"The two of you, living alone, together, in that apartment…"

"We're happy, mom. And what we do in private is our business."

"Yes, but–"

"Isn't that enough? That I'm happy?"

"But I…" Sometimes, it's as if Rumiko hasn't changed as much as Rika had thought. "I want what's best for you…"

"Renamon is best for me." Daughter does not bring up mother's divorce. "And we've decided that this is what we want."

"Are you sure, though?"

"Relax, mom. I'm sure."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I don't mean to disregard your… relationship…"

"Let's drop it, okay?"

"I know Renamon is a good partner."

"Mom."

"And I know that you aren't a fan of starting a more… conventional family… "

"Why's it gotta be conventional? I've never been conventional."

"It doesn't, sweetie. I love you as you are and I'll support you. But I just don't want to see you to lock yourself away. You have so many options at your age, with your looks."

"And I've made my choice."

"I wish I knew how to talk to you about this."

"I already have a family. You and Renamon are my family. Non-conventional, sure, but I don't want to start another. Not with some hypothetical husband, anyway."

"I must sound so silly."

"No, mom, you don't. I get it."

"Would you at least reconsider, then? You have time."

"No."

"Rika!"

"If you can't be supportive, mom, then–"

"Renamon is worthy of you. I don't doubt it. But she isn't–"

"Human!"

"Rika, please."

"She isn't human! I know that! So what?"

"There is nothing wrong with her. But you do understand what I–"

"You told me when I was a girl that I should decide for myself. Like how you chose dad, no matter what people said."

"Oh, my little girl."

"Accept it or leave it alone, mom – I chose her."

Mother and daughter had stopped arguing further that night, spending the rest of their time together poised unhappily over glasses of wine, before anything irreparable was said. That was years ago.

Rebellious piercings, tussled jacket, ripped jeans and hard eyes, Rika still embodies beloved dread. "Hi, mom."

Rumiko smiles a strained but loving smile, refusing to stare at the tattoo that snakes its way up her daughter's supple neck. "Hello, sweetie." A motherly heart aches at the thought of tender womanhood fading away, unappreciated by a strong and noble man.

They sit opposite one another, intending a light lunch with minimum hostility. Rika and Rumiko love each other dearly, but if they still fail to meet eye to eye.

Mother reaches for her daughter's hand, finding it at rest on the tablecloth, clasping it fondly.

"It's nice to see you," Rika says with a quiet, lopsided smile that has broken a few hearts. "You're looking great, mom."

"Yes, you too, sweetie. I like your jacket."

"Thanks." Rika's fiery hair is tied back, as usual. Strands of it fall forward, refusing to be tamed, framing her intense eyes. "Those pearls are new. Very fancy."

Mother and daughter talk in hushed tones for the next two and a half hours, sometimes laughing at something someone said, enjoying light lunch without appetites. Then they part ways with airy cheek-kisses and the shared question – would a hug have been more appropriate?

The door to the apartment opens, then shuts.

"I'm home."

Renamon does not open her eyes, as if she is deeply, dreamlessly asleep. The only visual indication of her rise in excitement is the flick of her tail, before it demurely resettles around her folded legs.

Rika steps out of her shoes, tossing her jacket on the hook and dropping her keys in a little ceramic bowl. She leaves behind the bagged groceries she picked up on her way home, stretching as she goes.

The Digimon's long ears follow the soft pitter-patter of feet in cotton socks, the rattling of a Digivice against a hip as her Tamer's familiar presence draws closer, to be met with comforting warmth in kind.

Rika comes to a gentle stop beside the couch, leaning over Renamon's curled form, as if discovering some absurdly huge housecat.

The Digimon sighs contentedly when her Tamer's hand descends, caressing the thick snowy fur that conceals a muscular neck.

"I got you some yoghurt."

Blue eyes suddenly open. The tail flicks again, accompanied by the slight tilt of a fox-like head.

"No need to get cute. Move over, kitten."

Renamon silkily rises atop the couch, her back arching under Rika's wandering hand. The Digimon quietly shifts aside before reclining lazily again on some cushions, allowing her Tamer to collapse into the vacant space left behind, warm.

