A/N- the header image is the only good thing about this chapter ngl😌

F.M

"Servants quarters?" I echoed.

Hayes led me through to an area which wasn't as freshly polished as the rest of the house. Cobwebs fluttered in the corridor that must have once been filled with bustling life in decades past.

"Staff quarters," Hayes corrected me with a tut, "Haven't had anyone living here in forty years, obviously."

Obviously.

"And why am I being brought here?"

Hayes ignored me as he tried one of the frayed white door that littered the narrow hallway. "Bloody hell." He complained when it appeared to be locked. "Stand back a bit."

"Why?"

Hayes didn't reply yet again, instead he gripped the handle tight and whammed his shoulder full force into the door. It gave away almost immediately as he broke the lock. He is a lot bloody stronger than he looks, but I simply must inspect him further to be sure.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"There are much cleverer questions you could ask Freddie," Hayes sighed as if I were stupid, "Yet you never do." Clearly his high had worked off slightly, or else irritation had set in.

I followed him into the small room. The space overflowed with boxes, upon boxes of what were most likely files. Hayes shrugged off his jacket and threw it over a bare single bed that was stripped to its uncomfortable looking metal skeleton,

"Why exactly are we here?"

"Another stupid question considering you followed me and I already told you I was having a drink." He rubbed at his nose.

"You're so bloody hostile."

Hayes tapped his fingers along a few boxes before he found the one he was looking for. "Am I now?"

"Yes."

"Then what are you doing here with me?" He hummed as he lifted a box down.

His shoulders flexed beneath the tight material of his shirt. I almost said 'enjoying the view' as Hayes bent down to prop open one of the lids but I didn't think that would be wise.

"I was worried about you." I replied instead, because that was the safer option.

Hayes plucked out a bottle of amber liquid, "Your concern is noted Freddie." He said dismissively as he inspected the label.

He is so fucking impossible.

"You're already very... intoxicated." I stepped closer toward him. His fingers were tapping against the glass restlessly.

"It's my party." He haughtily rose his sharp chin.

"Exactly, the golden rule is that you can't be the drunkest one at your own party. It's in very poor taste darling."

"All these rules," Hayes sighed and took a swig straight from the bottle, "they are getting very stifling."

Interesting.

"What rules?"

"All of them." Hayes waved his hand dismissively as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "We're all just in a cage here England." He took another gulp, wincing slightly. "Irish Oak, terrifyingly strong."

"A cage?"

"Well you aren't, that's why I didn't like you for a long time." Hayes toyed with his bottom lip, his knee bouncing at a mile a minute.

I leant against the wall, trying not to react too much to that statement. "What's that?"

"I didn't like you for a long time, because you just did what you wanted and didn't give a toss about what people thought." Hayes explained as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. "I quickly realised that was just jealousy on my part, and learned to be objective of you."

"So you were jealous of me?" I furrowed my brows suspiciously. Hayes should be liqueured up more often.

"A little." Hayes admitted, his gaze ducking for a moment. "This was long before we met though. I try not to judge people until I have spoken with them myself."

"How kind of you."

Hayes smirked slightly at that before he held the bottle out, "Care for some?"

I nodded and stepped toward him, "Why have you stopped your judgement of others then Mr Critic?"

"Because, rumours started speculating around me, and I bloody hated the feeling." He sighed, "So many rumours."

And just when I thought Hayes was going to have a beautiful breakthrough and become a lovely person for at least a full minute, he glanced up at me impatiently. The exact look his brother described earlier crossed his face.

"Are you going to stand there awkwardly, or are you going to sit?" He asked with clear irritation, "Whatever your choice, stop looming over me." His entire body swayed and he had to steady himself by gripping the bed frame.

"Sit where?"

Hayes sighed, "Again with-"

"If you say with the stupid questions, I'm going to clock you one dear,"

Hayes smiled at that, amused, "Sit down here obviously." He was painfully dazzling when he smiled, and I could count the amount of times he did so on one hand.

I eyed the space he was referring to, he wanted me to sit beside him on the bed. Now, all I have to do is sit and not turning into a blushing Phoebe. That shouldn't be too difficult. I truly wasn't used to this feeling, I wasn't used to what must be the equivalent of a school girl crush.

