It’s been hours, yet still he cries. He doesn’t know why, but he can’t help it. Miyako had raped him, like his father before her. Still he cries.

He’s at home, in his room, faced, as if beer would help ease the pain. Still he cries. He knows what he has to do, what he yearns to do. Needs to do. He looks at the knife, as if it would help. He yearns to feel the pain, the relief; he yearns for the tip to press against his wrist, to dig into his flesh and cause a fountain of blood, and end his life, slowly and painfully.

Yet still he cries.

Because as he looks at the knife with trembling hands, his resolution falters, and he knows he’ll have to live another day, another day in the life of Daisuke.

****

Daisuke threw the knife to the floor, beside the cans of beer. American beer always did the trick. He knew he’ll feel a spitting headache in the morning, but he didn’t care. He head was all he had left; his body had been used so terribly by one he’d thought a friend. Daisuke needed to rethink his screening methods.

His voices had left him; he was alone with his innermost fears, his innermost feelings. Feelings that he’d once ignored, feelings of love, of hate, of security and insecurity.

Daisuke was seventeen years old. He felt like he’d had more experiences than an eighty-year-old man, wrought with senility. He’d loved, hated, killed, destroyed, created, and felt more, seen more, said, heard and sensed more than anyone else he knew. Even Taichi, life-long friend and distant crush, hadn’t seen what he’d seen.

Daisuke flopped down on his bed, feeling emotions run through him like so many drugs. He now understood how Ken had felt, years ago, when he’d thought of ending his life.

Daisuke got up, feeling the beer hit him. He lurched over to the bathroom, knelt down in front of the toilet, and heaved red and white guts. He gasped for breath, and started dry heaving. After a moment or two, he was able to regain control, and he took a few steadying breaths before flushing the vomit down the drain. He wiped his mouth on the towel, threw it in the basket, then stood up, and walked back to his room.

Daisuke walked back to his room, and looked at the clock. It was too early for sleep: the red LED’s displayed 4:00PM. Far too early; but as soon as his head hit the pillow-

Miyako, licking his earlobe, pulling off her top, massaged his chest; Daisuke, unable to stop himself, rubbed back. The jets pumped heavily chlorinated water into the mixture of sweet, torturous love.

Takeru, swirling Daisuke’s cock in his mouth, felt Daisuke play with his hair. He heard Daisuke grunt, and started swallowing the delicious cum that filled his mouth, like so many other times. It was their favorite position.

His father, making him lie face down in his own filth while he unbuttoned whatever pants he’d managed to find at the time, pulled down Daisuke’s pants-

Daisuke’s eyes shot open, feeling another wet dream come to a screeching halt. He glanced at the clock before changing his boxers for the second or so time that day. It was well after five in the evening. Had he really slept for an hour? Had he really had a wet dream in an hour? He wanted to fall back to sleep, wishing that he could feel Takeru’s warmth beside him- But he knew it wouldn’t come.

So instead, he walked into the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his brow, and grabbed some left over ramen from the fridge. He stuck it in the microwave, sat down at the table, and sighed. His parents would be home soon; his sister would come back from wherever she was whoring herself.

His eyes fell upon a piece of paper, crumpled on the table, curiously set there, as if to remind him- He didn’t have to be alone. He picked up the paper, held it in his hands, then dropped it and picked up the phone. He ended up re-dialing several times before his shaky hands would get the numbers right-

And dropped the receiver in it’s place, hanging up. He didn’t need to talk to Takeru- he needed to see him, in person. Talk, at least. Fuck, at most; though he doubted that would happen. A glazed expression covered his eyes, thinking of better times. But he shook his head, knowing that if he did indeed see Takeru, it wouldn’t be festive in the least.

A tear trickled down his face, remembering the pain he’d felt when he’d walked in on his lover, loving someone else. Someone he’d once pretended to love just to get close to the real prize: Takeru.

