Golden Afternoons
or
For The Gabumon Lovers

There is a legend of an office that is really, really old fashioned. An oak desk, complete with woodworm and a felt top, with a green shaded lamp of golden colour poised like some deadly viper above an aging typewriter, still operational, and still in good condition. One previous owner. On the other side of the desk sat a black telephone with a silver dial set above big, black numbers. Behind the desk was a huge, semi-oval window, with dull grey-brown bars crossing it on a grid basis to support the wall. It overlook a grey city. The weather today will change to rain later on, as the clouds were grey and gathered, blocking any light from decorating the grey city with a bright gold. Within the office again, now, the chair behind the desk was an old, dark wood desk chair with wheels, and arms. To either side of the desk, a glass and wood drinks cabinet, with brandy and glasses, and an old armoire, of dark oak. The carpet was a dark sort of browny-green, and the walls were dark wood paneling.
          It was really old fashioned. Nineteen Twenties old fashioned.
         And it was there the creature lurked.
         The creature in the tweed suit and waistcoat.
         Or Herr Mullen, as he preferred to be called.
         "You see, Herr Mullen, he really is very popular."
         "You know I'm not a fan of that sort of lemon."
         "I know, but you do enjoy them when they are well written. And you can write well, can't you?"
         Herr Mullen leaned back, his giant form squashing and drooping out the sides of the chair, between the spokes of the arms, which, when the chair was unoccupied, wobbled. He looked over his glasses, perched on the end of his nose, like buzzards, his watery eyes focusing on Jyou. "Of course I can write. Who ever told you I couldn't write?"
         Jyou smiled internally. "Well, I overheard Da Wolfe talking about you yesterday..."
         "Really?" Mullen leaned over the table. "What did he say?"
         "I don't think I should tell you..."
         "Tell me, Jyou, else Mimi gets paired with a Yank."
         Jyou flinched. "I heard him say you were "A second rate writer half hearted slapping third rate lemons together for praise using out of character people." I don't think it was too charming."
         Herr Mullen's face was ruddy. "And he said this, did he!"
         "Yes!"
         Herr Mullen turned to the typewriter. "Very well. I'll use him, if he's so popular. Disclaimer!" He coughed, and hammered furiously, one key at a time, allowing for locating the right letters, "It should be noted the Digimon are property of Toei and Fox Kids, apparently. Contains things a minor shouldn't know about, and should be caned for if he does. May contain nuts or nut traces. Actual story content by Herr Mullen, including silly jokes." He calmed down a little, and took a deep breath. Then, he sighed; "Onto the lemon, Jyou."

The Digital World is a very odd place. For one, it's a parallel dimension formed from the Internet... I believe the equation goes something along the lines of Knowledge=Power=Mass. For, you see, the Internet is the most powerful educational tool in the universe. It has knowledge. People are posting new knowledge every day. Knowledge, as the everyday saying goes, is power. Power is mass. I'm not sure, entirely. Ask Mr. Pratchett. The Internet acquired enough knowledge to create an entire world. What's more, this world can support life. Digimon. Now, as a parallel dimension, it does not come in contact with this dimension. It did, once, as a result of a curve in its space-time dis-positioning relay. Well, not really, but it sounds impressive. Anyway, we move in the same direction as our dimension. On the graph, we are on the same line as this world; x=0. The Digital world is on the line x=1. But, a few, select children managed to change their line. From x=0, they moved along. They change to y-=0, went as far as they needed to go, to (1,0), and became x=1.
          And they didn't even realise they were doing it; every time they passed through a Digiport.
          This story is set on this inexplicable world, and is narrated by Tom Baker.
          And it stars this little fellow; with the fur, skewered atop a horn, covering a lizard body. His name is Gabumon. And the boy next to him, in school uniform. His name is Yamato.
          Let's begin.


