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Lost in Translation	By : decadentrebel Category: > Kaoru/Die Views: 1263 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Dir en grey. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Lost in Translation
- 1
Author's Notes: This is my first DEG fanfic, and my first ever attempt at J-rock and RPS. I cannot be sure that characterization is 100% correct, but I did try to write within the boundaries of what I can discern between Kaoru and Die as public figures, and their relationship with each other.There is no definite timeline here, events from the past and the present will tend to jump in and jump out. Also, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for the grammar mistakes that might come in the way.
Lost in Translation by Adrienne
Fevered dreams haunt him at night: memories of Die fixing him a tired, yet joking grin as he watched him write on his journal back in the apartment they shared long ago before the band was formed, when dreams were wishes skirting half-finished notes on two guitars; always hoping to reach the stars, shatter the skies. Of sheet music after sheet music crumpled into his hands as he lost his voice amidst stress once more. Of Die supporting him, his words coaxing him to work and fashion something, anything, that satisfied his mind's critical eye. Of Die smiling, always smiling, happy.
Kaoru would then lie awake afterward, arm behind his head. Rings of smoke would leave his lips, trying to reach the ceiling before it would eventually be eaten away by the chilly night air. And just as the smoke from his lips faded, so did his thoughts of Die, and he would surprise himself by clinging to it with an instinct, a feeling that he didn't recognize.
Later on, he would realize it to be desperation.

"This looks great, Kaoru," Kyo said, the rare admiration dripping from the voice of the usually guarded vocalist. Despite his usual depictions of raw emotion onstage, the vocalist is never one to express his feelings openly. He preferred to reserve such energy to express emotion for special occasions, such as a birthday, a live, or when a desirable piece of music would be presented to him, like today. Kaoru felt a smile ghost into his lips at the sight of the shorter vocalist holding the sheet music like it was a newly discovered artifact.
"I agree," Toshiya chimed in from where he was peering over Kyo's shoulder. "Ne, Kaoru, when…no, how did you write this?" Shinya, who finally left his drum set to join the conversation, nodded slightly, and turned eager, questioning eyes at him.
He was about to answer, when Die suddenly appeared next to him. "Over a lot of bottles of beer," the redhead drawled, draping an arm over his shoulder and giving it a squeeze all the same. "Hi," he whispered over his ear, a bit too closely, and Kaoru shivered instinctively.
He remembered breaking away, joking about how he wished that all of them could get inspiration from getting stoned, and commencing practice. The rest, though, he didn't know why, suddenly became a red blur, and he couldn't remember anything else but Die's gentle grip on his shoulder when he squeezed it, and how he wished he leaned just a little bit more to him so the redhead's scent would linger on his shirt.

He should have noticed the signs. He always prided himself for his intuition, his ability to calculate what another person's next move would be. To one-up the other. Isn't that the reason why he was so much better than anyone else in the band when it comes to chess? He always had the answers for everything, the one who knew how to say things the right way, who simply said the right things instead of stammering something entirely wrong.
So when Die came over that night, fidgeting and uneasy, he didn't understand why he suddenly seemed to forget what to say.
Maybe it was because he was too absorbed by the TV show he was watching before he opened the door.
Maybe it was because of stress.
Or maybe, in his whole life, the redhead standing there on his doorstep, fiery hair framing his blushing cheeks, white button-down on leather pants sculpting a sexy hip leaning on his doorframe; he had never seen Die look so beautiful.

"Kao?"
"Yeah?"
"That song….I didn't really got a chance to tell you, but it's awesome. One of the best you ever wrote."
Silence. A controlled voice. "Thank you."
"Want to go out for a drink?"
"No thanks, I need to….there's a song in my head….I mean…" Lots of excuses, all entwining.
Small laugh. "Nah, I get it. It's ok."
Relieved sigh. "Thanks. I knew you would understand."
Silence. Thick, heavy and suffocating.
"Just…don't work too hard, ok?"
"Of course."
Kaoru stared at the phone in his hand. As he stood there, relishing the memory of Die's voice, he felt his heart constrict against his chest, soundlessly wailing against the distance the telephone cast between them, asking for something amidst the silence after Die's goodbye that it seemed to have lost all the words to say.