"Aren't you going to say something grumpy and stupid about not biting and to hurry up?" I cautiously sat myself down.

"I always found that comment stupid." Hayes shrugged, "Never has it crossed my mind that someone may bite me for approaching," He then went silent, as if deeply pondering his statement.

Hayes' manner had slowed considerably, which suggested that the alcohol had somehow suppressed whatever drugs he had taken, or perhaps they had just worn out. I took the bottle from his grasp, fighting the urge to sigh dreamily as my fingers brushed his.

"I'm more afraid of your metaphorical bite."

"Why would I snap at you?" Hayes frowned with genuine confusion, as if he would never snipe at someone.

"You have been snapping at me since we first met." I grumbled and took a large gulp of the whiskey. My god that's fucking strong.

"I snapped, once, at the Races, and I already told you it wasn't personal. I apologised,"

"I meant in general," I huffed, "You're like a stinging nettle sometimes."

He snatched the bottle back from me. "Hold a nettle tight enough, and it won't sting when you pick it." Hayes recited and knocked back an unholy amount of whiskey.

Is that... a suggestion? Is he... flirting? Am I... confused? Am I... finally getting drunk?

Then again, Hayes seems the type to know useless gardening facts. He definitely has the entire Britannica Encyclopaedia collection just sitting in his room. He probably goes to bed, in his silk embroidered pyjamas, and reads through one every night. Then he writes in his journal about the folly of hedonism, whilst listening to Prokofiev's Dance of the Knights. Yes, I imagine what Hayes gets up to when alone, quite often. No, I don't think that's strange. In fact, I think it's quite normal.

"So you need someone to hold on tight?" I asked with a small grin. Testing the waters.

Hayes scoffed, "I don't think people are patient enough for that." He brushed his hand over the small nick on his cheek. Last time I saw him, he had a bruise on the other side of his face, this one was new.

"What happened?"

I couldn't fucking help myself, I reached over and lightly touched his cheekbone. I'm a tactile person, I can't control it, but I have been trying to do so with Hayes. He doesn't strike me as the type who enjoys being touched, or talked to, or breathed near. Now with some liquid courage, and a less intimidating Hayes, I went for it.

Hayes winced, but didn't violently jerk himself away from me like I expected. "Angie has a penchant for throwing things when angry. This time, it was the ring. And I have to say, her aim really is smashing."

"Did something happen?" I tried not to ask too excitedly.

"I told her that I cheated. Which was when I got bruise number one. Bruise number two was a few days ago when I tried having a chat with her. By chat, I mean she squawked, and I cowered."

I slowly removed my fingertips, my imagination tricking me as I thought his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "And did you?"

Hayes looked torn for a moment, "Why should I tell you?"

"I'm your friend," I frowned, mind growing hazy, "I think."

Hayes stared at me for a moment, his gaze seemed blurred and unfocused.  His inky lashes blinked open and shut several times before he nodded, "Alright then."

"That's all it took?"

"I'll give the truth a go for once," Hayes smiled sadly, "I didn't cheat. This woman from work threw herself on me, but I didn't want it." He frowned, "However, I did see it as an opportunity to break things off with Angie."

"But you were just recently engaged?"

"I don't love her, not in the way I should." He admitted, and I could have sworn his shoulders loosened slightly.

"Why let her believe you cheated? I don't understand."

"Evened the score a bit. And from experience, it upsets them less than telling them you aren't attracted to them anymore. It's easier to be the bad guy for both our sakes."

He's lost attraction for multiple women? "She's cheated on you?" I asked a question that was very far down on my list, to play it safe.

"Of course she has," Hayes didn't seem upset about the fact, "I don't really blame her either, I'm not exactly the loving type."

"Were you ever in love with her?"

"Probably." Hayes mused.

"That's not an answer to such a question!"

Hayes shrugged and stood up. His hands smoothed over his black trousers, "Time for us to head back downstairs, someone might miss Freddie Mercury."

"That's true, I'm a wonder."

"Mhm, which means I can't keep you all to myself." Hayes chuckled, and retrieved a silver snuff box from his pocket. "Come along then."

