closer to him, standing at his side and lifting both hands to fidget with the metal plate on Shikadai’s sleeve. “But I want to try . . .”

“And I don’t want you hurt,” Shikadai replied. He stayed still, so that Inojin could continue his fussing. “Don’t fight me on this, it’s what’s best.”

Inojin leant his forehead on Shikadai’s shoulder.

“There’s next year, okay? It’ll be better next year.”

Inojin wasn’t sure that it would, but he didn’t have the energy to drag the words out. He stayed with his face pressed against Shikadai, silent, until Shikadai carefully detached Inojin’s fingers from his sleeve, took him by the hand and led him home.

Shikadai was quiet at the next training session, and his unusual behaviour upset Inojin. It was a disruption from their normal routine, and Inojin found it impossible to focus. After Moegi snapped at him twice to pay attention, and he completely lost all chakra control, she called training off for the day with an exasperated sigh.

“Inojin,” she began. “What is the matter with you today?”

Inojin pressed his lips firmly together, fingers twisting. His chest was tight and his skin felt wired and almost buzzing, because Shikadai hadn’t done all the normal things he usually did, and that had unsettled Inojin.

“Inojin,” she repeated, patience wearing thin. “Answer me.”

“He can’t,” Shikadai broke in sharply. “Back off.”

She turned her attention to him. “Shikadai, I know you’re concerned over him, but watch your tone.”

“Then stop picking on him,” Shikadai said.

“I’m okay,” Inojin murmured softly. He realized he didn’t sound convincing, and followed it up with the hand signal ‘I’M FINE’.

“Shikadai, we’ve talked about this,” Moegi said wearily. “About your attitude.”

Shikadai huffed, seeming to realize he was snapping again. He took a moment to breathe. “Sorry. It’s my fault. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Moegi regarded him for a moment. “Okay. You can go.”

Shikadai walked off with his chin jutting out stubbornly.

Inojin glanced uneasily between him and Chocho, a low, uncomfortable whine escaping him.

“Go,” Chocho said softly. “It’s okay. You can follow him.”

“I think-“ Moegi began, but Chocho interrupted, “No, let him go. He’s not going to listen to you anyway. He’ll feel better with Shikadai.”

Inojin made a note to thank Chocho later, and scurried after Shikadai.

“Shika . . .” Inojin made a grab for Shikadai’s hand, barely even annoyed at being unable to get the whole word out.

“What?” Shikadai sighed, turning to look at him.

More words stuck, and Inojin whined again.

Shikadai let out a loud breath. “Slowly, Inojin. You don’t have to rush.”

Inojin nodded, to let Shikadai know he had heard, and held up one hand to sign ‘LISTEN.’

“I’m listening,” Shikadai said, lips twitching up in a smile. “But you gotta say something for me to listen to.”

Inojin drew in a deep breath. “Exam. Wanna try.”

“We’re not doing it. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“You’re not ready.”

“Am.”

“You’re not.”

“Am,” Inojin repeated stubbornly.

“No, you’re not,” Shikadai replied, voice tight. “You’re going to get hurt.”

I won’t, I’ll be fine, you’ll be with me. Inojin growled under his breath. The thought was there, it was just stuck in his head. He bit his lip, and tried again. “Sh . . . Shika . . .”

“Still listening,” Shikadai assured softly.

“I wanna try,” Inojin whispered. “Boruto’s team is doing it . . .”

“It doesn’t matter what they’re doing,” Shikadai muttered, hands shoved firmly in his pockets. “I’m not risking you when you still freeze up too easily.”

“Don’t do it a lot.”

“You do it enough.”

“Why do you get to decide what I do?” His voice rose, sharp annoyance taking over, “Can’t I say what I want?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Shikadai shot back, and immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes. Fuck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

Inojin had the near overwhelming urge to stamp his feet and throw a spectacular tantrum, but he gritted his teeth, glaring fiercely at the Leaf symbol on Shikadai’s arm. “Shikadai!”

“See, this is what I mean.” Shikadai pointed out. “If this was a combat scenario, you’d be dead, because you’re still stuck with that thought, and you know I’m listening-“

“Not!” Inojin screamed. “Not listening to me! Listen to me!”

He clutched both hands in his hair, wanting to yank the thoughts out, wanting to pull and pull because he knew the words were in there, he just needed to get a good grip on them. One thought made it to his mouth, and he was able to blurt out a whole sentence.

“Why won’t you believe in me?” Inojin snapped, tugging ruthlessly at his hair.

“Hey,” Shikadai said warningly. “Stop that.”

“I wanna – I wanna – ugh!” Inojin broke off with a frustrated yell, words jumbling. He just wanted to get them out, he just wanted to make Shikadai understand, but it was so hard –

There was a lot he wanted to scream, frustration at Shikadai’s lack of faith in him and his own inability to express himself compounding on top of each other.

“Look, I know you’re angry at me, but that’s not going to make me think the Chuunin exam is a good idea,” Shikadai said stubbornly. “My mom’s been helping with the exams for years, so I know how they work and what goes on. People get hurt – people have died. I’m in charge of this team, so until I think we’re ready-“

“Never gonna be ready!” Inojin screamed. He signed frantically – WAIT – so that Shikadai would stand quietly and give him a minute to get himself under control. Inojin breathed through his mouth, taking in big gulps of air, squeezing his eyes closed and holding the same sign – WAIT.

Shikadai stayed quiet for a while, then said softly, “Inojin. Can you talk to me?”

He nodded, not opening his eyes.

“Okay. Hey, hey, listen to me. Open your eyes.”

Inojin shook his head frantically.

“Come on, it’s okay. I’m listening to you. Whatever you need to say, I’ll wait until you’re done.”

Inojin could feel Shikadai’s hands tugging a piece of paper from his pocket – Inojin had sketches all over him from when Moegi was talking or the team was discussing the day’s work.

“Look, can you tell me what this is?”

Inojin pried his eyes open, blinking at the piece of paper Shikadai held in front of him. It was one of his flower drawings.

“Orchid,” he managed to whisper.

“What’s the scientific name?”

“Orchidaceae.”

“What does it mean?”

“Lots of things. Beauty.” There were others, but he didn’t want to struggle through the words.

“Okay. Now, tell me three things you can see.”

“. . . Leaf. Grass. Your foot.”

Shikadai snorted. “That’s a new one. Okay, that’ll do. Now, I’m going to sit, maybe have a lie down, and you can take as long as you want to tell me why we have to the do the Chuunin exams now. I promise I won’t interrupt.”

“I’m gonna . . . gonna stutter.”

“It’s fine. You know it’s fine.” Shikadai flopped onto the ground. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. I’ll keep quiet.”

Inojin sat carefully next to him. A long silence passed between them, as Inojin gathered his thoughts and calmed down. By the time he started speaking, Shikadai was lying down, hands cushioning the back of his head, and his brilliant green eyes closed.

“I’m already behind everyone else,” Inojin started. “I just wanna try. I don’t wanna be the only team that doesn’t do it, ‘cause everyone will know I’m different. Just wanna try. Like everyone else. Don’t wanna be left behind, don’t wanna be different. Just try.” He took in a deep breath, and mumbled, “And ‘m mad at you ‘cause you don’t think I can do it. Don’t need to be protected all the time. Need to try. Please,” he added softly. “Please let me try. I want to.”

Shikadai opened his eyes, and Inojin took a moment to look at them, staring into the spectacular mass of colour for as long as he could tolerate. When he had to look away, Shikadai heaved a sigh.

“Okay,” he said, with a loud groan as he stretched his arms. “Whatever. We’ll give it a try, if it’s what you really want.”

“Really?” Inojin brightened. “Don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Shikadai startled as Inojin draped himself over the other boy an in a rare, impromptu hug. But he settled again, one arm coming around Inojin’s shoulders and holding him firmly. “I’ll finish my application tonight. Or sometime.”

Inojin made a pleased little hum, then sat up, still beaming.

“This is gonna be a drag,” Shikadai said, “But we’ll do that exam. Can’t lose to Boruto, after all.”

Shikadai got comfortable again, tucking one hand behind his head, the other stretched casually above him. “If there’s gonna be a lot of extra training, I’m taking a nap now to make up for the ones I’ll have to miss.”

Inojin shifted into a better position for drawing, and took out his sketchbook. Before he started, he pressed one hand into Shikadai’s palm, his hand folded into another sign for Shikadai to feel – thank you.

It had the desired effect. A warm smile sprang up on Shikadai’s face, and Inojin began to draw.

Chapter Text

Ino had asked Shikadai to meet her at the flower shop, once the Chuunin exam applications were in, and the team had been accepted. Inojin had gone off training with his father, which gave Ino the perfect opportunity for an uninterrupted conversation with Shikadai.

