A/N--
I know it's been far too long since I updated, so I hope a few of you are still about to read hahah. I've been struggling with writers block, which will be very clear by this one shot, but I still hope it's a fun easy read for ye. Enjoy!💜

F.M
January, 1987
England

"Look at this lovely stray I found wandering around outside."

I glanced up to find Straker with his hand tightly wrapped around Hayes' forearm. A grin tugged at my lips before I quickly tossed the razor back in the basin. My initial excitement rapidly turned to a spiral of self-conscious worry when I realised Hayes had never seen me with my lip bare. I was uncertain as to whether or not I could handle his blunt reaction to the sight right now.

"What are you doing here?" I asked by way of greeting, "I told you to go straight home from the airport."

"Does he always speak to you like this?" Straker gasped theatrically and gently stroked Hayes' arm.

"It's usually much worse." Hayes replied solemnly before he turned his attention back to me, "I didn't want to go home. You're here, not there."

"Oh, he's well trained." Straker chuckled before I cut him a look that said 'get out'.

I was rather surprised when he actually listened and sped off out of the room without any further smart comment. Hayes' soft smile was rather subdued as he slowly made his way towards me. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark slacks, ivory shirt, and a tan leather jacket. His expensive shirt was rather crinkled and his hair looked unusually limp. A rough flight then.

"You must be shattered."

"I am a little tired." He ducked down and placed a quick kiss to my temple so that he wouldn't disturb the shaving foam littering my cheeks.

"Did someone try to speak to you on the plane again?"

Hayes' eyelids momentarily fluttered shut as if he were gathering strength, "Yes, actually."

"Oh no." I chuckled as he leant up against the vanity table. "How awful."

"It was awful. I ended up in the middle—"

"—you can't call it the middle class section."

"Bloody hell, I wasn't going to!" Hayes chuckled and nudged his knee against mine, "I was going to say that I was stuck in the middle seat."

I frowned, "And you managed to survive this terrible ordeal?"

"The lad on my left recognised me, which was mortifying." He explained and shucked off his jacket, "And he was an aspiring musician."

I plucked up my razor and returned to shaving.

"He had something called a "Walkman". A convenient little device which meant that he could show me his music on the flight."

"Was he any good?"

Hayes simply exhaled, "No."

"So you aren't going to pass his demo along?"

"No." I felt his intense gaze rest on my face, "You're getting dangerously close to your lip."

"Mhm." I chuckled hoping he could just ignore my new look for now, "Who was on your right?"

"A lady," Hayes languidly stretched his arms behind his head, "Who had just found out about her cheating husband, and was on her way back to England to confront him."

"I'm sure you were a great comfort to her."

"She drank the plane's entire stock of wine."

"Poor girl sounded like she needed it."

"The flirting began after her fourth drink." Hayes squeezed the back of his neck, "And she attempted to follow me into the bathroom after her sixth."

"Who could blame her?"

Hayes' sharp nose crinkled, "She spouted some nonsense about a "mile high club", which I assume is some sort of scam?"

"Oh, honey."

"What?"

"You're part of the club."

"I most certainly am not." Hayes said, affronted. Before I could burst his bubble, I noticed that his eyes had taken on that analytic gleam which I loved when it was directed anywhere else but towards me.

"Oh..." He murmured as I wiped a towel over my lip, "You... shaved, shaved."

"You hate it."

"Hate what?"

"My bare face?" I dramatically shielded my bare lip from view, "You've never seen me like this-- do I look awful-- not that I could look awful-- but you may think I look awful..."

Hayes' brow arched ever so slightly as he waited for my rambling to conclude, "... and since you haven't disagreed with me-- I can just assume I look like shit!"

"You didn't give me any opportunity to--"

"Didn't I?"

Hayes scoffed and leant down to press his lips against mine. When he pulled away a thoughtful expression tugged at his features, "Well, it'll take me a while to adapt. My skin was really starting to embrace the beard rash."

"Fuck off." I lifted a hand to cover my mouth.

"You look good, don't be so ridiculous." Hayes caught my hand in motion and kissed my palm.

"Coming from someone so shallow, that means a great deal to me."

"It should." He nodded solemnly before I tugged him down onto my lap. With a dramatic sigh, he accepted his fate and dropped his face into the crook of my neck. "People pay me for my opinions, you know."

"You'd give your opinion whether you were paid or not."

"Just giving the people want they want." Hayes shrugged and clasped my chin between his fingertips to have a better look at me.

There was an extremely loud knock on the door, followed by several successive raps. David Mallet, the director, was summoning me and I had to obey the call. Clearly, Straker had alerted everyone that Hayes and I were alone in the room together, and that was an absolute scandal.

Hayes undraped himself from me, allowing me to stand up. I offered him my hand with a small grin, "Are you ready to meet the ladies?"

"The ladies?" He asked.

"You'll see."

