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Dan and Phil are going to have an bodyguard for the American leg of the tour. An actual bodyguard, like the kind that protects celebrities from rabid fans and crazy stalkers.
"It's a different audience," management tells them, by way of explanation. Dan is pretty sure that this is bullshit, because he's met American viewers before and they always seem exactly like the British ones, but what does he know? Management assures them that the bodyguard is very professional and reliable, with lots of experience touring alongside singers and stuff. And apparently he's going to go everywhere with them, which sounds like hell, but they're told that it's a "necessary precaution."
Dan is half prepared to dislike the guy.
*
They meet the bodyguard a few days before the first show. He's taller than both of them. Quite a bit taller. Quite a bit bigger all around, actually. Which makes sense, Dan supposes, since he's supposed to be protecting them or whatever.
Management introduces him as 'James Thompson'. They all shake hands.
"Hey," Dan says, raising a few fingers in greeting. "I'm Dan."
"And I'm Phil," Phil adds. "It's really nice to meet you." They have their introductions routine down pat. And no matter how many times they go through it, Phil always manages to make the "nice to meet you" part sound genuine. It's almost miraculous.
"Yeah, it's good to meet you guys too," the bodyguard replies, nodding at each of them.
Dan can feel the conversation lapsing into awkwardness, and starts to panic. "So what should we call you?" he blurts out idiotically. "…I mean, like, is James okay, or is it, like, Jimmy or something? Or Mr. Thompson?"
The bodyguard bursts out laughing. "You can call me whatever you want, man."
"Sorry," Dan says. "I just didn't know what the rules were for bodyguards."
"No, no, it's cool," says the bodyguard with a shrug. "Just James is fine. If you can't think of anything better to call me." He winks.
James has a ring on his right hand. He seems like a cool guy. Dan decides he likes him after all.
*
The tour starts, and as it turns out, they don't really call him much of anything. In fact, for the first few days, they don't really talk to him at all, because they're always either too exhausted or too stressed out or too anti-social. Sure, they say hi in the morning and thank you at night and sometimes they tell him where to stand during meet and greets, but that's about it.
It isn't until after the third or fourth show that they have their first real conversation with him. James is the one who initiates it. They're all in the car, leaving the venue, when suddenly he glances over his shoulder and says, "Hey, you know your people talk about me on Twitter?"
It takes Dan a second to realize he's actually talking to them. "'Our people'?" he repeats, confused.
James shrugs a shoulder, positioning his sun visor so they can see his eyes in the mirror. "You know, your fans. On Twitter."
"Wait, you're reading what they say?" Phil asks, and Dan is pretty sure he detects a note of panic in his voice.
"Yeah, of course, why not?" James says. "They're funny. They notice me in the background of your pictures and call me 'Drake'. They think I look like him."
"Oh. Er… Sorry, is that— is that, like, offensive?" Phil asks. "We could say something, maybe, if we ever do a liveshow..."
"No, man, it's great," James assures them. "I love it. Kinda makes me wish my name was Drake, actually. I mean let's be honest. Do I really look like a 'James' to you?" He raises his eyebrows.
"Not really," Dan admits.
"We could start calling you Drake, if…if you really wanted us to," Phil says hesitantly, like he's not sure if James is joking or not.
James laughs. "I told you, man. You can call me whatever. I'm cool with anything."
*
They start calling him Drake. At first it's just a joke, but somehow it sticks, and within a day or two it doesn't even feel like a nickname anymore. As far as Dan and Phil are concerned, they have a bodyguard named Drake, and that's that.
But they still don't talk to him much. He jokes around with them sometimes, before meet and greets. They learn he's from Oakland, California, and he promises to give them a tour when they do their show there. When Phil gets sick they send him to buy medicine for them. But mainly, he does his job, and they do theirs. If they have free time, he hangs out with the crew or the merch team, and Dan and Phil hang out by themselves.
Until one night, about a week into the tour, when Drake announces he wants a milkshake. "A mint and chip one," he specifies.
They've just finished a show, it's nearly 10 PM, and they're in the car, heading to some hotel. Dan is so tired it feels like he's only half-conscious. Phil is slumped against the window, and probably actually is only half-conscious. Well, half-asleep, at least.
"You boys should come too," Drake goes on. "It's about time you had a real American milkshake, right? How's that sound?"
Neither Dan nor Phil says anything in reply, which Drake seems to take as acquiescence. "Cool. There's a diner nearby," he says. "According to Yelp they have good milkshakes, and good burgers and stuff too."
