[OMWK] Chapter 03/4: Get up (Part 2/2)
✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS
FANDOM: Digimon Adventure 01/02/Tri
RATING: Mature.
WORDCOUNT: 10 685
PAIRING(S): Endgame Taito, though the fic is primarily Taichi-centric. Side pairings include Takeru/Hikari and discussion of past Sorato.
CHARACTER(S): Taichi Kamiya, Yamato Ishida, Hikari Kamiya, Takeru Takashi, Daisuke Motomiya, Agumon, Veemon, Gabumon, Sora Takenoushi, and mention of the rest of the gang.
GENRE: Reaching a breaking point. Also future!fic.
TRIGGER WARNING(S): Depression and discussion thereof, including one briefly mentioned suicide attempt in chapter two.
SUMMARY: In which Taichi has questionable ways to handle his issues, everyone tries to be nice, and Yamato yells at him a lot. Same old, same old, except for the part where they end up kissing.
OMWK ON DREAMWIDTH: [Chapter I - Part 1] [Chapter I - Part 2] [Chapter II - Part 1] [Chapter II - Part 2] [Chapter III - Part 1]
OMWK ON LJ: [ Chapter I - Part 1] [ Chapter I - Part 2] [ Chapter II - Part 1] [ Chapter II - Part 2] [ Chapter III - Part 1]
OMWK ON TUMBLR: [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III]
OMWK ON AO3: [Read Here]
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Yamato is supposed to fly in to Japan during the second week of February, and Taichi barely talks to him through the first week of the month, which is probably why he’s so surprised when Ms. Takashi phones and asks him to come greet Yamato and his grandfather at the airport.
“I’m not sure,” Taichi starts-then he catches himself, clears his throat, and starts again in a steadier voice: “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Ms. Takashi, but shouldn’t Takeru be the one who comes along with you? I wouldn’t want to intrude on a family reunion.”
“Takeru has classes that day,” Ms. Takashi replies-Taichi can hear how strained her smile is as she speaks, and he fiddles with his chopsticks while Agumon, Veemon and Daisuke do a poor job at pretending they’re not trying to listen in.
Strained smiles never bode well for anybody.
“It’s really either you or no one,” Ms. Takashi completes.
Taichi squirms in his seat a little. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Yamato-they’re best friends, for heaven’s sake, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss Yamato like crazy but, well. This is a family reunion-it’s meant for families. Not to mention he doesn’t quite feel ready to meet Mr. Takashi just yet.
(The fact that he will probably never be doesn’t do anything to make him feel less nervous, either.)
“I don’t think he’d blame you for coming alone,” Taichi tells Yamato’s mother, and she sighs before she asks:
“May I speak frankly, Taichi?”
“Of course,” Taichi hears himself say, stomach sinking before the words are even fully out of his mouth.
There are conversations you don’t want to have with your best friend’s mother.
He exchanges a look with Agumon anyway, and waits until his partner nods before he excuses himself from the breakfast table, leaving his rice almost untouched. He’ll have time to finish it later, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to appreciate having some privacy to hear the next couple of sentences.
“We don’t understand each other,” Ms. Takashi says while Taichi fumbles with his bedroom door, catching him by surprise, “I don’t remember a time when we did. We’ve had a strained relationship ever since his father and I divorced. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
In all honesty, it would have been hard not to notice-there’s only so many time one can usher you away from a parent-from an apartment-decline invitations under false pretenses and steadfastly avoid discussing their relationship with their family before it becomes suspicious.
Taichi isn’t sure Ms. Takashi knows that more than one of his visits to Yamato’s apartment was canceled because Mr. Ishida came home when he wasn’t supposed to.
“I...had suspicions,” Taichi admits carefully, trying to walk the line between lies and delicacy.
“He doesn’t set a foot at my place unless his brother is there, Taichi,” Ms. Takashi replies in a dry tone, “I’m fairly sure you had more than suspicions.”
Taichi, still standing right behind his door, shifts his weight from foot to foot, ears warming up in embarrassment, then mumbles a feeble acquiescence.
“It’s okay,” Ms. Takashi says. “I’m not thrilled about it, obviously, but I grew used to it. The only thing is, since Takeru won’t be here, and I don’t know how my father will react. You’d be doing me a favor by coming along.”
