#digisecretsanta

[digitalworldbound]

digi secret santa!

to sam (@tangledupblue ), a dear friend! i am so lucky to have gotten you as my secret santa recipient. i hope that this season has found you well, and that you have a wonderful rest of the year.

New Adventures

characters: yamato and takeru summary: things continue to change, and yamato is struggling to stay afloat.

Train wheel screeched as Yamato was stirred from his momentary slumber. Blearily, he looked around, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. It wasn’t like him to fall asleep on public transport.

It also wasn’t like him to avoid his problems, a fact he dutifully ignored.

He had woken up late that morning. The consistent buzzing of his phone had become too much to ignore, but he felt no urgency. January had arrived only days ago, but Yamato hadn’t grown used to the cold. 

‘It’s time,’ a text read. A string of missed calls followed close behind. Yamato made no effort to respond, throwing his covers aside haphazardly as panic gripped his heart. 

The hustle and bustle of Tokyo swept Yamato up. His body moved on autopilot as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. Like the other passerby, Yamato kept his gaze downward, sparing only a glance or two at the bag clutched desperately in his hand.

Yamato looked up only to verify that he was headed in the right direction before he focused once more on his shoes.

His two different shoes. Yamato sighed.

Odaiba’s population was miniscule compared to the capital of Japan. Strangers’ shoulders brushed against his, the crowd’s warmth his only consultation. As he struggled to make his way down the street, Yamato cursed under his breath. A brisk winter breeze seeped through his leather coat, his arms covered in gooseflesh. 

Despite the train’s timely arrival, Yamato’s watch informed him that he would be late. He could feel the wind ruffle his carefully-styled hair and groaned. This wasn’t the impression that he hoped for, but it would have to do. 

The streets continued to twist and turn until a large building came into view. A constant flow of bodies spilled in and out of the doors. Yamato’s fingers grew numb with anxiety; his breath quickened.

Yamato glanced down at his watch for the date: January 12th. It was strange to him how a day that previously felt like any other could suddenly hold so much importance. 

Large, beige walls stretched above him, dense clouds reflected in the countless windows. Yamato searched the windows for a clue, for a sign from the universe that would settle the jittery feeling in his heart. 

The windows stared back blankly, the walls too formidable to let even a whisper of hope through. At the top, ‘Aiiku Hospital’ was proudly displayed. For some, these rooms would be the start of a new life, or a chance at a second one.

Yamato wondered idly which fate awaited him.

Without a doubt, he knew that once he stepped through the threshold, Yamato’s life would be irrevocably changed. His pulse quickened, the bag rustling futility in his grasp.

Winter’s wind urged him forward, towards the throngs of people headed inside. Residual holiday decoration hung from high banisters and the edges of desks.  People talked in hushed voices as they sat in various chairs. Though their masks hid their mouth, the edges of their eyes would crinkle with every smile. Despite Yamato’s nerves that were tied in a bundle, the atmosphere was almost merry. 

He side-stepped out of the way, and tucked himself into a corner to gain his bearings. In his pocket, his phone buzzed once more, but Yamato ignored it. Carefully, he opened up his bag. The outside was wrinkled and weary from the travel, but inside, everything was as it should be.

Yamato released a shaky breath as he rubbed his sweaty palms against his worn jeans. He worked his fingers through his messy hair, straightening the hem of his shirt. 

Late or not,  he was going to make the best impression that he could.

The lady at the desk pointed him up the stairs, and offered him a smile as she patiently repeated the directions. 

His legs felt numb as he made his way upwards. The windows that lined the walls illuminated briefly with a weak ray of sunshine before the clouds swallowed it whole. Yamato wished for the clouds to swallow him up and spit him out somewhere far, far away.

Underneath his anxiety, there was a strange sort of anticipation. With every step, he grew closer and closer to an uncertain future. What would this mean for him? What would this mean for his brother?

At the thought of Takeru, Yamato’s pace quickened. He would have taken the stairs two at a time had it been socially acceptable, but he held back. 

