Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket.

I must've made such an odd sight, with wind-blown hair, thick-lensed glasses, uniformed and straitlaced, dashing down the street. It was barely afternoon and I was unabashedly ditching school.

I didn't know why, but my parents sprang to mind. I guess it was to be expected. All my life, I couldn't help but wonder about the family lives of others, particularly because mine was so cold. What made a person like Miss. Honda so naive and optimistic? What kind of trauma occurred in Yuki's life that had made him so introverted and arctic before Tohru came into his life?

Who sculpted Motoko's brashness, her carelessness? How did her parents create such a stubborn girl? Was it genetics, her upbringing, or both?

All I knew about her home life was that her mother worked at home. Maybe I would find out more about Motoko, if she ever felt the same emptiness with her family as I did, whether she had siblings.

There. I found it. I slowed down in front of her house. The "Closed" sign on the door swung violently as I ran inside. Stairs were my enemy but I climbed them up into her living quarters.

There weren't a lot of boxes in the living room, but it was a horrendous mess. Clothes, papers, and other things were cycloned about. I ignored my neat freak tendencies and burst into another room. This one was equally messy. Motoko was slumped in the middle of chaos, sobbing as her mother towered over her.

"Don't give me any problems, okay?" the sturdy-looking middle-aged woman ordered. "We're moving and that's that, so hurry up. And you're still in your uniform! Seikei's much cuter! You'll love your new school. Now help me pack." She faced me at last.

"What are you doing here? Wait, who are you?"

I guess Motoko has her mother's slow-on-the-uptake-ness.

Ignoring her, I fell to my knees and placed my hands on Motoko's shoulders. "Motoko... I just-- You-- How's your--"

"Who are you? You're trespassing!" Her mom held up a broom menacingly.

"Mom!" she retorted sharply. "Don't worry. He's my friend." Before I could enjoy the pleasure of being referred to as a comrade, she gave me an angry look. "Why are you here? Shouldn't the model student be learning things and not wasting his future for such a worthless girl?"

"I just had to--"

"Enough!" Motoko's mother slammed the tip of the broom handle on the floor like a staff. "You're being a nuisance, both of you. Motoko, say goodbye to your friend. And you," she told me, "should get the hell outta here. Unless, young man, you'll be of service?"

"I'll never see him again!" Motoko sobbed into her hands.

"Oh, it's always him, isn't it. Yuki, Yuki, Yuki, all day and all night. What's so appealing about him? He's too feminine-looking. You're better off without him, so suck it up and be a man."

"I'm not a man!"

"Yeah, but you act like one, you tomboy. Just make it easy on yourself and give up on love! The world belongs to the beautiful, not to women like us. Just be a good girl, listen to me, and study hard. You can work at finding happiness that way."

Oh, my God. She actually grew up hearing this? Feeling angry and protective, I shielded her with an arm as I stood.

"You're wrong. Motoko's a beautiful girl and she's talented. Any guy would be lucky as hell to have her. If Yuki can't see that, then..." I shrugged. "Well, then it's his loss."

"Whatever," Motoko's mother snorted, looking vastly irritated. "It's not like she'll lose... her Prince."

Motoko looked up, blinking and wiping her tears away. "Huh?"

Her mother smiled, lightly slapping Motoko's arm. "Silly girl. Your aunt and uncle are coming tomorrow morning."

"Aunt Maki and Uncle Tsutomu?"

"Don't you remember? My sister and brother-in-law's house caught on fire a couple of weeks back. Luckily they weren't seriously injured, but they don't have a place to stay."

"And the boxes?"

She laughed. "Just some things her husband brought over early. And you know how Maki is. She'll break out the white gloves if my home isn't sparkling. It's a hassle to mess up the rooms then clean them up again, but it can't be helped. But the boxes fooled you." Another laugh, but this one was cruel. "God, you should have seen the look on your face! Priceless as hell!"

"You cruel, hateful--"

"Do you feel brave enough to finish that sentence, girl?" the woman challenged, raising an eyebrow at her angry daughter.

"Mrs. Minagawa, I cannot, absolutely CANNOT forgive you!" Pointing at her, I continued, "Do you know how upset she's been all this time? Moping about, acting listlessly in the halls... She wasn't herself! Do you know how much she cares about him? How much she loves him?"

"I--It's just a silly crush!" the hotheaded woman sputtered. She moved in on me with an extended finger poking me in my chest. "Why, you impudent little brat! Who are you to talk back? If I want to tease my daughter, it's none of my business. If I want to insult her, that doesn't concern you. And if I want to play pranks on her, that also isn't--"

I stamped my foot firmly on the ground, startling both females. Seeing as I hadn't even removed my shoes, this thudding sound made the ground shake. "Do you call what you did a prank?! Some harmless little game? Shit, if she's gonna be so upset, then it IS my business! When she's sad or angry or scared... I hate it." I looked at her. She gave me a look that I couldn't decipher.

