Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 97

"I still don't see why you have to move halfway across the world," Freddie grumbled as he shoved Roger's papers into one of the many boxes Paul had given him to pack up his things. "What's wrong with England?"

"I have too much history here, Fred," the blonde muttered in response, fumbling with his drum kit and choosing not to meet his friend's narrowed glare, "You know that."

Freddie scoffed. "Yeah, too much history. More like 'I've dressed up as a girl for so long that I lost my balls and can't find the courage to be with the most perfect man I'll ever meet, even after he practically flung himself at me and put everything on the line just to be with me.'" Roger finally returned the dark-haired man's gaze, his jaw clenched in refrain of saying something that would drive his only helper away. "All I'm saying is that I don't think moving to America is going to solve your problems, Rog." The overdramatic man folded his arms over his chest and popped one hip out to the side. "Especially if you're going with him."

The former music instructor grunted and yanked two pieces of his kit apart, setting the small drum on top of the tower of other, larger drums he'd already disassembled. "It was his idea, Fred. I couldn't just not let him come."

"Uh, yeah, you could," the dark-haired man retorted, getting himself into character and imitating his friend and the hypothetical situation he wished had played out instead of the agreement the toxic couple made the morning after the faculty Christmas party, "'Tim, you're an absolute piece of shit and I've put up with you for the last time. I'm moving to America, and there's nothing your stupid arse can say or do to make me change my mind. End of discussion. Bye forever.'" He dropped his head to the side, his sass-filled eyes meeting the blonde's unamused ones. "Easy as that."

"No one actually talks like that, Freddie," Roger chuckled uncomfortably, stepping round his tower of drums and gravitating towards his small collection of guitars, "Especially not Tim and me."

"No, of course not. All you two do is scream at each other at the top of your lungs, moan each other's names so loud your neighbors in the next complex over can hear, and complain to anyone willing to lend you an ear about how unfair the other person treats you," he spat, disgusted in his friend's cyclical behavior.

"You know, I didn't ask you here to shit on me and my relationship," the blonde snapped, ripping his cheap Fender—a gift, actually, from one of his clients—off its stand by the neck in aggravation.

"Yeah, well I didn't come here to see my best friend throw everything he's worked for in the trash," the dark-haired man responded just as sharply, earning a sigh from the blonde. "You're always going back to him, Roger, and for the life of me, I can't understand why. You had your chance to get out with Brian, and you were this close to getting away. Why the hell did you come back?"

Roger turned on his heel, the guitar swinging like a pendulum in hand as he shouted, "Because the chance was never mine for the taking, Freddie! It was his chance to get out of his mistake. It had nothing to do with me. I'm sure if it was you he met instead of me, he'd have done the same thing."

"I beg to differ," Freddie argued, crossing the room and stealing the instrument out of his friend's possession, "I saw the way he looked at those pictures of you, Roger." The blonde rolled his eyes, wordlessly conveying the all too familiar saying of here we go again. "Believe me. The look in his eyes didn't say that he wanted to use you for his own benefit. They said he wanted to get to know you and properly show you he cares."

The former music instructor scoffed. "I'll tell you exactly what I told him: It doesn't matter anymore. He's got Chrissie and a baby on the way, and I've got a new life waiting for me in America."

He snatched one of the discarded gig bags up off the ground and shoved it into Freddie's chest, frowning as the dark-haired man mumbled, "A new life with Tim."

Before the blonde could continue their argument, a knock rattled against the open door, attracting both men's attention to where the third man in question stood meekly, a disappointed expression replacing the misleadingly cheerful one he had strode through the halls with.

"So, this is it, huh?" the professor greeted sadly, slipping his hands into his pockets, "Just like that, the out-of-the-blue music program leaves the school just as soon as it entered it." His wandering gaze found its way to Roger's, a small grin tugging at his lips. "How do you think John will hold up without his weekly lessons?"

A blush crept up in the blonde's cheeks, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a faint grin. "I think he'll be just fine, so long as he has you."

Freddie, feeling the consequences of his clearly unwanted presence, cleared his throat. "Well, speaking of lessons, I, erm, forgot I had one with Paul." He blew a kiss Roger's way and declared he'd be back before the end of the day, promptly abandoning the two colleagues who stared awkwardly at one another, seemingly having lost the ability to communicate now that Freddie wasn't there to mitigate the tension that instantly arose upon his exit.

The blonde swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet before blurting out, "Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Not yet. My first class starts at eleven, but that's not for..." his voice trailed off as he lifted his wrist and pushed his sleeve back to reveal the watch strapped snug around his wrist, "...another two hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-nine seconds."

"Care to help me move the piano back to the teachers' lounge, then?" he asked, turning his head to look at the instrument he remembered falling back on countless times. He remembered the way it supported him when he was too weak to stand on his own and covered in scrapes and cuts and bruises that still faintly littered his tortured skin. He remembered the clamor it produced as Brian pushed him back into it, their lips colliding in a passionate rage that couldn't be tamed. Most of all, though, he remembered it bringing the two of them together, fueling their first real conversation that secured the blonde's feelings toward the curly-haired man now standing in his makeshift classroom's threshold, grinning at the opportunity.

"I would love to."