Phil pulls away from the window and shoots Dan a pathetic glance. Dan just shrugs back, a bit guiltily. He probably should have spoken up and told Drake that no, they didn't want fucking milkshakes, because Phil had only just gotten over a cold, and they were both tried, and they had another two shows the next day…
But Drake is already giving the diner's address to the driver, and at this point it seems easier to just go with the flow. Dan has always been like this, has always hated confrontation. He squeezes Phil's knee. "Milkshakes are good, right?" he says quietly, reassuringly.
"Yeah, they are," Phil sighs, leaning a bit closer to Dan.
In the front seat, Drake clears his throat. "Don't worry, guys, I know you're both tired," he says. "This won't take too long, just dinner and a milkshake. We'll be back at the hotel before 11, all right?"
"Okay, yeah, that's good," Dan says gratefully. He catches Drake's eye for a split second in the visor mirror, then glances away. Apparently he looks more miserable than he feels, because Drake half-turns around in his seat and says, more seriously, "Look, if you guys really aren't up for it right now, we can go another time. It's totally cool."
But just then Phil sits up a bit straighter and shakes his head. "No, we should go," he says decisively, "Me and Dan are always up for milkshakes in American diners."
"I feel you, man," says Drake. "Me too."
*
The diner is a vegan diner.
Apparently, Drake is vegan. Who knew.
"I tried being vegan once," Dan admits, once they're seated in their booths and the waitress has taken their drink orders. It's a nice place, for a diner. There are flowers on the table and the booths are glossy pink plastic, embedded with pink glitter. "But I kind of failed after three days."
Drake shrugs. "It's not for everyone, I guess."
"No, it was fine," Dan says quickly. "I mean, I'm not, like, against it or anything. But I just... I went to this YouTube event, 'cause we make YouTube videos, you know?"
Drake nods. "Yeah, I know that," he says, sounding somewhat amused.
"Oh. Right. Well, anyway, and they had these cupcakes, at the event. And Phil convinced me to have one. Very evil, just like that snake in the Bible. Sorry," he adds. "Are you religious?"
"Nah, it's cool," says Drake. "And yeah man, I feel that. Cupcakes are hella good."
There is a moment of silence.
Then: "My cousin's vegan," Dan offers.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, he's really into it. He's eighteen."
Drake nods. "That's cool. It's cool when young people are passionate about stuff."
"I guess so. I told him about the cupcake thing and he was like... really judgmental about it. He said I was stupid and there are plenty of vegan cupcakes in the world."
"Well, that's true," Drake muses. "My girlfriend makes goddamn amazing vegan cupcakes. But I don't think there's much point in judging anyone over something like that. I tried the vegan thing three times before it stuck, and I was vegetarian before that."
Dan nods, strangely comforted by this admission, even though he doesn't really intend to try going vegan again any time soon.
"No one in my family is vegan," Phil announces out of the blue. "But I like vegan people."
Drake smiles. "That's good to hear, man. But you know, we can talk about things other than being vegan."
"Sorry," Dan and Phil say at the same time.
"It's cool," says Drake.
After that, no one speaks for a minute or two. Somehow it doesn't feel awkward though. They're all looking at their menus, and the diner is pleasantly full: There are enough people scattered throughout the place that it doesn't feel oppressively empty, but not so crowded that the ambient noise level ever gets higher than a gentle hum. It's actually kind of nice, sitting there under the fluorescent lights of the diner, perusing vegan meal options.
Dan eventually flips over the menu to see the milkshake selection, which turns out to be way more extensive than he'd expected. There's cookie dough, carrot cake, peanut butter, vanilla chai…
"How do they make vegan milkshakes, anyway?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence. Phil and Drake both look up from their menus, and Dan immediately regrets the question. "Sorry," he says. "Should I not ask about vegan stuff? Or like, should we talk about something else? We can just… sorry."
"No, man, it's fine," Drake says, smiling. "Ask all you want." He shrugs. "Basically, they just use dairy-free ice cream."
"Do they use almond milk or something?" Phil asks, sounding for all the world like a child trying to impress his parents with a new fact he learned. Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes.
Drake nods, looking somewhat impressed. "Yeah, or soy. Or coconut."
"I don't like milk," Phil says abruptly. "Well, not normal milk. I mean, I do like it, but—"
"He's lactose intolerant," Dan clarifies.
"Yeah. Like, I can have a little bit of milk, but if I have loads, it upsets my stomach."
"He still eats pizza and stuff though."
"One time I actually made a video about it," Phil says, "where I tried different kinds of milk. Almond was okay. One of them was awful," he adds, nudging Dan, "which one was it?"
