Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 61

Roger closed his eyes and brought a hand to his forehead. He should've known that his bliss would only be temporary; that something—someone—was lurking in the shadows, waiting to ruin the high he'd been riding ever since he left the university. "Tim, I—"

"Leaving me here without even fucking saying goodbye," the brunette sneered, ignoring Roger's attempt at explaining himself. "You didn't even tell that bar you work at that you were leaving. They thought you'd gotten killed or kidnapped, or maybe ran away. 'Guess they weren't too far off on that last one, huh?" The blonde could tell by his voice that he'd had a few drinks, and that this conversation wasn't going to be a pleasant one.

He ran his hand through his hair and let it fall to his side before replying, "I didn't run away, Tim. I told you where I was going."

"Yeah, you always do, Roger, but you never tell me what trouble you're going to get yourself into," Tim interrupted him bitterly. "You get all these great opportunities with all these great people, and you...you jump at them without knowing exactly what you're signing up for because...because you don't care what you're signing up for, so as long as it gets you away from me, right?"

The blonde's guilty gaze flickered up to meet the two pairs of eyes watching him—the faces they belonged to hiding behind the threshold separating the living room and the foyer. Freddie gasped and pulled him and Mary out of sight, the couple slamming up against the wall in the living room and eyeing each other nervously, worried they'd been caught even though they knew Roger saw them.

For a minute, Roger's focus on his friend and his fiancé's whispered argument about what they should do drowned out the spiel Tim spewed through the speaker. It was only when the brunette raised his voice that the blonde remembered he was on the phone, with his boyfriend screaming, "Hey, are you even listening to me?"

"Y-Yeah," he stuttered. "I'm listening."

"Then answer my question."

With reddened cheeks, Roger retreated to the kitchen and sat down at the table buried in dirty dishes left over from that morning. He dropped an elbow on each side of the food-speckled plate and covered his face with his free hand, resenting how strong of an effect Tim had on him—even through a phone—and how foolish he'd been to think that he could get away with this so easily.

Nothing in life had ever been easy for him; from the time he was a child to now, not once did he ever get a break. It was just one hardship after the other, and although Tim had been there for him at his worst, Roger didn't need him anymore. He hadn't needed him for a while now, but it was just too hard to let him go, and because of that, the blonde gave his boyfriend the answer that worked for every question, both heard and unheard.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I messed up."

He knew the lack of conviction he portrayed was pathetic, his apology coming off dull and flat, but he was tired. He couldn't muster the strength to maintain the façade his boyfriend needed. He didn't want to keep playing the role that Tim cast him in against his will, using him to provide them with what they never had before—a home, a family, a place in this sick and twisted world that concealed them with shadows and closed doors. That was then, though, and this was now.

Roger and Tim weren't the same people they were ten years ago. They had a roof over their heads, someone they could count on, and they no longer felt like they had to hide who they were. It was time they move on, and the blonde saw that; he felt that. His boyfriend, on the other hand, was too drunk and stubborn to even consider the possibility.

"You're sorry," Tim repeated. "You don't know what sorry is, Roger."

"Oh, don't I?" Roger couldn't help but reply—the sarcasm in his voice exposing his growing frustration with the situation.

"No, you don't, and I'm going to prove it to you. You just wait and see. You'll be back here before you know it, and you're going to wish you never left." With that final threat, the line went dead, and Roger slowly lowered the phone away from his ear. He stared at the device that suddenly felt much heavier, like a brick, but it wasn't because he was scared. He was done with being scared of his boyfriend. Like he'd said to Brian, Tim wasn't there, and with an ocean between them, there was no way he could sabotage this opportunity for Roger like he did the last one. No way. He wouldn't let him.

The feet of the chair scraped against the linoleum flooring as the blonde abruptly stood up, turning around to place the phone back in its cradle when he spotted Freddie in the doorway between the kitchen and the entryway. His grip on the device tightened as his jaw clenched, Roger recognizing his friend's intent to interrogate him from the simultaneous look of concern and intrigue slathered across his face.

Before Freddie could even attempt to ask what had transpired over the phone call, Roger hung up the phone and mumbled, "I don't want to talk about it, Fred."

"You know he just said that to get on your nerves," the dark-haired man muttered, playing with the buttons on his shirt as he watched his friend walk over to the fridge and rip it open, searching the shelves for something strong enough to pass the day away. Freddie's comment went without reaction—the fact that he'd listened in on Roger's and Tim's conversation unsurprising to the blonde. What other option did he have after getting his cover blown? "He can't do anything now that you're over here and he's back there."

"I know," Roger agreed tersely, straightening his posture and shutting the refrigerator door. "That's why I'm not worried."

His boyfriend, on the other hand, was.