Chasing The Sun - Technicolour (Lirriel) (2024)

Chapter 1: 2AM

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It isn’t until a quarter past one that Akkino admits defeat and signs off. It leaves Ami and Blue Box alone in his chatroom, their avatars quietly chirping and wiggling. The sprites go through the motions of drowsiness - a not so subtle hint from the server-side developers that rest is good for the body.

Ami has already staved off her typical fatigue with a can of soda. Two cans, when her body began to grow heavy. But it’s two, on a Sunday, and she has school in a few hours.

“Don’t you have school today?” Blue Box reminds her, his avatar’s soft mumble caressing her ears. It’d be easy to fall asleep to the quiet chatter, but she shakes her head impatiently and rolls onto her back, lifting her phone up high above her. If she starts to doze off, a smartphone to the face should be enough to jolt her out of it.

“Don’t you?” She counters him, and her avatar shakes its head irritably, the typical clownish features on its face replaced by a razor-toothed smile as it giggles. Ami doesn’t pay it much mind.

She likes having the weird avatar, the one that doesn’t quite fit in. An accomplishment, when most of her online friends hide behind rubber duckies and talking pieces of candy. It shakes again with silent laughter, and Blue Box’s avatar frowns.

She knows he must be typing, deleting, typing again. Ami idly wonders if he’s the type to use a phone or a Digivice or even the old standard: a computer. She thinks she could picture him with a laptop perched on one knee, a coffee gripped in his left hand. Sometimes she wonders what everyone looks like, but the only one brave enough to actually meet face-to-face is Akkino.

And Ami still isn’t quite ready to discard anonymity, even if it’s only a virtual meeting in EDEN.

She starts to imagine Blue Box. Probably a glasses guy, with a hooked nose. Probably short, but dependable: the type who might run a mega-corp one day.

He still hasn’t replied, and her fantasizing leads her to ask, “You are a high school student, right?”

“Yeah, for a while longer. Why?” His response is instantaneous, lacking the typical prickly attitude he displays when there’s a group around. She’s learned he’s not keen on giving out personal information, but he seems to soften when they’re alone, be more forthright.

Ami smiles and types back carefully, “Just hard to believe.”

His avatar makes a little tch in response, and hers giggles again, wearing a sweeter smile that hides the shark teeth.

“I mean,” she hurries to add, “that you just seem so responsible and all-knowing. I can just imagine you being some bigshot CEO, is all.”

Blue Box is quiet for a moment, but his response is strangely muted, as if he wasn’t expecting her compliment. “I don’t know about that.”

“Maybe in the future?” Another giggle from her avatar. She might think the time was getting to it, if she didn’t know it was just a mass of data, lines of code with no concept of sleep.

“Maybe.” His answer is short and to the point, and she’s almost about to respond with whining that would make Akkino proud, but he adds a gentler statement. “You really should go to bed, you know.”

For a moment Ami’s face heats up, and she takes a moment to rub at her cheeks, mouth pinched into a pout. It’s not fair that he can so easily flip-flop between mildly grumpy sarcastic asshole and kind older brother - except she’s not really a fan of the big bro nickname Akkino is so quick to foist on him.

“I could say the same to you,” she types back, wanting to be coy but not wanting to make things weird.

Idiot . For all she knows he’s a gross, balding old man living in his mom’s basem*nt, sleeping all day and playing games all night.

“You’re not very good at this comeback thing, you know.” Blue Box’s avatar smirks, the pixel-thin line just barely peeking up over his coat. Is he flirting back?!

Stay cool, stay cool.

Suddenly Ami is very awake, rolling onto her side so she can pull the phone close, staring with wide eyes at his little avatar.

He’s still typing, and a moment later another bubble of text appears. “If I go to bed, will you?”

“Depends,” she answers, and her avatar makes a soft hmm sound, tilting its head to the side. Her heart is in her throat as she submits her request. “Can I get a goodnight kiss?”

She hasn’t seen avatars kiss before, but she knows it’s a thing that can happen. Pull up a submenu on the chat box, select actions, and you have a range of kid-friendly emotes that play out between the sprites.

