Fifteen Years: 8/15

[andrew_in_drag]

Title: Fifteen Years
Author: andrew_in_drag
Pairing: Die x Toshiya
Rating: mature
Warnings: sex, rock 'n roll, boyish attitudes
Previous Chapters: 0 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 
Synopsis: What does it mean when the story of your life is all about somebody else? Die unearths his old journal to find that every single entry is dedicated to his bandmate, occasional lover and enduring obsession: fifteen years of friendship and sex; love and fear; beginnings and endings - fifteen years of Toshiya. When he reaches the final page, however, he finds something he never expected; and it seems the story might not be over for Die just yet...

CHAPTER EIGHT: 11/2/2007

Sometimes it seems so strange to me, how people seem to expect me to be such a rockstar all the time.
The secret is, nobody can completely give up normalcy to live that kind of life. If you try, it will kill you. There are only so many nights you can spend drunk off your ass before you wake up hungover; there are only so many drugs to experiment with.
Of all of us, though, Toshiya and I give it the best go. It’s almost kind of like a challenge. I’ll go drink for drink with him until I can’t handle another drop; he would sooner fall asleep where he stands than go back to the bus or the hotel before me. Sometimes Shinya will stick with us; rarer still, Kaoru will. Either way, the two of them will usually give up long before we do, and it will always be us left, just the two of us, like that’s the way it should be. We go back and slip into the same bed, whether it’s a hotel double or one of the narrow bunks on the bus, and sometimes we fuck and sometimes we just talk, and it doesn’t matter as long as we remember not to fall asleep together. We don’t do anything, in other words, that can get us caught out: we make sure that in the morning, it’s as if nothing happened at all.

Die sighed lowly to himself, flicking the ash from the end of his cigarette onto the rainy asphalt. It was infinitely late at night – late in the kind of way that made the idea of dawn seem flimsy and see-through, an utter fairy tale – and he stood alone in the motel parking lot, dreamily thumbing the butt of his cigarette and peering up at the night sky through the smoke. He couldn’t quite get over the layout of American motels, the way everything was scattered outside like little communes, but he realised he was finding it quite comforting to see the lights on in the windows. His own room was dark; he had just left Toshiya’s. His skin was still warm from sex, his hair still a little matted and sweaty; he wanted a shower and a good night’s sleep, but first, a cigarette.
“You won’t find any answers looking up at the sky, Red.”
Die whipped around, startled. From by the building, Kyo unfolded himself from the shadows. He wore a coat, pyjama bottoms tucking into boots and what seemed like nothing else, and his hair was rumpled. He looked tired: recently, he always looked tired.
“Who said I was looking for answers?” Die asked, smiling. It was hard, now, to believe that there had been a time when he was afraid of the vocalist; when he was afraid, too, of Kaoru. 
“You’re upset,” Kyo said, by way of answer, and Die shrugged ruefully.
“I’ll survive,” he said warmly, feeling suddenly very fond of the peculiar little man next to him. “It’s just…relationship stuff.”
“Hn.” Kyo raised an eyebrow but remained silent, and focussed his concentration on attempting to light a cigarette in the rain. Finally, acrid smoke spilled into the air and past Die’s nose. The guitarist was unaware of it: he was talking by then; he had been talking for a while.

