H.G
June — August

Previously, when it came to concealing pain, I was an expert. Granted, my methodology was slightly flawed because it turned me into an cold and beastly sod. Nevertheless, it was effective. That's all that mattered. It worked.

I could bury any unsavoury event or thought somewhere deep and hidden away within me and then function as normal. It was a sensation similar to that when you undergo anaesthetic but try as I might, I couldn't bring about that numbed state in the past few months. After I wrote the article, I thought that maybe that would be it, my anger would ebb because I had gotten back at Freddie. Unfortunately for me, things weren't that simple. No matter what I did, this time around, I couldn't force myself to feel nothing.

When my usual method failed me I attempted it's inverse. I wouldn't feel nothing, I would feel everything, and hopefully that would drown out anything I didn't want to acknowledge. Overstimulation would make it impossible to dwell on any one thing.

If I overindulged in every vice that life could offer, well then perhaps it would distract me from pining over Freddie. If my mind was constantly occupied, if I didn't give myself a chance to process my feelings, then eventually any Freddie related thoughts would be buried in my unconscious. As long as he wasn't in my conscious, that's all that really mattered.

Dr Bennett (Alfred) almost violently disagreed, but I was no longer paying him to try and sort me out, so I ignored his psychobabble and carried on with my hedonistic quest to induce Mercury-amnesia. Besides, I had wasted away the majority of my life not living it, so I could bloody well do as I pleased now. It was so freeing not having to worry about protecting my family's image anymore. I needed to experience all the things that I had missed before I was too old for it to be considered anything but a midlife crisis.

I assure you that's not what I'm going through. Nor is it a spiral after a break-up. It's simply... living. It's fine, no need to dwell on the rationale behind my behaviour, it's not important.

"I keep having this awful nightmare."

Dr Bennett adjusted his rounded specs, and nodded for me to continue. The poor man tried not to appear too excited at the prospect of me offering up some scrap of my messy psyche to tear into, but failed as he leant forward eagerly in his seat.

"I find myself trapped in this bloody musical number, which I'm aware is very ironic, hilarious, ha ha, it's not lost on me." I grumbled, "But anyway, for weeks now, I have dreamt that I'm stuck performing the same tune."

Alfred tried to muffle his sigh, "Explain to me why you would describe that as a nightmare."

"Well you know how I feel about musicals."

"And that's enough for it to be a nightmare?"

"Exactly. I find it strange how I also know the lyrics to the song, when I have only seen said musical once. Nine, have you heard of it?"

"Oh my god, yes of course I have heard of it!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly, "I made Phillip bring me to New York to see it! Did you see how many Tony's it won?"

"Yes, I stayed up all night with my fingers crossed." I cracked him a grin that had him rolling his eyes.

"Continue," he muttered, "You bloody spoilsport."

"Right, well you know 'Guido's song', that's the one I keep butchering. There's no audience, thank god, but I think there's a few attempts at dancing." I rubbed at my jaw, "Nothing changes."

"Hm. Well based on the lyrics, and what you've told me about your current erratic behaviour—"

I quickly cut in, "I do fear that one night, the musical will progress and I'll be met with my ex performing 'A Call From the Vatican', because that's something he would do in real life."

I couldn't seem to bloody help myself from associating Freddie with things at random, which told me I needed to double down on my efforts to forget him. I noted this, scolded myself, and moved on with the conversation.

Alfred attempted not to laugh at that, "From what you've told me, that sounds like a possibility."

"Having been a witness to when he sang the Shirley Bassey number, I agree." Phillip chimed in from his spot at the head of the table. "Now can we stop the shop talk?"

"When were you at a Queen concert?" Alfred asked his husband suspiciously.

"You can't be upset because it's almost ten years ago now," Phillip smiled innocently, "You know how I was sick and couldn't make your sister's wedding?"

"You said you'd the flu!"

"Oh for Gods sake it was her third wedding, I got the gist of the first two I didn't need to be present for the third!"

Yes... I did return to the psychiatrist because it turned out I had a lot of "issues" that needed hashing out, but told him I didn't want to speak with him in a professional capacity. So, we met for tea a couple of times... a couple of months have passed, and I had been practically adopted by the older couple. I had been spending much of my time in London lately, so much so that I couldn't really see why I bothered staying in New York. George was here, Julian was here, and so was this random couple who I randomly attached myself to.

