The very first fic I posted here on Tumblr makes my toes curl to think about. I don’t often talk about it or reference it, but I reread it before writing this post just to review my old work, and really, given that I was 15, it’s not that bad. Make no mistake: it’s not good, and I genuinely hate it. But neither of those reasons speak to why I won’t ever be linking it here or even on the masterlist I wrote years ago.

More than anything, that fic is so very unlike me now that it near-on hurts to consider it as having come from me.

Even at the time, it wasn’t like me. It was for a ship I felt nothing for in a scenario I wasn’t particularly invested in. I only posted that ship first out of an obsessive need to order that series I hoped to write chronologically, and the ShikaTema one that soon followed was not quite so plastic but was still not what I really wanted. However, much to the chagrin of my current self, back then, I wanted nothing more than for other people to read my writing. I wanted strangers to tell me they had enjoyed themselves. I wanted to know I was doing something for someone. I enjoyed writing for writing’s sake — of course I did or else I’d never have done it! — but when I posted those first posts and people LIKED them?

Fuck me — I felt like I was flying!

I floated into a more authentic vein relatively quickly from there. There was ShikaTema galore on this page, as well as ships that I’ve since left behind but still have slight soft spots for, ships like LeeTen, MetaHima and MiraDai, who I’ve since come to like “rival” ships of quite significantly more. I even hosted a LeeTen week at one point. Madness, come to think of it. But excellent fun, still!

Another stark change to now is that back then, I wrote mostly canonverse type stuff. You’d still be pushed to find me writing true canonverse. There was rarely physical fighting or anything remotely ninja-related. There was divergence or some crude replication of our world shoved in with all the grace of the uncoordinated teenager I was. I had thoughts of writing more thorough and deliberate AUs without knowing how to label them yet, but not knowing if anyone would want read them, I never let them take shape, and eventually (along with those ideas) faded out for a little while and finished school.

I returned to fic writing proper with CHESS in 2018, and from there I think we mostly know the story, right?

I made a bunch of Tumblr posts, then transitioned to ao3. Joined discord servers — one then two then three — that let me look in on different people and culture so uniquely, and even created one of our own with some incredible women in @unioncolours and @thespookymoth. I wrote and beta read for zines, again with my friends (cheers to you always @loknnica !!!) , hosted an event or two, and helped with others, all of it with highs and lows. I moved cities and then moved country (more on that later), where I got to spend so much of my time and real life with the glorious Bex, and expanded my world view so far outside what I ever expected. And all because on 24th September 2015, little teenage Becks was brave enough to press publish on a fic she wasn’t sure of.

Talk about the butterfly effect, eh?

From a writing perspective, though, I only grew out of focusing what other people want to read to only writing what I want to write semi-recently, or so it feels. I’ve gone on about that far enough in the past, so I won’t waffle now, but it’s not lost on me that since that realisation, I’ve also barely posted. I’m more aware of that than anyone, and though all you lovely people say it’s alright and to take my time, I’m aware.

I had even hoped that I might’ve got a GM update for you all today, but that didn’t happen — I’m sorry. Work-life balance is hard at the moment, but I’m chipping away and I hope it won’t take too much longer. Rest assured that it is certainly not because I don’t want to write. I even wish this reflection could’ve been granted more time, but sadly life hasn’t been kind enough to grant it recently.

I will admit here though that the idea of finishing Grandmaster is terrifying. Be it conceptually or actually live on ao3, my darling GM has been a constant for over a third of the 10 years I’ve written for this fandom, and the sort of constant one gets far too comfortable. But, more than that, the GMverse has become a home away from home from me. I can slip into it, at any point in the timeline, no matter where I am physically or mentally, and find myself a tad more steady and at peace, which has been very welcome these past few years.

