Kechibi
â TECHNICAL DETAILS
FANDOM: Digimon Adventure 01/02/Tri
RATING: General Audiences.
WORDCOUNT: 5 758 words
PAIRING(S): Pre-Taiyama
CHARACTER(S): Taichi Kamiya & Yamato Ishida, with cameos from Sora Takenouchi, Takeru Takashi and Michel Takashi.
GENRE: Will you just stop it?
TRIGGER WARNING(S): Some l light references to depression and Yamato staying in a psychiatric hospital for a while.
SUMMARY:Â
From: Yamato
To: Sora
âgot 2nd degree burns from a head in a fire ball last nightâ
Or: Yamato didn't really think spirits from his childhood stories were real, but if he had he certainly wouldn't have expected to meet one in the French countryside.
NOTE: I would have gone further into the comedic potential of kechibi spirits, but I figured this story was already long enough as it was, and I didnât want to fall into disrespect (since I only did realy cursory research) so here we go.
DIGIOTPWEEK 2017: [Day 1: Coffeeshop AU] [Day 2: Fantasy AU] [Day 3: Profession AU]
[Read on AO3]
Yamato swears so hard, once he finally figures out what the problem with his bike is, that a rabbit jumps right out of its hiding spot and into the grazing field on the other side of the road. It canât really be blamed for it: itâs midnight on a chilly, damp August night, and the poor creature probably thought it was safe from stupid humans who donât have anything better to do than break down in the middle of the night.
Clearly, it never anticipated Michel Takashiâs ancient relic of a motorbike, or the absolute absence of patience Yamato suffers from at the moment.
 He swears for an unreasonably long time, mixing the few Russian curse words he remembers from high school with the full extent of his French vocabulary, until realizes heâs up for at least two hoursâ walk, pushing a bike uphill and, most likely, in the rain. Honestly, at times like these, he almost wonders whatâs the point of having enough strength to leave the house if heâs going to end up in these situations.
He knows the answer, of course, and wouldnât trade the propensity to spiral down into irrational anger or despair for the gaping nothing that were the past few months, but that doesnât make his present situation any more enjoyable.
 At least he didnât break down on a dirt trail.
 Heâs been at it for about half an hour, earphones blasting a long string of insults vaguely put to music at an unreasonable volume, when he notices a flame in the wheat field to his right. The weather as been awful since he got to France, so itâs unlikely to set the crop on fire, but where thereâs a fire thereâs a person and, in this case, theyâre probably trampling around in the wheat.
Yamato, who needs something to throw his annoyance at, decides to be a proper farmerâs grandson and go kick an idiotâs ass.
 âOi!â he starts, not interested in how odd thatâll sound to French ears, âyou gotta turn your thing off! Youâre gonna damage the crops!â
 He has to walk along the field for a bit before he finds the entry path and follows the tire tracks from the tractors into the wheat, stomping more than he walks. Not that it seems to bother whoever decided to get a hot snack in the middle of the night, though, because thereâs no movement or sound of any kind, not even when Yamato growls and calls out again:
 âHĂ©! Piss off before you do anymore damage, dumbass!â
 Still nothing. The wind picks up a little and the flame shivers, but as for the rest Yamato might as well be pissing in a violinâeither the bastard is entirely deaf, or theyâre ignoring him on purpose. Given the general conditions of deaf people in the country, Yamatoâs inclined to believe itâs the later, and bright hot anger clenches his fingers into fists right before he decides to use his grandfatherâs tried and true technique: just yell at them in Japanese.
True, the reason it works for Michel Takashi probably is that heâs a super-white octogenarian with the general silhouette of a particularly ill-combed leek, but if Yamato hasnât let his obvious Japaneseness hold him back before he really doesnât see why heâd start now.
 (Ironically enough, there is also something viciously satisfying at making himself so other in his country, his culture and origins spontaneously and universally recognized and accepted in a way they rarely are at home. Who knew racist ignorance could do good things for his brain.)
 âSir!â He shouts, using the lower tones of Japanese to make his voice sound scarier, âcould you please put your fire out and leave the field? Youâre damaging the crops!â
 The flame grows several centimeters after that, fizzles out, and reappears right in front of Yamatoâs knees with a relieved:
 âYou speak Japanese! Can you help me? Iâm lost!â
 Yamato blinks.
 Pinches his arm.
