Warning(s): not proof read, minor swearing, ill Brian, hepatitis, amputation mentions, Roger in makeup (eyeliner)
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"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥"
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"𝐒𝐨, 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 any alcohol at all?" Roger frowns at me as he pulls up to the Bulsara residence. It was Freddie's birthday and we were all pretty much invited to the party.
I sigh at my boyfriend of two years. "No, Roger. I've said that already." "At all?" he questions again. "No!" I grunt. "But I've seen Freddie drink, he could drink for the whole of the UK." he ponders. "I don't know, maybe they didn't mind him drinking." I shrug. "So why didn't we get him a bottle of Stolichnaya?" he asks. "I wanted to please his parents and respect their traditions." I tell him. "Willow Storm, you are so selfless." he grins at me. "You say it like I'm a saint." I say.
"You're my saint." he coos while kissing the top of my head. "Oi! You two!" a voice interrupts our blissful moment... Freddie. "Once you've both finished your little public affections you might wanna step inside, you motherfuckers better have my birthday present, otherwise please fuck off!" The two of us laugh at the hyper birthday boy and hop out the car. "Happy birthday, dear boyfriend!" I hug him and hand him the present bag that had an opera vinyl inside of, it was one that he had yet to get and I luckily found it for him while in Kensington Market.
"Oh, darling! You didn't have to!" he cheers giving me a hug again. "Fred, you saved us from having to find another singer as soon as Tim left, of course we did." I laugh. "Well it was all-" Roger starts and I shush him up. "No, don't give me all the credit! You were the one who said 'let's get Freddie a vinyl'." I imitate Roger's voice, high but harsh. "That sounded nothing like me!" he frowns.