Somewhere, at the other end of a long, superfluous staircase, his little brother was embarking on an adventure Yamato had no place in. 

It was terrifying and gratifying to watch a brother grow up, Yamato mused. One moment, Takeru had painstakingly arranged his letter blocks to form nonsense words, and in the next, he had become a father. 

The unrelenting buzzing in Yamato’s pocket acted as his silent cheerleader, reassuring him that even now, as they grew up and grew apart, that he would always have a place in his brother’s life.

The stairs ended at the mouth of an endless hallway adorned with storks and brightly colored women. Each nurse seemed to smile as they darted between rooms, the sound of a baby’s cry more of an accomplishment than a burden. 

“308, 308, 308,” Yamato muttered to himself. Numbers passed by in a blur until his eyes zeroed in on the room that held the source of his anxieties. 

‘Takaishi’ had been written on the place card beside the room number in an elegant script. 

Yamato’s legs seemed to be rooted in place, his ears straining for any sound beyond the solid wood door.

Other than a few hushed whispers, Yamato was unable to discern anything. One last look into his bag settled his stomach. It was time to stop running.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. Softly, he knocked on the door, the hushed whispers fading out immediately. 

The door creaked open on its hinges, a head of unruly blond hair poking out.

“Yamato?” he whispered. Dumbly, the older boy stood there, his throat dry and heart pounding. Takeru pretended not to notice his apprehension and took a step forward. 

Yamato studied the dark circles underneath Takeru’s eyes and the happy glow that settled in his smile. He had to crane his neck up to get a good glimpse at his little brother, but could no longer find it within himself to resent the height difference.

“It’s been a while,” Yamato finally said, clearing his throat. “Is…Did everything…How is she?”

“Labor was a bitch, she said, but worth it. I was worried for a minute - her face was so pale and her heart was beating so fast. The doctors say that everything is fine, thought, so I guess I have to trust their judgment.” Takeru shrugged.

After a moment of silence, he continued. “Thank you for coming, by the way. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

At that, Yamato smiled, thrusting the crumpled bag in his direction. “So do I get to meet the kid or not?”

“Your nephew, you mean?”

Nephew. 

Yamato swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes prickling at the thought of his brother having a son of his own. “Yes,” he managed. “My nephew.”

[citrus-cactus]

Happy Holidays, @dnofsunshine !!

I was your @digisecretsanta, and I wanted to give you a little comic featuring the Takaishida brothers! Even when they’re not in the same place, they’re thinking of each other (Takeru is a bit cheeky as always, and Yamato will go so far as to strike a pose for the camera, but only for his little bro!). Not pictured: the Knife of Day/World on the Knife Christmas concert earlier, where Yamato gave Takeru that new hat, and Takeru gave Yamato a CD that he and Gabumon are listening to right now :D)

I included color versions of Takeru’s selfies below the cut, since I know he’s your favorite. Hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season, and a restful (hat-filled?) remainder of 2023!

~Citrus-cactus

[hallowed-nebulae]

I'm happy to share my @digisecretsanta piece for @shevuun !

This one is a bit of a messier painting, and it's been a hot minute of not drawing digimon, but I hope you like it!

[stuckinthewrongworld]

Merry Christmas @rachelmonart ! I was your secret Santa. I saw that you really liked Junpei, so I thought I would draw him for you. This is my first time drawing him so I hope I did it justice!

@digisecretsanta

[genork-the-fandork]

Merry Digi-mas, @nsdrawsstuff ! I was your Secret Santa! (My main blog is @animegenork , but for the sake of my sanity, I post all my writing here... I know it's confusing.) It has unfortunately been a long time since I've seen Savers, and the same goes for Adventure 02; however, I do remember my impressions of Daisuke and Masaru's characters and wanted to try my hand at doing something a little goofy with them. (But mostly Daisuke, since I dabble more with Adventure content.) I hope you enjoy! [AND I'M SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LATE IN THE DAY I'M POSTING THIS!] Thank you to @digisecretsanta and @sluggybasson107 as always for hosting! 💕

Running Late

Word Count: 991 | Universe: Adventure [02] x Savers Crossover (slight Xros Wars reference) | Characters: Daisuke Motomiya, V-mon, Masaru Daimon | Dedicated to nsdrawsstuff

It was a Christmas like any other, but also extraordinary in its own way, because wasn't every Christmas spent with Digimon extraordinary?

