Note 1: Digimon belong to Akiyoshi Hongo, while Digimon Tamers belong to Chiaki Konaka.
Note 2: Some characters, like Makoto, belong to The Nomad, a great writer.
XXX
[ |3| •1 In which the clock moves forward, taking us to those times in which childhood has faded and adulthood threats to completely turn the tide. Let's leave action and adventure for a bit: these are just some recollections belonging to a couple of young adults, who are unfit for this world. Will adulthood ever stop making them hurt each other?]
"Don't you think it's enough, Yang?"
"Oh please, don't be such a tooth pain! We're all grown up now!"
Yang ignored his friend's subtle advice for the nth time that night, and reached out to take the bottle next to him and fill his empty glass again.
He was feeling like if every problem of his life was slowly disappearing into the black hole of his groggy unconscious. As the white sweet liquid went slowly down his throat, the noises and sounds that had been bothering him throughout the whole party gradually became a sort of lullaby for his ears and dark eyes, which occasionally twitched. He would have never let himself close them, though; he knew that urge to fall asleep on the table at once would soon pave the way for the determination he needed to act in the way most people liked.
"Ohi, Mako," He began, yawning and rubbing his dull orbs. "Why have we come to this boring party in the first place? Let's go somewhere else!"
Makoto raised one of his eyebrows and inspected his childhood friend from head to toe: he apparently wanted to check Yang's mental and physical state.
"Have you ever heard about two guests at a wedding celebration who decided to stand up and run away to some cheap pub?" He was certainly irritated by the situation, but there was something in his baritone voice that made him sound like a father patiently lecturing his naughty son.
The chinese young man narrowed his eyes, almost indignant: he was treating him like if he was a child. That attitude was enough for him to wipe out his somnolence.
"You used to hate Darya and Masaru, when we were children! What's the point in accepting this lame invitation?"
"You're right: when we were children," He stopped, hoping that the sense of those words would enter Yang's cloudy head properly: it was a simple concept, but Makoto knew how to deal with drunk people from experience. "Furthermore, I promised Atsuko I would accompany her."
Actually, Makoto did recall how upset Atsuko had become, after having found out he didn't intend to go to the party with her. She had been explaining him how important attending those kinds of events was for month.
"I want our special day to be perfect. I would be so happy if Darya and Masaru could be with us too!"
Those ones were the plain reasons why she managed to convince him; he cared about their upcoming wedding too.
"Atsuko, Atsuko, Atsuko...It's always Atsuko! Are you able to talk to me without mentioning her? This is insane."
Makoto blinked, perplexed, taking into account the wine was affection his friend's mind too much: now he really sounded like a child, attempting to draw his parents' attention.
"Yang..." He began, hoping to extrapolate the last shred of common sense from his interlocutor's brain. However, the next sentence his drunk fellow pronounced pushed him to gulp in a very noticeable way.
"You've changed, Mako."' His friend sentenced, after having knocked back another wine glass.
"What do you mean?" The tone of his voice cracked a bit, as Yang started fiddling with his glass, frowning occasionally.
Needless to say Makoto could already imagine what he was about to say; Yang was going to reveal his biggest fear, that bittersweet awareness he had been trying to hide from himself for ages.
"You've turned into a weak and obedient gentleman, into..." A brief pause followed that note of uncertainty; it was a short break Yang needed to stare at the bottom of the glass, like if he was expecting the missing word to show up in the reflections of the candid drops of alcohol. "Well, companion, you're not the person you used to be: this is the crux of the matter."
Even though the young man's thoughts had undoubtedly became disjointed, the message had been sent to Makoto's ears successfully: it was hard to accept, it was an arrow shot to his endless pride, it was cruel. However, what hurt him the most was the fact that everything was true. Why did his best friend himself have to drive him to open his eyes, though? Makoto couldn't stand it at all, especially because Yang had always been the best one between them at keeping his realizations for himself.
