Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue – 2019

“Alright. My notes...” Eliza mumbled. She opened her filing cabinet with a strong yank and a squeak. She flipped through the years; 2040, 2030, 2020, 2010, 2000, 1990…

Eliza did not need another reminder of each gray hair on her head.

“Is this Doctor Eliza Halloway?”

The voice on the other end of the line was meek, gravely; with an air of kindness about it. Eliza didn’t turn down phone calls, not since that landed her co-worker in hot water. She nodded knowing the man on the other end of the line couldn’t see and said, “Yes.”

“This is Iori Hida from the Hiroki Law Firm in Nagano.”

“Oh, yes. How can I help you?” Eliza asked. She tsk’d at a papercut as she tried to straighten up her desk. Sunday was around the corner and to savor every second of it, she’d clear her mind with a hot cup of tea. One of her patients stabbed another teenager at the foster facility and she just wanted the week over with. She thought at first to not pick up the phone, but…

“You once worked with a kid, Ishida Yamato?”

She snapped up from where her nose planted in her paperwork. “Oh. Of course. He was my first patient. But that was over thirty years ago.”

“Ishida, Ishida, Ishida,” she said the name like a mantra and pulled out a manilla folder with frayed, white edges. She could still recall some of it from memory:

Ishida (Written as: Stone Field), Yamato (Written as: Great Harmony, also meaning Mountain)

Blood Type: B

Current Residence: Hikarigoaka (She scribbled that out quickly back then, replacing it with Shimane Prefecture)

Referral: Violence, Bed Wetting—She stopped there, shaking her head.

The folder was not damaged from use, but from age. She never expected she would be called to defend him in court, much less cradle that life in her hands again.

Chapter One – 2 Years Later, 2021

The first time they met, he was just a six year old boy hiding under her desk. Blue eyes, slits, glaring up at her like a cornered raccoon.

Her office was the same; bulky mahogany desk taking up the majority of the space in the back of the room. A large window with pale, cream curtains, dotted with a pattern reminiscent of birch trees, let in a good amount of sunlight. Beige walls faded behind a wall of built-ins to match the desk and an off-white leather couch. The tiny coffee table was a last minute addition given to her by a friend, so there were a few dings and a circle stain in the oval shaped darkwood, but it got the job done. The carpet was a gunmetal blue, also fading under the weight over the furniture and a potted plant near the door. The remaining wall held her credentials and a few family photos. She didn’t display the photo of her sister anymore, though.

She chuckled at the memory and compared the face of the child to the man he’d become. She only saw him in the court room as she testified to his character, which wasn’t very long at all. Fluffy, blonde spikes now short and ragged as if run through a lawn mower. His forehead wasn’t much better, with light wrinkles and a scar across the right side. He looked well enough in a suit, but even that couldn’t hide the purple tint under his eyes or yellowed stains on his fingertips.

Now, he wanted to see her again. The thought scared her at first. She only knew him as the shivering tiny boy, not this ragged grown man.

It’s been over thirty years… Even if you think you know him, you don’t, Eliza.

Normally, she wouldn’t consult for an adult. Ishida, Yamato was an exception. Not just because he was her first case, but because he remained tragic and somehow she felt the need to fix that. She blamed herself, even knowing she shouldn’t. Eliza tucked the folder under her arm again. Sure, she’d reviewed it before her testimony two years ago, but she wanted to remain sharp when he visited the next morning. She wanted to know: Why now?

The Next Day

“What you say here, stays here, remember?” She’d said that to him as a child, too.

Some familiarity would comfort him, she assumed. What did he think of her? Was it the same she thought of him? Did he look at her and see the barely 20-something psychiatrist fresh out of college with clear, porcelain skin and dark black curls or the aging woman with her grays tucked back and glasses obscuring crow’s feet?

He sat on the couch with one leg over the other. He slouched and drummed fingertips in his lap. For someone who requested to see her, he seemed anything but enthused. Much like the first time, she supposed.

“My boyfriend forced me here,” he said and gave a dry laugh. He fumbled for a cigarette and she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t say no to him yet. She had to help him. But she wasn’t sure if that was the best thing or even possible.

“Did he say why?”

“Apparently I’m too eager to punch people.” Yamato adjusted his slouch to slightly less and brushed bangs from his eyes. His hair was longer than before, Eliza noted. “You would, too, if you were worried about your children. You have kiddos right?”

Eliza blinked. She still couldn’t fathom that this was that scared child. Five minutes in and she had so many questions: Who did he punch? He has kids? But he has a boyfriend? Didn’t she testify against a so-called wife? He has kids? “Ah, no, I’m afraid I never found the one.”

He chuckled.

“You seem to find everything amusing. That’s refreshing considering you destroyed my office the last time you were here.”

“...and it hasn’t changed much at all. A few more awards,” he noted, looking over his shoulder. He stood, continued to tap his sides with one hand and smoked with the other. He tapped ash into a half-empty soda can he’d brought with him. “Lots of pictures. I thought they were yours, but I guess these are all the children you’ve helped. I’m sorry I let you down. That’s just me, honestly.”

She frowned. “Yamato… Why don’t we start at the beginning? I know that sounds so cliché, but I’m curious how you reflect on everything that happened now as an adult compared to then. Gives me a better idea where to start.”

“You are the only one that ever got me to talk about things without throwing a tantrum. Eh, mostly,” he said with a smile. Eliza liked to think he recalled throwing her zen garden across the room, sand left in the carpet for months. “It’s not any easier now that everyone knows, by the way.” Yamato returned to the couch, leg over knee again. He wouldn’t look at her directly, even when she tilted her head to try and engage. He finished the cigarette, then instinctively pulled his legs onto the couch and turned away from her. “Can we start somewhere else than all that shit? Anywhere else?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling, hoping that he would too. Not that she could see anything but stringy blond locks as he faced the wall. She started to count the gray hairs that made a tiny streak down to the base of his neck. He didn’t shift, so she didn’t lose count. Twenty-two?

His body raised slightly, like a death rattle. Eliza blinked and lost count.

“I guess... when I lost it,” he whispered. A sigh. He turned his head and let his eyes fall over her. Eliza caught herself tensing up from such a dead stare and tried to relax her posture. If he felt comfortable, she would, too. “From the outside, I had a band, a girlfriend… hobbies. My… My brother and her moved closer to Dad and me, so we could be more of a family or some shit, I dunno.”

“You said you lost it. What exactly did you lose?”

“The fact that I had all these things handed to me and I still didn’t know who Yamato Ishida was. Finding that out went about as well as the Challenger.”

December 24 ^th , 2002

Yamato took a deep breath. He'd prepped all week for the concert—and the fact the WOLVES would be televised for the first time made him second guess his set up, their set list, what pick guard to use (black would be easier to see on the cameras, he decided).

Ker-chak

He looked over to the side door as he finished finalizing the set list with a marker. No one but their manager or the band was allowed in yet. He wondered if one of the guys had brought a plus one. Of course, Yamato invited the entire Chosen Children. He only spent the last year anticipating this and he wasn’t going to stand around and let people say he won because his father just happened to work for the studio airing the competition—no, he knew he was better than that.

But then he saw her, standing there with red hair and equally red cheeks, and his thoughts stopped. She looked sort of cute in the oversized light blue coat, hat, scarf. She made an unsure noise and stepped inside. The strong wind tossed the door shut, scaring her and she jumped in her boots.

“Sora.”

He stood, worried something had happened.

Instantly, her face perked up. She nodded and she trotted over. Yamato noticed the wrapped box then—trying to hide the grimace on his face as he realized what was happening, as she awkwardly shoved the square into his hands. Not wanting to be rude, he gently pulled the ribbon away, revealing a small, home-made cake. A home made cake. On Christmas Eve. Are you…? How dense do you think I am? This is overkill, isn’t it?

He looked up from the cake to her doe-eyed expression.

“T-Thank you,” he blurted out of politeness. He hoped he didn't have to eat the entire thing himself, not being the biggest fan of sweets. At least Gabumon was nearby and he ate like a pig. He made a mental note to give most of the cake to him later.

“So?” she asked, tilting her head.

He felt his heart skip a beat, noting how her bangs were parted just so and her voice just. So? Why did her face make him feel so uncomfortable? He couldn’t pinpoint it, the idea sinking in his stomach like a fishing weight. He shifted the weight to the other foot and set the cake down on top of his amp. When he saw her in his peripheral, he wondered… Was it because she reminded him of…?

“Yamato?” she asked again, addressing him in that informal tone she'd used for three years now. Was that when her feelings started and he’d been too busy to notice? How was this happening right now?

“Does she have to spell it out for you?” Yutaka asked, nearly knocking Yamato over by rapping him on the back of the head. “Say yes or I will, man.”

Yamato's eyes darted along the concrete, following a split in the floor to her boots as he tried to decide. He couldn't think on the spot like that...! Sora was asking him out... and she was a great friend, of course. Takeru loved her, even. But Yamato hadn't thought about anyone romantically except... well, maybe Jou during their time at Digitamamon’s Diner, but Yamato wasn't even sure what he felt on that either. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women… or men… He didn’t care. Were people supposed to date at this age? What would his father say? But why was Sora so damn serious about it? The cake was basically a banner screaming ‘I Love You! Can we go steady?’...

He swallowed hard. Yutaka glared at him and Takashi and Akira eyed him, waiting for a response. He had to speak. He had to say something. He parted his lips but he didn’t know what to say.

“The concert is starting soon,” Akira said, sparing the blond a few seconds to think.

Yamato opened his mouth. “Sure. O-Of course.”

Sora grinned. “Really? I'm so glad you accept!” She bowed and then took his hands and placed kisses on them and that was the first time the blond found himself pulling away, not able to fully identify what made him do so.

August 1, 1999

At first the stench of the dishes bothered him, but now he didn't even smell it anymore. He leaned over the sink, trying to ease his aching back. He was only ten, this shouldn't be happening... but what else was supposed to happen when you were worked like a slave for the past month?

He stared at the cracks in the paint behind the sink and wondered when it would rot and fall apart.

Yamato bit his lip and stood straight, hips out, to try and ease the pain, but nothing. He had to finish the dishes before the diner opened or else. He didn’t give a fuck about the or else—it was Jou he worried about.

“Yamato~” Gabumon's voice came from the doorway. The blond turned to his equally ragged Digimon. Big paws lugged a bucket of hand towels across the small kitchen. “I'm sorry to add more on you.”

“Don't worry about it,” Yamato replied, forcing a weak smile and finishing the last dish. He hauled the bucket out the back door and around to the faucet and outside sink where he spent the rest of the early morning hand-washing them.

I could just leave, if I didn't care so damn much , he thought. But the entire reason I left in the first place was because I cared so damn much... Yamato rung the hand towel tight and grit his teeth. He felt deep down he couldn't stay or leave. At least Jou gave him some reason to stay... because if Yamato did take a chance and run for it... that or else stung in his mind.

Takeru...

That evening, the diner closed early. Yamato and Jou thought this to be a boon and that they could finally snag a rest, but Digitamamon had other plans. He forced them to clean the ceiling fans, clean behind the equipment, power wash the siding... The whole ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ mentality was alive and well in the giant, stinking egg monster.

“His boss is coming, that’s all,” Yamato muttered. He slid to the floor with his head between his knees and his arms stretched. He held his hands up next, picking at the dry skin from all the dishwater destroying his palms. He missed wearing his gloves. “That's all this is.”

“Eh, what do you mean?” Jou questioned. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, adjusted his glasses after they slid, and unboxed a light bulb.

“When places like this know a bigwig or an inspector is coming, they make you do all this shitty stuff that is 'by the book'. Otherwise, it's a waste of labor that could be used for more customers. My father did an entire report on a place like this dump last summer.”

“Do Digimon have inspectors? Regulations?”

Yamato grinned, not realizing how ridiculous he sounded before. He sat up as Gabumon and Gomamon raised a ladder. “You're right. Maybe Digitamamon has a date.” Then the blond snorted and laughed for the first time in weeks. Even just the brief respite made his cheeks ache from use.

Once the ladder was under the fan, Yamato snatched the bulb from Jou’s hand and started up a rung with one boot.

Jou watched as the boy climbed the ladder, twisted in the last bulb, and then hopped part of the way down. Around the time they finished gathering the trash and hauling the ladder back to the boiler room, the front door opened and a tall, leafy Digimon walked through. She looked like a giant walking thornbush, with a rose for a head and a long whip tied at her waist. Although one couldn't see her eyes, her sneering was apparent, especially when her head tilted to the two humans and their Digimon.

“You must be the new employees,” she said. She could see beyond her mask. “...he's not working you hard enough. Perhaps you’re better suited… Well, I won’t get ahead of myself.”

Yamato was about to snap back on instinct when he felt Jou's hand on his arm and stilled himself. The plant Digimon passed them into the back of house, ultimately up to Digitamamon's office, mumbling something about 'not broken enough' and 'business deals' and 'fresh meat'. The quad ignored it and started for the kitchen, but Yamato stopped.

There was a scent in the air and he suddenly felt sick, as if he hadn't eaten in months or as if he'd contracted some kind of flu. He fell to a knee and Gabumon rushed over to him.

Jou turned, “Are you alright?”

Yamato wanted to answer, but even he wasn't sure what was going on. His mind felt lost somewhere distant. Images flashed in his vision, of being in the tub or laying on a bed or just sitting on the couch watching TV—back before his parents divorced. He couldn't hear Gabumon anymore. He just heard his mother's voice and the feeling turned from nausea to dizziness. The soft paw he normally felt was like nails digging into his skin, trying to hold him down. He swatted Gabumon away from him, “Don't touch me...” he sobbed and backed away. He crawled to the nearest table and tucked into his knees again. His body shivered. “Don't… Don’t...”

Yamato wondered if he'd fallen into some other dimension until he felt Jou hugging him tightly. Yamato wriggled in his embrace at first, trembling. But then Jou’s warmth and quiet voice soothed him, brought him back to reality. “It's okay... Yamato, snap out of it… You’re safe.”

Yamato took a deep breath as if waking from a nightmare. He scrambled away, face red with shame. What kind of guy freaked out so halphhazardly?! “What happened?”

“You freaked out on us,” Gomamon said, giving Yamato a nudge on the hand.

“If I didn't know better, you disassociated,” Jou said, not able to look the boy in the eyes. “I've had to read a lot about things like that.”

Yamato eyed the hand Gomamon booped and noticed he was still trembling. He felt like his nerve endings were firecrackers.

“I smelled something strange. I felt sick.”

“Gas leak?” Gabumon wondered.

“No. The roses. The scent of roses,” Yamato realized and he doubled over his side again, luckily finding an empty box from the cleaning to throw up in. Jou stepped slowly to him and rubbed between Yamato’s shoulders. The blond smiled before dry heaving, thinking, Jou must have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. Everything made him sick.

“Either way, you should go rest. I'll get some water from Digitamamon.”

Yamato turned with wild eyes at Jou and reached up and grabbed the older boy's wrist, “N-No. Do you know how many weeks that will cost us?”

Jou twisted his arm when Yamato's grip became too tight. “A-Alright. But I am gonna get some water from the lake to cool you down. You’re burning up. Uh, and you’re still… crying...”

Yamato sat back and raised a hand to his cheek. His fingertips were wet. “I… I'm fine.” He shook his head and climbed to his feet. A twirl despite the shaking voice: “Look at me.” A fake smile.

Jou pointed to the kitchen and Yamato, dragging his feet, started out to the boiler room behind the diner. He knew once Jou went doctor mode he wouldn’t get out of it.

What happened to me? Disassociated? Because I smelled roses? Yamato snorted. He went inside and lay in the bed of straw. Ridiculous. Just because they reminded me of her. Who cares about her anyway?! I'm an entire dimension away from that fucking bitch.

“Yamato,” Gabumon called from the end of the make-shift bed. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah. Can I just be alone for awhile, Gabu?”

Gabumon would, of course, respect Yamato's wishes. The blond curled up tight again. He didn't want to admit the worst part of the entire ordeal. He continued to shed tears in silence, grimacing in anger at his continuing emotional outburst among other things. He shifted his legs at the growing discomfort between them.

Why did remembering her... what she did... make me sick but also make me feel like this? React like this? I hate it. I hate it as much as I did then! I don't like it, I don't... I can't... Why do I have to feel good?

Yamato tossed again. He'd never be able to sleep like he was. Jou showed up not long after, telling the Digimon to keep watch as he usually did, then the blond heard the familiar clink of Jou's glasses being set down and the candle was blown out.

“Yamato...” Jou whispered. “You awake?”

Should I answer him? The boy wondered. He’d never understand. I can’t tell anyone… not again.

“Why does it sound like you’re lying to me? What kind of summer camp counselor makes students slave in a kitchen?”

“It’s the truth,” Yamato snapped. He couldn’t tell her the complete truth, of course. Explaining the Digital World would have him committed. Although, some days, that didn’t seem so bad of an idea.

“Jou, that’s the name of your boyfriend isn’t it?” Eliza asked, putting the two together. She tucked her pen behind her ear and leaned back. “You’ve known him awhile. He testified after me, I think? I mean, you had quite the support system at the trial. You’ve come a long way since you were a kid.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“You had a flashback, you know. A post-traumatic stress flashback,” Eliza explained. “Are you still having them?”

“Yeah, that was the first time I realized what it was… They’re rarer now, especially now that the wicked witch is dead and all… But the next time that happened was so, so much worse…” His voice cracked and he turned back to the wall again.

December 24 ^th , 2004

“You didn’t change the line?”

“This is our last concert and you’re still harping on me about it?”

“It’s your last concert,” Yutaka muttered. “No one wants to hear that crap.”

Yamato grit his teeth. At this rate he wasn’t going to make it to his last practice, at least not without murdering Yutaka and throwing his corpse into the crowd first. “I’m not censoring myself because you’re squeamish.”

“Have some respect,” Yutaka said.

Yamato watched as the redhead set up the drums and paused for a second to light a cigarette. The bar was empty now and as he looked out from the stage across the room, he thought of the fans filing in, expecting one thing and getting another. “Have some respect for my artistic integrity, asshole.”

“I am SO glad you’re gonna be gone,” Yutaka chuckled. “I’m one step away from kicking you out right this fucking second.”

“I have no qualms punching a fiftieth hole into your ugly face,” Yamato snapped.

The two men glared at one another and a fight was sure to break out, but for some reason, Yutaka held back. He just grinned and continued adjusting a cymbal, gave a chuckle. “Do whatever you want. It won’t matter, like you said.”

Yamato took a long drag and let the smoke out in the drummer’s direction, then headed backstage. Akira and Takashi were talking a few feet away. He stole Takashi’s water bottle and the vodka inside with it and chugged it, returned it, and said: “I’m going to get away from that fuckface for a few minutes, anyone wanna come with me to the konbini?”

“I’ll go,” Akira said. “My mom is after some limited edition noodle cup and I told her I’d look when I had time, so…”

“I’ll go talk to Yutaka,” Takashi whined. “You owe me, Aki.”

“It’s fucking cold,” Yamato said. He zipped up his brown leather coat and nuzzled into the thin wool flaps. “This is still better than being around Yutaka another fucking second.”

Akira stayed silent. Yamato appreciated that. When they got to the convenience store, Akira found the Jack Frost Mascot Noodle Cup and Yamato left with a mini bottle of nihonshu and Mintia mints. They also grabbed sandwiches to split between the band, since they wouldn’t eat until late into the evening. Halfway between the shop and the bar, the two stopped to split a sandwich.

“I missed breakfast,” Akira admitted. “I figured you wouldn’t wanna eat with Yutaka, anyway.”

Yamato grinned. “So, Takashi said you were leaving, too…”

“I might have to miss a few practices,” he said. Akira watched as grey clouds cast a shadow across the street and people disappeared down into the subway. Others took out their umbrellas, expecting rain. Maybe snow. “I've been traveling a lot lately, and my Mom misses me.”

The blond wrinkled his nose and started to chug the tiny bottle from the shop. Akira never questioned about the fake ID, so Yamato avoided an explanation. Feeling guilty, Yamato began to apologize. About the wrong subject, but an apology nonetheless. “Sorry about fighting with Yutaka. He is purposely trying to rile me up. He knows I can’t change what I’ve written. That’s like… lying to yourself.”

A snort from the dark-haired pianist. “Change isn’t always bad. But I get where you’re coming from. Personally, don’t care either way. I had fun with you guys, but this life isn’t for me.”

“Guess we better get back. I can’t feel my fingers.” Yamato didn’t wanna say he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the alcohol and he flexed his fingers as he followed his bandmate towards the venue.

“You should invest in a good pair of gloves,” Akira said, holding up his own. They looked to cost quite a bit. Red, beautiful stitchwork. He pulled one on, then the other with a tight creak of leather. Too bright for Yamato’s taste.

“They’re so much of a hassle, though…”

Back at the venue, fans filed in. The stage stood to the left side with a wide open floor. A bar with bright blue and purple lights was tucked under the upper level with tables and chairs. For now the area was bright and the bassist couldn’t wait for the lamps to dim. The floor shimmered from a fresh but dry wax and by the end of the night, Yamato knew his shoes would stick from the filth.

The band waited backstage, Yutaka occasionally looking out to see when his sister would arrive. Yamato had his own share of anxiety waiting for Mimi on the stairs (away from the fluorescence). The building usually ran cold, but when full of lights and people, it made Yamato sweat. He set his jacket to the side and smoked as he waited.

When Mimi finally arrived, he hopped up and hugged her tight. She dressed a bit more modest than normal, aside the plunging neckline. The dark pink dress ran to her heels. Yamato only noticed her shoes because they weren’t just platforms but see-through jelly platforms with star glitter floating inside. She went all out on the make up, though. Glossy lips and eyeliner, the works. The blond wasn’t really sure about all that, only doing the bare minimum himself. What was the point when the bar was so dark no one would notice? “You made it.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking back her hair. A golden spiral earring danced as she cocked her head to the side. “Look who I found on my way in~”

Yamato looked past the brown locks and pink streaks to see Sora standing a few feet back. She had her usual blue blazer on but slipped it down over her shoulders, revealing bare, sun-kissed skin. Perhaps she was still in tennis—she didn’t talk about it, so he never asked. Her tube top was crimson and he thought: I’ve never seen her dress like that. How did she get it past the old bat?

She pouted a bit but when their eyes met, she smiled. He broke one embrace and, trying to keep his balance from the alcohol hitting him, he walked to Sora and managed an arm around her shoulder. She tugged at her skirt a bit, as if caught under her high heels. “You okay?”

Sora smiled. “Of course.”

“Evin said he would meet you up top,” Yamato explained, turning back to Mimi.

“Thanks, Yamato. I mean, it means a lot. A leg in the door and all that,” Mimi said. She giggled. “Sora, I’ll come hang out with you after I sing my single with them. Sound good?”

“Sure…” she said again. “Sounds wonderful.”

Yamato wasn’t sure what was going on with his girlfriend. Usually, she clung to him unable to let go. What had changed? Mimi was there, but being best friends, he couldn’t imagine them fighting. Was she… jealous? Yamato smiled, almost snorted to himself. He pulled Sora tighter to him, even if it made his stomach churn. “I… gottaget on stage,” he said, partially slurring the words together.

“I’ll go talk to Evin and join you guys after the first song,” Mimi said.

Mimi gave the couple a wave and headed to the mezzanine to discuss her future under the label. Truthfully, Yamato had just asked her to do back up vocals on a song he couldn’t shake. He never expected their manager to want to meet with Mimi Tachikawa. Not that the young woman wasn’t talented, but just that Yamato suspected even she wasn’t planning to make a full time gig out of singing.

“I hope it goes okay,” Yamato started. He headed for the stairs and picked up his coat.

“Do you know what day it is?” Sora asked. Her heels clicked behind him. She sat on the stairs with her hands cupping her face. She glanced up at her boyfriend, lips pursed—in a cute way at first. Yamato held the rail and stared down at her. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he slipped his leather bomber over her back. She sat up in frustration and seemed to force a smile again when she turned to him. “Do you know?”

“I… Of course,” Yamato said. He couldn’t not remember... Having your anniversary on Christmas Eve was impossible to misplace. “Our second anniversary.”

Bright, hibiscus eyes lit up. “So you did remember!”

“Sora, you know me better than that. Hell, half the reason you asked me out was because you think I’m considerate, right?” Yamato said all this in a long ramble, half-laughing with drink as he stepped past her and headed towards the stage. “I’ll see you… aft-after.”

He stood a few feet back from the rest of the band as they waited for the opener to finish. 13 ^th Floor was an American band, promoting a new album. Yamato looked up the lyrics once with a dictionary and remembered liking them. Hearing them in person, even with only a mild understanding of words, really cemented that feeling for him.

Through the opening to the stage he could see to the top level and Mimi and Evin talking away. Yamato patted his pockets. He left his cigarettes in his coat. However, the liquid courage stayed in his jean pocket and he chugged the remainder before stepping out with everyone else. He found his bass on a stand under the spotlight and ran his fingers down her neck before lifting the strap over his head.

He squinted, the lights seeming brighter than usual. He managed the first song okay, slurring the occasional word. Mimi joined for her single and it went well, too, aside a few strings buzzing under bad finger placement.

It wasn’t until the end of the set that Takashi was snapping at him to hold it together. Akira didn’t say anything. Yutaka had a hand over his face in annoyance that would boil over any minute.

Yamato couldn’t accept that this was his life. His future gone in an instant—the band throwing him away like everyone always did. His chest felt heavy and he struggled to find his voice as the last song started. He looked down at Sora and Mimi, wondering where the rest of his friends were. Gone, like Gabumon, he supposed. That was when he lost it.

Maybe he could have held on if he could keep playing, keep singing. But the thought of starting over and continuing to juggle his relationship didn’t appeal to him. He wanted things to stay the way they’d always been—he wanted Gabumon to always be beside him. He wanted all his friends a phone call away. Why was everything fracturing like a broken mirror so suddenly?

Yamato thought he may faint. He could hear the band starting up again after he failed to sing, but it sounded far away.

“I can’t,” he whispered, barely audible in the microphone. “I… don’t care about this anymore.”

“Hey, knock it off,” Takashi hissed, leaning in. “This is your cue you know.”

“I’m not doing this anymore!” Yamato screamed, throwing his hands out to his sides. He shoved Takashi back and grabbed the microphone from the stand. The free weight of his bass dug into his back and he removed it, holding it by the neck in his free hand as he spoke: “The WOLVES are done. I don’t know if you heard.” Yamato said this with a sickening chuckle. He wasn’t sure how many words were coming across through his tangled lips and slow tongue. “But I’m being thrown out like garbage, so…”

“Yamato, calm down,” Akira said, appearing next to him. He looked to Takashi.

The blond lifted his bass and held it over his head. He took a breath, eyes closed. What the Hell was he about to do? He only knew he was gripping the cherry wood tighter with each passing second, the strings groaning under his grip. In a second smashed it, sending red wood flying over the front row, a sharp snap of strings. He raised the dangling wires and metal and brought it down again with a shriek. Gasps erupted and when Yamato opened his eyes, he only saw red.

“Fuck you, fuck her, fuck this,” he screeched until he felt hands on his forearms and his feet went limp as he was pulled back. The two men struggled and Takashi quickly attempted to play something to fill the sound of the confused patrons, but ultimately gave up as the roar of their muttering grew louder.

Yutaka dragged his ex bandmate from the stage and sat him down in a chair and tried to give a lecture, but Yamato didn’t let the words through. He didn’t have to listen to them anymore. Yutaka didn’t relent though: “You can’t just act like a baby because you’re falling apart for whatever fucking reason. You’re a walking cliché and it’s fucking pathetic,” Yutaka said. “Figures, you didn’t get your way and you’re throwing a fit.”

“You ruined my life,” Yamato spat. “Get the Hell away from me!”

“Yamato!” Sora called from the stairs. She rounded the corner and went to him, held his face in her hands. His bangs stuck to his forehead, so she brushed them back. He had a few small cuts from the flying shards of wood, maybe he got licked by a string, but he was fine. On the outside. She reached in to kiss his cheek and he stood, shoving the two away from him. He headed for the exit. Sora looked to Yutaka and then back to Yamato and went after him.

The cold air outside sent chills across Yamato’s skin and he finally found a corner to puke in. He heard Sora’s footsteps. He saw her simple, red heels near his knees. He started to shiver, but then again, it was starting to snow. “I didn’t realize this upset you that much,” she whispered.

Yamato clung to the brick wall. He had to say something to her. He knew deep down it wasn’t just the band kicking him out that was making him so mad. It wasn’t Sora smothering him. There was something else there he didn’t know how to describe, still tugging at him after he’d buried it under a perfect facade. “Nothing matters, you know,” he choked out.

“Of course. You’re feelings are hurt. That’s bound to happen.”

“Sure, Akira is abandoning me, too, but Yutaka will keep the ‘real spirit of the band alive’! Won’t he?” Yamato laughed and coughed back bile.

Sora rubbed his back, much as Jou had back in the diner. Yamato could only think: This doesn’t feel the same. There’s nothing here. Nothing in me. And that’s not Sora’s fault. She doesn’t deserve this.

She helped him stand. “I could cheer you up,” she said. “I won’t abandon you. I didn’t in the digital world and I won’t now.”

Yamato wanted to protest—she’d left them all for quite some time back then. Sort of. But he didn’t have the energy for semantics. He knew what she meant. “S-Sorry,” he mumbled. More of a question than an apology. The door opened and Yamato was aware of Mimi standing there, but said nothing. Sora and her talked a moment—something about Mimi taking care of things. Sora handed Mimi the coat, Mimi said something about his bass, and then Sora took Yamato’s hand in hers and lead him from the alley.

“Let’s make this evening better,” she said and pulled him close.

Snow already reached their ankles as they walked down the street. Yamato stumbled over his boots. Sora said it was cute, how clumsy he was.

“Memory is kinda fuzzy, after that…”

Eliza rolled her eyes at him. Not something a psychiatrist would do, but something a friend would do in a playful way. “You had way more to drink then than you’re telling me. What else aren’t you telling me?”

“Caught me,” Yamato chuckled. “I knew it was the anniversary. I didn’t wanna deal with that. I didn’t wanna hurt Sora’s feelings then. I figured, I’ll tell her after the New Year. What Akira told me on the bus to Osaka… He was right… But I was too... considerate.”

Neon lights hurt Yamato’s eyes. He squinted a lot. He followed Sora’s voice and footsteps. They entered a room and sat down. Yamato thought that the room was covered in blood, but in retrospect and sober, he realized where she had taken him. Heart shapes and glass and a giant bed. His boots untied but not removed. His jacket… where the Hell did he leave it? He couldn’t remember anymore.

He didn’t blame her for what happened next. He should have. He should have realized. If anything, Yamato should have been able to tell her before something bad happened. But everytime he spoke up, no one believed him. Why would she? She thought he was perfect . Nothing bad happened to perfect people.

“Come on, this is getting dumb,” Sora said. She had her hands over his and Yamato became very aware he had a palm on each breast. He pulled back instinctively. He felt his body shifting around, half awake, until a weight was on top of him. “Doesn’t it feel good?” she asked him.

Yamato’s body reacted, of course. He couldn’t help that. But as she brushed her hips across him, he didn’t see his friend anymore. He wanted to say no and tried to take her hands away, but as soon as he did they returned to his face and her lips on his. He moved against her slightly—not consciously. He looked into her eyes, but they were closed. The way her hair fell, the sounds escaping her throat, the heat against his.

Yamato pushed back. “Don’t.”

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she asked, concern escalating into desperation as she held him close to her chest. The soft flesh against his face… “It’s been two years. All my friends keep asking me, when, when? I bet you already tell the guys we’ve done it.”

Where did this Sora come from? Yamato didn’t recognize it. As if there were someone pulling her strings. Not just peer pressure. He knew her better than that. This had to be a joke. Maybe she was drunk, too?

He didn’t have time to question further, Sora’s face now a blob in tear smeared vision. Sweat. His heart trying to punch through his ribcage. He jolted up.

“No, nonono.”

“Why won’t you touch me?” Sora whined and shoved him down again. She stared into his eyes for an answer, but he wasn’t in the room anymore; somewhere far away. Somewhere in the past he didn’t want to place. He felt scratchy covers and heard moaning. The scent of flowers.

Sora struggled with his arms a minute before he started scratching at the air. Nails caught her skin, drawing droplets of blood to the surface.

“What’s gotten into you?” she shrieked. He thought she turned away, but no, he’d hit her in a panic. She clutched at her face.

“You fucking bitch. Don’t touch me!”

He shoved her back again. She gave him a good slug towards his nose. That was one thing about Sora, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that her intentions were truly malicious. Or, were they? Hadn’t he just complained about how everyone had changed since the Digital World closed? He flailed under her and they both fell to the floor.

“Bitch!” he shrieked. “Not again.” Yamato only knew he was crying because the dark puddles on the ground were different from the dark red dripping from the bridge of his nose. He dug his nails into the carpet and thought: That isn’t right. We don’t have carpet. “S-Sora,” he whispered, turning to look at her, crumpled on the floor. “You’re not…” Yamato turned back to stare at the moist carpet, realizing what he’d done. He heard Sora crying and saw in his peripheral as she held her face. He couldn’t breathe. He choked and whimpered and scrambled halfway from the floor to the door. He turned the knob with both hands and pulled himself up. He heard her calling after him but he couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t admit what he’d done, much less explain why.

“She would have thought I was making excuses. I don’t…” Yamato stood as he told the event and looked out Eliza’s window. “I don’t remember after that. I don’t even know how I got home.”

Yamato’s hands shook violently with his keys and he dropped them, instead opting to slam his cut fists on the door. He leaned his forehead against it when he heard his brother’s voice on the other side. Takeru opened the apartment door.

“You’re home…” he stated.

The blond wiped his nose on his shirt as he entered and shoved past Takeru. He saw his father over at the couch and immediately turned away. He marched to his room, trying to contain his sobs. His nerves were on fire, his brain was in a fog. He just wanted away. Away from the damn memories that haunted him and made him hurt everyone around him.

“Yamato?” Hiroaki asked. He stood, hand on the back of the couch as he tried not to trip over his own worry. “What happened?”

Yamato stumbled across the threshold of his bedroom door and clawed it shut. He smeared blood on the panels as he struggled to stand on jelly legs. He couldn’t stop each inhale, more desperate than before, as he tried to separate Sora’s gentle smile from his mother’s in his memory.

“What’s wrong, Nii-san?” Takeru asked, pressing his nose into the frame.

Yamato thought of his concerned sibling on the other side and fell to the floor. He knew he couldn’t tell anyone what happened. No one would believe him. He had to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it would go away. He screamed a curse and kicked at the empty air. Then, he crawled to a pile of laundry to sleep. He could worry about the damage in the morning.

Hiroaki squeezed his youngest son’s shoulder and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”

The room went dark and quiet as the scene on the movie shifted.

Masashi Ebara’s voice echoed: “We just lost the moon.”

The silence from the film hung in the air alongside Takeru’s wide-eyed gaze. Hiroaki struggled to light a cigarette as she headed for the balcony. “Do you want me to take you home? Takeru?”

Takeru knocked on his brother’s bedroom door. “No, I’ll stay.”

No answer.

“That’s when the worst year of my life started… I haven’t told anyone about it… I dunno how it didn’t come up at the trial, but… Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this…” He put his nose between his knees and groaned. He ignored everything from then and knew that if he discussed it now he would have to face all the shame and guilt and anger he buried. He wanted to run away. But he wasn’t a child anymore. He didn’t have to hide himself like he did back then… He thought of Hanako and Tsukuyomi. His kids needed him now more than ever. He had to get through this.

“I’d love to hear it, if you’re up to it,” Eliza said. “Remember, what you say here stays here.”

Yamato gave a weak smile and nodded.

Chapter Text

Yamato walked in, a cinnamon stick between his teeth. He growled, nodded at Eliza, and tossed the stick in her trash. He pulled out a cigarette. “Stupid. I've got enough going on right now.”

“Just, let yourself in,” Eliza said with a chuckle.

“Jou keeps trying to get me to quit. I tell him it's not a good time and he doesn't fucking listen. But we're not here to talk about the good parts of my life, I guess.”

“We can talk about whatever you want,” Eliza corrected. She nodded at him and he went to the couch with a huff. After a few minutes of silence, she decided to steer him in some direction, since he stalled. “Tell me about Osaka. You mentioned Osaka.”

Yamato scoffed. “Why does that matter?”

Eliza twisted her ankle over the weekend. She got her relaxation and then some. She could stand on it with help from her chair. She never wanted to be stuck in bed against her will again.

“You cared enough to mention it.”

The blond sat on the couch with his boots on the coffee table, ankles crossed. He had some courtesy to slide the magazines to the side. “I... I didn't even talk about this at the trial,” he said. He stared Eliza down today. Something had upset him more than usual. “I don't... This was before everything with Sora. A year, a year before...” Yamato trailed off, reached for his ear. Eliza could see a barbell earring with an orange gemstone. There was another on the other side, but she couldn't tell the color in the afternoon light. The earring looked new as well. Impossible to have been significant. Yamato pulled his legs back, leaned forward and rocked for a moment, trying to breathe. “K-Keito, you want me to tell you about the time I met her, but that means I have to tell you about… when I… I...” his voice cracked at the end and Eliza hopped over to him. He shakily raised the cigarette to his lips.

“It's okay,” she whispered.

“I k-killed her...”

December 20^th, 2003

“Why did we have to go all the way out to Osaka again?” Akira sighed. He leaned his head against a nearby concrete pillar. He kept adjusting the weight of the keyboard and case, shifting between hands.

“I don't have space,” Yamato muttered and smoked. The two were shoved into a corner, far away from the yellow line, waiting for the subway. Even the blond found himself rotating his shoulder as the muscles tightened under the weight of his bass and his portable amp. “Yutaka's parents are renovating their house. Again. Can you believe that?”

“I swear they do it once a year, so yeah.”

“It's been almost a year since those monsters interrupted the band contest,” Akira noted. He checked his watch. “I'm glad we just have a nice, simple gig at that bar in Akihabara this year.”

“Same,” Yamato said. “You know, if Yutaka’s parents lousy job is the reason we can’t practice and don’t make it big, I’m holding it against them.”

Akira could only roll his eyes.

Yamato put out the cigarette between his fingers as the train pulled in.

They boarded. In the evening it was easy to find a nice, quiet car to sit down and relax. They still had a few hours by subway to go and each boy took a breath. Akira set his keyboard above Yamato's head somewhere and then held himself up with one of the hanging handles. He took out a book and skimmed it, occasionally glancing over to show his bandmate that he wasn't ignoring him completely.

Yamato reached out to his side, half-expecting Tsunomon or Gabumon to be there. At least, Takeru, since that was the majority of his train time before, taking his brother back and forth. Then he thought of the Digital World and how the gate opened so randomly, he wasn't sure when he'd see his best partner again. He hoped in time for Christmas, just once more.

“Akira,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. Yamato’s new jeans weren’t worn in and they strained under his tall frame. “Any plans coming up for the holidays?”

“Mom invented a new board game, so I'm probably going to be stuck testing the rules for hours. I'll still be in town for the concert, though. You?”

“Sora said something about our anniversary… I dunno.”

“Don't leap with joy,” Akira replied.

“I'm just tired,” Yamato defended. “I didn't wanna be out this far, either, but if we don't practice how are we gonna get the new song right?”

“You mean the part you and Yutaka can't get right.” Akira side eyed the blond. Yamato growled to himself and leaned back with his arms behind his head. Akira lowered his book to his side and continued: “If you two can't go back to cooperating then this band is going to dissolve.”

“You act like I don't know that. He's the one with no sense of fucking rhythm.”

“You have to decide on something. You both can't be this stubborn.”

“Ever since Sora and I... I wish he'd just ask her out so I didn't have to deal with it. Her and him,” Yamato mumbled. “I’d tell her I’m not interested, but I can't hurt her like that, she's one of my best friends. We’ve been through too much together… this’ll kill her.”

“So leading her on is better?” Akira asked, wrinkling his nose. “Maybe you should break up with her. If Yutaka had her to focus on maybe he'd stop taking out his issues on you.”

“I wish.”

“...you didn't want a girlfriend?”

Yamato crossed his legs the opposite direction and met Akira's dark eyes for a second. “I don't know. I wasn't thinking a lot about it. I mean, Jun was harassing me before that and then Sora comes up to me outta the blue and Yutaka's egging me on. I didn’t wanna make her look like a fool. She was so serious about it... I even had the passing thought that maybe Jun would finally let me alone, so it seemed like a good idea then.” (“Yeah, she was how much older than us?” Akira chimed in.) “Sora made home-made chocolate—”

“Intense.”

“That's what I'm saying. She backed me into a corner. Like, almost intentionally. Shows up before the big contest, asks me in front of all my friends and our friends, hands me home made cake like we’re already high school sweethearts! I just wanted to perform in the contest—dating was the last thing on my mind. She put all her feelings out like that so suddenly; I didn’t see it coming.”

“You’re running in circles, man. Relax. I’m sorry I brought it up,” Akira said. He nudged Yamato from across the traincar, trying to make him relax. But something was off. As if his mind was somewhere else, somewhere scarier. Akira thought for a second, flipping the pages of his book between his fingers. “Well, maybe after your anniversary you can tell her. I know you said you've known her awhile. Just let her down easy, or whatever. Like, since you two are childhood friends or whatever, this should be easier, not harder.”

