DEG: Die/Shinya: Sunsetting
Title: Sunsetting
Author: rheak
Pairing: Shinya/Die (Dir en Grey)
Rating:PG
Summary: A good story is a story about just one thing. No complications, no alembicated and mixed together half truths and decrees about the universe. Just one thing. One thing only..
Disclaimer: The events and characters depicted in the following piece of work are completely fictitious. Even though similarities with the members of Dir en Grey, or other public personae may be found they are in no way implying that any of the events or character traits are true. I do not know the members of Dir en Grey, and am in no way affiliated to them, the story itself is completely untrue and is in no way meant to reflect the private lives, actual practices, or activities of any persons named. No harm, libel or disrespect is intended. No statements whatsoever and no commercial gain are made out of the work archived here; this is simply for entertainment purposes.
Fanfic Archive: pinkucellphone
A/N: Written for the Advent challenge at die_shinya . Rusty is rusty.
Sunsetting
---
A good story is a story about just one thing. No complications, no alembicated and mixed together half truths and decrees about the universe. Just one thing. One thing only.
Like
Shinya sits on the grass, his toes dipped into the lake and looks at the sun shining over his friends bathing.
There’s no catch. No hidden story. Just his friends bathing. Die, and someone else, Toshiya, or was it Kaoru?
Kyo didn’t come with them. And they just stopped on the road, took another turn to a field and the dirt is raked with the signs of their tires.
Shinya watches them bathe and the air is filled with mosquitoes and shrill laughter. The golden sun like a yellow ball into the distance and Shinya brushes his hair over his face. The water is cold.
It’s June, or July and Shinya sits in the grass. Perhaps it’s August and he is young. Very young.
They sleep in the car that night, in a field and Die breathes into his nape. His hair is ticklish and they barely fit on the backseat.
This can be a story about anything.
But somehow it’s a story about how from the water (which is cold and has leafy plants tangling around his legs and tickling his toes) Die catches brief glimpses of Shinya. And how he knows, even as he plays there, with Toshiya, because no, Kaoru wasn’t there, he can remember that, that he loves this scrawny drummer boy that looks and walks and acts so odd.
-
At 84, on a corridor of a nursing home, Shinya looks up, over the trees to the golden sun, then over Die’s lean face smiling at him from the chair next to him. Die is young and Shinya reaches a papery hand towards him. He feels soft and nonexistent underneath his fingertips and Shinya smiles back to that illusory smile mirrored in front of him.
Die told that story many times, especially on early mornings between the covers when it was just them. He told it to Shinya as if he would tell it to a child or a nephew. That’s when I knew, he said, in the tent made by cotton sheets, that’s when I knew and each time Shinya smiled and rolled his eyes because he couldn’t really remember it himself, but he smiled nonetheless and then they just stared at each other while the room smelt of winter and early morning with the windows open.
That night Shinya looks at the ceiling and it starts to snow and it snows, over the armchair, and the bed, and the nightstand and the open book and his glasses (he finally bought them years and years later when he couldn’t distinguish Die’s frame from a blur and Die said, you’ve always had the clearest vision, you have to keep having it and he nodded), and it snows over his hands and he looks up and Die sits next to him on the bed, all long red hair and youth and smile from ear to ear and Shinya says happy birthday.
The whole room is snow and quiet, a distant echo of voices somewhere far, far away and Die is there, and maybe it is December, did he already say Happy Birthday? In the corner of the room he can see Himiko sleeping, her nurse-clad frame in shadow and covered in snow and he faintly asks himself if she’s not cold.
She must be cold, he says finally, his voice barely a whisper and Die looks at him, his hair is black and has snowflakes in it and he says, let’s go home, Shinya.
Underneath his fingers his skin feels like a mug of porcelain and he wraps his hand around them.
Ok.
It feels like sunset, calm and orange, and floating above water.
Author: rheak
Pairing: Shinya/Die (Dir en Grey)
Rating:PG
Summary: A good story is a story about just one thing. No complications, no alembicated and mixed together half truths and decrees about the universe. Just one thing. One thing only..
Disclaimer: The events and characters depicted in the following piece of work are completely fictitious. Even though similarities with the members of Dir en Grey, or other public personae may be found they are in no way implying that any of the events or character traits are true. I do not know the members of Dir en Grey, and am in no way affiliated to them, the story itself is completely untrue and is in no way meant to reflect the private lives, actual practices, or activities of any persons named. No harm, libel or disrespect is intended. No statements whatsoever and no commercial gain are made out of the work archived here; this is simply for entertainment purposes.
Fanfic Archive: pinkucellphone
A/N: Written for the Advent challenge at die_shinya . Rusty is rusty.
Sunsetting
---
A good story is a story about just one thing. No complications, no alembicated and mixed together half truths and decrees about the universe. Just one thing. One thing only.
Like
Shinya sits on the grass, his toes dipped into the lake and looks at the sun shining over his friends bathing.
There’s no catch. No hidden story. Just his friends bathing. Die, and someone else, Toshiya, or was it Kaoru?
Kyo didn’t come with them. And they just stopped on the road, took another turn to a field and the dirt is raked with the signs of their tires.
Shinya watches them bathe and the air is filled with mosquitoes and shrill laughter. The golden sun like a yellow ball into the distance and Shinya brushes his hair over his face. The water is cold.
It’s June, or July and Shinya sits in the grass. Perhaps it’s August and he is young. Very young.
They sleep in the car that night, in a field and Die breathes into his nape. His hair is ticklish and they barely fit on the backseat.
This can be a story about anything.
But somehow it’s a story about how from the water (which is cold and has leafy plants tangling around his legs and tickling his toes) Die catches brief glimpses of Shinya. And how he knows, even as he plays there, with Toshiya, because no, Kaoru wasn’t there, he can remember that, that he loves this scrawny drummer boy that looks and walks and acts so odd.
-
At 84, on a corridor of a nursing home, Shinya looks up, over the trees to the golden sun, then over Die’s lean face smiling at him from the chair next to him. Die is young and Shinya reaches a papery hand towards him. He feels soft and nonexistent underneath his fingertips and Shinya smiles back to that illusory smile mirrored in front of him.
Die told that story many times, especially on early mornings between the covers when it was just them. He told it to Shinya as if he would tell it to a child or a nephew. That’s when I knew, he said, in the tent made by cotton sheets, that’s when I knew and each time Shinya smiled and rolled his eyes because he couldn’t really remember it himself, but he smiled nonetheless and then they just stared at each other while the room smelt of winter and early morning with the windows open.
That night Shinya looks at the ceiling and it starts to snow and it snows, over the armchair, and the bed, and the nightstand and the open book and his glasses (he finally bought them years and years later when he couldn’t distinguish Die’s frame from a blur and Die said, you’ve always had the clearest vision, you have to keep having it and he nodded), and it snows over his hands and he looks up and Die sits next to him on the bed, all long red hair and youth and smile from ear to ear and Shinya says happy birthday.
The whole room is snow and quiet, a distant echo of voices somewhere far, far away and Die is there, and maybe it is December, did he already say Happy Birthday? In the corner of the room he can see Himiko sleeping, her nurse-clad frame in shadow and covered in snow and he faintly asks himself if she’s not cold.
She must be cold, he says finally, his voice barely a whisper and Die looks at him, his hair is black and has snowflakes in it and he says, let’s go home, Shinya.
Underneath his fingers his skin feels like a mug of porcelain and he wraps his hand around them.
Ok.
It feels like sunset, calm and orange, and floating above water.