"It's getting dark." said Gabumon, hopeful that they would set up camp soon. He was getting quite tired. Walking all day, and whatnot. It was wearing.
          "Yeah," said Yamato. They trudged on. Their objective in sight; an erection on the horizon- no! Not like that! No, it is a giant black erection- not a penis! No! It's a control spire! Stop thinking like that! Really! Can't you at least wait for the lemon bit? Really.
          I'm sorry, I'll write that again.
          "Yeah," said Yamato. But, they trudged on, headed for the giant, thick, black, hard-
          -control spire. The jungle around them howled, squawked, and chirped about its business. It also buzzed.
          Gabumon was sore. Very sore. It didn't help that they'd got lost at one point; that added an extra hour, at least to their journey. He was really being to dislike The Digital Kaizer, now. Forget the enslavement of thousands of Digimon, forget the pain caused to his friends, forget the destruction of Tailmon's home, and the homes of many others. It was the walking. The walking really did it for him. He thought all this was done and over with years ago. Damned Kaizer.
          Night had well and truly fallen by now. It had more than fallen, in fact; it had become very depressed and thrown itself off a cliff and gone "splat" at the bottom. And, as such, Yamato finally conceded they would not be destroying the tower in the distance tonight. He sighed, and stopped, and began to set up the tent.
          Gabumon watched his partner at work for a while, assisting with the polls where he could. But mostly, he sat on a rock, as he watched the movement of muscles underneath a very nice white shirt, as the blazer hung on a branch. The cotton was quite wet, from perspiration and when Yamato had become so hot he'd poured a small portion from the drinking flask over himself. Hairless underneath that shirt, Gabumon knew, and well defined from lugging about heavy amps and equipment. He liked it when Yamato was around.

           Perched on his rock, the jungle made its aforementioned noises about him. I hope I do not have to remind you about just what those are. The only other sound was Yamato hammering the tent pegs with a stone. He'd left the mallet at home. Now, in the jungle, it can become, from time to time, somewhat chilly at night, like now. And, as such, Gabumon shivered, and decided to gather some firewood. He got up, and collected some of the dryer bracken around him. Piling in up in a stack manner that resembled piles of bracken everywhere, he was about to use an attack to set it alight, before remembering that he was supposed to be an ice based chap. So he delved into Yamato's bag and dig out the pack of matches.

            Soon, without discovering anything of any embarrassing sexual value at all, such as condoms, Gabumon was warming himself at a crackling fireside. Yamato, having finish with the tent, sat next to him, and played his harmonica. Gabumon listened. A while, they sat there, just playing and listening respectively. Every so often, Yamato would just stop, and look at the spire in the distance. When he did that, Gabumon felt chilly, despite being next to the fire. A rustle, in the bushes. Yamato leaped up, hand on his Digivice; Gabumon hopped to a viable fighting stance. Taichi's head popped out of the bushes, hair tangled with sticks and leaves. Yamato and his partner relaxed.
            "Yamato?"
           "What are you doing here? You're suppose to be destroying the spire next to this one!"
           "Actually," said Agumon, stepping out of the bush, "You're supposed to be destroying the one next to this one, here. That's our control spire!" He pointed to the large, black, hard-
           -control spire.
           Yamato sat down. "Damn."
          "Don't worry, Yamato. We can help Taichi take down this spire."

Taichi had set up his tent, next to Yamato's. The jungle felt obligated to make night-time jungle sounds around them. Gabumon woke up. Yamato wasn't next to him. That was quite disturbing. He didn't like the idea of Yamato wondering off without him. He decided to see if he was in Taichi's tent. 
          So he did.

          He crawled out of his sleeping bag, and out of the tent. He took a moment to enjoy the flesh breeze that coursed through the jungle like a horse through an open field, with a happy theme tune in the background, usually. The cold air caressed him gently, ruffling his fur, like Yamato did, sometimes.

          "Taichi?" he asked, poking his head into the tent, "Taichi? Is Yamato in here?"

          "Hm? What's that?"

          Agumon hoisted himself up in his sleeping bag, and blinked slightly in the moonlight filtering past Gabumon's head. He yawned, mouth wide, as lizards have the tendency to swallow eggs whole, sometimes. Then he focused on Gabumon.
          "Oh, hey."
          "Hey, Agumon? Have you seen Yamato?"
          "No. Have you seen Taichi? He got up a while ago."

