#ftlchallenge

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You looked over at Roger as he put his hand on the small of your back, the combination of his voice and his touch something you’d come to associate with comfort. He always made sure to do both when you were in big social situations like this, making sure he didn’t scare you and taking the time to ground you and let you know it was him. The ease and gentleness with which he’d handled your anxiety from the very beginning of your relationship never failed to endear him to you; as always, you found yourself incredibly thankful for a boyfriend that loved you as well as he did.

You smiled as you met his lovely blue eyes. “Hey yourself, cutie.” You knew he loved it when you called him that; he always said it was very American of you.

“Just checking in,” he said with a smile. “You alright?”

You nodded, gesturing with the drink in your hand. “One more margarita and I might drag you onto the dance floor,” you teased, “but yeah, I’m great.”

He grinned. “I might take you up on that.”

“You’ve got Freddie set up already?” you asked. Freddie had been flirting with - or, rather, casting longing glances towards - a burly brunette all night, and Roger had taken pity on him eventually and offered his services as Freddie’s wingman.

“You doubt my ability to him the date of his dreams?” Roger teased. “I’m the expert on flirting, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, you don’t have to remind me,” you said, giving him a quick kiss. “I know better than anybody that Roger Meddows Taylor is the world’s biggest flirt, don’t I?”

He grinned. “Only with you, love. Only with you.”

You shook your head, affectionately exasperated. “You’re a mess.”

“Yeah, but I’m your mess,” he said, cheeky. “Lucky girl that you are. I’m going to have quick smoke, but when I get back, you and I have a date with the dance floor.”

You laughed. “Okay. Do you want another drink?”

“Sure,” he said. He gestured with his wine glass. “Just another Chardonnay, if you don’t mind.”

“You got it,” you said. “Don’t be too long.”

He laughed and gave you a kiss as he turned to go. “No, wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled to yourself as you watched him weave through the crowd of people towards the back door, stopping briefly to greet friends who congratulated him on Queen’s latest success. The party had been thrown by EMI Records to celebrate A Day at the Races hitting number one in England and Japan. The boys were just back from the American leg of the tour, and you and Roger had been practically inseparable from the moment you’d thrown yourself in his arms at the airport.

Even though he’d only gone for a smoke and he’d be back in no time, the months of being apart made every little moment of absence that much keener to you now, especially considering the precious little time you had before he left again. They had a few weeks before they had to head off for the last leg of the tour across Europe, which was slated to last at least a month. You didn’t want to waste a second of the time you had before Roger left again. So far you hadn’t - god, the two of you hadn’t gone so many rounds in one night since you’d first started dating - and you weren’t of a mind to start now. You headed to the bar to get Roger’s Chardonnay, deciding you’d take it outside and keep your boyfriend company while he smoked.

Finally making it through the sea of people carousing on EMI’s dime, most of whom he didn’t even know even though they probably had some connection to the tour or the album, Roger pushed through the back door and took a breath of the cool night air. The sound of Freddie’s crooning on “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” dulled as the door closed behind him and he found himself mildly relieved; though he was proud of the album and its songs, he couldn’t deny he was a bit tired of them after playing them nearly every night for the past three months. But it was a party to celebrate the album, after all - he supposed the DJ could be forgiven for playing it on loop all night. He’d ask them to play something else when he took you out on the dance floor, though, maybe one of the Beatles songs you’d listened to all the time when you first started dating.

He fished a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds out of the inside pocket of his blazer and took a swig of his wine before pulling out a cigarette, drawing a long inhale when it was lit. He quietly sang along with the bridge almost out of habit. “When I’m not with you, I think of you always.” He kicked at the gravel under his shoes as he blew out a stream of smoke, thinking he probably wouldn’t finish the whole cigarette before he headed back in to be with you.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart.”

Roger snapped his head up at the sound of Brian’s voice, fairly sure the guttural outburst hadn’t been directed at him but confused nonetheless. He hadn’t realized Brian was out here; looking into the darkness where his voice had come from, Roger tried to make out the guitarist’s form.

“Bri?” he called.

He heard a few harshly whispered curses from the shadows in response and couldn’t help but smirk, knowing exactly what was going on past the glow cast by the light above the door. A few seconds later Brian stepped out from the shadows, obviously disheveled; a girl with a rumpled dress and smudged lipstick followed right behind him.

“Interrupting something, am I?” Roger teased.

“No,” Brian said quickly, flustered at being caught red-handed. “No, we were just going back inside.”

The girl came up to Roger, eyeing him with interest. She smelled of lavender and vodka. “You’re the drummer, aren’t you? Robert?”

“Close,” Roger told her. “And you are?”

She gave him a smile. “Alice,” she slurred. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She bit her lip as she looked Roger over. “You want some company, Robert?”

“Oh, ah, I’m good,” Roger said, struggling to keep from laughing as Brian rolled his eyes. “I’ve already got some company I wouldn’t trade for the world. Thanks for the offer, though. I’m sure you’re, um, really something.”

Alice smirked. “Your friend certainly thought so.” She looked up at Brian. “Isn’t that right?”

Brian looked absolutely mortified. “Yeah, well, we should go in before we’re missed,” he said. He gave Roger a withering look. “See you inside, Robert?”

Roger grinned. “Yeah, I’m just finishing up my cigarette.”

“Come on,” Brian said to Alice, though he didn’t wait for her as he went back inside. She made to follow him, but between the gravel and her high heels and the copious amount of alcohol she’d obviously had, she lost her balance and crashed right into Roger. Staggering back a step, he awkwardly caught her against him, wine sloshing over the rim of his glass and onto the sleeve of his blazer and the back of her dress.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Uh, sorry,” she said, seemingly unsurprised at her own lack of coordination. He released her as she got her balance; she pulled back from him without a shred of embarrassment at having careened into him.

“Sorry about your dress,” he said, holding the now empty glass. “Gonna find Bri ok?”

“Oh, probably not,” she said, unconcerned. “He only wanted a quickie, which is fine by me. Sorry for falling on you.”

He chuckled. “No problem.”

He kept an eye on her as she went back inside, making sure she didn’t trip again. He shook his head, smiling to himself. Brian sure knew how to pick them.

He took a few more drags from his cigarette before letting it drop to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. Juggling the glass, he pulled off his blazer, thankful he’d decided not to wear his favorite rainbow one tonight now that the sleeve of this one was soaked with wine. He draped his blazer over his arm as he headed inside, already grinning at the thought of taking you dancing.

“Chardonnay, please,” you said to the bartender. “And a margarita with extra lime.”

You absently drummed your fingers on the bar, a habit you’d picked up from Roger, and looked out onto the party as you waited for your drinks. Freddie was talking with the brunette from earlier and from the looks of them, all smiles and “accidental” touches, it seemed Roger had done a good job as Freddie’s wingman. You smiled. Roger would do anything for his friend, and even if he didn’t know the first thing about chatting up guys on other people’s behalf, flirting was more or less a universal language on some level and Roger was certainly an expert on it.

Your gaze traveled to Deaky, who was clearly enjoying himself on the dance floor. You didn’t know what to make of Deaky’s dance moves sometimes, but he was nothing if not enthusiastic. You grinned and watched as he tried to figure out what to do with his hands usually occupied with his bass and settled on a sort of one-handed clapping motion.

“Here you go, love,” the bartender said behind you. You turned and took the drinks he put on the bar for you, smiling your thanks as you carefully made you way towards the back door. You were nearly there when you saw the door open; a girl with smudged makeup and messy hair came in, teetering slightly as she pulled the strap of her dress back over her shoulder. You didn’t think anything of it, really; it was almost a given at any party you’d been to with the boys that disheveled groupies were to be found around every corner, usually with someone in tow behind them. The girl stumbled off and she probably would have never crossed your mind again had it not been for the next person that came through the door.

The first thing you noticed was his grin, that beautiful smile you loved more than anything in the world. He wasn’t looking at you; you were still somewhat hidden by the people between you and Roger. What was he beaming at like that?

The next thing you registered was that he’d taken his blazer off. The champagne-colored jacket with multicolored birds stitched into it was draped over his arm, his empty glass held casually in his hand. Ever keen on fashion, Roger wouldn’t have taken his blazer off without good reason.

Oh, you thought as you saw the collar of his shirt. It surprised you how easily you resigned yourself to it, how quickly you went from confusion to rage to despair to resignation. In the space of a second, you’d seen the streak of red lipstick on the starched collar of his white button-down and felt absolutely nothing.

“Well hello, lovely.”

You startled a little, realized Roger was talking to you. He’d spotted you and come over, the smile on his face showing no hint of shame or remorse. You didn’t know what you’d expected. His expression was eager and affectionate as he looked you over, his baby blue eyes shining as they met yours.

“I was just coming back in to find you,” he said, setting his empty glass on the table nearby. “Thanks for getting my drink.”

He took it from you and took a sip, his head tilted back; you found yourself looking for love marks on his neck despite the numbness that had swept through your whole body.

“I believed you said something about another margarita and a dance, hm?” he said.

The thought of dancing with him, in front of everybody - in front of that girl, whoever she was - made you feel sick.

“No, I - ” You swallowed thickly. Your grip on your glass was so tight your knuckles were white. “I changed my mind.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “I promise it’ll be fun. We can’t be worse than Deaky, anyway.”

He took your hand and tried to pull you closer to him; you reacted to his touch as if he’d burned you.

