Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Vandalized Dreams ❯ The Things You Don't Know ( Chapter 2 )

PG, eh... Guess I have to work out my euphemistic muscles...
Ow. Did you hear that snap, too?

As always, Digimon doesn't belong to me. It should, but it doesn't.
If you enjoy light hints of Daiken or Kensuke, then continue.
If you don't, WHY DID YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER?!

Sorry, I had to get that out of my system.
This will be the last chapter of this story - it can't go any farther
without me running circles around the rating!

Doesn't mean I refuse to write a different Kensuke in the future... Hehehe.

Motomiya was just the tiniest bit unhappy. He'd lost a game - reason enough to be depressed, but he'd also injured another player.

His hero, his idol.

Surrounded by a crowd of teenage girls, Daisuke hung by the outer edge, remorse clouding his face. Ken put on a sly grin, but was dismissing them one by one.
"Oh, Ken! You're the best! Will you autograph my arm?" Nodding, he indulged the last of them with a simple signature. The crowd slowly ebbed away, ogling their latest bits of Kenorabilia.
"Ken?" The soft, humble voice made him turn, celebrity face on. His ever present, fake smile faded into curiosity. What did he want? "Ken, I'm sorry... you know, your leg. Sorry 'bout that." The red haired boy tried a playful grin. Daisuke started fidgeting with his thumbs under the stoic stare. His idol. His...? Oh, why did he bother? Why did he try when so many things were against him? Slowly, one side of the wunderkind's mouth curled. That was why. The je ne sais quoi that he carried with him, that spread epidemic-like to everyone he touched. Something, Daisuke was sure, glittered with hidden knowledge in the blue eyes. Irrepressible, he smiled broadly under his goggles. No wonder he attracted a swooning crowd. "So are you okay? You know, I really didn't mean to..." Ken held up one palm, silencing his parade of supplication.
"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it, just a scratch." Obviously, it wasn't just superficial. The wound hadn't had time to coagulate properly, and blood and serum still seeped from one side. Despite the damage to his ego as well, the present smile radiated from past his public surface, somewhere closer to his soul. Closer, but not quite there. Daisuke knew this - but it was close enough. It was more than he'd expected. The stare they shared sprinkled with something intangible. Takedachi came running over, severing the visual connection.
"Ken, some guys wanna talk to you. I told them talking to reporters is your favourite thing to do..." The orange and blonde haired Left Forward couldn't stop laughing. "C'mon cap'n, they won't wait much longer!" A plastic smile couldn't cover the non-verbal threats he threw at his teammate. Reluctantly, and with another glance at Daisuke, he traveled toward the men gripping microphones.
"Hey Motomiya, good game." Takedachi smiled as he jogged over to tug a little corner of the spotlight. "Not everyone gets to take a chunk out of our captain and keep his lungs inside his chest." Daisuke's polite smile faded in but a moment, again outside the illuminated entourage.
He set his duffle bag on the ground, pulling out a bag of Fritos. Daisuke sighed; it was lonelier being near and watching him than completely alone. What had just happened? It was strange - in a good way - but he wasn't waiting around for a second chance to talk. Letting his heart bleed out in the meantime.
Daisuke zipped his bag, nearly smacking himself in the head. Shit. He couldn't go home to wallow yet. His stupid Biology book was still in his locker. But he wasn't so dense as to let a whole weekend slip away while his homework lay unfinished. Maybe he wouldn't get them all right, but it was better than explaining a blank paper on Monday.

"Thanks again, with any luck, we'll run this tomorrow." How he wished he could rip the tape from the recorder and strangle them both with its cord. Squeezing until the red skin turned white.
"Sure, anytime! If there's anything else, don't hesitate to ask..." In an unveiled attempt at flight, he turned from the television men, picking up his bag and scanning the empty field. Stupid questions. All his teammates and foes had left. The goggled boy had left. Shit. At least he wouldn't have to ride the train home. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out several hundred yen. Enough for a taxi ride in relative solitude. He slogged up the stairs, lounging languidly on the bus bench despite its chill. Perking up a bit as he sighted a dot of yellow, he also remembered the start of the weekend. The start of focused conquest. He rolled his eyes to one side, face animated with fantasies of rapid takeover. C'mon taxi driver, just a little faster.

