“Five months I’ve had to practically avoid Brian, which is pretty impossible considering we play in a band together,” it was getting louder.

“Rog,” you calmly begged.

“Five months I’ve had to tiptoe around- not even outside the walls of this flat, mind you,” His furrowed brows glared, his flexed hand stretching out at you on the last couple of words.

“Rog-”

“I mea- five months, I’ve-”

“Roger!” Now yours was louder, interrupting his train of thought altogether.

You gulped and stared at his blurry figure as tears invited themselves into your eyes. He relaxed his stature releasing a breath and came over to sit beside you.

He took your shaking hands in his own, “I’m sorry, love, I just- this whole thing’s got me so wigged out.” He ran a hand back through his blonde locks.

“Me too,” Your voice sunk to the back of your tight throat. His blue eyes came back to yours.

“But you have to let me-” You let go of a deep breath, “Rog, I gotta rip off this bandaid when I find my window, alright?”

He spread his thumb and forefinger from the bridge of his nose across his eyes a few times in thought, the other hand still clasping yours.

“I sorta think you just need to get it over with sooner than later, love. There isn’t going to be a right time for something like this.” You blinked a hostaged tear away as he looked back up, hoping to be on the same page as you.

“I mean you’re carrying my baby, Y/N, for Christ’s sake he needs to know!” he whispered exasperatedly, despite being in a locked apartment. His brows climbed closer to his hairline with his persistence.

Another pause hummed over letting the sounds of late London flood the room while your eyes traced his face.

You got up and headed towards the kitchen. Roger followed a few seconds behind as you filled the tea kettle up with water. He stood behind the island, watching you while leaning his palms on the edge of the counter.

You twisted the knobs on the stove and set flame to the kettle, eliciting a sharp clang as it made contact with the element. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment as you held onto the oven handlebar, swallowing the guilt in your throat before swiftly doing a 180 to face Roger.

“Tea?” you chimed in a forced coy voice.

He looked at you hesitatingly, lips parted as he nodded slowly in acceptance.

You spun yourself back around again on your heels and reached up to the cupboard above the overhead fan. On the top shelf, Roger kept his boxes and tins of tea. You weren’t exactly his height, so you elevated yourself on your toes to reach.

Roger saw it before it happened. “Y/N, wait-”

You pushed yourself further from the stove, placing a hand on the surface, but just as you were simultaneously swatting at a small tin like a cat, half of your hand repositioned right onto the wide element that the kettle didn’t quite cover.

You were so focused that it took you a solid two seconds before your pain receptors did their job and processed the heat. The sting. The burn.

“Ow, fuck!” you yelped.

Roger was at your side in an instant, gently taking you by your wrist and hurrying you to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Here, let me just-” You hissed at the contact the rushing liquid made with your raw skin and he turned it down a bit to lessen the pressure.

“Jesus, love, you need t-”  Roger stopped as soon as he saw your face, covered in tears. You were practically biting through your lip to suppress sobs from erupting.

He sighed and concentrated on tending to your fresh burn, but eventually you had to break away and let it out. You turned away from him and pressed your palms to the counter to support your weight but immediately retracted your hand at the sudden pain, making you cry harder. The pain isn’t why you were crying, it was just the catalyst to letting go of all sorts of things you had bottled up.

Roger reached out to calm you but you swatted the air as your jaw hung open for silent cries to be released. It broke his heart to see you so shaken up and hurt.

“No, Rog, don’t!” you squeaked out. Roger froze in his tracks for a moment and then resumed with his initial decision.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he wrapped his arms around your shaking body as your wrists dangled on invisible strings in front of your chest.

“No,” you croaked as he enveloped you in his warm arms, cradling your head with his big palm.

“Sh-sh-shhhh. You’re okay.” He began rotating the two of you, soothingly rubbing your back. You tried to resist for a moment and refuse comfort because you shouldn’t be the one crying; you hurt Brian, if anything you hurt Roger more than yourself too, but you were so upset with the way things had gone that you just couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. It wasn’t meant to be this way, but it’s too late for that now.

“Everything’s going to be okay…”

“A-and what if it’s no-ot?” you sobbed, tears saturating Rogers cotton shirt as little coughs buried into the fabric.

“We’ll find a way through.” He pulled back a few inches to see your face below him, your nose bright pink and cheeks flushed.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “We always do,” and pulled you back into him.

You and Roger stood there for a few minutes until your sobs dissipated into sniffles, and eventually, the only sound was of the fabric of the denim jacket you borrowed from Roger against his skin as he continued to rub your back.

