A/N-

*Just a quick little warning before you all begin reading. This could be a tough read for some people, so I advise you to read with caution. It will contain views of sexuality that obviously do not reflect my own, but unfortunately reflect those of the time period.*

It definitely could have even split in two, it's absolutely monstrous in size ahah, but I wanted to keep everything together! With all that said, enjoy!!🤍

F.M
Kensington, England.
December, Christmas Eve.

"So, who are you spending the holidays with this year Freddie?"

"I can fuck off if you want." I laughed as I placed a kiss against Mary's cheek. I squeezed her close for a moment, savouring the affection.

"No, that's not what I want, I assumed you'd be in Munich." Mary laughed gently, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't alone."

"If you must know dear, I will be having the Right Honourable Hayes Griffith over." I let myself fall slowly into a suede armchair. "Phoebe is polishing the fine China as we speak."

Mary rolled her eyes, "I love how you act as though you aren't the one with the expensive taste. Art, alcohol, the Tory—"

"— he's not a Tory." I scoffed, "But do you know who is, you'll never guess." Mary didn't even have a chance to open her mouth before I got impatient, "Kenny Everett. Bloody gay as Christmas and he's a Tory."

With that, I began gossiping away without any prompting. Mary of course was quiet and just added a laugh to my absolutely hilarious commentary every now and then. After a while, my voice grew tired, so I trailed after Mary into the kitchen when offered to make us a cup of tea. Mary got me all caught up on the current state of her relationship with 'the artist', Piers Cameron. Poor dear was desperately threatened by me, and who could blame him really?

"I'm surprised that it's just you and Hayes in the flat for Christmas." Mary commented as she heaped two spoons of sugar into my mug of Earl Grey.

I frowned, "What's that?"

Mary gently placed the plain white mug in front of me, "Sorry I didn't mean to—"

"—I'm curious now, just go on dear," I flicked my wrist, "you know I won't be offended."

Mary glanced up at me, almost shy, "You just usually need a whole entourage of people to keep you occupied, even if your partner is there beside you." She touched my arm briefly, "I just think that it's lovely you don't feel that way with Hayes. Seems you've found quality over quantity this time."

It's bloody amazing what you don't notice about yourself until someone slaps you across the face with their observations. What Mary said was completely true, and always resting in the realm between unconscious and preconscious thought in my own mind. Yes, I often surrounded myself with a number of people, even when I was in a relationship. I rarely enjoyed one on one time with anybody, with Mary being one of the only few exceptions. I just needed constant company, there was no shame in admitting it either. Many people don't enjoy feeling alone, so they find something to dull the sensation: reading, leaving the television on whilst they sleep, all that jazz. I simply turn myself into somewhat of a social butterfly, and that's what helps me. Living in the limelight, there isn't a lot of opportunity to be alone anyway, which is just fine by me.

I often found things that I enjoyed in multiple people, joined them up, and had the perfect mix of company to keep me entertained at almost all times. It seemed as though I was on the constant search for 'the one' (aren't we all?) but nobody could fit that mould, so in the end I needed several people to try and fill in that void. I've had lovers, serious partners, and whilst they did partially fill that mould, there was always room for more. Hence, never really being satisfied with spending too much time alone with past partners, I needed another friend or two, or several to help truly sate that lonely feeling.

When I was with Hayes, I didn't need anyone else around. The mould I wanted filled... well it's as if the music critic had his expensive Italian tailor fit it for him.

When I spent time with Hayes, I never desired anyone else's company. Of course that doesn't mean I didn't still like to go out and have fun, or socialise, or see my friends. I just mean that it wasn't necessary to invite the whole of the East Village over in an attempt to feel surrounded by people. Even knowing Hayes was in the next room was enough for me. As long as I had Hayes, I knew that I had someone constant, and someone who loved me... and I didn't question it.

The thought didn't even enter my pretty little head to have a whole entourage over for the holidays, or to jet off somewhere else. I wanted one on one time with Hayes, and that was that. For once I seemed to have picked the sensible option for a partner, and I truly felt the benefits of a relationship where I saw a clear future. Even with Mary, who has overshadowed any other partner until Hayes, the future was blurred because of my murky views of my growing attraction to men. With Hayes, the future seemed to be a given, I would be with Hayes.

"Of course I don't feel that way with Hayes, you've met him." I cracked a smile simply because I was speaking about him, "Never shuts up that one. I could never have anyone else over, they would never get a fucking word in."

Mary laughed softly at that, "You tell Hayes that he's welcome here when you get too much for him."

"I don't know if I like how you two gang up on me honey," I sighed deeply, "I know that it's just jealousy on your parts, but still."

I secretly bloody loved it of course. Mary had always been polite yet reserved whenever I introduced her to any half-serious lover in the past. Her and Hayes hit it off immediately, in fact it was exactly this time last year I introduced them. They were both quiet and unassuming, but bloody up for anything if you asked them- if you were the right person to come knocking on their shell. Strangely, everyone around me also seemed to be more interested in my relationship with Hayes than they ever were with anyone else I had been caught up with. It was quite nice to have a relationship taken so seriously, especially when it was between me and another man. I had never really experienced that before.

