Author's Note: I've always really liked the idea of writing Yamato. I don't think I do him much justice, but hey, I try. I also noticed something while rereading earlier chapters for inspiration: I never stated how Sora and Yamato got the gate open to release Agumon, Piymon, etc, did I? Well, hopefully I'll rectify that with a close up to Yamato's bass playing, emotionally driven brain. I am not, however, entirely sure where the ending came from. Yamato didn't feel like talking anymore, so he sang me a song, I guess. XD

By the way, I was checking my story stats because I was bored and found that Coming Undone is in a community. It's really silly, but that made me really happy! I'm glad people like this story enough to recommend/add it to something like that, where more people can see it and have a chance to like it too, or at least read it. So thanks for that!

It was a lot easier to breathe without Sora there.

He still hated hospitals, mind you. Still hated that he could smell medicine and disinfectant, hated more that you could still smell sickness beneath the perfumes and cleaning supplies that were applied so diligently. But it was easier to endure that smell, the bright lights, the constantly pitying looks of nurses who think you're there because your little sister is lying inanimately on the painfully white bed sheets instead of your best friend's, the cafeteria food and Hikari's wince every time she coughed too hard or laughed too loudly while her head and ribs were still stiffly wrapped in bandages when Sora wasn't there.

They had said they'd still be friends, but they had lied. Even Yamato knew that. They had smiled and played nice (Or rather, Sora had smiled. Yamato tended to stare at the wall.) for the sake of their friends, who looked anxiously at each other whenever both were present at any given group function. Yamato didn't care that they still had all the same friends, the same favorite spots to hang out, or anything. He was never going to say "No, she's not welcome here", because he did want to be friends. It just kind of hurt his heart to look at her for too long.

Taichi knew it, too. He had tried to ignore it, and Yamato had too, because Yamato wanted to be a good best friend and not deny Taichi what he had wanted so badly since they were ten years old. But sometimes it seemed as though the so-called leader of the Japanese Chosen couldn't hold back a remark anymore.

"Get the stick out of your ass. She's not coming today, either," Taichi called from the other side of the lounge, looking up from a... book. That was weird. But then Yamato saw that it was about soccer, and it lost its strangeness. Probably reading up on plays, trying to think of things to bring back to the team to make up for his long absence. Good. He had been talking about maybe quitting the team to look for another part time job before Agumon had arrived on the scene. Once again, Agumon managed to remind Taichi of his love for soccer, and talked him into keeping the sport near to his heart. Yamato thought it'd be a necessary release, like him with music. It'd keep him from going insane – that is, to keep him from going more insane than he already was.

"Huh?" Yamato blinked, looking up from... well, he wasn't sure what he'd been looking at. A picture on the wall, he supposed. Had butterflies. He blinked again. He obviously hadn't been looking at that, or he would have chosen another picture to space off in front of.

"Sora. She's gotta work again. She said she and Miyako cleaned up the apartment the other day. I guess she promised her mom to work today instead." He frowned a little, apparently not really happy that she had to work so much because he had agreed to let her clean. Clean. Yamato almost smiled, because in any other circumstances Taichi would have launched into a miniature rant about why the heck the girl actually wanted to clean. As it was, he looked almost... touched.

We did the right thing. Sora had technically done the breaking up, the walking away, but Yamato had been the one to ask for the truth. When her eyes kept glazing over, when she kept glancing at her phone, the way her face lit up when she saw Taichi's name on the caller ID, the way she talked about them hanging out... You'd think Yamato would have taken it out on Taichi, but Taichi was only doing what a best friend should do. But Yamato had asked her if she loved him. Her expression faltered. She said she loved Yamato, but he could hear it in her voice. She might love him, but not romantically. Not the way she had a year ago.

It was only when he was with Taichi that he actually was happy it had ended. He needed it. Her.

"Oh." It was easier to breathe without glancing at the door wondering when she'd walk in, a small smile in Taichi's direction while he still hadn't spotted her arrival. But he still didn't uncross his arms. "Bummer."

Taichi snorted, but didn't say anything else about it. Taichi didn't have much energy for holding back retorts and comments on a good day, never mind a day after nearly three weeks of barely sleeping. Yamato wasn't sure what bothered him more: the dark circles under Taichi's eyes, or the fact that he seemed to have gone from nearly catatonic to... well, not quite normal, but more active in little more than three days.

Yamato attributed that to Agumon, who shadowed Taichi's movements oblivious to the alarm the dinosaur-like orange Digimon caused the nurses. Of course, they knew who they were. Everyone was beginning to recognize the Chosen, learning their story that so many had seen for themselves across the world. Yamato's mom was to thank for that, and his dad. Sora's mom, too, made it her mission to spread their story, to inform people of the true, friendly nature that was the "monster" Digimon. It was because of the widespread of this knowledge that Sora had timidly suggested they go to the Digital world and bring back their friends.

