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Chapter Text

Shikadai was in an awful mood, and he knew it, but the world just seemed intent on making it worse.

He couldn’t get the hang of a new technique his father was trying to teach him, he hadn’t had a moment to himself between missions, he had been stuck on a level in his video game for weeks (Which Boruto had already passed), and he’d just stormed out the house after a screaming match with his mother.

He figured it would be best to stay away from her for as long as possible and so, since he didn’t want to see Boruto until he overtook him in the game, he stormed over to Inojin’s house. Inojin was usually his first choice for company, but he and Chocho had been out together that morning and Shikadai knew from experience that after a ‘girls’ morning’ Inojin would be in an irritating, frivolous mood and would at some point test Shikadai’s patience.

Today, the irritation was worth the risk.

Shikadai banged his fist against the front door, trying to bottle up his own annoyance in case he had to pretend to be civil.

Ino answered, throwing the door open with a wide smile that only made Shikadai feel more annoyed.

“Hey, Shikadai,” Ino greeted brightly.

“Is Inojin home?” he asked, forgetting to the return the greeting.

“Yes, he’s upstairs. Everything okay?”

“Just . . . life . . .” he grumbled, casting his eyes down. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, he’s got the rest of the day free, so stay as long as you want,” Ino said, gesturing him inside.

Shikadai nodded, remembering to mumble a ‘thanks’, and stomped his way to Inojin’s room.

Inojin’s room was empty. Shikadai rolled his eyes, before shouting, “Inojin, where are you?”

“In the bathroom!”

Shikadai nodded to himself, and flopped down onto Inojin’s bed. He stared at the ceiling for several minutes, before sitting up again. Still no Inojin.

Shikadai stomped irritably to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles against it.

“What?” Inojin asked.

“What are you doing in there?” Shikadai grumbled.

“Having a bath.”

“Having a . . . it’s the middle of the day!”

“It’s called relaxing, Shikadai,” came the sharp reply.

Shikadai resisted the urge to bang his forehead against the door. He stood indecisively for a while, then asked hesitantly, “Can I come in?”

“Yup.”

Shikadai opened the door, wondering what was keeping Inojin so occupied. A bath didn’t take long, and wasn’t very interesting. And Shikadai wanted company.

“What the . . .?” Shikadai paused, taking in the scene. The light curtains were drawn over the window, leaving the room lit by a strange, filtered glow of sunlight, and several candles Inojin had strategically placed around. They were scented candles – of course they were – and Shikadai wrinkled his nose at the floral scent.

Inojin smiled broadly at him, submerged to his neck in water, the tips of his loose hair wet and curling oddly around his neck and shoulders.

The bath water was an orangey-pink colour. Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “What have you done to the water?”

“Used a bathbomb.”

Shikadai regretted asking. “Yes, but why is it pink?”

“It was peach and lavender scented,” Inojin said serenely, and Shikadai had a sudden urge to drown himself. He rolled his eyes, closing the door and leaning against it. This was why Chocho and Inojin shouldn’t hang out. Because Inojin wouldn’t decide peach and lavender was a good idea for a bath.

Yes, he would, Shikadai thought grimly. Inojin had much weirder thoughts than that.

Shikadai sent a glare to Inojin’s phone, which was sitting innocently on the counter by the sink, playing music. It was irritating, and grating, and Shikadai hated it.

“This sounds like music from a strip club,” Shikadai grumbled.

“What strip club did you go to?” Inojin asked idly, scrubbing his nails.

Shikadai fell silent, then, glaring at Inojin’s peach and lavender tinted water.

“What’cha thinking about?” Inojin queried.

“Holding your head under the water until you stop playing stripper music and start acting like a normal person again.”

“Why do you have a stick up your ass today?” Inojin asked.

“Nothing,” Shikadai muttered, hunching his shoulders. He tried to distract himself from the utterly ridiculous atmosphere Inojin had cultivated by staring at Inojin’s collarbones. It was the most satisfying thing he had laid eyes on all day, because Inojin was built slim and delicate and watching the hollow of his throat and the way the bones strained under his skin might have been the best part of Shikadai’s week.

Inojin sank down to his chin, unaware of Shikadai’s chosen method of self-soothing, and his feet rose from the water at the other end of the bath. He pressed the balls off his feet against the taps.

Inojin’s toenails were painted in glittery pink, and Shikadai felt physical pain noticing it.

Inojin just sent him a look. “What? Chocho had a new colour. She wanted to try it out on me.”

“It should be illegal for you and Chocho to hang out unsupervised.”

“What you and I do unsupervised is what’s illegal,” Inojin grinned.

It was a testament to Shikadai’s awful mood that that comment made him feel worse about everything, because there were flashes of guilt about his and Inojin’s relationship, and the weight of expectations on him, and the general nervousness that came with personal exploration.

He turned abruptly towards the door, “I’m gonna just go.”

“No, wait,” Inojin sat up, sloshing pink water. “Don’t go. We can talk.”

“I’d like to be somewhere without peach and purple water.”

“Lavender.”

“I don’t care what it is, Inojin!” Shikadai snapped. “It’s dumb, and a drag, and I’ll just go somewhere else.”

“No, no,” Inojin waved a hand. “Shikadai, c’mon. I’ll be out in a minute, and then we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk I just want – ugh,” Shikadai clenched his fists. “I don’t know what I want. I just want everything to stop being shit.”

“Have you tried a relaxing bath?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Inojin.”

“That’s exactly what I do, though,” Inojin said, brushing some hair behind his ear. “In every way I can.”

Shikadai rolled his eyes, hand paused on the door handle. Before he could decide to storm out or not, the sound of water echoed once more, and then there was a damp hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice in his ear.

“Shikadai. Stay.”

He nodded, shoulders slumping, and Inojin reached around him to open the door. “. . . Are you naked behind me?”

“I have a towel.”

“This day just keeps getting worse.”

Inojin chuckled into Shikadai’s spine, rubbing his forehead against the back of his neck. He nudged Shikadai forwards, and Shikadai plodded back to Inojin’s room, and flopped face down onto Inojin’s bed, burying his face in the pillow.

“Since you’re in a horrible mood and you’re going to complain about whatever I wear anyway,” Inojin stated breezily, “I’m going to put on the polka-dot pajamas.”

Shikadai groaned into the pillow. Chocho had matching pajamas – a soft, white flannel with purple polka-dots. He refused to look up, grumbling when he felt Inojin run a hand up his back, and settle on the bed beside him.

“Hey,” Inojin said. “Want to watch a movie, or something?”

“No.” Shikadai turned his head so he could peer out at the room with one eye. All he could see was the polka-dot pattern on Inojin’s thigh.

“Why’re you in such a bad mood?” Inojin finally asked.

“Everything,” Shikadai grumbled, eying Inojin. “Just been a shitty week, and everything sucks.”

“So you came to me?”

“Where else would I go?”

“I don’t know. Someone else?”

“There is no one else.”

Inojin’s fingers stuttered a bit as they ran lightly up and down Shikadai’s back. He tugged at Shikadai’s shoulder until the other boy rolled over, and let himself be maneuvered across Inojin’s thighs. He was incredibly warm, and Shikadai closed his eyes.

Inojin ran his fingers lightly over Shikadai’s scalp, smiling softly as Shikadai relaxed into the touch, body slumping. Shikadai let out a gentle sigh at the feel of Inojin’s nails scraping lightly against his head. He opened his eyes, finding Inojin already looking down at him.

“Can I help?” he asked. “With whatever is bothering you?”

“Nah, it’s just stuff. I’ll figure it out.” Shikadai closed his eyes again, humming slightly when he felt Inojin bend over and press a gentle kiss to Shikadai’s forehead. He groped at the air until he found the back of Inojin’s neck and tipped his chin up for a proper kiss on the lips.

Inojin pulled back with a teasing lick across Shikadai’s lower lip, and sighed. “You know, Chocho and I were talking . . .”

“If ‘glitter’ is anywhere in the rest of that sentence, keep it to yourself.”

“No,” Inojin combed his fingers along Shikadai’s head again. “We’re all Chuunin now, and we’re always together . . .”

“And?”

“What about the three of us getting our own place together?” Inojin said, and Shikadai opened his eyes.

He only needed a few minutes to mull it over. His mind worked fast, and he could get through the pros and cons near instantly. He met Inojin’s eyes. “I have a condition.”

“Yes?”

“There have to be two bathrooms. Because I swear to god, I refuse to use the same tub as you and your stupid pink water.”

“Lavender.” Inojin grinned, smoothing his thumbs over Shikadai’s cheeks. “So you think it’s a good idea?”

“It is. When do you want to look at apartments?”

“We’ve already found one,” Inojin admitted. “That’s what we were doing today. And, you know, girl stuff.”

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “Why wasn’t I invited to this house hunt?”

“Because I know you like answers,” Inojin said. “And you’ve been so stressed lately. I didn’t want to present you with another problem until I had a possible solution. Obviously you can say the apartment is trash and we keep looking, but we have a starting point.”

Shikadai dragged Inojin’s head down again for another, softer kiss, murmuring, “I love you so much.”

“We’re going to check the apartment out tomorrow,” Inojin admitted, mostly into Shikadai’s mouth.

“I’ll be there.” He laced both hands together behind Inojin’s neck. It was an awkward and uncomfortable angle, but he didn’t care. Inojin seemed equally unconcerned about his back being bent over.

“One catch,” Inojin admitted between kisses.

“What?” Shikadai asked suspiciously, letting Inojin go.

He sat up straight, offering an apologetic smile. “Chocho got you pajamas like ours.”

Shikadai groaned. “No, Inojin, I’m not wearing goddamned polka dots!”

“It doesn’t have to be for long. Just for a bit, when we all move in together. You know, like a team.”

“For two minutes,” Shikadai said. “Not a second longer.”

“I will take them off you myself,” Inojin promised.

“Then one minute.”

Inojin leaned in for another kiss, and Shikadai finally felt as though the day wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Shikadai rubbed his temples. “One more time, let’s go over the list of must haves.”

He sat up straight, taking in a breath. “Chocho states the apartment must have a fully furnished kitchen and space in her bedroom for a double bed.”

“I like cooking and I spread out when I sleep,” she defended with a shrug. “Do you know how depressing the kitchens are in some apartments? Like we’re in a prison.”

Shikadai didn’t indulge her further, moving on. “Inojin specifies big windows to let in natural light for drawing and wide windowsills for plants. Good view preferable.” Shikadai looked at him. “When you say ‘good view’ . . .?”

“I mean out the window but I’ll compromise on that if you make me breakfast shirtless every morning,” Inojin replied with a smirk.

“Not happening,” Shikadai dismissed instantly. “And I wanted two bathrooms because you and Chocho keep filling it with girly crap that I don’t want near me.”

“You cannot find an apartment we can afford with two bathrooms,” Chocho rolled her eyes. “You have to let that go.”

“Before this apartment hunt began,” Shikadai started, a bit testily, “I found Inojin floating in a bath of pink water. I will not put up with that again.”

“I was relaxing,” Inojin retorted. “And what if we make a rule that we can only use pink bath bombs when you’re in Suna?”

“Last time we had a mission out of the village Chocho brought her glitter-infused moisturizer,” Shikadai reminded him. “Which, by the end of the second day, had somehow turned everything we possessed into glitter-encrusted objects. Including you,” he eyed Inojin.

Inojin shrugged. “My skin was dry. It was the high altitude.”

“That’s the only thing I own with glitter in it,” Chocho said. “Aside from some make-up. I promise you won’t even know it’s in the apartment. We will keep the glitter contained, and we can have one bathroom.”

Shikadai sighed, but he knew it was a losing battle. He decided to let the glitter and the bathroom argument go for now.

“We need to establish some house rules,” Shikadai added, garnering rolled eyes and groans from both teammates.

“How are you making this boing?” Inojin asked. “This is meant to be fun – we’re striking out on our own and being independent and you’re making it about rules and numbers-“

“I propose clothes on in all common areas,” Shikadai talked over Inojin’s indignation.

“When you say clothes,” Inojin put in, “How much clothes?”

“How many clothes?” Chocho questioned with a quizzical frown.

“Sometimes in summer we sleep without shirts,” Inojin pointed out. “Does that mean we’d need to put them on to make coffee or something?”

“Fine, we can be in the kitchen without shirts,” Shikadai ceded.

“If you two can walk around without shirts then I should be able to as well,” Chocho pointed out.

Inojin shrugged. “Sounds fair.”

“Okay,” Shikadai sighed. “How about this – at a minimum, underwear must be worn in the common areas.”

“Yup,” Chocho nodded.

“Okay,” Inojin agreed.

“Great, dishes and laundry are on a rotation-“

“Hey,” Chocho interrupted. “What about male company?”

“We’ll lock the bedroom door when things get interesting,” Inojin replied instantly, grinning wildly.

“Not you two,” Chocho rolled her eyes. “I don’t care about what you get up to. I meant me. What about when I bring boys over?”

“Lock your door. And stay off the shared furniture,” Shikadai said dryly. He looked up when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

Shikamaru poked his head around. “Are you still looking for a place to live?”

“Yeah, the last three were unsuitable,” Shikadai said, and Inojin added hotly, “They were not, you are just too fussy.”

“There’s a building near the Hokage offices that you should take a look at. Price is reasonable, good location.” Shikamaru shrugged. “It might be smaller than you’re looking for, but it’s worth seeing.”

“Okay, we’ll try there later in the week,” Shikadai nodded.

“And we can see how many things Shikadai can find to complain about,” Chocho added idly.

Shikadai sent her a sour look, but Inojin shrugged and observed, “Last time it was twenty-four.”

The building Shikamaru recommended was ideally located. Shikadai would admit that.

He would also admit that it was run down, tiny, and trudging up the stairs felt like taking his life into his hands.

“Careful,” he hissed at Chocho, as a step creaked from her weight.

“Oh, calm down,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It’s the fourth floor, it’s not like we’ll die if we fall.”

“It’s not like we’ll fall,” Inojin pointed out. “We all know how to use chakra.”

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Shikadai sighed, sandwiched between his teammates. “This place looks like a strong gust of wind will topple it.”

“Only one of us uses strong gusts of wind,” Inojin cocked an eyebrow. “So . . . I think I know who to blame if something happens.”

“I’m not gonna destroy the building just because it sucks,” Shikadai grumbled. He was busy staring at the floor, trying not to fall to his untimely demise, and so missed when Chocho stopped walking and walked directly into her back.

“This is it,” she declared cheerfully, turning a handle and opening a door, supremely unruffled at having Shikadai slam into her. She stepped into the apartment first, and Inojin zipped around Shikadai to get in second.

Shikadai grumbled under his breath at them, shoved his hands in his pockets, and peered inside.

The little kitchenette area was to his right, with an open space in front of him that he presumed was the lounge area – small, but the wide window made it look inviting and light – with the bedrooms and bathroom to the left.

“Too small,” Shikadai said, immediately upon entry. “It’s way too small.”

“We braved the deadly stairs to get here, so we might as well take a proper look around,” Inojin insisted.

“Won’t take long,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “I can walk to the window in three strides.”

“Quit being annoying,” Chocho gave him a look over her shoulder. She sauntered off towards the bedrooms, and Inojin skipped merrily behind her. Shikadai heaved a sigh and slogged after them. The bedrooms were both a decent size, although since he knew he and Inojin would have to share, Shikadai was concerned it would feel cramped.

Chocho, after flouncing around the bathroom, made a detour to the kitchen area for a more thorough inspection.

“Oh my god!” she shrieked.

Shikadai leapt out the bedroom, “What? Who do we need to kill?”

“Look at all the space!” Chocho stood in the centre of the kitchen area, arms spread wide. “Look how long the counter is! Look at the all the cupboards! Look how big the fridge is! This is perfect!”

Shikadai stood at the threshold from lounge to kitchen, hands shoved in his pockets. “Yeah, but the lounge is so close we’d be in danger of oil splatters whenever you fry things.”

“You are a pessimist,” Chocho retorted. “And the stove is miles away from you.”

“It does look pretty cool,” Inojin admitted, looking admirably at the window. “And the lighting looks great. I can draw for hours in the summer.”

“Really? Where?” Shikadai deadpanned.

“The kitchen counter is plenty wide,” Chocho pointed out.

“And if I’m sketching I only need enough room to sit down. And if I’m painting, my easel is portable.” Inojin raised an eyebrow. “We can make it work. No other place has had a window this size. You can cloud watch from the couch.”

“Heh,” Shikadai chuckled. “That’s the first positive point this place has had so far.”

He looked around again. It probably wasn’t an apartment meant for three people. It was probably meant for two, or even one. They would have to be in very close quarters all the time. Shikadai didn’t mind – he adored Chocho and Inojin and thought of them as extensions of his own self – but fitting three peoples’ routines into one single, tiny bathroom seemed a bit optimistic.

He drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. “It’s worth considering.”

Inojin jumped at him, flinging his arms around Shikadai’s neck and kissing him firmly on the lips.

Shikadai finally cracked a smile, hands moving automatically to Inojin’s hips to balance him. “But I still think we need to look at other places. Two bathrooms feels essential.”

Chocho threw a glance at them. “You can always wash up in the kitchen.”

“You could sleep in the kitchen,” Shikadai retorted. “It’s big enough for you.”

Chocho giggled, not in the least affronted. “Wherever we end up, we’ll figure it out.”

She scanned the kitchen again, and fixed on the door off to one side, on the same wall as Inojin’s large window.

“Where does this door go?” Chocho asked, cocking her head to the side. She opened the door and peered out. “Oh.”

Inojin whipped out of Shikadai’s arms. “Oh?” he questioned.

“There’s a little balcony out here,” Chocho’s voice carried back to them.

Inojin grabbed Shikadai by one arm and dragged him to the newly opened door. “Really?”

“I’m coming; you don’t have to pull me,” Shikadai grumbled. He shook his wrist free, and Inojin stood in the doorway and stared out at the little platform.

“Shikadai,” Inojin breathed. “This one. This apartment. There’s a balcony.”

He turned a pleading look to Shikadai. “I can grow flowers out here.”

“It’s tiny,” Shikadai pointed out.

“It’s big enough for plants. We can put in shelves, and the sun shines right on it, and Chocho can grow tomatoes and chillies and-“

“We could have a herb garden,” Chocho agreed.

“The three of us barely fit out here together,” Shikadai said. “And the apartment is too small.”

“But the windows,” Inojin whined. “There’s so much light.”

“The kitchen is perfect,” Chocho added. “There’s so much room to cook.”

“It’s too small,” Shikadai repeated weakly, feeling like this was a losing battle. “How are we meant to fit two desks into our room? You need one for drawing, I need one for work.”

“I can draw in the lounge area,” Inojin said, running a hand along the railing to the balcony. He turned to Shikadai again, doing his best puppy dog look. “Please?”

Shikadai heaved a sigh, and looked to Chocho.

She smiled encouragingly. “It’s not expensive. And it’s close to the Hokage building and the train station.”

Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall. The sun was warm on him, and the neighbourhood was quiet.

“It’s too small,” he repeated.

“You’re out all day at work,” Inojin said, bouncing on his toes. “You’ll hardly ever be in the apartment. You only need it for sleeping.”

“There’s nowhere to eat,” Shikadai pointed out. “There isn’t room for a table and for a couch.”

“We can eat at the kitchen counter,” Chocho said. “Or on the couch.”

“Or on the balcony,” Inojin added.

“We just fit on here standing,” Shikadai grumbled. “Adding a table to the mix would be impossible. And the bathroom is too small, and there’s only one. I specifically stated two bathrooms and three bedrooms. I deserve to be happy, too.”

“Won’t living with me be enough to make you happy?” Inojin asked, sidling closer, fingers fiddling with the collar of Shikadai’s jacket. “What more could you want?”

“Two bathrooms,” Shikadai deadpanned.

“You know we have to settle on some things,” Chocho replied. “Two bathrooms has been an unrealistic requirement right from the start.”

“Please?” Inojin stared into Shikadai’s eyes. “I love it already. I know it’ll work out for us.”

Shikadai looked at Chocho, who looked calmly back at him. She raised one eyebrow as the silence stretched on. Shikadai turned his gaze back to Inojin, who was still staring at him with pleading eyes.

Shikadai looked at the view once more. The sky was endless blue, with the forest visible past the roofs of buildings. It looked like a perfect representation of Konoha.

It looked like home.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “But absolutely no bath bombs allowed.”

Chapter Text

Moving into the new apartment was simultaneously easier and harder than Shikadai had been expecting.

The easy part was breaking it to his parents. Temari waved him away with a few casual platitudes and general comments about taking care of himself, and Shikamaru nodded along as Shikadai spoke and said absolutely nothing which led Shikadai to believe his father was actually asleep and had learnt the art of convincing people he was awake.

The hard part was navigating furniture up the deadly staircase. With Inojin on the other end of the couch, and Shikadai staggering backwards up the stairs, and every second step punctuated with a creak or a crack, it was the closest Shikadai had ever felt to dying.

No mission, no injury, no incident had ever made him feel less safe than having Inojin on the other side of a piece of furniture giving ‘directions’.

It was only after they had huffed and wheezed and sweated the couch inside that Chocho showed up, with a muffin and a bag of chips, and told them she would carry the other things.

Which she did.

With one hand.

And with Inojin sitting on the coffee table as she carried it.

“You couldn’t have done that sooner?” Shikadai asked, leaning over the back of the couch and still catching his breath.

“I needed a muffin,” Chocho replied, plonking the coffee table down.

Inojin remained perched on the table. “It’s not quite centred with the couch. A little to the left.”

Chocho shoved the table casually with one foot.

“My left, not yours!” Inojin retorted.

Chocho threw her muffin paper at him, hooked her toes under the top of the table, and dragged it back towards her. “Better?”

“Perfect,” Inojin nodded. He looked around. “I guess we should start painting.”

“Painting?” Shikadai raised his head. “What?”

“The walls are boring,” Inojin claimed. “Chocho and I want to repaint. She’s doing her bedroom in a nice pale pink colour, I want to do a grey on this wall,” he gestured vaguely to the wall behind him. “The bathroom is going to be pale blue. I told you about it.”

“Was I awake when you told me?” Shikadai arched an eyebrow.

“I dunno.”

Shikadai sighed, dropping his head down again. “Okay, fine, whatever. Do what you like. But if I come home to find our bedroom painted pink I am moving out.”

Inojin hopped up and pranced over to Shikadai to plant a swift kiss on Shikadai’s cheek. “Thank you! And everything is going to look great!”

Shikadai made a grumbly sound of acknowledgement before finding the strength to stand up straight. “I’ll leave you to it. Try not to make a mess. I’m getting more stuff from my parents and then I’ll come back.”

“Bring dinner,” Chocho said.

“I will,” Shikadai turned to leave. He paused before he did, and reiterated over his shoulder at Inojin, “No pink on the common walls.”

“No pink,” Inojin promised solemnly.

Shikadai hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but when it came to Inojin one could never tell.

Shikamaru was home, enjoying a rare afternoon off, when Shikadai returned to collect more clothes and odds and ends. Shikadai had been expecting to quietly pack his bags and leave again, but for some reason Shikamaru was hovering in his doorway while he emptied cupboards.

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Dad, why are you staring at me?”

Shikamaru was quiet for a while. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m ten minutes away.”

“I’m still going to miss you. I didn’t think you would move out until you were married.”

“I’ll keep you posted on my marital status.” Shikadai carefully bundled up the wires for his various gaming systems and began packing them neatly.

Shikamaru chuckled lightly. “Kidding aside, it’s going to strange without you around.”

“I’ll come back for dinner a few times a week. Maybe. Probably. I dunno, it might be a drag.” Shikadai moved to his bookshelf to see what he needed to bring with him.

“You might miss your mother’s nagging,” Shikamaru suggested.

Shikadai snorted out a laugh. “Doubt it.”

He stuffed several things into his bag, then looked critically around his room.

“You can come back if you forget anything,” Shikamaru reminded him.

“I know. But it’d be a drag to come back again today.” Shikadai zipped up his backpack, and hoisted it over one shoulder. “Although, Inojin and Chocho are painting the apartment so it might be in my best interests to stay away for a while.”

Shikamaru let a slow smile spread across his face. “Game of shogi, then?”

Shikadai took a moment to think. It was never one game with Shikamaru. It would turn into ten games, into hours of playing and strategizing. Hours spent away from his new housemates and their bizarre nesting behaviour.

He let his bag fall to the floor with a thump. “Yes.”

Shikadai opened the door to the apartment that evening, and was immediately assaulted with the smell of fresh paint. That wasn’t surprising, but it was unwelcome. He closed the door and paused to take his shoes off, then finally looked up at the wall.

He froze in place, blinking. After a moment of being stupefied into silence, he yelled, “Inojin!”

“What?” Inojin trotted from the bathroom. His shirt was splattered in paint, and he looked absolutely ridiculous with a flowery bandana tied around his head to protect his hair.

Shikadai pointed at the wall, at the new paint, and glared at Inojin.

“No,” Shikadai said. “Absolutely not. Paint over it.”

“But-“

“I said no,” Shikadai repeated firmly. “I am not watching TV every night under a giant gay rainbow.”

Inojin looked visibly disappointed. “Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure.”

“But it’s pretty,” Inojin insisted. He cocked his head to the side, admiring the wall.

“No,” Shikadai repeated. “The final answer to this argument is no.”

Inojin sighed, but he shrugged. “Okay, fine, I’ll paint over it.” He turned around to re-enter the bathroom, quipping over his shoulder, “If I didn’t know any better, I might call you a homophobe.”

“Who’s a homophobe?” Chocho’s head popped out of her bedroom door, paintbrush in hand.

“Shikadai is,” Inojin snickered.

“Oh,” Chocho nodded knowingly. “Didn’t like your rainbow, huh?”

“No, I didn’t,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. He stomped to the kitchen area and dumped one of his bags on the counter. “Come and eat while dinner is still hot.”

“Be there in a minute,” Chocho replied. “I need to finish painting a wall quick.”

Inojin emerged sans paintbrush, and sidled up to Shikadai, looking over his shoulder. “What did you get us?”

“Ramen,” Shikadai replied. “It was on my way home.” He handed a tub to Inojin, who took it with a broad, toothy grin, before snagging a pair of chopsticks from one of the kitchen drawers and moving to sit on the couch. Shikadai joined him a moment later, and once he sat down Inojin flung a leg over Shikadai’s knees.

They ate in silence. The TV hadn’t yet been connected, and it was covered with a sheet to protect it from Inojin’s splatters of paint. When Chocho joined them, a smudge of light pink on her cheek and freckling her arms, they fell into idle conversation.

Shikadai ended up tidying the kitchen so Inojin and Chocho could return to their interior decorating. Afterwards, Shikadai peeked into his and Inojin’s bedroom to ensure it had been painted a sensible colour. Inojin had chosen a pale, olive green that reminded Shikadai of sunlight filtering through the forest trees.

Satisfied with the colour, he proceeded to empty out the bags he had filled earlier. Every room of the house was still in disarray, with boxes and bags scattered about, things piled on other things, and almost nothing where it should be. Shikadai took the time to begin organizing his and Inojin’s room, packing clothes into the closet, getting Inojin’s art supplies off his bed and onto the desk, and deciding where he wanted to keep his shinobi gear.

It was getting late by the time he finished mostly sorting the bedroom, including random visits into the common area to straighten things up, and he went into the bathroom to prepare for bed.

Inojin was still there, humming softly to himself as he painted.

“Oh, for gods’ sake,” Shikadai groaned.

Inojin didn’t even pause. “You said no rainbow in the lounge. You never said anything about the bathroom.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Shikadai sighed. He did his best to ignore the brightly coloured stripes that encircled the top third of the bathroom walls, washing his face and brushing his teeth, before grumbling a good night.

It took them three days, of rearranging, discussing, lively debates and indecision, before they officially called the apartment ‘finished.’

By then, they had learned the quirks of the place. Shikadai discovered that the sun streamed onto the couch every morning, and when he wasn’t on missions he was sprawled out like a cat, basking in the warmth. Inojin found one creaky floorboard between the bedroom and the bathroom, which he proceeded to paint black, and which all three of them pointedly stood on at every opportunity. Chocho made the brilliant observation that a bigger fridge would fit in the kitchen, and so had immediately bought one.

All in all, they had been very satisfied. Shikadai still complained about the size – because if you came through the front door with too much enthusiasm you were immediately thwarted by the back of the couch, and twice already Shikadai had exited his bedroom and smacked into Chocho as she was leaving the bathroom – but he had to admit there was a certain charm to living with his team.

It was peaceful and fun in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Yo!” Chocho burst through the door, shattering Shikadai’s reverie as he stared mindlessly at the TV that evening. “Time to party!”

“What?” Shikadai lifted his head to look at her over the back of the couch.

“Just us three,” Chocho assured, dumping a shopping bag onto the kitchen counter. “It’s our housewarming party.”

“Do I have to leave the couch?” Shikadai asked.

“No.”

“Then a party sounds like a great idea,” Shikadai smirked.

“I got champagne for our celebration!” Chocho singsonged, brandishing the bottle above her head.

“Where did you get champagne?” Shikadai asked. “You’re underage to buy alcohol.”

“Yes, but Sai isn’t,” Chocho winked at him.

Shikadai chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, that sounds right.” He stretched out leisurely, adding, “Where is Inojin?”

“How do you lose your boyfriend?”

“I don’t keep him on a leash.”

“Maybe he’d like that.”

Shikadai groaned. “Please stop.” He sat up, resting his forearms on his knees, slouching and ignoring the voice in his head – that sounded disturbingly like his mother – that snapped at him to sit up straight.

Chocho puttered around the kitchen, humming to herself. After a while, she spoke up, “You have to get ready.”

“What?” Shikadai looked at her.

“For our apartment party,” she said, pausing, then adding, “Our apartyment?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t that ‘ready’ enough?”

Chocho looked down her nose at him. “The pajamas, Shikadai. We all agreed to wear our matching pajamas.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Shikadai replied, arching an eyebrow.

“Inojin said you agreed for two minutes, after which groping would occur,” she summarized cheerfully, and Shikadai heaved a sigh.

“Go on,” she waved a hand towards him when he remained planted on the couch.

“Inojin isn’t home,” Shikadai griped. “So I don’t have to be ready yet.”

He jumped off the couch when Chocho lobbed the folded shopping bag at him, retreating to his room with a muffled laugh. She blew a raspberry after him, before returning her attention to the party preparation.

By the time Inojin had come home, Shikadai had begrudgingly changed into the hideous polka dotted pajama bottoms, but he absolutely refused to wear the top. Over Inojin’s whining, he put on a faded black t-shirt and tried to avoid catching a glimpse of his legs.

It was a challenging task, especially since Inojin was clad in the exact same pajamas, and Chocho waltzed from her room equally spotted and sporting fluffy pink bunny slippers.

Shikadai briefly considered moving back in with his parents.

He was mollified, somewhat, when he sat on the couch and Inojin flopped over his lap, gazing warmly up at him with a soft smile. Inojin’s expression and closeness coaxed a smile from Shikadai, and he bent his head to press a chaste kiss to Inojin’s lips.

“The two minutes aren’t up yet,” Chocho interrupted, bringing the champagne bottle into their lounge area, and plopping onto the oversized armchair she had claimed as her own. She fired the cork expertly at the kitchen wall, and it bounced off to land neatly in the sink.

“Nice,” Shikadai nodded.

Chocho winked at him, before pouring three glasses and handing two to the boys.

“To our new apartment,” Chocho toasted, holding her glass out.

Inojin and Shikadai leant forward to clink the three glasses together, with Shikadai keeping his free arm across Inojin to make sure he remained firmly on Shikadai’s lap.

“May it not fall down around us because it was the cheapest place we looked at,” Shikadai added.

Inojin elbowed him in the stomach. “It’s a great apartment, Shikadai!”

“It’s not,” Shikadai tried, and failed, to suppress a smile. “The staircase alone is reason enough to make sure our last wills and testaments are up to date.”

Chocho scoffed. “Oh, please, it’ll take more than a staircase to kill us. We’re the Ino-Shika-Cho; if there’s one thing we’re known for it’s withstanding the test of time.”

“It remains to be seen if we can stand the test of independence,” Shikadai added wryly.

“We can do anything,” Chocho claimed.

“Agreed,” Inojin added confidently.

“Almost anything,” Shikadai cautioned. He took a sip of champagne, before adding dryly, “Except selecting sensible pajamas.”

Chapter Text

It was unusual for Shikadai to be the first of his team awake in the mornings, but he needed to be out early for a mission. Inojin was curled up in his bed, bundled beneath blankets, and Shikadai carefully got ready without waking his partner.

The sun was just beginning to rise, and he stood on their little balcony, sipping coffee, while he watched the sky lighten. There were plant pots all around him, crowding the already small space. Shikadai liked how it looked – different leaves and flowers clumped together like their own personal meadow.

He finished his coffee and dumped his mug in the sink, before leaving the apartment.

He wanted to get this mission done as soon as he could. He had plans for the evening.

He and Inojin were celebrating their one-year anniversary, and Shikadai had managed to secure a reservation at a new, upscale restaurant across Konoha that Inojin had been whining about visiting since it opened. (And Chocho had been whining about ever since she heard he got a reservation without including her.)

Shikadai was lucky today in that his mission was within the village, and comprised largely of tedious paperwork and discussions, but he knew from experience that meetings tended to run over time because people were bad at listening and even worse at comprehending.

Konoha was bathed in pale morning light, with the air crisp and fresh, and Shikadai smiled to himself as he walked.

It was going to be a lovely day, and the ending was going to be even better.

He could hardly wait.

Inojin pried his eyes open, and closed them again almost immediately. He had gone to bed the night before feeling overly tired, with a slight headache, and this morning he felt awful.

He was cold, his throat was dry and burning, and his muscles all ached.

Inojin buried his face into his pillow with a miserable groan. He wanted water, but the thought of rising and walking to the kitchen seemed akin to an S-rank mission. For as long as he could, he avoided moving, but eventually thirst overcame his other preferences.

Sitting up proved to be a challenge. The room spun wildly around him, and he nearly collapsed down again with the sudden onset of dizziness. There was a pounding behind his eyes, and he fruitlessly massaged a hand across his forehead hoping to ease the pain.

When he finally managed to stand up, it was with the assistance of the wall, since he didn’t trust himself to remain vertical without a point of refence. He shuffled his way out to the kitchen, desperately thirsty. His throat was raspy when he swallowed, and grating with each shuddery breath.

Once in the kitchen, he laid his head down on the countertop to relish in the coolness of the marble. His legs felt slightly wobbly, but he didn’t really care if he fell splat on the floor because the tiles would be welcoming and cold.

He heard their balcony door open, and then Chocho’s bright voice.

“Oh, good morning – ew,” her tone changed abruptly. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Duuno,” Inojin sighed, swallowing again to attempt to ease the dry itchiness in his throat. It didn’t work. “I feel awful.”

“You look awful,” Chocho observed helpfully. She filled a glass with water, and nudged it against Inojin’s cheek. “You should go back to bed.”

“It’s too far away,” Inojin lamented. Lifting his head enough to take the glass from her made everything spin again, and he had to close his eyes against the dizziness. He drank the water, eternally grateful for its existence, and sank into the counter once more.

Chocho’s hand felt cool and refreshing when she placed it on his forehead, and Inojin gave an approving hum.

“You’re toasty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Isn’t tonight your big date?” Chocho sounded worried, but Inojin couldn’t open his eyes to check.

He made a mumbling agreeing noise.

“Then you have to rest,” she claimed. “Maybe you’ll feel better after lunch. I’m meeting Sarada for a short mission but until then I can keep an eye on you.”

He nodded, rubbing his cheek against the cool marble countertop. He would have been content to remain there all day but suddenly he was being lifted up in Chocho’s powerful arms.

“What the fuck?” It was a raspy, hoarse declaration of indignation, as well as his only protest because he lacked all strength to wrestle himself free.

With his dignity left firmly on the kitchen counter, Inojin was carried back to his room and plonked onto his bed. He curled into a ball, unsure if he was hot or cold.

Chocho fussed around him, forcefully dosing him with more water, mumbling about making soup, shaking out his blankets and ensuring they were in easy reach when he wanted to bundle up into them again. A lot of that passed Inojin by in a daze, and the next time he was aware of his surroundings, he was alone.

There was a little note propped up against his glass of water, in Chocho’s unmistakably flowy handwriting.

I’m out with Sarada, call if you need anything. There’s soup in the fridge and something for your fever.

Inojin squinted at the table beside his bed, finally spotting the little rice bowl with two white pills in it. He swallowed them down, and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke was with an abrupt urgency as his stomach coiled, turned, and he bolted for the bathroom just in time to throw up in the toilet and not on the floor, because he didn’t think he would survive cleaning it up or the embarrassment that would surely follow.

With a groan, Inojin staggered upright and over to the sink. He rinsed his mouth and did his best to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. He already knew his hair was a mess, and he didn’t want to know what his face looked like. He splashed some water on his damp skin, and stood for a moment deciding if he needed to be sick again or if he could risk returning to bed.

He eventually dragged himself back to his room, and threw his sweaty shirt onto the floor. After a moment of indecision, he pulled on a clean shirt and stole Shikadai’s hoodie off the back of his desk chair. It smelled like him, and was soft and warm.

Inojin flopped back into bed, with the sickening conclusion that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to go out later that evening. He was going to have to miss their date.

Their special date. Their special, anniversary date that Shikadai had been so pleased about.

The thought of letting Shikadai down, of disappointing him, cut Inojin to the very core, and he felt frustrated, defeated tears well up in his eyes. He squashed his face into his pillow to push them down. A few stray tears leaked out, and he wiped at his face in irritation.

“Stupid,” he muttered, angry at himself and his apparently faulty immune system. Shikadai was going to be upset. He was going to be disappointed, and that was something Inojin never wanted to be responsible for.

He snuggled down into Shikadai’s hoodie with a weary sniffle, closed his eyes, and tried not to think of the minutes ticking down until Shikadai would be home, and Inojin would ruin his day.

“I’m home,” Shikadai called as he opened the front door. He toed off his shoes, and dropped his bag onto the floor. “Give me thirty minutes to shower and change, and then we can go.”

He shoved his bag closer to the wall with one foot, then looked up with an automatic smile as Inojin entered the room. The smile fell almost immediately.

Inojin’s hair was ruffled, and he was hunched into Shikadai’s dark green hoodie. He looked sallow and pale, with watery eyes and a wretched downturn to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Shikadai asked, looking concerned. He closed the distance between them in one long stride and searched Inojin for any obvious injuries.

Inojin shook his head, stating miserably, “I’m sick.”

“I figured that much,” Shikadai took a step closer, a hand cupping Inojin’s cheek. He was unusually warm. “But why the long face? Are you hurt? You look like you’re about to cry.”

Inojin sniffed, using the heel of his hand to wipe at an eye. “I might.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Inojin swallowed hard, feeling an irritating lump form in his throat. “We’ve got plans. We’ve got plans and I’m going to ruin them. And I feel awful.”

He wanted to add on more, to express how disappointed he was with himself, how vulnerable and out of sorts he was feeling, but the deep concern in Shikadai’s jade eyes drowned out Inojin’s words and, feeling weak and ill, he couldn’t help a few tears from forming and spilling down his cheeks.

Shikadai immediately looked alarmed. “Inojin, what’s the matter? You don’t usually cry.”

“I feel bad,” Inojin admitted, choking on a breath. “I’m ruining everything. And I don’t want to.”

He clenched his jaw to prevent any sobs. It wasn’t helping his self-loathing to break down into tears; that was out of character and infuriating, and his frustration at being unable to control his own emotions only made him feel worse.

“Hey, hey,” Shikadai said soothingly. “Settle down. It’s okay.”

“But it’s our special date,” Inojin insisted, stopping to sniff loudly.

“So we’ll reschedule. I’ll call Chocho and let her take our reservation.”

“But,” Inojin tried again, interrupted by a small sob. “It’s a special day and I ruined it. You wanted to celebrate and make it special . . .”

“Inojin,” Shikadai pulled back, placing a hand firmly onto each of Inojin’s shoulders. He looked at him seriously. “Listen to me. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if we spend our time at a fancy restaurant, or here on the couch having a nap. As long as I’m with you, it’s special. As long as you’re with me, it’s all I want.”

Inojin sniffed again. “You sure?”

“I’m very sure,” Shikadai replied firmly. “It’s not the places we’re at, or the things we do, that make our relationship. It’s just us, together. No matter where we are, being together is enough. It’s always enough.”

Inojin swallowed hard, nodding slowly. He stepped forward, pressing his face into Shikadai’s chest. Shikadai wrapped his arms around Inojin, holding him tightly.

“Everything is fine,” Shikadai assured softly. “Now, how long have you been sick?”

“Felt funny last night, and woke up feeling really gross,” Inojin mumbled into Shikadai’s vest. He was probably getting snot and tears on it, but it felt so nice to be close that he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.

“Have you taken any medicine?”

“Threw it up again.”

“When was that?”

“I dunno. In the morning. Chocho was still here.”

Shikadai rubbed a few absent circles on Inojin’s back. “Okay. I’m going to put you on the couch while I get changed, then I’ll make tea. Which meds will help with the fever?”

“The little round white ones under the bathroom sink,” Inojin whispered. “In a blue box.”

“Alright.” Shikadai carefully guided Inojin to the couch, and sat him down. Inojin was reluctant to let Shikadai go, but gentle reassurances that he would be back in a few minutes placated him.

Shikadai was quick to throw his mission clothes off and swap them for track pants and a t-shirt, then he went into the bathroom to rummage for the pills Inojin mentioned, with his phone wedged between his cheek and his shoulder.

Chocho had understandably mixed feelings about the call, partially excited to be able to go to the restaurant, and partially upset to hear that Inojin was still feeling unwell, but Shikadai assured her that it was fine, Inojin was fine, and they would do something for their anniversary when Inojin was feeling better.

He returned to the lounge area armed with a blanket, and went past the couch to throw it onto Inojin on his way to make tea.

Inojin was lying down, staring blankly at nothing. Shikadai stopped to brush his hair back, finding the soft blond locks damp with sweat. He frowned, but didn’t mention it just yet. Inojin let out an involuntary, longing whine when Shikadai removed his hand, and the sound brought a soft smile to Shikadai’s face.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he promised. When Inojin reached a hand up to vaguely attempt to drag Shikadai down, Shikadai caught his fingers, gave them a brief, reassuring squeeze, then planted a kiss on Inojin’s knuckles. “One minute.”

“One minute is too long,” Inojin grumbled, letting his arm fall back down. He heard Shikadai move away.

Shikadai flicked their kettle on, then did a cursory inspection of the fridge. Chocho had helpfully labelled a container ‘Soup for Inojin. And us when we are hungry’. Shikadai would attempt that later; for now, he wanted to make sure Inojin had some fluids in him.

He returned with a small tray equipped with two mugs of tea, two glasses of water, the pills and a small bowl of leftover rice for himself. If nothing else, Inojin would be well hydrated. Shikadai set the tray on the coffee table, then turned to Inojin.

“Shift,” he said, nudging Inojin with one knee. Inojin made a disagreeing groaning sound, and Shikadai rolled his eyes. “You’re sick, not dead; you can move a bit.”

“Don’t wanna,” Inojin mumbled, mostly into the couch cushion.

Shikadai, carefully, shoved Inojin up against the backrest, then sat down. He took a moment to shake a few pills out of the box. “How many?”

“Two,” Inojin murmured.

“Okay. Sit up.” Shikadai looked over his shoulder at Inojin.

It took Inojin a moment to respond, but he managed to heave himself up and take the pills and water from Shikadai. Then he flopped down again, with a loud sniff. Shikadai dragged the coffee table closer to the couch, so he would be able to reach the tea easily without needing to leave Inojin’s side.

He readjusted the blanket over Inojin, and lay alongside him with an arm around Inojin’s shoulder and his head on the arm of the couch. He grabbed the TV remote with his free hand and skipped idly through channels until he found a decent looking movie.

Inojin buried his head mostly in Shikadai’s armpit. He liked being close to Shikadai like this, to be so closely situated it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Usually, it had a romantic sense of oneness to it, but today the nearness, the intimacy, the trust and the caring made the tightness in Inojin’s throat and chest ease slightly.

The minutes passed in silence, with Shikadai watching TV, occasionally prodding Inojin awake for a sip of tea, for some water, to brush his hand across Inojin’s forehead to ensure he wasn’t too hot, wasn’t too sweaty. Inojin accepted the coddling with a mix of pliant willingness, because being spoiled and cuddled was always a welcome treat, and mild mortification at being helpless and sick and ruining their special evening.

It wasn’t the night they had planned, and it definitely wasn’t the night Inojin had wanted, but there was something about lying on the couch with Shikadai, under a blanket and cuddled together, that felt special. He wasn’t sure he had the words for it, but it could have been a mixture of peace, content, warmth, acceptance and calm. In lieu of trying to explain what he felt, he merely cuddled deeper into Shikadai’s side. There was a brief point of pressure on the top of his head – a kiss, Inojin was sure, and he tried to swallow back a few tears at the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For ruining the date.”

“I already told you,” Shikadai replied, the arm around Inojin giving a reassuring squeeze. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter where we are, if you’re there with me.”

Inojin let out a sigh. “. . . But . . .”

“We have the whole future to go on special dates. And get sick on the couch. And do all those other things that no one talks about.”

“The whole . . . future . . .?” Inojin lifted his head, frowning at Shikadai.

Shikadai tried to play it cool, keeping his eyes on the TV, but Inojin could see the colour burning on his cheeks. “Well, yeah, I mean . . .” He cleared his throat awkwardly, shrugged, made an effort not to look at Inojin. “We have, presumably, the rest of our lives together. All three of us. We’re a team, after all.”

Inojin raised an eyebrow. “Hm, nice deflection away from what was basically a promise to be together forever.”

“We are a team,” Shikadai defended with a huff, turning his head away.

Inojin buried himself into Shikadai’s arm again. “Yeah. We are.”

It took a minute for Shikadai’s confidence and ego to return, and he finally murmured, “I love you.”

Inojin was dozing, but Shikadai’s voice drew him back to reality. He sniffed, shifting about to ease the tension in his muscles. He knew he sounded drowsy and disinterested, and he also knew Shikadai wouldn’t hold it against him, when he replied, “Love you, too.”

Shikadai’s fingers ran down Inojin’s arm, and back up again with gentle strokes.

Inojin was almost asleep when Shikadai spoke again. “Happy anniversary.”

Chapter Text

It had been a wonderfully relaxing mission so far.

Shikadai had led his team a short way out of Konoha to meet up with Keki, some young relative of the Fire Daimyo, and escort her to Konoha to visit at the large, overly ornate mansion that special, snobby (Daimyo and his relatives) people stayed at when in town for business.

Shikadai had no idea why this even required a Chuunin level escort, since it was quite literally a stroll through the forest. He wasn’t going to complain, though. He was getting very well paid for taking a walk.

The mission had taken an interesting turn when the young woman, maybe their age, maybe a few years older, Shikadai may or may not have actually read the mission briefing, had taken an instant and keen liking to Inojin.

So much so, that she hadn’t spoken a word to either Shikadai or Chocho for the entire journey, but she had kept up an endless, largely one-sided, conversation with the last member of the team.

Shikadai and Chocho flanked the young woman on either side, exchanging amused looks, while Inojin was effectively in a hostage situation - that he was uncertain how to politely escape. He did his best to look invested, to pretend to be engaged, but it was clear that he was not enjoying the mission.

Certainly not as much as his teammates.

“How long before he goes insane?” Chocho asked, when they paused for a rest, and their mission objective sat right up close to Inojin, still talking.

Shikadai was a short distance away, keeping watch with an amused twinkle in his eye. He sipped some water, and replied, “Think it’s already happened.”

“She’s talking his ear off.”

“She likes him.”

“He doesn’t like her back,” Chocho grinned.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Shikadai chuckled. “Ah, well, it’s keeping her occupied. She’s having a good time, and that’s good for us.” It was so much easier to do escort missions when the objective was in a good mood.

Inojin sent a pained expression towards them when Keki paused for breath, but the only recognition he got was a raised water canteen from Shikadai and a cheeky little finger wave from Chocho. He rolled his eyes at them, and by then Keki had refuelled her conversational arsenal and was talking again.

They made it into Konoha in plenty of time, and Shikadai took the lead then to get to the mansion. By this time, Keki had finagled her way into holding Inojin’s hand – which had caused a muted choking fit of hysteria from Chocho – and Inojin’s shoulders were drooping downwards the longer the mission continued.

Shikadai briefly considered taking a longer route through the village to prolong Inojin’s torture. When he hesitated at a junction in the street, Inojin threw him an absolutely deathly, poisonous glare. Shikadai swallowed down a wide grin, and took them along the direct route.

“Here we are,” he announced shortly afterwards, stopping outside the metal gates. He could see the open lawns beyond, and the neat path to the front door of the large house. Keki paused with a sigh, giving Inojin an adoring look. He took a step back as far as he could without wrenching his hand free of her grasp.

Shikadai cleared his throat of any more giggles, and turned to address the nearby guard and explain why they were there. The guard chatted idly with him for a minute, while Inojin did his best to extract his hand.

“The, uh,” Inojin finally pried his hand away. “The gates are open.”

Keki looked over her shoulder to ascertain that was true, then turned back to Inojin.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling sincerely, never looking away from Inojin. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Inojin hesitated.

“I have a few meetings to take care of tomorrow,” she continued, still smiling. “But I’m free for dinner.”

Inojin blinked. “What?”

“Dinner,” she repeated. “Tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He searched frantically through his thoughts for an excuse. “I don’t think I can-“

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked earnestly, blinking wide-eyed at Inojin.

Inojin froze in place. “Well, no, but –“

“Then I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night,” she beamed, looking satisfied. She nodded firmly in self-affirmation, giving Inojin a quick hug and a smile before she turned to enter the grounds.

Inojin remained stupefied in place, unsure of what he was meant to do next. He didn’t dare turn around to gauge the reactions of his teammates.

He didn’t have to, to know what they were thinking – Shikadai cracked first, letting out a snorting exhale that turned into helpless laughter, and Chocho’s snickers soon transformed into full blown guffaws.

Inojin spun to face them, yelling indignantly, “It’s not funny!”

That did nothing but raise their levels of hysteria, and Shikadai ended up leaning on Chocho for support, his other arm across his stomach, while Chocho wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and almost choked to death trying not to succumb to more laughter.

Inojin expression soured. “You guys are the worst teammates ever.”

When they were back in their apartment, with Chocho making dinner, Shikadai sitting at the kitchen counter typing out their mission report, Inojin leaned his elbows on the counter and looked across at Shikadai.

“Hey,” he began.

“Hm?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow to assure he was listening, but didn’t look away from his laptop.

“Uh, about this . . . date . . .”

Chocho exploded into giggles again, and Shikadai’s lips twitched upwards.

“What about it?” he asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Inojin sent Chocho a sideways glare, that did nothing to curb her amusement. With a pout, he faced Shikadai again. “I . . . Are you okay with this?”

“Am I okay with the funniest thing to ever happen in my life?” Shikadai grinned, flicking his eyes to Inojin over the top of his laptop, then back down to the screen. “Yes, I’m cool with it.”

“Ugh,” Inojin rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“You want to know if I’m okay with my boyfriend going on a ‘date’ with someone else?” Shikadai chuckled. “On a professional note, I think turning down a relative of the Daimyo would be a bad move. Gaining favour might benefit Konoha in the future, and being rude by declining an invitation could cause us problems. On a personal note,” his grin widened. “Well, I know who you are. I know what you think. I know you have no interest in Keki and I’m not threatened by anyone else flirting with you or anything similar, because I trust you as a partner, and I trust you to make the right decisions. Does that answer your question?”

Inojin groaned, and flattened himself into the countertop. “But can’t you tell her that I can’t go? You’re the team leader; make up an excuse.”

“Again, on a professional level, this might be beneficial. On a personal - and very unprofessional - level, well,” Shikadai threw a glance at Chocho, who was still spluttering giggles. He turned a wicked smirk to Inojin. “It’s fun to watch you squirm.”

“I hate you,” Inojin pouted.

“Love you too,” Shikadai replied casually, and continued typing.

“You owe me,” Inojin grumbled, mostly into the marble countertop. “For the suffering I am going through.”

“If the Feudal Lord gives us more money after this date, I’ll do something special for you,” Shikadai promised.

“You better,” Inojin grunted.

Chocho nudged him in the back. “You need something to wear.”

He hummed vaguely.

“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow. We’ve got the morning off,” her voice perked up. “Maybe we can stop and get our hair done at the same time. Shikadai,” she looked at him, “want to come with?”

“For shopping and a makeover?” he raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather stab myself.”

“Fine, just the two of us then,” Chocho shrugged. She patted Inojin’s back. “We can get our nails done.”