“I guess... Can we talk about anything else? This is depressing,” Yamato said. “I know the band sucks right now and I don’t wanna talk about that, either. I'll... try to find some middle ground or something, for fuck’s sake.”

“That's all me and Takashi ask. Like, you two have sounded horrible for like, the last three months. Notice how poor we are? Heck, Takashi said he had to take a part time job to keep his school dorm.”

“Anything else!” Yamato repeated and ran his hands over his face.

“Fine. Christmas presents?”

“I didn't ask Dad for anything this year,” the blond admitted. “After the scooter for my birthday and I had to borrow so much for Sora. Ugh, I don't wanna think about it.”

“What would you ask for then if you weren't such a nice son? I bet your old man gets you something anyway.”

“My big amp is a bit moth-eaten.”

“Gee, wonder why. Is it because it's from the fifties?”

Yamato grinned. “It sounds better than that new trash Takashi somehow afforded and uses. And how about you?”

“I asked for a ticket home.”

“Inaba, right? That backwoods place? Reminds me of Shimane.”

“It's not so bad,” Akira said. “Well, when the fog rolls in everyone loses their minds about a curse or something, but I don’t mind. I get to stay in my room and read.”

“...what are you reading?”

“Nightlife Hotspots,” Akira replied.

Yamato looked at the book—a picture of the local ferris wheel on the cover, at night. “Oh, Odaiba Seaside Park. It’s beautiful at night. You taking a date?”

“Ah, no, nothing like that. I guess, this was just the newest thing at the store.”

“How much do you read?!”

“Maaan, I wish I had time to explore The Nation’s Kitchen!” Yamato whined. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the variety of restaurants and food. The smell reminded him of the diner, but he ignored that. He saw places and ads for dishes he’d read about and wanted to replicate—but that costed money. Osaka was the land of merchants and food and he fake cried remembering how poor he was.

Akira patted him on the back. “Maybe we’ll find a suitcase full of money and we can eat until we drop! We just got a little further to walk and we’ll be in Nishinari.”

“Don’t remind me,” Yamato said. He pulled his hood over his head, hoping to detract from his deliquent look. “Keep an eye out for any yakuza.”

Akira sighed. “Stop sounding like a God damn tourist. The place is only dangerous if you want it to be.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Akira reminded. “You don’t look as foreign as you think. A punk, sure. You’ll fit right in.” The two walked a little further, then checked the cross streets. Takashi was somewhere in this residential area… The majority of the structures were apartment complexes. They finally found a run down area of a few actual homes all squished together. Yamato remembered seeing a picture in a book of a brownstone in New York, which it sort of reminded him of, but even more cramped and no sidewalk. When they finally approached Takashi’s house, Akira joked they only recognized it because of the ‘diamond shaped bars on the windows’ that Takashi mentioned. They found said guitarist in the small garage on the other side of the stairs that lead up to the main floor. One could barely squeeze a car inside and Yamato could see the space the drums were taking up would already have him and Takashi almost playing in the street. But they didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Are you profiting?!” Takashi greeted, as his father and local merchant, would. He held up a can in one hand and waved with the other as the boys approached.

“Does it look like we’re rolling in cash?” Akira snorted.

“Is Yutak-asshole here yet?” Yamato asked as he set down his bass. He immediately removed it from the case to look it over. He’d switched back to the black pick guard and admired a tiny scratch he would have to buff out later.

“Yeah, he had to go take a piss,” Takashi said. “Any trouble finding the place?”

“Sorta… how the Hell does your family afford a house out here?” Akira wondered.

“It’s still a shithole,” Yamato mumbled.

Takashi took a long drink and explained, somewhat slurring: “My father’samerch ant. Famous in Osakaprop er!” Takashi pointed down the street, in the direction the boys came from, but the two bandmates were most focused on the can in their guitarist’s hand they shouldn’t have around.

Yutaka returned through the garage door and waved at the two men before sitting down at his drum set. “Alright, you dragged us all out here to get this damn song right, so let’s do it so we can get home.”

Yamato twisted his lips. This wasn’t his fault. If anything, it was Yutaka’s fucking fault. If he would just go with the flow and feel what Yamato was playing maybe they could form a coherent beat for Takashi to emphasize—!

“Here,” Takashi said and handed Yamato a beer from the nearby mini fridge.

“Ah, no. I don’t drink,” Yamato replied.

Takashi pulled the blond close. “Look, Yutaka’s already making you clench your fists. Relax a little. My parents don’t care, they bought me the stuff. So we can’t get in trouble, capiche?”

“Ugh, no French.”

“It’s Italian, actually.”

“Whatever.” Yamato gingerly took the can and set it near his feet. Maybe he would open it. Everyone in the country drank once they became an adult, anyway. But he knew at his age he shouldn’t. Yet, the appeal of being able to relax lured him in more as the evening passed. They practiced the set until that song came up and on their third attempt to make something audible, a screeching interrupted them.

“Yuta~ Yuta!”

“What? What do you want, sis?!” Yutaka barked.

The entire band stopped. Somehow, they could coordinate a groan in unison but not a fucking melody. Yamato turned to see a young woman at the door leading into Takashi’s house. Yamato thought: That is the sister Yutaka had mentioned now and then, I guess? An older sister, actually. She wore a long sleeve shirt that went past her fingertips, tight black denim jeans, and socks with bunnies on them. For a moment, Yamato lost himself in her angled but cute face, green eyes. Her hair was tucked back, poking out every direction like a flame. She waved to the guys, giving a smile. Yamato noticed her nose ring then, shining under the light of the single bulb hanging above them in the garage.

She turned back to her brother, scowling: “I’m bored! I wanna hang out with you guys!”

“Whatever. Do I look like I care?!”

“You sound awful! Why are you… Ugh, move!” The girl walked over and shoved her brother from the drums and nodded to Yamato and waved her arms in a “go go” motion. “Play it again.”

Yamato trembled as he tried to find the damn strings but couldn’t take his eyes away from her. He managed to play the song, save a few of the first notes buzzing under his fingertips.

The young woman nailed it first try. She stood and flipped back a few stray bangs. “That’s all there is to it.”

“You were great,” Yamato said. He consciously suppressed the need to raise his voice in shock, to hold his cool. He coughed and turned to Yutaka leaning against the doorway. “If only your brother would take a few pointers!”

“Fuck you, Yamato.”

“I dare you to,” the blond retorted.

“What? Say that to my face!”

Yamato removed his bass and set it—not in the stand nearby, but in the girl’s hands—then marched over to Yutaka. “I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit right now. Maybe we’ll kick you out and hire your sister instead.”

“Stay away from Keito.”

“She’s older than you. Isn’t that her decision?”

Yutaka took a swing. Yamato stumbled back, dodging it.

“There they gooooo,” Takashi said. He sat down on the concrete in defeat and drank and watched his bandmates shove each other around.

Akira pulled himself away from his keyboard and separated the two, calling a five minute time out. Yamato went back to where he stood before, noticing Keito was gone. He grabbed the beer from the ground and stepped outside the garage as Takashi and Yutaka argued behind him.

“Look, I sound, soundedlikeshit, too,” Takashi started. “Jus’ let’s… letsus jus’ practice. Come on.”

Yamato found Keito on the top of the steps with her body somewhat caressed around his bass and sat next to her. She said hey and he didn’t wanna look weird, so he opened the beer can, then raised it to his lips. He wrinkled his nose at first, but pressed forward with the bitter taste.

“So, this is yours?” Keito asked. The blond nodded. “This model was limited, you know. Your old man’s?”

“He has the cream color one,” Yamato replied. “You play? Obviously, you can play drums better than your dickwad brother.”

Keito chuckled and rested her chin in one hand, her elbow digging into her knee. “Yeah. He’s like that. He’s a spoiled brat. The baby of the family and all.”

“Why’d he drag you out here?”

Keito grinned and leaned back against the step, then slid one leg over the other and bounced it. Yamato caught himself studying her thighs and torso, her stomach and the ring underneath barely exposed to the cold, and he turned back to his drink and took a long sip. Why… Why don’t I feel this way with Sora?

“My parents didn’t want me at the apartment in Odaiba alone. Last time they left me alone, they caught me kissing this classmate of mine. He was gay but wanted like, to practice on me or whatever, saying it wouldn’t mean anything. I dunno. I didn’t care. Then my brother beat his face in. My parents had to apologize and take the family out to dinner and all this stuff—it delayed their renovations on the house in Shinjuku by like.. an entire week because of budget.”

Yamato drank and listened, nodding with each sentence. He occasionally looked over at her. At some point he took out a smoke and Keito bummed one from him, winking and giggling. His brain felt a bit dizzy, but he noticed he hadn’t had a bad thought in the last five minutes and he made a mental note to ask Takashi for another beer. But if you drank too much, you ended up like Takashi, right? Slurring? Stumbling? If it was anything like Taichi’s father after work, Yamato noted that he’d have to spend the night.

“...are you always so quiet? And mysterious?”

“I’m not mysteeree-us,” Yamato said. He blinked. Why did one beer make him sound like he’d had thirty? That’s what he’d seen in movies, anyway. “I loove to talk.”

Keito laughed. She placed a hand on his thigh. “Of course. You sing, too.”

Yamato stood suddenly. He grabbed the bass. “I’m--!”

“...you’re?”

“I’mtaken,” he said quickly. He hurried down the stone steps, nearly tripping and taking the bass with him as he returned to the garage.

The next morning he awoke at the large writing desk in Takashi’s room. Takashi sprawled on his bunk bed. Yutaka and Keito were nowhere to be seen. Akira neither.

Yamato sat up. A piece of paper flew from his face and landed on the floor somewhere. He went to pee and noticed the giant red mark and a small bruise in the center of his forehead. When he washed his hands, he noticed the smeared ink. He returned to the desk and found sloppy scribbles of what was supposed to be not just writing, but lyrics and he sighed and stacked it all together. He didn’t remember shit. His legs burned. His stomach was on fire. He felt like he’d never slept a day in his life. Oh, and the headache.

“Taka,” Yamato whined. He stumbled over bags of trash and shook Takashi’s shoulder. “I’m going home. Takashi.”

Yamato continued to try and shake his guitarist awake and groggily looked around the room. Because he lived so far away (and been wasted the night before), he hadn’t seen any part of the quiet and calm boy’s personal life. Posters of athletic women. The top bunk was kept but the bottom where Takashi slept didn’t even have a sheet. There was a small closet filled to the brim with shonen manga. Near the desk, in the corner, were a few different guitars. Some had capos, some were missing strings, and one was even in pieces—a restoration. Baffled at the man’s handiwork, Yamato forgot he still had his hand on Takashi.

Where the fuck is my bass?! Yamato snapped up so quickly he hit his already sore forehead on the metal bunk and he spun for a second, gripping the chair he woke up in to stay standing. “Fuck.”

He wandered out into the living room, not realizing he was just in his underwear until the ceiling fan blew air onto his skin. Now I have to find my fucking shirt and coat, too. What the Hell happened last night? I just remember… Keito’s hand on my leg. Playing the song properly after she showed Yutaka up. No, I was fighting with Yutaka again… Fuck. There’s my bass.

Yamato went to the front door and unzipped the case, looked her over. She was more than okay, the scuff from before was gone. But… it had been there since his father got it.

A yawn startled Yamato and he turned to see Takashi there, in his underwear, holding Yamato’s shirt. “Here. I found this on the top bunk. I guess you were gonna sleep there and forgot.”

“Thanks… Do you remember anything?” Yamato asked and slipped the cloth back over his frozen skin.

“Well, you and Yutaka started trying to fist fight each other because you got too drunk to play,” the guitarist explained. He motioned for Yamato to follow. Takashi went down the hall to the kitchen and grabbed some water bottles and set them down. Yamato sat at the tiny kitchen table and undid one of the caps. “Keito took your guitar. She was worried you might damage it after I explained you’d never drank before.”

Keito fixed it up…?!

“I’m… I dunno what to say.”

“It’s fine. Akira went home. Yutaka and Keito went home last night, too. I decided to spare Akira dealing with you—because for the love of God you don’t shut the fuck up and I don’t think Akira likes any of us anyway—and told you to sit down and write and go to bed when you were done.”

“I guess I forgot the bed part, like you said,” Yamato replied. “I feel like shit.”

“When you get home get a shower and some coffee and then you can do it all again.”

“Why?”

Takashi snorted and laughed and reached for some instant miso soup from the cabinet. “Akira and I were talking and he said you’ve been having problems with Sora. So, naturally, when I didn’t find you that first time and you were talking to Yutaka’s sister on the stairs, I was so proud of you. I know you and your old friends are like tight or whatever but you should get out more. Look for other people. That’s why shit ain’t working.”

“Huh, maybe… Wait, ‘proud of me’?”

“Who dates some childhood friend in this day and age when we have an entire world to look at?” Takashi asked. He started an electric kettle.

“What are you on about?”

“You’re miserable. We’ve all noticed. Break if the fuck off, man. Please. Spare us your whining.”

“Oh, I see. I must have…”

“Complained for a solid hour in my ear last night while I was trying to sleep? Yes, yes you did.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Well, we know you’re a talkative, somewhat horny drunk now,” Takashi said. He started pouring hot water into a bowl of the instant miso powder.

“Horny, what?!” Yamato screeched. “Shut up, Takashi!”

“Hahahaha, if Yutaka heard what you said about his sister to me, I don’t think you’d be alive.”

Yamato buried his face in his arms, his breath sticking to the table’s surface in the mini hole he’d created as he tried to gather his emotions. “Shuuuuut upppp,” he repeated. “I wanna go home.”

“I’ll take you. Someone has to make sure you got home okay before Yutaka murders you.”

“You wouldn’t—“

“I love this band. Don’t worry, I’ll just keep it our little secret until I need you to take me out for wagyu.”

“Wagyu?! You bastard.”

“Lightweight,” Takashi teased.

“Monster.”

“Drunkie.”

“Bitch,” Yamato muttered.

“You barely mentioned her. You told me more about your guitarist than Miss Keito.”

Eliza shook her head and scribbled in her notes. For a moment, only the swishing of her pen filled the silence. Then she looked up and adjusted her readers. Yamato was clamming up. She had to do something. “It’s okay. Why don’t we talk about something else for awhile?”

“Like what,” the blond muttered. Without a smoke, he fidgeted with his hands, similar to switching between frets on a guitar—or a bass, perhaps.

“Music,” Eliza piped. “You play?”

“How’d you know?” (This was, of course, a very satirical question.)

“My college roommate played and I recognized the stim with your fingers,” Eliza replied. She gave a wide smile and he smirked back.

“Joining a band, being popular, had perks. Like fun rumors about you,” Yamato smirked behind his hands, narrowed his eyes towards the window, still. “I could shrug them off until I met Reichi… Things were already bad enough when Sora returned to school. I don’t think she even tried to hide the scratches and bruises like I did...”

January 10^th, 2005

Yamato rolled out of bed and crawled across his room. He didn’t feel like climbing over the laundry pile so he went to his bedroom door and opened it. He jumped back, a blond tassel of a boy falling flat and stirring at his feet.

“Ugh, move Takeru.” Yamato stepped over him and to the bathroom to try and clean the blood from his face and the lingering scent of alcohol from his skin.

“Hey,” the brother said groggily. He sat up and watched Yamato try to brush down a particularly stubborn blond spike of hair in the bathroom mirror. “Mimi came by last night, brought your bass. She said you weren’t doing well and went off with Sora?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Yamato said, throwing the hair brush across the room, into the tub. “I think I made that apparent.”

Takeru climbed to his feet and stood in the doorway. Yamato watched as this went on, wondering where the fuck his toothbrush went. It isn’t like anyone fucking lives here. He glanced back up at Takeru several times. He only wore a shirt and his briefs despite sleeping outside Yamato’s door all night out of some unnecessary concern.

Yamato paused, his head throbbing.

Oh, right. They were watching a movie, weren’t they? That explained the pizza stain on the edge of Takeru’s sleeve.

“...are you okay?” the younger sibling asked sheepishly. “You’re a little banged up. Did someone try to rob you?”

Yamato wasn’t listening. He found his toothbrush and stared into the mirror, hoping Takeru wouldn’t notice his gaze. Basketball had done wonders for his biceps... Yamato turned away, recognizing his own gawking, and spat: “Would you just let me be, already? I’m fine!”

Yamato whirled around and slammed the door shut, then went to spit in the sink. When he looked up again, he cursed and barged through to his bedroom to find his school uniform before he was late. When he finally left looking somewhat presentable, Takeru was still there—But thank goodness, with pants on—and he didn’t speak.

Yamato reached out and fluffed his brother’s hair. He was soft, like a rabbit! “I’m sorry I snapped, okay? Why didn’t you go home? Won’t…” Yamato cracked his neck. “...she worry about you?”

“Oh, I called Mom. It’s fine. I actually wanted to ask you something, you know, in person… uhhh…”

“Spit it out already. I’m gonna be late.”

“Would you come to my game later? Please? I know it’s over at the middle school, but I really wanted someone there… I wanted you there.”

Yamato’s ears perked up. “Sure. I don’t have anything better to do since Yutak-ass kicked me out of my band.”

Takeru smiled at him and started rambling off his batting average or whatever—Yamato didn’t care about any of that. He told Takeru to hurry and he’d give him a ride to Odaiba Middle and he could talk about whatever stupid basketball shit he wanted to. As long as Takeru was happy.

That was all Yamato wanted since he picked up that gun, anyway.

Yamato straightened his bangs once more in the bathroom mirror, but nothing would hide the scratch above his eye. He couldn’t get the blurry, vague images of Sora on top of him from his mind. He replayed what he could remember over and over again in spite of himself, screaming at himself to stop.

Exasperated at the memory and his uncooperative bangs, he huffed and glanced over at Takashi, who stood guard at the bathroom door. "What are you even doing here? Where's Akira?"

Giggling emanated from down the hall somewhere and Takashi retreated back inside and nodded. He brushed the mass of fluffy hair behind his ear as best he could, to meet his friend’s pleading stare. “Haven't seen him since the concert. What the Hell happened to you? I mean, I heard some stuff from Yutaka and I saw Sora’s face, but…” The boy’s dark eyes narrowed.

First day back from Christmas break. Yamato dreaded it. He figured he would get the cold shoulder or something—he didn’t think Sora’s friends would be keeping an eye out for him. He skipped Opening Ceremony just to avoid their stares and the occasional slap of a purse or the hushed degradation. “I can’t explain…” Yamato said.

Luckily, Takashi would accept a vague answer. If Yamato had said that to Yutaka, he’d be kissing the tile floor.

“No one’s gonna believe you. I barely believe you,” Takashi sighed. He stared at Yamato’s wrinkled blue and black uniform, white shirt buttoned wrong, tie loose. Even one shoe wasn’t tied properly. He was a mess and Takashi made a long sigh. “...except that I know you.”

“Thanks, I think,” the blond said. He let the back of his head rest against the wall. “Maybe I should skip school today or something.”

Takashi squeezed Yamato’s shoulder, then went to pee. “Aren’t your grades slipping as it is?” the guitarist asked, unzipping. “I saw that last English exam…” Yamato sighed. For the last six months, even before Sora and he broke up, his grades were slipping. High school was a difficult adjustment. He placed all his time into practicing. People thought bass was easy. No one considered how difficult playing bass was alongside a drummer you hated. And training your singing at the same time was almost impossible in his shitty apartment complex. Add the mountain of school work...

There were talks of a possible record with their manager, Evin, but they only got as far as a single or two. All that effort… wasted… Yamato clenched his fists. The sunken cost fallacy of the past year in every aspect of his life made him want to burn everything down. Not just in his hobbies, not just in his relationships, but even himself. Growing into a young man now, things were changing. He didn’t understand why nightmares were more frequent, why he overanalyzed every touch on his skin, or why he was so, so angry all the time. Sure, he could guess the reason, but why now?

Worse, since the incident, Yamato couldn’t shake the explicit thoughts in the back of his mind, as if a switch flipped inside him. He felt like everyone he looked at, even Takashi, had something attractive about them. Worse, he could barely stand to be around Takeru. At least, at the game later, he wouldn’t have to be near him...

Takashi continued, breaking Yamato’s train of thought: “I promise, it’s not that bad. What do you care, anyway? Only you two know what happened and it’s none of their business. Sora looks more depressed than anything, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t mean to…” Yamato choked out. He held his limbs tight against himself and shivered against the freezing wall. More memories stirred in him. Splashing. Fingertips brushing his thighs. The shimmering tile floor made his head spin and he couldn’t take another minute in that room. He shoved past Takashi and out the door towards his homeroom class.

Unfortunately, he and Sora shared homeroom. He slipped past her desk but she grabbed his hand, as if nothing had changed. He pulled away and stared down at her.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” she whispered. He stared into her eyes; glimmering auburn droplets. Even though he knew she was telling the truth he jerked his hand away.

“Don’t…” Don’t touch me.

Yamato tucked his hands in his pockets and slumped into his desk. All he had to do was make it to the end of the day, attend Closing Ceremony, head over to the gymnasium for Takeru’s basketball game, and go home. That was it.

“Don’t bother, Takenouchi,” said one of Sora’s friends. Mika or something, Yamato recalled. “Don’t protect a loser like him.”

He spent too long trying to pick wads of paper out of his hair and scrubbing lipstick off his locker door. Since when did women become so viscous? He supposed that was sexist. Surely there were other men jealous of him that wanted to date Sora and they were probably pissed, too. Yamato tried not to think about breaking his knuckles on some guy’s cheekbones, but part of him ached to. He just wanted everyone to leave him the Hell alone.

He tried not to let the words phase him, written or not. As he changed out shoes, he listened to the girls on the other side, discussing his short temper (probably due to that gaijin blood!) and how the entire thing was a ploy to break up with Sora and instead sleep with fans—some even knew about Jun, whom Yamato hadn’t thought about in years now. Last he knew, she was still dating Jou’s brother, wasn’t she? To be fair, that was more of a fit. Yamato hadn’t realized her (much older) age until after the Christmas concert, when Daisuke rambled about some program Jun was researching. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but what else was new?

Finally, one girl wondered aloud: “Maybe he’s not into girls at all. Did you ever see them do anything more than kiss?” Then giggling ensued. Yamato slammed his locker door and glared at them. In his mind, it was a jab towards Jou. One of his biggest fears was Jou getting found out and it enraged him to think those girls would go around talking out of their asses about someone’s sexuality. He slammed his fist against the locker again.

“What would it fucking matter?” he snapped. “Stop talking about people like you know them and mind your own fucking business! I’m so sick of this!”

“Oh, offended, Ishida?” A young man walked up. One of the girl’s boyfriends, if his hand on her was anything to go by. Yamato didn’t know him, but he was definitely older and the blond didn’t feel like picking fights with an upperclassman. “You wouldn’t need to be if it wasn’t true.”

“So he is gay?”

“Nah, he was in a love hotel with Sora, right?”

“Maybe he sells himself to the highest bidder.”

Yamato kicked open the front door and hurried down the steps, skipping a few, trying not to listen. He fought back tears and let his fingertips slide over the metal railing, just to feel the cold touch. When he reached the bottom he tried to catch his breath. The entire thing was insane! He couldn’t comprehend where people got these ideas—as if making some sick headcanons about him and spreading them as truth. He couldn’t imagine attending school every day like this.

“It’d be easier… if I was dead,” he said to himself. A joke, probably. He knew the stress was just getting to him. “I wonder how everyone would react… I doubt anyone would care…”

Yamato found his scooter and tossed his helmet on. The middle school wasn’t far. On the way, he passed by the hospital. Anything medical always reminded him of Jou’s rants in the restaurant, about various things the boy learned from the textbooks crammed down his throat.

Yamato couldn’t help but wonder what Jou was up to. His hands slowly unclenched from the handlebars. He debated calling Jou, but he would probably be busy... Third semester meant tests upon tests and Yamato didn’t feel like being called anymore names. He held his cell phone open, hovered his thumb over the button, but the light changed and he put the cell away.

Jou. Jou would probably hear about everything by now, too…

He’s never gonna talk to me again. Not after I hit someone. He more than anyone, knows what that pain is like…

Yamato felt his chest burn, like a string wound too tight. He realized then that there was no coming back from it all...

No one would ever forgive him. It was only a matter of time until Hiroaki heard…

Yamato parked the scooter.

It’s not like shifting his focus to Takeru’s game was gonna make his day any easier, but he made a promise.

“You avoid talking about him.”

“Huh?”

“Your brother,” Eliza said.

“Oh. Well…”

“I read the transcripts. This was when you met Mr. Chabo, right? You really didn’t think anyone was going to make assumptions?”

“Only took them thirty years, am I right?” Yamato cackled, flashing a sharp smile.

Yamato slipped into the gym and took a seat in the bleachers. Beyond the windows lay the soccer field. The rubbery smell drowned out the scent of freshly cut grass. He saw several other people fill the seats. Girlfriends. Best friends. A parent. Boyfriends. Siblings. Classmates. He stayed towards the back. He didn’t belong with them.

Basketball wasn't really his preferred sport, but at least he knew enough about it. Takeru wouldn’t shut up about it… Yamato always considered swimming, but couldn't bring himself to do it. His mother had been good at it, too.

Yamato twisted his lips and waited for the game to get going. Occasionally he'd look at his phone. Sometimes the others would text him. How long had it been? Had they heard? Where were they, anyway? Busy with their own things, Yamato supposed. He tried to look around, but couldn't help but feel people staring at him. Under the noise of the buzzer, the audience chatter, Yamato thought he could hear whispers. Did they know all the things Sora had been saying about him?

You're that new kid right? The one from Hikarigoaka? With the divorced parents? What's that like? You went to 'therapy'? You wet your pants in class. Who pops pills in elementary school? Stupid gaijin! Blonde hair... you must be a delinquent. No use calling his father. This boy is a lost cause… he will grow up alone and a failure to society...

Yamato bit his lip. Being back in his old school wasn't the best choice, after all. He was remembering way more than he wanted to. He tried to focus on the game instead, but then, he didn't necessarily want to watch Takeru play, either.

His brother had grown so much. His tall frame fit the uniform well, except for the shorts, which rode a bit high. His serious expression entranced the older sibling a moment. Takeru moved fluidly. Like an angel. Yamato tensed. Even when he closed his eyes to ignore everything, all he could think about was his disappointed in his brother’s love for hats—hiding his shaggy blond hair. On purpose, because people used to tease them. Once again, Yamato took such a simple act personally, as shutting him out, and he turned his gaze away from the basketball court.

Maybe he would leave for a cigarette.

Yamato hoped that whatever mixed up feelings he had would pass with time, but if anything, he just felt them pull like gravity. Unstoppable.

I just wanna be normal. Why do I think about the curve of his back, his round face, his laughter... Everything I do makes me think of something terrible. I just want to drown it out, like music used to. Like Jou used to!

Yamato took a double take for a moment. He thought he'd seen his brother again, but this was at the end of the court, on the bench. The number on the red jersey didn’t match. He must have stared to long at the bleached hair, blue eyes, slightly tanned skin, because the young man noticed him. Yamato wished he had anything to hide his reddened face. He fumbled with his fingertips, as if playing his bass, and watched out of his periphery as the similar boy got up and headed towards the stands.

He wanted to take his eyes away—he really did. If Takeru was the ideal form of perfection in the young man’s messed up head, then this guy was a close second. A bit more muscular than his brother. Shorter. Black roots stemmed from his side part, fading into a golden blond. As the young man smirked at him and headed down the aisle, Yamato felt a frog in his throat.

“Hey there. Never seen you before. I guess that makes sense, with the high school uniform and all.”

Yamato nearly jumped out of his fucking skin as the young man sat down—too close.

“Chabo,” the boy greeted. “Reichii. Most just call me Rei for short.”

“Y-yeah,” Yamato stammered, extending a hand. Rei’s hands were the softest he’d ever felt. “Don't you have to be down there? Er, on the court I mean?”

“You're cute. Takeru never told me that,” Reichi said, ignoring the question. He peered under Yamato's bangs. They met each other’s gaze. Reichi's eyes were just as blue as his own. No. Unnatural. They were too blue. A rim of brown around the edge—contacts? But why? “Quiet, too.”

“S-Sorry?”

“Are you gonna introduce yourself?”

Yamato sat up and forced his eyes to the court. Not this guy next to him. Who was distracting him. “Ishida, Yamato.”

“Eh, but aren't you Takeru's brother?”

Takeru wouldn't take Dad's last name. “Yeah. Why do you care?”

“He said you've had a rough time lately. Breaking up with your girlfriend and your band and stuff. And I saw you sitting up here all alone. It’s sweet you came to support him.”

“Good to hear all he does is gossip about me but doesn't have the courtesy to tell anyone my fucking name,” Yamato muttered. “Again, shouldn't you be—“

“I got kicked off the team, actually… A shame, considering I’m the oldest and the only senpai on the team. Life’s so unfair...”

Yamato found himself frowning. It's not like he couldn't relate to the guy a bit. Being kicked off a team was probably really similar to being kicked out of your own band. Also, noting the boy's bleached hair and blue eyes again—Yamato could assume they didn't give him a chance in the first place. In fact, he remembered the coach being quite a prick when he attended.

“That sucks.”

“Look, I got nothing better to do, so...” Reichi started. Yamato tried to focus on the game, but he'd lost sight of Takeru and couldn't see the scoreboard. Then he felt Reichi's hand on his leg. He tensed up.

“What are you doing?” Yamato hissed.

“I saw the way you were looking at me.”

Yamato couldn't hide the fact he was blushing with Reichi five inches from him. “I just noticed you and my brother look alike. Nothing else.”

“Really? You weren't trying to say something to me with that look?”

What fucking look?! “I have no idea what the Hell you're talking about.”

Despite Yamato's protesting, he hadn't bothered to push the other's hand from his thigh. In fact, all he could think about was Reichi's hand moving closer to him... Yamato felt his cheeks flush with warmth. He was already a little flustered before, but now with the soft hand tracing the hem of his pants… Brushing a bit too close that Yamato found himself leaning forward on his elbows and clearing his throat.

“There's a reason I was kicked off the team you know?” he whispered in Yamato's ear. Then Rei extended his tongue, catching the metal loop in his teeth. Yamato shifted suddenly, breaking the two of them apart, except for the hand tucked firmly between his thighs. Rei chuckled and squeezed. “Quiet now…”

Am I breathing too hard? Why am I letting him do this? He’s a middle schooler… in his final year, sure, but… He feels good. I don’t want it to stop. Yamato choked back a groan, hid his whimper with a cough. I’m so…

“Mmm, doesn’t take much to make you hard, does it?” Rei teased.

Yamato became very aware of everyone below him. There were even people on the same row as them, father down. Someone would definitely see them! “R-Rei…” he breathed. “We should… Not here… St-Stop.”

Rei groped a bit more, then laughed. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat, then!” he said loudly, drawing a few stares, but nothing innocuous. He took Yamato’s hand and lead him down the school hall. During that time of day, cleaning and other after school clubs were over, leaving the rooms each as their own little ghost town. Maybe a teacher here and there, but they didn’t run into anyone directly.

“Where are we going?” Yamato asked. He had his hands in his pockets as he followed Rei, trying to hide the obvious.

“Just some out of the way stairs.”

Yamato knew which stairs Rei meant. At the far end of the school, near the music rooms. No one ever came back there and any… sounds… were drowned out by those in the band room. Although it didn’t happen often or perhaps not at all, rumors were rumors.

As soon as they were in the cover of dark, only a sliver of light from the window on the second floor of the stairwell to illuminate them, Rei was against Yamato, forcing a tongue to part his lips.

“Rei,” he breathed.

A pause. “What? You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that. I…” Yamato caught his breath. He didn’t have time to organize his thoughts. Rei groped him again and the blond twitched in his palm with a light whimper.

“I bet you used to do this all the time,” Rei said with a grin. His teeth were as white as his eyes were blue—something about him was uncanny, but Yamato couldn’t stop himself now if he wanted to. He hadn’t felt this nice in so long. He hadn’t thought about anything terrible in the last half hour. Being able to focus on the boy in front of him was liberating and exciting and Yamato felt a rush of adrenaline as he tasted Rei again. This startled him for a second, but then Rei chuckled through their kiss. This lasted a little while, hands touching anywhere they could reach in curiosity, desperate gasps in place of words. Yamato just reached the waistband of Rei’s shorts when the other stopped him.

Yamato started to protest when Rei reached down with both hands, undoing the button and zipper of the black leggings as well as lowering himself to a crouch. He ripped the matching boxers down and nuzzled into the quivering muscle. Yamato shuddered and tried to find something to grab onto—an old chair stored behind the stairs and part of the wall. He stared down, noticing the clear streak across Rei’s cheek.

How many times have I thought about this… Please, take all of me. I need to cum. Make me cum. That’s what makes you happy… so do it already.

Rei reached under, gliding those soft fingertips across Yamato’s balls, teasing him further. When more hot, semi-clear fluid escaped, Rei reached out with his tongue and went up. He was so warm against the sensitive glans that Yamato found himself clawing the wall and letting out a low groan.

“Fuck, just get on with it,” he snapped in frustration. “Suck me...”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say so,” Rei replied. He took the writhing muscle into his mouth, eliciting many sounds from the lover pinned against the wall. “You’refonfire,” Rei said with his mouth full. In between shifting up and back down again, Rei took pauses to comment further: “How long since you relieved all this pressure?” “You’re so pent up…” “Come a lot for me…”

Yamato hadn’t done anything close to this since the diner, and even then, the matter was a fumbling mess of two confused children. This was… entirely different. Rei showed his experience and showed it well. Every time Yamato felt his voice catch, Rei held back. The sensitivity began to hurt and Yamato grew angry, tugging at Rei’s hair with both hands. He stood with his feet braced against the wall and shoved deep into the other’s throat. When Yamato stared down, half-lidded, to meet those eyes again, Rei’s eyes were tight, teary. A moan sending shockwaves to Yamato’s thighs was all it took then and Yamato reached out with one hand for balance as his legs tried to buckle. Rei squeezed his lover closer with both hands tight on the other’s hips and sucked hard.

When the spasms subsided and Yamato could catch his breath, he fell back and sank to the floor. He laid his head in his arms, legs spread, letting out little curses and whimpers. He felt tears burning but they didn’t escape.

Rei tapped Yamato on the arm and when the other looked up, Rei was on all fours, mouth wide. White. Gooey. A chuckle, a swallow, a grin. His nose wrinkled and he didn’t falter his expression.

Why does he make my stomach churn? The older one continued to shake with pleasure from the intensity of his orgasm and stumbled a little. He shook his head, fixing everything back in place as if nothing happened.

“The school will close soon,” Rei whispered—not in fear they would get caught, but as a mother would comfort her child. He sat up on his knees and pulled down his shorts—nothing underneath but his pulsing, thick ache. “Please tell me that we can go back to your place and take care of this…”

Yamato closed his eyes, smiled; he extended his hand.

“So, you never said how you got kicked off the team,” Yamato said, tucking his helmet under his arm.

Thunder echoed somewhere in the distance, but the storm was awhile off. The air remained crisp and cool for the time being. A leaf tussled past them as a sharp breeze kicked up, warning everything in it’s path of the coming disruption.

Rei ignored Yamato, crunching on a Mintia.

Yamato double checked his scooter was properly in the lines. For only having his license since last November, he wasn’t doing half bad. He asked Hiroaki how he afforded such a model, but he didn’t say anything. Yamato felt like a hypocrite, assuming his mother paid for it, but it cut his commute to school in half and so he stood there, rationalizing that he accepted the devil device, when Reichi slipped his hands around the other’s waist.

“Come on,” Rei whined. He slid one hand lower and squeezed Yamato’s butt. “Don’t chicken out on me.”

Yamato shook his head and broke from the grip. “I’m not. Sorry, I just had something on my mind.”

“I hope it was me.” Rei chuckled and trotted after Yamato, both entering the grey apartments. In the front lobby there was a row of mail boxes on the side, the front desk straight ahead, stairs, and an elevator on the right. The same gray permeated here. Sepia wallpaper tried to peel from the walls and the once-red carpet under their feet stuck to their shoes. “Eh, this is where you live?”

“My dad’s not made of money,” Yamato defended. His mind was still on Natsuko and his anger. Although the two parents never officially agreed on a payment, Hiroaki was always one to do the right thing and offered generously, perhaps out of guilt and pity, and it caught up to him. Yamato told Hiroaki to just stop paying altogether, considering that sort of thing wasn’t enforced so much, but of course his old man dropped the conversation. That seemed to be how every talk about her went.

Yamato stepped in the elevator, helmet strapped over one forearm, and watched Rei jump at the loud CLACK Yamato was used to as the scrap heap took them up to the third floor. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, catching part of his glaring reflection in the metal strip of buttons. Rei must have taken notice of the other’s sour mood and slithered over, slipping a hand over Yamato’s chest and teasing him through his shirt.

“I’m not offended,” Rei said. “Why are you so tense? Afraid we’re gonna get caught?”

“Not in the slightest. My old man’s never here…” the other grumbled. Then he let out a light moan as Rei flicked sensitive flesh with his fingertips. “Hey, not here, okay?”

“But, you really like it and I’ve never been with a guy so sensitive here. Nice and stiff,” Rei smirked and embraced the other, hand buried in blond spikes, and kissed him. Another hand went lower, working between his thighs.

The taste of the mint Rei asked for still lingered on his tongue as he kissed deeper. The helmet clanked as Yamato shifted his weight. He grabbed Rei by the face and kissed him more forcefully when the elevator came to another loud CLANK and tossed the two off balance. They laughed and slipped out.

Yamato turned back, shushing Rei with a finger raised to his lips. “Our landlady is sensitive about the noise and the walls are paper thin.”

“Will you be able to control yourself later?” Rei teased.

Yamato blushed as he approached the apartment and fumbled for the keys clipped to his belt. “Shut up!”

They entered the apartment and kicked off their shoes. Rei shut the door and locked it behind them. “I’m home!” Yamato said, waiting for a response on instinct. Not that there ever was one. He shook his head and smiled as hands appeared around his tie, pulling it loose. Yamato heard the cloth hit the foyer floor and felt Rei’s breath on his neck. Hands slipped off the light blue blazer and then covered his chest, undoing one button and the next and the next… “Rei…”

“I need you,” the other whispered.

“Touch me,” Yamato breathed and turned his head. Rei kissed him again and stripped away the older boy’s shirt. Rei flipped him around and shoved him into the wall, hands entwined and hitting a framed picture of some drawing Yamato made when he was eight. Before they knocked the glass to the ground, Rei decided to grip his lover by the hips next and drag him further past the kitchen and towards the living room. The red jersey went over the back of the couch and they nearly tripped over the side table as they settled and caught their breath.

Rei sat on Yamato’s lap and moved the kisses to the other’s neck. Yamato felt a pinch against his collarbone that didn’t let up. When Rei pulled away, a dark red mark remained. Then Rei paused, raised an eyebrow. He traced the burn-like scar in the center of the older one’s chest. Twisted skin, the center containing a strange, hurricane-like mark. Or was it a yin-yang?

“It’s nothing,” Yamato said. “An old scar. Don’t mind it.”

“There’s gotta be a story behind it,” Rei said.

“Well, there isn’t,” Yamato snapped and took Rei’s hand and placed it over the raised nub he teased in the elevator. He looked up at the young man through thick lashes and frazzled bangs, pursed lips. The serious expression must have made Rei excited, because Yamato felt a brush of skin lower through their uniforms.

“Stare at me like that again,” Rei hissed, grinding against him. “It makes me hard when you’re so serious like that…”

“I…” Yamato couldn’t help but clam up. He felt his face grow hot.

“Heh, that expression is cute, too, though…”

Rei leaned in, sliding a tongue over the ignored nipple.

Yamato jerked his hips upward without thinking. He let out a small groan as Rei panted against his bare chest between nibbles. Yamato’s breath hitched and he raised a hand to Rei’s face again, following the curve of his square jawline with his thumb. “You’re handsome, too, you know?”

At first, Rei answered with a bite, making Yamato yelp. He mimicked the flicking from the elevator on the other side, sending pleasure through the lover’s chest. Overwhelmed, Yamato pushed Rei to a sitting position.

The young man that totally-didn’t-resemble-his-brother-in-any-way smiled down at him. “...what do you wanna do first?”

Yamato hadn’t thought about it. His experience remained fairly limited. At minimum, he hadn’t done anything penetrative of note… and he began to sweat. He was older. He should have more experience, but here was this underclassman, leading him. “I-I’m not sure,” he whispered.

“...are you a virgin, senpai?” Rei asked, purposely teasing him with the honorific. Humiliating him.

“Not exactly…”

“Well, why don’t we start by you returning the favor?” Rei asked. He moved away from the couch and slid down the red shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He was decently well-endowed. Nothing too crazy. Thick. His muscle lay exposed, twitching.

He didn’t wear any underwear. Like he was expecting this? Yamato wondered, fixated on the darkened muscle now a few inches from his face as Rei stepped onto the couch. When he could feel the heat, Yamato coughed as his throat went dry. Rei made a growl and reached down, prying Yamato’s mouth open with one thumb. The older one began to protest, but the head sliding between his lips silenced him.

