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Alan usually didn’t have much trouble falling asleep anywhere. He loved the comfort of a bed like anyone else, but if it was necessary, he was sometimes able to squeeze in a quick nap at the studio, or on the tour bus. Their line of work meant that there was a lot of waiting involved: waiting for flights, for the bus, for sound checks, for interviews. It was highly exasperating, which was why Alan had gotten into the habit of trying to use up every minute he spent waiting to get something else done. Now, on the bus to Chicago, they had at least two more hours to kill. He could already hear the bored twang of Martin’s guitar coming from somewhere at the back of the bus, accompanied by Fletch and Daryl’s quiet chatter.
Alan grabbed a blanket, heading to his favourite corner of the bus. They all had their designated areas now: Dave in the middle, Fletch and Martin at the back, Alan somewhere near the front, beside the bunks where it wasn’t so bumpy. It was also a good place to watch the passing scenery, of which there was plenty. America was so vast, unlike cramped and crowded London. When they had been driving up to Denver, Alan had been fascinated by the view of the Rockies, staring out of the window with his headphones on. Now, unfortunately, the view in Illinois wasn’t as pretty, but it was still nice. Besides, Alan admittedly got a kick out of sitting near the front and pretending to drive the bus, just like he had done as a young boy.
He settled himself nicely in the window seat, putting on his headphones and resting his head against the glass. If they had more than two hours, he would have crawled into his bunk for a proper nap, but it would be twice as difficult to wake up from a deep sleep, and he didn’t want to be all grumpy for the sound check. He closed his eyes, letting the rocking motion of the bus lull him to sleep. His brain was still a bit too wired with thoughts of the upcoming gig, but he was getting quite used to shutting out the constant internal chatter of his mind.
He was almost nodding off when he felt someone sliding into the seat beside him, followed by the familiar warmth pressed up against his own body. Only one person would ever have the balls to cosy up to Alan when he was in his own private zone, about to fall asleep. He yawned as he blinked blearily at Dave, who was now tugging part of Alan’s blanket over himself. He wasn’t looking at Alan at all, his eyes steadfastly on the pull-out table in front of them.
Alan tugged off his headphones. Normally he would be irritated at the prospect of having his nap interrupted, but there was something about Dave’s body language that was off. Now that Alan was looking closely, he noticed the corners of Dave’s mouth tugged down. “Alright?” he said carefully.
Dave lifted a shoulder in a limp shrug. “I’m fine,” he said flatly, although he looked anything but. He still wasn’t looking at Alan. “What are you listening to?”
“Men Without Hats,” Alan said, laughing at Dave’s grimace. “I’m kidding. It’s a bit of Nick Drake, actually. Nothing rock-ish, I don’t think you’d like him.”
“Let me give it a go.” Dave held out his hand for the headphones, which Alan handed over. As Dave turned his head slightly, it didn’t escape Alan’s notice that his eyes were reddened. He wondered what could have happened, but Dave could be stubborn about not wanting to talk about things that were bothering him, especially stuff to do with home and Jo. It was ironic, considering how much he could blather on and on in interviews and social settings. But with Alan, he was both less guarded and more reticent, as though the silence was somehow enough to communicate whatever he was feeling and he expected Alan to understand.
Still, Dave hardly ever cried. Well, not in front of Alan, anyway. There had been two other times that Alan could remember, and both times, Dave had done the same thing – silently seeking Alan out, occasionally mumbling comments about everything except the problem at hand. And both times, Alan had reacted the same way – refusing to prod Dave, just humouring him and trying to make him feel better with music, food or lame jokes about Fletch. It usually worked, anyway. Alan wondered if that was the best strategy now.
