PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

XXXII.

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The boys haven't even finished their new album when Freddie has the magnificent idea of preforming a free concert. I'm not one to question his creative genius, so hey, why not?

"Clementine! Come on!" I look up from the sink in the women's restroom as there's a curt knock at the door.

We're meeting Richard Branson today. He's the man who's helping set up the whole thing for the band at Hyde Park. It was just supposed to be Reid and I considering I manage the whole set up portion of the shows, but Freddie insisted that he come to make sure everyone is on the same page. That of course led to the others joining as well, unfortunately including Paul.

"Coming!" I respond, grabbing my jacket off the hook and swinging open the door to find Roger, hands shoved in his pockets. He flicks his head towards the dining area of the restaurant and I follow his motion.

We walk through the indoor section first before exiting to the outdoor seating. It's the same riverside restaurant as the one the band met Reid at, and from what Deaky told me, it's the same table as well. It's into the evening this time, however, and as I sit, the cool breeze off the water gives me goosebumps.

"Pleasure of you to join us my dear," Freddie grins. I roll my eyes, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"We thought you may have ran," Brian adds on, and I scoff, placing the stick between my lips.

"I was gone all of five minutes." Roger lights my cigarette for me as I speak and I nod a thank you without looking at him, taking a drag.

"And it was five minutes too long darling," Freddie says dramatically, "they're all an awful bore, how am I to get along without you?"

"Here you are." We all look up as the waitress hurries to our table, followed closely by a man and a woman. She gestures to the table and the man thanks her before turning his attention to us. Roger plucks the cigarette from my lips before Reid and I stand, me holding my hand out across the table.

"Clementine Landers." The man looks at my outstretched palm before taking it.

"Richard Branson, a pleasure," he shakes it firmly before releasing me. The boys stand up as well and everyone goes through the usual pleasantries before we're all seated once again.

"Oh," Branson looks over his shoulder to the girl standing by him, "this is my assistant." She waves at us before pulling her hand back behind her back, almost as if she's nervous.

"I'm Dominique Beyrand."

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The dinner went surprisingly well considering the entirety of the band was there. More specifically Freddie and his... Freddie, opinions, but we got through without a hitch. We're headed home now, well, supposed to be.

Freddie stole me away with him without much protest from Roger, claiming that we hadn't spent a proper amount of time together in a while. I pecked Rog's cheek as a goodbye before I took Fred's hand to be dragged to his car.

The drive to his and Mary's home is filled with our usual dosage of chaos and rock music, much to the chauffeur's delight I'm sure. Pretner insisted on Freddie having someone drive him home, as he always does for some, inexplicable reason. Have I mentioned I'm not so much a fan of the man?

When we arrive at the flat, Freddie makes us both some tea before we sit down on the couch, talking about everything and nothing until it dies down a bit.

"Freddie?" I ask after a particularly warming sip of the tea.

"Hm?" He hums, not looking at me.

"Where is Mary?" It's silent for a while, Fred looking off, his grip on the mug tightening.

"We're not together anymore." I tilt my head, mouth slightly agape, furrowing my brows.

"Oh, Fred, I'm-"

"No, we'll have none of that," he chastises, turning to me, "you know I hate the pity." I smile halfheartedly, bringing the mug to my lips.

"I really thought you two were a forever sort of deal," I wrap my other hand around the cup as well before taking yet another sip.

"Oh we're friends all right, for the rest of time if I have anything to say about it," he stands, setting his mug down on the center table and walking to window.

"Freddie." I don't wait for him to respond. "Are you-"

"Gay?" He looks back at me, "Yes I am, darling."

"I was going to ask if you were alright but that works too I suppose," I laugh, but somehow it doesn't reach him, and he's looks troubled as he watches me.

"Clementine, I need you to give me a straight answer," he comes back over to me and I sit up a little straighter, suddenly anxious for what he has to say. "No dancing around the question."

Freddie sits down next to me, taking my tea from my grasp and setting it next to his on the table before placing his hand on my leg. I tilt my head, heart going a mile a second.

"What's happened between you and Roger?"

I stare at him for a moment, whether in disbelief or some other obscure emotion, I'm not sure. I shake my head a bit, as if it'll rid everything from my mind to make the question clearer.

"How do you mean?" He stands again, walking across the room.

"Somethings gone between you two," he picks up two wine glasses from the rack, setting them down. "I mean, you hardly looked at each other all night. No hand on the thigh or a brush of the cheek."

I cross my legs under me, tucking my hands beneath my thighs.

"Don't say that." Freddie looks back at me after grabbing a bottle of wine.

"What happened?"

I slip a hand out from under me, beginning to chew on my thumb nail, looking down into my lap. "We had a disagreement about something. Something important."

"I figured as much my dear." He pours a generous amount in both glasses before bringing them over. He hands me one which I take with a nod of thanks.

"You two are just going through the motions darling," he settles back down on the couch, closer to me then before. "The way you speak to one another, the way you walk next to each other, it's all tedious and thought out."

It's now my turn to look off at nothing, sipping the red liquid thoughtlessly. But it's true isn't? Even the kiss goodbye. I only did that because Freddie was there and it's what seemed normal for us. I don't believe I would have done it otherwise.

Something between a silent sob and a scoff jolts my chest and I lean over, setting my head down on Freddie's shoulder.

"It's not love anymore if it's a chore."

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