#borhap imagine

Visiting Joe on set was a common thing in your relationship from the moment you both knew it was serious. You loved seeing him work and he loved having you around in between takes or during his breaks, it became such a special thing in your relationship that he proposed on one of your visits. He was lucky enough to be shooting on location that day, a beach to be exact, it was also a night shoot, and he took the opportunity during the first break. It wasn’t elaborate at all, but you didn’t see it coming and were genuinely surprised and, in your eyes, it was the perfect proposal.

However, once you had a baby you knew you had to stop visiting on set as often as you did, he always insisted that your daughter could go and be on set with him that you could stay at his trailer while he was busy, you on the other side didn’t feel comfortable with having your baby in an unknown environment surrounded by strangers, it would overwhelm her and you knew that a quiet set and colicky fussy baby wasn’t a good combination.

“Just let her grow up a bit” you told him “I promise you that once I feel sure enough that she won’t be a bother for the crew we’ll be there.”

“Fine” he huffed holding the six-month-old baby close to his chest.

Joe was about to start a new production, the first one since he took a break during your pregnancy and first few months of Grace’s life. He didn’t want to leave both of you he wasn’t ready but how could he ever be ready to leave his little family?

Time passed and your beautiful baby girl was now three, almost four, years old and she hadn’t seen her dad at work not once due to the agreement you had with Joe. From day one he was more than ready to have Grace on set with him, but he also knew that you had to be same page as him and, so far, you hadn’t changed your mind.

“Okay I gotta go” he said taking one last bite to his breakfast. He had been casted as John Deacon on the Queen biopic, and you had come with him this time before Grace started preschool.

He kissed you goodbye and kissed his daughter’s head quickly “Bye princess.”

“Bye daddy!” she replied with a giggle.

An idea crossed your mind, Grace was old enough to understand what being quiet meant and most of the time she was a well-behaved toddler. Yes, she threw tantrums, was an energetic ball hard and it was sometimes hard to keep up with her, but she wasn’t anything you couldn’t control if the situation needed it plus the most stressful shot of the whole movie had already been done so you wouldn’t be making Joe even more nervous.

“You wanna go see daddy?” you asked her with a smile. Her eyes lit up so quickly and she nodded.

You cleaned up the kitchen and got Grace ready to go. You took one of those set passes that Joe always get you and drove to where they would be shooting.

“Okay baby we have to be really quiet” you told her in a whisper “we want to keep this a surprise, okay?”

“Quiet” she giggled in the same tone as you with her index finger on her mouth.

They were shooting the first concert they ever had with Freddie as a front man and Deaky as bass player. It was a closed set so you couldn’t go in while the neon sign outside said that they were filming.

“And cut!” the director yelled “take a break everybody, I’ll let you know if need another shot.”

On your side the neon sign went off so it meant that you could go inside with your little girl in your arms.

“Do you see who’s there?” you asked Grace putting her down.

“Daddy!” she giggled running to him. Even with a long wig and 70’s clothing she recognized him. He was a daddy’s girl after all.

“Grace!” Joe exclaimed completely ignoring Ben, who was a having a conversation with him, he quickly picked her daughter up. “What are you doing here? Where’s your momma?”

“I thought she was old enough to visit you” you answered walking up to him.

“So, we finally get to meet little Mazzello today?” the blonde man asked. The whole cast had met you but not Grace though they had seen plenty of photos thanks to Joe.

“I-yeah I mean I guess” Joe was still processing the surprise. This is all he ever wanted a ’bring your child to work’ day “this is Grace”.

“Uncle Rami!” she exclaimed once he saw him.

“Want to stay with Uncle Rami?” Joe asked her to which she agreed.

Joe gave Grace to Rami and let him introduce her to Ben and Gwilym while he talked to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked.

“If I had, then you wouldn’t be surprised” you smiled.

“Believe me I’m shocked” he sighed not trying to hide his smile “what made you change your mind?”

“I just thought why not” you shrugged “you’ve wanted her on a set with you for such a long time.”

“I think she likes it here” you said when you saw her play with Joe’s costars.

“Yeah” he smiled “after this scene I have an actual break so we can spend time in my trailer yeah?”

You nodded everyone seemed to be going back to their places, so you had to go fetch Grace.

“Sorry gentlemen but I think we’re not needed here” you said picking up your girl from Ben’s arms.

“Pretty” she squealed out of nowhere. You weren’t sure if it meant Ben or the wigs they were wearing.

“You think I’m pretty?” Ben spoke and she nodded making Joe eyes wide. Ben wouldn’t let Joe forget this one.

