a/n: this was already written but i'm sorry for not posting. i had surgery, and i didn't expect it to wipe me out so completely. and then the holidays hit, and i had finals last week, and i didn't have covid or anything but i got really sick so posting was... on hold. but hopefully I'm well enough to come back for a while. :) i miss you guys.
also, to the person who bought me a coffee on my Ko-fi, please know that i love you & i would die for you, and nobody is ever obligated to send me money on Ko-fi, but it was such a lovely surprise in my email, it literally made me cry good tears and it made me want to get my butt in gear so i could update. so, here it goes. i'm behind on replies, but i really hope you're all well and i appreciate your patience. please enjoy :)
Ch 13 || In Limbo
Yamato was not in a good mood.
It was bad enough that no one could agree on their priority. And it was bad enough that his brother was heavily involved to the point that it put him at risk. What they didn't need was to just stick around and come up with theories unless it directly led to Mirrormon's place of hiding or a way to defeat him.
Takeru looked so anxious that it made Yamato anxious. He wanted nothing more than to beat Mirrormon into the ground until he was dead and bleeding.
These past few weeks had been stressful enough, even without Mirrormon's mysterious appearance and disappearance. The last thing he and Takeru needed was another expected surprise.
"...what do we do now?" Mimi asked, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. "We still don't know where Mirrormon is, and we don't have definitive proof that he's the one who brought all those digimon to the tunnel."
"Who else would it be?" Jou said.
"As if I know," Mimi said with a pointed look. "I'm just making a statement."
"I think she's right, actually," Ken said, a little timidly. "We have all these clues, but only a way or two to connect them together without confirmation."
"And it's not like Mirrormon was down in that cave," V-mon said. "We looked for him, too."
"Hang on," Hikari said and looked at Tailmon. "You wouldn't… mind going down there again, would you?"
Tailmon blinked. "No, I wouldn't mind. Why?"
"I should've brought my camera. So you could take pictures."
"Why would we need pictures?" Daisuke asked with a baffled expression.
Yamato's brow twitched in irritation. It took a lot of self-control not to just grab Takeru's wrist and storm off. They were once again in the middle of a scorched garden and everything about it oozed danger and suffering.
"For comparison," Hikari persisted, scanning the group with her gaze. "It might be a long shot, but… but maybe we could compare them to the digimon we've seen in the past on the database and see if there's anything that could link them to Mirrormon?"
"That's an excellent idea," Koushiro praised. "When you get the pictures and—"
"Ok, ok, yeah, pictures and Mirrormon and crap," Yamato snapped. "Another waiting game. Can we go?"
"Nii-san…" Takeru hedged.
It was taking all he had not to explode. Everyone was stunned in the wake of his outburst, but Yamato didn't even have the self-control to stop. He presently lacked the capacity to admit that yeah, his friends were doing their best, and yelling wasn't going to make it better.
Because everything was so unequivocally wrong. Something was looming over his brother—something inherently sinister and ominous, something that was simultaneously right in front of their faces and borderline undetectable. He was so tired of playing such childish games with Mirrormon. What if they went home now, only to be dragged back here tomorrow?
Yamato was done. He was tired.
"Takeru, you haven't said a word in the past ten minutes, now," he went on, and the anger inside him seemed to come from a limitless source. He could slow it down, but he could never completely rid himself of it. "I can see it on your face that you'd rather go home. If some of you want to stay here, fine. Be my guest. But unless someone has a concrete way to track down Mirrormon so I can put an end to him, then it's time for me to leave."
No one responded right away. Yamato's fingernails were digging so hard into his palms that he was in danger of breaking the skin and drawing blood, but he didn't care.
"Do you really want to go home, Takeru?" Sora asked softly.
Takeru wouldn't meet her eyes. He stared shamefully at the ground, like requesting to leave during their discussion was considered taboo. Mumbled, "I made such a big deal out of not getting to come. It feels silly to leave first."
"Honestly, you two have been through a lot," Taichi said quietly, with a long-suffering sigh. "I don't blame you for wanting to leave."
"Go on," Hikari whispered. "We'll tie up things here. I'll text you later, ok?"
Still, Takeru refused to look at anyone. Only offered a meek nod of acknowledgment. Gone was the spark of fierce determination and in its place was a timid, shell of a boy. It only made Yamato's skin itch more with frustration, rage, and the unsettling, foreboding feeling that staying here was only going to stir up whatever entity that clung to Takeru like a shadow.
"C'mon, kiddo," Yamato said, his tone softer this time as he slid an arm around his younger brother's shoulders and giving him a gentle squeeze. "Let's go."
