Author's
notes: I
finally got it finished! I'm very proud of myself, actually .. I was
struggling with it for a few days, writing only a meager sentence or two.
But here it is! I apologize if there are any glaring mistakes, though .. it's
very late at night as I'm uploading this, so I'll just fix 'em if I see any
later. Thanks for coming this far with me! A few actual notes,
though: "doki" is the sound effect for a heartbeat (at least
from what I know), and the li'l portion toward the end (you'll know it when you
see it) is a flashback. Scary. Still expect a third chapter and
epilogue, though! And don't forget to go read what has been finished with
"Fragile Wonderland," by MnM!
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
* * *
O B L I V I O U S S I G N A L S
chapter two
* * *
It could be my mind
That's got me all choked up inside
But of all those feelings I hide
And I start thinking
And I start believing, yeah
We could share our time, that means
Nothing if you aren't mine, and then
I knew you cared about me
'Cause people love to be loved too
( "Could I've Been." Course of Nature. )
* * *
It was actually quite uncanny.
Despite popular belief, Motomiya Daisuke's ego could only be classified as a facade.
His attitude was a fake in a lot of respects when in the company of most
others. The supposedly sensible and logical share of his maladjusted mind
decreed that if the others cared to make fun of him when he acted strong at
heart . . . it was easy to imagine how delighted they would be when they found
he was actually not so sturdy as they once thought.
So tonight was uncanny. Daisuke was actually proud -- not the type
of pride that spawned from his outrageously outspoken second face,
either. He had gone to great lengths to secure that his Hikari-chan would
have the most enjoyable experience on their date possible.
. . . of course, she didn't know about the "true" him either.
Only one person did.
Daisuke's exaggerated grin faded into a gently confused frown. It wasn't the
first or only time that such a line of thought had weaseled its way into the
overblown humors he had of one particular Yagamii girl. Tonight was no
exception for thinking like that . . . no matter how hard Daisuke wished
that he could enjoy a little peace and quiet, his subconscious kept conjuring
up images of pale eyes alight with carefully discreet pain or the memory of the
immense comfort and warmth the eye-bearer's touch could bring.
Daisuke looked at himself in the mirror for a long time. He wasn't
studying his attirement. This time, rather, there was a rather peculiar
sort of self-examination he remained engaged in . . . a type of psychoanalysis
that those who knew him would think was too boring for his short-fused
concentration to focus on.
His falsities were lying on the dresser, waiting to be put on.
He was Loud. That much was for certain. His friends had been known
to complain of tension headaches from the decibels that he opted to spurt at
the most inconvenient of times. For example, it occurred during the
lackadaisical part of a movie ("Jeez, can't they just skip all of this
stuff and get to the action scenes?!"), then right on up to the eventual
climax ("ALL RIIIIIGHT!!"). No one had ever cantered to taking
Daisuke to a symphony concert, and their reasons were all lined up and at
ready.
He was Childish. Maturity wasn't even in his vocabulary. To even
ask him to carry out some simple task that required the intelligence quotient
of a pet rock would be suicide for whatever it was that needed accomplished
(two birds fall, as does one stone: Stupidity). It really wasn't that
his deficit was due to some sort of inherited mental disorder, anyhow.
Procrastination was a plague to most entering their later years . . . Daisuke
was just perhaps, in that manner and that manner only, much quicker on the
uptake (a third bird finds itself in a twisted mess of broken downy and
leaking red: Obliviousness).
Daisuke frowned deeper, unable to continue with his inner monologue of
self-doubt and reproving. The concepts of others about himself and his
many faults were of his own doing, his own stupid mistake if there ever was
one; but, that still didn't keep him from continuing to be at least
slightly acrid about it. There was a difference between cold fact and
urban legend. No one had bothered to pick apart the roots. Except
for the loophole.
And mind you, it wasn't like all of this had come easily. Taichi, the Yagamii
Taichi (big brother to Hikari), had also played a very important role.
Who was one to keep an idol without a little assimilation of their
behavior and personality? Taichi was brave, strong, and dependable, even
a little rash at times, but still had a good, solid head on his
shoulders. And everyone positively adored him . . . was it as
blasphemous as the others made it seem for he to have handed Daisuke those
sacrosanct goggles? Daisuke really would have liked to know.
