Patamon looked at the bright lights that dotted the landscape beyond the window pane. Like cheery motes, they danced in the distance, beckoning to the little digimon as he rested by the window seat on the bus. Beside him, Takeru slumbered; soft snores could be heard from him… and a few other miscellaneous sounds, sounds that suggested Takeru was having pleasant dreams. Dreams of a beautiful, brown-haired girl waiting for him back home.
Patamon snickered softly before turning his attention back to the landscape in front of him. Tokyo at night was… beautiful. There was no other way to describe it. It was late at night, well past rush hour, so the train was quiet, save the gentle hum of its engines and the rumble of wheels against the track. Patamon sighed, casting his thoughts back to the arduous struggles several years ago, when they faced demons and vampires and a mad clown thrown in for good measure. But looking out at the peaceful world before him, Patamon decided that the fighting was worth it. They had preserved a beautiful, free world and saved it from extra-dimensional tyranny.
Home… What a beautiful word. Odaiba was home, a home that Patamon very much missed. Osaka was nice, Patamon supposed, but Tokyo – Odaiba. Odaiba was in a league of its own. What could compare, Patamon decided, with the feeling of walking through your own front door? Or the familiar smells – the roses Takeru's mother loved so much, or the musty smell of books that emanated from the Takaishi library? Or even better, the feeling of solidarity and familiarity as one walked into his own room, changing into comfortable pyjamas, and climbing into bed after a long day of hard work?
Patamon silently counted off the stations. Matsumoto. Shibuya. Shinjuku. Soon it would be Odaiba, where mom and dad would be waiting. There would be plenty of hugs and kisses, Patamon was sure. Takeru would probably blush and be all embarrassed at his mother's comments about "my little boy, all grown up" and Patamon would probably fly high into the air to escape facing the same treatment.
And tomorrow. Tomorrow Takeru would be re-united with his friends. And more than friends – they were comrades-in-arms. They had fought once, some twice, alongside Takeru as they sought to preserve the freedom of both worlds. And, as Patamon snickered again, she would be there. They would wrap their arms around each other and act all lovey-dovey, and then laugh at Daisuke when he puts up his "hurt and betrayed" act. And Miyako would probably end up arguing with Daisuke – after all, they hadn't argued for so long, being immersed in their studies and all. And Ken – ever the kind and gentle soul, he would attempt – fruitlessly – to separate the two.
Home… and friends. As Patamon leaned back to look at the dancing lights again. There were fewer now; they approached the bridge that separated Odaiba from the rest of Tokyo. As the train climbed onto the bridge, Patamon looked ahead – ahead at the man-made island he and Takeru called home. Soon, he thought. Soon they would there. And tonight, he and Takeru would be climbing into their bed. The best bed in the world, in the best room in the world, in the best apartment in the world.
A light jolt snatched Takeru from slumber. The boy blinked twice and turned to regard the digimon. "Where are we?" he asked, sleep still in his voice.
"Almost there," Patamon replied, still gazing out the window.
Out where the lights of Odaiba beckoned. Beckoning them home.
Author's Notes: I wrote this while travelling on a bus between Mississauga and York University, if that means anything to you. I was looking out at the streetlights, and listening to "Once in Every Lifetime" by Jem (and got to the part "so far… from home") and decided to write "stream-of-consciousness" (except I cheated and used a thesaurus, drawing inspiration from my five senses (except smell wasn't co-operating very well).
Hope you enjoyed! (and I just turned into York University's bus loop, which means bye!)