WARNING: angst, foul language. boy, this one is long
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hot space, let's go!
you knocked on john's door for the fourth time after getting no reply for the last three. you knew he could hear you since his amp wasn't on, he wasn't playing his bass and there was no noise coming from behind the door apart from the soft scribbles of a pencil. he had been stuck in there for weeks writing and playing, barely leaving for periods of time. when he had left, he had barely said hello to you or made time to see you. you knew he was busy, but for every other album he'd ever made, he was never, ever like this. it worried you and hurt you.
"honestly, john, it's like you don't care anymore." you huffed as you gave up knocking and pressed your back against the door, sliding down it to rest on the floor. your knees were bent and your arms had wrapped around your legs, pulling them close. you knew how much his music meant to him and you knew how much finishing this album meant to him, but this behaviour wasn't like him and you hated it.
"john, this is ridiculous now. why've you locked yourself in there?" you really couldn't stand the silence. you closed your eyes, feeling yourself welling up. there was still no movement or noise from behind the door. the house was deafeningly silent and you really couldn't stand it.
"john, please just play your bass or something. i can't stand this." you desperately wished for him to make some noise, any noise, just to stop the empty void growing in your chest. he didn't, so you just decided to get up and leave. you could do nothing to get him out of that room and the only thing you wanted to do was lay in bed and fall into a deep sleep.
that was the other thing, john hadn't been coming up to bed. he had either slept in his room or managed to make it out to the sofa where he just collapsed. some mornings you had managed to catch him asleep on the sofa and others you'd missed him and only seen the crease from where his body had laid the night before.
the next morning, you had gone downstairs expecting nothing from john once again. you had hoped to catch him on the sofa, but he wasn't there. a sigh left your lips and you plodded into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. as you turned around to lean against the countertop, the figure of a man caught your eye. you instantly knew it was john, his slim, but muscular, figure and fluffy hair was noticeable anywhere.
"nice to actually see you." you said plainly. he was reading the newspaper, a cup of tea in one of his hands. you got no reply from him apart from a light hum. although it was nice seeing him, you really did not want to see him.
"i've forgotten what you look like." you sarcastically mentioned. he gave you a small chuckle, but nothing else.
"what the fuck, john? seriously. what the fuck?"
"what?" he asked innocently, placing down his newspaper and cup of tea.
"you know what. you're so smart, john, surely you know what i'm talking about." he just shook his head. "you twat. you know exactly what i'm on about."
"i really don't, lov-"
"don't call me that," you spat. "you've been in that room for weeks on end but those four walls can't destroy brain cells. you've been cooped up in there for weeks, you haven't talked to me, you haven't slept next to me, you haven't done anything with me all because of this one album. i know you want it to be perfect, i know you need to work on it and i know you need time and space to do that, but you've never done this, ever. you've never ignored me for this long while making an album and i'm calling you out for it. honestly, john, there's nothing but hot space in your head."
"i like that." he whispered.
"like what?" you questioned, extremely annoyed by now. he didn't even reply to you before he was up and back into his little room. the door slammed, and locked, and john was, once again, away with the fairies. you followed the noise and slammed your fist on the door.
"john richard deacon, open this door right now." you finally stopped slamming the door, the sudden amount of noise making your head hurt. to your surprise, he actually opened the door. only, he pushed right past you and straight towards the front door, grabbing his jacket and shoes before leaving you all alone, again.
it was hours until john had finally gotten back. he came stumbling through the door at around 9:30pm and threw his jacket and shoes to the side - he was beyond tired. you sat in the living room with a record playing one of your favourite albums - news of the world. it was only playing quietly, but loud enough for you to hear.
john turned the corner to see you sat there on the sofa he had more-often-than-not fallen asleep on late at night during the past few weeks. you were sat staring into space, your cheeks red and flushed from your previous bout of crying. for the first time in weeks, he had finally realised what he had done to you.
he carefully entered the room and sat close to you, not too far, but not too near. you had heard him enter the house, throw his things carelessly to the side and walk into the room. you made sure he didn't know that though. just as john was about to talk, his song 'spread your wings', began playing.
"sammy was low, just watching the show over and over again," john began singing along to freddie. "knew it was time, he'd made up his mind, to leave his dead life behind." he knew what effect his singing had on you. your eyes soften at the sound and so did your face. you were no longer full of anger at the man beside you. for the few minutes you sat listening to john sing, you had forgotten about the past weeks.
once the song ended, john immediately spoke up. "i'm sorry for everything, love. i know i've been the worst boyfriend in the history of the world, but it was my chance to do what i wanted on this album and make it a part of me and i wanted it to be perfect. and by doing that, i forgot about the one thing in life i'm always going to need: you. today, all i needed was the album title, which you helped me with. that's why i rushed out this morning to the studio so me and the boys could record the last few tracks and send the album to miami."
"how did i help?" your voice was quiet.
"you know you said that there's nothing in my head but hot space?"
"yeh?"
"that's what i called the album. i suggested it to the others and they loved it. i'm sorry for everything, but i just needed to do this, for myself, for the band, the fans. and most importantly, for you. i think you'll like this one better than news."
"is that so?" you turned to face him, a smirk on your face.
"oh, definitely."
"you're not just saying that because i named the album?"
"helped name and of course not, you'll love it."
"i bloody hope so after how you've been acting." his face sank at that. he lowered his head in shame and shook it slightly, his fluffy hair shaking too.
"i know, love, and i'm sorry," he raised his head. "how can i make it up to you?"
"there's a thing or two i'm thinking of." you smiled, moving closer to him.
"well, i'm happy to help." he smirked as you closed the gap between you two, bodies pressing against each other needingly.
