Fanfic100 challenge #3
Title : The end of bliss
Fandom: Fruits basket
Characters: Hatori and Ayame
Prompt: 029. Birth
Word count: 704
Rating: T
Summary: And the world was light and no dark. But soon, that will end. So enjoy it while it lasts, because one day, we'll forget.
Authors notes: Spoilers for episode eight. Rated for angst and slight K+ themes.
Sometimes, I think that birth separates us from heaven.
But my cousin was born with a gift. A gift of eyes that never matured from birth. Through perverse remains and scattered ashes, he still never fails to see the good, right along with the bad. Ayame, in a sense, will never grow old in spirit. He will remain the same always and forever.
But shortly after I was born, my Mother passed away. So I was raised to see only the bad in life. But Ayame saw the Sakura petals fall from the tree, and would declare to the world that it was a beautiful day. When he saw death, he saw heaven. When I saw death, I saw a great black void.
They say that when I turned eight, they took me to visit my Mother's grave for the first time. All I remember was being frightened. But I remember somebody, standing by my side and holding my hand. They told me later it was Aaya.
I've never been back since then, but I once asked Aaya what it was like. He thought a moment before replying with, "Well, she had a pretty grave." Only my cousin could see beauty in death.
His eyes have never aged, from when we were children, and we looked out the window and watched the sunset. To him, everything is a miracle. He has the eyes of a young soul. I have the eyes of one who has seen it all.
When Kana was here, those young eyes seemed oddly sad, but they showed the sadness that only a child could show. The sadness of a person who had just lost someone, and although they understood how, couldn't comprehend WHY.
I didn't understand it then, and I don't understand my cousins young eyes even to this day. When Ayame brings me an orange, he comments on its beauty. When Ayame makes something new, he puts a piece of himself in it, so it, too, will be immune to time.
When I heal my patients, I am frighteningly aware of the fact that they are getting older. One day, I will loose them like I lost the mother I never knew. But Aaya sees everything as a miracle. No matter how many times I try to tell him that the stars are merely suns that are destined to die, he just smiles and shakes his head.
"No, Hatori," Aaya told me. "Stars are stars." I can't understand him. For me, I see darkness. It's scary.
"Oh, Haa-san!" Aaya once told me. "Isn't it a beautiful day?" It was a rainy, cold day. But Ayame merely guided me to the window and pointed out how the raindrops looked like diamonds.
Ayame can look at a thing of ugliness, like thunder, and comment on how it reminds him of a waterfall. He can banish evil from his mind.
"Oh, Haa-san," he's told me. "Just look for the happy things.
I think Birth is the thing that separates us.
When we are born, the light is a miracle. We worship the beauty of the birds, and the skies are a wonderment. For Ayame, everything has stayed the same. For me, I merely see the sun as too bright, or too dim.
Before we were born, nothing existed but warmth. When we were born, the first thing that we saw was the light. But that light faded from me almost immediately. But for Aaya, that light is in his eyes. It casts everything from the shadows into a bright creation.
Sometimes, I just want to embrace him, and let him guide me into that world of light. I want to look deep into his eyes, so I can see heaven. I want to hold his hand, so I can hear the angels sing.
When we were born, Ayame saw heaven and I saw brokenness.