Author's Note: Being very prolific lately, I actually finished beta'ing this chapter. And *shock*horror* the next one is well on its way to being born. Again my sincere apologies for making all of you wait so long. And just for that, I'm leaving you with another nice cliffie!

The Ken-angst is fading into oblivion and the Daisuke-centric fiction reigns supreme. Why do my stories always do this to me? But at least the evil laughter spawned some intrigue… ^_^

Random Babbling
: I absolutely entirely wholly hate the way Yolei pronounces 'Ichijouji' in the English dub. And Cody is evil. Any takers for my 'I-believe-in-the-evilness-of-Hida-Iori' Club?




Just walk, Dai. Just keep going.

Motomiya Daisuke paced quickly along the quiet suburban streets. Instinct allowed him to take the ingrained turns and shortcuts that would bring him to school.

Keep going. You'll make it; just don't stop.

His head hung low, eyes fixated firmly on the paving stones that flew past his vision as he repeated his silent mantra. He didn't even dare glance up. He couldn't face what he knew he would see. He didn't want any memories to plague him.

Try as he might, though, he could not prevent himself from contemplating the various landmarks that he passed: it happened reflexively. His mind's eye saw that chipped park bench off to the right, covered in layers of graffiti, and even without raising his line of vision, he knew that it was just a few meters away from him. Daisuke had contributed to the mass of sketches and pictures once long ago, a simple 'D + K' that must now have been lost under a collage of others. When he had shown it to Ken, the charcoal haired boy had crossed his arms at that blatant vandalism; yet Daisuke's later inspection of the scribble had revealed that the plus sign had been modified into a crude heart. Daisuke rushed past and tried to swallow down the hitch in his throat, his passage disturbing some litter, and he bit his lip to prevent its quivering.

A few strides on, and he was at the street corner where somebody had once barreled past him and spilled some sort of sickly sweet beverage all over his clothing. The image of a hysterical Ken flooded back to him. The boy had laughed so much at Daisuke's comment about how hard it would be to wash the fizzy drink out of his hair; it wasn't until the bedraggled Daisuke had purposely shaken himself all over him that Ken's mirth subsided. And the washing out hadn't been difficult in the least, not with somebody else doing the brunt of the work…

Don't think about it!

He walked awhile with a carefully blank mind, forcing himself to keep occupied with mundane things like chores, appointments and multiplication tables. And for a while, it worked. But the plan was not infallible, and his mind began its inevitable journey back to heedless reminiscences.

A take-out restaurant's signature odours wafted in his direction; it was the one that sold, in his eclectic opinion, the best ramen noodles on that side of Japan. Daisuke had spent many an impromptu date with his raven-haired sweetheart there; they had been all but regular customers, always ordering the same and always arguing about each others' lack of taste. Daisuke could virtually see Ken sweeping his hair back, the argument's victory having gone the genius's way. He shoved the memory aside stubbornly, essaying to ignore the temptingly implicating smells.

One foot in front of the other… Just keep moving forward.

He was in the park now, under the cool stands of ancient trees that formed a dense forest of flora, one that was ideal for losing oneself in. He knew the clearing, just a hundred steps into the dense foliage, which seemed to be made as the perfect picnic spot, complete with gurgling stream and ample comfortable seating. He had spent a lot of time there. With Ken. With the other Digidestined as well, but predominantly with Ken.

NO! No more pathetic thoughts! Ken's not here and you have to face it, Daisuke!

The sharpness of the inner voice surprised him, but Daisuke took strength from it as he continued his journey, refusing to think about all of the connotations of the ice-cream vendor, the traffic light, the turnoff to Ken's apartment…

It was a veritable miracle that Daisuke made it to school without a severe degree of emotional breakdown. It seemed as though the entire city was conspiring against his oath of regaining his life. Every turn, every step had brought some reminder of the one person that Daisuke would never see or touch again. His willpower had been tested to the point of breaking and he had almost surrendered to the easy option of simply turning around and returning to the secluded safety of his bedroom. Almost.

Now, the apathetic gates of Odaiba High School greeted his rigid form. It was just after the start of classes for the day, so the grounds were devoid of people, but he saw the occasional shape flitting along within the building. That brought back the memory of the previous night's ordeal, as well as his fatigue. But Daisuke hadn't been dubbed the bullheaded one for nothing. He was going to go through with this one day at school. Even if it killed him. And, quite frankly, it seemed about to do just that.

The next step that he made must have been one of the hardest in his life: a stride towards change, acceptance and, physically, towards the dreaded school. The next came more easily, as did the one after, and soon Daisuke was making steady progress. Lessons awaited. He belatedly realized that it was Wednesday and that his first class was on the far end of the main school building.

The corridors were eerily quiet: the only noise was the muffled clamour of lessons going on behind closed doors. He detoured past the stand of lockers to fetch the appropriate books, purposefully delaying his arrival to class. Everything looked the same. Same old dented lockers, same badly-swept floor, same conspicuously scribbled-on walls. Why, then, did the atmosphere feel so different?

Daisuke sidled up to his own locker, entered the combination and gingerly pulled open the door. His caution was well rewarded: the stench of something in an advanced state of decomposition assaulted his senses, as did the violent upheaval of all of the things that had been crammed inside weeks ago. The mess spilt out onto the floor. He was able to identify the source of the foul odour, a sandwich that he had planned on keeping for the day after, a day that had passed two weeks ago. Daisuke scooped up the mould and quickly disposed it, snatched out his books and stuffed the remainder of the items back into the inadequate space. The door was deftly closed and locked.