“I want some kind of recognition,” he confessed, “I want a name for what we are.” He shrugged, slowly rubbing his thumb against the filter of his cigarette as if it was a worry-stone, “I know that probably sounds strange to you. It’ll sound strange to Toshiya, too.” He scratched the back of his neck the way he always did when he felt a little nervous, “I mean, sorry to assume, but – I mean, you don’t really seem like the commitment type.”
“Hn,” Kyo grunted again, vaguely. Die cocked his head.
“I’m sorry, it’s just – you never seem to be with anyone, or—”
“Oh sure.” Kyo’s face broke into a cracked little grin, “I’m always moving on, never moving in.”
He had amused himself: he chuckled. He took another deep drag on his cigarette, still laughing lowly to himself. Die wondered briefly if he was maybe on some kind of drug, but shook the thought from his head quickly: no, Kyo was his rock, his one constant in a world that changed all the time.
“Sometimes,” Die burst, “I feel like maybe I shouldn’t even be here. Like I’m wrong for it. Like I’m trying to act like this huge rockstar but instead I’m just going through the motions, and the thing is that I’m so good at it that nobody’s noticed at all. Everything looks like it’s going great. Everyone thinks it’s going great. And I’m supposed to be really happy about being here, but sometimes all I want to do is go home.” He took a deep breath, a little embarrassed by his own outburst, and eyed his bandmate worriedly, “Don’t you ever feel like that?”
Calmly, Kyo said, “No,” and Die flushed, feeling like an idiot.
“Oh.”
“Because this is what I’m meant to be doing.”
“Oh.”
“It’s what you’re meant to be doing, too.”
Die wriggled.
“But how do you know?” he asked, his voice meek and almost apologetic. He didn’t like to ask for help; it was particularly unnerving to seek help from Kyo, whose flat voice and intelligent stare made him feel constantly on edge.
“Because I know you,” Kyo told him, as if it was obvious, “In ways that you don’t know yourself. I don’t think you even remember what you were like before Toshiya, Die. It’s not an enormous loss, because a lot of the time, you were very annoying. But you had passion, and that’s what’s important. There were better guitarists, but I wanted you. Because you had passion.”
Die ducked his head.
“So what if my passion’s gone?” he asked lowly, “What if I’m not passionate about anything anymore?”
“Not passionate?” Kyo chuckled again. It was not a warm or a soft laugh. His voice in that moment had a nasty, acidic quality to it that made Die uncomfortable.
“Not passionate,” Kyo repeated again, slowly. “You really are an idiot, Die. You have so much passion for Toshiya that it’s going to ruin you. Not a good musician? You are an idiot.”
Frustrated, Die flicked the butt of his cigarette into the rain. He was tired and cold and wet, and Kyo was talking in riddles.
“Listen,” he said agitatedly, “Are you on something?”
“Always,” Kyo said soberly. “But listen: don’t worry. You’re fine.”
“But what do you mean? You’re not making any sense!”
The vocalist smiled and him, and did something that he had never, ever done before: raising himself on tiptoe, he craned his head upward and kissed Die lightly on the cheek.
“What I mean is,” he said softly, “You’ll be destroyed by love.”
And he let his cigarette butt fall to the asphalt as he turned and started to make his way back to the rooms.
“Kyo!” Die yelped, startled, “Wait—!”
The smaller man turned, hand already on his door handle.
“Yes?”
“I don’t understand – I mean, if I’m going to be – ‘destroyed’ – or whatever – well, what about you? Why won’t you?”
Kyo arched an eyebrow, pushing his door open.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “I’m too scared.”

In the days following that peculiar exchange, Die tried not to think about what Kyo had said. It was fairly easy to avoid most of the time – his schedule left him barely enough time to think of anything – but he found that, at odd little moments, it snuck up on him. He would be lying in his bunk on the bus or in bed with Toshiya, and the phrase would drift into his head; he would be grabbing a meal or even pausing onstage to reassemble himself between songs, and Kyo’s words would pop into his mind again: destroyed by love.
When he asked the vocalist about it, Kyo seemed genuinely baffled. It was not entirely unbelievable: often when he was writing, Kyo lured himself into strange little trances that left him somewhat amnesiac. Die imagined it as all his body shutting down except the most vital parts, allowing him to devote all his energy to deciphering that enigmatic voice inside himself: yes, he was well aware of Kyo’s little trances, and that would have fit.
It perturbed him, though. Normally when Kyo was writing, he locked himself away or else shut himself down, sitting almost entirely limp in his seat on the bus – save for the hand that was scrawling looping words. The whole incident had Die so disturbed that he didn’t even tell Toshiya.
“Die, come on,” the bassist had begged, looking close to tears – either of worry or frustration, Die didn’t know – “Please, you need to tell me what’s got you like this!”
Die had looked at his friend’s face, wanting to tell him and yet finding it impossible when Toshiya was laid out next to him like he was, naked as the day he was born and just as vulnerable, with the sheets twisted around his ankles and his hair knotted.
“It’s nothing,” he has assured his lover, hating the lie, “C’mon, Toshiya, believe me. I’m just tired.”
And Toshiya had looked at him with such disappointment that Die had felt the only way to counteract it was to start making love again, and even as he had stroked his lover to hardness he had hated himself for his weakness.

