A short while later, Gaara walked out of the bathroom wearing Shikamaru's clothes—a pair of faded black jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt with "Meh" on the front in white letters. His pale skin was still flushed and damp from the shower, and his bright red hair was slicked down and wet. The water had darkened it a few shades, so it looked like blood.

Shikamaru studied him. "The clothes are a little big on you, but I guess they'll be okay for now." Later, maybe, he could take Gaara to the store and find some that fit him a little better. Gaara probably had clothes back home, but Shikamaru doubted he wanted to go back and get them after what had happened.

"Thanks." Gaara stood, rubbing one arm, his gaze downcast as he studied his narrow, white feet. His toenails, like his fingernails, had been painted black, though most of the paint had worn off by now. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then closed it and looked away. His shirt had slipped to one side, and one sharply protruding collarbone peeked out above the collar.

"So," said Shikamaru, "what am I going to do with you?"

Gaara raised his teal-colored eyes. "I'll leave if you want me to." His face remained empty of expression, his voice flat and emotionless.

"If you left, where would you go?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have anyone you could stay with? I know you don't want to go back to your dad, but do you have friends or other family, or…"

"I don't have any friends. I have a half-brother and half-sister, but I haven't seen them in years. I don't know where they are."

Shikamaru furrowed his brow. "You don't have any idea?"

"My dad won't tell me anything about them."

"Just who is your dad, anyway?"

Gaara's shoulders tensed. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Okay, but I need to know a few things. Like, is there any chance he's going to come around here looking for you?"

"No. He doesn't want me to come back. He doesn't want me around at all."

"How come?"

Gaara looked down and said nothing.

Shikamaru sighed. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me, Gaara."

"If you don't want me here, that's fine. I can't blame you."

"I'm not going to kick you out if you've got nowhere else to go."

"You don't owe me anything. I'm not your responsibility." Gaara met his gaze. "If you want me out of your hair, just say the word. Tell me to go, and I'll disappear."

Shikamaru hesitated. For a moment, he was tempted. Taking Gaara in had been out of character for him. Normally, Shikamaru did his best to keep out of other people's business, and in return, he expected them to keep out of his. He helped people in little ways when he could, but he never got involved in their problems.

Gaara hadn't asked to be helped, so why did Shikamaru feel so compelled to help him? He didn't know…but he did know that he couldn't just forget Gaara, even if he wanted. If Gaara left and vanished now, Shikamaru would be stuck wondering about him—where he was, if he was okay—and he couldn't think of a more troublesome way to live.

"Forget it," said Shikamaru. "I'm not going to abandon you. You're staying with us."

Gaara looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You…want me to stay?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"

"There's always a reason."

He hesitated. "Maybe I'm curious about you. You're very…shielded. Very closed off. I look in your eyes and I can't see past the surface. Maybe I want to know what's going on in here." Lightly, he touched the center of Gaara's forehead with one finger. "If you leave, then I'll never know."

Gaara's smooth, pale brow wrinkled. "You want to understand me?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Gaara stared at him a moment longer. Emotions swam through the depths of those eyes, but Shikamaru couldn't quite read them. "I want to touch you," Gaara said quietly. "Can I touch you?"

Shikamaru's heart jumped into his throat. "Uh…like how do you mean?"

"Your face."

Well, that seemed harmless enough, if somewhat odd. "Sure. Go ahead."

Gaara took a step closer, standing almost toe-to-toe with him. Then, slowly, he raised one hand and touched Shikamaru's cheek with small, warm fingers—the lightest brush of skin against skin. Shikamaru gulped, holding perfectly still as Gaara's fingertips explored his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose. All the while, Gaara stared into his eyes with that focused intensity, and Shikamaru found he couldn't move. Gaara's fingers touched the corners of his mouth, then one finger pressed against his lower lip. Shikamaru felt heat creeping into his cheeks.

Then Gaara's finger slipped into his mouth.

Okay, this was getting weird. The weirdest thing, though, was that it didn't seem sexual; the look on Gaara's face was that of a child exploring something for the first time, seeking understanding through touch.

Maybe that was why Shikamaru didn't push him away. Instead, he stood motionless, heart thumping, as Gaara's finger touched his tongue—the inside of his cheek—then slipped out of his mouth, glistening with his saliva.

Shikamaru took a deep breath, trying to think of the proper words, if there even were proper words for a situation like this. He decided to just let it slide. "Gaara, you haven't really—I mean, you're not used to interacting with other people, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you ever had a friend before?"

"No." He looked away. "Even when I was very young, other children were always afraid of me. They knew I was different. They felt it. I tried to make friends at first, but people ran from me. So I stopped trying."

"Oh."

