Trigger warning: this chapter touches the subject of eating disorders, attempted suicide, and self-harm. Proceed with caution.

a/n: Ok. Um. So, there was supposed to be an epilogue after this, but I think I covered all that I needed to in this chapter. Maybe there will be one-shot attachment epilogue. But probably not. So... this is it. This is the end. Jeez. Hopefully, I did this right. I'm really, really nervous. And dead. On the inside. Somebody help.

Thank you SO much to everyone who has supported this story. Words can't express how grateful I am.

"Light up, light up; as if you have a choice. Even if you cannot hear my voice, I'll be right beside you, dear." — Run, Snow Patrol

Ch 24 || I'm Not Fine

Someone was holding his hand.

It was the first thing Takeru became aware of. Fingers were resting languidly on his own, comforting and warm. The whole room seemed warm, he realized slowly. He twisted his head farther into his pillow and squeezed the hand in his instinctively.

"...Takeru?"

Deep. Tired. Quiet, with a tinge of hope. Onii-san.

He tried opening his eyes but could only get them to flutter. When he attempted to speak, the only thing that was released was a soft hum, so he squeezed harder. Harder. Why was everything so heavy? Was he back in that lonely, dark world that Piemon had brought him to? No. No, Piemon was dead... right? Right?

A rapid beeping noise echoed somewhere close to him, and his brother's voice said, "Hey, hey, take it slow, ok? You're alright, Teek, you've just been asleep for a while."

Slow. Takeru drew in a deep breath through his nose. Released it. Focused. Tried his best to relax. One. Two. Three. Breathe. One, two, three...

"There you go," Yamato murmured. "It's ok."

When Takeru was finally able to crack his eyes open, everything was disorienting: too bright, too sharp. Like he was glimpsing the world through eyes that did not belong to him. He blinked multiple times, and very slowly, the room became less distorted. He could still hear a beeping sound... beeping sound...

He scanned his surroundings blearily, still blinking to dispel the thick mist of slumber. A hospital. He was in a hospital, connected to machines...

"It's reversed," Takeru mumbled sluggishly, peering at his brother once again with hazy eyes. "Last time... you were the one... in the hospital bed..."

"Yeah," Yamato said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Takeru's palm. "I guess I was, huh?"

"Mm." He breathed in deeply, allowing his gaze to flicker down to his chest. He wasn't wearing his brother's sweatshirt anymore. He didn't... what had...?

Oh.

"I'm sorry your sweatshirt was destroyed," he said, his words still slurring together.

To his surprise, Yamato laughed: a low, humorless sound. "Don't be sorry, Teek. You know I have others."

Takeru hummed again, trying to shift his weight so he could wake himself up more. Exhaustion refused to release him—it tugged and pulled him deeper and deeper into the inviting embrace of sleep—and so he closed his eyes. He swore it was only for a few seconds, but when he opened them again, Yamato was on the other side of his bed, tugging gently at the blanket as if it had been caught on something.

"Wh...what're you doing?"

"You're shivering," Yamato told him.

Was he? Takeru blinked again, slow and lethargic, but before he could speak, his brother asked, "Are you cold? I could get more blankets from a nurse, or call Gabumon back in here—"

"Wait," Takeru blurted without thinking, reaching up to grab Yamato's hand. He missed, however, since Yamato was now pacing and fretting about the bed with a somewhat anxious expression, and Takeru still could not figure out how to move very fast. He didn't want Yamato to be so upset over him.

There was an awkward, pregnant pause. Takeru was uncertain of why Yamato was so quiet. He stared openly at his sibling's face, watching confusedly as his features twisted and darkened. His gaze went from nervous and concerned to extremely solemn. A frown marred Yamato's lips, and he quickly averted his gaze, releasing the hospital-issued blanket and slowly walking around back to the chair he was in when Takeru first opened his eyes.

"...Nii-san?" Takeru whispered.

Yamato still did not speak. Then, after chewing his lip for a few moments, he reached for Takeru's hand again. Instead of holding it, however, he rolled it so Takeru's forearm was visible. Blinking again in confusion, Takeru's eyes slowly followed his brother's, and—

And his heart stammered.

The warm, safe bubble around him seemed to pop. Loudly. Suddenly he was thrust into the cold, harsh reality: Yamato could see his scars.

Yamato could see everything.

Instinct was to tuck his wrists in. To cover himself up. But there was nowhere to go, and the sleeves of the hospital gown cut off just above his elbows. When he twisted his arm in an attempt to hide, Yamato pressed his palm firmly into Takeru's, preventing escape.

