Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 86

When the car lulled to a stop and Brian opened the door, Roger—who had drifted off for a short nap—woke with a startle. His worried eyes met Brian's, those captivating hazel irises quickly settling his nerves.

"I'm just grabbing a few things," the professor explained softly, diving across the seat, slipping his hand to the back of the blonde's neck, and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. Roger didn't have much time to react before Brian pulled away, his fingers toying with the music instructor's long locks of hair as he added, "I'm thinking we'll stop by yours next so you can do the same, and then we'll hit the road and never look back. Yeah?"

"Y-Yeah," Roger stammered, still in awe of the situation they found themselves in.

"Great." Brian leaned in once more and left him with a chaste kiss as he scurried inside, abandoning Roger in the running car.

The blonde exhaled slowly, running his hands up and down the tops of his thighs as he mentally ran through what getting his things would be like.

First, he'd have to use the spare key hidden in the dying plant at the end of the hallway to get in. Then, once inside, he'd have to sneak his way into his bedroom and over to the closet, cautious not to wake Nana as he slowly and calculatedly pushed the sliding door along its track. The sliding door creaked even with the slightest touch, though, so naturally Nana would stir, thinking he was an intruder.

He'd have to convince her it was him—her—and, after she calmed down, explain why he—she—was leaving. However, the news would absolutely break her heart, so he'd have to lie to her. The task seemed simple enough, seeing as he'd done it for so many years, but he didn't feel like lying to her anymore, and so he'd have to decide how to tell her the truth without scaring her into calling the police on him even though he wasn't an intruder. It was the least she deserved after saving him from tying the knot with Tim, right? Right?

Before Roger could change his mind, the hypothetical situation wetting his palms and sending his heart into a flutter, the car door behind him clicked open—Brian tossing his bag into the backseat. The blonde tried to meet the professor's gaze, but he didn't even bother to look up before closing the door and circling the car to hop back in. The older man shivered as he got settled in the driver's seat and finally met the younger man's concerned gaze, prompting him to observe, "Oh no. You look like you're having second thoughts. Please don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

"No, no." Roger hung his head, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "No, I'm not...I just..." his voice trailed off into a slight chuckle, hoping to alleviate the tension rising in the vehicle before rattling off, "...I've just wanted this for a while now, and now that it's happening, I-I don't know what to think or how to feel."

The professor frowned and brought a hand up to the music instructor's cheek, gaining his attention. "Just think, Rog, you're finally getting away from Tim," he murmured, brushing his thumb across Roger's soft skin. "No more putting up with his shit. No more limping or black eyes or bruises, no more dressing up in drag, and no more pretending to be someone you're not. You deserve this, remember?"

The blonde bit his lip, struggling to support the claim the professor had stolen and used against him.

"Come on. This'll be fun." Brian pinched Roger's cheek—causing the blonde to flinch—before dropping his hand to the gear shift and putting the car in drive.

Roger shifted uncomfortably in his seat and turned his head out the window, watching as they pulled away from the professor's house. He contemplated what Brian planned to do with it now that they were leaving, really leaving. Perhaps he'd sell it, or keep it, or let the squatter who'd inevitably break in stay. Maybe he'd give it to Chrissie after Timothée kicked her out. After all, she'd need a place to stay and his house would be the perfect place to raise their child. The only thing missing would be Brian.

Roger's eyes flickered over to the professor, thinking about when and if he was going to tell him about her. It was obvious that that's what he was talking about when he mentioned being so afraid of something, and knowing Brian like he did, Roger doubted he'd be able to forget about it. It was possible that he could for that night, but the blonde could see that the dilemma eating away at him—the clenched jaw, the white knuckles, the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel, he couldn't have been more on edge.

Luckily, before the tension in the car could reach an overwhelming point of unbearableness, the two arrived at Roger's flat. The blonde took in a deep, shaky breath and glanced over at Brian, the professor too involved in his own thoughts to notice the attracted gaze. Roger sighed and got out of the car, snapping Brian out of his daze but—just like he had done to him, but this time with intention—not giving him the chance to respond.

The music instructor jogged into the complex and launched himself up the stairs, scanning the hallway for any onlookers before sticking his hand into the uncared-for planter and retrieving the hidden key from underneath the dry soil. He blew the dirt off and trudged down the dimly lit corridor to his apartment, inserting the key into the lock with ease. He wrapped his hand around the doorknob and went to turn it when the memory of walking in on Tim and Ben flashed before him, the sounds of their bodies slamming, the sight of the wicked grin plastered on Tim's face upon his arrival, and the feeling of betrayal that followed stopping him dead in his tracks.

Roger squeezed his eyes shut and muttered to himself, "He's not here. He's not here. He's not here," before pushing through the traumatizing recollection and into the flat, where he was met—much to his relief—with silence and darkness. He couldn't hold back the small grin that stretched across his face or the small chuckle that emanated from the back of his throat, reflecting on how ridiculous his fears were.

No more putting up with Tim's shit.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Roger slipped into his bedroom and went for the closet. However, before he could reach his destination, he tripped over something he didn't see on the ground and fell to the floor, the drop making more noise than the closet doors would.

No more limping or black eyes or bruises.

"Fuck," he grumbled, listening to the bed creak beneath Nana as she sat up.

The old woman lifted the eye mask to her forehead and squinted her eyes to try and see through the shadows. "Tim?"