F.M
Leeds, England.
29th May, 1982

——

A stranger appeared backstage in order to reduce my post soundcheck, pre gig, lapse of boredom.

The stranger, a man with posture that was impeccable enough to look as though a pole was painfully stuck up his ass, mingled with the road crew a few feet away. Even from a small distance, it was clear he was classically and unrealistically handsome. Interesting.

"Do you know who that is?" I asked Phoebe.

Phoebe glanced in the direction of my gaze, "For your sake, I hope an adoring fan that would love to get to know you better."

I couldn't help but let out a sharp burst of laughter, which caused the man to glance in my general direction. "How about you offer him a drink? From me?"

"Sure thing." And with that Phoebe disappeared and I went to retrieve myself a cup of water. I tuned out for a moment, attempting to memorise yet another new set list. This Hot Space tour seemed to be one continuous teething problem.

Seconds later, I heard the squeak of expensive leather shoes charge my way. My eyes flickered up to see the good posture lad striding towards me. Well, that was quick.

He looked even better up close, scarily prim and proper though. Tall and toned, silky black hair that was swept out of a fine boned angular face-- yes, definitely better up close. Not a crease appeared on his grey business causal suit, not even when he walked. The urge to shake him up just so a hair would fall out of place was strong.

"Now Freddie," The man swiftly placed the full glass of wine on the table in front of me.

His crystal blue eyes were anything but inviting. I frowned at the untouched glass, before bringing my own cup of water to my lips. He didn't exactly look or sound too happy. You win some, you lose some.

"While I'm sure most people have to be in an inebriated state to enjoy your music, and whilst I'm also sure that the only way I'll get through this show is if I'm under the influence."  He continued with a self-satisfied quirk of his lips, "I don't drink on the job."

The familiar voice resonated, as did the realisation that I had thought Hayes Griffith attractive enough to send him a drink on my behalf in the hopes of conversing more. Horror and surprise crept over me.

I spluttered water back into my glass, before a brief coughing fit ensued. That's exactly what I fucking needed. Brilliant.

Hayes arched a dark amused brow, "You okay?"

I stood up, trying my best to regain my composure, "Perfectly fine, thank you." I forced a smile, "You're Hayes Griffith I assume?"

He frowned, "Isn't that why you offered me a drink?"

"Ah- yes, yes of course!" I let out an easy chuckle, "I just didn't expect you to turn up to a random show."

Hayes assessed me with a critical gaze, as if already picking at all the things he could comment on. "I didn't want you all to expect me, which is why I have turned up for this show, and not the Milton Keynes gig."

It was physically painful to force a smile onto my face, "Thought you could catch us at a bad time did you?"

"Something like that."

Trying to talk to this man was like trying to draw blood from a fucking stone. Naturally, I wanted someone to come to my aid. I tried not to deflate too much when that person was the deathly shy John Deacon.

"I was just thinking Freddie," John appeared, bass in hands, "Maybe we put a lot of old stuff on the set list for Milton Keynes."

"John, this is-"

"If that prick Griffith has so much to say about Hot Space, I don't think it's a good idea to play too many of the songs in front of him."

"John! You're hilarious!" I exclaimed, "Joking about Hayes Griffith when he's standing right there!"

John furrowed his brows and proceeded to look past Hayes. "He's here?"

Hayes extended a slender hand towards John, "He is."

John finally put it all together after a moment of blinking furiously, and quickly shook Hayes' hand. "Oh I'm sorry- I didn't- I hope - I didn't-"

"Don't worry about it."

"I didn't expect you to look- ah, well, I just thought you would look different."

If you didn't believe me when I said the man was attractive, I hope you take into account that he now had a happily married man flustered as a result of how surprisingly handsome he was. 

"Yes, quite a lot of people say that." Hayes hummed.

I expected old, bitter, bloated, and balding. Who stood in front of me was the opposite. He looked my age, perhaps younger, not bitter- but cool with indifference, toned, and had thick tangles of wavy hair upon his head. I think his appearance only served to irritate me more.

I glanced down to the hand he now withdrew from John's. Left-handed. I spotted no wedding band. Which was unsurprising upon further thought. A relationship with Hayes Griffith was probably nothing short of awful. He definitely gave running critiques all day. My god, the man probably rated sex. "You started off well dear, but I seemed to bore you halfway through and could no longer get it up. One and a half stars."