Inojin heaved a sigh, resigned to his fate of an unwanted and, in his opinion, unnecessary date.

But it would be nice to go shopping with Chocho. That was the one silver lining in the entire debacle.

The next evening came far too quickly, and Inojin was not looking forward to it.

“What if she tries to kiss me?” he asked anxiously, staring into the mirror propped on his desk as he fussed with his hair.

Shikadai lounged on his bed, reading a comic. He lowered the book enough to smirk. “Figure something out.”

“Can I say no?”

“You can always say no.”

“I said no to this date and that didn’t work out for me.”

“You didn’t technically say no,” Shikadai replied, returning to reading.

Inojin let out a long, loud sigh, finally leaving his hair alone. “The Daimyo better do everything you want after this.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Inojin had a frustrated growl under his breath. “Ugh, do you think I need different earrings? Are the studs okay? Do I need something fancier?”

“Could always wear your pink rose earrings,” Shikadai commented idly. “Then she’ll figure out you’re gay as fuck and end the date.”

Inojin threw him a disgruntled look. “You are no help at all.”

“I wasn’t trying to help.”

Inojin rolled his eyes, deciding to stop fretting too much. “Okay, fine, I’m going dressed like this and it’ll be fine.”

“Cool.” Shikadai tossed his comic aside and stood up, moving to his closet.

“What are you doing?” Inojin asked suspiciously, as Shikadai threw a neat dress shirt over his shoulder onto the bed.

“Since you’re having fun on a date,” Shikadai looked over his shoulder, voice brimming with mischief, “Chocho and I decided we needed a fun date night, too.”

Inojin groaned. “Are you going to spy on me?”

“No,” Shikadai sounded thoroughly unconvincing. “We just happen to be having dinner in the same restaurant. You mind your business, and we’ll mind ours.”

“No, you won’t,” Inojin muttered petulantly. He let out another frustrated groan and whined, “I don’t wanna do this . . .”

“It’s just dinner, and it might be helpful,” Shikadai replied. “The Daimyo is always complaining about shinobi work being too expensive, and not wanting to give us money for extra projects and missions. If Keki has a good time and likes you, she might be able to convince him that we’re worth something. I know it’s tedious, and political, but sometimes life sucks like that. Besides,” Shikadai’s smile was genuine, “I’ll be here when you get home.”

Inojin sighed. “Okay, fine . . .”

His dour mood lifted slightly when Shikadai appeared in front of him, tipping his head up with two fingers beneath his chin and pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

“And you look amazing,” Shikadai added, once he drew back.

Inojin couldn’t help but crack a smile. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Keki was, in Inojin’s opinion, overly keen to see him. She launched immediately into eager conversation, barely pausing long enough for them to be seated. (Inojin had to admit he was impressed with the restaurant, and especially the romantic vibe and he wondered how easy it would be to convince Shikadai to bring him here on a date he actually wanted to be on.)

Inojin did his best to nod along and agree with her, and sound invested in his replies. He wasn’t as clued up as Shikadai was on the more political things that Keki mentioned, but he made sure to take mental notes about anything that sounded important.

He knew that Shikadai and Chocho were watching him. Probably having a good time. Probably laughing at his expense.

I love you both, but I hate you too, he thought grimly. He managed a bright smile when Keki asked him a question about the food, and offered up an enthusiastic response that seemed to make her even more at ease.

One of us is happy, he thought.

He heard a chuckle from somewhere in the restaurant, and amended his thought. Three of us.

He suppressed a sigh as Keki droned on, and pasted an interested expression on his face.

Across the restaurant, Chocho faced Shikadai again after a prolonged pause to watch Inojin. She was still amused by the entire concept.

“Should we rescue him?” Shikadai asked.

“Not yet,” Chocho replied, leaning her chin in her hand. “I’m still having fun watching him suffer. And I haven’t finished eating yet.”

Shikadai snorted, and reached for his glass. “You had a snack before we came.”

“And then a lovely meal here,” Chocho added. “It’s a nice place; why not enjoy the food?”

“I think you’re getting enough enjoyment,” he replied dryly, as her eyes lit up at the way Inojin’s shoulders sagged.

“Don’t pretend you’re not having as much fun,” Chocho winked at him. “You love it when Inojin gets into sticky situations. Also – you keep mentioning getting him out of it.”

“So?”

“So,” Chocho sat back, expression smug. “You’re dying to swoop in there like a knight in shining armour and rescue your damsel in distress.”

Shikadai glowered at her, but did not have a suitable response. Eventually, he settled on a mumbled, “Shut up.”

“Untwist your panties, genius, you’ll get your chance to rescue your princess from the big bad dragon.”

Shikadai glanced over his shoulder at Inojin and Keki. “She’s a nice girl, just really oblivious.”

Chocho shrugged, turning her attention back to her food. “Whenever you have your next fancy Daimyo meeting you can let us know if Inojin was successful in wooing her.”

Shikadai chuckled, straightening to face Chocho. “No dessert. Once you’re done with your main, we’re helping Inojin.”

Chocho flashed him an agreeable smile.

They spent the next few minutes finishing their food, pointing secret glances at Inojin, until Chocho eventually sat back in her seat and nodded to Shikadai.

“Okay,” Chocho finally relented. “Now we can rescue him. Remember to cause a big scene.”

“Why do I have to cause a big scene? Why can’t I just tell him there’s an emergency mission?” Shikadai cocked his head to one side. “I don’t know how to cause a scene.”

“I’ll teach you,” Chocho said, with a wide grin and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Just do as I say.”

Inojin had resigned himself to a long, awkward evening, so he was merely nodding along with Keki’s monologue, adding in the occasional comment here and there, and sincerely wishing for the date to end.

Keki was in the midst of a rant about someone within the Daimyo’s close circle of advisors, and part of Inojin thought he should be paying more attention in case this was helpful information, but most of him was staring at the condensation on his glass of water and trying to predict which drops would form and run down the glass first.

The one he was watching was growing fatter and fatter as Keki spoke, and Inojin fixed his eyes on it. Slowly, the drop began sliding down the glass, gaining speed the farther down it slid.

“Inojin?”

The second he heard Shikadai’s voice, coloured with fake surprise, he felt a sudden lump of dread forming in his stomach.

Oh, no, what are they planning now? He thought frantically.

He snapped his head up, to see Shikadai standing at their table, paused in midstride.

Keki looked up as well, face falling into a frown. “Uh . . . can I help you?”

Inojin suppressed a sigh, when he heard a Chocho-sounding snort and chuckle somewhere to his left. There was no way this was going to end with anything less than a scene . . .

Shikadai drew himself up, and Inojin wanted to bury his face in his hands and pretend he didn’t exist.

“How could you?” Shikadai continued, sending a look to Keki, who cocked an eyebrow.

“How could he what?” she asked. “I don’t know who you are, but we’re on a date and you’re interrupting us, so keep moving.”

You spent the entire day with him yesterday, Inojin thought despairingly. How do you not recognise him?

“You’re cheating on me,” Shikadai said, and Inojin would admit that he did an excellent job imbuing fake hurt into his voice. “I thought we had something special. But I can’t believe you’d be out on a date with someone else . . . You betrayed me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Inojin gritted out between clenched teeth, as Keki turned to stare at him.

“Is this true?” she asked.

Inojin sank further down in his seat. “Well-“

“You can have him,” Shikadai said, with a haughty toss of his head that Inojin knew was rehearsed because Chocho did it all the time. “I don’t need to be with someone who cheats on me.”

Chocho gave you that line, too, didn’t she? Inojin mentally groaned. He kept staring at the tablecloth, as Keki objected loudly, “How could you agree to go out with me when you’re already with someone? I thought you were a better person than that.”

“Clearly, he is not,” Shikadai growled, and Inojin looked grumpily at him, eyes narrowing at the quiver in Shikadai’s cheeks as he struggled not to smirk.

Wrap it up, Inojin thought. You’ve had enough fun.

He should have known that, with Chocho’s coaching, Shikadai wasn’t going to merely storm off. To Inojin’s horror, Shikadai grabbed Inojin’s glass off the table and disrupted the flow of Inojin’s next racing water droplet.

“Shikadai, don’t you dare,” he warned, sitting abruptly upright.

“This is what you get for cheating on me!” Shikadai flung the water into Inojin’s face, and Keki gasped dramatically.

Without further comment, Shikadai stalked off, and Inojin let out a sigh. He blinked water from his eyes, and looked at Keki. “Um . . . I should probably go and talk to him . . .”

“Probably.” She sounded stiff, and her relaxed demeanour had vanished. She rose from her seat. “I have business to attend to. Good night.”

Inojin stayed where he was, sourly feeling water drip off his face. Chocho apparently lost all self-control, and he heard a sudden guffaw of laughter from across the restaurant. He whipped around out of his seat to glare at her.

“Come on,” Shikadai magically reappeared, smiling warmly. “Let’s go home.”

They left the restaurant together, with Chocho muffling giggles. Inojin waited until they had jogged a suitable distance away before giving them each a grumpy look.

“You couldn’t have just said there was an emergency mission you needed me for?” Inojin grumbled, still wiping his face.

“We thought this was a better option,” Shikadai explained with a crooked smile.

“How?”

“Because an emergency mission would still leave you available for dates in the future,” Chocho said brightly. “This way, Keki will no longer be interested in you.”

There was a glimmer of logic to that, that Inojin refused to acknowledge. “You guys still suck.”

Shikadai slung an arm across Inojin’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Yeah, yeah, we know.”

They continued the walk home in silence, until Inojin finally mumbled. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Shikadai squeezed him a bit closer, pressing a quick kiss to Inojin’s hair. “Any time.”

Chocho snorted and rolled her eyes, and increased her pace to leave her boys behind.

Shikadai stopped walking, drawing Inojin to a halt. Inojin looked up at him, questioningly.

“Want to go on a real date?” Shikadai asked softly.

“Now?”

“If you’d like. We’re all dressed up for it.”

“You threw water in my face.”

“Yeah, your eyeliner is running a bit. Looks dumb.”

Inojin sighed. “Let’s go home. You owe me snuggles and maybe a massage. And dessert – we left before that.”

Shikadai nodded agreeably. “Alright. Sounds good.”

He leaned down to give Inojin a slow, languid kiss before they continued on their way home. Inojin entwined their fingers as they walked.

“By the way, the water was Chocho’s idea,” Shikadai explained.

“I figured.”

“And it was plan B. Her first thought was that I stab you with a fork.”

Inojin grimaced. “Thank god for plan B. Would you really have stabbed me?”

Shikadai laughed. “Chocho made it sound like a good idea.”

“How?”

Ahead of them, Chocho called over her shoulder, “Because he wants to fork you!”

Shikadai sighed at her comment, but did not bother denying it. He squeezed Inojin’s fingers, and looked pointedly down at the ground. “You’re such a drag . . .”

Inojin leaned his head on Shikadai’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m ready to get forked, but when we get home it might be nice to spoon.”

Chapter Text

On the way home from a day of tedious paperwork, Shikadai stopped by his parents’ house to pick up a few things for the apartment. He found Temari sitting on the porch outside, looking over one of the ancient old Nara texts.

“Hey,” Shikadai greeted, coming to sit beside her. “Where’s Dad?”

“Clan meeting,” Temari replied.

“An important one?”

“I hope not, since neither you nor I are there.” Temari closed the old book. “How’s the apartment?”

“It’s been fun. Chocho basically does all the cooking so that’s nice. Means I don’t have to do anything when I get home.” He paused, before asking, “When is Dad getting back?”

“He’ll be home soon, if you want to hang around to see him,” Temari said.

“Yeah,” Shikadai leaned back on his hands, tipping his head back to stare at the sky. “Might as well.”

Shikadai had laid down on the porch and fallen asleep by the time Shikamaru returned, and nudged him awake with a foot.

“Yo,” Shikamaru said. “What are you doing here?”

Shikadai blinked his eyes open. The sun hadn’t moved much, so he knew he hadn’t spent too long sleeping the day away. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Needed to pick up some stuff. Thought I’d say hi at the same time.”

“Hi,” Shikamaru sat down next to him. He stayed silent after that, and Shikadai gave him a curious, sideways look.

“You okay?” he asked.

Shikamaru glanced at him. “Yeah.”

Shikadai almost rolled his eyes. “Dad, I’m not five anymore. Don’t lie to me.”

That prompted a rueful smile, and Shikamaru stared at the ground. “You’re just like your mother . . . nagging all the time . . .”

“So what’s wrong?” Shikadai asked again.

“Nothing, really,” Shikamaru sighed. He held up a hand to stop Shikadai, as the boy prepared to complain again. “There’s nothing wrong, Shikadai.”

“Then why do you seem so down?” Shikadai waited, curiously, for Shikamaru to speak again.

After a pause, Shikamaru absently rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Clan stuff.”

“I’m part of the clan, too,” Shikadai pointed out. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Shikamaru squeezed his shoulder. “The elders are being a pain in the ass, again. Grumpy old bastards.”

“About what?”

“You,” Shikamaru admitted. At Shikadai’s questioning look, he elaborated. “You’re the heir to this clan. You’re meant to produce the next heir to this clan. But unless there’s something about Inojin you’re not telling me, I don’t see that happening.”

“Is that a problem?” Shikadai asked, feeling a nervous coil twist in his stomach. This had been a subject of his adolescent angst for many years already. There had always been a worry that he was disappointing his father, letting him down, by pursuing Inojin when he knew that the Nara clan was meant to go to him, and the Ino-Shika-Cho was meant to continue.

“Not to me,” Shikamaru said, staring blankly forward. “But the elders . . . have expressed some concerns.” Shikamaru let out a hollow laugh. “They didn’t care when it started. No one cared. When I first let them know about you and Inojin, I got told I was overreacting. Now look at them, all panicking.”

“Overreacting?” Shikadai questioned. This was not a story he had been told before. “So . . . you told the elders I was seeing Inojin and they didn’t care? But now they do?”

“Now that they’ve figured out it might be real. Might be forever.” Shikamaru looked at his son, then looked away again. “Now suddenly I’m right and everyone’s freaking out.”

“Right about what?”

“Everyone told me to let it go, that you guys are kids, no one knows what they want in life when they’re that young.” Shikamaru shook his head, drawing in a deep breath. “The elders kept saying it wasn’t going to matter, because you and Inojin wouldn’t be together forever. They said no one knows who they’re meant to spend their lives with when they’re seventeen.”

“But?” Shikadai asked quietly, sensing there was a reason for Shikamaru’s uncertainty.

Shikamaru looked at him, dark eyes serious. “I knew at seventeen.”

Shikadai fell silent then. He stared at the ground, mulling through his thoughts. After a long pause, he spoke softly, “I can’t see the future. But I know that right now, I want to be with Inojin.”

“I want that, too,” Shikamaru said, and Shikadai gave him a look of surprise.

“You do?”

“Of course I do.” Shikamaru smiled softly. “You’re happy with him. You love him. I know he’s a good person and he brings out the best in you. Why wouldn’t I want that for you?”

“Because . . . because I’m letting you down. I might . . . not be everything you hoped I would be.”

“Shikadai.” Shikamaru looked at him, with a worried frown. “Don’t say that. I had no expectations when you were born. You are meant to be your own person. You couldn’t let me down if you tried.”

Shikadai wanted to believe him, but Shikamaru had always been soft on him. Had always given in to Shikadai’s whims. Had gently lied to let him be happy. So it was hard now to believe him when he said it was fine. It was hard to believe that his father – with a strong sense of duty and leader of a clan steeped in tradition – was truly okay with the choices Shikadai was making.

“Promise me you won’t stress about this,” Shikamaru said, after Shikadai was silent for too long.

“I won’t,” Shikadai replied, without hesitation. If Shikamaru could lie, so could Shikadai.

He stood up, calculating the time from the length of shadows. “I have to go. It was nice stopping by.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Shikamaru replied, and Shikadai huffed out a short laugh.

“I do my best, but well,” he shrugged. “You keep telling me I’m fifty per cent trouble.”

Shikadai came home to an empty apartment.

He threw his Chuunin vest at the hooks near the door, shrugging when it missed and fell to the floor. Without much care, he went to flop across the couch, and turn on the TV.

Inojin arrived home shortly afterwards, with a large sketchbook tucked under his arm. “Hey. How was your day?”

“Fine.” Shikadai murmured the word out, not looking away from the TV. He heard Inojin move around a bit, before the other boy appeared in his line of sight to give him a quizzical look.

Shikadai raised an eyebrow in reply.

“You good?” Inojin asked, sounding slightly curious.

“Yeah.” Shikadai shifted up against the back of the couch to make room for Inojin, who immediately lay on Shikadai’s chest. Inojin wriggled himself into a comfortable position, creating an instant line of warmth down Shikadai’s body.

The silence continued for a while, before Shikadai heaved a sigh.

“What’s up?” Inojin asked curiously, craning his head back to get a glimpse of Shikadai’s face.

“Just . . . clan stuff,” Shikadai admitted.

“What’s wrong?”

Shikadai laid an arm across Inojin’s chest, holding him lightly. “I don’t know . . . The future.”

“Because we’re clan heirs and we’ve ruined everything?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai paused. After mulling it over, he replied shortly, “Yeah.”

“You worry about that a lot,” Inojin observed softly.

“I don’t.”

“You do. I can see it when I link our thoughts.”

Shikadai snorted, and Inojin craned his head back to try to meet Shikadai’s eyes. “I can’t help it. You keep those thoughts right next to your thoughts about me. I don’t go looking for them – but I catch glimpses when we talk.”

“Hm.” Shikadai fell silent with a sigh. He moved his fingers in idle circles on Inojin’s chest.

“Do you regret it? Us?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai didn’t answer immediately, but not because he was uncertain of his answer. He paused to collect his thoughts. “No. There’s never been a moment with you that I’ve regretted. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel like I’m letting my clan and my father down. The two concepts are not mutually exclusive.”

Inojin’s fingers fiddled with Shikadai’s sleeve. “Hm . . . I guess.”

“Do you have any regrets?”

“I dunno. I had to turn down that cute guy last week because I’m already dating you.”

Shikadai snorted out a genuine laugh, squeezing his arm tighter around Inojin. “You’re such a drag.”

He bent his head to press his lips to Inojin’s hair. “Talk about something else. I don’t want to dwell on this anymore.”

His stomach twisted at the thought of letting his father down. Of being shunned by the clan. Of all manner of things – things that could have been prevented if he hadn’t taken that first step with Inojin.

He kissed Inojin’s hair again, and again, and again. He didn’t regret it. He truly didn’t.

But that didn’t make him feel like less of a failure to his name.

Inojin sat at the counter in the flower shop, absently brushing some trimmed off leaves into a neat pile.

Ino returned from the back room, a mug of tea in each hand. “Why the long face, sunshine?”

“How come you’ve never said anything to me about carrying on the clan?” Inojin asked.

Ino pushed a mug of tea towards him. “Because I don’t worry about things as much as Shikamaru does.”

“Do the Yamanaka elders complain? About me?”

“Not really.” Ino shrugged. “But that may be because I told them if they said anything to upset you I would scramble all their brains beyond recognition. That, and,” she added, with a small smile, “I was hoping to avoid the issue until I was dead and the clan was handed over to you. Then it can be your problem and not mine.”

“But seriously,” Inojin rolled his eyes. “Does it bother you? Me and Shikadai together?”

“I think it did at first,” Ino said slowly, trying to find her thoughts. “But that was because I was trying so hard to live up to the expectations of my father. I became head of this clan when I was sixteen. I was young, and I wanted to do everything perfectly. I got hung up on that for a while. So when you and Shikadai decided to be a little item,” she smiled at him, and Inojin flushed pink.

“That was hard to adjust to,” she continued, taking a sip of tea. “But I realized that my father only wanted me to be happy. And that’s the legacy I had to pass on to you. Not perfection – but passion.”

“Can you tell that to Shikadai, because he’s freaking out a little.”

“He’s a Nara; he can’t help but overthink,” Ino replied, with a casual shrug. “There’s plenty of time to worry about things like traditions in the future. For now, I’m not worried. You’re happy. I hope Shikadai is happy.” She gave Inojin a questioning look, and he nodded his confirmation. “Then that’s all that matters for now.”

Inojin smiled at her. “Thanks, Mom.”

They finished their tea with more idle conversation, and Inojin returned to the apartment later that evening. Shikadai wasn’t due home until late, and Chocho was out on a date with some poor soul she had preyed upon during a joint mission with another team.

Inojin wandered out to the balcony to check on the plants. They had an extensive collection by now. Most were edible, and Chocho loved popping out to pick a few herbs for whatever she was cooking, and Inojin liked training their tomato plants to climb up bamboo rods.

He had a flower collection as well, and he checked them to ensure all the plants looked healthy and happy. Then, with nothing else to do, he leaned on the balcony railing and gazed out at the village below. They had a lovely view of the village, of several streets and other buildings, and the mountains and forest were partially visible in the distance.

After a while of soaking in the fading sunlight and observing people, Inojin went inside again.

He had showered and changed into his pajamas, and was standing by the kitchen counter waiting for his dinner to heat up when Shikadai came through the door.

“Hey,” Inojin called.

“Hey,” Shikadai shrugged a reply, toeing off his shoes and hanging his Chuunin vest on its hook. He looked tired, and came to flop onto the couch, legs flung vaguely in front of him.

Inojin watched him. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You look tired.”

“Yeah, well, you look like an idiot in your stupid spotted pajamas.”

“Ooh, someone’s in a mood,” Inojin turned the microwave off. “Gonna tell me why you’re upset, or make me guess?”

“I’m not ‘in a mood’,” Shikadai grumbled, sinking lower into the couch. He stared blankly forwards, and Inojin gave him some time to figure out his thoughts. When Shikadai remained stubbornly silent, Inojin decided to intervene.

“Still worrying over the clan?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai heaved a sigh. “A little bit . . .”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Inojin reminded him. “It’s not forbidden or anything . . .”

“No, it’s not ‘forbidden’ to fool around with your best friend, but that’s not what this is about,” Shikadai rubbed a hand across his eyes. “It’s about the future. And expectations. Have you ever thought about the history of our clans? Our traditions predate Konoha.”

“I know.” Inojin stayed quiet then, letting Shikadai work his thoughts out in his own time.

Shikadai sat up, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders hunching.

“I want to . . . do the right thing. For everyone. But not everyone can be happy. And if I choose you, and let my clan down – let my dad down – I’m gonna feel guilty about that for the rest of my life.”

“Would you?” Inojin asked, and when Shikadai sent him a quizzical look, he clarified, “Would you choose me, over the clan?”

Shikadai stared at him, then nodded slowly. “As of right now . . . yes, I would.”

“But . . .?” Inojin could feel a ‘but’ sitting in Shikadai’s thoughts.

“But,” Shikadai began, slow and level, “When we’re older. When we’re wiser. The world may look different, then. And I don’t know . . . argh,” he buried his face in his hands. “That’s why this is so frustrating. I don’t know. I can’t know. I want to know – I want to know what I choose and who I become. I’m gonna fuck something up, and I wish I knew what I picked.”

Inojin came to crouch before him, gently pulling Shikadai’s hands away from his face.

“Either way,” he whispered, “I’ll be at your side. No matter what you choose.”

They looked at each other, green to blue, and Shikadai felt a fraction of the tension down his neck and across his shoulders melt at the earnestness of Inojin’s expression.

He sank back into the couch, effortlessly using Inojin’s gentle hold on his wrists to pull the blond into his lap.

“Yeah,” he sighed, after a moment of them staring at each other. “I know you’ll be there.”

Inojin smiled at him, knees gripping lightly at Shikadai’s hips. He laced their hands together. “So try not to worry so much. We don’t live in the future. We live here, now, in the present. Enjoy it with me? For as long as we can?”

Shikadai nodded, trying not to make the gesture seem too heavy. He flexed his fingers where they interlocked with Inojin’s – his skin was tanned bronze compared to Inojin. He pulled Inojin’s hand up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss on the pale skin of his knuckles.

Inojin smiled at him. “I know you’re never going to stop worrying over this . . . but things will work out.”

“And if they don’t?” Shikadai paused, still holding Inojin’s fingers softly against his lips.

“They will,” Inojin insisted. He studied the forest green in Shikadai’s eyes, hoping that he could reassure by his presence alone. “Trust me,” he added softly.

Shikadai’s green eyes never looked away from Inojin. “I do.”

Shikadai knew this wasn’t something he could just ignore. It wasn’t something he could put out of his mind. It was something that was going to stay with him. There were twists of guilt and worry and nervousness that entwined with the sheer happiness and peace that Inojin brought him.

Because Shikadai liked answers, and he didn’t have any. The lack of clarity was annoying – he wasn’t like Inojin and Chocho who could live happily with the sentiments ‘it’ll be okay’ and ‘see what will happen’.

But, maybe, Shikadai reflected, that was why fate had brought them together.

He glanced down.

Inojin was asleep across his chest, his hair falling everywhere. After a long talk on the couch, they had retreated to their bedroom and Inojin had foregone his bed in favour of clambering in with Shikadai and falling asleep at a speed even the young Nara heir had to be envious of.

Shikadai brushed his fingers through Inojin’s hair.

There wasn’t a conclusion he could draw. He was always going to feel like he was letting down his father and his clan the longer he and Inojin remained together. He was always going to feel like losing Inojin was the hardest thing in his life and he would do anything to avoid it. Being happy wasn’t one clear cut path – there were conditions to it.

So, for now, Shikadai tried to push all that from his mind. He knew it would lurk in his thoughts, ever present amongst the many shadows that made him who he was.

He couldn’t see the future. He could see his own choices. In this moment, however, he could see Inojin, and peace, and contentment. It was enough, for now.

It might be enough forever.

“I hope you’re enough,” he murmured, not wanting to wake Inojin, but still wanting to share the thought. If he spoke it out loud, gave the thought life and volume, it would be easier to believe in. “I hope we’re enough.”

Either way, he knew Inojin had been truthful earlier. He would be at Shikadai’s side through everything.

And maybe that was enough.

Chapter Text

“So,” Inojin began, unscrewing the lid off the nail polish. “Rough date, huh?”

“The worst,” Chocho grumbled, relaxing back into the arm of the couch. She had her feet in Inojin’s lap, face set in a frown, and was armed with the biggest packet of chips she had been able to find.

“Did it even last five minutes?” Inojin asked, beginning to carefully paint her toes in glittery maroon.

“Not sure. I wasn’t timing.” Chocho sighed. “It sucked, that’s all. And I’m going to get yelled at.”

“By whom?”

“Shikadai.”

“Why would Shikadai care that you had a sucky date?” Inojin raised an eyebrow.

“It’ll get back to him. And he’s going to be mad.” Chocho sank deeper into the couch. At Inojin’s questioning expression, she admitted with a heavy sigh, “I punched the guy . . .”

“You punched a civilian?” Inojin paused. After processing that bizarre imagery, he kept painting her nails. “. . . Why?”

“Because he was a dick.”

“You can’t punch people,” Inojin said reasonably.

“Yeah, I know. I’m going to hear the angry, shouty version of that as soon as Shikadai gets home.”

“You’re going to hear a longer version of it,” Inojin made a face. “Seriously, Chocho, why did you punch him? Shikadai is going to lose his mind.”

“I know, I know,” Chocho groaned. “Look, it doesn’t matter why I did it. But, ugh, I can almost hear Shikadai already.”

She stared down at her toes. “When is he meant to come home?”

“Soon,” Inojin said, continuing with his painting. “He just had a meeting about something in Suna. We were gonna hang out after that.”

“Cancel your plans, because your boyfriend isn’t going to be in a very good mood. He’s going to be so mad.”

“It’s rare to hear Shikadai get really mad,” Inojin mused.

“Then get ready, because today is going to be the day.”

Inojin flashed her a grin. He finished painting her nails, taking a moment to eye his work critically.

“Looks good,” he finally concluded.

“Thanks. I’ll do you, if you want,” Chocho offered, and Inojin glanced at her collection of polish. “I have a new mint green colour. That’ll look nice on you.”

“Sure,” Inojin shrugged. “Why not?”

Chocho put her feet carefully on the floor, and leant forward to pick up the pale green polish. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs.

“Oh, he sounds mad,” she said, putting the polish down again with a sigh.

“Brace yourself,” Inojin whispered, and the front door burst open.

“What the actual fuck, Chocho?” Shikadai barked upon entering, barely pausing long enough to kick his shoes off and slam the door closed again. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“That men suck,” she muttered.

“You can’t just hit people in the face because they say things on a date. Because guess what – not only can you be suspended for attacking an innocent civilian, but it’s not your ass that gets in trouble. It’s mine, because I lead our team and I’m responsible for everything you do. Now I have you on a forced two-week suspension when we have missions scheduled and I need to find a replacement, and put up with a series of lectures on your behaviour.”

“I figured I was suspended,” she grumbled.

“For being a complete idiot,” Shikadai snarled, coming to stand at the side of the couch. He looked furious, eyes blazing. “And that makes me look an idiot. I just had to explain to the council why I have a teammate acting out of the chain of command and breaking innocent people’s faces.”

Chocho shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to defend herself.

“Why?” Shikadai snapped. “Why did you knock a civilian out? What possessed you into thinking that was the right course of action?”

“The reason doesn’t matter; you’re going to be angry anyway,” Chocho replied.

“Yeah, I’m fucking angry, because you can’t control yourself. Fucks’ sake, Chocho, are you two years old? You can’t throw a tantrum just because a boy doesn’t like you. There’s a mark on my record now, and I’ve been trying to impress the council – in two fucking villages – to become Jounin and now I get to hear about how I can’t discipline my own team and how they clearly lack good judgement and self-control.” He paused for breath.

Chocho let him rant on, getting it out of his system.

“It’s not like punching out another shinobi when they have the option of defending themselves – at least then I could have lied and said you had a good reason to hit him – but you chose some random nobody who’s probably never even made a fist in their life. Why, Chocho, why?” Shikadai clenched his fists, looking like he wanted to take a swing at something.

Chocho hoped it wouldn’t be her face. “The ‘why’ doesn’t matter, does it? I punched the guy, I’m in trouble, forget about it.”

“I can’t forget about it. Because it has consequences, Chocho.” Shikadai drew in a short breath. “Are you going to be out of control on other missions?”

“No.”

“It’s not that bad,” Inojin put in carefully. “A couple of weeks off, and everything goes back to normal-“

“Not that bad?” Shikadai echoed, and Inojin shrugged. “Inojin, not that bad currently means my leadership and authority is called into question, as well as Chocho’s performance on missions. We’ll probably be shadowed by Anbu for a few weeks, and taken off any high profile missions until I can convince everyone that it was a mistake.”

Chocho sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You better be.” Shikadai’s glare intensified. “I’m going to see this boy tomorrow and make sure he’s okay. And hope that he doesn’t call for additional disciplinary action towards you. And make sure he still has a face.”

Both teammates remained silent.

“I would strongly suggest that you not go out tomorrow causing more trouble,” Shikadai added, voice finally settling into a low growl. “Let me fix this.”

“Okay,” Chocho replied softly.

Shikadai turned away, stomping to his room, still muttering under his breath.

“That could have gone better,” Inojin observed, as the bedroom door slammed shut. He sent a worried look towards the bedrooms. “Should I check on him?”

“I’d let him cool down a bit,” Chocho mumbled. She leaned forward to gather up her nail polish collection. “I know it’s still early but I’ll probably just get into bed and read or something. See you in the morning.”

“Sure,” Inojin agreed. He stayed on the couch as she retreated to her room, wondering if he should give Shikadai more time alone. He decided to linger in the lounge, turning the TV on for some mindless noise while he did a few quick sketches.

It was quite a while later when Shikadai emerged, looking tired. He went wordlessly to the kitchen, yanking the fridge open.

“Want to talk?” Inojin offered.

“Not at all.” Shikadai closed the fridge again. After a beat of silence, he grumbled, “I’m going out. Might get something to eat.”

“Want some company?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai paused to consider it, before shaking his head. “No, thanks.”

“Okay.”

Shikadai liked to have his space when he was irritated. He liked to stew over his problems, mutter his way through solutions and scenarios. Inojin knew distance was important to him, so he wasn’t upset at being dismissed.

Inojin stayed where he was, sketching the evening away, and by the time he went to bed Shikadai had still not returned home. However, Inojin was roused from sleep by the bedroom door opening, and the near silent motions of Shikadai preparing for bed.

Inojin was drowsing back to sleep when Shikadai stepped to his bedside, leaning over him and pressing a feather light kiss to his head.

“Good night,” Shikadai whispered.

Inojin hummed a vague acknowledgement, too sleepy to give a proper reply.

The next morning, Shikadai left without breakfast.

Inojin woke up alone, and when he wandered out of his bedroom, Chocho was sitting at the kitchen counter finishing breakfast. She jerked a finger towards the stove. “I left you some.”

“Thanks.” Inojin paused to look at her. “Is Shikadai still mad at you?”

“He’s going to be mad until he dies,” Chocho replied, with a defeated shrug. “It’s fine. I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually.”

“What did this guy say to you?” Inojin asked, curious.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Chocho replied, looking down at her food.

“Was he mean to you? Do we need to go and threaten him?”

“I said I don’t wanna talk about it,” Chocho repeated, but she offered Inojin a grateful smile. “But thank you. You don’t have to defend my honour, but I appreciate that you would.”

“Of course we would,” Inojin replied, and Chocho’s smile widened at his use of ‘we’. Even Shikadai, mad as a hornet and seething, would defend Chocho to their deaths if needed, no matter the cause or cost.

Inojin came to sit next to her, and they ate breakfast together largely in silence.

Shikadai stopped at the hospital later that day, leaning against the front desk in a manner he hoped didn’t look too much like he wanted to smack his face into the desktop. Resigned to a long, and likely unaccepted, apology he asked for the room of Chocho’s former date, and got a brief rundown of his injuries.

The boy did not, luckily, have a concussion. He did, however, have a broken nose and two black eyes.

Shikadai slouched his way to the room, muttering to himself under his breath. He knocked gently, before sticking his head around the door.

The boy sitting in the bed looked mildly startled at company. There was a black bruise spanning across the centre of his face, and Shikadai couldn’t help a sympathetic wince. He had been on the receiving end of several of Chocho’s punches.

It was never a good time.

“Hey,” he said, entering the room and coming to stand at the boy’s bedside.

“My name is Shikadai, and I represent Chocho’s team,” he explained. The boy in the bed looked suddenly nervous. “I am here to talk to you about what happened-”

“I’m sorry, okay?” the boy blurted out.

Shikadai frowned. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . okay, yeah, I meant it but like . . . Don’t kill me.”

“What?”

The boy shifted as far away from Shikadai as the width of a bed would allow.

Shikadai blinked at him, thoroughly confused. “Can you . . . start from the beginning . . .?”

“Chocho didn’t tell you what happened?” the boy asked, still looking twitchy and ready to flee.

“No.” Shikadai’s frown deepened. “She didn’t tell me anything.”

“Oh.” The boy stared down at his lap. After a pause, he looked up at Shikadai again, gulping a bit. “Uh . . . Maybe I shouldn’t say anything either, then . . .”

“Look, I’ve got a suspended teammate with a disciplinary mark on her record, and a warning on my leadership record, so I’d like some answers,” Shikadai said firmly. “Whatever you did to her isn’t my concern, but I need to know-“

“It wasn’t about her,” the boy admitted softly. He shrugged, cheeks burning red. “. . . I’m not . . .” He let out a disquieted breath, and began in a pained voice, “It was about . . . well, you . . .”

.

.

.

Chocho had been looking forward to this date. The boy was cute, and she had been looking for something normal. Someone who wasn’t on the verge of dying whenever they left for work in the morning.

“What does he do?” Inojin asked, as he and Chocho walked side by side down the street. He decided to accompany her to meet her date, since he was going in the same direction to meet Shikadai anyway.

“He’s works in a restaurant,” Chocho replied airily.

“Oh, cool. Anywhere nice?”

“It’s foreign food, I think. I haven’t been there, yet.” Chocho shrugged. “But it’s nice to have another option of somewhere to eat.”

“And if it’s nice, maybe I can convince Shikadai to take me there,” Inojin mused.

“You could always take him,” Chocho pointed out.

“I know. But it’s better when he’s in charge. He doesn’t whine as much.”

“And you like being spoiled,” Chocho added.

“I do,” Inojin replied with a wide grin. They chatted as they walked the rest of the way, until Chocho pointed to a boy waiting at a corner.

“That’s him,” she said.

“He is cute,” Inojin observed, nodding his head approvingly. “Hope the date goes well.”

“Me too.” She waved as the boy caught sight of her, and he waved in return.

“This is Inojin,” she introduced, and Inojin nodded a greeting. “One of my teammates.”

“Hey,” the boy said, with a wide smile. He looked to Chocho, and offered a hand. “Ready to go?”

“Yup.” She sent Inojin a look. “See ya.”

Inojin grinned at her. “I can see Shikadai, so have fun, and see ya later.”

Chocho watched him jog across the street to hop directly in front of Shikadai, who had not been looking where he was going. She giggled as he came to an abrupt halt before realizing it was Inojin blocking his path.

“And that’s Shikadai,” she added absently, still watching her boys. Shikadai was rolling his eyes, with a crooked smile in place, as he said something to Inojin. Whatever it was must have been interesting because Inojin’s face lit up and he darted in to give Shikadai a quick kiss on the lips.

They began walking away, and Chocho turned back to her date.

The boy was staring in the direction of Inojin and Shikadai, frowning.

“Um, didn’t you say both your teammates were boys?”

“Yes?” Chocho glanced over her shoulder, with an involuntary smile at the thought of her friends.

“Ugh, but,” the boy made a face. “How can you put up with that?”

“With them? Aw, they’re okay. I think it’s kinda cute-“

“It’s not cute, it’s gross,” the boy said, a touch of disgust colouring his tone.

“What?” Chocho asked, her face shutting down into a frown. “What’s gross?”

“That,” the boy gestured in the direction Shikadai and Inojin had been. “How can you . . . live like that? With two homo fags?”

.

.

.

“Then I was on the floor,” the boy muttered. “I didn’t even see her move.”

Shikadai stood still for a moment, processing what he had just heard. “Huh.”

The boy’s blush deepened. “Are you . . . going to hit me too . . .?”

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “But I do hope I never see you again.”

“That’s fair.”

“Stay away from Chocho,” Shikadai added. “She deserves better.”

He turned to leave then, pausing once out in the hospital hallway. After a long moment of standing still and musing over his thoughts, he heaved a sigh and turned to leave.

Inojin propped his cheek up on one hand, elbow on the arm of the couch, watching the TV. “This is such a stupid movie.”

“I agree,” Chocho rolled her eyes. She had Inojin’s legs across her lap, while she brushed pale green nail polish onto his toes. “It’s really dumb.”

“I am never taking recommendations from Boruto again,” Inojin sighed. He sent a look to Chocho, checking on her progress.

She was nearly finished, humming softly under her breath as she coloured his last nail.

Chocho and Inojin both glanced over the back of the couch as they heard Shikadai open the door.

Inojin paused their movie, just in case Shikadai decided to do another rant about punching people.

Shikadai, however, remained silent. Slowly, he toed off his shoes, and then padded noiselessly across the floor towards them.

Chocho raised an eyebrow as Shikadai came to stand beside her side of the couch.

“Hey,” she said slowly.

Without a word, Shikadai handed her a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates. He stared at her, shoulders slouching. When Chocho merely stared at him in return, he heaved a sigh.

“Don’t do it again,” he muttered, turning away towards the bedroom. He was almost through the door before adding on in a quiet murmur, “I got your suspension revoked.”

“Thanks,” Chocho replied softly.

Inojin waited until the bedroom door closed, before asking, “Um . . . what was that about?”

Chocho shook her head. “I told you, don’t worry about it.”

She opened the chocolates, silently offering the box.

Inojin shook his head. “I’m going to check on him.”

“He’s fine,” Chocho said, setting the box in her lap and unpausing the movie.

Inojin wriggled his way carefully across the floor, toenails still drying, and stuck his head into their bedroom.

Shikadai was lying on his bed, one hand behind his head, scrolling absently through his phone. He flicked his eyes up to look at Inojin, then back down to the screen.

“Wanna finish the movie with us?” Inojin offered.

“No, thanks.” Shikadai shook his head.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Inojin waited a beat longer, in case Shikadai wanted to add more. When Shikadai kept his eyes on his phone, Inojin withdrew his head and returned to the couch.

He plopped down on the opposite side to Chocho, who had nearly emptied the box of chocolates.

“Getting you chocolates for punching someone doesn’t seem like a good way to stop you from doing it again,” Inojin observed.

Chocho shrugged. “He’s the team leader. Trust him.”

They fell into silence as the movie continued, sharing the occasional criticism.

The credits were rolling by the time Shikadai joined them. He came silently into the lounge, sitting down between Chocho and Inojin. The couch was just big enough to comfortably accommodate all three of them, even though Inojin and Shikadai were generally plastered together on it as though it were no bigger than a single cushion.

Chocho reached out a hand to fluff up Shikadai’s hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He answered shortly. When he didn’t add more, Chocho laid her hand on the side of his neck and tugged him towards her. He let himself be pulled with an amused snort, not protesting as Chocho laid him against her side, his head on her chest. She tapped her fingers on his shoulder, drumming gently in a manner that she hoped might encourage him to relax.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and she knew what he meant.

She smiled down at him. “No problem.”

“You made it a problem.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, shush. You’re no fun.”

Shikadai let out a sigh, relaxing against her. Chocho always made a good pillow. She was comfortable and soft, and he let his eyes drift closed. He felt the couch shift, then Inojin draped himself across Shikadai’s chest and stomach, never one to pass up a good opportunity to cuddle.

They stayed like that, mostly silent, for the rest of the evening.

Chapter Text

It started like a regular morning. Inojin hogged the bathroom for an inordinately long time, Shikadai dragged himself to the kitchen to find coffee and his will to live, and Chocho began cooking breakfast.

Shikadai sank into the couch with his coffee as soon as he was able to, blinking blearily.

Chocho opened the balcony door to pick some tomatoes from their plants, and let out a devasted shriek upon exiting the kitchen.

Shikadai lifted his head, but did not put his coffee down to follow her. “Is that a ‘help’ scream or a ‘there’s a spider’ scream?”

“Something ate the plants!” Chocho yelled back.

That sentence prompted Inojin to bolt from the bathroom, hair dripping wet, with a sudden burst of urgency, screaming, “What do you mean? Which plants? Chocho, what the hell happened?”

Shikadai was hit by several droplets of water as Inojin rushed past clad in a now-damp t-shirt, with a towel around his waist. He took a long sip of coffee, and remained where he was.

“Look,” Chocho pointed at the tomato plants. Several leaves had been chewed off, and the lily Inojin had been nursing was entirely absent from its pot, the only sign it had been there a single, sad stalk of green. There was a hole through one tomato. “I think a worm ate them.”

“Well, find it and squish it!” Inojin said, frantically looking under the leaves of the remaining plants. “Kill it before it eats anything else!”

Chocho peered at the tomatoes, then eyed the chillies, and carefully inspected each leaf. She moved to Inojin’s plants, while he fretted on the other side of the balcony.

“Ew,” Chocho recoiled. “Inojin, it’s here!”

“Kill it!” Inojin was at her side in a single step.

A very large, very fat, green caterpillar was nestled on a violet leaf.

“Squish him,” Inojin said, nudging Chocho’s arm.

“Ew, no, you squish him,” Chocho took a step back. “It’s so big, it’ll make a mess! And I don’t want to touch it.”

“Then throw it off the balcony!”

“It’s on a plant!”

“Throw the plant!”

Chocho hesitated, then reached towards the plant, edging carefully closer. She drew her hand back again.

“He’s got a face,” Chocho said, peering at the worm. “Aw . . . it’s kinda cute . . .”

“Is that his face?” Inojin squinted. “Is the other end his face?”

“I don’t know. He’s just sitting still right now. When he moves, we’ll know which side is his face.”

“But we can’t leave him here,” Inojin straightened up. “He’ll eat all the plants.”

“What if we gave him special leaves to eat?” Chocho suggested. The notion of squishing the poor thing had already become a thing of the past.

“I don’t think he’s going to politely eat what we give him.” Inojin sighed. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Why don’t we move him somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“We could take him to a field,” Chocho mused.

“What if a bird eats him? He probably feels safe here.” Inojin peered at the caterpillar again.

“Well,” Chocho considered, tilting her head to the side. “We could take him inside and make sure he’s safe.”

“Yeah, that could work,” Inojin nodded.

Chocho leaned in close to the caterpillar. “What do think, little guy? Wanna live with us for a while?”

“We have great plants for you to eat,” Inojin added. “And I can get you anything you want. I’ll set up a house for you, Wormy.”

“You can’t call him Wormy,” Chocho pointed out. “He’ll turn into a butterfly. Then the name won’t fit.”

“What do you want to call him?” Inojin rolled his eyes. “Buttery?”

“I happen to like things that are buttery,” Chocho replied with a flourish. She sauntered back into the kitchen to begin looking for worm-house building supplies and Inojin hoisted up the pot with the worm on it and trotted after her.

Shikadai had already left for the day, which meant he was unable to put in his two cents about worm terrarium construction. Inojin placed the mostly eaten plant on the kitchen counter, and folded his arms on the marble. He rested his chin on his folded arms, observing, “He’s a big worm. I wonder what kind of butterfly he will become?”

“A swallowtail,” Chocho provided.

Inojin lifted his head. “A what?”

“Shino-sensei talked about them once. Big, big green worms with face-butts. They turn into swallowtails.”

“Right,” Inojin rested his chin down again. “Maybe we can get Shino-sensei to tell us exactly what he is, and what he needs to eat.”

“Good idea,” Chocho said cheerily. She scooped the plant off the counter, cooing, “Wanna go visit Shino-sensei?”

“Careful,” Inojin hissed. “You’re going to make him fall!”

“I won’t,” Chocho snorted back. “I won’t hurt him.”

“You were going to squash him!”

“That was earlier. Now we’re friends.” Chocho held the plant at eye level. “Come on, mister worm. We’re going to visit Shino-sensei.”

“We can’t call him mister worm either,” Inojin sighed, following Chocho to the door.

She sent him a look over her shoulder. “We’ll think of something for him. And maybe put pants on before we go out.”

Shikadai came home around mid-afternoon, and intended to spend the rest of the day on the couch mindlessly staring at the TV and not expending any sort of mental energy. He kicked his shoes off and ambled to the couch, flopping down, pointing the remote at the TV, and pausing. The TV was shifted over to the left edge of the cupboard. The resulting open space to its right was occupied with a glass tank of greenery. Shikadai put the remote down, and stood up with a heavy sigh to investigate.

Inside the tank, which was tastefully decorated with a carpet of rich soil, a few gnarled sticks of varying widths and lengths, and fresh leaves, was a large caterpillar. It was sitting innocently on one of the sticks.

Shikadai went and turned the coffee machine on.

“Inojin,” he called. “What is a worm doing on the TV cupboard?”

“Don’t hurt him!” Inojin shouted back from the bedroom. He appeared shortly afterward, bouncing to the tank. “Look, we made him a home!”

Shikadai reached for a mug. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“This is Buttery Cinnamon Toast,” Inojin explained, seemingly unconcerned that his explanation explained nothing.

Shikadai nodded. “But what is it doing here?”

“He,” Inojin corrected, as though worms were concerned with the accuracy of pronouns. “He’s staying with us until he becomes a butterfly.”

Shikadai stared at him, trying his best to process what was happening. “. . . What.”

“Which words are confusing you?”

“To be honest, I’ve been completely lost since ‘Buttery Cinnamon Toast’,” Shikadai shook his head. “Start from the beginning.”

“He was eating all our plants so we decided to help him,” Inojin said brightly. “He will turn into a butterfly, and then we can let him go.”

Shikadai abandoned his quest for coffee to study the tank more closely. The worm was making its way languidly across the stick towards the pile of leaves. Shikadai glanced up at Inojin, who was beaming proudly.

“We have a pet worm,” Shikadai said flatly.

“Caterpillar, technically,” Inojin replied. “A swallowtail, Shino said.”

“Right.” Shikadai straightened up, returning to the kitchen area. “You sound insane.”

Inojin followed him, and, as Shikadai began an intimidating staring contest with the coffee machine, wrapped his arms around Shikadai’s waist from behind and plastered himself down Shikadai’s back. “You’re so warm and muscly and-“

“You can’t flirt your way into me thinking a pet worm is a good idea.”

“I absolutely can.” Inojin pressed a smile into Shikadai’s back.

Shikadai heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “How long is that dumb worm meant to stay where my TV belongs?”

“Until he becomes a butterfly.”

“What a helpful and accurate timeframe.”

Inojin’s smile widened. “I don’t know. Few weeks. You smell so good.”

“Stay on topic. Weeks? In the way of watching TV and relaxing?” Shikadai gave the coffee machine a threatening tap with his fingers.

“He’s not in the way, and he won’t be there for long. You can watch TV sitting half a metre to the left.” Inojin splayed his hands flat on Shikadai’s stomach. “I can feel all your muscles-“

“Okay,” Shikadai spun around in Inojin’s arms, glaring down at him. “You can stop. The worm can stay. But I’m telling you now – you can’t always say nice things to me to get your way. It isn’t always going to work.”

“Worked so far,” Inojin replied brightly. He stood up on his toes to plant a firm kiss on Shikadai’s mouth, and by the time he pulled back Shikadai was watching him with a crooked smile.

“You’re a dork,” Shikadai said, his smile widening against his will.

Inojin grinned back at him. “And all yours.”

Every morning, Inojin would refill the tank with fresh leaves for the caterpillar to eat, and every morning Chocho would stick her face against the glass and coo at the creature.

“Good morning, Buttery Cinnamon Toast,” she crouched down to watch it peacefully munch through a leaf. “You’re getting bigger.”

Shikadai had to admit there was something intriguing about its presence. The methodical, rhythmical way it ate was soothing to watch, and Shikadai had wasted many minutes now staring blankly at its jaws. He wasn’t sure that having a pet worm was very good for his productivity levels, but it absolutely transported him to a level of zen he had never imagined was possible while living with Inojin and Chocho and their constant chaos.

When Shikadai and Inojin came home one evening, the pile of leaves was untouched and wilted.

Shikadai plopped onto the couch and turned the TV on, while Inojin knelt at the tank and made a careful study of it.

“Aren’t you hungry, Buttery Cinnamon Toast?” he asked, and Shikadai rolled his eyes.

“Can’t you and Chocho call him by something other than his full name every time you talk to him? It’s ridiculous.”

His plea remained unacknowledged.

“He’s changed colour,” Inojin observed, with an undercurrent of worry in his words. “Is he sick?”

Shikadai flicked through channels on the TV. “It’s a worm.”

“Worms can get sick,” Inojin retorted over his shoulder. He peered at the tank again, nose almost against the glass and fogging it up with every breath. “He’s not moving.”

“Might be dead.”

“What?” Inojin sounded alarmed. “He can’t be dead – we’ve been looking after him!” Somewhat frantic, he tapped on the glass, adding in a hopeful tone, “Hey, wake up, Buttery Cinnamon Toast.”

It was in the middle of this attempt to rouse a discoloured invertebrate that Chocho also arrived home armed with an oversized ice cream cone. She absently elbowed the front door shut. “What’s up?”

“We think Buttery Cinnamon Toast is sick,” Inojin said.

“If you call him that again, I’m moving out,” Shikadai warned.

Chocho came to inspect the tank as well, before sitting down in her large armchair and continuing with her ice cream. “Hm. He seems darker than before.”

“Maybe he’s allergic to lettuce,” Inojin mused.

Shikadai tossed the TV remote onto the coffee table. “I’m allergic to this conversation.”

“Can he be sunburnt?” Chocho suggested.

“He’s a worm!” Shikadai exclaimed.

“You can burn a worm,” Inojin retorted. He stared at the tank for a while longer. “Oh, he’s moving. He’s not dead.”

“Phew,” Chocho sagged in her seat, relieved. “I was getting worried about him.”

“He’s doing something,” Inojin frowned.

“Being a worm?” Shikadai suggested flatly.

“No,” Inojin shook his head. “He’s . . . Oh, I know what he’s doing! He’s making a cocoon!” Inojin cheered. “He’s not sick!”

“He might still be sick,” Shikadai said, moving his leg swiftly as Chocho aimed a kick at his shin. “You also wrap yourself in a cocoon when you’re sick.”

Inojin threw him an unimpressed look over his shoulder. When Shikadai merely raised an eyebrow in response, Inojin straightened up to join him on the couch, eyes still on the tank.

“I wonder how long he will be a cocoon for?” Inojin mused.

“We can ask Shino-sensei tomorrow,” Chocho assured. “And ask if there’s anything else we need to do to help him.”

