To my wonderful friend Headraline, who brought me over to the dark side. So to speak.

As most people who read my fics know, I'm normally a GaaNeji writer. Well, I was until this Shikamaru lookalike decided that I needed a change of scenery. So she got me hooked on ShikaNeji, and even drew me a fantastic picture, which you can see by going to her gallery on DeviantArt.

Fear not, though, GaaNeji fans; I promise that I'll continue to write my GaaNeji fics. I'm just not as enthusiastic about it as I was. My deepest apologies. Again, blame Headraline XD

I'll just keep you from reading my fic a little longer to recommend that you read Yaoilovergirl's fics, A Little Bit Of Peace And Quiet, and Fateful Days. She has promised to write me a continuation on that includes ShikaNeji, rather than NejiShika. Which I hate. I cannot possibly convey how much I hate it.

EDIT 16/06/09: That's right. I've finally gotten around to editing this thing. As you can see, I've taken quite a bit out. What an improvement.

Now, without further ado, on with the fic!

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The follower smirked to himself as he adjusted the zoom on the video camera he held, buzzing with anticipation and longing. He tightened his hold on the piece of filming equipment, his eyes taking in the sight of the brunet beginning to undress as he readied for a shower. Pressing the record button, he began to film.

He had been observing Hyuuga Neji for a while now. He had first seen the attractive teenager in a small coffee shop in the city centre, reading a thick book with a warm sweet cappuccino held in his hand. The follower had been star-struck, at first, and had paused by the door to stare at Neji, moving only when somebody complained that he was blocking the way.

He had apologised absently before making his way over to a seat close to where the brunet was sitting. He had known that staring would attract attention ordinarily, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from greedily scrutinising the teenagers' body. Neji was rather tall, but not overly so. He was perhaps six feet in height, and slender yet toned. His ebony hair hung down to the small of his back in a thick fall of dark silk, contrasting beautifully with his porcelain skin and pale eyes. Needless to say, he was attractive enough to be a model, though it was clear that he had no desire to become one. For one thing, he was not dressed in immaculate slacks or anything branded and was instead wearing a simple pair of relatively tight black jeans and a white sweater. In addition, it was probable that he would be perusing the latest fashion magazines if becoming a model was a career option he was considering rather than reading a thick book called "Les Mots et les choses. Une archéologie des sciences humaines" by somebody called "Michel Foucault". Obviously, this young man was very intelligent and rather bookish. The Follower had smirked to himself. He liked intelligent.

He tilted his head to the side examining the brunet as Neji took a sip of his beverage, pink lips pursing enticingly around the rim of the mug. He was perfect, it seemed. Smart, attractive and...well, The Follower had no idea what, but who cares about anything else? Those things were all that mattered. And that was when he decided. This gorgeous teenager was going to be his.

So he had begun to follow Neji. Stalk wasn't the right word, though, because that implied that they weren't meant to be together. Which was utter crap. He preferred the term followed, and thus he had taken up the tacky moniker of "The Follower" long ago. Perhaps it wasn't the wittiest alias, but it was short and sweet and truthful.

He soon discovered the brunet's name, who Neji's friends were, where he lived, where he went to school, where he hung out. Soon, he even knew Neji's weight and height and other incredibly private things that most people wouldn't know. But, up until now, the thought of watching Neji showering had never occurred to him. Yet he found it undeniably appealing.

Hence the reason he was currently perched on a branched outside the open window, his camera held in a trembling grip, as he watched Neji slip the bathrobe off his shoulders and let it drop gracefully to the floor. He felt his cock harden so fast, he was surprised it didn't snap off as he gazed at the perfect ass, taut and round and milky white like the rest of him. The Follower zoomed in even further, wanting to get the best view of the sight presented to him. However, it was the thing Neji did next that really got him.

With his back to the window still, Neji bent over to retrieve his bathrobe, obviously deciding against leaving it on the floor, presenting an incredible view of his...The Follower had to check for a nosebleed. Straightening up, Neji hooked the robe on the hook behind the door and stepped into the shower, tipping his head back under the hot spray of water as his lips parted with a sigh.

God, he looked so breath-taking! The glass door hadn't fogged up yet, and The Follower could still see him clearly, his dark hair quickly becoming soaked, plastered to his perfect back, droplets of water trickling down his body, catching on peaked pink nipples before dripping over a toned flat stomach and into trimmed dark curls...

The Follower slapped himself. At this rate, he was going to get caught. He was hardly being inconspicuous by unconsciously moving closer to the window and into the light. Making sure that Neji had not spotted him yet, he heaved a sigh of relief. Neji was facing away from the window and didn't appear to have the faintest idea that he was being spied on. The Follower scooted back into the shadows, making certain to keep his camera steady.

