The first time rain and Temari’s visits coincided, she stood in Shikamaru’s garden for three hours before coming in, soaked, shivering, and grinning from ear to ear. Her clothes were plastered to her body, every curve revealed, ponytails weighed down and dark with water, dripping all over the floor of the entrance with complete disregard for the mess.

In the aftermath of war, Temari stands beside him, steady. And Shikamaru finally understands.