Koushiro closed out of the database and returned Takeru's digivice to him, and wordlessly, he pulled up the portal. The rest of them stepped back to give them space and Koushiro asked where they'd like to go.
"Our apartment, preferably," Yamato answered gruffly. "Can you find a connection?"
A few clicks and taps. Koushiro hummed. "Yes, I see one."
Good. Yamato didn't even care to know the source of the connection—he just wanted to get himself and Takeru out of here as fast as possible.
"Wait, Takeru," came Hikari's hasty voice.
Yamato's brow twitched. The only reason he didn't whirl around to snap at her was because she was Hikari. But she didn't make them wait long—she stumbled forward and right into Takeru's back, pressing her forehead between his shoulder blades, effectively separating the two brothers and wrapping her arms around Takeru's torso.
It was like someone flipped a switch. Takeru became deathly still for only a heartbeat, and then he melted into the embrace. Rested his hands on her arms. The tension in his body evaporated like steam.
"You be safe, ok?" Hikari murmured, sounding a little choked up. "Don't you dare do anything reckless trying to figure out this Mirrormon thing. You'll have your brother and me on your case about it."
Takeru chuckled weakly—a froggy sound, uncharacteristic of Takeru, but still Yamato considered it laughter nonetheless. "Understood."
"Good."
If things hadn't been so tense, and if he wasn't already painfully aware that Takeru thrived on physical affection, it would have been an open invitation to a teasing war. Hikari's friendship was something Yamato knew Takeru held dear, and he wasn't going to disrespect that by jestful remarks.
"I'll see you later," Takeru promised. "You stay safe, too."
Hikari pulled away, wiping her eyes with her thumbs. "Got it."
Takeru's hand clenched around his D3 and Koushiro cleared his throat. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Takeru said. "Nii-san?"
Slowly, Yamato's hand came down on Takeru's head to ruffle his hair affectionately. "Ready."
Even if they weren't, the pull of the digital portal wasn't going to give them a choice. One moment they were standing in the blackened remains of a once-elegant village and the next they were stumbling dizzily onto their apartment floor.
"Wh-wha—boys?!"
Trapped in a haze of disorientation that he knew wasn't going to fade until at least a minute or so, Yamato just groaned and slumped happily into the floor. It seemed Takeru and their partners, though, had more grace than him, for Takeru giggled sheepishly. Said, "H-hi, Dad."
"Good afternoon, Ishida-san," Gabumon added timidly.
"Hi, Takeru's dad," Patamon chirped.
"I forgot," Yamato muttered. "You're working from home today?"
"Well, that was the plan, yes," their father said, sounding like he was struggling to collect himself. "That is, until I set my laptop on the table and my two sons jumped out of the screen."
Yamato's phone buzzed successively in his pocket—it was a wonder it hadn't fallen out of his pocket with all that had happened today. Yamato pushed himself off the floor, grumbling to himself.
"Well," Takeru persisted, dragging out the word as he scratched his cheek nervously, "we were supposed to go to Koushiro's with the others, but we ended up here."
A tiny white lie. And a convincing one at that, considering not even five minutes ago, Takeru was a hollow version of himself. Now it was like none of that happened.
Takeru was really getting too comfortable with pretending.
Their father sighed, but he sounded more amused than anything. "I suppose I can't ask for a warning next time, can I?"
"Considering we don't even get much of one ourselves, I guess not," Yamato said.
"Nii-san, you did say you were ready," Takeru teased.
"He has a point," Patamon said.
Yamato just settled for grumbling under his breath again, and when the room finally stopped spinning, he said, "You hungry, bud?"
It was then that Takeru's chirpy mask faltered a little. "Nah."
Their father frowned. "Neither of you ate before we left. Did you eat at your friends' place?"
Both boys fell quiet, as did the two digimon. Their silence served as an answer itself, it seemed, because their dad sighed again.
"I'm ordering something," he said, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his phone.
"Dad," the boys chorused, but while Takeru looked ready to argue, Yamato closed his mouth because no matter what Takeru said, they had to eat something, and Yamato wasn't sure if he had the energy to cook, mentally or physically.
And… and sure, his father wasn't perfect, but he wasn't stupid. He was there during and after Takeru's episode, and he was there when the first one occurred. He allowed Takeru to move in—not that Yamato was going to let him say no, but that was beside the point—and he knew how stressful it had been on the two brothers.
He knew Yamato was exhausted. And whether Takeru wanted to admit it or not, he was exhausted, too. The stress on their shoulders was heavy and parasitic, and they couldn't ignore it for much longer.