"Goat," Dan supplies, keeping an eye on Drake for any signs that he thinks they're being really fucking weird. He's aware that neither he nor Phil generally functions very well in situations like this, where it's the two of them plus a stranger in a somewhat intimate setting and they're forced to make conversation. It's much better at party or something, where they can just ignore everyone else and talk to each other the whole time.
Luckily Drake is nodding along, as though he's genuinely invested in Phil's milk preferences.
"Oh yeah, goat, that's right!" Phil exclaims. "I hated the goat milk! It tasted like goats. I mean, maybe that's obvious, but I really didn't expect it to taste that way. Like, cow's milk doesn't taste like cows; it just tastes like..." Phil breaks off suddenly. "Sorry. This is probably way more than you ever wanted to hear about milk."
"No, it's cool," Drake says with a shrug. By some miracle, he still doesn't seem weirded-out. "I like soy milk, myself. But almond is nice. I've never had goat milk."
"I wonder if you can drink other animal milks," Dan muses, more to keep the conversation going than because he actually cares.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure you can," says Drake. "I know people drink sheep milk, at least. Probably other kinds too."
"Did you know hippo milk is pink?" Phil offers. "I wonder if that's drinkable."
"I bet it is," says Drake. "I bet it tastes like strawberries."
"I bet it tastes like hippo," says Phil.
Dan rolls his eyes. "You're both crazy," he says, but he laughs in spite of himself.
*
When the waitress comes to take their orders, Dan asks for macaroni and cheese. He misses it, and he figures that since it isn't going to be real cheese this time, he won't feel bad eating it in front of Phil. As for Phil and Drake, they each get some kind of sandwich-and-chips combo.
They order their milkshakes too, because why not? Chocolate chip cookie dough for Dan, chocolate peanut butter for Phil, and mint chocolate chip for Drake.
"You guys call French fries something funny, right? Like crisps or something?" Drake asks, after the waitress has gathered up the menus and left.
"Chips," Phil corrects him. "And then what you call chips are what we call crisps."
Drake shakes his head wonderingly. "Doesn't it get confusing? All the different words?"
"Not really. Well… sometimes," Phil admits, catching Dan's eye and smirking. "When Dan calls his trousers 'pants,' then it gets confusing."
"Why's that?"
Dan cuts in. "Because for us 'pants' generally means underwear. For American 'pants', we say 'trousers'."
"Except Dan's very inconsistent, so I never know which one he's talking about."
"International audiences, you know? It's complicated."
Soon their food and milkshakes arrive, and they dig in. Dan likes his mac and cheese. He doesn't think it tastes quite like other mac and cheese he's had, but he's not sure if that's because it's vegan, or because he's simply forgotten what mac and cheese tastes like in the two years since he last had any. Either way, it's still good. The milkshake is good too. Really good. He'd never guess it was made with soy milk or coconut milk or whatever.
"It's always nice to eat milkshakes with my meal," Phil comments, digging his spoon into the chocolatey concoction before him. "I remember once when I was little, I went out to dinner with my family to some restaurant where they had milkshakes, and my dad was just eating his milkshake along with his normal food, but my mum made me and my brother wait to have ours until we'd finished the rest of our dinners. Ever since then I've always thought of it as like, a rite of passage or something, to be able to eat dessert whenever I want, you know?"
Drake laughs. "You're a real man now, Phil."
It's weird to hear him drop Phil's name like that, like they're friends or something, but kind of nice too. Maybe they are friends, in a way.
They keep eating, and chatting, and the time passes quickly. Drake talks about his nephew and his girlfriend and other tours he's been on. Dan and Phil ramble about England and YouTube and how one day they want to get a dog. At some point Drake casually informs them that he's watched most of their really early videos, and Dan nearly chokes on macaroni.
Eventually they're finishing off the last of their food and and slurping up the last of their milkshakes. Dan wipes his mouth on a napkin and sits back in the booth. "That was great," he says sincerely.
"It really was," says Phil. "That was probably one of the best milkshakes I've ever had."
"Cool, man." Drake downs the rest of his mint milkshake and sighs contently. "You know, I've done security for a lot of other celebrities, and… you two have got good heads on your shoulders."
"Yeah, but we're not, like, real celebrities," Phil points out.
Drake shrugs. "Well, I'm a celebrity bodyguard, so you're celebrities in my book. It's not a bad thing."
"No, I guess not," says Dan. "But still... like, I'm okay being 'famous' or whatever, but— it just feels wrong to say I'm a celebrity. Like Kanye West or something, he's a celebrity. We're just, like, some guys who decided to make videos in our bedrooms, you know what I mean?"
