A Little Out of Touch 2/?
yukiko-neechan
Disclaimer: Digimon and all its inhabitants are not mine. I only own this lovely font I'm typing in that won't even show up when I post this.
*
It was sometime after one o'clock. The fragmentally repeated beeping of the alarm clock from Tai's bedroom had told him that. An hour ago Yamato had taken comfort in his arms, and has quieted since. It was a just a silence now, and Tai wasn't sure what to feel. He highly suspected that he was selfish enough to want for Yamato to not be okay.
But that was alright. Everyone has wanted to witness a falling star once in their lifetime. No one has caught it in their arms yet.
As suddenly as he had crumpled, though, Yamato now pushed away from him, standing rigidly facing the other way. He had his head bowed, so that his fair hair was shielding his face, and his hands clenched themselves on either side of his body.
"Yama?"
No answer. Instead, Yamato stepped around Taichi tensely to the window across the room, looking out on Odaiba's skyline morosely. He seemed to look up, then down, left, then right, but never to find anything worth looking at-and it very well could be, worthless. He had been around the whole country, the whole world, and to come back to a place that has never been particularly shiny must have been disappointing to say the least. Tai mused that Yamato probably had just stopped here on the way to some huge gig in some huge town.
"Yamato?" he tried again. Again, nothing, so he continued. There was nothing he hated more than dead silences. "Do you need a place to stay, Yama? I mean, I know you've pro'ly got some fancy hotel lined up, but, y'know-"
"I can't."
"Oh." Tai didn't mean to sound as disappointed as he did. "Okay."
"No, I mean." Yamato gave an unhappy huff of breath, keeping his back turned. "I've got a concert. My manager's only consented to a day. I've got to leave tomorrow night."
"And tonight?" Shit, Tai had better shut up soon. He was starting to sound funny to himself.
Yamato turned around. "Tonight, I'm going home." An indescribable look entered his eyes then, somehow determinedly resigned, and forgotten tear- tracks laid on his cheeks.
Like an idiot, Taichi only said, "Wow."
Yamato chuckled, though, despite the drying tears still on his face, leaving Tai feeling pleasantly surprised. "Yeah. Wow."
For awhile, neither could think of anything more to say, and did that thing they used to do after fights all the time in high school where they scuffled their feet together, staring at the ground. Then, cautiously, Tai asked, "What are you gonna say to him? Your dad?"
Yamato didn't get mad, though, so it was okay. "I don't know. I really don't. Maybe nothing."
"Won't your lawyer be pissed, if you said something?"
"Yeah, well, I finally figured he could just piss off. It's not him that's me, so he doesn't get a say." Which, strangely, made complete sense.
"Really?" Tai couldn't stop asking questions. He didn't really know what he wanted to ask, but there were all these questions floating around, so he snatched whatever he could. He didn't want Yama to go.
Yamato paused. "Yeah." Taichi didn't know Yama didn't want to go, either. He didn't know what he was saying yes to.
All of a sudden, Tai said, "C'mere."
Yamato stared, a bit wary, but he came over there anyway. Taichi ran his thumb under Yamato's eyes, getting rid of the last vestige of his tears. Yamato hadn't seemed to realize what he intended to do, but when he did, he tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed. Taichi's hand only followed after him, saying, "Nobody knows Mr. Cool Yamato Ishida cries yet except me. Keep it that way, na?"
That made Yama smile. "Okay."
Somehow, this did make it seem okay, so Taichi smiled, too. Letting go of Yamato's face, he said, "Drop by tomorrow? Before you leave, and let me know how it goes?"
"Sure." Yamato made for the door, and soon, he was gone. The moment he was out the door, Taichi realized he had made a mistake. Yama would not be coming back if he could avoid it. He never did deal well with awkwardness, and the situation between them was nothing if not awkward now, after three years. With a belated sense of loss, he reflected that he could have put something into Yama's possession, maybe, that he would have to come back to return.
Tai noticed he was still standing at the door, though, and turning rapidly, he plopped down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. He didn't understand why he cared so much. Yamato hadn't even intentionally sought him out. Yamato hadn't really cared enough to talk to him for three years. They had only happed upon each other by chance, and now Tai was all over trying to be best friends again? Why must he always be the one trying to kindle a friendship?
Mulling over various questions of the same sort and not really finding a satisfactory answer, there was nothing to do but to plod on into the kitchen for a beer, really. Tai would get some sleep, and maybe figure things out tomorrow if Yama showed up.
And tonight, he didn't turn on the TV, because he knew Yama would not be on it.
*
It was still raining out. Yamato didn't go straight to his old apartment. Instead, he parked his car on some side street in the neighborhood and just sat for a couple of hours. The green LED display on the dashboard kept him company. It was not until a hint of light crept over the horizon that he started his car again and drove the rest of the way to the apartment.
He was fairly sure his father still lived there. There was no reason to move, after all, especially after an injury.