“No,” you said, louder this time. You cradled your hand close to your chest. “I don’t want to, Roger.”

His easy smile disappeared at your outburst; he searched your face with a sickening worry in his own.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

You felt a hysterical laugh rise in your throat. “Nothing.” As much as you wanted to, you weren’t going to make a scene. Not here, not in front of your friends, not in front of the girl your boyfriend had snuck out to be with, the girl whose lipstick marked his shirt like a scarlet letter.

“It’s not nothing,” you heard him say. You met his eyes and saw the concern there, the kindness in his expression that you hadn’t ever had reason to question until now. A horrible thought struck you - was this the first time he’d masked guilt with affection, or had it happened before? How many times had he left you to be with someone else and fooled you with his pretty smiles and pretty words? How many times had he not had to, since he was halfway across the world and he could wash out the smell of perfume and the color of lipstick before you ever saw?

You suddenly felt lightheaded, swaying slightly on your feet. He reached out to steady you and you tried to back away from him.

“Don’t,” you said. It came out weaker than you wanted.

“Easy, love,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard you. He set his glass down and pried yours from your hands to set it down too, gently gripping your arm to steady you.

“How much did you have to drink?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

You felt a flash of anger. “Does it matter?” Of course he’d like to think you felt this way because you were drunk. Was he really arrogant enough to think you hadn’t noticed, that your fight-or-flight reaction to him since he’d walked through the door was just because you’d had one too many drinks?

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “But maybe we should go home if you’re not feeling well.”

“I feel fine,” you snapped. The last thing you wanted was to go home with him. You sucked in a breath and your head spun. You could smell her on him, the scent of lavender that neither you nor Roger wore plain as day on his shirt and in his long blonde hair. You felt yourself react to the smell of her perfume and the acidic despair that welled in your already rocky stomach.

“Rog,” you said weakly. Your voice sounded strange, calmer than you felt.

“Yeah?”

You put your hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Unhindered by the same numbness you were, Roger quickly opened the back door and steered you outside. He held your hair back as you retched.

“Okay, love, that’s it,” he said soothingly. “I’ve got you.”

When nothing more would come, you straightened and reached a hand to wipe your mouth. You noticed your hand was shaking.

“Let me go get you some water,” Roger said. “I’ll be right back.”

You stared blankly out at the darkness as he went inside, the air cool against your face as tears finally fell. You wanted nothing more than to let him take care of you, to let him hold you and tell you everything was going to be ok. You wanted to forget what you knew, what had broken the way you looked at him and maybe could never be repaired. You loved him; you loved him so much you could hardly stand it. Maybe he loved you, but not that way. Not enough.

He came back with some water and you washed your mouth out with it, avoiding his worried gaze. You hated that you couldn’t stop crying; though it wasn’t the heaving sobs you thought might come, not yet anyway, it was still a relentless stream of tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how you tried.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” he said gently.

A part of you wanted to. A part of you wanted to tell him you’d seen what he had been too arrogant to hide, that you knew how easily you’d been discarded. How pathetic you must seem to him, a broken girl so easily fooled by his charm. You ran the heel of your palm over your cheek.

“It’s nothing,” you said. Your voice was soft with grief and shame. “I just - I just don’t feel good.”

“I know,” he said, sympathy in his voice. “Let’s get you home, ok?”

A sharp bitterness shot through you. “You sure there’s nobody you’d rather stay and talk with?”

He shook his head, seemingly unhurt by your tone. “Nobody as important as you, love.”

What a joke, you thought. Was that all you were to him? A joke, something to amuse him, something to make fun of without you realizing?

“Come on,” he said. You followed him back inside, not really having a choice - where else were you going to go? You could have told Roger you wanted to stay with one of the boys tonight, but you didn’t want to drag them into this. Besides, Roger would ask you why you didn’t want to come home with him, and then you’d have to tell him you knew. No other answer would convince him. But you didn’t want to be the one to break the ice about it. You wanted him to have the decency to tell you, to beg for your forgiveness; you wanted him to man up and take responsibility for what he’d done to you. For you to bring it up would only make it easier for him.

Thankfully no one stopped you on your way out. You didn’t know if you could manage pleasantries or ribbing from the boys that you and Roger were sneaking off early so you could have time alone. The thought of being anywhere close to Roger was painful to you; you’d rather die than sleep with him now, let him touch you with those hands that had felt another woman’s body and made her feel the things he made you feel.

When you got in the car, you moved as far away from him as you could manage, curling up against the passenger door as he started the drive home. It only briefly occurred to you to wonder whether Roger was sober enough to drive; your implicit desire to trust him with your well-being had been proved foolish, but you hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to get the two of you killed. You pressed your cheek against he cool glass of the window, shutting your eyes as the lights and shapes passing by threatened to make your head swim.

Roger didn’t say anything the whole ride home, but you didn’t know what you’d expected. You wished he would just say it, just admit what he’d done. That would be better than this tension, this thickness in the air that choked you.

You got out of the car before Roger had really even parked, eager to put some distance between you. You fished your keys out of your purse and tired to unlock the door, but between the alcohol clouding your head and the tears that refused to stop, you couldn’t get the damn key in. You bit back a sob as Roger’s hand came over yours and took the keys from you, unlocking the door and pushing it open for you.

Leaving your keys with him, you brushed past him and headed straight for your bedroom. Your chest tightened at the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him tonight, but you pushed that off to deal with later. Right now you wanted to get a shower and wash the night off of you, wash off his touch and the pain and the grief and the stubborn tears.

Despite everything, you were a little surprised that Roger didn’t ask to come in the shower with you. That was Roger’s favorite thing; even more than he liked making love to you in the shower did he like just being with you, washing your hair, feeling your skin against his.

He’s probably had his fill for tonight, you thought, nearly tasting your own bitterness. You made the water as hot as you could stand and closed your eyes as you stood under it, shoulders shaking as you kept your sobs as quiet as you could.

When the water grew cold and your tears had finally run dry, you got out of the shower and hesitated before opening the bathroom door. You didn’t know if Roger was in your bedroom, and you didn’t want to see him. You couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, though. You took a steadying breath and opened the door.

He wasn’t there, but you saw he’d laid out some comfy clothes for you on the bed, the exact ones you would have picked out for yourself. Just past your bedroom door you could hear Roger in the kitchen, humming “Here Comes the Sun” to himself. You felt a wave of sadness like a physical pain in your chest.

Too tired to find any other clothes, you put on the ones he’d put out and sat on the edge of the bed. You didn’t know what to do. You watched the shiny droplets of water fall from your hair to darken the fabric of your sweatpants. You noticed your hands were shaking but couldn’t make yourself care.

A few minutes later, you guessed - it could have been hours for all you knew - you heard the door open. You felt a surge of adrenaline as your fight-or-flight kicked in, but you were too numb to actually move.

“Hey, love,” Roger said, his voice gentle. “Feeling any better?”

You didn’t answer. You watched as he set a mug of tea on your bedside table.

“I made the peppermint kind,” he told you. “Thought it might settle your stomach a bit.”

He didn’t press you for a reply and you didn’t give one; he went to the dresser to get himself a change of clothes and you noticed he was still wearing his clothes from the party. The smudge of lipstick on the collar seemed to mock you, the scent of lavender you swore you could still make out bringing your headache back with a vengeance. He hadn’t even bothered to wash it off, to crumple up the shirt and put it in the laundry to get rid of the evidence on the off-chance you hadn’t noticed. It was like he was mocking you too.

“How many, Roger?” you asked.

He turned at your voice. “What’s that, love?”

You looked up at him, a determined set to your jaw. You wanted the truth, and you were done waiting for him to tell you.

“How many others were there?”

A confused frown tugged at his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “How many others of what?”

Was he really going to play dumb? You felt anger spark into a fire in your chest.

“How many other girls, Roger?” you asked, your voice rising. “How many other girls were there before the one you had tonight?”

He looked genuinely confused, and you felt a burning self-hatred that you’d been fooled by him for so long. He was a terrific actor, you had to give him that, but no more. The game was up and no amount of playacting was going to fool you ever again.

“I don’t know what you mean, love,” he said, his voice disgustingly desperate. “What are you talking about? What girls?”

“Stop pretending, Roger!” you spat. “You don’t have to keep up the ruse any more. I just want to know how many girls you fucked when you thought I wouldn’t find out.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

You stood, feeling tears come again; this time, they were borne of rage instead of sadness.

“Please don’t make this any worse than it already is,” you said. “Just admit it. Be a man and own up to it, that’s all I ask. You owe me that much.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” he insisted.

You could have screamed. “I saw you, Roger!” you said. “I saw her putting her dress back on and I saw you come inside with that grin on your face like - ”

Like she’d been better than I have ever been. You couldn’t make yourself say it.

You met his eyes, wanting desperately to see anger or guilt or shame, something that would tell you he had finally dropped the act and felt the weight of his own guilt. When you saw only hurt, you couldn’t help the cry of frustration that escaped you.

“I don’t know what you thought you saw,” he said, his voice showing his distress. “But nothing like that happened, I promise. When I came in, I was - ”

Your breath came in a sob. “Please,” you said, cutting him off before he could give you some fabricated excuse. “Please, Roger, just stop.”

His hands went up in a gesture of helpless exasperation. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what to tell you. I swear to you that nothing happened.”

You pressed your hand to your mouth, anger and debilitating sorrow taking your breath away. Your sobs came as groans of pain as you tried and failed to keep them at bay.

