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Takeru had a problem.
Iori was…
Iori was not the problem.
Iori was a great new teammate, friend, and neighbor. Iori was observant, thoughtful, and spoke his mind honestly and respectfully. He tended to stay calm in rough situations in a way this new team absolutely needed. Takeru liked Iori. Takeru respected Iori.
But there was a problem.
Takeru’s problem was that he screwed up his relationship with Iori before he knew their relationship was even something screw-uppable.
Takeru’s problem was… Takeru didn’t want to think about his problem.
Takeru knew he’d gotten into some arguments as a kid. Started some. Mostly with Patamon. He’d gotten upset with Yamato on occasion. Those weren’t his proudest moments, but he had always made up with both of them relatively quickly. He’d always regretted losing his temper later.
This was different. Patamon had been in danger of getting a black spiral put on him and he’d totally lost his head. What on earth had possessed him to start practically wrestling with Daisuke?
Daisuke was new to this. Daisuke was trying to understand. But Patamon had been one moment from being nothing more than one of the Kaiser’s controlled pawns, and Takeru’s insides felt like they were trying to be on his outside.
Once the whole thing was over, he should have apologized. His mouth wouldn’t make the words. Daisuke didn’t seem to hold it against him.
Takeru had a problem, and it was staring down at him from one of Ichijouji’s screens as he and Iori tried to free a long hall of captive digimon. Iori spoke to him and Takeru heard nothing. His heart pounded in his chest too hard. Too fast.
He couldn’t feel his hands.
That night, Takeru closed himself in the bathroom and stared at the welt at his temple, wondering what the hell had happened. Since when had he been the kind of person to start a fight?
Takeru wasn’t stupid. He knew he had scared Iori. He had kind of scared himself.
How could he have left Iori behind in Ichijouji’s base? That wasn’t him. That was irresponsible. That was dangerous. He shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t stop.
He had heard himself talking, and who was that? Who was that haughty, holier-than-thou person inhabiting his skin? He’d been seething with an anger he’d never felt before and it felt good to take it out on Ichijouji. It felt good right up until he left the base and saw Iori waiting for him on the island with wide eyes.
Something ugly had reached up and strangled him then, so when Iori gently touched his hand and asked how he got hurt, Takeru smiled. He lied. He went back to the group and didn’t let on how he was starting to feel a little sick about the whole thing.
He iced the welt for two days when his mom wasn’t looking and lied to her too.
Here was the thing. Ken played with the powers of darkness. Ken hurt Agumon and Gabumon and Piyomon and nearly got a black spiral on Patamon, and gave Takeru a heart attack with the whole Devimon-in-the-dark-whirlpool thing. By all means, Takeru should hate him. He felt like he had the right.
But Ken was on his knees in the sand, sobbing and wailing, and Wormmon was dead. Takeru watched him and slowly detached his heart from his body so that he wouldn’t melt down alongside their former enemy. He knew Patamon was on his shoulder, but he could see feathers and feel a warm egg in his hands and if he didn’t get a hold of himself soon he was going to lose it.
He didn’t want this. He wouldn’t have wanted this for anyone. Not even Ken.
Beside him, Iori was fighting tears, and Takeru was aware that death, even of digimon, was disturbing to him. But Takeru couldn’t get himself to speak, so he said nothing. Did nothing.
He drowned in memories instead.
Takeru had been under the impression that Omegamon was a one-off miracle, so the appearance of Paildramon threw him for a loop. Actually, the concept of Jogress partners in general threw him for a loop. Though, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, Ken and Daisuke had been growing closer for a while and they’d started to remind him of Taichi and Yamato in the “they argue to get along” and “opposites attract” kind of way.
He mentioned it as casually as he could to Yamato the next time they saw each other and Yamato dropped a bomb on him.
Yamato felt Taichi’s emotions. Not just in the moment of evolution, (which he said was intense) but in a constant, in-the-background-of-every-day way.
He admitted it had taken some time to get used to, and wasn’t always pleasant or convenient, but it was helpful. Yamato liked it. They still disagreed at times, sure. Argued here and there. But being able to experience Taichi’s emotions directly made it much easier to understand where he was coming from. It made it so easy to make up after. They were closer than ever and he was glad that they had the connection.
He speculated that it would be the same for all Jogress partners.
The conversation left Takeru reeling. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. He didn’t even like thinking about his feelings, let alone the idea of someone else experiencing them in real time with him. Yamato said it like it was meant to be interesting.
Takeru was terrified.
Was he going to be expected to do that? That was a level of intimacy beyond anything he had ever imagined. Would his partner be able to feel every nightmare? Every pang of fear when Patamon fought? Every forced smile? Would they be able to feel his heart sink in resignation when his mom had to work late for days on end and he barely saw her?
Takeru thanked Yamato for dinner, said goodnight, and went home to stare at the wall while he choked back waves of panic.
It weighed heavily on him for a week. Paying attention in class felt impossible when his head wouldn’t stop racing. He twisted his hands under his desk and held on with a white-knuckled grip.
It would be fine. He totally had it together.
It would be fine, because Hikari smiled when she was sad too. She would understand. She wouldn’t call him out on his stupid mood swings. He looked at her and told himself that everything was okay. He loved her. She loved him. They’d held hands through the sewers, and through the halls of a castle, and to the end of the world. She had called to him from another dimension and he’d torn through time and space to help her.
If there was anyone he would be okay with exposing his raw self to, it was Hikari.
And anyway, Patamon and Tailmon would make the coolest, most badass digi-angel ever.
Takeru smiled and was Mr. Optimism. It was his job after all.
He was doing a terrible job.
There was a problem. There was a huge, absolutely terrifying problem.
Hikari was gone. Hikari was gone and Takeru sprinted through the forest, ferns catching on his legs and branches snagging on his shirt. He ignored the others calling questions. Ignored Iori trying to chase him. His digivice was useless. She wasn’t anywhere, and Takeru wanted to scream and cry but that wouldn’t help. He pushed and strained with everything he had to somehow do what he did last time, because he was sure she had been dragged to the Dark Ocean again.
He ran. He ran. He couldn’t fail her.
He failed her.
Takeru gasped for air, completely winded, and there Hikari was. She was right in front of him and holding hands with Miyako and-
They’d evolved together.
They were Jogress partners? Hikari and Miyako? Hikari was his best and closest friend in the entire world and the only one he felt comfortable sharing his life with and she was not his partner.
The fact left him with a staggering, gaping wound that he covered up with a relieved grin.
She was happy. She was safe. She was smiling so genuinely and expectantly up at him and she wanted him to be proud of her.
He was.
He wasn’t hurt by this at all. He definitely wasn’t confused.
Takeru turned and looked at Iori, who had just come to the same conclusion he had. Iori smiled back, and it was stiff. Unsure.
