A/N-
Thank you so much for all the engagement on Part 1! I really appreciate it. I hope you'll enjoy part 2...💜

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Hayes reached Freddie's trailer in record time thanks to a few long, determined, and furious strides.

Luckily no one else dared to intercept him, because in Hayes' current state he may quite literally have growled at someone rather than search for a scathing remark. He raised his fist to knock at the flimsy door, perhaps more angrily than he should have. The door creaked open and Hayes took a cautionary glance over his shoulder before slipping inside.

"My god, if you took any longer I was going to go out there and make a scene."

Freddie's ever-soft voice almost instantly soothed Hayes's churned up temper. The familiar warmth of him entering Hayes' space further sped up the cool down process. However, Hayes couldn't completely wipe away the traces of anger that had engraved itself in his tensed jaw.

"Oh no." Freddie murmured, taking a gentle hold of Hayes' face between his two palms, "What's happened?"

"Nothing, nothing." Hayes smacked a weak smile onto his lips, "How are you feeling? You look a little more steady than you sounded earlier."

"Yes, I'm feeling good about the whole thing." Freddie let his hands drop, but only as far as Hayes' waist. "I think we're the only ones who did any sort of proper rehearsals."

"Swots." Hayes chuckled, and playfully caught Freddie on the chin.

"Mhm," Freddie slowly backed him against the door, "What's wrong?"

"In any case," Hayes ignored the question completely, "Many of those acts don't know how to do a stadium gigs—"

"You know, I had been warned that Hayes Griffith was at his top billing today."

"Is that what they've been whispering?" Hayes sniffed, "I have been too busy trying to free myself from the massive black hole that is Paul's ego. I've not had time to do much else. Swallows up everything he passes!"

Freddie blinked, "Paul— Paul McCartney?"

"Yes, that's the one." He sniped, "Avoid him at all costs. Should be an easy enough task, you can't miss him— he's the man who behaves as though he's god's gift to humanity!"

"Well, you both can come across a little..." Freddie couldn't think of a way to phrase it delicately, so he didn't "Hardheaded. So I suppose—"

"Hardheaded?" Hayes repeated as if the word could never possibly be used to describe him, "Hardheaded? Me?"

"I'm not saying either of you are— just that—"

"This is exactly what he wants." Hayes exclaimed, "He's trying to turn us against some another! Fucking brilliant, he's winning!"

Freddie recognised Hayes' crazed and clumsy ramblings for the blaring signs of stress that they really were. The move to London had really twisted up Hayes' repressive past, and being forced to hide his relationship only exacerbated things. His current gig on the BBC was wildly successfully, and moving in with Freddie had made him happier than ever, but there was this new kernel of anger that had recently embedded itself within Hayes. He loved Freddie, and shouldn't have to hide the fact in order to keep a population of strangers happy.

"Alright dear," Freddie squeezed his waist gently, "Good to see you haven't let him get to you."

Hayes muttered a few further grumpy utterances beneath his breath before Freddie placed an amused kiss to his lips. That appeared to be a salve to soothe all irritants, because Hayes felt his body sag from its severely uptight hold.

"I heard you've been hiding in here for most of the day." He murmured, dropping his forehead to rest against Freddie's.

"You were meant to sneak in so much earlier. I mean I really couldn't have been any clearer about it." Freddie shook his head, "Did you not see my smoke signals?"

Hayes' hand slid up Freddie's arm, investigating the studded strap that wrapped around his bicep. "I didn't quite catch that, sorry."

"What's the point in these then?" Freddie plucked the glasses from his face and pressed his lips more forcefully to Hayes' own.

A sigh of surrender was pulled from Hayes' chest, before his own hands scratched over Freddie's back. His fingers bunched into the fabric of the rockstar's shirt as if was clinging to the one good thing that could be found today. Hayes simply wanted to lose himself in Freddie, but knew reality would come crashing down on them any second now. Freddie didn't seem to share the same fears, as he pressed his body more firmly to the critic's and snaked a hand into his hair.

"Freddie..." Hayes tone was meant to be one of warning, but he ended up just softly exhaling his name.

"Hm?" Freddie smiled innocently between the increasingly heated caress of their lips.

It would be extremely easy for them to make a stupid, careless mistake right now. Hayes was angry, and Freddie needed to burn off some of his nervous and anticipatory energy. Hayes, who of course was better at restraining himself thanks to his practically Edwardian upbringing, pulled away from Freddie's insistent kisses first.

"You didn't even lock the door." Hayes laughed, slightly breathless.

"Well, it doesn't exactly work." Freddie chuckled forcing Hayes' back a little more harshly to the door, "So I was using you as a blockade."

"That's all this is?" Hayes rasped, unable to keep his voice steady with the hard press of Freddie against him. "I thought you promised to stop using me for my body."

Freddie smoothed a hand over Hayes' abdomen, "It's mind-boggling that you think I would ever agree to that."

