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David considered himself an open-minded sort of fellow.
Sure, back when he'd left home for the big city, it had taken a bit for him to wrap his head around all the 'free love' sort of thing going on, but he'd cottoned on fairly quickly. Then in France, well, if he hadn't adjusted to it by then, he certainly had by the time he returned to England.
So, while it didn't come naturally to him, this whole men-with-men and women-with-women and whoever-with-whoever freedom, he didn't have anything against it. And even if he did have something against it, well, in his line of work, one who did would simply have to bite one's tongue. But David didn't feel the need to do that.
Or at least, he hadn't thought he would need to do that, and certainly not because of anything to do with the Pink Floyd. And yet…
Well, he wasn't too surprised, the first time he'd spotted Roger and Syd holding hands. Syd was still on the mend from the hollow-eyed state of mind he'd been in when David had joined the band, and if holding onto another man's hand helped him to claw his way out of that erratic turmoil, well, David would just as happily offer his own. But as David spent more time with the band, as Syd began staying off stage not out of inability to perform but just because he was getting sick of it, he only saw more and more closeness between Syd and Roger. Roger, whom David had only briefly known in Cambridge as an equal parts intimidating and uncool friend-of-a-friend.
Of course, being a friend-of-a-friend meant that David knew Roger mainly through Syd, and thus really only knew the parts of Roger that were related to Syd, but it turned out that was, well, most of Roger. The man was more taken by Syd's charm than anyone else David had met, and that was saying something. Roger had seemingly stayed by Syd's side through his breakdown, even as the other man had practically tried to sabotage his own band- a loyalty that David suspected the prickly bastard wouldn't show for anyone else.
So, no, between Syd's quirkiness and Roger's devotion, their closeness wasn't too much of a surprise- or at least, it wouldn't be, if it had stopped there. But over the months of settling into the band, he slowly realized that there was more to it, though he hadn't been entirely sure what he was realizing at any given moment.
There was the fact that Syd and Roger didn't seem at all interested in picking up groupies even while Rick, Nick, and yes, David himself, wholeheartedly embraced the perks of being in a decently-popular band. The couple of times David had been in Syd and Roger's shared bedroom, Roger's bed had been perfectly made. There had been a few moments where conversation suddenly halted before going down a suggestive route, with an awkward glance or two towards David that clearly signalled there being something they wanted to talk about that wasn't his business.
But it was going on tour where David finally figured it out. They only booked two rooms for the five of them for each stop; the first night, David didn't think twice about it, besides being relieved to room with Rick. But it was the second night, when he'd felt that he was finding his footing with this whole touring business, that he spared a thought for the rest of the band- and it occurred to him that two out of Nick, Syd, and Roger had to be sharing a bed.
At this point, he could've told himself that it was still due to Syd's condition, but he realized how ridiculous that excuse was. It was patently obvious that Syd and Roger were not just shagging but in fact committed to each other.
Fucking hell, he thought to himself, something uncomfortable winding its way through him. Rick and Nick certainly had to know already, so they'd kept this a secret from him for a few months now. And David had been living with Syd, Roger, and Rick for most of that time! So many little things now added up, small touches between the two of them, and the flipside, too: some times when Syd seemed annoyed with Roger in a way that went beyond just friends having an argument.
Did they ever plan on telling him? Did they think he already knew? Had they tried to tell him…? David sat up on his bed- it was getting late, though Rick still wasn't back yet, and he'd yet to turn the lights off- and let out a sigh. He supposed that it wasn't, strictly speaking, his business. It was legal now, so it's not like them shagging was potentially putting suspicion on the rest of the for committing a crime- and besides, the coppers already all knew that they could raid practically any band's hotel room nowadays and find some grass to nail them with.
So it wasn't… a problem. David didn't have to say anything. But he still felt, well- not betrayed… disappointed, maybe? That they hadn't told him, yes, but also…
He'd been doing his best not to let any mental images creep in, but it was an increasingly hopeless battle. He'd seen Syd shirtless before, and Roger's shirts would frequently ride up his impressively long torso, and the thought of the two of them pressed together, skin-to-skin, was now flashing behind David's eyelids with every blink.
