#mute!brian

The more anxious Brian is, the less likely he can talk.

On the day the boys and him find out of they’ll be signed to the label of their dreams, his anxiety is practically leaking from his pores. He could barely sleep and eating was out of the question with how his stomach kept flopping. He had a feeling his speech would be non existent by the time he made it over to meet with the other 3.

He was right. 

Freddie playfully asked him if he was nervous, able the sheer terror on his face. Brian opened his mouth to say yes but his vocal cords just froze instead. He nodded, playing it off as nerves.

John sometimes got chatty when he was nervous. He wandered over to Brian and talked his ear off about labels and how they worked, as if Brian didn’t already know. Nervous habit of John’s. Brian could only smile and nod, sometimes making a surprised face to keep John under the impression that he cared. He would’ve told the bassist to go talk to Roger, but he had no words. He had to stand there for 15 minutes of nonsense. John tired himself out and went to go find Freddie to talk to. Thank god. 

Roger was always quiet when anxious. Brian went to him and sat down next to him, hoping they could stay in silence.

“Scared?” Roger asked.

Brian nodded.

“Me too. But I think we’re good enough to be worth their consideration. I think we’ve got this,” Roger said.

Brian couldn’t even hum in agreement, his vocal cords were so tight. He nodded again.

Roger left it at that.

Brian seemed to be in the clear until after they got the phone call.

They were signed.

Everyone was screaming and cheering and Brian could only clap and bounce.

“We did it, lads!” Freddie said.

“My god, I can’t believe we really pulled it off!” Roger said, holding his head.

“Good lord, we actually did it,” John said, all dazed out.

And Brian said nothing, continuing his clapping hoping no one would notice. 

Freddie noticed. He always noticed.

“Brian! Say something, love! Are you that shocked?”

Brian nodded, mussing his hair up to play up the shock. 

“Luvvys! Brian’s at a loss for words!” Freddie announced. The boys awwed at him, pulling him into multiple hugs. 

It got worse when they went out to drink. The “shock” could only last for so long.

“What do you want?” Roger asked, going to order for the whole table. Brian shrugged. He wanted some wine, but he couldn’t say it. Even with the fear gone, his voice refused to return to him. Typical.

Roger looked at him funny but left anyways to get their drinks.

Meanwhile, Freddie was gushing about what this would mean for the band. “Imagine the pay we’ll get. Oh my god. Brian, what will be the first thing you’ll buy?”

Uhhhhhh.

Brian pretended to think and then laughed silently. He shrugged cluelessy, trying to convey that there were far too many things to consider.

“Wouldn’t you buy a fancy telescope or something?” John asked, remembering vaguely a time where Brian said that was his dream purchase. 

Brian pointed at John, as if to say, you’re right!

“Use your words, darling, you’re a big boy!”

Uh oh.

Brian frowned and pointed to his throat.

“Oh. Sore throat? Why didn’t you say so? Oh, I guess you couldn’t. Hah!”

And it was dropped just like that.

Until the next day.

“Some sore throat you have,” John commented to the chatty Brian. Brian flushed. 

“Miracle recovery?”

“Mhm.”

“You have to get up, lovely,” Freddie said, pressing his hands down on the mattress and shaking it, trying his best to wake up a reluctant and sleepy Brian.

Brian groaned, hugging his pillow tighter, rolling to the edge of the bed, all with his eyes clothes.

“You’re worse than my cats, Brian. C’mon! Wakey wakey. I want to make us breakfast but you know I can’t cook. So you have to make the breakfast. In my honor,” Freddie said, crawling back into bed to rip the quilt off of Brian. Brian squeaked at the sudden cold, his lanky limbs erupting into goosebumps. He looked over his shoulder to glare at Freddie who smiled prettily back at him. 

With furrowed eyebrows, he puffed air out of his nose, as if to say, “Fine.” Freddie clapped and bounced, cheering Brian on as he rolled out of bed, walking slowly to the bathroom to freshen up. 

“There goes my handsome boy! So sweet and kind. Look at him go!”

As Brian washed his mouth, eyelids barely opened, Freddie snuck behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle, peppering kisses onto his bare shoulder. 

“I was thinking we could make pancakes. With blueberries or strawberries. You make it so well, sweetie,” Freddie said, nuzzling against Brian’s shoulder blade. Brian smiled, toothpaste dribbling down his chin. Whoops. Freddie giggled.