Forever the bloody stray.

"Hayes looks like shit, Alf, tell him he looks like shit." Phillip said suddenly, his dark eyes flitted about my face.

I once described Dr Alfred Bennett as looking like a typical Tory, his partner Phillip was the complete opposite with his colourfulness and complete lack of etiquette. I found them rather amusing to observe when together.

Alfred bristled, "Phillip he doesn't— you can't just say—"

"Hayes, you look like shit. Have you finally burnt yourself out or are you still being a little tart— I say that with love." He fixed me a stare, "And whilst we're on that subject, I hope you're bloody being careful."

"Phillip!" Alfred snapped.

He ignored him, "Hayes?"

"Yes, yes," I grew uncomfortable at the topic, "I'm being careful."

"Good." Phillip nodded, "Now, how exactly is your love life going dear?"

"Uncomplicated." I replied, unaware of the fact that I was about to make my life the very antonym of my response just a few weeks later. It wasn't my fault, not really, it was Matt Wilde's for suggesting I go to Queen's Munich press conference. If I hadn't been threatened with seeing Freddie, then I wouldn't have behaved quite so foolishly when out drinking with a co-worker.

***

"Oh good! You're awake!"

"Yes, because you bloody woke me!" Julian tightened the knot on his robe before moving his shoulder to let me pass into his hotel suite.

"Semantics." I pecked a kiss on his cheek that had him shoving me away with a scoff.

"You smell of Scotch, cheap Scotch." He rubbed at his unshaven cheek. "If you're going to act like a tart, at least be an expensive one."

"I'll take that into consideration next time."

I sank myself down onto the cream settee that lay in the middle of Julian's seating area. I kicked off my shoes, slunk off my black denim jacket and curled up on said couch before letting my eyes flick shut.

"No, no, no!" Julian exclaimed, "No sleeping. What did you do?"

I groggily peaked an eye open to find Julian glowering over me, "Nothing."

"A real nothing, or an 'I'm sorry I secretly made your cousin quit his blossoming music career nothing'?"

"Everyone had a bloody band in the seventies, somebody had to cull them." I crossed my arms, trying to fight the sudden chill that nipped at me in my T-shirt.

"Not on his birthday Hayes."

"There's never a good time to tell people these things Jules."

Julian smacked my legs and I groaned under my breath as I moved my heavy limbs to curl up tighter. He squeezed into the space beside me, and pinched my side.

"Hayes, seriously why are you here?"

"I made a hash of things," my stomach twisted at the excess amounts of alcohol swirling about inside of it, "Badly, and I need to hide here until he leaves my apartment. Then you're snuggling me back to England with you."

"You left a man in your apartment!? What if— you can't just leave a stranger— Hayes you bloody twit!" Julian stammered and poked at my side once again.

"He's not a stranger, and I trust that he won't run off with my silverware."

"You know him?" Julian sighed as if that were even worse, "And you left him there, alone?"

"I made sure he was asleep first." My own eyelids were heavy as I tried to forget the evenings activities.

"That's it, I'm calling you a car and you can go back." Julian declared, "You can't bloody run from every little problem Hayes."

Bloody well watch me.

"I've hidden you away from mistakes before, why can't you return the favour?" I murmured sulkily.

"Because we aren't twenty anymore, and I wasn't bloody self destructing." Julian grumbled, "Were you at least safe?"

"Think so—"

"It's not a think so, it's a yes or no!" Julian scolded as he dragged me up from his couch. "It's not funny Hayes, were you safe?"

I nodded, "Yes. Yes. I was."

Julian seemed to slump with relief, "I'll give you two options then: go back to your apartment, or else I'm going to lecture you on as to why I think you should phone Freddie. Your choice."

With that, I plucked up my jacket and shoes. "Et tu, Brute?"

Julian rolled his eyes at my dramatic accusation of betrayal, "You're only holding off the inevitable discussion."

"So be it." I snipped, irritated by Julian's past few weeks of pro-Freddie sentiment.

Yes, Freddie phoned quite a bit, but lately he had stopped. Now I could finally have some peace. It took far too much restraint not to answer him, and that energy could be better served elsewhere. Not that I would ever admit that aloud mind you.

