all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

34- Freddie Mercury

It wasn't often that Freddie and I had a fight.

Partially because of the fact that we weren't very hot-headed people (at least when it came to dealing with each other, that is), and partially due to the fact that our nearly-deathly fear of losing each other to our own irrational thoughts prevented us from losing our tempers over nonesense.

However, lately, it seemed that all we were actually capable of was picking the most trivial of fights with each other, and for the pettiest of reasons. Previously, we'd never raised our voices at each other. But little by little, decibel by decibel, the walls of our apartment had begun to memorize how we sounded when we screamed our heads off. Slowly but surely, a raging war had begun between the both of us, and god forbid someone gets in the way of the brewing storm.

Was it unbeknownst to us? I could only speak for myself, and I could say with all certainty that it definitely wasn't. It hadn't slipped my notice that our conversations could no longer remain civil.

We would struggle to have a normal talk that would slip away to me yelling at him about his alleged groupies, him coldly brushing me off, then proceeding to scream that he wasn't getting the respect he deserved---and vice versa. He'd get off, huffing that he'd seen me out in town with an old friend of mine, and I'd get livid at his accusations, causing him to start throwing his hands about.

In short, our relationship had been reduced to nothing but a toxic mess. It seemed only fitting that I myself had been reduced to a jumble of tears and blubbering on the floor of the eerily quiet studio, with no living soul but Brian to keep me company in my misery.

It wasn't that I was suddenly hit with the realization that we were barely tolerating each other's presence, but it was the fact that the nasty scuffle while recording their latest LP just at that moment had been the final straw. The reason behind our fight was long forgotten, but the reminder that we were breaking apart was far from being so.

I could only let out pitiful sobs and tug at my hair in utter frustration (at myself? At Freddie? At life itself? One may never know), while Brian sighed unhappily, rubbing my shoulder with a strained look on his face.

His normally stress-free expression was replaced with what I could distinguish as a mix of discomfort and pain, probably because he was in a position in which he couldn't pick sides without losing one person he genuinely cared about and cherished---and that fact alone made me feel absolutely terrible for letting it all out in front of him.

His hazel eyes were gentle, lightly probing but not being intrusive. Brian didn't want to force the words out of me, and yet he most likely already understood the reason behind my tears. Perhaps everyone around us had taken notice of our rocky relationship, and heaven knows how I'd managed not to crack before that moment.

What truly shattered me was the onslaught of memories that washed over me; reminders of how absolutely in love we were and how so simply happy we'd been. Was it a honeymoon phase?

But no, honeymoon phases don't last for 4 years. They don't carry such weight on my chest. They most certainly don't leave the ghost of his kiss lingering on my lips, causing my heart to pang.

Amidst my choked up crying, Brian's soft voice came out almost inaudible, "Tell me what I can do to help."

Shaking my head in resolution, I just curled up against him like a child would do to their mother, my sobs thinning as my chest grew more painful. Nothing could be done. Especially not by Brian; it wouldn't be fair to put him in the crossfire.

The creaking of the rusty studio door was heard from our right, and I could feel Brian's mass of curls bob upwards to glance at the intruder. Wordlessly, his kind face smiled at me before pushing himself up from the floor, leaving a caring kiss to the top of my head and alerting me as to who had entered.