Chapter Text
“Shikadai!”
Shikadai bolted upright in bed, startled awake by Inojin’s yell. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
He stumbled out of bed, taking a step or two to find his stride, and burst into the lounge area.
Inojin was standing at the window, and the floor wasn’t covered in blood, and all Inojin’s limbs were still attached. Shikadai scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that. What’s up?”
“Flowers are open,” Inojin said, bouncing slightly on his toes. “Look!”
“You woke me for flowers?” Shikadai sighed, slogging to the window.
The flowerpot was awash with colour – dozens of buds opened and turned towards the sun, the petals all spread wide.
“Flowers,” Inojin repeated, as though that was reason enough to scare the daylights out of Shikadai. He bounced a bit more, eyes down, smiling at the flowerpot.
“Ugh,” Shikadai rubbed his eyes again. “I love you, but don’t do that again. Flowers aren’t urgent. They can wait.”
“Flowers,” Inojin repeated, stuck on the thought. He brushed his fingertips across the petals, watching the plants sway under his touch. He grinned at them, delighted at the colours.
Shikadai yawned. “Can I go back to bed?”
“These are poppies,” Inojin said, seemingly not hearing him. “Orange ones – unusual. They look like the way Chocho says hello in the mornings.”
“Hm.”
“And this little pink one is the same colour I feel when we kiss.”
Shikadai sighed softly. Sleep was starting to feel very out of reach. But Inojin was happy, and talking, and Shikadai couldn’t bring himself to ever be annoyed by that. He decided to indulge. “All your feelings have colours?”
“Don’t yours?” Inojin looked surprised.
Shikadai shrugged. “I dunno. You see the world differently. Everything just looks like it should, to me.”
“Feelings have colours,” Inojin replied. “Thoughts have colours.”
“I know you see colours when you look at people’s thoughts.” Shikadai glanced at the flowers. “Any of my thoughts in there?”
“Your thoughts are usually green and grey,” Inojin said. “Not a lot of flowers like that.”
“Guess not.”
There was a short pause, then Inojin blurted out, “All your ‘I love you’s are red.”
“Are they?” Shikadai asked, a bit surprised.
Inojin bit his lower lip, but nodded firmly.
“Show me,” Shikadai prompted.
Inojin turned his attention back to the flowers, and touched his fingers gently to a crimson red flower, just beginning to open. “This is an aster. They mean patience.”
He glanced at Shikadai to check he was still listening. “Asters and daisies are . . . kinda twin flowers? They’re the same?”
“Okay,” Shikadai nodded. When Inojin didn’t add anything more, Shikadai asked, “What colour do you think ‘I love you’ in?”
Inojin bit his lip, contemplating, and stared at the buds. Finally, he whispered, “Lilac.”
“Are there any in that pot?”
“Haven’t found any yet. But not everything has grown. Maybe they’ll come later.”
“Yeah,” Shikadai smiled. “Maybe they’ll grow after the asters do. It happens sometimes.”
Inojin sent him a puzzled glance, but didn’t question him. He looked at the flowers again, lost in the colours.
“Come to bed,” Shikadai said. “It’s too early to be up.”
“Not tired.”
“I am.”
“Don’t wanna touch.”
“That’s okay. We don’t have to touch at all.” Shikadai scratched a vague itch on his ribs. “Well, I’m going to bed. Play with your flowers.”
Inojin flashed him a grin then, before staring at the flowers once more.
Shikadai left him and dropped back into bed. They had a busy and slightly unsettling morning ahead of them, but Inojin seemed calm about it, even if he was baulking away from physical contact. That didn’t bother Shikadai.
Shikadai had almost fallen asleep again when he heard Inojin patter into his room. He cracked one eye open in time to have a green blanket draped over him, followed by the sudden weight of Inojin flopping half on top of him.
Shikadai folded a corner of the blanket back enough to get air, and asked, “You okay?”
“Yes.”
Shikadai felt the beanbag being squished between his shoulder blades, and firmly held in place by Inojin’s head. He smiled to himself. It was heartening to see Inojin seeking closeness even when over excited or withdrawn. It made Shikadai hopeful for the future, secure that whatever happened would be easily overcome.
“Hey,” he whispered, waiting for the confirming headbutt to let him know Inojin was listening. “I know we keep saying everything’s gonna be okay . . . but I think I believe it now.”
Inojin stayed quiet.
“We can do anything. You and I. You know, if you want to.” He paused then. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking over where I want life to go. Wondering what I should do. I don’t have the answers to all that, but I know a few things.” He bit his lower lip briefly. “I know I love you. And I know my parents are happy with me. And I know I’m making a difference. So I guess I know all the important things. Most of them,” he stared at the green blanket. “I still need to know that you’re happy . . .”
