Long Distance ~ R. T.

Roger can’t sleep and calls a random number left of a napkin. He expected to find someone to help tire him out. He never thought he’d find love.

[Reposting and major editing of an old fic I had posted on an old blog & crossed posted on ao3]

Warnings:SMUT,+18 ONLY - MINORS DNI; swearing & cursing; unclear timeline (lmao); Brian is a bit of a douche. It’s a long ass one, over 20K words. Read at your own risk!

Sometimes, being a rockstar isn’t all it’s cooped up to be.

Especially when on a world tour because it really has a way of derailing one’s internal clock. It’s the reason Roger can’t sleep. He had been hopeful that between the jet lag, the excitement of being back in his own bed, the hectic rehearsal and recording schedule as well as the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed at the local dive bar with his mates would be enough to tire him out. Apparently, he’s very mistaken.

He’d done what he usually does: counts sheep, lays in the dark, read the really boring book Brian has suggested. Nothing seems to be working this time around.

For what feels like the thousandth time, Roger turns over in his bed. He almost misses those rock-hard mattresses and non-existent pillows in the hotels around the world. He groans, casting his eyes to the red numbers glowing in the dark room. It’s nearing 1.30am and as much as his body is begging for sleep, his mind wouldn’t shut off.

Throwing the light blanket to the side, Roger swings his legs off the bed. There’s no point in laying around, letting his frustration build. He eyes his discarded jacket, deciding that a quick smoke might help him relax just enough to be able to finally fall asleep. Stretching his arms above his head, his back cracks and with a loud sigh, quickly followed by a loud yawn, he lazily crosses his bedroom to reach the jacket he left by the door, fishing his half-empty pack of cigarettes from the pocket. As he rummages around the pockets for his lighter, a crumpled piece of paper flutters to the ground.

With furrowed brows and cigarette dangling from his lips, Roger picks it up from the ground. After having found the lighter, Roger starts walking towards his bed. Lighting the cigarette, he takes a deep drag, letting his lungs fill with nicotine, immediately giving him a sense of calm.

Feeling more relaxed, Roger clamps his teeth gently around the filter, using his now free hands to uncurl the piece of paper. Once he sees the hastily scrawled digits, his lips stretch into a massive grin.

Taking another drag and flicking the ash into the empty ash-tray on his bedside table, he tries to recall when the number was slipped into his pocket. It had to be from earlier that evening as the number had the London area code and he hasn’t worn the jacket on tour as he’d forgotten it at home. However, no matter how hard he thought back to his evening, no specific girl sprang to mind. There had been quite a few that came to chat him and the lads up, but none of them stood out. He doesn’t even remember being particularly flirty with anyone of them.

Roger casts another quick glance at the clock. It’s still early enough that if the girl really was out at the dive bar with them, she’s probably getting home now as he left much earlier than regular, hoping that the jetlag and general exhaustion would lead to a good night sleep.

Deciding that the woman had clearly hoped for a call from him, Roger picks up the receiver and dials the number. Making himself comfortable, he waits for someone to pick up.

It rings much more than he thought it would and he debates if maybe he shouldn’t be calling this late, if it’s better to try again during working hours.

Suddenly, the phone stops ringing, and there is a very groggy and angry voice coming through the line, “Someone better be dead.”

Rogers chuckles. “Well, hello to you too love”.

In response, he only hears a groan and it sounds so deep that he questions if he’s actually speaking to a girl.

“Who is this? And why on earth are you ringing my flat at…” there’s a small pause, as the person on the other line is clearly reaching for something “1.17 in the bloody morning?!”

Roger cringes, closing his eyes as guilt floods his body. He really shouldn’t have called but he really isn’t great at making decisions when tired and slightly inebriated. “I’m sorry, love. Thought you’d want me to call as soon as I found your number.” He hates that he can’t recall a name or even a face.

“I am not your ‘love’!” the girl says angrily, “I have absolutely no clue who you are. Or why on earth you are calling me. I certainly did not give you, my number.”

For a moment, nothing is said on either end and Roger decides d to play it cool, act confident and pretend as if he actually remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “I know we didn’t spend that much time together but I -”

“Let me stop you before you start,” she interrupts and Roger can hear her shuffle around, most likely sitting up in her own bed. “I have no idea who you think you are but I can guarantee that I did not give you, my number. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any roommates.”

The girl grunts in discomfort, questioning why she’s entertaining this jackass when she can just hang up and disconnect her phone for the night.

“Oh” the syllable is so sound and dejected that she can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, even though he woke her at an ungodly hour.

She has no know why she speaks again. “You must have made a terrible impression if some random bird decided to leave you a fake number.”

There’s an offended scoff that comes down the line almost makes up for the unwanted wake-up call. “No girl has ever done that to me. Or would need to do it. I’m a catch, thank you very much.”

“Sure you are, big boy.” She says concededly.

“Are you saying that I’m not?”

She snorts, short and derisive, “I’m sorry to break it to you but it seems that the girl who gave you the number didn’t think you were all that special.”

Roger pouts, stubbing out his long-forgotten cigarette, “You don’t sound all that sorry to me.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not.”

Roger can’t hep the small laugh that bubbles out, “And would you feel inclined to illuminate me on why?”

“Could it be because some random bloke decided to call me at stupid o’clock trying to get in my knickers?”

“You wish,” and even though she’s never seen him before in her life, she knows he’s smirking.

“Are you really telling me that you weren’t calling in hope of a shag?”

Roger shrugs, deciding to lay down and make himself comfortable, “I’m not going to lie and say I would be unhappy if it happened but that wasn’t the main reason I called.”

She bites, “Why did you call?”

“I…” Roger pauses. Why did he call?

“Are you ok?”

Roger blinks, surprised by the sudden care that seems to colour her voice. “What?”

“I just mean…” she sighs, laying back down and glancing at her alarm clock. “It’s late. Or early, depending on how you want to see it. And your voice sounded a bit off. There must be something on your mind if you think that calling a random stranger in the middle of the night is a good idea.”

She really can’t explain the sudden interest in the man. She doesn’t know him but he sounds so sad, and is clearly lonely. It tugs at her heart in all the best and worst ways. Thank you, childhood trauma.

A small, grateful smile forms on Roger’s face and his voice softens noticeably. “You’re very kind, love. I’m just a bit jet lagged.”

She hums in surprise, “That sounds fascinating! Where did you get back from?”

“That, I’m afraid, is only for friends.” He tuts, “And I don’t even know your name.”

She laughs and Roger’s heart does something weird in his chest that he pointedly ignores.

“Touché”, she’s still laughing. “The name’s Y/N.”

“Lovely name for a lovely voice,” he says softly. “I’m Roger.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”

There’s a small pause and it would be the perfect moment to hang up but neither seem to want to.

“Well, now that we’re friends, want to share why you’re jetlagged?”

Roger laughs, bringing his free arm behind his neck, “I was in America.”

“Fancy!” She says with a laugh, “What were you doing across the pond?”

“I’m in a band and we were on tour.”

—–

What should have been a one-time thing evolved into something more.

Roger and Y/N find themselves speaking on the phone nearly every day, even when Roger left for tour again.

The first month, it was Roger that called every day. It had started because of a particularly rough day in the studio and remembering the kindness and care in Y/N’s voice, he decided that her friendly voice was what he needed to feel better.

When the second month rolled around, Y/N asked for a way to contact him if she was having a bad day.

And thus, the tradition was born.

It’s been six months now and every time the phone rings, Y/N can’t help the flutter of her heart or the smile on her face. Roger has somehow weaseled his way into her life and she couldn’t be more grateful. He’s become her best friend, her confidant, someone she can trust blindly and who would always listen to her and have her back. She feels like she knows Roger better than the people she hands out with daily. They’ve opened up about their lives, their dreams and insecurities. Y/N knows that Roger wants to make it big but he’s afraid that the drugs, the booze and the sex may cloud his mind and stop him from living his dream. He shares how much he loves his band mates but how they tend to get under his skin, especially when writing new music.

Y/N shares how she took over her mother’s bookstore while being an editor on the side to make ends meet. She opens up about her limited social interactions and how she feels like she’s a bit too clingy and overbearing.

They talk about their childhoods and what they do to relax.

The two of them understand each other in such a deep, soulful way that should scare her but only gives her a sense of calm.

Y/N has even come up with a sort of table to help keep on top of the time difference when Roger is traveling. She glances quickly at the alarm next to her bed and is excited to see that Roger should be calling her in a few minutes.

She makes sure her tea is still warm as she fluffs her pillows, settling down on the bed while tucking herself into the blankets. She waits impatiently for the phone to ring and when it finally does, she grins brightly.

“Hello there, rockstar!”

It only takes hearing his voice to know that something is up. “What did they do this time?”

“Who says they did anything?” Roger knows he’s pouting and that his tone is a clear indication that his band mates did indeed do something wrong, but he doesn’t feel ready or willing to talk about it.

“Rog, please don’t.”

They’d done this before: one of them – usually Roger – is in a mood and takes it out of the other, making everyone involved feel like shit by the end of the call. Y/N isn’t sure if she has the energy for it today but has never and will never be truly able to ignore Roger when he’s clearly upset about something.

“I know something is bothering you and I’m almost certain it has something to do with your mates since you were fine before leaving for rehearsal.” There’s a brief pause and Y/n adds softly, “I worry about you.”

Roger sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine.” He knows he’s being a bit too short with her and that nothing was her fault, but he can’t really help it. He doesn’t want to deal with it.

