Eighth Meeting
"I feel terribly sorry for you."
He glared at her from his perch on the block of hay (where the hay had come from was completely beyond his reasoning) as the truck they rode bumped along the highway. The green signs informed him they were almost to Osaka.
The reason they were stuck on the back of a truck full of hay instead of the shinkansen: they forgot to buy tickets, Temari assured him it didn't matter because she could, once again, convince the conductor to let them off and buy tickets while on the train, and all would be well. It turned out that his mother had somehow stolen his wallet in a conniving effort to "fix them up," as he later found out when he'd called his parents in a panic and his father had to explain the entire situation.
"And why are you gracing me with your pity?"
Temari looked regal; she crossed and uncrossed her legs so sinuously Shikamaru vaguely wondered whether she had any bones in her body. She flexed her foot, back and forth, back and forth, her brown shoes dangling from her big toe. She surveyed him with half-lidded eyes as she leaned back using one hand for support.
"You're obviously falling in love with me and disappointing you is going to break my heart."
Fortunately for Shikamaru, he had been neither consuming drink nor food at that precise moment, or else it would have spewed all over the front of her shirt. She probably would have been pissed about that. "You have got to be kidding."
She shrugged. "I think it's pretty obvious." Her eyes darted away from him to glance at her fingernails.
"Really."
"You can't stop staring at me." She flicked her eyes up to look at him and arched one eyebrow at him, as if daring him to disagree.
"Have you seen what you wear?" He made a passing motion at her, drawing her attention to the purple mini skirt and the dangerously low-cut shirt she wore. The only reason the truck driver had even considered letting them ride in the back was because he'd found her leaning against the fender, her hands rubbing her feet slowly before traveling up the rest of her long legs. Shikamaru had sworn he'd seen a trickle of blood leak from the truck driver's nose. "No one else can stop staring, either."
She pretended not to hear him. She did that quite often, he noted. "You smile at me."
"It seems to be the safer option between laughing at you or acting like I don't care."
She didn't say another word. He closed his eyes, thankful for the moment of silence.
It was the middle of an intensely humid summer but the highway breeze was enough to cool the sweat along their temples. He enjoyed the open air, the odd comfort of the hay, the shining sun overhead—even if it was too bright for him to watch the clouds roll by. There was a sort of calm about the situation even with all the cars speeding past, a kind of peace he hadn't experienced in a long time. He couldn't even remember when he'd last trudged up a hill, lay underneath the shade of a tree, and watched the clouds form shapes of people and places.
Maybe this time in Osaka, he'd have a second to stop by the park, catch a few Z's, and enjoy the sky.
"Did you really want to kill yourself?"
Shikamaru could barely hear Temari, the loud roaring of the highway nearly deafening. He cracked one eye open and propped himself on one elbow to glance at her. She met his eyes unblinkingly.
He shrugged one shoulder. "No."
"Do you really love Ino that much?"
He prepared himself to say yes, of course, but the words caught in his throat. He wet his lips to speak, passing his tongue along his teeth, but his throat constricted.
Of course he loved Ino. Ino was perfect. She was beautiful, kind, smart, and hardworking. She wanted only the best for herself, for her family, and for her friends. What wasn't there to love about her? He knew, without a doubt, that there was no other woman like her, that he could never truly love another woman besides her. He'd met a lot of them and he'd never felt a vague inclination of attraction towards them, never felt his heart pull at the sight of them, never felt anything beside remote disinterest. But with Ino, the very thought of her being hurt or unhappy made his chest ache.
"It must be hard," Temari said, her nails scratching at the rope that held the haystack together, "to love someone so much."
Shikamaru didn't want to talk about Ino anymore. "Why are you going to Tsushima again?"
She looked up. Her eyes were devoid of emotion. "To see my mother."
He knew very little about Tsushima. In fact, all he knew was that it was a Japanese island somewhere between South Korea and Honshu. No one ever really went to Tsushima, unless they were desperate for a terribly boring vacation surrounded by shrines and graves.