Before Hayes could close the gap between their lips once again, someone outside called for Freddie's presence.

The singer froze before he dramatically pressed his face into Hayes' neck and exhaled. Hayes tensed, finding Freddie's breath on his skin unbearable now that he was about to be dragged away.

"That's not going to help matters." He murmured against Freddie's temple.

Freddie slowly peeled himself away from Hayes, "You'll be there for our set later, won't you?"

"Of course I will." Hayes assured him, "And if Jim even tries to stop me—"

"No making grown men cry today, thank you very much."

"How else am I meant to keep myself entertained whilst you're busy?"

Before Freddie could reply, his name was shouted again and he could no longer ignore the call of his tour manager, Gerry Stickells.

"I would say 'good luck' but that would imply you need it." Hayes pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Freddie's lips.

Freddie dipped out of the trailer first only to be caught by the tour manager and a friendly David Bowie. Hayes who slipped out a minute later, did not get the same warm reception from Jim Beach who caught sight of him and casually chased after him.

"You never struck me as the reckless type, Hayes."

Hayes kept walking, forcing Miami to keep up with him, "I'm flattered you give me so much thought."

"Sneaking off in broad daylight—"

"To chat?" Hayes murmured, "I don't know why you insist on jumping to any other sordid conclusions. Unless..." he stopped to pat at his belt, "Oh no, I did remember to do it back up. Don't worry."

Miami huffed, puffed, and spluttered, but didn't manage to string any words together.

With that, Hayes spotted a fellow journalist and decided to latch on to him if it meant keeping Miami from scolding him any further. Now he wouldn't be tempted to seek out Freddie again, or spar with any other musicians — who if he may point out, started the arguments.

Hayes caught glances of Freddie in passing as the hours ticked down to Queen's performance, but they kept their distance. He waited around the wings with Jasper White throughout U2 and the Dire Straits' sets so it wouldn't look like he was playing favourites when he was found backstage watching Queen later on. The NME writer who often cautiously flirted with him wanted to return to the makeshift trailer park before Queen could go on, but of course Hayes stayed put.

"The last time I saw you, it seemed like you were at war with Mercury. Loved the review which sparked it." Jasper chuckled. "Remember the conference at Munich?"

"Wars end." Hayes shrugged, "Besides, say what you want about their albums, but the band know how to put on a show."

That had been an understatement.

Queen's set at Live Aid had been nothing short of spectacular. Freddie Mercury's name would forever be the first to leave someone's lips whenever they spoke of today. Not only did Queen perfectly select the appropriate songs to pack a punch in such a short time frame, Freddie knew exactly how to conduct the large crowd. The stadium may have been filled with an audience boasting of a wide array of differing music tastes, but that didn't matter once Freddie strutted about. Freddie had managed to get the entire crowd to sing back to him with impromptu vocal warm ups, and temporarily create a cult like image of worship when all 72,000 pairs of hands clapped along to Radio Gaga.

If you weren't a Queen fan before, you couldn't help but be one during those mind-altering 20 minutes.

Objectively, Queen's performance was the best of the day. Something Hayes proudly stated to anyone who would listen. He didn't care if he was playing favourites anymore, not when everyone agreed with him. Subjectively, however, Hayes found himself more struck by one of Live Aid's more 'forgotten' performances.

Freddie and Brian were to perform an encore. They were to sing a stripped back version of the song they had purposely penned with famine in mind.

Now that the concert was ending, the wings of Wembley were quiet, whilst the backstage trailers were buzzing with activity. Hayes had drained his social reserves hours ago, but at least he had been documented conversing with a range of different musicians for his troubles. Now he could just latch on to his "good friend" Freddie without Jim getting on his case for showing clear "favouritism".

Freddie had changed into a snug pair of white jeans, and yet another skin-tight tank top, this time in red. Brian May was as at his side; he had also changed out of his previous white button-up shirt from earlier, only to replace it with a sleeveless version. Brian exchanged a few brief pleasantries with Hayes, before he left the couple to it.

The only people backstage were stage crew and event organisers, who were all far too busy keeping things running to be paying too much attention to Freddie and Hayes. Freddie plopped himself down on a rickety portable chair, and watched as Hayes dragged another one over to join him.

Hayes half collapsed down onto the creaking metal, and stretched his lanky legs out in front of him. It had been an incredibly long day, and the colours that swirled about in his gaze whenever a timbre was involved now seemed permanently etched into his vision. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, hoping to reduce some tension throbbing that pinched around his brow. Freddie causally slipped his arm around the back of Hayes' chair and cautiously brushed his fingertips at the nape of his neck.

"It's terrible Wham didn't get a chance to go on." Hayes murmured, wishing he could lean further into Freddie's touch.

Freddie was rather surprised by Hayes' comment, "Didn't think you were a fan."

"Ridgeley seemed like a nice lad. Elton should've kept within his allotted time, it's not fair on everyone else."

