Masquerade
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Part 2: Unmasked!
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Hello. This is unfortunately being written during a period of time where I will not be able to send stories until at least Sunday, so I'm bored...sigh. However, I'm being threatened by a large, angry dragon to keep writing, so...here's part 2. Um, note: I am taking poetic liscence, namely, I'm pretending Ken's birthday is April 11, because I don't know if there actually is a date. If anyone knows if there is a canon birthday, please tell me what it is, because I like to stay somewhat canon (with the exception of the entire Miyaken fiasco). Arigatou! Also, the \ and / will indicate flashbacks.
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Disclaimer: Digimon and affiliated characters do not belong to me; they are registered trademarks of Toei and Bandai. I am not making a cent off of this (and, if you use the adage that time is money, I'm losing a great deal to it), nor do I posses enough money to make lawsuits profitable. Anyway, this story also contains shenoun-ai, which basically means (in this beginning part of what I hope will become an epic, or at least marginally long) two men pining after each other. If you don't like, *deal*. I am not responsible for the actions of me or my muses (the former is an irate teenager, and the latter consists of a dragon) if someone who doesn't bother to read this extensive warning flames me (as indicated above, we've got plenty where that came from if you want to play hardball). Now, continue...
* * *
~Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye;
Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try...~
-"Think of Me," from "The Phantom of the Opera"
Motimoya Daisuke was a celebrity. There was no arguing with that. He was one of the most well-known soccer players since Pelé. He could rarely enter any type of urban area without being mobbed by obsessive women. This tended to be a problem when he attempted to visit his friends, who in the 15 years since they had met, still lived in Odaiba.
"Why can't the two of you live in the country?" he demanded, leaning against the door of the Takaishi-Hida apartment. Takeru smiled at him apologetically, and moved towards the kitchen area.
"Well, Iori has to be near the courthouse a lot, and it's a long commute otherwise..." Daisuke rolled his eyes.
"Frankly, spending time with the ones you love is overrated."
"You're just jealous that you've been single ever since Hikari dumped you, oh, what is it, two years ago," Iori said, smirking, from the kitchen table. "Because, if you had anyone, like I have Take-chan, you'd do anything to spend more time with him or her." Daisuke growled at him, and sat down across from the brunette.
"Don't you ever want to mess up your hair or something? You're too..."
"Neat?" Takeru asked. "I think it's cute. Besides, he reminds me that sometimes you need to follow rules and look nice." He slung an arm around Iori's shoulder, who smiled up at him.
"And Takeru shows me how to have fun sometimes," Iori added.
"You know, I can't deal with you two. You're so...close, I feel left out." Iori managed a wicked grin, and stood up, resting an arm on Daisuke's shoulder.
"Well, if you stick around till tomorrow, we can include you in tonight's activities." Daisuke's face took approximately threee seconds to become bright red.
"That's *not* what I meant!" he stammered. Iori and Takeru laughed at the flushed brunette before calming down. "And besides, as far as I'm concerned, it might be better if I never have anyone. I wouldn't want someone I care about hounded by the media. I don't know how Yamato ever put up with that at all!" He slumped down into a chair. "I sometimes think that this isn't worth the trouble, but I wouldn't dare leave all this, because there's nothing else I'm good at." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Takeru's face.
"I'm sure you'll find something, Dai-kun. I mean, you can't fail at *everything*."
"Yeah, thanks," Daisuke muttered. Iori batted Takeru aside and sat next to Daisuke.
"What he means is you've got talents that no one's ever seen, and all you have to do is look for them, and you can find what else you're good at. We have faith in you, Daisuke." Daisuke glanced up at the two of them, and smiled.
"Thanks, you guys. You may be annoying sometimes, but sometimes you know just the right thing to say."
* * *
"Hello, Leah, where's my phone messages?" The woman looked up from painting her fingernails.
"Mostly telemarketers, and, did you know that the pizza joint down the street has almost the exact same phone number as us?" Ken rolled his eyes, and walked past her, and pulled a lock of her dirty blond hair so she had to turn and look at him.
"Were there any clients?" She nodded.
"Yeah, there were a couple of crises, but they managed most of them, except the thing with Dr. Kinomoto. He called last night, something about his GE stocks..." Ken swore, and dashed into his office. Leah continued to file her nails, until she caught sight of the mask her boss had left on her desk. "Hm? A gift? Well, certainly not what I would expect, except..." She picked it up, and a piece of paper fluttered out. She picked it up, and read it silently. "Well, Ken-san, I might as well help you through this crisis." She flipped through her calendar, and smiled. "And just in time."
* * *
Daisuke stared at the city stretched out beneath his apartment. It wasn't a particularly large place, but it was home to him. He had a piece of paper resting on his lap, and was twiddling a pencil between his fingers. The regular tapping comforted him somewhat.
