#digisecretsanta

He had woken up late that morning. The consistent buzzing of his phone had become too much to ignore, but he felt no urgency. January had arrived only days ago, but Yamato hadn’t grown used to the cold. 

‘It’s time,’ a text read. A string of missed calls followed close behind. Yamato made no effort to respond, throwing his covers aside haphazardly as panic gripped his heart. 

The hustle and bustle of Tokyo swept Yamato up. His body moved on autopilot as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Like the other passerby, Yamato kept his gaze downward, sparing only a glance or two at the bag clutched desperately in his hand.

Yamato looked up only to verify that he was headed in the right direction before he focused once more on his shoes.

His two different shoes. Yamato sighed.

Odaiba’s population was miniscule compared to the capital of Japan. Strangers’ shoulders brushed against his, the crowd’s warmth his only consultation. As he struggled to make his way down the street, Yamato cursed under his breath. A brisk winter breeze seeped through his leather coat, his arms covered in gooseflesh. 

Despite the train’s timely arrival, Yamato’s watch informed him that he would be late. He could feel the wind ruffle his carefully-styled hair and groaned. This wasn’t the impression that he hoped for, but it would have to do. 

The streets continued to twist and turn until a large building came into view. A constant flow of bodies spilled in and out of the doors. Yamato’s fingers grew numb with anxiety; his breath quickened.

Yamato glanced down at his watch for the date: January 12th. It was strange to him how a day that previously felt like any other could suddenly hold so much importance. 

Large, beige walls stretched above him, dense clouds reflected in the countless windows. Yamato searched the windows for a clue, for a sign from the universe that would settle the jittery feeling in his heart. 

The windows stared back blankly, the walls too formidable to let even a whisper of hope through. At the top, ‘Aiiku Hospital’ was proudly displayed. For some, these rooms would be the start of a new life, or a chance at a second one.

Yamato wondered idly which fate awaited him.

Without a doubt, he knew that once he stepped through the threshold, Yamato’s life would be irrevocably changed. His pulse quickened, the bag rustling futility in his grasp.

Winter’s wind urged him forward, towards the throngs of people headed inside. Residual holiday decoration hung from high banisters and the edges of desks.  People talked in hushed voices as they sat in various chairs. Though their masks hid their mouth, the edges of their eyes would crinkle with every smile. Despite Yamato’s nerves that were tied in a bundle, the atmosphere was almost merry. 

He side-stepped out of the way, and tucked himself into a corner to gain his bearings. In his pocket, his phone buzzed once more, but Yamato ignored it. Carefully, he opened up his bag. The outside was wrinkled and weary from the travel, but inside, everything was as it should be.

Yamato released a shaky breath as he rubbed his sweaty palms against his worn jeans. He worked his fingers through his messy hair, straightening the hem of his shirt. 

Late or not,  he was going to make the best impression that he could.

The lady at the desk pointed him up the stairs, and offered him a smile as she patiently repeated the directions. 

His legs felt numb as he made his way upwards. The windows that lined the walls illuminated briefly with a weak ray of sunshine before the clouds swallowed it whole. Yamato wished for the clouds to swallow him up and spit him out somewhere far, far away.

Underneath his anxiety, there was a strange sort of anticipation. With every step, he grew closer and closer to an uncertain future. What would this mean for him? What would this mean for his brother?

At the thought of Takeru, Yamato’s pace quickened. He would have taken the stairs two at a time had it been socially acceptable, but he held back. 

Somewhere, at the other end of a long, superfluous staircase, his little brother was embarking on an adventure Yamato had no place in. 

It was terrifying and gratifying to watch a brother grow up, Yamato mused. One moment, Takeru had painstakingly arranged his letter blocks to form nonsense words, and in the next, he had become a father. 

The unrelenting buzzing in Yamato’s pocket acted as his silent cheerleader, reassuring him that even now, as they grew up and grew apart, that he would always have a place in his brother’s life.

The stairs ended at the mouth of an endless hallway adorned with storks and brightly colored women. Each nurse seemed to smile as they darted between rooms, the sound of a baby’s cry more of an accomplishment than a burden. 

