#borhap!roger

“Excuse me.” You mutter, shoving through three people standing around the backstage area with beers and cigarettes in hand. You screw your face up at the smell, surprisingly still not being able to handle it even after spending so much time with the band. They didn’t move and you grimace. “I just need to get passed here.” 

Backstage was always hectic. The boys were pretty open, allowing fans and groupies to come backstage if they so desired and on some nights it got… well, insane. Tonight was one of those nights.

Besides, no one tended to take you seriously for some reason.

You let out a breath when they finally part and then you spot them, eyes landing on the boys near the back. 

You see a head of blonde hair on one of the couches and peek through crowds of girls, noticing Rogers skin was still glistening with a thin layer of sweat from the show and a cigarette hung loosely between his lips. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone.

He looked tired but holding up. Next to him, Brian signed posters. 

You knew that by now both of the boys would’ve been dying to get into the shower and clean off the remains of the show or at least climb under the covers and rest after what had been their biggest show yet.  

Being their manager, you were one of the only people that saw how much shows took out of them. You noticed how John almost refused to leave his room the next day and how Freddie wasn’t his usual preppy self until at least twelve hours or four beers later. 

Roger and Brian never showed the exhaustion very much but you were clever with facial expressions. Neither boys would tell the fans to leave despite the heavenly thought of a cold shower and sleep.

Your cheeks heat up when you see Roger inch away from a girl that tries to take a seat on his lap. He’d been doing that a lot lately– since admitting his feelings for you despite you turning him down. (by ‘that’ you meant distancing himself from groupies.) 

Don’t misread the situation, your feelings for the drummer were there and booming but the last thing you needed was for things to go badly and for news of your relationship or fling or whatever it was to get out to the press. They were rough. Also, the possibility of losing your job lingered, 

There were more fans then you could’ve expected and maybe wearing heels to shove through was your first mistake. But with arms crossed over your chest and a pile of papers including all of the boy’s tour details, you begin to shimmy through.

You were cautious of course, ignoring the glares and vile words from fans who were a little more then jealous of your connections. But the heels made it a little harder.

You were going okay and were actually only a few feet away from Roger, his eyes even caught yours before one girl pushes you– she fully shoves you from behind and you go crashing down in front of Roger, papers scattering all over the floor and his lap.

The girl that pushes you chuckles, placing a hand over her mouth as she notices your fallen features and suddenly drawn brows as you stare at the papers you’d tried so hard to protect. It didn’t matter to you that you’d grazed your knees and palms because they were a mess, out of order and everything.

“Right I’m going to need everyone to leave now!” Roger calls a little more aggressively then you think he realised. 

Brian stands up, beginning to clear people out once he’d realised what had happened and the fans are quick to complain. They don’t want to leave and you don’t want to be the reason they leave but the boys had had enough.

“Sorry guys, we’re all really tired and need to rest up for the rest of our tour.” Brian apologises but continues glancing across at you and Roger to make sure you’re okay. Roger was a little more worried then Brian, he was angrier too. Practically fuming. 

Brian makes no move to say any goodbyes to the fan that’d shoved you or her snickering friends. 

Roger helps you up after collecting papers that’d fallen in his lap and is careful not to touch your injured hands. He stares down, concern written all over his features.

“Are you okay? God, I saw everything that happened and I should’ve helped you get through.” The blonde asks, taking the rest of the papers from your hands.

Your cheeks flush, strands hair falling over your face in embarrassment. You want to disappear then and there.

“I’m okay but the schedules–”

He shakes his head, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about them, we can ask for another copy.” Roger brushes a strand of hair away from your face, wetting his lips as he tries to resist the urge to do something he’d been itching to do for a while now. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt, I’m sorry it was you.”

“It isn’t your fault and it’s not mine either, she pushed me.” You collect the papers, hissing as a surge of pain runs through one of your legs.

Roger leads you to sit down, concern seeping into his chest. “You’re hurt, C'mon, I can get the first aid stuff.”

You shake your head but your heart warms at the offer– the fact that he cared enough to wait around for you was something else.

“You’re so tired and you need to shower–” You try. 

But the drummer was already dead set. 

“What do you mean you’re ‘not going to make it’?” Mary asked seriously. The cat in your lap jumped away as you sat up abruptly. “‘Not going to make it’? But it’s Christmas!”

You and Mary were huddled by the phone in her apartment for your routine post-show phone call. The boys had been touring for the past two months. And they had said, no, promised, that they would be back in time for Christmas.

Mary let out a heavy sigh and you got up to pour yourself more tea. You couldn’t trust yourself to do much else when you were this frustrated. One of the other cats trotted after you.

“Yeah, I understand,” She muttered. Mary’s fingers scratched at her forehead and she ran a hand down her face. “You’ll at least make it for New Year’s, right?”