And so Yamato let it be. He sagged gratefully against Gabumon, who supported him without question. When they decided on what to order, their father left the room, and Yamato turned to his brother. "Takeru."
"That's your 'we need to talk' voice," Takeru said.
"Because we do," Yamato said solemnly. Quietly. "We don't have to right now. But you… you don't have to pretend everything's fine. You don't have to act like you're ok if you're not."
Takeru looked at him and sighed. "I'm trying… to stay optimistic."
"And that's a good trait to have, trust me," Yamato said gently. "But kiddo… you're gonna break if you keep it up."
"I'm not even doing that good of a job, though, huh?"
The statement was accompanied by a string of laughter. Humorless. Self-deprecating. Scratchy. Like Takeru was mad at himself for disappointing someone when he hadn't.
"I think you're doing the best you can," Patamon praised.
"But you shouldn't have to carry it alone," Gabumon added.
"I'm making everyone worry," Takeru mumbled.
"They are just worried about you because they care."
"That includes me," Yamato said. "It's not healthy to keep things inside."
Takeru's gaze fell upon the floor. "I wake you up at night."
"We're figuring that out, kiddo."
"But what if we don't? Everyone's worried and I keep waking you up at night and scaring you and maybe—maybe it would be better if I stayed with… with mom."
His voice broke. Their mother was still a touchy subject, and he was curling into himself as he spoke. Yamato replied without even thinking.
"I want you here."
No response.
"Takeru," he repeated. "Look at me. I want you here. I want you to be happy, and I want you to be healthy, and I worry because of those things."
"...y-yeah?"
"Yeah." Yamato's tone was quiet but firm. "I'm your brother. I'm gonna always want the best for you, you know that, right?"
"...you're not annoyed that you can't sleep?"
"I'm annoyed with Mirrormon that you can't sleep."
"...Nii-san."
"I am," Yamato persisted. "I'm gonna knock his teeth out."
"Nii-san," Takeru repeated.
"I don't care if he doesn't even have teeth. I'm going to destroy him one day, do you hear me?"
"Nii-san—hey. Nii-san."
"And I know that you don't want—"
"Nii-san, listen, please?"
Yamato closed his mouth upon hearing Takeru's desperate tone, and barely seconds later, Takeru was crawling over to him and leaning on Gabumon's other side. Patamon climbed into Takeru's lap.
"I… I appreciate you being concerned," he said finally, sincerely. "Really. And it means a lot, knowing you'll fight for me. But… I think I'll be ok. When Hikari hugged me, I felt… I dunno, like my head was clearer all of a sudden. And we came here and I feel… different."
Yamato took a moment to process his brother's words, mulling them over. Echoed, "Different?"
"It's hard to explain. Ever since… we met Mirrormon, I…" Takeru bit his lip as he stared at the ground, hesitant. Uncertain. "I dunno. Just like… something's changed. I don't feel like me."
That could have meant a lot of things. It could have meant a lot of bad things, and Yamato didn't even know where to start. But then Takeru looked up at him with a small, yet hopeful smile.
"Something's changed again, but it's a… a good change, I think," Takeru finished.
Once again, Yamato fell silent. Maybe… maybe Yamato being on-edge was just making things worse, but who could blame him? Takeru's behavior was not normal, and… and he hadn't stayed long enough earlier to know if his dad had called their mom. Things were still up in the air.
"I trust your judgment, Takeru," Patamon said, snuggling into the crook of Takeru's knee.
"We'll be here to keep you safe," Gabumon vowed.
Takeru's smile widened. Melted into something fond and grateful. Then his gaze found Yamato, and he gave him a meaningful look. "That's why I don't want to be worried. We'll fight this together, right? Like we always do."
"Like we always do," Patamon chirped.
Yamato gazed deeply into Takeru's eyes. Searched and searched, trying to find a sliver of red. A thread to grab onto and pull, just to find out what it was and where it came from. Wanted it to leave Takeru alone because whatever it was, it didn't belong there.
No red. Just brilliant blue, swimming with warmth and trust and affection. The tension in Yamato's eased.
Instead, Yamato smiled down at him—just a twitch of the lips—and echoed, "Like we always do."
It was then that their father stepped back out into the room, pocketing his phone. "I'm gonna go pick up our order. Do you boys want to come, or will you be ok by yourselves?"
Yamato closed his eyes with a sigh. "I think I'm fine right here."
Takeru chuckled. "I think we'll be ok, Dad."
"We're here to keep them safe," Gabumon repeated with a gentle smile.
