Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

20 (August 23rd, 1975)

ROGER'S POV

I needed some fresh air. I couldn't believe what Brian just said.
That asshole.
As if drumming wouldn't require any skills.
Of course it did! And endurance and strength and a feel for rythm and talent and pain in my hands whilst playing all those gigs and open wounds and cramps...
And he just said it didn't require any skills.
My anger started to grow again inside of me.
Why would he even attack me like that?

I took my cigarettes out of my jacket and lit one.
I inhaled the smoke as if it could cure my broken heart and swipe away my anger.
It didn't, of course. But at least it calmed me down a little.

It was slowly getting colder outside, I could feel that the summer was over by now and winter was taking over the land.
What a frustrating time. Everything was slowly starting to die again.

I would have continued the argument and defended my position but then those stupid tears had to interrupt everything.
I would have started crying if I would have continued talking. That's why I simply left.

I watched the chickens on the farm.
They were happily picking the already slightly brownish grass on a huge meadow.
I sighed.
At that very moment I wanted to be a chicken. They didn't have any problems in their lives. They could just be themselves and run around.. doing whatever they wanted to do.
Without a stupid Brian ignoring them and picking on them.

Suddenly, something grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back.
I turned around just to look into Brian's eyes.
He looked sad.
Hah. Why would he look sad?
He wasn't the one who had been hurt.

I stared at him for a second, utterly unimpressed, then I turned away again, continuing to smoke my cigarette.
"Jerk.." I mumbled.

BRIAN'S POV

I sighed as he turned away again. "Rog, I'm so sorry..." I tried to start my explanation and hurried to the other side to see his face again.
"I don't know why I said that. It was stupid of me, I didn't think about it."

"Yeah, yeah. You're always sorry, Brian. The problem with that is, that you always say that you are sorry, but you never mean it. That's so British."
He looked at me.
"Congratulations, you really know how to use shallow words you don't mean just to fill the silence."

I raised my eyebrows.
His roast on me sounded very poetic. It could have been a song text.
I almost wanted to pick up on the argument again but I knew that that wouldn't be a wise move.
So I immediately shook that thought out of my head and continued:
"No, Roger, you don't understand. I was just confused because you started to attack me so suddenly... So I just argued back I guess. Which was stupid, I know."

I leaned onto the fence right next to me to make myself a little smaller to be at eye level with Roger.
He was still smaller, though.

"Now, will you tell me what's wrong?"
A weak smile formed on my lips as I slightly tilted my head and looked at him.

Roger's always sleepy eyes stared into my soul. Yes, he seemed to be pretty mad at me.
"You know exactly what's wrong, Brian." He hissed.

I pressed my lips together, raised my eyebrows and my arms and shook my head.
"No, I'm sorry, Roger. I really don't know what's wrong. Just tell me already."

He rolled his eyes, then he crossed his arms.
"You are acting like you hate me! Or you are just ignoring me! What the hell Brian? Why can't you just act like..." His voice broke and became quiet. "..the way before we were together?"
Roger turned towards the meadow, leaning onto the fence as well and he stared into the distance.

He probably thought I couldn't see the tears in his eyes.
I sighed and stared at the chickens.
"Look, I think that's just your imagination." I tried to explain but as soon as I had said that, Roger hit his hand on the wooden fence with full power.
The fence started to vibrate strongly and I flinched back.
"No, Brian. It's not my fucking imagination. You are acting differently and I'm asking you to stop right now."

He glanced over at me. "Either you don't treat me any different than before when we're around others, or I'll have to break up with you."
I was glad that he kept his voice down so the others couldn't hear what we were talking about.
His requirement was a shock for me.
Was I really acting that differently?
Now I felt really bad.

I pressed my lips together.
It really seemed to bother Roger a lot. I've never seen him cry before but since we were together which had not been an awfully long time yet, he had cried twice already. And it had always been because of me.
It was my fault that he felt bad and unhappy.
That was the last thing I wanted.

I gulped and simply nodded.
"Fine, I'm going to try. I'm sorry."
I closed my eyes and exhaled.
"I'm sorry that you have to go through all of this because of me. I'm a terrible boyfriend, I know."
I slowly opened my eyes again and our eyes met.

"You're not... You're just acting like a jerk. But you're not. Just stop caring about what other people think already.. I'm just doing all of this here because I love you, Bri.."
Roger smiled at me slightly.
I nodded and pulled him in for a hug.
He gave me a kiss on my neck.

We returned to the studio;
Deaky was plucking his bass whilst sitting on the couch, a cigarette in his mouth and Freddie was smoking as well, reading the newspaper.

As Fred spotted us, he put the newspaper away and stood up, leaning his fists against his hips.
"So? Can we continue?"
Roger nodded and immediately hurried towards his drumsticks which were still scattered on the ground.

Freddie chuckled.
"That was fast, how did you do that, Bri?" He asked whispering towards me.
I just shrugged and smiled.
I was relieved that we talked about it and that I didn't lose Roger.