You put some of the cookies the two of you had baked earlier on a plate and carried your mug of hot tea back to your spot on the couch. You held out the plate of cookies to her and she plucked up a chocolate chip cookie with a nod of ‘thanks.’ The two of you simultaneously bit into the pastries and slumped against the couch cushions. Another cat sat attentively watching you eat the cookie.

“Freddie,” Mary groaned. “It’s the holidays. You deserve a break as much as they do.”

You broke off a crumb of the cookie without chocolate and gave it to the cat sitting next to you. The two others immediately hopped up after it, now begging you for some as well when they had previously been indifferent to your existence.

“I know it’s important to you, love,” Mary switched the phone from one ear to the other. “I could care less about the money. But you know what I do care about?... Yes, you!”

Mary listened in silence for about a minute, mumbled out a ‘love you, too,’ and handed over the phone to you. You scooted yourself over, cats moving in tow as Mary moved on the other end. She gnawed at her thumb nail.

You weren’t entirely sure what Roger was going to tell you that you didn’t already know. He had missed your last birthday. He was going to miss Christmas. And he was going to miss New Year's too.

“Hello,” you began. You picked at the polish on your finger, just wanting to hear his voice.

“Hello, beautiful,” Roger’s voice answered. “I miss you.”

Normally you would have smiled or joked around in response. That was how your relationship worked. But you were too upset to do that right now.

“I miss you too.” You answered. “How was your show?”

“Good.” He chirped. “Wanna know the bra count?”

“Sure,” you laughed but it felt empty. Roger and you made a habit of keeping track of how many bras get thrown onstage during the show.

“6! It's a new record!” Roger joked cheerfully.

You hummed in response trying to sound equally as excited. But Roger knew better. He always did.

“I can hear the frown on your face. What’s the matter?”

“Just that we’re not going to spend the holidays together like you said we would.” You curled your arms and legs into your torso. The 1 of the 3 cats had since given up on the cookie. One of the remaining stood on its hind legs and pressed its front paws on your bicep.

Your boyfriend let out a sigh over the other side of the line. “You heard?”

“Well, I’m with Mary. Yeah, I heard.” You explained.

You heard rustling. “I would have liked to tell you myself.”

“A little late for that, huh?” You chuckled humorlessly. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes.

You were proud of Roger, honestly. You really were. This was his dream and he was succeeding and you were so happy for him. You hated when he was gone this long though. And it’s not that you didn’t trust him because, by God, you did. You just missed him so much.

“I really don’t know what to say or what to tell you, Y/n,” Roger confessed. You looked over to Mary who had let a few silent tears fall as she stared at the currently off telly. You made eye contact with her as one of your own tears rolled down your cheek.

“That you’ll come home somehow.” Your voice broke and you coughed to cover it. “Please.”

“Y/n...”

“Yeah,” you said, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. “I know, Roger.”

“I’m really sorry.”

No, you aren’t, you thought. But you held your tongue and swallowed back the words, not wanting to cause a fight. You knew he was sorry but you were bitter.

“Yeah, I know.” You answered dejectedly.

“I’ll-”

“Make it up to me, yeah,” you looked over to Mary again as you rubbed at your eye with you jumper sleeve. She crawled over to you and you let her lean against you. You were grateful for the contact.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” he breathed. He always had to go. You nodded in response well aware that he couldn’t see it.

You sniffled. “I love you, Rog. So very much.”

“I love you too, Y/n. So very much.” He matched the cadence of your voice. A chuckle bubbled it’s way through your lungs. “Bye, beautiful.”

“Bye,” you whispered. The line went dead and you set the phone back on the stand.

You and Mary sat together, emotionally drained, slouched on the couch. The both of you suddenly were without the loves of your lives for the holidays.

“So,” you breathed shakily. You let a few more tears fall. “You got any plans for Christmas?” Mary laughed dryly. “Or New Year’s?” She shot back. “Seriously I’ve got no plans! Not anymore anyways…” You trailed off.

“We can do Christmas at yours and New Year’s here,” she suggested with a shrug.

You nodded absentmindedly. That would be fun, you supposed. “Sounds good by me.”

“Want to sleep over tonight?” Mary asked as she sat up and faced you.

“Sure,” you replied. “As long as I buy breakfast tomorrow morning, my treat.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

The holidays went as planned with Mary. You spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with her at your flat, watching Christmas movies and exchanging presents. Mary even brought over her presents from Freddie and her family and opened them at your flat. Having someone else there was so much better than the solitude you had become used to.

It was all well and good until you realized that Roger’s presents were going to remain under the tree for quite a bit. He called you in the afternoon to wish you a Happy Christmas and to apologize again. After Mary left, you spent the rest of the day drinking wine and crying. You couldn’t even bring yourself to take down any of the decorations.