It was unforgivable, Makoto concluded; it was so unforgivable that he let his body take over his mind, and decide to make him act like he hadn't done since he was a teenager. He abruptly stood up and gave birth to an explosion of anger.
"Stop drinking that garbage, dear Gods!" He shouted, taking advantage of that moment during which everyone was dancing: he firmly believed nobody would notice what was happening.
Yang shrugged and smirked, showing Makoto's red face one of those mischievous smile that were unusual for a docile type like him.
"Garbage? If I'm not mistaken, we used to drink gallons of alcoholic beverages when we were high schoolers. We used to do that together. Can you recall?"
Oh yes, Makoto could clearly remember those nights they used to spend playing arcades, always supported by bottles of beer: they were ideal to avoid the risk to fall asleep and lose long challenges. Despite remembering vividly those amusing images, he was sure Yang was the one who would attempt to persuade him not to booze. What had changed them, almost reversing their selves? He couldn't figure out the cause.
"I've not changed!" The coconut coloured-haired young man barked , convinced, but soon mentally scolded himself for getting obsessed of that statement. "Working at Hypnos' headquarters or being about to get married don't mean I've changed!"
"What about a refill, then, or would Atsuko break up with you?"
Makoto had reached the edge of exasperation. His temples were vigorously pulsing and his knuckles had got a purple tonality.
"Do you want me to demonstrate I'm still the same, don't you? Well, I'm going to force you to throw up that rubbish. You're the one who has changed for the worst!"
Just when he had sharply reached out to grab either the lucid glass Yang was holding or his collar, a melodious sound interrupted that quite fierce moment. Both composed themselves and their wild mood immediately and almost magically died away: it was like if someone had added the sweetest type of honey that could ever be tasted to an inedible medicine.
There stood two young women, who were impeccably dressed up for the occasion.
"Weren't we supposed to spend the night together? I was just wondering where you were!" Makoto lied striving to sound as convincing as possible, and spreading his arms to welcome the person he loved the most, who glady allowed him to hug her.
"I know we were supposed to meet before, but, y'know, we have been carried away by the catchy rhythm of the music over there. Look, my legs still wants to rumble!" Itsuki laughed delightfully, as they sat down to catch their breath. "You should have looked at Masaru and Darya booging . They were so cool and beautiful!"
"Just like you two, lovers of every kind of mundane enjoyment," Atsuko teased her boyfriend, pinching his button nose.
He couldn't help but blush furiously. Still, it was better if Yang and Makoto had been sitting since the party started: they were wearing their daily clothes, emerging from a mission that had finished too late for the couple of agents to dress up properly; they looked ridicolous, Makoto admitted.
Needless to clarify the two young women had quickly refused to join the operation, as their schedule was already full of appointments...That lady stuff neither Makoto not Yang wanted to get involved into.
Nevertheless, Makoto couldn't bring himself to decline his future wife's wishes. Therefore, when they noticed a slow dance had started playing in the background, he found himself running to the dance floor hand in hand with her, after having given a glance to Yang, who had grown too silent; in his opinion, maybe he had really managed to freak him out like the old days.
Itsuki followed the pair's silhouettes, as they sweetly moved in the distance like little boats sailing on gentle waves. She could see they would often whisper something in each other's ears, and she began imagining what the topic of their intimate conversation could be. Nothing, she replied to herself: when you're in love with someone, you don't care about what you are talking about; what matters the most is that it's your lover who's talking to you.
Itsuki and her ice skating partner used to be like that too: speaking about meaningless facts, while the whole surrounding world was struggling to solve any kind of problems.
Itsuki frowned: she had promised herself she wouldn't think about him anymore. Everything was over between them, forever: she didn't want to pretend to be the person she wasn't just to be liked, coping with using make-up during ordinary walks and forcing her body to wear sophisticated dresses.
"I was a fool back then," She exhaled, clenching her fists and grinning at the memory of punching that man straight on the nose.
