16A/N: Halloo! First things first: Happy Holidays to all! Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story so far. I know it's in its infancy and I'm hella late to updating, but I thought this would be a good occasion to show you all that, yes, this is still in production.
Another short chapter, but if I added what comes next, it might have been too long. So… without ado, here is chapter two! Enjoy!
xXx
Chapter Two
xXx
Kari Kamiya sat alert at the table she claimed on the café patio. Though shaded under the brim of an umbrella, she still squinted at the calm current of passersby, camera ready in her hands. Her focus, her quest for the most picturesque of subjects, was thwarted when her roommate breached her line of vision. The latest university periodical slammed down on the wire mesh of the tabletop.
"Oh, my God!" Yolei cried. "Kari, did you read this?"
'This' was illustrated by way of Yolei snatching the paper back up, parting it, and poking a stiff digit at an article with such intensity it dented the print.
Kari set her camera down on her lap and reluctantly postponed her peoplewatching.
"Yes, Yolei," she said. "I have."
Her roommate's eyes bulged and she jostled her eyeglasses before rearing back.
"And?" she gasped.
With a sigh, Kari crossed her legs, moved to switch her attentions again—though not for any artistic pursuit. She needed an out, a distraction.
Yolei purred a harmless growl, bringing the paper up to her nose to read. She adjusted her glasses again and cleared her throat.
"'And aside from being talented and beautiful,'" she recited, "'the eighteen-year-old freshman displays a refreshing wit and wisdom for her art, providing me, as phony a photographer as one can imagine (I don't think gratuitous selfies count), with clear and engaging explanations of her technique as well as any pertinent artistic history behind them.'"
Violently, the paper flapped shut. Kari caught the sight of paper crinkling out of the corner of her eye, but she refused to turn. Sunlight gilding the braids of a girl in a flowy dress, the melting cup of soft serve in the hand of the boy speaking to her, the hole in his backpack from a rushed zip job—she focused on them. Obviously, Yolei wanted to drive home a point, but Kari was determined to resist acknowledging it.
"Hello?"
Yolei hopped in front of her, waving her arms. Kari recoiled, bringing her camera to her chest like a shield. She was tempted to press the shutter button, capturing prime blackmail material of Yolei in a frothy rage. Kindly, she decided against it.
"I heard you, Yolei," she said. She lifted the camera strap over her head and placed the gadget on the tabletop, surrendering to Yolei's implicit demands. Swayed, Yolei took the seat opposite Kari, and in that time, the young photographer glimpsed over her shoulder, back at the girl with the sunkissed braids and the boy with the soupy dessert, mentally ruing the loss of a photographic opportunity.
"Really?" Yolei gaped. "What I just read does nothing for you? This kid—what's his name?—" She riffled through the paper again. "TK..." Kari raised an eyebrow, amused at the furrow on Yolei's forehead when she came across the unusual surname. "TK something or other," her roommate waved off. "Kari, this guy just declared to the entire university that he thinks you're beautiful. How are you not giggling and kicking at the air with glee?"
Kari didn't even blink.
"Because it's embarrassing," she retorted. She reached for the periodical on the table and folded it back to its cover, hiding the article in question.
"Embarra... What?"
She tried not to bristle.
"Do you have any idea what will happen when my brother finds out this guy wrote that about me? He's asking for a death wish."
Yolei blew a raspberry, motor-like and wet.
"Like your brother even reads the newspaper. He's not going to know about it."
"Okay," Kari ceded, mildly upset Yolei had caught on to the truth. "Fine." She turned, her eyes already on a distant point, marking some arbitrary destination where she could end the conversation.
"Umm…?"
Kari glanced at Yolei, immediately regretting the focus back to her roommate. She was doing her a disservice, she knew, but she was done entertaining the topic—for the time being at least.
"Can we pick this up another time?" she offered, standing. A digit tapped the side of her camera. "I'll be late for class."
Yolei's eyes pinched to a squint, examining her suspiciously behind the round frames of her glasses.
"You're not just saying that to leave, right?"
Her tone was teasing, but Kari knew Yolei had an earnest interest in the development of the story. Why? She couldn't fathom. All she knew was that her roommate had frequent flights of fancy—not helped by her indulgence in overdone TV soap operas.
"I don't break my promises," Kari assured her. "I'll see you later."
xXx
He unlocked the door to his apartment whistling. Shoes were kicked off, keys spun around a finger like a cowboy finishing a shootout. TK stuffed one foot into a slipper before his whistling was interrupted.
"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."
TK turned blue eyes to the dining table. His roommate was seated at the head, legs crossed, school newspaper open in his grip, face blocked by sheets of black and white print. He glanced at the tabletop and saw a small plate of leftover bread crust, a half-empty mug of coffee. To complete the image of "Dad at the Breakfast Table," TK just needed to place a glass of orange juice.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ken," said TK as he put on the other slipper and walked into their kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, pleased to hear the jangle of jars and bottles and cartons in the door shelves. It was a sign that they wouldn't need to scavenge campus for free meals, though that was largely due to Ken's near maternal dorm management.