Nearly a week passed and Mary got sick with the flu, leaving you to celebrate New Year’s eve alone. You had tried to help her, but she insisted that she could manage and didn’t want to risk getting you sick. (She deadbolted her front door and wouldn’t let you in when you dropped by with soup.)

Because you had nothing else to do, nowhere to go, and zero desire to be out on a night like this, you did chores and cooked for a good majority of the day. After cleaning the bedroom, guest bedroom, and bathroom, you moved onto slow-roasting vegetables for your dinner. You were not looking forward to ringing in the New Year on your own.

You laid on your bed, bored out of your mind. What did people do when they had this much time to kill? Staring at the ceiling you let your legs hang off of the edge and your thoughts wander.

You hated sleeping in this damn bed. It was too big and too soft and too cold except when Roger was there in it too. But now you were starting to get used to sleeping in it alone, and that was the problem. You didn’t want to get used to it.

When Roger was here, the bed was small and you could touch him. When Roger was here, the bed didn’t need to be soft because you slept right up against him, almost on top of him. When Roger was here, the bed was too hot and you would kick the covers onto the floor and still be wrapped in his arms because him making you overheat while you tried to sleep was better than having no one there at all.

You cried yourself into a dreamless nap and stirred awake to the sound of your front door opening. You rubbed your puffy eyes.

Someone else was in your flat.

Sitting bolt upright, you came to your senses and instinctively reached to grab the flashlight, kept on your nightstand at Roger’s insistence.

“Y/n?” A voice called.

You knew that voice. But that couldn’t be right. You let the flashlight fall back to the nightstand with a clatter.

“Y/n! I’m home.” You clambered and scrambled off of the bed in your half-awake daze. Roger.

You sprinted down the hallway, not caring about how many walls you stumbled into. You had to be imagining this.

You rounded the corner and beheld your boyfriend shutting the front door behind him and setting down his bags next to the coat rack. You were so overwhelmed with the situation that you couldn’t help the expression of love that left your mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Roger blinked at you in confusion. “‘Welcome home’ would suffice,” he teased warmly.

The reality of him being home finally hit you and you ran full force at your boyfriend. You wrapped him your arms and legs around him and he held you tightly, like he didn’t intend on letting go for a while. For real.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered. You loosened your arms but didn’t let go of him nor did he let go of you. You remained suspended in his embrace. Roger’s pretty blue eyes looked back into yours and you weren’t dreaming. “But really… what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering you, Roger attacked your lips with his and walked the two of you to the couch where you sat straddling his lap. For a blissful minute, that was all you did. You kissed him, attempting to make up for all the time you had lost when he was away. And you had a LOT of catching up to do.

Eventually you pulled away much to the dismay of Roger. Your fingertips brushed his fluffy blonde hair out of his face, still seated in his lap. You pecked a kiss to Roger’s nose.

“So…” you prompted for the third time. Roger leaned forward to kiss you again but you put your pointer finger up to halt his lips. “I’m not complaining. And we can bloody well finish this later but no more until I get an explanation.”

“I can’t surprise my loving girlfriend?” He asked with that cheeky grin that he wore oh-so well. You raised your eyebrows at him and he ran his fingers idly up and down the outsides of your legs. “Freddie worked his magic and got us free time. Except for a few weekend gigs, I’m all yours until the end of January.”

You gasped in excitement. “Are you serious?!”

Roger laughed in response. “Of course, darling.”

You squealed and kissed him again, over the moon that Roger was going to be home for a while. Especially since he wouldn’t be missing New Year’s Eve like he said he would. You looked at the gifts under the tree and then back at Roger.

“You’re opening your Christmas presents next year,” you teased through his affections.

He rolled his eyes and continued kissing you. “You can just say tomorrow. That’s when you’re opening yours.”

“‘Next year’ is so much more fun though!” You exclaimed. Roger pulled back to take a breather.

“You are so beautiful.” He mused quietly. You smiled at him. “I love you so much.”

“As much as you love that car?” You couldn't help yourself. You were in too good of a mood.

Roger tickled your sides in retaliation. “Even more. Want me to prove it?” Roger challenged leaning you forward over the edge of the couch. You tightened your grip around his shoulders.

“You don’t have it in you,” you squinted your eyes back at him in faux-competition.

“We’ll see about that.”

In one swift movement, he maneuvered you off his lap and over his shoulder. Roger laughed at your noise of surprise and carried you to your bedroom.

Oh, you couldn't wait to catch up.

After quite a bit of… um, quality time together, the two of you finished prepping the dinner you had started before Roger came home. Thank goodness you had planned to make enough to have leftovers so there was a serving for him too.

