Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 63

The pair of friends disappeared down the hallway, debating on whether they should grab a drink or not. Freddie seemed more inclined to the idea than Roger, who felt a stronger pull towards just going to his house, afraid of returning to the establishment where—after their long days at work—many of his clients chose to delay their return home.

Thinking about the weekend he had with Sid, the thought of facing any of the men he'd become familiar with turned Roger's stomach into knots, because he knew as soon as they'd catch sight of the blonde mop atop his head, they'd lure him into one of the back rooms and ask him for a quick hand or blow job, or maybe even something more depending on how many drinks they slammed beforehand. At one point in time, Roger would've never turned down requests like this, desperate for the money the filthy acts earned him, but thanks to the trade he and Chrissie made, he no longer felt it necessary to degrade himself like that. He had a paycheck now, a paycheck that falsely reflected the amount of work the music instructor actually accomplished—not that he was going to complain.

Also, the possibility of Tim being there further dissuaded the blonde from choosing the bar over Freddie's house. He hadn't spoken to him all day, and the idea of confronting him in public—as opposed to at home and behind closed doors—terrified him. No one knew the true nature of their relationship except for Freddie, and now Brian and maybe even Ben. Everyone else thought of them as this picturesque couple. "Perfect partners in crime," they'd say, to which Roger and Tim would smile, laugh, and nod at. It was all a show, and the music instructor couldn't fathom what it would be like for their facade to shatter before their biggest fans' eyes.

"Come on," Freddie insisted, his voice on the whinier side as he clung to the blonde's arm and pouted his lips out, "It's just a drink, and if anyone pesters you, I'll take them to the bathroom and fuck them in a stall until they forget all about you. How does that sound?"

A wide grin broke out on Roger's face as he shook his head. "No, I'm taking you home and that's final."

"Okay, so you take me home. Where are you going to go after that? Home to Tim?"

"Yes!" the blonde exclaimed with an exasperated laugh, shaking his friend off his arm and turning towards him, "Look, I-I know you're just trying to help here, Fred, but really, could you just let me deal with this on my own? I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Freddie snapped, throwing his hands on his hips and raising an incredulous eyebrow, "Do you really? Because take a look at yourself, babe. You're limping, and you've got the biggest black eye I've ever seen. Clearly, you've been dealing with this just fine on your own."

The dark-haired man's sarcasm drew a sigh from the blonde and pushed him closer to the building's exit, the growing distance between them inciting fear in Freddie that Roger would leave him behind. "W-Wait for me!" he nervously called out, running after his friend.

Just as the door closed behind the two friends, another one opened—the one to Brian's classroom. The professor turned his head left and right, scoping the corridors for his girlfriend who he needed to get away from for just a second. Their whole afternoon had practically been spent together, the headmistress pulling aside the professor with every chance she could get for a quick session in the supply closet in the lecture hall or in her office, the door locked and the blinds drawn shut. As inviting as Chrissie's newfound passion was, Brian couldn't rid himself of the nagging voice ringing in the back of his head.

He's never going to leave Tim if you don't tell him how you feel...So please, Brian, I beg you—for the love of gays everywhere—when you get back down there, tell him how you feel.

The professor felt embarrassed about how distracted he'd gotten over the course of the day. From the minute he pulled his car into the car park, and the minute he set his bag down at his desk, he had one goal in mind—to relay to Roger what he had told Freddie that drunken night. Each step he took towards the makeshift classroom boosted his confidence, and each attempt Roger made to push him away encouraged him to persist with his apology and confession. Then Chrissie came along, and suddenly Brian once again became the coward who blindly abided by the orders he was given, even if he didn't fully agree with them.

Determined to break away from that label and having deemed the coast clear—the click of high heels absent in the blanket of silence that had been draped over the entire university—Brian slipped out of his classroom and into the basement. He sidled the walls as though he were a spy and at risk of making a wrong move that'd prove detrimental to his mission, reaching his final destination with an unanticipated sense of disappointment. As he peered through the window and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, all he could see was black, and when he tried to twist the knob, it wouldn't budge.

"Dammit," the professor muttered under his breath, punching the door with his other hand and resting his forehead against the smooth surface—eyes closed.

"Oi, May!" a deep, awkward voice echoed through the corridor, peeling Brian's head away from the door and turning it in the direction of the stairwell where, standing in the middle of the hallway, was Paul.

"Paul, h-hi!" Brian stammered in response, trying to raise his voice so that the janitor could hear him but producing a shaky, somewhat anxious-sounding greeting instead. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here, I just—"

"Did you and the head bitch in charge use my closet today?" he called back, his question instantly raising a blush in the professor's cheeks. When Brian failed to respond, the janitor chuckled and made his way down the hall, assuring him, "It's alright if you did, mate! You're not the only ones, you know." He grabbed the taller man's hand and slammed Chrissie's balled up underwear into it with a wide grin. "Just clean up after yourselves next time, yeah?"

The professor stared at the piece of lingerie in horror.

"It's the least you could do," Paul tacked on, the cheeky expression he adorned himself with fading as he cleared his throat and tucked his hands into his pale blue coveralls. He swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting for the professor to say or do something, anything, but the underwear in the palm of his hand mesmerized him, sending his heart into a flutter and his mind into a flurry.

The custodian pressed his lips tightly together before pulling a hand out of his pocket and dropping it on Brian's shoulder, giving him a slight shake that tore him out of the trance he fell into and saying, "Well you have yourself a good night now, May. Alright?"

The professor stumbled over his words as he tried to respond with a simple, "You...You too."

Paul flashed him a meek grin before turning away from Brian and disappearing down the hallway, adding with a twirl of his step—so as to make him walk backwards—and an index finger pointed in the teacher's direction, "Remember what I said about cleaning up after yourselves next time!"

Brian, still in shock about the unexpected position he found himself in, shook his head, stuttering, "W-Will do, sir!"

"Good boy," the janitor quipped, winking at the curly-haired man before returning his attention forward. The professor shoved the pair of underwear into his coat pocket and sprinted in the opposite direction, the shame of the situation propelling him right out of the school and into his car where he tried to catch his breath. He'd never ran that fast before in his entire life.

After calming himself down enough to see straight, he stuffed his hand into his jacket and extracted the intimate garment Paul had discovered. The reckless mistake brought tears to the professor's eyes, utterly ashamed of the person he'd become.

If only he was the King of England...