#bilingual shikadai

[lumiesian]

" the ink pot "

pairing: shikadai nara x  inojin yamanaka

warnings: autistic!inojin, mentions of struggles with autistic traits (e.g. social isolation, difficulty communicating and making friends, bullying, sensory overload), non-harmful stimming, poorly translated Arabic lol

word count: 2.1k

synopsis: inojin felt like a pot of spilt ink. (can be read as either mutual crushing or an established relationship!)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45974221

Inojin felt like a pot of spilt ink. Messy, dark, staining everything it touches, waiting in a puddle untouched because everyone knows that cleaning it up will only make more of a mess than the spill already caused. ‘Let’s just wait for it to dry on its own!’ people would say, ‘I’m sure someone else will wipe it up later!’ they’d think, or ‘If I touch it’ll stain my hands!’, and they’d be right. Inojin knew this.

It was always inevitable that the ink would spill, the painter was a mess after all, always trying to create bigger and better but never upgrading his tools. Inojin had been trying his best with what he already had, but with constant reminders that his best would never be good enough, he had to aspire to be better.

It started with his voice, it wasn’t good enough. So he tried better, he enunciated his words clearer, he altered his tone to be more high pitched, he’d speak faster when others did, or he remembered to be quiet when the room was small. Eventually, he got the hang of it, every conversation feeling like a game of Karaoke- make sure to hit the notes, don't forget the words, remember to take the breath here, but not there. 

But it wasn’t enough, what about his face? It was all wrong and broken. He didn’t smile when he was supposed to, his eyebrows didn't move enough, and his eyes were creepy and unnatural. ‘Smile, Inojin!’ he heard it often enough, but once he got the hang of it… ‘Stop smiling all the time, it’s creepy!’, so he reeled it back in. It was strange, his eye contact was too intense, but then it was too avoidant, his eyebrows were too stiff, but then they were too animated, everything his face did was always wrong.

His Mother wasn’t any help; ‘Just be yourself baby!’, was easier said than done when no one liked ‘himself’. Inojin was blunt and to the point, he got excited over Art, Fashion, Flowers, and Video Games, but couldn't share a conversation with others- always needing to talk about his interest, confused when others didn’t share them. Inojin was a problem, rebranded over and over again; He talks too much in class, he doesn't share enough in class, he doesn't play well with others, he spends too much time playing alone, he’s too blunt, he’s too vague, he’s too loud, he’s too quiet, he moves around too much, he won’t pay attention- Inojin was exhausted.

And his exhaustion turned to anger, and his anger turned to sadness, and his sadness turned to nothing. His parents didn’t know how to help him as he fell into a simple routine of ‘eat, sleep, repeat’ rejecting his father's offers to go outside and paint together, and ignoring his mother's requests to go shopping together- activities he used to love more than anything. He used to be such a happy kid. Back when it was just him and his parents, there were no expectations for how he should or shouldn't look, there was no wrong and right tone, and it didn’t matter if he swung his feet during mealtimes, or twirled his hair during conversations, or shook his hands watching TV- everything was good back then. His Dad assured him nothing he was doing was ever wrong, and his Mama encouraged him to just be himself- back when being himself didn’t make everyone hate him.

“What should we do?” Inojin heard his Mother, Ino, whisper from the kitchen, it’d been 3 weeks of Inojin refusing to attend the Academy or see his friends, and he knew it upset his parents. Still, he didn’t particularly know what to do about that.

“I asked Sakura but she said there’s nothing they can do for him if it’s psychological…” Sai, Inojin’s father, concurred. He stopped listening after that, pulling his knees up to his chest and gently tapping on his earlobes rhythmically to distract himself from it all. His phone buzzed on his bedside table and he checked it reluctantly.

Shikadai: Hey what was that old designer you told me about, from Sunagakure? With that Purple line?

Inojin let out a sigh and contemplated leaving his best friend on read, before replying anyway;

Inojin: I know what you're doing. You don’t need to pretend to be interested.

The blond pulled his quilt cover-up over his body and tried to ignore the semi-frequent buzzes of his phone next to him. He didn’t need to know that that’s what Shikadai was doing, the past had taught him well enough; when girls at the Academy asked him about a flower he liked and then giggled and side-eyed one another when he’d give them answers. When boys said they liked his new sneakers he took the opportunity to explain why he picked them- the looks they gave him… It hurt.

‘Go away,’ he thought, ‘Just go away… Stop pretending…’ Inojin grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tried to ignore the ever-increasing noise; Bz…Bzz… Bzzzz… BZZZZZ… BUZZ!!

“Ugh!” Whined the boy, picking up his phone and throwing it across his room. It was followed by something shattering, as Inojin sat up quickly to glance at his desk. The black ink pot had broken and leaked all over his desk. He sucked in a sharp breath and bit down on his bottom lip as he slowly got up and walked towards it. The ink had splattered out onto everything; it had soaked into the wood of the desk, desecrated artworks he'd worked on with his father, stained fabric scraps his mother was helping him sew together, wrecked the band of his hitai-ate and splattered over photo frames of him and his loved ones.

It wasn’t a big deal, really, he could get a new desk, he could make new artworks with his Dad, start new projects with his Mama, could get a new forehead protector, could wipe down the photo frames, it could all be fixed easily enough. But it didn’t feel like it, it felt like the final straw in a never-ending series of failures and disappointments. His knees gave way under him as his eyes began to feel heavy. Thick tears streamed down his cheeks as he hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face into them.

The noise was too loud, telling him he wasn’t good enough, that he never would be. The pot would stay broken and the ink would stay spilt, and anyone who tried to fix it would just make a mess. It felt like forever had passed on the cold hard floor, and the sky had turned from mid-afternoon to early dusk, tears just as hot and heavy as they were when they first began to fall.