Sighing inwardly, the Motomiya child again turned a more critical eye toward
his apparel. His clothes may have been what had taken him the longest,
considering it wasn't that such a refined ensemble of lady-killer goods simply
sprang out his closet whenever he willed them to. An artful craftsmanship
had gone into the decor; rummaging about the blackhole of his closet and under
his bed (the drawers on a nearby varnished pine bureau were rarely put to use)
merited few rewards. It was only the cautious gall to sneak and snoop
about his parent's bedroom that gave him what more he needed . . . luckily Jun
had been too preoccupied by the blaring of her radio with the latest hit from
Yamato's band to have spotted his dire impromptu mission. To be caught by
the archenemy and thus reported to the parental units would have procured a
very large dent in his plans.
Dusty cinnamon had been pressed into the name-brand khaki slacks he donned,
accentuated only by the dark lignite belt that wound its way about his
relatively slim frame. The creases from a recent ironing were still
fresh, as was the lush "afterwarmth" that came from a piece of
clothing right out of the dryer -- precious heat contained in woven fibers that
only lasted for an uncalculated span before returning to an undeclared room
temperature. Regardless, the color remotely resembled that of his
otherworldly costume, although these pants lacked the extraneous grass stains
and dirt smears that his digital shorts developed. A stiff ebony shirt,
specifically collared with the sleeves long and cuffed, was tucked inward
conscientiously at the waist, and was also around made of some sort of cotton
material. Nondescript shoes, hands bare, goggles purposefully absent . .
.
Daisuke elicited another threadbare grin, teeth pure against the darker
pigmentation of his skin. To compliment the exhaustive detail he worked
into his stylish-yet-casual wardrobe, his personal appearance was yet to be
forgotten. The magenta-auburn of his hair had always been naturally
rugged and spiky, and tonight there was no end to how pointed those tips could
become if a little overpriced hair gel was put to use. There wasn't much
he could have done about his eyes, of course, but he was rather hubristic of
the coincidental sparkle of gold that laced the muddy brown depths.
He gingerly slipped on his soul's happy-go-lucky guise, last of all.
"Hikari-chan'll be drooling all over me," he told himself with aplomb
that had been unmistakably nonexistent beforehand. Simultaneously
cracking his knuckles and glancing over a hastily scrawled list at his side, he
spent a few moments assuring that all game-day plan elements had been taken
care of for the most part.
The entitled paper of "Things To Do To Make Hikari-chan Happy" was
actually rather short in comparison to all that he seemed to be doing, but
nevertheless he was convinced it was his key to winning the girl over.
His -- Jun's actually, as she was still star-struck over Yamato and legally
mindless -- stereotypical girl magazines proclaimed that subtle romance was The
Way toward the highest rating on the "Hot Guy" scale. There were
several suggestions that had been listed, but certain constraints (a small
weekly allowance could only go so far) limited his choices. There were a
few essentials he wouldn't let himself go without, though.
Just as he had promised nonchalantly that afternoon, those "funny smelling
flowers" were almost number one in his deck of priorities. He spent
quite a few minutes puzzling over what color to get his beloved (it was obvious
he picked roses out of the selection), considering a vast variety would be
placed before him whenever he got to the store. It was only after
revoking the hazy memory of Ken's verbose explanation on flora and the
significance of their shades (he had been struggling in Biology at the time and
Ken had opted to be his tutor) that he reached a conclusion.
While crimson may have represented the obligatory statement of "true
love," his Hikari-chan's favorite color was undoubtedly pink. A
species of rose had been cultured through exclusive crossbreeding to produce a
marbleized rendition of both tints; luckily for Daisuke, the local flower shop
carried such a hybrid.
Slipping on a jacket that was meant to stave off any ill weather that would
cause him discomfort on that special night, Daisuke chuckled at how sensational
everything had progressed so far. He granted an unheard good-bye to his
sister as he loped down the stairs . . . and at the bottom, a softer, more
embarrassed one to his admonishing parents before heading out the door.
* * *
"All
right, here I go." There was a definite pause. There was not a
mote of movement. "Come on, Daisuke . . . you can do
this." Still only quietude as the bouquet-clutching youth tightened
his grip in the slightest on the viridian-stalked roses. Wetting his lips
in resolution, his strangely arid voice again lifted from the depths of his
throat. "Your one and only true love is waiting for you. What
are you stalling for? You'll sweep her off her feet!" Again
his encouragement was meant with inescapable stage-fright. "This is
just silly --"
"Hello, Daisuke."