Shikadai sank further into the couch. “Maybe he’ll only be in a cocoon for a day and then he’ll get out and we can finally move the TV back where it belongs.”

“Why are you so obsessed with the TV?” Inojin asked, snuggling into Shikadai’s side.

“Because when I get home after work I like to relax. The TV is fun, or mind-numbing, and I don’t mind either one after a long day.”

“I can help you relax after work,” Inojin replied, absently stroking his fingers across Shikadai’s stomach.

“So can the TV.”

“You’re so unromantic,” Chocho rolled her eyes. She looked at Inojin. “What do you see in him?”

“He’s hot,” Inojin replied instantly, and Shikadai let out a chuckle.

He buried a hand in Inojin’s hair, to pull his head close enough to press a kiss to Inojin’s forehead.

Chocho readjusted herself in her seat. “A fair enough reason, I guess.”

“And he lets me move to the TV for our pet caterpillar,” Inojin added.

“Temporarily,” Shikadai cautioned, because he wanted to make it clear that once this caterpillar was a butterfly, it was out of the house. They were not repeating this debacle again.

Two weeks later, Inojin excitedly pointed out that he could see the butterfly forming within its cocoon.

“He’s going to hatch soon,” Inojin said, crouched at the tank once more.

“Just make sure he goes far away from the house when he does,” Chocho said. “Because we don’t want him finding a mate and laying eggs on the balcony and eating all our plants again.”

The plant collection had been mostly restored. Between Ino feeling sorry for them and replacing several plants, and Chouji willingly digging up his garden to allow them to replenish their various vegetables, the balcony was looking like a tiny forest once more.

Chocho inspected each plant in the mornings, ready this time to do battle against any intruding worms. While Buttery Cinnamon Toast might have charmed her, she vowed to do war with any more insects that tried to get between her and her chillies.

Shikadai wondered if it might be beneficial for him to start sleeping in later so he didn’t have to listen to the daily report of ‘no worms, all safe!’.

A day or two later, the butterfly finally broke out of its cocoon.

Chocho popped open a bottle of champagne for the occasion.

“It takes about a day before he’ll fly,” Inojin sipped his champagne, still in his polka dot pajamas from the night before – a combination of too much alcohol celebrating the butterfly’s emergence, an extended period of necking with Shikadai, and general weariness from missions had resulted in all three of them spending the day so far doing nothing.

Shikadai had only heaved himself out of bed a few minutes prior, because the need for food had overcome the comfort of being in bed, and he had to be at the Hokage building shortly.

“So he should fly soon,” Chocho said, busy at the stove.

“Yeah,” Inojin sat on the coffee table, leaning towards the tank. “I’m taking the lid off. He looks ready.”

“Wait, I want to be there!” Chocho turned the burner down, and darted to Inojin’s side.

Shikadai muffled a yawn, standing at Inojin’s other side.

Within the tank, the butterfly began flapping its wings. Slowly at first, then building up energy, until it was starting to hover inside the tank. Inojin hoisted the lid off with a ceremonious shout, “Be free, Buttery Cinnamon Toast!”

The butterfly flew upwards, as Shikadai had fully expected it to, and instantly collided with the ceiling.

“No, wrong way,” Inojin said, standing up. He pointed at the little door leading out the balcony. “That way.”

“It’s a butterfly,” Shikadai said dryly. “It’s not going to follow instructions.”

“The window is open,” Inojin said, making vague gestures with his hands, as though the butterfly merely needed the assistance of some poorly executed directions. “And the balcony door. You can go outside.”

The butterfly, blissfully unaware of its surroundings, continued to beat at the ceiling in disparaging circles.

“Huh,” Chocho folded her arms. “So . . . Now what?”

“He’s free,” Inojin said. “That’s an improvement.”

“We now have a giant butterfly loose in the apartment,” Shikadai said. “How is this an improvement?”

“He’ll go out the window and fly away,” Inojin insisted.

“He’s not doing it. He’s stuck on the ceiling.” Shikadai regarded the insect for a while longer, before drawing a shuriken. “I’ll get him-“

“No!” Both Chocho and Inojin leapt upon him before he could aim his weapon, Chocho wrapping a thick arm around his neck and Inojin throwing his entire body onto Shikadai’s torso.

“You can’t murder our first pet!” Inojin declared, wresting the shuriken from Shikadai’s hand.

“It’s not a pet,” Shikadai wheezed around Chocho’s death grip. She released him slowly, and he drew in deep breaths.

“Fine,” he said, after a pause to regain enough oxygen for brain functions to return. “What do you want to do?”

“Leave him,” Inojin stared at the ceiling. “He’ll leave when he finds the window.”

The butterfly was making repeated attempts to slam itself through the ceiling, and Shikadai quirked a doubtful eyebrow.

“Sure,” he said slowly. “Looks like he’ll be gone any second now.”

When Shikadai sipped his coffee the next morning, a large butterfly landed on his head and remained there for several minutes, slowly opening and closing its wings.

“I think,” Shikadai said, placing his mug down on the counter, “that we should add ‘no pets’ to our house rules.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai was sitting at the kitchen counter working on his laptop, because his bedroom desk was covered in Inojin’s art supplies from an ongoing ‘project’ that Inojin was working on. (Shikadai wasn’t sure why this had become his problem. Chocho’s desk had barely anything on it. Inojin could have taken over her space instead.)

It was a bright summer day, promising to get hot, and last night Chocho had claimed that she was going down to the lake to swim, and her boys were going with her whether they wanted to or not.

Shikadai didn’t know why he had to be dragged along, but even if it was a drag going out he did enjoy spending time with Chocho and Inojin. And he’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t like the way Inojin looked at him whenever they went swimming.

So it wasn’t too bad, but he wasn’t going to let them know. Complaining was his thing, and he liked his thing.

Shikadai glanced at the time. Inojin was due home soon, after a short visit with his mother about something to do with the barrier team. Shikadai turned his attention back to his laptop. He really wanted to get this report done before Inojin came home, but it was a pain summarising the sheer tedium of a meeting with the Daimyo. Next time his name came up for that, he was going to suggest someone else sit in.

No wonder his mother had been so quick to delegate the job to him.

“Is Inojin home yet?” Chocho asked, sticking her head out of her bedroom door.

“Nope,” Shikadai replied. “Should be back in a few minutes.” He typed a bit more, before asking curiously, “Why?”

“Need his opinion on something,” she said.

“On what?”

“My bikini.”

“What opinion could he possibly provide?” Shikadai asked, frowning. “Wear whatever. No one cares.”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Chocho retorted. She paused, then added, “. . . Can I ask you?”

“You can ask me whatever you like, but I can’t guarantee I’ll have a useful answer.” Shikadai tapped at his laptop.

Chocho emerged from her door, looking down shyly. She wore a dark purple bikini with little white stars dotted on the fabric.

“Is it okay for me to wear this to the lake?” Chocho asked, with an unusual touch of anxiousness in her voice.

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “Yes? Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“You know,” Chocho shrugged, looking down. “It’s just . . .” She hesitated. “. . . ‘Cause you can see my stomach.”

“And?” Shikadai was confused.

“I’m not . . .” She let out a sigh. “I’m not . . . I don’t have the right body.”

“Don’t have the right body,” Shikadai repeated slowly. He blinked at her. “Chocho, how can you not have the right body? It does everything it’s supposed to. It works exactly the way it should.”

She tilted her head quizzically. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed with the conversation. “Your digestive system turns food into energy so you can function. Your brain fires all neurons correctly so you can think and talk and move. Your muscles are all properly attached to your skeleton so you can do your job. Your heart is pumping blood and your lungs are metabolising oxygen. Your skin is keeping all your organs in place. That’s what a body is supposed to do – yours is perfect. Couldn’t be doing a better job.”

Chocho stared at him.

Shikadai, considering the conversation over, was already tapping at his laptop again and did not pay attention to the way she looked at him. He startled a bit when she spoke, having tuned her out already.

“That’s . . .” Chocho paused, mulling over her words. “Probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What?” Shikadai looked up. His cheeks flushed red. “No, it’s not. It’s just facts, Cho. There’s nothing wrong with you. And if anyone thinks there is, well, they’re stupid.”

He kept his gaze pointedly on the screen, refusing to look at her.

Chocho stared him down for another moment, before shrugging and returning to her room.

Shikadai pushed the entire interaction from his mind, until the apartment door opened and Inojin sauntered in.

“I’m home,” he announced.

“Hey,” Shikadai glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to his screen.

“Are you still working on that report?” Inojin asked, draping himself over Shikadai’s shoulder.

“Almost done,” Shikadai assured.

“Good. You have to come to the lake with us,” Inojin replied, pressing a quick kiss into the side of Shikadai’s neck.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Shikadai grumbled.

“You have to come with. We’re going swimming, and you have to be there. We’re a team; we stick together.”

Shikadai rolled his eyes. Before he could retort, Chocho popped out of her room again, this time with a flowery, flowy yellow dress on.

“Oh, good, you’re home,” she beamed at Inojin. “Get changed – Sarada is already at the lake. Put on something nice.”

“Why does he need to wear something nice?” Shikadai asked. He turned in his seat, to give Inojin a sideways look.

“Because we’re going to the lake to attract cute boys,” Chocho explained. “Come with if you want to defend your boyfriend.”

“From what?”

“From the cute boys,” Inojin added cheerily.

“And the cute girls,” Chocho winked.

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”

He turned his focus back to his laptop. Inojin sidled closer. “But you will come to the lake, right?”

“When I’m done,” Shikadai promised.

“Okay. Don’t take too long.”

“Why?” Shikadai arched an eyebrow. “Gonna replace me with the hordes of ‘cute boys’ you find?”

“Maybe,” Inojin grinned, and Shikadai snorted out a laugh.

He shook his head. “I’ll be there soon. To defend my partner.”

“Cool,” Inojin replied brightly, and Chocho added on merrily, “Be ready for a fistfight!”

It took a bit longer than he was expecting, but Shikadai finally finished his report, had a leisurely stretch to ease the stiffness in his shoulders, before making his way through the village towards the lake.

He stopped on the way, popping into a small convenience store for a few cold drinks, then wandered on towards the grassy, open park near the village’s edge. He heard the lake long before seeing it – lots of conversations and shouts, splashes and muted shrieks of amusement. The water was dotted with people; the grassy, sunny banks filled with many more in various states of relaxation.

Shikadai took note of Chocho near the middle of the lake, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. She looked happy and confident, talking to Sarada as they waded in the water, all traces of self-consciousness from the morning gone.

Good, he thought. The doubt should be gone.

He skimmed the area, looking for Inojin. He knew better than to look in the sun – Inojin would burst into flames like a vampire with his pale skin.

Inojin was sitting in the shade of a tree, drawing, a fair distance from the lake. Shikadai had to roll his eyes at the sight of him. It wasn’t that he was drawing, that was normal. However, the ridiculous heart-shaped pink sunglasses on his face were . . . well, Shikadai knew they were Chocho’s. He had no idea why they were on Inojin.

He approached, shaking his head. “Hey.”

Inojin let his sketchbook lie flat on his lap. “Hey.”

“Why are you hiding in the bushes? I thought you came here to attract cute boys.”

Inojin lowered the sunglasses, looking Shikadai up and down. “It worked.”

Shikadai groaned. “Oh, god, you’re such a drag.” He flopped down onto the ground beside Inojin. “Why the dumb glasses?”

“People can’t see where I’m looking,” Inojin explained. “So no one knows I’m drawing them, and they don’t get self-conscious.”

“Or call the police,” Shikadai offered. “Because of the weird dude hiding in the bushes drawing people in their swimsuits.”

“Exactly,” Inojin grinned. He took the drink that Shikadai offered. “Oh, alcohol and swimming. Always a good combination.”

“It’s non-alcoholic, dumbass.”

Inojin pushed the sunglasses up to rest on his forehead, and took a closer look at his drink to ascertain if Shikadai was telling the truth. He gave a little half shrug, and set the drink on the grass beside him. He continued with his sketches, while Shikadai stretched himself out languidly and closed his eyes.

A few minutes passed in companionable silence.

“Chocho said you liked her new bikini,” Inojin remarked after a while.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Shikadai replied drowsily.

He felt Inojin move, shifting until his knee pressed lightly into Shikadai’s hip. After a little longer of soft pencil scratches against paper, Inojin almost whispered, “A boy said she shouldn’t be so fat if she’s a shinobi.”

“What?” Shikadai cracked an eye open. “Who? We can punch his head off if needed.”

“Some civilian boy. Must be a idiot, because anyone who knows Chocho knows she’s a force.” Inojin pursed his lips. “I think it bothered her a bit.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She didn’t tell me about it. Sarada did.”

Shikadai turned his head, looking at Inojin. “When did you talk to Sarada?”

“We turned in mission reports at the same time yesterday. We chatted a bit while she waited for Boruto.” Inojin heaved a sigh. “It doesn’t usually bother her . . .”

“What doesn’t?” Shikadai shifted up, moving to sit with his back against the tree trunk and his shoulder leaning on Inojin.

“Being fat,” Inojin clarified. He flipped through his sketchbook, to a rough, quick sketch of Chocho. He studied it absently for a bit. “Like, she knows. We all know. It’s not some kinda secret. But being told over and over by dumb boys like it’s somehow tied to her self-worth . . . I think it sometimes gets to her.”

“It shouldn’t,” Shikadai looked out towards the lake, where Chocho was possibly drowning Boruto. Sarada wasn’t stepping in to stop her, so he assumed it was under control. It irritated him, when people thought less of Chocho. She was the powerhouse of their team, the one to step in when things were looking dicey and muscle her way through enemies. She was the reason, many times, for the three of them getting home safely.

He huffed a bit, generally annoyed with the world, and Inojin sent him a curious glance.

“Did you talk to her?” Inojin asked.

“About what?”

“Being fat.”

“No,” Shikadai shook his head.

Inojin hummed under his breath, gazing back out at the lake. Chocho had apparently finished drowning Boruto, and he was standing beside her and Sarada, completely drenched, nodding glumly to some kind of lecture.

“She’s supposed to be fat,” Inojin observed, after a moment. “That’s literally her legacy. Like you’re a genius and I’m a mind-reader.”

“I know that. And so does she.” Shikadai shifted again, to pillow his head on Inojin’s thigh, and close his eyes. “Be quiet for a while. I wanna nap.”

“You always want to nap,” Inojin remarked, but he fell silent and let Shikadai rest. Their afternoon passed like that, largely in silence, with Shikadai flowing in and out of consciousness. It was relaxing, and calm, and he was silently appreciative that Chocho had insisted he join them at the lake.

He was, of course, never going to admit that to her.

He let out a pleased hum as Inojin scratched his fingers lightly through his hair, smiling at the inadvertent scritch of the end of a pencil along his scalp as well. Inojin’s hand retreated, a page in his sketchbook turned, and Shikadai drowsed away.

The afternoon shadows were starting to lengthen into evening when the three of them grouped near the edge of the lake. Chocho finally retrieved her ridiculous sunglasses off Inojin’s head, to Shikadai’s great relief, and she sent him a broad grin and she fumbled her dress on over a still damp bikini.

“Didn’t you like the sunglasses?” she asked. “I thought they made Inojin look cute.”

“They made him look like a moron,” Shikadai responded dryly, and Inojin made a protesting noise in reply. Shikadai glanced at Inojin, who was looking sourly back at him.

Shikadai turned his attention back to Chocho, carefully studying her. She looked relaxed and happy. She looked like her usual free and confident self. No doubt in who she was. No care for the people around her. His expression softened.

“Come on,” Shikadai jerked his head vaguely in the direction of the village. “We’re going for barbeque.”

“We are?” Chocho echoed.

“Yeah.” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, looking nonchalant. “You’ve been doing all the cooking for like a week. You deserve a break.”

“Okay,” she agreed, grinning brightly.

They ambled off together, Chocho flanked by her boys.

“Did you have fun?” she asked Inojin, nodding at his sketchbook.

“I got some good sketches,” he confirmed, with a half-smile. “Some very nice ones of you, actually.”

“While he creeped from the bushes,” Shikadai added.

“It’s not creepy,” Inojin protested.

“Drawing people in their swimsuits while hiding in the bushes is creepy no matter how you spin it,” Shikadai continued, grinning devilishly.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Inojin grumbled. “I was just staying out the sun.”

“Because you’re flammable,” Chocho put in, and Shikadai snorted his amused agreement. She elbowed Inojin lightly. “I want to see the sketches of me.”

Inojin flipped his book open. He had a page of swift, almost single-lined drawings capturing quick moments in time.

“I’ve got better ones,” he said. “More detailed ones.”

Chocho nodded approvingly, then added softly, “You drew Sarada too. She looks good.”

Inojin shrugged one shoulder, unsure of what to say.

“We went shopping together and bought our new bikinis,” Chocho mused aloud, somewhat self-consciously pulling at the strap of her dress to cover the purple fabric beneath. “She looked great in hers, didn’t she? She always does.”

Shikadai sent her a sideways look, frowning a bit. He heaved a sigh, shoulders slumping with the motion.

“I like your bikini,” Shikadai mumbled, barely audible.

“Really?” Chocho paused for a second, taken aback. She took one long step to get back to Shikadai’s side, somewhat slack jawed.

“Looks nice,” he added, in a grumbly tone, staring fixedly at the ground as they walked.

He refused to say more, and she kept watching his face curiously. After a short silence, she looped an arm around his shoulders, and yanked him into a one-armed hug. Shikadai yelped at being pulled off balance, automatically resisting her affections. It was a futile fight. He gave in after a moment of struggling, letting out another deep sigh and trudging along plastered to her side.

Inojin nudged up against her other arm, and Chocho scooped him up as well. Inojin muffled a chuckle, bumping his cheek affectionately against her shoulder.

“Who’s paying?” Chocho asked lightly, as barbeque shop came into view.

“Inojin,” Shikadai answered instantly.

“Hey!” Inojin protested. “Why me?”

“Because I spoil you constantly, and you bleed me dry,” Shikadai replied, throwing a cocky grin at his partner. “Return the favour for once.”

Inojin huffed out a breath, but he didn’t have a suitable counter argument. He eyed Shikadai, finding the other boy already watching him with one of those rare, soft smiles he reserved only for Inojin. It was almost enough for Inojin to forgive him for making him pay for dinner.

He could probably extort a nice lunch date out of him in return.

Chocho gave her boys one final squeeze, before releasing them and declaring, “Hope you’re loaded, Inojin, because I’m starving.”

“Aww,” he groaned. “That’s not fair.”

Shikadai stifled a chuckle, poorly, and reached for the door of the restaurant.

He held the door open, and Inojin minced inside with a cheeky smile, ever the fan of Shikadai’s random acts of chivalry. Chocho paused for a fraction of a second, meeting his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, softly, genuinely, and he knew it had nothing to do with the door.

He nodded once, in a silent you’re welcome that, she knew, also had nothing to do with the door.

She stepped inside, and Shikadai let the door close gently as he followed her to their usual table. He wondered if she wanted him to say more. Then again, she already knew everything he needed to say.

They both did.

All three of them did.

Shikadai paused, in a moment of silent reflection. There didn’t seem to be anything else he needed to mention. Not right now.

Right now, Chocho was sitting opposite Inojin and already grinning at him, and teasing him about something. And Inojin was looking haughty and self-righteous and defending himself against her verbal assault, and it was exactly the way it was meant to be.

Shikadai slipped into the seat next to Inojin, and the world felt right.

Like Chocho, like Inojin, like him . . . it was exactly what it was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Getting called into the Hokage’s assistant’s office was filled with potential for Shikadai. It could be for a thrilling mission briefing with a high-profile client. It could be because Temari made curry and was sending it to him through his father. It could be because Shikamaru was bored and wanted a lunch time Shogi partner.

Or, in this case, because Shikadai was in consideration for a promotion to Jounin and had been receiving several important missions that doubled as tests.

Like this one.

“A few of the elder members of the council aren’t convinced that you’re trustworthy,” Shikamaru began, with a casual shrug, sinking lower in his seat. “That’s not because of you – it’s because you’re half Temari and they think that’s a problem. I’ve told them that you wouldn’t betray Konoha for Suna but they don’t think my word is valid.”

“Because you married Mom?” Shikadai guessed.

“Yes, and because I told them I would happily leave Konoha today to continue to be with her,” Shikamaru tilted his head to the side, considering. “It was a bluff, but it got the point across. Anyway,” he looked at Shikadai, “as part of your consideration for Jounin, the elders are assigning you a small task to ensure you can keep information to yourself when asked.”

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Shikamaru pushed a small scroll forwards on his desk. “This scroll contains some sort of information. I have no idea what it says. You are to read it, and make sure no one else looks at it. I have assigned someone in this village to attempt to take the scroll from you and report the information inside it back to me. I’ll call you back here in two days, and we’ll see how things pan out.”

“This sounds exceedingly simple,” Shikadai frowned, reaching out and taking the scroll. It fitted neatly into his palm, and was unsealed. Anyone could open it.

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem achieving the mission objective,” Shikamaru replied. He looked shrewdly at his son. “Don’t stress about it; I don’t think it’s anything wildly top secret. The idea is to test that you can keep information safe.”

“So it could be something dumb like a soup recipe?” Shikadai deadpanned.

“Might be. That’s not the point.”

“I’ll keep it safe,” Shikadai promised. “No one will know what it says.”

“Great,” Shikamaru waved Shikadai away. “Keep an eye out for anyone prying for information. And, of course, for any random Anbu members who might ambush you.”

Shikadai groaned. “You’re sending Anbu after me? That’s such a drag.”

“And I have complete faith that you will survive the ordeal,” Shikamaru added on. “Have fun.”

“Have fun getting ambushed for two days,” Shikadai grumbled. He trudged out of the office, and waited until he was home before curiously opening the scroll.

“What is it?” Chocho asked, working at the stove while Shikadai sat at the kitchen counter.

“It’s classified,” he muttered back at her.

“Yeah, I know. But is it something exciting? Is it a real secret?”

Shikadai shook his head, with a small smile. “I can’t tell you. You’ll have to use your imagination until the two days are over.”

He closed the scroll again, and set it on the counter.

Chocho peered at it, one hand still stirring a pot. “Now I’m disappointed that I can’t look at it.”

Shikadai grinned at her. “It’s top secret.”

“Can I poke it?” she asked, reaching her other hand towards it.

“No,” Shikadai replied. “I’m not supposed to let anyone touch it. Anyone could be out to steal the information from me.”

“It’s likely to be that shinobi lurking on our balcony,” Chocho said casually, her attention back on the pot. “Should I punch his lights out?”

“Not yet,” Shikadai glanced at the big window. The shinobi outside was well concealed, but that didn’t matter. No one could get past the combined defences of the Ino-Shika-Cho.

Chocho continued cooking in silence, until the handle on the balcony door shifted. Without looking up from the stove, she expanded one arm out behind her, wrenched the door open and punched a massive fist squarely into the very startled shinobi outside. He flew off the balcony, with a distressed yelp, and presumably landed in the street below.

“Thanks,” Shikadai remarked.

“You’re welcome. Take the rice out the rice cooker, please, and where is Inojin?”

“He’s on his way home,” Shikadai tucked the scroll into a pocket, and moved around the counter to get to their rice cooker. “I told him if there’s anyone on the stairs, get rid of them.”

“This is going to be an interesting few days,” Chocho mused. “And fun.”

“What’s fun about it?” Shikadai grumbled.

“We get to immediately attack anyone who talks to us,” she replied, with a broad smile. “That’s kinda fun.”

When Shikadai received a message from his mother directly after dinner telling him he needed to pop in for a visit, he groaned loudly. There was no way that wasn’t deliberate – Shikamaru obviously wanted him wandering the village so he could be bombarded with random attackers.

And, of course, saying no to Temari was never an option.

“Have a nice visit,” Inojin grinned from the couch, feet on the coffee table, and filing his nails while Chocho set out her collection of nail polish and mused over what colour to choose for the week.

“It won’t be a nice visit, and you know it,” Shikadai sighed. He really wanted to curl up on the couch with Inojin, lean into his side and snooze the evening away. At the same time, he really wanted to prove to Konoha’s elders that he was capable of keeping information safe and secret.

And that meant he had to slog his way to his parents’ house.

He was barely outside when Boruto called his name, and trotted across the street to fall into step at his side.

“Heard you have a top-secret mission,” Boruto grinned.

Shikadai shrugged. “Not exactly.”

“Aw, come on, it’s a cool assignment,” Boruto looked Shikadai up and down as they walked. “Where’s the scroll?”

“None of your business.”

“What’s inside it?” Boruto asked.

Shikadai shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at his friend, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I can’t tell you. You might very well have been assigned to get the information from me.”

Boruto pouted. “Hey, I’m not spying! I just want to know what it says!”

“That’s exactly what a spy would say,” Shikadai replied primly, feeling for the scroll in his pocket. He kept it close, putting a few cautious steps between himself and Boruto.

Boruto huffed. “You’re so dramatic. Where are you going?”

“My mom called me.” He kept half an eye on Boruto. “Do you need something?”

“No,” Boruto shook his head.

“Then leave. I’ll be sociable again once I don’t have this scroll on me.”

“That’s fair,” Boruto grinned widely. “Have fun. We’ll go for burgers when you’re less paranoid.”

“Sounds good,” Shikadai managed a sincere smile, and Boruto leapt away. The rest of the journey to his parents’ house was unremarkable, and Shikadai found Temari in the kitchen, absently making a shopping list.

She glanced at him as he arrived. “That was quick.”

“I’m probably safer here than at home,” he replied. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What do you need?”

“You’re coming to dinner on Friday. Let me know if there’s anything specific you want to eat, because I’m going shopping tomorrow.” Temari set her list down on the counter.

“Did you really make me come here just for that?” Shikadai arched an eyebrow.

“No,” Temari shook her head. “I wanted to have a go at getting that scroll away from you.”

“You – what?” Shikadai didn’t wait any longer, and bolted from the kitchen. He hurled himself off the outside porch towards the forest, not waiting to see if Temari would follow.

A shuriken whizzed past his ear and lodged into a nearby tree, and he groaned. He did not, under any circumstance, want to get into a fight with his mother.

“Leave me alone!” he tried, ducking behind a tree. Two deer startled away at his sudden appearance. Their movement gave him away, and he heard the familiar metallic snap of Temari’s fan opening.

He sucked in a tense breath, before a branch above him cracked and began falling.

“No, that’s not fucking fair!” Shikadai yelped, darting away. “Mom! Don’t!”

“Why not?” Temari called, with a laugh under her words, and clearly still near the house. She might not chase him, but going deeper into the forest wasn’t really an option. Shikadai was slightly concerned she wouldn’t let him come out again.

“Dad said Anbu, not you!” he shouted, peering around another tree.

“If I want to mess with you, I can,” Temari claimed smugly, surveying the forest. “You never know who might want what you have.” She pulled her fan back again, and Shikadai grimaced.

There was no way around it. She was going to harass him until she had finished amusing herself.

He resigned to a long, difficult, and likely painful ordeal, and braced one shoulder against the tree bark. Hands together, eyes flicking up to the sun to check its position, he snaked his shadow across the grass.

Shikadai trudged home, exhausted and battered, and made his way wearily into the apartment. It was quiet again, although Chocho’s polish collection was still on the coffee table. Shikadai plodded into the bedroom.

Inojin was sitting at Shikadai’s desk, working on a coloured sketch of flowers. He glanced to the side momentarily as Shikadai set the scroll down on the edge of the desk.

“Keep an eye on that while I shower,” Shikadai gestured to the scroll.

Inojin didn’t look up from his drawing. “Okay.”

Shikadai hesitated, then pushed it a little closer to Inojin. “Seriously, there have been people bothering me all day. Keep it close.”

Inojin tucked the scroll under his elbow, still keeping his gaze fixed on his page. He was too absorbed in his drawing to care much about Shikadai’s fretting.

Satisfied that the scroll was safe for now, Shikadai hurried through a shower before returning to their room. Inojin had not moved, still drawing, and still with the scroll tucked neatly under his arm. He released it to Shikadai without further comment.

“What are you going to do while you’re sleeping?” Inojin asked idly.

“I’ve already rigged traps around the outside of the apartment,” Shikadai said. “I’ll do a few extra in our room before we go to bed. So, maybe don’t wander about in the night too much.”

Inojin chuckled. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to go to the bathroom just to have the door explode on me.”

He set his drawing aside, stretching his arms above his head, and rolling his neck from side to side. He let his arms flop down, and turned to Shikadai. He let out an involuntary laugh.

“What?” Shikadai griped.

“You look so annoyed,” Inojin grinned, standing up and approaching Shikadai’s bed. “You’re sitting there hunched up and glaring daggers at everything.”

“Yeah, because my dad has basically given the entire village permission to attack me,” Shikadai grumbled. “Excuse me if I’m a little tense and irritated about that.”

“It’ll be fine,” Inojin said. “Even your dad wouldn’t be mean enough to tell people to go after you in the night. We can sleep without worrying.”

“I doubt that,” Shikadai replied. “Maybe we should sleep in shifts.”

“Whatever you need,” Inojin said, with a casual shrug, and those words helped to relax Shikadai a little.

He visibly calmed, offering a gentle smile to his partner, and nodding. “You’re probably right. Get ready for bed, so I can finish the traps.”

Inojin giggled lightly. “Okay, okay. But promise you’ll sleep and not stress all night.”

“I’m very good at sleeping.”

Shikadai was awoken very rudely the next morning by a loud crash. He nearly fell out of bed in his haste to get up, and found Inojin similarly startled but already armed with a paintbrush.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, and immediately received a response.

“Nothing!” Chocho’s voice called from the bathroom.

“Didn’t sound like nothing.” Shikadai was suspicious.

“It was another intruder. Don’t worry, I punched him out the window.”

“Who tries to infiltrate from the bathroom?” Inojin muttered, sinking back onto his bed. He sent a weary glance to Shikadai. “I can’t wait for you to give that scroll back.”

“Neither can I,” Shikadai replied. He shouted at the closed door again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Chocho replied, sounding bright and alert. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not likely.” Shikadai slumped down on the edge of his bed, rubbing a hand across his face with a low groan. “I hate this mission.”

He startled a bit as Inojin suddenly appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Shikadai’s shoulders and mumbling tiredly, “Let’s just lie here for a bit and ignore everyone else.”

Shikadai let himself be pulled down, and absently reached for the wayward blanket that had flown away at his hasty awakening. He tugged Inojin close, covered them both up, and let out a sigh. This mission was proving to be more of a drag than he anticipated.

He dozed off again at some point, and when he awoke, Inojin was still lying tight against him, eyes closed but awake.

Shikadai pressed a soft kiss to the centre of his forehead, and a wide smile bloomed across Inojin’s face. He opened his sky blue eyes, instantly lighting up the day.

“Morning,” Inojin said.

“Morning. This is a much better way to wake up,” Shikadai replied.

“Hm,” Inojin hummed his agreement, and cuddled up closer. “Can we stay like this all day?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Shikadai heaved a sigh, and rolled onto his back to stare balefully at the ceiling. One more day, he reminded himself. Just one more day of defending against every single person who spoke to him. He sat up reluctantly, leaning down to give Inojin a long, tender kiss before hauling himself out of bed.

By the time he finished getting ready, Inojin had only just dragged himself out of bed, and sat at the kitchen counter with breakfast.

Shikadai stared at him for a moment, wishing he could put the day aside and merely stay in Inojin’s presence. He felt for the scroll in his pocket, and grimaced. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow, they could spend leisurely time together without the paranoia and the stress.

“Bye,” Inojin called casually, and Shikadai gave him a half-hearted wave in reply, and prepared to leave.

When Shikadai opened the apartment door, Iwabe was waiting outside.

“I swear to god, I will throw you down these stairs and break all your limbs if you even think about touching my scroll,” Shikadai growled.

Iwabe held up his hands in defence. “Alright, man, calm down. But I still need to fight you.”

“This building will actually collapse,” Shikadai said, still bristling. “So let me get outside, and then I’ll kick your ass.”

“You wish you could kick my ass,” Iwabe scoffed. “You’re good, yeah, but not as good as me.”

And that might have been true, had Shikadai not been exhausted, and pissed off, and not been made of Temari’s genes that, when pushed, always pushed back. By the time they were both outside, Shikadai was so over the entire ordeal that he thoroughly thrashed Iwabe, attracting a decent sized crowd of onlookers, and eventually being stopped by Sarada stepping in and sensibly pointing out that he should stop before the entire village was wrecked.

The fight left Shikadai triumphant with his scroll well-guarded, and also with a headache, a limp, and tightness in his chest with every breath from some severely bruised ribs. At least he worked out a bit of tension and nervous energy, and he was counting that as a win.

After a brief apology to Iwabe, a handshake to settle any hard feelings, Shikadai had limped his way to the Hokage building to work on some annoying paperwork.

He knew he was less likely to be bothered in here, since Shikamaru did not want to be responsible for repairs to the old building. So he settled into an open desk in the archives, finally feeling some respite.

His morning passed unremarkably, until another shinobi working near the door broke through his thoughts with a cheerful, “He’s over there. In a bad mood.”

Shikadai looked up to see Inojin approaching.

“Brought you lunch,” Inojin said, with a small smile, setting a bento onto the table. “Thought you might be hungry and wouldn’t want to go outside.”

“Thanks,” Shikadai sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “I feel so paranoid. Every time someone wants to talk to me, I think they’re after the scroll. It’s so stressful.”

“Oh,” Inojin made a face. “Then you won’t want to hear that I’ve got something to ask . . .”

Shikadai sighed.

“I know you’re busy,” Inojin began apologetically, “but Moegi asked if you can tell her what code this is?” He opened a thin folder, with a few pieces of paper tucked inside. “It’s an old mission report she asked me to pull. I think she needs it to confirm a strategy or something.”

“It’s the standard Anbu encryption key,” Shikadai explained. “Take it to decryption, and they’ll be able to translate it for you.”

“Thanks,” Inojin leaned in to press a quick kiss to Shikadai’s cheek. “See you later.”

“If I live that long.” Shikadai turned his head to catch a second kiss on the lips. When Inojin pulled away, with a gentle smile, Shikadai had to soften his expression into a returning smile. It was impossible not to feel some sort of lightness when Inojin looked at him like that.

He assured, sounding more sincere this time, “I’ll be home later in the afternoon, and we can hang out then.”

Hopefully, if he wasn’t hospitalized by some over-zealous Anbu assigned to take the scroll from him.

He was going to ignore all further correspondence from his mother, that was for sure.

The next day, and somewhat smugly, Shikadai slapped the scroll down onto Shikamaru’s desk.

“There,” Shikadai said, pleased. “One well-defended scroll.”

“And apparently a few shinobi in need of medical attention,” Shikamaru added.

Shikadai huffed out a laugh. “It was only the one, really. Chocho broke his nose – but that’s what you get for sending people to infiltrate the apartment through the bathroom.”

Shikamaru chuckled. “Fair enough. Thanks for returning the scroll.”

Shikadai nodded, shoulders back, confident.

“However, you failed the assignment.”

Shikadai’s face fell. “W-what?”

“Your scroll contained a coded message, in the Konoha Anbu encryption key. It was a list of all the previous Hokages and their main contributions to Konoha.”

“But . . .” Shikadai blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. “Wait, no. I didn’t tell anyone. There were like ten people who tried to get that information from me, and none of them did. I didn’t even let Mom get it. You can’t know what the scroll said.”

“I can,” Shikamaru folded his arms. He didn’t look upset, but Shikadai couldn’t pinpoint exactly what expression he had. “You see, I didn’t assign any Anbu to get the information from you. I assigned Inojin.”

Shikadai’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Everyone else was a decoy,” a ghost of a smile flickered across Shikamaru’s face. “But you let Inojin look after the scroll. You let him open it. And you let him know which code he needed to decipher it. You failed,” Shikamaru repeated, and Shikadai snapped his jaw shut.

“That’s . . . not fair,” Shikadai tried.

“Life isn’t fair. I specified that no one was to open that scroll. You failed that.” Shikamaru waited, but Shikadai had no defence and remained silent. “When you have sensitive information, no one can know about it. Not even the people you trust the most – unless you’ve been told they can know it.”

Shikadai’s silence continued.

“I know I can trust you,” Shikamaru said, with a slowly widening smile. “I know I can trust you with everything. With anything. But that’s not what being a shinobi is all about. Think bigger. And be careful. You want more responsibility; you have to be willing to take it on. Alone, if needed.”

“Okay,” Shikadai murmured, eyes cast down. “I get it. Sorry I screwed up.”

“Better luck next time,” Shikamaru said, still smiling.

Shikadai suppressed a groan, but barely. He turned away, letting out a brief grumble. Shikamaru didn’t call him back, and Shikadai pulled the door open.

He closed the office door, and leant his back heavily against it, shutting his eyes and trying to quell the feeling of being a complete idiot.

“Hey.” Inojin’s soft voice interrupted his brief moment of despair.

Shikadai opened his eyes, faced with an apologetic Inojin.

“Sorry,” Inojin murmured.

“It’s fine. You were just doing your job.”

“Yeah, but I messed things up for you and-“

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “I messed up, not you. I was the one told to keep the information secret. I was the one who let you see it. This is all on me. No fault of yours.”

“So you’re not mad at me?” Inojin ventured, cautiously.

“No,” Shikadai sighed. “Not mad at you. Not too pleased at myself, though.”

He knew it was a minor setback. Shikamaru would give him more opportunities. This had not been a test to become Jounin, but a warning that the world was bigger than Shikadai’s team. Shikamaru wanted him to consider things – the future, consequences, everything. This was a reminder that every move Shikadai made was being watched, and he needed to keep that in mind.

First and foremost, he was a shinobi.

And that meant that sometimes he had difficult choices to make, and difficult secrets to keep, and difficult tasks to accomplish.

“Can I make it up to you?” Inojin asked, after Shikadai remained quiet for too long.

Shikadai shrugged. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”

“Nope. I thought you might. You’re the one who needs cheering up, so,” Inojin smiled at him. “What do you want to do?”

Shikadai took a moment to ponder, before snaking an arm around Inojin’s shoulders and beginning to walk down the hall. “Let’s go home. And hang out on the couch. And stare mindlessly at the TV. Maybe make out a little.”

Inojin leaned into the embrace. “Okay.”

He matched Shikadai’s languid pace, and they wandered home side by side.

Chapter Text

It had been one of those seemingly endless weeks. The team had been on back-to-back missions, and while it had been nice to have the three of them together for once instead of Shikadai popping in and out to take care of the million other responsibilities he spread across two villages, it had been draining.

So with a day off - most of one anyway - finally in reach, Shikadai wanted nothing more than to hand in his last few mission reports and go home. He knew Inojin was already there, waiting for him, catching up on the chores they had let slide. After a week of ‘oh shit we gonna die’, Shikadai was looking forward to the sheer mundane. Folding laundry, doing dishes, falling asleep on the couch.

That was his one true goal as he trudged up the stairs towards the apartment. He knew Inojin was already working on laundry. It was a chore Inojin particularly liked, because it came with long periods of free time that he used for sketching and calligraphy. Chocho was out shopping, because the contents of their fridge were half a bottle of orange juice, one sprouting potato, and some suspicious looking miso soup that Shikadai was convinced was about to become sentient and exit the apartment.

So Shikadai knew he was getting alone time with Inojin when he opened the apartment door, and there were few things that could put a damper on that.

Except, of course, Inojin himself.

The sight greeting Shikadai was not as welcome as he would have wanted. Yes, it was Inojin. And yes, he glanced over his shoulder at Shikadai and smiled that radiant smile that shamed the sun, and absently tucked some sunny blond hair behind his ear that had worked its way loose of the sloppy ponytail at the base of his neck, but of course it had to be laundry day.

And Inojin’s ‘laundry day’ outfit was a point of contention. Because while Inojin claimed it was ‘relaxing’ and ‘freeing’, Shikadai thought it bordered on insanity.

And it was a crop top and a skirt, of all things.

The off-white skirt that both Chocho and Inojin assured him was actually Chocho’s, and was not bought specifically for Inojin, despite the fact that it would not fit over one of Chocho’s thighs and was patterned in cream and lilac flowers that Inojin constantly admired, was almost floor length, and flowy, and for some reason wearing it made Inojin constantly hum and swing his hips as he walked.

Shikadai was pretty sure the accompanying shirt had once belonged to Ino, because it was cut shorter than any of Inojin’s other shirts and the smiling pink heart on the front was nearly faded away.

“Hi,” Inojin greeted brightly, turning back to the laundry machine. “Anything you need to add here? This load is almost done and then I’ve got one more to do.”

“I think I’m good,” Shikadai said, leaning against the door.

Inojin turned to the couch, whereupon there was a massive pile of clean clothes, and absently picked up the shirt on top to begin folding it. The movement showed off a teasing glimpse of pale stomach, and Shikadai let out a breath.

Inojin glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Yes, what?”

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Why are you wearing a skirt?” Shikadai groaned.

“Because all my pants are in the wash,” Inojin replied sensibly. He placed the folded shirt on the back of the couch, and reached for the next article of clothing.

“I don’t like it when you wear it,” Shikadai pushed off the door, and approached slowly.

“You don’t like it when I wear the skirt, you don’t like it when I wear my polka dot pajamas,” Inojin sighed. “When are you not complaining about my clothes?”

“When I’m taking them off you,” Shikadai answered, far too quickly and with a lot more confidence than he had expected of himself. He snapped his jaw shut immediately afterwards, unsure of where to look or what to say.

Inojin seemed equally stupefied, and merely stared unblinking at him. He dropped the clothing he was folding back onto the pile.

“Um,” Shikadai broke eye contact first, gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget I said that.”

“Oh, no, no, we are not doing that,” Inojin folded his arms across his chest, and between the ratty old t-shirt and the ridiculous skirt, Shikadai had to work hard to suppress a chuckle. “We are definitely following up on that comment.”

“Do we have to?” Shikadai mumbled.

“Yeah, we do. Do you think about that often?” Inojin’s head tipped curiously to the side. “Do you spend a lot of time thinking about undressing me?”

“Can we change the subject?” Shikadai asked, with a heavy sigh. He already knew the answer. Inojin was not the type to let things go.

“No, we can’t,” Inojin replied. He paused briefly to gather his thoughts. “You’re the one who always says stop, you know?”

Shikadai said nothing.

“You’re the one who always says it’s enough, or we need to slow down, or take a break.” Inojin’s shoulders heaved a bit, and Shikadai tentatively looked at him. “And I don’t mind that. Obviously. I like what we do, I’m satisfied, I love the time we spend together. But it’s nice to know that you’re having those sorts of thoughts about me.”

“Inojin,” Shikadai said, trying not groan. “It’s not . . . I don’t . . . Ugh, you’re such a drag. Look . . .” He trailed off, trying to get a grasp on his thoughts. This was an argument he knew had been coming. It had been a catalyst of disagreement more than once – Shikadai’s unwillingness to explore further physically, versus Inojin’s eagerness to try.

Their relationship was not devoid of physical intimacy. Shikadai was merely cautious, careful, waiting. There were lines they hadn’t crossed.

“Inojin,” Shikadai began, with a long, low sigh. “You well know that I don’t want us . . . doing too much too fast. Not because I don’t like you, and not because you aren’t hot, and, fuck, not because I don’t have thoughts like that.”

“I sense a big ‘but’ coming,” Inojin said, frowning. “I don’t see the problem here. I want you. You want me. I don’t know exactly what thoughts you have in your head but if they’re anything like mine then we have nothing to worry about. So why do you keep saying no?”

Shikadai shrugged.

“What are you so worried about?” Inojin demanded, taking a step closer. “Is it the clans? The future? Me? What has you so concerned all the time? I thought it’d be better when we moved in together because you wouldn’t be so hung up on your parents seeing us or whatever it is that keeps you up at night.”

The laundry machine beeped, and Shikadai flicked his eyes towards it.

“Laundry’s done,” Shikadai said softly.

“Talk to me,” Inojin begged. “Come on, Shikadai. Something is bothering you.”

“It’s just . . . it’s everything, okay?” Shikadai turned away, fully intending to retreat to their bedroom.

“You know the only thing that scares me about our relationship is that one day you’ll give up on us because you won’t be able to handle the pressure.”

Shikadai froze in place. He sincerely did not want to turn around and face Inojin, but he couldn’t think of anything else he could do. He turned slowly.

Inojin was leaning uncertainly against the back of the couch, face sombre. “You worry,” he continued. “A lot. About duty and expectations, and what you think you’re meant to be. I know that it bothers you when your dad says everything is okay, because you don’t believe him and you think you’re letting him down.”

“How can I believe him?” Shikadai murmured. “You and I . . . and Chocho . . . we had our lives planned out from before we were born. Now we’re going against that. We’re the first ones to go against that. That’s a little scary, okay? And my dad is always doing the right thing, for everyone – the whole village, and me, and the clan, and my mom. So how am I meant to believe that he’s okay with you and me together when everything he’s been working towards says otherwise?”

“Is it just your dad?” Inojin asked. “Is he the only thing that bothers you?”

“No,” Shikadai admitted, voice dropping. “There’s a lot of things. There will always be a lot of things.”

Because Shikadai carried the weight of the world with him every day. Because he had two parents that set the bar so impossibly high that he didn’t feel he could catch up to them, and even if he knew he was his own person and would forge his own path, that path was partially predetermined and he was nervous about straying too far.

And there was an uncertain future ahead of him, an ancient clan behind him, two things that made being Shikadai difficult and unclear. He hated the lack of clarity. He hated the doubt he had about himself.

He hated the fact that he had to disappoint someone and he didn’t know how he was meant to choose between his father or Inojin.

“Sit down,” Inojin said softly, after Shikadai’s silence lingered on. “Let’s talk.”

When Shikadai remained steadfastly still, Inojin took him by the hand and dragged him around the couch. They sat side by side, with Inojin half leaning against the enormous pile of laundry.

“I’m not in a rush to have sex,” Inojin started, because that seemed like the easiest way to put Shikadai’s mind at ease. “I want to, but . . . when you want to. It’s no fun if you don’t want it, too.”

There were a number of things holding Shikadai back. A list of reasons, some he had shared with Inojin and others he had kept to himself, that kept him from pursuing too much.

“I’ll wait as long as I need to,” Inojin assured. “So you don’t have to worry. About me.”

“I know,” Shikadai sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “I know there’s no pressure from you. You’re the one thing in my life I never have to second guess.”

Inojin smiled at him, inching a hand across the couch to grasp at Shikadai’s fingers.

“I’m trying to find all the right answers,” Shikadai mumbled, staring at the window and the blue sky. “To all these questions. And the questions about you are important. Those are not answers that can be made on a whim. You deserve more than that, and you’re worth more than that.”

Inojin entangled their fingers, looking down at their hands. “So that’s the only problem? It’s just you overthinking everything?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Shikadai let out a long breath. “I can’t help it. And I need to figure out how to stop it. Because when I’m with you, I only want to be thinking about you. I don’t wanna be worrying and stressed and distracted.”

“That sounds achievable,” Inojin smiled broadly. “How hard can it be to teach you to stop thinking? Should be easy.”

Shikadai raised a doubtful eyebrow, eying Inojin’s serene and optimistic expression. “Really? Easy?”

“Yeah, you just stop thinking so much,” Inojin proposed simply, and Shikadai snorted out a laugh.

“How wise,” he chortled. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

They were silent for a moment, before Shikadai’s voice sobered down to normal and he asked, “Do you know any way to turn my brain off?”

“Sorry,” Inojin squeezed his fingers. “I only know how to turn you on.”

Shikadai chose to let that go. He returned the gesture of squeezing Inojin’s hand, and they fell quiet, both deep in thought.

“It’s nice to know,” Inojin said, after a pause. “That you think about me like that – about sex, I mean.”

“Of course I do,” Shikadai sent him a sideways look. “Have you seen yourself? How can I not. Just because I’m not yet acting on any thoughts doesn’t mean they aren’t there, or that I don’t enjoy them.”

“Can you tell me some of the things you think about me?” Inojin asked, mostly curious but a little excited. “Some of the, uh, naughty thoughts?”

Shikadai glanced at him, a ghost of a smile blossoming on his face. “Really?”

“Yeah. I want to know.”

“It feels weird to say it,” Shikadai admitted.

“Well, I would say ‘show me’ but I guess that’s off the table for a while.”

Shikadai laughed, leaning into Inojin’s shoulder. Once his chuckles had died down, he spoke more freely, “Don’t judge me for being sappy, but sometimes when we’re getting ready for bed I want to tell you to sleep in my bed with me. And then we’d just lie there, and touch each other, and, I don’t know, have fun.”

“We can do that,” Inojin said immediately. “And that’s not naughty – that can plausibly occur in the next twenty-four hours. Tell me something spicier.”

“You first,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow.

Inojin did not hesitate. “I wear the polka dot pajamas because you always look at me like you want to rip them off and throw them away. I’m hoping one day you will. And then we have angry sex.”

“What?” Shikadai whipped his head to face Inojin.

Inojin looked away. “We don’t have to . . . it’s just a thought. And, you might not have noticed . . . but you’re sexy when you’re pissed off.”

“Do you . . . irritate me on purpose . . . because you think I’m hot when I’m mad?”

“I’m not sure I want to answer that.”

“So many things about you make sense now,” Shikadai muttered, tipping his head against the back of the couch again in resignation.

Inojin shrugged, not yet brave enough to look at him again.

There was a slightly longer silence this time, as Shikadai stared at the wall, mind trotting forwards into the future and planning and figuring things out.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Inojin elbowed him, and Shikadai returned the gesture irritably.

“I can’t help it,” Shikadai grumbled. “It’s who I am.”

“I know.” Inojin, confidence and dignity recovered, stretched his legs out to prop his toes on the coffee table and admire the flower pattern on his skirt. He threw a wide smile at Shikadai, before turning his attention back to the fabric and absently jostling one leg to watch the flowers move.

After a pause, he asked softly, “What do you think about, when you think about us and the future?”

“Everything,” Shikadai replied, with a heavy sigh. “I don’t think there’s a scenario I haven’t thought through. All the good ones, all the bad ones. Everything that could go wrong, everything that could go right. It’s a lot,” he admitted, with a small, self-conscious laugh. “It worries me a bit.”

“Can I help at all?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai shook his head slowly. “No. None of it is solvable yet. We have to wait for the future to find us, and see what happens.”

“But you’ll let me know, right? If there’s anything I can do to help?” Inojin leaned into Shikadai’s side, snuggling in closely when Shikadai wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I’ll let you know,” Shikadai promised. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of Inojin’s head, before mumbling into his silky blond hair, “Now please finish the laundry so you can get out of that ridiculous skirt.”

The next morning, Inojin accosted Chocho as she was getting ready for the day, running a brush through her hair while in her room. She gave him an acknowledging nod as he stuck his head through the door, and set her hairbrush down.

“Can you do me a favour?” Inojin asked.

“Sure, what’s up?” Chocho turned to face him, hands in her hair as she wrangled it into place for the day.

“Can you be somewhere else tonight?” Inojin requested. At Chocho’s questioning raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “I want to give Shikadai an evening of no worrying. So, just peace and quiet. No interruptions or anything else. If you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Chocho finished tying her hair. “I’ll spend the night with Sarada. You guys can have the place to yourselves.” She paused, then asked, “Is Shikadai alright?”

“Yeah, he’s just regular Shikadai,” Inojin said, with a half-smile. “But regular Shikadai can use a little bit of relaxing now and again.”

“Regular Shikadai is very tightly wound,” she agreed. “He hides it well because he’s a Nara, but he’s tense all the time.”

She grinned at Inojin. “Have fun tonight.”

“Not too much fun,” Inojin cautioned. “We’re not yet ready for too much fun.”

“Okay,” Chocho shrugged a shoulder, and amended, “Then make sure you have exactly the right amount of fun that you’re both comfortable with.”

“You tryna set a mood or something?” Shikadai asked, with an air of scepticism, as Inojin settled beside him on the couch and handed over a glass of water with an excess of lemon slices.

“It’s just a lemon wedge, you uncultured troglodyte,” Inojin retorted. “Water can be classy, too, you know.”

“Yeah, of course, nothing says class like sitting on the couch at home with water and a pizza.” Shikadai sent Inojin a cheeky, sideways smile.

“I did think about getting alcohol, since we’re meant to be relaxing, but my dad was busy and I didn’t want to ask my mom to get some because she would have lectured me.” Inojin rolled his eyes.

“This is fine,” Shikadai assured. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s you and me. What more could we need?” Absently, Shikadai clinked their glasses together.

“It is nice,” Inojin agreed, tucking his feet up onto the couch and leaning into Shikadai’s side. He wanted to bring up their previous conversation, maybe get an estimated timeline for the anticipated next step in their relationship, an idea of when they would revisit sex. But he held the words back, because the point was not to stress Shikadai out.

