Roses in December

Seven

It was raining. It was always bloody raining. Why the fuck they all agreed to stay in London was beyond Roger. Sure, it was the best city in the world to him, with the fashion and the people and the culture. But it was wet and dreary more often than not.

Roger was being lazy, lounging in the early morning. He knew he should be getting up, getting in the shower, and getting ready for work, but he persisted. The bed was warm and the pillow was soft. The comforter was scratch due to constant use and a terrible washer at the mat across the way. The bed was almost barely big enough to fit the two of them, but neither complained much.

After moving in together and establishing that this was what they wanted, they had attempted to push the beds together, to no avail. In the bed, they sold the second one, using the petty cash they got for it as rent so they had another month where they didn't have to worry about it all.

Roger hummed softly, feeling the arms wrap around him slowly. He hadn't been much of a cuddlier with the girls he brought home. He liked the contact, but sometimes the bed got too hot or they were too clingy. Roger sometimes preferred to sleep alone, but that was over now. Sleeping alone was lonely and for a man still so fresh into a relationship (yes, that was what they had, one hundred percent) he didn't want to think about sleeping alone ever again.

"You have to get up." The voice was low, almost mumbled. Sleep making the lovely accent far harder to understand and yet Roger found himself smiling.

" We ." He replied. "We have to get up."

They may have just put out an album, but they still had to work. He and Freddie would hurry off to the market, where they would put on smiles and sell whatever needed to be sold. The other two would go off to their own jobs and in the end, they'd meet up again for supper and maybe a round of Scrabble.

"We do have to get up," His bedmate agreed.

Roger was pulled in closer, the warmth of the body spooned up behind him making it all the more likely that neither would be getting out of bed just yet.

"Roger," Roger had always liked his name, but only on this tongue, with that accent, had the blond found himself utterly and completely enthralled with the sound of his own name.

"Fuck it," Roger rolled over, his smile beaming as his bedmate fell into a small fit of giggles. Gentle arms wrapped around the blond, welcoming him in as Roger cuddled closer.

They were young, and dumb, and completely in love. And they could handle being late.

Roger woke once again in a bed that was small and a comforter that was scratchy, but unlike before, he was utterly and completely alone. It was a cold feeling, going from such a warm, loving moment to having nothing to wake up to.

It annoyed him to no end. Even when he got out of bed and made his way into the shower, when the lukewarm spray covered his face, he found himself ticked off over something he had no control over.

He stayed there for longer than necessary, turning practically pruney until Brian began banging on the door, demanding that he stop wasting all the water. He toweled off, sitting naked on his bed as he contemplated what to do with himself.

He couldn't explain it, but he was filled with an unbolted rage that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Annoyed aggression that he couldn't seem to handle. He began pacing in his room, pulling on his clothes as he tried to figure out what to do with all of this.

He found that his glasses had been set on the nightstand beside his bed, though he had no recollection of leaving them out. He had been so used to squinting during his life that he forgot his glasses more often than not and yet here they were, sitting out for him. Like they had been placed there specifically for him to find them.