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“Take care of my body, Shikamaru!”
It was a request that often felt like an order, but Shikamaru didn’t care. Ino had always been like that and he’d learn to accept it, sometimes even miss it when it wasn’t there. After thirteen years of knowing a person, it was hard not to get used to some things.
“Catch me, okay?”
Sometimes she’d change the phrase, if she was in a good mood or feeling kind. Teenage years did wonders for Team 10 teamwork, more mature and a bit wiser at age sixteen, they felt invincible.
“Cover me.”
She would say when there was less time, as things got more serious and the chaos of war let them know that they were definitely not invincible.
“Shikamaru!”
War was a brutal and cruel teacher, but an excellent one at that. By the end of day one, they were in such perfect harmony, they could almost read each other’s thoughts, no Yamanaka bloodline needed.
Then, the explosion. And the horrible silence that followed. The looks of pity as they marched back to the village. The crushing grief that took away the breath from your lungs and the words from your mouth.
For Shikamaru, being silent was a part of life, it’s the way he’d always been. As a lazy person, he didn’t want to waste breath on something if it wasn’t worth it. As a strategist, he knew how much time mattered, even to the last second. Conversations that weren’t necessary out of etiquette or orders weren’t ones he often engaged in. He was perfectly content with staying silent for hours playing Shogi or reading a book.
Ino was not like that. She was explosive and restless and loud and could not sit still unless she was on a mission or her life depended on it. That’s why even though she knew that he was aware he had to take care of her body when she was performing Mind Transfer, she decided to voice it anyway. It was always an order, a request, a question, a given, a-
“Take my hand.”
A plea?
Shikamaru looked down at his own hand, brushing slightly with Ino’s paler one. When he looked up again, his heart pushed against his ribs, breath constricted in his throat. She looked somber and oh so very tired in a way that, even though they knew each other since birth and he had firsthand experience on her sadness, he had never seen before. The sole idea of Ino pleading for something seemed unimaginable to him, but he’d never seen her so defeated like right now and that ignited a rage in his soul he hadn’t felt since Asuma died.
So Shikamaru obeyed. He obeyed like he had when they were in thirteen, sixteen, in the war, and every other time he had done so without thinking twice. Her hand was cold in his, but it was okay; he was always warm. That was enough to get them through the funeral, down to the special mention of the fallen heroes of the war.
That night, when everyone had already gone home and Chouji had left after he made them promise they’d be fine, that Shikamaru was only going to walk Ino home and then they’d get a good night sleep, a piece of his puzzle came together and showed him a part of himself he didn’t know was in disarray before.
The walk home was silent, if not for Ino’s soft whimpers when they passed the Barbeque restaurant and her dad’s favorite coffee shop on the way to her house. He never let go of her hand.
“My mom is staying with yours” she said softly, voice so gentle and small compared to a month prior. They stood on the entrance of the flower shop, Ino’s house connected to it. Shikamaru looked at her and missed his Ino. “Do you want to come inside?”
He hesitated. Part of him did, part of him wanted a hot tea and a comfy couch and the warmth of a person you love by your side until you fall asleep. But the other part of him couldn’t lie to Chouji like that, not when he had promised, and he knew people in grief could often do things they didn’t mean.
“Kiss me.” Not a plea, not a question, but not an order. Shikamaru didn’t know where to register it and even though it did nothing but prove his thoughts correct, something in his chest knew that it was the right thing for him. That he needed- wanted this too. Perhaps due to the piece that finally fitted.
The kiss was nothing like he had expected it to be (and he had expected, of course, because he was a man and Ino was possibly one of the most beautiful kunoichi in the village. Who wouldn’t expect?) but more of a soft touch of mouths, hearts, souls, that moved to the same rhythm and were forever entangled with each other. A beautiful mess, like Ino herself.
Only when they separated for breath, did Shikamaru realize that they were still holding hands, so he held her close instead, hugging the pain and sorrow and rage away. She corresponded, tighter than he imagined she would, and looked at him with an unregistered emotion in her eyes. Then she grabbed him by the cheeks, kissing him again and closing it with a smile, forehead against forehead.
“Why do I always obey everything you say?” He asked, more to himself than anything else.
“You don’t obey” Ino smiled, tone sweet. “You listen and make a decision based on that, so far you’ve chosen me. Thank you for that.”
Shikamaru weighted this. It seemed right. He would always choose his village, his friends and family before anything else. He would always choose his team; Chouji and her were integral parts of his very being, to the point he didn’t know if by now he could function correctly without them. Ino voicing it was just a reminder that it had always been, and it was still, his choice.
“Huh” he smirked, expression soft. He would always choose his teammates over anything in life. But this, he realized… this was choosing Ino in an entirely different way. “I guess I have, haven’t I?”