He watched the brunet raptly for a while longer. When it became clear that he was going to be a while, The Follower slipped along the branch and with great difficulty manoeuvred himself onto another branch which came close enough to Neji's bedroom window to tap against the glass. Unfortunately, the end was much too thin to support his weight and he was forced to jump the last few feet, slamming into the wall as his fingers scrabbled for against windowsill. After a tense moment in which he wondered whether he was going to fall three stories to his death, he was able to haul himself onto the narrow ledge and prise the window wide before clambering in.

He could hear the sound of the shower, as the door was slightly open, and he briefly considered slipping into the bathroom and watching Neji shower close up. But he knew that would be a bad idea. Neji would spot him straight away, and that would mean an end to any thoughts of them being together. No, he had to groom the brunet first, send him little gifts and notes, and show his affection for Neji. And then he would pounce. If anyone got in his way, if anyone decided to move in on his territory, he would simply dispose of them, either through blackmail, or more violent means. Nothing was going to stop him from being with his Neji. Nothing.

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Neji paused as he dried his hair with a fluffy white towel, looking in the direction of his bedroom. It sounded like something had just fallen over. He frowned to himself and picked up a towel, wrapping it loosely around his hips, before padding into his room. The only light came from a small desk lamp he had left on after finishing his homework, which illuminated the room enough for him to know that there was absolutely nothing out of place. He furrowed his brow and turned to the bathroom, glancing back with confusion. He was sure that he'd heard something.

If he had looked underneath his bed, he would have discovered the source of the noise straight away. Because, lying flat on his stomach as he peaked out from the darkness, was a tall man with tanned skin and jet black hair who had a white hockey mask sitting beside him. He looked completely normal. Except for the expression of rabid hunger on his face and his trembling hands which were reaching towards Neji involuntarily.

The Follower kept his eyes fixed firmly to the door until it closed, then cautiously crawled out from underneath the bed as he fixed his mask back in place, his precious quarry held tightly in his hand. It was a completely unremarkable white comb. But what interested The Follower was the single raven hair trapped between the teeth. Pulling it out gently, so as not to break it, he held it to his nose and sniffed it. God, it smelled of spiced peaches. He stared at the hair in indecision for a moment before his slipped it inside a plastic bag and tucked it away in his pocket, then carefully crept around the room in search of more of that incredible scent. He soon discovered Neji's pillows and, after glancing briefly at the bathroom, buried his face in one, moaning at the smell. He wished he could take it with him, but he knew that, while Neji wouldn't miss a single hair off his comb, he would most certainly miss his pillow. With a regretful sigh, he reluctantly placed the pillow back in its original position and glanced around the room. He needed to figure out Neji's likes and dislikes so he could better worm his way into the brunet's life.

It was a very large room with more space than the brunet had utilized. He had a round bed with a canopy over it pushed against the wall quite close to the window. Like the thick velvety carpet underfoot and the satin curtains, it was entirely white with shimmering silk sheets and a dozen plump pillows. The Follower vaguely recalled a story he had heard as a child about a Princess who could feel a pea through about twenty mattresses and smirked as he examined the rest of the room.

The walls were pale lilac and there was a beautiful traditional Japanese-style painting of a bird in one corner, white like almost everything else. The furniture was maple, including the desk and walk in closet. There was also a modern bubble chair, a pretty lilac colour to match the walls, next to a wide screen television and sound system. Other than that, the room was bare, yet it was stylish and elegant in its simplicity.

To his annoyance, however, there was no indication of Neji's interests or hobbies. Not feeling guilty in the slightest, he pulled open the closet door and peered inside, raising an eyebrow at the vast amount of space, all of which was crammed with clothes. It seemed that his earlier assessment that Neji did not wear brand clothes was incorrect. The Follower filed that information away for later, though he would didn't think he'd be able to buy such expensive clothes on his busboy salary. He would just have to purchase relatively cheap trinkets and trust in the fact that Neji didn't seem materialistic and would appreciate the effort.

His gaze paused on a silver laptop, which was lying open on his desk. He made his way over to it, hoping that there wasn't a password and stopped dead as jealously reared its ugly head. It was completely irrational, but he couldn't help it. He had to stop himself from hurling the laptop across the room when he saw the picture of a handsome teenaged boy that Neji had as a screensaver. Neji never talked to Nara Shikamaru, but The Follower knew, with utmost certainty, that Neji had a gargantuan crush on the brainy baseball star. It was a mystery why he was on the baseball team, since he was incredibly lazy and preferred to do nothing, but that detail was irrelevant. The point was that Neji liked him, and that just would not do.