You spent your evening with a certain blonde drummer never more than 4 feet away from you. When you began to plate the dinner, Roger wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his head on your shoulder, and swayed gently to an idle tune. And when you waited for the countdown, your boyfriend and you sat leaning forward on the couch excitedly waiting for midnight.

His arm was wrapped around your waist and his hand rested on your hip. 5, 4, 3, 2…

“Happy New Year!” You and Roger cheered at the same time. You turned to face him with your arms thrown up to the ceiling as you danced in place.

Roger grabbed you by the waist and pulled you toward him gently. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and smiled through it.

“Happy New Year, Roger,” you muttered through the kiss. Roger was not relenting. Even as you leaned back to pull away, he dipped you low to the ground. You fell to the ground with a thud and laughed when Roger cursed and fell on top of you.

“Got a little overzealous there, huh?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Roger breathed and twirled a piece of your hair around his finger. “And I’m going to do it again.”

Your giggles echoed through the living room.

You woke up when the sunlight tickled your lashes, peeking through the thin blinds you had haphazardly closed the night before. Your hand instinctively reached to rub your face and your nails scraped at the dry inner corners of your eyes.

It took you a moment to register that Roger had laid his head on the middle of your chest. His light hair was spread around his head and onto your arm chaotically like a wreath. You watched his side slowly rise and fall as he continued to slumber peacefully. His long lashes almost brushed his cheeks and Roger’s lips were slightly pursed and parted from sleeping on his side.

He looked beautiful. If you moved, you would wake him. One of his arms was tucked against his chest under his chin and the other was reached across your torso with his hand snugly settled in the underside of your waist, securely locking you in place. Ever so slowly you craned your neck forward, brushed a featherlight kiss onto the top of his head and leaned back to where you had been laying. Your fingertips rubbed the soft ends of his blonde hair between your fingers as if you weren’t quite sure he was really here.

Within a few seconds, Roger took in a deep breath and stirred awake. He stretched out the arm that was wrapped around your waist.

“Good morning,” you greeted groggily. Roger’s mouth immediately turned to a smile and he turned his head to look at you.

“Good morning to you too,” he responded, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. He unrolled himself from his position and laid on his side to face you. You mirrored him.

“Are you ready to open your presents?” You asked gently.

“There’s only one I want to open right now,” he smoothly hummed. Roger moved to kiss you and you turned your head away to dodge it. He dropped his jaw, offended at your movement.

“We both have morning breath, Rog,” you explained, resting your hand on his cheek. “Let’s get a little cleaned up and then we can continue this, yeah?”

Eventually the two of you made it to the living room and you divvied up the Christmas presents between you and him between long swigs of freshly brewed coffee. Roger’s pile was fairly heft  due to the fact that he hadn’t been able to open them on the day he was supposed to. Having Roger home was gift enough for you though. When the space underneath the tree was empty, save for the tree skirt, he began to open them.

Roger tore open his presents. Among a jumper from his mother, a handful of socks from his sister, and a new set of drumsticks from his dad, Roger proceeded then to open the gifts from you.

The first one he opened was a box of matchbox cars with heart eyes individually hand-drawn on the windshields courtesy of you. The second one he opened was a nice pair of boots that he had been eyeing the last time the two of you went out before he left for his latest round of performances. The third and final gift you got him was a picture book with heartfelt captions that you made of the last few years you had been together. That one may have made him tear up a little bit.

Roger stood from his spot on the floor and encased you in a tight hug from your spot on the couch. “Y/n,” he whispered, “I love you so very much. Thank you for everything.” He landed a sweet kiss on your forehead then your nose, your cheek and finally your lips.

“You’re so very welcome.” You answered. Roger had been more than affectionate lately not that you were complaining.

“I have something for you too. Don’t think I forgot,” he explained. You knew he wouldn’t ever forget you; he made sure that you knew that. Roger picked the red envelope that he had placed the previous evening up off of the coffee table and handed you it. Your name was scrawled messily on the front in his handwriting. “I’m sorry I could only get you one thing.”

You worked on gently ripping open the flap of the envelope. “Roger, it doesn’t matter what you get me. I just need you.” You put your hand on his cheek and your boyfriend kissed the inside of your wrist.

“That was ridiculously corny,” he muttered, “but you’re cute so I’ll let it pass.”

You rolled your eyes as you finally unstuck the envelope flap and opened the card. It read:

‘Y/n Dearest,

I’m trying to get better at this sappy stuff. The band is convinced that the most romantic thing I’ve ever written up to this point is, well… it rhymes with “I’m in Love with my Star.” But I’m going to try anyways to top it.’

You chuckled and bumped his shoulder with yours. “I’m seriously concerned with your infatuation with automobiles.”

