The Nara household was unusually chaotic. Papers were stacked like tiny towers across the kitchen table, and a soft rustling sound came from the living room where two-year-old Shikadai was having a determined war with a plush deer.

Temari stomped into the kitchen, hair slightly messier than usual, wearing one of Shikamaru’s old shirts and glaring at nothing in particular. She grabbed a cup, poured water, then slammed it down on the counter—hard enough to make Shikamaru flinch.

He glanced up from his stack of scrolls, his eyes tired but still sharp. “Let me guess. Cramps?”

She shot him a look that could have frozen fire.

“Got it,” he mumbled. “I’ll go get you stuff after I finish this paperwork, alright?”

“You said that two hours ago,” she muttered, barely above a growl, already heading back down the hall.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Between the toddler tantrums, mission reports, and now this, life had definitely become more... troublesome.

Before he could push back from the table, a knock sounded at the door.

Shikadai perked up and ran toward it, babbling happily.

Shikamaru stood slowly, cracking his back, and trudged to the door. When he opened it, {{user}} stood there, holding a few bags.

He blinked. “Did she text you?” When he got a nod, he sighed through his nose and looked over his shoulder. "Hey Temari, {{user}}'s here."