Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Naruto and all its characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto. No money is being made off of this. This is a non-profit project written only for fun and writing critique. Please support the Naruto series by purchasing the manga and/or anime.

INTRODUCTION: I think it's finally time for an extra! Since I haven't done anything with Kiba as individual in a while, I've been trying to think up a one-shot for him. I haven't thought of anything yet, but the inspiration will come to me.

What I DID think of was the premise for an RHF Extra! I got to thinking about a previous fic consisting of three one-shots, "Just A Joke" (self-advertising ftw) and while groaning to myself about the melodramatic feeling of the last two, I thought about the last fic, which featured Kiba primarily, and decided to incorporate elements from that into this extra, and Kiba's RHF background in general. It's kind of dark, but kind of funny, too. And I like the idea of this chapter because it puts a positive spin on Kiba's depressing situation, and gives you some insight on his willingness to brave the issues in his life.

Please note that this Extra is canonical, while other Extras in the future might not be. If I haven't specified that it's canon, don't assume. The reason I put so much emphasis on this is that I don't want anybody's perception of the plot to be skewed by an Extra that was just done for silliness, or for anyone to misunderstand character relationships, etc. If you have questions about whether or not a certain Extra is canonical and it hasn't been specified in the introduction, please let me know and I will update the intro to include the necessary information.

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Tripping over a curbstone while crossing the street, Kiba cursed himself. Several girls who had crossed with him giggled discreetly, the sound staying with him even as he shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked red-faced around the next corner and out of sight. He was always falling. Not that his balance wasn't impeccable, just never at the right times.

Though he wished he could claim he liked girls, for the sake of his pride and mind both ruined by his reputation for being a "homo," he found chattering women too annoying to deal with. They were always talking about their hair, their nails, their clothes, their ass … whatever. And even though they talked about the dumbest shit, they were still some of the craftiest witches on the planet. What with their methods of bullying and getting back at other people, and spreading secrets and rumors. Of course, the same thing happened with guys, but … With women, it was just like … a birth-right. And you might as well bend over and take it like a man, because there's no satisfying them, and therefore no getting around their wrath. Kiba would know, living with only his mother and sister every day.

He plodded down the street and eventually reached a large, arching bridge which led into one of the city's many lush parks. He stopped midway to look out over the pond splashing gently under the dingy-white wood beneath his feet.

He didn't necessarily hate women. He'd dated his fair share. Hell, one evening he and an old steady girlfriend had gazed over this very same bridge, holding hands as the moon and stars twinkled against the rippling pond. He'd damn near got into her panties that night, too, and he would have gone all the way if he could have. She wasn't a bad girl, either—she took care of him when he was sick, gave him affection in public, bought him incredibly thoughtful gifts on the holidays, and never lost her temper even when she was on her cycle and Kiba was on her nerves. Even his neurotic mother loved her.

But at some point he realized that dating a girl was less a privilege and more a status symbol. Whenever his friends asked him how far he'd gotten with her, he could boast about times when she let him do naughty things, and he wouldn't be lying. He could brag about how much she loved him, and point fingers at his loser, single buddies. Which was cool and all, but the nicer his girlfriend got, the more unsettled Kiba became. She started asking him questions about the future, and if he saw her in it. And when prompted to envision his future, he realized with a cold chill, that he really couldn't care whether she was in it or not.

When he told her the truth, she had the freedom of salvaging her pride by dumping him on his ass. He couldn't remember having another girlfriend after her.

Kiba pried himself from the view of the pond and walked through the park, which was an oasis of beautiful trees dropped square in the middle of a city getting bigger and more industrial every day to accommodate modern-day necessities. He watched a few children scuttle across a tiny playground to his right, and while his head was turned, a few more children shimmied right into his feet, tripping him, before running squealing away to the playground. He managed to catch himself before he could meet the dirt face-first, and growled at the faraway pack of kids, who were now giggling at him.

Kiba was always falling. He'd fallen into many things—holes, traps, and despair. Usually he bounced back unscathed, before he even hit the ground. But when he'd fallen in love, he found himself on a whole new playing field. Because when you fall in love, the descent never ends. There's no ground to hit, and no pavement to catch yourself on.

Only after love's fulfillment becomes impossible do you hit rock bottom.

And Kiba especially had been crushed between gravity and concrete. He spent what seemed like an eternity puzzling over the meaning of his feelings, and when he finally had them figured out, he was nearly beaten to death just for having them in the first place, beaten over a damn emotion, just because the person he loved was a boy. Just like that he'd been thrown straight back into perpetual confusion.