"You're so smitten," Mary teased, "Don't mess it up."

I toyed with the tasseled end of the throw draped over my lap, "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Since I'm forced to spend so much with you," Mary sighed playfully, "I need to like whoever you're dating."

I rolled my eyes, "Pity you didn't think of me when you started things up with Pierce."

"Piers." Oh same difference.

"Petula?"

Mary sighed deeply but the glimmer in her eyes told me she wasn't truly cross with me, "You better go, because Piers is coming around soon."

I shot her an impish grin, "I bet my presents will be much better than his—"

"Out Freddie." Mary laughed, "Tell Hayes I said hello."

"You should pop around tomorrow if you aren't going to your family's." I invited Mary with a final peck on the cheek, just because Mary was always welcome to spend time with me, no matter what.

"Three's a crowd Freddie." She dismissed the offer before giving me a small hug.

"From experience dear, three is usually a very good time."

"For gods sake." And with that, I was kicked to the curb on Christmas Eve. Can you believe it?

I was half ready to jog back to Stafford Terrace, which was less than five minutes down the road because it was so bloody freezing. Usually, I had my driver on standby. I always liked to make quick getaways, but, it was the holidays and Terry deserved some time off too... I suppose. I was bundled up to the nines, and the street was eerily quiet, so I assumed that I would be quite safe from anyone recognising me.

As my flat cane into view, I noticed through the window that the light in my bedroom was on. It was muted by the half shut drapes, but my home was definitely lit up. I had not expected Hayes to be back so soon, but it wasn't an unwelcome surprise.

When Hayes had informed me that he was going over to visit his family today after a phone call from his father, I wanted to plead with him not to go. Even with the most positive of encounters with his family, Hayes was a different person for a little while after. It seemed as though his true self retreated inward, and he was living in an uncomfortable skin in the aftermath. It was as if he needed to try and assure himself that it was safe to be himself again.

Now I'm well aware we let our families away with much more than we would anyone else, but Hayes was able to excuse everything and anything as far as his family was concerned. It was upsetting to see how much he wanted to be loved by them, when they just refused to do so.

I have been trying to show him the benefits of the 'adopted' family, but thirty-one years of Tory 'traditional family' brainwashing was quite difficult to fight against. I had him to admit that he saw the likes of Julian as family, and understood how I had my own little adopted family going on. Yet, he still held out onto the hopes that his parents would throw him bones of attention. He referred to his mother as a 'darling' of a person, but not once did I hear of her visiting, or inviting Hayes over ever since his father cut financial ties with him. It's difficult watching the person you love be treated in such a way, but I know not to get involved unless he brings it up.

Bloody hell I hope they were nice to him on Christmas or else they'll be looking for a new Lord Chancellor.

As I thought about how I would glam up the seal of the realm if I were made Chancellor, I let myself into the flat.  A deep sigh of relief escaped me once I realised that Hayes had put the heating on. I carefully hung up my scarf and coat, chuckling at the sight of Oscar with golden tinsel caught on his paw. No I didn't celebrate Christmas in a traditional sense, just a commercial one. I just bloody love giving and receiving presents.

Hayes surprisingly tolerated Christmas. He reluctantly said it was a 'cosy' time, but anyone else would have to torture that information out of him.

When I found out that he actually liked a holiday, I insisted on doing it properly, especially when I thought of Hayes alone in boarding school, or New York for the holidays. So, I purchased the most gaudy and over the top decorations ever and directed Phoebe on how to put them up. This
of course had Hayes pretending to be offended by my common ways when he arrived in the door yesterday. He was the one looking like a common tart not five minutes later on his knees in front of me, but I digress...

Where was I?

Right... Christmas? Yes, Christmas. I leant down and helped free Oscar of the tinsel before giving him a small scratch behind the ears.

"Hayes?" I called out, "I'm home."

My eyes caught on the French Japanned clock on the entryway table. 1pm New York time... must be around 6pm here. I ran my thumb over one of the floral patterns adorning the jade antique, frowning when Hayes didn't answer. Yes, he was half blind, but he had hearing so perfect it should be considered a scientific marvel.

"Griff Kelly?" I called again, now making my way toward the source of light down at the end of the hall.

I walked in to my bedroom and stilled at the sight which greeted me through the doorframe. Hayes' back was to me, and his hands were fumbling about in his suitcase. He could have easily been unpacking, or searching for something, but I knew straight away that things were off. He was about to leave.

"Hayes," I begged immediately, "Please don't."

Hayes didn't meet my gaze, not even for a second. His jaw tightened which was the only indication that he had heard me, but that didn't mean he listened. He seemed determined to ignore me and everything around him.

"Something came up," he murmured, "I'll call you when I land." He replied as if he were going off a script.

Land? "Hayes—"

"—I promise." He cut me off. "I fucking promise alright?" He ground out as if he were in physical pain.