“Oh, just keep reading,” Roger pushed.

‘I love you. So very much. And I hate being away from you for so long when I was made to be at your side. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for missing your birthday and Christmas. For all the times you’ve been there for me, I should have been and should still be there for you. And for that I am sorry.’

“Aw, you don’t need to be sorry,” you corrected softly. “I’m proud of you. And I’m happy that you’re seeing the benefits of your hard work.”

“You’re lovely,” he whispered. “But keep on reading.”

‘As for your gift, consider this a voucher for a puppy or kitten of your choosing. If you’re going to need something to keep you company, it might as well be a friend with fluffy hair other than yours truly.

Yours truly ; )

Roger xx’

You looked up from the card in shock. You were getting a pet. Oh my God… You were getting a pet!

“I’m getting a puppy?!” You yelled excitedly. Roger laughed amusedly at your mirth.

“Or a kitten… your choice,” he answered. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you.

“Roger, this is the best gift ever,” you pulled him close to you and began to kiss him. That’s all the two of you seemed to do since he had gotten back. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Roger responded.

You cocked your head. “For what?”

Little did you know that those small attempts took a lot of courage for Roger who was trying to conceal a raging crush. He didn’t want to be too subtle but he also didn’t want to ignore you, so he found his best bet to be making small talk and acting as a friend despite the voice in the back of his head pushing him to place a hand on your knee softly or stretch an arm around your shoulders.

After all, he felt shrugged off, slightly discarded. Maybe it was better though- because you were their damn manager. You organised gigs and meet and greets and made sure they were staying on track. You weren’t supposed to date- no matter how badly he wanted to.

While everyone else talked amongst themselves, he leans over until his lips were only just brushing against your hair and chuckles. “Who do you think will be the first to break something tonight? I’m going with Freddie. He’s angrier then Brian when I smashed his guitar on stage.”

You have to bite your lip to repress a laugh at his statement but Roger takes it as you shrugging him off once more. He was probably right.

“How about John when he tries to get up to leave just before the argument happens? I reckon he’ll be in such a panic that he’ll end up knocking over one of the glasses.” You wet your bottom lip and gaze across at the bassist that you’d known for the shortest period of time. Still, you felt uncomfortable in your seat.

“I definitely didn’t think about that.” Rogers breath tickles the side of your neck as he speaks and you refrain from turning your head because if you did, your lips would’ve been closer then need be and god, you really didn’t want to pass out in the middle of this dinner. “What about you, hm? What do you have the ability to break?” His words held a teasing undertone and you squeeze your thighs together, his tone of voice was suggestive.

“I don’t know.” You shrug, allowing strands of hair to fall over your features.

You were on edge being so close to Roger but you didn’t know why. You’d kissed at a party recently– despite being completely wasted, you’d kissed none the less and even made out the next day when not drunk. While that was something you both agreed not to talk about, what he’d told you that night still lingered in your mind. He’d slurred something about liking you but not wanting to be unprofessional.

Two nights later he had another girl between his sheets, except he’d made sure to bring to bed the one girl that wore vanilla lip balm because that’s what you had worn two nights earlier. Lately, however, he’d been better. The two of you had been getting closer and nights after shows had been spent by your side instead of random girls.

You felt that you were finally getting somewhere.

For some reason, you could boss him around and yell at him for getting in a fight at the pub or pissing off the bar manager, but the second he was closer then need be whispering sarcastic nothings into your ear you were like putty in the palm of his hand.

Roger shakes his head with a soft laugh, his green eyes staring into your own. “We haven’t even considered the idea of you breaking that fork from how much you’ve been playing with it?”

You glance down at the metal thing you’d been absentmindedly bending and your eyes widen.

“So Y/N, you’ve been working with the boys for a few months now, yeah? How is it? I hope Freddie isn’t too much trouble.” Kash laughs gently, trying to direct the topic of conversation away from whatever it’d previously been. Little did you know, you were about to save everyone else from listening in on an awkward argument between Freddie and his father.

You snap your gaze across to her, nearly dropping the fork that you twiddled with in the process. Roger notes your nerves and grabs the fork before it can tumble off of the table and you send him a lopsided smile like a kind of thank you– thankfully he’d moved back into his own seat.

Brian, Roger and John stare already awaiting your answer and your cheeks burn under their gazes.

“Nearly five months but I’ve known Roger and Brian for over a year.” You tell her, thinking back to when you happened to be paired up with Brian for a project. “I’ve loved getting closer to all the boys. They’re all wonderful– a set of queens for sure and difficult at times but definitely wonderful. There isn’t a day that I’m not laughing with them.”

