Chapter Text
The year was 1968. It was the middle of summer in England, although that didn’t necessarily mean it was warm. On this particular day, Roger Waters, bassist of a new and rising band called Pink Floyd, sat in his apartment’s living room admiring the rain outside. One would think that after having lived his whole life in England, he would grow tired of the rain. But it continued to endlessly soothe him, and he was grateful it was not hot outside as it had been the day before.
Roger’s band had begun to grow in popularity, having recently released their second album, A Saucerful of Secrets. Most musicians would be rejoicing at this time, given the positive feedback the band was receiving. But Roger was not in a celebratory mood. More so than his other two bandmates, he was worried about a recent problem. This problem was Syd Barrett, their band’s frontman.
Something had gone terribly wrong with him, yet nobody understood what. A few months, during a concert to promote their new album, Syd had stopped playing in the middle of the song, and this had caused a great disruption, given that he was the lead singer and guitarist.
During their recording sessions towards the end of the album, Syd had seemed to lose interest in what was happening. Where once was a pair of beautiful and happy eyes remained two dark voids which seemed to suck the emotion out of the room rather than radiate it.
After making himself a cup of tea, Roger returned to his arm chair by the window, picking up a large pile of mail which had accumulated on a nearby table. He gently tore open the first letter, presumably a rental billing statement, which made him sigh. Perhaps for the first time in a while, Roger was seriously worried about his financial stability. If Syd didn’t start cooperating, and this somehow lead to the band breaking up, Roger would have to look for a normal job. Such a mundane life scared him deeply and he stared at the letter for a few moments before shaking the thoughts from his head.
Before he could read the fine print on the envelope, a knock echoed throughout the room, breaking the steady sound of rain outside. Given that it was only 8 in the morning, the knock was unusual, and Roger froze in his seat for a short moment before getting up. He was halfway across the room when he paused. He really couldn’t imagine who was at his door, but then the thought hit him. What if it’s Syd? Some dark part of him really hoped it wasn’t. Talking to Syd these past few months was painful, much like trying to pull teeth. Sometimes it would take him five minutes before he could answer a question. But then again, what if he’s here to explain? What if there’s hope?
Sure enough, when Roger opened the door, he was greeted by a slightly shorter man with long black strands covering his eye like some exotic dog breed. Syd’s eyes were directly focused on Roger’s, something which didn’t happen often recently. “Hello,” he started. “It’s me, Syd.” “Yes, of course, Syd. What, did you think I forgot you?” said Roger, who wanted to find the situation funny but was actually terrified at what he had just said. What does that mean? Does Syd even remember me?
“Roger, can I come in? It’s dark,” said Syd, his gaze turning towards the inside of Roger’s apartment. It was in fact, not dark outside, so the statement confused Roger, but at the same time, it was just the same old Syd, speaking gibberish.
Roger did not hesitate to let his old friend inside. “Yes, of course, please come in. Don’t mind the mess,” he said, then realizing that Syd was perhaps one of the messiest people he knew and certainly would pay no attention to the mess. “Do you have any cigarettes?” asked Syd after sitting down on a couch in the middle of the room. “Yes, hold on,” said Roger, reaching for his pocket and taking out two, lighting them, and handing one to Syd before taking one for himself. Syd looked around the room, then down onto his shoes. Roger worried he was entering one of his moments where he didn’t talk for several minutes on end. Roger couldn’t help but feel a tear forming in his eye as he began to remember how energetic Syd once was, and how sitting motionless was once a nightmare for Syd. Now it seemed to be the only thing he did.
“Sorry, that’s what I needed to say,” said Syd suddenly, snapping out of his daze and simultaneously snapping Roger out of his. “I’m sorry I can’t play music anymore for the band. And I’m sorry I don’t - can’t talk very much.” This statement cut Roger like a knife. It was the first time Syd had admitted his behavior in any way, and it shocked him, but also made him feel a level of guilt. He still remembered earlier that year, when on the way to a gig, he advised his bandmates to just leave Syd at home rather than pick him up, symbolizing the end of Syd’s career in the Floyd.
“I’ve seen a doctor, but he said said I’m incurable,” he continued. “I don’t know what that means for me. The sun is too dark today.” Roger didn’t know what to say to his bandmate, who was making somewhat more coherent sentences than months prior. At this moment, Roger noticed that Syd’s hair had grown significantly since the last time he had seen him. The long black curls had partly covered his large, brown eyes, but Roger was keen to notice the dark circles around them. He even had a bit of stubble growing around his face, which was once perfectly shaven. His cheekbones were more hollowed out than before.
