A/N: Aaaaand, here's the last chapter to this story. The truth is, this story was a bit of a mess to begin with. It took me so damn long to hammer out the chapters because, honestly, the concept of the story wasn't good. It really wasn't.

But I don't regret writing this piece. It's given me some good lessons on how I should really formulate stories in the future. And, as for the moment, I'm working on another fiction as we speak - err, as you read!

So I apologize if this chapter seems rushed, if the story ended terribly, if there are a million plot holes, etc. I just wanted to give this a partially acceptable ending.

With that said, please press forward and enjoy (or at least try to)!

Oh, and as another note, the first two parts of this chapter is in Shikamaru's POV.

"And now I don't know what to do. I've tried apologizing, but he hasn't given me a second thought. It's driving me crazy! What should I do?"

Asuma sits back in his seat, smoking his cigarette silently as he watches me from the corner of his eye. He looks away and flicks the ashy end of his stick before exhaling a puff of smoke.

"I had a lover once."

I perk up at this and stare at my mentor, waiting for him to elaborate. He's never been keen on sharing his personal history when I'd ask, so I pay good attention to anything that'll offer me even a little bit of insight on this man.

"She was a model for our drawing class a couple times; had a nice body and all, so naturally I was attracted to her. Went on some dates, and we hit off pretty well."

He stops to take a long drag from his cigarette and throws the rest onto the concrete steps below us.

"So what went wrong?"

Asuma sighs and presses the heel of his palm into his right eye, trying to suppress a pain in his head. He's frowning, and I realize that we've gone into some pretty heavy stuff for him to recall.

"I stopped creating. Instead of spending my time painting, I spent all of my extra time with her. By the time I realized what was happening, a year had already passed," he says while fiddling with his fingers, "And the time it took me to get back into art, that was wasted too."

He sits with his elbows propped on his knees, his body hunched and leaning forward as he stares at the ground. I sit back and rest my head at the top of the steps.

There is another round of silence between us. Some unknown force gives me the courage to say something stupid, to prove to my mentor that I may not be the "genius" that he knew years ago.

"But I love him," I say.

Asuma sighs, brings out another cigarette, and takes an especially long drag from it. He says nothing more as he stands up and walks off, without even turning back to say goodbye.

I continue to sit on the front steps of my building, staring up at the darkening sky. By the time I sit up, Asuma is already gone.

oooOOooo

Some odd hours have already passed when I decide to go back inside. I take the stairs slowly up to my floor, letting my feet thump heavily on each carpeted step.

I can hear my cellphone ringing from inside my apartment when I near my door, so I move a bit faster to unlock it and get inside. When I read the I.D. on the front screen, I pause.

Naruto? Why is he calling?

"Hello?" I try to keep my surprise down to a minimum, but my hands and voice are shaking.

"I'm outside your building. Can you come down and let me in?"

"Uh, I don't know-" I respond immediately, nearly smacking my face from my own stupidity. Of course I would be willing to let him in.

But he doesn't even give me a chance to properly answer as I hear, "Oh, never mind. Someone's opening the door. I'll be right up."

And then he hangs up.

My mind and heart race, and I rush to the bathroom to make sure I'm at least somewhat presentable. I had stayed in all day, not bothering to change out of what I had slept in.

I run out into the hall afterwards, standing up tall and maintaining my composure. Within a minute, Naruto comes barreling through the stairwell door.

"Shikamaru!" he yells.

The idiot probably forgot that I have neighbors. I nearly cringe at the volume of his voice but am given no time to react when he throws himself onto me. As a natural reaction, my body freezes - from nerves, I think. He lets me go and takes a step or two back before surveying me. I take the opportunity to do the same.

He's the same-old blond who has the same-old blue eyes. And he's the same-old gorgeous man I've captured in so many paintings and sketches. My heart wrenches, leaving me feeling absolutely worthless in comparison to him.

When I become conscious of myself, I realize that I'm frowning from the never-ending thinking process that's going on in my mind.

"I thought you were going to hit me again," I say to break the silence.

Of all things I could say, I say that. My lip pulses from the overflow of blood there; I recall then that Naruto gave me no mercy when he hit me.

But Naruto seems to notice my stern look, shakes his head, and moves his gaze from my face. I need to say something. I need to keep him here, somehow.

"Want to come in?" I say after a moment or two.

I push my door open and let Naruto step through the threshold. As I follow him in, I can't help but give him a push to move faster...on his ass.

oooOOooo

The sexual tension was almost impalpable when I had entered Shikamaru's apartment; we went at it so fast, we didn't even give ourselves time to talk about our relationship.

