I've been writing a bunch of romantic little stories here and there, and I decided that I wanted to write something dark. Really dark. So, instead of being the one-shot I intended it to be, this will be a long and developed story, revolving around our favorite Takeru. It's gonna be dark and deep, so for the squeamish, I don't think this is the story for you. But if you want to flame me, go ahead! Reviews would be nice. Really nice! So, here's the first chapter of a series… Anyways, I don't own Digimon. Some guys in suits do. And I'm in love with season 4! No joke! It's really good. Being a weenie digimon otaku, I'm watching the Japanese version with the subtitles… So… Hope you enjoy this one! Feed me feedback, kudasai!

To Wait, Perchance to Know.

Yamato.

Waiting. It's just something I know how to do too well. I don't have a problem with waiting. I've been waiting all my life. All I do is wait. I wait, while life takes its time. It's ironic, I know. No worries. I'm used to it. I remember when I would wait for hours after school. I would wait for Yamato to pick me up. I would wait there all alone, sitting on that bench, watching the many whirlwinds kick up playground dust and advance towards me, creating a personal hell for me. I still don't have a problem with waiting. All my friends would be gone. My so-called friends, to say the very least. Even the teachers. They waited with me long enough, of course, out of degrading, self-loathing pity. They knew it was a waste of time. They had families to go home to, or mistresses to visit, or AA meetings to skip out on. I wouldn't mind waiting. It's not like I hate my family, but back then. I didn't like it one bit. Mom would be at work. Dad would be at work. If they were together, all hell would break loose. So many broken vases and windows. So many broken hearts. I wouldn't mind waiting.

Yamato would take forever. It's not like I wanted him to pick me up early anyways. It's not like I wanted him to pick me up at all. Uggh. I always hated when I could hear the screeching tires of his rice rocket, well out of her prime. The smell of unleaded fuel leaking didn't nauseate me as much as the smell of his car inside. It was like walking into dank cave soaked with reefer and semen. His body odor was no better. He would greet me, his bedraggled blonde hair would glisten in the sunlight, oils which uncovered days of not washing, wearing the same black shirt, disgustingly dirty jeans and old chucks, cigarette to his mouth, and shades to his bloodshot eyes, with some false excuse for being late, and when he knew that it wasn't credible, he rebutted with some wild allegation.

"I'm sorry I was late. I had a gig, and then a flat tire. What? You don't believe me? Why don't you get a job so you can take the bus so you could go home whenever you want?" So many holes in your story, oniisan. That guitar case in the backseat? I believe you can't play shitty 80's acoustic ballads with about 10 kilos of crack. Besides, it doesn't help your case when there are about 6 used rubbers on your passenger's seat. By the way, thanks for making me sit on them. You probably got a sick kick out of that. Enough said. I don't know why I climbed in. I didn't want to go home, and sure as hell didn't want to go in that piece of shit. So much wasted money was invested into that thing. It's no wonder Yamato got locked up for as long as he did. I mean, he will be. It'll be a few years. That sucks.

I remember all too well that day he left. Yes, it was April 19th, 15:38, back when I was in 7th grade and I was in the apartment as 8 pigeons flew by the window, against those stubborn easterlies. That's not the point. I was watching one of those stupid shows featuring some dopey kids who don't give a damn and their pet monster things. Whatever. My imagination wasn't one to stretch. Anyways, good ol' Yamato just stumbled into the apartment, reeking of his usual malicious breath, and words to match.

"Takeru… What the fuck! Why isn't this fuckin' place clean? You fuckin' ungrateful…" And so on. Then after verbally beating me, he goes on and hits me. I don't feel it. All I see are the harsh bruises they form, and I sigh. After he's satisfied, he goes in to his room. His anything-but-docile domicile, where he plays his usual hyphy-hits. I don't know… I guess I'm in the alliterative mood, today. So, he cranks his music to match his mood, and all of a sudden, there was a thunderous knocking at the door. If it was somewhat urgent, or something. So, little innocent I, in my comfy grey sweats and dingy green tee, went to the door to answer this caller. This gentleman caller.

"Hi… Taichi Yagami, right?" I never cared for Yamato's friends. They would be almost as bad as him. This one, though… I'm assuming he was in the same junior class as Yamato. In fact, I'm even surprised that Yamato made it to high school in the first place. Anyways, this Taichi guy was in some white long sleeved dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up like some wannabe transient ruffian, or whatnot, and some tattered black dickies, and black shades that can be found at any classy gas station. His shoes… I'm thinking they were some fancy addidas. And his brunette hair is just plain gravity-defying. I don't know if I should trust this fool.

"Yah… Is your brother home?" And he was, so I pointed towards his room. He never liked it when I knocked at the door, let alone, barge in and tell him he's expecting company. So, as he proceeded to Yamato's room, I stopped him in his tracks with a question. I thought I would never do that, because I feared death. And by the look of this guy, he wouldn't think twice about killing me for asking such a question.

"What are you going to buy from my brother today?" He looked at me as if I was the most naïve 7th grader in the world. He didn't hesitate to answer.

"What are you talking about? I'm just here to see your brother… that's all." I didn't like this guy, so I awkwardly ended this exchange by letting him enter so casually, and I slammed the door behind him. And I, of course, went back to the comfort of my couch, and waited for time to pass. Maybe he thought I wasn't clever.

