Excessively long chapter, hope you enjoy! Probably should have split it up, and it's a bit messy but oh well haha.❤️

___

H.G.
New York, USA
August

I had a bit too much to drink with Stevie Nicks and Christie McVie during dinner, far too much actually.

That's why I decided to make a pit stop to my office instead of returning to Angie. I tend to be a little more honest with a few drinks in me, and if she pissed me off, I was likely to say anything.

It was a mistake not going straight home.

I stumbled into my office, ignoring the commotion down the hallway. Sometimes the media critics stay late in Rolling Stone, work overtime so they can get a long weekend. I usually work weekends anyway, so I rarely join them. Once they finish up their articles, they use the office as a communal place to sneak in a few drinks or a line of cocaine before heading out. So I was in no rush to run into any of them.

Matt Wilde is usually too coked up himself after nine o'clock to really give a damn about what the rest of us do as long as someone locks up after.

I almost tripped as I fell back into my chair, but once I found my balance I let out a content sigh. All I need is a few moments alone, then I can go home to Angie.

"Hayes," Summer chirped, "I thought that was you." She was wearing a dress that would be considered scandalous in the UK.

"How perceptive of you darling." I let my eyes fall shut, but the room still swayed.

"I love your accent."

"You've said, many times."

My attitude didn't seem to deter her, instead she walked closer. I peeped an eye open, she seemed very determined tonight. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, a flirty smile graced her full lips. Ah the naughty influence of alcohol. She's a stunner, that can't be denied, which is why I get such a hard time around the office for rebuffing her at every turn.

What are you? Gay?

I swallowed, "I'm going to go again;"

Summer sauntered over to my desk, joining me on the side where I sat. Her bare knees brushed against my thigh. She placed both hands behind her to lean against the desk, which practically pushed her chest in my face. I glanced away immediately.

"Were you drinking Hayes?"

I gave a short nod, "Mhm,"

"Alone?"

"No."

"Well I can keep you company now if you'd like."

"I don't know if I need-"

I was silenced when Summer pressed her lips against mine. Even though I had expected a situation like this to transpire on many occasions, it still took me off guard. Maybe that's why I wasn't receptive. I pulled my face away quickly, I'm sure my eyes were like saucers as I blinked at her.

"What are you doing?"

Summer placed my hands on her hips, her own arms locked around my shoulders. Curse my irresistible looks, and curse my accent!

"I want you to take me Hayes." She purred.

"Take you where?" I practically squeaked.

"You're adorable." Was her only response as she crawled onto my lap. "But there's no need to be a gentleman anymore." Then her lips were on my neck.

Before I could shove her off, a rather weak voice in my head suggested something rather awful. Maybe it's Angie you aren't attracted to anymore. Just shag another woman, see what happens,

So I forced myself to relax. I let Summer run her hands over my chest, and press herself closer to me. I assumed that I should be doing something with my own hands, but didn't really feel comfortable putting them anywhere. Wrong attitude Hayes, wrong attitude. I closed my eyes and let her kiss my lips once again.

I have done this before, plenty of times. Summer is attractive, this should be easy. I ran my hands down to rest on her lower back, unable to go any further. I continued to mould my lips against hers, but it didn't feel natural or right. Maybe it was guilt because I had a fiancé at home, but it doesn't feel right or natural with her either and it hasn't got a long time.

I ignored my doubts and questions, and tried to give in to whatever the fuck this was. Just need to push through this blaring feeling of it all being entirely wrong, that should be easy. I'm a man. I must be all afire for the touch of an attractive woman. Yes. That's it, I'm a man. I must be all afire for the touch of an attractive woman. I'm a man. I must be all afire-

Summer's hand drifted downwards between us, and whatever she found (or didn't find) disappointed her because she pulled back aghast. "Are you not attracted to me!?"

Uh oh. Oh no. No. No. No. No. No! Shit! Tits- no- tits- they are somehow making this worse. Who's in vogue now? What woman must I think of to bloody get my gear working!?

"Hayes?"

"Hm?"

"Are you not attracted to me?" She repeated.

Then the waterworks started.

