Oneshot: Paper Balloons

[andrew_in_drag]

Title: Paper Balloons
Author: andrew_in_drag
Pairing: Die x Kyo
Warnings: not really
Note: a little inspired by 'Kasumi', one of my favourite DEG songs. An unusual pairing for me, but maybe I'll write more like this in future.
Synopsis: "I’m supposed to feel lost if I’m not with you all the time, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that kind of person. It’s enough just to know that you’re out there somewhere. You don’t have to wait for me or anything. But sometimes it’s just nice to think of you. Just existing.” 

Paper Balloons

I never wanted it to happen.
I remember the first time, a rainy night in Osaka. We were waiting for the train on a completely deserted platform, and we were too young to admit that we were feeling cold, but our knees kept knocking together. The wind tried to snatch at your umbrella, and you laughed and let go of the handle, and we watched it disappear into the sky.
“Looks like a paper balloon,” you said.
“They don’t fly, though.”
“I’ve had dreams that they do.”
You closed your eyes and hummed a little.
“Over the hills,” you said, mostly to yourself, “Back home. The nights used to get so hot, in summer. I used to dream about it a lot. Paper balloons rising up into the sky, even in that still summer air.”
“You should write it down,” I suggested, and you shrugged.
“Nah, I don’t have to.”
You smiled at me, which was rare, and leant back comfortably. Your knee bumped mine again.
“I bet you miss nights like that when it’s like this,” I said foolishly, because for some reason I was feeling a little nervous. You were giving me this look that you have, like you’re seeing right through me, and there was this flustered, ticklish feeling in my chest, like I was caught halfway between a laugh and a sob.
I turned away from you. My hands were stinging from twelve straight hours of practise, and I cradled them in my lap.
Did you plan it? I like to think that even you didn’t know what was going to happen; that you just couldn’t help yourself. But I looked up at you when you touched me, and suddenly you were holding my hands on your knees instead of mine, and looking at me soberly.
I wanted to run away then. There was a feeling like a scream or an all-over itch; like I could have jumped out of my skin. My heart sounded loud in my ears. I closed my eyes, but I nothing I could do would block you out.
“What are you doing,” I said, but it wasn’t a question. You touched my hair and let me come to you. Your lips were so cold from the night air that I could have been kissing stone come to life.

I went back with you that night. I left before morning. When I saw you at the practice the next day, it was like suddenly I couldn’t do anything right anymore. My fingers fumbled over the strings of my guitar and I felt myself flushing. The rain was running down the windows of the studio in rivers.
It was you. Everything you had ever said or done to me was running through my head at a thousand miles an hour, while I searched for hidden meanings.
I’d never done it with a man before. I was from a hick town; it wasn’t talked about. I never even thought about it. In my head, the mechanics were blurry and the idea just faintly weird, just faintly compelling.
It was such a beautiful surprise, being with you.
But on the inside I was lost.

A warm night in the spring.  
“Are you ashamed?”
“Fuck you,” I said shakily, “Fuck you, get out of my way.”
“No! Are you, Die? Are you ashamed that you did it, or that you liked it?”
“Shut up!”
“You liked it.”
“Shut up!” I told you again, clapping my hands over my ears desperately; you were pulling them away with strong fingers.
“You can’t shut me out,” you taunted, pushing me back against the wall, “You can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I know it’s always in your head—”
I kissed you rough. You bit my lip. We were in the bathroom of a club and anybody could have seen, but I didn’t care. I was tugging at your belt. I wanted everything you’d given me before; I wanted to do it again and wipe my mind clean of all the fear and tension. You backed us into a stall. We didn’t even lock the door. You just pressed me up against it and got rid of my jeans, and I remember how your hands covered mine where they were pressed against the walls. I concentrated on the way the fluorescent lights looked shining upon you. I made sure it burned into my memory.

