"He likes me."

John couldn't stop repeating it that morning. He sat up against the pillows behind him, his arms tightly wrapped around his stomach to control the butterflies that were swarming around inside. Last night felt like a dream. A mere dream that he could've only hoped would come true. It was absolutely wonderful and all he could've hoped for.

Roughly around one in the morning he had to explain the predicament of the shattered glass, the stench of vomit, and their knocked-out frontman on the couch to Brian and Roger. He couldn't tell them the truth, least not the whole one.

"You see...Fred came home after something bad happened with Bret. He got drunk at some bar beforehand and, well, got a bit riled up. He only broke the glass, threw up, and passed out really."

Neither really argued with it, due to all of them knowing how Freddie got when he was drunk or had relationship issues. Roger had quickly cleaned up the shattered glass while Brian took out the trash, John staying there just in case Freddie woke up and needed help to bed. To his fortune, Roger hadn't asked anything further while Brian was out and kept to cleaning up the shards of glass along their floor.

John tried his best to steady himself, his mind and body still completely absorbed in the thought of what had happened the previous night. All of what he had thought and hoped for had been realized last night, both the good and the bad. As much as he loved the idea that Freddie liked him back, in some way, he couldn't fully ignore the image of all the cuts and bruises along Freddie's body that he had managed to hide from them for so long.

He pushed himself out of bed, tying the knot on his pajama trousers and headed out of his room, not bothering to wash up just yet. The door across the hall was still shut and the room within was far quieter than it had been last night.

Just as he had expected, Freddie was still completely knocked out on top of the couch, looking like a complete mess. Hair messed up, arms thrown up behind him, and most of the blanket barely hanging onto his body. He looked so at peace while sleeping. So relaxed and calm. John hated the idea that it would all vanish the instant he woke up.

He headed over to the fridge, pulling out the container of milk from the side area and placing it on the counter. The fridge fell shut behind him, the sound of it closing earning a hard groan from Freddie over on their couch.

"Ow! Oh God my head..." Freddie muttered as he slowly sat up, his left hand covering one of his eyes while he kept the other one shut painfully tight. "God...What time is it?" He asked to no one in particular.

"I-it's around nine." He answered, Freddie jumping in his spot and his eyes flying open for a split second, only to shut an instant later as he hissed out of pain.

"Jesus...How the hell did I get here?" His face darkened violently. "Where's Bret? Did anything happen last night?"

"Bret isn't here." John stated. "And you got home by yourself. Scared the hell out of me when you did."

Shame covered his face as Freddie tried getting into a better seat on the couch. He pulled up the blanket to try and cover more of his body from his sight but was still too dazed to truly hold it up for more than a few seconds.

"Don't worry...Nothing really happened once you got back. W-well besides breaking a glass, you sorta just danced around a bit, said some gibberish while I tried to calm you down and then you passed out on the couch." He explained, glad that what he had said wasn't all too far from the truth of what had happened. 

Thankfully, Freddie accepted the answer, although he looked upset with himself still. He pulled the blanket up, trying to cover even more of his body from his sight while he sat himself up.

"Bret hasn't called...has he?" He asked from under the blankets.

"No. He hasn't called nor have I heard anything." He replied, trying to keep the rest of what he wanted to say at bay.

Freddie struggled to get himself up from the couch. He managed to get up, only to stagger in place and reach out for the side table. John dropped what he had been doing and headed over, taking in a calming breath before grabbing his hand to help stabilize him. A dark blush spread across Freddie's face as he avoided his gaze, still trying to keep the blanket wrapped around his body. John bent down and grabbed the large shirt, holding it out for their singer. He watched as he reluctantly let the blanket go, every bruise and cut now visible once again. Anger rose in his chest, his hand instinctively balling into a fist at the thought of seeing Freddie's current boyfriend any time soon.

"C'mon, you can rest still. It's fairly early and we can head to the studio later if you're up for it." John suggested.

"W-well I mean I would like to but Bret-"

"Forget him. He shouldn't control your life. Just come to the studio with us. You must miss it."

"I mean...I do but-"

"It'll be okay. It's just you being with your friends anyway." He explained, earning a soft nod from Freddie while he led him down to his room.

Instantly, Freddie collapsed onto his bed, burying his head into the pillow to block out the light. John didn't bother to say anything else, knowing that it was best for him to rest now that he was conscious again. He closed the door behind him, listening around their flat just in case someone else had woken up. He was greeted with the old silence, sighing in relief at the blissful quiet inside of their flat.