The same parking lot, followed by the same dully painted stairs, and finally, the same door, a nondescript maroon color adorned by a small sign declaring that this was Apartment 209: Ishida. Some time during all this sameness, Yamato's stomach had started to constrict, making him feel somewhat ill.
What would he say? What could he say? There wasn't any apology that would suffice and his father didn't even know he was responsible and if he did he would surely hate him and there would be no forgiveness and he was scared and scared and scared.
But he knocked.
And he waited. And knocked again.
There was no answer. Perhaps his father was asleep. So Yamato dug in his pockets, for the keys he still had but hadn't wanted to use, and unlocked the door himself. The apartment was dark.
"Otousan?" And louder, "Otousan?"
Turning on the light, Yamato saw the remnants of a hasty take-out dinner on the dining room table, and knew his father must be pulling another late night at work. It seemed some sort of injustice, that he should go through such grief and his father not be home, so once his stomach stopped playing tricks, he leaned back against the door and cried for the second time that night. It was a stupid reason to cry, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do.
A week before, while staying at a hotel during the tour, he had gotten a phone call from his lawyer. He was cheerily informed that the "fiasco with your father" was over, that the media had died down without anyone pressing charges. Yamato immediately proceeded to drink himself into a stupor, except he could drink enough to get rid of that lingering sense of self- hatred. So, he came back to the hotel and took a bottle too many sedatives.
Looking back on it, he didn't think he was trying to kill himself really. The next day, though, at the hospital, after all the stomach pumping and doctors in white labcoats, his manger told him to take a break, for as long as he needed. Apparently, when the cleaning staff found him that morning, he was close to dead, with the pills and alcohol in his system.
That was when he supposed he should come back.
Before he left, his manager said to him in a quiet voice, "Go talk to your father, Yamato. Come back when you feel okay. I'll take care of the lawyer." Yamato was grateful, and his manager didn't seem so impartial anymore.
Being back seemed pointless now. His father wasn't home.
The sun was almost up. The room was the same as always, minus the notes his father used to leave for him when he would be at work. Yamato didn't think he'd have the courage to speak to his father now. He didn't leave a phone number before he left.
*
It had been the thought of courage that brought Yamato back to Taichi's house.
He didn't want to go back to his career yet, hating himself more than before. He wanted to do something right for a change. He was afraid that he'd eventually end up killing himself if he didn't tell his father anything.
So, he'd gone back to Taichi's place to look for courage.
*
yukiko-neechan
Disclaimer: Digimon and all its inhabitants are not mine. I only own this lovely font I'm typing in that won't even show up when I post this.
*
It was sometime after one o'clock. The fragmentally repeated beeping of the alarm clock from Tai's bedroom had told him that. An hour ago Yamato had taken comfort in his arms, and has quieted since. It was a just a silence now, and Tai wasn't sure what to feel. He highly suspected that he was selfish enough to want for Yamato to not be okay.
But that was alright. Everyone has wanted to witness a falling star once in their lifetime. No one has caught it in their arms yet.
As suddenly as he had crumpled, though, Yamato now pushed away from him, standing rigidly facing the other way. He had his head bowed, so that his fair hair was shielding his face, and his hands clenched themselves on either side of his body.
"Yama?"
No answer. Instead, Yamato stepped around Taichi tensely to the window across the room, looking out on Odaiba's skyline morosely. He seemed to look up, then down, left, then right, but never to find anything worth looking at-and it very well could be, worthless. He had been around the whole country, the whole world, and to come back to a place that has never been particularly shiny must have been disappointing to say the least. Tai mused that Yamato probably had just stopped here on the way to some huge gig in some huge town.
"Yamato?" he tried again. Again, nothing, so he continued. There was nothing he hated more than dead silences. "Do you need a place to stay, Yama? I mean, I know you've pro'ly got some fancy hotel lined up, but, y'know-"
"I can't."
"Oh." Tai didn't mean to sound as disappointed as he did. "Okay."
"No, I mean." Yamato gave an unhappy huff of breath, keeping his back turned. "I've got a concert. My manager's only consented to a day. I've got to leave tomorrow night."
"And tonight?" Shit, Tai had better shut up soon. He was starting to sound funny to himself.
Yamato turned around. "Tonight, I'm going home." An indescribable look entered his eyes then, somehow determinedly resigned, and forgotten tear- tracks laid on his cheeks.
Like an idiot, Taichi only said, "Wow."
Yamato chuckled, though, despite the drying tears still on his face, leaving Tai feeling pleasantly surprised. "Yeah. Wow."
For awhile, neither could think of anything more to say, and did that thing they used to do after fights all the time in high school where they scuffled their feet together, staring at the ground. Then, cautiously, Tai asked, "What are you gonna say to him? Your dad?"
Yamato didn't get mad, though, so it was okay. "I don't know. I really don't. Maybe nothing."
"Won't your lawyer be pissed, if you said something?"
