Title: Desiderium
Rating: R
Notes: This is an Daito and yaoi obviously. I should give OOC warning to all of my characters, just in case. This is a work in progress. If there is anything blaringly bad in this fic, tell me and I'll be happy to change it.
Special Notes: This is more then likely terribly cliché. I don't care. I just wanted to write it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon or any of the characters.
Chapter 1
July 27th, 2002
Journal Entry: 1
Hi I guess.
...
God! this just feels so weird! I've never written in a journal before. It's almost creepy to be doing this. It's just like I'm... Damn, what are they called? Schizoids? No. That doesn't sound right. Erm... Like those people who hear voices and talk to air. I can't remember what they're called, but that's what it feels like. Almost. I'm talking to a book, writing to a book. How is this therapy?
My name is Yamato Ishida and this whole thing was the brain child of my little (in more the one way) brother Takeru. He was the one who suggested it. He's a writer, he says he knows these things. "Put it down like how I feel it," he said or something similar.
I'm not sure if this'll work but if it gets him off my back then hey, here I am.
I guess I should start by telling you some of my stats, journal (please don't tell me I have to name you. Please!) I'm 22 as of this year and I'm a great success in the singer and song writer business (mostly singer -- but I write my own songs. Mostly. All that other filler shit is the work of my label. What can I do?)
I'm tall. Blond, blue eyed. Tall, willowy, and some have said that I'm deceptively strong (I work out four times a week. It helps me take my mind off... things.) I have a flat in Los Angelus, a nice cozy apartment in Seattle, a re-modeled dojo in Japan, and a couple vacation houses shattered here and there. I have more money then I'll ever be able to spend.
Can you image that all this came to me in the last two three years? My life is the picture of bliss. I have everything I want. Everything.
Okay. Okay. I'm lying. That was easy enough to admit too. Damn. See how terrible I am? I can't even lie to a stupid journal without feeling guilty.
There is one thing I want. Need I guess you can put it. The thing that has fill my song with its words, the thing made my heart burst free, that gave me courage. My heart and soul. Yes. Stupid and romantic. I can't help it. He made me.
And now he's gone. Lost to me forever. I hate thinking about it. I feel those damn tears, stupid waste of energy. The pain is curling and scratching at my stomach. My breath is a bit shorter. I feel antsy. I feel the most incredible wanting. I feel as if I can't breath because he's with me. I can't function because he is gone. That's how I feel when I think of him now.
And all of that, all that shit I'm carrying with me, I put that in my songs. I guess that's why I'm popular. People eventually get sick of those teeny bobbers. That's okay. At least it allows me to not think of him.
That's why my brother wants me to write in this. He says I'm throwing myself away for my songs and grief. He says it's not healthy. Like he knows how I feel. He's never had his heart ripped out. Never knew how it felt.
Him. Him. Him. I guess you're wonder what his name is? Damn. His name is...
...
Damn it! It hurts to even write his name. Can't dot the 'I' and cross the 'T' so to speak. That's probably the most pathetic part of it. It's been so long and since it happened, I've neither spoken his name nor wrote it, yet my whole life is dependant upon it.
Stupid me! Stupid me!
Okay. Maybe that wasn't the most pathetic part of this whole story. Maybe the worst part is that I didn't know how important he was until he was gone. I didn't realize my own breath escaping me. I was so damn proud.
Isn't it strange how that goes? You hear it everywhere. "Better to careful. Better watch out." But you never do anything. Oh, so-and-so is going to be just fine. Nothing is going to happen to them. Those other people are sad and are to be pitied, but they're not us.
You have this huge fucking miracle dropped down onto your lap and you don't even realize it as it falls to the side.
That's what happen to me. Fuck the person who said "It is better to have loved and lost, then to never love at all." I'm sure, journal, you can see the problem with that statement. Maybe in my own way I think I knew I love him. Maybe in the smallest, tiniest, mousiest way possible and that at least brought me something.
What was it about him that made my insides become my outsides? I should be frank: he had the tightest ass. He was handsome. Had a jutty mass of umber hair that I always wanted to comb ("Don't touch the perfection!" he told me more then once.) His eyes were soft brown in color, but would change depending on his moods. You could always tell what he was thinking by just looking into his eyes. Calm and tranquil could mean either anger or peace, while when they swirled, he was excited.