I hope you bought orange juice, TK mused to himself, grinning as he spotted the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and poured a glass, rounding behind Ken's chair to place it on the table.
"I'm not going to drink that if you put it down." Ken uttered the words without lifting eyes off the newspaper pages, though they were enough to halt TK's hand. "Drink it yourself, or put it back."
"Yes, Mom."
Compliant, TK sat in the chair adjacent, obligingly taking a sip of the orange juice. He didn't care for the drink much—he had only poured the glass to mock Ken and his Dad-at-Breakfast ensemble—but he felt tamed into obeying Ken's orders, much like a child cowed by his mother.
"And don't play coy," Ken went on, still not looking at him. "You know precisely to what I refer."
"Oh, really? Are you now a Sherlock Holmes, Ken? Should I buy you a Billiard pipe for Christmas? Get you a tweed Deerstalker cap?"
Ken sniffed.
"I'm studying to be a forensic scientist. Some aptitude in deductive processing would be helpful in getting there."
"So I'm practice."
There was a flash of Ken's dark blue eyes in his direction, blinked over the rim of his coffee mug as he brought it to his lips. TK frowned, able to read in the gesture the words that weren't even said aloud: "What's there to read? You're entirely transparent." To think such a thought accompanied Ken's first glimpse of him of the day.
Miffed, TK nudged the glass of orange juice back with his knuckles. In the silence that ensued, he picked apart the bread crust on Ken's plate.
"You know she's going to kill you when she finds out," Ken said. He peeked at him again from behind the newspaper pages, and TK lifted his head, his good humor resurfacing in the motion.
"Who? Kat? Psh. She loves me."
Ken declined to comment, clearing his throat as he snapped the wilting pages of the newspaper back upright. That he failed to say anything had TK fidgeting in his seat.
"I'm surprised she let you publish it. Doesn't she comb every article for content and errors before printing?"
TK shrugged, mumbling only the vowel sounds of "I don't know."
"My editor's eye is impeccable, Ken. What are you implying? That she slipped up?"
The question of Catherine's credibility as the Canto's leader forced Ken to put the periodical down. TK was certain his roommate was indifferent to Catherine, but printed publications were only as good as the people behind them, and if their present situation was any indication, Ken had grown quite fond of The Canto and its Times and Tribune feel.
"I know that," he said. "So now I'm wondering what you did to have this article go unnoticed."
TK was grinning—tight-lipped—before he knew it, and the second he felt his lips break, he checked the snort of laughter.
"I didn't do anything, Ken. Guess I was lucky."
Ken folded the newspaper carefully while uncrossing his legs. He stood, tucked the paper under his armpit, and picked up his breakfast dishes.
"Like I said," he began, swiping up TK's glass of orange juice. "She's going to kill you."
xXx
"Where is he!"
Catherine was beside herself, stiff and seething—so much so her porcelain skin was practically aboil.
"When I find him," she raged, "I'm going to wring his—"
"—Scrawny little neck?" finished her one of her news editors.
"No!" she snapped, taking a step forward in her shiny heels. "I'm going to wring every single of his digits until they break and he can't freaking write anymore. Where is he!"
TK overheard Catherine's outrage behind the façade of focus. He was at his desk in the newsroom, catching up on current events, headphones on and, seemingly, tuned out to the world around him.
In truth, he was only skimming the words on his screen, and he wasn't even playing music. He just wanted to look like he was busy. He couldn't give Catherine the satisfaction of knowing he was hearing her, could he?
"He's at his desk," offered one of the other staff writers, a tad too helpfully. TK looked away from his screen at his betrayer, briefly contemplating revenge.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The question hit him on the side of the head. Catherine might as well have walloped him in the face with her Louis Vuitton purse rather than her outcry. Rapidly, he rebounded, edging his chair back as Kat advanced, lifting the headphones off the crown of his skull.
"Pardon?" he said softly, blinking blue eyes slowly at her. Too late he realized the puppy gaze would have no effect on her, as Catherine's eyes was larger, more doe-like, and bluer than his.
Okay, batting the eyelashes won't work, Takaishi. Which means, Plan B.
As Catherine froze in anger at his obliviousness, TK leaned back, relaxed his erect spine, and spread his legs, bouncing knees. He was tempted to pull the pencil from behind his ear and gnaw on the eraser, but he checked the impulse, saving it instead if Catherine's mood hadn't shifted.
"What the hell do you mean, 'Pardon'?" She nearly spat at him. "Explain this!"
She lifted the latest issue of The Canto like Henri Sanson carrying the guillotined head of Marie Antoinette. She even went so far as to rattle it in front of him. TK felt the corner of his left eye twitching, and he stopped the tic, knowing Catherine would capitalize on a display of weakness.
