[OMWK] Chapter 03/4: Get up (Part 1/2)

[terresdebrume]

 

✗ 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]
OMWK ON LJ: [Chapter I - Part 1] [Chapter I - Part 2] [Chapter II - Part 1] [Chapter II - Part 2]
OMWK ON TUMBLR: [Chapter I] [Chapter II] [Chapter III]
OMWK ON AO3: [Read Here]

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Occasionally, Taichi thinks about telling Yamato to cut the automated texts off. There’s no need for him to remind Taichi about eating when Agumon and Daisuke do that on their own, after all, and having to take his meals with three pairs of eyes staring at him like he’s going to start putting his food is unnerving enough...the truth is Taichi doesn’t really mind, though. Perspective is everything, and now that he’s—reluctantly but sincerely—accepted the idea that he really is depressed, listening to his phone whistle Yamato’s ring tone has pretty much turned into the better part of his day, especially on days the ‘go get dinner’ text turns into the start of a long conversation—the kind that lasts for hours, which they hadn’t really had in months.

It does wonder for Taichi’s moral, even better than Daisuke’s insistence to fatten him up with the best noodles in Tokyo.

 

“You’re just biased,” Daisuke protests when Taichi uses the word in front of him one night.

 

He’s pink with pleasure though, so Taichi doesn’t take offense with it.

 

“If I was,” he points out around a mouthful of beef-flavored ramen, “I’d say you have the best cooking in Tokyo, but we all know your cakes are disgusting.”

“I like Daisuke’s cakes!” Veemon chimes in from his place on the back of the sofa, “they’re sweet.”

 

Agumon, lying on the carpet, agrees with his fellow digimon, Taichi accuses him of trying to coddle up to the cook and, in the middle of their pretend-argument about Daisuke’s horrendous baking—‘no, really, it’s terrible’ ‘yeah, I know’—Taichi realizes he hasn’t had that much fun since...well, basically since Hikari moved out of the flat.

That’s about four months of disturbingly low moods, almost four pounds lost to disastrous eating habits, and two nearly destroyed friendships.

It’s good to think he might be pulling himself out of it.

 

“Taichi, are you okay?” Daisuke asks, jostling him out of his reflexions, and Taichi barely even has to put effort in the smile he answers with:

“Actually, yes. I’m pretty okay.”

 

It’s been almost a month since he fought with Agumon. They’re not exactly back to what they were before—will never quite get back to what they were before—but Taichi has talked enough about it enough by now to begin making his peace with it.

 

“Okay enough to come play soccer with us Saturday?”

 

Taichi has a ton of files to reviews and homeworks to do before next week, and he could probably use every minute of the weekend to work on them.

 

He says yes anyway.

 

{ooo}

 

“I hear you almost broke Takeru’s nose yesterday,” Yamato says when he phones on Sunday, barely giving Taichi time to put the receiver to his ear before starting.

 

Taichi fakes a dramatic sigh:

 

“Hello to you too,” he says, and doesn’t miss the smile in Yamato’s voice when he replies:

“It’s been a while since you did that.”

“What,” Taichi asks, raising his eyebrows even though his friend can’t see it, “say hello?”

“Insist on saying ‘hello’ even though the conversation has already started,” Yamato corrects. “That was the first clue you weren’t feeling well.”

 

Taichi blinks at the balcony’s banister, fingers tugging at the edge of the hammock he brought out to enjoy the sunny afternoon. He swallows, throat a little too tight for comfort, then says:

 

“Sometimes your eye for detail freaks me out a little.”

“Noeru would be proud,” Yamato deadpans, and Taichi snorts.

 

Joke about their scientist friend aside, the observation really is shocking, even if it isn’t quite for the reason Taichi implied. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped insisting on proper greetings, even though he’s spent over a decade trying to convince Yamato to actually use them.

It’s not that big a deal—he and Yamato would have argued about it a long time ago if Taichi really minded—but it’s still weird to think something that automatic can get lost.

(It’s also weird to think something that small can get noticed, but then this is Yamato. He notices the weirdest things.)

 

“Well,” Taichi says after a beat, pushing on the ground with his hand to rock the hammock, “I guess it means therapy is working.”

“So does the soccer game,” Yamato agrees, “though I still don’t know why you tried to brain my brother.”

