FIVE YEARS LATER

This place makes me sick.

The stench of booze and sweat is on their breath and their clothes. Everyone is here for the same reasons: sex, drugs, and alcohol.

The worst part is I'm no different. I'm one of them.

I glance around the room. No one strikes my interest, really. They're like rats, crowded and swarming and I can't shake the feeling of disease this place gives me.

Desperate for fresh air, I rush to the front door. The empty, dark and dirty street gives me some comfort. I feel less claustrophobic here.

I feel dizzy from the club. The music, the lights, and the stench – it was all too much for me. I run a hand through my thick brown mop of hair and sit down against the cleanest looking spot against the brick wall of the club. I can hear the bass pounding from inside, and feel it through the wall.

Six months. It's been six months since I came back to Odaiba, and the place still looms over me like some impending doom. The only reason I can stand it is because I know he's here, somewhere. But he told me never to see him again, so I don't.

It's kind of sick, I suppose, the way I walk down the streets he used to hang around, hoping he'll walk by and I'll just catch a glimpse of him. I haven't been so lucky yet, but if he saw me staring I might run.

I can't let him know I'm still here. I promised myself I'd do all I could to help him forget me.

I glance down the street and I don't think it's any less sickening than the inside. There are a few people around – two are giggling in drunkenness, seeming to have met their goal inside the club. They escape into an alleyway and I can hear the girl's moans from my place against the wall.

At the other end of the street there's a male prostitute on the corner. I've come to recognize them from the way they stand – he has a hand on his hip, which is jutted out just slightly, and he's smoking a cigarette. I can only see him from behind, but I doubt he'll get any customers until much later, when the club closes and desperate drunks begin to pour out.

He's blonde, and the first think I think is Yamato. It's not Yama, obviously, because that blonde is on tour with his band in America, and he's certainly no prostitute. Yes, I know it's pathetic, because I haven't seen Yamato in more than five years and I still keep up with what he's doing. It's been even longer since I've seen the rest of the Digidestined, with the obvious exception of Hikari.

The last time I saw Yama, I was sixteen years old. I remember leaving Odaiba, and consequently Yamato. I asked him to come with me, but he refused. I guess I can't blame him – I wasn't exactly the best boyfriend, and everything he knew was in Odaiba: friends, family, school, and his band. The Wolves (they dropped the 'Teenage' when Yamato graduated high school) have gotten really popular since then. Hell, they're probably the most famous act in all of Japan. Every teenage boy wants to be Yamato, and every girl wants to be with him.

That's why I'm not surprised that this guy looks like Yamato. He looks to be about eighteen or nineteen, and he's slim like Yama, too. What surprises me is that his blonde hair looks natural. It's pretty uncommon here to find a natural blonde. It's a very pretty golden blonde, from what I can see. The streetlight doesn't offer much help.

Maybe his resemblance to Yamato is what's making me do it, but I find I'm approaching him. I know it's probably pretty sick to find a whore that looks like your ex-boyfriend, and find yourself wanting him. I want a whore. It goes against everything I know, but I can't resist.

"Hey," I mutter softly, and he turns around to face me. No, he's definitely not Yamato. The blonde I know cared so much about his appearance, while this boy looks like a cheap imitation. His eyeliner is done wrong, and his shirt is wrinkled – two things Yama would never stand for. He did do the hair right, which surprises me. It's a difficult style to pull off.

--*--

"Hey," somebody mutters behind me. I turn to see a guy, probably a couple years older than me. I guess he probably came out of that club. Earlier than most, but I'm not complaining. If he wants me, I could use the money. It's late in the month and I still don't have enough to pay rent.

It's dark, and he's hard to see. He's just outside of where the streetlight shines, so I have to squint to make out his features. When I do, I nearly gasp.

It's Taichi.

I hope he doesn't recognize me, so I try to act like I don't recognize him.

"Can I help you?" I ask. He looks at his feet nervously.

"Um," he says softly, "how much?"

Shit. I hoped he wouldn't ask that. I offer him an inflated version of my prices, hoping he won't be able to afford it.

He can, apparently. Fuck.

He asks me to go to his car with him. I wonder if we'll be driving somewhere, or just using the backseat. When he climbs into the driver's seat, I have my answer.

I get into the passenger's seat and he looks at me closer under the interior lights. He smiles.

"You look like someone I used to know."

Yeah, I know. Wait, I don't think he's thinking about me. If he knew it was me, he wouldn't be doing this. As far as I know, he wouldn't have those feelings for me. The reasons were obvious enough.

No. He thinks I'm a Yamato look-alike. Well, as long as he doesn't make the connection, I'm okay with pretending.