"Oh come on," Freddie laughed and withdrew his hand from Hayes' hair, only to lightly smack his knee. "I saw you chatting to Andrew Ridgeley earlier, you liked him."

"Don't accuse me of something so ridiculous. All this praise has gotten to your head," Hayes huffed playfully, "You've lost it."

Freddie tilted his head to the side, "Do you think there's somebody I have missed— someone else who could tell me how fantastic I was? We could go for a little walk about, darling, while we still have time."

"You'll have plenty of time to parade yourself about later, during the after party." Hayes laughed, unable to keep his body from drifting towards the man beside him. His shoulder pressed gently against Freddie's, and their heads unintentionally bowed together as if pulled tight by some phantom string between them.

"I won't have much time later." Freddie's lips split into a wolfish grin.

"No?"

"No." Freddie shook his head, and lowered his voice to a whisper, "I fucking can't wait to get out of here. We can stop off for a different afterparty on the way if we're in the mood, but I'm sure you'd much rather have a... private reception at home."

"Private reception?" Hayes arched a brow, "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Before the pair could say anymore, Hayes' hair was roughly ruffled in passing, causing the critic to half growl his irritation.

There was only one man bold enough to keep messing with Hayes' hair like he was some stray pup, and ignore all of his strict warnings spanning across almost 20 years, not to do it again. Paul didn't greet Hayes properly, nor did he even look at Freddie, he simply kept on walking and leant himself up against a rather large amp. He was alone for once, but Hayes knew it shouldn't be too long before someone popped over to latch themselves onto the Beatle.

"Come with me." Hayes whispered, shooting particularly sharp daggers in Paul's direction.

Freddie was slightly confused but still stood up and followed him over to space where he had prowled towards several feet away.

"Hayes, honey, stop glaring." Freddie gave him a little nudge. "I warned you already I won't stick with you through premature wrinkles."

Hayes exhaled slowly and turned his back on Paul to face Freddie again. "Yes, sorry. Sorry."

"I thought my travel outfit was bad." Paul muttered, seemingly to himself. The volume of his voice trod the fine line between barely audible and far, far too loud. "Show some more chest hair, why don't you?"

Hayes was going to throttle him. Fully throttle him, and he really didn't care who saw it. Freddie immediately read the intent on Hayes' face, and dragged him back a few more paces from the Beatle.

"I was meant to have another outfit for this song," Freddie admitted, "But Phoebe left it at the house. Good help is so hard to find, as you very well know."

"Mhm, Peter's dreadful lately." Hayes said dryly, not meaning a word of it. His gaze swept along Freddie's torso, "Why not wear the top from earlier? Keep it all white."

"Like the blushing virgin I am?"

Paul scoffed, an extremely loudly, "Ha!"

Hayes did his best to ignore him, and a genuine free laugh escaped his lips, "Exactly that."

Freddie continued to pull Hayes away from Paul, who attempted to casually inch a little closer as the couple conversed. "Miami did hiss at me to cover my shoulders for Bri and I's acoustic venture."

"I'm sure it wasn't as dramatic as that." Hayes chuckled.

He jokingly offered Freddie his shirt to keep things classy, and he decided that would actually be a good idea. Brian wandered over again, loudly exclaiming silly excuses for anyone who may walk by and see them swapping shirts. On Hayes' taller frame, the red tank didn't sit right, and revealed a strip of skin that he would rather keep hidden. Freddie wasn't as opposed of course, so pretended to sulk when Hayes quickly threw his blazer back on before Paul could "mutter" anything else.

Freddie efficiently looped up the buttons of the white shirt which he declined to tuck in. Hayes smiled at the ensemble, appreciating how the white contrasted Freddie's devastatingly dark features. Although he wanted to do nothing more than press his lips to the cut of Freddie's jaw, or the hollow of his cheekbone, Hayes settled for taking his wrist and doing up the button of his cuff.

"I think this is much better." Hayes cracked a crooked grin.

Freddie returned the smile, "I agree."

"You would." Paul grumbled from his perch a few paces away, stealing the small moment away from the pair.

Freddie had of course tried to remain neutral in this familial war, and because there was still a part of him that wanted to idolise the Beatle, but he would defend himself if pushed. Paul had already made a few childish shoves, and Freddie was now ready to shove back. It wasn't as if Paul McCartney was some innocent angel just because he knew how to smile like one.

"Tell me dear," Freddie cooed sweetly past Hayes, "Did they let you keep the jumpsuit from prison? I hear orange is all the rage right now."

Paul didn't visibly react, and replied with a cool: "I was only fined in Barbados."

Before Paul could gear up to a 'legalise cannabis' rant to defend himself, Freddie was off again. "We both know I was talking about Japan. Gorgeous country, they simply adore me there, darling."

Hayes noticed that Freddie's entire demeanour had shifted to one dripping with exaggerated camp, because it never failed to wind up men in arguments. It most likely wouldn't annoy Paul, but Hayes knew there was a chance he would accidentally mimic Freddie, and then all hell would break lose.