Everything about Hayes seemed completely detached. I thought I had seen him at his coldest in the beginning, but even then there were always brief flashes of emotion. Right now, I could scarcely recognise him. He was completely vacant, and that was without even catching a glance of his face.

"At least tell me where you're going."

A pause. "New York."

"Why?" I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, "What happened darling? Talk to me, please."

"I can't be here." Hayes murmured almost feverishly, "I can't be in this fucking country." All of which was uttered lowly to himself. He then pulled away from me sharply as if burned.

I tried not to be offended, "I'll come with you—"

"No." Hayes pressed his palm to his forehead as if going through an unbearable spout of pain.  "No. I need to be alone right now."

His behaviour was not normal, in fact, it was completely alarming. I had seen him panicked before, I had even seen him in the middle of a bloody breakdown, but this was just something else entirely. It was scary.

"We don't have to talk if that's the problem," I attempted to have Hayes at least look at me, but he wouldn't allow it, "Whatever happened, we don't have to talk about it yet." Just stay.

I felt as though Hayes was slipping right through my fingers, and it came out of fucking nowhere. I also wasn't expecting the prospect of Hayes leaving to be so debilitatingly terrifying... most likely because I never thought he would leave me. It wasn't a possibility I ever considered. Not after everything we have been through.

"I don't want to be around anyone right now," Hayes' voice was brittle as he did his very best to avoid me.

That rubbed me up wrong considering the situation, "I'm not just anyone Hayes." I slid down to sit on the bed, "You're being selfish. You can't act like this. Leave, without explaining why. What am I meant to bloody think?"

"Selfish?" Hayes finally lifted his eyes to meet mine. His voice seemed to crack around the word, it clearly pressed on a wound.

I felt my breath hitch at the sight of Hayes' face. He had clearly been crying. In all the time that I've known him, I don't think I have ever seen him even come close to tears. Even now I was just seeing the aftermath. Seeing those lovely blue eyes, blurred and bleary with red was a physically paining sight. The fact that he was most likely alone to work through whatever had caused him to react like this had all of my frustration dissipating.

"Not selfish, I'm sorry." I said softly, "I'm just so fucking worried, I don't know what I'm saying."

A man who hides his true identity away for thirty years for a family who don't show him an ounce of love, certainly isn't selfish. I had the strong suspicion that was the issue right now. Perhaps someone found out about us, or perhaps his father and brothers were discussing things in their usual hateful way, and Hayes couldn't take it this time. Of course any sort of conversation on that topic now would be hurtful to Hayes once he finally accepted his sexuality.

Luckily, in my own sort of traditional/conservative home, the topic of sexuality was just ignored, and it suited everyone. Of course I'm sure that my family heard and saw all the stories about me, but they were able to accept it as long as it wasn't discussed or confirmed by me. That's the way it'll always stay. They don't approve of the lifestyle, but they would also never be hateful. Hayes' family were extremely different in that regard, they were open and honest on their stance.

Just a few months ago, Alastair Griffith suggested banning literature and film that promoted homosexuality, whilst also proposing that the legal age for relations between same-sex relationships should be raised from 21 to 23. All of which hammered home the message that being gay was completely wrong and perverse. That man was the Lord bloody Chancellor, he practically makes the law in Britain. He's also Hayes' father, and I couldn't even begin to imagine how much that hurt him on the daily.

"Did something happen with with your father?" I asked in a cautiously soft tone. Just nod. Give me something Hayes.

Hayes' lips were practically blue, and when I reached to brush my hand against his cheek I discovered that he was half frozen. Why was he so bloody cold? His eyes fell shut briefly as he shook his head. He seemed utterly overwhelmed, so much so that I didn't think he could actually handle an embrace. Which of course is all I wanted to do with him now.

"Please Freddie, I just-" his voice was weak, "-I just need to go."

I could see that Hayes wasn't about to be dissuaded, some notion had burrowed it's way deep into his mind. My biggest concern should have been Hayes and ensuring that he stayed, but a sudden thought caught a hold of me.

"If I didn't walk in, would you have told me?" I asked, knowing the answer.

Hayes stepped away from me once again, "I promise I'll call you."

"You would have left without telling me." This time it wasn't a question. For fuck sake Hayes.

Hayes merely plucked up his suitcase, "I would have called you when I landed." He repeated again, as if assuring himself and not me.

"Did I do something?"

I sagged in relief when Hayes shook his head slightly. That brief pulse of relief was short lived because the next thing I knew Hayes had turned for the door. He didn't even throw me a second glance, and I was in too paralysed by confusion to immediately scramble after him. It was only when the door slammed that I was startled to my feet once again.

He won't leave. I slowly went to the window, and half sat up on the sill. I squinted through the snow in order to pinpoint Hayes. He was only trudging down the steps at that stage I hoped to fuck he wouldn't actually go- that at the last minute he would pause. He won't leave.

But Hayes did leave, in a silver Rolls Royce that wasn't my own.