Dave now had the headphones on, his eyes closed as he made himself comfortable under half of Alan’s blanket. Alan didn’t think that Dave would like Nick Drake, but he hadn’t handed the headphones back, so that was a good sign. He took this opportunity to study Dave’s profile, thinking about how far they had come as friends. A few years back, he would have been wary of someone so overfriendly and enthusiastic, but now he knew it was just Dave’s nature to throw himself whole-heartedly into a venture if he thought it was worthwhile. Even more unusual was how quickly he had trusted Alan, and how deeply. Again, normally Alan would have been suspicious, but Dave expected the same of him, which was both gratifying and nerve-wracking. Alan wasn’t used to giving himself entirely to another person like that. How did Dave do this every day?
As he stared out of the window again, he suddenly felt a warm weight on his shoulder. Turning slightly, he realized that Dave was resting his head on his shoulder, eyes still closed. Alan relaxed, stretching out his arm to wrap it around Dave’s own shoulders, feeling him shift closer. He still had no idea what had upset Dave, but he hoped this helped, in a way. He couldn’t help letting his fingers sift through his friend’s hair, stroking the dark strands.
After quite some time, Alan glanced at Dave again. To his surprise, Dave’s eyes were wide open, staring off into space. He had assumed that Dave was sleeping. “How’s the music?” Alan mouthed to him.
Dave smiled before tugging off the headphones. “Your tape finished playing ages ago.”
“Oh, bollocks.” Alan inspected the Walkman. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Dave shrugged. “Didn’t need the music,” he said simply, before finally lifting his head. Alan’s shoulder felt a little numb and, strangely enough, sort of empty. He kept his arm curled around Dave, though. Thankfully, his eyes weren’t so red now.
“I’ll be sure to stock up on hair metal for you next time,” Alan promised. “Pantera, Def Leppard, Cliff Richard...am I missing anyone out?”
Dave was chuckling now. “Don’t forget Tom Jones. The most hardcore headbanger of all.”
“What was I thinking?” Alan pretended to smack his forehead. “I’ll get right on it, I promise.”
Dave’s smile faded. “You’re not going to ask me what’s wrong?”
Alan shrugged, his fingers still carding through Dave’s hair. “It’s up to you. I know what you’re like when you’re upset. Let you throw a strop, then make fun of Fletch’s unhealthy obsession with greasy cheese.”
Dave was grinning again. “I’ll never get tired of that one.” He glanced at Alan, concerned. “Speaking of tired, weren’t you trying to kip just now? Did I interrupt?”
“Nah.” Alan glanced at his watch. They only had an hour left, and it wasn’t enough time to grab a proper nap. “I’ll just catch a nap during the gig. I’m sure the fans won’t notice if I’m playing ‘Somebody’ while I’m snoring.”
Dave laughed, and after an hour of seeing him so morose, the sound was gratifying. “They’ll be too busy flinging their knickers at Mart.”
“More for his collection, then,” Alan said, and Dave laughed even harder. “I think his are beginning to get all stretched out.”
Dave shot him a fond, somewhat amused look. “Didn’t know you were eyeing Mart in his underwear.”
Alan shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “Had to take a break from eyeing you all the time, right?”
“Awwww.” Dave leaned in, smacking a wet kiss on Alan’s cheek. “I’m glad I’ll always be your number one, Al. Letting me interrupt your nap, hijack your music, molest your virtue...”
“Always.” Alan felt so ridiculously pleased at the tingling feeling on his cheek. “And you’ll make it up to me, of course. Six shots of vodka ought to do it.”
Dave raised an eyebrow at him. “Then more molesting?” His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were serious. They always did this, this subtle flirting, and Alan was aware that Dave knew where he could push and where he couldn’t, but when he was in a mood like this, the lines were often thrown out of the window.
“Whatever you want, you ridiculous sod.” Alan stroked the back of Dave’s neck, making his eyes shut with pleasure, and he couldn’t help thinking that Dave wasn’t the only one who had benefited from the entire exercise in making him feel better. “Just remember that everything has a price in vodka shots.”
“Wanker.” Dave was leaning against him again, tugging the blanket over them, and Alan smiled. Hopefully, Chicago was still a long way off.