Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Sorry ❯ chapter 5 ( Chapter 5 )

“Sorry”

Written by: Chocho

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation.

Story summary: AU. Ryuichi? Or Eiri? That is the question. Who will Shuichi chose? (Shuichi/Ryuichi, Ryuichi/Tatsuha, Shuichi/Eiri)

Chapter summary: Shuichi has gone missing after the concert.

Warning: Language, OOC (Duh! Do I look like the creator?)

Sources: Based on the song “Sorry” by Madonna

 

 

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Chapter 5

 

(Saturday Night-Pittsburgh, PA)

 

The door to the dressing room clicked open and a strikingly handsome man stuck his head inside.

 

Hiro's hands stilled. Raising his head, he parted the towel he was using to dry his hair like a curtain and studied Bad Luck's tour manager, Miki Daisuke, as the man searched the room with a frown.

 

Daisuke was just as tall as Hiro, but as small and petit as Shuichi. It was almost inhuman how skinny the man was. When he turned sideways, he vanished. His colored platinum blond hair fell in lush waves down past his shoulders and instead of wearing glasses, he wore ice blue colored contacts that made him appear even more unreal than Shuichi with his violet eyes. The thirty-something manager always wore expensive designer suits, but rarely a tie. He also never wore socks.

 

“What's up Daisuke?” Hiro questioned

 

Daisuke's eyes flitted to the guitarist. Those spooky white-blue eyes searched his face in concern, almost pleadingly. “Shu's not here?” He was starting to get worried.

 

“Huh? Shuichi?” Hiro blinked.

 

“Yeah. I can't find him and the van's here.”

 

“No, actually,” now that he thought about it, “I haven't seen him since the concert ended.” He frowned in contemplation

 

“Damn,” Daisuke muttered. “Where could that boy have run off to?”

 

Hiro shrugged as he returned to drying his hair. He really was not too worried about his friend. “I'm sure he's around here somewhere. He probably found a quiet corner and fell asleep. He was looking kinda pale by the end of the show.”

 

Daisuke gnawed his bottom lip. “Yeah, I suppose.”

 

“What're you talking about?” asked a sudden voice from behind Daisuke.

 

Daisuke looked over his shoulder and spied the youngest member of the band. He was dressed in a white undershirt and a pair of green boxer shorts. His hair was damp and he had a towel draped around his shoulders.

 

“I can't find Shuichi. You haven't seen him have you?”

 

“Mr. Shindou?”

 

Daisuke stepped aside and allowed the young keyboardist to enter the dressing room. “Yeah. I'm getting a little worried.”

 

“Why? He was fine when I saw him,” he said as he walked across the room towards his dressing area.

 

Hiro and Daisuke snapped to attention.

 

“You saw him?” “Where?” “Why didn't you say so?”

 

Fujisaki looked from one man to the other, blinking in confusion. “I saw him in the Green Room,” he said matter-of-factly. What were they so worked up about?

 

“The Green Room?” Daisuke repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Fujisaki drawled slowly.

 

“Thanks.” With a nod, Daisuke vanished out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

 

Fujisaki blinked, still confused. “What was that all about?” he asked, pulling out his jeans.

 

“Van's here,” Hiro said as he tossed his towel on the couch.

 

“What?!” Fujisaki cried. “Why the hell didn't you say so?” Cursing, he jumped into his jeans and hopped up and down, trying to pull them up. In his haste, the young keyboardist stepped on the hem of his pants. With a sudden cry, he lost his balance. Flailing his arms in perfect imitation of a windmill, Fujisaki toppled over, banging his chin and smashing his nose on the floor of the dressing room.

 

At the commotion, Hiro- in the midst of pulling a loose white t-shirt over his head- glanced curiously over his shoulder. At the sight of his friend and fellow band mate splayed out flat on the floor, his pants around his ankles, he burst out laughing.

 

Fujisaki raised his head, throwing Hiro an evil look. “Not funny,” he snapped in annoyance, his face burning in embarrassment.

 

Hiro snickered, trying to choke back his laughter. His attempt was in vain. For as Fujisaki struggled to get his feet underneath him, his jeans became entangled in his legs. With a yelp, the young keyboardist fell forward, smacking his face once more against the floor. Hiro threw his head back and roared with laughter.

 

*

 

The Green Room, huh? He had not thought to look there. It should have been the first place he looked after the hellish couple months Shuichi has had; it made sense for him to be hiding out there.

 

Soundproof, the Green Room was the perfect place for entertainers to relax and unwind after a performance. It was also where they went before they went on so they could clear their minds and gear up for their act, which was why he was certain Shuichi was there. Hiro was right. By the end of the second encore, Shuichi had looked kind of pale. He had not looked good at all.

 

Two other bands had gone on tonight before Bad Luck. Both had been well liked and received, but it had been Bad Luck that had stolen the show once again. They did several encores, making their performance twice as long as usual. With Bad Luck doing a concert every other day and Shuichi's schedule jam packed with interviews, personal appearances, autograph sessions and photoshoots the rest of the time, coupled with all the stress of that no good boyfriend of his, Daisuke could not blame Shuichi for wanting to disappear for a little bit.

 

Daisuke turned the corner, deep in thought and smacked into a small, hard wall. Cursing, he stumbled backwards, trying to regain his composure and looked up to see Mizuta Shinichiro. He was Shuichi's personal assistant and translator for the anime convention tour.

