NOTE: This is taken from one of Takaya-sensei's character sidebar info things: it said that Kunimitsu had been doing some pretty bad stuff until Kazuma took him in.
ANOTHER NOTE: I made up the orphanage, heehee. And if there's actually a story behind Kunimitsu, please don't correct me. I'm not there yet (obviously)! Haha.
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Natsuki Takaya. The 100 drabbles idea belongs to fanfic100.
ChoicesThere was always a choice, and he knew it. He could choose whether to smoke that cigarette gleaming between his dirty fingertips or not. He could choose to go to the place called "home" instead of staying out on the streets again, hanging with his gang and chasing a few people. He could choose to try again, to stop this endless trail of nothingness.
There was always a choice, but Kunimitsu could honestly care less.
When he watched that boy cry when they advanced upon him, coaxing him for the money they had watched him stuff in his wallet, Kunimitsu could have walked away. There could be consequences, or there could be none at all. He would never know unless he took the risk.
But being who he was, he stuck to the others like glue. He needed a home. His home? Where was it? That orphanage? Oh yes, that place. The building made of cement, smelling like dirty children and greasy food. The building with the air like smog, settling on his shoulders until he couldn't breathe. Watching other children run into the arms of safety, while Kunimitsu just…stood there. Alone.
So he had left. Packed a bag and jumped out the window. And now here he was, with the obvious choice of staying alive: living with other street kids. Not very pretty, but it kept him fed (at least a little) and really, that was all Kunimitsu cared about at the moment.
Sometimes he would see those groups of normal school kids, laughing and talking and maybe eating some ice cream. And then they would look over at him and skitter around him like he was a disease, and Kunimitsu would just stand there, repulsive and frightening and a little bit scared of himself, too.
One day, he was sitting alone in one of the many back alleys of Tokyo. His friends were off hunting for money, and he had decided to skip out to just sit and think and maybe make his mind up about some things.
A puff of smoke spiralled above his head from his cigarette, causing his glimpse of the child in the karate outfit to be fuzzy and fleeting. But Kunimitsu stood up anyway, grinding the heel of his shoe into his cigarette and bounding after the little child.
"Hey, Kid!" His hand whipped out and grabbed the boy's arm. He heard a squeak, and the boy whirled around to face him with an angry expression. Kunimitsu blinked.
"Excuse me, I'm afraid I will have to ask you to please unhand my student." The voice was pleasantly neutral, but it sent chills up Kunimitsu's spine. For the first time in his life, he listened. The boy grumbled and rubbed at his forearm as Kunimitsu let go. Kunimitsu whirled around to see a man standing before him, blinking slowly with a tiny smile on his face.
"Just who do you think you are?" Kunimitsu snapped.
"Kazuma Sohma."
Kunimitsu learned a lot in those next five minutes of his life, although to this day he tries to disregard that fact. Kazuma was calm and collected, something Kunimitsu had always strived for. He was happy to impart wisdom on Kunimitsu, another thing he was grateful for (although not at the time). He was forced to stand there, listening to the older man lecture him in a soft manner; even his sharp tongue did nothing to sway the tall, solid man.
"I have a son just like you at home," he said quietly, smiling. And then he walked past the boy, who was standing still, almost afraid to move.
"Don't be afraid to seek me out."
Kunimitsu snorted. "But--!"
"There is always a choice."
So four days later, Kunimitsu was horrified to see himself standing outside of a comfortable looking dojo. He was horrified to see that he no longer wore the mark of his gang; instead he was decorated with bruises. But worst of all, he was horrified to see Kazuma spot him through a window and smile at him.
Kunimitsu had finally made a choice. And even though fear overtook him as he stepped into the dojo, he felt—deep down in his heart—it had been the right one.