Rei rested his hands on the wall and slowly, steadily thrust forward and back again. Yamato’s jaw hurt. He held onto Rei’s waist to brace himself. He thought he couldn’t breathe, but between each push he gasped a bit of air. The saltiness stung his nose.

He… feels good. My mouth aches, my throat feels funny, but, he feels good. I’m taking a guy into my mouth. He’s making love to me because he’s attracted to me…! He wants to use me to feel good. I…

Yamato groaned and Rei pushed deeper then. He cursed and sped up, almost slipping as a couch cushion twisted under his feet. Yamato gagged and dug his nails into Rei’s waist, but the other didn’t stop.

“I took you, so you have to take me,” Rei hissed. He continued to balance with one hand, but used the other to pull Yamato’s long hair and force himself deep. A grunt, a long curse. Rei jerked his hips slightly, never leaving the back of the other’s throat completely.

Heat. Yamato coughed. Rei finally pulled back and the other sputtered, clutching his throat. Rei climbed down and laughed, making some joke about him expecting more of Yamato, which stung more than the burning in the back of his mouth. Rei continued: “You swallowed, though. That’s hot.”

Yamato could only nod. How was it over so quickly? Not that he really wanted to sit there as Rei broke in his throat some more. “I’m glad I could help… you feel better,” the older boy managed. He stood as Rei flopped on the recliner across from the couch. Yamato went to the kitchen and slipped a cigarette from one of Hiroaki’s spare packs and then slipped onto the balcony, still shirtless, and smoked. The air was humid now, the rain settling in. About halfway through his cigarette, the rain began to drizzle. Rei rambled on about something and stroked himself from the living room. Yamato didn’t really care. He just wanted to look at the caramel skin and the line of semi-clear fluid leaking from his new lover’s cock.

He went back inside and looked down at Reichi. “What are you thinking about?” he smirked.

Rei returned the smile. “Being buried deep inside you… possibly…”

Yamato turned, slid his black slacks down slightly, exposing more pale skin. He’d done a little experimenting after what he and Jou had done and the thought of having Rei inside him made the tip of his spine tingle. “And if I said I wanted you to?”

Rei stood and removed his shirt, leaving it on the chair. He hurried to Yamato and the two laughed and walked, groped at one another, until they reached the bedroom. The door lay open a crack, just enough to let in light from the kitchen for them to see. Yamato’s room was dark, mostly because of the black out curtains he needed for his erratic sleep schedule, but also because of the rain clouds and long-set sun. They fell onto the bed and Yamato kicked away a pair of jeans and some erotic magazine he’d found at school. The bed itself was a hand-me-down with a large headboard made of shelving and a small, useless mirror accenting the top. The hand carved details extended to the frame.

Yamato took his phone and wallet, added them to the nightstand, which was a good thing because Rei wasted no time pulling Yamato’s pants from his ankles and throwing them into a pile of laundry. The pile started to form at the back near the bathroom door; the same bathroom from the foyer. The busted bass lay at the foot of the bed near the wall, crumpled against the old stand. Yamato rolled to lean onto his elbows, glancing back at Rei, who reached over Yamato. Not the best but not having access to anything better, Rei grabbed a tiny jar of coconut oil, half used, from the headboard.

“Really?” Rei chuckled.

“What can I say, I like to cook and it’s handy,” Yamato replied, shrugging his shoulders as best he could in the compromised position he was in.

“Mm, soft.” Fingertips slid over one cheek until they found the puckered middle. Rei tapped lightly, first with his index finger, his pointer finger, his thumb. Yamato felt a wave of cold over him that he dismissed as anticipation. He slid forward, pressing more weight to his forearms. He couldn’t see through his bangs, but he could feel the pressure as Rei slid one finger in and rotated it just so, stretching. “Oh, this isn’t taking much effort… I was gonna ask you to relax that sweet ass for me, but… You’re really a pervert, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never—“

“I know, I get to take a high school boy’s cherry,” Rei snorted. He placed a hand square on the other’s back and pressed down. Yamato fell, arms spread out, chest against the sheet. He didn’t bother moving more fingers in, not just because of the already gaping hole, but the now lubed gaping hole. The older blond twisted with a whine and Reichi adjusted his knees, sliding further up the bed, until his cock slid between the soft peach he was after. “I can’t wait to fill you.”

Yamato took a deep breath. In the gap between the curtain rod and the frame he saw the stars coming into view. The rain was moving on, or at least, there was a break in the storm clouds. He turned his head towards the blue glow of his desk clock as Rei pressed into him.

Rei groaned, chuckled, leaned over the lanky body underneath. He slid further, with a little effort. Yamato clawed at the sheets with one hand, found the edge of his pillow with the other, until it slipped from the bed and landed with a pat on the floor. He’d never had anything normal sized and at first it felt strange, almost as if his body wanted to expel it. He let out a stammered grunt as Rei slid forward. A tiny sting. The pleasure took over quickly and he relaxed further.

Rei started pulling away and then back in again, steady.

“Reichi...” Yamato whined.

“Are you saying you want it harder?” Rei hissed, lips near Yamato’s ear. Hot, wet heat moved from the edge of his ear to the metal loop, tugging. With the rocking inside him, too, Yamato tensed and arched his back. He started to reach lower but Rei growled and stopped him. “Nah-ah. I’m gonna make you nut hands-free. I thought, looking at you…” A pause as he thrust forward. “...you might be a bit stuck up or too serious, but you’re very vulnerable. At least, with a man inside you.”

Yamato tried to tell him to shut up, but he couldn’t. Rei hit some so-called vulnerable places—things Yamato hadn’t felt in a very long time. There was a rippling inside him and he knew he was growing close and he bucked in time with Reichi’s thrusts. Everything seemed to happen too fast, but then, for a minute or so, the only sound was the return of the rain and the plop of skin and their heavy breathing as the two yearned for release.

“You bastard, how are you so tight now? Ugh,” Rei fell against Yamato’s back, arms wrapped under. He sped up, standing on his toes. Each erratic grunt made Yamato dizzier. Rei’s fingertips grazed the boy’s throat, extracting another moan.

“I can’t,” Yamato gasped. He twisted from the pleasure filling his insides. “Please, I can’t… anymore.”

“With the way you’ve got a chokehold on my cock, you can take anything,” Rei hissed.

Yamato squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists in front of him. Everything was so sensitive inside he couldn’t tell where the throbbing was coming from. He couldn’t form thoughts anymore. He bit his lip and let his face fall to the bed, panting hard.

Reichi thrust in and out of him, sometimes groaning, sometimes laughing, sometimes clawing at Yamato's back, leaving marks. Yamato smiled, almost with surprise, when he felt pleasure from the pain across his back. He didn't recognize his voice when he begged.

“There,” Yamato pleaded.

“Your voice when you're so needy like this... it's heavenly. Damn.” Reichi grabbed his toy by the waist and pushed deep.

“Fuck me...” Yamato said, his sore throat crackling. “Make me come, please...”

“Yes,” Reichi growled, gripping the other tight beneath him. “You feel amazing squeezing me like that...!”

Yamato saw the stars again, this time in his mind, filling the empty void he was used to. So hot inside… he felt a fullness as Rei unloaded. He shook in his lover’s grip, only able to spew little curses in quick succession and let his entire body tremble in response.

Yamato's knuckles hurt from gripping the sheets so much, but he couldn’t unclench them. He tried to silence his hitched breath, but attempts to hold it only made him gasp more. Blue eyes watched thick, white ropes leave his body. Warm sticky heat he could feel force it’s way out across the sheets under him. He collapsed. His cock spasmed further, leaving the last bit of him coating his thighs. He had hoped he could stay in that dazed state forever, just enjoying the other man inside of him, the pulsing throughout his backside, the high of endorphins flooding his brain, but...

“Yamato Ishida!”

The young man's heart stopped . His skin crawled. He'd never heard his father yell like that, especially from the doorway where his father’s silhouette burned dark in the hallway light. Yamato turned his head, peering through sparkling bangs. He continued to shake and through a parched throat managed: “Dad, I--”

Hiroaki closed the door, but boomed from the other side: “Send your friend home. We will discuss this tomorrow.”

Oh fuck he's so mad. I'm so dead. He's gonna kill me…

Reichi gasped and gently slammed a balled up fist into Yamato’s shoulder blade. “Hey. I can’t get up if you don’t let me go.”

Yamato felt a cold sweat come over him. A state of absolute panic. He never pissed off Hiroaki this much before… He would have lingered on the thousands of possibilities of his father disowning him: for sleeping with a guy, maybe—for sleeping with a guy who looked like Reichi, definitely, but then Reichi managed to slither out of him with some effort.

“Fuck, my clothes are out there,” he said. “I’m borrowing your bathroom.” He hobbled over to the door, kicking the laundry haphazardly aside.

Yamato couldn’t move. The sweat and glaze comforted him and he didn’t want to move. He pulled the blanket over himself. He heard Reichi outside in the living room gathering his clothes, slip on his shoes, and leave. Not even a goodbye. Yamato figured he wouldn’t have stuck around, either. Reichi did send one text: Ur old man’s scary!! XD Had fun :p

Yamato curled into himself. He felt tears in his eyes but he laughed them away. Someone wanted him, his company, his body, his everything… Someone loved him. At least, in that moment, that was how he felt. He tucked his phone back onto his nightstand and fell asleep. For once, nightmares were fleeting.

Yamato showered the next morning. He knew he was gonna be late for school, but he didn’t want to leave his room. Not with Hiroaki waiting out there.

Dressed in his black slacks and white shirt, he stepped out from the bathroom. He shut the door, which made a loud squeak drawing his father’s attention.

“Who… was that? The kid you brought home?” Hiroaki whispered. He tapped ash into the graying tray in the center of their poker/dining table.

Yamato stood, heels together, shoulders hunched against himself. He drummed his fingers on one arm and looked around the floor. His blazer hadn’t moved, still splayed on the floor. He felt a twisting tide in his stomach.

“Rei, this guy. From Takeru’s game. We were just gonna—“

“Well, you didn’t, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Yamato sucked in a sharp breath as if he’d been pricked with a needle. He then took a step forward. He looked at the back of his father’s head. Hiroaki sat at the table and smoked, looked over at the television occasionally. He had a mug of coffee. Not his usual one, either. The one Yamato bought him last Christmas was missing. This mug was the one with the crack in the side that leaked on the table.

Hiroaki spoke: “This isn’t like you at all…”

“I dunno what to say…” Yamato mumbled.

“Usually you’re so careful.”

“Dad, I-I’m sorry.”

“You scared me,” he barked. He set down the coffee cup. “If you’re gonna do these things, at least warn me first. And be safe about it! I-I guess I assumed we wouldn’t need this kind of talk after…”

Yamato twisted his lips and wrinkled his nose. After what she did, yeah, yeah, I get it…

A loud, frustrated sigh. Hiroaki took the cup to the kitchen. He didn’t look up from the floor to meet his son’s eyes until he returned to the hall.

Yamato couldn’t breathe.

Hiroaki held out his hand, palm up.

“Give me your wallet, your key ring. I’m taking your TV and no laptop. If you’re not studying, you’ll be cleaning this apartment from top to bottom. Oh, and you’ll have plenty of time to think about disrespecting me because you’re grounded for a week. You will not leave this apartment. Period.”

“A week? But school?!”

“I can’t trust you in my own home, what makes you think I’ll trust you there?” Hiroaki sighed.

Yamato shook his head. How’d he fuck up so badly? Looking back, he couldn’t understand how he just… brought a guy home like it was nothing. In the moment, it seemed fun and felt good and he loved the attention… “I guess I’m getting attention now,” he mumbled.

This is the only way you’ll even look at me… Why do I feel so guilty? Why do I give a damn?! I can do what I want. I’m not a kid! I’ve been an adult my entire fucking life, so why does this hurt so bad?

“You have something else to say to me?”

“No, sir. Nothing…”

“First your guitar and now this. What’s gotten into you?” Hiroaki shoved past Yamato, ran a hand over his face, and grabbed his work badge from the counter.

1 Week Later

The week off hadn’t been the worst… He found some message board through the internet on his phone and spent time there when he wasn’t cleaning, cooking, sleeping, or… sleeping adjacent things one could only do alone. Anything was better than going back to school and listening to people talk about who they thought he was. But then, that only reminded him that he didn’t have a clue, either.

Worse, he stood alone in the front of the school before class, staring at his grades. They were worse than he expected.

“What am I gonna do? I mean, I can pass everything except… well, math… I blew it off because it’s easy, but… That’s only because… I gotta talk to Miss Toriyumi about it. That can’t be right.”

Yamato waited at the middle school gates, fists balled. He couldn’t have been more furious that afternoon. The lack of returned texts should have been a red flag, but Yamato told himself, maybe Reichi ran out of minutes or he didn’t have service. But then, Yamato learned Reichi had been busy during the week Yamato was ‘out sick’. Instead of being an abuser, now Yamato was a straight out creep who slept with anyone?! He growled, “It’s like living in a shitty light novel.”, and waited for the little bastard to show up.

He supposed his heart hurt more than anything—he’d gone back to school in hopes the rumors passed, only for them to amplify ten-fold. He’d gone back to school in hopes that Rei and him, despite the somewhat problematic nature of their relationship, could maybe turn into something. As awkward as everything with Sora had been, Yamato did want the attention deep down. He just couldn’t handle hers because his brain was a piece of shit. He meant to confront Rei, hopefully everything was a misunderstanding.

“Look, I told you I’m not gonna lie,” Takeru said. “That’s a sin.”

“So, you don’t care that your older brother is gonna suffer for your lie?”

“I haven’t lied about anything. I’m not responsible for whatever crazy rumor it is you’re trying to start about my family.”

“I slept with him. That doesn’t bother you?”

“My brother is straight, actually,” Takeru said.

“You know what I think? I think he likes guys. Actually, one guy in particular and that’s y—“

Yamato heard enough. He walked out from behind the gate, foot extended. Reichi fell forward, splayed out on the brick like a green stain. Yamato put a foot on him. “What the fuck were you saying?”

“Hey! Let me up!” Reichi barked.

Yamato leaned over and grabbed Rei by his hair. He whispered so Takeru wouldn’t hear: “Why?”

Yamato pressed down harder. He didn’t step back until Takeru tugged at his sleeve. They watched the bully climb to his feet. He tried to dust himself off, but Yamato wasn’t having it. He snatched Rei by the jaw and stared him in the eyes. Although Yamato was more hurt by being rejected, he focused his rage elsewhere, somewhere easier: “You trying to get Takeru in trouble? Are you?!”

“Yamato.” Takeru sighed. “He’s all talk.”

“Answer me. Now,” the older one hissed. He shook his grip.

“Fucking psycho,” Reichi coughed. “You’re hurting my jaw!”

“Get bent,” the older blond said. The tugging at his sleeve persisted and Yamato tossed the bastard aside.

Reichi adjusted his jaw and laughed. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Yeah, I can see that now,” Yamato snapped. Any fantasy he had of a new relationship was moot at this point and he raised both fists. “I don’t give a fuck what lies you wanna spread about me, but if I hear your name even come up next to Takeru’s…” Yamato moved closer, nose to nose. “I’ll kill you.”

Yamato was sure, in that moment, he meant it. His teeth hurt from clenching his mouth too tight. He took a step back. Reichi gathered his things from the ground and scurried outside the school grounds.

Takeru slid his hand to his brother’s shoulder. “That really wasn’t necessary. But thanks anyway.”

“What’d he want with you?” Yamato asked, not taking his eyes from the direction his now-ex disappeared to.

“He got kicked off the team because he got caught messing around with another student. He wanted me to lie and say it was me or otherwise he would ruin your reputation. I figured he was lying. How’d you know? I mean, why are you here?”

“I just had a feeling,” Yamato lied. He finally turned to his younger brother, his stern expression collapsing in on itself as that soft face looked up at him. “A-Anyway.”

“Wanna go catch a movie, maybe? There’s a new Ghibli movie out. We used to watch those all the time, remember?”

“Yeah, back then,” Yamato grumbled. “Now that I gave that fuckface—“ “Stop cursing, Nii!” “—a piece of my mind... I told Miss Toriyumi I would talk about my math grade today. I missed a lot last week.”

“Oh, Mom did mention that Dad said you were sick with a cold. I wanted to call, but Mom said not to...”

“...yeah,” Yamato sighed. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Later. The movie, I mean. Okay?”

After his detour, Yamato returned to the high school. He wondered why the other teachers settled on a pile of make up work, but Miss Toriyumi didn’t. In fact, he wasn’t close to her at all, so why she was giving him special treatment… he didn’t understand.

He entered her classroom and announced himself. She sat behind the chair at her desk, reading glasses on, going over papers. He lay down his bag on top of the cubby holes at the back of the room and slipped between the desks. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I did.” She removed her glasses and set the papers aside.

I dunno why she needs glasses. She doesn’t look that old. Hell, I know I heard her talking to some kid about that MMO last week, so at least she doesn’t act old. Why the Hell am I even thinking about all this?

“This isn’t just about your grades; we’ll get to that. But... The teachers, you know…” She stood and sat on top of her desk. No teacher would be caught dead doing that by an admin… “We hear the gossip, too. I know you’re a growing young man and you just wanna have a little fun. I’m not gonna judge you for that.”

Yamato’s eyes slimmed, hiding blue sparkles under his thick lashes. Even the teachers had heard… that he was the school slut? The lost cause? The delinquent gaijin? What if they started to judge him harsher?

Toriyumi extended her hand out to his. He pulled back and made a noise.

“Sorry. I know kids can be mean, especially when you’re so much more mature than them,” she said, returning her hand to his again. This time, the sudden touch didn’t phase him. He tilted his head up slightly, looking at her light brown eyes, her matching hair curling up from her shoulders. “Which is why I wanted to offer you a way to improve your grades a different way.”

Yamato raised an eyebrow. He raised his fingers slightly against the top of the desk, as if his entire body was telling him to run.

“I’m sure I can make up the quizzes,” Yamato said. He closed his eyes, spared a smile. “No need to—“

Toriyumi stood and approached him. With how Yamato sat on the desk and her standing in light pink heels, he could see right down her blouse. She had it buttoned earlier that morning… He couldn’t help but blush.

“I could talk to the principal.”

“Uh, no, no, that’s not necessary,” Yamato stammered. Her other hand on his other hand. She leaned in, inches away from his face. He took in the scent of her gardenia perfume—or was it shampoo? Her nails nipped at his wrist. Then, he felt her breath against his lips.

“Then, you want to make up your grade? I don’t think one make up quiz will be enough. In fact, with how bad your grades have been, you might be set back… permanently.”

Yamato knew that was extremely unlikely. The school would do absolutely everything to make sure a student passed… but why would Miss Toriyumi lie to him? What if there were already talks of expulsion? Failing? He would have to switch schools, which could cause Hiroaki more problems…

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, raising her hand to his cheek. “It’s okay. I won’t let you…”

Yamato felt her lips on his. He felt paralyzed. Then, her tongue reached inside him and he instinctively returned the gesture. A chill ran over his body as she pulled him up from the desk and continued to kiss him.

He blinked and coughed and broke away. He grabbed his school bag and took a few steps towards the door. She felt amazing, but she was his teacher… He wasn’t that crazy.

“I guess I’ll have to call your father.”

Yamato froze in his steps. He grazed his thumb and index finger together as he felt guilt sink like a stone into his stomach. He just got his father to look his direction again… he couldn’t… He began to tear up.

Toriyumi embraced him. “I’m sorry. I know how strict parents can be, but this is the only way for a student like you.”

Yamato took a deep breath. Like me… what does that mean?

“Quiet ones,” she said, running a hand down his shirt. “Are always trouble. Always thinking.”

Yamato groaned at the soft tickle of her fingertips. She ran over his entire chest with her smooth palm and then turned him around. She stripped away his coat and blazer, then pulled him closer. He pressed against her, pinning her into the counters lining the wall. He thought of the windows on the opposite side—but they were on the second floor. No one out in the field would see them.

She yelped a little; one of excitement, then tossed his already loose tie aside, and began unbuttoning his uniform.

He pressed one hand to her breast. At first he worried he'd be too reminded of his mother, but no, she looked nothing like her. Felt nothing like her. Silky soft skin underneath the lace of the bra, the caked texture of her cheap pink lipstick, and even how she touched him were so different from anyone else, especially her. He fumbled for a moment underneath her top trying to unclasp the confining cloth. She chuckled, amused at his inexperience, and unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra for him.

He buried his face into her chest, finding comfort he hadn't realized he missed. He thought he might drift off as a wave of comfort, like being carried to sleep, washed over him.

“Yes, Yamato,” she gasped and guided his mouth to her nipple.

A burning formed in his stomach. Was it lust for her or sickness from his past? He couldn’t pinpoint anything for sure. He just knew that when she gripped him by the waist, she wanted him to ravish her. In turn, he ached to bring back that feeling Reichi had given him. Or Jou. ...her.

He found the line of Toriyumi’s skirt and slid his hand downward underneath her panties. They were as soft as the rest of her, petal-like over the back of his knuckles. When he reached the end of this, he could at least thank his good-for-nothing mother for one thing: he knew what the Hell he was doing once his fingertips reached between his teacher's legs.

The smell of her was almost intoxicating as he explored her. She gasped loudly when he grazed the nub tucked between her folds. That sound, that she was enjoying him, that she needed him, made him stiffen. He reached a little lower, wetness coating his fingertips in waves as he reached to find the hole he was after.

He paused a second to breathe, to look at her. She looked down at him, red in the face, whimpering slightly. Was this how he'd looked to everyone else? He stifled a groan, returning to her breast again. He slid two fingers into her, leaving his thumb near the sensitive nub he'd passed before. Moving his fingers in succession came easily. She made a deep groan and clutched at his shoulders. Stroked his hair. Each gasp came quicker, made the need between his legs throb more. When she pulled him close and stifled a long groan, she dug into his ribs with long nails. He seethed for a second at the pain.

“Yamato... You know what I really want...”

He couldn't take much more, either, so he grabbed her hand and lead her down from the counter. She laid back on one of the desks as he started unzipping his pants. She followed, leaving her panties at one ankle. Then she reached into a tiny pocket of her skirt, playfully tossing a condom at him.

He stumbled a bit, catching it with both hands, letting out a nervous chuckle as he never used a rubber himself. She said that was normal, though. She took the packet to her teeth and ripped it across, then removed the chalky, lubricated ring. She gently slid the protective sleeve over him. Just her hands barely moving along him drove him insane. She smiled, ran a finger over the tip of him as fluid tried to pool underneath. Then she leaned back and spread her legs out.

He guided his length in. He trembled, not from fear but anticipation.

“All the way in, it's alright,” she told him, pressing against the small of his back with her heels.

Yamato bit his lip and took her by the waist. He hadn't truly experienced a woman this way, not having that capability before, but he loved this feeling almost as much as having Reichi buried deep inside him. She was so warm around him that he shivered. Yamato knew in that moment he wanted to feel entering her again. His hips jerked on their own. He paused, red in the face. Toriyumi chuckled and guided his hips, slowly. He thrust into her steadily, only adjusting when the desks skidded underneath them.

“Fuck,” he hissed, relishing in the hot heat surrounding his cock. “Y-You feel... so amazing...”

“Mmm... Now when you go back to playing with all your friends, you’ll know exactly what to do…”

“I need it,” he gasped, bucking quickly against her. She continued to moan under him and grasped onto the edge of one of the desks tighter. He couldn't speak anymore and growing close, laid further into her, letting her clasp onto his hair with her free hand. She pleaded for him and when she called out, he hurried his hand over her mouth in fear someone would hear.

Through his shaking hand, she gasped, “Yes, yes…”

She began to clench around him. Yamato rested his head on her shoulders, pushing in and out of her without any thought. He tasted her skin as he writhed in her grip. The pleasure was too immense, his legs turned to jelly.

She moaned and thrust upward, forcing him deep. The throbbing heat between his thighs subsided as he came. He squeezed his eyes shut. A whine escaped his throat as he trembled in her arms. He continued to buck into her now and then, trying to catch his breath, somehow aching for more but his senses overridden.

“So good,” she cooed, brushing back his long bangs. “Relax…” Yamato rested against her breasts, listening to her heart beat. Oddly, it reminded him of his bond with Gabumon, now severed forever. Although his chest ached from tar and sorrow, he ignored it for the gentle touch of this human being. He'd nearly fallen asleep when she gently pushed him to stand.

No... he thought. A little more. I want to hear you again...

“Oh, don't look at me like that. I honestly think you use those puppy dog eyes to get whatever you want. If you don't head home soon, won't your parents worry?”

My parents... you mean my Dad... Did you just forget...?

Yamato tried to collect himself. He stumbled around in a daze, looking for his pants, but they were still clinging to his ankles. He gathered his overshirt, coat, and tie, then decided to awkwardly throw the condom in the bin under her desk. He tried to make his clothes look a little less wrinkled. She handed him his school bag.

“Yamato, we can do this again whenever. You don't have to fail my class and you don't need an excuse to reward yourself...”

The blond felt his breath catch in his throat at the thought and as if someone, anyone would see him and know what he'd been doing, he hurried from the room, skipped entire rows down the flight of stairs and ran past anyone he saw to the doors, to the gates, back home…

I'm... dirty.

I... need a shower.

Eliza cleared her throat.

Silence.

“Yamato, you…”

“What.”

“...you’re avoiding talking about her. About Keito.”

“I’m going home,” he said. Yamato stood and went to the door. “I don’t know… If I wanna do this anymore.”

I love your face, just get away

I’m on my knees

Fuck you

Fuck me

Me

Bonus preview:

February 28th, 2005

The sound of the ocean.

Yamato pulled his raincoat close. The weather turned, coating the dunes in shadow, but the beach was the only place he felt any kind of comfort when he was alone. The memories of the Digital World were strong there, pushed to the front of his mind by the steady static of the waves. Like Dragon Eye Lake. He could hear the memory of his harmonica in the wind and he wondered if it was lost in his room under all the grime.

He passed by the spot where the shaved ice stand stood each summer. The only one where you could get the sea salt flavor. Gabumon had really loved that.

Now, I won’t be able to bring him there ever again...

Yamato took one of his stolen smokes and hid between the seawall and the pier, and listened. To the waves, to the people above him. Anything but the memories.

“...they all drew the same place… like, I can’t even pronounce it but I saw it on the news.”

“You’re so childish, telling ghost stories. October was months ago!”

“But you don’t find it weird a bunch of artists started posting similar images of some city deep in the ocean somewhere all on the same day, same time?”

Yamato looked up. A few girls, his age but from a different school, walked along the pier. Realizing he could see up their skirts, he took a quick glance and then snapped his gaze away. He held the cigarette to his lips and listened:

“Oh, please.”

“Yeah, it’s a prank. Like, a protest or something.”

Yamato snickered, smoke escaping his nostrils.

“Can we talk about something else, PLEASE?” screeched one of the girls. They came to stop in the center of the pier and formed a triangle. “Like, how about that party in June? I wish it would get here faster!”

“I'm going. For sure!”

“Well, yeah. I could use a break from cram school.”

“I could use a break from tennis practice... This one girl absolutely whooped my ass this morning before her boyfriend or whatever came by. I don't know what was going on there, but like, I'm not sure I'm ready for a committed relationship if that is what I gotta deal with.”

“That's why I don't bother,” said the third girl. “I can date for real in college, you know, when it matters.”

“She knows what’s up,” Yamato said with a smirk. He stepped out from the pier and flipped open his cell phone. No new messages. Thirteen after three PM. “Where the Hell is Keito anyway…? She’s so late.”

Yamato let his hands fall to his sides. He spat out the remainder of his cigarette and watched it fall into the damp sand, snuffed out. Sighing, he stared down the beach towards the city, dreading an empty walk home without the sex he came for, when he saw a young girl, in an Odaiba Middle School uniform, wander across the busy street without looking.

Curious and concerned he sped up his pace, sand crunching as he left a trail behind him. The brunette started to stumble down the steps of the seawall.

Yamato ran, eyes wide, and realized it was Hikari Yagami.

To be continued… in Falling Inside the Black

Chapter Text

Sometime in early February, 2005

“That’s the second time now. Maybe answer it?” a redhead asked, breaking the kiss that previously stole all of his attention.

Yamato rolled his eyes and fumbled across the sheets for wherever his flip phone fell. He saw the name on the tiny square of light, blurry from his liquid mind, but still clear enough for his heart to skip a beat. “Hold, hold on, hold on,” he mumbled, answering.

Tatsuya sat back on his bed with one leg over the other and sighed.

“Yamato,” Jou squeaked out. “Yamato, come see me. Come get me out of this place, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

The blond swayed where he sat, trying to take in the other’s words. His heart sank. “I-I can’t come get you. I’m ‘cross town...like, S-Su-Sumaru City. Sumaru. Far.”

“Not to mention, busy,” the young man behind him said. “Unless it’s an emergency?”

“I, I see,” Jou said. He sounded unsure. Yamato figured probably because half his own words came out in half pauses and mumbles as the alcohol he shared with Tatsuya at the concert seeped into his bones. “I just…” Was Jou crying? Yamato sobered slightly as the other cleared his throat. “I need to talk, at least talk with me.”

“Sure,” Yamato said. Jou made a frustrated noise next and the blond could not figure out for the life of him what was wrong. He tapped the edge of the phone with his finger, unsure what the boy wanted from him. Especially right now. Yamato looked back at Tatsuya and his beautiful long, reddish brown hair and partially exposed chest. His uniform was split open where Yamato undid the buttons. He wanted to go back to that cinnamon scent and not… whatever Jou was worried about and trying to throw on him. Maybe that was selfish, but Jou obviously had no interest in him. Jou would have announced they were together back then, in the Digital World, with the eclipse above them. Or he would have taken initiative before he was trapped with Sora for two entire years. Hell, if Jou had heard about Yamato and thanks to Rei’s and Sora’s and Yutaka’s big mouths, then why hadn’t Jou taken his shot? Growing annoyed, the blond turned back to Tatsuya and motioned for him to come back to him. Yamato listened as Jou talked about his father’s tirades and his mother—and that was not what the blond wanted to hear right then, damn it. He then reached down with the free hand not holding the phone and slipped the metal button of his jeans loose and then slid the zipper down. Tatsuya wrapped his arms around the blond’s waist and kissed through the cloth and groped beyond to squeeze Yamato’s balls and just barely tease his ass.

There’s a man here. Right now. That actually wants me. What did you call me for? To complain? Yamato felt guilty as soon as he thought it. If he hadn’t been thinking with his dick, he’d probably be overjoyed to hear Jou… Okay, well maybe not under the current circumstances. Yamato felt torn for a moment between his best friend sniffling at him and the warm hand removing his cock from his boxers.

“J-Jou, I can call you… Backlater?” Yamato said between gasps.

“You’re hanging up on me? What’s with you?”

Yamato threw his arms back, the phone clenched tight in one. Had he hit a button? Fuck. Tatsuya ran his tongue up and down the swelling organ and drew out a stifled moan. “H-Hey, I’m… I’m trying…” he started. “Fuck.”

Tatsuya engulfed him with his mouth, running his tongue on the underside of the head and then sucking at it all. He chuckled and reached up, grasping at the blond’s chest and teasing him. He began to move his head up and down and used his free hand to hold the stiffness steady. Tatsuya was determined to taste every inch.

“Tatsu…” Yamato squeaked. “Fuck yes, Tatsuya…” He ran a hand over his reddened face and laid back, the phone slipping from his grip. His eyes darted to where it could have gone, but then Yamato squeezed them shut. Tatsuya was more experienced than anyone he’d been with and it showed. The blond’s breath hitched and he said: “Your mouth hasn’t been used as a hole in awhile, huh?”

Tatsuya chuckled; stopped. He lifted his face with a smile and ran his mouth over his sleeve. “You ready to do what you came here to do now?”

Yamato crawled forward and grabbed Tatsuya by those fiery red locks and kissed him. Tatsuya quickly undid his black slacks as he continued the kiss, only pausing to grab a condom from his pocket. Yamato took it and ripped it open. He watched Tatsuya release himself. He was fairly endowed, probably due to his age more than anything, but he was also incredibly tall…

They’d met sometime in the last week, Yamato didn’t really keep track of the days anymore…

He was intimidating at first, but only because of his height. He was in similar build to Yamato. Lanky, piercing auburn eyes. Silver said his cousin sometimes sang at the bar in Sumaru… Tatsuya took a seat near the blond. The redhead was on stage only moments before. He ordered, then sipped a Fireball and glanced at the young man under his lashes.

“I’m Tatsuya,” he said. He held out a hand for a shake. Yamato thought he detected the faint scent of motor oil. And smoke, like a barbecue grill.

“Yamato.”

“Enjoying the show?”

Yamato blushed. Had the other noticed him staring most of the time? “Never seen Gas Chamber before.”

“I wasn’t gonna join, originally, but…” Tatsuya trailed off into a smile, sipped the burning hot drink through a straw. He offered Yamato some, considering he didn’t see the blacklight stamp across his hand. Although, the blond looked a bit young for twenty-one… much less eighteen… Yamato chugged the drink through the straw. He hadn’t had anything this expensive in awhile and he pulled away suddenly, embarrassed at his need to be drunk. But it was the only way he could sleep without...

He gave a seductive smile, hoping to distract Tatsuya. Yamato’s eyes lit up at the sight of a silver lighter in the other’s top pocket.

“Bum a smoke?”

“I don’t smoke, but… Let me go ask Eikichi.”

Tatsuya left and went to talk to his blue-haired guitarist, then returned with two cigarettes. Tatsuya slipped one behind his own ear and brought out the lighter and slipped the other between the blond’s lips. Yamato watched the other’s eyes light up, not just from the sudden, intense flame of the lighter. Smoke rose up. Then Tatsuya slammed the Zippo shut.

“…what are you doing later?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” Yamato said, then took a drag. He closed his eyes. He hadn’t had anything to smoke since his father had gotten some disgusting cheap tobacco last week. “Although, I’m always looking for some company.”

“It’s a lonely world, isn’t it?” Tatsuya said with a grin. He seemed to stare off behind the bar, remembering something or someone. Yamato knew that feeling too well. Before the burning in his throat and stomach kicked in, he briefly wondered what Jou was up to.

Yamato felt a foot against his ankle, up his thigh. He bit his lip.

Tatsuya leaned in, so the blond could hear him over the next band on the stage: “I rode here on my motorcycle. Why don’t I give you a lift to my apartment?”

Yamato never said yes so fast. He had a hot guy, alcohol, a smoke, good music, and he got to take a ride on an amazing motorcycle? He wanted to scream ‘take me’ then, but said: “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Yamato grasped Tatsuya’s cock. He licked along the tip and then, as best he could, slid his mouth over the wrapped member, and slid the rubber most of the way down with his mouth. He didn’t mind the starchy taste and pulled back, licking the other’s length in short, desperate strokes. The blond moaned as Tatsuya yanked him by the hair, back up to force their eyes to meet. After a minute of arranging themselves, twisting sheets out of the way, Tatsuya settled with Yamato in his lap facing away, hovering momentarily. Tatsuya chuckled at the already-lubed hole and grasped the other’s waist in both hands and lowered him.

“Were you planning for this all night?” he teased.

Yamato couldn’t answer as Tatsuya slid slowly into him. He tensed. Tatsuya was… he was stretching Yamato more than he was used to… Then he let out a long groan as Tatsuya pushed forward. A twinge of pain and then a sudden fullness left Yamato dizzy as he settled all the way down into the other’s thighs. Tatsuya pushed upward and Yamato hissed, grasped at the redhead’s thighs. He started moving his body up and down, so fast that Tatsuya laughed and steadied Yamato to a slower, more enjoyable pace.

“So fucking eager,” Tatsuya said.

“I… I’ve felt tight… all week…” Yamato gasped.

“That ache to be filled...” the other replied with a smile. He leaned his face over the blond’s shoulder and thrusted slowly. “You’re really hot… sticky… It’s amazing inside you.”

Yamato growled and tried to speed up again. Tatsuya reached over to the windowsill and pulled back with handcuffs. Actual handcuffs, key and all.

“They’re my older brother’s. Don’t tell him I stole them,” Tatsuya explained and then cuffed Yamato quickly around his front. Yamato sat on top with his arms locked over Tatsuya’s shoulders. “There. Now, let me enjoy you before you cum. Not all of us are teenagers anymore.”

Yamato didn’t have to question how Tatsuya knew or why he didn’t care. Not that Yamato could think clearly between the alcohol and the aching in his backside as his body tried to grab onto the muscle leaving and entering him again. His insides clenched down on emptiness as warm liquid escaped his cock.

“Fuck,” Yamato said, almost in tears. “I need it. Tatsu…!”

The redhead moved his hands from Yamato’s waist to his chest. He started tugging at the hardened, engorged and soft nubs.

Tatsuya groaned into the other’s shoulder and bucked upwards harder. Yamato was squeezing him so fucking tight. “Most guys I’ve been with didn’t like this… is there anything you don’t want?”

“I need all of you,” Yamato said, twisting his body. He raised his legs up more and let himself fall again. He smiled, full again. Tatsuya growled and moved faster. He thrust up into the blond so much and so suddenly that Yamato saw stars for a second. Then, he felt it. Tatsuya had found Yamato’s sweet spot and using it to his advantage, hitting it with each motion. Yamato buried his face in Tatsuya’s chest and whined. He couldn’t see through his bangs sticking to his cheeks and eyes. He continued to give desperate curses as precum poured from his aching cock. “Tatsu… fuck me… please, fuck me… I’m gonna bust...”

Tatsuya lifted Yamato, bored of the position and, never leaving the other’s body, laid him down until he mounted him. Yamato felt a small amount of relief when the cuffs were hastily removed, but then Tatsuya held him down with his hands. He then jerked his hips against Yamato, rattling the bed this time. “Damn it,” Yamato said. Tatsuya almost stopped, but Yamato continued mumbling, “I can’t take it anymore…”

Tatsuya chuckled. He reached under their bodies and gripped the throbbing cock and pumped it. He continued to move, drawing more whines from the blond until even he couldn’t hold his load back. Being buried in that hot, twitching hole was just too much. He flooded it, his body frozen as his cock writhed with release. “Yamato… so good…!”

“Yes, yes… Yes, more… More…” Yamato felt heat deep inside him, held in place by the still-jerking muscle keeping him filled. Yamato fell forward into the pillow and his arms and drooled. His cock twitched against dark purple sheets. Tatsuya’s hand moved faster up and down him now that his attention could focus. Yamato grasped at the sheets and spasmed and shot a load of cum under his stomach. He let out a shaky moan as that familiar throbbing inside sent a mix of pleasure and ache throughout his shivering form. “Tatsuya, Tatsuya… Tatsuya...”

The other laid down against Yamato’s back, kissing and breathing, tracing a hand over the other’s pale, sweaty skin. “How are you not taken?” Tatsuya chuckled.

Yamato didn’t, couldn’t answer. He could only think of Tatsuya in him and how empty he was beginning to feel as they settled down. He wanted more. Yamato moved his hips.

Tatsuya groaned as he sat up and grabbed Yamato by his hair. “You’re never satisfied, are you? Unbelievable.”

Yamato rolled over, grunting as Tatsuya awkwardly twisted inside him. He looked up at the fellow musician and tossed his arms over, dragging his hands across the other’s back. “Never. Now, fill me again. Use me all night.”

“Y-Yamato, settle down,” Tatsuya said, giving a weak smile and a yawn. “Let’s lay here for a bit. Enjoy each other, yeah?”

“S-Sure,” Yamato whispered. He realized the drink was wearing off. He was getting a bit of a headache… “We have all night, right?”

“You can stay as long as my brother doesn’t come back. I don’t think he’s gonna believe your fake I.D. and I don’t feel like fighting with him.”

“...do you hate him?” Yamato asked, wrapping his legs around Tatsuya, just to hold him tight and deep against him.

“Of course not. We just don’t get a long is all,” Tatsuya replied. “What about you?”

Yamato blushed and turned away. “Eh, I have a damn preacher for a little brother. Always going on about God and angels and shit. I adore the little bastard but I usually just end up punching him in the face.”

“Ah, well, Katsuya’s not that bad,” Tatsuya said and he leaned against Yamato’s chest. He traced the scar. “Where did you get this?”

“Nowhere. I mean, it doesn’t exist anymore.” Yamato hiccuped, realizing what he’d said. “Ah, well, see, my friends and I all got these matching tattoos… that’s all. Place shut down.”

“It’s beautiful, a wonderful shade of blue. Reminds me of… Well, that isn’t important.” Tatsuya moved his hips gently. “You’re loosening up again. Yet, I can still feel you clenching me. You’re something else.”

Yamato opened his mouth, extended his tongue for a kiss. Tatsuya obliged him.

February 14^th, 2005

“Oh, is this it?”

Yamato turned from his row of CDs. The guy he’d met that morning held up an album with a tabletop of dead leaves, a dismembered fox head, a baby, and various vases. Yamato went over and flipped the case around and pulled the guy in for a hug. “Thank you. I didn’t think to look here. This only came out almost a week ago, so I wasn’t sure they’d even have it.”

“I never knew a guy who listened to international stuff. What does Seventeen Days mean, anyway?”

