Title: Good Friend Chouji
Pairings: Shikamaru x (undecided), Gaara x Naruto, Haku x Zabuza, Kiba x Hinata, Neji x Tenten (more will be announced at a later date. Pairings will change.)
Warnings: child abuse, self mutilation, bullying, references to sex/sexual acts, homosexuality, underage drinking, attempted suicide, and incest. 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.
SLAM!
Fuck this, he thought, storming across the front yard to the sidewalk as fast as he could. Fuck it all to hell.
Dimly he heard the thud of his shoes hitting the concrete, his angry footsteps pounding into the ground with unusual force. The streetlights were partially broken with only a few of them still working, and the crumbling, towering, living complexes crammed along the edge of the street emitted little to no light from their windows. A few cars rolled down the street (some barreling at pedestrians that had so foolishly stepped onto the cross walks when given the green light), though the streets were conveniently vacant of anything else. As he left his neighborhood for the inner city, the very atmosphere changed in an instant.
What had once been stifling silence was now a wailing, blaring, vibrating jumbled mass of noise and color, all of which blended together to form some resemblance of human life. The clamor of voices, the pound of feet on cement, the rumble of rolling metal boxes over worn-down asphalt, were all reverberating throughout the tangled web of skyscrapers, each of which were flashing brilliant, eye-blinding lights; the glare of street and store lights climbing up the walls of brick and metal like hungry mouths, clawing at the expanse of metal with little strain, seemed almost alive. Humans and cars alike sped along their respected roadways, crossing paths only under the guidance of bright green or red lights.
Everything was the picture perfect image of a thriving metropolis, the kind of place used to describe the end result of a boom in technology. It was a city used for the backdrop of some action/adventure futuristic movie, where the main character must use the huge advances in human technology to save the world from mind-controlling robots, only to find that he's a robot himself, and thus is killed. Above all else, though, he could not find it in his mind to applaud whatever power-obsessed colossal maniac who had developed this damned place, then dared homo sapiens to live in it.
He shoved his fists into his pocket quickly, hissing out a cloud of hot, steaming breath. Unwillingly, he shivered, pulling his coat closer to his body to ward away the chill of late night November air, and blinked his eyes forcibly in an attempt to clear then (since when had they gotten so wet?). The sky was dark with heavy clouds, gloomy and grim as was fitting for a Thursday. Somehow the day had always held a sense of glumness that hovered in the background like a misplaced shadow, the kind of darkness that had no reason for being, yet was. Then again, he may just be reading too far into his own premonitions— or he'd just spent too much time at home on Thursday nights. Griding his teeth, he kicked out randomly at a trash can, ignoring the startled looks he got.
Tonight would not be one of them.
Shoving his hands further into his pockets, he strode down the sidewalks, brushing past flocks of people with unnatural ease (the people just seemed to scoot out of his way, as if they knew they shouldn't touch him, though quite of few of them didn't seem to have gotten the memo). Somehow he couldn't quite determine how far or fast he was walking, or if the person he'd just slammed into was the first or the thirtieth. His head was bowed, back stiff and arched, his shoulders bent to cover his ears, unconscious shivers rolling through his body like waves in the sea. The feeling that had flooded and choked his mind did nothing to ease the stinging pain in his chest (nor his pride, what little of it that was left), leaving him with a sickeningly empty gut that squirmed and wriggled in his abdomen.
And it hurt like hell.
A part of him was burning with repressed rage, snarling to be let out to reek havoc on the unsuspecting public. It wanted to brake and maim anything and everything it could get it's hands on, squeeze until there was no life left to kill, break until the pieces of pieces of pieces were nothing but specks of dust in the wind. That part of him wanted to scream and shout and hurt until there was nothing left to be mad about.
"Stop being such a melodramatic fool," he snapped to himself. "You're starting to think like Gaara."
It probably wasn't the best idea to be talking to himself out loud, since the streets were literally packed with people who were all pretty much within ear shot of him. Not that he cared much about that at the moment; he was much more preoccupied about where he was going to stay for the rest of the night. He sure as hell couldn't go back to his house (no shit, sherlock), but that meant he was going to have to ask someone if he could sleep at their house. And they, in turn, would ask why. He couldn't exactly answer that question.
So who could he stay with?
