Title: When He Fell in Love
Author: Naisumi
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Taito; Taichi/Yamato; Tai/Matt
Keywords: First time, video, sap, (slight) angst
Warnings: Uh...it's shounen ai O.o;
Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, the dubbers' arses would be halfway to the moon by now and Tai and Matt would be a couple here, too ^.~
Archive: Please do! Just tell me where ^-^
Notes: Taichi's last line is open to interpretation ^.~ Bwahaha.
Oh yes, some of you might know me from my very first fic ever "A Golden Visage." Well...suffice to say, I've gotten a LOT better at writing ^^ Tremendously better. The improvement is astounding. Uh...I sucked before. Anyways, enjoy and please give lots of C&C!

SPECIAL NOTE: This is for Michiko-chan!! *glompies and huggles* She who wrote me an AWESOME OmixNagi fic for when I was going through a lot of strife...mainly AP course homework x.x Six essays due. GAH. Thanks Michiko-chan! You're a great friend and a wonderful beta-reader! (speaking of which, this fic ain't betaread O.o;)

"Blah." Speech
-- Scene change
uh...that's all. Usually I use for thoughts, but I just left the thoughts there this time. C&C please!!! Enjoy!


When he fell in love, it wasn't a great epiphany with blazing golden trumpets or all hell rearing up on its haunches and howling into the midnight sky. Rather, it was a soft spring zephyr that tenderly wrapped about his mind like a film of flimsy gauze, coloring his view of the world with rose-tinted lenses. At that single moment, his thoughts would change in a subtle way, a slightly different tone shading his internal monologue that he so loved to carry with himself.

When he admitted he was in love, that..._that_ was when all hell broke loose. Where the simple touch of affection in his mind's eye was a light breeze, gently skimming the surface of his consciousness, the admittance of actually loving another with such intensity was a roaring monsoon similar to the clamoring of bells, clanking of horseshoes, and general all-around racket. Even as the quiet swell of love filled his thoughts with the pastel color of fresh dawn, the thought of the love that society held as taboo overwhelmed his mind like passionate bursts of fire engine red, blazing scarlet, brilliant crimson, and the deep russet red that seemed to make the solemnity of three simple words vast and awesome.
'I love him.'

So simple, yet not. His popularity dictated whether or not he could engage in a relationship; any significant other was scrutinized beyond belief with his active fanbase and their ponderings filled to the brim with "what if"s, "somehow"s, and "once upon a year ago"s. It wasn't easy being a rock star.

Ishida Yamato. Officially the "pretty boy" of his group, and, a long time ago, the self-proclaimed "cool one." He still was, minus a few social barriers, spikes of unruly blond hair, and haughty know-it-all attitude. A few. The attitude was still there, belied by the tamed golden locks that clung to his ethereally pale skin. As the old saying goes, the eyes are allegedly the windows to the soul...and, in all concerning Yamato, the fangirls were just dying to get a peek inside the shutters he so meticulously constructed. Unfortunately, for the squealing female population that so often clung to the guitarist like the sickeningly sweet cloying scent of too much perfume, their idol had recently discovered a somewhat disturbing tidbit.

Ishida Yamato, pretty boy, teenage idol, rock star and self-proclaimed cool one...was gay.


"It was a year ago," His voice was low and mellifluous, slender fingers rubbing at the cuff of his sleeve as a nervous habit, yet somehow turning it into a sensual slide of flesh against satin.

"Iie. It was actually several years ago. I won't lie to you--I've loved him for a while. For the longest, longest time. I used to sit and play my harmonica...I'd think about him, and I'd wonder if I was a freak, if I was strange, or if all those guys at school were right. I'm not deaf, you know? I hear the things people say...they think they're talking to a brick wall, but they're not. Not only do I hear...I listen. Did you know that Mimi and Sora are in love? I bet you don't. I bet they don't, either. But I can tell. I can tell because Sora's voice always rises a little when she talks about Mimi and Mimi always preens whenever Sora is near. I bet they don't know themselves as well as I do." There was a pause, and Yamato tucked a silken strand of golden hair behind his ear, self-conscious for some reason only known to him.

