Raison D'etre
Embrace.
“Daisuke…” Kyo sighed, his voice soft, exasperated. Die looked up at the smaller man, dark eyes widening with concern at the serious tone in Kyo’s voice. No one ever called him Daisuke, apart from his mother, holding on to that last scrap of innocence, the name that labelled him throughout his youth, the name she chose. His band mates only called him by his birth name when they were annoyed with his immaturity or upset with the world.
Kyo was the latter, shoulders slumped, his eyes dead in their sockets, mouth turned downwards in a frown. He had been like that for a while, just detached and vacant, lost in a dream-like state. Toshiya had told Die not to worry, his usually kind eyes suddenly annoyed and unsympathetic, stating, “It’s just his way, Die… he just wants attention.”
But now, Die was worried. He knew Kyo, knew him better than the others did. They could laugh and joke and ignore the darkness that had smothered their friend. But Die couldn’t. At least, not anymore.
“What is it, Kyo?” He cleared a space for his friend to sit on his unmade bunk, moving the cigarettes, alcohol and porn magazines to the already cluttered floor. Kyo ignored the gesture, standing awkwardly in front of Die, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet.
“I just… can’t do this anymore,” The hopelessness in his voice caught Die off guard. Kyo wasn’t weak. Weakness was Kyo’s enemy. And yet… here he was, falling apart at the seams before his eyes. His blond hair hung limp across his lifeless face, lank and greasy from months on the road. He used to make an effort.
“Do what?” The guitarist asked, crossing his long legs and twisting a strand of fiery hair around his finger. He was nervous, heart thudding savagely against the bars of his ribcage. But why? Could it be the sick, twisted anticipation of learning something about his enigmatic friend that the others didn’t know? Or perhaps the fear of the words Kyo would speak. Either way, Kyo had sensed his anxiety and had become withdrawn, afraid of judgement.
They sat in silence for what seemed to Die like a lifetime. Kyo stared at the cluttered tour bus floor, eyes’ absorbing the beer stains on the carpet, paying the dark, soggy patches much more attention than they deserved. He could hear someone bustling about in the kitchen but the sound was distant and distorted. The voices of his band mates sounded alien, like they were speaking in a foreign language and not his native tongue.
“Kyo, what’s wrong?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Kyo muttered quickly, talking over the end of the guitarist’s sentence, before shutting down again. Die’s face fell, his eyes narrowing. Time for Plan B.
“Well, if nothing is wrong, then you have no reason to walk around with a face like a slapped arse,” He smiled; his teeth bared in a smug grin and pushed his crimson mane out of his face. Kyo glowered at him, pierced bottom lip jutting forward in protest. Die ignored him and continued, speaking in a gentler tone. “So, there is either nothing wrong and you’re just being depressed for the hell of it or… there is something pissing you off and you just don’t wanna talk about it. Either way, it’s ridiculous.”
Kyo almost smiled. You could always trust Die to tell it straight.
“Would you like a hug?” Die asked, standing up swiftly, his arms outstretched and welcoming.
“No,” Kyo lied sternly, crossing his arms protectively across his chest, glaring at his redheaded comrade. Die’s mouth fell open in mock offence and he forcefully flung himself at Kyo, his thin frame twitching with laughter.
Kyo smelt on him the familiar scent of smoke and aftershave, felt the smooth lines of his body beneath the creased cotton of his shirt, his skinny arms holding him safe from the demons that lurked in the dark. It felt like home. Kyo relaxed, smiling as he pulled away.
“So, do you want to talk about it?” Daisuke had his serious face on again, his deep brown eyes gentle and calm. He sat down, the stiff mattress drooping slightly beneath his bottom.
“No,” said Kyo, unruffled. “No, thank you. I feel much better now.”
And with that, he left Die alone and confused, cross-legged on his messy bunk.
Kyo was the latter, shoulders slumped, his eyes dead in their sockets, mouth turned downwards in a frown. He had been like that for a while, just detached and vacant, lost in a dream-like state. Toshiya had told Die not to worry, his usually kind eyes suddenly annoyed and unsympathetic, stating, “It’s just his way, Die… he just wants attention.”
But now, Die was worried. He knew Kyo, knew him better than the others did. They could laugh and joke and ignore the darkness that had smothered their friend. But Die couldn’t. At least, not anymore.
“What is it, Kyo?” He cleared a space for his friend to sit on his unmade bunk, moving the cigarettes, alcohol and porn magazines to the already cluttered floor. Kyo ignored the gesture, standing awkwardly in front of Die, his eyes fixed firmly on his feet.
“I just… can’t do this anymore,” The hopelessness in his voice caught Die off guard. Kyo wasn’t weak. Weakness was Kyo’s enemy. And yet… here he was, falling apart at the seams before his eyes. His blond hair hung limp across his lifeless face, lank and greasy from months on the road. He used to make an effort.
“Do what?” The guitarist asked, crossing his long legs and twisting a strand of fiery hair around his finger. He was nervous, heart thudding savagely against the bars of his ribcage. But why? Could it be the sick, twisted anticipation of learning something about his enigmatic friend that the others didn’t know? Or perhaps the fear of the words Kyo would speak. Either way, Kyo had sensed his anxiety and had become withdrawn, afraid of judgement.
They sat in silence for what seemed to Die like a lifetime. Kyo stared at the cluttered tour bus floor, eyes’ absorbing the beer stains on the carpet, paying the dark, soggy patches much more attention than they deserved. He could hear someone bustling about in the kitchen but the sound was distant and distorted. The voices of his band mates sounded alien, like they were speaking in a foreign language and not his native tongue.
“Kyo, what’s wrong?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Kyo muttered quickly, talking over the end of the guitarist’s sentence, before shutting down again. Die’s face fell, his eyes narrowing. Time for Plan B.
“Well, if nothing is wrong, then you have no reason to walk around with a face like a slapped arse,” He smiled; his teeth bared in a smug grin and pushed his crimson mane out of his face. Kyo glowered at him, pierced bottom lip jutting forward in protest. Die ignored him and continued, speaking in a gentler tone. “So, there is either nothing wrong and you’re just being depressed for the hell of it or… there is something pissing you off and you just don’t wanna talk about it. Either way, it’s ridiculous.”
Kyo almost smiled. You could always trust Die to tell it straight.
“Would you like a hug?” Die asked, standing up swiftly, his arms outstretched and welcoming.
“No,” Kyo lied sternly, crossing his arms protectively across his chest, glaring at his redheaded comrade. Die’s mouth fell open in mock offence and he forcefully flung himself at Kyo, his thin frame twitching with laughter.
Kyo smelt on him the familiar scent of smoke and aftershave, felt the smooth lines of his body beneath the creased cotton of his shirt, his skinny arms holding him safe from the demons that lurked in the dark. It felt like home. Kyo relaxed, smiling as he pulled away.
“So, do you want to talk about it?” Daisuke had his serious face on again, his deep brown eyes gentle and calm. He sat down, the stiff mattress drooping slightly beneath his bottom.
“No,” said Kyo, unruffled. “No, thank you. I feel much better now.”
And with that, he left Die alone and confused, cross-legged on his messy bunk.