Chanyeol:
My in-ear is flopping on my shoulder as I wave and smile to the cheering crowd. Its always the sweetest kind of exhausting to finish a show, to see a sea of smiling faces at the end of a long, hot, exhausting performance. I hand over my in-ear and mic to a crew member and sigh with contentment at the pleasing feeling of the love of our fans. Well worth the long, exhausting day.
The other eight members and I walk excitedly back to the green room. As we enter, I spot my guitar case in the little corner of the room that I had claimed for myself at the beginning of the day. Remembering my conversation with the odd stagehand, my big smile fades and I fast walk to the corner full of my belongings.
I grab the case and feel its heaviness. That bodes well for my hopes. Sitting it on a nearby table, I sigh with relief as I open the case to find my guitar safely nestled inside. But... there's a little piece of paper tucked between the strings on the neck of the guitar.
I peek over my shoulder to see that everyone else is preoccupied gathering themselves together. Only Sehun gives me a passing glance, as he changes out of his shirt. No one is paying any real attention to me, so I quickly shut the guitar case and snap the latches, leaning it back against the wall. I really don't have a very good poker face, that much is certain, but I'll just have to try my best to act as if the whole situation doesn't have me well and truly rattled.
Putting my cheesy 'Happy-Chanyeol' smile back on, I quickly change into some loungewear for the trip home. While everyone around me is bustling about gathering wardrobe and equipment to pack up and get on the road to wherever we end up next, I keep a side-eye always on that guitar, now positioned in the pile with my duffel bag, my heavier coat, and the rest of my belongings. That guitar always goes home with ME thank god. But my mind is constantly drifting back to that little white paper folded up inside the case. I have no doubt now that it was the work of that apparently mischievous stagehand.
The waiting will be hard, but my intuition tells me that I must wait until I'm all alone to investigate what in the world could possibly be on that piece of paper, and how much a temporary employee, a stagehand that I was most certainly unfamiliar with, could possibly want... or, more importantly, what could he possibly know... Either way, I don't plan on letting that guitar out of my sight for the next six hours if I can help it.