“That’s why you listen to the album,” Yamato whined. “I understand most of it, but you can find translations in the booklet.”

“I’m glad I could bring you,” said… well, Yamato didn’t know his name. He’d been too drunk when they met after school. Yamato decided to call him Silver, because he had the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. They probably stood out more just because of Silver’s all-black school uniform and crimson hair. Silver also loved to discuss just about anything from commercial jingles (including those from Hiroaki’s generation…) to the latest bland thing on the rise, like Fantastipo.

“You’re lucky you dragged me out of bed,” Yamato snorted as they walked to the register. This took some time as Aeon Mall was packed for the holiday. Silver left Yamato briefly and returned, tossing a tiny pack of chocolate on the counter. The blond’s eyes narrowed at the super sweet flavor, but he wasn’t sure if his bedmate bought them for him because of Valentine’s as a sign of affection or to eat for himself, or maybe for a guy at school he actually liked. Yamato didn’t want to think about it.

As if he needed another excuse to hate chocolate. He quickly forced a smile and paid, and because he just got another shift at the theater out of pure boredom that week, he paid for Silver’s chocolate, too.

As they walked outside the shop, the young man slipped his arms around Yamato’s waist and leaned in as they tumbled through the entry, pressing kisses into his neck. “It was fun. You can get home alright, right? I have to study or my father’ll be up my ass, too.”

Yamato nodded. He didn’t expect some random student from his science class to immediately fall in love with him or anything, but it still kind of hurt. To be left behind.

Silver leaned in again, the two falling out onto the street, lips locked.

Yamato felt something crash into him. He turned, raising the fist not holding the new CD. He growled. Silver immediately grabbed Yamato to calm him.

“Just some guy,” Silver said, gray eyes narrowed. “He crashed into us.”

“I wasn’t the one not watching where--!”

Yamato felt his blood freeze over, crack, and melt again.

Was that… Is that Jou?

He stared at the man who crashed into him—Jou, of course. Out of everyone in Japan…

A young woman with a butterfly comb in her hair ran up to Jou and helped him steady his footing. A very tall, broad shouldered man hoisting bags upon shopping bags from various confectioneries and clothing shops joined as well, asked, “Are you okay?”

The girl clung to Jou, glasses sliding down her nose as she whispered in his ear.

What the, why are they so damn chummy anyway? Yamato wondered. He reached out for Silver’s hand, but the young man already left. He tucked his hands into his pockets, instead.

The young woman twirled Jou around in place, perhaps demonstrating something and that was when Yamato couldn’t help but meet Jou’s gaze. Two feet in front of him. Amidst the crowd of Valentine’s Day.

Yamato wondered how he must look to his now ex-friend… He’d had a long night with Silver and a few others and slid his loose, thin jacket over his shoulders, only for it to fall down again. Was he losing weight? He settled then for crossing his arms, hoping to hide any bruises or hickeys. But then, why did he even care? He’d just spent the entire morning flaunting himself around, just to make himself feel worse, and then Jou—Fucking Hell. Jou.

Yamato gently pressed the exposed scar on his chest, his heart trying to pound it’s way out. He immediately looked away, putting on his best attempt at a pout. He poured over the track listing on the back of the CD he’d just bought and started walking the other direction.

“Yamato!” Jou called, finally.

The blond halted because even if his mind didn’t want to, his body would instantly. Why was Jou calling after him? Wasn’t he on his weird date? This polyamorous thing? Yamato couldn’t smile, jealous and hungover, and he hoped, when he turned to face Jou, that the bags under his eyes weren’t noticeable. “Hey.”

“Haven’t seen you in awhile… I… heard about the break-up. I’m sorry.”

Thanks, Jou. Thanks for that. I really wanted to be reminded of that. “Fuck her,” Yamato forced the curse out casually, partially for attention, partially out of anger. “So, what are you doing out in Kyoto on Valentine’s?” He asked this, looking at the other two approaching Jou on Yamato’s side of the street.

“We’re here spoiling Nana.”

“...you’re a Nana, I’m assuming,” Yamato said, eyeing the young girl. He brushed ragged, blond locks from his eyes. She almost looked familiar. Maybe it was just the short, lopsided cut of her bangs or the long, magenta skirt. “Ishida, Yamato…”

“Nana Terrano.”

The older man spoke next, “Shinjiro.”

“They’re my friends from school,” Jou explained hurriedly.

Yamato raised an eyebrow at Jou and decided it would be best if he left. He didn’t wanna be a third wheel… And another memory I don’t wanna think about right now. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait,” Nana said. She eyed Jou, then smiled at Yamato. She had her arms looped in Jou’s and Shinji’s. “We were just going to grab some coffee. Wanna come?”

Yamato twisted his lips. He wanted to leave. He couldn’t stand staring at Jou and wondering about every carefully hidden bruise on his skin or if he was still picking at his lips with his teeth or when the last time he treated himself to a present was… And then Yamato thought back to Jou’s lips and eyed them and how badly he missed kissing him. “I, uh, damn it, I’d love some fucking coffee. My head’s killing me.”

Nana squealed with delight and reached out, removing her arm from Jou and taking Yamato’s hand. The blond flinched and pulled away, tried to recover from the sudden touch, and smiled.

They walked down to the end of the block. Yamato did love the well known chains for coffee but… they were in Kyoto. His entire life was an exotic thrill and Kyoto was a place of culture. In fact, wasn’t Keito’s family’s fifth reno house in Kyoto too? The day may be salvaged after all, he figured.

He coughed and spoke up, “Hey.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the World Peace patch on Nana’s jacket or the mood ring or her rambling about trash on the street. He’d seen many a girl like her. Although, she was quite lovable in comparison to them. He tried not to think about how damn adorable she was as she turned to him, wondering why he’d stopped them. “There’s this cute little place I know about.” Yamato didn’t want to say it was because he saw when looking for nice date spots. Although he was getting around, he didn’t wanna stay that way forever. He held his phone in his pocket and thought of calling Keito, but that may be too rude. He’d text her in a minute. “Husband and Wife Cafe. You buy a picnic basket and all this stuff and sit on the river and watch the boats…” Yamato blushed, realizing he was rambling. He’d many a fantasy of just sitting on the river with Jou, maybe with his bass, and… “They make amazing coffee, unique blends and stuff. It’s in… uh… I forget. We can look it up, I’m sure...”

“Ohhhh, that sounds beautiful,” Shinji said with a chuckle. Yamato eyed him—what was his deal? “Perfect for couples.”

The blond blinked, twisted his lips and was shoved forward by a vibrating Nana.

Yamato listened to Jou’s pace, his footsteps suddenly changing behind him as if being nudged or tripping. The blond smiled—it was so like him. One of the first things Yamato recalled was telling Jou how annoying he was the day they met, mostly for that uneven walk. In retrospect, Yamato wondered if he had a permanent injury that caused it. He didn’t wanna get angry again and took a deep breath as the footsteps lined with his. “What is it, Jou?”

Did Nana giggle at him? Yamato rolled his shoulders, trying to get his jacket to sit just right. Damn zipper was broken. He knew he had to have a deep, red mark showing against his horribly pale skin.

The air grew colder as they reached the river.

“N-Nothing. So, what are you doing out here in Kyoto?” Jou asked. He adjusted his glasses, stared at the ground. He wore a plain white button-up and khaki pants. Same as always.

“I was with this guy, just getting a CD I wanted,” Yamato said. He flashed the CD from his pocket. “So, you’re out here spoiling your girlfriend. I thought you were gay.”

“Q-Quiet, Yamato. We’re not—she’s a friend,” Jou said. “Besides, since when do you date men? Forget that, since when do you go around kissing people in public? Which reminds me, last time I called you… You know doing people in the street isn’t just vile, you can go to jail? For six months? Or do you feel like also paying a fine that you and your father can’t afford?”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to worry about anything. You called when I was busy. Not in public, by the way!”

They remained silent for a little while. Yamato wondered if Jou heard about the rumors Rei spread. He hadn’t taken to heart how much his actions made him look until Jou said it the way he did. Yamato felt pain in his chest, but he diffused it with a snide remark. Perhaps to somewhat punish Jou for his blunt comment.

“She’s cute. Perky. You’re missing out.” Yamato smirked, eyeing Nana for a second as she tiptoed a few feet behind them like some kind of evil minion Digimon.

Jou’s face turned red. Anger? Embarrassment? Either way, Yamato had drawn that out of Jou and tried not to show the smile across his lips and the chuckle he was choking down. Instead, a raspy cough escaped his throat. The cold irritated it more, and he was grateful for a distraction.

“What is that? Raspberry?”

Yamato eyed Jou and his large nose sniffing the air. “What?”

“I notice you sound kinda hoarse… and the scent of raspberry. To hide the smell? It’s not working.”

“Too much dick actually,” Yamato snapped, opening wide as if Jou could see the bruises, and he sped up his pace again.

He couldn’t let Jou know how he felt, because Jou would probably pursue him and… Yamato thought about how he’d hit Sora… Jou’s father aside, what if Yamato freaked out on Jou next? With a stranger, who gave a fuck, but Jou? Yamato felt fear wash over him at the thought of raising his hands to someone so fragile and giving and he thought he was going to hyperventilate.

Jou caught up again, brushed against Yamato’s hand slightly. He ignored the crude comment, much to Yamato’s disappointment. At least, he wanted Jou to respond with an equally, somewhat-sarcastic remark, but he was being so… what had Gomamon called it? A stick in the mud? “Shinji is Nana’s boyfriend,” Jou said, bringing the conversation back to the two people behind them.

“So, you’re the odd one out? Or is it one of those kinky things I’ve heard so much about?”

Jou side-eyed him. “She felt bad for me, okay?”

“Oh, sorry. I mean, if it helps, I’m not doing much better!” Yamato chuckled. Perhaps out of nervousness. “I mean, I’m debating something serious…”

“...the guy you were with? The one busting up your throat?”

There’s the reaction, Yamato thought, but he had no time to snicker. He was a little offended, actually:

“Fuck’s sake, no. I barely know that douchebag. He has a jackass for a father like you, you know,” Yamato muttered. He didn’t want Jou to pry into him as he usually did and so Yamato kept his conversation on Silver as much as he could. Jou would avoid prying and caring and just leave Yamato to rot like he wanted, like he deserved to. “Just between us, the way he talked about his old man I thought he was yakuza.”

If they talked long enough about themselves... Yamato was sure to spill his guts about everything bothering him. He did not want to recite to Jou how he’d lead Sora on, unwillingly, and beat her face in because of something so stupid as flashbacks to abuse a decade old—just like that time he’d hid under the table at the diner. He wasn’t gonna hurt Jou like he had so many others. Taichi, Takeru, Sora, his own mother, probably Hiroaki too at this rate… How long until Jou could no longer be convinced to look at him? Yamato thought… that was what he really wanted right then. To be left alone again. “Reminds me…” Yamato pulled out his blue flip phone. He continued to text back and forth for a minute, juggling between the device and a cigarette. Jou was quiet. Angry still, probably. Yamato was sure Jou would have turned tail and left at the sight of him… so why was he still walking in step with him?

“Oh, there it is!” Nana said. “Look at all the cute napkins!” She rushed through the boys and hopped at the storefront. The shop looked small on the outside, but there was a door and a bell exposing a larger, bigger shop. One could partially see the menu through the glass. “THEY’RE ALL NATURAL!” Nana pressed her hands to the glass. “SHINJI LOOK.”

Yamato chuckled awkwardly, still texting: Can you meet me? For V-day? Bring somethin fun? Save me, Keito, save me! :p I need some1 normal plz!

Yamato closed his phone and watched Nana point out different cloths and lack of slave labor and things like that.

“Told you she’d be enthralled,” the blond said, smirking at Jou. He tapped ash at his side.

“Jou, where did you find him?” Nana teased. She winked and turned back to the storefront.

Yamato wondered if Jou had told her about… well, everything. Obviously, he hadn’t told her about Yamato’s past or Nana would give him that look. Like he was a stain on society. Yamato thanked the abyss for small favors.

“Yamato,” Nana said. “Which one do you like?”

The blond looked up suddenly. He stammered, “What?”

“Which tablecloth do you and Jou want?” Nana grabbed Yamato and Jou and pulled them inside the shop.

“Shouldn’t we all share one of the big ones?” Shinjiro asked, following the trio inside.

“Uh, yeah, honestly, I—” Yamato started to explain he invited his own date, but Nana puffed out her cheeks and ran over. She hissed at Shinji and grabbed Yamato by the arm with both hands, dragging him. They were next in line. Nana let go of him and ordered for her and Shinji. Yamato stared up at the sign, wondering what to do. He held his phone just barely visible in his coat pocket, and asked Keito what she wanted to split.

Jou stepped gingerly up to Yamato, who tucked away his phone, and they looked at the tablecloths. Yamato and Jou could both do the math easily—two small picnic sets were on special for the holiday, cheaper than one extra big set. That was all. Yamato’s mind went back to Jou on the riverbank in his mind and kissing his scuffed lips and… Does Jou still taste plain, like water? Or maybe he has a sour taste… I’m sure he tastes better than an ashtray like me.

Yamato clenched his teeth. “Are we doing this or what, Jou?”

Jou opted for gray—either, because it was so neutral or because of his crest—Yamato didn’t ask. He picked the blue cutlery. Nana and Shinji went with pink and red.

February probably wasn’t the best time for a picnic. A slight wind made the entire affair difficult to hold down and clouds rolled in, taking out the sun. The only constant, Yamato found, was the water of the river. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze, of course, so it could keep flowing as it wanted to. He prayed for the day he’d freeze over and not feel anything ever again.

Or, at least for Keito to arrive and provide a beautiful distraction. He glanced at his phone again.

Jou shifted on the blanket, complaining of lumpy grass, and turned to the blond: “You’re quiet. Is the coffee bad?” Yamato stared down at the thermos in his hands. He’d forgotten about it… Jou continued: “...I hope Nana wasn’t too insistent. I mean, you did think of this place, it’s really nice, but you… seem… distracted. What’s going on?”

Yamato twisted his lips as Jou stared at him with those puppy-dog, dark brown eyes. Those light lashes. The glasses resting on Jou’s face were the same style as always, but brand new. Last time Yamato saw them, they were repaired on one side and scuffed to Hell and back. Jou’s pale skin held the faintest hint of purple at the edge of his collarbone. Yamato thought of kissing the pain away and sliding a hand under the partially transparent, white dress shirt—and then he realized he hadn’t answered Jou’s question. “Y-You—You’re gonna let the ants eat your cheesecake.”

“Huh?” Jou looked down and batted away ants frantically and clutched the tart sweet to his chest, somewhat in crumbles. He moved their drinks—cranberry and lemonade, out of the way of fire.

Yamato snorted a laugh, offered a napkin. He eyed Nana and Shinjiro a few feet away, talking amongst themselves. “They’re having fun,” he said, almost jealous and despite the fact he’d just been laughing himself. When was the last time that happened and he actually felt it deep in his lungs? That ache of happiness he’d forgotten. Only Jou could do that for him. But, I’m too broken. I’m sorry.

“Yeah, they’ve been together forever,” Jou said, trying to get the white cream from his bare forearm.

Yamato tried not to think about it. He shifted uncomfortably and checked his phone a second time. His ticket out of here would be there soon.

Shinji and Nana passed by them. “We’re gonna go look at the boats. Wanna come?”

“Actually, I’m waiting on someone here,” Yamato said. Everyone exchanged confused glances. “Look, I promised her I’d meet a friend here today while I’m in Kyoto. Nothing serious.”

The two nodded and hurried on. Jou prodded at the remainder of the cheesecake crust with his fork. He glanced to Yamato’s plate, untouched.

“...whose the friend? Anyone I know?”

“Nah, not really,” Yamato said, lighting another cigarette.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble,” Jou snapped. He reached out and took the cigarette from the blond’s lips and dunked it in Yamato’s glass. Yamato rolled his eyes and turned to his phone. Jou continued despite being giving the cold shoulder: “So, where’d you meet them?”

“Band practice. I mean, she wasn’t in the band… her brother is Yutaka.”

“Yutaka?” Jou asked, eyes narrowing behind his drink. “That guy in your band you hate?”

“My band… yeah would be if I was still in it,” he sighed. He shifted back, out of reach of Jou, and lit a new cigarette. Then he smiled and waved.

Keito returned the wave from the sidewalk. She pranced over, a few bags in one arm. Yamato stood and hugged her and she kissed him on the cheek. He moved to her lips. “You made it,” he said, eventually. He blushed and turned to the boy now standing next to him: “Eh, Keito… This is Kido, Jou. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“Apparently not as good a friend as you,” Jou chuckled. He held a hand out to Keito and shook it. A bit bitter and petty for him, but Yamato could only chuckle—he got angered way too easy.

“Don’t mind him,” Yamato said.

“Jou. You’re the guy Yamato rambles on about,” Keito said.

Yamato felt his cheeks burn red as he plopped back down onto the grass. Keito joined him, sitting with her knees to the side so her skirt would cover everything. She wore a black 13^th Floor beanie, another thing they had in common, being fans of the band. She also wore a light blue top with a pattern of sewn, tiny hearts. She reached into one of the bags and slipped a bottle of wine onto the picnic spread.

Keito dumped Yamato’s glass on the grass and opened the bottle. Jou seemed to watch it all as if he were in a bad movie.

“Want some?” he asked.

“I thought your eyes looked a little bloodshot already,” Jou snapped. “What are you doing? Especially you, bringing alcohol to a public park?”

Keito raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I’m sharing a romantic drink with my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend? Or the town slut?”

Keito rolled her eyes. “If you wanna know, this is our first official, exclusive date.”

“Yamato,” Jou snapped again.

“Sorry, Jou, I didn’t wanna be rude and turn Nana down when I had plans, but…” the blond trailed off and instead of taking his now-full glass, he took the bottle and downed a bit of it. “It’s Valentine’s, you know.”

“You did this last time, too.”

“The Hell you on about?”

“You forced me along to buy your girlfriend a necklace, but you turn around and gave me that key chain you made by hand? What is it this time? You can’t stand to be alone with her either?”

“What?!”

“That bitch doesn’t matter and I think you’re being unreasonable. He just wanted you to feel included. Isn’t that right?” Keito asked. She slipped a hand over Yamato’s, fingering each silver ring, then clinked the glass against the bottle. “Cheers.”

“You realize you’re both being irresponsible,” Jou said. “Are you trying to get arrested?”

“Some of us are tired of giving the world everything and getting nothing the fuck back,” Yamato grumbled as he drank. “We’re free now. Don’t you wanna just do whatever you want? We’re in the prime years of our youth, Jou.” Yamato sipped and continued to talk. About anything that wasn’t himself. His father’s job taking in more hours. School being boring. Video games. Some movie he saw at three AM on TV. But as he drank more his rambling grew and soon he was talking about the last few people he’d been with and what they’d done, which Keito didn’t seem to mind. She had her hand on the small of Yamato’s back and toyed with the frayed waistband of his jeans. He eventually laid into Keito’s lap as the drink made him groggy.

Jou picked at the rest of his dessert and tried to steer the conversation to happier things, but Yamato…

“So, I’m trying to get fucking laid and my Dad’s home and the guy runs out, I’m diving under the covers, it’s a fucking shit show. I haven’t even told you about… Well. I. I lost my thought… Oh, I jus’ ‘membered, the, the place… this place… Koyama...mouchi… Koyamamochi...Cho...Chika...Something...”

“You’re drunk,” Jou whispered. Yamato continued to try and pronounce the prefecture. Jou corrected him: “Koyamashimouchikawaracho.”

“He’s been like this since I met him,” Keito chuckled, brushing back Yamato’s bangs and sitting him up so he wouldn’t pass out completely. She poked him on the nose and lit him a cigarette.

“He didn’t used to be,” Jou muttered.

Keito snorted, burying her fingers in the soft leather of Yamato’s jacket. He reached up to her cheek.

“Jou, don’t be silly,” Keito said. “Yamato’s always had a wild side, but he’s always put himself before everyone else. He can let loose once in awhile. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Jou snapped. Yamato started to protest but doubled over and covered his mouth with his arm. Around this time, Jou started to stand and leave, but Nana and Shinjiro returned. The two watched as Keito rubbed Yamato’s back.

“See,” Jou said. “You don’t know him, that’s the problem.”

“H-Hey, I’m rig’t here,” Yamato grumbled.

“You’re barely conscious,” Jou hissed. “Where’s your shame?”

“No one asked for your opinion.”

“No one asked for you to be here.”

“Yamato did!”

Yamato could hear the two whispering about him as he tried to stand. Keito helped him up, but he swatted her away and started stumbling towards the public restrooms to ease the rejection in his stomach. He stopped about a third of the way over, thinking he couldn’t make it. He noticed the bottle still in his hands and dropped it.

The tall man—Shinji? He held Yamato by his arms and helped him the remainder of the way. Each step across the grass was like walking on a moving ship, or maybe a Whamon. He clung to the walls as they approached the restroom, until Shinjiro hoisted him to the nearest stall. Once Yamato was inside, he leaned over the bowl, puked, and tried to catch his breath. The entire bowl was red. He panicked for a second before he remembered he just downed an entire bottle of cheap wine.

“Feeling better?” came Shinji’s voice. It was deep and echoed in the empty restroom. Yamato tried to turn to look at him. His blood boiled with the heat of the alcohol and made him sweat. The blond shivered so bad on the cold floor he thought he had vertigo. Along the top of the walls were thin windows and the sun hurt his eyes. He squinted and felt sick again. Shinjiro’s voice may as well have been God at that point, because Yamato felt his mind drifting between sleep and sick. “You sure put on a show out there. Doing an awful lot to hide how miserable you are. Feel bad for that girl, too; I don’t think she knows what kinda baggage you’re carrying.”

“Oh, sh’t up,” Yamato whined and threw up again. He balanced on the sticky tile with one hand and gripped the bowl with the other. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“I’ve seen a thousand kids like you,” Shinji muttered. “Whatever has you so angry at yourself, maybe deal with that before dragging someone else down with you to drown? If you wanna kill yourself so bad—“

“Why don’t… say s’m’thin’ that matters?” Yamato laid his head down as his pulse pounded in his ears. He tried to move from his kneeling position and slipped. He felt the twisting in his stomach again and hit the side of the stall. Shinji stood in the doorway and offered a hand. Yamato wanted to take it but instead he laid back and coughed. “Jou mmmake you comaftme?”

“No. I happen to care about friends of my friends,” he replied. Shinjiro knelt. “When I first met Jou, he actually mentioned you a lot. Up until yesterday, I’d heard what a wonderful friend you are. How happy you made him. Then we finally meet you and… This is what we get, huh?”

Yamato glared and took out a cigarette. Shinji, showing anger for the first time, snatched it away and tossed it in the toilet. “What gives?!”

“That’s what I’m askin’!” Shinji roared. He went into a coughing fit, but Yamato took no mind to it.

“Jou doesn’t give a fuck about me,” Yamato hissed. He coughed again and scrambled to stand. He used both hands to walk himself up and stepped past Shinji. The young man made it halfway to the door before he stumbled again. “No one gives a fuck about me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t now that you decided to act like a fucking delinquent and a pervert, but you sure care a lot about him or you wouldn’t be going through all this effort just to make him jealous. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him, especially cause I’m not sure where you and your girl stand, but—“

“Yamato?”

“In here,” he said.

Keito appeared around the corner. She didn’t hesitate to walk into the men’s room. She stuck out her tongue and waved at Shinji. “Sorry. I’ll take it from here!”

“Be my guest,” Shinji said. He left.

“Keito, s’rry…” Yamato said. He fell into her arms and felt tears running down his face. “I don’t deserveyrlove nothin…”

“I only brought the wine because it was romantic. Your friend’s such a prude…” she sniffled.

Yamato tightened his grip on her shoulders at the sound of her voice. He straightened out and took her chin in his hands.

Her eyes were red.

He saw red.

Keito grasped at his coat, trying to stop him. She yelled something but he couldn’t hear. Yamato stumbled towards the door. He crawled to his feet in a rage. Jou was just around the corner, apparently chasing after Keito. He almost crashed into Yamato again as they had that morning, but the blond tripped. Jou’s usually nonchalant expression was now one of absolute confusion as blue slits glared up at him from under heavy, thick lashes. Yamato snatched Jou by the collar, baring his teeth, Keito still clutching at him. He got as far as raising a fist before he recoiled at the realization of what he was about to do.

“I am… I’mangry,” he muttered. He didn’t lessen his grip on Jou’s shirt and looked back to Keito with large, empty eyes. “Le’sgo… and hey, Jou. You make her cry again andIdoncare.” A pause. “I’ll kill you!”

“First you try to hit me, now you’re threatening me? What in the Hell is wrong with you? You weren’t even this bad when—“

“Don’t bring that up! You know how I feel about that!” Yamato barked, clear as day. “Just go back to your friends.” Leave me alone. Pretending to chase after me? What, did Nana convince you to apologize? Please, use me to feel better so you don’t feel like an outcast with them… Just fuck me like everyone else? That’d be so damn easier!

Jou waited for the swaying blond to say more.

Yamato forced out a random yell. He had to get Jou away from him. If he didn’t, he would take the other in his arms and sob until his throat was hoarse and beg him to fix him. Fuck’s sake, he just wanted Jou to hold him so bad… He pointed at Jou, shaking. “You, you just show up… with some new friends… to shove in my face and… I’m n-not…” Yamato felt his eyes growing heavy. He wished he’d just pass out and they’d leave him there. He wasn’t worth arguing with.

“What did I do to you?!” Jou shrieked.

“I’m not trying to hurt you… I just wanna protect you… from… me…” Yamato squeaked.

“Where… where is this coming from?” Jou whispered. He pried the other’s grip from his collar.

“Yamato, he gets the point,” Keito whispered.

“No, I don’t,” Jou hissed.

“Youuuu shut up,” Yamato spat. “When, when you… you don’t… We’re’ll just having a good time here.”

“Yeah and from what I hear that’s all you ever do,” Jou said. He shook his head. “You used to care about everyone else. I know it’s not just Gabu—“

“Fuck off! You’reso, so ‘serious’!” the blond yelled. Surely, patrons outside could hear them arguing. Drunk, he was unable to control the projection of his voice. “Besides, I’m jus’bein’ me! This is who I am, haven’t you heard?! I’m the abusive rapist, Yamato! Why don’t you ask Sora or her stupid friends?! Ask my Mom because I just sed—Where the fuck are you going?!”

Jou marched out the door. Yamato watched, waited. Surely, Jou would realize he was hurting and come to him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Tell Yamato that he wasn’t a monster. But Jou never did.

Yamato shook Keito loose, mouthing ‘Wait here.’, and stormed out. He caught up and grabbed Jou by the arm and pulled him back, hard.

Jou freed himself, clutched at the aching bicep. His free hand instinctively settled on Yamato’s, counting the silver rings on his index and ring fingers. The same hand Keito touched before... “I can’t talk to you like this. You’re trashed. Whatever this is isn’t the real you, I know that… Why’d you have to say all that…!”

“Thiss iss me!” Yamato blurted. He glared at Jou with bloodshot, raccoon eyes. He held his left hand over his chest where his scar would be, under his gray tank. His eyes glossed over and his fist slowly unclenched. For a second, he let his pain peek through. Something only Jou could do to him… Something he needed Jou for. Something Keito couldn’t even do. “My mother made d-damn sssure of that,” the blond said, his voice cracking and his grip hanging in the empty air as he stumbled back. He laughed and stumbled back, back towards the dingy restroom and Keito. Away from Jou. As far away as possible. Being near him hurt too much, reminded him of things that didn’t exist anymore. A past and childhood he’d never get to have. A future that didn’t exist.

“Yamato,” Jou said through his teeth. “I only came over to apologize to Keito… I didn’t mean to upset her! Weren’t you past this…?”

“Everyone and their fucking Mom trying to lecture me today,” was what Yamato tried to say. But the words spilled out in jumbles as he kicked the wall seperating the men’s and women’s rooms. Yamato paused at the entryway, looking back at Jou, now huddled between his new friends. Yamato sighed, waited to see if they would leave. But Jou didn’t. The three of them sat on the blanket and finished the broken cheesecake. Waiting for forgiveness or an answer that the blond knew he wasn’t capable of. Yamato felt like he couldn’t breathe and bolted to the sink. He raised a hand to his face and then tried to splash it down with water. He cupped some in his hands and rinsed out his mouth, then pulled a few mints from his pocket. He downed them like pills.

“Picking all these fights… It won’t get you anywhere.”

“I know,” he said, not looking up from the drain.

“Why don’t we just forget about them? Remember when you showed me your room?” Keito said. She tossed her arms over her now-official boyfriend and drew his body close to hers. “Remember when you hid me under your comforter. I teased you and you were so scared of getting caught.” She reached lower. Yamato stood, leaned into her with a quick gasp. “But we haven’t gone all the way yet… and it is Valentine’s Day.”

“Kei… why do you like me? You just… want my body like the rest of them?”

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” she said, taking a step back. She held a hand to her breast and shook her head. “Sorry if I overstepped—“

He stared at her solemn expression in the mirror, then turned, and silenced her with a kiss. He pinned her to the back wall under the blinding windows and pressed against her with his hips.

“Make me feel better,” he hissed.

“Yamato, is this really—“

“Shouldn’t you be asking that question?”

Keito answered by kissing him. She ran her hands through his hair with one hand and pulled him closer at the waist with the other. He reached under her shirt and squeezed through the soft, white cloth. When she stiffened under his fingertips, he tugged and made her moan into his throat.

She tried to reach lower, undo his jeans, but he stopped her and guided her hands up, pinning Keito. A large gust rattled the wall outside. For a moment the two continued, Keito losing her bra and Yamato’s jacket flung over the stall, as the bathroom darkened with gathering clouds outside. A single light along the ceiling flickered.

“It’s gonna storm out there,” Keito said as she caught her breath.

“Are we in a rush?”

Keito smirked and grabbed Yamato’s hand, slipping it up her leg and under her skirt. Stickiness at the ends of his fingers. She pressed them harder against her and he felt her folds fail to part under the weight of the cloth.

Yamato’s head began to pound, either from the exhilaration, the semi-drunkenness, or the weather, but his body ached more. He pulled her panties aside at first, barely dipping into her, just grazing the nub of flesh, when she adjusted her leg, letting the panties fall to one ankle.

He did not get the chance to return his hand to her. She pulled him close again, one hand groping the bulge of his jeans and the other sliding down his backside, spreading him open. He gasped and instinctively leaned into her shoulder.

“Keito, what—“

“Don’t mind me,” she said. She gently pressed against his entrance with one finger. He shivered in her grip and she started to undo his zipper next.

Yamato closed his eyes. He became aware of the sound of rain hitting the roof and Keito’s short moans as she worked her hand between his thighs and fished him loose. He balanced with both arms on the side of the row of stalls, one above Keito’s head as she continued to circle and stretch him open further. His breathing quickened and he opened his eyes again.

Keito held him in one hand and Yamato cursed, feeling himself twitch in her grip. “K-Keito—“

“Yamato, I want you. I wanna know what sex feels like,” she begged.

He felt his face flush. He’d been with many eager partners in the last two months, but none so emblazoned as her. This made him twitch again.

“The heat coming off you,” she gasped and spread her fingers, held him open for a moment. “Amazing.”

Yamato’s face was on fire with lust and embarrassment. For a few seconds he forgot to move, enjoying as Keito teased the most sensitive parts of him. He heard her slowly pumping him as clear, hot fluid escaped, readying him for what was coming.

He lifted her against the stall, her legs around his waist and her arms over his shoulders. The panties moved past her right boot as they situated themselves further. She cried out and clung to him and he winced as pleasure hit them both. His cock was against her. A wave of warmth washed over him. She began to move her hips slightly. They pushed their bodies together awkwardly, incompletely, slipping.

“Please,” she grunted. She kissed his neck, worked a way up to his ear. “I need you in me.”

“Keito,” he chuckled and nuzzled his face against hers. “Why are you more eager than me, huh?”

She didn’t answer and instead lifted herself and lowered onto him. He hadn’t expected this and nearly dropped her. As he balanced he rammed her back against the stall, sliding in.

She winced and groaned in his ear.

“Sorry. Are you alright…? I wasn’t...”

“Yes,” she gasped and clawed at the exposed skin of his back. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

He couldn’t breathe. Sex up until then had been fairly meaningless. Or forced. Jou had been the only exception, to a degree, and Yamato hated that in that moment his mind still turned to him. He wished he hated him. Angry, he bucked against Keito. He loved her. He really, truly loved her. So why was he still thinking about him?

“I love you,” he said, not just to reaffirm it to himself, but so she could know it, too.

Keito shook her hips at his unexpected outburst. “I love you… too…” she gasped. “Yamato…”

For the next few minutes he pressed steadily back and forth, enjoying the tiny trickles of electricity between them. He wasn’t thinking of what was coming next or what happened before. His thoughts were only of her, making her feel as good as him. Knowing he was wanted, he put her in a bear hug and picked up the pace. Keito squeaked in his ear repeatedly. She tore into Yamato’s back, making him moan. Their eyes met for a moment, never ceasing motion, when someone walked in.

Yamato’s blue eyes followed Keito’s as she watched the random park goer come in. The blond didn’t let up, however. He quickly grabbed Keito’s cheek, forcing her gaze to him again, before settling down to her butt to help her stay steady.

The park goer didn’t notice them at first, until putting down his umbrella. He stammered, quickly did his business, and left.

Keito burst out laughing, so Yamato couldn’t help to, either. “What was that?” she blurted out. “What kind of asshole comes in to take a piss when we are trying to fuck, huh?”

“He should’ve stayed, we coulda made this a party.” A smirk.

“No, you’re mine,” she said, clenching her legs tighter, among other things.

“Fuck, Keito,” he hissed, shoving her against the stall again. He couldn’t hold back after that. Before he realized it, he teetered over the threshold. He sped up until his legs burned.

“Come, cum in me,” she whispered in his ear between breaths. “I can’t take anymore…!”

He felt her clamp down around him, then a steady pulsing. Between the warm wet spreading to her thighs and the gentle massage of her orgasm, he came, too. He slipped slightly as his legs tried to give out. He couldn’t catch his breath, he nearly dropped her again. He filled her, headache turned to a dizzying ecstasy.

“You feel good… I can feel it writhing inside me…” Keito whispered. She took in the scent of him, of smoke and sweat and the forest. He watched her, wondering if she would fall asleep. Her eyes were closed and her lips in a tiny, pleased smile.

They stood panting for a minute or so. Keito shifted her weight and started to lower one leg, but he stopped her.

“No, let me stay a little longer,” he begged, occasionally, involuntarily pressing his hips against her; And he hugged her tight again. She lay her head on his shoulder, listening to him breathe. To his heart pounding. He coughed.

“I think the rain stopped,” she whispered and played with his tangled, blond locks.

“What’s this?” Keito chuckled, holding up a sheet of lime green paper. She turned it over and back again, looking at the different geometric designs that seemed so childish to her. Circles with triangles, swirls, dots. Yamato knew they were Digi-tama patterns, but he couldn’t begin to explain. “I found it up here.”

Yamato tilted his head back, looking at the headboard she nodded towards; where he tossed anything important so it didn’t get lost in the room. He breathed out smoke and swatted the tendrils away.

“An invitation.”

“Oh? A party? Can I come?”

“Of course,” Yamato blurted, eyes closed. “Ah, but… well, I mean, we can go together, but…” He opened one eye and waited for her pout to fade. “See, it’s this thing with my old friends and stuff. Anyway, Mimi—“

“The girl you collabed with! I’m a huge fan.”

“Yeah, anyway, she’s moving back to Japan, wants to get the gang altogether and stuff. Like, only us.”

“That’s too bad,” Keito said. She rolled over on the other side of the bed, hands tucked behind her head. The sheets twisted and slipped, exposing her bare breasts. She must have noticed her boyfriend staring and so she smiled and covered up. “My brother’s birthday is coming up soon, too. He won’t officially invite you…”

Yamato smirked and put the cigarette in the ash tray on the side table, then crawled over on top of her. “But you can invite me,” he teased.

“Only if I can at least walk you to your thing. I know your friends are important and stuff, summer camp buddies for life and all, so I won’t be a nuisance. I can go get some coffee or something. Oh! Will they be shocked you’re going steady?” she giggled. “Since that other friend of yours basically called you a slut to your face. None of his business, anyway...”

“Who cares,” the blond whispered, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead. “I missed having a girlfriend. My Dad’ll be happy.”

“Oh, what about me? My brother will be furious…”

“I’d like to see that dickweed pry me away from you,” he said. He kissed her again, this time prying her open with his tongue, groped between her thighs. She moaned under him and stopped to reply:

“I’m serious, he’s totally poisoned our parents against you. If my folks find out… Okay, well my Mom doesn’t hate you, but she doesn’t trust you either.”

“You can just come live me with me,” Yamato chuckled. He leaned into her ear and nipped at her. “And, honestly, no one should trust me. Not even a little vixen like you.”

“Ugh, you have such a one track mind,” Keito said. “Don’t you ever think about… like a family… what you wanna do when we graduate…?”

“Why are you starting to sound like Jou?” Yamato whined. He sat up, hands against his girl’s stomach as he slumped upward. Why is this the second time he’s was coming up in conversation, for that matter?! Get out of my bed, Jou! “Why do we have to worry about any of that crap right noooow?”

“I was just thinking out loud. Like, what would you name your kids?”

Why is she so excited all of a sudden? What did Jou say to her back there?

“What kind of question is that?” the blond whined. He rolled away from her, foregoing his conquest of lovemaking for listening. He lay on his stomach, head resting on folded arms. “I dunno… Minoto, maybe, if it’s a boy.”

“I always wanted a girl… maybe a pretty name like Sakura…?”

“That’s so lame,” Yamato laughed and ended it with a snort.

“Better than Minoto. Sounds so old-fashioned. What does it even mean?” Keito leaned on one arm, her red, spiky locks settling in all directions.

“Can we go back to attempting for children rather than talking about them?” Yamato asked with a grin.

“Wait, what about graduation? You didn’t say what you wanna do.”

“I dunno. I thought maybe I’d form a band again.”

Keito glowered at the still broken bass across the room. She slipped from the bed with the sheet around her body and held out one hand. “With what exactly?” she asked, pointing to the pile of wood and metal.

“Oh, come on,” Yamato whined. He grabbed his cigarette still burning in the ashtray, let out a breath that tossed his blond bangs up and let them flutter down again. “This is so stupid. We still have two whole years. That’s like an eternity away. Is everyone gonna rain on my parade?”

A familiar click of metal. Yamato turned his head.

“Yamato, what’s this thing?” Keito asked.

Eliza shook her head. “You were being quite a pain, then. To Jou. Even Keito. She wanted a future with you, I think.”

“She dodged a bullet.”

“So did you,” Eliza said. When he smirked at her joke, she knew she’d calmed him a bit.

“Yeah, yeah. I know trauma doesn’t excuse me being a douchebag back then. I get it.”

“You didn’t know… you were a child, Yamato. I don’t think any of you kids knew what you were dealing with.”

You have no idea. If you knew about all the Digital World stuff on top of it… Yamato sighed. He wished it was just that. He could handle a few explosions, a psychotic vampire, being manipulated by a hardwood, but he couldn’t handle what happened to him for a few years as a toddler? The thought always made him clench his fists and grind his teeth and he shifted on the couch.

“You’re agitated.”

“Damn right I am!”

“Tell me.”

Yamato turned his thoughts back to Keito. Sure, memories of her weren’t always pleasant, but her smile still calmed him. He coughed, memory shifting to a phone call, crying on Koushiro’s bathroom floor. “Keito only knew the same things I did,” Yamato said, sniffling. “If we fucked, we felt love, human connection, but… Before you say it: Yeah, we both realized that wasn’t sustainable… We were drifting. No goals. Barely any will to live. I didn’t know that, then… but she figured it out way faster than I did. I just wish… we both hadn’t figured it out too late.”

“And Jou… I’m curious to see how long he put up with you.”

Yamato’s tears dried, replaced with raspy laughter. “Not long, honestly. I don’t think I’d believe myself if I said we were happily living together now...”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – Because of Me

Present Day

“Yutaka. He’s the one married to your ex-wife, right?” Eliza asked.

Yamato picked at the lunch he’d obtained from the nearby store. He hadn’t a chance to eat that morning. Not physically able to drive himself due to his damaged nerves, Jou rushing to the hospital on a call, left him with no lunch. He didn’t have time to hunt for the one he liked—the one with the eel and eel sauce. A plain vegetable set would have to do.

He took a bite. He didn’t answer his shrink.

“I only mention him because you were so close to Keito and yet you didn’t wanna try and repair that friendship?” A snort. Eliza tapped her pen. She’d assumed wrong somewhere. “He was never your friend? Why was he in the Teen-Age WOLVES, then?”

“Look, the only reason we met is because his dumbass was lost and he interrupted me in the music room.”

“Not with anyone under you, I assume?” Eliza asked. The joke was taken well and he smiled, maybe even respected her casualness with him. His outfit that day even reflected his mood more. Usually he tossed on old jeans with frayed ends, a ratty rock t-shirt, boots. Today he managed a very loose button-up in royal blue, flowing sleeves, a waist with a cord hanging free. The color brought out his eyes which, these days, tended to look a dull grey.

