I still love you | Maylor fanfiction

28

Freddie's P.O.V.

He let out a lovely little moan and his head fell back as I kissed his neck softly. I brushed against his soft skin with my lips, inhaling his scent and his warm shaky breath waving over my face. I had my hands slithered in his hair, while I kept him pushed against the wall, one of my knees in between his legs, our hot bodies touching.

We were in a tiny dressing room, which wasn't meant for more than one person. It was only few meters of space, leading into the main backstage rooms for the performers. But it had its privacy, and it was enough for us.

I kissed him on his pink lips and placed a last kiss on his forehead. I pulled away, while my hand still rested on his chin.
"You know I love you?" John mumbled, hugging me and shoving his face into my shoulder.
"And I love you more," I smiled, wrapping my hands around him.
"Now," I took his face in hands lovingly, looking at him. "It's time."
He chuckled and blushed. "I'm nervous."
"Don't be my love," I kissed his forehead once more. "You'll be amazing. We'll be amazing. And I'll be there with you."
"Alright. Thank you," he gently brushed his lips against my cheek, stepping away and opening the door. "Let's go."

We entered a room with a couch and bunch of chairs and tables, with mirrors and lights along the walls, clothes laying around everywhere. Brian was there, sitting on the sofa, reading a book, as he was ready preparing for the concert and there still was some time left before we should head on stage. Roger was nowhere to be found.
"Hey, lovebirds," he grinned when his gaze fell on us. "Had fun?"
"Of course," I shrugged my shoulders mindlessly, joking as always, whereas John just blushed as mad instead. So cute. Made me want to drag him into that room again and kiss him all over.

"I'm happy for you too," Brian smiled honestly. Those words from him, and his true honesty, that I was sure that he meant it, cracked my walls, and brought a bit of redness to my cheeks as well.
"Thank you dear. I'm glad as well," I took Johns hand, squeezing it lightly.
"Me too," John smiled, rubbing thumb against my palm.

"Where's Rog?" I asked, throwing myself on the couch next to the poodle man.
"No idea," he admitted. "He disappeared."
"What is it with him before every gig? Is something wrong?" I wondered out loud. I started noticing it already from our very first small gigs. He always disappeared right before the show, and often looked pale and claimed he was sick. But then eventually, he would return being fine, with breath smelling after alcohol. Of course, I didn't say anything cause I knew Roger valued his pride and privacy and I didn't want to annoy him being a helicopter mother. But it was staring to get suspicious.

"Maybe he just went to the bathroom," Deaky said.
"Maybe," Brian agreed.

Roger's P.O.V.

I was sick. So sick. I was dying.
I was shaking on the cold ground of the bathroom, sinking in my own cold sweat, blood dripping slowly from the scratches I made myself in the attack I had. My stomach was swirling, even though all the food I ate before was already in the toilet or on the ground when I couldn't make it in time.

I knew it would come. I knew it would be bad. But I had no idea it would be this bad. And it came out of nowhere, struck me as a lightning. As it never happened before. I definitely wasn't prepared, as I stupidly hoped I would be.
We were bloody miles away from home. And I wanted to die. I was dying.
I wasn't ready to go out and play, there was no way. I couldn't even sit upright. I just couldn't do it. After years of hard work, giving up other things we cared about, all the sacrifices, I just brought it all to dust. If only I asked someone for help back it the time we did gigs in small pubs with little people watching. Why don't I? Why was I so stupid? Now I was trapped. And there was no way out.