Necessary Disclaimer of Goodness: I don't own this show.. or these characters. I don't own the chair I'm sitting on. These glasses are mine, though… you can't have em!
Authors Note: I freely admit that this is senseless, long and pointless, totally without direction. It is nothing more than pages and pages of testing to try to get myself into a Ken state of mind. However, I like how it ends, so I'm throwing it on here anyway. But like I said.. it goes nowhere.. and I know.
Shameless Plug: Chapter 1 of Schism is up. Chapter 2 is halfway done, keep your eyes peeled.
In the Eyes of
By ShiniJekka
****************
Too many of my mornings tend to start the same way.
Anywhere from ten minutes to a half-hour before my alarm goes off is a possible window of time for it to happen, just like it does four, five times a week. I haven't been able to discern any reasonable pattern for it; it seems to be rather random, though in all honestly I hadn't put much effort to it. It's enough of a violent and unsettling start to the day that I'd rather not analyze it once its over.
Just thinking about it, here and now, can bring the entirety to the surface of my thoughts.
Bolting upward, sucking in strangled gulps of air like a drowning man unsure if he's even broken the surface, wheezing past a strange weight on the chest, a constriction, a bind of tightest iron allows… eyes open wide and searching, panicked, seeking that which moments before had me in the grip of terror and even now fades into dream, unfathomable, unreachable…
Wormmon, for all that he loves me, is getting a little tired of being hurled across the room by my desperate thrashings. He's stopped asking what's wrong, this past week. He knows I really can't say.
Or know.
Or want to guess. I think I have an inkling of what it feels is happening, but the concept is so unwanted, I far prefer to gild it over with the ignorance of a normal boy.
If you know me, you'd know you ought to laugh there.
It'd be far too keeping with the trend for me to slip into guilty self-accusations, and just this once I take charge of the morning enough to shake away the familiar surge of emotion; I deftly snatch, move, re-code, and reboot my internal systems. Ken v.1 morning routine, out the window. I don't need it, this morning. I don't need that angst. With a deep breath and a swipe of silken bangs from my eyes, I mentally double-click on my new format. Ken v.2.
And it lasts as far as school.
"….phenomenon of neutrino oscillation, which requires neutrinos to have non-zero mass, will alter our view of the world of elementary particles. Consequently the Standard Model, the currently prevailing theory of the elementary particles, must be modified. In the Standard Model the neutrinos are assumed to have zero mass. The finding will also make the theories of the Grand Unification more viable and attractive, and make the universe heavier than we currently assume.
"Now, to confirm…"
Just a short amount of time ago, this would have been so easy. Common denominators were stepping stones, parabolas would form in my mind's eye at a bare glance of equation. Lately I should be lucky I recognize the Pythagorean Theorem.
It isn't that I miss the intelligence. I can see now what it was I lost to have it… what I may well never get back. I don't miss the ease of calculating, the dance of physics, the delicacies of computer programming laid out at my fingertips. I know that those skills were never wholly mine.
The problem is, I know this, but the people around me right now? How are they to know that the suddenly shy boy has more stain on his soul than they'd care to know? Would the adoring public 'ooh' and 'aah' to find the morning headline spelling the torture and death that comprised my "time away"?
To be truthful, the media is leaving me alone, a blessing for which I can thank Kami-sama every day. It terrifies me to see old news footage (doting parents were thrifty enough to record it all, and they seem to be of the mind that an occasional screening of "back when" might inspire me to ascend to academic greatness once more). It chills me to the core to see the me I used to be; smug, confident, and ever so tolerant of the insects around him. I feel sometimes that if I saw myself in a camera lens, it would be him looking back.
But luckily, I repeat, the media leaves me be. And the students? Too thrilled to bear witness to the fall of Infallible Ichijouji to wonder beyond the outward appearance.
It wouldn't be the first case of a young genius encountering burnout.
Though I'd wager I'm the first to have owned a whip.
The final bell can never come early enough. Loaded down with makeup work (still, from my two month absence) and the usual allotment of home assignment beside, I slip out the classroom and through the hall with nary a word to my classmates.
If animals can sense which of them are inadequate in the wild, it figures that humans have a similar knack for thinning their herd. If I felt any less welcome, it'd be because I'd have been kicked in the gut.
Such is school, and currently over. I wait for the halls to nearly empty, and open my locker, already smiling.
Inside waits my very best friend, with the remains of the sandwich and celery stalks I'd brought (my parents are thrilled to see me eat more, but Mama's dying to know how I don't gain an ounce. Somehow I doubt advising her to befriend a Digimon would help, though DigiDiet has a lovely sound to it).
