Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon. Or Matt and Joe, although that would be fun *hentai grin* Emiko, however, is my own creation and, although I can't fathom why anyone would want to, I would appreciate it if she wasn't used without my permission.
Thanks: To my best friend shimmercat and to Rachel Lynn, who has been the most annoyi--er persistent in her queries about the status of this chapter. You're the best beta-reader I couldn't ask for and a more wonderful friend.
Author's Notes: Drumroll, please! *glances expectantly at her muse*
Moose: *rolls eyes and pantomimes beating a drum*
Here it is, the long awaited third chapter of Shades of Grey'!
Moose: *cheers unenthusiastically* Yay.
*glares* Oh shut up, you. *turns back to the audience* Well, this was supposed to be the final chapter of this fic oops. It's all his fault *points at Moose*
not really, but it feels nice to blame it on someone. *grins* It took me a month, a whole ~month~, to come up with what I wanted to include in this chapter, and to realize that I couldn't conclude this fic in just three chapters. *sighs* There's just so much I still want to include. So much more pain and angst to inflict on Matt *rubs hands together sadistically*
Moose: *backs away slowly*
I have the next two chapters planned out, so they should come fairly quickly. As for where/when it will end? *shrugs* Who knows
Well, anyway. Enjoy!
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Shades of Grey
Chapter 3: Backslide
~*~*~*~
I watch from where I lay sprawled
I smile inwardly as I look at the stuff around me. Joe is nothing if not organized. Even his messes are orderly. Everything that has gone on to the bed–although it doesn't yet have a place in the room–has gone into a specific pile. Every so often he'll stand in front of me with some precious article clutched in his hand, agonizing over whether to put it in the pile by my head or perhaps the pile by my left hand. I shake my head. Granted, my room's cleaner than the average teenage guy's, but I'm still no where near as fastidious as Joe about having everything organized and in it's proper place.
Putting down the magazine I was attempting to read, I grab the top item from the nearest pile, curiosity–and slight boredom–finally getting the better of me, to see if he has anything interesting in his room that I don't know about.
"Hey, Joe, what's this?" I hold up a green file folder full of papers, which just happened to be the first thing within reach. He looks up from where he is kneeling in front of his filing cabinet (organized to a fault; I think he's the only teenager I know how has a filing cabinet and uses it regularly) and smiles.
"Hmm, that's a good question"
"You mean you don't know?" I gasp in mock horror. He ignores me.
"What does the label say?"
"Umm I search the folder for anything resembling a label, careful not to spill the contents. "Nope, no label." I can't help but laugh at the bewildered expression on his face. "Oh, no, the world's going to end. Joe Kido forgot to label a folder."
"I didn't forget–"
"Rii~ght"
"I didn't." He glares at me. I just love it when he gets defensive. "I ran out."
"Whatever you say, Joe. So," I flip the folder open, "let's see what we have here? What juicy details can we learn about Joe from his history notes?" Why am I not surprised? Not that I don't already know most of his juicy details', but it's the principle of the thing. "C'mon, Joe. History notes? From," I glance at the date (carefully penciled in the corner next to the class name, of course), "tenth grade?" I roll my eyes. "I know you don't like to throw things away, but old school work?"
"It's interesting stuff besides, you never know when something like that might be useful." He just shrugs and goes back to organizing the papers in his filing cabinet. I sigh and close the folder. He's not fun to tease when he doesn't rise to the occasion.
"Ah ha!" he shouts suddenly and I nearly jump out of my skin, upsetting several of the piles around me in my surprise. "I found them!"
"Geez, Joe! You scared the shit out of me! Found what?!"
He holds a sheet of paper up for my inspection. "The labels," he says, obviously proud of himself. "I know I hadn't run out. Hand me that folder, will you?"
I look down at the folder still clutched in my hands, then at the junk still somewhat piled around me. "I'm afraid to move."
He rolls his eyes. "You're just being lazy."
"If you say so," I say dubiously and begin to shift myself into a sitting position. A stack of book and small boxes next to my elbow teeters precariously.
"Ack! Stop!" Joe pushes himself quickly to his feet and runs over to catch the pile before it topples completely. "You knew that was going to happen," he accuses.
I smirk and lie back slowly, making myself comfortable again. "You called me lazy. I had to prove you wrong." I hold out the folder to him, feigning indifference.
"Thank you, he says curtly, snatching it from my grasp. He stalks back to the filing cabinet and plops down, pretending to ignore me and concentrating all his attention on labeling the folder full of history notes. I return my attention to the stuff around me, trying to re-stack some of the things that had fallen when I jostled them.
I pull a random shoebox towards myself and stare at the contents. "Good gods, Joe, I had no idea you had so many of these." It was filled nearly to the brim with plastic miniatures from almost every anime imaginable.
