Work Text:
Hikari thinks.
Too much, tuts her mother, who wonders if it’s a natural consequence of taking three whole, silent years to speak her very first word. Why, Taichi was gurgling happy nonsense since seven and a half months!
Not enough, sighs her brother, collapsing before her on skinned knees, eyes red-rimmed and voice hoarse with self-reproach. You don’t think about yourself enough.
(Her father says nothing, just smiles and kisses the top of her head before leaving for another late night at work.)
Hikari thinks of her brother’s words most of all, remembers his tear-stained cheeks and the twist in her heart and vows to never see him so broken again. (Vows never to break him so, again.) But it’s not until the summer of her eighth year that she finally, unintentionally, listens. Because somehow, somewhere in-between the searching and fighting and fleeing and getting sick and getting lost and almost losing her world—she thinks: About what it means to be a Chosen Child; what it means for her to be the child of Light.
Because courage, friendship, love, sincerity, knowledge, reliability? She understands those. Traits you can embody; traits you can be.
Hope is a little different. Hope is something you can have and hold onto and keep close. You can be hopeful, but that means to be with hope—to be full of hope. But most of all, hope has to be different because (because, because) you cannot actually embody hope just as you cannot actually embody light.
So she thinks: What does it mean to be filled with light? What does it mean for light’s chosen to be a frail, fragile little girl who lives only to burden her brother? What does it mean that she was looking forward to summer camp all year only to become, suddenly and swiftly, bedridden and gasping for breath on August first, just before they were about to head out? What does it mean that Light was stolen and Tailmon’s egg cast into the sea, alone and unknown?
What does it mean that she is a literal Deus Ex Machina who can converse with—be possessed by—the nameless, faceless deity of the digital world?
It’s an imperfect analogy (for an imperfect girl) because (becausebecause) hope was there from the beginning. Hope defeated Devimon and brought Poyomon back to life while Light was nowhere to be found.
Hope exists to save; Light exists merely to counterpoint the dark.
(Light could not save Wizardmon.)
Still, it has to mean something that Tailmon did find her. That Angemon and Angewomon were the angels of hope and light, of prophecy and foretold destiny—of a miracle.
It has to mean something, this connection to hope, this inextricable tie to the littlest boy with the silly green hat. The boy with watery blue eyes who never left her side, not for a single moment, took her hand into his and ran through his tears. (And saved her life.)
It has to mean something—but what?
(That light exists to be saved? That light can never truly be safe?)
So Hikari thinks, and it drives her fever mad long after it even matters—long after both worlds are saved and she loses the whistle around her neck. (Long after she loses the best part of herself.)
But all that thinking couldn’t prepare her for Miyako.
“What do you mean, what do I think of Takeru-kun?” Hikari asks, round-eyed, sitting on the floor of Miyako’s bedroom, teacup halting just before her lips.
“What do you mean what do I mean what do you think about Takeru-kun,” Miyako shoots back without missing a beat.
Hikari’s not deaf, but she can sure feign it if it means not dealing with uncomfortable situations. Unfortunately Miyako lives for other people’s discomfort. She huffs impatiently after Hikari takes around ten tiny, absent-minded sips of tea. “I know you’re not into Daisuke.”
“Daisuke-kun’s a very nice boy.”
“You said that like a kindergarten teacher.” Miyako squints at her. “Plus he’s too much like your brother.” A side glance that lasts just a beat too long. “Or maybe not enough?”
“Miyako!”
“So—Takeru-kun.”
Hikari turns the cup in her hands, murmurs, finally, helplessly, under Miyako’s hard stare, “I’ve known him for a very long time…”
“Aaaaand?” Miyako leans in close, fingers curled under her chin in anticipation.
“…He’s a very nice boy?”
“Hikari!”
Hikari can’t help a tiny smile at her distress. “Oh, well, what did you actually expect me to say?”
“That you’re in love with him!”
“Huh?”
“C’mon, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.” When Hikari continues to stare, Miyako groans. “Oh for fu—really?! But you’ve known him since forever!”
“I’ve known all the chosen children since forever.”
Miyako claws at her own face dramatically. “Yeah but don’t you think it all means something?”
Hikari falters, takes a shallow breath and licks her lips. “Like—”
“I mean, even the digital world ships you.”
“Huh???”
“Hope and light? The two strongest crests that weren’t recycled from the original chosen group? No light without hope and no hope without light blah blah blah prophecies. I mean, you were both so irreplaceable to the digital world that…well, you’re…it chose you twice!”