There was always Asuma, which had been his first candidate the last time this had happened, but he knew that if he crashed on his teacher's couch too often, not only would Asuma get suspicious, but so would the man's neighbors, and he didn't want to cause trouble for him (he may be only 15 but he wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what went on in the perverted mind of that lady in 17D). With Asuma out of the running indefinitely, it left him with Chouji.
This wouldn't be the first time he'd gone to the Akimichi's for help, but that didn't mean he felt any better about it. It seemed almost impolite (mostly because it was) to just drop in on their home without so much as a warning call, and he couldn't really be sure that Chouza Akimichi would permit him to stay. Sure, the good-natured man had been very willing the last time, but what if his view had changed? If Chouza wouldn't let him stay, where was he supposed to go?
Without realizing it, he had stumbled out of the inner city and was now striding into Uptown. It was a beautiful place, really, full of vibrant and lush touches of life and wealth— or so said their pamphlet, found at any airport within the country. But like any lie, there was a speck of truth. Uptown really was beautiful.
The streets were wide and well maintained, the medians separating the opposing lanes growing neatly trimmed trees and brush, with small plots of flowers every few meters. The stores and restaurants that framed smooth walkways were alight with a warm, inviting glow, tempting the few side-street walkers into their midst with the promise of exquisite goods and warm food. Night clubs pulsated with music and multi-colored lights, sending chest-rattling vibrations through the ground continuously (more so than the passing convertibles and mini-coopers, from which ripples of sound shot out of expensive sound systems), and the few places where there was outdoor eating, the bright white Christmas lights that laced the foliage and cast iron fences twinkled brilliantly with all the gusto of stars.
It was, without question, a stark contrast to the bustling, hard-edged, metal beehive that was the inner city. While there were brick and metal buildings, there were also stone and glass (of all the ridiculous things to make a building) structures that rose up one to twelve stories— but no more. The buildings never grew higher than the designated twelve levels, and the Hyuuga's would be damned if they let anyone even try to step outside their set boundaries. Everything was kept in an order that was reminiscent of an ant colony, with the privately-paid City Cleaning Crew (the CCC) taking immaculate care of the city streets and parks, for which he was mildly thankful for (the Uptown park was absolutely gorgeous, but it was so packed with people most of the time that it made a pour choice for cloud watching).
As he reached the end of a stretch of sidewalk, he noted the street signs above the traffic lights. If he was to spend the night at Chouji's, he was going to have to get to the boy's neighborhood first. With a quick glance down the street, he took a right and strode down a different (but no more lively) lane that led him closer to the living complex he knew the Akimichi's inhabited. It was on this street where the impressive Glass Mask Theater and Highlife Restaurant resided, both of which were the proud jewels that made Uptown so marvelous. The Glass Mask Theater was an old-fashioned type of theater, with a stage and orchestra pit placed in the vast room in such a way as to exert sound into every pore of the air when in full use. It was a very old building, though not neglected in any way, but definitely a landmark in the eyes of the tourists and residents of the city. The Highlife Restaurant was also a birthplace of life for Uptown, in that it was the most successful and high-ranking five star restaurant in not only this city, but the twenty-four other big cities in the whole freakin' country.
It also happened to be where Chouza Akimichi worked.
Both buildings were brimming with life, proving that neither enterprise was willing to put an end to the day just yet, and that Chouza would not be home to stop his unexpected appearance. Which was a good thing, he supposed, since it would be absolutely devastating if his father's best friend had turned him down.
Chouza and his father, Shikaku, had known each other since they had enlisted in the military at the raw age of 17, having been assigned not only the same bunk house, but the same training class/group/whatever-you-called-it, in the military. Apparently, they'd hit it off almost immediately and within a few days had become the best of friends. They'd enlisted in a time where they were at war with another country, so they'd been on the battle field and had seen both the devastation of warfare and felt the adrenaline rush of firing bullets at the enemy, though whether they'd been traumatized by it was never disclosed. After fifteen years of serving their country, they'd both retired and had moved to this city, where they bought pleasant little houses on the South Side. During their years of service they'd met their wives-to-be, and had married with the intent of children (thus resulting in his and Chouji's existence).
Of course, like anything, tragedy had to strike. And boy, did it strike.
