50stories Theme#38 - Separation ~ Yet always we were walking ~ KaoruxYoshiki
Title: Yet always we were walking
Author: Ame
Theme: #38 - Separation
Rating: PG
Genre: shonen ai (hey I actually said the right one this time!! :D)
Pairing: KaoruxYoshiki
Band(s): Dir en grey/S.K.I.N., X Japan, etc.
Summary: Through the distance - all its meanings and implications - they manage to stay so close.
Disclaimer: Thankfully I don't own these two. Or anyone, for that matter. (oh, but I ended up getting Kisou AND Gauze XDD)
Comments: Oh crap. I'm starting to transfer my regular, depressing writing style into this fic. D: Must change!!!
Also, has anyone else noticed I'm starting to write in present tense? Wierd o.O Gotta stop that too.
Anyway, here's the fic.
(Oh, P.S. I have pictures of these two in my scraps section of my deviantArt gallery - link from my profile page - if anyone wants to see them)
The blonde drummer is sitting in his office, hunched over a composition, counting time with his pencil as he listens to the music in his head. The rain outside is beating furiously against the single window in the far wall, but he doesn't hear it. He stops for a moment, hums a few notes, and scribbles something frantically. He is completely oblivious to the outside world, his only reality the melodies overlapping, chasing each other through his mind.
Across the world, a man eight years his junior rolls fitfully in his sleep and lands on the floor next to his bed. Thankfully, it's not a very long fall, but it's enough to wake him, and he starts and lays still, staring at the nearby wall. He's wrapped up tightly in his bedsheets, but he can still feel the cold sting of drying tears on his face, the deep ache in the pit of his stomach that has crept into the recesses of his proverbial heart.
Somewhere above the Pacific Ocean, the so-called angel's fingers brush against something hard in his small bag, and as he retrieves it a breath catches in his chest. His face is reflected in the glare of the plastic case, and he can see the pain in his eyes past the picture of himself on the cover. He wonders how anyone could see beauty in those desperate eyes.
During a break in practise, the guitarist pulls out his cell phone and gazes listlessly at it. He slowly punches in a familiar number, never a one to use speed dial lest he forget the original number, and stares at the screen. His eyes are reflected back at him, and the glare of the light above him distorts them. For an instant he's decieved into thinking he's gazing through the plastic into another part of the world, the place where he wants most to be. Then he tosses the phone aside carelessly, and gets up to join his bandmates for a smoke.
Late at night, the drunk man stands up on his chair and toasts to his companions. Being with people he's known and loved for so long, being able to make music with them again, almost makes him forget the pain of separation. Almost.
Then again, almost nothing takes that away.
Lounging on his American hotel bed, flicking through the channels boredly, the man with the goatee's eye is caught. He starts suddenly, drops the remote, and sits up quickly in the bed, focussing on the English words as hard as he can. The picture on the screen shows a small plane, half destroyed as it hit the ground. He starts to pray, something he hasn't done seriously in longer than he'd like, and tries to block out all the Japanese thoughts in his head. A name is what he listens for, or a destination, or an explanation of any kind. Suddenly his cell phone rings, and he jumps half a foot. His hand shaking, not taking his eyes and ears away from the television, he reaches for the phone and brings it to his ear. At the same moment the newscaster starts to mispronounce a Japanese name, a familiar voice comes across the phone. For an instant, his heart skips a beat, and then everything falls back into place. The mispronounced name wasn't at all familiar, and the voice across the phone is soothing in its casual greeting. He sighs heavily and falls back onto the bed, relief washing over his features.
An hour later, Kaoru and Yoshiki are sitting across a cafe table from each other. Yoshiki is stirring a coffee and Kaoru is playing with his receipt distractedly. When they'd met outside the place, which was blessedly free of people, Kaoru had practically jumped at Yoshiki to embrace him, and hadn't said a word to him since. Setting the straw aside, Yoshiki takes a drink of his coffee and then clears his throat. Kaoru tosses the reciept onto the table and sits back in his chair, putting his hands in his lap.
