Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2019-11-15 09:38 pm
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2019-11-15 09:38 pm
[tri OOM] One perfect day
Riiiiiiiiiiiiing.
Yamato slaps his alarm with one hand, fumbling with it until he finds the snooze button. The nine minutes it takes for the alarm to start ringing again seems to pass in a split second, and then it’s ringing even louder and just -- …
“We should get up,” Gabumon mumbles against his side. Yamato’s heart jumps in his chest, because even just from his voice, the way he’s curled up against him, the ever-so-slightly different feel of his fur, he can tell that this is Gabumon. The one he first met. The one who -- …
His eyes suddenly sting. He has to bite back the noise, the strange sound halfway between laughter and sobbing, that rises up in his throat. It’s like someone stuck their fingers straight into an open wound and pulled.
“Are you okay?” Gabumon asks, wide awake now.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Yamato says. He throws off the covers, sitting up. “We should get up.”
Takeru is eating breakfast in their kitchen when he heads out, with Patamon settled on his shoulder. Yamato ruffles his hair on his way to the cereal, pouring himself a bowl, and an even larger bowl with sugar for Gabumon.
Something beeps. A familiar four-tone noise, rising and then falling at the very end. Yamato’s gaze flicks across the kitchen worktop to where his digivice sits, the screen flickering. He reaches for it on instinct, fingers hovering over it …
“Yamatoooo,” Gabumon whines. “Come eat.”
Yamato turns to look at him, and when he looks back, his digivice isn’t anywhere to be seen. “I’m coming. Don’t scarf it all down without me.”
By the time he sits down, he’s forgotten all about his digivice, cheerfully gossiping with Takeru and their Digimon about stupid, ridiculous things.
There’s no school today, Takeru informs him after breakfast, shortly before nearly ordering him to shower and get dressed. As soon as he’s ready (noting, with some confusion, that Takeru is also showered and dressed, even though there was no time for that), his brother and Gabumon practically drag him through Odaiba until they get to the beach.
It’s nice. The summer sun is warm, the sea air is pleasant, and best of all, better than anything else, everyone’s there. His team and their Digimon, Daisuke’s team and theirs, even Wallace and Terriermon, hell, even Meiko and Meicoomon, laughing together as if the Infection had never happened. Even his old man is there, sipping a beer and discussing something with Jyou.
Gabumon clambers up onto his shoulders and stays there, a warm, comforting weight, and once again Yamato has to push back tears, because he’s back, here as if Yamato never failed him, as if he hadn’t … as if he hadn’t …
That four-tone melody again.
Yamato’s gaze focuses on one of the plastic beach tables, where his digivice is sat, the screen flickering faintly blue.
“Yama!” Taichi calls, practically colliding with him, shoving a bottle of lemonade into his hand. “Volleyball game. You in?”
“A volleyball game,” Yamato says, amused. “Really?”
“Hey, it’s a beach party tradition,” Taichi chirps. “C’mon, we’ve never faced off in a volleyball game before. I’m going to kick your ass. Unless you’d rather leave the party early?”
He pulls an exaggeratedly sad expression, so typically Taichi, but Yamato’s gaze is drawn again to the digivice on the table.
“I -- …”
Gabumon settles his cheek against his. “We can stick around a little longer, right? We don’t know when we’ll get the chance again.”
Yamato’s heart twists in his chest, as the memory of the Reboot comes surging up again. I let you die. We’re never going to get this chance again.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can stay. We can stay as long as you like.”
Taichi bounds off towards where the girls are hauling up volleyball nets, cheerfully picking Sora and Takeru out for his team, loudly declaring his intention to win a crushing victory. When Yamato flicks his gaze back over to the table, his digivice is gone.
“Thank you,” Gabumon says softly. “I don’t want this day to end.”
Yamato laughs, leaning against him. “It’s just a beach party, buddy.”
“I mean being here with you,” Gabumon replies. “You remember what I said, right? Seven years ago? I waited years just to meet you, so that I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. I don’t -- …”
“Were you lonely?” Yamato asks, shutting his eyes. “When you -- when the Reboot happened. I couldn’t help you, but I wanted to be able to … I ... I hope you knew I was there. I was right there with you.”
Gabumon doesn’t say anything.
“I wish I could have said goodbye,” Yamato murmurs. “Just one more day to say goodbye to you.”
A volleyball hits him in the side of his head, nearly knocking him over.
“Hey! Yama!” Taichi yells. “Get over here!”
The volleyball game is … fierce. It ends with a draw, and then a short fistfight that results in both Yamato and Taichi sprawled in the sand, laughing until their chests hurt. Gabumon tuts, but he looks more amused than annoyed.
They drink cold lemonade, they chat, people laugh, the sun remains high and bright in the sky. Eventually Yamato sits at the edge of the water and pulls out his harmonica, running his fingers over the metal, feeling out every nick and indentation.
The sun is setting. Everyone is gone. Everyone except Gabumon.