"The boys at my school thought I was 'pretty.' They never said it to my face, of course, but then again, who does? You don't go up to a guy who's supposed to be tough and is always 'stoic' and say, 'Hi. Guess what, if you were a girl--I'd date you.' It's not done. Especially not to me." Leaning forward, Yamato fidgeted a little, staring at the camcorder with wary sapphire eyes. "It's not done," he repeated, as if his video journal had not caught it the first time.

"I was flighty inside even though outside I was the epitome of cool, of apathy and aloofness. Well...not all the time." A soft chuckle, more feline and smoothness than of awkward hoarseness that one would attribute to a teenage boy.

"I blew up sometimes. The emotions raging within me--" He spread his hands, as if to apologize, "I had to let them out." There was a pause before he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I guess I needed the physical contact. I mean, have you ever heard of a guy who's all touchy-feely? The girls...they have it easy. Girls always hug, they give their friends kisses on their cheek to reassure them; they embrace them to comfort them."

Yamato stopped almost abruptly, the wistful tone of his voice cut off with the sharp blade of silence. The atmosphere seemed to pause, to abide patiently for the slender boy to gather his thoughts so as to grace the waiting microphone with his soothing voice full of smooth suaveness that made girls fall all over themselves. The only noise in the room was the constant buzzing of a radiator, the soft burble of the tabletop aquarium, and the easy hum of the camcorder. He continued after some length, finishing his thought from before,

"Guys can't do that. Maybe a backslap or a high five every so often...but that's amongst the jocks, the guys who are easy with one another. The popular guys." He paused again, seeming to consider his statement before correcting it by restating,

"The guys who are popular and friendly. I was popular, I guess, but I wasn't affable. I guess...people thought I had 'allure,' or some crap like that. I guess girls go for that kind of stuff...sure got enough propositions my freshman year. But guys don't joke around with me...they make small talk and then go greet some closer friend with an easy slap on the shoulder and a loud, 'Hey, whassup?'"

Abruptly, the flaxen-haired boy switched the subject with the ease of someone who was used to doing so and of a conversationalist who often applied the method. "This isn't really so much as a video journal, you know. It's more like...a way to talk to you. To YOU." A faint smile graced his lips before flitting away.

"I'm going to give this to you afterwards," He told the camera seriously, "I swear. Then you'll know. Because..." Another smile, though this one was more self-demeaning than anything,

"Even though I act tough, I'd never have the guts to tell you...all this. I'm not a big talker, I guess. Not when anyone's around, anyways. Not even when you're around...and that's because of all this stuff that I'm telling you right now." Yamato leaned back slightly, tilting his head to the side,

"I've always wanted to tell you this stuff...every time I'm with you, I just want to tell you everything that's wrong, everything that's ever happened to me. Like the time when those boys tried to--" He cut off as suddenly as he changed topics. After a moment, he said slowly and deliberately,

"You always managed to make me reveal my emotions. The ones that even I wasn't aware I had. Well...most of the time, I knew partially how much things affected me...but you always brought it out completely." The same self-deprecating smile pulled his lips upward,

"Remember when we were kids? We always fought. And always, always I'd be yelling at you; you'd be yelling at me--then bam! Heh," Enigmatic cerulean eyes were hazy and wistful, a sort of ponderous weight shading them a deeper blue than they usually were.

"I'd be telling you things I'd never told anyone else before. Like how much Takeru meant..._means_ to me, and why I don't like being around people...stuff like that." Then, the almost dreamy gaze cleared and Yamato gazed soberly at the camcorder, his eyes a light cornflower blue,

"You said you liked my eyes. Said they were 'mood eyes.' Why'd you say that, Taichi? Why do you call me Yama-chan and throw your arm around my shoulders when you think no one's looking? Hell, even if someone _was_ looking, you'd still do that...still punch me playfully on the shoulder and point at me, saying laughingly, 'He made me do it!' Then...Then, you'd grin, almost repentantly, and rub at my shoulder when I scowl at you. 'Sorry,' you'd say, 'Forget the idiot here--' And you'd smile that happy-go-lucky smile of yours and laugh, 'You always told me to "keep it simple, stupid."'" Yamato paused, almost as if he were caught up in an intangible web of fond memories from the past.