 Does it again, but harder this time, digging his nails into the flesh for good measure.
 Everything hurts the way itâs supposed to, so heâs probably not sleeping but, despite that, the flame is still here.
 Clearly, heâs gonna need to check out his medsâ notice when he gets home.
 âCan you help me?â The flame repeats.
 Itâs got a pleasant voice. Lighter than Yamatoâs, maybe a bit too loud, but relatively pleasant.
 It would, of course, be even better if it didnât come from a fire that gives the inexplicable impression of being a head with far, far too much hair on top of it in the middle of asking a question. For a momentâa couple of seconds, at mostâYamato tries to make sense of it all.
Then he decides he doesnât have the strength for this mess and walks away, refusing to let himself slow down even when the fireâs voice gets louder.
 âPlease,â it yells, far closer than Yamato would have thought, âIâm lost!â
 Donât talk to it, Yamato tells himself, thatâs how people get themselves interned. Just ignore it and itâll have to stop, eventually.
 Right. Because this is exactly how hallucinations work.
 âIâm lost! Please! Iâm lost!â
âBuy a map!â Yamato tosses over his shoulder, heart in his throat as he reaches the exit path.
 Heâs giving himself a rather severe mental talk down by the time he reaches the motorbike and starts pushing on the handles. Heâs finally lost it, thereâs no way around that, but that doesnât mean heâs got to go and make it obvious, for heavenâs sake!
 âPlease! Iâm lost, help me please!â
 Yamato screams and lets the bike stumble into the irrigation ditch when the flame touches his calf, searing pain shooting up his leg and sending his heart in overdrive. He whines in pain as he slaps the fire out, a litany of apologies floating in his ears even when he forces himself to his feet and takes off at a run toward his grandfatherâs home.
 ***
He doesnât remember getting home, let alone in bed, but he must have managed it somehow because, when the pain finally gets too much to bear, his eyes immediately land on the old dance trophy that resides on the bedside table of his motherâs childhood bedroom. He hisses and grits his teeth against the pain to sit up...and yells when the movement causes the sheets to brush on exposed muscles.
Heâs still swearing by the time he gathers the courage to check, heart racing like itâs going for a gold medal in the fear Olympics.
Thereâs almost no skin left on the back of his right leg, raw flesh exposed to the morning air like a painfully undercooked steak. There are blisters all over it, one of them almost the size of an egg, and jeans fibers stick to the wound in a couple of places. It could probably be worse, but itâs bad enough to make him dizzy and vaguely nauseous.
He has to grip the edge of the bed with white knuckles before he tries to stand, and when he tries to put a foot in front of the other the pain, sharp and raw like nothing else, catches him fast and hard enough that he yelps and falls to the ground, wincing when the door open to reveal his grandfather standing there with his night gown and a panicked expression on.
âWhat did you do?â He yells in French when his gaze lands on Yamatoâs calf.
âI didnât do anything, itâsââ
A pained exclamation cuts through Yamatoâs sentence when his grandfather plucks the jean fibers out of the burns, and itâs all he can do to get his breath back while Papy Michel chastises him:
âYou couldnât just do that with a knife, could you? You could have set the house on fire!â
âBut that wasnât me!â
He knows heâs lost before his grandfather speaks again. It shows in the way his features go from worried granddad to steely war veteran and, even if that wasnât enough of a tell, the fact that he reverts to Japanese for the next sentence is a dead giveaway.
âCan you get to the bathroom?â
âYes,â Yamato confirms with burning eyes, âIâll manage.â
Itâs easier to brace himself for the pain now that he knows what itâll be like. With a wince, he bites on the pained sound that tries to get out of his throat and pushes himself upright, grabbing his phone on his way up. If his grandfather wonât listen to what heâs got to say, he might as well reach out for people who will.
âgot 2nd degree burns from a head in a fire ball last nightâ he texts to Sora, before transferring the message over to Takeru.
Itâs a little over seven PM back in Tokyo, so heâs not surprised when Sora answers first:
âDid your dosage change recently?â
ânp & nothing causes hallucinations, I checked + I was in a wet wheat field. Nothing to burn me w even if I was seeing thingsâ
âYikes. How did your granddad take it?â
âbadlyâ
âYIKES. Hang in there & phone me when you can. My new pill keeps me up anyway.â
Yamato promises Sora to call her as soon as heâs done getting bandagedâpossibly with lunch, tooâand does his best not to be too obvious about how much he wants this thing to be over already.