When he and Chouji were eight (four years after their fathers had left service), their parents had gone to the Glass Mask Theater and dinner, leaving them with a babysitter. Everything had gone smoothly at first, just like it did every night previous, and their parents had all left dinner at the usual time like clockwork. Only, on their way home that Friday night, a car full of drunks ran a red light and smashed into not only their parents car, but two other cars as well. It was the busiest night for the emergency room, and it was known as one of the deadliest crashed of the decade by the newspapers and tabloids. Six people had died— including Shikamaru's father and Chouji's mother.
The funeral had been quiet and sorrowful, as was the nature of funerals, and the sermon had been soft, short, and direct; something he couldn't help but attribute with his father. Shikaku had always been a calm, gentle person, the type of guy that would stop and give someone directions or let the person cursing a malfunctioning payphone borrow his cell phone to make their call. When he'd been little, Shikaku would take him to the park and attempt to play catch or tag with him, but every time Shikamaru would flop down on the grass and fall asleep. Chouza and his wife had found it funny, since even Chouji was more active than he was, but Shikaku would just smile and lie down next to him, talking mildly about anything that came to his head in that soothing voice of his.
Damn, he missed those days.
Yoshino had taken one hell of a hit, though, and for a while she would drown herself in alcohol in the attempt to get away from it all. For days at a time she would just lie on the couch with that damned beer bottle in her hand, hair unwashed and black smudges under her eyes. Even at eight, he knew that something was horribly wrong with his mother, but he had no idea how to fix it, even if there was a cure, and slowly the woman started to unwind. First she lost her job, and she had to get a different, lowering paying one. Then she lost the house, and they had to move to the East side where housing was cheaper. Next came the constant bouncing between jobs as she continued to drink herself into oblivion and miss her shifts.
That's when it happened.
Some time after his tenth birthday, his mother stopped drinking beer after work and would start cleaning instead, like she used to do. She wasn't nearly as pleasant or teasing about it, though, and he usually found himself being yelled at for not picking up his shoes or putting away his clothes like he'd been told to. It certainly wasn't enjoyable, but she had pulled herself out of whatever rut she'd thrown herself into and he had to be thankful for that, if nothing else. At least she didn't lock him out of the house anymore.
Of course, there was a reason for her sudden change in mood, and that reason was his current father, or "step-father" as the term went, by the name of Nori. He still could not understand the frame of mind which told him to call that hulking piece of shit a father, but he blamed it on the man's constant insistence that Shikamaru referred to him as such. The marriage had come along much faster than what was considered sane, but his mother had been happier while they were dating, so Nori couldn't have been all bad, his ten-year-old brain had figured.
Wrong.
After the official documents had been handed in and made legal, everything changed. Two weeks into the marriage, Nori started yelling at Yoshino, spitting and snarling in her face about stupid things, like cold turkey and unfinished laundry. Unable to do anything about it, he had been forced to simply hide behind nearby furniture when Nori started yelling, pulling his knees in close to his chest as he listened to the bastard cuss out his mother. In three weeks she had started drinking again, which only served to piss Nori off even more, and alcohol was banned from the house. The dipshit had the nerve to blame this act of rashness on "think of the child!"
It didn't take long for Nori to loose interest in yelling solely at Yoshino, which is where Shikamaru suddenly became the man's newfound punching bag. If it weren't for his damned job (which brought in less than half of the money used to support them), he was sure that a small bruise every other Thursday or Sunday night would be nothing compared to what the man was capable of when given a long enough amount of time. Yoshino wasn't any help in the matter, either; she didn't even seem to care that this was happening, having taken to leaving the room when Nori rounded on him with a curled fist.
And they wonder why I'm not home more often, he thought bitterly.
The noises around him had dimmed to a dull roar, his footsteps echoing loudly in the well-kept street as he made his way to Chouji's address. Iron lamp posts sprouted up from the sidewalk every few feet, casting about a blurry circle of yellow light on the pavement, bending only so as to accommodate his shadow. It didn't take very long for him to reach his friend's residence, and as he halted at the start of the front walkway, he gazed upon the structure with quiet eyes.
The Akimichi house was just as he remembered it: huge, tall, window-filled, and brightly lit, with level, neatly trimmed brush and grass, and artfully placed trees and flowers dotting the vivid green lawn in an unobtrusive way. The driveway was empty, though the garage doors were closed so as to bar access to its innards, and he took a guess that Chouza had yet to return during his brisk walk from the Highlife to the building before him. With a slight exhale (the cloud of steam hovering in front of his face a true testament to just how freakin' cold it was), he strode up the paved footpath to the large, stained-glass door.
