Weeks passed, June and July came and went with Brian and Roger gladly taking time to celebrate one another's birthdays and inviting them in for a small celebration back at their flat before they'd take up the rest of that day with their partner. Freddie had recovered from his virus within another week after he had first come down with it, and to John's own slight dismay, he hadn't found any other source of evidence that Bret was indeed cheating on their singer with that other man he had seen him with not too long ago. It was nearing the middle of August and he had managed to go to the corner store as often as he could, hoping that he'd catch the two of them there again or even in the restaurant across the street, just so that he had another shred of evidence to convince himself that he had seen what he had seen and could try to bring it up to their frontman. But he got nothing of the sort.

He slammed the door to their building behind him, frustration searing through his veins at the failed attempt to try and catch him in the act. Why was it so hard to see him again? It was almost as if as soon as Freddie recovered, Bret was never seen around here again. Oddly enough, Freddie hadn't brought him over as soon as he did get over his illness. Once he could function properly again, he was out and about as long and as often as he could. He must have gotten sick of him treating him like a helpless child over the course of almost two weeks and was glad to get away from him, even though now he was left with an empty void once again that left him to doing meaningless things throughout the house or lazing around doing absolutely nothing. Songwriting didn't help, he could be bothered to think of anything to write for any songs at the moment anyway, and Roger hadn't managed to pick up on his new obsessive attitude over Bret and Freddie's relationship. Like it would even help him if he did. He'd just beg him to not bring anything up to Freddie to ensure that he would be safe from any emotional damage if he did find out.

What am I even doing? I'm wasting my damn time trying to catch this guy because I want to convince myself that I've got some shot with Freddie again if he breaks up with him over this. I've already lied to the poor thing because of what I already saw and what the hell am I going to do if I do catch him doing something with another person? You don't have the nerve to go and rat him out to Brian, let alone to Freddie...

As he made his way up to their door, he grabbed his keys from his pocket, growling in annoyance as he tried to find it beneath the clutter he'd thrown inside of his coat.

"Come on Fred, I was just angry, don't tell me you've never done bad things if you've gotten upset with someone."

"Twice?" Freddie asked with a slight bitter tone.

"Like it's that bad. I wasn't too rough and I was just angry, alright? You're blowing it out of proportion, just like you do with everything else." Bret told him in a challenging voice. "Think rationally for once. I'm sorry, okay?"

He heard the couch creak as one of them shifted around on top of it. He dug his nails into the wooden door, threats seeping into his mind if he so much as touched Freddie in any damned way with him around. The two continued their conversation in hushed tones, John pressing his face even harder against the door to try and catch anything that they were saying.

Suddenly, the couch creaked loudly, Freddie's stunned yelp coming out from behind the door. He jumped back, quickly turning the key inside the lock, trying to prevent him from going any further with what he had planned with their frontman. As he opened the door, Freddie's eyes flashed over to him as he tugged his sleeve down lower, trying his best to hide a patch of red skin from his view. Once again he was keeping the side of his face away from his view as Bret nervously looked away from his own partner and let his hand fall down to the couch, trying his best to pull a weak smile to settle the uneasy air he'd walked into. Eventually he released the harsh hold he had around Freddie's wrist, the crimson mark on his skin slowly starting to appear.

"Hey there John." Bret said, laying back against the opposite cushion and crossing his legs, pushing a strand of hair out of his face.

Animosity began coursing through his veins, quickly mixing with his own bout of jealousy as he saw an unwanted attachment and guilt in Freddie's own dark gaze. He headed over to the opposing wall next to their hallway and leaned against it, Freddie finally managing to look over at him, silently begging him to not say or ask about anything that must have just happened between the two of them while no one had been home. As much as he wanted to get some kind of answer out of Freddie's boyfriend about what he had just done to him before he had gotten to their door, he swallowed his anger back and let out a long sigh, pulling a small smile in response to Bret's seemingly friendly greeting.

"We were just heading out, so don't worry, you'll have the house to yourself without us interfering with anything! Maybe you could go out tonight yourself. That restaurant around the corner is quite nice."

You would know wouldn't you. "I'll check it out eventually." He replied bluntly.

Bret's face paled slightly as Freddie shot up from his seat on the couch, any sign of pain in his face slowly being forced back as shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'll be getting ready, give me a few minutes." He said stiffly as though anything more than that apathetic tone would give away what was going through his mind. He headed down the hall, not even flashing any sort of glance his way as he disappeared behind his door.

"Don't mind him, his emotions have gotten him all screwed up and distant." Bret told him.

He's being emotionless?! Him?! He's got enough difficulty holding back sadness, let alone all kind of emotion at once. I don't know what you've been telling him to make him sullen but don't you dare blame it on him. "He seems fine to me when he's here."

"Really? He's just been kind of off ever since he got sick."

The guy hates being sick. Why else do you think he hardly ever falls ill? It makes him stuck in bed all day, but like you would know, you were off with that other guy instead of making sure he was alright. "Ah, you've seen him on stage. He hates being out of action and unable to do his thing."

Bret hummed quietly, shifting in his spot and folding his hands across his lap while John's stomach continued churning with envy and resentment towards the older man in front of him. He had to have something that drew Freddie towards him. But what on earth was it? He seemed like almost every other person Freddie would run across and surely Freddie wasn't shallow enough to latch onto this guy because he looked attractive to him, though how he found him appealing was lost to him. An old, hairless mutt was more attractive than Freddie's lover in his eyes.

