Work Text:
On Valentine’s Day, Ino Yamanaka wasn’t sad.
She had always thought of it simply: if you had someone, you celebrated; if you didn’t, it was just another day on the calendar. No tragedy, no unnecessary expectations. Especially today — she had no time for romantic thoughts at all. February 14th was always the most profitable day for her flower shop.
Ino worked nonstop. She assembled bouquet after bouquet, fast and confident, as if she had long since grown used to this rhythm. Her assistant stood at the register, taking payments and helping lovestruck guys choose flowers, while Ino tied ribbons, trimmed stems, changed wrapping — a true conveyor belt of feelings that didn’t seem ready to slow down even as evening approached.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her apron. Ino automatically took it out and, seeing the name Shikamaru Nara, pinned the phone between her shoulder and ear without stopping her work.
“Hello… yes…” — she froze for a moment.
“What do you mean, it’s not there?.. How is it not delivered yet? The courier was supposed to be there already. God… they’re heading back? The car has already gone further into the city?.. And it’s not coming back?” — Ino closed her eyes. “So they’re idiots… or am I? No — they are. Okay, sorry… I… I understand… Of course… don’t worry. We just have a lot of orders today. I’ll bring you a new one myself — an even better bouquet.”
She finished the arrangement and only then noticed it: they had made another identical bouquet to Shikamaru’s order — “just in case” — and put it up for sale. Expensive, perfectly assembled, yet for some reason still unsold. By then, the crowd was already thinning out, and her assistant was smiling as she counted the day’s earnings.
“Listen,” Ino said, taking off her apron, “I’m going to run out for a bit. If anything, there are finished bouquets in the storage room. I’ll quickly deliver an order to an… acquaintance. The couriers mixed up the address, and it’s inconvenient for them to come back. He lives nearby.”
Ino quickly slipped on her short jacket, wrapped a warm scarf around her neck several times, and pulled on her hat, tucking her light hair beneath it. She adjusted the hat again by the door without even glancing at the mirror — today she didn’t care how she looked. Only one thing mattered: getting there in time.
She hurried out of the shop, walking fast — almost running.
She held the ranunculus bouquet carefully against her chest, as if it were something fragile and alive. Ino was afraid the flowers would freeze — even though she had wrapped them in thick paper, the cold was merciless, and she kept glancing at the white edge of the wrapping, wondering if they would make it.
Two blocks later, she was already approaching Shikamaru’s building without slowing down. Her cheeks burned from the cold, her breath came uneven, but Ino didn’t even think about stopping.
It felt important not to be late today.
She called him again while walking.
“Shikamaru, I’m already downstairs… Should I come up? You’re still getting ready? Okay. Which apartment and floor?..” — she laughed softly. “Right, right — I forgot again.”
She took the stairs quickly, not slowing her pace.
She stopped at the door and rang the bell.
The door opened almost immediately.
Shikamaru stood in the doorway wearing a white shirt and dark trousers — a work version of his office clothes. A lawyer. Or maybe already an attorney. Ino had always been good at reading his styles: this wasn’t an outfit for a date. Not that shirt. Not that mood. Not that careful readiness. She registered it instantly — and just as quickly decided not to overthink it.
She held out the bouquet, which had grown unexpectedly heavy in her hands.
“Shikamaru, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s the same one. I’ll… I’ll get going. Have a nice evening.”
Ino had already reached for the door handle when he suddenly spoke.
“Wait. Stop.”
He looked at her closely.
“Come in. Your shop is closing anyway. Or are you in a hurry to get to a date?”
He turned and, unhurried, walked toward the kitchen.
She looked at him in surprise.
“Aren’t you?”
Ino stepped inside.
Shikamaru set the bouquet on the table and slowly turned back to her.
“Let’s at least have some tea.”
“Come in. Take your coat off. You don’t visit often.”
He paused for a second and added more casually,
“Ino, do you want some champagne?”
She glanced at him, unable to suppress a smile.
“Champagne?” she repeated. “Nervous? Want a drink before your date so you won’t shake so much?”
He sighed almost theatrically.
“Yes. Very nervous.”
“All men are the same,” she said with light teasing. “You drink even when you’re nervous.”
“Yes, yes, we are,” Shikamaru Nara raised an eyebrow slightly, as if admitting defeat, and turned away to take a bottle from the cabinet.
Meanwhile, Ino began to undress. First, she slowly unwound the scarf from around her neck, then took off her hat. She hung her jacket in the closet without hesitation — she knew exactly where it belonged. She had been here before.
After that, she slipped off her shoes, feeling the warmth of the apartment gradually push the cold out of her feet.
She paused for a moment by the mirror in the hallway, automatically fixing her braids and smoothing a strand near her temple. Only then did she head to the kitchen.
She felt the cold finally leaving her shoulders and suddenly thought that staying for tea might not be such a bad idea after all.
