Summary: Fate was giving out two-for-one deals one afternoon, leaving Shikadai with bruises to his neck and his ego. Luckily, his mom is pretty good at taking care of both. Teenaged Shikadai. Boy genius vs angsty hormones. Temari and Shikamaru are good parents.
No, I haven't watched/read Boruto. Yes, I refuse to. I'm just in love with the idea of Temari and Shikamaru as the world's best parents. After reading my fair share of Shikadai/Inojin fics, I'm a fan of the ship now too. Enjoy the culmination of those two obsessions from an author who doesn't know any of the canon plot. Enjoy!
oOo
Shikadai's cheeks burned and he felt his stomach drop. A feeling of nausea lapped at the back of his throat. The cogs in his mind were spinning a mile a minute trying desperately to think of an extrication plan. He was almost hoping he'd drop dead on the spot so he could avoid the incoming conversation.
"That's totally a hickey, isn't it?" Boruto repeated, refusing to drop the issue at his friend's discomfort.
They had been sitting around leisurely after a successful escort mission, procrastinating on the reports. Shikadai had even managed to doze off for what felt like a whopping five minutes before Boruto found something to create a ruckus about. This time it was because his eagle-eyed friend had noticed the bruising under the left side of his collarbone. Shikadai figured he must've shifted in his sleep and his loosely fitted undershirt had moved to betray him.
"Oh, come off it," he tried to deflect, hoping his nosey friend would drop the subject. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He absolutely did. Boruto was correct on his hunch and Shikadai had more than a few love bites scattered throughout his torso. Not that Boruto needed to know that.
"I happen to know exactly what I'm talking about," his obnoxious friend boasted, arms crossed in front of himself triumphantly. "I absolutely know what that is."
What he didn't know is that the perpetrator sat mere inches away, pretending to be only mildly interested in his teammate's plight. Fiddling absent-mindedly with a few blonde strands of hair, Inojin was taking special pleasure in watching his last night's victim squirm. Unbeknownst to most of the team from yesterday's mission, the two teenage boys had a habit of sneaking off into the night together to partake in less-than-savory activities. The only person privy to that information was Chocho and even that was only because Inojin couldn't keep the juicy secret to himself for longer than 2 weeks. She was eyeing Inojin disapprovingly over a bag of jerky. She thought they both knew better than to be so obvious, especially on a high-profile mission.
Shikadai certainly wasn't going to let Boruto know what was going on between them, otherwise the entire village would know before sundown.
"So what?" the teen deflected, "it doesn't mean anything." He tried to avoid looking at Inojin for reassurance, lest Boruto begin to make the connection.
Boruto opened his mouth but was quickly interrupted by a suddenly very animated Sarada.
"Of course it means something! Who is it? Do you love her? Do I know her? How long have you known for? When are you going to introduce her to us?"
Shikadai sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. There goes his quiet post-mission afternoon.
"Kami above will both of you just put a sock in it? It's nothing okay, doesn't mean anything, just… fooling around a little bit. Don't get used to it, it was a one-time thing, there's no feelings attached." His speech pattern was rapid and pressed in embarrassment. "Now will you both just fucking. Drop. It."
He tried his best to channel his mom's death glare but given the fact that Boruto and Sarada weren't even listening to him anymore- opting to talk amongst each other instead- he had a feeling his threat fell on deaf ears.
Boruto grabbed Sarada's arm and pulled themselves up off the greenery unceremoniously.
"Well, I can't let you have all the fun. Come on, let's go do nothing with no strings attached or whatever Shikadai calls it." Boruto teased, yanking at his reluctant companion's sleeve. Sarada huffed in retaliation but let herself be guided away from the group, leaving the latest generation of Ino-Shika-Cho to themselves.
Shikadai thumped his head against the grass below him, harder than he'd meant to, and groaned in the earth below. He happily let the conversation lapse into a comfortable silence and was just starting to dose off again when Inojin piped up.
"Doesn't mean anything, huh?"
Shikadai's blood ran cold. He had said that, hadn't he…
"Oh, would you look at the time?" Chocho started hastily, "I forgot that I have literally anything else to do right now." She picked herself up off the ground and rapidly disentangled herself from the awkward conversation that was about to commence. Shikadai watched her hurry away discontentedly.
Some friend you are, he thought to himself.
"No, I didn't mean that," Shikadai turned to face his accuser. "I just…" He trailed off, not the best at verbally defending himself.
"It sure sounded like you meant it."
The accusation hung in the air while Shikadai tried to think of all the different ways he could possibly get out of this. All those miserable sensations from when Boruto had started him down this path were returning, causing his stomach to churn. He looked up, afraid to meet his partner's eyes but needing to get a better idea of just how fucked he was. Inojin didn't look angry, just hurt. Shikadai didn't know which expression would have wounded him less, but Inojin's pout certainly made him feel levels of guilt he hadn't felt in years.