--*--

We're back at my apartment, and suddenly my nerves hit, stronger than ever. I've never been with a prostitute before. I don't even know what to do.

"So, I've never really, um… I'm new to this. Do you want to start right away, or have a drink, or something?"

He looks around the room, spotting a framed picture of Yamato and I, back when we were dating. I have my arm around him, looking down at him, and he's lying on my shoulder. I think he was asleep. We were under a big plaid blanket, which I've kept for all these years. It's pretty tattered now. Hikari took the photo when we were in the Digital World for a picnic.

"Is this who I remind you of?" he asks nervously. I nod. He looks nervous.

"Okay, I guess we can start now." he mutters. I lead him to my bedroom. "I don't kiss. You want it quiet, or loud?"

I remembered Yamato. He was always loud. He'd scream my name when he came. He moaned – 'like a whore', he said. I always found it cute. It turned me on, really. He would get embarrassed when I told him so, though. He always tried to stay quiet, and always failed, except in those few months before I left. The passion drained out of our relationship pretty quickly when I got depressed.

"Loud," I finally reply. He nods, and turns away from me, beginning to undress. I just watch him nervously. When he's done, he turns back around and looks at me seductively. He approaches, and I feel his hands playing with my belt. He kneels and pulls down the fly with his teeth. It's official. I'm turned on.

Pulling down my boxers, he takes no time to get started. With one hand at the base and the other touching my balls, he seals his mouth around the rest and bobs his head up and down my member.

I tangle my hands in his hair and arch towards him, trying not to thrust hard into his mouth.

Yamato always refused to give blow jobs, and I never tried to pressure him about it. I guess he just didn't like the idea of using his mouth. After all, it's that pretty little mouth of his and the beautiful voice that escapes it that has made him a famous.

Either way, it was still unfair. I would give Yamato blowjobs, and I could tell he enjoyed it. He craved it – it was like an addiction for him. Not once did he return the favor. I'm a little ashamed to admit that this prostitute is giving me my first.

I'm almost there, and the whore pulls away. He finds his jeans on the floor, and fumbles around for a minute before retrieving a condom and a bottle of lubricant from his pocket. Handing them to me, he silently takes his position on the bed.

--*--

I hand him a condom and lube and get myself ready. To be honest, I'm scared. I don't know if I'll ever be able to think of him the same way after this.

Tai was always my protector – he was always there when Yamato couldn't be. I was thirteen when he left. I'm eighteen now. I guess it's no real surprise he didn't recognize me. I make a living by looking like Yama.

I get more girls than most of the other guys. After all, they all want to have a night with the singer of the Wolves, and I'm the closest thing to it. I've never told any of them how close I really am to him. Not only would they think I was lying, but I don't need any of them knowing who I am. I've never so much as shared my name with a client. If they want a name to scream, they can scream for Yamato.

It's who they wish I was, anyways.

Tai gets ready, and I feel him positioning himself behind me. He's clenching my hips now, his fingers digging in nervously. I remember that he told me to be loud. I keep it in mind to exaggerate.

He presses against and slowly slides in. He doesn't need to be careful, I'm used to it by now, but I guess he didn't think of that. When I don't protest, he pulls out and begins thrusting slowly.

I moan loudly, like he told me to, and so does he. He even occasionally hits that spot, which makes me moan for real. He quickens his pace.

Suddenly I feel his hand on me, reaching around. Usually this doesn't happen. They don't think about me. To be honest, it makes me a little uncomfortable, but I don't protest. He's paying me, after all. I might as well enjoy it.

My moans turn to screams of joy as he reaches his climax and I reach mine. I come on his hand and scream.

"Oh, Taichi!"

He's panting as he thrusts into me one last time, and releases inside of me. He pulls out, exhausted.

I get up and prepare to leave. As I'm pulling on my jeans, he's searching the wallet on his nightstand for cash. An odd look crosses his face.

"I never told you my name."

Fuck. How am I gonna get out of this one?

"Yes, you did, when we were in your car," I lie. He shakes his head.

"I didn't. Who are you? I know you're not Yamato. Are you some stalker? What the fuck, dude?"

I want to run. I want out of his apartment, now. But if I leave, he won't pay me, and it's too late to get back to the club. It will be long closed by now, and the rush of potential customers will have left. I need tonight's money, badly.

I feel tears rolling from my eyes. "You know," I start, "I wish you didn't treat me like some Yama fuck-doll. I'm not Matt. But everyone treats me like I am – they all want a piece of the Wolves. They see him on stage and I'm the closest they can get to having him. It's worse with you… you want him because you love him, I know you do, but then you fuck me. Is that all you loved him for? His body?"

--*--

The whore is crying now. I made him cry. All I wanted to know is how the fuck he knew my name. But I guess it's emotional for him… weird.