“Rog…I…” her mind can’t seem to form the right words to explain the thoughts running through it. She’s well aware of his temper and how it flares up around his mates; how he likes loads of sugar; how he can’t see without his glasses but still refuses to wear them.

Y/N knows that this time, something is different but she can’t really explain why or how without admitting that she feels more than friendship towards the drummer. And she isn’t ready just yet to wear her heart on her sleeve just yet.

She ends up settling for the next best thing. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I understand. But please, don’t lie to me. I know something is up and I will never force you talk about it.”

Roger sighs in relief, some of his anger evaporation as he finds himself smiling “Thank you. How was your day?”

It’s at times like this, with Y/N talking happily about her day, rambling on and on about things he doesn’t quite understand and people he doesn’t know that he questions how he got so lucky to have gotten a random number that led to having this amazing girl in his life.

“I still can’t believe that no one except Peter Pan warned me about how much it sucksbeing a grown up,” Roger can tell she’s pouting and it makes him laugh.

The laughter however is cut short when she tries asking about his day and the previous night’s concert. “I’m in a rock band. It goes as well as rock concert goes.”

Y/N blinks, surprised by the venom suddenly lacing his tone. “What kind of answer is that?” She tries to keep her tone neutral, not letting it show how affected she is.

“The one I’m giving you.”

They may have been talking for six months but she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to keep up or understand his mood swings. “Why are you taking your shit out on me?! What’s your problem?!”

As understanding as she may be, Y/N has never had much patience for people taking their anger out on innocent bystanders, who just happen to be at the right place for the wrong time.

“You’re my fucking problem!” Roger snaps, voicing raising as he continues, “You ask all these fucking questions and pester me worse than my mother ever has. You’re not her. You’re not even my girlfriend. You’re a stranger that just doesn’t know when to let go.” His chest is heaving as he sits forward on his bed, empty hand curled into a fist. “God, we haven’t even met are you’re already so fucking clingy –”

With tears in her eyes, Y/N hangs up the phone. She tries reasoning with herself. She knows he’s upset, that something got him in this horrible mood but she has nothing to do with that. He’s hurt and wants to hurt others around him and he did succeed, if you ask Y/N. He’d said the one thing that he knew would absolutely shake her confidence and make her feel like garbage. They’d talked about it, multiple times. Roger had even reassured her at every turn that she was absolutely not clingy and that he loved every second they got to spend on the phone together.

He’ll apologize when he feels better.

He values you.

You’re his friend.

Y/N keeps repeating these mantras over and over again as she stands on shaky legs, heading towards her small bathroom.

The phone starts ringing but she ignores it. She lets the tears fall, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on her face. The phone stops ringing, just to pick up again a few seconds later, confirming her suspicion that it’s Roger trying to get hold of her.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly makes her way back to her bed, sipping on the now lukewarm cup of tea. She glares at the ringing phone, wanting Roger to feel what she’s feeling, even just a bit.

Almost thirty minutes go by before she feels as if she’s got her emotions under control and is ready to speak to Roger, who hasn’t stopped calling since she hung up.

With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and picks up the phone, placing the receiver against her ear.

“I’m so sorry, love!” Roger’s voice floods her system as he stumbles over his words. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Or, I mean I shouldn’t… it isn’t…”

He takes a stuttering breath, collecting himself before he attempts to explain himself again. “You had nothing to do with my shit mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said, I just knew that those were things that would hurt you and it isn’t an excuse and I understand if you’re angry and don’t want to talk to me for a while but please know that I am extremely sorry and that I will do whatever I need to for you to forgive me and I’m such an ass. I’m so fucking sorry Y/N. I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Will you now?” He can tell that’s she trying to be upbeat and wants to make him feel better but that isn’t her job. Not this time.

“I swear it, Y/N. On my drumming career. I won’t ever hurt you like this again and whatever you need me to do to get your forgiveness, I will do it. Name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I s–”

“Really? Absolutely anything?”

Roger nods and realising she can’t seem him, he vocalizes his answer.

“Even if I asked you to rob a bank?”

He laughs, tears of joy springing to his eyes. “Just tell me which one.”

The line goes quiet for a few seconds but Roger’s guilt crawls up his throat. “I really am so extremely sorry, Y/N.”

“I know. I forgive you,” her voice is so soft, full of kindness he doesn’t deserve and his heart does some funky fluttering in his chest.

Roger’s shoulders lose their tension as he melts into the hotel mattress. Knowing she isn’t to upset with him and that they’ll be able to jump back from this soothes his fears of losing her. He’s not sure he’d ever be able to get over it if it were to happen.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispers and he can hear how upset she is and if he could transport himself to London to sooth all her fears with a hug he would. His urge to book the first flight out is almost uncontrollable. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pushing you to talk about something you didn’t want to. I just worry about you, and I can’t do anything if not ask what’s wrong.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for love.” He shakes his head, clenching his hand against the comforter. Never before has he felt such a strong urge to hold a girl in his arms. His voice grows softer as he smiles gently, wishing her could be by her side. “You were just…just being a good friend. I should have seen that instead of the inside of my own ass.”

Y/N hums noncommittally. When she speaks again, her voice is a bit uncertain but sympathetic, “You’ve had a bloody terrible day, haven’t you?”

“It wasn’t exactly one for the books.” Roger can’t help the twinge of anger that laces his tone. He really doesn’t want to get into it, knowing full well he won’t be able to control his temper if he does.

“You’re also tired.” It’s not a question. She knows. She always knows.

Roger smiles sadly, heart swelling in affection for the girl on the other side of the line “Yeah, I am.”

She sighs, frowning as she doesn’t want to let him go but knowing that he needs his rest “I should probably let you rest.”

“Please don’t hang up.”

It’s Y/N heart’s turn to beat erratically as she grins ear to ear when she realizes that he cares for her as much as she does for him. “Okay.”

“Just for a little while, please.”

His voice is a whisper and she answer in the same tone, “As long as you want, rockstar.”

Roger lets his eyes drift shut, rolling onto his side as he holds the receiver tightly in his hands so he won’t accidentally drop it. He could never seem to get enough of her and he doesn’t even know what she looks like yet. What will happen when they finally meet? One thing he knows for sure is that he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself.

“I’d do just about anything to be with you right now”

Had he not been holding the phone tightly against his head, Roger would have missed it. She had spoken so softly, lovingly.

The blond smiles. “Really? Anything?”

She hums, fanning her heated cheeks as she thanks her lucky stars that he can’t see her. She hadn’t expected those words to slip out of her moth but they’ve been talking for so long and they’d just had their first fight.

“I’d swim across the bloody ocean if I could.” He means so much to her that she really would do anything to cross the distance separating them.

Roger blushes, eyes bright and cheeks hurting because of his blinding smile. She makes him so giddy, “All that work just for me?”

Y/N feels her cheek warming up even more, “You’re worth it.” She wonders how he doesn’t realize just how much he means to her or that she would do anything for him.

He hums to himself, grin never faltering as his minds comes up with all these different scenarios he’d love to make come true. Y/N laughs, almost as if she can read his mind, prompting him to ask what caused his favourite sound of the world.

“I think you might actually like me when we finally meet,” she admits finally, still laughing and it really is the best sound to ever reach his ears.

He feels a blush start to spread across his face as he realizes exactly what she said. Never being one to censor himself, he decides to push their carefully set boundaries. “You know, I sometimes imagine you’re here with me sometimes.”

“Yeah?” her laughter, just like her breath, is cut off abruptly. This is certainly not the turn she thought the conversation would be taking.

The drummer hums his assent, turning so he’s laying on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling as he imagines the girl of his dreams in bed next to him. “Yeah. I don’t even have a picture of you in my head or anything…I know it doesn’t make sense but –”

“No, it does!” She reassures. She never wants him to think that she doesn’t understand what was going through his mind.

He smiles, “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you do if you were with me, right now?” because he knows exactly what he wishes they could be doing but he needs her to want and imagine the same thing.

“Why?” She has to put a hand over her mouth to stop the squealing his question brought to her lips. Why he makes her feel like a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush is beyond her but she wouldn’t give up this feeling for anything in the world.

“I don’t know. It helps me picture you.”

She’s quiet for a second as she thinks over how much she’s willing to say out loud. “I’d make you tea…probably make sure you were all cozy, with plenty of blankets and pillows and the works. You deserve to be pampered.”

No one has ever cared about him as much as she does.

“Then what?” He’s aware he’s being greedy, but he can’t seem to help it.

YN swallows thickly, nervous as she forces herself to talk openly “I’d climb into bed with you. Hold you really close to me. I’d run my fingers through your hair –”

Roger moans, low and almost imperceptibly, at the thought. YN giggles, though she feels a warm ache forming below her stomach when she hears the sound. “You’d like that, huh?”

“Fuck yes.” His voice is hoarse and tired and it really isn’t doing much to help the situation between her legs. Y/N shifts on the bed, clenching her thighs while trying to concentrate on anything but the grovelling and sensual sound of his voice.

“What else?” He wants the conversation to take a specific turn but he’s beginning to get extremely drowsy and his voice betrays that.

Y/N smiles at the sudden sleepiness in his tone and her mouth goes dries as she tells him what has been on her mind for at least a few weeks now, maybe more. “I think…I think then I might have to kiss you, Rog.”

The line is strangely quiet and for a moment, she thinks she’s taken things too far and has completely misread the situation.

