Author's Notes: Ye gads, another story that's not a part of "Meek!" What is this? Well, this is Kyra's prize for getting the name right from my last story. Mouai does indeed mean "Blind Love." So, Kyra wanted an Iori/Miyako friendship fic. And so, she shall have one! This was inspired by the fact that it just snowed here. Huzzah for weather inspired fanfiction!
I gave Iori's father a name, seeing as how I talk about him a bit in this story. Yakuin, which means "officer" in Japanese. Suiting, I thought. I love my Japanese to English dictionary. Now, if only this semester of Japanese would actually stay in my head, I'll pass my final!
And, on a completely unrelated note, I got a Chibimon plushie! I really did. My God, it's cute! Nothing cuter than Chibimon, just nothing! ... Except maybe his Digidestined, but that's only my opinion. ;) *ahem* Now, if only the Crosswinds file manager was online. I have Digimon pics to upload! Including a prequel/sequel pic to "The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth." *sighs* Goobery Crosswinds.
There are many Japanese traditions and customs that are quite different than American traditions and customs. Certain holidays are celebrated differently, such as Valentine's day, where in Japan it is the women who give men boxes of chocolates. School is also different, as it goes through to Saturday.
Therefore, it stands to reason that Snow Days are handled differently in Japan than in America. After all, Japanese children are generally calmer and more refined than the loud mouthed, wild and fast children in the states. So, it would be no surprise if Japanese children used this unexpected day off to get some schoolwork done or help around the house.
Or maybe not.
Snow Days in Odaiba were spent with mobs of freedom crazed children running around, lobbing snowballs at each other and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to get in the way. To say that most adults were glad to be at work and relatively safe from the younger set would be an understatement.
The Digidestined were no different. In the park, the third generation of the Chosen Children played among their peers. Bundled in warm jackets, with scarves tightly around their necks and gloves protecting their already cold hands, they were not the children sworn to save two worlds. No, today as Hikari made snow angels, today as Daisuke and Miyako joined in a snowball fight, today as Takeru did his best to make the perfect snowman, today as Ken sat on a bench reading a cherished book, today they were just a group of kids having a good time.
Well, all except for Iori.
The small boy stood underneath a snow-covered tree, his arms crossed, and his faced buried in his yellow scarf. Socializing was just something Iori was not in to. It's not that he didn't want to be friendly. After all, his grandfather always told him to be polite. No, it was just that Iori wasn't very comfortable in crowds of other children. He felt much better around a group of adults. But he had always been a serious, mature character.
It was his duty. He was, above all, the only other male in his household besides his grandfather. And, as much as Iori didn't want to think about it, there wasn't the best of likelihood's that his grandfather would live to see Iori even make it to the age of eighteen. Which would leave him to be the man of the house. He simply couldn't afford to act so childish.
Of course, there were people who had other plans for the boy.
"Duck, Iori!"
The brown haired boy barely had a chance to flinch before a snowball pelted him on the side of the head. Blinking, he brushed the cold, melting snow of his now cold cheek, frowning as some of the white stuff slipped behind the cover of his scarf and onto his neck. Cold and wet. Two things Iori didn't like being.
Miyako jogged up to him, giggling. "I warned you!"
Iori continued to frown. "Yeah."
Her smile faded and her brown eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry, Iori-kun. I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you'd like to join in. Daisuke and I have gotten just about everyone in the snowball fight. Even Ken!" she laughed, then frowned herself. "Though, he's a lot better than I was expecting. I haven't been able to get him once!"
"I'm not really in the mood for a snowball fight, Miyako-san. Thank you," Iori apologized, huddling further into his scarf.
"Oh, please!" she pleaded, offering her best doe-eyed expression. "It'll be fun."
"No, that's all right," he shook his head. "I'll just watch."
"Oh. Okay," Miyako sighed. She gazed at him sadly for a moment. Then, with a flippant shrug, she walked over and leaned against the tree, beside him. "I'll just watch, too, then."
Iori stared up at her, surprised. "B-but you were having fun."
"Yeah, I guess," she agreed, offhanded. Her eyes locked onto his, and she smiled. "But, where would the fun be if my best friend's not enjoying it, too?"
Of its own accord, his mouth fell open. Sometimes, his silly friend said things that had the strangest affects on him. Iori prided himself on being mature, and in control of himself at all times. But every so often, Miyako would do something; would laugh a certain way, would crinkle her nose in a funny manner when she was disgusted with something, or would simply say something that would totally knock him off his feet. As soon as he thought he had figured her out, she'd fling him a curve ball like this.