Butterflies swarmed once again inside of his stomach. He was still in complete awe over last night and yet he couldn't help but feel the occasional flutter of guilt inside of him. Freddie really didn't remember anything from the previous night. Yet John still knew every detail that had happened. Everything from him ranting about Bret's disloyalty and his own confession about how he felt towards him. The latter still brought that lovely giddy feeling despite his own qualms about what had happened.

But the courage to tell him what had happened stayed hidden. He couldn't dare tell him that he had practically spilled all his secrets out into the open for him to know while he was drunk, even with the chance that it might lead to the conversation he'd been longing for. With Bret's own brutality now being confirmed, him telling him how he felt would only ruin him or worsen his relationship with his current boyfriend if he was to find out. Nevertheless, his mind stayed focused on one thing.

He likes me...

...

"Alright, c'mon Fred! It's nearly one in the afternoon!" Roger shouted from down the hall, hammering away at his door as soon as he reached it.

"Fuck off!" Freddie growled from behind the door, a loud thud sounding from behind it a second later. "Fuck just...just gimme a sec."

John watched as Roger shrugged it off and headed back down the hallway, pride glowing in his face. He had missed Roger's old boisterous attitude before going to the studio, hell just the excitement to get back in there was something he knew that all missed to some degree. There was something oddly nostalgic about Roger's zest for life this time around and all he could hope for was that it'd rub off onto Freddie during their session.

"Finally, we can get some bloody work done." Roger commented as he laid back against the counter. "I mean we've got what, two songs done? It's complete bull that we don't have more!"

"Blame it on Bret." Brian said from across the room as he laid the newspaper down. "Freddie just can't say no to anything he wants to do. Ends up keeping him away from the studio."

"You can say that again." John began, fighting back a string of insults directed towards that ugly brute. "Hopefully it'll all calm down soon and we can get back on track." 

"We better! You think we're not gonna get some crap from the press if we don't do something? Jesus, they hound us like we're fresh meat if we just walk outside and breathe weird." Roger grumbled as he reached out for his mug of tea and downed the rest of its contents.

The door slammed from down the hall, each of them looking down towards the sound. Freddie looked up at them with a foul expression on top of his face only to look down a moment later as though he was ashamed for his unkempt appearance. His slightly frizzy hair sat in knots around his face, his clothes were wrinkled and his shirt was barely buttoned up properly, a few of those bruises now being visible to all of them. The thick five o'clock shadow that covered his face was even more visible now and his bloodshot eyes were filled with exhaustion and disgrace.

"Jesus Fred!" Roger started in shock. "Go get some coffee in you. Ya look like hell."

Freddie only replied with a sneer before heading over to the kettle on top of the stove. Brian got up from his seat on the couch, folding up the newspaper and laying it on their coffee table.

"I'll be in the car. I'll see you in a few Rog." Brian told them, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

An awkwardness immediately filled the room as soon as Brian left. Roger had gone silent and Freddie was now busy making his own mug of tea. Meanwhile he had taken to finishing the rest of his own cup and the bowl of fruit he had on the table. The old energy was quickly fading, something that usually never happened as soon as Freddie would enter a room.

"You sure you wanna go today Fred? I know you don't wanna fall ill again." Roger suggested as he began pulling on his sneakers.

"I'm fine." He replied bluntly, not taking his eyes off of his cup.

He flashed a pleading look Roger's way, their drummer getting the message instantly but still ignoring what it was he wanted him to do. John laid his bowl down onto the table, motioning towards the door as to remind him that Brian was waiting him. Yet he remained there, not wanting to give up just yet.

"Freddie." He began, Freddie only giving a quick look his way. "What the hell's going on with you and Bret lately?"

Their singer tensed up, his mouth forming a thin line as he contemplated what his response should be. John sat up, ready to jump in for him just in case he couldn't find the right words to say.

"Nothing..." He responded. "He's perfectly fine and so am I."

"Really? And so those bruises just randomly show up when you're sleeping then?" Roger asked, this time with a bit more power and question in his voice.

Anger and fear began to rise up inside of Freddie's eyes as he looked towards the opposing wall, downing even more of his tea. "I said it's fine Roger. I'm just a klutz, that's all."

Roger gave a huff of disbelief. John looked towards him, shaking his head and motioning for him to cut it out. His eyes went wide as he directed his hands over to Freddie. "He's hurt and you just want to be quiet about it?" He mouthed, John giving a shameful nod. "I'll tell you later." He replied silently, to which Roger only rolled his eyes and marched out of the room, grabbing his coat and slamming the door shut behind him. 