Roger gives a dopey, sleepy smile, hope filling his chest with a warm feeling. His voice is nearly a whisper in the receiver, “Where would you kiss me?”

She chokes back a sob, relief flooding her system as he doesn’t seem to mind the idea of her kissing him. In fact, she realizes with a start, he’s egging her on. “Maybe your shoulders…or your tummy.”

Roger hums wantonly into the phone as his mind conjures up the images she’s barely describing.

“Where would you want me to kiss you, Rog?”

The question is enough to wake him up. Roger groans, his voice huskier than a few moments ago “I can think of a few places.”

Y/N blushes, stuttering while trying to come up with a response while getting far too hot under the collar for her own good. Just as she’s opening her mouth, she hears a knock sounding through the phone.

Roger barely manages to hold back an angry curse as he gets up to open the hotel door, receiver still held against the side of his face. When he sees Brian, he rolls his eyes, “What do you want?”

Brian flinches at his friend’s tone, holding up a tray of food as he grumbles “Fred wants to make sure you eat something before going to sleep.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry!” he responds before closing the door in the guitarist’s face. He hears a faint mumble of “Whatever” as Brian heads back to his own room.

“Y/N –” he speaks, hoping against all odds that the mood hasn’t been completely lost. He needs to know what her answer is. Does she want to do to him all the things he wants to do to her?

“You should get some sleep, Rog.”

Roger wants to punch Brian for ruining what could have been the best night of his life so far. He was so close to getting somewhere with this amazing girl and that twat ruined his mood once again. He clears his throat, trying to not let tears of frustration gather in his eyes. “Y-Yeah…Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call you when I wake up?”

Y/N smiles warmly, quickly drying the single tear that had fallen at their lost moment, “I’ll be here.”

Roger’s chest buzzes. He whispers a faint ‘Sweet dreams love’ and waits for her reply before hanging up. He sighs, arm over his eyes.

One day, that girl will be his and he will be hers.

————————————————-

“So” her friend drags out the ‘o’, looking at Y/N with pursed lips, “You like him.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, bringing the fuming cup of tea to her lips. She knows she’s just buying herself a few seconds as she debates how to actually address this whole thing. She knew she’d regret telling her best friend about Roger and their unorthodox friendship – or is it a relationship? Y/N shakes her head, aware of the piercing stare locked on her. She also knew that talking to Winnie would be a double-edge sword but she really needs to talk to someone about this whole Roger thing, just to make sure that it isn’t all in her head and that he too feels something for her. And to make sure it isn’t just some fever dream her mind has conjured in answer to her stress levels being through the roof.

It’s been over a year since their first conversation. Roger has travelled the world and made his way back to England just to leave again but they had yet to meet. Y/N is starting to think that he might be ashamed of her. That, or he’s hiding who he really is.

“So what if I do?” Her cheeks start to colour as she avoids looking at the person across from her.

Winnie scoffs, shaking her heard “It’s worse than I thought.”

Y/N’s jaw drops at the remark, chest feeling a bit tight. “What do you mean by that?”

Winnie rolls her eyes, “I haven’t seen you blush this much since…Well, I’ve actually never seen you blush this much. You’ve gone completely pink.”

Y/N’s eyes fall to the table. She can feel her cheeks growing even pinker and hates her friend for being right.

“Y/N/N…” Winnie says with a frown, “I’ve got to be honest, here. I don’t like it. At all.”

Y/N’s heart sinks. She never thought her friend wouldn’t approve of Roger and the words are like a knife to the chest. Sure, she knew that Winnie would be a bit skeptical but she never thought she’d be so against the idea of Roger. “W-Why not?”

Winnie doesn’t want to be harsh or hurt Y/N in any way but she also doesn’t want her best friend to get her hopes up and then her heart broken by a complete stranger. She reaches her hand across to the table and covers her friend’s. “Y/N… Just think about it rationally for a moment. The bloke calls you in the dead of night. You have no idea where he got your number or who he is and he’s already trying to get in your pants –” Y/N opens her mouth to argue but Winnie talks over her. “How do you know he’s not 70, huh? He could be anyone, Y/N. He could be your dad, for Christ’s sake!”

YN cringes, holding her head in her hand as she rubbed her temples. She feels utterly defeated. And a bit naïve. Even if she explains every detail to Winnie, she wouldn’t understand.

Winnie sighs, “What if he’s got nothing to offer?”

Y/N clenches her jaw, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She knows it isn’t fair to be mad at Winnie. That her friend is only trying to look out for her. Still, she feels the urge to protect Roger and their whatever-this-is. “When has that ever been a problem for me? And that’s just it, Win. He does…He offers me so much every day and he never expects anything back. He’s kind to me…and he’s silly and warm and sweet and–”

Winnie’s expression softens as she sees the tears burning in Y/N’s eyes as she takes Y/N’s hands in hers again. However, she doesn’t back down, “You don’t even know his last name.”

Y/N sniffles, refusing to let a single tear roll down her face. She takes a deep breath. “I don’t really see where the problem is in that.” Winnie’s brows knit together and Y/N crosses her arms, “He doesn’t know my last name, either. It’s not like I’m asking him for anything, Win. He’s just great to talk to. He’s kind and funny…. he’s smart. Wickedly smart, but he doesn’t know it.” Y/N laughs breathlessly, getting lost in her memories of all their conversations. “Acts like this tough, careless thing sometimes but he’s so soft on the inside. So good to me. He has the sweetest little laugh, too…gets all croaky when he’s tired.”

Winnie squeezes Y/N’s hand comfortingly, giving her a sympathetic smile. Realizing that nothing she says is going to change Y/N’s mind, she says softly “Just take care of yourself. That’s all I ask.”

Y/N’s responding smile is as bright as the sun, “He’s good. I know it. I can feel it. I’m going to be fine as long as I have him.”

“I hope so for you, darling. You deserve some happiness.”

Y/N takes another deep breath, reaching for her cup of tea.

Winnie grins too, “Just know that if he hurts you, I’ll have his head. I don’t care how old he turns out to be.”

Y/N laughs, rolling her eyes. “Thank fuck I know you’ve got my back, Win.”

———————

Roger is so lost in his thoughts that when John sits down beside him on the small sofa of the tour bus, he flinches, knocking over his beer. John laughs at him, passing him a dirty shirt from the floor to help clean the mess. Roger mumbles a quick “thanks mate” before trying to dry the small table.

“You okay mate?” Brian asks from his spot at the table. The guitarist is barely paying attention to his game of Scrabble with Freddie. For the past few days, he had been paying closer attention to his best friend because something is definitely off. He can’t put his finger on what but he sure as hell is going to find out.

“‘Course I am. Why’d you ask?” Roger is now working on the stain on his trouser, not really listening to his band mates.

Freddie frowns, waiting for Brian to place his next tile and nudges him with a foot under the table to get his attention. When Brian keeps ignoring him, the singer exchanges a quick glance with the bass player, both of them confused about what’s happening.

Brian shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and failing, “You’ve been acting weird lately.”

Roger’s head whips up, eyes zeroing in on the guitarist “What’d you mean?” his tone came out too suspicious and the drummer has a feeling he knows exactly where this conversation was headed.

“You’ve been extremely well-behaved lately and you spend most of your time holed up in your hotel rooms. What’s going on?” Brian decides that beating around the bush wasn’t going to work with the blond.

Roger rolls his eyes, doing his best to hide the smile threating to pull his lips up as he tries to dissuade his friends from asking too many questions or giving them more reasons to be concerned about him. “’S just talking to a friend. No need to get your panties in a twist, old chap.”

“A friend?” Freddie’s amused and now feels the need to be part of this conversation, especially if it makes Roger a bit uncomfortable.

The drummer shrugs, his ears going pink as Brian rolled his eyes, already tired of vague answers. “What friend?”

Roger keeps himself busy by wiping the now fully absorbed beer from his pants. “Just a friend.”

John chuckles when he notices how much the lack of tangible information is bother Brian.

“You don’t have friends that we don’t know!” the guitarist points out.

Roger rolls his eyes, head falling backwards as he drops the shirt to the ground “I do too! We don’t do everything together Brian.”

“What’s her name, Rog?” Freddie decides to cut to the chase, use to seeing through all of Roger’s bullshit.

The drummer sighs, knowing that the more he tries to get out of this conversation, the more they will pry. He mumbles, “Y/N”

John smiles as Freddie’s lights up like a child on Christmas morning. The singer sits forward and leans into the drummer’s line of sight. “And where did you happen upon this friend, hm?”

Roger’s cheeks grow pink. He can’t and won’t even try to stifle the pleased smile forming on his lips. Brian’s face pinches in confusion: he’s never seen Roger like this in his life. Roger hates when people get all warm and mushy; he always crinkles his nose up with displeasure when John rambles on about Veronica, and yet, here he is, looking as if he’s about to do the same thing.

“If I’m completely honest, I haven’t exactly met her in person. Yet.” He confesses sheepishly.

Fred raises his eyebrows, the conversation already taking a turn he didn’t expect. “Pardon?”

Roger sighs, rubbing his face as he tries to explain the whole situation as best he can. “We kind of met by accident. Before leaving for tour, I was talking to a girl in a pub back home and well… she gave me a fake number that turned out to be Y/N’s.”

John nods, intrigued by the blond’s story, “Is it safe to assume you called the number?”

