Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine, comprende?
A/N: I seem to be writing a lot of POVs lately. I'm writing this to dispel a wee thing called 'writer's block'. For those (patiently) waiting for new chapters for BOTH my fics…be a little more patient. But hopefully this will tide the RABID Sorato fans over.
A blank piece of paper just waiting to be filled with words. Words to the next song that I'll write. As is my recently acquired practice, my eyes stray to the framed photograph that sits on my desk. The glass surface mirrors bright blue orbs, and beneath it, lies a picture of the object of my affection.
No-one knows that but me.
Don't get the wrong impression. It's not some lovey-dovey couple picture. Rather, it's a group picture. All of us, from Taichi to Iori, digimon included. Because it's such a big group, our faces are rather small. I don't mind though, every inch of this photograph is firmly etched in my memory.
The only thing that is of interest to me is the redhead that stands beside me. There she is, smiling for the camera – even though the machine fails to capture the sparkle in her eyes or the life in her smile. All things considered, it's a cardboard copy of her.
But it serves its purpose.
I wish I'd taken the initiative that day and slipped an arm around her waist or something. Maybe held her hand. That's the kind of stuff that daydreams are made of. I wish I could tell her how I feel so we can live happily ever after, but that only exists in storybooks.
I don't believe in storybooks. They're all well and good when you're a kid, but when you grow older you realize that life isn't as simple as that and not everything has a happy ending.
Take my parents as an example. Basically, my family has reached a compromise, my parents are friends. There's no happy ending for the Ishida-Takaishi clan. I've finally come to the conclusion that we'll never really be a 'family' again.
That's why I can't tell her. Because if I do, she'll probably laugh in my face. Nah, she's nicer than that. She'll probably say something along the lines of, "That's sweet, but we're better off as friends, Yamato."
I don't think I could stand that.
It seems silly, I know. I've gained this reputation of being a bit of a ladies man, the cool guy in school. Heck, girls chase me down the hallways! But I don't have the guts to tell the girl I really like how I feel about her. Ironic isn't it?
So I sit at home, lock my room door and write. No, I don't write poetry or mushy things like that, I write music. I write songs. If they're good, I take them to band practice and – if the guys like it – we practice them, then we play them in the concerts.
She doesn't know that all these songs are written with her in mind.
They're not love songs. Far from it. They're just…songs. But they're for her all the same. To be honest, I think the only reason I write is her. She is what inspires me.
I don't want to sound cocky, but lately the words have been flowing better. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this songwriting gig. There are times on stage where I want to acknowledge all she's done for me. Say something like, "This song is for a very special friend. You've inspired me to become a better person and I want to thank you for it."
I'd like to, but that's borderline mushy, and borderline mushy just ain't me. Too bad. It'd be interesting to see her reaction I guess. It might make her blush or something.
There's just something about her, you know? When she smiles, I feel a smile creeping up my face. Her laughter makes me want to laugh too. She's always been there for me, even when I was this closed off, sullen preteen with a chip on his shoulder.
Sometimes I think she'll be a better friend than I'll ever be. But I understand why she holds the crest of love. To me, she is love. There's so much love in her heart, call me presumptuous, but that's what I think. I guess that's why she cares so much for people. She's so focused on others that sometimes she forgets to think about herself.
One day, I'll volunteer to do that for her. I'd like that. If I could, I'd treat her like the most precious thing in the universe. If I could, I'd protect her from the world. If I could, I'd tell her how I feel. I wish I could, but I can't.
There's a part of me that doesn't want to endanger what we already have. I've always known our friendship was special. I don't want to risk that – even if I think I could be falling in love with her.
Better to have her in my life in some small way than have her out of my life.
The guys in the band tease me non-stop. I tell them they're jealous, and she just laughs it off. I wish she'd play along sometimes though. That'd be interesting.
I smile a little at the memory and scribble a couple of words down. She's still smiling at me from the picture frame. Feeling a little silly, I grin back. As long as no one walks in and finds me grinning at a photograph, I'm safe. Ever thankful for a chair with wheels, I scoot over to the door and check to see if I actually locked it.
It never hurts to be too careful.
I can imagine what my father would say. Or, worse yet, what Takeru would say. I shudder at the thought; I'd never hear the end of it then. Although…I could get him back with a few well-aimed quips about Hikari and him. Well, better safe than sorry.
Without realizing it, I'm humming a tune under my breath. It fits the words perfectly. I grab the pencil again and quickly scribble down a couple of chords. Clearing my throat, I sing the first few bars of the song. It's a little shaky, but once I get the other guys in on this we'll probably manage to get it smoothed out.
I can't wait to get started.
A/N: Well, what did you think? I'm tentatively planning another part, (this time from Sora's POV) after this, and maybe a final, concluding part. But nothing if I don't get some constructive criticism! You got that?