Yamato murmured quietly, "I think it's time we talked."

His free hand curled into a tight fist, and he had to suck in a cleansing breath so he would not burst into tears at that very moment. It was pathetic, he immediately thought as he blinked rapidly, trying to figure out how to breathe without sobbing. Unbelievably pathetic and humiliating. Yamato had seen how desperate he had become. Yamato had seen his shame. His escape.

He was still trying to turn his arm, although weakly; but Yamato would not release him. "Teek, stop."

"Nii-san, please, d-don't—"

"I'm not mad, you know," Yamato continued suddenly; softly. "Not at you, at least."

Takeru froze. "Wh-what?"

"I'm not angry," he repeated delicately, "if that's what you're thinking." His thumb skimmed over the back of Takeru's hand for a second time—a comforting gesture—and his expression bled sorrow when he glanced at Takeru's face. "I... I know why you didn't tell anyone. But then, I guess you did tell me, huh? And I went and forgot." He chuckled quietly and shakily, and a wobbly, empty smile tugged at his lips. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Takeru."

Takeru reached up with his free hand to wipe at his face, ashamed that he had started crying so easily, and in front of his brother, nonetheless. But there was an IV there, and he couldn't move it without feeling some sort of resistance. Tears rolled freely down the curves of his cheeks. "P-please... please don't apologize, Nii-san—this isn't—"

"I know what Piemon did wasn't my fault. But," he went on, shifting his weight as though he were uncomfortable, "it wasn't yours, either."

Takeru quieted, unable to think of a reply. So he just sat trembling and afraid and embarrassed. This gown was loose and thin, designed only to hide what was necessary. He was vulnerable and exposed like an object put on display. And if Yamato had seen what he had done, then that meant that so had Mom, Dad, and—

"Hey," Yamato said softly when the heart monitor started to beep rapidly once again. He released Takeru's hand but remained by his side, eyes widening with concern. "Takeru, hey—"

"Everyone saw, didn't they?" he whispered anxiously. Hoarsely. "Oh, god, everyone saw—"

"Shhh, Keru, shhh." Yamato extended a hand to touch his shoulder, but Takeru instinctively flinched away. Twisted both his arms so they were facing away from his brother, despite the uncomfortable pull from the IV, and he scooted farther into the bed as if it offered protection from the frantic concern in Yamato's gaze. His lungs constricted and he could barely hear his brother's voice over his own quickening breathing and the high-pitched beeping.

"Shhh," Yamato repeated. "Not everyone saw, Teek, I promise. I promise."

Takeru refrained from releasing another sob, and Yamato was nodding slowly, reassuring him calmly over and over again, and without realizing it Takeru started counting aloud. One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Breathe. His stomach clenched with nausea, but he continued his mantra anyway. One, two, three. Breathe.

At some point, Yamato joined him. Hesitantly, he reached out and squeezed his hand again. Gently. Carefully. Takeru's head fell back against his pillow with a soft thud as his heartbeat began to sound more like a heartbeat and less like a metal hammer pounding against his ears.

Closed his eyes.

Gingerly brought his free hand to his head as if his fingers had the power to rub off the exhaustion that seemed permanently etched into his being.

"Takeru?"

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

"Don't be sorry," Yamato said. "You've nothing to apologize for."

Oh, but he did. Takeru swallowed weakly. He was looking anywhere except Yamato's face. The window. The blankets. The walls. The small cabinets. The heart monitor. His brows knitted together when he noticed the absence of one of his best friends.

"Where's... where's Patamon?"

Yamato was quiet for a moment. "He stayed with Hikari this morning. We weren't sure when you would wake up, and..." Another pause. "I can let them know you're awake now—"

"Is Hikari ok? Is Patamon ok?" Takeru asked in a whisper. "How long was I out?

"They're fine. Everyone is fine," his brother added. "You slept for most of the day. It's almost seven."

He'd slept for over twelve hours? Takeru's eyes widened in disbelief. "In the evening?"

"Yeah. Hikari's crest may have healed your wounds," Yamato said, "but you were—wait, what do you remember?"

Takeru fell silent. He wished he didn't remember anything. That would be so much easier than trying to relay memories to his sibling. But he wasn't going to lie. Not anymore. He shrugged mutely, and then mumbled, "Seraphimon... he killed Piemon, and Angewomon destroyed his house. And..." His face twisted. "And now we're here."

"Do you feel ok?"

He shrugged again. He inhaled slowly. "Y-yeah, I... I think so."

"Are you hungry?"