"You..." he swallowed. "You mean that, Miyako-san?"
"Of course, I do, silly!" she declared, jokingly bumping him with her hip. She beamed down at him with her best smile. "We're best friends, right?"
He nodded, quickly.
"Well, then, if you're not playing, I'm not playing!" She emphasized her statement by crossing her arms and lifting her chin high in the air.
Iori watched her for a long moment, feeling something strange in his chest; like he wanted to cry and smile at the same time. He didn't understand it, it wasn't something he ever experienced before. At least, not at this magnitude, not for a long time. Not since his father had...
His father had liked the snow. Iori could remember Yakuin Hida, the man with the strong arms and the knowing green eyes, as he carried him into the thick snow in front of their apartment building. He had been only three at the time, and his father had taught him how to make the perfect snowball. They had played together for hours before his mother had called them in for supper. He had never had so much fun in his life, just being a young child playing with his father. No responsibilities, no worries. No thoughts of how soon those carefree days would end, and how painfully it would happen.
Something dripped onto Iori's scarf, snapping him out of his reverie. He looked down and saw a small drop of water on the yellow material, sparkling in the winter sun. Gazing up to see the snow covered branches of the tree, he noticed it wasn't dripping. It was still far too cold for anything to be melting. He frowned, not understanding, until he felt something slide down his cheek. With shock, he placed his gloved hands on his face, noting how the cottony material became wet at the touch. He was crying.
With a surprised and embarrassed grunt, he wiped haphazardly at his face, trying to quickly get rid of the evidence. He was not supposed to be acting in such a childish manner.
"Iori-kun?" A gentle hand went to his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, Miyako-san," he murmured, not trusting his voice to go any louder. After thoroughly rubbing his cheeks till they turned red, he dared to look up at her concerned face.
"You sure?" she pushed, gently.
"Yes," he nodded, offering a halfhearted smile.
He could tell she didn't really believe him, but she smiled back just the same. "Okay."
Miyako went back to watching the snowball fight. Iori caught the look of wistful longing on her face. She really did want to join in the fun, but she refused to leave her friend's side. But Miyako was always like that. Ever since he'd met her, she was always trying to get him involved, always trying to get him to have fun. It was like she had made it her personal mission to see him happy.
Iori looked over at the children throwing snow at each other. They were running around red faced and laughing, the white, powdery flinging here and there. The small boy found himself frowning at Takeru's form, mentally chiding his friend for making such flimsy snowballs. Didn't he know you had to press them tightly to make sure they stayed solid before impact?
Then Iori scolded himself. Who was he to think such things? He wasn't even participating. He stole a glance at Miyako, who felt his stare and smiled down at him. She was always there for him. There wasn't a day gone by that she didn't try to make him smile at least once. She wanted him to be a kid, to have some fun. But he hadn't had childlike fun in a long time. He wasn't even sure he could anymore.
He shuffled his feet, snow crunching underneath them. He looked down at the glittering stuff, its brightness in the sun forcing him to squint. His father had been a lot like Miyako. The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. No, the two weren't similar when it came to lifestyles, or even much in personality. But it was the way that they had always treated him that made Iori notice the parallels. They had never pushed him to act older than he was. They had wanted him to enjoy the simplicities that came with his young age. They had encouraged him to just be a little boy having fun. They both had wanted him to find happiness in the carefree lifestyle that a small child was entitled to. They had wanted him to be happy with who he was, and not turn himself into something he thought others would want him to be.
Iori kicked one foot, watching the snow fling off the tip of it. His father had so loved playing in the snow with him. It just didn't seem right to have fun in it without him. He looked at Miyako, with her longing expression, and felt his heart become heavy. But, wasn't it just as wrong of him to keep Miyako from having fun? She deserved to enjoy herself more than anyone. And would his father had really wanted him to stop playing in the snow? Just be a little boy for once. That's what his father had wanted. That's want Miyako wanted. Just be himself, and delight in things that adults were jealous that they couldn't do anymore.
"Miyako-san?" Iori prompted, hesitantly.
"Hm?" she looked at him with warm, questioning eyes.
"I'd... I'd like to play," he stated, barely above a whisper. "If that's okay, that is."
She blinked a few times, obviously shocked. Then, a smile bright enough to rival the sun graced her face. "Of course, it's okay! But are you sure, Iori-kun? I don't want you to do anything you really don't want to."
"Yes, I want... " he took a deep breath, and smiled a surprisingly relaxed smile. "I want to play."
"Well, okay then!" Miyako grinned. She shook her index finger. "But I warn you. I'm pretty good."