Both of them remained quiet, Freddie still not daring to look at him while he did the exact opposite. He'd seen that exact look on Freddie's face so many times over the past few months. Self-blame and hatred was etched into every corner of his expression. From his current distance, he could even see his nails digging into his arm as though he was forcing himself to not speak.

He suddenly slammed his cup down onto the counter, soon carelessly tossing it into the sink and heading over to the coat rack, snatching his jacket and leaning back against the door.

"Well?" He asked. "We going or what?"

John could only nod in reply, immediately getting up from his seat on the couch and grabbing his own coat. Freddie continued to avoid his gaze, a look of fear sneaking up into his current expression.

"Just ignore Roger for now. It'll be okay." He told him, desperately hoping it'd help him settle whatever was going through his mind at the moment.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with." He muttered.

He swallowed thickly before picking up some of the little courage he had within him. "Fred listen, it'll be alright. B-Bret won't be upset if you're going out to work at the studio today."

"Now why would he be upset about that?" He asked with a faux surprise in his voice. "John love, I'm fine. We're fine. Our little rows don't mean anything." He paused as more fear slipped onto his face. "You guys don't have to worry about me. I'm fine with him."

"A-and those bruises are from...?" John tried. He was hoping for something, anything that Freddie would let arise from last night. While he hadn't exactly admitted to his lover's brutality, he still was more open about what happened between the two of them.

His face went as white as a sheet, like he'd been caught at the scene of a murder. Again, he didn't say a single word. All Freddie gave was a mere shrug in response, the continuing silence almost speaking for him. "Don't." His face told him. John backed off, not wanting to drag Freddie into something he might not have been ready to admit, let alone talk about.

John held open the door, letting Freddie walk out ahead of him. He rushed down the stairs, grabbing either side of his jacket before disappearing behind the wall. He didn't bother thinking about it much longer. There was already this growing feeling of dread that Roger wasn't going to drop it and that as soon as they got there he'd blow up about it. For now, all he could do was focus on getting there instead.

Once in the car, John's mind began bustling with even more questions and scenarios that could occur, some ending in an argument and others ending in a confession. Yet he couldn't help but realize that the one that would be the most realistic would be Freddie shrugging him off again if he began to ask or snapping and remaining silent again, although the latter would only make the present awkward air grow stronger.

"That bloody sun's always getting in your eyes." Freddie complained as he squinted his eyes for a second as he tried blocking the sun. Gold and amber streaks ignited those beautiful eyes of his, almost making it seem like he was happy again. But the light from the sun made it all the easier for anyone to see everything that was lurking around in Freddie's murky and distracted gaze. Anyone with eyes could see that he didn't want to go with them. However, anyone with a brain knew that staying home would make the situation much worse.

But all he could think of was the previous night and how his eyes had looked then; how similar it was to right now. Those painful streaks of hurt that stormed through his gaze and just how angry he really was, yet still held onto that terrible fear of his current lover. It had taken only a few seconds for it to become the complete opposite, his heart and body growing warm once again at that look of actual love in his eyes. How he hoped that something like that could happen again.

Words clung to the tip of his tongue, John wanting to let those three words fall right out into the open. His mouth went dry as he silently stuttered, soon clamping his mouth shut and chewing on his already torn up inner cheek. All the memories began flooding back to him, each now making him panic that Freddie could somehow see into his mind or just sense that something was wrong. But for some reason, he wanted to say it. Some weird urge was fighting against his meek nature to finally just say those three words to him that he had wanted to say forever.

The car paused at the upcoming stop sign, John's hands tightening their grip around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned bright white. Why was this all so hard? It was three simple words. Saying those three might help them in the end. Yet those three words held so much power that it could either strengthen or ruin their relationship, and he didn't know if the odds were in his favor this time.

Just say it. He likes you...You know that. He told himself, John's gaze moving off the road for a second to look towards their singer. Dejection and fear wafted off of him, confusion lingering inside those lines of worry that were etched into his face. He didn't move at all. Freddie just kept staring outside, the sunlight now bouncing off his hair. He wanted nothing more than to just stop the car, lean over, and kiss him once again like he had done to him the previous night. Maybe he would pull a smile and bare that cute grin of his or he'd turn bright red and get all flustered...Maybe...

He began driving again, staring ahead and still kept trying to keep his mind silent, at least until they got to the studio. Five more minutes, that's all he had left and yet it felt like forever. He longed for it to be last night again. At least then he could've just said it without feeling so terrified. Freddie had been so incredibly angry with Bret last night that the idea that he was still considering staying with him was absolutely baffling. Why would he want to stay with anyone like that? Why would anyone stay with anyone like that? Could someone be that desperate for intimacy that they'll endure that much pain?

