Not With Those Teeth, Mate (Maylor/Froger/Deacury)

Chapter 3

"You're a really good singer, you know," Roger commented as he and Brian hopped off the stage – replaced by another musician whose head was on the chopping block – and made their way over to the bar. "Why haven't I seen you around here before?"

The curly-haired man bit his lip, slipping his hands into his pockets and scanning the room for his discarded book. "I'm not much of a performer, actually. I mean, I like to play and sing sometimes, but...but mostly..." His voice trailed off as he leaned back, believing he'd spotted his textbook – only to be disappointed when he blinked and it disappeared. He frowned and returned his attention to the blonde whose gaze hadn't left him once since they'd gotten off the stage, asking, "Sorry, where was I?"

Roger smirked, leaning against the bar. "You were in the middle of giving me some lame excuse as to why you're not part of this label."

The taller of the two chuckled nervously, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and rubbing his skin now beaded with sweat. "Right, right. Erm, I just...it's not my thing. My mum made me do this, you know, come here and socialize with people with similar interests and whatnot. I think it's bullocks, but what do I know?"

"You seem like a smart guy. I'm sure you know lots," the blonde retorted, waving the bartender over and nonchalantly ordering the two of them some champagne. Brian tried to hide the small grin that wanted to appear on his lips, but when the task became too difficult and time was running out, his opted to place his hand over his mouth, earning a raised eyebrow from Roger. The younger man decided not to say anything, choosing instead to remark, "But I bet you didn't know that EMI's looking for studio musicians, or that you'd be perfect for it, Mr. I'm-Not-A-Performer."

Brian blushed at the cheeky blonde's comment. "That's very kind of you, Roger, but I can't even begin to compare with the likes of you. You've probably been performing for years, and all I've ever done was one lousy gig at a pub where I fainted before I even got on stage."

Roger's lip perked up at the impossible thought of the tall man before him passing out in some back hallway. "I hope you're joking."

"I wish I were!" he laughed, his focus on the blonde shifting to the bartender as he placed two chutes down on the bar. Roger acquired both of them and began to walk away, Brian hesitating to follow after him. It was only when the drummer looked back over his shoulder to check that his new friend was behind him that the guitarist jumped forward, joining the former outside where a few stragglers had wandered off to, wanting to get a better view of the fireworks that were due to go off at any moment.

"Don't beat yourself up over it," Roger blurted out, continuing their conversation and offering one of the drinks to Brian while keeping his attention directed towards the city glowing beneath and around them. The curly-haired man reluctantly accepted the drink, swirling it around in the chute as the blonde said, "I remember the first time I performed. I was about seven years old, and my friends and I had this little band. I don't remember what we called ourselves, but I do remember them making me play the ukulele. Surely, you can imagine how that went."

"What's wrong with playing ukulele?" the taller of the two wondered aloud, his question going unanswered as the crowd behind them began to count down from ten – indicating the soon-to-be arrival of the new year.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...Happy New Year!"

Fireworks shot up into the dark sky, leaving spiraling trails of sparks as they rose higher and higher, reaching their climax and bursting into a colorful shower that illuminated all of London. The abrupt explosions rang in everyone's ears, mixed with the roaring sound of cheerful exclamations, horns, squawkers, and blowouts coming from inside the record label. The sudden change in atmosphere had Brian clutching tightly onto his drink with wide, innocent eyes, surveying the bustling room behind him and witnessing couples pair up to share their first New Year's kisses and friends sharing drinks under the cascading streamers and confetti.

The clink of another glass against his startled him, a few drops of champagne splashing on the ground as Brian's attention was drawn back to the blonde who smiled and downed his champagne in one, swift sip. Brian feigned a grin and tried to do the same, but he only finished half of it before having to stop. His cheeks blushed a bright red as he met Roger's amused gaze, the embarrassment causing him to shout, "You know, I should probably find my mom and wish her a Happy New Year's!"

The drummer nodded his head in understanding, replying just as loudly, "Yeah, I should too. I mean, not your mom. My mom." He shook his head, his voice starting to falter the more flustered he became. "I mean, I don't have a mom. Two dads. Well, a stepdad and his boyfriend. It's weird. I think my stepdad killed my mom. Well, not really. There hasn't been any proof of it, but it's just feeling I have, you know?"

A grin broke out onto Brian's face, relieved to see that he wasn't the only flawed one. "Happy New Year's, Rog."

The taller man tilted his half-empty drink towards the blonde in salutation and began to walk away when Roger's voice froze him in his tracks, "Hey, don't be a stranger, stranger!" Brian smirked and, keeping his back to the blonde so he didn't see the intensifying rouge on his face, disappeared into the crowd.