[Digimon] {Fic} Can't Cast Aside
Title: Can't Cast Aside
Series: Digimon
Rating: PG
Pairings: Yamachi
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, and this is fiction purely written for entertainment purposes and no monetary gain is attained from it. The song "Baby, It's You" was written and performed by the band "Promises" in the late 70's.
Summary: Has Yamato slowed down enough to let Taichi catch up?
Can’t Cast Aside
The bright lights and furious cheering were lethargy on his brain. He was accustomed to it, now, used to the overbearing groupies and their hollow infatuations that extended only as far as his body and voice, and nowhere past what the magazines printed and record-label executives told him to sing. The moving masses of people, the chaotic buzz of the backstagers and the two buckets on either side of the stage were as commonplace and insipid now, to him, as wiping his ass every day.
He had known for a long time now that there was a need for change. It had been pulling at him from the inside since halfway through his last tour. He didn’t know how the rest of the band would take this necessity of his to leave, but frankly, he didn’t care anymore either. The only thing keeping him from walking off the stage right now, in front of his countless waves of swimming fans who would assuredly be disappointed, was the need to sing this one song before the lights fell from him forever. Along with the last opportunity he had to correct something that he’d made wrong a long, long time ago. Chances were that the song wouldn’t even be heard by the one it was going to be sung to tonight. Chances were that the song would never be heard by the one he wanted most to hear it. Chances were he’d never be forgiven.
He always did realize his mistakes too late. But this time he had the opportunity to make up for it. Against the chances for the pessimist there was the possibility that his song might be heard. That it might be understood. That he might, just might, be forgiven.
He sincerely hoped so.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he shrugged his shoulders and shook his arms to loosen them up. For despite many other well-choreographed and well-sung performances during his career, this was going to have to be his greatest of them all. He usually gave his best every time, but this one had to be his all or nothing, and the chances of him fucking up while being this nervous were very, very high. He cast one apprehensive glance at the bucket beside him and decided that for the first time ever he might actually need its services once he’d finished his song. The time for his final performance had come, however, and throwing up now was simply not allowed.
The lights were particularly blinding this time as he strode out onto the stage to the chorus of cheers and wild screams from those in the front that he could hear. The muted roars from those at the back were barely bearable now, and sweat sprang out across his brow at the stifling heat that belonged more in an enclosed arena than the outdoor stadium where he was preforming tonight. Claustrophobia was new… but normal, he supposed as he took more deep breaths to take off the edge of the hysteria he could feel prodding at him. This song was important… and the consequences could change his life forever. He had the right to feel claustrophobic. After all, it was easier to travel in the same direction, than to turn and head in a new one - change was never easy.
“This next song is dedicated to Courage.” He told the sea of people that swam in eerie parody of an ocean. His voice had been smooth, and calm, and the words soft when he spoke them. It was contrary to how he felt inside.
From behind him he vaguely heard the five symbol taps that indicated he start on the sixth, and turning to the crowds to flick through them with his eyes, he parted his lips and lifted out from within the words he needed most to say.
You’re here with me now
But you’re sayin’ you don’t want me anymore…
You’re holding me now
But you’re sayin’ you can’t see me no, no more…
In the edges of his eyes he felt the tears that he’d kept hidden begin to prick. /Oh, God. Don’t let me cry. Don’t let me cry…/
You whisper goodbye, then cling tighter to me
I can’t take no more, oh no…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
Keeping his eyes wavering through the crowds, flicking from face to face, he kept searching. He knew who he was looking for; he knew what the features would look like down there in amongst the endless sea of otherwise unfamiliar faces. His hope kept him searching, for though logic told him that who he was penetrating the indistinct for would certainly be absent, his heart told him otherwise. He was going to listen to his heart this time, and onwards from now. He had been neglecting that part of himself for too long.
Running your fingers through my hair
But sayin’ you care no more…
You’re kissing my ear with your heart-chillin’ breath
That you care no more…
The tears pricked again, harder than before. He damned the last lines for being so hard to sing.
Layin’ beside me, with your legs all around me
I care no more. Oh no…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
His eyes swept over another section of the crowd, then lingered over a set of faces that he would have recognized anywhere. His tear-filled iris’s widened even further, when shifting his gaze slightly to the side they were met with wide, dark eyes that instantly clung to his and wouldn’t let go.
Changing the show
Adding dramatics to help love grow
Through the tears that started to spill, small and invisible down his cheeks, he smiled. The incredulous smirk the dark-eyed watcher was giving him gave him enough strength to follow through with the song that hurt so much to sing.