Inojin was curious, eager, and keen to explore himself and their relationship. And he knew that Shikadai felt the same, but Shikadai also carried the weight of too many expectations on his shoulders, and over analysed every step in his life. He wasn’t impulsive, he wasn’t reckless, and he didn’t miscalculate anything.

Inojin had to admit, knowing those things made him a smidgen hot and bothered, because it meant that Shikadai would do all the necessary research, all the thinking and planning and analysing, and when they finally reached that point of completion it would, no doubt, be skilful, and amazing, and hopefully mind-blowing.

Because Shikadai wouldn’t settle for second best.

“What are you thinking about now?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got that look on your face again – all smug about something.”

“Just planning stuff,” Inojin dismissed. Just imagining how incredible it’s going to be to finally get to fuck you, he added to himself, with a little smile.

Shikadai looked doubtful. “You’re plotting something.”

“That’s your job,” Inojin replied instantly. “Relax, it’s nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

“Inojin, I trust you with my life, but I don’t trust you with your own thoughts.” Shikadai stared at him, waiting to see if Inojin would tell him what was going on.

Instead of answering, Inojin leaned in to give Shikadai a quick, affectionate kiss on the mouth. When he drew back, there was finally a genuine, soft smile on Shikadai’s face.

“We can talk about this again after I have an idea of when I’ll become Jounin,” Shikadai promised.

“Is that happening soon?” Inojin asked. “Not to sound over-eager, just . . . being supportive?”

“You can be supportive and horny at the same time,” Shikadai assured, and Inojin’s grin widened. “And I don’t know exactly when,” Shikadai mused, “but my dad has been dropping a few hints about more tests for Jounin, or other missions to take, and uncle Gaara keeps sending me stuff and asking for favours so . . .” He trailed off, and shrugged. “Soon, I think.”

“Can’t wait,” Inojin said.

Shikadai gave him a sideways look. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Inojin snuggled into Shikadai’s arm, pleased when Shikadai lifted it to wrap casually around his shoulders. It was nice to have this time together, to relax and reflect, and ponder the future.

“Let me know if I’m ever annoying you,” Inojin mumbled. After a questioning noise from Shikadai, he elaborated, “About the sex thing. If I bring it up too much.”

“Nah, I like it,” Shikadai pressed a kiss to Inojin’s forehead. “Its nice to know you’re thinking about it, and excited.”

“Should I wear the pajamas, the first time?” Inojin teased, hiding a snort in Shikadai’s chest.

“Please don’t,” Shikadai groaned.

“I’ll wear something nice,” Inojin assured.

“Good.”

“If we’re putting things on a schedule,” Inojin closed a hand in Shikadai’s shirt, holding him lightly. “I’d recommend laundry day. That way everything is clean.”

“Are you sure it’s not so you can wear your stupid skirt to piss me off?”

“You know me so well,” Inojin replied airily.

“Yeah,” Shikadai jostled Inojin lightly, drawing him closer. “And I’ll know you even better soon.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai’s first mistake had been going to his parents’ house to seek out his father, instead of immediately heading for the Hokage building. He had been hoping to catch Shikamaru at home, and perhaps score something nice to eat, and relax and talk for a while instead of feeling rushed, as was always the case in the Hokage’s office.

Unfortunately, both his parents weren’t home, and as Shikadai was leaving the Nara area he bumped into Nara Enchu. If his mother was to be believed, Enchu was only alive because the Nara clan was too lazy to plan an assassination and Enchu didn’t have the common decency to die of old age. Needless to say, he and Temari did not get along.

Enchu was a grumpy old traditionalist, who had objected to Shikamaru’s wedding, nearly (but unfortunately not) had an aneurysm when Temari claimed Shikadai was still an heir to the Kazekage position, and took whatever opportunities he could to remind Shikadai that he was heir to the Nara clan and needed to plan his future accordingly.

Shikadai bit back a sigh as the old man spotted him, and waved him over.

Shikadai tried to sound polite. “Good morning, sir. I can’t chat; I’m due at the Hokage office –“

“Ah,” Enchu nodded, giving Shikadai a narrow-eyed once over. “I thought perhaps you were moving back here. It’s odd, you know, for a Nara to be living within the village and away from their clan.”

Shikadai tried not to sigh. “Um, no. I’m still happy living with Inojin and Chocho.”

“Hm,” Enchu’s stare intensified further. “You and Inojin.”

“What about us?” Shikadai asked wearily. So far, he had avoided all these conversations with snooping elders. Shikamaru usually took care of it, and Shikadai had no idea what he was supposed to say.

“Nothing,” Enchu shook his head. “Perhaps you need to spend more time thinking about your future and less time thinking about Inojin.”

“Inojin is part of my future,” Shikadai insisted.

“Maybe for now,” Enchu said, and Shikadai bristled a bit. “But things change, and people change. I’m just saying – keep a more open mind.”

I’m in a gay relationship with my best friend, how much more open minded can I get? Shikadai kept the thought to himself, and merely nodded. He made a quick escape after that, claiming to be running late, and dashed away.

He slowed only once in the centre of the village, his strides dropping down to casual and unhurried.

Some Academy students waved at him as he walked through the village, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets. He extracted one hand long enough to return the greeting, but carefully stayed out of range of talking. He had assisted with a few classes recently, and while it had been fun it meant that there were too many clamouring children wishing to talk to him.

Today, he wouldn’t be able to fake enthusiasm at their progress or revelations, nor did he want to become embroiled in schoolyard gossip.

He really didn’t have the energy to deal with anything else. There were already several pressing matters at the forefront of his mind, weighing him down with every step.

In addition to his regular shinobi duties and leading his team, he was worrying over correspondence from Suna, waiting with bated breath for information from the other village about his future prospects. He had downplayed the significance to Inojin and Chocho, telling them it was just regular mission stuff. In actuality, he was building up his portfolio for becoming Jounin, and Kankuro had tentatively put his name forwards as part of Suna’s special ops teams.

Getting into Anbu in Suna, being Jounin in Konoha, it was a thrilling possibility that was startlingly within reach.

The thought of it, of the closeness to such an achievement, made Shikadai’s throat a little dry and he stubbornly swallowed down his trepidation. He stared down at the street as he walked, finding the bustling village to be too much. It was vibrant and over stimulating, and Shikadai already had too much going on inside his head.

He didn’t need any extra input from outside.

On his way to the Hokage building, Shikadai felt his stomach coil oddly. He pushed it aside, ignoring it. He was probably hungry.

The blurriness around the edges of his vision was less easily explained, but Shikadai chalked that up to being tired. He blinked stubbornly, squinting to attempt to get the world back in focus. It was a difficult task. Everything in his peripheral vision was hazy and indistinct, swirling in odd patterns.

He did his best to ignore it, and continued doggedly on. By the time he sank down at Shikamaru’s desk, there was a nagging pounding beginning in his head.

And the irritating blurry vision had spread, encompassing most of what he could see. He squinted balefully at the surface of the desk, wondering if the wood grain had always looked like a swirling kaleidoscope.

Shikamaru was talking, but it was hard to focus on his words, while the grating pain in Shikadai’s head slowly increased in intensity.

“You okay?” Shikamaru asked, eying his son.

Shikadai nodded miserably, rubbing at his eyes.

“You don’t look okay,” Shikamaru observed.

“Then why did you bother asking?” Shikadai grumbled. He pressed his palm against the ache in his head.

“Affording you the opportunity to be honest about your health.”

“My health is fine,” Shikadai growled. “It’s just a headache from all the crap I have to put up with.”

“Probably a migraine,” Shikamaru said sympathetically.

“I don’t get migraines,” Shikadai griped, pressing his hand more firmly against his head to attempt to stave off the pain.

“I used to say that too,” Shikamaru said, standing up and coming to Shikadai’s side. He rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go home. Maybe take a detour past the hospital on your way. Are any of your teammates around?”

“It’s just me,” Shikadai gritted out. Chocho was leading a group of Genin on a simple mission, and Inojin was tied up with Yamanaka things with his mother – ironically within the building and probably very close to Shikadai at this moment.

“Do you need me to walk ‘just you’ home?” Shikamaru asked, face creasing in concern.

Shikadai shook his head slowly. The motion made it feel as though his brain were pounding on the inside of his skull. It was horribly unpleasant, and he clenched his jaw shut against a groan of pain.

Shikamaru gave his shoulder a gentle, comforting pat. “Go home. Whatever you have to do today can wait. You need to rest.”

Shikadai let out a pained breath through his nose, and heaved himself to his feet. His stomach turned as he rose, and he paused, hands braced against the desk, to wait for the nausea to pass. He felt Shikamaru give him another gentle pat on the back, always inclined to coddle him.

It was nice, even if Shikadai would never admit it.

He trudged his way out of Shikamaru’s office. The winding halls of the building seemed endless, and Shikadai grumbled under his breath with every heavy footfall.

His stomach roiled once more, with greater purpose this time.

Shikadai ducked into the nearest bathroom, taking careful, measured breaths through his nose. He refused to throw up. He was fine, just had a minor headache, nothing more than that.

His stomach disagreed.

Before Shikadai could finish the thought that he was still fine, he found himself bent over the toilet evacuating his guts. The day officially sucked.

And his head was pounding.

He threw up again, more irritated than anything else, and sourly wished that Inojin was with him to share his misery and offer sympathy. While he was lamenting his solitude, he bent over the toilet again for a final upchuck of bile.

Ugh, he thought. Day can’t get much worse.

And, for once, it didn’t.

Somehow, magically, Inojin’s familiar touch was on his back.

“What are you doing here?” Shikadai croaked.

“Finished meeting with my mom. Passed your dad on my way out and he said you weren’t well.”

“I’m fine.” Shikadai had been planning to add more, but had to pause to throw up again.

“Sure, sure,” Inojin said agreeably, rubbing soothing circles on Shikadai’s back. “I can see that. Picture of health, that’s you.”

Shikadai sent him a withering look over his shoulder, that did little more than make Inojin laugh aloud.

“Are you okay to walk home?” Inojin asked, after Shikadai had spent a minute breathing.

“Of course I can walk,” Shikadai grumbled. He made no objections to Inojin helping him up, nor did he complain about Inojin’s grip on his arm as he staggered to the sink to rinse his mouth.

He did, however, assure as they made their way out that he was fine.

Shikadai’s claim that he was fine might have convinced Inojin better had he not vomited again on the way home, near immediately after leaving the Hokage building and getting a face full of bright sunshine.

Inojin heaved a sigh, patting Shikadai on the back and assuring him everything was okay, and not to worry, and the bushes could use a bit of fertiliser anyway.

It did little to placate Shikadai, who gave him a sour look – a bit squinty and slightly out of focus – and grumbled that they just needed to go home and he was, as previously stated, fine.

“Sure,” Inojin sighed, ignoring Shikadai’s protests and looping one of the other boy’s arms over his shoulders, “I know when I’m fine I throw up all the time.”

“Shut up,” Shikadai mumbled. He made a token attempt to pull out of Inojin’s supporting hold, but found the gesture too much trouble. Also, with the world undulating before his eyes, it was somewhat comforting to have a point of reference for where ‘upright’ was. As things were now, Shikadai was unsure as to which direction was home, or how to stand up, or even when his eyes were open. Inojin ensuring he was pointed in the right direction was appreciated.

They made it home without further incident, although navigating the stairs was a feat unto itself. Somehow, Inojin managed to get them both safely to their apartment door, without dropping Shikadai or sending them both tumbling to their doom.

He was quite impressed with himself.

Inojin opened their apartment door, and let Shikadai stumble inside. Shikadai braced a shoulder against the wall to toe off his shoes, which Inojin nudged neatly to the side before closing the door.

Shikadai made it as far as the couch, and sank down in a senseless pile of misery.

“Wouldn’t you be happier in bed?” Inojin asked, hovering over the back of the couch. “It’s closer to the bathroom. In case you throw up again.”

“Shh,” Shikadai replied, somewhat irritably. “I’m fine here. Be quiet.”

Inojin shrugged, but didn’t argue. “Okay.”

He moved instead to close the curtains of their big window, plunging the apartment into semi-darkness. After that, he flung a blanket over Shikadai, set a glass of water on the coffee table level with Shikadai’s nose, and wondered what he was supposed to do in a dark apartment without making a noise.

The TV certainly wasn’t an option, and he couldn’t draw with the curtains closed and all lights off. He could draw in their bedroom, of course, but he didn’t want to leave Shikadai alone.

He heaved a sigh, and sat on the couch. Shikadai shuffled a bit closer, pillowing his head on Inojin’s thigh, and that effectively convinced Inojin that he was no longer allowed to move.

Absently he ran his fingers through Shikadai’s hair, but a received a grumble of annoyance for his efforts. He drew his hand back with a small smile.

Grumpy, he thought to himself. With no other options for entertainment, Inojin pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it up, wondering how much time he could pass faffing about with it.

It was quite a while later when Inojin heard the stairs outside creaking under the weight of a person. Shikadai had thankfully fallen asleep, still wedged into Inojin, and Inojin had been growing bored with the limitations of his phone. He put the device down on the arm of the couch, and listened.

The door opened, and Chocho flounced in. She fell immediately silent upon noticing the darkness, and came near soundless to the couch to throw a quizzical look at Inojin.

Inojin pressed one finger to his lips, gesturing vaguely at Shikadai’s sleeping form.

When Chocho cocked her head to the side, wondering, Inojin flared his chakra as gently as he could to link their minds and explain, Shikadai has a migraine.

Ah, Chocho nodded her understanding. That sucks. What brought it on?

Stress, we think. Inojin glanced down at Shikadai. He’s pretty grumpy about it.

As opposed to his usual attitude of jovial serenity, Chocho replied dryly, and Inojin worked hard to suppress a chuckle. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through Shikadai’s hair, worried it would wake the other boy. Instead, he rested his arm over the back of the couch, and whispered, “There’s a lot going on.”

“And Mr Genius likes to solve all his problems himself and never ask for help,” Chocho whispered back, with a fond if exasperated roll of her eyes.

Inojin couldn’t dispute that. Shikadai was fiercely independent, to the point of self-destruction, and while it was an annoying trait at times it was something Inojin loved about him. Shikadai was driven, and focused, and single minded when it came to a task. It wasn’t unsurprising that he couldn’t keep up that level of dedication indefinitely.

The past had proved, though, that getting Shikadai to ask for help – or, even worse, admit he needed help – was a herculean task beyond even Inojin’s capabilities.

All he could do was be an impromptu pillow when Shikadai crashed.

“Do you need anything?” Chocho asked in a whisper as she glided to the kitchen.

“Water, please,” Inojin replied.

Chocho gave a curt nod, before silently bringing him a glass. She held up a stick of dango in a silent question, but Inojin shook his head.

With a grin, Chocho swept away into her bedroom, but not without mouthing, “More for me!”

And then Inojin was sitting in quiet darkness once more. He glanced at Shikadai. The other boy had been still for ages. Inojin didn’t want to wake him, but he was curious if he was feeling any better yet.

He resisted the urge to stroke Shikadai’s hair, or even lean down to press a kiss to the other boy’s forehead. He forced himself to remain still, to not interfere.

It felt like ages more before Shikadai stirred.

He moved slightly, pressing his forehead into Inojin’s thigh with a low groan. Inojin laid a hand on the other boy’s hair, gently smoothing his thumb over Shikadai’s scalp.

“You okay?” he asked, and Shikadai made a miserable exhale in reply.

“We have more painkillers,” Inojin continued.

Shikadai vaguely shook his head, pressing his forehead hard against Inojin. His head was still aching, and everything felt weird and uncomfortable. Having Inojin so close helped; he was warm and solid and comforting.

“What time is it?” Shikadai asked.

“Um, about two-ish? Why?” Inojin lightly scratched his fingers on Shikadai’s head, hoping to soothe. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Check my email,” Shikadai mumbled.

“Um, no?” Inojin frowned. “You’re meant to be resting.”

“That’s why you’re checking it and not me.” Shikadai would have sounded more reasonable if he wasn’t mumbling into Inojin’s thigh. “I’m expecting to hear from Suna’s Anbu.”

“They can wait until tomorrow,” Inojin assured.

“I can’t,” Shikadai made another vague sound of irritation. “It’s important to me; can you please check?”

Inojin hesitated a fraction. His fingers stilled on Shikadai’s head, pressing lightly. With a sigh, he relented, “Okay, fine. But don’t look at the screen – it’ll make you feel worse.”

Shikadai grumbled his agreement, and Inojin stood up carefully, making sure not to jostle Shikadai needlessly.

Shikadai sank into the couch as Inojin left, letting out a long sigh as he did so.

Shikadai’s laptop was on his desk in their room, and Inojin fetched it and set it carefully down on the coffee table. He opened the screen.

“What’s your password?” He asked absently, gently pushing Shikadai’s shoulder.

Shikadai propped himself up on one elbow so Inojin could sit again, and resettled his head on Inojin’s thigh. He exhaled loudly. “Ugh, I’ll have to change it now.”

“I’m a mind reader,” Inojin reminded him. “If I wanted to know it and all your other secrets, I could. Tell me that password, and I promise I won’t look at your top-secret correspondence.”

Shikadai gave a mind huff of annoyance, but he relented and recited the password.

“That’s a needlessly complicated password,” Inojin remarked.

“Not when you get emails from the Kazekage,” Shikadai replied, a hint of snobbery showing in his tone.

“Yes, like this super top secret one with the opening line ‘good morning little prince’-“ Inojin was cut off as Shikadai violently pinched his thigh, defending with a growl, “Gaara was just checking that I had finished the stuff he asked me to do. It was an informal message.”

“Yes, little prince.” Inojin winced at a second violent pinch. He cleared his throat, “Okay, there is something new here.”

“Is it from Suna?” Shikadai asked, raising himself up onto one elbow.

Inojin gently pushed him down again. “I dunno, it’s from someone named Baki?”

“Open it,” Shikadai demanded.

Inojin did as he was told, then paused. The message was unreadable – written in some cryptic looking font that Inojin would hesitate to call words.

“What language is this?” Inojin frowned. “This is gibberish, Shikadai, no one can read this.”

“It’s Anbu encrypted,” Shikadai explained wearily. He patted at Inojin’s knee. “Link our thoughts. I’ll show you what you’re looking for.”

Inojin sighed, but didn’t bother arguing. Shikadai was not going to rest until he had the answers he wanted, so there was little point resisting him.

“It might hurt,” he warned. “I don’t know if my chakra in your head will make the migraine worse.”

“How much worse can it get?” Shikadai griped.

Inojin shrugged, not sure if Shikadai was genuinely seeking a response. As carefully as he could, he slid his chakra into Shikadai’s mind. From the slight grimace Shikadai made, he must have felt it.

“Okay,” Shikadai muttered. “Tell me if you can see these symbols anywhere.” He pushed an image towards Inojin’s presence, which Inojin dutifully studied.

“Does everything you showed me have to be together?” he asked. “Is it a phrase?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Shikadai mumbled. “As long as you see all of it.”

Inojin perused the email again. The symbols were all there, in a neat little clump. He referenced Shikadai’s thoughts again to confirm.

“I see it,” Inojin said. His fingers combed through Shikadai’s hair. “What does it mean?”

Shikadai let out a long breath. “Means Suna wants me as an Anbu shinobi.”

They had a very quiet, understated celebration. Once Shikadai’s head stopped pounding and he could open his eyes without throwing up, he and Inojin snuggled up close on the couch with tea and spoke softly. Chocho came out her room at the sound of their voices to join their excitement.

“Isn’t Anbu very dangerous?” she asked softly, sitting in the big armchair and eying her boys.

“It used to be,” Shikadai answered with a shrug. “These days it’s mostly high-level escorts, accompanying the Kazekage or delegates somewhere, or providing protection during meetings. Since I live in Konoha, I’ll probably be doing all the ambassador protection when they are here.”

“You might be assigned to protect your mom,” Inojin chortled.

“Maybe,” Shikadai chuckled a bit at the thought. He leant into Inojin’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Inojin asked gently.

“Yeah,” Shikadai nodded. “I’m fine. Just tired.” As he finished, he let out a yawn and added on, “Should probably go to bed soon.”

“Do you want me to sleep in Chocho’s room tonight so I don’t disturb you?” Inojin asked, rubbing his cheek softly on Shikadai’s hair, wrapping an arm around Shikadai’s shoulders.

Shikadai shook his head. “Nah. I like having you close.”

“Okay,” Inojin pressed a gentle smile into Shikadai’s hair. “You should probably rest tomorrow, as well.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Shikadai assured.

Chocho snorted. “Tough. You’re staying home. Inojin and I aren’t letting you out the apartment.”

Shikadai chuckled lightly. There was no point in arguing with her. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it anyway. “I’m a high-level Anbu shinobi now, you know. I can take care of myself.”

“We know you can,” Chocho rolled her eyes, but her tone was brimming with affection. “But we’re still going to take care of you, too.”

“You can’t save the world all on your own,” Inojin chastised lightly. “We’re here. We’re always going to be here.”

“I know.” Shikadai didn’t doubt them, not ever. Even when the world was too much, when everything was weighing him down, Inojin and Chocho would lighten that load.

With them around him, everything would be fine.

Chapter Text

The bell to the flower shop chimed merrily as Shikadai pushed the door open. He entered the small shop, looking around.

Ino was talking to a couple nearby, but she gave him a small, acknowledging wave. He nodded in return, and waited patiently for her to finish. While he stood around, hands in his pockets, he studied the rows and rows of flowers.

“Hey, Shikadai,” Ino greeted cheerfully, after a few minutes. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, looking away from the flowers and at Ino. “About Inojin’s birthday.”

“Yes?” Ino cocked her head to the side.

“I want to get some flowers for him, and I thought you’d know the right ones to give.”

“The right ones,” she mused, moving to the other side of the counter. She adjusted a pot that sat by the register. “What will the ‘right ones’ be?”

“You know,” Shikadai glanced around again. “Birthday flowers? Whatever his favourites are. I don’t know – do whatever.”

“That sounds a little impersonal,” Ino observed, leaning an elbow on the counter. “If it’s from you, then you should select the flowers.”

“You know what he likes,” Shikadai said, with a casual shrug.

Ino leant her chin in her palm, smiling at him. “So do you.”

It was customary for Shikadai to be the last one awake in the mornings. Inojin and Chocho generally raced for use of the bathroom, while Shikadai was content to be in bed for as long as possible.

But even he made an effort for Inojin’s birthday, opening his eyes as light was just beginning to filter into their bedroom. He blinked a few times, waiting for wakefulness to make itself known. When his body’s only response was a long, jaw-cracking yawn, he let out a sigh and snuggled down into his pillow.

Get up, he reminded himself. For a few minutes, he didn’t listen. Then, with a groan, he heaved up into a sitting position. Rubbing at his eyes, he looked across the room to Inojin.

Inojin was mostly hidden within blankets, and Shikadai felt himself soften at the sight of him.

You’re so gorgeous, he thought. Easing his covers away, he stood up, running a hand through his hair. He slept with it loose, and every morning it looked like a tornado had spent the entire night gallivanting on his scalp.

“Inojin?” he said softly, taking the two steps between their beds. “You awake?”

Inojin shook his head, shrugging a shoulder to hitch his blankets up higher.

Shikadai smiled. “I’ll get back into bed then.”

That coaxed an arm from beneath the blankets, and Inojin flailed around vaguely. Shikadai let his fingers be caught.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, leaning down over Inojin. When Inojin gave a mostly awake hum in response, Shikadai pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

That woke Inojin, and he turned to catch another kiss on his mouth, smiling against Shikadai’s lips.

“Morning,” Inojin mumbled, blinking slowly. “Why are you awake so early?”

“Because I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight, and I wanted to spend some time with you,” Shikadai explained. He scratched at his hair, and Inojin’s little grin let him know it was definitely wildly out of control and probably looked ridiculous.

“Move over,” he ordered, waving a hand vaguely at Inojin.

Inojin obediently shuffled up, lifting the corner of the blankets to invite Shikadai under with him. Shikadai was barely lying down when Inojin eagerly kissed him again, hands seizing at the faded t-shirt he wore to bed. Shikadai allowed some brief manhandling, before clearing his throat.

“I probably should have fetched your present before getting into bed with you,” he mused.

“It’s okay. I know you can’t think in the mornings.” Inojin sounded dismissive, perfectly happy with the way things were at that moment. He tugged at Shikadai’s shirt, until it was high enough for him to get his hands beneath it, and roam his fingers around Shikadai’s back.

Shikadai let out a sigh, smirking a bit. “You just gonna grope me all morning?”

“You gonna tell me to stop?” Inojin challenged.

Shikadai chuckled. “No. Go ahead.”

Inojin let out a pleased sound at that, happily scooting closer. One hand made its way over Shikadai’s ribs, between their bodies, pressing flat against his stomach. “How come your abs are so much more defined than mine?”

“Train with my mom for a week and you’ll be ripped,” Shikadai grumbled. He jumped a bit as Inojin’s nails scraped lightly down the centre of his belly. “Okay, slow down, how much fun are you planning on having?”

“It’s my birthday,” Inojin replied cheekily, blue eyes sparking. “I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re a drag,” Shikadai said affectionately, leaning in for another slow kiss.

“You said something about a present?” Inojin inquired, when they broke apart. He hooked the tips of fingers into the waist of Shikadai’s pants and tugged absently.

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Shikadai grinned. “It’s in the closet.”

“So were you for half your teen years,” Inojin grumbled, but he withdrew his hands. “Go and get it.”

“Such a drag,” Shikadai repeated, with a sigh. He rolled out of Inojin’s bed, and crossed the room. It only took a few seconds to grab the little gift bag – daisy patterned, just for Inojin – by which time Inojin had stretched himself out across the bed and was looking serenely up at Shikadai.

“Here,” Shikadai dropped the gift onto Inojin’s stomach. “There’s more, but you’ll only get it later tonight.”

Inojin sat up, propped against the headboard of the bed. He looked into the bag, immediately tossing aside the tissue paper that sat on top. It floated serenely to the floor, and Inojin peered inside.

He let out a gasp. “Wait, seriously? How did you get this?”

Before Shikadai had a chance to answer, Inojin had delved a hand inside, and pulled out a neatly tied package of inks. He had instantly recognised the label on the bottles – a very rare, foreign ink that Sai constantly complained was impossible to find. He and Inojin had never used the ink for jutsus – only for personal work, for the free and flowing ink gesture sketches that Inojin loved so much.

Inojin looked up at Shikadai in awe. “. . . How?”

Shikadai shrugged, trying to look casual, but there was a smugness to his expression that he couldn’t hide. “Eh, just told my mom to keep an eye out for them whenever she travelled. You mentioned you wanted more.”

“I finished my inks over six months ago,” Inojin said, wondering. “You remembered that I wanted more?”

“It’s all you talked about for a week,” Shikadai reminded him. “That, and how impossible it was to find them.”

“Where did your mom find them?”

“She didn’t,” Shikadai let out a laugh. “Um, she told the Wind Daimyo she was looking for them, and he ordered them in for her. So I could give it to you.” A faint dusting of pink rose across Shikadai’s cheeks, and he added in a mumble, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Sounds like it was,” Inojin replied, turning the inks around to study them. There were several bottles of black, the colour he used the most, and a few other dark, rich tints. Already, he was planning a new project. Planning something to paint, something to bring to life with these vibrant and exciting new colours.

“Thank you,” he said, sincerely, beckoning Shikadai down for a kiss.

Shikadai complied, smiling against Inojin’s lips, pausing before pulling away with his forehead pressed to Inojin’s and his green eyes looking into sky blue. “You’re welcome.”

Inojin relaxed against his pillows with a contented sigh, still clutching the inks and admiring them.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” Shikadai said, fighting back a yawn. He scratched at his side, wrinkling up his t-shirt and showing a sliver of bronze tanned skin with a sharp hipbone.

“Can I join you?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai hesitated, but only for a moment. A smile bloomed across his face, and he nodded. “Sure. Sounds nice.”

Their mission that day was simple and straightforward – they were merely providing protection for a team of foreign dignitaries. With no attacks anticipated, it was going to be nothing more than standing around outside while a meeting took place. Easy and relaxing.

“Unless there’s an attack,” Chocho mused, leaning against the wall. The three of them waited on the balcony of the building, keeping an eye out for anyone approaching.

“My mom is in there; who’s going to be dumb enough to attack?” Shikadai asked.

She shrugged in reply. “Who knows. If no one attacks, it’ll be a pretty boring morning.”

“Better a boring morning than a painful one,” Shikadai replied idly. He sent a glance to Inojin, who was standing quietly, head bowed, as he checked the area of any incoming chakra signatures. After a minute of scanning, he turned to face Shikadai.

“All clear,” he reported.

“We expected that,” Shikadai remarked. He slid down the wall to sit. The only downside to these missions was the lack of things to do. He was on duty, which meant he couldn’t slack off with games or naps, or making out. It was annoying.

“What are you and Inojin doing for the rest of the day?” Chocho asked, remaining standing, but coming a little closer to Shikadai.

“I have meetings after this,” Shikadai said. “Don’t know when I’ll be done. But we’ll have dinner together at home, and then I don’t know.”

“Probably fool around a little,” Inojin provided, grinning.

“Fun,” Chocho beamed at him. She nudged Shikadai with her foot. “Hey, since you’re gonna be working after this, I’m stealing your boyfriend and we are going out for lunch.”

“Cool,” Inojin agreed.

Shikadai made a grumbling sound of agreement. “Fine, whatever.”

“My treat,” Chocho assured, and Inojin bounced in place. “We can go anywhere you want.”

“You’re spoiled,” Shikadai mumbled, closing his eyes and basking in the sun.

“You spoil me the most, so you can’t exactly complain about it,” Inojin pointed out.

Shikadai smirked, nodding to himself. He drew in a deep breath, relaxing. The mission might be boring, but at least he had Inojin and Chocho with him, and a warm spot to sit in. “Keep an eye out for anything, and make sure I don’t fall asleep.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Chocho replied.

Shikadai dozed to the sound of her voice and Inojin’s, talking over him.

Their mission passed without incident, after which Chocho spirited Inojin away for a birthday lunch, and Shikadai plodded his way back to the Hokage building to report the mission and try not to die of boredom in several meetings.

He kept himself occupied with thoughts of Inojin, smiling at moments past, and planning for the future. It helped pass the time, and his meetings were done just as the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. The world was cast in long shadows, just the way Shikadai liked it, and he trotted home eagerly.

On his way home, Shikadai stopped by the flower shop to pick up Inojin’s bouquet.

Ino had already trimmed everything down and placed the flowers in a vase, so Shikadai spent his walk home carefully trying not to spill water everywhere. He shouldered the apartment door open.

“I’m home,” he announced.

Inojin turned on the couch, smiling at him. “Hi.”

He set his sketchpad down on the coffee table, and stood up. “Ooo, flowers.”

“These are for you,” Shikadai said, putting them down on the kitchen counter. He shifted awkwardly, “I, uh, picked them out myself.”

“You did?” Inojin stared at the flowers, then at Shikadai.

“I don’t know what they mean,” Shikadai admitted. “And your mom wouldn’t tell me.”

“So why did you choose them?” Inojin asked, knowing there would be a reason. Shikadai didn’t do things at random. Every move was calculated and careful.

Shikadai looked away, trying to will himself not to blush. He was unsuccessful, and shook his head. “Well . . .”

“I’m listening,” Inojin assured.

“I’m not a complete idiot so I know the red roses mean love, or some sappy shit,” Shikadai touched the flowers lightly. “The rest . . . eh, I got the blue ones because they’re the same colour as your eyes. I got the lilac ones because they’re your favourite colour.” He paused then, looking somewhat pained by his explanation.

Inojin waited patiently.

With a grimace, Shikadai continued. “Um . . . I got daisies because they’re your favourite flower. These odd pink-ish things are the same flower you gave me after our first date-“

“You remember that?” Inojin gaped.

“I do.” Shikadai hesitated. “You gave them to me the next day.”

“I . . .” Inojin blinked. “I didn’t think you paid attention.”

“Well, I did.” Shikadai’s blush deepened. “These yellow ones are the same ones you made into a flower crown for me after my Chuunin promotion. And you gave me these little white ones when I had to stay in the hospital.” He finished with an awkward shrug. “That’s all.”

Inojin was staring at him. “Oh . . . You . . . remember all that? All those flowers?”

“I remember the times you’re there,” Shikadai said. “It’s you. I don’t care about the flowers, but I care about the things you do for me. And I notice those things. So . . . I guess I’m trying to say thank you for being in my life, and giving meaning to a lot of moments. Yeah,” he finished, somewhat lamely, resisting the urge to shrug.

For a minute, Inojin remained utterly silent. He was staring at Shikadai with open adoration.

Shikadai was about to ask if everything was alright, when Inojin darted forwards and wrapped his arms around Shikadai, burying his face in the taller boy’s chest.

“I love them,” Inojin said, in a breathy whisper. “Thank you.”

Shikadai held him close, enjoying the warmth. “No problem. Glad you like them.”

“I do,” Inojin confirmed, nodding against Shikadai. He felt Shikadai press a soft kiss to his hair.

“Want dinner?” Shikadai asked softly.

“Did you make it?” Inojin asked, drawing back a bit to look into Shikadai’s forest eyes.

“Mostly,” Shikadai replied, with a crooked smile. “I made some of it yesterday at my parents’ house. And my mom did the rest and came over to hide it in the fridge. I should get the spare key back from her so she doesn’t bother us.”

“Like she’d use a key.” Inojin raised an eyebrow. “If your mom wanted to bother us, nothing is going to stop her.”

“True.” Shikadai pressed another soft kiss to Inojin’s hair, before stepping away and moving into the kitchen.  He pulled the fridge open. “I made the curry you like, and coconut mousse for dessert.”

Inojin perked up considerably at hearing that. “Oooh, that sounds good.”

“Thought you’d be pleased,” Shikadai replied, with a self-satisfied smirk over his shoulder.

Before long, they were sitting face to face at the kitchen counter, each with a steaming bowl of curry. Inojin was quite partial to the spiciness of Suna food, and since Shikadai rarely took the time to cook it was always a special occasion when he did.

“Sorry we couldn’t do something more special,” Shikadai said, with an apologetic shrug, after a few minutes of eating in silence. “I’ve been busy. It’s been tough to plan things and find time for you.”

“It’s alright,” Inojin assured. He looked down at his food, unconsciously smiling. “This is perfect. It’s you and me. That’s special enough.”

“You sure?” Shikadai hesitated a bit over his words.

“I’m sure.” Inojin raised his smile to Shikadai. “I know you’ve been busy. With Anbu, and prepping for Jounin. That you found any time for this at all is impressive. And we still have the rest of the night – that’s plenty of time.”

A fraction of the tension melted from Shikadai’s shoulders, and he returned Inojin’s smile.

“And you gave me flowers,” Inojin added. “That you picked out on your own, because of moments we’ve had together. How could that not be special?”

Shikadai nodded slowly, his smile becoming more genuine.

“And we’ll do something better next year,” Shikadai promised.

“Yeah? Like what?” Inojin tipped his head to the side, chewing thoughtfully and studying Shikadai.

Shikadai shrugged casually. “I dunno. Whatever you want. You’ve got time to think about it.”

“We’ve never gone away together. Just the two of us. Since getting together,” Inojin clarified. When Shikadai didn’t object, he added, “It might be nice to have a weekend away. You and me.”

“I might be able to get you something similar before next birthday,” Shikadai remarked casually.

“What?” Inojin paused. “What do you mean?”

With a small grin, Shikadai shifted to pull something from his pocket. He set a slightly bent envelope onto the counter between them. “Here. The last bit of your present today.”

Inojin set his spoon down to take the envelope and open it. He pulled out two small pieces of paper with writing, and frowned at them. “What’s this?”

“There’s a flower festival in a few months, on the other side of the Wind Country,” Shikadai explained. “I’m taking you. You can look at all those dumb flowers and have fun, and I’ll put up with being dragged around and listening to you talk about things I don’t care about.”

“There’s a flower festival?” Inojin gaped, overlooking the teasing.

“Yeah,” Shikadai’s expression softened. “I thought you’d like to go.”

“I would,” Inojin glanced down at the tickets again, a smile spreading widely across his face.

“I have one condition while we’re there,” Shikadai said, and Inojin’s snapped up to meet his. “You can choose and give me one flower. And I’ll add it to your birthday bouquet next year,” he nodded towards the vase of flowers on the counter beside them.

“Deal,” Inojin agreed instantly. He set the envelope down, promising, “I’ll thank you properly for this after dinner.”

Shikadai smirked. “Didn’t you get enough thanking done in the shower this morning?”

“No,” Inojin gave him a toothy grin, before looking at the flowers again. He found his gaze being frequently drawn back to them as they ate, to the colours and the meanings and the memories. Part of him was still in disbelief that Shikadai, of all people, remembered the flowers he had been given.

“What?” Shikadai asked, looking at the pensive expression on Inojin’s face.

Inojin shook his head, turning his attention back to his food. “It’s nothing.”

“Looks like something,” Shikadai said, with a raised eyebrow.

“I was just . . .” Inojin shrugged. “. . . Thank you. That’s all.”

It wasn’t all, there was so much more to say and think and appreciate. But Shikadai knew what he meant – Shikadai always knew what he meant – and nodded shortly, bright green eyes calm and content.

“Happy birthday,” Shikadai murmured softly, and Inojin could without a doubt count this as his best birthday ever.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet, except for the low beeps and hums of the TV as Shikadai wrestled his way through the levels of a video game.

The evening was meant to be spent with friends – Boruto had claimed everyone needed to hang out and chill, and had arranged for everyone to gather together. Chocho was the only representative of Team Ten to attend. Inojin had been working on a painting and refused to leave the bedroom because he was ‘in the zone’, and Shikadai had decided that going out took too much effort and he would rather spend his night on the couch.

It had been a decision he had relished in. It felt like it had been ages since he had experienced a calm, quiet evening all to himself. Sure, Inojin was close by, and that was a bonus really since Shikadai loved to know Inojin was near, but the apartment felt deserted and Shikadai felt all the pressures of the week melt away.

Almost all – he had a stiff neck from too much paperwork and definitely not too much gaming like Ino suggested. Or from napping on the couch like someone had stolen his skeleton. But if he sat very still and didn’t look around, he could ignore the dull ache in his muscles.

So, all in all, it was a good evening.

Shikadai was merrily wrecking his way through another level when he heard Inojin’s footsteps.

“How’s the painting going?” he asked absently, not looking away from the screen.

Inojin sounded tired, but pleased. “Hm, pretty good. I’m taking a break for today.”

He wandered his way to the kitchen for a drink of water, before coming to lean over the back of the couch. For a few moments, he silently observed Shikadai’s progress.

“You’ve got quite far,” he observed.

“Yeah,” Shikadai allowed a smirk. He turned his head a bit to try to catch Inojin’s eye, and let out a small wince at the pull in his neck.

“Neck still bothering you?” Inojin asked, noting the annoyed expression on the other boy.

“A little.”

“You really need to stop sleeping on the couch,” Inojin shifted a little further up the couch, arms folded over the back, elbow nearly touching Shikadai’s shoulder. He leant his chin on his arms, and moved his feet backwards a bit to stretch out his thighs and spine after a day of mostly sitting still and painting.

“I can sleep wherever I like,” Shikadai retorted, attention on his game once more.

The quiet fell over them again, and Shikadai rolled one shoulder to try to ease his neck. He was staring at the TV, and startled a fraction as Inojin moved to stand mostly upright and touch him.

Inojin fanned his fingers over Shikadai’s skin, fingertips sliding beneath the collar of his shirt. He rested like that, just letting his warmth seep into Shikadai, and letting the heat of Shikadai’s body soak into him. Softly, he pressed his lips into Shikadai’s hair, doing nothing, merely lingering there.

A self-satisfied smirk bloomed across Shikadai’s face. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” came the reply, flippant and casual and with an edge of tease to it.

Shikadai’s smirk grew. “Cool, cool. Carry on then.”

Inojin hummed a vaguely agreeing noise into Shikadai’s hair, before lifting his head enough to be able to see what he was doing. He traced his thumbs up the back of Shikadai’s neck, feeling for any tension, and marvelling at the difference between his pale fingers and Shikadai’s rich tan.

“There’s a knot in your neck,” he observed softly.

“Probably because I slept on the couch,” Shikadai replied levelly.

“Probably.” Inojin dug his finger into the muscle, and Shikadai sank a little lower in his seat with a long, contented exhale. He kept playing his game while Inojin messed with him, although his neutral expression was slowly transforming into a pleased smile. They were silent for several minutes, while Inojin worked his fingers up and down Shikadai’s neck, and Shikadai successfully completed the level he was on.

Once he put his controller aside, Inojin stilled his hands.

Inojin folded over Shikadai’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s chest, holding loosely and burying his nose in the curve of Shikadai’s neck. He smelled like warmth, from the sun and from virtue of being alive, and Inojin couldn’t help a smile at the thought.

Shikadai tugged at Inojin’s arm. “Come here.”

With a long, contented sigh Inojin sank over the back of the couch, landing in a heap and mostly in Shikadai’s lap. He smiled up at him, blithe and calm.

It occurred to Shikadai that this was what his father meant when he spoke of peace from the people around him. He had said it many times regarding Temari – that she was the calmness his life needed. The centre of a world that spun so wildly out of control that no single man could keep his balance. Holding onto other people brought stability, and with stability came comfort.

It was that same comfort that Inojin provided. The ability to merely exist alongside another person, with no expectations and no need of more. Shikadai couldn’t think of anyone else he was happy to just sit with, in silence, to only share air and space and need nothing more.

“What are you thinking about?” Inojin asked curiously, wondering at the flood of emotions that crashed within Shikadai’s jade eyes.

Shikadai didn’t answer right away. He took a moment longer to savour the feeling of Inojin warm against him, and the world quiet around them.

“Nothing,” he said softly, dismissive in his tone. “Don’t worry. Nothing.”

Inojin tipped his head to the side, inquisitive, but didn’t push for a more specific answer.

Shikadai combed his fingers through Inojin’s bangs, swallowing down a sudden onslaught of emotion. It was . . . soft, to fall in love. It was a cushion amongst the sharpness of his thoughts. Smoothing the edges of razor ideas that tended to cut into Shikadai’s head and heart.

These were the moments they fought for. These were the moments that justified war. These were the moments that made them step outside their village and face the dangers of the world.

These were the moments to come home to.

“You look like you’re thinking hard,” Inojin observed, still happily lying across Shikadai’s lap and relishing in the gentle caresses.

A small smile cracked through Shikadai’s introspection. He shook his head. “It’s really nothing.”

He needed more moments like these. More days like these. More heartbeats with no consequence and more breaths with no fear.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you, he realised. He had known that forever, of course. He was always going to spend the rest of his life with Inojin, and with Chocho. But to finally acknowledge it, to take note of how powerfully he wanted that future, that was new.

That was different.

That was something he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront yet.

“It clearly looks like you have something on your mind,” Inojin whined, his tone instantly shattering any sort of peace Shikadai had cultivated. “Tell me what it is!”

Shikadai let out a quiet chuckle. The indignant pout on Inojin’s face made his heart soar.

“I’ll tell you another time,” he promised.

“Better be something good,” Inojin grumbled, shifting about to lie more comfortably, and fold his arms petulantly across his chest.

Shikadai leaned down, closing the gap between them. Inojin lifted himself up eagerly, pressing their lips together softly.

Shikadai drew back, looking into the endless blue of Inojin’s eyes.

“Could be,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll let you know.”

Chapter Text

Any time Ino uttered the question, “Can you do me a favour?” it was bound to end up being an inconvenience.

And there was no way for Inojin to say ‘no’, because he was, according to his teammates, a chronic mama’s boy, and Ino was never one to take no for an answer anyway.

“And this is my problem, why?” Shikadai asked over breakfast, staring across their little counter at Inojin.

Inojin let out a sigh, sinking down in his seat and giving his cereal a baleful stare. “Because I don’t want to do it by myself, and you don’t have anything better to do today.”

“I do,” Shikadai replied. “I was going to sleep.”

“It won’t take long,” Inojin tried. “It’ll be quick. And easy.”

“No, it won’t.”

Inojin didn’t have a decent rebuttal for that, since he knew Shikadai was likely right. Because Ino’s ‘favour’ was assisting one of the Yamanaka elders in his garden – a task that Ino usually helped with, but was too busy this year. “Please?”

“No,” Shikadai stared him down. “Tambi is a grumpy old senile fart who’s mean to everyone. My dad has warned me about him. Why would I want to help?”

“We’ll be together,” Inojin tried, hoping to convince. “And outside. It’ll be like hanging out in the Nara forest.”

Shikadai cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t contradict him. After a long pause, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, but you owe me.”

“Hello, Mr Tambi,” Inojin said, standing contritely in front of the old man with a scowling Shikadai at his side.

The weathered man sat in a worn looking wicker chair outside his house, half hidden by the myriad of plants that grew all around him. It was a healthy and impressive looking garden, divided into a section for vegetables and produce, and another section for flowers and exotic plants.

The scope of it was surprising considering the modest size of the garden, and Inojin found himself instantly envious at Tambi’s collection.

“Ah, Ino,” the old man nodded. “Good to see you again.”

“No, no, I’m Inojin. I’m Ino’s son.”

“Don’t talk back to me, young lady, I know who you are.” Tambi waved a hand dismissively, gesturing towards the garden. “All the old leaves need to be trimmed off. Some seedlings have to be re-potted. You know how it all works; you’ve been doing it for years.”

“Actually, this is my first time helping you,” Inojin said. “I’m Ino’s son.”

“Kids today,” Tambi grumbled, swinging his cane and narrowly avoiding Inojin. Shikadai took an extra step back. “Always making up stories. Just get to work, and stop lying all the time.”

Inojin and Shikadai traded glances, and Shikadai asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you start checking all the vegetables and pulling off any brown or shrivelled leaves?” Inojin asked.

“And don’t fall asleep again like you usually do, Shikamaru,” Tambi snapped, pointing his cane next at Shikadai’s chest.

“I’m Shikadai,” he explained, already weary.

“Don’t you sass me,” Tambi snapped. “I know who you are. I’ve been dealing with you since before you could walk.”

“Sure, sure,” Shikadai shrugged, shoulders sagging downwards. When Tambi merely made a vague ‘bah!’-like sound in his direction, Shikadai wandered off to get started on his task.

Before Inojin could move, Tambi stabbed his cane towards a vining green plant that wound its way up the vertical pole of the porch.

“Why is this plant not giving me any tomatoes?” Tambi demanded.

“Well, for starters, it’s a cucumber vine,” Inojin cocked an eyebrow. His reply was met with an abrupt whack to the head from Tambi’s cane. “Hey!”

“Ino, don’t you know the difference between a cucumber and a tomato?”

“Yes, and that,” Inojin pointed to the opposite side of the porch, “is the tomato. This is a cucumber. And I’m not Ino.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No. Just old and senile, and maybe a bit stupid.” Inojin was halfway through a dismissive shrug when Tambi whacked him again. He took a self-preserving step away, gingerly rubbing his head. “Okay, you need to stop doing that.”

“And you need to stop talking back, missy,” Tambi huffed. He finally set the end of the cane onto the porch, sitting forward slightly in his seat. “You can start with the carrot seedlings. They need to be moved. And don’t let Shikamaru cause any trouble.”

Inojin cast a doubtful glance to Shikadai, who had plopped down onto the ground and was plucking dried leaves off plants. “Hm . . . not sure how doable that will be. But moving seedlings, I can definitely do.”

“Did I tell you about the time I protected the Second Hokage?”

Inojin wondered if he could bash his head into the porch pillar hard enough to knock himself unconscious. He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, actually, that was the story you started this conversation with.”

“It was during a long winter mission,” Tambi continued, unperturbed at Inojin’s groan of resignation.

Inojin did his best to tune out the old man’s ramblings, looking across the garden.

Shikadai had shuffled his way to the edge of the garden, and was currently dozing beneath a small lemon tree.

Wake up! Inojin snapped at him, flaring his chakra and linking their minds.

Shikadai didn’t even flinch at the sudden mental intrusion, and did nothing more than raise a middle finger in reply.

“Don’t forget to harvest those onions after you’re done with this tomato vine,” Tambi said, bringing Inojin back to his task at hand.

Carefully, Inojin adjusted the plant on its trellis, and crouched down to check the soil in the pot looked healthy and moist.

He dusted some soil from his fingers as he crouched. His nails were black from moving young plants, and he idly picked at them.

“You spend too much time caring about your appearance,” Tambi grumbled. “Can’t focus on anything except your nails. The onions, Ino, they need to be pulled up and cleaned.”

“I heard you,” Inojin replied, still picking soil from beneath his nails.

“Yet you aren’t working. Today’s job is gardening, not manicures.”

Inojin heaved a sigh, and straightened up. “Okay. You have my full attention.”

“Onions, then,” Tambi stated again. “Don’t break any of them. If you start crying, I don’t want to hear about your ruined mascara.”

“I’m not wearing mascara,” Inojin replied, and Shikadai shouted cheekily, “Not today anyway!”

Inojin ignored him, looking to Tambi. “Where are the onions?”

“South side of the garden. And tell Shikamaru to stop lazing around.”

“I’ll try, but I think he’ll ignore me.” Inojin hopped off the porch into the garden.

Shikadai moved position to the other side of the tree, better hidden from Tambi’s shrewd and judgemental gaze.

“You’re meant to be helping,” Inojin said, coming to stand in front of him.

Shikadai looked up at Inojin with a lazy grin. “No, Shikamaru is meant to be helping.”

Inojin rolled his eyes. “Ugh, just . . . just help. The quicker we get it done, the quicker we can go home.”

While Inojin occupied himself by uprooting onions, Shikadai sat on the ground near Tambi’s cabbages, prodding at the leaves and idly looking around. The garden was not that large, but it was packed with different plants, all of them thriving.

Chocho would have loved to be there, and could have easily put together seven different meals from the vegetables alone. Perhaps if they needed to return tomorrow, Chocho could take Shikadai’s place.

Shikadai’s musing was interrupted by a yell from the porch.

“Shikamaru,” Tambi shouted.

Shikadai studiously ignored him, poking at the soil in an attempt to look busy.

“Shikamaru!” Tambi’s volume increased.

Shikadai remained stubbornly where he was.

“Shikamaru!”

“That’s not my name!” he finally snapped back, standing up and stomping over – but not onto any of the vegetables. While he didn’t give a damn about Tambi’s garden - or feelings - Inojin would have an absolute fit if Shikadai deliberately maimed a plant.

“What?” he grumbled, hands shoved in his pockets as he slouched in front of Tambi.

“Does your mother know you have such an attitude?” Tambi asked, looking him up and down.

“Oh, she’s well aware,” Shikadai muttered. “But I’m guessing you didn’t call for me just to tell me that.”

“No, I have another task for you,” Tambi said. “There are about a dozen bags of potting soil behind the house. Bring them all here, so Ino can finish moving the seedlings.”

“Ino isn’t here,” Shikadai stated.

“She’s right there,” Tambi pointed with his cane, and Shikadai carefully stepped out of range of the stick. “Are you blind as well as disobedient, Shikamaru?”

Shikadai briefly considered correcting Tambi again, but shrugged the notion off. “No, I’m just a jerk.”

“You certainly are. I’ll be telling Shikaku about your work ethic as well.”

“You can tell him as much as you like but I’m pretty sure he’s not gonna do anything about it,” Shikadai turned away.

“Where do you think you are going?” Tambi snapped.

“To fetch your dumb bags of sand.”

“I was talking to you, mister. Don’t leave until I dismiss you.”

“Tell it to my mom,” Shikadai replied flippantly, walking away. “Don’t forget the part where I’m a lazy know-it-all.”

“Bah,” Tambi shook his head. “Kids these days. No respect for their elders. Ino!”

“Yes?” Inojin came wandering back, with a sack of onions in one hand.

“You are supposed to be the leader of your team. Why is Shikamaru not under suitable control?”

“Because I’m not Temari,” Inojin replied immediately.

“But you are heir to Yamanaka clan, and head of your generation of Ino-Shika-Cho. And who is Temari? Is that an imaginary friend of yours?”

“Sure, why not?” Inojin sighed. “Did you need something, or did you just want to complain about Shikadai?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What do you need me to do now?”

“Control your teammates, and act like a leader.”

“I’m a perfectly good leader,” Inojin replied indignantly.

“You are not. You let your teammate talk back to people, you don’t listen the first time I call your name, you don’t know the difference between a cucumber and a tomato-“

Inojin opened his mouth to protest.

“- And your skirt is too short,” Tambi finished snippily.

“No, it’s n- I’m not wearing a skirt!” Inojin protested hotly. A distinctively Shikadai-sounding snicker reached him from behind the house, and Inojin threw a filthy glare in the direction the sound had come from.