Oh, Takeru had screwed this up for sure.
Takeru liked Iori very much.
Iori was not the problem.
The problem was… Takeru didn’t like thinking about the problem.
(Takeru was the problem.)
Iori was the youngest and very conscious of that fact. Takeru understood. Been there, done that. Takeru saw Iori’s need to be seen as reliable and competent and did everything in his power to treat him as an equal. It was a relief that no one else on the team treated Iori like he was any less either.
To be fair, Iori rarely acted like he was any younger than the rest of them. The only issue was that he was a bit naive when it came to the realities of the digital world, but even that wasn’t unique to him out of the new members. Iori wasn’t willing to kill digimon, and he didn’t like fighting in general in a way that reminded Takeru so much of himself that it made him want to run away. Iori was that part of himself that had been beaten down and torn apart by enemies until pacifism wasn’t an option anymore.
Except not really, because Iori’s naivety wasn’t born out of fear of confrontation, but out of a rock-solid set of morals and strong opinions on how the world should work. His innocence was tempered by a loss so much worse than Takeru’s, and yet it somehow hadn’t turned him into a nightmare-riddled, angry, hot fucking mess.
Iori was a good kid. He deserved better than Takeru knew how to give.
Takeru looked at Iori with the knowledge that if they succeeded in a Jogress evolution, he would have every crevice of his heart exposed. Takeru’s wild, out-of-control emotions would betray him and Iori would find out that Takeru was full of shit most of the time.
He might even find out that Takeru had not even considered him as an option for a partner until they were the only two left. That would be horrible.
It was not a good time.
BlackWarGreymon was beating the tar out of them, and despite Paildramon and Silphymon’s best efforts, the digital world was destabilizing. The world was literally going to fall apart. There were only a couple Holy Stones left.
Takeru tried. Takeru tried so damn hard to do what he could on his own. He was given a miracle, but HolyAngemon ran out of borrowed energy before he was able to seal BlackWarGreymon away. Takeru scooped an exhausted Patamon into his arms and was so freaking aware of Iori watching him it was making him feel manic.
He tried to smile and tell Iori it was going to be okay, but Iori only shrugged.
Every day Takeru went home and doubted himself, and doubted his crest, and wondered if he was ever going to feel like he actually had his shit together. He couldn’t seem to hold a normal conversation with Iori anymore. The more he acted cheerful, the more weirded out Iori was.
Iori was pulling away from him.
They needed to Jogress evolve.
Takeru didn’t know what to do.
One night Yamato called, and Takeru officially wanted to bash his head against a wall. How had he managed to screw things up so badly that Iori was more comfortable talking to Yamato than he was Takeru? Iori barely knew Yamato.
It was hard to keep his voice pleasant and thank his brother for letting him know. Even harder not to slam the phone down. That wouldn’t be nice. It wasn’t Yamato’s fault.
Takeru slid down the wall and hugged his knees, something dark and jittery in his chest. He didn’t want Iori to know about Patamon dying. He never wanted to tell anyone. He wanted to pretend it never happened, but it did, and Iori knowing somehow made it feel more real.
And the reality was that Takeru and Iori had to Jogress evolve. Now. There was no more time. Takeru needed to sort himself out enough for them to have one genuine moment together, because the digital world was relying on him.
The digital world and everyone in it (including Patamon) would be destroyed if he couldn’t let Iori in.
Deep down, somewhere Takeru was studiously Not Looking, might have been a part of him that wanted the connection. But every time he’d loved someone with his whole heart they were ripped from him in some way or another.
The next day, Iori stood in front of BlackWarGreymon and tried to reason with him.
They weren’t partners yet, but Takeru very nearly threw himself down into the channel right then and there, internally thanking Angemon for doing it for him when BlackWarGreymon charged. As soon as Iori was safe, Takeru wanted to grab him by the shoulders and scream at him. To demand to know why he was feeling suicidal today. He didn’t do that. He stood back and stared at the kid, and was humbled.
Iori stood his ground in front of their enemy, back straight and head held high. Demanded BlackWarGreymon choose between right and wrong. Demanded he look inside, think about how he felt, and do the right thing.
Takeru needed to stop being the problem.
He went home that night and sat with himself, trying not to be angry. Angry was defensive. Angry was him deflecting. It wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be more mature. He was older. More experienced. Takeru had to be better than this.
He and Iori had to figure this out together. That was the whole point. Partners were supposed to balance each other out.
Takeru needed Iori to get him to stop running away.
There was only one Holy Stone left, and Iori proved himself to be the most mature member of their group yet again. He put aside his feelings and admitted there was no benefit to hurrying when it could put them at a disadvantage. They all sat together and ate a meal that could have ended up being their last.
Somehow, it was the most fun they'd had in months.
Takeru had never seen Iori this loose. Never seen him this open; his posture relaxed, and his smile unrestrained. He grinned with Hikari, laughed at Daisuke’s jokes, and snuggled with Armadimon and Patamon in a way that made Takeru’s heart clench.
It gave him the courage to do what he needed to do.
Takeru swallowed and let the smile drop off his face. He turned to Iori and told him in all seriousness that they would be able to pull off their evolution. Iori lit up like the sun. His eyes glittered with hope and he asked Takeru if he really thought so.
Takeru doubled down. It had taken him much too long, but he was in.
It was only minutes later that the digital world told him to put his money where his mouth was.
And then Shakkoumon towered over them and none of it mattered. None of his agonizing had meant anything, because aside from meeting Patamon, this was the best moment of his entire life. He’d never felt anything like it. Iori’s heart pounded along with his, strong and passionate and honorable, and for a moment Takeru felt he could be all those things too.
He was full of light. Full to the brim with love. He threw his arms around Iori and swung him in circles, laughing or crying or maybe both. Iori was bursting with joy and relief and excitement and pride, and Takeru would do anything to keep him that way. He’d do anything to keep him safe.
He wanted to see Iori this happy every day, bright-eyed and giggling so hard his cheeks were pink. Takeru had never seen his hair messy. It was adorable. He hugged Iori with his full strength and hated himself a tiny bit for making this whole thing so difficult for him.
It was a short-lived euphoria.
Iori’s emotions trickled in slowly. They were softer than Takeru expected. Muted. Gentle. They were so distinct from Takeru’s own vivid feelings that he noticed their arrival right away. He knew they were coming, but the first brush of contenthappyreturnhome against his soul when he was at basketball practice had him missing his shot by a mile.
Takeru faked a coughing fit and sat on the bleachers for a minute with his water bottle, his coach eyeing him in concern.
He squeezed his bottle in both hands and did everything he could not to panic. He counted to twenty and slowed his breathing, willing himself to be calm.
There was a little something humming under his ribs that felt distinctly Not Him. He told himself it was okay. This was supposed to happen. He was supposed to share now. He’d been trying so hard to be open and be honest and let Iori see the real him these last few days.