âYou know,â his grandfather tries after a while, eyes straying toward Yamatoâs phone almost too quick to be noticed, âif you want to talk about this, I canââ
âSora says hi,â Yamato says, heart in his throat, before the sentence can end.
âWhat?â
âSora. My friend from the hospital. She says hi.â
She never had even the beginning of a will to get in touch with Yamatoâs family, a sentiment he approves of and mirrors entirely, but mentioning her is a surefire way to cut any conversation short without having to provide an excuse. Itâs not that Yamatoâs family isnât trying to support him. They are.
Itâs just that they donât exactly understand one another at the best of time, and neither his parents nor the two grandparents he still has were prepared to deal with the kind of issues Yamato turned out to have. His friendship with Sora, born and forged in the heart of a psychiatric ward, is quite possibly too much of a reminder for them to be fully comfortable with it.
âGood,â Papy Michel mutters with a bit of a strangled voice, âthatâs good. Well, youâre all patched up now. Donât get this dirty.â
Yamato nods and gives a perfunctory mutter about wanting a smoke before he makes his exit to the garden, where he promptly lights a cigarette. He canât honestly say he needed it right this second, but since heâs here he might as well indulge and settle his nerves.
Besides, itâll give him some space to answer Takeruâs incoming text.
âDsnt that sound lk 1 of grdma Fumikos stories?â
âwut?â
âthe head ina fire thing. Its a KĂ”chi story no?â
âmaybe idkâ
âill checkâ
Takeru doesnât really need to check, seeing as his comment actually reminded Yamato of the legend in question, but waiting for more information gives hims something to do while he finishes his cigarette, and itâs as good an excuse as any to stay away from his grandfather for a bit.
The thing he metâthe thing he thought he metâwas probably a kechibi: some poor sodâs spirit literally rolled right out of them and into a fireball, for whatever reason. It canât be real, of course, and Yamato feels stupid for entertaining the notion now, but he used to be a hardcore believer when he was younger. Not, as his grandmother first thought, because he was afraid of them, but because she used to say some kechibi were wrathful spirits, meant to exact vengeance on those who wronged them during the day.
The amount of time Yamato spent nursing his resentments, during middle school, hoping heâd generate a kechibi powerful enough to take care of his worse bullies, was probably not very healthy. He canât say he regrets it, though of course heâs given up on their existence a long time ago now. After all, he may go to a temple on a semi-regular basis, half-because he wishes heâd believe again and half because the atmosphere soothes him, but that doesnât mean he canât realize that legends are just that. Legends.
âhow do u explain the burns then?â Takeru asks when Yamato points that out.
âdunno. Y do u even want it 2 b real?â
âeither itâs real or u burned urself & fabricated the encounter 2 cover it up. Whether were talking hallucinations or lies I prefer the 1st optionâ
â...ngl, so do iâ
Itâs getting late by now, the butt of Yamatoâs cigarette long discarded in the ashtray he keeps on the low wall protecting the vegetable garden, so he wishes his brother goodnight and finally goes back inside for lunch. He answers his grandfatherâs questionsâin Japanese, for the most partâwithout lying, though heâs careful not to mention the kechibi, and they spend the next few hours figuring out how to get the motorbike out of its ditch and into a garage shop.
The words âplease, Iâm lostâ float in Yamatoâs mind the whole way through.
***
âYouâre a nutcase,â Sora texts when Yamato finishes telling her about his projects for the night.
âtell me somthng I donât knowâ
âNo, the depression is regular crazy. This is just nuts.â
âim going now ttylâ
Yamato can almost ear Soraâs disbelieving little snort as he sneaks out of the house and climbs on the mountain b ike his grandfather borrowed from a neighbor on his behalf. She doesnât let it out as often as he does, but sometimes sheâs got enough sarcasm to give him a run for his money and, honestly, the only reason he doesnât keep texting her is because he has no intention to die on the road tonight.
Still itâd be nice if he could. Heâd feel a little less stupid, for one. How else could he feel when heâs on his way to a freaking field in the middle of nowhere just so he can maybe have aâsecondâconversation with a head in a fireball.
Ridiculous doesnât even begin to cover it.
