Chapter Text
Shino stares at the clock. He has one hour, forty-two minutes, and seven, six, five, four seconds left of his shift. The popcorn machine’s been scrubbed, every surface in a seven-hundred-foot radius has been wiped down, and no one in their right mind wants to bring their kids to an arcade at 10:00 PM on a Tuesday. Of course, that didn’t stop Greasy Dave (their 40-year-old zombie-blasting regular who isn’t allowed to come when there are more than ten children in the building, for liability reasons) and one or two teenagers from mingling, but Shino doesn’t mind them. They’re quiet, for the most part. He’s pretty sure the people in the back corner where the ball pit is are necking, but it’s none of his business. The official rules of Shuriken Palace Arcade are “NO RUNNING - NO STEALING - NO CLIMBING - HAVE FUN!” as plastered on the big white and red signs above the front door and right behind him, and nowhere on them does it say, “NO SWAPPING SPIT IN DARK CORNERS.” Besides, the last time Shino tried to interfere with indecent activities in the ball pit, someone threatened to feed tickets into his ass like a ticket eater.
Since the new owner bought more quarter machines and a couple of ticket eaters (which had inspired the previous comment), most of the register work has been racking up tickets and exchanging prizes. He usually has shifts with Ino, the blondest girl he’d ever met (seriously, that girl is platinum), and while she might skip out on cleaning often and leave early whenever her boy of the week calls her, she at least entertains the customers. Since they got some new hires, he’s also had to deal with Shikamaru.
And Shikamaru’s fine. He’s a nice enough guy. His friendliness, however, doesn’t change the fact that he “took the trash out” twenty minutes ago and that he’s definitely out there smoking pot when he should be cleaning out the popcorn machine. God, the popcorn machine. Greasy, smelly pit of corn death. A snack bar in an arcade might be a great source of revenue, but it’s also a great source of vomiting, stickiness, and cancer. Shikamaru knows this, which is why he always finds a way to skip out on it when it’s his turn and leave Shino to scrape the kernels out of the puddles of dried butter.
Shino sighs and glances back at the popcorn machine. A spider crawls onto his hand, and he lets it. He silently wills it to call the rest of its spider friends to come and eat the gunk out of the popcorn machine. He doesn’t think the spider can hear him over the sounds of Greasy Dave yelling in anger over losing Kunai Toss for the thirtieth time. The bell on the door rings as Dave makes his exit. There are 57 minutes and 40-ish seconds left of Shino’s shift. Statistics of Teen Pregnancy seem to have left already, and Shino decides that Shikamaru is going to disinfect the ball pit as well as the popcorn machine. If he ever comes back inside. Maybe he got shot and mugged? No, Shino would hear it. Plus, the popcorn machine is dirty. Is Shikamaru an employee worth saving?
The bell on the door rings again. Shino turns his head back to see Shikamaru saunter in, lipstick mark on his cheek and absolutely no evidence of him going within ten feet of the dumpster out back.
Another annoying thing about working with Shikamaru - his girlfriend. Shino likes her, she’s not really the problem, but she sure likes showing up in the middle of the night to make out with Shikamaru in the parking lot while he’s on the clock.
“Hey man, sorry… Uh, raccoon,” Shikamaru drawls, failing at hiding the smile on his face. He stops in front of the register, leaning his arms on the edge, and raises his eyebrows at Shino.
“There’s a raccoon out there?”
“Yeah.” Realizing that there is obviously no raccoon outside to back his claim, Shikamaru corrects himself. “I mean, there was. I scared it off.”
“And was the raccoon wearing red lipstick?”
Shikamaru stares at Shino, turns to the reflective screen of a broken arcade machine screen, sees the mark on his cheek, and then turns back to Shino.
Shino stares back. “I’m asking because—“
“I know why.” Shikamaru sighs. “Listen, man, I’m sorry. I’ll clean the damn machine. Don’t get me fired.”
“…Fine.”
Shino stands there, satisfied, as he watches Shikamaru rifle through the back looking for gloves and the hardest scrubber he can find. He turns around to lean back against the counter and gives his best attempt at a smug smile as Shikamaru walks out in almost full surgeon gear.
