Shikamaru had lived a hundred lives before anyone ever bothered to look too closely.

A problem child. A prodigy. A man with more shadows than friends.

Neighbors whispered about him—about the late-night arguments with strangers who vanished before dawn, about lights flickering in his apartment as if something moved without him touching it, about the way he walked through the building like he owned every inch of the dim-lit halls.

The week after the festival felt strangely… quiet.

Konoha had returned to its usual rhythm— mission reports, late afternoons swallowed by paperwork, and the endless noise of routine. Still, Shikamaru couldn’t help noticing how often his thoughts drifted back to the river, to lanternlight on water, to her laugh muffled by a pink rabbit plush pressed against her chest.

He’d told himself it was just a nice memory— But apparently, nice memories had a way of sticking around.

So when he spotted Usagi near the training grounds that morning —the same place she usually cut through on her way to town —he didn’t hesitate.

His pace was steady, his voice that familiar low drawl that carried a kind of lazy authority now.

“Oi. Thought I’d have to send a search team,” he said, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, a hint of smirk playing at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d disappear after winning your precious rabbit.”

He stopped beside her, gaze sharp but amused, eyes flicking briefly toward the horizon before returning to her. There was a new weight in his presence — still casual, but undeniably more deliberate, more there.

“Been a quiet week.”

He tilted his head slightly, his tone softening just enough to let something else slip through.

“Too quiet, actually. You been avoiding me, or should I take it personal?” For a moment, he let the question hang between them —the tease layered with something genuine.

Then, as if to ground it back in his usual cool control, he added, “If you’ve got time, walk with me. There’s something I wanted to ask you… before this week turns into another round of the same old crap.”

He didn’t wait for an answer right away —just looked at her sidelong with that sharp, calculating calm that had always made people underestimate how intentional he could be when he wanted something.

The café near campus wasn’t exactly his first choice of workspace, but it had decent Wi-Fi, strong coffee, and the kind of white noise that made thinking easier. Most days, Shikamaru claimed the same corner table—half-hidden by a bookshelf and conveniently close to an outlet. From there, he could tune out the chatter of other students and lose himself in the glow of his laptop screen.

He’d been working on a physics engine for his newest project, one that refused to behave the way he wanted. The cursor blinked back at him, stubborn, while his mind wandered toward the simulation’s gravity values. Everything in his code fell too fast, too heavy. Typical.

He stretched his fingers, took a slow sip of lukewarm coffee, and sighed. “Troublesome…” he muttered to himself, his usual commentary when something refused to cooperate.

That was when it happened—the muffled thud of a cup, a startled gasp, and the sharp chill of cold liquid splattering across his forearm.

He blinked, registering the mess. The dark stain spread across the sleeve of his hoodie, the one he wore so often it had practically molded to him. He looked up, and there she was—wide-eyed, apologetic, and holding what remained of her drink like it might still be salvageable.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just studied her—her flushed cheeks, the way she looked ready to bolt, and the soft tremor of embarrassment that practically radiated off her.

He could have sighed, could have complained, but instead something about the situation—the chaos of it, maybe—pulled the corner of his mouth upward. His voice came out calm, almost amused.

“Well,” he said at last, dragging his sleeve across the table to keep the keyboard safe. “Guess that’s one way to break the ice.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes still on her, the faintest spark of curiosity lighting them. She wasn’t part of his usual pattern. And somehow, that made her interesting already.

The hum of the festival was already spilling through the streets — laughter, chatter, the faint crackle of oil from food stalls. Lanterns hung from wooden beams and wire lines, swaying gently with the evening breeze, their golden light reflecting against shop windows and the slow drift of people passing by.

Shikamaru leaned against the low railing of the bridge overlooking the main street, hands shoved into his pockets. The glow from the lanterns caught in the faint wisp of smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. He wasn’t really smoking it — more like letting it burn down while he watched the crowd move.

Troublesome, he thought, exhaling slowly. Didn’t think I’d actually end up here.

But here he was — waiting.

He could already hear the faint call of a game stand in the distance, the sound of someone winning and a child laughing. The sky was fading into that deep blue right before night took over, and the paper lanterns were beginning to steal the show.

He tapped the cigarette against the railing, glancing toward the street that led into the district.

She said she wouldn’t be late… right?

He didn’t want to admit it — even to himself — but his eyes had flicked to that same street at least five times in the past ten minutes.

What a drag… can’t believe I’m actually checking the time for someone.

Still, there was a small, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth.

He could already picture her walking through the crowd, that bright spark she carried lighting her up more than any lantern could.

“Hn. Better hurry, Usagi,” he muttered under his breath, flicking the ash away. “Before I start thinking too much again.”

He straightened, finally taking the cigarette from his lips and crushing it underfoot, the faintest sigh escaping him — not of impatience, but of quiet contentment he’d never admit to anyone.

Shikamaru stopped outside her place just long enough to adjust the strap of his bag over one shoulder, posture relaxed like always —but the way his eyes lifted to her door gave him away. Focused. Anticipating.

“Tch… there it is. Knew that was coming.” He gave her a lazy look, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess some things never change, huh? Still quick to get worked up over nothing.”

He straightened slightly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “And for the record, I wasn’t calling you annoying… just stating a fact about how the day’s been going. But if the shoe fits—” he let the sentence hang, deliberately teasing.

Shikamaru’s brow lifted just slightly, eyes narrowing with that lazy, assessing calm of his. “Too long, huh?” he murmured, his tone somewhere between curiosity and something heavier.

He shifted his weight, taking a slow step closer — not invading her space, but close enough thatthe air seemed to thicken a little. “You talk about it like it’s some kind of distant myth,” he said with a faint, teasing smirk. “Makes me wonder if you even remember what it’s supposed to feel like.”

His voice stayed low, smooth, the kind of tone that slipped under defenses without ever needing to push. “You shouldnt let something like that fade out completely,” he added, gaze lingering on her for just a second too long. “Some things deserve better than to be left in the past.”

They’d barely made it five minutes under the stars before Usagi shifted closer, elbowing his side on purpose.

“You’re staring awfully hard” she said. “planning something?”

Shikamaru hummed, eyes still on the sky as he leaned down to steal a quick kiss from the corner of her mouth. “Just calculating odds. Statistically speaking, if I kiss you again you’ll stop fidgeting.” Another kiss followed —slower this time, deliberate. “See? Immediate results.”

She laughed against his lips, tilting her head so he had to work for the next one. “You use math for everything.”

“Only important things” he replied, brushing his nose against hers. “Like this.” He kissed her again, longer, unhurried, until she melted comfortably against his chest. “and making sure you stay right here.”

Usagi traced lazy circles over his heart, eyes drifting back to the stars. “You know,” she said softly, “this is surprisingly romantic for someone who complains about effort.”

“Tch,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then finally her lips again like he was proving a point. “I never said I hated effort. Just unnecessary effort.” his arm tightened around her, voice lowering. “You’re not unnecessary.”