Hesitantly, he knocked his knuckles against the wooden frame, shifting uneasily in the warm light that spilled from the house. A shadow shifted from behind the door and there was a soft click as the deadbolt was turned, followed by the snap of the door being pulled open.
Chouji blinked curiously at him, clearly surprised to find the Nara on his door step. He was dressed in a loose Beatles t-shirt and faded jeans that almost covered his fuzzy white socks. A half-full Twisler bag was held limply in a pudgy hand, something that Shikamaru found oddly comforting.
"What's up?" asked the shorter boy. There was a deeper question beneath his tone, but he chose to ignore it in place of a wry grin.
"Can I stay the night?"
Chouji blinked in surprise.
"Sure, come on in."
The door was opened wider and he stepped past the threshold into the warm, decidedly well-furnished, living room. All the important teenage necessities were gathered in this room, including, but not limited to, a plump couch, puffy chairs, a flat screen TV, a DVD player, mountains of DVDs, a lovely sound system, and quite a few well-place snacks displayed on the coffee table. A movie was flashing across the TV screen, the voices playing dim background noise to their greeting.
"You want something to eat?"
"Nah, I'm fine."
"Okay. I'm just watching a movie and snaking out. Not a lot of good shows on for Thursday, you know? All the good stuff is on Monday and Friday," he said, nodding towards the entertainment device.
"CSI isn't that bad," he said, following Chouji over to the couch where they both collapsed in ungraceful heaps on the soft fabric, "even if it is unrealistic and a bit morbid." Chouji laughed.
"The kind of show Gaara would watch, right?"
"Maybe. Except it might have too much science in it for him. Shino, though, I could totally see watching this. I mean, the leader guy —what's his name?— is an expert on bugs. That would definitely draw his attention."
Chouji nodded in agreement, munching on a mouthful of Twislers and he swung his feet absently. Shikamaru reclined farther back into the soft cushions of the couch, watching through lazy eyes as the movie progressed (it wasn't one he recognized, but from the corny innuendoes and display of very bad teeth, he could only assume it was an Austin Powers movie). It was comfortably calm in the room, random laughter breaking out as Austin made another goof-up, this time in the form of trying to pull the "wig" of hair off an old lady. Suffice to say, it wasn't going very well.
"Do you think there really is a man on the moon?"
The question came out of no where, and he was ill prepared for it. Thus it was no surprise when he uttered a very undignified: "Huhn?"
"Is there really a man on the moon?"
He stared at his friend, who was staring quite plainly back, trying to get the damned turbines of his mind to start working again. The question had taken him totally off guard, and he felt rather stupid for letting such an out of place question knock over his pillar of thought as if it were just a mass of twigs on a blustery day.
"I guess it depends on what you constitute as a man."
"A human being."
"Then no." Chouji furrowed his brows curiously.
"Then what kind of man would be on the moon?"
"A hypothetical one."
Chouji laughed, his eyes crinkling as a large smile split his face.
"What's a hypothetical man doing on the moon?"
"Looking for hypothetical cheese."
There was laughter again, this time accompanied by Shikamaru's own soft chuckles at his friend's obvious enjoyment. Still laughing, Chouji grabbed up the discarded bowl of popcorn off the coffee table and rested it on his lap as replacement for his suddenly nonexistent Twislers. He grinned over at the dark haired boy, giggling a bit as he tried to get his response past the tip of his tongue.
"If there can be a hypothetical man looking for hypothetical cheese on the moon, couldn't there also be a hypothetical mouse looking for that cheese too?"
"I don't see why not," he replied, grinning. Smiling was infectious whenever he was around Chouji; he simply couldn't help it.
"And if that's true, then wouldn't there be a hypothetical cat looking for that hypothetical mouse? And if so, shouldn't there be a dog to look for the cat that's looking for the mouse that's looking for the cheese?"
"Makes sense."
"Right, so if that's true, could it also be said that maybe there isn't any cheese there at all, and that the dog is just looking for a cat that's looking for a mouse that's looking for cheese that doesn't even exist?"
"Sounds possible."
"Wow." The boy sat back, ruffling his mused blonde hair and grinning. "I think I've just turned my brain to applesauce!"