“I- I think I’m good now.” You slowly backed out of his soft embrace, taking a concluding sharp inhale through your nose.

“You sure?” He bent his head to meet your eye-level.

You began habitually twisting the metal loop around your finger. “Yeah, I just- I gotta-” but you were interrupted by the screaming kettle. Roger extended a barricading arm between you and the stovetop and relieved it of its cries… something he was good at.

“You gotta-?” He prompted, effortlessly grabbing two tea bags.

“Uh- nevermind, it’s-uh, it’s okay, now.” You exhumed a fake breathy laugh.

Roger tilted his chin in a verifying manner and you shot him a lopsided grin and quick nod to reassure him, quickly fading as he gathered some mugs.

Once the tea had steeped, Roger pinched your ass to get your attention away from your phone and beckon you to follow him to his bedroom. You slid your phone in your back pocket and grabbed your mug, trailing behind.

You climbed up onto the mattress and blew at the steaming tea. “I just want to get my mind off of everything, Rog.”

Roger stood at the other side, clutching his mug. “ ‘Bet I could do that.” He started looking between it and you.

“What?” You laughed quizzically. He looked to the doorway and then back at you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead bit his smiling lip as the cogs wound in his head. “Roger, what are you on about up there?”

You weren’t sure if you should be afraid or excited. All you got in response was a “Stay here,” and you were left alone in his room.

You got up off the squeaky mattress and he called out for you to stay where you were again, followed by the sound of him fumbling with something in his hands and different things falling to the floor. You rolled your eyes and sat on the edge of the bed again. “What are you up to, Taylor?” You called out, cautiously.

There was a moment of silence as you took a sip of your tea and then out of nowhere, Roger’s record player started blaring Bob Seger’s husky voice.

You nearly choked on the gulp of tea when Roger slid into view facing away, wearing nothing but his cotton button up.

“Wh-Who are you?!” You laughed. He swung his leg around to show his sassy pout topped with sunglasses that lifted when a huge smile formed on his face.

“Tom Cruise from Risky Business!” He started thumping his leg.

You chuckled, “Well I know that, blondie!”

With his mug still in hand, he began using it as a microphone, but didn’t lip sync a word, the tea splashing over the edges all over his chest and neck. You covered your mouth to stifle giggles as he approached his dresser and started dancing in front of it, only to spin around and chuck the mug on a chair in the corner.

“Oh my god!  Roger!” You couldn’t feel your cheeks from smiling so big in shock and amusement.

“Dance with me, babe!” He yelled over the music echoing throughout the apartment, jumping over to you.

“Roger, I-” just as you began to protest, he was removing the mug from your hands too and setting it aside, and suddenly you had no reason to.

He dramatically jumped up onto the chaise lounge in the corner, the abandoned mug trampling to the floor as he did, and pointed a finger at you.

“Now I demand” he adjusted the sliding glasses on the bridge of his nose, “You take off those pants and be my Amanda Jones!”

“That’s Some Kind of WonderfuAH-” Roger yanked you by your inquiring wrist and shot you a smirk as he placed his other hand on your waist.

“Well then I’ll be your Keith.”

“Actually, I think I’m Keith and you’re Watts, Ro-” Without letting you finish, he extended your arm with his, raising your clenched intertwined fingers to the ceiling. He dipped your other sides back to follow your fists out of the room and to the source of the music.

Once you got there he snapped at your legs as he jumped onto the couch and started bouncing one leg.

“Pants! Now!”

Without another protest you unzipped your jeans and slid them off, tossing them at Roger, prompting a toothy grin beneath his covered eyes as he discarded them. He offered his hand to you, “Let go with me!” and with that, you got up on the table across from him, dancing around in your underwear to Old Time Rock n Roll.

When the song ended, Roger quieted the record player and your heaving chest collapsed on the couch.

“You,” you pointed a finger at him, “Were sent here to punish me.” Laughing at the crazy antics he was always pulling. You actually loved his spontaneity, always finding fun in every corner.

“No, love,” He plopped down beside you, “I was sent here to remind you you deserve a good time.” He cupped the side of your face in one hand and kissed your forehead. His blue eyes searched yours for a moment before he slowly leaned in.

You were interrupted by a loud ring coming from the bedroom, startling you.

“Let it go,” you smiled, prompting him to continue. He closed the space between you two as his lips met with yours. He grabbed you by your hips and pulled you onto his lap, straddling him on the couch.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He shook his head in admirable disbelief, making you roll your eyes and blush.

