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Ino always knew Sasuke wouldn’t be the one.
She’s the type of person who likes to indulge, but she’s never oblivious even if she tries to portray herself as such. No, even then, Ino always knew Sasuke wouldn’t be the one, that the disinterest he seemed to parade with a sense of superiority was genuine if not embarrassing. It didn’t strike her as embarrassing when she was infatuated with him.
And so, Ino would never be in a situation where someone’s pining after her and she doesn’t notice. She can see the signs, can feel the tension, knows the chemistry between herself and Shikamaru has always been a little different than between herself and Chōji, and she can see that he feels it too. Or maybe he senses it because Shikamaru feels with his ‘logic’ and ‘reasoning’ rather than his emotions (or so he claims), and he probably hates that she has him all figured out.
And she knows that he knows that she knows and it spins around in this vague cycle of being aware, but it doesn’t start anywhere so it can’t end either. Their love is not finite. Because Ino was infatuated with Uchiha Sasuke when they were children and Shikamaru would fake disinterest, but Ino is greedy and wants everything all at once especially if she can’t really have it.
Shikamaru is like the treasure that her father forbade her from touching, tucked away somewhere too high for her to reach, and sometimes she can graze him with her fingers and that’s all she has to cherish. And Ino knows Sasuke has always been handsome — dark eyes and dark hair, somehow still delicate — yet she was also drawn to his aloofness, his adeptness, that scathing bluntness, did not care about the Sharingan, didn’t see him as unique but rather drew parallels and saw similarities no one else did.
Because no one understands Shikamaru like she does, except maybe Chōji.
They have an unspoken language between them and there’s no one else who speaks it. So Ino supposes their friendship is sacred in all ways; existing at a singular point and as a tradition and in integral clans like theirs, everything revolves around tradition.
Dating him would’ve been taboo. Against these revered rituals which brought them together in the first place, it would’ve been forbidden.
Ino likes to take long showers and imagine whatever it is she’s fixated on at the moment, but can’t really obtain.
Sometimes they’re at the beach and she’s wearing a pretty sundress and Shikamaru is covered in too much clothes because otherwise he’ll bitch about sunburn and how much he hates sand and whatever other made-up problem he can come up with, saying this is all too troublesome. And in her head, he doesn’t call her beautiful — but he does think it since he’d have to be blind not to notice — because he’s the type of guy who wouldn’t really admit it outloud.
Rather he expresses himself with gestures because Lord knows Shikamaru is bad at talking, but it would be something subtle because as honest as he is, he’s even worse at being obvious. And no matter how cryptic his hints might get, Ino would understand, or at least she likes to think she could.
Daydreams stay daydreams. Ino thinks she could ease him into the idea of it (of their relationship, this ruination) and that he’d give in because he always folds both for her and for Chōji. They would have to sneak around, and the idea is somewhat exciting to her. Stolen kisses behind corners and trying not to get caught, but also wanting it to happen and growing sloppy because hiding this from everyone else is overwhelming them.
But she’s not stupid, so she never proposes it as an option — she knows Shikamaru would never, ever take the first step. He pretends to hate how his mom is so bossy, but that’s exactly the kind of relationship he would be in, just like his father. So Ino takes the reins on how it progresses, which is to say in no way at all.
Instead they creep on each other and fill the spaces of intimacy beyond the naked eye. When Ino hugs him, she lingers because truthfully she doesn’t want to let go, and he holds her just a little tighter, but no one else can ever get close enough to see that. Or notice how her lips brush against the shell of his ear when she’s whispering something to him. There are people who swear they have never seen Nara Shikamaru laugh and Ino would be happy to prove them wrong if it didn’t amount to some kind of confession.
She’s sure the guilt crawls up on him more. He’s always been the more sensitive one, but he doesn’t quite realize it because he’s too hung up on abstracts like IQ and strategy and the kinds of things she only concerns herself with when he’s not there to do it for her.
Ino builds tall walls, but she can also nip at those of others, see past them as if she’s a Byakugan user and not a Yamanaka.
