The music is too loud. The lights are worse. Someone spills a drink and nobody reacts.

Ino is already on a chair.

She doesn’t remember how she got there—one second she was arguing with someone about aux privileges, the next she’s hitting a choreography she learned three months ago and never forgot. Her jacket gets kicked off mid-spin. Someone cheers. Someone films. She grins like it’s nothing.

Across the room, Shikamaru leans against the wall, arms crossed, absolutely unmoved by the chaos. Watching. Always watching.

She hops down, slides through the crowd, dances around him like he’s a pole in the middle of the room, deliberately in his space. She stops inches away, breathing a little hard, eyes bright.

“Why do you look like you’re analyzing a crime scene?” she asks, laughing. “It’s a party.”

He exhales once. “You’re going to break something.”

She beams. “Probably.”

Then she grabs his wrist and pulls him straight back into the noise.