He was shorter then I. More of a wider built. A man made for brute work, not meant to be too smart or wizzy. He wasn't like that though. I swear half the time I couldn't tell if he were an idiot or a genius. He'd just say some of the more enlightening things...
And he was so open and honest. "No point in dulling the edge," he'd tell me. I always admired that in him. That's him. That's my...
...
Okay. Why am I writing this? Because of my brother. Why am I thinking about all this? God help me, I don't know. Does it matter? Somehow I think it does. It hurts. I think you already know that. I don't need to try to describe that.
Will this truly make me feel better? Will writing in this book and treating it as if it were my most valued friend help me? God, I hope so. Takeru thinks so at the very least. Have I already told you this? He's an author. Likes to write, thinks everyone should.
Stupid really. This is all really stupid.
I still wonder about him. Does he hate me? Still hate me after so long? Did he ever hate me?
Daisuke Daisuke Daisuke! I wrote it! I wrote it!
I still feel terrible. In fact, it makes me feel even worse. What right do I have to even think that name?
GOD! What is wrong with me?
...
Okay. Okay. Maybe it'll be better. That's what I've heard from those shrinks and self-help books, even my friends ("Gotta get it all out," Taichi had said. "I can see it eating you alive. Is that what you want? Is that what Daisuke would've wanted?")
So, here's how it's going to work. I'm willing to give this a try... I'll spill my entire saga, right from the beginning and then I'll be magically cured, right? I hope to god that's how it's going to be. And afterward... I think I shall burn you.
Here goes:
[April, 1998]
Everything seemed to be going it's correct why that morning. I woke up at the crack of dawn like I always had, got dressed and ready for school, and made myself some breakfast. The only difference between this day and any other was that my father was still at work (some kind of marathon or what have you.)
I left my apartment a thirty minutes before school started. The air was already warming and took my jacket off. It was too warm for that. Spring was here finally. And soon my graduation would follow. Freedom from the Hell that is known as High School.
Although the school is only a few blocks from home, I usually go around back and through a lesser known entrance to avoid my fan club. I'm strange like that. I dislike having people fawning over me (it's okay the first couple times but it gets old quick.)
I still don't know why I had a fan club back then. It was as if people were just attracted to me. I always thought it was my crest of friendship (I won't open that can of worms.) I've never had a shortage of friends, even though most would classify me as anti-social.
The day breezed by for me. Math was just review, English was English (okay, I admit I'm weak in that subject. Still don't know the difference between adverbs and adjectives.) Same old, same old. Not that I hate that. That's my ideal day.
Sooner then later, school was out and I was free for another afternoon of prolonged homework. No band practice today (yes, I do believe I mentioned about that I'm a singer.) Damn. Straight home for me. *Maybe dad will be home.*
I crept out my same secret way (now, you'd think my fan club would have realized how I escape them by now. I guess it's a good thing they didn't.) There was a slight breeze that carried the smell of flowers, spring, and fresh air on it. Wonderful.
I stepped out of the narrow, hedged path onto a paved sidewalk and proceeded to go along my way home. I stopped and looked around me. Someone was watching me. I could feel the creepy, sticky feeling wash over me. *God, please don't say my fan club found me!*
There! Leaning against a tree. Arms crossed and head tilted, a smirk on the man's features. He looked faintly familiar. *How...?* "Hello?" I called out to the shadowy figure.
The man pushed off and walked over to him. "Hi!" Daisuke chirped, almost bouncing in his excitement.
Wow. That's struck me. Daisuke was the last person I'd except to see watching me. Was he stalking me too? The idea made me shiver. "Ah, hi," was all I could say back.
*No no no! Of course he's not stalking me. He must just want to ask me about something. He is my heir or something so naturally he'd come to me for help.* That made me feel better. Still, that strange smile he had playing on his face. Filled with such child-like happiness. *He's smiling like that for me?*
*No! No! No! Of course not. Get your mind out of the --*
I shook my head. *Stop it!*
"You don't remember?" asked Daisuke, his head cocked slightly to the side and the beautiful smile melted away. A strange look of anger swept his features for but a second before being replaced by another smile, a fake one this time. "Aren't you supposed to be a role model for me or something?"