But to go and confess something like that...To say that he loved him...That he wanted to be with him. It just made the whole situation so much more confusing. How could he say anything in the first place if he wasn't going to act one it? He was drunk. He reminded, guilt tightening around his stomach. Perhaps that was all that was keeping him from saying anything. The constant reminder that Freddie didn't remember anything about last night or else this would've all been very different. It would take more booze than Freddie had last night for him to even come out to him.

To John's luck, and to that, lack thereof, the studio came into sight, John parking his car near Roger's. A part of his mind tried to get him out of the driver's seat, yet all he could do was just sit there. His body was numb from the conflicting emotions that continued to bombard his mind from that mere hour from the previous night. Freddie's sudden touch on his arm didn't help, his body jumping in place as he snapped back into the present, immediately looking towards him and internally wincing at the look of fear in his eyes.

"You need a sec or something?" Freddie asked. "I can go in ahead if you want...?"

"No...No, no I'm fine. Just distracted but it's nothing...big."

Freddie only barely seemed to register his response. He looked away, staring down at the floor of the car while his hands continued to fidget across his legs. Say it...Please. Just so I know last night wasn't just because you were drunk...He silently begged. As expected, Freddie just remained quiet, not daring to say anything else. The air around them was thick enough to cut with a knife and it was only growing more and more tense, John only hoping it'd reach some sort of breaking point so one of them could finally just say something, anything, about the previous night. Even if it was just Freddie asking about it again, it would be something he might be able to leap off of.

That breaking point never came. Freddie eventually opened his door and got out of the car, inhaling deeply as he shut it and then leaned back against it. John could only watch him. That really was all that he wanted to do right then and there; watch him. He tore himself out of his trance and got out as well, laying up against the car and watching as Freddie turned around and looked right at him, a sharp jolt rushing down his spine as their eyes met. Although it only lasted a second, it felt like forever. Those warm feelings returned, eventually tying his stomach into even more knots but also making him feel oddly safe and sound around their singer even though he was more nervous around him than anyone else. 

Music hit him in the face as soon as he entered the studio, the notes only growing louder and louder until they found the source, which, as expected, was just the other two randomly jamming away on their instruments to pass the time. Both of them perked up, their eyes bright and excited to finally do something. John couldn't help but share the excitement. It'd been so long since they all were there and it felt oddly nostalgic even though it was only a few months ago.

"Alright then! Someone's gotta have a song ready besides Bri and me." Roger finally said as he got up from behind his drumkit. "Even a bloody skeleton of one would do some good."

"John..." Freddie began in an unnatural timid manner. "Didn't you have that track? O-or at least some of it?"

"W-well I mean, yes, but it's not done yet or...Well I do have the lyrics and some chords and stuff and-"

"John, that means you've got a song. You need to lighten up a bit! C'mon, show us." Freddie urged, John feeling those butterflies in his stomach swarm even more violently at his words.

"You heard it already...Not much done."

"That piano one? That sounded good so far! And it's been months. Go on, least we can start something."

John shrunk under the stares of the other three, his already churning insides only making him more nauseous. But he broke and reached over into his pocket, pulling out the lyrics that had been stuffed in there since last night. He held it out, having Brian take it and scan over it, searching through the many sheets until he took out the one he assumed was the sketch of how he envisioned the guitar parts.

"Oh come off it John, it's not bad at all! I mean it might need some tweaking but every song does anyway. We can at least start it today, give us something to do for once." Brian told him as he continued looking over the guitar parts.

A harsh blush resurfaced upon his face as he finally looked away from the other two, swallowing thickly. His mind began bustling with more ideas for the song, the already present tune starting to change from the original ever so slightly. Roger motioned back to his drums, in which he nodded in response. Freddie came out of the shadows, still looking far too timid for any of their liking. Usually he'd bound forward, tug the sheet out of one of their hands, and scour over everything he had already within a few seconds, immediately following it with praise or his own ideas. While he was still encouraging him, it was still not holding the same vigor as he and the other two were used to.

"Well, go show 'em." Freddie tried, motioning towards the piano. John was thrown back to when he had first shown him, realizing now that that had really only been a few months ago and not decades. The notes began to flee from his mind, but Freddie merely led him over, taking his hand and making his stomach knot up even more. Freddie grabbed the lyrics sheet, scanning over them and awaiting his music.

He began to play, knowing there was no use in delaying it or obeying that terrible voice at the back of his head about how he'd screw up. The music started up, Freddie already starting to tap his foot to get in time with the beat, Roger joining along with a bit of tapping on his hi-hat to keep it going.