"I'm sorry?" He tried and failed. Inojin didn't look any less upset by the apology.
"What is it, Shikadai? We've been sneaking around for months now. Are you embarrassed by me?"
That one caught him off guard, offended Inojin would even think such a thing.
"Not at all! That's not it, it's just…" he struggled for words again.
"Are you ashamed that you're with a guy?" Inojin pressed.
Shikadai was silent to that question, not immediately dismissing it. He didn't know if it was because it was closer to the truth or if there was just too much going on in his head to defend himself. His emotional bandwidth was running out. It had been a long day, he hadn't slept last night, was sore from the mission, and had just pissed off his primary source of comfort.
"Shikadai, we need to talk."
It didn't take a genius to realize the gravity of that implication. He had only one option: tactical retreat.
A weak, "nope" was all that Shikadai could get past the lump in his throat. He pushed himself up and spun on his heel, propelling himself back to the Nara compound. He tried to move as quickly as possible without looking rushed, without looking like he was running away. He could tell that Inojin had stood up as well, but it didn't seem like he was moving to follow.
He swore to himself he'd learn the flying raijin and keep a mark in his bedroom just to avoid ever going through anything like this again. He could feel the gap between him and his friend (is that what they were?) widening and for some reason it was making his eyes glisten. He was trying not to draw attention to himself as he speed walked to and through the Nara compound, trying not to let his thoughts spiral.
Am I ashamed of myself? Is that why I don't want anyone to know about this? What would my family even think if I told them? We couldn't continue the Ino-Shika-Cho tradition, my father would be crushed.
His heart sunk at the implication of disappointing his father, who had done nothing but be supportive of his son in the past. It made his eyes sting and he hastily wiped at them, hoping to disguise the evidence of his angst. He just had to make it home and then he'd be fine; this would all blow over. He just had to keep it together through the front door.
oOo
It was a typical afternoon in the Nara household. Shikamaru was working through some data on his laptop and prepping a proposal while his wife was at the stovetop seasoning a new cast iron skillet. There was cold iced tea sitting on the kitchen table and the low hum of the washing machine could be heard coming from the back of the house. It was remarkably domestic and exceedingly quiet.
Until the abrupt noise of the front door being aggressively swung open startled both halves of the couple. They stood still and listened to the sound of their teenage son dropping his gear with unusual haste. Before Temari could ask what the front door did to deserve a beating, Shikadai rounded the corner into the entryway, avoiding all eye contact, and made a beeline up the stairs for his room. Shikamaru peered over the screen of his laptop at his wife. He lifted an eyebrow.
You see that too?
Temari nodded and tilted her ear in the direction of her son's room, waiting for any more hints as to his odd behavior. She shrugged.
No door slamming, so he's not pissed.
Shikamaru cocked his head to one side.
Me or you?
Temari waved him off.
I've got him. You did it last week.
She removed her apron and set it on the counter, turning off the burner in preparation for whatever the rest of the afternoon was going to throw at her. It had been a rough week for her chunin son: a genin adjacent to his class had been killed, a mission he'd taken the lead on had gone south (she made Shikamaru deal with that one given his personal history), and of course there was always the yearly life-altering threat to the village. Life was tough when you were a 16-year-old shinobi.
She stepped calmly up the stairs, but with enough force so that Shikadai would hear her coming. She figured he wanted one of his parents to come after him considering he usually entered through his window when he didn't want to socialize. If the door was also cracked open that was another reliable clue that he was looking for comfort. It amused her that he was too proud to openly ask for it and would rather leave subtle hints across the house. She couldn't pass judgment, though, since he'd probably picked up the habit from her.
She found the door invitingly ajar. She could see Shikadai sprawled facedown on his bed, simultaneously burying his face into and loosely clutching a large pillow. She knocked politely.
"Want some company?" She asked, nonchalantly.
He nodded, still not lifting his face from its hiding spot.
Temari opened the door the rest of the way and came to sit at the head of the bed. He had his face turned away from her, but she could still see the blotchy redness on his cheeks. There was a pang in her chest at the sight. She knew it was normal around this time, but it still hurt to see her only child in distress.
"Hey now," she cooed, "what's got you so upset."
She placed her hand on his shoulder and circled her thumb encouragingly. She thought she heard a muffled "I don't know" after a few minutes. She winced.
Sorry kid, you probably get that from me too.
Her husband was exceptionally in tune with how he was feeling at any given time and sometimes even more in tune to his wife's emotions than she was. Temari, on the other hand, usually had to spend the day slaying wooden training dummies and exhausting herself to figure out what was bugging her. Considering the amount of destruction she'd caused at his age, she couldn't fault Shikadai for how he was handling his hormones.