I shook my head again. What was I supposed to remember? I hadn't even talking to him for a week at the least. "Remember what?"
He threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. He turned and walked a few paces from me, hands on hips and shaking his head. "I called you last week, remember? I asked if you could go with me to the comedy place, remember?" He looked over his shoulder and gave me the most adorable look.
Still, I didn't remember. I looked to the ground as I played back the events of the week. Still nothing. I felt my brows knit together. "What? I don't remember any of that." Of course it was possible that I had forgotten. I had a bad tendency to do that, especially when people wanted things out of me. "What do you need me to go anyway?"
Daisuke sighed again and turned around. His hands were still on his hips, a look of strain over his features. If I hadn't know better, I would have guessed Daisuke was getting annoyed. I had never seen him like that, but I still don't remember any phone call.
"I need someone eighteen or over to get me into the place." His eyes were pleading softly for me to agree. 'One night, just one night.' they said. Daisuke said, "Come on, Yamato. It won't do you any harm to get away from all your adoring fans."
I sighed under my breath. He was right. I'd probably have a couple dozen messages on my answering machine, my father (if he was home) would probably give me that annoyed look. But to get away... it might be fun. "Fine, fine. Just this once." I eyed him wearily as he broke out into a 'I'm-too-happy' loop-sided grin. "But you're covering my entrance fee you realize, right?"
He nodded, almost to the point of giggling. I'd never seen him like this. It was contagious. I suddenly felt the need to smile as well. "We have to go now." He grabbed my arm and started to pull me down the road. "You have to change and knowing you..." He tsked softly, allowing the sentence to trail off.
"Knowing me? What's that supposed to mean?" I tried to sound hurt.
Daisuke stopped for a moment, obviously considering what he was going to say. "You seem like the type who likes to primp in front of the mirror for a couple hours," he said finally, pulling me before I could give any sort of response.
*---*
We walked to my apartment, still hand-in-hand (even though I tried to pry myself from his grip a few times), in silence. Once up in the apartment, Daisuke pushed me into the bathroom. "Clean yourself," he said. "I'll have some clothes picked out for you and placed in front of the bathroom door when you're done."
I took a long, leisurely shower (at least half-an-hour) and found the cloths folded outside the door when I was done. There was black slacks for the pants and a tight, white turtle neck for the shirt. I couldn't have picked any better myself.
I padded out into the living room, trying to find Daisuke. He poked his head out of the kitchen and looked over me critically to the point that I was blushing furiously. There was something to the look that I wasn't sure I liked (or hated for that matter.) "That'll do, I guess," he said finally.
He ushered me into the kitchen and sat me down at the table. "I made some food for us," he said. "I don't want you to get hungry there. I don't have enough money to cover it." He set a plate of food down and I gave into the sudden hunger. It was some kind of rice (jasmine rice?) with grilled chicken strips and mixed veggies.
To my surprise, the food as actually good. Much better then my cooking. Then again, didn't he want to be a cook of some sort?
Daisuke seemed to enjoy the fact that I liked his cooking and smiled as I cleaned my plate. He got up and took it from me, proceeding to wash the dished. I let him to this, feeling a tinge of guilt, but then again, I was doing a favor for me (giving away a whole night is a big sacrifice.)
He finished the chore and put the dishes away. A few second later, we were out the door. I tried to ask him why he had picked me for this (esp. when Taichi would've like it better) but he just shrugged and said a few somethings under his breath (I couldn't hear what). I let it drop.
We arrived at the comedy place just as the sun was setting. The man took out tickets and showed us to a table up front. Daisuke ordered a coke, and I the same (why not? This might be worthy enough to break my 'not-caffeine' law.)
The performers were good, obviously professionals, and I did truly enjoy myself. Daisuke kept me in a good enough supply of cokes that by the time it was over, I was wired and jumpy.
"That was great!" he said, lacing his fingers behind his head as we walked to his place (I agreed to walk him home. He was younger then I and I do have a some sense of responsibility.)
I nodded, laughing a little, and said: "It was! How'd you get tickets to a place like that?"
He didn't answer for a minute, seeming to turn it over in his head a couple times. "Ken gave them to me."