“Nah, the trauma wasn’t resurfaced yet. Sex was, shockingly, the last thing on my mind. I was in middle school and my old man just gave me my first bass—the vintage one I’ve been telling you about—and I wasn’t the best at it yet...”

*

Second Semester, 1st Year, 2001

Yamato gingerly touched the string, worried about it snapping back. In the last week he learned all the notes and could even play a song—mostly on point—but he didn’t trust himself with such an expensive beauty of a guitar.

Why’d Dad have to go get something so expensive? Okay, I know he just wanted me to have almost the same model he did, but still…! At least it wasn’t that ugly beige...

Another anxious pluck. He took a deep breath. At least he had the room alone that day to practice. The rest of the music club was at some event and Yamato didn’t have the money to go… Not with Hiroaki wasting the entire bonus on the bass, anyway. But that was fine. Yamato didn’t know anyone in the club yet and didn’t feel like forcing himself into making small talk.

He continued to strum along the song he practiced— Walking on the Moon— in the haze of the afternoon sun. He wasn’t in a rush to get home on leftover night, either.

“Hey.”

The blond glanced up. At first, Yamato wondered if it was someone from the basketball team. The tall student in front of him had slightly tanned skin and the gym uniform on. His reddish hair slicked from the part, fraying out towards his shoulders in spikes. His bangs were perfectly even, almost obscuring narrowed, brown iris’ and thin lashes. He held a hand to his angled cheeks and pointed chin, attempting to obscure his humiliation of his next question:

“Is this the music club?”

Yamato nodded.

The young man walked over to one of the empty chairs near Yamato and sat down with a sigh. “Finally. I thought I’d never get here.”

“...you new or something?”

“Sanada, Yutaka. I transferred here from Fukushima. My family moves around a lot, always fixing up some condos or whatever. This is middle school for me, I guess.”

“Ishida, Yamato,” the blond replied, holding out one hand to shake. He noted their partly shared surnames and took it as a sign of good luck. “I’m new to this club, too. I guess it’s not really my thing, but I had to pick something.”

“My parents said three clubs minimum,” Yutaka replied. “Music was for me, but archery and student council… ugh. I didn’t wanna be on the disciplinary committee. Anyway. Nice bass.”

Yamato blinked in the setting sun as the shadows shifted across the dim music room. “What do you play?”

“Drums.”

“Explains why you aren’t hauling around an instrument, then,” the other chuckled to himself. He reached for the guitar case and placed the hunk of wood, metal, and strings inside.

“You leavin’?”

“Gotta go shopping for dinner and cook,” Yamato said. “You?”

“Got some flyers to pass out,” Yutaka said. “There’s this contest coming up and I thought about getting some guys together, trying out a band or something.”

Yamato stood. He started to leave but stopped, tapped his foot, and turned back. “A band, huh? Need a bassist?”

“A singer, too. I can manage, but I don’t think I’m concert material,” Yutaka replied. “You wanna join? If you’re as good as I heard a minute ago, I think our future band could stand a chance.”

“Worth a shot—I don’t have anything better to do and gives me an excuse to practice,” Yamato said. He walked back to Yutaka and they exchanged numbers. “Screw the club. Let’s meet at your place tomorrow and do auditions.”

The redhead grinned. “Alright, you got me fired up now!”

*

“Weren’t we talking about Keito?” Yamato wondered aloud, taking half a rice ball into his mouth. He smoked between bites with the occasional sip of canned coffee. Eliza watched, crinkling her nose but unable to look away as he juggled the concert he called lunch. “Why’d you ask me about Yutak-ass?”

“That’s a little childish; calling him names.”

Yamato ripped his teeth into a fleshy piece of fish. “Who cares. You’re avoiding my question now? What kinda shrink are you?”

“Admittedly, one that deals with children…” she said, as if clarifying her statement. “But, I wanted to know more about Yutaka because of Keito. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m done talking about him. Where’d I leave off, anyway?”

“Let’s see, Jou was pretty pissed at you,” Eliza recalled.

“Oh, did I break his arm yet?” Yamato asked casually. Eliza blinked. The blond finished his lunch and set it aside. “Ah, so we stopped talking for a year, didn’t I mention that?”

*

March 12th, 2005

Yamato logged into the chat room—SweetsMeets—again. He’d only visited it a few times, but found himself speaking with the group of strangers more often. They always begged him to share his escapades, but the blond would just reply: I have a gf now. :p Come on guyz

There were three others in the group chat they formed through the shared messenger. One was an admin of sorts, keeping people on track: XxRSWTRxX. The next, a man Yamato loved to read about who always posted stories about his escapades in a kitchen: IronMori.

Yamato would never work in a kitchen again after Digitamamon, but he still held a romanticized view of the industry. Both being aficionados of Iron Chef, the two hit it off quickly.

Lastly, was a guy(?) who Yamato didn’t see post too often. He had an odd username: SelkieRan. A study-a-holic who beat around the bush about some hopeless crush he’d never ask out or vented about his abusive family. Although the user frustrated Yamato, he felt bad for him and often replied just to see the :) in response. If Yamato got frisky, sometimes he’d tease him for funsies. In a way, the guy reminded him a little of Jou, but IronMori was always eager for attention, especially Yamato’s:

Bluwolf9999: ok like why couldn’t u have been on here a few weeks ago? we could’ve fucked

Bluwolf9999: bro cum on

Bluwolf9999: I can take a big c===3

SelkieRan: Why are you like this? You can’t tease me when you’re committed!

Bluwolf9999: commited in an institution cuz ur hot u mean? :p

SelkieRan: You’re hopeless!

Bluwolf9999: just horny, there’s a diff…

IronMori: y don’t u stay awhile 2day? >:p tell us about the guys who slept w/u

XxRSWTRxX: Selk might have a hrt atack tho! LOL

Bluwolf9999: sry maybe next time? >.> a guys gotta eat

SelkieRan: Shut up, RS! All of you suck. I’m gonna go study anyway

IronMori: hungry like the wolf, amirite?

IronMori: u could always eat me, puppy muhahaha

XxRSWTRxX: don’t listen to him he’s a dumbass!

Stiff, Yamato indulged himself in more ways than one as he continued to chat with them. This time became habitual even, on the days Keito didn’t visit anyway.

Bored after relieving his morning ache, the boy meandered into the kitchen of the dark apartment and leaned into the empty fridge. He groaned and leaned forward until his forehead hit the freezer door. Eyes scanned empty shelves. “I guess I gotta go shopping again.” He swayed back on his heels and slammed the door shut. “I don’t wanna,” he whined.

He returned to his room and reached under his nightstand. “Out of vodka, too? Could this day get any worse?”

He pulled his trenchcoat over a stained, black t-shirt. The jeans he’d meant to replace. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten so torn and worn in the last few weeks, like being through a battlefield, but he didn’t question it.

Yamato pulled on one boot and crawled under his bed for the other, then went down to the first store and walked out with a fresh bottle, which he slipped into an alley and chugged for awhile. He texted Keito again, but she was out of town and wouldn’t be back for a few days. “In time for the party!” she reminded with a smiley face. That just depressed Yamato more—the last thing he wanted to do was go to the damn get-together. What were the Chosen gonna talk about? The Digital World using them up and spitting them out like a cheap hooker?

Yamato drank more as the rain started harder. He lifted his hood, having forgotten an umbrella. Not that he really cared for an umbrella anyway. He held an arm out into the alley, letting the rain touch his fingertips. The scent of the water filled his nose.

He screwed the cap back on and put the bottle under his coat. He started back home when Yamato saw a familiar redhead across the street. Not Keito, either.

Normally, Yamato would forgo reaching out to his old friends, but the weather was bad and Koushiro looked a bit down, huddling under a dinosaur umbrella. That’s how he rationalized forcing himself to socialize. The buzz didn’t hurt, either. He went across the street, nearly getting hit by a car, and rushed up to Koushiro.

“Koush! Hey!” he called. He put up a genuine smile.

The young man turned. He nearly blended into the street with his dark purple raincoat and matching boots. “Oh, Yamato… Uh, how are you?”

The blond frowned. Koushiro set the umbrella above both of their heads. “Fine… I just saw you and wanted to say hi. See if you wanna go hang out or somethin’?”

“My plans were unfortunately canceled,” he replied. “I am on my way home, but I have time to spare.”

“A movie, then,” Yamato offered. “I’ll pay.”

*

“You reached out to him,” Eliza said. “I haven’t heard you mention Izumi much.”

“Yeah, well, you think there’s a reason for that?” Yamato sighed. “Look, you are so far ahead I don’t know where to begin.”

Eliza motioned for him to continue.

*

“A directorial debut… The merit on that alone is admirable.”

“Uh huh,” Yamato said. He was really, really trying to pay attention. He didn’t wanna be rude, but his mind wandered, disassociated. Throughout the movie he’d taken to half the bottle with a straw. Koushiro had to have noticed, but he was a sweet guy who wouldn’t push a matter unless danger imposed itself. Merely, he seemed to watch Yamato periodically, to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Maybe a holdover from being with Taichi, the blond figured. Regardless, he secretly thanked Koushiro for being more of a friend than a narc.

Yamato decided to walk Koushiro as far as the station in some sort of thanks. The weather was worse than before they went to the theatre. Koushiro returned to huddling under his umbrella and Yamato declined any invitation to spare himself from the wet cold.

“Burying people in a rose garden is so morbid! Why didn’t you tell me the movie was scary… You said it was a mystery.”

“I didn’t exactly lie,” Yamato chuckled. “Look, I didn’t waste your time, did I? We’re talking about it.”

“I suppose.”

“The roses…” Yamato started, but his voice caught in the humid air. He could smell the flowers and he reached out, unsure if his mind or the poison caused his vertigo.

But then, that familiar gait. The sound of expensive dress shoes on concrete, splashing in the rain puddles. Yamato’s heart skipped a beat as Jou’s labored breath got louder, closer. Yamato composed himself, brushing off with a smirk when Koushiro took notice.

“Hey!”

Yamato rolled his eyes and turned away, lighting one cigarette off the other. He shielded the cigarette from the rain, hurried under the awning of the bus stop a few feet ahead.

“Koushiro. Yamato. What brings you two out here? Escaping this rain? I’m tired of the weather.”

“I like it,” the blond mumbled.

“We just saw a movie, actually. And now, I’m hoping to visit Taichi. I’m not sure if he’ll have free time between classes, but if I don’t try now I won’t have time to catch the bus later. I have a multitude of reading to do for history, so I can use the time on the bus to read and catch up.”

“I’m on the way to cram school, myself. I just got a new travel book my cousin recommended me,” Jou said. He tried not to fumble his umbrella and held it tight to his chest. There wasn’t even a brisk wind; he was just clumsy. The other firmly gripped a worn, black shoulder bag.

Fuck, why is he so cute like that? Yamato thought.

Yamato eyed his crush through his peripheral vision. He looked… soft under the clear and gray-handled umbrella, the droplets letting the coming sunlight through, casting tiny colorful beams across his cheeks, reflecting from his glasses. Eyes darted across his skin. Nothing visible because of the thick, winter coat. Yamato must have stared too long, because Jou shook him.

“Hey, you’re about to burn your fingers off,” Jou said.

Yamato stared down at his hand. For a second, he watched the orange glow and prayed it would burn him. Jou could kiss it all better, after all. But no. Yamato reminded himself he was drunk and probably horny because he was drunk and his judgment was in the gutter. The blond tapped away the ash with a curse.

“My bus is here. Excuse me.” Koushiro gave a very quick bow. “Yamato, it was fun. Let me know if you wanna go see a movie again. Jou, I’ll call you.”

Yamato nodded, grunted a sound of approval. He let his bangs fall across his eyes and stamped out the smoke under his boot. He started down the path, nearly stumbling over the edge in his desperation to free himself of the chain of Jou’s presence weighing on his heart.

Jou followed, reached out, steadied him. One hand moved to Yamato’s chest, grazing his scar so they both wouldn’t fall forward. “Yamato. Let me walk you home… I just can’t in good conscience leave you like this. Koushiro was being nice not to make note of it. Are you sleeping? Eating? You’re obviously drinking… Your hair’s all stringy...”

Yamato shifted in his friend’s grip uncomfortably and stumbled forward more. Jou had to have felt how thin he was getting... Then, asking Yamato if he slept? The blond chuckled out loud. “Oh, I sleep just wonderfully .” A pause as the blond tried to remember which way was home. He looked one direction, then the opposite. “I’m fine, really. Jou, go to your class or whatever.”

“Yamato… can you just tell me what’s going on? I couldn’t ask you last time because you weren’t sober… Well, you aren’t now, either, I guess. Why did you bring up your mother? It’s been bothering me. Did she say something to you?”

“I mentioned her?” A hiccup.

“Before… when we fought in the park… You don’t remember, I guess…” Jou shifted his weight. His dark blue hair fell over his shoulders, tips heavy with rainwater and sticking to his coat.

The blond stamped his boot. “I’m going home.”

“...have you been going to class? You’re not even in your uniform…”

“What’s with the third degree?”

“I’m worried,” Jou said. He pulled Yamato back by his hood and shoved him against the closest building. “Stop running away and talk to me.”

“I told you,” Yamato said, eyes slanted away. He felt tears burning his aching orbs. “This is who I am.”

“And who made you think that? Keito? Natsuko? Takeru? Who?”

“Everyone,” Yamato said, weaseling from the other’s cage. “I’m enjoying myself. Maybe you should try it. Maybe you wouldn’t look so motherfucking miserable.”

“You’re killing yourself,” Jou snapped. “And you’re calling me miserable?”

“Let me guess, you going back to that abusive prick again?” Yamato asked this, almost mockingly, angry at Jou’s prying. He started walking away again. Jou pulled his bookbag up with a sloshing noise, and followed.

“I don’t wanna fight…” he whispered. “You were hanging out with Koushiro. I’m… glad…”

Yamato wished he could reach out and hold Jou’s hand. Instead, he stopped halfway, brushing knuckle against knuckle.

Jou stared at the other’s fingertips. Stained, short.

Yamato tucked his hands into his trenchcoat and straightened his back to walk more steady.

“We had nothing better to do,” Yamato said quickly. He had to admit, now that he could talk to Jou alone, the words came easier, kinder. Or maybe it’s because he felt how soft Jou’s hand was and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how Jou felt against him, back in that boiler room. “I never apologized for when you called and I hung up. My bad. I meant to call back.”

“Oh, that… I don’t even remember what for.”

“I could take a guess,” Yamato sighed. He stopped. They waited for a light to change at the intersection. People squeezed in around them and so the two boys stood in silence. The rain was barely a drizzle now.

“Why are you bringing up my father so much? I’m just trying to have civilized conversation despite the fact you reek like gasoline and look like a drowned rat. You’re harping on me,” Jou explained.

“Fuck off,” he said. “Stop pretending you give a damn. No one does...” Yamato attempted to walk again. He wasn’t stumbling now, but he was swaying between people. He heard Jou sigh and rush after him. This made Yamato stop in his tracks and turn. “Fuck’s sake, Jou, don’t you have cram school? Go on before you miss the bus.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jou hissed. “What do you mean no one cares about you? What changed?” He snapped up the other’s wrist and dragged him down the walk until they were a few blocks away from either of their apartment complexes in either direction. He started towards the Ishida apartment, grip firm.

“We grew the fuck up,” the blond spat.

“Some of us did. I don’t see you doing much of that,” Jou retorted.

“If I just told you it’s the same old shit, you’re just gonna do what everyone else does. Pity me. Ignore me. Judge me. I don’t need that from anyone. Keito is the only one that even understands a fraction of what I’m going through!”

“Then why aren’t you with her? Why are you stumbling around like a fool? Is that happiness?”

“Shut up.” Yamato stormed off the opposite direction, towards Jou’s complex.

“You’re saying that to me of all people? Yamato, why are you so damn eager to throw us away again? What did any of us do? What did I do?”

“It’s not what you guys will do, alright?!” the blond stopped at the base of the stairs of the apartments. He looked up, angry. Blue eyes were dull as the grey sky above them, broken by streaks of stringy, blond bangs. His vision blurred, peering through the kaleidoscope of thin, bright strands. “It’s what I would do…”

Jou shook his head. “You said that before. You sound like you did the day you came to help me at the diner and I don’t understand. Didn’t you come to peace with this? Yamato?” A pause. Yamato started up the stairs. “Eh, where are you going?”

“You wanna see how happy I am?” Yamato said. He grinned, chuckled. He stumbled up a few steps. “Wanna see how fucking over it I am? Because I can just get over it so easily!”

“No, no. No, that’s not necessary.” A pause as Jou followed his broken dream up the steps. “Yamato…” he said in a tone as if warning a child. The other twirled and crashed into the rail with a snort before hopping up more steps to the next flight. He gripped onto the railing and propelled himself around the corner. “Yamato! Let me walk you home. You’re gonna trip! Stop. You know I didn’t mean it like that—stop!”

“Your old man is always so hard on you. Doesn’t let you have any fun. Bruising that precious face—” Yamato began to ramble. He held out his fingertips to Jou’s cheek and held them there. The curve of the other boy’s chin was soft. For a brief second, blue eyes narrowed in disgust of himself and so he pulled his touch away sharply. Then, he hummed and spun around. He took the bottle from his coat and started to loosen the lid as he climbed the steps, but Jou snatched it from him.

“Are you high? Answer me.”

Yamato looked hurt, but he was on a mission now and stumbled along faster, almost to a run, skipping steps as he hurried upward. “You could come back to my place. My father’s never fucking home and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Keito abandons me, too, then it’s only you left and.” A pause. A hiccup? “Most importantly~ Well no, you wouldn’t be safe with me, I suppose~”

Yamato started flying up the steps, swung around the stairwell again and started up the next flight. Yamato clutched the rail. He heard Jou stomping up the stairs behind him. Both young men noted the Kido nameplate.

“You’re not making any sense. Slow down,” Jou wheezed. “Stop changing the subject! Ughh, why can’t you just be depressed like a normal person?!”

“Dance with me, Jou,” Yamato said. He paused, held out his hand and withdrew it again. A laugh. Yamato fell backwards over the last step, up onto the landing. He hesitated, a wave of exhaustion coming over him. But he had to keep moving, had to keep fighting, had to keep going. “Just gotta take care of this first. If I can protect someone… or, best case, maybe he...out of my misery...”

“Yamato!”

Jou’s fingertips caught the edge of the boy’s coat but the drunkard slipped away. Jou made a sad sound as he scrambled to keep up.

Yamato growled and started knocking on the door with the back of his hand. When there wasn’t an answer, he bared his teeth and screamed into the metal. “Hey, fuckface! Open the God damn door! Time for a wake up call! Wakey, wakey, asshole!”

“Yamato! What the. Shut up!” Jou screeched. He grabbed the blond by the shoulders and tried to force him away, but it was too late.

A large man who could have been Jou’s double if he hadn’t been such a fat, broad shouldered ogre, stood in the doorway. Yamato smirked up at him. “Hey, wanna pick a fight with someone on equal, equal, the footing? Huh?”

Jou pleaded, tugging at Yamato’s coat until the sleeve slid partly down the boy’s shoulders: “Go home.”

“What? You ugly gaijin shit,” the man said. He looked to Jou and back to Yamato.

“Come on. Try me,” Yamato said. Shou swung, but missed. Yamato caught his footing and flew forward with a scream, throwing a punch square in the center of Shou’s face. “You like being a fucking abusive asshole? What, when it’s your own son you can’t throw a punch like a man?!” Yamato knocked Shou inside the apartment and the two sprawled in the entryway. Yamato shook his head with dizziness and crawled to Shou. He started to throw punches. His knuckles ached. He heard cracking, but wasn’t sure if it was his knuckles or Shou’s face. “You. Won’t. Hurt. Anyone! Ever again! Ever!”

“Yamato, this isn’t your problem—!”

Shou grunted, clawed at the pain in his face.

“How does it feel, you bitch? Tell me!” the blond screeched. The drink finally weighed on him and he started to doze, giving the father the opening to throw a punch, hitting Yamato in his left shoulder. The phantom pain reared up and the boy saw darkness for a second.

“Get out of here!” Jou screeched. His voice cracked. He tossed his schoolbag down and clung to the door frame. “You’re making things worse!”

I’m saving you, Jou, even if you don’t realize it yet! I love you and if I can just get rid of the one thing hurting you, maybe… Maybe you won’t hate me like everyone else...Maybe you’ll change your mind about me once you see how much I...

“You’re fucking pathetic!” Yamato barked with a smile. He motioned for Shou to come at him again. He made a guttural sound as if about to throw up. “The most sorry excuse for a human... I’ve ever seen!!!”

Come on, you bastard. Take the bait.

The blond raised a hand to his now bloody face. His cheek, cut. Shou had crawled over to him, lifted him from the floor, punched him again.

“What position are you in to call me anything? You drunk, delinquent trash!” Shou roared and like a bear, back handed the blond across the threshold. Jou just barely stepped back in time to see Yamato clinging to the rail with four stories between him and the concrete jungle below.

Yamato squinted. Did he have blood in his eyes or was the alcohol making his vision blurry? He felt warm, too warm, as if he would drop dead from overheating despite the icy air. Shou kicked Yamato in the back, making him fall to the ground, then kicked him in the stomach.

I’ ll take your pain, Jou. It’s okay.

Yamato tried to look around for Jou, but he was not watching with a smile or even content. He leaned against a clenched fist, against the door frame, breathing hard with anger. They met eyes again and Jou shook his head and marched towards them. Shou stood over the boy, catching his breath, then stormed inside his home, screaming at Jou to get his ass inside.

Yamato raised his fist once more despite gasping for air himself when Jou grabbed his friend’s wrist. Jou shoved the other towards the stairs so hard that Yamato fell over himself. “Stop fighting ghosts…” Jou whined.

Yamato turned around.

He’d never seen the blue-haired boy so furious. Eyebrows furled, glasses bloody. Tears in his eyes. Fists clenched and entire body tense and stiff.

Yamato returned a pleading gaze.

I don’t understand…

“GO HOME.”

Let him… kill me… then...

“Yamato… Taichi was right, back then. You’re the bastard,” Jou choked out. He hurried inside to tend to his father. The door shut.

Yamato waited, coughed. His stomach hurt so badly. He held back the urge to vomit as he continued to cough occasionally. He crawled to the stairwell and pulled himself up. Had he really fucked up that badly? He didn’t win the fight, not that he cared for the outcome… He just couldn’t stand seeing the bruises on the man he loved anymore. Was it so bad to come to Jou’s defense? He was tired of Jou surrendering any semblance of a life to some old piece of shit’s vicarious dream. He was sick of watching the boy he still loved limp about. He was sick…. He was sick of…

“Myself,” the blond muttered. “Jou,” Yamato whispered. Wrinkles formed at the bridge of his nose and he bared his teeth above a busted lip: “I did this all for you, you know!”

The blond shoved past some other people on the next floor that came to check out the commotion.

“Young man, you’re bleeding,” said one.

Yamato turned on his heels and nearly fell over. He flipped the man off. “You want a fight, too? Huh?”

The woman, wearing an apron covered in flour, whispered something. Yamato glared at her. In that moment, she disgusted him and he sneered at her. He coughed and started back to his apartment again, thankfully with no further interruptions.

*

“You realize you caused Mr. Kido to break Jou’s arm, but you don’t realize that what you did was bad?”

The grown man titled his head.

Eliza waited, hoping he would figure it out. “You really don’t see it? Your big romantic dream of marching to your friend’s house to save him was not some chivalrous display, Yamato…” Eliza gasped in disbelief. She watched the gears turn in his head.

Yamato covered his face with his hands. “Fuuucccckkk, I really did make things worse… No wonder he stopped talking to me… fuckkkk….”

“You were a child with a drinking problem, to be fair,” Eliza said. “But I’m glad you see it from Jou’s point of view now.”

“It didn’t even fucking occur to me I was making things worse, despite Jou shouting it in my ear. I just thought I was getting revenge for him… I thought if someone showed that overgrown gorilla a taste of his own medicine, he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore...”

“You wanted to make yourself look good and feel good. That’s the bottom line, isn’t it? When we’re young, we get tunnel vision. Like you had for Jou. For you.” A pause. Just the clock ticking in the room. They were only halfway through the session. “You told me because you were scared of hitting Jou, you never confronted him with your true feelings… and then look what happened. You put him in even more danger. Why?”

Yamato tried to search his soul for an answer. “I don’t know…”

“I think it’s safe to say he was the one you really loved. That’s why you cared so much. That’s why you kept letting him back into your life just to hurt him. Or am I wrong?”

“Yeah, but then that broke him… literally and… all,” Yamato said. He turned his wrist over in a swift motion and his voice cracked. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his palms cupping his forehead. “I hurt him, in the end. I may as well have been the one that hit him…!”

Eliza stood and went over to Yamato. She set a hand on his shoulder as his body heaved from holding back his emotions. “Do you want to take a break? This is… a lot for you.”

“No,” he said, head shooting up. He stared past her. “No. I don’t deserve it.”

Eliza returned to her chair and switched one clipboard for another.

“You’ve mentioned this big party… Is it the one with Keito?”

“No, not that. You mean Mimi’s party. It was the first time everyone was getting back together in a long time. A little… summer camp jamboree. But I had to fuck that up to. I mean, I wasn’t even fucking trying to. I knew I shouldn’t have gone. I should have listened to my instincts, but if I didn’t go, I couldn’t handle the fucking guilt… I was in a lose-lose. Actually, Keito convinced me. She was starting to really worry about me…”

*

March 19 ^th , 2005

“See, no one will notice,” Keito said. She wrapped her arms around Yamato’s waist and kissed his still aching left shoulder. Yamato rotated his arm. Why was that the only pain persisting?

Keito’s boyfriend’s shirt carried the stale scent of sweat and she nuzzled into it for a second before meeting his gaze in the mirror.

The blond held a hand to his cheek as he looked at his reflection. The cut Shou gave almost left a scar. The bruise on his stomach had long faded and Yamato was grateful that Keito had been out of town or she would have seen his injuries in full. Yamato already hid them from Hiroaki—aside the cut of course. A little accident at school, of course. Yamato was a good boy and Hiroaki didn’t need to know otherwise.

Keito visited that morning for emotional support of the upcoming gathering at Mimi’s apartment.

Yamato opened the door in a plain white shirt and underwear. Keito stood there, blushing, pointing at him. He slammed the door shut and went to pull on a pair of jeans. Hiroaki shook his head from the kitchen, and went to the door and opened it.

Keito blushed, her cheeks matching the shade of her hair. “Uh, h-hi, hello, Mr. Ishida…”

“You’re the girlfriend he talked about.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s me, the girlfriend!” Keito chuckled nervously. She tossed out her arms and did a tiny dance. When she realized she was acting cringey, she coughed and composed herself and bowed.

“Come on in. Sorry about the mess. We don’t have anyone to take care of the place,” Hiroaki said with some bitterness. “Want a water, or something?”

“Ah, no thank you,” Keito said, stepping inside. She looked around the cramped space and found the spot between the couch and the recliner to stand. Hiroaki putted about in the kitchen, seemingly trying to clean in the presence of a female. “I live in warzones,” Keito blurted, very matter-of-factly. Yamato fell through his bedroom doorway, jeans halfway up past his knees. She rolled her eyes and looked back at Hiroaki, who stared in confusion, maybe fascination. “Oh, not literally. I mean, my parents renovate homes for a living, so half the time I’m choking on sheet rock.”

“I can’t imagine…” Hiroaki said. He didn’t look at his son. Keito looked between the two of them, realizing neither looked at the other. She thought they seemed pretty similar, like two mirrors reflecting one another, but also like two magnets, pushing each other away. Something about it made her chest hurt.

Yamato pulled up his zipper with a cough. “Sorry. I overslept.”

Keito brushed back his bangs. She eyed the ponytail, barely in place, and plucked the hairtie from his head. She slipped it over her wrist and then she noticed it. She raised a thumb to Yamato’s right cheek. “Oh. Oh, what did you do? Did you get in a knife fight or something?” She hoped the healing cut was just dirt and tried to scrub it from the blond’s face.

The motion made him a little sick and he batted her hand away. “It’s nothing!”

“He’s picking fights. He always does,” Hiroaki commented. He returned to the living room and took a seat in his recliner.

Yamato sighed. “He doesn’t know that for sure.”

That was pretty typical nowadays. The boy thought that his father would maybe worry half as much as Keito did, but nothing. He seemed… cold. Yamato had never experienced him like this. Was it just how teenagers and their parents acted? Yamato had been pretty shitty, he recognized that, but there he was, standing in the living room with a real live woman he’d steadily dated for a month. And nothing… Hiroaki barely looked at Keito, either.

She wasn’t the most… conservative girl. Three earrings in her left ear. Red hair pulled up and spiking out in every direction. Her fashion sense was mostly leather skirts, boots, and babydoll t-shirts… but she was sweet. Beautiful. Hot.

He stared at her chest. Her shirt slid up as she tended to him and he traced her torso with his eyes, imagined licking down to her hips. So, so hot.

Yamato felt his entire body jerk upright. Keito gave up rubbing his cheek raw and sighed. She had a small clutch on her, which he hadn’t noticed until she started digging through it. A metallic blue with a cross lock and a long, thin strap. She fetched a few small tubes of make up. “Here we go. Come on, mister.”

So, Keito doctored his cheek, making the cut lighter, almost invisible. She smiled with her arms still around his waist. She chuckled, reached lower and squeezed. He already imagined their next time together, preferably that evening when Hiroaki went to work and the entire party debacle was over, so he was a bit stiff as it was. She made it worse. He groaned.

Keito chuckled and covered his mouth. “Shhh. Your Dad is right there.” She whispered then: “You bad boy.”

Yamato grinned and set her back against the door that connected the bathroom and his room. Just enough of the wall shielded them from his father’s sight. He turned back to Keito. He kissed her, tried to grind against her, but she stopped him and giggled again. “Come on, you’re gonna be late.”

“But we’re like an hour early.”

“I’m accounting for traffic,” Keito said.

“But I wanna fuck you,” Yamato hissed with a smile.

She playfully hit him in the arm and tossed her clutch back over her shoulder. “Mr. Ishida! We’re going to Mimi-chan’s party!”

“Have fun,” he said. He raised a hand. He didn’t look their direction.

Yamato wondered when the point was that Hiroaki gave up on him. He didn’t care to think it could have been too much overtime, general stress, or whatever. The child had to make it about himself.

Yamato pulled on his boots and Keito lugged him outside by the arm. They shut the door and, at the elevator, Yamato continued where he left off in the bathroom. He kissed her, jerked his hips against her, panted.

“Yamato. Come on… Jeez,” she sighed. “I’m not in the mood today.”

“Like, your period or something?” he asked.

She looked as if she would say something, her gaze at the floor. The elevator settled, jostling them for a moment. “Just. Bloated, that’s all... I’m kinda pudgy, right? Sorry. It’ll pass, I’m sure... I should have told you sooner, huh?”

“Uh, right,” he whispered. “G-Guess that explains why you’re driving me crazy.”

“You’re just stressed. You’re always like this when things bother you.”

“We’ve barely dated a few months and you sound like you know me.”

“I promise I’ll give you a kiss goodbye when we get there if you behave yourself, young man,” she called in a sing song tone. She danced out the elevator. She was already at the front doors, leaving Yamato standing still, confused. The doors began to close and he slipped past them to catch up with her.

*

“Mimi’s apartment complex is so nice.” Keito said. “My father would design something like this. Oh, see that? This wallpaper is so popular right now. Whoever chose this was on their A game.”

Yamato entwined his arm with hers and he pulled her taught. He had a bad feeling. The scar on his chest ached as if trying to tell him something; the feeling of being ripped limb from limb. His fingertips tingled as he walked. He squeezed Keito’s hand in his and continued to shake the impending sense of doom by burying himself in her touch.

Keito stopped at the door, but Yamato kept walking until they reached the end of the hall, in the safety of a dark corner. The blond stared at the elevator at the opposite end, watched as some of his friends emerged in the distance. “Kei,” he whispered.

“What’s up?” she whispered. She looked around. “Why are we way down here? I saw the sign on the doo—“

“This is kind of a personal get together sort of thing and my ex is gonna be here and… just…”

“Relax, will you?” Keito asked him, peering under his downtrodden expression. She lifted his face with her fingertips. “I’ll go grab a coffee and a book and maybe get us something fun for later…” She leaned into his body, hands on his chest. She ignored the stains at the base of his shirt and higher, slid her palms over his chest and igniting the sensitive flesh underneath. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss because he wore his stage boots and they made him a few inches taller than usual.

Yamato held her in his arms and eyed with his peripheral vision, a spec of red. He whirled Keito around and drowned her yelp in his lips. He had his hands on her shoulders, pressing her against the papered wall as he eagerly took her tongue for himself.

Sora had shown up alone with a bouquet, probably from her mother’s shop.

Sure, it was petty to kiss his new girlfriend in his ex’s sight. Yamato knew that. But damn it he was angry. She’d never apologized for trying to sleep with him, especially when he was drunk. (Rape him, Eliza corrected.) The more he thought about it then, the more gross he felt, and the harder he kissed Keito.

Keito made a moan, but pushed her lover back. “You should get in there,” she said, wiping her lips on her sleeve with a nervous laugh. “Save that for later, sexy.”

Yamato nodded and started down the hall, but stopped. He looked back at Keito, bangs covering his eyes. “Keit… Come with me.”

She blinked and scurried over. “What? I don’t wanna intrude…”

“Look, it doesn’t make sense not having the most important thing in my life with me,” he whispered, hands in his pockets and gaze at the foot of the door. His cheeks burned. “Please.”

“Well, if you want me for moral support I’m not gonna say no… but your friends…”

“Are they my friends, really?” Yamato snorted. “Mimi wouldn’t have to throw this party at all if… well whatever, fuck it, let’s go.”

The two stepped inside. Miyako saw them first from her position near a buffet table behind the couch. Along the table were an array of bags in every color of the rainbow. Yamato recognized them as matching the Digi-Eggs and their crests. Mimi had really gone all out. He spotted decorated cookies, streamers dangled above his head tickling his spikes, balloons squeaking against his boots, and Keito giggled when bubbles flew her direction from a bubble machine. There were more snacks and sandwiches on the table, a punch bowl, sodas and disposable cups, napkins. The final thing Yamato took note of were the plants around the apartment—they all looked like Palmon.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were bringing people,” Miyako said. She didn’t necessarily mean it to sound so off-putting, but Yamato also didn’t care for her blurt-the-first-thing-that-comes-to-mind mouth. He shifted weight to one foot and sighed. Miyako ignored the intruder. “I only have one bag, see? They’re all personalized. We stayed up all night making them and decorating and stuff.”

“It’s beautiful,” Yamato feinted. He smirked and closed his eyes for a second before taking the bag and moving his hand to the small of Keito’s back and ushering her further into the living room. He heard Daisuke arrive behind him and Miyako’s attention shifted to him.

“Now what?” Keito asked. She tried to brush back a sharp, red spike of her bangs but it just fell back into place.

“Dunno. Don’t care,” Yamato admitted. He started towards the other side of the living room near the fireplace where no one had gathered yet and he was decently far from the door, too. He slipped a small bottle from his coat and chugged it.

“Eh, share?” Keito asked, giving her lover a playful shove.

“You’re lucky I planned to get blitzed,” he smirked and hissed the words in a whisper and passed a bottle to her. For a while they stared at the large painting above the fireplace and drank. They chuckled and clinked the small bottles of alcohol out of view.

“The painting. I think it’s the same one they had on the Titanic,” Yamato said. “I think it’s.”

“Y-Yeah, totally,” Keito replied. “You’re, you’re so smart.”

“Not’s’mart as you,” he replied. “Or prettyyyyyy.”

*

“Thanks, las—last thing I want, bust my head or whatever,” Yamato said. He smiled and Keito turned away to admire the tiny bathroom as he relieved himself. “S-So, what do you think of of them?”

“Your friends are int’resting,” she said. Keito splashed her face in the sink. “Theydon’twantmehere… no one’s said hi to me… I’m not, I’m not a bad per… person, right?”

“They’re pricks,” Yamato said, zipping up. He turned to find the sink a few feet behind him. Keito moved past him, the two switching places in the small room. She reached past him to flush the toilet, then turned to watch him in the reflection of the mirror. Yamato stared down at the water pouring from the faucet, lost in thought. “I hate them.”

Keito shook her head and stepped closer. She turned off the water. “That’s… nah.”

“I wish everyone, everyone was dead,” Yamato said. He pointed at the ground, as if to visibly make his point, admitting feelings from a time long ago, from a memory he was lost in. Something Keito noticed he did a lot. She said so. “What?”

“Whas they say? Grab the day by the horns!” she called out, smiling at him, then laughing. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “There’s no use, wanderin’ like a ghost… Things…” She struggled to speak between desperate kisses, as if each one would heal him a bit further. More than her words, she figured, but she had to speak. “Things change but…”

“Keito,” he whispered. “I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel my fingertips!”

“Because you drink too much,” she slurred, too, and pecked him on the lips. “Now let’s… someone’s gonna notice… well, maybe not.”

“No one gives a fuck,” he said, barely audible with the breath that escaped his lungs. He pulled her close and they backed into the light switch, wrapping themselves in the dark. The only light filtered through the slits in the wooden door. “There’s something… to do…. since got here,” he said. Yamato held her tighter, pulling her waist towards him.

“What? Yamato!” Keito hissed. “At your friends’ party, really? Realllly? Boy.”

“Come on,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda sexy right? All alone in this tiny room where someone might see us.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a fucking exhibit… exhibit-nist? Exhibionist.”

“No, I just love you and I want you to know that,” he said in complete seriousness and each word clear. He wrapped his arms around her head and kissed her again. Her curls fell over his slender, now-smooth fingertips. He lost himself in her, taking note of the sound of her leather coat hitting the tile. “I’ve been thinking about you since we got here. In this room. Making love to you…”

Keito understood most of what he said through the slurring and indulged him with abandon until she found herself sitting on the sink with his tongue buried in her. She pressed the back of her wrist to her lips, trying to silence herself. His tongue pushed deeper before he paused for a breath and moved higher where he began, taking the throbbing nub between his teeth.

Keito playfully hit him on the shoulders, audibly begged him to stop while massaging the back of his head, stirring up his bangs. He’d taken her slower before, relishing every twitch under his tongue but now he tasted her faster and she couldn’t hide her whimpering as ecstasy drew closer.

He groaned as the engorged flesh throbbed against his lips over and over. She leaned against the mirror and shook. He raised his face and held her open with trembling fingers, admiring her body’s reaction to him. She never stopped massaging his scalp until that moment, tugging hard and urging him to return for another round.

“I know I give you crap for being all over me,” she chuckled as he licked her slow again. She moaned and continued to speak: “But I love it. I love it so much. Don’t stop.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, taking a tiny break to lean against her thigh and undo his jeans again. He groaned and nipped at her leg before burying himself in her heat again.

Keito lost herself, no longer caring how loud she was. She felt his fingertips in time with his tongue, only briefly, before she heard the steady beat of skin on skin somewhere below her. This only made her release another wave of heat as orgasm built itself up again.

“...i’so hard,” he mumbled into her folds. A deep moan. He sped up, unable to focus on her with his own need distracting him.

“Yamato… do it on me,” she said. “Don’t wanna make a mess, right?”

He stared up at her half awake and swayed as he climbed to his feet. He resumed and Keito stripped back her shirt, exposing her petite but round breasts. She leaned forward, careful not to lose balance and slip from where her thighs held her at an angle between the wall and the faucet. Her head hit the medicine cabinet when she felt his free hand grope her breast tight.

“Kei,” he gasped.

“Yamato—“ she hissed and pushed her chest outward.

He busted and caught himself against the towel hook, nearly pulling it from the wall. He watched ropes coat her pale skin and then fell forward with heaving breaths. “I’m dizzy,” he whispered. He felt around with both hands and she held him up. They stood there for a few seconds catching their breath when the door burst open.

Yamato fell against the wall and one of Keito’s thighs. She instinctively pulled her legs closer, managing to get one boot on the edge of the sink as a maroon haired young man burst through the second door neither of the teenagers managed to notice.

The door slammed shut, but the intruder didn’t leave. Instead he looked between the two bodies awkwardly positioned around the sink.

“Daisuke! Occupied!” Yamato barked, tugging his jeans upward. “What the fuck, man?!”

“I have to pee!” he wailed.

Yamato rolled his eyes and pressed a fist to his forehead. “We gotta stop fucking in bathrooms...”

Keito chuckled. “Can’t you go pee off the side of the balcony or something?”

Daisuke looked between them, stammering.

Yamato peeked past his bunched fist, debating using it, and growled. “Hey, stop staring at my girlfriend already. Get the Hell outta here!”

The boy turned on his heels. “Sorry! I, well, uh… I’ll go find the other bathroom or a sink or something…”

*

“There you two are,” Sora noted as the couple appeared from the hallway. “You know, we were beginning to wonder what the noise was.”

Yamato glared past her. Most of the group were doing their own thing, so Yamato could see Sora was exaggerating to get under his skin. The girls gathered in the kitchen chattering and the men huddled over the snack table, laughing. Even Takeru managed to loosen up enough to be near Taichi and Koushiro despite his beliefs, and Yamato eyed the smile on his brother’s face before Sora blocked his view.

