Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Secrets ❯ Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The man stared at him, his emerald eyes trying to bore into his soul. He raised one hand, making the small boy flinch by the action, and pushed strands of black hair out of his eyes. Pink lips were pressed together as if he were thinking about something. He knelt down in front of the boy, still staring deeply into his brown eyes, his hand moving up to touch the boy's soft cheek.

He smiled a little, rubbing his thumb over the child's lips. The boy trembled, scared. He knew what was to come. No matter how tender the man was to him right now, he knew what was to come. He knew how Fujiwara Yasunori's mind worked. And he didn't like it one bit.

Like he had any choice. It didn't matter what he liked or disliked. His opinion was worthless. This was something that had been engraved into his head since he was born. He knew every single rule. He followed all the rules all the time. Or at least he was learning to follow the rules all the time.

He was being taught; this was one of his many sessions. But it wasn't like the others'. He was special-he was taught by the boss. Why? He didn't know. He wasn't suppose to know anything. He wasn't even suppose to think. Just do as he was told. Like a mindless drone. But he couldn't be mindless, he didn't know how. He couldn't just turn off his brain; it wouldn't allow itself to be shut off. And he was happy that it couldn't be turned off, that he could be defiant in some minuscule way, even if he would never let them know.

He pretended. He wasn't very good at pretending yet. Fujiwara Yasunori always knew when he was pretending. He couldn't hide anything form those eyes, those beautiful, cold emerald eyes.

"I think it's time." He didn't have to elaborate for the boy to know what he spoke of. He knew from the other children-the older children-that told him what happened in the rooms above. In the highly expensive looking rooms, with gold and maroon colors every where. Where the large statues of naked men and old-looking paintings of people, he knew nothing about, stared down at him.

His brown eyes widen in fear. He didn't want to go up there. He didn't want to be where the older children were taken every nights. He could still see them, could still see his best friend come back from one of those nights. Clothes ripped to shreds, exposing once hidden bruises to the light. New bruises and old ones, some over lapping others. So many shades of black and blue. Her face, her pretty little round, porcelain face, no longer pretty. Shattered, marks, so many marks.

Pink lips twisted into a malicious grin at the sight of the widened eyes. One slim hand came out to trace long piano fingers down the curves of tanned cheeks. He shivered, he was scared. He shouldn't have been scared. This had happened before, he knew what to expect. But he was still scared, at least he didn't cry anymore.

He bit his lip and tired to keep from shaking. He had to be brave. It was the only thing he could do. There was no where to run, no one would help him. He had to be brave and take what was done to him without complaint. This was his role in life and he could not change it no matter how much he disliked it. So he had to face it bravely.

He had always been a brave boy…

***

"Then what happened?"

"He kissed me."

"He kissed you! On the lips?"

"No Takeru, not on the lips." A moment of silence. "Of course on the lips! Baka!"

Takeru leaned back, becoming more comfortable on Daisuke's couch. He took another sip of his soda, watching as Daisuke moved about the room, looking for a take out menu.

It was Tuesday night, which meant that Takeru was at Daisuke's apartment. There was not a person-which knew them-that didn't know where to find these two men on Tuesday nights. It had been a ritual that had begun somewhere around the age of thirteen and had gone on since then. Even after both had moved out of their parents' apartments, they still continued the ritual. Though this meeting had been postponed for two weeks since Takeru had to leave to Shimane to help his mother sell his grandmother's old home. But now he had returned and the Tuesday night bonding sessions continued.

Tuesday nights were their time of bonding and having fun. On this day they could play video games, watch movies, make food for each other, talk, and do just about anything else. Male bonding, something that the two boys had decided to do for the simple reason to get to know each other better. They knew that the better they knew the other, the more understanding they'd be towards the other, which meant less fighting. This making the other Chosen Children much happier.

This night was no different form the other, except for the topic. It was one of revelations or it would lead to revelations and introspection.

"I can't believe he finally went for it." Takeru chuckled now looking through the various movie titles that Daisuke had collected over the years. Classic movies, humor, horror-all the genres were there form anywhere around the world. Daisuke had always been into movies, saying that they inspired his art.

"Huh?" Daisuke asked his voice sounded slightly strained because he was trying to reach the take out menu that was situated under the couch. "What do you mean 'finally went for it'?"

Takeru chuckled watching as his friend struggled to get the piece of paper. One hand running through his blond hair as he leaned against the wall.

"Ken's liked you for a long time, Daisuke." Takeru said.

There was a long silence; one that was only broken by Daisuke's muffled curses. Then finally: "Ha! Got it!" The redhead grinned jumping up and over the couch. Making a beeline for the telephone. Takeru's eyes following his every move with amusement.

"You did hear me, na?" Takeru asked. Daisuke nodded briefly, his fingers punching in the phone number of the take out place. He placed his ear on the telephone, while turning towards Takeru.

"Yeah, I heard you." Came the reply. "I can't believe it though. Always though he had a thing for Miyako or something." Takeru laughed and shook his head, but couldn't reply because Daisuke had begun to make their order.

