Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 12

Roger sat anxiously in the passenger seat of Brian's car, his eyes flickering from the driver to the road and the street signs as they sped by them. His fingers danced on top of his thigh in a failing attempt to calm his heightened nerves. It was strange to be the passenger. He rarely ever sat on the passenger's side, and when he did, it drove him insane. Yet there he was, sitting opposite of Brian as they cruised down the empty London streets—in the opposite direction of Tim and Roger's flat.

"Turn here?" the professor asked, taking one hand off the wheel and pointing to the corner where a small consignment shop was.

"Yep," the blonde retorted, the air around him feeling thin.

The driver took the turn and ventured down the street, relying on his passenger to tell him where to stop, or where to turn next. He hadn't been very specific in saying where he lived, repeatedly claiming he would just tell him where to go as they drove. The professor attributed the music instructor's vague understanding of the city to him being new there, but little did he know that wasn't true...at all.

"Right here," Roger blurted out, causing Brian to slam on the brakes, which in turn caused them both to jerk forward in their seats—stopped by the belts strapped over their chests.

"Sorry," Brian apologized, the pink that had crept up in his cheeks disguised by the shadows cast over the poorly illuminated street.

"It...It's okay," the blonde muttered, unbuckling himself and opening the car door. "Thanks again for the ride, Bri. You really didn't need to do this."

The professor grinned at the nickname he'd used, feeling it was safe to do the same as he replied, "It was my pleasure, Rog."

The music instructor nodded his head and got out, closing the door behind him and starting up the dark walkway. A nervous lump formed in his throat as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and glanced back over his shoulder, seeing that Brian was still in the street, waiting for him to get inside safely. Oh god, he thought as he hastened his approach to the front door and raised his hand, knocking three times. I hope he's home. I've got to make this believable.

The blonde's leg started to shake the longer it took for the door to be opened, and when it finally did, he didn't allow the person to greet him before pulling them close and kissing them, right on the lips. Brian raised his eyebrows at the blonde's gesture that seemed to be growing more intense with each passing second and took that as his cue to leave, pulling the car away from the curb and driving off—honking his car horn twice to say goodbye.

Roger watched Brian's car out of the corner of his eye, and once he'd rounded the corner at the end of the street, pulled back from the stunned person. "Thanks, Fred," he mumbled, wiping his wet lips with the back of his wrist.

"What...was that?" the dark-haired man dressed in nothing but a satin robe asked, shaking his head as he tried to put the pieces together himself. "And what are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be shacking it up with Tim?" The name rolled off his tongue with a disgust Roger had learned to brush off, the same tone of voice used by almost everyone he knew whenever his boyfriend came up in conversation.

The blonde narrowed his eyes, refusing to acknowledge Fred's string of questions and instead asking lowly, "Is Mary here?"

"Freddie, who's at the door?" a voice whined from upstairs, followed by the creaking of the steps as the woman Roger was looking for began her descent, holding a bed sheet up to her chest. She stopped midway down the stairs when she saw the answer to her question, an instant glare appearing on her face. "Oh, it's you."

"Always a pleasure to see you too, Mary," he sneered in response, crossing his arms, "Care to get dressed and drive me home?"

She scoffed, joining Freddie's side. "What on earth makes you think that you can just show up here and demand I give you a lift home all because you're what, drunk? Piss off, Roger, or I'll call the cops on you. I've done it once before; I can do it again just as easily!"

Roger sighed at the pathetic threat. "I'm not drunk. I haven't had a lick of alcohol all day. Do I need to prove it to you, or will you stop being a bitch for one bloody second and help a friend out? I'm not asking much of you, here. Just a ride."

"How did you even end up on this side of town?" Mary interrogated the blonde whose patience was wearing thin with her apathetic and rather rude dismissal of the situation.

He ran his fingers through his hair and dropped his arms to his sides, saying, "Does it fucking really matter, Mary? I didn't come here to be put on trial. I came here to get a ride back to my place, but I've realized that's apparently too much to ask for."

"Are you sure that's all, Rog?" Freddie interjected in a lighthearted, teasing manner, folding his arms over his chest, "Because that kiss you gave me makes me wonder if there's something else you want." Mary gasped and stepped forward, smacking Roger across the face with one hand while using the other to keep the bed sheet up.

"Ouch!" he cried, grabbing his cheek that began to sting, "Jesus Christ, woman! What the hell? I can explain!"

"I don't want your stupid explanation," she growled before retreating upstairs, her bare back exposed as she shouted, "Stop kissing my boyfriend and find yourself another ride home coz I'm not doing it!" She slammed the bedroom door behind her, the two men flinching at the sound.

"Geez," the blonde mumbled, "Someone's feisty today."

"She's just in a mood, dear. Great for me; not so much for you," Freddie explained, heaving a sigh and inviting Roger in.