Though he and the others had been planning their get-together for months, Daisuke had been so busy he'd kept pushing off his task. Takeru had even teased him about it the other day, asking if he'd gotten the food yet for their fête. "Of course I did," Daisuke scoffed, setting down his water glass a little more forcefully than necessary. "Who d'you think I am?"

"You," Ken had replied smoothly, coolly, even, not a hint of malice in the words. Just the truth.

Well, they were both right, dammit.

Daisuke glanced at the clock. Okay. He only had a few more minutes of his shift left. Then he could go run out for some snacks. Surely there would still be some left somewhere, right?

V-mon poked his head over the counter. "How much longer?"

"Just a few more minutes, buddy! Then we can go get the grub." As if he didn't already work in a restaurant. With plenty of food.

"Daisuke! Mind bussing that table? You can call it a day after that." His manager poked his head into the kitchen, nodding to a table that had only recently been vacated. Daisuke grinned and nodded, turning off the stove in front of him.

Was it fair to say he was practically sprinting to bus the table? Yes. So was it completely expected that he would bump into someone while he did so? Also yes. The unfortunate part of the encounter, however, was that he was holding a pile of plates, and he nearly dropped all of them. As he fumbled with the Leaning Tower of Plate, he spun to apologize to the person he'd bumped into. In the nick of time, he regained his balance. Bonus! "Sorry about that! I wasn't looking."

"No problem, man. Don't sweat it," the guy said, waving. "Be careful!"

Daisuke paused and watched the man leave the restaurant. Shaggy brown hair, dog tags, wristbands… he looked familiar. Or, at the very least, he almost seemed like some alternate version of Taichi. Back when they were kids, at least. But that could be true of just about anyone, right?

Then again, he was a Chosen Child. Coincidences weren't something to be taken lightly.

He didn't have time for this! If it was something to worry about, something else would happen. That was usually the way these things went in his life. Right now, he had a mission. And that mission was to get snacks!

V-mon paced dutifully behind him as Daisuke hurried down the street, scanning for a convenience store that would still have the types of snacks that his friends liked. And that the Digimon liked. That was the most important part, because obviously the Digimon would be eating more than half of the food.

Finally! One appeared in front of him, almost by magic (though he knew there was no such thing, unless Digimon counted), and he hurried inside. His breath fogged in front of his face as he released it, but the convenience store was fairly warm. V-mon did a full body shake, almost like a dog, stomping his feet to regain feeling. Daisuke was constantly reminded that shoes were a blessing whenever he had his partner with him.

A cursory glance at the store revealed low stocks of the kinds of chips and cookies he was looking for, but that didn't deter him. There had to be something.

Times like this, it was helpful for one to have a Digimon partner. V-mon reached further back on the lower shelves for the last of the party-size sour cream and onion chips. Now as for barbeque…

"Ah, I bet you're looking for this. Here, I grabbed two."

Daisuke looked up from his position kneeling on the floor, instantly recognizing the guy he'd bumped into earlier. "Hey, you're—"

"The one you nearly ran over? Yeah, I am." The man held out a hand, and Daisuke gripped it in his own, allowing himself to be helped to his feet. "You look like you're in a bind. Got a party or something?"

"Yeah, I said I'd get snacks, but you know… work and stuff…" Daisuke rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

The guy just nodded in understanding. "Been there. Bet you got a friend who gives you crap for it, even if he's not harsh about it?"

"In their own ways, they all do. But yeah, I got two of them."

"Ha, nice. Well, hopefully they like barbeque." With a smile, the man handed him the barbeque chips.

