𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

XXXII

September 16, 1977

The man sits with his legs casually crossed in the backseat of a cab, watching with frozen eyes as the rainy scenery blurs past. It was a day he didn't think would come fast enough, yet now there was a rock tumbling in his stomach. The cab was seemingly going faster, closer and closer to the location he now dreaded.

He thought he was ready to see her. To see them. But he now realized it was quite the opposite.

"I think it's right here," Roger says softly to the driver, who obediently pulls over. The house is nothing spectacular- one-story, painted a fading powder blue, with a wrap-around porch and lively green grass adorning the front lawn. He quickly changes his mind. The place is lovely.

"It was great meeting you, Mr. Taylor," the driver says as Roger pays, and they give each other a quick wave and a nod as he exits.

He feels completely out of place as he trots up to the front door. There he is, clad in a leather jacket, looking the furthest from a family man as he could get. A fleeting thought crosses his mind. I could walk away now. Hail another cab, go back home. It might be better for all of us. He dismisses it, although the idea is more tempting than he'd like to admit.

Roger gives his hair another tousle before pressing the doorbell.

He waits a century before he hears the scraping of a lock on the other side, and the door hesitantly opens. And she's there, in front of him, alive and breathing and glowing. Standing straight at her full height of five feet six inches, with an expression bordering panic.

If you asked him to name the things he loved about Thea, he wouldn't know where to begin.

He'd say what first captivated him was her hair. Long, so long that it brushed her lower back. He loves her eyes just as much, though. They were only brown, but deep like two wishing wells. He'd often find himself peering into the deep, dark voids of her pupils, as if he was a child leaning over a well. The next thing he loves about her face was her mouth, more specifically, her lips. Round, pink, always soft. Her skin, that always smelled like soap and fresh laundry.

He loves everything.

It was overwhelming how much he liked her. With every other girl he met, there was always one thing he could pick out that he disliked. Whether it be an off-putting quirk in their personality, or a weirdly bent thumb. With Thea, nothing came to his mind. When she had rejected him countless times, he'd pick out every potential flaw of hers to make himself feel better. Those flaws, however, weren't flaws in his mind. They were the best parts about her.

Like how her nose would wrinkle when he'd tell a bad joke. Or how she'd obsessively crack her knuckles when she was anxious.

There is nothing he dislikes about Thea. That fact scared him to no end in the past. She was too perfect, much too perfect for him especially. As much as he would've loved to call her his own, he couldn't bring himself to claim her. Not completely. He feels as if he doesn't deserve her.

Now he drinks her in. Absorbs her presence, his heart picking up as if it remembers her too. It's the first time since their long time apart that he's actually seen her. Observed her. Their first meeting in a hotel lobby wasn't ideal- he was full of nerves, hostile and chain-smoking. Now he could truly notice her with a somewhat clearer head. The same eyes he loves, different hair. It's chopped off short, hanging slightly above her shoulders. She isn't as thin as she used to be, but then again neither is Roger. She looks incredible.

"Hey."

"Hi." Thea steps aside, opening the door wider to let him inside. The place is very modern, he notices. Leave it to her to have all the latest decor in all the latest styles. Brightly colored furniture, very open concept, everything matching neatly to a certain color scheme. He's impressed.