Fruits Basket:. Painting/ Hatori/Tohru/ PG
Title: Painting His Palms Green
Author: self_portraitz
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Pairing: Hatori/Tohru
Word Count: 1,333
Rating: PG
Summary: Hatori remembers the last gift his mother gave him.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything
Warning(s): None
Hatori used to paint as a child. He’d get the thick kind of paint that felt creamy on your skin and you couldn’t help but cover on all ten fingers and even some of your toes. The feel of the cool liquid on your warm skin would always feel good on hot summer days. He used to love the way the paint would harden and crack as he flexed his fingers.
These days Hatori wouldn’t go so far as to paint his hands, but the memory is still as fresh to him as the feel of Kana’s warm lips against his cooler ones.
One of the only things his mother ever gave him was a little paint set on his tenth birthday. It had been mailed to him, and his tutor, who worked inside the Sohma complex, had given it to him with a sad smile.
“I know she’s so proud of you,” his teacher had told him, as Hatori unwrapped the gift, “but you know how busy she is…”
There were no more words spoken about his birthday that day, nor about his mother. It’s was clear after five years of being too busy to see her son, that she wasn’t going to come near the Sohmu’s again. She had escaped the curse and no one wanted to be reminded that they had a deformed child, especial a son that they could never hold without said child turning into a fish.
He saw his mother a few years ago, after he had become a doctor. She didn’t recognize him at first, and he had to tell her who he was. When he had said his name she had gotten this look in her eye that screamed of a desperate needed to escape, Hatori felt much the same.
She’d fiddled with the ring on her middle finger and watched, who he assumed were her children, playing on the swing set a yard away from where they stood. He didn’t inquire after the kids, and held his grocery bag tighter in his grip.
“Are you doing well?” she asked after the silence was even too much for the usually silent doctor to handle.
“As to be expected,” he stated emotionlessly.
He paused and stared up at the sun, he remembers it being very hot that day.
He listened to her silence for a few moments, before he stared into her green eyes. They were just like he always remembered them. They were exact the same as the one’s he saw in the mirror everyday.
Her eyes were narrowed and it looked like she was struggling to find words, any words to say to him, and for the first time Hatori felt no need to help out. He merely watched her struggle and stared at her expectantly.
Her eyes widen for a brief second and she gave him a small smile, obviously happy with herself for finding something to say to her eldest son.
“Did you ever get that painting set I sent you?” she asked.
The audacity of the question struck Hatori to his very core.
He isn’t too sure why he said what he did, but the words slipped out of him before he had a chance to take them back,
“I’ve never liked art.”
When his mother opened her mouth to say something further, he took two steps back and waved a quick good bye.
He turned his back and quickly walked away, ignoring her as she called out his name.
It’s funny, but he hasn’t thought about that day until he saw the small paint set that Tohru has on the kitchen table next to her books.
He must have been staring at the paint set for sometime because Tohru leans over and pushes the paint set to his side of the table.
“You can have them?” she says with a bright smile.
He looks up at her and is about to tell her he doesn’t like art, when the words get stuck in his throat.
He stares into her bright, blue eyes and out of nowhere tells her the story of his mother.
Inside he is screaming at himself to stop, but he can do nothing to stop the torrid of words fumbling out of his mouth. He tells her about his lying to his mother, about the feel of paint on his hands. He even tells her that he kept the paint set, and that it is hidden in his closet at home.
All the while, he stares at the paint set that Tohru has given him. He picks it up halfway during his long winded story, and isn’t even aware that he is holding it close to his heart.
He talks until the story seems like a background noise, a noise that he is merely listening to over the torrent of emotions go on inside his head.
Her blue eyes hold no judgment as he talks, and she sits there listening to him as if he is telling her the secrets of life and sound.
He doesn’t know how far he goes, or how much he has told her, before a warm hand is placed on his. He realizes the paint set is close to his heart.
He stares at her in wide eyed shock and shut his mouth with a snap.
The moment has past, and now that he has used more words than he has in a lifetime full of one word answers, he has no idea what to say.
He stares helplessly at her for some kind of clue of what to do next.
Her eyes are not searching his, and they smile at him just as brightly as her lips do.
What is this power that Tohru has over people? This warmth that hovers around her and can not be cooled down by the chill in the air. It makes those around her give more freely than they ever thought possible, and they ask no reward but a tiny taste of the purity that she holds.
She was like absolution, without a hint of prejudice or penance.
She is a world that he dares not dream to ever hold close, a vision so very distance from the one he dwells in. But he lets her warmth seep into his pores and wishes it could drain some of the taint that he has left to waste.
He watches as her mouth begins to move and focuses on her words.
“I bet you looked so cute with paint on your finger and toes.” She says as she holds his hands. Or maybe it’s him holding her hand, holding it so tight he wonders if he’s hurting her.
He stares at her for a few moments before he opens his mouth, and says the only thing he can think to say.
“I wouldn’t know, Honda-san.”
Her laugher is like Aloe-Vera on a fresh burn.
She picks up one of the bottles of paint and spoons out a bit of the green onto her index finger. He watches in amazement as she reaches out and smears it on his palm.
“There now,” she says in what he can only describe as motherly, even if he’s only heard the tone on Sunday morning cartoons.
She smears a little more on him and giggles as he stares at it in wonderment.
“See,” she says softly, “I knew you’d look cute.”
She paused after the words leave her mouth and begins to blush a deep scarlet red. He lets himself smile at her reaction, and feels a little less like a drowning man in unknown waters. She waves a hand in the air as she hides her red cheeks with her hair.
“Ano, not that I think…ano…”she trials off, and he wishes he was the type of man bold enough to kiss her.
Instead he takes a bit of the green paint and smears it down her arm. Tohru stares at it for a second, before she bursts out laughing.