Nonetheless, the young woman sighed, when she realized to feel the unbearable need to have someone by her side, willing to accept her true self. Makoto and Atsuko were so lucky, she concluded. "Oh, stop with this junk of sad thoughts!"
"Isn't sad hearing people talking to themselves?"
Itsuki turned her head, letting her nimble hands lay on the chair back. Her heart skipped a beat when two familiar dark orbs met her violet ones.
"Yang!" She gasped, because she had never forgot about his presence, never ignored him. "Oh, Yang, you're always so quiet I had completely become convinced I was alone."
He sniggered like he had never done before, sipping the wine he had just poured in the process, "You're as goofy as ever."
Another tender laugh cradled her despondent spirit and made the zipper of his military jacket jump up and down: she had always considered his smiles and laughs as precious as rare gems.
All of a sudden she recalled they hadn't been able to meet for a while: they were always travelling and phones were the only ways to keep in contact. However, unfortunately, Yang's profession had forced them to part from their frequent and invaluable calls.
Itsuki would have liked to tell him about the news and the joyful events that had been happening in Tokyo, but somehow they didn't immediately bring themselves to open their mouth. On the contrary, both sat still face to face, and took a few seconds to examine each other's traits, as if the couldn't recognize them anymore. It was so easy to lose yourself in his eyes as deep as an abyss, she thought, almost ensnared.
Oddly, it was Yang who cleared his throat and broke the awkward ice.
"Don't you think this place is too loud? What about going outside? I'm so tired of sitting on this chair!"
That's how they headed to the little garden next to the reception hall. Itsuki started trotting bilthely, while Yang tried keeping the pace. She didn't seem to care about the fact he was behaving out of character.
"So, what could I say? Hm, how does being a pilot feel like?" She asked, interested in the occupation he had been aiming at since they attended elementary school.
"Finally, I can feel what being free is like. It's fantastic, Lee-Kun, you should try doing that too."
That response sounded rather empty in the young woman's opinion: she was used to listening to Yang's endless explanations about philosophy and that stuff she didn't even committed to understand. Still, she was too focused on hearing that clear and jovial voice of his, which her ears had never got to know before.
"It must feel great. Isn't controlling a sort of unmanned bird a bit surreal?"
He got an expression that was a blend of dismay and amusement.
"Have you forgot I'm just a co-pilot?" He tapped a sort of badge resembling a hawk , which was attached to his green army jacket. "Unfortunately, I'm not a military pilot."
Her surprise was huge enough for her to dust the drawers of her memory in order to find a novel about a military pilot that was one of his favourite book to read. She let a loving chuckle escape from her lungs, finding his implicit complaint adorable: he was still a kid inside of his heart, after all. He had never given up on his impossible and childish dreams. Who knows if he still played baseball, she wondered.
"I don't think being a military pilot would be so cool...You might die."
Obviously she wasn't taking the matter seriously, as he didn't seem too inclined to amaze her with his monologues about utopian ideas, but his sincere confession disturbed her, making her eyebrows slightly twitch.
"It's not like someone would cry on my grave. Geez, maybe I wouldn't even have something like that. I have no home."
Even though he had a wide smile on his face, like if he was finding the whole topic funny, she couldn't help but imagine a more melancholy Yang pronouncing those words: he was so convinced about his thoughts, without realizing in truth he had a place he could call home. It was Tokyo, it was their group, it was her, weren't they? Why would he come back, after some months spent piloting planes, then? She would have done everything to persuade him, but apparently he wanted to avoid that conversation.
"Oh, anyway, how is ice skating going? Lots of newspapers have been claiming you intend to leave the couple ice skating world."
The silence fell on them once more. The only sounds they could perceive were the noise produced by their shoes hitting the ground, and the music that came from the building. A shadow obscured her face for a moment, but immediately disappeared as she beamed his confusion with a shiny grin.