Suddenly, the dead silence settled over me. The fact that I was now completely alone seemed to grab me by the throat and squeeze. I always enjoyed some peace at home, but there was always somebody knocking about and I could take comfort in the unheard presence. I always had company. Now? Now I was completely alone because Hayes had walked out, he walked out, and it sent me into a fucking panic. The threat of sheer loneliness loomed over me like an incoming tidal wave so I quickly switched on the wireless in order to give some illusion of another presence around me.

John Lennon's voice haunted me from the radio as I paced about the room in a frenzied panic. Mary's? I could go over to Mary's? 

And so this is Christmas (war is over), and what have we done?

No. I can't go to Mary, she'll know something's wrong. She'll ask about Hayes and I simply can't deal with that right now. I don't even know what the fuck just happened, how can I explain it to someone else? Do I follow him? He clearly didn't want me to. He clearly wasn't even going to give me an explanation as to why I would have walked into an empty house! Even if he did eventually call, I would have been left in the dark for hours, and we would have been oceans apart without any fucking explanation.

Another year over (war is over) and a new one just begun (if you want it).

I knew this crazy episode of mine had much less to do with the barren flat I now found myself in and much more (completely) to do with Hayes walking out on me for reasons he couldn't share with me. Munich. That's where I should be. I have no shortage of friends there who actually want to be with me there. It's where I should have been in the first place. Much less chance of being let down when you have back ups. It's never a good idea to rely on one person so heavily, because look what's bloody happened.

And so happy Christmas (war is over), we hope you have fun...

Hayes couldn't be in this fucking country? Well then, neither could I. Even if his parents found out about us, and that's why he was upset, surely that would have sent him to me for comfort? Didn't he know that I was here for him by now? Unless they told him to stop seeing me and he listened? Or maybe the problem was me? He was always insecure, and maybe he bloody saw something in a tabloid. Every day someone seemed to crawl out of the woodworks with some outlandish story about me, perhaps he couldn't take it anymore. Possibilities rattled about in my mind like a bullet constantly ricocheting, and it wasn't helping at all.

My fingers were dialling before I was even aware of it, "Phoebe, darling?" I chirped in a way I didn't think possible considering my thunderous thoughts.

Old reliable Peter Freestone was forever on standby. Not like Hayes Griffith, who could win a fucking gold medal for his talents in bolting. Maybe all this is... is a massive fucking regression. Memories plagued me with a sick reel of every time Hayes had fled in the past because he couldn't handle his sexuality. Maybe things were far too serious for him now, too real, and a visit with his conservative family filled him with shame and fear. He's probably already pried the closet back open by now. Without any indication at all from Hayes as to the reason for his departure, all I could do was let my paranoid mind fill in the blanks, and it was truly a dangerous exercise. I needed to get away.

"Everything alright Freddie?" Phoebe asked, immediately concerned.

A very merry Christmas, and a happy new year.
Let's hope it's a good one,without any fear...

"Fancy finding me a flight to Munich?"

H.G
Hertford, England.
Christmas Eve.

My father finally decided to call off his one sided feud with me for Christmas.

I couldn't help but wonder did the holidays actually mellow the old man out, or did George finally wear him down. Deep down, I knew that Dad was unfair with the issue of my inheritance etcetera, but in his defence, he has to distance himself from any potential scandal. I knew I would just have to wait it all out. I was upset at first, but I got over it, and now things are fine.

I was embarrassingly eager when my father invited me out to the house on Christmas Eve, but I knew I had to play those types of emotions down before I got there. I didn't want to come on to strong. With nervous hands, I fumbled about with the various shopping bags, making sure everything was in order. I had purchased gifts for all my nieces and nephews, like I usually did, but this time I would be giving them their presents in person, rather than just shipping them over from New York.

I was also happy at the thought of seeing my newest nephew, Charlie. Obviously Annie and George didn't want to travel with him as he was so young, and left him with the nanny for their short New York trip. I had only seen him twice since he was born towards the end of summer. I hoped to be a more literal character in his life after being a shadowy and distant figure like I had been to the rest of my family.

"Forgive me for pointing it out Mr Griffith," the family driver, Ted Gordan, began cautiously, "You appear very... different."

Such a comment would have usually had me on the defence, but I merely smiled, "In a good way I hope." I knew telling him to call me Hayes was pointless, he had always been rigidly proper and I had given up a while ago.

Gordan had been the family driver for twenty years, he certainly knew much more about the Griffith family than anyone else. When I was young, I couldn't stand him, just because I associated him with dragging me back home anytime I escaped. As an adult, I knew he that he was just doing his job, and going above and beyond it. He always took me the long way home, and sometimes we even stopped off for a treat. There were even times when he helped me get away. I had spent more one on one time with him than I ever had with my father.

I felt a shred of guilt at my consistent cold behaviour towards the driver.  My behaviour towards everyone until I let Freddie thaw me out a little.

"Yes," Gordan smiled briefly, "In a good way Mr. Griffith."