To Hayes' credit, he didn't burst out laughing at the sight of Roger Taylor in drag. Nor did he turn up his nose as Straker wrangled himself into a bra. He took it in his stride and accepted that this was a completely normal scene to find himself within.

"Hope you are all decent girls, we have a guest." I ushered Hayes in through the doorway.

Roger was playing about with his wig in front of the mirror when his eyes locked with Hayes'. His gaze briefly swept up and down along Roger's form and his undivided attention instantly made blondie squirm. A mocking smile slashed across his lips as he wandered closer to my bandmate.

"Save it." Roger growled instantly and whirled back toward the mirror.

"Oh, darling," Hayes pouted sympathetically, "The past two years have not been kind to you."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"What happened to that innocent schoolgirl from before?" He reached out to rub a few strands of synthetic hair between his fingertips. "What turned you to a life of wandering street corners--"

"I told you I didn't like this wig." Roger snapped my way before he slapped Hayes' hand away. The skirt had really unleashed his inner prima dona.

"You look like Rod Stewart in drag."

Straker howled with laughter whilst Roger shot me a glare that more or less said "will you put a leash on him!?". Of course I attempted to do no such thing because it was much more entertaining to let Hayes' mouth roam free.

"I look like Rod in drag, or when I am in drag, I look like Rod?"

Hayes shrugged a bored shoulder, "Take it however you want."

Straker managed to take those words and twist them into something filthy, which provoked Hayes to sit down and behave for a moment. Of course that didn't last for long and he made it his mission to wind Roger up between takes.

Diana Moseley, one of my darling designers, decided to introduce alcohol to the equation after their bickering caused a mascara wand to go astray across Roger's cheek. Sometimes I think the poor man needed some liquid courage to face an aloof Hayes-- who in turn needed some liquid courage to deal with the loud Straker. What can't a drink fix?

I only turned my back for a minute to roll on some tights when Straker tried to rope Hayes into the madness, "You would make such a beautiful woman-- Freddie get him in a wig. He can be in the video."

"He had one of those shag haircuts when he was younger," I murmured, "When his brother showed me the family pictures, I thought Hayes was a long lost sister that he hadn't told me about."

"Yes," Hayes muttered, "Feel free to tell everyone that."

"Roger used to be mistaken for a woman all the time," I waved a dismissive hand, "You're both pretty, don't sulk over it." I sucked in deeply as Diana zipped me up.

"Well, I think we're both quite rugged." Roger deadpanned in Hayes' direction as he attempted to fix his wig.

"Burly." Hayes agreed. "Strapping."

"Go on then, throw a wig on darling." I hobbled over towards him in my leather dress, "Don't be the odd one out."

"And cover my hair?" Hayes said with an offended flick of his wrist, "You'll suggest blotting out the sun next."

"In what way is your hair like the sun?" I accidentally indulged him.

"What way is it not? That's more to the point."

Hayes straightened his shoulders ever so slightly, which indicated he was about to get passionate about this particular topic. "It's radiant, dazzling-- people pop outside in the mornings to catch a glimpse of it..."

I reached out and slid my fingers into said hair and gave his locks a playful tug to shut him up.

Hayes barely blinked when he saw me in drag, no, he saved every ounce of his shock for when I strolled out in a silk suit after an hour or two of filming some sequences with Roger and Peter. The fucker actually winced at the sight of me. For that reaction, I wished we could marry just so I could divorce him.

"You approved this?" He asked me incredulously.

"What's wrong with it?" I demanded.

"Well, you've seen it?"

"Yes, I'm fucking wearing it."

"Why?"

"Don't you dare say anything like that in front of Diana."

"I wouldn't!" After a rapid glare from me he amended his wording to "I won't."

Hayes' thought he was being adventurous whenever he wore jeans, so I didn't take his upturned nose to heart. I loved the suit, perhaps even more so now that I knew Hayes hated it.

"Are those... mother of pearl buttons?"

"Imitation."

"And is that shirt... Western styled?"

"You have such a keen eye, Hayes!" Diana exclaimed as she materialised beside us and delicately fussed at the dupion silk. "The shirt, it's from a Western Collection by Karman. This particular one is called 'Kenny Rogers'."

Hayes' eye twitched before a smooth smile eventually spread across his lips, "Ah."

"David Chambers designed it," she continued, "When I sent him the fabric from John Lewis, I assumed that he would use the duller side but as you can see he went ahead and used the shiny side. The result is just gorgeous."

Hayes' only response was a mute nod.

Before he could take any opportunity to say or display his true feelings, I got things back on track. We filmed well into the night, and only wrapped up when Roger and Hayes dozed off on the couch together after drinking enough alcohol to intoxicate all of London.

***

It was a rather crisp morning on the day of Mathilda's wedding, and I hoped the fresh air would work miracles on an outrageously hungover Hayes.

