Somewhere in Konoha, a father falls into a drunken frenzy, and a daughter cries while a mother screams.

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IT IS UNUSUAL, but Chouji is sitting alone on a bench, the same exact bench where Sakura will one day rouse from when Sasuke has left, munching his chips thoughtfully, if a bit slowly. One at a time- whole chip, piece of chip, piece of chip, whole chip. Methodically, he works his way towards the bottom, and the last whole chip, which he will save for that moment of completion.

It is a clear day, blue skies with a few wispy stratus clouds and one or two songbirds singing. A gentle breeze shivers its way through the trees, playing with the tips of Chouji's rusty-red hair. The air is warm, the oncoming summer already showing its vibrant colors. Somewhere in the distance, a dragonfly buzzes from leaf to leaf and a small animal darts through the underbrush. Peaceful, and Chouji is enjoying contemplating whatever comes to mind.

In his relaxed state, Chouji doesn't notice the girl stumbling past, head hung, hands over her eyes until she is almost gone again. He watches for a moment as her aqua hair sways with each step, her kind-of-dirty a-little-too-big white T-shirt shifting back and forth. She wears pants and rag-tag slippers that used to be a rouge red but are now almost brown. There is a crinkled ribbon in her hair, and Chouji realizes her shoulders are shaking.

She's crying.

"Hey," he speaks up, concerned. This is Chouji- he hates to see people sad, always wants to comfort where he can. She looks up, watery-aqua eyes wide. Her lips are thin and pale, trembling as she stumbles toward him. For a split second, neither of them realize what's happened as her foot catches on a flagstone jutting up from the walkway. Next thing they know, her arms have caught the bench and she is crying outright, her legs tangled beneath her.

"Hey, now," Chouji soothes, pulling her up, and somehow she ends up curled in his lap, hiding her face in his shirt, "It's okay, everything's alright."

She keeps her hands between her wet face and Chouji's shirt, preventing her tears from staining his clean clothes. The silent sobs wrack over her and Chouji sets his chips aside and encircles her with his arms, holding her securely as the silent sobs develop into choked cries. He tucks his chin over her head, squinting down the direction she had appeared from with a solemn expression. A quiet hiccup escapes her between whimpers and he strokes her hair as he contemplates her. She smells of dirt and something Chouji can't place.

For a moment, he wishes he had a sense of smell like Kiba's. Another muted cry comes from the girl and he gives her a gentle but reassuring squeeze. He thinks that maybe he doesn't want to know what she smells like. It could be blood. It could be alcohol.

It could be worse, so he holds her close and blinks back his own tears.

Eventually, the soft sobs and muted cries fade to quiet hiccups, and then to nothing at all. Wordlessly, she slips from Chouji's embrace and before he can say anything, she is gone the way she came. Chouji has almost forgotten the bag of chips sitting by his side, but even after he remembers, he can't make himself finish them.

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First of all: no. The girl is not based off of me. Obviously, thanks to the aqua-blue hair... she doesn't look like me. As for the crying... I don't think I've cried in ages.

This will be a multi-chaptered story with a plot, thanks, this is what another author once called a "Teaser Chapter" to get people intrigued with ponderings such as, "Why in the heck is she crying?" or stuff like that. Huh, I guess that's really the only thing there is to wonder about this story... oh well. I hope it's enticing enough.

The quote will have to do with the story, and has absolutely nothing to do with my life, thanks. I have a very nice, very comfortable life, with acceptable parents and a pretty tolerable kid sister. I should be happy, but thanks to family genetics I have (slight) manic depression (can something like manic depression even be slight?) Thus explaining my random ups and downs, though mostly downs, and urges to cry for absolutely fucking nothing.

It pisses me off sometimes, though the good thing about my depressions is that they stir up the plot bunnies in my mind and spur me into writing. Thus, when I post more than one thing within two days, it generally means I've hit a low.

Nothing to worry about, they usually pass after one or two stories.

(PS: it may look like it, but this, more likely than not, won't be a pairing fic. Unless people want the girl to end up with Chouji, or if they want me to throw in a pairing on the side. Otherwise, it'll be more of a friendship, hurt/comfort fic that will be updated whenever I hit the next really bad low. Yay-ness.)

I'm planning to continue this as a series of 500 word drabbles per chapter, not including the italicized phrases, but we'll see how that works as I get further into the story. Thanks for reading!

Hope you liked.

Somewhere in Konoha, every night, it's like a sick repeat: a father, a mother, a daughter, a family. Another empty bottle of beer strewn carelessly on the floor.

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CHOUJI DOESN'T TELL. Not anyone, not a single soul. He doesn't tell Shikamaru or Ino or Asuma or Chouza. Somehow, it's their secret, him and the girl's. Somehow, he knows he's not supposed to tell.

Mostly, it's easy to distract himself. He'll train with Shikamaru and Ino under the semi-watchful eye of Asuma. He'll listen to his parents talk over the dinner table. Maybe he'll just hang out with Ino and Shikamaru, eating Barbeque and letting Ino drag him, dragging Shikamaru, through clothing store after clothing store.

Easy to distract himself, mostly; because Chouji, kind as he is, is every bit as busy as every other ninja out there. As every other person out there, considering life has a way of picking one up and sweeping them about, without warning. Easy, but then there are moments when it's... not so easy. When he wakes up a little too early in the morning, and wonders whether or not he should go to that bench and wait for the sun to rise, just in case. Or when he's just lazing with Shikamaru on the roof, thinking maybe he should go to the bench. Short moments that pass, just like the detours Chouji takes to pass the bench.

Just in case.

But she's never there, and Chouji doesn't know if he's glad she isn't wandering around crying, any more, or if he's sad, because it was kind of nice to be the protector for once. Now and again, he stops to think about why she could have been crying. None of his guesses are very pleasant, though some run as trivial as a boyfriend dumping the girl (he remembers the day the teams were selected and Ino cried because Sakura had been placed with Sasuke and not her). Girls could be so strange...

But, as optimistic as Chouji is, he keeps in mind that it could be something much less trivial. He doesn't like to think about those possibilities, but he keeps them tucked away in the corner somewhere, because they're more likely, sad as that is.

Shikamaru, being the genius he is, notices Chouji's slightly reticent mood, the worried frowns he pulls at times. He tells Ino before he plans to talk to Chouji, just to go over his theories before confrontation. Ino, against his cautions, brings it up before Shikamaru's ready.

Chouji smiles and waves it away. "No, I'm fine, Ino. Shikamaru. Sorry to worry you."

Ino huffs and Shikamaru frowns. Chouji goes back to staring down the street, in the direction of the bench, hidden a few blocks away.

He's not going to tell, because it could be something as trivial as a boyfriend, and it could be something as serious as... Chouji shakes his head to clear that away. It could be either, but whichever way it falls (and Chouji hopes, for her sake, that it's just trivial) it's their secret, and he knows he's not supposed to tell.

Not anyone, even Shikamaru and Ino and Asuma and Chouza.