“What the Hell are you doing?” she continued.

“None of your business,” he grumbled. His slurring was a bit clearer now that their jumpscare sobered him. He started past her.

“Does it take two?” she snapped.

“I don’t have time for this,” Yamato replied.

“Maybe if you weren’t wasted from the moment you got here.”

“What do you want, Sora? A fucking apology? Damn, I’d love one, too. Why don’t you go gaggle with the other hens already?” Yamato whined. He turned and Keito already knew where things were going, so she grabbed him and whirled him back around.

“Hens? Is that all women are to you? Why am I not surprised?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered and started towards the balcony in hopes of a smoke.

“Excuse me? God forbid I express some concern!”

“Hey, Yamato! You decided to join us?” Taichi called from the table. Then the brunette’s eyes noticed the heated woman crossing her arms and frowned. “Eh, what’s going on?”

“Yamato decided it would be better to hang out with his girlfriend than welcome home Mimi.”

“What do you even care?!” the blond shrieked. “I’m sorry. Happy now? Leave. Me. Alone.”

“I was concerned about you, but obviously you don’t care about yourself or Mimi’s feelings,” Sora explained.

“Sora, it’s okay. Yamato’s here, isn’t he?” Taichi pressed. He twisted his lips. He walked over and tossed an arm over Yamato’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged him off with a grunt and stumbled back a step.

For a second the two exes stared at one another, desperate to understand what was going through their minds and unable to. Yamato shook his head, still lightheaded from before and from Sora’s comments.

“I’m gonna enjoy the party, then,” he said.

“About time,” she snorted.

“Have fun!” Taichi said, tapping his best friend on the cheek as if to sober him up. The blond grumbled, but took the affectionate pat as a small price to pay to not have to deal with… whatever Sora was trying to talk about.

Yamato barely saw his ex pulled away at Taichi’s behest before he turned tail and to the balcony. Keito decided to keep her distance from the steamed redhead and kept the sliding door cracked just enough to eavesdrop.

“Whew! I can’t believe her. She was pissed at you,” Keito half sang, gently closing the door. Yamato already had his cigarette lit when she saw his reflection in the glass. Keito looked past him to the friends inside. Yamato’s little brother, who he didn’t mention much, was talking to that Sora person. She watched them until Sora glared her direction and then Keito turned around. She looked out over the skyline as smoke drifted to her nose. “We’ll go back in once she’s cooled down.”

“I’m gonna go home,” he said, voice hoarse. “There’s nothing for me here.”

“Oh, um… But your friends were so happy to see you?” Keito stammered. “Even though we didn’t talk to anyone…” She leaned against the glass and picked at a loose thread on her shorts. “I’m sorry I got carried away before… I shouldn’t’ve…”

Yamato turned quickly. “No no no, you didn’t do anything. I told you, my friends don’t understand. They would rather stand around and laugh about the past then live in the moment, right?” The blond took his lover’s hands in his and planted kisses on them, careful to avoid burning her with the cigarette as ash fell to the concrete underneath them. “Oh, and if you mean Daisuke, he’s dense. He probably doesn’t even realize what he saw. And if he did, he didn’t care. He’s pretty chill.”

“Sorry. I know how you feel. Like you don’t belong here…”

“Not just here…”

“But anywhere,” the two said together. They smirked and chuckled and Yamato leaned in, kissed Keito on the lips again. Yamato looked past spiky auburn strands and watched as Mimi clinked a spoon to glass.

When they returned inside, Mimi had gathered everyone around the couch. “Now that everyone’s here, I just wanna say how thankful I am for you all. In memory of the Digimon and how they brought us together, I wanted to bring us together too!”

Keito whispered in Yamato’s ear: “What’s a Digimon?”

He ignored her.

Mimi continued on and Yamato glanced around the room. The confetti on the floor in different shapes and shades. Everyone had some sort of themed snack, like the bugle corn chips for Gabumon’s horn or the sesame crackers for Gomamon. Mimi decorated the room with tissue paper flowers that looked like Palmon. The (sadly, nonalcoholic) punch looked like the sunset on Dragon Eye Lake.

Yamato clenched his fists and didn’t wait for Mimi to stop talking before he burst out chuckling at the absolute insanity of it all.

“W-What’s the point?” he said, hiding his laughter in the back of his hand. Yamato dragged his feet as he walked towards the group. “I mean, I’m glad you’re back, Mimi, but… saying this is about the Digimon is kinda stup-stupid isn’t it?” He hiccuped. From drunkenness or clenching back tears, no one knew.

“What?” Mimi whined. She looked at the others in confusion.

“They’re basically dead now, aren’t they?” Yamato asked, grinning wide. “What’s the point? What’s the point?”

“Hey, Yamato, shut up,” Taichi said. He stepped away from Koushiro and pulled Yamato back. “You’re ruining Mimi’s speech. Come on.”

“This is ridiculous,” the blond said, laughing. “Do we even know each other anymore? Did any of you even want me here?”

“We all wanted everyone here,” Mimi pressed, putting her hands on her hips. “At least, I thought that’s what everyone wanted. If you wanted to bring your bad attitude—“

“I never even wanted to be here!” Yamato growled. I hate this!! He glared at Mimi—but turned his gaze to the floor. He didn’t wanna hurt her. He loved having her back in town again. Mimi always carried about her a quiet understanding and a firm opinion and he loved that about her, but even then the blond was just too angry. He was hurt. Not just by how much everyone was growing apart and didn’t seem to notice, but hurt by their optimism. He wanted that, too, damn it.

“You don’t wanna be here, but you’re the one who holds us together in the end,” Takeru whispered.

“Everyone just pretends like nothing happened! Just like with her. Fucking figures.” Yamato snapped and grumbled the latter under his breath, his voice cracked like a broken chord. He brushed back his bangs with one hand, only for them to fall back into place. He stumbled and Keito took his arm. “Do you all enjoy being spit out and thrown away? Just taken to do these monumental things and tossed onto the street? Expected to go back to the way things were? You expect me to celebrate the worst day of our lives? Fuck you. Fuck all of you! I am not responsible for holding this entire shitshow together! Just because of some stupid emblem you want me to put my feelings aside—” Yamato coughed and he tried to keep talking but he was too angry to form words.

“This was to celebrate Mimi,” Taichi said gently. “Not just the Digimon, Yamato. We all think it sucks, you know?”

Keito watched in confusion. She tugged at Yamato’s coat. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

“We’re not friends anymore. At least, we aren’t that group anymore. No nakama. Life goes on. I think you all forgot that,” Yamato said. Another cough and he followed Keito’s tugging at his arm. “Mimi… I’m really glad you’re back. Sorry I’ve ruined this. I shouldn’t have come at all... We aren’t living in some fantasy world anymore. I’m leaving. If you guys wanna do… this… then have at it. I can’t stand around and pretend anymore.”

“Yamato,” Taichi said. “You’re acting like none of us have the same problems as you.”

The blond froze at the door and whipped around so fast, Keito had to catch herself in Miyako’s arms. She awkwardly steadied herself and gave a quick nod to the girl she didn’t know and cracked open the apartment door. Yamato wouldn’t let up: “Because you don’t! Fucking Christ.” He laughed and looked to Sora who remained silent the entire time. She couldn’t even meet his bloodshot gaze. He looked to Takeru, Daisuke, everyone. He didn’t recognize them anymore. Their hair had changed, their eyes were more tired, their clothes were stuff they wouldn’t be caught dead in just four years earlier. “You all believe her.”

“What are you talking about?” Iori questioned.

“And for the record I didn’t break Jou’s arm, his f—“

“That’s enough,” Jou hissed. Yamato thought that would be it, but no. Jou held his freshly healed arm, stiff with the remnants of injury, and stepped into the other’s personal bubble. “Just go before you make things worse. Like you always do.”

“Yeah, screw you too.” Yamato sighed and stormed out the door. Keito barely waved goodbye before he slammed it shut. He marched towards the elevator and Keito quickly tiptoed behind him. “The nerve of them. Acting all happy. For what?”

“Yamato, I don’t understand what’s going on,” Keito said worriedly. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her leather coat and followed her boyfriend into the elevator. They rode halfway down in silence—they were at least twenty floors up—but then Yamato spoke.

“It’s not easy to explain, when you’re dragged into another world and expected to save it on the whim of some, bullshit, or whatever. You make some good friends, but they can’t come home with you. I don’t belong here, Keito. I don’t belong there, either. Once my usefulness ended, they stole everything they gave to me and left me with just the memories. The good and the bad. I…”

“What?”

“The Digimon. The Digital World. It may as well have never happened at all.”

*

That evening, curled on the couch, Yamato explained everything that happened. From the time they saw the glowing not-meteorites to the fading sparkles of the dimensional gate closing forever. The movie on in the background sounded like static and the air conditioner shut off with a loud clank. He worried he scared her as she traced the scar under his collarbone—he’d probably gone into more detail than even his friends knew. He decidedly left out the warm nights of the boiler room with Jou, his struggles with his family, toned down his fighting with Taichi. He chuckled to himself, remembering the earthy scent of Gabumon’s fur and the smooth scales of his yellow skin. His chest weighed heavy, seemed to pull him to the floor. Ever since they parted Yamato couldn’t shake the feeling of being more broken than ever—where once he felt he could stumble along with some light repairs and bacon grease, now he watched loose bolts and frayed wires shed from his skin. He’d lost half of himself and there was no way to get that missing piece back. His breath caught in his chest. He wanted so badly to tell her what he was really holding back then, but he coughed and dismissed the thought.

Keito was too sweet, too naive, he felt, to understand an even worse trauma than being isekai’d to dinosaur land. Perhaps he could tell her another time, he figured, still stuck on the tickle of fur against his nose as the memory faded.

“Somehow, they all think we will see each other again. They don’t know what the real world is like…” In the end that was the only indication he could give of what was bothering him. He wasn’t sure he knew if it was his memories or the Digimon or just failing in his relationships that had tipped him over the edge. He started to reach his hand out for hers but snatched it away.

“That’s awful,” Keito whispered. She leaned over his back, arms tight around his bare chest. She sniffled. “You care so much, Yamato… That’s why they don’t understand.”

“...everyone just uses me…” he whispered. “...ou too…”

Keito nuzzled into the back of his neck, sending a tingle down his spine. He sat up slightly with a sigh.

“I love you. I won’t leave you,” she whispered. Red curls fell onto his shoulders. Then, he heard her silently cry against the back of his ear. “I won’t… leave…”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. Yamato laid down, breaking their touch. She opted for the other end of the couch, knees curled up to her chest as they finished whatever was on. Keito gently put a hand to her stomach. She felt sick again.

***

Yamato didn’t tell Eliza the details. How could he? All he explained was that he and his friends grew apart. Or were growing apart. Keito comforted him. He didn’t tell her the problem he struggled with even now, especially now—that fear of abandonment. He grew visibly uncomfortable, shifting his feet and cursing and eventually he stood and went to the window and opened it and smoked. Why he decided to be suddenly halfway considerate? Guilt for not being able to tell Eliza the full truth. He should be able to trust her. Maybe someday he could.

“You had to grow up fast, Yamato,” she answered. “But I can see you knew that even then. But you should have made an attempt. You wanted to fail, you wanted to cause a scene. I think you knew that then, too.”

“Sure,” he chuckled. His voice cracked. He wasn’t even in the room anymore. Yamato thought of Gabumon—something he pushed into the same realm as a childhood storybook or a movie you watched on repeat and forgot about. That toy lost behind the bed, never seen again. Was he even alive? After the cigarette burned down to the filter, he laughed. “Keito… I think she was beginning to suspect something was wrong with me. Clever girl, am I right?”

Do you believe in love?

Like I believe in pain?

Nobody died for you

So somebody pray for me

When you see me, cut me down

And I will force it underground

There’s no one left to hurt but me

and it’s because of me… right?

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 – Saturdays

Late April, 2005

Buzz. Buzz.

Buzz.

Yamato lifted his face from the mattress. He yawned, looked at the crack under his bedroom door. He reached across Keito’s torso and fumbled around for where he’d stripped his jeans the evening before. He pulled out his phone, dropped it, and picked it up again.

Yamato thought it might be Hiroaki at first, but no.

“Moshi…” the blond grumbled, half-awake.

“Oh, were you asleep?”

“It’s fine, Koushie,” Yamato said, sitting up. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. Keito snored next to him. He watched the spikes from her ponytail fall loose and over her shoulders as she breathed. For a second, he was lost in her lips, her lashes, her soft skin, the way her hair smelled like cucumber. She’d used to use a cake scent, but changed it when she learned of Yamato’s dislike of sweets. The boy held the phone to his ear and flopped forward. He asked: “What’s going on?” then, reached around for his cigarettes somewhere on the floor.

“It’s noon,” the redhead whispered to himself, ignoring his friend’s yawn. “I wanted to ask if you’d heard from Taichi at all?”

Yamato snorted. “No, you’re the only one that ever talks to me nowadays. Is he too busy at that fancy ass school my father got him into to call his own boyfriend, too?”

Keito must have sensed her lover’s frustration and blinked, slowly waking. She reached an arm out to his shoulder blade and patted it down with reassurance.

“Uh, I see,” Koushiro replied. Yamato knew to wait when the boy hesitated. He had a harder time than him when it came to communicating. Yamato was awkward, sure, but he thought quick on his feet. Koushiro chose every word precisely—Yamato admired that about him. “Is there any way I may request a favor of you?”

The blond rolled over, into his girlfriend’s arms. “I guess? What’s the deal?”

“Taichi… He’s been distant lately. Like he’s hiding something from me again. You’re his best friend, so…” Koushiro rambled for a second before Yamato interrupted.

Taichi? Distant?

“He’s hiding from you again?” the blond asked through his teeth. “Why is it so hard for him to just talk to the man he loves? Fuck’s sake...”

“Could you go out to check on Taichi? At Tatsumi High?” Koushiro asked. His words churned out quicker and his breath shallow.

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t mind,” the blond said. He lit a cigarette. “I don’t have anything else to do. Don’t worry, okay? Actually… Hey, Keit.” She tilted her head. Koushiro’s breath paused, back to normal. Any tears he wanted to shed, Yamato could hear the boy choking them back. “Would you go talk to my buddy, Koush? Keep him company while I go talk to Taichi, since that gogglehead is insistent on being a pain in my ass today?”

Yamato hoped he heard Koushiro chuckle slightly. He grinned, smoke rising from his teeth.

Keito thought about it. “I guess so?”

“It won’t be like the party, I swear,” Yamato said. “Koushiro’s chill.”

Koushiro coughed on the other end. “I don’t know if that’s accurate—“

“Now, my girlfriend, Keito, will be right over. That is, if you don’t mind teaching her Chinese checkers or something. No Monopoly. She cheats.”

“Ugh, I do not! I’m just lucky!” Keito said and she swatted at Yamato.

“Then why am I the one who always ends up butt-naked when we play stripopoly?”

“Because you’re lucky,” she snorted.

As soon as Koushiro thanked him, Yamato closed his cell and tossed it somewhere. Keito kissed him, gave his balls a quick squeeze, then slid from his bed and his grip. He pouted.

“Hey, you asked me to go keep Koushie company. I’m not gonna be a half hour late because you’re being a horny bastard.”

*

Yamato kicked the stand on his scooter with such force his boot scraped the sidewalk. He hadn’t bothered with his helmet, usually leaving it for Keito. He’d check his hair in the sideview mirror, but Yamato didn’t have the energy that afternoon. He’d barely found the patience to toss on a half buttoned up black shirt and semi-presentable jeans, if he didn’t count the stains. He thought he should try to look at least partially fashionable for such a hoity-toity place. He just wanted to get whatever lame excuse Taichi had to offer and go home, maybe make Keito a nice dinner, and veg out in front of the TV for awhile.

The school Hiroaki found for Taichi stood at three stories tall. He heard it had a basement, too. The soccer field spanned most of one side, so Yamato didn’t wander long. Oh, wait, that was the practice field... The actual playing arena was a stadium in the back. The blond took out a cigarette, smoked and walked around the enormous building. Students eyed him from a few feet beyond the fenceline, some winked at him, and others laughed. He flipped them all off just the same and waited at the gate where it opened to the tournament field. He saw kids in jerseys file out of the doors, down a large set of stairs, and flood out like ants. A bell. Yamato eyed for that poofy brown hair he knew too well. All he had to do was find the brunette with the big ego, how hard could it be? When a few minutes passed and Yamato didn’t see him, he asked the closest student. The young man stumbled along from the field to the gate, kicking while trying to pick up the ball.

Yamato wanted to comment on how someone that lackluster got into a place like that, but he restrained himself for Taichi’s sake.

“Hey, you, got a sec?” Yamato took a long drag as the person approached him. He knew bullies when he saw them, always carrying themselves with their fantasy swagger and attitude. He let out the puff of smoke in the boy’s face. A courtesy for not saying he was lackluster.

“What? What is it?” he wailed. “Menthol, gross...”

Yamato smirked, “Looking for Yagami. Where is he?”

“Don’t know ‘im.”

“Please, he’s the star soccer player… Stop jerking me around.”

“What are you doing on Tatsumi High property, delinquent?”

“I’m waiting for a friend, but you’re too full of shit to listen,” Yamato said simply. He tossed down the cigarette butt across the fence. The kid rushed to stamp it out before the field caught fire.

“I’m gonna tell coach on you!”

“I’m just here for Taichi, you little pissant. Go get him and I’ll leave your precious school alone.”

Yamato watched the boy scoff, run to the back of the field. Then, he saw his friend in the crowd. Taichi caught sight of him, someone alerting the soccer player to his attention.

Taichi hurried over, the loser from earlier and the other, bigger loser, following a few paces back.

The blond leaned into the fence with both hands, as if trapped on the other side, except that his

expression was one of a raised eyebrow and a grimace.

Taichi’s uniform was full of grass stains, as if he hadn’t washed it in a few days. His hair was weighed down under leave-in conditioner—part of why Yamato hadn’t spotted him. Even Taichi’s eyelids seemed to have trouble holding themselves up.

“For the love of fuck, I thought I’d never see you looking like me.” Yamato chuckled.

“...what are you doing here?”

“Koushiro sent me. That’s what happens when you ignore your boyfriend. He calls your best friend to come knock your teeth in. But, frankly, looks like someone else’s been doin’ that for you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Please. I’m the king of ‘Don’t worry about it’,” Yamato muttered. “Koushiro is worried about you. Do you not trust him or something?”

“I’ve got it under control!” Taichi argued back. “Ugh, why aren’t you in school anyway?”

“I took a sabbatical,” the blond snapped. “So, what do you want me to tell Koushiro? You know I’m not gonna lie for you.”

About then, the other boys caught up to Taichi. Yamato glared through the hexagonal wire and his knuckles turned white as the fence strained under his grip. He figured, if his lungs didn’t give out, he could jump it fairly quick if things got bad. He took a step forward, just barely placing the tip of one boot into the metal framing.

“Oh, is this the boyfriend, butt fairy?”

“Please,” Yamato said, raising a hand to his chest. “Go on more about yourselves.”

“What was that, blondie?” the taller one barked. He shoved Taichi out of the way. Yamato eyed his friend as he nearly fell over, then shook his head. Why was Taichi letting these losers push him around, anyway?!

“All you can do is call people names, huh?”

“This is private property,” the shorter one said, ignoring the stranger’s comment.

“Hence why I’m on public property. But I have no issue climbing over that fence and rearranging your ugly ass face. Come on. I shot a woman and beat up a grown man. Try me.”

“Yamato,” Taichi whined. “No tall tales right now.”

“You’re not worth it, you gajin punk! And you… you’re gonna get it this time.” The tall one interrupted, shoving Taichi aside. The friend stumbled and caught himself against the fence.

The two bullies stormed off.

Yamato glared at them as Taichi steadied himself to his feet. Those losers reminded Yamato of the bullies he and Takeru had in elementary, always poking at them for their ‘impure blood’.

“I can handle Eiri,” Taichi said quickly.

“You’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Shut up, man. I’m not in the mood. Just go tell Koushiro I’m fine and I will call him tonight, okay?”

The (once) bearer of friendship shifted in his boots. He wasn’t sure if that excuse would be sufficient for Koushiro, but he also had Taichi to consider. He didn’t wanna betray his bro, either. The more Yamato considered it, the more he decided he shouldn’t get involved anymore than he already was. He wasn’t exactly an expert on relationships…

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but even Keito was a little cold to him as of late. As if whatever Jou said to her rattled her. Yamato turned on his heels. I’m glad his arm got broken! He deserves it for upsetting her so much! God damn it, why am I thinking of him right now? Why does my chest ache… it’s just all that tar he keeps lecturing me about, right?

“Hey,” Taichi said. “Thanks, Yamato.”

“Eh, sure,” the blond muttered. He went back to his scooter and sat there for a few minutes. Part of him didn’t wanna go home. He thought about just driving out to the ocean and never stopping. That would have been better for everyone…

*

Yamato downed a mint as he waited for someone to answer at the Izumi Residence. He hadn’t been over in awhile. Somehow it felt nostalgic, especially under the light of the setting sun. Even though he’d visited only a few years ago. Back when the Digimon...

Perhaps it was how quaint it felt. The windsock tossing in the breeze above the rail, the little potted plant with tiny ceramic beetles in it, and the welcome mat on the ground all felt… strange.

Yamato hadn’t had any of those things, since… Well, since Hikarigoaka.

I wonder how Mom is… No I don’t. What the fuck. I hope she fell down the fucking stairs!

“Yes?” answered a middle-aged woman. She wore her strawberry hair loose, long, flowing over her shoulders. She also wore a green turtleneck, a dark pink skirt, and a yellow apron. Yamato vaguely remembered her from Vamdemon’s attack, but to be fair, he’d been more distracted with his own mother’s presence to really pay attention…

And now I’m thinking of her again. When will is stop? Do I have to wait for her to die to be rid of her eyes on me?

He thanked Keito for the suggestion of ‘looking like he gave a damn’, because he’d hate to appear like a punk to a woman with such an endearing smile. Although, this was Koushiro’s mother… so Yamato backed up absentmindedly.

“Mrs. Izumi,” Yamato said. He pulled into himself, tucking his hands deeper into his jean pockets.

“You’re one of Koushiro’s friends!” she said, raising a finger to her lips in recollection. “I’m sorry, I’m so terrible with names…”

“Ishida, Yamato. I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous sending my girlfriend here, I just felt like Koushiro could use some company while I went to see Taichi.”

“Oh, how is he?”

“Wonderful,” Yamato said, his voice cracking. “A-Anyway… I…”

Kae held her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Come in, come in. It’s so stuffy now that summer’s creeping in.”

Yamato slipped past her quickly. He hated that such a beautiful, kind woman made his skin crawl. He hurried down the hall, to Koushiro’s door. He half expected to see Tentomon waving his scythe shaped flipper-claw, but instead, Keito was playfully pulling her hair out and Koushiro was laughing. They sat on either side of a low, square table with a board game on top. A flat wooden square with almost gravestone shaped pieces. Yamato never played, but he would be braindead if he didn’t recognize it.

Keito turned, smiled. “Yamato! He’s subjecting me to shogi! How could you leave me with this beast?!”

Yamato covered his mouth to hide his laughter. How was she so fucking adorable? He couldn’t take his eyes from her smile and then her blushing and then her turning away because neither could stand to stare into one another’s hearts any longer.

“Ah, Yamato, did you talk to Taichi?” Koushiro asked. He placed both hands on the table, shaking a few of the pieces out of place. He tried to stand, but tripped over himself. Keito reached out as if to catch him, but Koushiro held the table and stood.

“Yeah. He said he’s fine—“

“Did he look okay?”

“Sure, he said he’s gonna call you later. Like, definitely.” A pause. Koushiro stared at the floor, watched as a game piece clattered down between them, writing side down. He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. Yamato sighed. “I swear, Koushiro!”

“I know you wouldn’t lie, Yamato,” the boy said.

Keito stood and went over to her boyfriend, taking his hand. “Why don’t we stay a bit longer? Are you good at shogi, Yama-kun?”

The blond shrugged.

“You promise?” Koushiro asked again.

“Look,” Yamato said and joined them in the center of the bedroom. He took a seat on one side of the table. He stretched one leg out. The scooter hadn’t been kind to his calves. He just realized he’d been so quick to get past Mrs. Izumi he’d forgotten his shoes and hurriedly removed them and tossed them aside, apologizing profusely. “Anyway, what I was gonna say was, I’ll stay here til that big-headed jerk calls you like he promised, deal?”

“I’ll stay as long as I can. I do have to go home eventually,” Keito said, side-eyeing Yamato. He blushed and she turned back to Koushiro. “You were saying, about this fancy stone here?”

*

“So, you can be kind,” Eliza said. She leaned on one palm with the biggest smile Yamato had seen since he started sessions with her.

His cheeks burned, but he couldn’t hide from her. “Koushiro… doesn’t deserve any pain…”

“...and Keito? Did you ever get to talk to her?”

“I tried. There was this big game of Taichi’s. Now he was asking me to keep an eye on Koushiro. I couldn’t say no… they were…”

“Your friends?”

*

“I finally get to meet Taichi. I swear you bitch about him more than you bitch about Yutaka,” Keito snickered. “I know, I know, I saw him at the party, but like… for a few seconds.”

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, we have to meet Koushiro. I don’t want those guys messing with him. I didn’t even want you here. It’s dangerous.”

“You treat me like I can’t take care of myself!”

“Forgive me for worrying about the woman I love!”

Keito paused in her steps. “I’m… I can be independent, you know.”

Yamato stopped, too, sensing her unease. Her words reminded him of Takeru and then his mind drifted to the forest again. As they walked, he thought he may puke, but he hadn’t a drink all day to be tip-top for Koushiro’s safety. Yamato had no issues fucking himself over, but when he wasn’t gonna risk anyone else’s comfort for his own. Maybe except Jou, but that was…

He removed his harmonica from his pocket. He’d only started carrying it because he knew it would comfort Keito when she was upset… which, was she crying more often? She said it was just hormones... That was part of why he told himself today was gonna be the day he finally talked to her. About all the weird chick stuff like a family and futures and colleges. Stuff Yamato never put any thought into—and why should he when those things were so far off?

Keito didn’t ask for things as often, too, which hurt Yamato. He wanted to do kind things for her. When he got her a small thing of chocolate the week before, she declined it, saying it ‘wasn’t necessary’.

“I just wanted to give you something. I wanted to try and find a different way to show you how I feel,” he explained. “Something aside sex...”

Keito didn’t appear to listen. She stared at the heart-shaped box, crinkling the wrapper under her fingertips. When was the last time she had her nails done up? Yamato knew something was wrong, but no amount of prying unearthed it from her.

Before she went home, she left the chocolates on his dresser.

“I’m kind of sick of this,” Yamato hissed as they neared the stands. Koushiro was at the top, back row. Perfect view for Taichi, perfect view for Yamato to keep watch for those two losers from before. “But I’m not gonna fight right now.”

“I didn’t ask to come along so we would,” Keito retorted. She put on her best smile—one Yamato felt he’d seen a bit too often lately, and they greeted Koushiro and sat down. Yamato asked Keito to sit on the other side of the redheaded boy as an extra measure. In retrospect, as the game started up, Yamato wondered, Does she think I sat her there to put her in danger? I just wanted to protect Koushiro. I… I can’t tell if she’s mad or not. Maybe she’s just mad I didn’t ask her to sit on the other side with me? Maybe she isn’t mad at all. I don’t know.

Fuck, Yamato, focus.

“Taichi put you up to this,” the shorter boy stated.

Yamato noted the other’s simple yet formal dress of a button up shirt and shorts, sandals. “No way. Really? I just thought I’d come watch Taichi play another riveting game of soccer…”

“There’s no need to be an ass, Yamato. He was just asking,” Keito said.

“I’m trying to put him at ease. Koushiro, you’re shaking like a leaf, buddy.” Yamato nudged him, just barely, as if he could physically take the edge off with a quick shake.

“I’m not used to crowds, is all,” he replied.

“Woo!” Keito called, raising both arms. Despite the warm weather, Keito wore a baggy, oversized shirt (that sadly, also obscured her boobs) and what she called her ‘I’m bloated jeans’. She turned to Koushiro with wide eyes and a smile. “What number is Taichi?”

“Um… ah, there,” Koushiro said.

Yamato didn’t follow his friend’s point, instead scanning the outer areas of the field, the lower part of the bleachers. Keito did make a joke on the way over about him treating the entire thing like some secret spy mission, but… Taichi’s voice when he called and asked… Yamato never heard him talk like that, except when he worried about Hikari. The same rattle Yamato would get worrying over Takeru. The absolute zero of fear, that something or someone was going to steal your loved one away from you.

The blond shook his head. He had to stop thinking. He had to focus on the people around him for once, but his mind was in a fog. Maybe Keito had lost a relative and didn’t want to bring it up with Kinu’s anniversary so close? Maybe she was planning some kind of surprise and doing an awful job at hiding it? But then why was she acting so depressed? She couldn’t be pregnant, they’d stuck to ‘safe days’, and besides, she would tell him. Maybe it was pressure from the school? Her parents were cracking down, she said. Threatening to cut off her allowance, all her privileges, if her grades didn’t pick up. That had to be it. But what could Yamato do? He wasn’t the best at forming study habits himself… Maybe when this entire mess was over, Yamato could ask Koushiro to tutor Keito, even if the girl was a few grades above him…

Speaking of…

“Eh, where’d Koushiro go?” Yamato asked, almost in a panic. He rose slightly from the bleacher.

“Keep away. Keep away.”

“Give it back!”

“He had to pee,” Keito said as her boyfriend shoved past her. He ran, skipping over steps to the bottom. She called out to him, but Yamato didn’t hear. He rushed into the building behind the bleachers, looking for the bathrooms. The walls of the stadium casted long shadows and Yamato growled as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

“I’ll kill you!”

Yamato shook his head. He brushed his bangs back over his forehead and heard yelling echo in the halls. He ran again, his lungs burning. He slid on the tile and hit the door frame as he rounded into the men’s bathroom. “Hey!” he barked, shoving open the door. He heaved for a moment, mostly from anger more than anything else. Even if it hadn’t been Koushiro on the other side, Yamato wouldn’t tolerate what sounded like bullying from anyone.

“Stop, Eiri. This is going too far,” one of the boy’s said. Yamato recognized him from the field.

“Shut your hole, Nanase!”

Part of Yamato hoped not to find anyone there, that his mind was playing tricks on him, but the other half of him, the part he didn’t fully understand was happy to see the two losers from the gate standing over Koushiro. One held a large knife—definitely not of legal size to carry—in Koushiro’s direction. No, not a knife.

Are those fucking shears? Yamato stared, wide eyed, as the older one moved in one solid swoop to Koushiro, metal pressing against his friend’s throat.

“Stop,” Koushiro said. He started to move his hands on instinct but stopped as Eiri rattled the blades and barked:

“Not until you tell your boyfriend to drop out!”

“Get. Away. From him!” Yamato screamed.

Nanase—the short one, turned. He tried to get Eiri’s attention, but he held the shears into Koushiro’s neck, drawing a trickle of blood at first… then more.

Yamato stared out from under the bed. He shivered, watched the blood pool in the floorboards, stretching out like tendrils as they overflowed, closer and closer to him.

Yamato couldn't remember much after that, which he later explained it to the cops... His knuckles hurt. A tooth flying somewhere—not his own. He smiled, only for a second, as splatter hit his cheek.

“All of you think you can just go around hurting whoever you want!” Yamato screamed and when he couldn't punch anymore he used what was left of his aching hands to tighten the boy's throat. “He doesn’t deserve this…!”

Koushiro scrambled away into a corner under the hand dryer. He choked, barely able to breathe. He couldn’t hear anything over the repeated blows to Eiri’s face.

“I can’t take it anymore! I'm tired of hurting…!” Yamato sobbed and squeezed tighter as Eiri clutched at the air.

Koushiro held his neck and balanced on the free arm, army crawling, limping towards the blond. Yamato wasn’t making words anymore, just screaming. Koushiro reached out, gripping the other’s shirt, gently tugging as a child pleading for attention would. “Y-Yamato. Please, stop. Stop!!”

The blonde let go. He looked at his hands, the blood under his nails. His throat burned. He fell back and tried to catch his breath. Where were all those thoughts he had moments ago?

The cracking noise ceased… For a moment only the dull sound of the cheering outside and the boys’ breathing remained. Yamato stared at Eiri’s unconscious body.

Koushiro continued to keep himself from bleeding out with one hand and lowered the other to Yamato’s arm, squeezing tight.

Yamato felt his daze fade as he stared down at his friend’s fingertips. Someone, touching him so gently.

“I know it’ll be okay, Yamato,” Kinu said. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone you love.”

The blond quickly ripped away a piece of his ratty, aged band shirt and pressed it to Koushiro's neck. He held it there, whispering, “It’ll be okay, Koushiro.” with dry lips and a hoarse voice until a stranger found them, then the medical staff found them.

“Who did this?” one of them asked.

Yamato pointed to Eiri’s beaten body. “Might wanna call a fuckin’ morgue.”

*

“So, as you can see, my anger problem has been with me awhile. I hate to let it go now,” Yamato snickered.

Eliza shook her head at him. She wasn’t going to let him weasel out of this. This could be a breakthrough…

“Did anyone reprimand you for that? Even though it was self defense?”

“Hey, don’t ask me why the little fucker’s family didn’t sue… probably because of everything they did to Taichi.” A pause. “Oh, you mean my father? I don’t even know if he heard about it.”

“But this Eiri kid was okay? Despite how you just described all that to me.”

“I only remember that much because Koushiro explained it at the trial,” Yamato said with a shrug.

*

Yamato picked at the see-through threads of skin hanging from his still-bloody knuckles, peeling them away like flower petals. Rose petals, probably.

Taichi and Keito rushed over. Taichi saw Koushiro being lead to an ambulance with a towel around his neck and hurried over. Yamato didn’t look up, still nervously parting with the dead skin. Keito formed a shadow as she approached him and she huffed.

He finally looked up, only to receive a slap across the face.

Yamato shook his head in a quick, short daze. “W-What the Hell?”

“Quit. You’re making a mess! ...I saw that boy, the one that hurt Koushie… you really did all that to him?”

“I wasn’t gonna let them kill Koushiro!”

“You’re so irresponsible! What if you got hurt, too? Or died? Did you even consider how I would feel?!”

“Keito…” Yamato started. But there it was again, the waterworks. Yamato felt bad thinking like that, but there was only so much he could do when she wouldn’t explain how he could alleviate her distress and worries. He didn’t see how stopping two thugs from murdering Koushiro had any other option than beat them to death first… But maybe that was the problem.

When did I get like this? I used to be the one always protecting everyone else, always keeping everyone safe and avoiding unnecessary fights and now look at me! Just because Sora made me remember all that shit again with my mother… and these feelings for Takeru are stronger than they’ve ever been… all I wanna do is drink and get laid, damn it! I don’t want to remember the Digital World anymore!

“I’m gonna call my brother and get a ride home. I can’t do this.”

“Keito,” Yamato said. But she already stormed off and he watched as she stood at the gate with her cellphone to her ear. She bawled so loud he could hear it from the back of the ambulance.

“I’m toast,” the blond said. “Yutaka’s not gonna only know we’re dating but that I made Keito upset. I guess we’re over and done…”

“Don’t count her out yet,” Taichi said. “She just needs time to cool off. And uh, honestly, maybe you too… Hell, Yamato. I’m happy you saved Koushiro… No, I’m indebted to you for saving Koushiro, but… You couldn’t have called for help first? They said Eiri might have brain damage. Keito’s kinda right, what the Hell were you thinking?”

“I just wanted Koushiro safe, damn it… I’m sorry… I couldn’t think… I need a fucking cigarette.”

Eiri left in the first ambulance, handcuffed to the gurney. The young men were grateful for small favors—at least he’d be off of Taichi’s case for awhile. Yamato motioned for Taichi to follow him to his scooter, so they could meet Koushiro at the hospital.

“What about you? That EMT wasn’t done looking you over,” Taichi said.

“I’m fine. The cops are done questioning us—aren’t you worried about him?” A pause as Yamato dropped his keys. Taichi took them. “Tell Eiri if he fucks with you again…” the blond whispered. He climbed onto the back of the scooter and leaned into Taichi’s back, exhausted. “I won’t have my friends holding me back next time.”

*

I'm just a disappointment. A failure. I let Keito down…

Yamato smoked outside the hospital. He checked his phone occasionally for a text from Taichi, but nothing yet. He finally returned upstairs, locating the wing where his best friend was waiting. Taichi kicked the vending machine and mumbled something about how much he hated hospitals.

Yamato didn’t mind them so much. His mother had been in one and it had been the happiest time of his life. All the doctors and beeps and pages reminded Yamato of Jou, too… For the first time that evening Yamato felt warm and fuzzy.

But you hate him, remember? He fucked up your relationship. Don’t forget that.

“I should have known something was wrong,” Taichi spoke and his words seemed to hang in the air. He finally got the soda from the machine and cracked it open. “If only I'd done something sooner. Koushiro...”

“Taichi,” Yamato whispered. He didn't need to say anything else. He tried to think of what Koushiro would do—how the boy had so gently taken his hand and calmed him—and put an arm around Taichi's shoulder. Yamato was shocked when his friend didn't pull away. He tried to think of anything positive to say, but he could only hear bones crunching. He held a hand to his face, realizing he never cleaned the blood. Now, it dried across his entire left cheek in streaky globs. He made a mental note to go wash his face soon.

“I feel like this day is never going to end,” Taichi groaned.

“At least Koushiro's alright,” Yamato offered.

“We don’t know that,” Taichi spat and broke away from his best friend’s embrace.

“I was there. I know he’s fine,” Yamato replied. He sighed, exasperated by Taichi’s worrying.

The two sat on some waiting benches in the hall, staring at the same ugly painting of a flower in a pot, waiting for Koushiro to come out of recovery. He needed some quick surgery upon arrival for some last minute complications—and Taichi turned from inconsolable to a man Yamato had never met before. But now, things were eerily calm.

“Y-Yeah,” Taichi said out of the blue, his breath still shaky from crying. The brunette looked up and Yamato thought momentarily the doctor had come to say Koushiro was awake. But like Taichi said, when was this day going to end?

Jou had a slight limp (well, more than his usual gait). Even though his arm healed, Yamato saw the awkward bend as Jou tried to shake the stiffness from the healing bones, nearly dropping the file folders in his hands. He looked so handsome, bangs tucked away from his eyes, his cram school uniform snug around his waist and chest. Part of Yamato wanted to hug him, just to apologize for everything and to feel his warmth again.

Yamato sprang up. He reached out for Jou, but he maneuvered around his fingertips.

Yamato expected that pleading look at least! Jou always forgave him. That’s what friends did! After all, Jou was the one that believed in him when no one else did… Jou had to have heard that he rescued Koushiro, right? Didn’t that balance out things in the universe?! “Jou?”

“Jou. Good to see you,” Taichi greeted. Jou didn't stop walking. He didn't say anything at all. “Wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, though.”

The blond’s expression fell and any happiness he’d felt drained from him as his heart turned into a sinking ship. He tried to form words, but his voice caught in a hacking cough.

“My circumstances are just fine,” Jou said. “Just bringing my father some files he asked for that got… misplaced, at home.”

Taichi looked between Yamato and Jou before getting up from the bench. He gave Yamato a nod and started after the tall young man instead.

Yamato wanted desperately to let his own gaze fall to the floor, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the boy he still loved. Jou certainly looked like Hell, once the blond looked past his fixation. Yamato knew Shou had done it all… The bruises, broken arm, probably even convinced Jou that he was better off never speaking to Yamato again.

But… I’m not sure that’s a bad thing, after all, Yamato thought. Fuzzy memories came back to him. He’d danced through the rain to Jou’s apartment, ready to liberate him from the abuse of his father and... broken Shou's nose. Stumbled off drunk… but I only fought Shou to protect you! You weren’t gonna defend yourself...

Jou. Come on, turn around like you always do? Turn. Around.

Yamato didn't move from where he stood, just listened to his own voice chuckling nervously in his mind. He tried to force his hands in his pockets, but he couldn't will them to move either. The empty pit inside him was like swallowing ice and he felt goosebumps on his arms as he tried to force a foot forward.

All I do is take ten steps back...

Taichi and Jou talked a few feet away. They didn't speak in hushed whispers, as if to avoid Yamato hearing them. No, they spoke as if he wasn't there. As if he was fucking invisible. Just like her.

“So, what, did Yamato send you to the hospital, too?” Jou snorted.

Yamato blinked in disbelief.

I WAS DOING YOU A FAVOR.

“No, actually. We're here because of Koushiro.” Taichi didn't pry about what Jou meant, but Yamato figured he'd taken a guess by the inflection in the blue-haired young man's voice.

“Is he alright? Saying so, you don't look that well, either.” Jou's eyes, for a split second, saw Yamato's torn up knuckles and turned back to Taichi.

I just wanted to protect you, damn it! It’s all I’m good for.

