The third time Yuri crossed paths with Shikamaru was an encounter neither had anticipated – a blind date.
Yuri found herself reluctantly seated in a barbecue restaurant, facing what appeared to be the most exasperating individual she had ever encountered. This was no small statement, considering her role as a field medic had exposed her to months of dealing with the most cantankerous and uncooperative shinobi in the village.
Her colleagues had evidently deemed her lack of a bustling social life unacceptable. In their zealous pursuit to "broaden her horizons," they orchestrated this rendezvous with someone they deemed a perfect match for her. Whether to feel offended by their presumptions or not was an ongoing debate in her mind.
Her date, Yuki Tamaki, presented himself as the quintessential second son of a prominent merchant family within the Fire Nation. He wielded entitlement like a shield, cloaking an undercurrent of insecurity. Arriving tardy by a solid half-hour, he commenced the evening by grumbling about the chosen venue and reprimanding an innocent waitress who had dared inquire about their orders. Once they managed to place their requests, he launched into a tirade, disparaging the restaurant's perceived lack of sophistication. His critique extended to fantasizing about how, as the scion of a fabric and clothing business, he would have magnificently managed such an establishment – a proclamation wholly unrelated to his family's actual trade.
As their plates arrived, Yuki assumed a role he felt most compelled to perform – that of a culinary commentator. He embarked on an exposition regarding the contents of her dish and, most importantly, its precise quantity.
"It's rather unseemly for a lady to indulge in such hearty eating," he patronizingly enlightened her. "After all, a woman who can't exercise restraint over her appetite isn't particularly alluring to men."
Yuri observed with detached interest the qualities her colleagues had identified as a perfect match for her in the man sitting before her. She sincerely hoped that she didn't project even a fraction of the pomposity or condescension he exuded. The notion left her feeling both affronted and concerned.
"Speaking of preferences, I find women with a muscular build equally disagreeable. Don't you share the sentiment?" he inquired, feigning genuine interest in her opinion, a ruse she saw through effortlessly. "The sole reason I agreed to this encounter was because I was informed that you are a female shinobi working in the hospital, implying you possess a modicum of femininity compared to your more robust counterparts."
Unsurprisingly, he appeared unfamiliar with the term "Kunoichi," a fact that failed to astonish Yuri.
Yuri offered a noncommittal hum, focusing on her steak and taking swift bites. She aimed to expedite this arduous charade they referred to as a date. Arguing with someone like him was a fruitless endeavour. Individuals of his ilk were all too common, capitalizing on the protection afforded by ninjas while concurrently maintaining a condescending outlook, relegating them to a lesser status.
She contemplated how he might react if she disclosed her true identity – not a confined hospital nurse, but rather a field-trained medic. Her physical prowess might not rival that of combat-focused kunoichi, but her physique was far from negligible. She dedicated herself to rigorous training to attain her current state.
"In all honesty, those women don't even attempt to conceal their emulation of men. It's truly unattractive to witness. A woman's allure resides in her delicacy, after all. They ought to embody softness and pliancy. How else can they expect to gratify a man?"
"Ah," she responded softly, her tone measured, "is that so?"
In couldn't have been farther from the truth. His words were steeped in ignorance and misogyny, a torrent of nonsense that made her cringe inwardly. If her fellow kunoichi caught wind of such remarks, he'd likely find himself short a few teeth. For Yuri, however, violence wasn't her chosen method of response. She didn't engage with insults, let alone entertain them. Her approach relied on blocking out trivial remarks, a survival mechanism honed through interactions with injured and cantankerous ninja.
"Indeed, and I hope you'll pardon my candour," he condescended, his tone dripping with smugness. "The attire they choose to don is utterly inappropriate. It's astounding how women frequenting the red-light district exhibit greater modesty in their clothing compared to your typical female shinobi. They seem to believe that their prodigious strength grants them the license to prance about half-naked." A derisive scoff accompanied his commentary, followed by his first actual bite of the meal.
Yuri's gaze swept around the restaurant, a sense of unease settling in. As Tamaki's fervour intensified, his volume escalated without his apparent awareness. It eluded him that he occupied an establishment belonging to one of the Four Noble Shinobi Clans, the Akamichi. Prudence dictated a swift redirection of the conversation before his audacity led to an abrupt and potentially dangerous altercation.
She cleared her throat gently, interjecting with a measured tone, " "Speaking of strength, I've heard that you, too, had a brief stint at the shinobi academy," Her words carried an unspoken caution, an attempt to steer the discourse toward less treacherous waters.
Tamaki momentarily halted, his desire to expound on the state of Leaf kunoichi appearing temporarily suppressed by Yuri's artful shift in subject. The shift, she surmised, was likely tolerated due to its focus on him.