The ride goes peacefully. There âs next to no traffic on the roads as it is, let alone at eleven at night, and the weather finally cleared so aside from the darkness it isnât that different from Yamatoâs usual exploration of the countryside. Thereâs a sense of trepidation in him his usual outings lack, though.
The countryside in this part of France is dreadfully emptyânot even five hundred persons in his grandfatherâs villageâand it doesnât even have the decency to make up for it with particularly beautiful landscapes. Yamato had been spending most of his days out so far, but itâs a way to be alone with his thought and away from his grandfatherâs worried incomprehension more than a show of appreciation for the place, r eally.
Add a healthy dose of depression to that and, well. Thatâs all you need to know about Yamatoâs current hobbies, really.
Thereâs a real purpose to this particular trip, though, if only to figure out whether that thing really is realâit canât be. Legends arenât real! But then Yamatoâs burn, still throbbing under the bandage and disinfectant, is, so thereâs that. He pulls into the entry path to the field with a sigh and one last volley of disbelieving insults to his own intellect, and rests the mountain bike down on its handle before stepping onto the tire tracks.
The full moonâs getting near which, if legends are to be believed, make the possibility of a spirit encounter even more likely. Of course, thatâd feel a little more logical if he werenât thousands of miles away from Japan in a field that is painfully, obviously emptyâof people and of flame.
Yamato is running a hand over his face with a weary sigh when thereâs a firecracker sound, and he jumps about thirty centimeters into the air, shrieking as he lands on his ass and damages a sizable patch of wheat, as well as the butts of his hands, in the process.
âShit, warn a guy would you?â
The face in the fireball doesnât have very definite features, except maybe for the ridiculous excess of hair, but it still manages to convey a decent air of contrite confusion as it settles down at some distance from Yamatoâs legs. Good. Not only does that mean he wonât get burned again just yet, it should also spare him the mental image of a head bouncing after him like a rubber ball which, as his irreverent conversation with Sora this afternoon attests, is nothing short of ridiculous.
Still, the head looks like it sort of feels bad, so Yamato sighs, shifts his mental processes over to Japanese, and says in as calm a voice as he can manage:
âExcuse me, oh Spirit, but what are you doing here?â
The flames around the head brighten, and the vague hint of eyebrows raise up as the head exclaims:
âYou speak Japanese! Can you help me? Iâm lost!â
âSo I understand,â Yamato says, a not-so-small part of his brain still yelling at him to go home and get a grip.
The rest of him figures it canât be worse than staring at the ceiling and hope for something to come and jump start his emotions back to life.
âWho are you?â
Thereâs a pause, like the head is gathering breath, and then:
âIâm lost, sir.â
âYes. You mentioned that. Where are you from?â
Thereâs another, longer pause, and the flames around the kechibiâs head dim a little before itâhe?âtries in a hesitant voice:
âIâm lost.â
âAlright,â Yamato sighs, distantly relieved this thing is managing to irritate him, âletâs try something different. Do you have a name?â
âI have a friend!â the kechibi answers, voice piping so high it sounds more child-like than the adult voice it had before.
Itâs not the answer Yamato was aiming for, but itâs a step out of the âIâm lostâ loop, so heâll take it.
âWhatâs you friendâs name?â
âKoushiro.â
Thereâs happiness in that one name, like saying it is enough to put the kechibi in a good mood, and a trickle of dread worms its way inside Yamatoâs heart. He really hopes heâs wrong about where this is going.
Maybe this Koushiro person is just a close friend.
âDo you know where Koushiro is?â
Pause. Dimming flames.
â...Iâm lost.â
Evidently, not the right question to ask. This is going to be tricker than he thought it would be.
At least, he reminds himself, itâs not a wrathful one. He hasnât believed in literal spirits in a long timeâtending to interpret them as energies of some sort more than anything elseâbut he did grow up with a healthy respect for them. That, and a certain awareness of their potential for harmful behavior, because respecting spirits doesnât mean pretending theyâre only ever nice and fluffy.
Hell, even his mother, who is a practicing Catholic, always told him not to anger any spirit, thatâs how well aware of their nature he is.