Unfortunately, Neji did have a password. He tried several combinations in quick succession, being aware that he didn't have much time left, and was annoyed when none of them yielded results. He glared at the laptop as though it was its fault, refusing to type anything with the word "Shikamaru" in it, even though it was likely that this would ensure that he got in. Instead, he yanked open a drawer, mildly surprised by the thick black book inside which he knew to be Neji's diary, having seen him write in it every night before bed.

Taking a backwards glance, he became frantic as he heard the sound of the door handle turning. He was close to the window, but could he make it in time? Stuffing the journal up his shirt, he managed to get one leg out of the window before Neji came back in. The Follower had forgotten that he was three stories up and the branch near Neji's window would probably not support his weight, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Neji entered the room with his dark hair dry and sleek. Obviously, he had dried his hair while he was in the bathroom, which had given The Follower more time. He was dressed in a pair of black satin pyjamas that seemed overly baggy on him, clearly being made for comfort rather than appearance. Still, it looked breath-taking against his white skin and white bedroom and matched his hair perfectly.

Stupidly, The Follower forgot that he wasn't supposed to be there and sent Neji a look of awe. The brunet swept some of his loose hair behind his ear, not noticing the black figure against the inky sky outside until The Follower made a fatal mistake.

"Neji," he whispered longingly, the camera clattering to the ground. The brunet's eyes widened and he whirled around, his mouth opening in shock and horror at the greedy look on the young man's face, and the fact that he was halfway through the bedroom window.

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"Who are you?" Neji snapped, retreating until his back came into contact with the chest of drawers.

When the strange man didn't reply but continued to stare at him, Neji became impatient.

"Get the hell out of my house!" he spat.

"No," the man replied, advancing on the stunned brunet.

"What do you want?" Neji asked, his voice coming out a little weaker now that he could see the extent of this man's madness. It was etched into his greedy, breathy voice and trembling fingers that were held out towards him and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Neji had never been as scared in his life as he was now.

"You," the man breathed. Neji's temper flared even as his fear intensified, causing him to feel a strange mixture on both emotions.

"I don't want you, you sick bastard!" he shouted, his face flushing pink with indignation, faltering only slightly at the way the man drew himself up furiously. It twisted his handsome features into something grotesque and hideous, a parody of attractiveness disfigured by an intimidating stance.

"No, you'd rather have Nara Shikamaru, wouldn't you?" he spat, his voice permeated with disgust and jealousy. Neji stared at him in shock, unable to comprehend how this man knew about his feelings towards the attractive genius. Not unless he had been following Neji around for months, stalking him, devouring Neji with that filthy gaze as the brunet remained blissfully unaware that the unsettling feeling of being watched wasn't just his imagination. Neji shuddered and moved away from that train of though. Or at least, tried to. He couldn't help but wonder whether this stalker had been watching him sleep at night, staring with unabashed hunger as Neji got dressed in the morning, perhaps even masturbating as the brunet showered.

Neji didn't even realise that he was close to hyperventilating. The thought of this man following his every move like some sort of predator left him feeling sick with fear. He had no idea what this man was capable of, and the fact that he seemed to be a total nut job only confirmed his suspicions that he was in very real danger.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

"Oh, I think you do," was the heated reply, "I've seen the way you stare at him with that look in your eyes. You'd give anything to have him, wouldn't you? But there's no chance of that happening, since everyone's saying he has a thing for Sabaku Temari,"

He spoke in an offhand way, as though it was common knowledge, when in fact this piece of information was a lie. Still, it was worth it to see the adorable crushed look in Neji's eyes that wasn't hidden quick enough for him to miss it.

"Just because he doesn't like me, that doesn't mean I'm going to start liking a perverted stalker like you," Neji replied coldly, edging sideways along the drawers. There was no point in screaming for help because his Uncle and cousins were in another city and wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon. Neji cursed himself for declining the invitation. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to make a break for it and hope to God that this man couldn't keep up with him. The man saw what he was doing and tried to stop him, but he was foiled by Neji reaching behind himself and hurling a thick tome at him. It connected with a thud and Neji wasted no time in running as fast as he could down the stairs, his dark hair flying out behind him as his heart thudded against his ribs. He could hear that man thundering down the stairs after him and picked up the pace.