Takeru paused again and then shook his head. His stomach still felt uneasy, and food didn't seem like a good idea. Yamato's eyes dimmed somewhat, and then he was resting a hand on Takeru's arm. Takeru stiffened slightly, at first. Chewed his lip. Slowly loosened up. Yamato said softly, "You haven't been eating much."

Takeru's head tilted in confusion. "What?"

"Sora noticed it first, I think," he continued slowly. "That you were losing weight, I mean. She could see it in your face, and she said your clothes looked a little baggy. The doctors say you're not underweight, not yet, but..." His gaze slid upward so he was looking into Takeru's eyes. "You're sure you're not hungry?"

"I..." Takeru's fingers curled into the hospital blankets. "I don't think it will sit well, is all."

Yamato nodded but kept quiet. Takeru felt his heart begin to drop somewhere below his ribcage, and he bit his lip again, hating that he had made his brother worry so much. Wondering when he had eaten last. Had he been skipping meals without realizing? How could he have ignored hunger so easily, when it was one of the most basic biological needs for survival?

He sifted through memories, rewinding, before the battle, before the house, before Sakauchi had even taken him to the digital world. Yamato had cooked supper that night, right? Right. He did. But Takeru had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't remember eating much of it.

A loud cry. Glass shattering. He'd dropped the plate when Yamato had reached out to touch him. Without realizing it, Takeru slid his hand out from under Yamato's, and he rubbed his shoulder tenderly as if to test it. No sharp pain. Just a soft amount of pressure.

Takeru blinked, pressing down harder. Harder. Curled his fingers into the fabric until he was sure his nails were digging into his skin. It was sort of numb, he realized, and the texture of his flesh felt strangely uneven and gnarled.

Takeru wished he had not looked underneath the hospital gown.

Blue eyes popped. His blood ran cold. He gasped in horror when he saw a thin, raised scar that started at the top of his shoulder and stretched across his chest like crooked branches on a tree limb. He kicked free of his blanket, heedless of Yamato's baffled, concerned expression; and felt tears burn his eyes when he saw similar-looking scars marking his right leg, snaking up past his knee.

Takeru expelled a noise that sounded oddly like a whimper.

Yamato moved on instinct.

He all but jumped onto the bed—which creaked under the sudden added weight—and then Takeru was enclosed in a powerful, warm embrace with enough force to knock the wind out of him. One of his hands cradled Takeru's head, pulling him in close until his chin was resting on Yamato's shoulder, and he squeezed hard as if he was using every ounce of strength he had.

"I'm so sorry," Yamato said immediately, and his voice was choked and weak but he continued to repeat the same words anyway, rocking Takeru back and forth, back and forth as he buried his head into Yamato's shirt and sobbed quietly. "I'm sorry, Takeru. Damn it, I'm so sorry."

Takeru's barrier had splintered days ago. But now it was like someone had placed a series of bombs at the foundation of his walls, and when the timer stopped ticking, everything went down. And the explosions did not stop until all that was left was rubble and ash.

That meant there was nowhere to hide now. No more lies, no more masks, no more false smiles. Yamato knew the truth now, could see everything: all the nightmares and secrets and sleepless nights reflecting in haunted pools of blue. He had seen the scars carved so desperately by his blade, and now they had both seen the ones inflicted upon him by Piemon's demonic servants. His servants and their skeletal, knife-like fingers piercing through his skin, peeling and clawing his flesh away like he was made of paper...

He trembled violently in Yamato's arms like he was seven years old all over again, and he sobbed, and he hurt, and he released everything, and it was ok now. There was no one to inflict harm on him. No one to hurt Yamato, or Hikari, or Patamon, or any of his friends. They were safe. He was safe.

He could have cried himself to sleep. He was not sure. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot and sore when the tears stopped—and he was uncertain of when that had been—and so he closed them. The next time they opened, he was leaning against the back of the bed, and Yamato sat next to him, humming quietly under his breath, one arm still wrapped around his shoulder. Gabumon was on his other side, a paw draped over his chest, soft and warm. Takeru's blanket was situated so it covered the lower half of his body.

Takeru released a low breath all of a sudden, which made Gabumon and Yamato look down at him curiously. Takeru muttered in a raspy voice, "You know what I just realized?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not in a boot anymore."

Yamato laughed. "Nope."

"Does it hurt still?"

"Not a bit."

Takeru blinked. "H-how...?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself, Teek," Yamato answered. Takeru felt his shoulders lift in a small shrug. "It just... happened."

"His crest did it," Gabumon said quietly.

