Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

3. Skylar

Absurdly early the next morning, my alarm clock rings. I bolt upright, jarred out of deep sleep, and very unhappy to be awake. I love med school, I do, but it's exhausting. Exams are next week, and my brain feels like it might explode.

I bury my head under the pillow for a few minutes, enjoying the silence. A hazy memory pops into my head from four years ago at Sarah's wedding: Roger's face leans towards mine in slow motion as if I'm watching a film, his eyes half-closed as they near my face.

Then, just as quickly as the fragment appeared in my mind, it's replaced by another. This time, it's the kind but stern face of Professor McCollough, the only female professor I've ever had, telling me that the field of medicine isn't quite ready for us ladies. I'll have to work twice as hard as all the other male students just to be taken seriously.

Reminded of why I'm busting my ass every day, I reluctantly get up and pad down the hall to the shower. Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in my kitchen wearing an olive sweater dress and tan boots. As I take the first bite of my buttered toast, I notice a handwritten note sitting on the counter.

He couldn't stop talking about you  

I roll my eyes at Jenny's exaggeration. Assuming that the "he" in question is Roger, then I'm reasonably confident that he moved on pretty quickly once I left. There's no danger that he went home alone, that's for sure.

I admit, it was flattering to be the object of his brief affections, but I know better than to get involved with someone like him. Roger is one of those guys who makes you feel like a million bucks when their attention is on you, but, when inevitably their interest wanes, you're left feeling empty and alone. And, potentially bruised heart aside, I simply don't have time for romantic drama at the moment.

The clock on the wall chimes. Shoveling down the last bit of toast and taking a final sip of tea, I grab my bag from the hook in the entryway. The front door closes heavily behind me as I wince at the cold, damp air. It's just after sunrise, so the city is bathed in a muted, warm glow. Stepping onto the deserted street, I'm so busy trying to zip up my coat that I fail to notice the blonde across the street.

"Skylar!" a gruff voice calls quietly. My head whips around to see Roger leaning across a gate, cigarette in hand. He's bundled up in a faux fur coat and red corduroy pants, aviator sunglasses perched atop his head. Even from here, his eyes look tired. I wonder if he's been up all night.

"Roger?" I'm thoroughly caught off-guard. He gives me a little smile as he stamps out his cigarette with his shoe and crosses the street towards me.

"Mornin'," he drawls, coming to a halt in front of me. He pecks me on the cheek, leaning back to flash me a well-practiced smile.

"What are you--? How did you--?" I sputter, my eyes wide with confusion.

"Your flatmate told me that you usually leave around this time." He looks at me like the cat who swallowed the canary, all mischief and glee.

"So... you've been waiting for me? This early in the morning?"

He nods. "Aren't you lucky?" he asks jokingly, offering me a cocky grin. I'm sure it's irresistible to most women but it isn't doing it for me at this precise moment. I blame the slight hangover and inadequate caffeine intake.

"That's certainly one word for it," I mutter as I run my hand through my hair, fluffing it up. "Um, I hate to disappoint, but I have to go--"

"To school, I know," he says quickly. "Can I walk with you?" He looks a little less confident than before, perhaps afraid that I'll refuse.

"Sure," I reply with a shrug. I turn in the direction of the university, and we start to walk companionably down the narrow sidewalk.

"You missed a good time last night," Roger says, prompting an eye-roll in his direction. "You did!" he insists. "Well, everyone else got shitfaced, but I used my time much more wisely."