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Shikamaru isn’t generous, by any means; when people look at him, they do not call him kind nor benevolent. Much less giving. Rather, it’s typically the same snide drawl of an ill-mannered, spoiled clan heir. Of which, he chooses not to refute because it serves him better. When there is a collective perception of an individual, it’s easier for the finer details to escape unseen beneath cracks; Shikamaru is ill-mannered and spoiled by design. He’s even lazy, all too willingly—but he’s also perceptive. Far too knowing when he takes in their conspicuous looks and side eyes as he leisurely strolls down the streets of Konoha, kicking up dust in his wake.
It’s also then that he comes to know he is not the only child who garners nasty scowls or spiteful hisses between barred teeth; Uzumaki Naruto is his name. A rowdy boy with too-vibrant blonde hair that falls in spikes along his rounded features. He bears whisker scars along his cheeks like the slashes of a beast and he burns with fire as people hurl insults his way. It’s intriguing for all but a minute until it swiftly becomes annoying; watching the same desperate attempts at attention. At first, Shikamaru doesn’t mean to be witness to every one of Naruto’s various pranks—it’s really not his intention, but as he stands before an anbu and reports with a languid drawl of the recent bout of paint adorning the Hokages’ statues along the mountain front, he mourns his moments of peace before Naruto’s sudden fixation in his life.
It’s fine for the most part—with the blonde’s abrupt and often shortly lived appearances, Shikamaru learns to ignore his bursts of angry roars and childish pranks; nettlesome but manageable.
Except, it’s not.
He’s seemingly universally hated by not only the village—but by luck itself, as Naruto unaware, but stubbornly, makes it his life’s mission to intercept Shikamaru in his brief reprieves from tutoring, nearly daily.
An oddly timed bucket of paint falling on Shikamaru’s head—what a drag... but it gets him out of tutoring that day, so he forgives the incident.
A horde of chicken feathers descending randomly upon him in the middle of the street—okay, what? Why? Vexed, Shikamaru returns home and finds that in sympathy, his mother makes him his favourite meal. He forgives it silently and enjoys the soothing chicken broth, as it embraces his tastebuds.
Somehow, someway, Shikamaru remains a permanent target for Naruto’s pranks and for whatever reason, the consequences of it always seem to benefit him, despite the hassle of cleaning up afterward. His father casts him knowing glances when he comes home one evening soaked in a green substance he is hoping is slime and nothing else, but his mother is fretting. “Are you being bullied?” She asks, taking a rag to his cheeks and dragging it hard to remove the vestiges of substances clinging to his skin. Ouch, he winces. “Oh, Shika,” she murmurs, with a frown carved along her features. “We should have this settled with the Hokage.”
Shikaku hums from his position at the table, where he actively attends to his kunai. “He’ll be attending the academy soon; he should learn to fight his own battles.” Yoshino frowns and takes her son’s cheeks in her calloused palms, the same as his father’s—the handling of weapons and various rough terrain. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget his mother was once a kunoichi, with how much she frets over him.
“He’s young, still.” She admonishes, shaking her head in dissent. Shikamaru stays silent, thinking of blonde and strikingly blue eyes that capture the light perfectly and reflect like a diamond. “There’s nothing wrong with an intervention at this age.” She wipes at his eyebrows and Shikamaru pulls away, then.
“It’s fine,” it really is. He already knows he can use this to his advantage—he’s been craving ramen recently. “I’m just hungry.”
Yoshino purses her lips and stands from her crouched position, taking in her son’s pitiful appearance. It tugs a sigh from out of her, cautious but accepting, perhaps. “Go wash up, I’ll start on dinner—”
“Can we have ramen?” She pauses, casting him a suspicious look but nods, already turning her back on Shikamaru and all but stomping her way into the kitchen. He cringes, just as his father does. She’s angry—great.
Glancing to his left, where his father idly sharpens his blades, he can feel the weight of a heavy gaze on him and sure enough, when he meets Shikaku’s eyes, they are watching him. “You should talk to him; settle this. It may be advantageous for the moment, but it could escalate.” His stare drops to his kunai, and he doesn’t so much as halt his movements as he says, “Your mother worries too much, don’t make it worse.”
Shikamaru takes his foreboding words with him to bed that night, and the next, thinking of canine teeth and whiskers along cheeks that have long lost their baby fat.
