More Lonely Than Cold by EvenStar

There was a pretty set of lights adorning the row of trees lined up on the street, golden and studded among the branches like tiny luminous jewels.
Darren let them twinkle in his eyes as he walked past, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets as he paced softly down the wintry London street.

The pavement was slick with a sheen from the rain earlier in the day, casting his reflection in the puddles as his shoes splashed lightly into them.

Darren couldn't count how many Christmas trees he'd seen that day. Dozens of them, all sophisticated and too perfect, decorated with fancy designer trinkets and surrounded by expensive-looking luxuries that were destined to end up as that year's Christmas presents. Light seasonal music had been playing over the tannoys in the various shops, putting everyone into the holiday mood as they shopped frantically for family presents, the Christmas rush already upon them. The season had come early this year. Even the weather had joined in on the act, becoming colder and colder each moment as the days of autumn and winter set in, encouraging people to cuddle up in the fashionable selection of winter outfits and snuggly designs set out for the cold season.

Darren pulled his thick coat around him tighter as he walked the streets, his hands freezing as he buried them even deeper still within the fabric of his pockets.
The familiar anticipation of Christmas cheer hung in the air as presents were bought and sold, and the kids visited Santa's grotto eager to tell him of their wishes for Christmas Day.

Somewhere within him Darren tried to recapture that old excitement he had felt as a child, helping to decorate the tree and happily diving into the child-like Christmas spirit that only a seven-year-old could understand. Now as a grown-up Darren attempted to force that feeling back into his heart. Too late, the emotion and anticipation had already gone. The magic of Christmas was tainted with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness.

When Darren thought of Christmas, he thought of people being together, not wandering the cold streets alone with emptiness in their soul. He was meant to be looking forward to Christmas and the relaxation that the current break from his hectic lifestyle would give him.

In retrospect he had everything here. The novelty of for once spending a Christmas in London with the traditional chill in the air, the cold weather associated with the storybook ideas of Christmas, was something that had appealed to him. So he had stayed in London, with a need to use its charm as a way of enjoying a Christmas alone.

But truth be told, he needed someone to share it with. The night was colder alone. He knew this. The lights, sparkling brightly in the distance, the sounds of children laughing with excitement, the intervention of spirited music, even the idea of presents, seemed far away to him.

The material things didn't matter anymore. This Christmas, he just wanted somebody to hold.

Darren walked into the nearest department store overrun with tinsel and twinkly lights. Some classic Christmas album played on the speakers as he watched shoppers dash from side to side picking up gifts. It was oddly amusing to stand back and observe the rush as a relative outsider. The Santa's grotto in the centre of the store was brightly red and silver, fake snow embedding it on the outside and the whole thing fashioned as though it were a massive cave. Silver paint glistened on the bed of false fluffy snow that bore a striking resemblance to mass amounts of cotton wool. Inside he could see the cave was dark, an alleyway with shining lights leading to Santa.

A crowd of kids stood outside the grotto, fidgeting impatiently while being watched over by their parents, unable to stand still for more than two seconds.
One by one they went in, and one by one soon afterwards they came out, each clutching a bag of goodies and holding a candy cane in their hands, blushing excitedly from their brief encounter with Santa and now sure that they would get what they wished for this Christmas.

Darren turned away slightly and began to walk to the other end of the store. The grotto brought back more memories from when he was a child. Nice memories, but they made him ache. There was something deep inside him that craved normality. And this, being an anonymous stranger browsing the shops at Christmas-time, was one of the closest things he would get to that. At least he wasn't too easily recognizable, except to his die-hard fans. He'd met two the other day while wandering Leicester Square by the Starbucks. They were delighted of course, giggling unabashedly and eventually managing to have an intelligent conversation with him about the music, which was one of the things he loved about his fans. They were clearly starstruck though. He wanted to tell them not to be, but it would be a hard thing to explain, especially coming straight from their idol.

Now Darren drew his hands out of his pockets, feeling them tingle as the gentle warmth crept over them from the inside heat of the shop. Maybe one of these days he would remember to buy a pair of gloves.