The boy came into the shop, looking suspicious. “Hey. You wanted to talk to me?”

“You don’t have to look like I’m going to torture you, you know,” Ino teased lightly.

Shikadai shrugged. “I guess you want to talk about Inojin.”

“No. You, actually.”

Shikadai lifted his head, frowning. “Me?”

“Yes.” Ino leant against the counter, folding her arms across her stomach. She regarded Shikadai for a moment. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said cautiously. “Why?”

“Because since you became a genin, all I’m hearing that you’re acting out all the time and snapping at people, and it’s not like you. What’s wrong?”

Shikadai dropped his gaze to the floor. He answered softly, “I am.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Ino prompted.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he muttered.

“Do you want me to read your mind?”

“Huh.” Shikadai blinked. “That . . . might be a good idea, actually. It’s just . . . everything. I don’t feel like me.”

“You’re feeling out of control, and out of sorts, and sometimes you feel things for no reason?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s normal, at your age.”

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “This feels like more than normal. Like, Boruto doesn’t feel like I do, as often.”

“Hold still,” Ino said. Shikadai was passive to her chakra intrusion into his head, just standing with his shoulders slouched and his jaw skewed moodily to one side. Ino flicked through the forefront of his thoughts, trying to bypass all the swirling ideas he had.

Naras, she thought. Shikamaru had been the same, his mind absolutely jam-packed with too much information for a normal person to process. He had blocked it out and ignored it, losing himself in things like cloud watching and napping. Shikadai, it seemed, didn’t have the same talent for apathy.

Ino pulled a few things together, and let Shikadai’s thoughts flow in a more organized pattern.

Before graduating, I didn’t have to think or try. I never put effort into anything.

Then graduation happened, and life got a bit more serious. We’re in the real world now. Now there are people who will kill us, who will hurt us. And I’ve got Inojin with me, and I’m trying to look after him and not die myself. And it was okay in the Academy and in training, because there was no real danger or pressure. Now there is.

I’m used to being in control, I’m used to having everything all worked out, and no surprises. Now that’s all gone and I feel like nothing is going my way.

Ino smiled sadly at him.

I get angry because he’s in danger and I can’t change that. And I get angry at myself because I want to help him but I can’t all the time. I can’t control everything and I don’t know how to deal with that. I feel like my life is out of control, and I don’t know how to get it back on track –

“It’s called puberty, Shikadai,” Ino said. “You’ll get used to it. Everything’s changing around you and you haven’t figured out how to deal with it.”

He let out a loud sigh. “I hate it. Things were so easy a few years ago. Now there’s all these intense feelings and I hate them. And so much pressure. It’s like . . . I don’t even know what I’m feeling half the time.”

“I do,” Ino said softly. “You’re feeling out of control, and you’re lashing out at everyone around you.”

“I don’t know how to stop.”

“Ah, that’s the wonderful thing about growing up. You’ll learn.”

Shikadai grimaced. “Everyone says I’ve got so much more potential than my dad had at my age, and everyone expects so much from me, and I’ve got to lead my team, and make sure we’re all learning the right things, and do separate missions since I’m ‘so far ahead’ and all I want is to just . . . just take a break. It’s too much, you know?”

“That’s why you snapped at Inojin on that mission, isn’t it?” Ino realised. “You were just feeling too much pressure and couldn’t let it show because you’re the leader? Have you told anyone this? That you’re overwhelmed?”

“No,” Shikadai shrugged. “I’m a Nara. People expect me to be able to do everything. Even my parents. And just be chill with it.”

Ino tensed a bit. Was she any less guilty of pushing expectations like that onto Inojin? Pushing, and pushing for him to use his clan techniques when he had so clearly expressed that he didn’t like it. She filed the thought away for later. For now, she needed to focus on Shikadai. “Do you think you should be ‘chill with it’?”

He let out a loud breath. “Guess so. Mom and Dad could’ve done everything people expect me to do. No reason I can’t as well. That’s all I hear from people – expectation, and potential, and all these things I’m meant to be and do. Gotta be perfect.”

“You hold yourself to such impossible standards that no one could hope to achieve everything you think you need to do,” Ino said gently. “Give yourself a break. You don’t have to be perfect. It’s wearing you down, and you’re snapping at your team.”

Shikadai grimaced. “I kinda have to be perfect though, because I’ve gotta protect Inojin.”

That was interesting. Ino took a moment to ponder that. “Why do you feel such a need to protect Inojin?”

“He’s my friend. My best friend.” Shikadai squirmed uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” Ino asked, noticing his unease.

“I think he’s part of the problem. Because whenever he’s in danger I just get mad at everyone and I feel like I don’t know who I am. Like something’s wrong with me.”

Oh, honey, nothing’s wrong with you. Ino bit her lower lip, pushing down the urge to smile. You just love him and want the best for him, that’s all.

“What do you think?” Shikadai asked, meeting her eyes hopefully.

“I think it’ll pass. And you’ll get a grip on your emotions soon. Not because you’re a Nara, and that’s what everyone expects, but because you’re a good person, and you know it’s what you need to do.”

Shikadai shifted in place. “So . . . what should I do?”

“I would prescribe that you prepare for the Chuunin exams as best you can, and forgive yourself if anything goes wrong. Especially if you don’t do well.”

“Everyone says I’ll do well,” Shikadai muttered. “Moegi, and Mom, and Dad, and everyone.”

“Yes. Because they expect that. But,” Ino sighed. “You’re allowed to be your own person. You are not Shikamaru. You are not Temari. Don’t feel like you’re obligated to follow in their footsteps, unless it’s a path you want. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you don’t need to be perfect. I know you feel like you have to, because you have to make up for Inojin’s shortcomings, but if you’re pushing yourself to the point where you’re not happy, it’s too much. Take a break. Relax. Tell your parents you’re not coping. No one is going to be upset with you for taking time to look after yourself.”

Shikadai hummed uncertainly. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks for coming to talk to me,” she smiled at him gently.

He lifted one shoulder in a casual half shrug. He turned to leave, and was halfway out the door when Ino spoke, “And Shikadai?”

“Yeah?” He paused, hand pushing the door half open.

“It’s okay to make mistakes.” Be that in friendships, or career paths, or even parenting.

Shikadai met her eyes. She could see his jaw shift as he decided if he should say something. He decided against it, instead just nodding shortly and leaving the shop.

Ino remained where she was for a while, just thinking.

If Shikadai was crumbling under expectations, how was Inojin feeling? While she pushed and pushed, and demanded and demanded, and kept insisting he use the Yamanaka clan techniques, when he just wasn’t suited for them.

This wasn’t something she could just let go of, though. This wasn’t like Inojin’s refusal to eat crunchy peanut butter, or the fact that he hated any clothes made of wool. This wasn’t something easy to adjust to, something that could be changed with minimal effort and minimal impact.

This was his heritage, his legacy, his very name.

He was a Yamanaka, and that meant that Ino had to push occasionally, had to get him out of his comfort zone, had to pursue this.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was wrong. Her expectations shouldn’t override his consent. Just as everyone’s expectations of Shikadai shouldn’t crush him with immeasurable pressure. Both those boys deserved a reprieve.

Ino stayed in the shop for a long time, re-evaluating her role as a mother, and wondering why she kept doing it all wrong.

“Sunshine?” Ino knocked softly on Inojin’s door. “Are you busy?”

Inojin looked up from his desk. “Just studying. Shikadai made new signals for the Chuunin exams. So we can talk more.”

Ino came into his room, arms folded. “I wanted to apologize.”

He turned in his seat to look vaguely in her direction. “Hm?”

“I realized something,” she sat on the edge of his bed. “That I’ve been . . . projecting, I suppose is the word.”

He cocked his head, not quite understanding.

“I’ve been assuming time is all I needed with you. Just time,” she reached a hand to his hair, brushing his bangs back. “And with time, you’ll be able to learn all the things I want to teach you. Because for me, the best thing in the world is seeing you handling everything. And since you’ve been doing so well, so far beyond what I had ever imagined for you, I assumed you could do it all. If you only had the time to learn it.”

Inojin watched her other hand while she spoke.

“But I think I’m starting to understand that wanting and waiting aren’t going to change things. If Mind Transfer – if any of the Yamanaka techniques – make you feel uncomfortable, then time isn’t going to change that. And there’s nothing wrong with you because of that. What I’m asking is simply out of your reach.”

“Hm,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I can do it, it just . . .”

