A/N: I ended up listening to Bobby's 'Love and Fall' and the final songs in the album led this line of thought to form. This is not part of my Quintessence AU, but more so my take on possible canon events (based on the material before the 20th Anniversary project). It ended up having surprisingly similar themes to Isolation - I guess the concept is just how I roll. There are never enough Takeru/Patamon/Angemon fics, so decided to publish it anyway. Hope you like it!
This is my first time trying to incorporate the flashbacks to the narration, so I'd love to get feedback whether that came out okay or whether it was messier to read.
Disclaimer: Digimon belongs to Bandai & Toei Animation.
The door opened swiftly, letting the ray of light enter the small studio from the attached apartment.
It took a second for Takeru to enter, carrying a bunch of clothes, an extra pillow, and a bag of snacks with a thermos in his arms. The blond man eyed around, wanting to check that he wasn't disturbing the small Digimon sleeping lightly on the table.
However, the disposal of the items amidst the miscellaneous collection of stuff on the blue-gray sofa was much more abrupt, almost an angry, movement.
The small Digimon stirred slightly and looked first at the deep-breathing figure of the man, and then turned its eyes towards the still open doorway. The faraway words could be faintly heard, but they were soon drowned by the voice from Takeru's sharp steps as he went back out, before coming back with a book and a file folder and closing the door, letting the lock to click into place.
"Sorry for bothering." Takeru apologized quietly, twirling the office chair around and flopping into it with the demeanor of not being willing to get up again before the following year.
The studio was quite small, the ceiling wasn't too high, but unlike you might expect for a busy novelist, and to someone as neat as Takeru, it was decorated; carrying an almost wall to wall bookcase (and few neat stacks of books that didn't fit on the shelves), pictures, random items, such as two clocks, a good desk and a computer, and the couch. In addition to the memorabilia, there were magazines, notes, plus random clothes from past interviews and seminars, cleaned away and placed on the couch until further notice.
Patamon hadn't made an effort to get up from the overly large hat, Takeru had once gotten as a missized gift from a fan and donated it for Digimon's sole use.
The exchange was still ringing in Takeru's ears, and the adrenaline and the leftover feelings of hurt and vexation were proving out to be hard to just breathe out and forget.
Takeru leaned back as far as the chair allowed, letting his head fall back, his face towards the ceiling.
It was a silent five minutes.
"I guess, I should clear the sofa if I'm going to sleep here," Takeru eventually commented, the only effort towards the action materializing as a gaze to his left. The misplaced, random stuff almost welcomed him to slump on top of the pile as another disregarded item.
"You are going to sleep here?"
Takeru knew Patamon's question was more of an affirmation than an honest uncertainty. The small Digimon had taken the custom to habit the small space whether he was around or not. Takeru had sometimes wondered if it was the fact that the small apartment had first been his home, far before the acquisition of the adjacent apartment and that the small Digimon just liked it there, or whether it was an altruistic decision to support his relationship. With Patamon's blue eyes looking at him brightly despite the earlier sleep, Takeru knew once again that it wasn't really a question he had the right to ask.
"I brought you something to eat, okay?" Takeru offered, his words now much softer than they had been on the other room fifteen minutes earlier, even if the small tension was still present in his voice and demeanor.
The dim light from the moon outside seemed to made Patamon's short fur to look even softer, Takeru mused as he watched the small Digimon eat.
Eventually, his mind calmed enough to drag himself up from the seat and start sorting the items on the sofa. Actually, he just hoisted everything to the floor — an action, he knew, he would regret and wonder tomorrow once the sun was up.
The pillow stood in stark contrast with the sofa but luckily the olive-green blanket matched it a bit better. When he had been younger it had been normal for him to sleep late evenings and early mornings on the couch with similarly pressing deadlines lurking around the corner.
Takeru took off his jacket and trousers, crept under the covers, and replayed the day in his mind more times than he should have. Patamon flew over and settled on the Digimon's customarily spot between him and the wall.
Takeru immediately moved his left arm over his stomach to scratch Patamon's fur.
As an adult, he had learned that there were numerous affection-seeking cats and dogs that could get tired of scratching and grooming more easily than Patamon and the thought formed a smile on his lips.
However, the smile faded slowly as his eyes hit the golden band on his ring finger. There was something that made him take an indrawn breath.
Patamon just watched him compassionately, pushing back into his hand and making a small touch to his wrist with its head.
The action, despite heavily comforting, made a surge of seclusion and loneliness to course through him. He had to swallow the forming tears and the painstaking coldness that followed.
He didn't know what he was doing wrong.
It was much easier here with Patamon. Less hurtful words and disappointment. And despite the couch that failed to meet his height in size, much cozier.
Happier.
"I love her."
That was the admittance he had given to Angemon a few months ago, after another rougher phase.
He did love her in the way humans loved each other, he mused.
Angemon had just observed him, letting him sort his thoughts in front of the gentle ripples from the sea against the banks of the File Island.
"I'm just not sure if she loves me enough." He had continued, voice much quieter this time.
Maybe it was the absence of the kids they had had so much trouble trying to have. Maybe it was his workaholism with everything related to the Digital World. Maybe it was the problems the fame had brought. Or maybe it was his inadeptness to focus on here and now without having his mind wander around other worlds.
Whatever it was, it created rows after rows between them.
Despite that the ring felt accustomed in his finger, the visual felt overly noticeable as if he was seeing someone else's hand, making his eyes pause on it every so often.
The decision to leave File Island when he had been only eight, felt much easier than the thought of facing tomorrow. Angemon had replied to this thought, by asking whether he had considered the possible line of enemies waiting for them, the difficulty of traveling over the sea, the existence and the unknown journey to home in a completely foreign reality.
"I did acknowledge it, I just…" He had laughed, thinking back to his actions as quite naïve and laughable while simultaneously knowing he would end up doing the same decision all over again without further questions.
But now, all his mind focused on, was the threats. The inadequacy. The words. The memory of his parents' divorce. How it would all just––
"It's another day tomorrow," Patamon commented sleepily; a reminder how more and more common it had become for flickers of Angemon to shine through in the small Digimon.
"Mmm." Takeru agreed softly, letting his gaze stay at Patamon, taking preeminent contentedness from the small Digimon and how happy Patamon was just from being next to him, just from being with him.