I was just about ready to inform Hayes that he could keep me all to himself for however long he wanted, but I wasn't drunk enough for that. Yet.

As I went to step out of the small room, Hayes did not move from where he leant against the doorframe. Mischief sparked in his gaze, an impish grin split across his lips.

I found myself smiling at his expression, "What?"

He cracked the narrow antique box open. My eyes widened upon seeing the small satchel of white powder tucked away in there. Not that I was scandalised upon seeing drugs, but Hayes Griffith with cocaine was rather shocking.

"It's the only way to get through these things Freddie, trust me."

___

"Freddie, I don't think you understand!" Roger's eyes were wide, "We're going to give them the works! The fucking works! Alright! What will we give them!?"

"The fucking works!"

"Wait shush!" Roger pressed his hand to my chest, "Brian is listening."

We were huddled on the couch of some absolutely fabulous velvet couch, discussing matters of, what we deemed, great importance. For some reason, we had decided that that Brian could not be privy to our impromptu band discussion. Most likely because he wasn't high off his head and dragged behind.

We were currently locked in a parlour room with people who were varying degrees of intoxicated and high status. I recognised a few actors, actresses, and dancers from the west end, soap stars, and musicians. Hayes had merely scoffed when asked did he know any of them. I gathered he didn't have much control over the planning of his party. There were a few young politicians strewn about too, friends of George's- all under the age of forty and not half as uptight as I thought they would be.

Bowie's... 'really long bloody album title', was playing loudly from a vinyl player near the centre of the room. You know, the one with the Ziggy and the spiders.

"Freddie. I have had had a genius plan." Roger's gaze darted all around the place. "Fucking genius."

"Well don't just keep it to yourself! What is it Rog?"

He gave Brian a quick glare, before he leant in close. "Ask Hayes what he thinks makes a good album. Imagine we got Hayes Griffith's first ever five star review! Surely that would get us some type of reward."

My god! Of course that's an absolutely genius idea!

We both glanced over at Hayes subtlety, and by subtle, I mean we whirled around in our seat. Hayes had just lifted his head from the table, his wavy hair fell in cascades around his face. His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt was undone by several buttons, revealing a patch of dark hair underneath. In short, he looked half wild, and deliciously dishevelled.

People looked to be having a transcendent experience as they danced to Moonage Daydream. Hayes of course looked to be analysing the damn thing, and when we caught gazes he gave me a little wink.

I blame the drug for the giggle, yes, the giggle, that escaped me. Roger's brow furrowed, "I have never heard that sound before, what the fuck was it?"

"A laugh?" I mumbled.

"That wasn't a laugh."

"Yes, yes it was a laugh!"

"I've never made you laugh like that."

"Fine, fuck off," I waved my hand, "What were we talking about?"

Despite being inside, Roger now decided to wear his sunglasses, "I'm thinking of another solo album."

"Because the first one went so well dear?"

Roger fixed me a glare, "Because Hot Space did so well, I can't wait to hear your solo album." His knee bumped against mine.

"Freddie!" Hayes suddenly interjected, Come here!" He patted the table beside him.

I got up at an embarrassingly quick rate, and joined him. His thigh pressed against mine as he turned to face me. "Did you see the piano over there?"

I glanced over towards the upright mahogany piano, tucked away in the corner. "I do see it."

"Then why aren't you playing it?"

I laughed at that, "What?"

Hayes tutted, "You're only here for my entertainment Freddie, so when are you going to follow through on it?"

I feigned offence, "That's why I'm here?"

"And you make everything a little more bearable for me." Hayes intoned in his silvery voice. "Those are your reasons for being here."

"Is that so?" I smiled, "I thought I was only here because your guest list needed some sex appeal."

"Oh dear," Hayes patted my arm in a purposefully condescending manner, "Is that what you were led to believe?"

"That's what you said on your invitation." My eyes flickered down to the hand he kept over my arm.

I have two theories. 1) there is no way Hayes is gay, because he has absolutely no idea the effect he has on men. 2) there is no way Hayes is straight, but he has his head buried deep in the sand. So deep, that the earths core singes his bloody hair.