That was a lie. Sometimes laughing would seem like the hardest thing in the world as Roger stood off to the side with his arm around a girl, whispering things you refused to even think about into another groupies ear. Sometimes watching him send winks to girls he’d never even spoken to in the crowd made you screw your face up but not only out of disgust– but also jealousy.

And it would only take moments for Freddie to cheer you up with one of his many lines, or for John to notice and call you over to ‘help’ with his bass. Brian would perk you up with facts about space or ask about that guy you had ‘met’ a week earlier.

It made you sick that you wanted to be one of those girls– one of the ones that had every ounce of his attention for all of a few hours but after kissing him merely twice you felt hooked. His hands had been calloused but large against your cheek the first time, balled into fists as he gripped your shirt the second. He’d taken care of you when it was usually the other way around, been gentle even in his drunk state.

“Some of us you got closer to then others.” John remarks, “Isn’t that right, Brian?”

If Freddie's family weren’t sitting right there then you would’ve dragged the boy out by his collar and gone off– but you had manners. You were showing respect so you simply grasped the end of your shirt and refused to look across at Roger who had snorted, matching Brians response.

“I think I’m pretty close with all of you.” You say softly, embarrassment hidden beneath something unreadable.

Brian was feeling brave. “Really? Because you seem to spend more time with Rog–”

Your eyes harden and your face forms a glare. Roger brushes his leg against yours.

The boys knew by now not to mess with you. If they pushed you far enough you could go silent for days, refusing to speak to any of them until they were begging for a conversation. John always cracked first. If it were because of a disagreement, Roger would withstand for the longest but unbeknownst to you he was usually ready to break after the first day of not hearing your gentle voice. Sometimes all it took was your laughter and he was slipping back into seemingly never-ending thoughts of you.

It was fair to say that Roger was in just as deep as you were, he was also just as oblivious to your feelings as you were to his. John, Freddie and Brian who wanted nothing more then for their friends to stop sending heart eyes back and forth weren’t so oblivious.

Jer notices the tension and coughs, collecting her husband's plate in one hand. She turns to the two boys that’d previously decided it’d be fun to press your buttons and while she thought up a topic, Roger glanced across at the girl sitting across the table. Kash spoke to her dad, screwing her face up at something he said and he makes the worst, probably most disgraceful decision he could’ve in that moment.

“Right, Brian! I heard you’re an astrophysicist?” Jer smiles, creases forming at the corner of her eyes.

Roger took this as a good chance to slip out of his seat, straightening out his shirt as you try to stop him, brows furrowing. He steps around the table, slipping into the seat where Freddie previously sat. Suddenly your heart drops into your chest because you knew what was about to happen but Roger wasn’t yours. He wasn’t yours to stop and pull aside unless it was something band related. It was selfish of you to wish you had that kind of power over him at all times but you learnt that Roger often did what he wants, despite Freddie claiming that you had him whipped.

The place beside you now felt much emptier than before, definitely cold. The cake in the centre of the table was suddenly in the back of your mind again but on any other occasion, you would’ve been all over the treat.

Brian leans forward in his seat, watching Roger slip around the table with a confused glance before turning back to the interested party. “Yeah, I am– or was. Roger’s a dentist.”

“Not a dentist.” Roger remarks in his new seat, shoving his hair behind his shoulders.

John and Brian shake their heads and Brian says, “He’s a dentist, yeah.” and you would have laughed if it weren't for Roger leaning over to Kash like he had to you only moments earlier. He stretches his arm over her chair much like you wanted him to do with you and every fibre of your body screams at you to look away but you can’t help but watch as he makes his move, wetting his bottom lip skillfully.

They were antics you’d seen plenty of times before and usually he was drunk. Usually, you were the one pulling him away because he was practically off his face. The little spark that had been lit in your chest after he’d given you just a small taste had long burned out and left you feeling something different.

“What are you doing later?” He whispers in his ear.

Your mouth falls agape but you don’t know why you’re shocked.

Later you and Roger and the rest of the boys had to go back to practice one of their latest songs. Later you were meant to finish up some business calls and later you were meant to do whatever you could to stop yourself from thinking about the boy.

Kash looks confused and mutters a small “homework.” which makes Rogers' lips curl up. He wanted to respond with something flirty but he could feel your eyes on him and he feels the guilt creep into his chest. Then he remembers– this is why he doesn’t flirt with girls sober anymore. You.

“I mean, you could always leave that for another night?” He suggests. “I know the perfect–”

It was your eyes and Freddie's father letting out an intimidating cough, a small rumble that falls from the back of his throat and that’s enough for Roger to slip back and away from the girl. The older man looked beyond frustrated with his son and his friends– the damn friends that he didn’t approve of. Roger had just proved the man right once again.

