H.G

At the start of most interviews, we are made to jot down a few physical descriptors of the musicians so that we may work it into the introduction of the article.

Naturally, I always found it to be a stupid exercise.

There will be a photo of the celebrity to complement the piece so that the readers can bloody see for themselves who I'm interviewing. Chances are that if you're reading an interview regarding a certain celebrity, you know exactly what they look like. I don't see why I should have to be the one to tell them 'they have a million dollar smile' or some rubbish like that.

Yes, I struggle with compliments, this has been established.

As Freddie chattered on about the new funk sound for Hot Space, I looked at my blank legal pad. Of course the interview was being recorded so I didn't have to worry too much about not taking everything down, and I had a fairly perfect memory when I put my mind to it in any case. Instead, my thoughts were wasted trying to figure out what to say about Freddie's appearance. He is a man... with a moustache... under his nose, and above his lip.

Usually, I had Alex add his flair to things like this. That arrangement came about after I interviewed Mick Jagger and I said simply that he looked like pouting fish. Alex quickly got to that description and changed it. From thereafter, I let him do that stupid little sentence or two for the articles that required it.

Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of consulting Alex right now. Maybe I can look at what David said when he wrote an article about seeing Queen in South America.

I glanced up at Freddie, who was still trying to defend Hot Space. He had a rather gentle and eloquent way of speaking, something I hadn't really noticed before. Most likely because we were always in a constant state of bickering. He was easy to listen to, which always helped make my job more bearable.

So far this interview was the least professional piece of work I had ever done. I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear such a thing.

Freddie first insisted we move the chairs over towards the large window, so that he didn't feel like he was at a job interview. I said I liked my desk. He said I was using the desk to provide myself with a sense of power in an effort to overcompensate for my lack lack of a sizeable appendage. He didn't use the word appendage. I ended up moving the chairs. He proceeded to tut, "That just confirms it."

I of course was unused to such humour, so I didn't give him a satisfactory reaction. Instead, I commented that 'Staying Power' was an anthem for overcompensation and here we are.

"Alright," I cut in, "This isn't a Hot Space fluff piece. Let's talk about something more interesting."

Freddie was on the funk defence. I just let him speak until it was all out of his system. Now, the subject needs to be changed, and quickly. There's only so many times I can listen to musicians say "we wanted to try something entirely different from what our fans like, and were then shocked when they proceeded to hate the new sound".

"I'm sorry, was I boring you?" Freddie asked dryly.

"Never." I chuckled, "I'm just sure there are other things you would prefer to speak about."

"Like what?"

"You tell me," I leant back in my chair, "If I were to ask you about your approaching ten year anniversary with the band, would that be alright? Or something that would bore you to tears?"

Freddie considered me for a moment, "How about you just ask me what you like, and I can tell you to fuck off if I'm not happy about a question?"

So crude. "Whatever you want."

"It's not really the questions that bother me half the time," Freddie went on, "It's being forced to speak with a stranger, who then proceeds to ask the same questions as the past twenty strangers." He shot me a smile, "And I don't believe we're strangers, so fire ahead with whatever you want to ask me."

"No, we're certainly not strangers," I murmured.

I honestly don't know what I was thinking when I picked Freddie up last night but all I was sure of was that I would be worried about him if I hadn't. New York wasn't the safest place to wander at night, especially when drunk and alone. It didn't seem like Freddie had anywhere else to go, and he must be desperate to call me. So it wasn't a huge deal to go pick him up, and I suppose that I'm being repaid with an interview from an elusive celebrity today.

"How would you describe your looks?" I suddenly blurted. It was clearly irritating me that I couldn't do the simple task myself.

Freddie knit his dark brows together, "Like- brown eyes, black hair? Moustache?" He waved his hand about his face.

"Well I can see that," I huffed, "I just have to add a few adjectives to describe you."

Freddie pondered this for a moment, a devilish glint crossed his eyes, "Extremely handsome."

"That's not helpful."

"So you don't agree?"

"I never—" I spluttered, caught off guard, "I never considered it."

That was a lie of course. Unconsciously we all assess someone's looks, if you say you don't, nobody will believe you. Whether looks are that important to a person is another matter entirely. But I don't think men are meant to assess other men's looks, or at least do so consciously, let alone comment on them.

If I were forced to comment on Freddie's looks, objectively speaking, with a gun to my head, I would say he's handsome.

"I'm sure women find-"

"And men." He added with an innocent smile.