Joe’s knee bounced incessantly as he gripped Y/n’s hand with a bone crushing amount of force, not causing her too much pain though. His palms were clammy and slightly visible drops of sweat rolled down his face.

Thump thump

thump thump

It was ironic, the actor hearing a loud heartbeat and breathing as time felt slowed like a movie. The surreal chain of events that led up to this moment was a rush-

Thump thump

thump thump

The last award was for Bohemian Rhapsody. The night was going swell thus far. He gripped her hand tighter and clenched his jaw, attempting to relax himself but to no avail. Was luck on his side?

Thump thump

thump thump

“And the winner is-”

Thump thump

thump thump

“Joseph Mazzello!”

Silence.

Ringing.

Cheers erupted and sliced through the dramatic tension with an figurative knife. Suddenly, Joe felt himself return to reality, the drowned out noise of the viewers becoming loud and very much audible.

“We did it!” Joe smiled, letting go of Y/n’s hand and moving it to wrap around her shoulder, his other arm joining it as he hugged the life out of Y/n. He pressed multiple kisses to the top of her head before his costars’ loud whoops of his name combined with their cheering reminded him that his name was just announced from the stage. Which he was supposed to go to.

Roaring whistles and yells continued to ring through the room as Joe left his seat and made his way up to the stage, greeting the person who had announced him and shaking their hand. Finally, the banter gradually faded into silence as Joe positioned himself in front of the microphone.

“I just want to say thank you to my fellow stars, and the crew, who worked on Bohemian Rhapsody with me. I want to thank you because you guys have not only become my best friends, but my family too. Our movie has allowed me to meet some of my closest friends, and I could never be more grateful for that.” He paused, nodding at his mentioned friends as they applauded verbally and physically once again.

“Next, I’d like to thank my family. I’d like to thank them for being there for me and supporting me and just...being my family. Then uh...” Joe cleared his throat, smile growing despite looking as though it couldn’t anymore. “Finally, I’d like to give the biggest thank you...to someone who’s been with me through thick and thin, through our ups and downs, through each and every filming process, just- through it all man. I’d like to thank the love of my life, the best friend I could ever ask for, my fiancé,” hollers from the audience interrupted him, but he simply paused and made eye contact with the same eyes he saw when he woke that morning. “Y/n L/n.”

“You make me the happiest man in the world, and I honestly cannot wait to become your husband. Thank you all, again.”

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

-

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I’ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of  excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do. 

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous. 

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

-

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

-

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

“Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

Roger turned with an angry shout, flinging his fist into the wall behind him. The sound as the drywall cracked made you scream and Roger turned to you, hand still curled into a now bloody fist, the action not lessening his anger.

The silence that filled the air was suffocating as you stood there staring in horror at the look on his face, the blood coating his knuckles, and the gaping hole that was now in the wall behind him.

Roger walked passed you towards the door and gave it an angry slam on his way out.

You broke down, dropping to the floor and sobbing. You were still angry, still hurt, and still scared.

After about an hour had passed you finally got the strength to get off the floor and make your way to the phone.

You dialed the number that you knew by heart and waited as it rang in the otherwise quiet house.

“Hello?”

“Brian?”

“Y/N?” He said, hearing the heartbreak in your voice. “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Did Roger-”

“We had a fight. He walked out and hasn’t been back for a while and I’m starting to worry about him.”

“You’ve had a fight and you’re worried about him?”

You sniffed, wiping at your wet cheeks.

“God, Y/N, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Would- would you just find him? I-I don’t think he wants to see me but he punched the wall before he left and his hand was all bloody-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, love. It’s not your fault he blew a gasket, okay?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and felt even more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Y/N?”

You hummed in response, your throat tight.

“We’ll bring him home.”

That was the last thing he said before hanging up and you choked out another sob, letting the phone drop from your hand and swing from the cord as you found yourself on the floor again, back against the wall as you sobbed into your knees.

Thinking back on it now, it had been your fault the fight had happened.

It had been about Roger’s endless groupies you knew he fucked every time he was on tour.

You’d talked about it back when you first started dating and you’d told him you were okay with it. You’d talked about it with your friends and family who’d been concerned about it and you’d told them you were fine with it. The other Queen members had asked you about it, offering to watch him for you while on tour, but you’d told them it didn’t bother you.

Hell, eventually you’d convinced yourself you were fine with it.

It was fine. I’m fine. What he does when I’m not around is fine because at the end of the day he always comes home to me. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

Then why. Why. Why did it take that stupid tabloid article to finally make you realize that you weren’t.