Somehow though, you were more upset then him. Seeing him make a move on someone else– being right there only meters apart when you’d done so much to convince yourself that the boy that wasn’t even yours had changed was enough to make your heart plummet.

Your chair is pushed back, the legs screeching against the floor and you cringe at the sound but don’t let it stop you as you march towards the door with a determined and hurt look on your face. No one stops you, not even John who– ever so observant had seen the entire thing go down right from the start. They all waited for Roger to make the first move.

“Is she okay?” Jer asks, passing Mary another photo of Freddie as a baby. Other vintage photos lay discarded around the table. The older women looked concerned.

Roger slips his bottom lip between his teeth as everyone waits for someone else to answer. He knew that he’d messed up this time and that there was no going back from it. That there was a line and he’d crossed it. Maybe it was the frustration after following every instruction Freddie had given him to get you to fall for him and still feeling that it wasn’t enough that had made him give in. Maybe it was him wanting to see your reaction. No– he didn’t want to do that, to be one of those guys. Maybe he was becoming one?

Mary sighs, removing her hand from Freddies. “I can go–”

“I’ve got it.” Roger interrupts, already shoving his seat back. He stops Mary from getting out of her seat and drops the small, bear tooth necklace sitting around his neck.

It was the one you’d fiddled with once when the two of you had been left to share a one person couch. The close proximity had left you arm to arm and basically chest to chest and out of pure curiosity, you picked it up between your fingertips and studied the thing closely before you laughed about a coffee stain on his shirt. That was the third time Roger Taylor realised that he was falling for you. The first was the drunk kiss and the second when he kissed– but never slept with the girl with the same vanilla lip balm.

Your laugh was addictive and now you were doing anything but laughing.

Roger pads down the hallway and out the front door, his heavy shoes thumping against the floorboards before they merely smack against the concrete outside. He stood outside of the Bulsaras, gaze getting lost on a bright red rose bush for a moment before he spots you leaning against the front of the house.

“You left?” He calls, making his way over to you.

“I needed to get some air.” You reply sharply. “It’s crazy in there, everyone’s at each other's throats and I think Freddie is seconds away from flipping the table.”

You didn’t mention that you were unsure if the reason for Freddie flipping the table would be because of his dad or Roger and you weren’t sure that you wanted to know. However, you feared walking back in and finding cutlery on the floor and cake against the walls.

Roger joins you against the brick wall, slipping a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and a lighter out of the front. “But you’re not at mine?”

“I want to be.” You say, barely above a whisper, snatching the pack out of his hand before he can grab a stick. He knew you disliked it and that he’d get them back later but for now– no.

You wondered if it was selfish of you to want to be the only girl Roger flirted with, even if he wasn’t yours. While before you were nearly positive he was planning to ask you out you now felt unsure, in fact, you doubted it’d ever happen and that you’d been fooling yourself this entire time. The thought only made you feel sick.

Plus, how could you ever be confident that Roger wouldn’t slip up while in a relationship after the consistent flirting that was currently the thing keeping you apart? Your fears ran rampant like wild horses.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, not yet ready to complain about the stolen pack of smokes. Roger furrows his brows, his eyes that were more then just a plain old shade of green but instead, could be compared to grass that slips between your toes in summertime or emeralds stare across at you.

You suck in a deep breath, staring straight ahead. “I want to be mad at you for making me think that I was different then all the other girls– and that I was more to you then just your band manager then continuing to crush me like all the rest.”

Roger was confused but followed closely, hanging onto every word.

“Is this because I made a move on Kash? Because that was a one-time thing–”

“It’s because I like you so fucking much and I actually blame myself for thinking that maybe you liked me too. I made myself believe that” You swallow harshly, back of your throat burning. “You need to learn respect, Rog. I know to you I may just seem like another girl to get into bed but I’m more then that.”

“I never said that’s what you were and I didn’t want to give you that–” Roger was never good with words– which was weird considering his occupation. But still, he feared fucking up and making the situation worse which was exactly what he was about to do. “You’re an amazing band manager.”

Your face falls, all hope ceasing as he sighs. Roger knew what he’d done. He just knew. “But is that all I am to you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You scoff. “I know that what I want you to say is unrealistic because you’re Roger Taylor. I was kidding myself. You’d just fuck me over.”

And then it happens. His cheeks redden with anger in an instant, he snaps his head towards you and suddenly the finger had been turned in the opposite direction.

“What about you, huh? You’ve been talking to Brian about that guy all week. Who’s he?” Roger pressed, taking a step forward. His arm went above your head, resting against the brick wall of the house.

Roger had been and was jealous. He was known for his tantrums, you’d heard about the best of them from Brian but you didn’t know that you’d be the possible cause of one.

