Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Dreams ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon or any of its characters. This is merely for fun and I gain no profit.

Author's Note: Well, this was supposed to be my first attempt at fluff...it didn't quite come out like I expected. Although it is fluffy at the end. ^^

Dreams

Ken dreams of Osamu every night.

He dreams of his brother, alive and well, smiling down at Ken. It was a smile never worn by his brother in life. Nor had he ever looked down at Ken with so much affection, love. Ken remembers the anger. The pain. He remembers the confusion, he doesn't remember the love.

The dreams lasts all night, in a slant of surrealism Ken still feels in the morning. Sometimes the images remain vivid and sharp, giving Ken a lasting impression of his brother's love. Sometimes the images remain vague and obscure, leaving Ken cold in the warming visages of morning. But most of the time, the images lay in between the two, and Ken feels both warm and cold.

***

He was sure that as he grew older the dreams would lessen, and then fade. That as time passed, Osamu's memory would certainly be gone, obliterated into the realm of the past, the forgotten.

Ken did not need, nor want the ghost anymore.

Unfortunately Osamu continued to lock onto Ken's dreams.

Somehow he manages to claw his way into Ken's subconscious, root himself deeply into Ken's mind and dredge up old weaknesses, old emotions best left blocked and sealed.

Ken usually wakes up and shudders away what's left of the past. He would rather forget and look to the future.

***

Ken enjoys watching the pain reflect on the Digimons' faces when he inflicts it. He laughs when they scream and plead, begging for mercy. Smirking, Ken increases their pain tenfold. Mercy was for the weak. And sometimes, what they want can never be. It was a harsh lesson that needed to be learnt. Ken thinks he can teach it. He was, after all, a brilliant past pupil of treacherous fate.

Ken rarely feels challenged. He knows no one can defeat him, with his superior intellect and athleticism. He knows no one can match him, move for move. But when those children arrived, thwarting his plans and destroying his spirals...he tastes the bitter fruit of defeat for the first time. It is not something he cared to taste again.

Which was why he has such fun tormenting them, punishing them for every time his precious plans are crushed. It was an addiction Ken never wants to give up. Especially when he sees how the leader, Daisuke, suffers so prettily. Begging him to release his friends, all the while unaware of his identity.

***

Ken dreams every night.

He twists and turns in his sweat stained sheets and cries out in horror. In pain. In his sleepless mind, he sees all the damage he's exacted, every single Digimon he's destroyed. He weeps dry tears of regret for what he has done and for what he can never undo.

When he finally awakens with a gasp, he reaches for the comfort of his green Digimon. Forgetting. The loss makes him ache and he wishes for impossible things.

***

Christmas is supposed to be festive, a time to be happy. It was a day for celebration, a time to have fun.

Ken didn't used to think so.

When he thinks of Christmas, he thinks of the cold. Of past Christmases where silence reigned and presents were politely opened, Thank yous and You're Welcomes exchanged. He remembers the feigned interest as he uncovers yet another textbook, the delight on his parents' faces. In Ken's memories, he hated Christmas; could barely tolerant being with both his parents' in the same room. He hated their expectations. He hated the way they made him feel. But most of all he hated the pretence.

Now, when Ken thinks of Christmas, he thinks of the warmth. He thinks of the first flush of ruddy cheeks, the shy dipping of spiky hair, and the radiance in large brown eyes. He remembers taking a parcel, bright and shining and gift-wrapped neatly with a red ribbon, and staring puzzledly at Daisuke, wondering why on earth he was blushing.

Ken always opens his presents tidily; slowly removing the paper, making sure rips would never mar its surface. Bit by bit he uncovers the hidden present, lightly unwrapping the final layer. He sees the album. The photos. And feels the twining ache and affection spread through his chest. Photos. Many photos of him and Daisuke, Wormon and Demi Veemon; at the picnic, at school, in ordinary places. But always standing close to one another, touching, laughing, smiling. On every corner, barely legible scrawls cover the small space, Daisuke's enthusiastic comments coming to life. And near the end, empty spaces.

Ken's Thank you is sincere, his violet eyes sparkle and he grins widely. Daisuke smiles happily back. Holding the album close to his chest, Ken begins planning on ways to fill up the empty spaces near the back.

***

Ken dreams every night.

He dreams of love and laughter, and smiling brown eyes. He dreams of smooth, soft lips, flushed and swollen from hours of kissing, tasting of chocolate and cinnamon. Even in dreams he does not forget Daisuke's taste, the feel of silky brown skin under his hands, the way their bodies fit together.

First kisses were usually treasured, a half memory invoking sensory visions of the past. Ken knows his and Daisuke's first kiss would never be forgotten, never be a half memory. It was always present in his mind, in his dreams, and Ken doesn't want to let go in the mornings. But he knows he has to.

A chill accompanies at any hint of waking, but it lasts only for a few seconds, time enough for Ken to bring dreams of Daisuke into reality. Ken remembers the dreams in the dawning light of morning, he cherishes the images when he stretches. He feels warm.