“Uh—”
“Then there’s Nefertimon and Pegasusmon…”
“What about them?”
“They have a dual tech! And to top it off, their real evolutions are angels!!!”
“Um.”
“Freaking. Angels. Hikari.”
“What you really seem to be suggesting,” Hikari says very patiently, “is that the digital world shipped Patamon and Tailmon.”
Miyako looms over her. “It gave you and Takeru-kun matching outfits.”
Hikari blinks—it’s hard to argue with that one.
“Don’t you see now?”
She really doesn’t. “I really don’t. Besides, aren’t you forgetting someone else who doesn’t have a, you called it a recycled crest?”
“Oh ho ho! I’m glad you’re finally taking this seriously!” Hikari rolls her eyes but doesn’t bother protesting. “But do you really think I hadn’t considered all angles of a potential Ken-kun-and-Takeru-kun relationship?” Okay yes, she should have known better.
Miyako continues flippantly, “Sadly, it wouldn’t end well. No one to initiate any resolution if they ever got into a fight. They’d both just circle around nonsense pleasantries, wearing plastic smiles while secretly brooding by themselves and worrying about the other until it finally exploded in their faces. Or with their fists.” Truthfully…that seems to check out.
“And me?” Hikari asks with a wry smile, unable to withstand Miyako’s infectious energy.
Miyako drops her gaze, hands fidgeting with very sudden un-Miyako-like self-consciousness. “He may have the crest of kindness—well, you’re both incredibly kind people—maybe the nicest people I know.” Hikari tries to swallow the lump in her throat and fails. “And despite everything, despite how intrinsically good you are and how good Ken-kun has become…a tiny part of you will never forgive the decisions he’s made as the Digimon Kaiser.” She smiles sadly. “It’s the thing you most have in common.”
Oh. Miyako is her jogress partner for a reason, after all.
“So anyway, all roads lead back to Takeru-kun and the digital world’s fan favorite ship!” Miyako says hastily, packing away her tender expression as she takes Hikari’s hands into her own. Miyako is Miyako, after all.
Hikari sighs with bemused affection. “But you’re also forgetting one more thing, oh captain.”
“What?”
“Takeru-kun’s feelings.”
“Pfft, oh that? Too easy. Of course he’s in love with you.”
“What.”
Miyako blinks. “You didn’t know?”
“Of course not—because it’s not true…”
Miyako considers her thoughtfully, tapping a finger under her chin. “Do you remember the first time you were called to the Dark Ocean?”
Hikari shudders because it’s something she’ll never forget, relives the cold clammy despair and nearly loses herself until Miyako gives her hands a gentle squeeze, a physical tether.
“I’d never seen Takeru-kun look like that before—like…like his whole world was crumbling before his eyes. He was so desperate to find you, and he and Daisuke got into a real big fight about it before he stormed off on his own to look for you.”
Hikari clears her throat, shaking the last dark tide from her mind. “That was over a year ago.”
“Mm, well, truthfully I assumed you guys would’ve gotten together sooner or later. At least after we saved the world again and the digimon…” Miyako releases her hands and turns her attention toward the window, stares out at cloudless blue skies.
“Then why bring it up now?” Hikari snaps, because on top of everything else she didn’t want to think…she didn’t want to remember… “Anyway, he has a girlfriend.”
“Oh, Catherine? She’s cute, but there’s no way they’re gonna last.” Miyako shrugs and glances at her for another beat too long. “I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you?”
It’s not that Hikari isn’t aware of it—boys and feelings and such—Miyako being her best friend meant that boys and feelings and such were general and frequent conversational topics, doubly so whenever Mimi came to visit and triply so whenever the two of them teamed up to get Sora to spill everything.
Because how could she not notice the way Daisuke would instantly brighten around her? The way he would always seek her out in a crowd and how, if she caught him looking, he’d blink twice before quickly averting his gaze, scratching his left ear shyly. How could she not notice his heart laid wide open and bare for the whole world to see, consequences (and feelings) be damned? Daisuke was impossibly sweet, incredibly devoted, but also overwhelming in his adoration. And Hikari, seeing nothing of what he did in herself, never really knew how to respond. (After all, who could really love such a feckless girl? She didn’t dare think about it.) It was easier to keep him at a distance, to sidestep with a smile and wait for Daisuke to grow up and out of these misplaced affections; hope that his feelings would one day find someone who could keep them safe.