You don’t even know what compelled you to pick up the magazine. Usually you avoided picking up anything that even remotely mentioned the boys because you knew most of it would be slander. Calling Freddie a faggot or Roger a slut or John an absent husband. You hated those articles.

So then why? You asked yourself again. Why did you pick up that stupid tabloid?

Maybe it was because it was one of the few that mentioned you on the cover? Maybe it was because you were bored and wanted something to flip through? You didn’t remember and it didn’t matter now because the moment your eyes landed on that article it was over. And, at the moment, it felt like your stupidest decision.

Roger Taylor, Queen’s Sex Machine, Back At It Again.

After deciding his current girlfriend, Y/N L/N, wasn’t enough for the famous rock star, Roger Taylor was seen acting more than friendly with various groupies during his last tour. Our sources were not able to find a reaction from Y/N, making us suspect that she either doesn’t know about his sexual escapades, ignores them, or doesn’t care. How long will their relationship last if Y/N can’t fulfill Roger’s sexual needs? And how long will it take Roger to come to the conclusion he’s had enough of her?

Enough.

That was the word that kept playing back for you in your head. ‘Deciding his current girlfriend wasn’t enough’, ‘come to the conclusion he’s had enough.’

Why weren’t you enough?

You didn’t know how long you sat there, no tears left to cry and a whole in your heart. You felt numb. Whatever anger or sadness you’d been holding onto before was gone and replaced with an ache in your chest that wouldn’t go away.

It took a knock at the door to finally let all the emotions come flooding back to you.

Was that Brian? What if he didn’t find Roger? What if he did? Were you ready to face him again? Would he still be mad? Of course he’d still be mad. What would you say? Would you apologize? No, you don’t have anything to apologize for. Then what? If he was still mad, he certainly wasn’t going to apologize, that much you knew. What if he did apologize? ‘I’m sorry I caused you the worry, I’ll change how I live my life because you want me to’? No, that’s not what you wanted, you didn’t want him to change because of your outburst. What if he broke up with you? What if he kicked you out? You didn’t think you could stand going back to your family or friends and their pitying looks and ‘I told you so’s. ‘That’s what you get for dating a rock star’ they’d say. He finally decided you weren’t enough. Enough. Enough. Enough.

The knocking came again, this time harder and more persistent.

You rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to the door, every scenario going through your head as the knocking repeated.

“Y/N, darling, if you don’t open this door right now I’m going to break it down.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that made it’s way to your lips as you turned the knob and opened the door.

“I’d like to see you try, Freddie,”

Freddie Mercury stood on the other side of the door, a sad smile making its way to his lips.

“Brian told me what happened.”

The smile you tried to keep on fell at his words and soon you were in tears again, wrapped in Freddie’s arms.

“Oh, darling, oh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He soothed, stroking your hair as you cried into his shoulder. “I saw that stupid article. I thought something like this might happen.”

You weren’t sure whether his words made you feel better or worse.

He brought you into the living room and sat you down on the couch, wrapping you in a blanket before leaving your side to approach the record player sitting on a shelf near by.

You and Roger spent many hours listening to Jimi Hendrix or The Beatles, sometimes even Led Zeppelin if you could talk him into it. He even danced with you to ‘Since I've Been Loving You’ on your anniversary.

You smiled as he flipped through the albums before deciding on one of their own: A Night At The Opera. The one that, arguably, put them on the map.

You closed your eyes as ‘Death on Two Legs’ started playing softly. It wasn’t their most relaxing song, but their music had a way of calming you down. Freddie knew this after seeing you in the studio with them multiple times, absolutely relaxed in the creative environment.

He occupied the seat next to you again, pulling you to his chest as an offer to snuggle into him.

You accepted the offer and smiled softly as you listened to the angry and bitter song. You remembered them telling you it was based on their nasty former manager, Norman Sheffield.

“His loss,” You’d told them back then. “He’ll be forever known as the man who lost Queen.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Freddie had exclaimed. “It was like a movie scene! You should’ve been there, Y/N. It was a perfect exit.”

“Yeah and then we threw a brick through his window.” Roger added with a smug grin.

“Not our brightest idea.” Brian said.

“Never said any of you were the smartest lot.”

They’d shoved you around for that comment with laughter and good natured retorts.

The memory made you smile, the bad thoughts from before being driven away from your head as you remembered and snuggled against your favorite piano player as his voice drifted through the air.