And for some reason, even though the woman had practically assaulted me, I ended up awkwardly comforting her. I lifted her off me, and threw my jacket around her shoulders as she continued to delicately sob. This woman was happy to ignore my protests, and seduce a taken man, why is she crying!?

What the hell is my life?

"It's not you!" I patted her back, "I just ah, I drank a lot, and that makes it hard to-"

Clearly I chose the wrong wording because that set Summer off again. "I mean, just- it's just that alcohol sometimes effects the workings of- of the body."

I'm English, I should never have to fucking speak about this with another person. I do not have patience, tact, or vocabulary for such lewd matters.

"And- I must be thinking of Angie- my fiancé, I can't- can't go through with this. I promise it's not you! You're a stunner."

Liar. Such a gifted liar aren't you Hayes? I shook my head, as if it could stop all the questions that seemed to be getting louder and louder with each passing day.

I eventually managed to console Summer just enough to escape. Angie awaiting me at home seemed to be an even worse scenario. I was emasculated, pissed off, and drunk when I arrived in the door. And trapped. So bloody trapped. I just want life to be easier. I just want breathing room.

When Angie quizzed me about where I was, I told an embezzled version, because it was the only way I could see a way out of this suffocating engagement.

I would definitely regret it when I didn't let my pesky emotions cloud my perceptions, but for now, I longed for a break.

__

Hertford, England.
September.

Sitting in the unnecessarily large parlour room at home, all I could think was that I would rather be absolutely anywhere else. The men had gathered to discuss matters of the world, and as the only non-politician/ man of law in here, I was bored senseless. Me. Mr Dull. Bored senseless by other people. That should give you an indication of how much fun was being had.

Oliver slicked back his brown hair, "Did you hear what's happening in Northern Ireland?" He made himself more comfortable in the tattered armchair that lay beside Dad's. He was geared up to moan.

Dad sighed, his hand loosening his tie. "It's a mess over there, what is it this time?"

"They are decriminalising homosexuality for those over eighteen." He explained, "The Act is being passed in October."

Immediately, my eyes flicked towards my father in order to catch his reaction. "Eighteen?" He spluttered, "It's twenty-one here, what are they thinking?" I felt myself sink inward, unable to understand why I cared so much.

"Clearly they aren't." Oliver grumbled.

"Well," George rubbed at his neck, "I don't think what two people do in the privacy of their own homes should be illegal anyway. I don't think it solicits prison time in any case."

Oliver narrowed his eyes, not at all impressed. "I dare say you have nearly gone as soft as Hayes." His gaze landed on me, "You must be delighted, all your mates are off the hook."

"Oh give it up Oliver." George groaned.

Oliver did not give it up, instead he continued to stare at me, "Well, you can tell your friends that the law isn't progress."

"Don't even joke about it." Dad finally reprimanded Oliver in a clipped tone that suggested not to push him, "Leave Hayes alone."

It wasn't until I moved to New York that George started sticking up for me, so I had years of practice being a placid mute in the presence of the men in my family. Anything I did contribute was done so meekly when the whole gang was out. Individually, I could take Oliver or Dad on, but it never got me anywhere so I gave up quite some time ago.

I hated the person I was at home, and I didn't care for the asshole I was in New York either. I have two masks I alternate between wearing: quiet and clumsy, or unruffled and arrogant. I don't know the person under either guise, and I'm not sure if I ever will. As I approached another milestone of age in life, the fact terrified me.

"Why isn't it progress?" I found myself asking.

"It is progress." George quickly cut in before Oliver could offer his insight, "But, I suppose it isn't in another sense. A man can still be reported and jailed if he is seen to be with another man in public."

"I don't understand, I thought it was decriminalised here in 67'?"

George nodded, "Be that as it may, public displays of homosexuality are still technically illegal. If someone sees it and reports it, well, the man or men in question can be arrested and face prison time. It's the same with a woman and a woman."

"Does the public know this?"

"It's not our concern whether they do or not," Dad shrugged, "They shouldn't do such things out in the open anyway."

The conversation then drifted to the Troubles in Northern Ireland, but I remained stuck on the former topic. The discussion seemed to have twisted my stomach.