I decided to try my hand at small talk, in a non-efficient manner. Us two English men were stilted at first, trying to speak about personal matters; but once I brought up his kids (who weren't really kids anymore) his guard came down and I couldn't shut him up. By the end of it, I plucked out the silver watch I was going to give Oliver, and handed it over to Gordan with a grateful smile. He deserved it much more than my brother did.

"Thanks for being my getaway driver over the years," I murmured, "Tell the girls I said hello." My good mood had drained the second my Hertford home came into view, but I could at least do this.

"Thank you Hayes," Gordan sighed in defeat, finally accepting the present, "I'll be out here if you need me."

I nodded my thanks before I flung the door open before Gordan could offer to do so. I was immediately hit with the frigid winter air. A shallow blanket of snow coated the grounds, making the soft glow of the manor look cosy and inviting for once. I snatched up my bags, and carefully made my way up the steps.

"Mr Griffith!" Mrs Blackwell, the aged housemaid, flushed with embarrassment, "You didn't ring the bell, I would have let you in!"

"I'm quite capable of opening the door," I chuckled and lay the bags on the entryway table. "I hope you're getting off home soon." The woman attempted to help me out of my overcoat and scarf but I shooed her off with a small smile.

"I just had to make sure everything was in order for dinner tonight, your father has some guests coming over."

I shook my head, knowing it wasn't all that crazy for my father to have a bloody political meeting on Christmas Eve. "What sort of mood is he in?" I whispered.

"Oh Mr Griffith, I can't say—"

"Oh you can," I chuckled as I hung my coat and scarf up, "You just won't say it to me."

Mrs Blackwell smiled sheepishly in response, and informed me that my father was in his study. I frowned, knowing any discussion in that godawful office would usually be a negative one. Perhaps he just wanted the comfort of his desk to lead the discussion where he would hopefully want to put everything behind us.

"Where's Mum?"

"—Lord Griffith wanted to speak with you first Hayes." Her voice dropped with concern as she slipped up by using my name, "Sorry, sir."

Mrs Blackwell looked a little upset, so I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she sniffed and forced a smile, "I better get back to work."

Of course that should have tipped me off. I should have known I was walking into something awful. The staff bloody knew everything.

Alas, the positive lense I had slipped in front of my eyes for the past few months completely obscured my vision.

I ascended the stairs, fully aware of each heavy step. I may not have known what was about to happen, but my father still intimidated me in a way that no other figure ever could. I was always this petrified and melancholic child in his presence. Out of his presence, I was still melancholic, but terror was replaced by an icy rage. It seemed all I needed was a loving relationship to knock the chip right off of my shoulder. Sometimes I wished I had allowed myself that years ago, but I may not have met Freddie in that case. Any life without Freddie seemed like a bleak and uninhabitable one, so I had to be content with how things turned out.

I knocked cautiously on the study door until my father confirmed I could come in.

Despite of everything, I found my lips lift into a smile because I had not seen my father in months. He was pouring over a stack of documents when I stepped in. The fire crackled behind him, letting shadows dance across the room as I cautiously stepped into the Lord Chancellor's line of vision. My father peered over his glasses, and silently gestured toward the seat across from him.

"How are you?" I asked and ran a nervous hand through my hair.

Dad pocketed his glasses, neatly tidied away his documents into his locked drawer, and took a long sip of tea before he finally acknowledged me. He stood up, brushed himself off, and glanced off in the direction of the door.

"Tell me it's not true." My father said in a tone that I couldn't decipher.

My stomach dropped immediately as my mind whirred into overdrive, "What?"

My father pinched the bridge of his nose and presented his back to me. He drew in a jagged breath as if trying to contain himself. I surveyed him cautiously. I focused on his uneven breathing with a morbid curiosity. I had never seen my father show a lack of control such as this before.

"I spoke to Oliver." My father murmured, "He told me something that I can only pray isn't true. I hope it's just his cruel sense of humour- although I admit he may have taken it too far this time. There was even a photograph to support his claim, but I know they can be doctored nowadays."

Oliver viciously spread lies about me to my parents from a young age in order to get me in trouble. We were no longer children, so I didn't know what purpose Oliver's tall tales would serve him now. I sought to busy my fingers in order to relieve my nerves but found that my hands were frozen stiff.

"Just tell me Hayes, tell me that there isn't any truth to what Oliver told me." My father still wouldn't look at me which made this all much worse. What was he told or shown that was so awful where he can't even face me?

"You aren't gay Hayes. You're not."

The pain in my father's voice threw me off guard, it was something completely new to me. The fear of exposure also seemed to switch of my ability to function. Both of which led to a heavy fog settling over my mind. My brain, perhaps my only asset, was now completely impaired.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the responses got muddled between denial and the truth which in the end only led to silence. Either response had the potential to rip me apart.

"Hayes," my father's voice wavered, "Please don't do this to me."

My father finally turned around, and I couldn't have ever prepared myself for the expression I found there. All of my life it seemed I had been readying myself for my father's wrath when my true identity was discovered. Except... this wasn't wrath.

