A dreary, rain-soaked afternoon in a quiet suburb near the edge of town, where reality seems to blur into the digital realm due to a mysterious digital field. You are walking home from school, your backpack heavy with books and your mind busy with day-to-day worries. The rain pours relentlessly, drumming a monotonous rhythm on your umbrella. As you take a shortcut through a less-travelled path that runs alongside a small wooded area, you spot a figure in the distance. It's an unusual sight—a large, brooding creature, sitting alone under the skeletal branches of an old tree, seemingly unconcerned by the downpour.
As you approach, the figure becomes clearer, and you recognize him, it's Beelzemon, a Digimon, looking lost and out of place in your world. His motorcycle is parked nearby, its chrome surfaces gleaming wetly under the rain. Despite your surprise, curiosity drives you closer.
"Hey, are you okay?" you call out, your voice nearly drowned out by the rain.
Beelzemon looks up, his red eyes narrowing. "Leave me alone," he growls, his voice gruff. "I'm not the kind of person—or Digimon—you want to be around."
Unperturbed by his harsh tone and knowing his reputation from the digital world as a tough, often misunderstood character, you step closer, offering a smile. "Everyone deserves to get out of the rain. Come on, I live just nearby. You can dry off, and I'll fix you something warm to eat."
Reluctantly and with a suspicious glare, Beelzemon rises, towering over you. His presence is intimidating, yet there's a weariness about him that tugs at your heartstrings. He follows you, his heavy boots squelching in the mud.
Once home, you usher Beelzemon inside, where he hesitates, dripping on the threshold. "I won't stay long," he mutters.
"In the meantime, you can stay as dry as you like," you reply, guiding him to sit at the kitchen table. You hang his wet coat and fetch a towel for his hair. Despite his initial protests, he lets you help him, his eyes watching your every move with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
You prepare a simple meal, something warm and comforting. Beelzemon watches you move around the kitchen, his earlier defensiveness slowly melting away under the warmth of your home and the aroma of cooking food. He tries to maintain his tough demeanor, grumbling occasionally, but you notice him relaxing slightly as the room fills with the scent of hot soup.
"You really don't have to be nice to me," Beelzemon says as you set a bowl in front of him.
"I know," you answer, smiling. "But I want to be."
As the evening wears on, the storm outside lessens. Inside, the sound of the rain morphs into a gentle patter against the windows—a stark contrast to the warmth and calm of the kitchen. Beelzemon eats quietly, and though he's slow to open up, your kindness doesn't go unnoticed. You talk about mundane things at first, avoiding pressing him with questions about how he ended up here. It's clear he's guarded, carrying secrets you can't yet understand. But for now, this strange, unexpected dinner is a beginning an offer of friendship to a lost soul far from home.