I couldn't tell her how sorry I was, but I hoped that defending her would make up for all the times I hurt her. All the times I made fun of her feelings for Yuki, all of the times I called her stupid or worthless. I had no right to tell Motoko that her love for Yuki was superficial because I wasn't her. It was the least I could do for her, this revolutionary girl who has changed me so much, and keeps on changing me. She's got me skipping school and talking back to adults... She's making me see how it feels to enjoy life. Even if she never forgives me, she just has to know that I'm on her side now.

The woman smashed her fist into her hip, which was cocked out in attitude. "Hate it, huh. You're interested in my daughter then, boy?" Without waiting for an answer, she cackled.

"I don't know why, but I like you, boy. What's your name?"

"Mako--Makoto Takei, ma'am," I stammered, taken aback by her mood swing.

"I see. Well, Makoto, I suppose you should stay here. It's dangerous to be out side at this time of the day. The police could catch you!" Another rough laugh. "I'll forgive you if you help us clean." She addressed her daughter. "Motoko, do you have any objections to this?"

To my surprise, Motoko shrugged. "Less work for me."

Mrs. Minagawa held up her broom like a baton. "Then let's work!"

It was an eventful morning.

We dusted the furniture, scrubbed the floors, and cleaned up the things on the floor for an hour. At ten, Motoko and Motoko's mom plopped themselves in front of the T.V. to watch a trashy talk show. I lingered in the kitchen, helping myself to some juice.

They found some guests on the show humorous and laughed loudly. The two of them had the same laugh: surprisingly sharp and unexpected, but pleasant in some way. The mother and daughter sat next to each other; I guessed that Motoko had forgiven her mother for that cruel joke. They looked so close.

I wanted what they had. I wanted that kind of love.

"Back to work," Mrs. Minagawa said. Motoko sighed.

A giant violet stain was like a flower on the wall Motoko and I got to work scrubbing the wall clean.

I watched her, bandanna tied around her head and under her chin like an old woman and decked in a frilly apron. I was a puddle of smiles. She looked so cute, determinedly scrubbing that stain.

"I like that a guy isn't afraid to don an apron, wear a pink scarf, and get his hands dirty doing housework," Motoko's mom chuckled, hitting me with the broom handle. Motoko giggled.

"Yeah, Makoto, you're super stylish," she agreed.

I mumbled something in embarrassment, feeling my face turn scarlet.

There was one apron for Motoko, one for her mother, and one for me, all of them with the same carrot print...

"So, your father helps out with the housework?" I asked the girl next to me.

Her hand tremblingly squeezed the soapy sponge. A cloud of white suds dripped down the surface, acquiring purple veins. I couldn't believe how dramatic the change in her attitude was. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath...

And kept on scrubbing.

I peeked over at her mother, who was warbling a sad love song. She hadn't noticed Motoko's distress.

I wanted to apologize to Motoko for making her remember something unpleasant, but I knew I shouldn't bring it up again. We resumed our work in silence.

At last, she spoke.

"The color of this stain...," she began dazedly, "...is the exact color of Yuki's hair and eyes."

"Purple was once considered a royal color, you know," I told her softly.

"Befitting a prince."

She dropped the sponge into the bucket of water between us and walked away. I sighed as I watched her receding form.

I washed the last streak of the gunk away.

The place was sparkling.

Literally.

We really did do a good job.

It took almost the entire day just to clean and my body ached, but I was happy.

I removed the scarf from my head and the light blue apron. I examined the garment and sighed for some reason. It was nostalgic, a color as brilliant yet as hazy as a summer sky. I let my fingers trace the tiny red stain and wondered how it got there. As if tucking away precious memories that could break if done too hastily, I softly folded the apron and scarf and placed them on the counter.

A shadow fell over me. I faced Motoko's mother, who was drying a dish. She gave me a sad smile, eyelids covering half of her eyes.

"Thank you for helping. You did a great job."

"It was no problem," I told her, bowing. It still flustered me that I had scolded this woman and yet she wasn't sore about it. I had to condone for it! "I'm sorry," I blurted out. "For yelling at you. It wasn't my place to--"

She held up a hand in dissent. "Don't apologize. You defended Motoko after all, the way a good friend should." She gave me a penetrating look. "The two of you work so well together."

"We argue a lot."

She tittered like a schoolgirl who knew a delicious secret. "Is that so? So you hate each other yet are friends, is that it?"

"I wouldn't call us friends," I admitted with heat scorching my neck and face.

"I'm not making excuses, but the reason I put her down is to make her strong, the same way my mom did. But sometimes I go too far and really do some damage. Silly old woman that I am, I don't realize it sometimes. I know how my daughter is: she's headstrong, just like me. But it's good that someone can accept her despite this."

"Not despite this." I looked at her directly in her eye. "Because of it."

"Oh, God." She smiled. "You want this old lady to cry, don't you."

"Ma'am, I'm not out to hurt you." I gave her my handkerchief at the sight of her tears. "I just want to tell you... to treasure your daughter, because she might not be there the next day. She's going to college soon, right? I just don't want you to end up like me."

"You're a good kid." She cupped my face with her hand. "I wish you and Motoko all of the happiness in the world."