Never did I expect to see my father stare at me with unshed tears. Not once have I ever seen him upset. He's Alastair Griffith and he's my father, he's indestructible. Seeing him distressed over me made the shrivelled up inner child that I had caged away recoil with guilt and terror. He's your dad, and look what you are going to him.

So I responded the only way I could when crushed by guilt, "I'm sorry."

For a moment my father looked frail, like he was about to collapse in on himself as he leant his hand against his imposing desk. Dad half fell into his chair, looking to have aged a decade in a few short seconds.

Look what you are doing to him.

At the sight I whispered "I'm sorry" once again, "I'm so sorry." My chest tightened with shame at the fact I was apologising.

My father shook his head slowly, "No." his voice broke, "No. This isn't your fault Hayes."

My confusion was disorientating, "It's not?"

"No this isn't your fault," My father slowly rubbed his aged hand down his face, "This is mine, and I am going to fix this."

"Fix this?" I asked with an embarrassing hitch of hope. A ridiculous part of me thought that he was referring to our relationship.

"Yes..." Dad nodded slowly, "Fix this. Fix you."

"Me?" I echoed, unsure if I heard him correctly. Fix me?

My father was up and out of his chair again. He dropped to his haunches in front of me, and took my hand within his. I was startled by the tentative touch. I had been waiting all of my life for a shred of affection such as this... I had just never expected for it to happen under these circumstances.

"I knew the risks of boarding schools and I let you go anyway." Dad almost tripped over his words in a rush to get them out, "I knew we didn't have the strongest relationship and I let that fester. No wonder this happened to you." His hand gently rested on my cheek, "My poor boy. I'm so sorry."

I wanted my father to get angry, in fact, I needed for that to happen. I had never planned to come out to my family, but if things did ever get out, the only emotional variables I had accounted for were horror, fury, and/or repulsion. I had been preparing myself for that. Anger had a domino effect. If my father had shouted at me, told me I was disgusting, told me everything that I had anticipated, I could have reacted with anger of my own. I could have lashed out right back, and I would have no issues walking away. In theory, I could have told my father to stuff it and storm out with my head held high.

The reality of the situation was much different, and not in a good way.

"My poor boy." He repeated again in a shaky whisper.

Of course my father was still repulsed, but I could not see through the jarring smokescreen of concern that he had thrown up to disguise it. He had shoved me into uncharted territory, perhaps on purpose.

"It's not something that needs to be fixed." I murmured timidly, even when I wanted to shout it, "I'm still me."

Father pulled his hand away at that, "It's a perversion Hayes. It's not you."

He tapped the side of my temple, "Something went wrong to make you feel like this, and it's usually the fault of the father. That's what all those shrinks say, I've had people read up on it. Now, I am taking responsibility, but you need to admit that these impulses you feel are wrong." He stared at me intensely, "You need to see that Hayes."

Perversion. That particular word was barbed and tore at something inside of me. I wasn't able to just brush it off.  I felt myself retreat inward, knowing that I was about to crushed if I didn't try and preserve myself.

"I need to know, and it's important," my father was up and pacing now, "at boarding school, was anyone ever inappropriate with you, if so, all this is- it's just—"

"—it's nothing like that!"

Of course my father had now gone into damage control mode, and I was the damage.

"The minister for agriculture, Steven, his son went through something similar. Obviously that stays between us." Dad ran a hand through his white hair, "He was much younger when they caught it, but he got help. He's married with kids now."

Went through something. Caught it. Help. My father was treating my sexuality as if it were a mental illness that could be treated and cured. It hurt. It really fucking hurt. This is an integral part of me, and my own father is repulsed by it. Accepting my sexuality, accepting myself, was what finally allowed me to find some scrap of happiness.

What made me happy, was what visibly sickened and upset my father. That was a difficult fact to swallow when I was actually faced with it.

"What did Oliver... what happened?" I attempted to distract my father from his plans of 'fixing' me.

That was the wrong thing to say because my father's nostrils flared, "Oliver often picks arguments with people he shouldn't."

"Yes? That's hardly news to anyone."

"Well... members of the party are keen to throw him to the dogs. Somebody had him followed, hoping to find pictures of him and his mistress, or him behaving in an unsavoury manner. Anything that would force him to resign to avoid scandal."

"What does this have to do—"

"Someone was tipped off about a Griffith boy," Alastair dropped his voice as if about to be ill, "outside of some bar for queers."

Everything inside of me seemed to twist and writhe, and I hated that I couldn't stick up for myself.

"They snapped a picture of you, and that sodding musician, before they sent them to Oliver, threatening to leak it to the papers unless he offered up his resignation. Oliver is quite upset about the entire thing, naturally, and has handed me the responsibility to deal with it. I will deal with it now that I know it's true."

Pictures? "Are you sure it's me—"

"Clear as day." My father's voice filled with horror, "You, and Freddie Mercury."

This is why I always insisted on being careful, I can't believe I was stupid enough to let my guard down, especially in England. This would ruin my career, but it would make Freddie suffer too. That was something I couldn't allow to happen.

