Riding On The Night Train

She was his sister and she knew him too well. He knew she was watching him, the way his dark eyes flicked around their trailer, scanning the faces of his bustling dancers and their colourful blur of hot pink and lime green. His fingers were worrying at the cuffs of his shirt and she batted them away, placing her hands on her hips and fixing him with a questioning stare.

"What is up with you today?"

He dropped his eyes to the floor, trying to keep the smile that was tugging at his lips at bay, as she reached up to adjust his collar.

"Nothing's up. What d'you mean? Everything's fine, I'm normal."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You are not normal,” she insisted, “Come on, Mika, you're so tense. I mean, I know there's a lot of people here but, seriously. You've done festivals before.”

He shrugged, as she turned to lace up the dress of a passing dancer and he took the opportunity to suck in a shaky breath and loosen his collar.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “I'm going to go and check out my stage set-up seeing as you have everything here completely under control...”

“Hey, wait, I haven't even done your make-up!”

“I'm going for the natural look, Paloma...” he told her, with a dismissive wave, as he retreated through the busy trailer, “We'll catch up later... call me if you need me!”

He let out a long breath of relief, as he stepped out of the door and into the fresh air, leaving his sister standing amongst the backstage chaos with her eyebrows knitted in confusion, shaking her head at the open door.

Mika wove his way amongst the buses and trailers with his eyes on the ground and his hands twitching in the pockets of his skinny jeans. He had ninety minutes to go before he was due on stage and he was certain if he spent it with his crew he would tip over the edge into completely stir crazy. It didn't matter how much he loved them; tonight, his head wasn't in the game and the longer he could manage to hide that, the better.

There was an eight-foot chipboard barrier sealing off the backstage area and he gave security a nod, as he slipped through the gate onto the other side of it, enjoying the fact that he was so less famous than most of the other people there that only his doting family were concerned for his safety – and he was satisfied they wouldn't miss him for a little while.

With only an hour to go before showtime, Mika was watching the Pixies from what felt like four miles away, enjoying the sun on the back of his neck and trying to resist the temptation to check his phone every few minutes. This, he failed at.

It wasn't like he felt he was owed a phone call, or even a text message, if he was honest. It wasn't even like him to get so ridiculous over stuff like this. It was just that, ever since his manager had pinned the Pinkpop line-up to his noticeboard and his vague interest had been drawn, wide-eyed and instant, towards Green Day, he had struggled to keep his stomach from churning and the thought of running into their lead singer unexpectedly was enough to make all his insides feel acrobatic.

They weren't even playing the same day. He hadn't even spoken to the guy in more than a month, when he had played in Sacramento, California, and received a text message that was short, sweet, just enough to make him smile.

Heard you're in my hood. guess where I'm at? london. aint life a bitch. BJ x

Before that, a few weeks before his American tour, a photograph of a baby grand piano, with a message attached.

My new baby. she plays almost as nice as yours.

The month before, a joke about a turtle. And before that... well, before that was a night he had struggled to get out of his head since it had happened. Not that he had tried particularly hard.

He checked his phone again. Nothing. He wondered what time he would arrive tomorrow. He wondered if Billie Joe was checking for messages from him. He laughed at himself, finished his drink, and made his way back to the barrier.

Paloma was waiting at the side of the stage when he returned; with a make-up brush and a set-list and an expression that told him he probably should have come back sooner.

“Relax...” he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, lightly, “I just needed some air. “

“You need a tracking device,” she told him.

“I have a mobile phone,” he reminded her, with a playful smirk, and she rolled her eyes, as she reached up to run the brush over his skin.

“So I noticed. It's barely been out of your sight all afternoon. Who's the lucky girl?”

He said nothing and she raised an eyebrow.

“...Boy?”

“Seriously...” he complained, with a chuckle that just managed not to sound nervous, “I don't even know what you're on about. Am I done?”

“Hmm.... almost. What did I do with your jacket?”