You wondered if the song would’ve made you angrier if you didn’t know what it was really about and didn’t have the memory attached to it. You supposed it would have but you could only giggle at the lyrics now. It was bitter and mean, as Freddie once called it, but it was a great song.

‘Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon’ came next and you released a breath at the softer tone. The song reminding you of Alice in Wonderland and Singing in the Rain, films that you had watched as a kid. It was a short song, but it did wonders for your mood with its playful and happy tune.

It wasn’t until ‘I’m In Love With My Car’ came on that you realized he’d put the record on the B-Side.

You sat up from Freddie, a frown on your face, mood brought down again. 

“Change it.” You commanded.

“Sorry, dear, too comfortable here.” He replied, a smirk on his face.

You bit your lip, near to tears again, as Roger’s song played along in the background. The song he’d fought himself into a cupboard for and that you relentlessly teased him about.

“Freddie, please, I-I don’t-”

A knock interrupted your sentence and Freddie practically launched himself over the couch to get it.

The limber bastard.

You followed him reluctantly, knowing who would be on the other side of that door. The man singing a song about his car.

Freddie pulled open the door to John Deacon who was stood with a frown on his face that disappeared into concern as he noticed you enter the room.

He moved to hug you, which you happily accepted. Hugging Freddie and Deacy was a comforting feeling that you desperately needed.

“Why’s this song playing?” He wondered aloud, more confused than anything.

The comment made you laugh.

“Y/N.”

You pulled away from John to face Brian who was giving you a similar look. It wasn’t pity, but rather a sort of concern. It warmed your heart to think that they cared for you so much.

Were you enough in their eyes?

“We found him walking. Had to take him to the hospital for his hand, but-”

“Is he still angry?”

“No.” Brian said, catching you by surprise. “I don’t think he’s been angry for a while.”

Your eyes swelled with tears as Brian motioned for Roger to come inside.

If you were in a better mood, you would have laughed. Roger Taylor waiting for permission to go inside his own home.

He walked passed Brian, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring at his shoes.

The song changed to ‘You’re My Best Friend’ but nobody paid any attention to the music.

Freddie had an annoyed expression on his face and opened his mouth to say something until Deacy put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Silently telling him it wasn’t appropriate and that they’d lectured him enough for one night.

“Happy at Home” the song chimed, normally earning a snarky comment from Roger, but it seemed he wasn’t listening or at least not caring about the line for once.

“Come on, boys, I think we better leave these two alone.” Brian spoke up after a minute of silence. “Fred, I’ll take you home.”

Freddie seemed reluctant to leave. Whether that was because he was concerned or because he wanted to witness the drama of it all was unknown, but he followed the other two band members out the door.

You stood in silence for another minute as the song in the background faded into 39. A song you loved.

It seemed to be the kick Roger needed to finally look up at you with his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Hi,” He said.

“Hi...” You replied.

“I’m sor-”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, Roger, please don’t apologize, I don’t want an apology for something I started. No, Rog, all I want is an answer.”

“An answer for what?”

You blinked back tears as you asked the dreaded question again. “Why aren’t I enough?”

Enough. Enough. Enough.

Roger’s eyes swelled up with his own tears and he shook his head with a small laugh.

“Ridiculous, really. You’ve always been enough, Y/N. Always.”

“Then why?” You said, tears streaming freely down your cheeks again. You felt like you’d cried an ocean. “Why sleep with all those groupies on tour? Am I not pleasing you enough? Is that it?”

“No!” Roger exclaimed. “God no, it’s perfect! You’re perfect.”

“Then why?” you asked again, voice raising before dropping to a murmur as you hung your head. “Why?”

Roger took your face in his hands. “Please, don’t cry, love.”

You shook your head, palms digging into your eyes to try to get rid of the tears.

He hugged you to his chest and you felt your heart ache once again because, as mad as you were at him, you longed for his comfort.

“I think I do it because- fuck it, I know I do it because I’m afraid.” He said.

You sniffed. Afraid? Afraid of what?

“I’m afraid that one day you’ll you realize what a twat I am and I’ll come home and you won’t be there. I do it because I’m afraid of getting attached to you, even though I know I already have, because what if you leave me one day? What if you decide that I’m not enough for you?”

You looked up at him. “You're afraid of that?”

Roger feigned laughter, not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, the bloody rock star has feelings. Ha ha.”

“No.” You pull his gaze to you again, feeling about a thousand emotions at once. “Roger, I’ve spent the entire day wondering why I wasn’t enough for you and you’re here telling me that you did all this shit because you think you’re not enough for me? Me?”

You took a deep breath, trying not to cry again.

