Author's Notes: Ye gads, another story that's not a part of "Meek!" What is this? Well, this is Kyra's prize for getting the name right from my last story. Mouai does indeed mean "Blind Love." So, Kyra wanted an Iori/Miyako friendship fic. And so, she shall have one! This was inspired by the fact that it just snowed here. Huzzah for weather inspired fanfiction!
I gave Iori's father a name, seeing as how I talk about him a bit in this story. Yakuin, which means "officer" in Japanese. Suiting, I thought. I love my Japanese to English dictionary. Now, if only this semester of Japanese would actually stay in my head, I'll pass my final!
And, on a completely unrelated note, I got a Chibimon plushie! I really did. My God, it's cute! Nothing cuter than Chibimon, just nothing! ... Except maybe his Digidestined, but that's only my opinion. ;) *ahem* Now, if only the Crosswinds file manager was online. I have Digimon pics to upload! Including a prequel/sequel pic to "The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth." *sighs* Goobery Crosswinds.
There are many Japanese traditions and customs that are quite different
than American traditions and customs. Certain holidays are celebrated differently,
such as Valentine's day, where in Japan it is the women who give men boxes
of chocolates. School is also different, as it goes through to Saturday.
Therefore, it stands to reason that Snow Days are handled differently
in Japan than in America. After all, Japanese children are generally calmer
and more refined than the loud mouthed, wild and fast children in the states.
So, it would be no surprise if Japanese children used this unexpected day
off to get some schoolwork done or help around the house.
Or maybe not.
Snow Days in Odaiba were spent with mobs of freedom crazed children
running around, lobbing snowballs at each other and anyone else who was
unfortunate enough to get in the way. To say that most adults were glad
to be at work and relatively safe from the younger set would be an understatement.
The Digidestined were no different. In the park, the third generation
of the Chosen Children played among their peers. Bundled in warm jackets,
with scarves tightly around their necks and gloves protecting their already
cold hands, they were not the children sworn to save two worlds. No, today
as Hikari made snow angels, today as Daisuke and Miyako joined in a snowball
fight, today as Takeru did his best to make the perfect snowman, today
as Ken sat on a bench reading a cherished book, today they were just a
group of kids having a good time.
Well, all except for Iori.
The small boy stood underneath a snow-covered tree, his arms crossed,
and his faced buried in his yellow scarf. Socializing was just something
Iori was not in to. It's not that he didn't want to be friendly. After
all, his grandfather always told him to be polite. No, it was just that
Iori wasn't very comfortable in crowds of other children. He felt much
better around a group of adults. But he had always been a serious, mature
character.
It was his duty. He was, above all, the only other male in his household
besides his grandfather. And, as much as Iori didn't want to think about
it, there wasn't the best of likelihood's that his grandfather would live
to see Iori even make it to the age of eighteen. Which would leave him
to be the man of the house. He simply couldn't afford to act so childish.
Of course, there were people who had other plans for the boy.
"Duck, Iori!"
The brown haired boy barely had a chance to flinch before a snowball
pelted him on the side of the head. Blinking, he brushed the cold, melting
snow of his now cold cheek, frowning as some of the white stuff slipped
behind the cover of his scarf and onto his neck. Cold and wet. Two things
Iori didn't like being.
Miyako jogged up to him, giggling. "I warned you!"
Iori continued to frown. "Yeah."
Her smile faded and her brown eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry, Iori-kun.
I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you'd like to join in. Daisuke
and I have gotten just about everyone in the snowball fight. Even Ken!"
she laughed, then frowned herself. "Though, he's a lot better than I was
expecting. I haven't been able to get him once!"
"I'm not really in the mood for a snowball fight, Miyako-san. Thank
you," Iori apologized, huddling further into his scarf.
"Oh, please!" she pleaded, offering her best doe-eyed expression. "It'll
be fun."
"No, that's all right," he shook his head. "I'll just watch."
"Oh. Okay," Miyako sighed. She gazed at him sadly for a moment. Then,
with a flippant shrug, she walked over and leaned against the tree, beside
him. "I'll just watch, too, then."
Iori stared up at her, surprised. "B-but you were having fun."
"Yeah, I guess," she agreed, offhanded. Her eyes locked onto his, and
she smiled. "But, where would the fun be if my best friend's not enjoying
it, too?"
Of its own accord, his mouth fell open. Sometimes, his silly friend
said things that had the strangest affects on him. Iori prided himself
on being mature, and in control of himself at all times. But every so often,
Miyako would do something; would laugh a certain way, would crinkle her
nose in a funny manner when she was disgusted with something, or would
simply say something that would totally knock him off his feet. As soon
as he thought he had figured her out, she'd fling him a curve ball like
this.
