Chapter Text
Die didn’t know where the path to stardom began.
Perhaps it was the first time he picked up a guitar, fingers clumsy and callous-free while trying to mimic chords from a recorded VHS performance. Maybe it was the moment he learned to read tabs instead of guessing by ear. Or maybe it started here, in a quiet corner of the Shibuya’s Ishibashi Music store, where the floors hummed faintly from the reverberation of someone testing an amp three aisles down.
Ever since Die started working part-time at Ishibashi's, it had become the highlight of his day. The moment the final school bell rang, he was already halfway out the door, weaving through the city streets with his school bag bouncing at his side with a quiet excitement blooming in his chest. The store with its rows of guitars and gentle hum of string buzz, felt like a second home.
Mr. Tatebe, the shop’s owner, had noticed Die’s enthusiasm early on. He liked the boy—earnest, soft-spoken, and always humming some riff under his breath; but even with Die’s vivid passion for music, Tatebe had made one thing clear: love for the craft didn’t replace experience. So, Die started from the bottom—dusting instruments, straightening displays, and restocking shelves.
But Die didn’t complain. He liked the quiet rhythm of those later shifts, each guitar he polished became a tiny study in design and tone. He’d linger, fingers brushing gently over the curves, imagining how each one would sound under his hands. Eventually, he began borrowing music books from the shop’s modest library, a weekly ritual that turned into a kind of deposit system. Tatebe always gave the money back on payday, saying it was an “investment in a future regular."
Finally after six months, Die was promoted to floor support; helping customers, setting up amps, or demoing pedal boards. On slower days, Mr. Tatebe would join him on the floor and talk gear. Die knew his way around the instruments now, but when asked for his preference, his answer was always the same: “Guitar. Always the guitar.” Tatebe had chuckled and told him he had a gift and he should keep sharpening it.
By the next year, Die was able to save enough for his first guitar. The two of them picked it out together, and the day he brought it home, Die couldn’t stop smiling. Practicing became a kind of lifeline, a small act of comfort in the chaos of school and band auditions that never seemed to go anywhere. No matter how many times a group fell apart, the guitar stayed.
After graduation, he took on full-time hours at Ishibashi. His band dreams were still alive, just quieter. For now, the shop was his anchor. Helping others fall in love with music made him feel steady.
On a quieter late afternoon, Die stood behind the front checkout desk beside another full-timer, going over the holiday promotion plans for December. The shop wasn’t packed, but there was a steady hum of customers wandering in and out, most of them clearly holding out for the big sales.
“Mm, maybe we put the pedalboard demo station over here…” Die said, gesturing thoughtfully to a corner near the back. His coworker nodded in agreement, letting Die lead the arrangement while mostly sipping on canned coffee.
Die let out a soft breath after he finished arranging a display, only to straighten when he caught sight of a particularly grumpy customer approaching him.
“Ah, no,” his coworker whispered, already sliding away, “That guy looks ready to tear someone’s ass in two. He’s all yours, man.”
“Ah–bastard…!” Die reached out in protest, but his co-worker had already vanished behind a conveniently placed stack of cables.
Die turned to face the stranger, putting on his best customer service smile and clasped his hands in front of him.
The man stopped at the counter, offering something that could technically be called a smile. His lips were stretched tight, but his eyes didn’t carry a glint of warmth in them. His deep lip stick color was slightly faded, with the dark outline of the lip liner which managed to stay more vivid.
The smaller man glanced down at the glass counter when he noticed his reflection and smoothed a smudge away from the corner of his mouth with a slow swipe of his thumb. The motion was smooth, practiced, like he’d done it a thousand times in a mirror. There was nothing flashy about it, but it was deliberate in a way that tugged unexpectedly at Die’s chest. His brows knit together, puzzled by his own reaction. Of all the things to find appealing in a customer, especially one who looked like he’d kill you with a single glare of his eyes—why that?
After a short but tense moment, the shorter man looked up from beneath his brow, “Good evening,” the man said with a low and polished voice accompanied by an edge that suggested he didn’t make small talk often.
Die’s gaze flicked to the mustard yellow bag dangling delicately from curled fingers, noting the prominent Tower Records logo. “Good evening, welcome to the Music Center. Is there anything I can help you find today?”
The stranger didn’t respond right away, but instead wandered his gaze past Die to examine the shop around them, particularly to the rows of guitars that neatly lined the walls. He didn’t seem interested in any one thing, but more so like he was briefly scanning the stock. Then the man’s attention swept briefly over the other clerks. Whatever he saw made his mouth tighten in disapproval, but when his eyes came back to Die, something in them softened. But just slightly.
“I think I’ve seen you before,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes just a little. “You’ve worked here a while, haven’t you?”
“Ah... yeah,” Die said, voice quieter than he meant it to be, but still polite. “Since high school.”
The man nodded once and stepped back. He reached into his book bag and pulled out a slim, worn journal filled with pages that were dotted with clippings of guitars and scribbled notes.
“Mind giving me a tour?” he asked, looping the Tower Records bag around his wrist like a ribbon.
Die blinked, “Ah—of course. I, um—yeah, sure. One sec.”
His mind began to race. Was this some secret shopper? A friend of Tatebe’s? A critic? The guy’s whole vibe screamed “inspector”, but something about the way he carried himself wasn’t necessarily official.
Before he could spiral too far into his thoughts, the shorter man released a soft sigh and blew a strand of long lock of dyed hair from his face, clearly growing impatient, “Well?”
Die fumbled out from behind the counter, cheeks warm as he gestured toward the main aisle. “Sorry—! Right this way.”
He cast another glance at the Tower Records bag dangling from the man's wrist. No need to look twice, maybe he'd dropped by after a spark of inspiration? But judging by his focused expression, the man didn’t seem the type to just “pop in.”
“I’m Dai Andou,” he greets with a bright smile and gestured toward his name tag. “Have you been here before? Or is this your first time visiting?”
The man’s eyes lowered briefly to Die’s apron, taking in the tag before he echoed the name, “Dai Andou.” There was something different in the way he said it, like he was turning it over in his mouth, tasting the syllables before deciding how they felt. He dipped his head into a very slight, crisp bow, more a formality than anything else. As he straightened, his fingers trailed through his long hair, looping a strand loosely around one finger. Then, unexpectedly, a faint curve touched his lips, a suggestion of a smile more than anything else, “Just in passing. There are many shops like this in Tokyo, aren't there?”
Die could only smile in response, but otherwise agreed to the sentiment. He started the tour, walking beside the smaller man at a relaxed pace. Die spoke in soft tones, keeping his hands loosely folded in front of him unless he wanted to gesture toward something specific, specifically the guitars that lined the walls in neat, shimmering rows– a shrine to both sound and design.
“Our biggest section is the guitar center,” Die explained. “We organize them by type first, then by brand. Every model you see is available to demo if anything catches your eye.”
The other man gave no verbal response, but he observed everything with a kind of clinical focus. Every so often, he paused to examine a model that would pique his interest. Die would eventually learn the small tells of the man’s interest; especially with the way his brow quirked when he passed certain Fernandes models, or the faintest purse of his lips at the price tag on a B.C. Rich Mockingbird.
Nothing escaped him, but he offered no comments, no offhand remarks, only his quiet, sharp, and intense presence.
Die led him further into the accessories section.
“We have add-ons and equipment for both electric and bass guitars,” he explained. “And—” he motioned toward a nearby cabinet display, “—we’ve started doing custom prints, too. That sign up there—” he pointed up at a hanging placard that read: ‘Custom print available for the face of cabinets!’ “—we work with a local print shop just down the street. You can add your band’s logo or whatever design you like.”
The man gave a small nod but didn’t stop walking.
On the way to the percussion section, Die added, “It’s a bit cramped over here right now, sorry. We’re expanding this part of the floor. If there’s a set you’re interested in, or specific add-ons, we might have it in the back.”
The man’s attention flicked briefly to the construction zone, then back to Die.They passed through the small book and sheet music section. Die slowed here, voice softening unconsciously.
“Mr. Tatebe wants to expand this eventually. Bring in more scores from other countries. Nothing’s set in stone yet, but... I think it'd be nice, don't you?” He turned, clasping his hands together in front of him once again, and smiled. “Anything you're looking for in particular?”
The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he cast a glance back toward the front of the store while his face still held an unreadable expression. He exhaled a bit and spoke lowly, “I think I might remember you now.”
Die blinked, "Oh?"
The man slipped a finger into the middle of his journal, flipping it open to a page filled with cut-outs and clippings. Die recognized a few ads from their own catalog, and some from local competitors. A deep hum of interest passed between them, even as the man gently interrupted the rhythm of Die’s tour.
“Amagasaki-shi,” he said slowly, head tilting ever so slightly to one side. “In Hyogo-ken?” His eyes narrowed in observation, “Were you at Live Square VIVRE?”
Die didn’t answer right away, a bit too caught off guard by the sudden derailment. The shorter man stepped close enough for Die to see him—really see him.
In conjunction with freshly applied dark lipstick, Die could see dark lines drawn along his waterline and upper-lid that served to accentuate those intense eyes that'd had him under scrutiny since he approached him at the front counter.
Die adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses, the familiar weight of them grounding him as he leaned closer to the open journal between them. “I was, yeah. Kazari—that’s my band.” His voice began to lift with excitement. “I—” But his smile faltered, slowly pulling back when he started to remember. Now that he was thinking about that night on stage, this man looked familiar too.
He remembered the venue with warm lights diffused through hazy air, the music humming under his skin, and the buzz of alcohol in his system softening everything into a dreamlike glow. He couldn’t make out many faces that night, but one had stood out. A guitarist with sharp eyes, lips like burgundy petals, and cheekbones that caught the light with every movement of his head.
“Ah– You were there too, weren’t you?” Die looked at him, the grin returning like a dog catching a familiar scent. “Not in the audience, but on stage. You performed, too!” He chuckles, bright and animated like a husky barely containing its excitement. “Your band… ahh, what was it…” He furrowed his brows, tapping the side of his temple in concentration before snapping his fingers. “Charm! That’s your band, right?” He crossed his arms with a chuckle, clearly delighted by the connection. “I remember now—I had a bit to drink, but I think our bands met briefly. I don’t think I ever caught your name, though.”
The way Die kept lighting up mid-sentence and drawing invisible threads between past and present was disarming. The smaller man rolled his eyes, slowly but deliberately, as if to say you’re ridiculous, though the edge in it was more fond than annoyed. “Stop that,” he said, lightly rapping his knuckles against Die’s forearm. The touch startled him, but pulled a soft laugh out of Die.
The man beside him, cool-eyed and unreadable in a way that made Die feel almost overexposed, watched him with what might have been amusement. Die had leaned in without invitation, curiosity tugging him forward like a leash while scanning his eyes over the clippings in the journal as if its secrets might unfold just for him. The man didn’t reprimand Die despite his initial surprise, but instead tilted his head and gave a small, knowing smirk.
“Kazari, huh,” his voice smooth as silk, “I’m not sure what gave it away… you know, since you’re in uniform and in those glasses.” He raised a hand, partially covering his mouth to hide a smile he didn’t want to admit to, but Die could see it in the way his eyes curved, like he was holding back something soft. Was he smiling at his glasses?
