Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Kohana ❯ Kohana ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Digimon doesn't belong to me.

 

Pairing: Hikari x Daisuke

 

Warnings: Innuendo, Hetero, OOC, Lime, and Mush.

 

Written because I needed the Daikari fluff. I was a in a good enough state to write this (given my fever, which is SLOWLY disappearing) and the idea wouldn't go away. The thing is in Hikari's POV, in case you're confused.

 

And by the way, Kohana means `little flower' in Japanese. It's used for a Japanese girl's name too. Also, we are going to pretend this was set in the future when everyone was at least the legal age for sex and the likes.

 

 

 

Kohana

 

 

 

There are some things you can't help but notice.

 

How you say that name is one of the things. His name. It's nothing special really. He's nothing special. Well, he is just like everyone else, an ordinary boy and nothing more. Besides a Chosen of course. A leader of the Chosen no doubt.

 

But still, that's really nothing. Even though he's the leader, he's still their equal. Your equal. And no matter how hard you try to deny it, that thought just seems to threaten you into breaking a huge smile. Not to mention arise a definite warm and mushy feeling within you.

 

But that's stupid of course. Of course it is. So you should obviously treat him like you treat everyone else, like a close friend and buddy. But you don't. For some reason, there is something about him that just hits you in the face and disappears before you can figure out what it is.

 

You don't treat him like a close friend. But you don't treat him like a best friend (as far as you're concerned, you've already got the blonde boy). And God forbid he becomes your enemy, not that you treat him like that either. So what do you treat him like? What's so special about him?

 

You don't know. But saying, speaking, living, and breathing his name has always seemed to help you answer.

 

“Daisuke…”

 

 

 

There some things that you can't help but notice.

 

A man's eyes are one of them. Or rather, his eyes. They're kind of pretty, you think. Not pretty in the girlish type of way, but in the way that makes your knees buckle and your lips dry. They aren't too big or too small, just the right sort of shape in an ovular kind. And then there's the color, your absolute favorite thing about them. Dark, dark brown that is nothing like your brother's. Nothing.

 

You like his eyes you decide. True, they're absolutely nothing like your best friend's, who's got the glowing sapphires, nor his own best friend's amethysts, but jewelry has always been far too overrated and expensive for you. What you like though, is his dark brown chocolate eyes. You've always liked chocolate, and you like it even more on him.

 

And when he just looks at you with a smoldering type of stare, his brown eyes full of something, that's when you think you'd like to take to him to your bed for other things besides sleeping (but then you berate yourself for thinking such things like that and what would your brother say?).

 

They're just eyes Hikari. Just eyes.

 

It's probably nothing.

 

 

 

There are some things you can't help but notice.

 

A man's hands are one of them. And not just any man's hands, his hands (and he's just a boy anyway). He doesn't have the most perfect kind of hands; they're rough and get really sweaty really easily, but the warmth they provide more than makes up for it. You know this because of that time when he reached across to grab your hand for comfort for something or the other. You can't remember.

 

And yet, you do remember thinking that your hand just seemed made to fit into his, like it was molded for his. Or maybe his for yours, you aren't quite sure. Though his hands are rough, they're also gentle. You know this from that time when the whole group visited the Digiworld for a picnic, and you spotted him going off to a flower patch, picking and caressing the little flowers.

 

You would've giggled and thought it cute (and you did for the most part), but a small little part in you was jealous of that flower and wished it was you he was touching - again, you slapped yourself because of your unsanitary thoughts - along with half a billion other things. That was when you realized you hit an all time low because you were jealous over some stupid flower.

 

But - for some strange reason you can't possibly fathom - you found a whole new appreciation for that same little flower when he walked up to you with a blush that looked really good on him and actually handed you that flower with a mumbled, “For you Hikari.” You wanted to grin and scream and shout all at once, but you suppressed that urge at the last moment and gave him a smile, taking the flower from him.

 

When you took the flower from him though, your knuckles made the smallest of brushes against his and you didn't think you were ever the same. Not that you'd ever admit that to yourself.

 

It's just hands Hikari. Just hands.

 

It's probably nothing.

 

 

 

There are some things you can't help but notice.

 

A man's fire is one of them. But his fire is different, because it's like nothing you've ever seen. Most of the time, a woman can see a man's fire on his skin, when he turns red with rage. A man is always at its ugliest when he is mad, when he is on fire. Not him though, it's never like that with him.