"Something amusing to share Freddie?"

I blinked, not realising I had been grinning away to myself. Of course yet again he spoke down to me as if I was a misbehaving child and he was king of his castle.

"Can't I smile?" I asked innocently, "Oh I'm sorry- I'm sure such an expression would offend you."

"Offend me?" The chill of his icy blue eyes pierced me for a moment. Poor lad didn't like that one.

"I'm sure the point of your articles is to provoke more somber expressions." I explained, "I assume you also collect tears?

Look, I was going to try and be nice. But then I realised, I don't fucking have to be after what he's said about me.

Hayes considered me for a moment, a small smile gracing his lips, "Mhm, they give me everlasting youth."

Much to my annoyance, I realised it would be difficult to win a verbal battle with this man. You know, considering he gets paid to be an almighty bitch for a living.

"My drummer and I had a bet going, do you really live in a lair?"

Hayes nodded seriously, "Pits of hell actually, and want to know what burns down there?"

I shouldn't have asked why, but the man disorientated me by stepping forward so that we were almost shoulder to shoulder. If expensive had a scent, he bloody smelt of it. "What?"

"Hot Space." He whispered with a little raspy chuckle.

Before I could even attempt to say something clever and not just stutter indignantly, Hayes was walking away, right towards Miami. Oh I'm sure he would stop to tell children that they would never amount to anything on his way and push them in the sand.

"Maybe if we throw water on him he'll melt." I murmured as I turned to John, who did not seem in anyway amused. "What?"

"You're the one who's brought him here! You just had to poke the bear!"

"I wouldn't call him a bear, he's more of a venomous viper-"

"That's not the point."

"I wanted it to be said." I waved my hand dismissively, "We put on a hell of a show, always do, we're going to be fine."

"It doesn't matter how good we are." John sighed, "He'll still hate us, and even if he likes it, he won't admit it."

"I'll talk to him-"

"You have talked to him enough. Please don't speak to him anymore."

"I-"

"No more."

I clamped my lips shut, like a petulant child, and stalked off to go get changed for the show. I rifled through the hangers which were filled with less extravagant clothes than previous years. I settled for a pair of white jeans and a red leather jacket in the end. As I pulled on my white tank top, with a large red arrow shooting up through it, Roger burst in, donned in a green robe.

"Hayes Griffith is here!"

I found myself cringing at the mere mention of his name, "I'm aware."

"Why didn't you warn us?"

"He decided to drop in, give us a surprise." I flopped down in rickety wooden chair. "So bring your A game tonight."

"This is all your fault!" Roger exclaimed.

I began lacing up my Nike runners, "I wish everyone would stop blaming me."

"Because it's your fault!"

Okay, maybe I have partial blame in this situation. I changed subject, "Where did you see him?"

Roger frowned, "John pointed him out to Brian and I, we definitely wouldn't have recognised him on our own."

I merely snorted softly in response, before I got to my feet once again. My eyes flicked to the mirror, where I saw the shaggy untextured mess that sat on my head. I need a bloody haircut, Lord Uptight is putting me to shame.

"Were you at least friendly?"

"I tried."

"So that's a no."

"I just returned the manner he was presenting to me."

"Miami said he was nothing but friendly."

I paused as I shrugged on my jacket, "He what?"

Roger massaged his head for a moment, messing up his hair. "Hayes introduced himself to Miami, he told us about it; said Griffith was polite, professional, and funny."

"Oh my god!"

Roger started, "What?"

"Clearly Hayes has threatened poor Miami with bodily harm! Tell me, did you notice the fear in his eyes when he fed you Hayes' script?"

The drummer rolled his eyes, "He was nice to me too."

"Excuse me?"

"I may have asked him about my solo album." Of course you did.

"And?"

"Oh he hated it, but said 'future management' was catchy."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "How does that qualify as being nice?"

"By Hates Griffith standards it's quite good."

I bristled, "Why does anyone care about his standards?"

"People want to hear from him or else he wouldn't have a job," Roger sighed, "His opinion does matter."

"It seems to matter a great deal to you anyway."