Takeru sighed, shaking his head as he walked towards the couch again. He sat down, staring at different paintings lining the wall in front of him. Canvases after canvases lined together some resting on top of others. The ones in front were always the most recent or unfinished. He could see light sketches on some, while others had some color on them.

Takeru smiled, Daisuke never was working on just one painting, always three or four, sometimes even more then that at a time. He would always begin one painting and then get some inspiration and start another, always making his progress slower. Takeru would wonder how Wallace put up with Daisuke. American's weren't known for their patients and one had to have a lot of patients when asking Daisuke to do some artwork for them.

Takeru continued to look at the different canvases while still musing over Daisuke's laziness, when his eyes came across a painting. It was fairly recent since it was still on the front row, but it had been finished.

Blue eyes narrowed as they scrutinized the image. It was a girl. A pretty girl, with a round face and porcelain colored skin, large round brown eyes and long black hair. She was dressed in what seemed to be a kimono; one with rose petal prints.

But that wasn't what had attracted Takeru, what attracted his attention had been her mannerism. Her eyes large and terrified as she seemed to walk through darkness. There was no way else for Takeru to put it. She was walking through darkness. Shadows seeming to rip her kimono apart, slashing and bruising her pretty face. Her obi, which was a deep shade of emerald green, seemed to be tighter then one usually would be. Gripping tightly around her waist and the tighter it gripped the more the green glowed.

Takeru, baka, it's a painting. He thought looking away for a second before looking back at the painting. Stop imagining things. The green isn't glowing and it isn't tightening, paintings aren't animated, they can't move…

He continued to look at the image, berating himself for imagining-and almost believing-silly things. It was a painting, he continued to tell himself, something that was created from Daisuke wrapped subconscious.

Takeru had come to be able to tell when Daisuke drew from his conscious or from his subconscious. A talent he acquired in high school art class, when his teacher had created an exercise.

"Just paint!" He had said, "Don't worry about what you're painting and don't stop to correct or change anything because it seems wrong!"

It had been an exercise that they had practiced throughout the whole year. At times they would paint while paying attention to detail and mistakes, and other times just painting and not worrying about anything. That how Takeru realized Daisuke different artistic styles-his subconscious and conscious styles.

They were both similar, but they had their differences. Differences that were so obvious that even someone as art-impaired, as Takeru liked to call himself, could catch them.

The first style, Daisuke's subconscious style, always used two color. Black and green, but not just any green an emerald green. Black could come in different tones and shades, but the green would always be emerald. There was also a feeling of terror. Sometimes it would be apparent like in the painting of the girl, but other times it wouldn't be. The painting would just give off fear like a vibe.

His second style was his conscious style. It was a style almost that used green; all of Daisuke's conscious paintings were void of that color. And the fear vibe was never there, the painting could be about fear and it wouldn't as tangible as it was in his other paintings.

I never understood why either? Takeru thought, staring harder at the picture. What is it about the green that's so scary? Whatever is bad is green…

"Food'll be here in a bit." Daisuke called out as he hopped over the couch, landing on the spot next to Takeru. Takeru nodded.

"Whatcha order?" Takeru asked, looking back at Daisuke.

"Foreign food." Takeru arched an eyebrow.

"How foreign?"

"You'll see."

"Should I be frightened?" Daisuke laughed then leaned forward to grab the remote control. Turning on the Television, he began to flip channels as he looked for something interesting to watch. The two men lapsing into a comfortable silence.

"Daisuke, how do you feel about Ken?" Daisuke raised his head in surprised, looking at Takeru who had his head down and was playing with dinner-which was a Chicken and Zucchini couscous.

"Nani?" Daisuke asked. Takeru looked up at him, blue eyes clouded with worry.

"Daisuke, you two are like my best friends in the whole world and I don't wanna see you hurt." Takeru explained, he turned his head and looked at the painting again. The little girl's eyes were so wide, so scared. The green obi seemed to be holding on so tightly. It seemed like it would never let go. "I know your record when it comes to dating…"

Takeru didn't have to finish his thoughts for Daisuke to know what he was talking about. The same thing they would always talk about. Or better said: the same thing that Takeru would always talk about. Daisuke didn't want to speak of it. He could live his life perfectly well without having to discuss his messed up love life. But Takeru wouldn't let things be no matter how much Daisuke asked him too.

The silence in the room disturbed Takeru and for some unknown reason his eyes kept traveling back to that one painting. After some time he decided to continue talking since it seemed that Daisuke had decided to ignore the question completely.

"Daisuke…" The red head didn't look up from his food, this annoying Takeru slightly. "Daisuke, this isn't like any of the other people you've dated. This is Ken. You're best friend. Can you really risk your relationship like this?" Still no answer. "Daisuke, do you have feelings for him or is this just another fling?"

Daisuke looked up from his dinner and looked at his best friend. Brown eyes meeting blue for a long moment, one full of worry the other unreadable. The minutes ticked on with unbearable slowness as Takeru waited for an answer. Finally, Daisuke turned his head, break their seemingly locked gazes, and looked over to the picture of the scared little girl. His eyes shifting and staring directly at the emerald-green obi.

"What I feel doesn't matter."

TBC