Pairings: Shikamaru x (undecided), Sai x Naruto, Haku x Zabuza, Kiba x Hinata, Neji x Tenten (more will be announced at a later date.)
Warnings: child abuse, self mutilation, bullying, references to sex/sexual acts, homosexuality, underage drinking, and rape. And stupidity, but that's a given.
Author: Drinking Acid
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. If you hadn't figure it out until now, I seriously pity you.
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Shikamaru rubbed his temples in frustration, silently praying to any god that would listen to get him out of this hell hole he was so obviously trapped in.
"Oh come on, Shikamaru," growled Sasuke, his patience (patience? What patience?) wearing thin. He glared at the black-haired boy, the fleeting thought of taking his pencil and jabbing him with it leaping to mind before he batted it away with a silent "too troublesome."
Why was he in such a bad mood? Because he'd been asked to do what he hated doing, more than P.E. Although it was the root reason as to why he didn't like P.E., he still hated it quite a bit more than anything else.
He'd been told to work. Him! The great Shikamaru! It was blaspheme! . . . Well, maybe not blaspheme, but sure as hell close enough! And it wasn't as if he could just ignore this teacher, oh no, because this teacher was scary. Really, really scary. Vampire scary. Pool full of pirana scary. Giant snake that's going to eat you scary.
Orochimaru.
Yes, the pale faced, yellow-eyed, lip-licking Orochimaru, who spoke with a hiss and smirked as his students' cringed when he came within earshot. The Orochimaru with long black hair and black mascara that rivaled Gaara's, who kept a giant anaconda in his classroom. The Orochimaru who wouldn't stop coming to their lab station!
"How damn troublesome," he mumbled, strapping on the goggles reluctantly, casting a longing look at the clock. The time-keeping disk was mocking him— they still had forty-five minutes left of class.
"Everything going well gentlemen?" asked Orochimaru in that infamous hiss. While his question was directed at the both of them, his eyes had locked onto Sasuke almost instantly, making the boy shift nervously under his gaze.
"Yeah, it is," he grumbled, taking up the test tube and measuring out 50 mL of water. The snake man (because that's really what he is: a humanoid snake) gave them one last smirk and strolled away, stoping at the lab station next to theirs to yell at the Hotta twins, who had been trying to make a mini bomb.
Sasuke sent him a scathing look, sitting himself down on the stool opposite of him and leaning over the table. Shikamaru cast him his own look, but continued to fiddle with the chemicals before him, absently turning on the Bunsen burner.
"What are you so irked about?" Sasuke asked, snatching up his own goggles irately. "It's just a lab."
"But now I have to work," he complained, taking the small dosage of elements out of the dixie cup and dropping them in an empty test tube. "I was looking forward to a nap."
"Oh grow up," the other snapped. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to do this. And what did he mean by 'I won't expect anything less than full marks from you'?"
"Oh, he's just been talking with Asuma."
Sasuke eyed him, looking as if he were contemplating his response. He didn't bother waiting for him to speak, measuring out the right amount of drops for each test tube instead.
"Is . . . is Asuma your dad?"
"No."
"Oh."
They lapsed into silence (not nearly as comfortable as with Chouji, no), with Sasuke fidgeting nervously (trying poorly to hide it) while he continued on with the lab. He didn't ask for Sasuke's assistance and the Uchiha never offered it, instead taking to simply staring off into space with the occasional fidget as Orochimaru walked by. Seriously, it was like the guy had it out for Sasuke; he never left him alone.
Shikamaru was sitting in his Honors Biology class because, honestly, Asuma was messing with him. The man had even admitted it when he asked him about it, laughing and saying, "Well, I figured you needed to work in at least one class besides P.E." Apparently Orochimaru was known for making his students work no matter what circumstances, and Shikamaru was an inevitable casualty. Figures Asuma would try to make things difficult.
It was the last class of the day, and he couldn't wait for it to end.
There was as sudden sizzling sound, followed by a popping and he only had enough time to duck down as the test tubes on the lab beside theirs exploded. A shriek of excited laughter was cut short as Orochimaru appeared with his eyes blazing in furry.
"Hotta 1! Hotta 2! What the HELL have you done?" he snarled, his fists clenched so tight is was a wonder he hadn't drawn blood. Identical electric blue heads popped up from the other side of the table, grinning like crazy as they looked up at the snake man.
"We made—!"
"—a bomb!"
Shikamaru hit his head against the side of the table. This was such a weird day.
"That one looks like an eagle flying."
