A Little Out of Touch 1/?

yukiko-neechan

Disclaimer: Digimon not mine. Digimon Toei's. Taichi and Yamato not mine. Taichi and Yamato pimpstress Mimi's. Pervy gay idea not mine. Pervy gay idea pervy gay's. If you don't like pervy gay idea, please extricate yourself from this story, as it will damage your delicate sensibilities. All that said, enjoy.

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The damned rain just wouldn't stop pouring down, entertaining the lightning pealing across the sky and the thunder rolling ever westward. The little city streets were slick with rainwater, reflecting the street lamps in that shimmering broken way. Even if stars-hell, the moon-had been out, no one would see them through the sheet of ever falling water. As a result, Taichi was forced to stumble home, sans umbrella, by the light of reflected street lamps and flashing neon signs.

Work at the firm had run late, which was okay since no one was waiting up for him at home. There hadn't been for three years now.

Ever since Sora left, with something about best friends don't make good lovers-"not us, anyway"-Tai hadn't done much outside of eat, sleep, work, and when feeling terribly adventurous, watch the telly.

That television, though. An interesting pastime, that. Yamato's face was simply everywhere, every time with a new pretty thing on his arm-and not always a girl.

Apparently, since high school, the blond musician had hit it big, and with fame came everything else. Yamato just immersed himself in it. Wallowed in it, with a kind of dangerous decadence that everyone watched in morbid fascination, waiting for him to fall. Not least of all Taichi. He didn't want Yamato to fall completely, of course. But one can only miss one's best friend enough, before just being angry.

Yamato. Yamato with the perfect bleached blond hair. Yamato with the pale pink lipstick. Yamato with the shiny ready smiles. Yamato with the mascara- smeared face. Yamato with the smoldering eyes that were never blue anymore. Yamato with the come-hither expressions and the teasing winks. Yamato with the fake girls with the fake breasts. Yamato with the boy sluts who practically dry hump his leg in front of a camera.

Yamato who never called anymore.

When Taichi and Sora broke up, Tai was told by Yamato's manager that he was too busy to talk. When Kari and Takeru got married, Yamato sent a card with his regards. When his own father got into a car accident and was in the hospital for a month, Yamato had foregone the card altogether.

He was too busy being a star.

The media loved him. The masses adored him. Hell, the goddamn raindrops would probably stop in their tracks for him.

Ah, but not for Tai. Soaking and with the cold beginning to seep into his bones, he noticed that the apartment was still nowhere in sight. With little choice, unless he wanted to catch his death, Tai ducked under the first awning that presented itself.

Looking through the sliding glass door, the place seemed to be some sort of flower shop. Shelves covered the walls, cluttered with hundreds upon hundreds of different breeds. In the center, an island stood, continuing all the way to the back of the shop, displaying plants of a taller and leafier variety.

Tai winced, being reminded of Sora and her mother's little flower shop.

The lights were on, surprisingly, so Tai stepped inside to escape the autumn chill. The whole place smelled of roses. A kindly-seeming, wrinkled old man kept watch over the empty store. Obviously, no one wants to brave the elements to buy someone flowers anymore. And they say romance is dead, Tai mused sardonically as he started towards the back of the shop. When he got there, however, he discovered that the shop was not as empty as he thought it to be as he rounded a corner behind the large leaves and bumped into the back of a blond head.

"Hey, watch who you're-" The complaint went no further, as the blond took in the man that had collided with him. A hissed breath.

"Yamato."

And it was. Except this Yamato standing before him was not the one he often saw on television. This one looked worse for wear, with lifeless flaxen hair and the circles under his eyes that the make-up didn't cover. He wasn't smiling or winking or laughing. Instead, the corners of his mouth were pulled down by invisible weights and his lips thinned in a pained line. Tai wondered if Yamato's fans could love him now.

"Tai, what-" Again, Yamato cut himself off, not knowing what to say, obviously. Tai wondered how difficult it could possibly be to talk to one of the little people.

"'s raining," Tai informed him shortly.

Yamato nodded, shifting his gaze to his feet and shuffling them noisily. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, Tai noted. He probably didn't realize, but he used to do that all the time whenever he was nervous. After a moment's pause, he looked back up. "Where do you live? I could drive you." Inevitably, he trailed off again and looked back down.

Annoyed, Tai blurted, "Naw, I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time." And that was the bone that he had to pick, wasn't it? That Yamato had found something better to do with his time than hang out with Taichi, when Tai still valued the friendship they'd shared as one of the best things in his life.