Takeru was sitting up suddenly, and Gabumon blinked, bewildered, as his gaze searched the room. Half of him expected to see a flash of gold. A sliver of pink. But his eyes found nothing out of the ordinary. Just a normal hospital room. He looked back at Yamato, looking for a hint of blue. A small chain. Confusion brewed in his stomach when he found nothing.

"Where did our crests go?"

"I don't know," his brother said. "Gennai said—"

Takeru's eyes widened slowly when he abruptly stopped, and then Yamato hurried to explain, "When you were asleep, and, you know, after everyone had rested and recovered from the battle with Piemon, Gennai asked to see us."

"What did he want?"

"He told us the disturbances he kept sensing were completely gone." A brief pause. "And... and he wanted to know what happened."

Takeru sniffed. Swallowed hard. But he had no more tears to cry. Could only look at Yamato with webbed, swollen eyes. Yamato murmured, "We didn't tell him everything. That wouldn't have been fair to you. I'm surprised he didn't push for more information than what we gave him, but we got enough pushing from everyone else."

He released a dry chuckle. "When we got back, they were all a mess. Mimi, Jou, and Ken didn't say much because. Well. What were we supposed to tell them? They, um. They were freaked out, and then Mom saw you..."

Takeru blinked, allowing his head to fall back against Yamato's shoulder. He tried to ignore the way his heart sank in his chest because she was one of the people whom he had lied to the most. He remembered being covered in blood. His own blood. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like for them to see him like that.

He didn't want to imagine it.

"Where is Mom?"

"She's here. She and Dad came in about ten minutes ago, but you were sleeping again," Yamato said. "I didn't know if you, um, if you were up to seeing more people, and so I told her and Dad to go get food or something."

Takeru swallowed again. "She's, um. She's not mad, is she?"

"Why would she be mad?"

Takeru's gaze drifted down to his arms, and he slowly rolled them over so Yamato could not see his scars. Not again. Whispered, "I didn't mean to worry her. Or anyone else."

Things weren't supposed to get this bad.

Yamato sighed softly, shifting slightly as he inclined his head toward the back of the hospital bed. "We're always going to worry about you, Teek. But no, she's not mad."

Takeru did not reply. Not at first. He looked at his fingers, thankful for the warmth of Gabumon's fur, for his brother's presence. He wished he could see Patamon. Instead of voicing that desire, however, Takeru simply murmured, "I'm going to have to tell everyone, huh?"

"They do have a lot of questions," Yamato said, "but no one is going to pressure you into talking, you know. They'll wait. All they know right now is that we beat Piemon and his demons, and you were hurt."

And everything else was left for Takeru to explain? For a moment, he thought of being trapped in Piemon's lair, of being up on the rooftop, and what that had felt like. That crushing feeling of hopelessness and wanting it all to end. That world of infinite darkness. He did not want to tell his friends what Piemon had done to him. What Piemon had driven him to. He couldn't. Shame swam in his chest. A shiver crawled up his spine.

Yamato offered a comforting squeeze without hesitation as if his touch was enough to calm the tremors claiming Takeru's body. "Hikari was right, you know."

Takeru blinked. "What?"

"You're not alone. You never were."

Takeru opened his mouth to reply, but once again, he could not think of anything to say. He kept his gaze on his lap instead. Even when Yamato continued quietly, "When you jumped... I thought we were too late." He exhaled shakily. "I thought I'd lost you for good. I know that Piemon said—"

Yamato paused for a long moment and Takeru saw him hurry to wipe his eyes with his free hand. Then, in a voice that broke: "I know that Piemon taunted you. I know you did it because... because you thought he would kill us. And you must have been so scared. But, I don't know, seeing someone that you love in so much pain... knowing they're hurting so badly that they think the only way to get rid of that pain is to take it out on themselves or... or take their own life... it's terrifying."

He squeezed Takeru gently again, but this time it seemed to be because he needed to reassure himself, rather than Takeru.

Takeru hadn't seen this side of Yamato in a long time, and that was what scared him the most. He chewed his lip, unable to ignore the guilt that crawled through him.

Yamato had seen him die.

Hikari, Mimi, Jou, Ken, and their partners... they had watched him jump to his death. Did they watch him hit the ground? Obviously not, since he had not been crushed from the fall. But what was the point in—

Takeru had to physically shake his head to stop that train of thought. It was too dark to think about, and he was left shuddering again because there were so many questions he had that were still unanswered, but he lacked the energy to ask Yamato. Was too ashamed to ask Yamato. Instead, he was left sniffling, unable to summon the courage to respond at all.

I just wanted you to be safe.

I just wanted some peace.

There was a knock on the door.

