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The hotel shouldn’t have existed.
That was the first thing Mimi Tachikawa thought when she stepped through the wide glass doors and felt warmth settle over her skin like a familiar coat. Not the dry, artificial warmth of machinery, but the kind that hummed softly in the air, scented faintly with pine and something sweet, cinnamon, maybe. It felt like winter back home. Like Christmas.
The Digital World had always been strange, always creative in its own way, but this was different. This wasn’t a warped imitation or a half-remembered echo. This was intentional. Careful. Loving.
Tall windows framed a softly falling snow that never quite touched the ground. Strings of warm white lights wound their way along wooden beams.
A Christmas tree stood proudly in the centre of the lobby, decorated with ornaments that looked handmade, some carved, some folded, some glowing faintly with digital light. There was a fireplace crackling gently along one wall, even though Mimi was fairly certain no one had lit it.
“This is… wow,” she breathed.
Palmon peered around from behind her boots, flower bobbing. “It’s very… Earth-like.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Tai said from behind her, a quiet note of awe slipping past his usual confidence.
Mimi turned to look at him.
Taichi Yagami stood just inside the doorway, Agumon at his side, both of them momentarily still. He wasn’t smiling in his usual easy, half-grin way. Instead, his expression had softened into something almost reverent, dark eyes reflecting the glow of the lights overhead.
For a second, Mimi saw him not as the fearless leader, not as the boy who always charged forward first—but as someone who missed home just as much as she did.
And something in her chest warmed in response.
“Guess the Digital World wanted to give us a break,” Tai said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kinda feels… nice.”
“Yeah,” Mimi replied softly. “It really does.”
They moved further inside, their footsteps muffled by thick carpeting. Somewhere deeper in the hotel, Mimi could hear laughter, Sora, probably. Maybe Yamato too. The others were already exploring, voices echoing faintly through hallways that curved in ways Earth architecture never quite dared.
For the first time in a long while, Mimi didn’t feel like she had to be brave. She felt allowed to miss things.
Later that evening, Mimi found herself alone near the large windows at the far end of the lobby, hands wrapped around a steaming mug someone, probably Tentomon, had thoughtfully provided. Outside, the snow continued its gentle, endless fall, glowing softly against the dark sky of the Digital World.
She thought of her parents. Of her house back home, decorated every year without fail. Of the way her mother insisted on matching ribbons for the tree and the staircase. Of her father pretending not to care while secretly adjusting ornaments when no one was looking.
She swallowed.
Being here, surrounded by something that felt so carefully crafted to remind them of Earth, made the ache sharper, but also sweeter. Like a song you hadn’t heard in years.
“You okay?”
Tai’s voice came quietly, respectfully, as he joined her at the window. He didn’t crowd her. Just stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through his jacket.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment. “Just thinking.”
“About home?”
She nodded.
“Me too,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I would this much. Guess I kinda thought I’d gotten used to being away.”
Mimi glanced at him sideways. “You don’t ever really get used to missing people. You just… carry it with you.”
Tai considered that, then smiled faintly.
“You’re pretty good at saying stuff like that.”
She laughed softly. “It’s a talent.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. Mimi found herself watching the way Tai’s reflection overlapped with hers in the glass, how naturally they stood together, shoulders almost touching.
She realised, distantly, that this wasn’t new.
She’d noticed him like this before. In quiet moments. When he wasn’t trying to be strong for everyone else. When the weight of responsibility slipped just enough for her to see the person underneath.
The boy who cared deeply. Who felt things just as strongly as she did, even if he didn’t always show it.
“Mimi?” Tai said suddenly.
“Hmm?”
“There’s something I wanted to say earlier. When we first got here.”
She turned fully toward him now, curiosity flickering. “Okay.”
He hesitated, then gestured upward with a small, awkward laugh. “You, uh… noticed that, right?”
She followed his gaze. Hanging just above them, woven carefully into a garland of pine and lights, was a sprig of mistletoe. Mimi blinked. Then smiled.
“Oh,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Tai replied, clearly flustered now. “I mean, I know it’s just a thing people do back home, but-”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted gently. “I know.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and something unspoken settled between them.
The hotel was quiet. The fire crackled. Snow fell endlessly outside.
And for the first time since arriving in the Digital World, Mimi felt like she wasn’t just surviving, she was living.
Slowly, deliberately, she stepped a little closer.
“Back home,” she said, voice low,
“Mistletoe’s kind of a reminder, isn’t it?
That even when things are busy or hard… people still find time to connect.”
Tai swallowed. “Yeah. Guess so.”
She reached out, fingers lightly catching the edge of his sleeve, not pulling, just anchoring.
“I’m glad we found this place,” she added. “Even if it’s not really Earth.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
Neither of them rushed.
When Tai finally leaned in, it wasn’t with bravado or confidence, it was careful, tentative, like he was making sure this moment was real. Mimi met him halfway, her hand sliding naturally to his shoulder.
The kiss was soft. Brief. Warm.
It tasted faintly of cocoa and nostalgia. When they parted, neither of them moved away right away.
Mimi rested her forehead lightly against his chest, smiling.
“Merry Christmas, Tai,” she murmured.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, one hand lifting to rest gently at her back. “Merry Christmas, Mimi.”
They stayed there for a while longer, under the mistletoe, surrounded by a world that wasn’t quite home, but felt close enough to matter.
And for once, that was enough.