A/n: Ishouldn'thavecommitedmyselftothisIshouldn'thavecommitedmyselftothisIshouldn'thavecommitedmyselftothis.
It wouldn't be a problem if there weren't so many other things I'm supposed to be doing instead of writing. Honestly, I don't have th next chapter ready for tomorrow--I need to get typing.

Oh well. Decision made. I can pull this off...probably.

Kiba's not mean. He's just bitter. More on this later. (of course, at this point, he looks like he's bipolar.)

Please excuse the lack of transition. This will be a recurring theme. What happens in-between really doesn't matter.

And...um...the quality of writing dwindles, and I'd try harder if it wasn't for (a) the time constraints (b) I can't keep going that well for that long without getting sick of it and (c) you probably don't care all that much anyway. It's not a suddn drop, I don't think, but I'm getting quicker to just go, "Kiba walked," "Hinata stammered," "Naruto...did that thing that Naruto did."

Disclaimer: I own only the writing itself. Everything else is Masashi Kishimoto's

"You know that he really only notices loud things, right?"

White disks of vision directed themselves upward to face a canvas of expression painted with red triangles and inhuman eyes. The hood that usually covered the head was down now, and a small inhuman head of mostly white fur poked out over the top of the zipper. An expression met his steely gaze, pale eyes brimming with instinctive uncertainty connected directly by a thread of attention with serious eyes of cold temperatures amplified by those slits of pupils.

The paler of the faces broke the thread and turned to the path ahead of its body, watching her toes skim the bottom of her vision before she transferred her weight and they disappeared until the other foot came forward. A blush began to form, turning her cheeks a pale rosy shade. Her pale-pupiled eyes of pure pearl held some confusion; she understood what he said, but she wasn't sure how to respond.

"You should start with that stutter."

Almost-black hair bobbed mid-step as she winced.

"I-I c-can't help it."

"And you stutter a lot more when you're around him than when you're around anyone else."

A patch set on the shoulder of her hooded sweatshirt had a shape between a spiral and a teardrop; it seemed more like a teardrop as it ran down when her shoulders sagged and she sighed.

"I-I can't help it. H-he's just…so…"

Her pace slowed as she struggled for words.

"…intimidating,"

she admitted,

"when he's being such a great person, a-and he's trying so hard, and h-he's actually g-getting so-s-somew-where—"

"See? Just thinking about him is making you stammer more."

Pure pearl eyes looked up timidly to see that their owner's friend stopped in front of her and turned to look back.

"Hinata, this guy's…I guess he'd be good for you."

It seemed to take the brunet a lot of strength to admit this; his face scrunched in concentration, trying to deny it.

"But…for you to…be happy with him, you need to think better of yourself. He might be great, he might be wonderful, but he's not too good for you—in my opinion…"

He took a pace forward, toward Hinata, who took a small step back instinctively that he compensated for in his wide stride. A clawed hand reached upward as the wind pushed the long tendrils framing a pale face out of the way of blank white eyes.

"In my opinion, you're too good for him."

The wind stopped, and the hooded jacket stopped growing and shrinking with her breathing. Hinata caught her breath, gasped, and resumed normal breathing.

"K-Kiba…"

She couldn't believe that she still stammered.

Kiba frowned.

"You're thinking of him. I'm not sure I like that."