Pairing: Hatori Sohma/Ayame Sohma
Theme: #25 Fence/フェンス
Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket, nor its characters.

A/N: cries I hate the idea of model Ayame, but I introduced it so I might as well just finish it- quicklyhates on self. Also - long sentences and the angstiest thing I've ever written, I think. o-o;

Missed Memories

Strut. Twist. For the love of Kami, keep your hair out of your face. Keep the smile off of your face.

Ayame loved it. He had always craved attention, and being on a runway, no matter how ridiculous it made him feel as he was in the middle of much younger people, most of which spoke a language Ayame wasn't familiar with, made him feel ecstatic, like he was on top of the world.

The Hebi supposed he was just shallow at heart. It was something that he had been afraid of ever since he had determined that the best way of getting people's concern off your back – like overprotective friends that went under the names Gure and Tori – was to smile, and talk the moon away so they couldn't get a word inbetween. Most of the times, he just got swept up in the moment, the guise having become a protective blanket that felt just as natural to him as the clothes that he made for himself; naturally a perfect fit. It had gotten frightfully easy to just not think, and act like a fool.

Ayame nearly bumped into another model on the catwalk in his thoughts, but with the help of his snake-like agility, Ayame avoided a humiliating fall, and gracefully awarded the crowd one last glimpse over his shoulder, before vanishing behind the coulisses again.

"What the hell, Ayame! Stop doing that damned looking-over-your-shoulders-thing! It's not proper, and it takes people's attention away from the clothes and the other models!"

"That just means I'm a success, doesn't it?" Ayame laughed at his agent, waving his hand at the other man as to make the angered voice vanish. "And you were worried that people would be concerned with my age!" Ayame had actually been quite ticked off at the mention that he would be too old (him!) to be a model, but had decided to play it cool, for once. Instead of throwing a grand fit followed by an anguished rant on why he wasn't too old, instead he spared his frightened manager the first and merely threw the latter.

His manager laughed nervously, having gotten used to Ayame's antics- a little. Still, he was used to models being a little off, but this guy was in a completely different world most of the times. A hand shot out to stop Ayame's hand from waving at him, which to him seemed really demeaning, and tugged Ayame in the direction of the dressing rooms.

Ayame noticed his stare trailing on the transparent clothing around his midsection, and winked at him. His manager was by no means an unpleasant-looking man, and being in a different country made him that much clingier to people than he usually was, for most did not understand his admittedly poor French, or deficient English. He could order a croissant with 'fromage' at the bakery on the corner, but that was as far as it went. As a result, Ayame found himself alone most of the times, because for some reason Parisians were frightened by random hugs. It was a good thing Enju, his manager, was originally from Japan as well, even if he was from Osaka. It gave Ayame an excuse to make fun of his accent, but it also gave him someone to unleash his stories to.

Ayame was happy he had met Enju. For a while after he had settled in his new, sadly smaller apartment, he had done nothing but take walks through Paris, ignoring calls from his cellphone, and finally throwing it in the Seine when he saw even Yuki's name appear in his incoming call's window. It made him realise how serious his situation was, something he rather wished to ignore.

Two hours later, he had gotten himself a new phone and had called Gure-san to tell him his new number. He knew Shigure would hand out the number the rest of the family, sadly even Akito. Ayame didn't want to wonder too long on why he had avoided Akito's wrath as long as he had, for if he had asked permission for this "short" trip (as he had told Akito it was once she had gotten in contact with him), even the suggestion certainly would have been punished.

Missing Hatori was the hardest thing, and Ayame found out that, sadly, nothing to do but walking in Paris while waiting for his shop to be set up gave him a lot of time to think, something he really did not want. The ache in his heart had not dulled from the searing pain that extended to even to his fingers and toes when he thought about the doctor for too long. Still, Ayame was not sorry about what he had decided to do. Though it had taken more strength from him to leave his beloved Ryuu's sleeping body in the hot springs than it had taken to hypnotise the man into using his powers against himself, something of which Ayame wasn't even sure whether it had worked or not, he was not sorry that he had fled from the undoubtedly uneasy morning after that he was sure they would have, if the doctor were to remember. Childish as it might be, Ayame wasn't ready to be viewed as nothing more than a pity fuck in the eyes of the man he loved so dearly.

