Ohohohoho! We've reached my personal favorite part of the series -- the dinner party scene! This is where it gets good! In the next three parts of this fic, nearly every living Chosen gets to narrate at least a section (well, 'cept Daisuke...poor Dai-san, he's all lonely in America, after having had such a tragic life...;_;), and I hope that there's enough to satisfy everyone's tastes!
Honestly, each part really feeds directly from the last part -- dividing this fic into chapters was more for convenience and easy handling of the fic chapters. I really like this part, as not only do I finally write from the point of view of a real writer (whatever one might say about Toei's handling of the Chosen's careers in adult life, I am extremely happy with Takeru's job!), I reach the scene that is basically what I've been building up to for the last two parts. While it spills over somewhat to the next part (there was such a great [from *my* POV] place to stop it that I had to divide it there), this chapter contains the Big Scene. ^_^
Hamasaki Ayumi, for those of you without detailed knowledge of Japanese popular culture, is a very famous idol singer. A rather cruel way of phrasing it is that if Hamasaki Ayumi was an American singer, I would despise her, but since she's Japanese, I willingly adore her. ^^;;
"Where are you taking
me?" Sora asked as she followed Koushirou through his house.
"You'll see," he responded. Sora frowned but continued
following.
After a short journey, Koushirou opened a door and presented her
to the sight of...ta-da!...his bedroom.
"Um," said Sora, uncomfortably. The room looked like a
hotel room, devoid of personality.
He turned to her, black eyes snapping with amusement. "You
know, you're the fourth female to ever see my bedroom -- and two
of them were my daughter and my mother."
"That must have been some party," Sora said without
thinking. "Who was the other female?"
Some of the amusement drained from his face. "Miyako,"
he admitted.
I knew it, she thought. "How long ago?"
"Six months...no, not exactly! It was after...and anyway, we
were just passing through!" He indicated the door ahead of
them.
"What, is there more 'equipment' stored in the back?"
Sora nervously joked. "You know, pineapple-scented condoms,
black leather pants, the works."
"Pineapple? Eh?!" Koushirou looked faintly disgusted.
He pulled a tiny silver chain out from underneath his shirt. On
the end was a key. "Let's find out."
He unlocked the door. Sora was treated to the sight of his study.
Koushirou seated himself at the hugely powerful computer. Sora
hung back and watched his long fingers tap rapidly at the
computer. After a few minutes, he began to speak.
"Ken...Ken had given me his memoirs. In his will. He'd left
them to me. For the past six months, I've been trying to figure
out what he wanted me to do with them. I mean, I've read them
all...they go back quite far.
"They're quite detailed. They start just after Wormmon was
reborn, so he still remembered, quite clearly, what it was like
to be the Kaiser, to have something like that control
you. It's a journal of sorts, I suppose. Fascinating from a
psychological standpoint. Heartbreaking from a friend's view.
"I keep wondering which of us Chosen should read it. I can't
keep in this knowledge much longer, but it wouldn't be
appropriate for everyone to read them. I was a good friend, a
contemporary, although we'd rather drifted apart as we grew
up...I don't want Miyako to read them, not for a year, and I
think you'll understand why when you read them."
"Me?" asked Sora, surprised.
"You," Koushirou nodded. "You're the best choice,
I think. You're kind and considerate and you won't...judge him.
Ah. The file's open. I've highlighted a few sections that I
wanted you to read." He exited the chair and motioned for
her to sit down. Sora, rather awkwardly, sunk down into the
chair, which wasn't quite as comfortable as one might have
expected.
Sora brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and began
reading.
For the next quarter of an hour, there was dead silence, except
for the electronic hum emanating from the computer and occasional
short gasps from Sora.
When she was finished, her stomach had curled itself into knots,
empathizing Ken's pain and torment.
"See why I hesitate giving this to anyone?" Koushirou
asked quietly.
Mind whirling, Sora nodded. Oh my...Ken...Miyako...Daisuke.
"What are your feelings towards Miyako?" Sora
asked suddenly. She swiveled the chair towards him, even though
his back was towards her.
"Who wants to know?" he shot back.
"A friend. Of both of you."
"I..." he started, then stopped. "I never changed
in my feelings."
Sora's eyes softened. "Are you afraid of whether she feels
that way as well?"
"I know she doesn't," he said flatly. "It's too
soon to even think about it, and even then, I had my chance. And
blew it."