“308, 308, 308,” Yamato muttered to himself. Numbers passed by in a blur until his eyes zeroed in on the room that held the source of his anxieties. 

‘Takaishi’ had been written on the place card beside the room number in an elegant script. 

Yamato’s legs seemed to be rooted in place, his ears straining for any sound beyond the solid wood door.

Other than a few hushed whispers, Yamato was unable to discern anything. One last look into his bag settled his stomach. It was time to stop running.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. Softly, he knocked on the door, the hushed whispers fading out immediately. 

The door creaked open on its hinges, a head of unruly blond hair poking out.

“Yamato?” he whispered. Dumbly, the older boy stood there, his throat dry and heart pounding. Takeru pretended not to notice his apprehension and took a step forward. 

Yamato studied the dark circles underneath Takeru’s eyes and the happy glow that settled in his smile. He had to crane his neck up to get a good glimpse at his little brother, but could no longer find it within himself to resent the height difference.

“It’s been a while,” Yamato finally said, clearing his throat. “Is…Did everything…How is she?”

“Labor was a bitch, she said, but worth it. I was worried for a minute - her face was so pale and her heart was beating so fast. The doctors say that everything is fine, thought, so I guess I have to trust their judgment.” Takeru shrugged.

After a moment of silence, he continued. “Thank you for coming, by the way. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

At that, Yamato smiled, thrusting the crumpled bag in his direction. “So do I get to meet the kid or not?”

“Your nephew, you mean?”

Nephew. 

Thunk. Floosh.

Several seconds of silence ensued. Two pairs of eyes met, pooled with mirth and perhaps a little bit of regret. Takeru blew out a giggling sigh, which was a mistake on his part because it sent a puff of flour through the air.

Flour, which caked both of their faces. Because Hikari, in her attempt to measure the amount they needed for the cookie recipe she’d found online, had accidentally tipped the entire bowl, and now they were both covered in it.

And so was the kitchen counter. And the floor. 

“Oops,” Hikari whispered, although her expression threatened to break into a grin.

“Oops,” Takeru echoed with a tiny, held-back smile of his own.

“I don’t think that was supposed to happen,” Hikari said.

“...probably not.”

Hikari whisked her gaze around her kitchen, knowing that this mess was mostly her fault but finding it funnier than anything else. So when her composure broke and she finally began laughing, she couldn’t find it in herself to stop.

“You—you look ridiculous,” she gasped out as she doubled over in a fit of giggles.

“Me?” Takeru didn’t even sound offended—just equally entertained by their predicament as he, too, collapsed with laughter. “You look ridiculous! It’s in your hair!”

One of Hikari’s hands found the top of her head, making Takeru laugh harder because she’d only made it worse.

A doorknob jostled. Hikari and Takeru froze at the sound, meeting each other’s gaze again, and Hikari whispered in horror, “Uh oh.”

“We should hide.”

No sooner than Takeru suggested it did they follow through, but neither of them had time to find good hiding places—instead merely settling for ducking behind the counter—before the Yagami apartment door opened and two boys stopped in the entryway to remove their shoes.

“We’re back,” Taichi’s voice called, followed by the sound of shuffling. “There was a long l—oh. Where’d they go?”

“Gotta be here somewhere,” came Yamato’s voice. “Their shoes are still here.”

“Yeah, I see that. I have eyes.”

“Just making s—” Yamato stopped talking, and his footsteps came to a halt as well. Then, in a quieter voice: “...what the hell?”

Hikari bit her lip to keep her laughter at bay. She stayed hidden with Takeru as Taichi voiced his confusion about Yamato’s words, before probably seeing the kitchen for himself.

“Oh my god.”

Yeah. They were so screwed.

“What even happened in here?” Taichi went on. “How d—wait. Hikari, Takeru, I can see you.”

It was only when he stepped around the counter that Hikari started giggling hysterically again. She gave her brother what was supposed to be an guilty look—but, in all honesty, was more cheeky than anything—before drawing herself up to her full height.

“Hi, Nii-san,” Takeru said humbly to Yamato as he stood by Hikari’s side.

