Disclaimer: To any and all higher deities that exist in this pitiful world, I send my sincerest, humblest desires to own, in any way possible, the characters of Fruits Basket. … What do you mean, "no"! I've been rejected.

Soba ni ite kureru
Stay by my side

Hiro gazed fondly at the face of the girl sleeping soundlessly beside him in his bed, his fingers trailing tenderly over her cheeks as he brushed away wayward strands of sleep-tousled hair. She was stretched out on her stomach, her face turned towards him; one arm tucked under the pillow they'd shared, the other bent over her head on the rumpled sheets. He let his hand skim over her bare shoulder, wincing inwardly as he traced the slight scar between her shoulder blades, before tucking the blankets around her slim frame.

That was behind them both now.

His gaze turned towards the shaded window, his heart aching at the memory of the price that had been paid to ensure their happiness…their future. The sacrifice, the loss. Hiro shook his head slightly, as if to ward off the melancholy thoughts, but they were more persistent than his attempts to brush them away. He didn't think he'd ever manage to understand their decision…but it wasn't his place, really, to judge them for what they should have or should not have done.

But whether he thought it was right or wrong, he was thankful, oh, so very thankful, for the life they had insured he could live. With Kisa by his side…His lips curved into a grateful smile as he bent over and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. She was no longer the child she had once been, but, at twenty-three, was still every bit as sweet and innocent as she had been growing up.

Her amber-brown eyes could still hold him captive for hours; her wheat-blond hair still glinted like gold in the sunlight. Her smile still twisted his heart into small knots, only to be relieved by the sound of her voice calling his name. And she was, by no small miracle, his girlfriend.

And now, his lover.

It astounded him, constantly, how she could be so unaware of her own appeal. Hiro stroked a possessive hand down her back, feeling the shift of toned muscle beneath the sheet draped over her to prevent the early-morning chill from seeping into her slender body. She was deceptively fragile-looking; it was almost too easy to forget that she had once stood between him and Akito…

Once again, Hiro shook his head—sharper this time, dispelling the thoughts before they fully formed and ruined the day that, already, was proving to be as gorgeous and summery as the one before. Late spring, with the sakura just dropping from the trees, the weather warming up but not yet muggy with full-summer heat, was his favorite time of the year. And, this year, he'd share it with Kisa.

We go out to a party somewhere
The moment we walk in the door
People stop and everybody stares
She don't know what they're staring for

They'd gone out to dinner the night before at a fancy restaurant, a favorite dining place of the local upper-edge clientele. It had been part of Hiro's plan of seduction, knowing full well seduction wasn't necessary—but the romance of it was a constant surprise to Kisa, who had blushed and protested at the idea of him spending so much money on 'just a date'.

And when they'd walked into the room, Kisa wearing that gorgeous dress—now lying in a puddle of whispery, forest-emerald silk on the floor—her hair curled and falling around that angelic face, there had been a reverent moment of silence. Hiro smirked at the memory, remembering the fierce sweep of masculine pride as she'd stepped just a little closer to his side, a half-frown of flustered puzzlement flitting across her face. She's mine, his look said as he swept the room with his dark-eyed gaze. You can look…but not too closely. You can look, but don't touch.

They'd shared a bottle of white wine that had tingled on her tongue, eliciting a startled giggle from her. Kisa had never indulged in alcohol, and Hiro felt a swell of joy—pure, uninhibited joy—at having had the chance to share the moment with her. Nothing more, and nothing less, than the delight of sharing the experience with her. And she'd asked shyly over the rim of her crystal glass, "Hiro-kun…Why are they looking at us?"

Her gaze had darted quickly around the room, indicating the occupants at the other tables. He'd merely smiled, reassuring and pleased, as he slid his free hand to cover hers. She turned hers palm up, linking their fingers in the simple touch that still sent a jolt straight to his gut. "They're looking at you," he murmured, sipping his wine and watching her eyes widen. She looked about ready to deny his statement, and he shook his head slightly, grinning at her self-consciousness and her modesty. "Kisa, do you not look in the mirror? You're…"

And it had slammed into him afresh. I love you. "You're beautiful," he sighed, knowing the words weren't enough. They were never enough. They couldn't replace the words he so desperately wanted to say, the words he knew she wished he would tell her.

Kisa had rubbed her fingers over the stem of her glass, lifted it to her lips. Lowered her eyes. "No, I'm not," she murmured shyly, refusing to accept the compliment. "Hiro-kun's beautiful."