So no, it’s not that Hikari isn’t aware of it—it’s just that Takeru has always existed in the space before boys and feelings and such. They were only eight when they’d first met, and too young to remotely think about romance. (Too young to be chosen; too young to save everyone and themselves.) And then the endless summer finally ended and Setagaya was a long way away and Hikari was reeling from one too many goodbyes to really consider his. Then three years passed with but a few childishly scrawled letters addressed to her brother and a note or two for her on occasion, but that was it until…
Until he moved back to Odaiba. Until they were chosen again. (Twice chosen children.)
So while she never missed the way Daisuke pouted whenever Takeru was too near, or when they discussed their previous time in the digital world, or if she laughed just a bit too hard at one of his jokes…
Well, Miyako wasn’t asking about Daisuke.
So Hikari circles around it for months until she’s struck by the realization that she just doesn’t know what Takeru looks like when he looks at her. It never crossed her mind to look because (because because)…
For as long as she’s known him, as long as he’s existed within the periphery of her life, he’s always been right by her side.
Except: Like his whole world was crumbling before his eyes.
Hikari takes a deep breath and thinks. Of darkness, oppressive and absolute. Of waves crashing against a vast, unending shoreline. Of an ocean that freezes her blood cold. Of her entire body being slowly unspooled from reality, stitch by stitch, fading helplessly away. The lump in her throat anchors her down, drags her under the depths where she can’t see can’t breathe and she’s sinkingdrowning…
Hikari-chan!
A glowing fissure against an ink black sky, too dazzlingly bright to look at, burns stars on the backs of her eyelids as her soul careens into her body, bruised but intact. And then he’s there in front of her—Takeru—riding on a golden, winged stallion, holding out his hand and…
Oh…
The vision breaks and Hikari blinks, gently placing a hand over her lips.
How anticlimactic.
She doesn’t recall his face after all. Barely remembers anything about him that day except the tiniest glimmer of a feeling—a drop of hope rippling through despair—lifting her out of the dark and into reality once more. Hope had saved her again. (Another life debt she could never hope to repay.)
Of course he’s in love with you.
Is he? Is that it—love? He saved her life, twice even, but he saved them all. And he would do it again and again without a moment’s hesitation, risk bones and bruises and body whole for any of them—of this Hikari was certain. So it couldn’t be that simple. And yet—
Have you seen the way he looks at you?
No. And it’s impossible for Hikari to completely dismiss Miyako’s words without it—without seeing it for herself. Because for all of Miyako’s enthusiastic bluster, she’s still the single most insightful person Hikari has ever met, especially regarding, well, sincere matters of the heart. As long as even the tiniest possibility exists that Miyako is right about what all this—no hope without light blah blah blah prophecies—means, Hikari can’t help but think about it. So she thinks. And waits. And watches.
Sometimes she sees resemblances to the littlest boy with the silly green hat and damp eyes full of hope, but only in passing glances. Only when he doesn’t notice her looking. (He nearly always notices her.)
But when she seems no closer to an answer, Hikari speaks.
It starts innocently enough. She begins by asking him about Catherine every so often—how she is, what she’s up to, if she’s planning to visit—and makes sure to look him directly in the eyes. If Takeru is caught off guard by her sudden interest in his love life, he doesn’t show it, simply answers all her questions with the same charming smile he offers to each and every one of their schoolmates he always greets by name. Hikari slowly begins to learn the degrees of his smiles—when he’s genuinely happy, the corners of his mouth tuck into his cheeks and his eyes shine blue and merry; when he’s bemused, his eyebrows reach up into his hairline and his lips twitch, revealing a hint of teeth; when he’s upset, his eyes glaze over in stormy blues and his lips stretch wide and thin as if to make up for the loss. He rarely ever frowns—at least, he never frowns at anyone. But though Hikari soon finds herself armed with a catalogue of Takeru’s facial expressions, nothing in the way he looks at anyone—including herself—looks a thing like love.
So Hikari grows bolder, prods a little deeper when his smile stretches thin—it takes three months for the long distance to take its toll and lead to their first Big Fight—and teases a little harder when his eyes shine dazzlingly bright—the day Takeru finds out they’re visiting his grandfather in the winter. When Catherine comes to visit the following spring, Hikari somehow ends up invited on their date to Tokyo Tower—and rather than let Catherine’s polite invitation slide, she spends the day chatting animatedly with the Parisian girl while studying both their faces with ferocious determination.