Julian shoved me in a cab, instructed the driver not to take me anywhere but Gramercy Park and handed him enough money to make sure I didn't talk the driver out of his route. Not before he told me that my behaviour was pathologically frivolous lately and that I needed to cop on. My previous Munich trip (whoops) and 'Head in the House of Lords' (perhaps a story for another time) incident had only earned me a slap on the wrist and a laugh from Julian. Sleeping with a close friend and abandoning him in my apartment was apparently a step too far for Jules.

Absolute bloody traitor.

I let loose a deep sigh the second I closed the door to my dark apartment. I supposed I could sleep in the spare room, but the thought of sleeping alone didn't exactly appeal to me in that moment. Not after Julian had thrown Freddie in my face. With another irritated sigh, I made my way to my bedroom. Alex Moore's chest rose and fell beneath my blanket and I winced at how awkward I had now made my work environment. So much for uncomplicated.

That's it. I'm setting myself a two drink limit from now on.

I folded my jeans and shirt before eventually trying to slip into the bed with as little noise as possible. I paused when I felt myself slide my arm over Alex's waist, but decided 'sod it' we're friends it's fine. When I closed my eyes, I couldn't help if I pretended that the warmth was coming from a different source, from someone who wasn't Alex. With his hazy image in mind, I sidled myself a little closer to Alex's figure.

"Hayes?" I felt Alex tense slightly. His Northern Irish lilt went and immediately shattered my alcohol induced illusion.

"Mhm?"

Alex relaxed at that before shuffling his bare body much closer to mine. "Bloody knew you'd do a runner." He seemed amused, not annoyed. Maybe it won't be as awkward as I thought.

"I came back," I protested, "Before you could rearrange my wardrobe." My breath appeared to tickle his neck because he squirmed against me.

"Not one splash of colour in there." Alex hummed sadly.

I chuckled at that, before Alex could no longer handle the fact my fingers were listlessly wandering about his abdomen. He turned around to face me a moment later and I simply met his lips and fingertips touch for touch. Another night of having an occupied mind was just what I required, as was the feeling of being wanted. I ignored the potential fall out at work this could cause, and instead further entangled my limbs with Alex's forcing things to escalate for the third time that night.

In for a penny and all that.

***

I thought that Julian had finally dropped the subject of patching things up with Freddie, but he launched another offensive at random one sunny day in Hyde Park. I was out for a run, whilst Julian was only able to manage a stroll. I found that a little odd considering he was always so sporty, but decided not to draw any attention to it. I mind my own bloody business, unlike most people.

When I finally had to skid to a halt before my heart gave out, Julian took his opportunity, knowing I would be a little frazzled.

"Hayes, why don't you just phone Freddie, see what he has to say for himself?" Julian murmured, "It could do you some good."

"Good?" I bristled, caught off guard by Julian's suggestion.

Julian dragged a hand through his brunette curls, "Don't look at me like that, like I'm bloody betraying you, because I'm not."

"What exactly are you doing then?" I attempted to gulp down some air. I needed to be sharp for this argument.

"Looking out for you." Jules grumbled, "Now, I know that he hurt you—"

"If you know that, then why are we even discussing it!?"

"For fuck sake Hayes," A rare flash of anger flitted over Julian's face, "Do you know how badly you hurt me? Yet here we are, because I forgave you. I didn't let that night define our relationship."

I flinched at the reminder of how awful I had been to Julian. What I had said to him after eight years of friendship was unforgivable but here we were. I'm not sure I could ever play the role of the 'bigger man' like he could.

"I'm not saying you have to get back with him, or anything like that," Julian attempted to soften his previously sharp tone, "But I think you two should at least speak. Even if friendship were all that were come to it, it's better than not having him in your life at all when you clearly care for one another."

"I have you, I don't require more friends." I said stubbornly.

Julian shook his head sadly, "You can't think like that."

"I don't understand why you suddenly want me to roll over." I brushed my damp hair from my eyes, "Or why we need to keep talking about him."

"You miss him."

I didn't deny it, because there was no point, but I did try and minimise the significance of it.  "When you grow used to something, it's only natural to be discontented by its sudden... disappearance.

"Discontented." Julian echoed with a disbelieving eye roll. He gestured toward a nearby bench and I sank down onto it. In the moment it took me to fully regain my breath and composure, Julian attempted to sneak in some words of wisdom in my preferred language.

