Enough

DON'T OWN ANYTHING!!

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His eyes were beautifully tawny irises, a perfect mixture of orange and brown, accenting the subtle auburn-red color of his hair that had become straight and smooth like his mother's, not unruly and a high red color which his father was known and had been known to have. His mother usually commented that every time she noticed his eyes, as beautiful as they were, she would think of her late grandfather whose eyes had been the exact same color and were as cold as Chouji's were caring. They never softened, not even for her even though the man had saved her more times than she could count when she was younger only to scold her afterwards for being so careless. When he smiled, he it never reached his eyes…

The young Akimichi had his mother's hair which was rather long, so much so that she liked arranging it in a high ponytail; sometimes--more like a lot of the time, the mother and son could be seen wearing the exact same style, but somehow, it not only looked a little masculine on the boy, but also had a sort of sensual appeal with the way the long sideburns gracefully contrasted with his skin tone which was slightly pale, not so much as Sasuke or Gaara.

His face was angular as well as his body, something that was very rare in the case of an Akimichi, but he wasn't just an Akimichi. He was also a Kurohyou in which Chouji knew to mean "panther". The Kurohyou were a clan that was known to be extremely cunning, deceptive, and masters in the art of assassination. As Chouji grew, he was an Akimichi through and through at the most, but since the passing of his father just before the Autumn Chill, he had become more and more like an Kurohyou. He'd even had his one summoning animal scroll in a hidden pocket of his new chuunin uniform when situation turned intense, but he had eventually given up the shinobi lifestyle after his father's death instead becoming a teacher at the Academy that he had usually retreated from when he was younger; he just didn't have the heart to do it anymore... He had never stopped thinking of himself as an Akimichi as it was always in the back of his mind, but he was a child from two clans, not just one. Unfortunately, the shinobi who did the yearly touch-ups on his swirls left the village shortly after Chouza's passing, so his face was clear of paint for the time being, looking smooth and highly enticing to kiss or brush your hands against.

He was immediately put in the position of the Akimichi Clan as head even though he was young for his age, but planned on switching the position over to someone else in the clan for a while until he was older, but he was still kind of undecided on the matter. If he did entrust the position to someone else, would he be able to regain the position once he was ready to receive it? Was he even able to transfer the position over to someone else and if he could, would he be able to take it back? Those thoughts and others swirled in his mind ever circling the inner recesses of his brain until they were to be taken out for processing and evaluation.

His steps towards the familiar home of his best friend were slow, deliberately slow since he liked sightseeing even though he had lived in Kohonakagure for most of his life. His uniform consisted of the traditional green vest, black shirt, and the black pants that most Kohona chuunin wore. Clouds moved terribly slow in the sky above him, a threatening stormy gray color that told promises of chilling rain coming down in sheets and maybe even the promise of the tiniest bits of hail. He continued on to his destination passing by familiar shop vendors and older ladies who visited his mother often for tea and talk of younger days. When his tawny irises saw the Nara Clan home come into view, he smiled brightly and stepped onto the porch, intending to knock soundly only for the door to open, a body crashing into his own with enough momentum to make him fall backwards, the body landing on top of him as a result.

Chouji was suddenly on the porch's floor, staring up into dark, narrow eyes that blinked, moving away quickly so a familiar face came into view. Shikamaru. Chouji arched a brow at the slight shrug of the teen's left shoulder as a small blush broke out onto his smooth, tanned cheeks.

"S-Sorry," he mumbled, his voice coming out as a low rumble that had a slight hint of slyness mixed into it; it was a voice that the redhead secretly found very pleasing to his ears.

Chouji noted that Shikamaru's father, Shikato, also sounded particularly sly, but didtend to whine when he was talking to his overbearing wife, Yoshino.

Standing up, the young Nara pulled the shorter male to his feet and quickly shut the door when his mother looked in their direction before making a hasty retreat, tagging Chouji behind him without a second thought. As they neared the building that led up to Shikamaru's favorite cloud watching spot, Chouji began walking alongside the Nara who glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, not that the redhead had noticed or maybe he did, but didn't really give much thought on it. To tell you the truth, Shikamaru was worried. He was worried about Chouji and what he was feeling at the moment. You see, Chouji hadn't done anything when his father died much less give a speech about him and lay a rose on his coffin, silent and distant. He hadn't sobbed, gotten angry, screamed or did anything to let out the pain, the hurt he knew his best friend had been feeling that day and was probably still feeling now. It had been about four months since the funeral and Shikamaru knew that keeping those sort of feelings bottled up inside wasn't healthy. He was even more surprised that Chouji hadn't even come to him and talked about it at least since they were best friends. At that precise moment, he had begun thinking that something was wrong.

Instead of going to his favorite spot like he had originally thought, he settled for going to visit Chouji's hill, liking it better in some cases. It was sort of remote and tucked away from most people so well that sometimes they weren't found for hours and when they were, they were already trailing around in the village near the marketplace or somewhere else just as troublesome. It would allow them some privacy and that was what Chouji needed, a good friend and privacy to spill everything bottling inside of him before he would burst...

