A/N: Probably some of my best writing. A deep insight into how hard some people try to fit in, and how good it can feel, and how much it can hurt. Enjoy. Think.
Dying to Fit In
It started small - small enough that he didn't realize it at first. And of course, no one else realized it either.
At first, it was just subtle glances that made him uncomfortable. Then it was the jokes - not to him, but overhearing the words - "fat" "chubby" - made him look at himself. After that, he started paying attention to others. The ones everyone loved. Shikamaru - lean, muscled. Sasuke - thin, strong. When he ate with them, he'd eat more than they did. It made him feel guilty, for some reason. He didn't really know why though. Then, when they undressed in the lockers, he'd see the differences - he was curvy, short, large, akward, and they were tall, lean, defined, graceful. When they'd bath in the onsen together, he'd see how their bodies moved - fluid, muscles rippling under taught, smooth skin - and he jiggled. Not long after that, he'd look in every mirror he'd pass by - critically, comparing himself to those he idolized. When he'd meet someone new, or talk to someone he already knew, he'd focus on what they looked like, sometimes not hearing a word they said as the voices in his head would cry, "look at them, so beautiful. Why can't we look like that?"
Eventually, the guilt built up, and it got stronger, and more obvious with each thought and look and word. He started making sure that the clothes he wore covered his whole body, except for his head and hands. So no one could see what was underneath. He kept his head down, avoiding drawing attraction. He didn't let anybody take his picture, or videotape him. He ran away from situations where someone beautiful, better talked to him. He didn't change in the lockers with his friends anymore. He didn't eat around anyone - it made him feel sick to his stomach, and guilty. He didn't go to the onsen with them. He even became uncomfortable, disgusted even, looking at himself.
He started exercising twice as much, pushing himself till he was shaking so badly it would be an hour before he could walk home, long after everyone else had left. He started eating less, even avoiding drinking water.
He finally fell over the edge one day, when he was hurting at practice, because he hadn't eaten in twelve hours, and was attempting a jutsu that consumed a large amount of excess calories, and Ino laughed. "God Chouji, it's because you're so fat. You're out of shape."
And he had just shut down, completely blacking out for days. He couldn't eat at all anymore - and he didn't care. He only ate when it felt like he was going to die if he didn't. He exercised, all the time, working as hard as he could possibly work, pushing himself to points where he was damaging his body, his chakra itself weakening. And he was losing weight. Within two weeks, he had dropped another 50 pounds.
And people were beginning to notice, praising him, saying things like "You look great!" "Wow, Chouji, you lost weight. I love it - we have to go shopping sometime." "Did you lose weight? It looks amazing." "Good job Chouji." And his favorite, when Ino said, "Wow. I'm so proud of you."
And it made it feel so good. So worth it. So he lost more, and more, and more.
And then one day, he passed out during practice in the middle of a jutsu.
He woke up in the hospital 3 days later, half-a-million tubes shoved up every orifice of his body and every bloodstream he had.
Shikamaru was standing on the other side of the room, his back to Chouji, staring out the window. It was dark out, and there was a Harvest Moon.
"Hey, Shika," Chouji said, voice cracking a little.
Shikamaru jumped a little at the sound of his voice, turning around to face Chouji.
What Chouji saw was not what he expected.
Shikamaru looked hurt.
Shikamaru knelt beside the hospital bed, taking Chouji's hand in his. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what, Shika?" Chouji asked, face knotted up in confusion and a sudden rush of guilt. What was wrong? What had he done? Bile rose in the back of his throught - the fear of being disliked making his stomach feel the need to get rid of everything inside it.
"This!" Shika shouted. Chouji winced, curling in on himself. Shikamaru looked away, ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell."
"I don't understand, Shika. What's wrong?"
"You've been starving yourself for God knows how long, and pushing your body way past its limits. You nearly killed yourself, Chouji," Shikamaru whispered, voice cracking with pain.
"But… Shika, aren't you proud? I'm thin now. I look as good as you do."
"You always looked good, Chouji. You've always been beautiful. This - this is just frightening. I can't lose you, Chouji. Please."
Confusion crawled across Chouji's face as he tried to fit the pieces together. "But - but this is what someone's supposed to look like, Shika. I don't understand."
"No, Chouji. That's not what you're supposed to look like, not this fast. Not this way. A person is supposed to look healthy - you lick dead, Chouji. Starved, sick, and tired."
Chouji swallowed hard, looking away. Shame pressed down over him, in a suffocating compression that cut off all words, all cries, except. "I'm so sorry."
Shikamaru leaned over the bed, wrapping Chouji in his arms, hugging him tightly. He could fit his arms around him now, and that scared Shika. "It's okay," Shika said, as the shame melted away in his warmth. "I love you, no matter what you look like."