Nara fixation Nara fixation Nara fixation
It had started as a passing curiosity, Shikamaru thinks.
When he'd seen the scar cleaving its way up Naruto's calf, disappearing under the garish orange fabric of his bunched up sweatpants, he'd only idly wondered how far up it went at the time. If it stopped above the knee or went higher, curving around the muscle of his thigh, digging into the bone of his hip.
It was so pale against his tanned skin, this stark white lightning bolt that looked deep enough that it would've impaired anyone else for life. Naruto's fortitude was likely the only thing that had saved him from having to retire as a shinobi entirely, with his immense pool of chakra and tendency to heal like a young plant growing towards the sun.
Seeing it wasn't supposed to turn into this. He'd only gotten a glimpse of it before Naruto had flipped himself to his feet, pant leg falling to obscure the old injury once more. A scar like that is nothing of consequence in the shinobi world. It's a given that a lifestyle like this will break you down— not a matter of if, but of when.
The fixation forms the same way a worm wriggles its way into an apple. Slowly, but no less sure of its goal to make it to the center. Shikamaru had been teetering on some unspoken edge since Naruto got back from training with Jiraiya, and perilously, it seemed this was what had tipped him over.
Would the scar be rough, or smooth and shiny like some old wounds got? Did it diverge from its straight path, twining its way elsewhere as evidence of an attempt to dodge? How did it look when Naruto's leg muscles tensed? When he crouched, ready to propel himself up into the branches of Konoha's towering trees?
It's a stupid thing to want to know, but Shikamaru does. Only slightly at first, and then with a growing fervency every time his dark eyes meet starry blue. Naruto has always seemed impervious to permanent harm, has always bounced back so readily from every challenge thrown his way.
To think something could truly mark him made that heavy thing in Shikamaru's chest finally blink itself awake and turn its head. Lazily, it seemed to genuinely consider what it saw— the bright supernova that is Naruto Uzumaki, and the one injury that'd managed to stick.
Every time Naruto laughs, Shikamaru imagines sliding his hand up that scar. Using it as a guide, following it like a law. The most contact he and Naruto have ever had have been friendly bumps of the shoulder and brief touches during assignments at the academy, but what if Shikamaru touched him... more?
"I thought your tailed roommate handled the permanent stuff." Shikamaru's with him again. He seems to find himself with Naruto a lot lately, drifting closer like a moth to a flame. "That scar on your leg, I mean."
"Oh, that? I think it was a bit too gnarly for even him to handle, believe it." Naruto laughed embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck with a bashfulness that made his cheeks go a pleasant pink. "It's a lot longer than it looks! The guy got me good!"
More questions than answers, and really, it's all one great, big drag. There's no point to this. There's no conceivable reason Shikamaru should be so latched onto this one, painstaking detail about Konoha's brightest dressed shinobi.
Yet, his fingers itch to touch. He wants to ask a million questions and get detailed answers to every single one. He wants to see it, feel it, maybe even taste it if Naruto would let him. He wants to bend Naruto in every possible way, just to see how it warps.
"How long is long?" Shikamaru asks as casually as he can muster, gaze locked on the smooth hollow of Naruto's throat. "Coming from you, that could honestly mean anything."
"I'm choosing to be the bigger person here and not to take offense to that, so. You're welcome." Naruto side-eyed him. Shikamaru's favorite color might be blue. "And I mean far, dude. Kinda up and across, all the way to my shoulder. It took forever to stop hurting when it finally closed."
Shikamaru's tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Naruto looked golden in the sun, like the second coming of a lost god nobody could remember the name of. He was so determined, yet someone had caught him unaware. For as fast and versatile as he was, even he had been subject to a close call.
To think something had almost taken him away made something cold shiver down Shikamaru's spine. It made him want to see it even more, made him want to understand. Made him want to—
"Can I see it?" Shikamaru blurted out. When Naruto's head tilted, Shikamaru couldn't stop himself from clarifying. "The scar. Can I see it?"
It's just the two of them out here. It's been just the two of them for a while now, paired together on missions more often than not. Naruto has grown, no longer the loud, all-bark-no-bite boy from the academy. He's become something far greater, a person Shikamaru knows will rise to unimaginable heights.
The thing inside him wants to be right there with him. It wants to claw its way up after him just so it can bask in the warmth he exudes. Shikamaru craves it with a ferocity that scares him, as though having a single taste is all it's taken to get him addicted.
Naruto is amazing. His kindness, his inherent goodness is so rare that Shikamaru feels in constant awe of it. To think such a person can exist. To think he'd have the privilege of being with him.
"The scar?" Naruto asked cluelessly. If he found it weird, he didn't show it. "If you really want to. It's kind of more embarrassing than anything else."
He shucks his shirt off before Shikamaru can say much else, and there it is. The very roadmap Shikamaru had known it would be, and every inch as horrifying as he'd feared.
It's not even an inch from his heart, far thicker where it cuts down his chest and across his abdomen. It had started at his left shoulder, and Shikamaru can envision the exact way Naruto must have turned for it to slide across him and down his leg the way it had.
It was too thick to have been any kind of blade, jagged at the edges and much too large. It had healed beautifully on Naruto, looking like the rippling foam of a wave crashing to shore. It shifted when he did, highlighting the lean plane of his stomach. It disappeared beneath his waistband in a way that made him shiver.
Shikamaru stares at it, unblinking. He wants to touch it. He needs to touch it. He needs to memorize it from end to end, to burn it into his head so it can never leave.
"Pretty ugly, right?" Naruto splayed a hand over it. Shikamaru watched the paleness of it gently cave slightly under the press of his fingers. "It definitely won't give me any luck with the ladies."
"Don't worry." Shikamaru's fingers burn. His tongue does too. "I don't think you'll need to worry about that."
When Naruto's lips curled into a grin, Shikamaru couldn't help but want to touch those too.
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