He couldn't even tell what love was anymore. He couldn't distinguish it from all the boiling hatred, overwhelming despair, and general nothingness he felt every day as he mentally relived the nightmares of his past. Forget about love: what was happiness, even? Was it the time he wasted trying to forget how fucked up he was, because of something that had once made him happy? How did he feel about Naruto, Shikamaru, Kakashi, Iruka, and Sasuke—the only people who could understand him? Did he "love" them? If so, in what way? Did they make him happy? And why?

However, he could still tell the difference between the good things and bad things in his life. Sasuke's indignant snorts, Naruto's brotherly hugs, Kakashi's crescent-eyed smiles, Iruka's thick fingers around a teacup, and Shikamaru's snores during class were all good things. But the things he wrote in his journals, as he struggled to keep his mind following one track, were bad. And contrary to what that brain-dead psychiatrist at the hospital claimed, Kiba's medicine wasn't making the bad things go away. In fact, nothing was. He had a sneaking suspicion he was actually getting worse.

He wondered what he looked like, switching from one personality to another, almost like changing masks. Most of all, he wondered how everyone looked at him when his back was turned.

Shaking these perturbing thoughts from his head he exited the park, heading straight for the mall. He had heard Shikamaru was a part-timer there at a clothing store. Kiba figured he could drop in. Well, unless Shikamaru had already been fired for taking naps in the changing rooms or something. That bastard was always so lazy. Maybe that was because he always seemed so tired.

"Well, I can relate," Kiba muttered with a sigh.

Since the weekend had already arrived, the area was bustling as usual, with kids from schools in several different districts. Part of him thought Shikamaru was ridiculous for wasting his weekends at work instead of hanging out like the kids who loitered in the food court, but knowing how exhausted that hunched boy looked when he dropped onto the sofa at therapy sessions, he probably needed the money.

Passing through the sliding doors of the mall entrance, Kiba kept his head low. He figured some Konoha kids were hanging around, and after the lunchroom fiasco where he jumped on a table and pronounced his sexual orientation, he was trying not to draw attention to himself. Quickly scooting across the peach-colored tile flooring, he boarded the escalator to the second floor. The stairs were more inconspicuous, but even more than garnering negative attention, Kiba didn't want to huff two flights of stairs just to make sure he wouldn't be seen. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he turned his gaze away from the teenagers on the escalator running downwards beside him. Shikamaru's workplace was supposed to be on the third floor, at some dinky little punk-rock store that sold apparel and terrible albums by nameless rockers. The thought of Shikamaru working the cash register with his uncaring expression, telling a rowdy, wannabe-punk to go fuck himself seemed oddly fitting, and made Kiba snort in amusement.

When he reached the second floor he jogged around the corner to the next escalator. Sighing, for a moment he wondered why he came to see Shikamaru. If the manager would even let them talk, it would only be for a minute, and probably on Shikamaru's break time. Then when the time came to part, Kiba would have to dart down two flights of escalators and shimmy his way through the crowds, and after that, he could only go home. But he guessed hanging with Shikamaru was better than his mother constantly bugging him about the psychiatrist or the psychologist or wanting to read what was in his journal. Sanctuary did not exist in that house.

Besides, so far Shikamaru was Kiba's best friend. Well, technically Shino and Hinata were supposed to be his best friends, but talking with Shino was even more awkward now, and Hinata just looked like she was going to cry every time she met eyes with Kiba, so he kept his distance from them. And sure, there was Naruto, always willing to make a run for Ichiraku ramen, or play laser tag on the weekends. But lately he was hanging out with Sasuke, and … well, Shikamaru and Kiba got along better anyway. Not like Naruto and Kiba fought, or had disagreements of any sort, but they just didn't fit together the same way. Shikamaru was laid-back, a little cynical, sharp as a tack, and he didn't mind company too much, even if he pretended to. He was a cool guy, plain and simple.

Kiba shrugged to himself as he reached the third floor. He'd already made the sojourn, so if he'd ended up coming all this way for nothing, going a little farther couldn't be much worse. He peered over the edge of the banister, looking down on the food court, the stores milling people in and out, and the pretentious gaggles of teens snickering and bickering all across the floor. Analyzing the obnoxious expressions of young women down below, Kiba was suddenly glad he hadn't done a face-plant on his way to the third floor. At that time, a more prevalent emotion overtook him.

He usually hated falling. He'd fallen on dirt, pavement, and broken bones, all of them unpleasant.

But sometimes he wondered how it would feel to fall from a height like this.

