Hi! It's my first time writing in the Fruits Basket section so any type of feedback is welcome. Excluding the flames of course.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket.
"You're special to me."
The surrealness of the whole day dawned on him. From the first snowflake of the season in the morning to the cooling tea beside Akito's sheets, the minute details of today had edged in through his peripheral vision like weeds in a vegetable patch. Akito appeared paler than usual, almost as white as the blanket of snow out in the garden. With her hollow cheeks and lank dark hair coiled round the corners of her face, she looked exactly like a child. The two weeks since Hatori had lost sight in his left eye were already beginning to fade like those old prints on the wall. Blurring, the pain was blurring slightly, but not enough entirely.
Hatori was used to noticing how fevers stripped down people to their barest skin. Cheeks would flush red and eyes would shine like little stars, reducing the mighty to mere children. Frail, trembling and wrapped in blankets as they'd all been on the respective days of their birth. In fact, he still remembered Akito as a child. Back when 'he' was nothing more than a soft bundle of downy hair and dainty features. The Sohma clan leader still took ill often, especially during winter when the cold took on a form of its own, ready to sink its teeth into bare flesh. Today, she lay weak and prone, starry eyes and blushing cheeks, whispering up a storm of delirium into the hushed silence. It was always quiet in winter. The snow muffled the children's laughter.
"You're special to me."
A sense of obligation had brought him to her bedside, the same one which had stirred Kureno in the middle of the night and had made the willowy young man call him to the main house for fear of his mistress taking a turn for the worse. If Hatori absolutely had to be honest with himself, he loathed this place. He despised the large sparse rooms, the ageing prints on the walls and the snow-covered garden ever since he'd grown accustomed to observing his surroundings in half-view. But he'd come here regardless. There was a void in his office which Kana had left behind. And all he ever received nowadays were calls from patients with sore throats and runny noses. He'd come because he'd had no choice in the matter.
Kureno had greeted him at the door for a change. There were grey shadows beneath his eyes, marring the features of a once-handsome – indeed, some might even call him 'beautiful' – man. Lack of sleep and dehydration seemed likely causes. Hatori's own shadows were darkening too from the same. The tedious monotony of his work had made him too restless to sleep at night so he passed the hours reading. As he'd found out soon, it was a waste. He couldn't remember much of the plot once he'd turned the page and realized he was halfway through the book.
Akito was already swaddled beneath layers of fleece and wool by the time he'd reached her chambers. Underneath the proud haughty mantle, her trembling limbs cried out for warmth. Hatori only observed and prescribed. Requesting and demanding were beyond him. That, he'd found out not too long ago. Who knew, maybe a bout of flu would do Akito some good. While forest fires were often painted as destructive forces, they also had a cleansing effect on their surroundings. The sickly parts of the forest's soul were burnt out by the rampaging flames. As Hatori watched the steam from the untouched tea-cup trickle down to a faint translucent spiral, he dared to hope that it could be true.
Then again, helping a convalescent Akito was akin to curing a sick lion. He'd need more than just medicine to help her feel better.
"You're special to me."
Patience. The exact amount of patience he'd need when treating a sick child.
"You're special to me."
Her voice, already low in its natural tone, was now an echo of its original. The same voice which she'd used to ask him for another plum from the tree during New Year's, the same which she'd call out for her father at night even after he'd passed on, the same which she'd use when she asked Shigure if she could tag along with them. In it was a question being framed. Her pride always prevented direct personal inquiries.
Like his, Akito's childhood seemed quite outlandish to their ears. As if it was a game of make-believe where innocence seemed too good to be true. That was the mark of a Sohma: everything they touched would turn intangible someday. The best memories would take flight and disappear further and further into the distance until all that remained were specks of the past. Maybe they'd leave behind feathers which could be touched and caressed but only if they were lucky. Which was a rare feat anyway. Lack of luck was the thread that bound each member of the family curse to the other. When one shook, the others would nod in sorrow. At least they could have empathy for each other if nothing else.
Spring already seemed very far-off. He was already dreading the influx of hay-fever stricken patients that would eat up his hours. He would have to spend longer days at his office where the void at her desk was still large and gaping, threatening to suck him in if he got closer. He still hadn't even opened the 'thank you' gift-box she'd laid on his chair the day she'd taken her leave.
"You're special to me…"
If anything, family was the only thing that kept him whole. As part of the thread that kept them as one.
"… so don't you dare leave me."
He almost smiled at her childish threat rendered useless by the fire burning her insides.
"Rest now, Akito. I'll leave the instructions for your treatment with Kureno-san. Don't strain yourself."
Hatori noted down a list of pills and times on a piece of paper and left it on her bedside next to the cold tea before he left for home. He had to prepare himself for spring.