"…I'm not Matt. But everyone treats me like I am – they all want a piece of the Wolves…" he chokes out through the tears. He goes on about me treating him like a 'Yama fuck-doll' and how everyone wants him to be Yama. He tells me I love Yama. How does he know these things?

Wait.

None of the Wolves fans call Yama 'Matt'… so he's not a crazed fan? Actually, I've only ever heard Hikari call him that, because Takeru did. 'Kari and Takeru used to be so close. I actually thought they would date, but something always got in the way.

I slowly realize who the half-dressed boy before me is.

"Fuck," I say aloud. "Takeru."

He nods. I feel sick. "Did you recognize me this whole time?" I ask. He nods again. He's still crying.

I quickly pull on some fresh clothes and wrap my arms around him. He follows me towards my small living room, and I go to start making some tea. Setting the kettle on the stove, I return to him.

He's pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, like a scared child. I sit beside him, cautiously.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I finally ask.

"I needed the money." he replies quietly, ashamed. "I knew you didn't recognize me. You thought I was just another Yamato look-alike. It's what I tried to be."

I nod. The kettle whistles, and I go to make us some tea. On the way back, I grab my wallet. Retrieving the set amount, I hesitate. I grab a few more bills. It's more than twice as much. I hand him the tea and he grabs it with both hands, so I set the money on the coffee table in front of him.

"Tai, that's too much," he states plainly.

"Take it."

I wonder why he's so desperate for money. I remembered why I left Odaiba, left Minato, and left Tokyo, for what I thought would be forever.

I was addicted to drugs. My dad hadn't been okay with my sexuality, so I used painkillers to cope. Eventually, everything became too much of a blur for me to handle.

I wasn't living in reality anymore. I hoped this wasn't the case for Takeru.

I remember what Yamato told me, on the day I left.

'You're dead to me.'

I guess I really was, because he moved on with his life. I don't know what exactly happened after I left, but he always seemed so happy now. I watched every Wolves interview, performance, and music video that he ever did. I could hear the joy in his voice.

I wonder if he has found someone else.

"Takeru… what happened after I left?"

He sighs. Setting down his tea, the young blonde looks at me.

"He became really distant. At first, I was scared for him. I guess I got used to it, though, because I stopped noticing him after a while. He became sort of… invisible. It was like he faded into the background.

I knew you had left, and I knew that was what bothered him, but I didn't really understand at the time. He had never even told me you two had been dating, or that he loved you. I thought he was being selfish for missing you. After all, we all missed you. Hikari always kept a positive attitude about it, but I knew even she didn't expect you to come back. You've always been stubborn.

Then, about six months after you left, I found Matt at home in his bed, curled up in a ball and sobbing his eyes out. He must have been like that for hours, because the sheets were damp with tears. He was shrieking, really hysterical. He just kept saying your name, over and over.

He didn't move for a long time. Sometimes he would quiet down and quit screaming, but not for long. After the second day, Dad took him to the hospital.

They wanted to put him in the psych ward, and he did go there for a while, but he stopped crying. He would just sit there, with a blank expression on his face. They had to hook him up to a bunch of tubes, because he refused to eat. He wouldn't even use the washroom on his own – they had a tube for that, too.

I went to see him one day, and I kind of snapped at him. I told him that if you came back and saw him like this, you'd laugh at the damage you'd caused. I told him you hated him. I knew it wasn't true, of course, but I was trying to coax a reaction out of him. Anything would be better than that blank stare.

And then he just turned and punched me square in the nose. I was so happy. He seemed to snap out of it, I guess. I told him about everything he'd missed in my life – I was dating Ken, which kind of shocked him because he missed me coming out. I had told him, of course, but he hadn't heard me. He had been in his blank mode, a walking coma.

The Wolves had been on hiatus, waiting for him to get better. It was a year after you left before he re-joined the band. Did you know that all of his songs are about you?

After a while, he seemed to get over you, but he was different. He's been dating this guy, Shawn, for about two years. The guy looks a lot like you. And he writes these songs for Shawn, or so he says. I've always known they were for you. He doesn't love Shawn; it shows. They fight a lot. Matt starts fights with him over nothing. I guess he just can't be what Matt needs."

I'm in shock. I thought Yamato would get over me. I thought he was happy.

Maybe he was just putting on a happy face for the camera. He was always good at faking it.

"And… you think I'm what he needs?"

Takeru smiles. "I know it."

I want to see Yamato, now. It's been five years since I've seen him in person. I wonder if he'd recognize me.

If Takeru is right, then I know he would.

I wonder if he hates me for leaving him. But now I'm sure of what I need to do.

"Takeru… are you up for a trip to America?"