'What sort of skills do I have? I don't want to spend the rest of my life playing soccer...it's a great game, but I don't want it to be my life.' As he thought, the tip of the pencil came to rest on the paper, and an image began to unconsciously come forward. Daisuke suddenly looked downward, and did a double-take. A smile curved his lips.
"Well, *that's* an interesting turn of events."
* * *
Ken sat at his desk, and reached for a key he kept in his jacket. Unnlocking a drawer in the desk, he tried to put his mask and Mark's letter into it. Except that he didn't have the mask with him. He paled.
"I can't have lost it! I have to use it to remember..." He slipped from his office, and glanced about the waiting area. "Leah, did I leave a mask of some type in here?" She shook her head.
"No, Ken-san. I haven't seen anything like that. Are you sure you didn't leave it in the airport?"
"No, I didn't. I had it with me here..." He threw several packs of paper aside, looking frantically for the mask. "I have to find it, Leah, so tell me if you see it." She nodded, and picked up the phone.
"I'll just call the police and tell them all about it, ne?" He glared at her.
"Why do I keep you here, Leah?" She smiled sweetly at him.
"Because I'm beautiful, and intelligent, and despite my insubordination, I'm a good secretary? By the way, you can't have any plans next Wednesday. There's...things being planned." Ken smirked.
"Is it just a coincidence that next Wednesday is my 27th birthday?" Leah smiled enigmatically.
"Maybe. But don't make plans for the 11th, Ken-san."
"Don't worry. I was planning on staying home and thinking." He walked back into his office, and when the door closed, Leah wrote a short message on the whiteboard she used to communicate with Ken sometimes. 'Keep the 11th free, or suffer the consequences, Ken-chan.' Yes, she hated lying to him, but she knew that it was better this way. She picked up a pile of magazines which had been delivered to her, and frowned at the cover of 'Life'.
'International Soccer Star Abandons Sport' There was a montage of photos of Motimoya Daisuke, with a central image of him at a younger age, holding a victory sign up to the camera, a pair of goggles holding his mass of red hair at bay.
* * *
Daisuke looked carefully at the sketch he had made, and picked up a paintbrush. They were hardly quality supplies, but it was a start. The picture was in shades of gray and black, with only a blot of color. As he formed it, he frowned at the appearance of the painting. There was something about the picture he should know about...but he continued, adding shadows and shades where necessary, watching the image come to life. It was a frightening image, but his hand moved with a life of its own. Had he remembered conversations of decades past, he would have worried about the nature of such actions. But he wasn't much for overanalyzing things, much less looking a gift horse in the mouth.
* * *
"This is perfect," Leah said quietly, looking at the immaculately-wrapped box. She carefully scripted a short note, and taped it to the top. "There's no way he'll ever be mad at me for taking all this. Hell, I bet he doesn't even remember he had this stuff." She placed the box on her kitchen table, right next to the door, and headed for her bedroom. Yes, Ken would be very surprised tomorrow.
* * *
"Hi, um, Kari-chan, I've got a question for you," Daisuke mumbled.
"Yeah?" Hikari twirled the phone cord around her finger.
"You see, it's about why I quit soccer. I need you to come over and look at something."
"Sure, but can I bring Miyako over?" Daisuke frowned at the question, and shrugged.
"All right. Just come over and look at it."
* * *
"I'm so...surprised," Ken half-stammered. The entire office had turned out for the surprise party, and they were all listening to his speech. "I really didn't expect you all to go through this. I mean, I may be the boss, but it didn't mean you would all throw such a party for me." There was polite applause, and people continued talking. Leah sidled up to him and handed him a package wrapped in silver paper.
"Hey, boss, I got you a little something, but wait until after the party to open it. It's sort of...personal." She smiled and vanished back into the crowd. Ken watched after her, and took the package to the office.
"I'll look at this right after everyone leaves," he vowed. And then he returned to the music, talking, and laughing of the party.
* * *
Daisuke smiled at Hikari and Miyako.
"All right, brace yourselves," he warned, and walked to a large white object in the center of the room. "You see, I decided that soccer wasn't for me, that I wanted to be remembered for something other than my sports skills, so..." He yanked at the object, and a white sheet was pulled from a painting. Hikari's mouth dropped open, and she stepped backwards.
"My gods..." Miyako gripped the other woman's shoulders.
"Daisuke, how can you paint it when you've never even seen it?" Hikari looked like she was going to faint.
"Please...Dai-kun..." He hurriedly threw the sheet back over the painting.
"I don't understand, though!" he protested. Hikari wandered over to a chair and sat down stiffly.
"Daisuke, what you drew was the Dark Ocean, and from what I've come to understand, you've depicted the birth of the Kaiser. But I..." She stopped, her face betraying the pain the image had caused her.
"Daisuke, that painting was too realistic; the Dark Ocean isn't exactly the sort of thing you want to be showing Kari." Daisuke looked at the covered painting, and then back at the two women.
