A/N- I apologise to any non-Hayes lovers, this'll be a long one, but necessary haha. Enjoy. X

H.G
Knightsbridge, London.
October, 22nd

"Do you have a cold?" Anne went to place a hand on my forehead but I shrank away. That didn't deter her, instead she placed a hand on my cheek.

"I don't get sick." I shot her my most withering glare. Annoyingly, she didn't react.

"Yes you do." George began the process of looping his navy tie around his neck. "Just not often. Remember the time you had hypothermia?"

"My god, when did that happen?" Anne asked with a frown. Her hand lightly brushed my cheek with a a tentative stroke. I wanted to hate it, but I didn't. Just like when Freddie kept touching me and I haven't stopped bloody thinking about it for the past month like a sap.

Crack.

I immediately pulled away from Anne and cleared my scratchy throat. I shall not waste time being sick, or by having silly thoughts.

I watched as Anne went to help my brother with the knot of his tie. Upon seeing their everyday mundane routines together over the past week, I found myself with a bitter taste on my tongue quite often. They were subtle with their affections, but I couldn't help but feel that my nose was rubbed in their perfect marriage, and perfect family. Not that I wasn't happy for them, but it irked me the ease at which they interacted. I have never had ease in any relationship. Most like because I went for women like Angie. Or women in general.

Crack.

I immediately shook my head as if to rid myself of such thoughts. The place in my mind where I safely kept my true feelings and thoughts seemed to be growing bold in the past few months. They tested the boundaries of consciousness many times, but I had the perfect wall in place. Impenetrable, save for a few cracks. Not being around people like Alex or Freddie would surely remedy the situation. I just need to be around emotionless robots, so naturally I returned home.

"When he was six, it was just after the Christmas break. We found him sleeping in the stables." George recalled, "He was cuddled up beside a horse, frozen half to death."

I was only bloody there because I didn't want to go back to boarding school. Oliver said Mum and Dad didn't want me around so it would be cheaper for them if I were to just run away. George just sat there when my eldest brother filled my head with nonsense. Naturally, at six, moving in with my pet in a damp stable seemed to be the ideal solution.

After that I learned my lesson and instead ran off to less hypothermic inducing places, like my auntie's flat or the gamekeeper's cabin. Unfortunately, I was often found much quicker in those cases, and dragged half kicking and stiff-upper-lipping it home.

"She was one of my favourite horses," I sighed wistfully, "Lady Revere."

"Is that the one Dad put down out in the garden when she went lame?" George frowned.

"Prick." Anne mumbled causing me to choke on my tea. It's not that she wasn't correct, I was just surprised about her being vocal about it.

"What's a prick mummy?"

Anne and George's eyes widened in alarm, whilst I let a laugh slip out. Lottie's eyes brightened at that. "It's a funny word?"

"No!" George quickly exclaimed whilst Anne blushed. The poor woman was mortified.

"But uncle Griff laughed?"

"No way." Edward snorted as he also appeared, decked out in his school uniform.

He was older than I was went I was sent off to boarding school, yet I could never imagine him being shipped off to such a place. With parents like Anne and George, he would never have to worry about such a thing.

"Yes way."

They both stared at me as if I had grown ten heads. "What?" I grumbled, and peered over my glasses at them.

"Oh he's normal again." Edward sighed with relief.

For the love of god, why is everyone so sensitive? I am certain that I have a perfectly approachable face.

"Alright, let's leave Hayes alone, you two need to get to school." George attempted to wrangle his kids out of the room.

He's the one bringing them to school?

"Love you Hayes!" Lottie exclaimed, "Have a good day!"

"I tolerate you more than most darling." I cooed after her.

That was the best someone would get from me. My niece knew this by now, so she merely laughed. I felt my sister in law's eyes on me, burning into the side of my head. I'm not at all used to all this bloody human interaction in the morning.

"What?"

"Nothing, prick junior." 

Oh well.

——

The West End
October 24th

A thoroughly cathartic yawn escaped me as I stretched out my legs. My knees knocked into the seat in front, causing two women to turn and glare at me as if I was a hooligan. Two social faux pas in the space of two seconds was a record for me.

