Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

26. Skylar

"Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged in."

Freddie elongates each syllable, his voice a mixture of surprise and disdain. For hours, I've been readying myself to explain everything to Roger. My carefully-crafted spiel runs through my head on repeat, ready to spill out.

What I hadn't counted on, however, was having to go through Freddie first.

I shift uncomfortably, refusing to make eye contact. Instead, I watch the restless tapping of his foot against the frame of the faded green door. Freddie clears his throat, shifts his weight to the other foot, and I wonder what Roger has told him about the fiasco in the pub.

The silence continues to intensify, becoming even more awkward until, finally, I feel brave enough to look up. Freddie's wiry frame is blocking the door, his dark hair much more curly and unkempt than I've ever seen it. His eyes are narrowed, but his mouth is slightly turned up as if he's in on a joke that only he knows about.

"Don't look so serious, darling," Freddie rolls his eyes good-naturedly and relaxes his stance. "Everyone knows that my bark is much worse than my bite."

He pauses to give me a studious once-over, perhaps determining if I'm to be further trusted with his best friend's heart. Freddie has been our biggest champion from the get-go, even before we knew that we needed one, and I can't help but feel as if I've let him down.

"C-could I come in? I ask softly. With his dark eyes trained on me, he crosses his arms across his chest as if considering the options. After a long moment, he sighs and runs a hand through his unruly hair.

"Did you really just walk away from him?" he asks.

"It wasn't like that," I reply defensively. I mean, really, how was I supposed to know that Roger would a) show up out of the blue and b) tell me that he loved me? If anything, what he had said in that stupid interview had made me think that that level of commitment would be impossible between us.

Freddie continues to glare at me as he once again shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I silently debate calling Roger's name, or perhaps just tackling Freddie. He's taller than me, but he's on the thin side, so maybe I could take him.

As I'm debating the aerodynamics of breaking-and-entering, Freddie exhales and deftly moves to the side. He motions me in with a dramatic gesture and shuts the door behind us as I make my way to the stairwell.

"There's just one problem, darling," he says quietly, putting an arm out to stop me. "I don't think Rog is here."

"Not-- not here?" I ask, confused. Because if he's not here, then where is he?

"He was here," Freddie replies, examining his long fingers and flicking off a speck of black nail polish from one hand. "He was definitely here last night, I can promise you that. But, I'm fairly certain that if you..."

I don't hear the rest of the sentence as I sprint up the stairs towards Roger's bedroom. Without hesitation, I barge through the half-open door, ready to throw myself into his arms to make everything right again.

But, just as Freddie predicted, my boyfriend isn't here.

My ragged breath echoes through the empty room as I stand just inside the doorway, taking in the perfectly-made bed. It's one of Roger's idiosyncrasies: no matter how late, or hungover, he is, he always takes the time to make the bed. He does so with military precision, making me wonder how his mother is a genius or a tyrant.

"Rog?" Freddie's voice echoes through the large house before becoming increasingly muffled as he walks outside. "Roooooooger?" A rooster crows as I stand by the window, watching the singer stride into the barn-like building next door. A minute later, he reappears and spots me in the window.