"Yeah, well, I finally figured he could just piss off. It's not him that's me, so he doesn't get a say." Which, strangely, made complete sense.
"Really?" Tai couldn't stop asking questions. He didn't really know what he wanted to ask, but there were all these questions floating around, so he snatched whatever he could. He didn't want Yama to go.
Yamato paused. "Yeah." Taichi didn't know Yama didn't want to go, either. He didn't know what he was saying yes to.
All of a sudden, Tai said, "C'mere."
Yamato stared, a bit wary, but he came over there anyway. Taichi ran his thumb under Yamato's eyes, getting rid of the last vestige of his tears. Yamato hadn't seemed to realize what he intended to do, but when he did, he tried to pull away, clearly embarrassed. Taichi's hand only followed after him, saying, "Nobody knows Mr. Cool Yamato Ishida cries yet except me. Keep it that way, na?"
That made Yama smile. "Okay."
Somehow, this did make it seem okay, so Taichi smiled, too. Letting go of Yamato's face, he said, "Drop by tomorrow? Before you leave, and let me know how it goes?"
"Sure." Yamato made for the door, and soon, he was gone. The moment he was out the door, Taichi realized he had made a mistake. Yama would not be coming back if he could avoid it. He never did deal well with awkwardness, and the situation between them was nothing if not awkward now, after three years. With a belated sense of loss, he reflected that he could have put something into Yama's possession, maybe, that he would have to come back to return.
Tai noticed he was still standing at the door, though, and turning rapidly, he plopped down onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. He didn't understand why he cared so much. Yamato hadn't even intentionally sought him out. Yamato hadn't really cared enough to talk to him for three years. They had only happed upon each other by chance, and now Tai was all over trying to be best friends again? Why must he always be the one trying to kindle a friendship?
Mulling over various questions of the same sort and not really finding a satisfactory answer, there was nothing to do but to plod on into the kitchen for a beer, really. Tai would get some sleep, and maybe figure things out tomorrow if Yama showed up.
And tonight, he didn't turn on the TV, because he knew Yama would not be on it.
*
It was still raining out. Yamato didn't go straight to his old apartment. Instead, he parked his car on some side street in the neighborhood and just sat for a couple of hours. The green LED display on the dashboard kept him company. It was not until a hint of light crept over the horizon that he started his car again and drove the rest of the way to the apartment.
He was fairly sure his father still lived there. There was no reason to move, after all, especially after an injury.
The same parking lot, followed by the same dully painted stairs, and finally, the same door, a nondescript maroon color adorned by a small sign declaring that this was Apartment 209: Ishida. Some time during all this sameness, Yamato's stomach had started to constrict, making him feel somewhat ill.
What would he say? What could he say? There wasn't any apology that would suffice and his father didn't even know he was responsible and if he did he would surely hate him and there would be no forgiveness and he was scared and scared and scared.
But he knocked.
And he waited. And knocked again.
There was no answer. Perhaps his father was asleep. So Yamato dug in his pockets, for the keys he still had but hadn't wanted to use, and unlocked the door himself. The apartment was dark.
"Otousan?" And louder, "Otousan?"
Turning on the light, Yamato saw the remnants of a hasty take-out dinner on the dining room table, and knew his father must be pulling another late night at work. It seemed some sort of injustice, that he should go through such grief and his father not be home, so once his stomach stopped playing tricks, he leaned back against the door and cried for the second time that night. It was a stupid reason to cry, he knew, but he didn't know what else to do.
A week before, while staying at a hotel during the tour, he had gotten a phone call from his lawyer. He was cheerily informed that the "fiasco with your father" was over, that the media had died down without anyone pressing charges. Yamato immediately proceeded to drink himself into a stupor, except he could drink enough to get rid of that lingering sense of self- hatred. So, he came back to the hotel and took a bottle too many sedatives.
Looking back on it, he didn't think he was trying to kill himself really. The next day, though, at the hospital, after all the stomach pumping and doctors in white labcoats, his manger told him to take a break, for as long as he needed. Apparently, when the cleaning staff found him that morning, he was close to dead, with the pills and alcohol in his system.
That was when he supposed he should come back.
Before he left, his manager said to him in a quiet voice, "Go talk to your father, Yamato. Come back when you feel okay. I'll take care of the lawyer." Yamato was grateful, and his manager didn't seem so impartial anymore.
Being back seemed pointless now. His father wasn't home.
The sun was almost up. The room was the same as always, minus the notes his father used to leave for him when he would be at work. Yamato didn't think he'd have the courage to speak to his father now. He didn't leave a phone number before he left.
*
It had been the thought of courage that brought Yamato back to Taichi's house.
He didn't want to go back to his career yet, hating himself more than before. He wanted to do something right for a change. He was afraid that he'd eventually end up killing himself if he didn't tell his father anything.
So, he'd gone back to Taichi's place to look for courage.
*