He could usually handle his liquor quite well, but I think his cocktail of vokda, fatigue, stress and jet lag half poisoned him last night. I knew things were bad this morning when he begrudgingly asked for my assistance when tying the loop of his tie. It was already a battle to force him to attend his niece's wedding, and his hangover certainly wasn't helping his mood.

"When your head was hanging over the sink this morning, George called to warn me that the press have been camped outside the venue since last night."

Hayes' lips curled with barely concealed irritation, "Who are they stalking this time?"

I cast a sideways glance Hayes' way. He had pressed his cheek to the tinted glass of the car window and his chest rose and fell with bothered breaths. Despite of his current cold demeanour, I watched with a smile as his fingers crawled across the middle seat to find my own. As usual he cut an unfairly fine figure in a deep navy suit with faint pinstripes from Isaia. He paired it was a striking black shirt that somehow managed to turn the whole "black and navy can't be worn together" rule on its head. Although I suppose Hayes was too pretty for something like that to ever matter.

"Well your niece is marrying a musician." I said in an attempt to wind him up.

"Don't call him that." Hayes grumbled. "Don't ever call him that."

Louis Joyce was the son of an Irish gin tycoon so it didn't really matter what he did (or didn't do) with his life because his family had money. I had met him once, and that was enough to do me for a lifetime. Apparently he has been trying to make it as a traditional Irish music / punk rock artist. He had one hit that just about charted in the 70s and has been bragging about it ever since.

"That's what he is, dear." I laughed. "And your niece's father, the Home Secretary, was caught having an affair. Which I suppose is brilliant news for the Daily Mail."

He scoffed.

"And Tilly, the old money socialite, publicly spoke of her star studded guest list." I squeezed Hayes' hand, "I suppose the press wanted to catch politicians and A-listers behaving badly."

"You didn't have to come, you know." Hayes used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think Tilly would have kidnapped me if I didn't."

"Probably." Hayes agreed solemnly.

"And you wouldn't have gone if I didn't."

"Yes, I was hoping you would say no so that I wouldn't have to go." He agreed once again and brushed his thumb over my knuckles.

We both knew that a politician having an affair, and a young rich girl marrying an older "musician" wasn't the real reason behind the supposed media circus outside of Ashridge House. Ever since Paul Prenter decided to turn on me a few months ago, the press in London had become obsessed with Hayes and I. Obsessed and cruel. Naturally, we both threw ourselves into our work and attempted to ignore all the noise.

Hayes' trips to New York had become a little more frequent than when he had first moved in with me. People cared about him and his alleged relationship with me a lot less over there. However, back home it was almost as if the English press had several bounties on our heads and were desperate for a little cash flow. You know,  £2,000 for proof of two men living together. £5,000 for a little man on man action. Perverts on a salary, really.

"Now, back to my earlier comment about A-listers behaving badly..."

"I'm C-list at best—"

"—you need to behave."

At that Hayes finally looked at me. His dark brows practically flew off of his forehead with outrage. "Me? Behave?"

"You are horrid to Tilly's fiancé."

"I am not."

"You are."

"If I am, it's because he's my age and marrying my young niece."

"He's younger than you."

"He doesn't look it." Hayes muttered as he inspected his fingernails.

I tried not to laugh, "I know he's not exactly the Valentino sort—"

"—oh, you noticed?"

"But it's your niece's wedding," I continued, "So you could be nice to her husband, for today at least."

"I could." Hayes agreed which meant that he wouldn't.

"You are so difficult."

"And you are calling the cast iron kettle black."

"You don't have to specify that it's cast iron."

"Modern kettles aren't all black."

I playfully pinched his cheek just as the car came to a rolling stop. We had driven past many cars that had been stopped at the gate leading into the grounds of the manor, but clearly a good amount of journalists had managed to weasel their way inside the venue anyways. A throng of people armed with cameras were readying themself to strike outside the meticulously groomed grounds of Ashridge House.

"They may not recognise you." Hayes commented halfheartedly.

"Hopefully not." I murmured as Terry opened the door for me.

As I fixed my hair and my tie, the journalists didn't seem to recognise or notice me at first. It was actually George, who sat on the steps leading into the house who initially spotted me. He was on his way over to help me inside the venue when Hayes finally dragged himself out of the car. A few paparazzi, who I knew for a fact had once been on the end of Hayes' sharp tongue, took one look at him and scuttled towards the back of the crowd. It was clear a handful of them were specifically here to catch him out at a Griffith event but once they realised I was with him, their attention quickly drifted. I had my ways of sneaking in and out of Garden Lodge without being bothered too much by the recent media circus but now they had unrestricted access to me for a brief window of time. They were definitely going to make the most of it.

Is that you Freddie?

What happened to the moustache?

How are you feeling?

Are you sick?

Hayes subtly slid in front of me just as we joined George who looked rather annoyed by the questions lobbed my way. He seemed to make it a point to give us both a small hug in greeting. That certainly wouldn't do him any favours in the polls.

How long have you two been living together?

