Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Matter of Perspective ❯ Yamato ( Chapter 5 )

DISCLAIMER: See previous parts.

A/N: Look! Look! New part! How much do you love me? ^^ Anyway, as would be expected under these circumstances from Yamato's POV, this installment is rather more soratoish and bound to squick people who loathe the couple (like me). There are also several arguably taito moments, but I've tried to keep Yamato from Hinting too hard. He and Taichi are, for all intents and purposes, just friends right now. Like I said before: I want to make Yamato and Sora's breakup as realistic as is possible within the general frame of wackiness. This installment is also rather more serious than the previous ones, because Yamato wanted to do a lot of angsting and I couldn't stop him. Oh, and Americans will want to know that forty kilograms is roughly ninety pounds.

He knew that people were speaking, arguing almost ceaselessly around him, but none of the words actually penetrated. He felt vaguely like a foreigner in an airport, listening when he hadn't learned the language yet. Even Sora was involved by now -- he could see her from the belly down, arms moving in violent circles the way they did when someone finally provoked her into losing her temper. Yamato knew it must have been about him and the others, because Sora never got that upset for her own sake. Most of the time, he admired that martyrdom; it was just today that he wished everyone would shut up and let Koushirou think.

Then again, Yamato didn't want to think for his part. He didn't want to feel, either. What he really wanted to do was hide in a tiny, dark corner of his own wonderful unchanged mind and ignore the outside world entirely. Back when he was younger and his parents had just started to fight about getting a divorce, Yamato remembered doing that all the time. He had been quite good at it before he met Taichi, and -- well, before he met Sora. The change must have come from Sora, whether or not she was really the sort of person who would break down someone else's emotional barriers without their permission.

Never mind, the blonde told himself. Whoever had done the breaking, the fact remained that he couldn't block out his emotions anymore. Not completely. Not like when he was six. So, Yamato ignored the subtle hitch in his own breathing, ignored the unfamiliar extra weight on his ribcage that caused it; but he still felt them shifting under Taichi's borrowed jacket with every slight movement. He wanted Sora to come away from the others and talk to him like she had when she first showed up. At least when she was rambling softly about all the pointless little details of her life for the past week, he had something to focus his attention. Without that, Yamato's thoughts drifted aimlessly -- and they kept coming back to the weight.

He closed his eyes, opened them again, and looked around desperately at the others. They weren't the same people he had gone into the Digital World with earlier that morning. Halfway through the portal, all of them had bounced off an unexpected barrier, but only four of them were very different now. Mimi, standing rigidly against the far wall; Takeru, with Hikari's comforting arms wrapped around him; Miyako, pacing restlessly in a tight circle; and Yamato. Sitting by himself a little ways from everyone else, wearing an oversized jacket that was missing so many buttons he literally had to hold it closed. Girls turned boys, and boys turned girls. Takeru had laughed sardonically and shaken his hand when they first saw each other. He said it must run in the family.

On the other side of the room, Sora still argued with Koushirou and Daisuke. He could hear Ken every now and then -- noticeably deferential and indistinct -- but mostly it was the other three. Slowly, Yamato realized that he wasn't the only one who had decided not to take part in the discussion at all. In fact, more than half of them hadn't talked since they came back from the Digital World. Occasionally, Hikari would glance over, and Taichi sometimes said random things in what sounded like a harsh tone of voice, but for the most part...

The blonde paused. He had never known Taichi to stand on the sidelines, literally or figuratively. His best friend was an unashamed control-freak. Maybe Taichi would direct the others instead of doing something himself, but he never just watched and he sure as hell didn't make snide remarks while other people tried to concentrate. But he was doing all of that now. It bothered Yamato. So, for that matter, did the way Taichi would briefly scan the whole room and then stare at him vacantly for long periods of time. He felt the eyes on the back of his neck again, and squirmed a little uncomfortably -- but stopped when his breasts shifted with the rest of him. That was worse than any eyes could ever be. Why wouldn't they just hold still?

And they went on talking. At one point, Mimi stepped away from the wall and nodded several times. He found himself watching her movements intently, and logging all the differences with an almost mechanical air. She wasn't really much of a man: her face had a slightly more gaunt appearance, and there were lines of muscle definition in her arms and legs that she hadn't had before -- but for the most part, Mimi maintained an essential, indefinable femininity. She could have cross-dressed easily. Of course, Yamato thought she would have been much more attractive now if she hadn't starved herself beforehand. Women, as benefited childrearing, put on weight easily and even when they hardly fed themselves maintained a bit of fatty softness in their cheeks and thighs; under the same circumstances, men became skinny all over and developed an unpleasantly bony appearance. With any luck, Sora would step in and help Mimi if he didn't notice it on his own.

