Neji didn’t know what to make of the situation.
In all honesty, Neji did not know what to make of Nara Shikamaru most of the time.
The shadow nin was excruciatingly hard to read, especially when it came to social interactions and personal relationships.
However, it could also be that Neji was reading too much into it and that the Nara was simply touchy.
…Or at least, touchier than Neji had ever expected him to be.
It wasn’t obvious—not in the way Kiba draped himself over his teammates or how Naruto always found a reason to throw an arm around someone’s shoulders. No, Shikamaru’s touches were quieter, casual in a way that made it impossible to tell whether they were intentional or simply a byproduct of his lazy posture. A brush of fingertips when handing over mission reports, a knee bumping against Neji’s under the table, the way his shoulder always seemed to align perfectly with Neji’s when they stood side by side.
It was frustrating. Not because Neji disliked it, but because he didn’t know what to do with it.
Shikamaru wasn’t an easy person to decipher. He spoke in half-thoughts, let his words trail off as if the conclusions should be obvious, and rarely—if ever—said outright what he meant. And yet, his presence was strangely grounding. The weight of his gaze was never intrusive, but Neji could feel it lingering, like a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet.
He told himself he was simply overanalyzing things. That Shikamaru was just like this with everyone, that there was no reason to think too deeply about it.
But then there were moments—small, fleeting ones—that made Neji question everything.
Like the way Shikamaru’s fingers would linger just a second too long when handing him something.
The way he adjusted strands of hair when they fell over Neji’s face.
The way he called him Neji in a tone that felt too careful, too deliberate for someone as effortlessly indifferent as Nara Shikamaru.
Neji didn’t know what to make of it.
And, more troublingly, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop.
Objectively, Neji could categorize the Nara as one of the most attractive nin of their generation.
It wasn’t just about his appearance, though Neji did appreciate the broad shoulders—even though slumped—the pretty, dark brown, sharp eyes with their too-dark, too-thick eyelashes, the stupidly straight and sharp but never-tense jawline, and the not-full-but-neither-slim lips that usually stayed pressed in an infuriating, absentminded pout.
But he was smart—street and book smart—and also so quick-witted it gave Neji whiplash. He had a stupidly sharp mouth that Neji knew Shikamaru had to learn how to control, and a painful laziness that accompanied him in every word, move, stare, and thought.
And this was attractive. Objectively. He had asked TenTen, and she might have agreed.