"He's quite upset if he falls ill. He just prefers to do things." John continued, trying to get something out of Bret to continue this conversation.

"Too rowdy if you ask me. Needs to have someone to reel him in if he's getting too loud."

Right so you bruise him so he'll listen. "Better than having someone act boring."

"Eh, it's nice to have a boyfriend again. Been ages since I've been with someone and I was lucky to come across him. He's nice to have around." Freddie's boyfriend continued, ignoring his comment as he continued on with his monologue.

"Real nice to have around. He's such a bright light in the room when he's here." John countered.

"You should try that club around the corner. Plenty of cute girls over there if you wanna get lucky at some point." Bret continued, completely ignoring what he had just said once more and instead making his stomach tie itself into a knot. I would love to go over there and 'score with some girl' to try and shut my mind up. Where am I though? Listening to you practically bash Freddie for being just another boy in your book! I swear you break his heart over this I will-

"Alright, I'm ready love!" Freddie called from the back room.

John looked down the hall, seeing Freddie now clad in a new pair of jeans and a red plaid shirt. His eyes landed on him, his gaze immediately softening as he broke himself away, a dark haze covering his eyes as Bret got up from his seat on their couch, coming over and wrapping his arms around Freddie's smaller frame, confusion marring Freddie's face as he pulled a weak smile and reciprocated the action, burying his face into his lover's chest. Jealousy began making its way through his body again as his heart fell back down to the pit in his stomach. He wanted to relay everything Bret had just told him right back at him so that he could try and persuade him to get out of this relationship with Bret that seemed to be growing more one-sided, solely benefitting his lover instead of making him glow with pride and seeming like it was a chore to make sure Bret was happy so that he could be in a fulfilling relationship.

Freddie pulled away, managing to pull a sweet glance towards him. "Hey, we'll be back later on. Maybe try getting out tonight. Have some fun." He paused and giggled softly, his heart giving a slightly painful leap in his chest as he bared that lovely smile again, this time a contrasting genuine light making its way into his face. "Maybe go get laid tonight to so that you could have some real fun tonight darling. You deserve it." He laid his hand on his shoulder, his own attention focusing on the deep nail indents along their singer's wrist. "You work hard and have been cooped up inside all week. Go outside, walk around, or just go to the cinema." He paused, glancing towards his partner for a split second. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Their frontman removed his grasp around his shoulder, a harsh red mark coming out from beneath the collar of his shirt before it quickly disappeared beneath it again, a sickening feeling making that faint euphoria disappear beneath the sudden concern for their singer. Bret brought his arm down around his waist and coerced him over to their front door, neither of them looking back before Freddie closed the door behind him.

Confusion tied his stomach into knots, his eyes blinking away the small pool of frustrated tears at the corner of his eyes while he tried desperately to repress his concern and jealousy to the back of his mind. Couldn't he see it? He wasn't for him. Not anymore at least. Freddie should've left him as a one-time fling or whatever the hell he had done to actually get into a relationship with him. He was putting on this sickening façade but it was fading rapidly. There wasn't any friendliness in Freddie's words, no happy glimmer in his eyes, hell he didn't even seem to be excited to go somewhere with his supposed boyfriend whom he cared so much about. And yet, Freddie was still attached to him. Even with Bret's cold attitude, Freddie just couldn't see it. He knew if he asked about them that he'd just gush about how sweet, strong, and caring he was around him once again, almost as though it was a routinely thing for him to say the same sort of information day in and day out. God he was close to getting sick if he had to hear how "lovely" Bret was from their singer.

His disorientation quickly settled into a rare hostility. He knows he's not good and yet he stays! God doesn't he know that that lying cheating bastard isn't good for him? Someone else is out there that'll treat you a hell lot better than that prick. He thought furiously as he kicked the wall behind him. He dug his nails into the sides of his crossed arms, making his way over and collapsing on the same spot Freddie had been seated in less than fifteen minutes ago. What on earth are you even doing? You know you're wasting your time Deacon. He's with him now because he apparently loves him more than he loves you and you damn well know it. That devilish voice whispered at the back of his mind. So why not stop trying to prove his guilt now because he's not going to go see that man if Freddie's clinging to his arm twenty-four seven.

The lie began tearing at his nerves once more, only tightening the knot his stomach was in. Freddie wasn't a child nor was Freddie so inattentive as to not notice that Bret was up to something, especially something as big as cheating on him. He didn't need his protection. And there he was, completely lost in this idea that if he caught him with that man once again, then everything would be back to normal. That he wouldn't have seen Bret with him in the first place and that he might not have spent so much damn time with their singer while he was ill. He'd grown so much more attached to him after those days he spent nursing him back to health. Now what on earth was he supposed to do. Actually take both of their advice? Hell he was up for almost anything to dissolve his thoughts even if it was for just a few short hours of poisonous bliss.