Yamato sat next to the lake. The moon reflected and wavered in the waters, celestial bodies wobbling on the surface. Stars, dotted across the velvet skin, strewn with a total disregard to order. The water was unnaturally clear, and free of any pond weed, as the pools in the Digital World tended to be. A single, rasping note swam across the air. A tune skimmed after it, like the Black Rabbit being chased by Hazel. However, no voice sang out. Just a montage of notes, shadows, silhouettes, to the tune of a harmonica. It rippled and waved over the water, through the jungle, and to the Dark Spire; the enforcer of ringed marks, like paw clawings on a rabbit, marking Digimon under the control of The General, or a Kaizer.
          Yamato stopped. He looked to the East, to the Spire he should have been headed to. He bowed his head at the water. A reflection of himself. Himself. Whom he knew so much about, and still couldn't express. It hadn't been such a problem four years ago. It didn't see it as important.
          Someone sat next to him.
          "Hey."
          "Hey. I knew you'd be here."
          "How?"
          He shrugged. "There's always a lake."
          Yamato and Taichi just gazed across the water together. Unpolluted, unspoilt. Beautiful, but strangely unnatural. The absence of pond life was disturbing. No dragonflies, no water boatmen. Not even duckweed. Tension raised as a knot, clasped between the blades of Yamato's ribcage, pushing his organs up in vain. This was the opportunity. Was he going to let it slip by, as he had done every time a perfect moment arose for the last four years?
          "I'm gay."
          Two words, dancing across the pond. Yamato looked at Taichi, who continued to stare across the water, tears distorting his eyes.
          "You are?" asked Yamato.
          Taichi nodded, once. His bottom lip trembled, his mouth cracked open, gritted teeth. He clapped his gloves to his face and sobbed, shuddering uncontrollably. He flinched when Yamato raised his arm, which paused, before continuing to put his arm around him. He cuddled Taichi to his chest. "Taichi, it's okay. I am, too."
          Taichi froze in Yamato's arms.
          "...You are?"
          "...That's right."
          Taichi's sobs turned to a choking laughter. "It's... it's like some kind of cliche yaoi fiction." he lifted his head out of Yamato's grip, and smiled at him. Yamato smiled back.
          "Yeah, it is, kinda."
          Taichi threw his arms 'round Yamato. "I can't believe it; all these years I've longed to tell you, and it turns out you love me, too!"
          Yamato froze. "What?"
          Taichi froze. "...You... don't love me?"
          "No, Taichi! I'm gay, but that doesn't mean I love you. I had to tell you, you're my best friend!"
          Taichi recoiled from Yamato, and curled up, his knees tucked into his chest. His teeth grit again, he began to sob, again. "If not me, then, who..?"

Gabumon sat by Yamato. He'd come back. He hadn't said a word. He'd just come back, crawled into his sleeping bag, and curled up, his hands over his ears, his eyes screwed up closed. Gabumon just sat next to him, worrying, wondering. Listening. The jungle sounds were dimmed to the shining wails from the other tent.
          He looked over at Yamato, and saw that, between the closed lids of his eyes, tears befouled his eyelashes, polluted his cheeks.
          They did not continue on their quest the next morning. They simply left, not talking.
 

Cruel, suffocating sunlight. Golden. Shimmering through an open blind, dust spiraling and dancing in the stagnant air. Bright, copper tinge to everything, except that which the light directly touched, which was bright, clear, Midas bronze. Yamato, black clothes ill-matching the light, lay on his bed, hands propping him against the headboard. His foot tapped to the rhythm of the music piping through his headphones. Gabumon, just sitting at the end of the bed. Timeless moments in succession; slow, drawling, dull. That sort of a day, where you just lie back, and think, as Gabumon and Yamato did.

          Each were worried. Gabumon about Yamato, Yamato about Tachi. Across the city, Yamato knew, Taichi was sobbing into a pillow, Agumon standing outside, banished, but watching. Gabumon knew that Yamato was here, and in turmoil inside that cool head. Calm, unchanging expression. Eyes closed. No smile. No frown. Nutural. He'd say something, when he wanted to. gabumon knew, if Yamato didn't find it nessesary to speak, he wouldn't. Nor, if he didn't want to. Gabumon worried, however. Yamato couldn't hold too many things in. It would hurt him if he did. But he sat, silently, as a duty.
          The CD player whirred. Another track played through, heavy guitars, loud drums. Audible at the bottom of the bed. Yamato rolled over.
          Another day gone.

Everyone's gone out. Just me. Alone, as always. I sent Agumon back to The Digital World. He can be more use there. Protect a sector from The Kaizer. Hikari's come in a couple of times, brought me dinner. No-one else called. She's out, now. I expect she's fighting the Kaizer. I should be out there, too. I'm so useless. Thousands enslaved, and I'm unable to help because my Digivice won't work. And now I'm just lying here, moping after Yamato.
          Bastard.

