Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 39

"We were never meant to rule the world, Roger," Tim mumbled sullenly under his breath in response to the blonde's previous remark, his subtle change in demeanor—the cold ignorance he tried to maintain throughout these past few days subsiding ever so slightly—being overlooked as he crossed his arms and tried to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go in. "Can we please not talk about that right now, though? We have more important things to talk about, like your appointment with—"

"No!" Roger exclaimed, shaking his head and tripping over his own feet as he tried to step back, falling on his ass and hiding the embarrassment that began to surface on his face behind his hands. "No, I don't want to see Sid again," he grumbled, dropping his hands to his sides and tugging at his shirt, "And I don't want to wear this again, or those." He tossed his hand out to the bows he was fairly certain had caused his fall. "I just, I want to move on from this, Tim." He glanced up at the man he addressed with tired eyes, the corner of his lip perking upward into a delirious, crooked smirk, elaborating on his wishes with a newfound sense of inebriated confidence, "I want to move far away from this place, and from you, and from all of this. Don't you think I deserve that?"

Tim—growing weary of this game he was playing with Roger—knelt down in front of him on one knee and looked him dead in the eye, answering in a low growl, "Why on earth would you deserve any of that, Roger? You don't listen to me, and you don't do as you're told, so why would you be rewarded for that? Maybe if you did, yeah, I'd say you deserve all that and more, but you're dreaming, babe. You're absolutely out of your goddamn mind thinking you can get away from me, and from this. This is your future." He abruptly smacked him on the chest with the back of his hand. "You, me, Liz...this is the life we live. This is the life that puts a roof over our heads and gives us a mattress to sleep on every night. What's your new job gotten you, huh?" The older of the two didn't give the blonde the chance to answer before doing so himself, "That's right. Nothing. It's gotten you absolutely nothing other than in trouble. So, what's going to happen is you're going to see Sid tomorrow and you're going to rock his world like you always do. You hear me? No more of this..." he waved his hand in lieu of words as he struggled to figure out what to say, "...whatever this thing is."

Roger stared blankly at Tim as he stood up and looked down at him pitifully, shaking his head in disappointment and turning away as he started to leave the room. He didn't get far before the blonde pulled himself up from the ground and stumbled after him, screaming at the top of his lungs, "I hate you!" Tim froze in place, keeping his back to Roger as the blonde straightened his posture and continued drunkenly, "I hate you, and I hate this flat, and I hate that you think so little of me that all I'm good for is dressing up like a lady and sucking people's dicks."

Tim blinked away the tears that had formed in his eyes and folded his arms over his tightening chest, spinning around to face his boyfriend and asking sardonically, "And what else do you hate, Roger?"

The music instructor took in a shaky breath, spitting out a strained, "I hate the way you treat me, and the way you look at me, like I'm some worthless rat you've been stuck with for years and can't get rid of. And I hate that you don't love me anymore." Tim's heart dropped at his words, watching with blurry eyes as Roger painfully muttered, "You used to love me, Tim."

"And I still do!" he shouted, getting worked up over this conversation. It hurt to hear the blonde express how he truly felt. He knew it was the truth because Roger was a terrible liar, even more so when he was wasted beyond belief, the alcohol acting as some sort of truth serum that made him incapable of masking his feelings towards whatever it was that he was faced with. So, to hear Roger say that he hated him, and that he felt as though the love they shared was no longer reciprocated, it killed Tim, because he did love him. He loved him with everything he had, but it was clear that it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.

Tim ran an aggravated hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief. It wasn't supposed to go like this. All he wanted to tell him was that he'd booked him a gig and that he was working to get things back to the way they were, to make them happy again, yet there he was, trying to defend himself from the blonde's blunt accusation with an infuriated, "Goddammit, Roger, I've always loved you! If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be doing this!"

"No, Tim," Roger disagreed, shaking his head, "If you loved me, you'd be supportive of me—"

"Supportive of you?" he repeated angrily, shortening the distance between the two of them once more. "How dare you say I'm not supportive of you. Do I need to remind you that I'm the only one who's been with you through it all? Your entire family disowned and abandoned you when they found out who you truly are. They kicked you out on the streets, for god's sake!"

"That wasn't my fault," the blonde murmured softly, tilting his head down and playing with his tie as a distraction.

Tim crossed his arms. "Oh yeah? Then whose fault was it?"

Roger's bloodshot eyes rolled up to meet his boyfriend's blurry ones, maintaining their gaze as he swallowed the lump in his throat and answered sternly, "Yours."

The older of the two chuckled and rested his hands on his hips. "Mine. You really think it's all my fault?"

The blonde staggered to the side a bit before nodding his head in affirmation, adding on an unintentionally brutal, "Yes, Tim, It's all your fault." He mirrored his boyfriend's stance and leaned forward, tacking on harshly, "Everything's your fault."

Those final three words sent Tim over the edge, evoking a handful of childhood memories that had somehow combined and translated into the present. The tears that had been building in his eyes finally spilled over his eyelids, streaming down his cheeks as he refused to relive the past. "Oh, that's it," he croaked, rage fueling his actions as his hand shot forward and grabbed Roger's shirt, yanking him out of the room.