He shoved himself up, smoothing out his shirt in the process before heading towards the door, the thought of drowning himself in alcohol bringing an odd sense of relief already before he had even downed any of the numbing substance. Who the hell knows, maybe there'll actually be something there to tear my mind off of him for now. You know he'd be happier to hear that you'd gone out instead of mope around the house all day...again. He convinced, tugging on his light jacket and headed back out the door, rolling his keys around in the palm of his hand before he dug it into the lock again, the image of Freddie's pained expression on his face making his own fall into a grimace. He's hurt and you know he doesn't want to go out tonight. He can't possibly enjoy-God just stop it! Just stop it, he's not even gonna listen. It's Freddie, he'll do anything if it means it'll make him happy and he's definitely not going to let you get in the way of that.

...

"Another." He ordered drowsily, placing his small shot glass down on the counter as the bartender looked over at him worriedly.

"You sure you gonna be alright?" The young man asked.

"F-fine, this is my last one anyway..." John answered, watching as he poured the fourth shot of brandy into his glass. A long groan escaped from him as he swirled the alcohol around in his glass, his eyelids feeling slightly heavier almost as soon as he finished the third. The din in the background continued on. Rock music playing over the speakers, effortlessly blending together with the few voices that mingled in the background. The entire island bar was empty besides a younger, dark skinned woman at the end of the counter, spinning her straw around in the glass of her recently made martini. Few people were in the pub at all. A few stray men, three women including the one seated on the opposite side of him, and a sole couple, happily chatting and giggling to one another about their day. It was starting to become revolting, hearing the girl's shrill laugh come out whenever her partner said almost anything while he'd chortle happily in response, creating a never-ending cycle of their buzzed laughter filling the bar and sticking prominently above the sound of the music.

Let me guess, they've been together a few months and she finds him the best thing in the world while he sees her as his perfect little angel who could do no wrong in his eyes. Tsk, I'd like to see them in a year or two. They won't be laughing then, rubbing their perfect little lives into everyone else's faces.

He downed his shot and slammed it down on the counter, startling the bartender as he picked up the bottle once again, tilting it to the side and adding a curious glance soon after. John shook his head, pushing the glass away from him as he dug his hand into his pocket, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness from his vision and laid down his cash, seeing a happy light find its way into the barman's dark gaze as he placed his generous tip into his own pocket. Just leave it alone John, just because you're miserable doesn't mean you have to make everyone else around you feel bad for being happy. He thought dejectedly. The couple was now leaning across the table, rubbing their noses and pausing to place a small kiss upon each other's lips, his envy and longing only making his body slouch against the counter, his eyes falling halfway shut as he forced his gaze off of their public affection.

God I just want to sleep...Just let me doze off here, they'll wake me up...Anything but seeing them be happy or going back to an empty flat or knowing that they're out doing God knows what...He thought through his sleepy haze.

"Hey, c'mon pal, get up and go home if you're gonna doze off here."

John shoved his head up and let it lazily fall against the palm of his hand, meeting the gentle gaze of the bartender who motioned towards the front door. He desperately wanted to argue, beg him to not make him leave just yet so that he wouldn't be met with something far worse than being buzzed at some pub. Eventually he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and nodded, shoving himself up from his spot and wavering slightly in his spot, the bartender reflexively reaching out to try to catch him if he fell. He waved him off, bidding a soft thanks before trudging out of the pub, the shrill laughter of the young girl echoing once more through the bar and lingering behind in his thoughts.

The streets were bustling with people, as he should expect from a Friday night. People happily chatting away about whatever it was that passed through their minds, every single one of them living in a sort of peaceful bliss that happily evaded him. He fell back against the wall of the pub, rummaging through his coat pocket for his lighter and cigarette box, keeping an unwavering yet gazeless stare across the street, seeing everything in his sight but focusing on nothing. He shook out his last cigarette from the small paper box, stuffing it back into his pocket with an annoyed huff, placing it between his lips and quickly lighting the end, taking in one long drag as he tossed the lighter into the same pocket with the now empty box.

What're they even doing? Merrily waltzing along the sidewalks without a care in the world, letting the weeks and days blur together so that months go bye and suddenly it's a new year. Nothing big ever happens in their lives and yet everyone else seems to be perfectly fine. And what are you doing? Things they'd all kill to do. Travel the world, have more money than some would make in a lifetime, do what you love for a living and enjoying every bit of it. Actually living, if you put it in their words.

John shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts away from his head before they'd force him into a slump that'd keep him up all night once more. He blew out a cloud of smoke into the air, mindlessly watching as it grew and faded away as he tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. His face fell into a grimace as the laughter from inside the pub covered his thoughts again, the few images of that anonymous couple happily conversing, plentiful memories of Roger and Brian's jovial times together in front of him, but just a handful of imagines of whatever Bret was doing with his dear Freddie made his heart wince as his head fell to the top of his chest as his eyes fell halfway shut.

Everyone's happy with someone at least once in their life. Even damn teenagers have more experience in that than you do and that's just pathetic. What do you know about love? It's all a damn guess to you. You can have someone tell it to you in the deepest, most explicit detail and you couldn't relate it to anything. No one's loved you and you know no one's going to at this point. Your father wouldn't dare call you his son if he was still here. Your own mother doesn't even stay in contact with you and she'd hate you even more if they figured out you want to be with someone like Freddie. You know damn well what your place is...

He removed his half-used cigarette from between his lips, tapping it once more before he pressed it against the brick outside of the pub, crushing it against the outer wall and letting it aimlessly fall to the ground. His whole body began feeling numb, the mere energy he was using to drag himself around the corner back to their flat making it feel more and more treacherous with every step he took. The loud noises of the busy English streets were only adding to his overall frustration, the awaited bittersweet silence of their home making it only slightly bearable.