He looked around suspiciously, as if someone were watching him, listening in on his personal thoughts. Technically, he thought, I'm two stories up, right? Tentatively, he leaned over the banister. Strangely, the tremendous height sparked no apprehension in him. In fact, he felt nothing. No thoughts crossed his mind, no attempts to rationalize and push away this sudden need to understand what it felt like to free-fall.

Sometimes, he felt that if he could kill his extra personality, he would return to normal. He wondered if it would be as easy as killing himself.

Climbing up onto the banister, he did not contemplate the meaning of what he was doing. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it. Even though he'd thought of it many times before, alone in the darkness of his room at night; tired, angry, and empty. He was a creature of instinct, and everything in his being begged him to run, to fly away. Maybe he believed he had the wings to do so with.

Without a reaction from any of the busy faces on the ground, all sounds muffled and then drowned out in a current of freedom, Kiba stepped out onto thin air and in a curving descent silently chased the ground. The second floor passed him by and brought with it slicing, tearing white that overtook everything around him except for a little patch of tile below, designated just for him. As it grew bigger and bigger in his approach, he closed his eyes.

And when he opened them, he found himself staring over the banister again, the sounds of the mall filling his ringing ears, as if nothing had happened. He looked around, as if something would have changed, but nothing did. A cold shiver snaked up his spine as he surveyed the drop once more, and he stepped away from the tempting ledge. Out of self-preservation, he completely blocked from his mind the illusion of his suicide. He had better things to do.

As he heard a store's door bell tinkle behind him, he turned his gaze on a familiar lanky, drooping figure, feeling his expression become deadpanned. He saw a carton of cigarettes brandished from a pocket, the top flipping open. Next came a silver lighter from the other pocket.

He could barely hear himself say incredulously, "Shikamaru?

His carton and lighter forgotten in his hands, Shikamaru looked up, aloof. "Kiba?" He shifted everything to his left hand so he could use his right to shake hands in greeting. "What's up?"

Calming himself, Kiba tried to throw together a casual reply. "I'm waiting for my date," he answered quickly with a toothy grin.

With one hand Shikamaru deftly produced a single cigarette and caught it between thin lips. He fumbled with the lighter, trying to get the flame to ignite. "Oh? Who is it?"

"You. We're ditchin' your shift." Kiba threw an arm around Shikamaru's shoulder, guiding him towards the escalators. Plucking the cigarette from Shikamaru's long fingers, Kiba tossed it in a winning shot over the railing and straight into a garbage can. "Cut that shit out."

He received raised eyebrows in response. "Why? You're worried my breath won't be fresh enough for our first kiss?"

Laughter rumbled out deep from Kiba's chest. "No, I already expected that." He punched Shikamaru playfully in the arm. "C'mon, man, it's bad for you. Seriously. Ma spent a couple years smoking when I was in primary, and she was sicker than—"

"A dog?"Shikamaru dodged the incoming punch.

"Her teeth were all yellow, her skin was oily all the time, she coughed up a lung, and she smelled nasty. And man, if you start stinkin' like that tobacco shit, it's over between us."

"Well, as heart-breaking as that would be …" Shikamaru eyed him teasingly. "Alright. I was only gonna try it anyway."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

Thinking back on the sight of Shikamaru trying to light up, the whole scene seemed unnatural. Shikamaru's fidgeting hands, his tense expression at his uncooperative lighter—like he was taking a plunge of his own. After seeing his mother a miserable, pale, coughing mess, and choking through the same dirty air himself, rings of smoke had the stench of death. And they curled around a person like gray tendrils trying to drag them away.

But most of all, Kiba could not get used to seeing Shikamaru so unsettled. Sure, everyone had their different sides. Naruto was bubbly until his violent breakdowns, Sasuke was an obnoxious asshole until he let his guard down for a lonely, quiet moment, and of course Kiba's faces switched at the slightest notice no matter what. But Shikamaru was either aloof, or perplexed. And when he was perplexed, it was more disturbing than any breakdown could be. He was always the calmest of everyone, and even though he was in therapy, his mental state and past were shadowed in mystery. So when he in all his aloofness turned to vexation, how could someone not be frightened at the possibility of what troubled him?

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Kiba pushed these thoughts out of his mind. Awkward silence settled between the two young boys as they neared the bottom, and Kiba was thankful when the escalator reached its destination.

With his toe catching between the track and the floor, for the third time that day, Kiba lost his footing. But before he could even realize it, Shikamaru had an arm around his shoulder, calmly straightening him without a glance or even a flinch, as calmly as ever. And this time when joking hoots, hollers and laughter drifted over from a group of nearby girls, Kiba realized with a burning face, they weren't giggling at his clumsiness.

Damn, was he tired of falling.