The door was locked, he found out after precious seconds of frantic grappling with trembling hands. When he finally realised that it was futile, he cast around for the key with wide eyes. Plunging his hand into a fancy potted plant, he prayed that the spare was still safely tucked away in there. He barely managed to pull his hand back with the key clasped loosely in his fist before he was slammed into the door, winded.

"Don't run away!" the man said, crazed and pleading at once as he held Neji against the door. The brunet flinched, bringing his hands up to push at the stalker's biceps. Unfortunately, this man anticipated his move and grabbed his wrists in an iron grip, holding them above his head. In a last fit of desperation, Neji brought his knee up as hard as he could, feeling the bone slam into the man's groin. He was disgusted to feel that the man was hard, and felt a burst of savage pleasure as the stalker doubled over, groaning in pain. Neji wasted no time and got the key into the lock, fumbling only slightly, before pitching out of the door, stumbling, then sprinting off into the darkness. He knew that the pain would fade in a little while, and when it did, he was going to be after Neji again.

The fact that it was winter and it was therefore dark outside had its pros and cons. Fortunately, nobody was around to see him running around the streets in satin pyjamas. Unfortunately, there was nobody around to help. He hated feeling weak like this, but he couldn't win against that guy. While he was about an inch shorter than Neji, he was muscular and sturdy. The brunet would have no chance. It was better to run.

He got to the end of his street in record time, glad that he lived in a rich neighbourhood and didn't have to worry about cutting his bare feet on glass or other debris. It was a good thing he was physically fit, though, because the street was long and he needed to get out of sight on his house quickly to lose the insane man.

He skidded around the corner, panting harshly as his eyes darted around. He ran across the road, knowing that the stalker would expect him to continue along the sidewalk and around the corner. He kept expecting to hear the pounding of feet catching up to him and increased his pace, his eyes wide and fearful.

He could feel the searing pain of a cramp in his side but refused to stop running at a punishing speed. He turned down an alley, silently praying that it wasn't a dead end, and luckily came out into a street that was full of high rise apartment blocks. They were expensive, though not as expensive as his own home. However, this street was as deserted as the one he had just come out of. It was eight o'clock at night in November, afterall. Nobody wanted to be out in that. Even though Neji had been running for so long, he was starting to shiver. Still, he pressed on, needing to escape. He couldn't let his guard down for one minute. He had to keep moving, had to get away from this obsessive freak that seemed intent on making Neji his.

But finally he could run no more. He stopped for a moment, bracing himself against a lamp post as he struggled to get his breath back. He could wait here for a minute. That stalker was bound to be miles behind him now-

"I told you not to run away from me!" came a demented yell from the end of the street, echoing throughout the deserted night. Neji's heart began to pound again and he took off, even though his side was still aching fiercely. His feet were throbbing and he was close to tears, and he just wanted to black out so that he could remain blissfully unaware of what was happening. But he didn't and continued on as he stifled small sobs, not willing to let this man anywhere near him and refusing to let his fear show. He had more pride than that.

Eventually, he sank to his knees, unable to go any further. His lungs were burning with every breath and his feet felt mangled. He was trembling with fatigue and couldn't bring himself to care that he was kneeling on the filthy ground in expensive satin pyjamas. He let out a choked sob.

He'd heard stories on the news about stalkers, about how they attacked and raped and killed their obsessions. They deluded themselves into thinking that the person who's footsteps they dogged loved them back, and the rejection cut them to the core. Burned, their obsessions became one of hatred, and they turned violent. In the end, the victim was often brutally killed.

A gasp was wrenched from his throat as he was yanked violently and thrown into a wall. The rough bricks skinned his elbows and bruised his back, but he was only dimmly aware of this fact. He could only stare in horror as the man pressed him into the wall, his face inches away. Neji could see his coal black eyes through the slits in his hockey mask. The rabid hunger in them only increased his fear and desperation.

Neji was close to hyperventilating. His breathing had sped up noticably, yet he didn't allow himself to cry. Not even as a single dark hand wound its way down his body to fumble with his pajamas.

Then suddenly it was all over. One minute the man was breathing hotly into Neji's neck, fingers fumbling with silk pajama pants, the next the man was ripped away and landed among a group of trash cans with an audible crash.

He heard slow footsteps cringed. They got closer and closer and-

"Stay away from me, you pervert!" he snapped, his voice trembling.

"You've lost it, Hyuuga," a familiar voice said. This statement was followed up with a yawn and signature "Troublesome".

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Shikamaru stared at the normally impassive Hyuuga with raised eyebrows. He was a little disturbed by the way the proud teenager trembled on the ground with his hands covering his head, dressed in fancy pyjamas. He was even more disturbed by how damaged and weak the normally proud teenager looked.