Although armed with his credit card, he didn't find it tempting to buy anything. His presents had been paid for a long while ago, packaged and sent to a few different corners of the world.
With that in mind, Darren took a few steps and left the shop, still met with the busy crowd milling around outside. He took a two second glance up at the sky. It looked like it was going to rain again. Perhaps he should have bought an umbrella as well.

Shrugging to himself, his hands found their home again within his coat and he kept walking. If it rained, it rained.

A Starbucks. Darren stopped walking as the inviting familiarity of the coffee house beckoned out to him. The combined freeze of the cold and the way it was making his breath come out in white mist, convinced him to consider stopping for a coffee. The idea itself warmed him as he gave in and entered the Starbucks, the rush of cold air behind him disappearing as the door shut. Suddenly Darren was enveloped in delicous warmth and the soft, breezy aroma of caffeine as he inhaled the scent of coffee and cinnamon into his nostrils.

His eyes drew up to the menu board above the counter as he scanned the wide selection of hot drinks on offer.

The tantalising scent mixing around him, Darren licked his lips in anticipation. His lips were cold, dry, and desperate for the sweetness of Starbucks.

After a few minutes of agonizing over his choice, he decided on a single macchiato, handing over his cash and then standing over at the end of the counter waiting to collect his order, tapping his frozen fingers softly on the surface.

When his mug arrived he gave an obligatory smile to the guy serving behind the counter and picked up the coffee, the heat wrapping around his palm as he took it in his hands. Not being able to resist an immediate light sip, he lifted the cup to his mouth, savouring the delicious flavour of espresso on his tongue. Swallowing, he made his way over to a single table by the Starbucks window, offering a view of the night, Christmas lights twinkling in the dark as he took another sip of his coffee.
He licked a slight remainder of macchiato foam from his full lips, drinking down some more espresso and letting the overpowering flavour delight his mouth. He closed his eyes in bliss as the warm taste played over his tongue.

Darren looked over by the counter and found himself irresistably tempted by the stunning array of chocolate-oriented goodies just calling out to him. He sighed with a smile. Maybe just one...cookie...
He shook his head. Sugar high was probably the last thing he needed right now.
He went back to his coffee, enjoying the caffeine and all the wonderful shivers it sent down his spine with every sip.

When he'd finished he looked down into his cup.
Empty.

Darren pushed the cup away from himself, leaning back and gazing out of the window. The sky was mostly clear but black, the city plunged into darkness and brightened only by the artificial shine of the fairy lights, street lamps and lit-up shop windows. The people walking past on the street were merely shadows, huddled up in winter coats, gloves and thick wrap-around scarves, heavy boots encasing their feet as they stepped into the puddles of rain on the ground.

It was getting late. Darren slowly stood up from his comfy position in the chair and took one last look at his empty coffee cup, before leaving the Starbucks. The frozen air hit him once again as the comforting warmth behind him vanished. Wincing against the soft night wind as it blew his hair out of place, Darren walked under the subtle light of the silvery moon as it hung above the city.

Darren made his way solemnly back to his hotel room. Luxurious as it was, he was getting incredibly bored with the endless procession of temporary homes he was obliged to live in because of his job. The different cities, the people, the music, those were things he aspired to and enjoyed. But for once he longed to make a more permanent home that felt like it was his. He was surprised he even vaguely remembered what his home in San Francisco looked like. Part of him wanted to drag his precious personal belongings around with him wherever he went, just to remind him that he did have a normal life beyind this. But that, as well as being impractical, might have pained him more. He lived out of a suitcase and he'd become used to it.

In fact when he took a chance to stop for five seconds, it all seemed strangely foreign to him, to have that rare opportunity to relax and let the world stop revolving around his work.
In those times it was often difficult to figure out things to do, and he could manage to sit and over-analyse pointless thoughts for hours.