Drake raises his eyebrows. "Maybe that's how you started. But c'mon man, the tour, the crowds— you guys live for this stuff."
Dan frowns. "It's not—"
"And don't you try to act all modest," Drake goes on, "I've seen how you wave to the crowd while I'm trying to get you into that damn car." He winks.
Phil snickers.
"Shut up," Dan says in as stern a voice as he can manage, glancing between them. "It's fun, okay?"
"You see!" Drake laughs, "You like it! You like the celebrity life."
Dan just huffs and leans back against the booth, arms crossed. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Phil glance at him, then turn back to Drake.
"Yeah," Phil says slowly, "I mean, you're right, parts of it are nice." He slides his hand behind Dan's back and gives his shoulder-blade a small squeeze before continuing. "It's just that we also like sitting at home by ourselves just watching movies together and stuff, you know? Honestly… I think we're both kind of afraid we're going to die of exhaustion before this tour is over," he adds with a small laugh. But Dan knows he isn't quite joking, because earlier today he'd basically told Phil exactly that.
Drake nods contemplatively. "I feel that, man," he says. "Tours are rough. Especially with a schedule like yours. You guys are hella ambitious."
"Or stupid," Dan mutters.
"Hey," says Drake. "You aren't stupid, neither of you. You're gonna be fine, okay?" He regards each of them for a few moments, then turns and unzips his backpack. "Actually," he goes on, beginning to rummage around inside the backpack, "I— I kinda got something for you. It's… somewhere… Aha!" He pulls out a plastic bag and sets it down triumphantly in the middle of the table.
"Is it, like, a present?" Dan asks, reaching out gingerly toward the bag.
"Kind of," Drake says. He chuckles. "I mean, it's not a bouquet of roses or anything, but— Just look inside."
Dan drags the bag to the edge of the table and opens it wider, so that he and Phil can see the contents. Inside are two packages of bright-pink earplugs, two containers of hand-sanitizer, and two bottles of what looks like medicine.
"Erm, thanks?" says Phil, still staring into the bag.
Dan pulls out one of the bottles and turns it so he can read the label. It's vitamin C.
Drake laughs. "You guys don't have to look so confused. It's some stuff I picked up at Walgreens, that's all. You know man, I just watch you two hugging all those people, and touching all those phones, and..." He trails off and shrugs. "I don't want you catching the flu or something. So I thought I'd get you some hand sanitizer. And some vitamin C. It helps the immune system, you know?"
"Yeah, my mum's always telling me I should take it," Phil says.
"Your mom's right, man. They're good for you," Drake tells him. Then he turns to Dan. "And I got one bottle of the chewable kind, 'cause back when Phil had that cold medicine I heard you saying how you hate swallowing pills or something?"
"Oh," says Dan. The truth is, he kind of does hate swallowing them, but he's gotten better at it recently. At least, he no longer needs to eat a bite of food with every single pill in order to get it down. And he hasn't had chewable anything since he was like fifteen and his mum told him he was too old for that. "It's okay," he says stiffly. "I can actually swallow pills fine."
Drake gives a sort of half nod. "Well, the other bottle is the normal kind. You still might like the chewable ones, though," he adds. "You could give 'em a try,"
"Yeah, maybe."
"There's also some earplugs," Drake says, and right on cue, Phil pulls one of the earplug packages out of the bag. "I know I'm always losing earplugs, so I thought, you know, in case you guys were running low or something…"
"They're very… pink," Phil says.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Is that cool with you guys? Not a real manly color, I guess, but it was the only kind they had, so…"
"Pink is fine," says Dan, a bit defensively, avoiding Phil's eye. "I like pink."
"All right, cool then. Well, I hope you guys like all the stuff," Drake concludes, apparently unfazed by Dan's tone.
"Yeah, yeah, thank you so much," Phil says quickly. "I mean, I've already been sick once on this tour; I should probably be, like, bathing in hand sanitizer at this point."
Dan laughs. "We all should be, I'd say." He fiddles with his milkshake straw for a few moments before saying, a bit more quietly, "Thanks, Drake. This stuff is great. Seriously."
"No problem," Drake says with a shrug. "I'll call the driver and let him know he can start heading over to pick us up."
*
Drake pays the bill for the meal.
Which is ridiculous, and Dan and Phil argue with him about it for a good five minutes, but Drake is very stubborn and like twice as big as either of them, so in the end he gets his way.
*
They pull up outside the hotel at 10:53 PM.
"Hey, wait, guys?" Drake says, just as the driver is bringing the car to a stop by the curb, before they've even had a chance to unbuckle their seat belts. "I wanted to mention something real quick."