"Thanks." Daisuke smiled down at the chips, knowing that the Digimon (especially V-mon) would love them. When he looked up, the stranger was leaving. "Wait, at least tell me your name! If I run into you again, I'd love to repay you."

"I'm going out of town soon, so I don't think you'll see me again. But, for what it's worth, Masaru. See you around, Daisuke."

"Masaru." That name sounded familiar, kind of like how he looked like someone he'd seen before. At least, the sound of his name fit in his mouth in a way that meant he'd used it before. Right…?

Wait, but how did he know his name?

Before he could ask, Masaru was gone.

"That was strange," V-mon said, scratching his cheek with a claw.

"You're pretty strange, too, buddy," Daisuke pointed out with a playful smile, trying to shake off the swirling questions. He could ask Koushiro or Taichi or someone about this later—right now, he had snacks to obtain! "Now let's go look at the cookies."

Though he didn't run into Masaru a third time, Daisuke couldn't help but wonder if he was having as merry of a Christmas as he and the others were. Maybe he'd see him the next time he was running late with something.

Extraordinary Christmas indeed.

[dnofsunshine]

Digimon Secret Santa Exchange 2023: Don't blame me (you started it)

Kuga Yuuya never texted her first. Until he did.

Written for @hallowed-nebulae for the @digisecretsanta 2023 exchange! :3

a/n: i'm your secret santa and (like i said on ao3 lol) i'm not entirely familiar with the digimon world series, or i wasn't until recently, so i hope i did your two favorites, Rina & Yuuya, justice!! i've enjoyed the gameplay so far of Re:digitize Decode and i enjoyed writing these two. i hope you have a safe and merry Christmas, and happy holidays!! <333 :D

Oh, and here's my Digimon discord server if you wanna yell abt digimon with us!

Read on AO3! || Read below the cut:

Kuga Yuuya did not texted her first.

It wasn’t something subjective—it was a simple, known fact! She wasn’t sure Yuuya texted anyone first. Often, when Rina texted him, Yuuya left her (very cruelly) on read. Sometimes he left her on delivered. Which was like, extremely rude, thank you very much.

(Granted, none of those messages were because of actual emergencies, but still. Her memes were nonetheless very important and warranted a response. But Yuuya had ignored her. Because of course he did. The jerk.)

So, naturally, when Rina’s phone vibrated and pinged, and Yuuya’s contact lit up her screen, Rina gaped. She blinked, surprised, and it took several moments to register that oh yeah, she should read the message.

Hey, Yuuya had written plainly. Jeesh, and he called everyone else boring.

Yeah, the world had totally ended. Sometime in the last few minutes, the world had ended and Rina had died and gone to an afterlife where apparently Kuga Yuuya texted her first.

She debated on calling him to see what was up, but that ran the risk of scaring him off because he didn’t even text, let alone call; so Rina leaned back in her chair and did what she did best.

Rina: hey!!!! ┌( ＾◡＾ )┘whatcha up to???

Yuuya: Studying. You use a lot of exclamation points, Rina-san.

Rina: and u text like the heir of the gigo company lol

Yuuya: Is… that a good or a bad thing?

Rina blinked again, her lips curving into a frown. She narrowed her eyes at her screen suspiciously, and who could blame her? Since when did Yuuya care about her opinion of him?

Rina: not bad!!! was just kiddin lol (≧_≦)

Yuuya: Okay.

She sent him another text that mostly consisted of emotes and exclamation points (perhaps proving his point), and this time, it took a while for Yuuya to respond. At least a good ten minutes.

Yuuya: What about you? What’re you up to?

Okay. Wow. She peeked out her bedroom window—yep, still snowing. Which meant it was still mid-December and she was still in Japan. Maybe. Probably. If she wasn’t… did it snow in the afterlife? To what afterlife had she been sent, for Yuuya to not only respond but ask about her in return? Smug, snooty Yuuya? What the hell was even happening? She couldn’t even begin to know the answer to that. 

Instead, she answered Yuuya.

Rina: just chillin!!! not really doing much haha it’s boring w/o V.V. here tbh

Yuuya: I see.

