Disclaimer: I do not Digimon. Digimon is owned by the companies that own it. Obviously.
Recommended Listening:
Be Yourself by Audio Slave
Best of You by The Foo Fighters
Godspeed by Anberlin
Addicted by Kelly Clarkson
Where You Will Go by The Calling
/11 o'clock AM, Saturday/
Daisuke had left, walking briskly behind Koushiro, at ten-thirty that morning. Sora and Yamato had split off to take care of something, but said they'd be back immediately after, hoping that they'd only take half-an-hour at the most.
Iori had kept his silence since they had found him meditating quietly outside. Daisuke had left Koushiro with him, allowing the pair time to reacquaint themselves.
He was pretty sure that, once everything was said and done, they were all going to be strangers on the outside. But hopefully, they'd be able to bring back the person they all loved in all of them.
He shot a glance behind him. Koushiro was muttering under his breath, a good sign, Daisuke thought, and Iori was staring intently at the pavement as if searching it for answers. Which he probably was.
They had been walking for fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes now, and Daisuke's feet were killing him. He had no idea how the hell he was able to walk practically miles to accomplish what he did yesterday. He was still shocked at the fact that he had even done any of it. He felt—he felt as if he had done nothing.
Daisuke decided to shrug it off. It wasn't his concern. His priority was to find everyone, bring them to their senses, and make them a group again. He could worry about himself later.
"Hey, Daisuke."
He turned, finding Koushiro pointing to a building. Daisuke almost hit himself for not spotting it sooner. He had been to this house so many times. How could he have forgotten it? Koushiro wasn't even in his right state—though admittedly much better than he had been last night—and here he was, pointing out things to Daisuke, the savior, the leader. He ran his fingers through his hair, the goggles he wore giving him comfort and reassurance.
Iori stepped in front of him. "Well then. We better get inside."
Nodding, Daisuke took the lead—nothing new—and entered the apartment building, the two following him with curiosity.
Let's hope—Daisuke snorted internally at his choice of words—Iori and Koushiro can help me. I couldn't get through to him last night, so what makes everyone think I can get through to him now?
Daisuke frowned. For that matter, what makes them think that they'll get through to him at all? Yamato might help, and even maybe Sora, but they're off doing god-knows-what. We need them! Don't they get it? And besides, if I couldn't do it, why should they?
Appalled at his train of thought, Daisuke sat on his thoughts and squashed them.
And stay there.
The thoughts seemed to be listening to him.
He was grateful.
Mm…five more minutes.
Apparently he had spoken the words out loud, for a voice responded, "You said that five minutes ago, sleepyhead. Now wake up, 'Keru."
Groaning, he turned on his stomach, and lifted the pillow his head had been previously been lying, covering his head. "Too bright. Too early. I don't wanna."
The voice giggled. It was a pretty voice. Pretty voice…Pretty Hikari…
And suddenly, everything from the previous night rushed back, streams of memories slamming into him. Daisuke yelling at him, Yamato calling him, Hikari kissing him…
Hikari. He shot up like a bullet, his eyes frantically searching the room. She was standing beside the bed wearing a fairly amused expression. She tilted her head.
"Awoken finally, eh? Thank god, I was going to go get some water if you didn't wake up this time," she said, smiling. She walked towards the door, reaching for the doorknob. "If I were you, I'd get changed. Iori called. He, Daisuke, and Koushiro are coming over."
It was perhaps a sign of his state that his eyebrow raised. "Iori? Koushiro? Isn't he missing?"
"He was, but apparently he had come back home. Daisuke, Yamato, and Sora talked a little sense into him. Iori's gotten over some of his—stuff."
"Stuff," repeated Takeru, not bothering the cover his torso with the sheets. Hikari had seen much more. Though not necessarily by choice. On either of our parts. "Stuff," he said again. Gears in his mind were clicking into place, and suddenly he gasped. "Oh no! I can't! You will not let them in! You have to leave." When she didn't move, he gave her a disbelieving look. "What are you doing?"
She was staring him. He knew that. But that wasn't what she said. No, she didn't say anything.
Her face hard, she walked over to him and slapped him across the face, hard. Very hard.
"You jerk! What was all of that last night? Was it just some joke to you? You were smiling and you weren't going to give up. And now? Look at you! You're acting like it was—like it was all a big lie!"
Takeru stared at her for a moment. His hand brushed against the raw skin she had slapped. It burned, but the movement reminded him of a similar one of long ago…
No time for that now.
"Hikari—please, no, listen to me." He covered himself in the blanket and stood, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean it like that, really. I'm just not—I'm just not ready to face them, especially Daisuke," he admitted.