The said boy nearly jumping out of his own skin had been a direct result of his
failing to notice one particular door had gone ajar. During his ad-lib
rambling, the portal -- upon which a brass plate embossed with
"Yagamii" had been stamped -- had slid open to reveal a sliver of
that apartment's interior. The voice that had so startled him came from
behind that wall of faux pine. Daisuke noticed its high tone was kept
company only by an unrealistically static azure eyeball peering through the
crack, surrounded in snow white.
The boy scowled at Tailmon, relaxing somewhat. "Hey. Where's
Hikari-chan?"
"She's in her room, still getting ready. But I guess you're
welcome to come in and wait," the feline drawled while that single optical
unit lightened a few shades with mirth, "even if I'd rather see you have
to stay outside. Both her brother and her parents aren't here (she didn't
want them seeing her going on a date with you), and Agumon is probably
napping. Just don't make a lot of noise."
He was disappointed somewhere in the corner of his emotional state -- after
all, he had no parents present to impress and who would therefore chirk Hikari
toward dating him steadily in the future. That had been his foolproof
backup plan, if by some chance tonight the girl of his dreams was not destined
to end up falling under his spell for the rest of eternity. Giving an
overly dramatic sigh of discontent, Daisuke amiably shuffled into the apartment
much to the chagrin of Tailmon, who shut the door soon after.
"She's down the hall, on the left," the feral digital partner
supplied impassively, wandering over to the couch where she had been dining on
a bowl of popcorn and watching some sort of aged black and white film.
"Yeah . . . thanks," muttered Daisuke, setting his sights on the
near-at-hand destination. His steps carried him a bantam length of
hallway that separated him from his potential soul-mate, while a dappled
rainbow of butterflies found that clog-dancing in his stomach was very
amusing. He stopped short of reaching the threshold of the door he noted
as being shut tight, his observation having caught the glimmer of something out
of the corner of his eye.
Turning his head, Daisuke was then face to face with a mirror. Its
architecture was quite elaborate and grandiose for the otherwise modest
homestead (spotted with only a few pictures here and there of the Yagamii
family and some freshly cut flowers on corner tables), its detailed edges made
up of a lukewarm gold that was pleasant on the eyes. More interested in
the lustrous silver sheen than the perimeter, he squinted at his reflection,
scrutinizing every detail possible . . .
The dawning of relief in mahogany eyes.
No cracks in the mask.
The dawning of arrogance in mahogany eyes.
His attention again strayed in characteristic fashion toward the cavity where
his Hikari-chan was undoubtedly primping and preening herself into the ethereal
angel he always knew her to be. Instinctual glee prompted him to
"surprise" her by entering unannounced . . . but the ubiquitous
warning posted by his common sense dictated otherwise. Doing so would,
essentially, result in one immensely unhappy Hikari-chan.
A little harmless eavesdropping, however, his sensibility had no qualms
about. Inching closer to the door with the discreetness of a
shadow-cloaked ninja, Daisuke cautiously pressed one ear against the
surface. While sticking out his tongue and squinting one eye to hopefully
(but illogically) help amplify any sounds passing through the wood, the
Motomiya boy also bolstered both head and shoulder against the frame, his
farthest foot lifted slightly in the air.
A voice! A-ha, the sly Daisuke thought, for perhaps he would hear
his Hikari-chan twitter away to herself about how wonderful he was. The
media between the ear and the room's interior blotted out the usually acute
articulation of the words.
Needless to say, the listener was frustrated. However, various other
sounds were more distinct, like the wooden clatter of cabinets opening and
closing in a seemingly frantic search for some absent item. The raucous
noise continued for what seemed like an eternity to the poor boy, who cast a
despondent look toward the cat-faced, tail-swinging clock that grinned
mockingly at him from the adjacent wall.
"Girls take soooo long," Daisuke whined inwardly, attempting to make
the feline timepiece burst into flames with his wrathful glare.
After a moment of musing, his glower gave way to a smirk when he recalled the
scramble his sister always went through before her Saturday night dates
(read: "ritualistic stalking of Ishida Yamato under the cover of
darkness"). Be that as it may, Daisuke was beginning to find himself
more exasperated with each bang and clang and mumbling he picked up.
He cleared his throat with an unparalleled sophistication, as though his
following words were going to go directly to a national assembly that had been
thrown together for him. Frowning importantly after retracting his ear
from the wood, his knuckles lightly rapped and tapped on Hikari's door.
