Shields

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.

Author's Note: This will probably be seen as out of character, but does one really know what goes behind another's head?

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He dances delighted beneath a red sun, free of confinement, frothing with bliss. Others lounge about and dismiss him as foolishness, allowing for a few insults to coat him like boiling oil before their attention is diverted. His shield settles to the floor like a drifting rose petal, before he gathers back into his arms. His chocolate eyes, for a split second, reveal hurt at the others' dismissal, but only for a second before it is wiped clean to have them appear blank and idiotic.

His dancing was only a way to get attention, attention that had quickly changed to disgust. He knew no other way to act. For so long he'd acted as the fool, though he knew he was not that, and he'd begun thinking it would be best if he were one. His former self had begun to disappear, slowly being tucked into a bed from which it would never awaken. No one would ever know the true him; they wouldn't even realize what was happening.

As I stop the car to pick him up, I sigh. I have my own mask, as well as most. However, I've been lucky enough to remain myself underneath it. I curse the fate that has made it so that he couldn't. Parting from his lonely position on the outskirts of the group, he lumbers slowly towards me, slumped slightly. My face is blank again, for I know I can do nothing. After all, what can one Jun Motomiya do? Daisuke was already lost, confined to life as a lost soul forever.