"That was nearly twenty years ago," Sora protested.
Koushirou shook his head, still facing away from her. "I
think...I think I can be happy in the knowledge that I love her,
even though she doesn't love me back. As long as she'll be happy,
I'll be happy."
"Love's not supposed to be like that!" Sora protested.
Koushirou finally turned around. Sora wished he hadn't. The look
in his eyes was unnerving. "When has love ever gone
according to storybooks? It doesn't always work out -- in fact,
it rarely works out. I'm not going to risk it. I've got too much
to lose by losing control. Having her as a friend again...is
enough."
"Love works out more often than that," Sora said
weakly.
"Tell that to Yamato," Koushirou snapped.
Sora felt like she'd been slapped.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking surprised at his
own spitefulness. "That was inexcusable of me." Sora
nodded. "But you understand my reluctance."
"You won't be satisfied with being her friend forever,"
Sora warned.
"I know. But no one lives forever. Ken proved that."
Sora gave him a sharp look. Koushirou avoided her gaze and
checked his watch. "It's nearly six. The other Chosen should
be coming soon." He walked to the door and motioned for Sora
to exit the room. After a moment's pause, she got up and walked
out.
After Sora left the room, Koushirou turned off the light and
locked the door, leaving Ken's memoirs glowing on display in the
darkness.
---
Miyako looked around and realized she was the only person over
four feet tall left in the room. Eep.
"Hawkmon," she called, "where did you put Ari's
booster seat?"
"It's over here," Hawkmon said, pointing. Miyako
hurried over to it and settled Ari down carefully. He was over
his crying jag, and seemed ready for sleep.
She looked at Hitomi and Osamu. They looked back. Miyako found
herself strangely unsettled.
From pictures she had seen of Ken as a child, she knew that Osamu
looked just like him, even down to the hairstyle. The only
difference was in the color of hair -- her violet shading, not
his dark blue. Otherwise, he was exactly like Ken, in every way.
Miyako knew that Ken hadn't been a genius in his youth -- in
fact, from what he'd told her, he'd seemed to be rather...simple.
But still...
Miyako had had Osamu tested discreetly -- and not so discreetly
-- several times. She'd found out that his IQ was so high to be
practically unchartable.
That had worried Ken more than anything.
"What if he's inheirited the remnants of the Dark
Seed?" he'd asked once, lying in bed, blue eyes gazing at
more than just the ceiling. "What if...what if he becomes
another Kaiser?"
"He won't be," Miyako had said instantly.
"It's..it's not the same."
"How do you know?" he'd snapped, tight-lipped, and
Miyako retreated. She knew that he was yearning for Daisuke, his
best friend, his savior, the man who had moved to America bare
weeks after Miyako's and Ken's wedding.
She'd always kept a close watch on Osamu, especially after Ken's
death. She knew that most of the reason Ken had been such a
target for the Dark Seed was because of how his brother's death
had affected him. Ken had always been closer with Osamu than she
had.
Osamu hadn't seemed to be affected, at least not as deeply as
Mikomi, who had spent a significant amount of time out and away
from the apartment and who spent the rest of her time moping in
her room. Osamu had just seemed to be the same as ever, very
quiet, very withdrawn, in some way beyond her.
Miyako worried about him, but didn't know how to show it.
She knew that Hitomi was her son's friend, but she'd been unaware
of how close they really were. Hitomi looked so much like a
small, female Koushirou that it was rather hard speaking to her
without comparing her to the baby pictures she'd seen of
Koushirou. Even if she was adopted, she looked just like him.
The major difference, Miyako decided after several moments of
studying Hitomi, was that Hitomi seemed to generate a cloud of
cheerfulness and happiness around her as unselfconsciously as a
sun emited beams of light. Koushirou, even as a child, had always
had an air of studious disapproval -- "go away, I'm doing
something more important than talking to you." Iori had a
bit of it as well.
"Yes, Ichijouji-san?" Hitomi said politely. Miyako
realized she was staring at the girl, and blushed.
Not fair! Even his daughter makes me feel unsettled!
"I was just wondering if you have any music that we can
listen to while waiting for your father to return," Miyako
said back.
Hitomi promptly walked over to a computer and started typing in a
few brief commands. After a moment, she gestured for Miyako to
join her.