"At least George has the manners not to yawn in a theatre." Anne huffed, "No matter how bored he is, he at least hides it."

"My manners are far better than George's." I sniffed.

"And this is also why I chose him over you." Anne hummed haughtily.

"Perhaps the fact I was never interested in you had something to do with it darling." I tapped her cheek with the back of my hand.

"Darling used to be a lovely term of endearment," Anne whispered thoughtfully, "Then men like you ruined it."

"I do apologise."

"Annie!" A loud whisper sounded to my right.

An attractive woman with a shy smile delicately waved across my body towards my sister in law. I was half blinded by the rubies that dangled from her ears. Theatre in the West End was a more causal affair than the likes of the ballet and the opera, yet the upper crust couldn't do causal well, which explained the lady's decor. I wasn't wearing a tie, which was the extent of how causal I wanted to appear. I was strong armed into attending 'Guys and Dolls' after George refused point blank, and Anne turned on a few waterworks on me. Tears simply terrify me, especially when directed my way, so I caved.

"Rosemary! You made it."

I cut Anne a quick glare that translated to 'I thought it was just meant to be us!' She merely shrugged and replied with an innocent smile.

"Thank you for inviting me Anne."

"Oh where are my manners!" Anne whispered as she slapped my arm playfully, "This lovely chap here is my brother in law, Hayes."

No, this better not be what I bloody think it is-

"I know what you're thinking, how can someone so handsome still be single?" Anne, pinched my cheek, "Not to worry, he's an absolute gent!"

Rosemary blushed, "It's lovely to meet you Hayes, Anne speaks so highly of you."

"Hmph." I offered a tight lipped smile, "Lovely to meet you too."

Anne proceeded to move down a seat so that Rosemary could sit right beside me. "Wouldn't you rather sit with your friend?" I quickly hissed directly in Anne's ear.

"She's lovely! Especially compared to Angie." Anne shot back, "So be nice to her. Can you be nice?"

I pondered it for a moment. "No."

"You always go for the wrong women, just be open minded!"

Crack.

"I would appreciate if everyone in this family, didn't strut me about as if I were some prize stud."

Before Anne could pipe in with anything else, Rosemary lightly touched my shoulder. "You live in New York, is that right?"

I peered over my glasses at her, "Yes."

There was a thick silence. She asked me a yes or no question, what more did she want? If she wanted me to elaborate, she should have posed me a different question, or at least an interesting one.

Anne stamped down on my foot with her own. I concealed a yelp and whirled back to face Rosemary with a pained smile. Heels are like bloody daggers.

"And where is it you're from darling?" I managed to force out.

"Kensington."

Ah yes, where Freddie lives. Freddie who may be home very soon. Freddie, who, under no circumstances could I possibly see until I have patched my unravelling mind up. Now, that's better. Everything is peachy. Tip top. Jolly good.

"You know the actor who plays Sky Masterson?" Annie leant over me to whisper to her friend.

"Ian Charleston?"

"Mhm. I hear he's a friend of Dorothy's."

I stiffened at those words, and quickly set about playing with the cuff of my shirt. What's wrong with them talking about a gay man? Nothing to do with me. Why is this room so small, was it always this way?

"What a waste of a good looking man."

Crack.

"He's not a 'wasted man'. Don't be cruel," I sniped, "It doesn't suit you." Where did that bloody come from?

Anne seemed surprised by that, but then levelled me a look that said 'oh but it suits you?' And it did. It did suit me. It suited me just fine. At least I'm upfront about it.

"Yes, that was a bad joke." Anne continued to assess my face. I immediately turned towards the stage, hating the scrutiny.

Thankfully, the overhead lights flickered, signalling that the performance was about to begin.

If there's one thing I hate more than theatre... it's musical theatre. Actors aren't singers, nor should they ever attempt to be. Why do I need to hear a tune every time a character decides that they're going to head to the shop, or meet a lady? I don't give two tits. The phrase 'don't make a song and dance out of it' should be drilled into the mind of every playwright from a young age.

But I don't mean to go on.

I decided to invent an emergency work situation during the intermission. I didn't feel like that much of a twat for bailing considering Anne now had her friend Rosemary with her. Before Anne could lay into me, I slipped out a fire door that mercifully didn't sound off any alarms.