"Yes," I smoothed myself out again, "I have heard that to be the case." I stated plainly.

Freddie blew out an irritated sigh, "You really give nothing away."

"There's nothing for me to give away." I picked at a piece of lint on my knee.

"You had no problem describing your precious Ray Davies earlier."

I rolled my eyes, "It's impossible to describe someone in a few words, especially when they're sitting in front of you."

"Have you jotted down anything about my teeth or the moustache? That's about all you need to mention."

My eyes flicked to the lower half of Freddie's face. "I hadn't actually noticed."

Freddie snorted, "No need to be polite; you haven't been thus far."

"Just like you haven't said anything about my nose? Because if you continue to stare at it the way you have been, you may as well comment on it."

I met Freddie's gaze who quickly looked away, his cheeks suddenly going red. "What do you mean?"

"My nose, it's not the right shape, and it's slightly wonky. Isn't that what you're always staring at?"

"Your face is irritatingly perfect, don't even start." Freddie practically ripped open the carton of cigarettes that I offered him just moments ago.

Irritatingly perfect? That's a new one.

"I broke it when I was five," I tapped the bridge, "I didn't get it seen to in time, so now it's like this."

"You mean you weren't just born an adult?" Freddie asked feigning shock. "I don't know if I'm more shocked about that, or the fact you offered me some personal information."

"You've tried disco, tried comedy, what other things are you going to attempt and fail at Freddie?"

Freddie's lips twitched into a smile before he shook it away, "How did you break your nose then?"

"Playing football at boarding school." A lad purposefully whacked a football my way on my first day.

Freddie's brows lifted with interest, "Boarding school?"

"Mhm, I was in Belfast from five to sixteen." I drummed my fingers across my legal pad, "Then I was allowed back home to Harpenden for my last two years of school."

"My god," Freddie shook his head, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I frowned, "I went to Campbell College, one of the best schools in the British Isles. Even my brothers didn't get to go to such a prestigious boarding school." Didn't he go to a boarding school, or am I thinking of someone else?

My brothers attended a private school at home, but at least I got away from Dad's constant disapproval. Although, he never seemed to disapprove of George or Oliver. Probably because their first words were "Don't let Labour in."

"So you enjoyed it?"

I went to give my rehearsed answer whenever asked about my experiences in school, the one that involved praising my father and his deep pockets, but I paused. Nobody ever asked me if I enjoyed it before out of genuine interest. Instead people just told me why I was so lucky to get such an amazing opportunity. I always agreed, because why complain about school when some people never got to go? There were other boys there from four to eighteen, it's normal.

"Uh, I don't- maybe?" I frowned, "We're getting very off topic, can we get back to the interview?"

Freddie squinted at me before he gave me a small nod, "Alright, but you told me your interviews were more like conversations. A conversation takes two dear."

"And we can have a conversation, but I assure you my toff upbringing is not an interesting topic." I rubbed at my neck, "Now, since I want to work this article as an anniversary piece, do you mind if I get a quick history of Queen? I know it's tedious, but I would appreciate it."

"Hayes, I don't mind talking to you," Freddie chuckled, "If one of my friends asked me about how Queen started out, do you think I would snap at them?"

"I think it would depend on your mood-"

"The answer is no," Freddie ignored me, "So stop apologising for your questions."

"Okay then," I murmured cautiously, "Let's get properly started."

"Go ahead."

"You were in a few bands before Queen, yes?" I asked, embarrassed that I wasn't able to name them. This is why I couldn't do interviews off the cuff. "Was there a moment where you all realised 'this is it, this is just right'?"

Freddie nodded, "When John joined us, that's when everything fell into place. Brian, Roger and I were already performing together for some time in the band Smile, but you know, it wasn't until John walked in that I felt we had something complete. I feel us four all bring something essential to the band, take one of us away and the whole structure collapses."

I half expected Freddie to be difficult, or cagey, because of his reputation, and because I thought he would want to mess with me a little. So I was taken aback by his cooperation.

"So you had all the raw talent necessary, it was now just a matter of hard work? Rebranding?"

"Yes, exactly that. Have you done this before darling?" Freddie chuckled playfully before he tried to sober up a little once again, "It's- I mean of course we worked our arses off. Then we agreed upon the new name, Queen, and the direction we would take- that glam rock you told me to stick with Hayes."

I felt my lips tug into a small grin at his accusatory tone.

