Stars danced in front of his closed eyes, John slowly coming back to consciousness after blacking out. He tried to sit up, but his stomach shouted in opposition. The clock chimed from the wall, John now blinking rapidly to clear his vision to properly look around him. One hand was sitting on the twelve, the other perfectly atop the three and all he could hear was the ambient noises outside and his slow breathing.

Memories began resurfacing as he came out of his daze. Panic, anger, the confusion inside atop Freddie's face, that beastly glare inside of Bret's fierce eyes, his own burst of impulsivity that led to him slamming his fist right into that arrogant face. He tried to look behind him, the pieces of the cat statue still lying on the ground. John moved the rest of his body, stretching his sore hand out and feeling the dried blood crack.

Freddie! He thought suddenly, shooting up from his spot on the couch, only to wince as his stomach whined in pain. Just a second later he rushed down the hall, the door sitting ever so slightly ajar. Against his better judgement, he opened up the door and peered in, seeing Freddie collapsed on his bed with one of his pillows nestled between his arms, his legs now pulled up near his chest. The poor thing looked like a complete wreck. Hair all tousled up, bruises and cuts strewn across his body, and the sadness from earlier still etched into every inch of his face. One wouldn't be surprised if he began crying right then and there while asleep, but the very thought made him sick.

Rather than risk waking him up, John quietly backed away, leaving him to rest after his emotional ordeal. Now it'd take a miracle for himself to fall back to sleep. But now wasn't the time. His mind was far too busy with thoughts to try and sleep now. He found himself walking back to the living room and, once again, falling onto the couch. His eyes made their way over to the carpet, a few spots of dry blood staining the edges. John didn't bother himself with it and flicked on the TV, lowering the volume as much as he could while still being able to hear what was being said.

For the next half hour, John stared emptily at the TV, barely taking in what was being said on the screen yet not truly thinking about anything in particular. Everything felt like some harsh, emotional blur, violently tossing around his feelings like they were baseballs. One containing the image of his laughing faux girlfriend sitting on the ground flew by, another with an old nightmare from his childhood flying across, the image of the woods he used to sit in just to get away from everything being ripped away from him. It made him sick. He wanted someone to come home and comfort him. To hold him and tell him it's alright. That it wasn't his fault any of that happened, that there wasn't anything wrong with him. Maybe Freddie would really walk back out. A reformed man without any damage from the past few months, like none of this had even happened. If he could go back...Go back to a safer time when Freddie was singing his forlorn gospel into the mic at the studio instead of doing anything he could to avoid that reality again. Perhaps then he could prevent some of this if he just got the courage to be brave for once instead of cowering behind the door, hoping no one would ever see him.

Or was it just easier to never even consider it? Could just blocking it all out help? How he wished he could just escape back to those old woods from when he was younger. At least there he found some kind of solitude away from whatever was haunting him. In his house he had his family, at school there were other students, and now, in his own home, he couldn't feel safe. Everything lurked in every corner. The shards of glass, the blood stains, the knowledge that Freddie, Roger, or Brian could walk in any second and completely disrupt the air around him. If he could've just ignored it all, maybe Freddie would've came to his senses and left that prat in the future.

He should've expected it sooner or later, although he had hoped it would be later since he wanted a few more moments by himself. Yet the door flew open, startling him ever so slightly. Brian marched in, muttering something under his breath and not saying a word to him as he headed for his room. Before he rounded the corner, he paused at the edge of the hallway and peered around at the scene before him, the previous anger vanishing as he looked down at him with growing concern.

"What the hell happened?" Brian asked, though he didn't seem to care all that much. 

"It's a lovely tale about breaking Bret's nose and Freddie crying himself to sleep in his bedroom." John answered, motioning towards his bloody hand.

"You broke his-and did they...?" Brian began, John nodding in response.

"I don't regret it." John said bluntly. "He was beating the living hell outta him. Just like I suspected. Deserved a taste of his own medicine if you ask me."

"I mean I don't blame you...But Jesus it looks like it got rough." Brian looked down at the shattered statue. "Who threw-?"

"Bret. Just as soon as I came in. Kinda just exploded from there."

"Is Fred okay?" Brian asked.

"No. And you better leave him alone." John told him, seeing Brian nod a second later, but not after giving a look down the hall towards Freddie's room.

"What happened with Rog?"

Brian just scoffed at his name. He rolled his eyes before leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. "Big shocker but he got all pissy tonight. I don't know what got him into that mood but he basically blew up at me earlier over every little thing-surprised he didn't cut my head off at the bar-but he's still at the bar, drunk as all hell, and wouldn't let me talk to him. Whatever though. Like it bloody matters."