Yes, it's widely believed that Freddie is gay, but he has never once confirmed it because he knows it would isolate so much of Queen's fanbase. Especially now, with this suspicious disease doing the rounds, it was not a good time to be publicly outed. I couldn't have Freddie go through that, not because of me. It would be a complete violation.

"You can't let those photographs get out!" I said desperately, "It'll ruin Freddie's—"

"—don't you dare." My father cut in coldly, "I don't want to hear his name, not after he almost destroyed this family."

"Dad, I'm sorry, really," I felt sick for apologising for simply being with the person whom I loved. Nobody should have to apologise for that. "But these photographs can't get out."

My father stared at me as if I were stupid for pointing out the obvious, but I just needed to make sure Freddie's privacy was protected. I needed the confirmation.

"I could have you both reported for bloody gross indecency. " He pinched at the bridge of his nose, as I tried to keep the contents of my stomach at bay, "That's what I should do... but I won't. I know you were led into this."

"No," I whispered, "No. Freddie didn't lead me into anything, that's not how this works." I tried to explain in a steady voice, "I love him, the same way you love Mum, the same way any man loves—"

"—is that why it was illegal until recently?" My father immediately cut in, "Why you can't engage in relations unless it's done in your own home? In secret? Is it why you can't marry?"

I attempted to reply, but I had no words.

"Do you know why that is? Do you know why it was illegal?" My father pushed, "Do you know why it's not accepted?"

I shook my head slowly, not because I didn't know, but because I didn't want him to continue. I flinched when I felt my father's hand rest heavily on my shoulder from where he loomed behind me.

"It's not real love Hayes... its sexual deviancy and perversion. It'll never be the same as what a man and a woman share." I tried to push away his words, "Never Hayes. Not even if those men try to convince you otherwise."

I felt I should have been crying in this situation, or maybe I should have been knocking things over with rage and screaming myself hoarse. But I truly couldn't bring myself to feel anything, never mind bring myself to react so passionately. Everything was alarmingly... blank.

"Where's Mum?" I could scarcely hear my voice over the white noise that now seared my mind.

"She's on my side Hayes. She's terrified of this disease being spread about the place. You know what she's like." My father murmured gently, "So we'll make sure you don't have it first. Then we can see about a psychiatrist."

"George?" My breath hitched, "Where's George? I want to see George—"

My father hugged me for the first time I could ever recall it, and I momentarily struggled against it. It was almost sickening that this was the moment that seemed to make him finally acknowledge that I was deserving of his affection and attention.

"I haven't told him... it's alright." He rubbed at my back, "It's alright Hayes. He doesn't have to know."

If George were to go against me right now... I simply wouldn't be able to handle that. So perhaps it was a small mercy.

I let my father rattle off whatever instructions he had for me, just to appease him, and ensure that those photographs would be taken care of. Any further words refused to enter my mind out of self preservation. Of course I wasn't manipulated into my father's warped view of my sexuality, but I still couldn't help but hate it at that moment. Everything would be so much simpler if I could have just been attracted to women.

At that moment I felt cheated by the dice life had rolled for me.

The hatred that suddenly seeped back into my being was molten. I hated that I didn't defend my relationship with Freddie half enough. That I let my father spew his opinions, and barely made any effort to contradict him. Even when I passionately and completely disagreed with everything he said. I hated that my backbone was always ripped out in the presence of my father. I hated that I felt so cowardly and weak. And I was so ashamed that I rolled over and immediately apologised for being gay.

For a split second, I found myself wishing Freddie and I had never crossed paths, because none of this would be happening if they didn't. I hated myself for that line of thinking most of all. Thankfully, I was able to make those traitorous thoughts disappear almost immediately, but the self-loathing towards myself for allowing my mind to even go there remained. Freddie would be horrified by my behaviour in this whole situation.

The ambush attack had left me struggling to pick the correct guise from my arsenal to portray in order to save face. I thought I was done pretending to be someone I wasn't, but right now it seemed as though I was being shoved right back into my cage. Pretending was the only way I could get out of here.

"I'm going to reinstate your inheritance," my father attempted to smile, as if that really mattered to me right now, "And I will pay for any and all medical costs that arise from this."

I almost wanted to laugh. Medical costs, how ridiculous.

"Thank you." Pathetic Hayes.

"And obviously you need to stay away from Freddie." My father ordered, which I knew was coming.

Of course I wouldn't do that, but it was obvious we had to be much more careful. England seemed to be out of bounds completely. That's fine, I would never bloody step foot in London again. I'll fuck off to Munich at this stage.

"Hayes. Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you."

People have been hiding their relationships for years, celebrities are near experts at it. Things will be fine. I was doing my best to assure myself that everything would turn out perfect in the end. Yet, I still couldn't escape the tendrils of doubt that crept up through my mind. Look how selfish you're being. You know this is ruining your family, you know you're a flash in the pan for Freddie and you're risking everything regardless.