“I didn’t try to brain him,” Taichi protests, free hand raising toward the sky—or, more accurately, the upstairs neighbors’ balcony—“he got distracted ogling my sister—if anything, you should be blaming him for thinking it’s spring when we’re barely even in January!”

 

Yamato snorts on the other end of the line—then there’s a man’s voice somewhere in the background, and Taichi listens to the sound of his best friend speaking French—probably to Mr. Takashi—and laugh before he tells Taichi:

 

“Papy says if they get too hormonal you can always try to hose them.”

“For my own mental health,” Taichi says as his ears heat up, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Takeru usually reacts the same,” Yamato replies with an easy chuckles, “you guys are too sensitive. I think it’s funny.”

“That’s ‘cause France corrupted you,” Taichi retorts, smiling when it makes Yamato snort.

“Didn’t notice anyone complaining. People compliment me on my smile now.”

“You can smile?”

“Fuck off.”

 

Taichi tries to muffle his snort of laughter with his hand but, if the displeased noise Yamato makes is any indication, it doesn’t work all that well. From the corner of his eyes, Taichi spies Daisuke looking at him with a somewhat puzzled expression, and he gives a vague ‘it’s nothing’ gesture before he tells Yamato:

 

“Seriously, it’s goo you’re letting people see what a great guy you are. I was getting tired of people thinking I lied.”

“You’re an ass,” Yamato says, the smile in his voice belying the insult, “you think I can’t hear your stupid voice through the phone?”

“You’d get to see it if we could do video chats.”

 

Yamato mutters something about the price of data plans in France, material impossibilities and other very reasonable arguments that the two of them have been trading on and off for eight years. This time, they skip the ‘old buildings aren’t kind to the Wi-Fi’ one, but it’s a near thing.

 

“Don’t worry,” Taichi cuts in after a moment, “I know. Still means you don’t get to see my face when I’m finally putting a smile back on it.”

“It’s okay,” Yamato says, “I’ll catch up in next month.”

 

Taichi straightens in his hammock so fast he almost stumbles out of it, startling Agumon out of his nap when his foot accidentally bumps into a scaly belly.

 

“Aow!” Agumon protests, blinking in all directions before he focuses back on Taichi’s very red-feeling face: “Are we under attack?”

“Yamato is visiting next month!” Taichi replies, unconcerned about his voice’s sudden rise in pitch, “and he almost didn’t say it!”

“I just did,” Yamato protests on the other side of the line.

 

Taichi makes a shushing motion with his hand before he remembers his friend can’t see him. Then he says:

 

“You should have been leading with that instead of pretending I nearly killed your brother! Are you portaling home?”

“First of all,” Yamato says with an exaggeratedly cross voice, “I didn’t say you tried to kill him, I said you tried to give him a concussion.”

“Details,” Taichi manages, but doesn’t protest when Yamato clicks his tongue at him:

“And to answer your question: I’m flying in. Papy is coming along, and we agreed the temperature change wouldn’t agree well with him, especially with the trek from one tower to the other.”

“Not to mention he doesn’t have cross-borders privileges,” Taichi agrees.

 

It’s one of the nicest parts of being recognized as the Chosen Children: now they can travel through the Digiworld and back wherever they need to go instead of having to bother with long flight hours. So far, it’s given their group a lot more time together, when Mimi and Yamato didn’t have to go through twenty-four hours journeys, but putting an eighty-nine years old man through the abrupt climate change would have been kind of cruel.

 

“It’s nice he’s coming along,” Taichi resumes after a short pause, “I’m sure Takeru will be thrilled to see him again.”

“I think he’s mostly coming along for my mom,” Yamato says—Taichi hears his grandfather protest, somewhere in the background, and for a long moment the phone only lets out the sound of good-natured bickering in an impressive mix of French and Japanese.

 

Taichi listens to the two of them without disguising his amusement, pulling one leg out of the hammock to rub at Agumon’s belly—the digimon shifts in his sleep, but otherwise doesn’t seem to complain—and smirks when Yamato’s voice shifts from not-quite-annoyed to embarrassed.

 

“Getting grilled?” Taichi asks after Yamato all but squeaks in protests.

“Oh laugh it off all you want,” Yamato replies with a hiss, “he’s planning on doing the same to you when we get there!”

