Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Altogether ❯ Altogether ( Chapter 1 )

Um, I wrote this my freshman year of high school and I kind of hate it. I'm rewriting it into a two-or-three-parter right now and it's so much dirtier. … But yeah, this is just like… whatever. It's got its good points, but it's kind of silly overall. Hope you guys enjoy it.

 

 

ALTOGETHER

Melodramatic Shounen-Ai Cheese by Enkay

 

 

 

I feel like screaming.

 

I can feel it struggling in my throat, fighting and clawing at me like a caged animal desperate to free itself. But, of course I can't just start screaming at the top of my lungs--I am at school, in the bathroom, no less; my reputation in this building isn't particularly stable as it is. If someone happens to walk in on me crouched in the corner like I am, screaming my voice raw, I'll probably end up being shipped off to a mental hospital.

 

But maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I could pretend I was actually insane, and I'd forget everything, and… then what?

 

I don't realize the door has opened and closed again until I hear his voice, the very voice I would give anything not to hear, tentatively speaking my name. “Daisuke...?”

 

I lift my head ever so slightly, just enough to able to glare at the boy standing in front of me, tall and handsome and perfect in every way I didn't know I'd wanted to be. He usually has a friendly grin on his face and a strong light in his eyes, his golden hair shining in the glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes--but now, in the paleness resonating from the lights fixed to the ceiling, he looks rather normal; less than normal, really, as the aforementioned grin has been replaced by a pensive, uncertain look. “Um... are you okay...?”

 

“Do I look okay?” The words slip out before I realize I have spoken, hoarse and slightly hysterical. He is looking at me as if he has never really seen me before, and I realize that my face is streaked with tears. Embarrassed and hating him for seeing me like this, I cover my face with my hands, scrubbing my eyes, and mutter, “Why the hell are you here?”

 

“I... I really don't know, but...” There is a rustle of clothing, and I look up sharply; he has taken a seat directly in front of me, his face inquisitive and focused. I try to hold his gaze, but my eyes can't stay in one spot; the sinks, the bland linoleum, the cracked mirror second to farthest from me--anywhere but straight at him. I feel sick. “Try not to hate me, all right?”

 

“Oh, I'll try,” I say bitterly. I should shut up; I sound like a spoiled brat, like the type of person I hate the most--and in the big scheme of things, this entire affair really doesn't matter at all; really, it doesn't matter that I just happened to walk into the room when they were kissing--“Just fuck off, Takeru.”

 

He sighs, sounding genuinely frustrated, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him rub his eyes, much like I have been doing. The room is spinning. She's probably waiting outside for him now, wondering why he's taking so long, why he cares at all about my feelings...

 

I look directly at him, facing him and his lying blue eyes—I'm angry, yes, but curious. “Tell me why you're here.”

 

He smiles awkwardly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I... I need to talk with you, because... well... and I just feel so stupid--”

 

“You feel stupid.” I am unable to keep the quaver out of my voice, and I am sure he's seen the glitter present in my eyes. “You.” When has Takaishi Takeru ever looked or felt stupid?

 

“Yes,” he says forcefully, sighing again, and draws a little closer to me. Our faces are about a foot apart, and I feel a wave of nausea creep up on me with the subtlety of a train wreck. “There's been a misunderstanding.”

 

“Has there?” I mutter. Why aren't I able to just shut up?

 

“... Yeah, I... it's just...” He exhales heavily. “What exactly did you see?”

 

And now he wants me to say it out loud. The fucking sadist. I take a breath that rattles deep in my chest. “... I was walking... you know, to the library... because I have last period free, so I thought I'd get some stuff done... and...” My stomach spasms and I swallow vomit. “You were all over her, you fucking bastard--”

 

He doesn't flinch; if anything, his eyes grow more kind, more understanding. I hate him. “And?”

 

And I ran. And I wished so, so much that I was you. “And that's all I saw.” My mouth has a mind of its own; I am unable to silence it. “What else would I need to see?”

 

He pulls his knees to his chest, looping his arms around them, and watches me quietly for a moment. I glare back defiantly, and wish now that I still had the power to look away. “What?”

