Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 38

"You've got it, Sid," Tim remarked, a wide grin on his face as he scribbled down the last of the information he needed down on the crinkled napkin he'd pulled out from his pocket and tried his best to smooth out, "I'll let him know and we'll see you then, yeah?"

"Tell him to wear my favorite outfit of his. He knows the one."

"Of course. Anything for you, Sid," he assured him, quickly adding the request to the list and ending the call. He slammed the phone down on the receiver and called out, "Roger! I've got good news for you!" Tim snatched the napkin up into his possession and rushed into the bedroom, looking at his notes as he began to ask, "You remember Sid, don't y—"

His voice got caught in his throat when he lifted his head and noticed the clothes Roger had been wearing the past few days discarded on the ground, along with the box labeled DO NOT OPEN EVER AGAIN! and torn apart as though an animal had gotten into it. His gaze wandered over to the dresser where the blonde was standing, adorned with a pair of tube socks that sat on his calves at different heights, a short black skirt that barely covered his ass, and a wrinkly, white button-down that was fastened all the way up to the collar, the long sleeves rolled up at the ends. The yellow and purple tie that completed the outfit hung loosely around his neck, and the black bows with white polka-dots that normally pulled his hair back into pigtails appeared haphazardly thrown into the blonde mess—not doing their job.

"Oh, Roger..." Tim murmured pitifully as he watched the blonde drag the eyeliner that he was using to draw thick rings around his eyes across his temple, languidly looking back at the man who entered the room.

"I used to be able to do this coked out of my mind," the disheartened drunk mumbled, his speech slurred as he returned his gaze to the mirror reflecting the repulsive image of his alter ego. "Now I can't, and I'm only drunk. I can't tie my tie; I can't find my shoes...what happened to me?"

His boyfriend crossed his arms and fell against the threshold, sighing, "We're not going to go into this again, Rog. Now, I—"

"Remind me what happened," the blonde murmured, cutting Tim's announcement short as he capped the eyeliner and slammed it down on the dresser, resting his hands on its surface and stretching them out to the sides as he leaned into the bureau—sticking his bottom out just enough to briefly capture his boyfriend's attention—and turned his head back over his shoulder. His lazy eyes bore straight into Tim's uninterested ones with a gleam that begged the older of the two to tear him down; to tell him everything he would never admit to wanting to hear sober.

Tim only saw looks like that in Roger's eyes when he drank himself to the point of no return, and as much as the blonde's invitation tempted him to acquiesce, he wasn't in the mood to drop down to that level—not tonight. No, tonight he had to get Roger back to his normal self and prepare him for his next appointment, and there was no way Tim would be able to pull it off with Roger indulging himself in his own pity party.

So, with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, the older of the two announced flatly, "I got you an appointment, Rog. Big spender; one of your favorites. He wants you to wear that." He motioned at the blonde's getup, earning a disapproving pout.

Roger peeled himself away from the dresser and waltzed over to Tim, his balance wobbling with each inebriated step he took towards his boyfriend. "Why don't people like me for me, Tim? Why do they only like me as Liz?"

"I don't know, babe. Maybe because you look better as a bird, now—"

"But I don't want to be a bird," the blonde whined, clinging onto his boyfriend and burying his face into the crook of his neck. His lips softly vibrated against Tim's skin as he mumbled, "I want to be me, just me."

Tim sighed and grabbed Roger by the waist to gently push him away. "Look, Rog, I don't know where this is coming from, but—"

"I just want to know where I went wrong," he moaned, grabbing the bows in his hair and throwing them to the floor by his feet, "I-I didn't want this, Tim. I wanted to...to be in a band or something, with you...and, and I wanted us to rule the world together. But look at us..." his flaccid hand waved between the two of them. "We're living in a shithole, we haven't got anything to eat, and I can't even put on stupid lipstick. How are we supposed to rule the world like this?"

Tim's frustrated gaze dropped to his feet as his hand found its way to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly as he fought to resist the urge to correct the blonde and tell him he was putting on eyeliner, not lipstick, but more importantly, he fought to forget about the time when he too shared that vision. It had been so long since their unsuccessful music venture had come up in conversation that it didn't seem relevant, and they'd both been through so much since then that he didn't think it was something Roger still thought about.

Besides, they found the success they craved elsewhere. It might not have been their first choice of making a living by any means, but it worked, and it was enough for them—or so Tim believed. They were together, and that's all that mattered to him. He didn't need his own place, or food in the fridge. He just needed Roger—someone who cared about him and loved him, and someone he cared about and loved back.

Would he ever admit this to the blonde? Of course not. With the both of them being stubborn, hotheaded, arrogant assholes, he couldn't risk exposing himself as the weaker one. That just wasn't an option. In fact, it had never been an option for Tim because he wasn't raised that way.

Living with just his father for most of his life, if not all, he didn't particularly have a good role model to look up to. His dad, much like Tim now, was a drunk. He would forget to pick him up from school, couldn't be bothered to help him with his homework, and made it very clear to the boy that he wasn't wanted; that he was nothing more than a burden, a disappointing reminder of everything his father could've had but didn't because he was stuck raising a stupid kid.

He blamed Tim for everything—a low tank of gas, an empty fridge, a missed television program, a date gone wrong, a job interview with no callback, the excuses were endless. If something didn't go right, it was immediately Tim's fault. If you would just do as I say, his father would scold him—a poignant glare in his eyes and an iniquitous snarl in his lips—then everything would be fine. But do you? No. And is it? No!

Tim constantly tried to be better and do as his dad said, but at the end of the day, his dad was still a drunk and he was still a burden. He learned to walk himself home from school, figure out his homework problems on his own, and keep his distance from his dad until it was absolutely necessary to pester him, but it didn't matter. Nothing he did seemed to make a difference, and what made it worse was that, whenever the boy was alone and let his guard down—because a situation like the one he had to grow up in was a lot for someone as young as Tim to deal with—his dad would find him and yell at him for crying and showing how upset he was by smacking him across the face and shouting things like, Man up! Toughen up! Grow a spine! Stop being such a baby! You're not a woman, are you?

It was that mentality, those hurtful words and stinging phrases, that stuck with Tim throughout his entire childhood and adolescence; that gave him reason not to care about what people thought of him or his actions, so long as he didn't come off as weak or vulnerable. After all, that's how it was with his dad, and it wasn't like his father ever found someone else to bring into their home to teach Tim any different. So, at a young age, he'd realized how truly powerless he was—just another pawn being pushed around, essentially unnecessary in the grand scheme of things.

Then he met Roger. The troubled boy didn't understand how or why, but being with the blonde seemed to give him a purpose, and—for the first time in his life—someone who seemed to care about him; to genuinely care about him. The relationship that developed between the two was all very new and exciting to him, yet it all felt very familiar with the snide remarks, the bouts of shouting, and the feeling like he would never be good enough. He sometimes wondered how he got so lucky, but his strike of good fortune blinded him from the truth of the matter: that he was just like his father, and that Roger had become the new Tim.