Time Passages (Queen or Freddie Mercury Fanfic)

56. Open Windows

Danny

"Ooo, you make me live," Freddie's younger voice sings through my stereo. "You, you're my best friend."

I strum the chords along to the music till it ends. Uncle John apparently wrote this song, which makes it even better. I'm getting pretty good at it, actually, but that's probably because I've heard it before on Mr. Adams's station sometimes. A few of the notes in the bridge are kind of hard to figure out, but I'll get there.

"Don't Stop Me Now" almost begins, but I'm not ready to learn that one just yet. I want to master the rhythm guitar part of "You're My Best Friend" first. So I skip back to number six, and I'm just about to start it over when my cell phone vibrates.

"Again?" I mutter. When I open up my phone and see the message, which reads "You okay?" that's all I need to know. Without even responding, I shut the phone again, sliding it to the other side of the bed.

Since a couple of hours ago, Lauren keeps on sending me little texts, wanting me to reply- but I've already decided I'm not talking to her anymore today. Usually I dread Lauren's weekends at her mom's house, but I'm still pretty upset at her for just abandoning me in art. She's always doing that to me, just leaving me all by myself because of Baylee and her stupid girl friends saying we're a couple even though we're not. Most of the time I can take it a little better, I know, be tougher about it. But today I'm too sad to be tough. Some people can be both at the same time, like Mom. But not me.

I press Play and listen to the track all the way through one more time. The music sounds pretty soft because the door is open; Freddie is downstairs working on his newer songs, and I don't want to miss anything. I'd really like to be down there so I can hear better, maybe even talk to him some more especially since I may never get the chance to again after tonight, but Mom has told me over and over not to bug him when he's at the piano. Freddie may have gotten me out of a detention, but I'm still very much in the doghouse. So here, I'll obey.

Speaking of the doghouse, all of a sudden the piano music cuts out, and Freddie exclaims in an annoyed tone, "Fry!"

I hop off the bed, head down the hall while Farnsworth squawks as I run past the cage. "I'll get him," I yell.

"No, no, it's all right, I'll put him out," he calls back. "He's just being a bit sort of underfoot again."

"I'm sorry," I murmur. Tromping down the stairs, skipping every other step, I leap from the third to the floor and land on the first floor with a thump, but Freddie's already sliding the back door open.

He points outside and looks down at Fry, who's sitting quietly at his feet. "Out," he commands him. But Fry doesn't move.

A few seconds go by before Freddie says it again, but this time with a laugh under his words. "Out, I said! Beat it! Bog off! Scram!"

When Fry still doesn't budge a muscle, he rolls his eyes. "F---ing sausage dog," he mutters. "Right. Suppose I'll have to throw you out, then."

Then he bends over, I guess to pick Fry up- only for the "sausage dog" to lick his hand and roll over onto his back, looking helpless. And I burst out laughing, hand flying up to cover my mouth.

Freddie rolls his eyes and swears under his breath again, pulling his leg back as though he's about to kick the dog out onto the icy patio. He doesn't, of course, and instead squats down a little closer and rubs Fry's soft belly. "You're very charming- but it won't help you," he murmurs.

"It kind of does, though," I tell him.

He looks back at me, his raised brows making ridges in his forehead. "Oh really?"