"Can we go outside now?" Wormmon asks quietly, eyes pleading as no other facial feature ever could.
"Absolutely," I whisper, opening my bag and making room for him. He scuttles inside, humming happily as I make sure his antennae don't snag on a zipper.
"You need to bring an air freshener after the weekend, Ken-chan," he says, almost as an afterthought. "The locker next to yours smells a lot like old gym socks."
"Or Daisuke's curry?" I murmur with a smile, hearing a light chuckle from within the bag.
It's perfect timing that as I think of him, I step out into the sun.
The grass along the walkway must have just been cut – it's all uniform length and the sharp, acrid freshness of the scent is almost heady as I stroll with my digital partner tucked away. It's a Friday, so I could lay aside academics for at least a night and breathe a sigh of relief. The other Digidestined like to meet at the pizza parlor on Friday nights. Once I would have shunned them – now I wouldn't miss it for the world.
On the same note, the person I used to be would never have used the phrase "the other Digidestined". The "cursed", or "those bratty", maybe.
I was so, so lonely then, but thankfully those scars are slowly fading. Some of the memories are still so crystalline, so sharp that I feel cut up for owning them at all. Some… more, lately… some are gradually stepping away, are fuzzy and strange, detached as though they belonged to someone else entirely.
It's sunny outside, and I'm content enough that my internal monologue drifts into an almost uplifting tone. It's all right, because I'm making better memories to replace those with; memories and thoughts more fitting for a boy my age, and not the tyrannical plotting of the despot who would be emperor. Instead of slaves, I have friends – wonderful, wonderful people who I'd
Do anything to protect. Instead of attention and interviews, I get quiet walks and peace, if not peace of mind. Instead of the coarse, cold handle of a whip to hang onto, I've got…
Heh. I've thought of him again. It happens more and more lately, like I'm slowly but inevitably circling inwards on a spiral track towards always thinking of him. Some morning I'll wake up and think "Daisuke", and all my thoughts from then will be Daisuke, and my dream will have been of Daisuke, and for breakfast I'll have—
"Ken-chan, why is your face so red?"
I fan myself with a hand to hurriedly rid the flush of the thought.
"I sunburn easily," I reassure hurriedly. The weight of my backpack shifts, which means he's looking over my shoulder… Ah yes, there he is. Aquamarine-hued irises are shimmering with amusement and affection, and automatically I reach up to rub at his head. He leans into it grateful and almost ecstatically; my friend loves contact.
When he looks at me like that, how could I not supply?
"Would you like an icecream?" I offer spontaneously. "We can eat it on the way home, then chores before meeting the others."
"I'd like that," he admits, and I feel him nuzzle against my cheek.
If it makes him happy…
If it can even start to make for an iota of the hurt I've caused him… I swear I'll buy him all the icecream there is.
The impromptu snack lasts us the entire walk home, I with my pistachio ("Green like me!" Wormmon chirps) and he with his black raspberry ("Purple like your eyes," he notes shyly). Feasting and chatting as though we hadn't a care, the pair of us entered my building and stopped in front of the elevator button.
I look to the sides carefully, and hold my bag up to the panel. Wormmon's little feet stick out and delicately jab at the appropriate button for upwards. I can hear him giggle in delight.
All Digimon have a love of food, but mine may be the only one with an elevator fetish. Since it's midday there isn't likely to be anyone around, so I smile and listen to his amused noises the duration of the way up.
Really, though, even if he were heard, I could just make up some story. I've become rather famously talented at that while living my double life.
The ding that proclaims our arrival is met with a final chuckle from the precious being in my schoolbag, though I'm more interested with the note on my door.
"Ken honey ~
Papa has a late night at work, and I'm at the grocery store. I know Fridays you like to spend with your friends ~ why not sleep over that nice Daisuke's house? Call me when you're sure!
Love, Mama
P.s. There's still leftover tako in the fridge, and please work on your homework very hard! We worry."
They worry.
Amazing how that one last post-script completely soured my mood. Do they think I'm not working hard? Are they afraid I'm slacking off somewhere?
But how could I possibly expect them to know that their son's genius status was afforded at the cost of his soul? I can't ever be that person I was before, neither the genius nor the innocent. They have no way of knowing that little Ken's sudden talents were the byproducts of an implant to turn him into an egotistical nightmare.
And, in the end, a tool…
"Ken-chan..?"