It must be said with this fact, too, that many people have made GM what it is. While I don’t write for others anymore, it does still light me up to see others enjoying my work and to know it makes people happy or inspired is an honour I can’t describe. To think that the wonderful @twnj has drawn as much for it as she has, that people have read in tandem (love you, book club — thank you again for your patience), that @clumsydragon28 has left more comment parts per chapter than I have in total this past year, and that people have read whole other books and listened to new music all because of something I dreamed up in my old box room in Oxford almost 4 years ago… I can’t fathom it, really. I can’t. I can’t be anything but grateful and honoured for the people who’ve made GM and its associates what it is.

Some of you, I’ve been meaning to message forever to thank you and have chickened out every time. @hoshirosethorncosplay, for example: you have been such a constant in the comments since the start, and seeing your name on my dash or in my emails never fails to make me grin stupidly. Thank you. @bostoncalled — I’ve been working up the courage to thank you for your outrageously kind words for the longest time and failed, so expect me in your DMs soon enough, too. And so many more whose names I don’t know that I know on here. If you see this, know this:

You lovely people are the heart of GM. Wherever you are, whether you comment or not, I’m so grateful for you.

I thought at times, even without it having finished it, about whether I could ever look back on GM with the same sneer as I do my very first fic here on Tumblr. It seems possible that I could, someday, because even CHESS wasn’t safe from that feeling, but that was through the years of ship wars and whatever strange person decided to hate Ino so violently that CHESS became their target.

But anyway I sense that GM won’t suffer that fate. Too much of it is too close to my heart. Like I say, it and its universe is a home.

In particular, GM Shikamaru, will forever remind me of the best decision I ever made. Spending two years with my dearest darling Bex on my doorstep in Finland and getting to invade her world and learn her language, exploring and laughing and nattering into the night together just because we could was magical, and that coming to a close has been difficult. It still is, but when I look at GM — at the welcoming arms of its Finn — I think of my most favourite Finn and I’m flooded with gratitude beyond what I can express.

The last ten years have shown me many good times, but you, Bex, my friend, are at the heart of all of them. Kiitos paljon kaikesta. Sä oot kultainen. I absolutely fucking adore you ♥️

Now, I hoped in my last reflection that I’d be reflecting on finishing GM in this one, and that I’d be beyond just mentioning you to what will come after. Well, oops. Hey ho. But even so, I think that’s enough reflection for now. GM will get its own essay when the time comes.

Ahead is where we ought to look, now, really…

Shock horror: I’m not done with this universe. You might’ve seen something floating around, here or on the blog of the oh so mighty and oh so outrageously talented @twnj (who deserves an entire speech dedicated to the incredible spark she has brought to my life and to our fandom as a whole — you, my friend, are a dream. thank you for being you). Just the other day actually, she posted a dreamy related drawing for Shikadai’s birthday.

That ‘something’ I allude to is what I’ve maybe written the most of since my last reflection, actually. As far as I know, there is around 70k of GMJ (more formally known as Piano Man) tucked away in GoogleDocs, waiting for its moment. It’s been a joy to write, and is very soul soothing, not only for being in GMverse, still.

I’ll say now that I’m sure many of my readers are here for the ShikaTema, and I don’t blame you — I always have been, too — but if you enjoy any of the aspects of GM outside the romance (family, identity, etc.), or just want to continue the post-Strangers ride, I think you’ll enjoy.

Besides, ShikaTema make themselves known in GMJ, too. Make no mistake there.

Many things have inspired me when I work in GMJ — books, movies, and music, of course — but there has been a point of inspiration for that fic that cannot go unmentioned. One thing I’ve failed to capture in this reflection is the sheer amount of fics that have inspired me over the years. For now, though, I’ll mention one that his inspired GMJ particularly, and I don’t think I’ve adequately thanked her for, even now.

@clumsydragon28 wrote a story a few years ago that changed my life and approach to storytelling upon reading it. In the stunning stunning fic that is Plié, she so beautifully captured her love of so many things: of her city, of her love of dance, the love in the power of just listening, and of the love and kindness she has always there for those around her. Perhaps that last one was not intended, but such is the nature of our darling Barb. She really is that excellent even without trying.

