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In his youth, and especially during his early childhood, David had once struggled to sleep through the night. He had no trouble when it came to falling asleep after saying goodnight to his parents and climbing into bed, but sometimes, he’d wake in the early morning and find that going back to the land of his dreams proved an impossible task. His imagination would make him believe that, if he closed his eyes again, strange creatures would surge from underneath his bed and pull at his blankets. Even when safe in the protection of his eiderdown, and with the weight of tiredness making his eyelids feel heavy, his efforts to sleep were of no avail. He’d toss and turn for hours, and would often have to get up for school without having had more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep. He’d sometimes drift off in class, only to be awoken by a ruler to the hands and the loud yelling of some teacher calling him careless and irresponsible.
Now grown, way past those early mornings, the times in which he’d wake in the middle of the night were few and far apart. Whenever they did happen, experience had taught him that all he had to do was reach to his right to find his lover there, make himself comfortable by snuggling up to his perpetually warm body, and then sleep would come back to him almost instantly. Roger was easy to wake, and even when David tried his best to be subtle about it, he’d notice. He’d sometimes playfully complain about the movement or the weight of David on him, but still welcomed his embrace every time. The only time in which David had brought up the possibility of sleeping in separate beds to avoid waking Roger up, Roger himself had dismissed the suggestion as if David were asking for something unthinkable. The truth was, he enjoyed having David next to him just as much, and being awoken once in a while didn’t bother him at all if it meant getting to see David’s face relax as he fell asleep again, and listen to his breathing evening out.
David extended his arm in search of Roger, his warmth. When his hand met the soft but cold surface of the sheets instead, David brought his hands up to his face to rub his tired eyes. The faint light that found its way inside their bedroom through the curtain allowed him to see that he was, indeed, alone. David found it strange, but didn’t think much of it. Maybe Roger had gone to the bathroom, and would be back soon enough. Maybe he’d had insomnia, and gone to have tea at this unorthodox time. Tea at four in the morning wouldn’t be much of a rarity for a mind like Roger’s. So, David pulled the cover over himself and turned to lie on his side, only to notice the balcony door was open.
The moonlight allowed him to see his unmistakeable silhouette, long and graceful, standing with his back to him. Roger was watching the city sleep, in an old satiny robe, and holding a cigarette between slender fingers. David admired the sight for a second before calling out his name, but Roger didn’t turn to see him. Clearly, something was bothering him, and it showed in the way he rested his hands on the railing, a posture that looked like defeat.
‘I had that dream again,’ he simply said.
‘The one about the murder?’
Roger let the words sit for a second, then nodded. David knew then that he was in need of comfort, and just like he himself found it in Roger’s warmth whenever he woke up in the dead of night, he knew Roger also found a measure of it in his embrace. He didn’t hesitate to offer it, slipping out of the comfort of the bed, to join Roger outside. The air was cold in contrast with his warm skin, but David soon found a place more comfortable than the sheets he’d been under. He went to stand beside him, and placed a hand on Roger’s waist before leaning into his side.
‘Don’t you want to go back to bed?’ David asked, ‘It’s cold out here.’
‘It’s useless,’ Roger said, almost stubbing out the cigarette on the balustrade, but hesitating at the last second and bringing it back to his lips. His fingers had stains on them, from years of this habit. ‘I’ll see the same thing again and get no rest.’
David thought about it for a moment. ‘You do need to sleep.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Roger countered, ‘Go back to bed, yeah?’
David knew that tone very well. Whenever Roger talked as if there was nothing to worry about, it was more often than not just a mask. That’s when David knew he should dig deeper, because even though Roger would never admit it, he did find that talking about it was cathartic. It was necessary, and if David could offer him that, he would.
With his hand still on Roger’s waist, David pulled him closer, and rested his head on the crook of his neck, the crown of his head brushing Roger’s chin. Roger often complained about his height, wishing he was shorter so as to draw less attention to himself, but David always cherished his taller frame because of how perfectly they fit.
‘I don’t want to go to bed if you won’t,’ David said, voice a bit lower, perhaps even shy.
Roger couldn’t help the hint of a smile that appeared on his lips, ‘You’re just as capricious as when you were twenty, you know that?’
David laughed softly, ‘Is that so bad?’
Roger turned his head so the smoke wouldn’t bother David when he exhaled. ‘Perhaps it isn’t.’
In silence, David closed his eyes. He could almost fall asleep standing here, with his face pressed against Roger’s collarbone, and feeling Roger’s hand slowly make its way around him to hold him in place. Roger kept smoking, thinking. David fleetingly thought the man did too much of both those things. Perhaps thinking in excess was even worse for his health than those fags he’d smoke one after another. But it was in his nature, wasn’t it? His mind was his greatest gift, and a straight curse too.
‘My dream went a bit differently this time.’ Roger said, his voice low, like he was trying to gently part the silence instead of breaking it.
‘How so?’
David’s question made Roger look down at him, then after a moment, back to the skyline.
When the silence stretched for too long, David’s hand on his waist gave him a gentle squeeze. ‘You okay?’
‘Sorry,’ Roger said, ‘I was just… trying to recall all the details.’
David nodded, prompting him to continue.
‘I was hiding somewhere else this time, trying not to be caught. My childhood home, I think. Someone knocked on the door, and went to see who it was through the window.’ He stopped for a second, took another drag. ‘It was a woman, but I couldn’t see her face. I was scared, but I thought she may need help, so I went to open the door. The handle was at my eye level, and I realised I was little again. Maybe six, I don’t know.’
As Roger recounted his dream, David could see it in his mind’s eye. He remembered what Roger looked like when he was in primary school. He wasn’t much taller than his peers back then, but didn’t find it any easier to blend in. He’d always wear those shoes his mother would polish, and he had a bit of a clumsy gait. But he had that same sweetness about him, that same kindness in his eyes that he’d try to hide later in life, because it made him feel weak.
‘She told me they were still looking for the murderer, and she had a photograph of the victim with her. I looked up, and realised she was my mother. Then she showed me the picture of the man I’d killed.’
His voice wavered slightly, and David looked up at him to see Roger’s gaze fixed somewhere far away. The light from the balcony reflected on his green eyes, a bit watery, like a lake at midnight.
‘I can’t really remember his face, but I’ve got a feeling I killed my dad.’ Roger said, sombre, then added, ‘It’s not far from what actually happened, is it?’
The words made David’s brow furrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Mother says that he went into the Forces because, after I was born, he realised he couldn’t let the Nazis win. He wanted to create a better world for us, for me.’ Roger said, with a certain nostalgia to his voice, as if recalling a conversation that defined his early years. ‘He couldn’t bear the thought of his innocent baby living under the Third Reich, if they succeeded in taking over all of Europe.’
Trying not to let his pain show, Roger paused, swallowing hard. He didn’t want to cry, but the thought of this always felt like a stab to the chest. A stab to the same spot where David now rested his cheek.
‘If… If I’d never been born, he would’ve stayed. And he would be alive today.’
David didn’t know what to say. He wanted to comfort him, but sometimes, Roger’s grief ran so deep that David felt any words would be insufficient, inadequate. He wished he was as skilled with the art of language as Roger himself, so that he could, much like Roger often did, offer some kind of solace with the sound of poetry. But in reality, he couldn’t. All he could do was hold him and let him know that he was present, and that he cared, even if he didn’t know how to voice it. Still, in his imperfect way, he tried.
‘You’ve got no way of knowing that. He could’ve changed his mind later on because of your brother, or your mother.’
‘But he didn’t,’ Roger said, stubbornly, admonishing himself for merely existing, ‘He changed his mind after I was born. She says he saw something in my eyes, and it made him rethink everything.’
David took a moment to contemplate those words. He certainly felt like, in his own experience, there too had been a moment when Roger’s eyes had made him rethink his entire life.
One of those had been pretty early on, sharing a joint in some raggedy hotel room, back when they were struggling to make a decent living as musicians. Their latest gig had been disastrous, and Roger was frustrated. What followed was a long-winded conversation about drugs, about Syd, about life. Roger would stay silent for a while, then speak, and put his feelings into words like an artist drawing strokes of graphite into the dark of that starless night. When their eyes met under the faint light of the streetlamp outside, for just a moment, David felt like he’d loved Roger in a previous lifetime. Like this was always meant to be.
‘Your eyes often make me rethink life too, you know.’
Roger met his gaze then, and suddenly felt too exposed. He retreated, slipping from David’s grasp and walking back into the bedroom, losing the cigarette somewhere along the way. David, however, was not going to let him go that easily. He followed, quickly wrapping his arms around Roger from behind, his chest pressed against Roger’s back. Roger stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t yet understand how David could be so unflinchingly honest in his way of expressing his feelings. How he could give an embrace like this without hesitation. Roger felt undeserving of it. Then David spoke again.
‘I’m glad your dad kept you safe because… because my life would not be the same without you in it. You… you were worth it, Rog. Really. You are worth it.’
Roger was glad David couldn’t see his face then, because the tears that sprung to his eyes were unbecoming to a man who more often than not tried to appear stoic. But the sincerity in David’s words always felt like a caress to the soul, and for Roger, after being submitted to the unrelenting cruelty life was capable of, kindness like this had a particular bittersweet flavour.
‘You’re so awfully mellow, David,’ Roger managed to whisper, but David could hear the emotion in his voice, and when Roger placed his hands over his own, he too could feel how much he appreciated him not pulling away.
‘Of course I am, I love you.’ David simply said, as if stating a simple fact of life. ‘So, tea before bed?’
Roger’s smile did come through then. ‘I’d like that.’