"Sammy was low...Just watching the show...Over and over again..." Freddie began, his heart racing as he heard his voice start to sing his track.

The music, the lyrics, the emotions tied to the song. All of them were rushing right back to him as Freddie continued to sing. John could already imagine himself back at the concert that had given him the idea. A scared, sixteen-year-old who didn't know his place in the world. Just how long ago that had been when he had started to feel isolated from everyone else; it stung to this day. Even now it was hard for him to see himself where he was, like all of this was some dastardly dream and he'd wake up in his bed, sixteen again and feeling petrified.

But at the same time, it was all so comforting. It was this very safe feeling, almost as though he was back home, not a single thing could come out and hurt him, even if he did come out to Freddie right there with Brian and Roger by his side, he didn't think it would phase him. If he was rejected, if he was insulted or hurt from whatever it was Freddie would say to him, he knew he could continue on. Like all of this was not going to hold him back anymore. That he was a free man.

"Come on honey!" Freddie shouted enthusiastically, his eyes gaining their old fire once again as Brian tried add a more hard rock vibe to what he had written, Roger adding in his own improvised drums a moment after. His brandy eyes beamed with joy, his body starting to move about as he did he punched at the air and bared that wild smile of his. John could only smile back, absolutely in awe of him being what he was best: Freddie.

...

"Well...that sounds better than a bunch of bleating sheep." Roger told them as he threw his drumsticks down onto his drums and took in a deep breath. Brian too pulled off his guitar, looking exhausted after they had continued to edit, argue over, and then practice the changes to his song for roughly four hours. Freddie, as expected, was still bustling with energy, not an ounce of fear or sadness chaining him up any longer.

"Quite nice to actually hear music instead of random bangs and strings." John commented, now remembering how badly out of tune his bass had been when he tried joining in earlier.

Roger got up, stretching in place and soon fixing his hair to try and clean up a bit. Brian had collapsed on the couch, Freddie only sitting down as well since no one else was going to get up and practice anymore.

"C'mon John, I've some beer in the back. Maybe it'll get this lazy bag of bones off his ass so we can do something again." Roger jeered, nodding towards Brian who glared at him from his spot on the couch, although he did give a playful smile right before his retort.

"Least I'm not the one who'll pass out after a beer or two."

"Oh fuck off! You know damn well I can outlast you any day." He said back, Roger now motioning towards the back so that he could follow.

Brian and Freddie were left laughing while they headed to the back. Just as Roger had said, the beers were in the back with the rest of their small stash of food and drinks; too often were they too tired or busy to go out and get something and they would just have someone rush back there and grab it from the mini fridge.

Bottles clacked against each other, Roger soon holding four, two in each hand, and then holding half of them out to him. He turned to head back out, Roger then reaching out and grabbing the back of his shirt to keep him there.

"John." He began. "Honestly, why won't you let me say anything to Fred?"

For the first time, John had actually forgotten about Bret. That dastardly cheat had actually been forgotten and tossed right out of his and Freddie's mind. But Roger's reminder instantly brought back all those terrible feeling he held towards Freddie's current partner, John's grip now tightening around the bottles until Roger called his name again.

"Because...Because what is it going to do?"

"You know what it'll do!" Roger argued. "If he really is hurting him, why should we let him get away with it?"

"Freddie won't listen. He's stubborn when it comes to anything, especially love. He won't listen and do you think he really wants us to butt in with this?"

"Yes! Bloody hell yes!" Roger said in a slightly louder tone. "John, come off it. I know he's stubborn, like a damn bull, but he's got to know he can't stay with Bret. He can find someone else who'll be better for him!" He paused, giving a small shrug. "Honestly, I thought you'd be up for getting him out of this relationship. Wouldn't that give you a better chance with him?"

John growled and stomped his foot, glaring angrily at Roger. "I don't care!" He shouted. "If he doesn't...Doesn't want me, who am I to force him?" He continued in a lower tone, knowing that some of that was a lie. "He's not a child. I can't force him out of or into a relationship."

"John come on!" Roger barked. "This is Freddie! Something's gotta be terribly wrong with him if he's still in a relationship with that bastard. He broke up with some bloke because they only argued! You see how he's acting for fuck's sake! That isn't Freddie or at least not the one I know and you know that too. Stop being so blind!"

"Blind? You think I'm the blind one here?" John started. "You've any idea how much I want to help?! But lord knows what he'll do if I try to intervene." He sighed and looked down at the ground. "I just...I just can't hurt him. I agree with you, trust me I do. Freddie's gotten really screwed up with Bret coming into his life and I don't like it one bit. This is the first time I've seen him really smile in ages. But what can we do? Hit Bret with a car?"

