Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Oblivious Signals ❯ Please Be Mine ( Chapter 2 )

Author's notes: I finally got it finished! I'm very proud of myself, actually .. I was struggling with it for a few days, writing only a meager sentence or two. But here it is! I apologize if there are any glaring mistakes, though .. it's very late at night as I'm uploading this, so I'll just fix 'em if I see any later. Thanks for coming this far with me! A few actual notes, though: "doki" is the sound effect for a heartbeat (at least from what I know), and the li'l portion toward the end (you'll know it when you see it) is a flashback. Scary. Still expect a third chapter and epilogue, though! And don't forget to go read what has been finished with "Fragile Wonderland," by MnM!

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

* * *

O B L I V I O U S S I G N A L S
chapter two

* * *

It could be my mind
That's got me all choked up inside
But of all those feelings I hide
And I start thinking
And I start believing, yeah
We could share our time, that means
Nothing if you aren't mine, and then
I knew you cared about me
'Cause people love to be loved too
( "Could I've Been." Course of Nature. )

* * *

It was actually quite uncanny.

Despite popular belief, Motomiya Daisuke's ego could only be classified as a facade. His attitude was a fake in a lot of respects when in the company of most others. The supposedly sensible and logical share of his maladjusted mind decreed that if the others cared to make fun of him when he acted strong at heart . . . it was easy to imagine how delighted they would be when they found he was actually not so sturdy as they once thought.

So tonight was uncanny. Daisuke was actually proud -- not the type of pride that spawned from his outrageously outspoken second face, either. He had gone to great lengths to secure that his Hikari-chan would have the most enjoyable experience on their date possible.

. . . of course, she didn't know about the "true" him either. Only one person did.

Daisuke's exaggerated grin faded into a gently confused frown. It wasn't the first or only time that such a line of thought had weaseled its way into the overblown humors he had of one particular Yagamii girl. Tonight was no exception for thinking like that . . . no matter how hard Daisuke wished that he could enjoy a little peace and quiet, his subconscious kept conjuring up images of pale eyes alight with carefully discreet pain or the memory of the immense comfort and warmth the eye-bearer's touch could bring.

Daisuke looked at himself in the mirror for a long time. He wasn't studying his attirement. This time, rather, there was a rather peculiar sort of self-examination he remained engaged in . . . a type of psychoanalysis that those who knew him would think was too boring for his short-fused concentration to focus on.

His falsities were lying on the dresser, waiting to be put on.

He was Loud. That much was for certain. His friends had been known to complain of tension headaches from the decibels that he opted to spurt at the most inconvenient of times. For example, it occurred during the lackadaisical part of a movie ("Jeez, can't they just skip all of this stuff and get to the action scenes?!"), then right on up to the eventual climax ("ALL RIIIIIGHT!!"). No one had ever cantered to taking Daisuke to a symphony concert, and their reasons were all lined up and at ready.

He was Childish. Maturity wasn't even in his vocabulary. To even ask him to carry out some simple task that required the intelligence quotient of a pet rock would be suicide for whatever it was that needed accomplished(two birds fall, as does one stone: Stupidity). It really wasn't that his deficit was due to some sort of inherited mental disorder, anyhow. Procrastination was a plague to most entering their later years . . . Daisuke was just perhaps, in that manner and that manner only, much quicker on the uptake (a third bird finds itself in a twisted mess of broken downy and leaking red: Obliviousness).

Daisuke frowned deeper, unable to continue with his inner monologue of self-doubt and reproving. The concepts of others about himself and his many faults were of his own doing, his own stupid mistake if there ever was one; but, that still didn't keep him from continuing to be at least slightly acrid about it. There was a difference between cold fact and urban legend. No one had bothered to pick apart the roots. Except for the loophole.

And mind you, it wasn't like all of this had come easily. Taichi, the Yagamii Taichi (big brother to Hikari), had also played a very important role. Who was one to keep an idol without a little assimilation of their behavior and personality? Taichi was brave, strong, and dependable, even a little rash at times, but still had a good, solid head on his shoulders. And everyone positively adored him . . . was it as blasphemous as the others made it seem for he to have handed Daisuke those sacrosanct goggles? Daisuke really would have liked to know.