Yamato doesn’t question when either of those things happened. It doesn’t matter. He settles the harmonica against his lips and plays the song he used to play to put Takeru to sleep as a baby. The song Gabumon had asked him to play the day before the Reboot.
His way of saying goodbye, but Yamato had never said it back.
Gabumon leans against him, listening peacefully, but Yamato can’t get all of the way through the song before a lump in his throat stops him.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, lowering his harmonica. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Gabumon laughs. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the arcade and get ice cream, and the day after that we’ll go visit the aquarium, and after that everyone can go back to that -- …”
“I miss you,” Yamato says. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know when it’s going to stop hurting …”
Gabumon settles a little more firmly against his side. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”
He’s right here. His Gabumon.
“You’re not.”
“Of course I am,” Gabumon chuckles. “I was made from you in the first place, right? So even if this is just in your head, it’s still really me. You can stay here with me for as long as you like.”
“I can’t,” Yamato says, shaking his head hard. “I can’t stay. And you wouldn’t want me to, not really, because there’s -- there’s other people who need me. There’s my brother, and Taichi, and Sora, and all of the others, and … and Gabumon. The other you.”
He thinks he has a handle on himself now, thinks he can keep the tears at bay. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Gabumon’s head.
“I’m going to teach him everything you taught me. How to take care of his fur, where all the best places to catch fish are, how to fight, all those stupid little pieces of advice about getting along with people you told me. Everything,” he whispers. “I’m never going to forget you, no matter what. Never.”
Not even if it hurts. Yamato doesn’t think it’s ever going to stop hurting.
That four-tone melody again. His digivice is just past his feet, just under the tide as it washes in. He just has to pick it up.
He blinks back more tears, kissing the top of Gabumon’s head again. “Time for me to go. Goodbye, partner. I love you, you know that?”
Gabumon gives a wry noise, butting his head against Yamato’s jaw. “Goodbye, partner,” he says quietly. “Smile, okay? For me.”
Yamato has to laugh at that, but he pulls back his lips into his best, sharpest smile anyway, leaning back so Gabumon can see him. Gabumon flashes his own teeth in return.
Then, still holding onto Gabumon with one arm, he reaches into the water and curls his hand around his digivice.
The sun vanishes. The full moon looms over the ocean, and a cold wind blows through his hair. He holds onto Gabumon as the moonlight passes over him, as the Digimon’s paws turn to leaves and flower petals, and flutter away from him. His bright, toothy smile is the last thing to fade.
Then everything else collapses into leaves as well, and the dream ends.
Yamato slaps his alarm with one hand, fumbling with it until he finds the snooze button. The nine minutes it takes for the alarm to start ringing again seems to pass in a split second, and then it’s ringing even louder and just -- …
“We should get up,” Gabumon mumbles against his side. Yamato’s heart jumps in his chest, because even just from his voice, the way he’s curled up against him, the ever-so-slightly different feel of his fur, he can tell that this is Gabumon. The one he first met. The one who -- …
His eyes suddenly sting. He has to bite back the noise, the strange sound halfway between laughter and sobbing, that rises up in his throat. It’s like someone stuck their fingers straight into an open wound and pulled.
“Are you okay?” Gabumon asks, wide awake now.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” Yamato says. He throws off the covers, sitting up. “We should get up.”
Takeru is eating breakfast in their kitchen when he heads out, with Patamon settled on his shoulder. Yamato ruffles his hair on his way to the cereal, pouring himself a bowl, and an even larger bowl with sugar for Gabumon.
Something beeps. A familiar four-tone noise, rising and then falling at the very end. Yamato’s gaze flicks across the kitchen worktop to where his digivice sits, the screen flickering. He reaches for it on instinct, fingers hovering over it …
“Yamatoooo,” Gabumon whines. “Come eat.”
Yamato turns to look at him, and when he looks back, his digivice isn’t anywhere to be seen. “I’m coming. Don’t scarf it all down without me.”
By the time he sits down, he’s forgotten all about his digivice, cheerfully gossiping with Takeru and their Digimon about stupid, ridiculous things.
There’s no school today, Takeru informs him after breakfast, shortly before nearly ordering him to shower and get dressed. As soon as he’s ready (noting, with some confusion, that Takeru is also showered and dressed, even though there was no time for that), his brother and Gabumon practically drag him through Odaiba until they get to the beach.
It’s nice. The summer sun is warm, the sea air is pleasant, and best of all, better than anything else, everyone’s there. His team and their Digimon, Daisuke’s team and theirs, even Wallace and Terriermon, hell, even Meiko and Meicoomon, laughing together as if the Infection had never happened. Even his old man is there, sipping a beer and discussing something with Jyou.
Gabumon clambers up onto his shoulders and stays there, a warm, comforting weight, and once again Yamato has to push back tears, because he’s back, here as if Yamato never failed him, as if he hadn’t … as if he hadn’t …
That four-tone melody again.
Yamato’s gaze focuses on one of the plastic beach tables, where his digivice is sat, the screen flickering faintly blue.