The images caused a hole to open up in the bottom of David's gut, and he squeezed his eyes tight to try and shut off his imagination. God, what was wrong with him? He was an open-minded bloke. There really wasn't anything wrong with two blokes going at it.
So why did the thought of Syd and Roger, together, make him feel so awful?
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to banish the images and the feeling. There was no reason for two men being together to hollow out his stomach like this.
David turned over, trying to direct his train of thought towards other topics, but instead he was greeted with a flash of Syd, standing on the tips of his toes, hand on the back of Roger's head to direct his gaze downwards so he could plant a kiss on his lips.
Get a fucking grip, David! he mouthed into his pillow. These were his friends. If anyone were to give them any trouble, David would be first in line to back them up- with fists, if necessary.
The thought then occurred to him of what might happen if he were to slip up and show these feelings of his: of the look on Syd's face if he were to think that David didn't accept him, Roger's anger if he were put on the defensive. He couldn't let that happen.
A memory came to him, of a parable he'd heard as a kid in Church, or maybe just an anecdote that the minister had come up with, he couldn't remember. It was about some powerful man who advocated for accepting refugees into a city- but then had refused the use of his own manor to shelter them. The intended lesson had been of not just paying lip service to one's beliefs but actually putting yourself on the line for them, rather than shunting problems for other people to solve. The last thing David wanted to do was be that kind of knobhead.
David's stewing was interrupted by the sound of the door handle turning; he flipped onto his back again in time to see Rick enter the room.
"Have a good time?" David asked, voice slightly hoarse.
Rick only gave a single snort, then, somewhat shyly, "Yeah."
"...did you see Syd or Rog out and about?" David asked before he could stop himself.
Rick gave him a funny look. "Er- no."
"...Hm," was all David said, letting his head drop down to the pillow. "Turn the light off when you're done, yeah?"
"Yeah."
-
Once he was looking for it, David saw it everywhere.
Syd and Roger, holding hands. Sharing cigarettes. Leaning on each other. Hands on each other's arms, shoulders, waists. One time he saw Syd grab Roger's left arsecheek backstage, in full view of the venue staff, but nobody else seemed to notice.
David did his best to avert his eyes, to not give away that he was noticing such a thing. He probably wouldn't notice it if it were a man and a woman doing those things, right? Well, he'd notice it more, actually, there wouldn't be that vague resistance against the idea that it could mean anything, but, a more accepting bloke wouldn't notice it at all, or rather, wouldn't mind it at all. He certainly wouldn't feel those spikes of- was it anger? That's what it felt like, anyway.
Somewhere along the line, between the endless traveling and keeping track of equipment and performing, the others figured out that David had figured it out, and that he wasn't going to give them any trouble about it. In the back of the tour van, just the five of them, Syd would sit in Roger's lap, or Roger would play with Syd's hair, or Syd would fit his head under the crook of Roger's neck as the other man lovingly rubbed his back. Nick and Rick would show no reaction at all, perfectly comfortable with the whole business, instead focusing on whatever card game they were engaging in. Meanwhile, prickles of annoyance would poke at David, and he kept his mouth shut as best he could.
They already have to hide it from the world, don't make them feel like they have to hide it from you, he told himself.
Most of the time, David was able to join in with the road trip games without any trouble. He was pretty sure they hadn't noticed that David avoided sitting next to the loving couple when possible- mainly because it was often so cramped that there was no way not to be in close quarters with them.
Sometimes, though, he'd slip up. In a small backstage room somewhere in the middle of Belgium, David was breaking in the new strings on his guitar (he'd never gone through so many strings so quickly before joining the Floyd), Rick was elsewhere fine-tuning his setup, and Nick was off who-knows-where. Roger, whose kit (if you could call it that) was nowhere near as high maintenance as the rest of theirs, was sitting on a ratty chair, Syd on his lap, loudly making out with tongue.