“It doesn’t feel right? And if it doesn’t feel right, there’s no reason you have to do it. You have other things you do well. So many things you can do instead. And you should focus on those things. I guess I always wanted you to be like me, but you’re so special and I hadn’t quite seen that yet. But now I have.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes hesitantly, for a few quivering seconds.

When he dropped his gaze back to his lap, Ino continued, taking her hand off his hair.

“So, I’m not going to bring it up again until you bring it up,” she explained. “I’m going to completely ignore Mind Transfer, unless you decide you want to work on it or learn something similar. How’s that sound?”

“Hm,” Inojin shifted in place. “Sounds okay . . .” He twisted his fingers together, looking down at his lap. “. . . Upset?”

“Me? No, I’m not upset,” Ino assured.

“You said Yamanakas have to know Mind Transfer . . .”

“Yes,” Ino acknowledged. “I did say that. But . . . you’re not like other people, so there’s no reason for you to push yourself into something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Huh. Okay.” Inojin nodded.

“It’s a different world these days. So there’s no reason you can’t be a different type of Yamanaka.”

He smiled at his lap, nodding.

“And until the Chuunin exams, your father and I will try to spend as much time with you as we can, so you’ll be ready for anything. And we’ll work on the things that you’re good at, okay? You’ll be well prepared.”

“And Shikadai won’t have to worry ‘bout me so much,” Inojin offered.

“Exactly. You’ll be ready for the real world in no time.” Ino stood up, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Keep studying, sunshine. I love you.”

She wasn’t expecting an answer to that, as Inojin rarely provided one, but he smiled at the notes in front of him and tapped vaguely at a drawing on the edge of the desk. Ino picked the drawing up, studying it. Inojin had been working with watercolours again, and she held a beautifully rendered daisy flower.

She held the paper close to her chest as she left the room, and she could hear Inojin humming under his breath. He was showing love in different ways, trying his best to express himself, mainly through drawings and paintings, but Ino knew the language of flowers and she could understand this new way he was trying to talk.

It wasn’t the hugs and kisses that she wanted and craved, but she was beginning to learn that this was how Inojin was going to get through life, and she would have to change her expectations to what he could manage. The adjustment was a challenge, but having Inojin happy and settled and keen to share thoughts and feelings with her was worth it.

She paused in the doorway, just watching him as he bent over Shikadai’s notes, his hand moving to form the new signs. Watching him, as he laboured through, she felt some of her fears lift. Maybe he wasn’t like every Yamanaka before him and maybe he wasn’t what she had expected her son, as a shinobi, to be.

But the world was primed for change and growth, and Inojin was finding his own ways to fit in.

Chapter Text

The sun was warm, and Inojin could feel himself calming down.

With the Chuunin exams fast approaching, they had been doing half day missions only, and spending afternoons training together. Lately, for some reason Inojin couldn’t figure out, Temari had been cutting their sessions short and giving them time after training to sit around and relax.

Chocho was lying with her head cushioned by one hand, idly reading, and Inojin laying at a right angle to her, resting his head on her stomach. He watched the clouds for a while, before turning his attention back to Shikadai.

Shikadai had chosen to use his time to sleep, and had conked out with his head pushed into Inojin’s side. Inojin wondered if it would be uncomfortable to have Shikadai on him, like he was on Chocho. He didn’t know how to try without waking Shikadai, so he had contented himself instead with taking Shikadai’s arm and pulling it across his stomach.

He heard Chocho turn a page in her book, and he played with Shikadai’s fingers. There was still a daisy painted on his wrist from training that afternoon. Inojin had used the other one to call for help.

He shifted a bit, careful not to wake Shikadai, so he could ease a scroll from his weapons’ pouch, and take out a brush.

Chocho touched his hair softly. “You okay?”

He hummed in reply, turning Shikadai’s hand so his palm faced upwards. Another glance at Shikadai’s face confirmed that he was still asleep, and Inojin began to paint carefully. He could feel Chocho watching him for a minute, then she returned to her book.

Another page turned, and after a pause, she giggled.

Inojin stopped swirling his brush against Shikadai’s skin. “Hm?”

“Sorry. Ignore me. It’s a good book.”

“What’s happening?” Inojin kept his tone low, freezing in place when Shikadai moved.

“Just two people confessing their love.”

“Do you only read love stories?”

“Mostly.”

Inojin painted some more, a bird taking shape on Shikadai’s hand. He bit his lip. “Is . . . is there a boy?”

“Yes.”

“What does he feel when he’s in love?”

Her hand returned to his hair. “I guess warm and happy. Smiling a lot, blushing, you know. Everything feels different, when you’re in love.”

“So . . . you only know for sure if everything changes?”

She combed her fingers through his bangs. “Different types of love feel different, Inojin. For some people, everything changes, and then they know for sure. But maybe not for everyone.”

“For you?”

“Hm?” Chocho took a moment to think. “Well, I haven’t fallen in love romantically, so I don’t know. But I guess for you and Shikadai, there was a slight change. I didn’t find you two as annoying anymore. And I do feel happy when I’m with you and thinking of you.”

“Does Shikadai love me, too?”

“Pretty sure he’d die before admitting it, but yeah, I guess he does.”

Inojin whined, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just . . . nothing changed for me. Feels all the same.”

“Are you worried that you don’t love us back?”

He nodded.

Chocho sat up, and Inojin sat up as well as she moved. He kept Shikadai’s arm across his lap, and stared at the half painted bird.

“Inojin,” she began slowly. “That’s okay, too. It’s okay to be unsure.”

“But I want to be sure.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “Love is complicated. You’ll figure it out. Or just take a chance and say that what you feel around us is love.”

“But nothing changed,” he insisted, struggling with the idea. There needed to be a milestone, a defining moment, a turning point. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Shikadai’s hand.

Shikadai snorted, blinking his eyes open. “What are we doing?”

“Talking about love,” Chocho provided.

Shikadai groaned. “Can we not?”

He looked at his hand. “Are you painting birds on me?”

Inojin shrugged, unsure of how to answer. He didn’t know why he did it, he just liked being close to Shikadai. He held out his brush, silently asking to continue. Shikadai offered his hand back with a grumble.

“When you’re finished, I need to go home. Got some things to do,” Shikadai muttered.

“Thought your parents told you to take it easy?” Chocho said.

“Yeah, well, easy doesn’t mean nothing.” Shikadai closed his eyes again. “Still have to do a few minutes training with my dad this evening, and Boruto and I are supposed to hang out.”

Inojin sighed.

“What?” Shikadai asked.

“Are you . . . going to wash the bird off?” He fidgeted with Shikadai’s fingers.

Shikadai heaved a huge, dramatic sigh. “What a drag. Do you want me to leave it on?”

Inojin nodded.

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave it.” Shikadai yawned. “Just finish it.”

Part of Inojin hoped Shikadai would go back to sleep and let the rest of the afternoon pass by. But Shikadai was awake now, and once Inojin finished the bird, Shikadai stood up.

“Okay, I’ll see you guys tomorrow-“

“Shikadai?” Inojin stared at the grass.

“Yeah?”

“Hug?” He stood up slowly, holding out his arms.

Shikadai shook his head fondly. “Come here.”

Inojin let out a happy squeak and jumped forward, grabbing hold of Shikadai. He held on tightly, for as long as he could, before letting go and stepping back, smiling at the ground. Inojin wasn’t able to return Shikadai’s goodbye, but he knew Shikadai didn’t mind. He could still wave, even if he couldn’t say anything.

Once Shikadai had left, Chocho turned back to her book. “You should read one of these. Maybe it’ll help you.”

Inojin shrugged. “. . . Maybe.”

“If you’re not sure about if you love someone or not,” Chocho glanced up at him. “You could always just take a chance and say it anyway.”

Inojin sat down next to her. “Read it to me?”

Without missing a beat, Chocho flipped to the beginning of the chapter, and started reading. Inojin leant into her shoulder, and listened quietly.

Inojin was sitting on his bed, rubbing his blanket between his fingers and getting thoroughly lost in the sensation when Shikadai appeared in the doorway, looking tense.

“Hey,” Shikadai said hesitantly. “Got a minute?”

Inojin nodded, shuffling up a bit so Shikadai could sit next to him.

“Training going well?”

Another nod.

Then Shikadai’s tone fell, to a nervous whisper. “I’ve been a pretty crappy friend the last few months, haven’t I?”

Inojin lifted his head, surprised. “Huh?”

“I . . .” Shikadai shook his head. “I’m not . . . Ugh, this is hard.”

“What?”

“Just,” Shikadai waved a hand vaguely. “Trying to explain things. Trying to let you know how I feel.”

Inojin cocked an eyebrow. “Everyone tells me to just say it.”