Ayame remembered stroking his smooth, wet skin long after the doctor had fallen asleep, himself shivering in exertion both bodily and mentally. Only gradually had his body recovered from the force he had put his body under, but Ayame doubted his soul would ever heal. After what he had done- used the hated power and turned it back to him; Ayame doubted Hatori would ever forgive such a thing. He was a horrible friend, and the knowledge of what he had done made Ayame realise that with his happy persona in place, he was a better person. The Hebi had been forced to let down his barrier to allow Hatori to see him, the real him; in his eyes; his movements; his silent whispers of devotion and the unspoken love silent in the gentle caresses after. Later, on the long flight to Paris, he had been forced to build an entirely new fence.

Still, Ayame rarely showed it when difficulties dragged him down. Enju had found him on one of his walks, and, finding that the beautiful man was interested in fashion, Enju had eagerly dragged him inside one of his casting bureaus. He had found Ayame more than happy to comply to anything to take away from his thinking-time. The man's exotic features convinced the rest of the staff easily, and soon Enju had Ayame doing catwalks for the most prominent labels.

He had not complained when Ayame had wanted more than just a friendly companion, and had without problems dumped a few lovers to spend as much time with Ayame as possible. Although slightly older than most people he slept with, Ayame's Japanese ethnicity gave him a sense of home. Ayame always told him the same thing, before he left late at night to his own apartment.

Ayame was slowly fading away.

Enju had noticed it, and when Ayame had forgotten his cellphone – his only contact to his family and friends – he had known it was serious. Damn, but this model really had issues. At first, he just missed a few lunches, forgot a few breakfasts, and didn't have time for a few dinners. Ayame had to keep up his appearance for the sake of his modelling jobs, but it hardly seemed like the man, who had seemed so vain upon meeting him, cared about his appearance anymore; even his hair appeared matted. The man was practically bipolar; he was always laughing at people's stories even if he didn't understand what was being said, and the following moment he would in order; be checking his cellphone to see who had called; sigh; hover over the keys; for some reason decide that it would not be a good idea to call whoever he wanted to call; and put the phone in his pocket again. This always happened right after a show, and right after sex. Enju practically saw the fear in the model's eyes when he directed his gaze to the phone on the nightstand during sex, which made him realise that Ayame was probably cheating on his lover.

Damn. The man sure was a catch, but although the manager didn't have many moral codes, being the 'other man' was one thing he preferred to avoid.

On a whim, Enju picked up the forgotten cellphone and called the first name that appeared in the memory numbers. Gure-darling. Okay… The phone rang a few times, before a voice slurred with sleep came up on the other line. "Yes? Aya, I love you and all, but that does not give you the right to disturb my sleep in the middle of the afternoon. You know I need it to get inspired for my next novel, now that you are not there to inspire me with your brilliant ideas of manly romance!"

Enju blinked. Ayame's lover was as scary as he was. He cleared his throat before talking to this so-called Gure-darling about Ayame's recently developed habits.

Meanwhile in Ayame's small apartment, the boxes with memories were still unpacked but one. Ayame sat in front of it, staring at the photo albums stacked up atop of each other. So many memories… He had left all of them behind.

It was both a frightening thought and a soothing one that he had to return someday, back to everyone as the eternally estranged brother, the everlasting annoying fool, the ceaseless best friend… and a forlorn pity fuck.

A sob escaped his throat as he kissed a picture of a young Hatori in the snow, smiling. He hadn't been there the day the picture was taken, but Shigure had taken pictures of all the times Ayame hadn't been able to come with them because of the temperature.

All the memories he had missed, and was missing, always seemed so happy if he wasn't there to annoy everyone.

When sobs started racking his thin frame and he found his eyes unable to stop tearing up, Ayame figured that his emotional fence still needed some work.