Recommended companion reading for this chapter: "Evenings" ch. 9 by S. Walden and "Old College Try" ch. 1.

Maybe the sun's light will be dim

And it won't matter anyhow

2005

Joe still couldn't believe it. He'd seen them, several times since then. Izzy, his hand clasped gently in Tai's. He couldn't remember seeing the redhead so happy, nor the brunette so calm. It was a perfect match, he knew.

And he also knew that he would never experience that happiness for himself.

Where had Izzy found that courage, Joe often wondered. That shy little redhead, so terrified of his own emotions. How had he managed what Joe knew he could never do? Go to the boy he loved and lay his feeling bare, expose his soul to someone who could so easily destroy him?

He hadn't been there for it, though he'd heard about the display from Sora a few days later.

"They came up to us after school," she'd said, arms crossed. She couldn't meet Joe's eyes, not that he was looking at her anyway. He was too entranced by his shoes, chest feeling like it was caving in, and he knew no inhaler would help. "Said they had something important to tell us. Izzy stammered – I'd never heard him stammer before, you know – and we just, kinda looked at each other, me, Yolie, and Davis. Then Tai grabs Izzy and... kisses him, right in front of us. Like, really deep. And we're supposed to encourage this?"

It was nearly a year later, and the few times Joe had seen the couple since then, he couldn't deny their happiness, as much as he wanted to. As much as he wanted Izzy to be miserable like he was. As much as he wanted to have company in his self hatred.

To take his mind off the loving couple, to shield himself from Sora's glares, to placate his father whose abuse was coming harsher and more frequently, he began to intern at a small, private clinic in Odaiba. Too young and inexperienced to deal with the patients, he was relegated to the back room to measure and dispense medication. He spent less time at cram school, less time at home where his mother continued to decline, her seizures coming more and more often. He spent more time hiding away from the world, from his emotions, trapped in an enclosed space with other doctors, filling prescription bottles for faceless names as his mentor slowly realized just how knowledgeable the boy actually was.

Even at school, he was pulling away from Nana and Shinjiro. He didn't speak to them, didn't tell them about the tumultuous rolling in his very soul. He hated that he hated Izzy's happiness. Hated the jealousy that built up in his mind day after day. Hated that, in the darkness of his locked room, when he found the courage to call Matt, just to listen to the sound of his voice, he only heard pain.

Suffering.

Drunken slurring.

The closures of the Digital Gates was painful for them all, sure, but Matt... He took it the hardest. Without Gabumon around to be the gentle reminder of calm friendship, the blonde had begun to spiral into despair. He lost control of his band, his life, even his romance.

Joe was used to the signs of abuse, of pain, so he was surprised when he saw Sora after her first Christmas anniversary. Bruising on the bridge of her nose, scabs on her cheeks and lips, defensive cuts on her forearms and handprints on her wrists. She turned in on herself, snapping and snarling at everyone. It didn't take long for her to begin complaining, accusing her now-ex-boyfriend of fighting, of abuse, even of rape.

Matt threw himself into an orgy of sex, of alcohol, and, if the rumors were true, of drugs. Every day, even at his school all the way in Juuban, Joe heard about the blonde's exploits. A new day, a new girl. Or guy. Or combination thereof.

Joe cursed under his breath. So, it wasn't that he terrified of being outed. He just, honestly, damnably, didn't love Joe. He would sleep with any random guy off the street, but he wouldn't turn to the one man who truly loved him? It made him sick.

So he closed himself off, like he usually did. He took care of his mother, put in his hours at the clinic, ignored the worried looks of Nana and Shinjiro. His father took the belt to him for any infraction, convinced that his sudden dedication to his studies was to cover up something terrible. It was almost laughable – that the more Joe did what Shou wanted, the worse his abuse.

It was raining that day. He was running to the subway that would take him to his latest cram school, covering his glasses from the droplets more than his head. The icy coldness was comforting on his upper arm where Joanne had miscalculated throwing a lit candle at her husband.

He tripped and stumbled, almost tumbling down the subway stairs as he slipped in a rapidly-growing puddle at the ticket booth. He snatched his ticket from the machine, shaking his head like a wet dog and almost flinging his glasses across the tunnel. Not too much longer and he would be in his cram school, safely away from the rain that was plotting to kill him.

It was then that he heard it. That voice, once so melodic and comforting, now raspy and pained.

"... stole her cigarettes. Joke's on her."

Joe swallowed hard, turning to look. Matt was standing there, gray trench coat giving off the smell of cigarettes with every movement, every animated flap of his arms as he chattered, chattered of all things, at Izzy.