"Anyone could walk in, you know," David said tersely, unable to hold his own tongue.
Roger snapped his head up to look at David in annoyance, with Syd's curious gaze following a moment later. Even Rick paused and looked up from his setup.
"Do you think we don't know that?" Roger said in a sharp tone.
"I just-" David stumbled, looking for what to say, "-it would be a big problem, you know…"
"Sounds like there's a problem already," Roger accused.
"No, hold on- that's not it," David protested; how the hell had Roger gotten that from what he'd said? Was David really so transparent? "I don't want anyone giving you any trouble. Really."
"We know what we're doing," Syd spoke up, tone serious but not hostile. And when Syd spoke with such confidence (not to mention lucidity), nobody could disagree. Then, he slowly gave a small nod. "But- it wasn't a bad thought."
David blinked, more relieved that his meaning had come across than anything else. Then, he nodded, "Yeah. 'Course."
He returned to warming up, and there was no further comment. Still, there was a guilty twist in his stomach now, because really, some part of him did want them to stop, just so the feeling like thorns pricking against his head would go away.
-
David had lost his room key.
He knew he'd put it in his pocket when they'd checked in, but now they were back after the show, and while his matches, cigs, condoms, and wallet were still all accounted for, his room key must have slipped out.
He resisted the urge to thump his head against the doorframe; it was nearly the end of the Netherlands leg of the tour, and he was exhausted. Where Rick and Nick got the energy to go out partying at this point, he had no idea.
He let out an audible groan at the thought of Rick, who'd been his roommate for most of the tour, as it reminded him that they'd booked four solo rooms for themselves for this stop. So, he couldn't just wait for Rick to get back with his own key; furthermore, it was the middle of the night and the front desk had been unattended when he'd walked in, so he was shit out of luck.
A thought occurred to David- he did have an option. In fact, it really was his only choice, even if it might only net him marginally more sleep than just lying in the hallway waiting for the two slags of the band.
He sighed, then walked one door over, to the room that he'd seen Syd and Roger stash their bags in that morning. He knocked lightly.
There was no response; after a moment, he knocked a little louder.
The door swung open to an unwelcome yet unsurprising sight: Roger, in nothing but his briefs, hair wet from a shower.
David had seen Roger's stomach before, but this was… well, a lot more. His proportions were just obscene, and he was more muscular than David had expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized that the briefs were also revealing more than David would've liked to know.
"Dave?" Roger prodded after a moment, and David realized he'd been staring- so he quickly feigned a yawn to cover… if that even made any sense.
"I- er, lost my key," he admitted, doing his best to look Roger in the eyes. The man had a piercing stare- perhaps not as paralyzing as Syd's, but its own kind of intensity all the same. Still, it was better than looking anywhere else. "Could I…?"
"Bed's full," Roger said, an awkward look on his face.
"...On the chair," David managed to spit out.
"C'mon, let 'im in," came Syd's voice, and Roger looked over his shoulder with vague annoyance before looking back to David, shrugging, and then returning to the room, door still open.
David entered to find the room near-identical to his, except, of course, for Syd already laying curled up on the bed, also only clad in his underwear for the warm summer night.
"Shower's yours if you want it," Roger said half-heartedly, walking back over to the sink to continue drying his hair in the mirror.
"Cheers."
David showered quickly, and when he emerged, he found the lights already off, and no sounds coming from the bed other than breathing. In the darkness, he couldn't quite see where he was going, and awkwardly stumbled his way to the worn-out plush chair in the corner of the room.
One of them- Syd, he assumed- had chucked a balled-up sheet against it, which he appreciated, not for the sake of covering himself but for covering the chair, which seemed old and likely inconvenient to clean.