You're not lovable. You know that and it's ridiculous that you could even fathom a possibility of being with anyone, let alone someone like him. The fact that you couldn't even bring yourself to tell Roger the truth while you were breaking down right in front of him should tell you enough. "Tried dating a few girls". What a useless excuse. You went out with one and look how that went. She didn't even like you. You're just the laughingstock in their eyes. Naïve and irritating. Couldn't even tell that it was all just a show for the others to laugh at.

It had hardly been a few months into his final year of high school and he'd already gotten used to having few people to call close friends, let alone be considered relatively popular among the other students. He wished he had known better than to think that one of the prettier girls would just casually walk up to him and flirt so blatantly with him. Batting her wide eyes, giggling at everything he said, pressing her body up to his as often as she would even if he wasn't completely comfortable with her thoughtless actions. All he did was play along. With it being the only shot he had with a girl in that school, maybe it'd be proof to him that he wasn't confused about his sexuality, maybe he could have been leaning towards guys because not a single woman would come over to speak to him, let alone find him interesting.

He slammed the door shut, hearing its loud crash echo through their silent flat. His jacket fell to the ground, his weak attempt to hang it up failing immediately. It wasn't personal enough with her, you didn't feel a connection and you kept it going, just to try and trick yourself into believing that you could be more normal in everyone else's eyes. That someone could love you. His inner thoughts growled venomously as he collapsed onto his bed in his darkened bedroom, the room slightly spinning from his disoriented state.

Months passed by with her, October coming quickly and she was eager to show him off to everyone she knew. It was all just a faux appearance, a way for him to think that everyone wasn't silenced by his presence or teased about being alone and quiet around so many others. He should've known better. Had he really thought it was normal for her to not even kiss him that entire time? Even when she went and finally got him in the bedroom to try and go all the way she never once placed her lips upon his. Instead he screwed up in one of the worst ways he could. He sat there quietly, doing nothing. Not a thing. He didn't push her away, lying and telling her that he wasn't in the mood. He never said that they were moving too quick. Hell, he never even bothered to just shake his head and cross his legs. No. He let her do her work, taking off the clothes around his lower body and acting so over-the-top with her seductive actions that it all felt artificial. When she took him down into her mouth there wasn't a single change, just a settling sense of awareness of what he really was. It wasn't until it slapped both of them in the face that the night was going absolutely nowhere that she pulled off of his limp member and stared up at him with a blank expression.

As upsetting as it was that he'd been forced into that sudden realization, it was nothing compared to her reaction. Bitter as it may be to not get the damn thing up just so that she would at least have been convinced, having that same person break into hysterical laughter while you were trying your best to tuck yourself back into your clothes only made it all worse.

"Good lord, you can't get the damn thing up even?" She had said right to his face, his already prominent embarrassment only getting worse and worse over the second, causing his present self to start to feel sick to his stomach.

"I mean honestly. I'm glad I got paid for doing this. What kind of guy won't at least seem interested in at least a one-night shag so that all those months weren't a waste of my time?"

"T-time?"

"God you're an idiot. I'll take paying my other friends the ten quid I owe them. But really, how thick can someone be? It was all a bet, I never had a crush on you. My friends bet me to see if I could get anyone to sleep with me and they singled you out. Took you five months to even let me in your trousers and you can't even get hard. That's just pathetic." 

And she had left him. Not another word. Just her laugh that ran through the room before she left him sitting there, completely dumbstruck. She was right. He was a joke. Just another thing to waste time on. The story that he couldn't get with her the previous night spread like wildfire through the school. He was singled out, despite his friends still occasionally sticking around him. Her friends especially made it fun to whisper and giggle whenever he passed by them, her own face slightly grimacing as they taunted her but at least their insults were out of good fun. All the ones directed at him were just crushing. None of the other students would talk to him as it'd be social suicide if they went up to him to talk unless they had to. He was just a game to all of them. A test. One small way to see if they could exploit any other facts about him so that they can all have fun toying around with the personal details of his life. His happiness hadn't mattered to them, they just wanted a fun game for a while to see if they could find something about him to make him more of an outcast at school.

If some teenage broad can't find anything appealing in you, why the hell would you think Freddie would? You're nowhere near his type of guy, let alone one he'd actually want to be with in a relationship.

His eyes began to sting, but no collection of tears grew at the corners of his eyes. So many times he'd rehashed that memory in his mind and all it did was bring the heartwrenching realization of how the world saw him. The quiet guy that everyone can use as a punching bag so that they can get a laugh out of his misfortune. It'd be completely useless for him to have a relationship. No one was going to love him the same way he would've loved them. Everyone else had something that drew people towards them. But him? Nothing. Who's gonna love a self-pitying brat like yourself.

That's all he really ever did now. Mull over anything that happened in his life over and over to the point that it was growing to become routine for him to be reminded of what he'd endured. Recent events would only make those old emotions resurface and make him feel sick from it all. He turned onto his back, blankly staring at the ceiling of his room, the rush of life outside his window faintly audible in the background. God how he wished he could find a damn reason for him to go out there to join them besides drowning himself in alcohol every now and then even if he hardly ever got to the point of going past his limit, usually since the bartender who would be serving him would stop doing so. The call of the few cans of alcohol they had in their fridge slowly became more and more tantalizing, the urge to completely numb his emotions and rational for even a few brief, blissful moments was sounding so much better than sitting here, waiting for something to suddenly happen, something to change, something to give him a definite reason to want to continue each day.