 

For one thing, you've always seen his fire in his eye, never on his skin. True, his tan skin does turn a sort of pinkish kind of color, but that was always because of embarrassment or the likes, never anger. But his eyes are an entirely different story. Because when his fire comes, his dark brown eyes just light up and it's no fire that's in his eyes, it's an incomparable bonfire with an intensity that shakes you like nothing else. Nothing.

 

You've seen his bonfire only two times. The first was when they all faced off against BelialVamdemon, or maybe it was some other Digimon that was trying to take over the world, you just can't remember.

 

But, you do remember the second time though, like it was yesterday when it happened weeks ago. Heck, you remember it like it happened just two minutes ago, like you could outline every single detail. Okay, maybe you don't remember everything. Truth be told, the whole thing seemed like a complete blur to you.

 

All you remembered was that one minute you caught him staring at you with a smoldering stare filled with bonfires from left to right, and the next minute you were leaning over and seizing his lips in a vigorous kiss that turned your world upside down and inside out.

 

It's just a fire Hikari. Just a fire.

 

It could be anything.

 

 

 

There are some things you can't help but notice.

 

Like his lips. Only his lips, because you've never noticed anyone else's. He's got nice lips. Very nice lips. Like his hands, they're very far from perfect, and the only difference is that they aren't sweaty. And like his hands, you are struck by the fact that they seemed molded and born to fit yours (and only yours). You know this, because you've tasted his lips once, and many more times.

 

The whole thing's become a sort of game to you. It's not like Tag or Hide and Seek, and yet it is because you just don't know what to call it. There is simply not a word to describe yours and his predicament. There is simply nothing to describe how you and he sneak off during Chosen meetings to do things you'd never tell your brother, or even your best friend.

 

You can't tell them how it feels to have his lips on you, moving and clashing in an erratic rhythm that always feels new to you even when you've experienced it countless times. You can't tell them how it feels to bury your hands in his hair, and just run your fingers through it for support while he takes his time to explore the inside of your mouth.

 

And you most definitely won't tell them how it feels to look into his dark eyes the entire time he runs rough hands across and all over you. Because you aren't even sure how to describe it to yourself. There is just NO way to describe those lips. His lips.

 

It's only his lips Hikari. His lips.

 

It could be anything.

 

 

 

There are some things you can't help but notice.

 

Like the afterglow. Yours and his. It's how, after a long and sleepless night filled with things you've never imagined and more, that you can wake up in his arms. That you can be sure you'll end up in his arms, tight in his embrace.

 

Its how you take your time - since he's always been known to wake up late than you do - tracing your eyes over every detail, every perfection, every flaw, and everything in between. From the tips of his reddish-brown hair that have no particular name for the shade, down to choppy fingernails that have lots of evidence to show they'd been bitten on. You don't look below that, since the blanket is covering and you don't want to give him a cold from a draft.

 

It's a pure sign of affection, and it doesn't scare you like it might've before. Because you now know it isn't just a game. It never was, and you wonder how you could have thought of it like one in the first place. But if it was, then this boy with you had obviously won. And he won your heart (not that you were unwilling to give it in the first place). You couldn't help but cherish the loss and think that losing to him was the greatest thing you've ever won.

 

Still though, you also can't help but remember how good it felt to curl your fingers around his during a Chosen meeting, and kiss the air out of him, relishing the shocked expressions on everyone else's faces (including his). It was daring and unexpected for you to just do something like that, but you liked the change.

 

Because he changed you. And who knows, maybe one day you can change him - not too much though - and you can have the nice fairytale real ending you've read and dreamed about. For now though, you're happy with what you've got. And that's being in bed with the man in your reality (not your dreams).

 

He gave you a single small flower for your first year anniversary, the same one from the flower patch. You didn't remember feeling so happy and the only time that seemed to rival it was the very time you first saw a boy with dark brown eyes and rough tan hands.

 

It's Daisuke Hikari. Motomiya Daisuke.

 

And he's everything.

 

You can't help but wonder how you didn't notice it sooner.

 

 

 

End

 

 

 

Ah, I'm feeling SO much better now (the wonders of Daikari. Heh) so I'll probably be able to work up the strength for my other stories real soon. This was just a short something. And I've already planned out the rest of Snapshot, so no worries (plus I'm working on a HP one-shot during HBP).

 

Review! It's always great to hear your thoughts!