Your heart is your life
Cut it carefully with your knife
Don’t leave the world, just stay right here
Don’t make
Don’t make anything rough…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
Now smiling openly, though still uncertain of his place in the dark-eyed one’s universe, he set in for the instrumental, his fingers playing the strings of his guitar as if they were the words of his heart, ringing out his fear, sorrow, uncertainty, love, and desperation, blending in perfectly with the other band members music to sound within everyone’s ears his ultimate hope.
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
The music rang to a stop, and then the lights faded out on him, giving him barely a moment to glimpse the largeness of those chocolate brown eyes before the watchers face turned away and the sudden contrasting darkness left him momentarily blind.
He stood indecisive in the centre of the stage for almost a full minute, until the sudden rolling motion in his stomach had him dropping his guitar and sprinting off the platform, skidding onto his knees off stage to keep his appointment with the bucket that had waited patiently in the wings.
He’d done it. He could scarcely believe he had done it, that he’d actually sung the song to the one who was meant to hear it. And he had! The dark-eyed one had heard, had watched him with his amber and coconut-shell coloured iris’s as he’d poured out his apologies for the mistake that had mangled them from the inside so long ago.
“Hey, man. ‘Mato, you alright?” He heard from beneath the sounds of his paroxysmal heaving that was still continuing, despite his stomach having been emptied for quite a while now.
“Yeah,” He managed to choke out between convulsions. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
“You don’t look it, man. You’ve never done this before.”
“I said I’m fine.” /Just go away/ He added silently.
He was out of luck, however, as the rest of the band members gathered around him like spiders to see why now, of all times, their lead singer was choosing to empty his stomach of all contents in one of the buckets that had never been needed before now. Their concerned voices chatted too loud around him, guessing and assuming the reasons for his odd behaviour, asking him if he was all right, inquiring if he was coming down with something. He kept half expecting them to haul him off further backstage for a round of questioning. He was almost hoping they would, too. Here he was, on his knees, in front of all of the backstage and wing crew, vomiting (though thankfully not loudly) into a blue plastic bucket. Yay for the person who had to clean this up.
The convulsions finally easing, he lifted his head, panting and licking his dry lips, expecting to find an angry engineer or stagehand standing in front of him, demanding the soiled bucket to clean. Instead he found a clear glass of water held out in front of him, fine rivulets of the cool liquid tracking their way down its sides. He ran his eyes from the glass, up the arm holding it, to the face creased slightly in concern that smiled softly down at him.
“Drink it, Yama.” The face’s lips moved as he spoke. “It’ll ease the queasy feeling.”
Yamato blinked up at the face for a moment, incomprehensively staring at the features through eyes blurred with unshed tears of futility, before he understood the words and took the glass, bringing it to his lips to sip at slowly.
“Better now?” The face asked after a minute. Yamato managed a slight nod in answer to the question, his eyes never leaving the face of the one kneeling in front of him. “Do you want some more?” He asked, gesturing to the empty glass.
Yamato shook his head. “I’m okay, now.” He croaked. He swallowed hard a few more times, still feeling the half-lumps in his throat. “Thanks.”
The dark-eyed one sat back a little. “No prob.” Looking up at the other members of the band standing around them, he asked quietly if they could leave them alone for a minute.
“Why? Who are you?” One of them asked, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was quickly elbowed in the side by someone else who whispered furiously at him. “You’re a dumb ass, Akira - that’s one of the other Chosen!”
“What?”
“Just give ‘em a minute, will ya.” Another one of them interrupted. This one shot a concerned gaze at Yamato. “We’ll be in the lounge if you need us.” He told him.
Yamato nodded and swallowed again as the others turned and left. Now he was left alone with him - what was going to happen? /Oh, God. Please let him forgive me. Please.../
The dark eyes danced with odd emotions as the owner of them moved slightly closer to his side. “So… what brought this on?” He asked.
Yamato shrugged. “Panic attack.” He replied. He supposed that was what it was, he couldn’t think of any other reason why he would throw up when in otherwise perfect health.
“Happen often?” The other one asked, moving slightly closer again until he was sitting almost right beside him.
He shrugged again, shifting the bucket a meter away to the side so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. “No.” He replied.
“Know why it did this time?”
Yamato glanced quickly at the other sitting beside him, then returned his eyes to the floor. “Yeah.”
“Wanna tell me?”
Silence. For some reason, despite wanting to tell him, Yamato’s tongue remained stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make himself say; ‘It was you.’ Emptiness was all that left his parted lips.
The other shifted beside him, then he felt the warmth of another body press against his side.
“So why now, Yama?” A serious tone that wasn’t there before now carried through his words. “What brought this on?”
