BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

5 - roger daltrey

For @alicemaydaltrey! Thank you for the request, dear! As a note, this is written for a female reader who is pregnant.
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The sound of the kettle in the kitchen sent you stumbling after it in quasi-haste. It was a short trip from the sitting room to the stove, but it had you winded. You needed a few seconds to collect yourself as you pulled the kettle off of its place on the stovetop.

You poured the boiling water into a mug you had waiting with a bag of tea hanging limply over the rim. Steam greeted you, making your eyes water. Tea was the only thing you had been in the mood to make for the past few weeks. You hadn't had a craving for much else, short of a nice tub of vanilla ice cream.

Returning the kettle to its place, you took your cup with you to the table, heaving a sigh as you dropped down onto the chair. You couldn't get used to being pregnant, no matter how many months had passed. It made you feel heavy and useless and lazy.

Everything you did was a chore since you hit the seventh month. From getting up in the morning to lying down at night, you found yourself panting from exertion or straining to move around your bulging belly.

This hadn't gone well at all with Roger, who was already worried enough about your pregnancy. It was your first baby, and things were bound to be a mess of guessing and hoping for the best. He spent nearly every waking moment tending to you when the band wasn't in the studio working.

You felt bad about it. Really, you didn't need much help. You weren't an invalid! You could handle cooking for yourself just fine. Even the act of making tea could send him off in a fit, so you hoped he'd take it well when he came home.

The steam had finally abated and you blew gently across the mug just to be safe, causing rippling waves of mahogany. You'd forgone milk, but added a few generous spoonfuls of sugar.

Outside, it had just started to rain. There was a fog beginning to roll across the stretching fields that spanned your property, making the world misty and dim. You wanted to stand out in it, to feel the cool droplets on your skin.

That was one thing that felt the same, at least.

You held back only because Roger was due to be home any minute. The sight of you standing out in the yard in the rain, all stomach in your loose clothes, would have him tearing his hair out.

Giggling at the mental image, you took a sip of your tea. It tasted good. Not as good as when Roger made it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of a pair of headlights heading through the mist. He was back. You shifted in your seat, wanting to head back to the sofa where he'd left you, but you'd never get there fast enough in your state.

The door burst open and Roger stomped in, trailing puddles behind him. He hadn't dressed for the weather at all, and his hair was soaked, curls reduced to dark waves pasted to his scalp. Roger was cursing under his breath, toeing off his boots and wringing out his shirt on the doormat.

"Oh, Roger," you murmured, slowly rising to your feet. "You'll catch a cold like that."

Roger glanced over, as if he just noticed that you were there. His hard expression softened into one of concern as he padded over to your side.

"Y/N! If you needed tea, I would've made you some 'fore I left," Roger said, touching your elbow. His other hand was holding a small parcel to his chest like it was a newborn.