Title: Capture the Elusive
Author: Chantrea Johari
Band: Dir en grey
Pairings: Kaoru x Die, Shinya x Kyo
Overall Rating: NC-17
Summary: "If you really loved me, you wouldn't make me keep watching you hurt yourself."
Warnings: liberal discussion of eating disorders, with a bit of alcoholism, and perhaps other issues.
Notes: For my darling noroi_kaidan, because she is the love of my life, and when she says, "Jump," I say, "How high?" "Where?" and "Would you like me to be naked while doing it?" XD The story is told in two plotlines: the first is the one in near present time (beginning in 2006) and is told fully chronologically. The second is told in flashbacks that are varied, but all dated, in order to fill in the necessary backstory. I hope it doesn't confuse anyone too much. ^^;;

-2007-

Die was already back in the apartment when Kaoru arrived home later that evening; Kaoru knew this even before the other man poked his head out of the bedroom at the sound of the front door opening and closing. There was something intangible about the presence of another being within his space—something stronger about it in respect to the fact that Die was Kaoru’s lover. The apartment didn’t feel empty the way it did when Kaoru was alone—and in the same moment, it almost felt more empty, more hollow with Die’s presence. It was a feeling he’d unknowingly come to identify with Die, a sensation that prickled at his spider senses and told him, before he saw even a centimeter of Die’s form, that the apartment was occupied.

Kaoru closed the door behind himself softly, toeing off his shoes with slow precision—because ever since that afternoon, since his breakdown and subsequent conversation with Toshiya, it seemed that that was the only way he was getting through the day. Focusing fully on getting through each moment, not thinking about the next—not considering the future, not doing things casually, but simply concentrating totally on the process of slipping each shoe off, placing them next to each other in careful alignment. It was the only thing keeping him sane, the distraction of his overactive mind the only force barring him from falling apart again.

That idea scared him, more than he wanted to admit to himself—because he hadn’t been able to consider what he’d say to Die when he saw him again, hadn’t been able to consider things that far ahead. He was afraid that if he tried, he’d lose himself again, and this time, a cup of tea and a gentle conversation with his friend wouldn’t be enough to pull him out of it. In fact, part of Kaoru still wasn’t sure he’d been pulled out of anything at all; his brain still felt foggy, his limbs lethargic, his thought processes numbed to the point that he could only consider the most cursory of things—the way that the denim of his jacket brushed abrasively across his palm when he began to pull it off, the feel of the coldness of the floor seeping through the fabric of his socks and against his toes, the image of himself in the full-length mirror across the room.

When Kaoru gazed upon himself in the reflective glass, he couldn’t say that he liked what he saw; he looked weary, old, pained. There were lines on his face he was sure hadn’t been there months or even weeks ago, dark circles forming under his eyes, his shoulders slightly slumped as if he didn’t have the energy to hold himself erect anymore. And the most frightening part about that observation was that he wasn’t sure whether he did have the strength anymore—to hold everyone else up, to hold himself up…to hold Die up, try to tug him away from the precipice, keep him from falling.

Kaoru looked away from his own image quickly; the sight of his own face troubled him in ways he couldn’t describe, and considering how he had gotten that way, how he had reached the point at which his whole self was falling apart so totally that he couldn’t even manage to look upon his likeness in the mirror, was leading his mind to dark places, places he wasn’t sure he had the strength to explore. A dark labyrinth that, should his thoughts lead him in that direction, Kaoru wasn’t sure he could find his way out of.

But before his thoughts could make any further attempts to lead him down such paths, there was movement from the bedroom—and a familiar head of now-caramel-colored hair poked out of the doorway, a somewhat apprehensive, worried expression on his face. Kaoru looked up at the movement, saw the nervous expression that entered Die’s dark eyes when his gaze fell upon Kaoru—and Kaoru wanted to manage a smile of some sort, wanted to present Die with something to set his lover at ease, but his facial muscles seemed unwilling to listen to his commands, his body and mind simply too exhausted to even expend the effort.