"My," Hayes flashed the journalist who asked that question a sardonic smile, "You are just obsessed. Either ask me for my phone number or move on."

Another journalist who clearly tangoed with Hayes before shoved her way in his path with a cheeky grin, "Do you two have a Cary Grant and Randolph Scott situation going on, Hayes?"

"Depends, which one am I?" Hayes peaked over his sunglasses with a drive by withering stare. "I'll spill all if you say the more handsome one."

"Will you stop?" George scolded and ushered his brother along.

Freddie what do make of  Roger Taylor's new band? Is it true that Queen will no longer go on tours?

Does this all mean Queen is breaking up?

Was your assistant telling the truth?

One of your past lovers died of AIDs according to Paul Prenter, care to comment?

Are the both of you sick?

I let out a large puff of relief once the doors to the venue were slammed shut, Hayes on the other hand looked like a skittish animal that had been backed into a corner: the type that may bite if you extended a hand towards them. George looked well aware of the fact because he slowly shifted away from his brother.

"They really are the bottom eschelon." He muttered as he fixed his tie.

"On the bottom rung of the scala." Hayes agreed, his smile wan.

George's gaze flickered over his brother, "You're hungover."

Hayes slowly removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his breast pocket. His eyes pierced George's figure for a moment as though he may make a sharp comment before he sniffed dismissively. It appeared as though his mask for the day was set firmly in place for now. It was a little unnerving to see how quickly he could slide back into that cold shell he once carved out for himself. I bet he never thought that he would be in his element with a few old biddies in drag like he was last night but completely ill at ease with a few posh toffs like he was right now. Not including my lovely George of course.

"You'll have to forgive Hayes for being a little shit." I apologised just as Annie appeared in a lovely sage green dress, "He is most definitely nursing a bad hangover."

"Were you two out last night?" Annie asked as she fixed my bare lip an inquisitive glance.

"I was filming a music video, Hayes popped in to say hello. He has a knack for distracting the talent."

Hayes smiled lazily in response, "Roger is easily riled."

"Mhm." I hummed, "You might just catch sight of Hayes in the blooper reel."

"They most certainly won't."

"If you think the camera wasn't rolling when you and Roger had your little impromptu 'Islands in the Stream' duet you're madder than I thought."

Annie burst out laughing as a light dusting of blush flashed over Hayes' cheeks. "His what?"

"My friend, Straker, mentioned that one of Roger's wigs screamed Dolly, and there was a shirt on standby called Kenny Rogers... the rest is history." I murmured as Annie linked her arm with my own, "The most mind-boggling part was that they both knew all the lyrics."

"Excuse me for having a good memory." Hayes growled and stalked ahead with George in tow.

Annie gave my arm a little squeeze, "I don't know how you managed to get him to attend, but thank you."

"I have my ways." I winked.

"Tilly begged George to convince him, but Hayes was adamant that he couldn't show his face at any Griffith family affair. Especially with all the... gossip lately.

"Oh he's mad about Tilly, he would hate himself for missing today-- he just didn't want to face the extended family alone." I shrugged, "And he would never dream of asking me to come with him, so I just told him that I had my own invite and that I would be going with or without him."

Of course I didn't want to be at some random wedding with a gang of strangers, it was a living nightmare. But I knew that Hayes wanted to go deep down. Besides, he's gone to plenty of my events and parties that I knew he didn't want attend without much complaint, so I would happily return the favour today. He was dealing with a lot of shit with the media because of me at the moment, he needed something like this right now. Not to mention the last time Hayes went to a family wedding he ended up in a brawl with his brother.

"George messed up by bringing up the rehearsal dinner first--"

"Rehearsal dinner?" Hayes dropped back a step to grumble, "Why on earth do I need to go to a bloody rehearsal dinner? I know how to use a knife and fork, do the rest of you not?"

George sighed with exasperation, "You know that's not what it is—"

"Rehearsal dinner." Hayes scoffed again, "Can't someone make an announcement once we're all seated on the day, "work from the outside, in", and leave it at that? How difficult is it to..."

The rest of Hayes' musings were lost as Annie quickened her pace and dragged me along with her. A server holding a tray of champagne flutes lingered near the staircase of the big fuck off entrance hall, and Annie was determined to get herself a drink. I plucked up a glass and immediately downed it, and a smirk tugged at my lips when I grabbed a drink to bring to Hayes. The poor dear probably can't even smell alcohol at the moment.

I was about to return to him and wave the drink in his face when a familiar voice made me pause.

"Why the fuck is there a media circus outside!" Oliver, Hayes' eldest brother, snapped and skidded to a halt once he saw his siblings, "Oh. That bloody explains it!"

George sighed loudly, "Don't even start Oliver—"

"So it has nothing to do with the fact you were caught out with a young paralegal?" Hayes asked thoughtfully, "Because I thought that was a cracking story—"

"Hayes." George pinched the bridge of my nose, "Can we all just—"

"Uncle Griff!?" Mathilda's shrill scream caused all three brothers to wince.