Yamato turned to meet his dark eyes, confusion burning in his own. “What? I--”
“Why that song? Why the dedication? Why now?”
He swallowed, the burning in his throat from vomiting now hotter and more painful than ever. He knew he had to say it, though. He’d gone for this chance, he’d reached for it in the dark, and had brought it out into light. He had to take it into his hands, now. Can’t turn around and go back when the end is in sight.
“I had to say I’m sorry.”
He felt the body beside him stiffen. “…What?”
“I never notice what’s in front of me, around me, until I’ve already run past it.”
He felt the brush of hair against his cheek as the one next to him turned to look at him. “Yama…”
“I didn’t see. I didn’t see you until it was too late. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Taichi!” Without thought he curled into himself, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, making a place for him to burrow his head into. “Forgive me for hurting you.”
There was a moment of cold air along his side as the one beside him moved away, then his entire body was engulfed in warmth as what had moved pressed up against his back and wrapped warm arms around him and whispered in his ear.
“I’d forgiven you long ago, Yamato. When I realized that you were running too fast for even me to keep up.”
Yamato’s breath caught in his throat, and he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to see Taichi’s brown eyes peering warmly into his own.
“Forgiven?” He asked.
“Forgiven.” Taichi affirmed.
“I tried to slow down, I really did.”
Taichi tightened his arms around him. “Shush, Yama.”
“I’m sorry, Tai.”
“Yama…”
“Taichi, I--”
“Easy, Yama!” Taichi laughed. “Stop beating yourself over the head with it! You’ve slowed down enough for me to catch up with you now, haven’t you?”
Yamato blinked. Had he? Taichi was here with him now, holding him to be exact, and… smiling at him. When had he slowed down enough to allow such a thing to happen? “That wasn’t what I was going to say…” He murmured.
“Then what were you?” Taichi asked.
Yamato took a deep breath and turned within the circle of Taichi’s arms. Tilting his chin up, he met his eyes directly. “I love you.” Averting his eyes immediately after, he missed the reaction his words caused to emerge on the other’s face, and started in surprise when the arms around him tightened and a face was suddenly buried in his neck, nuzzling his skin with its warmth.
“T-Tai?”
“It’s okay, Yama. I couldn’t cast you aside so soon, either.”
END
Series: Digimon
Rating: PG
Pairings: Yamachi
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, and this is fiction purely written for entertainment purposes and no monetary gain is attained from it. The song "Baby, It's You" was written and performed by the band "Promises" in the late 70's.
Summary: Has Yamato slowed down enough to let Taichi catch up?
Can’t Cast Aside
The bright lights and furious cheering were lethargy on his brain. He was accustomed to it, now, used to the overbearing groupies and their hollow infatuations that extended only as far as his body and voice, and nowhere past what the magazines printed and record-label executives told him to sing. The moving masses of people, the chaotic buzz of the backstagers and the two buckets on either side of the stage were as commonplace and insipid now, to him, as wiping his ass every day.
He had known for a long time now that there was a need for change. It had been pulling at him from the inside since halfway through his last tour. He didn’t know how the rest of the band would take this necessity of his to leave, but frankly, he didn’t care anymore either. The only thing keeping him from walking off the stage right now, in front of his countless waves of swimming fans who would assuredly be disappointed, was the need to sing this one song before the lights fell from him forever. Along with the last opportunity he had to correct something that he’d made wrong a long, long time ago. Chances were that the song wouldn’t even be heard by the one it was going to be sung to tonight. Chances were that the song would never be heard by the one he wanted most to hear it. Chances were he’d never be forgiven.
He always did realize his mistakes too late. But this time he had the opportunity to make up for it. Against the chances for the pessimist there was the possibility that his song might be heard. That it might be understood. That he might, just might, be forgiven.
He sincerely hoped so.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he shrugged his shoulders and shook his arms to loosen them up. For despite many other well-choreographed and well-sung performances during his career, this was going to have to be his greatest of them all. He usually gave his best every time, but this one had to be his all or nothing, and the chances of him fucking up while being this nervous were very, very high. He cast one apprehensive glance at the bucket beside him and decided that for the first time ever he might actually need its services once he’d finished his song. The time for his final performance had come, however, and throwing up now was simply not allowed.
The lights were particularly blinding this time as he strode out onto the stage to the chorus of cheers and wild screams from those in the front that he could hear. The muted roars from those at the back were barely bearable now, and sweat sprang out across his brow at the stifling heat that belonged more in an enclosed arena than the outdoor stadium where he was preforming tonight. Claustrophobia was new… but normal, he supposed as he took more deep breaths to take off the edge of the hysteria he could feel prodding at him. This song was important… and the consequences could change his life forever. He had the right to feel claustrophobic. After all, it was easier to travel in the same direction, than to turn and head in a new one - change was never easy.