Tambi gestured with his cane again, and Inojin had to leapt back to prevent a fractured shin.

“Look,” Inojin said, crossing his arms. “I get that you don’t like being old, and not being able to do everything yourself, but that doesn’t mean you can insult me. I’m here doing everything you ask, and it’s not even a mission, so I’m not even being paid-“

“We’re not?” Shikadai’s voice echoed around the house.

Inojin didn’t reply to him, instead keeping his focus on Tambi. “I’m doing my best here. To help you. The least you can do is be grateful.”

“Hm,” Tambi grumbled, looking distinctly grumpy. “Didn’t your father ever teach you to watch your manners?”

“He absolutely did not.”

“Kids today,” Tambi muttered. He swung his cane again, and Inojin side-stepped the vague attack. “Fine. You are helping me, I’ll give you that. Even if your attitude stinks, missy. Finish up for the day, then if you want you can take some flowers home with you.”

“Thanks,” Inojin replied stiffly.

Shikadai reappeared and deposited the bags of soil onto the porch with one loud thump.

“And even you, Shikamaru, you’ve been helpful.” Tambi drew himself up in his chair, jutting his chin out. “Although I’m still letting your mother know about your back talking.”

“Whatever.” Shikadai shrugged.

“Now go,” Tambi said. “Finish your tasks.”

After Inojin had laid mulch over some flowerbeds, and Shikadai had scoffed down half a tree of oranges, Tambi begrudgingly called them both onto the porch as the sun was beginning to lower.

“Better call it a day,” he said. “I don’t want you two fumbling about in the dark and messing up my plants.” He jutted his cane towards a small tin pot on the side of the porch. “You can take that rose with you. It’s a hybrid – the flowers will be blue and lilac. If you don’t kill it before it gets a chance to bloom.”

“I won’t,” Inojin assured, picking the plant up and studying it closely.

“Now get lost, you two,” Tambi grumbled. “Let me have some peace and quiet.”

“Gladly,” Shikadai said, immediately turning on his heel to leave.

Inojin did a brief, hasty bow to Tambi, knowing if he didn’t it would get back to his mother that he was ‘rude’ and ‘unreasonable’, before chasing after Shikadai with a casual, “Bye!” yelled over his shoulder.

Shikadai had paused to wait at the garden gate, offering his crooked half smile as Inojin caught up to him.

“Can you help again tomorrow?” Inojin asked as they walked home.

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?” Inojin bumped his arm gently into Shikadai, sidling in closer, moving the rose to his other arm. “It’ll go quicker if we work together.”

“Not my problem.”

“But Tambi is mean and keeps telling me the same story over and over . . .” Inojin sighed, tucking his hand around Shikadai’s arm, holding him close and nuzzling a cheek into Shikadai’s shoulder. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I have a meeting tomorrow.”

“That won’t take long,” Inojin claimed. “And we can do something fun afterwards.”

“Staying at home and relaxing is fun.” Shikadai side-eyed his partner. “You said you owed me. I’m not coming back and being called the wrong name, and accused of being lazy, and getting full of dirt.”

“What if I do your share of the chores at the apartment for a month?” Inojin pleaded. “I don’t want to be alone with Tambi – he keeps complaining about my makeup and my listening skills.”

“I do both of those things, and you always want to spend time alone with me.”

Inojin couldn’t think of a suitable rebuttal. He remained plastered to Shikadai’s arm, grumbling under his breath.

The rest of their walk home was silent, and by the time Shikadai opened the door to their apartment, he relented with a long, loud sigh, “I guess I can help again tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“And you can do all the dishes for a month.”

Inojin paused for a moment to consider the proposal. He shrugged, closing the door behind them. “Deal.”

Shikadai was pouring his morning coffee, still half asleep in his non-spotted pajamas, when there was a knock at the apartment door. He answered it mug in hand, not bothering to stifle a yawn. “What?”

“What to you, too.” It was Shikamaru, looking at Shikadai’s dishevelled appearance with an indulgent smile of understanding.

Shikadai rubbed at his eyes. “Hey. Not awake. What do you want?”

Shikamaru folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Wanna tell me why my mother received a complaint that I was ‘sassing a Yamanaka elder’?”

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Inojin and I are helping out old Mr Tambi with his garden. He thinks I’m you.”

“That explains it,” Shikamaru nodded knowingly, then grimaced. “He used to hit us with his cane.”

“So far he’s only hit Inojin. I’ve avoided it.”

“Good job,” Shikamaru replied. “Keep an eye out. He’ll get you when you least expect it.”

“I’m heading over there again after a meeting,” Shikadai said. “I’ll . . . try not to get hit.”

“You’re more likely to get hit at the meeting,” Shikamaru chuckled, turning to leave.

“Wait, why? It’s just going over the trade routes for Suna and Konoha – I’m only there because I’m now Suna Anbu so I gotta know where everything goes.”

“Because your mom is heading that meeting,” Shikamaru replied, and Shikadai heaved a sigh.

“Ugh, whatever. I guess I’ll just have a whole day of people snapping at me.”

“Try not to get into trouble with Tambi again,” Shikamaru replied as he began trudging down the stairs. “My mom doesn’t want to hear about it.”

The second day of helping Tambi proved to be even more annoying than the first.

Shikadai made an immediate retreat to the little grove of fruit trees at the very edge of Tambi’s garden, and quietly spent his day picking ripe fruit and trimming wilting branches, and leaving Inojin to the old man’s repetitive tales and frequent complaints.

“You’re going to bruise those potatoes,” Tambi grumbled, sitting on a low bench in the centre of the garden while Inojin knelt on the dirt and dug about through the designated potato patch.

“I don’t think you can bruise potatoes,” he replied, closing his fingers around another spud, and yanking it free of the rich loamy soil.

“Listen, young lady, I have been gardening for years. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure, sure,” Inojin shrugged, brushing dirt off the potato, and adding it to his small pile. He glanced around for Shikadai, and spotted him lounging beneath the orange tree, peeling one of the fruits. Inojin rolled his eyes, although he wasn’t surprised.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I protected the Second Hokage on a mission?”

Inojin’s shoulders slumped. “I – oh, whatever. Tell me about that. Sounds fascinating.”

“It was during a long winter mission . . .”

It was early afternoon when Tambi looked satisfied at the work done, and conceded there were no more tasks to be done. The flower beds were clean, the vegetables harvested or trimmed, and a crop of various young seedlings were settling into their large new section of garden. Everything had been raked smooth and neat, and even Shikadai looked half pleased with himself as he looked around.

Seated once again on the porch, Tambi looked between Shikadai and Inojin.

“Finally,” Tambi said. “You are slow this year. I hope you’re more disciplined on missions, otherwise you are going to get your entire team killed.”

“We do fine on missions,” Inojin replied. “And we’re sorry we were slow.”

“No, we aren’t,” Shikadai whispered.

“Shh,” Inojin hushed back. “Just agree so he’ll let us go home.”

Tambi stared at them each in turn, looking sour and disgruntled.

“Well,” he said, after a gruff pause. “I suppose you did a good enough job. Even if you were slow.” He took a long moment to look out at the garden. “If anything dies, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Hopefully it’ll be you,” Shikadai mumbled. Inojin elbowed him, in an attempt to cover up a snorted chuckle.

“Go on then, get lost,” Tambi said gruffly, swinging his cane once more and narrowly missing Inojin’s face. “I’ll see you again next year, unless you’ve screwed everything up and I need to call you back to fix it.”

“We didn’t mess anything up,” Inojin assured.

“I’ll be the judge of that, young lady.”

Shikadai snorted again.

“Still,” Tambi sat up a bit straighter in his seat. “Thank you, Ino, Shikamaru.”

“You’re welcome,” Inojin replied, resignedly.

Tambi waved them away, and once they were walking back to the centre of the village, Shikadai entwined their fingers.

“Want to go out?” he asked. “Maybe for coffee. And a cookie.”

“Sounds nice,” Inojin agreed, offering a sunny smile.

“Cool.” Shikadai tugged at Inojin’s hand, smirking, “Let’s go, young lady.”

“Asshole.”

A few days later, Inojin was helping in the flower shop, bent over a bucket of fresh rose stems, when Ino called his name.

He straightened up, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Got something for you,” Ino explained, reaching beneath the counter.

Inojin came over, suitably intrigued.

“Here,” Ino handed him a paper bag with the top folded down. “From Tambi.”

“He sent me something?” Inojin asked, staring curiously at the bag.

“Well, he sent me something,” Ino explained, with a wink. “But I’m guessing it’s meant for you, since you’ve been helping him.”

“Huh,” Inojin said, unable to think of anything more eloquent. He hadn’t been expecting anything, certainly not since Tambi seemed so displeased with him.

He waited until he was home again, sitting on the couch, before opening the bag. There was a folded note on the top, partially covering a few soil-dusted onions and potatoes, and a second smaller bag with a handful of plump, ripe strawberries.

Inojin opened the note curiously.

Dear Ino

Thank you for your help in the garden. It was good to see you again after all these years. Stay out of trouble, and don’t let that Chouji friend of yours steal your onions. You earned them.

Make sure to eat properly and look after the clan.

And remember to find a nice young man to make you happy.

The click of the door closing heralded Shikadai’s arrival, and Inojin folded the note again and slipped it back into the bag.

“What’s that?” Shikadai asked, peering over the back of the couch.

“Hm?” Inojin glanced up. “Oh, it’s from Tambi. For helping. He sent us some onions, and potatoes, and a few other things. Along with a thank you note.”

“Probably a list of tasks for you,” Shikadai stated dryly, moving off to turn their coffee machine on. After a few minutes of quiet, he threw another glance at Inojin. “So, were you able to do whatever his dumb note says?”

Inojin thought for a moment, looking at Shikadai, and the leafy green of his eyes, the proud, almost arrogant tilt of his head.

“Yeah,” Inojin said, with a small smile. “I think I have.”

Chapter Text

It was Yodo who sent the video to Shikadai, because Shinki was, in everyone’s opinion, too uptight, prim, and arrogant (And snobbish and dramatic and egotistical . . .) to partake in anything fun.

Ever.

So Shikadai was pleasantly surprised to see a video message on his phone and, without much thought or fanfare, plopped onto the couch to watch it.

Team challenge, Yodo had called it, followed by an emoji Shikadai couldn’t accurately describe even if he were under torture. Push ups with the girls. Add yours in and pass it on.

And the video itself seemed innocent enough – Boruto was doing a series of push ups while Sarada sat on his back. It then cut to Wasabi doing the same with Namida, and finally Shinki and Yodo.

Logic dictated that Boruto must have sent it on to Shinki with the explanation of it being a useful training exercise, because there was no way the vaunted son of the Kazekage was partaking in social media challenges. Shikadai made a mental note to ask Yodo exactly how she had convinced Shinki to participate.

Before that, he texted her back, Not happening. Try someone else.

He put his phone on the coffee table and assumed that would be that.

However, a reply buzzed less than a minute later.

Coward?

Shikadai rolled his eyes. No, it’s just dumb.

A near instant reply followed. So, weak and a coward?

Shikadai shoved the phone aside, muttering to himself.

The door opened, and Chocho minced in with a bag of groceries and a bright smile. “Hey, Shikadai. Why the long face?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just Yodo being stupid.”

“Anything worth talking about?”

“Have you seen this?” He held his phone out. Chocho put the bag down, and came over to peer at the screen.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded. “Sarada was talking about it.”

“Yodo says I should do it.”

Chocho burst into laughter. “Aw, honey, I’ll crush you. But if you really wanna be a part of it, I can lift both you and Inojin with ease.”

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing it. Yodo’s just being a dumbass saying I should.”

And he didn’t want to admit, but he was now nursing a bruised ego over being called weak and a coward. He eyed Chocho, vaguely wondering how hard it would be to lift her without breaking his back. Or arms. Or everything else.

“How much do you weigh?” he asked, thinking that he could just add weight incrementally and see how close he could get to her without buckling onto his face.

“More than you can lift,” she replied flippantly. “And even if you tried to do this – could you manage with the added weight of your shattered ego?”

“It’s not shattered,” Shikadai grumbled. He shoved his phone into his pocket, trying to put the video out of his mind. He had to go anyway. He was meeting Boruto for burgers, since it had been a while since they had had any time to talk.

“Not yet,” Chocho replied brightly, as Shikadai huffed and made his way to the door. “Have fun at lunch.”

Shikadai didn’t bother to respond.

He was halfway through his burger before he had to bring it up. “Did you start the whole ‘push ups with the girls’ thing that Yodo sent me?”

“Yes,” Boruto replied.

“Why?”

“For fun, Shikadai. Have you tried having fun before?”

“I can be fun,” Shikadai muttered, eyes down. He was lucky Chocho and Inojin weren’t there to call him out, because if there was one complaint about him the two of them made equally often it was that he wasn’t ‘fun’ enough.

“Did you send it to Iwabe’s team?” Shikadai asked.

“No,” Boruto replied, trying to sound innocent and failing miserably. “It’s called push ups with the girls, Shikadai.”

Shikadai narrowed his eyes at his friend. “You did this on purpose. So I’d lose.”

Boruto beamed innocently at him. “No?”

“Because I absolutely slaughtered you at game night. This is your revenge. You think I can’t do it.”

“Can you?” Boruto asked. “I’m just saying . . . Chocho’s a big girl. A heavy girl.”

Shikadai knew that. He had, more than once, been crushed by her Human Boulder technique. “And?”

“And,” Boruto shrugged. “I don’t think you can push up that kinda weight. But hey, you do whatever you want. No one’s going to hold it against you if you lose.” He paused then, added, cheekily, “Like a loser.”

Shikadai bristled. “I won’t lose.”

He immediately regretted his statement. Once back in the apartment, staring at his phone and ignoring the message from Yodo that read done it yet or are you too chicken? It occurred to him that perhaps he should have given in gracefully and acknowledged his own limitations.

Too late now, he thought grimly. He was nothing if not a problem solver, though, so if Boruto wanted push ups with the girls there were ways around that.

“Inojin,” Shikadai called vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, as he moved around the couch to slouch down heavily. “Would you wear a dress and sit on my back while I do push ups?”

“Kinky,” Inojin said, exiting the bathroom with his hair loose and wearing Shikadai’s hoodie. “Sounds fun; I’m game.”

“It’s nothing weird,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “It’s for that stupid challenge Boruto started-“

“Oh, right, Sarada showed me,” Inojin nodded, coming to plop onto the couch beside Shikadai. “And you think you can’t lift Chocho?”

“I didn’t say that,” Shikadai hedged.

“You think you can lift Chocho?”

Shikadai didn’t answer.

Inojin arched a delicate eyebrow. “What’s the plan, Shikadai?”

“I’m working on it,” he mumbled. With a defeated groan, he sank downwards. After contemplating his options, and immediately dismissing the very appealing ‘give up’, he let out a sigh. “. . . I’m going to have to try.”

“I’ll get a dress,” Inojin said, standing up.

“Not that, you idiot. Lifting Chocho. Sit back down.”

Inojin plopped down again. “What if she squashes you?”

Shikadai looked at his partner, glum and annoyed. “At the very least, I’m going to die trying.”

The coffee table had been shoved up against the bathroom door, to provide an open space in front of the TV that could accommodate for push ups. Chocho reclined on the couch, munching a bag of chips, her legs crossed at the ankles and resting on Shikadai’s back.

“How hard do you need me to push?” she asked.

“I’m just warming up,” Shikadai griped from the floor. He pushed up again, and Chocho obligingly pressed her legs harder against his back as though to squish him back down. He let out an irritated sound.

“Should have taken your jacket off,” Inojin observed, from the armchair.

“Why?” Shikadai paused at the apex of another movement, looking at Inojin.

“So I can watch your arm muscles. Duh.”

Chocho nodded approvingly. “Good idea. And it’ll take some weight off.”

“Not enough,” Shikadai grumbled. Losing a jacket wasn’t going to make Chocho any less of a tank. He wheezed out a breath as she leant her legs harder against his back. He was already regretting this, but Boruto’s gloating expression sat in the forefront of his mind, and Shikadai was not going down without a fight.

“You sure you can handle this?” Inojin sounded doubtful. He sent a worried look to Chocho. “What if you . . . I dunno, injure him?”

“I’ll probably have a good laugh, then get him to the hospital,” Chocho said flippantly.

“Sounds safe.” The doubt rose in Inojin’s tone, but Chocho looked unconcerned. They both stayed silent for a minute, watching Shikadai’s dogged determination to fulfil the challenge.

At the very least, Chocho admired his tenacity. She cocked her head to the side, catching Inojin’s eye.

“For safety, I guess it’d be better if you were on top of him,” Chocho remarked.

“Better yet, can I be under him?” Inojin raised an eyebrow.

Shikadai grunted something under his breath. It wasn’t an outright ‘no’, so Inojin figured it wasn’t anything he needed to pay attention to. It took another wheezing exhale before Chocho managed to decipher an ‘off’.

She retracted her legs, folding them onto the couch beside her. “How ya doing, Shikadai?”

“Fine,” he sat on the floor, shoulders heaving. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a damn fat cow?”

“Never come up before,” she grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes. “And I’m a fabulous fat queen.”

The next day, despite his head telling him to let it go (And his ego steamrolling that thought), he had decided to go through with the challenge. He began his preparation by having a short, reasonably tame training with his mother early in the morning, with the hopes that it would get all his muscles warmed up and prepared for the excess strain that Chocho was sure to cause.

It also, unfortunately, caused a whack in his head hard enough to make him see stars, but after Temari apologized, made him tea, and deliberately ‘kissed it better’ in front of some passing Nara elders, Shikadai’s vision returned to normal and he beat a hasty retreat home before Temari could come up with any additional ways to embarrass him.

He opened the apartment door, kicking it closed behind him. “Hey, I’m home.”

“Oh, hey, you left early,” Inojin looked up from the couch, where he sat with his sketchpad on his knees.

“Thought you ran away,” Chocho said cheekily from the kitchen. She tidied a few dishes away. “Still going to do this?”

“I’m not letting Boruto win,” Shikadai muttered, shrugging off his Chuunin vest and hanging it on the hooks near the door. He pulled his shirt off next, and Inojin’s attention instantly sprang from his drawing to Shikadai.

“Maybe I should start some ‘making of’ filming right now?” Inojin suggested, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch so he could eye Shikadai clearly.

Shikadai rolled his eyes, dropping his shirt on the floor. “Funny. This isn’t for your entertainment, Inojin, my shirt it just gross and sweaty and I’m getting a new one.”

“You really don’t have to,” Inojin offered. Shikadai ignored him, walking straight into their bedroom. He emerged a minute later, hands in his hair as he retied it tightly, and clad in a dark green tank top.

“Ready when you are,” Chocho stated, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Are you seriously eating a doughnut right now?” Shikadai snapped.

“If this tiny doughnut means I crush you to death, you clearly weren’t able to hold me in the first place.” Chocho stared directly into Shikadai’s eyes as she chewed.

Shikadai heaved a sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Come here.”

He shoved the couch, with Inojin still aboard, further back towards the front door, and shifted the coffee table closer to the TV to give himself plenty of space on the floor.

“We could do this outside,” Chocho suggested. “There’s more room.”

“No,” Shikadai replied shortly.

“Too many spectators to your humiliation?” Inojin guessed, offering a wide grin when Shikadai threw him a glare.

Shikadai gave Chocho a sideways glance, and his shoulders heaved in resignation. “Inojin, you still happy to film this?”

“Yup.”

“Since we’re sending this to Shinki, maybe I should take my shirt off,” Chocho suggested brightly.

“If it makes you weigh less, then go for it.”

“Will you take your shirt off?” Inojin asked.

“Why?” Shikadai frowned.

“You know exactly why,” Inojin raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “The point is to get the challenge over with. That’s all.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for the rest of us to get a little something extra from it,” Inojin replied, leaning back. “You’re getting an ego boost; why can’t I get something fun to watch in bed?”

“It might not be an ego boost,” Chocho warned. “It could be hilarious blackmail footage for later in life.”

Shikadai grumbled under his breath, as Inojin moved to Chocho’s armchair and whipped his phone from his pocket, poised and ready.

Chocho finished her doughnut, leisurely dusting powered sugar from her fingers.

“Can you just,” Shikadai gestured vaguely, “weigh less?”

“This is the real me, Shikadai,” Chocho boasted, tossing her hair theatrically over her shoulder. “Deal with it.”

“You can change your weight,” he exclaimed. “Why can’t you for this? Be smaller.”

“Why? Can’t handle all this?”

“Probably not, and this is not a cause I’m willing to die for.”

“Then give up,” she challenged. “Tell Boruto you can’t do it.”

Shikadai glared at her, and she met his gaze without hesitation. After a long, tense silence, Shikadai looked away first.

“Let’s get this over with,” Shikadai grumbled. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’re weak,” Chocho provided. At Shikadai’s indignant glare, she clarified, “Not physically. You’re fine in that department. Your ego is weak. You couldn’t say no to this, because you think doing it makes you seem more like a man.” She poked him in the arm. “Aren’t Naras meant to know when to walk away?”

“Shut up.” Shikadai slouched, sending the floor another glare. He let out a sudden sigh, warning Chocho, “Don’t jump on me.”

“I won’t,” she replied airily, as Shikadai, with no small amount of reluctance, dropped to the floor in a push up position. He remained very still and tense, while she casually planned the easiest way to get onto his back without him instantly plummeting face first into the floor.

As gently as she could, because while she did delight in causing trouble for him she didn’t really want him to get injured (And she wanted him to show up Boruto, because everyone knew her boys were the best boys) she settled most of her weight on his back, waiting for his vague nod before she lifted her legs off the floor and crossed them in front of herself, over his upper back.

“You good?” Chocho asked. She received a pained groan in response, but her perch did not immediately collapse to the floor.

“We’re ready,” Inojin said, kneeling on the floor to get a good angle, phone at the ready. “Go for it.”

Shikadai did not move.

“Hey, Shika?” Chocho raised an eyebrow. “You gotta actually do something.”

“I’m getting ready,” he snapped.

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Chocho smiled widely, and remained perfectly still.

It wasn’t a secret amongst the team that, when it came to plain hand-to-hand combat, no chakra or strategy involved, Chocho was the strongest. She had always been, naturally built to take and give hits, while Inojin and Shikadai were leaner and more inclined towards hanging back and long-distance fighting.

That wasn’t to say that Shikadai was not a worthy opponent, but when it came down to brute strength Chocho was always going to end up on top.

“No cheating, remember?” she said, in a teasing tone. “No chakra allowed.”

Shikadai grunted a response, not willing to waste air on a proper answer.

Chocho felt his shoulder blades flex as he drew in a deep breath, then he finally mustered the courage to bend his arms and begin lowering himself to the floor.

Inojin crept in closer, obligingly holding his phone up. The apartment remained tensely silent, until Shikadai had somehow wobbled his way through three full push ups without being crushed to death.

“Inojin,” Shikadai grunted, on the ascent from number four. “I don’t think Shinki cares about a close up of my arms.”

“Not filming it for him,” Inojin said. “I’m filming it for me.”

Chocho snorted loudly. “You know you can’t have the phone in the shower, right?”

Shikadai’s arms trembled, and he had to pause in his movements, taking in a sharp breath before pushing up again.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he griped, barely wheezing the words out.

Chocho stayed very still, although her shoulders shook very slightly. “Sorry. Carry on.”

When Shikadai did not make a move to lower himself again, she asked curiously, “How you doing there, buddy?”

“I’m going to die,” he replied.

“That’s too bad,” Chocho mused. “I would give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder but every time I move, you scream.”

“I don’t scream,” Shikadai grunted. “Inojin, get that phone away from me.”

“Your biceps look like they’re about to rip through your skin; I’m documenting that. For science.”

“Your hormones aren’t science,” Shikadai snapped.

Inojin looked mildly offended, but he didn’t move the phone away. He remained silent, filming raptly, until Shikadai finally trembled out, “I think that’s enough proof.”

“Probably,” Chocho agreed. “So . . . want me to get off you, now?”

Inojin set his phone down, and that action heralded the end of Shikadai’s self-control. His arms gave out, and with the full weight of Chocho still on his back, he slammed face down into the floor with a single muffled, yet very indignant, “Fuck!”

Shikadai’s arms were still aching the next evening. He forwent washing his hair in the shower, because lifting his hands above his head was not something he felt up to achieving, and made his way wearily out the bathroom to collapse onto the couch, mostly upright.

Chocho was already curled into her big armchair, paging through a book.

Inojin came from the kitchen area with a mug of tea. He set it down on the coffee table, phone in his other hand.

“Boruto and Shinki watched the push ups,” Shikadai said, slouching deeper into the couch. “Boruto said it counts. Yodo is still laughing at me, but it’s fine. We did it.”

“Your manliness remains intact for another day,” Chocho nodded approvingly. “Should we celebrate?”

“We are not celebrating because of some dumb shit Boruto and Yodo wanted to see. That sets a dangerous precedent.”

Inojin flopped over onto Shikadai, shamelessly leeching off his body heat, and staring at his phone. “I think it was a fun activity and we should do more stuff like that.”

“You would think that,” Shikadai said dryly.

“No harm came of it,” Chocho pointed out. “We all had fun.”

“My arms still hurt,” Shikadai protested. “I didn’t have fun.”

“I had a great time,” Inojin said, still glued to his phone.

“You’re boring,” Chocho claimed, grinning at Shikadai. “You need to loosen up a little and enjoy life. Live a bit, you know?” She reached for her drink, and took a generous sip. “Have some fun every now and again.”

Inojin nodded, and Shikadai grabbed his phone away.

“Aw,” Inojin slumped, disappointed.

“You’ve had enough fun for one day.” Shikadai tossed the device onto the coffee table. He closed his eyes, content to fall asleep. Inojin squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable within Shikadai’s space.

He settled eventually, nuzzling a cheek into Shikadai’s chest. Usually, Shikadai would wrap an arm around him, but he didn’t think he could move a limb even if he wanted to.

“Look on the bright side,” Chocho said, and Shikadai raised a curious eyebrow. She grinned at him, smug and proud. “We now have video evidence that you alone carry this team.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai closed the apartment door, kicked off his shoes, and immediately fell face down onto the couch.

Chocho reached over from her armchair to poke him in the back. “Rough day, pal?”

“I have the weekend off, and I’m going to sleep the whole time,” Shikadai mumbled. “Nobody wake me until Monday.”

“Not even for food?” Chocho asked, settling back in her chair and returning to her book.

“Let me starve,” Shikadai muttered into the couch.

“Okay,” she agreed. They were quiet, until Inojin emerged from the bathroom with damp hair and the dreaded polka dot pajamas.

“What’s up with him?” he asked, pointing to Shikadai’s prone body.

“He’s going to lie there and die,” Chocho explained.

“Oh. Okay.” Inojin nudged a hand into Shikadai’s shoulder. “You’re taking up the whole couch. Move.”

“No,” Shikadai replied.

“Alright,” Inojin shrugged, and promptly sat on Shikadai’s back. He looked over at Chocho. “What’s the plan for the weekend? None of us have any missions.”

“We could go out,” Chocho suggested.

A low, protesting, groaning sound emerged from Shikadai.

“Sounds like we’re staying in,” Inojin observed. He shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable.

“Your butt’s bony,” Shikadai mumbled.

“I know,” Inojin replied flippantly. He combed his fingers through Shikadai’s hair, absently tugging through small knots. “If we’re staying in all weekend, is there anything fun we can do?”

“Makeovers?” Chocho suggested.

Another groan emerged from the depths of the couch.

“The apartment is due for a deep clean,” Inojin observed. “We could do that.”

“Nah, sounds too adult and responsible,” Chocho shook her head. “Let’s do something useless and frivolous.”

Shikadai mumbled something into the couch.

“What?” Inojin asked, and Shikadai turned his head to the side just enough to wheeze, “Sleep.”

“Sleeping is boring,” Chocho claimed. She thought for a moment. “Any way to spice up sleeping?”

“I can think of a few ways, but you’re not invited,” Inojin replied. His seat wobbled a bit with a poorly suppressed laugh.

“Sleepovers are fun,” Chocho pointed out.

“That’s true,” Inojin considered, nodding slowly. “And it’ll be nice to spend time together doing nothing important.”

“That settles it. We are having a slumber party,” Chocho announced.

“We all live together already,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “How would that even work?”

“We’re gonna all cuddle up on the couch, watch some movies, maybe I’ll beat your ass in a pillow fight,” Chocho shrugged. “I’m working on the details. But we all deserve some relaxing.” She paused. “Maybe we should even have a little spa day – nice baths, manicures, maybe a little pampering.”

“Sounds great,” Inojin replied.

“Do some baking . . .” Chocho trailed off to think. “Shikadai? Any suggestions?”

“Sleep.”

“That’s the last thing you do at a slumber party.”

“Sounds like the most fun thing on the list, so I’ll do that.” He remained pointedly on the couch, while Inojin and Chocho talked over him. He dozed off during their negotiations, and only woke up when Inojin gave him a hearty thump on the shoulder.

“What?” he murmured.

“We’re going to the kitchen,” Inojin said. “To do some baking.”

“Okay.”

“Come with us,” Inojin insisted, tugging at Shikadai’s arm. Shikadai couldn’t be bothered trying to resist, and allowed Inojin to drag him off the couch. He caught himself before landing face first on the floor, and got up with a heavy sigh. At Inojin’s prodding, he moved from the couch to the kitchen area, slumping onto one of their little bar stools, and sinking down onto the counter.

“We’re meant to be spending time together,” Inojin pointed out. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be awake?”

“We live together, Inojin,” Shikadai muttered in reply. “We are always spending time together.”

“Fair enough,” Chocho said. “Should we make cupcakes, or chocolate-chip cookies?”

“Cookies,” Inojin requested instantly.

“Both,” Shikadai mumbled from the counter.

“I like the way you think,” Chocho patted Shikadai’s back. “Are you going to wake up and help us?”

“I’m providing moral support,” Shikadai answered.

“You’re taking up space on the counter,” Inojin retaliated. He nudged at Shikadai’s arm. “Move up a bit. Or go back to the couch.”

Shikadai shuffled up, his chair making a hideous screech against the tiled floor as he barely bothered to lift himself up to move. He resettled, arms folded, face resting on them. Inojin placed a bag of sugar on his back.

“Hold that, please,” he asked carelessly.

“And this,” Chocho settled the bag of flour onto the back of Shikadai’s head. “There,” she sounded satisfied. “Now he’s contributing.”

Shikadai had mostly fallen asleep before the smell of cookies roused him, and he assessed if there were any baking supplies on him before he sat up slowly, blinking and rubbing at his eyes. “. . . Cookie . . .?”

“Out the oven in two minutes,” Chocho replied. “And we’re having mac and cheese for supper.”

“You’re amazing,” Shikadai mumbled, attempting to rouse himself.

“I know,” Chocho replied, with a flourish. “Are you going to join in on the ‘spa bath’?”

“The what?”

“Inojin’s setting up the bathroom,” Chocho explained. “With candles and incense. We’re going to have a nice relaxing bath, do our nails, that sort of thing.”

“I feel the need to ask . . . are you two bathing together or one at a time . . .?”

“One at a time,” Chocho assured, giving him a hearty pat on the back. “Will you put on your polka dot pajamas?”

“No.”

“Will you put them on if I take them off you later?” Inojin shouted from the bathroom.

“Still no.”

“What if I take them off, take mine off too, and we cuddle in the bed together?”

Chocho raised an eyebrow. “Surely you can’t say no to that.”

Shikadai let out a huffy breath. “The answer is still no.”

“I have no idea how you two have managed to date this long,” Chocho repeated her pat on his back, harder this time, and Shikadai winced. “You’re so boring and unromantic.”

“And yet here I am nearly two years into a relationship, while you remain single.”

Chocho retaliated with a much, much harder whack to his back, slamming the breath from his lungs so he could barely even splutter a protest at the abuse. He let out a long groan when he could finally breathe again.

“You’re such a drag . . .”

Chocho and Inojin’s insistent spa night did not, luckily, interfere with Shikadai’s plans to do nothing. While the two of them spent an unnecessary amount of time filing their nails and painting them, and Inojin braided Chocho’s hair, Shikadai occupied himself by lying across the couch, eating too many cookies, paging through a comic book, and being a backrest for Inojin.

“What’s next on your ridiculous sleepover agenda?” Shikadai asked, as Inojin leant against his chest, studying the lilac polish on his fingernails.

“Watching movies,” Chocho provided, as she cleared away their extensive manicure equipment.

“Not a romcom,” Shikadai winced. “They’re all the same and cheesy as hell.”

“No,” Chocho shook her head, and added cheerfully, “horror movies.”

“Now it sounds like a fun sleepover,” Shikadai grinned. He bent his neck to press a gentle kiss to the top of Inojin’s head. Shikadai inhaled deeply. “Why do you smell so nice?”

“I didn’t take an hour in the bath for no reason,” Inojin replied. “Do you like it?”

“I’m afraid if I say yes, everything you buy from now on will smell like this.”

“It’s vanilla.”

“Ah. That’s okay.” Shikadai pushed another gentle kiss into Inojin’s hair, then rested his chin on the other boy’s head. He regarded Chocho. “What horror movie?”

“I collected several,” Chocho announced, standing up and moving to the kitchen. “We can watch them all.”

“Are they gross?” Inojin asked.

Chocho shrugged. “Hopefully.”

Shikadai chuckled to himself, and nudged Inojin to get off him. “Move up, let me get comfortable.”

“You’ve been comfortable all evening,” Inojin said, but he got off the couch to collect some blankets and pillows while Chocho made popcorn.

Shikadai settled himself happily in his usual spot, propped up just enough to be able to see the TV, even though he knew he was about two minutes away from falling asleep again.

Inojin shoved a cushion up against Shikadai’s shoulder and neck, throwing his blanket against Shikadai’s side. The blanket’s corner flopped mostly over Shikadai’s face.

“Can’t see the TV,” Shikadai mumbled.

“What does it matter? You’re almost asleep,” Inojin pointed out, patting at the pillow and laying into Shikadai’s side.

Chocho settled on the other side of Inojin, a huge bowl of popcorn in her lap. She propped her feet on the coffee table, wriggling her toes and admiring the pink polish on her nails.

“Hold this,” she said, giving the bowl to Inojin.

He held it aloft while she unfolded her own blanket across her lap. It was somewhat cramped with all three of them wedged onto the couch, and Inojin found the only way to be comfortable was to toss his legs across Chocho’s thighs, beneath her blanket.

She took the popcorn back from him, letting the bowl rest on his calves.

“Don’t move too much,” she told him.

“I won’t.”

“Good. Now, let’s get this movie started.”

It didn’t take long for Inojin to discover that he didn’t like horror movies. The disproportionate amounts of blood, the constant screaming and torture, and the needlessly excessive injuries were not things he wanted to see.

And certainly not whatever was happening in Chocho’s chosen movie, which appeared to be a thinly veiled excuse to kill actors off in the most dramatic, contrived, and explicit ways possible.

“Whoa, brutal!” Chocho sounded delighted.

“Ugh,” Inojin turned his face into Shikadai’s arm. “That’s so gross. Turn it off.”

“No,” Chocho shovelled popcorn into her mouth. “Close your eyes if you’re too much of a wimp to watch it.”

“I’m not a wimp,” Inojin peeked out. “But, ew, come on. This isn’t fun.”

“You’re not fun,” she retorted instantly, and Shikadai chuckled to himself.

“Nice to hear that comment directed at someone else for once,” he mused.

“Don’t we see enough gore in real life? Why bring it into our off time as well?” Inojin made a face, mouth downturned. “This is horrible.”

“I told you to close your eyes,” Chocho leaned forward, eagerly watching the TV. “Watch, watch, he’s gonna rip her in half!”

Shikadai lifted his head to see, having been exposed to the movie so far mostly through sound alone, since his eyes had been closed and half of his vision had been occupied by Inojin’s vanilla scented hair and fleecy blanket. He raised an eyebrow. “Inojin’s right. That’s gross.”

“Thank you!”

“But impressive,” he added. “You have to give them credit for imagination.”

Inojin turned his face away again. “You’re both sick.”

“Wimp,” Chocho repeated.

Despite Inojin’s protests, Chocho forced them through another movie, by which time Shikadai had Inojin face down in his chest, while he watched the film with interest and shared the last of the popcorn with Chocho.

“Cookie?” she offered Inojin at the end.

“No,” he groaned. “I feel sick.”

“I’ll have it,” Shikadai snatched the cookie from her hand. He brushed a crumb off Inojin’s hair. “Do you have another horror movie for us?”

“Yes,” Chocho said, and Inojin made a whiny protest.

“I can stay mostly awake for one more,” Shikadai added, and Chocho let out a happy whoop.

Inojin was less happy. “Ugh, you’re both insane.”

“No one is making you watch,” Shikadai pointed out. “Just turn around.”

“I can hear it.”

“I’ll put a pillow over your face,” Chocho said dryly. “It’ll muffle the sound.”

Inojin threw her a glare.

“Anyway, horror movies are fun for couples,” Chocho added, a little more jovially. “You get an excuse to cuddle and hide away. ‘Oooo, Shikadai, please protect me from the fictional movie’.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Inojin grumbled.

“I thought she was spot on,” Shikadai said, merely grinning when Inojin gave him a retaliatory slap on the side.

“We’re watching one more movie,” Chocho stated. “Then we can do whatever you want.”

Inojin sighed. “Fine, whatever.”

“Now, do you want a cupcake?”

Inojin was about to decline, when Shikadai intercepted. “I’ll have it.”

There was, following the end of the movie, a brief discussion on whether or not a pillow fight was warranted as a slumber party activity. It was deemed unnecessary, as neither Chocho nor Shikadai would promise not to cause structural damage to the building.

“It won’t be much of a night in together if the building collapses,” Inojin said, still sprawled across both teammates.

“Fair enough,” Shikadai ceded. “We’ll skip that. Is there anything else on your stupid list?” He looked to Chocho.

She mused for a moment. “Hm . . . we made cookies. Watched movies. Had make-overs. Nixed the pillow fight. No, I think we’re done. We can get to your favourite activity – going to bed.”

“In my defence, it’s like two in the morning,” Shikadai retorted.

Chocho waved a hand dismissively. “Time doesn’t matter at a slumber party. Or when we all have the next day off.”

“You mean today.”

“You’re a pedantic nerd.”

“A tired one,” Shikadai added. “I’m ready for bed.”

“Hang on,” Chocho interrupted, as Shikadai began extracting himself from beneath Inojin. “Are you going to sleep in your bed?”

“Where else?”

“We can all share my bed,” Chocho offered. “It’ll be like old overnight Genin missions where we’d lie in the forest and talk in the dark for hours.”

“Those were fun,” Inojin smiled.

“We’d talk about everything,” Chocho reminisced, with a soft and grateful smile. “Boys and girls – and in Inojin’s case, everything in between.”

Shikadai chuckled.

“And what we wanted to do when we were older,” she continued. “Who we thought we were going to be . . . Those were good nights.”

“They were,” Shikadai nodded, expression softening. He offered a hand to Inojin, to pull him to his feet.

“Does that mean we can?” Inojin asked, taking Shikadai’s hand.

It was with a resigned sigh that Shikadai hauled Inojin up. “Yeah, I guess. But we need to actually sleep eventually.”

“You’re such a drag,” Chocho mocked, standing up with them. “Let’s go to bed.”

While Chocho’s bed was large, it still wasn’t designed for three people. Shikadai was certain one of them was going to fall out in the night – likely Chocho since she tended to shift around the most. It was only Inojin, wedged in the middle, who was safe.

With the lights off, and the three of them lying close together, staring up the dark ceiling, it did feel like the early days of their teamwork. Although now, Shikadai reflected, they were closer. More experienced, more mature.

And without a doubt, more dependent on each other.

He drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to appreciate where they were in life.

“You ever wonder how things are going to be in the future?” Chocho asked softly, after a long silence.

“Almost every day,” Shikadai replied, in an equally gentle tone.

Chocho turned her head. She couldn’t see him clearly, with the dark and with Inojin between them. “When you think about that future . . . is it full of good things?”

It took a long time for Shikadai to answer. When he did, he sounded cautious. “I have you and Inojin. Nothing can change that. That makes the future, whatever it holds, bearable.”

He felt Inojin entwine their fingers, and wondered if he was also holding Chocho’s hand.

“There is nothing that can divide us,” Shikadai continued. “So it doesn’t matter if the future is good or bad. Either way, it’s ours. That’s enough for me.”

Inojin squeezed his fingers, nestled his head against Shikadai’s shoulder.

Chocho shifted onto her side, reaching across Inojin to lay her hand on Shikadai’s chest.

With one hand still entwined with Inojin, Shikadai raised the other to lay over the back of Chocho’s palm.

“Are you happy here?” she asked, and Inojin nodded.

“Happy ‘here’ as in this moment in time, or as in this exact location?” Shikadai fought down a smile, but he knew they could hear it. “Gotta be honest . . . even with the lights off I know your duvet and pillowcases are pink and it annoys me.”

“Hehe,” Chocho tapped her fingers on his chest, cuddling in close to Inojin. “Then close your eyes and go to sleep.”

Shikadai gave her hand a gentle squeeze, turning his head to rest against Inojin’s hair. He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Of all the disasters that could occur at six in the morning, discovering there was no more coffee was at the top of Shikadai’s list.

“Who finished the coffee?” he yelled.

One reply came from the bathroom, and the other from Chocho’s bedroom, “You did!”

“I did not,” he growled, shaking the empty coffee tin to see if more coffee would magically appear.

It did not.

“If I had finished it, I would have bought more,” he shouted. “One of you must have finished it-“ He cut himself off as he realised: Inojin had made him a mug last night while Shikadai directed and lectured from the couch, because Shikadai had complained he was too tired to do it himself.

He groaned softly to himself. Apparently no good deed went unpunished. In exchange for a nice favour from his boyfriend, he was now devoid of caffeine and needed on an early mission.

Life sucked.

Shikadai stared at the coffee machine. It did not, unfortunately, produce more coffee from nothing. Shikadai knew technology would one day betray them.

“Just get some on your way to work,” Chocho said, coming into the kitchen area behind him. “Or go without it. You’ll live.”

“You don’t know that,” Shikadai grumbled, sinking down to fold his arms on the counter and rest his head on them. He felt the warmth of Inojin drape over him, pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek. Shikadai let out a loud sigh in reply.

“You can always buy more after your mission,” Inojin pointed out.

“No, I can’t. I’ll only be home late, and the shop will be closed.”

“The corner store is open twenty-four-seven,” Chocho replied.

Shikadai scoffed. “That’s not coffee. It’s cheap junk and it’s probably more dirt than beans. I need real coffee.”

“You need an intervention,” Chocho said, nudging him to sit up so she could start piling breakfast things on the counter.

He grumbled at her accusation, but didn’t bother defending himself. Shikadai stared at Inojin, and the other boy eventually cocked his head to the side and queried, “What?”

“You’ll be done early,” Shikadai noted, as he pried himself off the counter, and made his way to the front door. “You can get my coffee.”

“I don’t even know what you get,” Inojin made a face. “You’re such a snob about it; what if I get it wrong?”

“The girl there knows what I like,” Shikadai said, shrugging his Anbu vest on, hand reaching for the door. “Get coffee. That’s all.”

“Aw, but I was gonna hang out with Sarada after work and-“

“Just get coffee or I’m burning the apartment down,” Shikadai shouted as he left, slamming the door.

“How serious do you think he was about that?” Inojin asked.

Chocho arched an eyebrow. “It’s Shikadai. I wouldn’t risk it.”

Inojin heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go get coffee. What if ‘the girl’ isn’t there? Do you know what he likes?”

“You.” Chocho turned her attention back to the dishes.

Inojin rolled his eyes. “That’s not helpful.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Chocho grinned at him. “He likes his coffee dark, and you’re pale and white. So walk in there, and ask for whatever they have that’s the exact opposite of you.”

Inojin sighed. “Eh, I’ll get whatever. How hard can it be to buy coffee?”

“Shikadai makes everything difficult,” Chocho replied. “Want some breakfast?”

“Nah, I’ve gotta go,” Inojin shook his head, turning away from her. “I’ll grab something on the way.”

“Good luck with the coffee,” Chocho said as he approached the door.

“If the apartment has burnt down when you get home tonight, I failed in my quest,” Inojin lamented as he left.

Inojin didn’t like coffee. He liked the smell of it, liked sitting close to Shikadai while he drank it. Liked the lingering bitterness when he kissed Shikadai . . . okay, maybe he just liked kissing Shikadai.

The point was, he didn’t drink coffee. And he had no idea what Shikadai liked because Shikadai treated his coffee brewing like some sort of sacred ritual that Inojin was not privy to. Inojin was always told to keep away because he ‘wouldn’t do it right’ and ‘didn’t know what he was doing’, because while Shikadai was generally laid back and easy-going about most things he was, indisputably, Temari’s son and thus prone to temper tantrums, condescension, and haughty perfectionism.

And, apparently, random threats of arson, although Inojin was relatively certain that was a joke. Still, the thought of needing to find a new place to stay because Shikadai set their current place on fire was enough of a concern to warrant a quest to fulfil Shikadai’s caffeine addiction.

Inojin had only been into the coffee shop once before with Shikadai, and at the time he had paid little attention to what his partner had bought and instead amused himself reading the names of some of the coffee blends. They had been needlessly wordy, with dramatic titles like ‘citrus forest explosion’ and ‘dark cocoa seduction’ (Chocho claimed they named that one after her.)

The shop itself smelled warm and earthy, and Inojin stopped within the doorway to take a few deep breaths. It was a small shop, simple in design but packed full of different packages and jars, and a few mysterious looking machines that seemed futuristically out of place in such a quaint setting.

“Hey, cutie,” the girl behind the counter greeted him with a very welcoming smile.

Inojin paused, automatically smiling back. “Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you around before. New here?”

“No, just new to coffee.” Inojin sauntered over to the counter, somewhat unconsciously tucking some loose hair behind his ear and hoping he wasn’t splattered with ink.

“What are you looking for?” the girl asked, making no secret of the fact that she was looking him up and down.

“I have no idea,” Inojin admitted. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I was sent to get coffee for my . . . teammate.” He usually said partner. Or boyfriend. He had no idea why he said teammate.

Well, he had a vague idea, and it was leaning against the counter and smiling charmingly at him.

Shikadai was going to tease him endlessly for this.

“What does he like?” the girl asked.

When I’m not openly flirting with other people. Inojin shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure . . . He’s pretty fussy. Kinda a snob.”

“We get that a lot,” the girl replied. “Some people are very, very into coffee. There’s this lunatic doctor who comes in here all the time, and I think she’s insane.”

That sounded like Sakura, but Inojin chose not to make the observation out loud. “Yeah, sure . . . what would you recommend for an uptight perfectionist trying to convince the world he’s laidback and relaxed?”

“Sounds like a dark roast kind of guy.”

“Okay?” Inojin didn’t know what that meant, but based on Chocho’s inaccurate assessment that morning, the coffee girl was probably right.

“Do you know what kind of machine he has?” the girl asked, coming out from behind the counter and sashaying to one of the walls of packages.

Inojin shook his head as he followed her. “Not a clue. It’s shiny and makes a noise.”

“This is one of our most popular blends,” the girl reached for a paper bag, and held it out for inspection.

Given that Inojin had no clue what he was supposed to be inspecting, he just nodded agreeably.

“I could always give you one of our sample packages. It’s got five different blends, of various flavour profiles. There’s bound to be something he likes.” She looked at Inojin, and he shrugged.

“Sounds good,” he agreed. And it would keep Shikadai placated, and the apartment hopefully unignited, until he could get his own coffee. “Maybe give me that popular one as well, just in case.”

The apartment was at stake, after all.

“Sure thing,” the girl flashed him a smile, and Inojin couldn’t help but return it.

“You could always ask him what he likes,” the girl said, as she returned to the counter, “and then come back. I’ll be happy to assist you again. With whatever you need.” She rang up the coffee, and Inojin stared at her, wondering what he was supposed to say in reply. It had been a while since someone had flirted so openly with him.

It was fun.

“Here’s your receipt, and here’s my number,” the girl slid a small torn off piece of paper across the counter. “Or you can just come on by, and we can talk face to face. I’m here most days.”

“Thanks,” Inojin said, because he had no idea what else to say.

“And my shift ends at five.”

“I’ll be done with work by then,” he said, and then wondered why he had said that. Shikadai was never going to let this go. Inojin was going to get teased for the rest of his life. He wondered if he should explain to her that he was already in a relationship.

Nah, doesn’t seem important, he thought.

“Is there anything else?” the girl asked.

“I don’t think so. Should there be?”

“Hm,” she considered for a moment, then said, “I could grind your beans for you.”

What the fuck was that a euphemism for? Inojin blinked at her. “Uh . . .”

“Unless you have a coffee grinder at home already. Well, unless your teammate does.” She offered him her disarming smile once again. “Or you could come over to my place and we could do it there.”

That was definitely a euphemism, Inojin thought.

A cautious, but somewhat pleased, grin spread across Inojin’s face. Buying coffee was so much more fun than he had been expecting.

He should do it more often.

Inojin was in the shower when Shikadai came home that evening. He entered their bedroom, towel around his shoulders and spotted pajamas on, to see Shikadai sprawled out on his bed, a book in hand and a mug of coffee beside him.

“Like the coffee?” Inojin asked.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Shikadai’s gaze flicked to the side, towards the curl of steam rising upwards, then onto his book again.

“Coffee girl asked me out,” Inojin said smugly, dropping his towel onto the floor and sitting on the edge of his own bed, looking at Shikadai.

“The blonde one?” Shikadai didn’t even look up.

“Yes, I – wait, how did you know?”

Now, Shikadai raised a cheeky grin to Inojin. “You’re her type. I expected it. So when’s the date?”

“We’re not going on a date,” Inojin replied, a little snippily. “I’m dating you, remember?”

“I remember,” Shikadai turned his attention down to his book again. “Did you tell her that?”

“No.” Inojin hesitated, and added lamely, “It didn’t come up.”

Shikadai snorted, failing to suppress a smirk. He turned a page slowly.

“Shikadai,” Inojin said slowly. “What does ‘grind your beans’ mean?”

“The coffee beans, dumbass,” Shikadai kept his eyes on his book.

“Oh . . . That makes more sense.”

“What did you think it meant?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Inojin paused to think, then added, “It sounded kinda dirty.”

“That’s just because you have a dirty mind,” Shikadai replied, idly turning another page. He took a sip of coffee. “She give you her number?”

“Of course.” Inojin smirked. “I’m quite charming, you know. A lot of people give me their numbers.”

“Hm,” Shikadai nodded. “Sure, sure. Glad you had fun.”

“I did,” Inojin replied. “You should let me buy coffee more often.”

Once Shikadai divulged what his actual preferred flavour of coffee was, Inojin dutifully returned to the coffee shop a day later to seek it out. And maybe stroke his ego a bit. The reasons weren’t important.

The same girl was behind the counter, and she beamed at him as he entered.

“Welcome back,” she said. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Inojin returned her smile. “Well, my teammate told me the right stuff to get. So here I am.”

“If you’re not in a rush to get somewhere, we could always chat,” the girl said. “Maybe over a cup of coffee. I’d be happy to show you how it’s made, and how to appreciate it.”

“That sounds fun,” Inojin replied, with an apologetic shrug, “but I do have somewhere to be.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Her smile continued, as she leant on the counter. “Next time?”

Before Inojin had a chance to reply, the shop door opened again and Shikadai walked in. Inojin stared at him. Shikadai didn’t spare him a glance, but immediately greeted the girl behind the counter.

“Hey, Shikadai,” she said cheerily. “I thought you were overdue for a visit.”

“Work,” he shrugged. “It gets busy at times.” He finally sent Inojin a sideways look, a twinkle of mischief in his forest eyes. “I was meeting my boyfriend and figured I could stock up at the same time.”

“Sure thing. Want your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

Inojin frowned at him, wondering what he was playing at. He crept a little bit closer, unsure if he should say something.

Once the girl handed Shikadai what he needed, he asked casually, “Met anyone lately?”

“Oh,” the girl looked taken aback. She flicked her eyes to Inojin. “Maybe.”

“Cool.” Shikadai tucked his package of coffee beneath one arm. “I have to go, otherwise there won’t be enough time for my boyfriend and I to make our lunch reservation.”

“Bye,” she said lightly.

Shikadai nodded at her, and turned towards the door. He reached his hand towards it, then called over his shoulder. “Inojin, reservation is in ten minutes and we still have to get there. Hurry up, or I’m making you pay.”

“Coming,” Inojin said, hastily springing after him. He missed the expression on the girl’s face, but once they were outside Shikadai broke down into chortles.

Inojin gave him a sour look. “Why’d you have to ruin everything?”