David curled up against it, trying to get as comfortable as he could, but he wasn't a short bloke, and it wasn't exactly a cozy, plush chair of the kind that one's grandparents could snooze in by the fire. He eventually resorted to curling up with his chin against his knees, a pose that he was sure his mother would have choice words about if she were to see it, but at this point, he was willing to take the risk of sore knees tomorrow if it meant he got some rest.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, and did his best to relax, but the sound of the room was odd- it wasn't quite the same as what he'd grown used to over the course of the tour. Rather than one other person breathing to his side, now, there were two breaths in sync, practically right in front of him.
He opened his eyes and found that his vision had adjusted slightly, letting him see the vague outlines of Syd and Roger: he could tell that under the thin sheet, the former was spooning the latter. Syd had his face right up against the back of Roger's neck, leaving David to wonder if his breath was tickling the other man.
Don't worry about it, he tried to tell himself, but it was too late, and he could no longer wrestle his rebellious mind into obedience. A swarm of images, not fantasies but memories now, of Syd and Roger embracing each other, flickered past his mind's eye.
Worse yet, he now had the image of Roger, entirely shirtless, to contend with. Seeing that, it was a bit less of a wonder how Roger had managed to woo Syd. He was lanky, yes, but that meant lean, and David's mind helpfully provided that there was an odd sort of appeal to the man's proportions.
When he'd first realized the nature of their relationship, one of the more tangible strands of annoyance to David was that Syd would choose Roger, of all people, to be his lover. The undying loyalty clearly had some appeal, but he'd have thought Syd to be choosier. Sure, he wasn't entirely recovered from his breakdown- there were still days where he was utterly distant, and he did seem to be increasingly hesitant to go on stage or even be in the room when the music and lights were blaring- but David was confident that there were plenty of women who'd overlook such things for Syd's talent and charm. But now that he was getting to know the band better, David could see that Roger did have his own appeal beyond just an imposing figure and a one-track mind set on Syd Barrett.
For starters, Roger wasn't just loyal to Syd, but almost sickly sweet at times, judging by the murmurs that David sometimes overheard from the loving couple. Even just as a friend, he was a really funny bloke, and most of the time, it was in a way that made David feel like he was laughing with Roger rather than being laughed at by him. Roger did occasionally level his scathing wit against David, but even then, it was an impressive wit. Roger's apparent inheritance of the leadership of the band was also, while quite oppressive at times, supported by a genuine drive and confidence that David couldn't help but envy. And the confidence wasn't misplaced: when David had heard the Floyd's first album, he'd thought the one song Roger had written to be rather weak, but the material Roger had since produced was quite good. Between Roger and Rick's offerings and the jams the band came up with together, David thought they had a good chance to keep the band afloat even if Syd were to step away entirely.
He certainly didn't want that to happen, of course. Syd was lovely, and David would consider Roger to be a friend of his now, and he liked both of them, and he didn't understand why he felt so damn bad about them loving each other.
He readjusted himself on the chair, pulling the sheet around himself a little more as if to contain his feelings. He laid his head down, did his best to unclench, and tried very, very hard not to picture Syd's arms around Roger, one hand against his chest and one hand against his stomach…
Sleep did not come easy.
-
They were back in London for a few shows, which was a relief, since it gave David the chance to get some space from the band. He'd hoped that the space might help with the whole situation, but, the sinking feeling in his gut returned the moment he saw Syd backstage, smiling at something Roger had said.
Clearly, something showed on his face, since the next time he looked over at Rick, the other man gave him a funny look. He forced a polite smile, trying to project nonchalance, but the sinking feeling only deepened- if Rick could pick up on his feelings, then Syd and Roger could, too, and it was only a matter of time until they did. And David had no idea what he could do to not come off the wrong way in that situation.
So, when the four of them- the band save Nick, who lived elsewhere- returned to their house that night, as they all settled down to sleep, David deliberately closed the door to his and Rick's shared bedroom before speaking.
"Rick- there's something… I wanted to ask you about," he said, more than a little clumsily.
Rick looked up from his bed, concern writ plain on his face. "Oh…?"