“He's in recovery now. A scar, but he'll be alright... He'll be okay,” Taichi repeated his own words, finally letting the reality set in. He may have failed to prevent Koushiro from being hurt, but Koushiro was okay and that was what was important.

“That's good. There’s good people here.”

“Look, uh, Yamato and I will probably go grab something to eat in the cafeteria. You wanna join us?”

Wouldn't you want the same thing, Jou? To protect me? Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't kill Natsuko if I gave you the chance! You fucking—

“I really need to get home,” Jou pressed. “I'm behind on my work right now.”

TURN AROUND.

“Look, Jou, I don't know why you're so mad, but... Yamato saved Koushiro's life. He was amazing back there.”

LOOK AT ME.

DAMN YOU, LOOK AT ME!

Jou scoffed and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Yamato could only imagine what he was thinking...

You just go around picking fights. You didn't give a damn about Koushiro. All you wanted to do was feel better.

“I really have to be getting home,” Jou stated. He gave a partial bow to Taichi as he turned and started towards the elevator.

“No,” Yamato snapped. “You know what, Jou? Stay out of my business, stay away from my girlfriend, stay the fuck away from me!”

Yamato’s voice cracked. Taichi turned back, lost in the sea of anger between the two and unable to find his bearings. Jou didn’t even seem to hear him and stepped inside the elevator without a second thought.

Taichi walked back to his best friend, offering at least a reassuring hand on the shoulder, returning the gesture from before. Taichi didn't understand... or maybe he did. Yamato wasn't sure. All he knew was he'd been right about Jou. Whatever feelings were there, Yamato had undoubtedly burned every bridge they had.

Yamato jerked himself away. He could hear his thoughts getting louder and tears burning in the corner of his eyes.

The fear in Koushiro's face. You won't forget that, yet.

Taichi will never trust you again. After all, you can't protect anyone.

Even Jou's too furious to look at you.

“Eh, Yamato? Where are you going? Don't you want to see Koushiro?”

You’re disgusting. Just like she made you.

“I’m gonna head home. You got this right, Taichi?” Yamato asked with a smile. He broke from his friend’s comfort and trotted backwards towards the elevator. He forced a smirk. “I really should apologize to Keito, right? Maybe I’ll get lucky later, yeah? Haha.”

The blonde was just saying words at this point.

“I don't--” Taichi started, bewildered. “Look if this is about Jou, just talk to me! Yamato! Take some of your own advice, damn it! Come back and talk to me! Why do you always do this, bro? Yamato! Koushiro… probably wants to thank you…”

Yamato went down the stairwell. He couldn’t tell Taichi the truth, that he was just going to go home and drink until he passed out. Keito wasn’t replying to his texts, anyway.

With any luck, maybe he'd die in his sleep.

Chapter Text

May 19^th, 2005 (3 Days Until the Party)

Yamato awoke to being shaken. His bangs tickled his nose and when he opened his eyes, the light of his lamp burned. He groaned, pulling his coat over his head. The longer the boy tried to go back to sleep, the worse the thrashing got. Then a light slap.

“Hey!”

“Jesus, I thought you were dead,” Hiroaki said. He released one hand’s grip from his eldest’s shoulders and covered his mouth with silent relief. “What the Hell are you thinking?” Yamato started to wave him off and Hiroaki grabbed him by the wrist. “This isn’t a joke! Get up. Come on. Now.”

Yamato tried to remember what happened when he got home. He only knew he didn’t wanna sleep in his bed, alone, and wandered to the couch feeling sick. Then, dark.

Hiroaki pulled the boy upright with a huff. “Where are you even getting enough to be drunk?”

Yamato shook his head. “No one. Nowhere.”

“It had to come from somewhere,” Hiroaki demanded. “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno.”

“Don’t give me that teenage crap. Yamato, what is going on? Did your mother say something—“

“No!” he barked. Yamato’s own scream hurt his head and he held his forehead with his free hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “...nothing to do with…”

“Stealing my cigarettes occasionally is one thing,” Hiroaki hissed. “But you’re going to kill yourself like this. Not to mention, look at your hands. Who were you fighting this time?”

“Oh, so you care now,” Yamato snapped. He jerked away from his father’s grip and space and stumbled to a stand. He stepped over dirty clothes, paper plates, one of the overflowing ashtrays, in nothing but a ratty band shirt and his underwear, trying to track down his school pants. “So happy you act like you give a damn now.”

“What?” Hiroaki shook his head. “Yamato, you haven’t talked to me like this since…”

The blond bit the inside of his cheek and looked anywhere but into the eyes of his father. He mustered up all the anger in him because admitting his father did love him and failed to show it was worse. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you whenever you decide to be a father!”

He started to storm off, carrying jeans in his arms . He expected Hiroaki to reach out, to yell, to do something , but then, Yamato wondered why he even expected that. Even when he took a little extra time to zip up his slacks and slip on his boots, his father didn’t stir. The boy wandered out of the apartment and supposed he had nowhere better to go than school. He had to find Keito and talk to her about the incident with Eiri.

“Takashi, please tell me you’ve seen Yutaka,” the bassist asked. He snuck a cigarette in the stairwell near the music room and pulled his blue blazer tight. He hadn’t changed his shirt and the last thing he wanted was another reprimand on top of whatever else. At least he looked more presentable than Takashi. His hair was bushy, unkempt. Uniform unbuttoned, shirt not tucked in, belt missing. His shoes were scuffed. “I haven’t heard from Keito at all, man.”

“You think I keep track?”

“Did she drop out? It’s been three weeks since we fought… You have to have weaseled something from Yutaka by now! No one’s living at their old apartment, it’s been sold…” The blond stamped his feet. “I can’t just look all around Tokyo!”

“I dunno! She’s older than us, I don’t keep track of our senpai.”

“You’re the only one still in the band, remember?” Yamato whined. “Come on.” The blond studied Takashi’s eyes as they looked away, the guitarist’s hands as they disappeared into the pockets of a blue uniform. “Come on, you know something. Tell me.”

Takashi wiggled where he stood and sighed. “Yutaka said he will kill you on sight if he sees you. I think for your safety you should go back to skipping class. I don’t wanna tell your old man I got you killed.”

“Like I value my life anyway,” Yamato said casually. So much so that Takashi raised an eyebrow. “Who gives a fuck about Yutakass and his empty threats...”

“Their parents forbade you from going near her. I wonder why. It would be one thing if this was the you I knew when the band started, but you now… hoo-boy, I don’t blame them.”

“Fuck you, too, Takashi,” Yamato said. “What do you care about me for? Huh?”

“I don’t care about anyone, actually.”

“Good, then tell me what current bullshit place the Sanada’s are renovating so I can find Keit.”

“How would I know? Don’t you have any other friends to bother about your shitty love life?”

“I doubt you guys are paying for the bullet train or taking a four hour bus trip to the Sanada’s mansion every week! And you know Akira’s off in bumfuck nowhere or in jail or some shit.” Yamato paused as he heard footsteps and he flinched when the cigarette burned his lips. He stamped it out. “Well?”

“Fine, but you didn’t hear shit from me,” Takashi replied. “I’ll text you the address. When you wind up on the news making your mother cry… And I’m not gonna explain to your old man as he interviews me that I didn’t warn your ass. Capiche?”

“If my mother cried it would be a happy death,” Yamato said with a smirk and snatched the paper from Takashi’s fingertips. “...and you know what, fuck my old man too. It’s just like you said, Takashi, no one gives a damn. Not a soul. Except Keito, which is why I’m going to see her and not hang around here with your stupid ass.”

“Yamato, are you even doing anything serious with her? I mean aside the boning?”

The blond stopped in his tracks. He turned. Takashi shrunk against the stairs as fierce blue eyes flashed at him. “She is my fianc é e after all.”

“What? Yamato! No way, dude. That’s suicide.”

The blond smiled. “ Ja ne .”

“But what about class?! Yamato…?”

“Keito, you want me to think about my safety and our future, and so I…” Yamato shook his head as he entered the mansion. Some people talked over at the front desk and he zoned out for a second, wondering where to start. He went from staring at the swirling pattern of the elevator floor to the reflective glass walls. He glared at his reflection for a second and then closed his eyes to think. “So, I… How the fuck am I gonna say this… It’s more than an apology, it’s our future and… No… None of this is coming out right. Damn it, damn it.”

Yamato clamped his lips shut when a resident stepped in. He shrunk into the corner and mumbled to himself, still trying to find the right words as if writing another song. When he finally got to the tenth floor and stepped out, he thought he at least had a semblance of the right words. Now he just had to find out which apartment Keito’s parents owned. (Takashi didn’t have all the details, or if he did, the bassist couldn’t pry them from the guitarist’s tiny brain.) Yamato only knew the floor number because he’d overheard someone discussing the ‘Sanada apartment’ in the lobby. That is to say, Yamato was prepared to check every floor, every door. He wasn’t gonna give up on her.

As he knocked on doors, he thought about how her words came from a place of caring and he’d let his own anger get in the way. He may have been trying to save Koushiro, but he could’ve called the cops or gotten Taichi or any other adult. No, he ran in bullheaded. Like what he used to stop Taichi from doing.

A few nasty stares, a slur, an indifferent door slam later and the blond only had one hallway left to check. He lost himself in the geometrical carpet and beige walls and wondered if he’d turned himself around.

“So, that’s what I wanna say. They’ve got you trapped and I—“ Yamato went back to trying to recite the words, but everything sounded so scripted. “Fuck.”

“...Yamato?”

“Keit?” he called. He heard her voice from a few doors down. Yamato rushed to her voice, each calling out for the other. He saw the bright orange light of sunset peek out into the hall and ran towards it. As he neared the strip of light, he saw a familiar redhead peek out from the doorway. “Keito!”

He embraced her at full speed, nearly knocking them both over. She yelped and gently tried to pry him from her body.

“The paint!” she said. “Oh, it’s all over your blue blazer…”

“It’s just my stupid uniform. I don’t care about that. I care about you. Are you okay? You didn’t show up at school and—“ The blond continued to fret, brushing back her stray bangs and cupping her cheek in his palm.

“Uh, yeah? I’m just painting this condo. Helping out the family and all. Since I caused so much trouble.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you text me? Takashi said Yutaka—“

“Of course, Takashi was how you found me. Yutaka’s big mouth!” Keito puffed out her cheeks and turned, hands on her hips. Yamato eyed her pantyhose, ragged denim short shorts, and spaghetti strap top. She also wore an oversized beanie that covered most of her bright red hair, except for the spikes poking out the bottom like a fish fin. “Yutaka picked me up after your fistfight and went postal, of course. He took my phone, told our parents I was skipping school and dating a delinquent… My family says we can’t see each other anymore, Yamato.”

He laughed.

She didn’t.

Yamato watched her eyes narrow. He could tell she wanted to cry and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. He held her forehead and placed a kiss there. “...and since when have you been the type to listen to them? Don’t you love me?”

“Oh, please,” she said, laughing. “This isn’t some tragic lovestory, Yamato. Are you listening to me? We aren’t working—“

“No, I’m not listening,” the blond replied. “Because I’m not gonna give up on us.”

“You sure don’t act like you care at all. What if you get arrested or end up in the hospital? What will I do without you?” Keito grabbed his shirt in both hands and leaned in. “...we aren’t ready...”

“...I know I’ve been a dumbass,” he said. He lead her inside and shut the door behind him. He went over to the part of the floor that wasn’t covered in a see-through plastic tarp or drywall shavings or loose nails. Then he kneeled.

Kneeled .

“Oh, Yamato, I don’t—“

“I’m serious. I mean it. I wanna do whatever I have to prove to you that you mean everything to me,” he said. He had no box in his pocket, but the loose ring. He’d turned in everything left of his work savings and gotten a measly 3000 yen ring, but it was something. A blue, heart shaped stone in the center, surrounded by a diamond on each side. A silver band that looped around itself.

“This isn’t…” Keito started. But then she stared down at him and he slipped the ring over her, pressing against the fabric of a fingerless glove. “You really mean it… don’t you? You know we are waaaay too young to get married—“

“I just said I’m stupid, didn’t I?” Yamato asked. He smiled and stood. “I don’t care. If we love each other then it doesn’t matter.” He placed both hands on her shoulders.

She thought he would kiss her, but instead, he met her gaze and gently stroked the finger with the gemstone. He continued: “You want me to grow up? Fine. I am devoting my entirety to you, forever.”

“This is…” she started and covered her face. “Too much. I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you love me?” Yamato asked again. He squeezed his eyes shut as if preparing for a good right hook. Rejection.

“Of course I do,” she said. She moved one hand to her stomach.

Butterflies?

“Then let me prove it to you. To Yutaka. To your parents. To my Dad. To Jou’s gay little speeches. Whatever tries to get between us. I can do better. I will do better.”

“Show me then!” Keito demanded. She pulled away and stomped her foot. “Stop drinking so much. Go back to school. I know you’re better than you’re showing me. I know you went through so much…” Keito paused and turned to him. Yamato stood completely still as she approached.

If only you knew that the Digital World wasn’t even the half of it… but I can’t… explain… You would turn away from me for sure.

She placed the adorned hand on his chest, running her fingertips over the damaged, scarred skin depicting his crest between his collarbones. “I know we’re just kids. I’m just scared. I’m so scared, Yamato. I can’t bear it if anything happens to you…”

Yamato smiled and nuzzled into the scratchy fabric of her black beanie. “Hey, I’ve saved the world how many times now and I’m still not dead? You think some punk on the street or your noodle-armed brother is gonna take me out? You think a little drinking is gonna kill me? I’ll stop. I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I can’t promise it will be overnight, but…”

“Oh, speaking of night... If I’m not back soon I won’t be able to make the order for the cake for Yutaka...”

“I’m going to the party and I’m gonna tell him we’re gonna be together,” Yamato said.

Keito blinked. How she never managed to smudge all that eyeliner… “No, sir, you are not. He will bust a gasket.”

“I wanna see you… I didn’t see you for weeks and I feel like my heart’s been ripped out. I can’t be away from you another second, Keito.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“No, I’m serious!” Yamato retorted. He pulled her closer to him and she buried her nose against his neck and the scent of smoke. “Please,” he squeaked. “I’m begging you to hear me. I need someone to hear me.”

“I’m listening,” she whispered.

“I’m fucked up,” he admitted. “I can’t get through this alone… Please.”

“Yamato,” she whispered again. She swallowed, tears on her cheeks. “My parents are sending me away. When I say we can’t be together, I mean it.”

“No,” he choked out. He pulled her away to stare into her eyes again, but she glared at the floor. “No, damn it.”

“They don’t want me with you, so they’re sending me to an all girls school in Australia... The only reason I’m not already in my new school is they are enrolling me late and finishing this reno and I didn’t wanna tell you—“

“No,” he breathed again and he kissed her. “I’m not gonna let that happen!”

“Yamato…” she said, shoving a hand over his face. “I mean it. I’m leaving four days from now. I won’t see you anymore…” She started crying. Her entire body shook. She held her stomach again.

The blond felt his blood boiling. Was this really how things were gonna end? How cruel was fate to sweep her away from him? Everyone left him—he expected that. But to have this woman who loved him snatched from him against her will? He clenched his fists. “No!”

“If you’re deadset on going to my brother’s party,” she said, providing a weak smile. “We could at least end this love with a bang. Don’t you think?”

“I can’t,” Yamato’s voice cracked. He felt his eyes burn with tears and let out a scream of frustration in front of her. “I can’t do this, Keito. I can’t. Don’t leave me…”

Yamato fell against her and started to sob. He gripped her thin black jacket and tugged. A screech escaped his throat. He never liked being vulnerable, but with her… He knew she wouldn’t judge him and that only made him cry worse because she allowed him to cry at all.

Kieto held him as tight as she could. “I didn’t think you’d have the heart to come after me. I thought you’d give up,” she said, sniffling. “Why do you always have to be so damn complicated? Why can’t you just let things be?”

He couldn’t speak. He just wiped away the stinging tears from his face onto his sleeve. They stayed like that for awhile until Yamato calmed and Keito had time to think. When he lay in her lap and she brushed back his bangs, she asked: “ Will you be at the party tomorrow? Really?”

“I have to change your mind. Of course I will.”

“I told you it’s not up to me...”

“You took the ring,” Yamato said. “I know you don’t want this either. I’ll think of something.”

“I love you, you idiot,” she said. “You never listen.”

“Keit…”

She stared down at him, eyes sparkling. She slid one hand down his thigh to a hole in his jeans and slipped her nails through. “ Wanna fuck, to feel better? Like we always do?”

Keito giggled and flipped him over. Yamato was on all fours for a moment until Keito placed his hands on the nearby ladder, forcing him to his knees. She stood over him, lifted his shirt, and leaned in with her hips.

Yamato felt his breath hitch at the heat hitting his back and the soft silk of her panties. She started grinding against him. Her voice filled the empty condo with tiny moans as she slid against his spine. Sooner still, stickiness coated his back in thin streaks.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “...what are you doing, exactly?”

“Rubbing my cunt on your back?”

“Yeah, but why?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” She leaned over his shoulder and bit his earlobe, continuing to press her heat against him faster. “That’s all that matters.”

Yamato groaned. There was something so feral about it—just pressing their bodies together for warmth, comfort, and the high and nothing else. No pressure to perform, no pressure to do what was expected—just raw instinct. That only made him harder. He forgot the worries of their conversation, inhaled her scent as it invaded the air around them.

She reached under to the strain in his jeans and squeezed. She let out a moan in his ear and bucked faster, sliding the ladder a few inches. Drywall crumbled. Yamato yelped and regained his balance, digging into the new flooring with his boots. Scuffs appeared as he dug his toes in. Keito reached down and pulled her panties aside and resumed her motion, more desperate and uneven, until she came. Yamato’s breath was shaky as she trembled on top of him. He felt her throbbing against the small of his back and the wet heat escaping her and down his left side. He waited for her to catch her breath, but before she could do so she groped him again: “Make a mess for me,” she hissed. “Right here in your jeans. Then you’re gonna go home covered in both of us.”

“Keit—!” He stopped as she flipped from squeezing him to rubbing her palm hard against him. Yamato bucked his hips, sliding the ladder again. “More,” he hissed and gripped the metal in his hands tighter. “Don’t stop.”

May 22^nd, 2005

Yamato returned home in high spirits. He just finished texting the group chat about the party when Hiroaki snatched his phone from him and shut the front door.

“What gives?!” he barked. He started for the door but Hiroaki stood between Yamato and the exit. The son eyed his father and the suit he wore. “Someone die again? You can tell me.”

“I… can’t even… begin,” Hiroaki said through his teeth. He clenched a fist, but he wasn’t a violent man and so he let out a deep breath. “Go sit down.”

Yamato shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped into one of the dining chairs with an exaggerated groan. He was mid-conversation with his friends! He needed his phone!

“You reek of smoke again. Look at your sleeve, is that paint or blood? I’m never sure anymore!”

“...that’s what your so mad about? Or is it this morning when you pretended to care about me?”

Hiroaki slammed both hands into the table. Yamato, rightfully so, jumped to attention.

“Your fiancée’s parents called,” the man growled.

“Oh.”

“Oh? When were you gonna tell me you planned on marrying a girl I barely know?”

“You’ve met Keito before!”

“...and her parents want you nowhere near her! I can’t fathom why!” Hiroaki groaned with annoyance, then sat in the chair across from his son. “That’s not even the worst of it. I got a call from your teacher and principal and I had to leave work—“

“Oh, the horror.” That explains the suit, though.

“Shut it! Listen, Yamato, this is the last straw.” Hiroaki rested his forehead in one hand and stared at the scuffed up, blue flip-phone on the table in front of him. A message came in:

RSWTR: Parties are the best! :D

“...and now you think you’re gonna go to some party?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s Yutaka’s birthday. I have to go.”

“Your future brother in law?” Hiroaki snorted. “The one who you can’t stop fighting with? Is that where you got your hands messed up?” The father took Yamato’s right hand in his. The boy pulled away.

“I was protecting a friend, if you wanna know! Koushiro! Remember him?” Yamato said. “And I’m going to that party—I’m going to see Keito before her parents try to ship her off to fuck all knows where!”

“You are not. You are grounded,” Hiroaki said. He took the phone and put it in his pocket. “I think it would do you some good to spend some time studying in your room. I got you a make up test next week and only because your math teacher said she understood what you’re going through and made a very generous exception.”

Yamato turned beet red. “I—I, no, I can’t. Dad, I gotta go see Keito and tell her to come live with us.”

Hiroaki choked on air. “Excuse me?! Live with us? Yamato, if that didn’t work for your friend Taichi, what makes you think—“

“I’ll think of something. I can’t just let her parents make her go live with giant spiders and force her to become a lesbian or whatever.”

“...do you even hear yourself? You have no idea how serious any of your behavior is, do you?”

Yamato’s eyes narrowed. “I’m just doing what everyone expects me to do...”

“Who? Your friends? Your future wife? Tell me because I wanna kill them for making you like this. You aren’t the son I...”

Yamato’s head snapped up. “I’m not what? Say it.”

“Yamato.”

“I’m not what? Perfect?! Newsflash, I’m pretty fucked up!”

“Then let me help you!” Hiroaki pleaded.

“You can’t do anything…” the blond mumbled. “You didn’t before…”

“Speak clearly. Sit up,” Hiroaki snapped. “I don’t know what’s going on but you are too young to get married and start a family, Yamato. I know you think you know what love is, but you haven’t even given it a chance. How is this girl different from any of the other flings you’ve paraded around here? And don’t even get me started on that. I let it slide, I know you’ve been through a lot, but I’m worried about your safety, son. This is different. You’re crossing a line here. I can’t think of any other way to get it through to you. When are you gonna wake up?”

“I dunno…”

“Yamato, this is your future.”

Yamato groaned and sank into the chair, hands over his face. “I’m tired of everyone yelling at me about my future! I’m just a kid! I just wanna be happy! Fuck’s sake!”

“Then ACT like a child. You keep trying to grow up too fast...”

“I wonder WHO made me that way! Certainly not the grown man that can’t fucking take care of himself!” Yamato yelled. “This place is a shithole!”

“Go to your room,” Hiroaki sighed. He lit a cigarette.

Yamato stood and kicked the chair back under the table. “You’re so unfair! Thanks to you, I’m gonna lose the love of my life! I hope you’re happy!”

“You’re grounded until your grades come up. And you’re not going to that party. You’ll thank me someday!”

May 22^nd, 2005

The sun just set on the horizon. Yamato had his hands in his pockets as he waited along the fenceline—a monstrosity made of dark iron and stone pillars connected by bars that lined the stretching property. The modern and westernized ‘bluff house’ in Kamakura with it’s garage and seclusion was the perfect place for a jazz turned rock band to practice.

Anything was better than the three hour trip to Osaka.

Thanks, Takashi. Making Yutaka’s big, dumb house look appealing, Yamato thought.

The two story home with separate wings and an observation deck, loomed over the ocean behind. The faint sound of music and the waves reached even the street.

He patted the large bottle of scotch in his left inner coat pocket. The bottle blooped as he slipped his aviator coat up over his shoulders. As wind picked up over the bluffs, the waves crashed harder. The humidity was even worse in Kamakura than Odaiba, but the gale made him shiver He pried bangs from his forehead in a tug-o-war type battle as he waited for Keito to meet him.

He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke drift upward. Slowly, the sun set and the stars started to sparkle. Yamato felt some sense of calm and he realized why:

He couldn’t help but miss the two extra moons of the Digital World and how bright and big they were. Further, that only made him wonder about WereGarurumon—Gabumon proper—and he took a drag as his mood sank again.

Keito met him at the gate that lead to the pool. The sound of cars pulling up front were heard. She took his hand with a smile and lead Yamato around the fruit trees in the side yard to the patio with the pool, to the french doors looking into the living room. An oversized sectional and chunky, wood furniture made the area feel cramped even though it was probably bigger than Hiroaki’s apartment in it’s entirety. Yamato felt the boom of bass in his feet as they approached and he chuckled.

“What?” Keito asked, turning back to him and then to the door again. “Did someone see us?”

“That recording. It’s Takashi very badly playing that cheap ass custom bass I let him borrow,” Yamato snorted. He cocked his head towards the large stereo blaring a prerecorded album. Not one Yamato was involved in. “Nothing against Takashi, but… every guitar player thinks they can just switch to a bass. You can with effort, but I mean...”

“Not everyone is a man who has four basses to practice with,” Keito snorted.

“One of them is my Dad’s, to be fair.”

“Takashi borrowed one… you smashed the other one… then, the last one?” Keito listed everything playfully, tapping her finger against her palm.

Yamato twisted his lips and huffed. “Things just kinda piled up… I need new flat-wounds.”

“You’re so cute when you’re bitchy.” Keito paused and adjusted the weight of her feet, her pink jelly sandals squeaking against the patio. “Alright, let’s hurry before too many people get here.”

Yamato followed her in and he started to the left where he knew the giant, round staircase of marble was when Keito went off to the back of the room. There was a large kitchen. When Keito returned, s he held up a finger in a shhh motion with wine coolers under one arm .

Yamato nodded, put his cigarette out in a potted ficus, and they hurried through the large archway leading to the foyer. Just as they stepped across the marble floor, the front doors started to open.

Yamato ducked behind the ceramic tiger and pulled Keito with him, tucking her form to his chest. He smiled down at her.

“Kei-chan!” Yutaka called. He looked like a miniature placed just-so in the field of snow that was the center of the shining floor. He hadn’t worn anything special for his birthday, just a plain shirt with some shitty band on it and cargo pants—although Yamato was sure the drummer had another piercing added to his collection. The chandelier was so bright that Yamato could barely see Yutaka’s face, anyway. “Need anything?”

She tucked the bottles against Yamato’s feet and giggled. When Yutaka glanced around for her, she hurried from the hiding spot to the bottom of the large spiral staircase and pretended to have descended. It was kind of funny how he and his sister looked so similar, standing next to one another, with straight, spiny red hair that parted perfectly down the middle. “No, I have to catch up on homework, thanks to our folks getting on my case and all. I wonder what nosey Nii-san did that to me?”

“Yeah, Dad almost had a heart attack when he got that call from Mr. Kojima. Certainly not your overprotective brother trying to do what’s best for you... I blame Yamato, of course. He’s always been a piece of shit. He thinks he’s so fucking perfect and he’s only using you to irritate me! He doesn’t even love you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You better be studying and not fucking around with him. He’s bad news, Keito. Remember what I told you about Sora-chan? He beat her, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keito said, twisting one foot and staring at the ground. She continued to pout.

Yamato smirked, tried not to laugh . She was putting on quite the act…

“Ok-ay!” Keito said. “Homework time! Don’t wanna upset Mom, too...”

Yutaka returned to greeting people at the door. Keito turned to Yamato and made a gagging motion. The blond covered his mouth to hide an equally amused snort. Keito slid out of view and tossed her arms over the blond’s shoulders. She leaned in, forcing his lips apart.

He groaned at the warmth of her tongue, but it was short lived. She took his hand and they slipped into the nearest room to the right of the stairs.

11:17 PM – The Office

B efore he could think to consciously do so, his hand was in her waistband, fingertips moving over the silky underwear beneath. She settled into a chair and Yamato realized they were in some sort of office or sitting room surrounded by walls of built-ins stacked tight with books. She tugged at his denim pockets and when he was almost on top of her, she slid the metal button from the slit in the cloth, partially exposing the pale skin underneath.

“Don’t break a nail,” he teased. Then he gasped as her hand crossed his chest, overtop the scar. He couldn’t help but flinch, sensitive to the crest burned into his skin. He melted back against the mahogany desk.

“I don’t like it… the silence…” Keito gasped. She put her lips to Yamato’s chest and kissed across the scar for a moment before moving away. She went left until she found a nub to tease between her teeth. To make him speak to her.

“Kei—” he started. He cupped her head in his hands.

She pulled and let go, gave a long lick, but he wasn’t having it and pushed her back against the chair. He kneeled with a smirk, a growl or a chuckle that said to her he was up to trouble. Hardwood dug into his knees as he lifted her legs up . He wriggled forward, nuzzling into her thighs as he worked his way higher, and kissed along her stomach. He flicked her belly button ring, then moved lower again to tug at the zipper of her skirt . “Keito,” he whined this time and held tight to her waist with both hands. Playfully, she wriggled in his grip as he slipped the tight, black fabric down, past her thighs, past her ankles, past her boots .

His tongue ached for the satiny skin of her thighs and he settled into them, nipping, kissing, making her giggle from ticklishness. He may have left a mark or two, the memory was fuzzy.

“Ya-Yamato,” she laughed and tried to catch her breath but then his tongue ran over the center of her panties, lapping at the wet spot and she couldn’t help but moan.

The scent of her grew stronger and filled his nose. Yamato couldn’t think about anything else but burying himself in her heat.

“You taste amazing,” he said and pressed into her more.

B etween gasps, Keito watched his hips move. His hands slid from her waist to her butt and squeezed, tugged her towards him . She yelped and grabbed the arms of the chair. She used one boot to balance against the desk and shifted herself just so that his tongue slipped beneath the silk. His shoulders kept her legs wide and his tongue probed around . A moan escaped him again as he got his first real taste of her.

“Yes,” she gasped. Keito reached lower, taking his long hair into her grip. She yanked forward, forcing his face even closer. He clawed for balance and reached higher, taking a breast into his palm and squeezing. She continued to make the occasional gasp of pleasure as he took between her folds with his tongue, deliberate and slow. “Please. More. Yamato… There’s no time for teasing.”

He just laughed at her, his breath hot against her opening as he moved higher.

Yamato cursed, taking the quivering nub under his tongue. He looked up at her, hand still trying to remember her breast. She didn’t seem to care about his one track mind and returned his gaze and bit her lip, letting out a long whine. Her legs tried to tighten around him and he sucked at the sensitive flesh. Then, he went in for the kill and strained his tongue forward, hard, exploring all around the sensitive folds and drinking her in. She let out a sudden cry—pleasure or pain he wasn’t sure. Either way, she pulled with both hands and begged him to never stop . Yamato couldn’t breathe for a second, buried in wet. He coughed and Keito sat up as much as one could in such a compromising position.

“Ahh, don’t die down there,” she gasped.

Yamato didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He groaned, body on autopilot, and focused his aching jaw and tongue to just fucking move faster .

He wanted to hear her and the thought made him groan and then he felt her twisting in his grip, a familiar pressure against his ears as her leg muscles tensed. She realized how loud her orgasm made her and buried her face in her arm as a hot wave poured out. Yamato couldn’t stop then, not with her throbbing against his tongue, but everytime he tried to pleasure her more the sensitive nerves overtook her and she yanked him further until his tongue couldn’t reach her.

“Keit…” he breathed as he sat back completely on top of the desk. He eyed her heaving form, hands gripping the chair hard. Yamato cleared her from his chin against his coat, then looked around, finding nothing to clean up with proper. Then her panties were on his face and she was rolling around, cackling.

“You’re amazing,” she said. “I missed you so much.” He could only muster a smirk and a noise of affirmation as he cleaned her from his skin. She pulled her skirt back on and then sat up and crawled to him. She kissed him, unfazed by her scent still lingering, and reached lower, gripping his balls through his jeans. He kicked instinctively at the open air and then calmed as she rubbed along him slowly. “You got so worked up…” she said.

“Well, what do you expect,” he replied.

The two kissed again and Keito sat on him. He slipped his coat off and she hurried to toss his black tank top to the wayside. Another kiss, deeper, hungrier. Yamato let out a whimper as Keito removed him from the jeans, which was easy with nothing else in the way.

Then the door knob rattled. Keito froze, her hand still between his legs. Yamato tried to scramble, to hide himself, but he only hit the shelving and a few books fell on top of them.

“You didn’t lock it?” he hissed.

Keito whispered in return, “Do we ever?”

Then the door opened and closed quickly. Akira was with them and pressed his back to the door as if hiding himself. He glared, as if able to see to the other side of the door, then turned to the two entangled atop the desk, half naked with slightly rushed breaths.

“Seriously?” Akira muttered.

“Hey, man,” Yamato said, blushing but smiling. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I dunno, just had a feeling that I should be here to keep you out of trouble. Takashi said you had plans to drop by... Yutaka is fuming right now, by the way, wondering why a small fire started in the living room… He has this crazy idea you did it.”

“I may have had a hand in it.”

“This wouldn’t be like the time you left porn blasting on his TV?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, I told you to throw the butt outside,” Keito said and playfully hit Yamato on the arm.

“Oh. Hey, Keit…” Akira said, just then noticing her.

“Hi, Akiii!” Keito called. She peeked out from Yamato’s shadow with a giggle.

T he dark haired pianist sighed and he shifted the weight of his schoolbag. At least the rest of his outfit seemed comfortable. Akira almost never wore casual clothes, so the shirt, black blazer, skin-tight blue denim jeans, and black boots was a nice change of pace for him. Yamato wondered what he carried in the bag because the boy shifted again. Also, what was the deal with the glasses? Did Akira disappear because his eyesight went to shit or something?

“Yamato, plants don’t just spontaneously combust do they?” the boy asked. He looked around, possibly to avoid looking at the joined couple. “Let me guess, it’s a science experiment to see if plants get addicted to nicotine. You are bringing your grades up!”

Yamato felt sweat on the back of his neck. He could only give a nervous smile.

Akira shook his head and picked up a fancy fountain pen from the floor. One of the things that Yamato tossed from the large office desk before. He smirked, one man to another, but then his expression turned serious. “I don’t care what you guys do, but I would feel bad if I had to attend your funeral when I could have warned you, so consider yourself alerted.”

“Thanks, Akira…” Yamato said teasingly, trying not to laugh. He gave a playful thumbs up.

The young man flipped him off. The bag in his arms wriggled as he went to leave the room. Yamato could have sworn he heard a screechy, meowy voice say: “Are you really friends with that drunk guy? At least the girl was cute!”

“Say that again, I dare you,” Yamato spat. Then the door closed.

“Were you arguing with that cat?”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind…” Keito chuckled. She squeezed him hard.

“Fucking bitch,” Yamato squealed with a grin and placed one hand on Keito’s, which hadn’t left his cock the entire time.

“Mmm, you got really hard. I’m starting to think you find Akira attractive.”

Yamato felt his face flush. “Eh, so what?! I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Keito laughed and started to stroke him, but Yamato wasn’t going to have it. He wanted revenge for her little stunt first. He maneuvered the two of them until Keito lay back across the desk. Yamato tossed photographs and knick-knacks to the floor. He hiked one leg up to the desk and then traced her body with one hand, moving slowly lower, darting to all her most sensitive places. She shivered as he drew closer to her thighs.

“What are you doing now?” she whispered.

Yamato smiled up at her, slipped one finger between her folds. He slipped slightly, making her yelp, but he couldn’t help it. She was absolutely soaked. He started strumming his fingers against her and she bit her lip. She restrained a moan as he flicked over her overstimulated clit. She thought he was going to stay there and started to speak his name when he moved lower and started prodding around gingerly. He found her and slipped inside. One finger. Another. He moved forward and kissed her. She dug her nails into his bare back and buried moans in his throat as he slowly worked more fingers in until not even his thumb was left out of her sex. Knuckle deep he worked her. He whimpered, his swollen head rubbing against the side of the desk as he pushed into her even more. This took some time, but between his curse and her stifled moan, they knew when he finally made it all the way.

Yamato only tried it out of curiosity… he never expected it to work. Slimey pleasure coated his fingertips and palm and her tried to shift his hand around as not to hurt her, but she grabbed his arm and shoved him to the back of her walls. She let out a long moan and started motioning him to pump his arm in and out and so he did so. She begged him to keep going and that made Yamato more excited than anything else. His breath became more shallow alongside hers. She began to tighten around him, pull him deeper.

“Keito… I can’t move… it’s…”

She only responded in desperate gasps and shook her hips. Yamato watched somewhat helplessly. He couldn’t say he loved the loss of control over the situation. He almost wondered if she would ever let him go again. His hand began to ache and then her entire body shook around his fist. The warmth was i ndescribable and Yamato bit his lip as wet pushed past the sides of his palm and out to her thighs, her ass. He tried to remove himself but she couldn’t calm. She begged him to wait. “Again,” she said. She met his gaze, staring into blue sparkles and dilated pupils.

MIDNIGHT – The Closet

“Okay, okay,” Keito said, trying to pour more alcohol down her lover’s throat. She balanced him and lost hers, a little tipsy herself. Luckily, in the corner of the half bath, there was nowhere to fall. Yamato lifted her up, setting her on the edge of the sink. He took a drag from his half-finished cigarette and urged her to be quiet but they were both giggling and drinking.

Keito sighed, touching an old mark on her neck. “So, then he’s like… where did that mark come from?” She glared at Yamato. “I said I dunno. I really tried to play it off. Anyway, so Dad’s sending me off to some fucking all-girl’s school. In Australia. ” She took another swig.

Yamato started opening the scotch this time and shook his head. “Your entire family are jerks.” A pause. “They won’t send you that far away. Right? He’s bluffing!”

“I wouldn’t let my daughter date you either,” Keito teased. “Ugh, how long until someone has to go to the second floor to pee and finds us hiding in here?”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be Akira again,” Yamato chuckled. He held the glass to his lips and looked Keito over, eyed her smile and wide eyes, her long lashes and the make up starting to smear. He continued to study her and drink until he forgot to breathe and began to cough.

“Let’s go have some fun. Hiding’s boring,” Keito announced and hopped down. She brushed past Yamato’s knees and cracked open the door. But then she felt the rings on his left hand, cold against her ribcage, as he moved one hand up her shirt. The other pressed into the door and closed it and he breathed against her ear with a hungry growl.

“Y-Yamato… So bad…” He pressed his hips against her, stiff against her buttocks.

“Let’s fuck here,” he whispered and kissed her neck. “I need it.”

Keito turned around, his arm dropping to her waist. “There’s no room.”

“There’s plenty of room,” he whined and started to slowly grind against her.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed him suddenly, hard enough he winced and bit his lip. She thought she may have groped too hard until he whined and bucked into her palm. She batted her eyelashes and said: “If you’re good, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

“Kei… Keito,” he hissed. “Fuck.”

Yamato found his jacket caught in a hanger and ripped it from the spool, rattling the rest of the rack. He quickly turned his attention back to his girlfriend. She pulled away momentarily to chuckle at him.

“How is it,” he started with a groan as she continued to pump him, “that in a fucking closet bigger than my own bedroom, I find the one thing to get caught on?”

“Oh, surely you mean me,” Keito said and pressed her mouth to his balls and gave a tiny tug. Her hand started to slip more as she drew much needed clear fluid from him. She gasped at the heat and licked up his length, finally able to taste him after waiting the entire evening. He groaned above her and Keito heard the rattle of the clothes again as he reached out for balance. She pried his legs apart, digging her nails into his muscles, then reached a hand around to grab his ass. She felt him shiver. Keito slid her hand back, brushing against his balls, until she parted him open. “Revenge,” she chuckled. The first time she dared to she was shocked at how open he was, until she learned that he hadn’t a preference and had been… open to things. Curious, she slid a finger in with ease. She did the same this time, except she knew more, like where to prod to really get him going. He grew harder in her mouth and when she looked up she saw him biting down on a sleeve of her father’s Christmas sweater. She chuckled and pushed him into the back of her throat, continuing to tease his hole.

“Fuck, fuck,” he squeaked. “You feel so good…!”

“Mmhmm,” she cackled.

Keito groaned as he began to twitch between her lips. She continued to vocalize as she moved up and down his entirety. This made her sloppy, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Kei… Keito…” he hissed and Keito felt his thighs quiver.

She balanced on her knees and moved a knuckle deeper. He grabbed her red spikes, tucked into a ponytail, and pulled her face closer with an eager growl. He thrusted forward and didn’t stop. His breath caught in the stale air of the closet as he used her throat. She wriggled the finger inside him and the muscle jerked against her tongue.

She squeaked. He didn’t stop. She forgot how much he could cum...

He filled her until she coughed and then he gasped and pulled away. He tried to stay standing, only to stumble back onto the ottoman at the back of the closet. He leaned over, hands covering his still dripping shame as he tried to compose himself. When clarity returned he looked over at her and the redhead winked at him.

“Why’d you… do all that…” he breathed and stared at the carpet.

“I knew you were straining yourself,” she teased. “Besides… it’s kinda intimate in here, isn’t it? I wanted to make it special.”

“I only want you more,” he said with a sigh and leaned back against the mirror. He flinched, the cold glass against his back reminding him of where her nails tore him open. He shivered with arousal again. “I need in you.”

Keito s tood and smiled at him, then wrinkled her nose at her reflection in the mirror. “Oh, I’m a mess after all that.” She ran a hand through her hair, trying to untangle it. “I give up.” She then went to sit at his feet, between his ankles. She leaned back against his thigh and stared up. Blue, tired eyes looked down at her.

“I want you, too…” she said, blushing.

He thought he might go insane.

“We should just fuck right in front of that bastard, right on the couch,” Yamato chuckled and leaned forward, arms around her body. He stole a squeeze at her breast before she slapped him away.

“Maybe be a little nice; it is my bro’s birthday. You’ve already effectively ruined it, too! He’s probably got Takashi and Akira still looking for us.”

“Don’t lie like you don’t want the guys to join in,” Yamato said with a smirk.