“Did you ever love me, Roger?” you managed to say.

“What kind of question is that?” His voice was angry now. “I’ve always loved you, and I love you now despite whatever the hell this is you’re going on about.”

You sucked in a hitching breath. Of all the things you had imagined would come from this, his willingness to inflict such pain on you was something you had never considered. Why wouldn’t he just admit it?

“You can’t,” you sobbed. “You can’t love me. If you did you wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn't lie right to my face when I told you I saw her, I saw what you’d done to her when you thought I wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t stand there with her fucking lipstick on your collar and tell me nothing happened.”

He looked at his shirt, pulling the collar out to see it better. You saw his face pale and realized that he hadn’t even known it was there.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice panicked and desperate. “This isn’t what you think.”

“What are we, in a fucking movie?” you said. “At least think of something more original.”

“No, sweetheart, I promise,” he said, his expression pained. “I'm so sorry. I didn't notice she'd got lipstick on me and if I'd seen it earlier I would have told you. It wasn't like that at all.”

“What was it like, then?” you spat.

“I went outside for a smoke, just like I told you,” he said, practically tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. “Brian was out there with this girl, and when she walked by me she tripped and I caught her. Her lipstick must have gotten on my shirt when I caught her.”

“Oh, right,” you said waspishly. “She fell and you caught her.”

“She did,” he said, distressed that you didn't believe him. “And if you’d asked me when I came in, I would have told you the same thing. I’m sorry I didn’t notice the lipstick before; I wish I had, and I wish I could have told you what happened before you got so upset.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Oh, God, this is all my fault, isn't it?” he said. “I'm so sorry, love. If I'd have known you thought - all you saw was her and then me coming in right after with her lipstick on me and my clothes half-off - God, and you've been thinking this whole time that I'd been with her. I had no idea. You were so upset and I couldn't even see it. I just thought you didn't feel well. I'm so sorry. But why didn’t you say anything at the party?”

You twisted your fingers together like you did when you were nervous; none of this was going the way you’d thought.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” you told him, your mind racing to account for what he’d told you and how he was reacting to you. “I didn’t - I wanted you to tell me instead of me having to ask.”

For the first time you saw a flicker of hurt in his expression, a shadow of pain in him that didn’t come from realizing he’d hurt you. You’d hurt him in this too, and he couldn’t hide it.

“You wanted me to tell you I’d cheated on you?”

His quiet voice was like a dagger in your heart. “What am I supposed to think, Roger?” you said, lashing out in defense of yourself. “I’m not crazy for thinking that.”

He shook his head; you were surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“When have I ever given you reason to think that I’d cheat on you?” he said. “I mean, I’ll admit it doesn’t look great, and you don’t know how sorry I am - but do you really think I’m capable of that? Was it really that easy for you to take one look at me and assume I’d gone off and been with some other girl?”

“Easy?” you repeated. “No, Roger, it wasn’t easy. None of this has been easy.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.

You bit your lip. Your vision was so blurred with tears that you couldn’t even see his face.

“Why didn’t Brian come in with her?” you asked. “If he was out there with you, why didn’t he come in?”

“He went in before her,” Roger said. “Maybe you didn’t see him come in. But he went in before her, and when she tried to follow, she fell.”

“Why did you take your jacket off?”

“I spilled my drink when I caught her. It got all over the sleeve of my blazer. Here,” he said, retrieving the jacket from where he’d thrown it in the laundry basket. “Feel it.”

Hesitantly, you reached out to feel the proffered fabric; it was damp and smelled like Chardonnay.

“I promise you, sweetheart,” he said, the seriousness of his tone only made weightier by the love that also colored it. “That’s all that happened. That’s all. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t do anything with her. She tried to come on to me and I told her I didn’t want anything to do with her.”

He tossed the jacket on the bed and closed the distance between you, taking your face in his hands. He brushed your tears away with his thumb, looking at you with love and an unmistakable hurt.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you more than anything. I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never do anything to jeopardize what I have with you. I know how lucky I am to be with you, and I’d be an absolute fool to throw that away.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had been so consumed by anger, by despair, by the certainty that he had done the one thing you couldn’t forgive that you didn’t know what to feel now. Everything in you ached to trust him, to trust what he told you was true.

“I’ve never lied to you, sweetheart,” he said. He let his hands drop. “I’ve never kept things from you. If you don’t believe me, we can ring Brian right now and he can tell you what happened, but you can trust me. I’m not lying to you about this. I would never cheat on you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I made you feel like I would.”

You studied his face, his features so dear to you, the expressions that showed his emotions like an open book. He was right; he’d never lied to you. Despite everything, despite the evidence that you had collected like weapons to use against him, he hadn’t gotten defensive towards you. He’d explained what happened and apologized over and over for unknowingly causing you pain.

You felt a crushing weight in your chest. If what he said was true and you'd misread the whole situation... You’d accused him of something horrible. You'd thought him capable of cheating on you. Roger, the sweetest man alive, the love of your life - you’d really thought he could do something like that to you. Though he had never hurt you before, though he had been nothing but good and kind and loving to you from the moment you met, you had been able to think that of him.

You suddenly felt sick, but for a reason different than you had before.

“Roger,” you said quietly.

He looked up at you. “Yes, love?”

Your face burned with shame as you realized how much you’d hurt him and how much he still loved you despite it. You breath hitched.

“Why aren't you mad at me?”

He softened and you couldn’t bear to see it, you couldn’t bear to see the love you didn’t deserve so plainly on his face. Your expression crumpled and you hid your face behind your hands, shoulder shaking with renewed sobs.

“Oh, love.” You heard the sadness in Roger’s voice as he pulled you close, holding you against his chest as you cried. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down your back. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not ok,” you sobbed. “I said those awful things and I - I thought you cheated on me and I didn’t trust you and I - ”

“Shh, hey,” he soothed. “Sweetheart. Take a deep breath.”

You tried to do as he said, your inhale hitched with sobs. You pulled back and tried to wipe the tears from your face.

“You should be yelling at screaming at me,” you said miserably.

“What for?” he asked gently. “I’m not angry with you, love. I’m sorry for what happened, and I’m sorry I’ve done a poor enough job loving you to make you think I could cheat on you, but I’m not angry with you. This whole thing is my fault, not yours.”

“That’s not true,” you said. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I just assumed that - ”

“You just assumed what anyone would have in your position,” he said. “Unfortunately everything aligned to make this a disaster, and I can’t fault you for thinking what you did. I only wish I’d have known sooner and could’ve avoided hurting you like I did.”

“But Roger,” you said, your voice pleading, desperate for him to know how sorry you were. “I hurt you so much worse, I didn’t trust you, I blew everything way out of proportion and I ruined your party and I said terrible things to you and I - ”

You sucked in a breath, feeling like you heart was in a million pieces. “I’m sorry, Roger,” you said, your voice soft with pain. “I’m so sorry.”

He hesitated only a second before gathering you in his arms again, any anger he’d felt at your words dissolved at the sincerity of your pain at having hurt him. Your accusations had been hurtful but not irrational; he was more sorry than he could say for the way one misstep after another had eventually come to this. The months of being apart, the whirlwind of emotions that this week had been, the clawing grief you both felt at the inevitability of being apart again - added to the seemingly little misunderstandings, it had grown into something much bigger and much more painful than it might have otherwise. He wasn’t angry at you for thinking what you had. Tours always made things strained between you, and he knew something like this was bound to happen eventually. You had been frightened that your separation had weakened his utter devotion to you, that during the months away from you it had become easier and easier for someone else to turn his head. He told himself he’d do better next time; he’d do everything in his power to make sure you knew that being halfway across the world wouldn’t make him love you any less. Nothing could change that, no matter how long you had to be apart.

The words of Freddie’s song came back to mind. When I’m not with you, think of me always; I love you, I love you.

“I’m sorry too,” he said gently. “I love you, you know? More than anything in the entire world. You don’t ever have to be scared of me leaving you or cheating on you or doing anything other than loving you with everything I have. God, you were the only thing I thought about while I was gone. You always are.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. You could still make out the scent of lavender but you ignored it, focusing instead on breathing him in, his scent of cologne and Marlboro Reds and something uniquely Roger. He was warm, his heartbeat strong and steady against your cheek.

“I missed you so much,” you said quietly. The thought of him leaving again brought tears back to your eyes, those miserable tears that never seemed to stop when he was gone. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

He sighed. “Me either, love.”

You looked up at him, gazing at the man you loved more than life itself. The man who had proved that no matter what, you couldn’t make him stop loving you. The man who tirelessly loved you despite everything about you that was unlovable.

“I love you, Roger,” you said.

He kissed you gently, with all the tenderness of the first flush of love and all the devotion of someone who had weathered the storm with you.

“I love you too,” he said. He drew you closer, resting his cheek on your head, memorizing the feel of you so he’d have it when he was thousands of miles away. “Oh, my love. I love you too.”

 The first real gig

“I think I’ll be Clint Eastwood

Jimi Hendrix he was good

Let’s try William the Conqueror

Now who else do I like”

Roger couldn’t stay still that day in classes. His leg was shaking the entire day, his fingers fiddling his leg in the chords he later would play on stage.

“Rog,” you whispered, him completely zoned out looking at the ceiling, still fiddling. “Rog!” You whispered, louder this time, leaning to hit hi bouncing leg from your desk.

“Huh?” He hadn’t heard you, just felt your hand collide with his thigh.

