Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 56

"Mary's going to kill us, you know," Roger muttered as he and Freddie slipped out of the vehicle parked across the street from Imperial College's main entrance, the blonde pocketing the stolen keys.

"Only if she finds out," the dark-haired man replied slyly, a smirk crawling onto his face as he reminisced about all the times he'd visited the university in the last year without his fiancé knowing. Roger heaved an aggravated sigh and shoved his hands into his coat pockets, approaching the school with his friend right beside him.

As they stepped over the threshold together, a wave of emotions washed over the blonde. Standing in the entryway, staring at the unfamiliar faces whipping past him, he felt like an outsider, so far detached from the hustle and bustle he found himself a part of last winter. It was only when his attention was caught by the infamous, troublemaking group of girls and their token shy guy that he started to feel at home again.

"John," the blonde murmured, happy to see the bugger. He took a step forward—wanting to catch up with him—when Freddie stuck his hand out in front of him, selfishly stealing Roger's attention from his former music student.

"Hey now, before you go off, I need you to promise me something," he said, an uncharacteristic seriousness to his tone that knitted the blonde's brows. "Promise me you won't fuck this up."

Roger scoffed. "What makes you think—"

"Because I know you, Roger," Freddie interrupted him, moving his hand from the blonde's chest to his shoulder and using the other to point at the opposite end of the hall, "and I know that you're not going to make it halfway down this hallway before you start doubting yourself, but remember what I told you. He wants to see you, and you want to see him. Don't forget that, alright?" With a playful tap on Roger's nose and a wink, Freddie spun around and disappeared into the sea of strangers that were hurrying to get to class—the clock striking ten.

Within minutes, the corridors were completely deserted, and the blonde was left all alone. Taking a deep breath, he pressed forward, traveling through the hallways that didn't feel as foreign to him as he imagined they would. Freddie was right about the blonde second-guessing his purpose there, but it didn't happen halfway down the hall. It happened right outside the professor's classroom.

The door was closed, and all the lights had been turned off except those shining above the chalkboards and the desk still situated at the front of the room. Sitting at that desk was none other than Brian, his one hand woven into his unruly mop of curls and the other wrapped around a red pen. The midterms his students had taken the Friday before were stacked in front of him but ignored, overshadowed by the tattered notebook splattered with more scribbles. His back was hunched, a pair of cheap readers rested on the tip of his nose, and his cheeks were smooth—not to mention that the alcohol on his breath had substantially subsided. Of course, Roger had no way of knowing that the professor appeared vastly different less than twenty-four hours ago. All he knew was what Freddie had told him. He wants to see you, and you want to see him.

Roger's hand hovered over the door handle, tempted to grab it and push the door in with reckless abandon. He could see himself rushing over to the desk, the professor looking up from his papers and through the magnified lenses just in time to capture the blonde's incoming lips. Brian's hands would instinctively fall onto Roger's hips and guide him down into his lap—all without breaking the kiss—where they would say everything they'd been meaning to say without actually speaking. However, before Roger could even fathom turning that fantasy into a reality, a familiar voice hit his ear.

"Oi, shouldn't you be getting to class?"

The blonde's head snapped in the direction of the voice, seeing that it belonged to none other than Sting—the band member he'd only had the pleasure of meeting the night before, but only for a minute. The bassist took a big bite out of the apple he'd been eating and waited for Roger's response, raising his eyebrows when the blonde gawked at him. "Well?"

"I-I'm not a student, Sting," Roger stammered.

"Then how come you know my name?"

The blonde anxiously chuckled, unsure of whether the bassist was just joshing around or if he truly didn't recognize him. Roger didn't want to believe that it could be the latter, because before, he would leave such a lasting impression on people with the way he carried himself that they couldn't get him out of their heads for weeks. Now, though, it seemed like he'd lost his charm, and he began to wonder if all the changes he was making were for the worse instead of for the better. His growing concern showed in his face.

"Hey," Sting snapped the fingers of his free hand in Roger's direction, ripping the blonde out of the daze he'd put himself into. "Answer my question, blondie."

The former music instructor shook his head, scrambling to find the words he wanted to say. "Um, b-because we met last night? I'm the new guitarist for your band?"

"Oh, are you now?" His lookalike tossed the unfinished apple across the hall and sauntered towards him, the piece of fruit bouncing off the wall and into the garbage bin as he eliminated what little distance separated them. Roger swallowed the nervous lump that formed in his throat, intimidated by the bassist's narrowed gaze that made him feel inferior despite them being the same height.

A bead of sweat broke out on the blonde's forehead, causing the corners of Sting's lip to perk up into a smug grin. He pinched Roger's cheek—the demeaning gesture bringing forth a handful of painful memories for the blonde—and quipped, "I knew you looked familiar." He lowered the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose to get a better look at the blonde, humming in agreement of his own theory and readjusting his glasses. "What are you doing here?" he inquired, the cold shoulder he'd initially given him suddenly warming up.

"W-What are you doing here?" he managed to choke out, trying his best to suppress the nightmares that flashed before him.

Sting laughed and folded his arms over his chest. "I asked you first."

The blonde's cheeks grew red, his gaze flickering into the classroom where Brian had thrown his pen to the side and buried his face in his paperwork. Roger pressed his lips together and slowly returned his attention to Sting, stuttering, "I-I just wanted to make sure that...that we're still on for tonight."

"Of course. I can't let you in the band if you're a shit guitarist. We've got standards, you know." Roger nodded his head in understanding, hoping that the bassist would be satisfied enough with his answer. However, his interrogation continued with him asking out of curiosity, "Hey, how did you know to find me here anyways?"

"Erm," Roger brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it uncomfortably, "I...uh..." Then it clicked. "Stewart told me you'd be here." He hadn't. "Yeah, I...I called him this morning." He didn't. "'Said you were here—" He quickly glanced at the bassist's outfit—a white button down, black suit jacket, black and white diagonally striped tie, dark wash jeans, and dirty, worn out, white sneakers. "—teaching."

"Yeah, it's only temporary," Sting explained, tugging at the ends of his sleeves. "You know, until the band takes off." He winked at the blonde before pushing his one sleeve back and looking at the watch strapped around his wrist. "Well, looks like I'm late for my class," he sighed, meeting Roger's nervous gaze and pointing an index finger at him. "Eight o'clock tonight?"

"Eight o'clock tonight," the blonde repeated, a crooked grin appearing on his face.

Sting smirked and patted him on the arm with a smirk. "See you then, mate." With that, he wandered off, Roger glancing over his shoulder and watching as the bassist disappeared down the hallway and around the corner. Once he was out of sight and the echo of his steps had faded into silence, the blonde took a deep breath and turned towards the classroom—the professor now sitting with his head dropped back and his hands covering his face.

He wants to see you, and you want to see him, he reminded himself, grabbing the door handle and pushing down. The soft click of the door startled the professor, lifting his hands from his face and turning his head to see the blonde standing in his doorway. His eyes widened in disbelief; he almost didn't believe it.

"Roger?" Brian murmured, shooting up out his chair.

The blonde bit his lip to mask his growing smile and leaned against the threshold, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Hey."