His heart shut down on reflex.
He wanted to be comforted by Not Being Alone, but instead, a creeping awkwardness seeped into his bones. Takeru felt like he was spying on Iori.
Had anyone let Iori know? No one had come to enlighten Takeru. If Yamato hadn’t felt like sharing that particular detail, Takeru might have thought he was going crazy.
The coach waved him back in, and Takeru jumped to comply. This wasn’t a good time. He needed to be able to think this through slowly and get his bearings back. Get his nerves to settle down before he was okay with Iori being along for the ride.
Basketball was a good distraction. Cooking for his mom wasn’t the same, but if he narrated to himself, it was enough to keep his insides from slithering around. He cleaned the apartment and did his homework mechanically, so aware of Iori’s presence it was like he was in the room with him.
The next few days, Takeru stayed as mellow as possible. He slowly adjusted to the feel of their bond and for Iori’s fluctuating moods. Takeru spent the time before he fell asleep each night working on withholding his side of the connection.
It felt wrong.
The idea of Iori being overwhelmed with all of Takeru’s issues was worse. Or at least that was what he told himself. He wouldn’t burden Iori like that. He wouldn’t drag down the team any more than he already had.
Why was he always the last to do everything?
It got worse when MarineDevimon appeared. Takeru should have guided Iori through the invasion. He knew what had to happen. He knew the cost of keeping civilians safe. It would be painful.
He really did try.
But he smiled, and didn’t let on how insanely high-strung he felt, and of course, that ended up with him and Iori nearly arguing while evacuating a hospital. Takeru chastised himself. He shouldn’t be faking. He let the smile go and grit his teeth instead, asking Iori to prioritize.
Iori radiated desperation and anguish and a soon-to-be-grief so potently that Takeru almost started to cry. He couldn’t do that. Not now. Not when there were frightened people all around them; patients- children- babies- that would all die if Shakkoumon couldn’t do what needed to be done.
In a violent shuddering of his soul, Takeru slammed an iron wall around himself. Shakkoumon twitched for one terrible moment... and then MarineDevimon drifted away in a cloud of data.
They’d done it. Takeru wanted to be relieved, but mostly he hurt. He didn’t know if Iori felt the separation, but Takeru told himself he didn’t need it. He didn’t need to be bonded to Iori to know he was upset. Takeru grabbed him in the tightest hug he could muster and internally apologized until his throat hurt.
Iori took it better than Takeru could have hoped. Iori was amazing. Iori was growing. Takeru admired him so much it was becoming painful.
They had to move on. There were more people to help.
Iori’s heart bled like a poison beside Takeru’s own through the entire Oikawa debacle. It was almost unbearable, a deep and festering ache so personal that Takeru considered cutting himself off entirely again. He resisted. He couldn’t risk not being able to evolve with Iori, so he endured.
It sucked ass.
It was really stupid. It was so impossibly stupid that Takeru put all this energy into keeping his heart hidden away from Iori, and yet Daisuke was able to just waltz into his dreamworld and crack him open like an egg.
It was insulting, really.
Takeru let himself get angry one last time. As a treat. He pointed all of his betrayal and hope and despair at BelialVamdemon.
Daisuke didn’t blab about his dream to anyone, (that Takeru was aware of), so he did what he always did and pretended it didn’t happen.
Everything was over, and the worlds were saved all over again, and Takeru could have lowered his barrier if he wasn’t such a coward. He thought about his half-fractured bond with Iori every day. He thought about it more than ever before. Takeru felt like a jerk.
Iori never once questioned him. Never lashed out or got irritated with him for refusing to fulfill his side of their bond.
Maybe he didn’t know.
Maybe he did, but he didn’t care.
The thought came to him without warning one night. It stabbed at him, so unexpectedly devastating that he physically flinched, his breath hicupping. It was even more horrible because it was his own fault.
The others were all happily paired up and still getting closer all the time. Iori and Takeru were better friends than they had been when the whole adventure began, but it wasn’t the same thing. It wasn’t even close.
Takeru curled into a ball and made sure Iori felt none of his heartbreak.
Close to a year had passed. It had officially gone on too long for Takeru to come clean. He’d missed his opportunity. The loneliness and regret were milder these days. A background annoyance.
And then in the middle of Mimi’s trampoline party came a teary, needy, near-painful tug on their bond so strong that it just about took Takeru off his feet. He didn’t even blink. He gave no explanation to the others, ditching Ken and Daisuke in the middle of a conversation.
He beelined for Iori, and something miraculous happened.
Iori was genuinely surprised. He had no idea why Takeru was at his side.
It was their evolution all over again. Ten months of agonizing evaporated in an instant. Takeru felt like he’d been given a second chance at life. He wanted to scream and dance and jump for joy in the face of this cosmic forgiveness.
Takeru took Iori’s hand and threw himself in the pit until Iori smiled. Bounced them around and made stupid, silly noises until Iori began to laugh. He ran them around and picked Iori up and carried him all over the place until they were both so sweaty and exhausted they could hardly move.
The party ended and Takeru refused to put Iori down even then. His walls were wobbling and leaking and he could have been worried but… The spillover was happyhappyreliefjoylovethankyou, so it was okay.
Iori thanked him and Takeru slipped up. There would be repercussions to that.
Takeru dropped Iori off and went home to think long and hard about coming clean. Would Iori be upset with him for withholding for so long? For Takeru experiencing all his emotions and offering none of his own in return?
The prospect was scary. It was no less scary than it had been when Yamato first mentioned it.
But Takeru liked what he felt this afternoon. He wanted to be Iori’s partner for real. He had to try again. He had been given a chance to fix his mistakes. Passing up such a gift would be catastrophically idiotic. He just wasn’t sure exactly what he could do. Even when he actively tried to relax his mental barrier, it refused to budge, an imaginary muscle permanently clenched in fear.
Iori looked at him differently on Tuesday and Takeru’s heart skipped a beat.
Something had changed.
Iori knew.
Takeru’s timeline had accelerated. He needed to fix himself now.
Takeru went home Tuesday after basketball and locked himself in his room. His mom wasn’t home. Patamon was in the digital world. It was just him and his thoughts- his feelings- everything that had happened to him that he buried under a mountain of fake smiles.
With shaking hands, Takeru took out an extra notebook and stared at it, the white of the paper taunting him. If he could just write something down… If he couldn’t say the words out loud, maybe he could put it on paper and get it all straight in his head. If he could make all the terror make sense, then maybe it wouldn’t haunt him.
Maybe he could actually talk to Iori.
Takeru got three words in and had to catch his breath, tears spilling to his chin and dripping onto the paper.
He was done for the day. But he wasn’t giving up.
Iori was an incredible young person. He was also not perfect.
