False Starts || Dave Grohl

Chapter 63

"Won't You Let Me Twist Your Faith"

The bands tour bus is uncomfortably stuffy and there is a bit of a stench, a silent reminder that sweaty men spend their evenings and nights huddled in here after shows. I was surprised to find the place in such a clean state, fully expecting it to resemble the disaster that was Nirvana tour busses, but this is Dave we're talking about. He's always been a rather tidy guy.

"Your bunk is the one under mine if you want to stick your backpack there." Dave awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, looking around the space for anything that may be out of place. His sudden worry tells me that he cleaned up before my arrival, warming my heart a bit.

The fact that he cared enough to make the space presentable for me says a lot about him as a person. "Which one is yours?"

"Oh shit, yeah..." He side steps in front of me, our chests grazing one another due to the limited space in the small kitchen. With a wave of his hand, he motions for me to follow him to the bunk area. The smell of sweat became stronger as we get closer to the rear of the bus, two full laundry bags of clothes stacked in the corner obviously being the source. "I'm sorry about that. We haven't had the chance to do laundry and-"

I can't help but cut him off, surprised by how worried he truly is to have me here. Every so often he'd wipe his sweaty palms against his loose-fitting pants and that alone gave away his anxiety about my arrival. "Hey, what's with the nerves Grohl? I've experienced Kurt and Courtney's apartment in LA, you don't think I can handle a little BO?"

"I just..." His brown eyes look from my blue ones to the carpeted floor, causing me to frown. "You're probably not used to this anymore and I don't want to scare you off, okay? I'm trying to fix things."

Without saying anything, I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the wooden bunk frame. "Dave, you don't have to try so hard, okay? I live with you for how long? I know you're not some slob, but this is clean even for you."

"It is isn't it?" He sighs, shoulders finally slumping into a more relaxed position. "I needed to clean anyways, but you coming gave me the motivation to actually do it."

My Van clad foot inches forward to nudge his, earning a smile from the shaggy haired brunette boy in front of me. Being here felt right, almost as right as it did in LA once the awkwardness wore off. "Come here you dork."

"That's not rude or anything." He chuckles, stepping forward to wrap me in a tight hug for the second time that day, enjoying the close proximity. It's as if we were trying to make up for the three years of distance in less than a couple hours, and honestly, I don't mind.

Tucking my face into the crook of his neck, I can't help but smile at the familiar scent of his cologne. The same one he wore when we first met back in 1987, surprising me. "I've missed you."

"Fuck, I've missed you too." His grip tightens and his lips press a soft kiss to the side of my head before we pull apart, the sound of the bus door opening signally the end of our moment. "This," he points to the lowest bunk on the right, "Is yours. I'll be in the other room if you want to take a minute to change or something."

With a nod, I pull my backpack off and toss it on the neatly made bedding, confused when the bounce uncovers a note hidden in the corner of the sheets. It was easy to recognize Pat's messy handwriting, but I can't help but feel confused by the scribbles. 

'Don't trust everything you see on the outside. We need to talk later.'

----

The backstage area of Much Music is overly crowded, making me feel claustrophobic as I stand next to none other than Jimmy Swanson. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders as we watch the Foo's play their last song, holding me in place so crew members won't knock me over. "He's a cocky little shit now, isn't he? A year ago, he couldn't even talk to the audience."