He didn't know Miyako all that well, but Yamato was not in the least surprised to find that she had stopped pacing the instant her adopted elder brother sat down and now hastened to take the nearest adjacent chair. If anything, the changes in her were even less drastic than those in Mimi. As much as she emulated the Keeper of Purity, Miyako did not have her willowy build or keenly-developed fashion sense. She tended towards looser and more practical ensembles, probably to hide the horrifying fact that she didn't weigh less than forty kilograms. Ironically, this made her the better-looking boy: she had a round face, like Ken's, and big wide eyes that took advantage of it. Girls appreciated that sort of thing when it didn't go hand-in-hand with a fifth grade mentality, so Miyako was probably going to wind up with a crowd of squealing admirers -- whether he wanted them or not.

Finally, the blonde's dispassionate gaze came to rest on his little brother. He was surprised to see that Hikari hadn't let go yet -- they were back in the real world now, in the computer lab because no one wanted to go home until they had sorted things out. This was a public building, and even on the weekends there were janitors to worry about. Didn't Hikari care what people thought? Or maybe she was just tired; having her boyfriend suddenly turn into a girl must have been stressful, especially with the way he wouldn't stop crying. Yamato wrinkled his nose distastefully. He loved his brother to death, but Takeru never seemed to realize that there were people you simply did not cry in front of. Girlfriends made the top ten. Personally, he wouldn't have dreamed about crying where Sora could see him even if they were going to hell. Okay, so maybe he had lost his head a little when he first saw her in the clearing, but he hadn't gone so far as to cry. That would have only made her scared and uncomfortable.

He knew this made sense. Except that watching Takeru with Hikari, even though he tried to notice only how soft and boyish his little sister looked -- more as if she had aged backwards than changed genders...Yamato envied them their closeness and the natural way Hikari kissed her girlfriend's eyelashes to stem the flow of tears. He didn't mean to and he certainly didn't want to, but he envied it all the same.

Only when he turned away to look at something else did the blonde realize that he had totally and effortlessly catalogued their changes in his mind. Where there had once been two girls and a boy, now he had two boys and a girl. Somehow, in the process of mindless observation, Yamato had accepted that. His stomach tightened unpleasantly: all he had left to do was accept what had happened to him. Acknowledge what the weight on his ribcage meant, and what he had successfully avoided for the last several hours.

He wasn't sure he could do that.

Sora fell silent. Instantly, Yamato relaxed -- she would come back now, murmur peacefully in his ear about what they were going to do, maybe even invite him to stay over until they sorted everything out so that he wouldn't have to deal with his father's reaction -- but he waited and she didn't so much as make a move in that direction. Her silence had been nothing but an irritated pause to let Koushirou talk in his quiet dull rumble. Theorizing, no doubt. Yamato felt absurdly neglected and gave himself a little shake.

Of course Sora would want to stay in the thick of it. Someone had to when they were all so thoroughly exhausted. She was probably getting vital information at this very instant. What right did he have to call that neglect? It was just that...she didn't have a head for that stuff. Sora meant well, but if Koushirou gave her any complex instructions she would forget them later. He had noticed this tendency when they first started dating, and intended to get her trained so that she compensated by writing things down -- hopefully before they moved in together.

Which wouldn't be for a while yet. Apartments were so expensive these days. And Sora's mother kept asking when he planned on getting a real job to pay for it. He got the feeling sometimes that she really didn't like him at all. Besides, short of inherited wealth, Yamato saw no way on earth that he would be able to handle the cost of an apartment on his own. Sora understood; why couldn't her mother?

Oh, well. Whoever heard of someone getting along with their in-laws? No matter what you do, you'll never be good enough for their precious daughter. Might as well get used to it, Yamato.

Mrs. Takenouchi hated him and Mr. Takenouchi was never around.

Get used to it.

But Sora listened to her mother. They were very close.

Sora loves you. She won't just abandon you.

Part of him wanted to argue, and he could almost feel his thoughts returning to what had happened with the gate -- but Yamato crushed it vindictively. Koushirou would figure something out, so there was no point in agonizing over the details. Until then, he could simply avoid Sora's mother entirely, and...no. Wait. He was forgetting something.