“What did you do?” Yamato asked.

“We were…” Hikari paused to scan the flour-covered kitchen with sheepish eyes. “...making cookies?”

Hook.

“Cookies,” Taichi echoed, deadpan.

“Uh huh,” Takeru said with a firm nod. “Cookies.”

Yamato gave Takeru a hopelessly fond look. “Kiddo. We told you we’d be back from the store to make dinner tonight.”

“I even recruited Yamato so Kaa-san wouldn’t kill us with her monstrous cooking,” Taichi added.

“But…” Hikari trailed off as she glanced at her best friend, who pouted. She took this as an opportunity to show off her best pout, too, aiming it at her older brother. “...we wanted something sweet.”

Line.

“Hikari. It’s like, four-thirty. We’re going to be cooking soon.”

“...and?”

Yamato and Taichi shared an exasperated look, which almost elicited another stray giggle from Hikari. Almost. She was still pouting, after all.

“Fine,” Yamato caved, surprisingly before Taichi. He sighed. “After dinner.”

Taichi’s expression turned sour. “Dude!”

“What? I can’t say ‘no’ to that face,” Yamato said and pointed at Takeru’s masterful puppy eyes.

Her brother, however, looked back at Hikari. Her pout deepened, and for a few seconds, Taichi stood strong. But only for a few seconds.

Sinker.

“Ugh, fine. Fine, we’ll make cookies after dinner,” Taichi relented with a sigh of his own. “Now help us clean up.”

Hikari’s pout disappeared in an instant, replaced by a grin.

Her mother’s flowers were poised and perfect; her mother’s flowers were everything she wasn’t.

Initially, Sora fought against it, fought against her mother’s wishes and plans with such a ferocity that it scared her. Often, her outbursts left her with the bitter feeling of regret simmering in her stomach. No matter how hard she tried to reign in her anger and disappointment, the tilt of her mother’s eyebrow or shift in her voice could send Sora’s mood spiraling and spewing, destroying everything in its path.

Despite the blood bath and survival, the Digital World had given Sora a reprieve. For a fleeting moment, she was able to shift her focus from her mother’s expectations to something more substantial. In the Digital World, people depended on her. Biyomon needed her in a way her mother never did. Months seemed to pass them by, full of learning and growing and friendship. At first, she couldn’t understand the others’ want to go home. This new world offered no preconceived expectations or responsibilities. As she laid underneath the stars, she would listen to the steady breathing of her friends. The stars twinkled from up above, the familiarity squeezing at her heart strings until she came to her senses.

Going home meant leaving Biyomon, and Sora refused to picture her life without her. She didn’t want to go home to her mother’s sour words and cold heart. But, the tides of the Digital World were shifting, and Sora was worried that she would be swept away.

The fantasy world they found themselves in turned sour quickly.  An unfamiliar sadness grew underneath her ribcage, straining against the pounding of her heart. As the excitement of the Digital World wore off, Sora’s sadness only grew. At points, it felt all consuming, like an impenetrable wall that surrounded her. With her other friends focused on the task at hand, slipping away had become easy. Sora felt an odd sort of company in her sadness, wrapping it around her shoulders in a vain effort to shield herself. 

If she were one of her mother’s flowers, her petals would perpetually droop towards the ground.

At first, she thought that she was the only one to experience the overwhelming, stifling sort of loneliness. 

That was, until. Yamato came into the picture. 

Like all boys her age, Yamato was rambunctious, moody, and slightly smelly. The Digital World had equipped itself with digital friends, but had yet to install hygiene products. Despite the changes around them, Yamato always tried his best to remain calm. Most times, he was good at it.

Sora couldn’t help but to feel jealous of him. With a younger brother, there was always someone to need him, to want him around. Her mother only cared for her out of obligation, Sora was sure. Yamato had Takeru, who would love him regardless. 

Despite being related to the personification of sunshine, Yamato, too, carried a deep sadness within. It was something only another sad person could recognize - the slight curve of the mouth, nails bitten short and raw. Sora could see the pinched look on his face whenever Takeru chose Taichi to hang out with, or when Gabumon pressed too hard on a sensitive subject. From afar, she allowed her heart to hurt for him, but didn’t dare to come too close. 