Blue Box is silent for a moment, and then he chuckles. Or, rather, his avatar does. It hops up onto its stumpy little legs and waddles over to her floating monstrosity. For a moment its mouth pushes against the top of her avatar’s head, something that would normally look ridiculous, but in the heat of the moment, it just fills Ami with warmth.

“You can be so needy,” Blue Box says, and she can just imagine a soft voice whispering that in her ear. She imagines it filled with affection, and her eyelids begin to slip down.

“Goodnight, Blue Box,” she types back, and her little avatar spawns a heart over its head.

Blue Box’s avatar chuckles again, and he types back a simple, “Goodnight,” before Ami hits the logout button.

Curled up in an imaginary warmth, Ami drifts off thinking of cyberspace.

Chapter 2: Metaphor

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She stared up at the digital sky, the blank canvas of possibilities and infinities. In EDEN, the world was limitless, or at the very least limited only by human socialization. At some point Arata had set up a personal room for their own use. Outsiders had been welcomed in, of course, but typically only the core three stayed here.

“Ami, I’m hungry .” Lopmon’s cute face momentarily obscured Ami’s view of the space above, before the metallic double-tail of MetalSeadramon batted him out of the way. The cybernetic Digimon rumbled softly, its robotic body flexing as it withdrew its tail back to an appropriate distance.

The room was relatively large, but Ami’s Digimon were typically respectful of her space when she was like this: dazed and not all there, feeling the way jumbled code crackled and popped inside of her like soda trapped in a shaken can. Sooner or later she’d fizzle out or explode spectacularly.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, resting on her butt with her legs thrust out in front of her. Her avatar’s skirt rose high on her thighs but with only her Digimon around, she didn’t bother to tug it down before twisting to face Lopmon.

“We’ll go grab some food soon,” she answered softly. A tiny smile tweaked her lips up, but it faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. No Arata, no Kyoko and Nokia busy smoothing Digimon-Human relations while Yuuko searched for more clues relating to Crusadermon’s plans. She was alone now, excluding her Digimon.

She waggled her fingers and Lopmon tottered back to her, crawling into her lap and gazing up at her.

“Are you sad, Ami?” The Rookie Digimon tipped its head to the side, half-raising its ears. Another smile rolled across Ami’s face, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Just a bit lonely,” she answered softly, hugging the small Digimon to her chest and resting her head atop its own.

Everything had just happened so quickly. If only Arata and Nokia could be with her now. Nokia would be busily chattering while Arata only half-listened and grumbled the entire time. At some point Nokia would turn to Ami for backup, or maybe Arata would exasperatedly ask her to explain to the idiot something simple. And Ami would…

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt Lopmon squirm against her. It peeked up at her with worried button eyes. “Ami, don’t cry!”

“Sorry,” Ami murmured, reaching up with one hand to rub at her eyes. “It’s just hard to…” she trailed off, swallowing down a sob. She wasn’t one to cry. Crying never accomplished anything. But all of this, all of it ! It had just kept clawing and scraping away at her center, ripping through the barriers she had set up so carefully over time, cultivating a calming air that mimicked her mother’s business-like attitude. But now she was alone, the real world was meshing with the digital and so much of it depended on her. And she had no one to lean on.

She didn’t even notice Infermon at first. She just heard the soft clack clack of talons on the pristine white floor. Maybe she mistook him for one of her own; maybe she just trusted that her solitude would cloak her, alienate her from what she wanted most.

It wasn’t until it reached out one spidery leg and gently touched her own that she looked up. She jerked where she sat, and Lopmon made a soft oof of protest as it was clutched tighter to her. But once she saw the impassive mask-like face, the way its eyes blinked back at her drolly - she relaxed, breathing out through her mouth.

“I-Infermon,” she whispered out, her voice reedy and line thin.

“I M I S S Y O U,” it spoke slowly.

She smiled at it weakly and raised one hand to cup its face, desperate to convey her sorrow, her desperation, the pieces of her falling through EDEN.

“ARAAATA MI SS ES Y O U.” Its form shivered, and it closed its eyes. “PLE ASE H E L P HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII - “ It stopped suddenly; shivered again. “M I S S Y O U,” it repeated dully and abruptly dissolved into data.

