Roses in December

Three

It was a week into the new year that Freddie decided it was time to get back to schedule. John and Brian had been a bit more off-putting about it. After all, how could they be expected to put together an album when one of the members had no recollection of any of the songs. Freddie tried to reassure the group that it would all come back to him once they got down to it.

"Music heals the mind, does it not?" He offered, swishing around the same way Roger remembered him doing. Always so fearless. Always without worry.

Roger was envious. He wished he could hold his head up high and act as if none of this mattered. That he could walk into the studio and fake his way through it, but that wasn't him. Perhaps over time, he had grown more careless, less reserved but even with the twenty-one-year-old mind frame that he possessed, Roger had no idea what the hell he was doing.

It was just a rehearsal, a private one at that. Even if Roger couldn't remember the songs, if he could at least pick it up again and play it the way Freddie wanted him to play, then they would be fine. Roger had the whole rest of his life to pick up the broken pieces of his mind. Right now they had an album to put together.

"Are you going to agree to the song or not, Fred?" Brian asked, waving the sheets of paper around.

"I'm thinking it over, Brian," Freddie mentioned, twirling his pencil lazily between his fingers. "This is our sixth album. We can only put the best."

"When have I ever written anything that wasn't the best?" Brian challenged.

Roger, who was sitting at the far end of the table, leaned toward John, who was seated across from him. "Is it always like this?" He asked somberly.

"Like what?" John replied, his eyes cast downward as he continued on with his writing.

"The bouncing back and forth between what is on the album and what gets tossed aside?"

John hummed, tilting his head upwards to look at the blond. "Every bloody album." He admitted.

Roger bobbed his head. He guessed with a band as large as they were, you had to choose the songs you believed would carry on their legacy. Putting something that wasn't going to be a hit wouldn't help him in any way, but who could really tell what would be a hit and what would be a flop? Being a rockstar was hard work, that much was clear.

In Roger's childish mind, he used to believe that all it took was a winning smile, a decent amount of talent, and a beat you could dance to. Now it seemed, with the changing of times, and themes, and musical styles, that you had to do everything you could to not only put your name out into the world but keep it there as well.

"What do you have there?" Roger asked, turning his attention to the notepad that John was currently scribbling onto.

Without a second thought, he reached forward, pulling it away from the brunet so he could take a look. Roger read through slowly, finding the lyrics to be interesting enough; perhaps even a bit inspirational. "You wrote this?" He asked, getting a bit of a nod from John. "I like it."

Taking the notebook, Roger tosses it into the middle of the table, the slap of the pad onto the hardwood catching the attention of the other two members. "John's song goes onto the album!" He announced proudly.

"You can't choose a song by lyrics alone," Brian told him, leaning over to look at the sheet. "You'd have to hear it first."

"Well, then, let's hear it. Do we have a recording?"

"Just a demo," John mentioned. "It's the song you liked, Fred."

"Spread Your Wings? Lovely tune, really. Sorry, Roger — no backing vocals on that one."