"I need a cigarette," George stood up with a loud sigh, "Hayes?" A hand gently clasped my shoulder.

I scrambled up, eager to get away. I followed my brother, who led me outside to the front steps and gestured for me to take a seat. I did, and gratefully accepted the cigarette that was offered my way. I looked out upon the excessive estate gardens, remembering all the hiding places I had acquired over the years whenever I brought down Dad's wrath. Which was quite often on seldom occasions I was home. I was a runner.

"You okay Griff?"

Yes, we all had the same surname, yet I was the only one who was nicknamed "Griff." Most likely because I was the most adorable, and there aren't many nicknames that can be derived from 'Hayes'. Just the boring 'Hates Griffith' that the musicians apparently deemed me with, I suppose I couldn't put faith in any of them to be creative.

"Yes, I'm just jet lagged."

George hummed unconvincingly as he lit my cigarette for me. "You have used that excuse for the past five years. It's not going to work anymore. You haven't been yourself in a while now Hayes."

I don't know who I am so that would be difficult.

"You used to tell Oliver where to go." He murmured, "But you have been letting him walk all over you, same with dad."

"I'm tired."

I don't know who I am.

"I know Oliver was being a twat," George ventured, "But it's okay to have friends who are gay, I know that thing is more common in New York, and they're just men at the end of the day."

That's big of you.

I let out a long, smoke filled exhale. "Why do you care so much about my welfare all of a sudden George?"

George seemed surprised by the question, "You're my brother."

"And? You were always nicer than Oliver, but you never took such an avid interest in my life up until recently."

"You haven't been yourself up until recently."

I felt something loosen momentarily, "Who the fu- what do you mean I haven't been myself?"

"You're distant."

I grunted.

"You don't show any emotions whatsoever. Happy, sad, who the hell knows with you?"

I rolled my eyes.

"And you're a temperamental twat!" He finally snapped.

"I have finally evolved into father." I flashed a false grin his way, "Now I can join your ranks." I took another puff of the cigarette, "And you can't say I'm a moody twat and that I don't show emotion, it's contradictory."

"You somehow manage." George grumbled, "I meant your face is always blank, your attitude on the other hand..."

"I'm almost thirty, I don't need a lecture on my attitude."

"Yeah, at thirty you think you would be more mature."

"We're all children at heart."

George scoffed at that, "Okay Hayes."

"Okay then." I said in a tone that warned him to leave me alone.

"Where's Angie?"

Sigh.

"We've split- I think."

George's eyes popped open, "What?"

I rubbed at my aching neck, "Yes, we had a little skirmish, and I think after cursing me out for half an hour, the message was clear."

"What did you do? Are you alright?" George quickly scanned my face, "Did she give you that shiner?"

"It's not a shiner." I exclaimed, "Its a small nick, with a small bruise. Not even noticeable."

"Oh bloody hell Hayes."

"She threw my favourite thesaurus at me."

"Of course you have a favourite thesaurus."

"It was a compact, Oxford hardback, so you can bring it-"

"That's not what we're discussing! What happened?"

"I cheated, with a girl from work."

Technically true.

"Jesus," George groaned, "I never liked her, but do you have to cheat on every woman you're with?"

Every girlfriend I have had, things have ended because I have been unfaithful. Yes, I'm a prick. But in my defence, each of my new girlfriends was the woman I had cheated on the previous one with. Actually, that doesn't make me sound any better. I don't know what's wrong with me, I just lose attraction instantly during- after- sleeping with the girl... and then still proceed to date them. It's quite the system I have worked out.

I wasn't attracted to Summer at all, and I'm certainly not going to bloody date her. So I'll have to change things up this time around.

"Are you not upset?"

"I suppose."

"You suppose!? You were engaged!"

I shrugged.

"You bloody dog." George seemed a confused mix of disappointed and amused. "I'm beginning to think you'll never settle down."

"Too many women out there." I agreed, forcing a grin.

"If Anne didn't hate Angela so much, she would have given you a kick up the arse."

"She still will I'm sure."

"You deserve it." George laughed, a hand clasping my shoulder, "Are you going to tell Mum and Dad?"