See, Ino doesn’t ever take him because having Shikamaru means leaving him, not because she can’t, not because he won’t reciprocate. Between them, there could never be any kind of goodbye. They’re bound by tradition to coexist until the bitter end.
‘Ino’ and ‘Shika’ aren’t really syllables by themselves, not like this. No, all three of them form Ino-Shika-Cho and their heirs will come together and continue the tradition when it’s their time to because all good things come in threes.
Ino knows what happens to clans with no allies. They die out like the Uchiha or lose their numbers gradually like the Senju in a drawn-out extinction. It’s been drilled in her head.
There’s no amount of respect that can bring the dead back.
When Inoichi and Shikaku die, Ino loses herself. Shikamaru cradles her one last time when they’re both sobbing and their throats feel like they’ll tear apart from all the wailing. She pulls him closer than she ever has, she thinks, but it’s not romance, she just needs someone there and no one else can understand this pain. Not Chōji, who’s standing somewhere nearby, also drowning in silent tears, but not for the loss of his own father.
The rain pelts at her skin and she imagines it’s her dad hugging her too, one last time. But then she hopes Inoichi isn’t really looking at her when Shikamaru kisses her on the forehead — something he has never allowed himself to do before — and then, they untangle themselves from each other just like that. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t need to; not when she reads him without any words.
Ino never really had him, but this means goodbye. And she thought she had prevented that moment from happening.
It has to stop. How can it stop if it never started? It’s not finite, what they have between them. Maybe they’ll pull away from each other and hope the withdrawal isn’t too bad. There’s still something tangible in the air when they meet next, but Ino doesn’t turn tail and avoid him. She can’t be selfish and do that when they’re both going through the process of mourning.
God, Ino thinks, Chōza would be devastated if he knew about any of it, after Inoichi and Shikaku’s passing. He’d pull them apart from each other if they didn’t already do that by themselves, but he wouldn’t really go on a rampage. That’s what makes guilt catch up to her, too.
Chōji wouldn’t mind or if he did, he wouldn’t voice any complaints because he’s… like that. Nothing really matters to him as long as his friends are happy, and that hurts even more.
A part of her suspects he always knew, yet he was kind enough to trust them to break the habit before it was too late. Even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t have told. They have a secret language no one else really speaks, all three of them.
And then, years after her father’s passing, when Ino’s going out with Sai, she hears what they say about her behind her back. Commenting how he looks just like Sasuke, claiming she’s using him as a consolation prize.
What they don’t understand is that she has always had a type. Black eyes, black hair, blunt and genuine no matter how it manifests, a guy who’s intelligent even if a bit confusing and unfriendly. She gives a tight smile and pretends she doesn’t hear the remarks, but she hopes Sai realizes she wouldn’t ever stoop so low as try to hurt him.
Shikamaru has a type just like she does. The bossy ones, fierce and blonde with blue eyes and always jumping to challenge him. A woman who can put him in his place because sometimes, he doesn’t even know where he stands.
To her, it’s fine this way. She’s happy now with Sai like this, but sometimes she can’t help thinking about how she could’ve been happy in the same way with Shikamaru instead, the thought attacking her in the middle of the night. Wonders if she should’ve crossed the line, after all, if it was always going to end like this. Not because she’s bitter and upset, but because she never got to let him go, and so she missed her chance for closure.
He’s an honest guy in his own, roundabout way. He tells Temari he was in love with Ino before he ever outright told Ino herself, but yet again, she always had this way of getting epiphanies without him saying anything, so he figured he never had to confess to her.
When Shikamaru is in love, it’s like he gets possessed. He holds a piece of Ino inside him everywhere he goes like she’s using her freaky mind jutsu on him after all this time.
But he’s consumed by Temari and her spats with him and how much power she holds with only a fan and the chakra running through her system and anything else in between just the same. Likes the process of finally learning how to communicate things and talk them out with her rather than just relying on Ino to decipher it all for him.
Ino knew Shikamaru wouldn’t be the one, but she used to hope she would wake up one day and he’d be able to fulfill that role.
She knows who he is now, though.