“Hm,” Shikadai mused. “I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling.”

“Wow,” Inojin said flatly. “That must be so hard for you.”

Shikadai sent him a look. “Save your once a month grasp on sarcasm for someone else. I’m trying. Give me a minute.”

Inojin sat in polite silence, angling his body to run his fingers over the plate on Shikadai’s sleeve. The metal was smooth, and cool, and he liked the way the light reflected on it.

“You know.” Shikadai began, after a long, thoughtful silence. “After the mission where you almost got hurt, I tried pushing you away thinking that would help. And I got mad at you about the Chuunin exams, and I doubted you. I’ve just been . . . pretty unsupportive, really. Just . . . all round a jerk.”

“Hm,” Inojin hummed, not sure what he was supposed to say. He dropped his hands to his sides.

“I’m used to having all the answers,” Shikadai continued softly. “Figuring stuff out comes pretty easy for me. Just gotta think for a bit and all the answers will be there. So when they aren’t, and when I didn’t know how to handle my own life, I kinda took it out on other people. Including you. But I’m figuring life out, and I’m learning how to handle it. But with you . . . it’s not so easy. I don’t have all the answers.”

Inojin hooked their little fingers together absently, hoping to offer some comfort.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Shikadai’s face at the gesture. “You are the one code I can’t crack.”

“Sorry,” Inojin murmured.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Shikadai assured quickly. “Not at all. It’s who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s me. I gotta stop assuming life is going to be easy all the time, and need to focus up and help you better. Things are changing. We’re growing up. The solutions we used to have aren’t going to be enough anymore.”

Inojin squirmed in place, a fluttery emotion in his chest that he couldn’t quite identify.

“You’re my best friend,” Shikadai continued. “And that means I’ve got to get my head out of my butt and learn to do right by you. I’m supposed to be a genius but I feel like a dumbass around you because I keep doing everything wrong.”

“No,” Inojin murmured, wanting to reassure him.

“With the Chuunin exams coming up, I guess I realized we’re in the real world now. No more fooling around – which is a pity, because this whole being responsible thing is such a drag –“

Inojin smiled at his lap, chest fluttering a bit. He loved moments like this, when he and Shikadai were equals – uncertain and unable to express themselves.

“I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” Shikadai groaned. “I can see why you give people flowers to tell them what you’re feeling, because talking about feelings is hard,” Shikadai rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t happen to have a couple of flowers on you that I can borrow, do you?”

“Paper ones,” Inojin answered, standing up. He yanked a desk drawer open and grabbed a stack of papers. Hopping back onto the bed, right up next to Shikadai, he leafed through them. He hesitated at a rose, heartbeat spiking upwards, then rifled through the pages again, clenching his jaw.

“Do you have a flower that means ‘Sorry I’m an idiot and I take my frustrations out on other people but I’ll try do better in the future’?”

Inojin huffed, and it was almost a laugh. “No.”

“Ah, well, maybe next time people assign feelings to flowers they should consider that.” Shikadai shook his head. “If you were going to give me a flower right now, what would it be?”

Inojin’s cheeks flushed pink, and he stared at the papers in his lap, thinking hard, before shyly selecting one. He hesitated again, second guessing himself, before deciding to risk it and hold it to the side for Shikadai to see. His hand was shaking slightly, with uncertainty, but Shikadai didn’t seem to notice.

“What does a red rose mean?” Shikadai asked.

Inojin squeaked. “Thought you said you listened to me when I talk about flowers.”

“I do.”

“Then you know what it means.” He didn’t have the courage or conviction to explain.

“There are a lot of roses, and you go on about all the colours. How am I meant to keep track of them? What’s this one supposed to be telling me?”

Inojin let out a frustrated and mortified whine at the prospect of explaining it aloud, and shook the page in front of him instead of answering, and Shikadai laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Wave that anymore and I’ll have a papercut on my face. Roses seem to mean good things, so I’ll assume you’re not insulting me.” He chuckled a bit more. “You’re so dramatic about things.”

Inojin nudged his shoulder against Shikadai, still smiling down at his lap.

Shikadai nudged him back. “Wanna go out and get a burger or something? Anything to make this feelings-talk less awkward?”

Inojin stood up, shuffling the drawings back into a pile and placing it on his desk. “Okay.”

“I’ll call Boruto; he can join us. We can talk about the Chuunin exams and how you and I are going to wipe the floor with him.”

“Will we?”

“Yeah.” Shikadai stood up, offering a hand for Inojin to hold. “We’re the Ino-Shika-Cho team. We’re gonna kick everyone’s butts. We’re unstoppable.”

“Even me?”

Shikadai’s tone had been light, but it dropped now, into something lower and more sincere. “Especially you.”

“Why?” The fluttery feeling was back again, and Inojin suddenly wished he had the strength to tell Shikadai what red roses meant. He wasn’t sure about himself, but he thought maybe, just maybe, that was the right flower. He thought it worth the chance, but the moment had passed and his courage had fled with it.

“Well,” Shikadai looked at Inojin’s fingers as the other boy tentatively took his hand. “Because everyone used to know what to expect from us. We’ve got some pretty predictable techniques. Except you,” he chuckled. “No one knows what to expect from you.”

Inojin wasn’t sure how to reply, so he stayed quiet.

“Come on,” Shikadai tugged at his hand. “I’m done talking about feelings for a while. We are not teenage girls.”

Inojin let himself be pulled from his room. “And Chocho and Sarada?”

“What about them?”

“Call them too. Everyone can be together.”

“Okay. Cool. It’s fun when we’re all hanging out together.”

“I like it best when it’s just you and me,” Inojin mumbled.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Can I sit next to you?”

“Yeah.”

Inojin smiled at the ground as Shikadai towed him along. Once they were outside, he untangled their hands, formed his fist into their new signal for ‘happy’ and pressed it into Shikadai’s palm. When Shikadai glanced at him, sideways and confident and his eyes catching the light, Inojin could feel a rare, little laugh bubble up in his chest.

Chapter Text

It was rare for Ino to get Chouji and Shikamaru in one place, but they had made the effort to all be present for a training session with the kids, to get an idea of their skills and readiness for the Chuunin exams.

Ino had thought the session had gone well, but it did little to quell the nervousness in her gut at the thought of Inojin going through the pressures of an exam. Problems would hit hard and fast, and he would need to think and focus, and she wasn’t sure if he could.

Part of her wanted him to try, because he would never learn without doing things. And another part of her didn’t want to even think of putting him into potentially dangerous situations. The conflict was nauseating and unfamiliar – Ino was not often uncertain about things, but when it came to Inojin she found herself second guessing her every thought.

“Well?” Chouji asked, once the boys had run off together and Chocho had sauntered away claiming she was meeting Sarada for cake. “What do you think?”

Shikamaru took a moment to muse, running through his thoughts and organizing them.

Ino bit her lip nervously.

Eventually, Shikamaru answered. “I think they can hold their own. They’re not ready, but they’re not disasters either.”

“Are you sure?” Ino asked. “I mean . . . we could wait until next year. I’m not . . . sure if Inojin can handle it.”

“Won’t know until we try,” Shikamaru said.

“Yes, but,” she glanced in the direction the boys had gone. “What if he gets hurt?”

“The exams aren’t the way they used to be,” Chouji assured. “No one is going to hurt Inojin.”

“You can’t protect him forever,” Shikamaru said. “Look, I know it’s hard for you-“

“No,” she snapped, anger flaring. “You don’t know. You’ve got your perfect kid who never struggles and who’s biggest problem every morning is what he’s going to have for breakfast. You don’t know what it’s like waking up every day and wondering if your child is even going to be able to say good morning! You don’t know what it’s like having everyone judge you for every move you make because you’ve got the only child in the Ino-Shika-Cho trio who cannot use the techniques he was born to use.”

“Just because Inojin won’t use Mind Transfer doesn’t mean he’s not capable,” Chouji tried to soothe. “He’s got other skills. It’s not the end of the world-“

“He’s a Yamanaka!” Ino screamed. “He has to be able to do this! This is what he was born for! He has to be able to do what the rest of his clan does, but he hates it, so I’ve told him he doesn’t have to worry about it, and I don’t know what to do-“

“Calm down,” Chouji tried carefully, only to be shouted down.

“Do not tell me to calm down! He has to do this!”

“Let it go.” Shikamaru spoke quietly, but he may as well have shouted for all the effect it had on Ino.

She stared at him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “We don’t always get what we want. Things change. Life changes. And you can either change with it, or keeping holding onto things that don’t matter anymore.” His voice never changed, his expression never changed. “Let it go, Ino. Your expectations need to change. If Inojin doesn’t learn this, the world doesn’t end. It’s not the end of the clan, or the end of the Yamanaka head bloodline. It’s not even the end of the technique. It can skip a generation.”