"I asked him if I could do an interview with him for the Rolling Stone."

My brows furrowed, "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because we have riled him up! He's not some seedy tabloid writer, he's a real journalist. Miami agreed it would be best that I make us look like good sports."

"This is ridiculous." I couldn't comprehend the stupidity of this situation. I'm not kissing the feet of some pompous critic and neither should anyone else.

There was a dark, evil, thunderous cloud looming over the entire performance. The name of that cloud? Hayes Griffith. I couldn't even see him as we kicked off the show with Flash's theme, but I could practically feel those cold eyes on me the entire time. The first time I caught sight of him was when I vanished back stage during the short guitar solo during Love of My Life.

There he was, stretched listlessly out on a chair. He had ditched his jacket, revealing the crisp white dress shirt underneath. It looked as though he had spent the good part of the day ironing it. A leather notebook lay open on his lap. I wondered what hateful words now filled it.

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked as I tugged my tank top up over my head.

Hayes whipped off a pair of grey glasses in a fluid motion, "Oh thank god, are we done here?"

"It jokes." Was all I crooned as I wrapped a towel around my shoulders and stalked back on stage.

"Tie your mother down!"

I practically skipped backstage, ready to say something snarky to Hayes. "I have figured you out!" I declared between gulps of water.

He had just finished off yawning when he replied, "You do?"

"Were you by any chance raised in a pit of snakes?"

Hayes chuckled dryly, "Of course."

I changed into a pair of leather shorts before I returned for the first encore. Okay, I got the last word that time. I'm giving myself a point.

We then played Another One Bites the Dust and Sheer Heart Attack before we took one final break for another encore. Two solid songs, even the US enjoyed Bites the Dust, surely Hayes did.

I quickly tugged a red bandana from Paul's hands and tucked it into the side of my shorts. I had forgotten it at the last break because I was too focused on irritating our guest. Speaking of which, I strode back towards Hayes, who looked so bored, that he may fall asleep.

I opened my mouth, ready to croon something but the bastard beat me to it.

"My, you've had more wardrobe changes tonight than enjoyable songs." He glanced down at his silver watch and sighed.

Before I could growl anything, Brian patted my arm as he passed, "Come on Fred."

All I could was shoot him a glare as I returned to the stage. I flashed a flirty grin into the audience before I launched into We Will Rock You. I don't know how I did it, but I managed to give a stellar performance, despite of the prick judging my every note backstage. I was actually happy that he had surprised us for this particular performance. At least my voice was well rested.

We all lapped up the applause to the tune of God Save the Queen, self-satisfied grins all around. The English fans seemed to have warmed to the Hot Space songs on the set list, just a bit. Which was better than nothing. It was a good show, no technical difficulties, no horrid voice cracks, nothing.

I would love to see how Hayes struggled to find anything negative to say about us.

I frowned upon seeing that he wasn't sitting where he had been the whole concert. I was then enveloped in a hug by Dominique who had been drinking backstage with the other wives the whole show. "You were great Freddie! Sorry I didn't say hello before I-"

"Wait- shush." I quickly whispered, my ears picking up on Haye's rich voice from behind me. I turned quickly, Dom still under my arm.

"What are we-"

"Explain later."

"I thought the instrumental solos were the best part," he muttered to an unfamiliar man with fair hair, "It was the only time I got a break from all the posing."

"I enjoyed it," The stranger chuckled with a little eye roll, "Let's have a drink while you're back home-"

"Going so soon?" I sang, dragging a confused Dominique along with me.

The fair haired man smiled at me, "Freddie, hi, I'm Henry Stewart. I'm with Melody Maker, great show mate."

"It's so nice to meet someone so reasonable." I smiled back and shook his outstretched hand.

Hayes' lip tugged at the corner before he glanced at Dominique, "Who's this?"

I had brought Dom for back up, she was a no nonsense woman. A reasonable woman, who would tell Hayes where to go if he said anything bitchy to me. Hayes seemed the type who liked to pride himself on being a gentleman, so I took an educated guess that his attitude wouldn't extend to a lovely lady.

"This is Roger's-"

"I'm Dominique!" She said with hearts in her eyes, "And you are?"

"Hayes Griffith," he offered a charming smile, and leant down to peck her cheek in a polite greeting.