Despite all these lows of travelling and not really knowing where he belonged, Darren smiled to himself, thinking of his fans, the music and the euphoria he achieved while on-stage. Writing and performing was the reason he was here. Expressing himself as he did was something he was meant to do and looking at it from that perspective, he wouldn't have it any other way. To trade in his job would be to trade in himself.

As he reached the hotel, Darren stepped into the foyer, making sure to wipe his wet shoes on the huge welcome mat in the hallway. The hotel was grand - not too much so, not over the top, but just enough to suit his tastes.

Giving a soft nod to the girl working at reception, Darren made for the elevator.

His room was on the fifth floor, a pretty view of the city, large bed, luxurious bathroom, full mini-bar.
Darren sighed as he shut the door behind him, walking over to flop down on the bed as he leaned back against the cuddly pillows. Reaching over for the remote he switched on the widescreen TV, suddenly being bombarded with Christmas adverts on practically every channel.

Turning over on the bed, he lay with his head on the pillow and kicked off his shoes, sitting up a moment to writhe his way out of his coat. The room was warm and cosy, the bedside lamp casting a sweet glow onto the finely decorated walls.

He wanted somebody to talk to. Just a friend. A phone call across the world might do but it just wasn't the same as direct contact. Darren rolled over on the bed, staring up at the white spotless ceiling. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, but it didn't work.

Restless, he sat up again, peeling off his shirt and jeans and lying half above the sheets, half under them.

Maybe just to tell someone about his thoughts, to voice his opinions on his loneliness and try and figure out a way to combat the winter blues, maybe that would help. But by the time he'd finished contemplating whether to call somebody and bug them with his problems, he'd managed to fall asleep.

It was cold and frosty when he woke up. He could feel hundreds of goosebumps prickling his skin as he rubbed his arms in a vain attempt to warm up. Sleeping in plain Calvins in London in the middle of winter was something he reminded himself not to do again.

Rolling his eyes and shifting out of bed, he sat dejectedly on the edge, bored. How stupidly ironic that now he finally had some time off, he had no idea what to do with it.

He could go shopping - the amount of money on his credit card was more than enough to last. But what fun was shopping on your own? Nobody to give opinions, nobody to laugh with and nobody to grab a coffee with at the end of the day. Briefly Darren wondered why he'd decided to lag back in London at all. Right now it seemed a very lonely city.

Then he shook himself. It was pathetic to feel like this. His album had done incredibly in the past year and his solo career had sky-rocketed. His live performances had been the most enjoyable he'd done in a long time. His fans had been loyal. His reviews had been mostly good. So why was he feeling so undeniably sorry for himself? Maybe singing constantly about love was one of the reasons why he missed it so much. His tones had degraded or perhaps escalated to a slight, but noticeable melancholy when he performed. The sensitivity embedded within his lyrics had become reminiscent of a cry for help from his heart. In all his years, Darren had never felt this lonely. This out of love. Being so work-oriented over the year had hardly given him enough time to mope over the loss of a meaningful relationship in his life. But now, when he had the time to think it over, it was all he could focus on.

The internal clock of love inside his heart ticking away the minutes and the seconds. He could hear it, getting louder every day.

Usually, when feeling this blue, Darren would probably sit down and write a song. Start to hum a melody in his head, coupled with a few lyrics that shot to his mind direct from the caverns of his heart.

But he wasn't in the mood.

I'm not meant to be working, he told himself. Everyone told me to slow down. Even stop, for a little while. And I can't even do that?

Darren stood up in his boxers and began to wander over to his closet, the closet that of course didn't feel anything like his, apart from the bulk of clothes hanging in there.

As he picked out an outfit mindlessly, he longed for a sudden clarity. Just a moment. It was rare that he had moments like those, but when they came, it was like sweet release. Just a clear knowing of his situation and occasionally, a way to solve it. He prayed for that to come now. The annoyance of being thoroughly by himself had changed to something he couldn't control, couldn't handle, couldn't even take anymore.

I'm tired of being alone.