“This next song is dedicated to Courage.” He told the sea of people that swam in eerie parody of an ocean. His voice had been smooth, and calm, and the words soft when he spoke them. It was contrary to how he felt inside.
From behind him he vaguely heard the five symbol taps that indicated he start on the sixth, and turning to the crowds to flick through them with his eyes, he parted his lips and lifted out from within the words he needed most to say.
You’re here with me now
But you’re sayin’ you don’t want me anymore…
You’re holding me now
But you’re sayin’ you can’t see me no, no more…
In the edges of his eyes he felt the tears that he’d kept hidden begin to prick. /Oh, God. Don’t let me cry. Don’t let me cry…/
You whisper goodbye, then cling tighter to me
I can’t take no more, oh no…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
Keeping his eyes wavering through the crowds, flicking from face to face, he kept searching. He knew who he was looking for; he knew what the features would look like down there in amongst the endless sea of otherwise unfamiliar faces. His hope kept him searching, for though logic told him that who he was penetrating the indistinct for would certainly be absent, his heart told him otherwise. He was going to listen to his heart this time, and onwards from now. He had been neglecting that part of himself for too long.
Running your fingers through my hair
But sayin’ you care no more…
You’re kissing my ear with your heart-chillin’ breath
That you care no more…
The tears pricked again, harder than before. He damned the last lines for being so hard to sing.
Layin’ beside me, with your legs all around me
I care no more. Oh no…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
His eyes swept over another section of the crowd, then lingered over a set of faces that he would have recognized anywhere. His tear-filled iris’s widened even further, when shifting his gaze slightly to the side they were met with wide, dark eyes that instantly clung to his and wouldn’t let go.
Changing the show
Adding dramatics to help love grow
Through the tears that started to spill, small and invisible down his cheeks, he smiled. The incredulous smirk the dark-eyed watcher was giving him gave him enough strength to follow through with the song that hurt so much to sing.
Your heart is your life
Cut it carefully with your knife
Don’t leave the world, just stay right here
Don’t make
Don’t make anything rough…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
Now smiling openly, though still uncertain of his place in the dark-eyed one’s universe, he set in for the instrumental, his fingers playing the strings of his guitar as if they were the words of his heart, ringing out his fear, sorrow, uncertainty, love, and desperation, blending in perfectly with the other band members music to sound within everyone’s ears his ultimate hope.
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the way that I do
You know I can’t forget you so soon…
Baby, it’s you
That makes me feel the things that I do
You know I can’t cast aside you so soon
Baby, it’s you, yeah…
The music rang to a stop, and then the lights faded out on him, giving him barely a moment to glimpse the largeness of those chocolate brown eyes before the watchers face turned away and the sudden contrasting darkness left him momentarily blind.
He stood indecisive in the centre of the stage for almost a full minute, until the sudden rolling motion in his stomach had him dropping his guitar and sprinting off the platform, skidding onto his knees off stage to keep his appointment with the bucket that had waited patiently in the wings.
He’d done it. He could scarcely believe he had done it, that he’d actually sung the song to the one who was meant to hear it. And he had! The dark-eyed one had heard, had watched him with his amber and coconut-shell coloured iris’s as he’d poured out his apologies for the mistake that had mangled them from the inside so long ago.
“Hey, man. ‘Mato, you alright?” He heard from beneath the sounds of his paroxysmal heaving that was still continuing, despite his stomach having been emptied for quite a while now.
“Yeah,” He managed to choke out between convulsions. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
“You don’t look it, man. You’ve never done this before.”
“I said I’m fine.” /Just go away/ He added silently.
He was out of luck, however, as the rest of the band members gathered around him like spiders to see why now, of all times, their lead singer was choosing to empty his stomach of all contents in one of the buckets that had never been needed before now. Their concerned voices chatted too loud around him, guessing and assuming the reasons for his odd behaviour, asking him if he was all right, inquiring if he was coming down with something. He kept half expecting them to haul him off further backstage for a round of questioning. He was almost hoping they would, too. Here he was, on his knees, in front of all of the backstage and wing crew, vomiting (though thankfully not loudly) into a blue plastic bucket. Yay for the person who had to clean this up.
The convulsions finally easing, he lifted his head, panting and licking his dry lips, expecting to find an angry engineer or stagehand standing in front of him, demanding the soiled bucket to clean. Instead he found a clear glass of water held out in front of him, fine rivulets of the cool liquid tracking their way down its sides. He ran his eyes from the glass, up the arm holding it, to the face creased slightly in concern that smiled softly down at him.
