A/N: I basically started this so that when i go braindead for my other stories, i'll have someplace where i can post all the random plot bunnies that jump into my head. I don't know if i'm gonna make it all shikaino or not, but i'm thinking i will. Who knows though, knowing me, if probabably won't end up that way...

This one's really low-key, mellow, it was relaxing to write. I know it's not perfect, but perfection is overrated anyway. I'd love feedback, it makes me quite happy!

Summary: When it came to fairytales and happy endings, she wasn't exactly a believer, but she could at least hope for something close.

Disclaimer: Yeah, Naruto not mine, you know the drill.


Fairytales
ShikaIno

The sun was red, oh so very, very red (red like the blood coursing through her veins, pumping through her heart), halfway past the horizon, slipping away, slowly, slowly, slowly…

It tinted everything a warm orange (not quite red, not quite gold, something between the two, a tainted color), from the sky to the grass to the trees, to his face and her face and their two forms standing side by side, though far enough apart.

(It was quiet, deathly quiet, but breaking the silence would mean breaking the spell. She couldn't do that).

She couldn't look away from the dulled orb (couldn't look at him), so she didn't. She watched every centimeter as it inched along, seemingly into the ground, though it would never come into contact. It didn't burn, didn't blind, didn't hurt. It was an escape.

He yawned (spell broken, magic erased, figures he would do such a thing) and she chanced a quick glance to her left, electric blue cautious and curious.

"Tired?"

A shrug, noncommittal as always, his hands lodged in the pockets of his light beige pants, hazel eyes as intent on the spectacle before them as she had previously been. The shadows under his eyes gave her her answer.

"You didn't have to come."

"…I know."

A sigh escaped her lips, lost into thin air, avoiding her ears, and hopefully his. (But he was Shikamaru, so it only made sense that he heard her, no matter how silent her call). Hazel swiveled, blue locked on, four splashes of such contrast painting such a clear picture.

(Clear to her, but she wondered if he understood).

She felt the strange something, the outlandish electricity between their calm gaze, and she realized that it was almost frightening, how much was lying hidden beneath what they chose to see.

Are you alright? he asked silently.

Do I look like I'm not? she answered, just as mutely.

The smallest smirk graced his lips. How should I know? it was saying.

(What they tried to pretend wasn't there was, in fact, impossible to pretend wasn't there. A complicated thought, but who said they weren't complicated? She would have scoffed at such an accusation: "Being simple is so boring," he would have merely frowned: "What a troublesome question…").

She wanted to say, 'But you should know, Shika, you're supposed to know. You do know, don't act like you don't.' But she instead shook her head slightly, her pink lips slanting up almost invisibly at the corners. She knew that if she opened her mouth her mind would go blank, the words erased from memory, a sign that they weren't meant to be said in the first place.

Instead, she said, short and sweet, "Do you believe in fairytales?"

A dark eyebrow rose, not quite critically, but quite bemusedly. "Is that a serious question?"

It was her turn to shrug. (Let him figure out the answer for himself. Now he had two questions to answer, but he was a genius, it couldn't be too hard).

He scrutinized her, eyes never leaving hers, and hard as she tried, she couldn't ignore the strange little twist her stomach was making. It was uncomfortable and not at the same time; it was strange and new and terrifying and exhilarating and just so exciting, and a part of her didn't want it to end.

(But that other part, the part trained to stop things like these, told her that he was Shikamaru and she was Ino, and there was nothing more to it. Don't let your emotions blind you, you're a ninja, you don't feel more than is necessary). She sometimes wished for a shovel that could bury this nagging little voice, only to dig it up when it was really needed.

Finally, and she didn't miss the sarcasm, he said, "I was never much of a fairytale kind of guy."

"…Oh." She left off the 'that's too bad.'

"Do you? Believe in them?"