I looked at him through the corners of my eyes. Oh yes, I had forgotten. Daisuke was gay. He had that crush on Ken at one time. Ken had told the whole group after we ganged up on him, asking him why Daisuke was so down. From then on, Miyako had become a tyrant about letting those two be alone. "Why didn't he go?" Of course I knew the answer, still...
Daisuke shook his head and smiled wistfully. "I think he wanted to go. I think he wanted me to ask him to go with him so he wouldn't feel guilty."
"Why would he feel guilty?" I asked.
Daisuke looked at me as if I were an idiot. Maybe the question was stupid. "He's going out with Miyako, remember?"
Yes, I did. The perfect couple. The 'chosen' couple so to speak (we all thought Takeru and Hikari would get together, but they never did.) "Yes, yes," I said, waving my hand. "And you're not one to break that up if you had the chance?"
He looked hurt and I immediately felt back. It was a cheep shot. "I do have some moral and I don't beg. Ever." He pushed on ahead of me in silence.
We walked as such, him slightly in front and me dogging him slightly from behind. I couldn't let him go home alone, not matter how mad he was.
I stopped as we walked into the shadow of his apartment building. "Well, here you go," I said. Daisuke had stopped and was turning around. "Thanks for inviting me. It was fun."
I turned to go and was stopped by a hand on my arm.
"I'm sorry, Yamato," he said, letting my arm go. I turned to face him. "It still hurts, I guess." He shook his head. "He had his chance once, and he let it go by. I'm not the type to wait for love to find me, if you know what I mean."
I shook my head. Why was he telling me this? Oh right, the mentor thing. I would have to give me some good advice about love and the like (even though I knew less then he.)
"To tell you the truth, I've found someone else."
I smiled slightly. "Good for you. I hope it goes well."
He smiled and his eyes drooped almost seductively. I didn't like that look. He grabbed my arm again and pulled me slowly to him, until I could feel his heart beat and smell his musky, cigarette-night clubby scent. He raised himself onto his toes and kissed my lips softly, butterfly kiss, and stepped down.
"What?" My mind was reeling. There was no way Daisuke could like *me*. Of everyone out there in the whole wide world, he couldn't possibly like *me*. No one really ever wanted me. No one had even kissed me. I'm an 18 year old virgin and that was my first kiss! Oh my GOD!
But Daisuke shrugged and smiled mysteriously. "I'll see you soon. Tomorrow?"
I nodded numbly and walked home in a stupor.
*---*
I had no school the next day (either that or I just didn't go to school. Can't remember which.) so I slept in late, until two or so in the afternoon if I remember correctly. (I'm like that, when I get the chance to sleep, I do it.) Anyway, I slept in late and probably would've continued sleeping if it weren't for the phone interrupting my time of bliss. I let out a faint, muffled growl and reached for the phone, still asleep.
"'Allo?" I mumbled, smacking my lips softly and stretching my shoulders. I've always hated the feeling of being interrupted so carelessly when sleeping. This phone called had better be good. Someone had to have died. Someone had to be critical care... Or something equally terrible.
"Yamato?" said a much to happy sounding voice. Daisuke. Why they hell was he calling me so damn early? "Were you sleeping?"
*No shit Sherlock,* I thought and said: "Yes. What else would I be doing now?"
An amused chuckle filtered out of the phone. "Let's see? Doing work? Being a school? Working with your band?" There was a long pause. I almost hung up. "I'll pick you up in half an hour. Be ready."
"Why?" Be ready for what? Fuck that, I'm going to sleep. Still to early...
"I thought it would be fun going out. That cool new movie is starting... And then their is that restaurant."
Eh? He wants to go out on a date. I remembered the kiss and my cheeks blushed slightly. "Listen... Daisuke. I'm tired and I need sleep. I don't --"
"I'll see you then." A click and the annoying buzzing sound in the ear phone.
*Damn.* I groaned and rolled out of bed, swaying to my feet. *I will a nice talk with that red-head when he got here. Yes, yes I will.* One small, tiny kiss isn't going to make me go out with him. No. I have no desire to become attached to someone like him.
I sniffed disdainfully. *But first: shower.*
t.b.c.