Die flushed a little, pressing the bridge of his glasses with the pads of his two fingers to realign them. Maybe the frames were a little large…
Die finally snickered at that, “It’s my disguise,” he grinned. “You know, for when I need to blend in.” He struck a pose, mock-serious. “Maybe it’s the height? Or the smile? People always recognize me anyway, no matter how much I try to tone it down…”
The smaller man looked down for a moment, “So you remember too? Charm is the band I play with. I wasn’t exactly in a networking mood that night, so I didn’t go around introducing myself.” With one smooth motion, he tucked his dyed hair behind his ear and looked up with a faint smile that barely curved his lips. “Kaoru. Kaoru Niikura. Fair’s fair, right? Dai Andou.” He said Die’s name with a low sort of lilt, and it sounded like something rehearsed, almost reverent.
“Kaoru,” he repeated inwardly, letting the name roll off his tongue. Kaoru?
He grinned with amusement. What a cute name.
It didn’t match the energy Kaoru gave off, or at least not right away. He looked serious, sounded smooth, practically sculpted from the Gods of Visual Kei themselves. But Kaoru? That was soft. Feminine. He liked it.
Kaoru huffed a quiet laugh, eyes meeting his. “Never would’ve expected to see someone from that night here. You seem like you know what you’re doing.” A pause. “More than anyone else I saw that night, anyway.”
“Mn, I don’t think I really talked much that night—probably just some ‘good set, man!’ before hitting a few drinks and leaving.” Die cleared his throat and mirrored Kaoru’s crossed arms, like it might help him keep from wagging his metaphorical tail. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then. You play really well, too. You can’t be older than me, yeah?” He leaned in slightly, peering closer at Kaoru’s face with exaggerated scrutiny for any clues of who may have been their senior.
Kaoru raised a brow, a little wary. However, he ends up entertaining Die and relaxing his brows, allowing him a closer look at his face and shutting his eyes gently, “Well? You’ve had your close look, right?” he tilts his head, “What do you think, exactly?” his eyes opened into a hooded gaze that was too lethal for Die’s heart. He perked up, brows shooting high above the rim of his glasses when Kaoru asked, “Who do you think is the senior between us?”
A nervous laugh escaped Die as he glanced around for some kind of context clue. “Is this a trick question?” he asked with a sheepish grin, resting his hands on his hips.
He’d learned the hard way while dating that guessing someone’s age was a dangerous game, especially with girls. He’d been smacked more than once for his incorrect guesses. But Kaoru wasn’t a girl, even if he was undeniably pretty. Die figured he probably wouldn’t take offense either way.
Relaxing a little, he shifted his weight and gave a warmer smile. “Well... your hair is dyed. A really nice color, too—looks like it was done professionally. Which means…” He gave a dramatic pause, pointing a mock-detective finger. “You have a comfortable income. And comfortable income means you're a responsible adult,” he added with a short laugh, folding his arms again. “But damn, you don’t look older at all. Maybe by a year? I graduated two years ago...What about you? When did you graduate?”
Kaoru’s eyebrows lifted in surprise before a hearty, unguarded laugh burst from him. It caught Die off guard; not the sound itself, but the contrast since Kaoru had seemed so cold earlier.
“You're very sincere, aren’t you?” Kaoru teased, raising curled fingers to cover his mouth as more breathy giggles slipped through. His whole face softened, thin laugh lines revealing themselves at the corners of his eyes. “I’m twenty-one. Graduated in '92,” he confirmed, tucking his journal under one arm. With the same ease, he began sectioning his hair, working it into a loose plait. Even that looked elegant, the way his fingers moved with practiced confidence, black-painted nails catching the overhead light like little shards of obsidian.
Die caught himself watching a little too closely.
“Niikura Kaoru…” Kaoru starts slowly, voice laced with amusement, “...has quite a measly income despite working several part-time jobs and absolutely cannot afford a hairdresser, despite Dai Andou’s optimistic beliefs.”
Die grinned in response, but it faded when Kaoru’s expression sobered. The older man broke eye contact and glanced toward a guitar resting nearby. He stepped over to it, his hand trailing along the neck before curling his fingers gently, thumb brushing the headstock.
“We had a show last night in Hyōgo… and my equipment was stolen.”
The words hit Die like a gut punch. He stood straighter, sympathy drawing his brows together. “Aw, shit… I’m so sorry, man. What a bunch of bastards. Stealing from indie bands… Like it’s not already hard enough just trying to get started.”
His mind flashed to a similar moment some years back when someone had tried to rob him and his band, too. Luckily, they’d caught the guys in time; apparently one of the venue’s roadies had been paid off to look the other way while the thieves tried to claim their equipment. The band raised hell about it afterward, but Kaoru clearly hadn’t been so lucky.
Kaoru gave a small, hollow chuckle. “It feels like I’m back at square one again. Well—not here, exactly, but making another massive investment all over again.” He gave a faint smile. “That guitar was important to me. Isn’t it always the first one that matters the most?”
Die nodded solemnly. Yeah, he got it. You never forget your first instrument.
“If you’re ever in Hyōgo, Kyoto, or Osaka,” Kaoru added, glancing back up at him, “and you see a Target MG 1980 by Fernandes, maybe give me a call? I can give you my number. It’s the same model Hide uses. Pretty unmistakable.” His smile faltered again, barely there; but just as quickly, he lifted his chin and flicked the mood back toward something lighter, brushing off the weight of the moment. “If I didn’t know any better, Dai,” Kaoru said smoothly, raising a finger beneath Die’s chin, “I’d say this was all a ploy orchestrated by you to get me in here, hm?”
Die felt his cheeks go warm again. Not from embarrassment, but something else entirely. That laugh, that sudden spark in Kaoru’s eyes earlier, the playful touch now, it was all catching up to him.
He chuckled to shake it off. “You think so?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Then Kaoru’s earlier words about his stolen guitar echoed in his head, which made Die frown again. A moment passed before he spoke again, “Hey,” he said, his grin returning with a little more fire behind it. “Let me do you a favor. If you’re replacing your gear, hit me up. I can give you my employee discount. Stack it with whatever promos we’ve got running and save you even more cash.” He leaned in a little, the warmth in his smile softening the offer. “Let me do this for you. From one struggling indie guitarist to another. What do you say?”
Kaoru shrank slightly into himself, his shoulders dipping as Die leaned in to offer a reassuring smile. The gesture was warm and earnest, something Kaoru wasn’t too proud to accept. His fingers found the end of his pleated hair, twisting it tightly as he looked into Die’s eyes, flicking between them with quiet uncertainty. “You would do that for me?” he asked, his voice low. His teeth tugged at the corner of his lip before he added, “I don’t want you getting in trouble over something like this. You really don’t have to, not if it’s risky.”
Die chuckled softly, “It’s not,” he starts, “You can just launder through me.” Kaoru watches Die as he turns his head to throw cautious glances around them, “I mean., technically, if I’m the one buying it, no harm done. Just forward the money to me.” Die gave a sheepish grin, “But only for you. Don’t go sneaking pickles for your bandmates, your friends, your neighbors, your dog…”
Kaoru couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out of him and shook his head with mock disapproval, “You’re admonishing me now?” he challenges, “That's fair, I suppose. I only wish you didn't say something so ridiculous like sneaking pickles.”
Die lit up at Kaoru’s teasing, "Come on, let me show you what we have now." He gestures for Kaoru to backtrack through the store where Die noted Kaoru’s previous interest in the Fernandes models that were being showcased.
Kaoru tucked away his journal and the small mustard-yellow bag into the larger tote hanging from his shoulder to free up his hands to assist Die when he plucked two models from their display and took them by the neck to carefully carry them to the demo section.
Die powered on the amp and connected the first guitar, waiting for the amp to hum to life. He stepped back with a grin and gestured toward Kaoru, “Alright. Fire her up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Kaoru tugged the leg of the stool over with his foot and sat down with the guitar balanced on his thigh. He struck a few cautious strings before he adjusted the whammy bar with a practiced flick, and turned a few tuning pegs. Die smiled as he watched Kaoru pluck and test the guitar with visible concentration. The chords came slow at first as he tested the powerful instrument. His face, once open and amused, settled into a calm, focused expression as he concentrated on the sound.
“Mnh,” Kaoru murmured after a moment. “This one’s... alright.” He looked up, a bit embarrassed, “I don’t know how I feel about it.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Die’s voice is light, exuding infinite patience. “I don’t think I’m that picky, but I get it. It’s like chasing the right kind of performance. You feel it when it’s right.”
“I can be hard to satisfy, so I’ll probably change my mind more than once. I hope you don’t mind, Dai.” Kaoru’s fingers stilled on the strings as he looked up at him. “Did you choose your guitar from Ishibashi too? Is your model still here?”
Die reached for the next guitar, pausing mid-motion when Kaoru asked about his own model. A grin tugged at his lips, “Yeah. I got my first big-boy guitar here.” He tapped his fingers along the neck of the Fernandes he now held. “It was the TE-380C. Cipher uses it. Huge inspiration of mine back then. Hell, now still.”
“Do you have time to show me? I’d like to see you play,” Kaoru adds gently, “I didn’t really get to hear you properly that night.”
Without needing much prompting, Die shifted the strap over his shoulder and began tuning. He played a quick, clean riff from the aforementioned D’erlanger’s Moon and the Memories. Kaoru stilled while he silently watched Die’s fingers with a flicker of admiration. The tones are sweet and familiar, before Die abruptly cuts it short and drifts into a different melody. “When I got more experience,” Die starts thoughtfully, “I realized I wanted to make my own sound. Sometimes it felt like that model belonged to Cipher, not me. So, I started looking for guitars that matched who I actually was.”
Even that brief moment of play was enough to impress Kaoru. “D’erlanger, huh?” he said with a quiet laugh, "A lot of– well, every band in these venues only play covers. I don't oppose it, it's only natural aspiring musicians would want to replicate well known songs to a near perfect degree if you want to be recognized. A band who can play Blue Blood by X very well is sure to get commended, but it means nothing really, doesn't it?" Kaoru comments while he watches Die tune the guitar attentively.
Kaoru tried to mimic the riff with quick and sharp fingers that raced ahead of the original tempo. It was impressive, but clearly instinctual, favoring speed over control. Kaoru clicked his tongue as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, trying again, slower this time, but with more difficulty. “I’ll practice,” he said, confident. “I’ll come back tomorrow and I’ll play it better than you.”
Die huffed a laugh, but Kaoru winked at him with legs stretched and crossed, full of fire and bravado. It was playful, but underneath it, Kaoru looked thoughtful, still turning over Die’s earlier point.
Maybe it was time to stop playing everyone else’s music.
Kaoru flipped the guitar pick between his fingers and glanced down, the faintest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, “You write your own stuff then?” he asked, tone softer now.
“Yeah,” Die answered, but Kaoru was already reaching for the next guitar in the demo set. He tuned it quickly, methodical, but then he patted the empty stool beside him.