I found myself in a narrow alleyway, and decided to have a quick smoke to alleviate my inexplicable nerves. I tapped the end of my cigarette against its case before I reached for my lighter. Nothing. I scrambled about in all my pockets, but alas, there was no lighter to be found.

In my current mood... I'm ashamed to admit that I had a little tantrum.

"For fuck sake!"

All I want, is a cigarette. That's all! Of course that's just too much to ask! I swear I'm going to lose it, if one thing in my life doesn't start to go my bloody way soon!

Crack. Crack. Crack!

"It looks like you need a light."

I whirled at the sound of a man's voice, one with a Scottish accent. My eyes narrowed, "Isn't that perceptive of-" I cut myself off, "Wait, don't I know you?"

"Considering you watched me for the past hour," the man smiled, "I would think I'm somewhat familiar."

It took me a second to realise that he was the actor from the show, and a famous one at that, Ian Charleston. The apparent friend of Dorothy's.

"Sorry, Ian isn't it?" He nodded his confirmation.

"You're familiar too," he mused as he lit up a cigarette of his own, "Griffith?"

"Yes, Hayes." I replied apprehensively.

"That's who I would have guessed," he held the match up to me, clearly wanting me to lean in.

I frowned and cupped my hand around the flame, "Why would you have guessed that?"

"You're the good looking one." He flashed a playful smile.

I tensed a little at that before I took a quick inhale of nicotine. Thankfully, I had a talent for controlling my expressions, because I'm sure I would have blushed otherwise. Alex I did get unnaturally flustered by, which I knew was somewhat... questionable. And recently, whenever Freddie makes his flirty little comments, I find it increasingly difficult to keep my expressions at bay. I also find myself wanting to return such sentiments.

Crack.

I pinched the bridge of my nose,  "Mhm."

"You're the writer aren't you?" He continued to probe.

"It sounds glamorous when you say it like that." I grumbled, "But yes, I do write."

"I was at that charity gig, I know your mother quite well." Of course he does, because my mother somehow knows anyone with a few pounds in their pocket and a flair for the arts. "I think it was your birthday."

I racked my brain, "I didn't see you."

"Yes, you were rather busy with Freddie Mercury all night."

My hand paused on the way up to my lips, at the observation Ian had made. The loaded assumption behind it. "He's a mate." I said gruffly.

Who you've been ignoring for no good reason the past month.

Ian smiled at that, "Good to know. What are you up to after the show?"

Am I giving off a vibe that says 'keep talking to me? I adore small talk'? Just jog on.

I smiled lazily, "I'll be trying to forget it."

Ian rolled his eyes with amusement, "You know what I mean. A few of us are going for drinks in SoHo after the show if you want to join. Make up for our lost conversation at your party."

Yes. Say yes. The SoHo district is exactly where you need to go and explore right now isn't it? Go on, get introduced to Dorothy.

I am going bloody barmy.

"No, sorry. I'm here with someone- a woman." I added hastily.

Oh who the hell are you kidding? You have no interest in that clearly attractive woman. Or any woman at all for that matter. What does that mean, hm?

"Ian!" A voice barked from a door further up the alley.

Oh thank god.

"I'll be there in a minute!" He called back before he turned to me, "If you can stick the rest of the show, pop backstage. You can even bring your 'woman'."

I so desperately wanted to say yes, and force my eyes open. But, I was a coward and said no. It's second nature for me to keep my eyes firmly shut instead.

That's turning out to be the story of my life.

November 5th

"What did you think of Jackson and McCartney's duet?"

Middle of the road.
Cute but lacks substance.
Paul McCartney has turned into a sappy old fool.
A wet blanket ballad.
Who would have expected McCartney and Jackson to be such a dreary duo? Me. That's who.
Paul should have made a sharp u-turn on whatever long and winding road that led him right to Michael's door.

I tapped fingers across my notebook, "I know you can't see me Nick, but I'm shrugging my shoulders in a very indifferent manner."

"Alright, I want you on it." Nick chuckled through the phone, "There's too many Macca fans in the office, I want a real review."

