1. Inspiration Strikes
"Arrgh! Would you just shut up already?" Fujisaki's voice was exasperated. They had been working for straight eight hours every single day since Nakano-san came back. Their goal was clear, to sell one million copies. But did they have to repeat it every five minutes?!
Shindou-kun and Nakano-san paused in the midst of a celebratory dance. For the first time, they seem to notice that he was not in their happy place. "I'm trying to tune my synthesizer here," he said regaining his composure. "And I'm also trying to rest, this is the only breaktime we have guys." He emphasized the last sentence begging them to understand.
"You're right Fujisaki-kun," Shindou-kun agreed. Finally, he thought. But he was surprised by Shindou-kun's next words. "Why should we have to rest? Our goal is to sell one million copies!" he cupped his hands on the wall glass. "Sakano-san hurry up and let's start working. We don't have time to rest"
On any other person, he would have admired such dedication and hard work, but not with Shindou-kun. His reasons were known to everyone, if they were able to sell a million copies Yuki Eiri, famous novelist and Shindou-kun's lover, would take him out on a date. Not the kind of reason he would admire. Nakano-san was just as worse, the promise of a date with the girl he loves, Ayaka, Eiri-san's ex-fiancee. It was weird how the lovelife of these two had been interconnected.
"Shindou-kun, you might not need to rest, but we do," he said, gesturing to the crew, who had been working almost as long as them. He saw Shindou-kun and Nakano-san shot each other a knowing look.
"I thought you were ambitious Fujisaki," Nakano-san's voice was accusing. His blue eyes narrowed.
"I am," he admitted, he has dreams of surpassing his cousin, Seguchi Touma, who handled keyboards in Nittle Grasper. Now that the Nittle Grasper was reunited again, he has to work hard to fulfill his dream.
"Then why are you lacking motivation?" Nakano-san asked.
"I'm not lacking motivation, it's just that I'm tired," he explained. And you guys are getting on my nerves, he wanted to add. Shindou-kun and Nakano-san exchange knowing smiles. It annoyed him that he seems to be missing something that these two simpletons know.
"You know what you're missing?" Shindou-kun asked. He didn't answer, what was the point? They would never listen to him, even if he says that he wasn't lacking anything. They advanced to him one by one, and he was forced to take a step back. When they had cornered him on the wall, they leaned closer to tell him something.
"Love," they say in unison, then giggled like two highschool girls instead of two rising rockstars. He stared at them dumbstruck. "You need an inspiration, you need to find L-U-V," they managed to stress the last word into three syllables.
"I don't need love," he said, cutting them off before they could say another word.
"You know what you're problem is Fujisaki? You're acting like an old man," Shindou-kun said suddenly. Old man?! "You're no fun, you're too serious." No fun? Too serious?!
"Yeah, and you kinda dress like an old man too," Nakano-san agreed. I dress like an old man…?! The two of them laughed at that.
"Well, I'm sorry if I don't sing with my belly button showing or if I don't wear tight leather pants when I perform," he said. He had the satisfaction of seeing their faces blanch. "And of the three of us, I think my reasons for achieving the goal, are the most legitimate. I'm not the one who misses whole weeks of taping just because someone was ignoring me, or quit the band then come back just because my girlfriend told me to." The two of them was staring at him, with their mouths open.
He headed for the door and before they could stop him, he turned back. "Now, if you'll excuse me. This old man has to rest." And he closed the door behind him.
~ ø ~ ø ~ ø ~
He went down on the ground floor. Maybe some orange juice would cool him off. He shouldn't have lost his temper on Shindou-kun and Nakano-san. They were just being their usual childish self. He was a bit more level-headed than them, so he should have been more patient. He would apologize when he came back. But their words had been huge blows on him, an insult. Saying I dress like an old man, he thought sulkily.
He went out of the elevator and crossed the lobby. He headed straight out the door. He wanted to eat someplace else; he was getting tired of the studio, having spent almost two months cooped up here. He was just outside the door, looking at the stoplight when someone bumped him. They both went down on the floor.