[Fruits Basket] Haru/Rin, #15
Title: Vigil
Author: Ysabet MacFarlane (umadoshi)
Pairing: Sohma Hatsuharu and Sohma Isuzu (Rin)
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Theme: #15 (perfect blue)
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki and Hakusensha; English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga). This story is in no way endorsed by or affiliated with any of the copyright holders. Please support the original work!
Notes: This is set approximately a year and a half after the series ends, but there are no spoilers past volume 18. It also takes place after a story I haven't written yet, but should stand on its own.
**********
August 2002
**********
"Are you coming to bed?"
Rin didn't turn around. "I've been to bed." She kept sifting through the photographs she had spread out on the low table in the center of the room and pulled one out seemingly at random.
All of the obvious answers--"What about going to sleep?" "Sweetheart, it's three in the morning." "Can you even see those with just the lamp on?"--cycled through Haru's head, each of them leading to a different dead-end conversation they'd already had more than once. Rin still swore up and down, as she always had, that she just needed less sleep than he did, that being awake at any given hour of the night had nothing to do with the nightmares she preferred not to talk about.
He even thought it might be true; nightmares rarely seemed to drive her out of bed. She was more likely to shake him just awake enough for him to wrap his arms around her, and then curl close in silence to keep from waking him entirely.
The only thing that had changed in the last several months was that she could now argue that she was working, and he had to admit that it had been a long time since he'd found her awake and staring out windows, at walls, at whatever happened to be on TV if she was really desperate. Instead he found her sketching, or studying the photos she'd taken as reference (so she said; what was on the prints rarely bore any resemblance to the final paintings). And it was true that she never disappeared into the studio during the night, after she'd shut the door on it for the day.
None of that changed the fact that it hurt to see his wife--even after four months, that word was still bright and shining when he rolled it around on his tongue, even silently--sitting awake in the middle of the night, hands shaking and eyes shadowed with exhaustion while she gradually filled yet another book with rough drawings that meant nothing to anyone but her.
A year of work. Twelve books. Six paintings that no one had seen but him, except for the one she'd finished five days before they got married; two weeks later she'd called Shigure over to take a look, the first time she'd deliberately contacted him in months, as if it would make up for not calling or not inviting him to be among the handful of people they'd asked to witness their marriage.
(Not their "wedding". She'd gone steely-eyed and chilly every time anyone used the word in her hearing, even as she agreed to go through all the motions required to make the rest of the world recognize the promises they'd first whispered to each other five years earlier.)
And Shigure, until that moment as unreadable as always, had taken a look at what Rin had made and fallen silent until she took it back into her studio and locked it in with the others. He'd smiled when she came back, and told her that there were people he could call when she felt ready. And he'd looked downright forgiven, even though Rin still stiffened when she heard his name.
Haru sometimes seriously entertained the idea that all artists were a little insane.
Especially chronically sleep-deprived ones.
After a few minutes had ticked by without Rin saying anything else, Haru shrugged and went to kneel beside her. The photographs she'd laid out looked nothing like the ones she'd been studying that morning; the one in her hand looked...almost exactly like all the others.
Blue.
Blue skies, blue sea, every shot a different shade. Waves that flirted with green or were sullenly grayed when clouds gathered overhead. All of them of the same view of the shore. He remembered her taking them, one every hour or two for the few days she'd spent staring at that spot simply because it was in the direct line of sight from the front porch of the house they hadn't been back to since.
"Sorry," she said abruptly, sweeping them back into a loose stack. There were other photos lying underneath, the ones he'd expected to see. "I know I said I didn't want to talk about it."
"Changed your mind?"
"No." The faintest hint of relaxation in her shoulders invited a hand on the back of her neck; it was still a novelty to have to brush her hair aside to do it, to feel it tickling his knuckles. She'd been through more haircuts in the last year than in her entire life, until she'd had it aggressively layered after they'd been married a month, and then left it to grow out.
"D'you think you might paint--"
"No," she said again, instantly. She reached for his other hand, hesitated, and leaned against him instead, kissing his shoulder. "Did...do you want to? Talk about it?"
"Not as much as you don't want to."
Rin didn't have to lift her head; he could picture her expression perfectly. "It's too late at night for you to be talking in circles."
"Then it's too late for you to be awake."
"I'm sure that sounds reasonable in your head."
"Yeah, kind of." A small yawn tried to escape. "If you're not coming back to bed, mind if I wait up with you?"
"You'll be exhausted tomorrow." Her protest was immediate, sincere, and devoid of any sign that she recognized the irony.
"I'll sleep in."
"...all right." She sat up slowly, moving as if her muscles ached. Haru touched the nape of her neck again, going from caressing to kneading when she sighed in appreciation. "This won't take too much longer."
He was sure she meant it, but after half-nodding off watching her examine one image after another, the colors muted by lamplight, he folded his arms on the table and finally rested his head on them. Rin said his name somewhere above him, in a tone that didn't demand a response, and he replied without opening his eyes. "'sokay. Just want to be with you tonight."