"That I can do." I nodded, "You're sure you don't need me back in the New York office?"

"Griffith, relax." My boss sighed, "You haven't taken a holiday in two years, and it's not even a holiday considering you insisted on working."

"Alright." I murmured, "And is there anything else you want me to write?"

"No, just that is fine." Nick replied, "And get some rest!" With that, he hung up.

I didn't need rest. In fact, I have been doing remarkably well with my recent sleep schedule. I have it tuned to a fine art of grabbing a solid three hours per night. The trick is not to go to bed until you're absolute ready to pass out. Then you don't have to deal with any tossing and turning. Or wrestle with smothering thoughts, like suspecting your whole life has been a sham so far and maybe that's why you have been so lonely and miserable. You know, typical stuff like that.

I glanced down at the open page in front of me and brought my pen to the paper. 'Don't Waste Your Time... Listening to this Drivel.'

A working title, but I'll get there.

"Hayes! Are you ready to get going?"

I whirled in my chair to see my brother suited and ready to suppress his fun side. Anne was equally formal. I plucked my glasses off and slotted them into my pocket, trying to find any excuse to draw out having to have brunch at my dad's.

"I don't know if it's a good idea." I tossed my fingers through my hair, "Give Dad my sincerest apologies."

George sighed as if I was one of his unruly kids, "Hayes, it's too late to pull out now."

A happily married politician, with children, is more trusted by the public than an unmarried, messy-home-situation- man. So every once in a while, Dad decides to remind his colleagues that he has two perfect boys, a lovely wife, and... me. In my current state of mind, I don't know how well I could handle being looked down upon over brunch.

"See, I don't think it is." I mused, "You know he's embarrassed by me. I'm doing him a favour."

"You know that isn't-" George looked pained for a second, "Don't say things like that."

"Ah, you can't deny it can you." I wagged a finger in the air triumphantly.

"Things might be different now." Anne forced a smile and fixed my tousled hair, "You have so many accomplishments now."

I cringed at the compliment, and the fact that George and Anne were talking to me as if I were a sulking child. I patted the table in defeat and stood up.

"Okay, okay." I smoothed down my shirt, "I can drive."

"Dad said we might go hunting, take the horses and the dogs out." George patted my shoulder as we exited the townhouse. "That'll make brunch shorter."

Bloody smashing.

No- no.

Fucking fantastic.

The drive out to Saint Alban's was far too short even though I purposely took several wrong turns- claiming I had forgotten how to drive in London. Even after that, I didn't have nearly enough time to psyche myself up to be tore down. I was put sitting between two elderly men, which was the lesser of several evils. The Home Secretary was sitting across from me, beside my father, and two other lesser cabinet ministers were strewn about the table.

Brunch is so stupid. Breakfast, lunch, just pick one. Why mash them together?

"Hayes." My mother whispered.

I glanced up. My mum made a motion for me to smile, and then proceeded to motion for me to speak to our guests. I tried to un-furrow my brows, but it was a semi-permanent gesture for me. I at least took off my glasses, because apparently I 'peer' at people when wearing them.

"So, Hayes." The man to my right began before he slurped his tea. My eye twitched at the sound. "You're in media."

I nodded slowly. "I write for Rolling Stone." I heard my father's annoyed huff from across the table, but I ignored him. "And you? What do you do sir?"

"I'm Howard Charles, editor-in-chief for the Sunday Times." Egg yolk stained his teeth as he smiled, "I have read your work. You're very good."

I chuckled awkwardly, "Thank you Mr Charles."

A hand was hoisted in front of my body, "Lord Robert Webb. The Telegraph."

I eyed his hand, forcing a smile, "Charmed."

"How happy are you with your current job Hayes?" He suddenly blurted.

I blinked, "Huh- I mean- pardon?"

"How settled are you in New York? Wouldn't you be much happier at home here in London?"

Lord Webb almost growled at his newspaper rival, before he turned to me. "We wanted to offer you a job, as managing editor for the Telegraph."

Mr Charles quickly leant into my line of vision, "And we wanted to offer you a position as managing editor for the Sunday Times."

No. No way in hell, "Oh my," I cracked a lazy grin, "Aren't I popular?"