Alas, it never did. It'd never get to that safe state of mind and it hadn't been like that for years. That feeling skulking in the back of his mind that would occasionally shut up if something good happened or would even hibernate for a few days, being completely silent and letting him enjoy the few moments of peace. An escape from feeling like nothing. To think so many of them had happened with the same three people. His family had never been a direct source, even more so for the past few years. The few people whom he figured were friends of his in school were there for quick doses. But these guys? It had been the first time it felt truly genuine.

But with that joy came a devious price. Meeting Freddie had been such a bittersweet experience. The last thing in his life he had needed at the time was some bloody crush on someone, let alone someone like that. Maybe he could've moved on by himself if he hadn't met their singer, maybe it all would've calmed down and he'd just move through every motion like hundreds of other people.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! God I don't want to think about this, about them, about him...Can't I just sleep? You know damn well why. Because you deserve it, the constant reminder of what you've done in the past. Why everything here exists. It's all because you chose to go out with her, you chose to join the band, and you chose to not give up on him at the start and look, you can't forget him and everything else you did lead you right here.

A sudden sick feeling spread through his stomach as he turned onto his side, tightly gripping his middle and feeling a sharp shudder pass through his body at the repulsive thoughts that ran through his mind. His friends laughing at him for being an idiot with that girl in high school, the slim chance of running into her again and being forced to endure another laughing fit from her at him nearly slipping out of the closet because he had been too afraid to say no to her, angering Roger in some way that'd make him let every secret he'd enclosed into him fall into the open to every person he knew, or even having Freddie confront him the same way Roger did, holding up a wrinkled sheet of paper written in his handwriting with some of his deepest thoughts etched onto the paper, disbelief and disgust storming through his gaze as he'd throw the paper at his chest and isolate him from his life as much as possible. Shivers and shivers of anxiety and fear ran down his spine as he tried to shake his irrational thoughts out of his mind, his stomach only tying itself in a tighter knot as the desire for some kind of relief from all this welled up once more, beating his logic into the ground as the sweet faux relief that accompanied a drunken haze would be worth any sort of hangover in the morning.

Yet hid leaden body wouldn't budge. It just wanted to lay there, blankly staring at something while continually running the countless experiences through his mind to keep him wide awake through the night once more. Please, just stop. He thought as the loud cackling from his impostor girlfriend filled his mind, her stance soon being replaced with their frontman, his smile looking devilish in the darkened room as he continued to laugh at his embarrassment. It's not real, you know it's not. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real...

...

"He spends his evenings alone in his hotel room. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he'd be leaving soon..."

John impatiently tapped the paper he had laid out in front of him, debating whether or not he should cross the lines out or keep them there. His clouded, sleep-deprived mind made him want to toss the sheet into the bin and start over from scratch. A large ink blot began growing near the edge of the paper, John mindlessly watching the blue spot grow and grow as his face began growing slack. God he wanted to sleep, just to curl up on his bed and not have to worry about anything for a while for once in his life.

He groaned impatiently and threw the papers aside onto the counter, burying his face in his hands as his breathing grew stiff and ragged as he tried to calm himself down as fast as he could. Flashes of the night before made the already growing pit of embarrassment deepen as he silently berated himself for letting himself get that bad last night instead of just distracting himself with anything else. He needed to silence himself before Roger and Brian woke up, the idea of having them walk in on him clawing at his hair, gritting his teeth, and hunched over their counter only making him dread what he felt was only inevitable.

A harsh sigh escaped from him as he fell forward onto the hard countertop, wrapping his arms around his middle in an attempt to stable himself before anyone walked in on him. Why he thought sitting out in the kitchen would help him, he didn't know. Maybe it was to shut anyone up if they came home and saw that he was still laying in his bed at half past noon, despite it barely being past eight in the morning at the moment.

And then, the silence around him broke. Hushed whispers came from down their hall, immediately yanking him out of his dazed state and garnering his attention. The quiet talking began spacing out, long gaps of silences coming from between every sentence and growing only more prominent with every step he took down their hallway, his curiosity getting the better of him as he pressed the side of his face against Roger and Brian's door, a quiet, muffled sobbing just barely making its way through the wood that separated him from the two of them.

"I-I should've expected it...Why should I have hoped for different?" Roger's sullen, breaking voice whimpered.

"There's nothing wrong with hoping for something to change. You shouldn't beat yourself up-"

"Like you'd know what it's like. I got the pleasure to hear your parents gush about you over the phone on y-your birthday..." Roger growled, his sentence being cut off by uncharacteristic cry once again. "Mine prefer to think I don't exist..." He finished, a fit of heavy breathing and a shaky, shattering sob following.

"Come here baby..." Brian replied softly, the creaking of their bed and a muted crying following as John stared dumbly down the hall, his own sympathy starting to mix with his wondering as he pushed his own issues out of his thought to the best of his ability, instead itching to hear more of their conversation so that he could fill in the many holes.

"It's been bloody years and I still get like this. Then all I get from you is 'Don't think about it' or some shit like that. I wish it were that easy Bri...But it just isn't. It's tiring, it's annoying, all of it..." Another fit of ugly sobbing followed. "God I'm sorry..."

