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Micky had never been one to shy away from hugging Davy. Neither were averse to touch and both were fond of each other. And the hugs were never “manly” I-can’t-hug-my-male-best-friend-pat-on-the-back-barely-making-contact hugs. They were all out, full blown, capital h Hugs. Of course, there was usually a reason behind the hugs.
Scared happened more frequently than Micky would have liked. There was the time Davy had jumped straight into his arms, clinging around his neck. And another time where he had flung his arms around Davy’s head, although it was more for his own comfort than Davy’s protection. And, of course, there were all of those times spent cowered together, hands touching and heads down, trying to shut out the danger.
Not all of the hugs were fearful, though. There were many joyous hugs, too. Playful hugs, mocking hugs. Hugs where they shoved others out of the way, flung their arms around each other, and jumped up and down. Half hugs with one arm slung around a shoulder. Happy hugs, laughing hugs. Hugs for all occasions.
So the odd urge Micky had that morning when he woke up didn’t faze him, even if it did slightly confuse him. His urges to hug usually came with an occasion. This one seemed to come from nowhere. Still half asleep, he walked out into the kitchen and ran smack straight into Davy.
“Wow, Micky, watch where you’re going.” Davy laughed, rubbing the now sore spot on his head. Micky looked at Davy and the urge washed over him once again, almost as strongly as the bump had. So, without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around his shorter bandmate and squeezed. Arms held snugly with heads tucked together, he held on for all he was worth.