“Alright,” Taichi says, trying-and failing-to erase the sigh from his voice, “I’ll come. When is he landing again?”
Actually, Taichi knows perfectly well when Yamato and his grandfather will be landing, but asking the question gives him times to digest the conversation-makes it feel more like something ordinary rather than the strange, sort of embarrassing and probably somewhat painful favor Ms. Takashi paints this thing as.
It also prevents him from saying she’s the one doing him a favor there, which is good. He’s not sure how he’d explain that one.
“Six PM,” Ms. Takashi answers-there’s a relief in her voice Taichi has heard in his mother’s words before, and the thought makes him close his eyes against the light as Ms. Takashi says: “I know you live closer to the airport than I do, but I’m a little worried about traffic...can I come and pick you up at four thirty?”
“Yes,” Taichi says after a short pause, hoping the traffic will jam and spare them both thirty minutes of awkwardness, “of course.”
“Perfect,” Ms. Takashi says, voice colored with a tentative smile, “thank you Taichi.”
“It’s not trouble,” Taichi answers without lying, and Ms. Takashi chuckles:
“I know. It’s not the first time you do Yamato a favor that way.”
Taichi wants to protest-say something nice, maybe, say Yamato won’t consider his presence a favor-but the lie sticks against the roof of his mouth and Ms. Takashi answers before Taichi manages to find his tongue.
He pockets his phone with a heavy, tired sigh, and rubs at his temples to stop the headache building there. He can’t bring Agumon along-there wouldn’t be enough space left for Yamato, Gabumon and Mr. Takashi, but boy does he wish he could.
Sighing one last time, he makes his way back to the living room and resumes his seat at the table, breakfast thoroughly unappealing now that his stomach is all in knots. He picks at his rice for a moment, unable to move his thoughts away from the way Ms. Takashi sighed when he agreed to follow her at the airport, and jumps a little when Daisuke asks:
“So, are you going after all?”
“Yes.”
Taichi shrugs and scoops some rice off his bowl-gives himself something to do while Daisuke stares at him like he’s suddenly turned into a puzzle:
“Can’t Takeru go? He’s the guy’s brother.”
“He’s got classes,” Taichi replies, and avoids Veemon and Agumon’s matching stares by looking down at his plate before Daisuke continues:
“Then why doesn’t she go alone? It’s not like she needs you there.”
Taichi closes his mouth tight, takes a deep breath in, and counts to ten before he answers:
“Look, this is complicated.”
“It sounds like Yamato’s mom thinks he won’t be happy to see her,” Daisuke replies, and the genuine curiosity in his demeanor is the only thing that prevents Taichi from snapping when he replies:
“Like I said, it’s complicated. I know it’s his mom, I know it sounds weird, but not everyone has the same family history, okay?”
“Okay,” Daisuke replies, mollified and possibly a tad embarrassed by Taichi’s reaction, “it’s just-I didn’t know about that.”
Taichi shoves another chunk of rice in his mouth before he can say something mean, and tries to ignore the way his stomach clenches at the very impulse.
{ooo}
“It doesn’t make any sense,” he mutters into his pillow later on, when Veemon and Daisuke have left for work and Taichi’s brain couldn’t handle any more studying if his life depended on it, “why would I even want to be mean to my friend over something that stupid?”
He presses his head into the pillow again, hoping against reason that it’ll open up and swallow him whole-or at least suck his brain out of his skull so he can stop wondering if he’s falling back into unmanaged depression or if he’s just a natural butt now.
Agumon, sitting by his hip on the bed, shifts a little-he must have raised his paws, because Taichi feels claws scratch against his ribs-then says:
“Maybe your therapy isn’t helping as much as it should?”
“But it’s going fine!” Taichi replies with too much of a whine for his own comfort, “It’s not perfect but it’s working-I’m doing better aren’t I?”
Taichi turns his head just far enough to see Agumon nod and smile at him, and then he sighs in relief. It’s too soon to start spacing appointments out-Taichi himself doesn’t feel ready for it, although he certainly wouldn’t complain about having one less thing to juggle with in his timetable-but he’s doing better. He’s been a better friend lately, too, which is nice.
