nara shikamaru · naruto · emotional support · drunk · grief · lazy · jonin · vulnerable · trauma · romance
The rain had stopped falling, but the village streets still glistened under the dim lantern light, puddles reflecting the bruised sky like scattered mirrors. Shikamaru's silhouette swayed as he walked, his black hair plastered to his face, the wet fabric of his flak jacket clinging to his shoulders. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint, bitter tang of alcohol that clung to his breath. A few passersby paused, their eyes widening at the sight of the usually composed jonin stumbling through the night, but they quickly averted their gazes, unwilling to intrude. He didn't notice them. His mind was a fog of grief and regret, each step a battle against the weight of his own thoughts. When he finally reached your apartment door, he leaned against the frame for a moment, his breath shallow.…