This one though? More confused than angry. Itâs honestly the only thing that keeps him from turning heels and leaving it to its own devices. Instead, he follows his earlier inkling, and asks:
âWhatâs Koushiro like?â
Look, Yamato isnât usually the type to compare real life to movies but, one, heâs literally talking to a spirit so the usual rules can suck it and, two, thereâs really no other way to describe the way the kechibi glows other than Ghibli-like. Itâs like watching a flaming, wild-haired version of Ponyo puff itself up and yell:
âAwesome!â
Itâs a good thing it looks so cute, because it means Yamato doesnât have to fake his little smile when he replies:
âThat great, uh?â
âYes! Heâs smart, and heâs funny and he knows how to do so many things with computers! And heâs nice and sometimes he forgets to it so I bring him food and then he smiles and we laugh a lot. Heâs a really good friend.â
Itâs funny the kechibiâs voice should sound like a childâs. Yamato canât know for sure titâs not its real voiceâalthough the head seems large for a kidâs, and it did start out speaking in deeper tonesâbut even then thereâs something so...innocent about the way it sounds. Thereâs no fear, no embarrassment, no self-disgust here, just pure affection and a fondness that can never be faked.
He sort of wishes heâd get to have that.
âHe does sound pretty amazing,â he says, trying to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. âHow long have you known him?â
âOh, forever, Iâm sure,â the kechibi replies, head tilting back like itâs looking for an answer in the stars, âI donât remember not knowing him.â
âThatâs quite a long time.â
âYes, but itâs nice! Donât you have someone youâve known forever?â
âNot really,â Yamato shrugs, âmy oldest friend is my little brother, but I remember what it was like when he wasnât there.â
Dimly, in short flashes that mostly consists of the few weeks before Takeruâs birth, but Yamato still remembers.
âDo you like your brother a lot?â
Yamato blinks at the change of topic, in part because he was starting to get lost in his own thoughts, but also because heâd kind of given up on the kechibi extending their conversation topics on its own. Evidently, he just hadnât found the right angle.
âYes,â he says, settling into a more comfortable position, âI do.â
âHow much?â
Oh well. If heâs gonna hear a kidâs words in a kidâs voice, he might as well go the whole way.
He extends his arms as far as theyâll go before he says:
âThat much.â
He really hopes this kechibi didnât come from an actual child, though. If heâs right, and thereâs less an less hold on the hope that he isnât, then he really hopes itâs happening to someone whoâs old enough to mostly bounce back from it.
âI,â the kechibi says, the flames at the side of its head widening like theyâre trying to imitate Yamatoâs gesture, âlike Koushiro thiiiiiiiiiiis much!â
The fire licks at a couple of strands of wheat on the side, and Yamato is halfway to his feet before he realizes nothing caught fire. In fact, aside from the damage he inflicted, itâs like nothingâs happened here at all.
Well, good to know major burns are a human-only experience, he guesses. Could have done without the discovery, though.
âOh, sorry,â the kechibi says, dimming and shrinking as it talks, âsorry, sorryââ
âItâs okay,â Yamato reassures it, one hand straying to his calf, as if he could have forgotten the wound there, âitâs not so bad, and you didnâtââ
âKoushiro is a boy,â the kechibi shrieks.
Fuck, Yamato thinks.
He was right.
The spirit vanis hes with a loud snap before he can fully figure out what to tell it.
Yamato waits for the kechibi to return for a long, long while, even going so far as to call out once or twice, but to no avail. The spirit, it seems, is either back to its body, or determined not to come back. Yamato could wait it out until morning if he wanted, heâs definitely got the hang of not moving of uncomfortable length of time. That would probably result in his grandfather having a stroke in worry, though, and heâs not so far down that itâs something heâll let happen anymore.
Besides, even supposing he stays here all night and his grandfather either doesnât notice or survives the experience unharmed, anyone who lives within in a twenty kilometersâ radius would soon know about how Michel Takashiâs grandson slept in a field. Heâs already the local weirdo, thereâs no need to add to that.
He calls out for the kechibi one last time, then looks around to make really sure no one hears him when he promises to come back the following night.
By the time he gets back to his bed, heâs tired enough that even his brain canât keep him awake.
***
The kechibi is already there by the time Yamato makes it to its field on the third night and he thinks, a little stupidly, that he might have to find it a name at some point. Itâs ridiculous, really, these things are supposed to be peopleâs souls, not pets. It feels weird not to have a name to give it, though, so it doesnât hurt to think about it.