"Oh Mum might have something to do with that." Hayes seemed distressed, "Her and Anne may fancy you."

"It seems your family have impeccable taste, and then you just decided to go against the grain."

"You may laugh, but I have gone quite against the grain in my family. That's why I moved to New York, so I could get away from all the judgement." His eyes rolled, "But people gossip even more once you aren't there, don't they?"

"Don't even get me started." I snickered, "And you don't really seem like the black sheep type."

Hayes sighed at that, his hand rubbed at the back of his neck. I don't think he believed me. How is being a top class journalist considered being a black sheep?

"George is Solicitor General, and Oliver has been offered the position of Chancellor of the Exchequer." He placed his face in his hands, "And I write bitchy reviews. I'm thirty, and I write bitchy reviews for a living."

A potential birthday breakdown fuelled by liquor, drugs, and regret. He is just a normal person after all.

"Hey," I patted his back, "You write very good bitchy reviews."

Hayes snorted at that, and began the process of lighting a cigarette. I was about to say more, but George interrupted and a record screeched.

"Do you mind listening to your own songs?" He asked, holding up a copy of A Night at the Opera for everyone to inspect.

The boys and I indicated in our various various ways that he could go ahead with it. "You have our albums?" I asked the birthday boy.

"No. That's Anne's." Hayes replied curtly.

"Have you listened to it?"

"Not in full, I just know the singles." Hayes puffed a large plume of smoke into the air in front of him.

"I'm offended."

"And I don't give a toss-" Hayes cut himself off abruptly, his head tilted to the side, "Is that a shagging car engine?"

"It is."

"In a song?"

I nodded.

"Why!?" Hayes implored, before he winced slightly. "What is this noise?" He rubbed at his heavy eyes and took another drag of his cigarette.

"I'm in love with my car. Got a feel for my automobile. Get a grip on my boy-racer rollbar. Such a thrill when your radials squeal."

"What the fuck am I listening to?" He whispered to himself in genuine confusion.

I couldn't help but burst out laughing at his reaction, he was so adorably horrified. Roger quickly glanced over, his gaze searched Hayes for any indication of what the critic thought. I decided to be kind and give Roger a big thumbs up, paired with an animated nod.

"Much easier to make an engine purr than a woman." George joked to Roger who laughed his agreement. They then proceeded to make a few more joking women vs cars remarks.

"That doesn't say much for the condition of your martial bed." Hayes smiled sweetly at his brother.

"At least I have a martial bed."

"I'm scathing with jealousy."

"Hey!" Anne chirped in protest. "You should be."

Hayes smiled blandly at that, like he couldn't be bothered to make either a charming or snappy remark. His fingertips brushed his temple as if in pain throughout 'You're My Best Friend' and '39'. How am I considered dramatic when this diva exists?

"You call me up and treat me like a dog
You call me up and tear me up inside."

"Have you heard this one?" I nudged him with my knee.

"I'm happy to say that I haven't." Hayes nudged me right back.

"Sweet Lady! Sweet lady!"

"Is that 3/4 meter timing? For a heavy rock tune?" His cheeks hollowed as he took another drag of a new cigarette, "4/4 is the standard for a reason."

"Do you like anything about it?" I bristled, but only for appearances sake. It wasn't my songs he was ripping into after all.

Surprisingly Hayes offered me his cigarette with a careful smile, "Your vocals aren't half bad."

I grinned, "That's alright then Hayes." I plucked the cigarette from his loose grip.

If you really think about it, the fact I'm smoking his cigarette is basically a kiss; considering his lips touched it, and now mine are on it. Yes, I will take this as a win, and I don't need anyone to rain on my fucking parade, thank you very much. Phoebe is going to die with envy.

"I suppose you had Bohemian Rhapsody on the record, no need to have good filler tunes. Or even a good second single."

"Well," I huffed dramatically, "I can see where I'm not wanted."

Hayes' expression became quite alarmed for a split second, pure anguish flooded into those oceanic eyes of his. "No, don't go yet."

I decided not to be a dick about it, and refrained from any teasing remarks. "Alright then."