“It’s tradition,” Ino said weakly, but she knew he was right. He was always right.

“If a tradition makes your kid too scared to function, should we really keep going with it? We can let a technique go here or there. It doesn’t change who he is and it doesn’t change who you are.”

Ino gaped at him.

“Yeah, he’s not what you expected. None of us got what we expected. There are things in my life I wanted for years that I had to give up. And things I got that I couldn’t have seen coming in a million years.”

“You didn’t have to give up on what your clan expects of you as their leader. It’s hard. I’ve told him it’s fine, and he doesn’t need to use our techniques, but it’s still hard,” she replied stiffly. “Your child uses shadows – your shadows. And Chocho uses your techniques,” she flicked her eyes to Chouji. “You two don’t know what it’s like to have the child who’s always falling behind. And people look at me like I’m the reason he’s failing, like I did something wrong.  And now you want to push him into an exam he’s not ready for? I’m not letting that go, because if he gets hurt, if he . . .” She forced the words out, “If he dies . . . there’s no one to blame but me. Because I let him do it, and I should have protected him better. He’s different, he’s special . . .”

Chouji laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Ino swallowed down a lump in her throat and blinked back tears.

Her voice shook. “He’s not like anyone else, and the world wasn’t made for people like him. I just want him to be safe. I just want to know that he’ll be okay. And everything is against him. At every turn, he finds something in his way, something that he struggles with. And if I keep him close, and safe, he never learns how to function. And if I let him go and let him out into the world he runs the risk of getting hurt. There is no way to win this,” she murmured brokenly. “No matter what I do . . . it’s never going to be the right thing.”

Shikamaru let out a deep breath. “Would waiting a year help?”

“I don’t know,” Ino admitted miserably, leaning into Chouji’s side. He wrapped an arm around her. “He’s . . . this is him.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “This is as good as he’s going to be . . . this isn’t something he gets better from . . . this is who he is.”

She knew that, had known that for years, but it seemed to hit now, all at once.

Inojin wasn’t curable. He was different. ‘Improvement’ didn’t mean he would be able to do everything that other children did. It didn’t mean he would ever get over the nervous fidgeting and the lack of focus. It didn’t mean he would ever get over his stutter or his shutting down. All ‘improvement’ meant was that he would learn to get around situations in his own way, would learn to function as best he could in a world that didn’t know how to accommodate him.

Even if she gave up entirely on ever teaching him any of his clan techniques, he was still no more suited to be a shinobi. He was no safer, and she was no better as a leader or mother.

All the problems he had were there to stay, no matter how much Ino wished they would go away. Inojin was never going to learn to magically express himself, he was never going to learn to talk his way through uncomfortable situations, he was never going to be able to sort through complicated noises, he was never going to adjust quickly to changes in routine.

“This is it.” The tears broke free, and she sobbed. “This is all we’ve got. This is what I have to work with. He’s not . . . he’ll never be ready for the world. He’ll never be truly ready to be a shinobi. It doesn’t matter how much I love him, he’s always going to have problems.” She bawled into Chouji, her body shaking with big, wracking sobs. “I love him too much to – to – to watch him fail, and I don’t want-“ She broke off with a wet hiccup. “I don’t want him to get hurt but he’s going to and I – Oh, what am I supposed to do?”

Chouji held her firmly, sending a helpless look at Shikamaru, who shrugged and shook his head.

“The whole is world is set up to work against him, and he’s so alone in it!”

“He’s not alone,” Chouji murmured, rubbing circles on Ino’s back. “He’s got you and Sai always looking out for him.”

“And Shikadai and Chocho,” Shikamaru put in.

“I know he doesn’t want to learn Mind Transfer, and I’m still trying to get over that, because,” she gulped in a breath. “Because it’s best for him, and I’m trying to do the best for him but it goes against everything I’ve been taught. About . . . about carrying on the clan and doing the right thing for it.”

“Ino,” Shikamaru said, in his rare, soft tone. “Keeping Inojin happy is what’s best.”

“I’d die for Chocho, and we know you’d do the same for Inojin,” Chouji patted her back softly. “He’s your priority, and he’s more important than any tradition. You’re the head of your clan, remember? Whatever you say goes. And if you say everything changes, just for Inojin, then you can do that. And we’re behind you all the way.”

She snivelled, but was calming down. “I know that – at the back of my mind I know that. It helps to hear it out loud, though. Thanks.”

She wiped the tears off her cheeks, taking a few deep breaths. “It’s just . . . kinda rough to have your entire life’s plan thrown out the window.”

“It’s been thrown the window for years; you’re just only noticing now,” Shikamaru put in.

Ino sent him a look. “Oh, shut up. Don’t you ever get sick of being right all the time?”

“Nope.”

Chouji rubbed her back a little more. “Why don’t we all go out for barbeque? That will make you feel better.”

She nodded, chewing pensively on her lower lip. “Okay. Sounds nice. Thank you.”

When Ino came home, Inojin was sitting in the lounge watching the birds, one of the big flower encyclopaedias open on the carpet next to him. He liked to read it when he wasn’t sure what else to do with himself, immersing himself in long scientific names and complicated explanations on what flowers meant and how they could be used.

“Hey,” she said softly, not sure if he had heard her come in, fixated as he was on a robin bouncing on the grass outside.

“Hm,” Inojin turned his head vaguely towards her, before looking at the bird again, seemingly lost in thought.

“You did well today.” She longed to wrap her arms around him and pull him close and breathe him in and never let him go. Those days when she could pick him up and carry him on her hip seemed so far away, distant memories that echoed when she least expected it.

Inojin smiled proudly, cheeks flushing, but not looking at her.

She wanted comfort. She wanted to shower him with love and affection. Kisses and hugs and maybe brushing his hair, and hearing him giggle. He laughed so rarely, and she wished he would find other ways to tell her that he was happy.

The robin flew away, and Inojin’s expression fell slightly. He sighed, and closed the flower book, standing up and placing the book on the coffee table. He looked into the garden again, thinking hard, then shrugged and seemingly made a decision.

“Where are you going?” Ino asked, wondering if he could be tempted into a cuddle.

“Gonna train.” Inojin paused in front of her, cocking his head a little.

Taking the chance, Ino cupped his face in her hands. He flinched at first, screwing his eyes shut, but didn’t pull away.

“Oh, my sweet, sunshine boy,” Ino breathed. “I love you so, so much.”

Inojin opened his eyes, but kept them down. He stayed quiet, confused by her behaviour.

“I just want you to be safe. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll be okay,” he tried to smile. “Really, I will. Shikadai’s taught me how to talk without talking, and he watches me. And Chocho stays close to me. And I’ve been working hard with Dad and I’m good at the painting jutsu now.”

“I know. I know, and I’m so proud of you,” Ino pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Inojin’s face cracked into a smile. “I know, my perfect flower child, but it’s a mother’s job to worry. There’s always next year for the Chuunin exams. You don’t have to do this now.”

“I want to try,” Inojin murmured. “I’ll be very careful, I promise. And I’ll take my meds in the morning so you know I’ll be able to focus and be safe. But I want to try.”

“Oh, baby, I know . . .”

“I wanna be a shinobi,” Inojin whispered. “I wanna . . . ‘cause that’s what Yamanakas do.”

She wanted to pull him close to bury her face in his hair and not let him go. “Love, can you hug me for a while?”

Inojin took a moment to think, then nodded. “Yup. Can manage.”

Ino pulled him close, sinking a hand into his silky hair, pressing her lips to his head, wondering if he could feel her trembling. He was bird bone light still, her skinny little boy, and she missed those baby days where he was content to stay quiet and inside and she never feared for his life.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured. “For wanting to try. And it’s okay,” she said shakily, “If you can’t manage. It’s okay. I’ll always, always love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Inojin shifted uncomfortably, and Ino let him go, moving back and giving him the space he needed, although it tore at her heart to do so. She swallowed hard, forcing a smile into her face. “Do you want anything special for dinner?”

Inojin shrugged. “Don’t mind. Can be anything.”

Can it be a way to freeze time, so she never had to let him go? Ino nodded. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He trotted off, and Ino wrapped her arms around herself, feeling dizzy and ungrounded. She wondered if other parents felt this despair at their children growing up and seeking independence, or if that was unique to her.

She went into the kitchen, trying to focus.

Halfway through supper preparations, Inojin came wandering in. He was wordless, but sidled up to her, presenting a sheet of paper. On it was a beautifully painted daisy bush, in pastel watercolours, the plant alive with dozens of flowers. She took it from him with a watery smile, and Inojin grinned shyly at his hands, and darted out the kitchen.