Another pause followed. Rina stood from her chair and made her way to her bed to sprawl out, phone in hand, as she awaited the continuation of their conversation. She got bored waiting on minute three and decided she couldn’t handle the suspense anymore.

Rina: so whats up???

Yuuya: I’m studying.

Rina: well duh u said that already i meant why did u text me

Yuuya: You text me all the time.

Rina: yeah! but u like never answer soooooo

Yuuya: Sorry.

Oh good god, okay. Yuuya, apologizing? Prideful, arrogant Yuuya? Maybe she’d gone to some alternate dimension—somewhere that wasn’t the digital world—where everything was the same except for one fifteen-year-old Kuga Yuuya.

She frowned again, this time in contemplation. As she pondered how to respond, she kicked her feet idly against her bed, tapping the back of her phone case if only to keep her fingers moving.

She wondered absentmindedly if his dad scolded him or something. From what she knew, Kuga Kenzou was more insufferable than Yuuya—which, of course, made sense considering he was Yuuya’s father—so it wasn’t much of a stretch to say he wasn’t all that great of a parent.

Her chest ached inexplicably at the thought and her frown deepened.

Rina: is ur dad being a bitch

Yuuya: Huh?

Rina: ya know ur dad is he being a bitch lol

Yuuya: I don’t see what he has to do with the conversation.

Then, after about a minute:

Yuuya: Father is always being a bitch.

Rina: lol!! i believe it honestly

And because Rina was a gremlin with no sense of self-control: 

Rina: his ass must really hurt from the stick shoved in it

Yuuya: Lol.

Rina blinked once more in surprise and then grinned at her screen because this was another new thing—Yuuya laughing at a joke? A joke she made? She didn’t even know Yuuya could laugh, much less over text. She didn’t know he even had a sense of humor.

They spent the next hour or so texting, with Rina sending memes (the normal amount) and emotes (also the normal amount) and Yuuya telling her that it was, in fact, not the normal amount. Eventually, the time between Yuuya’s responses grew longer and longer, and Rina assumed that he’d averted his full attention back to studying.

Rina: ur a fun texter lol

Rina: not as fun as me obviously but still fun just sayin

She sent it without really expecting a response right away, but she was surprised yet again when the reply came in only a few minutes.

Yuuya: Wow. One person approves of my texting habits.

Rina laughed out loud. This was a fun side of Yuuya to see.

(And no, it wasn’t because she felt a little warm inside that he seemed to trust her enough to make jokes with her.)

(She didn’t feel warm inside at all.)

(Yuuya was simply growing on her.)

(Like a fungus.)

Yuuya: Is this supposed to be an honor or a shame, since the person is Rina-san?

Her laugh quickly turned into a scandalized gasp as she stared down at her phone in offense. No, she changed her mind. Yuuya wasn’t growing on her.

“Rude,” she said aloud as if he could hear her, without any hint of fondness in her voice. None at all. "Yer such a punk."

Oh, who was she kidding—she sent him memes, shitposts, and festive, holiday-themed selfies every day after that for the rest of the month. If he was pissed about it, well, he texted her first.

[rockthistowninsideout]

Happy holidays @redthreadoffate! I was your @digisecretsanta this year so I hope you like how I interpreted your prompt. I took it into a different direction and I might give this a follow-up but the story as is works just as well.

I hope that 2023 wasn't too big of a struggle and that the new year brings you nothing but joy!

[digiconjurer]

Secret Santa to myself

@digisecretsanta Due to you ghosting me when I asked where my secret santa gift, I have chosen to be the secret santa to myself.

I honestly don’t even care that it’s late. I’m more miffed I’ve gotten zero communication. That’s all.

Link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620867/chapters/110702790

[stuckinthewrongworld]

Finally getting to work on my @digisecretsanta piece! I hope I do it justice cause I've never done anything like this before.