Before I can even bring up the topic, I discover that Shikamaru's eyes are closed and his breathing is even; without my knowledge, he had fallen asleep.

I muse to myself as I glance over at him: at the very least, even if our relationship goes to shits, I'll have had one more round of sex with Shikamaru. It's a consolation prize, I guess.

oooOOooo

"I'm sorry about what I did," Shikamaru says simply as he watches me poke at my breakfast, "I never meant to hurt you."

I know he isn't talking about the rough sex we had last night. We stare hard into one another's eyes and it seems as if everything has slowed to a near halt. I put my fork down and cross my arms on the table, half-hugging myself as I slouch in my seat.

"I know it wasn't your intention to hurt me, but you did."

My tone was neither bitter nor angry. It was just the simple truth.

I sigh and grab my pack of cigarettes on the table. Shikamaru understands and immediately follows me to the balcony.

I lean on the railing outside and take a large inhale. The air smells heavy and wet after the heavy rain that came through last night.

Opening the pack, I take out a stick and offer one to Shikamaru.

"Your lucky stick?"

I peer into the box, and sure enough, the remaining, upside-down cigarette is staring straight at me. Without a thought, I hold the box to him again.

"Take the fucking stick, Shikamaru."

He shrugs his shoulders and takes it gingerly between his index finger and thumb. I offer him a light, and soon, we're both leaning on the rail, smoking in silence.

I've smoked through mine completely by the time Shikamaru finishes the last of his stick. He flicks the butt onto the wet floor, not even bothering to stomp it out, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Naruto, I'm leaving," he says randomly, though his voice is even and calm.

"What? Leaving? What do you mean?" I say dumbly, barely giving myself time to comprehend what he's saying.

Shikamaru sighs and stands there with his back slouched terribly. I have the urge to tell him to straighten up, but my brain is still attempting to wrap around his simple, yet vague, declaration.

"Kakashi - his course evaluator that came by the other day, he happened to see the portrait I painted of you. I met up with him and...well, he's interested in commissioning me. He says he wants me to paint a huge mural in his penthouse. In New York City."

New York? That wasn't a commuting distance from where we were. That only meant one thing.

"Then why?" I ask as my eyes start to water, "Why would you sleep with me and then tell me something like this? Do you think I'm some kind of 'fuck and go' type of person?"

He furrows his eyebrows and frowns heavily as he crosses his arms over his chest again - a defensive stance. My heart begins to palpitate with adrenaline and nerves. Before I even know it, my cheeks are wet with tears.

I'm an emotional mess, I know.

Shikamaru grabs my shoulders roughly and, with shaking hands, holds me at arm's length.

"Why do you keep accusing me of things? You never even give me a chance to explain!" he says in desperation.

He releases me and takes the spot furthest from me on the balcony. Shikamaru shakes his head, looks me dead in the eyes, and says, "But honestly, I don't want to be all the way in New York. Not without you."

A silence falls between us, and I feel my face warm from embarrassment.

"Wh-what?" I stammer dumbly in reply, "You don't mean for me to go with you, do you?"

I wait for him to shrug, say "I'm just kidding," and move on. But the look on Shikamaru's face is serious. His eyes are lit with a sort of energy - passion, perhaps. Or something completely different - I'm not quite sure.

"Yes. After we graduate next month, we'll move to New York. We can rent an apartment together, maybe even a studio nearby. We'll live in the city and create art."

I nearly laugh in his face, nearly brush off his offer to up and leave everything. But I don't. Shikamaru was never as serious as he is now.

My mind works furiously as I select the right words to say, the words that will hurt the least.

"Shikamaru," I say, my tone so grave it takes me by surprise, "there's no doubt that we like each other, but I don't know if I can do it, moving to New York. And we barely even know each other. It's not enough to just know each other's favorite sex position."

Silence again. The lack of noise is deafening, I start to hear myself breathing. I start to hear Shikamaru's breathing as well, which is well out of sync with mine. But I am so conscious of our breathing patterns that I start to time mine to match with his. It's such a conscious, but unconscious, thing that I cannot seem to control.

But he is the first to speak. Shikamaru, with a pained expression on his face, bites his bottom lip and looks off to the side.

"Even if we don't know much about each other, I know that I love you, Naruto. Against all that my mentor ever taught me, I've fallen in love with you."