“Come here,” Kaoru beckons, “If you get scolded for sitting on the clock, just blame me. Say I was being a bastard about it.”
The memory of Kaoru’s frosty entrance earlier flickered through Die’s mind, a distant memory now he was here holding a guitar with a surprisingly bright half smile, inviting Die to sit beside him.
Die hesitated for only half a second before accepting the offer, sliding onto the stool next to him with a warm expression. “Care for a sample?” he playfully waggled his eyebrows at him, already starting to tune the guitar in his hands. His fingers moved with the ease of someone who’d done this countless times, brows furrowed in quiet concentration as he adjusted the pegs and strummed with practiced care.
Kaoru watched him, gaze quietly captivated. The way Die’s glasses slid low on the bridge of his nose made something itch in Kaoru’s fingers. He wanted to push them back up for him, or maybe take them off altogether just to see his face more clearly.
Then Die played.
The melody that flowed from his fingers was unfamiliar, nothing Kaoru recognized, but it carried a feeling of something distant and aching, with a ghost of longing that clung to every note. Kaoru turned toward him, quiet and attentive, letting the music wash over him. When Die finally let the final note fade, he gave a sheepish laugh and shook his head woefully, “No one’s wanted to use it, so I’m stockpiling them.”
A soft "Oh," escaped the other guitarist, almost involuntarily, as if the sound itself stirred something dormant, “I really like it,” Kaoru said sincerely. He picked up his own guitar again and began to strum a supporting line beneath the melody Die had just played. “It sounds sort of... harrowing?” His brow wrinkled as he searched for the right word, “Like... something’s coming. You know?” Kaoru laughed at himself, clearly dissatisfied with the phrasing and turned to adjust his tuning.
Die grinned, unable to hide his delight. “Wow, I really like that. You’re right, it does give that feeling.” He gently plucked the strings again, repeating the same pattern, watching his hands with a furrowed brow. “It’s cinematic, maybe? Like when a movie uses music to twist your heart a little. Sadness... dread... that tight feeling in your chest.” His fingers tapped softly against the strings, “I want to make music that does that. Y’know, it makes people feel.”
Kaoru glanced at Die again, eyes flickering curiously. “Did that one have a name, Dai?”
Die blinked slowly in surprise when Kaoru continued to play, matching the vibe of his melody. He watched Kaoru’s fingers, his concentrated expression, and listened to the way he chased a feeling with each note before shaking his head, “No, not really. It’s like... ‘demo blue twelve’ or something lame like that.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “I don’t wanna give it a poetic name like Blue Moon only for the band to call it something totally unrelated later.” He made an exaggerated sniff, wiping a pretend tear with the back of his hand. “That was my baby!” he whined in mock heartbreak, then broke into laughter.
The smaller guitarist scoffs teasingly at Die’s dramatics. “Are you always like this?” he asked, flustered amusement bubbling up in his voice. “I can’t stand it.” Kaoru shook his head while Die burst into soft chuckles.
Die already knew there was no real venom in Kaoru’s teasing, accustomed to the way Kaoru seemed to play with him. Finally after a moment of letting Die’s playful chuckling recede, Kaoru’s lips curl into a knowing grin as he lets the melody fade, “Blue Moon…?” he hums thoughtfully, “I’ve written something for my band,” he murmured. “But the lyrics...” He trailed off into a soft, but embarrassed laugh. “I’m not great at them. We played a bunch of songs that night, so honestly, I’m hoping you don’t remember any of them.”
Die released a soft snort of some kind while grinning behind his knuckles, "That sounds hard, writing lyrics. I don't think I'd be able to articulate my feelings or thoughts through words very well. I think I'm better off conveying it through sound."
Kaoru tossed his head, shaking loose strands of dyed hair from a plait that had long given up on staying neat. “Let’s leave the lyrics to the lyricists, yeah?” he joked, flashing a grin as he settled into a melody—one Die immediately knew wasn’t for his band. “I’ll play something for you too,” he said while fiddling with the strings. “It doesn’t have a name yet. I’ve tossed some around, but nothing sticks.” Kaoru began to play, brushing his fingers across the strings with a tenderness that felt deliberate. There was a rawness to it, something still in the early stages, but deeply personal. Die could hear the fingerprints of Kaoru’s heart all over it.
Kaoru lifted his gaze to Die, wordlessly inviting him to join in. It was subtle– an instinctual offer that was not spoken aloud, but Die felt it all the same. He didn’t immediately move to play; he just let himself watch and feel first.
Strangely, the melody Kaoru played held the same thread as his own: that undercurrent of tension, a quiet storm building just beneath the surface. It wasn’t surprising, not really. They were drawing from the same well. Whatever ache or beauty lived between them, it was spilling out into their music.
And Kaoru, perhaps realizing it too, glanced away with sudden shyness, his cheeks tinged faintly pink.
Die didn’t say anything just yet; instead, he gently reached for his guitar, curling his fingers over the neck and strummed against the strings, weaving effortlessly into Kaoru’s melody. His rhythm came in smooth and steady, a quiet compliment to Kaoru’s lead—never overpowering, just enough to give the sound more breath, more color. His brow furrowed in soft concentration, lost in the harmony between them, unaware that a small group had started to gather nearby, drawn in by the sound of their impromptu duet.
Die turned his head when in the corner of his eye he had seen Kaoru’s face flushed pink. The sight made Die’s grin curl wider, boyish and playful, but still wholly warm.
Kaoru tried not to look, but he could feel Die beside him, he could hear the ease in how the taller man played, and it made his fingers stumble with something tighter than nerves. He tried sneaking a glance toward Die, only to find him already watching with gentle expression. Their eyes met, and Kaoru’s heart thudded so hard it startled his next note into a sharp, ragged snap.
The string broke in an instant, recoiling and whipping harshly against the knuckles of Kaoru’s left hand, making him flinch with a soft grunt. He froze, the moment shattered, the sound cut off, and all he could feel was the heat of humiliation crawling up his neck. He stared down at the guitar like it had betrayed him.
“Oh shit—are you okay?” The second the string snapped, Die’s own guitar dropped to hang loosely from its strap, and he reached instinctively to Kaoru’s injured hand and gently turned it over to inspect the damage. His touch was feather-light, but his expression was serious, dark eyes darting over the thin red welt forming across Kaoru’s skin.
Kaoru cleared his throat, barely above a whisper and soaked in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. Can I help you fix this?” He reached for the tuner, ashamed and stiff, already dreading the idea of people watching them and even more so of Die seeing him mess up.
Die shook his head quickly, “No, no—it’s okay. I got it, I got it. I’m so sorry it snapped on you…” His voice was full of guilt even though it wasn’t his fault. He slid both guitars off their shoulders and placed his own carefully on the stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Kaoru barely had time to respond before Die moved off the stool toward the employee area, but stopped to glance back with a sheepish smile, “I’ll be back, I’m gonna put this in the repair room. Do you need anything? Ice? Water? A bandaid? …You know what—I'll get them all. Gimme a sec!” With that, he jogged off.
Kaoru pressed his other hand to his warm cheek in hopes of cooling it down. He’d thought the break would give him time to collect himself, but instead, the absence felt hollow. Maybe because Die had been there in the moment with him, or maybe because Kaoru had started to feel something gentler, something more curious for the man beside him.
He glanced at the thin cut on his knuckle, barely bleeding, just enough to sting. It curved slightly, and Kaoru found himself thinking, absurdly—It kind of looks like his smile.
The thought made him groan softly under his breath.
Die’s hurried footsteps returned before Kaoru could spiral further. At first, Kaoru didn’t look up at the taller man since his embarrassment was still lingering on his cheeks, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips anyway. “You didn’t have to come running,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “You’re hopeless.” When he finally looked up, Die’s tender smile caught him off guard. Without thinking, Kaoru’s lips curved up too, a small, reluctant mirror of affection.
Die plopped down beside him, cup of ice in one hand, water bottle in the other, and his apron pockets rustling.
Kaoru gave him a dry scoff. “Eh? Did you remember the bandaids?” he asked, raising an eyebrow even as his voice softened with amusement.
Die chuckled softly, resting the water bottle on his lap with a hollow thunk and placed the cup of ice down beside him. “Yeah, yeah, I remembered!” he pouted in playful protest.
He retrieved a small pack of assorted bandages from his apron pocket and carefully took Kaoru’s injured hand into his own, his expression softening while his brows knit together in tender concentration. The crescent-shaped wound had opened slightly, creating a thin bead of red cresting the edge.
“It started to bleed while I was away…” Die quietly fretted before he gave a sheepish laugh, “Who knew being in a band was this dangerous, huh?” Die worked in silence for a moment, tending the wound with careful precision.
After Die finished dressing the mild injury, he suddenly became aware of something else: Kaoru’s hand rested so easily in his own, it was smaller and dare he say, more delicate. Die’s gaze lingered on the contrast.
He had only ever felt this way in the clumsy warmth of schoolyard crushes on girls, but never like this—not for a boy, and certainly not for someone like Kaoru.
His cheeks slowly started to flush, and for a heartbeat too long, he forgot to let go.
The stall wasn’t lost on Kaoru; the older boy’s dark eyes flicked up to meet Die’s with a quiet curiosity, saying nothing aloud, though the air between them shifted like a string tuned just a touch too tight.
Die blinked once, then twice when his brain started to boot up again and the silence between the two rang in Die’s ears. He cleared his throat and gently let go, smiling in that same bashful way he always did when he was unsure of himself. He adjusted his glasses, eyes darting downward as if he could disappear into the floorboards, “S-So, I think we might need to pause on the demos for today,” he said, tone soft but steady. “The bandage might peel off if you start strumming again, and it should heal by tonight anyway.” then quieter, “If you want, we could just walk around the store a bit. See if anything catches your eye. Or… I mean, we can call it a day too. Totally up to you.”
He didn’t say it, but there was a hope in his voice that lingered; Die wanted Kaoru to stay just a little longer. Maybe he didn’t know exactly why yet, but something about this moment made the thought of parting feel too soon.
Kaoru takes the cup of ice from the ground, though he noticed Die had forgotten the water bottle still resting in his lap. “Alright. We’ll demo more models tomorrow, then. Together?” His voice was casual, though there was a slight tremble to it. Kaoru kept his eyes on Die’s while he reached across the small space between them, blindly patting over his lap in search of the bottle of water, his fingertips brushing against Die’s jeans as he felt around.
Die tensed, shoulders jumping just slightly as a bolt of heat ran from his collar to his ears. Kaoru found the bottle at last, uncapped it and poured a bit of water into the cup of ice to finally take a meager sip.
His question hung in the air longer than it should have, gently baiting the silence between them.
Die looked up again, blinking as if the word had surprised him. “Y-Yeah,” he said quickly. “Definitely. I’ll be here. We can continue tomorrow, together.”
He immediately winced inwardly at how that sounded. Together. It was so ordinary, so innocent, and yet his heart flipped like a coin.
“I mean, yeah. Same time tomorrow works. It’s usually slow during the last hour and a half anyway.” Then something clicked in his mind. “Ah—right! Before I forget—just in case.” He pulled a business card from his apron, quickly flipping it over and retrieving the pen from where it was clipped neatly into his collar.