"Oi, Hyuuga," Shikamaru tried, his voice no longer bored, "He's gone now,"

Instead of answering in an untroublesome way, the brunet looked up at him for a moment, then averted his gaze as though embarrassed.

"Shikamaru," he said softly.

Neji could feel his cheeks heating up quickly as he defensively wrapped his arms around his own shivering form. To his surprise, he felt the unmistakable sensation of a soft warm jacket being draped around his shoulders, chasing away a little of the chill.

"Thanks," he muttered awkwardly, finally looking at Shikamaru's lazily smirking face.

"Don't mention it," he replied, sending the stalker a little grin.

They were quiet for a moment, Neji trying and failing to keep his gaze away from Shikamaru for more than a few seconds.

Shikamaru probably noticed, but didn't seem to care much. He slowly wrapped an arm around Neji's slim, shivering form. While the jacket was quite thick, Neji was wearing very thin clothes that let in most of the cold underneath, and it hadn't done much good. This action caused a furious blush stain Neji's cheeks. He sincerely hoped that Shikamaru would believe him if he claimed that it was caused by the cold..

"I'm going home," Neji told Shikamaru. He was sure that locking all the doors and windows and drawing the curtains would provide enough protection against the psycho. If not, he always had his phone. He would phone the police, but he didn't even know the man's name, or what his face looked like thanks to that mask. The only thing he knew about the man's appearance was that he had dark skin, dark hair and dark eyes. And he sure as hell wasn't going to try to wrestle him down and remove the mask from his face, as it was almost certain that Neji would lose and end up in the stalker's grasp.

"Of course you can't go home," Shikamaru said in response, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Not with this fuckwit still hanging around,"

"Well, I certainly have no where else to go," Neji reasoned, "I need a shower after this anyway. One that doesn't come with a complimentary peeping-tom staring at me like I'm 126 lbs of prime steak," (1).

"What, only?" Shikamaru asked, referring to Neji's weight, "You need to eat more, Hyuuga, or you'll disappear if you're not careful,"

Neji turned his glower to the smirking genius, not really sure who was irritating him the most at that moment.

"Hn," he responded shortly, "I'm going home,"

"I already said you can't," Shikamaru said with annoyance, "You couldn't hold this guy off on your own,"

"My doors and windows have locks," Neji pointed out irritably.

"Locks can be picked," Shikamaru countered.

"Then phone the police!" Neji snapped. Shikamaru shrugged.

"It's troublesome," he replied.

Neji glared at him angrily.

"So you act like you're defending me, but you refuse to phone the police on the grounds that it's too troublesome?" Neji asked incredulously.

"Pretty much, yeah," Shikamaru replied, earning look of purest venom from the Hyuuga.

"Whatever," Neji replied with a snort of disgust, turning to walk away. He paused at the lax grip on his slim wrist, the skin warm and calloused from hours of playing baseball. He was disconcerted by the size of that hand . It was wrapped around his pale arm loosely, and there was still room to spare. But then, Shikamaru had always been rather bigger than him, if not always in height then in stature due to being naturaly bulkier than him. During the past year, that difference had become ridiculous. Shikamaru's biceps were corded and rippled with muscle, and you could probably wash actual clothes on his abs .

Neji paused, unable to deny Shikamaru anything when those rough yet gentle fingers were in contact with his icy skin. He could smell the strong masculine scent of grass and something woody, like pine needles, interspersed with the faint scent of sweat.

"You're coming with me, and that's final," Shikamaru breathed in his ear. It annoyed the Hyuuga that Shikamaru had a hold over him, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Neji could just imagine the smirk on Shikamaru's face as the Hyuuga froze at the sensation of hot breath tickling his cheek, his cheeks flushing brilliantly. It took a while for his flustered brain to process what he had just been told, and his flush became one of indignation.

"You can't just order me around!" he retorted with amazed incredulity, spinning around to face the baseball star.

"If it keeps you away from this guy, I can," Shikamaru replied easily, "Calling the police would be too troublesome, and they're useless anyway,"

"That's not a good enough reason!" Neji seethed, "You might take advantage of me yourself!"

"Only if you want me to," Shikamaru quipped in response, smirking at the dull flush that formed on Neji's cheeks.

"I'm not coming with you," Neji told him after a beat.

"You are even if I have to carry you there," Shikamaru replied with a roll of his eyes, "Tch, troublesome,"

"You wouldn't dare," Neji said calmly, and in that instant he wished he hadn't spoken those words. Because they were as bad as "Things can't get any worse" when it came to proving you wrong.

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(1) Exactly 9 stone.