"Why would I paint Ken? And why when he became the Kaiser?" Miyako shrugged, but wrapped an arm around Hikari's shoulder. The brunette looked up at Daisuke, her face strained, but the sincerity etched in her voice.
"You're very talented, Daisuke, but you need to be careful what you make. Images like these frighten people."
* * *
Ken looked at the box, and carefully peeled away the paper covering it. Then, he pulled up the lid. And gasped.
"The little kleptomaniac," he hissed, pulling his mask from the box, seeing Mark's letter taped to the back. But, left in the box were several pieces of paper and a photo frame. The first piece of paper was an address, written in the neat, precise handwriting Leah used when she paid attention to her work. He set this aside. The next was an article from a recent issue of 'Life'. He set this aside, also, promising to read it later. He picked up the picture frame, and turned it around. The glass was cracked, but the picture beneath it was untouched. It was only half of a photograph, of an arm slung around the shoulders of a grinning teenager who held out his left hand in a victory sign, and the right protruding off the left side of the photo. Red-brown hair, warm, brown eyes, and goggles...Ken dropped the picture on his desk, memories flooding back, reminiscent of the slow gleaning of his memories from the time as the Kaiser-
\"There!" Daisuke proclaimed, ripping the photo in half. He promptly handed one of the halves to Ken. "Now we each have a piece of the same picture, so we'll never forget the other. Ken-chan, can you promise me you won't forget me, even after you become rich and all that stuff?" Ken laughed at Daisuke's pleading look, and slipped the photograph into his wallet.
"No, Dai-chan, I won't ever forget you. We'll be friends forever." He naturally didn't add the last part to his statement, that could have destroyed everything, made Daisuke retreat from him. The certainty of knowing that Daisuke didn't see him in the same way would have driven him-
'I'm waiting, Ken-chan, you just have to reach out to me, and I'll catch you. I'll always be here, the only one you can always count on!'
back to the Kaiser. But he kept the photograph, vowing to himself to never forget its value, to never forget the redhead whose image it kept./
Ken shook off the memory, but finally understood. He glanced at his mask,the importance of which he could see now.
"Spiky red hair, a blush, that combination of innocence and playfullness he always had on his face, and not frog eyes...goggles." He saw the frightening mask now as it should have been viewed, a skewing of the thing he most desired, the part of himself he had lost, the key to his identity. He looked at the article, seeing it was about Daisuke, and drank in everything it said, about Daisuke abandoning his soccer career, entering a new way of life, and how his career, illustrious and glorious, had brought him to fame quickly, and on and on for five and a half pages. But it was about Daisuke, so Ken tolerated the length. He finally put down the article, and turned his chair around to face the window, to stare at the glittering stars outside. He wanted to throw open the window (even though the window technically had no latch; it could be opened in a fire, but that usually shattered it) and shout out his joy to the world. He had found himself again, and finally remembered what he'd buried beneath a mask of marriage and work. "I am in love with Motimoya Daisuke, the most beautiful, courageous, thoughtful, and talented person I know," he announced to his office. "I am in love, and I couldn't care less if he loves me back, because I have found myself! I am Ichijouji Ken and I am in love!" He threw himself into a standing position, and snatched his briefcase, mask, and the address scribbled on the scrap of paper, all in a single swift movement, and strided purposefully through the door. As he literally bounced through the waiting room to the elevator, Leah watched him, amused. She turned to her husband, a wide man who also worked for Ichijouji Consulting.
"I knew he'd love it, honey," she said smugly. "And you wanted to give him a new pager."
* * *
Daisuke stared at the painting, frowning. It was perfect, every detail attended to, every shadow, glimmer, and shine highlighted. It was surreal in its perfection, which made a doubt rise in his mind. Could this painting have been the work of another, or of the innate psychic talent Jun insisted everyone had? Was it possible that he didn't have any artistic talent whatsoever? He decided to test this, to draw something, and ignore any impulses he got. Choose something to draw, and draw it. The first thing that came to mind was Hikari and Miyako. He visualized how they had appeared when they saw the painting he had named "The Birth of Evil", and began to sketch. It wasn't something he concentrated on, but when he was done, it was still good. It didn't hold the precision of his earlier work, but it held traces of his own style, the nuances that showed Daisuke drew this. And, looking at the sketch, the way the two of them were standing close together brought back a painful memory. He placed the paper aside, and reached into his wallet. Flipping it open, he removed a well-worn photograph. Or, rather, half of one. Ken smiled at the photographer, a rather befuddled American tourist who had been in the right place at the right time, not a grin or anything, just a simple smile, of the type Daisuke had learned to cherish for its rarity and sincerity. He only smiled like that, with a hint of amusement touching his eyes, when he was truly happy. Daisuke allowed the photo to drop, and didn't try to stop the tear that followed it.
"Ken-chan, why did you leave and forget me? Why couldn't you come back?"
