Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2017-10-01 11:24 pm
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2017-10-01 11:24 pm
[tri OOM] Four Weeks Later
Yamato’s calmer at band practice than he was a few weeks earlier, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from messing everything up.
His fingers fumble on chords he’d be able to do perfectly in his sleep, his voice cracks and shifts like he’s fourteen and it’s breaking again, and he’s so frustrated with himself that he can barely focus.
Every time he tries to concentrate, Koushiro’s idea starts churning about in his head again. Returning to the Digital World. Becoming Chosen again, except this time with the roles reversed: They’d know what they were getting themselves into, and the Digimon wouldn’t.
Would it have changed anything if I had known? Would I have chosen not to fight?
He grimaces a little, and his hand fumbles on a guitar string, because he already knows the answer. He knew it when Devimon called from Mount Infinity for the smallest child to die, and Yamato had to protect his brother. Hell, he’d known it from the moment Meramon had run down that mountain on the second day, leaving fire in his wake, with a village in his path and a Black Gear driving him mad in his back, and all of them powerless to do anything until Sora stepped up.
“Let’s take a break,” their drummer, Seiji, says, giving Yamato a slightly irritated look. “Back in twenty?”
There’s a general murmur of agreement, and the other band members disperse. Yamato scowls, but slides his guitar off his shoulder, setting it down in its case. He stays seated, rubbing his hands over his face.
“What’s your damage, anyway?” Seiji asks. “You’ve been weird for weeks, dude.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Seiji says, cheerfully. “All summer, you’ve been acting like someone pissed in your cereal and killed your puppy, dude. And someone’s going to have to pay for that mirror you broke.”
“I’ll pay for it, okay?” Yamato snaps. Seiji seems entirely unperturbed.
“You know, you don’t have to be here,” Seiji says eventually. “Nobody’s forcing you, y’know, dude?”
“I know,” Yamato says. “But I’m not going to let you all down.”
“You’re letting us all down pretty hard right now, dude,” Seiji said. “This is your problem, Ishida. You spend so much time trying to make sure everyone else is okay. Also, you’re sort of controlling. And proud. Kinda short-tempered, if I’m being honest. Point is, how about you just do what you want, and trust that if we’re in trouble, we can decide for ourselves what we want to do about it.”
Yamato blinks at him for a moment. Then: “Fine, I’m going home.”
“Attaboy,” Seiji grins. “You’re like the Anti-Jyou Kido right now.”
His fingers fumble on chords he’d be able to do perfectly in his sleep, his voice cracks and shifts like he’s fourteen and it’s breaking again, and he’s so frustrated with himself that he can barely focus.
Every time he tries to concentrate, Koushiro’s idea starts churning about in his head again. Returning to the Digital World. Becoming Chosen again, except this time with the roles reversed: They’d know what they were getting themselves into, and the Digimon wouldn’t.
Would it have changed anything if I had known? Would I have chosen not to fight?
He grimaces a little, and his hand fumbles on a guitar string, because he already knows the answer. He knew it when Devimon called from Mount Infinity for the smallest child to die, and Yamato had to protect his brother. Hell, he’d known it from the moment Meramon had run down that mountain on the second day, leaving fire in his wake, with a village in his path and a Black Gear driving him mad in his back, and all of them powerless to do anything until Sora stepped up.
“Let’s take a break,” their drummer, Seiji, says, giving Yamato a slightly irritated look. “Back in twenty?”
There’s a general murmur of agreement, and the other band members disperse. Yamato scowls, but slides his guitar off his shoulder, setting it down in its case. He stays seated, rubbing his hands over his face.
“What’s your damage, anyway?” Seiji asks. “You’ve been weird for weeks, dude.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Seiji says, cheerfully. “All summer, you’ve been acting like someone pissed in your cereal and killed your puppy, dude. And someone’s going to have to pay for that mirror you broke.”
“I’ll pay for it, okay?” Yamato snaps. Seiji seems entirely unperturbed.
“You know, you don’t have to be here,” Seiji says eventually. “Nobody’s forcing you, y’know, dude?”
“I know,” Yamato says. “But I’m not going to let you all down.”
“You’re letting us all down pretty hard right now, dude,” Seiji said. “This is your problem, Ishida. You spend so much time trying to make sure everyone else is okay. Also, you’re sort of controlling. And proud. Kinda short-tempered, if I’m being honest. Point is, how about you just do what you want, and trust that if we’re in trouble, we can decide for ourselves what we want to do about it.”
Yamato blinks at him for a moment. Then: “Fine, I’m going home.”
“Attaboy,” Seiji grins. “You’re like the Anti-Jyou Kido right now.”