The door is closed. Roger is in the hall, arguing with Lea.
Not arguing. Begging her for something, from the sound of it. For her forgiveness, most likely. Brian can't be sure – the walls are soundproof enough to stop him from hearing actual words. He doesn't dare open the door, doesn't dare move from where he's been standing for the last – how long has it been?
Long enough for him to have gone through three different states of panic, all of which would have looked the same to a passer-by; a blank stare directed at the door that now represents all the things wrong in Brian's life.
It could have been minutes. Or hours. Brian doubts the latter. Surely Lea's voice would have worn out from all that shouting, had it been that long.
No matter how prominent the dread is in Brian's mind now, he knows the worst is yet to come. He's not stupid enough to make himself believe it will be all right once Roger and Lea's argument has died down. What's the use of a few minutes of peace when he knows everything will (figuratively, he hopes) be on fire soon?
Brian doesn't know what he should expect from when Roger comes back. If he comes back, that is. There's a possibility, and not so improbable either, that Roger will leave without him. Maybe it would be for the better. Sure, he would be left with the torment of not knowing what's going to happen. But at least he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences – not yet, at least.
The more he thinks about it, the more certain he becomes. Roger leaving would be for the better. Definitely–
Speak of the devil.
Roger is standing in the doorway. Brian takes a step back, moves for the first time in however-long-the-time-may-have-been. He can sense it before he can see it – Roger's sadness turning into anger. And Brian has a strange feeling that all that anger is about to be aimed at him, albeit wrongly.
"Roger–" While saying this Brian realises he probably should have kept his mouth shut. When Roger looks at him, he realises he definitely should have kept his mouth shut.
"Don't," Roger says in a voice that is both eerily calm and dripping venom.
Brian observes Roger for a moment and against his better judgement, speaks again. "What–"
And once again, he is interrupted by Roger. Roger, whose voice is now lacking all the calmness it had a few seconds ago. "It's all your fault!" Roger hisses, taking a step towards Brian, who in turn takes one back.
"My fault?" Brian says blankly. And all the fear, all the sadness, the panic he felt before is gone. Not for good, that much is certain – but for now. It appears that Roger's anger is of a contagious kind.
"Yes." Roger crosses his arms. "I lost her because of you."
Brian laughs. Partially at his own stupidity – he knew it would end up like this and yet he pretended not to know, pretended they had a chance – but mostly at Roger's ridiculousness. He can't seriously be blaming him for this.
"As I recall," Brian says, each word carefully calculated and laced with false sweetness, "you were the one who initiated this relationship – or whatever the hell this is. You were the one who kissed me first, you were the one who suggested we have sex." Brian pauses to glare at Roger. "So don't act like it's my fault. You were the one who cheated on your girlfriend."
"Fuck off."
Brian doesn't have to be told twice. It doesn't take long for him to get out of the building.
He doesn't even remember the walk to the hotel afterwards. He still ends up there, somehow.
It's only when he's finally in his room that he dissolves into tears.