* * *
"Ken-san? Ken-san?" Leah poked her head into the office, and saw nothing. "That's odd." Suddenly, the phone rang, and she answered it. "Hello, Ichijou-"
"Hi, Leah!" Ken's voice was exuberant, full of life.
"Mr. Ichijouji? Where are you and hwat-?"
"I'm actually on the outskirts of Odaiba. There's some really nice apartments out here, including the home of former soccer champ Motimoya Daisuke." Leah couldn't help the smile that twitched across her face.
"So you ditched work to track down the love of your life?" Ken laughed, and she felt a ripple down her spine. It was an exhilerating thing, to hear Ken Ichijouji laugh, really laugh.
"Yes, Leah, and when I get back, remind me that I've got to think of a suitable punishment for you for raiding my office. I was thinking somewhere along the lines of a 5% raise."
"I don't know, sir, it might be too lax a punishment for me."
"Right. Anyway, Leah, cover for me?"
"Sure, Ken. I'll just tell them you're taking a mental health day."
"Tell them I'm going to Mars for all I care!" There was a final chuckle, and then the phone went dead. Leah placed the receiver back onto the cradle, and grinned. This whole situation just put a positive outlook on life, and she was enjoying it.
* * *
\"Ken? Is that really you? I never thought we'd see you again!" Ken glanced up at the sound of the slightly shrill voice. Of all the people in the small consulting firm to be chosen to help the new temp get her bearings, he was chosen. And of all the people to be that intern, it was Miyako. She had changed in four years, was prettier, still didn't compare to
'Don't think about that! There's no hope in it, so don't think about it!'
Daisuke, but she *was* pretty. He helped her around the office, and after work, they had an informal dinner together. Things just sort of escalated from there. Ken always suspected that he wasn't Miyako's first choice, but things went well between them. And when they agreed to be married, Ken fel that one little doubt go into hiding. That was when he really got his mask on, really got into the role. He was able to ask Daisuke to be his best man, able to ignore the fact that his heart wanted him to ditch the woman for his best friend, able to ignore the
'He's not really jealous; he just probably always gets emotional at weddings.'
pained looks he kept getting from Daisuke, the resigned sighs Miyako made, the twin gazes of Iori and Takeru piercing him, making him feel as if what he had done was wrong. That's why he moved, instead of to Odaiba or Tamachi, to Tokyo. It was just far enough away to pretend that they just lost touch, and...it made things easier. But his heart protested against this mask, and he supposed it must have showed, especially to a woman known for her dedication to emotion and passion. Which is really why the marriage didn't work; Ken was a logical person whose heart was devoted to another, and Miyako a woman who believed desparately in the need for true love in a relationship./
Ken stared at the apartment building before him. He took a few deep breaths, and stepped forward.
"You're just seeing an old friend, just an old friend." It was just Daisuke, only
'The love of my life, my soul mate, the only person I've been able to open up to, the only person who's ever trusted me, cared for me, unconditionally, the only person in this world whose opinion I give a damn about.'
Daisuke. Ken sighed, and stepped into the building. He glanced at the mailboxes, checked Daisuke's apartment number, and built up his courage one last time. The little logical part of him knew that if Daisuke wasn't there, he'd have to get intervention from the rest of the Digidestined just to try this again. He started up the stairs, and almost ran into a short, bespectacled woman.
"Excuse me, but I don't believe you live here," she stated imperiously. "So I would advise you leave before I call the authorities." Ken stepped back from the woman's authoritative glare before responding.
"I-was coming to see a friend of mine," he managed to stammer. Her face softened suddenly.
"Ah, who is it? Are you one of Kikuko's friends? She keeps such odd company, and you look familiar..."
"I actually was here to see Motimoya-kun." Her face split into a smile.
"Ah, yes, you would. But I warn you, no fainting up there. The last time he had company, I had to get the smelling salts. You know, he fancies himself an artist. But I don't have the heart to throw him out; he pays the rent on time, and he's so cute!" The woman now led Ken up the stairs, and continued chatting about her various tenants (as Ken had deduced this woman must be the landlady). At the third floor, she led him into the hallway and pointed. "He's the last door on the right. And be careful in there; he's not got much art in there, but there's that freaky picture he insisted I see. 'Birth of Evil', he calls it. Anyway, maybe I'll see you again. Ja!" And the woman was gone. Ken carefully approached the door indicated to be Ken's, and knocked. There was a clatter, and a hoarse shout.
"Just a minute! Ow! Damn paint; these pants will never be clean again." There was a rustling, as if he was throwing cloth over something, and then-the door opened. Motimoya Daisuke stared in shock at his visitor. "Ken?"
* * *
Yeah, I'm evil...I'm stopping this part here. I actually have only one more part to this story, but as I've said before, there will be sequels (and there will have to be). After I finish my plans for this part, any following stories can't really fit under the title of 'Masquerade', so they will have to be separate titles and whatnot, and I'm rambling, so I'll shut up now. Ja!
