(no subject)
Title: Whatever’s Left
Fandom: Fruits Basket (manga, not the anime)
Pairing: Ayame/Hatori [hints at Hatori/Kana]
Challenge/Prompt: 30randomkisses, 027. Crystal
Rating: PG
Genre: Slash [het]
Summary: Ayame is absent when everything goes to hell.
Author’s Notes: I love reading the manga, but I’ve never tried writing for it before. This is set just after Hatori suppresses Kana’s memories of their relationship. I wrote this thinking mostly of the aesthetic qualities (seeing it split into panels and everything… dear dear). Dedicated to justian, whose birthday was last week, and who has just lent me volumes 15 & 16. Yay!
Ayame is absent when everything goes to hell. Just as he is always absent whenever the people he loves most need him. It isn’t deliberate - not entirely, anyway - but somehow he is never around to offer his support, insubstantial as it is. In this case, he is on holiday, leaving his shop in Mine’s capable hands. By the time he comes back, the world as he left it has shifted and changed.
Hatori is so quiet now, quiet to a genuinely scary degree, paper white hands twisting together without a single tremor to betray any inner turmoil, but he’s so far away now. Ayame doesn’t know, at first, what has happened. Not until he mentions Kana, quietly, without thinking. Hatori’s face shuts in on itself and Shigure winces and later on takes Ayame’s arm and in a whispered voice that sounds nothing like his, tells him about blood on the floor and Haa-san’s eye and Kana getting sick, so sick, and Akito being so angry and then the memory suppressing and -
Ayame can’t work out how to respond to this, and the idea that Hatori needed him and he wasn’t there makes him feel sick and dizzy and he remembers Yuki’s terrified face, eyes wide in his panic, so small and too young and Ayame pulled his sleeve away and did nothing to help him either.
It seems to be developing into a pattern.
He eventually manages to corner Hatori while Akito is sleeping, and now he’s alone with his friend, his best friend, he can see just how deep the pain and suffering goes.
“I made the right decision,” Hatori tells him, but this close Ayame can see him shaking, and neither of them believe the words.
“It’s ok to not be ok with this,” Ayame tells him, twining a strand of silver hair around his fingers. He hates having to be sensible but he knows that this situation calls for gravitas, and he owes Hatori that, at least.
“I’m fine,” Hatori tells him, and Ayame remembers Shigure, cigarette in hand, shaking his hair over his face and saying, so softly, that Hatori won’t open up to anyone, won’t say a word about it, except for cop-out lines like “it was for the best”. Everyone knows that it wasn’t.
“It’s ok not to be,” Ayame insists. Hatori just looks at him with his one eye, dark hair fallen over his damaged one. There’s no expression on his face, and Ayame hates that more than anything. Before he’s even thinking about what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around Hatori’s skinny frame.
“Aaya-” Hatori begins, sounding angry and ten kinds of uncomfortable, but he isn’t trying to pull away and Ayame pulls him closer, murmuring “it’s ok” one more time, and is standing there ready to catch the wave as it breaks.
Hatori’s sobs sound like they’re being dragged relentlessly from somewhere so deep inside that it’s physically painful to let go of them. He chokes slightly on every new wave of tears, letting out weeks of helplessly painful silence, arms tightening around Ayame’s back. And Ayame, for once in his life, says nothing. Just listens to Hatori shake and sob and closes his eyes and hopes that one day this will pass and heal.
It takes time, before Hatori looks up at him, face chalk white, lavender eyes still sparkling with tears. He looks like he’s been torn open, ripped apart and scattered, and for a moment Ayame blazes with hate for what Akito has done. Hatori bites his bloodless lips together, another perfect tear spilling from his eye, and before he knows what he’s doing, Ayame is catching that tear with his finger, smearing it across Hatori’s face. Hatori trembles, and before he knows what he’s doing, Ayame is kissing that wet cheek, tasting salt, tasting pure, white pain.