“You should pay attention, we have a test tomorrow.” Roger turned his head to the board, a puzzled look growing on his face upon realization he was completely lost. He looked down at his empty notebook paper and frowned.

You waited for your teacher to turn his back to you, “I know you’re nervous, but I’ve heard you practice…you’ll be amazing, trust me.” You gave him a soft smile, hoping your truthful encouragement would calm him.

Roger nodded and matched your face. He outstretched his left hand towards yours and you grab it discreetly, filled with content as he squeezed it.

Roger Taylor on stage was natural. It was like watching a lion sunbathing following a big meal he had hunted himself. Controlled. Satisfied.

Through those long days you’d listen through your cracked window to Roger practicing in his bedroom, and how he’d be too shy to allow you to open it all the way, so you snuck it to a crack as he got lost in the music of it all. You had listened his notes turn to chords. Chords turn to phrases. Phrases turn to songs. It was a completely different sensation when he started on the drum set. Now that, that came natural to him. The sticks were an extension of himself. You never could focus on your task when he played, it hypnotized you. As it would soon the whole world, you had yet to know.

Roger wouldn’t take his eyes from you. He squinted behind the lights, making sure he could see your features, remembering the words you would whisper to him right before heading onto the stage, “You’re an amazing musician. You’ll be great. Just watch me if you get nervous.” Your words followed by a light kiss on his cheek, which you only gave when you knew he needed to know you were there for him. Plus, you knew it drove some of the girls in your school crazy, seeing you were close enough to do such an act on the rock band stud Roger Taylor.

It was weird seeing your school mates up there on stage, some of them seemed…uncomfortable. Being in front of a large crowds entertaining was not their calling. But Rog, you felt it. You felt how he was meant to play. Play for millions. He had potential. Music was a part of him. It made your stomach flutter, and your heart swell.

 The first fight

“And all your troubles are all very small”

Roger fell hard and fast for her. 

Theresa.

Head over heels was an understatement for the adoration he felt for her. Her raven black hair shone in any kind of light, which only showed her slim pale face better. Roger’s relationship had started just as fast as it had fizzled out. If there was one thing you had learned about Roger, none of the girls in his life seemed to stay there long, except for you.

Each night after their dates you’d hear her giggle outside his door, it seemed to go on for hours. You were always kept awake by the echo of the pecks of their lips going through your open window as you laid in bed.

She had expressed her concern of his best friend being female, even if Roger had never told you directly, you had heard the rumors floating at school. With Theresa, Roger started drifting. Roger spent less and less time with you those few autumn months.

“Sorry I have plans with Theresa,” were the most common words out of his mouth. 

He would drive her to school every morning rather than you, watching from the comfort of your breakfast table him leave extra early to drive across town and back. But he seemed happy, so you never mentioned your concern for your friendship, or the worry you’d lost him.

The night of the dance was the loneliest. In the past, you and Roger had gone to every school function together, no matter how much the other didn’t want to go, or even when you were sick with the stomach flu. Roger pulled you out of bed, promising you would have a night you’d never forget.

He was right. You’ll never forget Roger holding your hair back in the bathroom, the bass of the band thumping on the other side of the walls.

You watched Roger take a picture with Theresa before leaving, he looked so handsome in his suit, you made sure to tell him too, because he never dressed up for anything.

Roger gave you a hug before leaving, which only caused Theresa to shoot daggers at you. “Have fun at the dance!” You choked out, frustrated you’d be home alone rather than having fun with Roger. But you went inside, fake smile dropping as soon as you turned away.

You were reading a book in bed when you heard Roger’s car door slam, followed by his house door. No giggles, no pecks of kisses flooding your ears.

Through your open window you looked across the parkway, where Roger’s room was now lit up. You saw him throw his tie on the floor and flop onto his bed, face down. A common sign he was upset. You’ve seen it after every fight, every bad grade, every punishment.

You crawled out your window, tiptoeing over to his, knocking gently three times. Roger’s head perks up, his eyes red and damp. Seeing Roger cry was a rarity, and it tore away at your insides to see.

Roger made his way over to his window, unlatching it. He grabbed your hand without a word and helped you inside.

“Roger, what’s wrong?” You guided him to his bed, sitting down next to him, your legs as close as they could be.

“She, uh, she ended it. Said I was distracted?” Roger chuckled in disbelief.

“Distracted?” You questioned, just as confused as he was.

“Apparently she didn’t appreciate my best friend being a girl.” Roger shook his head, running his hand through his slicked back locks. “I talked about you too much, I guess. How we always went to dance together and how it felt weird you weren’t there.” Roger didn’t take his eyes off you, sadness filled them. “She didn’t like that.”

Your chest felt off, you felt terrible for being happy Theresa was out of the picture again, that you would have your best friend back. But it was your fault she was gone in the first place.

“You really talked about me?” Your head is flustered.

“Of course! I had to tell her some of our crazy stories,” Roger nudged his shoulder into yours.

Your soft smile dropped as fast as it appeared. “There haven’t been much of those recently.”

“I know.” Roger took a long pause. “I’m sorry. I mean, it was my first real relationship.” You could tell Roger’s heart was broken.

“The next one, promise you won’t forget about me?” You met his blue eyes, a tear falling from one.

“I promise” he holds your chin between his fingers shaking your head side to side lightly. “I’ll never let anyone come between me and my best girl” He dropped his hand, your face instantly missing his touch. 

“Wait…will you stay with me?” Roger asked uncomfortably. You hadn’t stayed the night since you were young. “I don’t really want to be alone.”

“Of course,” you wanted to comfort Roger. You felt whole being the one he went to heal his heartbreak.

Roger turned off the lights and went under the covers of his bed facing away from you. You slid in next to him, facing his back, putting your hand on his arm, to let you know you were there.

After a silence that you’d expect him to be asleep his voice broke. “Hey, (Y/N)? You forgive me, right?” Roger whispered, his voice shaky.

“I forgive you, Rog.” You whispered back, gently stroking your hand on his upper arm. “I’ll always forgive you.”

The last day before your final year

“Out here on the street we’d gather and meet

And scuff up the sidewalk

With endlessly restless feet”

You and Roger found your secret spot early on, a tiny nook hidden in the thick brush. Shaded by a weeping willow, the branches hang heavy into the river water, the current pulling them with it. Roger, ever since he was little, would perch on the lowest branch, legs swinging, growing closer and closer to the ground as the years went by. You could remember the year by the distance and how high up he looked. Roger would watch you, wading around in the shallows, slipping on rocks. You slowly learned which ones to avoid as you grew older. Roger enjoyed the way you found beauty in the small things. The tiny fish that avoided your step, the light green foam the shore lapped up, the branches you would use as support to lean your weight on.

The walk to the spot wasn’t long, at least it never felt that way. Yours and Roger’s voices filled he space between the trees, always carrying the trip on.

You had sat on the shore, your and Roger’s toes dipped in the cool water. Neither of you had said much after sitting down, just watched in awe of the clear sky and setting sun. It turned the river a deep purple shade, which Roger expressed, “I never thought I’d love purple, but…there it is.”

You smiled at his sentiment, imagining Roger wearing a purple shirt, rather than his usual black attire. “Purple would bring out your eyes,” you teased, knowing the girls at school would fawn over him more than they already had.

“You know it.” He gave a cheeky wink, hitting his shoulder into yours as he always did whenever you bantered.

The sun was just about to dip below the horizon, the stars starting to peak out in the clearing above the willow. “Rog, it’s getting late we should head back, we have early classes tomorrow.” You pushed off your hands into a squatting position, about to stand up. Roger grabbed your wrist, still staring forward at the water.

“Or…” he started, a mischievous look on his face, “Or we could do something crazy.”

You’ve seen that face a thousand times. The first being in his mother’s kitchen, right before burning his hand on the freshly baked cookies she told him to wait to eat. The scariest when he wanted to see how fast he could take his first car around the bend in the back roads, wrecking in a ditch.

Being best friends with Roger for eleven years, he had rubbed off on you in so many ways. His sense of mischief and desire for crazy stories to remember were the first traits to stick, since day one.

“What exactly do you have in mind? Not that I’m objecting to something crazy.” You had questioned, following his lead as he stood up.

Roger side-eyed you, his eyes growing wide. In one swift motion he removed his shirt, throwing it at the base of the willow tree. You threw your hand over your eyes, “Roger!”

He laughed at your comment, you’ve seen him many times without a shirt on, there was no surprise there. Roger tugged the shoulder of your shirt, “Come on, skinny dipping!”

You removed your hand from your eyes, your face starting to burn at the ridiculous thought, and how intimate the action he thought of is. “Ugh, Rog you don’t want to see that, and I don’t either.”

You hadn’t much thought about Roger in that way, you’ve seen the gross, the bad, and the ugly of him. Not once much wondering what he was hiding beneath it all. Roger of course, being the teenage boy he was, had wondered, even if he would never admit it.

“Fine, we will both close our eyes until we’re in the water. How about that?” His voice is eager, waiting for this new adventure with his best friend.

His lips had a slight pout, hand still holding tight your shirt. “Fine.” You agreed, trying to throw away any logic from your brain.

You removed your top slowly, watching Roger’s eyes trail away from you into the water. The night air hit your bare stomach giving you goosebumps.

Roger followed suit, removing his pants, kicking them to the side by his shoes. As you removed your skirt, you noticed Roger glance towards you, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“Alright, Taylor…eyes closed.” You stated. You watched him make a big scene of shutting his eyes, squinting them shut with a tight smile at you. You lightly closed yours, peaking on last time to ensure his stayed as such.