Author: self_portraitz
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Pairing: Hatori/Tohru
Word Count: 1,333
Rating: PG
Summary: Hatori remembers the last gift his mother gave him.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything
Warning(s): None
Hatori used to paint as a child. He’d get the thick kind of paint that felt creamy on your skin and you couldn’t help but cover on all ten fingers and even some of your toes. The feel of the cool liquid on your warm skin would always feel good on hot summer days. He used to love the way the paint would harden and crack as he flexed his fingers.
These days Hatori wouldn’t go so far as to paint his hands, but the memory is still as fresh to him as the feel of Kana’s warm lips against his cooler ones.
One of the only things his mother ever gave him was a little paint set on his tenth birthday. It had been mailed to him, and his tutor, who worked inside the Sohma complex, had given it to him with a sad smile.
“I know she’s so proud of you,” his teacher had told him, as Hatori unwrapped the gift, “but you know how busy she is…”
There were no more words spoken about his birthday that day, nor about his mother. It’s was clear after five years of being too busy to see her son, that she wasn’t going to come near the Sohmu’s again. She had escaped the curse and no one wanted to be reminded that they had a deformed child, especial a son that they could never hold without said child turning into a fish.
He saw his mother a few years ago, after he had become a doctor. She didn’t recognize him at first, and he had to tell her who he was. When he had said his name she had gotten this look in her eye that screamed of a desperate needed to escape, Hatori felt much the same.
She’d fiddled with the ring on her middle finger and watched, who he assumed were her children, playing on the swing set a yard away from where they stood. He didn’t inquire after the kids, and held his grocery bag tighter in his grip.
“Are you doing well?” she asked after the silence was even too much for the usually silent doctor to handle.
“As to be expected,” he stated emotionlessly.
He paused and stared up at the sun, he remembers it being very hot that day.
He listened to her silence for a few moments, before he stared into her green eyes. They were just like he always remembered them. They were exact the same as the one’s he saw in the mirror everyday.
Her eyes were narrowed and it looked like she was struggling to find words, any words to say to him, and for the first time Hatori felt no need to help out. He merely watched her struggle and stared at her expectantly.
Her eyes widen for a brief second and she gave him a small smile, obviously happy with herself for finding something to say to her eldest son.
“Did you ever get that painting set I sent you?” she asked.
The audacity of the question struck Hatori to his very core.
He isn’t too sure why he said what he did, but the words slipped out of him before he had a chance to take them back,
“I’ve never liked art.”
When his mother opened her mouth to say something further, he took two steps back and waved a quick good bye.
He turned his back and quickly walked away, ignoring her as she called out his name.
It’s funny, but he hasn’t thought about that day until he saw the small paint set that Tohru has on the kitchen table next to her books.
He must have been staring at the paint set for sometime because Tohru leans over and pushes the paint set to his side of the table.
“You can have them?” she says with a bright smile.
He looks up at her and is about to tell her he doesn’t like art, when the words get stuck in his throat.
He stares into her bright, blue eyes and out of nowhere tells her the story of his mother.
Inside he is screaming at himself to stop, but he can do nothing to stop the torrid of words fumbling out of his mouth. He tells her about his lying to his mother, about the feel of paint on his hands. He even tells her that he kept the paint set, and that it is hidden in his closet at home.
All the while, he stares at the paint set that Tohru has given him. He picks it up halfway during his long winded story, and isn’t even aware that he is holding it close to his heart.
He talks until the story seems like a background noise, a noise that he is merely listening to over the torrent of emotions go on inside his head.
Her blue eyes hold no judgment as he talks, and she sits there listening to him as if he is telling her the secrets of life and sound.
He doesn’t know how far he goes, or how much he has told her, before a warm hand is placed on his. He realizes the paint set is close to his heart.
He stares at her in wide eyed shock and shut his mouth with a snap.
The moment has past, and now that he has used more words than he has in a lifetime full of one word answers, he has no idea what to say.
He stares helplessly at her for some kind of clue of what to do next.
Her eyes are not searching his, and they smile at him just as brightly as her lips do.
What is this power that Tohru has over people? This warmth that hovers around her and can not be cooled down by the chill in the air. It makes those around her give more freely than they ever thought possible, and they ask no reward but a tiny taste of the purity that she holds.
She was like absolution, without a hint of prejudice or penance.
She is a world that he dares not dream to ever hold close, a vision so very distance from the one he dwells in. But he lets her warmth seep into his pores and wishes it could drain some of the taint that he has left to waste.
He watches as her mouth begins to move and focuses on her words.
“I bet you looked so cute with paint on your finger and toes.” She says as she holds his hands. Or maybe it’s him holding her hand, holding it so tight he wonders if he’s hurting her.
He stares at her for a few moments before he opens his mouth, and says the only thing he can think to say.
“I wouldn’t know, Honda-san.”
Her laugher is like Aloe-Vera on a fresh burn.
She picks up one of the bottles of paint and spoons out a bit of the green onto her index finger. He watches in amazement as she reaches out and smears it on his palm.
“There now,” she says in what he can only describe as motherly, even if he’s only heard the tone on Sunday morning cartoons.
She smears a little more on him and giggles as he stares at it in wonderment.
“See,” she says softly, “I knew you’d look cute.”
She paused after the words leave her mouth and begins to blush a deep scarlet red. He lets himself smile at her reaction, and feels a little less like a drowning man in unknown waters. She waves a hand in the air as she hides her red cheeks with her hair.
“Ano, not that I think…ano…”she trials off, and he wishes he was the type of man bold enough to kiss her.
Instead he takes a bit of the green paint and smears it down her arm. Tohru stares at it for a second, before she bursts out laughing.