Chapter Text
April — Senior Year
Kari inhales slowly.
The breath catches halfway in her chest as she pushes a curtain of long brown hair behind her ear. Outside the classroom window, a dull blanket of gray clouds stretches endlessly across the sky, heavy and unmoving.
It matches the restless weight sitting in her stomach.
The final bell rings.
Chairs scrape. Voices rise. Backpacks zip.
Kari barely registers any of it.
She’s still staring out the window when Davis suddenly turns toward her, already mid-sentence.
“…and Coach says if we win this weekend—”
Kari blinks, dragging her attention back to him. She only catches fragments.
Soccer. Game. Weekend.
She offers him a small, automatic smile.
“I’ll be there.”
It’s enough to light him up.
Davis pushes back from his desk and stands, stretching his arms over his head with a quiet groan.
“What do you want to do while we wait?”
He shrugs out of his green school jacket and tosses it onto his backpack. Kari can’t help noticing how much he’s changed over the last few years.
His hair is longer now — still wild, still very Davis — but it suits him.
Even the goggles that used to live permanently on his forehead have finally disappeared…
…though she knows better than to think he’s actually let them go.
They are definitely still in his bag.
Kari zips her backpack and stands, smoothing down the front of her uniform shirt out of habit.
“Yolei won’t be here for another half hour.” She slings the bag over her shoulder. “We could meet up with Cody and see what he wants to do.”
It’s the beginning of her and Davis’s senior year.
Cody trails just behind them academically, while Yolei has already graduated and started classes at the local community college alongside Ken, who finished the year before her.
Most days, the group meets in the computer lab about thirty minutes after the high school lets out. A few times a week, they still slip quietly into the Digital World — a routine that somehow feels both nostalgic and necessary.
But today is Friday.
For once, homework can wait.
“So, what’s the plan?” Davis asks as they step into the hallway, already scanning ahead.
Kari follows his gaze and spots Cody emerging from his classroom farther down. She shrugs lightly.
“Yolei mentioned something about a perimeter check. But we’ll probably just do the usual.”
Cody falls into step with them once they reach him, his shorter frame still just a little behind Davis’s height — though not by much anymore.
“Are we just going to wait in the lab?” he asks.
Davis shrugs. “If that’s what you want to do.”
Then, with a familiar edge of complaint:
“I still don’t get why Yolei and Ken can’t just meet us in the Digital World.”
Cody immediately shakes his head.
“You know the campus computers are open to students day and night. It’s basically a public space. Leaving a digiport unattended isn’t exactly safe.”
Kari nods. “Here, most people head home right after class. It’s less of a risk.”
Davis rolls his eyes dramatically.
“Yeah, yeah. Still annoying.”
They slow their pace without really discussing it, unconsciously stretching the walk to kill time. The late afternoon halls are already thinning out, lockers slamming shut in the distance, footsteps echoing.
Finally, they reach the computer lab.
Davis and Cody step ahead.
Davis pushes the door open—
—and stops short.
“Oh— sorry. I didn’t know anyone was still in here—”
He starts to pull the door closed.
Pauses.
Then suddenly slams it back open.
Davis stares.
“…T.K.!?”
Cody’s head snaps up.
“T.K.!?”
The blond boy at the far computer turns in his chair, slipping black earbuds from his ears. When he sees them, his face breaks into an easy, familiar smile.
“Long time no see.”
For a second, both Davis and Cody just stand there, stunned.
Then Davis recovers first, striding forward.
“Dude, it’s been like a year.”
He bumps his fist lightly against T.K.’s.
T.K. nods. “Year and a half, almost.”
He looks… different.
Older.
His blond hair has grown out, soft waves falling more loosely than Kari remembers. He’s dressed casually — dark jeans, white T-shirt, gray hoodie — but somehow he carries himself with a quiet confidence that wasn’t there before.
Cody steps in next, pulling him into a quick hug.
“What are you doing back from Hokkaido?”
T.K. shrugs easily.
“Mom was planning another move, so I figure I’ll just get a place with Matt in Odaiba and finish senior year here.”
Davis grins.
“Hey, that’s awesome.”
He turns toward the doorway.
“Kari—”
Both boys freeze.
The doorway is empty.
Cody frowns, looking up at Davis.
“She was right behind us, wasn’t she?”
Davis nods slowly.
“…Yeah.”
He steps back into the hall and looks both ways.
Nothing.
“That’s weird.”
Behind them, T.K. shifts in his chair, already reaching for his phone and setting his earbuds down.
Something unreadable flickers briefly across his face.
“…Cody, watch my stuff a minute?”
He is already moving toward the door.
Kari can’t breathe.
The moment she heard Davis and Cody shout T.K.’s name, her body moved before her brain could catch up.
Run.
Her lungs burn as she presses her back against the cool brick wall outside the gym. She squeezes her eyes shut, chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.
It can’t be…
It has been over a year.
Over a year since he left for Hokkaido.
Over a year since the last conversation they had — the one that still twists painfully in her chest when she thinks about it too long.
She told herself she might never see him again.
So why does it still hurt this much?
Kari drags in a shaky breath, trying to force her heartbeat to slow—
to steady—
to make any of this make sense—
“You let your hair grow out.”
Her eyes fly open.
“It looks nice.”
Her heart stops.
T.K. leans casually against the wall beside her, close enough that she can feel the quiet presence of him — warm, familiar, and completely overwhelming.
His voice is a little deeper than she remembers.
But it is still unmistakably him.
Kari stares hard at the concrete in front of her shoes, afraid that if she looks directly at him, everything she has been trying to hold together will crack straight down the middle.
Her mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
So she just nods.
Beside her, T.K. exhales softly into the silence.
“I know I should’ve told you I was coming back.”
Slowly — carefully — Kari turns her head.
His blue eyes are fixed on the ground, a faint crease between his brows.
Not angry.
Not distant.
Just… careful.
“T.K…” she starts.
He gently cuts her off.
“I don’t want things to be awkward between us. Alright?”
He glances at her then, offering a small, crooked grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I never wanted to lose you as a friend. That wasn’t what I was trying to do.”
Kari’s throat tightens.
Words pile up behind her lips — too many, too messy — and none of them want to come out right.
So she stays quiet.
T.K. shifts slightly, hands sliding into his hoodie pockets.
“I know things probably won’t ever go back to how they were before,” he continues quietly. “But I’m going to try really hard not to make this uncomfortable for you.”
Her brow furrows.
“What do you mean?”
He gives a small shrug.
“I made sure we’re in different classes.”
Kari’s eyes widen.
“I also signed up for the basketball team,” he adds lightly. “So I won’t be able to go to the Digital World every time you guys do.”
Before she can process that, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk away.
Panic spikes sharp and sudden in her chest.
Her hand shoots out, fingers gripping the back of his sweatshirt.
“You didn’t have to do that—”
T.K. stops.
For a second, neither of them moves.
Then, quietly:
“I know I just made myself sound pretty selfless.”
His voice softens.
“But the truth is… I did it for both our sakes.”
He doesn’t turn around.
“If my feelings for you were that easy to get rid of…”
A small breath leaves him.
“…there wouldn’t have been much point in risking our friendship to tell you in the first place.”
Kari’s fingers loosen.
Slip.
Fall away.
Her vision blurs as tears gather faster than she can stop them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
T.K. tilts his head back, looking up at the thick gray clouds rolling overhead.
It is definitely going to rain.
“I just want to see everyone for a bit,” he says quietly.
A beat.
Then softer—
“I won’t stick around.”