Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon. At least, I don't think I do... let me check my little book...

Author's Note: This is a character study piece on Takaishi Takeru. I tried to do this with the Japanese style of names and using the metric system and all that... but for the most part, I just used the American style, because I started confusing myself so much... it wasn't funny. I swear. It wasn't.

Also, originally, this story was only going to be three chapters. Three LOOOOOONG chapters. In the end, because of writer's block on one part in Day 1 and seeing how easily I was getting through my other story that has really short chapters, I decided to cut it up. So, the story is now in three parts--each part is a day, and each day will have several chapters. Get it? Got it? Good.


Day 1 – Part 1

"I'm not sick!" TK protested. He stood from the couch, swaying slightly at the sudden rush of dizziness.

His mother pushed him back onto the couch. "Your temperature is three points over the norm. You are sick."

"But I have Basketball Practice!" he whined, ignoring the tickling in the back of his throat that foretold of a coughing fit.

Nancy gave him a look as she added pillows to the couch, making a makeshift bed.

"And… and… homework! I have homework I need to turn in," he moaned.

She continued to give him that look as she threw a blanket at the foot and an extra on top of that.

"And… and… Mrs Hamada's test!" he suddenly remembered, panicking. "I can't miss her test! She never gives retest!"

"I'll talk to Mrs Hamada," his mother said, placing a box of tissues on the coffee table. "You need to rest and get that temperature down."

TK opened his mouth to protest but all that came out was a long session of coughing that left him out of breath and with a sore throat and burning chest. His mother rubbed his back soothingly and pushed him back into a lying down position. He had to admit—he did feel better now that he was lying down.

"I'll have Matt check on you later," she said, walking into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. "You can call one of your friends to get your work that you'll miss if you are so worried about it. If your fever does not start going down by tonight, I'm going to take you to the clinic."

TK made a face. His mother said nothing and placed the drink beside the box of tissues, so he asked, "What time will you be home tonight?"

"I don't know," she admitted, as she shrugged on her coat. "Hopefully by eleven." She looked at him. "Will you be okay alone? I can call Matt right now and wait for him to show up, if you want."

"I'm not alone—Patamon's here, remember?" the sixteen year old said, waving her off. "I'll be fine, but I'd be even more fine if you let me go to school."

"No can do, Mister," she said. She glanced at her watch. "Drink plenty of fluids, get lots of rest… there's canned soup in the cabinet if you get hungry, crackers are on top of the fridge, and… I suppose that's everything. Is there anything you need before I go? Should I wake Patamon up for you?"

TK shook his head, making his vision swim for a second. "No, there's nothing… and Patamon will wake on his own. Don't worry about it, Mom."

"Okay, TK, feel better." She kissed his forehead, picked up her purse, and disappeared out the door.

Long after his mother had left, TK lied there staring at the ceiling, covered in a blanket. He really did feel awful, but he liked to think that it was because he was lying around doing nothing. With a sigh, he reached for the remote and turned on the news.

"The forecast for today is clear—we may see a few clouds in the sky, but for the most part, it will be blue skies all day long. We'll be in the high twenties, low thirties all day until tonight when it will start to get a little cooler in the mid-twenties…"

"Perfect day to play Basketball," TK muttered, bitterly. He flipped the channel. After awhile of channel surfing, he finally left the TV on a deranged talk show where people were constantly admitting that they were cheating, actually gay, or not of the gender that they appear to be. He rolled his eyes as two chicks (one was actually a guy, apparently, but he looked like a girl) began to have a catfight.


He lifted his head slightly to see Patamon perched on the armrest at the other end of the couch.

"Yes, Patamon?"

"Why are we still here? Shouldn't you be going to school?" the Digimon asked.

"We should," he agreed, "but Mom has deemed me too sick to go, so we're stuck here until stated otherwise."

"You're sick?" Patamon said, worriedly. He hovered directly over TK, giving him a good look over.

"No," he muttered. "Mom says I'm sick. I'm not, but whatever Mom says goes, unfortunately."

"You do look kind of pale," the bat-pig said, completely ignoring him.

"I do not."

"Do you need anything?" Patamon asked. "I can get you another blanket if you want or…"

"I'm fine," TK insisted, punctuating the sentence with a series of painful dry coughs. Seeing Patamon's pointed look, he added, "I'll probably just go to sleep for an hour or two."

"Okay… I'll be right here if you need me," the Digimon said, perching himself on the back of the couch directly above TK's head.

Deciding to listen to his own words, TK turned away from the TV so that he was facing the back of the couch. He stared, swallowing painfully as his throat protested against the coughing, before allowing himself to drift off to sleep.