Ami stared at the place it had stood, not quite believing her eyes or her ears.

“Ami,” Lopmon said softly, “Do you miss Arata?”

Chapter 3: Sky

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It is the time of summer. Heat haze hangs over the city, cloaking it in a filmy red hue that clings to Ami as tightly as her curls clutch her neck. Spring has sallied forth and with its disappearance many of the cherry treeshave flowered and dropped and returned to being commonplacefor another year. The maples keep Ami cool now, glistening goldenrod green. The grass beneath her is springy and spritely, and the blanket she has chosen for their picnic is interwoven blue and white, a flag unfurled for her approaching guest.

She smiles at him as he finally returns, her eyes darting up to his face before drifting down the length of his body. Arata looks good like this, clad in a thin white shirt and sky-blue shorts. Her own outfit is equally sparse, consisting of a yellow tank top over a red sports bra and some high-riding shorts that make her legs look longer than they really are. She regrets wearing her hair down, but she wanted to make some sort of effort for him on a day that isn’t rife with cybersleuthing and digital investigations.

“That idiot isn’t coming, then?” Arata’s voice is as cool as the water he hands to her. He settles down on the blanket beside her, leaving enough space between them that they seem companionable but not much else.

Ami bites her lip at the distance but doesn’t immediately reply, choosing instead to press the bottle against her bare neck, closing her eyes and sighing as some drops of water run down her collarbone. The feeling is achingly sweet in this oppressive heat, and she only opens her eyes when she hears a soft snort.

“You know, we could have just gone to an arcade,” Arata says, smirking at her.

She scowls back at him. He must be as hot as she is, with his thick black hair draping down the length of his throat. But he just sits there idly, moving his gaze from her to a nearby pond and then further to a path two cyclists pedal on. “It’s too hot to be doing that,” he comments.

“And miss this lovely day?” Ami asks him sarcastically. She moves the water bottle to the other side of her neck, draping her hair over it. Arata glances back toward her, following the movement of the bottle then abruptly turns his gaze upward.

“Hard to be excited when the hostess herself isn’t here.”

Ami drops her own eyes down to her shorts, not wanting him to see any guilt on her face. Nokia had been the one to plan this outing, but it had been a ploy to get their grumpy homebody out of the house and on a date with Ami - something Ami herself was still too chicken to ask for, not wanting to ruin their friendship.

“Do you know why she decided to suddenly bail?” Ami glances up and immediately drops her gaze back down. She spots a stray thread poking out of the hem of her shorts and begins to toy with it. Finally, she shakes her head.

“Damn. That girl’s such a flake.” Arata sighs and leans back on his elbows. His head rolls almost lazily as he takes in the cloudless sky above. “So now it’s just you, me, and two hours to kill.”

Ami almost starts to suggest returning to her house. She doesn’t know how close he lives to the park, but her home isn’t far at all. The thought of them alone together drains her mouth of any remaining moisture, and she coughs dryly, twisting open the bottle of water and throwing back a mouthful.

Arata keeps an eye on her and when she lowers the bottle, he grabs it from her hand. Without pausing, he tips it back toward his own mouth, taking a gulp and then a more languid sip. He sighs and hands it back to her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Man, what a drag.”

“Maybe we could go watch movies at my place?” Ami can’t believe she’s suggesting it, but maybe she’s feeling bold after the way he so imperiously claimed her water. Maybe she likes the idea of him claiming something else from her? Her hand grips the water bottle where he held it, her fingers on his fingerprints, desperate for some vestige of him to touch.

Arata seems almost startled by her suggestion and she spies a faint flush on his neck. She smiles encouragingly at him and grips the water tighter. He looks down at the bottle, returns his gaze to her face and for a heartbeat they just stare at each other. Ami doesn’t know what he sees in her eyes, but he relaxes. His mouth curls up into a lazy tomcat smile, and she licks her lips, imagining what it’d be like to indulge.

“That,” he tells her, “sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Chapter 4: Lost Scene

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“Does anyone know if the Adventure 01 Goggles Digivice can sync with a third-party text-input glove?”