"Japan? Really?" Paul feigned a thoughtful expression, "Thought you were more popular in Germany? More specifically, their clubs, their loos..."

Even if Alison Moyet hadn't conveniently wandered towards the group, Paul would have shut himself up anyway. He didn't exactly relish in the rare streak of hurt which cracked through Hayes' expression. He wasn't the intended target. Freddie on the other hand didn't appear hurt, he just looked thunderous with rage but the female singer's presence kept him leashed for the moment. Brian had also cautiously stepped up beside Freddie, guitar strapped around his shoulder, because they would be needed on stage any minute now.

"Bri, do you ever think wonder why we're such a solid group?" Freddie mused loudly.

Brian was obviously quite confused by Freddie's sudden question, "Sorry?"

Freddie made a show of tapping his chin thoughtfully, and chose to ignore Hayes' little warning glare, "Do you think it has anything to do with the fact that I'm not constantly dragging one of you through a courtroom?"

More people began wandering backstage, so Paul wasn't given a chance to retaliate even when he desperately wanted to. Half of Queen would be going on the stage soon, and any performance required a small army to run smoothly. Anything anyone said now would have a front row audience seat to watch it all.

"I would know the ass anywhere," Davie Bowie exclaimed jokingly, "Hayes Griffith, I have been trying to grab hold of you all day!"

Bowie, dressed smartly in a powder blue suit, realised immediately that he had entered a tough crowd thanks to sheer amount of withering stares thrown his way. "What did I miss?"

Hayes roughly ran a hand through his hair, "Oh nothing! Nothing. I didn't know you had an encore slot, David." He grabbed the singer's elbow and steered him away from getting caught up in the squabble.

Freddie stalked closer to the stage with Brian in tow, whilst Alison and Paul retreated further backstage. David and Hayes remained on middle ground, where they both caught up.  The stagehands milled about now, doing their final checks, alongside top event organisers, and Queen's placid tour manager. It was a meek roadie who appeared to tell Freddie and Brian they were due on stage. His hands proceeded to tremble as he handed Freddie his signature half mic.

"I better wish them luck," Hayes sighed as if it would be a huge ordeal, "Whilst I'm here."

Bowie's tried to hide his knowing smile, "Yes, you better." 

Hayes splayed his hand over the small of Freddie's back once he approached, "Enjoy your lap of honour." He whispered, causing Freddie to laugh softly.

"I will."

And that was that, Freddie and Brian walked out to a deservedly wild reception of applause and cheers.

Hayes was once again rooted to the spot by his utter admiration of Freddie. How he so easily shook off the meaningless argument backstage, and slipped on the mask of a frontman who could hold the attention of thousands with just a simply wave of his hand. With that wave of a hand he noticed that Freddie had undone the cuff buttons on the way to the stage.

Hayes thought Freddie looked rather ethereal once he sat himself down on a stool in the centre of the stage. The white shirt flowed loosely around him, and Hayes was once again struck by how dark his eyes appeared in contrast. Freddie really did appear otherworldly out there, and he hadn't even parted his lips yet. Hayes eventually forced himself to retreat a little further backstage, where he found a small amp case to sit down and watch the performance from.

Just look at all those hungry mouth we have to feed. Take a look at all the suffering we breed. So many lonely faces scattered all around...

With only a few devastatingly dulcet vocals, and a quick outfit change, Freddie had been transformed from the rousing and devilish rockstar he was earlier, into an championing angel in white. Hayes had fallen for him at either extreme, and for all the versions of Freddie in between.

Is this the world we created? What did we do it for?

Paul had wordlessly sat himself down beside Hayes, but they declined to look at one another. Even though Paul was just dying to reach out and ruffle Hayes' hair, and Hayes was just itching to pick at the lint littering Paul's jumper, they both took great care not to so much as acknowledge the other's presence.

Is this what we're all living for today? The world that we created.

"He has a very... strong... voice." Paul begrudgingly admitted in an attempt to break the ice.

Hayes merely hummed his agreement, not bothering to state the obvious aloud. He decided to ignore Paul's weak attempt to wave the white flag, and instead focused all of his energy on watching Freddie.

You know that everyday a helpless child is born, who needs some loving care inside a happy home. Somewhere, a wealthy man is sitting on his throne...

Paul's restless hands were slowly beginning to drive Hayes mad. He cut Paul a small sidelong glare once his jittery fingers began tapping against the amp case to an impromptu tune that only his mind held. Hayes readied himself to exhale a warning sigh but some small part of him told him to refrain. Perhaps the Live Aid spirit was rubbing off on him. Or perhaps there was a minuscule chance that Paul was feeling just ever so slightly nervous because he hadn't performed live in five years. If that was the case Hayes supposed he didn't want to stress the man out any more than he already had.