Hayes let out a little surprised squeak as his niece charged toward him in a flouncy cloud of white. He attempted to step behind George, but he wasn't quick enough and Tilly nearly knocked him to the floor with a hug. Oliver instinctively put a hand out to stop Hayes from falling backward and immediately retracted it once he was steady.

"I hope Dad is being nice," Mathilda trilled, "Are you being nice Dad?"

Oliver rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, "I am being cordial."

Mathilda had already moved on, "Hayes, what do you think of the dress, it's fabulous isn't it? I know, who am I fooling, wearing white, but I had to keep a few things traditional..."

Hayes' eyes crinkled slightly, "I don't think we needed to hear that much Tilly."

"Why not? We're as far from tradition as possible now anyway." Oliver muttered and threw a glance towards Hayes.

Hayes didn't miss a beat, "Why, is your tart attending?" How could you do that to Victoria?"

Tilly walloped Hayes on the chest, "Hayes!"

"At least my tart isn't a man."

"Dad!"

"Was that meant to be a scorching comeback? You just called your bit on the side a tart." Hayes pried himself free of Tilly, "You're a class act as usual."

Tilly flashed George a hopeless pout and he prepared himself to step in before Oliver and Hayes caused her to have a meltdown (or before they could cause a bigger spike in his blood pressure). Knowing that I shouldn't, I decided to step in and help poor George. If I ended up winding Oliver up in the process that would just be an added bonus.

If Hayes' costume for the day involved cold smirks and shrewd stares, mine would involve brazen grins and a loud visage. Men like Oliver couldn't stand a little bit of pomp and camp, so I would give it all to him.

"Oh, Mathilda!" I clapped my hands together as I approached the bride, "You look gorgeous, darling!"

"Freddie!" She gasped and threw herself on top of me, "You're here! You're actually here!"

I snuck a glance Hayes' way as I placed a quick peck on either side of Tilly's face. He had gone rigid whilst George looked as though a heart attack may ensue at any moment. Tilly proceeded to chatter my ear off and I would be lying if I said I caught half of what she was saying. It started off as a list of who she thought may cry at the ceremony and it went on from there.

"Freddie." Oliver greeted me stiffly, uncomfortably, "Are you... well?"

Hayes had to physically restrain himself from lashing out with the venomous words he had just prepared to let loose. He had expected Oliver to be horrid-- neither of us were prepared for him to be polite towards me.

Still guarded, I threw Oliver an excessively false smile, "I am honey, and you?"

Oliver's eye twitched ever so slightly before he attempted to smile but failed miserably. "Quite, well."

His gaze briefly landed on Hayes before darting away to rest on the floor, "And you, Hayes?"

Hayes' brows snapped into a severe frown, "What?"

"Are you well?"

"Yes?" He replied suspiciously.

"You're in... good health?"

Hayes' mind was clearly working overtime as he attempted to figure out the trick in Oliver's words, the inevitable dig. It was heartbreaking to witness. Oliver shifted uncomfortably on his feet but still waited for Hayes' response, it seemed as though he actually wanted to hear it.

"I am." He eventually replied.

"Good." Oliver nodded quickly, "The boys-- they're inside."

"I ah," Hayes cleared his throat, "Yes, very good. Thank you." His gaze lingered on Tilly, "Good luck out there, darling. And if you change your mind..."

I nudged him. "She won't."

"If she does..." Hayes continued, "I have no problem helping you get away."

"I wish you would get her away." Oliver muttered, and for a brief moment the two brothers were united in their dislike for Tilly's fiancé.

"Let's get going." George placed a cautious hand on Hayes' back to steer him towards the door where the ceremony would take place. It was clear he didn't believe the truce would last much longer and wanted to leave it on a high note.

As Hayes and I entered a beautifully bright and classical library, he whispered several tidbits of information regarding the room near my ear. There were a hundred or so seats lined up perfectly in the room that overlooked a gorgeous Italian Garden through the loggia. Hayes' gaze kept darting towards the luxurious brass and ebony bookcases lining the room with obvious admiration.

"King Henry VIII lived here." Hayes muttered as I searched for our seats, "It's hardly romantic."

"I am sure it's been through a lot since then."

"It was also a Tory training centre and a finishing school for ladies."

"Oh, so this is where you went after coming home from Belfast?"

"Fuck off." Hayes grumbled a rare curse which caused me to laugh.

Tilly obviously seated us beside each other, with George and Annie to my right. Hayes was left sitting beside a duo of shaggy haired men dressed a little more causally than the rest of the guests. Mathilda's husband to be, Louis, was standing with his groomsmen, two of which looked rather like Griffith's. Oliver's sons. They smiled over at Hayes, who replied with a nervous wave. I somehow managed not to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

I was about to ask him if he was doing alright, but the man sitting beside him decided that Hayes looked like a man who adored small talk. "And who are you to the bride?"

