A/N: Woah, this is my second HatorixTohru story. My last one ended 3 years ago. HOLY-

Anyway, yeah. Hi! If you don't know who I am, I'm TheLostSpirit! You can check my other stories out, if you dare. I have a few other HatorixTohru stories lying around, no big deal. This one just came to me as a little story I want to do (actually it won't be so little. I have quite a bit of ideas floating around for this one) and I've had this idea for the longest time. Also I want some angst for this couple SO! Yeah. ALSO, I haven't written much of them lately, and I'm pretty sure they'll be a little OOC at first. My apologies if it's a bit TOO OOC.

ANYWAY, I hope you enjoy this! I love this first chapter, even though it's a bit risque for some people. It's gonna go into some deep stuff (maybe, I haven't decided yet) later on, so if you can handle this, you'll handle the other stuff.

Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fruits Basket.

She hadn't known how long she was sitting under that tree. It was raining; she was sitting in the mud underneath said tree, watching a few cars roll by. They would splash the water in all directions as they sped by with their headlights beaming. They wouldn't see her; she was hidden in the shadows, hiding from the rest of the world as she stared at the cement at her feet. The grey concrete looked black from the slight shade given from the little light from the clouds above. She wanted to smile at the one thing that was true: her cuts were starting to become clean.

She had been running before resting, trying to find somewhere to hide. She didn't know what time she left, nor what time it was then. A slight breeze would come and go and make her body shiver. The water drenched her. Her blue sundress—her favorite—was torn in all kinds of places, with rips at the ends that was resting on her thighs. They were not better. The pink scars that were healing seemed to be the only thing she could see on her legs, and her new wounds were starting to wash away from the rain. The blood coming from her open wounds was sliding down her legs and into the green grass, slowly creating little puddles of her own blood.

She hadn't seen a soul walking down the street. It was raining—why would they be walking? She mumbled to herself: "Stupid." She rested her hands in her lap, but didn't like to look at her hands. They were scratched beyond belief, bloodied, and her fingernails were chipped. She could see some of the blood from her wrists and arms resting in the creases in her palms, so she threw her hands to her sides and sunk them into the mud. She couldn't stare at them.

Was he looking for her? She hoped not. She didn't mind sitting under the tree, finally finding some peace in her chaos. This tree had no significance. She came to it by chance because she was tired of running. She was only maybe a mile away from her house, but she was away from it. The mud was starting to sting; it was probably getting into her wounds around her wrists, and possibly in her legs and inner thighs.

She was starting to get cold. The rain felt like a blessing, but the wind blowing against her every now and again would make her tremble. She could see the dark red stains on her dress, along with some of the old wounds showing from the holes, and could see the extent of the damage that the scratches did to her chest. Her hair sprawled along her chest, and her hair blocked her peripheral vision. Her lips started to tremble from the cold, so she tried bringing her knees to her chest. But when she tried moving her legs, it stung, and she winced at the pain. She left them against the ground.

Another car rolled by. No one would stop for her. No one ever did. Even when out in public with a fake smile on her face, she would never be stopped by anyone and asked: "Hey, are you okay?" They just assumed she was and moved on. But she hadn't smiled in ages, years, and they all thought she was okay. She slightly moved her head down and hit her chin against the upper part of her chest. She felt the pain around her neck. She closed her eyes.

There was someone walking in the rain after all. She didn't want to see the person, and she certainly didn't want to be seen by them. She wasn't hidden to those walking; only those that were in a hurry and had no care for her would she then be hidden. She could hear the faint footsteps walking toward her, and she only focused on the rain so the person could quickly leave her life as fast as they entered it.

He was talking on the phone. "Yes, yes, I will be home soon." He paused. "No, I did not stop at the store. I am sorry, but I-" he suddenly stopped. He was cut off by the other person on the phone. He sighed. "I promise to go tomorrow." He tightened his grip on his umbrella and looked down at the ground. He hated the rain. It always made his black shoes a little muddy, and he would have to clean them when he got home. Plus, his suit pants would always get a little wet. It just bothered him.