Every time I write GMJ Inojin chattering himself stupid, or GMJ Shikadai losing himself in his art, and even in the midst of the chess game scenes of GM before it, I think of our dear Barb, her crafts, and her total devotion to them. To feel someone’s love shine through their words so honestly is to feel them close by, and though I have not (yet!) been granted the pleasure of invading her doorstep in person as I have Bex’s, her work still places me there, heart open.

Thank you, Barb, for being not just my no1 Billy Joel and Sai consultant, but a calibre of person and friend that most people can only dream of meeting in their lives. I’m so very lucky and so very grateful. Love you, mate ♥️

Anyway, to my ShikaTema-focused readers: as someone slowly drawn further and further into the ShikaJin fold over the years by one person or another (you know who you are), I must say it’s a good flavour, and one that I recommend.

Oh, and a note specifically to @servenna — 1) you are a wonderful human being and I’m so grateful for you, and 2) quite some time ago, I mentioned to you having written some GMverse ShikaYoshi. Expect that in the not too distant future — you’ve more than earned it given your patience with GMs “posting schedule”, as have you all. I post here to hold myself accountable, but make no mistake, I’m incredibly excited to share it and all the excess lore.

I fear I’ve nattered on far longer than I hoped to, and probably failed to cover the events of just this year, let alone the 10 I’ve managed here. Clearly, I’m yet to learn the skill of conciseness I set out to achieve years ago, and having chewed your ears off too long already, I will say nothing more than this:

Pressing post on that tumblr post ten years ago was the best decision I ever made. The life I lead now would not exist had I not done it. The person I am would be so much shallower and unfulfilled, simply for the lovely people I’ve come to know from being in this fandom.

Christ, my tumblr can almost go to primary school. How mad is that?!

Thank you all for being around, whether you’ve spoken to me, read me, or just seen me in passing. It’s been a pleasure, and it will continue to be. For 10 more years? Maybe, or maybe not. But I’ll make a dent in that, I’m sure.

Let’s at least get my tumblr to legal drinking age, eh? Then it can finally read the contents of my ao3 without restriction.

Cheers,

Her head turned quickly, and her long ponytail whipped round. “Shut up. There’s nobody on the shop floor. Go downstairs.”

“Fine.” He went to put down the flowers in his hand, when he caught the frustrated glare she shot his way. “Now what, Ino?”

“I told you to hold them because I want you to take them downstairs!”

Shikamaru felt his shoulders tighten as his eyes fell shut. “Then just give that instruction…man, you’re such a pain.”

“Oh, yeah,” she snapped back. “Such a pain. I’m a total ‘drag’, right? You’re the one who was late this morning, Shikamaru.”

“I was late because I had an appointment.”

“You had an appointment yesterday, don’t lie to me.”

He started to shuffle towards the stairs that lead down to the shop floor, weaving through boxes of weird porous foam he didn’t care for and decorative ribbon. “Okay, Ino,” he replied, careless and tired as his feet touched the first step. “I’m going down. Shout me if you need me.”

“I won’t!” she called back. “Oh, and Shikamaru?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking. It doesn’t matter, he thought, she’ll keep talking anyway.

Of course he was right. “My dad will be here in like half an hour, and by then the bakery will be shut and—”

“And you forgot to get him his lemon tart again…”

Every Tuesday, Inoichi Yamanaka would pry himself away from work early to come and see Ino at the flower shop, and wait to give her a lift home. It was the only day he’d ever done it, but it had been the case as long as Shikamaru could remember. When Ino was little, he’d pick her up from school and they’d go wait until her mother closed up the shop, and she was always leave a little bag behind the counter from the bakery up the road. Inside it would always be a lemon tart.

Shikamaru had heard the story enough times that it was cemented somewhere in his mind that the most important part of a Tuesday afternoon shift was to run to The Bluebird Bakery if Ino hadn’t already. He knew how much it meant to her, as much of a pain as it was. So before she even shouted back a plea, he found himself habitually grabbing his hoodie and throwing it over his shoulders.