 

Shinichiro was a quiet, mousey man, but he excelled at his job and kept Shuichi on time and on schedule. It was a wonder nobody thought of this before. Shinichiro was a little taller than Shuichi and about a year older. His style was having an identity crisis at the moment. He was half gothic and half punk. Neither matched his genius IQ, but as long as he did his job, Daisuke could care less.

 

Rubbing his head, Shinichiro was muttering, “Ow!” under his breath.

 

“Mr. Mizuta, are you alright?” Daisuke asked.

 

Shinichiro's chocolate brown eyes popped open, gasping. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Miki, Sir!” the young man apologized bowing, repeatedly. “I was not watching where I was going!”

 

Daisuke shook his head, waving the apology aside. “Don't worry about it,” he said with a little laugh. The boy was a riot. He acted as if every wrong move was a death sentence, but then again looking at who Bad Luck's manager was, he was not so surprised at Shinichiro's behavior.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Shinichiro said with a final bow.

 

“Say, Mr. Mizuta.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“You haven't seen Shuichi have you?”

 

“Mr. Shindou?”

 

“Yeah, the van's here to take the guys back to the hotel and I can't seem to find him.”

 

“Oh, well, he's in the Green room.”

 

Daisuke nodded. “Alright. Thanks.” So, he was in there.

 

“Sir,” Shinichiro nodded. With a bow, he stepped around Daisuke and walked briskly down the hall like his pants were on fire.

 

Daisuke watched him vanish around a corner in amusement. That boy could speak to hundreds of people as he translated what Shuichi was saying from Japanese into English, but when it came to the “higher authorities”, he freaked out. Go figure. Chuckling, he shook his head.

 

He picked his way easily through the silent halls of the backstage area at the theater. Almost everybody had left for the night. The only ones left were Bad Luck's crew. The techies were currently breaking down the stage and after loading everything onto the trucks, would head up to Toronto, Ontario, Canada and start setting up for the concert Monday night. The guys would head for the airport tomorrow morning after breakfast.

 

Daisuke stopped outside the closed Green Room door and listened carefully. He could not hear anything from within. Reaching for the doorknob, he found the door unlocked. Turning the knob slowly, he silently pushed it open and peered inside. The lights were off, but a small display light in the far corner of the room was casting alternating colored light onto the walls and ceiling.

 

He had no idea why it was called a Green Room when the only thing green in it were the stems and leaves on the flowers that seemed to be just about everywhere. The floor was carpeted in a light dusty rose that your feet just sank right into. The couches were like giant balls of cotton. They were so soft and comfortable that once you sat down, it was very hard to get back up. The walls were soft beige with framed autographed photos and other memorabilia from those that had passed through the theater in years passed.

 

As his eyes roamed over the room, they landed on his singer curled up on one of the couches, his mouth slightly ajar and an arm flung over the side of the couch. A smile flittered over his lips as he took in the soft, peaceful expression on the boys sleeping face. Shuichi's chest rose and fell slowly. Soft, heavy breathing filled the quiet room. He looked like a child when he was sleeping, like he had no cares in the world. All the stress and turmoil the singer put up with on a daily basis vanished when he closed his eyes.

 

He looked like an angel.

 

Daisuke studied the sleeping singer. It was clear he had come straight here from the stage. He was still wearing his stage outfit, which consisted of black Capri's with zippers, pockets and straps covering every inch, two spiked belts, suspenders hanging around his hips and a black sleeveless shirt, his clunky ankle boots (which he had changed into for the encore) and the remnants of his makeup and body glitter.

 

Shoving the door open a little more, he crossed the room towards Shuichi, his footsteps muffled by the carpet.

 

As he drew closer, his smile folded into a frown. He stopped besides the couch and bending over, reached out with his hand to brush aside a lock of the singer's hair.

 

“Oh, Shu,” Daisuke whispered. He felt his heart breaking.

 

He had been right. Where Shuichi looked angelic when he was sleeping, on closer inspection, this angel was pale and drawn. There were dark circles and bags under his eyes. Tiny paths had been cut into the thick layers of makeup on his face. He had been crying.

 

Straightening, he took a step back.

 

“Oh!”

 

He lifted his foot and stepped to the side as he felt something small and hard underneath his foot. Glancing down, he squinted through the darkness and saw something glinting in the dim light. Curious, he bent over and picked it up. It was a silver men's wedding band.

 

Daisuke blinked as he straightened. He glanced from the plain band to Shuichi and then to his cupped hand hanging over the edge of the sofa. Was it his? If it was, why was it on the floor?

 

As he fingered the smooth band, he frowned. Holding the ring up, he squinted through the darkness, trying to see the inside of the band, but it was too dark to see clearly. He crossed the room to the only source of light in the room. Again, he held the ring out and peered inside.

 

“'Forever…Yours…Forever…Mine',” he read aloud.

 

Daisuke turned and glanced at Shuichi. Then down at the ring in his open hand. It was Shuichi's wedding ring. He fisted his hand around the band, feeling it bite into his palm.

 

He hated knowing that Shuichi was suffering. He wished he could do something to help the boy, but he was not sure if there was anything he could do.

 

Damn. This was all his fault.

 

***