Temari fell silent again. For the slightest moment, he considered questioning her further: what did her mother do in Tsushima, why was she living there, had she always lived there? But Temari had already moved on from the conversation, her head turned up to the sun, her hair illuminated by the fierce light.
He was almost glad that Temari carried only her bankcard and that there were no banks open on Sundays, rendering the card useless until the next day. Otherwise, they wouldn't have found themselves on the truck, the sun wouldn't have burned her cheeks a golden bronze, and the strap of her thin camisole wouldn't have fallen from her shoulder to reveal the thin sliver of a tan line. Instead, they would have been jostled back and forth on a train overrun with loud tourists, and considering what Temari wore, he'd have to save her from some guy trying to feel up her skirt.
He sighed and went to sleep.
Shikamaru was jolted awake by the truck sliding to a stop in front of a large steel building that stretched upwards and disappeared overhead, the top obscured by blinding sunlight. The truck driver appeared a few seconds later, helping Temari climb out with her suitcase. When it was Shikamaru's turn to attempt getting out, the truck driver disappeared in a huff, helping Temari pull her luggage onto the sidewalk and leaving Shikamaru to figure how to jump out of the truck with his dignity intact.
"Thanks," Shikamaru grumbled, rubbing an aching spot on his shoulder. He looked at the building and groaned. He was not looking forward to this.
A little ahead of him, Temari was giving the man a small bow of her head. "Thank you so much," she effused. "We greatly appreciate it."
She sounded like a politician, even if she didn't look like one.
The driver returned her gesture with a deep bow of his own, his wrinkled hands clasped behind him.
Shikamaru couldn't help lifting an eyebrow. He looked at the blonde woman from head to toe, trying to understand what was so greatly alluring about her, but found no answer. He'd admit she was particularly attractive, but that all went downhill the moment she opened her mouth.
The driver went back to his truck, turning back every other step to spare another look at Temari. When the truck finally drove away, Shikamaru turned to the woman, used his chin to point at the building, and led the way. She followed silently beside him, the wheels of her luggage clicking loudly on the pavement.
It had been years since he'd been there. He'd hated interning at the office during the summers, mostly because he'd be stuck inside doing mindlessly boring stuff he had very little interest in. Business wasn't enjoyable. He preferred lazing around, playing shougi, relaxing. But after relocating to Tokyo, he almost missed the slowness of Osaka enough to consider returning. But now…
He strode up to the reception desk, unable to recognize the woman who sat there, her eyes obscured by round glasses that sat at the top of her slim nose. Short strands of blonde hair stuck out of her ponytail, making her look frazzled. He wasn't surprised to find her there since Kurenai had left after the baby was due, but he couldn't help the disappointment that filled him. He would have liked to see Kurenai again.
"Excuse me, I need to see someone."
The woman coughed, startled, glasses catching the fluorescent lights above her and obscuring her eyes. She fumbled with her nameplate, her pen flying out of her hand as if propelled by an invisible force.
"W-who do you need?" She pushed her nameplate so far across the counter that it crashed near his feet.
Shikamaru knelt to pick it up. Shiho. That was a cute name. When he straightened, Temari was standing beside him, leaning her elbows on the granite counter while looking at the young receptionist with curiosity.
"Here you go," he said, placing the nameplate back on the counter, turning it give visitors a better look at her name.
Shiho stared at him for a long moment and then turned to Temari with a slight edge in her voice, "I'm helping someone right now, will you please wait in the seating area?"
Temari pursed her lips. She turned on her heels and stalked to where an area of straight-backed chairs stood near the entrance. She plopped down in the furthest chair and crossed her legs. Shikamaru tried to catch her eyes but she made it a point to look away, as if suddenly consumed by the revolving glass doors and the group of businessmen that hurried in and out of the building with their shoes clacking on the silver tiling.
He turned back to Shiho, who gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry, some people are just very rude."
He laughed and nodded. "I need you to call someone down here."
She picked up the reception phone dutifully. "Who is it?" she asked, looking at the list of extensions tacked carefully next to her computer screen.
"Chouji Akimichi."
The girl looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "And who is asking for him?"
"Shikamaru."