“What?” Taichi croaks, head jerking upright in surprise, “Why would he want to do that? I’m not his grandson!”

“I think it’s his revenge for you not waiting until he could meet you, last time,” Yamato explains, and Taichi blushes.

“Is there any way I can get out of this?”

“In your dreams” Yamato says.

 

Taichi sighs.

 

{ooo}

 

Daisuke comes home late that night, even by restaurant-owner standards. The good point is Taichi managed to complete his homework before his roommate got home. The also-good-but-less-practical point is that by the time Veemon and Daisuke walk past the door, they’re both exhausted enough that they don’t even seem to realize Taichi’s there until he’s squirmed his way out from under Agumon and gotten to his feet. Taichi helps Daisuke get rid of his coat, asking if he’d had dinner already.

 

“There’s some tea, too, you look half-frozen!”

 

Veemon cheers a little at the mention of hot tea, and Daisuke smiles down at his partner’s retreating form before he sighs.

 

“Dinner sounds great. They robbed me blind tonight—if this keeps up I’ll get to New York faster than I thought I would.”

“That...would be great,” Taichi says, pausing to brush imaginary lints of Daisuke’s coat as he speaks.

 

He’s glad Daisuke’s expatriation project is shaping up well, he really is. That doesn’t mean he’s fully ready to let go of his friend yet.

 

“It still won’t happen for another couple of years,” Daisuke says when Taichi’s pause stretches a little too long, “I’m far from having enough fund for now, and the immigration process is a pain anyway.”

“Yeah,” Taichi agrees, surprised to find the smile he gives Daisuke doesn’t take as much effort as he thought it would, “there’s still time for me to get over myself, right?”

“Right,” Daisuke agrees, “but no matchmaking this time.”

 

Taichi blushes to the root of his hair, but he figures he deserves the jab, and doesn’t protest. He pulls Daisuke to the dining table instead, and sits him down just as Veemon comes back from the kitchen, holding two steaming mugs of tea and grinning wildly as he announces:

 

“There’s sushi!”

“Yeah,” Taichi confirms, “I wanted to wait until you guys got home, but Agumon had a hard time restraining himself from eating half of it when we made them—”

“You made them?”

 

Taichi turns away from Agumon’s grimace to look at Daisuke again, and he rolls his eyes when he discovers his friends’ hesitating expression.

 

“It’s sushi,” he says with a ‘duh’ face, “they’re lopsided but even I can’t mess it up that badly.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Daisuke promises, blushing as he fiddles with the edge of his sleeves, “I just—I didn’t know you cooked.”

 

Taichi doesn’t, usually. He can survive on his own, of course, but he also knows this isn’t his area of expertise and, between Daisuke, Yamato and Miyako—plus Mimi’s recipes, when she visits—their group is already well staffed in cooks who are far better than him.

 

“I don’t do it often,” he admits.

 

Agumon jumps off the couch at that moment, walking up to Taichi’s leg and nudging his knee as he says:

 

“It’s because Yamato’s coming home next month! Taichi only cooks when he’s in a really good mood!”

“Agumon!” Taichi protests while his Digimon starts toward the kitchen to retrieve the tray, “you ruined the surprise!”

“Oh, he told me already,” Daisuke says with a little shrug.

 

Taichi turns around to stare at Daisuke, trying to get his brain to work around a quick time calculation. Tokyo is eight hours ahead of Paris, so either Yamato told Daisuke at some point after they hung up—knowing Daisuke’s refusal to even think about his phone during work hours, this is unlikely—or that conversation took place before Taichi and Yamato talked earlier...which would mean Yamato technically shared the news with Daisuke yesterday.

 

“Taichi,” Daisuke asks when Taichi’s silence lasts too long, “is everything alright?”

“Oh—yeah. Yes, of course. I’m just—I’m a little surprised he told you first, that’s all.”

“Oh, it just came up,” Daisuke replies with a shrug while Agumon re-enters the living room and settles the sushi on the table, “we were talking about the concerts we’d like to attend and the conversation sort of shifted.”

 

Taichi nods at the new information, surprised there was even a conversation to drift away from. He may have gone overboard with the idea in the past few months, but Yamato and Daisuke really didn’t seem to have much to talk about in the past eleven years. That they should start now is unexpected, to say the least.