At the worried tone of his voice, I shake myself slightly. I've been staring at the note for several minutes, gawking like an idiot.
"I'm all right, Wormmon," I reassure him gently. "I was thinking about what I should pack to sleep over Daisuke's."
He chirrups softly, nuzzles against the side of my head and hops to the floor, scurrying toward my room.
"I'll help you pick stuff out," he offers, eyes shining.
I smile for him, because it'll make him feel better. My faithful Digimon knows as well as I that my reassurance was a lie, but he also knows that sometimes it's best to let things stand.
"Ken-chan! Do green pants look good with yellow shirts?"
A blink, and wince, and chuckle.
"Not really. Let me help you."
For some reason, what I wear to Daisuke's house is exceedingly important…
"Ken! Hey, Ken!"
Over the din and bustle of a busy restaurant, I hear him like the clear resonance of a bell, reverberating through my every molecule and focusing my attention. His calling of my name is the sounding of a temple gong, calling me to worship.
Ever the faithful attendant, I step to him in haste, pretending I don't hear a tiny giggle from inside my dufflebag.
Wormmon and I, after much deliberation, chose a simple pair of black slacks and a light, button down shirt of lavender grey… a simple outfit that I must have agonized over a hundred times. Never again will the words "… and it doesn't make my butt look too big?" be uttered by this Ichijouji.
Reaching his table I discover that Miyako and Hikari are already present, and there dash my dreams of being alone with my Daisuke for a moment or two. There will always be tonight, I suppose.
"Hey, Ken!" Kari chirps, looking up from her careful study of the menu, though we all know she'll order pineapple as she always does. Miyako pauses in her careful structuring of forks and knives to give me a frighteningly happy look.
If it were possible for pupils to resemble stars…
"Hello," I greet in turn, sliding into the booth beside Daisuke and across from the girls, carefully settling my bag on the floor under the table, trusting the other Digimon to give mine a hand getting out. We've gotten a few odd looks from waitresses now and then.
"How's everything going?" Kari asks politely, folding her hands on the table. "How's your family?"
"They're alright, thank you," I reply, blinking as I feel Wormmon poke my leg. He'd prefer I be honest about the pressure, but I'd rather not burden anyone with troubles I created on my own. "And how are things in Odaiba?"
"Well-.."
"Kari wrote a huge long poem in class about something like a big battle between dark and light which was pretty interesting, and the teacher liked it, but she liked mine, too," Miyako suddenly interrupts. "Mine was about a guy I like."
And she stares at me.
"… Anou.."
"Geeez, Miyako, lay off for a minute," Daisuke suddenly says, recovering from astonishment at her ability to talk at excessive speeds, and simultaneously increasing my adoration for him twofold. "Ken just got here and you're already going all moon-eyed!"
Miyako stutters for a moment, pulling a menu in front of her face and muttering softly.
"Never said it was him…"
Kari gives me a sympathetic little smile, looking up as Takeru and Iori arrive.
"Are we late?" Takeru asks, looking around as Iori nods to everyone in solemn greeting. Daisuke waves like a loon while I nod back respectfully.
Two more Digimon are added to the gathering under our table.
"Nope, just in time." Kari scoots over a bit to accommodate everyone into the booth. Daisuke makes room for Iori, practically smooshing me into the side of the way as he shoves to the side.
"We haven't even ordered yet," he adds, holding up his menu. I pry myself off the woodwork and shoot him a dark little look, which he counters with a sweet smile and a batting of his eyelashes.
I have no defenses for such potent weaponry, and look through my menu with a sigh.
The night passes as most of our nights do, with lots of stories and jokes and good-natured teasing. The Digimon below us share pieces of pizza slipped to them carefully. Occasionally a chorus of high-pitched giggling floats up. Miyako gazes at me adoringly until some other desirable male steps into view, Iori eats in relative silence and now and then remarks that this isn't the healthiest food. Kari is so thrilled to have edibles that aren't made of tofu that she offers to eat his if he won't, at which point Takeru puts himself in the doghouse by telling her she ought to watch it if she still wants to fit in her swimsuit.
Chaos ensues.
By 8 or 9 we're all filled to brim, with pizza and breadsticks, soda and frenchfries, and giddy with the pure acceptance of our friendship.
As usual, I find myself wondering what I may have done to possibly deserve such wonderful people in my life.
As usual, Daisuke notices and pokes me in the ribs until I lighten up. We smile and wave to the others as they head for their respective homes, and gather up our precious little companions, plus my bag of clothes, to head for his house.