Rating: R
Notes: This is an Daito and yaoi obviously. I should give OOC warning to all of my characters, just in case. This is a work in progress. If there is anything blaringly bad in this fic, tell me and I'll be happy to change it.
Special Notes: This is more then likely terribly cliché. I don't care. I just wanted to write it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon or any of the characters.
Chapter 1
July 27th, 2002
Journal Entry: 1
Hi I guess.
...
God! this just feels so weird! I've never written in a journal before. It's almost creepy to be doing this. It's just like I'm... Damn, what are they called? Schizoids? No. That doesn't sound right. Erm... Like those people who hear voices and talk to air. I can't remember what they're called, but that's what it feels like. Almost. I'm talking to a book, writing to a book. How is this therapy?
My name is Yamato Ishida and this whole thing was the brain child of my little (in more the one way) brother Takeru. He was the one who suggested it. He's a writer, he says he knows these things. "Put it down like how I feel it," he said or something similar.
I'm not sure if this'll work but if it gets him off my back then hey, here I am.
I guess I should start by telling you some of my stats, journal (please don't tell me I have to name you. Please!) I'm 22 as of this year and I'm a great success in the singer and song writer business (mostly singer -- but I write my own songs. Mostly. All that other filler shit is the work of my label. What can I do?)
I'm tall. Blond, blue eyed. Tall, willowy, and some have said that I'm deceptively strong (I work out four times a week. It helps me take my mind off... things.) I have a flat in Los Angelus, a nice cozy apartment in Seattle, a re-modeled dojo in Japan, and a couple vacation houses shattered here and there. I have more money then I'll ever be able to spend.
Can you image that all this came to me in the last two three years? My life is the picture of bliss. I have everything I want. Everything.
Okay. Okay. I'm lying. That was easy enough to admit too. Damn. See how terrible I am? I can't even lie to a stupid journal without feeling guilty.
There is one thing I want. Need I guess you can put it. The thing that has fill my song with its words, the thing made my heart burst free, that gave me courage. My heart and soul. Yes. Stupid and romantic. I can't help it. He made me.
And now he's gone. Lost to me forever. I hate thinking about it. I feel those damn tears, stupid waste of energy. The pain is curling and scratching at my stomach. My breath is a bit shorter. I feel antsy. I feel the most incredible wanting. I feel as if I can't breath because he's with me. I can't function because he is gone. That's how I feel when I think of him now.
And all of that, all that shit I'm carrying with me, I put that in my songs. I guess that's why I'm popular. People eventually get sick of those teeny bobbers. That's okay. At least it allows me to not think of him.
That's why my brother wants me to write in this. He says I'm throwing myself away for my songs and grief. He says it's not healthy. Like he knows how I feel. He's never had his heart ripped out. Never knew how it felt.
Him. Him. Him. I guess you're wonder what his name is? Damn. His name is...
...
Damn it! It hurts to even write his name. Can't dot the 'I' and cross the 'T' so to speak. That's probably the most pathetic part of it. It's been so long and since it happened, I've neither spoken his name nor wrote it, yet my whole life is dependant upon it.
Stupid me! Stupid me!
Okay. Maybe that wasn't the most pathetic part of this whole story. Maybe the worst part is that I didn't know how important he was until he was gone. I didn't realize my own breath escaping me. I was so damn proud.
Isn't it strange how that goes? You hear it everywhere. "Better to careful. Better watch out." But you never do anything. Oh, so-and-so is going to be just fine. Nothing is going to happen to them. Those other people are sad and are to be pitied, but they're not us.
You have this huge fucking miracle dropped down onto your lap and you don't even realize it as it falls to the side.
That's what happen to me. Fuck the person who said "It is better to have loved and lost, then to never love at all." I'm sure, journal, you can see the problem with that statement. Maybe in my own way I think I knew I love him. Maybe in the smallest, tiniest, mousiest way possible and that at least brought me something.
What was it about him that made my insides become my outsides? I should be frank: he had the tightest ass. He was handsome. Had a jutty mass of umber hair that I always wanted to comb ("Don't touch the perfection!" he told me more then once.) His eyes were soft brown in color, but would change depending on his moods. You could always tell what he was thinking by just looking into his eyes. Calm and tranquil could mean either anger or peace, while when they swirled, he was excited.
