I hope you like it. And I'm open for any advices and critiques – I have a strong habit to make characters too effeminate, and I worked hard to write all that stuff out that seemed overboard. Any suggestions are welcome, just stay friendly please ^^
Love and hugs,
Kari
Matt&Hiroaki Ishida © Toei Animation (I think)
story © KariTBB
Drowning
Series: DigimonSeason: 02
Main characters: Mr. Ishida, Matt
genre: hurt and comfort
info: sequel to "Pouring Down"
I force myself to lift my body despite of the tiredness, grabbing a pack of noodles that is peeking out of the brown paper bag and putting it in its place in the cupboard. Matt's a darling, he truly is, not even letting me pack away the groceries he bought. And I know he'd kill me if I'd ever dare to call him 'darling', but still that's what he is.
He keeps silent as he works, his head burrowed deep into the kitchen cabinet. I… don't like that. Matt is no one to talk much, but he usually asks me about my day when I come home. Not that I'm happy with that – I'd much rather have him talk about his day. But it's normality, and today, he does not ask. Which means something is wrong.
I carefully draw nearer to the door leading into the living room. I know Matt won't want to talk. He never talks when he's troubled. Which is a pretty bad thing considering he rarely ever talks, anyway – a combination that makes it quite difficult to notice if he has sorrows as the difference to his usual behaviour is so small. Thanks God I've become able to see his sadness by now, no matter whether he refuses to show any of it.
"How's Tai doing?" I ask gently while I place myself strategically between my son and the door outwards. It's way easier to get Matt talking by asking him about others than by asking him about himself.
He cocks his head, and I see a small smile creeping across his face.
"Fine, I guess. His team had a match yesterday, and apparently they won 1:0 because Tai scored a goal in the last minute."
"That's awesome!" My joy is no fake. I like Tai – he's doing Matt so good, and I'm more than relieved and grateful that the two boys became friends. Secondly, Matt's frank reply betrays me that his troubles are not about having broken up with his friends for whatever reason.
I examine my son, trying to read in his face the things he won't let me read. Eventually, I give up. There are thousands of things that could be wrong with Matt. He's so sensitive, even a glare from a stranger on the street could leave him depressed for days. I could never find out the reason by guessing. It's a pointless attempt.
Slowly walking over to where he's still hidden in the cupboard, I reach out, grabbing the sleeve of his coat and pulling him nearer. He looks up at me, bewildered, sligthly refusing the forced motion.
"Matt, could we talk?" I ask softly, hanging my arms over Matt's shoulders loosely before clutching my hands behind his back. My voice has become low and pleading as I continue. "And please promise me to speak the truth."
My beg makes him frown.
"I rarely ever lie to you, dad!" he calls out, being outraged. Then a blush, accompanied by a sheepish smile, spreads on his face. "I mean, I know it should be never instead of rarely…"
"I know," I cut him short hastily. I'd never question my son's honesty. I trust him. "But I also know sometimes it seems like lying would be the right thing to do. Just promise me to be honest, please, Matt. Will you?" I didn't intend to, but my voice is gravely by now. I see Matt wincing, and I know he's panically asking himself if he did something wrong.
"Did I do something wrong, dad?" he asks me, his blue eyes wide with sorrow. I quickly shake my head.
"No, Matt. Don't you worry." I force his face onto my chest, burying my face in his hair and shifting my arms until they enclose him in a big hug.
"Just answer honestly, please: What's wrong, dear?" I whisper. There's a second of stiffness, then I feel him breaking in my arms. It hurts so much to see him suffer. His body becomes limb as his pain reaches the surface, and I ask myself if he'd collapse right now if I wouldn't hold him. The weakness lasts only two seconds, then a new determination gives him the strength to stand straight again.
"You mean apart from that you're kinda suffocating me?" he asks sarcastically, trying to chuckle in order to sooth me. I lift my face, staring directly into his eyes. He's unable to withstand the gaze.
"What's wrong, Matt?" My tone is more serious now, though still calm. Matt shifts his weight uncomfortably, then glares at me.
"Nothing. What's this fuss about? I told you I was fine, do you mean to imply that I'm a liar?"
I don't even respond to his insult as something caught my attention. Something is out of order, I just can't put my finger on it yet… The rain? Shouldn't the rain on his face have dried by now?