"It's nothing major, just…" David trailed off, then went over to sit on the side of his own bed, eyes on the floor. "This might come off the wrong way, but, I want you to know, I swear, I want to be a good friend."
Rick stayed silent, letting David try to find the words, which was a relief.
"It's Syd and Roger," he finally managed to spit out; then, at the tightening of Rick's expression, he added, "I- I don't mind them being together, I swear. They're my friends, and I don't have anything against that sort of thing. But whenever I see them, or think about them, together, like that…"
David trailed off, hoping he wouldn't have to say it, wouldn't have to put his feelings into words, but Rick just kept looking at him.
"I don't want to feel this way," David told him, meeting his eyes, then looking down out of shame, "I really don't, but I don't know how to make it go away, and-"
"It's okay," Rick said, quietly- David almost didn't catch it. He looked back up at the other man, whose expression was now… sad?
"Cheers," David said weakly, then returned his gaze to the floor, "But I- I know it's strange, but, do you have any ideas? For making it go away? I'm at a loss, here."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Rick told him, "But- well, if you want to get over Syd, you find someone else, yeah? Same with a bird- do you still like birds…?"
"Eh-?" David snapped his head up, suddenly confused. "Yes, but I- that's not- that's not what I meant."
Rick knit his eyebrows. "You're… I thought, it sounded like you're jealous of Roger. For being with Syd. Is it… is it Roger?"
"No, no, I-" David blinked furiously, mind whirling. Rick had thought that David was jealous? Of Roger? Or of Syd? That was ridiculous, he wasn't like that, this was the opposite of that, if anything, the feelings he had were more like resentment, or anger, or…
Oh God. David put his head in his hands, panic now shooting through him. That wasn't- that couldn't be it, surely…? But then, he thought about trying- trying to kiss them, maybe- and, oh, that was a stirring feeling deep down below his gut…
"David, what's wrong? I don't understand-"
"I don't understand either," David admitted, reluctantly raising his head back up. "I think- oh God, Richard, I think I'm a poof."
Rick frowned, clearly confused, but David shook his head.
"And- and a fucking idiot, but-" he broke off as the images went back in his head, like tape winding back at breakneck speed, of Syd and Roger kissing, cuddling, touching… and then, like a magic trick, of David himself- brushing his lips against Syd's, touching Roger's stomach, holding Syd in his lap, Roger running his hands through his hair, Syd looking up at him eagerly, Roger-
David quickly shoved the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Fucking hell, I'm a poof, oh my God."
"So, is it… Syd, or Roger…?" Rick asked, visibly lost.
"Both, it's both," David said, rubbing his hand across his face in embarrassment. "I don't- I just put it together, I thought…"
He looked up at Rick, accepting that he'd already hit rock bottom of humiliation, "I thought I was- well, bigoted."
Rick frowned in confusion. "But you've- there's been…"
"I modeled in France, Rick, I've seen things," David said, "And I didn't have a problem with it, it was- just them. I didn't know what was wrong with me."
He huffed. "I was jealous. Am jealous, I suppose…"
The reality of the situation struck him, now, a painful bolt through his bones: this whole time, he'd been pining for not one but two of his bandmates.
He hung his head, the painful shock fading to despair. Syd and Roger were already with each other, had known each other much longer than David had known either of them, were practically picture-perfect lovebirds… there was no chance of getting with either of them. He didn't even know if he wanted to- after all, that would mean they'd broken up, and he wasn't sure if the band would survive such a thing, and even then, not without severely hurting one or both of them. And there was also all the things that came with, well, being with a man. This was just all too much at once…
"Hey, 's not so bad. Just gotta find someone new," Rick told him earnestly. "If you still like girls, then, next show, come with me, we'll find some."
"I don't know," David groaned, then finally let himself lie down onto his bed. "Dammit, why me?"
"Don't think there's a reason," Rick said, and David didn't need to look over to know that the other man had shrugged.
David sighed, then, rolled himself off of the bed to go over and turn the light off.