"Are you okay?" Yoshiki asks quietly. Kaoru takes a moment to respond. He sits up in his chair and folds his hands on the table in imitation of Yoshiki.
"An hour ago a plane crashed not too far from here." Yoshiki nods, he was told this by one of the flight attendants on his own plane. "I had no way of knowing whether it was yours or not. I was so afraid I was going to hear about your death on an American news broadcast." He falls silent again, his gaze falling to rest on the crumpled receipt. Yoshiki watches him for a moment, then reaches out and snatches the receipt up. As it moves away Kaoru's eyes follow it, and come to rest on Yoshiki. Glancing around briefly, Yoshiki reaches out and lays a hand on Kaoru's. They sit there for a long moment, merely looking at each other. Yoshiki's gaze is soft, apologetic, as he tries to tell Kaoru that he understands, that it's okay. After a moment Kaoru seems to respond silently.
"I love you," Yoshiki says quietly. Kaoru smiles a little and looks down for a moment, then back up at him.
"I love you, too, my tenshi."
That night Yoshiki attends Dir en grey's concert, and goes out for drinks with the band afterward. He tells them he doesn't know how they can want to go out together after a concert, that he and the others in X just wanted to get away from each other as quickly as possible. They laugh at him for that, and laugh more when he tells them he's absolutely serious. As though through some unspoken agreement, both Kaoru and Yoshiki make a point of watching how much they drink, and end up going to the hotel Kaoru is staying at earlier than the other members of his band, some of whom are in adjacent rooms. Yoshiki sits on the bed and takes off his jacket as Kaoru goes to the bathroom, then joins his lover. As Kaoru comes to sit beside him Yoshiki pushes him gently onto his back and curls up in his arms, burying his face into his shoulder. The action makes Kaoru smile, and once more Yoshiki is compared to a cat in his mind. Yoshiki says something softly, but it's muffled against Kaoru's shoulder, and he laughs and asks him to repeat himself.
"You were amazing," Yoshiki says for the fifth time that night, resting his cheek against Kaoru's chest. Smiling a little, Kaoru kisses the top of his head and mumbles a humble Japanese refusal. Yoshiki practically giggles and curls up closer to him, sighing softly.
"I miss you," Kaoru says suddenly into the older's hair. It makes him frown a little, and he closes his eyes, relaxing into the arms that are so warm, so comforting.
"I miss you, too," he hears himself saying, moments before he thinks it. Kaoru sighs slowly and holds him closer, closing his own eyes. There is a long, peaceful silence, in which they both nearly fall asleep. But suddenly, as ever, they are brought abruptly back to earth, this time by a knock at Kaoru's door. Slowly, reluctantly, Yoshiki slips out of Kaoru's embrace and sits up on the bed. Kaoru, however, remains on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. The elder looks down at him, and with an endearing smile brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. Again the knock at the door, again the abrupt intrusion. After a moment, Kaoru forces himself to get up, and Yoshiki rises to go to the window, so that his back is to whoever comes in. He straightens his clothes and hair as he walks, and ends up pulling back the curtain a little to gaze at the night sky. Distantly, he hears Kaoru talking to the person who had intruded into their lives in quiet Japanese, and the faded stars pull his mind away to somewhere far behind him. A place where everything is bright and loud, and every moment is filled with laughter and music. But then it's gone, like everything else, so fleeting, and he bites his lower lip a little, feeling cold and self-conscious. He hears the door close, and then Kaoru comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him gently. But he barely feels it, he's so far away.
Sometimes, when they look back on everything they've done together, they wonder at it all. How they've managed to stay together this long, when everything is so distant, so cold. They seem to be two completely different people, and each one wonders what in hell the other sees in them. But in the end, each one also realises that it's happened, and it is happening, and no matter how far apart they may be the closeness is all that matters. And they keep walking, knowing each step brings them a little closer. To what, they're not sure, but if they ever stop they'll never find out. And that is something more fearful than any hurdle to jump, any bridge to cross, any ocean to fly over. The fear of never knowing is what keeps them on the path.