When she mentions this to Miyako, who literally spit-takes in response, Hikari rethinks. Starts to feel guilty and feels even worse when she goes through her pictures of that day and lands on one of Takeru and Catherine sitting on a bench, waiting for her to return with ice cream. She’d turned to apologize for the wait, and then snapped the picture on instinct because she loved the way the sun caught shimmery gold in their hair. But the image is so obvious even Hikari can see it—Catherine, eyes like stars as she looks at Takeru and only Takeru; the ideal image of a girl in love. Takeru, on the other hand, had caught her in the act (he always notices); he’s staring straight ahead with his mouth all teeth. He’s even holding up a peace sign.
Her stomach drops and tumbles over itself and she deletes the image, deletes them all, but it remains guiltily burned into her mind. She decides to quietly forget Miyako’s words after all.
Unfortunately she’s the first person Takeru seeks out when they have their second Big Fight. Takeru’s eyes are limp and his smile looks as if it has been so overextended that it’s simply deflated, caved in on itself.
Truthfully their fight sounds kind of petty to someone who’s never been so voluntarily vulnerable with another person, so Hikari doesn’t think she has any right to judge. Instead she draws his attention to the good parts of their relationship, the way he’s always smiled so fully when it comes to Catherine, how his grandfather and grandmother adore her. She advocates maybe a bit harder because of the guilt, and then feels kind of silly that she’s lecturing Takeru about his own relationship instead of just listening. She stops short and chews on her bottom lip but then the corners of his mouth lift a fraction and he laughs and wonders aloud when she became so invested in his relationship.
“I like Catherine,” she blurts out, and when the uneasy feeling in her stomach finally lifts, Hikari realizes the truth: it is the truth. “And I just want you both to be happy.” Still true.
Takeru raises an eyebrow, and there’s a second where his face matches nothing in her mental catalogue, but it passes too quickly to study. “I like her too.”
Their relationship lasts just shy of a year, and Hikari is the first person Takeru calls when the end comes. She hurries to the designated cafe with a lump in her throat and a list of reasons why they should try again. Takeru waves her over, eyes tired and smile wavering but intact. They share a giant sundae because, she very seriously explains, chocolate ice cream fixes everything, and talk until well into the night. He explains how they gave the long-distance thing a real good try, but both admitted that they’re too young, with so much of their lives ahead to really tie themselves down for the unforeseeable future. They’re only thirteen, after all. And even the best things, the most assured things, the things that make the most sense…don’t always work out. Hikari quietly wonders how much of this is influenced his brother and Sora, but doesn’t say so, just sips her drink and listens until Takeru runs out of words and his lips settle into a wavering line.
“Thanks,” he says, and that unreadable expression is back on his face, staring her intently in the eyes, and she tries so hard to analyze it, categorize it, because she’s so close to understanding—
He yawns and she breaks down into uncontrollable and infectious laughter.
The funniest thing is, teasing Takeru about his love life becomes second nature after that, and she unintentionally does forget all about Miyako’s words…
Until the day her world crumbles before her eyes and she’s screaming but deafening silence fills her lungs and she chokesgasps ready to throw herself into the abyss—but he’s beside her (always), pulling her back and away from harm. (Again and again life is so cyclical, so fragile, gone. Swallowed whole by the earth. Forgotten.)
And then he’s in front of her, shaking her by the shoulders, eyes damp with concern and fear and she’s aching and numb all at once (where is your light now?) can barely hear his words over the crash and roar of endless dark waves.
I’m worried about you!
(Where is your hope now?)
She wants to give in, forget, plunge herself into the darkness and end it all, wants to claw out his eyes with hers no hope without light, no light without hope burn the whole world down.
But—he won’t let her.
But—it’s still there. (He’s still there—)
That vague flicker of stubborn hope: that her brother is alive, that they can save Meicoomon, that they can save everyone. And when she looks into Takeru’s eyes she see stars burned into her retinas and wonders what it must feel like to be so full of hope even at the world’s end, how it feels to be so full of anything and how she so desperately wants to feel anything and when she plunges forward she’s still not sure if she’s looking for a miracle or an end.
When she tastes salt and ash on her lips she gasps.
And remembers.
“I kissed Takeru-kun.”
Her brother’s eyes snap open and peer up at her with something milder than reproach but harder than disbelief. “You don’t speak to me for three whole days and this is the first thing you say?”
Hikari smiles weakly behind the covers she’s just whisked off of him. “Does it help if I haven’t spoken to him in three whole days, either?”