“Yeah.” Roger grins, “Wasn’t the bird from the pub, obviously. The girl on the line didn’t have any clue who I was. She was pissed, to be honest.” Roger laughs thinking back to the night they met. “She’s from London and with the fact that she hadn’t been out and about that night, I accidentally woke her up at one thirty in the morning. She put me in my place for it, too. We started talking after that, I guess.”

Deacy is happy to see his friend so smitten. “How long have you been talking?”

Roger takes a sip of someone’s drink, stopping to think. “About a year, I reckon. Maybe a bit more.”

Brian chokes on his own saliva. “A year!? Really?” He looks to the other boys, and even John has his brows raised in surprise.

Roger looks confused, “What?”

“Rog, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you talk to any girl for more than a few hours.” The bass player is quick to point out. “And even when you do, it’s because they’re a good shag.”

Roger frowns, a bit hurt by the comment. He knows he’s never had a serious relationship and that he loves sex but he isn’t some emotionless sex fiend. He is capable of being committed and in a monogamous relationship. He’s just never had the right motivation before. “Tt’s not like that.”

Fred smirks, “So you’re saying she’s just a friend?”

Roger stutters for a second before falling silent, his face going warmer. “I just… I think she’s nice, and easy to talk to.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to explain their bond eloquently enough for them to truly understand. It’s more that simple attraction or wanting a relationship. There’s something about Y/N and their bond that he will never be able to explain.

“You realize you broke up with Jo so you could spend more time with your drums? Rog, you’re not exactly fantastic at commitment.” Brian feels the need to point out.

Roger’s heart sinks at the lack of support from his friends and wishes he hadn’t let any of this slip. “She’s important to me, whether you understand us or not. I want to fly her out here so we can meet –”

Brian scoffs, arms crossing over his chest “You sure she’s not just trying to sneak her hands in your pockets, mate?”

Roger is stunned into silence and his temper flares. “What?!”

“How can you be sure that she’s not just trying to make a few bucks off you? We make good money now, Rog. People know that.” Again, Brian is pointing something out as if it’s the most obvious reason in the world for a girl to talk with him for so long. Why else would a girl want to spent a whole twelve months speaking to Roger, right?

Roger doesn’t even know where to start or how to respond. The fact that Brian would even imply that YN would ever think about doing something like that is infuriation.

“There are plenty of smart girls out there, mate.” The guitarist carries on, oblivious to the turmoil going through the drummer’s mind. “You’ve got a keep an eye out for the ones sniffing out gold –”

Roger sees red. “Don’t fucking dare finish that sentence, Brian.”

The guitarist rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the drummer’s outburst. “All I’m saying is you ought to be careful.”

“I know you think you’re smarter than the rest of us but I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

Freddie rubs his temples exasperatedly, knowing that this is not going to be the end of the conversation and it’s going to end poorly for all parties involved.

“Roger, you’re letting yourself fall in love with this girl and you don’t even know her! She’s a complete stranger!” Brian raises his voice, “You’ve never bloody met her!”

“Fuck off, Brian. You have no fucking idea what or who you’re talking about.” Roger slams the bottle against the table and storms off towards the back of the bus “Leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day.”

———————————-

Roger’s eyes blink open as soon as he registers the phone in his hotel room starts ringing. He scrambles for the receiver, nearly falling off the mattress in the process as the sheet tangle in his legs.

It’s been nearly a fortnight since he’s last spoken to Y/N. It seems the two have less and less time as the summer months have rolled around. There are interviews to do, books to edit, concerts to play, shelves to stock. All their work seems to be never-ending.

“Y/N?” Roger chimes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He knows that the likelihood of it being anyone else is nonexistent but he always likes to make sure she knows that she’s always his first thought.

“Hi, Rog.” She smiles to herself. Hearing his voice always makes her days better.

Relief washes over Roger’s body at the sound of her voice. “God, I’ve missed you.” He admits, chest aching happily. “Missed you so much. Every day. Fuck, you don’t know how good it is to hear your voice.” Roger relaxes against his pillow, playing with the phone chord as his eyes close blissfully.

Tears well in Y/N’s eyes as she tries swallowing around the knot lodged in her throat. “I’ve missed you too, Rog.”

Roger’s brow furrow. Her voice’s hoarse, as if she’s been crying. And tired. Immediately he can tell that something’s wrong but he tries clearing the thought from his head, trusting that she would tell him anything she wanted him to know.

“Had a dream about you last night.” He mumbles, smiling at the memory as he tries to make her smile. “I can’t remember what you looked like in the dream but it couldn’t have been anyone but you. It felt like you.”

She smiles against the speaker.

Roger eyes furrow as he tries to recall if they’ve ever shared physical details of each other. He knows they’ve shared what’s in their hearts and minds but never have they spoken about what they look like. He needs to know. “How tall are you?”

Y/N doesn’t answer and Roger’s worry comes back stronger than before. “Y/N?”

“Hm? What was that Rog?”

The drummer doesn’t like how tired she sounds. They’ve had had their share of bad conversations but she’s never ignored or not answered one of his questions. “How tall are you?”

“Oh… uhm… I guess /your height/.”

It took her too long to answer. Roger bites his lower lip before sighing, knowing that the only way for him to feel better is knowing that she’s okay. “There’s something wrong.”

Y/N pauses, finally fully present in the conversation. Her heart beats a bit too quickly in her chest. “W-What?”

“You’re not acting like yourself. Something’s wrong.” Roger hates how certain of this he is.

She goes silent while trying to hold it all back, but it’s no use. Her face crumbles as she lets out a sob against the receiver. Calling him had been the best and worse decision she made today.

Roger’s heart feels like it’s shattering as he fights helplessly to calm her from oceans away.

“Y/N…” He feels stuck. Someone he loves is sobbing and he’s a million miles away. “Y/N, my love, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

His mind is working a million miles a second. It’s been so long since they last spoke, that there are hundreds of things that could have happened. Is she hurt? Did someone she know get hurt? Has the press somehow found out about their conversations and been harassing her?

She chokes on her words, trying to explain as best as she could but her breathing is still too choppy and labored for her to be understandable.

Roger listens as she struggles to breathe and he doesn’t think he’s ever known fear before his moment. The sounds coming from the woman he loves sound painful and he wants nothing more than to hold her and soothe all her pain. “Y/N, my love, just breathe. Can you do that for me? Take deep breaths.” He does what he’s asking her to do so that she has something to mimic. “Just do what I am okay? I’m right here baby.” He keeps his breathing slow and steady, guiding hers until she settles. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffling painfully. Roger wishes he could reach through the phone and scoop her up in his arms. He’s trying to figure out how angry the boys – and the label – would be if he were to fly out to her for a few days.

“I had to fire them all.” She admits in a whisper.

His stomach drops, “Who love?”

“My employees… I couldn’t pay them anymore.” She starts crying again, her voice breaking and he can barely make out the words tumbling from her lips.

Roger frowns, a thought he doesn’t like pushing to the front of his mind. “Who’s been running the store when you aren’t there?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly and when she finally answers, he hates what he hears. “It’s just been you. Oh, love, it’s just been you all by yourself?”

Her sobs grow louder as Roger hushes her soothingly through the phone as he fights off his own tears. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.”

“I-I didn’t want to. I had to.” Y/N needs him to understand. She really has no other choice and she hates how powerless she is. She’s trying her best to ground herself but everything hurts.

“I know, sweetheart.” He reassures her, “They understand.”

“M-My landlord threatened to evict me and I’ve got no food in the pantry and I just didn’t know what else to do.” She grabs her hair tightly as the pain in her chest increases.

Roger’s throat tightens to the point where taking a breath is painful. “Why didn’t you say anything, darling? I would have sent you mone–”

'No. No. I don’t want to take money from you.” She states resolutely. “That’s not fair and it’s not me. I will figure something out.”

He rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. “What’s ‘not fair’ is that you’re suffering, Y/N.” He pauses, “When’s the last time you had a meal? Like, a whole meal, not just a snack.”

When doesn’t Y/N answer, Roger knows that it has been too long.

“I’ve been eating little things here and there.” She finally admits with a small, fearful voice, “I don’t have time to sit and eat at work, anyway.”

“Y/N,” his tone doesn’t allow for any room for her not to answer, “when was the last time?”

She swallows thickly, “A week ago. I think.”

Roger feels like someone has punched him in the throat. His eyes burn as he fights off tears. Now is not the time for him to breakdown. He can do that once he knows she has some food in her system and she’s taken care of. He counts to five and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Haven’t been sleeping either, I bet. I can hear it in your voice. You’re exhausted.”

Roger pauses and then add stubbornly, “I’m sending you money.”

Nothing she says is going to change his mind on this. She needs it, he has loads and he will never sit back and let her suffer when he can actively do something to make things easier for her.

“Roger, no.” She counters immediately, “Absolutely not!”

“Y/N, you need it! I want to help you. I need to help you. I need you to be safe and happy and healthy –”

“I can do it, Rog.” She guarantees, “I just need to work harder.”

She’s stubborn but so is he.

He sighs her name. Nothing he says will convince her to take the money. She’s too proud of that but there is nothing she can do to stop him from sending it anyway. Y/N doesn’t need to know until she gets it.

There is one thing that he can’t drop though. “Promise me, and I mean promiseme you’ll eat and you’ll sleep. I want three meals a day and eight hours at night.” Y/N sighs, knowing that keeping that promise is going to be rough but Roger keeps speaking, “I know money is tight and it seems like it’s hopeless right now but swear to me that you’ll take care of yourself.”

