#nekokeiko

[kagemaneking]

Cont. from here || @nekokeiko

The faint scent of crushed herbs and wildflowers settled around him, familiar now, impossible to ignore. It wasn’t overwhelming —it was simply… there, filling the spaces between his thoughts until concentrating became more troublesome than he’d ever admit aloud.

His heartbeat remained steady —but he was acutely aware of every point where they touched. Her fingers woven through his. Her forehead resting lightly against him. The barely there weight of another person trusting him enough to stand without distance.

It made him feel strangely anchored.

Shikamaru wasn’t accustomed to people entering his space so naturally. Most kept a respectful distance, and he preferred it that way. Keiko never seemed interested in those invisible boundaries. Somehow she’d crossed them so gradually that he hadn’t noticed until she was already standing where almost no one else ever had.

He could have stepped back.

But he didn’t.

And even if he had wanted to. Her next words took him off guard.

“Disappear?” The word left him quietly as he finally lowered his eyes to their intertwined hands, studying them the same way he’d study an unfamiliar shogi board. “that’s a strange thing to say, Keiko. If this is goodbye —you’re doing it wrong.” Yes. It was wrong. Why leave now? He knew she didn’t want to. He would bet his life on it. This wasn’t like her.

“People don’t cling this hard unless they’re hoping someone asks them to stay.” Only then did he turn his head enough to meet her gaze. There was no embarrassment, no flustered panic —only the measured look of someone trying to solve a problem before making his next move.

“Tell me what’s chasing you, Keiko. Because if you came all this way just to leave without saying that part…” His brow lifted slightly “…that’s just troublesome.”

His dark eyes searched hers —attempting eagerly to find the answers she was trying so desperately to hide. Fear. Exhaustion. Resignation. They were all there, buried beneath the faint smile she insisted on wearing.

[kagemaneking]

My heart is full, just by watching him.

They call him Shikamaru.

From this spot, in this café, it’s safe. He can’t see me, but I’ve got him in a perfect side profile.

I ogle quietly, eyes slipping upwards behind a book or my laptop.

The sway of his high ponytail. His nonchalant stance. His fingers fiddling with his lighter.

I feel my pulse skip.

The way he sips his coffee. Double shot espresso. He certainly likes it bold and bitter.

The way his half-lidded eyes scanned the words as he reads. Focused, undistracted.

The way he looks out the window, absentminded but full of thoughts at the same time.

He’s a regular here, so naturally I become one, too. Like a ticket to my favorite show, a daily dose of calm medicine.

Oh, this intense, yearning ache. It kills me and yet I feel so alive.

Shikamaru doesn’t know. I don’t think he does.

He doesn’t need to know.

Shikamaru sat near the back of the cafe where the lighting dimmed just enough to keep people from bothering him. The quiet hum of conversation blended with the soft clinking of porcelain and the hiss of steaming milk behind the counter. Troublesome place to work —but at least it smelled like decent coffee.

One leg crossed over the other, he held the thick file loosely in one hand while the othr rested near a small cup of espresso gone half cold. His eyes moved lazily across the pages at first glance —but behind that tired expression, his mind was dissecting every detail with surgical precision.

Names. Dates. Inconsistencies.

The report claimed the target had crossed through Tanzaku town three nights ago —yet two witness statements contradicted each other by nearly an hour. Hmm…sloppy. Either the witnesses were lying —or someone had altered the timeline afterward.

Shikamaru took another slow sip of espresso, bitter and sharp on his tongue.

“…What a drag.” His thumb tapped lightly against the edge of the paper as possibilities lined themselves up neatly inhis head like pieces on a shogi board. Someone wanted the investigation redirected. The question wasn’t why —people always had reasons. The real question was who benefited from the confusion.

That was when he felt it.

A stare.

Not the casual wandering glance of another customer —but the distinct pressure of eyes lingering too long. Focused. Intentional.

His expression didn’t change. Only his eyes shifted first, dark irises sliding over the rim of the cup before his head slowly followed. Calm. Measured. Predatory in the quietest way.

Near the counter, a couple laughed over pastries. By the window, an old man flipped through a newspaper. A woman in heels crossed her legs while pretending to text.

No one suspicious —still… the sensation remained.

He held hid gaze a second longer toward the crowded room before taking another sip as if uninterested. If someone was watching him, they were either trained enough to hide it —or nervous enough to look away first.

Neither possibility was comforting. Thr page in his hand rustled softly as he lowered his eyes back to the report.

But now he was reading two things at once.