"I'm willing to-"

"Roger no!" He shouted back. "I want to find a way to help him. But if he doesn't want to do so, then who are we to force him?"

"You have to force people sometimes if they're too scared or naïve to see it themselves! Whatever the hell Bret has done has made Freddie completely submissive to him! And that is not how Freddie acts. The guy's got the energy of a fucking child hyped up on candy! Even more than that! How the hell can you make him so quiet and submissive without breaking his spirit?"

"Then what can we do? I don't want to hurt him...I can't bear that..." John finally admitted.

"You're not gonna hurt him if you get him out of that hell. He'll find some other bloke in another week or something and that one better not lay a hand on him."

"He just won't see it. That's what I'm scared of. What if he's broken even more if he comes to the realization...He won't even recognize what's happening, let alone want to face it. He's stuck in this bloody fantasy world where Bret's this angel in disguise and he's lucky enough to have him."

"You gotta force him out of it. For whatever reason, he's latched himself to him."

"Roger...You already know why. The poor guy can't get anyone to stay with him for more than a few months. Bret's one of the few who actually has. He wouldn't be stuck to him if he didn't believe no one would ever love him."

The room fell silent, Roger looking down at the ground as he lost himself in his thought. John sighed out of frustration, his mind bustling with scenarios in which he could get rid of Bret or even sever the relationship between the two of them, even though Bret seemed to be doing a well enough job by cheating on Freddie. Yet Freddie was so lost in his own world that he didn't dare try and listen to any of them. Anyone who just flirted with him would gain his affection and Bret had done far more than that. It was absolutely revolting to think that that monstrosity could have something go his damn way while Freddie continued to suffer.

"Ya gotta talk to him." Roger finally said. "We just have to make him see that Bret's not safe for him, or anyone really."

"Roger, honestly, do you think he'll listen?"

"It's worth a shot! Dammit I'm not letting him get beaten up because he bloody thinks that prat loves him!" Roger growled, his face darkening as he looked directly at him, a fiery light covering his eyes. "No one deserves that."

He marched passed him, John's awareness only kicking in a moment later, that moment being too late to stop Roger before he called out Freddie's name. John froze behind him, his hand still slightly outstretched to grab Roger before he got back out to the other two. Freddie looked up from his seat as he folded up the papers that held his song.

"Is he hurting you?"

Knives couldn't cut the tension that filled the room. John's knees were already going weak as he backed up from Roger, the determination and anger wafting off of him in waves as he sat there with his arms crossed, the icy stare being felt by all those around him.

"I-I'm sorry?" Freddie managed after a few more seconds of deadly silence.

"Is that bloody bastard hurting you?" He repeated, this time with more emphasis.

"W-who? Bret?" Freddie asked, though the fear covering his face already gave him the answer.

"No your purple tiger-yes Bret!" He barked. "Fred, you're covered in bruises the size of bloody baseballs and you just don't do anything anymore! You weren't like that a year ago or ever! Bret comes along and you roll over and bare your stomach with your tail between your legs to anyone who speaks to you!"

"Oh come now love you don't think that, do you?" Freddie asked in a fretful tone. "He's not doing anything out of the ordinary."

"Then explain those bloody marks on your neck! John's seen others too so don't think you're fooling anyone if you wanna claim there's nothing."

Freddie shrank back in his seat; his arms moving over his chest to try and protect it as though Roger was gonna lunge at him like some raging animal. Brian's face dawned with realization at the movement, Roger standing even straighter after the quick flinch from their singer. His brandy gaze flashed over to him, in that split second begging him to help him with something before he covered it back up again.

"I'm not gonna hurt you Fred, don't worry." Roger explained in a much softer voice. Freddie only shrugged in response.

"Bret's so sweet...You guys know him. He's absolutely lovely..." He repeated in a monotone voice, the strings attached to his mouth being tugged at by some invisible puppet master. "I love him and I know he loves me. Why can't you guys understand that?"

"Because no one purposefully hurts the other if they love them." Roger told him.

Freddie's eyes slowly widened as he backed himself up into a closed position. "I know how he feels about me. He doesn't mean to hurt me anyway. It's just me annoying him at times or whatever. Us getting into rows isn't uncommon." He shot a fierce look towards Roger. "You two get into rows all the time! Hell you threw the remote at Bri's head once!"

"Don't throw that in my face. You know everyone fights at some point. But him literally beating you to a pulp like this and manipulating you is just plain old wrong!" Roger retorted, still holding his stance above Freddie who was growing more and more fearful by the second.