Y/N’s voice thickens as she whimpers pathetically. Never had she thought she’d be the kind of girl that needs a man to keep her together, but here she is. “I need you to hold me.”

Pain shoots through Roger’s chest and this time, he can’t keep his emotions at bay. Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to not sob too loudly. It hurts. It bloody hurts how badly he wants to be with her.

Roger moves the receiver away from his face, letting out a few sobs before he composes himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as his nose burns because of the tears he’s trying – and failing – to hold back. He does his best to keep his voice steady when he speaks to her again, “What if I fly out to you? Just for a few days. I could –”

Y/N’s tears start anew. “I want that, so badly but Rog, baby, you can’t. The tour –”

“To hell with the tour!” he says through gritted teeth, “I don’t care about the bloody tour! I care about you.”

Her breath catches in her throat. They’ve both tiptoed around their feelings, both making it clear that this is more than a simple friendship but never had either of them been so direct. It gives her hope and now, more than ever, she refuses to let him give up on his dream. She will get through this and knowing he’s willing to drop everything to help her is enough.

“I care about you too, Rog.” She admits softly, “But there are so many people counting on you. It’s your dream.”

“Maybe I have a new one” he mumbles. “Okay. If I can’t come to you then I can fly you out.” He needs to see her and make sure, with his own eyes, that she’s really doing better. He can’t lose her.

Y/N sighs wistfully, wanting nothing more than to accept his offer. “You know I can’t. Not right now, at least. The shop –”

Roger curses in frustration. “It’s not fair!”

“I know.”

Silence fills the line. Roger’s anger quickly dissipates and all he’s left with is unrelenting sadness. He feels so unlike himself; pitifiul and needy. He feels as if he needs Y/N more than he needs oxygen.

“Soon,” Roger’s voice breaks the silence, “Promise me. We’ll be together soon.”

Y/N smiles through the tears, “I promise.”

“And promise me you’ll eat and sleep. I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I promise, Rog. I will get as much sleep and food as I can stand.”

“Good.” He swallows thickly, “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She lets out a wet laugh, “Good thing is you’ll never have to find out.”

Roger finally relaxes a bit, breathing deeply. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you out of my sights once we meet.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

—————————

Roger keeps his head down, with his visor of the baseball cap pulled down almost over his eyebrows as moves quickly through the city. He’s hoping that between his disguise and Queen still being relatively unknown in the US will help him avoid any run ins with the press. It had been hard enough leaving the hotel without being seen by his mates or any of the roadies. He really doesn’t need word of his morning excursion getting back to Brian.

With a grimace, Roger walks into the American branch of his bank and lines up to speak to a teller.

It takes longer than he would have liked to get all the documents set up and money withdrawn but Roger definitely feels lighter as he steps back out into the sunlit streets and heads to rehearsals. Luckily, he was careful enough that no one noticed his prolonged absence.

The green room is still empty when Roger enters, heading straight for the vanity against the opposite wall. Slipping off his hat, he removes all the bank documents from his back pocket and sits at the mirror. He slides the signed check and bills into the same envelope, setting it aside as he removes his jacket. He definitely feels a lot better knowing he’ll be able to help Y/N in a way that matters and that will make her life easier. It also helps that their conversations have returned to being a daily occurrence, helping him ensure that she is as well rested and fed as she can be. Although she’s doing much better with his support, Roger doesn’t miss the stressed tone or how her work load seems to be constantly growing.

Roger only wishes he had managed to get to a bank sooner though this way, since it’s been a bit over a month since he offered her the money, she shouldn’t suspect anything.

Roger digs around the vanity for a pen and when he finds none, he uses one of Freddie’s eye-pencils and a tissue to write a short message to his girl. He hesitates, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his friends aren’t going to barge in. He really doesn’t want to try explaining the money or check to them.

Roger sighs, mussing his hair as he tries to put pencil to tissue. There is so much he wants to say but he isn’t even sure where he should start. He knows that no matter what he says, she is going to rip into him so with a chuckle, he scribbles down one line before signing the tissues and placing it delicately inside the envelop with the money and check. He knows he’s doing the right thing, and even if she won’t happy about it, she’ll be grateful.

For once in his life, he’s grateful for his foresight of asking for her full name and address so that he could send small trinkets and post cards when calls aren’t enough.

“Morning, Rog.”

Roger nearly jumps out of the chair, quickly turning to see a confused looking John smiling at him, a cup of coffee in hand.

Roger exhales, laughing at his own reaction. “God, Deacy. You scared the living shit out of me. Didn’t hear you come in.”

John laughs too before sipping his coffee as he takes a seat on the couch. Roger turns back to the envelope, hiding it under his arm.

“Didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, I though you’d still be in bed.” John chimes, brow quirked.

Roger clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Just had to um…run some errands is all.”

John nods though he clearly doesn’t believe him. “What are you doing here so early?” The drummer desperately wants to change the subject before he gives himself away.

John shrugs, smiling “I tend to get here early to help the roadies with the amps. I built most of them from older models that’d been trashed so they can be a bit finicky.”

Roger hums in understanding, slipping the envelope into the pocket of his jeans as Brian and Freddie waltz in. The drummer nods at both, fighting back a yawn.

“Sleep well?” Freddie asks with a smirk.

“Not well enough.” Admits Roger, standing from his chair and lazily making his way over to the costume rack. He doesn’t notice the envelop slipping from his pocket when he bends down to look for his converse. Roger curses under his breath, “I’m going to see if I can track down my trainers. I could’ve sworn I left them here yesterday.”

Brian quirks his brow curiously as the drummer trots out the door, stepping forward to snatch the envelope off the ground. Freddie cranes on his tip toes to peek over his shoulder, curiosity lighting up his brown eyes, “What’ve you found?”

The envelope hasn’t been sealed yet so Brian doesn’t feel too guilty as he snoops. The guitarist runs his thumb over the hastily scrawled name and address, Y/N Y/L/N.

“What’s inside?” The singer asks, hoping it’s a love letter and that he can take the piss out of the usually emotionally constipated drummer.

Brian pulls back the flap of the envelop and frowns when he notices that there’s cash inside. He moves toward the couch where John is sat, quietly observing the situation as it unfolds. The guitarist clears off a small section of the coffee table and dumps the content of the envelop on it. A wad of cash falls with a small thud, as a tissue and slip of paper flutter down after it. He quickly counts the cash and his eye widen in shock. £500. And the piece of paper is a blank check that has been signed and dated with today’s date. The name on the check is the same of the envelop and it finally hits him: it’s the girl Roger had mentioned on the bus.

Don’t be too angry. R

Brian feels like his brain is going to explode. A blank cheque?! He’s sending her a blank cheque! Anger boils in his veins as he tries to comprehend how his best friend of years goes from dumbing his girlfriend of almost ten years in order to become a successful musician to blindly sending money and blank cheques to a complete stranger. Clearly, something has happened because not even Roger would be that stupid.

Brian grips the empty envelop tightly in his hand as Roger wanders back into the room, muttering about his missing shoes.

Brian walks up to Roger where he’s now lounging on the couch next to John and throws it at him. Roger eyes the envelop before his eyes fall to the coffee table.

The blond lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up into Brian’s eyes. For this, his reaction angers Brian even more.

“Mind sharing with the group, Rog?” the curly-haired man asks condescendingly. “Mind explaining why your ‘friend’ who isn’t taking advantage of you is getting direct deposits?!”

Roger does his best to swallow back all his annoyance, but apparently, Brian isn’t done digging into him. “A fucking blank cheque, Roger!? A blank cheque, really? Are you trying to get robbed?”

Roger can’t even get his explanation fully out of his mouth before Brian cuts him off. “She’s lying, Roger! She’s a con artist!”

“She’s not!”

“And you’re giving her exactly what she wants! She’ll be laughing all the way to the bank!”

“SHUT UP!” Roger screams, raising to his feet and pushing Brian back. “You’ve all got spouses or children. I don’t. I’ve got no one to take care of. Tell me what’s so fucking criminal about sending some money to help someone I love.”

The three other people in the room are shocked into silence. Never before has the drummer tossed around the l-word so easily. Roger picks up the money and the check from the table, carefully tucking it back into the envelope and smoothing it out.

Roger heads for the door, turning to look back at the group one last time before he leaves.

“If you need me, I’ll be buying stamps.”

——————————————————–

“What the fuck, Taylor!?’

Roger chuckles into the receiver. “Well, hello to you too, darling.” He had been waiting for this call for about a week.

“Do not ‘darling’ me right now. I told you not to send money!” Y/N has rarely experienced such a mix of emotions. Anger, love, humiliation, sadness, helplessness, love. She whines into the phone, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “Why didn’t you listen? I’m not a charity case!” She hates feeling like a burden.

Most of all, she hates how loved and better she felt when she opened the envelope.

The blond frowns. It was never his intention to upset her, “Love, I –”

“Don’t you dare use your pet names on me right now, Roger Taylor!'’ Roger tries to hold back his laughter.

“I told you I can do this on my own!” she explodes, “I am perfectly capable of handling –”

“Oh, trust me, I know you are.” He interrupts. Roger toys with the phone chord, blowing some of his bangs away from his face. “You could run circles around me, darling. Just because you’re able to do it on your own doesn’t mean you have to.” He smiled softly to himself, “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I can’t physically be there for you, and I hate that. If it were up to me, I’d be stopping by the store to bring you food or help lug books around.” Y/N exhales, hand running through her hair. God-damnit. Why does he have to be so bloody perfect and far away? “And as much as I wish I could change it, I know I can’t be there right now to hold you and promise it will all get better.”