There was an aching silence as Darren's thought echoed in his mind. Direct contact was a world away. But again he glanced at the phone. The object sat beside the bed, white plastic on a matching white plastic cradle. One of those fancy international dialling pads with more keys than your average phone. Very slowly, Darren reached over to pick it up, the plastic cold and slightly alien in his hands. He sighed. And after staring at the dialling pad for a few minutes, he began to press the buttons. A long code, he hadn't dialled it in a long while, but somehow he could remember it.

A long number followed, and he lost count of the of how many keys he had to press. When he had finished, he carefully lifted the receiver to his ear. There were long, agonizing stretches of the ringing sound, with long, agonizing breaks of silence in between. Darren counted them. One...two. Three. Four...five. Six...seven. Eight. Nine...

"Hello?" The voice was soft.
Darren sat up straight. "Dan?" He said, meekly.
There was a pause, and Darren waited.
"Darren," Daniel replied, as though just remembering what his voice sounded like. There were a few moments of silence where each could hear the other breathe down the phone.
"How are you?" Daniel pressed lightly; his tone gentle and quietly venturing.
"I'm fine," said Darren automatically, it was a lie. An easy lie, he was used to saying it. "You?"
"Fine," Daniel chopped the firstly identical answer into one word, making it simpler for him to say.
Another silence. Darren breathed into the phone again, knowing Daniel could hear it. He was just thinking of what to say, when Daniel asked, "Did you want something?"

The question was like an arrow in the heart. Daniel sounded impatient, he sounded unsure. Like he wanted to cut to the chase.
Darren shrugged, even though Daniel couldn't see. "I...I don't know, Jonesy...I just..." He paused, realizing he'd used his nickname for him. Whether Daniel noticed, he didn't know. "I needed somebody to talk to."
"Oh." Daniel's voice was even quieter now, almost a whisper. "So you called me?"
Is that such a surprise? Darren wondered, then realized probably, it was. "Yeah."
"Cool." Daniel exhaled. He waited. He was waiting for Darren to talk. When he didn't, there was another one of those long silences. "So, are you gonna talk then?"
Darren blinked, glancing round the room as he sat on the bed. "I - er - yeah," he answered.
But he didn't. Again. Daniel sighed audibly into the phone and Darren heard it. He only wished it was easier to say what he wanted to say.

Daniel decided to make an effort. "So, what's up?" He said lightly.
"What's up?" Darren repeated the question as a way of clarifying it to himself. "Nothing really...I just did a performance over here...in London...the band and everyone have gone."
"You're alone?"
"Yeah," Darren said weakly.
Daniel swallowed. "How was the performance then?"
"Good. Good crowd."
"You don't sound too enthusiastic," Daniel pointed out.
"Tired," he said briefly.
"What time is it there?"
"Morning. 8am-ish."
"What's the weather like?"

Darren sighed again, Daniel sounded so formal. Asking all these boring and useless questions. And he was answering them, when all he really wanted to do was open up to him.
"Cold. Freezing actually," Darren half laughed.
"Well, that's London for you."
"Yeah."

It went silent again, and Darren swore he could hear Daniel's fingers tapping impatiently in the background as he waited for him to speak. Sensing his reluctance to carry on the conversation, Darren ventured, "You're not busy, are you? Am I keeping you from something?"
"No, no, nothing, 'course not," Daniel replied abruptly.
"Good."