He pointed up at the sky to a large cloud painted pink and purple in the setting sun's light. The sky behind it was a sort of red-purple, and the very edges of the clouds were glowing gold. Pale streaks of yellow shot through the air, split by the tongues of blazing moisture, reaching vainly out to the growing blackness behind them. The skyline was alight with fire, the sun sinking behind it in an array of throbbing heat.
Chouji stared up at it, chewing slowly as he examined it. He smiled, eyes sparkling.
"Yeah, it does!"
They were sitting on the knoll at the park again, watching the clouds as they were drenched in the light of the setting sun. Right after school, they'd walked over there, chatting about a bunch of different things, grabbing some lunch from Subway, and wandering around aimlessly until he'd decided he wanted to watch the clouds. So here they were, sprawled out on the grass, Chouji munching on some chips, and Shikamaru pulling images out of the shadows and textures of the clouds.
"I think that one looks like bird-faced dragon. See it's long body?" said Chouji, pointing one pudgy finger up at the sky. He looked, his eyes discerning the vision from the expanse of colors, curling through the sky and glaring at him with vicious eyes.
"Yeah. Wouldn't want to run into that thing, would ya?"
Chouji laughed, swallowing another mouthful of food.
"No way. It'd eat me!"
They laughed. Silence seeped in around them, filling up the air with a comfortable, calming feel. As the clouds rolled over the sky and the sun sank lower, he closed his eyes in content, sighing pleasantly to himself. He always liked coming to the park with Chouji. Whenever he was in a bad mood or couldn't get something out of his head, or just wanted to talk, the boy would lend a patient ear and let him rant to his heart's content. No matter what he had to say or how he acted, the strawberry blonde would try his hardest to help him work through it, whether he could help him or not. In all the 15 years of his life, he'd never met anyone ever as companionate as that. Chouji was one of a kind, totally unique, and yet, no one seemed to notice that. They never realized it.
This never ceased to aggravate him.
Chouji leaned back, crumpling his chip bag and stuffing it absently in his bag. They were utterly alone in the park, letting the crackle of the bag grate loudly on their ears. The kids who usually played in this park had gone home long ago and the picnic tables stood abandoned on the grass, small scraps of garbage littered around them. Like a metronome, a lone swing creaked as it swung back and forth, reminiscent of being ridden by the small youths.
"Thanks," said Chouji suddenly, "for, you know, going to the party."
Shikamaru looked over at him, noting how the other boy's eyes never left the sky. He offered a smile, lacing his fingers beneath his head.
"No problem."
There was a pause, where he stared thoughtfully at his friend, who blinked curiously back.
"Why was Kankuro so excited about trashing that Tenten girl's house?"
It had been bugging him ever since drama, when he'd watched the two bicker in a rather out of character way. Actually, it had been more of a cat fight, though if Gai hadn't been there it would have definitely turned into a wrestling match. He wouldn't have minded seeing that; the girl wore her hair in buns, so he'd never seen her with her hair down and he'd never ever seen Kankuro without his make-up on.
Chouji shifted slightly, furrowing his brows as he stared up at the clouds.
"Well, it's kinda . . . well, it's complicated, but it's got something to do with . . . this kid . . . that used to go here. They kind of both, um . . . liked him, and they're still fighting over him, and . . . ." He broke off, twisting his fingers nervously.
He blinked up at the clouds for a moment, thinking over what Chouji had said. Kankuro was gay? Huh. Didn't see that one coming.
"Who was it?" Chouji's face seemed to relax with relief and his voice lost it's hesitance.
"Oh, he doesn't go to this school anymore. He transferred in his sophomore year, or something."
"And they're still fighting over him?"
"I guess so. I don't know that much about it. I only heard about it from Gaara. We could ask, but Kankuro's pretty tightlipped about it."
"Nah, we'll stay out of his privet life. No need to go and piss him off."
"Yeah."
There was quiet again, and he closed his eyes, slipping into a light doze. Everything was so very calming, it was hard not to simply relax his mind and body, to fall into that restful haze. The hum of the city was dull and the clatter of the nearby people was drowned out by his own heartbeat, pounding softly in his ear like a lullaby. Behind his eyelids, the light dimmed slowly as the sun finally started to burry itself behind the buildings. He could have slept there peacefully through the whole night had he not been disturbed..
Soft fingers were pressed against his shoulder and Shikamaru opened one eye lazily. Above him, Chouji's face hovered, his features shadowed in the low light. He opened his mouth as if to say something, paused, thought better of it, and bit his lip.
