Once In Royal David's City
Title: Once In Royal David's City
Author: is doing the jingle bell rock
Giftee: oflights
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mavid
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Real people. Fake story.
Summary: prompt: Hm...I always like established relationship drama, something angsty but a bit fluffy at times. God, that's an awful prompt, isn't it? I'm sorry. Um...maybe like, a family dinner at a holiday (either family), first meetings, some awkwardness, maybe even a stupid argument that has a happy ending?
Author Notes: soundtrack located here. since this is all anonymous it isn't pretty or anything. :[
it's christmas in California
and it's hard to ignore that it feels like summer all the time.
Michael will kill him. David knows that. He made a promise, okay, but when you are the American Idol, people don't really ask questions. They don't say hey! we'd like to book you for this New Year's Eve gig, you wouldn't happen to have made plans with your boyfriend?
Roger knows, too, knows that David has been looking forward to this holiday since... well, probably since the last one. Knows it's David's favorite because of the parties and champagne and glitter and mess, and that he's especially looking forward to inviting Michael along to whatever Tulsa hellhole he ends up in. And since Roger knows that, he doesn't even call when he knows David can pick up the phone: David finds out on a voicemail that he's playing New Year's Rockin' Eve in Times Square.
One sober holiday playing a show with the band seemed like something he could give up, because anyway this is your dream. Michael would kill him anyway.
It's not just New Year's, really, it's Thanksgiving too. Michael had still been in the Philippines, playing Debbie Gibson on a mall tour. "It's okay," he'd insisted, "it's not a big deal in Australia anyway."
But it's a big deal to me. David hadn't said anything, let it kind of brew around and settle in his stomach and called his mother to make reservations for one.
It wasn't just New Year's, and it wasn't just Thanksgiving. The entire holiday season had been so integral in David's life growing up, a huge family affair where no one fought and everyone was together and his grandmother would make peanut-butter-almond fudge that no one else has ever made, and he wanted Michael to be a part of it. David wasn't sure of any other way to explain how much holidays with his family meant without showing him. When Michael had come back from overseas, home to David's apartment after a red-eye flight, he'd seen two plane tickets to Kansas City on the kitchen counter.
"I thought we'd go to Australia for Christmas," he whispers as he climbs over David on the bed, pulling him tight to his chest. "You just saw everyone at Thanksgiving."
Being the American Idol doesn't leave a lot of time for sleep, so while he's happy to have his boyfriend back, he's happier to sleep when he can do it. So waking up to such a suggestion does not please him.
"Why would we go to Australia for Christmas," he yawns, "there's not even any snow." He knows his argument is weak, but it's early. He wiggles around; adjusts to fit Michael's form.
"Is there snow in Oklahoma?"
"It gets cold at least." The pressure of Michael's leg across his thigh makes it go numb. "You have a bed. Sleep in it," except that Michael didn't have a bed anymore, they'd gotten rid of it moving into the new apartment.
He's maybe a little irrational, okay, but he is entitled. It's his season. It's his family. Michael can jump on a plane whenever, singing the praises of being an indie musician, but Roger and the label own David's soul.
Michael is already asleep, and he isn't in his own bed.
so I stand with a smile on my face,
wondering how much time they'll waste
After Thanksgiving, David spends a lot of his time in meetings. Meeting with people who will tell him where he will be on April 3, tell him what song he'll sing for his American Idol appearance, tell him what to say while overseas on his USO grandstand. He can't stop feeling guilty when he hears Andy on the phone with his girlfriend in the hallway (I know I'll miss your birthday, baby, I'm sorry, but you'll see me on TV) or when Kyle speaks up during a meeting: "I'm turning 21 in a country where alcohol is illegal?" Joey is quiet, as ever, but David wonders how long he'll make it without his wife. Or how long they'll make it.
Neal is the only one who shows any excitement about the tour, the appearances, the press: "dude, can you imagine the ASS I am going to score?"
And yeah, Neal would be that guy, he'll fuck anything that moves.
Michael comes along every now and then, but David makes it a point to not discuss the Ryan Seacrest reunion at the end of December.
"We'll have New Year's together, okay? I have to go see my family. I haven't since the end of tour. You understand." And David did understand, knowing he'd have to again field the questions: is there something wrong? Are you and Michael still together?