"There's no need to apologize. You don't have to force it away. Vent if you need to, I'm not going anywhere."

With that, John pulled away, already feeling a sudden guilt at eavesdropping on everything between his fellow bandmates. He backed away from their door, rushing away as he heard their bed creak again and fell back down on the couch, trying to get into a normal position by snatching the newspaper up from the table top and unfolding it to a random page. He tried to read the words in front of him, picking up the occasional word about football and how some team in red won the game but besides that, it all blurred into a mess of text as he thought back to what he'd just heard. Surely nothing had happened recently with Roger's parents? He would've told them. He wasn't secretive or a closed person at all, if anything he was the most open out of the four of them regarding his personal life. It was just so unlike him to break down at all and to sound so exhausted and antsy, scared even. Hell it was almost unheard of.

The door down the hall creaked open as John tried to focus his vision back on the newspaper to keep whoever was coming down away from asking any questions about his own poor appearance from his harsh, sleepless night. He glanced over, seeing their guitarist fiddling with his tangled curls and using his other free hand to finish fastening the button on his trousers. Worrying lines were strewn across his face, his gaze completely unfocussed as he opened up their fridge and stared blankly into it for the next minute, the cold air soon reaching him and making him shiver.

"You alright Bri?" He asked, seeing him shake his head to get him out of his stupor, growl in frustration, and slam the door shut.

"Kinda...It was a rough night. Roger's still sleeping though and I just wanted to make him breakfast for when he did come around." He replied in a much calmer voice, immediately flashing a look down their hallway as he took in a deep inhalation, absentmindedly toying with the edge of his pocket and crossing his other arm across his bare middle.

"Is everything alright with him?" He asked despite knowing that he wasn't going to get an honest answer after Brian already lied once to him.

He remained silent for a moment, his grip around his stomach tightening as he looked up at their ceiling, giving a faint shrug before nodding. "Yeah...Not much going on, you can tell though, it's been rather quiet around here lately with Freddie going out with Bret all the time."

Don't remind me. That prat hardly comes here anymore and I'd like it to stay that way. John thought bitterly as he folded up the newspaper he had been falsely reading. After sensing the quick silence, Brian made use of it and turned around, shuffling about in their fridge while John laid his head back against the arm of their couch, tuning in on only the sounds that came from their guitarist as he made a small meal for his partner who hadn't made another audible sound since his conversation with Brian.

Time slowly passed, every minute crawling by as John occasionally looked over to see whatever it was he was preparing for Roger, smirking softly as he watched him crack open two eggs and grimace as soon as they fell in the glass bowl. John couldn't help but feel an odd endearment at Brian's actions. He despised having anything to do with eating an animal and yet there he was handling it just to make a breakfast worthwhile for his incapacitated lover. It brought an unusual homey feel to the room and it made everything feel docile and at peace for just a few, drawn-out minutes that they both silently took to their activities, John finally deciding to throw the television on after he grew bored of staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

"Oh dammit!" Brian suddenly hissed as he abandoned his cooking and rushed down the hallway, throwing their door open and shutting it immediately. He sat up on their couch, his own heart racing from the sudden adrenaline that jerked through his body at Brian's sudden exclamation. Smoke began curling up from the hot pan on their stove, John quickly tossing aside his newspaper, nearly tripping over his own feet while getting up and trying to get over there, and throwing it off the hot burner, just barely able to dodge the small, blue flame as he shut it off. The eggs, luckily, had only browned slightly during the few seconds that Brian had abandoned them to go back into their room that he was still locked behind. Again he heard a faint conversation behind their door, but found it best to not intrude upon them this time around.

Don't listen to them Deacon. He seethed internally as he fell down onto their couch again. If Roger wants to tell you or if Brian wants to be honest, then let them. He ordered, his curiosity still instinctively reaching out to try and grasp any part of whatever it was they were whispering about behind their closed door. It wasn't like he wanted to know just for the sake of knowing. All this was doing was making him feel guilty about throwing his own issues onto their drummer when it was obvious that he was facing issues that made his pale in comparison. What on earth was he thinking? Throwing all of that onto Roger while he was in a lighthearted mood instead of just playing along like he should have. He cursed his actions once more, sighing loudly before sinking even deeper into their couch, blankly staring out their window as the rising sun began peeking out from behind one of the smaller buildings, their dim room brightening up from the cheery light, John only closing his eyes and turning over onto his side to block it from his sight.

...

By the time Brian had come back out, the meal he had been making had gone cold and sunlight had been able to make its way past their curtains to be able to fill their whole room. His partner still hadn't come out nor did he seem to be moving at all from their bedroom due to the lack of any sounds emitting from it. Brian had hastily prepared a quick, fresh meal, without the use of the stove this time, and brought it down to their room, a grim expression on his face only making him feel worse about his previous actions towards Roger whenever he had gotten around to talking about anything with him.

Night had only come sooner, Brian coming out of his room once more and forcing him to stuff the sheet of paper he had grabbed off the counter into his pocket so that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of anything he had been scribbling down. Immense worry and slight fear darkened his hazel gaze as he continually fiddled with the buttons on his shirt while fruitlessly trying to focus on the TV program he had thrown on in an effort to distract himself. He'd gladly accepted the extra noise; it was helping ease the nagging thought at the back of his mind of the whereabouts of their singer who'd been missing since the previous afternoon.

