Riding On The Night Train

“I can't believe we're on a train to Amsterdam.”

Billie Joe smiled at the wonder on Mika's face, as he stared out of the window to watch the night roll by. He could barely believe they were here, together, separated only by three feet and a plastic-topped table, and it made him realise how many times he had wanted to be here all along. His eyes were very dark, a sort of rich mahogany that always seemed warm to him, but they looked almost black tonight, under the harsh fluorescent strip-light that ran down the centre of the carriage. The bulb buzzed and flickered, plunging them into brief, fractious moments of darkness that made him feel strangely edgy. He wondered if it was because he spent them wanting to look at his face again.

He lit a cigarette, slowly and deliberately, then took a long drag and flicked the ash out of the open window panel next to him. He wasn't even sure he wanted it. He just really needed something to do with his fingers.

“Would you rather go someplace else?”

Mika smiled, his eyes still following passing Dutch villages.

“No,” he replied, simply, “I just wasn't really expecting to be going anywhere at all.”
Billie Joe shrugged, watching his cigarette burn between his fingertips.

“I hate places like that,” he explained, “I mean... I like playing them, love that, but the backstage thing.. I really can't think of a lot worse than hanging out with a bunch of famous people all night long. I hate famous people. Like... I really fuckin' hate them.”

Mika grinned, his eyes flicking from the window to meet Billie Joe's own.

“Yeah... I think I know what you mean,” he nodded, “Although... I would venture a guess that you were the most famous person there.”

Billie Joe smirked, giving up on his smoke and tossing it out of the window.

“Hell, maybe...” he agreed, “But, y'know... I don't have to make conversation with me. I guess you do though, so... sorry about that.”

There was a pause, whilst Mika considered this and Billie Joe watched his eyes flicker in the lights. He had been joking, of course, but the more he thought about it, making conversation on trips with drunken one-night stands wasn't as easy as he hoped it might be.

“Hmm... apology accepted,” Mika smiled, quietly and Billie Joe began to laugh, for no reason at all.

They arrived at midnight and the city was buzzing. Billie Joe pulled a woollen, grey hat from the pocket of his jacket and pulled it low over his his eyes, as he dipped his head and pushed his way through the bright lights and the swell of late-night tourists. Mika followed close behind him and, for a moment, he felt a flicker of concern that he was leading them both into a baying crowd that they'd struggle to find their way out of again. He hadn't even considered what it would mean for them to be seen here, together, like this and, whilst he absolutely didn't give a fuck about that, he didn't want to speak for Mika.

Billie Joe glanced back over his shoulder, when he heard a voice call out the singer's name, followed by another; louder and tinged with excitement. He reached behind him, felt for the younger man's hand and pulled him forward through the bustling city square.

“What was that about me being the most famous guy in Landgraaf?” he muttered.

Mika laughed.

“D'you um... want to run?”

Billie Joe checked back over his shoulder.

“Yeah, man... I think that might be a good idea.”

“Follow me.”

“So... how the hell did you get map of Amsterdam in your head?”

Mika smiled, a modest shrug just barely lifting his shoulders. He had led them out of the packed square the only way he remembered, taken them down one of the city's old, cobbled side streets and, more through luck than judgement, finished up in a darkened basement music bar, hidden beneath the restless streets. It was small, intimately so, refreshingly devoid of drunk tourists but alive with a gentle buzz of conversation from its patrons. There was blues on the stereo and dust on the light fittings and it may as well have been heaven to Billie Joe, leaned against the warm red brickwork at their corner table, a glass of genever gin cradled in his hand.

“I don't... not really,” he explained, “Or at least... what's there is a bit sketchy. But I've been here a few times for shows and I think when I play places I get to see a bit more of them than you do.”

Billie Joe thought about this for a moment, watching the golden liquid swirl in his glass. He tipped it to the edge, catching it right before it spilled over the rim and onto the solid wood table-top. Then he tipped it the other way. It was a nervous habit, but he hoped the other man didn't realise that.

“Yeah... sometimes we miss out on stuff like that,” he admitted, “It's always a little crazy.”

“It's tough at the top.”

Billie Joe cocked his head, thoughtfully, to the side, then set his glass back down on the table.

“Sure... but I'm not the kind of asshole that complains about it.” He was quiet for a moment, feeling Mika's eyes on him, before he raised his own to meet his gaze. “It's good to get out here though... I needed that tonight, y'know? Just to go somewhere far away, completely different?”

Mika nodded, smiling, as he leaned back in his seat. He understood completely, better than anyone.

“Your band's gonna think I've got some kind of disappearing charm on you. If I remember rightly, I've got you in trouble with your bassist before.”

Billie Joe laughed, eyes twinkling in the low lights.

“Mike's cool, don't worry about him. Besides, I've always been trouble, he knows I ain't quitting now. And you? Well.. you make me want to disappear.” He chuckled, looking down at the table again. “I can't think of a way to make that sound like a compliment, man... but it was.”

Mika smiled, and Billie Joe couldn't miss the colour in his cheeks, even in the soft light of the bar.

“That's okay,” he nodded, staring down at his drink. “I think I know what you mean.”