Just like that, he tamed his features back into his regular blank slate of indifference. I actually managed to get him to admit he enjoyed 'Seaside Rendezvous'. I suspected he did, only because he didn't rip it to shreds, instead he kept silent. Hayes also stretched his minimal compliments to 'The Prophet's Song', but completely slated 'Good Company'.

"I don't think I can handle Bohemian Rhapsody in my current state." Hayes sighed gently. "No offence."

"You were made to offend dear."

Hayes lips tugged upwards at that, "When I was created in my lair?"

"Exactly that." I laughed, and patted his knee.

Of course everyone was bloody screeching the Operatic section, except Hayes. Instead he was slumped over the table, eyes clenched tight. I assumed he was extra sensitive due to his drug and alcohol cocktail, he drank enough for an entire family this evening. Nobody was really paying attention to us, so I cautiously ran my hand up and down his back.

Immediately he tensed and peeped one eye open in order to give me the side eye. I merely arched my brows in response. Hayes muttered something under his breath grumpily before he closed his eyes once again. My hand resumed its motions for a moment, noticing knot upon bloody knot.

Hayes perked up again once God Save the Queen blared, because of course he did. "Alright," George announced, "Think it's time for everyone to shove off."

"Mum has drained your coffers dry, we have no more need for you." Hayes flashed a charming smile. "Thank you for coming." He tipped his glass towards the few remaining guests.

As everyone filed out, some barely managing to walk, Hayes and George nodded their goodbyes. "Oh that demon alcohol." George groaned as he swung an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Sad memories I can't recall." Hayes playfully sang back.

You won't be shocked to hear that he had a fucking lovely voice. I suppose it should comfort me to know that someone tone deaf isn't judging our music so harshly, but it annoyingly gave me something else to like about him.

"You'll have to kip on the couch mate, your room is the only spare bed made up." George murmured.

"Why don't you get the couch!?"

"Unless you want to sleep beside Anne, you have the couch."

"It might be nice for her to wake up beside someone handsome in the morning, she deserves to experience it just once-" Hayes cut off his joking as Roger and I approached the door, "Thank you both got coming, I hope you weren't too bored."

George slipped off with a wave to the both of us and a bright smile. "Definitely not," Roger chuckled, "Thanks for the invite. I'm sure we'll catch you again after the tour." They shook hands and that was that.

"You're alright to get home?" Hayes inquired.

Ideally this is the part where you ask to come with me, or beg me to stay. "Mhm, my driver should be pulling up shortly."

"I see." Hayes nodded, "Well, best of luck with the tour, I hear you're rather popular in Asia."

I waited for the punchline, expecting him to say something along the lines of 'maybe because English isn't the first language and they overlook your awful lyrics'. Instead he gazed at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue the polite trade off.

"Yes, we are." I took another step towards the door, "Are you going to head back to New York?"

"Yes, but in due back in London in a few weeks-months- my goddaughter's birthday. She threatened me with bodily harm if I missed it."

I chuckled at that, "You have no choice then. Perhaps I'll see you when we're both in London again?"

"If you're lucky." Hayes smirked.

He then reached over and clasped my shoulder, "Bye then."

It may sound like I lost my mind, but it's not crazy for some Englishmen to kiss other Englishmen on the cheek in greetings of farewells. Even happens in Europe. So nobody say a fucking word as I go for it, and nobody better say a fucking word when you see how much of a miscalculation it was on my part. Liquid courage turns out to be poison around Hayes Griffith.

At the sight of my face closing in, Hayes became startled. That worked wonders to keep me bloody humble. His nose bumped against mine as he pulled away, which seemed to frighten him ever further.

"Sorry!" I quickly stammered, "I wasn't trying- I wasn't making a move or anything like that."

Hayes let his hand drop, "Oh no, ah, not to worry, not to worry. I'm sorry if I offended- if I- gave," he cleared his throat, "Not to worry Freddie." He said firmly this time.

He then proceeded to give my shoulder a 'manly' clap, and turned on his heel, "Have a nice time!"

It turns out 'not to worry' secretly translated to: 'I'm not going to answer or return any of your calls from now on' in Hayes-English.

So no, I did not have a fucking nice time on tour.

—-

A/N- Hope you enjoyed!! ❤️