"Amantium irae amoris integratiost." The quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love. That's all well and good, but I doubt infidelity counts as a bloody quarrel.

I snorted in disbelief, "Those cheap tricks won't work on me this time."

Julian smiled as if he had already worn me down, "Amoris vulnus idem sanat qui facit?"

Love's wounds are cured by love itself. Well that's simply ridiculous. Did Ovid not account for gaping, festering wounds that refused to even briefly scab over? Twat.

"You were never this clever in uni," I huffed, "So you've either been practicing for this moment, or did you just happen to pick up a daft book of romantic sayings?"

"Fine, tough love it is." Julian declared, but I'm sure his version of it was much different to many because there wasn't a mean bone in his body. "Tell me Hayes, did you act like a complete and utter twat when you and Freddie first met? When you first found yourself attracted to him?"

My sheepish expression was enough to confirm it. "Now, I know you had reasons to behave that way, but did Freddie always know why you were most likely horrid to him at times?"

"Maybe," I shifted uncomfortably on the cold bench.

"Yet, he stuck by you, when I'm sure your behaviour would have pushed many others away."

"You're right." I nodded thoughtfully.

"I am?" Julian's brows flew up in surprise.

"In fact, he should be made a saint," I continued, "Since he's clearly some type of martyr for being able to put up with me."

Julian scowled, "You know that's not what I meant!" He blew out a large sigh, "God you're impossible."

"Perhaps you could join him," I smiled wryly. "I can't even begin to imagine the hardships you both endured to deal with a wretch like me... it's truly miraculous—"

"He sees you Hayes," Julian blurted out with clear exasperation, "He sees past whatever guise you use to keep people from looking to close. Not many people care enough to even try get past that cold front — or whatever bloody act you're currently trying out now to push people away— but Freddie clearly does. Always has, or else he wouldn't have ever given you the time of day."

I didn't have a smart reply for that, I didn't have any sort of response at all.

"I just think that you should keep the people who actually understand you, close." Julian's voice grew softer, "You don't let many get to that point Hayes, and you should keep a hold of the ones you do."

I was going to childishly and angry exclaim that Freddie cheated but I held my tongue. Infidelity is a black and white affair in my book. I know there are nuances to make it less clear cut, in everyone's case, in my own, but I can't seem to accept them. I was always a harmfully untrusting sort, so when that little sliver of trust was shattered... its just not so easy for me to get it back. Everyone deserves a second chance, I know that much, Freddie's given me several, but those chances were never given whilst in a relationship. I never hurt him when we were together, not ever to the same degree he hurt me.

"One phone call could tell you everything you need to know Griff." Jules gently rubbed my shoulder, "Whether you never want to speak to him again, or whether he regrets all that happened and wants to try and fix things... you won't know any of that unless you speak to him. It's easy to avoid what you really want when you won't face it."

"Mhm." I eventually hummed, and Julian wisely dropped the subject completely.

I mulled over my friend's words for the next few coming days, knowing he was irritatingly right. A phone call wasn't much, I could hang up at any time and face no repercussions. Much easier than speaking face to face. Not that I ever had to worry about that happening. It's not like Freddie ever made an attempt to see me, not even when I really needed him to be there.

It was impossible to know what path to go down with Freddie, but I managed to narrow my courses of action down to three. I could: (i) phone him and see what he had to say for himself, (ii) view him from a safe distance at the press conference, just to see how I felt,  or (iii) ignore him forever. Much to my dismay I found that all options were equally horrendous.

Putting physical distance between me and the object of affliction has always worked in the past. However, I had the bleak suspicion that no matter where I went, no matter how many miles and oceans I put between Freddie and I, it would never fully purge my thoughts of him. It hurt because I knew that Freddie could quite easily clear his mind of me. That much was obvious when I caught him out in Munich.

One part of me wanted Freddie to know exactly the kind of pain he had caused me, but the other, stronger, pettier, part of me would never let him have such knowledge. For now though,  I couldn't even make up my bloody mind as to whether I would cowardly observe him in a crowd, hide behind a telephone, or just hope that someday soon I could wake up and he wouldn't be the first thing I thought of.