"Bloody hell, Paul," Hayes plucked a stray thread from the Beatle's jumper, "What even is this fabric? Obviously it's where lint and dust come to die, but what's it called?"

"Why, darling," Paul replied immediately, mimicking Hayes' voice. Paul always made him sound far too feminine. "It's the finest silk, of course."

"I don't usually go for silk. I'm more of a cashmere man." Hayes smoothed a hand over the crease at the knee of his trousers,  "The majority of my suits are actually made from 100% virgin wool."

"So the sheep don't even get a shag for their troubles?"  Paul exclaimed as if the fact solidified his vegetarian identity.

"You know that's not what it means."

"What d'you suppose happens to the more slutty sheep? The scrubbers? The ones that cruise the walls?"

"The sheep of the night?"

"Yeah, the fallen ewes."

"They're obviously publicly disgraced and used for..." Hayes pinched the fabric of Paul's jumper between his fingers, "this."

"Piss off you snob." 

Exchanging a few silly quips was usually how Paul and Hayes ended their cold wars; because it meant neither of them actually had to ever admit they were wrong. This arrangement suited both men quite well. Paul laughed, Hayes smiled, and with that, the pair were back on the same record, playing from their usual groove. For now at least... when they ignored Paul's current feelings towards Freddie.

If there's a God in the sky, looking down, what must he think of what we've done... to the world that he created?

Freddie could scarcely hear himself thanking the crowd over their deafening cries. He and Brian glanced at each other with a small smile, knowing that the performance had been a little choppy. This was probably due to the overconfidence they had going into the encore thanks to the success of their earlier performance. There had also been some feedback issues during the song, but they worked through it.

He caught sight of Hayes and Paul the second he stepped backstage. Freddie assumed the pair would be still arguing but he found them laughing between themselves. Freddie knew better than to assume the temporary peace had been extended to him too. That was confirmed once Paul walked past him without so much as a glance in order to make his way to the stage.

Freddie gulped down a cup of larger as he plonked himself down beside a softly smiling Hayes. "You'll start making me jealous."

"Hm?"

"Competing with 70,000 people isn't something I signed up for you know."

He offered Hayes the remainder of his drink, "I think we both know you don't have to compete for a single thing."

Hayes took the plastic cup and finished the drink off. "I was joking."

Freddie knew that of course, but Paul fucking McCartney just had to drag up the past and cast that sad little shadow across Hayes' gaze. "I'm not wearing this for any sort of afterparty by the way, so we better swap back."

"Fuck, I had forgotten about that." Freddie laughed as they swapped their shirts back once again. "Thank you for letting me look a little classy, New York."

"Classy? This is Bottega Veneta." Hayes whispered as if it were something filthy causing Freddie to laugh once again.

The opening chords of 'Let It Be' echoed out across the stadium and Freddie knew that he had temporarily lost Hayes to his tart on the side that they both shared: music.

"I better go check in with the boys before the encore."

"I'll catch up with you later," Hayes assured him, "Paul will have a strop if I don't stay."

Freddie shook his head, amused that Hayes couldn't just say he wanted to stay and watch Paul himself, when he so clearly did. "I'll join you in a few minutes."

"No rush."

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be... And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me...

Paul's microphone wasn't working.

The Beatle hadn't performed lived in 5 years, it was meant to be the performance that would "make the world cry". This was it, the moment of the night.

Except it wasn't because Paul could not hear himself sing, nor could the crowd.

It wasn't an out and out disaster because Alison Moyet's backing vocals could still be heard, as could the piano accompaniment, but in Paul's view the entire thing may as well have been called off.

And when the broken hearted people, living in the world, agree. There will be an answer, let it be. For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer, let it be...

After Geldof begged Paul to be here today, and sing this specific song, Paul had agreed, hung up the phone, and rang Hayes. They both had poked fun at how ridiculous the song choice was, considering Live Aid was all about change, yet Paul would go out singing a song where the message was to 'let things be'. The pair may have listed off some current disasters in the world before chirping "let it be", and perhaps this was Paul's bloody punishment from the universe.

That theory went out the window, when a more realistic one embedded itself in his mind. Paul wondered if Freddie Mercury had experienced any technical issues beforehand, and if so, had he informed the sound engineers? Clearly he bloody didn't.

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be...

Thankfully, a loud unified cry swept through the audience at that point, signifying that the crowd could finally hear Paul. Though by then the damage had been done, Paul was fucking furious. Not that he let it show. It had a rather beautiful moment as Geldof predicted, all those people singing along to the outro of Let It Be, but Paul found himself unable to think about anything else but the failures at the start of the performance.

Fury can make a mind jump to the most outlandish conclusions. Which may explain why Paul was all but outright accusing Freddie Mercury of sabotage, when he got backstage.

"I'm not saying he fucked with my microphone Hayes, I'm just saying he was the last person on stage!"

"He wasn't near the piano you twit."