Takeru's head snapped up, and he immediately tucked his arms closer to his body. His heart throbbed when his mother's head peeked in the door.

Her expression was a mixture of fatigue and worry, and her eyes were puffy just like Takeru's. The moment she saw that Takeru eyes were open, however, her entire face changed.

"Oh, you're awake," she gasped in absolute relief, and she made a move to rush toward him as if to hug him.

Part of Takeru—the young, naive part of him that made him want to run to his brother and mom when things went wrong; the part that was unleashed when Yamato had seen his scars—ached for her warm embrace.

Part of him—the part swamped by shame and guilt—wanted to retreat further into the hospital bed, because how could he face his mother knowing what he'd just put her through? How could he look into her eyes after what he had done? After he had been willing to leave her, his brother, and his friends forever?

It must have been written all over his face because as soon as his father entered the room as well, he rested a tentative hand on his mother's shoulder. His mom froze—eyes tinted with doubt—before a wobbly smile claimed her lips and she asked, "How... how are you feeling, Takeru?"

"I'm... I'm ok," he muttered quietly, eyes falling on his blanket.

"Does anything hurt at all?"

He swallowed. Damn it, he had thought that there were no more tears left. But his throat was closing anyway, foretelling another crying spell. "N-no, I'm ok, Mom."

She looked incredibly torn for several moments. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes watered, but no tears were released. She offered another sad smile. "I'm glad."

There was a long, awkward silence that followed her words. Takeru did not know how to fill it. So he sat quietly and tensely, half-aware that he probably looked like a child, wrapped up in Yamato's arms like this, but neither of his parents commented on it. And Yamato didn't make any kind of effort to move.

Eventually, his parents shared a conflicted look. His dad expelled a soft sigh. He released Mom's shoulder and lifted his arm to reveal two small boxes. Takeru was instantly hit with the aroma of food.

"I know you haven't eaten much today, Yamato, so I bought some take-out for you. I, uhh." Worried eyes flickered to Takeru, and he continued with an awkward undertone, "I didn't know when you'd wake up, or if you'd just sleep through the night, but there's a lot in there for you boys and Gabumon to share. I can always make a second trip—"

Takeru's cheeks flushed. Then he gave Yamato a confused look, but Yamato's eyes were trained solely on their father. His expression was unreadable.

"You two can share it."

"You need to eat, too," Gabumon said immediately before anyone else had a chance to speak.

"Takeru needs—"

"I'll make a second trip," Dad decided with a determined nod. "Is there, um, is there anything you'd like in particular? Maybe something fairly light?"

Takeru had to look away when their eyes met because he couldn't stand seeing them look so heartbroken and concerned. Especially over him.

This really is all my fault.

"Um, no," he muttered, drawing closer to Yamato as if his brother offered any protection against that horribly sad look in both of their parents' eyes. "Just... yeah, maybe something light."

A soft sigh. "I'll be back, ok?"

Takeru nodded, and so did Yamato. Then their father gave Mom's shoulder a brief squeeze, and he was leaving the room. Takeru still couldn't bring himself to look at his mother's face, filled with humiliation, careful to keep his arms tucked in. She looked ready to burst into tears.

Then, in a voice that wavered: "I'll... I'll alert the doctor that you're awake, ok, hun?"

Takeru swallowed. Yamato murmured quietly, "Jou asked his dad to take your case, so um, so there wouldn't be too many people asking questions. You know, about the digital world."

He nodded stiffly, and Takeru swore he heard his mother draw in a shuddering breath before she left the room. Part of him didn't want her to go, but he couldn't force himself to smile and reassure her. Not anymore. Or... or at least not yet, anyway. As soon as the door clicked shut, Takeru whispered, "So, um, they won't want to do any more tests or anything?"

"You were pretty dehydrated when you came in, so they've been giving you some fluids," Yamato explained as he gestured to the drip bag hanging by the side of the hospital bed. "They changed it earlier, but uh, it looks like it's almost out. Now that you're awake, though, he'll probably check up on you and take you off the IV. But he does know that you lost a good amount of blood. Jou said that it wasn't enough to need a transfusion or anything, but it did leave you pretty beat, huh?"

Takeru grimaced. Yamato reached over and took his hand again, and Gabumon rubbed his cheek against Takeru's other arm. But even with their warmth, Takeru couldn't shake away the crystals of ice forming under his skin. The more he thought about it, the colder he became, on the inside and the outside, just like before, at the Piemon's house...

Damn it, why couldn't he stop thinking about Piemon's lair?

"Can I ask you something, Teek?"