“Drink it, Yama.” The face’s lips moved as he spoke. “It’ll ease the queasy feeling.”
Yamato blinked up at the face for a moment, incomprehensively staring at the features through eyes blurred with unshed tears of futility, before he understood the words and took the glass, bringing it to his lips to sip at slowly.
“Better now?” The face asked after a minute. Yamato managed a slight nod in answer to the question, his eyes never leaving the face of the one kneeling in front of him. “Do you want some more?” He asked, gesturing to the empty glass.
Yamato shook his head. “I’m okay, now.” He croaked. He swallowed hard a few more times, still feeling the half-lumps in his throat. “Thanks.”
The dark-eyed one sat back a little. “No prob.” Looking up at the other members of the band standing around them, he asked quietly if they could leave them alone for a minute.
“Why? Who are you?” One of them asked, his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was quickly elbowed in the side by someone else who whispered furiously at him. “You’re a dumb ass, Akira - that’s one of the other Chosen!”
“What?”
“Just give ‘em a minute, will ya.” Another one of them interrupted. This one shot a concerned gaze at Yamato. “We’ll be in the lounge if you need us.” He told him.
Yamato nodded and swallowed again as the others turned and left. Now he was left alone with him - what was going to happen? /Oh, God. Please let him forgive me. Please.../
The dark eyes danced with odd emotions as the owner of them moved slightly closer to his side. “So… what brought this on?” He asked.
Yamato shrugged. “Panic attack.” He replied. He supposed that was what it was, he couldn’t think of any other reason why he would throw up when in otherwise perfect health.
“Happen often?” The other one asked, moving slightly closer again until he was sitting almost right beside him.
He shrugged again, shifting the bucket a meter away to the side so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. “No.” He replied.
“Know why it did this time?”
Yamato glanced quickly at the other sitting beside him, then returned his eyes to the floor. “Yeah.”
“Wanna tell me?”
Silence. For some reason, despite wanting to tell him, Yamato’s tongue remained stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make himself say; ‘It was you.’ Emptiness was all that left his parted lips.
The other shifted beside him, then he felt the warmth of another body press against his side.
“So why now, Yama?” A serious tone that wasn’t there before now carried through his words. “What brought this on?”
Yamato turned to meet his dark eyes, confusion burning in his own. “What? I--”
“Why that song? Why the dedication? Why now?”
He swallowed, the burning in his throat from vomiting now hotter and more painful than ever. He knew he had to say it, though. He’d gone for this chance, he’d reached for it in the dark, and had brought it out into light. He had to take it into his hands, now. Can’t turn around and go back when the end is in sight.
“I had to say I’m sorry.”
He felt the body beside him stiffen. “…What?”
“I never notice what’s in front of me, around me, until I’ve already run past it.”
He felt the brush of hair against his cheek as the one next to him turned to look at him. “Yama…”
“I didn’t see. I didn’t see you until it was too late. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Taichi!” Without thought he curled into himself, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them, making a place for him to burrow his head into. “Forgive me for hurting you.”
There was a moment of cold air along his side as the one beside him moved away, then his entire body was engulfed in warmth as what had moved pressed up against his back and wrapped warm arms around him and whispered in his ear.
“I’d forgiven you long ago, Yamato. When I realized that you were running too fast for even me to keep up.”
Yamato’s breath caught in his throat, and he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder to see Taichi’s brown eyes peering warmly into his own.
“Forgiven?” He asked.
“Forgiven.” Taichi affirmed.
“I tried to slow down, I really did.”
Taichi tightened his arms around him. “Shush, Yama.”
“I’m sorry, Tai.”
“Yama…”
“Taichi, I--”
“Easy, Yama!” Taichi laughed. “Stop beating yourself over the head with it! You’ve slowed down enough for me to catch up with you now, haven’t you?”
Yamato blinked. Had he? Taichi was here with him now, holding him to be exact, and… smiling at him. When had he slowed down enough to allow such a thing to happen? “That wasn’t what I was going to say…” He murmured.
“Then what were you?” Taichi asked.
Yamato took a deep breath and turned within the circle of Taichi’s arms. Tilting his chin up, he met his eyes directly. “I love you.” Averting his eyes immediately after, he missed the reaction his words caused to emerge on the other’s face, and started in surprise when the arms around him tightened and a face was suddenly buried in his neck, nuzzling his skin with its warmth.
“T-Tai?”
“It’s okay, Yama. I couldn’t cast you aside so soon, either.”
END