Author: Ame
Theme: #38 - Separation
Rating: PG
Genre: shonen ai (hey I actually said the right one this time!! :D)
Pairing: KaoruxYoshiki
Band(s): Dir en grey/S.K.I.N., X Japan, etc.
Summary: Through the distance - all its meanings and implications - they manage to stay so close.
Disclaimer: Thankfully I don't own these two. Or anyone, for that matter. (oh, but I ended up getting Kisou AND Gauze XDD)
Comments: Oh crap. I'm starting to transfer my regular, depressing writing style into this fic. D: Must change!!!
Also, has anyone else noticed I'm starting to write in present tense? Wierd o.O Gotta stop that too.
Anyway, here's the fic.
(Oh, P.S. I have pictures of these two in my scraps section of my deviantArt gallery - link from my profile page - if anyone wants to see them)
The blonde drummer is sitting in his office, hunched over a composition, counting time with his pencil as he listens to the music in his head. The rain outside is beating furiously against the single window in the far wall, but he doesn't hear it. He stops for a moment, hums a few notes, and scribbles something frantically. He is completely oblivious to the outside world, his only reality the melodies overlapping, chasing each other through his mind.
Across the world, a man eight years his junior rolls fitfully in his sleep and lands on the floor next to his bed. Thankfully, it's not a very long fall, but it's enough to wake him, and he starts and lays still, staring at the nearby wall. He's wrapped up tightly in his bedsheets, but he can still feel the cold sting of drying tears on his face, the deep ache in the pit of his stomach that has crept into the recesses of his proverbial heart.
Somewhere above the Pacific Ocean, the so-called angel's fingers brush against something hard in his small bag, and as he retrieves it a breath catches in his chest. His face is reflected in the glare of the plastic case, and he can see the pain in his eyes past the picture of himself on the cover. He wonders how anyone could see beauty in those desperate eyes.
During a break in practise, the guitarist pulls out his cell phone and gazes listlessly at it. He slowly punches in a familiar number, never a one to use speed dial lest he forget the original number, and stares at the screen. His eyes are reflected back at him, and the glare of the light above him distorts them. For an instant he's decieved into thinking he's gazing through the plastic into another part of the world, the place where he wants most to be. Then he tosses the phone aside carelessly, and gets up to join his bandmates for a smoke.
Late at night, the drunk man stands up on his chair and toasts to his companions. Being with people he's known and loved for so long, being able to make music with them again, almost makes him forget the pain of separation. Almost.
Then again, almost nothing takes that away.
Lounging on his American hotel bed, flicking through the channels boredly, the man with the goatee's eye is caught. He starts suddenly, drops the remote, and sits up quickly in the bed, focussing on the English words as hard as he can. The picture on the screen shows a small plane, half destroyed as it hit the ground. He starts to pray, something he hasn't done seriously in longer than he'd like, and tries to block out all the Japanese thoughts in his head. A name is what he listens for, or a destination, or an explanation of any kind. Suddenly his cell phone rings, and he jumps half a foot. His hand shaking, not taking his eyes and ears away from the television, he reaches for the phone and brings it to his ear. At the same moment the newscaster starts to mispronounce a Japanese name, a familiar voice comes across the phone. For an instant, his heart skips a beat, and then everything falls back into place. The mispronounced name wasn't at all familiar, and the voice across the phone is soothing in its casual greeting. He sighs heavily and falls back onto the bed, relief washing over his features.
An hour later, Kaoru and Yoshiki are sitting across a cafe table from each other. Yoshiki is stirring a coffee and Kaoru is playing with his receipt distractedly. When they'd met outside the place, which was blessedly free of people, Kaoru had practically jumped at Yoshiki to embrace him, and hadn't said a word to him since. Setting the straw aside, Yoshiki takes a drink of his coffee and then clears his throat. Kaoru tosses the reciept onto the table and sits back in his chair, putting his hands in his lap.