"I never told you that, you know. No matter how many times I called you a moron, an idiot, or a total jerk...I never told you to 'keep it simple.' God forbid if you were ever simple...I know more then you think, you know? You're awfully complicated, and you're also terribly good at hiding your feelings. I know that you cry at night sometimes, that you feel the heavy weight of responsibility more than the others realize...I know that you're a good leader. Do you know that? I know you say it all the time, Taichi...but do you really, _really_ know it? I bet you don't. I bet you don't know yourself as well as I do." He smiled as he realized he was echoing his words from earlier; the wry comments about Sora and Mimi, the wistful comments about a love he secretly needed, cherished, wanted.

Then, he leveled a look at the camcorder, both unreadable yet pained.

"I'm gay."

An abrupt and uncomfortable silence reigned once more, the steady buzz of the radiator still prevailing as Yamato sat, legs slightly closer together than shoulder-width apart, elbows leaning gracefully against bent knees, hands clasped together, white-knuckled. He didn't move.

The camcorder whirred quietly and the red "on" light flickered a few times before stabilizing once more. The sapphire eyes remained fixed at some point beyond his fists, beyond his tightly clutching fingers, beyond the waiting camcorder. There was a low whine in the distance that became louder in pitch as it approached his bedroom door. The low rumble and drone of the vacuum rose unbearably, breaking the almost mystical not-quite silence. For a moment, Yamato didn't move. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, bending almost lethargically yet methodically at the waist, and flicked the switch at the side of the camcorder. The brilliant cherry-red light dimmed slightly before fading completely.

Haltingly, his usual feline grace absent in his anxiety, Ishida Yamato stood, impassively gazing at the camcorder. After a moment of cumbersome hush, with the backdrop of household normalcy providing a total contrariety to the weight his last statement had delivered, he gently cleaned up the recording equipment. He popped out the tape, sliding it into its case with trembling fingers before stowing it away safely between the wall and his bookshelf, before placing the camcorder at the corner of his desk, wires and power line still hanging off it like limp appendages, a silent promise of the continuation of his usual, yet somehow devastatingly important soliloquy.


Yamato opened his eyes, remembering the whole tedious affair of recording his video message and the frightening delivering of the tape to the intending viewer. He leaned back, staring blankly at the wall before him. There were precisely three 'earth-shattering' phrases in the message, he recalled. The first was when he abruptly declared, "I'm gay," and then turned off the camcorder. The second, his softly admitted, "I'm in love with someone...a boy." Then, the third...vital and immensely important, "I love you."

He could hear the low, steady fall and rise of his recorded voice in the other room. Taichi was reacting predictably; chuckling quietly at parts, letting out a stunned exclamation at others. Then he heard the first 'pointer.'

"I'm gay."

With a soft sigh, Yamato cast a wary gaze at his bedroom door. All that his quiet phrase elicited was an unnerving silence...the sort of silence that rings in your ears with all the weighty profoundness of a winter's eve. Even with all the preparation...all the nights of steeling himself, readying his trembling mind for the shocked response he knew he was going to receive, he was terrified; bile stinging in his clenched throat, fists clasped tightly in a death-grip akin to whence he and the others had stared death in its wintry, pitiless eyes. Yamato fought the nauseating tide of senseless fear that surged over him, leaning heavily, wearily on the quivering blankness that he so carefully set to mute his mind. He tried not to think; didn't want to be overwhelmed by the torrent of self-doubt, self-recrimination, self-loathing.

Vaguely, he heard his own voice somehow float through his slightly ajar bedroom door from down the stairs in the family room, pervading his senses with all the tenacity of sleet in the most violent winter storms.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Yeah, right...you're joking, ne?' But I'm not, Taichi..." Yamato closed his eyes, remembering how his breath hitched as he said that phrase, almost feeling his words catching in his throat--as if he were saying it again. Instead, as he battled the anxiety and despair that threatened to engulf him, he listened to his own voice, strangely lulling and numbingly distant.