“See you in a bit.”

As he flung open the door, the cold air hit him like a six-foot fan had thrust air into his face, and he felt every hair on his head fly from their place in his ponytail. Eager to keep it in place, he threw his hood up and his hands in his pockets, slowly jogging a few shops down toward the bakery. He barged into the door with his shoulder and pushed his way in. This time of day they were getting ready to close, and the room was bare except for one young man, leaning on the counter by the till; one Shikamaru recognised.

It was him, Temari’s brother.

“Come on, Suki,” the man chuckled, smiling at the young woman across the counter. “They’d love to meet you. Besides, they won’t even be in long, and my brother doesn’t get home until late tonight.”

“But your sister does!” The girl blushed. “Kankuro, I don’t know. We’ve barely been seeing each other a month.”

Shikamaru gulped and leant against the wall.

“She’s far too into her work at the moment to care if there’s one more body in the house.” He stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “But if you don’t want to I get—”

“No, I do want to!” She reached out and grabbed his hands. “Once we’ve closed up I’ll come to the shop. Wait for me, okay? Just as long as you promise she won’t care.”

Kankuro shook his head, grinning. “Trust me, she’s got more important things on her…”

Shikamaru didn’t notice the young man trail off, nor did he notice his head turn to look at him. All that was on the younger man’s mind was whether the one remaining lemon tart behind the counter could magically appear in the flower shop without him having to interrupt their conversation.

“Hey.”

A jolt went through Shikamaru’s shoulders, and his head slowly turned to see both the man and woman staring at him.

“Hey you’re him, aren’t you? The guy from the pub.” Kankuro shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re my sister’s new obsession.”

“I don’t know, man,” wheezed Shikamaru, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You know each other?” the lady, Suki, piped up chirpily before turning her attention—and massive smile—toward Shikamaru. “Small world. You want a lemon tart again, Shikamaru?”

He nodded, smiling back slightly. “Please.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a tart, kind of guy,” Kankuro chuckled.

“Well, it isn’t actually for—”

“Sorry, but what’s the protocol here, man?”

Shikamaru faltered and shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie once again, only just realising the highly feminine pattern of his uniform was probably contributing to the grin on this intimidating guy’s face. He fumbled for his keys, just to nervously fiddle with something; he could feel the tingling on the back of his scalp set in as his anxiousness slowly creeped up on him.

“I, uh,” he muttered, trying—and failing—to laugh. “I don’t know if there is one.”

“Man, look. I know you’ve been through this tonnes of times. All I wanna know is this: am I allowed to be talking to you?”

Lifelessly, and desperate to retain the small level of cool he had, Shikamaru shrugged. “Ask Temari. I don’t know. I assume not.”

A smile grew, mischievous and eager, across Kankuro’s face. “I’m going to assume I am.”

“I’m sorry, guys; one second,” Suki interrupted, softly and almost afraid. “That’ll be one-twenty, Shikamaru, please.”

He didn’t waste any time pacing over, grabbing the little paper bag and throwing coins down on the counter. With a smile he thanked her and quickly scurried back toward the door. “Well, uh…nice to meet you, man.”

“Yeah,” replied the other man, his voice low and careless. “I’ll tell Tem you said hi, yeah?”

Shikamaru turned slightly, nodding, and raised his hand. “See you around.”

Kankuro didn’t reply, but Shikamaru could feel the resentment radiating from him. Or at least he thought, for a second, that he could. Frankly, this wasn’t his strong suit—the whole two minute long affair had made his stomach churn, and the walk back to the shop couldn’t be over fast enough. He didn’t care about the wind in his hair this time round, he just wanted his feet to carry him away from that place.

Before this moment, he’d never understood what Choji would say when he complained about girlfriend’s siblings, and how he felt like they could snap him in half. He’d always laughed and thought it sounded cliché or like an overreaction, but now he got it. One look from Temari’s brother made his heart race—and he wasn’t even anything like with her. But he couldn’t deny that his mind had been shouting constant gibberish, with only one objective: not to embarrass himself, to make him respect him.