You heard his movements and the sound of his underwear dropping on the grass. You giggled, pinching your eyes shut to fight every urge to take a little peek.

Roger cleared his throat, “I don’t hear anything, any day now.”

“Alright, alright.” You don’t think, in one fowl swoop you unclip your bra and drop your underwear to your feet.

“Grab my hand.” Roger spoke, brushing his arm up your side.

“What if I accidentally grab something else?” You joked to him, pulling your arm up to find his hand.

You knew the exact face Roger had on, a small smirk and squinted eyes. “Trust me you’d know,” he teased back.

“Ew, Roger!” You reached your hand around and smacked his bare chest hard, gripping his hand with the other.

He started out into the water, pulling you after him blindly. Even blind, you both knew which spots to avoid while walking, not to slip.

The water creeped up your body, enveloping your legs, butt, stomach, and then chest. You were up to your collar bone, the plants at the bottom of the river tickling your toes.

Still clutching Roger’s hand, you face towards him, “Ready?” he asked.

“Mhm.” You said lightly, a shake in your voice from the chill.

“3, 2, 1, open!” Both your eyes shot open, you broke into a hearty laugh, as does Roger.

“I can’t believe we are doing this!” You shrieked, immediately having your mouth covered by Roger’s dripping hand.

“Shhh, we’ll get caught.” He whispered hoarsely, giggling afterwards.

You grabbed his hand, pulling it away from your mouth. You cupped your fingers and scooped water up at his face, dowsing his hair.

Roger frowned, tightening his lips, eyebrows raised high.

“Oh no, Roger no,” you pointed your finger up at him, taking a clumsy step back as he took one forward, his mischievous grin had returned.

Roger lunged forward and scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your lower back. You pinned you to his chest, yelling “Roger, yes!” He buckled his knees, dragging you underwater with him.

He jumped back out of the water, still clutching your naked body against his chest, which you now gripped onto for dear life. You squealed loudly as soon as you got air, wiping the water out of your eyes. Roger shook his long mane, scattering water droplets across the surface of the river. His smile was one you’d never forget, pure joy filled him in the moment. His entire physique, from his bright eyes to his curved lips showed how much he loved you, and how overjoyed he was to be experiencing this with his best friend.

Roger’s smile dropped slowly, watching yours do the same. Your breath shook at the way he held you close, his hand resting near to the bottom of your breast. You didn’t know if it was the hormones, the comfort of his presence, or the intimacy of the moment, but you leaned in towards his lips. Roger leaned his head in, matching your movements. You felt his chest thump under your palm as your lips met, both damp from the water. The kiss was short, but it was one you felt deep in your stomach, making your toes curl, Roger clutching into your side harder. Unlike any of your kisses with your past boyfriends.

You pulled away prematurely, Roger’s eyes were still shut, lost in the moment. Roger is quickly snapped out of it as you squirmed away from his grasp. His face first pleased, turned to worry.

“(Y/N), wait.” He tried reaching out to your hand as you waded through the water to the shore, shaking your head.

“Roger, lets go home.” Were your last words of the night. Getting out of the water, you ignore any worry he might be looking at your naked body. You quickly pulled on your clothing, struggling with your wet skin.

Roger followed behind you, his head stayed down, not to watch you, out of respect for your request to him before. He pulled on his pants, holding his shirt in his hands.

The two of you started down the dark road home silently. Roger noticed you shaking, clutching your arms to avoid the chilly night air. Roger, took the shirt he carried and wrapped it around your shoulders, smiling at you.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile back, worrying about what your actions meant, especially because he reciprocated.

Roger delivered you to your doorstep, as he usually does after spending time together. Roger gave you a quick hug, again, same as usual. “Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow for school.” He said while pulling away.

You nod, “Night, Rog.”

Roger left down your driveway and you opened your front door. As you are about to shut it behind you, you turn your head back at Roger, who at the same moment had turned his head to glance back at you, for one more look. Roger gave a small flirty smile, blushing lightly. Your lips curled up, heart fluttering, and shut the door for the night.

The goodbye

 “It’s the sad eyed goodbye

Yesterday’s moments I remember.”

 The last time at your secret spot for who knows how long. Roger was to be leaving tomorrow for London. A full six-hour drive, expensive plane ride, eternity away. It hadn’t hit you how far exactly he was moving and how he would no longer be a few yards away from your bedroom window.

You had been sitting next to him the entire day, first it was to help him pack his boxes, remembering a story with each thing you touched.

The pair of broken drumsticks framed by you after his first gig as the drummer. He broke them during the last song, but managed to finish with the nubs he had, even if you had to admit it sounded like shit. You were proud of him then.

The old tie he had to wear at the Cathedral School, across town away from you. How years before he transferred to the same school as you as a teenager, every afternoon after classes you’d sit on his front step, sharing every detail of your day. Those memories were some of your favorites. Hearing the drama of the girls and what better lunches he had.

The white long sleeve shirt you brought over from your house, folded neatly, preparing to put it in the box. The shirt you had borrowed from him on the first chilly summer night of the season, and how it still had the light scent of Roger and the bonfire you had that night. “No, no.” He put his arm over the top of the box, “You keep that. It’s yours now, to remember me.” Roger had a sad smile over his face, worried you would somehow forget him.

The car keys placed on his desk. Those you’ve touched only a few times, but that was on your terms. Roger was the one who taught you to drive, but he was a horrible backseat driver. After three lessons you called it quits, resulting in Roger driving you everywhere. Not that he ever minded. It was an excuse to spend more time with you.

Even though you knew you could never forget the most creative, unique, and charming man you’ve ever met. The man you had the honor of calling your best friend for all your life. “Thanks, Rog.” Is all you had managed to say, unable to speak anymore without getting choked up.

“Roger it’s going to be hard with you so far.” You admitted finally, watching him stop pacing across his room and approach you. He squatted down in front of you, hands on your knees.

“I know. But, hey, we have the phone, and breaks I’ll be home.” He tried to help make it better. Even if his heart wasn’t fully into the persuasion.

Roger raised his hand, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. You gave him a small smile, he was always making sure to take care of you, as you did him.

“If it helps, I’m nervous as hell. New city, new life, new school.” Roger had this scared look on his face, it was different than any other look you’ve seen from him. “And leaving the band behind, what if I don’t play anymore?”

You laughed out loud at his last comment, making him shy his face away in embarrassment, knowing he was overthinking.

“Roger,” you ruffled his hair in your hands, “you’re probably the best musician out there, you’ll find some other band, trust me.” He had to trust you. Anytime you said so, he had to. You never steered him wrong. “Just don’t forget about your dentistry dreams.” You teased, knowing music was largely on his mind.

“I won’t,” he rolled his eyes, studying was the least of his desires in that moment, “But I will if I become famous.” He gave his classic Roger stage smile.

You stared at your feet, placed next to Roger’s who was still crouched in front of you. You voice grew quiet. “Roger, please don’t forget about me…if you do become famous.” In the back of your mind you knew it was possible. This boy was good. Better than anything you’ve ever heard. You knew he would go places.

Roger put his hand on your cheek, where your face grew warm at his touch. “I promise, I could never forget my best girl.”

 The first-time meeting again

“Never wanted to be the boy next door

Always thought I’d be something more

But it ain’t easy for a small town boy

It ain’t easy at all”

Forget is what he did.

Roger hadn’t called you for years. Hours apart turned to days, which turned to months, quickly to years. He got busy you had assumed. He turned famous.

The first sound of him on your radio threw you. He briefly mentioned on the phone he auditioned for a band, how real it felt, and how he knew it was right. But he wanted to hear about your life. But those calls were few and far between. Now you didn’t even know his number, and he couldn’t recall yours.

The voice, the voice you thought you had forgotten but upon hearing it, brought you back to the late-night talks, the school dances, the gigs he played for you.

He had moved on from being the boy next door. Your boy next door. You cried in front of the radio, one hand on your chest, the other on the dial, unable to find it in yourself to turn it off.

Queen.

The first look at the band on the television, Roger looked to be the same young boy you grew up with, but so different at the same time. You didn’t know if you’d even recognize his face if you saw him on the streets.

Let alone when he came knocking on your front door.

You heard the rumors around town, the Roger Taylor was coming back into town to visit his parents. It made you roll your eyes. You even thought about planning a trip out of town, but the vagueness of when your old neighbor would be back was enough to make you stay.

Through the peephole of your door, there he was. Same as he was years ago. His blonde locks cascading down to his shoulders, his fashion choices…more interesting.

You clicked open the door, immediately embraced by Roger’s arms. His scent was different, cigarettes the most prominent.

“Roger, hi.” Your chest was in pain, seeing your best friend in front of you, the one who broke his promises. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to visit my best girl.” He whispered this into your ear. There it was again. If you were his ‘best girl’ why hasn’t he talked to you in so long.

Roger kissed your cheek before pulling away, his pure smile wanting to melt your heart, but all you felt was ice.

“Wow, the drummer of Queen chose me? Of all the girls?” You put your hand up to you face, pretending to be flattered, even if deep down you were a little.

“Oh, always.” He gave a cheeky little wink, which made you giggle, forgetting briefly the pain he had caused you. How alone you had felt.