"I can't figure out why you're different. Why you're not afraid of me." He raised his hand again, and those slim, pale fingers grazed Shikamaru's cheek. "Shikamaru," Gaara said slowly, as if trying out the name, feeling its heft.

They were standing very close, Shikamaru realized. Gaara's shoulder brushed against his. Then he withdrew abruptly, crossing his slender arms over his chest.

Shikamaru cleared his throat. His heart was still beating fast and hard, but not out of fear. He didn't know what exactly he was feeling. "Listen…I've got a tournament tomorrow. I need to get some sleep."

"Tournament?"

"Yeah. Poker tournament. Just a local one, nothing big. That's how I make most of my money."

"They pay you to play?"

"Well, you have to win to get money. But I usually do. I can teach you to play sometime if you like. It's really not difficult to learn. The game's like seventy percent psychology, really—being able to read people, to tell when they're bluffing, that sort of thing. I mean, there's still an element of chance involved, but if you really know what you're doing, you can win even if you've got a crappy hand. You've got a great poker-face, actually." He realized he was babbling, fell silent and cleared his throat again. He couldn't seem to meet Gaara's gaze. "I'm going to get ready for bed. You probably aren't tired after sleeping for so long, but you can watch TV if you like—or play video games, or read—whatever you want. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again."

Gaara nodded, his gaze downcast. Shikamaru retreated into the bedroom, undressed, and slid beneath the covers.


Chouji arrived back at the apartment the next morning to find Gaara on the living room couch, wearing Shikamaru's clothes and playing with a Rubik's cube. He didn't seem to be trying to solve it; he was just twisting the colored squares around, a distant look on his face. As Chouji approached, he looked up.

Chouji looked around. "Where's Shikamaru?"

"He left already," said Gaara. "For his tournament. He said to tell you that there's some pancakes in the kitchen for you."

"Thanks." Chouji went into the kitchen, heated up the plate of pancakes, and drowned them in syrup. Shikamaru always made the best pancakes; moist, fluffy and perfectly golden brown. He washed the last bite down with a swig of milk, then returned to the living room, where Gaara was still fiddling with the Rubik's cube, and sat on the couch next to him.

Gaara froze. His shoulders tensed, and he looked up. "I don't have work 'til six," said Chouji, "so I'm just going to watch some TV 'til Shikamaru gets back. Or maybe a movie. Anything you want to see?"

Gaara lowered his gaze. "Not really." He stared at the cube for a moment, his hands motionless. "Shikamaru is your friend?"

"Yeah. We've been best friends since second grade."

"Then you love each other?" Gaara asked without looking up.

Chouji blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. "Sure. He's like a brother to me."

"I don't know my brother very well." Gaara let the cube fall from his hand, to the couch.

Chouji rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little awkward.

"I know you probably don't want me here," said Gaara. "In your apartment, I mean."

"No, it's okay. It's not really my apartment, anyway. Shikamaru pays the rent. I just chip in for food and utilities and stuff. I don't make a lot at my job, but Shikamaru's bright enough that he can find ways to make lots of money without ever really working. I don't know how he does it...I mean, he wins some of it, but still. He's probably the smartest person I've ever known. He took an IQ test once and he scored over two-hundred."

Gaara looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Is that unusual?"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'll show you." Chouji ripped a sheet of paper from a legal pad, pulled a pen from his pocket and drew a line across the middle of the paper. He made marks along the line, then numbered them. "Here's where most people are." He circled the middle. "Around ninety to a hundred. Only about one percent of people are around here…" He circled another mark. "One-forty or higher. And Shikamaru…" He made an X at the very end of the line. "Is out here."

Gaara stared at the paper for a moment. "It looks lonely out there."

Chouji studied the diagram. "Yeah. I guess it is. Most people don't know just how smart he is. He doesn't like getting a lot of attention, so he deliberately got average grades at school and on tests. Even his parents probably don't know his actual IQ."

"Just you?"

"Just me. I asked him to take the test for me because I was curious. Even I didn't expect him to score that high. I can't imagine the sort of thoughts that must go on in his head. He could probably be designing super-computers or something if he wanted, but he just wants to be a regular guy. Pretty amazing, huh?"

Gaara ran his fingers across the paper and didn't respond.

"Hey, have you ever seen Santa Claus Conquers the Martians?"

"No."

"Oh, you should. I mean, it's really bad, but that's what makes it great. It's even better if you're stoned, but I probably shouldn't smoke anything, since I have to work this afternoon. You ever smoked pot?"

Gaara shook his head.

"We've got plenty, but if you're not into it that's cool too. No pressure. Anyway…" Chouji slid a tape into the VCR. "Shikamaru and I have seen this like twenty times." He sat on the couch next to Gaara as the opening credits rolled.

