Hello all and sorry for the wait! School's been such a drag, but in my spare time I've managed to finish the third chapter! I'm pretty sure this one is considerably longer than the first two, which makes me happy. I hope you all enjoy it.

Warnings: Lime, underage noncon.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket. If I did, this fanfic would actually happen. (Because that's just how evil I am. zomgyugiohabridgedreference)

Repeating the Past
God's Tool

His steps were slow, calculated, the floor creaking softly beneath each footfall. He deftly handed his bag to the worried servants, ignoring their somewhat urgent questioning only because everything felt so vague and distant to him. The only two things he was sure of was that he automatically headed for where he knew Akito would be, and he was clinging tenaciously to Kyo's bright red hat, as if it would float away from him if his hold on it was any less tight. He only stopped walking when he was standing a mere foot away from the head of the family.

"Oh, Yuki? Why are you crying?"

Yuki's lip quivered and he fell to his knees, throwing the hat away from them and grabbing the front of Akito's kimono instead, pulling himself close and sobbing hysterically into the other's chest.

There was something moving inside him. It started in the pits of his stomach, working itself up through his body, burning into his lungs, leaving him to cough haphazardly as it reached his throat. It was an emotion he wasn't sure he wanted to admit he had. Was it even possible?

For him to be in love…?

It had only been a day since Hatori had taken the memories of his friends, but just seeing them walk by, laughing and not acknowledging the rat that stood, not daring to look at them lest they see his grief and his longing to be with them again… Yuki wouldn't have been able to bear what confused expressions they might have shot him. Surely if fate was not allowing him these friends, it was a fruitless effort to get them back.

That day walking home, it was windy.

It was the only thing Yuki noted as he made his way to the Sohma estate, fingers hooked around his backpack straps, his eyes downcast. He wondered miserably what he had done to bring what hatred there was in his small world upon his lowly existence. He wanted friends, he wanted them with all his heart. And he couldn't even begin to describe, much less figure out, what he wanted from—

A strong gust of wind blew, interrupting his train of thought. He halted, turning away and keeping the sharp wind off of his face so that his bangs whipped around, snapping against his cheeks and closed lids. Once the wind had died down, Yuki opened his eyes, only to narrow them at the red hat that then rested on the ground in front of him. Just as he bent down to retrieve it, he heard a very familiar voice yelling out, "-Shou! Shishou, wait! My hat just flew—"

In an instant, the orange-haired boy was jumping out of the bushes, landing gracefully (like a cat, Yuki couldn't help but think) in front of the rat. There was a shocked pause, during which the only other time Yuki had seen the boy after New Years briefly flashed through his mind. He had been driving to school and just happened to look out the window when they'd passed the cat-boy.

But that had been short, and now Yuki had the chance to really look at him. He had matured a bit, and no longer held the same youthfulness that Yuki had felt at New Years. Notwithstanding, Yuki's opinion didn't change; the cat was still just as beautiful.

The blush was already rising in his cheeks at the shock lighting the cat's eyes. "…Oh. Um, here," Yuki mumbled, timidly offering the hat to the other boy. But it was useless. He was hated, and it would always be so. The cat's glare was intense and unrivaled, and Yuki felt no surprise when the other boy stomped away angrily, abandoning his hat with strong conviction.

It's not that he was surprised; he'd known the cat had hated him since their first encounter. No, it was how hollow he felt. It was that, even though Yuki acknowledged the cat's resentment toward him as deeply as he possibly could, the only thing he was able to feel toward it was longing, plain and simple. And because that longing would never be understood—because it would never even be recognized—he sobbed with childish abandon for more than fifteen minutes, his legs unable to support him as he clutched at the red hat in his hands.

So as soon as he was able to stand, to keep his resolve to the point that he wasn't crying out in his hysteria, he gathered his strength and walked the rest of the way, wishing for comfort and knowing the only place he would receive it.

"Yuki," Akito said softly, and the seven-year-old was suddenly quite aware of a hand on his shoulder blade, which lingered for a moment before trailing down to the small of his back. Yuki knew what this meant; it meant the caress of lips and the stroke of tongues; because no matter how many times he ravished Yuki's young mouth, Akito couldn't seem to be satisfied. But that didn't matter, not anymore. As scared as Yuki used to be by the intimacy Akito forced on him, he no longer felt the need to say no.

