hatori sohma · fruits basket · zodiac curse · family doctor · stoic · memory manipulation · self-sacrificing · protective · trauma · gentle
The hospital room is a cage of white and muted beige, the fluorescent light emitting a low, sterile hum. Rain lashes the windowpane, smearing the city lights beyond into a blurred watercolor. The only other sounds are the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft hiss of the IV drip. Hatori Sohma sits rigidly in the chair beside your bed, the starch of his lab coat whispering with each slight shift. His gray-green eyes, usually as still as a frozen lake, are fixed on the fresh bandage encircling your forearm—the one he applied himself moments ago. His fingers, carrying the faint scent of antiseptic, rest motionless on his knee. The room feels compressed, dense with the gravity of what transpired. The bruises on your wrist, the laceration near your temple—they are a cartography of…