"If the mics were acting up, he could have at least warned me. He could've fucking told the sound engineers!"

"You're being fucking ridiculous!"

"He was flirting with Bono earlier! Did you hear that?" Paul whispered as if it were a smoking gun, "Absolutely fucking shameless!"

Hayes exhaled through his nose, slow and hard enough to knock a few people back, "I feel so very threatened."

The entire quick fire argument was whispered because the pair were completely aware that all of England's top musicians were now filing back stage. Every time someone cast them a curious look, Paul flashed a smile and Hayes tossed out a a glare so everyone thought that all was right in the world.

"You were brilliant Paul, nobody's going to remember one minute without sound—"

"It was two minutes, and I'll bloody remember it!"

"I'm trying to be fucking nice—"

"As if you know how to fucking do that!"

Freddie wisely didn't approach the pair when he was ushered onto the stage with the rest of the talent. Paul and Hayes then had to put a pin in things because Geldof and Midge Urie were gesturing for Paul to hurry up and join them.

It was Bob Geldof, and rightfully so, who addressed the masses. "Thank you so much... it's been a very great day for everybody. I think you know the next song."

Freddie kept himself buried within the swarm of musicians filling up Wembley's stage, whilst Paul was immediately pushed nearer to the front lines. Artists who had been on the actual Band-Aid record like Bowie, Bono, and Sting were front and centre, lapping in the audience's rapturous cheers.

"It may be a bit of a cock up, but if you're going to cock it up, you may as well do it with 2 billion people watching ya! So, let's cock it up together!"

David Bowie'a voice then dispersed through the stadium, "At Christmas time, there's no time to be afraid. It's Christmas time, let in light and banish shame..."

"Pissed off" couldn't even begun to describe how Paul felt. Here he was, one of the most successful, renowned, and well-seasoned musicians in the world; an inspiration to every artist who now surrounded him... and a faulty microphone had made him look like a fucking amateur. He not only bombed at Wembley, bloody Wembley of all places, but as Geldof so kindly reminded him, Paul had bombed in front of 2 billion people.

To add salt to Paul's wounds, Freddie's voice could still be picked up on the microphone from 2 people away. Freddie, who was once in the middle of this bunch, had been pushed to the front. Only Bono separated Paul and Freddie now, and Paul could have gone without seeing him for the rest of the night.

A microphone had been passed back to Bono, who took it quite gingerly. Whatever way the army of musicians had repositioned themselves had now forced Freddie to sidle up against Paul's side. Freddie briefly glanced over at him, as if expecting Paul to share the mic if it was passed his way. He thought this quite cheeky considering Fred had 20+ minutes earlier to make himself the star of the show, and Paul had about 3. Everyone was already bloody singing Freddie's praises all day, he should be content to be a backing singer for now like the rest of them. It was a charity gig after all.

The working microphone landed in Paul's hands.

Bono clamped a hand on Paul's shoulder to keep him close, and it was the Irishman's voice that was still rasping into the mic for now. Freddie looked as though he was also going to lean in but Paul shot him a glance as if to say "don't even fucking think about it."

Freddie launched him an incredulous and leant over to loudly whisper "you have to fucking share it."

Paul didn't "have" to do anything. He tossed Fred a side eye before muttering "shouldn't have made Hayes share you with another man," right near his ear.

Freddie's nostrils flared, but he managed to pull a grin onto his face and continue clapping along to the song. The whole world was still watching them after all. Paul finally pressed his lips to the mic, and took some artistic liberties with a few ad-lib vocals.

Paul was well aware that he was being ridiculous and petty. This childish interaction with Freddie was the culmination of all the adverse emotions that had been running through Paul all day, which were now only being exacerbated by the adrenaline of being on stage. In any case, Freddie deserved a little pettiness. More importantly, Paul deserved this microphone considering it was actually fucking working.

"Feed the world! Let them know it's Christmas time!"

Bono's hand was still clamped on Paul's shoulder as he leaned in, and Freddie went ahead and pushed his head right into the Beatle's space. Paul didn't shirk him off, but he did tilt the microphone a little more in the U2 singer's direction. He felt himself seethe a little when Freddie's voice still managed to ring out into the crowd.

Paul made it slightly difficult for Bono to pry the microphone back from his tight grip, but he eventually released it as the song neared it's end so it could be passed to George Michael. Freddie was still clapping and singing along with great zeal, and Paul found himself trying to be even more enthusiastic. He wasn't about to be outdone again.

A smug smile curled at Freddie's lips, and when Paul caught his gaze it seemed to say "Hayes is going to kill you."

Paul simply threw the exact same threat Freddie's way, because Freddie had clearly been trying to push in on Paul's one opportunity to redeem himself from the his earlier solo disaster on stage. Besides, Hayes detested this song, with any luck he may not even be watching the performance.

Bono wrapped an arm around Paul to share the microphone with him for the final note. The Beatle took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed hold of the microphone as if it were the holy grail.