Ino propped the painting up near the window.

Maybe they weren’t real flowers, but paper flowers were just as beautiful.

Chapter Text

She couldn’t prepare him for everything, and she couldn’t keep him safe from everything, and admitting that was one of the hardest things Ino had ever had to do.

Inojin was blossoming now, into his own person, finding his own path, and the best way to keep him close was to let him go. To stop expecting him to fulfil the role of Yamanaka heir that she had in her head. The hardest part of parenting was learning when to let go and when to step back, and she wanted so desperately to hold him close forever.

But that wasn’t what life was about. That wasn’t what he needed, and she had to take a step back and do what was best for him. Let him struggle his way through life, and let him discover himself, and be there to catch him when he fell and yet still have the courage to let him leap.

So it was hard not to pull him into her lap when he came into the lounge, staring at the floor with his face set in a frown.

She and Sai had been sitting side by side on the couch, discussing the Chuunin exams and Inojin’s drawings, and Sai had been quietly reassuring her that the exam wouldn’t be too hard, and Inojin wouldn’t get hurt.

“What’s wrong, love?” Ino asked.

Inojin shrugged, moving restlessly around. He had been out for most of the day, training with Moegi and his team. Temari had mentioned that she would be there as well, whipping the team into shape, and supervising Shikadai’s workload.

Ino sat up a bit straighter. “Do you want to talk to us, or just sit here for a while?”

“Hm,” he hummed in a low tone, fingers twisting together for a moment, before he caught himself and forced his hands apart. He stayed still for a second before raising both hands to his head. His forehead protector was off, and so without the smooth metal to run his fingers over, he buried them in his hair instead, tugging lightly.

“Inojin,” Sai said, his tone softly warning.

Inojin pulled his hands out of his hair. “Froze again today.”

Ino sat up a bit straighter. “Did you get hurt?”

He shook his head. “Shikadai covered me.”

Sai and Ino exchanged a look.

“Did you use your new hand signals?” Sai asked carefully.

Inojin shook his head again.

“Why not?”

“Couldn’t. Froze.” He moved his hands to his hair again, but managed to correct himself and not tug frustratedly. He shuffled a bit closer to them, and Sai and Ino moved apart so he could wedge himself onto the couch between them. Inojin leant his back firmly against Sai’s arm, folding his hands carefully in his lap and scowling at them.

“Is that why you’re upset?” Ino asked. She didn’t move to touch him yet, waiting to see if he would keep talking.

“Hm,” he drew the sound out, thinking hard. “Annoyed.”

“Why?”

“I’m not getting any better-“ His hands clenched into fists, and Sai reached an arm across him to gently loosen his fingers.

“Darling, that’s because there’s nothing wrong with you,” Ino reminded him.

Inojin fell silent, clenching his jaw.

“You experience the world differently. That’s all. But there’s nothing wrong with you, and there never has been. You just see things differently. And I wouldn’t change a thing about you – you’re just perfect as you are, sunshine. But I want to make sure that you get the most out of the world.”

Inojin stared at his hands.

“Wanna be normal,” Inojin muttered. “Like other people.” He heaved a sigh, moving closer to Ino to grasp her arm and lift it. He pressed his forehead against her hand, making an annoyed noise under his breath.

“Push me away if it feels like too much,” Ino reminded him, waiting for his small, acquiescing nod before easing her chakra into him and delving into the web of his thoughts. He was a bit more helpful this time, pushing some half-formed fragments of ideas at her.

Ino had to smile gently at his attempt to help.

Inojin leant against her hand. Why can’t I be like normal people? I hate being different all the time. I’m different from Shikadai, and I’m different from Chocho. I just want to do normal stuff. Like draw Shikadai’s eyes and hear people in crowds and fall in love like normal people do in all the books and stories. Chocho says it feels good, but I’ll never know, and I hate that.

“You can love people,” Ino murmured. “You do already. You love me and your father. And you can love other people, too.”

“How do you know?” Inojin mumbled, twisting his fingers together.

Ino smiled sympathetically at him. “Oh, darling, there’s no right or wrong way to love someone.”

“But how do you know?” he asked again. “What does it feel like?”

“Well, how do you feel when you think about me and your father?”

Inojin took a long time to ponder that. Eventually, he answered haltingly, “It’s warm. Like a safe warm. Like the happy feeling but warmer. But more.”

“And when I think about how much I love you, I feel peaceful. I feel like everything is perfect, I feel joy and pride. See? We love differently.”

“Dad?” Inojin lifted his head slightly.

Sai looked up. “Hm?”

“How do you feel love?”

Sai blinked slowly. Being asked to verbally express feelings had never been easy for him. He looked to Ino for help, but she just raised an eyebrow and stayed silent. Sai mused for a bit, and tentatively tried, “Full?”

“Like after eating too much?”

“No,” Sai shook his head. “I used to be empty. And now I’m not.”

“See?” Ino said, smoothing his hair. “We all feel it differently. Different doesn’t mean wrong, sunshine. You already know how to love. You’ve known for years. Okay?”

He nodded slowly.

“And I love you, and your father loves you. And Chocho loves you, and Shikadai loves you. And remember,” she longed to cup his face and look into his baby blue eyes, but she knew he would turn away. “Everyone has their own version of normal, too. You’re perfectly normal for you.”

“Not getting better,” he mumbled again.

“Sunshine,” Ino pressed a kiss to the top his head. “You never have to get better from being yourself.”

“Are we ready?” Boruto asked, looking seriously around the table.

It was the day before the Chuunin exams, and he had organised for his team, and Inojin’s team, to meet up for a celebratory dinner.

Inojin sat between Chocho and Shikadai, sipping quietly on his soda – which had been Shikadai’s, since Inojin wasn’t supposed to have too much sugar, but he had, very pointedly, taken his medication in front of Shikadai in return for the soda.

“Yes, we’re ready,” Chocho replied confidently. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“How’re you feeling about it?” Boruto jerked his head towards Inojin.

“I’m fine,” Inojin shrugged. He shuffled a bit closer to Shikadai.

“And I’m going to beat you,” Boruto grinned at Shikadai.

“No, you’re not,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to lose to you.”

“Imagine if we all passed,” Boruto mused, already off on a different topic of conversation. “That’d be cool. We’d be like real shinobi then. All grown up.”

“Experiencing the real world,” Sarada nodded slowly. “It’s basically a coming of age.”

“A sign of growing up and being like the adults,” Chocho agreed.

Inojin disagreed. Being like ‘adults’ would mean things like moving out, and falling in love, and things he wasn’t sure he could do. He sent Shikadai a sideways glance.

“You’re fine, Inojin,” Shikadai said. “You’re just like everyone else.”

“But everything’s changing, and I haven’t,” he said.

“You’re fine.”

“Not,” he mumbled, leaning against Shikadai’s shoulder.

Chocho took his hand, squeezing gently. “What’s bothering you?”

“Growing up means stuff like falling in love, and I can’t do that, and you said it’s amazing and everything changes. But that’s never happened to me.”

“That’s okay,” Sarada said. “It’s not a race, or anything.”

“Anyway, you know how to love,” Chocho said. “You love us already.”

“But nothing changed,” Inojin said. “Everything feels mostly the same. So how do I know?” There were odd little flashes of strong emotions at times, but those he chalked up to being normal consequences of growing up and the ‘hormonal changes’ his mother spoke of.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Sarada asked gently, “That it’s because you’ve always loved each other?”

Inojin snapped his head towards Shikadai, who looked away in the same instant.

Chocho curled her fingers around his, saying encouragingly, “I love you. And have for years. We’re the Ino-Shika-Cho trio and that’s what we do.”

“So nothing changed because whatever you feel right now, that’s what love is for you,” Sarada explained. “You’re just like us, Inojin. We all have challenges, and we all have things we struggle with, and we all get confused over things. Like Boruto.”

“What? Hey!” he sounded indignant.

“I mean like admitting feelings,” Sarada said sharply. “Can you say that you love me?”

Boruto flushed pink and squeaked, “What, out loud? No!”

“Exactly,” Sarada said. “But I know you do. Because we’ve been friends since forever, and we’d both do anything for each other. And love doesn’t have to be romantic, you know.”

Chocho squeezed Inojin’s hand. “Life isn’t the same as books, Inojin, and you don’t have to worry about that. We’re all doing fine, in our own ways. The exams are a milestone, but they aren’t the end. You don’t have to achieve everything you want in life before them – or even during them.”

