12:43 p.m

Ino was, if anything, a great pretender: hardly a trace of the previous half hour's impromptu crying session showed on her face, which shone alabaster-like in the heat of the midday sun.

Before they left his apartment, she had managed to re-apply her make-up, do up her hair, and smooth out her clothes. The balloons tied on her wrist, which bobbed with every one of her lilting steps, helped cement the image of the smiling, golden girl, untouched by the problems of the world.

But Shikamaru knew better.

For all the twenty-something years he'd known her, she hadn't been able to fool him completely. Sure, there were times when he'd rather take a nap than listen to her bickering, but he understood that the girl was hiding something beneath all the yelling and demanding. That Ino was more sensitive than she let on.

It stood to reason, then, that the emotional onslaught of being broken up with a few days before, plus the realization that someone else would be enjoying a night she'd dreamed of for a long time (and a very long time it was – ever since they were kids, practically) and arranging it all to boot, must be a doing a number on her system.

Which was why Shikamaru was making the effort of glancing at her every now and then, checking to see any minute changes in her features that told of imminent tears – even if it was rather tiresome, what with the overflowing box of decorations in his hands.

Still, it was a sort-of-important task, considering how his somewhat emotionally unstable companion was the captain of this whole operation and he was but a just-got-dragged-into-this lackey.

And maybe it was the relatively light lunch, the third cup of coffee, the lack of sleep, or a confluence of all of these factors, but he wasn't finding it as troublesome as he thought it would be. As punishing as it was to struggle to keep pace with both her incessant chatter and mildly harried steps, making sure Ino was fine was proving to be an easy enough task to do.

(It might even be described as pleasant, but not too pleasant as to distract from the troublesome nature of the woman walking beside him.)

Perhaps it was the long-standing bond between them and their families that made it so. They have known each other for a long time (longer than he would have liked, most days), and so he was in a better position than most to gauge her trove of emotions. Which was not to say that he was successful in interpreting them most of the time, but there.

Or perhaps it was simply the familiarity of the action. Nearly a decade ago, Shikamaru had been assigned the task of keeping an eye on Ino whenever she used her family's technique, and he still did that, to some extent, when they were out on missions together (which was rarely, if ever). It was often a burden – one could hardly fight properly while guarding a spirit-less body (more so when said body belonged to a vain woman) – but it was his burden to carry, as their late sensei strongly pointed out one too many times.

Whatever the case, the task was easy enough to accomplish, and with Ino's attention everywhere else but him, Shikamaru didn't have to make up an elaborate excuse for why he was looking at her more than he'd done in the past year.

Not that there was much occasion to see her in the past year, given the peripatetic nature of his diplomat duties and her own busy schedule...

Nevertheless, they arrived at Mr. Miyamoto's doorstep without incident, and when the shoji screens parted as soon as their shadows darkened the entryway, Shikamaru wasn't at all surprised. He was willing to bet the old man had been waiting steadfastly just behind the door for their arrival.

Shikamaru inclined his head in greeting, and introduced a rather chipper Ino to Mr. Miyamoto, who smiled at her warmly, before turning a teasing a grin back at him, and Shikamaru, in turn, heaved an exasperated sigh.

Ino, fortunately, was oblivious to this exchange, and merely thrust out her hand in an enthusiastic greeting. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Miyamoto-san," she gushed. "Shikamaru told me all about your restaurant, and I must say, you do have quite a lovely place here. I love it!"

The old man was understandably tickled by her words, and Shikamaru watched with some amount of amusement as Ino heaped compliment after compliment on the hapless restaurant owner. There was still a measure of guilt to the whole enterprise – Kami knew Choji could eat – but there was something decidedly charming about the way she disarmed any other doubts Mr. Miyamoto may have had about the arrangement.

It, of course, was only entertaining because he wasn't on the receiving end of Ino's cajoling, but Shikamaru was well aware how potent her words and actions were. Hell, his whole involvement in this scheme was a glaring example of that.

Nothing to it now, though. He was just going to have to see it 'til the (bittersweet?) end.

Only a few lights inside the main hall were lit, but it was enough to see the outlines of the cut-outs and ribbons stuck on the walls, which he'd spied earlier in the day. Shikamaru raised a skeptical eyebrow: was it really appetizing to be surrounded by garish red and pink décor during a supposedly intimate night?