Only once their adventure was over, their personal dark caverns conquered, did she muster up the courage to talk to him. In the real world, her inbox overflowed with emails and inside jokes. More often, Yamato would attach snippets of lyrics of songs he was working on, seeking her advice or appreciation. 

It had been years since their first adventure, but Sora’s feelings grew with every chord he played on his hand-me-down guitar and flick of his overgrown hair. 

-

The wind bit at her cheeks, staining them a rosy pink. December had arrived in a flurry of white, her snow boots doing little to fight off the chill. Wistfully, she thought back to that summer years ago when heat came in surplus. 

Her fingers fidgeted anxiously in her mittens as she walked down the street. The box, wrapped precisely and carefully in green wrapping paper, seemed to weigh her down. 

It had taken three international calls to America and countless hours to decide what to get him. Mimi had been little help, her suggestions ranging from outrageous to downright scandalous. But Mimi’s exuberance gave her strength, and eventually, Sora was able to find the perfect gift. She was excited for him to open it, but anticipated his smile most of all. 

An address glittered up from the screen of her phone. Echoes of chords and microphone feedback reverberated from within a nondescript building. 

Hordes of teenage girls stood outside in the cold, their chatter keeping Sora company as she made her way towards the back of the building. A few of the girls cast Sora an odd glance, but she let it roll off her shoulders. Her mother’s tough critiques had thickened her skin; petty drama could no longer touch her. 

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered about as she rounded the corner. From above, a bird seemingly sang a melody against the clashing of the drums. 

Tentatively, she knocked against the back door. With the collective noise from the instruments, she wasn’t sure that anyone would hear her, but after a moment, the rusty hinges creaked open. 

Amber eyes gazed into shocked blue ones, another flush of embarrassment coloring Sora’s cheeks. 

Late afternoon sunlight reflected off Yamato’s blond tresses. In most ways, it reminded her of their summers spent together, and the way his hair would shine in front of the campfire. 

“Hey,” she managed after a breathless moment. 

“Hey.”

From behind him, the drummer still clamored away while two other boys chased each other around with a dirty sock.

“It seems like band practice is going well.”  Sora struggled to hide her grin for Yamato’s sake, but mirth shone in his eyes.

“The Crusty Sock of Shota is our band bonding activity before every show. Are you sure you don’t want to play? It’s absolutely riveting.” 

The crowd outside of the venue’s door seemed to grow larger by the minute. A light breeze coaxed a chill up Sora’s spine. 

In the silence that stretched between them, Yamato’s gaze shifted towards the box in Sora’s hands. A pair of mittens curled around it almost protectively. Anxiety bubbled up in Sora’s stomach; she had never felt so invested in a gift before. 

“I, uh,” her throat seemed to close up. Despite all of the time they’ve spent together, a strange sort of tension bubbled between them. Sora stood on the edge of something palpable, but struggled to form the words.

Patiently, Yamato stood in place. Having a younger brother prepared him to wait out whichever storm Sora was battling. Still, the corners of his lips twitched upwards at the way her eyebrows scrunched together. The tag on the present stated his name in a careful, yet elegant, font, but Yamato remained silent.

He knew that Sora had the courage to get whatever was resting heavily on her chest out in the open without his help. 

“I bought you something for, you know, Christmas.” The wind blew wisps of Sora’s auburn hair around her rosy cheeks. Her hands quivered as she thrust the box towards Yamato, who accepted it with a flush of his own. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he insisted. Yamato’s voice was hushed against the ruckus of his bandmates in the background. “I haven’t had time to do any shopping with everything going on.”

Sora glanced up into his crystal blue eyes, her own anxiety forgotten. “You didn’t have to get me a gift! Besides, you’re the only person besides my parents that I’ve gotten anything for at all.”

In the heat of the moment, the connotation of her declaration fell onto deaf ears.

Only once the wind died down and the pair stared at each other for a moment longer did Sora feel the warmth of embarrassment crawl up past her scarf. 

