2. Play
Life didn't go on hold while they were gone.
Life goes on even faster now that they're home.
Daigo doesn't let go. He refuses, through his tears, to let go of her hand. He walks her home and stays the night before even thinking of asking their parents.
Maki is out of tears, but her eyes are like those of a pandas. She doesn't eat. She barely drinks.
And then days start passing.
Sometimes they're slow and Maki has nothing to do but think about the past, about the smoke that used to naturally pass between her fingers. Sometimes a month will pass and she won't think about him at all.
Her Digivice remains silent. Daigo's beeps once in a while. He ignores it. He glares at it even. Her friend has never looked so angry and solemn.
And it's all for her.
(She hasn't cried since that day. She can't. She really can't.
She wants to so, so badly.
Instead she settles for barely talking instead. She settles for computer manuals that are out of date and daylong trips to Akihabara. She settles for papercuts and lonely long nights.
Then she turns eleven for real and it's not quiet or lonely anymore. Her Digivice begins to cry. She almost expects to see tears coming out of its screan. Instead it just screams on and on and she thinks her parents will wake up.
(They don't. They never do.)
It goes quiet. Maki, eyes watering, throws it into her desk.