"Hmm?"

"How... how long?"

Takeru blinked. "How long, what?"

"How long have you been cutting yourself?"

A long, slow breath. Takeru squeezed his eyes shut as if that would prevent them from stinging so much. He really didn't want to have this conversation. Not with Onii-san. But Yamato's eyes were pleading.

"...dunno," he murmured hoarsely and it was partially true. "It was, um, it was before Koushiro called that meeting."

Yamato was silent. It wasn't long before his cheeks felt damp again, and he curled his fingers underneath Yamato's, angry at himself once again for being unable to stop the tears once again.

"Why do you keep saying you're sorry?"

"Because," Takeru said, and his voice broke as the word came out, "this is... this is so pathetic, don't you see? I didn't want you to know—I didn't want anyone to know! But now you do, and did you see the way Mom was looking at me? She was... I don't want anyone else to look at me like that! It's... it's too much."

"Takeru—"

"I... I didn't think anyone would find out," he went on, shaking his head slowly as a quiet sob escaped him. "It was... I thought if I could hide until it healed. I told m-myself I wouldn't do it again. A-and it was o-ok if no one knew. But I... I don't know, I just slipped. I just. I kept doing it—the knife was right there. It made them go away, and it was something I could control, just for a little bit, and that... that was all I wanted."

Yamato took his hand and persuaded his fingers to uncurl. He hadn't noticed he'd been digging his fingernails into his skin again. "Takeru... listen to me."

He hiccuped quietly, keeping his eyes on their hands until Yamato reached over and brushed away his tears. Takeru didn't have the strength to stop him. Not even when he said, "Mom's just worried about you. And I know that sometimes, that worry can become suffocating. But, Mom... she just doesn't want you to feel so isolated. I also know that you've been hurting, Teek. You're tired, and you're in pain... and I hate seeing you in pain."

"We just want to help you heal," Gabumon said.

Heal.

Takeru needed to heal. Because he was damaged. There was physical evidence. He rubbed his shoulder as he thought, leaning into Yamato, and trying so hard not to sob all over again. Gabumon was rubbing his back slowly, carefully, as if Takeru would flinch away at any given moment. Part of him wanted to, but Gabumon was warm. Takeru ached to have Patamon by his side.

"Does... does your chest hurt?" Yamato asked when he noticed Takeru had moved his hand.

"No." Takeru chewed the inside of his lip. "...a little, actually. It stings. But it's not bad."

Yamato released a quiet sigh. He rested his cheek on the top of Takeru's head. "I love you, little bro."

Takeru's insides twisted. Yamato wasn't a verbally affectionate person. He knew that Yamato loved him—he could see it in Yamato's eyes and he could see it in his actions—but on very rare occasions would he say it out loud. Takeru willed his heart to stay within the confines of his chest.

"I love you, too, Nii-san," he rasped, swallowing hard once again. He drew in a shaky breath. "Do you, um. Do you think you could get Patamon to come here?"

"Of course I can," Yamato replied instantly. Softly. "Do you want—"

Footsteps. Quick. Nervous. Takeru stilled, anxious eyes meeting those of his brother's almost immediately, and he curled instinctively away from the door in fear of who might be on the other side. He wasn't ready to talk to any doctors yet, even if it was Jou's father.

He heard frantic voices, but they weren't loud enough for Takeru to decipher words. It was just hushed scolding and the skidding of sneakers on the hospital floor.

"Hikari, wait, you—" Taichi's voice said as the door swung open.

Takeru took one look at Hikari's webbed eyes and felt his heart drop.

She was breathing heavily, pink in the face, with a very worried Tailmon panting at her side, and an even more worried Patamon fluttering above her head. She was sweating, and immediately her hands came to rest on her knees as she doubled over to catch her breath.

"I... I knew you were awake... I c-could... I could feel it," she gasped out, voice winded and hoarse just like his own. "I knew you were awake."

Yamato stiffened by his side and shot Takeru an uncertain glance as Taichi entered the room as well, panting and soaked in sweat.

For a brief moment, Takeru wished he could disappear.

"Hikari..." Taichi started, but Patamon zoomed across the room before he could finish his sentence.

"TAKERU!"

Patamon pushed himself into Takeru's chest so fast that it left him breathless. His fingers sifted through his partner's warm fur in seconds, and without even thinking, he buried his head into Patamon's coat.

"H-hi, P-Pata," he greeted softly.

"I'm so happy you're awake! I was so worried," Patamon gushed before anyone else had the chance to speak. "They told me to sleep earlier, but I—I couldn't! I wanted to be here when you woke up, I really did—"

"I-it's ok," he stuttered, inhaling slowly. Exhaling. "It's ok, Patamon."

