Fruits Basket fanfic. Five things that never happened to Kuragi Machi and maybe one thing that did.
I. On Winning
"I forfeit." He is defiant and belligerent as he stares down at the older man.
"…Very well." Weary eyes close as he gave a disappointed sigh. "Machi will be my heir."
And just like that, she won. Won over that woman's son, won the right to be the next Kuragi head, won over that boy who could've destroyed her world with his existence—and nearly did.
This is no victory. She automatically raises her cup to her lips, pretending all the while she wasn't trembling. The sencha is bitter. Sō, she's won.
Machi can't help but think she lost instead.
II. On Murder
He has kicked off his blankets again.
As she poises to slip the cloth under his chin, she feels like…someone not herself, as her hand reaches of its own accord to tug it over his head. She stares horrified, willing her hand to move, and it does—not in the way she wanted. It's covering the fuzzy fabric and he's struggling and her hand is only pressing harder—must have since he's not flailing anymore. What is she doing!—she screams in her mind, but her body has grown a mind of its own.
He stops breathing. She breathes again.
III. On Madness
She hates that place and its spotless space (that reeks of desperation and madness) and padded walls and no windows looking out (mouse-trap, she thinks, sometimes) and white jackets and wide straps holding her down (preventing her from painting over ivory with crimson splotches) and nameless faces with identical eyes (dark pools that scare her as much as the starkness of her cell) and rough hands pinning her down as she screams over and over.
But more than she hates that place, she hates the part of her that can't bear to look at perfection without tearing it to pieces.
IV. On Secrets
"I have something…to show you."
A firm tug sends her into his arms, and it's odd how real he feels, skin on skin, hands gentle on her back. He sighs, and she is left hugging his shirt and staring down at the grey nezumi fighting its way out of crumpled trousers. Oh. Beady eyes stare balefully up at her as he explains about the family curse, and she nods, understanding. When he turns back into a human, he's blushing, but she only laughs, ridiculous and utterly inappropriate giggles. He grins.
Sō, Kaichō is no ōji-sama. He is something else entirely.
V. On Unrequited Love
Why did she write this letter? She has no intention of showing him. What was she supposed to say? Kaichō, daisuki da yo. Please go out with me? She snorts, burrowing her face in her arms. Besides, Kaichō likes Honda-san. She eyes the paperweight balanced precariously upon a pile of paper. Baka. She scrunches her eyes close. It doesn't matter anyways. It's not like she can give him the jagged page torn out of a notebook, filled with smudges from words written, erased, and rewritten.
Because she suspects, (knows) even with his kind words, that her wish will remain unfulfilled.
VI. On Eternity
"Yuki…"
She whispers his name again, savoring the syllables of the word. He chuckles softly at that, his breath ruffling her hair as his arms hold her close. She smiles at the gesture and presses her face into his shirt as he kisses the top of her head. A sofa is the last place that should be comfortable, but he isn't complaining as he presses his lips against hers softly. One of her hands tangles into his soft locks as she sighs against him, content. Still…
"Will you make footsteps in the snow with me?" He laughs.
"Of course. Kanarazu."