I tilt my head. It did dry. Except for a few drops left on his cheeks. 'Rain drops'. Sure. Gosh darn it, Matt, why can't you just tell me?
I lightly release him from the embracement.
"So, it's 'nothing' that makes you cry, yeah?" The glare turns into a dark scowl, but I don't pay any attention to it. Wordless, I move my arms until I hold him close again. "Tell me why you're sad, son."
He brusquely shoves me off.
"I'm neither sad nor crying," he informs me, his words low and emphasized, resembling a kind of warning. "Cut out the crappy nonsense! I said I'm fine, so stop that!"
"I will not." I lock eyes with him, clarifying how serious I am on that. "I won't let you get out of here until I know what's wrong with you, whether you want me to know about it or not."
"So what?" He's as cold as ice. "Are you going to put me over your knees and give me a spanking?"
I breathe out, frustrated, before I reach out to grab his shoulders firmly.
"No, I don't want to patronize you, I want to know why you're upset, Matt! You can't always bottle up everything inside, realize that finally! You can't bear everything alone."
"Shut up! I'm sick of that sh…"
"Watch your mouth." All of my gentleness is gone by now. My hands are trembling in anger and his former suggestion crosses my mind. Maybe giving him an old-fashioned spanking wasn't a bad idea after all…
"Why… Why can't you just leave me alone?"I freeze, alerted, at these words. There's a wrong tone in them. A slightly too high, nervous edge. Something of his façade is breaking. Finally.
"Because I love you more than anything else in the world," I reply, being back at ease. He glances up at me, and I smile, drawing him into a hug again. "And you know that, don't you? You always refuse to let me know when you're troubled, dear. But I want to know! I want to be there for you." Guilt lets me pause for a second. "And I know I'm not always good at that… But I love you. And you can always come to me when you need to talk."
"Dad…" He sniffs faintly, tears barely held back any longer. I watch him silently. He still refuses. He still refuses to share, to talk, to cry. But he's so close. I won't get a chance like that a second time. It's now or never.
Grabbing his legs with one hand and supporting his upper body with the other, I simply pick him up and carry him into the living room. He yelps as I lift him from the floor but doesn't defend, too surprised to react.
Carefully, I let him down on the couch, sitting down, one leg akimbo, next to him and pulling him up to me until his head and back rest on my chest. My arms petting his stomach sporadically, I press my lips onto his hair.
"What's wrong?"
The feeling of comfort destroys his last bit of resistance. Sobs escape from his lips until he turns around and buries his face in my shirt.
"It's… I…" Tears smother his voice, and I start stroking his hair wordlessly, listening to his crying. Minutes go by, interrupted only by the sound of his low hiccups. I stay silent. He's been needing time to let out his pain for so long, even if he won't see it.
His eyes have reddened when he eventually looks up at me again, the usually pale skin inflamed and raw.
"I'm sorry, dad," he says huskily. "I… I shouldn't even get that emotional over stuff like that. It's just peanutes."
"What's wrong?" I ask gently, flatly ignoring his apology. He fixes his eyes on my chest.
"I met Chester today," he says expressionlessly. A moment of panic catches hold of me as I'm trying wildly to remember who the heck Chester is. I know Matt will be upset if I don't know – because if that person is so unimportant that I don't even remember him, Matt will think his depression would be silly and close himself off again.
I frown as the memory slowly catches up with me. Chester… One of Matt's former class mates. Not the worst one of them, but he had enjoyed humilating Matt verbally with great pleasure, and I have spent more than one night with Matt sleeping, tear-stained, in my arms because of him.
"Chester Garfish?" I ask calmly. Matt nodds, trying to hide himself from me as his sleeve wipes his face in a rushed motion.
"Yeah." He falls silent, swallowing quietly. He has started quivering, and I hurry to take off his wet coat of him even though I am sure that it's not the temperature that causes his trembling.
"What's that guy doing around here?" I succeed in using 'guy' instead of 'bastard' in the last second. Hoping to keep myself from clenching my fists, I start brushing Matt's dark blonde strands out of his forehead. It's not the right time to get emotional now. But I do know what Matt has been through before he switched to Tai's class. And I know that if one of those objects ever dares to lay a finger on my Matt again, I'll beat them up, no matter whether their parents press charges against me or not.