Every day Shikamaru would greet and talk to dozens upon dozens of people, and he didn’t care if the smile he served them with looked false or whether he looked like an impossibly happy, fantasyland man. There were very few people he wanted to respect him besides his parents—even less he wanted to impress—so why, when he met his therapist’s brother, a stranger he’d seen and heard speak many times before, did he feel that wash over him. Why did he feel his emotions bubbling in the same way they did when Mrs Yamanaka gave him that pitiful look for having to work shifts around his appointments? Why did he care what a stranger, who he never should have met, thought of him?

He didn’t know, and as he flung open the door to the florists, he accepted that he wouldn’t. All he knew was that he needed a smoke, and he needed one badly.

“Tart’s down here, Ino!” he shouted up. “I’m going out for a cigarette!”

There was violent shuffling from up above. “Wait, what?”

“I’ll come back in if we get a customer!”

“No, wait! What happened?”

“Nothing happened!” He sighed. “I just need a smoke, okay?”

The silence that followed, at least for the second long duration he waited for an answer, was all he needed to hear to go ahead and step outside.

It didn’t matter to him that the cold was numbing his fingers; what mattered was the wind halting his lighting of his cigarette. He shrouded it, desperate to set it alight, and leant against the window of the shop as he took his first drag, and felt the warmth sear through his body. Nothing felt like this—like the first cigarette in hours on a freezing cold day. Nothing warmed him up, from the inside out, and made him feel whole again, like the smell of the smoke cloud that lightly blanketed him. Obviously, in this precise moment, the smell blew away in seconds, but when he closed his eyes, he could almost forget the air pummelling his face, and the cold numbing his senses. For one moment, he could relax—just him and the elements, desperately trying to get his attention and failing miserably.

All he did was stand there, slowly edging his way down to the end of the cigarette. If only the week would go as fast as one of these does, he thought.