"When do you think Fred's coming back?" He asked, Brian jumping in his seat as soon as he spoke out to him and looking at him with slightly panicky eyes.

"What do you...How long's he been gone for?"

"Since yesterday around two."

"Jesus, well I mean he's probably with Bret so he should be good. Else he would've called us but the phone's been dead all day."

John huffed in agreement, the familiar sense of dread settling over his stomach as he desperately hoped for that phone to suddenly ring and for their singer's warm voice to come through from the other end so that he'd know he was safe wherever he was. As luck would have it, the room stayed quiet. The drone of the news played in the background, the occasional sigh from one of them and the rare bird chirping from outside being the only two things that interrupted the steady noise. It was almost a complete recreation of earlier that day, yet this time that dark, fretful air that surrounded them was what made him yearn for something, anything to happen to distract him from worrying about the other two members of the band.

Brian suddenly shifted in his seat, tugging out a box of cigarettes from his back pocket and tossing them onto the table, glaring at the paper box with pure contempt before he turned his gaze back towards their TV.

"Since when did you start smoking?" John asked. It'd been made blatantly obvious to all three of them that their guitarist despised any drug use besides drinking alcohol and would always shoot that slightly uncomfortable glare towards any of them if they lit one of them around him, even Roger. Seeing him just carrying the opened box would be like if Freddie brought home a fully-grown newfoundland.

"I don't." He stated bluntly. "They're Roger's. I'm..." He paused for a moment, sighing loudly before continuing. "I'm just holding them for him."

"Is he alright?" John finally said, silently cursing himself for not being able to hold back the question once again.

Instant sadness filled his face, his eyes looking like they were already growing misty as the anger died back down. And yet he nodded, adding in a fairly convincing smile before he turned his attention down their hallway. "Yeah...Yeah he's fine. Just being lazy today." He said, forcing a laugh at the end of his sentence before his face fell.

"I'm going out. I'll be back." He said abruptly, shooting up from his seat and rushing over to their door, quickly grabbing his coat and tossing it on. John barely got out the first bit of his "goodbye" before Brian closed to door behind him. Questions stormed through his mind about the two's current rift between them. He'd seen them at worse odds than this, the memory of the two of them being at each other's throats one afternoon about three years prior coming to the surface. Something else was there, it wasn't hard for him to sense or for anyone with working eyes and ears.

He wished Freddie had been there, he could easily read everyone like an open book and was far more effective at getting answers out of them or even mending an argument than any of them, especially himself. Maybe he could've gotten a straight answer out of Brian. Hell even a truthful response would've done more than him lying about their drummer's condition. All he could come up with was typical answers that'd fit what he knew about Roger. His first thought had been that it was a similar illness to whatever had gotten their singer a few weeks prior. But even he knew that was a lie.

God he wanted him here, hell they needed him here. If it was just for some kind of stability, it'd be better than this. This odd segregation between the three of them and the gloomy feeling that shrouded their flat. Roger locked up in his room, Brian storming out while being so uncharacteristically dark and confused, and himself, being the usual quiet and expectedly unhelpful one who couldn't even begin to help himself out, let alone the other two.

But you know it's not all perfect for him either. John's subconscious told him, a soft groan escaping from him at the earlier event of seeing him look so closed off when he was next to his boyfriend. It wasn't like him. It wasn't him. Someone with that wild of a spirit isn't that easy to be silenced like that, especially Freddie. It took a lot to break him and seeing those dark bruises from all those weeks ago and now the current red marks that were visible told him enough of how his partner was choosing to make him submit.

Come on Freddie, walk through that door so that there can at least be some sort of certainty for now. He thought hopelessly, the deadly silence only making him more desperate for anything on his condition now that he was alone with that beast he called his boyfriend. Don't stay there. He's not for you. Come home.

Yet with all his hope, the door remained shut, the flat remained silent, and he remained sitting there on their couch, staring emptily at the floor while the unknowingness of what was going on continued to gnaw at his tranquility.

...

Midnight had encroached upon him soon enough. Sleep came to him in quick spurts, this one ending almost as soon as he was about to sink away into a hopefully painless dream as he sat up, dazed once more as he stared at the now dark TV screen. He looked over at the coat hanger, his hopes falling as the spot where Brian's coat usually hung stood empty. The remote had moved from the table next to their guitarist's previous seat and was now atop the coffee table and pointed towards the TV. He glanced towards the kitchen, hoping to see their singer with a mug of tea in his hands and leaning against the countertop, smiling warmly at him now that he had come around. All he got, however, was the sight of a dim room, the kettle still off to the side and not a single glow from any of the burners to indicate that it had been on.

"Oh? I didn't know that you'd come around."

John looked towards the small voice, meeting that unusual, worried gaze of their drummer who had a folded, dark blue blanket tucked under his right arm while he chewed at his nails.

"I've been up and out for a while; it's just chance this time." John said quietly.

"Has Bri come back yet?"

"No...He left a while ago and-"

"You don't have to explain." Roger told him, guilt and embarrassment taking over his expression as he laid the blanket down on their kitchen counter, taking a seat on one of the barstools and stared straight ahead, the uncertainty in his eyes making it look like saying the wrong thing would bring him to tears. "I figured he'd go out later on once I'd gone back to sleep again."