Streetlights suffice as our romantic moonlight during the walk, as the real one hasn't risen quite yet. I have to watch the street signs as I'm still not quite used to his part of town, and once walked right by his house without noticing. He found it highly amusing.
"So how are things with you, Ken?" he asks, bouncing Chibimon in his arms slightly as the blue creature giggles. Wormmon glances over from his perch on my shoulder, then directs his attention back to me.
"Alright, I guess," I reply slowly. "I'm really glad it's the weekend."
"You and me both," Daisuke groans. "If I see one more equilateral triangle I'm gonna kick it across town."
"Consider yourself lucky," I smirk. "We're going over the existence of antimatter."
"If you combine pasta and antipasta, do they explode?"
And I can only stare at him.
He eventually snickers and shakes his head. "Kidding, Ken. That stuff sounds pretty hard."
"Didn't used to be," I sigh, and find his deep russet gaze studying me from the side.
"You can get it back, you know," he finally says. "Even people who don't start out smart can get smart."
"They're not exactly giving me the time or chance," I point out. "I think they know that I'm under pressure. It's like everyone's watching close to see how much it'll take to make me break."
"I'm sure it's not like that, Ken," Daisuke reassures me. "No one's vicious like that."
"Things are different on my side of the river," I mutter.
"But we're on the same side now, aren't we?"
I pause, midstep, and look at him thoughtfully. He's got a chesire-esque smile to him, rocking on his heels and waiting kindly.
"Are you talking about more than school placement?"
"Am I smart enough to actually use a decent metaphor?" He winks.
"When you want to be," I admit.
"Then yes, I am. C'mon, let's play some videogames!"
We've reached his house, and I hadn't noticed. Wormmon chuckles in my ear.
I'm not known as the Donkey Madness Master for nothing. Three hours of gameplay later, the score is 23-3 in favor of myself, and Daisuke is twitching on the carpet.
"Not to take your lack of dark spore for granted or anything," he splutters, "but I was hoping this would get easier!"
"I guess a few of my talents are purely mine," I reply with a smile and a shrug. He harumphs and scratches at his chest under the plain tee shirt.
"Ready for bed?"
"I'm not really tired," I admit, smoothing a wrinkle out of the soft, bluegrey fabric of my nightshirt. It's too hot outside for long pants, but I've always liked pajamas with long sleeves, so I wear them even with boxers.
Everyone has his or her little quirks.
"Me neither," Daisuke says, sitting up and glancing toward the corner, where our Digimon lay sleeping nestled in a heap of blanket. "And I don't think they're gonna be much fun right now."
"Tired from all that eating, no doubt," I say with a laugh.
"Digesting is hard work. I should know." He flexes and jumps to his feet. "Wanna look at the stars from my terrace?"
I'm taken by surprise again, not used to his spurts of sudden romanticism.
"…Alright."
"Awesome." He pulls the sliding door open and steps out into the night air, beckoning me to follow with a crooked finger.
I do so, breathing in the fragrance of the warm night air. Everything is so still, and despite the light pollution from the center of the city we have a clear view of a million stars and galaxies.
He stands still and silent, eyes on the sky, and for a moment I turn my back to the celestial wonders to gaze at the boy who's heart beats in time with mine. His breathing is slow and soft, in through his nose, out through his mouth, hair wafting in a light breeze. The entirety of the sky is reflected in his eyes.
I'm holding my breath.
His gaze meets mine suddenly, and he smiles at me.
Doki-doki…
"Aren't you going to look?"
"…H-hai." I pivot to the side, looking up at the stars, still dazzled slightly.
The moon finally decided to rise, at some point, and it hovers directly across from us now, swollen and giant and orange, half-hiding behind a thin veil of cloudwisp.
It lights up the sky.
"Something sad and wonderful," I whisper to myself, and in the quivering pause of the night my Daisuke hears me.
"What is?" he asks gently.
"We'll never see this, exactly like this... these stars, this moon… never again."
"But there'll be other nights with stars and moons, you know."
"That's why it's sad and wonderful," I admit with a nod.
He is silent for a long moment, and we're both gazing out into infinity.
A warm hand rests upon mine.
Doki-doki…
"I have something sad and wonderful, too," Daisuke whispers, and leans in to kiss my forehead.
After a long moment of stillness, he leads me inside.
**end**
tako is octopus
doki-doki is the sound of a heartbeat
That giant lot of scientific dribble is from an article detailing the usage of a Japanese invention to better locate the presence of Dark Matter. Public knowledge.
this is a test, this is only a test
but I thought you might like it, after all.