Unlucky or luckily for me, my boss Matt Wilde took the decision right out of my hands when he called me into his office one August morning. He would either tell me to get my arse over to Munich, or tell me that it had taken too long for me to accept or decline the initiation and he had given the job to someone else. Both prospects seemed completely unacceptable to me.

Yes, I was certainly caught between a rock and a hard place, but I find that the original phrase from which that cliche stems, "a precipice in front, wolves behind" encapsulates my feelings so much better.

Seeing Freddie in the flesh, or missing an opportunity to see him once again was a fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi type situation indeed.

Roger Taylor
Munich, Germany
August, 24th

"We have a problem, but Jim won't tell me why it's such a huge problem."

I glanced up at Howard, our publicist, just as John joined me in on one of the precarious pull out chairs that had been set up for us in the coat room of the P1 Club. A camera had been on us the second we stepped out of our cars so we demanded just a few minutes of peace before the media circus kicked off.

Miami pinched the bridge of his nose, "It's a delicate matter, it's best you don't know too much Howard. I know the bare minimum and it's stressing me out."

"What's the big problem?" I asked before the two men could bond further over us being twats.

"Apparently Rolling Stone sent Hayes Griffith." Howard explained causally, not exactly seeing what the issue was. There was a time he would've worried after the initial scandal Freddie and Hayes had caused with their argument two years ago, but anytime those two appeared in the press together after that, the narrative was friendship.

John and I half broke our necks to exchange a terrified glance. "No. Un-invite him."

"We can't just bloody—" Miami huffed, "We can't un-invite him. He's probably in the city as we speak."

"Besides, Hayes is the least of your worries. Where's Brian and Freddie? We need to go over your responses to the 'Break Free' drama." Howard added.

"So we have to deal with that shit, and Hayes?" I had to resist the urge to groan.

"I suggested we hire an M.C for the conference, but you all said no." Howard grumbled, "Those journalists are going to eat you alive without the structure of having one."

"I say we call the whole thing off!" Freddie chirped as him and Brian ducked into the room.

Miami caught a hold of Brian's sleeve to whisper the latest pitfall to this press conference before he turned to Howard. "I actually think you and I should speak with the venue manager one last time."

Our manager proceeded to scurry out of the room, leaving us to deal with the bomb he just decided to drop. Freddie had thrown his black bomber jacket back on over his plain white tank top that he had shown off for the photographers earlier. That little photoshoot was bloody painful to stand through. Ever since the 'It's A Hard Life' video, I never wanted to appear in front of a camera ever again.

"Tell him." I poked John as we made our way to the table which was laid out with snacks and beverages.

Freddie sipped at a glass of champagne gingerly as his eyes darted about the table. He was already nervous, not that he would admit it. Of course Freddie was going to bear the brunt of the backlash for the music video, and journalists were always more horrible to him than the rest of us. They felt they were allowed to be.

"No way." John held a pint of Heineken far away from his all white ensemble. "You tell him."

Not a fucking hope.

"Freddie?" I called him and then proceeded to duck behind John.

"Mhm?" He hummed distractedly.

"Why do I have to fucking tell him!?" John squeaked as I pushed him in front of me. He's less likely to maim the messenger if it's Deaky.

John's eyes widened, "I- no. Brian can do it."

Freddie's dark gaze flicked between us all impatiently, "What? What could it possibly be?"

"I don't know." Brian frowned before John and I shot him a small glare, because he knew full well.

"Oh. That. Rolling Stone sent Hayes over." Brian said casually, not exactly seeing what all the fuss was all about. "We invited Rolling Stone, and they sent Hayes. There was always a chance of this happening." He shrugged. "It's his job after all."

Some people have absolutely no survival instincts.

Freddie didn't react right away but after what felt like an age he knocked back the champagne and reached for another flute. "He never asks anything gossipy, so there's no need to get your knickers in a twist is there?"

"Fred—"

Freddie waved his free hand about, "My knickers on the other hand? Entirely untwisted!"

"Hayes was just sent by the magazine, but maybe he'll bail?" I suggested hopefully.

"Oh who cares dear?" Freddie exclaimed, "Not me I'll tell you, not me!" With that he plucked up another champagne flute and left to go and get seated at the conference table.

"Was that meant to be a believable performance?" Brian asked with a frown.

Deaky and I merely shrugged.