He picked up his keys, left the apartment, locking the door behind him; he was so caught up that he forgot to leave it unlocked, just to piss his family off. He went down the stairs closest to his room, unconsciously mortified of the elevator.

He knew in his heart that he would have to confront Miyako; sooner or later, he’d see her, and if he didn’t talk, he’d end up killing. But he couldn’t see Miyako right away; he was traumatized, and would be able to think properly any time he was in the same room as her. Images of her body, her naked, smooth, perfect body, flashed past his eyes: Images of her exposed pussy, hanging in front of his face; her breasts, her lovely breasts; her face, lips, eyes, cheeks, and everything else that made her perfect for him- or would have, had he not been gay.

Well, I can always try to go Bi- whether it’ll work or not, though…

But why had she taken him so? Was just because she was hornier than he? Had she needed release so much that she’d be able to go to desperate measures? Would he have had sex with her if he’d known the answer to any of those questions?

Daisuke shoved those questions to the side of his head; they were making him teary. He needed support, the kind of support only Takeru-

Takeru snickered as he stepped into the shower behind Daisuke, wrapping his arms around Daisuke’s chest, kissing, licking, and nibbling-

The kind of support only Takeru could give. His only support; the voices he’d unconsciously relied on for so many months were gone, leaving him stuck with only his memories, and most of them were bad in the end: pain from Takeru and Miyako; pain from his family, his father; pain from Veemon leaving; pain after pain after pain. His mind flashed back to the knife, lying on his floor, ready to be used-

He looked around. He’d made it halfway between his apartment and Takeru’s, without even noticing, as if he was nothing more than a mindless automaton, an ant or termite, or honey bee-

Takeru, having smeared honey, warm honey, deliciously warm honey all over his chest, started licking the yellow liquid up, causing wave after wave of pleasure to flow throughout his body, stiffening his member in anticipation-

His mind jolted back to Takeru as he started walking again. He felt a tear flow from his eye, thinking of the many fun, hot, rocking memories he had, thanks to his lover; he started to worry that Takeru wouldn’t take him back, that it wasn’t he who’d left the letter, that he’d never know true love again- He wouldn’t be able to bear it. Takeru was his lifeline, holding him between life and death, providing leverage on which to lean on. He’d end his life before the end of the day if Takeru didn’t take him back.

He ignored the fact that Takeru had ended the relationship by screwing Hikari.

He opened the door to the apartment building. He wrenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feelings that thinking of Miyako had brought up. His felt like he was ready to cry, and for the first time, he didn’t see the need to hold back. He tried to rid his head of the memories, trying to forget the sensations of Miyako’s warm, smooth breast pinned against him; feelings of her sex squeezing the life out of his manhood; the muscles pulling and pushing, convulsing; the feeling of orgasm, both hers as well as his, a pleasure and a pain like so many drugs he’d thought of trying before.

He heard the elevator music, and looked around, once again caught surprised by how far he’d gone without realizing it. He noticed his face was covered in red streaks; he was crying, silently, slowly, unnoticed. He heard the bell chime, and watched the doors open onto the tenth floor. Takeru’s mother had a nice enough job as a columnist, and was able to afford a top floor room with a balcony big enough for a Jacuzzi; it had been the best spot for them. He started crying louder, hoping that Takeru would take him back, knowing that there was no guarantee that he would. No need.

He was running towards the door, crying, sobbing; he clamped his mouth shut to keep from wailing, knowing that it wasn’t really unnecessary in the end. He stopped in front of the door; he stopped crying for a moment, willing himself to stay sane for at least a few moments. Daisuke knocked on the door.

Once, twice- he heard steps on the inside. At least he was willing to talk.

