Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

19. If I Could Let You Stay...

H.G
New York, USA
December, 3rd

"Will the cat be okay?"

Freddie glanced over at me, each exhale he let out shot forth clear swirls in the frigid air. "Your concern is adorable."

"I want to keep my job." I bit out, immediately offended that he thought I would care about that abomination.

"She'll be fine dear." Freddie chuckled.

I nodded, and dug my hands further into my pockets. This was already an awful idea. It was almost half past eleven, and snow crunched underfoot. Why did I pick one of the most bitterly cold nights to venture outside of my apartment? I could have remained cosy, lit a fire, draped myself in my authentic sheepskin blanket...

"Are you sure you want to go out?"

"Do you not want to?"

"Did I say that?"

"Drop the bloody attitude." Freddie grumbled, which I thought was a little rich from him but I pursed my lips shut anyway.

I snuck another glance towards him when he wasn't looking. Freddie was so slight in person, yet he still managed to swagger about as if he were ten foot tall. I always thought it a cliche and obvious for musicians to constantly comment on how 'shy' they were offstage. My first impressions of Freddie were that he was just as arrogant onstage as he was off. I also heard from many colleagues and acquaintances that he was just as much of a diva too. From our first phone call, it seemed all the rumours were true. It wasn't until our little staged meeting in London that I realised he only appeared arrogant because he was on the defence against me. That's why I tried to be less abrasive once we met to get drinks.

I probably failed. After four years in New York, experiencing probably one of the numbest periods in my life, I wasn't used to attempting friendliness towards anyone but Emma. There was a reason people scurried to avoid me at work, and why I spent my evenings alone. Escaping to New York led to me having a rather humdrum existence. That was until Freddie somehow shoved his way into my life.

"I can't drive because I have had a few drinks," I thought aloud, "but I desperately need some heat. Want to sit in the car whilst we decide what to do?"

Oddly, Freddie looked blank for a moment at my words. Did I say something wrong? I nudged him with my shoulder as we walked, "Well?"

Freddie quickly blinked his dark eyes as if he had just snapped out of a daze, "What? Oh, yes. Heat up- you need heat- in the car- yes."

"Alright echo, settle down."

Freddie fixed me a look that roughly translated to 'I can't stand you', yet for some reason I still felt a smile tug at my lips.

I fished out the keys to my silver AMV8 Aston Martin and set about unlocking the door. "Heated seats are a godsend. This is my first car with them."

Freddie hummed noncommittally.

"You're a Royce man." I ventured, "So is Oliver." And that's where the similarities end.

"It's an attractive car."

"Too bulky to drive." I chuckled, "But I suppose that doesn't matter to you. Why did you never learn?"

"I knew one day I would be the type of person who would be driven around and not the one in the driving seat."

"A diva?"

"A star." Freddie scoffed, and my eyes flicked down to the hands he was desperately trying to warm up.