Blue eyes widened in stupefied disbelief. Yamato checked his watch for the date, and then slumped dejectedly into the wall. He remembered a conversation with Mimi months ago. They had talked about the reunion, and when she asked whether Sunday worked for him, he mentioned that his parents were having dinner with Sora's for the first time on Sunday. He had thought he could do both, but Mimi changed the reunion to Saturday because she understood what a strain it was going to be to have his mother and father at the same table.

This, of course, meant that he would be seeing both of Sora's parents tomorrow night. Maybe by then Koushirou would have found a solution, but that was really asking for a miracle. Yamato forced himself to take a deep breath and found to his horror that he wanted to cry. Why wasn't Sora done talking yet? Did she think Gabumon made up the difference? Of course he had Gabumon's support. What he really needed was Sora and the way she could always make things seem okay -- because things right now were about as far from 'okay' as they ever got.

"Hey. You don't look so good, Yama."

The voice was soft and low, but much deeper than his girlfriend's. Besides, she never called him Yama. It took the blonde more than a little while to realize that he had actually understood spoken words for the first time since getting back, and Taichi was already sitting down by that point as if he had been invited. They turned and watched Koushirou jangle the coins in his pocket distractedly while Sora asked more questions. Yamato frowned, but then Taichi muttered something in his ear that derailed that train of thought.

"Poor guy. He's sweating bullets. She's just one of his friends, and he still can't look her in the eye without feeling all self-conscious. This," he added in a mock-confidential tone, "is why he doesn't have a girlfriend."

The blonde was caught between an impulse to laugh and an impulse to defend their mutual friend. "What's your excuse, then?" he challenged in what was supposed to be a playful and offhanded manner. But that was before Yamato heard his own voice. The jibe trailed away uncertainly. He reached up hesitantly to touch his throat, feeling for his Adam's apple, and then yanked his hand back when he realized it wasn't there.

For a long moment, Taichi said nothing. It made Yamato nervous, but he didn't dare make eye contact. Back in the Digital World, Taichi's discomfort had been obvious -- but that was just to be expected. Hadn't he also initiated this conversation unprompted? It seemed as if Taichi wanted to go on just like before, which Yamato actually wouldn't have minded. His stupid voice... And he couldn't even argue with Taichi's assessment. He looked different and he sounded different, so something must have changed. The blonde cinched his eyes shut. Having his best friend accept him had been so important, every bit as important as his girlfriend. Maybe even more in a weird way.

That withdrawal never came, for all of its supposed inevitability. Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder -- a hand he recognized as the one that had always extended at the end of their occasional fistfight. Yamato knew every tiny crease in that palm, and he was used to the way it slid against his own when Taichi helped him to his feet. He felt the same old friendly squeeze now, if quite a bit more powerful than it had been before. The blonde found himself thinking that this hand could have crushed his shoulder without even really trying. It thrilled him inexplicably, and he had trouble returning his best friend's sudden smile.

"Taichi...?" Again, it sounded all wrong. He felt like he was trying to breathe helium. But this time Taichi did not falter.

"Yamato," he said, at once quiet and intense. When Yamato finally met them, his eyes were so brown they were almost black. "How could you ever think, after all we've been through together, that you're gonna get rid of me this easily? Hey, the stupid gate could've turned you into a spitting cobra for all I care -- I'd still invite you over to play videogames. Maybe without hands, I could finally kick your ass at King of Fighters."

Yamato didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "You wish," he heard himself mumbling emotionally. "I could beat you with or without hands. Any day of the week."

"Yeah," Taichi agreed. "I know."

They didn't say anything more, but Yamato felt the grip on his shoulder ease off -- hand sliding down his back, arm pulling him closer. Something about the movement made him shiver faintly, but he appreciated the offered comfort and let himself lean into his best friend's side. It was nothing he wouldn't have done ordinarily, but Yamato had a sudden twinge of uneasiness and started to withdraw. After berating Hikari and Takeru for being insensitive to their surroundings, how could he pretend they weren't in a public building? Where someone might walk in and take this the wrong way. Where someone might even think...

Except that he was a girl now, wasn't he?

No one would think anything at all.

The blonde relaxed, and caught Taichi's hand before he could pull it off her shoulder. She wouldn't have him thinking he had made her uncomfortable. After all they had been through together, Yamato knew she owed him at least that much.

End Part Five