 

“We were just in the library to work on a project, or something... I can't even remember what class it was for; that isn't exactly what I was focusing on.” There is a slight reddish tint to his face, as if he isn't exactly sure why he is sitting here telling me this--I'm not really sure myself. “She was explaining something to me, and she smiled at me like... well, you must know how it feels; like you're the single most important person in the world, and nothing in the world matters but you.” He fidgets, not looking at me anymore, and slides his stupid Gilligan hat off of his head, revealing a mass of completely perfect golden hair. “I guess I just kind of... lost it.” He looks at me sheepishly. “And that's what you saw.”

 

I stare at him, and he looks even more uncomfortable; his face has reddened considerably. I almost feel sorry for him--but no, I must be cold. Cold and heartless. “So you `lost it'?”

 

He sighs miserably. “Please, Daisuke, don't make this any harder for me than it already is--”

 

“How do I know you haven't just made this up to make me feel better?” I ask suspiciously.

 

He just looks at me sadly. “And why would I do that?”

 

He has a point. After a few moments more of strenuous analyzing, I decide to believe him. “... So what did she do?”

 

He cracks a smile; I suddenly and inexplicably feel better about everything. “She pulled away from me, looking traumatized.”

 

“Ouch.” I contemplate the gravity of his situation for a moment, then say, “If it makes you feel any better, she probably would have slapped you if you were me.”

 

“Maybe.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “And maybe not.”

 

I look at him warily. My eyes are blurring. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“... Ummm.” He shrugs, and brushes his hair out of his face. “She doesn't hate you as much as you seem to think she does, you know.”

 

I blink.

 

“In fact, she doesn't hate you at all.” He begins to play with his hat absently, fingering the contours and textures that make up its design. I can't seem to look away. “I think… it would be hard for her to hate anything, especially a person. One of her friends.” He might have put a slight emphasis on the word `friends'; I'm not sure if I've imagined it or not. “Don't you?”

 

He looks at me now, apparently expecting an answer, and there is something in his face… I can't quite put my finger on it. His eyes are beautiful. My heart is beating uncomfortably hard in my chest; the world has begun to gyrate—too fast yet too slow at the same time. He says my name, his voice barely above a whisper, and it sounds like a scream—his hand reaches out to touch my shoulder, hesitating slightly—our faces are inches apart—

 

Before I even feel my stomach heave, I am up on my feet, stumbling into a stall and collapsing in front of the toilet right before vomiting up whatever it was I had for lunch. It's funny; I've always recalled feeling better after throwing up, but today—

 

“Daisuke?” Takeru has come up behind me, pausing beside the stall's door, which I had knocked ajar in my hasty entrance; I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “Daisuke, you didn't… um… I didn't know you were sick…”

 

I take some toilet paper to wipe my mouth, and say nothing. He seems anxious now, restless; it appears as though perfect Takaishi Takeru doesn't know what to do with a sick person. Or is it because this is me?

 

“Ummm…” I watch him lean against the door, glancing at what could possibly be a clock on the wall—he probably has to get back to class soon, if he was in the library, and he's wasting here, bothering with me… “I should really take you to the nurse, or something; you could stay there until school ends.” He takes a deep breath. “… If you want, I could—“

 

“No.” I'm surprised at how level my voice is. Takeru is watching me with an odd mix of curiosity and anxiety as I stumble to my feet and shove past him, trying to look as normal as possible. He's already seen my cry and throw up in the space of ten minutes; I don't need him to watch me fall apart. My eyes blur slightly, but I ignore them, blinking hard, as I drop to my knees in front of a sink.

 

“What are you doing?” His voice taken on an amused tone, and I feel a hand tighten on the back of my collar.

 

“I'm going to wash this shit out of my mouth,” I hear myself say, though how I'm able to is anyone's guess; most of my attention is focused on his hand. “It's disgusting.”

 

He sighs, and the hand slips over to my shoulder. I bristle involuntarily. “I can just get you some water from the drinking fountain, if you want… that has to be nasty-tasting.”

 

I ignore him, even though it is. I'm not getting any help from him, despite the fact that I was offered it. As soon as the taste in my mouth has subsided, I'll—I'll… shit, what is he doing? Why is his hand moving again?

