Chouji can see the pain, and he hates having caused it. At the same time, he can feel every one of his muscles relaxing just a little. He isn't wound quite so tightly now that someone else knows. Some of the knots have to stay tied, but even one makes a difference. He reaches out to put a hand on Shikamaru's shoulder when his voice falters, unless his friend moves away.

Chouji doesn't like his own selfishness, but telling his teammate feels like absolution. Shikamaru has always known Chouji's weakest moments, and there's a new entry to be made in that list. Chouji always did his best to follow any weak moment with a strong one, though. "I didn't need the pills after that. My resolve was enough on its own, I guess." After all the people he cared about lent him their strength, it would be unforgivable to fail to find his own.

He nods, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's good." Before the war, he couldn't imagine seeing Asuma again. Their brief reunion was painful. The prospect of a better one, even here, means too much to put into words.

One question at a time, and it's time to get the question Chouji is dreading most over with. "Shikamaru, how many years have you been here?"