Everyone at the table laughed- I mean tittered- at that, but I felt my father's gaze burn into me. This was surely something he had swung for me. If that failed, I know for a fact he had a position lined up for me in the press secretary's office at Downing Street.

"I apologise gentlemen, but I really do have to decline-"

"Hayes!" My father cut in immediately, "You haven't even considered the offers, don't be so ungrateful."

"I don't think I have the skills or experience necessary to accept such a role." I managed to get out, "I am sure you have much better suited people for the job."

"You have been working in media since you were 17, you know how a bloody paper works by now." Dad challenged, "It's a respectable role, here in England."

Nothing like a parent talking down to the runt of the litter to make dinner an awkward affair. My family was so desensitised to this that they immediately started chattering amongst themselves. I tried not to shrink into my seat.

Crack. Crack. Crack!

"A respectable role wouldn't be pinched through nepotism would it?" I flashed a faux grin and tore into a piece of grilled asparagus. Why am I eating asparagus at this hour! What is brunch!?

Mum, George, and Anne spluttered on their meals and beverages. My father's face was almost purple from the strain of not being able to throttle me in front of all these people. Oliver's wife, Natalie, covered her mouth with a napkin to conceal her laugh.

"I will consider both of your offers," I conceded slightly, but had absolutely no intention of accepting either, "I'm quite flattered."

I managed to keep my head down for the rest of the meal, and no attention was drawn to me until the men converged in the foyer. George was glued to my side like a guard dog for some reason. I truly don't understand why he's so clingy with me lately. 

George wolf whistled as Oliver returned in royal red riding gear, looking like a bloody twit. "You're a long way from the Queen's guard Ollie."

Not that George and I looked much better in our breeches and tweed jackets. I had to borrow Dad's gear, so I already felt like ten times the conservative plonker I probably looked.

Natalie walked in, causing all the men to whirl around and give her an appreciative going over. She was an ex dancer for the Royal Ballet, and had the beauty to remind everyone. For some reason she always gravitated towards me in a crowd, which always pissed my brother off, as if I could control it.

"Are we getting the legendary Hayes Griffith back in the saddle?" Natalie smiled warmly at me.

Oliver snorted, "Legendary? He can't even hold a gun."

"No, but he can run circles around anyone on a horse." Anne piped in as she appeared with my parents.

Mum's eyes widened as she turned to Dad. "You are not letting Hayes hunt."

"He's an adult, stop mollycoddling him!"

"You know how clumsy he is Alastair."

My father examined me, "Yes, I remember the time he literally shot himself in the foot."

No, I didn't shoot myself in the foot. I accidentally shot at the ground beside my foot and a piece of shrapnel caught me. I know, it's probably shocking for you all to learn that I wasn't always the debonair and smooth man you all see today.

"It's your fault for giving a ten year old a bloody shotgun!"

"I just want to spend time with my boy! He never comes home! Don't you want us to bloody bond woman!"

My mother sucked un a furious breath, "Fine! But his blood is on your hands!"

"Well that's a little dramatic." I murmured as she walked away, towing the rest of the ladies along with her. Dad glanced between all of us, shook his head, and walked off towards his colleagues.

"Bloody mummy's boy." Oliver snorted.

"Isn't that a sign of being a fruit?" Oliver's chief whip friend, Luke, chuckled, evoking a laugh from my brother.

Crack.

"That was so clever." George grumbled.

"Well he hangs around with fruits." Oliver looked down his nose at me. Yes, I hang around in a bloody orchard alright. How drole.

"And that Freddie Mercury is basically a woman." Luke declared.

Crack.

I exhaled slowly, "Your wife left you recently, didn't she, Luke? So it would be a fair assumption that you aren't an expert in women?"

Luke's face shuttered in surprise, "Huh?" Some of Anne's gossiping stuck.

"And you have never met Freddie Mercury." I continued, with a bored expression. "Have you, Luke?"

"No, but-"

"Well then," I frowned, "If you don't know anything about women, and don't know anything about Freddie Mercury, I honestly don't see how you could compare the two."

Luke's face was flushed with chagrin, and I couldn't help but smirk with satisfaction. "I dare say, you don't have the privilege to compare the two, do you, Luke?"

