Disclaimer: I do not own Sailor Moon or Fruits Basket.

Hasenpfeffer

It happened like this: the school year ended, summer came, and summer left.

And some time between the end of his first year in high school and the beginning of his second, Momiji Sohma became a man.

During that transient summer break, his father – his distant father who had all but disowned him to protect his own precious wife and daughter – had initiated contact. Under the reserved acquiescence of Hatori, Momiji had spent a dutiful month with his father in Germany.

While Momiji could never possess an ounce of resentment within his fluidly compassionate heart, his stay in Germany had been a bitter reminder for a mother he didn't have. His father, for most of their stay, had kept busy with business, because business had been the main purpose of the trip. Momiji had been largely neglected, squandering away his time in solitary confinement – half self-inflicted and half compulsory.

There was something ostracizing about his diverse descent. Although most people could not tell that he was part Japanese, there was the subtle influence of his father's Asian features – the minute slant of his eyes, the faint tawny color in his skin – that stigmatized him and left him in grievous isolation. When he walked the crowded streets lined with fine shops of the latest European fashion, exquisite food, and trendy coffee shops, people took great care to walk around him. Momiji had never before felt so alone.

When summer break ended, Momiji had been too relieved to return to the familiarity and cheerful existence of Japan. Never once did he question his father why he had summoned Momiji to accompany him on such a meaningless and alienating trip. The moment his feet touched native soil, he both gratefully and reluctantly parted from his father and returned under the guardianship of Hatori.

Then, he entered his sophomore year at Kaibara High School. On the first day, no one had recognized him; he had walked to school with Hatsuharu, and upon checking his class registry, they had inadvertently parted ways. Girls from left and right came by, asking if he was new, if he was an exchange student, fawning over him. . .him! For the first time in his sixteen years of life, he had to fight off girls who had to have been Yuki's admirers only a short summer break ago. The doting attention had been overwhelming at first, and in parallel to his experience in Germany, it had been more than enjoyable.

But slowly, his cognition evolved. Although he had coveted Yuki's talent for oozing a haphazard charm to a certain degree, he began to see with a new appreciation why Yuki maintained his public appearance as the cold prince. Baffled and distressed, Momiji had made ducking into the boys' restroom during lunch an everyday habit.

And today was like any other. Except today, Momiji had also decided to play truant. His Home Economics teacher had decided rabbit stew was to be an invaluable class assignment, and that had put a damper on his spirit. Momiji stood in front of the sinks and looked forlornly into his reflection.

Apparently, it had not been a gradual transformation, but he himself had not noticed until his return to the fall school term. Puberty had taken the liberty to lengthen his entire body and deepen his voice. The bones in his face had become more pronounced, had obtained a quality that gave him a more masculine edge.

Was this what Japanese girls liked? Were his blonde hair andochre eyes the rarity of a wonder? He couldn't help but think that Japan and Germany were polar opposites.

Outside, the first bell chimed, signaling the end of class. Momiji always waited four full minutes before stepping out into the hallway.

When the second bell was exactly one minute away from ringing, something moved at the window. Curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to stare.

Perhaps something was not the correct word to describe the pair of pale arms and head of kooky butter-yellow hair. A girl squirmed over the windowsill, grasping wildly at ledges that eluded her.

"Mako-chan," she gasped out, "I'm almost in!" Finally pushing her hands on the windowsill to get some leverage, she looked up with an expression of profound relief and froze.

She blinked her big blue eyes twice, once at him, and once at the urinals. Her lips formed a round circle of surprise.

An impatient voice called from below – one that must have belonged to the girl named 'Mako-chan.'

"Usagi-chan? What's taking you so long? You're not as light as you look, you know."

Momiji started at the name. Usagi? As in a rabbit? A bunny? A kaninchen?

Suddenly, he smiled. "Hi," he said, the exact moment the bell buzzed in shrill damnation.

Usagi gaped, turned beet red in the face, and let her eyes tear up all in the space of two seconds. "Pleasedon'ttellanyoneweskippedclasswedidn'twanttocookrabbitthat'sallIswear!" Then she lost her grip and tottering dangerously on her friend, she dropped out of view.

He rushed to the window. They had been on the first floor, but the window had been high up, only a few inches away from the ceiling. Momiji pulled himself up just enough so that he could peer clearly out of it.

She sat in the grass, dazed. Now with a clear view, he realized just how small she was. Wondering bemusedly how long her hair would be if she let it down, he watched her friend place two hands on her narrow shoulders and rattle her.

"Usagi-chan! We were so close to making the bell! What happened?"

She put a hand to her head and wailed, "we almost sneaked into the boys' bathroom, Mako-chan, not the girls' bathroom – the boys' bathroom!"

They turned together to stare tentatively at the window in question. Momiji, all pale blonde hair and mirthful russet eyes, beamed at them sweetly and waved.

Usagi colored again.

"Ah," Makoto whispered in awe, "kakkoi. He reminds me of my—"

She didn't have a chance to finish as the blonde grabbed her hand and took off in a fashion not unlike her namesake.

Momiji watched them go, a striking feeling of affinity filling him. He couldn't help but blithely wonder how it was possible that anything palatable could come out of rabbit stew.