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Part 2: Unmasked!
* * *
Hello. This is unfortunately being written during a period of time where I will not be able to send stories until at least Sunday, so I'm bored...sigh. However, I'm being threatened by a large, angry dragon to keep writing, so...here's part 2. Um, note: I am taking poetic liscence, namely, I'm pretending Ken's birthday is April 11, because I don't know if there actually is a date. If anyone knows if there is a canon birthday, please tell me what it is, because I like to stay somewhat canon (with the exception of the entire Miyaken fiasco). Arigatou! Also, the \ and / will indicate flashbacks.
* * *
Disclaimer: Digimon and affiliated characters do not belong to me; they are registered trademarks of Toei and Bandai. I am not making a cent off of this (and, if you use the adage that time is money, I'm losing a great deal to it), nor do I posses enough money to make lawsuits profitable. Anyway, this story also contains shenoun-ai, which basically means (in this beginning part of what I hope will become an epic, or at least marginally long) two men pining after each other. If you don't like, *deal*. I am not responsible for the actions of me or my muses (the former is an irate teenager, and the latter consists of a dragon) if someone who doesn't bother to read this extensive warning flames me (as indicated above, we've got plenty where that came from if you want to play hardball). Now, continue...
* * *
~Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye;
Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you'll try...~
-"Think of Me," from "The Phantom of the Opera"
Motimoya Daisuke was a celebrity. There was no arguing with that. He was one of the most well-known soccer players since Pelé. He could rarely enter any type of urban area without being mobbed by obsessive women. This tended to be a problem when he attempted to visit his friends, who in the 15 years since they had met, still lived in Odaiba.
"Why can't the two of you live in the country?" he demanded, leaning against the door of the Takaishi-Hida apartment. Takeru smiled at him apologetically, and moved towards the kitchen area.
"Well, Iori has to be near the courthouse a lot, and it's a long commute otherwise..." Daisuke rolled his eyes.
"Frankly, spending time with the ones you love is overrated."
"You're just jealous that you've been single ever since Hikari dumped you, oh, what is it, two years ago," Iori said, smirking, from the kitchen table. "Because, if you had anyone, like I have Take-chan, you'd do anything to spend more time with him or her." Daisuke growled at him, and sat down across from the brunette.
"Don't you ever want to mess up your hair or something? You're too..."
"Neat?" Takeru asked. "I think it's cute. Besides, he reminds me that sometimes you need to follow rules and look nice." He slung an arm around Iori's shoulder, who smiled up at him.
"And Takeru shows me how to have fun sometimes," Iori added.
"You know, I can't deal with you two. You're so...close, I feel left out." Iori managed a wicked grin, and stood up, resting an arm on Daisuke's shoulder.
"Well, if you stick around till tomorrow, we can include you in tonight's activities." Daisuke's face took approximately threee seconds to become bright red.
"That's *not* what I meant!" he stammered. Iori and Takeru laughed at the flushed brunette before calming down. "And besides, as far as I'm concerned, it might be better if I never have anyone. I wouldn't want someone I care about hounded by the media. I don't know how Yamato ever put up with that at all!" He slumped down into a chair. "I sometimes think that this isn't worth the trouble, but I wouldn't dare leave all this, because there's nothing else I'm good at." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Takeru's face.
"I'm sure you'll find something, Dai-kun. I mean, you can't fail at *everything*."
"Yeah, thanks," Daisuke muttered. Iori batted Takeru aside and sat next to Daisuke.
"What he means is you've got talents that no one's ever seen, and all you have to do is look for them, and you can find what else you're good at. We have faith in you, Daisuke." Daisuke glanced up at the two of them, and smiled.
"Thanks, you guys. You may be annoying sometimes, but sometimes you know just the right thing to say."
* * *
"Hello, Leah, where's my phone messages?" The woman looked up from painting her fingernails.
"Mostly telemarketers, and, did you know that the pizza joint down the street has almost the exact same phone number as us?" Ken rolled his eyes, and walked past her, and pulled a lock of her dirty blond hair so she had to turn and look at him.
"Were there any clients?" She nodded.
"Yeah, there were a couple of crises, but they managed most of them, except the thing with Dr. Kinomoto. He called last night, something about his GE stocks..." Ken swore, and dashed into his office. Leah continued to file her nails, until she caught sight of the mask her boss had left on her desk. "Hm? A gift? Well, certainly not what I would expect, except..." She picked it up, and a piece of paper fluttered out. She picked it up, and read it silently. "Well, Ken-san, I might as well help you through this crisis." She flipped through her calendar, and smiled. "And just in time."
* * *
Daisuke stared at the city stretched out beneath his apartment. It wasn't a particularly large place, but it was home to him. He had a piece of paper resting on his lap, and was twiddling a pencil between his fingers. The regular tapping comforted him somewhat.
