Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

16. Roger

I've never been a believer in the concept of delayed gratification. I'm more of an I-want-it-all-right-fucking-now sort of bloke.

Until now, that is. As of today, you can consider me a convert.

I'm practically skipping as I near the hospital to pick up Skylar. Tonight's date is a bit of a group effort: Freddie finagled us a reservation at Le Caprice, Brian lent me money so I can actually pay for the flashy dinner, and John loaned me his navy suit. Also included in the group effort were the 5,376 jokes made at my expense throughout the past few weeks.

Skylar, of course, knows none of this. She's been told only to meet me outside the hospital after her shift, preferably dressed to kill. She begged me to tell her what we were doing, but I'm nothing if not a man of mystery.

As I near the staff entrance, I see a lone figure illuminated under the fluorescent lightbulb. Skylar is slouched against the brick wall, still dressed in her light blue scrubs. She's smoking a cigarette, which isn't a good sign because that only happens when she's stressed. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and it's clear that she's been awake for far too long.

"Hey, you," I call out as I approach the building.

"Hey," she replies softly as her hazel eyes rise to meet my gaze.

"You look lovely as always," I say, leaning in to peck her lips. "But, I'm not sure that this get-up fits with the restaurant's dress code. I know that I look ultra sharp in this suit, but I'm afraid..."

I trail off as she sighs deeply, tossing her cigarette to the ground.

"I-- I can't go to dinner tonight."

I exhale slowly, commanding both my temper and my hormones to calm the fuck down. Skylar looks wrecked, so clearly, this isn't her choice. The poor thing looks absolutely knackered and supremely annoyed.

"Doug has the flu, so they need more coverage," she continues. "I tried to get out of it, but..." she trails off with a defeated sigh.

"But you just worked a shift." I feel outraged on her--and my--behalf. I can practically imagine word-for-word the bollocking Freddie is going to get from the hostess at Le Caprice, whom he charmed into giving us a prime dinner spot. He's going to kill me.

"Well, I just have to stay until Lucy starts her shift, but it'll be midnight by then. I'm so sorry, Roger. I know you had planned something special."

I step closer and look furtively around the deserted staff entrance. Seeing no one, I wrap my arms around Skylar, and she leans against me to rest her head on my shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Rog." She speaks into my shoulder before lifting her head to look up at me with her hazel eyes. "And I was really looking forward to the fifth date... if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean, yeah," I murmur with a grin, leaning down to kiss her shoulder.

"This fucking hospital," she complains softly.

Seriously, though. This goddamn hospital. This fucking tour. Sky and I have barely been able to see each other the past few weeks, much less figure out what this even is. The last thing I want to do before going on a three-month tour is to leave everything undefined and vague. Fuck that.

Skylar shifts slightly, and my body is suddenly very much aware of its proximity to hers. Why did we decide that we had to wait five bloody dates for something that clearly both of us wanted on the first?! At the time, it seemed like a lark, a challenge. Now the concept of delayed gratification just seems foolish.

Bloody hell.

Skylar is once again resting her forehead against my chest, and I wonder if she's actually dozed off whilst standing up. After a few silent moments, she speaks.