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Shikamaru leaned against the door of his home, sighing. What a long ass day. He needed a smoke. It was frustrating having to hide the habit from everyone, but everyone got concerned. So, he stowed his cigarettes in his room, and brushed his teeth more than he should have to, and washed his own clothes before his mom could get to them. He strode over to his room, opened the door, and froze dead in his tracks. His mom was sitting on the bed, head down, clutching something in her lap. He didn’t want to know how long she’d been waiting. He didn’t trust her temper. But, then she spoke, and he felt everything he was anticipating fall away.
“Gods damn it, Shikamaru,” she whispered, voice weak, “Just damn it.”
Shikamaru felt his breath catch in his throat. He’d fucked up.
He slowly walked over to his bed and sat down next to her. She was clutching his box of cigarettes, tight enough that her knuckles were white. He could hear her unsteady breathing.
“Mom…” he started, not sure where he was going.
“Damn it, Shikamaru,” she repeated. He wanted to crumble. She sounded so, so sad. He wasn’t used to it. She was always angry, always tense and snapping. When did this happen? She didn’t seem this sad at dad’s funeral, or at Uncle Inoichi’s. Was she still holding onto strength then? Shikamaru felt a shock of cold pain run through him. This was all his fault.
“Shikamaru…” she whispered, “I know it’s been hard. I know. I know what you’re going through. I know…” her voice broke for a moment, “You’ve lost more, been through more, than any kid should. And I’m hurting too.”
Shikamaru wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her he was okay, he would be just fine. He wanted to tell her everything was alright, he could be right for her. But he couldn’t get out the words, not to lie to her. So, he sat there, silent.
“Are you just going to… to ruin yourself?” She asked weakly, “What are you trying to do? I know this stuff gets stuck to you, and you can’t stop. Which is why I’m here, trying. I’m trying, Shikamaru. I… I know… I’m not a very good mother.”
Shikamaru wanted to argue. But he couldn’t find the right words. He loved his mom. But maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn’t one of those people who were meant to be a parent. Maybe he could have been better if she wasn’t his mom. But she was. And he was who he was. Which, at the singular moment, was a person he wanted nothing more than to escape from.
“I’m trying,” she repeated, almost as if she was trying to convince herself.
Shikamaru still couldn’t find the words he needed. He leaned against her shoulder.
“Shikamaru… are you trying?”
He froze at the question. He knew what she meant. Trying to stop, trying to drop his worst habit. He looked at the cigarettes in her hands, and felt an almost painful craving.
“...no.”
Everything was still for a second. Then a minute. And Shikamaru didn’t know how to speak.
His mom’s shoulders shook. Tears started to drip onto the box. Shikamaru didn’t think he had ever felt worse in his life. His mom had never, ever cried. Not at the funerals, not in the weeks since.
“Why? Please, just tell me why. Let me feel like I’m doing anything.”
“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t a lie, and he hated it. He could say it was because of Asuma, because he stole a cigarette after he died and it felt like it kept him connected to him. He could say it was because of his dad, because it made it less painful to think about losing him. He could say it was because of the war, because he needed something to get rid of the waking nightmares that he still saw behind his eyes. But none of those would really ring true to his ears. None of them were real.
His mom sobbed.
Eventually, Shikamaru took her hand. He squeezed gently.
They were broken, weren’t they.
And he had no idea how anyone was ever fixed.
“I’ll quit. I’ll try,” he promised, not for the first time.