They both laughed at this, Chouji gleefully grabbing up some popcorn to dump into his mouth. He reached across to take some popcorn from the bowl as well, but instead of dropping it all into his mouth, he tossed them up in the air and tried to catch them with his mouth. Naruto had tried to do the same thing with a handful of grapes that day at lunch (only managing to get two into his mouth and the other twelve on the ground), and he'd been rather curious as to whether he could fair better than the blonde.
As the popcorn forfeited to gravity, he tilted his head back to catch the small bit of heated corn seed. The popcorn, however, had other plans, mostly involving the avoidance of his gaping mouth to bounce harmlessly off his nose and fall into the folds of his clothes in a suspiciously mocking manner.
Muffled laughter erupted on his left, and he sent a scathing glare over at the Akimichi, who was trying vainly to hide his all-too obvious amusement.
"Oh can it. Let's see you try," he grumbled challengingly. Chouji smiled just a tad wider, plucking a piece of popcorn from the bowl and tossing it in the air. The small bit of food fell straight into the other boy's open mouth. Scowling at the triumphant smirk sent his way, Shikamaru huffed, taking up another bit of popcorn between his fingers.
"Show off."
"Takes one to know one."
Scowl met smirk and Shikamaru was hard pressed not to burst out laughing. Gasping slightly, Chouji chuckled out:
"Do you think the meek will actually inherit the world?" What a random question.
"I dunno, but if they do, sheep herders better watch their back."
"Why?" snickered Chouji.
"'Cause "meek" and "sheep" go hand in hand, and if the sheep are going to inherit the world, they're not going to do it as herbivores."
They both burst out laughing again, and as Shikamaru fell back onto the armrest of the couch, Chouji got the flash of a brilliant idea. Well, maybe not brilliant, but sure as hell funny. Snatching the popcorn bowl from the other, he took a fistful of the snack and hurled it at the dark haired boy. There was indignant sputtering and Chouji had just enough time to vacate the couch before Shikamaru retaliated with a well-thrown pillow.
Laughing cheekily, Chouji dodged the next pillow and tossed some ammunition of his own, successfully lodging some of it in Shikamaru's hair. Leaping off the couch (grabbing a bag of M&M's as he did so), Shikamaru bounded after the Akimichi with a gurgled war cry, hurling M&M's with catastrophically poor aim.
And thus the food fight began.
Thirty minutes later, just as Shikamaru was running away from a suddenly food-laden Chouji, Chouza entered the house, his face flashing to blatant surprise as the both of them blew past him without so much as a glance. The hulking man stared after them with an utterly blank face, still trying to process why his son was missing his pants and his best friend was wearing socks and popcorn in his hair.
Taking a cautionary couple of steps, the older Akimichi stepped into the hallway, looking in both directions before hurriedly crossing to the kitchen. Inside said kitchen, he found an absolute mess, for which he had to clutch his heart dramatically and unhinge his jaw so as to let it clunk against the floor.
Everywhere in the room, there was food. Dumped and dropped and thrown all over the place in absolute mayhem, covering the counter tops, the floor, and the table, as well as the shinny pots hanging over a decidedly stickier stove —why was there an empty maple syrup bottle lying on his stove?—, and it took all the man's willpower not to drop in a dead faint.
The pound of feet on carpet was the only warning he had before Chouza was unceremoniously knocked over by not one but two teenagers who were both very unbalanced on their bare feet. There was a crash as they collided, followed by a series of thwaks that came from their quite undignified fall to the tiled floor. Blinking dazedly up at the ceiling (lookit all the pretty lights . . . .), Shikamaru burst out laughing, joined quickly by Chouji and Chouza.
Still gasping for breath, the three of them climbed unsteadily to their feet, Chouji nearly falling back over twice, and attempted to regain their breath. Chouza was the first to do so, since he wasn't the one who'd been running before laughing his head off, and he fixed the boys with a would-be-if-he-wasn't-smiling-so-broadly glare.
"What, exactly, were you doing to my kitchen?" he asked sternly, though the tone was inevitably ruined by the laughter that threatened to overrun his voice.
"Well, see, it all started when I threw some popcorn at Shikamaru, and then he threw M&M's—" started Chouji quickly, stiffling his laughter.
"No no, I threw a pillow at you before I threw the M&M's," corrected Shikamaru.
"Right, what he said. And then we started running around and then I ran out of popcorn, so I came back here—"
"Where you almost ran into the wall." Chouji sent him a sour look.
