If by Litrouke
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Shikamaru thought too much.
A curse, a gift – right now, the habit was just a necessary distraction.
Lazily, he traced the thin white wisps threaded into the blue sky with his eyes, following the same pattern over and over. A clear summer day, there was hardly any breeze to rescue him from the suffocating itch of formal clothes. And knowing her, she'd make sure the ceremony lasted as long as possible – after all, she was at the center of it, so how could it be boring?
Shikamaru felt a shift in heat, another warm, almost-sweating man sliding into the seat beside him. The Nara kept his head tipped back, gaze roving across the bright azure, searching for more distractions.
But Shikamaru was never one to bother with flinging around determination and effort and hard work, especially when concerned with the inevitable. So when his thoughts trailed back, again, to her, he let the train of thought chug its way to the station.
Shikamaru thought he should probably be doing something, something more than losing himself in the blinding blue of the sky. For all his genius, he couldn't figure out exactly how to go about that something – he just didn't do big, dramatic scenes, didn't care for the role of the heroic prince.
Besides, there was nothing heroic or princely or even dramatic about ruining a wedding, no matter what scenario he devised. The only feasible options he could develop weren't his style at all; Nara Shikamaru, daydreaming genius, was useless in saving his damsel in delight. But maybe, if just for one short minute, he could be any of the other chuunin and jounin here…maybe a happy ending wouldn't be so troublesome.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Kiba, he'd have already made his move. When she had first swept down the aisle between the chairs and her angel's scent had drifted past teasingly, he would have lunged out of his seat and tackled her right there. He would have covered up the shocked squeals of protest ("This is a white dress, idiot! The grass stains will never come out!") with an eager press of his lips over hers. Then, maybe, after several long, long, long breathless moments of heaven, he might finally release her and mumble an explanation into the perfect, sleek curve of her neck ("Damn…you look like…a goddess …").
But he wasn't Kiba, and so the dog-boy remained in the seat next to him, whimpering away little comments about how goddamned fine she looked in that dress.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Lee, this wedding would never have happened in the first place. From day one, from the very first time he had watched her toss that silken hair with a graceful giggle, he would have dropped to his knees before her and swooped in at every opportunity to lather her in compliments and roses and declarations of his love. But if by some bizarre, terrible twist of irony, today still occurred, he would have leapt up to the stage in desperation; he would be throwing his fist into the air and reciting a speech of undying adoration right now, right as the priest asked for objections.
But he wasn't Lee, and so there was only a wide grin from the green-clad boy as he ignored the ceremony, lost in the blushing beauty of the medic-nin seated next to him.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Neji, she would not have even bothered to look at another man for the rest of her life. If he was that flawless, if he had that smooth creamy skin, if he had that long flowing hair, if he had that untouchable yet undeniable grace and confidence that the Hyuuga constantly carried, she would be the one to fall in love with him. And if she hadn't, he would have simply tossed a smile her way, or a few short, polished words; he would have lived up to the title of 'prodigy' and nobly rushed into battle to protect her – and, invariably, beaten down every opponent without breaking a sweat.
But he wasn't Neji, and so the Hyuuga sat quiet and composed, eyes of moonlight betraying no emotion, except a careful, brief flicker across the field to analyze Tenten's expression.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Chouji, he would be shoveling down chips until he choked. He would be so nervous and panicked and pained that the bag would be shaking, the whole chair vibrating in anxiety; he would get so worked up that, eventually, unintentionally, adorably, he would leap to his feet just before she accepted her vows and shout out something ridiculous and goofy and sweet ("I love you!"). And she would turn around, jaw dropped in surprise before it slowly formed a smile as a reply; she would be so proud – of her genius in devising the test and his courage for admitting what she knew all along ("Finally, idiot. I wondered what it would take to force that out of you."). He'd blush and she'd grin, and they would live happily ever after as the sweetest, purest lovers in Konoha.
But he wasn't Chouji, and so the Akimichi just wore that innocent, goofy grin and aww-ed in delight between slow, calm chomps as the bride and groom united in a kiss.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Shino, he would be acting exactly like the reticent ninja was now. Except, of course, he would be waiting, patiently (as always), for a certain something to occur, letting the seconds click by without worry, because his plan was flawless. He would be chatting with the legions of bugs in his mind, arranging and rearranging his army until it was in the perfect spot, and then he would release them, destroy the wedding, and appear suddenly at her side, darting out of nowhere to quietly announce his intentions in that deep mysterious tone. She'd be too shocked to refuse, and he'd carefully slide those glasses down to assure her he was serious, that he really did love her, and she would be honored and overwhelmed by the sudden trust and love he offered her.
But he wasn't Shino, and so the man remained silent, along with his bugs, hidden and detached from the world, except a little nod to Hinata's smiling whispers.
Shikamaru thought that if he was Naruto, he would not change anything about the demon-container's behavior. He would be wearing that exact same grin of pure ecstasy, his eyes would be wide in that same attempt to stare at her for as long and much as humanly possible, his face would be glowing with that same unbelieving joy that this was actually happening. He would be sneaking glances and childish smiles, and stealing kisses and little nips at every opportunity.
But he wasn't Naruto, and so Shikamaru had to just sit in his chair, quietly, stare at the sky, and wonder how love could be so troublesome.
ShikaxIno, NaruxIno, very slight hint of ShikaxNeji
Written as a Christmas/Hannukkah gift for my bestest Naruto buddy and fellow Shika-fangirl - Momo. As for the title: 'nara' can mean 'if; in case' when written in kana. Hoorah for Japanese puns.
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