Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 46

The night was almost peaceful, that is, until Roger heard a loud thud from behind him. He threw his head over his shoulder, watching as Tim stormed out of the bedroom. The blonde instinctively shot up from the ground, his chosen will to resist the draw of his boyfriend's problems being forgotten as he slipped inside and witnessed the hole in the wall that Tim had created. Roger heaved a frustrated sigh and rested his hands on his hips, his eyes flickering over to the brunette who reappeared in the doorway with the telephone in his hands.

Tim raised the device and sneered, "'Thought I'd talk with some of those callers you told me to meet up with."

Roger tipped his head towards the damage. "You didn't have to kick in the wall."

"Yeah, and you didn't have to go ahead and pursue our dream all by yourself," the brunette retorted bitterly, heading for the balcony when the blonde caught him by the arm.

"You and I both know that dream died for you the second you started dressing me up like a girl and realized you could make money off of it," he growled, his grip tightening and his gaze narrowing.

Tim clenched his jaw, ripping his arm out of the blonde's grasp and reminding him harshly, "I didn't make you dress up like that. You wanted to. You can't blame me for supporting your interests."

Roger scoffed in disbelief of the words coming out of his boyfriend's mouth. His instinct was to repeat the last three words back to him and argue that the brunette hadn't supported him in all the time they'd known each other; that he'd been the one supporting him. However, he knew that kind of reaction would only bring the two of them back to the place they always wound up in when they disagreed on things: It's your fault. No, it's your fault. How is it my fault? It's always your fault!

Not wanting to fall into that oh-so-familiar and never-ending cycle of blame, the blonde crossed his arms and replied sternly, "Then support me in this, Tim. You know I've always wanted to play music, and now I've been given the chance—a second chance. Support me in taking it."

The brunette blinked away the tears that pricked his eyes, cradling the phone and escaping to the balcony. He took one last, sad look at Roger before sliding the glass door shut—leaving it open just a crack for the phone cord—and taking his seat in the center of the terrace. The blonde watched with disappointment as Tim leaned back and waited for the calls to roll in—after all, it was almost time.

Roger rolled his eyes and circled the bed, taking a seat on the foot of it and staring into the closet that had yet to be emptied of his clothes. He hung his head in shame. He hadn't started packing because he was afraid to tell Tim how long he'd be gone for, and that he didn't intend on coming back. His plan was to gather his things while his boyfriend was asleep, leaving in the morning before he woke up and successfully evading the guaranteed repercussions that would follow. However, with the way things had played out that night, he doubted he'd get that lucky.

The blonde turned his head over his shoulder, hearing the phone ring for the first time that night. "Hey there, handsome," Tim greeted the caller, using a seductive tone that Roger had grown unaccustomed to. "What are you wearing tonight?"

He sat there for a bit longer, pushing off the inevitable even more while listening to Tim's voice drop lower and lower. With the way he was talking, it was difficult for Roger not to be jealous of the person on the other end of the line. Tim spoke to them with such passion, such care. If only he spoke to me that way.

That's when it hit him—if tonight had proved anything, it was that the two of them weren't the best at communicating with words. Actions, however, actions took them places they never imagined going. They brought them close; they tore them apart. Roger didn't have to say anything to set his plan into motion—all he had to do was act.

As a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, Roger undid the top few buttons of his wrinkled shirt. He stood up and made his way for the balcony, stopping to catch a quick glimpse of himself in the reflection of the sliding glass door and mess his hair up—the new, short locks easier to control than the old, long ones. Satisfied with his appearance, he took a deep breath and sauntered out onto the terrace, giving Tim a start that was quickly passed over as the brunette returned to his call.

The blonde deftly slipped his hand around the telephone and hung it up on the receiver. "Hey!" Tim shouted as his boyfriend replaced the phone in his lap, straddling him and draping his arms over his shoulders. "What the fuck—"

Roger quieted Tim by pressing the tip of his fingers against his lips, dragging it down his chin and his chest, and leaning in for a kiss that seemed like ages in the making. With all the fighting, tears, and silent treatments, they knew they were bound to end up in this place at some point. Except this time, they wouldn't wake up the next day and everything would be like it should. This time, Tim would find himself in bed, alone, and Roger would be on a flight to London, next to Stewart who had already pulled on an eye-mask and asked the blonde to wake him up when they got there.