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Johnny knocked on the door which towered in front of him lightly, simply to alert Morrissey of his presence. He stood there for a moment, outside their shared hotel room, but no response could be heard from within. Although the singer was usually up at this time, it wouldn’t surprise Johnny if he was sleeping. It was quite late after all.
He had just said goodnight to Mike and Andy after a night down at some pub across the street. It definitely wasn’t a nice bar, the drinks weren’t great, but the it got them drunk. That’s all that matters. He grabbed at the door handle and it swiftly opened. The room was dark, and a lot colder then he remembered leaving it. Moonlight shone through the opened balcony door, enough to let Johnny find his way. Morrissey was nowhere to be found, well nowhere in the bedroom at least.
The long sheer curtains waved smoothly through the air, a soft breeze moving through the small room. Johnny approached the balcony doors, to finally spot Morrissey sitting outside. Peacefully writing in some notebook of his.
“Aren’t ya cold out here?” Johnny asked, peeking out the gap of the door.
Morrissey quickly looked up, seemingly a bit startled. “Oh, you’re back,” he stated.
Johnny started walking toward the sofa which the other man resided, “yeah” he said in a yawn. “Andy and Mike fucked off to bed, but I don’t wanna sleep yet.” He sat down closely.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t sleep? ‘Cause you look quite tired.”
“Hm… yeah” is all Johnny replied with. They stared at each other for moment. Until Johnny decided he’d have to lead this conversation somewhere, even though he did enjoy looking at the other man. “Whatcha writing?” he questioned.
“Mm, just my thoughts and things… Nothing monumental” Morrissey put down his legs to let himself lean on Johnny’s side.
“Well, watcha thinking ‘bout then?”
Morrissey giggled into the guitarist’s shoulder, “about how your breath reeks of alcohol” he said, “Christ, Johnny.”
“If you think I reek, you can leave and head to Mike and Andy’s room instead.”
“Oh no, I don’t think they’d smell much better,” Morrissey smiled at him, “and I enjoy you for much more than your scent.”
Johnny laughed, but then continued to push for an answer, “but no, seriously, what were you thinking ‘bout? I’m curious now.” He put his arm around Morrissey as the singer spoke.
“Oh just the usual, everything all at once. Mostly about this old friend I had, I doubt it’ll become anything. It’s all quite disgraceful, really.”
“As all good songs are,” Johnny remarked, smiling like an idiot. Purely happy to be around.
The singer hummed slightly in response, but then searched to change the topic. “What did you, Andy and Mike get up to then?”
“Hm,” Johnny thought for a moment, “just the typical stuff, nothin’ special, but we had fun. You should come with us next time instead of sitting ‘ere all alone. Promise we’ll try to make it fun for you this time.”
“And not leave me to sit on my own while you go do god knows what?” Morrissey suggested ironically.
Johnny paused for a moment then spoke, “mm, yeah, I know, that wasn’t very nice of us.” He nuzzled closer.
“You simply abandoned me,” Morrissey claimed, “I can’t say I felt very wanted.”
“It was stupid of us, I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I know just how you feel, I’m sorry.”
Morrissey stayed quiet. He knew this was false. Johnny could never truly know how he felt, though he came closer to it than others. It was never about being left alone this once, it was never about wanting to party with his bandmates. It all went back to the nights he used to spend alone at bars, quietly watching. Back to the years he spent isolated from all his peers. It was a reminder that he would never change, no matter how much he wanted to believe he had. It was a reality check he didn’t really appreciate. Leaving on his own that night felt like a failure.
But he wouldn’t attempt to explain it. It was really pointless. He knew they didn’t leave him with malicious intent. So instead he let himself relax deeper into the cushions, suddenly feeling drowsy. His head hung down slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as his eyelids became heavier.
Johnny moved his hand to lift the singers face, to look at him properly again. They didn’t say anything, just stared at each other. Both too tired to do anything more. Until Morrissey felt a smile involuntarily start to crawl up his face, an instinct used to ease the tension.
“What?” He said, “is there something on my face?”
"You just look so very pretty right now” Johnny reasoned.
Morrissey smirked, “Flattery won’t get you as far as you’d hope, John.”
“But I really mean it.”
“And I don’t believe you,” he said cheerfully.
Johnny then let go of the other man, crossing his arms and looking away dramatically in mock annoyance. “You’ve pissed me off now, and here I was, trying to be nice for once!”
“No! Johnny, come back, I was joking,” he playfully pleaded, now left without the guitarists body heat Morrissey realised how much colder it had gotten. What time was it now again? There was a pause and Morrissey continued, “try calling me pretty again, I might just believe you this time.”
He finally got Johnny to turn back to him and the guitarist brushed his fingers through Morrissey’s hair.
“Your so pretty, Moz,” he said, “so very, very pretty.” Johnny wish he could describe how pretty the singer really was to him, but he simply lacked the words to. And all his drunk brain could think of at the time was to repeat the word “very” until he couldn’t anymore.
“Why thank you,” Morrissey smiled at him, but was interrupted by a yawn. “I think we should head inside or else I’ll fall asleep out here,” he spoke as he slowly stood up.
“Oh, alright,” Johnny took the others mans outstretched hand to help pull himself up as well, stumbling slightly.
Morrissey led them both inside, quickly remembering to grab his notebook of the coffee table which he’d placed it on earlier. He tucked it back safely in his suitcase as Johnny closed and locked the balcony doors.
“I’m taking the bathroom,” the singer said. Johnny clicked on the bedside lamps, since the big light was just too bright now their eyes were used to the darkness.
The bathroom door opened again and there was Morrissey holding a glass of water, now shirtless instead, sporting only some striped pyjama pants. The shorter man had already changed into a random t-shirt and a new pair of underwear. Now laying horizontally across his bed staring blankly at the ceiling.
The singer rubbed at his eyes. “Aren’t you gonna brush your teeth?” he asked.
“No. I feel dizzy. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“… Okay, well drink this before you fall asleep at least,” Morrissey told him, placing the glass on Johnny’s bedside table before getting under his own duvet. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, love.” The clock on the wall read half past 4 AM when both desk lights were finally turned off.