Upon seeing that Hayes was not in the audience, Freddie relaxed as much as he could when acting as bait to a room of vultures. The club was packed with journalists, translators, and photographers, and we were bloody sitting ducks for all of them. We kicked things off with our own pre-rehearsed bites of information regarding the upcoming tour. Brian explained the number of shows, and other general housekeeping matters.

Then we opened things up to the floor.

Someone immediately asked why we weren't playing in their country. That was dismissed quickly. When asked about why we had left America completely off of the tour route, Brian explained it away diplomatically. Without mentioning how America had rejected us after Hot Space, and now because of 'I Want to Break Free', like I would've. Things seemed rather safe so far as the questions continued to pour in.

"Freddie, you're doing a solo album aren't you? If you can go out on your own, does Freddie Mercury need Queen at all?"

Freddie who was in the process of lighting a cigarette, cut the journalist the side eye. "Oh you rat!" He exclaimed grandly, provoking laughter. Miami slapped a palm to his face in the wings.

"I suppose so yes, I used to think we'd probably go on for five years, but it's got to the point where we're too old to break up." More laughter ensued, "Can you imagine a new band at 40?" Freddie dared them, "Be a bit silly wouldn't it?"

As Freddie continued to answer the questions posed to him in the ostentatious manner he usually reserved for these type of uncomfortable situations, I zoned out slightly. Behind the tint of my sunglasses, my eyes wandered without anyone being able to notice my lack of engagement or attention. No, my attention was elsewhere as I noticed the little commotion near the back of the room, by the door.

Hayes Griffith had just strolled on in.

Through the flashes of cameras in my direction, I watched as a man in the second row stood up to let Hayes take his seat without even being asked. Hayes offered him a small grateful grin and took his seat. The journalist's either side of him began whispering his ear off, and within seconds Hayes said something with the playful shake of his head that had them burst into laughter.

For a moment, I was thoroughly stumped as to how people were saying Hayes was worse now. His writing, yes, was bitchier than usual, but he actually seemed a lot more bloody friendly in person.

I snuck a glance at Freddie, ready to offer a hushed warning, but saw that the poor man had already froze at the sight of the critic. As far as Freddie was concerned, it seemed as though the interview was done. For his sake, I almost hoped it was and that he had completely disassociated because the questions suddenly grew viscous. Half of the time, what the journalists were now throwing out weren't even questions, they were accusations.

Are the lyrics to I Want To Break Free alluding to your homosexuality?

Do you often dress as a woman?

Are you aware how harmful it could be for young people to see that video?

It's perverted. Is that how you wanted to portray yourself?

Freddie wasn't even give an opportunity to reply because the journalists simply all spoke over one another. They sounded like a swarm of bloody bees. I wasn't going to put up with it anymore, especially when Freddie was struggling with Hayes' silent presence. This was just a fucking assault.

"Oh for the love of god." Someone commented loudly followed by a deeply impatient sigh. I don't really know why I was all that shocked when it turned out to be Hayes.

The journalists who had been peppering us with the latest slew of questions and comments actually proceeded to clamp their lips shut. Freddie and I used to joke about him being some sort of overlord for musical journalists but I didn't think it was bloody true. See, I'm not the only one who thinks he's an intimidating fucker.

When the majority of eyes flickered towards Hayes, he sighed once again. He had not yet asked any questions, and the boys and I were half afraid that when he did it would be something awful to throw us into a panic. After that scathing review, we didn't really know how safe we were from the man who had caused a brief pause of music production back in March, April... and May.

Hayes' gaze found mine, and his face expressed boredom in a way that nobody but him could. "What sort of set list can we expect on the new tour? Are you simply going to push the new album or give the audience the classics?"

He never asked banal questions like that, so it was clear he had done it to throw us a bone to get away from the music video drama. I leapt on the opportunity and rambled on about set list design for as long as I could. Every so often Hayes would nod as if listening but he really didn't give a shit. At the sound of Hayes' voice, Freddie seemed to have shut down completely, which was just brilliant of course.

A few people asked about little things brought up by my set list monologue, but it didn't take all that long for someone to ask whether or not 'I Want to Break Free', would be sung live. Whether we would all dress as women to do so. Whether we were aware that it was promoting homosexuality when a deadly disease was going about. All of this was solely directed at Freddie of course. Even when I said it was my idea to dress up, and John wrote the bloody thing. I don't know how many fucking times those facts were stated, but they chose to ignore it.