"Okay," he'd agreed. "New Year's."
Dear Christmas tree I cut you for a lovely girl,
I don't mean to hurt no feelings; you're a casualty
just like my heart held captive
David had resigned himself to an artificial tree after weeks of consideration. (Actually, after weeks of meaning to try to find a Christmas tree farm in Los Angeles and never finding time, but it makes him feel better to say that it's a decision.) The apartment had been quiet, tensions rising after David had called to cancel one of the Kansas City tickets. At least I got trip insurance, he thinks, and he knows that the travel agent assisting him must get hundreds of cancellations right before the holiday rush home. Breakups, fights, illnesses, work emergencies. People always having reasons to stay away.
The quiet was killing him slowly, so he'd asked Michael to help him pick out a fake tree with him. They'd crawled up into the Expedition and driven out to the suburbs, to a midwestern oasis infrequently found in the city.
"If I'm going to have a fake tree this year, we might as well make it cheap, too."
"I really don't think you can get cheaper than Wal-Mart. Seriously Dave, we can't have a real one imported or something?"
"Most of the fun in Christmas trees comes from picking them out. What do you know about Christmas trees anyway?"
Michael laughed, grabbed a cart. "I don't know anything. We decorate palm trees and use coral reef for wreaths. So can't we just pick the first one we see? They come pre-lit, don't they?"
"You're going to experience as much Christmas with me as I can drag out of you, including the hell that is Christmas lights." He put his hand on the shopping cart and led Michael toward a hanging sign: WINTER WONDERLAND.
Michael doesn't say anything regarding his disappointment about missing another celebration together. Instead he puts on a smile. "You're going to be like a kid in a candy store, aren't you, or a--"
"Kid on Christmas morning?"
don't come home for Christmas
you're the last thing I wanna see
underneath the tree
Two hours after they set out on their excursion, Michael is finally pulling the box up the fire exit stairs, David trailing with five bags of decorations. "It has to feel like home," he'd said, "it won't feel like home without a motion-activated talking Santa that scares the shit out of you every time you walk by it at 3am."
It had taken Michael at least twenty minutes to talk him out of a metallic tree; something that looked like it was made of tinfoil. "If you want it to be silvery and sparkly, we can just cover it in that garland and tinsel and--"
He had stopped because David's face went a little paler than white, and forgetting that he was a 25-year-old living thousands of miles from her, said something he was sure Michael would never stop teasing him about. "Grandma says we can't EVER use tinsel." He realizes what he's said and tries to play it cool. "I mean, it's impossible to clean up, and it doesn't have to be an elaborate setup. I just want it to feel a little more like home."
But then they needed a tree skirt, and stockings to hang over a fake yule log, and a fruitcake neither of them would eat.
Michael had managed to talk David out of the eight-foot tree ("Our ceilings are only six-and-a-half feet high, David." "But that doesn't take into account the vaulted part! If we put it in the middle of the dining room...") and down to a six-and-a-half foot one. David had picked out ornamental balls in complimenting colors; shiny blues and matte silvers, matching yardage of garland to wrap around. "God, you really are gay," Michael joked, and David had laughed.
"You're just jealous of my domesticity. Now go pick out stockings."
It took them another hour to figure out how to assemble the tree. Which limbs went on the top, which went on the bottom, and what on way the tree "trunk" was up and which was down.
"I think I'll just put this log thing under the window, okay?" Michael pokes through the bags, looking for it, and David wants to say but it can't go under the window, the stockings have to hang over it, but he figures he's expelled enough crazy for one day (he's a rockstar, okay, not a mall Santa, he shouldn't be so into this shit) and can move things around later. He nods and takes out the stockings, laughing hard at them. Michael had picked out the childish cartoon character ones; Madagascar and Cars because he was spending a lot of time watching animated films instead of writing songs for an album.
David began acting normal again after he finally maneuvered the star onto the tree's top. ("Drag that chair over, Michael, and help me cut this top branch down." "I told you this tree was too big.")
you are an icicle
warmth of the season can't melt.
David's hands rose to his temples, rubbing circles into them to stave off the headache he knew was coming.
