Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 46

John took the hint and gathered his things, brushing past the music instructor but keeping a worried gaze on him, watching as he rolled away from the wall and into his classroom. The student only looked forward when he accidentally bumped shoulders with someone else, rambling off a quick apology before scurrying upstairs.

Roger shut the door behind him, and as soon as it clicked into place, he fell forward on his hands and knees—unable to stand a second longer—and screamed into the shadows. Only a sliver of light illuminated the room, casting a thin line onto the linoleum floor the blonde sprawled himself out over. He clung to the ground as tears spilled from his eyes, regretting his decision to come in today.

"'You sure you want to do this?" Tim asked him, the couple sitting in their shared car in front of the university. Roger looked over at him slowly, his stinging eyes narrowed and saying everything his mouth wasn't. His boyfriend let out an aggravated sigh, resting his elbow on the door and his head in his hand. "I just don't think you're ready, Rog. You've had a long weekend, and I-I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to take another day—"

"No," the blonde cut him short, his voice barely audible over the low rumble of the car's engine, "I don't want to go home."

"What about the questions they're going to ask you?" he expressed his concern, a terseness to his voice as he looked over at Roger, who'd returned his attention out the window like it had been for most of, if not, the entire ride. "I mean, just look at yourself. There's no way they're not going to ask what happened."

The blonde kept quiet for a moment before smirking, thinking about responding with something along the lines of, Why, I'm going to tell them that my boyfriend beat me up and forced me to have violent sex with a stranger all to make a measly penny, of course. But when he glanced over at his boyfriend, he imagined him lunging over the center console, wrapping his hands around his throat, and bashing his head into the car window until it shattered. So, instead, he bit his lip and twiddled his thumbs in his lap, meeting his boyfriend's angered gaze for a brief second before looking back down and muttering, "I'll tell them that I tripped down the stairs."

Tim scoffed. "Like they're going to believe that."

"Well, it's not like I can't tell them the truth, Tim."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" he shouted, causing Roger to flinch and him to immediately soften at the sight, a pang of guilt washing over him. The blonde usually put up some kind of fight, or at least shot back with some kind of sarcastic comment, but now he just instantly admitted defeat. It hurt Tim to see his boyfriend like this, and he knew deep down that he crossed the line this past weekend; that he'd finally pushed Roger too far.

If he wasn't close to losing Roger before, he certainly was now, which was why he hadn't argued with him about his decision to return to the university. The blonde just couldn't stand another day at home, sobering up enough to get himself out of bed—however, not quitting the habit entirely, since the alcohol helped subdue the pain—and deciding it was time to face his fears. After all, the weekend all but proved that what he had to deal with outside the comforts of his home—if they could even be labeled as so—was nothing compared to what he had to deal with inside. And so, when he approached Tim to tell him what he wanted to do, the latter had no choice but to say yes, fearing that if he shut down the idea, the blonde would go anyways and never come back.

Tim frowned and looked down at his lap in shame, mumbling a feeble, "I'm sorry, Rog, and...and not just about this. I'm sorry about everything. I didn't—"

"I don't need your apologies, Tim," Roger grumbled, shaking his head, "I never have."

An awkward silence fell over the pair as the blonde put all his effort into evading his boyfriend's gaze, while his boyfriend struggled to find the words to cut the electric tension that crackled between them.

"W-What time will you be out today?" the driver asked, disturbing the silence that consumed the pair and mindlessly picking at the fraying hole in his jeans.

"Dunno. I probably have a lot of work to catch up on, so I was thinking of just getting a ride home from Freddie," the blonde murmured, nervously eyeing his boyfriend in anticipation of him snapping back.

Tim's eyebrows furrowed together, noticing the major flaw in his story. He looked over at the blonde and stated suspiciously, "I thought Freddie doesn't drive."

Roger's cheeks grew red in embarrassment. "He...He's learning. I'm helping him."

When all Tim did was roll his eyes and turn his head away from Roger, muttering an unconvinced "Okay," the music instructor felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He dreaded a repeat of the last two days, and so for Tim to respond like that came as a great relief. He even took it as an opportunity to get out of the car, his boyfriend's attention following him as he closed the door behind him and opened the one behind it, leaning in and grabbing his bag, along with the scarf that was curled up like a snake beneath it.

"Love you," Tim blurted out, the shaky sentiment earning a hesitant glance from its receiver.

The red in Roger's cheeks intensified as he murmured a tentative, "I love you too," before stepping back and shutting the car door with a slam that startled the driver. Tim watched with blurry eyes as the blonde grew smaller and smaller the closer he got to the school's entrance, throwing the scarf around his neck and never once looking back at the running vehicle, its driver beating up the steering wheel instead beating up himself.

Roger could still hear the sound like it was in ear shot, and he brought his hands up to his head, holding them over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to get the memory to stop. However, it was no memory. The pounding had manifested itself into the present, but instead of being against a steering wheel, it was against the door behind him. The music instructor only realized this when the door was pushed in, hitting the heel of his foot and drawing his attention over his shoulder, where his eyes fell upon the face he could recognize within a heartbeat, and the curls he could recognize even quicker.

"Roger?" Brian whispered, reaching into the shadows and flicking on the light switch to illuminate the music instructor's classroom. The blonde scrambled to his feet, crawling across the floor as if he was a soldier in boot camp and pulling himself up onto the piano bench, grunting in pain as he plopped down on it and casually leaned back against the instrument. "My god, what happened to you?" the professor couldn't help but ask, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"I tripped down the stairs," Roger replied sullenly, avoiding Brian's concerned gaze as he squirmed uncomfortably on the seat, his ass still tender and sensitive from the beating it received this past weekend.

"Well, are you okay?" the professor inquired, maintaining the distance between him and the music instructor, afraid things would get out of hand if he were to eliminate the space separating them.

Roger couldn't hold back the sad chuckle that slipped past his lips, or the sarcastic response that followed. "Does it look like I'm okay?"

The professor let out an awkward laugh, nodding his head and saying, "Fair enough."