“No, that’s completely unhelpful, Hikari.” He rubs sleep and crust from his eyes before sitting up and angling his legs off the bed, careful not to jostle a lightly snoring Agumon. He pats the remaining space at the foot of his bed and she ducks into place, setting his blanket over her lap and avoiding his obvious stare. “So.” He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”
“I ki—”
“No. That I heard.” He frowns and rubs his temples. “When?”
“When Tailmon merged with…with Meicoomon.”
“Why?”
Because in the blink of an eye, her brother was there and then he wasn’t. Because in the span of a breath she could feel her soul tearing in two. Because for a single unbearable moment she forgot him. Because— “I’d lost all hope…but I thought—I thought…maybe hope and light could…I wanted…” To bring back the dead. “…a miracle.”
“Whew.” He exhales slowly. “That’s…kind of a lot to put on a first kiss, isn’t it?”
She purses her lips but doesn’t disagree. Still, she’s not quite ready to think about her brother’s mortality right now—maybe not ever—let alone talk about it. She pivots. “What was your first kiss like?” Frowns thoughtfully. “Actually—who was your first kiss?”
“M-mine?” He coughs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Didn’t you come here to talk about your problems?”
“No,” Hikari whispers, unable to meet his eyes. “I came because I missed you.”
He glances over with a resigned sigh and meets her shoulder with his. “It was Mimi.”
“Mimi-san?!” Hikari glances up sharply, fingers fanned over her mouth in utter confused joy and her brother growls.
“Stop enjoying it so much!”
“But how—what—when—?”
“Two years ago.” He covers his face with his hand. “That summer she came to stay with us. She marched right up to me and said ’You can’t lose to Jou-senpai!’ and then caught me by the collar and rammed her face into mine.”
“That was it?!”
“No, I said she rammed her face into mine. Then she whined a whole lot because apparently my head is too hard.” He huffs at the memory and rubs his forehead. “But then we just started laughing and we were both on the ground and she was half on top of me and well—” he coughs. “So. That was my first kiss.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“With someone you considered a good friend?”
“With someone I consider a good friend.”
When he doesn’t say anything more, Hikari bursts out, “But what next? You didn’t date unless—did you date? Was it terrible? Were things never the same?”
Her brother laughs and shakes his head. “No. It was, well, just a kiss. Not that I really had any standards at the time.”
“So Mimi-san was disappointed,” she murmurs thoughtfully.
“Hey, stop looking at me like I’m pathetic.”
“Ah, I’m not—”
“Anyway, it was her first kiss too.”
“Really?”
He nods. “We talked about it afterward. She was scared she was getting left behind—scared that…she would never be able to move on or grow up. Most of all…she really missed Palmon. She was afraid she was the only one who still did.”
“And…your relationship didn’t change?”
He answers after a considerable pause, “It won’t if you don’t let it. It won’t if you don’t want it to. But you both have to be on the same page.”
When Hikari doesn’t reply, he nudges her knee with his. “You should talk to him—he’s your friend.”
She frowns, suddenly feeling petulant. “Have you talked to Meiko-san since she moved?”
His answer is in the way he turns to watch the rise and fall of Agumon’s little chest, the way his fist curls achingly into his bedspread. Hikari’s eyes wander to the door, catching a swish of purple, white and gold.
She knows that her brother is right—she should probably talk to Takeru. She knows it’s a simple solution. She understands that kisses can just be kisses. She knows in her bones that friendships can be mended.
The thing is: she hasn’t spent three whole days thinking about Takeru, not really.
The thing is: Takeru wasn’t her first kiss.
“You’re coming, right?” Daisuke asks, lolling his head off the side of his bed so he can peer up at her. “To my soccer game, I mean.” They’re studying in his bedroom, him lying on his bed, and her tucked against it on the floor, notebook in her lap.
“I wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be the first chance we get to be all together again.” She sighs. “Miyako has been so busy.”
“Ken, too. He’s been taking university courses on the side. It’s this Saturday, don’t forget!”
“I won’t, I won’t,” she laughs. “It’s already in my calendar.”
“I wanna see!” Daisuke says, craning his neck closer, so she reaches for her phone and flips open to her calendar, holds it in the general area of his face while still trying to memorize her formulas. There is a note that reads “Daisuke-kun’s soccer match!!!”
He hums thoughtfully. “Needs more exclamation points,” he declares, wriggling the phone from her grasp and keysmashing happily. She snorts, loses concentration and glances over only to realize just how close Daisuke’s face has been this entire time. His tongue pokes out thoughtfully, still upside down, and his cheeks are ruddy, tanned and burnt and peeling from days spent in the sun. He meets her gaze with eyes that remind her too much of fall for such a summer boy, and then in a blink they’re gone, tongue tucked behind a gleaming white smile. “See?” he asks, showing her phone off proudly: her calendar note is now filled with at least seventeen emojis.
