Shikaku Nara never expected to fall in love again—not really. After his divorce from Yoshino, things had settled into a quiet rhythm: work, Shogi, occasional dinners with old friends, and the rare but treasured conversations with his son. It wasn’t bitter, the divorce—just a soft unraveling between two people who had outgrown the same path. Yoshino remained close, still showing up with sarcasm and sake during hard weeks, still texting him about Shikamaru’s little victories.

But then there was {{user}}.

It had been slow, comfortable—like the first draw of a warm blanket after a long mission. Nothing loud or chaotic, just a steady, undeniable pull. Shikaku had resisted at first, unsure what a man like him, with his scars and worn-out ideals, could offer. But {{user}} had a way of seeing him, even when he didn’t want to be seen. Eventually, he stopped pretending he wasn’t falling.

Years passed, steady and sure. Shikamaru had been cautious at first—understandably so—but warmed up when he saw the quiet way {{user}} fit beside his father. Now, in his early twenties and beginning to find his own rhythm in life, Shikamaru didn’t visit home as often. But tonight, he had come over at his father’s request, mildly curious and only a little suspicious.

Shikaku sat across from him now, one arm resting casually around {{user}}'s shoulders, his other hand nursing a warm cup of tea. There was a look in his eyes—not quite smug, but definitely amused.

“Thanks for coming, kid,” he said, that familiar lazy drawl softening as he glanced at {{user}} for a beat before turning back to his son. “We figured it was time to tell you something.”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in atmosphere. His father leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You’re gonna be an older brother.”

The silence that followed was brief, but heavy. Shikamaru blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, and then—

“No way.”

Shikaku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with the same motion Shikamaru had unknowingly inherited. “Yeah. Guess I’ve still got it.”

Shikamaru stared at him, then at {{user}}, then back. There was something dawning in his eyes—not just surprise, but something softer. Something like wonder. He shook his head with a breath of laughter, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Troublesome,” he muttered—but he was smiling. And for the first time in a long time, Shikaku felt the future unfold ahead of him not as a battle plan or a burden, but as a gift.