“Aaya-” Hatori sounds like he’s splitting into little pieces, but he isn’t pulling away, his hands are moving to tangle in Ayame’s mane of hair, clinging on as though for dear life and Ayame kisses down until his mouth meets Hatori’s.
Even as Hatori’s fingers tighten in his hair, Ayame knows that he’s being selfish. That he’s imposing feelings he’s had for more years than he can willingly admit to onto Hatori in his vulnerable and helpless state, but he can’t make himself stop and Hatori’s mouth opens willingly under his. His lips are cold and he tastes like despair, and Ayame wouldn’t be able to stop for the world.
It’s sudden, when Hatori’s fingers slip from his hair, moving instead to push Ayame back, and he knows that he’s gone too far. He came here to comfort Tori-san, and now- He can’t manage to say sorry, but he hopes Hatori can read it in his eyes. Hatori is still deathly pale, but his mouth is red.
“I should go,” he murmurs, “Akito will be wondering where I am.”
They both know that Hatori cannot afford to push any form of boundaries; Akito is still so angry, and their positions are precarious. Hatori pulls out a battered packet of cigarettes, pushes one between his lips and lights it. It seems to calm him and Ayame watches Hatori come back together in front of his eyes, no longer looking as though he’s made of broken glass and could shatter at the first breath of wind of pass him. Everything’s on edge here, though, and Ayame wonders if maybe he’s made it worse rather than better.
Both of them shut under crystal, waiting for everything to splinter.
Hatori’s turning to leave, shrugging into his black coat, hair falling over his eyes again. He doesn’t even look like he’s been crying. Cold, icy exterior reforming again.
“Hatori-” The name breaks in Ayame’s mouth, for the first time he feels disconcerted around the friend he’s had since he was a child.
Hatori turns back, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. And there, on his lips, is the tiniest, first hint of a smile. It’s quivering, it’s almost non-existent, but it’s there. It’s alive.
And Ayame thinks that maybe there’s still some hope left for Hatori. Maybe.
Fandom: Fruits Basket (manga, not the anime)
Pairing: Ayame/Hatori [hints at Hatori/Kana]
Challenge/Prompt: 30randomkisses, 027. Crystal
Rating: PG
Genre: Slash [het]
Summary: Ayame is absent when everything goes to hell.
Author’s Notes: I love reading the manga, but I’ve never tried writing for it before. This is set just after Hatori suppresses Kana’s memories of their relationship. I wrote this thinking mostly of the aesthetic qualities (seeing it split into panels and everything… dear dear). Dedicated to justian, whose birthday was last week, and who has just lent me volumes 15 & 16. Yay!
Ayame is absent when everything goes to hell. Just as he is always absent whenever the people he loves most need him. It isn’t deliberate - not entirely, anyway - but somehow he is never around to offer his support, insubstantial as it is. In this case, he is on holiday, leaving his shop in Mine’s capable hands. By the time he comes back, the world as he left it has shifted and changed.
Hatori is so quiet now, quiet to a genuinely scary degree, paper white hands twisting together without a single tremor to betray any inner turmoil, but he’s so far away now. Ayame doesn’t know, at first, what has happened. Not until he mentions Kana, quietly, without thinking. Hatori’s face shuts in on itself and Shigure winces and later on takes Ayame’s arm and in a whispered voice that sounds nothing like his, tells him about blood on the floor and Haa-san’s eye and Kana getting sick, so sick, and Akito being so angry and then the memory suppressing and -
Ayame can’t work out how to respond to this, and the idea that Hatori needed him and he wasn’t there makes him feel sick and dizzy and he remembers Yuki’s terrified face, eyes wide in his panic, so small and too young and Ayame pulled his sleeve away and did nothing to help him either.
It seems to be developing into a pattern.
He eventually manages to corner Hatori while Akito is sleeping, and now he’s alone with his friend, his best friend, he can see just how deep the pain and suffering goes.