Yamato got defensive. "Look, Taichi. I know I've been a little out of touch with-"

This time Tai cut him off. "A little out of touch? A little out of goddamn touch?? You call living it up in Holly-fucking-wood while giving nay a word or whisper to your goddamn friends a goddamn little out of goddamn touch??" Having hollered loudly, Tai couldn't do more than cross his arms sulkily, waiting for Yamato's reaction.

"Don't fucking yell at me," was all he got.

"Goddammit, I don't know why I bother." With that, Tai stalked out of the store, into the rain, drenching himself once more.

He'd gotten almost half the block down the street, when Yamato's voice came to him through the downpour. "I've got a car, you know."

Taichi kept walking.

"It's raining." Louder this time, more insistent.

The idiocy of the statement struck Tai as funny. He turned around. "No, shit, Sherlock." Staring at Yamato standing there, getting rained on for no good reason with a shuttered expectant look on his face, Tai had to restrain a smile.

Yamato almost rolled his eyes. Instead, he said, "Just get in the car, Yagami."

So Tai did.

For the longest time after Tai gave Yamato his address, the car was silent excepting the incessant pounding of the rain on the roof. Then the lightning started again in earnest. Unable to help it, Tai leaned forward onto the dashboard the way kids do, angling for a better view.

Yamato laughed.

But as Tai turned around, he found Yamato staring intently ahead again, chewing on his lower lip in thought. Nothing was said until Yamato pulled into the parking lot behind Tai's apartment building.

Without looking at him, Tai asked Yamato, "So, uh, you have any place you have to be?"

"No, not really."

"Well, uh, since you gave me a ride and all, uh, do you want to come up?" Tai wanted to smack himself for every time he stuttered. It was only Yamato, after all. A Yamato who hadn't spoken to him in three years.

"Yeah. Okay."

Then, not really checking to see that Yamato was following, Tai climbed out of the car and up to his apartment. Footsteps on the landing behind him told him the other man had, indeed, followed. He opened the door to reveal his messy living room, strewn with socks in need of washing, half-empty boxes of Pocky, and the occasional beer bottle.

Yamato spoke first. "You haven't changed at all." And, as if realizing what he'd said, his eyes desperately wandered around the room, looking anywhere but at Tai.

Not knowing what to say to that, because Yamato had changed, Tai cleared his throat. As Yamato kicked the door shut behind him, Tai said, "You're dripping on my carpet."

Obviously taking this as a hint to leave, Yamato grasped the doorknob and, ducking his head, turned to go.

Taken aback, Tai shook his head at no one in particular. "No, idiot. Gimme your coat."

"Oh." The coat was promptly handed over.

"Look, Yamato. Stop standing in the doorway like an idiot and sit down. You'd think you'd never been to my apartment before."

"Not this one."

"Well, no. I mean, I got this one after moving out of Sor-" He stopped himself there, not sure how much he wanted Yamato to know. Or how much Yamato would care.

"I'm sorry. I heard."

"You *heard*?" -outraged-"Dammit, then why didn't you call back? Why didn't you *ever* call back? TK and Kari. Your father-!"

Fire flashing in mostly dull eyes. "I *know*!" Then, quieter, "I know about my father, okay?"

A moment of hesitation.

"I was the one driving the other car."

The admission left Tai speechless-a rare occurrence. He didn't know what to say anymore, the fight having been effectively knocked out of him. He wanted to ask how it had happened, and why Yamato hadn't taken the fall for it. He wanted to know when Yamato had fallen so far. He wanted to know why he was being told this now, like they were still best friends, still confidants. He wanted many things, but he said nothing.

Eventually, the answer came on its own, a thin halting whisper. "I-I was drunk that day. I don't remember which party I was leaving, only-only that I got stinking drunk there. I was hating myself that day, so I drove fast. Didn't even know it was Dad until my lawyer called the next morning. I guess I hit and ran. But, god, the worst thing about it. the worst thing about it was that the lawyer hushed it all up. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what had happened. I wasn't allowed to apologize to my own father for almost ki-for almost killing him."

Yama was shivering, and tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. He didn't seem to notice. And because he looked like he needed it, Tai wrapped his arms around the shivering boy, feeling the other's pain in the way he tensed and subsequently crumbled against his chest. He thought about the wetness soaking into his shirt where Yama pressed his face, and the rain continued to pound against the windows outside.

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