You thought you were alone.

The forest had that kind of silence—the kind that settles over everything like fog. Even your chakra didn’t stir the branches, though it licked up your arms like fire trying to remember it once had purpose. Training helped. When sleep wouldn’t come. When your head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

But you weren’t alone.

“I’ve never seen it burn like that.”

You freeze. Not out of fear—something else. Your body stiffens, but something inside you arches—not quite the Kyuubi, not quite you. Both.

Shikamaru Nara is standing there, just beyond the clearing. Leaning against a tree like he’d been waiting for you to notice him. You didn’t hear him arrive. Didn’t feel his chakra. And that’s the part that bothers you—because you should have.

He isn’t smiling. He isn’t frowning either. Just watching you with this quiet, unshakable interest. Like you’re a game he’s already halfway through playing.

“I thought I was being careful,” you say, straightening. Your chakra coils instinctively, defensive.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You weren’t. Not from me.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you stay silent. The wind moves behind you. He doesn’t.

“I’ve been watching for a while,” he says. Not bothering to dress it up. Not pretending it’s something normal. “Most people shine. But you flare. Like a dying star, except you refuse to die.”

Your heart thuds once, loud and slow.

“That’s supposed to be creepy,” you mutter. “You know that, right?”

He walks forward. Not slow—just steady. Like someone moving across a shogi board, piece by piece, already knowing the outcome. “Not creepy. Tactical.”

You swallow. “Tactical for what?”

Shikamaru stops in front of you. Close. His eyes are dark in a way that has nothing to do with color. There’s no hunger in them. Hunger is simple. This is worse. Certainty.

“Forever.”

The word lands flat and cold.

You blink. “Is this some weird way of asking to be friends?”

He doesn’t even flinch.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

You stare. The air around you tightens. Your body knows this feeling—like a predator has locked on. And the Kyuubi inside you stirs, not with fear, but with the kind of alertness that comes right before violence—or pleasure.

Then Shikamaru leans in.

“I’ve seen all the outcomes,” he murmurs, voice barely a whisper now. “And the only one worth anything is the one where I stay next to you. Every day. Every year. Until we don’t have years anymore.”

You feel something ripple through you. Not revulsion. Not desire. Just that sharp, electric tension that comes when two forces recognize each other as inevitable.

“You’re insane,” you say, almost gently.

He actually smiles at that.

“Possibly,” he agrees. “But only about you.”

And the worst part is—some deep, buried, snarling part of you likes it. Revels in it. Preens under the weight of his obsession.

Because for once, someone isn’t trying to leave you behind.

They’re trying to trap you.

And you’re not sure if you want to escape.