Hi. We can talk later. I know what you're really here for.

Disclaimer: This time on Digimon, Digital Monsters! - Oh, I don't own that. Or these characters. (Though technically, since Izumi's parent's are never described, I own my interpretation, but not the characters...) Or anything Digimon related, aside from a few of the video games. And I don't own any of the pop culture referenced here or later. All of the above is owned by their respective companies, etc., and I am in no way affiliated with them.

Chapter 1

What did you say?

The words slip out of her mouth quick and quiet, like a puff of hot air, before they curl into the silence that seems to carry on for ages. The small – like sticking out tongues that could touch – space between them is warm and tense. Anticipation hangs like a bird circling its prey, and she is fretful and nervous – her green eyes refusing to meet his brown ones.

He lifts his left hand from the counter behind her, and she fleetingly thinks to move away from being pressed so closely against him and the counter top. (Is that because she's not a fan of tight spaces? Yes. Is it even more so because she can't trust herself to be this close and not do something stupid? Well…) It cups her chin and gently jerks her head up, forcing her to stare into his eyes. He brushes a strand of her blond hair and tucks it behind her ear. She gulps and hopes he doesn't hear it.

"I said," he speaks, low and soft and laced with something she wants to imagine is there, "what's your problem, Z?" His breath is hot on her face, tickling and tempting her with warmth so that she wants to see if it extends to just his breath or beyond. (Like what about his lips? His tongue? His hands?) She has to concentrate very hard not to think too hard about it, because being bothered by all of these thoughts on how hot he could be leave her...she doesn't want to think about it, basically.

She takes in the feeling of his hand warming her skin, his brown eyes smoldering as if they could burn her straight through to the soul, how his brown hair dropped and twisted and curled and frames his face in a way that made her want to run hands through it and…She brings up a hand, guiding it past his (strong, defined, tan, gorgeous) arm and stopping at the wrist and lowers his hand from her face. Then she grabs shoulders (ooh, broad, comfortable shoulders) and pushes away from him, her jeans colliding briefly with the cargo pants hiding his (wonderful, heavenly, sports-sculpted) legs.

"You," she mutters, "you're my problem." Her voice is hoarse, timid, tired. She averts her eyes, stares at his red hoodie. Her shoes scuff lamely on the tile floor, and she moves to step out of the corner near the counter to somewhere she can just crawl into a ball and die. (Mostly of embarrassment.) Before she steps far enough to be out of his reach, an arm snakes around her waist and pulls her back against the counter. Her lavender jacket brushes up against the gray countertop, her arms now hanging limp at her sides.

His left hand is back on her face again. A smirk is splayed across his lips. His teeth flash. He pulls her in closer, so much so that his nose tickles her own, whispering, "No, Izumi, I'm the solution." Then he captures her lips and she feels like her mouth, her tongue, her whole body is lit aflame. Her skin is hypersensitive to the pressure his body is placing on hers.

She can't breathe. Her world is smoke and smog and searing kiss, and it's clouding her senses and suddenly it stops, leaving her breathless and irritated in ways she can't really comprehend. "What – why did you…?" She questions, voice tinted with slight annoyance. In response, heat erupts on her lips again, and she revels in the feeling of burning. Then, before she can fully enjoy it, it moves to her cheek. Her jawline.

Her neck.

And then…

Oh.

She burns. She pools. She explodes.

…Ω…

Her eyes flutter open slowly. Her vision blurs, and the pale moonlight illuminates the clock on her nightstand (It's 4:30, she notes idly). She inhales deeply, suddenly, as if startled. She jolts upward. Feels her heart hammering in her chest, the beats drumming up a rhythm too fast for her to really comprehend.

She feels damp. Her forehead is covered in a thin layer of sweat, as are her pajamas. Her sheets are soaked and musty, and she groans before removing them. She places them in a pile by her door, content to get it in the morning. As she crawls back to the bed, lying in the still slightly smelly mattress, she notes idly that she burns. Her arms, her face, her chest…all engulfed in flames. She does not know what to make of it, save for what she believes are the lingering effects of a…particular reoccurring…problem, might be the best way to describe it.

For four months, she's had…dreams…about a friend of hers. They had started off simple – trips to the beach, heading to the diner she worked at one summer, going to the school dance – and often involved other friends, but one day (roughly two months ago), the others were gone, and so had the fun and togetherness in her other dreams.

Now, things have changed. No one knows, but she suspects that they suspect something is up. It's pretty awkward, actually, since all of her friends are boys. (A fact which has her – and her mother and definitely her father – worried, because it sounds kind of pathetic.) But they've been looking at her differently and it's not uncomfortable (because if it was, she'd deal with it before her father would), but she still wishes they would stop. She wonders how obvious it's been, and hopes that the answer is not very.

But as she lay in sweat soaked bed, body burning, she realizes that yes, it's very obvious that things have changed and she has to do something she swore she'd never do. She creeps down the hall, into her parent's room, and wakes her mother. Asks her to go to the mall (their code word for 'let's have girl talk time'). She says "tomorrow," then rolls over and into her father's arms.

Izumi leaves, crawls into the bed, and falls asleep – dreading the morning sun, mourning a dreaded dream, dreaming again of the sun made man who burns her skin.

…Ω…

...Hey! Um...I'm back?

It's nice to see you all, except I can't see you, but you know what I mean. I know you're all probably like, "Oh this guy. Let's see how long this one lasts before it dies a sudden, slow death." I don't blame you. I won't blame you. If it happens, I'll take all flames you spew. (Rhyming accidentally on purpose...also, that sounded asshole-like. Sorry. I know you guys aren't assholes.)

But, yeah. Um...if it's anyone's birthday, "Happy Birthday!" If it's not..."Happy Belated/Eventual Birthday!" (Equal opportunity here at Ishiya Internet Inking Inc.) And uh, don't forget that review button. It exists. You can use it to tell me how much you loved/hated this. Or if I should change the rating. Or anything really. I'm a pretty cool guy, and I'm great with secrets.

See you next time!