My mind was torn in two jagged halves. The urge to retreat into over thirty years of bad habits was strong, but my love for Freddie was able to dissuade me from regression. The white noise returned, drowning out the rest of my father's words but I did manage to hear his dismissal. Shakily I stood up, and didn't even notice when he patted my shoulder and wished me a happy Christmas.

Each step was heavy, and my mind seemed to swim about when I reached the stairs so I paused and placed a hand on the bannister to stop myself. As I sought to control my shaky breathing, my eyes caught on my mother's petite figure in the threshold of her bedroom.

"Mum?" I whispered, and took a step in her direction.

My mother held a hand out, stopping me in my tracks. She then threw me a demure smile, as if she wasn't about to ruin me further. Surely she won't turn me away, she's my mother. My mother.

"Just don't come any closer," Mum conceded a step, "Not until you get checked out by a doctor, you could be contagious. Doctor Morris can confirm the correct course of action." She rattled this off as if it soothed her hypochondriac tendencies. "Then we can talk dear."

If I thought that the worst was now over me, my mother wanted to press the open wounds even further. She seemed to choke back a small sob. That pained me enough, but the clear disappointment in the words that followed would plague me indefinitely.

"You won't be passing down those lovely blue eyes to anyone now." She wiped away a stray tear, "It's all just such a pity you turned out this way pet." This was such a far cry from her 'if they make you happy, I'm happy' spiel I had growing up.

At that, tears pricked at the back of my own eyes, but I held them at bay. How does my happiness cause so much heartbreak for everyone else? Am I being selfish? I shook my head in an attempt to rid myself of such thoughts. I couldn't regress.

Yet my words once again betrayed me. "I'm sorry." I whispered. You have nothing to apologise for. Stop. "I'm really sorry Mum."

With that, I slipped out of the front door. I didn't dare take a second glance or try and defend myself further. I seemed to have done enough damage to my family today, I don't know if they could handle anything more. I certainly couldn't.

"Ah Hayes," I bumped right into Oliver after shutting the door, "What a pleasant surprise."

I merely fixed my brother a withering stare, before I attempted to walk past him. My parents had just ripped me apart, I didn't need Oliver to destroy whatever was left holding me together right now. I was attempting to hold onto something, anything, just so I could be okay for Freddie.

"You could at least fucking apologise." He trilled after me, "For being so selfish."

I had instinctively apologised to my parents without any need to, I wasn't about to do so again.

"Merry Christmas," was all I allowed myself to reply, "There's presents for the kids in the foyer."

Oliver huffed a laugh of disbelief, "You think I'd let you give anything to my boys?"

"I'm not doing this." I shook my head and went to go down the icy steps.

"I don't want you anywhere near them." Oliver threatened, "And I'm sure George feels the same about you being around Edward."

Every time I thought that I couldn't be hurt any further, my expectations were exceeded. What Oliver was suggesting, agonised me most of all. I paused, and rubbed at my forehead.

"I would never, ever, do anything to hurt them." I croaked, feeling sick to my stomach for even having to clarify such a thing.

"Don't want to take any chances," Oliver shrugged, "Merry Christmas to you too..."

I pretended not to notice Oliver mutter 'pervert' after me, but it's not something that I could ever forget.

I ignored Gordan who sat reading his newspaper in the Royce, and wandered down the twisted lane exiting the grounds. Of course I couldn't walk home, but I needed to keep moving or else I would fall apart. I glanced up toward the dusky sky as I put one foot in front of the other. The trees that ran parallel to each other were stripped bare by the winter. I couldn't help but notice how the gnarled branches resembled clawed hands, reaching out toward the sky in the hopes of escape.

I can't be here. My thoughts bounced between sad self-pity and vicious fury. It shouldn't all be this hard. What overwhelmed me most of all, and filled me with the most shame, were the flashes of anger I felt toward Freddie. I knew that none of this was his fault, that I would have had to come to terms with my sexuality with or without him, but I couldn't fend off my traitorous thoughts. I can't be around him right now, he is not going to be on the receiving end of this foul mood. Although I wanted nothing more than to have Freddie comfort me, I knew I would be wretched and he didn't deserve that. Such a fucking mess aren't you Hayes?

No, I couldn't subject anyone to my presence right now, not when I couldn't even stomach to be trapped with myself.

My eyes once again studied the spindly tree limbs that reached out, hoping for something to tear them from their rooted prison. As I hyperfocused on that, my feet got tangled. My hands crunched in the snow as I hit the ground, my knees immediately scratched against the gritted road beneath me. I stayed like that for a moment, hunched over the ground, teeth chattering in the cold.

Just as I predicted, everything fell apart when I stopped moving.

Eventually I would manage to work myself into an anesthetized state. It would be familiar, and would bring me some semblance of comfort, but for now? For now I was subjected to every agonising emotion that twisted within.

Fresh snowflakes began to pelt down all around. I was relieved by the sudden flurry of snowfall as I now needed something to bury any trace of the tears that's melted the snow beneath me.

____

A/N
Well... hope I got you all in the holiday spirit!! Carols and snow!! Can't get more Christmassy than that!