It wasn't noticeable in the beginning.
It was only Freddie refusing to touch someone or how he would just happen to fall asleep before Roger's party started. It was the way he would hug Jim for a few moments longer than normal or would constantly ask how he was feeling.
"Any nausea? Or headaches?"
"Are you sure that you're feeling alright? You promise that you're not just telling me that for the sake of it?"
Of course, he would just brush it off with a mention of how Jim normally caught the flu around winter or that Brian's wife had caught a stomach bug and he wanted to make sure Jim wasn't out working in the garden when he should be in bed.
Then there were mood swings.
Sudden bursts of emotion that no one would see coming. He would be alright one minute, a wreck the next. Freddie had always experienced mood swings, particularly around big tour dates or an awards show or if the latest album wasn't gliding through the recording process as much as he wanted. But they were never like that. Jim could remember the worst one. It was in the evening and Freddie, seeming to be completely fine and happy, had headed into the living room. Then there was a loud, inaudible shouting coming from that very room. Jim, followed by one or two cats who were curious about the origin of the sudden shouting, entered the room to see Freddie facing the TV, his back to Jim. One hand was clutching at the back of his short hair, in what looked like anguish. "Dear Lord Freddie, what's up with you?" Jim had asked, staring at his boyfriend in confusion. Freddie nearly leapt across the room in shock, quickly jabbing at the TV to turn it off from whatever was being shown. He swiveled around, sharply wiping his eyes in the process. "Nothing, dear. I see that you brought Romeo with you, hm?"
There was clearly something wrong with him. But Freddie simply dismissed it as a 'tad too much to drink' or, when he was feeling in a more cheerful mood, his 'menopause'. No one decided to question it. Maybe they had their suspicions but didn't want to admit it.
Eventually people started to have definite suspicions. Friends would whisper behind Freddie's back. They had all seen the reports of the AIDS epidemic - which was labeled as "The Gay Plague". Jim could tell that people were talking about Freddie because of how quickly they would fall into silence whenever him or his boyfriend would walk into the room and simply stare as if they were a deer caught in headlights. Freddie noticed too.
"Why the fuck do they have to discuss me? My life is none of their fucking business."
"Have they ever heard of privacy? They just can't fucking help themselves, can they?"
But they weren't the only ones who were asking questions. The press were doing the same thing too. But in a much more, open manner. Soon articles were appearing everywhere, each one humiliating the man even further.
"Queen's Queen and His Gay Fury"
"Somebody To Love? Or Somebody To Take To Bed?"
"Mercury Wasn't Enough For Him, Now He Wants Uranus!"
Each headline lead to a money grabbing story, which lead to Freddie becoming even more upset and unraveled by the day. Quotes were being fired out, people who neither Jim or Freddie ever knew decided to come forward with their own stories about Mr Mercury's Irish loverboy. Cameras followed the frontman's every move, snapping at any opportunity when they thought he looked a shade paler than the day before. It became so bad that a small group of paparazzi chose to camp outside of Garden Lodge, desperate for any news that may suggest The Persian's health was failing him. It was like they wanted him to be dying.