He blushes. "My mom buys them for me. She thinks there cute and she says they're cheaper than therapy." That's it, verdict's in, my best friend's a nut case. "Don't look at me like that, Matt, you know it's true. Besides, if I recall correctly, there's a small shelf in the corner of your room almost entirely devoted to things like that."
"Shut up. I still don't have as many as you."
"Yes, but I didn't buy most of mine."
We exchange glares of death, but, as usual, we can only hold the expression for so long until one of us looses it and starts laughing.
Still chuckling I move to put the box back where I think it belongs. Just as I'm about to set it down, I notice a small square of paper pressed against one of the walls. Curiosity getting the better of my once again, I place the box on my stomach and extract it.
I flip the paper over and blink. Written carefully in blue ink is a phone number. It isn't Joe's handwriting, though; I'd recognize his sorry attempts anywhere. But whose phone number would Joe have randomly lying around his room
"Emiko." Of course.
"What about her?"
"What?" I look over at him, startled. "What are you talking about?"
"Emiko. You just said her name." I did? "Are you okay, Matt?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking"
"What's that?" he asks, gesturing to the paper in my hand and walking towards me.
"Oh, just something I–" I pause as he pulls it from my fingers and examines it. A flash of recognition crosses his face and he smiles faintly, his eyes suddenly distant.
"Emiko's phone number." He sighs happily. "She gave this to me day I asked her out. Told me to"
I tune him out. This is great, just great! Way to go, Ishida! I shake my head and sigh heavily, not that he'd notice, of course. I was doing so well, and then I had to go and find that stupid phone number and he's off on cloud nine babbling about how wonderful Emiko is without giving a single thought to my feelings. About the situation. Let's not go there.
Look at him; he looks so happy. Why can't I be happy for him? That's the question, isn't it? My wonderful, attract–intelligent best friend has found someone he's sure is perfect for him. Maybe I just don't want him to get hurt. Maybe if I met her I'd be more comfortable with the whole situation. Maybe–
"Oh shit." Joe says, jerking me from my thoughts.
"Joe?"
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"
"Joe, what's wrong?" I stare at him, concerned. Joe rarely cusses; he thinks it shows lack of intelligence.
"What time is it?"
I'm confused. "You have a watch."
"So. So do you. What time is it?"
"Umm six-ish. Why? What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing really important," his voice drips with sarcasm. "I just have an hour before my date with Emiko."
I blink. "I don't understand. You have an hour. Why is this such a big deal."
"I have an hour until I have to be there to pick her up and it take half an hour to get to her house which only leaves me half an hour to get ready to go and I have to take a shower and I don't know what I'm going to wear" I think he's hyperventilating.
"Joe, take a deep breath." I push myself off the bed, not caring anymore what I knock over, and place my hand on his shoulder. "Joe, calm down, it's okay."
"How?" He looks at me imploringly. "How is it okay? I'm going to be late and it'll ruin everything." He sighs heavily and flops down into the chair by his desk.
"It is going to be okay. You're not going to be late. Do you need to take a shower?" I look down at him. "You look fine to me." I squelch the thoughts that try to accompany that statement.
"I've been cleaning all afternoon, I feel dusty and sweaty and gross. Even if I look fine, I don't feel it."
"Okay, so you need to take a shower. It shouldn't take too long." I reach down and pull him to his feet. "And while you're doing that, I'll find you something suitable to wear. Formal or casual?"
"Casual, but not jeans casual. I have to look presentable if her parents are home."
"Gotcha." I smile at him. "Go take your shower, the clock is ticking."
"Matt" He pauses in the doorway and looks back. "Thanks."
"No problem."
As he walks out the door I head over to his dresser. I know exactly what he should wear. Rifling through the drawers I pull out a pale violet silk shirt and a pair of black trousers. I remember when he bought the shirt. It was when Sora and I were still dating and he asked both of us to come with him to help him pick out an outfit for a hospital function his father wanted him to attend. Sora found the shirt and told him he just had to try it on. He said he didn't like the color, but Sora was very persistent and he eventually acquiesced. He came out of the dressing room with a very dubious expression on his face, but we convinced him that the shirt really did look good on him. Sora claimed that the shirt hung well on him and I loved the shade. He still doesn't believe me, but it brings out the color in his dark eyes.
Pulling myself back to the present, I realize that both articles need to be ironed. I head to the his parents' room where I know there's an iron and an ironing board and proceed to smooth the wrinkles from the clothing, thanking my father under my breath for my independence and the fact that I had to learn domestic skills such as this.
When the shirt and slacks are wrinkle-free, I head back to Joe's room. I push open the door just as he turns around, wearing nothing but his boxers. It takes all my will power to keep my mouth closed and my eyes from bugging out of my head. And I though he looked good clothed. Damn. He's not built by any stretch of the imagination, but there is definite definition and I shake my head slightly.
