The first hint of spring had touched the air, the day bright and warm, the sky a soft blue. Yet, despite the beauty of the season, Ino Yamanaka found herself enveloped in a quiet sadness.
She sat at the counter of her family’s flower shop, the subtle perfume of blossoms around her only added to her sense of melancholy. Her hands, once so graceful and practiced in arranging delicate petals into elegant bouquets, now moved absently, only half-attentive to her task.
Her thoughts, as they so often had been in the last few months, were consumed with Shikamaru Nara.
It had been so obvious for so long, hadn’t it?
The way she had admired him from afar, first as a teammate, then as a friend, and then, impossibly, as something more. His lazy drawl, his sharp intelligence, the way he seemed to notice things others missed—all of it had drawn her in, quietly, unknowingly, until one day she realized she loved him.
But it was too late now. He was already in love with someone else.
Temari.
Ino clenched her jaw, a sharp pang of envy flaring up within her. She had tried to tell herself that it was for the best—that Temari and Shikamaru were perfect for one another—but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
What Ino hated most, however, was how content Shikamaru seemed to be. The way he had always taken everything in stride, always with that self-assured calm, even when his heart had quietly slipped away from her and into the hands of someone else.
And now, in the span of a few short days, Shikamaru would be Temari’s forever.
Ino knew she was being unreasonable, childish even, but it didn’t stop the ache in her chest from spreading.
No, this wasn’t a simple crush. This was real.
This was a love that she had hidden beneath layers of her usual bravado, hoping that time would either dull the feeling or, perhaps, allow her to move past it. But now, as the wedding day loomed, the truth weighed down on her like an anchor, tethering her to a reality she had no choice but to accept.
The evening before the wedding, as the sun set in a gentle wash of pink and orange across the village, Ino found herself sitting at a small, cozy table in one of Konoha’s modest BBQ joints.
Shikamaru, Choji, and herself had decided, almost on a whim, to share a meal together before the wedding.
It was to be a celebration, Choji insisted, a kind of final meal before their dear friend entered the next stage of his life.
“Don’t make it sound so ominous,” Choji had said with his usual good-natured chuckle, stuffing another piece of meat into his mouth as he spoke.
Shikamaru, seated across from Ino, gave a typical half-smile, his eyes barely open. He was always like this—effortlessly detached, as though nothing could ever be a bother to him.
Ino had agreed, though she had no idea why.
She should’ve declined. She should’ve stayed home, buried herself in her thoughts, perhaps even wept into her pillow. But no—she had come. She had to be there.
Perhaps it was the thought of never having another opportunity like this. Tomorrow, he would be Temari’s, and she would be nothing more than a memory.
She smiled weakly at Shikamaru, trying to mask the turmoil that churned inside her. “I’m glad you agreed to this,” she said, though her voice was softer than she intended.
Choji, oblivious to the tension between the two, laughed and slapped his friend on the back.
“Shikamaru doesn’t look happy about it, but I think he’s just trying to act cool. Admit it, Shikamaru, you’re excited for tomorrow.”
Shikamaru, as always, looked indifferent. He was never one to show much enthusiasm about anything, least of all his own wedding.
“I’m not ‘excited,’” he muttered, lifting his glass to his lips. “It’s just... I’m marrying her. Finally”
Ino’s heart clenched at the words. How easily he spoke of it. How effortlessly he had accepted this path laid out before him. But then, she realized, that was just Shikamaru.
Always pragmatic. Always resigned to the choices life gave him.
Yet he had chosen Temari.
And despite the quiet bitterness that rose within her, Ino couldn’t help but wish him well. After all, Temari was perfect for him. Strong, independent, unafraid to challenge his lazy indifference. Temari had become the force that moved Shikamaru, the one who could coax him into action, the one who understood him in ways no one else did.
Ino’s heart throbbed with the raw edge of envy.
She glanced over at Shikamaru again, watching him as he casually reached for another skewer of meat. He didn’t look at her, not once, as if he was unaware of the storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. He never looked at her like that.
He never would. He never did.
"I can’t believe tomorrow is the big day," Choji continued, blissfully unaware of the delicate emotions tangled between his friends. "Shikamaru’s getting married! It’s gonna be crazy, huh?"
