The End of the Line

The after show

    The two didn't dawdle long in the abyss of festival goers turning their attention to the next act after theirs had come to a final close. It was different this time. In any other case, they would have scorned their inability to stay longer and enjoy what other bands had to offer- most often completely different than their own music- due to their tight touring schedule. Now, however, there were no such shackles of time to dictate their actions, yet the sensation such freedom brought seemed suffocating. If not for Miles, then this most certainly applied to Alex.
    Alex had been clinging onto Miles ever since the spun each other right off of stage left. His tiny yet strong arm refused to leave  his mate's shoulders while the other never failed to occupy a tight circle around his waist. Miles couldn't complain, but the behavior was quintessentially not Alex. Al was more of a lad with a bite. He'd tease and flirt, retreat and return. Perhaps he'd sneak a chaste kiss in public situations like this, but would always add a punch, a joke- hell, a fucking choke hold for all he cared. Point was, something had ticked in the overtly affectionate lad; evidently brought on by nothing other than realization and the bitter taste of knowing something big had come to an end. And, not so much unlike himself, he used actions over spoken words to express it.
    His head rested heavily in the crook of Miles' neck as they dipped in and out of laughing, buzzing groups of people. Deep breaths and sighs escaped his pretty mouth. His drink dangled from his fingers, nearly forgotten. In this proximity, Miles could sense the mood like a hound. He knew Alex more than anyone ever could. Just need some rest. We will lie down together and he will talk this out for himself.
    "C'mon love, it's late." Miles delicately urged Alex off his shoulder with the slightest of shrugs. Again, a move the smaller man might have put on a pouting show about, had the circumstances been different. Tonight, however, he merely nodded and left a tiny kiss on the other's jaw. A sweet, meaningful gesture. Now was no time to show his love in a game of shoots and ladders.
    After this silent agreement, the two nearly beelined through the festival crowds, hastily saying their goodbyes and see-you-tomorrows. Not much was said on their short ride to the hotel, but Alex's grip (now resembling that of a baby koala) grew tighter and more urgent as the car rolled along in the dark- his head buried even deeper into Miles' chest, as if he wished to crawl inside his companion and never see the light of day again.