"You..." he swallowed. "You mean that, Miyako-san?"
"Of course, I do, silly!" she declared, jokingly bumping him with her
hip. She beamed down at him with her best smile. "We're best friends, right?"
He nodded, quickly.
"Well, then, if you're not playing, I'm not playing!" She emphasized
her statement by crossing her arms and lifting her chin high in the air.
Iori watched her for a long moment, feeling something strange in his
chest; like he wanted to cry and smile at the same time. He didn't understand
it, it wasn't something he ever experienced before. At least, not at this
magnitude, not for a long time. Not since his father had...
His father had liked the snow. Iori could remember Yakuin Hida, the
man with the strong arms and the knowing green eyes, as he carried him
into the thick snow in front of their apartment building. He had been only
three at the time, and his father had taught him how to make the perfect
snowball. They had played together for hours before his mother had called
them in for supper. He had never had so much fun in his life, just being
a young child playing with his father. No responsibilities, no worries.
No thoughts of how soon those carefree days would end, and how painfully
it would happen.
Something dripped onto Iori's scarf, snapping him out of his reverie.
He looked down and saw a small drop of water on the yellow material, sparkling
in the winter sun. Gazing up to see the snow covered branches of the tree,
he noticed it wasn't dripping. It was still far too cold for anything to
be melting. He frowned, not understanding, until he felt something slide
down his cheek. With shock, he placed his gloved hands on his face, noting
how the cottony material became wet at the touch. He was crying.
With a surprised and embarrassed grunt, he wiped haphazardly at his
face, trying to quickly get rid of the evidence. He was not supposed to
be acting in such a childish manner.
"Iori-kun?" A gentle hand went to his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, Miyako-san," he murmured, not trusting his voice to go any louder.
After thoroughly rubbing his cheeks till they turned red, he dared to look
up at her concerned face.
"You sure?" she pushed, gently.
"Yes," he nodded, offering a halfhearted smile.
He could tell she didn't really believe him, but she smiled back just
the same. "Okay."
Miyako went back to watching the snowball fight. Iori caught the look
of wistful longing on her face. She really did want to join in the fun,
but she refused to leave her friend's side. But Miyako was always like
that. Ever since he'd met her, she was always trying to get him involved,
always trying to get him to have fun. It was like she had made it her personal
mission to see him happy.
Iori looked over at the children throwing snow at each other. They were
running around red faced and laughing, the white, powdery flinging here
and there. The small boy found himself frowning at Takeru's form, mentally
chiding his friend for making such flimsy snowballs. Didn't he know you
had to press them tightly to make sure they stayed solid before impact?
Then Iori scolded himself. Who was he to think such things? He wasn't
even participating. He stole a glance at Miyako, who felt his stare and
smiled down at him. She was always there for him. There wasn't a day gone
by that she didn't try to make him smile at least once. She wanted him
to be a kid, to have some fun. But he hadn't had childlike fun in a long
time. He wasn't even sure he could anymore.
He shuffled his feet, snow crunching underneath them. He looked down
at the glittering stuff, its brightness in the sun forcing him to squint.
His father had been a lot like Miyako. The thought struck him like a thunderbolt.
No, the two weren't similar when it came to lifestyles, or even much in
personality. But it was the way that they had always treated him that made
Iori notice the parallels. They had never pushed him to act older than
he was. They had wanted him to enjoy the simplicities that came with his
young age. They had encouraged him to just be a little boy having fun.
They both had wanted him to find happiness in the carefree lifestyle that
a small child was entitled to. They had wanted him to be happy with who
he was, and not turn himself into something he thought others would want
him to be.
Iori kicked one foot, watching the snow fling off the tip of it. His
father had so loved playing in the snow with him. It just didn't seem right
to have fun in it without him. He looked at Miyako, with her longing expression,
and felt his heart become heavy. But, wasn't it just as wrong of him to
keep Miyako from having fun? She deserved to enjoy herself more than anyone.
And would his father had really wanted him to stop playing in the snow?
Just be a little boy for once. That's what his father had wanted. That's
want Miyako wanted. Just be himself, and delight in things that adults
were jealous that they couldn't do anymore.
"Miyako-san?" Iori prompted, hesitantly.
"Hm?" she looked at him with warm, questioning eyes.
"I'd... I'd like to play," he stated, barely above a whisper. "If that's
okay, that is."
She blinked a few times, obviously shocked. Then, a smile bright enough
to rival the sun graced her face. "Of course, it's okay! But are you sure,
Iori-kun? I don't want you to do anything you really don't want to."
"Yes, I want... " he took a deep breath, and smiled a surprisingly relaxed
smile. "I want to play."
"Well, okay then!" Miyako grinned. She shook her index finger. "But
I warn you. I'm pretty good."