Stillness, and then her arms slipped around him. "I'm sor-"
Don't apologize made it as far as conscious thought, but no further. He fell asleep with her cheek resting on the back of his head and her body warm and awkward against his.
***
When he woke again a few hours later, Rin was sound asleep beside him, wedged half between him and the table in a way that made him think--not for the first time--that she'd won a knock-down drag-out fight with the laws of physics. The pre-dawn air was cooler than the dead of night had been, almost making his teeth chatter with the contrast. It was that as much as the uncomfortable angle of Rin's neck--he'd seen her sleep with no ill effect in positions that made him ache just from looking at her--that made him reach out and shake her gently.
"Hey, love," he murmured when she stirred, brow furrowing in protest. "I'm gonna take you to bed, okay? You don't need to wake up."
"mm...'kay."
Carrying her without waking her was the easy part; getting her to let go after he'd lowered her to the futon was much more difficult, and necessary if he didn't want to wake her by falling back to sleep on top of her. He wasn't seeing straight through the burning in his eyes by the time he'd loosened her arms from around his neck enough that he could lie down beside her and get the light summer blanket over them.
***
She was gone the next time he opened his eyes--no surprise, given the late-morning sunlight pouring into the room. What was surprising was finding her in the living room instead of holed up in the studio, lying on the floor reading as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"There's breakfast," she greeted him, not looking up until she'd finished her page. "I'm taking the day off."
"Oh?" The miso and rice were still warm; a lone egg waited on the counter, still in its shell. Haru cracked it into a pan to fry, noticing the lack of evidence that she'd eaten an egg of her own. "Are you going to take pictures?"
"I think you should." Rin moved from the floor to the table, waiting while he finished cooking his egg and scooped it onto the rice to save a plate. "Take pictures." She leaned across the table and kissed him as he made himself comfortable. "Show me what you're seeing."
"You might get bored." He started eating to keep the egg from getting cold. "I think you're all I feel like seeing today."
She didn't quite smile. "That sounds fair. I draw you all the time."
"Do I get to keep the photos?"
"Can I borrow them?"
"Sure."
"All right."
Rin put her head down on the table and watched him eat, tracing the path of a sunbeam with a fingertip. Conversation over, Haru watched her watching him, and wondered if any camera could capture what he saw, if she could transmute herself onto canvas if he could only show her.
There were no pictures of her watching the sea, only his memory of her eyes drinking in the endless blue as if she wanted to drown in it.
"I love you," he started to say, and she reached over to squeeze his hand before he could find his voice.
fin.
[previous entries can be found here]
Author: Ysabet MacFarlane (umadoshi)
Pairing: Sohma Hatsuharu and Sohma Isuzu (Rin)
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Theme: #15 (perfect blue)
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki and Hakusensha; English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga). This story is in no way endorsed by or affiliated with any of the copyright holders. Please support the original work!
Notes: This is set approximately a year and a half after the series ends, but there are no spoilers past volume 18. It also takes place after a story I haven't written yet, but should stand on its own.
**********
August 2002
**********
"Are you coming to bed?"
Rin didn't turn around. "I've been to bed." She kept sifting through the photographs she had spread out on the low table in the center of the room and pulled one out seemingly at random.
All of the obvious answers--"What about going to sleep?" "Sweetheart, it's three in the morning." "Can you even see those with just the lamp on?"--cycled through Haru's head, each of them leading to a different dead-end conversation they'd already had more than once. Rin still swore up and down, as she always had, that she just needed less sleep than he did, that being awake at any given hour of the night had nothing to do with the nightmares she preferred not to talk about.
He even thought it might be true; nightmares rarely seemed to drive her out of bed. She was more likely to shake him just awake enough for him to wrap his arms around her, and then curl close in silence to keep from waking him entirely.
The only thing that had changed in the last several months was that she could now argue that she was working, and he had to admit that it had been a long time since he'd found her awake and staring out windows, at walls, at whatever happened to be on TV if she was really desperate. Instead he found her sketching, or studying the photos she'd taken as reference (so she said; what was on the prints rarely bore any resemblance to the final paintings). And it was true that she never disappeared into the studio during the night, after she'd shut the door on it for the day.
None of that changed the fact that it hurt to see his wife--even after four months, that word was still bright and shining when he rolled it around on his tongue, even silently--sitting awake in the middle of the night, hands shaking and eyes shadowed with exhaustion while she gradually filled yet another book with rough drawings that meant nothing to anyone but her.
A year of work. Twelve books. Six paintings that no one had seen but him, except for the one she'd finished five days before they got married; two weeks later she'd called Shigure over to take a look, the first time she'd deliberately contacted him in months, as if it would make up for not calling or not inviting him to be among the handful of people they'd asked to witness their marriage.
(Not their "wedding". She'd gone steely-eyed and chilly every time anyone used the word in her hearing, even as she agreed to go through all the motions required to make the rest of the world recognize the promises they'd first whispered to each other five years earlier.)
