He had been having a nice day up until that moment. It was a happy occasion: Ino was finally wed to Sai and, as one of her oldest friends, Shikamaru had been invited to the intimate ceremony in the oldest chapel in the quietest corner of the Leaf Village. There had been more flowers dressing the room than he had seen in the rest of his days put together. It was beautiful.
The reception should have been beautiful too: a fancy hotel bought out for the occasion - all intricate gold and marble architecture softened by white satin and petals, a band playing live music, a buffet of fruits, and a generous tab behind the bar. All of their friends and family were in attendance; everyone Shikamaru had known since he was young, celebrating together.
But she just had to go and ruin it, didn't she.
Temari had brought a date.
He had been looking forward to seeing her in the secret, understated way that always preceded their interactions. So much so that when she walked in, all he could see at first was his Temari with her hair done up in a more feminine manner than usual above that easy southern smile of hers. A black dress embroidered in lilac and silver with the pattern of desert scorpions, high to the milky smoothness of her neck and draped low to her feet, backless and slit up to her mid-thigh. The length of it fluttered around her sandal-strapped limbs like the breeze as she walked in. It had taken him a few blinks to even notice that there was a man on her arm.
It was against their rules. Sure, they weren't together but there were still rules, weren't there? It was unspoken but he was hers and (he had thought) she was his. They weren't exactly seeing each other but they damned well weren't seeing anyone else. Except now, evidently, Temari was.
As soon as the pieces fit together in his mind, his head shot round to avoid her gaze, staring suddenly at the tablecloth in front of him where he sat with the Akimichis. Had his suit been this tight all day? He loosened a button on his shirt, but it didn't help his breath come any easier. There was something in his throat that refused to shift even as the initial shock of the situation wore off. He tried not to look at her introducing him to people as she mingled with the congregation, not to see his hand on the small of her back as they stood together at the bar, not to watch her dancing with him with her arms around his neck. It shouldn't have been allowed.
He didn't recognise her date. Some fair-haired, well-groomed guy strutting around the wedding hall with a rich boy's charisma, hard features humbled by a nose that looked like it must have been broken at some point in his youth. Maybe it would be broken again before the night was over.
He spent most of the evening with Chouji, knowing that if any of the jealousy in his gut showed on his face, Chouji would be the last person in the room to bully him for it. He ensured that his hand was wrapped around a glass of whisky at all times, for fear of it instead being wrapped around someone's throat. But all the liquor in the world couldn't have made him forget her and he nursed his drink delicately, slowed by a quiet fear of losing control. All he could do was to try to avoid glaring at her all night, too angry to speak to her but too obsessed to leave. What if this guy kissed her? What if they left together? He didn't want to see it, but couldn't not see it. Something primal snarled inside of him.
Had he got this whole thing wrong? Did she not want him like he wanted her; did her body not ache for him like his did for her? Did she not belong to him, like he did to her? Or maybe he hadn't been wrong, but what they both wanted could never happen and this was her way of telling him to back off, that she was over it. That she didn't want to play this game of theirs any more.
It was near the end of the night when she approached him. The congregation had thinned slightly and Ino's mother was dancing – barefooted now - with her new son-in-law who looked rather out of his depth in her company. The kids had all long since been taken home, and Chouji was saying his goodnights to the bride herself. Shikamaru had been about to head home soon, too. After this last drink.
"What's up with you?" The smell of the perfume he liked filled the air around him as she approached. "You've been moping around with a face like a funeral all night."
He tapped one finger against the side of his drink, trying to focus on the icy coolness of the glass instead of the urge to touch her. He wanted to ask her where her date was. He wanted to ask her if she was staying at this hotel while she was in the Leaf. But he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
"I think you know."
"You don't have a problem with me being here with another guy, do you?"
He looked at her, their eyes meeting for the first time that evening, and something resembling anger smouldered through his bones, making him stand up to face her directly. "I do actually, yeah."
He was expecting a fight, but she just narrowed her eyes at him, one corner of her mouth curling into a cruel smile. She reached forwards, not for him but for his drink. She put the glass to her lips and drained the whisky from it, her eyes still locked with his.
"Good." When she placed it back down, empty in front of him, a hint of her lipstick remained on the rim. "Maybe now you'll finally get your shit together enough to do something about it."
The rest of the room blurred away to nothing as he watched her turn, not towards the doors to leave but towards the staircases to the rooms. She walked away slowly, deliberately, her dress flicking around her ankles and squeezing her hips.
She wasn't over it at all; she was just better at playing the game than he was. They did belong to each other.
Shikamaru straightened himself, his clothes feeling too snug again. He followed her.