But, well, he was hardly one to talk, being the assigned carrier of the results of Ino's crafting project.

Sighing just a little dejectedly, Shikamaru followed after the still-chatting Mr. Miyamoto and Ino – something about which era the building was modeled after – to the roof deck.

The stairs were, thankfully, wide enough to accommodate the balloons on her wrist. The only downside to this was that Shikamaru had to swat at the things more than once, and that was a tad difficult to do with the box.

The climb itself, though, was uneventful, unless one counted the brief pause Ino took on the second floor landing, her eyes lingering on the large, papier-mache heart hanging over the center of the room. It only took a second, but Shikamaru didn't miss the appraising way she eyed the thing. He was 101% certain that, if she wasn't currently in the business of buttering up Mr. Miyamoto, she would have said something about it.

Something rude, too, judging by the way her lips twitched unflatteringly.

But the urge was very quickly restrained, and she jogged up the stairs as if nothing had happened. Shikamaru merely shook his head at this pretentious display, and didn't bother reigning in a smirk.

2:21 p.m.

This scene, Shikamaru reckoned, was rather familiar.

The only differences were that they were (a) sitting on actual chairs and not his paper-strewn floor, and (b) Ino wasn't lying halfway on top of him. Her head was, however, resting on his left shoulder, but that was a large enough improvement: Ino was of a smaller stature, but only deceptively so. He wouldn't dare say that out loud, of course. That earned one a punch to the jaw, at the very least.

"I think we did great here," Ino mused, still blinking fascinatedly at the silvery web of hearts strung up above them. "Don't you think so, Shikamaru?"

His gaze drifted upwards for a beat. "Sure." Then, on impulse, he added, "It is a lot better than whatever's hanging on the second floor."

But instead of laughing as he'd expected her to, Ino straightened up and gave him a reproachful look. "Shikamaru!" she chided, her eyebrows creasing in that familiar way. "Miyamoto-san is your friend! You shouldn't say that! It's rude and hurtful! Take it back right now!"

She seemed to be deciding whether to hit him for it or not, so Shikamaru took the momentary opportunity and reached out to flick her forehead. "Yeah, right." He wondered if it would be overkill to laugh at the wounded look on her face. "Ino, don't be the hypocrite now; I know you were dying to say something there."

Shikamaru leaned back and, throwing an arm over the back of his chair, watched as an expression of pure indignation crossed her face.

"What?! Excuse me! I was not!" retorted Ino hotly. "I thought it was…" She glared at him, wide-eyed, as she appeared to search for a word.

Shikamaru just waited.

"Unique!" she finally blurted out, a somewhat triumphant gleam in her eyes as she pointed bossily at him. "I thought that was a unique and bold choice for restaurant décor! You've clearly never seen anything like that before," she added, sniffing somewhat haughtily. "Uncultured as you are."

He snorted. "Yeah, I never have, because no one in their right mind would—Ow!" Scowling, he rubbed at the stinging spot on his shoulder where Ino had hit him. "What? You know that it's true."

"Doesn't mean it's not rude!"

"But you concede that it is true?"

Ino paused, and bit her lip uncertainly. "I did not say that."

"I thought it was implied," answered Shikamaru, shrugging a little. "Wasn't it?"

"No, of course not! You're putting words in my mouth!" She huffed and crossed her arms defensively. "And I don't know about you, but I am not going to pay for Choji's dinner. Like, I love the guy and all, but no. So if you want your finances stay on the green, I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your rude comments to yourself."

With that, Ino, sporting a childish pout, stood and stomped off to the stairwell. Shikamaru barely glanced up at her; she would get over it soon enough. Yawning widely, he folded his arms over the table, intending to take a short nap, just until her mini-tantrum blew over.

But his head had hardly touched his forearm when Ino returned, nearly tipping over him as she fell on her chair with a boisterous laugh.

"It really is ugly, isn't it?" she gasped, wiping happy tears from her eyes. "I mean, papier-mache? Really?! Who even does that?"

2:43 p.m.

It took Ino upwards of ten minutes to gather herself together. When she finally regained enough restraint to not break into giggles at the sight of the décor, Shikamaru marched her back downstairs, bid the owners a hurried farewell, and left the restaurant.