Sunday morning Takeru woke up and it was like Dad had left all over again. He was eternally reaching out for a hand that was no longer beside him. It was like feathers all around him and an egg coming together in his lap. He sucked in a shuddering breath and scrubbed the tears away from his temples.
Grief was heavy. He felt like each of his limbs was part of the mattress, their weight too much for him to carry. It was all encompassing, and permanent and…
Not his.
Because Takeru knew what this was, and it was not The Divorce, no matter how much he suddenly wanted his dad. This was Patamon times one hundred.
Takeru hated to do it, but he screwed up his face and with a huge effort, closed Iori off from him entirely for the second time. It was temporary. He promised himself that it would only be for today.
This was a private day. Takeru had no idea if Iori wanted to share this with him, and he for sure was not going to intrude. He got dressed and went for a long walk in the rain, his mom not quite getting an answer from him as he zipped out the door. Physical distance seemed to help muffle the intensity of the emotions sometimes.
Iori’s emotions were gentle around the edges, but that didn’t mean they didn’t hold power. Even with his walls firmly in place, the grief dragged at him until he wasn’t sure he could maintain them without meditating or something. He wasn’t sure. He’d never tried that.
Takeru stood under the protection of a bus stop and cursed himself for not bringing his backpack. He had homework to do and that meant returning to the apartment. He made the slog back, and with every step closer to Iori, Takeru felt missingyoumissingyoumissingyou slink its way past his defenses.
Takeru took off his drenched shoes, and without warning the mantra beneath his ribs changed to missingYOU and the directness of it was jarring. Takeru was being addressed on purpose for the first time. He twitched away from the door, wide eyed and frightened by the intensity of the sensation.
Completely unintentionally, he pulled away from the connection.
Iori recoiled.
Takeru felt like he might throw up. He darted to the bedroom and got five more words into his notebook before there came along the bond an almighty yank.
Before he could pull himself together, there was another one. Stronger. Insistent. Pained and angry and frustrated and sad and wanting.
Takeru did not tell his feet to move. He bypassed the elevators and flew down three flights of stairs, his chest throbbing, mouth dry, heart thundering in his ears. He didn’t feel the door beneath his knuckles when he knocked.
Mrs. Hida let him in at Iori’s request.
Iori was not happy. Takeru crumbled. He laid himself bare, and Iori calmed. Takeru offered him his hand and asked for a second chance.
Iori took it.
After that, it was a slow grind of baby steps. Iori was altogether too accommodating. He was hurt, but he was patient. Takeru worked on writing things down each night and worked on telling Iori things during the day, though getting time for just the two of them was difficult.
Miyako and Hikari gave them a suspicious number of opportunities to be in a room alone. Every time they ran off, Iori’s side of the bond flared with guilt.
Iori sat very stiffly and apologized when Takeru asked why. He apologized for talking about him to Miyako, and to his brother, instead of asking him things directly. Takeru didn’t love it, but he understood. It wasn’t like he’d been making it easy.
When there were six pages of writing in Takeru’s notebook, he told Iori that his parents were divorced. It was easier to start with things he knew Iori already knew. It made all the difference to be the one choosing to part with the information this time.
When there were nine pages, he told Iori that Patamon died. He told him that he’d been scared of evolution for months after, and sometimes still got inexplicably nervous even when it was for something as routine as using Pegasmon for patrols.
At ten pages, he told Iori, very softly, about being alone in the digital world for over a week when Taichi disappeared. He didn’t go into detail, but he didn’t have to. Iori had seen firsthand how worked up Takeru could get when someone was trapped or left behind. Though, Takeru admitted, the new team wasn’t like Taichi’s team. Losing one person, however briefly, wouldn’t cause a group collapse.
At fourteen pages, Iori surprised him and told Takeru he remembered his plane going down during the Odaiba Fog Incident. That he used to dream of falling out of the sky and of Garudamon’s orange flame-feathers. Takeru told him he’d almost drowned crossing the bay a few hours before that. They sat shoulder to shoulder and Takeru soaked in the feeling of sharing parts of himself that he was frightened of.
Being vulnerable didn’t feel good. Not right away. But as the days passed and Iori grinned at him wider and wider, Takeru found it wasn’t as horrible as he’d imagined.
He still hadn’t allowed his emotions to spill along with his words.
There were nineteen pages of writing in his notebook.
He needed a little more time.
Pinochimon did not give him that time.
He was exasperated, he was furious, he was worried, and most of all, he was terrified, and he succeeded in keeping all of that to himself- because Iori was already most of those things as well- right up until there was blood dripping all down his left side and Pinochimon decided to light him on fire.
Holding up a mental barrier took a constant one percent of his willpower.
Not passing out from pain and fear took one hundred percent.
Takeru did not feel his barrier crumble, only that the terror was suddenly twofold. He heard Iori screaming and knew there were arms around him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because his hand felt like it was melting and Pinochimon was cackling in his ears and his throat hurt with the force of his crying. Everything hurt more than he knew things could hurt, and he was more scared than he’d ever been in his whole life.
He was at Pinochimon’s mercy.
Pinochimon was not known for being merciful.
When Takeru’s surroundings flickered and he crumpled to the floor of the Yagami apartment, he felt no relief. His friends were all around him, but it felt as if Pinochimon could snatch him back at any second. His heart rampaged out of control. It was trying to break through his ribs. All he could do was aim for the sink when he threw up. And then again.
The only thing anchoring him to the real world was the second heartbeat thundering next to his own.
Iori was beside him, covered in blood and tears, and radiated a murderous fury. Yet for all the anger, protectprotectprotect was being pounded into the marrow of Takeru’s bones. Iori’s hands were shaking, but there was no hesitation when he bandaged Takeru’s arm.
Helpyouhelpyouloveyou was embedded in each movement, and Takeru cried from that too. The barrier around his heart was in a million pieces and Takeru didn’t even know if he could pick them up, let alone put them back together. He didn’t try. He left himself open and cried hurthurthurtscaredhelp instead.
Iori fumed, but he did not leave. He did not run off to avenge Takeru, or berate himself for not “saving” him, and he didn’t excuse himself to go off and do whatever it was his mom did when she shut herself away for days at a time after the divorce.
It was that, above anything else, that allowed Takeru to calm down enough to leave the bathroom.
Iori followed a minute later, looking a little less like he’d survived a horror movie. He paused. And then came a rush of leftoutlessimportant, and Takeru wouldn’t stand for it. He tugged on their bond harder than he knew he could. Iori ran and curled up exactly where Takeru wanted him to. He held onto Takeru’s good hand, and maybe it wasn’t audible to the others, but his soul was growling louder than Patamon.
He had the errant thought that Iori might bite the next person who tried to touch him, and he was actually glad for it, because he felt small and exposed and wounded.