He was shorter then I. More of a wider built. A man made for brute work, not meant to be too smart or wizzy. He wasn't like that though. I swear half the time I couldn't tell if he were an idiot or a genius. He'd just say some of the more enlightening things...
And he was so open and honest. "No point in dulling the edge," he'd tell me. I always admired that in him. That's him. That's my...
...
Okay. Why am I writing this? Because of my brother. Why am I thinking about all this? God help me, I don't know. Does it matter? Somehow I think it does. It hurts. I think you already know that. I don't need to try to describe that.
Will this truly make me feel better? Will writing in this book and treating it as if it were my most valued friend help me? God, I hope so. Takeru thinks so at the very least. Have I already told you this? He's an author. Likes to write, thinks everyone should.
Stupid really. This is all really stupid.
I still wonder about him. Does he hate me? Still hate me after so long? Did he ever hate me?
Daisuke Daisuke Daisuke! I wrote it! I wrote it!
I still feel terrible. In fact, it makes me feel even worse. What right do I have to even think that name?
GOD! What is wrong with me?
...
Okay. Okay. Maybe it'll be better. That's what I've heard from those shrinks and self-help books, even my friends ("Gotta get it all out," Taichi had said. "I can see it eating you alive. Is that what you want? Is that what Daisuke would've wanted?")
So, here's how it's going to work. I'm willing to give this a try... I'll spill my entire saga, right from the beginning and then I'll be magically cured, right? I hope to god that's how it's going to be. And afterward... I think I shall burn you.
Here goes:
[April, 1998]
Everything seemed to be going it's correct why that morning. I woke up at the crack of dawn like I always had, got dressed and ready for school, and made myself some breakfast. The only difference between this day and any other was that my father was still at work (some kind of marathon or what have you.)
I left my apartment a thirty minutes before school started. The air was already warming and took my jacket off. It was too warm for that. Spring was here finally. And soon my graduation would follow. Freedom from the Hell that is known as High School.
Although the school is only a few blocks from home, I usually go around back and through a lesser known entrance to avoid my fan club. I'm strange like that. I dislike having people fawning over me (it's okay the first couple times but it gets old quick.)
I still don't know why I had a fan club back then. It was as if people were just attracted to me. I always thought it was my crest of friendship (I won't open that can of worms.) I've never had a shortage of friends, even though most would classify me as anti-social.
The day breezed by for me. Math was just review, English was English (okay, I admit I'm weak in that subject. Still don't know the difference between adverbs and adjectives.) Same old, same old. Not that I hate that. That's my ideal day.
Sooner then later, school was out and I was free for another afternoon of prolonged homework. No band practice today (yes, I do believe I mentioned about that I'm a singer.) Damn. Straight home for me. *Maybe dad will be home.*
I crept out my same secret way (now, you'd think my fan club would have realized how I escape them by now. I guess it's a good thing they didn't.) There was a slight breeze that carried the smell of flowers, spring, and fresh air on it. Wonderful.
I stepped out of the narrow, hedged path onto a paved sidewalk and proceeded to go along my way home. I stopped and looked around me. Someone was watching me. I could feel the creepy, sticky feeling wash over me. *God, please don't say my fan club found me!*
There! Leaning against a tree. Arms crossed and head tilted, a smirk on the man's features. He looked faintly familiar. *How...?* "Hello?" I called out to the shadowy figure.
The man pushed off and walked over to him. "Hi!" Daisuke chirped, almost bouncing in his excitement.
Wow. That's struck me. Daisuke was the last person I'd except to see watching me. Was he stalking me too? The idea made me shiver. "Ah, hi," was all I could say back.
*No no no! Of course he's not stalking me. He must just want to ask me about something. He is my heir or something so naturally he'd come to me for help.* That made me feel better. Still, that strange smile he had playing on his face. Filled with such child-like happiness. *He's smiling like that for me?*
*No! No! No! Of course not. Get your mind out of the --*
I shook my head. *Stop it!*
"You don't remember?" asked Daisuke, his head cocked slightly to the side and the beautiful smile melted away. A strange look of anger swept his features for but a second before being replaced by another smile, a fake one this time. "Aren't you supposed to be a role model for me or something?"