He scribbled down a number on the back, his handwriting a little clumsy from trembling nerves and handed it over with a sheepish grin, “You can contact me whenever you'd like if you have any questions or ideas.”
Kaoru accepted the card with quiet fingers, eyes flicking down to the scribbled number on the back before glancing back up at Die. Kaoru gently taps the card against his lips while the corner of his mouth curves—not a full smile, but something softer, like the shy blooming of trust, "Thanks," he murmured, turning the card between his fingers once before sliding it carefully into the coat pocket.
For a moment, neither of them moved, with only the soft murmur of distant music overhead filling the silence between them. Finally Kaoru stood, brushing invisible dust from his tights and offered a little wave; not too stiff, but not too casual. “Same time tomorrow, Dai. Get home safe.”
“Yeah, you too.” Die watched him go, heart thudding gently beneath his ribs. Tomorrow.
Chapter Text
Something about the day pulled at Die gently, like a thread unraveling from a well worn sweater. He stood before his mirror with a tube of eyeliner in one hand and a magazine splayed open beside the sink, studying a promotional shot of CIPHER mid-performance. His fingers carefully worked the kohl along the edge of his lashes while furrowing his brows in quiet focus.
Once done at the mirror, he slipped into skinny black jeans and began buttoning his white uniform shirt, leaving just enough undone to keep the look casual. He pulled at the hem lightly, giving the tucked-in fabric a slight flare at the hips. It made his silhouette sharper, cleaner. He clipped his watch into place on his wrist and checked the time before glancing at himself in a nearby floor-length mirror, satisfied with the overall look.
When he arrived at Ishibashi’s, Mr. Tatebe had raised an eyebrow at Die’s new look and muttered something about “not remembering hiring a runway model,” before shaking his head and returning to the counter with a chuckle. However, the attention Die received from shoppers wasn’t nearly as casual. It wasn’t the usual crowd, either– people had come in just to see him and ask about guitars they didn’t intend to buy. Teen girls leaned on the glass counter with folded arms and flirtatious smiles. A few boys stood back and watched him with fascination, clearly trying to place him. Was he in a band already? Was this his real job?
Die would just smile politely and did his best to help them all, even as his ears began to ring and his legs begged for a break. He slipped into the breakroom for ten precious minutes, slouching in a chair with a cup of ice water in his hand.
He checked his watch and realized it was about this time he was expecting Kaoru.
He stood, gulping what remained in his cup before he brushed the creases from his shirt and checked his reflection in the hallway mirror. His hair had somewhat flattened from the heat and the rush of the day. He took a bit of time to fluff it carefully and smooth a corner where his eyeliner had smudged before heading back to the counter just in time to see a small group of girls giggling by the entrance.
“Got an appointment,” he told his coworker casually, resting his hands on the edge of the counter. “The guy from last night.”
“The mean-looking one?”
Die smiled faintly. “Mm-hm. His name’s Kaoru.”
“Kaoru? That’s a cute name for a mean face. He’s really coming back to buy something? Thought he came in just to size us up and make us piss ourselves.”
Die looked toward the door just as a few girls stepped aside to let someone else in. His heart gave a small leap, “He needs a guitar,” he said quietly. The conversation drifted as he watched the entrance. “Who's closing tonight?”
“Mr. Tatebe, thank God. He’ll take over to probably kick us out so he can count the register his way.” his co-worker said as he filed away an order form.
Die exhaled with relief. “So we’ll leave on time.” He smiled nervously as he greeted the flock of girls crowding the counter, slipping into the familiar rhythm of customer service even while his thoughts were elsewhere, completely fixated on the mysterious guitarist from the previous night.
Where is he…?
His eyes darted toward the entrance every few seconds, hope lifting in his chest only to be dashed again when every person that entered or exit wasn’t him. The appointed meeting time had come and gone, and Kaoru was nowhere in sight. Die pulled his phone from the tight pocket of his jeans and flipped it open with a flick of his thumb. No missed calls.
The sinking disappointment in his chest began to bloom, bitter and slow. Did he forget? Did something happen? Was it foolish— pathetic , even—to wait outside and hope he’d appear?
Before he could spiral further, Die gently excused himself from the crowd. "Excuse me, excuse me," he weaved through the clutch of chattering girls with a polite grin until he finally slipped free of the group and made his way toward the store's glass doors. As he was about to step outside, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye; a flash of violet that stood out in the store’s usual palette.
Die turned instinctively toward the demo section, his gaze casting over a figure sitting under a warm wash of ceiling lights of all amber and gold, like an angel seated quietly by the wall whose presence pulled all the air from Die’s lungs.
Purple hair.
Die's heart skipped a beat.
He almost didn’t recognize Kaoru, but those cheekbones were unmistakable. A quiet thrill zipped up his spine as he changed his course, his feet carrying him down the aisle and into the glowing demo space a ta jittery pace.
“There you are,” he trilled as he approached, “I got worried something had happened to you. You were over here this whole time?” His gaze and his smile softened.
Kaoru turned to him, his expression shifting from stoic to radiant the moment Die spoke and melting his previous tension
"I would never be late," Kaoru said with a laugh, his voice familiar and cool. “You seemed busy, so I came over here to wait on you. I should’ve caught your attention somehow. I'm sorry.”
Die’s laugh bubbled out, uncontainable. “That’s why I was worried. I thought something happened, so I was going to wait outside since we had our appointment…” He gestured vaguely toward the entrance. “But your new hair color really caught my attention, and when I got a second look— It really was you.” He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “It looks so good on you, too. Purple’s really your color. Did you do this last night?”
Kaoru played with a strand of hair between his fingers, twisting and releasing it as he spoke. “You think it… looks great?” he asked softly, almost shy. “Thank you. I did do it last night…”
Die took in the sight of him then—his gaze lingering for a moment as fondness glittered in his eyes. However, Kaoru’s gaze swept over him, quiet and intense and for a moment, Die wondered if he’d missed a spot on his makeup or if his hair had flattened again. Kaoru smiled, “You look really good,” he said sincerely.
Die felt that strange light and airy flutter in his chest again.
“You can see alright without your glasses then, Dai?” Kaoru tilts his head, his question simple yet strangely tender.
Die gave a sheepish smile and a slight nod, his voice catching in his throat before he managed to speak, “They’re contacts.” he said softly “I'm not great at applying makeup myself yet, but I'm glad with how it turned out, I think." Die’s finally able to tear his eyes from Kaoru and proceed with their appointment before Kaoru could ask any more questions about his appearance, “Want to play my guitar?" He winks at him, "I brought mine from home for you to play."
"You really brought your guitar from home?" Kaoru asks with a slow-forming grin on his lips, "Well, why would you do that for me?" his face becomes hot before he raises his hand to dismiss the question, "Bring your guitar out here then, Dai. I want to give it a try." Kaoru is physically focusing on not gushing this out, but his excitement is clear regardless.
Kaoru watched Die dart off with a boyish energy that betrayed how hard he was trying to play things cool. The way he moved was confident, but just barely hiding that giddy nervousness; it made Kaoru’s heart stutter in a way that frustrated and thrilled him all at once.
Kaoru exhaled, smiling to himself and whispering under his breath, "Stupid..." He leaned his hip casually against the amp he’d perched on earlier, feigning nonchalance while anticipation prickled along his fingertips. Kaoru smothered his grin behind a loosely curled fist as he turned his attention to rearranging a pair of stools. He shrugged off his bag and set it gently at the base of one stool, his fingers moving to undo his peacoat before hanging it on the nearby coat rack.
His blouse, a loose, off-shoulder cut in a deep, shadowy tone, shifted with the movement with each precise movement. Kaoru tugged at the hem, adjusting it so it rose a little higher in the front, modestly concealing his chest. In doing so, the back dipped slightly—just enough to reveal a pale slice of his shoulder blades.
He toyed with the pendant around his neck, his fingers brushing the cool metal idly while he flicked his eyes up toward the wall clock. Closing time was coming fast, but Kaoru knew Die had to stay behind; half an hour, maybe twenty-five minutes afterwards to clean and close the store. The November wind outside had been brutal today, the sharp kind of cold that chewed through your coat and curled into your bones.
When Die returned, he did so with a triumphant sort of pride, bounding back and carrying his guitar like a knight might return with a treasured sword found during his pilgrimage.
"You're hopeless. What are you running for? You're trying to outrun your guests, is that it?" Kaoru teases while he watches Die set the guitar down in Kaoru’s arms with a kind of reverence, making quick adjustments to the amp dials. Kaoru cradled the instrument easily, setting it between his thighs and resting his arms across its upper bout. He lifts a finger and points it squarely at Die in mock accusation, “Before I start,” he said, “I want to clarify—I only claimed I could play the song better than you. I never said anything about playing it better than Cipher.” He dipped his head as laughter spilled from his lips, his dark purple hair falling like ink over pale shoulders. “Unless you’re being cheeky and claiming you’re as good as Cipher himself?”
Die sputtered out a flustered chuckle, “Never would have dreamed it!” but Kaoru was already pushing up his sleeves, the loose fabric sliding past slim wrists and forearms and bunching around his elbows. As he lifted the strap over his head, the scent of Die lingered on the leather strap—a mixture of worn-in musk and something warm, like cedar or soap. Kaoru smiled to himself. It was strangely intimate, playing this guitar.
He ran a hand along the neck, his fingers pausing over the subtle grooves where Die’s hands had so clearly lived. It was a little disarming how personal it felt holding another guitarist’s instrument.
Kaoru strummed a few test chords, finding the tuning already perfect. It didn’t take long before his fingers moved on their own—quick, fluid, warming up with a riff from Blue Blood before slipping naturally into Moon and the Memories. The tempo quickened, sharp and intricate, but Kaoru was clearly in his element.
And Die was completely gone.
The moment he turned and saw Kaoru with shoulders exposed, purple hair catching the overhead light, that guitar, his guitar balanced comfortably between his thighs. Die felt something short-circuit behind his eyes. Kaoru had always been beautiful, sure, but this? This was unfair.
He sat down stiffly beside him, attempting to look composed while heat flushed his cheeks. Tugging at his already loosened collar, Die popped another button free from his work shirt without noticing. His gaze dropped to Kaoru’s hands instead—slender fingers dancing along the fretboard, coaxing out tones that purred and soared in turns.
Kaoru played with his whole body; shoulders rising with each chord shift, his brows furrowed in concentration while pursing his lips.
“W–wow,” Die breathed, eyes wide.
Kaoru glanced at him briefly, but said nothing. He was too focused now, moving into the song’s more intricate passages and using the whammy bar, showing off clear practice and precision. Die was still reeling from watching Kaoru play, but now Kaoru was looking directly at him and he understood why: the top buttons of his shirt had come undone. He followed Kaoru’s line of sight and realized the fabric had fallen just enough to suggest things that weren’t entirely visible, but were now unmistakably imagined.
Oh!
Oh.