"Look, I'm sorry I want to see my family again, but you know I want to see the kids, and my mom, and fuck, I have to see Adam--"
"You can stop bringing your brother into it, I know you want to see him, I know the holidays are important to you and all that. But I want just as badly to go home, I can't even remember what my sister looks like, or how it sounds to not have the only Australian accent for miles."
"Then I can't really understand why we are still talking about it."
They'd been laying in bed, on their stomachs watching Elf when it had come up this time. David had said this is my niece's favorite movie, which he'd meant to make into a joke about feeling like a six-year-old girl when he watches it. Instead Michael had snapped at him with an I bet you could watch it with her in a few weeks, then, and started them on the same argument they'd been having for weeks.
David rolled onto his back, pulling Michael's arm over his chest. He's looking at the big picture window, imagining icicles hanging down, pretending the snow is flying by like it had when he was growing up in Blue Springs. Remembers being iced into the house as a seven-year-old and watching as Andrew had plucked his first guitar strings, thinks about snow days in high school stealing beer from his step-dad's stash and getting drunk in Bobby's basement. He wonders how much snow there is at home, if there will be a storm as he flies back alone, if the airport in LA even has snow de-icer, and wonders why it matters.
"Just go home to your desert oasis, and have fun, and we'll meet back up in New York for New Years."
"New Years with you, and Andy, and Neal, and Kyle, and Joey, and their girlfriends, and thousands of fans who want nothing more than you in their beds."
"Joey is married, he doesn't have a girlfriend." Michael snakes his arm back over, claiming it for himself, and David continues. "And anyway, at least Seacrest will be there for you to play with."
It's a joke but it somehow doesn't feel that way.
can you believe it's snowing
and even the lake is frozen
i haven't seen it since last year
Everyone is at the airport to pick David up when he arrives on Christmas eve, and Gracie is the first person to charge at and jump on him.
"You better have gotten me something really cool," she says, "since you are a rockstar and have lots of money now."
He laughs, kisses her forehead and sets her down to make his way through the reception line. "How many cars did you take to get here, I could have just rented a car."
"When is the last time you drove, Dave, especially the last time you drove in snow?" Andrew had a point and he picked up David's guitar case. "Planning to write the next hit record while you're home for four days?"
"Something like that." He lets Kendra talk his ear off about the kids, tells a funny story about an oncology appointment, rattles off ingredients to the dessert she's made for dinner. His suitcase is beat up from months of travel as it follows behind him, his hand barely wrapped around the handle.
He straps himself into the front seat of Andrew's car and as they drive out of the parking structure the slush on the ground begins to splash up onto the windshield and David realizes how much he hates snow.
"I know something is wrong, so you should probably just say it so I can make you stop sulking."
David digs through the console between the seats, looking for a piece of gum. "I'm just tired. And Michael went back to Australia and we had plans for New Years and I feel like I'm destroying the band's life and I'm just. I don't really know if this is really quite what I had expected."
"It's about Michael, isn't it."
David doesn't say anything, he just turns the radio up louder than Andrew's voice and ignores the sympathetic looks he and David's mother keep casting at him the next day. He tears into his presents, though, running through the motions of every other holiday. Opens an ugly Christmas sweater from Andrew and a hand-knit scarf and hat set from Kendra. He picks at the Christmas ham, hangs the pineapple rings from his nose to make the kids laugh like he does every year, and that night he calls his boyfriend who is half a world away. That part isn't like every year.
"Merry Christmas, I miss you," David says as a greeting when the ringing stops and the phone clicks to signal a connect.
"Merry Christmas to you too, except it's the day after here. I wish you'd have come; there's a koala bear outside my window right now."
"There are... children pounding on my door," is Dave's contribution. "They rescheduled my flight to New York, so now I'm going on the 29th for press and interviews and junk. When are you coming? I could probably get them to talk to you too."
Michael sort of stops then, stops humming under his breath like he'd been doing. "I sort of forgot about the time changes.."
"Michael, no. I know it's not the way we had planned but you have to be there for New Years."
"I'm sorry."
They talk about it, talk about the issues the holiday season has brought up in their relationship. Michael yells, David apologizes, and it's just like every other discussion they've had.