Ino wanted to smile, wanted to laugh along with Choji, but her throat tightened with emotion, making it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to eat, trying to occupy her mind with the simple task. But the truth gnawed at her.
I love him.
It was a thought that consumed her.
She had always been good at masking her feelings, pretending that she was fine, pretending that she had everything in control. But sitting there, beside Shikamaru, watching him laugh and chat with Choji, she felt it—a deep, unbearable ache in her chest. The truth had become undeniable.
She glanced at him again. He’s not mine — she thought bitterly, the words laced with self-pity.
And yet she couldn’t bring herself to hate Temari, couldn’t bring herself to wish that things had turned out differently. Temari deserved him—deserved the man that Ino had always admired from afar. And yet the painful realization stung just as much as the hope she had once held.
As the meal came to an end, Choji, ever the one to focus on the moment, made a final joke, lifting his glass for a toast. "To Shikamaru!" he called, his voice loud and warm, "May your marriage be full of... no, wait, you’re probably gonna fall asleep through half of it!"
The three of them laughed, but Ino’s laugh was hollow, her smile tight. It felt like a cruel joke, the way everything around her seemed to be moving forward, while she stood still. A spectator in her own life.
The day of the wedding arrived as bright and perfect as the spring day itself. Ino stood at the back of the crowded venue, her hands clutching the hem of her dress, a thin veil of tears blurring her vision. She had promised herself she would be strong, that she would show no weakness, no sign of her inner turmoil. But it was hard. It was so, so hard.
She watched as Shikamaru, standing at the altar in his formal attire, looked over at Temari, a rare softness in his eyes. He smiled at her, and the world seemed to pause, just for a moment. Temari was stunning, radiant as she walked toward him, her eyes never leaving his.
And then, as they exchanged vows, Ino’s chest constricted painfully. She held back the tears, her breath shallow, but she couldn’t stop them. They flowed quietly, one after the other, as she smiled, masking the sorrow behind her mask of happiness.
They deserve each other — she thought through the haze of her emotions.
It’s better this way.
But even as she tried to convince herself, the sting of her unrequited love burned fiercely in her heart. She watched as they kissed, sealing their vows with the press of lips, and her tears continued to fall, each one a reminder of everything she could never have.
In that moment, she realized something. She didn’t resent them. She didn’t resent Temari for winning Shikamaru’s heart. No, what she resented was the fact that she had loved him all this time, and never had the courage to admit it, never had the chance to fight for him.
But as the ceremony came to a close, and the guests rose to celebrate, Ino knew that she would be okay. She would keep moving forward, even if it meant doing so with a quiet, broken heart.
The world would continue turning. Shikamaru would have his happiness, and Temari would stand beside him, forever.
And Ino? She would quietly wipe away her tears, pretending that they were nothing but joy. Because that’s all she could give.
It was the kind of evening where the lights felt too bright, the music too loud, and everyone around them seemed to be part of some world Ino wasn’t sure she belonged in. Kiba had watched her for a while now, her smile a little too wide, her gaze a little too distant. She was holding her glass too tightly, like it might somehow stop her from crumbling under the weight of something she didn’t want anyone to see. Kiba saw it anyway.
It wasn’t hard to tell. Kiba wasn’t the type to put things into words often, and maybe that’s why he noticed things others missed. He didn’t need to say much to understand. His world was full of silences, the kind where everyone pretended they weren’t feeling the same ache, the same tightness in their chests. Maybe that’s why he understood her so well, even without ever hearing the words.
He finally moved over to her, drawn by that familiar pull, the one that had always existed between them, unspoken but palpable. It was almost painful, this knowing, but Kiba didn’t stop. He never did.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said, his voice too quiet, too careful. He wasn’t sure how to approach her anymore. In the past, he might’ve cracked a joke or given her a nudge, but tonight—tonight felt different. His words were softer now. They were tentative.
Ino snapped her gaze toward him, and for a second, Kiba thought she might actually snap back. But she didn’t. She just blinked at him, like he had interrupted something delicate, something she was still trying to piece together. How many times has she looked at him like that? Kiba thought. How many times have I looked at her like that?
She laughed, a laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice brittle, unsure. She tried to cover it up, but Kiba could see right through her.
She’s never been good at pretending. But then, neither am I.
