Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 100

With tears daring to spill from his eyes, the blonde approached the person leaning against the wall with their arms folded over their chest and embraced them tightly.

"Oh, thank god you're okay," Roger mumbled into their shoulder, squeezing them to make sure they were actually there. He leaned back and looked into their eyes, trying to resist the relieved smile that made his lips quiver. "What are you doing here?"

They smirked and raised their hand, swiping their thumb across the blonde's cheek. "What? You think I'd miss my boyfriend's very first show?"

Roger chuckled nervously. "I just thought that, after our last talk, you were done with me."

"That's silly. I could never be done with you, Rog," Tim replied, trailing his hands down the blonde's chest and resting them on his waist, along with his gaze. "I love you, and I need you." He glanced up at him and did something Roger never would've expected him to do in a million years—he apologized. "And I'm sorry I pushed you away. I was a royal fucking idiot, and I know I'll never be able to take back what I did, but...I miss you." He took his boyfriend's hands in his and laced their fingers together. "I miss us."

The blonde, with even redder cheeks than before, looked back at the group that had been reduced to just Sting, standing like the manipulative brunette had been and watching the two of them with a keen eye. When he noticed Roger's gaze, he peeled himself away from the wall, grabbed the cymbals he was responsible for, and slunk into the shadows, leaving a blonde with an even worse feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was as if he knew something his bandmate didn't, as if he knew that Tim wasn't the only one who missed their relationship.

Roger had only been in London for a week, but every time he lied awake at night, unable to fall asleep, he would think about all the nights he spent with Tim, curled up beside him with his head resting on his bare chest and the brunette raking his fingers through his hair, planting soft kisses on the top of his head, along the side of his face, on the corners of his mouth, and—eventually—his lips. He would think about the warmth that transferred from his boyfriend's body to his, that made him feel better no matter what transpired over the course of the day, even if it was something that happened between them. Lying next to him, in his arms, was a feeling like no other that Roger experienced with Tim, and until he met Brian, the blonde didn't realize that what he was feeling was love—true, unadulterated, genuine love.

"What do you say about coming home with me tonight?" the brunette suggested, giving a slight tug on his boyfriend's shirt and stealing his attention back. "We can celebrate like old times, just the two of us. Nana's out with Johnny, and Geoff's on his way back to the States, so we have the whole damn castle all...to...our...selves."

With each syllable, he pulled the blonde closer, and by the last one, they were but a breath apart, their chests touching and their hearts beating in sync. The two stood that way for what seemed like an eternity, dancing the thin line that—if crossed one way or the other—would determine how the rest of the night was going to play out. Roger knew this and so did Tim, so when the brunette leaned in, acting on the shared impulse once and for all, the blonde took a stumbled step back and stammered, "I-I don't think that's a good idea, Tim."

He laughed. "God, you sound just like him."

"Like who?"

Tim bit his lip, reluctant to answer his boyfriend's question, aware that if he did, he would only implicate himself in the crime that was moments away from shattering the blonde's world. So, instead, he smirked and murmured, "Come on. I want to make it up to you." He didn't specify what for as he slipped away from Roger and began to saunter backwards down the hallway, taking slow, calculated steps and holding his clean hands out to the blonde, hoping he would take them like he used to. However, Roger stayed back, watching as the distance between him and the brunette grew. It became increasingly clear to Tim that he wasn't ready to give into temptation, trying hard to remind himself of how far he'd come, and how much he'd lose by following his instincts.

The brunette, stopping in the middle of the hallway, heaved a sigh and placed his hands on his hips. "Come on, Rog, let me show you how sorry I am. Please."

"I thought I didn't know what sorry was," the blonde sneered, recalling the unpleasant conversation they had over the phone not long after he arrived in London.

"You don't," Tim quipped. "That's why I need to show you."

Roger's cautious step forward and his timid question of, "And then what?" brought a smile to the brunette's face.

"We'll figure that out when we get there," he said, crossing his arms. "But that's never going to happen if you just stand there all night."

The blonde found himself paralyzed by the conflict that was tearing him apart. He couldn't help but be drawn towards Tim, his devotion to the man withstanding every trial and tribulation their relationship had gone through, even the one that was yet to come. However, he couldn't deny his feelings for Brian, no matter how much they terrified him. In reality, though, both prospects were scary in their own right. It was either go down memory lane or venture into uncharted territory, and he couldn't decide which was worse.

"Earth to Rog," Tim called, snapping Roger out of the daze he'd fallen into. "Are you coming with me or not?"