Unrequited love

Song recommendation: Come back to us – Thomas Newman (1917 OST)

The storm abated the streets turning the road into a muddy mess, Ino watched the spectacle from the security of her room, the drops against her window made her shiver, but the temperature of her house was warm. No curtains were on her window: she had decided to wash them after her time in the hospital, dust had collected on them and made her sneeze repeatedly when returning home. Her dad had not thought of such a small detail, but she couldn't blame his lack of foresight.

People ran past her vision, trying (and failing) to spare their beings from wet dirt on their clothes, they were too busy moving around as to see her, she contemplated how easy it would be to end them; they were too engrossed in protecting themselves from simple drops of water as to see the real menace.

Ino blinked when a man turned the corner, his grocery paper bag had disintegrated in between his fingers forcing him to use his coat to carry the products he purchased, she would have laughed when she saw his face crumble, but no smile reached her lips.

Inoichi hadn't come home since last night, but Ino couldn't help but be grateful for this small window of privacy, he hadn't allowed her much freedom after her release from the hospital, and Ino knew better than to argue with an overprotective parent who had experienced almost losing his child. The thought warmed her because he cared about her and she loved him so much she couldn't stand to see his concern, but Inoichi –from time to time- looked at her like she was a puzzle to solve, and Ino was sure there was something dangerous behind that belief.

He left because he couldn't stand the sight of her.

The wind brought the start of autumn, it wasn't a particularly rainy season, but with each passing year, more and more water poured down the sky. Ino loved autumn like no other season, unlike most of the members of her family. She supposed it should be the spring the moment she shall love the most, but there was poetry in watching the flowers die with each breeze, the sky that gave them life taking it away selfishly.

A girl that she used to play with, Yamanaka as well, had tried to understand Ino's logic, and so came up with the idea that in the spring the flowers were reborn, and so autumn was quite nice because, by killing them, it allowed them a new beginning. But Ino was a stubborn child from the very beginning of her reasoning, and always believed that the flower that blossomed during spring was completely different from the one that died in autumn. She told the girl as much, assuring her that there was beauty on death too, and that if a flower could be born and die just months apart and be equally beautiful on each stage of its life, then they should aspire to do the same.

The girl hadn't wanted to play with her again, but Ino couldn't care less.

Humans weren't like flowers, however, and the spectacle of their death wasn't as comforting when their bodies withered away: they were too warm and too messy, and didn't die quietly. She wondered, then, how will her end find her? Will she die with a scream on her lips while breaking apart in fear, or will she wither away peacefully, soft as petals against skin?

Being shinobi meant that she lacked control in the conclusion of her existence, and the thought saddened her, she rested her forehead on the cold glass of the window, watching the drops fall on the crystal. There was justice embedded in the idea that, since she took the Suna's kunoichi life away from her, her own heartbeat will be snatched away as well, but Ino hoped she'll die more gracefully.

She expected –to feel, to think, something else. In her clan death was accepted and talked about, there were no hidden meanings behind tragedy or a God to yell at for the injustice. From the earth we come and to the earth we'll return. Their ashes were buried so they'll become roots, their spirits lived in the forest their remains fertilized. But death and murder were equal in the premise and different in their approach, she had seen members of her clan succumb to the trauma that killing brought and she knew that she should feel something, remember details of the execution she performed –the eyes of the kunoichi, her expression when she dug the kunai on her neck, the feeling of her body against her own when they fell to the ground, the sound of her gargles.

Yet, there was nothing. The images played behind her eyelids as if performed by someone else, the only thing that got her to pause was the sensation of warm blood against her toes, but even that was a reaction driven by disgust rather than tragedy.

I have lost you now, her father had mumbled, she felt so much, her feelings bubbled on the surface of her skin for the world to see, and she had been broken for it. Her friend and her crush had not returned the connection she craved to form, and now, she wanted to feel no more.

It wasn't anyone's fault.

"I wanted to spare you," Inoichi's voice came from the door in her room, Ino hadn't felt his presence –but she hadn't look for it either, "you were such a kind soul." He said, his voice cracking under his grieve.

"I'm sorry," she replied, pressing more harshly her forehead against the window, her voice sounded devoid of emotion, but she truly was sorry for the part of her that died.

Inoichi did not reply to her, yet, she could still hear him sob behind her. She was the only person he loved –she knew, he wasn't hard to read when he allowed his defenses to crumble.

They were so different, she was used to loving so much and so quickly while he always wore a mask whenever he went. He cared for people, he cared for his clan and his friends, but he loved no one but her, he wasn't shy to admit that the core of his devotion was on her heart and the love she spread. He often said that she was born with enough heart for the both of them.