"I'm beginning to even wonder if it's worth it," David says.
"New Years?"
"No. This."
i didn't mean to leave you all alone,
i didn't know what to say.
merry christmas baby.
It isn't until his plane lands at LaGuardia and Neal is sitting next to him that he realizes he didn't pick up anything for Michael on his gift-shopping excursion because they'd been fighting and isn't sure he'll find time to do it before Michael arrives back in the States.
And leave it to Neal to justify it. "Well dude, now everything is on sale, and then if you break up you won't feel so bad because you won't have spent so much on his gift!"
"If I'm thinking that way just get him some Vegemite."
David laughs. "He hates Vegemite."
Roger is at the airport waiting with the car to pick them up and deliver them to the rest of the band at the hotel, so David quickly shoves his and Neal's luggage into the town car and flag down a taxi.
"I'm so sorry Roger, I have other plans, I'll see you back at the hotel," and before his manager can even say anything else the pair have piled into the back of a taxi van.
"Wouldn't it be sweet as balls if this was the Cash Cab?" Neal asks.
The interviews go by like the always do, except this time the band is there with you. Andy plugs his solo work, Neal talks about being drunk in bars, Joey answers questions about his old band and Kyle sits quietly, the fame thing being so new. David feigns happiness to reunite with Seacrest in the "save face for my career" sort of way. The band gets wasted on New-Years-Eve-eve, vowing to play a sober show and knowing that at least two of them will be drunk as shit on that New York City rooftop. David sort of thinks that the pre-celebration will make the actual night less anti-climactic: you can only celebrate the new year once, and anyway who says you can't start counting your year on December 31?
They don't even rehearse during their allotted time, but not for lack of prodding. "We're tired," says David. "If we go out and play now we'll waste it all for tonight," Andy tells them. Neal groans his agreement, hungover on the bed.
Both have read the disappointment in David's face since arriving. "You haven't even mentioned him in days. Is Michael going to be here tonight?"
"No." He's looking outside, out the window, and yeah, the icicles in New York are pretty. He's happy that he'd agreed to this, to give up his midnight kiss and steal Andy away from his grand proposal plans, Joey away from his wife's family's crazy New Years traditions. ("I'll actually thank you for that, though," he'd said.)
this must be it, welcome to the new year.
the drinks were consumed, the plants were destroyed.
i'm not smiling behind this fake veneer.
It's cold outside but David doesn't care. He's snuggled tight under a scarf and a guitar and lights, singing songs about heroes and fans, trying to coax Neal back from the ledge ("but we're so high up!"). It's pretty much perfect, could only be more perfect with Michael. He doesn't think about it, just keeps strumming his guitar.
"It's the holiday season still, so we ought to play a festive sort of song, right?" The crowd screams, an encouragment that they should of course play something else. "There are 314 covers of 'Last Christmas' out there, but no one has done it better than Wham!. So we aren't going to play that." he's a different person onstage, funnier somehow, more confident.
Neal reaches for an acoustic guitar and Andy positions his fingers on the keyboard.
"So this is Christmas, what have you done..." He sings Lennon's words, voice soaring high, and yeah, okay, the song is about war and hate but he's pretty sure he wants the war between he and Michael to come to an end. Kyle's voice screams over his from behind, Andy and Neal singing the background chorale, and maybe this is a little more rocking than John had intended the song to be, but it's fun and the crowd won't stop cheering.
They join in for the last verse, screaming and swaying, applause echoing from the walls of the buildings in Times Square. Seacrest comes out and gives them their walk-off announcement.
"So, since I met you at the auditions in Tulsa, do I get to say I knew you when?" David laughs, does a silly sort of handshake with him. "Whatever you want to say, Ryan."
"Well, don't forget the little people like me when you're rich and more famous."
They duck offstage, waving and smiling, and David's hand fishes in his pocket for his cell phone, hits the number 3 speed dial.
"Oh, of course I got voicemail, you're on a plane. Um, well I'm just calling to say happy new year, wish you were here, all that shit. I love you. Come home soon."
He hears a voice yell after him. "Is now soon enough?"
David turns, spots a tall Australian in the shadows. "I thought you weren't going to be here by midnight," David smirks.