Die took a slow, wary step out of the bedroom, his gaze never leaving his lover’s form—as if afraid of spooking a nervous animal…afraid that any sudden movements would cause Kaoru to break again. Kaoru might have been insulted by the assumption did he not have the same fear himself; even he wasn’t sure what he could handle anymore, how much more he could take before it all simply fell apart. And he didn’t want to find out, either.

“You’re home,” Die murmured quietly, stating the obvious because he clearly couldn’t think of what else to say; where there had once been comfort between them, there was now nothing more than awkwardness and confusion, and Kaoru wasn’t sure whether or not that would fade again into the background with time. It had before, though it had never truly disappeared; even their moments of ease around each other had long been tempered by the looming suggestion of larger issues.

All Kaoru could manage was a noncommittal grunt before averting his eyes from Die—because there was something painful about looking upon him then, sharp bones, sallow, graying skin, hollow eyes. If he looked upon Die for too long, he’d have to accept what he’d always known, when he’d seen Die’s problems escalating over time. He’d have to accept that Die was slowly killing himself, have to accept that his lover was fading away right in front of him. He didn’t want to be forced to do that.

So instead, he returned his attention to the act of removing his jacket, slipping one hand slowly out of the sleeve. But within a moment, Die was behind him, hands on his shoulders, removing the denim garment for him—as if a silent apology for all that he’d done, as if scrambling for anything and everything he could do to make up for his mistakes, for all the pain he had brought upon his lover. Anything he could do short of trying to get better; anything he could do short of trying to address the root of the problem.

It was an amazingly feeble gesture, but Kaoru let him do it anyway, shrugged out of his jacket and let Die take it from him, let Die hang it carefully in the closet as Kaoru stood, numb and disoriented, eyes following his lover’s movements. He wasn’t sure how to act around Die anymore, wasn’t sure exactly what to do now that he had returned to the apartment; normally, he’d act without thinking, go to the kitchen or the living room or the bedroom depending on what he felt like doing that evening, but at that point, it all felt so strained, so awkward, so overbearingly ordinary that he couldn’t do any of it. And so instead, he stood still in the foyer, not sure how to act.

Kaoru’s motionless posture seemed to make Die a little uncomfortable; he shifted his feet for a moment as he realized that Kaoru hadn’t moved at all, as if waiting for the other man to do something that would hint at how he was feeling, what he wanted, what he would do next. When Die received none of these cues, he cleared his throat uncomfortably, moving to speak.

“Do you…want to get dinner or something?” Die surprised Kaoru by asking after a long moment, his tone low and uncertain—and under other circumstances, Kaoru would be touched by the gesture, by Die’s willingness to compromise himself for Kaoru’s ease of mind. He’d be reassured by Die’s willingness to eat, thinking that perhaps it would be different this time, that Die would be willing to recover…

But by that point, Kaoru knew better, viewed with bitterness the fact that Die was making the suggestion only to appease him, that Die had no true intentions of changing his behaviors…that perhaps he couldn’t change. That in order to have dinner with Kaoru, Die might starve himself for twice as long, that it was all a carefully-constructed façade in which the other man would eat in front of the others and then deprive himself whenever he had the chance.

The realization made Kaoru sick enough that the mere thought of food made his gorge rise a little—and though part of him wanted to agree, wanted to honor Die’s hopeful attempts to keep things stable, to give in for the simple reassurance that Die had eaten something, the idea of trying to keep anything down with his stomach roiling in protest was too daunting a concept to consider.

“I’m not really hungry,” Kaoru managed after a short pause, his voice weak and surprisingly deferential—not strong, confident, and self-assured in Kaoru’s usual manner. Die stared at the other man for a long moment in disbelief, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Kaoru might refuse his offer. And considering the way that Kaoru had spent years leaping upon any opportunity to make sure his lover ate, Kaoru reflected, Die’s shock wasn’t honestly misplaced.