Besides, he didn’t stop to think about Daisuke’s feelings when he tried matchmaking last year, so stopping because of them now is...a good sign, he supposes.
The problem being, of course, that it begs the question: what on earth is going on in his stupid brain this time?
“But that makes even less sense,” Agumon says after a beat-this time Taichi stays safely buried in the warm darkness of his pillow-“that would mean you want to do that because you like it or something-you don’t, do you?”
“Of course not!” Taichi protests, turning around fast enough to give himself a headache.
He sits up on the futon, crossing his ankles together and resting his hands on top of them as he stares at the world map on the wall-the pins and flags identifying each team member offer no answer to his questions, though, and he closes his eyes again as he sighs and flops back onto his pillow:
“I don’t like being mean, it’s just-I don’t know. It’s more like I wanted to scold him, but he was just being concerned!”
Silence falls over the bedroom again, and Taichi grabs around his bedside table until his fingers close around the stress ball Jyou gifted him with two years ago. He kneads at the foamy plastic until his forearm starts aching, and he’s only just switched hands when Agumon asks:
“Do you think Yamato should be different with his mom?”
Taichi stretches his neck to look at Agumon again, frowning in confusion:
“Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know,” Agumon shrugs, “maybe you just didn’t want to tell him he was wrong.”
“Agumon, I tell Daisuke he’s wrong about stuff all the time,” Taichi points out, but Agumon shrugs again:
“You’re always harsher when people are wrong about Yamato. Maybe that’s all it is.”
Taichi considers the notion-examines what he knows and thinks about his friend’s life for a long time before he answers, a little more carefully this time:
“I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s sad Yamato and his parents don’t get along-it’s just not my business to tell him what to do. And I don’t think it’s Daisuke’s either, especially if Yamato didn’t talk to him about it.”
“That sounds fair,” Agumon replies, looking out through the window with one paw on his chin, “but if you’re not there to help fix things, maybe Daisuke is right and Ms. Takashi doesn’t need you here.”
“That’s not what I said!” Taichi replies before he even processes the sentence in full, coming face to face with Agumon as he straightens up again, “Just that I’m not going to fix things!”
“Then why did she ask you to come?” Agumon asks, and Taichi shrugs as he tosses the stress ball against the wall:
“She thinks I’ll make things less awkward because I know how things are between her and Yamato.”
“So, maybe if Daisuke knew what things are like, he could have gone as well, right?”
“No!”
Taichi’s cheeks all but burst in flames at the outburst, and he starts torturing his ball again the second it bounces back into his hands, squirming a little under the way Agumon stares at him, like Taichi ended up exactly where he was wanted.
“You know,” Agumon says in a softer, slower voice, “it kind of sounds like you’re just mad at Daisuke because he was puzzled you agreed to go.”
“I’m not Yamato,” Taichi protests, blushing harder as his heartbeat picks up for no real reason, “I don’t feel like a failure if I can’t do my friends a solid every time they have a problem.”
“Maybe,” Agumon answers with another shrug, “but that’s not what I meant. Also, you didn’t make that sound very nice.”
Taichi gapes at Agumon, who smiles like Taichi is missing something very obvious-it’s not a familiar sensation. Either Taichi is usually more perceptive, or Agumon doesn’t bother pointing it out-and exits the room without another word.
{ooo}
The mystery is still intact the next day, when Ms. Takashi pulls up in front of Taichi’s building, hair pulled in an impeccable bun that does nothing to hide the lines around her mouth. Taichi, heavy bags weighing under his eyes, greets her and slips into the passenger seat with a poorly stifled yawn. He has to pull at the door so it’ll shut properly, too distracted to do it right the first time around, and he’s still trying to make sense of Agumon’s words-of his ridiculous, incomprehensible inability to put the thought of Yamato making new friends, or deepening old friendships, to rest-when Ms. Takashi turns the radio on and Taichi jumps so hard he’s pretty sure his hair brushed the car roof.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ms. Takashi says with a nervous smile while she steers the car back in traffic, “It’s just-I sort of assumed we wouldn’t be talking much?”