Sighing inwardly, the Motomiya child again turned a more critical eye toward his apparel. His clothes may have been what had taken him the longest, considering it wasn't that such a refined ensemble of lady-killer goods simply sprang out his closet whenever he willed them to. An artful craftsmanship had gone into the decor; rummaging about the blackhole of his closet and under his bed (the drawers on a nearby varnished pine bureau were rarely put to use) merited few rewards. It was only the cautious gall to sneak and snoop about his parent's bedroom that gave him what more he needed . . . luckily Jun had been too preoccupied by the blaring of her radio with the latest hit from Yamato's band to have spotted his dire impromptu mission. To be caught by the archenemy and thus reported to the parental units would have procured a very large dent in his plans.

Dusty cinnamon had been pressed into the name-brand khaki slacks he donned, accentuated only by the dark lignite belt that wound its way about his relatively slim frame. The creases from a recent ironing were still fresh, as was the lush "afterwarmth" that came from a piece of clothing right out of the dryer -- precious heat contained in woven fibers that only lasted for an uncalculated span before returning to an undeclared room temperature. Regardless, the color remotely resembled that of his otherworldly costume, although these pants lacked the extraneous grass stains and dirt smears that his digital shorts developed. A stiff ebony shirt, specifically collared with the sleeves long and cuffed, was tucked inward conscientiously at the waist, and was also around made of some sort of cotton material. Nondescript shoes, hands bare, goggles purposefully absent . . .

Daisuke elicited another threadbare grin, teeth pure against the darker pigmentation of his skin. To compliment the exhaustive detail he worked into his stylish-yet-casual wardrobe, his personal appearance was yet to be forgotten. The magenta-auburn of his hair had always been naturally rugged and spiky, and tonight there was no end to how pointed those tips could become if a little overpriced hair gel was put to use. There wasn't much he could have done about his eyes, of course, but he was rather hubristic of the coincidental sparkle of gold that laced the muddy brown depths.

He gingerly slipped on his soul's happy-go-lucky guise, last of all.

"Hikari-chan'll be drooling all over me," he told himself with aplomb that had been unmistakably nonexistent beforehand. Simultaneously cracking his knuckles and glancing over a hastily scrawled list at his side, he spent a few moments assuring that all game-day plan elements had been taken care of for the most part.

The entitled paper of "Things To Do To Make Hikari-chan Happy" was actually rather short in comparison to all that he seemed to be doing, but nevertheless he was convinced it was his key to winning the girl over. His -- Jun's actually, as she was still star-struck over Yamato and legally mindless -- stereotypical girl magazines proclaimed that subtle romance was The Way toward the highest rating on the "Hot Guy" scale. There were several suggestions that had been listed, but certain constraints (a small weekly allowance could only go so far) limited his choices. There were a few essentials he wouldn't let himself go without, though.

Just as he had promised nonchalantly that afternoon, those "funny smelling flowers" were almost number one in his deck of priorities. He spent quite a few minutes puzzling over what color to get his beloved (it was obvious he picked roses out of the selection), considering a vast variety would be placed before him whenever he got to the store. It was only after revoking the hazy memory of Ken's verbose explanation on flora and the significance of their shades (he had been struggling in Biology at the time and Ken had opted to be his tutor) that he reached a conclusion.

While crimson may have represented the obligatory statement of "true love," his Hikari-chan's favorite color was undoubtedly pink. A species of rose had been cultured through exclusive crossbreeding to produce a marbleized rendition of both tints; luckily for Daisuke, the local flower shop carried such a hybrid.

Slipping on a jacket that was meant to stave off any ill weather that would cause him discomfort on that special night, Daisuke chuckled at how sensational everything had progressed so far. He granted an unheard good-bye to his sister as he loped down the stairs . . . and at the bottom, a softer, more embarrassed one to his admonishing parents before heading out the door.

* * *

"All right, here I go." There was a definite pause. There was not a mote of movement. "Come on, Daisuke . . . you can do this." Still only quietude as the bouquet-clutching youth tightened his grip in the slightest on the viridian-stalked roses. Wetting his lips in resolution, his strangely arid voice again lifted from the depths of his throat. "Your one and only true love is waiting for you. What are you stalling for? You'll sweep her off her feet!" Again his encouragement was meant with inescapable stage-fright. "This is just silly --"

"Hello, Daisuke."