Shikamaru glares at him. He may clean at a snail’s pace, but as long as he can get the yellow stain off the front of the machine, Shino doesn’t mind.
“How is Temari?” he asks, watching as Shikamaru tries his hardest not to gag.
“She’s, you know…” Shikamaru gags loudly. “Good. Nicer to me than usual.” He grabs a clump of kernels with his hand and chucks it into the trash can, and then gags again. “I hate you, man. Such a fucking drag.”
“I cleaned it last time. And that’s good to hear.” Shino walks up and offers Shikamaru the disgusting little shovel they use for the leftover corn.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s my turn. Anyway, I swear I’ll tell you next time she comes. She just came this time because her car’s making some weird noise or something, and I said ‘Tem, I don’t know shit about cars, I drive a fucking Prius. Ask your brother,’ and surprisingly instead of slapping me across the face she started making out with me. So, no raccoon.”
Shino hums in response. He can only be entertained by watching Shikamaru scrub butter for so long, so he decides to finish the rest of his closing tasks. He busies himself with mindless sweeping and spraying and wiping and almost tripping over cords for the next half hour of his shift, tuning out the sound of Shikamaru cursing and gagging in the back. Occasionally he shouts some half-hearted support, but mostly he just keeps on sweeping. He sweeps until Shikamaru threatens to hit him over the head with the broom, and then he clocks out and leaves Shikamaru with butter crumbs in his hair and the floor free of dust.
—————————
“Shino, someone beat my score on fucking Zetsu Blast. My high score! Do you know how long it took me to get up on that leaderboard?” Kiba exclaims, walking between Hinata and Shino and waving his arms frantically.
“Yes, Kiba. I went to the arcade with you. You played it for two hours a day for… weeks straight.”
“Exactly! And I was number one. Number one. Number. One. Oh, I’m so mad.” Kiba almost throws his bag down at the ground, stops himself, and then slaps his hands against his face. “I’ve had that spot for four years!”
Hinata gently rips the bag from Kiba’s hands. “You’re still number one on Shinobi Fighter 2!”
“Actually, that leaderboard is broken,” Shino says. “It hasn’t updated itself in a year or so.”
“Oh my god, I am good for fucking nothing, guys.” Kiba starts pretending to rip his hair out and gnash his teeth together and groan like he’s on his deathbed. “I can’t blast Zetsu. I can’t fight shinobi. Shino, good luck on your shift tonight, I can never show my face in that arcade again.” His complaining continues for the next couple of blocks.
They’re walking back to Kiba’s apartment, which sits above the vet’s office his family owns, which means that, yes, he still lives with his mommy, but he works for her so it’s “basically employee housing.” Shino and Hinata have never once made a comment on it, as the three of them just graduated from high school less than a year ago and Kiba makes vet technician money, but Kiba seems to live in constant state of defensiveness about his dog and his mother despite his friends’ support. He lives in the middle of town, which is why it was easy for them to go out and spend the last of Shino’s hard-earned paycheck on matching T-shirts and hot dogs and Hinata wanted ice cream and Kiba bet someone that he could fit his entire hot dog in his mouth (He lost. Shino had to pay them). The three of them always go out when they’re at Kiba’s, unless his mom is home, and then they’re worked until they pass out. Tsume may be nicer to Hinata and Shino than her own son, but she needs her floors spotless.
As they walk back, Hinata talks about her new job as a clerk at the bank on the edge of town that her uncle used to own. It involves a lot of math, apparently, which wasn’t exactly her strong suit in high school, but banks use a lot more simple addition and subtraction than logarithmic functions and trigonometry. Worse than that, however, are the customers, and while she’s mostly grown out of her stutter, it sometimes sneaks up on her and chops all of her words up into tiny pieces when she’s just trying to explain something mundane like how to deposit a check or why they don’t have the lollipop bin restocked yet.
As they walk up the steps to his apartment, Kiba says, “I don’t know, Hinata, it doesn’t sound fun at all. Sounds like absolute hell.”