"Um, Shikamaru? It'll get cold soon, so maybe we should go home?" he said it like a question, as if he were asking him if they could go home instead of suggesting it. This was a perfect example of one of the few (very, very few) things he couldn't stand about Chouji.
His inferiority complex.
For as long as he'd known the larger boy, Chouji had been shy and uncertain: a classic pushover, really. It hadn't been so bad when they were in elementary school, but it had worsened during middle school, leaving him worryingly unconfident in himself. When he talked with people, he kept his eyes averted and he very rarely offered his opinion in a discussion, having taken to eating to occupy his mouth and hands. This shyness (fear seemed more accurate, really) was unpleasantly obvious, if one knew where to look. Nothing as extreme as Hinata, though, who had developed a speech impediment from it, but still, it wasn't good by any means. He'd twist his fingers in his lap or chew on his lips, and when he spoke he kept his tone polite, but quiet, as if he wasn't sure if he should be talking.
But then he'd smile and laugh, or munch some more food, and everything was forgotten. Any sort of hesitation or fear that showed on his face was buried in the back of the other's minds, disappearing in a mist of thoughtlessness. None of those people took Chouji's hesitance seriously and they never realized that joking about his weight just made him more depressed and none of them had even considered that he might be just as unhappy as they were.
They never notice anything.
Shikamaru had told him over and over that there was nothing wrong with him: that he wasn't fat or stupid or ugly or useless, like all bullies had claimed him to be. Again and again he'd convince his friend otherwise: that he was smart and useful, that he looked fine. Afterward he was rewarded with a sheepish laugh and a friendly smile, with sparkling eyes full of renewed hope; it made even him feel better. He hated it when that sad look entered his friend's eyes, even when he was smiling, and cursed the people who put that look on his face. Because his friend was pretty when he smiled.
He just wished Chouji would realize that.
Shoving his annoyance down, he spoke with as much ease as he could muster. "If you wanted to go home, you don't have to ask. It's not like I'm going to yell at you or anything."
"I didn't want you to stay out here alone . . ." he mumbled.
"I would've walked you home."
"Oh, no, you don't have to do—!" Shikamaru got up, stretching his back out and standing briefly on his toes.
"I don't have to do anything," he said calmly, picking up his bag. "That doesn't mean I don't want to."
"But—"
"Don't worry about it."
Chouji closed his mouth, still looking uncertain as he stood up beside him, gabbing up his own bag with clumbsy hands. They walked back down the hill, Shikamaru humming slightly off key as Chouji followed next to him. As they had earlier that morning, they crossed over to the Circle K, making their way back into the inner city with as easy a transition as if they'd simply stepped over a chalk line. They walked in silence, Chouji absently tugging at his tie and Shikamaru burying his hands in his pockets.
Then, as if something had just occurred to him, Chouji looked over at him with squinting eyes.
"Do you think we have to wear costumes to the party?"
Shikamaru almost stopped short, snapping his head around to look at his friend. He hadn't even thought of that! He sighed.
"Ugh. I hadn't even thought of that."
Chouji laughed pleasantly.
"I'm home."
His voice echoed forlornly through the empty house, ringing flatly in his ears. The lights were all turned off, thrusting the small house in an blanket of shadows that obscured and dramatized the shapes of furniture splayed out in the rooms. It gave the house a haunted look, as if ghosts lived there instead of people, and he almost paused as he stepped through the doorway. Tossing the feeling away, he closed the front door and flipped on the hallway light, making his way to the nearest room.
Neither of his parents were home, he knew, so he wasn't surprised at the lack of response. He'd have been shocked stiff if someone had replied to his greeting. Both of them worked late and his father tended to stay for parties held at his friends' houses, stumbling home drunk at some obscure time of night. His mother didn't work nights on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and his father had the day off on Thursday, which made that the only day of the week that they actually saw each other all at the same time.
He couldn't say he was looking forward to that.
In the kitchen he found a note taped to the refrigerator with his mother's handwriting scrawled over it. Taking a cup from the cabinet above the dishwasher, he took the juice (apple, not orange. He didn't like orange juice; too much pulp) out and poured himself half a glass. As he replaced the carton, he snatched the note off the dimpled surface, heading up to his room with his juice in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder. Climbing the stairs, he glanced over the note.
Shikamaru—
I forgot to make dinner, so eat the leftover meatloaf next to the mayonnaise, K?
—Mom
Since when had she felt compelled to leave him a note? Shrugging, he crumpled it up and stuff it in his pocket, and having reached his door, turned the dull brass knob.