A soft knock fell on his door, followed by a gentle voice, “Inojin? Can I come in?” It was Shikadai, there was no mistaking the familiar voice. Inojin had half a mind to turn him away, yell ‘Go away!’, or ‘I don’t want to talk!’, but no words came out and he continued his silent grieving, “I’m coming in…” Shikadai whispered before slowly opening the door, being sure to shut it behind him before turning to look around.

It was getting dark, the lilac sky outside giving the room a soft glow, illuminating Inojin’s pale face and watery eyes. Shikadai had a large duffle bag in one hand and gently placed it down on the floor before approaching Inojin, crouching down beside him, “Inojin? It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not!” Inojin sobbed out, “Go away! You don’t need to pretend to be my friend anymore! I know you're only here ‘cause our parents are friends!” The blond choked out, causing Shikdai to furrow his brows and sit down on the floor beside his friend, slowly stretching out a hand to rest on Inojin’s shoulder. “I talk too much about stupid things, my face is all messed up and nobody likes me! I can’t be good enough!”

“Hey… that’s not true…” Shikadai whispered, bringing his other hand around to hold Inojin’s. “I’m here because I’m your best friend and I love and care about you, and so does Chocho, she loves and cares about you so much, we’re both really worried…” Shikadai comforted, “I love listening to you talk about things, and I think your face is the nicest in the world… I’m sorry you’ve felt so awful…”

“It’s not your fault I ruin everything…” Inojin whispered, squeezing onto Shikadais hand and using his free hand to push his hair behind his ear- it’d begun to stick to his face from all the wet tears, “I can’t be what you guys need, I can’t be a good friend, I can't be normal… I spilt ink everywhere Shikadai- and if we try and clean it up it’ll just get on you too…”

“Yeah?” Shikadai glanced at Inojin’s desk before shooting the blond a lopsided smile and pulling his hand away to wipe the tears off of Inojin’s face, Shikadai knew this wasn’t about the ink, “Well… it might be a drag, but I think it’s easy enough to clean up if you ask for help… It’s just ink…” Shikadai’s thumb lingered on the skin below Inojin’s eye, admiring the boy's smooth skin and feeling his heart break at the purple eye bags that tugged on his red and teary eyes.

Inojin’s bottom lip began to tremble and the blond was sobbing again- his whole body wracked with shakes as his nose began to run, before Shikadai even had time to react Inojin had thrown himself into Shikadai’s arms. Letting out a heavy sigh Shikadai wrapped his arms around Inojin and began gently petting his blond hair; “Rajul jamil…” Shikadai softly whispered as Inojin’s sobs began to quiet down, “Ana mahzuz jidana bik…” 

Inojin loved it when Shikadai spoke Sunan, he spoke it with an air of elegance and maturity that made Inojin’s cheeks heat in an unfamiliar way, and his chest flutter with something akin to butterflies- it made Inojin want to jump up and down and dance. Inojin allowed himself to be held for a few moments longer before finally breaking the silence, “What’s in the bag?” he asked as he slowly sat up, looking into Shikadai's kind eyes and gently tapping his kneecaps with his fingers, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the green-eyed genius. Shikadai had the action memorised, the way Inojin’s pointer finger had to make contact and lift before his middle finger could, then his ring finger, and finally his little finger- a structured pattern repeating on a loop.

“I love when you do that…” Shikadai mused, he thought it was cute, “Well I was telling Ma about that designer you liked, I figured she might know them since she would've been in her teens when they were popular and she was still living in Suna back then… and not only did she know them, apparently she loved ‘em…” Shikadai smiled gently and reached over, sliding the bag across the floor between the two boys and unzipping it, “None of these fit her anymore, and she’s not planning on having any more kids… We both thought maybe you’d like these?”

Inojin sniffled loudly, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve before finally allowing his face to relax into what felt like content happiness, “Did you know the designer had a whole line inspired by Kazekage Gaara? She incorporated textures into the line, which skyrocketed Sunagakure’s popularity around the Land of Wind!”

“Yeah? Isn’t that so cool!” Shikadai agreed, wiping another stray tear from Inojin’s face, “Did you know that my Mother commissioned the designer for a Kimono once? This was after she’d had me though, it still fits her but I’m sure she’d show it to you sometime!” 

Inojin’s face lit up even brighter as his hands shot up in fists beside his face, seemingly shaking with pure joy, “Really?”

“Mmhm, it incorporated black Higanbana into the design, to represent the Nara Clan too…” Shikadai grinned at the cute way Inojin’s arms moved, the plan to cheer up his favourite blond had been a success, “Oh! Speaking of flowers… What did you say your favourite was?”

“Oh! Easily the Calla Lily! They kinda look like little ink pots!” Inojin gushed, reaching up onto his desk to grab the vase of fresh Calla Lillies that had somehow managed to avoid any splatters of ink. They were the same colour purple as Inojin’s shirt, and they smelt of cleanliness and elegance, “Mama got some ink pots custom-made for Dad one Anniversary, they’re shaped like them!”

“Oh really? That’s awesome… What time of year do they bloom?” Shikadai inquired, and Inojin knew what Shikadai was doing, but he funnily didn’t seem to mind anymore. Maybe Shikadai was right, other people are a ‘drag’, maybe it is just ink. Maybe it’s easier to clean up with the help of others, and maybe it didn’t matter if everyone liked him; Shikadai did, and right now, it felt like that could be enough.

Translation Notes: "Beautiful man..." "I am so shaken by your existence/lucky to have you…"