'What sort of skills do I have? I don't want to spend the rest of my life playing soccer...it's a great game, but I don't want it to be my life.' As he thought, the tip of the pencil came to rest on the paper, and an image began to unconsciously come forward. Daisuke suddenly looked downward, and did a double-take. A smile curved his lips.
"Well, *that's* an interesting turn of events."
* * *
Ken sat at his desk, and reached for a key he kept in his jacket. Unnlocking a drawer in the desk, he tried to put his mask and Mark's letter into it. Except that he didn't have the mask with him. He paled.
"I can't have lost it! I have to use it to remember..." He slipped from his office, and glanced about the waiting area. "Leah, did I leave a mask of some type in here?" She shook her head.
"No, Ken-san. I haven't seen anything like that. Are you sure you didn't leave it in the airport?"
"No, I didn't. I had it with me here..." He threw several packs of paper aside, looking frantically for the mask. "I have to find it, Leah, so tell me if you see it." She nodded, and picked up the phone.
"I'll just call the police and tell them all about it, ne?" He glared at her.
"Why do I keep you here, Leah?" She smiled sweetly at him.
"Because I'm beautiful, and intelligent, and despite my insubordination, I'm a good secretary? By the way, you can't have any plans next Wednesday. There's...things being planned." Ken smirked.
"Is it just a coincidence that next Wednesday is my 27th birthday?" Leah smiled enigmatically.
"Maybe. But don't make plans for the 11th, Ken-san."
"Don't worry. I was planning on staying home and thinking." He walked back into his office, and when the door closed, Leah wrote a short message on the whiteboard she used to communicate with Ken sometimes. 'Keep the 11th free, or suffer the consequences, Ken-chan.' Yes, she hated lying to him, but she knew that it was better this way. She picked up a pile of magazines which had been delivered to her, and frowned at the cover of 'Life'.
'International Soccer Star Abandons Sport' There was a montage of photos of Motimoya Daisuke, with a central image of him at a younger age, holding a victory sign up to the camera, a pair of goggles holding his mass of red hair at bay.
* * *
Daisuke looked carefully at the sketch he had made, and picked up a paintbrush. They were hardly quality supplies, but it was a start. The picture was in shades of gray and black, with only a blot of color. As he formed it, he frowned at the appearance of the painting. There was something about the picture he should know about...but he continued, adding shadows and shades where necessary, watching the image come to life. It was a frightening image, but his hand moved with a life of its own. Had he remembered conversations of decades past, he would have worried about the nature of such actions. But he wasn't much for overanalyzing things, much less looking a gift horse in the mouth.
* * *
"This is perfect," Leah said quietly, looking at the immaculately-wrapped box. She carefully scripted a short note, and taped it to the top. "There's no way he'll ever be mad at me for taking all this. Hell, I bet he doesn't even remember he had this stuff." She placed the box on her kitchen table, right next to the door, and headed for her bedroom. Yes, Ken would be very surprised tomorrow.
* * *
"Hi, um, Kari-chan, I've got a question for you," Daisuke mumbled.
"Yeah?" Hikari twirled the phone cord around her finger.
"You see, it's about why I quit soccer. I need you to come over and look at something."
"Sure, but can I bring Miyako over?" Daisuke frowned at the question, and shrugged.
"All right. Just come over and look at it."
* * *
"I'm so...surprised," Ken half-stammered. The entire office had turned out for the surprise party, and they were all listening to his speech. "I really didn't expect you all to go through this. I mean, I may be the boss, but it didn't mean you would all throw such a party for me." There was polite applause, and people continued talking. Leah sidled up to him and handed him a package wrapped in silver paper.
"Hey, boss, I got you a little something, but wait until after the party to open it. It's sort of...personal." She smiled and vanished back into the crowd. Ken watched after her, and took the package to the office.
"I'll look at this right after everyone leaves," he vowed. And then he returned to the music, talking, and laughing of the party.
* * *
Daisuke smiled at Hikari and Miyako.
"All right, brace yourselves," he warned, and walked to a large white object in the center of the room. "You see, I decided that soccer wasn't for me, that I wanted to be remembered for something other than my sports skills, so..." He yanked at the object, and a white sheet was pulled from a painting. Hikari's mouth dropped open, and she stepped backwards.
"My gods..." Miyako gripped the other woman's shoulders.
"Daisuke, how can you paint it when you've never even seen it?" Hikari looked like she was going to faint.
"Please...Dai-kun..." He hurriedly threw the sheet back over the painting.
"I don't understand, though!" he protested. Hikari wandered over to a chair and sat down stiffly.
"Daisuke, what you drew was the Dark Ocean, and from what I've come to understand, you've depicted the birth of the Kaiser. But I..." She stopped, her face betraying the pain the image had caused her.
"Daisuke, that painting was too realistic; the Dark Ocean isn't exactly the sort of thing you want to be showing Kari." Daisuke looked at the covered painting, and then back at the two women.