Their dad nodded before grabbing his wallet and keys off the table. The two brothers watched him leave, and when he was gone, Yamato just slumped to the floor again. This time, Takeru followed him, leaning back with a sigh.
"Let's take it easy for the day, yeah?" Yamato murmured into the floor.
Takeru hummed. "Yeah."
The rest of the evening, thankfully, passed with ease; and much to Yamato's surprise, slumber came just as easily to him that night. He thought he'd have trouble going to sleep, because while his body was exhausted, his mind certainly wasn't.
They waged a war on each other for at least thirty minutes—body versus mind—and in the end, his body was the victor. And the next thing he knew, it was morning, and he rolled over to see Takeru still curled up under the covers with his phone in hand, lazily scrolling.
"Keru?"
"Hmm?"
"Did… did you sleep ok?"
He would've woken up if Takeru's sleep was disturbed, wouldn't he? If Takeru had another episode, he'd know. He wouldn't just sleep through it.
Takeru gave him an anxious look, as if he wasn't sure of the answer to that question. "...did I?"
Patamon popped his head out from under Takeru's blanket. "You didn't wake me up."
"I thought you slept rather soundly," Gabumon reported.
A tiny thread of relief wove through Takeru's expression, and he glanced back at Yamato as if for his opinion. A little confused, Yamato said, "...you didn't wake me up, either."
Takeru sagged against the wall. "I'm really glad. I… I hate to steal your sleep."
"You don't steal my sleep."
"Actually, I did," Takeru persisted. "If… if I wasn't in your room… if I wasn't living here, you'd sleep through the night like normal, right?"
Part of Yamato—the half-awake part—wanted to shush Takeru until he, too, decided maybe they should go back to sleep. Maybe it was too early for this. The other part—the part controlled by his brother instinct—knew that this had become a habit of Takeru's: he saw himself as a burden, and even though he wasn't and never had been, Yamato knew the answer to helping Takeru see the value in himself was patience.
"Kiddo, listen to me," he murmured, shifting to face Takeru fully and rubbing an eye with the base of his palm. "I just want you to be safe, and I want you to be happy. Ok?"
Takeru gazed at him with such vulnerability and such uncertainty that Yamato's stomach twisted. It was hauntingly similar to the look he'd given him yesterday, and the day before. Each time he looked at Yamato with that expression, a piece of him deteriorated.
"And this room is yours, too," he finished firmly, using every ounce of willpower he had to hide the fact that he was trying to speak through a knot in his throat. The loneliness—the looming fear of invalidation—glistening in Takeru's eyes was haunting. "Ok?"
Takeru smiled, and in the dimness of the room, he couldn't quite tell how genuine the gesture was. Nonetheless, he said, "Thanks, Nii-san. I want you to be safe and happy, too."
Yamato smiled back at him before blindly groping around for his phone to check the time before realizing, belatedly, that Takeru's alarm clock sat still and silent by their lamp for that very purpose. It was barely nine in the morning, and yet it felt freakishly early. Yamato wasn't sure why exhaustion refused to let go of his body.
Yamato's phone buzzed at the same time that Takeru giggled. Still relatively groggy, Yamato turned to face him. "What is it?"
"Hikari says Miyako's jealous that I only send her memes."
Yamato rolled his eyes affectionately, deciding it was time to turn on the lamp. "Is that what you've been doing since you woke up? Looking at memes?"
"There is no other way to spend the morning," Takeru declared with pride.
"How about breakfast?"
Takeru grinned at him. "A worthy contender."
Patamon glanced with wonder, whispering quizzically, "What's a 'meme'?"
"Palmon sometimes refers to Mimi as a 'memes'," Gabumon said with a sage nod.
"Actually, she calls her Meems."
"So then… what do you think the difference is?"
Takeru actually snorted. "That's a nickname. Memes are just jokes."
"Jokes that he is obsessed with," Yamato said.
"Nii-san, you can't not like memes."
Yamato just shrugged helplessly at Takeru, who gawked at him, open-mouthed, eyes wide. That earned him a chuckle, and Gabumon and Patamon just stared at them, and then at each other, with identical expressions of confusion. Yamato only continued to laugh under his breath as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He needed coffee.
"C'mon. Time to go eat."
A pause. Then his phone buzzed, and it was a notification from the very person who sat on the other side of the bed. "Takeru, did you just send me a meme?"
"...maybe."
"You're obsessed."
"I'm creatively using social media as a form of self-expression."
"It's just a picture of, what is this? Pikachu?"
"The shocked Pikachu face is an icon, Nii-san."
Another buzz. Yamato raised his brows. "Ok, ok, I get it. You have an appreciation for memes."