She don't know she's beautiful (never crossed her mind)
She don't know she's beautiful (no she's not that kind)
She don't know she's beautiful
Though time and time I've told her so

"I love you," he whispered, because she was asleep. Because she would hear him only in her dreams, it was safe. Hiro sighed, exasperated with his own weakness, and scrubbed his hands over his face before leaning his head back against the wall. Why couldn't he tell her? The answer was so blaringly obvious, it made him wince to face the truth.

Because he was scared.

Not just afraid of the reprisals—not that there would be any, not anymore. Not now that Akito was…dead. Hiro felt the quick shudder, a combination of dread and relief and guilty, secret glee that the terrorizing monster finally got what he deserved. Akito would never again hurt anyone he cared about. He fought the throat-tightening grief at the memory of those final ones he had hurt…the ones who had given their freedom and their lives so that those they loved could continue…

"Shut up," Hiro whispered, pained, as he shut his eyes. "Shut up," he told the voices inside his head that cried for the ones who had died so that he could live—and love. "I love her. I love her." They had known. They had approved. They would never let Akito hurt him, or hurt her, because he loved her.

Because he had loved her, then, too.

He hadn't known she'd loved him, too. Kisa was a much better actor than he.

Hiro sighed softly and opened his eyes to find Kisa gazing up at him, her own sleep-blurry and soft and warm. He yelped in surprise, and her lips curved into a sleepy, secretive little smile.

"Ohayou," she mumbled, her words slurred as she shifted towards him, resting her head against his thigh and pressing a kiss to his bare hip. "Hiro-chan."

She still called him '-chan' when they were alone, and while it had initially irritated him—he'd claimed it had always irritated him—he soon accepted it as her term of endearment for him. And she refrained from calling him that in public, only to soothe his ego, rather than to prevent hers from suffering.

There she goes, just walking down the street
And someone lets a whistle out
A girl like her, she just can't see
What the fuss is all about

He returned the smile, running his fingers through her silky hair. "Ohayou, Kisa," he replied warmly, and she peered up at him intently, as if waiting for him. Hiro blinked back, confused at the intense look in her eyes. Then his eyebrows lifted, and he blushed. "Um…" There was only one reason she'd be watching him so expectantly. "Did you hear me talking to myself?"

Kisa nodded slowly. "Hai." She stretched, a fluid, eye-catching movement of long, shapely limbs and long, graceful body, before sitting up. His eyes traveled involuntarily over her, a look as effective as a physical caress, as he followed exposed, gentle curves before lifting his gaze back to hers. Now they were both blushing, and Kisa reached out to touch her fingertips to his face, her hands holding his face. "Repeat what you said."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request.

Hiro swallowed, and, staring into those liquid-gold eyes, knew he wouldn't find anything more than what he had with her.

Knew he didn't want anything more than her.

And she don't know she's beautiful (never crossed her mind)
She don't know she's beautiful (no she's not that kind)
She don't know she's beautiful
Though time and time I've told her so

"I…love you," he whispered, his voice rustling past a throat lined with broken glass. "I love you, Kisa."

Morning comes and her hair's all a mess
That's when she thinks she looks her worst
It's times like this she don't know why
I can't take my eyes off her

She blushed, but kept her eyes on his as she leaned forward to brush her lips against his, a small, timid kiss. "I love you, too, Hiro-chan," she murmured as his arms slipped around her to hold her close. "I'm glad you realized it, too."

Just as quickly, just as quietly, just as maddeningly modest as always, she sat back, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Keeping her gaze averted, Kisa frowned as her fingers encountered a mild snarl, working it out with deft movements. Hiro smiled, his grin soft as he reached out to still her nervous motions; her gaze shifted to his, and he shook his head slightly. "Kisa, you don't know, do you?"

'Cause she don't know she's beautiful

He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his in a long, lazy kiss that had her heart tumbling over as he gently laid her on the bed beneath him, where they loved in the light of the strengthening dawn. Wrapped securely in Hiro's arms, surrounded by his love, Kisa let herself be swept away by the simple, pure wash of emotion that flooded through her, from her to him, as together they lay, replete and comforted in each other's arms.

Though time and time I've told her so

8.7.04

NOTES: Pure KisaHiro fluff, because I needed to write it. ) (Sorry for the title, I drew a total blank. Subject to change when the mood strikes).

Song lyrics courtesy of Sammy Kershaw's "She Don't Know She's Beautiful". In case you don't know, I'm a country music nut—one of the many quirky traits I've inherited from my dad. My first songfic that I actually like, and one that isn't just plain stupid.

6.3.05 : Edited for rating and minor details.