***
    Although exhausted down to the bone, the pair decided on a quick shower after having sweat buckets that was now dried to their skin. Alex stayed in his same melancholy state throughout. He let Miles help wash him and kiss him and squeeze his ass here and there, but all the same he seemed to desire nothing but to stay locked in that steal embrace, hiding himself and seeking comfort in another all in one.
    On the California King-sized bed, Alex lie shirtless with a necktie and in his tight jeans- a bedtime outfit choice which Miles found absolutely no logic in. He found no logic in the man's sudden silent treatment as well. The world new Alex could wheedle his way out of a death sentence with the power his words had. So why, why now, when an explanation or even a simple conversation would come in handy more than anything in the world. Of course Miles was upset and emotional that the tour had ended, but he could see past the nostalgia of it. It had been an incredible run, truly. Miles felt extremely proud of the masterpiece the two had created together and awestruck by how lucky he had been to travel in this way with a person he had so much love for. Alex must have felt the same way, deep within, but often struggled with one prominent idea overshadowing all others at a time. He simply couldn't look at the wider spectrum in times like these; therefore he would get stuck, time and time again.
    Miles stroked the soft, dark hair of the man lying belly-down next to him, with one firm arm gripping his abdomen without fail.
    "Al, talk to me love. I know you're upset." The air stood still in the dim room. The city lights outside provided the room's soul illumination, but did a more effective job at the task than needed. Alex murmured and gulped, clearly warding off tears.
    "It's just over, Miles. I kept thinking it would never end but it did." Al's gaze wandered from the ceiling to the person beside him, face lined with wet streaks. Alex did not cry often. Miles quickly reached to turn on the bedside lamp despite his ability to see anyway. He needed it in order to confront properly.
    "Sit up, come on. It's not over, yeah?" He gently wiped away his friend's tears with his thumb, cupping the man's jaw. "The record still exists, no one went out and burned every bloody copy." He smiled in Alex's face, searching for a hint that he might be doing something right. Alex just shook his head.
    "The tour Miles...that's what I mean. We won't be in that bus together or on stage or anyfin' like that in god knows how bloody long." Miles moved his hand to caress and rub Alex's back, sighing bitterly in agreement. "I just don't want it to be over. I don't...I just don't wanna be alone up there when I get back on the ole grind." He finished his statement in a mumbled whisper, hating himself for admitting to the weakness, the imperfection, the dissatisfaction with such a satisfactory lifestyle.
    "Don't think about that for now, okay? You can handle anything on stage. Al, c'mon. You were getting sick and tired of them same old songs every night anyway."
    "Oh, get off it, I wasn't really." Alex cut in, groaning. "I've toured a single record for a year and a half in the past. I know what it feels like to be tired of a song. This ain't that feeling...I'm gonna miss them songs, Miles." Again, Miles sighed and wracked his brain for what to say. A few quiet moments slipped by before he spoke.
    "We can still sing em, Al. Every night if that's what you want." And finally, the two locked eyes with an utmost trust and knowing found only in the other's gaze. Then, Alex was reassured for the billionth time just how much Miles must have loved him. He loved him and he loved him and he loved him. He had loved Alex in the past, even when his love gave him no guarantee of anything in return besides the pleasant feeling of having loved someone along with the loss in knowing they could never love you back.
    But that was the past, and the past slipped through their fingers quicker than silk the first time they had the courage to own up to their feelings. Perhaps this was what Alex was scared of; that the memories made on their tour could slide just as easily into the mist.
    "Sing whatever you want. Sing one you wanted to do but we never got around to, yeah?" Miles urged on. Alex glanced at this American, southwestern style necktie that he'd forgotten to remove, twisting it in his fingers.
    "What about, eh, The Time Has Come Again? It's me voice, it just wouldn't merit the right vibes for the crowd. Tha know that." Miles rolled his eyes light heartedly. Yes, Alex had insisted not to play the song, beautiful as it is, because his deeper voice would make the light tones sound significantly different, therefore destroying its value and meaning entirely, in his judgement. Now, with Miles, this fear fell away almost completely.
    "Finally." Miles cooed. Al let out the tiniest of giggles, giving Miles a bountiful load of relief, and proceeded in a mantra of "um"s and "let me just"s.
    "But I don't have me guitar." Alex ventured to buy time.
    "I don't care. Al, shut up and sing." With this, the small man took a deep breath and began in the most raw, soft voice he could ever use; not hindered by alcohol, by nerves, by lack of breath or hydration. It was pure and was without question, entirely himself.
    "The time has come again...slowly walking down the steps...to where she would have been, if only they were seventeen...Waiting patiently, he stood between a fraying scene. Hiding from himself," again, his emotions forced him to swallow hard. He needn't worry, for his cheeks were soon met with the unfailing comfort of Miles' warm hand. Alex continued.
    "As well as everybody else. And without permission his face became wet. He thought that he'd learned how to not get upset. From folded notes... in envelopes, meet me beneath the moon. Don't go to soon. She went too soon."                In place of the fluttering string parts that cut through the song and evoked the most longing out of every element of it, Miles kissed him. He kissed him with the passion of a thousand cellos and a thousand more violins performing Flight of the Bumblebee. He tugged at Alex's soft lips until the sad little song was momentarily forgotten- just like sleepless bus rides and 9 hour flights and sushi bars and broken tambourines- details replaced for a brief moment by the simple joy of a kiss. For at the end of the night's endeavors and each night after that, despite anything that was yet to be encountered, discovered, created; they would always remember.
❤️
My apologies, it's 3am and this is sappy but I had to.