"Hikari, I told you, he doesn't want visitors right now," Taichi was saying softly as he leveled his breathing, which made Takeru glance up.

Their eyes met for only a second before Takeru had to look away. Confused. Taichi was confused and maybe a little scared. Which meant Taichi probably wanted answers. Ones he could not give.

Tears pooled in Hikari's eyes. "I—I'm sorry, Yamato... I know what you said. I just." She sucked in another deep breath. "I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him."

Takeru squeezed Patamon tightly, heart clenching as everyone fell silent. The heart monitor seemed so loud at that moment. A droning, incessant beep, echoing, drowning out even the sound of Hikari's and Taichi's panting.

Then Hikari risked a glance at her brother, looked back at Takeru, and said gently, "I, um. I know it's a lot to ask right now, but can I talk to you?" A pause. "Alone."

Yamato went still. His grip on Takeru tightened considerably. Looked ready to shake his head. To push them out. But when Takeru looked at Hikari—when he saw her tear-glossed eyes that clicked with understanding the moment their gazes met—he found himself repeating in a low whisper, "I-it's ok."

Yamato blinked. "What?"

"Let her stay," he said quietly. "Please."

"Are you sure?"

Takeru nodded mutely. Yamato patted his hand tenderly before slowly sliding off the bed, and Takeru kept his gaze down as his brother gestured for Taichi to leave the room. Gabumon followed. When the door clicked shut a second time, Hikari took a hesitant step toward Takeru's bed.

Patamon pressed his nose against the bottom of Takeru's chin. "You're cold."

"I feel it, too," Hikari whispered quietly. "The cold."

Takeru blinked up at her. "You do?"

She nodded slowly and took another step in Takeru's direction. "Can I sit?"

"Sure."

Tailmon followed her as she slid into the chair, and neither of them spoke, at first. Her expression was indifferent as if she was trying to pull all of her thoughts together but didn't want to give away any indication of what they were until they were lined up exactly how she wanted. But then their eyes found each other again, and even though Takeru did not know how, he could tell that she felt as anxious and uncertain as he did.

So her mask fell. It shattered like glass hitting the floor, just like his own had before, and he realized that she wasn't going to ask for an explanation. He didn't need to tell her what he had told Yamato.

Because she already knew.

His pain. Her pain. Their fears. Their doubts. Their guilt. They were connected. Their fates were intertwined. Knotted together like ribbons. Takeru could see the whispers of hesitance and anxiety deep within in her gaze, in her body language, and there was nothing she could do to hide it. There was nothing he could do to hide his own emotions from her.

"I know you're scared," Hikari started uncertainly. "About what the others are going to think, I mean."

"...they're all going to wonder," he muttered.

"But they're all willing to wait."

"For how long?"

Hikari did not answer. Takeru looked away.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly.

"You don't have to be sorry anymore," Hikari said. "I'm... I'm glad that you're ok."

Takeru's fingers curled into Patamon's fur. "You gave up part of your soul for me."

Her smile was sad. "I don't regret it."

"You don't?"

"No," Hikari assured firmly. But when she smiled, it was tinged with sorrow. "You're my best friend, Takeru."

Slowly, slowly, Hikari's fingers uncurled so she could touch his hand. Her skin was warm—unlike Takeru's—and he did not know if it was because she had recently been outside or if she was just naturally warm. He murmured, "I heard, um. I heard what you said. When I was in the darkness."

"I meant it."

"I know," he whispered. "Thank you. For, um. For pulling me out."

Hikari deserved so much more than a thank you. He knew this. But it was all he could give right now, and Hikari did not ask for more. She smiled again, and her reply lingered just behind her lips, on the tip of her tongue. There was no need for her to say it out loud.

You would have done the same for me.

"I didn't tell Nii-san, you know," she went on slowly. "Or anybody else. About... about our crests. How they merged."

"Onii-san said our crests disappeared."

"They did," Hikari confirmed. "But I can still feel a tiny bit of its presence. Kind of like it's in the room. Don't you?"

Takeru paused. He thought hard, rewinding once again. Her crest—their crest—was what had anchored him. Her warmth. Her light. Her entire being. It was what drew him to her. He tried to find it again.

"I... I don't know," he admitted truthfully after a long moment.

Without hesitation, Tailmon leapt onto the hospital bed. Her expression screamed determination. "Don't give up. You've got to feel something, right?"

"It's... it's cold," he said.