In fact, Taichi reflects as Daisuke and Veemon settle into their meal without a word, he can’t even remember the last time Daisuke and Yamato had a non-saving-the-world-related conversation that went deeper than social chatter during their group picnics. He’s pretty sure that was before the Reboot though.

 

The two halves of their group have grown a little too stretched apart after the fact for the contrary to be very likely.

 

Taichi watches Veemon and Daisuke wolf their meal down in record time before they retreat to their room for well-deserved sleep, then goes to take care of the dishes in a bit of a haze, unable to get the fact that Yamato told Daisuke about his visit before anyone else. Why would he?

 

{ooo}

 

Taichi finds himself paying far too much attention to Daisuke’s texting habits, to the point where Agumon feels compelled to ask if he’s going to try finding the boy a partner again.

 

“Certainly not!” Taichi replies, almost—but not quite—offended by the suggestion, “I learned my lesson, and Daisuke doesn’t deserve to go through that again.”

 

Plus, it’s not like Ken didn’t suffer from it, either. Just because Taichi never really had the guts to talk to him about it doesn’t mean he can’t realize what he did to the guy.

 

“I’m just curious.”

 

Obsessed would probably be a more accurate description, but he’s pretty sure that would only make people panic again, which would be doubly frustrating considering he’s doing fairly well in terms of recovery so far.

He goes out to the gym every day—even got a subscription specifically for that purpose—keeps a tally of the conversation he has to make sure he stays in touch with his friends—Sora called him excessive when she saw the picture, but Jyou and Noeru both said the important part was that it worked, so Taichi doesn’t mind. He’s even taken to block at least five hours every weeks to spend time with Agumon without talking about politics—at least not the ones they’re involved with.

He’s doing so well his therapist complimented him on his progress during their last session! He did tell her having a plan made everything easier, but when he pointed the flaw in her reasoning, Agumon said having a plan didn’t mean you’d put it all to work, which warmed up his heart.

(Yamato said ‘shut up, you’re doing great’ which made him snort.)

 

And yet, through it all, Taichi can’t get the thought of Daisuke and Yamato texting out of his head.

It’s at the forefront of his mind when he passes through the living room and finds Daisuke typing away on his phone, when he hears it ring with one of the Teenage Wolves’ most popular tunes, when Yamato takes a little longer than usual to answer in their conversations. It’s ridiculous, obsessive, and inconvenient, but no amount of logic or trying to talk himself out of it manages to calm Taichi down, so he does the second best thing to talking things out with Yamato: he calls Sora.

 

“It’s getting way out of hands,” he tells her after they’ve exchanged a couple of pleasantries, keeping his voice quiet so Agumon, lying next to him in the bed, won’t wake up, “I need to figure something out.”

“No offense, Taichi,” Sora chuckles into the phone between two bites of what must be a very late dinner, “but your personal relationships are always getting out of hand.”

 

Taichi opens his mouth to protest, flailing at empty air when the words stay stuck in his throats, and it’s easy for Sora to keep going through his surprised spluttering:

 

“You’re still joking about Hikari and Takeru breaking off,” she says—Taichi sees her tick the item off with her fingers, and he protests:

“They still might!”

“We have a betting pool to know how soon they’ll get engaged,” Sora deadpans, face going completely blank on Taichi’s computer screen, “even Jyou noticed. Also, you’re somehow the one who misgenders Noeru most often despite being one of her most vocal support when she came out—”

“I’m distracted!” Taichi pouts, and Sora’s face softens when she chuckles.

 

It doesn’t prevent her from continuing, however, and Taichi winces when she raises a third finger:

 

“You convinced yourself Daisuke and Ken would make an okay couple even—”

“I have an excuse for this one,” Taichi interjects, but his ears grow hot anyway, and Sora plows on:

“Even though we gave you extensive—and, I assume, loud, in Yamato’s case—warning that you were making a mistake. And of course, there’s the part where you never stopped asking me for advice on how to deal with Yamato, even when we broke up and I really needed you to pay attention to me, too.”

 

Taichi winces again, ears burning harder as the list of his failures goes on, and he almost reaches for Agumon before he decides against it. He messed up, more than once, and sometimes in an epic fashion, but just because he needs comfort right now doesn’t mean he should prevent a friend from getting some well-deserved rest after heavy construction work in the Digiworld.