"What musician's don't like to admit, is that a great deal of a band's success story can be attributed to chance. Our twist  was when we performed on Top of the Pop's for the first time. And that opportunity was just pure luck."

"Liar?"

Freddie's lip twitched, "No, I'm telling the truth."

I fixed him with a thoroughly disappointed stare, "That was just awful."

Freddie laughed, delighted with himself, and once again I found my lips tugging upwards, disobeying my mind. He patted me on the knee, "You'll get that one on the way home.

"But no it was with 'Seven Seas of Rhye." He tutted, "One would really think you would have done your research beforehand."

Bloody twat.

So Freddie proceeded to give me a brief history of how Queen came to be. He even scattered in a few anecdotes that I don't recall him ever having told in other interviews before. We had gotten through both the self-titled albums and Sheer Heart Attack before he threw a question my way.

"What exactly does the Lord Chancellor do?"

I was lost with interest in Freddie's stories, and caught off guard by the random question. Which is why I gave such an uncharacteristically improper and vulgar response.

"Fucked if I know-"

My mind quickly caught up to my mouth and shut it down. "I mean, ah, he- well he-"

I was cut off by Freddie's sudden cackle of laughter. Much to my chagrin, he continued to laugh at me even when I glowered back at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry-" his eyes continued to crinkle, "-but a nun cursing would sound more natural than you."

"Oh sod off."

"Don't worry, I won't alert the House of Lords that you spoke the lingo of the working class."

"Yes that wouldn't go down to well. As Lord Chancellor, my father is head of the judiciary and senior judge within the House of Lords."

"Good god."

"He's also the Secretary of State for Justice, which makes him the head of the Ministry of Justice. And on top of that, he's speaker for the House of Lords."

"I don't know what half of that means."

"Neither do I really." I admitted for the first time since dad got the job.

"And he's deputy Prime Minister on top of that?"

"I know my life is unremarkably dull, you don't have to feign interest."

Freddie frowned as if genuinely confused, "I am interested. So answer my question, I want to appear well-bred."

Not being an interesting fellow was a fact I accepted a long time ago, anything contrary to that is rubbish. But I suppose I can indulge Freddie after he's given me some interview gold to work with.

"Yes, it's quite common for the vice P.M to be Lord Chancellor. Margaret recommends a candidate for Lord Chancellor, and then the Queen appoints him. A Prime Minister would hardly recommend someone that isn't in their own camp, so the post usually always goes to their second in command."

"Do you realise how casually you just referred to Margaret Thatcher?"

"Mhm, she was my father's friend for years, and now they're running a country together. I think I know her on a first name basis by now."

"Any scandals?"

"Not that I can recall."

"You aren't her toy boy?"

"Not anymore, so I would appreciate if you didn't bring up such a delicate topic."

Before either of us could say anymore, the bumbling intern appeared. Without knocking. I have told him many times about the knocking.

"What?"

"I- I didn't say anything Mr Griffith."

"No. I mean bloody hell." I plucked my glasses off, and rubbed at my temple as if he had just induced a splitting headache, "Obviously I meant what do you want?"

"Oh!" He shakily held out his hand, where a piece of paper quivered, "Your brother sent a letter."

A letter? Why couldn't he just pick up the bloody phone, he's always whinging that I never talk to him.

"Who is this Hayes?"

Freddie shot a polite smile the intern's way, because obviously I didn't introduce them. The boy was busy looking at me in terror (for some reason), and at Freddie in awe (again, for some reason).

I merely made a noise of disinterest as I plucked the letter from the boy's grasp. I murmured an 'excuse me' before I tore into the envelope.

'Dear Hayes,

Dad wants you to invite a few of your best-behaved, English, music connections to your birthday bash. Apparently, the press coverage that made Freddie look like a friend of the family from the races, actually helped the Tories become somewhat more appealing to the younger voters. Something about lessening the conservative image. Dad keeps making some completely incorrect comparison between himself and the Princess Di/ Elton John friendship. I'm sure you can get the gist of what he's trying to do. I made an 'that'll make you the people's P.M.' joke on your behalf, don't worry.

Business aside, I have been worried about you lately Hayes, so please just check in with me a bit more. Lottie and Ed won't stop badgering me about seeing you again, so you better come home soon and put them out of their misery. Phone me when you get this.
Best wishes,
George.'