The door opened. Daisuke, red-eyed, his face blotchy, stared at Takeru for a moment before losing it completely and falling onto Takeru’s chest, sobbing loudly. Takeru was left with a nervous wreck, hanging around his neck for support, looking ready to die at the slightest provocation. He slowly moved Daisuke inside, closing the door behind him with his foot, balanced precariously on one leg. He maneuvered Daisuke onto the couch, and set him down. Their eyes met-

There eyes met in a frenzy of carnal lust and desire; away from the other Chosen, they embrace, moved their mouths to each others, and let go of all reality-

Their eyes met for a brief moment before Daisuke started crying again. Takeru draped a blanket over Daisuke, and sat down. Eventually his sobs subsided; Daisuke fell asleep in the familiar couch. He curled up with his face to the back of the sofa, leaving Takeru alone again, wondering what could have caused him to break down so. He had a hunch, though.

Takeru grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped it open, drinking it dry a few gulps. He sighed. It was going to be a very long night.

****

Daisuke grabbed the jar of jelly, stuck his fingers inside and grabbed a hunk of the whitish-yellow cream, and smeared it all over his cock. Takeru sighed, waiting to feel what he hadn’t felt for days. He groaned, feeling Daisuke inside him again. Let VD and AIDS come, he wouldn’t mind, if only to be with his sweet, sweet Daisuke. He felt fulfilled in many ways, on many levels: emotionally, mentally, and physically. The boy seemed to be able to know exactly how to fulfill his every desire at once, with every single thrust and stroke he made.

Takeru looked over his shoulder and watched in slight awe as the one he loved strained to keep up the pace. His eyes were clenched shut; Takeru moved his mouth to Daisuke’s, and kissed him.

Then he was flying, through puffy white clouds suspended in a deep blue sky; the ground, far beneath him; and each of the clouds, a memory: his dad, sober, buying him an ice-cream cone, years ago; his dad, drunk, pulling down his gray sweatpants, forcing Daisuke, mere hours ago.

Daisuke paid attention to neither; to be flying there, in quiet, peaceful serenity, was soothing, to put it mildly. He felt higher than some of the people he walked past on the street; the ones with smoke hanging around them, the ones that lived out where the buses didn’t run.

Suddenly, he was running, with Takeru and Iori and Hikari and Ken and yes, Miyako too. Their Digimon flew high overhead, launching attack after attack, killing, ending lives to save others. Spire after spire. Evil after evil. Threat after threat.

Life after life. But Daisuke was running, a concerned look on his face; the sand from the desert surrounding him flew up and hit his face; he didn’t care. He shot a sideways glance at Takeru, his face tight with concentration. They watched as their Digimon kept fighting, for no other reason than to save lives-

Thump. He found himself in a dark room; even though he could see, there were no shadows; no source of light that he could see. The walls were black. He was sitting in a… Jacuzzi? He instinctively tried to get out, but found that he’d lost control of his legs and arms.

Daisuke’s heart raced, his spine shivered. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t tell if this was Takeru’s Jacuzzi, or the community pool back to haunt him.

Lover, or loather? Romancer, or reaper?

Fantasy, or fear?

He heard steps behind him. Whoever it was, he would soon see-

A snap: someone, opening a can of beer. Relief flooded Daisuke. Thank god for alcohol, he thought to himself; Miyako never drank beer. A pair of legs.

Smooth legs. Supple, tanned skin. Not Takeru’s.

Bikini, gone from her figure. Her exposed cunt; wide hips; tummy, tucked in; large breasts, purple flowing hair: any man’s fantasy.

His worst nightmare. She sat down beside him, and grabbed his waist, in case she thought he was going anywhere. But he couldn’t make anything respond: his legs, and arms were ignoring his wishes. His eyes were drawn from breasts to hips to pussy lips. He leaned in, unable to control himself or his throbbing member.

His mind was screaming to stop, but he couldn’t hear it. All he knew was the yearning desire he felt for her all of a sudden, even though he knew it was wrong. She grabbed him, and pressed her cunt to his mouth; he overactive libido took control, and he inserted his tongue and stroked her soft, sensitive tissue inside of her. He twisted his tongue sideways and knifed through her opening, before hitting what he assumed was her clit. He sucked like he was trying to draw out poison; her little button expanded to twice its size, engorged like his stiffening member was.