“Ugh, please. I dunno how you and my brother picked the lamest guys to be in your dumb band,” Keito replied. “I got the guy I want…” She turned, shifting her weight to one hip and thigh, then nuzzled into him some more, gave a teasing lick. He hissed with pleasure and gripped the side of the seat. After a few seconds he started to stiffen again.

She expected less of him, given how much alcohol they shared, but… he seemed to have built up quite a tolerance recently. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even slurring yet. Was that normal?

“I want in you,” he said again. “If you’re okay with that.”

“What do you mean? Why would I say no?”

“Kei… I know you’ve been down on yourself… what’s bothering you?” he whispered. He brushed his calloused fingers against her cheek but she didn’t reply.

1:34 AM – The Bonus Room

They kissed up the carpeted stairs, past the locked door, to the bonus room and didn’t stop. Dust hung in the air where light peeked in through the circular window at the back, overlooking the front yard. Yamato briefly caught sight of her in the moonlight as she kicked board games from under her feet and threw herself over the pool table, onto her back with an excited squeal . Billiard balls clacked as he clawed his way onto the table, onto her. He shoved his tongue eagerly around her mouth and groped at her breast. He ran his finger back and forth over the nipple and she bit her lip, holding back a whine.

“Yamato,” she cried and slipped her arms under his, clawing at his back, trying to reach through the thick leather. “Oh… it’s so cute when you do that…”

“What?” he said between kisses on her neck and hiking up her shirt. She jiggled as they shifted slightly on the table and the clacking sound filled the room again.

“I felt that,” she continued. She loved to tease him about his hips, moving on their own.

Playfully peeved, he pressed against her, his cock harder. “And that?” he demanded. A growl and he licked her ear. He whisper ed to her: “I wonder how wet you are by now…”

Her nails scraped against the leather again and she felt him start to grind against her. Keito loved him like this, past some arbitrary point in his brain where he only thought of her, only thought of getting off. She reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. She pulled him out once more, then her hands were needed elsewhere. She undid his coat. He slipped it over one shoulder, then the other, trying to keep his lips on hers until finally giving up, letting it sit around his elbows.

“Yamato, in me…” she begged.

His eyes met hers for a moment, as if confirming what she’d spoken. He sat back on his knees and readied himself, sliding over her, until he found the entrance he craved . He leaned forward, studying her expression, until she grabbed his waist and pulled.

“Damn,” he breathed, lurching forward. Heat engulfed him and he gave a shaky breath before he remembered to start moving against her once more. She held a hand to his reddened cheek and he tilted his head, trying to hide his embarrassment at the intensity running up his entire body as she clenched around him. He growled and pushed himself up off the table. The blond rocked into her clumsily at first until he found some sort of rhythm.

K eito reached over the fluff of his jacket at the center of his back and sunk her nails in with a near-sob. “Fuck me. Fuck me, baby,” she whined and pulled him in for a kiss again.

He broke away to breathe, to speak: “Keito… I…” All he could do was smile at her as he moved his hands from the table to her ribs. Her skin was blazing hot against his cold fingertips. “Keito…”

“Yours,” she said and pulled him back down to her chest. He tried to busy his mouth with a nipple but only grunts escaped his throat. He moved his hands again, digging into the wooden frame of the pool table as he sped up.

The redhead wanted to keep pleading with him, to really rile him up, but he was rocking deep in her and sending her over the edge. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer, if that was possible. Her voice grew in pitch and she was sure someone had to hear them at that point, but no. That area of the house was towards the back, secluded; her voice buried in the beat of a distant stereo. She screamed louder. She wished someone would catch her—that would show them.

“Kei—” he started, her name dissolving into several, hitched cries as the need took over every sense and he lost his rhythm. She let out a shriek as her insides spasmed.

Yamato met her eyes for a second before he had to squeeze them shut. He pushed into her completely and froze as his own heat left him in several long spurts. Keito continued to shake under him as he slowly lowered his aching body to her and listened to her heartbeat. She kept pushing back his bangs, but with each hard gasp for breath they fell back over his eyes.

Yamato was suddenly aware of how exposed he felt and tried to sit up, but she pulled him down. “Relax. My brother would never come up here,” Keito said with a sigh. She wiggled and moaned, catching his attention. “Mm, Yamato’s cum. I need more of it in me.”

He blushed and listened to her slowing heartbeat and waited for his own body to stop throbbing. “Keito,” he said. “You know I love you, right?”

“Ah,” she started, but he moved inside her again. This time he thrust deliberately slower, more sensual. Even his voice was just low growls. “I, I know you love me…”

The music in the distance quieted after another round passed between them. This time she sat on top of him and he lay under with a cigarette, both merrily spent. Keito tried to untangle her hair once again.

“I,” he coughed, a cloud of smoke escaping his nose. “I don’t want you to… leave…”

“What?” she asked as the music downstairs started up again.

“Nothing,” he whispered and shifted the weight of her to the other hip. She took the hint and toppled off of him and over the edge, somehow landing on one foot. There was another half bath here that she hurried into. He watched her waddle and slam the door, then sat up.

“You really gotta leave?” he called suddenly. “You know I’m not gonna let that happen!”

“Ehhh? What do you mean?” she asked from the other side of the door. Yamato heard water running and a small crash. Keito cursed and said: “I’m fine!”

“You’re gonna come live with me!” he called louder this time.

She poked her head out, her nude body behind the frame. Her hair was down over her shoulders, cascading like liquid fire. Yamato almost had to calm himself again, if he hadn’t gone and upset himself with reality already.

“What do you mean, live with you? I know codes at those kind of apartments—super strict living requirements. It’s an all male place.” She ducked back into the bathroom. She left the door cracked this time.

“You’re not seriously g-going are you?” he asked and looked around for what was left of the alcohol. When he brought the bottle to his lips he saw her shadow bend under the light of the door.

“I have to go,” she said. “I’m sorry, Yamato, but this is it.”

Yamato chugged what was left in the bottle and began to play with the lighter in his hands, desperate to not have to hear it anymore. He wasn’t going to give her up—he had to do something. But the thought was fleeting as the drink hit him. He held his head as he tried to stand. Balancing with one hand on the pool table, his cigarette tilted in his fingers and burned a tiny hole in the dark green fabric. He pulled back and thrust it to his lips.

When she returned, Keito found him staring blankly at the dark circle on the table. She sighed. “Just think, by the time I get back you’ll be in Year 13 and we can get our own place.” She did her best to reassure him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his chin. She took his cigarette and stole a drag for herself, finishing it. “We could fuck all weekend then…”

He grabbed her hand and ran his fingers over a small ring he’d proposed with. “We should… Wesha….Go.”

“How do you get wasted in the…” Keito checked the clock. “Okay, maybe I was in there awhile… there was a lot…” She turned back to her boyfriend as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He white-knuckled the pool table and tucked his lighter into his pocket. He grabbed the bottle again, but it was empty.

“I’m not, I’m not leavin’,” he said. “Without you.”

2:45 AM – The Observation Deck

“Let’s get some air,” the redhead said and from the bonus room stairs split a path and she carried him to the roof. There were a few metal chairs with grey cushions, a side table with a glass top, an outside storage made of plastic that looked like fake wicker, and her telescope. The early morning air hit them in sporadic gusts and Keito held Yamato in her arms as she set him down in a chair. Or tried to. He hurried to the telescope, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Look, look,” he said. “I can find it. Ssssome, somewhere.”

“Yamato, you’re too—”

“Here, looklook,” he said, chirping like a bird. He grasped at the empty, humid air, for her hand. Like a child. She walked over and looked through the lens. The sky was just clear enough for her to make out a row of stars, curving around. “Scorpus, Scorpius,” he said with a hiccup. He made a sound as if trying not to throw up. “You can onlyseeitthistime of year.”

“Our birthdays aren’t that far apart, so I guess its not surprising you remembered,” she said with a smile. She watched his smile fade as a cloud passed over. All the animals had long gone to sleep and the wind died down. The water below crashed into the cliffs, filling the silence.

Unable to stand the silence, Keito hugged his waist and peered through the metal tube. “The last time I’ll see the stars,” she whispered. Yamato groaned in her embrace, a sickening sound as his stomach churned and burned. “What aren’t you telling me? If we love each other, then why can’t we be honest with one another? See, this is why we don’t work.”

“N-No, I… I love you,” the blond mumbled. But he would drift off a little and wake again as Keito slowly brushed back his bangs.

“I know you won’t remember this, but even so, I still can’t speak the words,” she said, moving one hand to his back. She gently rubbed it and he curled up into himself. He stumbled away and crawled to the corner of the deck and found an empty planter to puke in.

Keito rolled her eyes at him. “I’m sorry to get you wasted when you said you wanted to do better, but it’s better for you if you don’t remember anything I’m saying. In the morning, things will be better for both of us…” Keito stood and looked out over the rail, towards the sea. The breeze came in waves alongside her tears and she smiled. Once Yamato somewhat recovered he wandered back to her, mumbling something about a towel. Keito found the outside storage and handed him one to clean residue from his mouth. “I wish,” she started, taking the towel and dabbing at his neck and ear: “...that you would tell me what’s wrong. What’s really wrong. Why you’re so angry. You don’t trust me, you couldn’t trust me even tonight, so what am I supposed to do? Oh, Yamato. I don’t even know if I believe all that bullshit about a Digital World, either. Maybe Yutaka’s right and you just make up stuff for attention. I bet that dumb old thing in your room was a toy after all. Maybe your Mom gave it to you, I can only wonder…”

* *

“Yamato, what’s this thing?” Keito asked.

He turned to her. His soft expression, the smile she fell in love with, all went sharp and flat. He clenched his knuckles. “..ig...vice,” he grumbled.

She shifted on his bed as he tried to gather her strewn thong from his lamp before his father got home. “Looks like a cool toy or something,” she said, hoping to try and find out what was always bothering him. Something he’d never talk about. She knew about his past relationship and the rumours, but he insisted it wasn’t that , so she was dying to know… what, then? He made that cold expression and whirled around to snatch the metal from her hands and tossed it at the wall. Surprisingly, it didn’t shatter.

“Forget it, trash it, it doesn’t fucking matter anymore!” He glared from the device on the floor to her.

For the first time, he scared her.

**

A sigh and she gently lead him to sit in the chair. He tried to kiss her and she pressed a finger to his lips and kissed him on the forehead.

“Like Mom,” he whispered as his head settled back into the rest.

Keito apologized and slipped Yamato’s blue flip phone from his pocket. “Your Mom, huh? Well, I don’t see her number in here. I know your Dad isn’t home… otherwise you wouldn’t be here… but maybe I can call someone else.”

Unknown Number: Hows the party pup?

Keito stared at the number for some time. She wrinkled her nose at the weird message. Yamato didn’t have the contact saved in his phone and she’d never heard anyone call him ‘pup’ before. She dismissed it as spam and looked through the slim amount of saved numbers; seven if you didn’t include Hiroaki or Keito. She skimmed the old calls, looking for the most frequent one.

“Hey,” the blond protested. He reached out for his phone. “That’sss...”

“We can’t hide all night and you’re wasted. I’m gonna call someone to come get you. If I leave I’m sure my brother will think you’ve kidnapped me or some shit.” Yamato just fumbled around for his lighter, patting down the right pocket a few times before checking the opposite pocket. Keito snorted at him and looked through his phone. He reached out and pulled her towards him by the waist and nuzzled into her abdomen.

“Even if you could stand up, you’re too drunk,” she reminded him again. He probably wouldn’t get the double meaning, but whatever.

“But I wanna,” he said.

“You’re such a child,” she said and whirled loose from his light grip. “It’s getting cold… I’m just gonna call this number, I guess. I don’t want you to get sick, catch a cold or something.” Keito eyed the one number that didn’t look like spam calls, (there was a name—Kido, Jou—after all), consistently appearing in his recents. She didn’t notice that the calls had never been answered. She dialed.

“I don’t wanna go home,” Yamato said in a slight moment of clarity. He stood and nearly fell forward through the rail. She grabbed him by the arm and sat him back down again. “There’s no one to go home to…”

Keito knew that. Mr. Ishida was never home… she was shocked when she actually got to meet him. That seemed like so long ago.. .

“Moshi moshi?”

“You need to stop calling me, Yamato! I shouldn’t even be answering, what is wrong with—“

Yamato tugged at Keito’s skirt. He held out a cigarette and his lighter. “I don’t wanna burn myself.”

She waved him off and replied: “E-Excuse me. My name is Sanada, Keito. I’m really sorry for calling so late—”

“Oh.” A laugh. “I can’t talk right now. Whatever it is, tell Yamato to handle it himself.”

“No, please wait. I’m with Yamato—”

“I gathered that from his number. I thought I blocked it. I really don’t care.”

“Wait a damn minute!” Keito screeched. “You’re the only number in his phone that even looks like he has a friend. You will listen to me! I’m Yamato’s girlfriend and—”

“Which one?” the voice snorted.

Keito puffed out her cheeks. The nerve of this man! The plastic frame of the phone cracked under her grip. “Listen here you little fuck, are you his friend? Or were? Whatever? He’s drunk and—”

“Not shocked.”

“If my brother Yutaka finds him—”

“Oh, you’re the ‘fiancée’, the one I met at the park...” Some shuffling. “I’m only gonna say this once. Here’s a number you can call and let them deal with his bullshit.” Keito lit the cigarette for Yamato, stealing a drag herself once more as the man read out numbers. “Now tell him to go to Hell for me, yeah?”

The line went dead.

Keito stomped her foot. What the fuck was that guy’s problem?! Why was he always giving them such a hard time? “Maybe if he didn’t have a stick up his…” she started, dialing the new numbers. If she hadn’t been so focused on trying to dial the numbers before she forgot them, she would’ve screamed and bitched and then given her lover the biggest hug she could imagine. She would have vowed to kill the guy if she ever saw him, but that wasn’t going to be an option.

Ringing once more.

Yamato seemed to have calmed and was almost asleep despite the cigarette between his fingers. Keito took it for herself and sighed, praying whoever this was was friendlier than the previous asshole. She nervously took several puffs as the line continued to ring. She paced as another strong breeze reminded her that time was slipping away . Finally, someone answered.

“Izumi residence, this is Koushiro.”

“Oh, thank God,” Keito snorted. “I mean, I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Mr. Izumi.”

“Ah, my father isn’t home—”

“Eep, no, I mean, I’m calling for you, I think… You’re still friends of Ishida, Yamato? Please say you are.”

“Keito? Is that you?”

“Is he okay?” said another voice in the background.

“Let me inquire,” said Koushiro.

“I got your number from some guy named Jou. Anyway, Yamato really needs a ride home. I can’t walk him this late…”

“That Yamato. He’s gonna owe me big for this,” said the unnamed voice. “Why can’t he walk HIMSELF home?! Does he know what time it is?!”

“Quiet, Taichi! Uh, where are you located?”

“Kamakura,” Keito said and then gave the full address.

“We’ll be there soon, Keito.”

Once Koushiro hung up, Keito let out a deep breath. She leaned into one hand and let out a shaky breath, as if she would cry. She stared at Yamato as he nodded off again. “Hey, you can’t expect me to handle your problems all the time. I dunno what you did to piss off your friend Jou, but oof. I’m just glad Koushie and you aren’t fighting, too.” She ranted, knowing Yamato wasn’t really listening. “I’m starting to wonder if I stuck my pussy in crazy! Haha!”

“I’m sorry, Koushiro,” Yamato whispered.

Keito leaned in, only realizing then that tears were dripping from the boy’s bangs.

Yamato flexed his hand absent mindedly. A cracking sound. Phantom blood dripping from his knuckles. That same overwhelming urge to kill he’d felt before… Big brown eyes and Koushiro’s voice choking for air.. . Throwing Taichi down into the dirt and screaming, a forest spinning above him.

Keito’s voice wasn’t audible in that moment as Yamato’s mind tried to bring up one horrible memory after another.

“Let’s go wait downstairs,” Keito said, nodding. She picked him up, hugged him tight for what felt like forever. She began sobbing as she helped him over to the outside stairs. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “This is all my fault.” A laugh amidst her crying. “One step at a time, okay? Come on, sleepyhead.”

“Yamato~” she sang. “You have some good friends and they’ll take care of you… won’t they?”

The blond snored on her shoulder. They sat on the wooden swing in the front yard, some feet away from the actual house itself, about halfway between the home and the road. She kicked her feet, one arm around her lover’s shoulder to keep them both balanced. She’d pulled his jacket back up and zipped it tight, but he still shivered against her as if having bad dreams. Maybe he was. She sniffled again. “Look at me. I’m gonna catch a cold now. Haha.”

He stirred next to her. “Can’t go… to… Koushiro’s…”

At least he was forming sentences again. She brushed back his bangs and he let his face fall back and stared over at her. He yawned. “Oh, he didn’t sound mad or anything. They’ll be here soon, okay?” She paused as he started nodding off again. “I’m so… so sorry. I don’t see any other way. I can’t do this.”

Yamato blinked. Every limb felt like lead and his mind felt like a bomb and his stomach felt like a rocking boat. But Keito was sad… she was crying… He reached over to her knee and tried to grasp for her, but he only found air.

Present Day

Eliza watched. Yamato never remained more still. He watched the rain outside the window, leaning both arms on the sill. Eliza looked back to what he’d said, how he hurt Keito, but she couldn’t put the pieces together any faster than anyone could then. Moreso, she thought he would make more wisecracks regarding his casual sex, the fact that he told it in such detail to her to elicit a reaction and got nothing. Had the man given up or grown up? She couldn’t tell. Maybe in the end, Yamato just wanted someone else to remember the poor girl. So, Eliza continued to listen until Yamato’s voice gave out.

May 23^rd, 2005

“The fuck,” he said. A loud bump tossed his body and he nearly fell forward onto a rattling, metal floor. Someone held him by the chest as he stirred. “Where…”

Out of the corner of his aching eyes, Yamato saw Taichi wearing a dark blue shirt and cargo shorts, his high-end shoes endorsed by whatever athelete he was idolizing at that moment. Across the way, Yamato blinked at Koushiro. He had a dress shirt and pajama bottoms on that, if you squinted, could pass for a casual outing. But then the shoes were only his slippers, as if he’d rushed out and forgotten to wear his normal ones. He’d gotten ready in a big hurry for such a long trip, Yamato concluded, and wondered further why the kid would head out in such a mismatched ensemble.

He continued to look around, able to hold himself up a little more now. He stumbled slightly on the moving subway.

“Oh, now he’s awake,” Taichi said. He was the hand holding Yamato up. “I can’t believe you interrupted my time with Koushiro because you were too drunk to walk home—I’m not taking you home like this by the way, I’d never hear the end of it!”

“Taichi…” Koushiro said. He sat in the seat across from them, perfectly still with hands in his lap. Yamato caught sight of the maroon haired young man in the mirror and felt sick. “He’s obviously in no position for you to berate him now.”

“More the reason I can punch him now. He won’t remember it!”

“Taichi!” Yamato barked. “So noisssyyy…”

“He’s just lucky my parents are out of town,” Koushiro said. “If I had to bring him to them like this… You’re a handful for them as it is, Taichi.”

“I don’t even know what’s going on with him. Dumb bastard.”

“I’m right here,” Yamato whined, but his voice went unheard.

“No one answered when I called his house,” Koushiro reminded. “Hey, Taichi… Did, um, did Keito… did she seem… upset, to you?”

Taichi thought a second, looked at his best friend and then to his lover. “I, I dunno. Why?”

“Nevermind…”

Taichi grumbled under his breath. He knew he wouldn’t be so mad if he hadn’t had blue balls for the last hour and a half and he pressed his fists into his legs and went over soccer drills to keep himself calm.

Koushiro said: “Yamato saved my life, remember? We kind of owe him one.”

Taichi knew Koushiro was right—the little brat was always right. For a little while, Taichi just watched Koushiro read some book about beetles.

He looked to Yamato, He swore he saw tears. Not the first time, of course, but… Taichi patted him on the back. “If there wasn’t a bus full of strangers I would kill you. But it’ll be okay, alright? Hold it together a little longer for me.”

The rest of the way home, Koushiro couldn’t shake the feeling of his skin crawling. He twitched occasionally between flipping pages and practically kissed the ground of Odaiba station after the hour-long bus trip.

“You owe me,” Taichi said, smiling and patting Yamato on the shoulder. “Don’t think this makes us even. You—“

“I’m sorry…” Yamato whispered. “Something’s… something’s wrong… I…”

“You’re wasted, calm down,” Taichi snapped. He pressed his hand against his friend’s chest to keep him from falling over.

Koushiro exited the car. He watched as Taichi begrudgingly helped his friend through the double sliding doors. Yamato swatted at him and stood off to the side. He looked to be checking his pockets for a smoke. Koushiro shook his head and checked his watch. “I have a bad feeling, too.”

“Don’t encourage him, Koushiro,” the brunette whined. “We still gotta get Yamato back to your house and I don’t wanna rile him up. Knowing him he’d run into traffic.”

“Then maybe try keeping a handle on him?” Koushiro asked, raising a hand to his face with exhaustion and annoyance. Yamato stumbled over a turnstile, asking how to get back to Kamakura.

Wake up in the front yard

We don't care

Wine stain on the sofa

We don't care

I threw up in the closet

But I don't care

'Cause we're young and we're broke

And I can't find my coat

And the sun is comin' up

And oh my god, I think I'm still drunk

Where's my coat?

Where?

Chapter Text

Strawberry red curls tickled his nose. Yamato laughed and buried his face further into Keito’s shoulder. The sakura scent lifted from the comforter as he shifted his feet and pushed into her again. Her hands tugged at his hair, her voice begged for him, and her eyes...

Yamato lifted his head with a smile, to look into those beautiful eyes. He froze. He saw only those same, narrowed blue slits and wavy, blonde hair. He shot up and started to scramble back, and fell.

*

The young man had to expel the nightmare from his body; at least, that was how he felt when he awoke with his cheek stuck to the Izumi's tile floor. He wanted to scream as his body shivered itself awake, but he was too parched. He held back a hurl with a noise like a cat throwing up a hair ball and pushed himself up with both palms. He scrambled to the tub and let the burning rise up.

“I'm not cleaning that,” Koushiro said, passing by the bathroom door in his pajamas.

Yamato heard Taichi chuckle and when he could catch his breath, the blond laid his head down on the edge of the tub. He eyed the brunette, sitting with his body against the bathroom door frame, a smirk on his face, arms crossed over his raised knees.

“Hi, pukey,” Taichi said.

Yamato rolled his eyes and pressed his throbbing forehead against the cold porcelain of the tub. “What time is it...”

“I dunno, I've been here making sure you didn't drown in your own vomit,” Taichi said, his voice a bit more snarky now that pleasantries were over.

Yamato shifted his weight slightly, both heads throbbing and his stomach churning. But then he remembered the nightmare and puked again.

“Damn,” Taichi hissed. Yamato heard him stand and walk over, tapping him on the back. The blond horked harder.

“You're not... helping... Taichi! You're supposed to...” A pause and this time, Yamato turned on the tub. “Rub my back not punch me...”

“You're such a pain in the ass.”

Yamato flushed out the tub, took a minute to piss as Taichi and Koushiro discussed some lunch plans or something, and then washed his hands. When he turned back to Taichi, Yamato looked at the floor and patted himself down. He had a cigarette left somehow and went to the Izumi's main bedroom for the balcony.

“Oh, that'll help!” Taichi whined, trailing after his best friend. “Do you know you barely made it home last night? I mean, technically you didn't. Koush and I dragged you here against your will. Your girlfriend had to call us—“

Yamato clicked dial on his phone. Every time, Keito's line went to voicemail. He slammed his flip phone shut with a muffled curse and took a drag. “She's not answering. Did you guys piss her off?”

“Us?! Yamato, look in a mirror, dude.”

The blond slammed the screen door, nearly catching Taichi's foot in the process. He continued to dial. Taichi wouldn't have it, of course. He opened the door again and took the phone, tossed it across the room.

Yamato stood there, tossed the other half of the cigarette over the balcony. For a moment they stood there in silence as the sun rose past the buildings that jutted out of the earth. “She really broke up with me, I guess...”

The blond pushed past Taichi and meandered the Izumi house until he found his way to Koushiro in the kitchen. Yamato pulled out a chair and slumped over it with a sigh.

“Morning,” Koushiro said.

Yamato felt sick again. “...are you making lunch for an army?”

“My parents, in fact.”

“...you're missing the pickled plum,” the blond mumbled.

Koushiro made a surprised noise that was probably as close to a curse as he would ever get and turned to Taichi. “Pleaaaaseee? I forgot them.”

“I got you, Koushie,” Taichi said. He started to walk towards his boyfriend, perhaps to kiss him, but noticed Yamato slumped over the table and decided flaunting his lover was probably not the most considerate thing to do. He waved and smiled, “I'll be back in a jiff, okay?”

Yamato turned his head, watched as Taichi left. Then he sighed again.

“...would you like some water for the veisalgia?”

“...the fuck you on about?”

“...um, your 'hangover',” Koushiro said. Yamato didn't answer so he set down a glass of water regardless.

“Can I borrow your phone? Maybe she'll pick up if it's not my number,” Yamato mumbled. He didn't wait for a reply and took the Izumi phone and dialed Keito again. He watched Koushiro, who seemed to fidget as he kept eye on the miso soup.

Of course, he's still afraid of me, Yamato thought. He turned away from the kitchen as the ringing started to pound in his aching ears. He sniffled realized he smelled atrocious and decided he would have to get a shower soon.

No answer.

At least, on the phone. The door began to buzz so desperately that the blond's gaze shot up. Keito visited before, her and Koushiro were friends, so maybe she came by to check on them. She probably overslept, too—Yamato's thoughts continued as he hurriedly opened the door.

He fell back with a curse and clutched his lip. When he pulled his hand away, blood smeared across the silver rings on his left hand.

He couldn't even think as blow after blow came at him. Yamato couldn't hear Koushiro, but he managed to see the boy run to the hall and hide behind the side table. He had the phone in his hands, but he was too scared to dial. Yamato turned back because of another blow to his cheek and then he felt pressure against his throat.

He instinctively gasped and grasped the hands around him, but thought, why?

Now he could focus as his vision faded in and out, he could see Yutaka standing over him, one leg pressed down against Yamato's waist. Fiery eyes glared down at him, equally red and puffy around the edges. Stringy hair obscured the metal-laden face. The grip grew tighter, then the redhead yelled in succession:

“You fuck, you killed her!”

“My sister's dead!”

“She hung herself, are you happy?!”

“This is all your fault; you're fucking trash, you'll always be gaijin trash!”

“Yu...taka...” the blond choked. For a second, the grip lessened. Yamato could feel the blood pumping through his skull, desperate to keep him alive and he hated it. “If you're gonna kill me,” he choked out through his internally bruised throat, “do you gotta do it in front of 'im?” The blond tried to cock his head towards Koushiro—he did manage to get a glance of the boy's scared face and it only made Yamato feel worse.

“Shut up!” Yutaka screamed and pressed even harder than before. “Shut up you bastard! You never shut up! I’ll make it so… you can never sing again… no, so you can neverbreatheagain…”

Yamato did not take in the news, even as he faded. He'd be with Keito soon—that's what he figured. He let himself drift off to darkness. No nightmares. No pain. No pressure. Just blissful nothing. He chuckled in his mind, starting to understand the appeal of Apocalymon's existence and he hated himself even as his lungs started to burn, for thinking of that shithole Digital World when he was supposed to have his friends and loved ones flash before his eyes. He thought of Gabumon, he supposed. So, wait, he wasn’t dying then?

Breath filled his lungs. He was dizzy for a time and it wasn't until the door slammed that his vision returned. He shook his head and coughed. He felt a small hand on his back—Koushiro helped Yamato sit up.

“Ahhh, are you okay?! Yamato!” Koushiro screeched. He held the blond close to him.

Yamato sat in confusion at such a kind touch that didn't involve something further, watched as Taichi flinched as the door rattled at him, then grew quiet.

“What the Hell was that?” Taichi asked, gasping for breath. “I thought he’d never leave.”

Yamato's eyes narrowed. “Keit... she's dead... it's why she wouldn't answer her phone.” The blond roughly shook Koushiro away even though he couldn't shake the warmth of the other's touch. The blond stumbled and Taichi took him—they returned to the bathroom and Taichi kicked down the toilet lid, then placed his friend there.

This time there wasn't any struggle.

Yamato folded into himself, finding a spot across the room to stare. “He's lying, just to keep me away from her,” the blond said between tears and chuckling. His voice was still hoarse. Taichi barely heard him. “Yutak-ass.”

“Hey, he tried to kill you,” Taichi snapped. He held a rag to Yamato's lip until the bleeding stopped. “...you don't care, do you?”

Yamato looked away.

“That's a yes from you, if I ever knew one,” the ex-gogglehead sighed. He washed the rag and pressed again. The other didn't flinch. “I'm sorry, Yamato. It's on the news, too. I saw it at the market. One of the reasons I used my soccer legs to get back here. I didn't want you to hear about it that way. Of course, Yutaka messed that up...”

A grunt of a noise. Taichi continued:

“To think you were gonna be a Dad, too...”

“...what?” the blond squeaked.

Taichi watched his friend's eyes fill with water and he sat up. “The baby and all. It's sad.”

“...what are you talking about?” Yamato asked, his voice cracking. He smiled in disbelief and the sliver of strength left in him vanished. Keito was dead... he started to accept that. He ran through every interaction from the day before, but it only made him cry harder because he couldn't remember half of it. A confused shriek crawled out of his throat. But a baby... no? No, she would have told him. Taichi had to have misheard... Sure, a rumour or something! But then Yamato listened to Keito's words in his memory and something snapped in his chest like a rusty string. He slipped to the floor before Taichi could catch him and Yamato buried his face in his hands. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

Taichi could only stammer. “I-I thought you knew!”

Yamato screamed and pressed his palms into his face and scraped away his tears. “Get out, Taichi. Get the fuck away from me. Get away from me!”

“I'm not leaving you like this, you moron,” Taichi snapped, but he didn't get a choice.

Yamato started screaming about every thought in his head: “Of course, of course! I destroyed another family! So typical Yamato!” the blond screeched. He circled the bathroom like a vulture looking for his own corpse. “Everything I touch dies!”

Taichi grabbed him and shook him. “Snap out of it. I'm sorry she's dead. I'm sorry your kid's gone, too. I'm sorry for all of it.”

“You're sorry? Why?”

“Because someone has to be so you know this isn’t your fault,” Taichi hissed and shook him again. He let go and the two stood there in the bathroom until Koushiro coughed.

“Um... Taichi, did you get the plums?”

Yamato's head snapped up, alerting both the men. He shoved past them and went to the front door, past where his blood stained the floor and to the bag of dropped plums and snatched them up. He marched into the kitchen and started searching the drawers in a huff.

The two boys followed curiously.

“Should we let him have a knife?” Taichi whispered.

“I dunno,” Koushiro said, confused. “What'd you say to him?”

“I just told him I was sorry about his unborn kid or whatever,” Taichi said, running a hand through his bangs. “Typical Yamato fashion, he freaked out on me.”

“He didn't know,” Koushiro hissed. “You dummy.”

“I know that now.”

“Hey,” Yamato barked, slamming the knife down through another plum so hard it stuck into the cutting board. “I'm right the fuck here. Shut up and get cooking. Koushiro's parents are gonna be home around noon, right? That means we have an hour to get all this shit together, so move your asses.”

*

Yamato just finished nursing a second cup of coffee. He was dead inside, sure, but he could at least pretend to be a zombie long enough to not ruin the Izumi's welcome home luncheon. They came in through the door and Koushiro hugged them and they hugged Taichi. Yamato studied them. He always saw that kind of crap on TV—he didn't think real families could be that close. He nearly snorted coffee when the Izumi's approached him and bowed.

“Thank you for helping with the meal,” Koushiro's father said.

Yamato blushed and hid his face behind his coffee cup. He only noticed then the adorable beetles fighting on the design. “Yeahsurewhatever.”

“My condolences,” Koushiro's mother said. “We also never properly thanked you for protecting our son before. Thank you.”

Yamato looked away. He passed on lunch and listened to stories of the Izumi's trip out to Huis Ten Bosch. When Mrs. Izumi started going on about the roses, the blond stood and went to the living room. He traced the slightly raised plastic buttons on his flip phone, anxiously waiting for a call that would never come. He thought about posting a message on the forum, but he didn’t feel like it.

The buzzer of the front door went off.

“I wonder who that is,” Koushiro's Dad said.

Yamato looked at Taichi through tattered bangs and purple eyes: Please answer the door. I learned my lesson.

“I'll get it...” the brunette said. He went to the door and opened it. “Ah, Mr., uh, Mr. Ishida... What a suprise...”

“Taichi. Where's Yamato?”

The boy shrugged and pointed to the couch. Hiroaki stepped inside, apologized for the intrusion. Taichi shut the door behind him and went to exchange worried looks with Yamato, but the blond wasn't even looking up. He sat on the couch, feet up, staring at a random pulled thread on one of the cushions.

Hiroaki rushed over to his son and pulled him close. “When the news came in that that girl died and you weren't in your room—“

“That girl?” Yamato snapped. He pulled from his father's embrace and tried to catch his breath as his blood pressure rose again. “Her name was Keito! I love her, the least you could do is learn her fucking name!”

“You aren’t going to talk to me like this in front of these kind people, you understand me?”

Hiroaki stood and grabbed Yamato by the arm and dragged him across the living room, hissing about this that and the other—then Hiroaki apologized. He forced Yamato to bow and they both left. The father dragged Yamato again, until the boy finally wriggled loose halfway down the walkway outside.

“Stop it,” Yamato whined.

“I was worried sick!” Hiroaki snapped. “Your teacher showed up this morning because you're about to be expelled! You weren't in your room and then Mr. Yoshizawa called from work and said the Sanada's daughter died, a suicide, I… I feared the worst. It’s all over the news now. In fact, that’s not the only thing on the news right now. They finally found that missing boy's body. Chudoku, Yuki? He was dumped in a pet cemetery, like a discarded animal... Not to mention they think they tied it to that missing kid from a few years ago… Akayama something… Do you want that to be you?! If you keep acting like this—“

“No,” Yamato grumbled while simultaneously thinking, Maybe. His heart ached again, but this time he wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion, Keito, or how over the edge he’d finally pushed his father.

“We're going to work this out with Mrs. Ounishi and find something to do with you.”

“Do with me?” Yamato hissed. They approached the all male apartment complex and Hiroaki had to grab him and throw him through the doors again because the blond was being stubborn. He had every right to, who talked to their kid like he wasn't fucking human?

“You know what I mean,” Hiroaki sighed. They stepped in the elevator. “Yamato. I don't hate you, but it's obvious something needs to change around here. I know you've been through a lot with Ma dying, your break-up, now this... I dunno if the Digital World is throwing things at you—you don't talk to me anymore. What's happening with you?”

Yamato couldn't find the words to answer. He was too embarrassed at his own fragility. That night between him and Sora had fucked him up irreparably and he knew his father couldn't magically fix that, either. Worse, how would his father even understand that all those feelings they spent four years burying before the Digital World stuff now had risen up like bile, like an ulcer that burst? “I dunno.”

“That's all you ever say to me. I wanna help you.”

“I don't need your fucking help. I don't need anyone's help. If you wanted to help me maybe you would have stayed the fuck home and made sure I didn't sneak out, huh? Talk about caring.”

Hiroaki didn't wait for the elevator door and shoved it further open. “If you need to talk, just ask me. Don't make me out to be a monster because I work my ass off supporting my family. That includes you, you know.”

Maybe I don't need you anymore! You're not even faking it anymore... where is the 'I'll promise to do better'? Where is the 'I'll be home for your birthday this year'? You're not even trying!

The blond shoved past his father and started into the apartment, but before he could kick his shoes off, he saw his homeroom teacher, Mrs. Ounishi. Her chestnut hair was tucked back and she wore her same old purple top and white blazer. He stumbled in his tracks. At least it wasn't Mrs. Toriumi...

Hiroaki's hands were on his son’s shoulders next and Yamato let out a squeak.

“I'm not sure what I expected,” she said. “Yamato. Mr. Ishida.”

The boy raised his hand, shaking, then returned it to his jean pockets. He remembered he hadn't showered yet.

“Mr. Ishida, let's all sit down,” she said. Then, they were all in a circle in the tiny living room. Yamato could only wish he had a cigarette. He tried not to stare at the woman's chest but he was stressed and so his mind ached for any kind of distraction. He turned his eyes to the floor and let out another worried sigh. He thought of Keito again and his body shuddered with grief.

He couldn't focus on the conversation, but he heard about how he was usually an excellent science student, bragging that he didn't even need to study. Hiroaki had to point out it was something Yamato got from his mother, of course. Something about a change of pace and there were 'dangerous rumours' about a student who 'had it out for him'.

“Yutaka,” Yamato mumbled, his only words the entire time. The adults only paused a second to wonder what he'd said and then went back to deciding his punishment. Yamato didn't hear the rest, going over the words Keito said to him that he was too drunk to remember. He squeaked and ran a hand through his hair. What did it fucking matter?! She was dead, nothing was going to fucking change. He sure as Hell knew he wasn't capable of changing at all.

...right? Yeah, he didn’t have it in him. Otherwise none of those feelings would have come back. He was past it. But not anymore. He failed.

The door closed and Hiroaki returned to his chair. Yamato felt eyes burning against him and looked up. “...s-so what did y’all decide?”

“You need a break. A temporary leave of absence to take care of the missed school work. And with that old friend of yours threatening you, I don't think staying here alone is better either. You know, Ma's place could use a thorough cleaning and maybe the quiet out there would give you some time to sort yourself out. I swear the only time you were happy was up there. I dunno what else to do.”

“You're sending me out to Shimane?” Yamato whispered. “Alone?”

“With your school work,” Hiroaki said, setting down a stack a foot tall in Yamato's lap. “I could use a break, too. I hate to say that. But I'm at my wits end with you.”

Yamato wasn't sure how much more his heart could break. No, it was crumbling. He coughed as if he could feel the muscle breaking apart, chest tight. “You're sending me away?! Are you hearing yourself?!”

“What else do you want me to do?! If there is something I can do to make you normal, tell me.”

“Pay attention!” Yamato shrieked. He should have said Read my mind!! but he didn’t have the capacity to make such an introspection yet. “We had this conversation, remember?!”

“I'm trying to help you not drop out of school, I'm putting a roof over your head, I pay for all your games, your phone, and band stuff and I tell you I love you and I tell you to talk to me—I can only do so much when you won't cooperate!”

“Me?!” Yamato snorted. He tossed the papers on the floor and stood. “Unbelievable. You're just like everyone else... Thanks for giving a fuck that my fiancee is dead, by the way; you're doing a bang up job giving any fucks about how I feel!”

Yamato wasn't seeing straight. Just red. He stomped past the papers and to his room, slammed the door shut. He sobbed and gasped into his pillow. He grabbed the pillow and hugged it closer and screamed. His voice crackled out and he held his throat. Right. Yutaka. He sobbed despite the burning in his vocal cords.

“You're not gone. I know they just sent you away. I understand,” Yamato whispered. “If you'd just pick up the phone...” He chuckled through tears and dug his phone from his coat, then dialed again. His number was blocked now. Not even a ring. Then he got a text from Yutaka's number: STOP CALLING FAGGOT. IF IT WASNT FOR THE COPS YOU WOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW. IF I SEE YOU YOUR DEAD. KILL YOURSELF.

Yamato scrolled, the texts just continued to come in one after another.

KILL YOURSELF.

DIE.

GO TO HELL.

Yamato let the phone fall from his hands. He panicked for a second before he quickly blocked Yutaka’s number. He wondered why he hadn’t done it sooner. The buzzing and messages stopped and sniffling, the blond sat on his bed and tried to gather his thoughts.

“She’s really dead… She killed herself… because of me… I… Maybe I’d be better off…”

Then, Yamato got a notification on his phone. It was an email, a reply to the forum thread.

SelkieRan: Anyone on right now? I just need to vent.

Bluwolf9999: Whats goin on?

SelkieRan: My family being difficult.

Bluwolf9999: Mine too

SelkieRan: What did yours do?

Bluwolf9999: Hes sending me away for a week to ‘think about what ive done’ lmao

SelkieRan: Let me guess. You got in trouble at the party, didn’t you? ;p

Bluwolf9999: Shut up lol

Bluwolf9999: Sorta tho

SelkieRan: Wanna talk about it?

A knock at the door. Hiroaki said: “Bed. Now. You’re leaving early. Takeru’s picking you up.”

“Whatever! Fine!”

Yamato rolled his eyes, turned down his phone brightness, and laid back onto his pillow. He glared up at the dim light and typed again.

Bluwolf9999: I g2g because my old man is making me leave first thing in the morning..

He rolled over, still gripping the dark blue phone in his palm, waiting for a return call that would never come.

“My pillow… still smells like her…”

3 PM, on my feet and staggering

Through misplaced words and a sinking feeling

I got carried away

Sick, sick of sleeping on the floor

Another night, another score

I'm jaded, bottles breaking

You're only happy when I'm wasted

I point my finger but I just can't place it

Feels like I'm falling in love

When I'm falling to the bathroom floor

I remember how you tasted

I've had you so many times, let's face it

Feels like I'm falling in love alone