No more music.
          The CD ended. Again. Gabumon couldn't tell if Yamato was sleeping, or if he was just being incredibly quiet. He got to his feet, and decided to check. He walked to the head of the bed. "Yamato? Are you awake?"
          "...Yeah, I'm awake, Gabumon."
          "...You okay?"
          "No."
          "Do you want to talk about it?"
          "Remember when I fought Taichi?"
          "...Yeah."
          "Thanks for standing by me then, Gabumon. Even when I was wrong. Thanks for not leaving me."
          "I couldn't leave you, Yamato. I'm your partner."
          "...Yeah, but you're also my friend. Don't forget that. We aren't just partners."
          "I know."
          There was a silence. Gabumon just looked at Yamato. His face showed nothing, except his eyes. They looked weary, and sad. They seemed more frail than the eyes Gabumon had seen before. They were usually hard, and serious, when fighting, planning where to go next, playing the harmonica for Takeru by the lake, when he told Taichi they were only half-brothers... when he fought with Taichi. There, his eyes had scared him. Blue, and angry. Cold fire blazing behind glass, razing villages with sheer temperament. Those were not nice eyes. But, these eyes...
          "Gabumon?"
          "Yeah?"
          "There's something else."
          "What, Yamato?"
          "I love you, Gabumon."
          "Yeah, I love you, too. We're partners."
          "No, Gabumon. I love you."
          "Oh."
          Gabumon just looked at him for a while.
          "But you're human." Yamato just looked back.
          "...Yeah."
          "A human liking a Digimon? That's a bit...weird, Yamato."
          "Yeah." snorted Yamato. Laughter. That's what Gabumon liked hearing. Yamato had a nice laugh, when he used it.
          Gabumon wrapped his arms around Yamato's neck. Yamato wrapped his arms around Gabumon's fur. The breezy white cotton felt nice.


Author's Notes.

I don't think a sex scene was needed. It would just spoil that lovely end. I rather like just how cheesy this one is; it pokes fun at the traditional Yaoi storyline. I really enjoyed writing this one. I've had those sorts of cruel, golden afternoons. Lying bored on the bed, with afternoon or dusk (as with this story) sunlight shining past the curtains. I hate those afternoons. The narrative there was supposed to be very dull, clipped, and slow. Some may say that the use of such short sentences speed it up, but I think the use of so many full stops slows the piece right down. Time drags by. Gabumon was great to work with; Yamato is such a reserved character, I wanted to put a lot of distance between him and his partner. That's why you get to interpret how Yamato is feeling through Gabumon, and why I spent so much time highlighting just how passive Yamato's expressions are. My regret is that it's so short. I write this in a small box on my email, and the scroller on the side gets smaller and smaller, and makes me think that the piece is longer and longer. I get the scale wrong. Taichi's little bit in the middle was a nice touch, I felt. That's what rejection feels like. You're all alone, and your thoughts sink lower into the negative. The comedy in the beginning seems far too out of place now, considering the end. The "Walking" bit, though funny, seems inappropriate after Taichi's placed the actual value of the Kaizer's actions in his monologue. I really liked the bit by the water, it made my eyes mist slightly, mostly due to the references. That was a fantastic film.
          Now, a bit of news. I'm planning a series. I feel that the only accurate portrayal of true British life has been the last series of Doctor Who. The new one, with Christopher Eccleston. So, my new project is set in 1999, and it involves original characters. Jyou's very much against the thing, he seems to think I'm ripping off Lord Archive, but I'll ignore him. Don't worry about the Digimon, though; they are all actual Digimon. You can look them up when I'm done (if you haven't found my list somewhere). So, look out for that in the distant future (I'm having a hard time writing it; time wise and creatively). I'll still be doing these short stories, however. There's a Koushiro/Jyou in the making. Jyou's not too happy about me implying he's gay (apparently it'll "ruin his chances") so I'm going to make it clear he's bisexual, and take everyone completely out of their own character. I'll also be ripping off Mr. Conan Doyle, so you can guess what my next little ditsy through genre and convention will be.
           Comments, votes, criticisms welcome. But they must wipe their feet.