It isnât a priority though, and as soon as Yamato is within speaking distance of the spirit he makes sure to say:
âItâs alright that Koushiro is a guy.â
The kechibiâs features are a little more defined when he looks up to stare at Yamato. Its hair, still overgrown, is dark brown, a little paler than the stereotypical Japanese black. Its nose is short, its mouth a little too thin but somehow friendly, as if made for smiling. Itâs the kind of smile that half begs you to be telling the truth, half asks if you wanna be friends.
If maybe you already are a friend.
Yamatoâs Gay Epiphany wasnât what sent him to the psychiatric ward but damn, he would really have loved it if someone would have put that kind of expression on his face instead of having to figure it out on his own.
âIt really is.â
âItâs alright,â the kechibi repeats, its flames growing a little taller, a little brighter.
âYeah.â
âKoushiroâs a guy. And itâs alright.â
âCompletely alright.â
Heâs not sure how a disembodied and mostly featureless head manages to make fondness bloom in the vicinity of his heart but, eh. Itâs a spirit. They do weird things, like burn people by accident while leaving crops alone or, in this case, flickering and changing colors at a steady pace.
Flick-orange, flick-redder, flick-range, flick-redder.
âThatâs funny,â Yamato says after a moment of silence, âyour flames.â
âWhat about them?â the kechibi asks as if having fire all around your head was a normal, every day occurrence.
It probably is to a spirit, mind you, but that doesnât mean Yamato canât keep in mind how surreal the entire thing is.
âThe way they change color. Itâs like a heartbeat.â
âHeart?â
âYeah,â Yamato replies, deciding to try and circle back just to see if their conversation changed anything, âitâs what you like people with.â
âI like Koushiro a lot.â
The flames donât widen like enthusiastic little arms this time, but considering thereâs no abrupt disappearance either, Yamato decides heâs okay with it.
âYeah. Itâs alright to like him a lot.â
It sort of feels like Yamato should be trying to have this conversation with a more elaborate vocabulary, mostly because the face in the flames doesnât really look child-like. Sometimes, though, even adults need to get simple words, and this one hasnât protested the lack of over-three-syllables lexicon yet.
âJyou doesnât like Koushiro as much.â
Ah, yes. Thatâs the fun part, as far as Yamato remembers, the moment he went from a relieved, almost elated âthis is why itâs not working with girlsâ to âoh fuck, now Iâm even more differentâ.
There were other components, too, things being straight wouldnât have changed like, oh, being blond or being socially awkward, or having lucked out at the brain make up lotteryâalthough that point might have been easier to deal with in a different world. The fact remains that, even though his Big Gay Epiphany was, depression aside, a mostly smooth process, that part was particularly hard to swallow.
Still is, whenever it rears its ugly head, but Yamato learned to suppress his gag reflex by now.
God, this metaphor is getting out of control.
âNot everyone likes boys this way,â he says instead of trying to examine that strange train of thoughts.
âBoys donât.â
âSome do. I do. Some girls donât like boys that way, either. My best friend Sora, she prefers girls. The person sheâs in love with is a girl.â
âI like girls a lot too,â the kechibi says, like itâs correcting a mistake, âand I like Koushiro.â
âWell, youâre allowed to like both. Youâre allowed to like any kind of person.â
âMom will be angry.â
âMaybe she wonât,â Yamato counters, because itâs true. Not everyone gets terrible reactions. âEven if she is, thereâs nothing she can do against it. No one can stop you from liking people.â
Yamato has to hide his eyes behind his arm when he ends his sentence, and even then itâs not fast enough to prevent him from seeing spots for the next ten minutes, at the very least. He really, really hope no one was awake to see that, because heâs got no idea how heâd explain it.
Somehow, he doesnât think âsorry, some poor fucker was having an identity crisis in the countrysideâ would appease many people.
âI love him so much,â the kechibi says.
Itâs quiet and wistful, back to the deeper tones of the first night. Thereâs acceptance in that, and some relief, but thereâs grief, too, and Yamato isnât quite sure whether the guy is grieving the safety of straightness or the possibility of something happening with Koushiro.
Either way, heâs definitely back in a headspace where heâs aware of the potential ramifications of his recent discovery, and Yamato knows exactly how that feels.
âYeah,â he mumbles, âI can tell. Sorry.â
This time, when the kechibi pops out of the conversation, Yamato doesnât bother waiting around before he leaves.