A tentative smile played on the corners of Yamato’s lips, but any retort that bubbled in his throat died out as soon as Sora averted her gaze. 

“Thank you,” he nearly whispered. 

With a light flush, Yamato leaned closer, his eyes impossibly blue against the drab building. For a moment, his face hovered next to hers, his breath ghosting over Sora’s chilled cheek. “You smell kind of like a rose.”

His voice was no louder than a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the gentle tension that surmounted the space between them.

Sora didn’t fight the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. His palm found her mitten, squeezing lightly. He seemed to know that speaking would overwhelm her, instead opting to press his chapped lips against her warm cheek. 

Silently, Yamato slipped back into the bustling building, the twang of a guitar escaping into the winter air. 

Wistfully, Hikari attempted to manifest a blizzard, anything to get her out of the crowded streets and into her warm apartment.

“Oh!” Miyako exclaimed. For the sixth time that hour, her attention had been grabbed by a flashy storefront, fairy lights twinkling in her eyes. Hikari shivered, the sound of her teeth clattering reverberating in her skull.

The text alert of her phone obscured Hikari’s groan of protest. Miyako’s grip on her wrist was tight, pulling her into the crowded shop. Bags dug angry, pink welts into her arms, but she didn’t have the heart to complain. With Miyako studying abroad in Spain, it wasn’t often that the two were able to see each other. Hikari didn’t want to ruin their night.

With Miyako fully distracted in investigating racks of clothes, Hikari spared a glance at her phone. ‘Dinner is ready whenever you are! Have fun with Miya; I miss you.’

Blood rushed to her cheeks, a small smile spreading across her cheeks. Even after all they had been through, Takeru still managed to make her heart flutter.

“Hot date?” A familiar pair of prying eyes hovered over her shoulder. With a flick, the phone snapped shut. “He has dinner ready for me whenever we decide to leave.”

Miyako’s eyebrows wiggled with suggestion, the flush on Hikari’s cheeks only egging her on. “It sounds like tonight is a special night, Hika.” Though her smirk twitched teasingly, her hazel eyes glittered with warmthh.

“I’m going to pretend that I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Oh, c’mon! You can’t be that dense.” Her warmth was replaced with annoyance. Hikari remained unbothered, having spent her childhood navigating Miyako’s mood swings. Her arms crossed over her chest, bags swinging. “Dense? I’m sorry; do you have me confused with my brother?”

A sigh ruffled loose strands of lavender hair. The brunette didn’t budge, passerbys giving an odd glance at the tense pair. “You know that’s not what I meant. Can I ask you a question?”

Her dark hair swung with a nod, lips pursed together.

“How long have you and Takeru been together?” A holiday tune droned in the background, the cheery atmosphere seeming out-of-place with Miyako’s odd question.

“Five years. But, you already knew that. Miyako, I’m confused.” Anxiety chewed at her bottom lip, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

Her friend huffed, arms flailing. “You should be! It’s been five years, Hikari. Why do you settle for cute little texts and homemade meals? That should be the minimum of what he does for you.”

“I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, but if you brought me shopping just so you could criticize my relationship, I want to go home. Home, Miyako. You know? As in, the apartment Takeru and I rent together.”

Shock sagged at the corners of Miyako’s mouth. Her arm reached out, palm resting on Hikari’s shoulder for a brief second before it was shrugged away. “That’s not what I meant. Hikari, you tend to settle. You settled for having Takeru as a friend, and you were miserable,” an indignant scoff erupted from Hikari, a flush returning to her face. “You were!” Miyako continued, “You avoided every girl he talked to and hardly ate for the entire two weeks he had a girlfriend. It wasn’t until he asked you out that you allowed yourself that happiness. It’s been five years, Hikari. Is he ever going to propose?”

A dull ache hummed in Hikari’s chest. Reflexively, her eyes settled on the diamond around Miyako’s finger. She had been the first person Miyako had called when Ken had proposed. Initially, she was elated; her best friend was getting married.

When would it be her turn? When would Takeru bend on a single knee, eyes glimmering with promises of the future?

Did he want her in his future?