“It’s okay,” Taichi replies, trying not to look too relieved at the thought, “I just got a little lost in thoughts, that’s all.”
Ms. Takashi nods and, for a while, agonizingly slow traffic and more examples of poor driving Taichi has ever witnessed fill the emptiness between them, Ms. Takashi’s knuckles white on the steering wheel while she grits her teeth at the third car that fishtails her.
Taichi has met all of the chosen children’s parents-as far as the Odaiba group is concerned, that is. He gets along fine with them, for the most part, and he’d even call Kou-Noeru’s mother a friend in her own right, if the thought didn’t sound a little odd even to him. He’s met Daisuke’s parents, Sora’s, Mimi’s, Ken’s-all of them, and he’s had many an interesting, if occasionally awkward, conversation with them.
He’s only even seen glimpse of Ms. Takashi and her apartment, squeezed between two errands Yamato was never willing to postpone, a distant, obviously concerned parental figure whose attempts at creating a bond never truly met a response. It is, technically, more than he’s seen of Mr. Ishida-always busy, always tired, always drifting between work and the oblivion of sleep, something Taichi understands a little better now than he did then-but Mr. Ishida rarely asked questions, and the answers always seemed to have a hard time sticking.
Yamato was always more comfortable with gruff silence than begrudging conversation.
Sitting with Ms. Takashi now, squeezed in a small green car Taichi is fairly sure not even her can be comfortable in, feels a bit like getting stuck in the elevator with a strange neighbor you never quite got around to talk to and be reminded how weird it is to be so distant when you could be so close.
It’s not an exercise Taichi likes to indulge in, and he spends the first leg of the ride pretending he’s very interested in what the radio news have to say, only to wince when his name is mentioned in a cringe-worthy debate-neurodivergent children: should they be allowed to keep their digimon partner? Can they even understand what that entails? Should digimon paired with these children even be considered healthy? Join our experts for the discussion by calling the following number!-and Ms. Takashi starts speaking again:
“Tough debate, isn’t it?” She asks, an obvious opening to start the same discussion in the car.
Taichi doesn’t feel up for that kind for nonsense, though, so he decides to short-circuit it entirely:
“I don’t know a thing about neurogdivergent people,” he says, “but I don’t think a debate on digimon rights that doesn’t invite at least one digimon has much legitimacy to begin with.”
On the radio, Meiko-without Meikoomon, who was barely even mentioned in the introduction-sounds more and more agitated as the debate goes on, and Taichi’s fingers twitch in solidarity.
“May I turn it off?” He asks.
Ms. Takashi nods and turns the knob herself.
“I imagine you have to listen to that kind of things often,” she says quietly, and Taichi doesn’t stop to think before he scoffs and says:
“I wish this was the worst of the nonsense we hear every day.”
He blushes when he realizes the liberty he’s just taken, and glances at Ms. Takashi as he straightens up in his seat. Her eyes are still carefully set on the road, and she doesn’t seem offended-she always did have dif ferent ideas about what was improper or not. Yamato always seemed to think her growing up in Paris was the cause, but then he doesn’t seem to realize he shared that trait with her before he moved to France.
“Sorry,” he says anyway, just in case, “I’ve-hit a rough patch, lately. I’m a little cranky. But I’m doing better now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ms. Takashi says, “I’m sure things must be a lot to handle.”
Taichi nods and, for a few minutes, they sit in silence together, inching their way toward the airport, until Ms. Takashi makes anther valiant attempt at conversation:
“Takeru tells me you guys are planing a camping trip this summer?”
“Yes,” Taichi replies, hands coming up to fiddle with his seatbelt, “it’s our fifteenth anniversary as chosen children. We thought it’d be nice to celebrate with a little gathering.”
“For a week?” Ms. Takashi asks, smile strained around the edge in her light tone, “that’s quite the pilgrimage.”
Taichi squirms in his seat again, looking down at his knees and tensing up further when Ms. Takashi sighs next to him:
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair to talk like it’s a bad thing. It’s been years since anything dangerous happened.”
“Yes,” Taichi mumbles, and doesn’t look up when he notices Ms. Takashi leaning forward from the corner of his eyes.