He’ll have to handle that alone.

 

“Sora,” he starts, lowering his voice a little, “I’m so—”

“I’m over it,” Sora promises before he can finish, “and besides, it’s not like you didn’t care about me back then. We all know you care—that’s part of why we like you—it’s just that you’re always one interpersonal crisis away from disaster.

“Thanks,” Taichi manages, half-sarcasm, half something a little heavier, “you’re making me feel so much better.”

“I’m your friend,” Sora replies in a stern voice, one hand playing with the tip of her hair, “I’m supposed to tell you the truth, not just what you want to hear.”

“I’m pretty sure Yamato agrees with you on that,” Taichi mutters, and this time there’s a real grin on Sora’s face when she answers:

“How did you think we managed six years together exactly?”

“Sugar and spice and everything nice?” Taichi asks, trying to steer the conversation back to lighter grounds, “the power of love and friendship bracelets?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sora sighs.

 

Taichi blows a raspberry at her in retaliation, and the long moment they spend making increasingly stupid faces at each other takes at least ten years off of Taichi’s shoulders, time slipping away as easily as puffing his cheek and going cross-eyed. Times like these never fail to remind him exactly why the two of them became—and stayed—friends, and by the time they remember to stop, if only so they’ll finish dealing with the important stuff, Taichi couldn’t keep a fond grin off his lips if he tried.

(He really, really doesn’t.)

 

“Seriously though,” he says after a short, comfortable silence, “what do you think they even talk about? It’s like they can’t get enough of each other.”

 

Sora frowns at the word, quite possibly—and, if Taichi is being honest, legitimately—wondering how Taichi knows that, but she doesn’t ask the question, for which Taichi is actually pretty grateful. This conversation is embarrassing enough in itself, there’s no need to add to it.

 

“I don’t know,” Sora says with a shrug, “they like each other, I guess. The worse that could happen is you get your wish and Daisuke ends up dating one of us.”

“I didn’t say I wanted him to date one of us!” Taichi protests, but doesn’t insists when Sora levels him with a blank stare.

 

He did kind of say that, after all, it just—well, it never occurred to him that Yamato could be an option.

 

“You said he shouldn’t date someone who ‘doesn’t know what it’s like to be one of us,” Sora insists, driving the point home with finger quotes, “either way, if they do end up dating, you should be happy.”

 

There’s a short pause, and then Sora only sounds half-teasing when she asks:

 

“Unless you’re thinking of getting involved?”

“Oh no!” Taichi replies immediately, raising his hands in defense and protest, “no, I’ve learned my lesson there, and Yamato would never forgive me anyway.”

“He totally would.”

“Maybe,” Taichi concedes, unsure of how aware Sora is of Yamato’s dating-related issues, “but he’d give me a hard time about it, and he’d be right to. No, I’m not doing anything about it—but I can still have opinions.”

“Fair enough,” Sora concedes with a nod, “so what’s yours?”

“It’s a call for disaster?” Taichi says, maybe a little bit too fast to sound entirely casual. “I mean, Yamato can be as anal as Jyou sometimes, except he’s harsher about it, and Daisuke is loud, impulsive, disorganized—”

“Okay first of all,” Sora cuts off with a roll of her eyes, “I’m pretty sure you’re talking about who he was five years ago, maybe longer. And secondly, Yamato has been dealing with your disorganized butt for nearly fifteen years and he’s not dead yet.”

 

Taichi closes his mouth, forced to admit Sora has a point, and nods in concession. He still thinks a romantic relationship between Daisuke and Yamato would be a bad idea, but it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it—he meant what he said about remaining uninvolved for everyone’s sake.

 

“Yeah,” he admits, hoping his disappointment doesn’t bleed into his voice, “I guess you’re right.”

“Which reminds me, Mimi and I were talking and we thought it’d be nice to have a big gathering for the anniversary. Every-team-in-the-world big.”

 

Taichi, who was halfway back to ruminating about his problem already, straightens up and blinks at Sora, who’s looking at him with a long-suffering expression.

 

“You weren’t listening anymore, were you?”

“With one ear,” Taichi mumbles, bowing his head in apology while Sora rolls her eyes.