It was five days after Kyo and Die had their strange little talk, at an after-party, that Die lost his lover.
Die checked his watch, confused: it had only just gone midnight – nowhere near early enough for Toshiya to be in bed. Like Die, he was a night owl and – also like Die – he had finally grasped English to the degree that he was starting to be able to enjoy the American bands they were touring with. They might have been louder and rougher and tougher than the type of musicians they were used to at home, but that didn’t make them any less pleasant or fun to be around. After their shared experiences on the Family Values Tour with Korn, Fair to Midland had greeted them like old friends, and even Shinya and Kaoru were happy to mingle, despite having a somewhat shakier grip on the language. Only Kyo did not mix, finding it uncomfortable.
Die supposed he should really be worried about the vocalist, and made a plan to check in on him when he left the party. It wasn’t as if Kyo never acted strangely – it was probably rarer to say he was acting normally – but when he overworked himself, he got ill, and their tour schedule was demanding enough as it was, without Kyo spending hours lost within the darker parts of his own mind.
First, though, Die had to find Toshiya.

Of course, the rest of what happened that evening, Die did not write about in his journal until much, much later. At first, he had difficulty finding the words for what he was trying to describe, though when he did eventually write it all down, he found that he could condense such complex and overwhelming emotions into one simple word.
Heartbroken, he wrote, and pushed the book away from him with shaking hands.
It was the only word he could possibly use to describe how it had felt to see what he had seen that night: Toshiya – his Toshiya, his best friend, his anti-boyfriend – sprawled out on a hotel room bed, naked from the waist down, a smiling American on either side of him.
As Die stumbled back to his own room, he was surprised at how hurt he was. They had never said that they were exclusive, after all; Toshiya had even told Die before that he was sleeping with other people; even dating, some times. None of that had mattered to Die, then, because he hadn’t had to see it; he hadn’t been forced to believe it.
But now he had to believe it; had to see it. He had to relive it every time he closed his eyes: that flash of limbs; that sheet of hair; those familiar, burning eyes.

He didn’t barge in or make a scene. For a few moments, he stood numb, and then he quietly left. He wasn’t really upset at that point – at least, not truly upset, in the way he would only allow himself to be later. He just felt blank, and strangely energised. The first thing he did when he got back to his room was pick up his guitar and some blank paper and begin to compose.
Passion. He thought he might have understood. He saw now what Kyo meant, he thought as he scribbled; despite the overwhelming flatness of his heart, his brain had never felt more fertile or fruitful. A true creative spirit possessed him that night, and he scratched note after chord into his paper as the sky turned from black to blue to grey, and finally to white.
He fell asleep with his guitar in his lap. Destroyed by love. He had touched it.

A/N: I have so much fun thinking up little phrases for Kyo to come out with. “No need, no deed” and “I’m always moving on, never moving in” both had me cackling really weirdly. 


>> to Chapter Nine >> 

Comments

[warumono-girl.livejournal.com]

nyaaa~~ so lovely.

I don't know, but i feel that the heartbroken Die is far stronger than the in love one. I mean... i hope he is :P

And i love your Kyo a lot. I usually write about kyo in 98% of my fanfiction since he's my biggest idol alive :x And you got him so amazing !
i wish to see more of him in every chapter :x

I love it so much because the feelings in this story are not fake, they're so much like our daily love that it makes me crave more. I will really keep lookling foward to the next chapter.

[n3uromanc3r.livejournal.com]

Oooh it was so sad and also so beautiful... I liked the ending of the chapter with heartbroken Die full of creativity!


_______
Music: ジン - 獅子の種

[assa-bnw.livejournal.com]

The best chapter so far or it was just the clearest for me. However, I don't understand your Kyo at all, he's role is so cryptic...

[takomao.livejournal.com]

sorry I haven't managed to comment on every chapter D:
I just wanted to drop in and say that in still loving it as much as when you started <3 more even!

[fessemolle.livejournal.com]

Gosh.... The best chapter I was able to read ! Die makes me wanna cry. And Kyo's words "destroyed by love" stayed on my mind just like the Redhead and I don't know why, but I had Mushi in my head during all the reading, that sounds pretty good, I've made my own soundtrack xD.
I can't imagine how Die must feel broken, but I don't know why, I'm sure Toshiya loves him thousand times more and he's just afraid to admit it. If it was Die in the hotelroom I bet that he would have gone crazy !