"Izzy! Matt!" he called, hoping the duo couldn't hear the sound of his heart breaking. One, so happy in his relationship, the other, so lost without his.

"Hello, Joe," Izzy greeted. There was a warmth in those black eyes, a look of such contentment that it was enough to make Joe sick with himself.

Matt just turned away, barely nodding his head in acknowledgment. It was obvious that he still wanted nothing to do with the lovelorn man approaching.

Joe swallowed the hurt, trying to remain their friends, trying to keep from losing everyone he'd once kept close. "You two getting out of the rain?"

"On our way back from a movie, actually," Izzy admitted. He gave a shrug, trying to hide the obvious wish that he had wanted to go with Tai. But the brunette was all the way across the city in Shibuya, living in the dormroom of an athletic high school he'd been accepted into a year early. Something about being kicked out of his house? Joe could barely keep up with his own life, much less the lives of his friends.

The redhead turned to Matt, trying to hide his worries under a simple statement, "I don't see the merits of people getting buried in a garden by their murderer."

But Matt either didn't realize or, more likely, care about his short friend's troubles, lamenting loudly over a clap of thunder, "The man was insane, Izzy. That's all that mattered."

The blonde shoved his hands in his pockets, fumbling with something inside. He blinked heavily, shaking his head as Joe spoke, "I got lucky, I just barely made it in time for the train and now I get to see you two." Joe tried to remember what Mat had always been into, before they'd fallen out of contact. "How have you been, outside another bad slasher film?"

"Well..." Izzy glanced at Matt apologetically before admitting, "I wanted to spend the day with Tai, but he said he doesn't have time. Ever since he got that scholarship, I haven't really spent time with him..." He blushed, seemingly realizing just how candid he was being. "I'm proud, though – I know he has to do this."

Joe glanced at Matt, but he refused to speak. "I'm doing well in school," he admitted. Izzy looked to him, a knowing light in his eyes. He would never forget that conversation outside Merston High's gates. "But the internship I'm doing feels like having a full-time job."

"He's makin' you intern this early?" Matt snapped suddenly, loudly, voice drowned out as the train approached with a roar of metal.

Joe shrugged, ignoring the slight slurring. Surely the blonde was just a little tired from the late movie showing. "I can handle it," he defended. "I enjoy it because I get to work hands on."

Matt grumbled under his breath, something about another person's hands being somewhere. Joe ignored him to continue, "I enjoy it," he pressed as Matt scoffed. "It's easier than listening to lectures for eleven hours a day, at least."

The train stopped with a great hiss, a voice calling something indistinct over the speaker with an overpowering crackle.

"Ah," Izzy said softly, scared to get between the two boys. "My train is due. I need to excuse myself. Later, Matt. Good seeing you, Joe."

Izzy bowed, quickly abandoning the two. Matt turned away, raising one hand in a half-assed wave, more like he was trying to rid himself of Izzy as quickly as possible. Joe frowned, seeing the telltale yellowing of his nails. He was barely sixteen, there was no way he could get hold of cigarettes...

"Are you sleeping?" Joe asked suddenly, worry biting at his chest. "Eating? You look pale."

Matt sighed. Joe knew the blonde barely slept in the first place, and the nicotine couldn't possibly help. "I'm fine, Joe. Really."

"Are you going home to an empty house again?" Joe asked. And a full bottle of liquor?

"Are you goin' home to an abusive dick ag'in?" Matt snapped before looking away.

Joe inhaled sharply. So, there it was. The first time it had been said outloud, used as an insult to undercut his own concern. That was just as well, he figured. His flesh served no other purpose than to display the bruising, the wounds of his father's anger, never again to be touched with those rough, dishwater hands ever again. He swallowed the lump in his throat, adjusting the strap of his bookbag so it relieved the pressure on his burn.

"You were hanging out with Izzy," he said softly. Even spoken outloud for the entirety of the subway station to hear, there would be no help. Nothing would ever stop his father's rage. "... That's good..."

"He had nothing better t' do," Matt said softly, slowly. "I had nothing better to do."

Aside drink alone? Joe thought. If he couldn't help himself, he could try and help the blonde swaying before him. "I didn't come here to lecture you, I promise." Joe smiled, trying to entice Matt into their old friendship, anything to keep him from continuing to destroy himself. "Let's just talk."

"About what?" Matt spat, a dark chuckle rising out of him. "I know your game, Joe. I'm sorry I didn't return your call."

Joe frowned, confused. What was he talking about? "The one... from two months ago? Matt, I don't even remember why I had to call you."

"I can take a guess," Matt growled, finally removing the pack of cigarettes from his pocket he'd been toying with the whole time.