[digitalworldbound]

honeysuckle

happy holidays to @noctilucentstorm ! i hope that you have a wonderful festive season, and that you like this little gift :) (if you have AO3, lmk so i can gift it to you!)

characters: sora/yamato

summary: unexpectedly, sora finds common ground with yamato. also, gift giving is nerve-wracking.

a/n: this is my first time writing sorato. i apologize for any mischaracterization! also on AO3 and FFN !

Sora smelled faintly of flowers. 

There had been a time when she despised anything with petals. Her mother toiled away with stems, arranging them with such precise care that Sora couldn’t contain her jealousy. Flowers sat mockingly on flat surfaces, staring up at her with unseeing eyes inside crystal vases. 

Her mother’s flowers were poised and perfect; her mother’s flowers were everything she wasn’t.

Initially, Sora fought against it, fought against her mother’s wishes and plans with such a ferocity that it scared her. Often, her outbursts left her with the bitter feeling of regret simmering in her stomach. No matter how hard she tried to reign in her anger and disappointment, the tilt of her mother’s eyebrow or shift in her voice could send Sora’s mood spiraling and spewing, destroying everything in its path.

Despite the blood bath and survival, the Digital World had given Sora a reprieve. For a fleeting moment, she was able to shift her focus from her mother’s expectations to something more substantial. In the Digital World, people depended on her. Biyomon needed her in a way her mother never did. Months seemed to pass them by, full of learning and growing and friendship. At first, she couldn’t understand the others’ want to go home. This new world offered no preconceived expectations or responsibilities. As she laid underneath the stars, she would listen to the steady breathing of her friends. The stars twinkled from up above, the familiarity squeezing at her heart strings until she came to her senses.

Going home meant leaving Biyomon, and Sora refused to picture her life without her. She didn’t want to go home to her mother’s sour words and cold heart. But, the tides of the Digital World were shifting, and Sora was worried that she would be swept away.

The fantasy world they found themselves in turned sour quickly.  An unfamiliar sadness grew underneath her ribcage, straining against the pounding of her heart. As the excitement of the Digital World wore off, Sora’s sadness only grew. At points, it felt all consuming, like an impenetrable wall that surrounded her. With her other friends focused on the task at hand, slipping away had become easy. Sora felt an odd sort of company in her sadness, wrapping it around her shoulders in a vain effort to shield herself. 

If she were one of her mother’s flowers, her petals would perpetually droop towards the ground.

At first, she thought that she was the only one to experience the overwhelming, stifling sort of loneliness. 

That was, until. Yamato came into the picture. 

Like all boys her age, Yamato was rambunctious, moody, and slightly smelly. The Digital World had equipped itself with digital friends, but had yet to install hygiene products. Despite the changes around them, Yamato always tried his best to remain calm. Most times, he was good at it.

Sora couldn’t help but to feel jealous of him. With a younger brother, there was always someone to need him, to want him around. Her mother only cared for her out of obligation, Sora was sure. Yamato had Takeru, who would love him regardless. 

Despite being related to the personification of sunshine, Yamato, too, carried a deep sadness within. It was something only another sad person could recognize - the slight curve of the mouth, nails bitten short and raw. Sora could see the pinched look on his face whenever Takeru chose Taichi to hang out with, or when Gabumon pressed too hard on a sensitive subject. From afar, she allowed her heart to hurt for him, but didn’t dare to come too close. 

Only once their adventure was over, their personal dark caverns conquered, did she muster up the courage to talk to him. In the real world, her inbox overflowed with emails and inside jokes. More often, Yamato would attach snippets of lyrics of songs he was working on, seeking her advice or appreciation. 

It had been years since their first adventure, but Sora’s feelings grew with every chord he played on his hand-me-down guitar and flick of his overgrown hair. 

-

The wind bit at her cheeks, staining them a rosy pink. December had arrived in a flurry of white, her snow boots doing little to fight off the chill. Wistfully, she thought back to that summer years ago when heat came in surplus. 

Her fingers fidgeted anxiously in her mittens as she walked down the street. The box, wrapped precisely and carefully in green wrapping paper, seemed to weigh her down. 