John shrugged it off. Roger's hotheadedness wasn't unheard of and they'd both cool down eventually. Brian didn't say anything else and just walked off, still muttering under his breath about God knows what Roger actually said. His door slammed shut an instant later, leaving John alone once more. Yet the solitude he'd had beforehand was gone and he wasn't getting any ounce of it back.

...

Nights continued, each one feeling more and more distorted and wrong. Roger and Brian still weren't talking to each other, Brian now sleeping on the couch instead of in the same room. The rows seemed to grow more apparent, popping up over every little thing: clothes being left on the ground, not putting something back properly, this or that, that or this, and so much more nonsense that John wished he could just disable his hearing so he wouldn't have to hear any of it.

"Oh fuck you!" Roger howled from their room while John replaced his shirt that evening, tossing the soiled one into his pile of laundry. The door crashed and someone's heavy footsteps followed, seeming to go away for a second until they began marching back towards his door. Bang after bang followed, John slowly walking over and opening the door, seeing Roger's fist heading right towards his face, only to pause a few millimeters from his nose.

"Yes?" He asked with a dull voice.

"C'mon I gotta get out of here because someone needs space!" Roger barked, turning a vicious glare towards the door behind him. "Yet doesn't let anyone else get any!"

"And I have to come with you because?"

"I just told you. Look, just come on." Roger said, something lingering behind his words for a few moments that pressured him into coming along. He looked down towards Freddie's room once more, seeing it swung open and still devoid of life. He could only sigh, not wanting to even begin to dwell on what was going on now.

"He's got the nerve to constantly disappear for no reason but when I wanna do it he gets all nosey and can't leave it alone! So what if I went down the street by myself? I'm not doing anything illegal! Am I?" Roger began as soon as they got out the door.

John hummed in response.

"I mean, I just don't get it. Why's he gotta worry all the time? I'm not doing anything stupid and I'm not a bloody child. Oh but if he goes out and I wonder he can simply say 'out' and that has to suffice with me. Good lord I would've smacked the hell outta him if he kept it up last night." Roger continued. 

Another hum.

"It's just..." Roger said in a much softer voice once they rounded the corner. "Did I do something? Why's he so distant lately...Yet he never shuts up when we're together. Surely he still likes me...Right?"

Hum.

"John please." Roger pleaded, earning an empty stare from him. Those blue eyes were full of confusion and desperation, the once visible anger now receding into oblivion. "Did Bri say anything to you? Or have you seen him do anything out of the ordinary?"

"No. All I know is he was pissed at you because of whatever happened at the bar."

Roger just rolled his eyes. "Look." He began, a guilty tone coating his voice. "I was in a bad mood that day, that's all. I snapped at him because he was the only one around. It's...It's nothing, alright? Has there been anything else?"

"No."

They continued down the street, Roger looking even more desolate with every passing second. John shut his eyes, breathing in deeply as he tried to find the words. In the meantime, he went into his back pocket, hoping to find his box of cigarettes. He remembered he'd used the last one not that long ago and hadn't had the chance to get more.

"Rog-" He started, Roger instantly jumping up at his name. "I just...Maybe just talk with him. I don't think he's hiding anything from you. Besides, it's been years. It's normal to not be around each other for every second of every day after doing it for so long, if not logical. Let him be."

"It's just...You've no idea what he's done for me." Roger admitted. "Or what I've tried to give him. We've known each other since university and have known each other the longest out of the four of us. I don't know what's on his mind lately or what he's doing."

"Really. I just think it's a rough patch. That's all. You two have had far worse times." John told him, trying quickly to come up with some example. "Remember that party back in '74?" He asked.

"Oh good Lord I was about to kill him. He nearly totaled my car because he wanted to impress some broad by driving with his eyes shut while being completely wasted! Surprised he didn't kill himself!"

"Got pretty bruised up. Plus, you wouldn't speak to him for a week!"

"He deserved it!" Roger said. "Lucky I didn't smash his guitar."

"Oh now that'd kill him quicker than a car crash." John added, Roger giving a quick nod in response.

The two continued into the corner store, Roger quickly grabbing what he wanted while John grabbed a new pack of cigarettes, quickly paying the cashier before Roger could beat him. On the walk home, Roger tried to put on his brave face, but it was easy for anyone to see that he was nervous; his fear was ebbing through every part of his face. He laid a hand on Roger's shoulder, seeing him give a worried look his way. Neither said anything, but both understood what was trying to be said. Upon arrival back at their flat, Roger looked at the shut door, tightly gripping the bag from the store.

"What if he's still mad?" Roger asked.

"It's Bri...His anger rarely gets the better of him." John answered in a soft tone. 