The said boy nearly jumping out of his own skin had been a direct result of his failing to notice one particular door had gone ajar. During his ad-lib rambling, the portal -- upon which a brass plate embossed with "Yagamii" had been stamped -- had slid open to reveal a sliver of that apartment's interior. The voice that had so startled him came from behind that wall of faux pine. Daisuke noticed its high tone was kept company only by an unrealistically static azure eyeball peering through the crack, surrounded in snow white.

The boy scowled at Tailmon, relaxing somewhat. "Hey. Where's Hikari-chan?"

"She's in her room, still getting ready. But I guess you're welcome to come in and wait," the feline drawled while that single optical unit lightened a few shades with mirth, "even if I'd rather see you have to stay outside. Both her brother and her parents aren't here (she didn't want them seeing her going on a date with you), and Agumon is probably napping. Just don't make a lot of noise."

He was disappointed somewhere in the corner of his emotional state -- after all, he had no parents present to impress and who would therefore chirk Hikari toward dating him steadily in the future. That had been his foolproof backup plan, if by some chance tonight the girl of his dreams was not destined to end up falling under his spell for the rest of eternity. Giving an overly dramatic sigh of discontent, Daisuke amiably shuffled into the apartment much to the chagrin of Tailmon, who shut the door soon after.

"She's down the hall, on the left," the feral digital partner supplied impassively, wandering over to the couch where she had been dining on a bowl of popcorn and watching some sort of aged black and white film.

"Yeah . . . thanks," muttered Daisuke, setting his sights on the near-at-hand destination. His steps carried him a bantam length of hallway that separated him from his potential soul-mate, while a dappled rainbow of butterflies found that clog-dancing in his stomach was very amusing. He stopped short of reaching the threshold of the door he noted as being shut tight, his observation having caught the glimmer of something out of the corner of his eye.

Turning his head, Daisuke was then face to face with a mirror. Its architecture was quite elaborate and grandiose for the otherwise modest homestead (spotted with only a few pictures here and there of the Yagamii family and some freshly cut flowers on corner tables), its detailed edges made up of a lukewarm gold that was pleasant on the eyes. More interested in the lustrous silver sheen than the perimeter, he squinted at his reflection, scrutinizing every detail possible . . .

The dawning of relief in mahogany eyes.

No cracks in the mask.

The dawning of arrogance in mahogany eyes.

His attention again strayed in characteristic fashion toward the cavity where his Hikari-chan was undoubtedly primping and preening herself into the ethereal angel he always knew her to be. Instinctual glee prompted him to "surprise" her by entering unannounced . . . but the ubiquitous warning posted by his common sense dictated otherwise. Doing so would, essentially, result in one immensely unhappy Hikari-chan.

A little harmless eavesdropping, however, his sensibility had no qualms about. Inching closer to the door with the discreetness of a shadow-cloaked ninja, Daisuke cautiously pressed one ear against the surface. While sticking out his tongue and squinting one eye to hopefully (but illogically) help amplify any sounds passing through the wood, the Motomiya boy also bolstered both head and shoulder against the frame, his farthest foot lifted slightly in the air.

A voice! A-ha, the sly Daisuke thought, for perhaps he would hear his Hikari-chan twitter away to herself about how wonderful he was. The media between the ear and the room's interior blotted out the usually acute articulation of the words. Needless to say, the listener was frustrated. However, various other sounds were more distinct, like the wooden clatter of cabinets opening and closing in a seemingly frantic search for some absent item. The raucous noise continued for what seemed like an eternity to the poor boy, who cast a despondent look toward the cat-faced, tail-swinging clock that grinned mockingly at him from the adjacent wall.

"Girls take soooo long," Daisuke whined inwardly, attempting to make the feline timepiece burst into flames with his wrathful glare.

After a moment of musing, his glower gave way to a smirk when he recalled the scramble his sister always went through before her Saturday night dates (read: "ritualistic stalking of Ishida Yamato under the cover of darkness"). Be that as it may, Daisuke was beginning to find himself more exasperated with each bang and clang and mumbling he picked up.

He cleared his throat with an unparalleled sophistication, as though his following words were going to go directly to a national assembly that had been thrown together for him. Frowning importantly after retracting his ear from the wood, his knuckles lightly rapped and tapped on Hikari's door.