Joe wanted to say something about Matt's health, about his lungs and various other organs he was slowly shutting down. But he could only feel the terror from that day, rising up in his mind. His mother had snapped the lock off Joe's room, screaming at him to run from whatever had set her off. Shou had been walking in the door at that moment and without a pause, he'd swung his briefcase at Joanne. The woman, usually so resilient and strong had collapsed instantly into a still heap that even her husband took a weary step back. The blood was dripping onto the floor, pooling around her exposed skull. Joe had turned to his father, demanding to know what had happened. Shou had shook his head, mouth opening wordlessly.

"She needs to go to the hospital!" Joe had demanded, feeling the bile rise in his gut at the stench that was filling the apartment.

"No!" Shou snapped. He raised his bloody briefcase, threatening his son who flinched away quickly, backing down like usual. "Fix her – now! Get the needle and thread from the bathroom then clean her up. I can't have another bloodstain in the wood."

Joe remembered his hands turning red, being able to see the blood under his nails for days afterward as he stitched his mother's flesh together. She was shaking and blinking, on the verge of consciousness, and Joe remembered her whispering over and over, "Save him... Save him, please..."

He'd called Matt that night, sobbing, begging the blonde to rescue him from this Hell he'd lived for seventeen years. But Matt, still lost no matter who he spoke to, had been drunk. The sounds of physical ecstasy drowned out by the throbbing bass of a stranger's stereo quickly reminded Joe of his place in life. He wasn't the one to be comforted, he was the one that helped others. The phone had slipped from his hands, blood still to this day smeared across the screen as he sobbed.

Joe shook his head, dragging himself to the just as miserable present. "Why are you bombarding my father right now?" He thought of Malcolm, the tall strong man who looked at his son with all the same love Gabumon had ever shown. "Did yours piss you off?"

"What the hell do you care?" Matt growled, and Joe knew he'd hit a nerve.

"Oh, what did he do?" Joe glared, his own hopelessness turning into anger, trying to see what pleasure the blonde derived from it. "Care?"

"I thought you didn't come here to fight?" Matt said, angrily spitting smoke in Joe's face.

The blue haired man waved the scent away, not wanting to have to use the last of his inhaler that night. He coughed and clarified, "I didn't come here to lecture you. If I have to fight with you to talk some sense into you, then I will," he threatened. "Trust me, I've seen Tai make it work."

Matt flinched suddenly, and Joe bit his tongue. He'd said the wrong thing, again, and now he was going to be left alone. Left completely and utterly alone.

"Let's... not talk about him," Matt mumbled, taking a drag on his cigarette almost shamefully.

Joe looked to his feet, unable to meet those eyes he'd surely made upset. "I know... things aren't going well. You know I'm worried, is all."

There was a moments silence in which Joe was certain he'd lost the other boy in again. And then, "Yeah, I know... That's your job description." He flicked away ash, half his cigarette gone in a white and gray puff. "I didn't mean to snap, you know me."

"If I couldn't take that temper of yours, what kind of friend would I be?" Joe asked quietly, smiling softly at his shoes. Friend. Of course that was all he could ever hope to be.

"Honestly," Matt began and Joe looked up. Honesty was something severely lacking with the blonde right now. "I'm just worried about you, too. Your father pushing you too hard and all. Don't think I can't see that purple skin near your wrist or the strain in your eyes." Joe looked away as Matt offered softly, "My apartment's free right now. You can come by you know..."

Joe wanted to leap on the offer. Wanted to find himself alone with the blonde just like he had when he was eleven. Wanted to try and right everything that had gone so wrong so quickly. But the burn on his shoulder throbbed and he shook his head. "I can't tonight. If I'm not back after cram school, my father will..." He shuddered and gave a tiny smile he knew Matt could see right through. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure," Matt spat and Joe knew he'd screwed up again. Tonight had been his only chance and he'd blown it. Another train pulled up, dousing them in another angry hiss. "That's your train, isn't it?"

"Aren't you headed the same way?" Joe asked, a feeling of desperation setting in. He couldn't let it end this way – not again! But Matt just began walking away and Joe knew he had a choice. He could go to cram school, just as his father wanted, and let the blonde move on to his own self-destruction. Or...

Or he could help. For once in his life, he could reach out to another human being and try and change his life.

Joe turned from the train, running out into the rain after the drenched, drunken blonde he hated to love.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Shou screamed. He grabbed Joe by the throat, bloody knuckles making it hard to get a good grip and threw his son against the wall with all his might.

Joe could hear his skull crack as he collapsed to the floor, but he didn't have time to worry about internal bleeding. His father's foot was coming down on him, over and over. Shou couldn't control his shaking long enough to remove his belt, instead hitting Joe with whatever he could reach.