“Rog–” There’s so much she needs to tell him.

“Let me do this, Y/N.” He begs, “Just this one thing to help you keep a roof over your head and eat and take care of yourself.”

Y/N gives up all hope of arguing with him about this. And just like that, she’s crying for a completely different reason. Her voice wobbles as she sobs into the phone, “You’re so stupid, Roger. You’re such a goddamn idiot.”

He laughs as he too starts crying, smiling lovingly to the empty room. “I thought we’d already established that.” She gives a breathy laugh, clutching the money and cheque to her chest like a security blanket. “Hasn’t ever kept you from talking to me before, though.”

Y/N wipes her tears with her shirt sleeve, sniffling pitifully. She knows she’s never felt love like this before and she never will again. Not even her parents had shown interest in supporting her; she never thought any less of them because of that.

But here’s Roger. Sweet, stupid Roger forking over hundreds of pounds and sending it to her from worlds away without batting an eyelash. All because he wants to help in any way he can. She can hear him as he rambles on, still trying explain how it “really isn’t a big deal“.

“Roger–” her voice’s is so soft that he misses it completely.

“–I just care about you and I wanted to help and–”

“Roger!” She yells with a laugh.

He stops, eyebrows quirking as he smiled. He hears her take a deep breath and waits impatiently for her to speak.

Y/N’s heart is beating like a hummingbird’s. “I love you.”

“What?” Roger feels completely frozen until she repeats those three beautiful words to him.

There’s another long silence and panic set in YN’s stomach as she bites her lip. She really doesn’t want to pressure him into saying it so it’s her turn to start rambling, “I’m not just saying that because of the money and I don’t expect you to say it back but I just needed you to know because it’s true and –”

“I love you too.” He interrupts her panicked mumbles.

Y/N’s whole body relaxes. She exhales, hands shakily holding the phone as she lets out a watery, “Thank Christ” that makes Roger laugh.

“God, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Now that he can say it aloud, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop.

Tears well in Y/N’s eyes again, “I…I want you, Roger. I want you here.” She sounds selfish but she doesn’t care.

This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Now that it’s out in the open, she needs to see him, feel his body against hers. She wants to show him exactly how much she loves him.

His heart aches, “I know, my love. You have no fucking idea how much I want to be with you right now. Fuck, I’d fly out to you right this second if I knew you’d actually let me.”

Y/N chuckles, sniffling “It’s really tempting.”

He grins, “Tempting enough to let me?”

She shakes her head, “I can’t be the one to deprive the world of Roger Taylor. I know how that feels and it’s too damn painful.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Why can’t you just be selfish once in a while?”

“I’m afraid I’m not as strong he

A/N:I hope this does your request some justice and hope you see your BF soon <3

–––––

You blink awake. This is the third time you’ve woken up tonight. You sigh. Sitting up, you glance at the clock. It reads three in the morning, and you groan, flopping back down onto the mattress. You’ve been having the worst sleeps ever since Roger left for tour a couple months ago. It’s been hard having to sleeping in an empty bed. You’re not used to not having Roger snoring next to you. Not used to his side of the bed being cold. 

Youmiss him terribly. 

Fluffing your pillow and rearranging the blanket, you try to fall back asleep. But after several minutes of looking at that one brown dot on the ceiling, you huff and get out of bed. You wrap the throw blanket around your body before making your way to the kitchen. In the mood for something comforting, you grab the carton of milk from the fridge and some cocoa powder. Growing up, you would always sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate whenever you couldn’t go to sleep––a habit you kept throughout your years at uni as well. After mixing and heating the ingredients in a pot on the stove, you pour the drink into a mug and take a big sip. You sigh when you feel the chocolate warm your belly and head back to the room, drink still in hand. 

Pulling off your sleep shirt, you rummage through Roger’s clothing drawers. Finding your favorite shirt of his––an old, ratty, way too big Rolling Stones shirt––you throw it over your head. It smells like cigarettes and cologne and something distinctly Roger,and you smile. The book you began reading a week ago sits on the desk, and so you grab it. Maybe it’ll help you fall asleep. 

 –––––

Roger slowly opens the door to your shared flat, placing his bags off to the side––he’ll deal with those in the morning. After all the traveling, right now, he just wants to see his beautiful girlfriend and go to sleep. Passing through the kitchen, he sees the pot growing cold on the stove and a spattering of cocoa powder on the counter, and smiles to himself. When he reaches the threshold to your bedroom, he stops and leans against the doorframe, drinking in the scene before him. You’re in one of his shirts, sleeping on his side of the bed and hugging his pillow tightly to your chest, a book forgotten on the sheets. He can hear your soft breathing. 

His heart absolutely melts at the sight, and he’s struck with a wave of pure adoration and warmth. Smiling to himself, he pads into the room while shedding his jacket and pants. Left in his briefs, he turns off the lamp, and carefully lifts up the comforter to crawl into bed with you (he now has to lie on your side, but he doesn’t mind one bit). 

You roll over in your sleep, mumbling something incoherent and reaching out your arms. But you feel something solid and warm, and you shoot awake, slapping your hands wildly in front of you. His hands catch your wrists. 

“Shhh, sorry, it’s just me love, just me,” he says, trying to hold in a laugh. You stop, blinking rapidly to adjust for the darkness of the room. Your eyes widen when you see Roger lying in front of you, holding your hands in his. 

“Rog?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. You’re not sure if you’re actually awake or not. 

“Hi darling,” he whispers. 

You throw yourself in his arms and pepper his face with kisses. He laughs, voice raspy and rough. 

“I thought you were coming back on Friday!” 

“Was dying to see my best girl,” he says. He looks at you still lying on his side of the bed. 

“Missed me that much?” He asks, tilting his chin down to your––his––shirt and the discarded pillow, and you can hearthe smirk on his face. 

“Well, you did leave your poor, poor girlfriend all alone in this ridiculously big flat for two months,” you retort. He chuckles at that. 

“What a terrible boyfriend I am,” he begins, tightening his grip on your waist, pulling you closer, “How can I ever make it up to you?” he whispers into your hair. Your chest warms, and your mouth pulls into a smile. You tilt your chin up, puckering your lips, and he laughs softly. 

Gently grasping your jaw, he gives you a kiss, long and sweet, something that makes your toes curl. 

“I love you, and I missed you so much,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to yours. You kiss him again. 

“I love you too Rog.”

And you close your eyes, wrapped in Roger’s arms, legs tangled with his, listening to his heartbeat. 

Best sleep you’ve gotten in months. 

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@thefirstkillerqueen@hysterical-queen-trash@ladycataztrophe@ghost-in-love@blondecarfucker@scarsout@radioblah-blah@hold-your-invisible-horses@lordofthunderthr@iwasnothingbutacityboy@jennyggggrrr@ixchel-9275

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader 

Summary:Roger calls you in the middle of the night, and you guys reminisce at some happy memories. 

Word count: ~1.5k

Contains:angst 

A/N:This was written while I listened “Falling” by Harry Styles (my fave song on the album) on repeat, so you can probably guess the tone of this piece. Hope you enjoy!! :))

His hand hovers over the telephone. He’s a bottle and a half into the handles of whiskies he picked up at the liquor store a couple hours ago. This is a bad idea, he thinks, but he doesn’t care. 

He picks up the phone and dials the number.

 ––––––

You’re startled by the ringing of your flat’s telephone. The man sleeping next to you stirs.

“Shh, go back to sleep, I’ll get the phone, love,” you whisper. You couldn’t go to sleep anyway. After placing a kiss to his forehead, you grab your robe and pad into the living room. The phone rings one more time before you answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Y/N.” Your stomach drops at the voice, and you take in a deep breath. 

“Roger?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

You sigh. “Why are you calling me?” 

“Wanted to hear your voice.” You hear a clatter of a glass on his end, and you clench your teeth. 

“You’re drunk right now Roger, hang up and go back to sleep.” 

“Wait, wait, wait––just––wait. Please.” 

You can easily hang up the phone, go back to bed and your loving boyfriend, and not have to deal with what will inevitably wreck your heart again––

But you hate yourself a little bit more tonight, so you stay on the phone. Wait for him to continue. 

He inhales. “I was just thinking about that night in Montreal––when we were doing the show at the Montreal Forum. Remember? It was three years ago from today?” 

––––––

You’re lounging on the hotel room bed in your pajamas and reading a book that you bought at the airport on the way here. Roger’s still at the stadium, rehearsing for the show tomorrow night. The clock just struck two in the morning, but jet lag is really kicking your ass, so you thought reading would help relax you (it’s not). 

You hear the sound of the key card sliding in the door before Roger walks in. 

“Hey, love,” he says softly as he quietly puts his bags down. He isn’t surprised that you’re still awake, the jet lag hitting him as hard as it’s hitting you. Untangling yourself from the mound of pillows and blankets you nestled your way into, you make your way over to him and wrap your arms around his middle. He sighs into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“How was rehearsal?” you ask. 

“It was good…couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head in response. “Well good thing, I have a surprise for you,” he says before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the hallway. 

You raise your brows but follow him as he leads you through the hotel. He stops at the pool area, and you gasp at the sight in front of you. All the chairs were cleared out and a single table covered in a white cloth and rose petals sits next to the pool. Sitting on top of the table is a platter of desserts: cakes, chocolate truffles, chocolate covered strawberries, crème brulée, and two flutes of champagne, the bottle sitting in an ice bucket off to the side. The candles basks the scene in a ethereal glow, and the record player sitting off to the side plays Sinatra’s The Way You Look Tonight. 