 

“You're shivering,” his voice says plaintively from somewhere above my head. “A lot. And…” The back of his hand touches my forehead lightly. “… I think you have a fever…”

 

I stand abruptly, hating him, and whirl around. “Dammit, Takeru, stop… touching me…”

 

He is very, very close. I have never noticed how much taller than me his is—about a half a head—and dammit, his eyes are beautiful. My hands tighten on the edge of the sink as I lean backwards, just slightly, and he follows me, his eyes half-closed—our noses touch—

 

And the door creaks as it begins to open. Takeru blinks, startled, and doesn't respond when I slip out from under him, my arms crossing over my chest to help abate the shivering. The intruder is someone from our class—I don't care enough to remember his name. He greets Takeru warmly, pausing to give me a half-awkward look of acknowledgement, then explains that he had been sent down to the bathroom to get paper towels to clean up spilt milk, or something similar—I'm not really listening. My mind is reeling. Just a moment ago, I had—I had almost—

 

“… maybe there will be some in an older bathroom,” Takeru is saying, and smiles at the kid—although it seems a little more forced than usual. “They converted this one all to those blow dryer-things a couple months ago…”

 

“Yeah, I forgot.” The kid sighs moodily, rolling his eyes, then turns toward the door. “Son of a bitch teacher… see you, Takaishi.” Right before his exit, he pauses. “By the way, great hiding place.”

 

I blink at him, confused, despite the fact that he seems to be subtly avoiding my eyes; Takeru, too, looks puzzled. “What?”

 

“Great hiding place,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows at Takeru in what he seems to think is a devilish way. “I don't know what you did, but Hikari's pretty hell-bent on finding you. A bathroom's probably the best place to crash until school's over.”

 

He disappears through the door, and the two of us are alone once again.

 

It is completely silent. I am unnaturally aware of my heart, pounding like a jackhammer in my chest; my breathing, surprisingly ragged despite the strange lucidity with which I am thinking; my body, which has still not stopped shaking—

 

Takeru lets his breath out in a whoosh. I glance at him, only to see him watching me warily. “… Daisuke, I… um…” I hear him swallow audibly, and his mouth stretches into an uncertain grin. “What do you think she's going to do to me?”

 

“I don't know.” My voice surprises me with its lack of control. I sound as if I am about to cry. “Maybe you should go find out.”

 

“… Maybe…” He looks at me awkwardly, as if there's something he wants to say, but he isn't sure how to say it. “… Are you okay?”

 

I look at him for a long moment, wondering why it feels as if there is something caught in my throat. I am sick, obviously; I might have a fever. I might even be delirious; I don't know. I am in no position to be thinking or doing much of anything at the moment—but if this is the case, why am I suddenly seeing everything with such amazing clarity?

 

“I,” I say, my voice coming out sounding somewhat strangled, “am fine. I am fucking GREAT. You, on the other hand, need to go talk to Hikari.” Not even entirely sure of what I'm doing, I find myself marching across the room towards Takeru and taking him by the shoulders.

 

“I thought you liked her, too,” Takeru mumbles as I steer him towards the door.

 

“Of course I do,” I hear myself say, and release him. “I guess I'm just too nice of a person.”

 

He sighs, looking off to the side. “… All she's going to do is yell at me…”

 

“You don't know that.” It's funny… I'm saying all this as if I want them to get together, or something. “But the longer you keep her waiting, the more pissed-off she's likely to be.”

 

He glances at the door, and suddenly looks nervous. “… But…”

 

“If you don't do this now, you're going to regret it later.” Really funny.

 

“I know.” He says these words quietly, his eyes on the floor. “I just… I…” He sighs again, more heavily this time, and smiles at me awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “It's been a weird day.”

 

I shrug. Nod. Turn around. “Just leave, Takeru. Go find her.”

 

“Yeah, I will,” he says decidedly. “I'll go. Right now.” And before I can move or reply or do anything, his arms are around my waist, and I feel his head on my shoulder, despite the fact that he is that much taller than I am. I can't move. “Thank you, Daisuke,” he whispers in my ear, and then he is gone, having released me; I hear the sound of the door swinging open, and then nothing; the room is completely empty, except for me.

 

For a moment, I don't so much as breathe. Then, slowly, I sink to the floor and begin to cry.