"Hikari-chan," Daisuke called, beckoning in his most suave voice (Tailmon could be heard complaining from the next room), "your great protector, your knight in shining armor, your fearless prince . . ."

A pause, for effect.

". . . I am here!"

As he began to congratulate himself on how smooth he was (Tailmon had flung a throw pillow at him out of detestation, but he disregarded that), he also noted faintly that all sound had ceased from within the room. Concerned that his voice may have caused the occupants to instantaneously perish from its sultry timbre, Daisuke again sidled up beside the door. His momentary reverie was cut short when a forlorn yelp of ire assaulted his hearing, lancing right through the impulsive quiet, and was only worsened when a hasty slam of a window followed. Perplexed, and rubbing at his ringing ear, Daisuke could detect that even as the pane of glass clinked merrily in its framework, a soft patter of footsteps was heading towards him.

Realization hit him like a falling sack of bricks from five stories up. His Hikari-chan was getting ready to open the door! And here he was, all but peeping through the keyhole for a chance to spy on her -- what would shethink? Gathering himself agilely, with as much dignity as he could manage, Daisuke retreated a few steps to a respectable distance away. Rearranging the roses he had been holding the entire time, he took a deep breath. It was do or die.

She has to like me, she just has to . . . this has got to be perfect --

The door opened. And Daisuke's mental process ground to a halt in mid-thought.

(dokidoki)

Virginal white had always been the shade that had best defined the parameters of her soul. Any predisposed fancy of a heavenly aurora marking her body as it did her anima were one of many, and right then and there, with the customary and humble clothes of the norm discarded if for only one night . . . such velleities were implemented.

(dokidokidoki)

Spaghetti straps were braided about one another, and furthermore crisscrossed in an intricate pattern over milky shoulders; all the same, modesty called for tantalizing flesh to be revealed only to a particular level, or in this case, to a sloping area just beneath her collarbone's lowest point. From there, purity reigned in albata, marred only by the silvery-red motif of an angel-winged heart. Midriff was another exception for the hour, as was further demonstrated by the top's sheer cutoff at the bottom of her ribcage.

She's . . .

After a heart-stopping bout of more untainted skin, slight curves were accented in the white jeans that hugged her hips closely. Flaring slightly at the knees, the denim went through cascades of dissolving color . . . light pink eked from ivory, then deepened until murky ruby overtook the legs' cuffs. Opaque sandals encased lily feet, studded with opal clasps on their respective sides. Petunia-painted nails brushed considerately through the clean brunette silk that hung down to her chin, a side of it drawn upward like a tableau curtain with a barrette of glittery diamonds.

(doki)

Eyes of a watery garnet and maple combination cautiously met with Daisuke's. Charcoal eyeliner was apparent but not heavy . . . only providing a depth that made what hues it bordered richer than before. Lashes quivered in the aftermath of one blink, roseate lips parting . . . and Hikari smiled at him, tentatively.

She's . . . amazing.

Suffice to say, Ken's eyes had nothing on her.

* * *

Moonlight. Streamers of chaste undeflowered light cast bands of illumination over the pair standing inconspicuously beside one another, bodies nearly touching. A precautionary rise of concrete and metal prevents either of the two from descending to an early, unwanted death in the wine-dark river they overlook . . . one they both know well. It is the end of their journey.

The fiery one, now tamed and exposed beneath the owl-light, scrunches his brow in earnest. Fingers wrap around the cold railing that keeps him safe, feeling a bite from the frost that always descends on Odaiba during the winter, feeling a bite from his harsh reality.

His voice is extremely soft when it comes, quivering with a vulnerability he never thought anyone could bring out of him. His mouth is full of cotton, and it is freezing, but he is sweating in his clothes. "Ken?"

His opposite, the icy one fair of face, lifts pale violet eyes in his direction. Digits drab in twilight tuck rouge strands of inky satin behind a flawless ear, while their possessor offers a genuine smile.

"Yes, Daisuke?"

(Two hearts beating as one . . .)

"I . . ."

Ken smiles, waiting patiently. His eyes are luminous and warm. Inviting.

(And he's so close . . .)

". . . it's nothing, Ken. Nevermind."

(. . . but is he close enough?)