PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

XXX.

♛ ♛ ♛

Touring. Again. My favorite love hate relationship.

A Night at the Opera was a success, as I knew it would be, and of course, touring came along even before the record was officially released. I've reprised my role of making sure everything onstage runs smoothly and the each show has its own personality of sorts. It's just as draining as I remember, if not more, but what can you do as the beating heart of every performance (with all humbleness of course).

My birthday fell during the tour as well, and thankfully they were performing in London for it. I hadn't wanted anything exciting, but the boys insisted due to my turning twenty one and that being "a big thing in the US" as they put it. It's not a night I'll be forgetting soon... the parts that I can remember, anyway.

The Europe tour ended Christmas Eve and we all spent Christmas together before purging our lives of one another for just about a month. Roger and I took another break that lasted about a week and a half before he showed up at my door, so I'd say our relationship is pretty healthy. My relationship with Freddie, on the other hand, seems to be strained.

He's cut his hair a bit shorter and it suits him nicely, but unfortunately, that's not the only thing about him that's changed. He's been more distant and though I see him, I don't really... well, see him. Anytime I do get a chance to talk to him, Pretner's there to sweep him away to some waiting guest or some other lame excuse. He's been pissing me off recently, a lot more than he had before, and I miss Freddie, more than anything.

What I have noticed is that every time Freddie disappears with Paul, I always get a glimpse of a man, or multiple, going with them, and I think I've put two and two together quite well. I've always had my suspicions, but I think they're finally confirmed.

"Freddie!" I shout, jogging over to him and Paul before they can walk away. "For gods sake, can I talk to you?"

"We've got important things to do-" Paul begins, but I snap my fingers at him.

"Shut it Pretner," I snap, "spare him a night would you?"

"Clementine-"

"No, I'm not asking anymore, go fuck off for a while." I grab Freddie's sleeve, nodding my head to the side. "I have champagne in my hotel room."

When we get there, Freddie sits down on the couch as I pour us both glasses in the connected kitchen.

"Where's Roger?" He asks, air stiff, something I'm not used to between us.

"I told him and the other two boys to go to one of the local pubs and not to come back unless one of them was dying or I picked them up," I make my way to the sofa, handing Freddie his drink, "they won't be back for a while."

The silence settles over us again as I sit down, so much so that I swear I can hear the bubbling of the champagne.

"I miss you, Fred," I say, focusing on the clock across the room, "we never talk anymore and we're almost always in the same vicinity."

I look over at him after a moment, and for the first time in a while, that showman facade crumbles a bit, and he looks tired. Really tired.

"I'm sorry," he looks down into his glass at the liquid, swirling it a bit.

"Something's wrong," I press my lips to the glass, "we used to tell each other everything. God damn me if I can't tell when something's off with you."