While it was surprising to Roger that Syd had come to visit him, he was still evident to him that the former Floyd frontman was not actually any better. It became even more evident when Syd leaned back into the couch with a blank stare in his face, entering a catatonic state. His cigarette continued to burn and the flame was ever so slowly making it's way towards his fingers. "Syd?” asked Roger, after a minute, shaking Syd’s leg. “Syd!” He came back to reality. “I’m - I’m sorry. Roger-” he said looking his concerned bandmate into the eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m here. Did I take a cab?” he asked, scratching his head. “I can’t answer that, Syd,” said Roger, the tears now forming more intensely around his eyes. Syd noticed this. “Roger? Why are you crying?” he asks blatantly. At that moment, Roger was overwhelmed with sorrow and guilt, and a hint of anger. Why do you think I’m crying!
“You’re not well, Syd,” started Roger, taking a deep inhale. “I- I don’t know what to advise you to do. I miss you.” He said, his voice breaking at the last words. Roger then put his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Syd looked sympathetically in Roger’s eyes. “Please don’t cry. I know I’m not well. But there’s something else, Roger,” said Syd, now putting out his cigarette. “This is why I came here,” he said, slightly quieter so perhaps Roger did not hear. “I- I love you” said Syd, his voice cracking at the last word. Roger was confused. “Yes, I love you too, man” said Roger in return. “No- you don’t understand. I truly love you,” replied Syd, leaning in towards Roger's ear. “I love you like a dark sky loves the stars,” he whispered. What he just said didn’t really make sense, but it didn’t bother Roger. He understood. It was something he perhaps did not want to admit to himself. The reason why Syd’s breakdown hurt Roger more than anyone else was the simple fact that he loved him. From the first day, when they had met, Roger realized this. But it wasn’t right, and it didn’t make sense to Roger. He had only ever had girlfriends before, but nothing he ever felt for them compared to the burning feeling he had around Syd. Of course, he had never told anyone, and Syd’s recent spiral hurt Roger but also made it easier to be distracted from him. To hear Syd say those words, even through his mental haze, burned deeper than Roger could ever put into words. The bassist felt an overwhelming mixture of pain, confusion, guilt and joy. Every feeling seemed to come down on him at once. Syd leaned back from Roger’s ear. “It’s true,” he continued, his eyes beginning to water. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know why I told you,” he said, evidently becoming nervous. “I have to go. I have a cat I must find,” he said, getting up. He turned to look Roger in the eyes. “Goodbye, Roger. I won’t ever bother you again.” Before he could leave, Roger reached out for his hand. “No, wait,” he started, feeling the man’s gentle hand shaking. “Syd, I- love you too,” he said, unsure if he regretted admitting it or not. Syd shook his hand free. “No, Roger. I’m not well. This was a mistake. You know I can’t be around you or anyone else. It’s not good for my head,” he said, beginning to walk towards the door at a quick pace. Roger darted over to block Syd from leaving. “Syd, wait.” he protested. “Please get out of my way,” replied Syd, trying to hide his tears with his hair. “Syd, please,” continued Roger. “We can... figure this out. If we just walk away from these problems then we will never solve them. You know that.” he said. Syd looked up to Roger, then began to space out again. “Where am I?” he asked after fading back into reality.
Without hesitation, Roger pulled Syd into a kiss, grabbing a hold of Syd’s collared paisley shirt. Syd did not protest at all, rather, he kissed back. “Roger-” started Syd. “What does this mean?” he asked, after Roger let him go. “I don’t know,” he answered, now looking away from Syd. His eyes were something that Roger both hated and loved at the same time. They were big, curious and beautiful eyes, but a reminder of the haunted and empty look they get made them easily unsettling. The two men stood there for a moment before Roger started,“You know, Syd, I’ve always felt this way about you. From the moment when I first saw you. I didn’t think it was possible,” he began to whisper, “I didn’t think I was a homosexual.” “Me neither,” replied Syd. “And I was positive that you did not feel this way about me in return. So I guess anything is possible,” he said, cracking a smile for the first time in maybe six months.
The two of them made their way back over to the couch. “But, Roger- I’m still not well,” said Syd, after sitting down. “Calm down. It’s okay, we will find a solution. We can find a doctor who will actually help you,” said Roger, putting his hand on Syd’s thigh. “Syd, together, we can do this,” he said. After finishing his sentence, he leaned in his forehead to touch Syd’s. This moment of intimacy was one he could have only dreamed of years before. A feeling of uncertainty was in the air. Roger couldn’t be sure that Syd could get better, or that his feelings for Syd were alright in the first place. But he knew one thing, and it was that he loved that crazy diamond. Syd Barrett, I love you no matter what.