When he sat down, leaning against the large tree that stood at the top of the hill blooming beautiful white flowers, Chouji sat besides him, but didn't open his chips for once, instead staring down at the view above him. The sky was still a beautiful shade of blue near the hill, but the redhead could see gray clouds in the distance, glaring threateningly in their direction. Letting out a content sigh, he was about to reach for his forever present chips when an arm reached around his shoulders, pulling him close into a dark shirt and a heartbeat sounded into his ears. Shikamaru was hugging him, but why was he...? Blinking in confusing, the teen stared up at the genius when his other arm wrapped around him. The four words the other male spoke in response made Chouji look away, frowning.

"Let it out, alright?"

Biting his lip, Chouji said nothing, swallowing when Shikamaru held him a little tighter and spoke again. It had sounded kind of harsh to the redhead, but he knew Shikamaru didn't really mean to sound harsh sometimes.

"You can't keep it bottled up forever. It isn't good for you, Chouji. It's troublesome!" Stop doing this to yourself! It hurts me to see you like this...

"St-Stop Shikamaru!" I can't let it out. It hurts too much...

"You're being troublesome…"

"Shi-Shikamaru, pl-please…" D-Don't make me--

Chouji's quiet voice was wavering, cracking more so with emotion as he began to tremble, his tawny eyes began to moist over with stubborn tears that had refused to leak out during his father's funeral; they clouded with pain that no one had known of hidden behind those eyes, no one, but Shikamaru, that is. The look the redhead had in his eyes now is the same look that Shikamaru had when he stared down at his sensei laying dead at his feet--their feet, having passed on nothing more than half-choked wishes washed in blood, covered in smoke and whispers of an unborn child that needed protection.

"That's it… Just let it out. You won't be able to move on if you don't..."

It hard been hard for all of them, but for Shikamaru, it had felt like he had been hit the hardest. Most of the time, for a while, he had to force a scowl or a smirk with a fake facade of annoyance upon his face when all he wanted to really do was breakdown, cry, and follow his sensei to his grave knowing that it wouldn't do anyone any good, leaving more people hurting and anguishing over the young Nara's death, especially Chouji, his childhood friend, his bosom buddy, the guy who would stick with him to the end if that was the case. The only reason he didn't go through with taking his own life because he didn't know if the redhead would follow suit. He hadn't thought that Chouji to be that sort of person, but it was a possibility that had to be taken into consideration. That would then make the genius question the feelings he had for the redhead he had known for over a decade. Were they those of a deep caring friendship or did they lean towards the emotion that silly girls often thought they felt when their eyes locked on their pretty boy crush from a far, inwardly gushing before running to tackle him just to feel his skin, to just be close to him for a little while, a secret fantasy if you will only to be shot down by cold words and an even colder heart?

Shikamaru's sly, low rumbling voice had softened quickly, easily as his best friend held onto him tightly, beginning to sob quietly into his shirt. He wasn't surprised when Chouji's sobbing got louder which in a few minutes would probably rob him of his voice for a few days, but when it was all said and done, the redhead had been reduced to a shivering, weeping heap that clung to the young Nara like a lifeline if nothing else. As he whispered comforting words to the teen, he stroked his hair, brushing his lips against the other's forehead in a feather-light kiss as Chouji wept and whimpered. This was a side of Chouji that Shikamaru never wanted to see because it pulled at his heartstrings with vengeance as if he had been the one who had wronged the other male in the first place. It made him frown and search through all of his thinkings for a solution to the beautiful and yet, so very sad problem in front of him.

Chouji had finally let out the pain he had been holding inside of him for a long while, but this was only the beginning. There were going to be many more heart-aching days ahead of him, Shikamaru knew. The redhead wouldn't be alone though since he would have his best friend at his side, he would always be at Chouji's side through the tough times that he knew would drown the redhead into a depressive, over emotional mood when the teen already carried his emotions on his sleeve like a banner streaming behind him telling all of his secrets. Why was it always the people you cared about getting hurt the most when there were bastards that deserved to die for the things that they did and death never came early enough on swifter wings? It was simply unfair! All three of his childhood best friends had gotten hammered in the retrieval of a fucking idiot who had sought power to kill the one person who had destroyed his family only to come after the Kages themselves, completely out of his damn mind. It had ended with Sasuke being killed by Naruto and Sakura, who both, while had difficulties doing so, decided that it was best for the Uchiha to finally rest in peace; the curse would finally end. Only the original Team 7, Ino, Sai, and Yamato attended the funeral so it was relatively small, not that Shikamaru had been surprised. From what he had been able to gather from Naruto, he and Sasuke were descendants from two brothers, the younger being picked to be the next leader for he believed love would bring happiness to all which, in short, angered the older brother who believed might would bring happiness and thus the hatred began. You could only guess which descendant Naruto and Sasuke are of.

"Shh… I'll be here for you, okay?"

Frowning at the silence he had gotten in return, he whispered the teen's name. Had he been listening or had the depressive stage already begun rearing its ugly head?

"…Chouji…?"

"…Thank you, Shika."

Shikamaru brushed his lips against the redhead's forehead again as the shorter snuggled closer, suddenly feeling cold and alone, but Shikamaru emitted warmth; Chouji was glad for that, glad that someone cared enough to make him cry, to promise to be with him through this tough time that was going to take a while to get over.

At this precise moment in the redhead's life, being this close to his best friend and taking all that he had to offer and seemingly more, was enough to lull Chouji into a light slumber where he dreamed of ghosts with high red hair and bearded faces covered in smoke and blood.

x Fin x