He shifted in his doctor's coat. He forgot to take it off when he was done with his work, so he walked home in it. He did this often. He stared down at the concrete and noticed the little puddles along the curb of the street. Different cars rolled by, all splashing the water around. Nothing hit him. He lied; he didn't mind the rain. It was comforting to hear the rain fall and splash against the cement below. It didn't hurt to hear the rain hit his umbrella either.

But he was focused on the person on the other end of the phone call. He had just got into a new relationship months ago, and every day this was the routine. She would call him right when he ended his shift, and if he answered, they would talk the entire time he was walking. If he didn't answer, he would get an upsetting voicemail every time. They were talking about something, but he let his mind wander, so he just agreed to everything they said. He felt bad for letting his mind wander, but he had just got done with a tiring day and he just wanted to think the rest of the way to his home.

He looked up from the sidewalk and looked around. He saw the familiar tree he passed every day, but saw something on the ground. He shrugged it off and looked over at the buildings across the street. People were losing business because of the rain, so most shut down for the day anyhow. "Right," he said to her. He wasn't paying any attention to her; she picked it up. He held out the phone from his ear and heard her little shouts of anger come from his phone. She had a bad temper, too. He felt his hand get a little damp from the raindrops and he placed the phone back on his ear.

"I'm sorry, but I have to let you go. I'll be home soon." He held the phone out and heard her shouting again, but he hung up on her. He knew he would have to deal with that when he got home as well. He sighed; first it was the shoes, now it was relationship troubles. He pocketed his phone in his white overcoat and continued to stroll. Another car rolled by, and he continued to think.

The car disappeared from his vision the moment the back-end of the car hit a certain point. He hated being blind in one eye. What if a robber was coming up to his left and threw him down to the ground? Or worse—what if someone held a gun to his head and he died because he didn't see them? He stared out to the tree and came closer to whatever was underneath the tree. He just had to live life the way he had, and if the thing under the tree was a person willing to attack him, so be it.

He firmly held his umbrella and looked down at the ground. It was a person. They had their legs straight out from their body, and they were completely soaked head to toe. He couldn't see her face (she was wearing a dress). She looked dirty. Probably someone homeless, he said, as he looked down at the sidewalk. He did not want to see her face when he walked by, because he knew the homeless would be looking for something during the rain, perhaps change or his umbrella. He heard nothing but the rain falling against his umbrella and the woman's breathing.

She was breathing harder than normal, but he passed over it and thought of her just being cold. So he continued to walk. His umbrella hit one of the branches, causing water to heavily drip against her body. He couldn't see her flinched at the little attack he unleashed on her; she was in his blind spot. He slightly turned his head, intrigued at the person just sitting there. He saw all the mud against her legs and saw her hands in the mud by her side. Her legs were clean from mud—so he stopped. What was that on her legs?

He looked at the woman. She still had her head down, and he couldn't see her face. He had a good look at her body instead. Her legs had a purplish color—they were bruised. They had red smeared on them—it was blood. He saw her dress ripped in numerous spots and wounds popping out from the holes. Old scars covered her arms, plus new small wounds were dripping with blood. A few scratches on her chest were a deep red—what happened to her?

She could see him standing over her. She had to close her eyes. She could see him standing over her. Her body tensed up; her breathing started to get a little heavier. Even with her eyes closed, she could see him standing there, screaming at her. "Get up!" She bit her bottom lip and waited.

The man in front of her looked around. There was absolutely no one around to help her, and he couldn't just leave her there. It would be a travesty and he would feel absolutely horrible. "Excuse me, ma'am?" He called out to her. He could see her body shaking; he couldn't tell if she was cold or scared. He bent down and tried to look at her face. It was to no avail.

She peeked out and saw him bent down. But she saw him the same way, and she closed her eyes again. She wasn't outside; she was in their home. "What, you don't want to get up? I'll make you get up! Get up!" So she waited again.