“I love you, Roger Taylor. And you will always be more than enough for me. No matter how many groupies you sleep with or how many times you hurt me or whatever the fuck those fucking magazines say about you because I love you more than I hate you and sometimes I really fucking hate you.”

Roger smiled sadly at you. “I love you more, Y/N L/N, and I don’t deserve you, not at all. You have always been enough for me and I promise that I will try harder to show you that instead of being the dickhead that keeps breaking your heart.”

You sniffed, burying your face in his chest again.

“Always.” He whispered into the top of your head. “You are always gonna be enough for me.”

“Write your letters in the sand for the day I take your hand. In the land that our grandchildren knew.”

You snuggled into Roger’s chest as ‘39 came to a close, his hand squeezing yours in a sort of reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere again.

“All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand. For my life. Still ahead. Pity me.”

“I love you,”

It was a whisper, barely above his breath but you heard it and you savored the sound of his confession in the sudden silence.

Roger pulled away from you, much to your displeasure and confusion and walked into the living room, making a beeline for the record player. You followed him, hoping not to look too much like a lost puppy.

He flipped the record and adjusted the needle.

He held out his hand as ‘Love of My Life’ started playing.

You’d have cried if you had any tears left.

You took it and he pulled you into a sloppy sort of waltz that made you laugh. The boy could sing, but when it came to dancing he was no John Deacon. You leaned your head on his chest, taking in his scent (cigarette smoke, scotch, and the smell of his lingering cologne).

“I really am sorry. For everything. I’m a terrible boyfriend.”

“I know. And I’m not going to forgive you, not for a while, maybe not ever, but we can move past it. Just hold me, yeah?”

“I don’t understand what you’re going for here,” you said. “Emotional distress or sexual harassment?”

“Both,” she said. 

“Sexual harassment won’t make it,” you explained. “You’re his boss, it’s not designed that way. And let’s say it was, has he actually said anything to you that was inappropriate?”

“No, how many times do I have to say this?” she complained, rolling her eyes. “It was in his thoughts, I know it.”

You sighed. “On both these counts we would need some sort of action. Your supernatural penis abilities won’t hold up in court as proof, it’s that simple.”

“Look, I have money, you’re an attorney, do your job,” she snapped.

“I can’t if I -” you began, but your boss interrupted with three quick raps on your office door.

“Bill, I’m in the middle of a meeting with a client,” you told him.

“Ditch it, that case is rubbish anyway, I’ve got something better for you,” he said.

“Excuse me!” Miss Thomas protested, turning to face him.

“You’re the one who told me to take it!” you argued. “I told you it was rubbish from the start!”

“Hey!” Miss Thomas cried, only to continue being ignored.

“What’s this new case, then?” you asked.

“Believe me, you want it,” Bill continued. “It’s a divorce case, but you’re going to piss yourself when you see who it is.”

“I’m a paying client, you know!” Miss Thomas interjected.

Finally, you looked at her again.

“I’m sorry, Miss Thomas, but we’re just not prepared to take on your case,” you said. “It will be thrown out and frankly, we’d charge you just for wasting our time. Have a good day, now.”

With that, you rose from your seat, walked around your desk, and crossed the room to Bill. Together, you left Miss Thomas in your office. She huffed and stormed after you.

“So, who’s getting divorced and why is it a big deal?” you demanded as you walked with  your boss to the conference room.

“This is perhaps the most famous client we’ve ever had,” he said, stopping just outside the door. “Go in.”

Brow furrowed, but excited by the mystery, you reached out a hand to open the door. You pulled it toward you and stepped through. Three people sat at the table, but your eyes were immediately fixed on the one. The blonde man who sat alone. He was reclined, with his feet on the table. He sat up and removed his sunglasses when he saw you. His mouth fell just slightly open. 

Yes, you knew who it was. You just wished you didn’t.

Bill blew by you and went to shake the man’s hand.

“Mr. Taylor, this is Y/N Y/L/N, and she’ll be representing you,” he said.

You met Roger Taylor’s gaze for the first time in years. Those blue eyes brought back all  of the love you’d once felt. But there was even more pain.

“They’ve slept together.”

You screamed and jumped away from the source of the voice you hadn’t even realized was in the room. You whipped around and saw Miss Thomas behind you.

“I - wh - oh - what are you still doing here?!” you demanded.

“I still want my case covered!” she cried, stamping her foot.

“Hold on, how do you know we’ve slept together?” wondered Roger.

“Like I said,” she returned with a shrug. “I’m penile psychic.”

“Get out!” you shouted.

