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Toronto isn’t exactly the place for lonely men. Fortunately, David could never get bored of Mick, and Mick the same. They’ve been attached at the hip for so long one could say they were born from the same flame. Cut from the same cloth. It would probably be made of polyester or something else synthetic.
“Don’t be afraid, boys—it’s just for a week. You’ll be back with the others before you know it.” Simon never liked acknowledging that the band were well past their teenage years now, meaning they were one foot in the grave already. Mick grimaced at his unheeded comment. He could just about make out David’s reaction too—his hair is like one long, golden mask hiding the answer to Mick’s woes. Or, maybe not. Maybe David is afraid. But he notices a smidge of a smile. Mick will snatch that and make it his thing for the night.
They depart from the plane and bask in the cool breeze embracing their bodies, the navy sky welcoming them into the night. It’s gonna be a long one. Nona Hendryx gave Mick and David a call, requesting they meet over dinner sometime. Of course, David jumped to accept. Mick had a wave of something indiscernible overcome him witnessing that. Well, not indiscernible. To be truthfully honest, it was a lick of jealousy. Inadequacy even.
“You seem eager to meet her. Am I not enough for you?” Obviously, Mick was just joking around, for 90% of it anyway—but David could tell something bitter lay inside like some rotten egg. It’s completely understandable, I mean, they’ve been nothing without each other for so long, how could one of them go and venture out into the real world?
Look, Mick could cope, as long as Nona had no intentions to steal David away from Mick. It’s not like he would ever go and do the same—it’s just not in him. It’s all about protecting David, keeping him safe from harm, that’s all.
Walking past the terminal into the busy streets of Toronto brought about a sense of rejuvination in David. Something about a new place making you a new person. A flame that blew out has been relit again. The candle wax can wane once again.
Simon leaves the duo to their devices. God knows what he could be up to but Mick and David want none of it. “Alright, our room is 222. Huh, nice number,” David quipped. The hotel was atypically lavish—perhaps Simon was willing to splurge on certain members in the band. Mick decided to ignore that thought. Gross—like the chandeliers that could devastate buildings if they were dropped from a great height.
Room 222 meant they would have to take the stairs—this became an argument like every other conversation they have.
“Taking the elevator is the only logical option, no? Our bags are too big to be carried up the stairs and it’s just easier on us.”
“But the stairs is safer! The elevator could stop or even worse, we could fall to our death and die, y’know?”
“…Say that again-”
“No, no. I know what I said. I stand by it, too. We'll die twice.”
“Of course you do…” David rolled his eyes all the way back to the prehistoric era. Mick knew he wasn’t winning this arms race. So, he let David grab onto his arm and drag him over to the elevator, where he will be trialed on his skills of trying not to hurl at the force of the metal contraption carrying them up one entire floor.
It’s unusual for Mick and David to share a room abroad. It feels like old time’s sake, when Mick would stay over at David’s for the weekend to try and avoid his mother’s antics. He takes a minute to compose himself—the elevator ride consisted of a queue of heavy breaths and not for pleasurable reasons.
Mick wonders what would happen if David were to try and bring Nona home—would he just leave Mick to go back to the hotel by himself? Or, worse, would he banish him to the doorways to lay there and lament his own grievances?
He shakes away the thoughts.
“See how much more efficient that was? We’d still be trying to drag our suitcases up if we stuck with the stairs.” David scoffs as he chucks his case down onto the bed, opening it to reveal an assemblage of suits and ties. Mick didn’t even think of bringing formal wear. It’s not like promoting the band is a business affair, after all. The things David would do to impress others—though Mick can’t say he wouldn’t do the same. He takes out a red suit.
The night is still young, like them—the moon a watchful eye as it overlooks the duo. Tonight it’s a blood moon. They head to the restaurant where Nona wished for them to meet. David looked at the menu—“I think I’ll just have a drink, I don’t even really eat meals at this time of night.”
“Wh- Well then what is the point of meeting up at a restaurant?” Mick found David’s proposal to be quite absurd and near obscene. “You have to eat something, David.” Here comes the caring man.