Realization dawned on Freddie's face, regret and fear soon following. "You don't know jack shit about our relationship and you've no damn reason to butt in!" Freddie spat as he shot up from his spot. "I finally find someone and you want to fucking ruin it!"

"Ruin it?!" Roger shouted back. "Fred he's fucking hurting you! How on earth could you even think that's okay?!"

"He's not fucking hurting me! I know he's not." He whirled around, grabbing his coat and throwing it on. "I knew I shouldn't've came to this damn studio." He muttered, hurt and disbelief staining every word that came out of his mouth. Before Roger could even reach out to try and get him back in, Freddie had slammed the door behind him, leaving the three of them in the uncomfortable ambiance that Roger had created.

...

By the time they had all returned home, night had fallen and none of them had heard any word from Freddie. John couldn't fight back any of his resentment towards their drummer, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he marched up the stairs towards their apartment, tossing the door open and smashing it shut behind him.

"...fault he stormed out!" Roger shouted at Brian, who threw his hands up to the air and have a huff of annoyance.

"Oh of course it's not! It's never your fault is it? Always the other's?" Brian countered.

"So you're telling me I should've fucking stayed silent?!"

"Yes!" John interjected, immediately marching towards him. "I fucking told you he wouldn't listen to you and look what happened! Ha! I was bloody right! He probably ran right back to Bret and I will bet you all my money that he'll have some other bruise or cut on his face because you couldn't keep your damn mouth shut!"

"Like it's my damn fault he can't listen! He's a stubborn prat and-"

"And you're just as stubborn as he is!" Brian shouted back. "Really Roger, you couldn't have listened to John for once?! Listen to anyone for fuck's sake?!"

"Oh like you're so perfect too!" Roger snarled at Brian, turning his attention on him. "What the hell have you done to try and help him out?"

"I didn't even know!"

"Are you that blind?"

"You didn't even know until this morning you hypocritical prick!"

"So bloody what!? You're the one who loooves to be quiet in the background and act like you're not even there instead of actually getting involved! For fuck's sake Brian-"

"And you're the one who can't keep your mouth shut for more than ten minutes when something happens! You're always like that! You just can't leave people to themselves because you think they'll be hurt without anyone else's help!"

"Because people need help sometimes and if neither of you will do it-"

"Oh now don't fucking bring me into it Roger." John growled, Roger turning his fierce glare his way. "You know damn well that I want to help-"

"Then why the hell don't you?!" Roger howled, his face darkening a whole shade of red.

"Because John apparently knows when and where to step in!" Brian shouted back. "There's a time and place for doing that and you can't just blurt it out of nowhere!"

"If I didn't do it, who the hell was? It's not my fault Freddie is acting so bloody daft right now that he thinks that abusive asshole has any feelings for him!"

"You can't force people to realize these things!"

"Oh speak for yourself! You yourself were in denial-"

"Now don't bring that up! That's got nothing to do with this." Brian shot back, his lip turning upwards into a vicious sneer.

The two of them were glaring right at each other, their faces almost touching as their anger filled breathing filled the room. John stepped back ever so slightly, waiting in anticipation for one of them to throw the first punch at the other or for someone to whip another remote at the other. But Roger's stare was weakening, some odd emotion starting to now stir about in his gaze as he fought to keep his stance steady. Brian backed off, growling and muttering something under his breath before he stomped over to where the coats were, yanked his on, and left the two of them standing there, John looking back and forth at the door that Brian had just left and back at Roger who was glaring at the door while his eyes started to grow even more glossy and unfocused.

"Freddie just...just needs to fucking listen for once..." Roger managed. "Just to listen to what others tell him...Just for fucking once. Then he wouldn't be in this mess he put himself in." He growled under his breath just as Brian had and quickly headed off to his room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving John behind and staring dumbly at the now empty room in front of him, his anger still boiling beneath his skin at Roger's impulsivity and Freddie's naivety and Brian's blindness to everything around them. Everything. Every last thing was getting to him and he couldn't understand why no one would listen to him for once!

He patted his back pocket, feeling the paper box through the fabric of his trousers and the hard metal from his lighter right next to it. John gave a long sigh and slowly walked out of the room, this time softly shutting the door behind him and heading outside. A gentle, cold breeze hit his face while the shrinking moon hung up above, cars rushing past him in a flurry of lights and colors that were only visible due to the streetlights that hovered above them. He took out his lighter and cigarette box, pulling one of them out of the container and tucking it back into his pocket. The flame flickered to life, John placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting the edge of it with the orange flame.