On the Digivice & You support forum, Ami reluctantly hits the Bump button again. Her forum post is quickly sneaking up to its two week anniversary, and so far she’s had no bites. She sets her teeth to tearing at the inner wall of her right cheek; there has to be someone who can answer this stupid question.

She leans back in her desk chair with a sigh, pushing herself away from the laptop that hums softly in front of her. Her glove grips the fingertips of her right hand snugly, and she flicks her wrist, snapping between the support forum and a separate chatroom she’s been lurking for the past few days.

She doesn’t really know what she’s expecting. Ami knows her Digivice is a press copy version, with the actual commercial version not slated for release for another few months. But she’d expect someone in Japan to have gotten their hands on another copy. After all, if her mother’s bumbling idiot of a boss can get his hands on this sort of technology, surely other media giants can.

“C’mon nerds,” she mutters. She scrolls down idly through the conversations happening simultaneously in the chatroom. Her source on all things digital has assured her that this is the place to go for tech masters. Apparently it isn’t uncommon for the people who frequent the room to be approached for testing purposes by a variety of giant corporations.

So they should be able to solve my little problem.

The problem now is working up the willpower to actually post. Most of these guys must be clocking at least 120wpm, and some of them can talk even faster, tossing out abbreviations for jargon Ami couldn’t possibly comprehend in the first place.

At last, she works up the courage to post - a copy/paste of her original question, tapping the submit quickly and closing her eyes. But almost immediately she slits her left open, squinting to find answers in a sea of meaningless chatter. No one seems to respond to her question, and she sits back with a sigh. So much anxiety built up for nothing. The tightly coiled spring in her stomach slowly slumps down, melting into a goopy mess of buttery nausea.

Ping. PingPing.

A room invite pops up on her laptop screen, and Ami clicks Accept without really considering the situation. It’s only when her avatar is unceremoniously dumped into a chatroom with a group of dark-looking avatars that her deflated disappointment is replaced by anxious butterflies. One crowds close and her sprite hisses like a cat, bearing triangular teeth in a snarl.

“Lookie here,” a message pops up. It’s hard to tell which one it comes from, when all of the avatars are clustered so closely around her own. “How’d a kid like you get something shiny like that?”

“Not really worth it,” another one snickers, its rabbit-head jiggling in malicious laughter. “Bet you don’t even know what a Digivice is good for, huh?”

Ami isn’t quite sure how to respond. She doesn’t even really know how hacking works - it’s one of those occurrences - something that happens to a person your friend knows, or an old man decrying the modern age in the back of the bus. Her hand stutters in the air, not committing to any one movement.

They seem to take her prolonged silence as agreement, because they all begin to laugh. “Of course she doesn’t. You saw how easy it was to get in her profile?” The words make Ami’s heart stumble. She moves her hand toward the logout button, desperate to escape. “And don’t think about running,” a single message bubble pops up. “Or we’ll destroy you online.”

“What a bunch of losers.” A brilliant blue bubble pushes up above the threatening messages. “You call yourselves hackers when you can’t even put up a proper firewall?”

There’s a single “Eh!?” from one of the dark horde that surrounds Ami’s avatar before they begin disappearing. One by one by one she is assaulted by the chime of forced disconnects. Eventually all that is left in the empty room is her avatar and a strangle little gnome-like creature who sits off in one corner. Cautiously, Ami moves her avatar closer to it. Its flat black eyes peer back at her from underneath a conical hat, and for a moment they’re in a staring contest. At last, Ami types a nervous chuckle, and her avatar bobs up and down.

“Weird look,” the person says. “Not enough to put off those idiots though. I’m Blue Box,” they add almost as an afterthought.

“Weird name,” she types back, smiling weakly at the computer screen. She’s not going to ask if they’re a hacker. The truth of it holds her by the neck, a firm but gentle grip. She acts politely, giving him her own name and clarifying that it’s fine to call her Aiba. Her username is unique, but it’s irritating to write out.

“Do you know about my Digivice?” She finally works up the courage to ask. Blue Box doesn’t seem the chatty type, and she wonders when they entered the chatroom. Normally there’s a notification to all the members, but a hacker should be able to hide their entrance, right? Or maybe they were just always there?