On a deeper plane of his conscience, Yuki knew why he had felt frightened of Akito kissing him with such depth. It was that, even if he didn't want to admit it, there was someone else he wished he could kiss, and whenever the head of the family called Yuki to his chambers, the rat felt like he was being unfaithful to his true feelings. But his feelings, no matter how profound, were of no importance in his wretched life; no one cared about him. Akito said it was so, and Yuki tended to believe what he was told.

"Yuki," Akito repeated. The seven-year-old's grip on the older's kimono loosened, and he tilted his head up so that he could see his cousin's face. The head of the family smiled gently and leaned in, pausing only an inch from Yuki's lips, his breath light against the rat's skin. The amethyst-eyed boy's sobs had died down, but he still whimpered, the water spilling down his cheeks warm and uncomfortable. "Your world," Akito whispered, his words slow and deliberate, "is black."

With that, a fresh set of tears stung at Yuki's eyes, but it made no difference when Akito ran a hand down the seven-year-old's lithe form, starting from his slight shoulder, his small chest, taut stomach, and stopped at his waist, his fingers resting lightly on the hem of Yuki's shorts, his other hand still firm against the small of Yuki's back. Reaching under the rat's coat, Akito carefully untucked the younger's shirt, tilting his head to the side and grazing a kiss against Yuki's damp cheek. "You," the ten-year-old continued, his lips moving painfully slowly against Yuki's trembling skin, "are a boring human being."

"Nnh," the rat sobbed, shutting his eyes against the tears and trying his best to be quiet. He hated it—he hated more than anything that it had to be him who was born as the rat. He hated that Akito seemed to get such pleasure from making him think he would be better off dead.

Suddenly, Akito pulled away entirely and was on his feet, about to walk away. The inexpectancy of it caused Yuki to lose all hold on his cousin's kimono, and, against his better judgment, he let out a small, indignant sound of protest. He immediately shut his mouth tightly. But…why? If the head of the family were to leave him alone, it should have been no problem; a great relief, even.

At hearing the puffy-eyed seven-year-old's soft moan, though, Akito paused and turned back in the direction of the younger boy. "Hm?" The head of the family bent far over, lifted Yuki's face to his and placed a wet kiss on the rat's lips. He didn't pull away for many seconds, and when they finally parted, their eyes opened and their gazes locked. Yuki, being a sheltered seven-year-old, lacked the vocabulary to describe it; there was a strong emotion in his God's pitch-black eyes, something that looked almost like longing. It was not the same as what Yuki felt; no doubt, it held just as much depth, but it was not so innocent, nor so naïve. It was powerful—hungry in a sense the rat was unable to understand.

Yuki numbly wondered what Akito saw in his own eyes. Whatever it was, the older must have found it intriguing, because again he leaned in to taste the rat's tear- and saliva-soaked lips. Out of instinct, Yuki's mouth dropped open, and instead it was their tongues that touched lightly. When it had first happened earlier that year, Yuki had thought the sensation strange, but having by then been in such a situation countless times with the head of the family, it was seen to him as something very routine. It was warm and wet and really very nice; it sent shivers down his spine and butterflies to dance in his stomach.

That must have been why. Yes, he hated his feelings of worthlessness that were fueled so greatly by his cousin. He hated them so much—and yet…

Akito pulled away from the kiss, a thin line of saliva drawn unceremoniously between their exposed tongues, which broke when the head of the family spoke, his voice soft and low with that hungry emotion. "I'll only be gone for a moment." He rose to his feet. "Remove your coat," he ordered, and turned away to walk out of the door.

And yet… He loved that feeling of closeness, just as Akito seemed to. He had lost his hope for receiving such endearment from his orange-haired cousin, though. It was something he'd already admitted to himself: He wanted such comfort that the head of the family was offering him, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't thankful for the attention.

Dutifully, Yuki began unbuttoning his jacket, his shaking fingers fumbling slowly to the first, second, and third until it hung open, revealing his white button-up shirt and black tie. He could hear the soft murmur of voices outside the door. One was Akito—he could recognize that sickeningly pleasant tone anywhere—and the other he figured was a servant. Yuki listened intently, trying to make out the words being said as he removed his arms languidly from the coat sleeves. The old woman sounded somewhat anxious, and the more she spoke, the angrier Akito's voice grew. It finally got to the point where Akito was shouting, and Yuki could hear him very clearly.

"I don't care if he looks unstable! He's mine and I'll do what I want! If anyone even comes close to this room, I swear I'll kill them!" There was a thumping sound against the wall, and a moment later Akito slammed the door open, the hushed and hasty apologies from the servant receding when the head of the family slipped back inside, closing the door behind him.