"Hmm, indeed. I graced the academy with my presence for a few months," he conceded, absently twirling his fork through the air. "That duration proved sufficient for me to ascertain my desires. Puzzling, though, why your shinobi ilk necessitates an extended period. Then again, I suppose those moulded to rely on their physical prowess, as opposed to mental acumen, may encounter difficulty even with the most elementary tasks."
Yuri's restraint in not forcefully introducing his head to the table stood as a testament to her years of disciplined training. This evening, if nothing else, showcased her capacity for patience under trying circumstances.
"What, may I ask, did you glean during those scant months?" she inquired with practiced composure. She anticipated a narrative wherein he discovered the arduous demands the Academy imposed on its students – an environment where one's background and familial influence held no sway. She vividly recalled the procession of affluent civilian progeny who entered her classes over the years, their expectations swiftly dashed by the unrelenting demands of hard work and dedication. The realization that they weren't the paragons of perfection they'd been led to believe, their virtues spoon-fed on a silver platter all their lives, often fomented a bitterness that coloured their perception of the institution and those within it.
"Not much of true value, really," he retorted disdainfully, a dismissive tone coloring his words. "Although I must confess, I've outshone my peers in strength and stamina." As he spoke, his gaze lingered suggestively on the exposed shoulders of her dress.
Yuri admonished herself for her momentary surprise at his unwelcome advance. Of course, he would exhibit inappropriate behavior to complement his sexism and misogyny. It was hardly a shock, but for her, it marked the breaking point. Having completed her meal and exhausted her tolerance for this conversation, she felt no inclination to endure his deluded claims about his supposedly above-average attributes and how they might be advantageous to her. She saw right through his transparent facade.
"Interesting," she responded with a placating smile, her tone polite. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom."
Without waiting for a reply, she hastened to the checkout area, her resolve unwavering. She paid her portion of the bill without glancing back, recognizing that he likely seized this chance to indulge in an inappropriate gaze at her departing figure. She had little faith that he possessed the discernment to realize the restroom was situated on the opposite end of the establishment.
"Hello, I'm sorry to trouble you. I was seated at table twelve and would like to settle my share of the bill," she greeted the woman at the counter, her name tag bearing the name Aiko.
Aiko-san's gaze shifted to the table where Tamaki remained. "That dreadful, huh?"
Yuri sighed softly, her response laden with resignation. "Worse."
A sympathetic chuckle escaped Aiko-san as she handed over Yuri's portion of the bill. After settling the payment, Yuri offered her gratitude before making her exit through the front door, evading Tamaki's notice. She lamented the waste of her evening; a double shift awaited her on the morrow, and now she would navigate it with diminished sleep and a vexed state of mind.
Stepping to a corner of the restaurant, concealed from direct view of the entrance, Yuri retrieved a cigarette from her bag. She recognized the vice as a detrimental habit, yet the strains of life rendered it a challenge she struggled to overcome.
"Would you mind if I bum one?" A low voice inquired from her right.
Yuri's surprise was palpable as she found her former classmate standing beside her, casually leaning against the restaurant's brick facade. It had been three years since she last spoke to Shikamaru, a dismal occasion when Uchiha Sasuke's defection had cast a shadow over the Leaf village. She recollected the defeated look he wore that day, slumped, and wounded in the hospital corridor. The contrast between that memory and the figure before her was stark – he had grown taller, even with his slouched posture, his hair had lengthened, and he now sported the official Chunin uniform. His once rounded face had matured into sharp contours, his eyes no longer housing unadulterated desolation. In its place, a sense of confidence and self-assuredness emanated from him, a transformation that warmed Yuri's heart.
"Shikamaru-san," she greeted him softly, extending her cigarette packet for him to take one. She observed as he lifted it to his lips, the subsequent flick of his grey lighter creating a distinct sound that punctuated her contemplation.
"I wasn't aware you were a smoker," he remarked after a shared interval of inhaling the intoxicating fumes.
Yuri found herself momentarily at a loss for a suitable response. Their acquaintance wasn't deep enough to warrant such an observation. Instead, she opted for a nonchalant shrug and a faint smile. Perhaps he intended it as a reflection on the novelty of a medic indulging in smoking. It wasn't an unfamiliar sentiment – Shizune-sensei had voiced her own disapproval upon discovering Yuri on the hospital rooftop with a cigarette in hand. A lecture about the detrimental impact on her well-being ensued, accompanied by a reminder of her duty as a medic to display better judgment. Yet, Yuri had deftly curtailed Shizune's admonishments by teasingly alluding to the notorious alcoholic tendencies of the most renowned medic in recent history.
"Not particularly," she replied, exhaling a plume of grey smoke that contradicted her words. "Just on occasion, when I'm feeling a bit stressed. It provides some relief."