"Let them know it's Christmas time— agaaainnn..."

Paul's voice melded perfectly with Bono's but he dropped the note early and stepped back to let him round the song off. His attention briefly flickered towards Freddie who looked all enthusiastic and jubilant; and depending on how much of a blind spot Hayes had when it came Fred, he may believe in this whole innocent act. So, on the off chance Hayes was still watching, Paul decided to extend a plastic olive branch in an attempt to come out of this looking squeaky clean.

But the twat had beaten him to it.

Freddie had placed a cautious but outwardly friendly hand on Paul's arm, but Paul was going to take this thing one step further. He reached out to place a hand on Freddie's side and quickly tugged him close as if they were best of mates, and bowed. Freddie immediately clapped a hand over Paul's shoulder, and they both found themselves grinning at one another.

Their Oscar nominations would arrive later on in the post.

"That's it! Thank you everybody! That's the end of our show, you've been a fantastic audience! Thank you, and goodnight!"

Paul froze the moment he saw Hayes sitting on the same amp case he had left him on. The lad may have been half blind, but he somehow always fucking sees everything, and there was no doubt in Paul's mind that he had picked up on his and Freddie's telepathic war on stage.

Hayes stood up and before he could make his way toward Paul or Freddie, he was intercepted by an adrenaline fuelled Andrew Ridgeley. The Wham singer threw an arm around Hayes' shoulder and steered him along with the crowd of musicians who were heading to the backstage trailer park.

"That was brave of him." Freddie murmured dryly, referring to Andrew.

"And lucky for us." Paul accidentally laughed his agreement, before clamping his lips shut and seeking out the company of quite literally anyone else.

Up ahead, Ridgeley was chattering Hayes ear off, unaware that the critic was seething with irritation. He couldn't quite believe how childishly Paul had behaved by not sharing a microphone with Freddie. He also seemed to be caught in the middle between the two musicians, and hated how uncomfortable that made him feel.

There was an assortment of champagnes and beverages lying in wait for the musicians backstage, and Hayes tried to excuse himself from joining in with the little afterparty. He obviously didn't belong, but Roger Daltrey thrust a pint of larger into Hayes' hand and that was that.

Every time a musician tried to engage him in conversation, a drink was placed into Hayes' hands. He had knocked each one back quickly so that he could make a break away to find Freddie, but a new musician kept popping up at every turn.

"Paul— what age did you tell me Hayes was when he started terrorising me?" Daltrey laughed as he caught a hold of the passing Beatle.

"Griff?" Paul smiled despite of Hayes' narrowed eyes, "He was still in uni anyway."

Hayes excused himself from taking a trip down memory lane, and retreated from the swarm of musicians. His gaze swept about, trying to find Freddie, but he simply couldn't see him. He took a flute of champagne in passing and tried to regain his thoughts. Hayes hid behind an empty trailer, and slid down onto the uncomfortable floor.

"You alright, la?" Paul asked when he dropped down onto the floor to join him.

Hayes deigned to so much as sigh in response.

"I don't know what you think you saw on stage—"

"Things are already difficult enough for me, Paul." Hayes muttered, "I really don't need another person disapproving of my relationship."

"It's not like that Griff—"

"I couldn't give less of a toss what the people who I have to bloody hide my relationship from think." Hayes kept his gaze solely on the scuff mark across the side of his shoe, "I at least would have thought the people I don't have to hide from, could be somewhat happy for me."

"Hayes—"

"And I honestly can't believe that I care what you think, but I do, and you're making things harder by acting like this—"

"Hayes." Paul lay a steady hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry— you know I wasn't trying to upset you. If you say you're happy, then of course I'm happy for you...but Freddie? "

"Yes," Hayes pinched the bridge of his nose, "Freddie."

"He really hurt you, Hayes. It was so obvious." Paul tossed a hand through his hair, "You were a mess— I'd never seen you like that before. I just can't get it out of my head."

Hayes sighed, finally accepting Paul's behaviour for the misconstrued display of care that it was. It wasn't Paul being a twat for the sake of it. There was no need to keep up this silly back and fourth.

He turned his head to throw Paul a smirk. "Do you really think I made it easy for Freddie to get me back?"

"Hm?"

"You know me, I didn't make things easy for Freddie. I was at the top of my twat game, yet here he is."

"He stuck that out?" Paul relented slightly with a smile, "Alright, I'm a little impressed."

Hayes chuckled, "Yes he stuck it out. I forgive him, I trust him, and that is going to be good enough for you too. Alright?"

Paul didn't try to hide his rolling eyes, "Mhm."

"You know Alice likes him too." Hayes added and threw a meaningful glance Paul's way, "And whilst I used to think her judge in character left a lot to be desired—"

"Oh, fuck off—"

"—she clearly knows how to pick out the good ones." Hayes playfully nudged Paul's side. "Even if it's not immediately obvious to the rest of us, uncle Paul."