She eyed you up and down like a hungry tiger before turning on her heel and sweeping out to the lobby. You looked at Bill.

“Sorry, I’m not taking the case,” you said, then you too left the room, only you were heading for your office.

Roger looked at Bill. Bill had a thousand questions, but first, he had to get you back in the room.

“Just a moment, Mr. Taylor,” he said, and jogged after you.

You were just about to close the door, when Bill slapped his hand on it to stop you.

“You have to take the case, Y/N,” he said. 

“Why does it have to be me?” you wondered.

“You’re the best divorce attorney in the firm,” he reminded you. “That’s always been your specialty. I understand maybe there’s some history there, but can’t you get past that? He’s...he’s so rich, Y/N.”

“So?” 

“So?! We want his money, that’s the reason I started a law firm! If I’m not making money, then what’s the point, really?”

You groaned. “You don’t understand, Bill. This is going to be extremely uncomfortable. Roger and I were in a relationship. For years.”

“Well, time moves on, that’s all over, time to be adults,” Bill said. “You’re doing this.”

You glowered at him. “Fine. But I’m going to complain the whole time.”

“Like that’s any different from normal?” he retorted. “Get in there and get to work.”

Your scowl deepened. Alone this time, you went to the conference room. Roger had resumed his seat at the table and was chewing at his thumb nail. You sighed and entered, notepad and pen in hand.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “We can start the meeting now.”

“No, we can’t,” said Roger. “Y/N, can we talk?”

“No, we can’t,” you replied sharply. “Let’s just begin.”

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m not comfortable with this going forward, knowing that counsel has slept with the client,” the wife’s lawyer said.

His name was Tim Hooper, and he frequently made comments like these.

“Counsel’s discomfort is noted,” you snapped, taking your seat next to Roger. 

“Y/N, I really think we should talk,” Roger said.

“No!” you cried, then stopped yourself and cleared your throat. “We need to start this meeting, your wife has waited long enough.”

“Honestly,” the wife said. “It doesn’t matter. We’d have a hard time finding a woman in London Roger hasn’t shagged.”

“Hey!” Roger started, jumping to his feet, but you grabbed his arm and returned him swiftly to his chair. 

“There’s no need to get personal, Mrs. Taylor,” you said.

“Dominique,” she corrected. “Or Mrs. Beyrand, if you please.” 

“Mrs. Beyrand, I’m grateful that my history with Mr. Taylor is of no consequence to you, but again, we should all be civil to one another,” you said. “Let’s get to the papers, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” she agreed. 

“So, you’re filing for divorce because Mr. Taylor was unfaithful to you, am I reading this right?” you asked, holding out the paper. 

“Yes,” she replied. “While touring, he slept with countless other women.”

“Big surprise there,” you muttered under your breath as you made a note. 

Roger’s glare told you that he heard you.

You and Roger ended before you could prove that he cheated on you, though you always suspected it. He had just changed so much. 

You continued through the paperwork, since there was some dispute over the house. Dominique wanted to keep living there, but Roger wanted it for himself.

“I bought that house before we were married,” he said. “With money I earned from Queen. Why should you get to keep it?”

“Because you’re never even there!” she insisted. “You’re always in the studio or touring, I’m the one who lives in it!”

“It’s my house!” he argued. 

“That you don’t even use!” she shot back. “Why should I uproot the kids when -”

“I didn’t say the kids had to leave, just you,” he cut across her. 

“You can’t separate me from the kids, Rog,” she snapped. 

“They’re my children too, Dom, and if you think -”

“Okay!” you interrupted. “Okay, everyone settle down. I’m going to do some research and figure out what the law entitles each of you to.”

“I’m not comfortable with the implication that you’ll be taking care of my client’s needs, Miss Y/L/N,” said Tim. 

“Then do your job,” you returned. “But I think we need to take a break from this and meet again later this week. How’s Wednesday morning at ten sound? Comfortable enough?”

“That’s fine with me, Tim,” said Dominique. 

“We’ll see you Wednesday, then,” he said. 

You shook hands with both Tim and Dominique before they left the conference room. Then, it was just you and Roger alone. You looked at the ground, shifting your weight between your feet as you thought of some reason to escape being in his company. 

“Look, Y/N, you don’t have to take my case if you don’t want to,” he finally said. 

You looked up. “I do actually have to take it. Did you have a problem with the way I handled it?”

“No, you were brilliant, it’s just -”

“Then we’ll continue,” you cut across him. 

A beat passed. He bit his lip and looked around the room before finding his way back to you. 

“Can we talk?” he asked. 

