Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 105

The blonde's eyes trailed after him, a pathetic glimmer of hope in them as he waited for Chrissie's ex-husband to turn around or look over his shoulder or something that would let him know he was joking. However, Timothée kept his back to him the entire time, the door clicking shut and directing Roger's attention to the card in his hands. He stared at the digits printed on the small, thick piece of paper and bit his lip, tempted to make the call even though he knew he shouldn't. He couldn't.

Roger guiltily shoved the card inside his pocket and started down the aisle, approaching the casket with slowing steps. By the time he reached the first pew and had a better view of the lifeless professor, he could barely move. The reality of the situation had finally hit him.

At the back of the church, drinking with Timothée, it didn't seem real. It wasn't Brian lying in the casket at the front, and it wasn't his funeral that he was at. However, now that he wasn't at the back and the slight buzz from the alcohol had begun to wear off, all of this was very real. Brian was in that casket, and this was his funeral.

The truth proved too much for the blonde to handle, his heart pounding against his chest and his vision starting to blur, but when he turned on his heel to leave, he was stopped yet again.

"Hello, Roger," the person standing before him greeted with as little enthusiasm as a person could muster.

"Hey, Chrissie," he replied just as flatly, tugging uncomfortably at his suit jacket.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The blonde's cheeks grew red. "I-I was just about to go, actually."

"You haven't even paid your respects yet, though," the headmistress argued, keeping her voice level and her eyes locked on his.

Roger glanced down at the infant sleeping in Chrissie's arms, looking almost as peaceful as the man she believed was her father. He blinked away the tears that formed in his eyes and returned his attention to the headmistress, confessing through gritted teeth, "I can't do this, Chrissie."

She scoffed. "And you think I can?" She tipped her head towards the coffin. "Come on. We'll go together."

Chrissie denied Roger the chance to escape by grabbing his hand with her free one and guiding him to the altar, bringing him right up to the casket where the professor lay still, his hazel eyes hidden behind closed lids and his cold hands folded over his unmoving chest. His skin was ghostly pale, and his lips were drawn into a straight line. Roger couldn't bear to look at Brian once he saw the small mark on his forehead where the undertaker had tried to mask the bullet hole that matched the one on his chest, though that one was covered by the button-down he'd been dressed in.

"I left him for one second," the headmistress murmured. "One bloody second, and he gets himself killed."

Roger slowly turned his head back to her, eyebrows knit together. "What are you talking about? You were gone the entire first act."

"You know you couldn't have been with him, right?" she snapped, cutting to the chase and meeting his resentful gaze with glossy eyes. "I mean, you must've known it was never going to work out between the two of you."

The blonde dropped his head in shame, unwilling to admit that he did.

"I needed him, Roger," Chrissie growled, adjusting her grip on her daughter.

"Oh, come on. The only thing you needed him for was to keep everyone from finding out how much of a whore you are," Roger replied, his voice carrying throughout the large hall and attracting the attention of just about everyone as he added, "Your kid's not even his! I mean, who the fuck even is her father?"

Her eyes flickered over to that infamous group, and Roger's gaze followed, landing on the lanky student whose guilty eyes instantly shifted to his feet. It was then that Roger put two and two together and saw for himself the truth that had been hiding in plain sight.

"Shit," he muttered. "Is John—"

"You're missing the point here, Roger," Chrissie murmured, returning her attention to the casket and then him. "I needed Brian, and he needed me." She turned towards the blonde and eliminated what little space existed between them, whispering with poison on her tongue, "He didn't need you."

"Well, I think both him and Timothée would beg to differ," the blonde bit out before receiving a slap across the face, the sharp smack amplified by the vaulted ceilings and drawing everyone to the altar.

"Whoa!" Stewart exclaimed, getting between the pair and separating them. "What the hell's going on here?"

Rubbing his stinging cheek, Roger shot a glare at Chrissie and answered the drummer grimly, "I was just leaving." He met Stewart's concerned gaze before brushing past him and heading back down the aisle with a growing sense of urgency. He pushed through the church doors and rushed down the steps, adrenaline pumping through his veins and blinding him to his surroundings, so much so that he passed by Freddie and Mary without even acknowledging their presence.

"Roger?" Freddie called out, but to no avail. "Roger!" he shouted, stopping the blonde in the middle of the parking lot. He kept his back to him and his fiancé, though, hiding the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. Freddie dared to join the blonde's side and, placing hands on his upper arms to make them face one another, asked worriedly, "Darling, what's going on?"

"She didn't deserve him," he croaked, shaking his head and falling into his friend's chest with tears spilling from his eyes. "She didn't fucking deserve him."