Your silence did something to Roger, you had never been quiet around him. He continued with the banter. “I mean, it’s stupid but I did always have somewhat of a crush on you,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Seeing you again brought that back.” His eyes looked young again. The bright blonde neighbor boy who stole your heart and shared your young life with. The same eyes that had watched you experience life and loved every moment of it.

 You had felt similar throughout your years, but it was different now. He wasn’t the same Roger. He always wanted to be more than the boy next door and now he was, he outgrew you and your small-town life.

You needed your most burning question answered. “Roger, why didn’t you call…” His smile dropped, instant regret filling his face. “Didn’t you miss me?” Your throat burned from holding back tears. “I sure did.”

Roger closed his eyes, dreading this question since his first year away. “I honestly didn’t realize how much time had passed, especially after joining Queen. Then, after a while, I thought it was too late, that it had been too long.”

“Roger, you forgot.” You didn’t want to believe it especially the last night you spent together where he promised to always remember.

Roger jolted forward, placing his hands on your shoulders, face close to yours. “I never forgot about you. I’m so sorry if it felt that way. I thought of you all the time.”

His hands clutched into your skin, starting to hurt. “Why don’t I believe you.” Your words barely came out. Any louder, tears would have poured down your cheeks. You didn’t want Roger to see how much pain he had caused you.

“(Y/N), I love you dearly, and I always will. I wish I could’ve experienced the past few years with you.” Roger paused, moving his eyes back and forth, the gears were turning in his head. “Please, let me take you back to London with me, it can be just like old times again.” Roger sounded so hopeful, even though his eyes were begging.

You brushed his arms off your shoulders, taking a step back to your front door. “Call me again in five years, Roger. If you remember.” You turn to close the door, but Roger grabs the doorknob, tears streaming down his cheeks, eyes puffy and raw.

“Please.” Is all he asked.

But you couldn't find it in your heart to forgive him this time.

“We are different people now; you and I both need to move on with our lives. But you’ll always have a special place in my heart, Rog.” You clicked the door shut, your life now filled only with distant memories of your best friend, Roger Taylor. 

“Listen, I get that you just wanna be alone for now but I am here for emotional support, being your girlfriend and all, but only if you want me to be.”

“I'm fine, Y/N, you don’t need to keep asking me,” he said, rather sternly, “and you’re helping me enough.” He sat down at the kitchen counter and took a bite of his cheesy toast.

“Deacy, I know you’re not. And I'm not helping one bit. You’ve been avoiding me, Brian and Rog this whole week. Speaking of, they really wanna finish this album. It might help you clear your mind, doing something you enjoy.”

“I can’t seem to enjoy anything when everything reminds me of him! Especially playing the bass and being with those two,” he raised his voice, making the both of you uncomfortable, “even you remind me of him.” he sighed.

Of course you did. It was Freddie that made him go to a club that night, the same club you happened to be in. He made him talk to you, get your phone number and persuaded him into calling you later that night.

“I'll tell the boys you’re not up for recording today.”

“Thank you...love.” There was a slight sign of uncomfort at the last word, which caused you to shudder.

You really felt useless to him.

The phone call was made. Brian and Roger both understood his reasoning, but they expected something from him sooner than later. You said you’re trying your best and they agreed. John had made himself comfortable on the sofa, his body sprawled across it, staring at the ceiling. You gave him some clothes you found upstairs in his closet and you helped him as he slowly wriggled into them, despite him frequently mumbling that he could do it by himself and that he didn’t need help. You took a seat at the piano next to the fireplace, prodding the keys and playing a familiar tune.

“Monday, start of my holiday. Freedom for just one week, feels good to get away.”

You heard a slight chuckle and you beamed. It worked! He joined you with the second verse.

“Tuesday, I saw her down on the beach. I stood and watched a while, and she looked and smiled at me.” he sang, turning to look at you. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes, glossed with a thin layer of tears.

“Wednesday, I didn't see her. I hoped that she'd be back tomorrow.

And then on Thursday, my luck had changed. She stood there all alone, I went and asked her name. I never thought that this could happen to me in only seven days. It would take a hundred or more for memories to fade.”

You decided to end the song there as John went back to staring at the ceiling in deep thought.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to listen to your own words.”

“Eh?”

””It would take a hundred or more for memories to fade”? Love, Freddie might be gone, but you can still continue his legacy.”

He broke into tears after that sentence. You abruptly left the piano to kneel next to his head and comfort him.

“Oh, God I'm sorry, I'm really sorry love-“

“N-no it’s not your fault it’s...it’s just the song I-“ he spoke through sobs. You’d never actually seen him cry before, not even after the phone call, and you could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces at the sight of him so broken, “I wanted to write this for you but I couldn’t find the right words. Freddie, he- he helped me so much.”

“And look at how successful this and all your other songs turned out to be. Look at how successful you all are.”

“But that was because of him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Deac,” you said as you sat him up so you could sit next to him. His head automatically fell into your shoulder and you felt the tiniest bit of relief, “you guys are all so good at doing what you do. That’s why millions of people love you and your songs. Hell, I don’t think the name Queen will ever die out.”

“I just- I'm too scared to write a song without having the usual feedback I get from Freddie.”

You cupped his cheek, tilting his head a little to kiss his forehead. You could tell that he was trying so hard to stop himself from flinching.

“Tell you what, since I’ve inspired you before, we’ll go to the studio today and I’ll stay. You can always get feedback from the boys. Or me. Though I’m not as talented.”

He looked up with red eyes and a small Deacy smile that didn’t last long. You wiped away his tears and was about to lean down to kiss his lips, but he seemed to predict that move as he leant his head on the other side of the sofa. Just as you thought things were working out well.

“I love you.” you said as you got up to call Brian and Roger, stroking John’s cheek before you left the room. He didn’t react to that at all.

-

You both walked in to the studio, Deacy carrying his bass with both hands. Brian saw you walk in, frowning at the lack of physical contact between the two of you. He could definitely tell that something was wrong. You hoped he’d ask you later - he gives useful advice sometimes. Roger was standing next to him and when he saw you, he looked more delighted than John recently looked waking up.

“Y/N! Finally!” he ran over to you, kissing your cheek and pulling you into a deep hug, “and Deacy! We’re so relieved you’re here. We really need your expertise.”

“Roger and I have been fighting on how to continue "Let Me Live". It’s the only song we have left of the album, but we’re not gonna release it just yet. Better let the press settle down a bit first.” He let out a sad chuckle when you went to hug him.

“Thought we decided to drop that.” John muttered.

“Ah, we revived it. Anyway, we only have that one verse that Freddie wrote.” Brian finished, scratching his chin with the end of a pencil. John and Roger made their way over and crowded around the various sheets of papers filled to the sides with music notes.

“Why don’t we go for the same melodic structure and just change the lyrics? That way we don’t risk messing up.” John said and the other two seemed to like it. Roger patted John on the back.

“See? This is the genius we were missing.” he said grinning. You laughed at Brian rolling his eyes. John gave a small smile to Roger, but his face quickly turned poker.

“Alright then, let’s just have you improvise and we can gather up some words.” Brian suggested.

“Um, yeah sure.” John never liked singing - he’d only ever do it if it was with you or the band.

“Don’t worry, sweet,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, which he wasn’t slow to subtly shrug off. You saw in of the corner of your eye that Brian was looking your way, “just remember what I said. I'm your inspiration, baby.” you said playfully. Nothing. You walked into the control room where Brian and Roger was, ready to press the button and let John sing.

“Okay, "Let Me Live" additional verse, recording one...aaand go.” Brian said, pointing to John and pressing a button that started playing Freddie's vocals.

“Take your time, we’ll just loop the instrumentals and write down the lyrics until you stop.” Roger called out, holding a notebook and pen. John nodded, gluing his eyes on you as his brain visibly whirred.

As the recording of Freddie finished what was then a very short chorus, John started singing.

“Why don’t you take another piece of my…soul? Why don’t you...shape it, and...shake it...ah- um, until you’re really in control. Does that work?” he called out, breaking eye contact with you. Frantically writing, Roger nodded.

“’Good, it’s good. Let’s re-record that part with more confidence this time.” John nodded. As he re-sang the lines, Brian turned to look at you.

“Y/N?” you hummed in response, “Have you noticed that he’s been staring at you the whole time he sang those lines?”

“I told him he could look at me for inspiration. Like how he wrote “In Only Seven Days”?”

“Yes, but that was a love song. This...I'm not too sure what this is, to be honest.”

You paused to hear that John had gone on to complete the chorus and was now working on the bridge with Roger.

“I’ve noticed you two aren’t handsy. Very unnatural - well, for you.” he grinned at you when you playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Thanks for worrying. I guess we all just have different ways of getting through something like this.”

“I guess so. But for the sake of your happiness, I'm gonna call a break so you can talk it out.”

“You’re too kind. Make sure you listen through the tapes.”

“I got it,” he said with a wink, “Alright, great work Deacy. You deserve a break.”

You suddenly felt a wave of fear fall over your body and walked outside to get some fresh air, John following you.

“You alright?” he asked you.

“Those were some pretty harsh lyrics, Deac.” you whispered.

“It’s a pretty harsh song.”

“But you were staring at me while singing it. It’s like you were telling me those exact words.” You bit your lip, he didn’t seem to look guilty.

“I just sang what came into mind when I look at you.” he shrugged.

“You think I'm controlling?” you crossed your arms, trying to mask the growing pain in your chest. Tears started to well up in your eyes.

“No- well...no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just-“ he obviously had something he was hiding.