“Look, I’m pretty sure Yamato told you this already, but if you really think it’s better for Daisuke to date someone who ‘gets it’ then his only real options are Yamato or you. If the two of them dating bothers you so much, maybe you should consider making a move.”

“Wha—a move toward whom?”

“That’s really not my question to answer, Taichi.”

 

Taichi wants to protest at that—defend himself somehow, although he’s not sure what accusation to defend himself again, but he’ s not quite sur e what t he accusation is here, exactly, so he pushes the topic at the back of his mind and asks Sora about her gathering project.

 

“I tossed the idea out on the forum,” Sora explains with an excited smile, “lots of people sounded interested, so Mimi and I thought we could do it in August, since that’s when it all started? Plus, it’d give us about six months to prepare, which would make a lot of things easier. What do you think?”

 

Taichi thinks it’s great, actually—feels his chest stir with excitement for the first time in who knows how many weeks at the thought—and by the time they hang up it’s well past midnight, far later than Taichi usually goes to bed, but the tiredness is worth it.

 

He dreams about a picnic with hundreds of attendants, and stupid romantic combinations.

 

{ooo}

 

February falls on Tokyo with a fresh layer of snow, the weather abnormally cold even for this time of the year. Most children are delighted but Taichi, like many other adult and working-age people mostly wishes there could be a way for bad weather not to make his commute twice as long as usual. One of his teachers has a car accident because of it, forcing him t o go through a whole ordeal in order to find something that accommodates his work, university, and his weekly phone calls with Yamato, which often end up lasting through most of the afternoon.

 

He spends almost an entire session talking about this—well, about his relationship with Yamato in general, but that’s the starting point.

Not that the topic itself has never come out before—they’re too close, and Yamato has done too much to help Taichi throughout the years and this particular depression for his name to stay entirely out of the conversation. It’s the first time Taichi spends so much time talking about him specifically though—usually, it’s either about the group in general or Agumon in particular, and the numerous ways in which the Reboot still affects them—and the idea makes him chuckle as he texts his friend to say just that.

 

‘Just leave my awkward moments out of it plz,’ Yamato replies almost instantly—he’s probably hanging around his granddad’s apartment and enjoying a day off right now, the butt. ‘Talk me up if u can.’

‘Should I mention your impeccable taste in shampoos next time?’ Taichi teases back.

‘Its clearly > my taste in men.’

 

Taichi startles a couple of tourists when he snorts in the middle of the street, but he’s still riding the post-therapy lightness, so he chuckles as he types back:

 

‘Don’t sell yourself short: you’ve got me as a best friend. It can’t be that bad.’

 

Yamato sends him a string of grimacing emoji—and one raised fist—at that, and Taichi is halfway through a response in the same spirit when his phone buzzes again:

 

‘Reminds me: how r things w/ version 2.0?’

 

Taichi pauses in the street—apologizes when someone bumps into him from behind—and frowns at his phone as he starts walking again, typing at the same time:

 

‘Fine. We’re going bowling this weekend. Why?’

‘Been a while since I asked.’

‘I’d have thought he’d tell u,’ Taichi replies, muttering as he types, ‘with how much u two talk lately. I thought u didn’t think he was smart enough to talk to?’

‘Turns out I was wrong & hes + interesting when im not being overprotective of both our siblings,’ Yamato replies—Taichi can almost see the shrug that must have come with it.

 

He wonders, a tad randomly, if Yamato is still having breakfast or if he’s started on the working out part of his day already, but the thought flies out of the window when his phone buzzes again:

 

‘Y the U of irritation?’

‘I’m not irritated,’ Taichi replies, but his jaw is set and his lips are twitching, and he doesn’t have the faintest idea why.

 

He gets an eye emoji in response, and tries to decipher the meaning of it for several seconds before he writes back:

 

‘?’

‘Means I din’t believe u.’

‘??’

‘French expression, dont deflect.’

‘I’m not deflecting,’ Taichi types, and Yamato’s retort comes so fast Taichi almost wonders if he wrote it before he got an answer:

‘Dont lie 2 me, I know ur txting style.’

‘Whatever,’ Taichi replies, ‘just leave it alone.’

 

He shoves his phone back in his pocket and quickens his pace, ignoring the buzzing against his thigh until it finally stops.

 

He tries not to think too hard about why that makes him feel worse instead of better.