"All these years...ne, Taichi? I'm not sure if you noticed...I know that you notice some of the strangest things. Like how Koushirou tries to submerge himself in his computer whenever Jyou's near...but still manages to keep track of the conversation. Ever notice that? Even though he's practically glued to that laptop of his, he always seems to know when Jyou's around, or what Jyou's saying. I also know that you know about Mimi and Sora. It was obvious from this afternoon...I saw the way you looked at them. Did it break your heart? I'm sorry if it did." A sardonic smile graced Yamato's lips...'I'm sorry.' He'd never said that, really...not to Taichi. Not so seriously. Not so gently.
"You and Sora were pretty much destined for each other...I saw that the first time we went to the Digiworld. Strangely, though, it seems like Sora was pulled to me after a while...then I figured out it was because...you know. I'm..."

Sapphire eyes slipped open, half-mast, half-closed. Almost languid in their trembling gaze. He remembered floundering, not wanting to say The Word again...not wanting to be so overt about his sexuality.
"Anyways," a soft cough, "I um..." Yamato fought a blush as he heard his voice trickle away uncertainly, feeling almost as if he was once more sitting before the camera, oddly camera-shy at that moment, oddly body-conscious and ever so uncomfortable.

"How is Kari? She's a sweet girl. Takeru really likes her...exactly how I'm not sure, though." Downstairs, it was conspicuously silent. Yamato felt as if he were drowning, suffocating, gasping for breath and never quite catching it.
"I'm in love with someone..." The blond teenager closed his eyes against the thrumming headache, the roar of painfully warm blood rushing past his temples.

"...a boy. You probably think I'm going to go all frilly with the stereotypical lisp now, don't you? ...No...I suppose you wouldn't. Don't worry...I'm not going to gush about guys or anything. I don't do that...never have, never will." There was a pause, and Yamato could almost see his Taichi lean forward in startled anticipation. At that moment, in that little niche in time, he felt a strange sense of harmony with his love--knew they were both waiting with bated breath, though he knew what he had said; knew that they were both feeling a twisted knot of apprehension settling at the bottom of their stomachs.

"I love you."


Silence. Yamato pressed his face deeper into the pillow, savoring the cool crispness of it. The tape had ended several minutes ago and there was a stillness about the household that the cerulean-eyed musician wished would end. Taichi seemed to have no response as the silence below would suggest and the mere quiet was tearing him up inside. He could already imagine the scorn and disgust, coloring his love's almond-eyes with the dark shades of blackening sienna. At that thought, Yamato focused on the delicate features he adored so much, trying to blithely feign casualness even as he felt his heart constrict painfully. Pixie-like face, heart-shaped and as delicately boned as that of an angel. Smooth, sun-kissed skin, soft despite the bronze hue cast upon it by the warmth of sunrays. Cupid's bow mouth, colored a dusky rose, creamy peach...delectable and probably as malleable as tender rose petals, fresh with morning dew...yet firm, easy to kiss. Soft, chestnut hair...all the shades of brown; mahogany, dark chocolate, fawn and russet...sleek, and silken to the touch. Abruptly, a quiet voice interrupted his daydream, filling his sense with a sound that would only be thought of as melodic and Siren-sweet by some fangirl...or a secret lover.



Then he looked up, staring silently at what was his slim companion through the years, a boy on the cusp of manhood...
"Hello, Taichi."

Level. Even. Make him believe that your heart's not breaking, some tiny niggling voice whispered; Make him believe that you didn't mean it when you said 'I love you.'

He shook his head, then, as if to clear the thoughts and to look up at the brunette with clear eyes. "Taichi," Yamato repeated unsteadily as the soccer player stepped closer to where he lay on the bed.

"Shh," Taichi smiled faintly, vaguely...as if something had happened that he just couldn't believe. Yamato watched, cerulean eyes near midnight, filled with the many stars of tears unshed, of hope not yet extinguished. Taichi knelt, and the blond hoisted himself up onto an elbow, watching him with a sort of innate wariness and inbred hope.

Hope, he thought, Hope that Takeru has taught me...hope that _he_ taught me as well. Could I ever really repay him? He taught me to hope...and even if I can't repay him for mending my soul, I can't fail him by not having faith...by not believing in him.

And so, Yamato watched him, wondering, waiting, hoping. Hoping, with the knowledge that his friend wouldn't hurt him. Hoping, with the faith that he should've had when he was so young.