Die seemed unsure of how to react to the refusal, unexpected as it was; he simply stared at his lover, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, for along minute before he seemed able to release himself from his stupor. He blinked a couple of times before making another attempt at speech.

“What would you…prefer to do, then?” he inquired meekly, air pregnant with the fear he held of upsetting his lover, changing the balance of things yet again. Kaoru stared at the other man for a long instant, trying to muster some sort of response, but his thoughts were too sluggish to truly muddle over the possibilities. That fact alone seemed to answer the question for him.

“I just…want to go to bed.”

Die nodded nervously, nearly twitching with uneasiness at the other guitarist’s ghostly impassiveness. It was as if he wasn’t sure how to take Kaoru—as if he was unsure whether things had changed, whether or not Kaoru was angry, whether or not he should continue on as if all was normal. Kaoru would have reassured him if he could, but he felt neither willing to nor capable of providing reassurance to anyone. He felt capable of very little by that point.

“All right,” Die affirmed after a long minute, a hand slipping easily around Kaoru’s bicep as he walked with his lover toward the bedroom. Yet there was something awkward lingering beneath the touch, and they could both sense it—but neither spoke it, Kaoru too tired and Die too afraid of breaking the delicate balance they’d tentatively established.

So instead, once inside the bedroom, Die turned and wordlessly slipped his hands beneath Kaoru’s t-shirt—and he gave the other man a moment to object, should he desire, but Kaoru numbly accepted the assistance, lifting his arms to allow Die to remove the garment. Kaoru’s vision went dark for a moment as the cloth obscured his vision, and when the light came into his view once more, he was looking into his lover’s dark eyes, which were imploring, asking silent permission for something. Too set in his routine or perhaps too tired to form any objection, Kaoru did not protest—and so, slowly, Die leaned forward and pressed their lips together gently.

Kaoru submitted numbly to the kiss, letting Die’s lips move against his—and even then, there was some sort of comfortableness in the familiarity of the intimacy, the touch of the other man’s fingers against the bare flesh of Kaoru’s chest. Die’s fingers made feeble attempts to grip at any bit of skin he could reach, as if desperate to hold onto something fighting to slip free from his grasp—their connection, their past, their trust.

Die slowly unbuttoned Kaoru’s pants before stripping down to his boxers himself—and Kaoru let himself be led into bed, let Die guide him so that they were lying there, half entwined, the taller man curled almost submissively against Kaoru’s side, gripping him as if afraid to let go. Kaoru could feel, even then, the sharp jab of collarbones, rib bones, hipbones…and it was all nauseatingly familiar, painfully usual. Die’s fingers curled around Kaoru’s shoulder, heated skin of their bodies pressed together—and after lying together silently for a long moment, Die finally spoke.

“Kaoru, are we…okay?” Die inquired fearfully after a pause, as able as Kaoru then to feel the sickly discomfort in the room, the aura of depression and mistakes seeping into every moment of their reality. Kaoru had been confronting the feeling for so long that it had grown commonplace for him—but Die, having just become attuned to it as a result of Kaoru’s breakdown, seemed fearful of what it could all mean. Kaoru knew, though, from years of experience, that the residual waves of pain and untruths wouldn’t ruin them, wouldn’t break their relationship; it hadn’t in the past. It could temper their interactions without driving them apart; it could tear them apart from within without affecting the exterior at all. Kaoru knew this well—too well.

And he considered, for a moment, trying to fight what he already knew to be the inescapable truth—considered trying to take Toshiya’s advice and continue to try against all odds, but he could see, finally, that the problems were so rooted in Die’s being, had found a way to implant themselves even in his relationship with his lover, that they had become Die’s identity, part of their relationship. This had all been with Die since the beginning….perhaps since Mie, perhaps since before they'd even met.

What use was it, Kaoru wondered, in fighting to fix a problem that had its roots firmly planted in a past Kaoru hadn't even been part of? These issues had lingered with Die long before Kaoru had even met him; part of Kaoru couldn't help but believe, quite firmly, that there was no hope to cure them now, after they had become so integrated into both Die and Kaoru’s lives.