“To amuse myself,” Shikadai replied, entwining his free hand with Inojin’s fingers. He gave Inojin’s hand a little tug, bringing him closer, leaning down to press a needlessly heated kiss to his lips.

“She totally saw that,” Inojin whispered, not daring to look back at the glass door of the shop.

“Good,” Shikadai smirked, and pulled Inojin away with him.

Chapter Text

Shikadai didn’t complain about missions.

Okay, that was a lie. He complained all the time – but only to Chocho and Inojin which was the equivalent of complaining to himself, so it didn’t count. His point was he didn’t complain to the people who assigned him the mission.

. . . Yeah, that was a lie, too. Because it was commonly Shikamaru who gave him assignments, and Shikadai certainly wasn’t afraid to rant to his father. But he tried to remain professional, generally, and he tried not to complain too much, and he tried to see the benefit in any mission.

This one, however, was a nightmare from the get-go.

Shikadai wanted to be at home, cosied up in his apartment, with Inojin snuggled into his side. Not in the deep forests surrounding Konoha on the most irritating, annoying, asinine escort mission he had ever taken in his life.

He somehow suppressed the urge to slam his head into the nearest tree, and instead looked back over his shoulder to ensure their charge was still following them – and had not wandered off, distracted, still speaking into his goddamned phone -

“What’s up everybody, we are here in Konoha’s forests, with a shinobi escort, because I have been threatened!”

It was just Shikadai’s luck that he got stuck helping an influencer navigate the forest.

If he didn’t know any better, he might think Shikamaru did it to him on purpose just to see how annoyed he would get.

“- That’s right, my life is in danger, but that’s just what happens when you have an audience the size of mine –“

Before this mission, Shikadai had never even heard of Simu, although Chocho informed him that he was very well-known – for what, Shikadai still didn’t know. If he had to guess, though, he would say Simu was famous for being the most obnoxious loudmouth to ever exist – and in a world where Boruto existed, that was one heck of a feat - who seemed hellbent on shattering Shikadai’s very last nerve.

“- Two days ago, I received a threat on my life,” Simu dictated into his phone, holding it up and paying no attention to where he was walking. Inojin gently steered him around a tree. “I am now under the protection of Konoha’s shinobi as they escort me to a secret, unfindable house where I will stay until this is sorted out. Remember, guys, my very life is in danger – no clickbait – and I need to find a way to keep myself alive for you, my awesome viewers-“

“It would help if you didn’t broadcast our location every five minutes,” Shikadai snapped.

Simu looked towards him, then back into his phone with a dazzling grin. “That voice you just heard belongs to Shikadai, the Chuunin in charge of this mission. He’s one of the best, so don’t worry, I’m perfectly safe.”

“You’re perfectly stupid,” Shikadai muttered. Inojin nudged him gently with an elbow, and chastised softly, “Be nice.”

“Why?” Shikadai grumbled. “All he’s done is talk into his damn phone. He’s not paying attention to anything happening around him. He’s not even taking this seriously – he’s received death threats and all he cares about is how many views he gets.”

“He’s a high-profile client and your dad hinted this might be what you need for that Jounin promotion,” Inojin reminded him, glancing back again to ensure Simu had not wandered off.

Chocho was now ushering him around a bush, and then back onto their path, like a particularly chatty wayward sheep.

“It doesn’t feel worth it,” Shikadai grumbled. “I’d rather be stuck as a Chuunin forever than deal with this moron.”

Inojin muffled a giggle.

“He hasn’t stopped talking since we left Konoha,” Shikadai griped. “There hasn’t been a moment of silence on this walk. Can’t you, um, stick him on top of a bird so we can’t hear him?”

Inojin considered that for a moment. “I mean, yes, but . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Simu’s voice travelled to them again. “As we walk through Konoha’s forests – northwest of the village, look at all this beautiful indigenous vegetation – this may be the last you ever see of me, if those people who threatened me ever catch up to us.”

“It’s going to be me,” Shikadai muttered. “I’m going to be the one who kills him.”

Inojin shrugged. “Hm. At least he’ll get his death on camera.”

In Konoha, sitting side by side on Boruto’s bed, both Sarada and Boruto’s eyes were glued to the livestream on the screen of Boruto’s laptop.

“There’s Chocho!” Sarada exclaimed, delightedly. “Aw, she looks so confident in front of the camera.”

“She really does,” Boruto agreed. “Maybe she should start a side job with Simu.”

“And there’s Inojin,” Sarada smiled, as Simu’s camera swung around and fixed for a moment on Inojin. He gave a small wave, a little self-conscious, before the camera swung again and returned to Simu and his endless diatribe about his imminent death.

“What’s the bet that Shikadai is the one who takes him out?” Boruto asked.

“I’m not taking that bet, because you’ll win it,” Sarada huffed.

“There he is!” Boruto crowed, pointing at the screen. “Look how angry he is.” He chortled to himself, because Shikadai, for the brief moment he appeared in the background of Simu’s monologue, was stewing angrily, glaring daggers at the camera.

Sarada muffled a giggle. “Poor Shikadai . . . this must be driving him mad.”

“He’s the one always saying that every mission is equally important,” Boruto shrugged. “So he can’t complain.”

“He definitely can,” Sarada replied, leaning into Boruto’s side as Simu took a moment from talking to focus on Chocho again. She shook her head, smiling fondly at her best friend. “Complaining is something Shikadai is very good at.”

“He’s still talking,” Shikadai groaned. “Does he ever pause to breathe?”

“He stops when the livestream stops,” Inojin said helpfully, walking a few paces behind Shikadai so he could keep a close eye on Simu.

Chocho was beside Shikadai, checking for any threats, and sending amused looks to her team leader.

“What do I say to get him to shut up?” Shikadai growled.

“Try ‘unsubscribe’,” Chocho suggested flippantly.

Shikadai briefly considered trying it. But Simu was already flitting off elsewhere, holding his phone up, nattering on, and Shikadai let out a weary sigh and moved to follow him.

“Stay on the path,” he said, working hard to keep the irritation out of his tone. “If you wander into the forest, we don’t know what you’ll run into.”

“Like bandits?” Simu asked, eyes widening.

“Or a tree,” Shikadai said dryly, as Simu finally took note of his path and the oncoming trunk of a large oak.

He stepped sheepishly around it. “Ah, I see. Gotta be careful.”

“That’s the plan,” Shikadai replied, already weary. “Come on, stay close. We’ll be stopping for the night soon and I want to get further along before it gets dark.”

“Did you hear that?” Simu said into his phone, ducking down slightly and looking furtively around. “As soon as night falls, these forests become deadly-“

“No more deadly than during the day,” Shikadai corrected sharply.

“If we don’t make it to our destination by sunset,” Simu continued, completely ignoring Shikadai, “then we are sure to die.”

“I can’t do this,” Shikadai muttered, throwing his hands up in the air. “Chocho! Take over!”

“Got it, Captain,” she hopped to Simu’s side, putting on a brief, winning smile as the phone camera focused on her.

Shikadai stormed slightly ahead, out of earshot of Simu’s constant inane nattering. A badly muffled giggle from Inojin followed him, and Shikadai let out a long sigh when he was finally alone. After taking a few minutes to recover his patience and humour, he returned.

And all the calm he had garnered instantly fled.

“Remember, guys, I’ll be here again tomorrow, letting you know if I managed to survive the night,” Simu chattered on, standing still and holding the phone aloft. Chocho, situated behind his shoulder, waved cheerily at the screen.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Shikadai said tightly. The moment he spoke, Simu turned the phone around to capture Shikadai, who scowled.

“Hear that, everyone?” Simu asked. “This may be my very last night on earth. All I have for protection are these three Konoha shinobi. But don’t worry! They are excellent at their jobs – after all, nothing but the best for me.”

Shikadai could feel his last nerve fraying.

“I hope I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Simu continued, beaming. His smile faltered for a moment, and he glanced at Shikadai. “Hey, uh, the signal here is looking a bit weak. Can we spend the night somewhere else? Somewhere where I can still reach all my fans?”

“No,” Shikadai said, on the brink of losing it.

Simu looked momentarily disappointed, before he plastered his smile on again. “Well, guys, let’s hope I can still keep you posted! I’ll be checking in once we’ve set up camp, maybe we’ll tell some ghost stories, maybe we’ll sing some campfire songs-“ There was a strangled sound of despair from Shikadai “-Let me know what you’d like me to sing – leave requests in the comments down below, and I’ll-“

“Stop talking into that damned phone!” Shikadai snapped. When Simu turned to look at him, the camera focusing on Shikadai, something within him cracked. Near instantly, he snatched the phone from Simu’s hand and, without a moment of hesitation, snapped the device in half and hurled the pieces into the forest.

Simu’s jaw dropped, and Inojin and Chocho both drew in simultaneous gasping breaths.

“D-d-do you know how much that phone cost?” Simu spluttered.

“No,” Shikadai looked him dead in the eye. “But I’m sure you’ve done a video on it that I can watch later.”

“B-b-but – but . . .” Simu stammered, lost for words. “What about my audience? What about my watch time? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Stop spending every second of your life in front of a damn screen, and focus on something real for once,” Shikadai ranted hotly. “Look around you – actually look – and stop thinking about what everyone else likes and think about you; what you want in life.”

Simu merely gaped at him.

“Oh my god, I’m turning into my mother,” Shikadai groaned.

Inojin shrugged. “We kinda figured that would happen eventually.”

Shikadai sank down to sit on a nearby log, and reflect on the devastation his life’s path was taking him down. His Jounin promotion seemed to be making a run for it. He wondered if it would ever come back.

“Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m getting old. I’m starting to yell at kids.”

“At least you didn’t say ‘back in my day,” Chocho offered helpfully.

Simu wandered off to stare at the broken remains of his phone. “My poor phone . . . I just . . . I don’t know what to do with myself . . .”

“You can start by letting us finish this escort mission,” Shikadai said shortly. “Once you’re safely where you need to be, and not dead, then you can reevaluate your life.”

Mournfully, Simu picked up a shattered fragment of plastic. “There were so many memories on that phone . . .”

Inojin cocked his head to the side. “Any memories in your mind, or did they only count if they were on film and able to be approved by other people?”

Simu stared at him. “I don’t understand the question.”

Inojin shrugged. “Never mind. Hey, don’t wander off. We haven’t made sure it’s safe.”

Simu’s shoulders sank. “Okay. But . . . I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

“Grow up,” Shikadai grumbled. Chocho gave him a light shove on his shoulder, and he shook himself back into professionalism.

“Cho, keep an eye on that idiot while I check the surrounding area,” Shikadai muttered.

“Got it,” Chocho nodded.

“Inojin, check from the skies, please. Let me know if you see anything – give me a five-minute radius.”

“On it,” Inojin confirmed, whipping out his scrolls and ink.

Once Inojin was airborne, and Chocho was keeping Simu mostly contained, Shikadai went off to explore the forest. It was a welcome relief to finally be alone, out of earshot of Simu’s constant narcissistic droning. Once or twice as he walked, the shadow of Inojin’s bird would pass over him, and Shikadai couldn’t help a smile whenever it occurred. It was comforting and normal to have Inojin nearby, keeping watch, a constant occurrence on missions.

It made this hell of a mission feel a lot more normal.

Once satisfied there was no one nearby, Shikadai returned to their camp, telling Chocho to get a fire started and begin with dinner, while he set traps around the area.

He was about halfway through running a tight wire around several trees, only a few inches from the ground, when Simu approached.

Shikadai resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you want?”

“So,” Simu shuffled a bit closer. “Um . . . what are you doing?”

“Setting up trip wires,” Shikadai explained shortly.

“What for?”

“Let’s me know if anyone gets into our perimeter. No one will approach without my knowledge. One of the many things we do to keep you safe while you tell everyone where you are and how to find you.”

Simu looked suitably chastised as he kneeled on the ground beside Shikadai. After a pause, he said quietly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s part of my job whether you help or not.”

“Can you . . .” Simu wiggled a bit closer, and asked meekly, “Can you show me how it’s done?”

Shikadai stared at him with narrowed eyes. Eventually, he shrugged. “Alright, fine. We run a line of wire around the perimeter of our camp area. It’s about a foot off the ground. If it’s touched at all,” he twanged the line with a finger, and the wire vibrated briefly, “the motion will activate a chakra tag. I’ll feel that, and then I can respond as needed.”

“Is it hard?” Simu asked. “Being a shinobi, I mean?”

Shikadai hesitated with his answer. “There are . . . challenges,” he considered. “As with anything. I guess it is hard – it’s dangerous at times, and we put in hours and hours of training to get to where we are. But I have my team with me,” he concluded. “And that makes it easy.”

Simu looked thoughtful. “Did you always want to be a shinobi?”

“I have no idea. Being something else wasn’t really an option,” Shikadai said, somewhat wryly. “I knew this is what I was supposed to be. And, yeah, I guess I wanted it, too.”

“Why?”

“My parents are proud of me,” he stated simply. “That’s a good enough reason.” He straightened up; the wire was set and ready. He looked at Simu. “Did you always want to be a . . .” He trailed off, trying not to say ‘pain in the ass’.

“I’m good at this,” Simu said. “I like the attention. Well,” he shrugged, “unless I’m being threatened. That’s not so fun. But a lot of people watch me, and that’s cool.”

“Hm,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. He held back on further comment, because he was sure to offend if he did. “Come back to camp so I can keep an eye on you.”

Simu followed closely, looking pensive. It was the least annoying he had been the entire mission. Shikadai was starting to think he should start all missions by destroying the personal possessions of his clients.

Simu sat down near Chocho’s fire, and watched her carefully as she made them dinner.

Inojin set himself behind Shikadai, kneeling so he could place his hands onto Shikadai’s shoulders.

“Not now,” Shikadai mumbled, trying to shrug him off. “We’re on a mission.”

“No one is going to know,” Inojin replied, carefully kneading into the tense muscles of Shikadai’s upper back. “You destroyed Simu’s phone. We can do whatever we want.”

“And we’re still supposed to be professional on missions,” Shikadai said, although he was starting melt under Inojin’s touch.

“So write me up when we get back home,” Inojin said lightly.

Shikadai let out a low chuckle, leaning back slightly into Inojin’s hands. “Hm . . . I might have to.”

He sat still, letting Inojin do whatever he wanted.

Simu shuffled up to Chocho, asking questions about dinner, asking to help, and Chocho willingly explained and taught. It made the evening pass by somewhat peacefully, and by the time everyone was asleep and Shikadai was taking the first watch, perched high in a tree above the others, he was almost feeling relaxed.

It made the night far better than the day.

They reached their destination early afternoon the next day – a small safe house that had another team of shinobi ready to take over and protect Simu as needed.

As they approached the house, Simu came to Shikadai’s side. He had spent most of the day talking to Chocho and Inojin, observing the things they did, talking about being shinobi.

“Thank you,” Simu said. “For protecting me.”

“You’re welcome,” Shikadai replied, a bit stiffly.

Simu remained contrite. “I mean it. I . . . really appreciate it. I know I can be annoying.”

Shikadai snorted. “Yeah, you can be. Might want to work on that.”

“I will,” Simu said, and Shikadai was surprised at his sincerity. “This has been interesting. I haven’t looked around in a while and seen the world.”

“You don’t have to thank me for destroying your phone.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Simu frowned. “I might still send you a bill for that.”

“I’ll set it on fire, but go ahead.”

The safe house was drawing nearer, and Shikadai signalled to the shinobi waiting there that everything was safe and correct.

They stopped near the house, and Simu turned to Shikadai’s team.

“Thanks,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” Chocho replied, and Inojin put in, “It was easy.”

“Is there something I can do for you all?” Simu asked, looking at each of them in turn. “Something you need the world to hear? I reach a lot of people.”

Shikadai shook his head. “No. Keep doing whatever you want. Just take a moment every now and then to reflect and decide who you want to be. Maybe work on being an obnoxious jerk, see if you can tone that down a bit.”

“I will,” Simu said, with a nod. “Thanks, Shikadai. I think you gave me a new perspective.”

“I think you gave me hypertension,” Shikadai shrugged.

“I could gift you all a spa day,” Simu suggested. “I have a few contacts in that industry.”

“No, it’s –“

“Yes!” Chocho and Inojin interrupted. Chocho shook Simu’s hand firmly. “We would love to have a spa day.”

“Or weekend,” Inojin grinned.

“Great!” Simu’s chirpy answer drowned out Shikadai’s resigned groan. “As soon as I get a new phone, and I’m back online, I’ll be in touch. I’ll send the vouchers to your apartment.”

Inojin and Chocho traded smiles, and Chocho nodded at Simu. “Awesome. Can’t wait.”

Shikadai let out a dramatic sigh. “This mission has been such a drag.”

Boruto and Sarada sat side by side on Boruto’s bed, eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop.

“This is my favourite show ever,” Boruto claimed. “Look at Shikadai. He looks so pissed.”

“He looks two seconds away from an aneurysm,” Sarada agreed. They traded soft giggles.

“Should we do anything?” Sarada asked.

“Yeah,” Boruto leant forward, reaching for the keyboard. “We should press ‘like’.

Chapter Text

Chocho was well known for spoiling ‘her boys’. Not only with food, since she had done nearly all the cooking since they moved in together, but also in other small ways. She bought extra little treats for them when she went grocery shopping. She left fun notes on the fridge for them to find.

She let Inojin try out any of her skincare products, and she let Shikadai sprawl across her big armchair whenever he wanted.

And whenever she visited Kumo, she returned with a collection of exotic snacks. Chief amongst these were the small chocolate bars that were not found anywhere else. The first time she brought them back, she had delivered one to each of her boys. The second time, she gave them two each. They were exceptionally decadent treats – thick sweet chocolate, with both a caramel and nougat layer (Made from honey from the wild bees that fed on Kumo’s varied wildflowers) and delightful little freckles of honey brittle.

There was nothing else like it, and it was now an expected gift whenever she visited Kumo.

Shikadai and Inojin’s supplies had been devoured weeks ago, and Inojin had been hinting that maybe when Shikadai spent a week in Suna, Chocho should pop over to Kumo to replenish their chocolate cache.

“I’ll be going soon,” she said, making scrambled eggs for breakfast.

“’Soon’ isn’t a very accurate timeframe,” Inojin raised an eyebrow from the other side of the counter, as he waited patiently. Shikadai was still in the shower, almost always the last to rise in the mornings. “We won’t have team missions since Shikadai will be away, so you’ll be free to get more chocolate.”

“You want me to travel all the way to Kumo just to get you a chocolate bar?” Chocho asked, staring at him while she stirred the eggs.

“Yes.”

“There are chocolates here in Konoha. Just have that.”

“It’s not the same.” Inojin folded his forearms on the counter and leant his chin upon them. Pleading puppy-dog eyes often got him what he wanted from Shikadai, but Chocho was not so easily swayed.

“Nice try, but that doesn’t work on me,” she said breezily. “Sit up and eat.”

Inojin sat up straight with a grumble. “Fine . . . but you will think about going to Kumo, right?”

“I’m always thinking about it,” Chocho replied, dishing up breakfast. “Right now I’m thinking it’ll be nice to go there to get away from my irritating roommate.”

Shikadai was in their bedroom packing for Suna, so Inojin had made the decision to get out of his way, and found himself in Chocho’s room while she packed laundry back into her closet.

“So,” Inojin sat on the edge of her bed, leaning his weight back on his hands. “When Shikadai’s away, what are we going to do?”

Chocho stuffed a shirt haphazardly onto a shelf, then turned to face him. “Hm, I don’t know. We’ll probably have a few easy missions. We could go out and find new places to eat.”

“Like somewhere fancy to go for dinner,” Inojin perked up. “And then Shikadai can take me there again when he’s back.”

“Or we can find a nice bakery and stop for lunch,” Chocho added, picking up two pairs of pants and preparing to shove them onto a different shelf. While all three of them made sure to properly fold each other’s clothes, both Inojin and Chocho flung the clean garments back into the closet with whimsical abandon. When both closet doors were open, Chocho’s shelves resembled a kaleidoscope.

Inojin was idly scanning them, liking the way the colours interacted with each other. It reminded him of the wildflower meadows in spring – all colours just mashed together at random.

Something caught his eye.

A familiar looking plastic packaging, just peeking from behind her polka-dot pajamas.

“Chocho,” Inojin said, leaning forwards, eyes narrowing. “Are those Kumo chocolates hiding there?”

“What?” Chocho whipped to face him.

“They are!” Inojin leapt to feet, pointing accusingly at her. “You said there weren’t anymore! You said they were all finished!”

“Yours are finished,” she clarified hotly.

“Shikadai!” Inojin bellowed towards the door.

“Shut up!” Chocho took one stride to reach him. “Don’t tell him!”

“Shikadai-“ Whatever Inojin had been planning to add was cut off as Chocho shoved him away from the closet. He fell onto his back on the bed, drawing in a deep breath and getting ready to yell again.

Shikadai appeared in the doorway, looking mildly curious.

“Chocho has-“

She clamped a hand forcibly across his mouth to stop him from speaking.

It might have worked, had Inojin not been telepathic.

Chocho is hiding chocolates in her closet!

Shikadai jerked in place at the sudden scream within his head, first giving Inojin a sour look before processing what he had said. His gaze snapped to Chocho. “Wait, what?”

“I am not!” she denied.

I can see them from here! Inojin waved an arm vaguely towards the closet.

Chocho slapped her other hand over Inojin’s eyes. “No, he can’t!”

“Could you not suffocate him?” Shikadai asked, as reasonably as he could.

Reluctantly, Chocho drew her hands back, and Inojin shot upright. “Look, she’s got a stash right there behind her pajamas!”

Shikadai flicked his eyes towards Chocho’s closet, only to have her slam the door with a resounding crash. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re holding out on us?”

“I brought you enough,” Chocho said, standing protectively in front of the doors.

“And apparently you brought yourself more than enough.”

“I’m bigger than you both,” Chocho said indignantly. “I need more calories. And I’m the one who buys the chocolates – these extra ones are my commission.”

“How could you betray us like that?” Inojin pouted, slouching on the bed. “We’re meant to share everything.”

“I did share,” she replied. “You got some, Shikadai got some, and I got some.”

“I was under the impression you distribute them equally,” Shikadai said.

“I never said that,” Chocho defended.

“I didn’t think you’d need to because I thought we were all treated equally,” Shikadai shot back.

“It’s just chocolates, Shikadai, it’s not a big deal,” she rolled her eyes. “Stop acting like I sold you out on a mission or something.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Shikadai retorted, and Inojin nodded vehemently.

Shikadai and Chocho engaged in a brief, very intense, staring contest, before Chocho threw her hands in the air. “You’re both insane.”

“You’re hiding chocolates,” Inojin maintained. “That’s insane.”

“No, that’s smart,” Chocho flicked her hair back. “Both of you, out of my room. I’m busy.”

“Busy hiding things from us,” Inojin muttered, but he got off her bed anyway. Shikadai wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he exited, and led Inojin back into their room.

There was a small pile of stuff on Shikadai’s bed, beside his backpack. Inojin flopped face first across the bed with a groan, narrowly missing the pile.

“Careful,” Shikadai chastised. “There’s knives in there, you know.”

“Hm,” Inojin let his feet dangle over the edge of the bed. “Don’t care. How could she hide chocolates from us?”

“Because she likes food and she wanted to keep extras for herself.” It sounded reasonable when Shikadai said it, but Inojin was still nursing his betrayal.

“But it’s chocolate,” Inojin whined, a bit muffled into Shikadai’s blanket. “It’s not like keeping secrets, or selling us out, or, or,” he fumbled for another example, before settling on, “or lying on a mission to get us killed-“

Shikadai frowned. “You might be exaggerating the scope of this.”

“I am not. How would you like it if I keep treats hidden from you?”

“You do,” Shikadai said, and Inojin turned his head just enough to give Shikadai a baleful glare. Shikadai shrugged, beginning to stuff things into his backpack. “You hide those little trail mix packets in the drawer beside your bed. I like those – they’re yummy and convenient.”

“It’s not the same,” Inojin huffed. “You can walk into any shop here in Konoha and buy some. You can’t do that with the Kumo chocolates.”

“You’re not wrong, but I still think you’re overreacting a little,” Shikadai offered a wry smile.

“I feel betrayed,” Inojin sniffed, with a snarky toss of his head. He rolled over, onto an open section of the bed, staring grumpily up at the ceiling. “Now I know where her stash is. I can steal the chocolates when she’s not looking.”

“She’ll kick your ass,” Shikadai warned, packing the last of his things. “Come here,” he said, waving Inojin close.

Inojin sat up, “What?”

“This.” Shikadai leaned down, capturing Inojin’s lips in a quick kiss. He pulled back. “I have to go.”

“And you’re going to leave me with someone who hides things from us?”

“Chocolates. Not government secrets. I think you’ll be fine.” Shikadai turned towards the bedroom door, dragging his backpack along the floor behind him.

“I don’t think you’re treating this with the right level of seriousness,” Inojin complained, as Shikadai left the bedroom.

He stopped for a moment, shaking his head at Inojin’s indignance, and running through his trip to Suna and what he expected to need. Satisfied that he had everything, he continued to the front door.

Inojin trotted up behind him and skipped to his side, as always seeking out an extra kiss.

Shikadai secured his backpack over one shoulder, pulling Inojin close by the wrist for a goodbye kiss. It turned a bit more heated than he had planned when Inojin seized his face with both hands and stood up on his toes to slant their mouths together firmly.

Shikadai pulled back first, letting out a little chuckle as Inojin tried to move with him.

“Okay, try to keep the apartment standing, and don’t do anything stupid,” Shikadai said. “I’m meeting the next train, so no time to stay and chat.”

“I’ll miss you,” Inojin said.

“I know. I’ll miss you too.” He took a moment to look into the blue of Inojin’s eyes, before Chocho came out of her bedroom.

“Shikadai,” Chocho took two quick steps to the door to reach him.

He paused, hand on the door handle, “Yeah?”

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand.

Shikadai glanced down. One of the coveted Kumo chocolate bars was offered. He raised his eyes to look at her.

“For the road,” she said, with a casual shrug.

“Thanks,” Shikadai took the chocolate, with a little half smile. He tucked it into one of the pockets on his Chuunin vest. “I’ll see you both in a few days.”

“Travel safe,” Inojin said.

“And try to have some fun,” Chocho added.

Shikadai nodded, and opened the door. Once it had closed behind him, and Inojin and Chocho were left in the apartment, Inojin gave her a sideways look.

“You gave him a chocolate? What about me?”

“Despite you being a nosy, annoying busybody,” Chocho said, with an air of haughtiness, “I guess I could spare something for you, too.”

“How many more do you have?” Inojin asked.

“Enough for you and me to share,” she replied, with a triumphant grin. “And with Shikadai gone, there’s more for us.”

Inojin perked up. “I know I never, ever say this, but: I’m glad he’s away.”

“Come on,” Chocho gestured for him to follow. “We’ll share one now.”

“You’re awesome,” Inojin said, following her keenly.

“I know. And next time I’m in Kumo, I’ll get more.”

“And you won’t hide them this time, right?”

Chocho stared at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh, hell no. I’m going to find an even better place to hide them so you can’t find them ever again.”

“I can read your mind, you know?” Inojin reminded her. “I can know everything about you if I wanted.”

“But you won’t,” she said confidently. “And even if you did – you do not want to see some of the stuff that goes in inside my head. There’s not enough chocolate in the world to un-scar you.”

Inojin paused. “Um . . . you’re kidding right?”

She threw him a cheeky grin over her shoulder. “You’ll never know.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai, in a quest to find some peace and quiet to finish up some Suna-related paperwork, had hunkered down in his father’s office with his laptop and a bento from Chocho (With a cookie, he was delighted to discover). He had been working quietly, in silence, while Shikamaru sat at his desk, occasionally letting out a sigh or a mumble.

Shikamaru broke the silence.

“Do you know about a place called Leaf Storm?” Shikamaru asked, frowning over a scroll.

“Yeah, it’s a bar. Well, more like a club, I guess,” Shikadai looked up at his father. “Inojin and Chocho like to go there. Why?”

“I’ve been told there might be problems going on there. Issues with selling illegal weapons, some drug distributions. Know anything about that?”

“All I know about Leaf Storm is the gays go there.”

“So why does Chocho go?”

“To prey on the bisexuals. And compete with Inojin for who can get the most phone numbers,” Shikadai sighed. “They think it’s fun. And Chocho likes to dance.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“Would you mind going? Take Inojin and Chocho with you; see if you can find out any useful information.” Shikamaru pushed the scroll aside. “I’d like to get some surveillance onto these people, if I knew who they were.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Shikadai didn’t even need to ask – he knew his teammates would be up for it. He would ask them tonight. “Does Mom know you’re asking me to go a club when I’m underage?”

“If your mom has a problem with it, ask what age she was the first time she entered a club,” Shikamaru replied, and Shikadai burst into chuckles.

“Okay. I’ll take Inojin and Chocho later in the week.”

“Thanks. Don’t get drunk.”

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “How old were you when you first got really drunk?”

Shikamaru shrugged. “Ask your mother. I don’t remember.”

As Shikadai had expected, their proposed mission was met with enthusiasm.

“Undercover at a club; it’s about time missions got fun,” Inojin exclaimed, throwing himself across Shikadai on the couch.

“We’re not technically undercover since we’ll just be ourselves,” Shikadai cautioned. He shifted to get Inojin’s elbow out of his gut.

“But it’s still the most fun we’ve had in forever,” Chocho added, sprawled across her armchair. “Your dad gives much nicer missions than the mission desk. We should get all our assignments from him.”

“I’ll let him know,” Shikadai deadpanned. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Inojin nodded, and Chocho offered a thumbs up of agreement.

She looked thoughtful. “Hey, since it’s technically a mission . . . is your dad paying for drinks?”

“No.”

“Bummer.”

Shikadai had assumed that getting ready to go to a club needed the mere preparation of being dressed. He underestimated the hour Inojin spent in the bathroom, and by the time he came out he was only half clothed.

“What have you been doing in there?” Shikadai asked, trying not to roll his eyes as he tied his hair up. “We could have left an hour ago.”

“It’s a night club, Shikadai, the shady people don’t show up at six o’clock. We have plenty of time.” Inojin flung his closet door open and selected a shirt. It was a shimmery blue, and while Shikadai did like the colour on Inojin he had a personal gripe about that particular piece of attire.

“I hate that shirt,” Shikadai sighed.

“Why?” Inojin glanced down at his front, doing up the buttons. “It looks fine.”

“It’s silk, and every time I try to grab you my hands slip off,” Shikadai grumbled.

Inojin cracked a grin. “That’s your complaint?”

“It’s a valid complaint.” Shikadai smiled. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Are you really going like that?”

“Like what?” Shikadai frowned, also glancing down at himself.

“You look very straight.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Shikadai pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “It’s you.”

“No one is going to believe you,” Inojin shrugged. “But okay, let’s go.”

Chocho exited her room at the same time as the boys. “Nice shirt, Inojin.”

“Thanks,” Inojin beamed.

Chocho turned her attention to Shikadai, looking him up and down. “Are you really going like that?”

“What now?” Shikadai asked, exasperated.

“Looking so . . .” she gestured vaguely with one hand. “. . . Straight.”

Shikadai tamped down a groan of annoyance. “Just . . . shut up, and let’s go.”

Leaf Storm was in an area of the village that Shikadai rarely visited, although he and Boruto had met someone in a back alley once to trade cards when they were twelve. In retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea.

From the outside, it looked like every other club Shikadai had studiously avoided his entire life – the noise, crowds, and handsy drunk people just didn’t appeal to him.

“It’s not that bad,” Inojin said, as they approached. “Although I have had a few guys try to kiss me without permission, which is a little annoying. But mostly they behave. And I get a lot of drinks bought for me.”

“Don’t drink a lot,” Shikadai warned. “I need you alert.”

“Yeah, I know,” Inojin dismissed, and Chocho nodded.

“I won’t get that drunk,” she stated. “Just a little. To have fun. And you know I burn it off quickly.”

“Be careful.”

“Yes, Mom,” she rolled her eyes, and he let out a resigned sigh.

The inside of the club was bright and loud – and excessively colourful.

“How on earth do you see what’s going on in here?” Shikadai asked, as Inojin went confidently to the bar.

“You get used to it,” Inojin replied. He pointed out someone as they walked. “That’s one of the guys you want to keep an eye on. If your dad says they’re selling illegal stuff in here, I guarantee he’s one of them.”

“Should have made my dad come here instead,” Shikadai grumbled.

“Your dad’s so straight he would have been turned away at the door,” Chocho grinned.

“Your mom could come,” Inojin added brightly.

“You can both shut up,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he was doing that tonight.

There was an open space at the bar for the three of them, and they sat down.

“Hi, Inojin, hi, Chocho,” the bartender greeted cheerily. “The usual?”

“You have a usual?” Shikadai sighed, despairing of the night already.

“The usual sounds great,” Chocho replied, digging an elbow into Shikadai’s side. “It’s called having fun; try it sometime.”

“Maybe another night.” Shikadai studied the room, in case someone looked obviously suspicious. He had several good choices. For a while, the team remained together at the bar, with Shikadai taking note of people coming and going, and Inojin helpfully adding in who was a weirdo, who tried to grope him in the past, who could be exploited for free drinks.

“Oh,” Inojin subtly pointed to a man near the back of the bar. “Talk to him. He’s always talking to people behind the club – probably something odd happening there.”

“Thanks. Try not to get kidnapped while I’m away,” Shikadai climbed off the barstool.

“We’re fine,” Chocho dismissed. “You worry too much.”

“And no one’s ever threatened me in here,” Inojin explained. He paused, then amended, “At least not with violence.”

“Just keep an eye out, and stay aware,” Shikadai said, moving behind Inojin. He ran his hand along Inojin’s shoulders as he did, fingers trailing through Inojin’s hair.

Inojin watched him go, then someone sat next to him. She had bushy curly hair and eyes like dark blue jewels.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Inojin replied.

“I like your top.”

“Thanks; he spoils me a lot-“

“She meant your shirt, dumbass,” Chocho put in, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh.” Inojin looked down. “Ah, that makes more sense.”

“Does that mean you’re taken?” the girl asked, looking disappointed.

“Yeah, I am,” Inojin replied, with an apologetic smile.

With a deep sigh, the girl stood up and left. Chocho shuffled closer to Inojin, poorly hiding a snort into her drink. “I love it when we go out together. It’s so much fun.”

She threw back the rest of her drink.

“Didn’t Shikadai say not to drink too much?”

“Shikadai isn’t here.” Chocho slammed the glass down. “And I’m older than him – I can do what I like.”

“That’s terrible logic.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a little drunk.”

Shikadai pulled Inojin to the quieter side of the bar later in the evening, speaking in a low voice. “My dad was right. This place is rife with illegal activities. I’ve had three separate people offer me drugs.”

“Did you buy any?”

“No.” Shikadai blinked.

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Inojin leant his head into Shikadai’s shoulder. “Will you buy me another drink?”

“I’m quite certain you’ve had enough. Where’s Chocho? I have enough information to put a report together for my dad, and he can decide what to do from there.”

“Can we be on the team that takes this place down, so we can come here again? Wait,” Inojin looked horrified. “You won’t close the whole club down, will you? I like it here.”

“I don’t know,” Shikadai shrugged. He looked around. “There are other clubs.”

“Yeah, but more people hit on me here.” Inojin snuggled against Shikadai’s side. “It’s fun.”

“Hm.” Shikadai wrapped an arm around Inojin, and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “One more drink, then we go home.”

“Yay,” Inojin perked up.

A few minutes later, Shikadai was setting his empty glass down on the bar, and taking Inojin’s away from him. Before he had a chance to usher Inojin up and begin looking for their third teammate, Chocho reappeared.

She descended upon them, drink in hand, an arm draped across their shoulders, smooshing her face between their heads. “My dears,” she said, before pressing a kiss to Inojin’s cheek. “My peers, my queers-“

“You’ve had enough,” Shikadai said firmly, prying her drink from her hand. He received his own unnecessary kiss, and rolled his eyes. “Okay, I think we’re done for the night. We have the information we need, and it’s getting late.”

“This is when it gets fun,” Chocho insisted. “Come and dance with me.”

“No.”

“Inojin, come dance with me,” she immediately changed targets, and he nodded agreeably. Shikadai grabbed for Inojin, his hand slipping off the stupid silk shirt. He found purchase on his second attempt, “No, Inojin, stay here. We’re going home.”

“Aw,” Inojin looked disappointed. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Shikadai shoved Chocho off his shoulders, standing up and keeping hold of Inojin, in case he vanished into the crowds and became difficult to retrieve. He grappled for Chocho with his other hand, since her attention had wandered and she looked set to follow it.

With both teammates suitably under control, Shikadai coaxed them towards the exit.

The cool night air was refreshing, and the silence that descended over them was a very welcomed relief. Their journey home was mostly silent, and Inojin tucked himself under Shikadai’s arm for warmth, while Chocho mumbled about different things.

When they returned home, Shikadai made sure Chocho was settled in her room, ignored her insistence that ‘we should all sleep together and cuddle allllll night long’, made sure she had a glass of water beside her and then went to see where Inojin had ended up.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, idly fumbling with his shirt buttons.

“You can take that off now,” Shikadai said.

“Do it yourself.”

Shikadai paused, brain ticking into gear. He let out a sigh. “You’re drag. Come here.”

Inojin bounced up at the offer, coming to stand in front of Shikadai. He stayed still while Shikadai undid each button of the shirt, and was compliantly malleable as Shikadai slid it off his shoulders and, in a rare moment of regard for the expensive fabric, draped it carefully over the back of his desk chair instead of hurling it to the floor.

For a moment, Shikadai did nothing further. He merely stared at Inojin, eyes tracking down his arms, across his stomach, up the other side.

“Do you get jealous?” Inojin asked suddenly.

“About what?”

“The other boys at the club. And the girls. And just in general. When they all flirt with me,” Inojin hooked his fingers into the waist of Shikadai’s pants.

“No.” Shikadai’s smile broadened. “I feel sorry for them.”

Inojin cocked his head curiously to the side. “You do?”

“Because I know they’ll never have you like I do,” Shikadai continued. “They’ll never know how incredible you really are, and they’ll never get the chance to see you like I see you. The whole world is missing out, and I’m the only one that gets to enjoy you.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to Inojin’s. “Why would I need to be jealous, when I know you’ll always be mine?”

Inojin’s blue eyes sparkled.

“Being jealous implies things could be better for me,” Shikadai smiled softly. “I’m winning. Everyone else can be jealous.”

Inojin’s expression cracked into a broad grin. He tipped his head slightly when Shikadai leaned down to kiss him, pressed his chest against Shikadai’s torso and let out an indulgent moan when Shikadai’s hands gripped across his bare back.

“We should go to bed,” Shikadai mumbled against Inojin’s lips.

“Can we go into the same bed?” Inojin asked, fingers dipping a little lower into Shikadai’s pants.

There was a pause, while Shikadai thought things through. Then, he shifted his mouth to Inojin’s neck, replying surely, “Yep, good idea.”

Chapter Text

It was common for all three teammates to return to their parents for dinner on average once a week. Some weeks those evenings overlapped, and they would return to the apartment one by one with full bellies and the usual lectures about how to care for themselves – and in Chocho’s case, homemade meals for the next few days.

This evening, Inojin returned home to find that Chocho was still out, but Shikadai was sitting on his bed with a large carrier bag on the blankets.

Inojin paused in the doorway, wondering what Shikadai was doing sitting cross legged against his pillows and paging through a thin folder of papers.

“What’s all this?” Inojin asked, peering curiously at the bag.

“Some stuff from home,” Shikadai replied. “My mom did some spring cleaning. She asked me to check all this and see if I’m keeping any of it, or throwing it away.”

“Any idea what’s here?” Inojin pulled the top of the bag open with two fingers, gingerly looking inside.

“Not a clue,” Shikadai shook his head. “I’ve only just started looking. There’s a folder of old tests from the Academy. I guess I can throw that all out.”

“Yet, you’re still checking it,” Inojin teased.

“There might be something interesting in here,” Shikadai chuckled, and held out a page for Inojin to see. “For example, this test has a whole field of flowers drawn on it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Inojin grinned. “That could have been from anyone.”

He sat down next to Shikadai, sitting close enough for their knees to touch. “Can I look through it with you?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t think there’s anything in here you can’t see.”

“Like love letters from past boyfriends,” Inojin teased.

“Exactly,” Shikadai grinned at him. He handed over the folder of papers, and Inojin began looking through them curiously. There were some notes Shikadai had taken, most of them relating to lectures from Shino-sensei, but a few things focused specifically on their Ino-Shika-Cho training.

It was interesting to see the things Shikadai had written so long ago, things that they had long overcome as a team, things that were now second nature. Inojin couldn’t help a fond smile at the thought.

They had come a long way.

He set the folder down. “Should we keep this stuff?”

“Why?” Shikadai looked up, meeting Inojin’s eyes across the bed.

“Because . . . memories. It’s full of memories.” Inojin shrugged. “We have space for it. I think we should hold onto it a bit longer.”

“If you want,” Shikadai ceded. “Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

Inojin looked into the bag again. “Haha, there’s some old cards in here – remember when we used to collect the new ones every week?”

“Those are just the extras,” Shikadai said. “I’ve got all the important ones and completed sets packed away properly. So we can throw those out.”

Inojin wasn’t listening. He was too busy rummaging about, spouting his finds with delight, “The friendship bracelets Chocho made for us, more papers, some cables for your gaming system –“

“What’s going on?” Chocho interrupted from the doorway.

“Sorting through some crap my mom sent,” Shikadai explained.

“Look, he kept all the Academy tests that I defaced,” Inojin said proudly, grabbing the folder away from Shikadai so he could flaunt it.

Chocho came to stand at the side of the bed, eagerly taking the papers from Inojin. “Aw, that’s so cute. What else is there?”

“Remember these?” Inojin pulled the bracelet from the bag.

“I remember,” Chocho beamed. “I made you guys wear them for like two weeks.”

“You were so annoying,” Shikadai muttered. He checked a few more papers, and set them aside.

“What are those?” Chocho asked.

“Mission notes. From our first year as Genin together.”

“You took notes?” Chocho cocked her head to the side.

“Just a few. Things we needed to work on, things we could do better. To learn from, you know.” Shikadai let her pick up the papers.

There was silence for a while as she skimmed through them.

“Aw,” Chocho said, a touch of sadness leaking into her tone. “You were so hard on yourself. We were fine, Shikadai.”

“Ugh,” Shikadai wanted to defend himself. “I wasn’t hard on myself, I just . . . I didn’t want to fall behind.”

“You’ve always been the best on this team,” Inojin pointed out. “Who were you falling behind?”

“My parents,” Shikadai mumbled, looking down.

Chocho rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not falling behind them. You never were.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, because things are fine and I know I’m doing well,” he wrestled the papers from Chocho’s hands. “Drop the subject.”

“Okay,” she held up her hands in defence. “I’ll let it go. I was just coming by to let you know I’m making tea, and do either of you want some?”

“Not right now,” Shikadai shook his head, but Inojin nodded, “Yes please!”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Chocho said, leaving the room again.

Shikadai pulled a random knot of cables and wires from the bag, and began untangling them, while Inojin peered inside again, hoping to find something of interest.

“What’s this?” Inojin asked curiously. He pulled a small photo frame from the bag. It was wrapped in a scrap of cloth, and once uncovered and given a brief wipe to clear dust off the glass, it revealed a single dried flower against white paper.

Shikadai stared at it, and Inojin waited patiently for an explanation.

“It’s . . .” Shikadai coloured pink. “Um . . .”

“It’s a flower,” Inojin provided. “I can figure that much. A carnation. But why do you have it?”

“Ugh,” Shikadai buried his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks burning. “I . . . This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” Inojin shifted closer. “What’s the matter?”

Shikadai let his hands fall with a loud sigh. He gave Inojin a quick glance, biting at his lower lip. “Remember when I got promoted to Chuunin? After my first successful mission, you gave me flowers.”

“I remember,” Inojin assured.

“I . . . Kept one of them,” Shikadai admitted. “I pressed it and kept it safe. That’s it – you’re holding it.”

“This is the flower I gave you?” Inojin blinked. “That was years ago. You kept it all this time?”

Shikadai nodded, but added nothing else.

“Oh,” Inojin said, for lack of anything else to say. He drew in a breath. “That’s . . .”

“Lame, I know,” Shikadai mumbled.

“No, I was gonna say sweet,” Inojin assured. “Really sweet.” He ran his fingers reverently over the glass. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” Shikadai asked, with a touch of pleading in his tone.

“But . . .” Inojin stared at the flower. “Why did you keep it?”

“I don’t know. It was from you. It . . . nothing.”

“No, tell me. I want to hear it.”

Shikadai heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair, looking slightly agitated. “I guess . . . I wanted to remember it because I felt special. That you gave it to me. You know, you didn’t need to, and it wasn’t even an important mission but you still took the time to pick something out and bring it to me and . . . I don’t know.” He shrugged, unsure of his own feelings. “I kept it, okay. That’s all.”

Inojin kept his eyes down on the frame. Something odd was stirring within him. Some sort of warm, affectionate emotion, that somehow felt both stifling and comforting at the same time. He swallowed hard, nodding vaguely.

Shikadai was already focused again on untangling the cables, sorting them into different piles. After he noticed the silence had gone on for a while, he looked to Inojin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Inojin replied. “I’m fine.”

He carefully leant across the bed to set the photo frame on Shikadai’s bedside table.

“Why are you putting that there?” Shikadai asked.

“So you can see it every day,” Inojin replied simply. He readjusted his position, kneeling in front of Shikadai, shoving the bag to the side. Before Shikadai could question him, Inojin leaned in to kiss him, resting both hands on Shikadai’s shoulders.

Shikadai pressed against Inojin’s lips, the cables falling forgotten onto the bed. When Inojin prepared to pull away, Shikadai stopped him with a warm hand on his cheek, silently encouraging him closer.

“Tea,” Chocho interrupted loudly.

Shikadai sent her an annoyed look. “You could have waited. Or left when you saw what we were doing.”

“Or I can bring Inojin his nice hot tea so there’s an actual reason for it to get steamy in here.” Chocho came into the room, and set the mug down beside Inojin’s bed. She winked at the boys as she left. “Have fun.”

Inojin sat down next to Shikadai with a resigned sigh. After staring blankly at the bag for a while, he reached forward to pull it closer. “What else is in here?”

“Not a clue,” Shikadai began untangling the cables again.

“Any other cute things that I gave you years ago? Did you leave all my love notes behind with your parents?”

“Those aren’t love notes; it’s random shit you wrote and drew all over my official paperwork. I have an actual warning in my file about handing in reports correctly.”

“Then maybe don’t write them up when I’m right next to you,” Inojin replied, with an air of dismissal.

Shikadai set the cables aside, meaning to test some of them later and toss out any that were broken or didn’t fit with his current gaming setup. “Or you could learn to behave.”

Inojin’s eyes slid sideways to him. He didn’t break eye contact as he reached into the bag and retrieved a small box of odds and ends. “Or, I could keep defacing all your government property because you never tell me to stop.”

“When I’m suspended for a disciplinary hearing, then I’ll say stop.” Shikadai leant back against his pillows, giving Inojin a lazy smile.

Inojin smirked. “What about tonight? When will you say stop?”

“Hm,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “I guess we can find out.”

The rest of the contents of the bag were forgotten, and it was only the next morning when Shikadai tipped the last of it out onto his bed that he found his mother had slipped a little package of coffee and dango into the bottom.

He smiled to himself, picking it up so he could take it into the kitchen.

Before leaving the room, he checked if Inojin was still asleep. He was, tucked up against Shikadai’s pillow, hair a mess. The framed flower was right beside him, and Shikadai felt a glow of warmth when he looked at it. He had been planning to move it, maybe to his desk or put away in a drawer.

But looking at Inojin right beside it, maybe it could stay where it was.

Chapter Text

After a several days long mission, outside of Konoha, it was a relief to finally be home and finally be able to rest. Inojin kept his hand entwined with Shikadai’s while the three teammates made their way through the Hokage building to report that the mission was successful.

“Can’t wait to get home and shower,” Chocho groaned, trying not to touch her hair. It felt greasy and flat.

“Same,” Inojin sighed. They had been out of civilization for far too long.

“I can finish the report alone if you two want to go,” Shikadai offered.

“No, we’ll stay,” Chocho assured, bumping an elbow lightly into Shikadai’s arm. “We’re a team. We stick together.”

Shikadai smothered a yawn behind his hand, but nodded vaguely at Chocho’s declaration of support.

He reported their mission mostly on autopilot, somehow finding the brain power needed to answer questions when Shikamaru asked. Finally, though, Shikamaru sat back in his seat. He turned his gaze from Chocho to Inojin.

“You two can go,” Shikamaru said, fixing his eyes onto his son. “Shikadai, I need you to stay a moment longer.”

Inojin cocked his head to the side, wondering what was so important. Shikadai shrugged, gesturing vaguely at his teammates.

“I’ll see you at home,” Shikadai said, glancing at Inojin and Chocho.

“Later,” Chocho said cheerfully.

“Save me some hot water,” Shikadai added hastily. “Since I know you’ll both shower when you’re home.”

“No promises,” Inojin replied, striding for the door.

Shikadai grumbled under his breath as they left.

Inojin paused outside the office, staring back at the closed door.

“Inojin?” Chocho prompted. “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” He shook himself back to reality. “Oh. Nothing. Let’s go home.”

“And finally get cleaned up,” Chocho added.

“Yeah,” Inojin smiled, glancing back at the door once more. “Can’t wait for that.”

Chocho called dibs on the shower first, so when they returned to the apartment Inojin idly checked the kitchen to see what was available. There was not much – Chocho was always sure to use up food when they knew they would all be out of the apartment for a few days.

He was browsing through the kitchen cabinets when Shikadai arrived home, closing the front door thoughtfully behind him and slowly toeing his shoes off.

“Everything okay?” Inojin asked. “What did your dad want to talk about?”

“Hm?” Shikadai raised his eyes, catching Inojin’s gaze across the apartment. “Nothing much. Just . . .” He trailed off, then added, with a small, nearly smug grin, “. . . I made Jounin.”

“What?” Inojin froze in place. It took a moment for the news to sink in. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai said, with a little laugh. “So . . . that’s good, I guess.”

“That’s awesome!” Inojin flung himself across the apartment and at Shikadai. Secure in the knowledge that Shikadai would never let him fall, he threw himself at his partner, arms around Shikadai’s neck and legs around his waist. Shikadai braced for impact, catching Inojin, immediately prepared for the kiss that followed.

Shikadai, once balanced, shifted one hand to the back of Inojin’s head, tipping his head slightly to deepen the kiss, holding him close. Inojin pulled back after a few long seconds, eyes sparkling.

“Congrats,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Thanks,” Shikadai said, adjusting his hold on Inojin to make sure he was secure. They spent a moment staring at each other, before Inojin sunk a hand into Shikadai’s ponytail and pulled his head back for another needlessly deep kiss. Shikadai let himself be manipulated at Inojin’s will, perfectly content to stand there and be ravished for a time.

Eventually, he gave Inojin a little jostle in his arms and murmured, “You’re heavy. Get off me.”

“You’re no fun,” Inojin grumbled, detaching his legs from around Shikadai’s waist and setting himself onto the floor again.

“I know.” Shikadai placed a small, apologetic kiss onto Inojin’s lips.

They stared at each other, with Inojin’s expression cracking into a broad smile.

“I can’t believe you’re Jounin now,” he said.

“What?” Chocho shouted from the bathroom. “You made Jounin?”

Before Shikadai had a chance to call back to her, she rushed from the bathroom, holding her towel up beneath her armpits.

“Really?” she said, dripping water and staring at Shikadai. “That’s what your dad wanted to talk about?”

“Yes,” Shikadai replied. “You could have dried and gotten dressed, you know.”

“I’m so proud of you!” Chocho exclaimed, brushing over his comments about clothes. She opened her arms widely for a hug.

Inojin grabbed the ends of her towel, and politely held them closed behind her back as she seized Shikadai and squeezed him unnecessarily tight.

“Don’t kiss me,” Shikadai warned.

“I have to, because I love you and I’m proud of you,” Chocho declared, leaning in to give him a wet smooch on the cheek.

Shikadai drew back, trying his best to suppress a fond smile. “Ew. Gross.”

Chocho let him go, re-hitching her towel under her arms and sending Inojin a grateful nod. “What are you going to do now?”

“Still need a shower,” Shikadai sighed. “Something to eat, maybe.”

“I meant to celebrate,” Chocho rolled her eyes. “You have to do something.”

“Might take a shower. And eat.”

“Be more fun,” she demanded. She huffed at him. “I’ll get dressed, then we can figure out plans.”