Shikamaru emitted a thoughtful hum, his voice resonating with a depth she hadn't recalled. "Is that stress connected to the guy you were with at the restaurant?"
His inquiry was delivered with casual nonchalance, akin to discussing the day's weather. However, beneath his words, Yuri detected a subtle firmness. A brief concern flitted across her mind – had he overheard the offensive comments Tamaki had spewed? She doubted those remarks presented a flattering portrayal of her, sitting there in silence, enduring his nonsensical ramblings. Shikamaru lacked sufficient familiarity with her to recognize her inclination to avoid confrontations by withdrawing from uncomfortable situations. That had always been her modus operandi – she wasn't one to engage in conflicts; her role lay in healing, after all.
"Perhaps," she replied, her cigarette dwindling to its final moments. "I'll concede that he wasn't the most captivating companion."
"Then why endure his company?" Shikamaru inquired.
Yuri pressed her cigarette against the wall, extinguishing its ember before dropping it to the ground. "I had the rather unfortunate luck of being coerced into a blind date. An experience I'll take measures to avoid repeating. Apparently, he was deemed my 'perfect match.'"
A soft chuckle escaped Shikamaru, who stamped out his own cigarette with a deliberate gesture of his heel. "Well, I don't know about that. Personally, I believe you deserve someone of considerably more refinement."
Yuri blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. She held his hazel gaze for a fleeting moment, lost in contemplation. "Is that so?" she responded; her curiosity piqued.
"Absolutely," he affirmed.
Her mind raced, uncertain of how to respond to his earnestness. Opting to sidestep the moment, she changed the subject. "I should be on my way," she mentioned, indicating the direction from which a visibly disgruntled Tamaki emerged, finally noticing her departure.
Acknowledging her intention, Shikamaru nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips, adding an attractive dimension to his features. "Thanks for the smoke."
"No problem," she replied, feeling a faint warmth rise to her cheeks beneath his focused gaze. "Take care, Shikamaru-san."
"Until next time," he quipped, offering a casual wave before turning and re-entering the restaurant. Yuri watched him with a bemused smile, wondering if he had followed her out to ensure her well-being. She dismissed the thought, appreciating his kindness but doubting he would go to such lengths for someone he barely knew.
As she headed home, Yuri made a determined promise to herself – a comforting bath followed by a pointed conversation with the culprits behind her ill-fated blind date. Her solitary inclinations suited her just fine, and from that moment forward, she wouldn't allow anyone to convince her otherwise.
The last encounter between Shikamaru and Yuri before that pivotal day was marked by an awkward discomfort. The blame for this unease was uncertain, yet Yuri couldn't help but attribute more of it to Shikamaru, given his reputation for intelligence and nonchalance.
As a field medic, Yuri's responsibilities alternated between missions outside the village and hospital work within. On this day, she found herself tending to injured shinobi who were far from cooperative – a testament to her unfortunate luck.
"Hatake-san, please keep the neck brace on until a medic instructs otherwise," she sighed, her voice tinged with mild exasperation as she met the gaze of the grey-haired shinobi.
"Maa, Yuri-chan," he playfully lamented, his eye crinkling with amusement. "How am I supposed to read with this thing on?"
Yuri's gaze fell upon the tattered green book he held, her exasperation deepening. Setting her clipboard aside, she moved to retrieve the discarded neck brace. Kakashi-san had returned from a mission with multiple broken ribs and considerable strain in his neck muscles, the area around his throat a deep shade of purple. It seemed someone had made a serious attempt to break his neck. Yet here he lay, one arm casually propped behind his head, engrossed in his reading, as if the mere act of drawing breath wasn't inflicting insufferable agony.
"I think it's safe to say that sparing you from reading that," she gestured toward the poorly disguised romance novel, "is a blessing in disguise."
Carefully, she positioned the brace around his throat once more, Kakashi offering nothing more than a half-hearted whine in protest. He didn't resist her efforts, as Yuri was one of four medics he grudgingly submitted to. While she understood why he might hesitate to challenge Lady Tsunade's orders, and it was widely known that Shizune-sensei was formidable when her directives were questioned, Sakura-san, as his student, had no qualms about physically enforcing medical instructions. As for Yuri, she remained a relative unknown to him. The peculiar part was his recurring request for her to be his medic. She surmised that her non-violent approach made her a more appealing choice among the limited options he had selected.
"That's rather harsh, Yuri-chan. What am I supposed to do to keep myself entertained?"
Yuri levelled a deadpan gaze at the famed copy ninja, a man whose reputation extended across the five nations. "I'm certain you can conjure up an activity that won't worsen your injuries, Kakashi-san. And if you're at a loss, I could always summon Sakura-san to remind you of the significance of keeping that neck brace in place."
