Love Is Real (Maylor)

Long Away

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️
mentions of suicidal thoughts/suicide attempt
*NOT GRAPHIC AT ALL*
(If anyone is uncomfortable with this, feel free to dm me and I'll send a summary so you can skip the chapter)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The mid-morning soon turned into late afternoon. Cloudy skies turned to torrential downpours. Rogers smile had turned into a trembling frown.

He listened to the phone call through the door. Brian clearly didn't care, so why should he? He felt fine this morning. It was the first time he didn't dream of him. First time that the Brian wasn't the first thought in his mind. He felt okay. He felt like everything would be okay.

And then it wasn't. Then the harsh reminder of being left again struck him like lightning. Zapping through his veins and leaving nothing but a pile of ash. That's what he felt like. A brittle pile of ash that could blow away with the slightest breeze.

He tried smoking again, but it only made him feel worse. The familiar burn made his eyes water and his heart beat harder than ever before. He tried drinking, but it only led to Freddie and John holding him back while he sobbed, trying as hard as he could to escape their grips and dial the number. Brian's number.

It didn't matter what he did. He couldn't bring himself to try anything harder. He felt empty, but he knew it would disappoint Clare if he went over the edge. He couldn't do that to her.

Nothing really mattered anymore. They'd tried to find a different guitarist, but none of them stuck. None of them were good enough. None of them were him.

He lost Brian and he lost Queen. He lost nearly everything. But now, he couldn't find it within himself to care.

That's what led him to laying in bed on a Friday night, window wide open with the rain pounding outside, and Space Oddity playing softly in the background.

The sound of the rain was calming and the cool breeze blowing in the room made him feel just a little bit better. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of the rain. It's one thing he actually enjoyed about London. It's always fucking raining.

Roger nearly fell asleep before a knock came to the door.

"Roger, darling, come out and get some dinner. Deaky cooked." Freddie's voice came through the door.

Roger sighed. He knew he had to give in, he was starving! With a small groan, he got up from the bed and walked to the door to unlock it. He opened it slowly and looked to his friend who was smiling softly.

"Don't worry, it's not cheese on toast." He joked, earning a small smile out of the blond.

"Thanks, Freddie." Roger said, stepping into the lounge to see John looking at him curiously.

"Erm, there's someone at the door. I think." John said awkwardly.

"Who?" Roger frowned. "Why didn't you get it?"

"I don't know, I'm making dinner!" John said, scurrying back to the kitchen.

"Darling, could you get it? They're downstairs and they buzzed up." Freddie said, clearing his throat.

Roger rolled his eyes and groaned. "Really? You got me up just to get the door?" He huffed, "Why didn't you just buzz them in?"

"It could be a murderer!" Freddie exclaimed.

"So you want me to get murdered?!"

"They wouldn't kill you! You'd give them puppy dog eyes and they'd propose to you!"