“Now’s not a good time,” you said. “I’m at work.”

“Can we get a drink then?” he wondered. “I feel like we need to clear the air.”

“Roger, we haven’t spoken in years,” you reminded him. “The time for air clearing has long since passed.”

“We’ve known each other since we were six,” he said. “Can’t we be friends again?”

“I dunno…” you trailed off. “You really hurt me, Rog.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I hope you know how sorry I am.”

“Being sorry doesn’t change anything,” you said. “I think it’s best to leave the past where it is. I am your lawyer and you are my client and that’s it.”

“Y/N -” he began, reaching for you. 

“Don’t!” you cried, springing away. 

His eyes searched yours, and he found you unrelenting. 

“Don’t,” you repeated, quietly this time. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

Knowing himself to be dismissed, Roger turned and left the room. You let out a slow breath, relief washing over you. There was so much between you and Roger, but you had no desire to air it all out. You were perfectly happy to keep it inside and never deal with it.

“Y/N,” said your assistant, Jane. “Miss Thomas is here again. She’s demanding you take her case.”

Your shoulders slumped as you groaned. “Fuck it, might as well.”

You walked back to your office.

Roger arrived at the studio in a stormy mood. His bandmates knew he and Dominique were splitting, but they had never seen Roger like this. The three of them exchanged worried glances as the drummer started angrily adjusting his set.

“Rog?” questioned John. “How’d it go with the lawyers today?”

“She wouldn’t even talk to me!” Roger exclaimed. “It was ridiculous!”

Brian’s brow furrowed. “I thought Dominique wanted to talk. That was the whole point of getting representation.”

Roger sighed and let his drumstick slip between his fingers and clatter to the floor.

“No, not Dom,” he said. “My lawyer. It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

The band all raised their eyebrows at that.

“Rog, darling, why on Earth would you choose her?” Freddie questioned. 

“I didn’t,” Roger returned. “I chose the firm because they’re reputation is amazing. I didn’t know she was working there, but her boss assigned her to my case because she’s got the most experience in divorce.”

The band was aware of Roger’s history with you because they had been there for the end of it. They also knew that Roger had never really forgotten you. Even though he never talked about you, if they recalled their uni days, he got this warm, fond little smile on his face. They knew his mind was on you because it was the same expression he used to wear each time you entered the room. Then his face would shift into that same, deep hurt he felt because you were no longer in his life.

“So when you say she wouldn’t talk to you,” John said. “You mean about anything other than your divorce.”

“Yeah,” Roger said. “I thought that if we’re going to be working together on this, we should settle things between us, but….”

“Surely, you understand,” Brian said. “You both went through a tough time after you split, and maybe it’s been long enough now that she feels like it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it matters,” Roger argued. “That’s why she won’t talk. It matters too much.”

Brian looked desperately at Freddie and John for something else to say, but they also had nothing. Up until now, they had thought there was no way you would ever see Roger again. The two of you lived in completely different worlds. But now, here you both were, colliding.

“Alright, mate,” John said. “Let’s forget about all that and just play, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” Roger agreed, snatching his stick up. “Let’s just fucking play.”

They continued setting up in silence before beginning their session.

At your office, you spent much of your morning trying to dissuade Miss Thomas from her ridiculous case against her employee, but you were unsuccessful. She was determined to sue him for thinking about having sex with her, so you were just going to have to take the case as far as you could. You consoled yourself that at least that meant it wouldn’t be long. Your afternoon was more open than usual, so you found your mind wandering back to Roger.

It had been nearly ten years since you had seen him. Since college. Before Queen was Queen. Seeing the success of the band had brought with it so many conflicting emotions. You didn’t hate Roger, so seeing him live out his dream made you so proud of him. But the constant reminder of the man who had broken your heart was a struggle. So, you stayed out of the music scene and avoided the topic in the news.

You didn’t even know that he had gotten married. That stung. You didn’t know why it stung, but probably because you had always thought you and he would….you shook your head.

“Y/N?” said Jane, knocking gently on your office door as she entered. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice cracking. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well, I was just wondering because the day is over and you’re just sitting here staring at your desk,” she said. “We’re all going down to the bar. Wanna join?”

“Sure,” you replied.

You got to your feet and grabbed your coat and briefcase before following her to the elevator. 

Next door to your office building was a bar where you and your coworkers went to drink after the long hours of the day. It was a good way to unwind, since the singer and pianist who performed there regularly was very good. She usually performed covers and got people to dance, though that could also be alcohol induced. Anyway, it was always fun.