"—and I started to raid the fridge, which is when I found the whipped cream—"
"And the maple syrup."
"—which is when we started firing whipped cream at each other—"
"I was outnumbered, since he had two cans," defended Shikamaru.
"—but then we ran out of whipped cream and we found the cheese whiz—"
"Which is awesome stuff, by the way."
"—and then we saw the maple syrup and we sort of fought over it—"
"I almost won, too."
"—which in retrospect wasn't that good of an idea—"
"I would imagine," commented Chouza in a mock stern voice.
"—and the top sort of came off and it just might have gotten on a teeny tiny bit of the stove—"
"That's when I went for the poptarts and he went for the raisins." Chouji rolled his eyes.
"—so anyway, we were firing stuff at each other, and then I slipped in a pile of whipped cream, which is why I took off my pants, and then the chip bag went flying into the other room and—" Chouji stammered to a halt, looking uncertainly up at his father and shuffling his feet bashfully.
"Are we in trouble?"
Shikamaru could tell that it took all of Chouza's metal power not to fall to the floor laughing after hearing their story, so he took a guess and assumed they were off the hook for this one. Sure enough, Chouza's "stern" face cracked and the man gave a deep chuckle, followed by a pat on Chouji's shoulder.
"No, you're not, but you are doing the all laundry for the next two weeks, got it?"
Chouji smiled broadly, looking very much relieved. "Yes sir!" Chouza smiled at the both of them, withholding a spurt of laughter at realizing the socks on Shikamaru's head had yet to fall off. Shaking his head, he waved towards the staircase.
"Go take a shower, and go to bed. I assume you're staying the night, Shikamaru?" At his nod, Chouza smiled. "Then the futon in the hall closet is all yours. I'll have Mizuki clean all this up when she comes over tomorrow."
Feeling a small pang of pity for the Akimichi's maid, Shikamaru followed Chouji out of the kitchen and up into the second level of the large house. Chouji lent him a spare shirt and some sweat pants, allowing him to take a shower first while he set up the futon. A half an hour later, the both of them were climbing into their respected beds, Chouji switching off the light and casting the room in deep, bottomless shadows.
For a while there were no sounds, save the creaking of the foundation and the soft thuds of Chouza settling in for the night. All was serene and peaceful in the agreed silence of the night, which settled in around them like a flanel blanket. Shikamaru found himself quickly falling into the recesses of sleep, and just as he was about to leave his conscious state, Chouji spoke.
"What did Nori do?"
It was whispered quietly into the dark room, almost as if it were rhetorical, unintended for an answer. There was a long bout of silence, Chouji's dark eyes seeking out unusually reluctant ones. Keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling, Shikamaru answered.
"Nothing unusual."
He didn't like the way his voice echoed in the cluttered room, nor the way it stuck to his throat as if it didn't want to be said.
"Does it hurt?"
Those eyes never left him, and he couldn't help but meet the imploring gaze of the other as he responded in an equally soft voice.
"Not anymore."
Through the darkness he couldn't see it, but as Chouji muttered a soft "good night", Shikamaru could tell that the other was smiling.
"Good night, Chouji."
"It looks so gloomy outside," observed Chouji, peering out the dinning room window to the world outside.
"And wet," added Shikamaru sleepily, reaching absently for the milk. Apparently he'd forgotten that key ingredient when making his cereal. Go figure.
"Do you two need a ride?" asked Chouza, filling his mug with steaming coffee. Chouji looked over at his dad with a light teasing look and Chouza chuckled. Shikamaru let out a gaping yawn.
"But, if you drive us, you'll be late for work," Chouji said, seating himself at the table after taking another look at the rain spilling down the window pane. The older man waved his hand dismissively.
"That's alright. It'll give those confidence-ridden trainees something to do for once," said Chouza calmly, taking a hesitant sip of his coffee. At the scrunching of his nose, Shikamaru predicted the coffee being sweetened by two spoons of sugar instead of one, along with just a dash of cream.
"But it's your job. I don't want you to be late . . . ." Chouji was looking guilty, as if he was torn between asking for a ride and insisting to walk in the rain. Shikamaru couldn't blame him, honestly, since he really didn't want to have to walk in that storm either. He half expected to see an ark sail down the street at any moment.
"Don't worry about it," soothed Chouza as he added two spoons of sugar to his coffee, followed by a small stream of cream from the creamer set on the table. "I can come in a few minutes late if it's to drop you two off at school. I am head chef, after all."
