Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

30. Roger

November 1975

"You're sure?"

Skylar looks dubiously at the box of hair bleach in her hands before turning it around to peer at the instructions printed on the back.

"Oh, I'm sure," I reply with a rakish grin, beginning to strip down as I walked to our bathroom. Our bathroom. We officially live together as of four days ago. We'd found the flat ages ago but, between Sky's work schedule and my tour rehearsals, we'd only just managed to collect the keys and move our belongings.

"And you want me to do it? You do realize that I've no idea what I'm doing?"

"There's no one else I'd rather give the honor."

"It's such an honor," Skylar replies with an eye roll, snaking her way through a maze of unpacked moving boxes to follow me. "It'll also be an honor when your manager comes after me for fucking up your hair just before the tour. In fact, it's almost too much of an honor. Maybe a hairdresser would like this particular honor?"

"A hairdresser? That's not very rock-n-roll, love. I have a reputation to maintain."

Skylar scoffs and places the box on the porcelain sink, muttering something under her breath that I don't quite catch.

"What was that, Sky?"

She ignores the questions and rummages through the box, finding a pair of oversized plastic gloves and several bottles.

"Alright, if you insist. But let me reiterate that I have no--"

"Life's about taking calculated risks, Sky," I interrupt, sitting on the tub's edge. "This is one of them."

Two hours later, my hair is much lighter, and my girlfriend has been thoroughly shagged. We lay in the bed, out of breath and knackered. After a few minutes, Skylar props herself up on one arm and runs a hand lightly through my hair.

"Everything is going to change," she says wistfully. Tucking an arm under my cheek, I turn towards her so that we're facing one another.

"Nothing will change," I reply firmly.

In response, she smirks and flops back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's a rather grand ceiling, one befitting a rather posh flat in Marylebone. I'd never imagined I could live somewhere like this, but here I am. All due hard work, John Reid, and Freddie's steadfast belief in Bo Rhap.

"Rog," my girlfriend says, still looking at the ceiling. "Have you--"

She pauses, and I wait.

"Has Freddie--"

She once again trails off, knotting her fingers nervously in the duvet. I prop my head up on one hand and watch her eyes dart back and forth as she decides what she wants to say. Finally, she turns her head to look at me.

"Has Freddie mentioned what he's doing for Mary's birthday?"

I blink, confident that whatever Skylar initially planned to ask had nothing to do with Mary's birthday. Mostly because it's months away, but also because Sky never particularly warmed to Freddie's fiancee.

"I-- no? He hasn't?" I replied with a furrowed brow.

"Oh, okay, just wondering," she says quickly, turning towards me once again. We share a long look, one that communicates that I know that she isn't coming clean... and that she knows that I know. I could press the matter, but don't want to spend my last night before the tour talking about Freddie.

Plus, I'm pretty sure I know what she's referring to, and I don't know how I'd respond.

"I'm going to miss you," I say instead, pulling her closer. I slowly move the duvet off her torso, exposing her left breast. I lean forward to press my lips gently on her clavicle, drawing my arms around her. "Will you miss me?"