𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XLV

April 25, 1978

"Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Freddie is sprawled out across the king sized bed, balancing a bottle of black nail polish in his right hand as he carefully paints his left. He peers suspiciously at the blonde propped up against the pillows, not being able to get an honest word out of him for weeks.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're quiet, you're not partying with us. Your playing is... well, fine. But it's not you."

Roger narrows his eyes at the almost insult. He's right, of course. It's not always easy to be talkative when your brain is screaming at you, or to party when you know you'd rather be alone in your hotel room, staring at the phone. As for the playing, he doesn't know what Freddie's on about. He's as brilliant as ever.

"I don't think it has anything to do with Audrey and Thea. You're always off somewhere, so I figured you were busy ringing them." Freddie notices his lack of answer, and hums. "I guess I'm wrong. You haven't called at all?"

He scowls, the words forming on the tip of his tongue, but his stubbornness holding them back. Obviously he's been calling- he wouldn't forgive himself if he'd gone this long without talking to his kid.

"Sorry, sorry." Freddie laughs lightly, enjoying the little guessing game. "I know what it is. It's about Thea. You love her, or something."

Now it's even harder to not confide, especially since he'd hit the nail on the head. Wanker.

"Do you wanna know what she did before I left?" Roger bursts out, voice on the edge of hysteria. "She kissed me! Just like that. And I can't stop fucking thinking about it."

Freddie's eyes widen. "You're kidding. You're pulling my leg."

"I almost wish I was."

"What? You don't like her?"

A stupid question. "Fred. You know I do. I'm just- I'm all fucked up now." He runs his hands through his hair. "She couldn't have waited until I got back."

"You know, I'm a little mad at her, too."

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes, as if it's obvious. "We need you to focus on playing, not all this kissing drama." When Roger only stares, he continues. "I'm happy for you, of course. Everything coming together."

"What do you mean?"

"This is what you wanted, right?"

He sighs, fumbling on the side table for his cigarettes. Carefully, he lights one and inhales.

"Fine. Don't tell me." The man sits up abruptly, setting his feet on the floor. "I already know."

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly. "Leaving?"

"I have things to see, people to do," he says vaguely, stretching his arms. "Ring your girl, Rog. It'll help."

He shakes his head vigorously, earning a sigh from Freddie. "It's too soon," he says, a weak excuse. "Tomorrow. Maybe."

But he can't bring himself to ask to speak with her the next day, either. The thought of hearing her voice, holding a conversation- an inconceivable idea. It's much easier to speak with her in his dreams. The words come out perfectly every time, although he can never remember them when he wakes up.

-

April 28, 1978

My daughter's little voice filters in from the next room, conversational words with the occasional squeal or giggle. There's a program on tv, but I'm hardly watching it. It's much more interesting to hear Audrey tell her dad about her latest adventures in nursery school, and about the drumkit she loves and the songs she's created. I can't hear his end of the conversation, but I can fill in the blanks because of how she responds.