"We could always ask Kankuro to drive us," spoke Shikamaru suddenly, blinking tiredly at his cereal as he, yet again, seemed to forget to add milk. How the hell did he manage that when the damned carton was in his hand? "He lives nearby, right?"
"Yeah . . . ."
Chouza smiled. "There, see? Problem solved." He took a sip of his coffee; it seemed to meet his sugary needs. Chouji didn't looked convinced yet. Shikamaru gave his friend a decisive stare.
"Look, he's not gonna get mad about it, Chouji. He's too easy-going to fuss over something like this, you know that. Besides, it's raining and, while I agree with not making your dad late, I'm not walking in the rain."
Chouji sighed. "Fine. I'll call him."
He left the table for the phone resting in the living room, referring to the pad of phone numbers set on the same side table. Chouji made the call to Kankuro, his voice muffled by the insulated walls, while Shikamaru finally got to eat his cereal. Chouza chewed absently on his bagel (spread thickly with strawberry-flavored cream cheese) as he unfolded the (thankfully) dry newspaper. The cup of coffee placed gently on the table was still steaming and he fancied that he could feel the warmth of the liquid washing over him.
"Sleep well?"
"Yep. You?"
"I might have slept better if my stove hadn't been defiled by maple syrup . . ." teased Chouza with mock seriousness. Shikamaru smiled guiltily at the older man.
"In my defense, that could've happened to anyone."
"And yet, it happened to you."
"I stand by my statement."
"You're either the worst debater ever or the best lawyer in the world," laughed Chouza, taking a sip of his coffee. He frowned thoughtfully.
"I don't particularly like debaters."
"Lawyer it is, then."
Chouji returned, looking mildly amused as he seated himself beside Shikamaru. He sent him a questioning look, silently asking Chouji to elaborate. The Akimichi did so with a light air to his voice that belied the actual enjoyment he felt for the topic at hand.
"I asked Kankuro if he was a sheep."
"Oh? And what did he say?"
"He said that he'd take two of whatever I was smoking."
Shikamaru sputtered, laughing loudly as he tried not to knock over his cereal bowl. A raised eyebrow was shot their way, and Chouji and he tried to stifle their laughter by taking hurried sips of their drinks (orange juice for Chouji and apple for him). Chouza gave them a wayward look before redirecting his attention to his newspaper.
"When's he coming by?"
"He said he'd be here in thirty-five minutes."
"Good. I can finish eating."
Chouza left shortly after finishing his bagel, bidding them both a good day at school ("It is Friday, after all."), before leaving in his now-wet SUV. They both finished their own breakfasts quickly, trading mild jokes between bites, after which they brushed their teeth and (in the case of Shikamaru) searched for a spare uniform for him to wear at school. It was a hard find, seeing as Chouji's room was about as unkept as his own, but a clean one was soon found sitting patiently on the bathroom counter (how, he had no idea, but he had an inkling that Chouza had something to do with it) along with a spare rain jacket. After they were dressed and ready, they retreated to the front window in the living room to wait for Kankuro.
Outside was a scene that had most definitely been taken from the flood story of the Bible: thundering rain dimpling foot-deep water to join the mass of rushing, churning water that had flooded the street, swelling up and swallowing huge expanses of concrete like the Blob. The sky above was hidden by a cover of dark, water-laden clouds that had yet to cease in its drenching of the inactive city. Everything seemed to have melted into a grey, messy puddle of colors, like when the chalk on a sidewalk is splattered with misplaced ice water and left to drizzle and drain down the pavement to the nearest sewer drain. A melancholy feel settled over the both of them, Shikamaru's yawns the only thing to accompany the rhythmic pounding of the rain and the timely beat of Chouji's swinging legs.
Chouji started as Kankuro's car appeared from the gloom. It was a nice car (able to hold nine people all at once) of indeterminate make and model, though now it was streaked with rain drops, its wheels churning up dirty water as it swept down the street.
"The pumpkin has arrived," mumbled Shikamaru lazily as he stood up. His shoulders popped as he rolled them out of stiffness.
"And yet I see no white mice," grinned Chouji, grabbing up his bag and umbrella as he approached the front door.
"That's irrelevant."
"It's totally relevant."