Even more so when Taichi and Yamato arrived and brought back every bruised memory Takeru liked to ignore. He was on his feet and yelling at both of them. His face hurt. His arm hurt. His hand hurt. Takeru was one big exposed nerve, screaming and wailing and frayed to snapping, and he couldn’t run from this. He couldn’t pretend this didn’t happen. He was making a scene in front of everyone.
Takeru hid in plain sight, and though his eyes were shut tight, he could see Iori go into Biting Someone Mode. Iori wrangled Taichi and Yamato into cooperating. That was more than Takeru had ever achieved.
It also sucked because it meant they were getting along enough to agree he needed to go to the hospital. He did not want to. He did not want to be poked and prodded and asked what happened.
Could they even tell someone what happened?
If he had to go to the hospital, he wanted Iori to come too, but there was something strained along their connection and Takeru barely withheld a second wave of panic. Suddenly, all he could feel from Iori was a strange, muted static.
Iori was blocking him this time. The realization sent hot tears streaming down his cheeks all over again. He was too much. He was scaring Iori again. He was nononoImsorryplease-
He caught Iori’s eye and through the block came a short, waitingwaitinghereforyou, and Takeru sagged. He allowed his brother to usher him through the door. He was waiting at the taxi stop when the block fizzled into nothing and a potent rush of horror and misery replaced it. Takeru caused that.
This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Well. Maybe not. Takeru didn’t feel any better when Iori’s emotions became muffled by distance.
He held Hikari’s hand, Yamato rubbed his back, and Taichi had his backpack with Patamon in it in his lap in the front. He was safe. He didn’t feel safe.
Triage got him through the emergency room quickly. It was a longer wait to see Shin. Long enough that Jou got to the hospital before he was seen. His hand burned and his skin prickled and itched with drying blood beneath the gauze. He was the most uncomfortable he’d been in as long as he could remember.
He reached as far as he could and received a comforting – Hereherehere. Youmeustogether.
The wait was worth it when Shin asked him exactly zero questions. When Takeru was given something for the pain and his head got a little floaty. That brought on another round of tears. Distantly, he was aware of Yamato’s alarm, and a nearby voice consoled him, explaining that the medication did that to some people and it was completely normal.
Takeru hated it though, because Hikari started crying again when he did, so he squeezed her hand and tried to stifle himself through getting four stitches in his arm and two on his cheek. His hand was treated and wrapped, covered completely with a soft, flexible gauze. That was good because Takeru didn’t want to see it. The whole thing felt vaguely prickly and numb from the wrist down. Takeru tried not to think about the feeling of it being held to a flame and failed.
If Pinochimon had planned on pulling Takeru back into the digital world, he would have done it already, but Takeru was shaky and unsure even hours later when he was discharged.
Yamato was allowed to sign his discharge paperwork. Takeru was sure he knew why the hospital hadn’t been able to get a hold of his mom, but his brain was a mess of drugs and molten glass memories and his mouth wouldn’t make the words.
He was achy and exhausted and so out of it that patrol felt like it had been weeks ago.
Hikari tapped away at her D-terminal while they waited for a taxi to come pick them up. She told him that Miyako was bringing Iori over to meet at his place.
Takeru hummed faintly. He felt Iori somewhere along their bond, but the drugs were making it hard to determine whose feelings were whose. It was hard to tell anything, actually. He was a little dizzy. All the way home, his stomach couldn’t decide if he was hungry or carsick, so the result was that he just clenched his mouth shut and refused to talk to anyone.
They were in the elevator when Takeru experienced a sharp spike of wanttoseeyouwanttoseeyouokay. It was close. Iori was close by.
It startled Takeru out of his haze. Iori was going to be here in a few minutes, and he was going to be able to see right through Takeru and into his mangled insides. Takeru still felt completely incapable of getting a hold of himself. He tried for a second to put his walls back up and fell spectacularly short, fear and guilt squeezing the breath out of him.
Why was that his first instinct? He’d been working up to sharing with Iori for months, and now that he had achieved it, he wanted to shut him out again?
Takeru wavered dangerously on his feet. Three pairs of hands reached to steady him.
“Why is it so scary?” he murmured.
Taichi and Yamato stared at him like he’d said something dumb. His brother wound an arm around Takeru’s shoulders and steadied him against his chest. His heart was loud and fast beneath Takeru’s ear.
“You’re allowed to be as scared as you want right now, Takeru,” Taichi said with a dark laugh.
Takeru shook his head. “No.”
Hikari looked at him with a wrinkle in her brow, and Takeru willed her to understand what he was talking about. He gestured to himself and vaguely out at the night.
“You don’t need to be afraid of Iori,” she whispered. Hikari curled her pinkie around his. “But it is hard sometimes.”
Oh, Takeru loved her.
Their brothers chose not to comment and Takeru was grateful.
“Why don’t you change,” Yamato said when they got into the apartment. He paused awkwardly. “Do you need help?”
“No.” Takeru raised his injured arm and stared at it unhappily. “Mm. Yes.”
“Could Hikari borrow something?” Taichi asked.
There were dark smears on her sleeves and spots on her pants. Takeru’s stomach flip-flopped at the sight of them.
Getting into pajamas was admittedly not an easy process, and Takeru was not looking forward to the next few days of needing help getting his arm through a sleeve without pulling at tender stitches. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before he could use his left hand.
He picked out some clothes that were getting too small for him, and as he did, a flicker of nerves came along the bond. Much closer. Takeru rubbed at his dry eyes and grabbed another pair of clothes.
“Go lay down,” Yamato said, taking the bundles from him.
Takeru complied, the couch’s worn cushions welcoming him like an old friend. He curled on his side and closed his eyes, the tape on his cheek tugging slightly. He was so, so tired, but he had a feeling it would be a long time before he was able to sleep.
Hikari came out of the bathroom just in time for a knock to sound at the door. Iori was here.
Takeru’s heart skipped a beat. He shouldn’t be afraid of this. But it had never been Iori he’d been scared of, had it?
Takeru had always been the problem.
He kept his eyes firmly shut and listened to Yamato direct Iori to the bathroom to change. To Taichi on the phone with Jou again, reporting his lack of troublesome side effects to the pain meds. Hikari joined him on the couch without speaking, threading her fingers through his hair. Her hands were trembling.
It was fine. So were Takeru’s.
Light footsteps made their way toward him along with an anxiety that compounded with Takeru’s own. His insides clenched and clenched and clenched, and the ruined bits of his mental barrier jumped to guard him fruitlessly.
Stop it. He needed to stop it. He couldn’t.
A small, hurt curiosity wafted over him, and Takeru’s heart broke. I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry he pressed, all while his insides tried harder to disappear.
“I thought you wanted me here,” Iori said.