Hayes seemed bowled over by the fact that a stranger was trying to strike up a conversation with him. "I'm Mathilda's uncle?"

"Right, right." The man nodded, "I'm Louis' cousin, Matty."

He stared at Hayes expectantly. In response, he simply flashed Matty a polite smile.

Matty seemed to take Hayes' silence as a challenge rather than a sign to shut up and proceeded to reach over and grab his hand. "And what's your name?" He shook firmly.

Hayes lips parted in shock, "I-- Hayes."

"Matty, leave the poor lad alone. Looks like he has a bad dose of the fear." The other man chirped but also proceeded to reach over and take his hand from Matty so that he could shake it himself. "I'm Peter."

Matty squinted, "You're right, he's hanging like a Picasso."

Hayes appeared rather startled, "I'm what?"

"Were ya fluthered last night?"

"He definitely looks like he was on the lash."

"Was I--" Hayes squinted, "Are you alright?"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Matty exclaimed, "Stall the ball. Isn't he the lad from the telly?"

"By god, you're right!" Peter clapped Hayes on the shoulder, "You're fierce funny, give us a joke."

I prepared myself to start chatting to George so that I could avoid getting caught up in Hayes' personal hell, but Peter had fucking clocked me with a quick glance.

"And you're the fella from Queen! What happened to your ronnie?"

"My what?"

"Your ronnie." He repeated and tapped his lip, "Your moustache."

I opened my mouth to give him the bloody obvious response but Matty piped up, "I saw ye in Slane, great gig!"

I thought of Slane, the shit weather, the drunken brawls in the crowd and me, telling the audience off like a nagging mother for the majority of the show.

"Beautiful venue." I replied diplomatically.

Before Hayes could be tortured any further, the Wedding March blared, and Tilly strutted... yes strutted, down the aisle. Oliver looked miserable beside her and it was rather tense when Louis reached out to take her from him. I snuck a glance at Hayes, who looked equally as disappointed by the whole thing.

The ceremony was short and sweet, thankfully, because I think Hayes and I were starting to really piss George off with our restlessness. After a rapid hushed argument, Hayes reluctantly agreed to congratulate Louis before we could make our escape. Of course he fussed over Tilly when he caught her alone, but actively avoided her new husband at every turn. Once he did as told we fled.

We didn't stay for the reception afterwards but we wouldn't go hungry because the McCartneys had invited us around for "tea".

"Griff!" Paul flung the door open far too excitably for a Hayes who had drained his social reserves long ago.

"No."

Paul placed his hands on Hayes' shoulders and squeezed playfully. A real mockery of the "let me get a look at you" gesture, clearly designed to annoy his "nephew". Hayes' lip curled ever so slightly but before he could snap, Paul's sunny smile seemed to dazzle him momentarily. Alice once told me that Hayes was a little brat towards Paul when he was younger, and now I assumed that Paul was simply getting revenge on him by winding him up at every possible opportunity.

Temporarily muzzled, Hayes was on the back foot, "What?" He demanded and shirked back ever so slightly.

"We're wearing the same outfit." Paul let his hands drop before he greeted me with a nudge to the side, "Who wore it best, Fred?"

I held my tongue because Hayes looked as though the entire world had gone up in flames around him. Yes, he may have been wearing a black shirt whilst Paul was wearing white, but sure enough, they were both wearing the same navy stripe suit from Isaia.

"Hello, Paul." I cracked a smile, "How are you?"

"Great now that Griff can't slag me off about my outfit for once."

Hayes ran a troubled hand over his jaw, and immediately shrugged off his jacket so that no further comparisons could be made. The poor man also rolled up his sleeves.

"You'll be alright, darling." I whispered with a laugh and squeezed his waist.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm wearing a suit?" Paul asked as he gestured for me to follow him through to the kitchen.

"Well, not really--"

"I remember a time where it would have been strange if I wasn't wearing a suit. Y'know, back in those early Beatle days."

Hayes exhaled slowly.

"I suppose you'd also like to hear how that all came about, Fred, I know you're a big fan. Well, personally I was all for it when Eppy-- Mr Brian Epstein that is-- told us to lose the leather jackets and switched us onto those neat little suits. George and John hated them, just fucking hated them--"

Hayes pinched the space between his brows. "Did you wear a suit just so you could tell this bloody story for the millionth time?"

"Hayes, you would have loved Mr Epstein."

"Are you saying that because he was gay?"

"He was gay, but you'd never have thought it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"For starters, he never tried to hit on me or anything like that."

"Oh well if that's the case," Hayes placed a concerned hand to his chest, "are we absolutely certain he was gay? Bcause clearly you're just so bloody irresistible?"

"What? Are we going to pretend like I wasn't literally know as the 'Cute One'? Fuck off, man"

"Were you? God, I might have never known that if you didn't manage to bring it up in every conversation."

