"Racing in a Strange Frontier": A Roger Taylor Imagine

Is this the *real* life?

You watched a cloud pass over the moon through the window as a light breeze blew through the trees outside. You were sitting in the same corner you always did, a haphazard pile of books and papers taking up most of the small table. You had been doing work for about three hours now or at least pretending to. You checked your watch, it was 8:37 pm. The cafe where you were working closed at 9:30, meaning that you had about an hour of relative peace and quiet left.

The roommate that you had shared a flat with for about three months had impressed you by managing to either find a new guy to bring home or throw a rager every night. This had lead to quite a large collection of discarded clothing and unidentifiable substances at your flat. Not to mention, countless headaches and sleepless nights. So, you had begun hauling your university books to the cafe where you worked and staying until close, trying to finish your mountain of assignments. It had not been going well so far, which was clear by your rapidly falling grades. Working during your already limited free time and picking up shifts had not reduced the looming bills that had piled up along with the threat of an eviction notice. Your flatmate was obviously more concerned with their social life than with helping with finances. Your bus card had run out months ago. Your diet had evolved into only canned beans, stale biscuits, and weak coffee. The list of financial issues could go on forever, not even mentioning the fact that your life seemed to be on a rapid downward spiral. Your parents would probably help you out if you asked, but you already felt pathetic and degraded enough. All of your friends from grade school had moved on to "greater" things like babies and starting businesses and didn't have time for meager university students. "Friend" felt like a foreign term and you genuinely couldn't remember the last time that you had interacted with anyone "for fun".

You sighed and rubbed your hands on your face, feeling the effects of caffeine withdrawal beginning to kick in. Trying to distract yourself from the mounting stress of your personal issues, you opened your eyes and placed your chin on your fists. Looking around the cafe, you saw your coworkers sharing a cigarette and failing to hide the fact that they were downing a bottle of cheap vodka. An older man in a trench coat was nursing a stained mug of black coffee. A younger group of girls were on the patio, smoking a joint and laughing.

You looked back down at the table, glancing at a grade on a recent paper. A 68. And a frowny face. Red pen marks seemed to swim before your eyes when you shuffled the pile of papers on the table. To be completely honest, you were just plain tired. Tired of this fucking pointless routine every day of your life. Work, school, sleep, coffee; you were fucking sick of it.

If you could just spread your wings or sail away, even with how fucking stupid it sounded, you would. Anything would be better than this.

The door flew open, hitting the wall of the cafe and ringing the bell, snapping you out of your internal monologue. Two people walked in as you looked up from your papers. One was a slender woman, dressed in shorts and a sheer blouse. She had light brown hair and was truly the definition of stunning. She looked like she could have walked out of a fashion magazine. However, there was something sharp and almost mean about her face, made more clear when she looked around the cafe with a mixture of disgust and disdain.

The second person who had walked in had sunglasses on and was wearing one of the gaudiest outfits you had ever seen anyone wear on a Tuesday night at 8:43 pm. He had on tight black satin pants embroidered with some sort of silvery vine pattern on the sides, a blood orange blouse that was mostly unbuttoned, revealing his smooth chest, bright white platform boots, and a blue suit jacket with prints of orange koi fish and yellow exotic birds. He kinda looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark, but seeing the fiery look on his face, you would never say that to him. It was almost funny that he looked so angry, because he was so well, small. He had huge blue eyes that seemed even brighter against his blue jacket. His eyes drooped slightly at the sides and were coated with thick, fluffy lashes that were longer than even yours. His nose was slightly longer and pointed at the end, turning down a smidge. He was a bit on the stumpy side but in a charming sort of way that made him look like some sort of pixie. He was probably only a few centimeters taller than the girl he had walked in with. He had enough muscle to not appear scrawny but was certainly no Charles Atlas. And his hair. He had the most gorgeous hair that you had ever seen on any guy. He took off his sunglasses and shook it out as the strawberry blonde locks glimmered in the dim cafe lighting. His hair reached down a little past his shoulders and was perfectly tousled and wavy. There was some sort of messy, curly fringe framing his face that seemed to have been cut with a pair of kitchen scissors.

He caught your eye as he walked into the cafe and gave you an indistinguishable expression. You quickly looked down at your lap and felt embarrassment flood your cheeks. You fingered the ratty white camisole that you were wearing and smoothed the long, flowery skirt that your mum had made. You thought about your own appearance and ran a hand through your greasy and scraggly hair. The ends were dyed and dull, but the roots had grown significantly with your natural color. You wished even more now that you could fix it, but couldn't afford more hair dye.

You watched the two of them walk into the cafe and approach the counter out of the corner of your eye. They seemed to be ignoring each other and you could almost feel the tension radiating off the two of them. You couldn't lie to yourself, you were a little jealous of the girl who had walked in. You knew that you certainly weren't even close to her looks. On top of that, you knew that no guy as purely stunning as this one would ever even look at you, much less show any interest. Thinking about what it might be like for any guy or even person to "like" you, you began to get lost in your thoughts. Suddenly, you jumped and looked up as you heard a thick, raspy voice behind you... TO BE CONTINUED

(Btw, here are some reference pictures that I used for my description of Roger :))