"This is Daddy's entire music collection," Hitomi said,
pointing to the screen. "It's all up on the screen. The way
Daddy set it up, the picture of the album it was on will
display...just touch the album you want, and then select the
track. A lot of the music is from when he was a teenager. He's
very proud of his music collection, so don't make fun of
it."
"I won't," Miyako promised, smiling. Being around
Hitomi had that effect on most people.
Bemused, Miyako flipped through the titles. Koushirou may have
been a classical music fan -- different classical works took up a
good half of the collection -- but there were plenty of other
kinda of music to satisfy her tastes...
...Was that the album she thought it was?
Miyako paused in her zipping through the files and hesitantly
reached out to touch the album. It was. It *was*. My god, he
still has it?
It was a Hamasaki Ayumi album. To be specific, the same album
that she'd brought in to a Computer Club meeting one day, to
Koushirou's displeasure. She'd gotten through about three tracks
before he'd been hooked. He'd taken -- borrowed, was the word
he'd used -- her CD that day, and hadn't given it back until he
had a complete collection of Hamasaki Ayumi CDs. It had been to
one of Hamasaki Ayumi's songs that she'd finally convinced him to
dance with her at one of Hikari's parties. "C'mon,
Izumi-sempai, she's your favorite artist, you have to
dance." It had been to another Hamasaki Ayumi song chiming
gently in the backround that she'd finally gotten up the courage
to admit "suki dayo," I like you, to
Koushirou, and heard him respond "suki desu yo,"
I like you too.
Miyako hadn't heard of Hamasaki Ayumi for..oh...decades.
Does he still listen to these albums, with all the bittersweet
memories they must hold for him?
She turned back to the children. "I...don't really want to
listen to this right now." A memory, a wisp of a
conversation she'd had with Koushirou came to light.
"Koushirou-san says that you're really good at playing the
piano, Hitomi-chan. Will you play for me?"
Hitomi beamed. "Okay! Follow me!" Hitomi led the way
out of that room into a different room. It was a very large room,
a grand dining hall, Miyako thought, very tastefully decorated.
There were three tables: one in the precise center of the room,
the other two smaller tables off to the side. In one corner of
the room there was a grand piano.
Hitomi sat down on the bench, her feet dangling off the black
polished wood, a foot from the floor. She placed her slender
hands on the keyboard and started playing.
It was a simple song, suited for a beginner, but it was very
good, the melody pure and strong, with only a few sour notes.
"Excellent, Hitomi-chan!" Miyako applauded at the end.
"Very good," said Osamu.
"Of course it's excellent, Hitomi played it," Motimon
said, beaming.
"I liked it as well," a masculine voice said. Miyako
looked up and saw Koushirou standing in the doorway, Sora
standing behind him. Koushirou's gentle smile was solely for his
daughter.
"Daddy!" Hitomi burst out. "Now you play!"
"Me?" Koushirou asked, looking surprised.
"Please..." Hitomi cajoled. "You're so good!"
"I'm out of practice," he groaned, but let himself be
dragged to the piano bench. His feet were comfortably settled on
the floor. So, Miyako thought, this piano was for
Koushirou and not for his daughter. His long fingers
stretched out over the keys, and he began to play...
The music seemed to pierce through Miyako's skin and envelope her
brain. The music was so sad, it created an actual ache in her
heart, and she later remembered thinking "how can anyone
with such pain locked in his soul still continue to live?"
It cut through to every empathetic nerve in her body, and she
felt like crying as the music filled the room and suffused her
body. She screwed her eyes tight, guarding against the tears that
pricked at them.
The key changed. Instead of sadness, a feeling of light and
happiness spread throughout the room, like a premoniton of hope.
As Koushirou continued playing, the music became altogether
cheerful. Miyako opened her eyes and saw smiles on the faces of
the other people and digimon in the room.
Suddenly, the chords faltered and broke off. Koushirou turned
around and smiled sheepishly. "I haven't written that far
yet. I'm so sorry for the low quality of my work; it really
wasn't worthy to be heard by you yet."
There was dead silence in the room. It was finally only broken by
Osamu's piping voice. "Sir, did you write that piece
yourself?"
"Yes, I did," Koushirou responded slowly. Miyako's eyes
were wide. She'd never, ever seen Osamu open up to someone who
was practically a complete stranger before. Hell, Hikari
could rarely get through to him!
Osamu cocked his head to one side. "How...how did you manage
to put your heart in the piano like that?"
Koushirou gave a half-shrug, looking surprised at Osamu's choice
of words. "I...I'm sorry, it just kind of happens. I can't
explain it."
