Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon, the concept, or its characters. They belong to Bandai, Toei Animation, Saban... maybe others as well. I'm merely using them for my own personal enjoyment. Please don't sue
Notes: My friend Sunneh gave me an idea a while back for a Yamato/Mimi cookoff drabble/one-shot. While plotting out details for that one, the idea for this one popped into my head. D: Hopefully y'all won't find it too terrible.
Takes place sometime between the end of season one and the start of season two.
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Singed
By: Daystar-chan
He blamed the whole situation on Taichi, of course. Taichi was usually the one responsible for these sorts of things, after all. (Taichi, Yamato)
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He blamed the whole situation on Taichi, of course. Taichi was usually the one responsible for these sorts of things, after all; even though it was his first time cooking, Yamato knew he shouldn't have let the food out of his sight for more than a few minutes. Labeling it as Taichi's fault was slowly making him feel better.
It was just a shame there was nothing to help Yamato's hair.
"It's just your bangs, Yama... they're not even that bad."
"They're black, Taichi. And crispy!"
He considered waving his arms around wildly for a dramatic effect, but Taichi looked like he was beyond caring at this point. He had spent the last year berating Yamato about his sudden hair fascination, after all; watching his friend flip out over burnt bangs certainly wasn't the worst he'd heard.
"Just trim them up or something. No one will notice," he snapped, playing with the apron his friend had thrown on the table just moments earlier.
He scowled at Taichi's lack of concern. "You know something? It's your fault the food was ruined! You're cleaning this mess up."
Taichi's expression darkened. "You're kidding, right?"
Yamato's response was cold, his eyes narrowed. "There's a pile of magazines under your mattress that your mom wouldn't be very happy to find."
"...you wouldn't," Taichi said, paling. But there was no mistaking that look on the blond's face. It was the one that clearly said, "Try me." How often had Taichi seen that look in their younger years?
And so, when Ishida Hiroaki arrived home two hours later, it was to find a very disheveled-looking Taichi scrubbing away at black stains on the stove and Yamato curled up on the couch with a smug look on his face. There was something in his son's greeting that told him he was better off not asking.