When logic fails ...

Between the Moves

Temari: I'm really attached to it, it was a gift from my father when I graduated. Could you maybe bring it down to me in person?

She saw that he had read the message, but no reply came. Seconds stretched until they felt like hours. Temari stared at the screen, waiting for his next move. If this had been a game of shogi, she would have surely lost by now—but here, the rules were different. Rules she was clearly far more familiar with than he was.

After what felt like an eternity, the small line finally appeared at the top of the screen: Shikamaru is typing...
Temari held her breath and pressed her lips together, waiting for that faint vibration in her fingers. When the longed-for message arrived, she flinched slightly.

Shikamaru: If it means that much to you, I can do that.

A broad smile spread across her face. She had reached her goal after all—and faster than she had expected. Now she only needed a small sign that he felt the same way she did.

Temari: That would be great. See you soon.

Grinning, she crept to the door, opened it a crack, and listened into the stillness of the stairwell.
Moments later, she heard the soft click of a door upstairs. Each of his steps echoed faintly against the wooden stairs, and she followed the rhythm with sharpened ears—step by step—until he finally came into view.

For a brief moment she feared he might change his mind halfway down and turn back. But he continued descending, calm and deliberate, just as she knew him.

Temari leaned against the doorframe as he reached the last step. Shikamaru stepped out of the shadows and into the narrow beam of light spilling from her apartment. Slowly, he pulled his hand from his pocket and revealed the silver bracelet.
"Here," he said quietly, holding it out to her. The fine metal glimmered softly in the shifting light until her fingers reached for it.

Their fingers brushed, barely—a featherlight touch, gone in an instant, yet it lingered in him.
"Thank you," she murmured, brushing a loose strand from her face.

He only nodded, already half-turned to leave. His task was done, and it was late. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and be done with the day. But just as he moved, she caught hold of his sleeve. The fabric tightened gently between her fingers, stopping him in his tracks. Hesitantly, he turned his head toward her and met those bright green eyes sparkling up at him.

Temari felt heat rise to her cheeks. The tension between them had grown too strong to deny.
"Would you... maybe have time for a game of shōgi?" she asked softly, lowering her gaze to hide the blush that had crept across her face.

He slipped free of her grasp with a casual motion and scratched the back of his head, looking faintly embarrassed.
"Now? Isn't it a bit late for that?"
"I just thought..." she replied, a shy smile tugging at her lips, "since you're already here... and I still owe you a rematch."

He hesitated. The thought of sitting alone with her in this apartment appealed to him more than he liked to admit, though it also stirred those strange feelings again. Suddenly, he remembered Kiba's and Naruto's teasing words from earlier.
She's into you, man. You're just too stuck in your head to notice.
Quit overthinking and make a move already.

He let out a quiet sigh as he admitted to himself that, in their own way, they might not be wrong. Maybe he did need to take a step forward—to see where things would lead. And a game of shōgi with her would hardly take long anyway.
"Alright, one game," he agreed at last.

A soft smile curved Temari's lips as she stepped aside to let him in.

Inside, her apartment was warm. The glow of a small lamp on the coffee table bathed everything in a gentle, golden light. The blanket she had tossed aside earlier still lay on the sofa, beside her half-finished bowl of salad. Temari folded the blanket neatly and fetched the shōgi board from the shelf. She set it down on the table, and he sat across from her. In that moment, the faint spark between them returned—subtle, undeniable.

He shifted awkwardly into place on the floor, coming a little too close, his knees almost brushing hers. Both pretended not to notice, yet each subtly pulled back to regain a safe distance.

With practiced hands, she arranged the pieces on the polished board. The first moves came slow and careful. Shikamaru played with unusual distraction, falling into obvious traps, and Temari watched him with a faint, knowing smile. His gaze flickered to her more than once, as if against his will, before darting away again. Inside, he wrestled to steady the storm of emotions.

"You're not really focused tonight... or are you letting me win on purpose?" she teased, her voice soft and laced with amusement.
He shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted you to feel like you had a chance for once."
She raised a brow in challenge. "Oh really? You do realize you're in a much worse position right now."

Leaning forward, she made her next move, her eyes gleaming with resolve. Her hand was steady as she placed the piece. The moment her fingers lifted, Shikamaru reached for his own—his fingers brushed hers, almost imperceptibly, yet the brief contact made them both pause. Fleeting as it was, the moment stretched, heavy with unspoken tension. The air between them thickened, and Temari felt her heart skip a beat.

He lifted his gaze and met hers. For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away. Then he exhaled quietly and turned back to the board, grounding himself again. His next move was sharper, more deliberate. From that point on, his play changed—focused, precise. He was once more the Shikamaru she had known in their first match.

Only three moves later, she was trapped.
He said nothing, simply placed the final piece, the look he gave her a mix of mischief and quiet confidence.
"Tsumi," he murmured with a faint smile.

She leaned back against the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest.
"So you deliberately gave me a head start," she said, feigning indignation.
He gave a barely perceptible nod. "Maybe... because I didn't want this round to end as quickly as the last ones."

For a moment, silence filled the room. His words lingered between them, heavy with meaning. Temari wondered if this was the sign she had been hoping for. He wanted to stay a little longer. His lips twitched slightly, as if he was about to say something more, but he didn't.

Finally, he rose, and the intensity of the moment shattered with the movement. "I'll grant you a rematch sometime soon. You were a bit better than last time."
She followed him wordlessly to the door. For a brief moment, they stood there, neither daring to move.
"Well then... I'm looking forward to our next round. Good night," she said softly, breaking the heavy silence.
"So am I. Good night," he replied, and began to walk away in slow, measured steps.

Temari watched him descend the stairs, calm and deliberate, one hand trailing along the railing. Halfway down, he suddenly stopped and lingered on the step. Then he glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes met. Only for the span of a heartbeat—but long enough to feel it. He turned away abruptly and disappeared into the dimness below. Temari leaned against the doorframe and listened until even the last echo of his footsteps had faded away.