“Then again, that was also the case last time, and we all-”
She cuts herself off, straightens up, and takes a deep breath in-Taichi squashes the sudden impulse to apologize, knowing it wouldn’t change anything. It’s not like he can promise to stay uninvolved if something else happens in his lifetime. He can barely remain uninvolved during peace time as it is.
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Takashi says again after a few more deep breaths, dropping the attempt at levity, “it’s just that every time you kids go there-”
“My parents don’t like it either,” Taichi admits, somehow managing to bite on a petulant ‘we’re not kids!’ before he makes things really embarrassing.
It’s really not Ms. Takashi’s fault some of his hackles are that easy to rise.
“My dad always arranges his business trips for when we leave. My mom has gotten better at not fussing, but I think she still wants to-I don’t think any of our parents are very big fans of the Digiworld.”
“Can you blame us?” Ms. Takashi retorts, turning to look at Taichi for the first time since they got in the car-he keeps his eyes focused on his knees, but the movement is unmistakable-“every time you guys get called out there, Takeru comes back with more nightmares and a thinner smile, and Yamato becomes even more of a stranger!”
“It’s not always easy,” Taichi says, a beat too late, “but if we don’t do it-”
“’No one else will’, I know,” Ms. Takashi snaps, cutting him off mid-sentence, “that’s what Yamato always says. Don’t think I don’t hear it for the dismissal it is.”
Taichi winces, and steals a glance at Ms. Takashi as the traffic around them eases off a little and the car speeds up in response. The lines around her mouth have grown harsher, eyebrows creasing deep above her eyes, and it’s easy for Taichi to see the way her lips curl into a sneer, even in profile. He’s seen the same face on Yamato enough time to know it anywhere by now.
“Sometimes,” Ms. Takashi admits through gritted teeth, voice low enough Taichi almost doesn’t hear her, “I wish digimons had never entered our lives.”
“You should probably not say that in front of Yamato,” Taichi replies without thinking.
He doesn’t back down when Ms. Takashi turns to glare at him, Takeru’s ‘how thick can you get’ face written all across her features.
They don’t talk for the rest of the ride.
{ooo}
They find Yamato and Mr. Takashi cornered by a small crowd of admirers-digimons mingling with humans in their mid-twenties and Knife of Day shirts, for the most part, although Taichi spots one lone Teenage Wolves fans-waving pens, notebooks and smartphones in Yamato’s face. There can’t be more than twenty persons there-twenty-five, maybe-half of whom seem to have been dragged in by eager partners trying to reach Gabumon more than their own will, but it’s enough to pull at the edge of Yamato’s smile, shoulders rigid as he sidesteps someone’s attempt to grab his shoulders. Taichi snorts at the sight, while Ms. Takashi readjusts some invisible flaw in her hair, pulls her handbag up her shoulder like some kind of armor, and takes a deep breath before she walks up to the little crowd.
Mr. Takashi, a lanky octogenarian with thick-rimmed glasses and a checkered cap on his head, puts a gentle hand on his grandson’s shoulder, and the small gaggle parts almost instantly, revealing a fully-loaded luggage cart with a grinning Gabumon on top of it. Taichi stays a few steps behind Ms. Takashi as she walks up to her son and gives him a brief hug-Yamato, stiff as a board, seems to suffer through it more than he enjoys the contact-before letting her father smack a resounding kiss on each of her cheek and envelop her in a bear hug with cheerful laughter.
Yamato, as soon as he’s left alone, retreats to the luggage cart, clinging at the handle until Gabumon notices Taichi and jumps off the suitcases to greet him.
“I didn’t think anyone would be here,” Gabumon exclaims as he reaches up to shake Taichi’s hand, “what with Takeru being busy and all!”
“I’m just subbing,” Taichi replies with a face-swallowing grin that belies his shrug, “I’ve got instructions and everything.”
“I missed your stupid jokes,” Yamato says with a snort, and all of a sudden Taichi finds himself pulled into a hug that leaves him flabbergasted for the three seconds it lasts.
He blinks when Yamato releases him, heat spreading across his cheeks as he checks the airport-nobody staring.
“Is that how they greet people in France?” He asks, mock-offense failing to resist Yamato’s wide smile.
“Come visit and you’ll know.”