"Here," I hand him the carefully ironed clothes and settle into the chair by his desk, trying to refrain from staring at him too blatantly.
"They're warm." He looks at me, surprised. "You ironed them?"
"Yeah" I'm blushing. I hate blushing. His eyes widen and I look away. "Well you did say you wanted to look presentable. It's hard to impress people when you're clothes are all wrinkled."
"I Thank you, Matt."
By the time I look back, he's fully clothed, although the shirt is still untucked, and he's digging through the top drawer of his dresser, a pair of socks dangling from his mouth. I can't help but chuckle. "What are you looking for?"
"Mah belph."
"You're belt? Why?"
He pulled away from the dresser, belt in hand and removed the socks from his mouth. "It looks better. So," he stands, "what do you think?"
I shrug indifferently. "Eh, you'll pass." Gods, he looks good.
"I'll pass? What kind of answer is that?" he asks indignantly and I run out the door and down the hallway before he can find someway
When he finally joins me I already have on my shoes. As he's donning his own, I glance down at my watch. "See, it's only six twenty. I told you you wouldn't be late. You might even be early."
"I would have been late if you hadn't been here. Thanks, Matt."
"You worry too much. Besides, ten to one says she won't be ready even if you ring her doorbell right at seven. You know how women are" I grin at him and he just shakes his head.
"Now I know why you don't have a girlfriend."
"Shut up."
I walk with him to the train station and wish him luck on his date. Not that he'll need it. If Emiko's even half as intelligent as Joe makes her out to be, she'll be head over heels for him by the end of the evening. Which–I have to remind myself–is a good thing.
As I watch Joe's train disappear down the track, I decide that I don't want to go home. It's always so empty and while that's nice sometimes, I don't really want to be alone right now. I head out of the station and down the crowded sidewalk, no real destination in mind.
As I walk I watch the people around me interact and for some reason everything reminds me of Joe. The harried salaryman rushing past me, the two kids playing tag as their mothers' talk in front of a street vendor, the two friends sitting on a park bench eating ice cream and chatting even the little old woman tottering along the sidewalk reminds me of a story Joe once told me about his grandmother.
This is so frustrating. Every time I think this little attraction, or infatuation, or whatever, is just a figment of my imagination and that everything is normal between us, something like this afternoon happens. Joe will do something (like wander around his house half-naked) and I'll be reminded of just how achingly attractive Joe is in his own shy, unassuming way. I sigh angrily.
I don't want to be attracted to my best friend, dammit. I don't want to have feelings for Joe because that means I'm gay and I don't want that. I have nothing against homosexuality or people who are homosexual, but I don't want to deal with it and all of the associated headaches. Telling my father, my brother, my friends Joe.
How would they react? Would they treat me any differently? Would they hate me? Would Joe hate me? I don't want that. I don't even want to consider that. I don't want to loose my best friend simply because I think I might be in love with him.
I think I might be in love with him? Oh gods.
But it's true. All the pieces fit. I've always been "attracted" to him mentally, if that's how you want to put it. He's my best friend. We met when we were young and it didn't matter as much, but there had to be something in the mental attraction department or we wouldn't still be friends. And there's always been the deeper connection. He's always been able to make me feel better, no matter what was wrong. And I'm pretty sure I can do the same for him. We understand each other, we always have. But that's just friendship, no need to read anything deeper. I love him, yes, but as a friend.
But I've always believed that there's a very fine line between "love" and being "in love", and that line is physical attraction. And recently, although I hate to admit it, I have felt attracted to him physically. It was my father's stupid question that got me thinking about it, but I think it's always sort of been in the back of my mind.
So I'm in love with my best friend. What the hell do I do now?
As I'm wondering this, I feel my stomach growl and I realize it's been a while since I've eaten. I check to make sure I have enough for a small dinner and while searching out a suitable place to eat I discover that in my wanderings I've ended up only a few short blocks from my own apartment.
Deciding that I still would rather eat out than take the time to cook something, I spot my favorite restaurant across the street and begin to make my way towards it. Just as I'm about to cross the street, a familiar figure walks out of the restaurant, arm in arm with girl I don't recognize.
Joe.
Damn. Objectively, I do have to admit that he has very good taste. She's very pretty. But that doesn't stop me from being jealous. And I've never liked the ugly way jealousy twists my insides and clouds my thoughts and emotions.
My appetite is fading rapidly and without bothering to even make my presence known I turn and walk home, suddenly very tired.
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To be continued
Hopefully it won't take me more than a month to put out the next chapter. -.-;;
And, as always, comments, criticisms are greatly appreciated (flames will be displayed on the Jyori ML and laughed at heartily). Please, tell me what you think, I'd love to know. ^.^