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Sporalysis

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It's not that I couldn't do it, it's just that I didn't want to. And it's not that I didn't want to, it's just, well, I really didn't want to.

 

Somewhere between "A" and "I", I lost the courage to swipe up, resorting to dropping the D-Terminal beside me and falling back onto the bed. Technology has never really been foreign to me. Communication is really pretty easy for me, too. I'm not dumb; I just don't know when to shut up sometimes. I understand that. But man, there's something about Ichijouji. Something about trying to talk to him. I know how he is. If it's over the phone, his voice will go low. Monotone. Each beat low and precise. He'll force some words in there that he know I'll have a hard time catching up on, swooping in and dropping guided missiles of bullshit into my ears when I have no room to retaliate. If we text, he'll just send me walls and walls of words, when all he had to say was two things to get his point across. But that's how he deals with things he can't control: Ichijouji is not a fan of having no control. And sometimes that's just a sense of tension with us. Ok, a lot of times.

 

So how do I tell him? How do I go about saying, "Hey, listen, sorry I've ignored you for the past three months. Haha, weird right? Well anyway, it's because there's a girl." Because fuck me if I can't lie about something, and fuck him for not being able to confront me sooner. Three months, Motomiya? Did time really escape you so quickly?

 

There was a buzzing, and I know what it was. It was Tatum, and I was excited that it was Tatum. I like Tatum. I really like her. But it was my time to brood, and even though there was a flutter somewhere in my chest, I chose to ignore it. I had a problem that needed solving, and I just... Didn't know how.

 

"Whatcha doing?" Chibimon rolled down a mountain of pillows and bumped into my leg, ending his disruption with a roaring yawn.

 

"Brooding."

 

The little dude started nudging my knee, clearly trying to get me to move so he could rest himself comfortably in the most inconvenient place. "What's that mean?"

 

"Means I'm feeling sorry for myself."

 

"Aw. That's silly."

 

"A little."

 

"For sure!"

 

I couldn't help but let a laugh out. "All right. I guess you're right."

 

"Are we gonna see Betamon again?" Chibimon finally settled down, the warmth of his scaly little body heating up the inside of my thigh.

 

"Ummm... Probably." Because I did want to see Tatum. More than anything. But I had a problem to deal with. Chibimon chirped a happy sound and was quiet until the buzzsaw in his mouth activated and rumbled the bed with his snoring. It was a good thing the rest of my family had gotten used to the little guy--they're kinda stuck with him at this point.

 

Slapping my hand on the bed, I probe around trying to find my D-Terminal again. The best I can do is just come out clean. Admit like a man that I've been a pretty shit best friend for awhile. I miss that mopey and dangerously smart bastard. Maybe he'll forgive me? Who am I kidding? Of course he will.

 

gouguruheddo: sup dudebro

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This was the third day in a row I found myself lights-off, eyes half closed on my bed, blinds drawn in the late afternoon. Tapping, as usual, my index finger against the side of the mattress, contemplating the way that no matter how long I spent burning my life with this laziness, all my work still managed to be done. I preferred this, actually; when I had less time to do the work, that made it more intensive, and efficient. I did not allow distractions, and so I did not think about Motomiya and the twenty-three unresponded to messages of "hey" on his D-Terminal. Did not think about the fifteen "how are you doing"s. Nor the seven "is everything alright?"s.

 

Sometimes I thought about the four conversations we had had over the the past three months, three of which were while our soccer teams had a meet, and one of which was very early on in Daisuke's bizarre hiatus. I'm not sure if I should credit it as the start of the hiatus, or some symptom of the disease that had already taken root.

 

Wormmon was reading a comic book, having tired himself out of commenting on my lethargy. He didn't have to ask why, but sometimes he nudged me out of bed long enough to make rounds in the digital world. Actually, it was starting to become a positive habit.

 

Unshockingly, the digital world is not an innately peaceful Eden. Perhaps its ills are easier to diagnose and cure than those of the real world-- viruses coming and going, data corrupting white into black, evil out of good. Real people never showed their darkness so obviously, never played their hand the way dark digimon did. It was soothing, actually, to have such unambiguous morality. A lot of the former chosen children had started showing up, helping to purge some of the viruses out of bad digimon. And it seemed that all at once we started to notice it wasn't just us around, anymore. New chosen, all the people of the world ever since the Million Points of Light...

 

The grey real world was merging with that pureness.

 

It felt like a bee sting the moment I noticed it. Or maybe it was more like nausea. I can't give it a good name, because it wasn't a familiar feeling. Maybe because of all I'd done to the digital world, I knew at my core I wouldn't be happy to see it filled with other humans. It was all I could do to trust myself with making the right decisions about the world, all I could do after all the suffering I'd caused; How was I supposed to trust that a world filled with so much chaos could spare the digital world mistakes I had already made once?

 

I looked at my computer, across the room. At the ever-dark digivice that sat by the screen. Maybe it was time to visit again. Just a check-up. I liked to watch the world get along, assuage the worries that nagged at my heart. I liked to keep the news closed because it concentrated little isolated incidents-- a girl who liked to collect baby digimon and keep them in her bedroom in the real world, a man who was trying to train his new partner while he lifted at the gym, a few cases of exhaustion from digimon used in lieu of standard transportation. So I winced when my D-Terminal lit up.

 

What?

 

Actually, I kind of wanted to launch it across the room.

 

"Stupid Motomiya!" I shook the little flip-screen device in my hands and shocked Wormmon out of his book. The green digimon scuttled up into my lap, and left his front four feet resting on my chest.

 

"Ken-chan, calm down."

 

"He finally said something!" My words were breathy, hot. We hadn't even tried talking these last few weeks-- or should I say, hadn't tried, so we didn't. My face was too hot.

 

"Don't you think you should just say hi, then?"

 

I scrunched my lips to the side of my mouth, narrowed my eyes at the intelligent little digimon. Sure, I'd been waiting for Daisuke to message me back for months, trying to get him over for sleepovers for months, but fuck it all if I wasn't just angry because I missed him. I huffed, threw my head back into the pillow for an unsatisfying fumpf.

 

nichijouji: Nothing much. You? Glad to see you haven't died. (;¬_¬)

 

Wormmon was looking into my face as I held the screen above me.

 

"Ken-chan?"

"Wormmon?"

 

"You're crying."

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