Osamu continued to interrogate Koushirou. "When did you
start playing piano?"
"It was in my youth...I didn't begin to seriously
contemplate playing until, oh, nearly twenty years ago."
Miyako didn't remember that.
"In twenty years, do you think I could be as good of a piano
player as you?" Osamu asked seriously.
Koushirou's eyes softened. "Osamu-kun, if you practice
really hard, I'm sure you'll be a better piano player than I am
in no time."
Osamu smiled. Koushirou smiled. Sora moved slightly so that she
was next to Miyako and whispered, "Miyako, dear - mouth
looks better shut."
Miyako followed Sora's advice but directed a glare in the older
woman's direction.
The doorbell rang. Koushirou looked at his watch. "Ah, six
o'clock on the dot. It must be Iori and his family." He
walked towards the entrance to the main hall, and everyone
trouped out to follow him.
"Ne, Ichijouji-san," Hitomi piped in a clear voice to
Miyako, "wasn't my daddy amazing?"
Miyako nodded. "He's incredible."
"I'll remember you said that," Sora murmured in an
undertone, which made Miyako blush a bright red.
The door swung open, and Iori came in, one arm around his wife.
Behind them, Himeko was talking excitedly to Mikomi. Miyako could
see Taichi's family and Jyou and his son walking towards the
door.
It looked like the party had started.
---
Takaishi Takeru had always been pretty perceptive.
When Takeru was little and in the Digital World for the first
time, he'd figured out pretty quickly the emotional relationships
in the group and had done his best to relieve the stress and
lessen the pain when possible. As he got older, he was popular
with everyone (with the noticeable exception of Motomiya Daisuke,
whose rivalry had faded over the years) because of his skill of
knowing exactly when to insert a kind word and smile to defuse
angry tension into the cheerful smiles he was most comfortable
around.
In retrospect, it might have been a reason why he and Hikari-chan
had always been such close friends. She was so sensitive to the
emotional climates around her -- so sensitive that someone else's
emotional pain could actually physically affect her -- that his
gift of always making sure that that the emotional temperature
was stuck on "happy" was innately attractive to her.
The gift had stayed with him over the years. Idly, he wondered if
it had manifested in his writing at all. He wasn't sure. It might
be what made him such a good writer, after all -- his ability to
get into his characters' heads and make them feel what he wanted
them to feel -- and, by extension, the readers as well.
It had made him shiver when he had realized how manipulative his
writing could be at times. He couldn't really change it, though.
It was simply a side-effect of how his thoughts expressed
themselves when written down.
As he stepped into the foyer of Koushirou's house, he took stock
of the emotional situation. Luckily, it didn't seem too strained
-- yet, anyway, although parties often ended up in flaming rows.
Hikari, who had entered right before him, gave him a slight
glance underneath her eyelashes. He nodded slightly. No one would
have noticed their silent communication except the most observant
watcher.
His brother, who had once seen their silent communication back
when they were in high school, had commented dryly that they
acted like they were married already. Takeru had agreed, until he
actually married Hanae. For all of Hanae's wonderful qualities --
and Takeru counted the years that he had spent in her company as
some of the best in his life -- he'd never had the same rapport
with Hanae in the four years they were married that he'd had
within minutes of meeting Hikari. He'd never been able to get as
much information from a single glance from Hanae as the loaded
one Hikari had just given him.
Keeping to the orders that Hikari has oh-so-subtly just given
him, he walked over to Kido Jyou, who was standing morosely in a
corner, immersed in a vid-book, the electronic screen mere inches
away from his glasses. Takeru tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Jyou flinched.
"Hey, Jyou, it's just me," Takeru smiled, although he
wondered why Jyou was being such a recluse. While Jyou was never
exactly the life of the party, it was rare to see him hiding in
the corner at a Chosen get-together. "Is that book so good
that you can't put it down to talk to your old friends?"
The doctor actually smiled back, although it was only for a short
time. He tapped a brief command, and the screen went blank.
"The writing is far inferior to your own," Jyou said
dryly. Takeru knew the older man well enough to realize it was a
compliment, despite the wry tone. Jyou brightened slightly.
"Speaking of which, when's your next novel coming out?"
Takeru rubbed his neck with his hand. "I'm having a brief
tangle with writer's block...and so far, the Block is
winning."