Hikari’s silence unnerved Miyako, an apology falling from the older girl’s lips.

“No,” Hikari amended, “Don’t apologize. You’re right. I can’t keep waiting for things to change; I need tell him how I feel.”

With a hug, Hikari was off, the weight of the bags no longer being the heaviest thing on her mind.

-

Nerves bundled in Hikari’s stomach as her key turned in the doorknob. From outside, she could hear Takaru hum a nonsensical tune, voice light and cheerful. The smell of vegetable soup greeted her in the foyer, stomach growling despite the anxiety.

“Oh!” Takeru’s bright eyes looked up from the pot on the stove, “You’re home early! How was shopping with Miyako? Did you have fun?”

Hands shaking, Hikari took time to remove her boots. Silence coatied the room like a suffocating wool blanket. “It was fine.”

“Just fine? You guys haven’t seen each other in forever; I thought it would have been more fun than that.”

With her shoes and coat in their rightful places, Hikari had no other reason to stall. Her silence tensed at Takeru’s shoulders, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Is everything alright?”

“Takeru,” she began, heart sinking into her stomach, “We need to talk.”

The spoon clattered into the pot, bits of broth splashing onto the blonde’s cheek. Twinkling lights illuminated from their living room, a sickening contrast to the ice that pierced Hikari’s stomach.

“What’s wrong?” He stopped just short of her, afraid of overwhelming her with his embrace. Hikari could feel a smile tug at the corner of her mouth; even in distress, Takeru’s first thought was always of her comfort.

“Do you love me?” Her voice was calm. With her palms clasped behind her back, Takeru wouldn’t be able to see her shaking.

Takeru’s eyes widened, mouth agape. “What do you mean? What’s going on, Hikari?”

She could feel the tears barricade her eyelashes, threatening to fall. “Please,” her voice broke, “Just tell me. Do you love me?” Her face was wet, no longer able to hold her tears back.

In a single breath, Takeru pulled her into his chest. One hand rested on the small of her back while the other tangled itself in her wind-mussed locks. He smelled of vegetables and pine tree, his heart beating erratically against her ear.

“I am immersed in my love for you, Hikari. What would ever make you doubt that?” His lips pressed chaste kisses in her hair, mixing with the saltwater of his own tears.

“Then why aren’t we married?” Her voice was muffled against the front of his apron, but Takeru heard her. He always did.

For a moment, he pulled away, stepping into the living room. A sob slipped through Hikari’s lips, her heart shattering. The branches of their Christmas tree rustled, the floor creaking under Takeru’s footsteps.

His warm palm caressed her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that trailed down her cheeks. “Hikari, look at me.”

Though her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, Takeru’s heart leapt into his throat. Hikari was breathtaking, even in sadness.

“It’s Christmas Eve, my love. Do you mind opening a present early?”

Hikari remained frozen, searching his eyes for any answers. “How will opening a present fix this, Takeru?” Her voice was no more than a whisper, barely audible over his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Trust me.”

Always, she thought. A little black box, no bigger than her palm, was thrust in her grasp.

“Wha-” Takeru pressed a finger to her chapped lips. With a flourish, he lowered himself onto a singular knee, flicking her gift open.

“I had it all planned, my love. We were going to visit your parents for dinner tomorrow. Taichi would be there with Meiko, making some lame joke about how I’m corrupting his little sister and we would laugh. I love your laugh,” His blue eyes shone in earnest, making no effort to hide the tears that streamed down his cheeks. “I love everything about you.”

“Takeru, please, I-” Her clothes were wrinkled from the hours spent shopping, soup burning on the stove.

“Please,” he begged, “Let me finish.” Takeru gazed up at her through wet lashes, waiting patiently for her nod of approval. Only then, did he continue.

“Your dad would ask Taichi about grandbabies then nudge me, pestering me about a wedding. You would blush and stumble and be absolutely radiant. I had it all planned, my love. It’s always been planned, you and I. You are the only future I want, Hikari. Please, allow me to be apart of yours, too. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

With a sob, her arms circled around his neck, pressing kisses into his hair, his cheek, any part that she could reach.