Ah, she does see. Daisuke has grown up a lot. “But you’ll have to pass our math exam first,” she teases.
He makes an incredibly pouty face and she chuckles. Maybe not too much.
“Good thing I have the most amazing friend and tutor. Saaaaay, Hikari-chan, I don’t get this part.”
“Which?”
He scrambles off the bed, stumble-twirling to the floor in the process, but landing smartly on his knees with a clumsy grace only Daisuke is capable of, holds his math textbook over her lap. “So I get why x = -2 here, but in the next example…” He reaches over to turn the page and his hand grazes the hem of her shorts, a ghost of a sensation against her bare thighs that burns all the way up to her cheeks.
What…?
Daisuke doesn’t seem to notice or care that the temperature in his room has suddenly reached a boiling point. He’s prattling off about numbers with his eyebrows scrunched up and his lips worked into a crooked frown and the light catches in his hair like stardust. Her heart thumps and her knee judders, knocking the pencil from atop her notebook to roll uselessly to her other side.
“Ah!” Daisuke reacts instantly though all she can do is stare, reaches over her lap to pick it up for her (he’s always been there, picking up the pieces of her life) and his face is so close that she can see a light scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, high into his cheekbones. He retrieves the pencil and triumphantly puts it into her slack hands and then, only then, seems to realize how close he is. He blinks once. Twice. And then throws himself bodily away from her, apologizing and babbling profusely all at once.
He scratches his left ear without meeting her gaze as he mumbles a third apology and, oh, Hikari starts at that. Drops her notebook aside with a light thunk and doesn’t think twice as she presses into him, surges forward until his mouth finally moves against hers and his fingers tentatively find her hips and she sighs, warm and glowy all over.
When they break, she glances up at him through lowered lids, but any words she could or would have said die swiftly in her throat when she realizes he’s very obviously trying not to look at her. His eyes are on his hands as he carefully removes them, finger by finger, from around her before looking up, finally and painfully, with frosted eyes and the tiniest quiver of a smile. It’s a look she has never seen before on Daisuke’s face, but somehow knows instantly means heartbreak. (Consequences and emotions be damned.)
“I’m sorry I—I,” Hikari fumbles helplessly as panic creeps into her shrill voice because she thought—she was so sure he still— “I thought this is what you wanted.”
“Not like this.” Daisuke’s smile widens a fraction, and something about it threatens to snap her heart fully in two. “Not as a reaction.”
“As a reaction to what?”
“You know.” She most certainly does not. “I overheard Takeru inviting Sumino to my match.”
And suddenly blood thunders in Hikari’s head, because how could he—how could Daisuke of all people even believe that—can she not have anything for herself without being tied to—before she can viciously finish any thought, Daisuke takes her hands into his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Hikari-chan, but we can…we can talk.”
She drops her hands from his immediately because she understands, she does. She always has when it comes to him. Understands that Daisuke does in fact still like her. He may very well love her. May love so much, so fully, so stupidly that he could never dare believe she would ever deign return it (such a feckless girl). That the most important thing, oh irony of ironies, is for him to make sure she’s okay, even if his heart is breaking because he thinks hers already has.
She was right from the start: Daisuke did grow up too much. Even Daisuke did. And it makes her angry, so impossiblyimprobably angry because the sudden unbidden thought that rises in the back of her throat like salt water bile is this: she’s been left behind once again and she still can’t say a goddamn word about it. Her eyes burn and it’s too much—too hot, too suffocating, too endless—so she runs, stumbles out his bedroom door and ignores his calls after her. He texts her before she gets home, but white hot embarrassment floods her veins with every worried emoji so she relishes in deleting every single one, deletes the whole chat history and blocks his number out of a gnawing, uncontrollable spite she knows is unforgivable. (Though he will forgive her, every time.)
But it’s not enough, so she avoids him at school the next day. They’re not in the same homeroom this year and at lunch she retreats to a corner in the library and crams a piece of bread down her throat as she attempts to study for her math exam. Her phone jangles ten minutes later and Hikari winces and scrambles to silence it while holding up a hand up in apology to the stern-faced librarian.
