Disclaimer: Fruits Basket is the property of Natsuki Takaya.
Warnings: Shounen-ai, reincarnation, alternate universe, writer playing with new writing style and idea.
Pairings: HaruxKyou, YukixTohru. Possible others.
Notes: I couldn't let the idea of reincarnation go after Equally Cursed and Blessed. So you have this. Don't worry. The first chapter should explain everything some more. This is put under humour for now, because I'm not that sure where it's going. I'll get back to you.
And this is just a working title. Suggestions welcome.
(And I know this isn't the fic I'm meant to be working on. Hopefully when I go on holiday for two weeks I'll write some more up during that time and type it all up later.)
(And a really random fact? The first bit was inspired by me walking to the train station on a very hot day. Apart from the knife and stuff.)
Walking Barefoot
Prologue
None of them ever knew why fate decided to give them another chance. But you can never waste a chance.
The teenager waved goodbye to his classmates as they trudged off to their bus stop. He stood there for a moment, shading his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, thinking about not much at all. Just that he hated the fact that his parents lived so far away from the school. Instead of catching the school bus with the other students, he had to make the walk through the city to the train station. It wasn't a long walk, but it went up a hill both ways. And it wasn't particularly a nice area.
He began walking back through the late afternoon crowds, weaving his way past giggling teenage girls, children hanging off the arms of their parents, street vendors who tried to grab passers-by to force them to look at the wares they had for sale, and couples walking arm in arm, unaware of the world around them. A group of teenagers eyed him warily as he walked past – one of the street gangs trying to decide if he, a lone boy, was enough of a target or too much of a threat. Personally, he would rather be a threat, but today, it was too hot to pick a fight. He got in enough trouble for that at school.
The sun blazed overhead, the heat uncomfortable, and the straps of his backpack rubbed uncomfortably on his shoulders through his thin school shirt. The shirt itself clung to his body, slightly damp with sweat and his bangs hung down slightly. It wasn't the time to worry about looks and vanity.
A flash of light caught his eye. The sun glinting off a long knife, held by a tall and heavily built man. Trying not to show the fear he felt, the teenager picked up his pace slightly, willing for there to be no trouble. He wouldn't want to explain another set of bruises to his father or another bloodstained shirt to his mother. The man looked at him suspiciously, but let him pass.
There were less people around as he got nearer the train station, and he relaxed slightly, but not much. He wasn't safe yet. Just to confirm his thoughts, a group of teenagers passed him, laughing loudly and pushing each other around. It simply wasn't safe in the city.
It was cooler in the train station, and, although there were still a lot of people around, it was safer than outside. The blinking light of the security cameras ensured this. He bought himself a cold drink and watched in silence as a screeching child ran up to the small newsagents and picked up a handful of chocolate bars and ran off with them. Drinking his drink on the platform, he leant back against the wall and rejoiced for the cool shadow of the underground train lines. In the winter they were bitterly cold, but this was the summer.
The train didn't take too long to arrive and to reach his destination and he passed the time by watching a girl braid her friend's hair and tie it with ribbons as her model read a book. The braided girl got off at the same stop as him, and seemed to like making the plait sway from side to side to brush against her bare shoulders. He didn't understand it and thought it must be itchy and annoying, but by the look of happiness on her heat flushed face as he passed her, she didn't mind at all.
The house was empty when he arrived. He poured himself another drink and played the messages on the phone, listening to salesmen ask if they needed another set of double glazed windows or a new kitchen. There was a note in his mother's handwriting stuck to the door, and as he walked past it to go to his room, he noticed it and read it. His face fell.
We'll both be home late. Your teacher called us in to talk about you. I hope you're not in trouble. Have something to eat.