They have to go in the alley behind the building because the office on the first floor is open, and Kiba is the only one of them that can tolerate the sounds of dogs barking and cats screaming and the occasional bird flying around the waiting room and shitting on everyone. The separate stairway is a little dingy and sometimes creepy at night, but it beats the alternative (bird shit all over Hinata’s brand new cute jacket with the fuzzy hood that she cried over for days afterwards).
“Well, it’s…. Yes, it’s not sp-spectacular,” Hinata admits, lurking behind Shino who lurks behind Kiba as he fumbles with his keys. “But Neji says he needs the help, and it’s not permanent. And it pays well! I just….” Kiba finally gets the door open, and Hinata’s nervous rambling is interrupted by the sound of dogs running at full speed towards the three of them. Akamaru pounces first, knocking Kiba in the jaw with his thick dog skull while the rest of them scuttle around and knock things over with their tails. As Shino and Hinata shove through the pack, Kiba says a bunch of “Hi buddy!”s and rushes to find the nearest box of treats (which isn’t ever far). He tosses some peanut butter patties at each of their mouths the best he can while he stumbles backwards into the apartment, clearing a path for Hinata to put all of their bags on the coffee table in the living room.
Kiba plops down on the couch, shoving snouts out of his way to make space for three of them. “Okay. Are we putting on these matching shirts or what?” He wiggles his fingers over the shopping bags, grinning mischievously back and forth at Hinata and Shino, who sit on either side of him.
“Kiba, I’m not wearing that right now. The reason being—“
“Oh my god, dude, it’s got a fucking majestic fucking horse on it—“
“—the reason being, I have to leave for work in thirty minutes, and if I show up in this shirt I will be fired.”
Kiba gives him a stank face. “Dude, your manager’s never even there.” Before Shino can defend himself, he turns to Hinata. “But you’ll wear it, right?”
“Erm….” Hinata smiles cautiously.
“Seriously?” Kiba gawks at both of them. “You guys are so fake. What’s happened to my homies? My broskis?”
“Just because—“
“Shino, you literally would rather wear your dorky ass arcade work uniform than this super epic shirt with me. Shut up.” Kiba reaches over and pinches Shino’s entire mouth in his hand, pointedly looking away and pouting. He then gasps and turns his head back. “Speaking of, I—“
“Speaking of what?”
“Speaking of your dorky ass job, my Zetsu Blast high score, dude! I just remembered my fucking high score!”
“…I’m going to get a drink?” Hinata says, scurrying away to avoid the conversation as Kiba grabs Shino by the collar.
Shino frantically calls out, “Wait—“
“Bye, Hinata. Anyway.” Kiba waves and then whips his head back. “Shino. You need to find out who Black Ant is.”
“Who?” Feeling that Kiba’s too close for comfort, Shino moves back as far as he can with his shirt clutched in his hand.
“Black Ant. Number one on the leaderboard. My leaderboard. My rightful place on the throne!”
“Kiba, it’s a game about shooting plant zombies. It’s recommended for ages 13-15. You… are an adult man.”
“I don’t care! I fight kids!”
Shino raises his eyebrow and turns his head to the side as Kiba comes too close to his face. “Okay…”
“Well, okay, I’m not gonna kick a little kid’s ass. But I’ll fight his dad. Or something. I don’t know! Maybe it’s actually some adult weirdo who plays games for kids on his lunch break.”
“Kiba, you play games for kids on your lunch break.”
“No, I play games for kids on your lunch break. It’s different.” Akamaru comes up and settles down in Hinata’s spot while she takes forever getting herself some water, which distracts Kiba enough to mostly cool his head. “Just—Okay, would you just watch the game for a little? See who plays it? Like a secret spy mission?”
“You want me to go on a secret spy mission while I’m at work… for free?”
“Please, Shino. I’ll bring you lunch every day. I need to enact my dignity. I need to defeat my arch nemesis.
“Do you even know what ‘enact’ means?”
“Yeah! No... That’s not the point!”
Shino sighs. “Fine. I have to leave now.” He holds up his hand before Kiba can cut him off. “I will look for your ‘arch nemesis.’”
