A/N: Sad that this is my first completed Naruto story. It's pretty drabble-ish. I'm writing more Naruto stuff, so hopefully, whatever I post next won't be so melancholy.
Force of will
The bristles scraped harshly against her scalp, dragging through the roots of her hair and following the blond strands to the end of their short length before pulling free sharply. A single hand smoothed down the same path as the brush, making sure each piece remained in its proper place. Another swipe of the brush was followed by a stroke from the hand. Rinse and repeat. Over and over.
The reflection in the mirror mocked her. Despite endless attempts, the hair would not be smooth. It would not lay down where it was supposed to. Every time she brushed a patch flat, a few small hairs would pop out of alignment somewhere else. So she continued brushing, determined to win. She would have control over this. This at least, her own hair, would go her way.
The door behind her opened with a slight groan, and Shikamaru stepped into the room. She noted him out of the corner of her eye, but made no sign of welcome. Her frantic brushing continued. The frown was evident on his face as he approached.
"They're fighting again." It was not a question, but her head jerked in a slight nod any way. Shikamaru leaned against the wall away from her perch on the bed (his bed, to be exact) and watched as she continued to obsessively work her hair. Long silent moments passed while he contemplated her, before he finally sighed and reached out to stop her hand mid-stroke.
"Enough, Temari. Do you want to make your scalp start bleeding?" He snatched the brush out of her clenched hand, tossing it carelessly behind him. Somewhere deep inside her brain a small part of Temari growled slightly, and muttered about lazy bastards. The rest of her was focused on watching said lazy bastard as he approached her. All of her muscles were clenched tightly, and she shook slightly as he wrapped his arms around her. For a moment, the tired muscles tried to remain tense. She unconsciously inhaled his scent, and the muscles gave in. She went limp, and her head buried itself in his chest. It was not an unfamiliar position. She made no attempt to embrace him in return, merely allowed herself to be held. Her breath shuddered as she sighed deeply.
"You troublesome woman, you should have moved in with me in the first place. There was no need to go back to your parent's house," he said, and shifted so he was leaning more comfortably against the headboard.
Temari lifted her head to glare at him. "I do not need you to take care of me, Nara," she snapped. She did not, however, make any attempt to move.
Shikamaru snorted. He glanced pointedly at their position, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Then what is this?
Temari ignored him, and closed her eyes. She listened to his breath pulsing in and out. It was strong and steady. It never wavered. Breaths never came out of place. It didn't really matter if she couldn't control anything in her life. He was there. And he wasn't going anywhere.
A/N: No editing. Written because I noticed that I became obsessed with making my hair perfectly flat in its ponytail while listening to my parents…argue heatedly. Now I think I'm going to go do some stargazing, because they're starting up again. Dammit.