"Just for a little while," she had argued, fists clenched in her pockets where she thought Yamato couldn't see them. He wasn't fooled, however. After all, they had dated for how long? The timidness in her voice wasn't because she thought that, deep down, it was a bad idea. She wasn't even so much afraid of his rejecting it, turning it away. She was afraid that she couldn't talk to him, that he wouldn't want her to. She didn't like being around him any more than he did her, these days. But he wasn't sure it was for the same reason.

She was uncomfortable because she thought he hated her.

He was uncomfortable because he didn't hate her.

Sometimes he felt like he did. Like those nights when she needed to be home, or when Taichi stubbornly insisted that they go home and get some sleep (ignoring the fact that he himself hadn't slept half as much as they had), and he drove her. Sometimes being in the car with her, together but not together, made him so angry and his fists gripped the wheel and he hit the gas and brake pedals harder than he needed to until he heard a gasp, and remembered that his brother was often in the car as well. He couldn't hurt them. He couldn't let something happen to anymore people he cared about, so he eased up. But he couldn't help but snap at her sometimes, because sometimes Sora could be so dense. If not about him, then about Taichi.

Why was she always most dense about the people she claimed to care the most about? He didn't get it. He didn't get her, sometimes. Other times he did, but nine out of ten wasn't good enough. To work, to last, you needed to be on the same page all the time. Even if you didn't agree, you had to be able to figure out what they were thinking. You needed to understand it. Sometimes, Yamato just couldn't understand. And that was why they failed.

"Actually, yeah," Yamato said, and Sora blinked and looked up at him. She had been averting his eyes the entire time she spoke, as though the bloody wall was going to help her open a gate to the Digital World.

"What?"

"I think it's a good idea," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. When he actually spoke, he tried... I don't know, to sound "normal". What the heck was normal supposed to be, anyway? Normal worked best when they both had a similar idea in mind: cheering up Taichi, making sure he ate or slept. Alone, just talking... about nothing? That wasn't working so well.

But this time, they both had a goal, an idea. It just happened to be the same one: find Agumon.

They had needed to recruit Takeru, as the only one besides Hikari at the hospital to be able to open a gate. And then they had needed to find Jyou, who was just getting off work for the evening (after pulling a few double shifts to try keep an eye on Hikari for Taichi), because Jyou would be able to gain them temporary access to a computer to open the gate. It had been hard tearing Takeru away from Hikari, even if for a few minutes, but once he realized what they wanted – and that he could see Patamon and bring Tailmon back to Hikari – he was on game. Hikari, though, asked that he not tell Tailmon.

"Not yet," she had asked hoarsely, for her throat was still bothering her and sore from weeks of disuse.

"She'll want to know, Hikari," Sora had said gently, laying a hand on Hikari's knee. Yamato just frowned at her, trying to understand... and a little to his surprise, he found he did. Or he could, if he tried not to think entirely like him. Quiet Hikari didn't like to be in the spotlight; she just found herself thrown into it from time to time by her friends or... those who weren't her friends. She didn't like people fretting or worrying, and Tailmon would lose two lives just looking at Hikari, working herself into a frenzy trying to figure out how she can fix it. Hikari would rather her best friend, her partner, worry about the emotional trouble than both physical and emotional wounds. Pick the lesser of two evils, the one that Hikari found easier to shift and disguise than bandages and bruises.

"She will," Hikari insisted, eyes bright despite the fact that she still looked dazed after having just woken up. "When the bandages are gone, and I can hug her properly," Hikari promised, and she lifted a weak hand to her ribs. It was shaking. Takeru reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, placing it back at her side. He looked hurt just watching her.

"Alright. I'll be back in a few minutes, I promise," he told her, letting her hand go. "We can talk about whatever you want then."

Hikari had nodded, or rather... Yamato thought she tried nod, but her head didn't move much. He wasn't surprised. He remembered getting a bad concussion when he was little, fell out of a tree and his head cracked against the ground after he landed on his back. Those bandages were freaking heavy, and she couldn't be feeling too hot either.

The rest was history, as the saying goes. Got the Digimon, caught them up... Piyomon, Gabumon, Patamon, and Agumon came back with them. Tailmon had seemed put out, but Sora gently convinced her that they would come back for her when "Hikari was awake, and ready for company". It was a nice way of saying "She doesn't want to see you right now because you'll worry up a hairball." Pretty accurate. It was a good thing Sora was the one who did the talking, because Yamato probably would have said just that.

"Yamato? You're home." Hiroaki, his father, sounded so surprised. Yamato almost got offended before he realized – oh yeah – he'd been at the hospital most days since the accident. He figured that Taichi would do the same to him if something happened to his dad or mom or Takeru. It was a best-friend thing, you know?