I shook my head again. What was I supposed to remember? I hadn't even talking to him for a week at the least. "Remember what?"
He threw up his hands and sighed dramatically. He turned and walked a few paces from me, hands on hips and shaking his head. "I called you last week, remember? I asked if you could go with me to the comedy place, remember?" He looked over his shoulder and gave me the most adorable look.
Still, I didn't remember. I looked to the ground as I played back the events of the week. Still nothing. I felt my brows knit together. "What? I don't remember any of that." Of course it was possible that I had forgotten. I had a bad tendency to do that, especially when people wanted things out of me. "What do you need me to go anyway?"
Daisuke sighed again and turned around. His hands were still on his hips, a look of strain over his features. If I hadn't know better, I would have guessed Daisuke was getting annoyed. I had never seen him like that, but I still don't remember any phone call.
"I need someone eighteen or over to get me into the place." His eyes were pleading softly for me to agree. 'One night, just one night.' they said. Daisuke said, "Come on, Yamato. It won't do you any harm to get away from all your adoring fans."
I sighed under my breath. He was right. I'd probably have a couple dozen messages on my answering machine, my father (if he was home) would probably give me that annoyed look. But to get away... it might be fun. "Fine, fine. Just this once." I eyed him wearily as he broke out into a 'I'm-too-happy' loop-sided grin. "But you're covering my entrance fee you realize, right?"
He nodded, almost to the point of giggling. I'd never seen him like this. It was contagious. I suddenly felt the need to smile as well. "We have to go now." He grabbed my arm and started to pull me down the road. "You have to change and knowing you..." He tsked softly, allowing the sentence to trail off.
"Knowing me? What's that supposed to mean?" I tried to sound hurt.
Daisuke stopped for a moment, obviously considering what he was going to say. "You seem like the type who likes to primp in front of the mirror for a couple hours," he said finally, pulling me before I could give any sort of response.
*---*
We walked to my apartment, still hand-in-hand (even though I tried to pry myself from his grip a few times), in silence. Once up in the apartment, Daisuke pushed me into the bathroom. "Clean yourself," he said. "I'll have some clothes picked out for you and placed in front of the bathroom door when you're done."
I took a long, leisurely shower (at least half-an-hour) and found the cloths folded outside the door when I was done. There was black slacks for the pants and a tight, white turtle neck for the shirt. I couldn't have picked any better myself.
I padded out into the living room, trying to find Daisuke. He poked his head out of the kitchen and looked over me critically to the point that I was blushing furiously. There was something to the look that I wasn't sure I liked (or hated for that matter.) "That'll do, I guess," he said finally.
He ushered me into the kitchen and sat me down at the table. "I made some food for us," he said. "I don't want you to get hungry there. I don't have enough money to cover it." He set a plate of food down and I gave into the sudden hunger. It was some kind of rice (jasmine rice?) with grilled chicken strips and mixed veggies.
To my surprise, the food as actually good. Much better then my cooking. Then again, didn't he want to be a cook of some sort?
Daisuke seemed to enjoy the fact that I liked his cooking and smiled as I cleaned my plate. He got up and took it from me, proceeding to wash the dished. I let him to this, feeling a tinge of guilt, but then again, I was doing a favor for me (giving away a whole night is a big sacrifice.)
He finished the chore and put the dishes away. A few second later, we were out the door. I tried to ask him why he had picked me for this (esp. when Taichi would've like it better) but he just shrugged and said a few somethings under his breath (I couldn't hear what). I let it drop.
We arrived at the comedy place just as the sun was setting. The man took out tickets and showed us to a table up front. Daisuke ordered a coke, and I the same (why not? This might be worthy enough to break my 'not-caffeine' law.)
The performers were good, obviously professionals, and I did truly enjoy myself. Daisuke kept me in a good enough supply of cokes that by the time it was over, I was wired and jumpy.
"That was great!" he said, lacing his fingers behind his head as we walked to his place (I agreed to walk him home. He was younger then I and I do have a some sense of responsibility.)
I nodded, laughing a little, and said: "It was! How'd you get tickets to a place like that?"
He didn't answer for a minute, seeming to turn it over in his head a couple times. "Ken gave them to me."