“Yama!” Taichi calls, practically colliding with him, shoving a bottle of lemonade into his hand. “Volleyball game. You in?”
“A volleyball game,” Yamato says, amused. “Really?”
“Hey, it’s a beach party tradition,” Taichi chirps. “C’mon, we’ve never faced off in a volleyball game before. I’m going to kick your ass. Unless you’d rather leave the party early?”
He pulls an exaggeratedly sad expression, so typically Taichi, but Yamato’s gaze is drawn again to the digivice on the table.
“I -- …”
Gabumon settles his cheek against his. “We can stick around a little longer, right? We don’t know when we’ll get the chance again.”
Yamato’s heart twists in his chest, as the memory of the Reboot comes surging up again. I let you die. We’re never going to get this chance again.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can stay. We can stay as long as you like.”
Taichi bounds off towards where the girls are hauling up volleyball nets, cheerfully picking Sora and Takeru out for his team, loudly declaring his intention to win a crushing victory. When Yamato flicks his gaze back over to the table, his digivice is gone.
“Thank you,” Gabumon says softly. “I don’t want this day to end.”
Yamato laughs, leaning against him. “It’s just a beach party, buddy.”
“I mean being here with you,” Gabumon replies. “You remember what I said, right? Seven years ago? I waited years just to meet you, so that I wouldn’t be lonely anymore. I don’t -- …”
“Were you lonely?” Yamato asks, shutting his eyes. “When you -- when the Reboot happened. I couldn’t help you, but I wanted to be able to … I ... I hope you knew I was there. I was right there with you.”
Gabumon doesn’t say anything.
“I wish I could have said goodbye,” Yamato murmurs. “Just one more day to say goodbye to you.”
A volleyball hits him in the side of his head, nearly knocking him over.
“Hey! Yama!” Taichi yells. “Get over here!”
The volleyball game is … fierce. It ends with a draw, and then a short fistfight that results in both Yamato and Taichi sprawled in the sand, laughing until their chests hurt. Gabumon tuts, but he looks more amused than annoyed.
They drink cold lemonade, they chat, people laugh, the sun remains high and bright in the sky. Eventually Yamato sits at the edge of the water and pulls out his harmonica, running his fingers over the metal, feeling out every nick and indentation.
The sun is setting. Everyone is gone. Everyone except Gabumon.
Yamato doesn’t question when either of those things happened. It doesn’t matter. He settles the harmonica against his lips and plays the song he used to play to put Takeru to sleep as a baby. The song Gabumon had asked him to play the day before the Reboot.
His way of saying goodbye, but Yamato had never said it back.
Gabumon leans against him, listening peacefully, but Yamato can’t get all of the way through the song before a lump in his throat stops him.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, lowering his harmonica. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Gabumon laughs. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the arcade and get ice cream, and the day after that we’ll go visit the aquarium, and after that everyone can go back to that -- …”
“I miss you,” Yamato says. “I miss you so much, and I don’t know when it’s going to stop hurting …”
Gabumon settles a little more firmly against his side. “You don’t have to miss me. I’m right here.”
He’s right here. His Gabumon.
“You’re not.”
“Of course I am,” Gabumon chuckles. “I was made from you in the first place, right? So even if this is just in your head, it’s still really me. You can stay here with me for as long as you like.”
“I can’t,” Yamato says, shaking his head hard. “I can’t stay. And you wouldn’t want me to, not really, because there’s -- there’s other people who need me. There’s my brother, and Taichi, and Sora, and all of the others, and … and Gabumon. The other you.”
He thinks he has a handle on himself now, thinks he can keep the tears at bay. He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Gabumon’s head.
“I’m going to teach him everything you taught me. How to take care of his fur, where all the best places to catch fish are, how to fight, all those stupid little pieces of advice about getting along with people you told me. Everything,” he whispers. “I’m never going to forget you, no matter what. Never.”
Not even if it hurts. Yamato doesn’t think it’s ever going to stop hurting.
That four-tone melody again. His digivice is just past his feet, just under the tide as it washes in. He just has to pick it up.
He blinks back more tears, kissing the top of Gabumon’s head again. “Time for me to go. Goodbye, partner. I love you, you know that?”
Gabumon gives a wry noise, butting his head against Yamato’s jaw. “Goodbye, partner,” he says quietly. “Smile, okay? For me.”
Yamato has to laugh at that, but he pulls back his lips into his best, sharpest smile anyway, leaning back so Gabumon can see him. Gabumon flashes his own teeth in return.
Then, still holding onto Gabumon with one arm, he reaches into the water and curls his hand around his digivice.
The sun vanishes. The full moon looms over the ocean, and a cold wind blows through his hair. He holds onto Gabumon as the moonlight passes over him, as the Digimon’s paws turn to leaves and flower petals, and flutter away from him. His bright, toothy smile is the last thing to fade.
Then everything else collapses into leaves as well, and the dream ends.