"Try closing your eyes," Patamon instructed softly, resting a paw on his chest. "Think about the crest. It's there."

Hesitantly, Takeru obeyed. Hikari squeezed his fingers in reassurance. Explained in a whisper, "When... when Piemon's ghosts attacked you... when they started to consume your soul... they latched on pretty hard. That's why it's cold. Because you keep thinking about the connection they tried to make with you."

"How... how do you know that?"

"Because I can feel it, too," she answered, and it was the second time she had said it. "But... when I don't think about it, and when I think about our crests, it goes away." Added, "Close your eyes...and it will go away."

"Try again," Patamon prompted warmly.

He nodded wordlessly, once again attempting to focus on that tiny pink orb he had so desperately reached for when he was in the world of darkness. In his mind's eye, he could see it, but it seemed so far away. Like he was in a car that was moving in the opposite direction. There was a sliver of gold, smothered by shadows.

Without opening his eyes, Takeru stiffened. No. There were no more shadows. No more ghosts. They had won. He and Hikari had purified those souls. He needed to push those thoughts out.

"It's ok," Hikari said, and she sounded as far away as that pink light. But she continued anyway: "Keep trying. Let them go."

Takeru nodded again. Took comfort in the way her fingers tightened around his own. Tried to focus. Focus. Imagined himself running toward the light, rather than away from it. Extending his arms, just like before.

Reached.

Reached.

The shadows started to scatter. Gold and pink became brighter. Brighter.

"It is warm," he murmured faintly.

"Yeah," Hikari said. "Yeah, it is."

Takeru opened his eyes. Gradually. Hesitantly. When he was sure the warmth wasn't going to fade, he allowed himself to relax. Tailmon crawled into his lap gingerly, and Patamon rubbed his cheek against Takeru's collarbone. Takeru was immediately reminded of the day Yamato had been taken to the hospital—the same hospital they were in now—when she'd come home with him. The way she'd embraced him, and the pure acceptance and concern the reflected in the gazes of their digimon partners.

"It's ok to be afraid."

"You're never alone."

"Never."

"Whenever you decide you're ready," Hikari began, "to tell Nii-san and the others... I'll be here."

"What about Gennai?" Takeru asked timidly. "Onii-san said he still wants answers."

"Then I'll be here," she repeated firmly.

Her smile had returned, and this time, it was genuine. She was radiating with confidence and sincerity. Released his hand to caress his cheek with feather-light fingers.

The moment she made contact with his skin, a soft, ethereal glow encased them both for the third time that day.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and Takeru was already amazed at how he could have forgotten what this had felt like. This wonderful, beautiful light, spilling over the room like rays that belonged to the sun, touching every cabinet, every corner, seeping through every small crevice and crack, touching everything it could reach.

Patamon and Tailmon gasped in obvious surprise. Neither pulled away.

Takeru's skin burned somewhere by his ribs, and the sensation climbed up his chest. His shoulders. His body tingled, but it was not unpleasant. It was gone in moments. The light around them dimmed but did not fade. Takeru blinked rapidly, and just when his vision started to clear, the door burst open.

Yamato and Taichi were extremely pale.

"Takeru, are you ok? What happened?"

"We saw a light, and—whoa."

Takeru's eyes popped when he drew in their shocked, worried expressions, and he looked back at Hikari's face. Her eyes were the same as before—gentle and kind, even though they knew too much. So he looked down at himself.

The scars were still there, permanently painted on his skin like horrible, sickening tattoos. But there was a strange, small symbol emblazoned just below his collarbone, and it was glowing.

The symbol of Hikari and Takeru's combined crest.

"Wh-what the hell?" Taichi sputtered out with huge eyes.

"I told you it was here," Hikari said, focusing only on Takeru's face. Blue eyes widened even further when he saw the same marking on Hikari's skin, half-covered by her shirt. Pink. Gold. Shimmering like glitter.

Yamato was slowly walking toward Takeru, his gaze brimming with worry and confusion. "Are you ok?"

Takeru nodded dazedly and then shook his head, fingers curling inward, tucking his arms in close. Yamato didn't hesitate to wrap an arm around his shoulder. Hikari's hand fell back onto Takeru's. Taichi looked torn between running toward them and staying put.

No, he wasn't ok. Not yet. He would not be ok for a long time. Doctors were going to come in and ask questions, and his friends were going to ask questions. He didn't have answers. But right now, in this small moment, bathed in the celestial glow created by his and Hikari's crest, Takeru allowed himself to enjoy and appreciate the feeling of being here, being safe, and being warm, on the inside and out.

It was truly a wonderful feeling.