White

The Christmas tree lights were blinking tirelessly in the dim light of the room, flashing off of the bits of tinsel scattered about the floor. It felt very warm. It felt very warm and comfortable somehow, like a kind of protective, nicely-decorated womb. Leonard’s Lodgers’ first and last annual Christmas party had been a success, meaning that most got roaringly drunk, many found a companion for the night, and everyone managed to have a nice time without ruining the décor. Nick and Bob had retired to their rooms several hours ago but Roger and Syd had opted to stay up for awhile and bask in the post-party afterglow. After mostly lounging around in silence for awhile, Syd finally got up went thumbing through their landlord’s records until he found a copy of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue. Roger half-reclined on the sofa, watching his band mate as he pulled the disc from its cardboard sleeve and set it on the turntable. There were a few pops and cracks before the sound of “Freddie Freeloader” filled the room with a low undercurrent of soft piano.

Syd turned around and hunched over slightly, snapping his fingers in imitation of an appreciative Beat.

“Very square, Syd. Didn’t you know that Beatdom is on its way out?”

“So are mods. And thank fucking God for that. But that’s the thing; everything’s changing, you know? Like speed’s not the thing anymore. Some of these blokes in America, they’re talking about this stuff…I mean, I don’t know how you take it but you’re supposed to get religious experiences or something.”

“It’s probably rubbish…pot always sounded so much more exciting than it was. I remember I’d been hearing about it for so long and when we finally tried it, it just wasn’t….I don’t know, it wasn’t what I wanted it to be.”

“What did you want it to be then?”

“I’ve got no idea what I wanted to be. Just different than it was.”

“You still smoke though.”

“Yeah, I know. I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Anyway, the stuff I’m talking about isn’t rubbish. It came from a very credible source. I hear it’s really hard to get but you know what?”

“What’s that, Syd?”

“Bet you’ll we’ll have it here by next year.”

“The last thing we need are a lot of mods running around on speed while having profound religious experiences.”

“Ah, don’t tell me it wouldn’t be a little funny…”

“It would be fucking terrifying.”

“Aw, poor Rog…” Syd swayed toward the sofa and leaned over the back to wrap his arms around Roger’s neck. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“Mmmm…we’ll probably be big pop stars and have our own bodyguards by then.”

“And our pictures in Fabulous.”

“And NME. You’ll be the cute one.” This was said with some small degree of bitterness. “You’re already the cute one.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Jealous? Of you?” He scoffed. “Why should I be?”

“Because you’re a miserable, spotty bastard and everyone else gets more tail than you.” Roger pursed his lips and drew in a deep breath, refusing to turn around and look at the man behind him.

“If you weren’t…you, I’d have hit you right in your fucking nose for that.”

“But you love me.”

“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you mean.”

“You really are a miserable bastard.” Syd smiled and playfully rubbed his nose against Roger’s hair. “My miserable bastard. I love you right down to your greasy skin.”

“Thank you.” Roger tried not to smile in spite of the genuine tenderness of the hug. “What a nice thing to say. The Christmas spirit is certainly alive and well within Syd Barrett, isn’t it?”

“Would you like your gift?”

“If I don’t have any other choice.”

“Well, you don’t.” He finally released Roger from his grip and wandered over toward the stairway. “Okay, come here.”

“Is it upstairs?”

“No. But you have to come here to get it.”

“What if I say ‘no’?”

“Then you can fuck off and sleep alone tonight.”

Heaving a sigh, Roger rose to his feet and made a great show of his lack of enthusiasm as he walked over. When he reached Syd, he looked up and had his suspicions confirmed: mistletoe. Syd was always oddly fond of these little traditions whereas Roger himself was not. Oh well. He stood with his hands behind his back and waited for his so-called “gift”, Syd smiling at him like a child who was about to show off a new toy. Then the shorter of the two stood on tiptoe to try and eliminate a bit of the height difference, slipped his arms around Roger’s neck (properly this time) and placed a kiss on his waiting lips. The recipient was pleasantly surprised by its gentleness, its honesty. It was leisurely – no tongue-down-the-throat impatience – and just the right amount of pressure without crushing his mouth. And despite his effort to be as miserable as possible tonight, Roger couldn’t resist the sweetness of the kiss and allowed himself to respond accordingly, arms moving up to encircle Syd’s waist. If anyone should have happened to come downstairs at that moment…well, fuck them.

It all felt rather unreal…a lot like a film really. Shows of affection were never like this; they were awkward, desperate, clumsy things that happened in dark rooms. There were always hands grappling for clothes, skin, not to mention hips pushing impatiently together. But this…was this what so many people considered “romance”?

Those artificial lights going off and on in the background and the heaviness of the air…when Syd finally broke it off and Roger saw his upturned mouth and eerily aware eyes, his thought pattern seemed to be a blathering mess of love, love, love, love, love, love you, love you, love you, so, so, so, so, so much. Oh Christ, what was that all about? And where was the usual straining need in his crotch? The only thing he could think of was crawling under the safe covers and holding Syd’s thin body against his own. Burying his face in his throat. Smelling his skin. Not fucking but actually making love. That was a foreign concept, wasn’t it? Well, he was perfectly willing to explore that uncharted territory so long as Syd didn’t tease him about it, which he inevitably would.

It was worth a try. And besides, it was Christmas, wasn’t it? A good a time as any for these stupid sentimental displays.