And Shigure, until that moment as unreadable as always, had taken a look at what Rin had made and fallen silent until she took it back into her studio and locked it in with the others. He'd smiled when she came back, and told her that there were people he could call when she felt ready. And he'd looked downright forgiven, even though Rin still stiffened when she heard his name.
Haru sometimes seriously entertained the idea that all artists were a little insane.
Especially chronically sleep-deprived ones.
After a few minutes had ticked by without Rin saying anything else, Haru shrugged and went to kneel beside her. The photographs she'd laid out looked nothing like the ones she'd been studying that morning; the one in her hand looked...almost exactly like all the others.
Blue.
Blue skies, blue sea, every shot a different shade. Waves that flirted with green or were sullenly grayed when clouds gathered overhead. All of them of the same view of the shore. He remembered her taking them, one every hour or two for the few days she'd spent staring at that spot simply because it was in the direct line of sight from the front porch of the house they hadn't been back to since.
"Sorry," she said abruptly, sweeping them back into a loose stack. There were other photos lying underneath, the ones he'd expected to see. "I know I said I didn't want to talk about it."
"Changed your mind?"
"No." The faintest hint of relaxation in her shoulders invited a hand on the back of her neck; it was still a novelty to have to brush her hair aside to do it, to feel it tickling his knuckles. She'd been through more haircuts in the last year than in her entire life, until she'd had it aggressively layered after they'd been married a month, and then left it to grow out.
"D'you think you might paint--"
"No," she said again, instantly. She reached for his other hand, hesitated, and leaned against him instead, kissing his shoulder. "Did...do you want to? Talk about it?"
"Not as much as you don't want to."
Rin didn't have to lift her head; he could picture her expression perfectly. "It's too late at night for you to be talking in circles."
"Then it's too late for you to be awake."
"I'm sure that sounds reasonable in your head."
"Yeah, kind of." A small yawn tried to escape. "If you're not coming back to bed, mind if I wait up with you?"
"You'll be exhausted tomorrow." Her protest was immediate, sincere, and devoid of any sign that she recognized the irony.
"I'll sleep in."
"...all right." She sat up slowly, moving as if her muscles ached. Haru touched the nape of her neck again, going from caressing to kneading when she sighed in appreciation. "This won't take too much longer."
He was sure she meant it, but after half-nodding off watching her examine one image after another, the colors muted by lamplight, he folded his arms on the table and finally rested his head on them. Rin said his name somewhere above him, in a tone that didn't demand a response, and he replied without opening his eyes. "'sokay. Just want to be with you tonight."
Stillness, and then her arms slipped around him. "I'm sor-"
Don't apologize made it as far as conscious thought, but no further. He fell asleep with her cheek resting on the back of his head and her body warm and awkward against his.
***
When he woke again a few hours later, Rin was sound asleep beside him, wedged half between him and the table in a way that made him think--not for the first time--that she'd won a knock-down drag-out fight with the laws of physics. The pre-dawn air was cooler than the dead of night had been, almost making his teeth chatter with the contrast. It was that as much as the uncomfortable angle of Rin's neck--he'd seen her sleep with no ill effect in positions that made him ache just from looking at her--that made him reach out and shake her gently.
"Hey, love," he murmured when she stirred, brow furrowing in protest. "I'm gonna take you to bed, okay? You don't need to wake up."
"mm...'kay."
Carrying her without waking her was the easy part; getting her to let go after he'd lowered her to the futon was much more difficult, and necessary if he didn't want to wake her by falling back to sleep on top of her. He wasn't seeing straight through the burning in his eyes by the time he'd loosened her arms from around his neck enough that he could lie down beside her and get the light summer blanket over them.
***
She was gone the next time he opened his eyes--no surprise, given the late-morning sunlight pouring into the room. What was surprising was finding her in the living room instead of holed up in the studio, lying on the floor reading as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"There's breakfast," she greeted him, not looking up until she'd finished her page. "I'm taking the day off."
"Oh?" The miso and rice were still warm; a lone egg waited on the counter, still in its shell. Haru cracked it into a pan to fry, noticing the lack of evidence that she'd eaten an egg of her own. "Are you going to take pictures?"
"I think you should." Rin moved from the floor to the table, waiting while he finished cooking his egg and scooped it onto the rice to save a plate. "Take pictures." She leaned across the table and kissed him as he made himself comfortable. "Show me what you're seeing."
"You might get bored." He started eating to keep the egg from getting cold. "I think you're all I feel like seeing today."
She didn't quite smile. "That sounds fair. I draw you all the time."
"Do I get to keep the photos?"
"Can I borrow them?"
"Sure."
"All right."
Rin put her head down on the table and watched him eat, tracing the path of a sunbeam with a fingertip. Conversation over, Haru watched her watching him, and wondered if any camera could capture what he saw, if she could transmute herself onto canvas if he could only show her.
There were no pictures of her watching the sea, only his memory of her eyes drinking in the endless blue as if she wanted to drown in it.
"I love you," he started to say, and she reached over to squeeze his hand before he could find his voice.
fin.
[previous entries can be found here]