They stepped out onto the porch, pausing only to open the umbrella and lock up the house, before dashing to the car parked at the curb in a desperate attempt to escape getting wet. It didn't work out very well, since their shoes were quite a bit more moist than they'd been upon leaving the house, but the inside of the car was warm and dry, so the discomfort was quickly forgotten.
Sitting in the front driver's seat was Kankuro, wearing a dark burgundy coat and tie-dye scarf, with Gaara sitting next to him (near dripping in black), and Naruto in the middle row, his bright orange parka as brilliant as ever on such a drab day.
"Good morning, gents!" greeted Kankuro happily, turning to see them with a smiling face. Shikamaru blinked, not quite sure if his eyes were deceiving him or not, and he almost forgot to buckle his seatbelt in his confusion.
"You're— you're not wearing any kabuki make-up!" exclaimed Chouji, staring wide-eyed at the Sabaku. Kankuro grimaced, turning back to face the road as he gave a short laugh.
"That obvious, is it?"
The car started rolling down the street, Kankuro taking them away from the sidewalk to surf the road-turned-river asphalt. Chouji blinked, not sure what he'd said wrong, and Naruto drew their attention with a wave of his hand. Gaara cast a dark look back at the blonde as he leaned forward to look at both of them, brow furrowing irritably as Naruto spoke.
"He's reeeeaaalllly self-conscious about it," informed the hyper-active blonde with far too much enthusiasm for both the topic of choice and the early hour of the morning (though it was only about 7:30). Shikamaru settled back in his seat, folding his arms over his abdomen as he tuned Naruto out. It was a relatively quiet drive through the pouring rain that left the residential area of Uptown unnaturally silent itself.
"You look fine without your face paint."
Kankuro blinked at him in surprise through the reflection in the rearview mirror. He didn't catch it, though, since as soon as the words left his mouth, he closed his eyes to settle into a light slumber.
At the sudden jolt of the vehicle stopping, Shikamaru blinked open his eyes, gazing blearily around him with an air of detachment. Vaguely his mind registered that this wasn't the school parking lot, but the front yard of a fairly large house staring out at him from the opposite side of the window. Chouji seemed to notice his (slight) confusion and answered his question.
"We're picking up Kiba, too."
"Ah."
It was a moment before the front door of the house banged open to expel a stumbling figure, bouncing shut with an echoing clang, allowing said figure to dash through the rain as he jerked on his coat. Once Kiba reached the side door, he threw it open and started to climb in, nodding his head obligingly towards Kankuro as he tried to catch his breath— then stopped short.
The look on the Inuzuka's face was quite utterly shocked if not bewildered, and Shikamaru almost felt like smirking in a very Sasuke-ish way. He didn't, of course, but the expression on Kiba's face refused to change, and the rain was started to hit him through the still open door. It was almost embarrassing, really, to see the boy so blatantly taken aback.
"Stop ogling at him and get in the damn van," he snapped, pulling at the other boy's coat in an attempt to get him moving. Cheeks glowing red, Kiba scuttled into the car quickly, followed by the slam of the side door shutting and he buckled his seat.
"You're— you're not—not wearing you're kabuki paint," stammered out the dog-boy, his body leaning forward to rest his chin on the top of the middle seat. Kankuro shifted the car into drive, his warm brown eyes darting up to look at Kiba in the rearview mirror.
"Thanks for telling me— I might not have noticed otherwise."
Kiba's face flushed deeper, a scowl cutting itself across his lips, and with a decidedly disgruntled tone the freshman retorted, "Well sor-ry for makin' an observation, Kanky."
"Dully noted," droned Gaara, not even bothering to turn around. Kankuro gave his brother a look, which was acknowledged by the other heatedly.
"Hey Kiba, why's your face all red?" asked Naruto with bright eyes. Kiba glared darkly at the blonde.
"No reason. It's just cold is all."
"I dunno, I think it's cause you love—" Naruto was cut short as Kiba shot forward and curled his hands around the sneaking-looking blonde's neck, his eyes flashing angrily. Gaara turned around almost instantly, landing pale, murderous eyes on the eccentric Inuzuka, as if daring the brunette to go through with his threat. In what was probably the wisest move he'd ever make in his life, Kiba retreated to the back seat, though bickering immediately followed, mediated by Gaara's occasional snap of "Shut up, Baka-inu".
He didn't get a wink of sleep the rest of the drive to school.
To be continued . . . .