I love you. What a dangerous combination of words. It's ammunition for Shikamaru, for him to use them against me and keep me in this trap that I swear he had set up from the beginning.

He got me good.

"What are you saying, Shikamaru? Didn't you hear what I just said? We hardly know each other," I say, in an attempt to clear his head, to make him take it all back.

I don't want to hear his love for me. I barely know him. I don't love him back. I can't - not as easily as he has of me.

But I can't bring myself to reject him.

"Please," he says, as if he's just asking me a simple favor, "come with me to New York."

My eyes start to water again. I wipe them away angrily, but more come. I can't help myself and start to cry with no restraint.

"It's not fair," I cry out as my tears roll down my face, over my cheeks and onto my lips, "I can't just say no. Fuck you, Shikamaru."

oooOOooo

I pop my head out from the back room when the desk bell rings. Wiping my paint-covered hands on my apron, I step up behind the cash register and put on a fake smile.

"How can I help you?"

The woman - who just so happens to be a regular customer - crosses her arms at me and scowls.

"Took long enough to get some service."

"I'm sorry. I was in the back-"

"Yeah, whatever. Just give me a tube each of cedar red, honey yellow, and ocean blue. And don't think about giving me the testers. Last time I got a tube that wasn't filled like usual."

I turn around to reach for the requested paint tubes, but not before letting out a long, heavy sigh. I put the three tubes into a paper bag and ring them up.

"That'll be $20.89," I say robotic-like.

She hands me a crisp twenty dollar bill and grabs the paper bag. When I try to stop her for the insufficient amount of money, she snaps at me.

"Take the rest out of your paycheck. And don't be so slow next time."

Before I can even stop her, the woman stomps out of the empty store. There's not even a witness to her misbehavior.

I sigh again, reach into my pocket, and throw in a dollar bill into the register.

When I step into the back room again, I feel my shoulders and heart lighten. The canvas sitting on the easel stares straight back at me, with its concentrated, deep colors of blues and purples. I'm not sure what I'm painting, and these days it seems as if I'm more likely to create abstract things.

I pick up my paintbrush, which is sitting in oil paint. However, before I can even put a dot on the canvas, I hear the shop bell ring again.

"Hello, how may I help you-" I say just as I step out of the back room.

My words fade into silence as I take a moment to fully recognize my studio professor, Kakashi. He has a paint mask on, as always, and his hair is just as gray as I last remember two years ago.

"Ah, Naruto. I should have expected to see you in New York, but I didn't think you'd be working in a place like this. Though, where else better to work, eh?"

I smile, though it's more of an automatic reaction. These days, I haven't really been smiling.

"Yeah, I guess. So I assume you're in town for Shikamaru's exhibit, right? The opening night is in a few hours, you know," I tell him.

"I should be saying the same thing," Kakashi replies, "When do you get off work?"

"In a half hour, or when my boss gets here - whichever comes first."

"Okay, good. I'll see you at the exhibit then, Naruto."

Kakashi waves goodbye as he walks out of the shop. I wave back until he's out of sight.

Just another half hour to go.

oooOOooo

I fidget in my dress suit, the too-smooth material caressing my skin a little too intimately and the cuffs of my dress shirt scratching at my wrists. Looking at myself in the mirror, I admit to myself that I look relatively handsome - at least, relative to how I normally dress.

"Come on, Naruto, you're going to make me late," Shikamaru yells from the living room.

My temper flares, so I yell back at him that I'm just finishing up. With one last ruffle of my hair, I step out of the bathroom and see Shikamaru sitting on the cushy loveseat that we moved from his old apartment.

He smiles and stands up when he sees me donned in my best dress. I scrunch my nose at him when he gives me a peck on the lips.

"Took you long enough," Shikamaru says.

I cross my arms over my chest and pout, "Not my fault I have a scheduled job."

It was partially true; because Shikamaru works solely on a per-art-piece salary (and his - apparently - rich parents cut him off as soon as he graduated), money can sometimes get a little tight. I had no luck in finding any sort of full-time job that would allow me to take randomly scheduled time off when Shikamaru got commissioned work. He said I was needed for "moral support" when he would stay up into the late hours of the night working on his next greatest piece. So I took a part-time job at the local art supply store, just so we wouldn't have to worry during the days art didn't sell.

But that left me little time to work on my own art - just the time in the art shop's back room, during the slower hours.

It's a selfless thing for me to do, and a selfish thing for him to do.

But what can I do?

"Let's go," I say quietly, though Shikamaru doesn't seem to catch my gloomy mood.