I blushed. "Wait, what?"

"The two of you remind me... of Motoko's father and me when we were your ages." Even though she said it with a smile, that joy didn't quite reach her eyes. What had this man done to these strong women that had made them so sad?

"I saw the way you smiled at her while you two were cleaning."

"Well--"

"You must love my daughter to bits, don't you?"

"I-- I mean--"

She softly chuckled. "I knew it." And she walked away. Her stooped shoulders were a little higher and she wasn't so upset.

I heard the jingle of keys. "I need to run some errands," she told Motoko in a far-away voice. "Stay here and entertain your friend."

They squabbled a bit, but it was a small scuffle. Her mom got the last word, I discerned, because Motoko came stomping in as her mother left.

She examined me, hands on her hips. "Just what did my fool of a mother tell you?" she demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"Before she left, she winked at me and whispered, 'Don't let that guy go. He's a good catch.' And she looked in your direction, like she knew something I didn't. Did she make wedding arrangements or something? 'Cause that's just gross."

I smiled as I wiped my hands. "But it'd be lovely, wouldn't it? I could wash and cook and clean. I'd be your loving househusband." I clasped my hands to my cheek with dreamy eyes. "Oh, how I treasure you so. I love my mother-in-law so much!"

"Don't joke around like that!" she yelled, punching my arm, but she was laughing. Her sideways smile melted my heart. "She's probably serious." Motoko blushed, as if finally realizing how she was acting. She cleared her throat as she walked away from me.

That's right, I thought sadly. I can't be a part of her family. She's done so much, but what have I done for her in return? Can a boring person like me even compare to her?

She finally turned to me. Her hands were clasped in front of her like a knotted brooch. The embarrassment was still on her face. "Look," she explained, eyes to the floor, "I don't like you, okay? One day of cleaning isn't gonna make me think any better of you. Saying you were my friend... I had to calm my mom down somehow, and that was the first thing that came to mind. But even so... I can't leave you alone. Mom said stay here, but it's no fun here." She held out her hand to me. "So let's go."

I took the offered hand. Together, we ventured outside.

During our walk, Motoko and I kept up a flowing conversation, mostly just small talk. At intervals when we fell silent there was no awkwardness.

There are all kinds of silences.

Hostile silences.

Nervous silences.

Bored silences.

But our silent moments were comfortable.

Surprisingly, Motoko wasn't inclined to speak at length today. Snatching glances, I saw a strange look on her face each time. Sometimes I caught her staring at me. I joked that my good looks were too tempting for her to resist. She scoffed at it, but I couldn't help but wonder if she was comfortable being with someone like me. I looked so unusual next to her. Wasn't I embarrassing her?

We reached a playground. The drooping sun spread orange marmalade light over the landscape. Within minutes we found the swings. I stood as she sat, motionless on the swing, save for her feet kicking up dust. A few yards from us, a family were at play. Beaming parents fussed over their tiny child as he bounced a red ball. We were content simply to watch them.

"We were like that once," she remarked. "Mommy, Daddy, and me, in the park, laughing and playing. The three of us would go out for Sunday breakfast and clean the entire house together. Daddy would laugh and sing. Mommy always complained about how badly he sang. We loved each other then. We were so close.

"One day, a nice day like today, without warning, he said, 'I'm leaving.' He stepped over me while I was playing with my dolls, and did just that. He left. He just walked over me like I was nothing."

One tear fell down her cheek.

"I don't know what it was. Maybe it was a jelly jar. But Mom threw whatever it was that caused that stain at the wall. Other than that, there was no outburst. Because the conversation was so calm, I assumed that he'd be back, that it was all a misunderstanding. How could Mommy and Daddy have fought? They loved each other so much. We loved each other so much. But weeks passed and he never came. Why did he leave? And why did Mom leave that painful reminder scar that wall until now? I don't know. I really don't know."

"I'm sorry. I never knew. Had I known, I mean... I wouldn't have even asked that. So, I'm sorry about asking about him and... I'm just really sorry."

Motoko gave me a tiny smile. "It's okay. How could you have known? It wasn't your fault."

Silence.

I felt the need to bare the truth since she told me about her past. "My family is the opposite of yours. My dad's a businessman, so he travels the world a lot. He isn't home very often, so for a while it's just been me and my mom. My mom is very sick. She's getting better with medicine, but she'll always be so frail. I don't blame her for the way things have turned out. It's hard to raise a child lovingly, in a happy home, with an illness and a husband that isn't always there. But I hate the fact that we're always cold to each other. I know Mother and Father love me, and I love them too, but I can't express that. We can't express that."

"So we want what they have," Motoko commented, eyes still on the happy family. "We want the genuine love of a complete family." She ripped her eyes away from them. "Push me," she commanded.

I approached her back and pushed her. Motoko's flight wasn't too far in the sky. Her hands gripped the chains tightly.

"Dad and I would always come here. He always pushed me, higher and higher, until I reached the sky. But I don't need him anymore. I can do it myself now."

I moved back.

With powerful strokes of her legs, Motoko conquered the sky.