"I also got us some crackers."

"There goes my diet."

Rika tilts her head back with a chuckle, placing her arms in her lap, ungainly and crude.

"How is your mother?"

"You know how she is."

The Digimon gives her Tamer a searching, patient look.

"Sorry. I keep forgetting this upsets you, too."

Renamon slowly lowers her head onto her paws, giving Rika a kinder look.

"Mom is wonderful. I'm a terrible daughter."

"You were never adept at showing yourself fairness."

"Oh, Renamon. Maybe I should just… I dunno." Rika shrugs, then slumps. "Tell me what to do. You're always right about everything."

"I think you should forgive yourself," murmurs the Digimon in her deep, velvety voice, soft-spoken and mild.

"I'm disappointing," answers her Tamer, tired and vaguely angry. "But I'm in one piece, thanks to you."

Renamon continues to watch Rika, chin resting on paws, snout tucked behind a curved tail.

"Anyway." The Tamer reaches over for a quick pat on her Digimon's thigh. "How are you doing? Did you have a nice day?"

"You are here."

Rika smirks up at the ceiling, then turns to gaze at her partner, still smirking.

Renamon tilts her head a little further.

"What did I tell you about being cute?"

Blue eyes momentarily vanish with a blink.

"Whatever. Have you been napping all morning?"

"No. I read a little. Had a quick run. Conversed with the neighbourhood stray cats and dogs."

"Did they say anything interesting?"

"They never do."

"And you didn't eat any of them, right?"

"I did not."

"Good girl."

"After that, I had a wonderful dream."

"Oh?" Hands now reach behind a red head, fussing with the band that keeps glossy tresses tied together. "What'd you dream about?"

"A day in the park." The Digimon's eyes widen as her Tamer's hair tumbles free, cascading. "It was bright and warm."

Arms falling into a denim-clad lap, Rika's brows are gently bent. "What'd you do, in your dream?"

"I played with you."

"I bet I made that difficult. Did I complain a lot?"

"Actually, you were quite amiable."

"Was I a kid, again?"

"No."

"Was I drunk?"

"No," Renamon repeats, amusement evident in her voice, in the way her eyes gleam.

"Dream-me sounds kinda nice."

"We were running." The tip of the Digimon's tail flicks upward, like a paintbrush dipped in snow. "You were chasing me."

"Shit, reminds me – I've gotten a bit out of shape."

"You're lovely, Rika."

The Tamer reaches, again, fondly tracing the symbol that adorns her partner's firm thigh. "Did I catch you, in your dream?"

"I don't know. I woke up."

"That's kinda anticlimactic."

Renamon blinks again.

Rika's fingers stop their sensual trail. "Hey."

"Mm?"

"We should play, sometime. Like in your dream."

The Digimon's razor-sharp claws sink into a cushion, without piercing the fabric. "And when you catch me?"

"Do you really think I can?"

"I know it. But I do wonder, what will you do with me, once you've caught me?"

"C'mon, take a guess."

"Are you sure you want to give me such power, Rika?"

"Just this once, Renamon."

With a husky chuckle the Digimon lazily rolls over, baring her fluffy bosom and firm stomach to her Tamer.

"I'm waiting."

Renamon stretches her arms, reaching for the ceiling, enjoying the pull on her muscles.

"Should I tickle an answer out of you?"

"I won't refuse."

"You tease."

"So you say. Once you've caught me, I suspect you'll put a saddle on my back and ride me around, like a pony."

"Ooh. Sounds like fun." Rika gives her partner's thigh a playful squeeze. "The saddle makes it a little kinky, though."

"As is your wish." The Digimon's elusive, toothy grin is visible from this angle. "Tea?"

"Yeah, sure." The Tamer takes back her hand, rubbing her jaw.

Renamon eases herself upright with a grunt. She briefly shakes her shoulders, as if to rearrange her fur. It's a bit like when she gets out of the shower, slick and dripping.

"We're getting old, the pair of us."

"Be thankful that I don't age in dog years."

"I am." Rika watches her partner nimbly dismount the couch, sauntering elegantly toward the kitchen. It's tempting to take a swipe at the tail that wafts like smoke.