"Not yet, I suppose I still need to talk to Angela." I rubbed my hand down my face, "I can't see it going down to well."

"Dad hit the roof when he saw you stepping out with the blondes from Fleetwood Mac," George chuckled, "Oliver and I on the other hand were in awe."

"I aim to impress." I stood up, dusting off my trousers, "Are the kids here? I feel like being irritated by the brats as my penance for being a twat."

"Think I saw them messing around the scullery."

"Righto." I hummed, "I'll look out for them, I just need to finish up an article for work."

"Don't be moody with them, you're always grumpy when someone interrupts your work."

"They are never phased by it, you have no idea how annoying that is." I huffed playfully, and disappeared back into the house.

The new cook/maid was coughing up a bloody storm when I walked into the kitchen. Immediately I sent her home, not out of concern mind you, all that heavy breathing and sniffling would drive me cracked. Okay, maybe I wanted her to get a rest.

I spied the dishes that were in the process of being washed, and decided to finish them off. I switched on the radio, and rolled up my sleeves. It was then I heard giggling from behind me. Kids aren't very subtle when it comes to hiding.

I purposely hummed loudly along to the Beatles' 'Eleanor Rigby' which was crackling through the wireless. Violet seemed to bleed into my vision, flickering back and forth between it and a melancholy blue before I attempted to blink the colours away. It never worked of course. Most of the time when I listened to music, I simply had to keep my eyes shut.

When the components of song scratched my brain just right, a whole spectrum of colours swept into my mind. It wasn't just a mere association, and it could be a real bloody hindrance at times. Based on how aesthetically pleasing the concoction of colours in a song were, I deemed it enjoyable or not. For me, if my favourite colours danced together to make the perfect sequence... that was the mark of a good song. Timbres are essential, and every instrument, voice, and note has a different timbre. How they all mingle in my vision determines how 'pretty' a song is. I basically 'see' songs as well as hear therm,

Disco, with its lack of (and repeated) timbres, often creates quite the dull presentation of colours. The 80s has not been kind to senses thus far, and I'm forced to see the same patterns and colours all the time. The first time I heard Bohemian Rhapsody, I was left with a splitting headache, due to the overload of senses, but what a firework show it gave me.

But I obviously can't explain this easily to anyone, in fact, most people think it extremely strange, so I don't often share the fact with anyone. It's obviously looney when I try to explain that I basically have an acid trip whenever I listen to music. 

I don't think people realise that because of my associations, I can name any chord upon hearing it, or determine whether an instrument or voice isn't in tune, or if everything doesn't blend well together. On top of that, I'm a literary snob, with an English degree. So I'll bloody well judge music and lyrics if I want.

I was going to try and explain it to Freddie but I chickened out. Musicians often have two reactions to my divergent mind: 'that's amazing, let me use you as a test monkey for my tunes' or else the more common 'you don't like my songs because of some epileptic fit? Piss off!'

So it's just easier to keep quiet about these things.

As the song continued to play and a cacophony of interwoven colours danced in front of me, I saw an opportunity to embarrass my niece and nephew. I am that famed drunk uncle at weddings that makes the kids cringe. Poor Lottie and Ed have to deal with me and George being an embarrassing duo. They loathe our dancing.

I forced a falsetto, that didn't fit within the song at all, "Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door, who is it for?"

A sharp flash of orange joined the rest of the morbid and jagged colour scheme, completely ruining the aesthetic. A fit of laughter erupted behind me, I quickly whirled around as the kids all scrambled back into their hiding place.

"Oh thank god nobody heard that." I sighed loudly to myself.

I turned back around, and scrubbed at a plate, before I resumed my singing. I was just about to give my hips a shake when Edward burst in, "Hayes! No! Don't do it!"

"Why not!?"

"Please, no dancing."

"But the girls love my dancing?" I sulked, my gaze flickering toward Lottie as I planted myself down on a chair.

"We do!" Lottie insisted.

"No way." Edward exclaimed.

"Now how about we help you with work instead!" Ed flopped down beside me, "What did you think of the 'Who's' new album?"

"Who?"

"The Who!" Ed complained, "Give them five stars."