Michael returns the look. "I lied."
Author: is doing the jingle bell rock
Giftee: oflights
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mavid
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Real people. Fake story.
Summary: prompt: Hm...I always like established relationship drama, something angsty but a bit fluffy at times. God, that's an awful prompt, isn't it? I'm sorry. Um...maybe like, a family dinner at a holiday (either family), first meetings, some awkwardness, maybe even a stupid argument that has a happy ending?
Author Notes: soundtrack located here. since this is all anonymous it isn't pretty or anything. :[
it's christmas in California
and it's hard to ignore that it feels like summer all the time.
Michael will kill him. David knows that. He made a promise, okay, but when you are the American Idol, people don't really ask questions. They don't say hey! we'd like to book you for this New Year's Eve gig, you wouldn't happen to have made plans with your boyfriend?
Roger knows, too, knows that David has been looking forward to this holiday since... well, probably since the last one. Knows it's David's favorite because of the parties and champagne and glitter and mess, and that he's especially looking forward to inviting Michael along to whatever Tulsa hellhole he ends up in. And since Roger knows that, he doesn't even call when he knows David can pick up the phone: David finds out on a voicemail that he's playing New Year's Rockin' Eve in Times Square.
One sober holiday playing a show with the band seemed like something he could give up, because anyway this is your dream. Michael would kill him anyway.
It's not just New Year's, really, it's Thanksgiving too. Michael had still been in the Philippines, playing Debbie Gibson on a mall tour. "It's okay," he'd insisted, "it's not a big deal in Australia anyway."
But it's a big deal to me. David hadn't said anything, let it kind of brew around and settle in his stomach and called his mother to make reservations for one.
It wasn't just New Year's, and it wasn't just Thanksgiving. The entire holiday season had been so integral in David's life growing up, a huge family affair where no one fought and everyone was together and his grandmother would make peanut-butter-almond fudge that no one else has ever made, and he wanted Michael to be a part of it. David wasn't sure of any other way to explain how much holidays with his family meant without showing him. When Michael had come back from overseas, home to David's apartment after a red-eye flight, he'd seen two plane tickets to Kansas City on the kitchen counter.
"I thought we'd go to Australia for Christmas," he whispers as he climbs over David on the bed, pulling him tight to his chest. "You just saw everyone at Thanksgiving."
Being the American Idol doesn't leave a lot of time for sleep, so while he's happy to have his boyfriend back, he's happier to sleep when he can do it. So waking up to such a suggestion does not please him.
"Why would we go to Australia for Christmas," he yawns, "there's not even any snow." He knows his argument is weak, but it's early. He wiggles around; adjusts to fit Michael's form.
"Is there snow in Oklahoma?"
"It gets cold at least." The pressure of Michael's leg across his thigh makes it go numb. "You have a bed. Sleep in it," except that Michael didn't have a bed anymore, they'd gotten rid of it moving into the new apartment.
He's maybe a little irrational, okay, but he is entitled. It's his season. It's his family. Michael can jump on a plane whenever, singing the praises of being an indie musician, but Roger and the label own David's soul.
Michael is already asleep, and he isn't in his own bed.
so I stand with a smile on my face,
wondering how much time they'll waste
After Thanksgiving, David spends a lot of his time in meetings. Meeting with people who will tell him where he will be on April 3, tell him what song he'll sing for his American Idol appearance, tell him what to say while overseas on his USO grandstand. He can't stop feeling guilty when he hears Andy on the phone with his girlfriend in the hallway (I know I'll miss your birthday, baby, I'm sorry, but you'll see me on TV) or when Kyle speaks up during a meeting: "I'm turning 21 in a country where alcohol is illegal?" Joey is quiet, as ever, but David wonders how long he'll make it without his wife. Or how long they'll make it.
Neal is the only one who shows any excitement about the tour, the appearances, the press: "dude, can you imagine the ASS I am going to score?"
And yeah, Neal would be that guy, he'll fuck anything that moves.
Michael comes along every now and then, but David makes it a point to not discuss the Ryan Seacrest reunion at the end of December.
"We'll have New Year's together, okay? I have to go see my family. I haven't since the end of tour. You understand." And David did understand, knowing he'd have to again field the questions: is there something wrong? Are you and Michael still together?