Takeru cracked his eyes open to his Jogress partner crouched in front of him. He wanted to yell that he did. That he was glad it was Iori he was sharing himself with, because Iori wasn’t one to overreact or to think he was a baby for crying.
“Takeru…” Patamon was perched on Iori’s shoulder.
Iori held his arm out and Patamon crawled along it, tentatively poking at Takeru before hopping over and finding a spot that didn’t cause Takeru to wince.
Iori only looked at him, seeming much too small in Takeru’s basketball sweats and a Teenage Wolves shirt. Takeru wanted to hug him. He wanted to feel that they were both okay, because he was pretty sure that Pinochimon had said something to Iori, and Takeru hated that he didn’t know what. Hated that Pinochimon had correctly targeted Iori as someone he could use to piss Takeru off in record time.
Iori stood and turned away with a hum. Takeru jolted, a raw rip of fear escaping him at the thought of him leaving.
Iori whipped around, eyes round and startled. “No- No, I was just…” He picked up the fleece blanket on the arm of the couch and held it out like an offering.
“Oh.” Takeru would have been embarrassed if he weren’t so strung out.
Iori tucked the blanket around him and sat by his hip.
The moment Iori leaned into him, all of Takeru’s muscles finally relaxed. The blanket was only fabric, but it was a barrier between him and the rest of the world, and with Iori’s heart beside his, Takeru finally felt… safe. Home.
Relieved tears leaked down one cheek.
“Better?” Iori asked.
Takeru nodded.
“Ken has a big, heavy blanket at his house,” Hikari said, smoothing a hand over the fleece. “Do you want one too?”
“Maybe I do,” Takeru laughed. It sounded like he’d been gargling rocks, but it was a laugh. Once he started, he had a hard time stopping. The medication made him feel weird.
“What’s funny?” Yamato came around the couch, mildly distressed.
“Nothing,” Takeru said through another chuckle.
“...Do you feel okay?”
“I’m- I think I’m a little drugged up.”
“Good.” Yamato blew out a long breath, his countenance sagging and then tensing again. He tapped his thumb against his leg. “I still can’t get a hold of Mom.”
Takeru nodded slowly, his eyes closing against his will. “She’s at a conference. She’ll be back late.”
“And you didn’t say that before because… You know what? Nevermind. I talked to Dad. He’s going to come by after work.”
“He is?” Takeru wished he weren’t so surprised.
Iori bumped lightly against him.
“Yeah, he-” Yamato cut himself short, glancing to the kitchen. “Wait, are you going now?”
Taichi appeared over the back of the couch. “Sorry. Everyone’s clamoring for a meeting. Koushiro’s pretty shaken, but he does want to discuss what happened. Him figuring out how to get someone out of the digital world without a gate is uh. Not a small thing.”
“Is that what happened?” Takeru mumbled to himself, his body remembering the static and the strange low tone of unexpected dimension hopping.
Yamato asked a question with his eyes and Taichi nodded.
“He’s already working on that. He thinks he can pull it off,” Taichi said.
Yamato ran a hand over the back of his head and sighed. “Thank him for me, will you?”
“Yeah. Come on, squirt.” Taichi waved for Hikari to get up.
“Onii-chan, I don’t want to go,” Hikari said, sinking back into the couch in protest. “Please don’t make me go.”
Taichi was torn. His gaze bounced back and forth between Hikari and Takeru.
“Please, Onii-chan.”
Takeru didn’t want her to leave either. His breath caught. He wanted to beg Taichi to let her stay. He didn’t want to ask Taichi for a favor, not after he’d shouted at him earlier.
Taichi opened his mouth and Hikari hiccuped miserably. Takeru absolutely did not mean to echo the sound even louder.
“I think she should stay. At least for a little while,” Iori said.
Taichi looked like leaving Hikari behind would put him in an early grave. He exchanged a pained look with Yamato and they both nodded.
“Alright,” Taichi said. He got to one knee in front of them and fixed his sister with a glare that was lined with stress. “You stay right here. You got it? You do not go to the digital world. You do not go home by yourself. If anything happens, and I mean anything, Hikari, you call me.”
“I will.” Hikari kissed him on the cheek and snuggled back into the cushions.
Taichi turned to Takeru and he tried to be more alert. He tried to pay attention because Taichi had his no-nonsense face on and Takeru had never backed down from whatever he’d been told in these moments.
“You’re a damn tough kid, Takeru.”
Takeru blinked. Oh, wow. He sucked in an unsteady breath and couldn’t fight the stupid grin that spread across his face. His cheek twinged and he barely cared.
“Pinochimon didn’t win anything. You’re still here. You’re going to be okay, because you’re you, and because nothing has ever knocked you down hard enough that you didn’t get back up. I know the digital world has dealt you some shit hands. It’s not fair. Don’t worry about Pinochimon, alright? We’ll get him.”
Takeru felt like he might explode with pride. Taichi had never treated him like a little kid, but this was next level. A noise warbled beside him and Takeru peeked at Iori out of the corner of his eye, so very aware of their connection.
Iori was staring at the floor and doing everything he could not to look like he was beaming. Patamon looked smug.
“Kay,” Takeru said, and if that wasn’t the dumbest response he could have given… “Thanks.”
Taichi messed his hair up. “I’ll personally get your hat back.”
“My hero.”
Taichi got up and clapped Iori on the back. “Keep an eye on them, will you? They have the same ‘If I complain, I’ll die’ disease. You don’t have to worry about Yamato, though. He complains enough for everyone else combined.”
“Don’t you need to go, Taichi?” Yamato said with a glare and a halfhearted shove.
“I’m out. Call me if anything changes.”
“Bye,” they chorused.
The door shut and the apartment fell quiet. Takeru squirmed absently, trying to get into a position that didn’t make his head feel like it was floating away and made of rocks at the same time. He was only somewhat successful.
“It’s almost seven o’clock,” Yamato said. “Do any of you want dinner?”
Eating sounded like a foreign concept. “Maybe later,” Takeru said.
Hikari shook her head.
“We never had lunch,” Iori said with a small shrug. “But I’m not very hungry.”
“I’ll make something so its there if anyone wants it.” Yamato made two stunted attempts to head toward the kitchen and stopped again. “Takeru… Do you need anything? I can call Mom again if you want.”
Takeru didn’t know what he wanted other than for today to not have happened. “I’m fine,” came out by reflex, and Iori twitched. Takeru braced himself. “I don’t know.”
Relief and joy and approval came through the thread from Iori’s side, and Takeru almost pulled the blanket up over his head.
“Alright,” Yamato said softly.
He put a hand on Takeru’s head and then he was gone. The room slowly filled with the homey sounds of pans clanking lightly and the smell of oil and noodles and vegetables. Yamato was rarely here at their mom’s apartment and yet he moved around the kitchen like it was his own.
