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three.

  John had not planned on getting wasted on his kitchen floor by himself, but one beer led to another and soon he was almost finished with the six pack of beers he had bought a few days ago. He has a tendency to drink a lot when he's angry, which much to the joy of his liver doesn't happen too often. 

The phone had not rang in a while and John was extremely happy about that. Maybe the rest of the band had finally realized that he wasn't coming back. That he was done with the band for good. And it wasn't like they couldn't find a replacement for him. Millions of people around the globe dreamed that they could be a part of Queen. There were bound to be at least a couple of hundred people, who could play bass like John can. Queen could survive without him. 

He took another sip from his beer can and slowly swallowed it. John still hasn't gotten used to the taste of German beer, even if he has lived in Germany for a few months. He missed England. He never wanted to be in Munich for this long in the first place. 

This city seemed to be slowly bringing out the worst in everyone. It had seemed magical at first —a place where they could find new sounds, get new experiences and maybe find a new perspective on life, but that initial excitement faded as soon as problems began to rise. Freddie was always out, doing god knows what with that personal manager of his, Paul Prenter. John doesn't want to know what Paul has dragged Freddie into, but he knows that drugs are involved. 

Roger was quieter and John could tell that it was because he is unhappy. He was unhappy with the record and the direction that they were going with it, but unlike Brian, he kept his mouth shut, because he knows that they can't keep making the same stuff album after album. Roger was drinking a lot more too, but not like Freddie or John. He wasn't going to clubs or bars or places like that. John wasn't sure if there were days anymore when Roger was sober or when he hadn't had at least two drinks before noon. John had tried to talk to Roger about it and tell him that he cared about his well-being more than he thought he did, but Roger just shut him out and told him to mind his own business. So, John stayed out of it. 

And then there was Brian. He had always been the one who argued to most, but it wasn't ever a big thing. It never got in the way, because back then he backed off if the other person didn't give in. Here he just kept bickering until he got his way. Or then he just goes behind someone's back.

Fucking Brian, John thought, gazing into his now empty beer can. He just has to have everything done the way he wants. Maybe one day he'll get his head out of his ass and realize he can't have everything he wants. 

John threw the empty can at the refrigerator. The can hit it and bounced off it next to John's feet, where the rest of the six pack of beer where. John didn't know what to do now. There was more alcohol in his house, but he would have to get up from the floor to get them, which he really didn't feel like doing. And as comfortable as the floor is, John really didn't want to spend to rest of the day on it. 

Knock

John froze. Someone was here. Someone knew he was here. John held his breath, thinking that would somehow alarm the person behind his door that he was home.

The person knocked again and then spoke, "John? Deaky? Deaks? I know you're in there. Please, open the door". 

John exhaled. Roger fucking Taylor was outside his house, sounding genuinely worried. Who would have thought this could ever happen.

"Please," Roger says, "I just want to talk".

Too bad that John didn't. But maybe he could allow Roger to speak. As long as he says the words "Brian", "wrong" and "sorry" in the same sentence.

John slowly lifted himself up from the floor. His head was spinning, but he could ignore that. He kicked the beer cans out his way and made his way out of the kitchen into the living room and then finally he was at the front door. He placed his hand on the handle and turned it. 

One small push forward and the door was open. Roger stood there, scratching the back of neck, looking worried. He could probably tell that John had been drinking. John hadn't looked in the mirror, but he could feel that his cheeks were flushed. 

"You know," Roger starts, placing a hand on John's shoulder, "You could have answered when I called". 

John pushes Roger's hand away, "There is nothing you can say that can make me change my mind," His voice came out weaker than he expected, but hopefully Roger didn't pay attention to it. 

"Can I come in?" The drummer asks. 

John nods and takes a few steps back, so Roger can go through the door. He heads straight into the living room and sits down on the couch. John closes the door and follows him, wondering if this was the right decision. He sits next to Roger, who is looking up at the ceiling. 

"Freddie told me to call Veronica when you didn't pick up your phone," Roger says, not really sure why he thought John would care. "He said that she knows you the best, because she was your wife" That wasn't true, but then again, Freddie wasn't exactly the most observant person. He still thought John was straight, for example. "She told me that one of us should just come over and talk to you, so that's why I'm here".