Title: Do Not Mix With Bleach
Author: Neme
Blood Type: Raspberry Tea
Fandom: Gravitation
Disclaimer: Gravitation is not owned by me in any way, shape or form. But I have to obey it. Because it's the law.
Warnings: Some of the content contained herein is hazardous to your health and should not be attempted under any circumstances.
Author's Notes: This is a product of a late night conversation with my roommate. Sort of.
Shindou Shuichi yawned and took another sip of his fruit punch. What time was it anyway? Ten forty-five? Already? Shit. Yuki was going to kill him; the singer had promised to pick up Chinese take-out and cigarettes on his way home. Dealing with an angry Yuki he could handle. An angry, nicotine-deprived Yuki on a deadline? The chances of his survival decreased significantly. Shuichi shoved the half-finished lyrics into his bag. Fujisaki, K and Sakano would just have to deal with it. Shuichi hated dealing with the precocious keyboardist, especially when the timeliness of his lyrics was being questioned.
Standing up, the singer slung his bag over his shoulder. For a moment, it was as if time had slowed down so that he would be sure to capture every minute detail; the yellow bag hit the can of juice and sent the red liquid flooding across the floor of the studio. The can clattered against the far wall, applauding his misfortune.
Dammit.
Maybe... maybe if he hurried, he could get this mess cleaned up, race to the convenience store and the take-out place before they closed and be home before midnight, Shuichi thought, racing down the hall to the supply closet. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty space; everyone else had already gone home for the night. The singer flung the door open, grabbing a bottle of cleanser and a mop. Fruit punch stained, he remembered suddenly, and so he also grabbed the bleach.
Once back inside the studio, he poured a liberal amount of both products onto the linoleum and scrubbed it vigorously. Shuichi finished and threw the offending can into the wastebasket. Not a trace of pink left on the floor! Shuichi hummed to himself as he locked the studio door and put the cleaning supplies away. No one would ever have to know that he was that much of a spaz, he affirmed, racing out of N-G Studios proper.
---
Fujisaki Suguru was early, even for him; he liked the solitude that the empty studio presented him without Shindou-san's whining, K-san's crazy ranting and Sakano's bitter weeping over why Bad Luck hated him so much. Suguru often wondered why he and Hiro always got lumped together with Shindou in terms of laziness.
The studio smelled strongly of disinfectant this morning. Though not exactly pleasant, he could work through it. If all went well, he would work out the newest songs and have them tweaked, remixed and polished enough for Hiro's guitar tracks to be laid in when he came into work.
An hour later, he had laid in the bass line and was working with the keyboard harmony. The piece still sounded –
"Off balance." A voice interrupted his thoughts, in English, no less. K-san wasn't supposed to be here for another half-hour at least. And the accent...was British, not American.
"Nakano-san will carry the mel..." Suguru trailed off as he glanced up. "A monkey..."
"That's space monkey to you," it said, fiddling with the ties on the silver jumpsuit it wore. "But you can call me Harold."
Suguru blinked. Tohma was the only one he knew that would wear silver lamé. "Harold." This had to be a practical joke.
"Yes. I thought we'd been over that already," Harold sighed. "My sources indicated that you were the best and the brightest – one of the rising stars in piano arrangements and composition," the space monkey continued, pulling out a brightly colored technological whatnot. "But maybe they were wrong."
"I'm Fujisaki Suguru! I could play the piano before I could even tie my shoes," he said, narrowing his eyes.
Harold looked nonplussed by the pianist's fevered declaration, running a series of diagnostics on his scanner. "I'd say that the newest composition for... what is it called again – some dreadful title – Sugared Love? Something like that –"
"What are you getting at?"
"As it stands, the composition is hackneyed. Trite. Sub-par. I could go on, if you'd like."
"Thanks for your input," Suguru said dryly.
"Your brain function is normal, by the way. It's not that you're less talented, it's that you've been infected by the pink-haired idiot's stupidity. Your sole responsibility is to bring life to his contrived lyrics. No wonder you're running out of steam," Harold said, flipping his device closed.
"Why did you say you were here again?"
---
"Dammit, what the hell is that smell?" Hiro asked upon entering the studio with Shuichi. His eyes flicked over the unmanned keyboard. Strange. Fujisaki was always here before them... on the floor? No, that wasn't right. "Fujisaki-kun!"
"Ano... I spilled my juice last night and I cleaned it up," Shuichi said, yawning widely. The take-out place had been closed by the time he had managed to get there and the cigarettes hadn't been enough to soothe Yuki's temper.
"What the hell did you use?" Hiro demanded, turning to face his best friend.
"Cleaner and a mop! What d'you think I used?"
"That can't be all you used, Shu."
"Eh?"
"Cleaner doesn't usually cause people to pass out."
"Oh! And bleach! Because fruit juice stains!" Shuichi looked proud of himself.
---
"Hm? Oh, you're just a side trip while my army of space monkey ninjas destroys Tokyo," Harold responded, sliding the scanner back into his jumpsuit. "But I'm afraid I really must be off. I've got a city to destroy – and after that – well, we'll see what tickles my fancy."
---
"Space monkeys! Destroying Tokyo!" Fujisaki shouted, interrupting the exchange. Hiro and Shuichi stared down at him in disbelief. Up until now Fujisaki had been mumbling.
"...You are never, ever permitted to clean the floor. Ever again." Hiro said, as he picked up the prone keyboardist and carried him down the hall to the green room.