“So,” Die continued, trying to sound casual, “What do you think of her? Not bad for a first guitar, right? I tried to pick something inspired by Cipher, but also something that felt like me. Like, I love the guy, but I don’t want to be a carbon copy, you know?” He chuckled, “More like... I want to capture the feeling he gives off. Like, ‘Damn, that guy’s on fire.’ Not the look—but the heart.”
Kaoru spreads his thighs to cradle the body of the guitar between his legs, "I really enjoy your guitar, I think you made a really wise choice. I can tell you really like it too, it's broken in so nicely." Die tried not to let his eyes drift, but it was difficult not to notice the way Kaoru had parted his legs a little wider to cradle the body of the guitar. The ESP’s dark finish sat against his thighs, framed by his fingers gently rolling the pick across his knuckles. It wasn’t helping Die’s concentration.
“You think so?” Die flashed Kaoru a sheepish smile, “I was tearing my hair out trying to find something that felt like me. I guess I got lucky.”
Kaoru chuckles as he glances at the guitar again, laying it flat on the surface of his lap to look it over carefully; his favorite quality about it was absolutely the minor signs of wear on the neck and on some of its body.
“You really do favor those fast riffs, huh? I think a Gibson Les Paul would suit your style. It’s super solid for high-speed runs, or maybe one from the ESP Horizon series...” A slow smile curved Die’s lips. “...maybe even a purple Horizon.”
Kaoru glanced up just in time to catch the glint in Die’s eyes, and for a moment neither of them said anything. The shop had become louder since Kaoru first arrived somehow; more foot traffic, more sales chatter, more background noise bleeding in from the open door. Still, time around Kaoru felt oddly suspended. Kaoru managed to tear his eyes away from Die’s and lead his gaze toward the rows of hanging instruments as if overwhelmed by the choices.
Die leaned forward slightly when he sensed his hesitation, “You’re not the first person to feel like that wall’s staring back at them,” he murmured. “But you’ve got some sharp talent, you’re a natural.”
Kaoru’s gaze returned to him. “A purple Horizon, huh?” he mused, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You really think that color suits me?”
Die blinked, caught off guard by the softness of the question. “I do,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. “I think it’d stand out— you’d stand out. In a good way. Like, Hide has pink, right? So maybe purple could be your thing.”
Kaoru giggled under his breath, the sound of it was light and boyish. “Maybe I’ll try pink someday too,” he mused aloud, but Die didn’t miss the flicker of something thoughtful in his voice.
“I’ve seen the purple Horizon in our catalog,” Die offered, shaking off the heat building in his cheeks. He turned toward the guitar wall, needing a moment to collect himself, “But we’d have to order it. That’d take a bit, especially if you want custom work.” He glanced back over his shoulder, “We do have the standard in sunset though. And the Les Paul’s in stock. I’ll grab ’em and you can try them out.”
Die dashed off and weaved between customers and associates, getting flagged down at every turn. Usually he didn’t mind, but now, all he could think about was Kaoru waiting at the demo section and how long he’d already been gone. He shot out quick answers where he could. Budget? Go Yamaha. Want shred potential? Look at Jacksons. Beginner? Try a used Tokai. His feet carried him toward the ESP wall, where he paused to snatch the Horizon Standard—sleek and beautiful in its orange-red burst and then detoured for the Gibson, finally reaching the Les Paul, lifting it gently off its hook. Then he made his way back.
“Sorry about that,” Die said, setting both guitars on a stand. “It’s way busier than usual.” He sat beside him again, brushing his hair out of his face with a sigh.
“Oh, I was starting to wonder if you'd remembered I was still here at all,” Kaoru teased, his laugh light and warm. The front doors had started swinging more frequently, sending sharp bursts of November air into the demo section. Kaoru rubbed one bare shoulder, the fine hairs on his arm rising at the chill. “It wasn’t like this yesterday, was it?” he added, scooting his stool closer to Die's side as he returned with the guitars. Kaoru leaned toward him protectively, like a loyal sentinel prepared to glare down anyone who dared interrupt. “Maybe it's the ad campaign you’ve got coming up in December. People are probably trying to beat the crowd.”
“You know what I’ve noticed?” Die glanced around. “Since X’s debut, it’s like the VK scene exploded overnight. Guys are coming in here buying up whatever they can get their hands on.” He nudged the Les Paul toward Kaoru. “And a lot of girls today too. You think they’re hanging around hoping to spot the next Yoshiki or something.”
“Oh, I see. This place is going to be filled corner to corner soon. Experts, novices... and probably more beginners than both combined.” Kaoru’s smile turned sly as he gently leaned against Die’s shoulder, “Should I set some time aside to offer moral support on your hardest days?”
Die blinked at the sudden contact and tried not to combust on the spot. Heat flushed across his face, and he could already imagine Kaoru watching over his shoulder, arms crossed, lips pursed in critique while he struggled to help a customer. No moral support, just elegantly worded disdain for everyone involved.
He grinned through the daydream. “I mean... I wouldn’t say no,” he muttered, laughing softly. “Though I might regret it.”
Kaoru straightened up with another quiet laugh, removing the strap from his shoulder and offering Die’s guitar back. “Here, take care of it, won’t you? It means a great deal to me.”
Die held it reverently, smiling down at it as his thumb idly brushed across the strings. “Ah—oh? Really? Is it because it’s mine?” he purred playfully, but there was a sincere flush to his cheeks.
Kaoru reached for a guitar, but his hand hesitated at Gibson before redirecting instead toward the Horizon. Die bit his lip and smiled. He could already imagine Kaoru on stage with that guitar strapped across his chest, his purple hair catching the lights and eyes closed in concentration while his fingers danced across the strings like silk on fire.
He wanted to see it so badly.
“You really think purple suits me?” Kaoru asked softly, his voice smaller than before. “Maybe I could adopt it, you know. Like Hide and pink?”
Die snapped his attention back to Kaoru’s face. “I do think it suits you. You should own it.” He gestured loosely to Kaoru’s hair. “Make it your thing. Like… people’ll see it and think Kaoru first.”
Kaoru smiled, his eyes drifting down—barely landing on Die’s thighs before shifting away again. “What kind of girls do you like?” he asked in an offhanded manner.
Die’s eyebrows shot up and nearly jolted his shoulders, then laughed, “Wait—wait, where did that come from?” he asked, raising his hands in mock defense, but he didn’t deflect for very long.
He let his eyes travel slowly down Kaoru’s dark lips and bare shoulders. Then he answered with sincerity. “Well…I like feminine girls,” he said, “but they don’t have to be small. Lately, I’ve been drawn to that Gothic style... the dark lipstick, dramatic eyes, black skirts—it’s cute. I think it’s really cute.” He swallowed and continued, “But it’s not just the look. I like people who are smart, witty, maybe even a little goofy. People who are passionate about something—anything. That brightness, when someone talks about what they love… I really like that.” His gaze returned to Kaoru’s, “What about you?”
Kaoru’s hands paused mid-tune, the question hanging in the space between them like smoke from a blown-out candle. He brought the strap of the Horizon model over his head with a graceful roll of his shoulder, the sleek guitar sliding smoothly around his narrow frame until it settled at his side. He didn’t lift it into position right away; instead, he crossed one knee over the other, shifting his body to angle toward Die. His movement was fluid, elegant, every detail intentional or maddeningly natural– Die couldn’t tell which.
Kaoru leaned forward, resting both elbows against the raised knee, his narrow shoulders folding in as his shirt slipped down farther over his arms. The black fabric of his blouse clung precariously to the middle of his outer biceps now, exposing the pale skin of his neck, shoulder blades, and the edge of a collarbone that caught the light. His chin hovered close to one bare shoulder, not even facing Die when he finally answered, “I don’t know what I like,” Kaoru’s voice is surprisingly tender. His eyes slid sideways to meet Die’s, a coy smile curling against his dark-painted lips. “I scare them away. I suppose I like someone who doesn’t run from me.”
What is he doing!? Die’s brain all but exploded. Why does he look like that while saying something like that?!
Kaoru twirled a lock of his hair around a finger, slow and lazy, like he was toying with a stray thought. Not tense or nervous, but perhaps tantalizing, “I think that kind of person would be sort of like a masochist, don’t you think?” he mused. “But you understand that when I tell you mean things—like pointing out how hopeless you absolutely are…” he soft chuckles, “I don’t intend to hurt you. So I suppose someone with a really good sense of perception. You know, reads the strings very well.” He winked.
Die’s spine straightened so hard he nearly popped off the stool.
NO WAY.
Kaoru casually pulled the Horizon into his lap again, fixing its position while he resumed tuning, seemingly unfazed. “I don’t know that I’ve really narrowed down what I like physically. Maybe… a really nice smile.” he says casually.
Die jerked his head away and grunted quietly, his jaw locking as he tried not to look too obviously affected. Did he just— He had to be referring to Die's smile. He heard that compliment daily. From girls, grannies, hell– even from dudes at live houses who asked for a lighter while calling him a "handsome bastard." But from Kaoru?
That grin of his had all but evaporated.
"Also, did this really come to you so unexpectedly? You were the one that brought girls up, weren't you?" Kaoru laughs again, "Or have you forgotten so quickly? I wouldn't put it past you to be so forgetful, you know."
“I didn’t forget,” Die muttered defensively. “I just didn’t think it would lead up to that…” He cast a cautious glance at Kaoru again who was now readjusted into a slightly less lethal position with the guitar on his lap which willed his heart rate to slow down, but Die’s curiosity wouldn’t let the moment pass.
He leaned forward enough for only the two of them to hear, “So then… based on your criteria and preference…” He asks, genuine, a little breathless, maybe even afraid of the answer. There was a pause, causing Kaoru to stop tuning, “…Would I be a suitable date for you?”
It hung in the air like the echo of a power chord, vibrating through the empty space between them. All Die could hear now was the faint hum of amp feedback and the furious pounding in his chest.
Die sucked in a quiet breath as Kaoru leaned in, his slender fingers brushing along his jaw just enough to coax Die’s face toward his own. It wasn’t firm or demanding; it was precise and measured like a deliberate pull on a guitar string that hummed from Die’s skin down to his core.
“It’s a little loud here,” Kaoru’s voice was silk when he whispered. Die wasn’t sure if the noise in question was the chatter of customers around them or the white-hot static that screamed through his skull.
Die’s face was completely flushed, a hot dusting of red blooming along his cheekbones now was close enough to see the soft sheen of Kaoru’s skin and catch the scent lingering just beneath the nape of his neck—sweet, faintly musky, something sharp like bergamot or smoke. Die huffed out a shaky laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he ran a nervous hand through his hair, already soft and slightly disheveled. “Y-you’re going to make me ask again?” he murmured, low and breathy, smiling in a way that bordered on pleading and playful.
Die was sure Kaoru had heard him. This was a game; some delicate, infuriating little game and Kaoru was very good at it.
But Die wasn’t about to back down.
He took in another breath and leaned in until there was just a whisper of space between them while Kaoru’s guitar still sat between them like a barrier, but Die closed the distance enough to murmur close to Kaoru’s ear.
“I…” his voice dipped into a low hum, “…am I your type, then?”