Takeru shut his eyes and soaked it in. Soaked in the warmth of Hikari’s leg beneath his cheek, and Patamon’s weight along his side, and Iori’s thrumming presence curled by his knees. It was so much like their positions before the hospital, but a hundred times more peaceful. He put Pinochimon out of his mind for now.
For now.
He told himself that agonizing wouldn’t help. Maybe he was trying to protect what little shred of dignity he had left, but getting worked up and crying again would do literally nothing except get his nose stuffed up and make it that much harder for him to sleep.
Sleeping sounded like a good idea. His eyelids were heavy and the pull of unconsciousness was growing with every minute that ticked by on the clock. The pain medication was fading just a little, and Takeru was fully okay with being unconscious until he was allowed to take more.
He was already half under when Iori slipped sideways. When Hikari’s fingers stopped rubbing over his shoulder blade and fell still against his neck.
None of them heard Iori’s phone ringing.
Takeru had no idea what time it was when he realized he was waking up. The food smell was still there, but the kitchen noises were absent. All he could hear was breathing and Patamon snoring.
No, that wasn’t right. There was a voice. A low one coming from close by. Takeru struggled to listen to it, pain beginning to creep up his arm and towards his head.
Oh. Oh, it was his brother. It was Yamato, and he sounded choked up.
“It felt like we were old enough to handle it, but- Ugh. Taichi and Sora and I were only your age. He didn’t turn eight until the week after we got back.” There was a stifled sniff.
Takeru couldn’t make his sludge brain understand.
“I’m sure you all did the best you could.” That was Iori. Takeru could feel the vibrations of him speaking against his ribs. There was hair tickling under his chin. Small fingers toyed with the cuff of Takeru’s sleeve.
“Yeah. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We were all having a hard time. I just wish… All the worst things seemed to happen to him, and after- We all stayed friends and went to school together, but Takeru…”
Sadness pooled around Takeru’s lungs, both his and Iori’s.
“He went back to Setagaya,” Iori whispered.
“I’m glad he has you. And that you and Miyako are in the same building. He doesn’t need anyone to look out for him, but,” Yamato’s voice crackled. “I wish we’d put more of an effort into seeing him after. No one should have gone through what he did and then been alone.”
Takeru wasn’t used to hearing people talk about him like this. It was weird and uncomfortable and kind of enlightening all at once. And a little mortifying because his brother was the kind of sappy shit who liked rom-coms and poetry, and didn’t have one shred of self-consciousness when it came to being emotional.
Takeru tightened his arms around Iori and willed himself to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. The longer he was awake, the more he was aware that Iori was probably aware he was awake. And that was awful and silly, and finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Food?” Takeru forced his eyes open a crack and pretended not to have heard a thing.
Iori snorted. Takeru gave him a little squeeze, but it sent a ripple of pinching all down his arm, and he bit his lip to stop a hiss from escaping.
“Hungry?” Yamato helped untangle them from the blanket and from each other, his eyes damp.
“Maybe a little,” Takeru said. His stomach was out of sorts, but if he went much longer without eating he got the feeling he would be sick in another way.
“Iori?”
“I’ll have a small bowl, thank you.”
Takeru wobbled in place. He made a face. Yup. Pain meds were definitely wearing off. He nearly broke into a cold sweat just imagining what might be coming. He’d force a few mouthfuls just so he could take his next dose.
Iori held his hand when it started shaking.
The microwave beeped twice behind them.
Feet pushed against Takeru’s hip and Hikari shuffled around, still asleep. Patamon was drooling, clutched in her arms like an overstuffed festival toy. Takeru’s heart swelled with fondness for all these people.
“Here,” Yamato said. He handed Iori his bowl and then Takeru’s, putting a towel over his lap first.
Takeru paused, studying the bowl balanced on his knees. Towel or not, he couldn’t grab it if it started to fall. He peered up at his brother, and beside him, Iori opened his mouth at the same time he did.
“I’m not supposed to eat on the couch,” they said in tandem.
Takeru and Iori looked at each other, their faces painted with identical expressions of amused befuddlement.
Yamato blinked and then laughed helplessly at them. “Oh, yeah. You two are perfect for each other.”
It wasn’t like everything was suddenly fixed because Takeru could share emotions now.
The bleedover was nerve-wracking when Takeru knew his emotions were more erratic than ever. There were twisted nightmares and moments of remembered panic from both of them. Sometimes his mental block jumped back into position without him meaning to. Iori would invariably end up at his door when that happened. Time home alone wasn’t good for him, and Takeru was benched until his hand was cleared by his doctor, so Takeru spent each afternoon at the Hida’s apartment.
Time with his grandfather helped. He was kind, understanding, and managed not to be patronizing at all, even when Takeru spilled tea all over himself and the floor the first time he was handed a hot cup. Grandfather Hida smiled and got Takeru and Iori to calm before having all of them clean the floor together.
Takeru was introduced to meditation. He was objectively bad at it, but Iori and his grandfather said that it took time to be able to let thoughts flow without fighting them. They insisted he was doing just fine.
It sure didn’t feel like it. Not when he got hot and frustrated and embarrassed, and burst into tears not once, but twice in the first week. Iori struggled not to break down with him. The strain on their connection only made him feel worse.
Grandfather gave them yogurt pouches and told them to decompress in Iori’s room until he felt okay to try again. He refused to let Takeru give it another go despite Takeru’s insistence that he was fine. So off they went. Takeru did not come out until Yamato came downstairs to pick him up.
The third time it happened, Grandfather Hida pressed a book into Takeru’s hands instead and asked him to read to them. Iori’s eyes went wide when he saw the cover, and along their bond came a strum of something deep and sensitive. Takeru held the book reverently. He didn’t know what it was, but this was important to Iori, so he would do what he could to not mess this up.
Takeru wiped his eyes and spoke around the lump in his throat. The words came slowly. Focusing past the anxiety threatening to choke him was nearly impossible at first. By the second page, his voice stopped shaking.
Iori sat beside him, silent. So close that it was easier for Takeru to read if he tucked Iori beneath his arm.
Grandfather Hida closed his eyes and listened, a peace surrounding him so potent that Takeru absorbed it little by little. On page four, Takeru found his heart was no longer rampaging. He could no longer feel the burn of a knife against his skin.
The next time they tried to meditate, Grandfather Hida gave him a book to read from. Within it were very few words. Each page contained a line or two. Instructions on how to breathe or where to focus on his body.
He felt a little stupid that he had to say it all out loud for it to affect him.
Iori sent him a proud little grin at the end of the session, and Grandfather Hida asked how he felt.
“A little better,” was his honest answer.
Grandfather Hida nodded with approval. “Good.”
Two weeks after his incident with Pinochimon, Takeru sat at his desk with his notebook in front of him. He didn’t write, but he did read all nineteen pages aloud to himself. Somehow, it wasn’t so bad to hear it all that way.