Once she was wet enough, she bent away, and leaned back, stretching her crotch before his eyes. In a feat of balance, she lowered herself slowly like a limbo expert and moved in front of his dick, which was about seven inches long and acting as if it had a mind of its own. Letting himself go, feeling his emotions take control, he thrusted into her, almost causing her to lose balance; but, miraculously, she stayed in place. He pulled out slowly, and slammed himself back in; she leaned forward again, pressing her breasts to his chest, and kissed him; and he couldn’t stop her.

He felt his orgasm approaching; she felt his member start to twitch, and instinctively she sped up, slamming her hips to his, as she drew nearer and nearer to her orgasm as well, which shook her body, sending Daisuke past the point of no return.

His twitching member lost control, and he followed, emotion after emotion flooding his body like the drugs he’d yearned for before. He screamed, and yelled, and cried out her name-

****

“Miyako! WHY?!” he cried. Takeru jumped up from his sleep and raced over to Daisuke, shaking him from what he hoped was the grip of a nightmare. Daisuke stopped screaming, and opened his eyes cautiously. Miyako’s face faded to Takeru’s.

“Ta- Takeru?”

“… Daisuke, what happened?”

Daisuke looked at his face, and was drawn into the ocean blue eyes. He was willing to drown this time. His melodious voice, even when he was angry, or-

Concerned?

Daisuke looked away. “She… raped me.”

Takeru jerked away. Miyako? Raping Daisuke?

Daisuke wrenched his eyes shut, and started, slowly, telling his story; beginning with their date from the day before, ending with the swimming pool. He told Takeru about BlackVeemon, and about the Black Viral situation. He talked about his fear of getting involved. He talked for nearly an hour, with Takeru’s attention never wandering, never faltering. Daisuke talked about, how mere hours earlier, he’d doubted his own sexuality, just to have her slap his face, bring him back down to earth, where there was pain and suffering for all.

Daisuke stopped, not knowing how Takeru would react to the wealth of information, the confessions of unfaithfulness.

He looked at Takeru, finding a tear making its way down his face, unnoticed by Takeru. Daisuke wrenched his eyes shut, and felt strong arms grab him, hug him. Soon, they were both crying, thought neither cared. They had never felt so connected, so equal before.

Takeru’s mother walked into the room, looked at the lovers, crying softly, and turned and left, closing the door behind her. Both noticed. Neither cared. At last, Takeru wiped his eyes, and looked at Daisuke, at the eyes that had drawn him so.

“You got my letter?” he asked.

Daisuke nodded, smiling. “You never were much of a talker, Taka-chan.”

He sighed, and looked at the clock on their stove. It was nearly midnight. He yawned loudly, and smiled. “God, I’m exhausted. Can I bunk here tonight?”

Takeru considered. A whole night with Daisuke?

“Sure. You comfortable there?”

Daisuke nodded.

Takeru ruffled his friend’s hair, and went to his room, falling asleep in the blink of an eye. The brunette on the couch sighed, wiped the last of his tears, and curled up to the back of the couch, and soon was dreaming as well.

****

“Ya, I know. I’ll get right- Damn it! I get it!” Takeru spat into the phone. He rubbed his forehead: she was demanding.

“Don’t bullshit me! I know what you did, bitch.”

He sighed, and lowered his voice. “Look, I don’t want your excuses, I want- damn it! Shut up! You have a sick, sick mind, you know that?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It was far too early to have to do this.

“I… see. I’ll get right on it. Whatever you want.” He hung up the phone, sighing.

“Who was that?” Daisuke groggily asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Takeru’s head whipped around.

“Oh, it was just… ah, mom. She was slightly angry that we- I kicked her out last night.”