Where the hell are you?! The text from Miyako reads, and she breathes a little easier until she remembers they made these lunch plans two weeks ago because it was impossible to see each other otherwise. Hikari gnaws at her bottom lip and doesn’t answer. She’ll apologize to Miyako later.
She barely remembers taking her math exam, but she definitely remembers throwing her pencil away in the bin on the way out.
When Saturday rolls around she feigns a cold in their group chat and quickly shuts off her phone because the anger has long since faded and all that’s left is a wretched, aching guilt she doesn’t want to confront. About an hour later there’s a knock at the door and she hears her mother fussing happily over how tall Takeru has gotten. He pokes his head into her room without knocking, holding up a paper takeout bag and asks softly if she’s okay. It makes her feel infinitely worse.
“I’m not really sick,” Hikari blurts out as the door closes.
His smile is uncanny. “Good because I only brought two spoons.” The paper bag contains a pint of her favorite brand of chocolate ice cream and Hikari smiles despite herself. He offers her the first spoonful and she digs in, sighs and forgets—boys and feelings and such—for one blissful moment.
Until they’re half a container in and she remembers. “What about Sumino-san?”
“Hm, what about her?”
“Don’t you want to be with…everyone else?”
“It’s not everyone without you, is it?”
She doesn’t quite know what to say to that.
Two hours after the container is long empty and they’re playing their seventh game of tic-tac-toe, her mother calls about apples.
“I’ll get it,” Takeru declares, swatting back at her when she tries to protest. “You’re sick, remember?”
Her heart constricts and she refuses to meet his eyes.
“You don’t have to tell me why,” he offers at her continued stubborn silence. “Just feel better.” He plonks a hand onto her head and musses up her hair until she can’t help but swat at him again. He dutifully heads out at her mother’s second call and she thinks maybe it’s time for her to own up, to grow up and come clean and maybe let Takeru give her some advice for a change, when his phone rings and her heart seizes all over again.
It’s so loud.
It’s Daisuke.
After a second of panicked indecision she cancels the call and then, petulantly, deletes the record, before shutting off the phone with a vibration of finality.
Forget, forget, forget, she thinks, and doesn’t notice the way the phone pulses in reply.
She spends all night pouring out her awful secret to Tailmon, who listens with earnest, glowing eyes. The moon is high in the night sky and the only other sound in the room is the faint swish swish of her tail. She talks and she cries and when she’s done she feels hollow and brittle and breaking—but somehow intact.
“It’s not your fault, Hikari,” Tailmon says finally, lifting Hikari’s chin with her paw so that she’s looking her partner in the eye.
“Of course it is—if I’d only known—”
“How could you have possibly known?”
“I—”
“Hikari, you’re a chosen child, but you didn’t choose to be one. You didn’t choose the crest of light. You didn’t choose to have powers you can’t possibly understand.”
“But Light should be perfect…” she whispers softly, finally, her ultimate fear and burden laid bare.
If it were—if she were—
Light couldn’t save Meicoomon.
“Nobody’s perfect, Hikari,” Tailmon says, softly, firmly, her claw clenched tight.
Hikari’s heart tumbles in her chest. “Do you regret it?”she whispers softly. “Remembering?”
Tailmon shakes her head. “Somehow…knowing that I had forgotten—what I had forgotten…and then remembering again…it makes all my memories even more precious. Do you see?”
The tears spill over anew, running down well worn tracks as she nods and pulls Tailmon into her arms. “Yes, yes.”
She lifts the blankets off his bed only to find it empty save for the outline of goggles beneath his pillow. Hikari’s heart claws out her throat and when there’s a touch at her shoulder she spins and nearly screams.
“Hikari?”
“O—”
Her brother blinks at her, but she just shakes her head. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, Koushiro asked to meet up—wanted to make some adjustments to the goggles.” He motions to the bed and she lays his blanket down, shuffles aside so he can reach under his pillow. He snags the goggles and fits them over his head with a light snap. “You okay?”
Hikari shakes her head.
“Takeru?”
Another shake.
“You wanna talk about it?” “You should call Meiko-san.”
“Huh?”
“She’s…your friend, right?”
He nods. “She is.”
“So then why not call her?” Hikari fiddles with her hands. “She’s probably…she’s probably already forgiven you.”
“That’s what I’m more afraid of.”
“You? Afraid?”
“If she’s already forgiven me…it means none of it really meant anything. And I don’t know if I could handle that.”
He doesn’t meet her gaze and she thinks, ah. Maybe they haven’t yet grown up, any of them. And maybe that’s okay. “Onii-chan, you’re still just a kid.”