“We’ve got our whole lives,” Boruto said, with a casual shrug. “Might as well take our time with some things.” He drew in a deep breath, and let it out in one whoosh. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we’re still shinobi. And we’re gonna be awesome.”

Inojin shrugged. Maybe. Maybe things would be okay. He stayed quiet for the rest of their time together, and he and Shikadai were the first to leave. Shikadai coaxed him away, while Inojin had been swimming in his own thoughts and hadn’t heard much of the following conversation. Shikadai always seemed to know when Inojin had had enough company for one day.

Shikadai walked him home, the two of them silent. Inojin was worrying over the exams, stomach churning uneasily. He hoped he could sleep tonight. He was functioning on autopilot, and didn’t notice when Shikadai stopped just outside his house. Inojin walked on, almost to the front door.

“Inojin,” Shikadai called him softly.

“Hm?” Inojin turned to look at Shikadai. He blinked, wondering when they had reached home.

“I talked to your mom.” Shikadai kept his hands in his pockets, jaw skewed to one side as he often did when thinking hard.

Inojin waited for the rest.

“She said yellow roses mean friendship.”

“They do.”

“You didn’t show me a yellow rose.”

Inojin backed away a step, hands coming together in front of him so he could twist his fingers. He bumped his back into the front door, but barely noticed. The knots in his stomach tightened. His voice wavered, “I know.”

Shikadai nodded once. He cleared his throat softly. “Good luck for tomorrow.”

“You, too.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“. . . I know.”

“I’ll be there.”

Inojin just nodded then, feeling like all his words were evaporating into nowhere.

“Okay, well,” Shikadai cleared his throat again. “Good night, then.”

“Night,” Inojin managed to whisper.

Shikadai turned to walk away, but he didn’t leave. He turned his head slightly to the side, just catching Inojin in the corner of his eye.

Inojin wished he could get close enough to see how the warm, orange evening light played on the green of his eyes. It would probably make a beautiful colour.

“I’ll have your back, tomorrow,” Shikadai said. “Me and Chocho will. Always.” He took half a step forward, then let out a sigh, and muttered, “This is gonna be a drag.”

In a clearer voice, he said, “Just so you know. If I had a red rose, I’d give it to you, too.”

Inojin squeaked.

Shikadai’s mouth quirked up in a little, familiar smirk.

“And yellow ones?” Inojin wheezed out.

“As many colours as you want,” Shikadai promised.

Inojin nodded again, unable to do anything else. He raised one hand, fingers forming the sign ‘HAPPY’.

Shikadai lifted his hand as well, returning the sign, before opening his hand in a lazy wave. He started walking away, “See you tomorrow.”

Inojin leaned more heavily against the front door, a slow, delighted smile spreading across his face.

Ino was thinking.

About Inojin, as usual. About the trials and the paths that had led to where they were – her little sunshine boy preparing for the Chuunin exams, when she had once thought he might never be able to even think of being a shinobi.

She cherished every day. Every moment that he was at her side, smiling and willing to learn. She held onto every second, because she knew it could end in a heartbeat. Every smile, every sideways glance, every word was a gift.

There would be longer missions, and harder missions.

There would be days where he wouldn’t come home at night because he was away, and there would be days when he would come home hurt, and there would be days when Ino met him at the hospital because whatever had happened was something that he couldn’t walk off. She dreaded those days, but she did her best to make peace with the thought, because the world wasn’t perfect and life wasn’t life without trials and challenges.

All she could do was equip him as best she could. All she could do was teach him everything she knew, until she was confident in him. All she could do was place her faith in him, place her training in him, place her trust in him that he would use his best judgement, would make the right decisions, would do whatever was needed.

The night before the Chuunin exams, she kissed him good night, tucked him into bed, and pushed down her nerves.

He would be fine. She had spent her whole life making sure he would be fine.

Sai found her on the couch, going over every one of Inojin’s flower drawings, studying the detail, smiling at the memories around each one.

Sai sat next to her, and Ino leaned into him, needing to be close.

“If he can’t be a shinobi, he could always be an artist,” Sai remarked.

“All he paints is flowers and Shikadai,” Ino said warmly. “And even then, he complains he can never draw Shikadai properly because he can’t look at his eyes long enough.”

“He’s going to do fine tomorrow,” Sai said, his arm around Ino, fingers tracing absent patterns on her upper arm. “He won’t get hurt.”

“I hope not,” she sighed, studying a lily painting. “He’s like a flower. So easy to love and so delicate . . .”

“That’s good, though,” Sai said. “If he’s like a flower.” He leaned his cheek to the top of her head. “Because no one is better at growing flowers than you are.”

Chapter Text

We’ll hold onto the memories.

Onto every moment.

We’ll let you go into your world of paper flowers and blue skies.

And darling, I’ll watch you fly.

There was no way to prepare for the world. Life happened, and you were never ready for it.

Ino leant against the wall outside Inojin’s bedroom, arms folded loosely, head tipped back, listening to the conversation happening inside. She probably shouldn’t be listening in without permission, but she hadn’t been able to pry out of Inojin how he felt about the Chuunin exams.

It hadn’t gone the way they had wanted – he had been knocked out on the first round of the stadium matches. And while Ino had been ready for that, since Temari had said it would happen and it was rare that anyone in that family was wrong, Inojin had taken it hard.

“Was I bad?”

Ino sighed at the question. No, she wanted to say. You were great. You did fine. Just . . . there’s always more to learn.

It surprised her when there was no reply. No response to Inojin’s quiet, hesitant question.

And for once, Inojin pushed on, speaking again. “Shikadai? Was I bad?”

This time there was a long, loud sigh, and Shikadai answered dully, “You were fine.”

“But I lost.”

“Yeah,” Shikadai replied thickly. “Me too.”

“You gave up. It’s not the same.”

Ino could hear Inojin shifting about, and she longed to peer inside and see what he was doing, but she resisted.

“You gave up,” Inojin repeated. “Why?”

Silence, again.

“Shikadai?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Shikadai muttered. “Can’t you be quiet and just let us sit here for a bit?”

“Oh,” Inojin sounded small. He fell silent after that, and something in his expression must have broken through whatever sulk Shikadai was in, for Ino heard him draw in a breath that was almost a groan, and mutter under his breath.

“Hm?” Inojin hummed. “What?”

“I said,” Shikadai muttered fractionally louder. “That I gave up ‘cause . . . ugh,” Ino could hear the frustration in his voice. “Because Boruto needed a win more than I did, and I didn’t want to get into the finals in case I . . .” He broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice barely a whisper. “In case I got promoted and taken away from you.”

That made Ino frown.

Luckily, Inojin pushed for more. “Huh?”

“My dad passed his exams first time round. Said after that he hardly ever had missions with his old team anymore. He had other duties. More important things. And if I did too well, and everyone thought I was just like him, well . . . I didn’t want to leave you and Chocho.” There was another pause. “I was already dumb enough to try it once. Ino-Shika-Cho sticks together.”

Ino smiled fondly. Shikadai would die of embarrassment if she confronted him about it, but he was very compassionate about his team. She edged fractionally closer to hear the rest of their talk.

“So, we all gotta pass at the same time,” Inojin said, as though this were an easy task.

Shikadai snorted. “As if it were that easy. We’ve seen how we measure up to the rest of the villages. We’ve still got a way to go.”

“So, we gotta learn more.”

“Sounds like a drag.”

It would, to you, Ino thought fondly. Everything has been easy for you so far. Now you’ve realized you’re not as special as you always thought, and you’re going to have to work. This was not news to Inojin.

Inojin had been working since day one, had been constantly putting in more effort, into everything. He was used to hard work, he was used to failure, and trying again, and chasing success in small increments. Dogged determination and a stubborn willingness to keep going were things Inojin had always had.

While Shikadai had coasted along, Inojin had laboured to keep up. He was no stranger to trying harder, to trying to adapt. Now, with a goal in mind, Inojin’s struggles were turning into an advantage. Nothing had changed for him. As per usual, he would work, and work, and get to where he needed to be.

Ino felt a swell of pride in her chest.

Now, her child had something to teach Shikadai.

Tentatively, Inojin came to Ino, twisting his fingers together, lips pressed into a thin line. “Mom?”

“Yes, love?” Ino brushed some hair behind her ear, looking up from a stack of papers.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m just helping Sakura with some paperwork, but I can do that later, if you need me.” She turned to him. “Is everything okay?”

“Need help.”

Ino felt herself soften at his little mumble. “Anything, sunshine. What do you need help with?”

Inojin let out a breath, with an undercurrent of a groan beneath it. “I gotta . . .” He paused, to grumble under his breath, and then tried again, “I gotta learn the Mind Transfer.”