"Yuki," Akito growled as soon as he had spotted the seven-year-old. He looked like he was about to walk over and give Yuki scars and bruises that would take weeks to mend, which gave the rat very minimal time to think. He was frightened by the strangely feral look to Akito's gaze, and was suddenly struck with a primitive need to make his cousin stop before he could do too much damage. What had happened in such a short amount of time to get Akito so infuriated? Only moments ago the head of the family had been not kind, but certainly gentle, at least when Yuki had shown his unconscious desire for him to stay. How had he done it? It had been a sound, something soft and high-pitched; a sign of regrettably please displeasure. He couldn't just do it again, though. He didn't even know how it had happened the first time, much less how it should be done again.

Akito took a menacing step further into the room, and Yuki felt a tremor down his spine. Something… he had to do something.

He wasn't sure what had possessed him, what he was thinking or if he was even thinking at all, but suddenly Yuki found himself pushing a quivering finger into his mouth. What am I…? the small boy wondered helplessly as his eyelids drifted down to hide his amethyst eyes, his tongue running lightly over the cold digit. He shivered at the sensation, unable to hold back the low moan that reverberated in the back of his throat.

Yuki had never touched himself. Even if he'd had the need, he never would have known to. He only had a vague idea of what sex was, and he'd never thought about it past "that's how babies are made", much less doing it for pleasure; after all, that's not how seven-year-olds were supposed to think. So it was a complete sensory overload when he felt a very slight twitch in his shorts, his mind reeling out and unable to focus on any one thing.

"It's been said that the tongue and the fingers are the most sensitive parts of the human body."

The rat's eyes jerked open to an unanticipatedly very close Akito. He couldn't believe it possible, but Yuki had really forgotten his cousin was even there. Whatever he'd done had worked, though. The anger in Akito's eyes was gone, only to be replaced with a strong possessiveness, which actually might have made Yuki's situation worse. He didn't quite give it a second thought, though, because the rat was much too preoccupied with the sound of blood rushing through his ears and a warm body slowly but surely getting closer.

"Frankly, I'd say you prove them right," the ten-year-old said, his voice a near whisper. Yuki took in a shaky breath as Akito's knuckles ghosted over his cheek, withdrawing the finger slowly from his mouth.

"Yeah," Yuki mumbled, his voice nearly inaudible. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on whatever it was Akito was saying. The head of the family had sat himself quite conveniently between Yuki's legs, the likes of which he realized were spread farther apart than he remembered them being only a moment ago. Akito hooked a steady finger over the knot of Yuki's tie, pulling it down while making sure his finger dragged along the seven-year-old's sternum, chest, and stomach, until it finally was loose, satisfied by the way the younger boy's breathing became somewhat labored.

"A-Akito, what are you…?" Yuki tried to ask, but his sentence faded into nothing. One of Akito's hands set to pulling the tie out, and Yuki barely felt the pressure from under his collar as Akito's other hand reached under his shirt, the older's fingers running feather-light over the rat's waist. It was so… nice. It made his skin prickle, made his breath shallow, his eyelids dropping and fluttering as Akito's other hand began working at the buttons of Yuki's shirt.

"You like this, hm?" the head of the family whispered, his breath tickling against the rat's pale neck, causing the younger to shiver. It didn't matter what his answer was; Akito had never gone this far, and from the lust lighting his pitch-black eyes, Yuki could see his cousin had no intention of stopping. When he had wanted comfort, when he had wished for attention from his God, he had not been prepared for something so heavy, so laden with emotions that Yuki knew he was neither mentally nor physically ready for. It felt nice, yes… but he was in over his head. What Akito was forcing… it was more than the rat had bargained for.

"No," Yuki replied, his voice a mere sigh as Akito's tongue flickered out to taste the younger's Adam's apple, his fingers taking care of the last button on Yuki's shirt.

"Really," the head of the family murmured skeptically, kissing his way up his small cousin's neck. His hands ran down the rat's thighs, and Yuki gasped loudly as his hips jerked forward compulsively, his hands shooting up to Akito's shoulders to keep his balance. Thoughts swirled around in the seven-year-old's mind faster than he could count, and the only thing that he was able to register was that his crotch had touched Akito's for the slightest second, and Yuki's eyes widened in fear when he realized there had been something hot and hard in between his cousin's legs. "I beg to differ," Akito whispered, that hungry, livid emotion practically dripping from the head of the family's words. Yuki couldn't fight as he was pushed to the ground, couldn't think while Akito undressed him, couldn't breathe as he was being taken advantage of.