Compared to the bathroom it was a spacious, but in actuality, it was quite small. Against the right wall, a bed had been tucked away (the blankets wrinkled, unmade), a small bedside table with a dusty lamp sitting comfortably beside it, and a chest of drawers stood on the opposite wall, a collection of nicknacks scattered over the top. Clothes were crumpled up on the floor (dirty and clean alike), comic books, chess pieces, and scribbled-on balls of paper strewn about the faded, worn carpet. Artificial light from the street lamp slithered in through the widow on the far wall, making the off-white walls appear yellow.
Dumping his bag at the door and setting his cup on the bedside table, he flopped himself on his bed, letting out a contented sigh. He closed his eyes, tucking a hand behind his head, and stretched himself out on his bed, settling into his beaten-in mattress.
He was asleep within minutes.
The night had settled into his room, blinding Shikamaru with limitless shadows as he found himself staring up at his ceiling. It was late, yes, but he had no idea how late, or why he was awake at all as his tired mind tried to figure out what was out of place.
And then he heard it: a thump, like something falling against the wall downstairs. His mind was annoyingly blank for moment, all fuzzy with sleep, and he couldn't quite piece together what was going on. There was another thump, louder now that whoever it was had cleared the stairs.
A thick, muffled voice filtered through the wood of his door, and he could make out the sounds of drunken muttering outside his room.
" . . . Damned stairs, leepin' up at me hic I gotta . . . huh huh . . . drown stairs! Hic!" Thwack. "Shit!"
He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he prayed in his head (no no don't let him come in here please please just don't don't come in here don't) and griped the sheets with sweaty palms. There was heavy breathing, accompanied by cursing and hic-ups as the man hovered outside his room. Shikamaru could barely breath, his chest so tight and his pulse thundering in his ears, the unsettling sensation of pinpricks running along his spine and his hands gripping so tightly that his muscles were throbbing in pain.
And then the man was stumbling away, the door to his parents room opening as the man entered, closing it with an unnaturally loud click.
Letting out a shaky breath, he let his hands uncurl, his muscles wincing at the strain put on them. Shivers rolled through him and with every beat of his heart his whole body would shudder and lurch, his lips and fingers quivering uncontrollably.
Holy shit that was close.
A sigh passed over his lips and he pressed the palms of his hands against his face, startled to find how hot his face was and just how clammy his hands were. Pressing his eyes closed tighter, he forced his radical breathing to steady, trying to control the beat of his heart and slow it down. He needed to calm down.
He needed to calm down and sleep.
Try as he might, it wasn't until the faint trickles of sunlight brushed the horizon that Shikamaru finally lapsed into a fitful sleep.
"Are you alright?"
Chouji's voice was concerned, and he'd even stopped eating to hold shikamaru's gaze. He sighed, massaging his eyes gently as he struggled to find something to say. It seemed his mind had run off on him, and as they strolled over the grassy lawn of Konoha High, he caught himself desperately searching for words.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I . . . just need a nap." Chouji smiled slightly, though he still seemed concerned..
"Oh. Okay."
They continued on, Chouji munching on his apple (he said he was trying to loose weight; "You just needed to eat healthier foods" "It is healthier food.") and Shikamaru tried to snap himself out of his daze. For now, at least, he needed to stay alert. Chouji had the tendency to suddenly become extremely perceptive and he really didn't want his kind-hearted friend to worry about him.
"Hey! Chouji! Shikamaru! Wait up!"
Naruto came barreling out of nowhere, yelling at the top of his voice and latching onto Chouji's arm. Said boy jumped in surprise, almost dropping his food and his body jerked awkwardly. His face scrunched up slightly in surprise (irked, he was irked) and he held his apple out of Naruto's reach.
"Hi, Naruto. What's up?"
"Hey Chouji, hey Chouji, do you gots any food I can eat?"
"You're grammar's horrible, Naruto."
Naruto spun around instantly, growling angrily in his throat at the red-head who stood behind him. He struck the impression of a yellow tabby cat bristling the fur along it's spine. It was actually kind of funny.
"Oi! Don't go lecturing me, raccoon-eyes!"
"Not that you'd listen anyway," droned Gaara. Naruto just snorted and turned back to face Chouji, a pleading look plastered to his face.
"So, do ya, huh, do ya?"
Chouji looked very much like he didn't want to give the blonde anything, but he was far too nice to actually say it. He shifted nervously, darting his eyes around uncertainly as he tried to find a way out. Shikamaru, sighing in aggravation, offered it to him.
