In Which the Manditory Dream Sequence Occurs.
V
Shikamaru sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand for the millionth time, as if trying to wipe the purple burses under his eyes away. He mentally urged his eyes to focus on the black, wavering characters on the scroll in front of him, blinking furiously.
Another scroll thunked onto his table and he groaned, but when he looked up he was rewarded by a smile from one of Konoha's most infamous ninjas.
If Kakashi was there to hand in a mission report, then it was definitely late.
"Aa. Good evening, Kakashi-sensei. Welcome home," Shikamaru mumbled, turning back to his paper, even though he would have liked nothing better than to sit down and talk for a while.
"You look exhausted," Kakashi said, cheerful tone belaying the undercurrent of concern he held for his younger friend.
"Haven't been sleeping well... It's really annoying," Shikamaru grunted, scribbling an almost-illegible Nara Shikamaru at the bottom of the page and in the books.
"I see."
Kakashi pulled up a chair to the large, overlaiden desk as Shikamaru pulled Kakashi's mission report towards him.
"Why don't you just go home and leave this until tomorrow?" Kakashi asked, fingers plucking at the top of the scroll.
Shikamaru unfurled it and started reading, rubbing his eyes furiously. At this rate his mother would hunt him down and force him to stay home for a few days to rest, and then wouldn't that be a bothersome thing to explain...
"If I leave it until tomorrow it will just be one more thing. I might as well do it while I'm up," Shikamaru steadily explained as if he had said it a million times before, the knowledge that the next day he didn't have a mission keeping him going.
"I'll stay to keep you company then," Kakashi said cheerfully, leaning his head on his hand to watch Shikamaru work.
"You're probably tired from your mission, go home and get some rest."
Shikamaru mumbled the polite words, but didn't object further when Kakashi didn't move.
When Shikamaru scribbled his signature to countersign Kakashi's mission report it was even more illegible than usual, but he rolled it back up, dropped it into the pile waiting in the bin beside his desk and got up quickly.
Kakashi followed his move and replaced the chair in the now-empty sign-in office.
Shikamaru didn't dare look at the clock.
He didn't notice that Kakashi was walking him to his apartment until he reached the door and started fumbling for his keys and realized that the sensei was still there.
When he finally got the door open, he stood there tiredly and debated in his head the merits of inviting Kakashi in. Fortunately for him, Kakashi saw the even more pronounced slump in Shikamaru's shoulders, the heavy blinks of his eyes and the overall dazed look he held about him and just handed him a package.
"Jiraiya gave it to me. Brand new volume of Icha Icha Paradise. Don't stay up too late."
And with that and a wave, he poofed off into the night, leaving the scent of dog and konoha dirt in the air.
Shikamaru slipped into his night-black apartment and didn't bother turning on the lights. Naras knew how to see shadows, even half-dead. He kicked his sandals into a corner, dropped the book onto a table and fell into bed, asleep the moment he was horizontal.
He dreamt of being a ghost, floating around the city, insubstantial. Only those with special eyes could see him. Chouji, Ino, Asuma, and Naruto all saw him and waved, but kept on with their lives and wouldn't stop to sit with him. The ache of watching them cut through him like a knife, and then he realized he was being cut in half. Half a ghost here, half a ghost there, and a chasm in between. He didn't want to look at it, so he didn't, but it didn't remove the tearing feeling of being pulled apart.
But when the tear stopped at his throat, Kakashi showed up and looked at him, and clapped his hands to the side of Shikamaru's hips and smooshed him back together, smiling. Shikamaru felt like crying and he didn't know why.
He awoke in the dark, irritable that he had just wasted sleep on a dream, but knowing that he would have to remember his dream later, to think about. To figure out what his subconscious was thinking about. He fought the sheets over his still-clothed body, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
No one will hurt you for critisizing.
