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Morrissey shut the hotel room door behind them and sighed, shoulders dropping in relief. Johnny set down their shared bag on the bed, unzipped it, and pulled out his pyjamas. He glanced back at Morrissey, still standing facing the door.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Johnny announced meaningfully. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Come with?”
Morrissey didn’t say anything, but when he turned around he had a small smile on his face. He nodded.
“You’re so beautiful,” Johnny murmured once they were standing together under the warm water. Morrissey shook his head and shifted so their lips would meet again. He brought his hands up to cup Johnny’s face.
“I want to wash your hair,” Johnny said after they broke apart, and pumped some soap into the palm of his hand. “Turn around.” He started to lather Morrissey’s hair, fingers working to gently untangle the strands and wash away the day’s grime.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Johnny said again. Morrissey shivered and shook his head a second time.
“No,” he responded, voice deep and smooth and startling, the first time Johnny had heard it since they were on stage together earlier that evening. Johnny grabbed Morrissey’s hand and led him backwards into the stream of water.
“Yes,” Johnny answered back, pushing himself up on the tips of his toes to kiss the nape of Morrissey’s neck. Johnny could tell that he was smiling without seeing his face or even hearing his voice again.
“You’re too nice to me,” Morrissey sighed, turning back to face Johnny. His expression was warm and soft around the edges, water hanging from his eyelashes like dew. Johnny wrapped his arms around his shoulders and rested his head on Morrissey’s chest.
“Impossible,” Johnny muttered petulantly. Morrissey snorted and placed his chin on Johnny’s head and then put his lips to the top of Johnny’s wet, dark hair, closing his eyes contentedly.
They were in bed a half-hour later, Morrissey running his fingers through Johnny’s damp hair while the latter lay with his eyes closed and his hands trailing up and down the former’s side. Morrissey thought that if he tried hard enough he could practically count the eyelashes that stood stark against the pale white skin of Johnny’s cheek, contacts and spectacles both eschewed. He tilted his head forwards and pressed his lips to Johnny’s, timid and soft. Johnny made a quiet sound of surprise, and Morrissey smiled into the kiss.
“You’re adorable,” Morrissey murmured, barely a centimeter from Johnny’s mouth. The corners of his eyes were crinkled and Johnny sighed fondly, scooting his body closer to Morrissey’s. He tucked his head under Morrissey’s chin.
Johnny looked out the window. It was dark, the only light entering the room that of a moon far from full. Even the city below seemed quiet and reflective; suddenly, Johnny was as well.
“I love you,” Johnny said.
“I love you too,” Morrissey responded, noting the change in demeanor.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny said.
“For what?”
“Just am.”
“Why are you sorry?” Morrissey asked, concerned, pulling away and tilting Johnny’s chin up so he could look him in the eyes. It was delicate and heartbreaking.
“This… isn’t real,” Johnny breathed.
“What do you mean?” Morrissey asked. He was just as quiet.
“I have a wife. The only time we can be like this is in the dark.”
“It doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Johnny wanted to look away, their eye contact tangible and too intense. He wanted to look away. He couldn’t look away.
“We could run away together,” Morrissey continued, knowing it was stupid.
“No, we can’t.”
“I know,” Morrissey said, sighing. Johnny moved back under Morrissey’s chin.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny repeated.
“It’s okay,” Morrissey told him. He wondered whether it was a lie or not.
“You know we can’t be together,” Johnny said.
“I’d rather have this than nothing.”
“I wish you could have everything,” Johnny said.
“I can’t do that to you, or Angie.”
“I love you,” Johnny said.
“I love you too.”
“I’ll always love you.”
A pause.
“I’ll always love you, too.”