He inhaled deeply once again before opening the door. Roger stood rigidly near the couch, John watching Brian lay his cup down onto the counter and walk over. Brian looked down at him, Roger shrinking back ever so slightly. Yet John saw otherwise in Brian's face. It was nothing like Roger had expected. All that could be seen was compassion, something that he knew Roger desperately needed right now. Without a word spoken, the two grabbed each other in a tight embrace, neither letting go for the next minute. That was, until, a loud crash sounded from the back of the house.

"Get the hell out then you bloody bastard!" Freddie howled.

"Oh now look here-" A random voice shouted back.

"Get out!"

Feet slammed on the floor, a rather burly man marching out of Freddie's bedroom, his shirt pressed up against his chest and trousers nearly falling off of him. Freddie stood in his doorway, his own outfit all messed up while his face was ablaze with pure rage.

"And stay the fuck out!" He barked before slamming the door.

The man gave a cautious look their way for a second before heading out of the door, still fiddling with his outfit. Both he and Roger looked at Brian, hoping for an explanation.

"I just heard them come in when I was in my room. Besides that-" He shrugged, thus completing the in-depth explanation.

"Should-" Roger began.

"Don't." John told him. Even he wanted to do what Roger was suggesting, but with Freddie's temper, they'd be lucky to get out of there with their head still attached.

During the next few moments, they each took to their own devices. Brian returned to his drink, Roger turning on the TV set, and John quickly throwing together a sandwich that would suffice as dinner that night. With every moment ticking by, one could feel the growing tension, an invisible force beckoning each of them to say something as to alleviate the tension surrounding them. It was a terrible silence; one of the worst kinds imaginable. That sort where you would sit there, everyone wanting to say something, their words almost visible inside their eyes, and yet the only sounds were the awkward shuffling or the chatter coming off of the TV.

Roger looked as though he was about to doze off, but Brian sat next to him, pulling him over before he completely drifted. John couldn't help but watch. After seeing it so many time, he thought he wouldn't ever have to watch. But there was something different and very unsettling. Something lurked behind Brian's eyes and he wished he could figure out what it was. Perhaps it was just the argument from earlier bustling around in his mind. Surely that's all it really was.

The phone suddenly rang, John giving an annoyed glare its way. Who the hell calls this late?! He internally groaned, reaching out for the phone, only to have Brian's hard grip on his wrist a second after.

"I got it." He said bluntly.

John moved his hand away, both he and Roger giving a confused look towards Brian. He picked up the phone, twirling the cord around his fingers while he listened to the random person on the other end. John desperately tried to listen in on the conversation, at least to get an idea of who it was that he was talking, or really listening to.

"That's fine. Call tomorrow if you could." Was all Brian actually said.

Brian hung up, looking down at the two of them yet giving no kind of explanation. Something terrible lurked behind Roger's eyes, but he forced it back, laying back down instead of saying anything.

"I'm gonna shower." Roger told them, saying nothing else before getting up and heading towards the bathroom.

Once Roger had completely left the room, John couldn't help but bring up his question. "Who was that?" he asked. 

Brian nearly panicked on the spot. But he regained his composure within a millisecond, looking his way and shrugging. "Just a friend of mine. Known her for a few years and we've gotten back in touch. Kinda just wants to hang out for a bit."

"And she calls this late?"

"Happens. It's fine." Brian concluded, John taking his hint and dropping the conversation right there.

Roger didn't come back out the rest of the night. John lazily watched the movie that came on TV, barely paying attention to the men in their medieval attire deal with some sort of quest. Even when one of the men lost a body part, he didn't pay attention, his mind still occupied with so much and yet still not able to focus. He wanted to bring up the conversation again. It just didn't feel right. Brian wasn't secretive and something obviously was bothering Roger. Could it just be jealousy? Or was Roger still in his mood that caused their argument from earlier? Good lord was it this damn difficult for someone to give him an answer? If someone could just answer him for once, maybe all of this would finally settle down and their lives could go back to normal.

His chance evaded him once more, Brian leaving the room once the film ended. Thankfully, there wasn't any more arguing from the other side of the house. Yet he wasn't left alone for much longer. Once the door had shut to their room, Freddie's door opened. Just like earlier, he was a complete mess, only now he looked far more tired and disgruntled. But as soon as he came out there, the tension skyrocketed and both of them could only stare at each other.

"How're you doing?" John finally asked.

Freddie could only shrug, turning his gaze off of him and staring down at the ground. Like the others, something ominous was hiding inside of his eyes. John only wanted to help: to have him in his arms, to protect him from all that haunted his thoughts, and to get him to smile once again. And not just any smile. No, John wanted that classic, authentic one that revealed the brilliance that existed inside of their singer. It stung terribly to see him look so miserable and he knew exactly where it stemmed from.