"It's perverse is what it is!" A middle aged reporter from the Sun had exclaimed.

Often times the Daily Mail and the Sun made some purposefully outrageous comments to push a reaction. Freddie was very quiet today, and it was driving them cracked. So now, it seemed they were content to try and irritate as best they could.

"Children may switch on the television and see it! It's dangerous!"

I opened my mouth to retort, temper flaring, but Hayes decided to beat me to it in a cool and efficient manner.

"If you find the the sight of Roger Taylor's legs, nice as they are, 'dangerous' Mr Singh, I highly suggest that you look inward to find the source of these conflicting feelings rather than trying to assign blame elsewhere."

Hayes commented this all very casually, with a dry smile, which had some men blistering with indignation, but the majority were laughing as if to cover their arses. Singh immediately wound himself down, and looked as though he wanted to die at the implication he himself may fancy men. It seemed Hayes had wanted to tarnish anyone who kicked up a fuss about the video with the same brush. I couldn't help but laugh a little, he wasn't a bad lad to have on side. Wait— did he say I had nice legs?

"Brian, would you mind explaining what prompted you to write 'Is This the World We Created'?"

Hayes asked this particular question. He was also fiddling with his watch, signifying that he was throwing yet another safe bone our way and didn't care for the answer. He most likely already knew the thought process behind every lyric anyway. Had corrections for them too.

"Well actually Freddie wrote the lyrics," Brian corrected him, "It was a joint effort."

Unlike Freddie, Hayes didn't seem to react to his ex's name, or react to Freddie at all, he merely shrugged an indifferent shoulder and amended his question to include the both of them. Freddie murmured something about the question being too heavy and waved a hand towards Brian who had no trouble going off on a little rant.

No one asked about the video anymore for the threat of sounding like they enjoyed it a little too much. Hayes had successfully implemented a sort of 'thou doth protest too much' stance towards badgering us any further on the topic. The questions grew rather tedious then, why we weren't touring specific countries etc, but that was preferable to what we were previously being subjected to. Hayes even asked a few more mundane questions and left it to us to purposefully drag things out to wind down the clock. I would definitely be thanking him if he stuck around after, intimidating fucker or not.

Eventually the Q&A finished up, and the after party could begin. Thankfully many of the journalists shuffled out once the business side of things was done. Still, enough stayed to keep us on our guard. Refreshments were offered about, and Queen management really did spare no expense. I wish they hadn't made the prospect of hanging about so welcoming because now we had to make nice with the people who regularly tore into us.

I stood not too far from a video camera, conversing with a French journalist who was rather boldly angling for a scoop on my dating life. I sipped my wine and tried to dodge the personal questions with dismissive smiles and jokes. Not that it got me anywhere because he still proceeded to ask me why I hadn't married Dominique. Jasper White, of NME was also there, chuckling at any particularly outrageously direct question. We were discussing his Jaguar before the French writer popped up and I just wanted to get back to the simple conversation rather than whatever this inquisition was.

"Hayes!" Jasper suddenly chirped, and I proceeded to choke on my drink. "Wait there, I'll get us a drink, we need to talk."

The critic appeared in a smooth motion beside me. The French journalist carefully backed away at his presence and I almost joined him. "I don't know if this is the right place to cajole me Jasper." Hayes murmured with a smile.

"Nonsense it's the perfect place! I'll need you liquored up if I'm to poach you from the Yanks." He squeezed Hayes arm before rushing off in the direction of a bar.

I slowly turned my head, only to be met with a rather amused looking Hayes. "Roger, how is my favourite drummer?"

Hayes had this new subtle undercurrent of laughter in his tone, that made it very difficult to know whether he was mocking me or not. Before he was bloody clean cut. He was deadpan, dry, and stony, now I couldn't get a read on him at all. He wasn't even wearing a suit for gods sake! I could see how this airy version of the critic was ruffling my fellow musicians' feathers.

"I'm good," I pocketed my sunglasses, "Before I forget, cheers for sticking up for us in there."

Hayes shrugged a shoulder as if he had no idea what I was talking about, "It's only a culture clash, they'll get over themselves."