"Okay," he'd agreed. "New Year's."
Dear Christmas tree I cut you for a lovely girl,
I don't mean to hurt no feelings; you're a casualty
just like my heart held captive
David had resigned himself to an artificial tree after weeks of consideration. (Actually, after weeks of meaning to try to find a Christmas tree farm in Los Angeles and never finding time, but it makes him feel better to say that it's a decision.) The apartment had been quiet, tensions rising after David had called to cancel one of the Kansas City tickets. At least I got trip insurance, he thinks, and he knows that the travel agent assisting him must get hundreds of cancellations right before the holiday rush home. Breakups, fights, illnesses, work emergencies. People always having reasons to stay away.
The quiet was killing him slowly, so he'd asked Michael to help him pick out a fake tree with him. They'd crawled up into the Expedition and driven out to the suburbs, to a midwestern oasis infrequently found in the city.
"If I'm going to have a fake tree this year, we might as well make it cheap, too."
"I really don't think you can get cheaper than Wal-Mart. Seriously Dave, we can't have a real one imported or something?"
"Most of the fun in Christmas trees comes from picking them out. What do you know about Christmas trees anyway?"
Michael laughed, grabbed a cart. "I don't know anything. We decorate palm trees and use coral reef for wreaths. So can't we just pick the first one we see? They come pre-lit, don't they?"
"You're going to experience as much Christmas with me as I can drag out of you, including the hell that is Christmas lights." He put his hand on the shopping cart and led Michael toward a hanging sign: WINTER WONDERLAND.
Michael doesn't say anything regarding his disappointment about missing another celebration together. Instead he puts on a smile. "You're going to be like a kid in a candy store, aren't you, or a--"
"Kid on Christmas morning?"
don't come home for Christmas
you're the last thing I wanna see
underneath the tree
Two hours after they set out on their excursion, Michael is finally pulling the box up the fire exit stairs, David trailing with five bags of decorations. "It has to feel like home," he'd said, "it won't feel like home without a motion-activated talking Santa that scares the shit out of you every time you walk by it at 3am."
It had taken Michael at least twenty minutes to talk him out of a metallic tree; something that looked like it was made of tinfoil. "If you want it to be silvery and sparkly, we can just cover it in that garland and tinsel and--"
He had stopped because David's face went a little paler than white, and forgetting that he was a 25-year-old living thousands of miles from her, said something he was sure Michael would never stop teasing him about. "Grandma says we can't EVER use tinsel." He realizes what he's said and tries to play it cool. "I mean, it's impossible to clean up, and it doesn't have to be an elaborate setup. I just want it to feel a little more like home."
But then they needed a tree skirt, and stockings to hang over a fake yule log, and a fruitcake neither of them would eat.
Michael had managed to talk David out of the eight-foot tree ("Our ceilings are only six-and-a-half feet high, David." "But that doesn't take into account the vaulted part! If we put it in the middle of the dining room...") and down to a six-and-a-half foot one. David had picked out ornamental balls in complimenting colors; shiny blues and matte silvers, matching yardage of garland to wrap around. "God, you really are gay," Michael joked, and David had laughed.
"You're just jealous of my domesticity. Now go pick out stockings."
It took them another hour to figure out how to assemble the tree. Which limbs went on the top, which went on the bottom, and what on way the tree "trunk" was up and which was down.
"I think I'll just put this log thing under the window, okay?" Michael pokes through the bags, looking for it, and David wants to say but it can't go under the window, the stockings have to hang over it, but he figures he's expelled enough crazy for one day (he's a rockstar, okay, not a mall Santa, he shouldn't be so into this shit) and can move things around later. He nods and takes out the stockings, laughing hard at them. Michael had picked out the childish cartoon character ones; Madagascar and Cars because he was spending a lot of time watching animated films instead of writing songs for an album.
David began acting normal again after he finally maneuvered the star onto the tree's top. ("Drag that chair over, Michael, and help me cut this top branch down." "I told you this tree was too big.")
you are an icicle
warmth of the season can't melt.
David's hands rose to his temples, rubbing circles into them to stave off the headache he knew was coming.
