Author's Notes: I started this fic around 2007/2008 (though just recently finished it), and this is written in present tense, like a lot of my stuff from that time period (not all published). There may be some grammatical errors of tense, because I was still pretty new to writing in present tense. Apologies in advance.
This was also inspired by the book Speak. If you haven't read it, I definitely recommend it, it's a really great read. However, while inspired by the book, I promise this isn't just Speak with Digimon characters.
Prologue
It's been three days.
Three days since he has become unable to speak, unable to utter a single word. Three days since his world shattered, shattered so irretrievably like splintered glass from a broken mirror.
He feels frozen.
No one notices.
This isn't as unusual as it sounds, really. He isn't an outcast, and he has plenty of friends, but left to his own devices he is a bit of a loner by nature, and on those rare occasions when he wants nothing more than to shutter himself off away from the world, his friends are usually amenable to leave well enough alone for a few days.
He spends the weekend holed up in his room. He doesn't go to school on Friday. Taichi phones, but he does not answer. Taichi knocks on his door, and he burrows deeper under the covers.
His dad spends most of the weekend working, and comes home late each night. They've been having a rough time at the station lately. He doesn't know the details. He doesn't really care.
His brother, upon briefly seeing him Friday, thinks he is sick.
He had looked in the mirror, once, and it is easy to understand why Takeru thinks this. He is pale, paler than usual, and there are dark circles under his eyes. The little sleep he's had has been filled with nightmares. He looks as if he is about to fall apart at any moment.
He doesn't know what to do. School is tomorrow. He has barely left his room all weekend, except for the times he's been to the bathroom to throw up. He also hasn't eaten all weekend, so after the first night it is mostly just dry heaving.
He feels weak. His body can't seem to stop trembling. He thinks he's become paralysed. Paralysed with emotions he can't even begin to think about.
He thinks about saying something, but words fail him. There really isn't anything to say. He can't quite remember what is wrong.
His dad comes home a bit early Sunday night. He stays in his room, huddled up in his bed, all the lights in his room off. He likes the dark. It feels safe. In the dark he can pretend. Pretend that everything is still fine, that he looks fine, and that nothing ever went terribly wrong that Thursday night.
In the dark, that Thursday night he can't quite remember does not exist.
His dad knocks on his door. "Yamato?" he says, and there is a hint of confusion and concern lacing his voice.
He ignores the knock, and does not answer. He hears his dad crack open his door, but he is lying still and silent, eyes closed, as he has done most of the weekend. A ray of light from the hallway washes over his face as his dad opens the door wider, and he tries not to flinch and wants to scream. Light is reality. He does not want reality.
"Yamato? Are you awake?" his dad asks softly, and still he does not answer. After a moment, the door shuts again, and he is left alone in the dark.
He does not sleep.
x x x
His dad leaves early Monday for work. Earlier than he would even need to get up for school. This time, his dad doesn't check on him.
He lays there under the covers until the room begins to lighten as the sun comes up outside, shining its cheerful rays through his window. Soon he is supposed to be getting up and preparing for school.
He considers it for a moment. Walking to his classroom like nothing had happened, sitting through classes and pretending to listen, having to fake normality with Taichi... The thought triggers his gag-reflex, and he jumps up and rushes for the bathroom.
When the dry-heaves are over, his chest and throat are sore and his legs are shaking. He worries he's going to collapse. He can't go to school today. Something's still wrong.
Somehow, he makes his way to the living room, where there are no windows and he can keep the lights off and sit in the darkness. He practically falls into the couch, and pulls off the blanket they keep folded over the back of it. He feels better hiding under blankets. He sits there for a long time and doesn't think about anything.
At some point, the phone starts ringing. He turns his head towards it and stares. He doesn't answer it. It stops after ten rings. In his bedroom, his cell starts ringing. It's Taichi. He'd set a special ringtone so he'd always know right away when Taichi called. He knows it's too early for school to be over. Taichi must have managed to wrangle a bathroom trip out of one of the teachers.
His phone stops. He closes his eyes and eventually falls into another nightmare.
x x x
The sound of the lock turning wakes him up. He shakes off the remnants of the nightmare and opens his eyes to see his dad step through the front door. Is it already that late?
"Yamato?" his dad asks in surprise. "What are you doing home?"
He considers this question and what it means. His dad did not expect him to be home. Did he expect him to be over at Takeru's or Taichi's? Does he have a band practice he's forgotten about? Is it still early enough in the day that he should be at school? He has no clock in here, and with no windows in this room it's impossible to see whether there's still daylight out.
After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear to his dad that he is not going to answer. "Are you sick? Why aren't you in school?" he demands, and there is another mixture of concern and confusion in his voice.
Ah. It is still early then. He wants to counter with, Why aren't you at work? but even though he opens his mouth, the words don't come. He is still frozen. He says nothing.
His dad comes over to him and puts the back of his hand against his forehead. He knows that he does not have a fever, that he will not feel warm, but for whatever reason, perhaps because it is easier than getting angry at him, his dad decides he is sick anyway.
Taichi stops by after school. He knocks on the door and his dad answers it. He tells Taichi that Yamato is sick. Taichi looks past his dad to where he is lying silent on the couch, a lump in the dark still hiding under the covers and watching this exchange because it does not require thinking. He wants Taichi to go away, to shut the door against the intrusion of light from the hallway and the intrusion of privacy he would create by bombarding him with questions, were his dad to allow Taichi in.
Taichi tells his dad that he has brought Yamato's schoolwork, and if he could just leave it for him, then he would be on his way. His dad agrees, and Taichi kneels down and digs out a pile of books and papers from his bag and hands them over. He leans into the doorway a bit and says, "Hope you feel better, Yamato." Then Taichi tells his dad that he will bring by Yamato's school work every day while he is sick, if it's okay.
His dad says it's fine. He wants to disagree, but the words stick in his throat. His dad closes the door, and Taichi is gone. So is the light. He shudders, ever so slightly.
His dad comes over to him and feels his forehead again. He's not sure why, he didn't have a fever earlier and he doesn't know why his dad would think that would change. He's not sick.
He can't tell whether his dad is satisfied or not with what he finds, but eventually he takes his hand away and goes over to the chair in the corner and sinks down into it, grabbing the remote. He turns on a lamp and then clicks on the TV, already tuned in to a news station. He always wonders why his dad doesn't get sick of the TV, working at the TV station all the time, but he spends at least two hours a day watching television if he gets home early enough.
He doesn't really care about the TV, though. It is the lamp he is bothered by, and he stares at it and wonders if willpower is enough to make it turn off. It is very bright, and has mysteriously lacked a lampshade ever since Taichi came round one night three months ago. He still swears up and down that he doesn't know what happened to it.
The reporter drones on in the background, and he doesn't listen to a word of it, still focused on the lamp. Then one word filters in and catches his attention. He flinches, and his mind unfreezes. He jumps up and rushes to the bathroom again for another round of dry-heaving, startling his dad. He remembers. The events of Thursday become a solid reality again, the darkness doing nothing to chase them away and make them pretend.
On Tuesday he goes to school.