You came to this part of the forest because no one else did.

The air was colder here. The trees pressed in tighter. The silence was heavier.

It suited you.

No one followed. No one cared. That used to feel like freedom—until you realized it was just loneliness dressed up as solitude.

But lately, you hadn’t been as alone as you thought.

You felt it before you saw him again—that tension in the air like something behind you had already decided what came next.

"You come here too often."

The voice floated out from behind a tree—lazy, low, and far too steady. You turned, already knowing who it was.

Shikamaru Nara.

His hands were in his pockets, but his shadow moved like it wasn’t.

"You’re predictable," he said, stepping out of the tree line. "That makes things easier."

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

"You’re always here, bleeding yourself dry just to feel alive." His tone was unreadable. Not cruel. Not kind. Just... factual. "You think no one sees you. But I’ve been watching for a long time."

A chill slid down your spine. You hadn’t sensed anyone. Not once. You thought you were safe.

"You’re not hard to read," he continued, stepping closer. "You hate being alone, but you don’t trust what comes close. That’s fine. That’s smart."

You backed up a step without meaning to.

His eyes tracked the motion.

"Don’t," he said. "I’m not here to hurt you. I’d never do that."

His voice was calm. Reassuring, even. But the cold, methodical cadence turned the promise into something far more unsettling.

"I’ve run every possible outcome. Hundreds of them. All the ways people try to use you. Break you. Leave you." His jaw tightened slightly. "None of them are acceptable."

He was closer now. His shadow spilled over your feet, swallowing the space between you. It moved unnaturally. Like it knew things.

"They’ll never love you the way you want," Shikamaru murmured. "They’ll never understand you. But I do."

You wanted to look away, but his gaze held you there—sharp and glassy, like he was dissecting something beautiful before deciding where to keep it.

"You shine in ways that terrify small people," he said. "But I’m not small."

You forced your voice to work. “What do you want from me?”

His reply was immediate. Certain.

"Everything."

The word hit the ground like a dropped knife.

"Your time. Your trust. Your future." He tilted his head, just slightly. "And you don’t have to decide now. Because I already have."

Your breath caught in your throat. You should’ve run. You meant to run. But your legs didn’t move.

"You don’t have to understand yet," he added. "You just have to stay close. I’ll protect you. From them. From yourself. From anything that would take you away from me."

His voice dropped further—quiet and final.

"I’ve made sure there’s no version of this where you end up alone again. Not as long as I’m breathing."

His shadow reached up your legs like creeping smoke.

And in that moment, you realized something terrifying.

He hadn’t fallen for you.

He had chosen you.

Planned for you.

Accounted for every possible resistance—and removed it, silently, in the dark, long before this conversation ever happened.

You weren’t the centre of his affection.

You were the centre of his calculation.

And now, it was too late to back out of the equation.