Kaoru could have told the truth, could have given Die the answers they both knew—that they were doomed, that their relationship was forever tainted, and that Die was slowly killing himself. They were far from “okay” in any sense, and Kaoru knew that with perfect confidence—and he could have spoken it, perhaps should have…but he had no will left to fight.

“We’re okay,” Kaoru finally found the strength to reassure his lover, the lie thick against his tongue—and he brought his hand up, stroking short fingers through the other man’s hair, down his neck…along the bony ridges of his spine, across his too-prominent ribs, to rest upon his protruding hipbone.

And he came to accept that this was his reality—that nothing could change. And he wouldn’t fight a futile battle anymore; he didn’t have the strength. He’d focus instead getting through each moment, not thinking about the future. Not thinking about the fact that his lover was quite literally dying, right before his eyes, that eventually Die would be lost for good.

And so Kaoru held Die’s frail body more tightly, and he focused on the moment, as if the future didn’t exist.

Die stared down at his arm in unfocused interest, eyes roving up and down along the still-inflamed, burning red scars that seemed to be becoming permanent features of his skin. It had been a month, and they’d barely faded at all— and he doubted that they would, a fact which was both reassuring and troubling. Reassuring because he had an indelible reminder of the biggest mistake of his life to warn him…and troubling because there was always the fear that someone would notice, that the fans would see, that the questions would come again.

It had been a month since Die had made the biggest mistake in his life. That mistake hadn’t been trying to kill himself; rather, it had been not dying that was his gravest misstep.

But it wasn’t a desire to live or a lack of longing to die that gave him that certainty; it was the knowledge that he didn’t want to die that way, that he didn’t want it to be Kaoru, this time, who found him bleeding out torrents all over his apartment floor. He didn’t want to hurt his lover like that, didn’t want to damage Kaoru any more than he already unwittingly had done.

One thing he knew now, though, with absolute and inflexible certainty, was that he did want to die. He’d tried, for years, to continue on— to fight, to live, to be normal— and it had all had him turning back to his old ways of coping, had all had him giving in to his perceived weaknesses in order to keep himself sane. And he’d tried, time and time again— tried the sting of deprivation, the pain of slicing open his own skin, the ache of overwork and the burn of alcohol…and it had all quieted the agony, for a little while.

The guilt was inescapable, the knowledge that he was willingly entwining his fingers with those of a demon, walking hand-in-hand toward the black abyss of death…but he knew no other path, now, had tried to take every other fork he could find. He’d tried to fight the urge to lose himself in the blackness through pain and control, through recovery and alcoholic oblivion. None of it had worked for more than a time; nothing had worked for more than a time.

It was no one’s fault— not his parents’, not the band’s, not the fans’, not his lover’s…it was some flaw that had long existed deep inside of him, something that was broken or malformed or defective in some way. It was a part of him he’d fought to change, then a dragon he’d fought to appease with the meaty offerings of self-inflicted pain and suffering…but the defect hadn’t gone away; he’d become no more perfect for it. Every day, he became only more damaged.

And as Die stared down at the still-inflamed scars on his wrists, he knew that any efforts to find a way to live, to fight against the desperate desire for oblivion, were hopeless. As his eyes traced the jagged, raised lines now decorating his arms, he accepted that he was going to die, by his own hand, in some way or another. If not from the starvation, then from the alcohol…and if not from the alcohol, then from the cigarettes. And if not from the cigarettes, then from the knife…but that was a last resort, a desperate last plea for a way out of his agony-plagued life.

Die ran his fingers slowly along the jagged ridge of the rosy scar, set apart from the rest of his pale flesh…memorizing the feel, reveling in the recollection of how close he’d come to death. He’d been able to see it, to taste it, almost, it had been so close. He’d been just within the reach of the goal that part of him had always known was the only way out.