Hikari smiled sadly. "It's okay, Takeru. I'm afraid to face Taichi. He's going to be furious that I left in the middle of the night. Especially to sneak into your apartment."
"You didn't do much sneaking as much as sniffling." She hit him playfully across the shoulder, her eyes watery. Her voice faltered.
"Takeru—thank you."
He smiled warmly, the momentary dread he had felt still there, but definitely less prominent in the company of the one he was with. "No, Hikari. Thank you. I wouldn't be able to do this without you." She blushed but said nothing, exiting the room.
Takeru's smile faltered for a moment, but he pushed his worries aside. For the moment, he could deal with it. He had Hikari. What else did he need?
Hope.
Takeru grinded his teeth together. Hope. Why did it have to haunt him so?
He decided he would have to deal with it. I think a shower is in order…
Fortunately for him, Hikari was too busy in the kitchen to notice the noises from the shower as the soap slipped from his shaking hands a grand total of five times.
He was grateful.
She was bitter. It was probably the only fitting word to describe her mood, but it also felt very inadequate. She had been feeling bitter for the longest time, and yet, it had started to get repetitive.
She reasoned that the best way to describe herself at that moment would have to be—peculiar. Or maybe bittersweet would do. But all she knew was her stomach was rolling, the feeling nauseating. She felt—dirty. She felt as if nothing would dare touch her. She could and would only contaminate things and people.
She wasn't human anymore. Or at least, she didn't feel human anymore.
Maybe it was the fact that she felt downtrodden and small. Maybe it was the fact that she felt as if something had ripped out her soul.
Or maybe it was because she was no longer a virgin.
She had wished, hoped, dreamed that she would share that one gift she had with someone special. She would share the gift of being together, forever, only when they had made that commitment.
But then he had come and raped her.
She hadn't told anyone. She didn't think they'd believe her. It been planned, she could tell. It had been perfectly set up. And yet, she fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.
She couldn't decide which was worse—the fact that she felt like an embarrassment and fool or that she had hid her bedroom, locked the doors, and refused to see or talk to anyone.
She thought she had heard voices. They had even sounded familiar. Male voices sounded dark and angry, while the female ones sounded like Sirens, enticing her out of her safe—and dark—room. She had decided along time ago not to give in.
She was strong. She believed it. She knew it. Yet, she couldn't act on it. She felt weak and small.
She was squashed under all the pressure and the stress—her friends had their own problems. They shouldn't have had to deal with hers.
So she didn't bother them. She went on with her own life, hiding from society under the blankets.
Her vocal cords still were sore from their lack of use. She had tried using them the other day, just to find that they hurt as the air traveled through them.
But the pain was welcoming. She tried and tried, but they wouldn't work.
She gave up. She'd be doing that a lot lately.
She knew that what she was doing was wrong. She knew that she was letting him take over her life, not letting her be happy and free from his control.
But here she was, lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The voices from outside her prison—her room—had begun again, as they usually did when the window suddenly became unbearable with light and she needed to close the blinds.
She used to be vibrant and lively. She used to annoy everyone around her with her optimistic attitude about life. And there she was, dark, tried, and overly depressed.
She hated it.
But she couldn't do anything about it. And Miyako hated that almost as much.
Maybe even more.
She hated it.
But sometimes, the mere ability to feel the emotion, whether it hatred or love, it was slightly relieving.
Miyako was grateful.
He was leading her, his thumb and forefinger wrapped around her wrist. He smelled so good, and she found herself being distracted by his hair.
She didn't know what had made her suddenly appreciate and take in his appearance and his manner. Whatever it was, she liked it though. She needed to be grateful.
Sora thought she caught a whiff of pumpkin pie as Yamato breathed out. His blue eyes caught hers, and she felt a small smile slide up her face.
She felt like a teenage again. After everything she had gone through, from her parent's divorce, to everything else, she had grown, and so much faster than she should have. It was nice to be able to be a kid and maybe even normal, if only for a little bit.
He smiled at her, turning his face to line up with hers. He leaned down, foreheads touching. She closed her eyes.
"I love you, you know."
"I know."
He kissed her forehead before taking her hands in his. She nodded slowly, following him as he made his way towards the building.
"Are we meeting up with them here?"
"Nah, we'll find them later. And with company," he said smiling. She raised eyebrow, but he just shook his head and ushered her through the door.
When she walked in, Sora felt her throat close up.