“What’s wrong, John?” you tried to sound soothing, but it ended up sounding desperate. He was startled at your use of his real name, but his forehead quickly furrowed.

“Look, I’m fine! Could you please stop pestering me!” he shouted at you and you stood in shock, not knowing what to say.

“God, Y/N, this past week I’ve had to deal with your voice constantly repeating the same sentence.” his fists were clenched. You were speechless - in the almost 20 years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him get visibly mad at anything.

“I- I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, it’s clearly not working! I thought you’d stop after realising it wasn’t.”

“I did, I swear I tried to let you heal by yourself but...Deacy I just love you too much!”

“Yet I don’t feel the same way!” his voice lowered, realising what he said, “not anymore at least.”

You didn’t want to believe it at first. You searched hopelessly in his eyes, trying to find a sign of a joke somewhere, but you couldn’t. Your eyes fell to your shoes as you knew the truth.

“I just- I don’t feel like I can continue this. Us, I mean. Well...Queen and us.”

You felt your heart sink to your feet as the colour drained from your face. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m retiring. I want to finish the album with the boys and then leave. Spend more time with myself. It’s just- it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Not without Freddie.” His voice broke and he rubbed his eyes, “I tried giving it a shot, I can’t, Y/N, nothing feels right.”

“Deacy I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

Your knees were about to give way and your bottom lip started trembling.

“John. things could still work out. You just have tell me what I need to do.”

“I need you to go.” he said sharply. Those words felt like spears going directly through your stomach.

“But John-” you pleaded.

“No, stop. Just- let me live. Leave me alone.” He walked into the studio, leaving you out in the cold.

You hesitated for a few seconds, trying to get some feeling into your legs again and wiping the few drops of tears that had fallen, before walking into the studio. You kept your head down, ignoring Brian’s questions and Roger’s snarky comments on taking a long break. You grabbed your coat and turned to look at the crew for one last time.

“Good luck, you guys. Freddie’s proud of you all.”

You flashed a quick smile to both Brian and Roger as you turned and walked out, hot tears rolling down your face. You could hear John’s voice as they started practicing again.

“Why don't you take another little piece of my life? Why don't you twist it, and turn it, and cut it like a knife? All you do is live, all I do is die…”

You picked up the pace and ended up running down the road, trying to run as far away from his voice as possible, while you sobbed out your heart’s content.

- Part 2

Let me know what you thought! Criticism is openly welcomed :) 

You stretched, groaning, then sat up and dragged yourself out of the sheets. You had fallen asleep in the same slightly oversized t-shirt you had been wearing when you got back to the flat last night, and settled for simply picking yesterday’s shorts off the floor and pulling them on to maintain some sort of dignity. You quietly pushed the door open and stepped forwards into the doorway, taking in the view of the living room and its resident.

Brian sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of the couch, his acoustic on his lap, strumming a slow-paced melody. Every now and then, he’d mumble a few words, as if trying them out to the beat. A pile of blank paper sheets lay to his right, and a single sheet with words scribbled on it to his left; a ballpoint pen discarded on top of it.

Brian’s hair was a mess and he was still wearing the worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants he had fallen asleep in last night. He looked gorgeous, and you caught yourself smiling a little, taking the opportunity to observe him while he still hadn’t noticed your presence.

Queen was doing well and for the past couple of years they had frequently been away on tours for months at a time, leaving you to your own devices back home. As happy as it made you that they were making it big, you hardly enjoyed the loneliness. So, knowing that you’d soon enough only have Brian’s voice at the other end of a phone line to keep you company, you were grateful for every moment like this that you could get.

“Genius at work?” you finally asked with a smirk, approaching him slowly.

Brian stopped playing and turned to look at you, a look of both joy and concern spreading across his face. “I guess so. Did I wake you?”

“God, no, I sleep like a bloody rock,” you assured him. “What are you writing, then?”

“Oh, just an idea that came to me. I’ve had a few chords in my head for a while now, but I only just came up with the proper order. And it’s still far from finished. I’m trying to come up with a melody.”

You kneeled on the floor next to the paper sheet, picking it up. A short sequence of chords was written on it: G, C, G, D, G, Em. A chorus or verse; you weren’t sure which one - and, frankly, Brian probably didn’t know either. Below it was a set of lyrics, about as short as the chord sequence. Brian’s handwriting was neat, but the letters were slightly disfigured; the rushed handwriting of someone in a hurry to put an idea into words before it was lost:

Don’t you hear my call, though you’re many years away?

Don’t you hear me calling you?

Write your letters in the sand, for the day I take your hand

You smiled. “It’s great.”

Brian’s eyes lit up a little, his eyebrows raising. “You think?”

“Yeah. Beautiful lyrics.” You read through the words on the paper again, regarding them carefully. “What’s the song gonna be about?”

Brian shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. I had this idea… It sounds a bit weird, but I had this idea of writing something inspired by the theory of relativity.”

You frowned, surprised. “The theory of relativity?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m imagining this…” Brian fidgeted with his fingers. “This man, who goes on a ship and travels somewhere, and he’s away for what he thinks is a short time, but then he comes back home and realizes that it’s been decades and everyone he used to know has aged without him. Don’t you think that would make a good song?” It was a genuine question, asked in a relaxed manner but with an underlying hint of insecurity.

“That’s- that’s amazing,” you said, sincerely. “Yes. Absolutely, it’s going to make a great song.”

Brian shrugged. “I hope so.”

“It is. It really is.”

Brian smiled, looking a little flustered. His eyes turned to the floor, his long fingers plucking at the strings of the guitar absentmindedly.

You crawled closer to him, reaching out and combing your fingers lightly through his hair. He leaned into the touch, before picking the playing back up, and your heart swelled. How lucky I am.

You remained in this position for a couple of minutes, Brian strumming his guitar and occasionally taking a break to write something down. Eventually he put the pen down, shifted slightly and placed the guitar gently on the floor to his right; your cue to lay down on his lap. You fit your head and upper body neatly onto his crossed legs, your back pressed against his stomach. You felt him lean back against the couch, and his fingers landed in your hair, running through it for a second. Your eyes fell shut almost instantly, You were always most comfortable like this.

“I thought about the fact that it’s kind of what touring is like, too,” he suddenly said, picking right back up where you had left the conversation several minutes ago. “I mean, you go away and feel as though you’re unstoppable and that you’ve got all the time in the world, but then you come back home and you realize that everybody else has moved on without you.”

You frowned, turning your head to look up at Brian. He didn’t look back at you; instead, his gaze was fixed somewhere on the other side of the room. His expression was neutral, but there was something underlying there, too; a sense of guilt, maybe. Something heavy and sad.

His voice was thoughtful, almost guilty, and your heart ached. You clasped your fingers gently around his wrist, your thumb rubbing up and down almost of its own accord. “Want my honest opinion?” You paused for a beat, but Brian said nothing. You continued: ”I hate waiting for you. I hate it when you’re not here, I hate only being able to talk to you over the phone for weeks on end.” You could feel Brian tensing up a little. ”But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s worth it. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’ll stop waiting.”

You heard him exhale as his body relaxed beneath yours, his fingers running through your hair once. In return, you put your hand on his knee, rubbing gently for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Of course not. I’m way out of your league. Much hotter than you, and cooler, and…”

Brian slapped your arm gently, his body shaking with quiet laughter. “Oh, shut the hell up.”

“It’s true, though! I should be dating someone more rockstar-esque. Roger, maybe.”

“You think Roger reaches your standards? Are we talking about the same person? Last night he mixed beer and strawberry soda for you when you said you wanted a non-alcoholic drink.”

“Yes, he did, like a true gentleman.”

Brian snorted, and you took his hand, pressing it against your lips. “Sorry. Of course you are the one for me; Brian May, love of my life, apple of my eye, most epic shag I’ve ever had. I would never replace you, no matter how great Roger’s drinks are.”

“It’s like a giant hug.”

“I’d expect as much.”

Your laughter died down eventually, giving way to a comfortable silence and stillness. After a few seconds, Brian leaned forward - a movement made awkward by your respective positions - and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. You smiled widely as he moved on to your mouth, this time kissing you deeply.

He hummed contentedly. “You’re lovely,” he told you, his face hovering just above yours. You laughed briefly.

You pulled your woollen scarf higher over your face, both to block out the cold and to hide the tears that were streaming down your face. The air was cold and bit at your exposed skin. The sky was clouding over, growing a menacing dark grey, with a new snowfall threatening. As if that helped with your mood.

You’d been walking for almost half an hour now, and it felt as if the tears had frozen on your face. Your day had not gone as planned. What started as a family reunion ended up with your family basically disowning you. Now your family was in your flat and you had fled to the streets, simply alone with your thoughts.

The sky continued to grow darker and a light smattering of snowflakes began to fall from the sky. If you were in a better mood you would stop and appreciate the weather. Instead, you followed your feet with your eyes, not caring where you were going, so long as it was away from your family.

“Y/N! Y/N! Can you hear me?” a voice called, growing louder with every syllable. You looked up to see a familiar head of curly hair poking out of a red car.

“Y/N, are you okay?” came the voice of John, your best friend. He stopped his car and hurried out.

“Oh my god, you’re freezing, get in the car!” he said, guiding you towards the car and opening the door for you. You shot him a small, yet teary smile of gratitude. The two of you sat in silence until you reached John’s house.