Another week before his shoulders lightened, just that little bit more in her company, was too long for him. It almost pissed him off to admit it, but he was beginning to crave her company in almost equal measure to those little sticks of tobacco, and seeing her brother certainly hadn’t helped that feeling.

~~~

She heard the door slam shut followed by some faint giggling, and immediately what was happening. But, instead of her usual teasing shout, Temari held her tongue, and took a sip of her tea as she kept reading the sheet of paper in front of her. Only when she could hear footsteps a few metres behind her did she finally tear her eyes away.

“Hi,” she mumbled, turning to face the young man as he threw his shoes off into the corner. “Who’s downstairs then?”

Kankuro smirked and hung up his jacket on the back of a chair. “Suki.”

“Ew, stop smirking!” gagged Temari, immediately turning around and grabbing her tea. “Look, I don’t care what you do just don’t make me hear about it, yeah?”

“Why do you always assume I’ve brought girls back to shag them?”

“Because of the amount of times I’ve walked in on a Friday night and you’ve been on the sofa, half-naked on top of one of them!”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Mixing it up. Exciting.”

“Don’t make me sound like some kind of dick.”

“I’m not,” she laughed. “You just aren’t very good at…privacy.” She shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. “Sorry. I can leave if she doesn’t want to meet me. I’ve got a load of stuff to get on with, anyway.”

He nodded profusely. “If you wouldn’t mind, Tem, that’d be ace.”

She downed the last of her drink and gathered up the pages she’d taken from the file that was strewn across the kitchen table. “I’ve got a week to try and suss out exactly how to precede with this one guy…”

“Oh,” Kankuro chuckled. “I saw him today by the way.”

Temari’s head shot up. “Who?”

“You know who—him. Shika-whatever.”

“Maru—Shikamaru,” she corrected, absentmindedly. “What the heck do you mean you saw him today?”

His arms flailed cartoonish way as he shrugged. “I mean, I saw him.”

“Okay, now you’re being a dick. What do you—”

“Tem, chill out. He came into the bakery while I was in there with Suki.” He stepped towards the door and put a thumbs up, seemingly so the girl knew it was okay to come up. “It’s fine—barely spoke to him.”

“You didn’t tell him who you were, did you?”

“Didn’t need to. He’s a wimp though, Tem. Proper wuss, isn’t he?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Kankuro…”

“Seriously, though: he’s a mumbler, and he got a lemon tart.”

“Oh yes.” Temari gave an infamous eye roll. “Because that says so much about his character.”

“Actually,” sounded a soft voice from the doorway, “he buys it for his girlfriend’s dad.”

Temari’s head cocked to one side, and she felt her stomach flip. “He told me he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

Suki blushed and bit down on her lip. “Sorry, I guess it is just an assumption. But ever since I’ve worked at Bluebird he comes in almost every Tuesday and gets one for the blonde girl from the flower shop to give to her dad.”

“I was wondering about the shirt…”

“Kankuro,” Temari warned, “you shouldn’t have even fucking spoken to him!” She could feel her blood boiling, and her hands were sweating as she tried to compile all her stuff.

“I’m Suki, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

The blonde snapped round to look into the girl’s smiley eyes, forcing a warm smile. “Oh, yeah, um…I’ll get out of your way.” She threw her folder and papers into her arms and turned on her heel quickly. “It was nice to meet you, too.”

“Oh, Tem?”

Agitated she stopped, refusing to turn.

“So I’m not to talk to Shiki-thingy again if I see him?”

“Shikamaru!” she huffed. “And no. He’s my patient.”

“Okay, but…” There was a moment of silence. “I know what you think of him, but…Don’t even think about it. He seems like pretty weak guy, Tem. It’s not worth it…”

She couldn’t help herself—everything had built up slowly, to the point where Temari threw everything she held to the floor and stormed back towards him, pulling him away toward the corner of the room. Quickly she shot Suki a regretful smile and grabbed him by the collar. Her eyes flared up, cheeks growing red, and she could see in Kankuro’s eyes that he was ready to laugh at her, but she was moments away from punching him.

“Kankuro, I swear,” Temari warned, in a low and threatening tone, “that if you speak ill of that guy one more time, I’ll freaking punch you.”

He smiled. “Chill out, Tem, I just—”

“No. The guy has survived three suicide attempts and spends every day of his life feeling like he’s got nobody on his side, and yet I’m sure he still smiled at you, didn’t he?” she added, level and calm. Her eyes set on him sharply, and immediately she saw his brow soften. “Didn’t he?”

Kankuro nodded slowly, bewildered.

She loosened her grip and backed away, shaking her head. “So don’t you dare say he’s weak. You know what it’s like, Kankuro. You’ve seen. Be bloody respectful.”

Kankuro didn’t have a chance to speak before she hurried upstairs, hauling her belongings and slamming her door. She felt like she’d embarrassed herself, but she recognised it was necessary—she couldn’t hear him talk like that anymore, whether he meant it or not. He didn’t mean any harm, but nobody else knew that, and his inconsiderate words weren’t something everyone could stomach.

She could only hope he hadn’t put Shikamaru through his usual snide shit.

~~~

“Shikamaru Nara, get your butt in here now!”

“Mum, leave it out, would you?” called back the young man, halfheartedly. “I’m not a kid.”

As he sat outside on his doorstep, staring up at the stars, he puffed away on his fourth cigarette of the hour. But now, as the night sky was black, speckled only with a few dots of glitter, the warmth of his chest was doing nothing for his heart.

This was becoming a problem, he could tell; how much he was relying on this woman. It had only been—what?—thirty-something hours since he’d taken the plunge and told her about it, and a week remained until the worst part: the session that followed. The telling unearthed the problem, but the talking just pulled at the roots with no real force, like tweezers that almost pull out every hair, but can’t. So, instead, they leave it more painful and infuriating than ever before, and it’s okay because they tried. Maybe someone else can pull it, and fully dig out the roots that are so twisted, rooted so deep that nobody has ever had the chance to try; not even him.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?”

