Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except you. Sing to me, slave.

Notes: Takes place in 02, when the Digidestined are around fifteen or sixteen. Slight yaoi, namely Taito. Blood, gore, and minor sexual references. The R rating is there for a reason.

By Katelyn

 His hand was so beautiful.

So soft and finely chiseled, strong and deft, so tempting.

The pull of darkness...

She never even looked back. It was too inviting. Much too inviting.

Their fingers interlocked, and their faces drifted closer.

His icy eyes closed and he pulled her to him. She gave up resistance and fell into his arms. He encircled her and brought his face down to hers. Her breath quickened as he stroked her back. She shivered involuntarily.

She knew something was wrong.

Her amber eyes looked at him with a calm collection and obeisance. Their lips touched, and he smiled slightly, running his hand over her brown hair. Their mouths locked together; their bodies pressed gently against each other.

He never let go of her hand.

"Hikari," he said.

She resisted him, but only slightly – her body longed for his touch and she could not deny him. In her mind she tried to run from this beautifully forbidden tempter, but the misty lust overshadowed all other thoughts. Silence screamed in her ears and shrouded her in the shadows that would forever be her guardian.

The light and the darkness are one.

*

Not with a bang but a whimper.

*

The cave was dark and cool. Drips of water fell from the ceiling and landed with gentled pings against the ground. Stalagmites jutted up from the ground; stalactites hung threateningly from the roof. A damp mist wound itself through the cave, licking into the corners of the dark night.

Hikari huddled behind a stalagmite, her head resting on her knees, which were drawn up against her chest. Beside her lay the long black pistol, and, next to it, the knife. She didn't look at them; she stared constantly out the cave’s mouth at the waning moon, averting her gaze.

A wolf howled. Hikari did not move.

She stared stolidly ahead, images of her master - she shuddered to use the term - floating across her mind. Her lips still tingled with the feeling of his kiss, and his blue icy eyes still glared at her from the recesses of her subconscious. She had known he couldn't be trusted, but even Hikari could not resist temptation.

She'd tried to kill him. It was just one death - to protect herself. One wouldn't make much difference. There were six billion people in the world, for God's sake. But he was much to experienced for her. She had not been able to resist him, even had she wanted to. Some deep part of her exsistence was glad for this new confinement, and within it a new freedom.

A drop of water splashed onto her head and ran down the side of her face, almost like a tear.

"I have got to get out of here," she voiced to no-one.

*

The phone rang for the third time.

"Fine, if none of you will get it, I will!" Yamato Ishida yelled to his father and his father's "guest" - Yamato knew it was his father's girlfriend, and he resented that only slightly, but he didn't say anything.

He picked it up. "Hullo?"

"Moshi moshi, Yamato," said a female voice, one Yamato barely recognized.

Yamato practically dropped the reciever. "Mrs. Kamiya? I, uh, well...hi!"

She sounded worried. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. "Is Hikari at your house for any reason?"

"No," Yamato said, "I haven't seen her in ages. Why do you ask?"

"She hasn't been home," said Hikari's mother. "She is never out this late. I already called Takeru and Koushiro, but they haven't seen her either. I am very worried for her; I think I may have to get in my car and go looking for her. But Taichi is already out, and I don't want to leave the house alone..."

"I'll go looking," Yamato volunteered. "I've got a car. It's a piece of crap, granted, but a car nonetheless."

"Oh, would you?" Hikari's mother's voice was choked with tears. "That'd be so wonderful! Oh, arigatou Yama-kun, I cannot thank you enough!"

"It's fine," Yamato said. "Ja ne."

"Good luck...ja ne..." and she hung up the phone.

*

Yamato's car was nothing special, though surely not "a piece of crap". A small red coupe, not in bad shape; and he preferred the term 'cozy' to the term 'cramped.' A bunch of papers - mostly trigonometry homework - littered the seats, and an old fashioned handle clutch adorned the steering wheel.

It drove well too, espcially at night, it's headlights could blind a man with his eyes closed. They were closer to x-rays than to lights, in fact. Not only that, but one honk of the horn was enough to wake the dead.

Yamato had the window rolled down, despite the extreme coldness of the winter night, lest he hear Hikari talking. A bit of snow was sprinkled on the ground; the kind when a storm is coming but is not quite upon you. The road was icy but not enough to be exceedingly dangerous. If Hikari was out here, he wouldn't be surprised if she had frozen to death.

He rounded a corner, feeling the wheels skid slightly on the ice. A small girl was walking down the street; she seemed almost to glowing slightly was some unearthly light. It had to be Hikari.

"Hikari!" he yelled.

She did not turn to look at him nor acknowledge his exsistence, she only continued to look straight ahead and walk as though a zombie. That scared him much more than he wanted to admit, and the hairs on the back of his neck were beginning to rise. To arouse Hikari from her stupor, and partially to quell this new terror, Yamato brought his fist down on the horn.

Hikari jerked abruptly and the light surrounded her went out like someone had flipped a switch. For a breif second Yamato thought he saw the light reflect on something shiny in her hand, but he convinced himself it was naught but a trick of the night.

"Hullo, Yamato-kun," she said formally, bowing slightly. "What brings you here?"

Put off by her polite and apparently oblivious manner, Yamato snapped, "What are you doing out so late?"

Hikari explored the back of her neck with her hand. "Ah, just out for a walk. Getting some fresh air, you know..."

"It's one in the morning, Hikari."

She didn't speak. She didn't even flinch. She was so unnaturally calm and in control that it almost made Yamato suspicious. He sighed. "Get in."

