Title: Bring down the moon
Author: Nekocin
Type: Alternative Universe, series
Genres: Romance, drama
Warnings: OoC (?)
Pairings: TaichiSora, YamatoSora, TakeruHikari, various
Rated: PG13
Additional notes: HETero
Disclaimer: Digimon doesn't belong to me.

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Phase 1: Honeysuckle

Chapter 1

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As soon as he entered University, he sensed a change in atmosphere. Teachers hardly warn students about their absences or lateness. Their policies contained only passing on necessary information about subjects students needed to study for, answering uncertain questions and dumping loads of homework on their shoulders. The teachers all expect you to do an outstanding job under all the pressure they put you through. It's no wonder some students had mental breakdowns after the first semester and dropped out of their programs.

Another thing about University--he hardly got chances to meet his friends (with whom he used to form a band together) in high school. Their schedules differ greatly from his considering their various majors and special courses. Unfortunately. The only time they were able to see each other were on times when they unexpectedly had free periods at the same time (which happened rarely) and in the weekends (which hardly counted).

He was starting to wonder if he should continue his studies. He was starting to wonder if he had made the biggest mistake of his life by choosing Business as his major. In what aspect of business was he interested? What exactly did he plan for his future within this field? The usual 'make it big with some kind of business, become rich, marry a girl, have 2 or more kids and live happily ever after till his 80th-year or more'? Wouldn't that kind of illusion brand him as a dreamer? Or worse, an idiot who was completely lost in the middle of hundreds of possible life paths?

Though he had already passed the years of self-discovery, it still felt as if he hadn't found the right identity for himself yet; his own gem, the special trait.

His paternal grandmother had pointed out that he was entering a stage where he had to decide whether he should grow up or remain daddy's child forever. In her eyes, he had not yet matured enough to call himself a real man. And besides, she had also pointed out, Yamato hardly asks his many girlfriends to come over to meet her. It's because he kept changing his mind, mulling over and over again in his mind about whether the girl was good enough for grandma to meet or not, whether he liked the girl truthfully or not, whether the girl could stand grandma's curious prodding or not and so on. His lack of control over his choices pressured his relationships to the point he would ask for a break up and a friendly parting within a week or two. Never longer than a month. Never shorter than a day.

He was just not ready. He felt he wasn't ready for a serious commitment. Neither was he ready for the big stuff the university threw at his feet.

Yamato would watch his classmates racing each other to get the front seats, doing homework and assignments with vigor, attending every class faithfully--and he would wonder, wherever did they find the motivation to put so much effort? Shouldn't he be looking for his own right now?

"How was your bookkeeping test?" one of his many classmates, who approached him, said. What was his name again?

Yamato looked up from his folded hands and gave his classmate a wry smile, answering, "I don't know--I really don't know. You?"

The other mirrored his smile and shrugged. "Hopefully okay. I admit it wasn't that difficult,"

With that said, his nameless classmate moved over to a group of giggling girls to ask the same question.

He turned back to staring at his folded hands. He didn't really think he did well; a small part of him hoped he had at least passed the test with a meager 55. If not, he will have to double his efforts for the make-up test.

The professor entered the crowded room with his suitcase under his arm and mumbled, "Good morning, everyone,"

Students halfheartedly went back to their seats and opened their books. He did the same and prepared himself for the flood of information the professors were too keen of giving.

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Usually when the school organizes something grand like a-night-out or a prom-sort-of-party he hardly pays any heed to them. No matter how large the posters looked on the bulletin boards. No matter how many of them he would find in every corner or on the walls. However, flyers distributed around from the roof of the school building were a different case, especially when a shower full of them decided to curtain his sight. Annoyed, he looked up to the roof to glare at the troublesome advertiser dirtying the yard from above and snatched one of the descending flyers from the air. He scanned the announcement quickly, scoffed at it and stuffed the paper into one of his pockets. A fashion show held by undergraduates on Friday night? Pfft. Who would be interested in a fashion show anyway? Only the girls would.

Apparently, he was being a sexist without meaning to.

His friends had made him come along, forcing him to look at least approachable but cool in casual wear, with the excuse that they 'wanted to see pretty girls dressed up in cute dresses, elaborate blouses and skirts and by the way, did you know that your brother is part of the organization that sponsors these fashion designers-to-be?'

He glared at them for the persuasion technique. That was very low. They just knew he would come along if they mentioned anything related about his brother going to be present at some event; him having a younger sibling hadn't always been out in the open, truthfully. Before their band dissolved, none of his band mates knew about his domestic life behind that cool face. They all assumed he was an only child, whose parents were too busy with their careers to notice he had become the newest heartthrob on teen magazines and famous front page face in high school's newspapers. It wasn't until one of them had decided he was so bored out of his mind that snooping through Ishida Yamato's book cases was considered very attractive and thus finding a box full of pictures of a guy who resembled Yamato but not exactly, did they know about his brother. It was inevitable anyway.

So his friends had successfully dragged him along on Friday night. As expected, once the show began his friends abandoned him in favor of cheering the models on stage on with the rest of the other perverts. A rather spastic senior introduced himself as the Master of Ceremonies and summarized the night's schedule.

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Summer Collection Fancy Road by the wonderful Midori!"