“Ta-da,” Roger says with his arms outstretched and a big grin on his face.  

“Oh my god, Roger. You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

“Well, the hotel helped me set it up, and did you really think I wouldn’t do anything considering how amazing of a boyfriend I am,” he says with a playful wink to which you roll your eyes at. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. 

“I love you,” you say once you break away. 

“Words cannot express how much I love you,” he says softly, brushing back a piece of stray hair blown away from the breeze. 

A bottle and a half of champagne later, you’re sitting in a chair, watching Roger drunkenly air play the drums while serenading you with his rendition of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. 

“Rog, you’re going to fall into the bloody pool!” You warn. He doesn’t listen to you, and as he gets to the chorus, you see his foot slip and before you can warn him…

Splash. 

Your mouth pops open in disbelief as you see your boyfriend fall, fully clothed, in the hotel pool at three a.m. in the morning. A second later, his head pops out of the water. He’s coughing and hastily pushing his wet hair back out of his face. You let out a surprised laugh, and when he turns his face to you, his shocked expression makes you lose it. 

And now you’re laughing so hard, tears prick at your eyes. Laughing so hard that you snort, which makes you clap your hands over your mouth and laugh even harder. 

“I told you!” you manage to wheeze out through laughs. He’s laughing too now, wading to the side of the pool. 

“Help me out?” He asks with an outstretched hand. 

And you go over, clutching your abs, and since you’re still laughing, you don’t notice the evil grin adorning his face. And so when you reach down to grasp his hand, you’re not prepared for the feeling of him yanking you down and into the pool with him. You manage to let out a surprised shriek before hitting the cold water. 

“You’re such a dick!” You yell when your head breaks through the surface, and you start assaulting his arm with slaps.

He catches your hands and engulfs you into a wet hug. “You love me,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I do love you but that doesn’t mean that you’re not a dick,” your voice muffled from your face being pressed into his chest. He fakes a gasp, and you giggle. 

You two stay there for you don’t know how long, you wrapped in his arms, rocking back and forth with Frank Sinatra’s voice as your backdrop and the stars as your ceiling. 

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he whispers into your ear. 

“Happy anniversary, Rog.”

––––––

“Yeah. Yeah I do remember.” You laugh, sniffling. Of course you remember. “We were so happy,” you say. You sigh and look down, picking at your fingernail and thinking about that night. You let out a whimper, and your face crumples thinking of just how happy you two were. 

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers over the phone, wishing that he could be there to hug and kiss you. Wishing that he could take back that one stupid drunken night that ruined everything. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.” 

You continue to cry silently, furiously picking at that fingernail until it bleeds. 

You both stay on the line for a minute, the only sound you hear is the faint buzz of the phone and your shaky breaths. Roger is the first one to break the silence. 

“I miss you. So much,” he rasps. 

“Roger…Roger please don’t do this.” 

“I know, I know, love––I just––I still love––” 

“Roger, you were the one who––” You stop yourself. 

“I know, and I hate myself for that every single day.” On the other side of the line, his heart breaks when he hears your sniffles, and his eyes blur with his own tears. He clears his throat. 

“I was just calling to hear your voice one last time. I won’t call you anymore. All I want for you to be is happy.” He pauses. “I love you.” 

“Thank you Rog,” you whisper into the phone, “I love you too.”

It takes all of your willpower to set the phone back down onto the receiver. 

A quiet sob escapes your chest, and you clutch yourself, hugging your arms to your torso. Sliding down to the ground, back leaning against the back of your couch, you stuff your fist into your mouth to muffle your cries. 

And at this moment you absolutely hate Roger Taylor, the man who was your first love, the man who shattered your heart into a million pieces, the man who, no matter how much you try, you’ll never be able to forget––never stop loving. 

“Y/N?” You hear your boyfriend call from the bedroom. 

“Just a minute!” You call out, voice strained. You don’t know how long you sit there, but once the tears have dried up, you get up, grab a glass of water, and head back into the room where you crawl into bed and under the covers

“Who was that?” your boyfriend asks, voice raspy from sleep. 

“Just an old friend.”

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Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader [FAKE DATING AU]

Summary:You’re a famous rockstar. Roger Taylor has an image problem. Both of your management teams thought it would be a great idea for you two to fake date. Problem is: you guys hate each other’s guts.

Word count: ~3.1k 

Contains:language and slut-shaming (not from Roger though!) 

A/N:I AM BACK. Here is part 4, I don’t how many people still want to read it, so if you’re on the taglist, and no longer want to be on it, please message me (I will not be offended). And vice versa, if you want to be on the taglist but you aren’t on it, just shoot me a message! I hope you guys enjoy this part and thank you for sticking with me! Love you guys. 

PART ONE||PART TWO||PART THREE 

Previously…

“I’m really tired of fighting. Can we call a truce until this whole thing is over?” he says after he blows out the smoke. You let out a laugh that sounds more like an exhale. 

“Truce,” you say, handing him the bottle of scotch. 

“Okay, well, now that we’re not enemies anymore, we should get to know each other better,” he says after he takes a swig. 

“Okay, shoot,” you ask. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“Really?” 

“That’s basic question!” 

“Fine, pink. You?”

“Yellow.” 

“Ok. I wanna ask a question, why are you always wearing those sunglasses? It’s night and we’re––we were––indoors.” 

“These sunglasses are sexy, and you know it,” he says with a nudge of his shoulder to yours. 

And so, you two spend most of the night there––forgetting about the party raging below. Passing the bottle back and forth to one another, you both share stories of childhood memories, being on tour, and everything in between. You talk about your crazy university stories and the time you not so accidentally threw up on a douchebag at a bar. 

Roger talks about the time he got into a bar fight over a pack of peanuts. 

“Did you win?”

“Oh god no, I was absolutely shit-faced, and I think he was a former boxer.” 

You tilt your head back and laugh, and he looks at you with a small smile playing at his lips, a weird feeling warming his chest. 

 –––––

After that night, you and Roger have been trying slowly to create a somewhat functional friendship. 

“Can I get an iced latte with vanilla and two packets of sweetener please?” you ask the waiter taking your order. Roger pulls a face, and you cross your arms. 

“What? I like sweets Mister Plain Black Coffee.” He rolls his eyes and flicks your nose. You swat his hand out of the way but laugh nonetheless. 

Maybe that smile in that picture the paparazzi caught of you and him wasn’t entirely faked.

And maybe after you guys pay for the check and are walking towards the car, Roger leaves his hand wrapped around yours a moment longer than he has to even after you both get are out of the camera’s spotlight. 

 –––––

You sigh as you look around the room. Another night, another party, another evening spending time around drunken fools. 

You stiffen when you hear a voice that makes your skin crawl. Oh no. Looking over, you spot your ex standing by the bar with his arm around another girl’s waist. Roger notices the way your shoulders tense, and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to say anything because before he can turn around, you grab his hand and drag him into the nearest bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you look at a very confused Roger. 

“Give me a love bite.” You’re not thinking this through. Jealousy and pride clouding your logic, but you don’t care. 

He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Give me a love bite.” 

You almost giggle at how clueless and flustered Roger looks right now, so unlike his usual cocky self. He opens his mouth. 

“Please? I think it’ll really sell our relationship!” He narrows his eyes at you. An inner conflict seems to be resolved when he exhales. 

“Okay…” He walks over carefully, almost as if he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap. 

Thus explains the reason why you’re currently straddling Roger’s lap in the first available bedroom you guys could find in the house. He carefully pushes the front of your dress to the side, the silk easily gliding away with his touch. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin when you feel his rough, calloused fingers graze your collarbones. 

“You sure about this?” he asks you, and you nod. 

He attaches his lips to the side of your throat. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his lips, and you feel his hands tighten on your hips. Your skin is on fire. You reach up, and slowly push up his sunglasses from his nose and to the top of his head. He looks up at you, hooded eyes meet your own. The blue of his eyes are almost swallowed with his black pupils, and you bite your lip at the sight, heat blossoming throughout your body. His eyes flick down at the movement, his mouth opened slightly. 

At a particularly harsh suck, teeth grazing skin, your hips give an involuntary jolt into his, and he lets out a surprised, quiet groan.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” you stutter. 

The door swings open and before you can even process it, you hear a loud, “Oh shit sorry!” And the slamming of the door. 

You jump, instinctively pushing Roger away from you, but his hands are still attached to your waist. So instead, he takes you down with him. You let out a surprised squeal before your body hits his as his back slams onto the bed beneath him. 

Rolling off of him, you flop onto the bed panting. Heart beating out of your chest. A beat as you both lie on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. 

And then you burst out laughing. Deep, heaving laughs that make you clutch at your stomach. And Roger’s laughing as well. 

“You’re such a little shit!” you wheeze and hit him with one of the pillows. “Why didn’t you lock the door?” 

“I thought I did! And also you were the one who basically jumped my bones out there––you should have been the one who locked the door!” 

You scoff, but a smile pulls at your mouth. Pushing yourself up and off the bed, you walk over to a mirror that’s leaning on one of the walls. Poking and prodding the red mark quickly blossoming on the column of your throat, you deem it an acceptable love bite. 

“Okay, this should be good, thanks––what are you doing?” You ask as you see Roger reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

“Keeping up appearances.” He gives you a wink before unbuttoning his shirt all the way open. 