"Whatever, back to my story, Mr Epstein wasn't gay in an obvious way--"

"Was he not wearing his membership badge?"

Paul squinted, "That's-- You're joking aren't you?"

"Of course I'm fucking joking? Are you serious?"

"How would I know if you wear badges or not? I probably know about that sort of stuff less than any other man!" Paul dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I was quite the ladies man back in the day, Fred. But y'know, it was the 60's and birth control had just come in--"

"--well, this has been just wonderful." Hayes turned around to head for the door again, "I'm going to go lie out in the middle of the road and hope for the best."

I took hold of one of his suspender straps to stop him in his tracks, and turned him back towards the kitchen.

I could have cried with joy when I finally came across the lovely lady Alice. There was no way I could deal with Hayes and Paul bickering like an old married couple (in desperate need of a divorce) alone. How Alice managed to put up with them for all these years, and still look as amazing as she did, I would never know.

"You shaved." Alice noted as I greeted her with a polite kiss.

"Yes, the presses have been stopped, don't worry."

She smiled, "Well, it actually suited you, some people look awful with--"

"--you just love to bring that up!" Paul tossed open a cabinet door and instructed Hayes to grab the limes.

"I didn't bring you up at all."

"Are we talking about the time Paul had that awful thing on his face?" Hayes asked Alice, "Petrified me as a child, he looked like the type of stranger a governess would warn you about."

"That's actually a fairly accurate description of what he looked like." Alice agreed as she took a gentle hold of Hayes and inspected his face carefully.

They murmured a few things in hushed posh tones and it was rather obvious from her expression that she was worried about him. I don't know if it was a trait of the Griffith/Edwards dynasty to discuss fashion instead of their feelings, or it was something reserved for the noble-born, but I heard the name Azzedine Alia being tossed about and I could only assume she was the designer of the simple yet stroking black dress Alice wore. I then heard her apologise for picking out Paul's suit, and that she wouldn't let their wardrobes clash ever again.

"So, Fred..." Paul causally began juicing an orange beside me, "What have you been working on?"

Hayes came to my rescue before I had to have a potentially awkward conversation with Paul McCartney. "How many shots of tequila do you usually throw in this thing?" He shook a bottle in our direction. "Where's the shot measure?"

I knew Hayes' love for me was true at that moment because he willingly asked Paul a question that would provoke a longwinded answer, all for me.

It's not that Paul and I didn't get along, we did, and I wanted to keep it that way. We had vaguely discussed recording something together after Live Aid but it had never happened. But recently his people had begun phoning my people, and he was calling in our agreement to work together. Making music with a Beatle was something I could have only dreamed of once upon a time... but right here, right now, it wasn't on the cards. I was busy with Queen, I was busy with solo ventures, I was losing some of my stamina, and the business with the press was really weighing on me at the moment.

If I was going to be recording anything with Paul McCartney, I would have to be at my best, and right now I wasn't. I didn't want to admit this aloud or offend Paul so for now I was avoiding any music related conversations with him.

"How many times have I told you, use the top to measure the shots!"

"Why would I use the top, when there's literally a measure for shots?" Hayes grumbled.

Alice began to rub at her chest in what I could only assume was an attempt to massage out a massive lump of tension, "You two can't have this argument every single time Paul makes a drink."

"I call it a Maccarita." Paul told me as if he invented the wheel. "Anyway, Fred, back to you, what have you been working on?" He scooped up a handful of ice and distributed it between a few salt-rimmed glasses.

"Did you wash your hands?"

Paul shot Hayes a withering stare, "Of course I washed my hands."

"I want to see you washing your hands."

"Liss, tell him I washed my hands."

"Hayes, he washed his hands."

Hayes stared Paul down, poured out the ice from his glass into the sink and refilled it himself. The whole episode reminded me of when one of the cats slowly began to push something off of the table and stared you dead in the eye as you told them "no". I scrubbed a hand over my face and caught Alice mirroring the exact same gesture across from me. We eventually managed to retire to the living room without any further argument. Hayes collapsed down in an armchair adjacent to Alice, sipping his Maccarita all the while.

"I have been playing about with the idea of doing a cover album." Paul confided in me as he joined me on the couch.

"Really?" I asked as I reached forward to pluck up one of the picky bits that were laid out in front in front of me.

"Yeah, I've been just messing about with some of my favourite songs." He lowered his voice, "Press to Play got a sort of lukewarm reception so I'm going back to my roots." He snuck a glance at Hayes, whose sole attention was on Alice as they conversed.

"Seems like a clever idea." I agreed. Perhaps he only wanted me to feature on a cover track, which I could certainly do. That could be wrapped up in one recording session. That would work out fabulously well for me.

Paul placed his drink down on the floor and somehow managed to produce a guitar out of thin air when he sat back up.

"I was recording with Phil Ramone recently." He told me as he began tuning up the guitar, "Something turned up that made me think of you."