“Huh?”
She laughs, clear as a bell, feeling a little freer. A little more courageous. A little less left behind. “I’m going out,” she declares. Taichi raises an eyebrow.
“Where?”
Her answer is a smile and a wave as she heads out the door. “See you later!”
“So the reason you guys didn’t pick up the phone—the reason you never looked for us was because you forgot about us. Because Yggdrasil was preying on your emotions and channeling your powers via digital devices to help you forget. To help everyone forget. Because we kissed.”
Any courage Hikari thought she mustered up deflates in the wake of Daisuke’s succinct yet devastatingly accurate summary.
“I gotta ask—was it that bad of a kiss?” His joke is feeble but earnest, though she’s not sure if it’s more for his sake or for hers. (It breaks her heart either way.) “Ah, no, you don’t really have to answer that.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Eh?”
She waits until Daisuke meets her gaze before repeating, “It wasn’t bad.”
“I—see.” His lips curve into a rueful smile.
Silence. This isn’t really how she expected this to go. She thought he’d be angrier. She thought the truth would set her free, but she feels more burdened than ever. Guilt. Regret. Loss. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Hikari-chan…”
“I just needed you to know. That it was my fault. It was all my fault. And I don’t expect you to be able to forgive me now—or maybe ever. And I know that might be asking too much, and—and I don’t want to dictate how you should feel, but I just wanted you to know the truth first. Before everyone else. I thought you deserved to know. So please don’t blame the others.” And she needs to get out of here because she can feel the dam break and her eyes fill with water and she knows that if he sees her face he will forgive her, like he always has, and she’s not sure she could handle that.
She’s still a kid, after all.
“Hikari-chan…”
“Thank you for seeing me. For listening to me. I’ll let you rest.” She turns her back to him when she feels the first tear roll down her cheek, pauses just before she leaves his room. “For what it’s worth…I’m glad you were my first kiss.”
There’s no hesitation. “Me too.”
She closes his door without looking back, says a watery farewell to his mother before beating a hasty retreat. She makes it five steps away from the apartment before she collapses into a sobbing, broken mess in the hallway.
“Hikari-chan.”
It’s impossible and improbable, but somehow he’s always there, this child of hope, offering his hand again.
She doesn’t want to take it, petulantly ignores it, wants to wallow in her shame a little longer, even if she looks a complete mess on the ground. She sniffs and glances around him. “Where’s Patamon?”
“I didn’t want him to feel bad again…” She glances up sharply and he adds, “For forgetting.”
Mm. It’s the same reason she left Tailmon at home, after all.
“Please get off the floor.” He retracts his hand and she sighs, picks herself up and lets him lead them toward the elevators.
“I went to see Ken.”
“How is he?”
“His mother apologized again.” She glances up at him. “It’s the second time I’ve tried. He said he didn’t want to see me.”
Ding.
“Miyako hasn’t answered any of my texts,” she admits. It was the first thing she did after all was said and done.
“Same here.” They enter the elevator in silence as Takeru hits the lobby button. “Iori’s still in a coma.”
There is nothing she can say to that. She wipes at her eyes and Takeru kindly averts his gaze.
Ding.
“And Daisuke?” Takeu prods finally, heading out of the elevator after her.
She’s not ready to talk about Daisuke quite yet. She pivots. “Have you spoken to Meiko-san at all?”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets with a frown. “She hasn’t replied to any of my emails.” Of course he has, Hikari muses, taking in his silly hat and his watery blue eyes. “Why?”
How does it feel when a chosen child has to watch their partner die? Only two people really know the answer to that one. (Three, a voice whispers in her mind like the ebb and flow of a vast ocean.)
What does it mean to grow up? Hikari hopes to find the answer, someday.
What does it mean to be an imperfect goddess with both too much power to destroy the world and her friends, but not enough to save them all? She’s pretty sure she’ll never get a real answer to this one.
But…
Don’t try to take it all in by yourself.
At least maybe she doesn’t have to feel so alone.
No one should.
“We’ll keep writing to her—Meiko-san. And if,” she glances at him and shakes her head, clarifies, “when the others are willing to talk to us, we’ll be here for them.”
“And until then?”
Until then, there’s a lot she needs to work on, a lot of things to unpack, and another important conversation to be had, but for once Hikari thinks, all that can wait. At least one more day. “Chocolate ice cream.”
He laughs, and his smile is warm and soft and a touch too wistful than she’d like. “I’ve heard it fixes everything.”