They had entered a flower shop, not unlike her own. She could identify the flowers, each unique, each with a different smell, a different look. Her feet took her in front of a group of them, her fingers lacing the petals. Sora felt her eyes watering, the emotion of her flowers, her beauties in her fingers again, after so long, after so much pain—
Her arms were around him in a flash, her tears staining his shirt; he was comforting her, whispering soothingly in her ear—
Someone cleared their throat, and she froze, breaking away, wiping away her tears. A woman with frizzy brown hair stood shocked for a moment before breaking into a smile.
"Yamato! Sora! It's been too long!"
Jun Motomiya grinned at the redhead before hugging her. Cheerfully, as Sora stood their blinking, she embraced Yamato as well, then headed back behind counter.
Sora sat on the feelings of jealousy as they came creeping into her. Not the time, not now, and she has a boyfriend anyways…
Jun smiled brilliantly. "So, what brings you here?" she asked, her head tilted to the side.
Glancing at Sora, Yamato cleared his throat. "Um, actually, we—I mean, I—" he corrected at the look Sora shot him, "I was wondering, well, whether you'd come with us?"
The brunette looked confused for a moment. "Where? And why?"
"We're meeting up with Daisuke and some other of our friends for a bit of—well, lets just say we're going to have a talk."
"A talk?" she asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
"Yes, a talk," interrupted Sora, starting to get a little annoyed. We don't have time for this…we need to talk to Mimi and Miyako and Jyou and Ken…
"Okay, that seems fine, just give me a moment," she said with a shrug before she disappeared behind the door at the back.
Yamato raised an eyebrow at Sora but said nothing.
She was grateful.
Iori knocked on the door, his other palm sweaty against his leg.
Koushiro stood behind him, whispering slightly under his breath.
Daisuke tapped his foot impatiently, his arms crossed over his chest.
Hikari answered the door, biting her lip in anxiety.
Takeru stood behind her, his eyes closed and his heart beating quickly.
Iori smiled to his friend, her eyes glimmering in delight of the company. "Hey, Hikari."
"Iori!" She engulfed him in a hug, and startled, Iori hugged her back.
Daisuke chuckled from behind them. "Nice to see you again, 'Keru." The blonde shuffled nervously.
"Look—Daisuke, I'm—"
The goggle-head shook his head. "Don't bother, man. We're good?" he asked softly.
"We're good," said Takeru, smiling. The pair shook hands.
Hikari, grinning widely, gives Koushiro a once over before embracing him as well. Iori smiled inwardly.
She needs people…look at her, salvation in everyone…
Hikari's smile light up the room, to Iori's opinion, and Takeru was noticing it. He looked as if he wanted hide away, but every time Hikari smiled again, he'd gain confidence.
Iori smiled outwardly.
Maybe we can get through this…
Takeru ushered them inside, since they were still standing in the doorway, making them sit down. Hikari went off to the kitchen where she brought lemonade out for them. Daisuke raised an eyebrow at it but didn't say anything.
Iori was grateful.
Blood, red and warm, dripped, from the pieces of glass, onto his hands. Scars and scabs pulsed, the pain starting to numb down. He sighed, running the bleeding hand through his hair.
If he had a heart, it would probably be aching, killing him from the inside. If he had a heart, he would be crying, tears running down his face in the replacement of blood. If he had a heart, he would understand, he would be smiling, he would find himself happy.
If Taichi had a heart, he wouldn't be sitting on his bedroom floor, staring with empty eyes at the glass, his ghost of a face reflecting back to him. His hand wouldn't be balled into fists, hoping for something, or maybe even someone to punch.
He wanted her back.
She was his sister; she was the only person left he felt anything remotely like love towards. Taichi knew he had to fight for her. She couldn't just be stolen away from those liars, those cheats, those he used to call friends.
They'd use her, they'd treat her like trash.
Hikari would never be the same.
If he had to-do list, if he had been slightly organized again, the first thing on the list would be to make sure Hikari was happy.
And she wasn't going to be happy with them. Taichi was sure of it. They couldn't protect her or take care of her like he could. He was going to leave. And she was going to come with him.
She was his sister, and he knew she loved him. Perhaps stupidly, perhaps against her better judgment sometimes, but Taichi knew that she'd follow him.
He needed the company, if nothing else. But he did care for her, his sister, his family.
Truthfully, he didn't know what he would do if she hadn't love him.
But Hikari did love him. Or he really and truly believed she did.
And for that, Taichi was grateful.
Notes: Thanks to The Digital Gate as usual for beta-ing.
Sorry it took so long. Life is hectic and busy. I can't promise I'll get the next chapter in the next month. But I can promise that I will finish this story.
Thank you for all the feedback! I love reviews. (hinthint)