Lottie hopped up onto my knee and flipped open my notebook, "How about we be nice and give everyone five stars!"

"Even Kate Bush?" Edward exclaimed, "No way! Her new songs are awful."

"Well I like them!" Lottie huffed.

"You would, 'cause she's a weird girl just like you-"

"Hey, hey, hey." I quickly cut in before I was part of a sibling riot, "Nobody can help me if we're all fighting." And Edward, you really need to work on your cutting remarks, I was much better at your age.

"What are you kids doing, bothering Hayes?" My father's voice made everyone freeze, "Go on, your mother is looking for you both."

Lottie gave me a tight squeeze before she scrambled off, "They weren't bothering me." I insisted.

I expected Dad to shake his head with disappointment, instead he smiled, a rare soft gesture. "You'll be a great father one day Hayes. Hopefully soon."

At that I froze. A sudden barrage of fears seemed to cause a tear in my defences. I can't even let a woman kiss me anymore, how the bloody hell am I meant to have a child with one? Maybe I just haven't found the right one, maybe that's all this is.

"Are you okay son?"

I quickly straightened in my seat, "Yes, I'm fine sorry. Just in another world."

I need to get out of this house.

And there's only one person in this bloody country  who I know, that doesn't look at me as if there's something wrong with me. Who doesn't assume they know who I am, or try to bloody tell me who I should be.

I just hope he's home.

F.M.
Kensington, England.
September

"Hayes is popping over," I casually told Phoebe as I walked past him in the kitchen.

I should have known this would in fact be earth-shattering news to a certain someone. Phoebe almost dropped the glass he was washing into the sink, "What!?"

"Hayes, he's popping over." I frowned, "Is that alright?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner!?" Phoebe quickly put the glass down and smoothed down his hair, "I look like a mess! I haven't even showered today!"

"I suppose if you had showered, there's a chance Hayes would realise he's actually attracted to men and confess his undying love to you?"

"Obviously."

"I thought as much."

"Why is he popping over?"

I ran a hand through my own hair, "He said I owed him after my trip to New York. He definitely just missed me."

"I'm sure," Phoebe scoffed.

"Well it was hardly you he fucking missed."

"Why does he keep asking how I am then?"

"Because he thought we were a fucking couple you twit!"

Phoebes eyes widened, "What!?"

I frowned, "I know why I am offended, but why are you?"

Before we could really get into it, a buzzer went off. Phoebe and I exchanged a very calm, and collected glance. That was before we both raced for the door.

"I'll get it!" Phoebe exclaimed, as we both nearly got stuck in the doorway.

"No, go dust something!"

Phoebe and I both placed our hands on the handle to push the door open. Yes, we probably looked like right idiots. Even more so when Hayes turned around to greet us.

My assistant and I were a little scandalised upon seeing Hayes in black shorts and a grey T-shirt. A sweaty grey T-shirt if I might add.

"Hello?" He frowned because Phoebe and I were too mesmerised to speak first. This is really a concerning problem.

"Hayes! Hello!" Phoebe chirped.

Oh my god, can he be anymore desperate? It's simply unbecoming,

"Sorry, I'm a bit of a mess," Hayes gestured at himself, "I'm just catching my breath after a run."

"You run?"

"No I made it up." Hayes proceeded to sigh as if I was thick, "Obviously, if I just said it."

He is simply a ray of fucking sunshine.

As Phoebe and I stared at Hayes as if we were in the Victorian era and just flashed a bit of ankle, Hayes grew increasingly impatient. "Can I come in?"

"Yes! Sorry!" I exclaimed and gently grabbed his arm in order to urge him in.

"Thank you." He frowned at the touch, but didn't pull away.

"How are you both?" Hayes asked with a strained polite smile.

"Shattered." I replied, "I'm just taking a week or two to relax before we head off to Asia." I practically dragged him to the living room before Phoebe could embarrass the Mercury household any further.

"God," Hayes lifted his eyes to scan my face, "Now I feel bad for being so tired. I don't know how you tour like that."

"It's not a competition dear, but yes, I would win if it was."

