Damien heard the knock on his door just as he had finished slipping on his boots. “Come in,” he called, glancing around the dressing room for his headset microphone. The door opened, and who popped in but the person he’d most expected but least wanted to see at the moment.
“Hey, Damien!” said Fujian cheerfully, entering the room and closing the door behind him. “You ready?”
“Did you steal my headset?” Damien asked accusingly, completely ignoring the guitarist otherwise and beginning a more thorough search for the missing mic.
Fujian blinked and put his bright red guitar down on the floor. “Yeah,” he said. “I ate it earlier cuz I skipped breakfast.”
Damien tossed a sofa pillow at him, but didn’t look back to see if he hit. “You’re hilarious,” he muttered. He realized that he’d missed when the pillow came flying back and smacked him in the head. After a few seconds of hesitation and resistance of the urge to walk over and beat Fujian with the pillow, Damien went back to his search without even bothering to turn around.
“Do you remember the last place you had it?” Fujian asked, walking up beside him and half-looking as well.
“No,” he said. “I don’t remember ever touching it. We didn’t use them at practice earlier, remember?” He continued to search around the dressing room, glancing under furniture and into drawers but finding no trace of the missing headset. “You sure you didn’t steal it?”
“Positive.” Fujian grinned, but Damien was too preoccupied to whack him with something.
“Where is the damn thing?” he muttered to himself.
“Damien.”
“What?”
“Damien.”
“What is it?”
“Hey, Damien.”
“FUJIAN.”
“Your headset’s on the dresser,” the Chinese man said, pointing towards the headset that lay out in the open under his mirror. Damien blinked.
“…Don’t say anything,” he growled, picking up the headset and plopping it on.
“I wasn’t going to!”
“Right.”
Fujian clasped his hands behind his back. “Sooooooooo,” he whistled. “I think we should open with that one song tonight. You know, that one where I hit that super high note?”
“Glad you know our song titles,” Damien sighed. “You have to check with Matt and Cass, you know.”
“Done.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “The manager?”
“Yep.”
“And how about the light and tech crew? You can’t just surprise them like that.”
“Oh, I’ve already cleared it with them, too,” said Fujian with a grin. “They’re all set to go.”
Damien narrowed his eyes. “So no matter what I say, we’re still opening with it?” he asked angrily, placing his hands on his hips.
Fujian nodded happily. “Yep,” he said, “but I figured pretending to ask for your permission would make you feel good about yourself!”
Damien mumbled something that won’t be repeated here.
“I got soul but I’m not a soldier!” Fujian sang to himself, repeating it until his voice reached the final, incredibly lofty pitch that ended the phrase.
“Helium,” said Damien.
“You sing high, too,” Fujian retorted.
“I don’t break windows.”
Fujian stuck out his tongue. “Jealous?”
“Not particularly,” the Ukrainian sighed, sitting down on the sofa and laying one of his legs across the other. He leaned back and closed his eyes. There was a silence for a while, and Damien almost felt a small smile creep onto his face. He liked the time before a show. It was a good time to just relax, something he was rarely able to do. It was never a good idea to start a show tense. He sighed and sunk a bit into the sofa. What a nice, calm quiet. It was almost serene.
“That’s a rather feminine pose you’ve got there,” stated Fujian, shattering the tranquility.
“Gunkai!” Damien growled in reply, but he dropped his leg to the side anyway.
“Nü qi,” Fujian said with a grin.
“Oh, and look who’s talking!”
“You know you like it.” Fujian sent him a small wink; Damien felt his face go red and told himself it was anger.
“I’m pretty close to stabbing you with something right now. By the way.”
Fujian laughed. “With what,” he asked, “your high heels?”
“My boots don’t have heels!” He tossed the remote control for the ceiling fan at Fujian’s head. Fujian ducked, and the remote hit the wall and left a dent.
The Chinese man looked at the wall, then back to Damien. “Smooth as sandpaper, Damien,” he said, hiding his grin.
“I hate you.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that!” Fujian gave him that little lost puppy look. He responded with a hmph! and a middle finger. Fujian sighed. “I’ll tell them the dent was there when we got here, okay? Better?”
“Not by much.” Damien closed his eyes again, shifted his legs around a bit, then finally decided to cross them again because he was too uncomfortable otherwise. Silence again. Then footsteps towards him. Damien opened an eye to see Fujian standing almost on top of him. “H-hey, what do you want?!” he demanded with a glare.
Fujian squatted down to eye level with him and reached over. At first, Damien contracted away, but he relaxed a bit when Fujian touched not him but the headset, adjusting it slightly. “A little crooked,” he said softly. “That’s better.” He made eye contact with Damien, and the Ukrainian could only take a few seconds of staring into those brown eyes before he went bright red and looked away.
“Th-thanks,” he stuttered quietly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Don’t mention it,” said Fujian with a wide smile. He stood back up and offered a hand. “You wanna get up? We’re on in five minutes. We should probably get into the hallway at least.”
Damien looked up at the outstretched hand. For a second, he almost considered taking it. Then he shut his eyes, scolding himself for even the thought, and got up on his own. He didn’t open his eyes again for a few seconds, not wanting to see the hurt look that he knew was on Fujian’s face. “Let’s go, then,” he said as he turned and walked towards the door. Fujian scurried after him, guitar in hand.
“Your legs look like Christmas colors,” he stated.
Damien tried his best to not hurt the Chinese man. “Why are you staring at my legs?”
“It’s hard not to when they’re bright green.” And here came the part where Fujian made fun of him for wearing flashy lime green zebra stripe leggings.
“Shut up,” he said. “I feel ridiculous enough.”
“Then why do you wear them?”
“Because!” Damien growled.
“Because why?”
“Just because!”
“Because why?”
“Because I’m about to punch you.”
Fujian clicked his tongue. “Have you ever thought about anger management classes?” he asked.
“I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”
“I think it’s a good investment.”
Damien didn’t answer, instead walking a little bit faster to where their bassist and drummer, Matt and Cass respectively, were standing. Three minutes til showtime. He walked over to his keyboard, already set up along with the drumset and the amps on the large square of floor colored differently from the rest. He glanced up at the ceiling. In exactly two minutes and thirty seconds, it would open up and the floor would lift the four of them up to the stage. Two minutes and twenty-nine seconds.
Fujian came up beside him, having just plugged in his guitar. “Looking good, wo de xiao hua mao.”
“Fujian, I swear, I will legitimately strangle you.”
“Xiao hua mao!” he repeated, giving Damien that goofy smile of his.
“I’m not your kitten,” growled Damien, swiping out at him but missing terribly. The lights dimmed, and the ceiling began to creak open. Fujian’s smile grew.
“Wo ai ni!” he said.
“Wo hen ni!” Damien snapped. Fujian stuck out his tongue at him, clicking his headset power on. Damien sent him a glare and clicked his on as well. The floor began to shake and rose slowly into the air. Fujian sent him a wink. As they approached the top, Damien felt his glare fading. The floor snapped into place on the dark stage, and Damien didn’t know why, but he turned to the guitarist and gave him a small grin and an incredibly easy to miss wink back.
~~~
A/N:
Chinese Guide:
Gunkai: Go to hell
Nu qi: "feminine spirit"--basically, a really feminine guy
Wo de xiao hua mao: My kitten
Wo ai ni: I love you
Wo hen ni: I hate you
All These Things That I've Done belongs to the Killers, not to me.