The usual relief never came. Every drag of the cigarette he took brought no sense of relief, just the usual ashy taste to his tongue and the heated smoke traveling inside of his body and exhaling out of his nose into a pale grey cloud. Angry orange embers fell off of the tip of his cigarette as he tapped the small stick to get rid of the excess ashes at the edge, each shred cooling instantly and turning a pitch black.

Before he placed the cigarette back into his mouth, John stared directly at the burning tip. Every etch of orange inside of the paper that allowed it to trap the fire inside of it so it could slowly burn away at the leaves within, every passing second growing more and more impatient with its inability to burn away the whole cigarette. The fire was locked inside, unable to move and do what it longed to finally do: reach its full potential. To burn every little tree, every parked car, every building, right to the ground, turning it into the ashes that would make them indecipherable from the ones that belonged to the cigarette. Yet out of those ashes, one could start anew, finally feeling free and no longer haunted by one's past with the old memories being seen around them. Everything would be rebuilt and it could be a fresh start. But it never would. All because of him locking the fire away inside of the cigarette and not letting it properly burn away at the little paper cigarette he held between his fingers.

He inhaled deeply and placed it between his lips once again, taking in a long drag and exhaling another cloud of smoke into the air. The sky loomed above, clouds now starting to move in. Twinkling stars glittered in the sky, creating a stark contrast with the black backdrop while the moon hung off to the side, a cloud slowly making its way across it as it continued its journey through the night. The black seemed endless, forever stretching and keeping the sun hidden forever. But he knew better, everyone knew better. It seemed that with how dark the sky was now, the sun would rise again and the day would reset, the never-ending cycle starting over again and keeping them all prisoners of the same routine.

The cigarette fell to the ground, John bringing his boot down onto the ground and crushing it beneath the sole of his shoe. That fire died out instantly, its chance to do as it pleased going up in smoke. No longer would it take to the buildings and allow its fire to reach up to the infinite sky, for he had shut it out again, unable to bear the thought of a mistake on his behalf ruining the lives of others.

He looked around, hoping to see Freddie stumbling down the sidewalk with another drunken grin plastered on his face instead of another swollen bruise on his body. Maybe Brian would be trudging down the street soon too, his mind at ease and ready to come back inside. Perhaps Roger too had calmed down and would be sitting at the counter with a mug of tea or a can of beer to drink before he went off to bed. Any of those would be so nice to see. Some kind of home to go back to; the home he longed to have again.

Upon opening the door to their flat, John was greeted with a completely empty living room. Nothing had changed since he went outside, immediately disproving his theory that Roger had come out of his room to grab anything to drink or even something to eat. His shoulders fell slack, John's stomach shrinking within him as his body started to feel heavier and heavier, as though his blood and muscles were turning to lead.

It's your fault. The voice whispered, John's hopes falling even further now that this satanic conscious of his was back. You didn't have to tell Roger anything...You didn't have to go ahead and keep kissing Freddie last night...You didn't have to call Bret's house to see if Freddie was okay...Look what meddling does. All you had to do was shut up and not bother with it. Go and collapse into your bed again, it's all you're bloody good for.

And he believed it. How else wasn't it his fault? Freddie was back in Bret's control again because he couldn't keep his mouth shut around Roger. If only he had kept quiet...Maybe Freddie would be safe here in his own room. Maybe they wouldn't have fought. Maybe Freddie wouldn't have found out about Bret's disloyalty. Maybe...

John collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to toss off his clothes or to even get under the blankets. He turned his head to the side, staring at the wall to his right. Energy vanished from his mind and body, everything inside of him wishing it could fall asleep and forget all of this. That this was just a dream and nothing over the past forty-eight hours had ever happened. The confession from Freddie was starting to come back to his mind, but even that thought wasn't safe from his taunting conscience. He's just lying. He was drunk. You really think he wanted you?

There wasn't anything he could say back to it, he just took the sentence and let it melt into another wave of self-hate and guilt as he laid there, continuing to stare at the wall. He waited for something to change. The door to open, someone to start talking, maybe even footsteps walking across their flat. But it all remained quiet. Roger never left his room. Brian didn't walk in the door. Freddie never stumbled in.

He stared, barely blinking. Each second that passed felt like a needle was being dug into his skin, the morning light soon creeping in only making him feel worse. He was exhausted and tired of this. All of it. Sleep continued to evade him, despite just how tired he felt. When the footsteps did come by, John remained in bed. Brian's arrival did nothing to stir him out of his room. Not even Freddie's arrival near noon helped to get him out. It's not going to change anything if you're out there. Nobody even knows you exist.