A/N: Rated T for language and brief sexual references. I do not own T.K., Matt, their parents, or anything else related to Digimon no matter what I try to convince myself.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
T.K. rolled over in his sleep. Please don't tell me it's morning already.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Whose bright idea was it to get an alarm clock, anyway? He smashed his pillow over his head, trying to muffle the incessant noise.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
"Oh, shut up already!" A scrawny fist flew out from under the covers and bashed the screeching alarm clock into silence. A disheveled-looking blonde emerged from the covers in nothing but blue flannel boxer shorts, rubbing his head.
Note to self, he thought, shuffling to the bathroom with a yawn, get quieter alarm clock.
Stumbling to the sink, T.K. glanced up at the mirror. He flinched at his reflection, and in one quick movement, masked the mirror with his washcloth. No good to think about such things so early in the morning. He shook his head. His mind ran on autopilot while his fingers fumbled for his toothbrush and his hands squeezed the life out of his stubborn toothpaste.
He brushed his teeth, mind still wandering. He thought of memories he usually tried to repress. Old memories. Good memories.
Memories of Matt.
He spit his fluoride-filled saliva out into the sink in disgust. The point of covering up the mirror was to bottle up those kinds of feelings. T.K. wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and jumped into the shower, busying his mind with trivial things like homework equations, upcoming events, and dinner plans.
A half hour later, the shower coughed up its last bit of hot water before blasting its already disgruntled client with a frigid blast of water. Letting out a miffed howl of fury, T.K. clawed blindly for the shower's temperature gauge. After finally managing to cut through the icy spray and stopping the shower once and for all, he surfaced out of aftermath drenched not only in freezing water but also in a murderous mood. Deliberately ignoring the mirror, he stalked through the apartment towards the kitchen. He wasn't in much of a temper to cook, but it was either making eggs or digging up an expired Nutri-Grain bar from the pantry.
He slammed condiments around the racks of the refrigerator, taking no mind to be gentle with the delicate eggs. Said eggs were tossed onto the counter while the blood-boiling blonde riffled through the cabinets in search of a pan.
"Jesus Christ, there's so much crap down here!" T.K. pushed his way through the jungle of unused kitchen appliances, pulling out assorted pots and pans from the cluttered cupboards. At long last, he found a beat up old frying pan that was just the right size for cooking eggs in. Disentangling himself from the cavern of cooking supplies, T.K. smiled, admiring his buried treasure. Taking a closer look at the pan, though, his smile faltered. It was Matt's old pan.
He remembered Matt using this pan to lure him out of bed with the smell of sizzling bacon in the early mornings of his childhood. He remembered Matt coming home after a tiring day at school and cooking with the pan to clear his head. His memories cluttered together, moving farther away from the frying pan itself and closer to memories of Matt. Matt laughing with him while watching Saturday morning cartoons. Matt holding a younger, more scared T.K. during Mom and Dad's fights. Matt trying to teach him how to play the guitar.
Guitar. The painful memory shocked T.K. out of reminiscence and back into reality. He set the pan on the stove, slowly turning the heat on. That's all Matt ever thought about anymore. His stupid guitar and his stupid band. The band was going to make it big, Matt said. Bring their family closer together. T.K. darkly chuckled. Yeah, they were real close now.
Dad was out working his ass off to pay for Matt's band expenses while Mom locked herself in her office, writing more news articles than ever to keep their rent stable. The few family visits they got each year dwindled to none at all.
T.K. cracked an egg on the side of the pan and let the innards goop out onto the sizzling skillet. Come to think of it, the last time he had seen Matt or Dad was a good two years or so ago on Christmas day. Even then Dad was called into work for an emergency and Matt bailed to go score with some of his band's groupies. At the end of the evening, T.K. had been left all alone in their apartment with a half eaten Christmas cake and a dingy pair of socks to substitute as a present.
Ho ho ho.
T.K. flipped the eggs over, wrinkling his nose at the already burnt side. He could never be as good of a cook as Matt.
He shook his head. No, he might not be as good of a cook as Matt, but at least he wasn't as big of an ass as his brother was. T.K. lifted the charred egg out of the pan and onto a plate. Still better than an expired Nutri-Grain bar.
Maneuvering his way around putrid piles of clothes and old newspapers that permanently stained the floor, the young DigiDestined pulled out a chair from under the table and sat down. He stared at his mangled eggs. Maybe he should go ask Mom if she wanted any. Better not, he decided. Shouldn't go bother her while she's so busy.
He shifted in his seat and poked the eggs with the tip of his fork, absentminded. His appetite had dissolved after thinking about his disastrous Christmas celebration with his so-called family. His gaze roamed around the room until his eyes zeroed-in on the phone. It sat there, unsympathetic to his inner turmoil.
Matt doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything, T.K. thought, still staring at the phone. There's no way he would pick up, even if it was an emergency.
A lump stuck in T.K.'s throat, making it impossible for him to breathe. His heart knew what his brain refused to let himself believe.
He missed his big brother.
Stupid crest of hope. T.K. covered his damp eyes with the palms of his hands, too prideful to even let the aloof phone see him break down. Ragged breathing filled the room, cutting through the false disguise of courage the young boy held on so desperately to. "All hope does is bring you down," he breathed to himself. Silent droplets escaped the barrier of his hands and rolled down his cheeks. "Builds up your expectations, then cuts you down."
Hours seemed to pass. The young boy finally sat up and wiped his nose. He studied the phone once more. It was like a Siren, calling him in until he was too over his head to back out. Before he knew it, his fingers were dialing a familiar phone number.
He picked up on the first ring.
"Hello?"
T.K. took in a shaky breath.
"Hey, Matt."
A/N: This story was inspired when my eldest brother, returning from college to make my life a living hell, decided to use up all the hot water in the entire freaking house. Let me tell you, a cold shower the morning of a physics exam is not what I call pleasant.
Besides the cold shower thing, I've been dying to write a story highlighting Matt and T.K.'s relationship. The chemistry between them throughout the series was really well thought-out and planned by the writers in my opinion. Seeing Matt open up and show his love for his brother really gave his character more depth than just him being that one emo kid in the show. I think the writers tried to remake that same kind of connection with Kari and Tai, but I didn't feel the same vibes with them.
But I digress.
Anywho, I just recently finished up the first season of Digimon and have moved on to the second season, which is why T.K. is older (I'm trying to guesstimate him being around fifteen or so, give or take a few years). I'm actually not all that impressed with this particular work of mine, as I found myself being too angsty with T.K. when as we all know Matt is the real drama queen of the family. Oh well. Like brother like, erm, brother, right?
As always, review review review! Which T.K./Matt do you like better? First season or second? Who's your favorite sibling pair? Kair/Tai or T.K./Matt?