"...actually," Takeru said, dropping all hints of humor from his expression and voice, "I didn't send anything this time."
Blinking, Yamato glanced back down at his phone. Indeed, the message on his phone was not from Takeru, but rather a bandmate.
Yamato sighed internally. Right. He'd called off band practice yesterday in favor of going to the digital world, and it wasn't the first time. If he kept calling it off, his band was going to suffer. The other members of Knife of Day knew that Yamato had family complications, but they didn't know of his life as a Chosen—that part of his life would probably remain a secret for a while.
"Nii-san?" The anxiety from before had made its way back into Takeru's voice. "What's wrong?"
He sighed out loud this time. "Akira's wondering if we're meeting at the studio later."
"Are you?"
"I don't know," Yamato admitted honestly. "With everything going on with Mirrormon and the move… it's kind of been hard to schedule time for the band. I don't want to make plans and then bail last minute in case Koushiro or someone decides to call another spontaneous meeting."
Takeru paused. And then, with an encouraging smile: "I think you should go."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"'Cause it's obvious you've been stressed lately. Music's a great release for you, right? So use it."
Yamato hesitated. As Takeru spoke, he realized that Takeru was a lot more perceptive than he looked. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Takeru could read him. It was an ability that both touched and scared Yamato.
Because Takeru, at times, could be very hard to read. It was only recently that Takeru started shedding some of his walls, revealing the lonely, fragile boy underneath. Yamato had spent years learning what to look for when it came to Takeru's struggles, picking up on little signs and hints; but Takeru was, unfortunately, a master at pretending. It didn't help that they grew up in separate homes.
While Yamato learned to open up as a teenager, Takeru learned how to construct walls. In the aftermath of this realization was the guilt of knowing he'd failed Takeru. The blame couldn't be placed solely on their parents—even if they played a significant role in shaping Takeru's habits and ways of thinking.
The blame also fell on Yamato.
It fell on Yamato because it took him far too long to realize the damage their parents' decision inadvertently inflicted upon Takeru's psyche. Yamato grew up to be like his father—emotionally closed off, finding ways to occupy himself, and replacing loneliness with indifference.
Takeru's loneliness didn't get replaced. It only grew and grew, and eventually, he seemed to think that his thoughts and feelings were a burden to his family. Even to his friends. So he smiled, and he pretended, and damn it, Yamato just wanted to take that mask and throw it on the ground. Then it would shatter behind repair, and Takeru didn't have to play puppet anymore.
"Yamato?" Gabumon murmured.
Yamato blinked, his train of thought interrupted by Gabumon's perplexed voice. It was then that he realized all three of them were still awaiting a response.
"Sorry," he muttered, before looking at Takeru. "Hey, Takeru, can I ask you something?"
Takeru set his phone face down on the bed. "Sure."
"You… you know you're welcome here, right?"
"I know, Nii-san."
"So…" He paused, mulling over how to word it. "...you know I care?"
"Of course I do," Takeru said instantly. "I care about you, too."
"But you're still afraid… that you're bothering me."
Takeru fell quiet. Slowly, Patamon crawled out from under the blanket and into Takeru's lap—a gesture that seemed forever comforting to Takeru. Even Gabumon shuffled toward him to rest a paw on Takeru's leg.
And Yamato understood, suddenly, what this was about. Takeru's words from weeks ago echoed in his head:
"It's lonely here, Nii-san. Patamon's away, and Mom's always working, and I know Dad's always working…"
A loose translation was embedded in his confession. A translation that revealed what Takeru truly feared most.
"Takeru," Yamato repeated. "I'm up here."
"We're always having talks like this," Takeru mumbled without looking up.
"I think it's good to talk."
"Communication is good," Gabumon added.
"It helps you deal with things, sometimes. Instead of bottling it up."
Still, Takeru remained mute. Yamato inhaled silently and deeply through his nose. If… if he didn't address Takeru's fears, they would fester. They would suppurate like an infected wound, and that infection would spread without proper treatment. He had to acknowledge Takeru's deepest, darkest secret, it would destroy him. The last thing he wanted was to talk about something Takeru wasn't comfortable talking about, but this… this fear was a septic demon that haunted and threatened to consume both of them.
"You… you know I'm not going to leave you alone, right?" It came out as a gentle, soft whisper—Yamato himself couldn't help but feel anxious in the anticipation of Takeru's response to his words. "You know that, right, Takeru? I'm not going to abandon you."
There was. The word that made Takeru tense frightfully as though it could cause him harm. His hands, which were occupied with the menial, yet familiar task of petting Patamon's fur, curled into fists and he stared quietly at the bed.