He frowned and tried to think what he'd done wrong in the last fortnight since his parents had last been called in. It had been too hot to pick fights or even respond to challenges, so lately he had preferred to just fall asleep at lunch. He hadn't purposely failed a test recently that he could think of, quite the opposite in fact. He'd found the last test easy and had completed it all, for once not caring about the image he presented. His grades were all carefully average or slightly above, but never outstanding and with the occasional fail mixed in. He knew all of the answers, but didn't want to be seen as showing off, and didn't want to be 'smart'. All the 'smart' kids had fun and people beat them up. It had started when he was younger, and he'd kept it up all the way until he was 16. And anyway, he didn't want the extra attention. He wanted to be normal, to be accepted.
He got into fights a lot, which helped him keep up the image. When he was younger, around 10, the rumours had started that he wasn't his parent's child. He was hurt, and had punched the boy who had mockingly told him this. As time went on, the fights continued, and he noticed that he looked nothing like either of his parents. His features were slightly delicate – sparkling crimson eyes framed by eyelashes, tanned skin, a wary smile and soft red hair.
Nothing like his parents.
He scowled – the most common expression found on his face – and walked upstairs to his room. After changing into a black t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants, he flopped onto his bed wearily. It was simply too hot. He shifted position slightly, moving his weight so his head wasn't resting on his left wrist, because that made his bracelet itch. He didn't know why he had the simple bracelet made of orange and red beads, but for some reason, he never liked taking it off. It was a strange, strange thing.
As the afternoon went on, and the sun slowly turned orange and then to red, and slunk towards and then below the horizon, that boy lay on his bed, thinking about whether he'd failed the test or not, whether or not there would something nice for dinner, whether he'd be in trouble when his parents got home. Simple, trivial things.
Simple, trivial things, as is the way with those whose lives are about to change drastically.
~*~
He awoke to the sound of quiet laughter. He didn't remember having fallen asleep. He blinked and sat up, and found himself sitting outside on the grass, under a clear and wide blue sky that he had never seen before. It looked similar, almost identical to his sky, but it felt different. The sun was high in the sky; a contrast to the sun he had seen set what seemed to be only minutes ago. Not very far off from him, there was a house surrounded by trees. It looked familiar, but he couldn't tell where from.
Another chuckle brought his attention to the person standing next to him. He looked up. The boy was taller than him, with hair so light it was almost white.
'Who are you?' he asked angrily. 'And what the fuck are you doing in my dream?'
As he said the words, he realised they were true. It was a dream. But that didn't explain who this person was, or why they were both here at this place he had never been.
The other laughed again. 'Don't you recognise me? I'm your boyfriend from a past life.'
'Really? Wow. …Does that mean you're my ex or something?' He stopped to reflect on the absurdity of this question. For some reason, it all made sense.
The boy's expression turned sad. 'No,' he whispered, bending down to crouch next to the dreamer and caress his face softly. 'Something happened, Kyou.'
Before he could ask what or when or how, Kyou woke up.
~*~
'So, what do you think?'
'Kid's a genius. Aced that test apart from the last question, which he fell asleep for an hour at the very end of completing it.'
'Wasn't the exam only one and a half hours long?'
'Precisely.'
'Maybe it was just a fluke. Or an easy paper?'
'No, scored higher by around 15% than the next highest. And something suggests that his grades aren't reflecting his true ability. …Look at this.'
'It's just an IQ test. Kinda average. Some silly mistakes.'
'Now look at this one. Same test. Same name, handwriting, everything… apart from the answers.'
'…Now that's something. But why is it crumpled? And why wasn't this score recorded?'
'He threw it away. The teacher saw him fill out two IQ tests simultaneously, but only one was handed in. The first one I gave you. As for why… I'm not sure.'
'You, not sure?'
'Don't tease me at a time like this. Maybe he doesn't want attention. Maybe he wants to be normal.'
'Normal is overrated. What are we going to do?'
'I've recommended to his foster parents that he transfers to the school. There's a space in the same room as Ayame's brother. They'll talk to him tonight and phone me with his answer.'
'So it's all planned?'
'Yes. Be ready to go pick him up tomorrow morning, Shigure.'
//tbc
And before you ask, no, I have not a clue about the dream part. I just wrote it. o.o