I looked at him through the corners of my eyes. Oh yes, I had forgotten. Daisuke was gay. He had that crush on Ken at one time. Ken had told the whole group after we ganged up on him, asking him why Daisuke was so down. From then on, Miyako had become a tyrant about letting those two be alone. "Why didn't he go?" Of course I knew the answer, still...
Daisuke shook his head and smiled wistfully. "I think he wanted to go. I think he wanted me to ask him to go with him so he wouldn't feel guilty."
"Why would he feel guilty?" I asked.
Daisuke looked at me as if I were an idiot. Maybe the question was stupid. "He's going out with Miyako, remember?"
Yes, I did. The perfect couple. The 'chosen' couple so to speak (we all thought Takeru and Hikari would get together, but they never did.) "Yes, yes," I said, waving my hand. "And you're not one to break that up if you had the chance?"
He looked hurt and I immediately felt back. It was a cheep shot. "I do have some moral and I don't beg. Ever." He pushed on ahead of me in silence.
We walked as such, him slightly in front and me dogging him slightly from behind. I couldn't let him go home alone, not matter how mad he was.
I stopped as we walked into the shadow of his apartment building. "Well, here you go," I said. Daisuke had stopped and was turning around. "Thanks for inviting me. It was fun."
I turned to go and was stopped by a hand on my arm.
"I'm sorry, Yamato," he said, letting my arm go. I turned to face him. "It still hurts, I guess." He shook his head. "He had his chance once, and he let it go by. I'm not the type to wait for love to find me, if you know what I mean."
I shook my head. Why was he telling me this? Oh right, the mentor thing. I would have to give me some good advice about love and the like (even though I knew less then he.)
"To tell you the truth, I've found someone else."
I smiled slightly. "Good for you. I hope it goes well."
He smiled and his eyes drooped almost seductively. I didn't like that look. He grabbed my arm again and pulled me slowly to him, until I could feel his heart beat and smell his musky, cigarette-night clubby scent. He raised himself onto his toes and kissed my lips softly, butterfly kiss, and stepped down.
"What?" My mind was reeling. There was no way Daisuke could like *me*. Of everyone out there in the whole wide world, he couldn't possibly like *me*. No one really ever wanted me. No one had even kissed me. I'm an 18 year old virgin and that was my first kiss! Oh my GOD!
But Daisuke shrugged and smiled mysteriously. "I'll see you soon. Tomorrow?"
I nodded numbly and walked home in a stupor.
*---*
I had no school the next day (either that or I just didn't go to school. Can't remember which.) so I slept in late, until two or so in the afternoon if I remember correctly. (I'm like that, when I get the chance to sleep, I do it.) Anyway, I slept in late and probably would've continued sleeping if it weren't for the phone interrupting my time of bliss. I let out a faint, muffled growl and reached for the phone, still asleep.
"'Allo?" I mumbled, smacking my lips softly and stretching my shoulders. I've always hated the feeling of being interrupted so carelessly when sleeping. This phone called had better be good. Someone had to have died. Someone had to be critical care... Or something equally terrible.
"Yamato?" said a much to happy sounding voice. Daisuke. Why they hell was he calling me so damn early? "Were you sleeping?"
*No shit Sherlock,* I thought and said: "Yes. What else would I be doing now?"
An amused chuckle filtered out of the phone. "Let's see? Doing work? Being a school? Working with your band?" There was a long pause. I almost hung up. "I'll pick you up in half an hour. Be ready."
"Why?" Be ready for what? Fuck that, I'm going to sleep. Still to early...
"I thought it would be fun going out. That cool new movie is starting... And then their is that restaurant."
Eh? He wants to go out on a date. I remembered the kiss and my cheeks blushed slightly. "Listen... Daisuke. I'm tired and I need sleep. I don't --"
"I'll see you then." A click and the annoying buzzing sound in the ear phone.
*Damn.* I groaned and rolled out of bed, swaying to my feet. *I will a nice talk with that red-head when he got here. Yes, yes I will.* One small, tiny kiss isn't going to make me go out with him. No. I have no desire to become attached to someone like him.
I sniffed disdainfully. *But first: shower.*
t.b.c.