Jyou's eyes widened slightly. "I thought that writing came
naturally to you."
"More naturally than anything else, really." That was a
semi-true statement -- Takeru had never really envisioned himself
as anything when growing up, prefering to focus on the now. When
Hikari suggested in their second year of high school that he
should start writing down the events of their youth before it had
faded too far into the halls of history, he'd done so merely to
oblige her -- but he'd found an unexpected pleasure in linking
words together. By simply writing what he knew, he'd become an
international best-selling author with his first novel before
he'd graduated high school, and he'd continued on from there.
"Don't worry, I'll finish before my deadline. I always
do."
"What's your latest novel about?"
Takeru started recounting the plot to Jyou, who listened
intently. Takeru's novels were not exact histories of the
Chosen's times in the digital world -- while they were based on
the events the Chosen Children had gone through, Takeru had added
his own creative twist to what had actually happened. (Among
other things, Takeru was cuter and wittier than any of the other
Chosen actually remembered him being. Mercifully, none of them
had ever called him on it.) It always amused Takeru when his
stories were described as 'historical fiction' -- things that had
happened to him twenty-five years ago weren't exactly like the
dusty annoying books he always remembered hating reading in
class.
The strangest thing about his writing to Takeru himself was that
he did have that unexpected gift of figuring out the emotions and
inner turmoil of the characters he was writing. In almost all
cases, the emotions of the characters matched perfectly with the
actual emotions of the Chosen he was writing about. It worried
him in a distant way. How am I able to do this so often? How
am I able to get inside their heads?
Is this how Hikari-chan feels?
As he spoke with Jyou, Takeru's eyes automatically roamed the
room to spot his son. Mori was surrounded by a group of the older
children, including Jyou's son Shuten. Takeru was rather proud of
how Mori acted; it takes a rare soul who can manage to grow up
fairly normal when faced with a father who every so often would
lock himself in his study with a bag full of popcorn, two pieces
of dry toast, and a case of sodas, write like his life depended
on it until three in the morning, and then sleep like the dead
until noon. Even though Mori was the son of a single (and, Takeru
admitted, somewhat eccentric) parent, he seemed to be turning out
all right indeed.
The rest of the party seemed to be slowly drifting into the
dining room, and who was Takeru to resist the calls of fate? He
and Jyou also made their way to the dining room. There were three
tables. One was obviously for the digimon, judging by the lowered
table legs and extra-large plates. (Takeru knew, without even
thinking about it, the expressions of joy on the faces of the
digimon.) The second was probably for the children, as Hitomi was
sitting at its head. That left the third, centered table for the
adult humans.
Takeru sat down near the middle of the table between Iori on his
left and Hikari on his right. Taichi sat across from him, his
wife Umi sitting beside him. On Taichi's other side was Jyou.
Koushirou sat at the head of the table, Miyako on one side, Sora
on the other. Mikomi and Kakeru were apparently sitting at the
adult table, as they sat next to their respective mothers. Izumi
Satoe, Koushirou's mother, sat at the foot of the table, directly
opposite her son. Reika, Iori's wife, sat between her and Iori.
Takeru was fairly sure that Koushirou didn't have servants
normally, but for tonight there were hired people placing dishes
down and taking away the empty plates. Takeru wasn't sure of the
term to use -- caterers, perhaps? The food was excellent. The
wine served was even better. He ate and drank. And drank. The
others were doing the same, as well. In some cases, they were
over-indulging.
As naturally as breathing, Takeru's mind slipped into Narrative
Mode. His mind took in the scene around it and prepared it for a
scene in one of his books. It was a pleasant feeling, as though
his mind had been wrapped in a blanket and was free to dream...
While to a casual observer the party might have seemed to be
a success, invisible lines of tension ran through the room. Not
even the best efforts of the cheerful Yagami siblings could get
the tension to dispel. Conversation was muted and short.
At the head of the table, Koushirou and Miyako looked as though
they both regretted this party. Sora, however, was watching them
intently, scrutinizing every word they said, as if the two of
them together made up a puzzle she wanted to figure out.
Panning down the table, only the two children, Mikomi and Kakeru,
were speaking in their normal tones. Even then, their
conversation was about trivial things: homework, favorite
vid-books, some new pop artist. Taichi's face was going to be
strained tomorrow with the effort of smiling so hard tonight.
