Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 53

Roger sat outside on the stoop leading into his friend's backyard, the sleeping bag Mary had thrown at him draped unconventionally over his shoulders and a cigarette pinched lazily between his ice-cold fingers. The blonde brought the burning white stick to his lips and inhaled deeply, holding in the calming breath of nicotine as he tilted his head back and stared up at the dark, midnight sky hanging above, twinkling with a thousand little stars—the same stars that Brian could be looking at.

He wondered what the professor was up to; if he would still be up at this hour. Roger tried to forget about it, but he couldn't get Freddie's words out of his head. Brian needs you just as much as you need him . . . He told me himself that he wants to see you. If that was the case, had he also spent countless nights playing the few passionate moments they shared over and over again in his head? Had he fantasized about what it would be like if Roger never left for America and stayed with him, or thought about all the ways he could ditch his life and reunite with the one person who made him feel like no other person had made him feel before?

The mystery haunted Roger, his optimism pulling him in one direction and reality pulling him in another. Say Brian did do all those things. It wouldn't change the fact that Roger went back to Tim the morning that followed that fateful night. He thought he was doing the right thing, but after a year away from London and the professor, he questioned if leaving him really was the right thing to do. If it was, he wouldn't have wanted to come back so badly; he would've forgotten about Brian and moved on, but he didn't.

He was right back where he started, with a new gig and a fresh start. The only difference between now and then was that there was no one to stop him; no one to tell him that what he was doing was a waste of everybody's time and that he should stick with what he knows best.

The blonde smirked at this realization, the smoke he'd been holding in slipping past his parted lips and into the cold air whose temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. Listening to the symphony the distant chirps of crickets and birds created, Roger smashed the cigarette into the cement step he was perched on and tugged at the ends of the sleeping bag, bringing them closer to his chest.

He knew he didn't really have to stay outside; that if Mary was to wake up and find him on her couch, she wouldn't do anything other than roll her eyes and complain to Freddie about it later, or maybe she would throw a newspaper at him or roll him onto the floor. Regardless, there was something about the clear night sky that captivated Roger and made his exile tolerable. He missed this kind of view in New York City—the City That Never Sleeps too bright for the stars to be seen. In London, though, they were as bright as ever.

Their iridescence seemed unchanged by the professor who sat wide awake in bed, his back flush with the headboard and his hands clasped together in his lap. He glanced down at the figure curled up by his side, facing away from him. He felt like he was in bed with a stranger, despite that stranger being his wife.

Nothing on the outside seemed different—she looked the same, sounded the same, even smelled the same, yet Brian struggled to recognize her. He wondered if she felt the same way about him, because he sure did. The man staring back at him when he looked in the mirror appeared the same, but deep down, he felt like a completely different person. The man he was a year ago was not the man he was now, and it wasn't just because he'd gotten married, fathered a child, and accepted more responsibility at the university. It was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on—not because it was impossible, but because he was afraid to.

Unable to fall asleep, Brian threw the blankets off himself—the sheets folding over on Chrissie—and slipped out of the room. He was mindful to keep his steps light and to close the door behind him with care, risking only a soft click as it was enveloped by the threshold. With a small, triumphant grin, the professor made his way down the hall and into the nursery, where his daughter stood in her crib with teary eyes—waiting for her father to come and comfort her.

Brian smirked and, before Liz could utter a cry, lifted her up and held her close, swiping away the tears that trickled down her chubby cheeks with the pad of his thumb. He kissed her on the top of the head and whispered, "I missed you."