He had lost his child, perhaps it would be easier for him had her body succumbed to the same fate as her soul, but her heart insisted on beating, despite having nothing more to give. "I'm so sorry dad." She whispered again, and Inoichi walked away.

She was a pale figure against the window, her white nightgown covered from neck to toes, it was getting dark outside, and yet she did not move from the place she stood, she had been there for hours, watching the world outside move and live without her, it was weird. But he had watched her doing it, so that was weirder.

He had just wanted to make sure she was fine, guilt had eaten his insides for as long as she had been in the hospital, and he thought that, once he saw her, everything will go back to normal, back to where things were before. Things weren't exactly good, but he knew how to navigate into them, he knew what to expect.

He had waited days before coming, allowing Ino time to rest and recover in the warmness of her home, but he had grown impatient, and he had no excuse for that change in demeanor but the fact that he craved for normalcy: Asuma had left to do missions and collect income for the realm, his mother had been all over him –overprotective to the point of annoyance, while his father became distant. He had barely seen him, Shikaku was almost all day locked in his office, he came out only for dinner and at his mother's insistence. But even so, his mind was elsewhere, he was wary, tense. Shikamaru understood that it might be an automatic response after being attacked in your own home, your own village, but he thought his father was used to feel insecure.

But there she was, once more, destroying it all.

It wasn't her fault, it wasn't, and it made his insides burn with anger and pity, she had almost died, but he couldn't put past his feelings. He was a prideful boy, from a prideful clan that worshiped logic above everything, and yet, his heart kept beating hard against his chest, blaming her for not fighting harder to return to what she used to be.

Shikamaru himself hadn't been the same, more often than not he woke up in a cold sweat during the night, nightmares where Asuma didn't reach him in time to save him perturbed his once peaceful mind. But Ino Yamanaka was a stubborn child, who allowed no one and nothing to break her, even Sakura, whose attempts had pushed Ino to extremes, hadn't been able to crush her spirit.

And yet…

She saw him watching her, their eyes met for the briefest of moments until she glanced elsewhere, her motions slow. She didn't care that he saw her in this state, her arrogance, something he had always linked to her very existence, had faded. How dare she disappear?

This was the only possible outcome, from the moment they graduated from the Academy, Ino's path had been sealed: blow after blow towards her most basic possessions, and she was done for. Her essence didn't stand a chance.

He had realized this after just mere seconds of standing here, his back was pressed against the building in front of her shop –she had a bigger house in the Yamanaka compound, but Inoichi had wanted privacy, so they moved to the department on top of their flower shop. He was shivering, the raindrops were cold and the faint wind that crept up his soaked pants and neck weren't helping in the matter. But it hadn't been, something had made him stay, he was rooted to the spot despite his body's protest: he wanted a reaction, anything that could mean that Ino was still there, and who better than Shikamaru being his typical stubborn self as to get an emotion out of her?

But Ino had barely acknowledged his presence, a distant gaze was everything he got from her, and then nothing, Shikamaru furrowed his eyebrows and clicked his tongue with distaste, surely he deserved at least something more than that?

He was watching her when her forehead abandoned the glass where she had rested it for at least thirty minutes, her skin reddened by the pressure, and saw her turn –she didn't glance at him, not once, her hand dropped to her side as if defeated. She moved away, and he could see her no more, but still, his gaze remained, he swallowed the sudden discomfort that arose on his chest at her departure.

Shikamaru was a smart boy.

"No…" he mumbled, his eyes filling with tears because it wasn't fair, had he committed such an awful crime during his previous life as to deserve this? The wind still blew and the water still fell, yet the time seemed to stop –everything froze around him, the only thing that he was able to listen to was the beating of his heart.

He raised a hand and gently placed it on his chest, feeling his pulse, then, just as suddenly, he made a fist and hit it hard. He had been betrayed by his own –stupid- nature, hadn't he always known that mind should rule over the body? Then how come his emotions had bloomed without him noticing?

Betrayal.

"I hate you," he whispered to the –now, empty window, wishing with all his might that the figure that once stood there returned so she could see his bubbling anger, but his treacherous heart skipped a beat at the thought. "Fuck," his voice cracked, and he pressed his palms on his eyes to hide the tears, rain cascaded down on him, and the drops were harsh on his pouted lips. "Fuck."

A/N: I'd like to think that I did a good job in the build-up of this particular aspect of Shikamaru but perhaps I didn't? It's this too sudden? Is this awfully made? I wasn't even sure how to approach it, but well… please let me know.