Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 11

The professor gave the piano one final shove, taking a step back to assess his work and deciding its placement was as good as it was going to get. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the blonde, standing stiff in the center of the room—staring right at him while at the same time not seeing him at all. The pathetic sight tugged at the professor's heart, the ghost of his harsh words haunting his memory.

"And this distance you're putting between us, it won't change that. I know you want it to, but it won't. Remember that when you're in America and all you have is Tim."

Biting his lip, his gaze flickered over to one of the tables where a pad and pen had been left behind. Without so much as a second thought, he walked over and took a seat, grabbing the two items and quickly scribbling down his phone number. He capped the pen with a beating heart and tore the sheet unevenly, taking the smaller of the two halves and creasing the center.

Brian stood up and walked over to Roger, dropping his free hand onto the blonde's shoulder and breaking him from the daze he'd fallen into. "Take care, Rog," he murmured, placing the strip of paper into the former music instructor's palm and folding his fingers over it. He looked into the sad blue eyes locked on his and tried his best to smile, but he couldn't, and so he retracted both his hands and slipped them into his pockets, leaving the room without any intention of turning back.

The blonde's fingers uncurled to reveal the slip, and it wasn't long before he realized what it was. The ends began to crinkle underneath his tightening grip, and a tear fell from his eye, splashing onto the paper and making some of the blue ink bleed. If it weren't for the knock on the door, or the fact that it was Freddie leaning against the threshold with pursed lips, he would've broken down right then and there.

"So, what did I miss?" the dark-haired man asked casually, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt in an afterthought attempt to disguise the evidence of his romp in the janitor's closet, "Change your mind yet about this whole new-life-with-Tim-in-America thing?"

Roger sniffled and pulled out his wallet, shoving the phone number into the pocket with the few bills he carried and turning around to face his friend. "No," he swiped his hand underneath his eye and wiped it against his pants, "I-We're still going."

"Really? Why?" Freddie whined, the blonde brushing past him and wordlessly beckoning him to follow. He heaved a sigh and dragged himself down the hall, pushing past students with his hands up.

"Because it's over, Freddie," he mumbled once the dark-haired man joined his side, his cheeks blushing brightly, "It's over."

Roger blinked away the tears that had resurfaced in his eyes and glanced down over at the phone still sitting in his boyfriend's lap. He pressed his lips tightly together, his gaze trailing up Tim's chest to his face. The blonde swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and dared to take the phone from the brunette's possession, setting the paper slip down on the table and slowly lifting the handset off his shoulder; the base from his lap. He didn't even realize it, but he held his breath doing so, afraid that if he exhaled, Tim would wake and interrogate him. He didn't know what he would say if he was asked about his intentions, because he wasn't quite sure himself. He was just following his instincts; going with his gut.

Thankfully Roger managed to transfer the device from Tim to himself, letting out the anxious breath he'd been holding in and bringing the phone up to his ear, his thumb falling down on the button that ended the disconnected call. His eyes wandered down to the number, his heartbeat in his ears. He'd made a call back home before, to Freddie, so he was no stranger to international calls—nor was he a stranger to the toll they took on his and Tim's phone bill, so he had to make this call worth it.

Would it be worth it?

The blonde took in a deep breath and lifted his thumb, the dial tone starting up again. He punched in the number slowly, one digit at a time, as if to give himself the opportunity to change his mind, hang up, and go to bed. However, he persisted, finishing the number with a clenched jaw and leaning back into the couch, listening to it ring.

The longer it rang, the faster Roger's heart pounded against his chest and the more his nerves began to build. The temptation to hang up became more and more enticing, and just as he sat up, ready to smash the handset down on the receiver, the ringing ceased and a groggy "Hello?" sounded from the speaker.

Roger froze, the familiar voice sending a chill down his spine.

"Hello?"

The blonde flinched and quickly hung up, tossing the entire thing to the floor and waking his boyfriend with a start. He sat forward and buried his face behind his hands, Tim rubbing his back in a comforting way and mumbling tiredly, "Hey, when did you get home?"

Roger was too shaken up to bring himself to answer Tim's question, opting instead to shake his head in embarrassment and jump up from the couch, snatching up the wallet and slip of paper and disappearing into their bedroom—the door slamming shut behind him. The brunette shot up from his slouched position on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"Bad day?" he guessed in a pathetic attempt to bring the blonde back out, his call going unanswered, much to his disappointment. He frowned and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and scanning the shadow-cast apartment for an explanation. He wouldn't find it—not that night, at least.