Dom looked to have physically melted. "I'm French." She randomly blurted, "So ah, it's two kisses."

I could not believe what was happening right now.

"Oh, I'm sorry love," he placed another quick peck on her cheek.

"Actually, if we're going to do it right, the region of France I'm from, four kisses is usually-"

Roger appeared and quickly tugged Dom back against his chest, "Hayes. Hi. Hope you enjoyed the show!"

It was then the couple began bickering with each other and slowly backed away from us. I was left with two music journalists, one of whom had an unwarranted grudge against me.

"So did you?" I asked.

"Did I?"

I exhaled impatiently, "Enjoy the show? Did you enjoy the show?"

Hayes patted his notebook, "You'll find out soon."

That wasn't an acceptable answer but he had already walked off with his friend Henry. I hoped he had fucked off home again because I needed to relax. Drinks and food has been laid out in the large dressing room and people were already mingling. It was time for me to be sociable.

I filled a plastic cup up to the top with vodka. "Whoops." I muttered, took a large gulp and then added a drop of tonic.

An hour later, Phoebe was nudging me to eat something. He slathered a chip with ketchup and popped it into his mouth, "Freddie, if you continue to glare at that man, you will get frown lines."

No, Hayes didn't fucking leave.

I placed a hand to my forehead, "I'm not glaring."

"Glowering then?"

I merely growled in response and continued drinking.

Half an hour later, Hayes approached. He cracked a thin lipped smile in my general direction, "Freddie, I'm going to head now. Enjoy the rest of the tour." It was then he offered me his left hand.

I narrowed my eyes at his outstretched hand. A friendly gesture after all the shit he's said to me? No way was I going to fucking accept it until I knew what he had written about me in his article. 

"Well?" I demanded. I should have learned from the last time it wasn't best to talk to this man with the faux confidence alcohol provided.

"Well what?" Hayes retracted his hand, displeasure written all over his face.

"What is it you wrote in your little notebook?"

"You can read it in print soon enough."

"I want to know now." I insisted, "A taste for what's to come."

"I don't think-"

"Not so smart when you aren't hiding behind the glossy pages of a magazine, are you dear?"

"If I wanted to watch a self-obsessed male preening and strutting about stage like a bird trying to attract a mate, I would have stayed at home and tuned into BBC2 for a nature documentary." Hayes recited with an affable smile.

I think I may have actually been shaking with the anger that flashed through me. Before I could add anything, Hayes decided to throw me another spoiler  my way for his article.

"Let Me Entertain You," he shook his head, "I tried, my god I tried to let them entertain me. Never again."

"Fuck you." I spat.

"That's clever."

I tried to reach for that little leather bound notebook that was tucked under his arm. He pulled away. "Don't do that."

"Give me the book." I snapped, "Let me see it all."

"No."

"Yes." I don't think a person has ever infuriated me so much, which was why I proceeded to give him a small push whilst at the same time trying to grab his journal.

Whatever happened next was nothing short of a mess. My light shove, forced Hayes back a step. That step, somehow caused him to get his feet tangled and trip backwards. His hand latched onto my arm. I didn't expect it. I fell too. We both tumbled right over a flimsy fold up table, where refreshments had been fucking laid out. Red wine bled all over my white tank top and cider splashed all over Hayes' meticulously styled hair. All manner of snacks proceeded to crumble and stick all over us.

Hayes sat up, a dollop of ketchup stuck in the hollow of cheekbone, which were tense to the point of snapping at he glowering at me. I shoved the lanky leg that was trapped over mine away from me, equally ripping with anger. Before I could even attempt to commit a justifiable homicide, I was stopped in my tracks by the sounds of clicking. As if the situation wasn't already awful enough, a series of blinding camera flashes ensued. Mhm, because yes, of course- this moment needed to be fucking documented!

I didn't fucking need this and I sure as hell didn't need the blown up picture of me and Hayes sprawled on the floor and shooting daggers at each other as front page tabloid news the very next day.

Especially not with the headline "Queen Diva Swings For Music Critic', being splashed across the Daily Mail.

———-

A/N-

Hope you enjoyed. I was really nervous posting this story, so thank you all so much for all the engagement already! I really appreciate it! 🤍