Hayes chuckled at that as I led him through into the living room. He immediately took in the framed awards and various coloured records to signify album sales. Mhm, look at all that and tell me Queen aren't very good. Clearly a great many people enjoy the records. Yet I'm still obsessed with the opinion of one man.

He turned to me with a smirk, "And you accused me of overcompensating."

Hayes' quips didn't have the same heart in it that they usually did. I studied him as he cast his gaze over the accolades. I had not seen Hayes in a couple of weeks, but clearly something had changed in that time. Somehow he looked different.

"Didn't we discuss the staring?" Hayes' lip tugged in the corner as he slowly turned to face me.

"I didn't realise you wanted me to stop." I said innocently.

There was a hollowness behind Hayes' eyes that wasn't there before. Where's that 'everyone pisses me off and I'm going to let them know about it' spirit gone? A small patch of purple bloomed across his cheekbone, along with a tiny cut. Neither were that noticeable, but my staring problem when it comes to this man helped me to pick up on such things.

"If it's not my nose, then what is it you keep staring at?"

"As I said you're irritably handsome."

Not missing a beat, Hayes frowned, "Thought you said perfect?"

I am never speaking again. Ever. That's it. I'm done.

"They're one in the same."

"They're really not though," Hayes chuckled and sank back down into an armchair. "I think I saw this room in an interview before."

"You watched that?"

Hayes nodded, seeming miles away. "You looked very different."

"Did I?"

"Less... intimidating."

"I look intimidating? Have you looked in a mirror?"

"I have actually, quite often," Hayes brushed his hair back, "On account of me being irritatingly perfect and handsome."

Of course. Of fucking course.

"Fuck off." I muttered and strode for the door, "Do you want tea? Coffee? Anything stronger?"

"I'll have whatever you're having, thank you."

"Well!?" Phoebe asked the second I arrived in the kitchen, "Why is he here?"

"I don't know, he was just being his usual cheerful self."

"Question Freddie," Phoebe set about making a pot of tea as per my request, "If he annoys you so much, why do you keep coming back for more?"

"His delightful company obviously."

Phoebe snorted at that, "Okay."

"I know he's mean," I sighed, "But I honestly think there's much more to him, it's just a matter of shaking him up a little."

There were flashes of good humour, and even kindness in Hayes, but it seemed buried behind a cold front. I want to see who he is if he would just relax for a minute. It's become somewhat of a goal of mine.

"I'll come back for the tea," I murmured, "I want to make sure Hayes hadn't started writing an article about how all of Queen's awards should be revoked."

I was thoroughly shocked to see that Hayes had fallen asleep. I was even more surprised to see that he didn't look half as menacing once his eyes were shut. His expression in slumber was completely softened, something I definitely hadn't seen in his waking hours.

I was about to leave him to it when Oscar decided to be uncharacteristically friendly. The orange feline hopped onto the armrest, before he plopped himself down on Hayes lap.

Hayes eyes popped open, startled, and confused before he looked down, his jaw dropped slightly. I couldn't make out whether he was happy or not to have the cat there.

"Freddie!" Hayes whispered, his face pale.

"What?"

"Shush." He hissed, "Get this thing off of me."

I glanced down to his lap, where Oscar had instantly taken a nap. "This thing? His name is Oscar."

"Freddie!"

It was then I realised something, something bloody brilliant."Are you scared?"

"No. Don't be sodding ridiculous!" Hayes clamped his lips shut once Oscar buried himself further into Hayes' stomach. "Just get it off."

This is hilarious.

"If you ask nicely."

Hayes peered up at me, simmering with rage. My favourite 'the fact you're breathing offends me greatly' expression had returned to his face. All is well in the world once again.

"Please."

"That didn't seem genuine."

"Please," He winced, "Get it off."

"Get what off?"

"It!"

"Who?"

"Oscar!"

Oscar's ears perked slightly at that, and I thought Hayes was about to have a meltdown. "Sing something to him, it'll soothe his temper."

"His- his temper?" Hayes echoed.

"Mhm, it's the only way I'm afraid."

"Like what? Elaine Paige?" Hayes sneered sarcastically.

"Exactly." I hummed and took a seat across from him. If he's going to be a twat, I'm not helping.

