If I Came Home to You and Not a Shadow

a/n: This is a one-shot bit I've been working on for...well...way too long considering it's length. Set in Season Two, in America, Mimi's POV. You can stick it wherever you like in the show timeline. Read, enjoy, and feedback is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Digimon.


I have this daydream.

I'm coming home from a walk in the park. It's a crispy fall day, and it's sprinkling lightly, just enough that the sidewalk is winking up at me like a bed of diamonds. My heels are clickity-clacking along in time to the song I've had stuck in my head since I left my house, and every now and again I find myself humming along. The wind occasionally catches my pink streaked hair and tosses it around, enhancing the messily curled look I'd been going for anyways. It's a good day. But then, they're all good days when I'm thinking about him. So long as I forget that he's so far away.

As I approach my front door, I'm staring at my toes, smiling softly to myself. I'm swinging an enormous shopping bag around, dreaming of my purchases and would continue to do so...but I feel someone's eyes on me. I glance up at the stairs, still several feet in front of me. I'm expecting one of my parents. Maybe a friend from school. I'm expecting someone from America at the very least. Oh, but this day's different. This is the day.

Because there's Matt, Mr. Cool himself, lean and beautiful and looking pretty damned nervous. He stands out (he always has), a pale silhouette against the dark crimson door. We are frozen there for several long moments while my feet are still glued to the pavement, and then, though I can't quite remember the journey, I'm on the porch in front of him, and I can feel my lips forming a surprised little "o". I can't quite bring myself to speak. He doesn't seem to mind it, though. Neither can he.

It doesn't really matter why he's standing in front of my house or how he got here. It doesn't matter that he's in love with Sora Takenouchi. For this one day I'm allowed to want him, and the rest is just a nightmare. He lifts a hand (a hand that trembles) to trace the line from my temple to my jaw. My eyes prick. I don't look away. I am, as always, riveted. Captivated. And then I find out what that means all over again, because he kisses me.

You haven't been to a fireworks show until you've been kissed by Yamato Ishida.

Or at least I imagine you haven't. 'Cause hey, I really wouldn't know.


a/n: The end! Seriously, please leave me a review. Reader response is the only way for me to figure out what to write for you guys.

Keep an eye out for my takari wedding fic. It's so close to ready.