"Why would I paint Ken? And why when he became the Kaiser?" Miyako shrugged, but wrapped an arm around Hikari's shoulder. The brunette looked up at Daisuke, her face strained, but the sincerity etched in her voice.
"You're very talented, Daisuke, but you need to be careful what you make. Images like these frighten people."
* * *
Ken looked at the box, and carefully peeled away the paper covering it. Then, he pulled up the lid. And gasped.
"The little kleptomaniac," he hissed, pulling his mask from the box, seeing Mark's letter taped to the back. But, left in the box were several pieces of paper and a photo frame. The first piece of paper was an address, written in the neat, precise handwriting Leah used when she paid attention to her work. He set this aside. The next was an article from a recent issue of 'Life'. He set this aside, also, promising to read it later. He picked up the picture frame, and turned it around. The glass was cracked, but the picture beneath it was untouched. It was only half of a photograph, of an arm slung around the shoulders of a grinning teenager who held out his left hand in a victory sign, and the right protruding off the left side of the photo. Red-brown hair, warm, brown eyes, and goggles...Ken dropped the picture on his desk, memories flooding back, reminiscent of the slow gleaning of his memories from the time as the Kaiser-
\"There!" Daisuke proclaimed, ripping the photo in half. He promptly handed one of the halves to Ken. "Now we each have a piece of the same picture, so we'll never forget the other. Ken-chan, can you promise me you won't forget me, even after you become rich and all that stuff?" Ken laughed at Daisuke's pleading look, and slipped the photograph into his wallet.
"No, Dai-chan, I won't ever forget you. We'll be friends forever." He naturally didn't add the last part to his statement, that could have destroyed everything, made Daisuke retreat from him. The certainty of knowing that Daisuke didn't see him in the same way would have driven him-
'I'm waiting, Ken-chan, you just have to reach out to me, and I'll catch you. I'll always be here, the only one you can always count on!'
back to the Kaiser. But he kept the photograph, vowing to himself to never forget its value, to never forget the redhead whose image it kept./
Ken shook off the memory, but finally understood. He glanced at his mask,the importance of which he could see now.
"Spiky red hair, a blush, that combination of innocence and playfullness he always had on his face, and not frog eyes...goggles." He saw the frightening mask now as it should have been viewed, a skewing of the thing he most desired, the part of himself he had lost, the key to his identity. He looked at the article, seeing it was about Daisuke, and drank in everything it said, about Daisuke abandoning his soccer career, entering a new way of life, and how his career, illustrious and glorious, had brought him to fame quickly, and on and on for five and a half pages. But it was about Daisuke, so Ken tolerated the length. He finally put down the article, and turned his chair around to face the window, to stare at the glittering stars outside. He wanted to throw open the window (even though the window technically had no latch; it could be opened in a fire, but that usually shattered it) and shout out his joy to the world. He had found himself again, and finally remembered what he'd buried beneath a mask of marriage and work. "I am in love with Motimoya Daisuke, the most beautiful, courageous, thoughtful, and talented person I know," he announced to his office. "I am in love, and I couldn't care less if he loves me back, because I have found myself! I am Ichijouji Ken and I am in love!" He threw himself into a standing position, and snatched his briefcase, mask, and the address scribbled on the scrap of paper, all in a single swift movement, and strided purposefully through the door. As he literally bounced through the waiting room to the elevator, Leah watched him, amused. She turned to her husband, a wide man who also worked for Ichijouji Consulting.
"I knew he'd love it, honey," she said smugly. "And you wanted to give him a new pager."
* * *
Daisuke stared at the painting, frowning. It was perfect, every detail attended to, every shadow, glimmer, and shine highlighted. It was surreal in its perfection, which made a doubt rise in his mind. Could this painting have been the work of another, or of the innate psychic talent Jun insisted everyone had? Was it possible that he didn't have any artistic talent whatsoever? He decided to test this, to draw something, and ignore any impulses he got. Choose something to draw, and draw it. The first thing that came to mind was Hikari and Miyako. He visualized how they had appeared when they saw the painting he had named "The Birth of Evil", and began to sketch. It wasn't something he concentrated on, but when he was done, it was still good. It didn't hold the precision of his earlier work, but it held traces of his own style, the nuances that showed Daisuke drew this. And, looking at the sketch, the way the two of them were standing close together brought back a painful memory. He placed the paper aside, and reached into his wallet. Flipping it open, he removed a well-worn photograph. Or, rather, half of one. Ken smiled at the photographer, a rather befuddled American tourist who had been in the right place at the right time, not a grin or anything, just a simple smile, of the type Daisuke had learned to cherish for its rarity and sincerity. He only smiled like that, with a hint of amusement touching his eyes, when he was truly happy. Daisuke allowed the photo to drop, and didn't try to stop the tear that followed it.
"Ken-chan, why did you leave and forget me? Why couldn't you come back?"