"Hey Naruto, do you know if we have to wear costumes to this party of yours?"
The blonde looked startled, blinking at him in a very clueless way; the image fit him perfectly.
"Huh, I dunno . . . I guess we could, but I don't really know, ya know? . . .oh wait, there's Haku, let's ask him— HEY HAKU!" All three of them clamped their hands over their ears as Naruto screamed across the grounds at the girly-looking boy, waving his hands wildly in an attempt to get the other to notice him. How he could've possible missed a jumping, orange, ball of energy that was Naruto was beyond them, but they couldn't really do anything about that, now could they?
"Hello to you too, Naruto," said Haku sarcastically as he came up to them, rolling his eyes. It seemed that just about everyone who knew the blonde ended up doing that at least once during the day. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Do we have to wear costumes to the party?" he asked, still bouncing up and down.
"It's optional, but I'm definitely dressing up." The sophomore looked rather proud of himself. Naruto grinned, punching the air.
"Awesome! Alright, I am SO getting a costume!"
"I'm not."
"Me neither."
"Yes, you are, raccoon-eyes! You're gonna be a . . . a . . . a rabid raccoon! And Shikamaru, you can be an . . . hm . . . oh, a zombie!"
Shikamaru deadpaned, fixing the blonde with a blank stare. A zombie? Him? No freakin' way would he ever dress up like a slow-moving corpse.
"Chouji you can be! . . . Uh . . . hm, there aren't that many fat, scary people, are there?" Chouji's face fell slightly. "Well, ah, you can be, uh, a rock! Yeah! A big boulder or something."
Glaring, Shikamaru snorted. "If anyone's going to be a rock, it's you, Naruto. You're head is about as thick as one." Gaara laughed and Naruto scowled.
"No it's not!"
"Yeah, it is."
"Is not!"
"Yeah, sure, keep dreaming."
"I will!"
Naruto stormed off, scowling like a child who hadn't gotten his way, and Haku departed to get to his locker. Gaara laughed again, grinning in a rather unsettling way. The blood-haired teen didn't quite fit the "raccoon" image, but "rabid" certainly did.
"Nice one, Shikamaru." As the boy walked away, he caught sight of something just behind Gaara's temple, half buried beneath his strands of bright red hair. It was only a glimpse, a snapshot of something out of place, but it had already burned itself inside his mind.
"Come on, class is going to start soon," said Chouji, pulling slightly at his sleeve. He shook himself slightly, blinking his eyes forcibly, and followed after his friend. The bigger boy opened his mouth as if to say something, squinting his eyes a bit.
"Thanks, for saying that."
Shikamaru smiled.
"No problem."
"That'll be $7.34," he said dully, hitting the total button on the register. The man in front of him opened his wallet and pulled out a ten. He stuffed the ten in the slot for tens and handed $2.66 back. "Have a good day."
The bell on the door jingled as the man walked out, though not before holding the door open for a couple of giggling girls that strolled in. Shikamaru grimaced as the man snuck a look at their too-short skirts, the 40-something man blushing a bit before leaving. Adults could be so perverted.
He was standing behind the cash register in a small café called Vega's, right in the middle of Barnes Street. It was packed between a bookstore and a music store, which was very good for the no-named store's business, which was probably the only reason the place was still open. It had a comfortable feel to it, with several small round tables and chairs around, as well as a few booths, with dim lighting that made it feel warm.
During the summer, he'd needed money to buy his school uniform, so he and Chouji (the boy had insisted he join him) had applied at Vega's since it was one of the few places that hired fifteen-year-olds. After he'd gotten enough money, he'd tried to quit, but his mother had found out about it and upon realizing that her lazy-ass son was actually doing something productive, made him stay. So here he stood behind the counter, glaring miserably at the far wall.
"Do you ever smile?" frowned Kabuto, the manager of Vega and a junior at a local college. The two of them had never really gotten along, but they weren't nearly as vicious as Kankuro and Tenten or Naruto and Sasuke. They simply didn't like each other.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Nothing. That's why I'm asking." He turned and walked into the back room, not even bothering to wait for my eye-roll. This was all far too troublesome.
One of the giggling girls came up to the counter, make-up painted on and her shirt unbuttoned just a little too low. He didn't stray his eyes from her face, though he would much rather stare out the window at the thin sliver of sky he could see.
"Um, can I have, like, that cupcake? Oh, but, like, does it have any, like, fat in it?"
By gods this was such a bad day.
To be continued . . . .