“He’s no one because he doesn’t fucking exist! I made him up to get the boys off my back.” You throw your hands up and ball them into fists, anger radiating off of you. “Can you think with your brain instead of your dick for a single second? One day you’re kissing me in a bar and we’re flirting and the next I’m nothing more then your damn manager. What am I, Roger?”

But he couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what you were– clearly you were their manager and clearly he had feelings for you. So what did that make you? But he wasn’t the smartest when it came to feelings– far from it. But while you blamed yourself for this he was busy blaming himself.

Afternoons of discussing possible gigs together and discarding the fact that you should’ve been studying when you were still in uni, drinking cold tea at twelve am and watching reruns of trashy tv and falling asleep in the spare side of your bed hadn’t given you the wrong impression because he did in fact want you to know that he likes you without having to say it himself.

Because Roger hated using his words when it came to things like this and this was why. Things got muddled and confused and he got scared– which still, he couldn’t quite understand. Half of the boys life was spent behind a drum kit.

“What was I when you let me crash in your room when I got too drunk and nearly went home with a stranger?” You stop for a moment before continuing. “–and I woke up the next day with you on the floor beside me while I was in the bed because you were scared that I may have gotten alcohol poisoning and didn’t want to leave in case you had to take me to the ER?” You wait patiently for an answer but it doesn’t come. “When you kissed me that night at the bar after your most crowded gig and then told me that I was pretty, was I just another one of the girls you hang around?”

He remembered every one of those occurrences in great detail, how you’d struggled into his place barely being able to keep your eyes open after a night of downing heavy drinks. You complained about a stomach ache for a while before passing out and he’d stayed up concerned until he eventually drifted off on the floor. The next occurrence at the bar– Roger hadn’t even been that drunk.

Roger stands with his shoulders slouched, eyes cast down on the garden as you speak. You admit, that sounded desperate but you were desperate for an answer. After weeks of getting closer and months of mindless flirting, you needed an answer because you wouldn’t be his go to when he had a good one-liner or needed a little affection any longer.

He was seeing red with picture perfect swirls of blue. The red representing his anger and frustration while the blue represented his increasing sadness and fear of losing you– what the two of you had now, whatever it was. Somehow there was more blue in his vision.

“I know you’re a good guy, that much is true.” You nod your head once, mouth feeling a little dryer then before. “But good guys don’t go around using girls.”

“I can show you that I do like you.” He says, voice hushes as he competes with his own insecurities. Somehow he knew how this would end. “Just give me a chance.”

You can’t say no to the drummer, not when he’s so vulnerable and doe-eyed. Still, Roger goes to take you hand and you snatch it back to your chest after he barely grazes it, skin still burning with his touch moments later. You didn’t want to do it but you didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of simply being allowed to touch you either.

“You can try, Rog, but I won’t put my heart on the line again.” You snort sarcastically, ignoring the ache in your chest. It didn’t dull for a single second and you hesitate before speaking up again because a part of you wanted to cut off whatever this was and go back to being strictly his boss but the other was willing to give him a chance.

“It can be like... the boyfriend trials.”

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But you swore he hadn’t changed a day and maybe that was what made your heart soar– that could’ve also been what made you feel some kind of loss. His eyes still shone whether he was smoking a cigarette or going through his fourth pair of drumsticks on stage and he still grew annoyed by his overgrown blonde locks from time to time. You knew because he would grumble under his breath as he pushed them back.

Roger had been glancing at you every second he could. He was glad if he caught your eyes for a solid second because it made him feel like a giggly college student again. You were everything good about his late teen/early adult years. He looked at you and he was reminded of laughing through lectures, ditching frat parties for booze in the parking lot and sloppy kisses and takeout at 3 am.

Also that courtroom wedding. 

“I got your letter.” You begin, turning to the blonde.

The walls of his backstage room shook with every beat of the music from backstage. He could hear the boys getting up to no good down the hall and the management begging them not to break anything. Usually, he’d be involved but tonight he was beyond happy with you.

He perks up. “You did? what did you think?”

You smile and play with your fingers. “I loved it, you always were good with words and I mean– it must’ve been a damn good letter if it managed to convince me to show up to the show.” You scoff, trying to bite back your smile from growing any wider.

Roger visibly softens at your words, relief flooding through him. He feared you turning up and hating his guts but this was the opposite. 

“I’m so glad to see you.”

You inch closer but still remain stiff. After nearly three years you didn’t know how to act around him. “I’m glad to see you too but I need to know… did you really mean everything you said in the letter?” 

“Every single word.” He says it from the bottom of his heart. “I meant everyhting and I’m hoping that we can build back up to what we had before. I don’t want to screw it up this time.”

You wet your bottom lip and taste the alcohol you’d had before coming backstage. You weren’t drunk or even tipsy though. “I need time but I– I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”