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We need more Shikadai fanfics!!

This is a small what if reader and Shikadai were forced to share an collage apartment .Please feel free to add more to the story we can make a collective effort 🥰🫣

Let’s say he’s 21 and so is reader , I’ve used non binary reader verbs . Go ham fam “ smooches “

Chapter 1

The calculus of coexistence

The first thing N/Y noticed about Apartment 4B was the smell of old ramen and a faint, lingering despair. The second thing was the single, twin-sized mattress shoved haphazardly against the far wall.

The third was the tall, lanky guy with the pineapple-shaped ponytail already sprawled out on it, holding a worn copy of The Art of War and looking like he’d just had his favorite nap interrupted.

“N/Y,” they stated, extending a hand more out of reflex than genuine welcome. They’d hauled three boxes up four flights of stairs and were already sweating through their favorite band tee. Their enthusiasm for college life, which had been at a solid nine out of ten an hour ago, was rapidly plummeting.

The guy didn’t move. His dark, sleepy eyes tracked N/Y’s hand, then their luggage—two massive suitcases, a backpack, and a guitar case—before sighing, a theatrical, world-weary sound that suggested this interaction was, in fact, the greatest burden he’d ever faced.

“Shikadai,” he mumbled, his voice a low, gravelly drone. He didn’t shake the hand. “And you’re my… what? The other half of the random roommate assignment? What a drag.” He pronounced "drag" like it was an advanced calculus problem he was already failing.

N/Y let their hand drop, a spark of annoyance igniting the fatigue. “The other half of the lease agreement, actually. And I specifically requested the room with two beds.”

Shikadai finally pushed himself up onto an elbow, the book falling open on the cheap, beige carpet. He had the sharp, intelligent eyes of a hawk but the energy of a sloth. “Yeah, well, the landlord's a menace. Said the other bed frame broke last semester and they’d ‘get to it.’ I’ve been here for three weeks. This is what ‘getting to it’ looks like.” He gestured lazily around the cramped studio space.

The apartment was barely bigger than a large storage unit, a single room functioning as the living area, bedroom, and kitchen. A small, separate door probably led to the bathroom, but N/Y didn’t want to test their luck. A tiny kitchenette with a two-burner stove and a suspiciously grimy microwave was wedged into a corner.

N/Y looked at the single mattress, then back at Shikadai, a single, horrifying conclusion dawning. “Wait. You mean we’re… sharing this room? As in, this whole space? For the entire semester?”

Shikadai shrugged, his face a mask of practiced apathy. “Unless one of us wants to sleep on the linoleum next to the microwave. Look, I’m an easy-going guy. I just want two things: uninterrupted peace and quiet, and maybe a little shelf space. I’m an early-to-bed, later-to-wake kind of person. I only use the apartment to study and sleep. Try not to, you know, be a disruption.”

“A disruption?” N/Y scoffed, dropping their heavy backpack on the floor with a satisfying thump. “I’m here to attend classes and, you know, live. And what you call ‘easy-going,’ I call ‘lethargic and entitled.’” N/Y kicked a suitcase towards the wall next to the window, claiming the territory with the aggression of a seasoned warrior. “I’m a journalism major. I pull all-nighters. I play my music loud when I write, and I need coffee and a clear line of sight to the fridge. And I don’t ‘maybe’ need a shelf; I need half of that rickety bookcase by the door.”

Shikadai sighed again, a sound so profound it should have been put to music. He finally swung his legs off the bed, a sudden burst of movement that seemed wildly out of character. He stood up, towering over N/Y by several inches. The exhaustion in his face was real, but so was the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Look, Y/N . This is a temporary situation,” he said, his voice flat but firm. “We draw a line down the middle of the room. Your mess stays on your side. My peace stays on mine. We coexist like two atoms that absolutely hate each other but are bound by an expensive, non-refundable college bond.”

N/Y met his gaze, their own eyes narrowed. This wasn't going to be the ideal start to their college career, but they weren't about to let this pineapple-haired philosopher claim the moral high ground—or the entire closet. They smiled, a tight, competitive expression.

“Fine,” Y/N said, picking up their guitar case and resting it pointedly against the 'Shikadai' side of the room. “A line it is. Just so we’re clear, I’m a night owl. I’m competitive. And if I find one of your pretentious self-help books on my side of the room, it’s going out the window.”

Shikadai just rolled his eyes, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. “I look forward to the inevitable chaos you’re going to cause. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to figure out the most efficient way to ignore you.”

He flopped back onto the mattress, picked up his book, and the silence, now heavy and charged with unsaid words and shared tension, descended upon Apartment 4B.

The war had officially begun.

babyboofangirl

Chapter 2

The Unpacking Standoff

Y/didn't believe in efficiency; they believed in action. The silence lasted less than five minutes before Y/N unzipped their largest suitcase and began tearing through it, tossing clothes onto the carpet in an effort to sort them before Shikadai’s apathy could somehow contaminate the fabric. They wanted everything unpacked, sorted, and established before the sun went down.

Shikadai, meanwhile, had found an almost meditative state of stillness. He hadn't turned a page. He hadn't twitched. He was a master of energy conservation, and the sheer kinetic output radiating from Y/N’s unpacking frenzy seemed to offend his very nature.

Finally, the inevitable clash came over the power strip.

Y/Ns dragged a heavy desk lamp from one of their boxes—a vintage, gooseneck model they’d thrifted. It was for late-night studying, and it required the main outlet by the window. That outlet, however, was currently monopolized by a six-foot extension cord powering Shikadai’s laptop charger and a small, archaic electric fan.

“Excuse me,” Y/N said, their voice artificially sweet. “I need that outlet for my lamp.”

Shikadai didn't lower his book. "Already using it. See?" He tapped a page with his thumb. "Sustaining my focus. This requires power."

"It requires one percent of what that power strip is using! Move your charger over to the kitchen outlet. You're reading by natural light anyway."

Shikadai lowered the book slowly, his expression a mixture of profound betrayal and mild irritation. "The kitchen outlet is greasy, and I need the fan. It circulates the air that you are currently filling with the smell of cheap deodorant and anxiety."

Y/Ns felt their face flush. “It’s eucalyptus and determination. And I am not plugging my lamp into a fire hazard. We need to split the outlets—it’s only fair.”

He stared at them for a long moment, the quiet intensity of his emerald gaze making Y/Na feel suddenly exposed and overly loud. It was a tactical assessment. “Fine. We'll use the principles of Game Theory to allocate resources. You get the window outlet for the next four hours. I get the kitchen outlet. At 10 PM, we swap. Unless I’m asleep. If I’m asleep, my peace takes priority."

Y/N threw their hands up, defeated but impressed by the unexpected academic formality of his passive aggression. "Deal. But if I hear one snore, I am using my guitar as a makeshift alarm clock."

Shikadai just sighed, a slow-motion slump back onto the pillow. "Such a drag."

The war of the shared studio had escalated from a cold war of wills into a fully scheduled, time-limited conflict, and the college semester hadn't even officially begun.

#chapter 2 #shikadai x reader #shikadai nara