"Is something wrong?" He pressed, hoping for some sort of answer on their peculiar behavior over the past day.

Roger slightly opened his mouth, hurt mixing into the pained look upon his face as his shoulders fell slack and he shook his head. "Nah..." He said in a bizarre, calm tone. "Just him being paranoid that I might've been coming down with something."

He began toying with a loose string on the blanket he had carried out. John forced back the urge to ask him why he felt he had to lie to him about what was really bothering him. Brian had already subjected him to that earlier. At least Roger should've given him some insight onto what was getting to him. But the tired, bitter shadow that covered his gaze told him that it wasn't something he wanted to discuss again now that he'd found enough energy to shove himself out of bed.

"Has Freddie come back yet?" Roger asked after another five minutes of an awkward silence.

"No...He's still out with Bret doing whatever the hell takes almost two days to do." He growled, holding back his desire to bring up his almost perfectly proven suspicion that their singer wasn't safe with that mongrel he wanted to have as his lover.

"John don't be so worried about him." Roger told him, his face falling as though the extra power he'd put into his statement had drained it all out of him.

"Why shouldn't I?" He asked. "It's been two damn days and I haven't heard shit from him! And I doubt he's called either of you two." He accused, seeing Roger shake his head in response as he ran his hands through his hair. Good lord why weren't they worried about him? He was their friend too and hell were they honestly that blind that they couldn't see the effects of his time over his boyfriend's house?

"John, John. It's alright, he's with Bret and there's nothing to be worried about. He would've shot us a call. Besides, do you really think the press wouldn't have been all over the fact that something happened to the Freddie Mercury?"

He wanted to scream his lungs out. He's not alright! I know he's not! He's gonna come back eventually and I can't handle seeing him look any more beaten than last time...

"John, you're worried about him because you haven't seen him in a long time and that's it."

"And it's fucking pathetic." He spat, fighting back his anger towards Freddie and his partner. He knew Roger was right, though it was only half the issue that he was addressing. He wanted him back home or at least away from Bret. The major thing was that he couldn't do anything to help him. He couldn't tell Freddie he wasn't safe with him, he couldn't explain why he felt that way, he couldn't even tell him that he can see the bruises and marks along his body. All he'd get if he asked that was Freddie throwing some defense to try and keep Bret protected for whatever damn reason he had.

"It's not pathetic Deaky-"

"Oh it's not pathetic? I'm so desperate for someone that I fall for my best friend instead of someone who I've never known! I can't even manage to tell him what was once my biggest secret and I had it yanked out of me by you and Brian instead of doing it myself! And then-"

John turned to face him, cutting himself off at the exhausted and helpless look on Roger's face as he looked down at the counter.

"I'm sorry...Just, I hate that I can't do something more to help him. It's the most clichéd thing in all of history; someone falling for their best friend."

"Clichéd?" Roger asked. "John, it's not pathetic. If anything, it's the best spark of luck someone can have."

Roger got up, slowly walking over to the chair opposite him that Brian had been occupying a few hours earlier, his pale face lightly reflecting the slight glow from the kitchen light he had left on.

"John, it's a blessing to fall for your best friend. Do you really think that a relationship would work if you and the other person don't get along? Relationships are so much easier, so much better when it's with your closest friend. You already hang out with them every single day and haven't gotten sick of them. You've lived with them for years and know their quirks and how they live and you still consider them the person who you couldn't ever imagine out of your life. And he's not even your boyfriend. I was Brian's closest friend for the time before we got together and we're still here..." His voice trailed off, regret filling his gaze as he heaved a heavy sigh. "And I couldn't imagine life without him."

"Look, falling for your best friend isn't pathetic. It's something thousands of people hope for and fail to find because they have nothing in common and can't connect. All you did was fall in love with someone who you do connect with. Isn't that what everyone wants?"

John's heart raced in his chest at Roger's words. He couldn't imagine not having him around. Hell not having him there with him so he could just talk to him was making everything immensely boring. Past memories were flooding his mind. All the times Freddie would coerce him to try and write songs, all the times he would protect him from anything he didn't want to endure yet, and just simply all the times he got to just talk with him. His heart skipped a beat at every thought, that warmth and affection following as he felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I just don't want him to be hurt..." John admitted, his expression falling as soon as he spoke. "He's my best friend and I can't stand the thought that he isn't here right now."

"But he'll be okay. Bret's not going to do anything to hurt him."

"He's not okay...I know he's not." John finally got out as he ignored their drummer's words.

"Have you heard from him then?"

"Good lord, no!" John hissed. "Come on Roger, are you telling me you've never seen any of those bruises or marks on his body? Or how he even acts around Bret now! It's not like him..."

"John, you're being paranoid. Freddie's not that stupid to stay with someone if they were hurting him." Roger disproved, although he immediately looked like he regretted that sentence as soon as he uttered it.

"No I'm not! Look at him whenever the hell he comes home! Last time I saw him I know I saw fucking marks along his throat and he kept trying to cover them up! You know he's not quiet and yet he wouldn't get barely a sentence out once he was back next to Bret..."

"People get hurt sometimes John..." Roger replied, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself that everything he was telling him wasn't true.

"Then you tell me that the next time you see him. I know what I see and that bastard Freddie's fucking his life up with is abusing the living hell out of him!"