***
When he reaches the field the next evening, heâs almost afraid to find it empty. Sure, itâd mean no more risk of sounding like a complete nutcase, but then again...well, the spirit was the first person he had a real conversation with in this country, including his grandfather. He thinks itâs understandable that he doesnât want to let go of the connection just yet.
Doesnât prevent him from swearing blue murder when the kechibi startles him again, though.
Yamato ignores the kechibiâs surprised stare as he slaps dirt off his jeans and checks the state of his hands...yep. Fresh scraps. Damn it.
Then, because thereâs only so long he can ignore a pair of big, almost pleading brown eyes in a fireball looking up at him, Yamato sighs:
âWhat?â
âWhy do you keep speaking in a different language? I donïżœïżœ understand it.â
âWeâre in France. If you wanted to hear Japanese you shoulda had your out of body experience back home. Why donât you ask Koushiro out if you like him that much?â
âHeâs aromantic. He told me last week.â
âAh. Tough luck.â
Brown eyes look down, shadowing a vague hint of pinched lips and, well, yeah. Itâs not like thereâs anything wrong about the aromantism thing, itâs just inconvenient for the spiritâs love life at the moment.
âItâs not a problem,â the kechibi says, looking like itâs shrugging nonexistent shoulders, âIâll get over it.â
âOf course. Doesnât mean the first few days of it are fun. Is that why youâre here?â
âWhat? No. Iâm on vacations with my family.â
Yamato would be lying if he said he doesnât smile at that. Sounds like the spirit isnât so lost anymore.
âAnyway,â the kechibi adds with the tone of someone whoâs trying really hard to convince themselves, âat least it taught me something about myself. ItâsâŠ.â
âKind of painful and coming with a whole lot of unpleasant strings attached?â
Okay, Yamato knows he sounds harsh, here, but this is honestly the easiest part of this whole story so far. Heâs had plenty of time to think about the sort of unpleasant reactions people could, would, and did have to learning he was gay.
âIf it makes anything better,â he says as he sits down in the grass of the entry path, âyou learn to enjoy the cool parts more than you think about the bad ones. Those are only there because people are ridiculous.â
âNo offense, but âridiculousâ coming from you sounds somewhat...nice.â
âJust wait âtil I can handle more than two languages again,â Yamato replies with a shrug, âIâll show you how mean I can be.â
The kechibi snorts at that, laughter burying itself in the ground next to Yamatoâs feet, and the only reason Yamato can think of for that is that the poor guyâs had a pretty stressful week. Itâs got to come out somehow.
Besides, it makes him chuckle, too. Itâs not actual laughter yet, but itâs been a while since he did that and really mean it, so he figures he might as well enjoy this new step on the path of re-recovery or something.
âIâd like to do that, actually,â the spirit says with one last huff of breath. âI really was lost and you...you got me out of it.â
âWell, my twitter handleâs @yamaNO, if you want to get in touch there. I have a rainbow-filled silhouette as a profile pic.â
âOkay!â The kechibi agrees with more enthusiasm than Yamato feels is needed, âIâll check you out!â
A second passes.
âI mean, Iâll check IT out. It. Your profile. Soon. Tomorrow. Oh my god this isâI really should goâŠ.â
He snaps out of existence before Yamato can ask for his name.
***
Yamato is wasting time around the web the next day, trying really hard to pretend heâs not checking his twitter tab every five seconds, when he gets a new follower notification and a direct message, pretty much in the span of a second:
@tAYYYYYchi: OMG I CANâT BELIEVE YOUâRE REAL
@tAYYYYYchi: I THOUGHT YOU WERE A DREAM
@tAYYYYYchi: YOUâRE TOO WEIRD TO BE REAL
@yamaNO: says the guy whose Big Gay Crisis gave him a literal out of body experience
@tAYYYYYchi: First of all I told you Iâm still into girls so I donât know what it is but itâs definitely not gay. Second, shut up, dumb face. Third: what are you doing?
@yamaNO: wondering if some1 invented time travel so I can go back & not help u
@tAYYYYYchi: LIES AND SLANDER.
@tAYYYYYchi: Everyone loves me.
@tAYYYYYchi: Clearly, youâre A Big Liar Who Lies.
Well, thereâs no denying the guyâTaichi, his bio says when Yamato follows him backâis entirely right about that.
Yamato really , really doesnât mind.
19 notes
·
View notes