Paul's brows lifted in surprise, because he could count on one hand the amount of times Hayes had directly said something nice to him. "Well if Freddie's managed to make such a soft-touch out of you, perhaps he's not so bad."

"I'm not a soft-touch," Hayes grumbled defensively, as if Paul couldn't have launched a great insult his way.

Paul couldn't help but tease him further, "Y'know, I  feel like I could even chance a hug right now—"

"You know the risks. Don't even think about it." Hayes scrambled up, the alcohol rushing to his head with the sudden movement.

He held a hand out to pull Paul up, who took it gratefully. Paul gave Hayes' hand a squeeze before he released it. "I suppose I better go and apologise."

"For what," Hayes frowned, "Your outfit? It may be a bit late now—"

"To Fred, for being a a twat" Paul playfully and gently swatted the back of Hayes' head. "See you later, Griff."

***

Freddie had been surprised when Paul showed up out of nowhere, and started chatting to him as if nothing ever happened. He murmured one quick apology, and one colourful warning not to hurt Hayes again, and that was that. It wasn't like Freddie and Paul were about to go out singing each others praises and start writing duets, but for now everything was civil between them.

Freddie later caught sight of Hayes chatting with Miami, and excused himself from Paul to try and get a hold of him. Jim was encouraging Hayes to leave separately, and perhaps spend another night at his brother's because a lot of attention would be on Freddie now thanks to his success today. Freddie and Hayes both argued that said attention wouldn't be on Freddie until tomorrow, but Miami wasn't having any of it.

Hayes had been fed drink all day and evening, so by now he wasn't exactly brilliant at keeping his "favouritism" towards Freddie under wraps. Not that Freddie really cared at that point either. They separated again when they were each pulled in separate directions from passing musicians.

Freddie's focus wasn't on Adam Ant, but on Hayes who was chatting to Elton John, and a surprisingly shy George Michael. Hayes decided to call it a night once George ended up accidentally spilling a drink on Hayes' white shirt, and acted like a blushing wreck once he desperately tried to pat Hayes' chest dry. The critic laughed things off, and bid the pair farewell.

It was more than a little confusing to Freddie when Hayes didn't round back and say goodbye to him. He just hoped it wasn't because of Miami's warnings to stay away. He knew that Hayes was at a stage in his life where he didn't give two tits about people finding out he was gay. In fact, Freddie knew full well that if Hayes was dating anyone else but him, he'd be very public about it all. Hayes never complained about the pressures of secrecy to Freddie himself, but he knew that Hayes was finding it all difficult.

Before Freddie dipped out of the party himself, he warned Miami to be less harsh on Hayes because he had no idea all that he'd been through already. Miami immediately apologised, because his intention was only to protect their privacy from the vicious English press, not to hurt either of them.

Phoebe slowly walked Freddie to the car waiting for him outside the venue. Freddie wanted nothing more than to share in the success of the day with Hayes, but he was probably already at his brother's by now. Phoebe flung the door of Freddie's Rolls Royce open, and fought the urge to laugh when the singer was suddenly tugged inside.

"I'll see you both tomorrow," Phoebe said as he shut the door after him.

If Freddie didn't recognise Hayes' touch the second he fingers wrapped around his wrist, he may have shrieked bloody murder. But he did recognise the touch, and didn't kick up much of a fuss at the near heart attack Hayes had caused him.

"Hayes Genevieve Griffith!" Freddie playfully whacked his sturdy chest. "What are you doing?"

Hayes blinked his inky lashes innocently, "Going home?"

Freddie couldn't help but laugh as he pulled Hayes close. "Terry, I told you not to let this man charm you."

The driver simply laughed quietly.

Hayes shrugged a careless shoulder, "If I decide to be charming, nobody really stands a chance."

"I am well aware, Hayes." Freddie murmured into his soft hair, unable to stop the stupid smile that tugged at his lips.

The car rolled forward ready to leave the bright lights of Wembley behind. Freddie's gaze swept over Hayes and the empty bottle of Moet Chandon at his feet. Him and Terry had taken a spin across to an off-license to grab the champagne before Freddie could escape the company of his fellow musicians. Hayes apologised sheepishly as he popped open an untouched bottle, claiming he only drank the other one because he got bored waiting for him.

"You're banned from Garden Lodge, remember?" Freddie joked taking a sip of bubbly directly from the bottle.

"Like that could stop me." Hayes flashed him a crooked grin.

Freddie replied with a mischievous smile, "You never know, I might have to change the codes on the gates."

"Then I'll climb the wall." Hayes' slender fingers swept along his chest.

"You'd break a leg."

"I'll crawl."

"You're quite determined."

Hayes' warm lips met the curve of Freddie's ear, "Desperate."

Freddie stiffened, and immediately found himself offering Terry an obscene increase to his wages if he was willing to break a few speed limits on the way back home.

____

A/N
Hope you all enjoyed! Thanks for reading💜