“Thanks, bae. Hey, toss me a Pepsi before you go?”
“Don’t call me that. No.”
————————
Shino didn’t see anyone get more than 5,000 points on Zetsu Blast that night, much less anywhere near a high score. The night after that, Thursday night, he doesn’t think he’ll see anyone, either. Hell, the kid already beat the high score, he’s probably not sticking to the same machine for no reason.
He’s working with Ino, or really for Ino, because they have kind of an unspoken agreement that she’ll deal with the people if he does everything else. He doesn’t mind too much. She flirts with kids’ dads to keep them coming back, and he fixes the machines that their kids break. It’s good for business.
As Shino’s refilling the tickets in a machine, he hears Ino’s shoes—which are ‘totes adorbs’ but also totes not suited for a work environment—click frantically across the ground.
“Shino! Shinoooo. Oh my god,” she squeals worriedly as she kneels down next to him. “I am having an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?” Shino closes the panel underneath the Kunai Wheel (which is rigged, so he’s surprised it even ran out of tickets) and turns his head to look at her.
“A very, very bad one.”
Shino waits patiently for her to explain. With Ino, it doesn’t take long. She loves talking, and she usually doesn’t care if anyone listens, which is what he likes about her, because he really doesn’t care about how cute Sasuke looked the other day.
Ino takes a deep breath. “I think my boyfriend is cheating on me with his cousin.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know! I know, he’s totally insane, and it’s a really long story, but I really need to go. Like, I went over his house a couple weeks ago and she was there and I was like ‘oh, she’s so cute!’ like not jealous at all because… that’s his cousin but—“
“Ino. Why are you telling me this.”
“Um, duh, I’m leaving! I need to leave! I need to stop him!” Ino scoffs and waves her arm around. “And probably tell his mom or something because he’s crazy!” She stands up from her kneeling position and it’s now that Shino realizes she’s clutching her purse for dear life, and she is definitely leaving him to close by himself.
“Well, who—“
“I really have to go, bye!”
“—is going to cover your shift, bye…” Shino trails off as Ino rushes out of the arcade without another word. She leaves literal dust in her trail. He’ll have to sweep again later. He sighs, locks the machine panel he’s still kneeling in front of, and walks away.
Shino’s phone is with the rest of his stuff, in his locker, which is in the tiny employee locker room, which is in the back by the party rooms, which is on the other side of the building. He instead reaches for the landline behind the prize counter and dials Shikamaru’s number.
“Yup?” Shikamaru answers, a lighter audibly clicking in the background.
“Shikamaru.”
“Oh, boy,” he says, exasperated, knowing by Shino’s tone that he’s about to tell him to do some shit he doesn’t want to.
“Ino just left.”
“So?”
“You have to cover for her.”
Shikamaru groans. “I’m kind of busy.”
Shino turns around to lean against the wall, moving the phone to his other ear as he makes sure no one’s trying to hijack the ticket munchers again.
“Who got you this job?” he asks, because he really doesn’t want to be there by himself. Last time he closed by himself someone pissed in the ball pit.
“…..Ino.”
“And how’d she do that?”
“…she said she wanted someone to cover her shifts……”
“So when will you be here?” Shino listens as Shikamaru covers his phone, says something to someone else, and then makes gagging sounds that mean he’s probably miming shoving a gun into his mouth.
“Fuck me, man. Like seven thirty. But I’m at Temari’s, and her car’s in the shop, so I might have to call a ride.” Someone tries to tell Shikamaru something, and he shushes them. “You remember how I was telling you it was making some noise? Apparently, it was something fucked up, so… Temari, no. I am not driving with him. He’ll cut me open or something. Well, he’s insane! He hates me! Tema—“
Faintly, Shino can hear Temari scolding him, which goes on for quite a while. Eventually, after a lot of kissing her ass, she stops and he talks again.
“Alright, I’ll be there. I gotta ride with her brother. If I don’t show up, I’m not playing hooky; I’m dead.”
