Chapter one

I thought it might be nice to try a change to my normal coupling. I'm not sure how many chapters this will have, and although I know its bad practice I'd post them over time as I go….

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon

*****

I watch him sleeping silently, huddled uncomfortably on the couch, the shadows around his face accentuated by the dim light filtering through the chink in the curtains. His laptop is open and still running, it's back turned to me. I had heard the muffled keystrokes earlier this morning, so he must have just fallen asleep and forgotten to turn it off. The thought of reading what was on the screen never crossed my mind, although before I figured he was just writing code which would be meaningless to me, with the amount I owe him respecting his privacy is by far the least I owe him.

I still feel sick at myself. Used, dirty, whatever, they all mean the same thing, I reduced myself to what everyone thought I was, something that I had always fought to prove as the contrary. But still the sickness to be accepted and to belong had gained momentum within me, and eventually I became so scared I gave in.

Its only 4.45am. Although I don't want to face the future I carved for myself, or my own guilt at having had to rely on the one person I could and who I had humiliated and mislead so awfully, I wish he'd wake up so I could gain some reassurance. I know I'm being selfish. I never showed that I cared about him or anyone else, I just acted like they were there for me to treat as my own whims dictated. The others had grown tired of this and disowned me, but he was always there, silently enduring all I had thrown at him, living a precarious existence trapped behind a monitor, forced to give and never receive. And he still hasn't changed. I'm lying in his bed while he's dozing fitfully on the couch after being disturbed in the dead of night by someone timidly knocking at the door. He'd answered, to both my relief and despair, fully dressed despite the time. The insomnia was wearing him down again like it had before. As I cast an eye over the bare walls I remember how  I used to wake up at 2 or 3 am to find him where he was at the moment, typing silently in the darkened lounge. I always asked him why he was still up and he just gave a quiet apology and promised me he'd be in soon, that he'd cracked a problem he'd been working on, that he'd..there was always an excuse. I hate myself now for having had seen his eyes wretched and tired from crying…something had been wrong and I'd completely ignored it. It didn't fit in with my agenda so I'd pretended he was fine. I always asserted that that was what he wanted me to think, and so ultimately it was a win-win situation.

And yet I had never hesitated to offload all my problems on him, to make him carry them for me. And as much as I've realized the mistake I still continue to do it. Last night had been the most frightening night of my life though, and….I can't make excuses. Even after all I'd done to him he didn't even blink twice when he opened the door to me.

Yet still, just thinking of what happened leaves me stranded, as much as I don't want to I need him to be what he's always been, the bearer of everyone else's problems and issues, just a spectator for the good times and Atlas when anyone else hit a glitch. As selfish as I know I am the past few weeks of my now miserable existence have been my lowest. I suppose I should explain…