After a few minutes, Gaara said flatly, "This is a terrible movie."

"Yeah, I know," said Chouji. "Isn't it great?" He opened a bag of potato chips and rummaged through it. "Bad movies are the best."

Gaara stared at Chouji for a moment, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Then he returned his gaze to the screen, where Droppo—the laziest man on Mars—was being punished with a tickle ray.


Shikamaru returned around five, counting his winnings. He saw Chouji sitting on the couch, watching TV and munching chips. Shikamaru looked around. "Where's Gaara?"

"He went down to 7-11. We were getting low on Mountain Dew."

"Has he been…okay?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. I mean, he's kind of quiet and he doesn't seem to know how to relate to people—I think he might have Asperger's or something—but he's nice enough. How was the tournament?"

"Fine. Got three hundred bucks." He tossed the money into the coffee can on the table.

"You have enough to enter that international tournament yet?"

"Almost. Still thinking about whether I want to do that. I'd have to clean out my savings, but if I win that, or even get in second or third place, we'll be set for the next few years." He sat down on the couch next to Chouji. "How'd things go with Ino last night?"

Chouji looked up, smiling, and scratched his cheek with one finger. "She broke up with Sasuke."

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. "No shit?"

"Yeah. She'd been thinking about it for some time. She finally mustered the courage to do it last night. You should have heard him. He was sputtering like an idiot. I don't think a girl's ever broken up with him before."

"Wait, you were there when she did it?"

"Sort of. She did it over the phone."

Shikamaru laughed aloud. "Man, I wish I'd been there."

"It gets better."

"Really?"

"Yeah." A flush rose into his cheeks. "I told her how I felt about her."

Shikamaru's eyebrows shot further up. "And?"

"And we're together now."

For a moment, Shikamaru couldn't respond. He stared, speechless. "Chouji, you—really?"

"Yup. We're going out on our first official date on Friday."

"That—that's awesome. Congratulations."

Chouji beamed, and his flush grew brighter. "I've never had a girlfriend before, so I might need some advice."

"Well, it's not like I have a ton of experience either. Just be yourself and you'll be fine." He smiled. "I guess Ino has better taste than I thought. I'm happy for you, man."

"Thanks." Chouji stood. "I'd better start getting ready for work. I have to be there in about forty minutes."

"Okay. Later, buddy."


After Chouji left, Shikamaru stretched out on the couch and stared at the ceiling fan, watching it spin around and around.

Chouji and Ino. Who'd have thought it? He'd be much better for her than Sasuke, that was for sure. Shikamaru just hoped she'd treat him right.

He was happy for Chouji. But a small, dark part of him was…not jealous, exactly. It wasn't like he wanted Ino for himself—she really wasn't his type at all. It was more a feeling of being left out. Left behind. He and Chouji had been single together for most of their lives. True, Shikamaru had had a few girlfriends back in high school, but nothing serious. At some point, relationships always became more troublesome than they were worth. It'd go okay for the first few weeks—then the drama would start. The girl would accuse him of being lazy (which he never denied), or get on his case for wanting to eat at Taco Bell instead of taking her to a "real restaurant" every time they hung out...and eventually she'd break up with him, or they'd just drift apart.

He'd never had much interest in sex anyway. Oh, he liked looking at cute girls and he jerked off when the urge struck him, but he'd never been obsessed with getting laid. He figured it would happen when it would happen, and if it didn't—well, it wasn't the end of the world.

Sometimes at school, he'd heard the jock-types bragging to each other about the kinkiest thing they'd ever done to a girl or the hottest chick they'd banged—how they'd done so-and-so up the ass or shot their load all over what's-her-name's face, or whatever. Many of their brags were obvious lies, but no one called them on it, because then of course no one would pretend to believe their bullshit. The whole thing made Shikamaru sick. For most boys, it seemed, sex was all about ego gratification and looking like a big stud, which made their endless quest for pussy seem hollow and dull.

And as for love…well, Shikamaru had never fallen in love. Never even had a strong crush on someone, really. In most of his brief "relationships," the girls had been the ones who initiated everything.

Chouji, on the other hand, was crazy about Ino, and he'd felt that way for years. Of course, she'd never given him the time of day. But now…

Shikamaru shook his head sharply, banishing the thoughts. Just because Chouji had a girlfriend now, that didn't mean he was going to suddenly stop being Shikamaru's best buddy. Nothing was going to change. He wasn't going to be abandoned. Right?

After a few more minutes of staring at the ceiling fan, he realized that Gaara still wasn't back yet. What was going on? The convenience store was only a block away. Even if he'd walked there, the trip shouldn't take more than ten minutes.

Shikamaru stood, put on his jacket and left the apartment.

-To be continued