Prompt: "Late"
Daisuke looked down at his phone for the seventh time that minute. There were no messages or returned calls. Takeru wasn't answering. It was unnerving.
"You damned idiot," the teen cursed under his breath, frowning and tapping his foot with little patience. "I told him I'd meet him here yesterday. And people usually tell me I'm always late." He sighed to himself and, out of habit, glanced back at his phone.
"Maybe he got sick?" Chibimon suggested, popping his head out of Daisuke's bag.
"Then he should've messaged me or something," the other replied, huffing.
Still, he couldn't deny that he was worried. Takeru was responsible and tentative. If something had come up, surely he would've called. It wasn't like him to just ditch without giving a logical reason why.
Or maybe he's just being an ass.
Then again, he knew he didn't have time for this. His research paper was due on Friday morning! Ken was busy all day today, which didn't help his situation. His next choice was Koushiro, but he was out of town… and Miyako, well, with Miyako there, he wasn't sure that he'd get anywhere past the first paragraph without her aid somehow turning into an argument. Hikari seemed to have trouble with her own paper, so he didn't bother asking her…
Everyone else he knew that could help him didn't have time to spare, either. Well, everyone except for Takeru. It didn't bother him, really, because he knew Takeru did particularly well in the writing category. Saying that aloud was the hard part.
I'll give him a couple more minutes, he thought, somewhat irritably, but after that, I'm calling it quits.
He slumped against the bench he was sitting on. Chibimon jumped out of his bag somewhat excitedly, although he complained about being crushed to death by one of his textbooks.
"He'll be here," the small digimon assured.
"Sure he will," came his deadpanned response.
A few minutes passed. Then a few more. Daisuke huffed impatiently and shot up from the bench with enough force to send his bag tumbling to the ground, causing Chibimon to squeak in surprise.
"A little warning next time, please…" the little guy grumbled, but his words fell on deaf ears.
"I'm done. I am so, so done. I'm not waiting another minute."
The spiky-haired teen bent over and tugged at the strap of his bag to indicate that he was leaving, and then slung it over his shoulder somewhat carefully. Chibimon, who had fallen out just moments before, scurried after him hastily.
"Hey, Dais, wait up!" a familiar voice called, causing the teen to freeze in his tracks. He turned slightly, catching a glimpse of blond hair.
It's about damn time.
Takeru came jogging up to him, with Patamon in his customary place atop his head. As he caught up to Daisuke, he started rambling: "I'm so sorry I'm late, Dais. Really. It's just Yamato had this thing and he needed help and I completely forgot about your paper, so I said ok, and—I didn't mean to, but—"
The guilt that crossed his features was completely genuine, an insane part of his brain realized, as the rest of Takeru's rant went unheard. And something about the way his eyes glittered in the sunlight made Daisuke forget what he was angry about in the first place.
"It's ok," he said, almost dazedly.
His cheeks were faintly pink, as if he'd jogged the whole way to the library. His hair a little messed up, but not in an unattractive kind of way. And that faded-blue t-shirt looked sort of nice on him…
"What?" Daisuke asked dumbly, realizing that Takeru had replied.
"I said, we should get started," the blond told him, kind of solemnly. Then he frowned in concern. "Hey, are you ok? Your eyes are kind of glassy."
"Huh? Oh, um, yeah, let's go," he mumbled, turning to hide the fact that he was blushing.
Damn him and his stupid shiny eyes and dumb hair, he thought as Takeru followed him into the library. Damn him and his t-shirt. Damn him, damn him, damn him.
And he repeated that to himself for the rest of the day, because for some reason, he couldn't get that image of Takeru running up to him out of his head.