Kaoru didn’t answer immediately.
Die’s voice stayed soft, but his words were edged now with something deeper, just barely overriding the nerves bubbling under the surface.
“I fit all of your criteria…” he said, slower now, “and… you fit mine.” He licked his lips, his eyes flicking downward just for a heartbeat before returning to Kaoru’s expression, “So then…” he continued, heat curling into the base of his throat, “does that mean we’re… compatible?” Die could hear his own heartbeat in the silence between them.
Die couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t want to breathe, not when Kaoru was this close. Not when those delicate fingers curled under his jaw, guiding him closer with such a gentle command that Die felt like he might dissolve into the warmth pooling in his chest.
He could hear Kaoru’s breath—could feel it, soft against his ear. The sound of his voice saying “you and I” lingered in Die’s head like the chorus of a favorite song. His heart drummed against his ribs, threatening to climb straight into his throat.
He barely noticed the way his hand had drifted—resting lightly, instinctively on Kaoru’s thigh. Kaoru didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, their proximity collapsing to a hairsbreadth until Die could almost taste the words slipping from Kaoru’s mouth.
“I think we are compatible,” Kaoru had said. “Maybe we’re not,” he added coyly, his lips curved into a dangerous smile.
Die chuckled softly, trying to steady himself, though his heart refused to slow. “Tease…” he murmured, his voice lower now and edged with heat.
He tilted his head slowly, the opposite direction of Kaoru’s, closing the space between them as naturally as breathing. Kaoru’s eyes dropped to his lips. Die’s lips parted. He inched in, wanting— needing —to see what Kaoru tasted like.
Suddenly, a loud crash started Die out his daze like a slap to the face. He jerked his head toward the sound with sharp instinct, his eyes darting to the fallen guitar and the scowling parent with their sheepish child being pulled to their feet. A coworker was already on it, checking on them with ease, but Die was slow to recover.
Was I really going to try and kiss him? he thought, dazed.
When he turned back to Kaoru, the moment was already gone. Kaoru was adjusting the hem of his blouse modestly and playing coy again, trying to act unaffected.
“I guess the only way to find out is to see how things go by the end of the night,” Kaoru said lightly, followed by a shy laugh; but even in that breezy tone, Die could see the color still lingering on Kaoru’s cheeks.
He pouted exaggeratedly. “Eh? I have to find out after work?” he groaned, slumping a little in dramatic protest, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
“Your tastes are too liberal,” Kaoru said with a slight scowl, though the flush of color on his cheeks gave him away. “I can’t very well stand someone who likes just about anything.”
Die genuinely laughed, leaning into Kaoru’s mood and tugging gently at his forearm, his fingers brushing over the exposed skin just below Kaoru’s sleeve. “Wait, wait— too liberal ?” he echoed playfully. “So what, does that mean you’re the jealous type?” His smile turned sly as he leaned in again, this time with mischief instead of fire. “Only someone who’s jealous is concerned about such things…” he giggles, letting his thumb trace a light circle on Kaoru’s arm. “Is that right? Am I right?”
"J-jealous?" Kaoru echoes with shock before he snaps his face toward Die with sharp disbelief and gives him a cold stare, "I'm not a jealous person..!" Kaoru hisses quietly. Before Die could say anything, Kaoru grabbed his wrist and tore it away from where it had been resting gently on his arm.
Die froze, his heart seizing in his chest as he stared at Kaoru with wide, worried eyes. That was... definite. Harsh, even. He blinked, uncertain if he’d just messed everything up.
“I was... why did you turn this on me? When I’d only been pointing out how excessive your interests are?” Kaoru said with cheeks visibly flushed while his tone was almost petulant now.
Die stared at him, dumbfounded, the heat crawling up his face all over again. What just happened? He couldn’t even tell if Kaoru was mad at him or not.
“I’m so sorry,” Die stammered, sitting back slightly to give Kaoru space, “I didn’t mean to offend you…” His voice was softer now, shaky even. His brows furrowed with guilt and unease. God, I took it way too far… I should’ve just shut up.
Kaoru’s dark eyes met his again, softened now with a rare, tentative kind of vulnerability. “You... you weren’t wrong,” Kaoru cleared his throat and turned his face away as if he regretted saying it.
Die blinked hard, his heart doing backflips.
“That’s all I’ll say about that,” Kaoru added, “If you think I’ll be agreeing with your correlation to me being jealous and reprimanding you for your liberal tastes, then you’ve lost your mind, I would think.”
Die stared at him.
Kaoru murmured faintly, “I’m sorry.”
Die didn’t know what hit him more: the honesty, or the way Kaoru tried to mask it seconds later with his usual teasing.
“It’s… good.” Die manages after a moment of reeling from this rollercoaster, “Hey,” Die wryly smiles, trying to clear the weight of everything that just passed between them. “Why don’t we demo these two before the store closes?” He nodded to the Gibson still waiting patiently in its stand, then to the Horizon Kaoru still held on his lap. “I’d hate to leave knowing we didn’t get to sample them for you.”
The silence between them was thick—far too thick for how playful and warm things had been just minutes before.
Die hated it.
He could feel it in the way Kaoru had gone quiet, how his body language had shut in on itself, how the once-effortless cool had now been replaced by a stiffness that didn’t suit him. Kaoru tries to concentrate on playing a chord, any chord, but his mind seems to be at a complete loss. Die winced as Kaoru awkwardly repositioned the Horizon in his lap when he realized he was holding it the wrong way at first and struggled to place his fingers correctly on the frets. He starts to play a few experimental chords on the guitar, slow and a bit clumsy, uncharacteristically sloppy.
Die’s brows pulled together as he watched Kaoru groan quietly to himself.
Shit… he’s really thrown off. I did that. He’s all out of sync now.
He looked down at his own guitar and smiled nervously, letting out a soft breath to release the tension that was steaming in his head, and ran his fingers lightly across the strings. The sound rang soft and airy, almost uncertain. Then, slowly, a melody began to form. He let it unfurl bit by bit, dreamy and slow, as if easing his way back into the moment.
Kaoru's face gently scrunches as he listens to Die improvise the introduction of the song; he might’ve recognized it, but not right away.
The soft dreamscape of chords slowly faded, and with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth, Die whipped his hand up the neck of the guitar, cutting the reverb with a sharp shift and dove straight into the heart of it when Kaoru was finally able to place the song Die started playing: Silent Jealousy by X.
The riffs exploded off his fingers with precision and intent—Die was suddenly alive, pulling Kaoru back in the only way he knew how. His head bobbed slightly with the rhythm, but his eyes flicked sideways to Kaoru, watching closely with a now wide and playful grin.
"
I am looking for you,
Trying to reach your roses,
Carried away by the time,
One of my eyes blinded by the madness of silence,
You've gone away, from the stage,
Leaving no words, there's just fake tears left,
Searching for a bouquet of roses and fake pearls–
!"
Kaoru’s face lit up like fireworks in the deep night sky. Die saw it before Kaoru could even hide it. The sudden parting of his lips in awe, the sharp inhale, and finally that grin — so broad, bright and real , the biggest smile Die had ever seen on him.
Kaoru spun to face him fully now, his eyes wide and focused, watching Die’s fingers fly up and down the fretboard. Die’s grin managed to get even brighter, mouthing to Kaoru ‘ Now you! ’ to take Hide’s lead in the song.
Kaoru burst into laughter and threw himself into the moment, picking up where Die left off as he adjusted his grip on the Horizon. The two of them were now completely in sync, their guitars weaving and colliding in perfect harmony.
"
I'm blind insane, in the red of silence,
Now I've lost your love!
A puppet fed by the illusion of love—
"
Kaoru’s voice, though not classically strong, carried so much heart that it made Die grin wider. He even mimicked Toshi’s grunge a bit, exaggerating his facial expressions, which only made Die double over with laughter mid-riff.
“
Get me on my feet, get me back to myself!
Pretend you love me!
Stare at me, stained deep red to my fingertips!
”
Their voices and guitars tangled beautifully, even as Kaoru started to crack up, unable to keep it together between lyrics.
“You know at the end of the song, the guitar totally gets smashed, right?” Kaoru called out between laughs. “Can I stay true to it, then?”
Die shook his head, laughing breathlessly. “ Don’t you dare! That Horizon is worth more than my entire month’s paycheck!”
Kaoru threw his head back and laughed, his hair cascading like silk over his bare shoulder again.
Die nudged Kaoru playfully with his shoulder as the harmony of their duet deepened, and to his surprise, Kaoru leaned into him just the same without hesitation. It was effortless, the way their bodies synced just like their guitars had, carrying each other like the melody.
As the synchronized section of the song began, Die narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow with focus, the chords demanding more dexterity from his hands. Still, the grin that stretched his lips was impossible to fight. When the muscle memory kicked in and the notes flowed naturally, he let go of his tension and tilted his head back, letting it rest on Kaoru’s shoulder in an almost unconscious show of trust and comfort.
The final swell of the song pushed through them like a shared heartbeat, making Die arch his back without meaning to, chest expanding as he hit the last chord alongside Kaoru. Their guitars rang out in harmony, vibrating through their spines. He tossed his head forward again with a practiced flick to get his hair back in place, panting a little from the adrenaline as he whipped his head toward Kaoru, beaming.
“Hah–! That was so good! That was so–!”
Fun .
Kaoru was already laughing, shoulders bouncing as his arms slackened around the guitar resting across his thighs, his face lit up and glowing, “That was really fun! You didn't tell me you knew X too, Dai." Kaoru begins to tease, pursing his dark lips at Die, "So you've gotten comfortable with keeping secrets from me then, have you?"
“Did I have to tell you I knew X?” Die chuckled as he leaned back slightly, “I mean, I work at a guitar center in Shinjuku . Since their debut, this place has played them non-stop. Even cafés and shops in Tokyo have them on loop.” He pouted playfully, “Honestly, I’m disappointed that no one plays D’erlanger anymore…” He mimed wiping away a tear.
Die pulled up his sleeve at his wrist to check the time, noting it was 15 minutes until closing. “So... what do you think of her? The Horizon is perfect for what you’re looking for, right?” He gestured to the guitar in Kaoru’s lap, “I think the ESP series really suits you. Any of them, honestly—but the Horizon especially.”
Kaoru looked down at the Horizon resting against his legs, fingers grazing the strings. Die watched him retrieve his small notebook and flip through it until Kaoru paused on a page, examining something tucked inside.
Die craned his neck curiously, but Kaoru closed the book before he could peek, setting it aside with a small, secretive smile, “You’ll remember the Horizon for me, won’t you?” Kaoru asked softly, lips curving with faint amusement. “While I try others... just to be thorough.” With that wicked softness returning, Kaoru tilted his head and whispered, “Are you staying after the store closes...? Or am I going to have to wait on you?”
Die grinned, his heart hammering all over again as he met Kaoru’s gaze—eyes dark and glimmering with trouble, “What did you have in mind?”
Chapter Text
The click of a light switch echoed like a pin drop in the stillness of the store. Fluorescent lights dimmed one by one across the sales floor until the glow of Die’s watch face was more luminous than the rows of hanging guitars behind the glass.