"I'm not, Takeru," he repeated firmly, emphatically, sitting back on the bed and crawling across it to reach his younger brother. "I'm not going to abandon you. This is your home now, and I don't—and never have—regret inviting you into it. I'd never force you to leave. I'd never leave you alone. No matter whatever hell you have to face—any nightmare, or the sleepwalking, or this Mirrormon crap—I'm gonna be there, too."
Takeru swallowed visibly. "...promise?"
He sounded so young. So delicate, like a defenseless flower in the path of a stampede, with no choice but to accept its fate of being brutally and violently crushed.
Yamato leaned back against the wall. Slid an arm behind Takeru's neck and looped it over his shoulder. It was an action born from instinct, natural and easy. Yamato wasn't, by any means, a physically affectionate person—but Takeru was.
Takeru had been, though not purposely, starved of affection, and his response to such emotional negligence was to wonder why. Takeru needed this—to be reassured that Yamato wasn't too busy for him, that something else wasn't 'more important'. To be reassured that he was valued and loved.
And it was obvious in the way he melted. In the way he rested his head on Yamato's collarbone, sniffling quietly. In the way he relaxed so completely, welcoming Yamato's touch like it was the warmest embrace in the world.
"I promise," Yamato vowed.
"I won't leave you, either," Patamon echoed. "You can't get rid of me, Takeru!"
Takeru giggled wetly. "I wouldn't want to, Pata."
"That goes for me as well, Takeru," Gabumon promised gently. "I am right here, whenever you need me."
"...thank you," Takeru whispered, his voice still noticeably tight. "It… it really means a lot. To… to hear that."
"Anytime," Yamato murmured just as quietly. "Just remember it, 'k? You're my little brother. Nothing's more important than my little brother."
"...you really mean that?"
"I wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true."
Takeru sniffled again. Shakily, he raised a hand to wipe at his eyes. "...I still think you should go to your rehearsal. Your band is important."
"...tell you what," Yamato decided. "Let's eat, and then I'll see what time the guys want to practice. We'll head out, and if the rehearsal's too boring, there's a bookstore down the street from the studio."
"I would never think your music is boring," Takeru said with an offended expression. "This is my 'shocked Pikachu' face."
Yamato laughed at that. Patamon asked, "What's a Pikachu?"
"A digimon, perhaps?" Gabumon wondered contemplatively. "Pikachumon. Doesn't sound familiar."
That just made Yamato laugh harder, and Takeru soon joined him. Both digimon seemed startled by their reaction, but could only stare in helpless confusion.
Takeru lifted Patamon and pressed their cheeks together. "Please don't ever change."
They decided to walk to the studio in the early afternoon. It would have been faster to use the electric scooter as a means for transportation, but they'd already faced one demon today. Bringing up another one might overwhelm Takeru, and Yamato—though still physically drained—knew the fresh air could only be good for them.
Takeru seemed to be enjoying it, at least. He'd brought a backpack for the sole purpose of giving Patamon a place to hide (though Takeru made sure to promise that if he got too uncomfortable, he was welcome to play stuffed toy in Takeru's arms). Gabumon found it easier to take Tsunomon's form to join Patamon in the backpack (an amusing sight).
Takeru kept the bag unzipped for them both, periodically checking over his shoulder, but in the end, they ended up snuggled in the crooks of Takeru's elbows.
Not that Takeru seemed to mind. He just laughed as they neared the studio—a small but nonetheless affordable place Knife of Day rented by the hour to rehearse—and Yamato couldn't help but laugh as well. Takeru's laughter was infectious.
"Shh, shh, I think Nii-san's bandmates are already here," Takeru whispered as they approached the side door.
Patamon and Tsunomon quieted obediently, but it was obvious that they—as well as Takeru—were struggling to keep their giggles at bay.
"You're going to have to stay quiet while he practices," Takeru went on. "Actually, wait, Nii-san, will they pick on you for bringing 'stuffed toys' to practice? If they do, I'll take the blame."
"And if they pick on you, they'll have to face me," Yamato said. "Yeah, I think I saw Akira's car around the corner. He might have already picked up the guys. He'll use any excuse to drive."
"Sounds like somebody I know."
"Nah. I can't really drive yet. Just got the scooter."
"Your scooter's cooler than his car."
Yamato's lips twitched in pride and amusement. Takeru said it right as they entered the studio, loud enough for said bandmate—who was a mere six or seven feet away from the door—to hear him.
Akira arched a single brow. "I don't know what you're talking about, kid, but I know you didn't insult my car."