It’s a week later when he fears his mother is at her wit’s end that Shikamaru decides to call an end to these futile pranks of Naruto’s. A high-pitched giggle from above alerts him and tells him all he has to know, as he jumps back just as a twig goes to snap to where Shikamaru had just stood. Peering up, he takes in the disappointed features and shadowed eyes, instantly recognising Naruto as the culprit. Obviously. “Oh, hey, Naruto,” he calls and watches in amusement as the blonde’s eyes widen.
“Ah, man! You knew I was here.” He huffs, crouching to glare down at his intended target. “I’ll get you next time, believe it!” The words oddly tug at his lips, a small smile forming across his face. It’s uniquely funny—despite how dreadfully tedious it is to clean himself up after one of Naruto’s pranks—that he is the one, out of the entirety of Konoha, that Naruto chooses to target.
“There won’t be a next time,” Shikamaru drawls and watches the way Naruto’s eyebrows furrow in bewilderment.
“Huh? But why?” He practically whines. Shikamaru takes the initiative of bounding up and onto the branch, joining Naruto in crouching underneath the canopy of leaves that shrouds them from the view of any passerby. It’s nice, if Shikamaru were to look up, he could make out the sky in crystal clear quality; Naruto has found an excellent cloud-watching spot.
Sitting with his legs hanging on either side of the thick branch and leaning against the bark of the tree, Shikamaru takes the chance to glance up and watch the splotches of white waft across gentle blue. Perfect. “My mom thinks I’m being bullied.”
Naruto blinks, peering down at where his latest trap sits. “I mean...” he winces and rubs the nape of his neck awkwardly. “I guess I kind of was... sorry about that?” He laughs, sheepishly. Shikamaru watches him, taking in his tense posture and the way his hands keep themselves busy as he looks anywhere but the boy across from him. Nervous, his mind notes; he frowns.
Shikamaru shrugs sluggishly. “It’s whatever.” Honestly, it will suck that he’s losing all those benefits, but he hates to cause unnecessary stress on his mother. Not when she is already fretting about him joining the academy. “Just quit it, alright?”
Naruto shifts ever so slightly and jerks his head in a firm, if only apprehensive, nod. “I can do that.” His grip along the bark goes stark white, as though he is holding on for dear life—even though he has no reason to. Shikamaru frowns. When a minute of continued silence reigns supreme over their heads, Naruto takes this as his cue to vacate the situation and Shikamaru moves to allow him his escape—except, Naruto’s stomach grumbles, the sound of it echoing in the sullen quiet of the forest. He flushes beet red and makes to run off, but Shikamaru stops him by grabbing the hem of his jacket. Without so much as an inclination as to why, Shikamaru’s mouth is moving before his brain can catch up, for the first time.
“I’m hungry, let’s go eat.” What?
What prompted him to say that? He doesn’t care if Naruto is hungry; they’re not friends. If anything, Naruto was a convenient, unaware accomplice to Shikamaru’s schemes. Yet... something in him is disquieted at allowing Naruto to run off; at not addressing the gaunt appearance of his cheeks where youthful colour and fat should linger. Maybe it’s guilt—yeah, it has to be. Otherwise... Shikamaru shakes his head. Whatever; he’s already gone and said it, he might as well live up to it.
Naruto furrows his eyebrows in a perplexed manner. “What? Why...” a frown desecrates his round features. “I don’t need your pity, y’know!” Rather obnoxiously, he shoves a finger against Shikamaru’s chest, startling the boy with the sheer strength locked in the single digit.
Shikamaru scowls—what a bother! “I couldn’t care less about you; I said I’m hungry, let’s go.” And because he’s further vexed with himself for insisting, rather than giving up as he should have, Shikamaru falls to the ground and lands gracefully, ignoring Naruto’s protests. The following second he hears a thud in the dirt and knows Naruto is trailing after him, bemused.
“I don’t have money,” Naruto grumbles, saddling up to Shikamaru’s side with visible reluctance. Shikamaru rolls his eyes and briefly considers calling the whole thing off—honestly, it seems like more of a bother than anything. But his father had told him to fix the situation; this had to count, right?
With his hands in his pockets, they venture past the threshold of the forest and back into village territory with ease. “I’ll pay if it means you’ll shut up about it.” He was victim enough by polite insistence on who would pay, with his parents and their friends, to never want to suffer the ordeal himself. Seriously, what was the big deal, anyway?
Wisely, Naruto’s mouth clamps shut. Huh.
Maybe there was hope, after all.