She minced away, and Shikadai turned his attention to Inojin once again. Inojin was still watching him, with a warm glow of contentment. Shikadai sent him a crooked half smile. It sent Inojin’s stomach into a flurry.

Shikadai cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to jump on me again?”

Inojin shrugged one shoulder. “Will you catch me?”

Shikadai’s smile broadened. “Always.”

By the time Chocho was dressed, Shikadai had placed Inojin onto the back of the couch so he didn’t have to bother holding him up, and so that Inojin didn’t have a death grip around his waist. He did, however, have his hands in Shikadai’s untied hair, and their mouths sealed together.

Chocho cleared her throat loudly, and they snapped apart.

“What?” Inojin asked, irritated.

“Bathroom’s free if you still want to shower,” Chocho said. “I’ll go out and leave you alone. I’ll probably meet Sarada and hang with her while you two finish celebrating.”

“You can stay, if you want,” Inojin offered.

“No,” Chocho shook her head. “It’s your celebration. It’s important for the two of you to have this time alone. Besides,” she added, vaguely circling a hand in the air, “I love you both, but I don’t wanna see whatever’s gonna happen next here.”

“Nothing bad,” Shikadai assured, and Inojin instantly added, “That’s what you think.”

Chocho muffled a chuckle behind her hand. She shook her head fondly. “I’ll get takeout and bring something back for you both. Then I’ll get out your way.”

“Thanks,” Shikadai said sincerely.

Chocho came up to him, giving him another one-armed hug, and an affectionate little jostle. “See you in a bit. Remember the house rules about clothes and furniture.”

Shikadai laughed. “I remember. Don’t worry – I’ll make Inojin behave himself.”

“Why am I getting blamed?” Inojin asked indignantly.

“Because you are constantly trying to get me out of my clothes,” Shikadai replied.

Inojin huffed. “Yeah, well . . . that’s ‘cause you’re hot. Not my fault.”

Chocho gave Shikadai’s loose hair a gentle tug. “Stay out of trouble, Mister Jounin.”

While Chocho went to get them food, Inojin finagled himself into the shower with Shikadai. Since they were both tired from a long mission, it was not as spicy as Inojin was hoping for, but there was still something immensely satisfying about the long, slow kisses Shikadai initiated, and the gentle exploration of each other’s bodies. Inojin was endlessly fascinated by the variations in Shikadai’s skin tone, where even the whitest parts of his body were still richly tanned compared to Inojin’s consistently peach-pale body. And when they entwined their fingers, warm water cascading between them, it added in some way to the intimacy. There were always few words between them in these moments, but Inojin felt this was when Shikadai was the most communicative.

Each little touch, every flick of his eyes, spoke volumes. Shikadai’s silences were more telling than his words. Inojin couldn’t get enough of it.

He was almost disappointed when Shikadai turned the water off and squeezed out his hair. But the past few days were catching up to him, and Inojin was rapidly growing tired.

They dried off and dressed mostly in silence. By the time Inojin had combed his hair, Shikadai had migrated to the couch, half asleep. Inojin flopped down next to him, sinking into a heap and letting out a long sigh.

They sat there until Chocho returned home. She placed a bag onto the counter, announcing, “Got you guys some ramen. I’ll come home later tonight.”

“Thanks,” Shikadai looked to her, remaining on the couch.

“Get up and eat,” she said. “You look exhausted. You need food.”

“You can’t order me around; I outrank you,” Shikadai replied, with a cocky grin.

“I’m older than you and I’ll kick your ass,” she said, unpacking the ramen.

Inojin snorted. “You’re making it sound like you can both just boss me around . . .”

“We can,” Shikadai said, heaving himself up. He threw an appreciative smile at Chocho, and she replied with a wide grin.

“Have fun,” she said. “Don’t fall asleep in the food.”

“Do my best,” Shikadai shrugged, as she swept out the apartment. He fumbled some chopsticks from a drawer and beckoned Inojin to the counter.

They began dinner in silence, sitting on opposite sides of the counter. Inojin broke the silence, feeling less exhausted once he had a few mouthfuls.

“What should we do to celebrate?” Inojin asked.

Shikadai glanced at him, then back down to his food. He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. And we don’t need to celebrate. Nothing’s changing.”

“But it’s a big achievement,” Inojin insisted. “How can you say it’s nothing?”

Shikadai grinned. “Because I’m still in charge of my team, and I’m still taking missions. Everything is the same – except now I get to argue with other Jounin when I don’t want to take a mission.”

“I still think we need some kind of celebration,” Inojin replied. He was thoughtfully quiet for a while. “How about . . .” He trailed off.

“You can’t think of anything,” Shikadai pointed out. “Maybe that’s a sign we don’t need to do anything.”

“We could push the beds together in our room,” Inojin suggested. “Or throw one of them out entirely.”

Shikadai hesitated. “I like having my own space, Inojin.”

“I know. But we’ve been sharing a lot lately, so it seems like a good next step.” There was a touch of hopefulness to Inojin’s voice.

Shikadai shook his head. “Not yet. I’m not ready for that. I need to think more.”

“All you do is think.”

“And I’m gonna keep doing it. We can share a bed when we want, and we can have our own space when needed. Why mess with a system that’s working?”

Inojin grumbled. “Why not?”

“I told you once I made Jounin, we’d talk about some other things,” Shikadai reminded him. “Since I haven’t officially been told yet – my dad just wanted to give me a heads up – we can wait a bit on the heavier conversations.”

“You said we’d talk about sex again after you became Jounin.”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Yeah,” Inojin slurped down his noodles. “I’m reminding you.”

“I remember.”

“Because that’s the conversation I want to have.”

“I’m aware.”

Inojin raised an eyebrow. “So . . .?”

“Next week,” Shikadai promised. “Or later.”

“Next week,” Inojin confirmed. “I won’t let you forget.”

“I know.” Shikadai tipped his head down to hide the wide smile on his face. Inojin’s eagerness was contagious, although Shikadai still remained cautious. This had been a touchy subject in the past, but after some time to think and plan, Shikadai was feeling more confident in what he wanted to say and do. And his promotion had sent his mind racing forwards, to the future, to things he wanted from life.

So, yes, the conversation would happen soon. But the priority right now was food, and sleep.

The decision was eventually made to lie on the couch with the TV on, because Shikadai didn’t have the energy for much more than that. Inojin snuggled into his chest, pressed warm and close, and Shikadai let the background noise of the TV lull him to sleep, with an arm around Inojin.

Shikadai pried his eyes open when he heard the front door. The apartment had grown dark. He remained where he was, glancing down to check Inojin was still peacefully asleep. The door closed, and Shikadai craned his head back to catch a glimpse of Chocho.

She gave him a little wave, moving to the kitchen and setting a small bag onto the counter. She pulled a package from it, holding it up and mouthing to Shikadai, “For you.”

He nodded his thanks, watching her place it into the fridge. He would investigate in the morning and see what treat she had brought him. He readjusted himself slightly, keeping his arm around Inojin, and let his eyes close.

Chocho’s footsteps came to the side of the couch, and she leaned down to whisper, “Are you two sleeping out here?”

“Don’t know,” Shikadai murmured in reply. “Can’t get up. Inojin’s on top of me.”

She laughed softly. “Okay. I’m getting ready for bed. Congrats again, team leader.”

He made an agreeable hum, stretching his arms above his head. Inojin stirred slightly, pressing his face more firmly into Shikadai’s chest. Shikadai turned his fingers lightly in Inojin’s hair, and closed his eyes again. He should get them both up and into bed, he mused. If he slept on the couch he’d have a stiff neck.

“Inojin,” he mumbled. “Wake up.”

Inojin made an irritated noise of disapproval.

“Gonna fuck my neck up if we stay here all night,” Shikadai added.

“I’ll be fine,” Inojin replied, words somewhat muffled against Shikadai’s chest.

“Up,” Shikadai insisted. He shifted onto one elbow, nearly toppling Inojin onto the floor. Inojin grabbed onto him, very pointedly burying his face in Shikadai’s shirt. Shikadai sat up, and Inojin let out a groan.

“Why are you such a drag?” he asked.

“Bed,” Shikadai replied.

“Why? We were fine here.” Inojin rubbed at his eyes.

Shikadai extracted himself from the couch, slipping his fingers between Inojin’s and pulling the other boy up. “You have to listen to me now. I’m a Jounin.”

“Yeah, well,” Inojin muffled a yawn, letting himself be led towards their bedroom, “I’m sleeping with a Jounin.”

“Are you?” Shikadai asked, pushing their bedroom door closed.

“Hm,” Inojin planted himself face down on Shikadai’s bed.

Shikadai paused for a moment, taking the time to simply stare at Inojin. He had known that becoming Jounin would be soon. And he had known that it would mark a strange change within himself. Things were real now. Life was picking up speed. A lot of the worries he had shelved for later would have to be addressed. ‘Later’ was becoming ‘now’.

But amidst that uncertainty, there was Inojin. And even if Shikadai knew things were changing, Inojin never would. He would remain the dependable centre of Shikadai’s universe, a constant guiding star.

Shikadai let out a tense breath, the exhalation shaking slightly, and forced his mind to remain quiet. Silently, he slid onto the bed beside Inojin, and held him close.

Chapter Text

Shikadai stumbled into the apartment, yawning widely, trying to fight his way out of his Jounin vest and his shoes without face planting into the floor. He had been up all night, and couldn’t wait to throw himself into bed, maybe convince Inojin to join him, and sleep.

All day.

And possibly all night as well.

He had a nagging headache from the lack of sleep, and the thought of Inojin gently running his hands through Shikadai’s hair had been the primary force driving him home.

Leaving both his vest and shoes carelessly on the floor, he made his way into the bedroom. “Hey, Inojin, are you home?”

“Yeah,” Inojin replied easily, perking up at the sight of Shikadai. “You’re later than you said you’d be.”

“I’m home, that’s what matters, come here,” Shikadai gestured vaguely with both hands, beckoning Inojin close.

“Be there in a second,” Inojin promised, and Shikadai flopped onto his back on his bed to wait.

He stifled another yawn.

“What are you doing?” Shikadai asked drowsily.

“Measuring the gap between the wall and my bed.”

“Why?”

“To push the beds together,” Inojin replied cheerily.

Shikadai turned his head to stare at the other boy. “. . . What?”

“My desk has to be moved,” Inojin added, giving the piece of furniture a considering look. “And I think yours needs to shift a bit closer to the door. I don’t think it’ll be in the way, but I’ll push it and see.”

“Leave the beds, Inojin,” Shikadai murmured, too tired to have this argument again.

“I want to put them together.”

“I know. Don’t.”

“But it’ll be fun,” Inojin said, moving to Shikadai. He stood over him, looking down. “We’ve been sharing a lot lately. It makes sense to have more space.”

“I don’t want the beds together,” Shikadai grumbled, the pain in his head increasing. “Now drop the subject, come and cuddle, and let me sleep.”

“Be easier to sleep with all the extra space of pushing the bed toge-“

“Inojin,” Shikadai snapped, sitting up, voice rising. “I said no, can you for once just listen to me?”

His tone stopped Inojin in his tracks.

“You keep pushing and pushing when I’ve told you I don’t want it,” Shikadai growled. “Maybe listen to what I want for one thing and leave everything alone, as it is. Do nothing, okay? Just do nothing and leave me alone.”

For a moment, Inojin was too shocked to respond. He stood in silence, staring at Shikadai.

Shikadai was already regretting snapping. He tried to find the words to apologise, to explain, but he was too tired to formulate a decent response. He remained still, tight-lipped, uncertain.

The ringing of Shikadai’s phone pierced the room. Shikadai reluctantly pulled the device from his pocket and glanced at it. He answered, trying not to groan at the potential for more work.

“Hi, Dad,” Shikadai said resignedly, averting his eyes from Inojin.

“Hey, kid, I know you’re meant to be off for the rest of the day, but can you pop by the office real quick?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai sighed. “Be there in a few minutes.” He pocketed his phone again, sending a hesitant glance at Inojin.

Inojin was standing very still, expression unreadable.

“I have to go,” Shikadai muttered.

Inojin said nothing. With a last look, Shikadai turned away and left the apartment.

Shikadai met his father in the small conference room that Shikamaru commonly adopted as an office because he liked the view.

“I’m here; what do you need?” Shikadai asked wearily. He stood across the table from where Shikamaru sat.

“Hey, Shikadai,” Shikamaru smiled warmly. “Nothing much, just wanted to let you know I need you for a mission next week, and are you able to take over a Genin team for a few days? Their usual sensei is running late on a mission.”

Shikadai let out a small sigh. “Yeah. Sure. Wait – how long for the Genin team? I’m in Suna over the weekend.”

“You should be done by then,” Shikamaru said. “I know you’ve still got all your regular duties, so can you handle all this?”

“Of course I can.” Shikadai wanted to go back to bed and sleep. It felt like he hadn’t had a chance to do that for a while. The thought of home made Inojin’s bewildered expression flash across his mind, and he grimaced. That was an apology he needed to plan before he went back to the apartment.

If he had time, amidst everything else he needed to do, he thought somewhat bitterly.

“What’s wrong?” Shikamaru asked. “You look like someone stole your secret chocolate supply.”

Shikadai shrugged a shoulder. “I . . . I yelled at Inojin.”

Shikamaru paused. After a minute, he nodded slowly. “I see. Why?”

“Because . . . I don’t know,” Shikadai pulled a chair out, and slumped down, rubbing a hand wearily across his eyes. “I’m tired, and everything’s changing, and I’ve got a headache, and I just wanted something to stay the same for a minute . . . It’s not Inojin’s fault; I shouldn’t have said anything to him-“

“Shikadai,” Shikamaru interrupted softly. “You sound exhausted.”

“No, just need a day or two and I’ll be fine.”

Shikamaru laced his fingers together, regarding his son critically. “Headache, you say?”

“It’s lack of sleep, that’s all.”

“Haven’t you been getting migraines as well?”

“Not often, and I can usually tell when they’re coming-“

“When was your last physical?”

“When you promoted me. Why are you asking all these questions?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow, and slouched deeper into the chair.

“Sakura said you were fine?”

“I didn’t see Sakura,” Shikadai replied. “I saw someone else. And I am fine-“

Shikamaru snorted. “Kid, you’re not fine. You need a rest. I’m gonna pull you off duties for the week-“

“You can’t do that!” Shikadai blurted. “I’ve got stuff to do for Gaara. I can’t let him down.”

Shikamaru’s eyes flicked up, instantly meeting Shikadai’s gaze. A long silence stretched between them. Shikadai was very careful to look away, knowing full well that Shikamaru would read him like a book.

It didn’t matter. Shikamaru had always had an innate ability to know what went on behind Shikadai’s words.

“Is that what you think?” Shikamaru asked softly. “You’re letting people down? If you don’t manage to do everything?”

“I . . .” Shikadai stared at the floor. He didn’t answer.

“Shikadai,” Shikamaru prompted. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I . . .” Shikadai shook his head. “I just can’t.”

Another silence, this time longer. Finally, Shikamaru asked, “Would you tell your mother?”

“No, because she’ll tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Not this.”

“Alright,” Shikamaru agreed. “I won’t push you. But I am still giving you the week off-“

“I can’t – I don’t want to let you down,” Shikadai mumbled.

Shikamaru waited, silent and non-judgemental, for Shikadai to elaborate.

With a grimace, Shikadai trudged through his thoughts. “I . . . I have to do it all, because you believe that I can. And I can’t let you down again.”

“Again? Shikadai, you’ve never let me down.”

“I did. I do,” Shikadai mumbled. “I’m . . . not following the path I’m supposed to. Being with Inojin . . . I’m not doing what’s expected of me. So if I can’t manage to be the right heir to the Nara clan, I can at least be a good shinobi and fulfil those duties. So I have to do what Uncle Gaara needs, and I have to keep up with whatever missions you give me, and I have to make sure I keep my team safe and ready for anything. If you pull me from missions . . . that will feel like I’m failing.” He flicked his eyes up to Shikamaru. “Not only failing you, but my team, and myself. I . . . people depend on me. I don’t want them to be wrong.”

Shikamaru did not say anything immediately. He took a moment to let out a long breath, rub a hand behind his neck, and stare at Shikadai.

“Kid,” he said eventually, “you need a break. Then I can let you know how you’re not letting anyone down, but you’re not going to hear me right now. Everyone has limits, and that’s okay.”

Shikadai shook his head. “But-“

“No, no buts for now,” Shikamaru cut him off firmly. “Listen to me. I’ll call Sakura and get you an appointment just to check everything’s fine.”

“I’m fine,” Shikadai mumbled.

“Then take a week off, rest, do whatever you need to do. Gaara can get Kankuro or your mother to fill in for you. Apologise to Inojin, and patch things up.”

“It’s not that simple,” Shikadai said.

“It is. But you’re overthinking, and thinking in circles, and you’re going to miss the obvious solutions.” Shikamaru pushed the papers on the table aside. “Let’s go out and get some lunch, then get you home.”

“I just want to sleep,” Shikadai admitted.

“Okay. Then go and do that.” Shikamaru stood up, moving around the table. He laid a hand on Shikadai’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright, and Inojin will forgive you. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’m fine,” Shikadai leaned a little towards his father, tipping his head into Shikamaru’s side. The hand on his shoulder tightened a comforting fraction, and Shikadai let his eyes slide closed. He still needed to think of what to say to Inojin, but for a minute at least he could do nothing but lean into his father and ignore the world.

Shikadai paused outside the apartment door, drawing in a nervous breath. After hesitating, he opened the door and went quietly into the apartment. He went to the bedroom, and found Inojin sitting at his desk with his sketchbook open.

Inojin glanced up. Somewhat cautiously, he greeted, “Hi . . .?”

“Hey,” Shikadai nudged the bedroom door closed. “Um, can we talk?”

“Yeah.” Inojin shifted his chair around to face Shikadai, who slumped on his bed. “Are you okay?”

“No. Not really.” Shikadai scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t care about that,” Inojin said. “I want to know why – obviously something else was bothering you.”

“Uh, about that . . .” Shikadai heaved a sigh. “Things have been a little . . . much . . . lately. And I was . . . man, this is hard to say.”

“I’ve got all day,” Inojin replied, shrugging one shoulder.

Shikadai shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I’ve been . . . overwhelmed, lately. I’ve had a lot going on, and I’ve been spread too thin. My dad says I need a break and he’s making me take a week off. But that’s not important – I’m sorry I got mad.”

Inojin shifted his desk chair slightly closer. “I just wanted to move the beds. That doesn’t change much.”

“It does to me,” Shikadai said. “You think we’re just pushing furniture around the room, but my brain adds all these extra steps and to me it’s . . . it’s escalating everything we stand for. Right now, we have our own spaces. We can be alone, or we can be together. We have a choice. If we’re always in the same bed, it’s too intimate. It’s too much. It feels like a step we’re not ready to take yet.”

Inojin flicked his eyes towards his bed, then back to Shikadai. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I’m still trying to come to terms with who I’m becoming,” Shikadai added. “I know I’m making things difficult for my clan, and while I don’t regret the time spent with you, I’m worried that we are being too cavalier about us. I want to think things through a bit more, make sure we’re doing everything right. I . . . I need more time.”

Inojin nodded slowly. “Okay. I think I get it.”

“Things are changing. Fast. A lot. But I know you won’t change, and you’ll always be someone I can count on and trust. So I need us to remain as we have been, until I’ve got my head around everything else and figured out how to manage.” Shikadai drew in a shuddering breath. “Can we keep this one thing the same for a while longer?”

Inojin nodded softly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“And can I please sleep?”

With a small smile, Inojin bit his lower lip. “I guess. If you have to.”

Shikadai immediately flung himself onto the bed, perfectly content to block out the rest of the world and ignore everything. He settled into a comfortable position, eyes closed. The silence did not last long.

Inojin’s soft voice broke into Shikadai’s thoughts. “Can I lie with you?”

“If you’re quiet,” Shikadai mumbled in return.

“I can manage that.”

Shikadai shifted up a bit, and felt Inojin slide onto the bed next to him, tucked in close. Shikadai wrapped an arm around him, shoving his nose into Inojin’s hair and taking in a deep breath. He fell asleep quickly.

When Shikadai woke up, the room was dark. He blinked slowly, waiting for things to come into focus. Inojin was in his own bed, sitting up with his handheld game, pushing buttons furiously. He glanced towards Shikadai.

“Oh. You’re awake. Was that my fault?”

“No,” Shikadai yawned.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Shikadai burrowed deeper into his pillow. “Gonna go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Inojin turned his attention to his game. After a few minutes, he asked, “What do you need me and Chocho to do?”

“Hm?”

“While you’re resting. While you have time off. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No,” Shikadai sighed. “This is all on me. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s a dumb thing to say.” Inojin set his game down. “If course we’re going to worry. We always worry about you. And we want you to be happy.”

“You can’t do anything,” Shikadai said. “I just need to learn to manage my time a little better.”

“Maybe stop saying yes to everything,” Inojin suggested. “No one’s gonna be mad if you turn down some extra assignments.”

Shikadai closed his eyes. “I’ll be mad.”

“But you shouldn’t be.”

“It’s easy for you to say – people don’t expect as much from you. I have to do well at everything and-“

“You can’t do well at anything if you exhaust yourself,” Inojin pointed out sensibly.

Shikadai grunted, unable to think of a better response.

“How can I make things easier?” Inojin asked again. “What do you need from me that will take some pressure off you?”

“Nothing,” Shikadai shook his head. “It’s not about you. I’ll still be me, and I’ll need to figure that out. You can’t solve these things.”

“I just want to help. I don’t like seeing you so stressed.” Inojin watched him carefully, his voice lowering, “You get angry quickly when you’re tired, and it’s not fun. So if I can help make you feel better, even a little bit, I want to.”

Shikadai managed a wobbly, weary smile. “Keep being you, Inojin. That’s enough. It’s what I expect. It’s what I need. And I’m sorry for yelling at you. Call me out if it happens again. I’ll do what I can to fix it.”

“Okay. Go to sleep,” Inojin encouraged. “We can talk more in the morning.”

By morning, the dull ache in Shikadai’s head had faded away, although it had apparently transformed into a nervous knot in his stomach because he knew Shikamaru was going to call him later and discuss things like ‘resting’ and ‘taking care of yourself’ and the other tedious things that Shikadai chose to ignore on a daily basis.

He shuffled his way out of the bedroom, to find Inojin and Chocho sitting at the kitchen counter.

“Hey,” Chocho said. “I hear we need to lock you up for a few days.”

“Ugh,” Shikadai came to join them, sitting beside Inojin and leaning his forehead onto the other boy’s shoulder. “My dad says I need a break.”

“He’s probably right,” Chocho pointed out. “You’ve been overworking lately.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then why’d you yell at me for suggesting we move a bed?” Inojin queried.

Shikadai made a grumbly sound in reply.

“Look, we all know that you won’t ask for help when you need it,” Chocho said, with an air of bossiness, “so we’ll be watching you closely and making sure you take breaks when needed. Inojin will totally tell on you to your parents if you don’t. And I’ll sit on you so you can’t work.”

Shikadai snorted into Inojin’s shoulder.

“We have to take good care of you,” Chocho insisted. “If you have a breakdown, we’ll need to get another team leader and then Inojin and I have to bully them relentlessly until they give up and give you back to us.”

“And that’d be a drag,” Inojin added.

“Hm,” Shikadai nudged his cheek into Inojin’s shoulder. “It’d probably be my mom taking over so don’t worry.”

“All the more reason to keep you in good health, because your mom is terrifying when it comes to missions.” Chocho reached across the counter, flicking Shikadai’s hair. “Need some breakfast, mister Jounin?”

Shikadai nodded.

“Cool. I’ll make you something.” She stood up, and Shikadai turned his head just enough to catch her eye and give her a grateful smile.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he let out a groan. “That’s probably my dad.”

When he made no move to reach for the phone, Inojin jostled him lightly. “Aren’t you going to check it?”

“No. I’m fine. I don’t need a check up and whatever the hell Sakura wants to do – probably talk about feelings or some shit.” Shikadai burrowed himself determinedly into Inojin’s shoulder. He let out a sigh as Inojin gently reached his other hand across his chest to run his fingers along Shikadai’s scalp.

“Check the phone,” he said softly. “Then we can get started on helping you. Don’t whine about it,” he added, as he felt Shikadai inhale. “Just do as you’re told for once.”

Shikadai grumbled under his breath about being in charge, but he sat up and checked his phone. With it still in hand, he folded his arms on the counter and rested his head on them.

Inojin gave him a moment of silence before prompting, “Well?”

“Gonna see Sakura later today,” Shikadai mumbled into the counter.

Inojin put an arm across Shikadai’s back, asking, “Do you want me to go with you?”

“I don’t know,” Shikadai shrugged.

Chocho leant closer to him, her voice soft, “Do you want us both to go with you?”

Shikadai lifted his head. He looked at her, then at Inojin. A fraction of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

"Burnout is very common, especially in young shinobi," Sakura began, as Shikadai, Inojin and Chocho sat on the other side of her desk in her office. "Almost everyone will experience it at some point. It's only a problem if you ignore it."

"So, now what happens?" Shikadai was somewhat hesitant. He wasn't sure what to expect, and had been wary that Sakura would want to talk about deeper, personal topics. So far, her gentle questioning had revolved around work and how Shikadai spent his time.

She offered him a soft smile. "Firstly, you have a rest. Second, we see how many points of stress we can solve or lessen. Obviously there's nothing we can do about you taking missions, but we can ensure you have adequate rest between them, and don't take on too much at once."

In Sakura's calm, professional voice everything sounded so simple, and achievable.

"I know you have a bit of a saviour complex," Sakura continued, while Inojin muttered "A bit?" Incredulously under his breath. "So what we need to do is teach you how to recognise when you're getting overwhelmed and need to take a break. That might be as simple as five minutes away from what you're doing, or it may be a whole day, or several days, off entirely. You know your body and your limits, so it shouldn't be too tricky to teach you to regulate your workload."

Shikadai agreed with her. He had been accepting all that was asked of him for various reasons, and it was oddly validating to hear that he was allowed to have a boundary.

"Any other questions?" she asked.

Shikadai let out a long breath.  "What about stressful things that can't be solved?" he asked, resignedly.

"Like what?" Sakura prompted. 

Shikadai sent a sideways look to inojin, then Chocho, hesitating a moment.

Inojin rolled his eyes, and explained, "He means the clans. And us – me and him."

"I see." Sakura waited, and when Shikadai chose not to elaborate further, she cast her eyes onto Inojin and Chocho.

"Why don't you two wait outside for a moment?" Sakura requested.

"Why?" Inojin questioned. "We talk about this all the time; it's not a secret."

"Just leave," Sakura said firmly.

With no small amount of reluctance, they both rose from their chairs.

Shikadai stayed silent as they left, staring down at his lap until he heard the door click closed.

"So," Sakura began, sitting back in her chair. "What is it that you don't want to say in front of your team?"

Shikadai let out a long sigh. "Inojin's right. We do talk about this a lot."

"But?" Sakura prompted.

Shikadai took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Ugh, it's complicated."

"That's fine. Take your time."

Shikadai met her eyes for a moment, before his gaze dropped away. "Whatever I choose . . . I have to disappoint someone I love very much."

Sakura remained silent, giving Shikadai time to plan his words.

"I wasn't supposed to love Inojin," Shikadai began. "Not like this, anyway. Just as friends. Like Chocho. But I couldn't help it, and now when I think about the future I want things to be as they are now - with me and Inojin together. But if I do that, if I pursue that . . . then I'm letting my father and my clan down.” Shikadai met her eyes, briefly. "I either choose Inojin, and upset my dad and ruin years of tradition and screw up the future of the clan - three clans - or I break Inojin's heart. No matter what, someone will be disappointed. Someone will hate the choice I make."

"Are those your only two options?" Sakura asked.

Shikadai shrugged one shoulder. "Probably not. But right now, those are the only two options I have. Things may change in the future. Things might look clearer. But I don't know that yet."

"What do you think will change in the future?"

"Other options," Shikadai muttered. "I haven't mentioned them before to anyone. Something like surrogacy in terms of a clan heir, but I don't know what my dad thinks about that or if it's allowed. And people change anyway so maybe Inojin and I will drift apart but still be friends and none of this will matter . . . It's . . ." He shook his head. "It's a lot. There are so many scenarios and I wish I knew what to choose. I'm hoping there's a way to make everyone happy but I don't know yet."

"Isn't 'making everyone happy' part of why you're here in the first place?" Sakura enquired. "Because you're overworking yourself? You're certainly overthinking," she said.

Shikadai sighed, and nodded.

“And you’re seventeen and shouldn’t have this on your mind all the time. But I know I can’t stop you from dwelling on it, so I’m going to say this: Whatever happens, happens. You’ll find an answer. Try not to worry about it until you need to. Enjoy your time with Inojin, and give yourself a break.”

Shikadai seemed doubtful, but he didn’t contradict her.

"How are the migraines?" Sakura asked.

"Not bad. They don't happen a lot."

"Do you take your medication regularly?"

Somewhat embarrassed, Shikadai let out a little laugh. "When I remember."

It wasn’t something he thought about much. Some mornings he was up early for missions or training, and some days he lazed about in bed until noon. There could be weeks where he wasn’t in the apartment. An unpredictable schedule made things difficult.

"You need to find a balance," Sakura advised. “Between doing everything you need to do, and taking care of yourself.”

Shikadai shrugged. “I can try . . .”

"Go home, relax, and spend a little less time thinking," Sakura advised. "Maybe find a better routine for your migraine medication than 'when you remember'."

Shikadai had the decency to look sheepish. "It's tough to remember. We don't have a regular routine, you know."

"I know. But try to find one. It'll help. And if you need to talk more, let me know.” Sakura looked at him seriously, and he nodded to let her know he had heard.

“I will,” he said, hoping he sounded sincere. He stood up, pausing to see if Sakura needed to discuss anything else. She sent him on his way with a smile, and with the reminder, “Take it easy.”

Inojin and Chocho were right outside the door as he exited. They instantly surrounded him, with Inojin asking, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” Shikadai said. “You know I am.”

“Yeah, but . . . so what do we do now?”

“I’m taking a break, and then we’ll see how things go,” Shikadai explained. “Nothing changes, we’re still a team.”

“That’s a relief,” Chocho muttered.

“Hey, we stick together,” Shikadai reminded her, slipping an arm around Inojin’s shoulders. “That will never change.”

They left the hospital together, stepping out into the sunlight. The day was warm and bright, and usually the three of them would be training. For Shikadai, it was a weird feeling to be fine, unhurt and not sick, and yet not have a goal in mind for the day.

“Shikadai.”

He hadn’t expected to hear his mother’s voice right outside the hospital, but as always it stopped him unquestionably in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I need to borrow you for a minute,” Temari explained, closing the gap between them. She sent a pointed look to Inojin and Chocho.

Chocho, at least, could take a hint. She tugged Inojin by the wrist. “Come on. We’ll be at the apartment,” she directed to Shikadai, pulling a reluctant Inojin away.

Shikadai watched them go, then raised an eyebrow at his mother. “I guess it was too much to hope that Dad wouldn’t tell you about our conversation?”

“You know he tells me everything,” Temari replied, with a grin. She gestured to him, and he fell into step at her side. “Walk with me.”

“Why? I have stuff to do.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You do not.”

Shikadai let out a huff. Temari led him a short walk away, to a small bench overlooking a shallow hill of grass and a sparsely travelled street. She sat down, and Shikadai let out a loud sigh before sitting beside her.

“I’m taking over your duties in Suna until further notice,” she began.

Shikadai knew that was coming. He didn’t resist. But he did cast his eyes down. “Sorry. I know you gave that up for a reason.”

“I’ve been doing it for twenty years. A few more weeks won’t kill me.” She watched the street. “Your father wants to know if he needs to check up on you this week?”

“No. I’ve got Inojin and Chocho. And I’m resting – it’s not a big deal.” He was regretting ever mentioning feeling tired to his father. He didn’t need the fuss, and while he was keen on having a break, the fact that it affected his mother and placed extra work onto her shoulders was making him uneasy. Being watched like a child would be too much for his ego to take.

"I don't need supervision," Shikadai grumbled. "I'm perfectly capable - and a Jounin. I'm not some child."

"I know," Temari agreed amicably. She watched him, and he stared back at her defiantly. After a pause, she said softly, "I'm glad you have someone to talk to."

Shikadai blinked. "What?"

"I could have used that, when I was your age," Temari continued. "When I was starting out as a Jounin . . . There wasn't anyone to tell me when enough was enough. There wasn't anyone to recognise my limits, except for me. And, of course, I didn't."

Shikadai frowned. "But you had your brothers?"

Temari shook her head slightly. "They were with me, of course, but they depended on me as well." She paused, staring into the distance. "It was a . . . hard few years."

Shikadai watched her, curious.

"I was travelling a lot because the alliances were new. There were still countries that didn't trust us. Our village was rebuilding after many years of struggling. Gaara was still learning to be Kazekage and to understand himself. Kankuro and I were learning to trust him again. We were still at war with many neighbouring nations and travel was risky. I was Suna’s primary ambassador, and training Gaara, and overseeing the Kage duties. It was a lot," she added softly, and all Shikadai could do was nod slightly in understanding.

He hesitated. "So . . . what did you do?"

Temari shrugged. "I pushed through it. I kept going. I didn't have any other choice. And things got better," she said. "Gaara learnt, and became more responsible. I started working with your father. Suna began improving."

"Did you ever have days where you wanted to . . . just give up?" Shikadai ventured.

"Yes." Her answer surprised him. He had expected her - his always strong and capable mother - to deny it. To have never struggled. To have always had her head held high.

"Really?" he questioned, blinking, hardly believing her.

"Definitely," Temari said firmly.

That was difficult to comprehend. Shikadai had always thought of Temari as indestructible when it came to being herself, to taking on the world, to standing up to everything. And if he had ever doubted that, his father had constantly reassured him that nothing, ever, would overcome her.

“What did you do when you got really overwhelmed?” Shikadai asked.

Temari looked thoughtful. “Hm . . . you know the valley between the north mountains?”

“Yes?” Shikadai had spent many hours in the desert exploring that gulch in the earth, hopping from crumbled rock to crumbled rock with Suna in the distance.

“It used to be part of the mountain.”

Shikadai blinked, processing her words. “Hold on . . . you destroyed a mountain?”

“Not all at once,” Temari assured, with a shrug of one shoulder. “Every now and then . . . when I was angry. Or upset.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Temari asked.

“I just . . .” Shikadai shook his head. “Never thought of you as needing to . . . well, never thought you’d get overwhelmed by stuff. You take everything in stride.”

“Sorry, kiddo, but even I’m not perfect,” Temari replied, giving him an affectionate elbow into the arm.

That was comforting to hear. For so many years Shikadai had held himself to the standards set by his parents – to seeing all their achievements, all their contributions to their villages and to the shinobi alliances. It seemed that every time a challenge faced them, both would always respond to it with success. The thought that, even though they did their best, they were not invulnerable was incredibly validating. It pulled some of the tension from Shikadai’s shoulders, it set some of the expectation aside.

Shikadai relaxed, allowing a small smile. “Good to hear.”

“No one’s asking you to be perfect, either,” Temari said. “We ask you to do what you can. Know your limits. And those limits don’t need to be the same as mine, or your father’s. Got it?”

“I got it,” he mumbled. “I . . . Yeah, I hear you.”

“And let Chocho and Inojin take some of that burden on as well,” Temari added. “Even if they can’t help with tasks and missions, they can still listen when you want to talk. And,” she said, with a reproachful look, “whatever you and Inojin are getting up to can be a good thing, too. Everyone can use a little stress release now and then.”

Shikadai coloured pink. “Oh, I . . . I know. I . . . please don’t mention it . . .”

“Hm,” Temari’s lips quirked up into a smile. She dropped the subject, to Shikadai’s everlasting relief.

"Don't underestimate what Inojin and Chocho can do for you," Temari said instead. "They want to be at your side, and they want to be part of your strength. You have a good team. Appreciate that."

Shikadai was silent then, thinking.

“Having them around will be most of what you need,” Temari explained. “Trust me on this. If there are people around you that you love and trust, you’ve already won half the battles life has to offer.”

He nodded, because he didn’t have a better answer on hand.

Temari let him think, giving him a few minutes of silence, before interrupting his thoughts. “And pop home for dinner more often. We miss having you around.”

“Can I bring Inojin and Chocho?” he asked.

“Give me a warning first,” she said. “Otherwise we’ll run out of food.”

Shikadai chuckled, sitting back and staring out at the village. “Yeah . . .”

They sat together quietly for a while. It was strange not having somewhere to be, something to do, some task that required completion. Since graduating as a Chuunin years ago, Shikadai didn’t recall ever having an official holiday. If he could get used to the idea, he might start to enjoy himself.

There was an urge to lean into Temari’s shoulder, but the risk of being seen in public far outweighed his desire for cuddles. So instead they sat in a companionable silence while the village milled around them.

Shikadai came home to a quiet apartment. He called out a greeting, unsure if anyone was home.

Inojin popped his head out their bedroom.

"Hey," Inojin smiled widely. "How are you doing?"

Shikadai wasn't sure how to answer. “Fine, I guess. Talked to my mom for a bit.”

“Yeah?” Inojin tipped his head to the side.

Shikadai didn’t elaborate further. But he did think about what Temari had said about his team being there for him, about what they could do just by being near.

"Come here," he mumbled, gesturing for Inojin.

Inojin instantly approached, coming unquestionably into Shikadai embrace.

"Everything alright?" he asked, as Shikadai wrapped his arms around the other boy and held him tight.

"Everything's fine," he assured, breathing the words into the crook of Inojin's neck. He inhaled deeply, and Inojin's arms snaked around his waist. His words were muffled, but sincere, “I love you.”

“I know,” Inojin replied instantly. “I love you, too.”

They stayed like that, holding onto each other. Shikadai adjusted his grip around Inojin, to draw him slightly closer. In reply, inojin angled his head a bit, until Shikadai obligingly placed his lips against Inojin's neck, kissing lightly. Inojin relaxed against Shikadai’s chest, letting out a pleased hum.

After enjoying some time of gentle kisses, Inojin pulled back just enough to look Shikadai in the eye. "Hey. I know you're meant to be resting, but lying down is resting, right?"

"Lying down and doing what?" Shikadai arched an eyebrow, because it was never 'just lying down' with Inojin.

Inojin beamed at him, fingers curling in Shikadai's jacket. "Hm, I dunno. Let's go see."

Shikadai couldn't help but grin back at him. "Alright. But I'm tired, so you gotta do most of the work."

"Deal," Inojin agreed instantly. He grabbed at Shikadai’s fingers, tangling their hands together, and Shikadai let himself be led to their bedroom.

He kicked the door closed behind them, just in time before Inojin spun and leapt at him, crashing their mouths together, digging his knees around Shikadai’s hips.

“I will drop you,” Shikadai warned, the words nearly inaudible against Inojin’s lips. “Told you I was tired.”

Inojin snorted. He pulled back far enough for his blue eyes to bore into the deep green of Shikadai’s gaze. With a nonchalant shrug, he leaned in again. “No, you won’t.”

Chapter Text

When Inojin, Chocho, and Shikadai had moved in together, they had agreed to a chore schedule that equally divided all domestic duties between them. It took roughly three weeks for the schedule to be tossed out the window.

Chocho took over nearly all cooking, and it turned out that Shikadai was inclined to stress-clean (A trait apparently inherited from his younger uncle, since Temari pointed out ‘he sure as shit doesn’t get it from his father’). Inojin, with his calligraphy things strewn everywhere, would happily wash and dry laundry all day, although his dedication to folding it was inconsistent at best.

So it wasn’t surprising for Chocho to come home to Inojin in his ‘laundry day’ outfit and pulling damp clothes out their washing machine while Shikadai sat at the spotless kitchen counter with his laptop and tapped away at boring mission reports.

“Cute shirt,” Chocho said to Inojin, who glanced down at the faded smiling heart across his chest.

“Thanks,” he grinned at her.

Chocho crossed the apartment, and hefted a bag of groceries onto the counter.

“Can I borrow one of you for a date?” Chocho asked.

“What?” Shikadai lifted his head with a frown.

Inojin abandoned loading the dryer to approach them. “This sounds fun. What’s happening?”

“This guy who dumped me is going out with a friend of a friend, and she told me where. He said that I would never be able to find a boyfriend, so I want one of you to go with me to the restaurant so we can show him that I can find a date just as easily as he can.”

“But you can’t,” Shikadai pointed out. “You’re using one of us.”

She sent him a withering look.

“I’ll go,” Inojin volunteered.

Chocho nodded slowly. “Um, actually . . . I was kinda hoping to get Shikadai.”

“Why?” Inojin demanded. “Am I not hot enough for you to date?”

“Of course you are,” Chocho assured. “It’s just that . . . Shikadai looks more straight than you.”

Shikadai snorted, and looked down at his laptop again.

“Excuse you,” Inojin declared, affronted. “I can look perfectly straight.”

“You really wanna say that while wearing a skirt and a crop top?” Shikadai asked, without looking up.

Inojin lacked a suitable retort. He drew himself up. “Fine. I’ll ask Sarada or Himawari out on our own date, then.”

“Sarada’s free,” Chocho put in. “I’m sure she’d love to be taken out for dinner.”

“Great,” Inojin lit up. “I’ll ask her. Where are you going – in case I want to go there too?”

“Why?” Shikadai asked. “To make a dramatic scene about Chocho ‘stealing’ your boyfriend away?”

“Maybe,” Inojin shrugged.

Shikadai sent Chocho a warning look. “Do not tell him where we are going for dinner, or I won’t go with you.”

“You did it to me!” Inojin argued. “You interrupted a fake date I was on.”

“You wanted me to,” Shikadai said. “You wanted to be rescued. Chocho isn’t trying to avoid me.”

“Please don’t cause a scene,” Chocho asked. “I need this pretend date to go well.”

“Fine,” Inojin grumbled. He glared at Shikadai. “But you owe me.”

“Sure,” Shikadai shrugged. “We can do something together the next night.”

Inojin seemed pleased with the compromise, and allowed Shikadai to get back to work without further complaint.

“How come you never dress so nice when we go on dates?” Inojin asked, sitting on his bed and raising an eyebrow at Shikadai as he tied his hair neatly in Inojin’s mirror.

“I do. I had to fix a button on this exact shirt when you ripped it off me.”

“Oh. Yeah, I remember that,” Inojin chuckled. “Never mind then. Has Chocho told you where you’re going yet?”

“Yes. Where are you going?”

“Just for burgers,” Inojin shrugged. “Sarada’s meeting me there, and then Boruto said he and Himawari might join us later.”

“You’ll probably be home before us,” Shikadai noted, turning to face Inojin. “Stay out of trouble.”

“You too,” Inojin opened his arms. “Gimme a kiss goodbye first.”

“Really? On my way out to a date with a girl?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow, working hard to suppress a grin.

“Chocho won’t mind,” Inojin replied, grabbing eagerly at Shikadai’s shirt as soon as he was within range.

“Watch the damn buttons,” Shikadai griped. “I don’t know how well I fixed it.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Ready to go?” Chocho asked, popping her head into the boys’ bedroom.

“In a minute,” Shikadai said, fidgeting with his shirt. “Just gotta fix a button.”

Chocho rolled her eyes, and aimed a glare at Inojin. “Can’t you keep your hands off him for two minutes?”

“No,” Inojin replied simply.

Shikadai waved Chocho away from the door. “We can go; I’m ready.”

“Have fun,” Inojin called.

“We will,” Chocho replied, before grabbing Shikadai by the arm and marching him towards the front door.

Chocho made Shikadai stick his head into the restaurant first, to identify where her ex-boyfriend was sitting.

“Why don’t you do it?” Shikadai grumbled, before he was yanked back by Chocho’s grip on his wrist.

“Because he can’t know that I know he’s there,” Chocho claimed. “It’s a ‘coincidence’ that we’re here at the same time as him.”

“Sounds like a drag,” Shikadai sighed, but he detached her from his wrist, to offer her his arm in a more sensible and less death-grip kind of way. Chocho tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, beaming at him.

“Lead the way,” she said.

It took a lot of self-control for Shikadai not to roll his eyes as they followed the waiter to their table. Chocho side eyed her ex, trying to check if he had noticed her or not.

At the table, Shikadai pulled out her chair, and Chocho arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, so you can be chivalrous and romantic,” Chocho observed.

“Of course I can,” Shikadai replied, somewhat indignant.

“You just don’t bother,” Chocho finished for him, sitting down.

“Most of the time, I’m taking Inojin out for burgers or ramen. Those aren’t establishments that require romance gestures.”

“So there’s a scale of chivalry?” Chocho asked with a grin. “What’s the rating system?”

“There’s no rating system,” Shikadai rolled his eyes, but Chocho could see the corners of his lips twitching up. He sat opposite her. “And that dude is watching you, by the way.”

“Good,” Chocho said breezily. “That was the plan.”

“I do like it when things go according to plan,” Shikadai agreed.

They spent a few minutes discussing drinks and the menu, and for a while it felt like a normal conversation between them. They were already eating by the time Chocho asked, “What’s he doing now?”

“Who?” Shikadai asked.

“The guy,” Chocho said. “Obviously. Is he watching us?”

“He’s looked over once or twice, yes,” Shikadai replied, dismissive.

“Think he’s jealous?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Chocho pouted. “Aw, I wanted to make him jealous. Or just annoy him. Anything would be good.”

Shikadai snorted out a chuckle. “Eh, it’s his loss anyway. We can still have a nice time, and you can forget him since he’s stupid.”

“He is stupid,” Chocho agreed, pleased to have Shikadai on her side.

“Maybe you should start including an IQ test before dating anyone,” Shikadai remarked.

Chocho raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? Are you implying all the guys I’ve dated are dumb?”

“They must be,” Shikadai replied. “Otherwise they would have stayed.”

For a moment, Chocho had no idea how to respond. She blinked at him. “. . . What?”

“They’re idiots,” Shikadai clarified. “That’s the only explanation. If they had an ounce of brains, they’d see you for who you truly are and they’d know you’re worth sticking around for. It didn’t take me and Inojin that long to figure it out.” He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned at the fact that he had single handedly restored Chocho’s self-confidence.

She let the silence sit between them for a while, until murmuring, “Okay, I see it now.”

“What?” Shikadai glanced at her.

“Inojin says you throw out romantic speeches like they mean nothing and it’s really hot, and I see it now. He’s got a point.”

“I –“ Shikadai faltered, cheeks flushing pink. “I don’t do that!”

“Yes, you do,” Chocho insisted. She looked down at her food. “It’s sweet. Keep doing it. Inojin loves it.”

“Hm,” Shikadai shifted in his seat, muttering, “I don’t say anything that isn’t true.”

"I know. Thank you," Chocho said sincerely. She stood up, leaning across the table to press a kiss to Shikadai’s cheek.

While he did grimace dramatically, he didn't pull away.

“Okay, okay, don’t be a drag, and sit down,” he grumbled. “Just eat and . . . I don’t know, be happy.”

Chocho sat in her seat, smiling softly at him. She assured, genuinely, “I am happy.”

Inojin was sprawled on the couch drawing when they returned home, his back leaning against a mountain of unfolded laundry. He sat up, looking over the back of the couch at them.

"How was the date?" Inojin asked, closing his sketchbook.

"Really cool," Chocho replied, sauntering over to Inojin while Shikadai closed the door and absently kicked their shoes into a vague pile. "We had fun, and my ex watched us a lot, so hopefully he's jealous."

Inojin snorted. "Good. He deserves to be jealous."

"Also," Chocho plopped herself on the couch next to Inojin. "Damn, can I borrow your boyfriend for a few months?"

"I can hear you," Shikadai warned.

Chocho dropped her voice low, leaning close to Inojin. "You were right about the romantic speeches. I should have dated him - he's so good for the self-esteem."

"I know, right?" Inojin whispered back. "He does it all the time and it feels so good."

"What are you two whispering about?" Shikadai asked, coming to stand beside the couch with a raised eyebrow.

"You," Inojin replied cheerily. 

Shikadai rolled his eyes. "You two are such a drag."

Chocho grinned at him, hopping to her feet.

“Thanks for the date,” Chocho said, smiling broadly.

Shikadai offered a half smile in return. “Let me know if you need another.”

“I will,” she replied. “Good night.”

“Night,” Inojin said. He turned his attention to Shikadai as Chocho left. “Who’s a better kisser?”

“I didn’t kiss her and you know it,” Shikadai rolled his eyes, sitting down next to Inojin.

Inojin snuggled into his side, sinking his fingers into the front of Shikadai’s shirt. They sat quietly for a while, before Inojin asked, failing at hiding his grin, “So, would you rather date me or Chocho?”

“Chocho,” Shikadai replied flatly. “She doesn’t ask me dumb questions.” Despite the obvious annoyance in his tone, he ran his fingers gently through Inojin’s hair, encouraging him closer.

“How was your date?” Shikadai asked softly.

“Really fun,” Inojin replied. “Sarada and I met up at the burger place. Boruto and Himawari joined us later on. We’re gonna do it again next week – you’re invited.”

“Nice to know.” He tucked himself in a bit closer to Inojin, resting his lips against the top of Inojin’s head. He kept the thought to himself, but it was a very nice ending to an evening to have Inojin there in his arms, close and warm and familiar. It was very calming, and Shikadai couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“What?” Inojin asked.

“Hm?”

“I can feel you smiling,” Inojin explained.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” Inojin grumbled, inserting himself more firmly into Shikadai’s chest. When there was no further explanation, he let out a sigh.

Shikadai let the silence linger. He settled into his thoughts, into idle plans for the next few days, still twisting his fingers lightly in Inojin’s hair. Inojin allowed the quiet, equally content to have pressure-free time with Shikadai, where they needed nothing but the other’s company.

“Where are you taking me for dinner tomorrow night?” Inojin murmured.

Shikadai took a moment to think. “I dunno. Why?”

“Take me to the same place you took Chocho?”

“Why?”

Inojin snuggled in close. “So I can show you that I’m a better date than she is.”

Shikadai snorted. “Are you jealous? That I took Chocho out and we had fun? Because we hang out and have fun all the time, you know that.”

“I’m not jealous,” Inojin protested.

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m . . .”

“Jealous,” Shikadai said with a chuckle, jostling Inojin lightly. He pressed a kiss to Inojin’s pale hair. “I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

“Okay,” Inojin agreed. He was quiet for a few minutes, then poked a finger into Shikadai’s thigh. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to the bedroom.”

“I’m comfy here.”

“Yeah, well,” Inojin shrugged, sitting up. “I’m gonna fuck up all the buttons on that shirt.”

Shikadai let out a long sigh. “Alright . . . but then you have to fix them afterwards.” He entwined his fingers with Inojin’s, and hauled them both up off the couch.

Chapter Text

Shikadai opened the door with a yawn, kicking off his shoes, and absently closing the door behind him, before he blinked and realized he was not as alone as he should be.

Shinki was sitting on the couch, idly flipping through channels on the TV.

“Um . . .” Shikadai blinked. “I never told you where I lived . . .”

Shinki just looked at him with his patented blank expression. After a long moment of scrutiny, he turned his attention back to the TV. “Your father told me.”

Shikadai went to the kitchen to fire up the coffee machine. “How did you get in?”

“You may have forgotten,” Shinki said. “But I am a very well-trained shinobi. Breaking into your apartment is a simple task. And your mother gave me the spare key.”

“Fair enough. To get to the point – what are you doing here?”

“I’m in Konoha for business,” Shinki explained stiffly. “The hotel is less than ideal. I figured I could come here and relax.”

“You don’t relax.” Shikadai reached for a mug. “Coffee?”

“Tea.”

“Didn’t offer tea.”

“Didn’t want coffee.”

“God, you are so annoying.” Shikadai briefly considered tossing a mug at his cousin’s head. His iron sand would protect him, but Shikadai would still get the satisfaction of startling him. Of course, then they would be minus one mug.

He finished making his coffee, muttered under his breath as he made Shinki tea, then came to sit on the armchair and give Shinki a look. “How long are you in Konoha?”

“A few days,” Shinki replied, not paying much attention to him. His expression was pointed sourly at the TV. “There is nothing interesting to watch.”

“Movies are on the shelf,” Shikadai indicated.

“I don’t like movies.”

“You are such a drag,” Shikadai sighed. He sipped his coffee. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“I was intending to stay for three days.”

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Three days,” Shinki repeated. He sent Shikadai a sly, sideways look. “Your father seemed to think you’d be happy to have the company.”

“My dad just likes to annoy people under the guise of helping,” Shikadai slouched in his seat. “I don’t mind if you stay, but I don’t live alone. You’ll need Inojin and Chocho to agree as well.”

“Aren’t you the leader of your team? Don’t you have the final say?”

