Like a -Broken- Record

It was wrong, and he knew it. It would throw things out of balance but that made it all the more tempting.
No longer a drabble! Yakari!

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Most people would get sick of the same song quickly. Repeat, repeat, repeat - the same thing got a bit dull after a while, didn't it? Yamato couldn't always agree with that though. As a musician, some songs held a special place in his mind. Certain songs inspired him and were the reason he was so passionate about his music. Sometimes, songs reflected life much more clearly than words and could strike a chord within people's hearts.

Apart from that, he himself was a broken record. He got up, got ready, went to school, practiced with his band, went home, did his homework while cooking for his father, answer the phone and assured his father it was okay he wasn't coming home or that he'd be late, eat on the couch while channel surfing, do the dishes, clean a bit, finish any homework and probably go to bed. There was variation in that routine occasionally, but like teenagers world wide, life revolved around the horrendous hell hole of school.

However, he was on repeat for other things as well. Takeru constantly whined about how his older brother babied and protected him (he was trying to break free of his brother complex though) and he used the same repertoire of "Oh, thank you! I'm glad you enjoy our music! Have a nice day~" peppered with a handful of compliments to his stalkerish fangirls whenever they decided to scream their love for The Teenage Wolves.

But a record always needed a record player to be heard. Taichi was the one who made him be heard. It's not like he was dependent on the brunette, or that he was too meek to speak up for himself. Spending time with Tai had certainly improved his confidence, no doubt, but Tai had been his first real friend. Not that they'd acted like it at first, but it was the truth. Now people asked if something was wrong if one was seen without the other. They had a routine that was set in stone. Round and round went the record, playing the same song to the same tune.

Of course, there were scratches on the disc. They'd fight occasionally and the music would be thrown out of whack for a while, but the tune would be righted again soon. It always did. Their friendship wasn't perfect, but it was theirs and it worked for them. But... Yamato frowned a bit, deep in his musings. What would happen if the record was scratched beyond repair? What if the record became irrepairable, no matter the care they gave or how much they fought to heal it?

What if... Yamato fell in love with Yagami Hikari? He was in a quaint French cafe, sitting at his favourite table by the front window, and the subject of his thoughts walked by. The blonde attempted a smile and half-heartedly waved and the smiling brunette walked past with a group of younger girls who all giggled and pointed at the small time rock star. Was it wrong that his eyes followed her form until the sister of his best friend turned the corner, her gaggle of girls following? Was it wrong that he wanted to run out of the cafe, quickly stop by the flower shop at the end of the street (not Sora's - it'd be a bit awkward buying flowers from his ex-girlfriend for a new girl), get some ayame flowers (Yamato may or may not have been listening when the younger girl had told Miyako that the purple plant was her favourite flower), catch up to her and tell her that he loved her, giggling groupies be damned!

Yes. He knew the answer. It was stupid to ponder on such things when the answer was as blatantly obvious as this. Hikari was sweet and charming and kind. She was also his best friend's cherished baby sister and the girl of his younger brother's dreams. Daisuke, who looked up to him, would be devastated if he found out one of his mentor's was also after his crush. All the wrongs didn't, couldn't, stop him from wanting though...

He left the cafe and wandered slowly home. His father was in Kyoto for a week, business as usual. He didn't mind. Being alone meant he could play his guitar to all hours of the night. No parents, no 'get to bed now!', no worries; it was just him, his guitar and his thoughts in the quiet of his dark apartment.

And when it came down to it, the song that was born from the six hours of emotions and well practiced finger movements was only a wish, and it'd never be more than that.