Matt shrugs, his face blank.
"'don't know. He was just strolling around with some of his followers. You know they say bad luck never travels alone." He makes an attempt of grinning but his tears distort the mimic, letting me face a bizzare mask instead of a smile. I shudder.
"What did they do to you?" I ask. My voice trembles with angst. Did they beat him? Did they hurt him?
I've experienced that in most situations, Matt will be able to defend himself physically. But it's an experience I wish I would have never been forced to make. And though I know that Matt is tough, I am not too blind to see that Matt can't stand against being outnumbered greatly. How many guys were they? How many followers did that Chester have? If they touched him in any way…
"Nothing much, just calling em nutcase and loser and stuff," Matt interrupts my whirling mind. I cringe, startled by the sudden sound. My focus turns back on him, and I notice he's averting his eyes. A numb pain forms in my chest.
His reply, a whisper only, should leave me soothed. But it doesn't. There's something wrong in his words - they're filled with guilt.
"I'm sorry," he continues hoarsely. "I really shouldn't be that wimpy…" He seems to shrivel, sinking down just a little more. Panic screaming in my head, I involuntarily leap forward and grab his shoulders.
"Don't you say anything like that," I tell him, strict. "There's nothing wimpy about having to put up with some retarded idiots!"
He fixes his eyes on the couch, not giving me any reply, and hesitantly leans onto me again.
"I thought it was over," he whispers. His voice is quiet now, but I discover small tears lurking in his eyes. "I've been friends with Tai, Sora and the others for almost three years now. Everything has become so different! Back then, I was always an outsider. I acted weird and nobody wanted to befriend with me. I was never like the other kids." He swallows, struggling to continue to speak. "I thought that I had changed. I thought that I was normal now! But when I met Chester today, I realized that I'm still the weird kid standing in the corner. I haven't changed at all! I'm still as stupid and odd as back then." His voice trails off, tears running down his face. "I will never be normal… I will always be a failure!"
He breaks down, his entire guilt tearing him apart.
He's the failure. Not the others. It's his fault they bully him. Not their. I can feel the sentences repeating in his head with every fiber of my body. I can feel the pain they inflict. Matt's not sad or scared. He's not depressed over what happened. He's desperate.
I find my lips dry and pet his cheek gently, just as I did when he was still a little child and I put him to bed.
"Matt?" I don't know where I take the strength from to speak. It's not even difficult. I guess I take it from where I take it every time: I have to be strong for Matt. "May I ask you something?"
He lifts his face from my shirt, sith lingering on the darkened wet spots on the fabric where his face had rested.
"Yes?" A sniff breaks his voice before he's able to say any more. I start rubbing his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Do you Think Tai's stupid?"
The surprise over this question let's Matt sit up.
"What?" Confusion creases his forehead. There's a hint of suspicion in his eyes, guessing that I'm trying to say something to comfort him.
"I wouldn't exactly call Tai the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's not dumb… He got us through a world full of monsters and back here safely."
"What about the rest of your friends?" I continue. Matt tilts his head slightly.
"Joe and the others? None of them is dumb, each of them has their own, special way of intelligence I guess. I don't understand…"
"Would you consider Chester dumb?" I cut him short. I turn back to him, locking eyes. Matt bites his lips.
"I guess so, yes. Never had the best marks, didn't seem to know much about real life, either, and's very focused on outer things while not realizing what really mattered."
I place a soft kiss on his hair, smiling at him.
"So tell me, Matt: If some dumb guy thinks you're stupid, and some intelligent people think you're awesome enough to be their best friend – whose opinion should mean more to you?"
He stares at me, dumbfounded. Then he smiles, and a blush creeps over his cheeks.
"Yeah, but still, I…"
"I'm serious, Matt," I say, forcing out a jolly laughter. "What's the better deal? – Chester thinking you're stupid and your friends liking you, or that idiot thinking you're cool and your friends disliking you?"
He ponders over that sentence for various seconds.
"You know, dad." He's chuckling now. "I think you're pretty right with that." He sits up straight suddenly, looking at me in a much too mature way.
"Dad…" He wraps his arms around me softly. "I love you. Thank you."