AU.
**This one could do with a bit of explanation. It doesn't make a lot of sense—it's not supposed to. Au-obviously, a world where the digidestined did not go to the digital world and do not know each other—yaoi, hopefully short—I don't want more than three parts. I wanted something with a fairy tale feel and this is it. Feedback always appreciated.**
"Want a ride, Yamato?"
"Nah, I got to get some milk on the way home. But thanks."
"No problem. Mind you don't stay out in this weather too long though. We don't want our lead vocalist catching any colds."
I shrugged, walking away.
Colds be stuffed, I liked the rain. Especially at night--only those who had to be were out. I could easily believe the city was mine. There was a game I used to play when I was younger, on nights like this. I'd imagine that somehow I'd slipped into a different world, and that all traces of civilisation were gone . . .
It's easy, when the rain's like this, a fine mist rather than pelting drops, to believe you've walked into another realm . . .
I'm annoyed to discover that I've reached the supermarket already. The harsh neon lights jar against the ancient night outside.
"Nasty weather for summer, isn't it?" the assistant asks, not really wanting an answer. "It came up so sudden, I could hardly believe it."
I pay and leave as quickly as possible, but the damage is done.
Real life has intruded back into my magical world and I've lost--
A small sound intrudes into my anger.
It sounds eerily like a sob.
That's just my imagination playing tricks on me, right? No one would be out on a night like this--
Unless they had nowhere else to go.
I sigh, my mind inventing pitiful scenarios for me. The only way to be sure about this is to look--
So I do so.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
I can't tell. It's dark and shadowed--this rain isn't letting up any.
I take another step. "Hello?"
There's a nervous movement to my side. In the shadows there's someone sitting there . . . trying to shelter under a doorway from the looks of things.
"Hey," I say, wondering where to go from here.
"Hey." The reply is quiet, wary.
"You need any help? I mean, I got a cell-phone. You need to call anyone--"
"I have no-one I could call," he says simply. "But thank-you."
I pause. There's something in the way he speaks . . . like my English teacher at school, formal and correct. His voice though is young . . . hell, he might even be my age.
"You don't want to come home with me, do you?" Real smart move, Yamato. Especially considering your Father is away on business the entire weekend. "Just to get you dry and warm. I mean, you can't stay out here. You'll get sick."
There's a long pause. Then . . . "You'd be willing to take me into your home?"
"It's not much of a home. Just where me and my Dad live. But yeah, you're welcome . . . better than out here in the rain, right?"
He stands. "Right."
I spend the walk back to our apartment wondering what I'm doing.
I've heard the horror stories, I know the risks. I've never been one to get sentimental. Yet, here I am, taking a huge risk on a total stranger . . .
"Voila. Home sweet home," I say, flicking on the light switch, and ushering my guest inside. "Hardly a step up from your alley but—" He wanders into the light and I catch my breath. I'd been stealing enough looks at him on the way home to know that he was slightly shorter than me with brown hair and dark eyes—the hand that stretches out to touch the sofa is olive toned, the eyes that flit towards me in amusement are light brown, and sparkle with humour.
"This is a big step up from my alley."
"You won't say that once you see the mess in the kitchen," I warn. His voice is really nice too.
I catch an involuntary shiver and frown—the clothes he's wearing look old and are not what I'd call water proof.
"Um, this might sound really rude of me, but you don't want to take a shower do you? It might get you warmed up—and I could wash those things you're wearing."
"You're very kind."
"Just doing what I can."
His clothes are weird—as if he was going to a fancy dress party. Or maybe he's from some kind of religious cult thing—that's the only way to explain them I can think of.
I find some of my clothes that aren't too badly in need of ironing and place them outside the bathroom door. "I've got some clothes for you outside," I tell him.
I then go and sit on the sofa and wonder again what I'm doing.
Getting him warmed up and sent on his way.
That's all.
With that in mind I put the jug on.
As he emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp, and looking somehow incongruous in my clothes, slightly too tall for him, I'm reminded that I don't know his name.
"I'm Ishida Yamato," I tell him.
"I'm honoured to meet you," he says, looking with interest at the steaming cups on the bench.
"What, don't I get to know your name?"
His eyes look sorry. "I'm not allowed to tell."
"Oh. Okay," I said. He looked so sorry—"You want some cocoa?"
He took the cup, grinning at me as he tasted it. "This is nice. What is it?"
"Cocoa—don't tell me you've never tasted cocoa before," I said, wrapping my hands around my own mug.
"No."
"You haven't? Where have you been living?"
"In shadows and dreams," he said seriously, lips quirking into a smile as he saw I was staring at him.
Teasing me. Well if that was the way he wanted to be—
"You hungry?"
I ended up cooking him tea as well. I didn't mind—he ate as though he handed eaten for a week. When I told him that he said I didn't want to know how close to the truth that was.
I believed him. Which is why I grew worried as I watched him finish his meal.
"Look—you're in trouble aren't you?"
Hazel eyes flickered with humor. "Trouble is an understatement."
I sat down across the table for him and looked at him miserably. "What is it? Are you in trouble with the law or—"
"I've done nothing wrong, you need not fear that." He sounded faintly scornful and that reassured me. "I exist. That is enough for some people."
"Why?"
"To explain would mean telling you things I am not allowed to tell anybody."
"I see." I didn't.
"There is someone looking for me, someone who I don't want to be found by. I must stay out of sight and that is why I was where you found me."
"Can't you ask the police for help? There must be somebody—"
"There is no one. I can't explain, how can I ask for help?"
"I'll help you," I promised, not knowing why.
He looked at me. "You mean that."
"Yes." I tightened my hands around my cup.
"You've offered to help and you've helped me, without knowing anything of me, or asking for a reward."
"You were crying," I explain, honestly. "And I trust you—"
He was crying again—"You don't know how much that means."
I don't know why my faith could have moved him to tears, unless he felt the same way I did—that I'd known him for more than a few hours, more than one night—
I could only say that it felt totally right, placing my hand over his to comfort him.
Just like it felt totally right, hours later getting into bed with him.