"Hm…" she hummed deep in her throat, eyes upturning to the fiery sky overhead where the milky clouds were spread so thin, they were almost invisible against the vibrant reds and oranges. She thought, bit her lower lip in that expression that was just so her, and thought some more.

Finally, she answered. "Yes, I think I do. Or, at least…I'd like to." The last part was hushed, wistful.

"Why?" Straight to the point, as always, and hinting his bemusement. (Fairytales were troublesome, no doubt, because they weren't real). He really lacked a certain something called tact in many a situation.

She glanced at him again, her answer clear, her voice strong. "Because they have happy endings."

Something changed in his eyes, and she wondered if maybe he was beginning to understand (Maybe he had understood the whole time). His lips parted, but nothing came out, all sound lost behind an invisible wall, and so he frowned, forehead wrinkling the smallest bit. For once, he didn't know what to say, didn't know the answer. It frightened her, because it meant that she would have to take a stand and answer the question for herself.

(She had hidden it well, but she doubted he had missed it).

Will I ever have my very own happy ending?

She didn't think that she was ready to answer herself just yet. She couldn't make promises, because they just set you up to break them. But maybe, just maybe, a small step (giant, giant, terrifying leap) would tell her if she was heading in the right direction.

So she lifted her hand, held it out slowly, and lightly closed her fingers around his, swallowing past the painful lump in her heart telling her DANGERDANGER! She threw caution to the wind, which ironically was nonexistent. If she listened hard enough, she was sure that she would hear her own heartbeat pounding violently against her ribcage, struggling to break free of its cage.

Dark eyes widened, illustrating shock, and was that fear? What are you doing? they seemed to ask. (He was putting up his walls as she was breaking hers down).

"I don't know," she whispered back. "…Leaping."

If he was confused by her answer, he didn't show it, instead letting his eyelids fall back down as he sent her a steady gaze that, for once, she was absolutely at a loss for trying to decipher. So they looked at each other, just looked, didn't say anything. They were merely trying to understand. Because neither really knew what was going on.

And when he looked away, she was just as confused, if not more. (He wasn't letting go, but he wasn't holding on). This was the paradox that was them. Shikamaru and Ino: the paradox.

It was his voice that broke the (heavylightstrangenormal) silence, saying in his low (music to her ears noshedidn'tthinkthat!) tone, "It's getting kind of late…"

I don't think we should be doing this.

"It's still light out," she pointed out matter-of-factly, mirroring him and turning her head to the enormous sun, while trying to act as unaffected as possible by his hand still in hers.

How do you know?

He sighed, "Troublesome," but didn't pull his warm hand out of her light grasp.

I…don't know.

And a tiny spark of hope lit somewhere deep inside her.

"Just stay a little longer, please?" she asked, a small smile beginning to surface on her face, and her eyes sparkled in the pleasant glow of the setting sun that was almost gone from view.

Let this fairytale last a little longer.

She caught his sidelong glance, and this time it was her that broke eye contact. (Let him make his decision without her help).

She closed her eyes as he drew in a deep breath through his nose (it was a calming sound, she enjoyed it), and then let it out in his signature sigh. His hand shifted in hers, and for a second she felt a jolt of panic in her heart (was he leaving?), but was pleasantly surprised when he intertwined his fingers with hers.

"You're so troublesome…" he said with that hidden-yet-not hint of affection.

She let out a breathy laugh, the corners of her reopened eyes crinkling happily. She didn't have to look at him to know that there was a rarely-seen smile on his face; she could hear it clearly in his voice.

"Thank you." Maybe this is what fairytales are like…

A small squeeze from his hand sent a lazy, warm feeling pooling through her, like a sip of hot-cocoa on a winter day. (Was it really a coincidence that their hands fit so perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle?)

As they stood silently hand in hand, with the sun bathing their fronts in light and causing dark shadows to stretch out endlessly behind them, Ino wondered if maybe she had started going in the right direction, if her leap had been worthwhile.

She didn't quite believe in fairytales, but maybe, just maybe, she could have something close.