The thought nags at her, but she isn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They answer flatly, their avatar looking bored. “Oh, yeah, that.” Ami sucks in a breathful of air and holds it between her cheeks. “Your first mistake was asking on a public forum. No one wants to touch a newb so clueless they don’t have the common sense to hide their stolen tech.”

“I didn’t steal it!” Her avatar bounces in place, a little thundercloud rumbling ominously over its head. “This was a gift from a reporter friend!”

“Well, he didn’t do you any favors.” Blue Box hops up and waddles over to her. Her own avatar calms down, watching theirs. Then it squalls in outrage when it is bopped over the head, grinding its shark teeth with a sawing sound. “Everyone knows the mainstream media have some sort of handler, spoon-feeding them answers. Waltzing in and asking a question when it’s not even out yet is asking for someone to sucker you.”

. . .

Ami stares at the torrent of words that pop up, each message bubble making her embarrassment boil hotter and hotter. She rubs absentmindedly at her neck, trying to find comfort in the chill of her palm.

“But I should be able to help you figure stuff out, if you’ll let me,” Blue Box says. Their avatar blinks and plops back down into a sitting position. Ami’s own avatar drifts carelessly away.

“Please.” Her avatar hangs its head like its awaiting execution. But Blue Box’s avatar seems to cheer up, almost smiling.

“Good choice,” he says. “I’m gonna send you a program now. Go ahead and install it on your Digivice and anything else you link to EDEN. It’ll give you some proper firewalls.”

Ami nods obediently and waits for his file to transfer. She’s just about to start installing it when Blue Box adds, almost casually: “You do know most gloves aren’t compatible with the newest Digivices, yeah?”

Chapter 5: Degrees

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She doesn’t know why she does it.

Except maybe she does. For all that Arata lambastes Nokia for being too stubborn, too impulsive, too reactive - in so many ways he is equally at fault. He’s too stubborn, too prideful, too wrapped up in the ideal of being a savior.

Her hands clutch at the collar of his coat, keeping him trapped against her. Pressed tight like this, his height advantage is canceled out. She stands on his toes just to be sure, trusting the thick sneakers and her own lightweight to keep him free of too much pain.

For all that he’s an idiot, she doesn’t want to break him down and reform him.

She loves him like this, loves him for his caustic words that hide a timid smile and the genuine warmth that fills his icy eyes when he looks at her. He doesn’t even have time to ask what she’s doing, because as soon as his mouth opens, she seals it with her own.

Arata’s hands stop in their journey to her wrists. The press of her lips against his is singular, whiting out her mind and stopping his for a moment. Awkwardly, like a machine returned to factory settings, his hands continue slowly on their journey, but when they wrap around her wrists, he holds her gently.

Too timid to hold her hips, too uncertain to stroke her waist, certainly too unstable to press fingertips to her shoulder blades, cover them like wings.

Ami makes a soft sound of encouragement, and her grip on his collar relaxes. She moves one hand up to cup his jaw, and for a moment his skin tenses beneath her fingers. But she waits, patiently, and just as quickly he relaxes again. His pulse pounds beneath her thumb and she gently strokes the nape of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

He rewards her with a soft sound, and she delicately slips her tongue out to run against his lips. He responds with that same enthusiasm she has grown to love as her careful guidance allows him to grow bolder. His mouth opens for her, but before she has a chance to push into his mouth, his tongue is against hers. She shudders at the sudden feeling and finds his hands have slipped down, one resting kindly on her hip while the other drifts down her thigh, teasing her with feather-light touches that rub goosebumps across her bare skin.

He claims her mouth, and the hand in his hair flexes, her fingers daring to become claws. Instead she shifts and pulls his body flush against hers. His knee settles between her thighs, and satisfaction bubbles in the pit of her stomach when he presses up and into her. The rough fabric of his pants scrapes against her flesh. The hand that clings to his back begins to dig into his skin, and he takes that as his cue.

They break apart, panting. Arata’s eyes are blown wide, and Ami is sure her eyes are equally crazed. She expects him to dive back in for another kiss then, is ready to have him undress her and learn the details of her body, unlock her pleasure and then take his own. But he surprises her by pressing his forehead against hers, the hand on her thigh rising up to wrap around her waist.