Takeru grinned cheekily, and Yamato's lips twitched again. "Can't blame 'im for having good taste."
"Excuse you. My car is way better than your wimpy scooter."
"Nii-san," Takeru breathed out, looking back at Yamato with an offended expression. "He called your scooter wimpy!"
"He's only saying that out of jealousy." Yamato swung his guitar case off his shoulder as he spoke. "Right?"
"Careful, you'll blow a fuse," Takashi—already seated behind his drums—commented with a chuckle.
"Have they met Yamato?" Patamon whispered, his voice barely audible.
"I dunno, that Akira guy is giving me Taichi vibes," Tsunomon murmured back.
Yamato almost didn't hear the exchange. Skillfully, Takeru stepped aside and 'adjusted' the impossibly still digimon in his arms, and Yamato shot his partner a warning (read: amused) look before asking Takeru, "You still have the plugs I gave you?"
Takeru shrugged one shoulder. "In here."
"And your water bottle?"
"Yep."
"Good. Gotta stay hydrated and keep your ears from getting damaged." Then, after fishing his cell out of his pocket and lowering his voice: "Here. If… if it's anything urgent, just… just set Tsunomon or Patamon down on the floor or something subtle like that. I'll finish the song and come up with something if we need to leave. And if you get bored—"
"Nii-san," Takeru said with a grin. "I know. We discussed it already, remember? Go enjoy your music."
"Thanks for waiting, guys," he said, careful to keep his voice low so Takeru wouldn't hear this time. That didn't make the sincerity of his words any less real. "I know it's not easy when I keep having to bail on practice."
"Nah," Takashi said with an easy smile. "We all knew you had a lot on your plate."
"Not gonna lie, though," Enmei chimed in just as quietly, "it's been weird rehearsing without you. Most of the time we cut it short."
"Guess we gotta make up for that, huh?" Yamato's gaze found Takeru, who was staring adoringly down at the digimon in his arms. "We should really make this one count."
"You're just saying that since you brought an audience," Akira teased as he, too, prepped his guitar.
"Hey now," Takashi said. "It could've been a girl. What was the name of that one you brought about a month or so ago? The Takenouchi girl?"
Yamato turned around to scowl at him as he put his protective plugs in his ears. "Watch it. That 'Takenouchi girl' can seriously bust your ass. Don't you dare disrespect her."
Takashi just kept grinning. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The conversation ended abruptly—Yamato's bandmates were great, but they weren't familiar with the rest of the Chosen, aside from knowing about Takeru, and Yamato preferred it that way—and they quickly descended into the familiarity of routine.
It'd been a few weeks since Yamato touched his bass, but the chords came so naturally to him. His fingers moved skillfully and effortlessly over the fretboards like he'd never stopped practicing.
Takeru had been right. Music really was Yamato's release. All the stress, anxiety, anger, and frustration sitting heavy on his shoulders just rolled off. Confronting his parents, making sure Takeru's life became steady and stable, and the whole Mirrormon ordeal was taking a toll on him—and although he'd continue to endure it for Takeru's sake without hesitation, because Takeru deserved someone with whom he could share this burden, the feeling of relief as the weight tumbled off his body was blissful.
With each note, each chord, each song they played, Yamato felt lighter and lighter. It was amazing to look over at his brother and see he looked just as happy and relieved as Yamato did—and the looks of wonder and admiration on their digimon's faces only made it better.
He no longer felt stuck. Trapped. He could finally move forward.
Yamato wasn't sure how long the rehearsal lasted. It felt like they'd only played half a dozen songs—barely pausing for water breaks in between—but by the time they finally decided to call it a day, Yamato realized hours had passed.
His bandmates quickly said their goodbyes as soon as they finished disassembling the stage and their instruments—Takeru and Yamato offered to do most of it, since the other three had spent a while setting up, but they refused to leave without helping. Soon it was just Takeru, Yamato, and their digimon left in the studio.
"Ready to go, kiddo?"
Takeru hummed affirmatively. "Ready."
"Good." Yamato nodded at him. "I just finished signing us out, so we should get going. Did anyone message me during the rehearsal?"
It was then that Takeru's cheerful expression faltered. Yamato frowned instantly.
"Takeru."
"It wasn't anything about the digital world," Takeru hurried to say. "I would've let you know if it was. It was just…"
Rather than finish his sentence, Takeru placed Yamato's phone in his outstretched hand, looking at the ground. Yamato clicked the power button to wake it up and saw his mother's contact on the screen.
"Oh," he murmured, his frown deepening. "Did you read it?"
"I did, yeah."
"What do you want to do?"