“You’re pretending,” Kiba said, feeling the weight of it as soon as the words left his mouth. It was always like this. She’d hide herself in front of everyone, and I’d watch. I’d watch and know. But I never said anything. I never said anything, and she never asked.
Ino’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she looked away, back toward the crowd, her posture stiffening. She’s doing it again. She’s shutting me out. Kiba felt the faint stir of something in his chest, a kind of quiet frustration that only grew when she spoke again.
“I’m not pretending,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction. She was trying, but it wasn’t enough. She’ll never admit it, Kiba thought. Not now. Not with everyone watching. Not with the world still thinking she’s fine.
“I can see it,” Kiba said, not trying to sound harsh, but the words were sharp in the air between them, cutting through the polite laughter and the clinking of glasses. He took a step closer, but it was more to soften the moment than anything else. His eyes found hers again, even though part of him wanted to look away. “I know what it looks like. The way you’re looking at him.”
Ino froze, the tight grip on her glass suddenly making sense to him. She was trying to hold onto something that wasn’t hers anymore. But Kiba had already known that. She’s always been so good at hiding. So good at pretending that it doesn’t hurt, even though I can see it in her eyes. I’ve seen it for years.
The air between them felt too thick now. Kiba could feel the tension like a string pulled too tight, waiting to snap. He let out a breath and shook his head, unwilling to let her fall into that trap, the one where everyone ignored the truth.
How many times had he looked at her, seen the same hurt in her eyes, felt that same ache in his chest? He thought back to all the nights he had spent alone, wondering if anyone could tell. If anyone could see how much he cared. But Ino had never noticed. She was too focused on someone else. Always had been. He never blamed her for it. It was just the way things were.
“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice rougher now, as if the words had become harder to form. “I’ve been there. I know what it’s like, to watch someone you care about fall for someone else. To feel like... like you’re not even there.” He paused, his throat tightening at the sound of his own admission. “I know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t see you. Who doesn’t feel the same.”
Ino’s face shifted, her expression uncertain. She looked at him like he was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. She doesn’t get it, Kiba thought. She’s not going to. She never will. She’ll always look at him that way, and I’ll always stand here and watch her, pretending I’m fine.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Kiba was already shaking his head. God, this hurts. He could feel it crawling up his chest, like a weight pressing down, the words strangling him from the inside. Why do I do this? Why do I keep pretending I’m not hurting, too? He looked at her, and there it was again—her pain, her unwillingness to face the truth.
“Look,” he said, his words soft, but clear, “I’m not asking you to say anything, Ino. I’m not expecting you to admit it. But I’ve been where you are. I’ve seen it. And I just... I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”
For a long moment, they just stood there in the midst of all the noise, the crowd swirling around them, but Kiba could feel the distance between them expanding. Not the distance of space, but of time, of choices, of things they had never said to each other, things they couldn’t say.
I’ll never tell her, Kiba thought. I’ll never say it out loud. But maybe she knows. Maybe she’s known all along.
Ino finally broke the silence, her voice small. “I... I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the apology didn’t feel like it was meant for him. It was more like she was apologizing to herself, to the version of her that could never have what she wanted.
“I’m not asking for an apology,” Kiba said, his voice barely a breath. He almost regretted saying anything at all. What good would it do?
For a moment, they just stood there, staring at the ground. Kiba could feel the ache in his chest, the one that had been there for so long, the one he had never tried to put into words. It’s fine, he thought, a bit too bitterly. It’s fine because I’m used to it. I’ve always been used to it. To being the guy on the sidelines. To being the one who’s always there, but never the one who matters.
The music swelled in the background, the chatter of the reception carrying on as if nothing had shifted, as if nothing had changed. But Kiba knew better. Something had changed between them. He could feel it, even if Ino never acknowledged it.
We both know, Kiba thought, and that was the only truth that mattered anymore.
“I’ll be fine,” Ino said, her voice a little shaky, but she looked at him, and for just a second, there was something softer there—something more real.
Kiba nodded, his throat tight. Yeah, he thought. We’ll both be fine. Eventually.
And as they stood there, side by side, the crowd moving around them, neither of them spoke another word. It was enough to be there, in this moment, knowing they understood each other in a way no one else could. Even if they couldn’t fix what was broken, at least they didn’t have to pretend anymore.