It became quiet, as the tension slowly grew. Grew until neither one of them could ignore it.
"Daz..." Daniel began, softly. "Why did you really call?"
Darren thought of making up a lie, then and there, but decided against it. He surprised himself when he replied. "I miss you, Jonesy." His voice was meek again, careful and quiet.
Daniel's voice stayed somewhat strong. "Oh..." was all he could think to say.
Slowly, Darren could feel his emotion leaking into his words. "I wish you were here."
A sigh from Daniel. "Well, I'm not."
Somewhat taken aback but not completely shocked by the less than comforting words, Darren bit his lip. "Dan, I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" His voice was now like steel.
"For...I don't know. I know I've not been in touch a lot these past months..."
Daniel interrupted him before he could finish. "It's OK."
"No, it's not. I've just been - "
"Busy. I know. I respect that."
"Well," Darren sighed, "It doesn't give me the right to ignore you."
"Darren, it's OK. I mean, we agreed to go our separate ways after the split, and after 'Spin'..."
Darren interrupted this time. "I still should contact you, I mean..."
"Why?" Daniel cut him off. "There's not really a reason. We finished it...that was your decision, remember? You didn't want a long-distance relationship. And it would have been awkward after Savage Garden split up. That's what you said." He sighed. "And you were right. It was the best option."
"I made a mistake," Darren said suddenly.
There was a pause. Darren's voice sounded cracked, a little broken. When Daniel didn't say anything in response, he repeated, more quietly this time, "I made a mistake."
Daniel paused. He didn't speak, he was obviously waiting for more.
"When you said you wanted to leave, I got angry." Darren breathed. "That was why I said, break it off. I was hurt. I wanted...a clean break. A fresh start. Or at least that's what I thought I wanted. Now I realize I was wrong. I don't care, Dan. I just want..." He swallowed. "I just want somebody to hold."
There was yet another pause, as Daniel drank in the information he'd just been given.
Still he didn't speak. After what seemed like a few haunting minutes of silence, Darren whispered, "Dan?"
Another pause.

"You still there?"
"Yes," Daniel said quickly into the phone. Then nothing.
Darren waited.
When Daniel did speak again, his voice was vaguely cracked too. Brittle. "I missed you too, Daz."
Hearing the words, Darren sighed half contentedly down the receiver.
"But it's too complicated."
Darren frowned. "Complicated?" He repeated.
"Yeah...look, Daz...you said it yourself..." Daniel took a breath. "It's over."
"I changed my mind. I take it back," protested Darren. "Can we work something out?"
Daniel waited a moment. "I'm sorry, Daz. You have a new life now. So do I."
"Is there someone else?" Darren probed.
"It's not about that."
"Is there?"
"No, Darren, there's not."
"Then why...?"
"Because it's not possible. You said before how busy you've been. There would be no point."
Darren clenched his fists, in anger, in annoyance, in frustration. "You could - you could come on tour with me," he said, blindly. "You could - "
"Daz, you know how much I hate being on the road."
"But - you'll be with me."
"I'm sorry," Daniel shook his head.
"Then..." Darren searched his head, desperate for a solution. "I'll stop."
"What?"
"I'll stop. I'll stop touring. I'll stop recording, I'll stop writing, I'll stop performing..."
Daniel laughed. It was a melancholy laugh, but it was still a laugh.
Darren furrowed his brow. "What?"
"You can't do that. Darren, that's ridiculous!!"
"It's not. I'll do it. I'll do it for you."
"Darren," Daniel said more softly. "You can't. Don't throw away your talent. You know you can't do that. Not even for me."
"I can," Darren's voice was getting weaker.
Daniel ignored him and continued. "It can't work."
"I can make it work," said Darren forcefully. "Listen to me."
"I am listening. Darren, you're not making any sense. I'm sorry," Daniel said again.
"What do you expect me to do? Don't do this. Just give it another chance. Please," Darren's tone was pleading.
"No," Daniel said, surprisingly firmly.
"Daniel."
"No..." He said again.
Darren grew ever more angry; he could feel the tears begin to edge their way down his face. "Dan..."
"Daz...I'm gonna go."
"No!!" Darren exclaimed. "No, don't go."
"I have to, it's late."
"Daniel...please..."
"I'm sorry, Darren."
"But..."
"I'm going now." Daniel paused. "Goodnight...I mean, good morning."
"Wait - "

Click.

The dialling tone sounded and echoed in Darren's ears. He'd been cut off by his lover, in more ways than one. He stared at the phone for a few seconds. Then quietly, placed it back on the matching cradle.

He got up slowly. Wandered to the window, the tears stained still fresh and clear on his face, drying against his stubble. As he shifted the curtain and looked out, below him there were people. There were couples, there were children, there were groups of friends. But they were together.

I'm tired of being alone.