He followed her out to the white field, where the snow was still flying, and children were still running and laughing. With his small legs quivering in apprehension, Iori bent down and picked up a handful of snow. He remembered how his father had helped him, telling him how to clench his hands just so, so that the snow would stick together.
His father had also taught him how to do it quickly, in case of being in a snowball fight like he was. Unfortunately, Iori had presently forgotten that part. Otherwise, he would've been prepared for the snowball that collided with his back. Not that it hurt much. In fact, he barely felt it at all, considering most of it had disintegrated before crashing into him. Still, some snow did fling up over his shoulders. Brushing it off with his free hand, he turned around to face his aggressor. Takeru.
"Gotcha!" the blonde boy laughed, good naturedly. "You're gonna have to be quicker, Iori."
The boy was not impressed, and forced a smirk off his face. "That was a poorly made snowball, Takeru-san." Without warning, he chucked the ball of white at his friend, the snow impacting onto Takeru's chest, and exploding in all directions, including into the blonde's face. "Now, that's how to make a snowball," Iori grinned.
A very well made snowball to his shoulder was what answered Iori. He spun around to see a beaming Miyako.
"Bingo!" she declared. "Told ya I was good, Iori-kun. Gah-!" she yelped as she was struck from behind.
"Better watch yourself better than that, Miyako-san!" Ken laughed, and easily dodged one of her attacks.
"Ooo, before this game is through, I'm gonna get you, Ken Ichijouji!" Miyako shouted at the blue haired boy's retreating figure. "Mark my words!"
Past that, it was all a blur for Iori. A white, cold, wet blur. He could feel snow everywhere. In his boots, in his gloves. Especially his scarf. But it actually didn't bother him. Somewhere in the middle of it, the whole thing became fun. Just to run around and see how many people he could hit with a snowball. It seemed suddenly so natural to play with children he had never met before. And, of course, nailing Miyako so that her glasses were covered with snow had been an admitted highlight. The subsequent barrage of snowballs from her hadn't been, though. Even so, he laughed along with her. Real laughing, something he didn't do very often. And it felt so very nice. It was... good to be a kid.
Until, that is, the fateful snowball that crashed into the side of his head.
There is a definitive rule in snowball fights. A rule of great and valued importance. It was practically a commandment. "Thou shalt not throw iceballs." The white thing that had slammed into Iori's cheek was definitely not a snowball. It was far too hard, far too cold, and far too painful. It actually rattled him. And he stopped moving all together until the shock of it wore off. Unfortunately, when the shock left him, the pain took its place. His outer cheek throbbed, and he could taste blood. He must've bit the inside of his cheek by accident.
With a small whimper, he placed a hand to his reddened face, and squeezed his eyes shut as if to force the pain out. Almost in an instant, Miyako was at his side. Like she could just sense his distress.
"What's wrong, Iori-kun?" she questioned, concerned. Her brown eyes
widened when he took his hand away from his cheek. The surprise on her
face quickly changed to anger, and she spun around to the crowd, one hand
protectively on his shoulder. "Hey! Someone threw an iceball! Who
did it? C'mon, you creep! Which one of you threw that iceball at
him?" The level of her voice made just about every child cringe with fear,
with the possible exception of the Digidestined, who were used to it. But
it was only a possible exception; Daisuke looked like he cringed, too.
Not that anyone would blame him.
"When I find out which one of you did it, I'll... " Miyako let the
threat hang in the air, this time causing everyone to gulp almost audibly.
"Miyako-san," Iori pulled her sleeve to get her attention.
"Yes?" she turned to him, the anger instantly dropping and being replaced with concern.
"I'm okay," he told her. "Really."
"But... " she blinked. "Are you sure?"
Always looking out for him, wasn't she? He smiled. "Yeah. I'm okay. I'd... I'd like to finish the game, all right?"
"Well," Miyako blinked again, "if you want to."
He gave her a quick grin, then ran a few steps ahead of her, and quickly scooped up some snow, before throwing it squarely at her. She squealed as the cold stuff hit her. She looked at him with surprised, yet delighted eyes. He smiled again. It was okay to be a kid. Really, it was.
With a laugh, she declared, "I'm gonna get you for that, Iori-kun!"
In an instant, the snow was flying again. But this time, Iori and Miyako seemed to only be focused on one another. Which was just fine by Iori. He could have fun with her. He could just be an nine year old boy, playing with his best friend. He could be happy. And being happy, and being with Miyako... there were times where it seemed to be the same thing to him.
The End.
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