He exhaled a soft sigh as he finished locking up the register drawer, the mechanical whir of the receipt printer finally silenced. Die pulled off his store apron, folding it lazily and tossing it over the counter behind him before reaching for the employee punch clock and pressing his card into the slit. Clack. His time card spat out, freshly stamped.
The air in the staff-only section had that subtle smell of metal strings and soft lemony cleaner. Die padded down the narrow corridor between the guitar repair station and storage, eyes skimming past the bench where spare parts were scattered and a few half-serviced amps lay open like split bellies. He stops at the table when he’d seen their store’s catalog was pulled wide open at a seemingly random section of guitars.
Die leaned in over the pages, his eyes sweeping across the full-color photos of sleek guitar bodies and spec sheets annotated in tight columns. He traced his finger absently over the clean angles of one of the ESP Horizon models, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity.
The ESP Horizon was a powerhouse. Mahogany body, maple top—perfect weight balance for clean resonance. Fast-action necks with a slick ebony fretboard, typically loaded with Seymour Duncan humbuckers or EMGs for that dark, punchy tone visual kei guitarists went after. The streamlined body also meant comfort and flair onstage, especially with those beveled contours that let the player pull the guitar in close without a hard edge digging into them.
It suited Kaoru’s frame, and more so his playing. Kaoru needed something quick, sharp, versatile and moody. The Horizon felt like a natural fit.
Die flipped back a page. More ESPs. The Eclipse, too stiff maybe. The Viper, too weighty. But he paused briefly on a limited-edition Snapper—a curious choice. Was Kaoru open to something experimental? He smirked to himself, turning another page.
“Andooo-saaaan!” he hears Mr. Tatebe call from the back office.
"Whaaat?" Die called dully, half-mocking and distracted as the voice of Mr. Tatebe echoed from behind the room.
"Don’t ‘what’ me, where are you?!" Tatebe barked like he always did—never harsh, just naturally gruff and aging like the busted tubes of an old amp.
"In here," Die called, quieter this time, not tearing his eyes away from the catalog just yet. His brows were pulled together in thought while his index finger gently grazed the edge of a guitar’s specs on the page.
The click of hard soles sounded before Mr. Tatebe appeared in the doorway, “There you are,” he grunted, then lifted a clipboard from beneath his arm. “Wanted to double check with you about your time off. The eighteenth of November, right?”
Die looked up. “Yeah, for Kazari. We’ve got a live at Hirakata BLOW DOWN that night.”
Tatebe scratched his chin. “Hirakata, huh… Alright, you’ve got the 18th off. Just the day?”
“Yeah, just the one. I’ll be back the next morning.”
“Don’t be late,” Tatebe warned, but his voice lacked any sharpness, “Good gig, though. Hope you guys melt some faces.”
Die grinned. “That’s the plan.”
Mr. Tatebe nodded, “I’ll finish off the books and close the drawer in my office. You can head out when you’re ready. Don’t forget to kill the lights.”
“Got it.”
With that, the older man disappeared into the back again, the door clicking shut behind him.
The silence settled again.
Die looked down at the open catalog one last time, then aimlessly to the bench beside it when he noticed Kaoru’s book bag lingered. There’s a shift behind him and the familiar presence of purple haired guitarist silently stalking him from behind the door. Die pretends he doesn’t notice, trying to fight back the grin forming across his lips and miserably failing.
“…Where did you go, Kaoru?” he murmurs a bit dramatically and fights every urge to turn around.
Then, a sudden cry broke through the silence, "Graah!"
Die jolted with a sharp intake, laughing mid-surprise as Kaoru lunged at him and wrapped thin arms around his middle.
“Uwaaaah–” Die staggered with exaggerated clumsiness, grinning ear to ear. “No, please~ Don’t hurt me–!”
Kaoru chuckled wickedly against Die’s shoulder, his dark lips nearly brushing his ear as he leaned up on his toes. “Give me access to the storage room if you don't want to get hurt–!” he whispered with faux menace. “Pull the keys out of your pocket. Slowly. No sudden movements, alright? I haven’t eaten breakfast—I’m feeling particularly unforgiving.” Kaoru starts to giggle as his character starts to slip.
“Ahh, so scary, I’m scared~” Die whines dramatically, already digging into his pocket as Kaoru began shifting behind him, slipping one arm beneath Die’s pit and the other across the front of his throat in a dramatic mock chokehold.
He fished out his keys and thumbed through teeth until he landed on the slightly bigger, bronze-colored one. “Here, take it!” he gasped in fake surrender and held it up. However, once the arm across his neck became annoying, Die had dropped his victim facade, “Okay, that’s enough out of you!” With a grunt, Die leaned forward and hoisted Kaoru off his feet entirely, dragging the other guitarist into an impromptu piggyback ride.
Kaoru let out a surprised, breathless laugh as he scrambled to keep hold, thighs tightening around Die’s waist and arms locking over his shoulders. “Oh—! Oh, oh, oh!” Kaoru wheezed behind him, struggling to adjust as Die started wobbling down the hall.
“Psh, I think my guitar and its case is heavier than you…!” Die giggles.
Kaoru, who was now comfortably perched on his back, lowered his chin onto Die’s shoulder and grinned against the fabric of his shirt. “Sorry to break this to you now,” Kaoru murmured through his smile, “but this isn’t the last time you’ll be carrying me like this tonight. I want to try soju, and I will very likely be getting drunk.”
Die snorted loudly as he fumbled with the key, Kaoru still clinging to his back like a stubborn backpack. “You’re so full of trouble.” Die hobbled down the hall toward the stockroom, using the wall to guide his unstable stride.
The door creaked open and Die stooped to let Kaoru slip down carefully with a relieved grunt. The moment his boots touched the concrete floor, Kaoru braced a hand on Die’s shoulder for balance, eyes briefly scanning the shadowy rows inside.
"It's not that impressive," Die warned with a huff, brushing his bangs from his face. “Mostly amps, mixers, drum kits—parts.”
Still, Kaoru's eyes widened with curiosity as they wandered past rows of boxed cymbals and snare shells. Neatly stacked amp heads and sealed crates of electronics lined the back shelves like a miniature cityscape.
“Ahh, so many drums…” Kaoru murmured, voice soft with wonder. “Mr. Tatebe’s adding a Percussion Center too?”
Die nodded, stepping in beside him. “Supposedly. He locked in the lease for the space next door—figured it’d boost traffic. Gonna separate the inventory by instrument sections eventually.”
Kaoru lit up at that, casting a glance up toward Die with that calm but delighted smile. “This place is going to be so large. You’ll stay faithful to the area you’re most passionate about, won’t you?”
Die tilted his head, smirking at the question. “I’m married to strings.”
Kaoru laughed lightly, brushing his hands down the front of his clothes to smooth the creases from his shirt. He peered at the order slips near one of the inventory bins, running a finger along the edge thoughtfully, eyes scanning what customers were ordering these days.
Next month I’ll have something here for me too, Kaoru thought, grinning.
He looked back at Die and rapped his knuckles softly against his arm, “Let’s get going then, I’m hungry. You made a pretty safe choice with an Izakaya—formal restaurants are nice, but I like to eat at those more sparingly.”
Die smiled in agreement, glancing toward the back door.
Kaoru followed his line of sight and started toward it with an easy saunter, tossing a grin over his shoulder once he walked ahead of Die. “I’ve got my ridiculous family van parked out back. All the seats are ripped out so we can start loading as you can into the back, alright? My goons are out there too,” Kaoru added with a theatrical flair, his voice rising. “Takeshi, Yoshiki, Ken and Yasutaka.” He suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, louder now, clutching his stomach as he leaned into the door. “Did I just identify my accomplices? I’m not a very good burglar.”
Die bursts out into a small flurry of giggles as he walks ahead of Kaoru to unlock the door leading out into the alleyway behind the store, "I-is that right?" he managed to say between breaths. He stops midway and playfully leers out from the crack of the door to survey the alley left and right before Kaoru had urged Die out into the alley with a chuckle, “I was just looking for that van.”
“You really–!” Kaoru’s grip on the leather strap of the guitar case sitting on his back tightens when he makes a full body gesture of running down the alleyway, “It’s actually down here–” Kaoru makes a run for it as he meagerly trots away from Die, only increasing speed and giggling all the way down when Die runs after him with his own boyish laughter.
Omoide Ochiko was humming with life, with the scent of sizzling meats and clinking glasses spilling out from each tiny doorway that lined the narrow alley, the lanterns casting a soft amber glow and drawing long shadows over the concrete as Kaoru and Die weaved through the crowd in search of somewhere not completely packed. They eventually found a quieter spot tucked between two louder shops, its sliding door slightly ajar, offering a little breather from the bustle. Inside the lighting was cozy and warm, a subtle buzz of conversation filling the space as they slid into free stools adjacent to the alleyway.
Kaoru had just set the guitar case in the space between them before a server came quickly to take their order. After glancing over the worn plastic menu, Die asked for a highball and some karaage while Kaoru ordered an Asahi Dry Zero and a few skewers.
The server immediately returned with their two frosted cans and set them down on top of round, wooden coasters. Die cracked his can open with ease and took a sip, but his eyes were somewhat glued to Kaoru’s with a curious smile forming on his lips.
Kaoru didn’t miss the glance.
He leaned his arm on the table, his index finger lazily drawing circles around the lid, “I overheard you’re taking some time off on the 18th for this show you’re playing,” he said, his voice casual and light. “Tell me about it.”
Die perked up, his grin coming fast and easy. “Ah, so you really were listening! At Hirakata BLOW DOWN– it’s an event featuring a lineup of indie bands. Nothing huge–but it’s a decent opportunity.”
Kaoru smiled faintly, nodding as he listened. “I’ve heard about it. I considered attending it myself.”
“Yeah?” Die beamed.
“Mm. But I’m working that night, unfortunately. And with my equipment gone I can’t spare any hours to hit my salary. My time off is, so far, currently only reserved for emergencies or gigs I have coming my way– which right now is few and far in between. Considering my band’s current predicament, it’s understandable, isn’t it?”
“Damn,” Die muttered with a soft exhale. “No, I get it. Well—next one, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Kaoru said, offering a small but genuine smile before he lifted the Dry Zero to his lips.
Die watched him for a moment before he eased a smile across his lips, “Hey, didn’t you say you wanted to try Soju tonight?” he nudged his elbow against Kaoru, “Should I order a bottle for us?”
Kaoru shielded his mouth behind the rim of his can, hoping the gesture would disguise the faint curve of a smile. Die’s grin was dazzling—too much for him to meet head-on. “Did I say that?” His eyes flicked toward Die, quick and cautious, as though gauging the taller man’s reaction. When Die leaned in to bump his shoulder again, Kaoru let out a breathy laugh that tipped easily into giggles, “Well,” Kaoru conceded, smirking faintly, “At least give me a fighting chance to get food in my stomach before I inevitably collapse under the weight of soju. I still plan on cashing in my promise of you carrying me on your back to the station.”
