Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 46

I stood in the empty bar, hovering around the stage as Humpy Bong—sans John—hung around the bar, laughing and getting their pre-show drinks on. The band had booked a show for the same day we departed from London, and from the looks of it, they weren't prepared. John had taken a seat at one of the booths near the windows with his bass in his lap and his fingers plucking the strings, a dull sound coming from the instrument as he went over his parts.

I wandered up onto the stage and sat down at the drum kit, looking at the setup and glancing over each cymbal and each drum before my eyes landed on a pair of sticks sitting on the floor. The corner of my lip perked up, and I reached down to grab them when a hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. My eyes trailed up the arm the hand was attached to and landed on Tim who was standing over me, a beer in his free hand and a sardonic smirk slathered across his drunken face.

"What do you think you're doing, blondie?" he sneered.

I ripped my arm out of his grip and narrowed my eyes. "Fuck off, Tim. I'm just trying to have some fun while I'm being dragged around on your dumb tour."

"You know, you didn't have to come," my mortal enemy—aside from Paul—growled, "You're only here because the only way John was going to agree to this was if I let you tag along. I mean, I really didn't want your arse here, but he's good, and he can go way farther with us than he can with your...your stupid 'Queen' band." He raised his hands and bent his fingers back and forth, as if the band he used to be a part of wasn't legitimate. "What kind of gay name is that even?"

My eyebrows furrowed together in anger, and I stood up from the stool I was perched on—ready to go off on him—when John approached and asked, "Is everything okay over here?"

"'Course, man," Tim answered him, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to him, digging the hand he had wrapped around his cold stein into my arm that was closest to him and explaining, "We were just catching up." I glared over at him as he smiled down at me. "Isn't that right, Rog?"

I shoved him away from me and jumped down from the stage, walking right out of the joint without saying another word to either of them. I didn't get very far before I found myself pacing back and forth, torn between storming back in there or storming off for good. The only thing keeping me from finding a payphone and calling Brian to come and get me was John. I wanted to spend time with him, I wanted to have this week with him, but Tim was making it so goddamn hard. And it was only the first day!

I didn't have the chance to make any kind of decision before the bar door burst open and out came John, stopping me mid-pace and turning me around to face him. "What was that?" he yelled at me.

"He started it!" I cried, motioning to the bar's entrance.

The bassist brought a hand up to his forehead and sighed in defeat, muttering, "Is this how this whole week is going to be?" He glanced back up at me and shook his head. "Because if it is, Roger, I don't know if I can do it."

I scoffed. "You shouldn't! You shouldn't be here, John. We shouldn't be here. We've got an album to record and release and instead we're here! With Tim and...and fucking Humpy Bong!"

John placed his hands on his hips and shrugged his shoulders. "It's just a week, Roger, and Brian and Freddie told us they've got it under control. So, I don't see why you're so upset about this."

"Because they're trying to take you from me!" I screamed, an awkward silence passing over the two of us as I dropped my head and tried to correct and ultimately save myself with a quiet, "From us. They're taking you away from us."

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shortening the distance between him and me and taking my hands in his. "Look, Roger," he started, keeping his gaze down on our entangled hands, "I don't know what's going to happen at the end of this week, but even if I do decide—"

"That you're going to stay with Queen," I finished his sentence for him with utmost seriousness.

John's eyes rolled up to meet mine, full of remorse, before he attempted to pick up where he left off, saying, "Even if I do decide to go with Humpy Bong—"

"Which you won't."

He scoffed and relinquished hold of my hands, letting them to drop back to my sides. "Roger, would you let me finish one sentence? Please?" I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head to the side, pressing my lips tightly together and clenching my jaw to keep quiet. He sighed and ran a hand through his frizzy hair. "You're making it seem like after this tour is over, we're never going to see each other again; like it's the end or something. But it's not."

"Well it sure seems like it," I muttered, pouting my lips out.

John's expression softened at my confession, bringing him closer to me and enwrapping me in a warm embrace I felt torn over. Part of me wanted to hug him back and never let go, whereas the other part wanted to push him away and tell him to fuck off, but instead I just stood there as he squeezed me tight.

When he realized that his efforts weren't being reciprocated, he stepped back and tried another approach, cupping my cheeks in his hands and pleading with me, "Let's just make the most out of this week, alright, Rog? We're finally away from the flat, from the studio, from Brian and Freddie..." His voice trailed off and the corner of his lip perked up into a smirk, his fingers tickling my skin as he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. "There's nothing and no one to stop us."

"Hey," a third voice—perfect to prove the point I so desperately wanted to convey but was robbed of the chance to do so—joined the conversation, separating John and me and turning our attention to the bar entrance where Colin, the band's drummer, was leaned against the threshold. "We're 'bout to do a quick run through the set. Mind coming in for a bit, John?"

He nodded his head, assuring the drummer he'd be right in with the feigning of a grin that sent the man with a bowl-shaped haircut on his way. I uncomfortably rubbed behind my neck as John looked back at me, biting his lip.

"Go on," I mumbled, playfully annoyed, and nodded towards the door, "Show 'em what you've got."

The goofy grin that appeared on his face instantly melted every bad feeling that was boiling up inside of me, and the kiss he planted on my lips finished the job. As soon as he disappeared behind that door, though, the nagging thought he wanted me to ignore returned without a hint of remorse. I only had seven days to keep seeing that damn smile every day, and to keep those soft lips on mine; seven days to show John that he'd already found his fit, with us, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it.

I had to, though.

I just had to.