A/N: I don't own Naruto.

Nicotine

"Come on."

Shikamaru turned around reluctantly. His entire purpose for taking solitary walks was to avoid people, the misanthrope he was. They were obnoxious and loud and dealing with them was a pain (women, especially). He took a long drag on his cigarette and glared quizzically at the woman before him.

"What?" He asked, uncaring.

"Can you blow that crap somewhere else that isn't my face?"

"No."

And he turned around again. He didn't have the time or energy for troublesome women. Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder and whirled him around. The woman snatched the cigarette from between his lips, hurled it to the ground, and stomped on it vehemently until it was nothing more than a smoldering heap of ash. Now it was Shikamaru's turn to protest.

"That was my last cigarette."

"Good," she said. "Now you won't die from lung cancer, and you'll stop bothering other people with your damn smoke."

He glared at her, but felt obligated to explain himself.

"Listen," he sighed. "I don't smoke because I'm addicted or anything. I do it in honor of an old teacher of mine who couldn't get enough of these damn things. He was like a father to me, and when he died… Well I guess I thought I'd continue his bad habit, and light a cigarette whenever I was thinking of him."

A moment of silence passed between them. He looked at her, not expecting her to really understand. But her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened slightly—maybe she did, after all.

"That's quite a way to remember someone," she said, her voice gentler. "But I won't judge you." She reached into her purse and pulled out another cigarette. He blanched.

"What the hell?"

"I was just giving you a hard time," she grinned, handing it over to him. "I thought it would be funny. I'm Temari, by the way. Sorry for being a bitch—I guess I'm not as funny as I think I am."

"It's fine," he said. "I'm Shikamaru."

"Alright Shikamaru," she said, "let me light that for you."

And she reached into her purse again, this time producing a lighter. He wormed the cigarette snugly between his lips, and she reached up with the flame between her fingers, and smoke erupted. He looked at her, still grinning deviously at him, teal eyes on fire. And he felt something ignite in himself, too.

"You know," he muttered around the cigarette. "You're too damn troublesome not to ask to dinner." He was careful to exhale his smoke away from her.

"And you're too damn troublesome to not accept."

Just some fluff. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think of it!