“If I’m any trouble-”

“Don’t worry, Daisuke. You were never more than a pest.” He smirked, sitting down beside Daisuke, flicking on the television. Daisuke wasn’t in the mood to watch television; it was very early, and there was nothing more than children shows and old lady cooking stations, both equally annoying.

Daisuke looked at Takeru, and found him staring back. Daisuke leaned in, closing his eyes. He felt his stomach flutter like so many butterflies; he puckered his lips slightly, and found-

Nothing. He opened his eyes; Takeru had recoiled slightly.

A deadly silence, broken only by the sounds of the highway outside, the television blaring way too loudly for the time of day.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Daisuke. I need time, right? It’s been… hard.”

He’s had a hard time? He’s had a hard time?

“Fine. Call me when you’re through thinking your priorities over.”

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. After walking a few steps, he leaned up against the wall, his head hitting loudly.

Thoughts began stewing in his brain; thoughts of disbelief, of ignorance, stupidity; thoughts that Takeru cared only about himself; Daisuke realized what a fool he’d been, trying to get back with Takeru… He’d slept with Hikari, while Daisuke had only been raped, had thought seriously about changing his sexuality…

You’re not innocent, either, Daisuke.

But he left me for Hikari…

… You’re going to have to decide, whether you think it’s worth it-

Quiet! He’s coming!

Takeru came running down the hall. Daisuke pretended not to hear him, but he couldn’t ignore him forever. Daisuke turned.

“Daisuke! Wait!”

“You know what? I’m sick and tired of waiting for you! Do you even know how badly you’ve hurt me?”

Takeru stopped dead. “What?”

“You probably don’t even know, you son of a bitch. Do you need me to explain it to you?”

“No, I-”

“First, you let me slide into your life. I gave myself to you! I loved you!” Daisuke felt a tear go down his cheek. “Then, after it’s clear I love you, you go behind my back, and fuck Hikari!”

He breathed deeply. “I was shattered. Shattered! I walked in on you, you know that? I saw you shoot your wad into someone else. You promised me!

“But it wasn’t enough for you. You left her- I hope you left her- and you come back to me, just when I think I’m getting over you. I could have spent my life with Miyako, but nooo, you looooved me!

“You’re only good at hurting people!” He sniffed. “That’s- that’s the only thing you’re go- good at!”

“I’m sorry, Daisuke… I didn’t know how you felt.” Takeru shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked away, but Daisuke grabbed his face. Takeru punched the arm away, but he grabbed on again and held him, facing towards the other.

“You’re sorry? I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have even come back here! I knew you were an ass to begin with!” He punched the button for the elevator, which took not a few seconds. When the door opened, he stepped in.

“You call me, when you’re done thinking. I still love you, and I always will. So you know how I feel.”

With that, the door closed, and he was shot down the shaft towards the bottom. He fell to the ground, and slammed his fists on the floor, crying loudly.

****

A dark, cold room surrounded Daisuke. He looked around, but didn’t move; something told him not to. So he sat, face covered by his arm, and waited, knowing that he was there for some reason, even if he didn’t know what, exactly.

A ring, in the silence. Somehow, a light snapped on, though Daisuke didn’t know from where, or why. It focused on the telephone. Daisuke found himself walking towards the phone, wanting to pick it up, needing to hear his lover’s voice again. He would apologize: Daisuke couldn’t stay mad at Takeru forever. Takeru would understand, right?

Right?

With hands trembling, he picked up the receiver, and hastened to apologize before Takeru could-

“I’m so sorry, Takeru, I didn’t mean to-”

“Daisuke?” Iori’s voice rang out clear though the earpiece. Daisuke paused, wanting to hang up, but didn’t. He let Iori continue, “Is that you?”

“Iori! I’ve missed a friendly voice. How is everyone?”

“Uhh, fine, I guess. Miyako said that you still had your D-3…”