"Okay let's start here, are you mad or sad?"
Her son finally pulled his head up out of the pillow to look at his mom in earnest. A scowl painted his ruddy face.
"I told you already, I don't know!" He snapped.
Usually, that tone would earn him a diligent scolding. Temari let it slide this once.
"Well, that sounds like mad. Who are you mad at?"
Shikadai lifted himself onto his elbows and paused, chewing at his bottom lip. Now that question got him thinking. Temari thought curiously how the expression made him look so much like his father did at this age. They were almost carbon copies of each other, save the eye shape and some passive-aggressive attitude. And Shikamaru was almost identical to his own father. Damn concentrated Nara genetics, not even the royal blood of the Kazekage clan could dilute that gene pool.
"I'm mad at myself," Shikadai huffed, having come to that conclusion during his mother's self-deliberation. He collapsed back onto the bed, his shoulders shaking with a fresh wave of tears.
"Come here," Temari sighed and shifted further onto the bed. Shikadai, for his part, turned over and laid his head on her lap, arms loosely encircling his mom's waist. She noticed a particularly obvious hickey under his collarbone as his shirt shifted, but wisely decided not to comment on it.
"I'm a coward and an idiot. I'm too scared to face hard truths so I just avoid them. Or I get too overwhelmed when all my bullshit boils over and I just run away."
She was surprised by the honesty, not sure she would have had the insight to come to the same conclusion in herself at his age… or even now if she was being honest. Her hands instinctually went to rub his back soothingly as he cried, a callback to when he was much younger and in the same position.
"I don't think you're a coward at all," She reassured, "and your head has too much going on in it for you to be an idiot. I can see you're overwhelmed, that much is true."
Shikadai grunted an unenthusiastically.
"But," she continued, "waiting to sort everything out before attacking it is a smart move, and you're a smart shinobi. I think when you flee those uncomfortable situations, it's because you don't have control of the outcome. I don't think self-preservation is cowardice, dear."
Without a good retort, Shikadai settled for "this sucks," and continued seeking comfort in his mom's embrace. She took it in good stride. It wasn't her first time and she hoped it wouldn't be her last. Temari pulled his hair tie out and carded calloused hands through his unruly black hair, giving him space to break the silence whenever he was ready.
"Ugh, when you guys were my age you were going to war. Not crying over a stupid-" boy. He stopped himself before he outed his secret.
Temari couldn't help but chuckle.
"We went to war so our children could cry over things like fights with their friends and hook-ups and break-ups and normal growing-up things. We hoped for a future where you didn't have to cry over dead ninja. And no worries, you're nowhere near the crybaby that your dad was… is, actually."
She heard her husband cough from downstairs. So he was listening.
"Thanks, Mom," her son sniffed. "Do you mind if we just stay here for a minute?"
"Sure thing, kiddo."
oOo
An imperceivable amount of time later, Shikamaru waltzed up the stairs to check on the other members of his tiny family. He found his son passed out in his mother's lap. Temari was sitting up, one hand making it's way through his hair lazily, the other propped up on the bed frame. She was looking out his window with eyes unfocused, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. She turned to look at him as she heard his approach. Her husband flashed a quizzical gaze.
Everything all good?
She nodded and looked down at her son affectionately.
Yeah, everything's okay, just savoring the moment. These times are getting fewer and further between as he gets older.
Deciding it was appropriate to head out, Temari carefully guided Shikadai's head off her lap, even though he could have slept through his mother giving him a concussion. The bed creaked as she slid off it and she pulled a loose blanket around her son, seeing as he was firmly asleep on top of the comforter. She ruffled his hair once more before arching her aching back. The wooden headboard didn't have great lumbar support. She passed her husband silently who closed the door and followed down the stairs.
They moved through their nightly routine in companionable silence. Once hair was brushed, clothes discarded, and the fan turned on, they snuck into the king-sized bed together for the evening. Temari pulled her book off the nightstand and Shikamaru wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling close into her side.
"So," he began, "when are we going to ease his mind and tell him that we already know?"
Ino told them about her son's infatuation with Shikadai after finding some incriminating drawings. It wasn't long before the couples realized Shikadai would have had to willingly pose for the nude ones, as they were very anatomically accurate. It didn't take long for the group to piece everything together after that- it was a side effect of having genius parents.
"We won't," Temari replied. "He'll come to us when he's ready. I won't corner him when he hasn't even figured himself out yet."
Shikamaru sighed.
"Then we should at least teach him how to hide a hickey."
oOo
Hope it wasn't too out of character. I did my fair share of angsty, hormone-induced crying under the covers at this age but was pretty private and didn't rely on my parents. I think this is what a healthy family dynamic looks like but heck if I know. Let me know what you think and thanks for the read!
-DRD