Ami is surprised to recognize the semblance of a hug, and he must see the question in her eyes because he laughs. Their noses brush together, and they breathe each other in, short little gasps that flutter and flit. “We don’t have to move so fast,” he murmurs to her.

He tilts his head and presses his lips to hers once more, but this time he is gentle, chaste, and the knee between her thighs is partially withdrawn - not altogether gone, but moved enough that she can no longer grind down against him. She mmphs at the loss, and he chuckles into her mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he confesses to her, and the longing in his voice makes her heart stutter. Warmth envelops her, and she drops her head to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He laughs again, and Ami sighs.

The heat that flared between her legs has been extinguished, but it has been replaced by a contentment she half-remembers: hazy dreams of a time before where the world was perfect and time stood still.

Arata presses a kiss to the top of her head; she peeks up at him, eyes half-closed.

“Make up for lost time,” she murmurs.

He smiles and kisses the tip of her nose. “I plan on it.”

Chapter 6: Opposite

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It rippled. Burned. Turned his nerve endings into cluster bombs that exploded in his body, pulsing and pushing. Outward. Outward. Outward. He was violated. The Eater’s grasping arm reached through him - reached into him - rearranged him into something not quite right.

He felt it from the moment he touched the asphalt. In the middle of Shinjuku, businessmen and office ladies and mothers who clutched at their baby’s hand - he saw it all and he felt it all.

And just as suddenly, Ami was calling for him. She had followed him out, hadn’t she? She had, right? He turned, found her face, the despair, the terror, the horror of their previous encounter etched in the wax-like frown that pressed her lips pale pink. Her face was ghostly, and he reached for her - and then he saw it, saw what she had seen all along.

He was the monster. Fragments of code broke off from him. He wasn’t even him. Why was he like this? Why had it grabbed him and not her?

Even as he wondered, the crowd began to back away from them both. Ami began to move, and he expected her to run too. One stocking was torn, showing off a white knee emblazoned red with half-dried blood. She had hit the ground hard, whereas he had just - digitized?

A laugh bubbled in his throat, and he tasted the bile of despair.

He was surprised to feel her sudden warmth. Ami held him, her arms wrapped around his neck, around his digitized body, and even when his particles hummed, the flight of electric bees, she kept her grip tight on him, steady.

He felt her, in a way that was not really feeling, more like the measurements taken by a psychrometer. The abstract of her body against what should have been his body, the curve of her breasts, the stability of her stomach, the sharpness of her chin as it dug into a shoulder that frayed and flashed and glitched, unable to clump properly with an unknown pressing down.

“I thought you were going to die!” she told him. “I waited for you to log out, but…” she trailed off, shook her head and fixed him with a brave smile. He almost wanted to pat her head then; she was obedient and kind and strong-willed - nothing at all like how Nokia had turned out. But then again, maybe he shouldn’t have expected much from Nokia, considering how squirrely her internet handle could be.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said. The words came out (he had worried they wouldn’t) with a static-y hiss that made Ami flinch. But she kept close to him, her arms looser around him but her gaze no less frank than it had been before he spoke. “You might have ended up like me too.”

“That wouldn’t have been so bad,” she told him confidently. He saw the fear that kept her face white, and with an affectionate sigh, he slung an arm around her neck, drawing her snug against him in another hug.

“Of course it would have,” he argued halfheartedly. “Now c’mon, we need to get you patched up and - well, figure out what happened to me, I guess.”

She nodded and released him, standing up and offering her hand to him.

“We’ll figure it out, Arata,” she said. She spoke with a brazen confidence he could not match, not when his shadows dogged his footsteps, not when flickers of a before that he couldn’t remember marred his memory. He smiled back at her, then realized she likely couldn’t see any real facial expressions and nodded instead.

“We’ll go see that detective in Nakano,” she told him, and it wasn’t until he felt the soft tug of her hand on his that he remembered he hadn’t let go. And maybe under different circ*mstances he’d be embarrassed to be seen holding a girl’s hand like a lost child - but these weren’t different circ*mstances, and she kept him grounded when he felt like he might float up into the sky.

He staked his sanity on her, the part of him that was still right.