“There’s that smile.” He booped you on your nose and wiggled his nose against yours.

“I love that smile. I could look at those lips for ages.”

“Lucky you,” You pressed your lips against his briefly, “You don’t have to stop at looking.” Biting your lip.

He moved you off of him and pushed your back into the cushion as he hovered over you, his shirt only lazily half-buttoned so you could see his chest as the loose fabric hung off of him. The ringing started up again, interrupting once more.

You groaned and Roger moved back so you could get up and tend to it.

Roger picked up your jeans feeling the fabric and walking over to the doorway.

“You sure I’m not Amanda?” He called out, earning a laugh from you that carried into the call as you finally silenced the incessant ringing.

“H-hello?”

“Oh, am I really that hilarious that I don’t even have to speak?”

“B-Brian!” You stammered, before clearing your throat.

“You a’right, love? Feeling sick at all?” His voice beamed through the phone as you tore it away from your ear vigorously waving at Roger to turn down the music.

“Uh- yeah, yeah, feeling good.” You cleared your throat again and took a deep breath to compose yourself as a rhythym of knocks sounded from the front door. You peaked you head into the living room to nod Roger to the door, but he had his back turned.

“You sure?” You threw a throw pillow at him as he pulled his trousers above his knees, abandoning his belt.

He shot around about to question you but then heard the knocking. The knocks grew louder.

“Yes, Bri, why?”

You snapped your fingers at Roger to hurry him, but then gave up and decided to get it yourself. His denim shirt reached to your knees anyway. You marched down the long hallway to the door.

“Where are you, love?”

“Huh? I’m uh- I’m just out at Nando’s with Mary, why?”

“Well just, the place you’re in could have something to do with that tickle in your throat, dear, and, can’t do any good for the baby.”

“Oh- no, no, Brian, really I’m good. We’re good.” You forced a faint breathy laugh to convince him.

“Well, what are the two of you going to be eating tonight?”

“Huh?” you paused in your tracks.

“You and ‘little one- what have you got for the two of you tonight?”

“Oh, just- well chicken, of course!” You reached for the handle.

“Is that the take-out, love?” Roger’s voice echoed behind you.

“Huh?” You called over your shoulder, gripping the metal and swinging the door open.

“I forgot I ordered Chinese- your favourite! Surprise!” Roger hollered, collecting plates in the kitchen. You turned back around, your jaw immediately dropping to the floor.

“Wow, they’ve really renovated the place, huh?” The voice on the other line echoed as the source leaned against the door frame, lowering the phone. You mirrored the motion and hung up, your reflection in the mirror beside you confirming your guilty look.

Brian looked around behind you from outside the apartment as Roger approached and dropped the plates in his hand he was about to set out for the food. You looked back astonished, shattered china everywhere, Rogers pants fallen back down around his shins

“Surprise.” Brian repeated in a low sing-songy voice, “Oh, here, let me help you with that mate.” You shot your head back and forth between the men, watching in shock as Brian tossed a pair of pants at Roger. Roger’s pants he had left.

At your house.

“Or, should I have given them to you?” His long pointer finger drawing an invisible line at your body as his eyebrows pinched together in mock confusion.

The delivery man arrived and hurried up the stairs behind your husband, and, without taking his eyes off either of you, Brian leaned back to open the door for him.

“Thanks, mate.” The guy called, holding bags of to-go boxes in his arms. “And uh- these are for-”

“This lovely half-dressed lady.” Brian gestured to you. You clenched your jaw tight as you took the bags from the man. Brian took a deep whiff of the aroma permeating from it. “Chicken smells good.” He confirmed.

“Go on,” He nodded towards the inside of the apartment, you followed his gaze to look back at Roger, rushing to pull up his pants and clean the array of broken pieces.

“Your favourite.” He declared in a monotone voice. Your eyes remained glued to Roger, hoping this was just another dream.

“Oh and uh, since you forgot to tip the nice man, I’ll offer you one myself,” You gulped, feeling hot tears prick your eyes as you screwed them shut, your chest growing tighter in anticipation.

“Pick up after yourself...” You managed to slowly turn your head just enough to let Brian see your face, reeking desperation.

“Maybe you could pass it along to Roger, there.” He nodded right back to Roger, fumbling with shards spilled around his half-naked, crouched body.

“Brian,” You spoke breathlessly through a sob,  and shot your head back to an empty doorway.

_____