Chapter title: Smell
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.
Notes: This time it's the middle of the day, not the middle of the night, so I should be a bit more coherent. And also, when I wrote that one-shot with hints of Taijyou, it got me wondering how many other Taijyou fics there were. So I searched. And mine was the first. First (there was one other before mine, but it was a friendship fic so it doesn't count). So I'm making it my goal to completely own that pairing. Ken POV again.
Week 2

Today he looked at me.

I got on the train as usual, and made my way into the next carriage. He looked up when I entered, like he always does, but this time he didn't look away. If I had been female, I'm sure my breath would have hitched in my throat and my cheeks would have taken on a colour similar to that of a beetroot. Luckily, I'm not a female. I just looked right back until I'd passed him, and that was that.

I'd never noticed before this encounter, but his eyes are a very similar colour to his hair. They change depending on the light and the angle you're looking at them, as I observed on my way past, ranging between a reddish-brown and a dark chocolate shade. I'm sure that, if I'd been close enough and looked hard enough, I'd have been able to see my own mahogany-tinted reflection in them. In fact, I can quite comfortably compare their shininess to glass.

As I looked at him, I wondered what it was that was making him look at me. There was always the possibility that he'd come to his senses and was staring because of how completely irresistible I am. In all seriousness, it wasn't an entirely unrealistic idea; I'd be able to get any girl I wanted, if I wanted one. He shouldn't be any different. He should have been throwing himself at my feet, actually, begging me to touch him.

Of course, he wasn't yet. But with any luck it wouldn't be long.

The other, more probable reasons for his staring were the good old clichés such as me having something on my face. That one had been my first thought, and as soon as I'd reached my usual seat I took out a compact mirror from my bag and checked. There was nothing noticeably wrong, just an eyelash on my cheek. I checked my hair too, in case it had gone stupid, but it looked fine. Better than fine, even; my hair is always impeccable. I wouldn't have stepped onto the train if it was anything less than perfect. I'm not a vain person, but I refuse to allow myself to be seen by that gorgeous boy if I don't look my best. I need to keep his interest, after all.

Something else I'd realised as I passed him today was that he smelled really nice. I was truly at a loss as to why I'd never noticed it before, because it was one of the most enticing things I'd ever smelt. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it smelt of, exactly, but it must have been a combination of really strong shampoo and cologne. When he succumbs to my dashing good looks and mysterious aura and starts speaking to me, I'll have to ask him what he uses. Or, even better, I'll tell him to make himself smell like that every day.

Truthfully though, today was almost the single most embarrassing day I've ever had. I was so caught up with his eyes and his scent that I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking. I've never been good at walking in straight lines, and I was heading straight toward one of the bins that are wedged into the walls on trains. It was a good thing he looked away when he did; it allowed me to start paying attention again and realise what I was about to do in time to move. It had been a very close call, and I'm glad that he hadn't been watching when it happened because I wouldn't have been able to look at him again for at least a fortnight.

That'd be a big shame.

Even as I sit here now, I can smell him. It's as if that scent has wafted into my head and become firmly embedded in my brain. I shouldn't be able to smell him, not in my own home. Not that I'm complaining; I'd much rather be able to smell that tantalizing mixture of products he uses than the car exhaust fumes that force their way into my room during the rush hour. One could almost describe it as relaxing; the kind of oil you'd be able to smell at a massage parlour. It does, however, make it difficult to think of anything except him. I was having trouble keeping my thoughts away from him as it was, what with his beautiful eyes and spectacular body. I didn't need his smell interfering with my head too.

He's there every time I close my eyes now. I'll blink and I'll see him behind my eyelids for that split-second, just looking at me with big eyes. When listening in school is too boring to bear and I lean my forehead on my desk, he's there. What he's doing depends on how I'm feeling that day. Sometimes I'll be feeling tranquil; those are the times that I'll just see him sitting on the train as usual. Although, more often than not, I'll be restless. These are the times that I'll see him getting himself off, caught up in the ecstasy and God, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

He's getting under my skin on purpose, I'm sure of it. I don't know why he's doing it, but he's succeeding with the greatest of ease. It's getting to the point where something needs to be done to deal with it. I'm not sure yet how I'll handle it or what I'll do, but I want to be absolutely sure that I've etched myself into his brain as much as he has to mine.