Or just a friend thing. Yamato might do the same for Daisuke, now that he thought about it, even though the guy drove him insane sometimes. Other times, he had a good heart. It was just hidden beneath the hair and bull shit and squashed by the goggles that were cutting off his circulation.

"I've got band practice tonight. I've been blowing the guys off a lot lately." Ever since the accident, he'd been calling off practices. But he couldn't do that for much longer without canceling their next show, and even if he wasn't in a deep rut, some of his band mates were dependent on their steady stream of shows. They lived or died by whether or not they performed Friday night at a local club or restaurant. He couldn't hold out on them like that.

"What about Taichi?" His father was buttoning up his signature white dress shirt. He was headed to work, even though it was four o'clock – the time most people would be leaving work or getting home, Yamato thought to himself. "I thought when you left earlier, you were going to see him."

"I called," Yamato admitted. "But he said not to worry about it. Hikari had tests all day. I guess the nurses kicked Taichi out for a couple hours to go home and shower and eat a real meal."

"Good. That he's functioning." Yamato had told his dad last week how Taichi had been faring... or rather, not faring well at all.

"He's got Agumon with him. Gives him someone to worry about, and someone who will worry about him and keep him out of too much trouble. I'm sure he's already back at the hospital," Yamato shrugged.

"They let Agumon in the hospital," his father asked with a raised eyebrow. People might know more about Digimon, but that didn't mean many people weren't still disconcerted by their presence, or convinced that they were simply intelligent pets.

"Well. A doctor committed mutiny if they don't," Yamato shrugged, grinning despite himself. His father laughed.

"I've got to run," he told Yamato, "but there's some food in the fridge."

Food, by the way, translated into frozen dinners. Yamato cringed. He'd rather order out, personally. But he smiled anyway, because he knew his dad was just happy there was something edible in the house without Yamato trying to cook, because apparently only Yamato could stomach his homemade creations.

"Thanks Dad, but I'm probably going out with the band," he lied smoothly. His father paused in the middle of pulling on his work coat, not sure if he ought to believe Yamato or not. But not believing him would take more time, time that Yamato knew he didn't have.

"Alright, well. I'll be late, so good night."

"Night."

Without a backward glance, Yamato slipped his hands into his pockets and headed towards his room. The door was ajar, just how he left it. He didn't really think much of privacy first thing in the morning, when the only energy he had was reserved for thoughts and plans of getting coffee and food. Real food. Like, eggs and bacon.

Two instruments stood in the corner of his small room, which he suspected was once a walk in closet for a studio apartment and later advertised as a bedroom so that the owner of the building could charge more. But the instruments, those were what made this room special to him. He didn't really care about the bed or the small television in the corner (that hadn't really worked properly since the last time Taichi was over, he thought with an affectionate roll of the eyes). I mean, the laptop on his desk was important, not only because it saved his butt when it came to cramming in homework the night before it was due, but because... well, computers had come to mean something to him. Life, friends, change, self,... there was more than Mystery Google behind the screen. He couldn't explain it, but he doubted any Chosen felt any differently. They just didn't have the words for it either.

But the instruments were his music, his life, what reconnected him with his dad and found him his band. His dad taught him how to play the bass the summer after Yamato had first gone to the digital world, when Yamato found his dad's old band recordings amongst the rest of the junk in the apartment. But the band, you know, it was pretty good. His dad had never told him he could play an instrument, and after much pleading and accusations of holding out on his oldest son, Hiroaki had promised to teach him how to play. Bought him a bass for his Christmas present, and Yamato had put down his old harmonica to learn the bass.

His fingers caressed the bass case, treasuring the familiarity of its touch, before reaching for the other instrument. The guitar was newer, and a project that Yamato was tackling on his own. He had bought it with a fraction of his savings after he and Sora had ended. Call it a little pampering, or spoiling, or treating himself. He just wanted music to calm down the storm of feelings as it always had, and besides, the bass was becoming too easy. He still played it with the band, and still practiced vocals, but he practiced the guitar sometimes.

This was one of those times.

He carefully lifted it out of its case and sat on his bed, guitar balanced on his lap. He wasn't nearly as fluent with the fingerings as he was with the bass, if only for the simple fact that it was a little bulkier and had more strings than he was used to. But it was relaxing and fun, even if sometimes he hit a sour note. He kept playing, because keeping going when they messed up and something went wrong was the only thing anyone could do. He couldn't spend forever trying to pick that right note. Maybe later, after he ran through the exercise notes. He'd revisit what he messed up on, play it till he got it right, and learn from his mistakes.

"The world cried last night

It's been crying, crying

For a while now.

I tried to comfort it.

I tried to talk to it.

But it only turned its back

And looked away.

I joined it on the curb

Holding a sign looking for work

Because no one wanted

To spare a passing glance.

I took its hand and we

Cried, cried together.

Because the only thing it wanted

All the world ever wanted

Was to feel like it wasn't

All alone."