————————
Fifteen minutes after Shikamaru was supposed to show up, a car pulls up outside the front windows. Shino glances up over his glasses as he wipes kid spit off the prize counter. Shikamaru walks in the front doors and immediately looks right at Shino, glaring at him like he killed his mother. His cigarette smell is noticeable even from 20 feet back at the counter. Behind him comes a man Shino’s never seen before, who shoves Shikamaru forward with his shoulder and walks past him. Shikamaru glares even harder at Shino as he brushes himself off and starts walking to the back.
“I almost died, Shino,” Shikamaru accuses with full seriousness, his finger in Shino’s face.
“I thought you were riding with Temari’s brother?” Shino’s eyes follow the stranger.
“That is her brother. She has two. You’re thinking of Gaara, he’s a perfectly nice guy, even with his whole alleged murder stuff. But that one…” Shikamaru turns to look at him, too, and they watch as he makes his way to Zetsu Blast. “His name’s Kankuro. Don’t talk to him.”
Upon taking a closer look at him, Shino can see the family resemblance. Kankuro has the same scary eyes as Temari does, upturned and mean, and he carries himself in a way that makes a few people clear a path for him—although, that might be a result of the marks on his face. Purple paint lines his eyelids, his lips, his chin, and some of his cheeks. He’s not quite pretty like Temari is; he smiles the same, but his teeth are crooked, and his lips are shaped similarly, just more purple, but the bottom one is busted open in the corner. He is also crushing Zetsu Blast, so he’s likely the suspect of his secret spy mission.
Shikamaru leans forward on the counter to block his view and says, “Dude, I’m serious. He, like, collects dolls and kills people and stuff.”
“He hasn’t killed you.”
“Temari likes me too much. She won’t let him.”
“She wants to kill you first?”
“Probably.” Shikamaru yawns and starts walking to the back. “I’m gonna put my stuff away. But I’m serious, leave that guy alone. He’s a real drag.” (Things Shikamaru has also described as ‘a real drag’: chewing his food all the way, walking more than five feet at a time, and showering everyday).
Shino doesn’t listen. He deduces that the threat Kankuro poses to him is probably much smaller, considering the fact that he isn’t fucking his sister and he showers everyday. However, after working at the arcade for almost four years, he knows better than to bother people while they play the games. He’s had to dodge stray punches from preteens that were really into Ninja Fighter more times than he can count. He grabs some cleaning spray and a rag and heads into enemy territory.
Zetsu Blast is towards the front of the arcade, opposite the ball pit. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the day—it’s near all the games with detachable controllers, like plastic guitars and shotguns, which can be used to easily waste time when someone sticks gum in the gun sensors or sweats all over everything. Shino once spent an hour trying to use sandpaper to get the teeth marks off a bright orange hunting rifle. The second he walks over there, though, there is absolutely nothing for him to do. He’s right behind Kankuro, their backs nearly touching, trying his damn hardest not to look suspicious as he wipes down the screens of every machine in the row like an idiot.
Kankuro seems to notice nothing but his pixelated alien genocide, despite the fact that Shino has started wiping the dust off the top of the machines like he’s a mother cleaning for a family gathering. He’s damn good at the game, too, which is surprising, since he looks like his hobbies are torture and dissection. His fingers, bony and crusted with black nail polish, click deftly across the buttons. He looks less scary when he’s concentrating—similar to his sister, once the angry look goes away, his face is actually nice to look at.
Shino is staring at Kankuro unknowingly as he wipes down the joystick of a game just two machines to the left of him. Kankuro notices him suddenly.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he spits out, quick to his defense.
“You.” Shino feels like a zookeeper entering a tiger enclosure with a giant slab of meat. Kankuro eyes him, probably assessing if he’ll be his next meal.
“Why?”
Shino gulps.
“You’re good at that,” he says, nodding towards the game and holding tightly onto his grocery store brand spray bottle for moral support.
Kankuro retracts his claws (figuratively—if he had real claws Shino may have wet his pants) and returns his attention back to the game for a second. The leaderboard blares in his face, and Shino watches attentively as he types in his name into the new high score:
BLACK
“Kind of.”
ANT