"Are you okay?" Yoshiki asks quietly. Kaoru takes a moment to respond. He sits up in his chair and folds his hands on the table in imitation of Yoshiki.
"An hour ago a plane crashed not too far from here." Yoshiki nods, he was told this by one of the flight attendants on his own plane. "I had no way of knowing whether it was yours or not. I was so afraid I was going to hear about your death on an American news broadcast." He falls silent again, his gaze falling to rest on the crumpled receipt. Yoshiki watches him for a moment, then reaches out and snatches the receipt up. As it moves away Kaoru's eyes follow it, and come to rest on Yoshiki. Glancing around briefly, Yoshiki reaches out and lays a hand on Kaoru's. They sit there for a long moment, merely looking at each other. Yoshiki's gaze is soft, apologetic, as he tries to tell Kaoru that he understands, that it's okay. After a moment Kaoru seems to respond silently.
"I love you," Yoshiki says quietly. Kaoru smiles a little and looks down for a moment, then back up at him.
"I love you, too, my tenshi."
That night Yoshiki attends Dir en grey's concert, and goes out for drinks with the band afterward. He tells them he doesn't know how they can want to go out together after a concert, that he and the others in X just wanted to get away from each other as quickly as possible. They laugh at him for that, and laugh more when he tells them he's absolutely serious. As though through some unspoken agreement, both Kaoru and Yoshiki make a point of watching how much they drink, and end up going to the hotel Kaoru is staying at earlier than the other members of his band, some of whom are in adjacent rooms. Yoshiki sits on the bed and takes off his jacket as Kaoru goes to the bathroom, then joins his lover. As Kaoru comes to sit beside him Yoshiki pushes him gently onto his back and curls up in his arms, burying his face into his shoulder. The action makes Kaoru smile, and once more Yoshiki is compared to a cat in his mind. Yoshiki says something softly, but it's muffled against Kaoru's shoulder, and he laughs and asks him to repeat himself.
"You were amazing," Yoshiki says for the fifth time that night, resting his cheek against Kaoru's chest. Smiling a little, Kaoru kisses the top of his head and mumbles a humble Japanese refusal. Yoshiki practically giggles and curls up closer to him, sighing softly.
"I miss you," Kaoru says suddenly into the older's hair. It makes him frown a little, and he closes his eyes, relaxing into the arms that are so warm, so comforting.
"I miss you, too," he hears himself saying, moments before he thinks it. Kaoru sighs slowly and holds him closer, closing his own eyes. There is a long, peaceful silence, in which they both nearly fall asleep. But suddenly, as ever, they are brought abruptly back to earth, this time by a knock at Kaoru's door. Slowly, reluctantly, Yoshiki slips out of Kaoru's embrace and sits up on the bed. Kaoru, however, remains on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. The elder looks down at him, and with an endearing smile brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. Again the knock at the door, again the abrupt intrusion. After a moment, Kaoru forces himself to get up, and Yoshiki rises to go to the window, so that his back is to whoever comes in. He straightens his clothes and hair as he walks, and ends up pulling back the curtain a little to gaze at the night sky. Distantly, he hears Kaoru talking to the person who had intruded into their lives in quiet Japanese, and the faded stars pull his mind away to somewhere far behind him. A place where everything is bright and loud, and every moment is filled with laughter and music. But then it's gone, like everything else, so fleeting, and he bites his lower lip a little, feeling cold and self-conscious. He hears the door close, and then Kaoru comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him gently. But he barely feels it, he's so far away.
Sometimes, when they look back on everything they've done together, they wonder at it all. How they've managed to stay together this long, when everything is so distant, so cold. They seem to be two completely different people, and each one wonders what in hell the other sees in them. But in the end, each one also realises that it's happened, and it is happening, and no matter how far apart they may be the closeness is all that matters. And they keep walking, knowing each step brings them a little closer. To what, they're not sure, but if they ever stop they'll never find out. And that is something more fearful than any hurdle to jump, any bridge to cross, any ocean to fly over. The fear of never knowing is what keeps them on the path.