-
Now that David had figured it out, it wasn't just Roger and Syd together that stirred feelings in him, but just either of the two men on their own. Which was unfortunate, considering just how many of his waking hours were spent in their vicinity.
The label was expecting another single from them. They already knew they were going to use Careful With That Axe, Eugene as the B-side, but for the A-side proper they needed something a little more, well, approachable for the record-buying public.
David was sitting with Roger in the living room, playing around with his guitar while Roger flipped through his songwriting notebook. It was times like these that David lamented not knowing how to read or write music notation; he was sure he'd come up with some snippets that might be worth turning into a song, but they'd left his memory and he'd had no way of recording them, whether on paper or tape.
"I've got a lyric, here," Roger suddenly announced, standing up and walking over to the piano. "Not finished, but…"
"Hey Eugene, this is Henry McClean, and I've finished my beautiful flying machine…"
Roger played rather a basic melody on the piano as he sang quietly, his voice unpolished, but the song itself flowed beautifully.
"Playing the games that we know end in tears, the games we've been playing for thousands and thousands and thousands of years…"
Then, he slammed on the piano, and full-throatedly sang, "Jumped into his cosmic flyer, dat-dat-dat-da dat-da da-da, light the fuse and stand far back, he cried out with his last goodbye!"
Then, in a pitch that was clearly too high for his voice, "Point it at the sky and let it- point it at the sky and let it fly- point it at the sky and let it- point it at the sky and let it fly…"
From there, it was back to the first verse, with Roger mumbling half-formed words about breathing in and out, a repeat of the chorus, and then his best attempt at a psychedelic piano part as he sang what was presumably Henry McClean's last goodbyes.
Still leaning over the piano, Roger looked over at David. His expression wasn't shy or expectant, but neither was it demanding. Standing somewhere amidst the blur of insecurity and arrogance, Roger was waiting for David's response.
"For the chorus, is that-"
"You and Rick," Roger confirmed, "Though… I might be able to sing the pre-chorus, the loud bit. The verse was written for your voice."
That, unfortunately, was when the feeling reared its ugly head, a clawing chimera of desire and frustration and attraction at the thought that Roger had been sitting, writing in his book, thinking of David's voice, writing for him…
"No good?" Roger asked, an eyebrow raised- once again, neither defensive nor anxious. He seemed to genuinely want David's feedback, and had mistaken the look on his face.
"No, it's- yes, I mean, it's good," he quickly answered, "I like the lyrics. Interesting story. A bit Jules Verne."
Roger gave an amused snort, "Maybe they'll have us go up in a balloon for the video."
"That would be fun," David said earnestly. "Or a plane. That would be gear."
Roger gave him a teasing smile with that, from which David averted his eyes down to his guitar. Still, better to betray his fascination with planes than with Roger- especially now that he was noticing the shape of Roger's mouth as he smiled, and the odd, unique way his lips pinched and teeth showed.
"What was before that missing line from the first bit, again?" he asked after a moment, trying to get the conversation back to the song itself.
"'Jumped into his cosmic flyer,'" Roger read off rather than sang.
"...Pulled his collar higher?" David suggested, picturing an aviator waving in front of a crowd before his glorious flight.
"Jumped into his cosmic flyer, pulled his plastic collar higher-" Roger sang along with simple accompaniment. "I like that."
"Plastic, cosmic, that goes together well," David agreed. He'd been picturing a leather collar, but plastic fit the scene that Roger was putting together better.
Roger made a point of scribbling in his notebook at that, then stood up from the piano and went to fetch his bass. With his notebook perched on the edge of the keyboard, he started running through the song again, playing a simple bass part.
David, sensing the tacit invitation, began playing along on his own instrument, likewise starting simple with the chords. He followed Roger's lead, iterating on his part as he mumbled along with the words.
"I don't think- the quieter verses, maybe they don't need guitar," David suggested- not out of any laziness on his part, but due to the song giving him a similar feeling to Let There Be More Light, where he only really played on the chorus. Saving the guitar for the louder bits of the song seemed to be the thing to do when writing a psych rock tune that wasn't just a jam.