Shikamaru poured champagne into a glass and handed it to her.
Ino took it but didn’t rush to drink.
“So… who is she?” she asked casually. “From work? Or Tinder? It’s six twenty-five now… what time are you meeting her?”
She spoke lightly, almost joking, while Shikamaru drained his glass in one go. He didn’t take his eyes off her — not for a second — as if he were trying to understand something. Or decide.
“Ino, drink,” he said quietly.
She took a few small sips.
“Should probably eat something,” she muttered, reaching for a tangerine. She peeled it slowly, separating the segments one by one. “So? You don’t want to tell me about her? Fine, don’t. Don’t want to jinx it.”
She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.
“But you have to take a picture of her bouquet at the restaurant. Send it to me — I’ll post it on Instagram, on our shop account.”
Ino looked up at him. “You’re awfully quiet. What’s wrong?”
Shikamaru didn’t answer right away.
“Ino…” he said finally. “There is no girl.”
Ino froze.
“What do you mean, there isn’t?” she asked, finishing her champagne and setting the glass down.
The alcohol was already pleasantly going to her head — her thoughts felt lighter, her movements softer, and inside there spread a warm, slightly silly but comforting feeling.
He stayed silent for a few seconds.
“The bouquet is for you,” Shikamaru said at last.
That was all he managed.
Ino had just taken another sip of champagne and automatically reached for a tangerine segment.
“Mmh…” she swallowed. “For me?”
She glanced at the bouquet, then took another sip. “What do you mean, for me?”
Ino took the bouquet carefully, as if she were seeing it for the first time. Her fingers slid along the ribbon.
“Thank you… that’s so sweet. God, you’re such a good friend.”
At that last word, Shikamaru clicked his tongue softly and looked away, barely holding back his irritation. He almost rolled his eyes — but only for a moment. While she examined the flowers, he looked back at her and silently poured more champagne.
Ino smiled sincerely. She opened the bouquet and breathed in the scent, lingering on it a second longer than necessary.
“You probably felt sorry for me,” she said lightly. “Valentine’s Day, and no one got me flowers. So you decided to cheer me up.”
She set the bouquet on the table, stepped closer, and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. Without realizing it, she clenched the fabric of his shirt in her fingers.
“That’s really sweet… thank you,” she whispered.
Shikamaru set his glass down — his second one already empty — and placed a hand on her back. At first lightly, almost hesitantly.
Ino tried to pull away, but he drew her a little closer.
“Oh… Shikamaru,” she said softly.
She lifted her head and looked at him.
Shikamaru was watching her in silence, not looking away.
“Let go,” Ino Yamanaka whispered.
“I don’t want to.”
“So are we just going to stand here like this?” Ino smiled nervously and leaned into him, wrapping both arms around him. “You’re ridiculous… ‘I don’t want to.’ I don’t want to either.”
She sighed, leaning closer. “I’m kind of tipsy… champagne always hits me fast.”
“Me too,” Shikamaru replied quietly. “Just not as hard as you.”
He fell silent for a moment. “Ino, listen… I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but…” — he looked away, searching for the right words. “I was afraid these words would ruin everything.”
She lifted her head and looked at him intently.
“I went on dates,” he continued. “And every time — it wasn’t right. None of them were.”
He spoke slowly, as if admitting it out loud for the first time. “And every time we ran into each other afterward — with friends or grabbing coffee in the morning — I caught myself looking for in others the feelings I already have with you.”
He looked at her again.
“And only now do I understand how wrong it was to compare everyone to you. Because the problem was never them.”
Ino froze, stunned. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t just not expected this — she wouldn’t have dreamed of it.
“Shikamaru… I…”
“I just want you to be here,” he said quietly. “Always. I’m not saying ‘mine,’ but… I want you to be with me. Only with me.”
She exhaled, almost smiling through the shock.
“I want that too.”
He leaned toward her slightly, that same crooked smile on his lips.
“Really? So then I’m… not just a friend?” he joked, lingering a moment longer, waiting for her reaction.
When Ino answered, they reached for each other at the same time, without hesitation.
The kiss grew deeper. Warmer. Their embrace tighter.
He pulled her closer, and she instinctively let out a breath, eyes widening — not from fear, but from the sudden closeness. Shikamaru led her toward the bedroom, unhurried, as if giving meaning to every step.
The bed welcomed them softly. She reached for the hem of her hoodie herself, and he helped — attentive, careful, with a focus that made her smile. When Ino was left in her underwear, he lingered on her with a warm, open look and smiled in a way that made her feel at ease.
His touches were slow, almost tender, as if he were memorizing her. At the same time, he unbuttoned his shirt, nervously fumbling with the buttons — and it struck her as endearingly human.
Ino laughed softly, pressing closer.
He leaned down to her, and the world narrowed to warmth, breathing, and the quiet certainty that this time, they were both exactly where they belonged.