“This isn’t a team matter,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “It’s personal. They live here – they get to decide who stays.”

“Fine,” Shinki replied blandly. “I’ll wait for their verdict.”

It was unlikely that Chocho would object, but one could never be certain how Inojin would react. Of the three members of the team, Inojin had a fairly strong dislike of Shinki’s team. Old feud, from their first Chuunin exam attempt. Inojin could be civil, but he was also snarky and made no secret of the fact that he did not like Shinki very much.

Shikadai decided to worry about that later when Inojin was home from the flower shop. He set his coffee down, leaning forwards to adjust the TV and select a random channel. Anything to create some background noise, because time with Shinki was inevitably spent in awkward silence.

This afternoon was no exception. Barely a word passed between them while Shikadai sipped his coffee. Shinki got up at one point to inspect their kitchen, making a few idle comments, before investigating the bathroom.

Shikadai flipped through the TV channels again.

“Shikadai,” Shinki exited the bathroom with a deep frown. “Are you aware there is a gay rainbow painted all around your bathroom wall?”

Shikadai heaved a sigh, deflating slightly on the couch. “Yeah . . . I’m aware . . . I try not to look at it.”

“It’s difficult to avoid.”

“Stare at the floor.”

“It’s reflected in the mirror.”

“Then stay at your hotel.” Shikadai took a grumpy sip of coffee.

Shinki didn’t dignify that with a response, and merely came to sit beside his cousin.

The front door opened, and Chocho’s voice rang out, “If anyone asks, the door to the back alley was always broken and always had the impression of a moron’s head dented into it.”

“Got it,” Shikadai agreed.

Shinki raised a fractionally concerned eyebrow.

“And I was thinking for dinner, we can – oh,” Chocho cut herself off as she caught sight of Shinki. She closed the door, toed off her shoes and minced her way around the couch. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Shinki wants to stay for a few days,” Shikadai explained.

“Sounds great,” Chocho beamed. “What do you want for supper? I’ll make you anything you want.”

Shinki raised an eyebrow. “I don’t particularly care.”

“I know a few Suna dishes. Or some things from Kumo, if you’re in the mood for something more exotic. Speaking of being in the mood for something exotic-“

“Chocho,” Shikadai said warningly.

She gave him a look. “What, Shikadai?”

“You know exactly what.”

Shinki cleared his throat softly. “Perhaps the hotel would be a better place to stay.”

“Don’t be silly, we’d love to have you,” Chocho claimed.

“Hold that thought until Inojin gets home,” Shikadai said, with a sigh.

Shinki pondered for a moment. “What would the sleeping arrangements be here?”

“You can sleep in my bed,” Chocho said, smirking openly at him, leaning forwards a bit.

Shinki drew back with a frown.

Shikadai rolled his eyes. “Chocho, quit it. He’s not staying with you.” Shikadai looked to his cousin. “There’s two beds in my room. Inojin can sleep with Chocho in her room.”

“Fine,” Shinki said, with a curt nod.

“I’ll get started on dinner,” Chocho stood up.

Shinki watched her, carefully, as she walked past to the kitchen, and muttered to his cousin, “Everyone in Konoha is weird.”

“You’re here, too,” Shikadai pointed out. “That makes you weird as well.”

Inojin was, predictably, less than impressed at Shinki’s presence. His displeasure increased several fold when he heard the sleeping arrangements.

“How come I have to move?” he whined, once dinner was done and he and Shikadai were in charge of washing up. “Why can’t Shinki sleep on the balcony, or in the bathtub?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Shikadai sighed. “It’s just for a night or two.”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to spend any nights away from you.” Inojin crossed his arms in a huff, face falling into a pout.

“That’s not as charming as you think, and you need to calm down,” Shikadai’s voice was weary. “Look, I’ll cuddle the fuck outta you when Shinki leaves, okay?”

“Hm,” Inojin sniffed, nose turning up. “Fine. But I’m not happy.”

“You’re never happy when Shinki is around.”

Inojin couldn’t deny that. His pout deepened, and Shikadai had to turn his head away to hide his smile. He schooled his face back to normal, and looked at Inojin, “We can do something nice, just the two of us, on the weekend.”

“Fine,” Inojin agreed begrudgingly, glaring down at the dishes. After a moment of self-pity, he continued with his task, and he and Shikadai finished washing up in silence.

Inojin, after much complaining, had been relegated to sharing Chocho’s bed.

Shikadai was lying on Inojin’s bed, and Shinki was across the room, on Shikadai’s bed, paging through one of Shikadai’s comics.

“What appeal do these have for you?” Shinki asked.

“Stop talking like a weirdo and go to sleep,” Shikadai grumbled.

“Do you have normal books?”

“Yes. Lots. Go check the bookshelf. But do it quietly, I’m trying to sleep.”

Shinki closed the comic. “Fine. I will look tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Shikadai muttered, burying himself into Inojin’s pillow. “Good night.”

When Chocho got up the next morning, leaving Inojin snoring softly in her bed, she found Shinki already up and sitting on the couch with a cup of tea.

She smiled brightly. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said, far less enthusiastically.

Chocho pulled the curtains open, and Shinki shuffled up a bit to prevent the sun from shining directly into his eyes. He took another sip of tea.

“Want breakfast?” Chocho asked. “The boys will be up later, so I often make myself something, and then food for them afterwards.”

Shinki studied her for a minute, before nodding shortly. “Thank you.”

“Anything specific?” Chocho asked.

Shinki shook his head. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“I’ll make omelettes,” she decided. She opened the balcony door, with the intent to harvest some of their herb and vegetable collection.

“What’s out there?” Shinki asked.

“Our little balcony garden,” Chocho explained. She gestured with one hand. “Come and see. We have a lot of plants. It’s mostly herbs and stuff, but Inojin keeps a few flowers out here too.”

Shinki rose from the couch to follow her. The morning sun flooded their tiny balcony, and despite the early hour every flower was already wide open and soaking up the warm rays. Shinki hovered in the doorway. There were plants covering nearly all of the available space, tiered to gain more space.

“You have a lot of chillies,” Shinki observed.

“Yeah, the boys like my curry so I use them a lot,” Chocho said.

While Shinki made a careful study of the plants, looking curious, Chocho snipped a few leaves off here and there, gathering them into a bowl.

“Herbs for breakfast,” she explained. “We’ve got basil, chives, rosemary, lemongrass. There’s some mint here which makes really nice tea. And look,” she cupped the leaves of a plant in a pot, “our strawberry plant is starting to grow fruit. Last year we had to borrow fruit from my dad’s garden, but this year we should be able to harvest some of our own. I’m gonna make jam if we get enough.”

“We tried growing strawberries in Suna,” Shinki said, stepping aside so Chocho could enter the kitchen again. “They didn’t do well. But the orange trees thrived. As did the pineapples.”

“Do you grow everything in greenhouses?” Chocho asked, dumping the leaves out onto a chopping board and continuing with breakfast preparations.

“No. Some plants manage indoors, if one is careful with where they are placed. I have a tulip,” he added.

“Really?”

“Yes. Temari gave it to me. It’s on my desk. I grow cacti on the windowsill.”

“You like plants?” Chocho asked, somewhat curious.

“Yes. I find them interesting.” Shinki leant against the counter, watching Chocho’s hands as she chopped. “They all have different needs and ways of growing.”

“Do you want to take a plant home with you?” Chocho asked. “I’ll give you one. I’m sure it will survive the train ride.”

Shinki sent her a sideways glance, unsure.

“Basil is easy to grow,” she claimed. “Take one of ours – we have lots. And then whenever I’m in Suna again, you can make me something with it.” She beamed at him. “I can give you recipes, if you’d like.”

“I know how to cook,” Shinki mumbled.

“Great. I can’t wait for you to cook for me.”

Shinki seemed somewhat taken aback. “. . . Really?”

“Yeah, why not? Sharing food is what friends do.” Chocho offered a wide smile. When Shinki did little more than stare blankly at her, she indicated to the barstools under the counter. “Sit down, breakfast will be done in a few minutes.”

By the time Shikadai came out of his room, Shinki was studying a small basil plant set on the countertop.

“Where’re Chocho and Inojin?” Shikadai asked.

“Out to get something,” Shinki explained. “Chocho left breakfast for you.”

Shikadai sat down opposite Shinki. “What’s the plant for?”

“Chocho has given it to me.”

“Why?”

“She thought it would be a nice gesture.”

“Ah, sure.” Shikadai scratched at his head, suppressing a yawn. “You doing anything today?”

“Yes, I have business to attend to at the Hokage building.”

“Want me to walk you there?”

Shinki allowed a small smile. “Yes.”

Once Shinki was dropped off, Shikadai was wandering idly through the village, no real destination in mind. He stopped himself abruptly as he spotted Inojin and Chocho leaving a shop. They turned away from him, continuing down the street.

Shikadai followed them, closing the distance between them. When he deemed himself close enough, he threw his shadow forward and stopped Inojin in his tracks. Chocho took an extra step forward alone, before pausing to look for explanation for Inojin’s sudden halt.

“That’s not fair!” Inojin shouted indignantly. “I don’t know where you are!”

“Behind you,” Shikadai replied, with a smile. He released his shadow, and Inojin turned around, looking unimpressed.

“Hey,” Shikadai said, while Chocho muffled a giggle. “Shinki’s busy, so what are we doing today?”

“Cooking,” Chocho said, shaking the bag over her shoulder by way of explanation. “Shinki told me about some things he likes, so I’m gonna try make them.”

“We’ll stay out of your way then,” Shikadai claimed, eyes on Inojin. “Come with me?”

“Where are we going?” Inojin asked curiously.

“No idea. You can pick.”

Inojin took a moment to consider. After a pause, he ventured, “. . . Top of the Hokage monument, to make out and talk?”

With a chuckle, Shikadai offered a hand. “Sounds like fun. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Inojin closed the apartment door behind himself, kicked his shoes off, and peered over the back of the couch to find Shikadai already there, sprawled out and asleep while the TV droned in the background.

“Hey,” he said, hopping over the back of the couch and settling along Shikadai’s side. “Lunch was interesting.”

Shikadai did not reply, but he did shift up to give Inojin more room, and flop an arm around the other boy’s waist.

“My cousin thinks she might be pregnant.”

This was a completely useless piece of information for Shikadai, since all three teammates referred to almost any member of their respective clans as cousins, so Shikadai had no idea who Inojin was talking about.

“But she’s scared to buy a pregnancy test, in case someone sees her – you know how it is.”

Shikadai didn’t.

“So I offered to get it for her instead. That way she’s not stressed. I said I’d go in the morning.” Inojin squirmed, affixing himself more firmly into Shikadai’s side. Shikadai lifted his arm, waiting until Inojin was still before wrapping it around him again.

“Do you want to come with me?” Inojin asked.

“Inojin, when a couple are shopping for pregnancy tests together there is generally a uterus involved.”

“Does that mean you’re staying here?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, be like that,” Inojin shrugged, and buried his face into Shikadai’s chest. Shikadai was perfectly content to lie as he was, letting himself drift away into sleep again. Inojin remained close, enjoying the moment, and staying silent so that Shikadai could rest.

The next day, Inojin made his way to the small pharmacy near the Hokage building.

Inojin’s cousin hadn’t given him much direction beyond ‘I don’t know, aren’t all the tests the same?’ so Inojin took a minute to scan the selection available and try to discern if there were any significant differences amongst them. He picked one off the shelf, and that’s when Iwabe called his name.

“Yo, Inojin!” It was a cheerful greeting, since they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

“Hey,” Inojin replied, with a smile.

“It’s been ages – what is that?” Iwabe cut himself off, pointing at the box in Inojin’s hand.

Inojin glanced down. “It’s a pregnancy test. Can’t you read?”

“Uh . . . why do you have it?”

Inojin was about to respond that he was getting it for a friend, but a sudden smartass idea slapped its way into Inojin’s head. The moment the thought had formed, a voice prompted him ‘don’t do that’, but it was drowned out by a much louder voice that said ‘do it; it’ll be hilarious!’.

Inojin, deciding the latter voice was far more interesting, did his best to school his face into an expression of seriousness.

“Oh,” he said, “did you not know?”

“Know what?” Iwabe asked, looking suspicious.

Inojin glanced down at the pregnancy test. Then he raised his gaze to Iwabe. “Well . . . I’m trans, actually. And, you know,” he shrugged. “Me and Shikadai . . . anyway, I should go. See ya.”

He turned away before his self-control slipped and he dissolved into giggles, able to at least grin widely once his back was turned. With swift steps, he made his way to the register to pay.

Once he was outside, strolling through the sunshine, he let himself snort and chuckle. After all, once the initial surprise had worn off, it would be obvious to Iwabe that Inojin had been kidding.

Right?

Chocho, with a midmorning snack of a box of fresh pork buns held carefully in her hands, was trying to find a nice spot to sit down and enjoy her food. Given that it was a cheerful, sunny day, most of the benches scattered through the village were already occupied with other people enjoying the sunshine, and Chocho was debating if she should just hop up onto a roof.

Before she could decide, Iwabe shot into her line of sight.

“Chocho,” Iwabe hissed, grabbing at her arm. “Did – do you know about Inojin?”

“I know everything about Inojin,” Chocho answered confidently.

“So . . . you know about . . . him and Shikadai?” Iwabe looked around.

Chocho blinked. “Of course I know about him and Shikadai. I live with them, remember?”

“It . . . it wasn’t a surprise to you?”

“A surprise?” Chocho frowned. “No, not at all. Heck, I’ve known longer than they have.”

“H-how?”

“A woman knows these things,” Chocho said regally. “Anyway, you already knew they were together?”

“I knew that,” Iwabe spluttered. “I meant the – the – well, Inojin never said anything.” Iwabe stared at her, eyebrows inching upwards.

Chocho had a feeling she was missing something. Everyone had known about Shikadai and Inojin being a couple – it had been years, officially, and unofficially one would have had to be blind to have missed the signs leading up to it. She tipped her head to the side. “Did you need Inojin to say something?”

“Seems like the sort of things friends do,” Iwabe explained. “I mean – I’m not judging, but a heads up would have been nice, you know?”

It seemed weird to get all bent out shape now about Inojin, but Chocho shrugged it off. She didn’t know what was going on in Iwabe’s life, and maybe some sort of personal revelation had led to his current and rather obvious state of distress.

Comforting, she let him know, “Hey, don’t worry. Inojin’s just Inojin, and everything is fine. Would you like a pork bun?”

Iwabe took a moment to think. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll just – I’ll just go.”

Chocho shrugged as he left.

“That was weird,” she muttered to herself. She glanced down at her box of buns, and decided that they took priority over whatever meltdown Inojin had initiated. She would ask him if he knew anything about it later. For now, a snack beckoned.

Shikadai was sitting in the library, paging through a book, making notes for an upcoming mission in a village he had never visited before. Partway through his research, someone appeared in front of his desk, and he lifted his head.

Boruto stood there, grinning madly, nearly vibrating on the spot.

“What?” Shikadai asked, already unimpressed at the interruption.

“Inojin,” Boruto explained, his grin growing impossibly wider.

“What about him?”

“Am I meant to say congratulations? Or am I meant to help smuggle you safely out the country? Is this a ‘throw a party’ situation, or ‘help you dig your own grave’?”

“What?” Shikadai blinked. “What on earth are you on about?”

Boruto leaned in close, hands on the desk. His voice dropped to a furtive whisper. “I mean you getting Inojin pregnant.”

Shikadai stared at Boruto for a long, brittle silence. “What . . . the fuck . . . are you talking about?”

“Iwabe told me. Said he bumped into Inojin this morning, buying a pregnancy test, and Inojin said-“

Shikadai let out a long sigh, slapping a hand despairingly across his face. His irritation ticked up a few notches. “Oh, for . . . what did Inojin say?”

“That he’s trans and pregnant.”

“He’s neither of those things,” Shikadai replied firmly. “He is clearly just messing with you all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shikadai growled. “Why would you ever think that was true? Inojin’s kidding around; that should be obvious.”

“Oh. If you say so.” Boruto’s expression fell slightly. “That’s not as much fun.” He regarded Shikadai for a moment, then asked, “How sure are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“How sure are you that Inojin isn’t pregnant?”

“More than a hundred per cent,” Shikadai retorted.

“But like . . . there could be a chance, right?”

“No,” Shikadai growled. “There isn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“For starters,” Shikadai said, eyes narrowing, “I can assure you that I know what he looks like naked. And he’s not a girl.”

Boruto arched an eyebrow.

“Secondly,” Shikadai grit out, irritation reaching its peak. His words clipped slightly, “Even if he was a girl, he still wouldn’t be pregnant.”

“And what makes you so certain about that, huh?”

“Because you can’t get someone pregnant by coming down their throat!”

Inojin had delivered the pregnancy test to his cousin, and completely put the interaction with Iwabe out of his mind. He ambled through the village, idly going over the rest of his day and what he should do until Shikadai was done working.

“Inojin!”

Inojin winced at the very familiar, and very disgruntled screech that could come from only one person. He turned around slowly. “Oh, hi Mom.”

Ino stormed towards him, and Inojin glanced around for possible escape routes. Figuring his best option was to freeze in place and see why she looked so annoyed, he swallowed hard and waited.

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Ino demanded.

“Uh, I don’t know? What are you hearing?” Inojin flicked his eyes to the side. He could escape if needed, but what was the point? Ino would catch up to him eventually.

Ino, hands on her hips, glared at him. “What’s all this about you being trans and pregnant?”

“Um-“

“And why am I hearing it through other people? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

“Mom-“

“I love you and I always will,” Ino continued, although her tone was sharp and rather off the range of what Inojin would call loving. “And I’ll always support you with whatever decisions you make but don’t let me hear about things like this second hand-”

“Mom,” he said slowly, carefully, like defusing a bomb. “You-you gave birth to me. You changed my diapers. You know I’m a boy.”

Ino stared at him. There was a pause, before realisation sank across her expression. All the bluster left her in one breath.

“Maybe,” Inojin offered, “you need to go and have a rest? I think you’ve been working for too long.”

For a moment, Ino did not reply. Then, defeated, she nodded her head. “You’re right. I didn’t think that through. I need to sleep. Please stay out of trouble.”

“I will,” Inojin said solemnly. “Um, do you want me to walk you home?”

“Sure,” Ino exhaled. She held out one arm, and Inojin let her wrap it around his shoulders. They made their way down the street, and Ino gave Inojin a little jostle. “Don’t scare me like that, okay?”

“By making up outlandish rumours that you know are untrue? Got it.” Inojin beamed at her.

“I miss when you were just my little boy,” Ino continued. “I’m not ready for you to grow up all the way.”

“Mom,” Inojin said, very seriously, “I promise, I won’t let Shikadai get me pregnant.”

“Dude,” Boruto leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. “Inside voice. People are staring.”

“People are staring because you’re a moron,” Shikadai snapped.

Boruto was unfazed. “Naw, it’s because you’re screaming. Lighten up.”

“Do you really expect me to ‘lighten up’ when you’re constantly accusing me of an impossible task?”

“Hey,” Boruto shrugged. “Weird things happen in the world.”

“This isn’t one of them.”

“Okay, fine, if you say so,” Boruto’s eyebrow inched higher. “So why is there a rumour going around about Inojin in the first place?”

“How should I know?” Shikadai responded wearily. “I’ve been here, working, minding my own business.”

“Aren’t you worried about what Inojin is saying?”

“Yes. Constantly. I live in perpetual anxiety about what Inojin is saying but I can’t stop him.” Shikadai lowered in his seat, shoulders sagging defeatedly. “Ugh, I’ll talk to him when I get home later. It’s probably a misunderstanding or something.”

“You’re probably right,” Boruto nodded. “Maybe Iwabe heard it wrong. I mean, Inojin wouldn’t say something like that on purpose, I’m sure.”

With Ino returned home, promising to get a good night’s sleep, Inojin continued his way home, chuckling under his breath every now and again at the absurdity of his interaction with his mother. Because really, how could anyone have ever believed Iwabe? It’s not like Inojin and his friends never joked around with each other. They did it all the time – it was one of the nice things about having friends. The banter, the joking, those had been staples of their lives since being in the Academy.

It was unfortunate that Ino had become a victim of such banter, but Inojin could easily let that slide since she often spent long hours working herself to the point of exhaustion. And Ino had always had a tendency to be over-reactive about Inojin. It wasn’t a big deal. It was normal.

While amused, Inojin wasn’t worried.

“Hey, Inojin!” He heard Sarada calling out.

“Yeah?” he paused, turning to face her. “What’s up?”

She offered him a bright smile. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi?” he ventured, cautious.

“And, you know,” she shrugged, “I also wanted to say that if you want to come with Chocho on our next girls’ night, we’d like that.”

Inojin face lit up. “Really?”

That invitation was a treat in itself. Chocho was fiercely protective over the girls’ nights that had been common for several months, and always returned the apartment bragging about the fun and the food. Given that getting Shikadai out to socialise was a task any day of the week, Inojin had always been jealous about being left behind when Chocho went out.

“Yeah, sure,” Sarada said, her smile falling into something more affectionate. “If you want to.”

“I do,” Inojin nodded. “Thanks.”

“Cool,” Sarada readjusted her glasses. “Chocho will let you know when we’re meeting up next.”

“Awesome,” Inojin grinned. “Can’t wait.”

They parted ways, and, content, Inojin continued his jaunty stroll home.

That was nice of her to include me, he mused. I wonder what brought that about.

Shikadai, finally done with his work and the amount of people who had side eyed him as he tried to leave the building, wrenched the last door between himself and the outside open. It promptly slammed closed again, courtesy of the person standing near it. Shikadai threw an annoyed glance to the side, only to be met with the judgemental face of his mother.

“Yes?” he asked wearily.

Temari stared him down. “When you moved out, I told you to do three things. Do you remember what they were?”

Shikadai blinked. “Uh, what?” When Temari continued to stare at him, he tried for the door again.

She pushed it closed, and he sighed.

“I don’t know,” Shikadai scratched contemplatively at the back of his head. “Don’t kill people?”

“That wasn’t one of the rules.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

“I told you to eat properly, look after your team, and be safe.” Temari’s gaze was unwavering.

“Yes, and you’re brining this up again now because?” Shikadai had a horrible feeling he knew why.

It was confirmed when Temari continued, “I know you’re eating well, and I know your team is fine, so I’m reminding you about the being safe part.”

“Mom, we’re not-“

“Look, I know Inojin’s not pregnant. That’s obvious. You’d need to be a complete idiot to even entertain the thought. But since people are talking like it’s an option, I wanted to make sure you’re behaving yourself.”

Shikadai let out another, longer sigh. “Yeah, yeah, we are. We’re safe, we’re sensible, it’s cool, okay?”

“Good. That’s all.” Her lecture done with, Temari stepped away from the door, and Shikadai could finally escape. He bolted before she could think of anything else to say, making a wild leap for the next building so that no one at street level could talk to him.

Inojin was waiting for his cup noodles to finish cooking when Chocho arrived back at the apartment.

She threw a cheerful wave at him as she came through the door. “By the way, Iwabe was acting weird today.”

“That’s my fault,” Inojin said, looking at her, and leaning onto the kitchen counter. “I made a joke.”

“About what?” Chocho came to inspect his noodles. “Also, kinda rude that you’re making cheap cup noodles when you live with me.”

“You weren’t home and I was hungry,” Inojin explained, then added, “And Iwabe saw me buying a pregnancy test for my cousin. I told him it was for me and I was pregnant.”

Chocho burst into laughter. “Oh, that’s funny!”

“That’s what I thought,” Inojin grinned. “Didn’t think he’d give it more than a second of thought.”

Chocho stifled her giggles. “I would have liked to have seen his face. Ah, but I don’t think Shikadai will think it’s as funny.”

“Shikadai won’t ever know about it,” Inojin said confidently. “It’s just a joke. I’ll tell him when he gets home later and we can laugh about it some more. He’ll see the funny side.” Inojin opened the lid of his noodles and peered inside. He jiggled the carton absently, determining it was soft enough to eat.

“You and Shikadai would make a cute baby,” Chocho mused.

“I’d make a cute baby with anyone,” Inojin replied, grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the drawer.

“That’s true,” Chocho nodded. “Not as cute as my baby, of course, but maybe a close second,” she declared, as she sauntered off towards her bedroom.

Inojin shrugged, more interested in his noodles than getting into a genetic debate with his friend. He settled on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table, and wondered when Shikadai would be home.

Shikadai slammed the apartment door open. “Inojin!”

“Why is everyone yelling at me today?” Inojin grumbled in reply, coming out of the bedroom.

“I think you know why.” Shikadai kicked the door closed. “Not only did I have to have the most asinine conversation with Boruto, but people have been whispering about me all day, and I had to have a lecture from my mother about safe sex.”

Inojin shrugged a shoulder, dismissive. “That’s not my fault.”

“Sounds like it is,” Shikadai bristled. “Did you or did you not tell Iwabe you were pregnant?”

“I didn’t say it outright, I hinted hilariously at it,” Inojin defended.

“Why?” Shikadai asked, in despair.

“For shits and giggles, why not?”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” Shikadai demanded.

“You look like you’ve got a cactus up your butt, so maybe lighten up,” Inojin folded his arms across his chest.

Shikadai stared at him.

“You know what’ll cheer you up?” Inojin said, beaming. “Let’s go into the bedroom and investigate why you can’t get me pregnant. That’ll put you in a good mood.”

“No, it won’t,” Shikadai grumbled, but his annoyance did nothing to quell Inojin’s mood. And Inojin’s open, carefree expression made it nearly impossible to remain in a huff for long.

“Fine, be a grump the whole time; I don’t mind.” Inojin offered a hand.

Working hard to suppress a smile, Shikadai took Inojin’s hand in his own, and let himself be pulled away from the front door.

The next day, Shikadai was spread across the couch, half asleep and basking in the late afternoon sun, when Inojin came home and wedged himself along Shikadai’s body. Even semi-conscious and annoyed, Shikadai still shifted himself to give Inojin enough room, and snaked an arm around him for security.

They lay like that for a while, with Inojin absently linking his fingers with Shikadai’s.

Chocho joined them later, sprawling into her armchair with a yawn.

“My cousin’s not pregnant,” Inojin said, smiling broadly. “False alarm. She’s quite relieved.”

Shikadai made a grumbly sound, and Chocho nodded.

“So everything’s fine,” Inojin added, and that caused a snort of irritation to erupt from Shikadai’s chest.

“Glad it all worked out in the end,” Chocho said.

Inojin’s phone beeped in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check the screen.

“Aw,” Inojin sounded disappointed. “Sarada’s retracted my invitation to girls’ night.”

Chapter Text

Shikadai had fallen asleep on the couch with the last thought in his head ‘I need to have dinner’. Such mundane things as eating hadn’t seemed important when he lay down, and even now, as he eased back into consciousness, he had no desire to open his eyes or get up. He was content where he was.

Although, he could hear his phone ringing from the bedroom.

Shikadai made no attempt to get up to answer it. He was off the clock; the world could burn.

The ringing stopped, and Shikadai pressed his face into the couch. He could hear Inojin’s voice from the bedroom, vaguely recalled that Inojin was drawing. After a moment, Shikadai heard footsteps, then his phone was laid gently on his face.

“What?” Shikadai mumbled.

“Hey, Shikadai!” Boruto sounded far too cheerful, and slightly far away given the phone speaker was directed into his temple. “Inojin says you’re not busy. Get up, we’re going to a club.”

“No,” Shikadai replied.

“Yes!” Boruto insisted. “You’ve got half an hour, then I’m coming to get you. It’s good to get out and have some fun.”

“No.”

“I’m coming to pick you up whether you like it or not,” Boruto said. “Don’t make me drag you out the apartment. Because I will. Get ready.”

Shikadai let out a groaning sound, and Inojin removed the phone from his face.

“I want to go out,” Inojin said.

“Then go with Boruto.”

“But I like being out with you even more,” Inojin replied. “It won’t be for long. And you’ve just had a nap – you can’t say you’re too tired.”

Shikadai could say he was too tired any time of day. He cracked one eye open, staring up at Inojin.

Inojin hovered over him, pouting.

“We don’t have to go out for very long,” he added. “Just a little while. Just a drink or two. Please?”

Shikadai let out a long, loud sigh. “Do we have to?”

“Yes!” Inojin’s reply was instant and eager.

Shikadai groaned. “Ugh, fine, but not for long. I want to finish this nap later.”

“That’s called sleeping,” Inojin informed him, holding out a hand. “Come on. Let’s get ready.”

Somewhat resigned, Shikadai took Inojin’s fingers, not making any effort to get up when Inojin tugged on his arm.

“I’ll pull you off the couch and onto the floor,” Inojin warned. “Get up.”

“You and Boruto are such a drag.”

Despite his better plans to stay home, sleep, and sleep a bit more, Shikadai plodded between Inojin and Boruto, smothering a yawn, and resigned to a brief outing to ‘have fun’.

“Could have had fun at home,” he muttered. “Could have had fun sleeping.”

“You’re the only one who thinks sleeping is fun,” Boruto retorted. “The rest of us have hobbies and ideas and motivation.”

“I used up my motivation doing my job,” Shikadai replied. “That’s what it’s for.”

“In between that job, you’re meant to take breaks,” Inojin added. “In fact, you’ve been ordered to take breaks.”

“That’s what sleeping on the couch was.” And after his break sleeping on the couch, he had intended to move to his bed and sleep there next. That, in his opinion, counted as ‘going somewhere’.

Boruto disagreed, although them disagreeing was the foundation of their friendship. Shikadai sent Boruto a sideways, disgruntled look just to let his displeasure be known. Boruto ignored him. Also, a normal part of their friendship.

The club Boruto was dragging Shikadai to was not that far from their apartment, in a busy part of Konoha that sported several shops and businesses during the day, and a rather wild night life. Shikadai had been there a few times, mostly because Chocho never paid attention to his protests if they weren’t in an official capacity, and he knew the place was loud, but generally played music he liked and - like most establishments aimed towards shinobi - turned a blind eye to underage ‘fun’.

By many people’s logic, if someone could kill a dozen enemies in a day they should be allowed a drink or two to relax afterwards. Age was rarely a factor. That didn’t mean that Shikadai wasn’t going to be a pain in the ass just because he could.

“Don’t go to the bar,” Shikadai said, as they entered the building.

Inojin sent him an affronted look. “Why not?”

“You’re too young to drink,” Shikadai said.

“So are you!” Inojin protested.

“Yeah, but I’m responsible,” Shikadai retorted.

“Aw, just let him,” Boruto waved a hand. “You know he drinks when we leave you at home.”

Shikadai was well aware of that, but he also liked pushing Inojin’s buttons, and since his peaceful evening had been interrupted it seemed only fair to annoy Inojin in return.

None of this nonsense would be happening if Shikadai had been left to his own devices, asleep on the couch.

The real problem with taking Inojin to places like clubs and bars was the constant reminder that he was massively appealing to every gender, and sometimes Shikadai got tired of rolling his eyes as yet another person flirted with Inojin, who, delighted to be the centre of attention, would lead them on for far too long before deliberately crushing their spirits with an off-hand comment about his boyfriend.

But on some days, that problem could be quite amusing. Especially tonight, when Boruto was at Shikadai’s side, drink in hand, leaning casually against the bar counter. When a young woman brushed past Inojin, giving him a sideways smile, Shikadai and Boruto’s eyes met.

“What’s your number for the evening?” Boruto asked, with a smirk.

“What number?” Inojin frowned, attention whipping towards Shikadai. “What’s he talking about?”

“We won’t be here for long,” Shikadai mused. “So . . . I’m gonna say five.”

“What number?” Inojin demanded.

Boruto shook his head. “Nah, seven.”

“What number?”

“Much too high,” Shikadai replied, and Inojin, exasperated, gave him an irritated punch to the arm.

“Shikadai, what number are you talking about?”

“How many people hit on you,” Shikadai replied, and Inojin fell silent.

“You . . . you two bet on that?”

“We need something to do while you’re off charming the entire world,” Boruto replied. “It makes the evenings so much funnier.”

“If it’s a long night, we guess men and women too,” Shikadai added. “Adds to the challenge.”

“You guys are jerks,” Inojin muttered.

“Jerks with a fun hobby,” Boruto amended, grinning.

“Nothing makes a night out like statistical projection,” Shikadai said, and Inojin rolled his eyes and growled back, “Please get drunk.”

“Not too drunk,” Shikadai said. “But yeah, fine, let’s get a drink.”

Those words quickly became Shikadai’s most recent regret.

Boruto’s idea of fun was not the same as Shikadai’s, and Shikadai’s idea of ‘have a drink’ was not, it turned out, wild enough for his best friend, and thus Boruto casually bullied him into drinking far more than he had intended, while trying to keep an eye on Inojin’s intake, and also keeping an eye on Inojin in general because the boy was fast when it came to disappearing with random people.

“He’s just dancing over there,” Boruto said, pointing randomly across the club.

“That’s not Inojin; that’s some blonde girl,” Shikadai retorted.

“My bad. Then he’s over there.”

“He’s over there,” Shikadai pointed, tone somewhat waspish. “Being harassed by that dude.”

“Do we count harassment as flirting?” Boruto asked.

“Nah, because then you’re ahead of me in numbers.” Shikadai checked the level of his drink, determining that after this, he would be done.

He might have already claimed that earlier in the evening, but no one had to know. Idly, Shikadai kept an eye on Inojin, who was rolling his eyes at whatever he was being told, and had a look of pure irritation on his face.

Clearly, he was running out of patience with the conversation.

Shikadai went a bit closer, curious now, with Boruto right on his heels.

“You doing anything after this?” the man was asking, blocking Inojin from leaving.

“Sucking my boyfriend’s dick,” Inojin snapped.

Boruto sent Shikadai a look.

Shikadai took a slow sip of his drink. “I didn’t realise we had plans.”

Boruto snorted into his glass. “Want me to rescue him?”

“He’s perfectly capable.” Shikadai knew that if Inojin felt himself to be in any sort of danger he would have already attacked by now. This man was a mere annoyance. One of many people who couldn’t quite get the hint when Inojin claimed to not be interested. It happened a lot.

Mostly, it was funny.

And it was certainly funny now, watching the man’s face fall at Inojin’s snarky outburst.

Shikadai hid his grin in his glass, catching Inojin’s eye. Inojin beamed at him, elbowing his way to Shikadai’s side.

“I heard you, by the way,” Shikadai said.

Inojin’s grin widened. “Yeah, well, if you’re not too eager to get to bed, then maybe I’ll do it.”

“Hm,” Shikadai nudged his elbow gently into Inojin’s arm, keen for affection but not particularly wanting to make out in public. “If either of us can stay awake.”

Shikadai let Boruto talk his ear off for a while longer, keeping half an eye on Inojin. By the time the colours around him were starting to swirl together, and the wall was the only thing keeping him completely upright, he concluded he had experienced enough of the fun, young life he was encouraged to partake in.

The next time Inojin came past, empty handed and clearly on his way to the bar, Shikadai intercepted.

“We’re heading home,” Shikadai said, hauling Inojin back to his side before the other boy could wander too far.

“Aw,” Boruto’s face fell. “That’s too bad. We were having fun.”

“Yeah, but I’m tired,” Shikadai claimed. “And Inojin keeps disappearing. If I lose him in a club Ino will kill me.”

“I’m not lost,” Inojin retorted.

“Fine, fine,” Boruto waved a hand. “Go home and get your precious sleep. But we should do this again soon.”

“When hell freezes over.”

“Bring a jacket, then,” Boruto replied.

Shikadai rolled his eyes, and tugged at Inojin’s arm. Inojin, more than slightly sozzled, followed obediently. Shikadai dragged them both outside, then paused. The air was crisp and instantly quieter, and he took in a deep breath.

Then he stood undecided. “Uh . . . which way do we go, again?”

“Home is that way,” Inojin pointed definitively.

“That’s the sky, Inojin.”

“The apartment is up.”

“I’m calling Chocho,” Shikadai muttered. “Or we might end up in Kumo by accident.”

He took his phone from his pocket, squinting at it. The buttons seemed closer together than usual. But, without too much struggle, he managed to find Chocho’s name and waited patiently for her to answer.

“What’s up?” she asked cheerily.

“Chocho,” Shikadai said, “we need help getting home.”

“Seriously?” Chocho sounded amused. “So the one time you actually let loose and have some fun, I’m not even there to see it? You’re a drag, Shikadai, you know that?”

“Come and get us,” Shikadai repeated. “Otherwise, we’re gonna sleep on the street.”

Shikadai swiped at Inojin, who seemed intent on getting home unaided. His fingers caught Inojin’s sleeve, and he held tight, lowering the phone to whisper, “Chocho’s coming.”

“Where are you?” Chocho asked.

“I don’t know.” He turned to Inojin again. “Where are we?”

“Outside.”

“We’re outside,” he relayed to Chocho.

“Listen, genius,” she sighed. “Turn around, and read the name off the building.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Shikadai nodded. “Then you’ll know where we are.”

“Yeah, that’s why I suggested it.”

Thanks to Chocho’s insightful suggestion, Shikadai was able to let her know where he and Inojin were stranded, and she promised to be there soon. All Shikadai needed to do was keep Inojin in one place while they waited, which he achieved by cementing his fist into Inojin’s shirt and refusing to let go.

Chocho arrived only a few minutes later, appearing in front of her boys with a bright grin. “Hey. How was the club?”

“Loud,” Shikadai replied, and Inojin nuzzled his chin into Shikadai’s shoulder.

“You guys can walk?” Chocho asked.

“No,” Inojin responded. “I want to be carried.”

“Walk,” Shikadai said firmly. He took several determined steps forwards, and Inojin followed with a resigned ‘aw’. He didn’t get far, before flopping into Shikadai’s side and nearly sending the other boy tumbling face first into the ground.

“Carry me,” Inojin whined.

“No,” Shikadai replied, shrugging him off.

Inojin immediately changed targets, latching onto Chocho instead. “Will you carry me?”

“Why do you let him drink so much?” Chocho directed her exasperated question at Shikadai, who was instantly defensive.

“I didn’t!” he claimed, while Inojin clambered his way happily into Chocho’s arms. “He drinks like half as much as everyone else.”

“Clearly,” Chocho said, rolling her eyes, hitching Inojin up into her grasp while he sighed contentedly, “it’s too much.”

Back at the apartment, Shikadai threw himself into bed with a groan. Finally, he could sleep. He had been waiting all day for this moment.

Chocho, still holding Inojin, came carefully into the room, making sure not to knock Inojin unconscious on the door jamb.

Inojin made no attempt to remove himself from her arms, and Chocho absently poured Inojin into bed, then turned to Shikadai. “You okay?”

“Sleepy,” he replied. “Thanks for fetching us.”

“Can’t have you two wandering the streets at night,” Chocho replied. She tucked Inojin’s blankets up to his neck, and gave him an absent pat on the shoulder.

Shikadai snuggled into his pillow.

“If you guys have hangovers tomorrow I’m gonna play music really loud while I make breakfast,” Chocho claimed flippantly, as she left the room.

Shikadai sighed, knowing she would definitely follow through on her threat. “Close the door.”

“Why?” Chocho paused in the doorway. “Inojin’s passed out; you’re not doing anything tonight that needs a closed door.”

Shikadai had nothing in range to fling at her. “You’re such a drag.”

Her carefree laugh carried back to him, and he buried his face determinedly into his pillow, keen to finally catch up with his afternoon plans to sleep.

Chapter Text

Inojin’s evening had been lonely so far. Chocho was in Kumo for a week, and Shikadai had left a few days before to lead a mission in the Grass Village. He was meant to be home by now, but had been delayed, and Inojin was flopped onto the couch twirling a pencil in his hand and keeping half an eye on the door.

It had begun raining a few hours ago. Inojin had turned the TV off so he could listen to the water, the gentle pattering, and watch the drips travel down the window. He had lost himself in thought, unaware of time passing, when the front door opened.

Inojin sat up on the couch, looking over the back of it. “Shikadai?”

“Who else would it be?” The reply was slightly strained, as Shikadai shouldered the door open, holding something in his arms.

Inojin cocked his head to the side. “What’s that?”

Shikadai sighed, kicking the door closed behind him. “A deer.”

“What?”

Shikadai came around the couch, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. Sure enough, there was a young deer in his arms, wet and shivering, and currently wrapped in a shirt.

“Why do you have a deer?” Inojin asked.

“Something’s wrong with his leg,” Shikadai explained, shifting slightly. The deer kicked out, squirming, throwing its head around. “He can’t walk.”

“I thought the Nara elders looked after any deer that needed help?” Inojin reached out a hand, letting the deer sniff his fingers.

“He’s not one of ours,” Shikadai said.

Inojin flicked his eyes to meet Shikadai’s gaze. “It’s not?”

“No. Found him at the Grass Village border. He’s a different type of deer to the Nara deer.”

The deer’s coat did appear to be darker than Inojin was used to seeing, but he assumed that was because of the rain. He shrugged, letting his hand fall to his knee. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ll take him to my dad or the elders in the morning, so he’s spending the night here and hopefully he won’t cause too much trouble.” Shikadai peeled back the shirt over the deer’s body, and let it fall to the floor in a wet heap. The deer struggled again, clearly unused to people.

“Can you take a look at his front right leg?” Shikadai asked. “I think it’s his knee.”

Inojin shifted to the edge of the couch, reaching out for the deer. It squirmed again, but Shikadai murmured soothingly until it calmed. Inojin gently took hold of the leg, cupping his hand under the knee. “Yeah, you’re right. This is pretty swollen and warm. Maybe an abscess?”

“That’s not good,” Shikadai sighed. “Can you do something about it?”

“I don’t know anything about healing deer,” Inojin raised his eyes to meet Shikadai’s gaze. Shikadai stared at him, raising an eyebrow. They regarded each other in silence, before Shikadai dropped his eyes down to the animal.

“Okay. We’ll let him rest tonight, and I’ll get someone to look at him in the morning.”

“Can he stand?”

“I don’t think so,” Shikadai shifted the deer, moving to set it carefully onto the floor. The deer stood, wobbly, on three legs, holding the injured leg off the ground. It took a careful step, and tumbled forward. Shikadai reached to catch it before it fell.

Inojin slouched into the couch. “Okay, so . . . we have a deer. What now?”

“I’ll dry him off, and try to get him to eat something.”

“Want me to go pick some lettuce?” Inojin offered.

Shikadai stood up, the deer in his arms, and shook his head. “I don’t think he’s eating much solid food yet. We’ll have to try milk. It’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine for one night.”

Inojin hopped up as Shikadai carried the deer into the bathroom, and went to their fridge.

They had an almost full carton of milk. Inojin set it onto the counter, wondering what Shikadai’s next plan was.

Shikadai retuned a few minutes later with the deer’s coat roughed up and sticking out at odd angles. He threw a grateful look to Inojin. “Can you pour some of that into a bowl? A wide one.”

“Yeah, sure.” While Inojin moved to do what he was asked, he kept half an eye on Shikadai.

He sat on the floor with the deer, running his fingers carefully over the injured leg. The deer seemed relaxed, until Inojin approached. Then, the animal tried to get up and move away.

Shikadai looped an arm under its belly to stop it from falling, chastising softly, “Hey, that’s Inojin; you don’t need to run from him.”

“Should I be offended?” Inojin asked, placing the bowl of milk on the floor next to Shikadai. Smoothly, slowly, he moved to sit on the couch as far from the deer as possible.

“Nah, he’s young and wild,” Shikadai explained, dipping a finger into the milk and rubbing it onto the deer’s lips. The young fawn made a step towards the milk, and Shikadai waited to see if he would reach down and drink alone. “Deer are meant to be skittish.”

The only deer Inojin regularly interacted with were the Nara deer, and they were far from skittish. They were bold, often pushy, and sometimes intimidating.

The deer, wobbly slightly with one leg held off the floor, made no move to drink. With a resigned sigh, Shikadai pressed his thumb and forefinger together into a ring, and pushed his fingers against the animal’s lips.

“What’s that for?” Inojin asked.

“He’ll grab my fingers and suck on them,” Shikadai explained. “Then I can guide him to the bowl. He’s obviously too young to drink on his own.”

“Do you think his mom abandoned him because he couldn’t walk?” Inojin drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“Probably. He’s a little skinny.”

Shikadai’s ploy was working, the fawn latched his mouth around Shikadai’s fingers, sucking loudly. Shikadai lowered his hand to the bowl of milk, submerging the deer’s lips, and Inojin grinned as the deer began drinking.

“Aw, it’s working,” he said. “What was your plan if it didn’t work?”

“Probably stick a tube down his throat and pour the milk in,” Shikadai said, with a snort.

“Maybe we should keep some bottles and deer milk in the apartment?”

“Because this happens all the time,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “This is a one off, Inojin. Just for the night. Besides, you can’t raise deer on the fourth floor.”

“Why not?”

“They need the forest. They need grass and open space,” Shikadai watched the fawn, and Inojin cocked his head to the side, entranced at the way Shikadai’s entire demeanour softened as he talked. “They’re meant to be outside and free. It wouldn’t be fair asking one to stay inside for longer than necessary. We have to do the right thing for him, and that means getting him to a place where he can be happy.”

Inojin nodded against his knees.

The deer finished the milk, slurping at the bowl, and licked Shikadai’s hand. He was leaning into Shikadai for balance, the injured leg stuck awkwardly out to the side.

“I hope he gets better quickly,” Inojin remarked. “Will you release him into your forest, or take him back to where you found him?”

“I dunno,” Shikadai shrugged, and stood up, lifting the deer with him. “The clan elders can decide that, once they have him.”

Inojin followed them into the bedroom, where Shikadai sat on the floor between the beds, pulling his blanket down to cushion the floor and give the deer somewhere to rest. Inojin was careful not to startle the young thing as he crept to his bed and sat down.

The deer settled clumsily, struggling to adjust his injured knee, nestled against Shikadai’s leg where he sat. Shikadai let a hand rest on the animal’s back, his eyes falling closed.

Inojin watched them for a while, wondering if Shikadai would move once the deer was calm, or asleep. As the minutes ticked by, Shikadai remained where he was, looking ready to fall asleep himself.

Inojin adjusted himself at the edge of his bed, eying Shikadai. “Are you gonna sit there all night?”

“Maybe,” Shikadai replied, somewhat drowsily. “If he needs me.”

The deer was still watching Inojin with dark, wary eyes, although it had curled up against Shikadai’s thigh and was no longer trembling.

“So,” Inojin began, whispering, “can you talk to all deer? I thought it was just the Nara deer.”

“I don’t ‘talk to deer’,” Shikadai grumbled. “The Nara deer trust my clan, that’s all.”

“This little guy seems to trust you, too.”

“So?”

“Maybe all deer like you,” Inojin said, hiding a smile in his blankets. “You make them feel safe.”

Shikadai huffed, eyes closing. He tipped his head back against the edge of his bed, one hand resting on the deer’s back. He knew he would have a stiff neck, and probably a very sore back, in the morning. But the young deer was calm, and this seemed the best solution.

Shikadai knew that deer were skittish by nature, easily stressed, and he didn’t want the fawn hurting himself further in the night by panicking or trying to escape. Letting out a long breath, he resigned himself to an uncomfortable night. Luckily, it was a strong trait in all Naras that they could sleep anywhere, in all manner of unwelcome conditions, and Shikadai could already feel sleep tugging at his brain.

The room was quiet then, and the deer finally closed its eyes to rest.

When Inojin sat up in bed the next morning, the deer startled violently, trying to struggle to its feet to run. That jolted Shikadai awake, who looped an arm around the animal’s body and pulled it close.

“You’re fine,” he mumbled, still half asleep. “It’s fine.”

Inojin stayed still, until the deer relaxed, leaning into Shikadai. He spoke very softly, “So . . . does your deer friend need more milk?”

“Uh-huh,” Shikadai rubbed at his eyes. He looked rumpled and grumpy and Inojin wished there was some way to get a photo of him without him noticing. He did his best to commit the sight to memory instead.

Slowly, he moved to set his feet on the floor, watching the deer. The skittish young animal leant into Shikadai’s side, wide eyes on Inojin, nostrils flaring with each breath.

“Will I scare him if I get up?” Inojin asked.

“Probably.” Shikadai raked a hand through his hair, worsening the tangles, then absently laid his hand on the deer’s back. He stifled a yawn. “But get up anyway. He’ll calm down once you’re out the room.”

Keeping half an eye on the animal, Inojin stood up smoothly and went to gather some clothes from his closet. He made a point not to move suddenly, and even though he was careful and slow, the deer’s eyes stayed fixed on him until he walked out the room.

Inojin changed clothes in the bathroom, taking the time to braid his hair out the way. By the time he returned to the lounge, Shikadai was sitting on the floor, hair pulled back into some semblance of normal, back against the coffee table, while the deer stood leaning against him for balance, head down and nose-deep into another bowl of milk.

Slowly, Inojin moved to sit on the couch, crossing his legs.

The deer eyed him, but didn’t lift its head or back away.

“Can I say something?” Inojin asked, after a few minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional suckling noise.

“You’re never asked before; you usually just blurt out whatever thought pops into your head,” Shikadai arched an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Because you’re going to overanalyse what I say,” Inojin explained. He stayed silent then.

Shikadai gently stroked the deer’s head, adjusting his other hand in the bowl. The deer slurped noisily, before settling back into gentle sucking. “Well? Let’s hear it. You’ve got me curious now.”

Inojin bit his lower lip. “Um . . . It’s just . . .” He trailed off again.

Shikadai waited, eyes on the deer.

Eventually, Inojin drew in a deep breath. “Watching you look after that deer like that – when he’s scared and doesn’t what’s going on or who you are – it, uh, it makes me think you’ll be a really good father one day.”

Shikadai remained where he was, sitting still. For a moment, he remained quiet. Then he asked softly, “Think I’ll be a really good father with you?”

“Maybe.” A wobbly smile spread across Inojin’s face. “We can hope.” He shifted slightly. “Even if it’s not with me . . . you’d still be a good dad. With anyone.”

A heavy silence fell over them. The deer finished his milk, and licked at the bowl and Shikadai’s hand.

Inojin could practically see the gears turning in Shikadai’s head as he decided on the best course for the conversation to take. It seemed, for once, that Inojin had rendered him speechless.

“Thanks,” Shikadai muttered eventually. “You’ll be a good dad, too-“

“No,” Inojin shook his head. “And I don’t mean ‘no, I won’t be a good dad’, because I’m sure I’ll be fine, I meant ‘no, you’re gonna be better’. I just . . . I don’t know, you just have this calmness about you, and you listen, and you care. I think . . . I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. That’s all.” He shrugged, cheeks flushing pink, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

He hoped Shikadai would be silent, and accept his words.

Thankfully, Shikadai did. He gave Inojin one of those glowing, genuine smiles that he shared so rarely, and scratched the young deer behind the ears.

“I’m going to take this little guy to the clan elders,” Shikadai said. “You coming with?”

Inojin nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They delivered the deer to one of the Nara’s older members, who was well known for doting on fawns, and who confidently stated that the deer would recover and lead a normal life. He promised to keep them updated, and Shikadai thanked him profusely, before taking Inojin’s hand in his and tugging him gently to his side.

Inojin chose not to say anything, because it wasn’t often that Shikadai allowed public shows of affection. Even such mundane things as holding hands he preferred to reserve for when no one was around. Certainly not for times like now, as they both wandered the village in the early morning bustle.

Clearly, Inojin thought, somewhat smugly, he had softened Shikadai up with those comments on being a good father one day. Who knew that’s the thing that endeared Shikadai? Testing limits somewhat, Inojin inched close enough to rest his head on Shikadai’s shoulder as they walked.

He could feel Shikadai glance at him, but he wasn’t shrugged off.

“Shall we go somewhere for a late breakfast?” Shikadai asked.

“Okay. What do you have in mind?”

“I dunno. Somewhere close, because I’m tired of walking. And my back hurts; didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Inojin squeezed Shikadai’s hand lightly. “After breakfast, we can go back to the apartment and I’ll give you a massage?”

“You suck at those, but sure, sounds good.”

“I do not,” Inojin huffed. “You’re just tense. You’re the problem. And it’s not like you complain when it’s happening, do you?”

“I guess not,” Shikadai replied, nudging their hands into Inojin’s side. “But after that, I’m having a nap.”

“Okay.”

“I’m telling you that in advance so you don’t bug me about making out or unnecessary groping or anything. Massage, then sleep.”

“What about after you wake up?” Inojin enquired, lifting his head to he could shoot a cheeky grin at Shikadai.

“Hm,” Shikadai thought. “Fine. After I wake up. Then we can have fun.”

Inojin’s grin widened. “Yay. It’s about time you had some fun.”

“One of us has to be responsible,” Shikadai replied.

“Yeah,” Inojin sighed, leaning his head onto Shikadai’s shoulder again. “That’s what good dads do.”