Die averts his eyes suddenly when Kaoru looks back at him, but he grins nevertheless, “Fair enough, fair enough.” he says with light giggles. The two lingered in a comfortable silence for a moment while the two sipped on their respective drinks.
Kaoru set his can down on the counter and lazily cast his gaze toward Die with an easy smile, “I hope this doesn’t come as prying or out of the blue– but how do you like your band so far? Kazari…”
Die was thoughtful for a moment, scrunching his brows while he mentally reviewed his bandmates for a detailed answer for Kaoru.
“What’s the matter?” Kaoru teased, tilting his chin and narrowing his eyes with amusement. “Trying to dress up a scathing review are you?”
Die’s eyebrows shot up before he barked out into a fit of giggles, “No, no– nothing like that. I was just trying to find the words…” he trails off for a moment, “Speaking of the members, they’re all great. They have a lot of spirit in their playing and we get along well enough. One of the more serious bands I’ve played with since I started in High School…” Die taps his finger against his can.
“But?” Kaoru asked smoothly, already knowing where this was headed.
“But…” Die starts a brief huff through his nostrils, “I think some of the guys are losing their drive, you know? They’re great guys but I don’t really see the band lasting long term.”
Kaoru hummed knowingly, his lips quirking. He knew that feeling far too well, “So you’re pushing to go further. Maybe land a deal.” His tone wasn’t a question—it was a statement, a truth Kaoru could already read in Die’s eyes.
Their conversation paused as the server arrived, setting down a wicker basket of sizzling karaage and a platter of steaming skewers. The boys thanked him, then asked for a bottle of plum soju to share.
Die snapped his chopsticks apart and exhaled through his nose. “I’d kill to land with a label. I love writing music, I love performing—it’s what I’m meant to do. It feels like my purpose.” His voice was soft and carried a lot of weight, though beneath it Kaoru could hear the blaze.
Kaoru let a smirk slip across his face before blowing the steam off his chicken yakitori, “Your purpose? Is there really nothing else to live for?” Despite this, the tone in Kaoru’s voice wasn’t teasing whatsoever, but there was a deep fondness that warmed his words. Kaoru couldn’t hold up the aloof facade any longer, “Guess that makes two of us.”
The warmth in Kaoru’s sentiment sent a shiver through Die’s heart, hoping the crunch of his karaage would distract his erratic heart. “Another thing, huh?” Die smiles, “What about you? How do you like Charm?” Kaoru’s expression soured instantly, as though he’d bitten into a lemon instead of grilled chicken. Die barked a laugh. “No good?”
Kaoru dabbed his mouth with a wet napkin and cleared his throat, “If I’m completely honest with you–” he paused when their served had stopped to drop off their chilled soju bottle and two shot glasses, thanking them with a brief smile before he continues, “--doing anything with them is like pulling teeth.” he uncaps the bottle and pours a generous amount for the both of them.
“Really? No way.” Die’s smile becomes apologetic. He carefully pulls the shot glass toward himself, his eyes sparkling with amusement at how Kaoru filled it to the brim.
"My word of advice to you, or anyone else that would care for what little old Kaoru had to say is: don't join a band with siblings in it." Kaoru raises two fingers while his eyes are directly on Die, "I don't know how to describe it very well, but if you get on poorly with one-- you get on poorly with both. That’s already forty percent of the band that hates you." Kaoru laughed bitterly, "Half if you exclude yourself." Kaoru starts to reach for the tiny glass of soju and carefully brings it to his lips. Die raises his own glass carefully and downs it in one shot. Both of them set the glass down with a punched out grunt. “It burns a bit, doesn’t it?” Kaoru wheezed.
Die pinched his sinus, “Another.” he croaked, the two sharing a giggle at Die’s voice before Kaoru poured them another round at a more reasonable level. “So what happened? They don't get along with you?” Die is perfectly comfortable with Kaoru’s straightforwardness, but now that he thought about it, perhaps it wasn’t so tolerable for other people.
Kaoru takes a bitter sip of his Soju this time after finishing a stick of his chicken yakitori, “I joined Charm when Yoshiki and Takeshi were on guitar. Well, as you've come to learn about the way that I am," Kaoru chuckles softly as he taps a black fingernail against the glass, "I didn't want to be a bassist. I wouldn't have that. I said, ‘if you want me to join Charm, one of you will have to play the bass.’ That was my condition. We had a discussion before we decided Takeshi would take up the bass. At this point, I'm playing with a guitar that was lent to me, so I couldn’t keep playing a guitar that doesn't belong to me, I'd have to return it eventually." Kaoru crosses one knee over the other as he leans against the edge of the counter with one arm, "I had money gifted to me at the end of the year from my family. I used that and my savings to purchase a bass for Takeshi; it'd only felt like the right thing to do after I drove him out of playing the guitar with his brother. Then I bought my own guitar. I bought it all for the both of us, the amplifiers, the cables, so on and so forth."
Kaoru raises his head as he raises his other hand to rest it on Die's forearm, "So–" His throat became tight, "I lost my mother shortly after." Kaoru waves his hand quickly between them as he gestures to Die to resist sharing his condolences once he has seen Die part his lips, "I received her inheritance after my father insisted I receive it. He’s more stubborn than me if you can imagine that. He said, ‘I don't have much use for that at this age.’ " Kaoru rolls his shimmering eyes.
"I told Yasutaka about what had happened– her passing, this inheritance I didn't know how to manage on my own. A few weeks later at the gig in Amagasaki-shi at the Live Square, all of us got robbed. I didn't think it could get any worse." Kaoru scoffs out a dry chuckle behind his fist, "The only thing that remained was, well–" Kaoru raises his eyes to the ceiling aimlessly before he furrows his brows together, "--Takeshi's bass and amplifier. The one I'd given him."
That didn’t sit well with Die.
He briefly lowers his eyes to Kaoru’s hand that rests on his forearm, but as soon as he did, Kaoru retracted that hand to take another shot of the soju. What does that mean? It seemed so very strange that everyone's equipment was stolen aside from Takeshi’s.
“Even after all that Yoshiki and Takeshi get along poorly with you?” His karaage sat untouched, forgotten somewhere between Kaoru’s words and the clatter of dishes around them.
Kaoru shrugs meagerly, “I can’t help but think it was due to my conditions of being on guitar. If they were so pressed about it, why recruit me in the band at all?”
Die nodded slowly. Something sat on the tip of his tongue—accusations he wasn’t sure he had the right to voice. Are you sure it wasn’t a setup? He licked his lip, nerves twisting. Instead, he asked, “So… were you looking to replace your band’s equipment too?”
A pause. Kaoru’s face grew unreadable, stern for a moment, and the silence stretched uncomfortably. Die shifted, ready to apologize for crossing a line, but Kaoru finally spoke, “Well…” His tone was cautious, but then a wry edge crept in, “I believe I was told to not to ‘sneak any pickles’ with your generous offer.” he eyes him with a hint of a smile, “Isn’t that right?”
There was something in the way he said it—a quiet conviction that made Die wonder if Kaoru was thinking exactly what he was, “I think they can find their own way regarding their equipment.” he says casually as he pours himself another shot of soju, “Wouldn’t you agree, Dai?”
The tension in Die’s shoulders unraveled at once, carried off in the haze of yakitori smoke around them. Relief bubbled out in a laugh he didn’t realize he’d been holding, “Yeah. Completely.”
They raised their glasses together, another shared shot burning its way down until both hissed through their teeth at the dry sting.
The air outside was cooler, carrying the faint tang of grilled smoke that clung to Die’s hair and jacket. He and Kaoru walked shoulder to shoulder down the lively Shibuya street, weaving through the late-night crowd of both tourists and locals alike. Their steps were a little uneven, slowed by alcohol and the comfortable fullness of a good meal. Conversation came in bursts of laughter and half-finished thoughts, their words tumbling into each other without much direction—just the kind of idle chatter that only comes when neither person wants the night to end.
The two reached their platform after some effort of coordinating their drunken feet to raise high enough to avoid tripping over a step while balancing the guitar case that inevitably threw off Die’s center of gravity. The trains were announcing their arrival by the time they reached the top—Die’s bound north, Kaoru’s bound south. While they stood together in a pocket of quiet while they briefly awaited for passengers to disembark, Die found himself stealing a glance at Kaoru’s profile, remembering the casual promise he’d made earlier—about telling him if he was his type.
Kaoru was leaning lightly against the column, watching the people exit with a faraway look in his eyes, and Die wasn’t sure if Kaoru remembered that tantalizing little promise, “So,” he drawled, lips curving into an easy grin, “you said you’d tell me after work, remember? Am I your type or…?” he steals a glance at the smaller guitarist who slowly raised his eyes to look at him.
Kaoru didn’t answer. Instead, he gave a soft huff of laughter and stepped closer, lifting his hands to Die’s chest. His fingers worked deftly at the top buttons of Die’s shirt, fastening them with a care that felt almost deliberate.
Die froze mid-smile, caught off guard by the intimacy of it, though Kaoru looked unbothered—cool as ever, a faint flush of drink the only thing softening his composure.
“Can’t have you stumbling home looking sloppy, can I?” Kaoru teased, his tone easy, but his touch lingering longer than necessary.
Die felt the heat in his cheeks against the chill of the night air. He didn’t dare move, afraid the spell would break. Kaoru, however, seemed perfectly composed—just a little flush of drink to soften his usual poise.
He didn’t give an answer to the question Die had been waiting on. Instead, he smirked faintly and stepped back, voice carrying over the rush of the departing train. “Good luck at your gig. Knock ’em dead. And next time we meet—” his eyes glinted—“I better have a new guitar in my hands.” Once the doors cleared, Kaoru stepped inside with practiced ease. Just before they closed, he turned and called out with a mischievous smile, “Don’t gawk too long, or you’ll miss yours.”
Die blinked, snapping back to reality as his own train is ready to depart from the station. He jogged aboard at the last second, still smiling as the doors glide shut behind him and leaned against the nearest grab bar. Breathless, he leaned against the rail, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the sprint. He clutched the strap of his guitar case to brace himself back into this world.
Out the window, Kaoru’s train blurred away in the opposite direction, leaving Die with the warmth of his touch still pressed faintly against his collar.
chiiikawas on Chapter 1 Wed 30 Jul 2025 04:51AM UTC
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CentNoirs on Chapter 1 Fri 01 Aug 2025 01:14AM UTC
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BleedOut on Chapter 1 Wed 30 Jul 2025 11:14AM UTC
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CentNoirs on Chapter 1 Fri 01 Aug 2025 01:16AM UTC
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placeholdername0000 on Chapter 1 Thu 31 Jul 2025 07:41PM UTC
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CentNoirs on Chapter 1 Fri 01 Aug 2025 01:17AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 05 Aug 2025 06:49PM UTC
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maudlinstreet on Chapter 1 Fri 01 Aug 2025 02:51PM UTC
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CentNoirs on Chapter 1 Tue 05 Aug 2025 07:02PM UTC
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chiiikawas on Chapter 3 Fri 22 Aug 2025 12:33PM UTC
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CentNoirs on Chapter 3 Fri 22 Aug 2025 03:48PM UTC
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