Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 30

Roger bit his lip, standing in the doorway for a little more before slinking away from it, forcing himself not to look back as he descended the staircase and left the bar. On the subway, Roger sat forward—his back hunched, his elbows resting atop his thighs, and his hands clutching onto the piece of paper adorned with Stewart's number. He was so engrossed in the seven digits he almost missed his stop. However, as soon as he slipped into the dark apartment, ignoring Tim's friend's pass at him, he plopped himself down on the couch and dialed the café owner with a sense of urgency he lacked when calling Brian the other night.

He brought the phone up to his ear and listened to the nerve-racking ring, his heart beating faster and harder with each iteration of the tone. Just as he was about to hang up, ready to call it a night and wait for Geoff to bring Tim back home, the line picked up.

"Yello," the voice on the other end of the line sounded—the greeting so casual and laid-back, it threw the blonde off.

"Stewart?"

"Roger!" he exclaimed, "I've been expecting your call. 'Surprised it took you this long. Ready to rock?"

This was too easy—so easy that Roger questioned whether this was really happening. From the moment his shift ended to Geoff's insistence that he leave his boyfriend with him and take the night for himself to Stewart's insomnia-driven invitation, it all seemed too perfect. Things had never fallen into place so well for the blonde, and it terrified him. He was certain that at any moment, he'd wake up either in bed or on the subway, disappointed that he missed out on possibly the only opportunity he'd get to abandon this less-than-desirable excuse of a life and go back to where he truly belonged; to who he truly belonged.

Taking childish precautions, wanting to make sure this was happening, Roger dared to pinch himself—a sharp jolt of pain coursing through his arm. "Yup," he blurted out, simultaneously assuring himself of the reality of the situation and answering Stewart's question.

"Awesome!" the taller of the two blondes replied. "Well, I live above the café, and my door's always open, so just come on over when you're ready."

An excited grin tugged at the corners of the blonde's lips, only to be wiped away seconds later with the remembrance that, "I-I don't have a guitar." He covered his face with his hand even though Stewart couldn't see him. "I'm sorry. I left everything behind when I moved here and—"

"Don't worry about it, man. I've got one you can use."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course!" Stewart laughed, as if this situation was completely normal. Maybe it was for him, but who was Roger to judge? Normal for him used to be meeting up with clients at all hours of the night, dressed up in drag and wishing he was someone else. He only got the opportunity to fulfill that desire once before, and he completely blew it.

"Now get your ass over here before you talk yourself out of it. I'll see you soon."

Roger's eyes widened at the café owner's final remark, followed by the sound of line being disconnected. The blonde slowly drew the phone away from his ear, wondering how the café owner knew what he was thinking.

Stewart was giving the blonde a second chance. Roger didn't know why, but he was, and he knew that if he blew this one like he did the last, he probably wouldn't get another. It was only a matter of time until he fell back into the old swing of things. He was halfway there as it was with Cheryl, and if he didn't take this opportunity, he knew there would be more Cheryls, Sids, and Timothées.

So, without wasting any more time, Roger rushed out of his apartment, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the sly question of, "Where do you think you're going?"

The blonde looked back over his shoulder to see the landlord standing in his apartment's doorway—leaning against the threshold with a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

"I'm going out," he answered.

"Oh, are you now?" Tim's friend peeled himself away from the entryway and sauntered over to Roger, smirking. "What should I tell your boy when he comes back? Because he worries about you, you know...thinks you're going to leave him again." The blonde clenched his jaw. "Yeah, he told me all about the little stunt you pulled back in London; said I should keep an eye on you when he's not around."

"I'm just meeting up with a friend," the blonde defended himself, the shadows of the night masking the blush that rose in his cheeks.

"A friend, huh?" The landlord took another step closer to him, eyes narrowed.

Roger swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and muttered a weak, "Yes, a friend," in response.

Tim's friend stared at the blonde for a little longer, bringing the burning white stick up to his lips and taking a long drag. After holding his breath for a bit, he exhaled slowly—the smoke irritating Roger's eyes. "And when will you be back?" he continued his interrogation, his voice low and his gaze sharp.

"I don't know, probably sometime later today," the blonde mumbled, growing more uncomfortable with each passing second.

"Hmm," the landlord hummed, glancing down at his cigarette. He twirled it in his fingers once before returning his attention to Roger, the blonde's heart racing a mile a minute. "Let's hope so." He tucked the white stick in between his lips and retreated to his apartment, slamming the door behind him and releasing the blonde from the invisible chains that tied him down.

Roger let out a shaky breath and blinked away the tears that surfaced, pushing his way out of the dark apartment complex and heading for the café, more determined than ever to win Stewart over and get out of New York City before it was too late.