Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 81

Hours passed by with no signs of Roger. Freddie hadn't been lying to Brian when he told him that they had every flavor of cake imaginable in their fridge, the unlikely pair poking at the small squares together, one after the other—the professor hoping to prolong the avoidance of his clearly needed action while the other hoped the dessert would coax his guest into opening up and assuring him that he wouldn't let his friend fall back into the arms of his abuser.

The two had just polished off the final piece of cake—a chocolate decadence—when the front door burst open and made way for a very inebriated Roger, the blonde stumbling into the house, tripping over his own feet, and falling into the wall. Brian and Freddie immediately shot out of their chairs, the former wiping his mouth with a napkin before following the latter into the foyer.

"I'm home," Roger announced drunkenly, barely able to lift his own head to meet Freddie's gaze. His vision was so impaired that he didn't even notice the tall professor standing behind his friend.

"You had me worried sick, Roger," Freddie chastised him, bending down and slipping his hands underneath the blonde's arms to pick him up. When the two of them were standing, with one of Freddie's arms wrapped around Roger's shoulders and one of his hands on his stomach, the dark-haired man proposed the same question that the blonde had asked him when he arrived at the stall yesterday. "Now where on earth have you been?"

"Having drinks with Johnny," Roger mumbled, lazily glancing up at his friend and attempting to shape his lips into a grin. Freddie glanced over at Brian, as if the professor would know who he was talking about, but with the frantic shake of his head, he proved useless; the dark-haired man was going to have to figure this one out on his own.

With a heavy sigh, Freddie returned his attention to his friend and entertained his nonsensical response with, "Oh, were you now?" before guiding him into the living room. Brian trailed in after them, watching as the homeowner carefully set his houseguest down on the couch. The blonde collapsed like a rag doll, his body slump against the piece of furniture's arm and its back. "Where did you and Johnny go?"

"Some bar near Nan—" His words came to an abrupt stop, tension quickly building in the room as Brian and Freddie anticipated the rest of the blonde's sentence. It would never come, though, with Roger sitting upright—his back as straight as a pin—and shooting off the couch like a rocket. He darted past Brian without even acknowledging him and escaped to the kitchen, where he clung to the sink—after running into one of the pulled-out chairs and throwing it to the side—and expelled the contents of his stomach, which were all liquids.

Freddie and Brian filled the doorway separating the kitchen from the foyer, the latter tipping his head towards the former and whispering, "Maybe I should just head home, come back another time."

"No, no!" the dark-haired man objected as quietly as he could manage. "Just give him a few more minutes. I know Roger; he'll be fine after he—" A retching sound stole the words from Freddie's mouth, his and Brian's gazes being drawn back over to the blonde whose day had finally caught up to him. Freddie glanced back over at the professor and begged, "Please, just stay a bit longer."

Reluctantly, Brian agreed, and just as Freddie promised, Roger sobered up shortly after wiping his vomit speckled lips with the back of his wrist and peeling away from the sink. It wasn't until he dropped himself into one of the seats at the kitchen table that he noticed the professor's presence. "When did you get here?" the blonde asked, his voice low and hoarse as his friend brought him over a glass of water and some painkillers.

"I've been for a while, actually," he answered, watching as Roger scooped the white pills into his mouth and washed them down with the cold water that sent a shiver down his back. He seemed almost innocent handing the glass back to Freddie, a small grin tweaking the corners of both his lips and Brian's. The professor dared to step away from the threshold and join the blonde at the table, gaining his attention when he leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the flat surface, explaining, "I came here to talk to you."

"You know, I think that was Mary calling me," Freddie interjected, attracting both men's gazes. He flashed them a brilliant smile before planting parting kisses atop their heads and bidding the two of them a good night. "Oh, and Brian?" he blurted out, stopping at the bottom of the staircase leading to the second floor and smirking. "Be sure to lock the door on your way out if you leave before sunrise."

With that, the dark-haired man escaped upstairs with a wink, leaving the professor and the blonde alone in the kitchen. An awkward silence fell over the two men, a blush rising in Roger's cheeks as he thought about what it could be that Brian wanted to talk about. This was the first time they'd seen each other since their fallout at the stall, and neither of them knew what had transpired during that time.

Roger was certainly in no place to admit to Brian that he'd ran into Tim shortly after he left and spent the better part of his day today searching for him; nor was Brian willing to confess to his and Chrissie's try at making things work again. After all, that wasn't what he was there to discuss, though it did play a role in it.

"You didn't tell me you were in a band," the professor finally said, breaking the awkward silence that filled the air.

The blonde chuckled nervously, running a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't?" He knew he didn't. It wasn't on purpose; it just hadn't come up in conversation. Besides, it wouldn't have been as romantic to tell him that he was back in London to play a few gigs and see if he was a good fit for this new group that was forming, now would it?

"No, you didn't," Brian affirmed, a worrying seriousness in his tone. He began to pick at the table's splintering wood, hoping to distract himself as he added, "You didn't tell me there was a show this weekend either."

Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Brian, I didn't—"

"You can't go, Rog," the curly-haired man cut him off, looking up to meet his gaze.

The blonde scoffed. "What do you mean I can't go?"

"I mean you can't go," he repeated himself, snatching the plate that he and Freddie had been prodding at—which now only held crumbs—and carrying it over to the sink, where he added it to the other small saucers piled high in the one half of the basin. The other half was empty, with minuscule remnants of the contents of Roger's stomach clinging to the bottom. He gripped the edge of the counter and hung his head, explaining, "Look, it's just that...Chrissie and I are going to be there, and I...I think it would be best for all of us if you stayed as far away from that show as possible." He dared to take a look over his shoulder and saw that Roger's eyebrows had found their way to one another, and that his arms had crossed over his chest.

"Oh, do you now?" the blonde sneered, unable to ignore the resemblance between the professor and his boyfriend in that moment—the two of them always trying to control him and tell him what he could and couldn't do.

"Please, Rog, don't make this harder than it already is," Brian pleaded, turning around to face him but remaining at the sink.

"Harder than it already is?" Roger echoed in disbelief, standing up from the table and staggering in place. He clutched onto the table's edge for support and straightened his posture, resting his free hand on his hip and shifting his weight to the opposite side, asking, "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I know I'm going to do something bad if you're there, and I promised her I wouldn't!" the professor cried, the words tumbling out of his mouth against his will and coloring both men's cheeks a deep shade of red.