“There is nothing on that menu I can fathom eating.” At this point Mick is completely distraught and prepared to do something drastic… and simply hurt at how simple it could be to just not eat. He packs that thought into one of several binders in his thought stream.
They finally find Nona, contemplative in solitude as she awaits for them. When she takes note of their arrival her face lights up with the rays of a newborn sun. David is compelled to smile back—Mick observes the creases that appear, counting them one by one. What a beautiful sight to behold.
They take their seats. The dinner itself is straightforward. It starts how it always starts—a waitress showing up to take their order. She starts with Nona, then Mick, then David, who just has to be that little bit different. “Just a water will be fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You’re going to be starving by the end of it.” Mick cares too much, at least that’s what David says in his face. He holds his tongue after that.
…In fact, Mick holds his tongue for most of the night. He couldn’t get a word in between the ones that were traded between David and Nona, which was a nuisance because it concerned art and sculpture—topics that Mick could show off entirely and impress…who knows. Beads of sweat drip off of David—Mick’s unable to decipher whether it’s out of nerves or because he isn’t able to acclimatise to the heat in this restaurant. God help him if he had to spend a summer over in Cyprus. Or, rather, God help Mick.
Starters, or as they call it, ‘appetizers’, come. Break time from all the chatter. David eyes up Mick’s platter.
“Hey now, you had your chance! Keep your eyes to your measly water.”
“…I may go to the bar while you two eat, then.”
Oh no. David’s gonna drink on an empty stomach. Mick should probably intervene- oh, he’s up and left before he could even budge.
Fortunately, Nona took the opportunity to distract Mick from his worries while David seemingly teleported to the bar. A pleasant conversation transpired where Mick was able to talk about his recent journey in the world of sculpture.
“You know, it would be nice if one day I could make a big career out of it, you know, get an exhibition out of it. I don’t think it’ll happen though.”
“And why not?”
“There’s like… way more talented sculptors out there who deserve to have their art displayed before me. And, I’ve got the band anyway.”
“I mean, it’s never a bad venture to get into! The band won’t be forever, Mick. Just think about it. You’ve got your whole future to look forward to, why cut it so short?”
Mick just left his mouth open, having gone through an entire existential crisis in three seconds. Why did he always finish things off before they could even start? Nona was right—he has his whole life waiting for him.
David comes back and is quick to mention it. “Mick, you’ll catch flies,” as he caresses his chin and brings it back up. A shiver creeps down Mick’s spine. So much was happening to him in such a short period, it felt uncanny. Alas, the night went ahead… mostly smoothly.
Dinner arrives, and so does David’s fourth wine. Red. Mick knows he can’t handle all of that, he’s going to drop dead right there. So, he betrays himself. “Do you want some of this?” Mick gestures to his plate. David responds with a grimace, then a reluctant nod. Such a diva.
Mick cuts up his slate of beef, puncturing it with his fork to feed David. It’s not unusual that they do this sort of thing in public, but Nona seemed a bit perturbed at the situation unfolding in front of her. David takes it like a man, nearly crying at the meat dissolving in his tongue. Yeah, he’s definitely had one two many drinks, Mick thinks.
That’s the last time either acknowledge his presence, soon heading back to their own little world while Mick focuses on his meal. He’s used to feeling like paint on the wall, so this could really just be another Friday evening. Celebrations are in order.
The waitress shows up to ask how the trio are getting on. It leads into a conversation about her and Mick’s favourite recent album releases, not mentioning his own. Mick wants it to have meant something but he really won’t be able to remember much of what she said in a few hours. It’s all just about fizzing out of the scene happening in front of him.
The waitress gives a concerned look to the side, and that’s when Mick realises that David has indeed collapsed onto the table, fully unconscious. It would be endearing if they weren’t in public. Weird how Mick has certain standards for how they should both behave around other people. Weird how Mick takes responsibility for anything David does as an individual.
“I’m awful sorry about him, he’s not one for having high tolerance.”
“I mean, it ain’t your fault.”
“…You aren’t wrong there…”
Mick and Nona continue with their earlier conversation and allow David to count sheep and have bad dreams.