"Look, I'm sorry I want to see my family again, but you know I want to see the kids, and my mom, and fuck, I have to see Adam--"
"You can stop bringing your brother into it, I know you want to see him, I know the holidays are important to you and all that. But I want just as badly to go home, I can't even remember what my sister looks like, or how it sounds to not have the only Australian accent for miles."
"Then I can't really understand why we are still talking about it."
They'd been laying in bed, on their stomachs watching Elf when it had come up this time. David had said this is my niece's favorite movie, which he'd meant to make into a joke about feeling like a six-year-old girl when he watches it. Instead Michael had snapped at him with an I bet you could watch it with her in a few weeks, then, and started them on the same argument they'd been having for weeks.
David rolled onto his back, pulling Michael's arm over his chest. He's looking at the big picture window, imagining icicles hanging down, pretending the snow is flying by like it had when he was growing up in Blue Springs. Remembers being iced into the house as a seven-year-old and watching as Andrew had plucked his first guitar strings, thinks about snow days in high school stealing beer from his step-dad's stash and getting drunk in Bobby's basement. He wonders how much snow there is at home, if there will be a storm as he flies back alone, if the airport in LA even has snow de-icer, and wonders why it matters.
"Just go home to your desert oasis, and have fun, and we'll meet back up in New York for New Years."
"New Years with you, and Andy, and Neal, and Kyle, and Joey, and their girlfriends, and thousands of fans who want nothing more than you in their beds."
"Joey is married, he doesn't have a girlfriend." Michael snakes his arm back over, claiming it for himself, and David continues. "And anyway, at least Seacrest will be there for you to play with."
It's a joke but it somehow doesn't feel that way.
can you believe it's snowing
and even the lake is frozen
i haven't seen it since last year
Everyone is at the airport to pick David up when he arrives on Christmas eve, and Gracie is the first person to charge at and jump on him.
"You better have gotten me something really cool," she says, "since you are a rockstar and have lots of money now."
He laughs, kisses her forehead and sets her down to make his way through the reception line. "How many cars did you take to get here, I could have just rented a car."
"When is the last time you drove, Dave, especially the last time you drove in snow?" Andrew had a point and he picked up David's guitar case. "Planning to write the next hit record while you're home for four days?"
"Something like that." He lets Kendra talk his ear off about the kids, tells a funny story about an oncology appointment, rattles off ingredients to the dessert she's made for dinner. His suitcase is beat up from months of travel as it follows behind him, his hand barely wrapped around the handle.
He straps himself into the front seat of Andrew's car and as they drive out of the parking structure the slush on the ground begins to splash up onto the windshield and David realizes how much he hates snow.
"I know something is wrong, so you should probably just say it so I can make you stop sulking."
David digs through the console between the seats, looking for a piece of gum. "I'm just tired. And Michael went back to Australia and we had plans for New Years and I feel like I'm destroying the band's life and I'm just. I don't really know if this is really quite what I had expected."
"It's about Michael, isn't it."
David doesn't say anything, he just turns the radio up louder than Andrew's voice and ignores the sympathetic looks he and David's mother keep casting at him the next day. He tears into his presents, though, running through the motions of every other holiday. Opens an ugly Christmas sweater from Andrew and a hand-knit scarf and hat set from Kendra. He picks at the Christmas ham, hangs the pineapple rings from his nose to make the kids laugh like he does every year, and that night he calls his boyfriend who is half a world away. That part isn't like every year.
"Merry Christmas, I miss you," David says as a greeting when the ringing stops and the phone clicks to signal a connect.
"Merry Christmas to you too, except it's the day after here. I wish you'd have come; there's a koala bear outside my window right now."
"There are... children pounding on my door," is Dave's contribution. "They rescheduled my flight to New York, so now I'm going on the 29th for press and interviews and junk. When are you coming? I could probably get them to talk to you too."
Michael sort of stops then, stops humming under his breath like he'd been doing. "I sort of forgot about the time changes.."
"Michael, no. I know it's not the way we had planned but you have to be there for New Years."
"I'm sorry."
They talk about it, talk about the issues the holiday season has brought up in their relationship. Michael yells, David apologizes, and it's just like every other discussion they've had.