Unable to legitimately stall any longer, Daisuke started off towards his classroom. But he was stopped yet again. He glanced hesitantly to his right. There it was: Ken's locker.

He turned to face it, a showdown of wits that would not have been out of place in a classic Western film. Daisuke, daring the locker to rebel his less than fragile hopes; the locker itself almost daring him to walk past. He stared it down, then realized how ridiculous the entire situation truly was and frowned.

Couldn't have picked a better time to become paranoid.

But for some reason, he could not step away from the locker. It would be so easy just to reach up and open it… Unable to withhold the impulse, he deftly entered the lock's combination and, glancing furtively around, eased the door open. The disappointment at seeing it empty hit him like an oncoming train. He couldn't even have that comfort, that little fragment of his lover to hang onto.

"What were you expecting?" he asked aloud. Frustrated, he slammed the door shut, no longer caring about the racket that he was making. He was in the process of turning away when a glimpse of white caught his eye. A piece of paper lay nearby on the floor, one that Daisuke could have sworn hadn't been there a moment earlier. He surmised that it must have been loosened from its place by his violent closure of the door. Without realizing it, he assumed that it was for him. Another staring match would have ensued had Daisuke not heard, at that precise moment, somebody striding down the corridor. He scooped up the paper, deposited it into his satchel and innocently resumed his march to class.

And then, there it was: the moment of truth, the beginning of the rest of his life. The classroom door. Just beyond it lay a future of honest realization and the long, weary trudge out of his emotional mire. Daisuke stood still for a moment, unsure if that was what he really wanted. He weighed the options up: Stay embittered and hopelessly clingy for the rest of his life, or face the fact that the world was short on beautiful, talented, generous person. He knew what he had to do, and he knew what he wanted to do. The conflict within him grew, capturing Daisuke in a blank-minded, heart-wrenching stasis.

The door hung like an ominous shadow, towering above him, discouraging his entry. Everything in him screamed to turn back and hold onto his oblivious beliefs, everything except one miniscule tug of resistance. The part of him that yearned reprieve from the tortures he inflicted on his mind and soul with every denial of Ken's death. The part of him that frowned when he grinned fakely, that cried when he put on the pretense of laughter, that danced when he was otherwise depressed. It was something deeper than subconscious: it was his truth, pure and simple. And now it made itself known, in hideous Technicolour, and then Daisuke knew what he would do, come pain or fear or sleet or snow.

He opened the door.

It was not unlike the breaking of a wave on jagged weather-beaten rocks: Daisuke, swept about in the currents of his inner mayhem, hit head-first into the solid wall of reality.

Ken's chair was empty.

His classmates stared, the teacher spun and dropped her chalk, but Daisuke did not notice any of it. His eyes – his entire being – was fixated on the wooden chair next to the window. He began to shiver: a muscle deep tension onset by his shock. He was distantly aware of a tingling on his cheeks, heedless tears drawing a salty trail down his face, and he felt his throat catch on an invisible snag. Arms went limp, knees became shaky and unstable. A thousand images vied for pole position in his mind.

"He's really gone."

Daisuke hadn't meant to speak aloud. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, his one final chance. Maybe, if he opened them again, he would waken from his nightmarish life and find that…

He opened his eyes.

And Ken wasn't there.

It was in that precise second that the inevitable reality was made fully open and available to him, in all its harsh and magnificent glory. For now, for tomorrow, forever: his black-haired lover was no more.

Daisuke was halfway down the corridor before he even realized that he was running.

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The trees whispered comfortingly as a breeze disturbed their mostly naked branches. The sun was shining brightly, yet did little to dispel the icy bite of the air, resigning itself instead to playing with shadows and caressing exposed surfaces with a mother's tenderness. Here and there, green buds heralded the arrival of Spring: the coming of warmth and joy and life. But one boy did not heed their optimistic message. Daisuke felt that he had just died a thousand lingering deaths.

He marveled at his own oblivion – no, stupidity. Hadn't he realized the truth? How had he managed to live out his meager existence for two weeks without fully, or indeed even partially, recognized the connotations of Ken's death? This baffled him, even as he sat in a secluded and forgotten corner of the school's sports field. He had run out of fear. Fight or flight, indeed! Daisuke had let his feet guide him to the spot, his mind preoccupied with the sudden realization that the past two weeks of his life had been a blatant lie.

He still hadn't accepted the fact by the time he heard the school bell ring, signifying the end of the lesson, half an hour later. There were no more tears: he had cried himself dry earlier. Now, he felt like the empty shell of his former self, devoid of both emotion and energy. He simply sat and stared.

Then, somewhere from the depths of his mind, Daisuke pulled out a memory of something that had happened earlier; hours ago, although to him it felt like years. The note.

A momentary shuffling in his bag revealed the crumpled sheet of paper. The texture felt rough, Daisuke noted, something that he hadn't taken into account before. He unfolded the sheet and glanced it over.

Daisuke narrowed his eyes and scanned over it again. Something was wrong. The letters looked like nothing he had ever seen before, more than just a foreign language. If he hadn't known better, he would have attributed them to one of Ken's countless equations or computer programs or something similarly banal. But these black symbols looked…

Wait.

Daisuke stared at them again, the now familiar icy grip of fear taking him. During the time it had taken him to blink, the letters had moved.

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Don't you just adore cliffhangers? More Ken angst in the next chapter, guaranteed! ^_^