Where Have You Been? [Rock Star AU One-Shot]

Day Fighter

I have to force myself to pay attention to what the interviewer is saying. It takes every once of my brain power to stay focused on him, my eyes keep flitting away, getting distracted by small things in the room, before I have to jerk them back to meet his again.

"It's a metaphor, actually," I find myself saying. The answer seems almost practiced now, like I've stood in front of a mirror and said it to my reflection over and over, because the question has been asked too many times: What do these lyrics mean? Is there a certain person this album is written about? The truthful answer is that the lyrics mean exactly what they look like, the real answer is that Of The Angel is all about a boy with dark hair and haunted eyes, the title is a translation of his name. The real answer is that you can see him, well, you can see half of his face right on the cover, the other half is draped in shadows. He looks mysterious and unknowable, staring sadly at something in the distance. But I know him. At least, I thought I did. Now he is somewhere, now he is a white-hot memory in the back of my mind. Of course, I don't say any of that. Instead, I tell him that everything is symbolic. That the person I speak of in my songs represents my dreams and hopes, in a way, it's true.

Both of us, the interviewer and I, jump when my manager bursts through the door. It's not something that traditionally happens during an interview that's being broadcasted live to thousands of people. This is how I know that it's something important. That, and the fact that she looks like she just ran through the windy city streets for ten minutes straight to get here. I know she hasn't, though, she's been here with me all day.

We lock eyes, my hands tighten on the armrests, her lips purse and an anxious breath slips from between them. "He's back."

My heart does a sort of galloping plummet, thumping and sinking and plunging and then sky-rocketing again. Too many emotions, thoughts clouding my brain. I force out the only thing that makes sense to me right then, "Nico." The word is choked and disbelieving and hopeful, no matter how hard I tried to deny it. I find that my hand had has found its way to my necklace, a gothic black sugar skull with curly sun rays swirling around it.

Annabeth holds up a hand to silence the angry words of the other people in the room, they shut their mouths immediately. She nods at me.

I am at a loss for words for a couple of seconds, no one else knows what's going on. Everyone is looking angry, they just want to get on with this thing, this is their job, and who do I think I am, a self-obsessed rock star that believes their worlds revolve around mine?

No, it's just that my world still revolves around his.

"Where is he?" The sharp metal edges of the necklace are digging harshly into my palm.

"Where do you think he is?"

I know the answer. Of course I do.

I swallow. "Why were you there?" I don't care that the other expressions in the room are now hungry, this is nothing but good content to them. I know that the cameras are zoomed up on my face, taking in every single moment of my frantic distress.

"I wasn't."

A muscle in my face twitches, "Where has he been?"

Where have you been? Where have you been, Nico?

She just shakes her head, "He said that he would explain." She knows exactly what I'm going to do. The interviewers do not.

I shoot up from my seat, I call apologies back to them. They are angry and I am getting more frantic by the second. Annabeth stays behind, trying to talk to them, while I bolt through the building and burst out onto the street. I hardly have to think at all to get there.