Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 104

"Are you sure you can't come?" Roger asked as he struggled to fix the tie around his neck, glancing back at Tim who sat slumped in the armchair by the window, puffing a cigarette. "I could really use you there."

The brunette plucked the white stick from his lips and blew a steady stream of smoke to the side. "I told you, it wouldn't feel right. I barely knew the guy."

"You knew him enough to have him killed," he mumbled.

Tim rolled his eyes at the blonde's snide comment and turned his attention out the window, murmuring before taking another drag from his cigarette, "You know I can't go, Rog."

"Well, I wish you could," Roger muttered, giving up on the tie and crossing the room to snatch the white stick out of the brunette's possession. Tim's jaw dropped in silent protest as his boyfriend drew a smoke from it and walked out of the room—cigarette still in hand. Without looking back, he descended the big staircase, and the click of the dress shoes he borrowed—same as the suit he was wearing—echoed off the walls enclosing the large entryway. He made his way into the garage and snatched the same set of keys from before, hopping in the Aston Martin and driving away—this time without destroying the gate. In fact, the gate hadn't been touched since Roger first burst through it, nor had the dented front of the luxury vehicle, because Nana had yet to return from her little excursion with Johnny. The boys didn't know when she would be back, or even if she would be back.

Had the things that transpired over the course of the past few weeks—and really, the past year—not happened, the two would've enjoyed the opportunity to spend some time alone together at the mansion they found themselves living in, but as it was, their situation was temporary. They had to decide what they were going to do next, either stay in London and find a new place or go back to New York and move back into their old apartment, both options requiring Roger to revert back to the life he desperately wanted to get away from but couldn't.

That decision would have to wait, though, with Brian's funeral taking precedence in the blonde's mind.

He arrived at the church, the same one that Liz had been christened in, and swung the vehicle into the carpark. As he stepped out, he leaned against the car and stared at the sacred building that anticipated his entrance. Roger had never been one for religion, swearing that it had a tendency to fuck people up, and he never would've pegged Brian as a religious man, but now it made perfect sense—why he acted the way he did around the blonde; why he stuck by Chrissie's side even when she betrayed him not just once, but multiple times.

As Roger took a final drag from the cigarette that had burned down to a stub, he wondered if things would've been different if the professor was more like him, unburdened by the weight of judgment from those both holy and not. Maybe then they wouldn't have had a year between them, a year that changed it all.

The blonde dropped the cigarette to the asphalt and smothered it with the toe of his shoes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants and venturing into the forbidden place of worship.

Roger froze at the back of the church, staring at the small but recognizable group of people scattered about. They were all involved in their own conversations that introduced a low hum to the church's stale atmosphere, so no one really noticed his arrival, but Roger sure took notice of the people there.

He first saw Chrissie with whom he could only assume was Liz in her arms, talking with two people that the blonde had only ever seen once before—in a photograph that sat on the mantle of Brian's fireplace. They'd aged a bit since the last time he saw them, but they weren't nearly as happy as they were in that moment captured on film. The woman was in tears, clutching onto a handkerchief with shaky hands while the man beside her rubbed her back comfortingly, keeping a straight face that looked like it would break at any moment as he scanned the room in avoidance of the half-opened casket prominently displayed at the altar.

Verging on tears himself, Roger shifted his gaze to the other attendees, seeing a lot of familiar faces from the university, including those belonging to Paul, the janitor, as well as Dominique, Debbie, Anita, Veronica, John, and a student he only knew by association—Richie, the party guy the girls had compared him to when he dragged himself through the halls of Imperial College after receiving a beating from Tim. He even noticed that Sting and Stewart were there, standing off to the side and looking just as out of place as the blonde felt.

"You know, he wasn't that bad of a guy," someone blurted out, startling Roger. The blonde turned his head and saw Timothée standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest and lips curled upward into a smirk. He glanced over to meet the blonde's gaze and added, "I just wish he would've taken my advice."

Roger's brows furrowed together. "When on earth did you give him advice?"

"At a bar, a couple weeks ago." The headmistress's ex-husband reached into his coat and pulled out a flask, twisting the top off and taking a quick swig from it. "He was there with that friend of yours—Freddie was his name?" He extended the thin, metal canister out to the blonde, watching as he debated with himself over whether he should accept the offer. Ultimately, he did, drinking from the flask and handing it back to its owner who explained, "Anyways, I told him to stay as far away from her as he could. 'Guess he didn't listen to me."

An awkward silence interrupted the conversation, with Roger unsure of how to respond to the offhanded comment except for he didn't listen to me either, but he didn't feel it was appropriate to talk about the professor like that, especially here and now. 

After a long pause, the blonde finally blurted out, "So, what are you doing here, Timothée?"

"Oh, Chrissie invited me," her ex answered, skipping no beats as he stole another sip of his booze.

"And you said yes?"

Timothée shrugged his shoulders. "Well, not at first, but my afternoon cleared up and it's been a while since I dressed up for something, so I thought: what the hell? Let's see what she's up to." He scoffed. "I should've known she'd still be kissing everyone's ass and acting like she's some Mary Magdalene." Roger smirked at his old client's comparison. "What about you? How'd she rope you into coming?"

The blonde laughed. "She didn't."

"Then why—" Timothée didn't even have to finish his question to know the answer. "You're kidding. Him?"

"Him."

"Since when?"

"Last year."

The man shook his head in disbelief. "Of course." He leaned in and, with his finger pointed towards the headmistress who wandered away from Brian's parents and gravitated towards the guy she'd been seeing behind both Brian's and Timothée's backs, whispered, "Does she know?"

Roger nodded his head. "Oh yeah."

Timothée playfully smacked the blonde on the arm with his free hand and sneered, "You're terrible, Roger."

"I guess I am."

The headmistress's ex-husband smiled, and the gesture must have been infectious, for the blonde mirrored the facial expression but with red cheeks. They stood at the back of the church and shared a few more sips from the flask before Timothée asked, "So, how long do you think you'll be in London for?"

"Dunno," Roger answered, swirling around the last bit of booze inside the metal container. "I really only came here for a gig."

"'Must've been a big spender for you to come all the way back from New York," Timothée replied, mistaking the true nature of the gig that lured Roger back to the place he wanted to get away from. The blonde watched with furrowed brows as his old client dug into his coat once more and extracted a business card, swapping it out with the flask in his hand and suggesting slyly, "Why don't you give me a call before you leave, yeah? I promise I'll make it worth your while; pay you twice as much as they did—three times, even."

Roger chuckled nervously. "Oh, no, I—"

"Just do it," Timothée cut him short, patting him on the shoulder and walking out.