“Am,” Inojin whispered. He squirmed a bit, trying to get simultaneously closer and further away from Shikadai. “Am happy.”
Shikadai let out a breath.
“I know things, too,” Inojin continued, in a soft voice, slightly muffled. “I know flowers grow and I know what colours all your thoughts are . . .”
And lilac means you love me, Shikadai added in his head. He didn’t need to hear it said aloud. He already knew, and that’s all he needed.
It had been Sai’s request – to put Inojin through a simulated mission with none of his teammates present. It wasn’t just a test of Shikadai’s signs in combat, but also confirmation that Inojin could cope if he didn’t have Chocho and Shikadai around him, and didn’t have their familiar presence and their predictability to lean on.
Inojin, after careful thought, had said yes.
“You want to be a shinobi,” Sai had said. “And I want to know that no matter what happens, you’ll be as safe as you can be.”
Sai selected the team for Inojin, with Sarada leading, including Boruto, and Iwabe, who Inojin had never worked with before.
It was making Shikadai nervous. He was waiting on the edge of one of the training grounds, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, eying Inojin and his team in the distance, while Sai spoke to them.
“He’ll be fine,” Ino said, at Shikadai’s side, looking no more relaxed. “Sarada’s been allowed to do whatever she wants.”
“I know,” Shikadai muttered. “She told me about it. They need to find a hidden scroll somewhere on the training grounds, Sai’s got a bunch of instructions in it, and a couple Chuunin hiding and ready to defend the scroll. Inojin’s team just need to find the scroll and do what it says. Easy.” Shikadai pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Lot of communication needed for that . . .”
“He’ll be fine,” Ino repeated again, with a bit of a sigh. “I hope.”
Shikadai skewed his jaw pensively to one side. Chocho had chosen not to be there, stating that she would make Inojin nervous because she would be nervous. Shikadai couldn’t fault her logic – he didn’t want to be there, either.
“I don’t know if I can watch,” Shikadai muttered.
“Stay right here,” Ino ordered. “You will take this with me. He needs you here.”
“What if something happens?” Shikadai asked. “Geez, Boruto’s not that quick at signing, what if Inojin misses something? Oh, god, what if I screwed something up with the signs and Sarada can’t say something to him?”
“All of decryption verified your signs,” Ino said, swallowing. “The system works fine.”
He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. Inojin had been working with him and Chocho under these exact same conditions for years. But everything felt different, and more potent, and he was glad they were far away and wouldn’t influence Inojin with their mutterings and concerns. And this exercise was basically Sai saying that Inojin was safe and allowed free reign to do whatever he wanted.
This was Inojin’s gateway to better things, to harder challenges, to harder missions.
Shikadai shifted in place. “Sarada looks like she’s winding down her mission briefing. They’ll start soon.”
“And they’ll be fine,” Ino muttered, although she looked as tense as Shikadai felt.
He heaved a sigh, and stared at the ground.
“How are things between you two?” Ino asked in a tight voice, obviously hoping to distract herself.
“Fine,” Shikadai shrugged. “No problems.”
“How’s the new medication doing?”
“Doing great,” Shikadai glanced across the field, eyes on Inojin as he tentatively nodded along to Sarada’s words and signs. “He doesn’t get overwhelmed as much anymore.”
“Anything you need to talk to me about?” Ino brushed some hair behind her ear, drawing in another sharp breath as Sarada signalled everyone into position, and Inojin sprang out of view.
“Nope.” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a bit more relaxed at seeing how quickly Inojin had moved. “Everything’s great.”
Ino nodded slowly, seemingly happy with his answer. They stood in silence, eyes tracking the field, occasionally catching sight of Inojin.
Ino spoke first, “And he’s still happy with everything you’re doing . . .? I mean, kissing and other activities?”
Shikadai sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, we’re taking it slow, and it’s nothing bad, and I’ll let you know if I have any questions, or if he asks something I’m not sure about. You don’t need to worry about us.”
“It’s my job to worry.”
“Yeah, I know.” Shikadai smiled fondly into the distance. “But we’re good. We’re fine. We’re happy.”
Ino glanced at him. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”
Inojin didn’t come bouncing back to them. He walked slowly next to Sarada, who was smiling broadly. Inojin stared at the ground, fingers twisting together.
“He did great,” Sarada called, as soon as she was close enough. “Handled everything perfectly.”
“Hey, sunshine,” Ino greeted brightly.
Inojin shrugged one shoulder vaguely in acknowledgement, not looking at them.
“You okay?” Shikadai asked, and that coaxed a small nod from Inojin. Shikadai assumed he was just feeling a bit overwhelmed. That was fine. Being quiet after missions was normal for him.
Shikadai signed at him, ‘Can you talk?’
Inojin shook his head, but signed back, ‘I’m just tired.’