“Don’t worry, Ronnie has taken the kids out for the evening to hang out with Chrissie and her kids. So the house will be quiet.” John assured you as the two of you walked up the path to the door.

“I’m sorry to intrude, John.” you said softly.

“Y/N. You’re my best friend. You’d never intrude.” he replied.

You’d known John since you were 16, meeting each other at school. You’d been almost inseparable since then, even with John’s success with his band, you’d managed to keep in close contact. Now, the pair of you were basically siblings, and tried to catch up as often you could. Until today, John was the only person who knew your secret.

The pair of you sat down on the couch. “What happened?” John asked.

You took a deep breath. “We had a family reunion.  And everyone was harassing me about my love life, and..” you sniffed, trying to hold back tears.

“Y/N, what happened? Did they find out?” he asked, shifting closer and putting an arm around you.

You nodded. “They kept pushing me, and pushing me, and I panicked.” you sobbed. “I told them I wasn’t straight and they didn’t understand. And I tried to  explain, but once the word ‘queer’ came into play they just kept shouting and fighting and hurling insults at me… so I left.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” John said, rubbing comforting circles onto your shoulders.

“What made it worse is that I let slip that I’m in love with someone and then I just let them all down! All because the person I like is of the same sex.” you said, blinking furiously to hold back any further tears.

“It’s wonderful that you’re in love, Y/N. I couldn’t care less who with. You’re you, and you don’t need anyone. Sometimes you’ve just got to break free.” John said.

“That was quite poetic.” you said, chucking. “Sounds like it could be a song… got to break free?”

John never failed to bring you comfort and make you feel better. “That’s a good idea actually…” he mumbled. “But it can wait. Right now, you’re my priority. Can’t have my best friend being all sad. Give me one minute!” he said, getting up and heading into the kitchen.

In his absence, your cursed your own stupidity. Yeah, you’d fallen in love, the first time you could remember doing so. But you were so scared to do anything about it. You knew the person liked you back, but you were terrified to make the first move.

John returned a few moments later with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “Didn’t know what occasion to save this for, but I do know a good bottle of wine can aid greatly in cheering up a friend.” he smiled, pouring you a glass.

The two of you sat there on the couch, enjoying the wine and chatting about anything you could think of, until you felt your eyes began to droop. It was only 8pm but it had been a long day. John noticed as you stifled yet another yawn. “I’m not really in a position to drive, but do you want to stay in the guest room? Or I can call a cab?”

“I’ll stay. It’ll save money.” you said timidly.

John held out his hand for you, and led you to the guest room. You’d stayed there on many occasions, but greatly appreciated his kindliness in your tipsy, exhausted, and emotional state. He gave you a spare pair of pyjamas and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, and thank you, John.”

You curled up in the bed, and drifted off the sound of gentle chords playing on the piano downstairs.

~

A few months later, you were comfortable in your own skin once more. You’d removed yourself from the family members who had shunned you, removing all toxicity in your life. You and your love were happily together. You’d chatted to John a few times since, even though he was busy recording his band’s latest album. He’d told you he was working on something for you and you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You were sitting in your car, heading home from work, blaring the radio as loud as possible.

“And now, we have an exciting new single from everyone’s favourite rock band, Queen!” came the slightly static voice of the radio host.

A funky baseline played through the speakers. You could tell this song was one of John’s instantly. And then you heard the lyrics.

“I want to break free!”

Your eyes welled with tears. This is what John had been working on. Instead of heading home, you headed to John’s, attentively listening to the song.

Within moments of the song finishing, you pulled up at John’s, and hurried to the door. You knocked twice, and John opened the door.

“Y/N! Hey!” he greeted, and you tackled him in a hug.

“You’re amazing.” you said, sobbing gently into his shoulder.

“Y/N?” he asked, bewildered.

“I want to break free.” you smiled. “And I successfully did. Thanks to you.”

“Y/N, it was nothing.”

“No. It wasn’t, God knows, I couldn’t have gotten through this without you.” you said.

John softly hummed as you embraced, and you joined in at the end of the verse.

It started off so well

You had met in college. You were in the art college with Freddie and had been walking on campus with him when you ran into Roger. You couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. Freddie gave Roger your number and it was an instant connection. You should have known those gorgeous blue eyes and that little smirk were nothing but trouble.

They said we made a perfect pair

You balanced each other out. You smoothed out his wild and reckless side, and he brought you out of your comfort zone. You were completely enthralled with one another. Conversation was never lacking and you were always touching in some form or fashion, smiles plastered on your faces.

I clothed myself in your glory and your love

The more popular Queen became, the more you both soaked up the glory. He was meant to be on that stage, and you loved nothing more than to watch him. You rented a flat together, spending days couped up in bed when he would return from tour. He relished buying you gifts - expensive lingerie from all over the world, a new fur coat, even sending you lavish bouquets of flowers every few weeks when he was away. It all made both your hearts swell.

How I loved you

You always seemed to have to defend Roger to your friends and family. Dating a rock star - weren’t you worried about what he was getting up to? He is the pretty one in the band after all… you would shoot them down every time. Your love was stronger than any groupie throwing themselves at him.

How I cried

The first photo showed up in the papers just after your three year anniversary. He said it wasn’t true, they happened to take the photo at a moment that made it look like something was happening when it wasn’t. You believed him. But when the second, third, fourth ones were plastered in the papers over the next year…. You couldn’t anymore.

The years of care and loyalty

All the years you had cared for him, flew out on tour to take care of him because he was sick and missed you… all the times you had surprised him, showing up on his birthday in US, showing up backstage in France when your job had suddenly taken you out of the country for a trip. All the times you had turned down other men, defended him.

Were nothing but a sham it seems

Everyone had been right, you were just too blind. The photos were just him getting sloppy and being caught.

The years belie we lived a lie

It had been going on for so long, longer than anyone cared to tell you. None of the boys could look at you as you screamed and threw things at Roger when he came to get his belongings. You had already packed them for him. “And all of you!” you turned on them. “I trusted you. None of you said anything. This could have ended years ago!” you screamed. Still none of them could meet you eyes. “Get out!”

I love you till I die

Despite the utter betrayal and heartbreak, you couldn’t help the jump in your heart every time you saw his photo or heard one of their songs. Your heart was still there, with him, and you didn’t know if it was ever going to come back.

Save me save me save me

I can't face this life alone

Everything reminded you of him. Even seeing your friends reminded you of him - remembering all the times they had been right. You became withdrawn, wallowing in your pain as you tried to find ways to heal yourself.

Save me save me save me

I'm naked and I'm far from home

You felt stripped of everything you were. Naked. Your apartment wasn’t home anymore. Roger had been your home, and he was so far away from you in every sense.

The slate will soon be clean

You were offered a promotion that took you across the country. You accepted it without hesitation.

I'll erase the memories

You looked back on the empty apartment you had once shared with him. The walls were bare of the art you had picked together. The couch that had seen so many memories was donated. The mattress sent to the dump. A fresh start.

To start again with somebody new

As you were struggling up the stairs with a box, your new neighbor poked their head out and offered a hand. He was handsome, tall, had kind eyes. He introduced himself as Allen. He finished helping you move in and offered to buy you pizza at the place down the street. You accepted.

Was it all wasted

All that love?

You thought all your time with Roger had been a waste in the end. The love you had grown and nourished together, squashed forever. But as you continued to spend time with Allen, your heart was screaming. It didn’t feel right. You didn’t feel that electric shock when his hand brushed against yours for the first time. Your first kiss felt like nothing more than pressing your lips to another’s.

I hang my head and I advertise

A soul for sale or rent

But still you pushed on with him, convinced you just needed time to let someone new into your life - to show you love again. You opened up to him about everything, sobbed on his shoulder as he listened to every word. He understood your need for time and healing.

I have no heart I'm cold inside

A year later and you were still keeping him at arm's length. He brought it up to you, again, angry tears rolling down his face. You didn’t feel a thing.

I have no real intent

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

Save me save me save me

I can't face this life alone

You moved back to London, falling into your old life and friends as if you had never left. Out in your old stomping grounds, you felt a tap on your shoulder at the pub one night.

Save me save me save me

Oh I'm naked and I'm far from home

You turned around, and your heart stopped. Roger. His hair was shorter, blonder. But his eyes were still that gorgeous blue and that smile… it still made you weak in the knees. You stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity. You felt naked in the middle of the crowd, but the feeling of home was a hot spot on your shoulder where he had touched you. “Hello, love.”

Each night I cry I still believe the lie

You talked all night, and he walked you home afterwards. He kissed your hand, lips lingering for a moment. Your hand tingled even after he let go, your skin on fire where he kissed you. He asked softly if he could call you. You nodded your answer, not trusting your voice. Laying in your bed alone that night, you let it all flood back for the first time in months. You sobbed in both relief and what could only be described as fear - were you going to let him back in?

I love you 'till I die

While your conversation at the bar had been lighthearted, going from topic to topic like it had when you were young, your next conversations were heavier in spirit. You talked about it all. You screamed, you cried, you held each other.

Save me save me save me

Save me save me oh save me

Don't let me face my life alone

“I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you… and I’m tired. Tired of doing all this without you.”

Save me save me oh

I'm naked and I'm far from home

You had both laid your souls on the table. The good, the bad and the ugly. You were honest. You were naked. And after all those years of being homesick… you could feel it dissipating. Something in your heart released. The fog lifted, your shoulders felt lighter. The path home was lit brightly and sitting right in front of you. You smiled.

TAGLIST: