Vacant
Kris could usually fall asleep no problem, even with Adam rambling in the next bed. But tonight was a different story. Because tonight, during their last number, Adam's foot had somehow gotten caught between the lift and the stage during their entrance.
Adam had managed to get himself out, and even continued singing, but at the end of the song, it was clear he was limping. The medics checked him out and Kris was floored to find out that Adam had actually performed with crushed bones in his foot.
For now, he was resting - or, he was supposed to be. But he lounged in the hotel bed, his foot propped up, talking nonsense thanks to the painkillers the hospital gave him.
"Kris, you awake?" Adam asked, giggling.
"Yes," Kris said into his pillow. "What?"
"I was just thinking... You know, like, when you get your temperature taken? Did you ever just want to bite the glass?" He waited, staring at Kris with a glazed look in his eyes, clearly expecting a response.
Kris rubbed his eyes. "The glass of the thermometer?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yeah!"
"No."
"Or," Adam continued, the haze of medicine in his system making him feel wonderfully strange, "When somebody gives you a bad present and you just hate the crap out of it! Do you ever just want to be totally honest and say, man, that present sucked. Cause I..." Adam paused for dramatic effect. "Do."
"Oh, really?" Kris asked half-asleep. "Listen, that's really interesting, but it's like, four in the morning, and we have to be up in a few hours." Kris paused, "So how's your foot?"
"Chicago is like, one of the loudest cities ever...and my foot is damn happy...like the rest of me," Adam told him, stretching out.
"We're not in Chicago. This is... Well, I forgot where this is, but it's not Chicago."
Adam laughed like he was insane. "You don't know either! You know, you should take some of this shit they got me on... Then you could be funny like me," he bribed. His eyes were vacant, a dull blue in the hotel light.
"Oh, you're funny, all right..." Kris muttered, crawling out from under the covers and grabbing the remote for the TV.
"Dude, what are you doing in my boxers?" Adam asked seriously.
"These are mine," Kris maintained, stopping on a rerun of Scooby Doo, figuring it was just about as trippy as Adam right now.
"No, they're not," Adam replied, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I think I know what my own shorts look like."
"Not when you're on hardcore pain meds for that foot."
"Aw, I love Scooby Doo," Adam sighed. "Scooby Dooby Doo. Where are you? We've got some work to do now," he sang tunelessly.
But instead of being irritated, Kris simply joined in the fun, singing the next line with Adam and figuring he'd have some funny stories to share on the bus tomorrow.