"Shh..." Taichi whispered once more, slowly pulling off one glove and lifting a trembling hand to his comrade's cheek. At that moment, in the single instant that Yamato had waited so long for, he wasn't sure what he saw as he gazed into the doe-like eyes. He didn't know, whether it was the unbelievable gentleness he saw, or the steady glittering light infused with passion, courage, adoration...or perhaps love. Love...

"Taichi," It came out choked, hoarse, husky with nervousness, confusion, pent up sorrow and strangled tears. How could such a graceful creature love one as I? He wondered almost absently, oblivious to the lukewarm tears that left streaks of wetness on his cheeks, almost silver in their wake when the light glinted of them, like the trails of so many shooting stars.

Taichi smiled again and swept him close into an embrace, infinitely understanding and unerringly tender in one gesture, in one friendship that turned into something more. "I love you, too," He said, voice hitching slightly on the last word.

"You say you know so many things...and you do. You do, ne? Yamato? Yama-chan..." Even as Yamato leaned his face into the crook of his best friend's shoulder, inhaling deeply the intoxicating aroma of cinnamon, spice, and an earthy smell that was all Taichi, he felt the brunette smile into his temple where he pressed light kisses, butterfly kisses, soothing words.

"But...do you even see what's right in front of you, Yama-chan? You concentrate on looking so deep, peeling away the layers, and yet...you don't see this? _This_?" Taichi pulled away almost abruptly, as if he had to forcibly separate himself from the blond. Gloved hand on the left side, right ungloved hand cradling Yamato's cheek, the elfin boy smile cheekily, "Don't you see? I _love_ you. I always have!"

Yamato's gaze shakily met his, his lips forming barely whispered words, "You do...?

Taichi grinned and let out a laugh that sounded almost reedy, trembling with suppressed emotion, "YES. I do." He smiled, triumphantly, victoriously,

"Yes, I do. And it's time for me to make some bets of my own. I bet you don't see what I see when you look into the mirror. I bet you think you're not beautiful; that no one could ever love you. I bet you think you're not _worthy_ of someone loving you...I bet you think I don't really love you. I bet you think this is pity."

Then, the smile melted into what seemed to be liquid sunshine, brimming with happiness, adoring love, loving adoration...

"You don't see yourself, you know? You don't see the silken golden hair that I love," as if to demonstrate, the slender fingers caressed the sleek flaxen hair. A pale blush colored Yamato's cheeks at the gesture, and he opened his mouth to protest when Taichi cut in, a roguish smile playing at his lips,

"You don't see your pretty blue eyes...the bluest blue I've ever seen, dammit. Yamato!" A soft laugh, "It's _blue_. Like pools of water..." The teasing smile faded, lips opening slightly and an awed, reverent expression painting Taichi's countenance.

"Your skin...it's like fine china, but so much softer. You're really pale, you know, Yama-chan? But it's so pretty..." A single finger traced his lips and Yamato flushed faintly,

"Have you ever been kissed, Yama-chan?"
Cerulean eyes widened, matching gaze with intense amber darkened to a burnished copper.

"I-I..." Yamato stammered, the warmth on his face increasing even as he felt Taichi's breath against his cheek.

"...not by a guy," He said at last, burning scarlet under the unceasing scrutiny of bottomless chocolate eyes; a gaze that seemed to hold him still by the force of will alone. A gaze that had captured his soul at first glance.

"Good," Taichi smiled sweetly, leaning forward and whispering softly before capturing his lips as his voice had captured Yamato's heart,

"I want to be your first."

Gentle, sweet, soft, tender. Yamato's eyes shuttered close, hiding azure eyes behind flaxen eyelashes and pale china eyelids, long arms winding about his best friend and love's waist and shoulders; feeling Taichi do the same. Gentle, he thought vaguely as their first kiss broke slowly, lovingly, lips lingering together, breaths mingling as tenderly as touches, fleeting with light calloused fingertips and soft embrace. Sweet, like the enchanting smile and laughter that so ensnared his attentions and thoughts. Soft, like the radiant glowing light behind Taichi's eyes as he gazed lovingly at him. Tender, like his love. Like the kiss.

Like when he fell in love.