This Is Spinal Tap - Curtains (PG)
Nigel stood at the window, gazing down at the dark street below, dimly lit by orange streetlights. The last of the night's clubbers tripped along the pavement, the early hour of the morning holding no more entertainment for them as they struggled to hold each other upright.
The guitarist sighed wearily as the clubbers headed out of sight. "I suppose this really is curtains now, ain't it? After today." The band had returned to London, finally reuniting to save the world, or something. At least, that's what that yank politician had said the gig was for. Wembley had been rebuilt since the last time they were there. Sod it, everything had been rebuilt since last time. Everything was new and updated, and all the other bands were young and fresh-faced.
Not like Nigel.
"I'm too old for this," he muttered to himself as he raised a hand to rub under one eye, feeling the lines worn deep into his skin. "It's not our time anymore. It's someone else's now." He thought about the other bands playing earlier, and that he was old enough to play granddad to some of them. Yes, their time was over.
He wondered what Viv and Mick would have made of it all, had they been around to see it. The fact that they hadn't, of course, only served to make him feel older, less immortal. Derek had left London soon after they'd finished, to head up north and visit family. As for David, Nigel had a feeling he'd never leave London while there was something to stay around for. And for that, the guitarist thought to himself, he was thankful.
"Nigel?"
The guitarist smiled wryly, his face still bathed in an orange glow as he softly replied, "Hmm?"
"Come to bed."
The brunette turned from the orange glow of the hotel window to the dark room behind him. David was sitting upright in the bed, half covered by the sheets, with a concerned expression on his face. Letting a full smile grace his lips, he quietly walked to the bed and wordlessly climbed under the sheets, joining the blond. Not young, not fresh-faced, and with as many lines on his brow as himself, but familiar, constant.
"You didn't close the curtains," David said, quietly.
"No," Nigel replied. "I didn't."
The guitarist sighed wearily as the clubbers headed out of sight. "I suppose this really is curtains now, ain't it? After today." The band had returned to London, finally reuniting to save the world, or something. At least, that's what that yank politician had said the gig was for. Wembley had been rebuilt since the last time they were there. Sod it, everything had been rebuilt since last time. Everything was new and updated, and all the other bands were young and fresh-faced.
Not like Nigel.
"I'm too old for this," he muttered to himself as he raised a hand to rub under one eye, feeling the lines worn deep into his skin. "It's not our time anymore. It's someone else's now." He thought about the other bands playing earlier, and that he was old enough to play granddad to some of them. Yes, their time was over.
He wondered what Viv and Mick would have made of it all, had they been around to see it. The fact that they hadn't, of course, only served to make him feel older, less immortal. Derek had left London soon after they'd finished, to head up north and visit family. As for David, Nigel had a feeling he'd never leave London while there was something to stay around for. And for that, the guitarist thought to himself, he was thankful.
"Nigel?"
The guitarist smiled wryly, his face still bathed in an orange glow as he softly replied, "Hmm?"
"Come to bed."
The brunette turned from the orange glow of the hotel window to the dark room behind him. David was sitting upright in the bed, half covered by the sheets, with a concerned expression on his face. Letting a full smile grace his lips, he quietly walked to the bed and wordlessly climbed under the sheets, joining the blond. Not young, not fresh-faced, and with as many lines on his brow as himself, but familiar, constant.
"You didn't close the curtains," David said, quietly.
"No," Nigel replied. "I didn't."