the first thing temari noticed when she returned to konoha was that the air had changed.
not literally. the village still smelled faintly of damp wood and smoke and summer grass baking under the sun. merchants still argued in the streets. children still ran too fast around corners. everything was exactly where she had left it months ago.
she saw him two days after arriving back from suna. by accident, almost. crossing near the mission building, heat pressing down over the village in thick waves. she spotted the lazy slope of his shoulders before she saw his face.
her chest reacted before she did.
it embarrassed her, how immediate it was. like her body belonged to him in ways she had never formally agreed to.
for one terrible second, his eyes softened.
then something in him shuttered closed.
no drawled complaint about troublesome timing. no quiet relief. nothing.
she stopped in front of him anyway, suddenly aware of how long she had spent thinking about this exact moment while crossing the desert home. the stupid things she wanted to tell him. things she would never say out loud now.
“you could at least pretend to miss me,” she said lightly.
the words landed flat between them.
she stared at him. waiting for him to undo it somehow. to smirk. to reach for her wrist. to become himself again.
but he only looked tired.
like she was someone he used to know.
and then silence spread out between them, unbearable and awkward and humiliating.
temari felt suddenly foolish in a way she hadn’t since she was a teenager. she had crossed an entire desert carrying him inside her chest like a secret flame. every letter he’d sent replayed itself in her mind now with grotesque clarity.
the clouds look annoying today. you’d probably like them.
she had read meaning into all of it because there had been meaning. there had to be. the nights on rooftops. his hand brushing hers and staying there. the quietness between them that felt more intimate than conversation.
the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
people did not look at each other like that accidentally.
“you heading somewhere?” she asked finally.
he wouldn’t even look at her properly now. his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder like seeing her directly cost him something.
a horrible understanding began forming inside her, still shapeless but alive enough to hurt.
“well,” she said, forcing a laugh that sounded brittle even to herself. “don’t let me keep the great strategist.”
for one second she thought he might say her name differently. softer. the way he used to when they were alone.
instead he stepped aside.
and let her walk past him.
that night she couldn’t sleep.
she lay awake in the room tsunade had arranged for visiting diplomats, staring at the ceiling while shame burned slowly through her bloodstream.
maybe she imagined it all.
maybe she had been arrogant enough to mistake affection for obligation. men were kind to women all the time without meaning anything by it. maybe she had built an entire future out of scraps.
shikamaru had held her face in his hands once.
on a rain-heavy evening after too much sake and too much honesty, he’d leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “you make things feel less empty.”
people did not say things like that carelessly.
by morning the ache inside her had sharpened into something almost physical.
ino opened the flower shop door with a bright smile that vanished almost immediately.
but there was pity there.
temari knew pity better than most people. men had looked at gaara that way for years. villagers looked at broken things that way.
and suddenly temari knew the answer before she heard it.
not the details. just the shape of the wound waiting for her.
ino looked devastated already.
“no. don’t do that.” her voice cracked slightly. “just say it.”
“the elders arranged something.”
the room became strangely quiet.
“a marriage,” ino continued carefully. “for shikamaru.”
because the alternative was collapsing right there among the flowers.
“a girl from one of the old allied clans. it’s political.” ino’s eyes filled immediately. “the nara elders have been pushing for it since his father died. they want stronger ties, more influence—”
“no,” temari interrupted quietly.
temari’s mouth had gone numb.
and that was answer enough.
something inside temari split open then. cleanly. horribly.
because suddenly his distance made sense.
the refusal to look at her.
and he had let her come back smiling.
her lungs stopped cooperating.
“he…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. “he didn’t say anything.”
“i think he was trying to protect you.”
temari made a broken sound at that. almost a laugh. almost a sob.
protect her by making her feel insane.
by letting her stand there hopeful and warm while he slowly carved himself out of her life without explanation.
tears arrived violently then.
not graceful tears. not quiet ones.
temari bent forward abruptly, one hand covering her mouth as if she could physically force the grief back inside herself. but it only kept coming harder, shaking through her body with humiliating force.
temari hated that the softness nearly destroyed her completely.
“i can’t—” she choked out. “i can’t do this.”
ino pulled her into her arms without hesitation, and that somehow made it worse. temari had spent her entire life being strong enough for everyone else. the moment someone held her gently, she shattered.
“he said—” temari gasped through tears. “he said i mattered to him.”
“then why does it feel like i imagined everything?”
ino held her tighter while temari cried against her shoulder with the kind of grief that leaves bruises internally. the kind that rearranges something fundamental inside you.
and neither of them noticed shikamaru standing in the doorway.
temari turned instinctively at the silence.
for a moment nobody moved.
shikamaru looked at her like someone had driven a blade directly through his chest.
her eyes were swollen. tears still clung desperately to her lashes. she looked at him with naked devastation, and he realized with horrifying clarity that he had done that to her.
his body moved before thought.
he crossed the room in three uneven steps and dropped to his knees in front of her so abruptly it startled both women.
his voice broke immediately.
she stared at him through tears, breathing hard.
“i can fix it,” he said desperately. “i’ll fix it.”
ino quietly stepped back.
shikamaru reached for temari’s shaking hands like he was afraid she might disappear.
“i know i screwed this up. i know.” his words came fast now, uneven and frantic in a way she had never seen from him before. “i thought if i pushed you away first it’d hurt less for you.”
his eyes closed briefly like the sound physically hurt him.
it was inadequate. pathetic, even. sorry could not touch the magnitude of this.
but he looked ruined by it.
“i didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “they kept pushing and i kept thinking i could stall it somehow but then you were coming back and i—”
temari had never seen him like this. shikamaru was composed even during war. calm under pressure. detached in ways that infuriated everyone around him.
now he looked obliterated.
“i love you,” he said suddenly.
even ino inhaled sharply.
shikamaru laughed once then, shaking and miserable. “god. there, okay? troublesome timing, i know.”
fresh tears spilled down temari’s face.
“you don’t get to say that now.”
his grip on her hands tightened desperately.
“but i swear to you, temari, i will burn this whole thing down before i let them take me from you.”
and he looked terrifyingly sincere.
“i’m not.” his voice cracked again. “i’ll leave with you right now if i have to.”
the words hung there heavily.
shikamaru nara, who loved routine and comfort and predictability more than almost anyone alive offering exile like it was nothing?
because she was worth more.
“i mean it,” he whispered, eyes shining now in a way she had never seen before. “i’ll run. i’ll go wherever you want. suna. anywhere. just don’t look at me like this.”
temari started crying harder then, because she believed him.
that was the unbearable part.
only now when the damage had already carved through both of them.
shikamaru pressed his forehead against her hands, shoulders trembling once with contained grief.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered again helplessly. “i’m so sorry.”
and she hated herself because she knows she’d forgive him