At the mere mention of his formidable female student, Kakashi-san chuckled nervously. "Maa, there's no need for that, Yuri-chan."
She released another sigh, the weariness evident in her expression as she dealt with her persistently demanding patient. She silently cursed whatever force compelled him to repeatedly request her assistance. Assessing his response to the administered pain medication, she meticulously recorded his vital signs and returned the chart to the foot of his bed. His healing progress was steady, if gradual, a predictable outcome given his current state of chakra depletion.
"I'll adjust the morphine dosage," she informed the wounded shinobi, her eyes catching the subtle tensing of his shoulders as the neck brace was secured back in place. "Overall, your condition is looking favourable, Kakashi-san. With adequate rest, your chakra levels should naturally restore themselves, and your other injuries will follow suit as your chakra replenishes. Is there anything else you require?"
Kakashi's response was a thoughtful hum, a clear indicator that he was considering making another request. He was undoubtedly one of her most challenging patients. "I wouldn't mind some more water, Yuri-chan. Cold water with lots of ice."
Yuri directed her gaze toward the untouched jug positioned on his bedside table, her eyebrows raised in mild disbelief as Kakashi offered her an overly innocent smile. She conceded, as she always did, that debating with him would likely prove futile, responding with a placating smile of her own. "Certainly, Kakashi-san. I'll get that for you right away."
Balancing the full jug of water in her grasp, with the folder tucked under her arm, she navigated her way toward the door, her footsteps echoing in the corridor. As she pushed into the hallway, her attention was diverted by a sudden shout.
"Oi Naruto!"
Before she could react, a collision occurred, the water jug slipping from her hold and drenching both herself and the unexpected intruder. The subsequent moment found her sprawled on the ground, her once-white medic uniform now soaked, revealing more of her underclothes than she was comfortable with. Irritation etched on her features, she met the gaze of none other than Nara Shikamaru, who appeared equally disgruntled and flushed.
"Sorry about that, Shikamaru," his companions chimed from above, their laughter filling the air. Shikamaru, it seemed, hadn't escaped the fate of the water jug either, his hair dripping droplets onto her forehead. Yuri nudged him slightly as she attempted to regain her footing, prompting him to quickly move off her and extend a helping hand.
"Yuri-san, are you okay?" Shikamaru inquired with concern and embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck while casting a reproachful look at his chuckling companion.
"My clothes are drenched, and I still have two hours of my shift left, so you tell me?" she retorted dryly, her tone reflecting her exasperation.
Shikamaru winced at her response, his gaze flickering to her wet uniform before widening in realization. He promptly removed the jacket he was wearing – Yuri noted that he was in civilian attire that day – and draped it over her shoulders. "I'm really sorry, Yuri-san. I didn't mean to bump into you."
"Yeah, yeah! It was my fault, sorry about that, Yuri-chan." His blonde companion offered a light-hearted apology. While Yuri questioned the sincerity of such words, Shikamaru's genuine concern was palpable.
"I accept your apology," she addressed Shikamaru directly, her voice softer. "It wasn't your fault. Thank you for the jacket."
Shikamaru's relief was evident in his smile, a gesture that she reciprocated.
"Neh, Yuri-chan, were you just with Kakashi-sensei?" Naruto interjected, seemingly oblivious to her directed words. "How is he?"
"He's doing better," she responded, slipping back into her medic role. "He just needs some rest, and he should be recovered in a week or so."
The emphasis on the importance of rest appeared to sail over Naruto's head, his enthusiasm undeterred as he beamed at her and made his way into Kakashi-sensei's hospital room. Yuri couldn't help but feel a touch of amusement at the impending headache that awaited the silver-haired shinobi.
Before her, Shikamaru hesitated, bending to retrieve the fallen water jug before handing it back to her sheepishly. "Sorry again, the moron really doesn't know how to behave in a hospital."
"It's fine, Shikamaru-san. I've had my fair share of encounters with Naruto to know exactly what his antics are like." As Kakashi-sensei's chosen medic, she had experienced numerous run-ins with the exuberant shinobi over the years.
A sympathetic chuckle escaped Shikamaru's lips at her remark. He offered another smile, this one softer, just before a hand reached out from the room, pulling him inside while Naruto playfully complained about Kakashi-sensei's feigned slumber.
Yuri made her way to the staff room, intent on changing out of her drenched attire and putting aside the memory of how close Shikamaru's face had been to hers. She focused on the task at hand, suppressing any lingering thoughts about the comforting scent of cedarwood and grass that enveloped her in his presence. The same scent that clung to the warm jacket draped over her shoulders, a jacket that would find a place in her locker and never be returned.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't survive the tumultuous events that unfolded in the village shortly after.