Chapter Text
Part 1- the ceremony
Pov- Temari
The war was over. But for Shikamaru Nara, peace was heavier than any battlefield.
He stood at the edge of the crowd in the Konoha cemetery, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw clenched tight. The sky was gray and low, threatening rain but refusing to deliver. It felt like the world was holding its breath. The kind of stillness that didn’t soothe, but suffocated.
A shinobi like his father deserved thunder. Maybe even a storm.
Instead, there was just silence — thick, bitter, and cruel.
The wind rustled through the trees, stirring the incense smoke rising from the altars, curling in the air like something reluctant to leave.
Shikamaru didn’t move.
From a distance, Temari watched him.
She hadn’t planned to return to Konoha so soon. Not like this.
But when word reached Suna that Shikaku Nara had died during the war, something in her chest twisted. Not just grief — urgency. For Shikamaru. For the boy who once called her “troublesome” with a half-smile and eyes that lingered a second too long.
She hadn’t seen him since before the war — before everything fell apart.
Now, he looked older. Not just in the sharper angles of his face or the tension in his shoulders, but in the way he stood like a man hollowed out. Like something vital had been cut from him and never stitched back in.
Even hours after the ceremony ended, Temari could still smell the smoke clinging to her clothes — thick, acrid, and bitter, like regret.
She found him behind the Hokage monument, cigarette smoldering between his fingers, his gaze cast somewhere far beyond the village skyline.
“You weren’t even there when they lowered the casket,” she said quietly, arms crossed over her chest.
He didn’t look at her. Just took a drag, the tip glowing briefly. “Didn’t need to be,” he muttered. “He’s not there. Just a box. A stone. What’s the point?”
Temari’s jaw tightened. “Your friends were there. Your mom. You could’ve—”
He chuckled. It was bitter, low. Hollow. “Wow. Came all this way just to lecture me? That’s rich.”
“No,” she snapped, louder than she meant. “I came because I care. Because I thought maybe you’d need—”
“You thought wrong.”
The words hit like a kunai to the chest.
Temari froze. She could handle anger. Hell, she expected anger. But this — this cold, surgical detachment, the cutting precision of his voice — that wasn’t the Shikamaru she knew.
Still… she didn’t walk away.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. His eyes met hers then — glassy, guarded, and darker than she remembered. “Don’t pretend like you understand.”
She flinched. “Shikamaru—”
“You lost your parents when you were a kid, right?” he interrupted, turning to face her fully now. His voice was hard, a blade drawn without warning. “You probably don’t even remember what it’s like. So don’t stand there and act like you get what this is.”
The silence between them was brutal.
Temari’s breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted, but no words came at first. The air around them felt thinner suddenly, like it didn’t want to carry whatever came next.
But she didn’t back down.
“You’re right,” she said finally, voice steady even as it trembled beneath. “I don’t remember every detail. But I do remember what it’s like to grow up with a hole that never really closes.”
She stepped closer, gaze never leaving his. “I remember waking up every day and wondering why the world kept moving. I remember watching my brothers cry themselves to sleep and pretending I didn’t hear it so I could keep it together for them. I remember being angry for years at people who tried to help because it was easier than admitting I needed it.”
His expression faltered — just for a second. But she saw it.
She swallowed hard. “And I remember what it’s like to push people away before they can leave you.”
She was close now. Close enough to see the exhaustion in his eyes. Close enough to know he hadn’t slept.
“You’re hurting,” she said, voice low. “But that doesn’t give you the right to hurt everyone else. Especially the people that…”
Her voice caught.
Her heart thundered.
“…the people that love you.”
It slipped out — love. A word she hadn’t planned to say. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But it was out there now, raw and naked between them.
The world stilled.
Shikamaru didn’t speak.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t take it back. She couldn’t.
“You’re not the only one who lost something in this war, Shikamaru.”
Then she turned, sandals crunching on gravel, and walked away — leaving him in a haze of ash, silence, and the sting of everything he hadn’t been ready to hear.