He followed her out to the white field, where the snow was still flying,
and children were still running and laughing. With his small legs quivering
in apprehension, Iori bent down and picked up a handful of snow. He remembered
how his father had helped him, telling him how to clench his hands just
so, so that the snow would stick together.
His father had also taught him how to do it quickly, in case of being
in a snowball fight like he was. Unfortunately, Iori had presently forgotten
that part. Otherwise, he would've been prepared for the snowball that collided
with his back. Not that it hurt much. In fact, he barely felt it at all,
considering most of it had disintegrated before crashing into him. Still,
some snow did fling up over his shoulders. Brushing it off with his free
hand, he turned around to face his aggressor. Takeru.
"Gotcha!" the blonde boy laughed, good naturedly. "You're gonna have
to be quicker, Iori."
The boy was not impressed, and forced a smirk off his face. "That was
a poorly made snowball, Takeru-san." Without warning, he chucked the ball
of white at his friend, the snow impacting onto Takeru's chest, and exploding
in all directions, including into the blonde's face. "Now, that's
how to make a snowball," Iori grinned.
A very well made snowball to his shoulder was what answered Iori. He
spun around to see a beaming Miyako.
"Bingo!" she declared. "Told ya I was good, Iori-kun. Gah-!" she yelped
as she was struck from behind.
"Better watch yourself better than that, Miyako-san!" Ken laughed, and
easily dodged one of her attacks.
"Ooo, before this game is through, I'm gonna get you, Ken Ichijouji!"
Miyako shouted at the blue haired boy's retreating figure. "Mark my words!"
Past that, it was all a blur for Iori. A white, cold, wet blur. He could
feel snow everywhere. In his boots, in his gloves. Especially his scarf.
But it actually didn't bother him. Somewhere in the middle of it, the whole
thing became fun. Just to run around and see how many people he could hit
with a snowball. It seemed suddenly so natural to play with children he
had never met before. And, of course, nailing Miyako so that her glasses
were covered with snow had been an admitted highlight. The subsequent barrage
of snowballs from her hadn't been, though. Even so, he laughed along with
her. Real laughing, something he didn't do very often. And it felt so very
nice. It was... good to be a kid.
Until, that is, the fateful snowball that crashed into the side of his
head.
There is a definitive rule in snowball fights. A rule of great and valued
importance. It was practically a commandment. "Thou shalt not throw iceballs."
The white thing that had slammed into Iori's cheek was definitely not a
snowball. It was far too hard, far too cold, and far too painful. It actually
rattled him. And he stopped moving all together until the shock of it wore
off. Unfortunately, when the shock left him, the pain took its place. His
outer cheek throbbed, and he could taste blood. He must've bit the inside
of his cheek by accident.
With a small whimper, he placed a hand to his reddened face, and squeezed
his eyes shut as if to force the pain out. Almost in an instant, Miyako
was at his side. Like she could just sense his distress.
"What's wrong, Iori-kun?" she questioned, concerned. Her brown eyes
widened when he took his hand away from his cheek. The surprise on her
face quickly changed to anger, and she spun around to the crowd, one hand
protectively on his shoulder. "Hey! Someone threw an iceball! Who
did it? C'mon, you creep! Which one of you threw that iceball at
him?" The level of her voice made just about every child cringe with fear,
with the possible exception of the Digidestined, who were used to it. But
it was only a possible exception; Daisuke looked like he cringed, too.
Not that anyone would blame him.
"Miyako-san," Iori pulled her sleeve to get her attention.
"Yes?" she turned to him, the anger instantly dropping and being replaced
with concern.
"I'm okay," he told her. "Really."
"But... " she blinked. "Are you sure?"
Always looking out for him, wasn't she? He smiled. "Yeah. I'm okay.
I'd... I'd like to finish the game, all right?"
"Well," Miyako blinked again, "if you want to."
He gave her a quick grin, then ran a few steps ahead of her, and quickly
scooped up some snow, before throwing it squarely at her. She squealed
as the cold stuff hit her. She looked at him with surprised, yet delighted
eyes. He smiled again. It was okay to be a kid. Really, it was.
With a laugh, she declared, "I'm gonna get you for that, Iori-kun!"
In an instant, the snow was flying again. But this time, Iori and Miyako
seemed to only be focused on one another. Which was just fine by Iori.
He could have fun with her. He could just be an nine year old boy, playing
with his best friend. He could be happy. And being happy, and being with
Miyako... there were times where it seemed to be the same thing to him.
Mature reviews. You know how I love them. ;)
"When I find out which one of you did it, I'll... " Miyako let the
threat hang in the air, this time causing everyone to gulp almost audibly.
The End.