The man moved his umbrella to his other hand and reached out to her. He didn't want to startle the poor thing, and he just wanted to help stitch up some of the wounds (some of them needed to be treated right away). "Ma'am?" He barely touched her foot when she suddenly jerked her leg away from him and let out a little scream. He moved his hand back underneath the umbrella. "Ma'am, I'm only trying to help…" he tried touching her foot again by moving toward her, but she continued to scream.

"Please don't! Please!" He knew this voice. She moved her hands from the mud to defend herself, as if he was going to attack her.

"Ma'am, I'm not going to hurt you, I am only here to help," he said to her again. He tried to be as reassuring as possible, but she was crying. She was panicking, her breathing was getting heavy, and he didn't know what to do. He inched towards her, with his feet getting in the mud her legs were just in (he could see blood in some of the puddles). She held out her hand and barely touched his hand. Her fingers tightly squeezed around his, and he didn't move after that. He just let his hand hang in the air as she grasped it.

"Please, just stop," she whispered. He saw her head slightly moving, and he tried seeing her face.

"I won't hurt you," he replied.

"Don't hurt me," her head whipped up and he stared into her eyes (her left one was bruised). "Please, don't hit me, don't do it. I didn't do anything wrong, please don't do it," she bit down on her bottom lip. She was stuck in her home, still seeing him in front of her. And she could only hear him talking. "You are a disgrace." He saw her lips tremble.

His eyes widened. He knew he knew the voice. He knew her. He had been looking to see her again after she disappeared some years ago. He let his fingers wrap around hers, holding onto her so she couldn't leave again. He wanted to thank her so much years ago for everything she did for his family, but before he had the chance, she was gone. "Tohru," he whispered.

She started to blink rapidly. Her hand snapped back to her body; he dropped his hand in the mud. She was looking all over the place—over at the buildings, down at the ground, at her body, then back to him. He stared back into her eyes. "You're not him," she fought against the pain she felt and suddenly rose to her feet. Her back scratched against the bark of the tree, ruining her sundress even more. He rose with her.

"Tohru, what happened to you?" As he reached out to her, she flinched.

"He never calls me by my name. How do you know me?" Had she repressed all memories of her past? Or had she forgotten about them? Or was he that unfamiliar to her? He wanted to answer, but before he could, she started to move away from him. He only stood there and watched her move. She sidestepped away from him and rested her hand against the tree. "Please, don't follow me. Don't find me," she was seeing him again. So the man in the umbrella saw her break out into a full sprint.

But he couldn't let her go again.

She didn't get very far; he had very good reflexes. Before he knew it, they were only maybe twenty feet from the tree, and he had a hold of her arm. But she was struggling to get away. "No! Please!" He dropped the umbrella and pulled her into his chest. He didn't care if he was going to get wet from the rain anymore. This was more important.

"Tohru, I won't hurt you!" He could feel her trying to get away, trying to squirm out of his grasp. He wrapped his arms around her and tightly held onto her. "It's just me, just Hatori!" She succumbed to his hold and started to fall from the immense pain she was in. He followed her, and both hit the ground with their knees. She gripped his white overcoat, and he released most of his grip, ensuring that he was not hurting her.

She was crying. He could hear her screaming and trembling in fear. She was crying out this whole time, not screaming. She needed someone to help her. Tohru buried her face into his chest and let herself cry in front of someone not him in years. "Hatori, help me. Please, Hatori…" He closed his eyes as he continued to listen to her repeat her words over and over again. He didn't want to meet her like this again—he wanted to see her smile again.

"Ah! Hatori! Are you joining us for dinner? Did Shigure invite you over again?" "Hatori, you don't have to help with the dishes! I can manage!" "Hatori! Thank you for coming over! It seems like Kyo hurt himself while fighting Yuki. I'm sorry to have disturbed you!" He frowned. He wanted the old Tohru back, not this one. Not the one that was broken. Not the one that was suffering from someone's doing.

He heard her crying again; he let his phone go to voicemail.

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