𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 | dealor

philosophy

Roger stared at the letter in complete disbelief. His eyes were watering drastically and he was frozen to the spot. He needed to find a chair before he actually collapsed with all the emotion he was currently feeling.

He made his way onto the soft sofa in the middle of the living room with John's letter clutched tightly in his fist. He was going to have to read it a couple more times to actually believe it was real.

I don't just want to hug you and hold you. I want to do those as well as kiss you, whisper sweet nothings in you ear, tell you how much I adore you.

The blonde's heart starting racing what felt like 2,000 miles a minute and a bright pink blush crept up onto his face. He hadn't even realised he was crying before one hot tear hit the corner of John's letter. John's letter which confirmed he felt the same way Roger did. The tear fell onto the paper and slid down over John's beautiful scribbly handwriting and a huge grin overtook Roger's face. God, he felt so good.

He wanted to kiss John, too. He wanted to envelope him into the softest bear hug ever and kiss his rosy cheeks and peck the tip of his long nose. He wanted to breathe the same air as him but it was so bloody hard. He wanted, no needed, to be close to him right now. He was tempted to book a ticket to Italy right at that second before he was sadly reminded he had a total of £9.55 in his pocket.

He read the letter again. Of course he did. He knew he'd end up reading his words on a daily basis.

The cruel reminder of the fact they were 843 miles apart was killing him inside. He'd do anything to be next to John. He'd give everything just to be in the same bloody time zone as him.

The blonde got up from his seat, letter still in hand, and walked into his bedroom across the little hallway. He pushed the door open and went straight for the shelf on top of his bedside table. There he found his favourite picture in the world. John. His John, smiling into the camera with the cheesiest grin possible.

He didn't fail to notice how John signed off in his letter either.

Yours,
Deaky

Mine.

Roger decided to staple the picture of John to the letter, fold it up and placed it into the back of the other picture of John he had. The framed image which resided on his shitty little table.

How did he end up this lucky? A couple weeks ago Freddie and Brian struggled to convince Roger to get a pen pal and he remembered how he thought that the only people who signed up to have a pen pal were just 'acne freaks looking for a shag because they don't have a social life'... he'd never imagined he'd meet the kindest and most beautiful boy on the site. His beautiful John.

Ever since writing to John, Roger hadn't even used a computer. Well, the computer was actually Brian's but he'd honestly forgot they even existed. Exchanging letters was just more therapeutic and... romantic? He found it much more authentic, which is something he never thought he'd say. Plus, he got to see John's adorable handwriting and Roger would rather cut off his own hand than not be able to see his words written down on crumpled paper.

The front door suddenly opened and closed again, signifying Freddie's entrance.
"I'm home, darling." The older boy called out and Roger responded with a discreet hello.

Freddie stood in the doorway of Roger's bedroom and darted his eyes around the space before they settled on his little oak bedside table.

"Ooh, what's this?" He asked, walking over to pick up the frame which held a picture of a grinning John. "Loverboy?" Freddie wondered.

Roger just nodded. "Mhm. His letter came through the mail today." The drummer smiled to himself, blushing.

"Let me see, dear! Oh please!"