I don't know what came over me really, but I couldn't help but address the elephant in the room. "Do you uh- do you want to see Freddie? I can go get him."

Hayes leant against the wall, which forced him a little closer to me. Whatever bloody cologne he wore was ridiculously nice and now I was directly breathing it in. What? That's a normal description to add to a bloody story. Sod right off if you think any different.  Hayes chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment as he considered my question. I thought maybe some internal emotional war was going on but it seemed he was just deciding what level of smart arse he wanted to be.

"I've seen him." Hayes replied rather seriously.

Bloody hell. "You know what I mean."

"Can't say I do." Hayes murmured, with a small innocent quirk of his lips that warned me not to push. Why anyone would proceed to push him was beyond me.

"Hayes hello." John appeared along with Brian who offered him a stiff smile. Oh thank god, company.

"Hello," he said in a worryingly friendly tone, "How have you all been?"

That sent John, Brian, and Hayes into a polite chat where they simply caught up on a surface level. I suppose we couldn't help but bring up the review, but Hayes seemed to be an expert at guiding conversations and quickly talked around the review. Instead we were all venting about the 'I Want to Break Free' debacle to Hayes who appeared to be just as irritated on our behalf.

"It's ridiculous really," Hayes agreed, "I don't know how any of them can call it perverse with a straight face. Not when they all probably get excited by the sight of a young girl in a school skirt."

"They're definitely annoyed that they got flustered by Roger before realising he was a lad." John added with a laugh.

"He used to be mistaken for a girl all the time." Brian whispered towards Hayes who proceeded to laugh.

"Fuck off." He could've told anyone that, but why did he have to tell Hayes Griffith that!?

The laughter at my expense was suddenly smothered by the critic and my band mates. I watched as Hayes, who was previously casually slouched against the wall, straighten to his full height. I had not yet noticed that Freddie had suddenly appeared at my side. I never wanted the ground to swallow me up more than this moment. From the look on Brian and John's faces, they shared my feelings.

"Hayes," Freddie exhaled his name, "Hello." I had never seen him so nervous, even with much more reason to be than running into an ex.

Hayes' posture somehow grew even more perfect. He slowly rolled his cheek, and I thought for a second that he might not even reply. That would be awful considering Freddie literally looked like a hopeful puppy as he stared at the critic. Hayes' eyes fell to the floor before he managed to finally find his voice.

"Yes, yes, hello." It was the most dismissive greeting I have ever fucking heard. Us three Queen spectators actually winced.  "I better go, lovely catching up with you all."

With that Hayes flashed a smile in any direction but Freddie's, turned on his heel, and strode away as quickly as possible into a thicket of journalists. Jasper White quickly caught a hold of him, and Hayes said something with a wolfish smile that caused the other journalist to laugh. All of which proving that Hayes' newfound upbeat manner did not extend to Freddie.

Before any of us could say anything, Miami appeared dabbing at his perspiring brow, "Oh good, you're all here."

"How does Howard think it went?" Brian asked.

"Only okay, but it could have been much worse if Hayes Griffith hadn't shown up." Miami explained, "Howard wants him at every press conference he ever organises, but I couldn't exactly explain that he was probably just being protective of Freddie and that he's unlikely to help any of his other clients." He chuckled.

Freddie snorted dismissively at that, as if he didn't believe for a second that's what motivated Hayes' behaviour. I suppose if I were in his shoes I wouldn't believe that Hayes was acting out of any positive feelings towards Freddie either. Not with the way Hayes just reacted to his presence.

"Anyway, it's over now." Miami said with no small amount of relief, "But just one final warning that there's still video cameras and journalists here. Don't act in a way, or say anything that you wouldn't want plastered across the tabloids tomorrow. Right?"

All of us, except for one, hummed or nodded our understanding.

"Freddie?" Miami turned to face the frontman but the space he occupied just a few seconds ago was vacant. "Freddie— where did he go?" He asked with alarm, his eyes darting about the club.

John, Brian, and I whirled about to help in the search but Freddie bloody vanished into thin air. If there was anyone who needed to listen to Miami's final warning to be careful, it was Freddie.

Especially now that he was in the same room as Hayes for the first time in six months.

___

A/N—

Hope you all enjoyed that... lovely reunion! 😌

Also thank you so much for 15k reads, I really appreciate it. 🤍