Taichi rolls his eyes at that, but instead of serving Yamato the same jokes about the French being lazy and permanently on holidays, he goes for sincerity and says:
“I missed your stupid face.”
It finally stopped growing sharper, leaving enough of the teenager Yamato once was for him to be recognizable in a second, even for strangers. He’s got broader shoulders now, probably due to the intense exercise his chosen career requires . His hair has grown longer again, almost back to shoulder length, and when Taichi gives him a once over, it’s easy to notice the blue lines peaking from under his coat sleeve.
“Dude,” Taichi exclaims, “eyebrows rising to the top of his scalp, when did you get a tattoo?”
“Last September,” Yamato says with a shrug. “I wasn’t feeling too well, and I needed something to get me back on track that wouldn’t make Papy freak out.”
He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Taichi sort of wants to scold him for joking about his suicide attempt, no matter how old it is-Takeru doesn’t know about it, though, which means Ms. Takashi definitely doesn’t know, and cowardly as it may be Taichi really doesn’t want to have to break the news to her. He settles for exchanging a long-suffering glance with Gabumon, whose answering smile looks too brittle for Taichi’s taste.
“Wanna see?”
Taichi nods, and stands back as Yamato pulls the fabric up to reveal all nine of their crests-friendship at the top, then courage, reliability, love, hope, knowledge, honesty, light, and kindness- lining up from the tip of his wrist to the crook of his elbow . Taichi’s eyes widen.
“Woah,” he says, a little more hoarsely than he planned for, “I knew you liked us but I didn’t know it went that far.”
“Don’t worry,” Yamato replies with a shrug, “when we did tests to see what Hogwarts house we’d get, my friends were convinced I’d end up in Ravenclaw.”
“Dude,” Taichi says with a disbelieving raise of his eyebrows, “has any of them ever actually met you?”
Yamato scoffs, but there’s a smile curling at his lips, and Taichi’s grin widens again in response, shoulders unlocking as they speak. It really is good to be reunited to such a close-and old-friend, like getting a piece of your own life back.
Like all good things, though, it must come to an end, in this case because Ms. Takashi is done greeting her father, and she moved toward her son, shoulder sliding between Taichi and Yamato-just an inch, but it’s enough for Taichi to take the hint and step back, wondering how his friend manages not to pull a muscle when his face closes off that fast.
“Hi, Yamato,” Ms. Takashi says, shoulders squared under her elegant brown winter coat.
Yamato is wearing a leather-or leather-like-jacket, and Taichi almost wonders if he did it on purpose, just so he could keep as much distance between them as possible, even on the visual scale. He greets his mother with a stiff gesture, Gabumon stepping closer to his knee, and Taichi worries at his lips with teeth-until Mr. Takashi walks up to him with a large smile and holds a hand out:
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kamiya.”
“Pleased to meet you too,” Taichi replies with an embarrassed smile, “how did you know-”
“Yamato has some pictures in his room,” Mr. Takashi explains, “he showed them to me after your little friend visited us.”
The tips of Taichi’s ears heat up.
“About that,” he says, running a hand over his neck, “I’m sorry I didn’t stay long enough to greet you, I was-”
“That’s quite alright, young man. You had other things to think about at the time.”
Taichi manages an apologetic grimace, then turns to look at Yamato and Ms. Takashi, whose conversation took a sharp rise in volume before going back down. From the corner of his eyes, Taichi sees Mr. Takashi frown, deep line moving around his mouth, along with a long scar up his neck.
“Are they always like that?”
Yamato and his mother look about three words away from a genuine argument-him, his shoulders tense as he shoves his hands deep inside his jacket and her, tall and ramrod straight behind the numerous buttons of her coat. Between them, Gabumon has a hand firmly pressed in the crook of Yamato’s knee, eyes riveted on the conversation above his head, and Taichi sighs.
“Not where I can see them,” he admits, “but I don’t think it’s very different from their usual.”
Yamato, for all that he’s got a perfectly ordinary human body, manages to look prickly enough to put a porcupine to shame, and Taichi crosses his arms over his chest as he watches him hiss something at his mother, jaw tense and shoulders set. Beside him, Mr. Takashi mutters something in French that sounds somewhat long-suffering, and Taichi wonders, not for the first time, which parent Yamato got his stubbornness from.
