Shikamaru lifted a piece of barbeque with his chopsticks, hesitating for a moment before biting into it. The meat was tender, richly flavored, a sheen of oil glistening on his lips. It was exactly the sort of food one would expect from Konoha’s famous Yakiniku Q. Yet, as he chewed, the taste barely registered. His thoughts, distant and unmoored, wandered across the table to Sasuke, seated amidst their group. Sasuke, with his usual effortless charm, was at the centre of attention, speaking in that light, easy manner that had, over time, captivated everyone.
Sakura and Ino, so predictably drawn to him, giggled at something said at Kiba’s expense. Kiba, for his part, growled in mock outrage, further fueling the teasing. Sasuke’s playful arrogance was on full display, though it was tempered by a knowing smile that suggested he wasn’t being cruel. Naruto, always quick to react, soon entered the fray, loudly challenging Sasuke to a duel. Hinata, in a soft but urgent voice, urged Naruto to calm down, the concern in her voice clear.
Shikamaru let his gaze drift away from the loud exchange, settling on the two who, like him, remained outside Sasuke’s orbit. Shino watched in silence, inscrutable as always. Choji, oblivious to the conversation, was focused solely on the barbeque, scarfing down pieces with single-minded determination.
A flicker of memory crossed Shikamaru’s mind. His encounter with Sasuke during the Chūnin exams—an event his friends had seemed to forget, or perhaps had chosen to. They were all too eager to believe in Sasuke’s attempts to lighten the mood, to forget the danger. But Shikamaru remembered. He couldn’t help but remember. There had been something in Sasuke’s eyes then—something unsettling, something too calm for the chaos that surrounded them. It was a memory he couldn’t shake.
Even now, as he glanced at Sasuke, he felt it again. There was something behind those dark eyes, something concealed beneath the charm. Shikamaru’s father, Shikaku, had once told him that their clan’s affinity with the shadows gave them a certain awareness of the unseen. Shikamaru hadn’t doubted it then, and he wasn’t inclined to doubt it now. There was something beneath the surface of Sasuke—something dangerous, something barely contained. It was like staring into the eye of a storm. Stillness, with devastation lurking at its core.
Sasuke’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Shikamaru? You’re not eating. Something wrong?”
Shikamaru looked away from Sasuke, his gaze shifting to the window. “Just not feeling that hungry today,” he mumbled, forcing himself to swallow the food that suddenly felt heavy in his mouth.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Ino chimed in, her tone a mix of scolding and concern. Shikamaru turned to her, offering a faint smile, though his thoughts remained elsewhere. She was sitting far too close to Sasuke, leaning into him as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Shikamaru couldn’t understand how she—or anyone, for that matter—could be so blind to the danger right in front of them.
Alas, habit was a two-timing mistress. Shikamaru looked up, only to find himself caught in those unreadable eyes. Quickly, he shifted his gaze back to the window, feigning interest in the outside world. But it was too late. The moment lingered, heavy and unsettling, the monster’s crimson, soul-piercing gaze lingering on the fringes of his memory. It pressed against his mind like an excluded ghost, shrouding it in a haze of confusion and uncertainty.
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Slowly, Shikamaru felt his suspicions towards the Uchiha wane. He could feel it seeping out of him, like oil through a grain sieve. He clawed at it to return to no avail.
Then he blinked.
Like a mist lifting, the tension dissolved. The unease that had clung to him for weeks slipped away, almost unnoticed. He blinked again, feeling lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It seemed absurd now, this lingering wariness. Sasuke had been nothing but kind. A thought nagged at the back of his mind, some shadow of a concern, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
What had he been worried about? Probably some chore his mother had reminded him about, left undone. With a small shrug, he dismissed it entirely. His gaze returned to the table, the food in front of him suddenly more appetizing.
How thoughtful of Sasuke to invite them all for lunch, Shikamaru mused. He ought to be more appreciative, perhaps. For Ino’s sake, at the very least.
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The stillness of the hospital room was broken by a sharp gasp. Gaara awoke, instinctively calling forth his sand, which responded immediately, encasing him protectively. Pain shot through his body, raw and all-encompassing. His mind struggled to piece together what had happened. And then it returned to him, slowly at first, then all at once. The battle. Uchiha Sasuke. A searing hatred began to build in his chest.
“I will kill him,” Gaara rasped, his voice low and hoarse.
A voice from the corner of the room interrupted his thoughts. “You’re awake.”
Gaara shifted, propping himself up with the help of his sand, his eyes narrowing at the figure speaking. It was a Konoha-nin, nondescript save for the round glasses perched on his nose.
“Where is he?” Gaara growled.
“You mean Sasuke?” the Konoha-nin replied, his tone casual. “He left on a mission about a week ago. Land of the Waves, if I’m not mistaken. Classified, of course, but I’m sure you understand.”
Gaara’s mind raced. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“Three weeks,” Baki answered from the entrance, his voice cold. “Congratulations, by the way. You made Chūnin.”
Three weeks. The words echoed in Gaara’s mind as he took in the bandages wrapped tightly around his body, the deep, persistent ache beneath them. He could feel the burn of failure more keenly than the pain of his wounds.
"The Kazekage visited," Baki continued. "He noted your failure and ordered your return to the village post-haste to restart your training. Your critical state delayed our return. Nonetheless, we will remain here until I determine you are fit enough to travel.."
Gaara remained silent as the others left, his thoughts dark and consuming. If not to destroy those in his way, what purpose did he have? A gust of wind blew through the open window, lifting the edge of a slip of paper held down by a glass vase holding a few Chrysanthemums. The flash of white caught his attention. Absentmindedly, he willed his sand to retrieve it.
I look forward to meeting you again, Sabaku-san. Get well soon.
Signed, Sasuke.
The note crumpled in Gaara’s fist, his face impassive. But deep within, a familiar rage stirred, hotter than before. He would not forget this. He would not forgive it.
"I will kill you," Gaara whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with unwavering certainty.
Uchiha Sasuke would pay.