Roger looked up at him, intrigued, then nodded. "Right, that sounds good."
From there, David worked out what he would play for the song, though it might evolve a bit once they had Rick in- as usual, his sound was to be the foundation for the rest of the instrumentation. Roger tweaked the lyrics here and there, and filled in the remaining lines, with occasional suggestions thrown out by David- though they usually ended up prompting something entirely different (and better) from Roger.
Roger left his seat at the piano to join David on the couch; with Roger's notebook perched on his knee, they ran through the song a few times together, David singing his parts and Roger singing his own as well as a quieter take on Rick's bits.
"I think you should sing it," Roger said after a couple tries, tone reticent, but David couldn't help but read some frustration into it. He shook his head at the suggestion.
"No, it works as it is," David said; then, at seeing Roger's skeptical expression, "The instruments will all come in, you won't be carrying it."
Roger tilted his head in thoughtful acceptance, "So long as none of you fuck up."
David snorted. "Right."
Roger glanced away at that- embarrassed? David couldn't guess why.
"Suppose this one will be by the two of us," David said lightly. He didn't want to come off as greedy, but they did finish the song together.
"They're going to put Gilmour first, aren't they?" Roger asked dryly.
"Alphabetical order," David smugly teased.
"Maybe I should go by Roger Fletcher," Roger mused, "Y'know, as a pen name."
"Why Fletcher?" David asked. He knew Roger's full name, so he was curious where it came from. Perhaps his mother's maiden name?
David frowned a bit as Roger's expression transformed, the light mood suddenly crashing as the other man pursed his lips in silent frustration. Before he could second-guess himself, David reached out and put a hand on Roger's shoulder; was he suddenly feeling ill?
Roger's eyes flicked to the intruding hand, and David quickly slipped it off of his shoulder- what had he been thinking?- as Roger suddenly shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
David quickly scooted away from him, then reached into his pocket to grab his pack of cigarettes, as if he'd moved away to get better access to his pockets. He opened the box and stuck one in his mouth, then silently offered it to Roger.
Without looking up at David, Roger took one and put it between his own lips. Then, to David's surprise, Roger leaned in as David flicked his lighter; before the other man could back off, David leaned back, and lit both their cigarettes at once.
"Cheers," Roger murmured, still not meeting David's eyes.
David pried his own gaze off of Roger, and gave a soft, wordless hum of agreement. They sat there on the couch, smoking in silence for a few minutes, neither looking at the other, until David muttered something about getting a glass of water and stood up. When he returned to the living room, Roger was gone, presumably back to his room.
-
Syd wasn't going to go to America with them.
His stomach had been bothering him for a while now, and a trip to the doctor had resulted in the firm instruction to get some rest and not be globetrotting with a band that, strictly speaking, didn't need him in order to be able to tour.
David was hurriedly throwing some more clothes in his luggage as Roger and Rick moved their equipment to the van. Nick's ride to the airport had flaked at the last minute, so they now had to pick him up on the way. Syd sat on Rick's bed, watching David's efforts, the man having been rather quiet all day.
"We're going to miss you," David told him without looking up.
"Seems unfair," Syd said, and David snapped his eyes up, but the other man didn't seem too broken up, not as far as David could tell. "I lose my mind, now I lose my lunch."
David pursed his lips… then smiled, and shook his head. "We're really going to miss you. Hope you miss us a bit."
"Mm," Syd said non-committally, which David chose to take as a joke.
"And… Roger, especially," David said, more quietly, then instantly regretted it, what with the way he'd let a bit of sorrow slip into his voice.
"He can be a bit much sometimes."
David snorted. "Amen to that, but, you two…"
"Roger needs to stretch his wings," Syd pronounced, and David looked over to see Syd looking straight at him. He'd worried that he would see that empty stare, but no, Syd seemed perfectly lucid.
"Eh?"