Luke huffed and puffed, looking for a smart reply, but settled for something simple. "You're such a fucking wanker."

"Hm." I turned to George, "What horse do I get?"

George was shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and fear. He tugged at my arm and dragged me outside before Oliver could lay into me. "No wonder celebrities push you through tables."

I merely shrugged innocently in response.

I hopped in to a jeep beside my brother, and we drove out to Surrey where our family owned a couple hundred acres of land. When we arrived at the moderate farmhouse owned by my cousins, I relaxed a little at the lack of formality. Beagles and hounds were milling about, causing a ruckus. Dad and the Home Secretary were already up on their horses, whilst the two ministers were loading up their guns.

Oliver and Luke pushed past me to mount their horses, two stunning thoroughbreds. George placed a hand on my back, and led me towards a stablehand who was struggling to keep an absolute beast of a mare at bay.

Great.

"Dutch warmblood?" I asked in a low tone, "What's her name?" And they're meant to be bloody good natured, who pissed her off?

"Yup, this is Florence Nightingale." The stablehand laughed, as if her name didn't fit at all. "Good luck sir."

"Mum said this one reminded her of your old horse, the one from when you were eighteen."

"Devil's Advocate?" I chuckled, "How is she?"

"Happy in retirement, you'll have to visit her in Ireland."

I nodded, considering the possibility and slowly walked toward the moody mare. I won't embarrass myself and tell you all I had to coo softly to the mare as I approached her. I have a reputation to keep after all. I spent some time attempting to soothe Flo before I could even consider hoisting myself up onto her.

"Alright darling." I murmured, "If you throw me off, it may very well be my last straw, so can we be civil?"

Florence blinked her big brown eyes at me with complete disinterest. Well, disinterest isn't hate, so that's a good sign. I held my breath until I was settled on the saddle. Flo must not have wanted me to end it all because she didn't stir much, so I think it's safe to say that we have an understanding.

George steered his bay thoroughbred toward me, "I knew you two would get along."

"She may buck me off out of spite." I whispered and ran my hand down her glossy chestnut coat, "So shush."

"She always bites Oliver... and any man for that matter." George's eyes narrowed on my horse.

"Good for her." I laughed.

I wanted to be a professional jockey when I was younger, but after a second growth spurt at sixteen, that dream faded. Cantering along the beautiful Surrey countryside, I felt more comfortable and free than I had in a long time. All was good in my world for a total of an hour. Ollie and I were even experiencing one of hour uneasy alliances, both in an element of our own.

Then things went vastly downhill.

I was stuck with Oliver and at least ten barking hounds. He was going around, collecting the various birds that he had shot out of the sky. Pheasants mostly. Nothing like plucking up dead birds to dampen the mood.

"Aw bollocks." Oliver cursed as he glanced down in the thick grass. "Where the gun? This one's alive."

I spotted the mottled brown plumage of a female pheasant. The poor thing wasn't dead, just dazed. I stepped up closer to it. I don't think she was even injured.

"Move Hayes."

"Just leave her." I sniped, "You already have enough trophies for today."

Oliver glowered at me, "Don't be soft. Just get out of the way."

"No." I replied stubbornly.

"Oh for fuck sake!" Oliver snapped impatiently, "Don't be such a bloody poof, and get out of my way!"

Crack.

Something in my mind snapped. I'm sure doctors, scientists, and psychologists would come together and deem it a mental breakdown. I had been struggling for a long time now, but this past month had put me through a ringer. The structure that kept my emotions and true thoughts walled in, seemed to crumble. Oliver's latest insult caused one crack too many, and I didn't have time to plaster them all over.

I was fucking done.

I stared down at the dazed pheasant, somehow seeing myself in it and I was going to bloody well help her. I heard the cacophony of hounds bark behind me, and made my decision.

I plucked up the plump bird and legged it: and didn't stop running until I somehow managed to end up in the back of a car manned by a blonde and his merry band.

Whether that was a stroke of misfortune or luck, I couldn't tell just yet, because a certain frontman was pissed with me.

—-

A/N-
Hope you enjoyed! And yes, you'll see exactly how Queen managed to be right place at the right time haha❤️