"Hikari-chan," Daisuke called, beckoning in his most suave voice
(Tailmon could be heard complaining from the next room), "your great
protector, your knight in shining armor, your fearless prince . . ."
A pause, for effect.
". . . I am here!"
As he began to congratulate himself on how smooth he was (Tailmon had flung a
throw pillow at him out of detestation, but he disregarded that), he also noted
faintly that all sound had ceased from within the room. Concerned
that his voice may have caused the occupants to instantaneously perish from its
sultry timbre, Daisuke again sidled up beside the door. His momentary
reverie was cut short when a forlorn yelp of ire assaulted his hearing, lancing
right through the impulsive quiet, and was only worsened when a hasty slam of
a window followed. Perplexed, and rubbing at his ringing ear, Daisuke
could detect that even as the pane of glass clinked merrily in its framework, a
soft patter of footsteps was heading towards him.
Realization hit him like a falling sack of bricks from five stories up.
His Hikari-chan was getting ready to open the door! And here he was, all
but peeping through the keyhole for a chance to spy on her -- what would she
think? Gathering himself agilely, with as much dignity as he could
manage, Daisuke retreated a few steps to a respectable distance away.
Rearranging the roses he had been holding the entire time, he took a deep
breath. It was do or die.
She has to like me, she just has to . . . this has got to be perfect --
The door opened. And Daisuke's mental process ground to a halt in
mid-thought.
(dokidoki)
Virginal white had always been the shade that had best defined the
parameters of her soul. Any predisposed fancy of a heavenly aurora
marking her body as it did her anima were one of many, and right then and
there, with the customary and humble clothes of the norm discarded if for only
one night . . . such velleities were implemented.
(dokidokidoki)
Spaghetti straps were braided about one another, and furthermore crisscrossed in
an intricate pattern over milky shoulders; all the same, modesty called for
tantalizing flesh to be revealed only to a particular level, or in this case,
to a sloping area just beneath her collarbone's lowest point. From there,
purity reigned in albata, marred only by the silvery-red motif of an
angel-winged heart. Midriff was another exception for the hour, as was
further demonstrated by the top's sheer cutoff at the bottom of her ribcage.
She's . . .
After a heart-stopping bout of more untainted skin, slight curves were accented
in the white jeans that hugged her hips closely. Flaring slightly at the
knees, the denim went through cascades of dissolving color . . . light pink
eked from ivory, then deepened until murky ruby overtook the legs' cuffs.
Opaque sandals encased lily feet, studded with opal clasps on their respective
sides. Petunia-painted nails brushed considerately through the clean
brunette silk that hung down to her chin, a side of it drawn upward like a
tableau curtain with a barrette of glittery diamonds.
(doki)
Eyes of a watery garnet and maple combination cautiously met with
Daisuke's. Charcoal eyeliner was apparent but not heavy . . . only
providing a depth that made what hues it bordered richer than before.
Lashes quivered in the aftermath of one blink, roseate lips parting . . . and
Hikari smiled at him, tentatively.
She's . . . amazing.
Suffice to say, Ken's eyes had nothing on her.
* * *
Moonlight. Streamers of chaste undeflowered light cast bands of
illumination over the pair standing inconspicuously beside one another, bodies
nearly touching. A precautionary rise of concrete and metal prevents
either of the two from descending to an early, unwanted death in the wine-dark
river they overlook . . . one they both know well. It is the end of their
journey.
The fiery one, now tamed and exposed beneath the owl-light, scrunches his brow
in earnest. Fingers wrap around the cold railing that keeps him safe,
feeling a bite from the frost that always descends on Odaiba during the winter,
feeling a bite from his harsh reality.
His voice is extremely soft when it comes, quivering with a vulnerability he
never thought anyone could bring out of him. His mouth is full of cotton,
and it is freezing, but he is sweating in his clothes. "Ken?"
His opposite, the icy one fair of face, lifts pale violet eyes in his
direction. Digits drab in twilight tuck rouge strands of inky satin
behind a flawless ear, while their possessor offers a genuine smile.
"Yes, Daisuke?"
(Two hearts beating as one . . .)
"I . . ."
Ken smiles, waiting patiently. His eyes are luminous and warm.
Inviting.
(And he's so close . . .)
". . . it's nothing, Ken. Nevermind."
(. . . but is he close enough?)