Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 37

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Tim growled as the blonde walked in at nearly two in the morning, slamming the door behind him and acknowledging his boyfriend's remark with nothing more than narrowed eyes. "I even looked for you inside that place you work at."

"It has a name, Tim," Roger replied, a lack of interest in his tone as he made his way into the kitchen area and opened the fridge, scanning the shelves for something to drink.

"I saw your friend Brian too," his boyfriend added slyly, looking back at him over the couch, "He's real handsome...tall, thin, great hair. No wonder you were thinking about him in your sleep."

The music instructor sighed, reaching for one of the many bottles of whiskey that had seemingly magically appeared in their flat a few days prior and closing the refrigerator. "You're still on that?" He pulled open the cupboard door and grabbed a glass. "I told you, I can't—"

"I saw what you wrote about him in your notebook," he cut him short, freezing the blonde in place—one hand around the glass and the other around the bottle, ready to pour the amber liquid into the clear container. Silence quickly filled the apartment, interrupted only by the sound of Tim getting up from where he was sitting and crossing the room to join his boyfriend's side. "You think he's better than me."

"He is better than you," the blonde grumbled, glancing over at him with reddened, swollen eyes.

Tim chuckled. "How can he be better than me? What has he ever done for you?"

Roger slammed the bottle of whiskey down on the counter and turned towards his boyfriend, folding his arms over his chest and replying simply, "He's nice to me."

"He's nice to you? That's what makes him better? Really?"

"Really."

Tim shook his head in disbelief and rested a hand on the counter, leaning on it as he placed his other hand on his hip. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"That you're a whore? And that you dress up in knickers and brassieres and put makeup on that pretty little face of yours so that depraved husbands can fulfill their sinful fantasies?" His answer was sharp like a knife, making Roger's face flush of all color.

The blonde swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, croaking out a weak, "I don't do that anymore, Tim."

"You honestly think that just because you got some gig at a school, it changes who you are? Who you've always been?" He shortened the distance between him and Roger and growled, "I doubt your professor even knows the half of it, because what would you tell him, huh? Would you tell him about every disgusting thing you've done for a pound? Or about the facade you put on to please wealthy and powerful men who can't be bothered to fuck their ugly wives and would rather fuck a dude dressed in drag? Would you tell him that you, at one point in time, weren't ashamed of what you did? Or does he make you want to be 'better' because he's your saving grace and tells you that you deserve better?"

Tim laughed at the thought, unable to take himself seriously as a wild grin stretched across his face. "My god, Roger, I thought you were smarter than this. You should know that he's not into you, or even the idea of you. And I doubt he's into whatever person you've made him think you are because you're not that person. You're a liar, and you put on these different personas because it's your part of your job as a whore. And you know, in comparison to his college degree and boring lifestyle, you're probably nothing more than just a phase for him. Because men like him don't understand you, not like I do."

The blonde heaved a sigh and snatched the bottle of whiskey up from the counter, using the same hand to gesture at his boyfriend as he said, "You know what, Tim? You're right." He took a quick swig of the drink and, before lowering it down to his side, tapped Tim's nose with a smirk. "You're absolutely right." Roger placed a sloppy, lighthearted kiss on his boyfriend's cheek and brushed past him, spinning around and walking backwards towards their room as he brought the bottle to his lips once more and tilted his head back, downing the drink while flipping his boyfriend off.

Tim rolled his eyes at the memory and returned his attention to the collection of papers in front of him, ignoring his desire to check up on the blonde as he scanned the list of names, addresses, and phone numbers he pulled out from the box Roger had shoved away in their closet. He bit his lip and looked over at the phone sitting on their coffee table, taking one more quick glance at the sheet he held in his hands before jumping up from the chair he was in and walking over.

He plopped down on the couch and picked the phone up off the receiver, pinching it between his ear and shoulder as he punched in the number highlighted on the page. He listened to it ring a few times before the line was answered with a grungy, "If you fucking call me one more time, Johnny, I swear to god—"

"No, Sid, it...it's Tim." He smirked. "I was just thinking, it's been a while since you've seen Roger, hasn't it?"