Thread: The Rock Star and the Dancer (Russian Vodka)

It was a haze from the car and on, Shiro didn't remember much of the concert or afterwards when he woke up the next morning, a dull throb in the back of his head. Miraculously, he'd somehow made it to bed, his arm hanging out over the side as his fingers moved, touching the wet carpet by the edge of the bed. His eyes snapped opene, and he tossed himself around to sit up, only to feel the reeling force of his hangover, sending him backwards with a groan onto the soft mattress. He remembered seeing his ex after the concert, giving him the sweatband, nothing more than that. As he slowly regained his senses, he managed to sit up without being too dizzy, noticing the nearly empty bottle of vodka in the wet spot on the carpet, it seemed most of the alcohol that'd been left was seeped into the soft, smooth cloth of the carpet. As he looked around, it swirled for a bit as his eyes steadied, the hangover was heavy and when he noticed the business card on the nightstand, he remembered why. In flashes, he realised what he'd done after getting back to the hotel. He'd taken the bottle and begun drinking, looking at the card, trying to find out if he should text, or call, or even do anything with it. He hadn't bothered checking the info on it about the place mentioned or the website to said place. The picture told him enough, it wasn't a place he'd heard of, but he was sure someone could tell him if he remembered to later. For now he needed to get up and get a shower, as the stench of the concert shirt from yesterday hit him mixed with his own alcohol induced sleep. The rest of the day was spent getting told he had a couple of days vacation before their manager wanted to see them again, they were free to stay at the hotel or go to visit their families, and he had already planned to see his folks. He had to have a taxi called to take him home, where he spent most of the time apologising profusely for not being completely sober, looking like a mess and being accused of doing drugs. It was the last thing he needed so when it was done, it was already past opening time for Akira's workplace. Shiro couldn't help himself at that time, he'd brought the card with him, the number on it. Yet as he tried calling it, it rang and went on answering machine. By the time he managed to find a taxi to take him there, he'd left three silent voicemails. He didn't know what to say, so instead he went there. Told the driver the address, and then sat back, prepared to pay to reach his destination. It was the longest drive he'd ever had, still hungover, the dull throbbing had gone down to the occassional lightheaded throb as he at least had food in his stomach to help clear it out of his system. For some reason his memories were a blur, as he got out and stood in front of the door to the place, looking at the two bouncers, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. And now he was heading inside, the music already playing, the locals and regulars taking up most of the seats as he went around. Dressed in a pair of black jeans, with a band shirt, as he always did when he wasn't playing a concert or working with the others, in a yellow color, his spiky blue hair made him stand out. Yet he went to the bar, the first thing he needed was a drink to push the last of his hangover out. Then he would try and find Akira. Shiro could feel that he needed to, it was as if he would go insane if he didn't at least attempt to find consolation.