Enthusiastic applause and hoots came from the far back. He could make out a distinct "Give me an M-I-D-O-R-I-I-I!" from the guys even. It didn't take long before the models sashayed their way on stage, wearing loose skirts, open blouses and various women clothes Yamato could hardly name, while a cheerful music beat led the honors of spreading the summer love in the room. The motto of the designer obviously meant 'the brighter the better'; he eyed the bright colors with slightly raised eyebrows. After a few more rounds of showing off designs the MC appeared on stage with a blushing girl on his right arm and introduced her as the designer of Fancy Road. Once Midori said a few cheerful words, the MC moved on to introduced the next collection.

Though he hardly knew anything about fashion designing, he admitted some of the participating undergraduates were good with color combinations and girl wear. So what happened to guy wear? Didn't anyone try to design at least decent men clothes? The one standing nearby, the ex-drummer from the band only burst out laughing when he told him that.

"The show is almost nearing the end. I doubt there is a men category in their collections,"

He did have a point.

"And besides-," his friend continued, "-aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

Yamato received a flick on his forehead and then a push forward.

"Your brother, remember?"

Blinking at the ex-drummer, Yamato realized he had almost forgotten about that.

"I thought you guys were pulling my leg about Takeru being here,"

The crowd suddenly screamed and jumped, drowning his voice and unintentionally forcing him to move forward. The high screech of a guitar drove the audience to their toes and encouraged the hyper body-bouncing among the attendees. Though he could hardly hear himself breathe with the racket the people around him were making, he had a feeling he should know the music they were playing in the background. It was just that... his world was spinning awfully fast with everyone pushing him here and there like a defenseless flower (what the?) in the middle of a sandstorm.

Fortunately for him, he managed to grab hold on a cold railing before he could topple over the metal defense. That's when he saw the guy standing just a few meters away from him, his back straight, arms occupied with a checklist and large headphones... his brother.

"Takeru!" He couldn't resist the ridiculous grin from appearing on his face. "Takeru!"

The boy seemed to have heard him as he peered over his shoulder with a confused look on his face. An instant grin appeared on his face.

The heavy music died down with a drum climax and instead, a calming string instrument resonated from the speakers, soothing the effects of the heart-pounding piece that just passed by like a whirlwind of emotions.

"And now for our last collection--the traditional Ikebana by our talented Sora!"

Takeru passed the checklist and the headphones to the girl standing next to him, flashed her a quick smile to appease her disapproving glare and took quick strides towards Yamato behind the fence line. The crowd behind Yamato went crazy as more models appeared in sunny-looking robes.

"Brother?" Takeru raised his voice above the many hoots and whistling.

Yamato gave the younger one an affectionate tug on his hair and pinched his cheek. Takeru hissed ("Ow!"), slapping his hand away, "What did you do that for?"

"You lost your baby fat, squirt," was all Yamato could bring out before pulling his brother to his chest for a tight hug. Years ago they used to be inseparable brothers. Yamato was the older of the two. Obviously, the responsibility of watching over Takeru fell upon his shoulders. Even at a young age. It had been an unwritten rule in the Book of Siblings, Yamato had assumed, until their parents had decided that their marriage was not worth saving anymore.

"And you haven't changed much, brother. Your hair is still stylish as ever. Do I need to know how much gel you must have used?"

Yamato rolled his eyes--the touching brother-brother moment instantly evaporated--and let go of his brother, saying "Shut up, kid,"

He gave the other another tug on his plain hair.

Takeru laughed. "Seriously, brother, what are you doing here? You don't even like these sorts of events,"

Yamato felt his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He knew this would come up sooner or later.

"The guys dragged me along. What about you? Never knew you were into these events either," he gestured to the stage as soon as all twelve models in very suffocating but colorful kimono held together by elaborate-tied obi, lined up next to one another.

"I'm not. It's just that some of my friends are up there and the teachers asked me to help out with the technical work," Takeru turned to look back to the stage and let out a sigh. "I'll talk to you later, okay? There's something wrong with the disc player,"

As if on cue, the speaker boxes empowered an awful scratchy noise above the murmuring crowd. Takeru's eyebrows twitched in annoyance. He muttered something under his breath about 'malfunctioning devices and idiotic wirings' and did not notice his brother giving him a highly amused look.

"Okay, let's catch up later,"

While Takeru was busy examining the equipments' wires, the MC appeared on stage again. "It looks like the dance has to be cancelled due to some technical difficulties with the lasers. We apologize for the inconveniences. So let's skip this part," the MC then motioned to the models, "We now close our show with the designer of Ikebana--Sora!"

A polite applause welcomed the lone figure on stage. Dressed in a rather unobtrusive-colored furisode with a bright orange obi depicting branches of pink flowers, the designer bowed gracefully and a hint of a smile crossed her face. A very, very small smile. Enough to clear the pale face from looking as if someone was dying. Anyone in the far back probably wouldn't have noticed the fleeting smile--but the ones up front got the privilege to see the girl turn into someone more than a stiff mannequin stuffed in old-fashioned robes.

It was the first time that night did he realize his throat went dry.

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TheNekoTalks:

- Uhm... yeah. So it's inspired by a Bollywood movie "Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam" (translation: Straight to the heart), I admit. Some credits go to it.
Honestly, I haven't watched the whole movie from the beginning till the end so some of the scenes are just... made up. Artistic license, n.n; anyway?

- furisode: I learned this from Shirohane. It's a very colorful long-sleever kimono for unmarried girls.
- obi: the sash that sort of functions as a belt that holds the kimono together.

Thank you for reading!

.:Nekocin:.