* * *
"Ken-san? Ken-san?" Leah poked her head into the office, and saw nothing. "That's odd." Suddenly, the phone rang, and she answered it. "Hello, Ichijou-"
"Hi, Leah!" Ken's voice was exuberant, full of life.
"Mr. Ichijouji? Where are you and hwat-?"
"I'm actually on the outskirts of Odaiba. There's some really nice apartments out here, including the home of former soccer champ Motimoya Daisuke." Leah couldn't help the smile that twitched across her face.
"So you ditched work to track down the love of your life?" Ken laughed, and she felt a ripple down her spine. It was an exhilerating thing, to hear Ken Ichijouji laugh, really laugh.
"Yes, Leah, and when I get back, remind me that I've got to think of a suitable punishment for you for raiding my office. I was thinking somewhere along the lines of a 5% raise."
"I don't know, sir, it might be too lax a punishment for me."
"Right. Anyway, Leah, cover for me?"
"Sure, Ken. I'll just tell them you're taking a mental health day."
"Tell them I'm going to Mars for all I care!" There was a final chuckle, and then the phone went dead. Leah placed the receiver back onto the cradle, and grinned. This whole situation just put a positive outlook on life, and she was enjoying it.
* * *
\"Ken? Is that really you? I never thought we'd see you again!" Ken glanced up at the sound of the slightly shrill voice. Of all the people in the small consulting firm to be chosen to help the new temp get her bearings, he was chosen. And of all the people to be that intern, it was Miyako. She had changed in four years, was prettier, still didn't compare to
'Don't think about that! There's no hope in it, so don't think about it!'
Daisuke, but she *was* pretty. He helped her around the office, and after work, they had an informal dinner together. Things just sort of escalated from there. Ken always suspected that he wasn't Miyako's first choice, but things went well between them. And when they agreed to be married, Ken fel that one little doubt go into hiding. That was when he really got his mask on, really got into the role. He was able to ask Daisuke to be his best man, able to ignore the fact that his heart wanted him to ditch the woman for his best friend, able to ignore the
'He's not really jealous; he just probably always gets emotional at weddings.'
pained looks he kept getting from Daisuke, the resigned sighs Miyako made, the twin gazes of Iori and Takeru piercing him, making him feel as if what he had done was wrong. That's why he moved, instead of to Odaiba or Tamachi, to Tokyo. It was just far enough away to pretend that they just lost touch, and...it made things easier. But his heart protested against this mask, and he supposed it must have showed, especially to a woman known for her dedication to emotion and passion. Which is really why the marriage didn't work; Ken was a logical person whose heart was devoted to another, and Miyako a woman who believed desparately in the need for true love in a relationship./
Ken stared at the apartment building before him. He took a few deep breaths, and stepped forward.
"You're just seeing an old friend, just an old friend." It was just Daisuke, only
'The love of my life, my soul mate, the only person I've been able to open up to, the only person who's ever trusted me, cared for me, unconditionally, the only person in this world whose opinion I give a damn about.'
Daisuke. Ken sighed, and stepped into the building. He glanced at the mailboxes, checked Daisuke's apartment number, and built up his courage one last time. The little logical part of him knew that if Daisuke wasn't there, he'd have to get intervention from the rest of the Digidestined just to try this again. He started up the stairs, and almost ran into a short, bespectacled woman.
"Excuse me, but I don't believe you live here," she stated imperiously. "So I would advise you leave before I call the authorities." Ken stepped back from the woman's authoritative glare before responding.
"I-was coming to see a friend of mine," he managed to stammer. Her face softened suddenly.
"Ah, who is it? Are you one of Kikuko's friends? She keeps such odd company, and you look familiar..."
"I actually was here to see Motimoya-kun." Her face split into a smile.
"Ah, yes, you would. But I warn you, no fainting up there. The last time he had company, I had to get the smelling salts. You know, he fancies himself an artist. But I don't have the heart to throw him out; he pays the rent on time, and he's so cute!" The woman now led Ken up the stairs, and continued chatting about her various tenants (as Ken had deduced this woman must be the landlady). At the third floor, she led him into the hallway and pointed. "He's the last door on the right. And be careful in there; he's not got much art in there, but there's that freaky picture he insisted I see. 'Birth of Evil', he calls it. Anyway, maybe I'll see you again. Ja!" And the woman was gone. Ken carefully approached the door indicated to be Ken's, and knocked. There was a clatter, and a hoarse shout.
"Just a minute! Ow! Damn paint; these pants will never be clean again." There was a rustling, as if he was throwing cloth over something, and then-the door opened. Motimoya Daisuke stared in shock at his visitor. "Ken?"
* * *
Yeah, I'm evil...I'm stopping this part here. I actually have only one more part to this story, but as I've said before, there will be sequels (and there will have to be). After I finish my plans for this part, any following stories can't really fit under the title of 'Masquerade', so they will have to be separate titles and whatnot, and I'm rambling, so I'll shut up now. Ja!