Takeru wrote Grandfather Hida a thank-you note that night.
The next day Iori’s mother made him his favorite meal and sent him home with leftovers for his mom. He didn’t remember telling her what it was.
Iori winked at him from across the table.
When there were twenty-three pages in his notebook, Takeru was able to take the bandages off his cheek and arm. He peered at himself in the mirror intently. His heart thumping beneath his ribs, Takeru inspected the healed skin for any hint of a shine or lingering pinkness.
There were no scars.
Joy and relief flooded through him, and then from downstairs came a secondary rush of happyhappyhappy?
Yesyeshappy, he responded with a bit of effort. The instinct to withhold his side of the bond was much less when the spillover was positive.
When there were twenty-eight pages in his notebook, Takeru hung out in the Yagami’s living room and played cards with Mimi while the rest of the team took care of Pinochimon.
Until it was determined whether Piemon was a threat or not, Takeru was staying out of the digital world. His hand was healing well, but still sore at times. His heart was taking a longer route to recovery.
He’d go back. He would. He just wasn’t sure when he’d feel up to it.
With a flash of light, the others began to return. Takeru held his breath. He didn’t want to know who it was that had ended up killing Pinochimon, and he’d made that clear to the whole team before they left on their mission. Iori had helped hammer that one home.
Takeru didn’t want it to be about revenge. He didn’t want it to be about him. Pinochimon was a danger to the digital world and they were just doing their job.
Everyone did a very good job at not saying a thing when they came home triumphant.
Takeru pretended he wasn’t checking on his brother and Iori, but that was useless because the second he looked at Iori, Iori looked back at him. He wasn’t distressed. In fact, he gathered himself up and stood straighter.
Honor and duty and justice and loveyouloveyou came to him loud and clear.
Takeru melted into Mimi’s side, a small smile gracing his face. He was grateful Iori hadn’t been the one to do it.
Yamato put his arm around Iori’s shoulders and shot Takeru a soft look that spoke volumes.
Another surge of gratitude. Maybe Takeru would never know who had done it, but he was happy to know who hadn’t. He had never wanted to be avenged. He had never wanted his loved ones to kill out of anger.
The only problem was that Hikari seemed extraordinarily proud of herself and Miyako couldn’t stop grabbing her hand and cackling at random. They shushed each other and covered each others' mouths, and were an absolutely silly mess. Taichi and Daisuke kept looking at the girls as if they’d never seen them before.
Well. Somehow that felt okay.
The next weekend Sora, Daisuke, and Ken took down Metalseadramon. He’d mostly been keeping to himself and terrorizing colonies of deep-sea digimon, but upon being found out, he’d gone on a violent rampage and attempted to drown them all over again. It hadn’t been tolerated well.
There had been no sign of the other two Dark Masters, and though that wasn’t proof they weren’t hiding out there somewhere, it was hard to believe that Mugendramon would be hiding at all. Mostly, they were holding their collective breath about Piemon.
It was a worry, but it didn’t stop them from celebrating.
Miyako and Mimi made a run to the Inoue’s store and came back with enough food to feed an army.
“Everyone owes me for this one!” Miyako called over the chaos. “Cash! Pay up.”
Takeru got squashed between Iori and Sora on the loveseat. Someone thrust a soda into his hand while someone else patted his back. Patamon’s ear slapped his chin. They all packed in and raised their bottles in cheers.
“There’s been way too much talking about bummer things lately,” Daisuke announced, fighting Demiveemon for the mochi that had been on its way to his mouth. “You guys can’t have been in danger literally every second you were in the digital world. Funny stories. Now. Go.”
Takeru snorted. It kind of had felt like they’d been running for their lives endlessly-
Curiousexcitedcurious wove into his heart and stopped that train of thought. Takeru looked down at Iori, and Iori looked back, open and encouraging and expectant.
Around them, their friends laughed about fridges full of Numemon and fighting about egg toppings. They giggled over singing karaoke and Taichi’s first attempt at roasting a fish over a fire. Those things were funny, Takeru admitted, but-
Oh.
Takeru curled inward, his heart suddenly pounding. He had one. He had one, and it was extra good because nobody else had been there. He kind of wanted to speak up. Nerves choked him.
Fingers laced between his own, and Iori leaned forward. Pleasepleaseplease-
“I-”
Why was saying anything about himself so scary? Takeru squeezed Iori’s hand. Helpmehelpmehelpme.
Iori beamed like a lighthouse, and through their bond came COURAGE.
“I-” There was too much noise. Everyone else was so loud.
“Hey!” Iori called. “Takeru’s turn!”
Most of the voices quieted. Takeru took a deep breath and-
“The first time I went to the Village of Beginnings, I hatched all of the digieggs!” he announced. Takeru went red and squeezed his soda. He sputtered out a laugh. “All of them. Elecmon was so mad.”
The room erupted.
“What?” Daisuke howled.
“It’s true!” Patamon jumped and landed on top of Takeru’s head.
“They were pooping everywhere,” Takeru said. It was so ridiculous. “He was so mad at me, oh my god. Patamon wanted to fight him, but-”
Hikari gasped. “He fought Elecmon?”
An uncontrollable giggle bubbled out of him. “But I didn’t want him to, so I- I made them do tug-of-war instead.”
“You what?” Yamato asked, his eyebrows lost in his hair.
“Yeah. Sumo style. I judged. I got a costume?” Takeru held his hands up helplessly. “I don’t remember where that came from. Why did Elecmon have clothes? And they fit me? I made a score paddle and everything.”
Everyone was going wild, peals of laughter coming from chosen and partners alike.
“Well, who won?” Hawkmon demanded.
“I did, of course!” Patamon puffed up with pride. “We’re friends now.”
“Takeru, there’s hundreds of eggs,” Koushiro said. “How did you even have time to do that?”
“I don’t know! They hatch really quick for me. I basically just had to pick them up and they’d start cracking. I thought they were cute, so I just kept doing it.”
“Takeru.” Sora buried her face in her hands.
“I was seven!”
“That’s hilarious,” Mimi said, wiping tears out of her eyes. “Oh, that wins. Best story.”
Takeru somehow went even pinker at the praise and was glad he was already so red no one would be able to tell. He couldn’t get a hold of himself, buoyant and lighthearted and overflowing with mirth. It was his own. He knew that.
But the amount of delight and glee and awe coming from Iori was the best part. He was clutching his middle, laughing so much his eyes were scrunched shut, and his cheeks were rosy.
“Did it,” Takeru said to him. “Thanks.”
Iori hugged him, pouring his whole heart into it. Into Takeru. All of his love was communicated perfectly.
Takeru hugged him back.
“Thank you,” he sighed. For not giving up on me. For waiting so long. For being my partner.
Thank you, Iori, for being you.