She nodded slowly and went back to the phone, entering the number. "Yes, Akimichi-san? A man is waiting for you in the lobby. He says his name is Shikama—"
"Shikamaru?" Chouji's voice was so loud even Shikamaru could hear it. "Tell him to wait right there. I'm going to kill him."
"Tell him to bring a lot of money," Shikamaru supplied. Shiho's mouth hung open in shock, the phone held a few inches away from her ear.
Tentatively, Shiho relayed the message. Chouji said something unintelligible before hanging up, leaving Shiho to stare at the phone in her hand.
Shikamaru looked back at Temari, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Come on, troublesome woman," he called.
She didn't move.
He scowled and stalked to the elevators where Chouji was sure to pop out. It would be a few minutes considering Chouji now worked at the topmost floor, occupying Shikamaru's old office. There was probably a picture of the wedding sitting on the old desk, maybe in the same exact spot Shikamaru had placed their picture when he'd been there.
A few moments later, he caught sight of Chouji towering over all the other men that were pouring out of one of the elevators. His best friend barreled through, stopping only when he caught sight of Shikamaru.
"You idiot!" It took his best friend only two long strides to reach him and soon he was gathered in Chouji's arms. "We were worried sick. Ino was crying every single night and she refused to go on our honeymoon and I'm going to kill you."
"Good to see you, Chouji."
Chouji placed Shikamaru back on the ground, running large hands through his fiery red mane. The permanent redness on his cheeks was flushed darker than usual, making him look like a tomato. Not that Shikamaru would ever tell him that.
"I can't believe you pulled that shit, man."
"I was being a little melodramatic, I admit," Shikamaru said peevishly.
Chouji shook his head. For the first time, Shikamaru realized that there were tears in his friend's dark eyes. "Don't ever do that again."
A sudden sense of guilt washed through him. He hadn't thought about Chouji. He'd been too consumed with his feelings—Ino didn't love him, Ino preferred Chouji, Ino loved Chouji—that he'd forgotten that Chouji, as much as he loved Ino, loved Shikamaru far more.
"I'm really sorry, Chouji."
Chouji shook his head. "I'm just glad you're alright."
Shikamaru nodded and pulled Chouji into another hug. His arms could barely wrap around the bigger man's frame. Everyone was sure to be watching them but that didn't stop him from burying his face in his friend's neck.
Finally, his friend pulled away, patting his back gingerly. Reaching in a back pocket, Chouji revealed an old wallet of Shikamaru's and placed it into his hands. "You know your mom called and told me not to lend you any money, right?"
Shikamaru grimaced. "I'm glad you like me more than you're scared of my mother."
"You're mother isn't as scary as you make her out to be."
Narrowing his eyes, Shikamaru looked around them. "Be careful she doesn't ever hear you say that."
"I'll treat you to some lunch, Shika. You look a little worse for wear."
"Actually…" Shikamaru searched for Temari, who still sat in her seat, watching him with her head cocked and her arms crossed over her chest. "Mind treating two people instead of just one?"
Shikamaru walked to Temari. She got up languidly, stretching her arms so far above her that her shirt rode up to reveal her taut stomach. When she straightened, she bent her head in greeting.
"Temari," she introduced herself.
"Ch-Chouji."
Shikamaru coughed. "I met her on the train in Tokyo. I'm taking her to Fukuoka."
Chouji nodded slowly, attempting to understand—not not that Shikamaru could even begin to explain. So, instead of trying, he pulled his friend along to their favorite barbeque place and hoped food would help distract Chouji from asking anything about Temari.
AN: I'm finally back… I think. Now that "How the Prince Met the Girl…" is finally finished (and is it crazy that I'm thinking of writing a sequel but sequels suck asdjkhfajksdf), I had some time (not really, it's 2AM, I just can't sleep) and decided to finish this chapter. Hopefully updates will be way more frequent now that I'm almost done with school and am preparing for the "real world." Or… maybe not. Anyway, hope you guys aren't all too furious with me. And if you are: here, have a cookie.
Just kidding. This is the internet. It is impossible for me to give you a cookie.
Please review!