Once more properly dressed, they headed to the kitchen, Brian gathering the ingredients while Freddie continued his cheer leading. 

Brian peeked into the fridge, grabbing a package of strawberries and blackberries. He held them both up for Freddie to pick.

“Oh! Strawberries. It’s more romantic, isn’t it?” Freddie said from where he sat on the kitchen counter. Brian snorted. He wasn’t sure how strawberry pancakes were romantic, but he wouldn’t fight it. Freddie could find romance in just about anything. 

Brian went about mixing the dry and wet ingredients together, Freddie chopping up the strawberries. With a mischievous grin, Freddie stuck a finger in the batter, taking a good lick. “This has to be your best batch as of yet!” he announced, hopping off of the counter to get the stove heated up. Brian sure hoped so. He’d been eyeballing everything rather than using cups and measuring spoons.

Brian stood in front of the stove, pouring out the pancakes onto the sizzling pan, Freddie resuming his position from earlier, arms snaked around Brian’s waist.

“I love you, baby,” he mumbled, squeezing his boyfriend tight. Brian hummed something resembling “I love you too” in his hoarse voice, trying to hide his smile. 

Within 10 minutes, they were sitting at the dining nook, both munching on a piping hot pancake, sipping on apple juice.

“Fantastic. As always. I could marry you,” Freddie said in between a bite, loving how Brian cooked the pancakes light enough for the berries to still stay juicy.

Brian’s eyebrows flew up suggestively at the marriage comment, wriggling them a bit at Freddie. Freddie blushed and giggled, waving a hand at Brian.

“You know I would’ve married you ages ago if I could’ve,” Freddie said, using his thumb to wipe up some syrup from Brian’s mouth. Brian went pink. He nodded, his vampire teeth coming out when he grinned.

“Mhm. You know it, darling. You’d be Mr. Brian Mercury. And you’d make me all the pancakes in the world for our honeymoon, right?” 

Brian nodded again, giggling. 

Freddie smiled big, pointing at his lips. “Give me some love, Mr. Mercury,” he said. Brian obliged, leaning over the table to press their lips together. 

Against Brian’s lips, Freddie mumbled, “I love you so much.”

I love you more, Brian wanted to say.

oh my heart!!! ;0;

Brian was really nervous for this audition and he wasn’t even the one auditioning. He was scared the drummer prospect would laugh at him and walk out the moment he handed him the piece of paper.

Said piece of paper was all dented and crumpled up in his hands from how much he was holding it, turning it around, squishing it. He couldn’t help it. Not many people took kindly to his mutism.

Brian being Brian, he could’ve spent the next few months worrying about this, agonizing over every possible outcome, but the door flung open.

He swallowed hard, sitting up straight in his chair. He smiled wide as a blond entered the room. The blond smiled back with a wave. Brian stood up, heart pounding and crossed the room. He’d just hand him the note and then whatever happened happened. 

As he stretched out his slightly shaking arm, preparing for the worst, when the blond’s arm shot out, a wrinkled paper in hand.

Well that’s weird. Maybe it was his qualifications? Although, Brian had never asked for anything. 

The two exchanged papers, both sharing a perplexed look.

Hello! I’m Roger Taylor. I’d like to audition as a drummer for your band, Smile.

I’ve played the drums since childhood so I’m no novice. The only issue is I’m deaf. I can play like any hearing person but it might make communication difficult. But if it’s alright with you, I’d like to audition. 

Thanks.

Hello. My name is Brian May. I’ll be the one auditioning you today for my new band, Smile.

I can hear just fine, but I can’t talk. I’m mute. I hope it isn’t a problem. I’m really excited to hear you play. Don’t hesitate to ask any questions. 

Thank you.

It was Roger who was the first to react. He let out the most genuine and sweet laugh Brian has ever heard. Brian looked up from the note, a small chuckle tickling the back of his throat. Well, this was strange, wasn’t it?

Roger pointed to his ear and then to Brian, as if asking, you hear? Brian nodded and then replied in BSL, “Yes, I just can’t talk,”

Although the world around him didn’t know sign language, Brian felt it was a relief to be able to talk. So he learned BSL as a teenager. He wasn’t as fluent as others, but it was a good outlet for him.