I'm watching this show, and all of a sudden, there's a scene where this dopey blond-headed kid, who's an annoying brat, by the way, is crying over something more obscure than the cliché of spilled milk. Then, here comes his stubborn, lone wolf of a brother, who, after being suspected as coldhearted and soulless, finally shows a warm side to his brother. Man, I wish I had that. All I have is Yamato.

From his room, all I could hear was the irritating thumping of the bed against the wall. Like clockwork, it would start off slow, and the moaning would get more frequent and louder and louder, until the proverbial climax, a resolution I don't even want to know about. This is one story I'm going to end right now. I didn't know if it was the years of physical abuse, or even more so, all the mental anguish, but on that warm April day, with all the birds singing and flowers blooming, and life is reborn anew, I died.

I did not want to shame my broken family even more so from the comfort of home, so I took Yamato's car keys from the kitchen counter and I sauntered and skipped my way to the payphone across the street from the apartment, still in my sweats and dingy green tee, but now with my trusty pair of flip-flops. I made it in record timing, so I inserted what little change I had in my pocket, and dialed the ill-fated number without any reservation whatsoever.

That incessant ringing was my last warning from fate to end this malicious plan of mine. But, I swear to this very day that fate was on my side, rooting me on to play the devil's advocate. Enter Takeru, the actor. My dearest grandmother, God rest her soul, will inspire today's performance, whose faint voice and bigot attitude are no stranger to this stage.

"Hi… Police? Hi… I'm having a party and my neighbor down the hall wouldn't move his car for my girlfriends. They had to park so far to get here. Nearly broke their backs, they did. And when I asked him nicely to park it somewhere else just for a while, he told me to, and I quote… 'go fuck myself.' Yah… I know. Kids these days… It's a shame. So I was wondering if you have the time, if you could come over right away. Maybe you guys can make him move his car? Or maybe you should move it for him? I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He's being awfully loud in his apartment. What number? Apartment #302… Yes… across the Odaiba Park thoroughfare. The car? Well, it's a dirty looking rice rocket, to be honest. I don't think you could miss it. Back in my day, we would wash our cars and treat our elders with respect. You ought to teach that Yamato Ishida boy a lesson… Ok… Thank you, officer. Bye."

Not clever, my ass. Now the plot thickens. I went over to dear Yama's car and sure enough, his guitar case was there. So, being the concerned citizen that I was, I took out some handy dandy gloves and proceeded to work. I opened the door to his car and unfastened the latches to his guitar case, leaving all the snort and angel dust out in the open, visible to a passerby, someone curious, like a police officer making a routine traffic check. So, I went back to the apartment, intentionally leaving the door unlocked, and waited for fate to make its next move.

Fate couldn't have made it more comical or dramatic. No less than 5 minutes passed, and there were the cops. I got some popcorn, fresh from the microwave, and started to watch the commotion across the street, sitting on the comfy recliner that was in front of the window. I guess my dad had the same idea in mind when he oddly placed it here.

No more than 7 minutes passed, and there was a knock at the door.

"Excuse me, little boy…" That didn't go as well as I wanted it to. But, whatever. I'll still get my kicks and giggles out of this.

"What seems to be the problem, officer?"

"We got a domestic disturbance call from a concerned resident…" Wow. Those police really know how to exaggerate. Great on my benefit. "Is Yamato Ishida home?" And like any of Yamato's guests, I pointed to his room. Just as he was about to make his trek, two comrades of his came to him, drawing attention to all the drugs they found in his car. So, they ran to his room. And they barged in. Without a knock, without any forewarning. I'm glad they did.

When they stumbled in, they found my Yama. My Yama and Taichi. Together. Yamato, then and there, was arrested. As he walked out of the room, with only a pair of tighty-whities on, I could see what years of substance abuse did on his body. He seemed disheveled. An aching boy trying to search for peace in all the wrong directions. I guess that's what we have in common. I guess that's what links us as brothers. We're always on that long journey, searching, waiting, hoping to know. Too bad we couldn't have done it together. The last thing he said to me was… nothing. His eyes, however, told a different story. He gave me a look of hate. A look of utter disdain and almost malicious intent. But his lips. They seemed to have uttered the words…

"Thank you…"

To get caught as a drug dealer and a whore on the same bust? His court hearing was 2 weeks later. I wanted to go, but I had school. At least, that's what I kept saying. A part of me hated him to the core. For every birthday party of mine he didn't go to, for every punch that struck my face, and for every minute he made me wait on that cold, lonely playground. I'm sure he wouldn't have missed me. My parents didn't go. They didn't want to go. They couldn't stand hearing a judgment that rated their parenting abilities. My auntie was the only one who went to his hearing. She said the courtroom was literally empty. There was only herself, and this boy. A friend of Yamato's, she said.

She told me that the police were looking for him for over a year. He was Odaiba's most notorious drug dealer. What can you do? Wait until he comes back? Wait until he changes? Wait until he's dust?

I wouldn't mind waiting.

But I hate waiting here. Why do I have to wait here? It's cold. Cold, dark and dirty. Someone should really clean this place. Especially that stupid mark. Looks like a snail. I wish it looked more interesting…

I wish I were more interesting.

Interesting, like him.

The end. For now, at least. Hope you like it! Happy reading!

ek