Shikamaru&Ino, prompt: 'Heartbeat' by 2AM/2PM.

He misses her. That's all.

It's not a crime, but it should be. There should be a law that says she can't be missed; because he broke up with her, because she was too much of a good thing, and he didn't know until it was far too late.

It's the little things that make him ache the most, make his heart glow and sigh in ways he thought he had forgotten because no one affected him like she did. Like how she daintily applied her make up and lip gloss in particular, admiring her reflection whilst listening to him. She usually kissed him when she had finished, after forcing him to give his opinion and tell her that he thought she looked beautiful—and he replied that she doesn't need it, ambiguous whether it was his opinion or the cosmetics he was referring to—she's beautiful without. He misses her caustic replies, pretending to be high and mighty and giving haughty looks that were easily broken by his faux lack of indifference, though she always had a snappy comeback, or so she said. He misses her cherry pink cheeks darkening whenever she was angry with him—and how they changed into rose red whenever she was pleased by his thoughtfulness, and how he brushed away her tears with callous thumbs whenever she saw an overly romantic tragedy because she liked them best, though she claimed that romantic comedies were her favourite instead.

He misses the way she curled into his side, knees tucking in like a child, and how his arm was a perfect fit for her waist, pulling her in closer when he needed her the most, and how she liked to joke that he was her prized fashion accessory, and then rest her head on his collar bone, occasionally falling asleep if it had been a particularly tiring day.

They had been happy. Countless photos were proof of that, and then he'd broken her heart.

He's on the other side of the world, and yet, his thoughts keep returning to her, their empty apartment, their bed, her giggles, and his scruffy sneakers knocking side by side her fancy high heels. They were going to go to Paris one day. They'd planned it, fancy hotels, Eiffel Tower, and cheese tasting by the dozen. Now they never would.

He remembers that final day, an evening with sparkling champagne and the scent of azaleas that made him heady. She'd been wearing such a pretty dress, an emerald green one that brought out the yellow in her hair. He remembers how she looked, tears just about to fall, never quite.

She took her broken heart and walked away; heels clacking on the marble floor, graceful even then.

But she forgot to give his heart back in return, snatching it without a word, and not letting go.

He's had countless girls give him the same smile, the coy glances, and sweet murmurs, offering their hearts, before and after Ino, and yet none of them were as genuine.

He thought it would be easier if they'd part ways. Long distance relationships never worked out, after all. People grew apart, and it's never the same, talking on the phone rather than face to face.

This was his decision to make.

And he misses her. That's all.