She opened the door and took the seat next to him, placing the papers delicately on the floor. No word was uttered Yamato drove Hikari home. No breath was drawn nor released - each too uncertain of the other's intentions to voice anything that might be taken the wrong way.

She was careful not to show him the knife concealed within her fist.

*

*

The door creaked slowly open and Hikari stepped noiselessly into the room. "Mum?" she whispered tentatively.

"Hikari!" Her mother whisked around to the door and gathered her daughter into her arms. "Oh, ‘Kari, did Yamato bring you home?"

"Yamato?" Hikari asked, feigning cluelessness.

"He went out to look for you. You haven’t seen him?"

Hikari shook her head. "No, I haven’t seen him at all."

"How’d you get home?" her mother asked.

"I walked," Hikari lied. "It wasn’t far. I went out for a walk, but I got lost. Turns out I wasn’t very far from home, though."

As to how Hikari could get lost in the faceless urban meadow that was Odaiba Mrs. Kamiya did not inquire. Instead, she said, "It’s really late, Hikari. You should get to bed."

Hikari made an elaborate pantomime of being exhausted. "Yeah, I’ll just go to my room." She left Mrs. Kamiya to puzzle over where exactly her daughter had been for the past three hours.

Hikari was certainly not about to tell her.

*

When he was sure Hikari was gone, Yamato opened his ocean blue eyes. His head hurt. He found it difficult to remember exactly what had transpired, but one touch of his fingers to the wound on his neck brought his memory flooding back.

He turned the bloody knife over in his hands. It was smooth and cool to the touch, almost like ice, serrated and slightly sickled at the top. It was silver, but stained with red from many years of illicit use. It was naught but a kitchen knife; any child would have access to it. The only thing that set it apart was the word etched into its hilt:

KAISER

Yamato coughed wetly, bringing up a wad of bloody mucus, which he spat away into the bushes. His mouth tasted of saline and salty plasma, and every muscle in his body ached. Hikari, after drawing the knife across his throat, had taken his coupe as well, which meant he was – more or less – stranded.

He was painfully conscious of the long, thin knife wound across his neck, and it hurt like all hell. Hikari’s intention had obviously been to kill him. He’d pretended he was dead, and he was just lucky that she didn’t want to chop him into a million pieces. Satisfied with her "kill", Hikari had taken the car and left Yamato bleeding on the sidewalk in the crimson-dyed snow.

Upon seeing the knife that had nearly caused his death Yamato retched and fought the urge to chuck it into the bushes. He should keep it, he knew; it would come in handy as evidence against Hikari.

Breathing was difficult – the wound had lacerated but not severed his trachea or esophagus, though it had nearly sliced through all his vocal cords. His voice was hoarse and barely there, and every breath brought more blood and mucus into his mouth and throat.

He forced himself to his feet. His vision swam from blood loss and pain, but he steadied himself and began to walk to no where in particular. He wanted to get home, but he wasn’t quite sure which direction was home. Yamato knew that death was breathing down his neck, and that his time was running short. Each beat of his heart spurted more blood from his injury, and every step shot electric jolts of pain through every inch of his body.

Regardless, he faced the direction he hoped would lead him home, and began to walk the tightrope between death and salvation.

*

The Takaishi’s home was a cozy little apartment in which only two people lived: Takeru and his mother. At the time, however, Ms. Takaishi was out buying groceries, and fifteen-year-old Takeru was making himself breakfast.

It was eleven o’clock Sunday morning, and it was rare from anyone in the Takaishi household including their cat to be up so early. Nonetheless, Takeru was hungry and had set out to make himself an omelet.

While waiting for his breakfast to cook, he had habitually turned on the morning news, not expecting to see anything of real importance to his daily life. So when the name Ishida was mentioned, Takeru nearly dropped the pan jerking around to look at the television.

"Last night, eighteen-year-old Ishida Yamato set out to find a family friend known as Kamiya Hikari. Yamato, known as Matt and Yama among close friends, never returned from the outing," the newscaster informed him.

Takeru almost had a stroke. He gasped and leaned in closer to the television to hear the whole story. "Though Hikari was returned safely to her home," the anchorman continued, "authorities have yet to discover Yamato. They did, however, discover a patch of snow drenched in blood that is believed to be in direct relation to the mystery."

The screen showed Hikari, face wet with tears. "I hope they find him," she sobbed into the microphone. "I couldn’t stand it if anything were to happen to Yama-kun!"

In a state of shock, Takeru ran out of the kitchen and grabbed a phone, quickly dialing the Kamiya’s number.

Rrrring…

"Please answer," Takeru pleaded.

"Answer, damn you!"

Rrrrri – "Hello?"

"Moshi moshi," Takeru said, "is Hikari there?"

"Speaking."

"Oh God, Hikari! What happened last night?"

Hikari’s breath quickened. A muffled sob reached Takeru’s ears. Actually, it sounded almost like laughter…Takeru smashed that thought before it could progress any farther. Hikari said, "I don’t know! Oh, I’m so sorry about what happened; I hope your brother comes home soon!"

"Onii-chan will be home safe," Takeru said, trying to reassure himself as much as Hikari.

"Oh, I hope so," Hikari said.

"Hai," Takeru confirmed. "Me too, ‘Kari."

"Ja ne, Takeru-san."

"Ja." He hung up the receiver. Still in a semi-stupor, he made his way back to the kitchen, where he found his omelet blackened and burnt to a crisp, the smell of burning food still hanging in the air.

He sighed and set about preparing another one.

*

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

*