Ah, that's why he wrote a letter. Whenever George wanted to express his concerns for my welfare, or say something affectionate, he only did so via pen and paper. It would be very un-English of him to say something from the heart aloud.

My thirtieth was fast approaching, and I wasn't too thrilled about it. I had planned to spend it alone in New York, and leave the occasion unmarked. It was my mother who insisted I come home and celebrate with the family. I caved of course, expecting just a small dinner. Dad had other plans and saw the opportunity to hold a Tory tea party. I agreed, but only on the condition Mum could make it into one of her philanthropic projects.

I already felt suffocated at the thought of being trapped in a manor of people like my father. All of them turning their nose up at me. All of them wondering what went so wrong with me when George and Oliver are so perfect. Being interrogated about the future wedding with Angie. My stomach lurched at that last thought.

"Hayes?" Freddie's soft voice coaxed me down from an edge I had been precariously standing over for years now. "Is everything alright?"

I started. The intern had gone, thankfully. Which left just Freddie bloody Mercury sitting across from me. His deep brown eyes were unbearably warm. I found my gaze lingering on them for much longer than it would ever need to be necessary. I relaxed, if only slightly.

I cleared my throat, breaking the strange spell the blink of his eyes had casted, "Yes, everything is fine."

"Hm."

"Mhm."

"You look like you're going to be sick."

I ignored the concern, because unless it came from my mother, or a letter from my brother, the notion was entirely foreign and uncomfortable to me. I stood up.

"I think we should leave the interview here for today, you have given me a lot to work with already."

"Are you sure?" Freddie asked with a frown.

"Yes," I forced a polite smile, "We can pick up some other day when you're free, no rush though. I have other work I need to get a move on with anyway."

"Alright then," Freddie languidly shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose I better be off, before Phoebe starts hanging missing posters all around New York."

I kept my thin lipped smile plastered on, "Good luck with your show later on."

"You could come if you'd like."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline." I said immediately, "But thank you."

"Oh," Freddie tried to catch my gaze again, but I refused to let it happen, "That's okay. I'm sure you're busy."

Freddie didn't even try to mask the disappointment from his tone. I didn't care for it. Outside of a few members of my family, I wasn't exactly used to people wanting to spend time with me. Maybe I shouldn't ice a person, who's making the effort, out of my life for once. Like I'm currently doing to Alex, like I have done to countless other friends in the past.

"My birthday." I blurted, "It's coming up soon. I'm having a party, in Hertford. You could pop in if you'd like."

"That sounds good." Freddie smiled, "If I can make it, I will."

"And you could pass the invite along to the rest of your band. It's more of a charity event than my birthday."

At the mention of adding his friends to the guest list, Freddie's face seemed to drop for just a split second, but the expression vanished so quickly that I may have imagined it.

"I'll let them know."

"Of course you can bring Peter too. I know he's your... friend."

I didn't know whether to say boyfriend aloud, or what they called each other really. I just assumed Peter and Freddie were in some sort of relationship. Based on the way they interacted, it was as if they were married for thirty years.

"My... friend?" Freddie repeated, before erupting into a laughing fit that nearly had him in tears by the end. "We are very much not an item." He struggled to catch his breath, "A fact he would make sure you above anyone else knew Hayes."

Why would he need me to know that? What concern of it is mine?

"Sorry, I hope I didn't offend you-"

"No, I'll live." Freddie was still trying to wind down his laughter, "You may need better glasses darling, I don't think I have ever met someone quite so blind."

Before I could ask him what he meant, Freddie clasped my hand between his, shaking gently. "Thank you for you hospitality New York, it's been a treat."

"You're welcome, and thank you for your time today." I pulled my hand away slowly, and let it flex at my side in an effort to rid myself of the sweat that suddenly formed.

"Send me on the details of your soirée, I'll see if I can get the boys on board."

"I will. Enjoy the rest of your time in the States."

And because Freddie just loved to say vulgar things knowing I hated them, his reply was less than proper, but entirely expected.

"I intend too fuck my way through them, wish me luck dear."

I really should have paid more attention to the 'well behaved' requirement for my father's musical guest selections. I was already regretting my decision to invite him. A small part of me remembered how he had helped distract me from my family at the Royal Ascot, and I calmed.

I just have to hope that Freddie Mercury does a crash course in grace and decorum before he walks in to the Tory lair where my party will take place.

I'm a gambling man, so I know the chances are slim to none.

—-

Hitting the tenth chapter mark, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far! Thanks for all the support♥️