Then there was the first fight I ever got into. We hadn’t even touched each other in months; you had been so lost in your own thoughts. But you left the studio and I walked behind you, shivering because it was so late at night and there was such a chill in the air, and I saw them jump out. There were two of them and one of you.
I would have helped even if it had been a stranger, but because it was you, it was different. They wanted your wallet and you said no, stupid stubborn bastard, and they shoved you backwards. They took you to the ground, and I felt it, and I was running. I jumped onto them, already hurting. I punched and kicked and bit.
Every time they hurt you, it felt like it was bruising some place deep inside of me, and somehow I got both of them, and you had to pull me away.
I was shaking. You took me home and bathed my wounds; you kissed my knuckles, I kissed your lips.

You know, I really liked you.
You never pretended, though. I think I knew it, even then, that there was a limit to how close you would let anybody get to you.
In my head, though, it was all about us. I liked it when you fucked me, but after a while I just liked to spend time with you. I liked how sarcastic you were, and how quick, and I liked it when you talked about the lyrics you were writing. You got so animated, waving your hands around and drawing in the air. Nothing else can make you talk that way.
You never pretended, but it was still a surprise.

“I think I need some time now.”
A cold autumn morning in the United States.
“Did I do something?”
“No,” you said simply, “I just need to be alone for a bit.”
“How long?” I asked. You thought about it.
“I don’t know,” you said, and I could see that you were telling the truth.
There had been times before when you had pulled away from me, for a few weeks or a few months. You weren’t cruel really, but you were cruel in your quietness, or in your absence. It was when you got writer’s block, or when your throat was hurting or your voice going out; it was when your ears were ringing so loud you couldn’t hear me talk. It was always your way; you couldn’t take comfort from me, you had to do it alone.
Still, on that morning, I felt it prickling at me with a new kind of certainty. It was foggy. I looked up into a white sky.
“This is it, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Maybe.” You flexed your fingers. You looked at my face, and for a second you looked like you were in pain. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” you said. “It might not be forever. But I think it will be for a long time.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s okay. I’ll still get to see you every day.”
“Yeah,” you said, smiling at me. Sort of simultaneously, we each lit up a cigarette. You offered me your lighter and I took it, feeling the pad of your thumb brush against my hand.
“It’s funny,” you said, “What people think love is supposed to be like. I’m supposed to feel lost if I’m not with you all the time, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that kind of person. It’s enough just to know that you’re out there somewhere. You don’t have to wait for me or anything. But sometimes it’s just nice to think of you. Just existing.”
I was startled, because you had never confessed to loving anything. You shook your head in a cloud of smoke.
“It’s stupid.”
“Yeah, it is. I don’t believe in true love, anyway.”
“Yeah. I don’t think I do either.”

A day in summer. I looked up at the branches of a silver birch tree stretching wide against a Swedish blue sky. The colours were so bright they made my heart hurt.
Have you heard of Dir en Grey? The singer in the band makes me want to cry.
I think you won’t be back for a long, long time. I know it’s not really definite that you’ll come back at all, but I think that maybe you will, in the end; I’ve just got that feeling.
I had that dream again last night. It’s the one where I’m standing on these unfamiliar hills in this dead still summer air, no breeze, no movement; even the grass is still. I’m not looking at you, but I can feel you next to me. After a certain amount of time, you touch my hand, and you hold it.
In my other hand, there’s a paper balloon. I let it go and it floats straight up into the sky. That’s how I know it’s just a dream. 

Comments

[mad-stalin-69.livejournal.com]

Wow, amazing! I loved it! :)
The part from the summary is my favourite line :) 'But sometimes it's just nice to think of you. Just exising.' Perfect <3

[sorrowofanangel.livejournal.com]

Awww~ this was perfect. I love it so much <33333

Thank you for sharing this wonderful story with us (^^;)

[andrew-in-drag.livejournal.com]

aww, thank YOU for leaving such a nice comment!

[tcharlatan.livejournal.com]

/memadd
Flawless. Simply flawless.

[andrew-in-drag.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm just kind of getting into the one-shot thing, so cheers for the encouragement :) it's a nice way to write! there's a lot less pressure.

[tcharlatan.livejournal.com]

<___< I know exactly what you mean.

[laurizm.livejournal.com]

*gross sobbing* I can't... I can't. This is painfully beautiful.