Billie looked up. 'Billie?' he heard. It came from downstairs. It was Mike. 'Are you okay, Bil?' Billie looked in the mirror again. He couldn't hide his red eyes. And his drown make up. 'Yeah, I'm alright.' He yelled back at Mike. Tré came in the bathroom. He looked at Billie. 'Billie,' Tré said. 'You're totally not okay!' Billie shook his head and started to cry again. Now Mike came upstairs too. He went to the bathroom. 'What the hell, Billie?' He said surprised. '"I'm alright"? What's wrong?' Billie went slowly to the sleeping room again, with Mike and Tré comforting beside him. Billie sat on the bed. 'God dammit!' He screamed, and the tears went as waterfalls over his cheeks. 'I miss him so god damn much!' Mike and Tré went sitting beside Billie. 'I know..' Mike said. Mike didn't know what to do. 'But you're going with us to London, right?' Billie shrugged. 'I don't know if I can play and sing and pretend that I'm happy on stage.' He said, with a trembling voice. Tré sat on his haunches opposite Billie. 'You don't have to.' Tré said, with a reassuring voice. 'Our fans know how you are. And they accept you for who you are. And you.. Well. You know it. You, mister Armstrong, have the best fans in the world.' Billie looked at Tré. 'I think you're right, Frank.' He said, and smiled a bit. 'I just go to London with my best friends and play the gigs.'
Mike nodded. 'Yes. That's the Billie we want to see.' He said, and went away to pack his bags. Tré and Billie followed his example.