Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Digimon. The characters, names, places, etc. all belong to the respective owner of Digimon. I am merely writing this for recreational purposes only. The title, "You Are The Moon," comes from the Hush Sound song of the same name, though this is not a song fic, obviously.

Author's Notes: It will always have a special place in my heart for it being my first fandom, but it has been awhile since I first wrote Digimon stuff. As of late, I've found myself getting back into it, and hence, have been inspired to write for it once again. Primarily, I write for the first two seasons, as I really despise those that came after.

I do appreciate feedback, and I do welcome constructive criticism. However, I would appreciate it if you refrained from flaming me. There are other, more constructive means of giving feedback, thank you.

Oh, and before I forget, to set the context: this takes place the summer before the second season.

Thank you for your time, and enjoy.


You Are The Moon

Sometimes, when I look at the moon, I can see the white of Gatomon's fur.

It's as though I can reach out and pet it. If I tilt my head, I can also see the white of Angewomon's wings. It reminds me of the light burning within us both. Light. The crest I was destined to carry. Sometimes, I am haunted by the thoughts of just what obtaining the light has cost us-especially Gatomon. Sometimes, when I look at the moon, I can still see the white of the sorrow in her beautiful blue eyes. It's times like these that shine the shadows of my past upon me. I am exposed, pinned down like a butterfly by the moon's piercing gaze.

Sometimes, when I look at the moon, I can see the white of innocence. Childish innocence. What I lost as I grew up faster than anyone could've expected. The same purity I shared with TK-before it was ripped brutally away from us both. By monsters, by the corruption of another realm-by all of the chaos and destruction around us. Sometimes, when I look at the moon, I can still see the white of the last day I spoke to TK. It's times like these that almost makes me cry. I should have spoken up when I had the chance.

Other times, when I look at the moon, I see the glow of fangs, sharp, deliberate-they want nothing more than to sink down into my skin and drain all of my blood. I don't have to wonder who they belong to; I already know. He, the undead king who craved control over both worlds. Myotismon. Sometimes it confuses me still that someone so beautiful could be so ugly. He had the face of the saint. But beneath the pretty face, he was something worse than a sinner. The moon sometimes reminds me of the white of his cruel eyes, the windows to his corrupted, twisted excuse for a soul. It's times like these when I'm not sure what to think. I fear him, despite the fact that we've defeated him, multiple times, in fact, yet, part of me wants to pity his sad life. I feel helpless, lost in all of these conflicting thoughts. Why should I feel sorry for the one who made my life a living hell?

Other times, when I look at the moon, I am unable to fall back asleep. In the room I share with my older brother, I am standing by the window. I am drawn in by the light; I can't help myself. Sometimes I think the moon is my mother. Warm and always watching-over me, over my past, and over my mistakes. She nurtures me with her presence. In that moment, when I might have doubted it before, I know that I am loved. It is times like these that make me forget the hurt and the hunger gnawing away at my life. I don't feel regret, nor do I feel sorry.

But other times, when I look at the moon, she turns away from me. I am cold and alone in a room with the one I love the most. I am scared, but I say nothing. I stand in silence as the darkness washes over me. Sometimes I can hear his cruel laughter, echoing in my ears. Other times, I can feel the gentle touch of hope. I know we'll meet again someday.

Sometimes, the moon is just as heartless as Myotismon, and I can't take it. Because then I am reminded of what made him our enemy in the first place. All of the awful things he's done come back flying in my face. It's as though I am being stoned by his deeds, his words-his wickedness. The ghost of his evil torments me, reminding me that I hate him and the darkness. It's times like these that I want nothing more than to turn away from the light. The light reminds me too much of the darkness.

But other times, when I look at the moon, it's soft and sweet, like TK's smile. I can't help but laugh because it makes me happy in a way that nothing else ever will. I remember the light in the eyes of my small companion from the Digital World, and it warms me, like the gentle embers of a campfire. But then, I look at the moon, and I am only further reminded of the great distance between us. I remember that I might not ever see him again. It's times like these that I'm afraid. I might have missed the one chance I had to tell him anything.

Tonight, when I look at the moon, it's different. I don't see anything or anyone in it. I see the moon for what she truly is-a reflection of celestial circumstance. Tonight, I am not the Child of Light, nor am I burdened by my past. I am careless, I am invincible. Everything else doesn't matter. Tomorrow's the first day of school. I should be sleeping. But here I am, wide awake and smiling. Drinking in the night air like it's mine to own. The moonlight bathes me in its glow, soft, alluring like the song of a siren. It raises me up into the sky; I am set amongst the stars. It's times like these that I wish could last forever. But I will not think about tomorrow. I am strong, I am fearless. I am alive and alight.

Tonight, I am the moon.