But even out on the street, she could hardly contain herself, chuckling as they passed rows and rows of establishments, each of them, of course, plastered with similar designs.

Shikamaru wondered if he ought to be grateful – at least she wasn't on the verge of crying (sad) tears anymore? Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he sighed, and ambled after her.

They had been walking for quite some time when he realized that they weren't heading to the theater district at all; they were, in fact, going the other way. Had Ino's giggling fit somehow skewed her sense of direction so thoroughly?

"Hey, the theater district's that way," he said, tapping her once on the shoulder. "I thought you said we were going there after the restaurant?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. We're just going on a little detour." Ino flashed him a reassuring smile over her shoulder. "No worries! We still have plenty of time."

A little over three hours could hardly be defined as such, but Shikamaru didn't comment. They had managed to fulfill most of the tasks on her list so far; the least he could do was trust her on this. This was her plan, after all.

But when the buildings started to thin out and the dry, hard ground characteristic of the Academy's training grounds came into view, Shikamaru became confused. Unless Ino had an errand separate from the one they were on, nothing in this part of Konoha warranted a visit from either of them.

"We're going to meet up with our fireworks guy," Ino chimed in, answering the question in his thoughts. "Just a short conversation. Five minutes, tops. He said he'd be here around this time, so…"

She trailed off, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the surrounding fields. Whoever this person was would be easy enough to find. Though the nature of their occupation was dangerous and boasted a rather poor life expectancy, that didn't stop a large percentage of shinobi from participating in the dating-slash-marrying game. Shikamaru didn't have the actual numbers, but he did hear rumors every now and then, and so there was a great chance that training would be the last thing on most people's minds today.

Work hard, play harder, as Kiba once said.

Shikamaru didn't agree at all, especially since the statement was accompanied by a very suggestive, feral grin, but that was beside the point.

A gasp from his companion announced that she had spotted their quarry. With characteristic energy and glee, Ino grabbed his wrist and drew him away, towards the western end of the fields. He was hardly fazed, having experienced this many times beforehand, and adjusted his pace appropriately to keep up with her excited steps.

The first thing that Shikamaru registered, as they approached the clearing, was the heat – dissimilar to the paltry heat given off by the sun in the winter months, but closer to the stifling intensity of a summer bush fire. This one was contained, however, and it came to him that someone nearby was practicing Fire Release techniques.

Sure enough, a jet of flames shot up just above the tree line, taking on the form of a hazy dragon for a few seconds, before dissipating with a near-quiet rumble.

Something tingled at the back of Shikamaru's mind, like he was supposed to know who this person was. And there was something strangely familiar at the strains of chakra he could detect in the air; he just couldn't pin-point what it was.

Quickly, he ran through the names of all his friends and acquaintances. Living in the Fire Country certainly complicated things, but he managed to shorten the list into a number of individuals capable of wielding the unruly element. Fire was notoriously difficult to handle, and with the amount of fireballs this particularly shinobi was spewing, it only made sense for him (or her) to possess considerable skill.

Ino nudged him, not-so playfully, in the ribs. "Hey, what are you thinking so deeply about? Come on!"

With renewed determination, she pulled, until he was walking again. His eyes, however, were still fixated on the sporadic bursts of flames in the air. His eyebrows creased. It was coming to him, but not fast enough.

They rounded a bend, and suddenly, they were face-to-face with a literal tornado of fire. Small enough not to cause destruction, but impressive nonetheless. Ino gave a delighted hum, and glanced at him expectantly, as if she was seeking approval. But for what?

Shikamaru tilted his head at her inquiringly, but she was no longer looking at him, but at the figure standing in the middle of the artificial lake. Hesitantly, he looked over, wondering why a sense of disquiet was twisting in his gut.

It took a while for the flames to disappear, but when they did, Shikamaru understood. Oh, yes, he understood perfectly.

Author's Note: OH. GOD. I went through about five rewrites for this chapter before I was satisfied enough to publish it. At one point, I had 1700+ words on the page but decided to start over from scratch. *sighs* I like this one a lot though, so all those virtually crumpled Microsoft Word pages were worth it. Thanks for reading!