“Okay,” Shikadai said. “That’s fine.”
He sent Ino a questioning look, but she was smiling softly and looking quietly satisfied. Inojin’s silence wasn’t cause for alarm, and the fact that he was still signing, still present, was enough.
Sarada gave Shikadai a thumbs up, coupled with a wide grin. “I’m happy to use him on a team any time. Everyone communicated fine. Oh, and Namida’s actually mentioned she prefers signing on missions because she can use her jutsu and still talk to her team, so,” Sarada shrugged. “Thanks, Shikadai. It’s useful.”
Shikadai nodded, eyes on Inojin. “Cool.”
“Oh,” Sarada turned to Inojin, holding up a hand. There were two flowers painted on her wrist. “You didn’t use these.”
“He didn’t?” Shikadai blinked. Inojin activated the flowers whenever he needed help, or felt like he wasn’t managing.
Inojin stared fixedly at the ground, chewing on his lower lip.
“No, he didn’t need any help. Did everything I asked, perfectly,” Sarada assured. Some of the tension left Shikadai’s shoulders.
“I’ll report back to Sai, and then we’re all done,” Sarada added brightly. “But it was definitely a success.”
Shikadai let out a sigh. “Well. Couldn’t have asked for more.”
Sarada left them, and Ino gently got Inojin’s attention, asking, “Do you want to come with me, or stay with Shikadai?”
Inojin kept his eyes down, but he carefully tangled his fingers with Shikadai’s.
Shikadai glanced at Ino. “Is it okay if we go off?”
“Yes,” she smiled gently. “Go on. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Shikadai tugged Inojin away, and Ino watched them wander off, with Shikadai murmuring things in a low voice.
Sai appeared at her side, head tilted a bit as he observed the boys. “That went well.”
Ino nodded. “Look at them.”
“They look happy.”
“Our little flower child’s growing up,” Ino said lightly. “And he’s got the whole world to be free in.”
They sat side by side on a bench, overlooking the river that ran through Konoha. It was late afternoon, and they were debating going out for dinner, or having it at home. Chocho had already gone off to hang out with Sarada, leaving her boys to while the hours away.
“I’m taking some of our flowers with me tomorrow,” Inojin said, staring at the water as it babbled by. “To the hospital, to show everyone.”
Shikadai nodded, linking his hands behind his head. “Cool.”
“Do you know there’s a girl at the hospital like me?” Inojin shifted in place, emotions bubbling out of him. “She doesn’t like to look at people either, and she also likes colours.”
“Does she talk?”
“Yeah. She’s at the hospital because she gets sick a lot. But Mom heard about her and let her talk to me. She likes to talk. Sometimes I can’t hear her properly, but she likes it when I listen anyway.”
“Are you going to teach her the signs?”
Inojin shrugged, and fell silent again. He watched the river flowing by, fascinated by the sunset rays on the rippling surface. It made amazing patterns, and he wondered if he could paint it accurately. He leant forwards, as though to get closer, making a careful study of the way the light moved and the colours it made.
A moving reflection caught his eye, and he snapped his head up.
Iwabe, Denki, and Metal were walking on the other side of the river, chatting aimlessly among themselves. Denki saw them first, and waved cheerily.
Inojin sat up straighter, while Shikadai detached one arm from behind his head and returned the wave lazily. To Inojin’s surprise, Denki stopped walking and somewhat hesitantly signed at them, ‘How are you?’
Inojin looked at Shikadai, who shrugged and murmured, “Say something to him.”
Carefully, Inojin replied, ‘Fine.’ He checked in with Shikadai again, who smiled at him.
Denki’s grin was clearly visible, and he signed back, ‘Enjoy your evening.’
The trio continued walking on, and Inojin stared at Shikadai. After a long silence, he said softly, “He talked to me.”
“Yeah,” Shikadai agreed. “He did.”
“. . . Are you teaching everyone . . .?”
“I didn’t teach him at all,” Shikadai replied. “He learnt from someone else.”
“. . . People are learning.”
“They are,” Shikadai nodded.
“So lots of people can talk to me, and I’ll always be able to understand them.”
“Yup.”
Inojin fell silent then, thinking hard. The world was opening up around him. It was bright and inviting, filled with people to hear him and listen to him. There wasn’t the same nagging loneliness that had trailed him for so long.
Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was something new, like a new flower blooming wide.
“Thanks,” he said, even though that single word didn’t feel like enough. There should be more, but that was all he had to offer.
Shikadai didn’t seem to mind, smiling sideways at him, expression soft and eyes softer.
“I told you I’d change the world for you, if I could,” Shikadai said.
Inojin looked at him, studying the sombre profile of his face. He linked their fingers together, took hold of a lilac coloured thought and let it roam out of his mind and into Shikadai’s.
Turns out you can.
< The End >