"I've splitted up with Daiki. That jerk. You know, he reached the peak of stupidity, when he told me about how ashamed he would feel, whenever I went out without make-up. That's the night I punched him and threw one of those stylish high heels he loved so much straight against his face!" After having mimed the act of giving a punch to someone, she winked. "Do you remember about him?" She was so proud of how strong she seemed and looked. Just like her mother.
"Sure, sure. He was the hunk who liked kissing you in public. How could I forget about him?"
Yang felt the weird urge to tell her about how much his heart would ache, whenever that tall boy took her in his strong arms, making the others understand she was his girlfriend, his treasure and nobody could touch her. He hated him with all his might. It was his fault if back then Itsuki even stopped asking him if they could ride his bycicle together. Slowly, the chinese teen found himself losing lots of those activities that made his life worthy.
"You deserve someone who's better than him, Lee-Kun. You can shine while you're skaiting on the ice alone too," He stated, suddenly appearing as the usual serious Yang. "Sometimes I happen to watch your latest individual competitons and I will get so marveled because of your perfection at fitting Ciajkovskij's symphonies. I've saved some videos on my phone too." If he hadn't been drunk, Yang would have obviously wanted to bury his head in the sand. He would have never told her about how pumped he would feel after having watched her skating gracefully, and would feel the desire to play his piano, inspired by those dainty notes.
They returned to the zone they had begun walking from: evidently, the garden was circular. Nevertheless, even though he had left her speechless, neither the young woman nor the young man wanted that conversation to end.
"I'm looking forward to skating all alone, then!" She chirped, as both sat down. "I want to please my number one fan!"
"You know, Lee-Kun, I was quite disappointed when you didn't show up at Hypnos this afternoon."
Her laugh soon sagged, mixing with the summer breeze, as he encircled her shoulders out of blue.
"Yang...?!" She questioned, fighting against the chill he had sent down his spine. "Hey," She struggled not to stutter. "Could you tell me something about this decision of growing that little beard? i just hope you don't intend to grow it even more..."
What was the point in fighting against that sensation, though? She surrended at the sight of his dreamy expression, and got closer to his body, as he pressed hers against it. It did felt strange, she admitted; it wasn't just the fact his figure made her feel even smaller than usual. It was everything that was feeling off, but she had been wishing for something like that to happen for ages, hadn't she?
Claiming the young man wasn't responding to his brain's commands anymore could be considered as an euphemism. He had been observing her body absently since they sat down, carefully studying every curve her black dress gently embraced. It was like if his ears had gone numb: now he could only hear the timbre of her voice.
Nonetheless, what was drawing him the most was her face, which was a combo of her parents' traits. There were the locks of her soft hair, which had darkened as the years had passed by, her mismerizing eyes and, once more, her mature yet heavenly voice, which could have brightened him up with caring words, full of that love he had never experienced.
Then, there were her smooth and slim hands, which had begun touching the back of his neck, proceeding to caress his black strands. She was smiling only for him and his drowsiness couldn't help but push him to find her small mouth inviting.
Is it alcohol that's making me fond of her?, he asked himself not knowing what he was doing. Wine had never dragged his soul to the edge of emotional arousal; he usually got drunk and became bold to hit on women because, deeply in his heart, he acknowledged his true shy personality was the worst one he could have ever been given. It was its fault if his younger self had been so coward and had never welcomed Itsuki's feelings for him, before it was too late. He wasn't afraid; he merely wasn't capable of breaking that jail his timidity was.
Still, that night Itsuki was pressed against his trembling chest; Daiki was nowhere to be seen. Nothing could keep him from doing what he really wanted to do. Nothing and nobody could stop him from leaning forward and kissing her.
"Itsuki, I..." He muttered, but soon forgot what he was telling her. Who cared, he immediately said to himself. After all, it was enough for him to perceive his heart and hers beating as fast as they could.