He half-listened to Die's story about how his latest date had gone so monumentally wrong, taking careful care to make it seem otherwise, lest to aggravate the other man's grief. In the Herculean task of leading Dir En Grey, one of the most important skills he picked up was the art of pretense. Never let the other person know what you're feeling by putting on a mask, a carefully-constructed reality of what you're actually feeling inside.
The only downside is that the mask you create would become the reality itself. Right now, Kaoru wished for that downside, longed for it, because he didn't want to think that he was bothered by the fact that Die had a date in the first place. Isn't that what he kept on telling him when the stress from their work threatened to eat him alive? Go out, have some fun, meet someone to distract you from the job. But now that he watched Die look so forlorn because of some girl whose name he didn't even remember, who didn't even know how to appreciate the redhead the way he could have…Kaoru felt something akin to anger stir inside him, and it bothered him, feeling that way.
He didn't want to think that he was jealous. He wanted to think that he was genuinely sorrowful for the rhythm guitarist's disappointment, and he really, really wanted to soothe him, he really did. Only, the reason for the other man's pain plagued him.
"Kaoru?"
He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked at Die, who was now downing his second drink for the night. "Yes?"
Dark eyes met his. "Tell me…did I…did I fuck up? What did I…what did I do wrong? What did I…" Die's words faded into tiny mutterings, mixed with the occasional obscenities, and Kaoru shook his head, lost in the other man's inability to verbalize his anger and disappointment.
It has always been this way, Die would never know what to say, how to say things, and he would carefully pick him up and guide the words into him.
Die grabbed his arm, his eyes, now luminous, a dam threatening to burst. "Say something, Kaoru," he begged in a ragged whisper. "Say something…"
He always had the words. Words were his gift. It gave him the power to create, to inspire, to lead, to soothe. But right now, they refused to come.
Or maybe they were there, he just didn't want to say them. He was afraid that if he did, the mask would fall.
So he said the next best thing.
"It's going to be all right."

One bed, two bodies, freezing.
"Ne, Kaoru?"
"Yes, Die?"
"How would you know if you'd made it?"
Grumble. "When I could buy myself a warmer bed."
A tiny voice. "Would it fit me? Would it be big enough for the two of us?"
Silence.
Always.

If only Kaoru's heart would find its voice, he would tell Die that he loved him.

Kaoru lay again on a bed full of music sheets, his hand on a pencil, fingers too tired and deciding to palm the empty notepad, instead. The song was in his head, but his mind and heart just refused to let the notes travel into his hand and into the paper. He let out a curse, hating writers' block and deciding to lose himself into the memory of something forbidden. Of that indescribable feeling that would creep into him every time Die was in his proximity. Of Die, smiling, teasing.
And then the memories would give way to gossamer images of a craving, of Die's lips trekking a line of fire over his chest, Die's mouth on his neck as his fingers try to mold itself deeper into him, and then the dangerous whirlwind of desire would finally give way to control. Snap out of it, his mind whispered harshly. Die is a friend.
Just a friend.
Do you want to ruin your friendship? Do you want to ruin the band?
What would your fans think? What would your-
He shut his eyes as he lost himself into it, the control. That was how it should be.
He tried to ignore the lump slowly forming into his throat. Finally, the craving died. Next to him, the sheet music remained untouched; the pad, empty.

I should take a vacation, he thought tiredly, one day after sitting on his favorite chair in their studio. It was getting dark and it was one of the few times he had told the band go home early. If it was a surprise, the rest didn't bother to tell him; Kyo had run off before he finished the sentence "You can go home now", and even Shinya was in a hurry to leave, probably afraid he would change his mind and then there would be no turning back. Toshiya looked like he wanted to say something, hesitating, yet like the good and often too polite friend he was, chose not to.
Die, though, took his time gathering his belongings, and despite the unwelcome presence, Kaoru found himself relaxing to his movements, slow, tempered in motion, graceful. The relaxation grew into a lulling, and before he knew it, he found himself measuring the beats of the other man's gait, the swoosh of his hand slicing air to push an errant strand of hair behind his ear, the velvety sound of his arms on his guitar as he placed them on its case, the swift swipe of his fingers to click the lock in place.
He embraced the sounds without knowing, and a sudden snap to his face stopped the flurry of notes forming in his head.
He felt his breath hitch at the sight of Die standing way too close to him, his breath was just too warm, his cologne was too strong, his smile was too captivating, and he suddenly felt his mask fall as the craving came back in strong, delirious waves, giving him the sudden urge to kiss the other man. And then he was kissing Die, and his hands…his hands were singing as it held the other man's face, and all through out, he found himself saying something stupid, something clicheic, something so wrong and inarticulate, something that made Die's eyes light up and kiss him back, something like, I love you.
- 1
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Lost in Translation