She turned, frowning in thought, and he took the chance to peer around the side of the stage, letting his eyes wash over the forty or so thousand people he was about to walk out in front of. He knew he wouldn't feel nervous, that just wasn't something that happened to him, but the first ripples of excitement and anticipation were just beginning to start in his stomach, when his mother took hold of his arm. She seemed to come out of nowhere, brandishing the misplaced jacket and wearing an expression of firm determination.

“You have five minutes,” she warned him, nodding to his arm, which he stretched out so that she could pull the jacket on. He shrugged it over his shoulders. “Do you have everything ready?”

“Yep. All set.”

“Are you sure? Because there's a lot of people out there and – Yasmine! Put that down and get the camera! He's on in five! - you know, I swear I ironed this.”

Mika resisted the urge to roll his eyes, as his mother busied herself with brushing dust off his shoulders, the kind that wasn't visible to anyone else's eyes but her own. He tilted his head a little, as she adjusted his collar, then he placed his hands on her shoulders to gently push some space between them.

“You know what, Mum, I really think I'm fine, the jacket looks-”

He stopped, looking over her shoulder to where his dancers were giggling, adjusting their dresses and chattering with pre-performance excitement. Something, or someone had caught his eye and, until he saw the dark head weaving through his backstage chaos, he wondered if he had imagined it.

“Mika?” Paloma prompted him. “You look like you've seen a ghost. What's up? Slash is finishing.”

He shook his head, turning to her, then looking back out at the cheering crowd. Right, Slash. He was about to follow one of the greatest rock guitarists of all time and, by the sound of it, he had gone down pretty well.

He ran a hand through his hair, then bounced on his toes a couple of times, channelling the energy he knew he was going to run wild with the moment he got on the stage. He turned to look at the dancers again, who were beginning to move towards the wings with practised organisation, and then the crowd parted and he sucked in a breath of surprise that seemed to stick in his throat.

He looked exactly as Mika remembered him, only different; and if that didn't make any sense he didn't even care. His hair was black again, curling a little, just unkempt enough to stay on the endearing side of scruffy, and his skin was a little darker than he remembered too. It made his eyes look brighter, as if they had ever needed to, and his hands slid down into the pockets of his black jeans when he caught Mika staring. He smiled, crookedly, leaning against one of the tall crates stacked on the floor.

“Hey.”

Mika blinked.

“Billie Joe...” he muttered, in disbelief, taking a step towards him. He took a second to shake the fuzz out of his head. “Shit... I wasn't expecting to see you.”

Billie Joe gave him a smile, warm and easy, and he felt a flicker of adrenaline shoot up his spine.

“Yeah...” the guitarist explained, “Well, y'know, we're playing this weekend... tomorrow actually, but... we got here a little early. We all had a few people we wanted to see.”

His voice was cool and casual but his eyes held Mika's captive and it wasn't until he stepped forward and extended his hand that he found his voice again.

“Yeah, I actually... I heard you were playing tomorrow,” he nodded, as his palm met Billie Joe's in something half-way between a high five and a handshake, his stomach quivering a little as warm fingers curled around his own. “But I wasn't sure if you were, um-”

“-Mika!”

His hand dropped as he turned around.

“Yeah, I'm coming!” he called. He turned back to face Billie Joe. “I'm due on stage.”

Billie Joe nodded, sliding his hand back into his pocket.

“Yeah, man, I know... I thought I'd come watch.”

“Mika!”

He winced and Billie Joe raised an eyebrow.

“I think you're needed,” he smiled.

Mika looked back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I am... I need to go on, like, right now. But, um.. you know, maybe afterwards we could...”

He trailed off. What exactly was it that he and Billie Joe did? Duet on the piano? Stay up drinking scotch?

“Grab a beer?” Billie Joe finished, raising an eyebrow.

Mika nodded.

“... Yeah,” he smiled, holding his eyes for another moment, until another call from behind him wrenched his attention away.

“Mika!”

When he walked out in front of forty-thousand fans, he had nerves in his stomach after all.