"I don't… I don't want to go," Syd said, looking down and suddenly appearing very nervous. "With you all. It's… too much. Maybe sometimes."
"You… that's, that's fair," David said, and it did make sense. "Brian Wilson doesn't go on tour, y'know."
Syd flashed a brief smile at that. "I'm no Brian Wilson."
"'Course not. No offense to Wilson, mind."
Syd chuckled at that, and dear god, the man had a laugh like a ringing bell. David couldn't help but smile at that.
Then, Syd stood up, and crossed the room to kneel down next to David. His heart leapt into his throat at the way Syd was looking at him. Now that David had identified his own feelings, he could accept just how gorgeous Syd was.
Syd raised his hand up to David's cheek, and his lungs froze in place.
Syd…? he mouthed. And then Syd leaned in and brushed his lips against David's. The kiss wasn't chaste, but neither was it deep, more akin to kissing a letter or a ceremonial ring.
Still, as Syd drew back and stood up, David felt as if he'd just been marked, as surely such a gesture could not go unnoticed- if he were to look in the mirror then he knew he would see something, a trace of colors indicating that Syd Roger Barrett had just kissed him.
"Look after him," Syd told him with a small smile, and then walked away.
David looked down at his luggage, once again able to breath but in turn unable to think. He stayed there, frozen, until Roger walked in to inform him that they needed to get moving if they were to catch their flight in time. Broken from his trance, he quickly finished packing.
As he carted his luggage out to the car, he saw the door to Syd and Roger's room was slightly cracked. Silently putting down his suitcase, he crept a few steps closer; if not for what Syd had just done, he likely would have hurried away sooner, but now, a fire had been stoked in his chest and he craved its heat with all his heart.
"-I'll be fine, Georgie, I promise-"
"If something happens, if it gets bad again-"
"I won't let it."
"Syd…"
"I'm alright now. It'll be alright. It'll… it'll be good to be home, for a bit."
"But I won't be here, what if-"
"I'll call Rosemary if I need to. It's… you don't have to carry me, George. I have to stand on my own feet. I can stand on my own."
"I'd carry you for the rest of your life if I had to."
"Georgie, I'd rather run."
"Run? The rest of us run. You fly."
Syd's laugh seemed all too loud, as if he were standing right next to David; startled, he backpedaled, grabbed his suitcase, and practically fled the house. He paused in the doorway to compose himself; then, reached the car to fit his suitcase into the trunk.
Rick was sitting in the back seat with the window rolled down, smoking; finding that a capital idea, David lit a cigarette of his own and leaned against the car next to Rick.
"I think Roger's saying his goodbyes, then we should be ready," David said after about a minute.
"Could take a bit," Rick commented. David snorted.
"It's… I think they'll be alright," he said non-committally, hoping that what he wanted to say would come across. I think they'll be okay. I think we'll be okay. I think Syd will manage. I think Roger will tough it out. I think I'll survive. I think you will too.
Finally, Roger appeared in the doorway, and closed the front door behind him; David could almost imagine he could hear the click from the pavement.
Roger met David's eyes as he closed the distance to the car. David couldn't read his expression, but it didn't seem downcast, at least.
"Well? Get in, let's go," Roger told him with an impatient frown.
David snorted, then threw his cig down and stubbed it with his heel. With a joking salute, he said, "Aye-aye captain."
Roger rolled his eyes, then walked around to the driver's side of the car while David slid into the passenger seat.
David fiddled with the radio as Roger started the car; then, something caught his ear-
"Hey, I know this one!" he joked, steadying the dial as the familiar sound of See Emily Play came through the shoddy speaker as Roger put the pedal down. He could feel the instinct for his fingers to play along with the song even though it wasn't even him playing on the recorded version.
Suddenly feeling a bit silly at his enthusiasm, he let his smile drop as he looked over at Roger- to see the other man grinning and bouncing his head.
"There is no other day, let's try it another way-" the three of them sang along with Syd as they headed away from home.