Perhaps the most worrying of all was Jyou. The self-proclaimed
responsible man of the group, who rarely drank at all, had
already downed six glasses of Koushirou's (very good) wine. Jyou
was well-known for not being able to hold his liquor. Iori and
Reika across from him looked very worried.
A baby's shrill cry broke the uneasy silence. Miyako rose swiftly
with hurried apologies and hurried over to the farthest corner of
the room, where Ari had just woken up. She picked him up and
started rocking him back and forth. Satoe disappeared into the
kitchen.
Jyou leaned forward, ending the awkward silence that had started
with Miyako's departure. "So, Koushirou," he said in a
too loud, slightly slurred tone. "When are you going to ask
Miyako to marry you?"
The room went dead silent. Even Ari quieted down, as if to wait
for Koushirou's answer. Miyako slowed in her rocking, and then
stopped, her purple hair falling in front of her face like a
curtain.
After an infinitely long pause, Koushirou answered. His voice was
soft but carried to the far reaches of the room. "What makes
you think I have any intention of marrying Miyako-san,
Jyou?"
"It's obvious," Jyou said, his face flushed. Hikari
flinched at the venom in his tone. "The way you talk about
her, the way that you smile whenever she's nearby, the way that
you'd move heaven and earth to make her happy -- it's just
like..." Jyou faltered. "You're so in love with her,
it's not funny. Why haven't you asked her yet?"
With a start, Takeru blinked, and realized that the events he'd
thought he'd been dreaming up were actually happening. His lips
moved silently as he gazed at Koushirou.
Sora buried her face in her hands.
Taichi looked at Jyou in alarm. "Hey, man, you're
drunk."
"Not drunk enough!" Jyou said with a horrible sort of
false cheerfulness.
"This is so...wrong..." Kakeru whispered.
"How did he know?" Hikari said, equally as quiet.
"Everyone should just calm down," Umi said
authoritatively, although without much hope.
"But is what Jyou-san said...true?" Reika asked, brown
eyes wide.
"I hope not," Iori said grimly.
"I knew it!"
Everyone looked to Mikomi, who had just shrilled the last line.
She stood up.
"I knew you liked my mother! I knew it! I bet she
hates you now! You're never going to be my father, you
stupid...you..."
"Mikomi!" Hikari snapped, eyes wide.
"Oneesama!" Osamu cried out from his place at the other
table. All of the other children and digimon had been watching in
silence.
Kakeru pushed his chair back with such force it fell to the
ground and dashed around the side of the table to Mikomi, who was
ranting incomprehensibly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and
she burst into tears, burying her head into his chest. Looking a
bit confused, Kakeru patted her gently on the back and fixed his
eyes on Koushirou, who had apparently frozen in his spot, a deer
caught in headlights.
"I..." breathed Koushirou. "I..."
There was an audible thud as Jyou's head hit the table. With
that, Koushirou made up his mind.
"This party is over!" Koushirou roared, and stormed
towards the stairs -- which happened to be in the corner Miyako
was inhabiting.
---
Koushirou didn't know what had happened. At one minute, he'd just
been having a slightly boring dinner party. In the next...Jyou
had spilled to everyone that he was in love with Miyako.
How did he even know in the first place? He was too upset to deal
reasonably with anything right now. What he needed was to go to
his office and work on something. Any project would do, he just
had to do something, so that he didn't have to focus on...
So that he didn't have to focus on Miyako who had stood up right
in front of him, blocking his undignified exit. Ari was sitting
in his booster seat again.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
Her bangs were covering her eyes, and her voice was low.
"What Jyou said...was it...was it true?"
Koushirou stared at her. In all the ways he'd imagined admitting
his love for her -- some of them being rather, um, private -- he
hadn't imagined this as being one of the ways.
"Yes. It's true." She looked straight at him in
disbelief. He met her eyes, then looked down -- it was too
painful to stare at her. "I love you. Now let me
through!"
He pushed her, but gently -- not enough so that she'd fall, but
enough for her to move. Then he slammed up the stairs and into
his room, where he fell on the bed, not sure whether to cry or
curse.
---
Miyako was silent for a few minutes, collecting her bearings.
He...he...he can't be serious...he can't...Koushirou can't love
me!
"Iori. Hawkmon. Hikari." Her voice was rougher than
she'd intended. "Please...please make sure my children get
home safely."
With that, she fled up the stairs, following Koushirou's path.
Ah! I'm so evil, ending it there! Please review, and I'll get the next part out as soon as possible!
