Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

45. I Left Home Just A Week Before...

F.M
London, England
April, 5th, 1985

"Are we going to address the elephant in the room?"

Hayes glared at me from across the breakfast  table but kept his lips sealed shut. He then proceeded to loudly rustle his copy of the Daily Mirror before he swivelled his body away from mine. I tried to catch his gaze again but he simply buried his face further into the paper.

"It's sorted Freddie, we don't need to drag it up again." Phoebe almost dropped the empty cup of tea which he was trying to clear away.

"Not the elephant then—the horse in the room, considering Phoebe now knows that Hayes is hu—"

The paper snapped shut, "Shut. Up!"

"I didn't see anything!" Phoebe protested as he went a rather vibrant shade of red, "He had a towel on."

"Just about." Hayes grumbled and tossed his fingers through his damp curls.

"How is Hayes going to feel comfortable moving into Garden Lodge, when you're being a little miss peeping Tom?"

Phoebe may have accidentally walked in on Hayes after having a shower earlier, and I may have found the situation hilarious.  Oh he didn't get a full on flashing, I think Hayes managed to scramble for the towel just in time, but still the damage had been done. Living together had its teething problems which I'm safe to say had nothing to do with me because I was a delight.

"I wasn't being a peeping— I didn't know he was in the room!" Phoebe exclaimed,  "Hayes I really am sorry—"

"Alright, alright." Hayes waved a dismissive hand in Phoebe's direction before he stood up and placed a small kiss against the top of my head, "I'm going to get changed, make sure you keep Tom in here with you."

With that Hayes tightened his plum bathrobe and added a second knot to it, all the while throwing a meaningful glance in Phoebe's direction.

"I'll keep Tom here, don't worry." I murmured, and gave his waist a small squeeze.

Phoebe loudly huffed, clearly not fond of his new nickname. He then grabbed the rest of the delph off of the table, and disappeared off towards the kitchen.

"This better not be the start of some torrid afraid." I tried to keep a straight face at the accusation.

Hayes shrugged a shoulder, "Who knows."

I scoffed.

"The Griffith's have a longstanding tradition of sleeping with the help. My father had an affair with a housekeeper, my grandfather had a child with the cook... Although sometimes it switches, like there was some noise about my great, great grandfather and Queen Vic—"

"—I'm glad you're breaking traditions then. Not sleeping with maids." I laughed and pulled him down for one more kiss. "Not sleeping with women at all actually, perhaps a queen though, good for you, Hayes."

"Mhm." Hayes chuckled before he finally drew himself away from me.

I wasn't left alone for too long, because the next thing I knew Phoebe was marching a man into my dining room.

"Mr. Healy is here for Hayes."

Niall Healy, the lanky Irishman appeared in the doorway with a cheery grin cracked across his oversized mouth. Niall was a producer for Hayes' programme; he was the only one who didn't kiss Hayes' arse or run away in terror. Naturally that meant they were best of mates by Hayes' standards. Ninety percent of the time they were thick as thieves, but that other ten percent was reserved solely for them to hiss at each other. He was a replacement Alex, not that Hayes would ever admit he missed his fashion critic friend.