You came to the bar and joined Bill and the other lawyers who were already sitting at a table. You shot Bill another glare just to remind him you were angry.

“Relax, Y/N, I’ve made it up to you,” he said. “Already ordered your favorite, gin and tonic.”

“I hope this is the first of a multi-step apology,” you returned, taking your seat and sipping the drink.

“God, you’re demanding,” he teased. “How does Mark put up with you?”

Mark was your boyfriend. He was a sweet guy who loved his job as a doctor in a children’s ward at one of the larger London hospitals. He somehow stayed cheerful despite seeing some of what you considered the most depressing part of medicine. Children being ill.

“I’m just incredible in bed,” you shot back.

You and Bill laughed and you were one step closer to forgiving him. 

“Might the second part of my apology be a dance?” he asked, offering his hand.

“Sure,” you conceded, setting your drink down and taking it.

He led you onto the dance floor as the song was changing. You nearly let out a groan when she began to play “Tears on My Pillow.”

“You don’t remember me, but I remember you,” she began to sing. “Twas not so long ago, you broke my heart in two. Tears on my pillow, pain in my heart, caused by you, you.” 

“Look, Y/N, I don’t know the details of you and Roger Taylor’s relationship, and I don’t care to know them,” Bill said, distracting you from the music. “But I put you on that case because you’re not just the best at divorce. You’re the best associate attorney in that whole damn office, and I need you to do it.”

You held his gaze as you swayed to the music, shocked at this burst of earnest praise.

“I...yes, alright,” you said. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Good,” he replied. “Because nothing makes me angrier than wasted talent.”

“Except losing money,” you reminded him playfully.

“Oh, you know me better than I know myself,” he returned.

You continued to dance until the end of the song. On your way back to your table, a woman at the bar caught your eye. It was Dominique. There was a man beside her who was clearly unwelcome, and when she had your attention, she sent you a pleading expression. Without hesitating, you walked over.

“Dom!” you cried excitedly. “Oh my goodness, how are you?!”

“Hi, Y/N!” she replied. “It’s been ages!”

“I know,” you sighed dramatically. “Tell me what’s going on, love.”

“Um, excuse me,” the man interrupted. “I was speaking to Dominique.”

You shot him a nasty smile. “Yes, well, now I’m speaking to her.”

He looked to her and she shrugged.

“Sorry,” she said in a way that was not at all apologetic. “But we need to catch up. Have a good night.”

With an annoyed huff, he left. You started to leave too, but she grabbed your hand.

“No, not yet,” she said. “Otherwise he’ll know we’re faking.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” you said. “Although, I’m not sure Tim would be comfortable knowing we were speaking without him.”

You both giggled.

“God, he’s ridiculous, isn’t he?” she remarked.

“So ridiculous,” you agreed. “Why’d you hire him?”

“Because he’s effective,” she told you. “Even if he is absurd.”

A beat passed as the subject of Roger hovered between you like a dark cloud.

“Dom, I feel like I should explain -” you began but she cut you off.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I know about you and Roger. He’s told me the stories. How you were childhood sweethearts and dated through college before he ended things.”

“I see,” you said, shifting uncomfortably. “I just hope it really is okay with you that I’m representing him.”

“Believe me, it’s fine,” she said. “I’ve been competing with you our entire marriage. Why should the divorce be any different?”

Your eyes widened as you gaped at her.

“I know he ended it, Y/N, but Roger has never stopped loving you,” she went on. 

“Well - that’s - I - Dominique, that’s just not true,” you said. “If he loved me, he -” you stopped yourself, swallowing a lump in your throat. “He wouldn’t have done...well, everything he’s done.”

“Believe it or don’t, Y/N,” she said with a sigh. “But what you two had is what most people wait a lifetime for. And he’s never forgotten.”

Another beat of silence passed. You had no idea how to even answer her.

“I’m gonna go,” she said. “It’s getting late and I’ve got to put the kids to bed. See you Wednesday.”

She gathered her things, left some money on the counter, and slid out of the chair. You watched her go until she disappeared down the street. 

You left about an hour later when you and your co-workers were ready. Dominique’s words were stuck in your mind all the way home. Each step you took reinforced what you had heard. But it confused you. Roger couldn’t love you. There was no way. She had to be wrong.

You were just settling into your decision as you opened the door to your flat. Only, it wasn’t empty. Mark sat at your kitchen table, a cold dinner in front of him, a candle out of wax in the center of it, and another untouched plate across from him. A bottle of wine was out with two glasses served. Flowers that were already wilting were in his hand. He looked at you sourly.