Yuki had gone home that day feeling very dirty. There had been no penetration; only touches and gentle strokes and heated kisses upon his gaping mouth. It had been enough, though, to make his body feel on fire, for him to explode quickly against his cousin's eager hand, his cry muffled against Akito's lips. And as soon as the head of the family had pulled away, Yuki tugged his clothes onto his shivering self, trying to disregard the strange, sticky substance covering his hips. Akito lied on the floor, his kimono covering him loosely, and watched with disinterest as the rat hastily gathered his things, hesitating at the red hat but taking it anyways, handling it with a sober, reserved care.

When the seven-year-old was about to leave the room, Akito finally spoke up, his tone lazy.

"Nobody cares about you."

Yuki paused for only a moment before rushing out the door.

He didn't know what hurt more—that his escape from the constant thoughts of his beautiful, orange-haired cousin was narrowed down to that short time of intimacy…

…Or that his only worth in life was to be used by his God, his body merely a tool for Akito's unspeakable pleasure.

The room was dark. Shigure halted near the window, and Akito scrutinized his every move.

"Where's Yuki?"

A pause, and then: "Staying the night with a friend."

The anger from the head of the family was almost palpable.

Shigure opened a window and light poured in. He turned around. Akito's corner was still drowning in shadow.

Kakeru Manabe never moved, never once made the notion that he was uncomfortable. He merely sat there, his arms around Yuki, the words, "It's okay," leaving his mouth whenever the rat sobbed or began shaking. He didn't complain that his shirt was getting wet, didn't make fun of the rat for crying so childishly, didn't try to pull away when Yuki's arms snaked their way around Nabe's middle, decreasing the space between them.

It had been too long. The only friendly embraces in his life had been those few moment-long, usually accidental hugs with Tohru before he transformed into his rodent counterpart.

Then there had been Akito…

Another set of sobs racked at Yuki's chest, and Manabe's arms tightened around the rat's shoulders. "Yuki," Nabe said, his voice tender. His face pressed into Yuki's soft hair. The rat wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he heard Manabe say in the faintest of whispers, "You don't deserve this pain."

There would have been no way to tell, and really Yuki could care less about what time it was, but it must have been more than an hour that he sat, holding and being held. Never before in his life had he felt so warm, so safe, so… loved.

Manabe pulled away, and Yuki, who had expected to feel a sense of loss and emptiness when the embrace ended, let out a staggered breath. As if Nabe's arms still surrounded him, the warmth was still there; Manabe's very presence an insulator that fought away the cold of Yuki's fragile heart.

"Sorry," Manabe murmured. It almost looked as if the other boy was hesitant, like he wanted nothing more than to just sit there and hold the rat. "But," he chanced a shy grin, "you promised."

Yuki stared, another cluster of emotions welling up in his chest. It didn't matter how terrible his story was, and he then knew that there with the vice president; his best friend, his closest friend, all of his self-doubt was pointless. Manabe was still going to listen, was still going to care, was still going to hold him if the explanation became too overwhelming…

Manabe…

A pale hand trembling reached out, and Yuki pulled himself to Nabe, hands on his shoulders and head resting firmly against his chest. "Yeah," the rat murmured, calmed by the steady beating of Manabe's heart that pounded lightly against this cheeks. "…I promised."

Yuki felt arms drape loosely across the small of his back, and then a slight pull; not enough to move him, but a definite invitation. The rat accepted and maneuvered himself onto Manabe's lap, not moving his head from Kakeru's chest or his hands from the other's shoulders. It felt strange to him; Yuki Sohma was not supposed to break down like this, was not supposed to be so dependent on someone. But for once in his life, he felt right—like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"It… started when I was four years old." Yuki unconsciously clutched tighter to Manabe's shoulders, and Nabe returned the gesture, gently tensing his hold on the rat. "He… asked if I knew what it would mean if he kissed me, and I really didn't know… but even if I had, it wouldn't have stopped him. He has complete control over us." Amethyst eyes downcast, Yuki bit his lip and pressed himself closer to his friend. It didn't matter if it was wrong—he loved the sense of protection Manabe offered him more than anything he'd ever known. He wanted to walk away from the past that continued to haunt him, and he wanted Manabe to be there beside him every step of the way.

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
My Immortal, Evanescence

How cute, hm? I love these boys. Yukeru forever! Next chapter is probably going to be more Nabe- and NabeYu-centric. Hooray!