"Oh... Ken...?" From his right issued a mildly surprised, soft, recognizable voice. He snapped his head up to the speaker, at a loss for words.
"Daisuke-chan..." Chan? Where the hell had that come from? They both paused, puzzled over the suffix. Four little letters that spoke Freudian-esque of the closeness Ken desired.
"Um... why are you still here? It's so late." Daisuke questioned. Instantly, the genius' mood soured.
"I could ask you the same thing." He stopped his snappish retort, anger directed at himself spattering instead on the destined. "No, I'm here cause I just finished that stupid interview." It was so much easier, for the time being, to be mad at the reporters than himself.
"Oh, that bites." He sat on the bench next to the pensive figure. "I forgot my stupid homework." He held up his duffle for Ken to see, bright smile on his face. When he opened his eyes, Ken still wasn't smiling. The dark haired youth sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes to the passing traffic. Who was this Davis was talking to? He was sure it wasn't the Ken he - everyone - usually saw. Fame must not be all it's cracked up to be.
Trying to jar his idol out of his doldrums, Daisuke tried again at conversation. "Headed home?" Ken turned his eyes back to Davis, 'forsaken' emanating from them. Yeah, headed home sweet home, headed... oh, what did it matter? Depression set in again, a tired friend, and he didn't even care if this was Davis sitting next to him. He just wanted to crawl in a hole and die by himself. Besides, Daisuke was only being chatty because he was like everyone else in the throngs. Fools catching a silly smile and a faraway look from the aura of celebrity. He nodded. "Waiting for the bus?" Oh, Davis, why can't you be like the Davis in my head? The one who wants me. The one who isn't outwardly afraid of the emperor and can speak volumes in silence? The postured presence that makes me weak in the knees? Who can give me one glance and make feel 'home'?
"No, a taxi." He watched as the spiky head of hair followed a cab passing them by. He watched, waiting for him to say 'there goes one' or 'whoops, you missed that one.' But he didn't. He stared after the scarlet tail lights until they were indistinguishable from the rest. Long stretches of time passed.
Something warm crawled over the fingers of Ken's hand, palm down on the unfeeling bench. Momentarily, he was revolted. But it wasn't some disgusting worm. It was Daisuke's fingers.. His breath caught painfully in his throat. What...?
No. Just a mistake. Easily forgiven and forgotten...

The boy from Odaiba didn't move his head or his hand, didn't take his eyes off the traffic.
Please, please, please - Allah, Buddha, assorted spirits - whoever's up there - please don't let me make a fool of myself. Sweat started to form under Daisuke's rubber goggles. His jaw spasmed tightly - teeth grinding themselves into oblivion. Please.
Slowly, Ken turned his hand over - palm up - entwining their fingers. It was Daisuke's turn to gasp.
Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ken pulled himself up from his woeful slouch, sliding closer to Davis. He remained staring at the fleeing cars, but the perceptive genius could hear his breath - tightly coming in gasps of disbelief. Terror, even. Ken could feel every nerve on his body. How could he have doubted this boy? He stood apart from the crowd, wasn't even near it. How dare he compare suke-chan to those superficial people? Where was his faith? It returned to him in a rush, and, despite the cultural tabus that applied to all Japanese, acted on it. With his free hand, he cupped the end of Daisuke's chin, turning it gently away from the city street. He grasped his lips before Davis could react, closing his eyes mechanically. Davis confused Kens' warm smile for a second while his shock - his tension - rose and ebbed, understanding the situation in all its facets. If the reticent boy could've stood up and shouted to all Tokyo, he would've - had he not been apt on holding on to Daisuke in anyway possible, when he felt the other boy's fingers, the muscles in his face, slacken, his lips moving in comfortable contact with Ken's.

Ken: Kenorabilia?
EH: Yes. Problem with that? I'm an author, I can make up words!
Daisuke: Sounds cool! Can I have some Kenorabilia for my collection?
Ken: You can have a true-to-life, living, life-sized statue...
EH: Ugh! Get a room, you two!