Roger’s eyes lit up, the biggest grin spreading on his face.

“You know sign?” he said, fingers nearly fumbling over each other in excitement.

“I do!” Brian replied, laughing.

“Oh, this is just fantastic,” Roger said, bouncing a little. It wasn’t everyday he could just talk with someone. No pens and paper, no desperate hand motions.

Without even having to say it, Brian felt the same way. In fact, he tossed the notes into the dust bin and said, “Well, shall we begin? We can hang out afterwards,”

Roger nodded, heading towards the drum’s stool. “I’m ready when you are,” he said.

“Can’t you talk?” the journalist said, a jabbing poke at Brian’s quietness during the interview.

It was intentionally rude. He just wanted to hear from the guitarist.

But it was rude. Flagrantly, unapologetically rude. 

Brian, usually the tallest in the room, shrunk down. His head bowed, eyes falling to the floor, His shoulders hunched, a lip beginning to be chewed mercilessly. 

He couldn’t help feeling small and feeble when confronted with the one thing he couldn’t change, his biggest insecurity. His hand unconsciously flew to his neck, tracing a scar long faded. A reminder of a surgery that took everything away from him so long ago.

If he could, he’d apologize and even hand the interviewer his spine, but all he could do was continue shrinking. He hoped he’d turn into nothing soon.

“What kind of journalist are you?” Freddie immediately spat back, his shoulders broadening, eyebrows furrowing as his mouth curled in a growl.

Brian was timid, but Freddie wasn’t. Especially when it came to his boyfriend.

“You come here, paying for our time and can’t even be bothered to do any research on us?” he hissed, somehow appearing to double in size.

“If you knew a damn thing about us, you’d know how stupid that question is. And how hurtful,” Freddie finished, a dark glare burning into the reporter, who was red in the face and slack jaw.

Freddie turned to his lover, face gone soft in a matter of seconds. Gentle hands held his shoulder, thumbs rubbing into them.

“It’s fine, my love. We’re done here. How about we go home and have a nice bath?” he said, head tilting to the side.

A small toothy smile erupted on Brian’s lips, nodding. At that, Roger and John stood up, followed by Freddie and Brian.

Upon leaving, Freddie gave the cold shoulder, Roger flipped the bird and John oh so savagely said, “You’re very mean,”

Freddie had his arms wrapped around Brian as they walked to their cars. Brian signed, “Thank you,” to Freddie who just grinned in response.

Modern day Brian will send out a whole ass tweet to Roger like

“@DrBrianMay: Roger could you hand me the remote, please @officialRMT”

And Roger is screeching because THEY’RE IN THE SAME DAMN ROOM

“@DrBrianMay: update Roger still hasn’t given me the remote because he is screaming into a pillow”

“@OfficialRMT: kjnkgd”

Oh my goodness that’s so true.

Being older, he’s probably skeptical of all these new social media sites popping up, but when twitter rolls around, he gives it a try. A way to connect with fans. No big deal.

In the beginning, it’s just that. A tweet about a concert, new Queen merch, whatever. But he finds that the way twitter works is so similar to back and forth conversation, he..slowly finds himself tweeting all the time.

In 140 (now 280) characters, he can tweet about something that’s just happened, mention a thought he’s just had, talk  about something he’s just seen. And instantly, he gets so many replies, ideas, opinions, feedback. There’s not awkward delay like when he has to scribble something down for someone to see it. No waiting for them to read his rushed handwriting.

Social media is much more fluid and dynamic. After so many decades of struggling to have a voice, to speak in a way others understood, he has a nifty little app that he can say everything he so pleases.

Brian becomes mute after a brain injury when he was very young. He’s physically incapable of speaking.

He’s quite lonely during his schooling years but blossoms in college. The hippie movement is a big help to him, people coming to accept others from all walks of life.

He carries either a notebook, small chalkboard or white board with him at all times. He prefers the white board once those become more easy to find some decades later. 

He learns sign language as a kid and has a lot of deaf friends. Although their disabilities are different, they still connect over a lot of shared struggles.

Brian is such a shy guy. Even as an adult, he prefers to hide behind others and let others speak for him. It’s easier, although sometimes he doesn’t feel heard. It’s a bad trade off.