Finally, he had become the confident man he wanted to be. He didn't shake, when his hands touched her warm cheeks; his ears didn't blush, when their bodies, their faces, their lips were half an inch away from each other's.
He was about to close that undetectable gap, when he was hit by something in his chest.
"Idiot."
His deep eyes met Itsuki's angry's face, which woke him up from that odd trance. She was growling towards him, her eyebrows contracting because of the realization that one wasn't a dream; it was the reality, a reality in which Yang had got drunk to do with her who knows what. She would have never accepted that reality, which was as painful as that one.
She stared at him with frustration, like if she was looking at a stranger. Where was her Yang? Where was the Yang she had loved since they were children, the caring, shy, kind Yang?
"Brush your teeth, when you go back home. Your breath smells like a wine cellar."
She glared at him, but, after a brief second, she approached him with a sad expression, looking at that man intensively. Was she really going to refuse him? Could she bring herself to kiss him despite everything? She brought herself to put a hand on his cheek, stroking it like he had done before, but found herself lowering her head.
"Sorry," She whispered and walked away, too upset to use her strength.
"Wait, Itsuki! He managed to raise his voice, surprised because he had called her by her first name. He reached out but a wave of nausea took over and didn't allow him to run and reach her.
Fortunately, two arms caught him from behind before he fell on the ground, kneeled.
"You have got a problem, Yang...A serious problem."
"Itsuki..." He said again, but that name seemed to lose its meaning steadily.
Makoto sighed heavily at the sight of his best friend wiggling and trying to break free of his firm arms. He hadn't imagined he would attempt to hit on their childhood friend.
"Surely, tomorrow will be a busy day. You'd better hope Jenrya Lee will never get to know about this. I think tonight you won't be able to ride your motorcycle too."
Obviously, he was sarcastic, but, after all Yang was a dear person to him, even though adulthood had changed him...So dramatically.
"C'mon on. Let's go to the toilet for a bit, before you vomit on my shirt or on someone else's ."
They had always been like that: they would have many fights, but their bonds was extremely strong.
Meanwhile, Itsuki had returned to Atsuko, who were looking for her boyfriend: he had suddenly stood up to go outside.
"It-Chan! Dear, they are about to cut the cake. Where have you guys been?"
She grabbed her slightly tanned arm and Itsuki followed her, not thinking about what was happening around her anymore.
Thank Gods that Daddy and some other Hypnos members haven't managed to come. Thank, thank you, Gods, she could only repeat, biting her tongue to keep herself from telling Atsuko about what had happened.
How does it feel to refuse a kiss from the man you've loved for your whole life?
"It wasn't supposed to happen in this way," She sighed, occasionally crashing against some guests.
However, just when they joined the crowd cheering for the couple and expecting a sweet kiss, she felt like if the Sun could soon go back to bright her days.
She had to go beyond the mere fact, she knew it. Why had Yang got drunk? Was he really among those kinds of men who would get drunk without a specific reason?
She couldn't stop thinking about how gentle his touch felt, how tender his laughs were, how wrong reacting to him in that way might have been wrong. He was sincere, she marked into her head, and her unconscious was slowly suggesting her he had also tried to pronounce those three words she had been whispering in the wrong man's ear for years. Maybe she was just holding onto a frail hope, because she loved him so much she didn't want to believe he had grown to be as empty as Daiki.
Talking about him, she had been the girlfriend of a man who didn't accept her true self. Could it be...?
She really wanted her hypothesis to become real: wouldn't it be amazing if she could manage to see the usual Yang smiling carelessly and blushing at the same time? Her orbs grew dreamy, while she was imagining her shy Yang confessing to her without getting drunk.
Grabbing the whole love he felt for him, determined, she decided to switch off her brain and raising the glass Atsuko had just given her.
How does it feel to be in love with a man who doesn't accept himself?, she wondered, regretting not to have gone to the university and studied psychology.