"Freddie, please just get the damn thing off me." Oscar proceeded to stretch out, and press his paws into the fabric over Hayes thigh. "Freddie!" He practically squeaked as Oscar offered him a complementary cat claw massage.

This position of power over Hayes was quite the nice change of pace I have to admit. To say nothing of him begging with my name like that. That thought... was not meant to be noted in print.

I arched a brow. This is what I would regard payback for the Hot Space review, and every cutting word that has ever left Hayes' lips. I must inform the music community of the villain's weakness, I'll be a hero.

I nearly lost it when Hayes started to hum under his breath to the tune of "Memory" from the recent hit musical 'Cats'. He really was about to sing Elaine Paige in order to get Oscar away from him. He must actually be afraid, so I better stop my revenge.

"One more 'please', with feeling this time darling." I stood up.

Hayes one again glared up at me, jaw flexing, "Please, Freddie."

I laughed as I scooped up Oscar with ease, "Are you okay my dear?"

"I'm fine-"

"Wasn't talking to you."

Hayes let out a breath as he quickly scrambled as far away as possible from Oscar and I, he even put the couch between us. "How could you be scared of such a lovely creature?"

"It's a real phobia you wanker." He spat.

"It's a cat."

"Just, don't go near me with it." He snapped, "Is he the only one?"

"You're not going to like my answer."

"I think I'm going to be ill."

I carefully placed Oscar out in the hall and shut the door, "There, he's gone. Are you alright now?" 

"Yes! I'm fine." He sniped, and furiously began brushing the ginger hairs off his shorts.

"Have you not had pets growing up?"

"I have! Hounds and horses." He exclaimed, sitting down as if the seat may at any second turn into a feline.

Of course.

"Yet you're scared of a little cat?"

"They're sadistic, vicious, unpredictable little creatures."

"You would think you're in good company then." I deadpanned.

"Aren't you bloody hilarious?" He grumbled, like a petulant child.

"Need a hug?"

"Piss. Off."

I couldn't help but laugh, "You poor dear, I'll go get you your tea."

Hayes proceeded to flip me off before he folded his arms and tried to get comfortable once again. I made sure to close the door this time around, in case another one of the cats decided to have their fun with Hayes.

"He's scared of cats, I have found a weakness."

"Scared of cats?" Phoebe repeated, "Hardly."

"I swear, he almost died when Oscar hopped up onto his lap."

"Lucky Oscar." He muttered under his breath as he set the pot and the mugs on a tray.

"Don't be a pervert." I exclaimed with a laugh, "Now please act somewhat normal around Hayes when we go into the living room, he's having a tantrum so we can't spook him any further."

Again, Hayes had fallen asleep. He really must be a poor sleeper, and combine that with the jet lag...

"I feel the sudden urge to paint when I look at him."

"You are actually ridiculous." I whispered in response to Phoebe's comment.

Professionally speaking, Hayes did have the face structure and symmetry of an artist's bloody wet dream dream. In sleep, somehow he practically looked fucking ethereal. Maybe my attraction wasn't attraction at all, and just envy.

"He must be comfortable around you if he can fall asleep in a flat he's never been in so easily."

"I don't think Hayes is ever comfortable around anyone, let alone me."

Phoebe made a noise of disagreement before we both pulled away from the door, to return to the kitchen. Before we could start chattering quietly, the door creaked open.

"So far I'm irritatingly perfect, handsome, and have enough beauty to inspire artwork." Hayes yawned, as if used to such comments, "I really should pop over more often, this has done wonders for my self-esteem."

Phoebe looked as though he may die of embarrassment. I already had dealt with my earlier stupid comment so I was ready for Hayes smarminess.

"Your humility is impressive dear." I patted the chair beside me.

"Would you rather I lied and disagreed with your comments?"

I studied his haughty expression, Would you like to meet Oscar's siblings?"

I made a move to get up, but Hayes immediately grabbed my arm and pulled me back down, "There's no need to threaten me, I'll be nice."

"That's probably impossible for you."

"Improbable," Hayes lips twitched into an amused smirk, "But I can try."

___

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️