“I made the right decision,” Hatori tells him, but this close Ayame can see him shaking, and neither of them believe the words.
“It’s ok to not be ok with this,” Ayame tells him, twining a strand of silver hair around his fingers. He hates having to be sensible but he knows that this situation calls for gravitas, and he owes Hatori that, at least.
“I’m fine,” Hatori tells him, and Ayame remembers Shigure, cigarette in hand, shaking his hair over his face and saying, so softly, that Hatori won’t open up to anyone, won’t say a word about it, except for cop-out lines like “it was for the best”. Everyone knows that it wasn’t.
“It’s ok not to be,” Ayame insists. Hatori just looks at him with his one eye, dark hair fallen over his damaged one. There’s no expression on his face, and Ayame hates that more than anything. Before he’s even thinking about what he’s doing, he wraps his arms around Hatori’s skinny frame.
“Aaya-” Hatori begins, sounding angry and ten kinds of uncomfortable, but he isn’t trying to pull away and Ayame pulls him closer, murmuring “it’s ok” one more time, and is standing there ready to catch the wave as it breaks.
Hatori’s sobs sound like they’re being dragged relentlessly from somewhere so deep inside that it’s physically painful to let go of them. He chokes slightly on every new wave of tears, letting out weeks of helplessly painful silence, arms tightening around Ayame’s back. And Ayame, for once in his life, says nothing. Just listens to Hatori shake and sob and closes his eyes and hopes that one day this will pass and heal.
It takes time, before Hatori looks up at him, face chalk white, lavender eyes still sparkling with tears. He looks like he’s been torn open, ripped apart and scattered, and for a moment Ayame blazes with hate for what Akito has done. Hatori bites his bloodless lips together, another perfect tear spilling from his eye, and before he knows what he’s doing, Ayame is catching that tear with his finger, smearing it across Hatori’s face. Hatori trembles, and before he knows what he’s doing, Ayame is kissing that wet cheek, tasting salt, tasting pure, white pain.
“Aaya-” Hatori sounds like he’s splitting into little pieces, but he isn’t pulling away, his hands are moving to tangle in Ayame’s mane of hair, clinging on as though for dear life and Ayame kisses down until his mouth meets Hatori’s.
Even as Hatori’s fingers tighten in his hair, Ayame knows that he’s being selfish. That he’s imposing feelings he’s had for more years than he can willingly admit to onto Hatori in his vulnerable and helpless state, but he can’t make himself stop and Hatori’s mouth opens willingly under his. His lips are cold and he tastes like despair, and Ayame wouldn’t be able to stop for the world.
It’s sudden, when Hatori’s fingers slip from his hair, moving instead to push Ayame back, and he knows that he’s gone too far. He came here to comfort Tori-san, and now- He can’t manage to say sorry, but he hopes Hatori can read it in his eyes. Hatori is still deathly pale, but his mouth is red.
“I should go,” he murmurs, “Akito will be wondering where I am.”
They both know that Hatori cannot afford to push any form of boundaries; Akito is still so angry, and their positions are precarious. Hatori pulls out a battered packet of cigarettes, pushes one between his lips and lights it. It seems to calm him and Ayame watches Hatori come back together in front of his eyes, no longer looking as though he’s made of broken glass and could shatter at the first breath of wind of pass him. Everything’s on edge here, though, and Ayame wonders if maybe he’s made it worse rather than better.
Both of them shut under crystal, waiting for everything to splinter.
Hatori’s turning to leave, shrugging into his black coat, hair falling over his eyes again. He doesn’t even look like he’s been crying. Cold, icy exterior reforming again.
“Hatori-” The name breaks in Ayame’s mouth, for the first time he feels disconcerted around the friend he’s had since he was a child.
Hatori turns back, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. And there, on his lips, is the tiniest, first hint of a smile. It’s quivering, it’s almost non-existent, but it’s there. It’s alive.
And Ayame thinks that maybe there’s still some hope left for Hatori. Maybe.