"Sure, what's up?" says Phil.
Drake clears his throat. "Um, I talked to a girl today. Before the show started." He turns his head slightly toward them. "You know, kind of by the back door?"
"Yeah."
"Well, she said she didn't have VIP tickets or anything, but she asked if I knew you guys, and I said yeah, and then she, uh… she asked if I could tell you that apparently you really helped her through some stuff. Sounds like she's had it kind of rough in life or something, you know? But she really wanted you guys to know that you made things better for her."
"Wow. Yeah," Phil says softly after a moment, slipping his hand into Dan's. "Thanks. Thanks for telling us. That's, erm. That's really nice. To hear."
"It kinda made me choke up, actually," Drake volunteers. "I wish you'd been able to meet her, but you know. It is what it is."
And suddenly, Dan feels tears stinging his eyes, and all he can think of is how grateful he is that Drake chose to tell them this story in the car, because he doesn't think he would have been able to handle it if he'd started crying right in the middle of that diner, lit up by all those fluorescent lights. He laces his fingers between Phil's and wipes his cheeks with his free hand and just marvels at how even after all these years he could still get so fucking emotional about this stuff sometimes.
It feels like such an overreaction to cry at some random story from some random girl he didn't even meet, especially when they've heard so many similar stories before, but it's late, and he's tired, and they're thousands of miles from home, so maybe it's okay. He doesn't get like this usually. Usually when people tell them stories about what a positive influence they've been, it's easy enough to smile gently and say how much it means to hear that, then part ways and go on with life as normal. But then other times, like now, he'll read a Tumblr anon, or see a tweet, or remember something someone said that day, and he'll just fucking break down in tears over it. Because he's not a celebrity, no matter what Drake says. He's not a role model, he's not an inspiration, he doesn't have his life figured out. Somewhere inside him he's still a miserable 16-year-old and a confused 19-year-old and a scared 21-year-old and—
"Anyway," Drake says, bringing Dan back to reality. "You guys should be proud, you know? For changing people's lives like that. I just… thought you guys deserved to have a milkshake, is all."
*
*
Their alarm goes off at 5:30 AM the next morning. Groggily, Dan and Phil get dressed and pack up their toothbrushes and yesterday's clothes and whatever else they took out of their bags after arriving at the hotel room last night. Dan pops one of the chewable vitamin C capsules in his mouth before shoving the Walgreens bag into his backpack. Within fifteen minutes, he and Phil are trundling out of the hotel, still a bit bleary-eyed.
The tour bus is waiting for them by the curb, and there's Drake standing beside it, gazing off into the distance.
"Morning," says Dan, when they reach him.
"Hey, yeah, good morning," Drake says, without looking at them. "Pretty sunrise, huh?"
"Oh. Yeah, it is," Phil says, glancing over at the lightening portion of the sky.
"Yeah, it's nice," Dan agrees. "It's pink." And it is. Well, the sky itself is mostly bluish-purple, but there's a dark pink haze by the horizon, and the bottoms of the clouds are kind of a soft pink color.
"It is pink," Drake concurs. Then he chuckles and says, "I swear to god, you know what the first thing I thought of when I saw it was? Goddamn pink hippo milk."
They all laugh, and Dan looks over at Drake for a second, then turns back to the clouds. "Speaking of that," he says, "thanks again. For last night. The milkshake and stuff. It was fun."
"Yeah," Phil echoes. "And thanks again for the vitamins and hand sanitizer."
"And the pink earplugs."
Drake brushes aside their thanks with a wave of his hand. "It's no problem guys. Really."
They stand there in silence for a minute or so, just staring at the clouds as they turn steadily pinker and pinker above the horizon.
"You know, pink is my favorite color," Dan announces suddenly.
He can kind of feel Drake and Phil both look over at him, but he keeps his eyes trained on the sunrise.
"Well, it's a good color," Drake says after a moment. "A really good color." Then: "What kind of pink? Like those clouds?"
Dan contemplates the clouds, now bubblegum pink against the lavender sky. "No," he says thoughtfully. "Brighter."
Drake snorts. "Like those damn earplugs?"
"No. Different. Not that kind of bright. With more red, or something."
The words have barely left his mouth when suddenly the sun rises from behind the hills, and in an instant the entire sky transforms into an expanse of brilliant pinkish gold, streaked with clouds that look something like wisps of pink fire.
"Like that?" Drake asks.
"Yeah," Dan breathes.
Like that.
*
The three of them board the tour bus, and it sets off toward the next city. They're heading east, straight into the sunrise.
And for a while, as far as Dan is concerned, the whole world is pink.