"I'm beginning to even wonder if it's worth it," David says.
"New Years?"
"No. This."
i didn't mean to leave you all alone,
i didn't know what to say.
merry christmas baby.
It isn't until his plane lands at LaGuardia and Neal is sitting next to him that he realizes he didn't pick up anything for Michael on his gift-shopping excursion because they'd been fighting and isn't sure he'll find time to do it before Michael arrives back in the States.
And leave it to Neal to justify it. "Well dude, now everything is on sale, and then if you break up you won't feel so bad because you won't have spent so much on his gift!"
"If I'm thinking that way just get him some Vegemite."
David laughs. "He hates Vegemite."
Roger is at the airport waiting with the car to pick them up and deliver them to the rest of the band at the hotel, so David quickly shoves his and Neal's luggage into the town car and flag down a taxi.
"I'm so sorry Roger, I have other plans, I'll see you back at the hotel," and before his manager can even say anything else the pair have piled into the back of a taxi van.
"Wouldn't it be sweet as balls if this was the Cash Cab?" Neal asks.
The interviews go by like the always do, except this time the band is there with you. Andy plugs his solo work, Neal talks about being drunk in bars, Joey answers questions about his old band and Kyle sits quietly, the fame thing being so new. David feigns happiness to reunite with Seacrest in the "save face for my career" sort of way. The band gets wasted on New-Years-Eve-eve, vowing to play a sober show and knowing that at least two of them will be drunk as shit on that New York City rooftop. David sort of thinks that the pre-celebration will make the actual night less anti-climactic: you can only celebrate the new year once, and anyway who says you can't start counting your year on December 31?
They don't even rehearse during their allotted time, but not for lack of prodding. "We're tired," says David. "If we go out and play now we'll waste it all for tonight," Andy tells them. Neal groans his agreement, hungover on the bed.
Both have read the disappointment in David's face since arriving. "You haven't even mentioned him in days. Is Michael going to be here tonight?"
"No." He's looking outside, out the window, and yeah, the icicles in New York are pretty. He's happy that he'd agreed to this, to give up his midnight kiss and steal Andy away from his grand proposal plans, Joey away from his wife's family's crazy New Years traditions. ("I'll actually thank you for that, though," he'd said.)
this must be it, welcome to the new year.
the drinks were consumed, the plants were destroyed.
i'm not smiling behind this fake veneer.
It's cold outside but David doesn't care. He's snuggled tight under a scarf and a guitar and lights, singing songs about heroes and fans, trying to coax Neal back from the ledge ("but we're so high up!"). It's pretty much perfect, could only be more perfect with Michael. He doesn't think about it, just keeps strumming his guitar.
"It's the holiday season still, so we ought to play a festive sort of song, right?" The crowd screams, an encouragment that they should of course play something else. "There are 314 covers of 'Last Christmas' out there, but no one has done it better than Wham!. So we aren't going to play that." he's a different person onstage, funnier somehow, more confident.
Neal reaches for an acoustic guitar and Andy positions his fingers on the keyboard.
"So this is Christmas, what have you done..." He sings Lennon's words, voice soaring high, and yeah, okay, the song is about war and hate but he's pretty sure he wants the war between he and Michael to come to an end. Kyle's voice screams over his from behind, Andy and Neal singing the background chorale, and maybe this is a little more rocking than John had intended the song to be, but it's fun and the crowd won't stop cheering.
They join in for the last verse, screaming and swaying, applause echoing from the walls of the buildings in Times Square. Seacrest comes out and gives them their walk-off announcement.
"So, since I met you at the auditions in Tulsa, do I get to say I knew you when?" David laughs, does a silly sort of handshake with him. "Whatever you want to say, Ryan."
"Well, don't forget the little people like me when you're rich and more famous."
They duck offstage, waving and smiling, and David's hand fishes in his pocket for his cell phone, hits the number 3 speed dial.
"Oh, of course I got voicemail, you're on a plane. Um, well I'm just calling to say happy new year, wish you were here, all that shit. I love you. Come home soon."
He hears a voice yell after him. "Is now soon enough?"
David turns, spots a tall Australian in the shadows. "I thought you weren't going to be here by midnight," David smirks.
Michael returns the look. "I lied."