“Wait––” you say before grabbing a tube of your lipstick from your clutch. Opening the tube, you rub some of the color onto your fingers and proceed to rub it messily around Roger’s mouth. He looks down at you, smiling at the little furrow in your brow as you concentrate. You pull back and admire your handiwork. 

“We are now the perfect sex-crazed couple,” you say with a wink and a flourish of your hand. 

Walking out of the room, Roger pretends to readjust his belt, and you pull your dress down. Plastering a glazed, satisfied look on his face, he gives all the people standing in the hallway in front of the room a lazy smile. 

A couple of whistles, and you just flash them a knowing smirk. 

You’ve been at the party for an hour, and you’ve lost Roger after being swept away by some friends. Tired and ready to make your way back home, you’re in search of Roger and the rest of your friends to say bye. As you make your way through the too big house, you’re not watching in front of you. Instead, looking at what appears to be two people in chicken costumes dancing on top of one of the living room tables when you bump into someone. Strong arms grip your shoulders to steady you. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize. But stop short when you see who it is. 

“Hey, Y/N, I just want to say congrats on your album,” your ex says with a sleazy smile. His hand lingers too long on your shoulder. 

“Oh––uh, thank you.” 

You see his eyes flick down, and then stay there. His brows furrow. And you let the self satisfied smile grow on your face when you know he’s looking at the dark bruise you’re not trying to hide. 

“Who’s this, love,” Roger asks, coming up from behind you, his hands snaking around your waist. And you have to suppress your laughter as you can practically see the gears working in your ex’s head. His eyes rapidly flicking to your lipstick and then to the same color smudged onto Roger’s mouth. Your matching bed-ruffled hair. The way Roger possessively holds onto your waist, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles into the exposed skin of your stomach. 

He blinks a few times before plastering on a slimy grin. 

“Matthew,” he says, “Matthew Paul.”

“No way. You’re the bloke who stole the riff from our album!” he asks with an incredulous laugh. Your ex turns bright red, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat. 

“So, uh, how did, uh, how did the two of you meet?”

“I was already a huge fan of her work. I went to a concert of hers, I think it was last Spring, and then we met at an afterparty where we really hit it off. And from there, I couldn’t think of anything but her,” he says. You blush before leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips. But when you try pulling away, his arm around your waist tightens and he deepens the kiss. When you part, your cheeks are flushed and you bite your swollen lips, slapping Roger on the chest. 

“Just letting you know that you’re dating a fucking whore,” your ex says with a casual sip of his drink. If one wasn’t paying too close attention, they would have almost missed it. Roger stops dead in his tracks. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” 

Oh shit. By now, this little exchange has attracted a decent sized crowd. You see Brian pushing his way to the front, John right behind him. 

“Roger…” you warn, but he’s not even looking at you. It’s actually Brian who steps in between the two men, placing a hand out in front of him. “Walk away,” he says to your ex. 

Michael scoffs. Ignoring him, he looks at you, a fire in his eyes. “Oh so you’re fucking all of the members of Queen? That it? I always knew you were such a little slut.” 

That’s when Roger punches him. You hear a sickening crunch when Roger’s fist slams into Michael’s nose. Blood sprays everywhere, and you shriek when a spatter of blood lands on the side of your face. ROGER TAYLOR ATTACKS MAN AT PARTY is the headline that flashes in your mind. 

“Fuck!” Matthew shrieks, bent over and clutching his face. 

“Say sorry.”

“Mate, I’m sorry––” 

“What the fuc––not to me––say sorry to Y/N.” 

Matthew pauses and turns to look at you. “I’m––I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice thick from the blood clogging his nose. 

“Fucking dick,” Roger mumbles as he grabs his jacket, placing it on your shoulders, so you guys can leave. You guys leave the house, hand in hand, and you don’t look back at the gaping crowd. 

 –––––

“You didn’t have to hit him, you know,” you say quietly, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton swab coated with Neosporin. 

“He’s a fucking prick.” You laugh without humor because yeah, you know. You’re in your bathroom in your flat. Roger, sitting on the sink, and you, in between his legs. His hand resting in yours. He looks down at you as you work. Something he doesn’t want to acknowledge pulls at his heart when he sees your tongue poking out of your mouth and the determined furrow in your brow, the way your hair is a little bit messy and the fact that your makeup isn’t all the way off. The way you look in a ratty white tee shirt two sizes too big and how you’re holding his rough hand in between your soft, gentle fingers. The way he secretly wishes that that you were wearing one of his ratty tee shirts. It makes his heart ache. Ache for something he doesn’t want to know. Something he’s too scared to acknowledge––to pursue. 

His hand reaches up before his mind can stop him. He reaches up and gently tries to wipe away the dried blood on your face. His thumb trying to rub it away. 

“Roger you don’t have to do that…” you say, catching his hand in yours. It stills, still on your cheek. 

“I want to,” he whispers. “Let me.” And he grabs the hand towel on the sink, dipping it in the bowl of warm water you brought and wipes your face. the gentleness such in contrast with the way he usually his, banging on his drums, fighting with the paparazzi. It makes your heart ache. Eyes so focused on getting the blood off your cheek, he doesn’t notice that you’re staring. 

“Roger,” you murmur, and he looks up at you and something in his chest clenches. Your eyes a little shiny from the remnants of the alcohol, face flushed, and mouth parted. You look beautiful to him. You both look at each other for a beat too long, but you’re the first one to come to your senses and the spell is broken when you clear your throat.

“I––I didn’t finish with your fist, let me see it again.” 

And so you work in silence for the rest of your time the bathroom, spreading the ointment over his knuckles before wrapping it with white gauze that you had in your first aid kit. When you fold the gauze over one last time, you pat his hand gently before grabbing the wrappers strewn over the sink countertop and throwing them away. 

“All done. You change into those clothes while I make us some tea.” 

“Wait––I can do it––you’ve done enough for me already…”

You give him a soft smile. “You’re in my home. Would be a shitty host if I let you make your own tea the first time you come into my flat,” you say with a wink before padding away into the kitchen. 

Roger sits there for a moment longer, legs dangling off the sink counter. Hand beginning to throb. He hasn’t gotten that angry in a while now. Learned to control his anger. Usually was able to keep somewhat of a level-head around douchebags and critics––he obviously wasn’t unaccustomed to nasty language. But when your ex was spitting in your face, something in him snapped. Maybe because even though you looked calm and collected, he saw your hands––saw how you clenched them into fists to stop them from trembling. 

Maybe because he hasn’t seen that look in your eyes. Hasn’t seen that type of vulnerability even when you He has seen the videos and the pictures––people screaming in your face, calling you the same names (some even worse) than what Michael said––and though you looked a little cautious––he has never seen that look of sadness that he saw when Michael was yelling at you tonight. The way he saw the fire in your eyes that he’s so used to seeing whenever you’re spitting at each other disappear. 

He sighs before hopping down the sink, washing his face and then undressing in order to change into the clothes that you brought him. 

 –––––

“What happened between the two of you?” Roger asks when he walks into the kitchen as you mix cream into your cup of tea. You stop. The spoon clattering loudly against the mug. 

“He cheated on me––slept with a new groupie every night he was on the road.”

“Shit.” 

“That’s why I don’t date guys in the music industry anymore…all of them turned out to be cheaters and liars.” And maybe his heart breaks a little when he sees the light shutter from your eyes. The slump of your shoulders that are usually so defiant and angry and annoyed at him. 

“Don’t worry, you’re too hot to be tied down to one guy anyway,” He says with his signature smirk, and it pulls you back to reality, puts the fire back into your eyes––and in that moment you know what he did, why he said that. And for that, you’re grateful for him. 

“You’re a dick, you know that?” you say with a light push to his shoulders, but a smile pulls at your lips anyway. 

“It’s one of my many star qualities.” 

“Only cream right?” you ask.

“Hmm, maybe add like a spoonful of sugar,” he says, and you look up with a grin. 

“Oh, I thought you were too good for that,” you tease but dump a large scoop into his. He comes up to you, and flicks your nose, smiling at the little scrunch of your nose and the way you swat at his hand. 

–––––

You end up on the couch, watching whatever was on the TV at the time. 

Roger looks over and smiles to himself. You let out a big yawn, glasses perched precariously at the tip of your nose. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tapping your leg, “I should probably get going…” 

You blink awake. “Oh, you can spend the night––if you want. I have a guest room,” you say. You dont know what possessed you to say it, but it leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He stops––looks at the clock. Looks back at you. A beat. 

“Okay, yeah, that would be better actually. Thanks.” 

After grabbing a few extra blankets, pillows, and placing a glass of water with Advil on the side table, you deem the rarely used guest room acceptable for use. He settles into the bed, thanking you for everything. 

“Goodnight Roger, if you need anything, I’m a door over,” you say before turning to leave the room. 

“Hey, Y/N…” he calls out softly. You stop, waiting for him to continue. “I––I never cheated on those girls––never cheated on anyone in fact. All of them––after I broke up with them––they would run to the media. I guess given my reputation, it wasn’t hard for the general public to believe anyway.” 

You furrow your brows. Furrow your brows because in that moment, you hear a deep sadness in his voice. A deep sadness filling the dark of the room. You hear him turn over, the bed sheets rustling, and before you can respond, he says, “Goodnight Y/N.”

And despite something stirring deep in your chest, you turn around and close the door. 

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