"You let that... That... Goddamn foreigner in here! That filthy fucking half-blood traitor! And you let him do this to me?!"

Joe was covering his face with his arms as Shou grabbed a medical textbook off the shelf. It was thick and heavy, a diagnostic dictionary older than Shin, but the edges were still sharp. Joe bit his tongue until he tasted blood, trying to keep from screaming as Shou brought the book down over and over, gouging deep into the flesh of his son's forearms. Blood was spraying the walls, though who it was coming from, neither could tell.

Matt had certainly done a number on Shou's face.

"How the fuck do you think I can explain this? Huh? Huh, you little shitstain!? My fucking nose is broken!" Shou acted like he meant to fling the book onto Joe's chest, the blood making it slip from his gasp.

Joe was wheezing, coughing. Asthma gripped his chest and he curled in on himself pathetically. He wanted to reach for his inhaler. He wanted to give up and die.

Shou slipped in a puddle of Joe's blood, screaming at the top of his lungs. He didn't care what the neighbors thought, he only cared that some bleached-blonde punk had called him out.

He looked at the pathetic mess on the floor, sobbing and choking on his own blood. All the man could see was red, white hot rage filling him. He unwillingly recalled the blonde's words, that damned voice echoing in his skull.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a human being!"

"I'm not pathetic," Shou hissed. He drew his foot back, kicking forward as hard as he could. "I am not pathetic! You are! God fuck you, you're pathetic!"

Joe had been used to the pain in his arm. The twinge that made him ache constantly. It had been with him for weeks now, ever since Shou had twisted his wrist for smudging the ink on his homework. He was pretty sure it had been a fracture, a hairline crack in his ulna. But as his father's bloody boot swung at him, he heard it. The crack. The disgusting crunch.

Joe couldn't stop the scream, the belch of blood he'd been trying to hold back as that fracture split his bone in two. He could feel it, tearing the muscle, pressing disgustingly against the skin. His eyes rolled back, glasses already across the floor. The pain was overwhelming and he twitched, he pulsed.

He fell into a seizure, broken body jerking helplessly on the floor.

Shou reached down, grabbing his son's head and holding him as still as he could. He didn't care about the boy's pathetic life any more than he cared about the woman bound and drugged out of her mind in the bedroom. What he cared about was what would happen when the neighbors inevitably called the police. What they would say when they opened the door to a potential crime scene.

Shou spit on Joe's face, the saliva mixing with the blood as it dripped down his cheek. As the body in his arms stilled, he grabbed the sheet his wife often used from the couch. He wrapped it around the still figure and hoisted it over his shoulder. The sheet was already covered in his wife's blood, and he knew it would catch anything the boy would end up spewing before long.

Shou moved quickly, hurrying down the hallway. He couldn't let the neighbors catch him before he could clean himself up.

Joe ended up coming to in the car. He struggled to sit up, blood drying and making the sheet stick to his flesh. His arm throbbed, but he felt like he'd been drugged, his own body flooding him with as many endorphins as it had.

"D... Dad...?" he mumbled, tongue aching in ways he'd never thought possible. He could taste blood, feel it sticking to his teeth that were all, thankfully, still in tact. "Wh-where are...?"

"Shut up," Shou hissed. He made a sharp turn and Joe almost vomited. "Just shut the fuck up. When you get back, believe me, you will never set foot out of that room again – not without my permission! You will never so much as think of that goddamned foreigner, do you hear me?!"

Joe took a shuddering breath. He tried to push himself up, sobbing as his broken arm shifted in ways it was never meant to move. "What h-h-happened?"

"You were mugged," Shou said, car screeching to a halt. "Get the fuck out, now!"

Joe jumped automatically, the words not even registering in his mind until he'd already poured himself out of the back seat, pooling on the side of the street in a bloody heap. His glasses were still missing, and he looked at the blurry building he'd been dumped at. His father's car – the neighbor's car, Joe realized as soon as he could think again – took off in a crunch of gravel as a nurse rushed out of the small ER: a free clinic that only druggies and prostitutes came to, Joe would learn over the next few days.

"My God," the man whispered. "What happened to you, son?"

"I... I was..." Joe swallowed the blood that was still oozing into his mouth. "I was mugged... A stranger gave me a ride here..."

"What's your name?" the nurse asked. A stretcher was being pulled up, tired doctors used to the sight of used product being dumped on their stoop.

"It's... I'm..."

Joe tried to think of his father. How much it would destroy the man's career to be one to do this to a child, his child.

"Takaji Minamoto..."