Gabumon doesn’t seem to have any idea what to do.
“Somehow,” Mr. Takashi says after a few seconds of silence, “I’m not surprised. He’s exactly like his mother at his age.”
“Really?” Taichi asks, unable not to turn back to the man in curiosity.
“Oh, yes. She used to fight with her mother and I about our moving to France all the time, until she turned twenty-one and her birthday gift to herself was a one-way ticket to Tokyo.”
Taichi blinks for a second, before a wry smile twists at his lips and he signs:
“Fast forward thirty odd years, and here we are.”
“Pretty much,” Mr. Takashi says, with something not unlike pride coloring his voice, “although Nancy tells me you are quite adept at dealing with this aspect of my grandson’s personality?”
“Yeah,” Taichi mumbles, rubbing at his neck again, “my sister says we’re the biggest boneheads she’s ever met.”
Mr. Takashi laughs-a brief bark of sound that throws his head back and bursts out of him like a balloon popping-and Taichi can’t help but look toward Yamato for help a this, startled by such an intense reaction. Yamato notices him-seizes the occasion to turn away from his mother and exchange a couple of sentences in French with his grandfather, before Mr. Takashi suggests it might be time to get going.
Yamato commandeers the luggage cart before anyone has time to make a move for it, and Taichi ends up sandwiched between him and Mr. Takashi, Ms. Takashi walking at the other end of the line, heels punctuating their advance with resonating clicks. They make their way to the elevator shrouded with awkwardness, Mr. Takashi somehow managing to maintain a steady stream of questions that Taichi can’t quite answer with monosyllables, which counts as their conversation for the time being.
They cover Taichi’s job-stripped down to its barest bones-his wishes for the future-keep doing exactly what he is now-his family life-fine, for the most part-and how his and Yamato’s friendship began-with a fistfight or ten, more or less, which makes the old man laugh like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard again-before Mr. Takashi shakes a finger in Taichi’s direction and says:
“I almost forgot to ask! How is little Kotomon-”
“Koromon,” Yamato corrects-Taichi imagines he can hear his jaw crack when he opens his mouth, and bites at the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter in.
“Right,” Mr. Takashi continues, taking the interruption in stride, “how is Koromon doing?”
“Uh, fine, for the most part. He’s been working with me more these days so he’s tired, but nothing like it was the last time you saw him.”
“I certainly hope so,” Mr. Takashi says in a stern voice as they reach the elevators-Yamato’s yelp of protest mingles with the bell announcing the opening of doors, and Taichi’s ears heat up.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking down at his hands while he twists his fingers together, “he says 'hi’, by the way.”
“Likewise,” Mr. Takashi answers with a small, seriousness leaving his face as fast as water wiped off with a towel, “I did tell him not to be a stranger-but perhaps, the best way to avoid that is to have you come and dine with us at some point this week? I would love to spend some time with a young man my grandson speaks so highly of.”
“Papy!” Yamato yelps, face growing at least three shades redder while his mother splutters:
“I’m sure Taichi will be very busy-”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Takashi dismisses with a wave of his hand, “it’s only one evening-and I’m sure you’ve had him over plenty of time by now, it’ll hardly be a new experience at all.”
Taichi keeps his face ostensibly turned toward his hands, but he keeps an eye out for Yamato’s reaction nonetheless, and he’s fairly sure he sees him look at his mother for a bit before she speaks:
“If we’re going to have Taichi over,” she say, “we might as well invite Hikari too-she’s Taichi’s sister,” she adds for her father’s benefit, “and Takeru’s girlfriend.”
“It doesn’t have to be a family gathering, mom,” Yamato mutters from Taichi’s left side, earning himself a glare from Ms. Takashi.
“It’s not my fault Takeru is involved with your closest friend’s sister.”
“I’m only the second closest,” Taichi blurts out without thinking, “but maybe Gabumon has a sister.”
Yamato slaps a hand over his face, deafening in the resounding silence that falls over the cabin, and Taichi does his best to make himself as small as humanly possible.
He’s not sure the way Mr. Takashi bursts out laughing a few seconds later really makes anything better.