Oh no.

"Alice..." Hayes whined like an overgrown child, "You promised he wouldn't have any access to instruments."

"I honestly don't know how he snuck that one in."

Paul rolled his eyes but ignored them and began strumming away. "What sort of songs are you covering?"

"Freddie, darling," Hayes' jaw twitched, "Why the bloody hell would you ask him that with a guitar in his hand?"

"Well I got a girl with a record machine, when it comes to rocking she's a queen..." Paul sang causally in a clear attempt to wind Hayes up further. "I took her to a dance on a Saturday night, all alone where I can hold her tight..."

"Wait..." Hayes frowned as if in deep concentration, "Who sings that?"

Paul slowed down his strumming looking horrified, "Thought you knew everything, or at the very least knew the legend who sang Twenty Flight Rock."

"Who sings it?"

"Eddie Cochran."

"Let's keep it that way."

And with that childish jibe, things exploded between Hayes and Paul.

"That's the song that got me into the fucking Quarrymen which later--"

"--became the Beatles, I know! We all bloody know!"

Alice whisked me away to the kitchen at that point, where she bypassed Paul's cocktail and went straight for the bottle of tequila. She took a deep swig without flinching before offering me the bottle. I accepted gratefully.

Whilst Paul and Hayes bickered in the other room, Alice and I had a lovely little conversation about the lecherous British Press. She asked me how I was handling or not handling and I found myself spilling all, with the soundtrack of Paul and Hayes arguing in the background.

"What do you mean black isn't a colour!"

"How many times do I have to tell you! It's a tone. Black is the absence of colour!"

"So if I say that my favourite colour is black, you're going to tell me no it isn't?"

"I would ask you why you're telling me your favourite tone when I asked about your favourite colour?"

"Should we... break that up?"

Alice shook her head, her glossy hair bobbing with the movement, "That particular argument will take decades off of your life. Just wait for a lull."

"The lull" eventually came and we returned to the living room where Paul and Hayes were chattering away as if they were best of mates. Their relationship was truly an enigma.

"Once upon a long ago?"

"Like once upon a time, a long time ago." Paul glanced up at us, "Where did you two run off to? Fred, I'm running our song through your guard dog here."

"Charming." Hayes sniffed. "But I am afraid your song hasn't made it past the gate."

"That'll be up to Freddie."

"Yeah, it will." Hayes murmured and brushed off his trousers as he stood up, "But I'm afraid we're going to have to wrap this up. I'm bloody shattered."

Paul looked a little dumbstruck, "You're leaving when I'm giving you a direct opportunity to take the piss out of my music?"

Hayes shrugged as he sidled up a little closer to me, "I prefer to work for it Paul."

He chuckled at that before he got up to see us off.

Paul clapped me on the shoulder in the doorway, "We'll set up something in the studio soon."

"Hm," I hummed, not quite ready to reject him just yet. Perhaps I would end up working with him once I was out of this rough period.

Paul then poked at Hayes' side. "Is he not feeding you, Griff?"

Which I suppose was the only way Paul could comment on how gaunt Hayes had been looking lately. When he was in his working "zone" my Hayes basically had to be reminded to eat and sleep. He had a rarely left that zone since Prenter's story had broke and I couldn't imagine him taking great care of himself when he was home alone in New York. I think we just both needed to recharge at home for a while, which of course was easier said than done.

"Do you honestly think Freddie even knows where the oven is?"

"Alice was baking before you two arrived... as you can see, she had to put out the picky bits instead."

"I liked her scones the last time?"

"One hit wonder."

Hayes and Paul snickered between themselves and Alice simply rolled her eyes in my direction. "You two look after each other." She hugged me gently, "And if you ever need anything--"

"--if you ever need anything," Paul interrupted, "just call us." He proceeded to ruffle Hayes' hair.

Hayes grumbled at the gesture before ducking away to hug Alice. He seemed reluctant to release her but eventually let go and joined me on the way out. Alice once again told us to look after each other, and that things would blow over soon before we set off home.

"I am sorry about Prenter." I couldn't help but blurt the second the car door shut behind us.

"I wasn't aware you were his puppet master."

"You know what I mean."

Hayes shrugged, "You were good to him, he was a disloyal, spineless twat, it happens." He inhaled deeply, "It'll blow over as everyone keeps telling us."

"It'll blow over." I agreed, "Well, unless the sex tape is leaked."

"Christ." Hayes' face flushed red, "There's no-- for god's sake, Freddie."

I pinched his cheek with a grin, knowing full well we would indeed be alright because we didn't have to face this all alone, "Prude."

Hayes laughed fondly in response, "Tart."

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A/N-
Thanks for reading! Unfortunately Wattpad took away the DM feature where a few of you did ask me for specific one shot requests, so if anyone does want to see anything Hayes/Freddie related drop a comment or message on my noti board! Hope you have all been good!💜