It had taken three international calls to America and countless hours to decide what to get him. Mimi had been little help, her suggestions ranging from outrageous to downright scandalous. But Mimi’s exuberance gave her strength, and eventually, Sora was able to find the perfect gift. She was excited for him to open it, but anticipated his smile most of all. 

An address glittered up from the screen of her phone. Echoes of chords and microphone feedback reverberated from within a nondescript building. 

Hordes of teenage girls stood outside in the cold, their chatter keeping Sora company as she made her way towards the back of the building. A few of the girls cast Sora an odd glance, but she let it roll off her shoulders. Her mother’s tough critiques had thickened her skin; petty drama could no longer touch her. 

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered about as she rounded the corner. From above, a bird seemingly sang a melody against the clashing of the drums. 

Tentatively, she knocked against the back door. With the collective noise from the instruments, she wasn’t sure that anyone would hear her, but after a moment, the rusty hinges creaked open. 

Amber eyes gazed into shocked blue ones, another flush of embarrassment coloring Sora’s cheeks. 

Late afternoon sunlight reflected off Yamato’s blond tresses. In most ways, it reminded her of their summers spent together, and the way his hair would shine in front of the campfire. 

“Hey,” she managed after a breathless moment. 

“Hey.”

From behind him, the drummer still clamored away while two other boys chased each other around with a dirty sock.

“It seems like band practice is going well.”  Sora struggled to hide her grin for Yamato’s sake, but mirth shone in his eyes.

“The Crusty Sock of Shota is our band bonding activity before every show. Are you sure you don’t want to play? It’s absolutely riveting.” 

The crowd outside of the venue’s door seemed to grow larger by the minute. A light breeze coaxed a chill up Sora’s spine. 

In the silence that stretched between them, Yamato’s gaze shifted towards the box in Sora’s hands. A pair of mittens curled around it almost protectively. Anxiety bubbled up in Sora’s stomach; she had never felt so invested in a gift before. 

“I, uh,” her throat seemed to close up. Despite all of the time they’ve spent together, a strange sort of tension bubbled between them. Sora stood on the edge of something palpable, but struggled to form the words.

Patiently, Yamato stood in place. Having a younger brother prepared him to wait out whichever storm Sora was battling. Still, the corners of his lips twitched upwards at the way her eyebrows scrunched together. The tag on the present stated his name in a careful, yet elegant, font, but Yamato remained silent.

He knew that Sora had the courage to get whatever was resting heavily on her chest out in the open without his help. 

“I bought you something for, you know, Christmas.” The wind blew wisps of Sora’s auburn hair around her rosy cheeks. Her hands quivered as she thrust the box towards Yamato, who accepted it with a flush of his own. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he insisted. Yamato’s voice was hushed against the ruckus of his bandmates in the background. “I haven’t had time to do any shopping with everything going on.”

Sora glanced up into his crystal blue eyes, her own anxiety forgotten. “You didn’t have to get me a gift! Besides, you’re the only person besides my parents that I’ve gotten anything for at all.”

In the heat of the moment, the connotation of her declaration fell onto deaf ears.

Only once the wind died down and the pair stared at each other for a moment longer did Sora feel the warmth of embarrassment crawl up past her scarf. 

A tentative smile played on the corners of Yamato’s lips, but any retort that bubbled in his throat died out as soon as Sora averted her gaze. 

“Thank you,” he nearly whispered. 

With a light flush, Yamato leaned closer, his eyes impossibly blue against the drab building. For a moment, his face hovered next to hers, his breath ghosting over Sora’s chilled cheek. “You smell kind of like a rose.”

His voice was no louder than a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the gentle tension that surmounted the space between them.

Sora didn’t fight the blush that bloomed on her cheeks. His palm found her mitten, squeezing lightly. He seemed to know that speaking would overwhelm her, instead opting to press his chapped lips against her warm cheek. 

Silently, Yamato slipped back into the bustling building, the twang of a guitar escaping into the winter air. 

Alone, Sora smiled to herself. The prettiest flower was the one that bloomed in adversity, she mused.