"You're going to need to be more specific."
Catherine obliged, albeit amid a prolonged growl, flipping pages until she reached the reason for her episode. Once located, she punched it with a rigid finger.
"Do you have any idea how many emails and comments I've received about your 'article'?"
TK shrugged, secretly, deliciously pleased with the information.
"Oh, wow," remarked another newsroom colleague, dryly. "So popular, Takaishi."
The quickness with which TK replied was neither becoming nor surprising.
"Can't help it," he played, all smug gratification. "Good writing attracts response, doesn't it?"
He swiveled in his desk chair, sweeping a look across the newsroom for nods of agreement. Not one cranium moved, though all eyes were on them regardless. Still, the spotlight was the spotlight. TK shrugged, looking back at Catherine.
"You're going to apologize to the school for this piece," she commanded.
"What?" His open mouth dropped another inch. "Apologize for what?" He stood without realizing it, staring Kat down. "You should be thanking me! Look at how many people are reading it! And you know they read it because they emailed you about it!"
She retracted the paper, rolling it as if she were going to swat at a buzzing housefly.
"My newspaper is not some gossip teen magazine for you to chart your love life, TK!" she shouted, raising the periodical-turned-weapon. "Do you have any idea how hard I have worked to bring this school's newspaper to a higher tier of collegiate press? This sorry newspaper was just police blotters and crossword puzzles before I turned it around and made it something more than crappy wrapping paper or packing material!"
He was tempted to roll his eyes, and he tried so hard to check the impulse that instead of channeling the energy to stop the motion, he ended up doing a freakish variation—eyes rolling too far that only the whites showed.
"Ew!" cried Catherine, hitting him at last. "Don't do that!"
Corrected, TK looked at her, reanimated to finish their argument.
"Well, everything goes through you, Kat, doesn't it? This went through you." He pointed at the paper still rolled in her fist.
"God, spare me," she emoted, the words huffed from the depths of her lungs. "You know you took advantage of me."
A resounding gasp filled the room and the cacophonic tick-tacking of fingers on keyboards stopped altogether. TK shushed them instantly.
"Not like that! Is this a daytime soap? No, it isn't."
"Admit it," Catherine challenged. "You submitted that to me late, on the eve of a conference you knew I'd be attending out of town for three full days. I had preparation to do for that, schoolwork, and checking all the articles coming in for this issue. You knew I trusted you, and you took advantage of that. Of course I didn't look at it, you idiot! And because I didn't, now I'm the idiot, and you will fix this or you will never write for me again."
The string of words concluding Catherine's tirade were words TK, for all his innovativeness, had never considered a possibility. "Never," "write," and "again" flickered in his mind like floating, glowing embers in a hellish fire. He clutched the plaid fabric over his heart, going so far as to sway backwards lightly.
"You can't mean that," he said. "You don't mean that."
"Do you want to find out?"
"No," he muttered meekly.
Up until then TK had had no qualms about causing a scene, but now he was acutely sensitive to their disruptions. Hunching, he whispered, "Can we continue talking about this outside? Please?"
With a huff, Catherine led the way out, stomping heels on the tile of their newsroom. Once outside, TK offered hands up in pardon, though he kept the display brief should Catherine misinterpret it as surrender.
"I know you're upset, Kat, but I can't write an apology for that. I can't."
"Why not?"
"Uhh…"
He should have expected the inevitable 'why?' (Catherine was a reporter after all) but he was miserably unprepared for it.
"Let me, um… let me run an alternative by you first."
His foot tapped antsily on the ground, moisture creeping out of his armpits. The swiftness with which his thoughts flew worked up an unpleasant sweat, the sort of desperation reserved only for those trying to escape corporal punishment.
"And that would be…?" she probed.
TK groaned inwardly.
God love and curse her attention to detail.
"Um, I haven't thought of one yet, but give me twenty-four hours and I'll have one."
"And if I don't like it?"
"Then I'll write your apology."
There, he said it. Blabbed it, more like, as if it were an abject something his body couldn't stomach—figurative vomit. TK considered himself a patient person, but that was likely due to the facts that he usually got what he wanted immediately, and without much effort. Catherine was playing tree branch to his Tantalus, dangling approval over his head, and his tolerance wore thin. He looked at her with pleading eyes.
"Fine," she relented, and TK breathed again. "Twenty-four hours."
xXx
A/N: In case any of you were wondering, yes, the Catherine here is very loosely based on the Catherine from Adventure 02 (during the Digimon World Tour bit). Really, she's just inspiration for her look, but also, don't count out TK's light crush on her in the show to have some influence here in this story.
And boy, there's been a lot of this kid lately. Kari will feature more predominantly next chapter once TK's alternative idea reaches fruition.
Happy Holiday! And thanks for reading!
Aveza