She blinked at him. “I . . . that’s wonderful. But you know it already.”

“Don’t like it, though,” he muttered. “But I need it, so can we practice?”

“Yes. Of course we can. But why do you need it now, suddenly?”

Inojin frowned thoughtfully. “Was talking to Shikadai and Chocho. And we need to be better shinobi. And Chocho said maybe we need goals, so we know we’re getting better, and next exams we’ll get further.”

“I see. So, getting better at using Mind Transfer is your goal?”

Inojin shook his head. “Need it for something else.”

“For what?”

He grinned at his fingers. “I had an idea. ‘Cause shinobi can come up with different ways to do things. And if I do a thing I’ve wanted to do for a long time, then I know I can do new things.”

Ino wondered what his end game was. But he looked so determined, standing squarely, nose crinkled up in concentration, that she didn’t want to discourage him with too many questions. So instead, she stood up. “We can start right now, sunshine.”

Inojin’s face lit up, and he nodded keenly.

“You ready for this?” Chocho asked. It seemed like a far more charged up question than the situation would suggest. Chocho sat cross legged on the grass, folding her empty chip packet and putting it in her pocket.

Inojin made a low, uncomfortable noise. “I guess . . .”

“You don’t have to do it.”

“Hm,” he shrugged. “Been waiting long enough.”

“It’s hardly a life or death situation,” Shikadai put in dryly. He sat opposite Chocho, with Inojin a little to his side, armed with his sketch pad and a variety of pencils and inks. He sent Inojin a sideways look.

Inojin was quietly determined. “I want to.”

“Alright,” Shikadai shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Inojin’s face cracked into a bright smile. He shuffled his art supplies closer to Chocho.

“Remember,” he said to her, “You promised not to push me out.”

“I’ll be very quiet, and I won’t interfere,” she promised.

Inojin took a deep breath, gathering his focus and his chakra. He shifted a bit closer to Shikadai, then held out both hands towards Chocho, fingers together in the shape needed for Mind Transfer. The hardest part was looking her in the eye and projecting his chakra at the same time. Each of those things alone were hard enough, combined they made him nervous.

But Chocho sat very still, expression calm, and Inojin could make the jump from his mind to hers with very little effort.

There was always a rushing sensation that came with the Mind Transfer, a loud howling in his ears, and Inojin was disoriented for a moment before the world came back into focus – there was a second of silence while he stared blankly forward, momentarily confused at seeing himself and Shikadai, then full awareness slammed in and the world felt like it was crackling against him.

Loud, sparking explosion sounds that ran up and down his skin, only he knew it was impossible because he wasn’t here, he was there, but it felt that way. It felt bright and too much, and everywhere, and he set himself to snap back to his own body.

Shh, Chocho sounded, and Inojin could feel her around him, like a little bubble, holding him softly into her mind when he felt like he might fall. I’m here, I’ve got you. Come on, we can manage this.

The crackling was still there, but not as powerful. Inojin raised his eyes – her eyes – to look at Shikadai. He bypassed a weird vertigo notion at seeing his own body lying limp in Shikadai’s lap, and focused on Shikadai’s eyes instead.

It didn’t hurt.

It didn’t feel overwhelming and too much. In fact, the ease of it startled him, almost made his control slip, and there was a rushing sensation as he nearly slipped out of Chocho’s mind.

Hold on, she said. Don’t go yet. You can do this.

It took a minute or two for Inojin to settle his focus. When he did, he reached Chocho’s arm out cautiously for his sketch pad, gathered his supplies, and tried to relax his mind.

Does . . . he gripped the pencil, fascinated at how easy it was to look. Does he always look at me like that?

There was a lot going on in Shikadai’s expression. Inojin couldn’t recognise all the emotions, and didn’t think he ever would, but he knew it was a lot.

Yes, Chocho said, and her echo felt warm, like a smile.

Inojin felt his confidence rise. Surely, he put pencil to paper, beginning swift lines to plot out his sketch. His fingers – Chocho’s fingers – gripped the pencil slightly differently, but it hardly affected his strokes. He found himself settling into it, able to draw and watch Shikadai easily.

He reached for the first of his green pencils.

Ino leant her chin in her palm, elbow on the windowsill, smiling broadly at the three children on the lawn.

She watched Inojin twitch in Shikadai’s arms, blinking slowly back to consciousness, looking a bit vacant to start with, before clarity slammed back in, and he grinned at the sky. Shikadai was murmuring something.

Chocho held the sketch book at arms’ length, shouting triumphantly and shaking it, until Inojin sat bolt upright and grabbed it from her hands.

Ino chuckled softly as he stared at the drawing, looking almost awed. Inojin’s fingers hovered over the paper, lips moving slowly in a few reverent words. He turned his head towards Shikadai, who looked away, a hand behind his neck, cheeks flushing faintly pink.

Chocho surged up on her knees and enveloped Inojin in a crushing hug which, to Ino’s surprise and delight, he laughed at. He relaxed into the contact for a while, and Chocho let him go before he had a chance to become uncomfortable, and that made Ino’s grin broaden some more.

“What’s going on?” Sai asked, coming up behind her and laying a hand on each of Ino’s shoulders.

“Lots of things,” she replied, never taking her eyes off Inojin. “But mostly Inojin learning how to get around his own problems to still get whatever he wants out of the world.”

“Ah.” Sai squeezed her shoulders lightly.

Outside, Inojin held his sketch book out in front of himself, flopping down onto his back in the grass and grinning at the page.

“He’s not what we expected, is he?” Ino mused. “But he’s becoming more than we ever hoped for.”

She gazed at him softly, feeling thoroughly content with life. She leant back into Sai’s chest, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“Happy?” he asked into her hair.

“Yes. I know the Chuunin exams disappointed him, but look at him. He’s going to be fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Because . . .?” Sai asked, voice trailing off with a cheeky lilt.

Ino rolled her eyes. “Oh, you just love being right about him, don’t you? Fine,” she huffed, “He’s going to be fine because you and I are amazing parents and we’ve got this, and he’s happy and loving and I don’t need to worry over him so much.”

“There’s still things we need to fear. But I think he’s proven that he’ll find a way through everything. Even if it’s not the way you or I would go.” Sai breathed into her hair. “He’s growing up fast.”

“He’s growing up perfect.”

“Been thinking,” Inojin murmured, cheeks flushing pink. “’Bout what you said about people loving differently and how love can be different and mean different things, and not everything changes and . . .” he took in a deep breath. It was a lot of words to get out in one go. “. . . And it’s not always like books and things. I think I found how mine is different.”

He looked at Chocho. “You said it could be like butterflies and warmth, and I think mine is different. I think my love is like flowers.”

She nodded encouragingly, but stayed quiet so as not to distract him or throw off his pattern of thought.

Shikadai stayed silent as well, idly twirling a finger in Inojin’s hair.

“Because flowers take a while to grow. But they’re beautiful, and looking at them makes me happy and calm, and they can mean a lot of different things.” He smiled at her, “Like when I’m with you and Shikadai.”

He pushed lightly into the pressure of Shikadai’s hand, words coming a bit slower as he struggled to put his feelings into coherent words. “Sometimes when you smile at me it means safe or it means happy, and even when Shikadai got angry at me, it meant he cared too much-“

“I already apologized for that, can we let it go?” Shikadai groaned. “I was under pressure and frustrated; I didn’t mean to get angry.”

Inojin beamed at him. “I know. It’s okay. Anyway, love is like flowers. So I made you some.” He flipped to the back of his sketchbook, where two loose sheets of thick paper were tucked away. He handed one to Chocho, and she studied it reverently.

“It’s a yellow rose, for friendship,” Inojin explained. “And a red one for love. And I finally got the hang of watercolours.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Chocho breathed, looking awed at the painting. “I’ll put it above my bed and look at it every day.”

“And yours has a yellow rose,” he edged the paper to Shikadai, avoiding looking at his face. “And a red one. And a gerbera daisy. They’re green. Lots of different green.”

Shikadai took the page from him, studying the painting. He stayed quiet, but snaked an arm around Inojin’s shoulders to keep him close. There was a long silence, with Chocho looking fondly at the boys, and Inojin pressing his lips together firmly to avoid smiling too much, and Shikadai stared at the green flower, with hundreds of tiny petals painted perfectly.

Inojin relaxed in his hold, gripping his sketchbook tightly and waiting for someone to break the silence.

“If these are your real feelings,” Shikadai said eventually, keeping an arm firmly around Inojin’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you give us real flowers?”

Inojin shrugged, his default answer, before summoning the courage to speak.

“Because paper flowers last longer,” Inojin whispered.

< The End >