For a moment, he was expecting Takeru to close up. To shrink in on himself the way he so often did when he was uncertain or reluctant to talk. To change the subject and avoid the topic of their mother altogether. They'd already pushed aside one issue, addressed another, and he wasn't sure if they could fully tackle one more.
He wasn't expecting Takeru to look back up at him, directly into his eyes, and say, "I think we should see her."
Yamato blinked, taken aback. The determination glistening in Takeru's gaze was almost startling. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Takeru echoed with a firm nod. "I… I can't keep running away from her. I can't keep avoiding her. She's… she's mom. And soon… soon she'll be in Kobe, and I'll miss her…"
His voice wavered abruptly, and he swallowed. Regardless, Takeru's decision seemed concrete. He repeated, "Let's go see her."
"Alright," Yamato said, shooting Takeru a tiny, reassuring smile, even though a pit was beginning to form in his stomach. He didn't want Takeru to become overloaded. Still… "Whatever you want is fine with me."
They hadn't quite left the studio yet, so with Patamon and Tsunomon free to move about without worrying about being caught, Takeru's arms were free. He snaked his arms around Yamato's midsection and pressed his cheek against his shirt.
"Thank you so much," he murmured thickly into the fabric. "For… for everything. I don't know what I'd do without you, Nii-san."
You don't know how true that is for me, too.
Out loud, after gently returning Takeru's sudden embrace: "I told you, it's my job. Do you want me to call her, or do you want to…?"
Takeru pulled away, taking a deep breath. "Um… I think… that I'll call her. I have to face her sometime, right?"
Yamato's hand came to rest on Takeru's hair. "Sure."
As they finally exited the studio, Yamato sent Takeru their mother's contact and watched as his little brother, with Patamon at his side, strode down the sidewalk with renewed determination. Yamato lingered back a few meters to give him privacy but was careful to keep a watchful eye on him.
"He looks happy," Tsunomon observed quietly.
"Yeah," Yamato said wistfully, inhaling deeply through his nose. "He does. I'm just… hoping it goes the way he wants it to. My parents are pretty freaking dramatic sometimes, and Takeru's not the kind of person who holds grudges. I just… don't want to see him hurt."
"I know you and your mother aren't particularly close," Tsunomon said. "It's very considerate of you to give him this opportunity to make amends with her, despite your own opinions."
Yamato remained quiet. He wouldn't go as far as to say he hated—or even disliked—his mother, but their family was in a state of disarray. Not that it had ever been perfect to begin with, but… but he knew Takeru didn't like tension. If there was an opportunity to ease the tension, Yamato wanted to jump on it.
Even if it risked pretty much everything he'd spent the last few weeks building.
"Yeah," he muttered eventually, finally. "In the end, if Takeru's happy… I'm happy."
"He truly admires you."
His phone, still awake and unlocked, buzzed and chimed before Yamato could respond. Yamato raised the device up a bit, waiting for the brightness to adjust, and the pit in his stomach just got bigger.
"Uh oh," Tsunomon whispered. "Is it bad?"
Yamato scowled at the device as if it had done something to personally offend him. "It's Koushiro."
"Oh?"
I have news regarding Mirrormon's disappearance. Can you spare a moment?
Yamato relayed the message out loud, the scowl on his face deepening. Tsunomon gazed up at him, and then looked at Takeru.
Takeru, who had spent all of his summer experiencing misfortune after misfortune. Takeru, who was only just now learning how to open up and heal from issues he'd buried for years. Takeru, who was waving him over. Takeru, who was now turning around, looking at him with the brightest smile he'd seen in weeks.
Not atm, he typed out. I'll msg you when I'm free.
He turned his phone on silent, pocketed it, and he strolled toward Takeru without even bothering to wait for a response.
"Yamato," Tsunomon warned.
"Not now," Yamato said under his breath. "Not a word. I'm not ruining this moment for him."
Tsunomon quieted respectfully, as if he knew there was no sense in pushing. Yamato clung to the sunny smile on Takeru's face. Used it to gather the strength to smile, too, because if he didn't Takeru would catch on, and the pit in his stomach would grow bigger, bigger, bigger, until it swallowed them both whole and sent them on an inescapable path to perdition.
And when that happened, the short, sweet taste freedom would become little more than a child's unfeasible dream. When that happened, even the warmth of Takeru's seemingly infinite optimism and resilience would become finite. When that happened, even Takeru—hopeful, bright Takeru, wiser beyond his years and kind despite all his hardships—wouldn't be able to bounce back. When that happened…
Yamato wasn't sure what to do when that happened.