The night begins to fall into silence and with that, Mick and Nona make promises to see each other often throughout the week, as well as David, in spirit.
As she takes her leave, Mick prods at David, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair. “Hey, get up. You’ll have the staff throwing you out on the streets.”
David squirms until he can truly get a hold of himself and where he is—he shoots his eyes open with the realisation. “Oh my God, is Nona still here?” He springs up, ready to chase after Nona lest she be wholly departed from him forever.
“She’s gone, David. But, we’ve made plans to have dinner together again, hopefully every night this week.”
A sigh of relief escapes David. “That’s brilliant. H-how long was I asleep for?”
“Oh, only about… ten minutes.” Mick may as well soften the blow. In fact, it was closer to an hour. A little white lie couldn’t hurt sometimes.
“Ah, I feel awful, letting her see me like that… I was so nervous, Mick. I mean, just look how much I drank.” It was almost comical the amount of glasses decorating the table.
Mick did feel bad, to an extent. David could have been more responsible. He can’t say he isn’t a kettle calling the pot black though. They need each other here. Maybe the world is out there, but not yet. No, right now, the world is staggering in front of Mick. So, he wraps han arm around David’s middle, bringing his arm around his shoulder and takes him home.
David puts his head on Mick’s shoulder. He tries not to think about it too much. There’s not that much of a height difference… it’s almost a perfect fit. Yeah, they’re like a jigsaw. David’s head slotted next to Mick’s neck. No, he isn’t thinking about it in any way at all.
The streets of Toronto are quieting down, presenting Mick with a scene of pure nothingness. Black void with hints of red, amber and green but mostly red. It’s ultimately peaceful. Until the rain comes and wets his shoulder in particular.
They come to a halt. “Are you alright? Why are you crying?”
David just shoves his head even further into Mick’s chest until he chokes at the pressure. His hair is an ocean, swarming him in warm water like those evenings back with his relatives in Cyprus. He’s pinned back to the wall. Any passerbys would probably sneer at the sight—Mick can hear the comments now, about needing to get a room or how ignorant they are of others’ comfort. More than likely the usual slurs being hurled at them too. Oh, it’s just like the old days back in Catford. Just dreadful.
“Mick… I’m lost.” David doesn’t stop sniffing, it’s actually a little gross at this point, but Mick still can’t help but sympathise with his sobs. He, too, would sob with him once. It was how they bonded.
“David… I’m lost too... I don’t know how to get back to the hotel from here.” He thought making a joke at this time could coax even a giggle out of David. Nope. It just makes everything worse. Mick always just makes everything worse.
“That’s not funnyyyyy…” The slurring is pathetic. “I-I’m just useless. I don’t have anything going on for me. What is the fucking point of it all? I’m doing nothing in my life.”
Is he…serious? Mick chuffs to himself. So much for being the lead singer of a band. It’s not like they’re rockstars—but they're trying to follow their dreams. Is that so bad?
He tries to show David the point of it—he rolls his fingers in David’s hair. It is… really soft. Mick’s perplexed at the texture—Just what shampoo is he using? Maybe it’s Head and Shoulders. He would be more compelled to ask him if he wasn’t a puddle at the moment. He plays with his hair, fingers sliding down incomprehensible places. He must be doing something right, because he feels a smile appear under his jawline. He dreams of that smile peppering his neck in red kisses all the way until they make it to New York. Simon will kill them. Steve, Rich and Rob will probably have questions that won’t get answered.
“I’m here. We’re here. Together. Just- come home, Dave. Come back to the hotel with me. And I promise you, I’m not going away, even if you try to make me.”
“…Mick…” David takes his head off of Mick, him immediately missing the feel of being pressed down. He wants to grab onto his tie and pull him back down to earth. But he could never miss that face. The one drenched in tears and a grin that alone could light up the street for days. It all looks so… wrong.
Wrong. David hardly ever cries. Yeah, he’s sensitive and blushes and gets frustrated easily at miniscule things but that all makes sense to Mick. It looks like David just had his own existential crisis and reached an epiphany—that, Mick can be trusted on. Heed his words:
“I’m not sure if I can believe you.”