Shikamaru slowly looked up, suddenly whipped from his thoughts. Only when his head moved did he feel the pools welling in his eyelids, and he blinked them away before the man could see him. “I’m fine, Dad.”

Shikaku made his way down the steps and fell down beside his son, nudging him gently with his elbow. “It doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid,” sighed the older man. “You know what. The therapy.”

With a shake of his head, Shikamaru tapped his ash into the soil of one of his mother’s favourite flowerpots absentmindedly—something he’d later regret massively. “I’m not sure, honestly.” His head turned slightly to face his father, but he couldn’t lift his eyes all the way. “So far I definitely feel…”

“Happier?”

The hope in his voice was almost too much for Shikamaru to bear, and when he shook his head, he could see out of the corner of his eye a subtle droop in his posture.

“I was going to say I feel hopeful, this time.”

Shikaku grunted. “Your mother said she tried to find a man but couldn’t.”

“I don’t care. My therapist, she’s…” Shikamaru rubbed his eyes, taking a long drag as he thought of the right word. “She’s understanding,” he settled on.

“I should hope so. We pay her enough; that’s her basic job.”

“No, you don’t get it, old man,” groaned the son, once again dropping ash into the flowerpot. “She understands how to get to me—how to make me actually engage with her.”

Chuckling, Shikaku shook his head. “And what weird sacrifice did she have to do to pull that one off?”

“Har, har,” Shikamaru sighed. “We just play chess—if I lose she gets to choose what I talk about.”

“But you’ve not lost since—”

“Since a couple of weeks ago when she thrashed me in just a few of minutes.”

Instantly, the older man straightened up, grinning. “She beat you?”

Shikamaru nodded, a gentle grin stretching across his fave—a mirror image of his father. “Yep.”

“She beat you?”

“Only the once, but yeah,” he chuckled in reply. “And I talked to her about a lot of shit.”

“What about the…the, um…”

While he was undeniably uncomfortable answering, we wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable in that precise moment as Shikaku, so he forced the words out. “Yeah I told her about them. All three.” He took a deep breath before finally turning to look at his father. “She said it was okay, and that we didn’t need to dwell on it, just fix it. She said she can fix me.”

“And you believe her?”

“Wow, Dad. Your optimism is so great.”

“No, really. Do you?”

The look in Shikaku’s eyes was wholesome—full of softness and care—and it made Shikamaru feel stupid for ever thinking that man wanted anything more than for his son to be happy.

With a gentle smile, Shikamaru nodded, taking a short drag. “She’s wonderful, and she actually cares.”

“Not like—”

“No,” he lied, “not like that. She’s my therapist, old man. Even if I did care about her like that or by some chance she did me, I’m better than that. She’s certainly better than that.”

“So why do you look so hurt?”

Shikamaru dropped his head again. “Dad, you were told you should send me to some rehabilitation, helping place, right?”

He hummed in response.

“Why didn’t you?”

There was a silence.

“It was selfish at first; we didn’t want to admit you needed the help you do need. But in the end it cans down to one thing—you need your friends. You need your normal life, or else you’re never going to get out of your own head, Shikamaru.” Shikaku budged him with his elbow playfully. “You’re too much like me. You’re in you’re head, constantly, and only the people around you can ground you.”

“She grounds me,” he interrupted. “I walk into that room with her and I feel safe from myself. I feel free from whatever I think at any given moment, because she’ll bat it aside as though it’s false.”

“It is false, Shikamaru.”

“But when my head gets bad, all I want is...” he trailed off, shaking his head and taking another drag, too red with embarrassment to make another sound.

Shikaku pointed at the dying cigarette in his son’s hand and hopped to his feet. “You really should stop it. It’s a bad habit.”

“No matter how much you say it, old man, I’m never gonna—”