As much as he wanted to bring him up, John refused. He couldn't bring that bastard up. It'd only upset Freddie more and he couldn't endure that right now. Of course, he didn't have a say in this situation.

"Did Bret call?" Freddie asked, an ounce of hope hiding in his words.

"No. Just Brian's friend."

Freddie's heart shattered, he saw it happen just as the glow left his eyes, yet he tried so hard to keep his face as stony as possible. He stayed still, billions and billions of thoughts and words hanging at the tip of his tongue. Please...Let him go...John thought. Staying there was killing him, John just wishing one of them would have the nerve to move towards the other so there'd be a starting point for him to jump into helping him.

"Alright then..." Freddie finally said, blinking rapidly for a moment before turning away. "P-please tell me if you get anything from him."

"I will." He lied. As Freddie began walking away, John called his name, watching him turn around and look hopefully at him. He knew what he wanted him to say, and John so desperately wanted to say it to him. Maybe it'd save him from this terrible place he was locked in. The pain from the other night shot through his hand as he looked at Freddie's pained face.

"J-just...Please?" John began.

Freddie could only look at him, longing blurring his eyes before he turned around. "Why? Why should I just let him go? I love him...And I know he loves me...We just need some space."

"Freddie..." John started.

He ignored him, turning around and walking down the hallway back down to his bedroom. Why was it so hard for him to say it? He gritted his teeth; was he really that blind to what was happening? Why the hell was he this desperate for love? God he must be an idiot if he believes Bret loves him. It wasn't hard to at least admit it! It wasn't hard and he knew it'd help. His mind gave him another sentence he didn't want to hear: maybe it just wasn't what Freddie wanted, or needed, to hear at that moment. Then again, who really knew what Freddie needed at the moment?

...

"Hey, let's get out for a bit." Roger suggested that morning.

John barely heard what he said, the room still spinning around him while he was still in his dazed state. He tried focusing, but failed abysmally. Before he could respond to Roger, he was already being led out of their apartment. His movements blurred together, almost as though he couldn't truly control his body and where it was going. 

The sun was bright and yet the outdoors were cold. His breath billowed in front of him, a cavalcade of unfamiliar faces flew past him, a strange sense of dejá vu came over him. An unsettling rush ran across his spine as he looked around, a greyish haze now blocking out the sun.

"Roger..." He began, looking in front of him, only to see that he was no longer there. The city itself came to an abrupt stop a mere couple meters in front of him. Another hard breeze blew at his face, countless bare trees towering in the distance, creating a rickety skyline. Against his wants, John was forced forward, looking around at the now familiar surroundings. The crunching of leaves, whistling of that harsh wind, and the awful silence that only heightened his hearing.

As he continued to walk through the woods, time seemed to continue to speed up. Everything blurred together in his peripherals into an ugly blend of grey, brown, and white. A piercing giggle broke through the silence, making every hair on his body stand on end.

In an instant he was given the sight of a girl. Her hair was hanging by her shoulders, every delicate curl almost placed perfectly across her, even those few stray strands that hung in front of her big eyes. She smiled, the gap in her teeth being revealed. His chest felt like it'd explode yet she kept laughing. He wanted her to stop, stop this maddening cackling that came out of her tiny mouth, stop that bloody innocent and kind act that was just some ploy so she'd get a kick out of seeing him think someone loved him. Yet, for some reason, he let her continue to laugh, his voice taken right out of his throat.

Her eyes darkened as she pushed him down onto the ground, still continuing to laugh as she planted her mouth upon his mouth, John only able to follow along now that he had no control of his actions. It felt so real, like she actually held some kind of feelings towards him. His eyes fell shut for a split second.

"Why don't you do anything?"

His eyes opened, Freddie's hurt gaze staring back at him. He could only stare dumbly as Freddie resumed kissing him, the reality still feeling as sturdy as ever.

"He's hurting me...And you're letting me stay with him."

Freddie was suddenly knocked off of him, multiple leaves scattering as Freddie hit the ground. John blinked rapidly, looking up at Bret who was towering over him, his blue eyes having as much emotion as ice. Pain spread through his stomach as his fist came in contact with him again, John being forced to watch as Bret made his was over to a cowering Freddie. He gave a pleading look his way as he tried blocking as much of himself from Bret's various punches and swats.

John tried sitting up and to grab the back of Bret's shirt to pull him off of him, his right hand unable to move. He looked behind him, seeing various twigs and leaves covering it and pinning him down to the ground. Every hit on Freddie's body felt like a boulder being thrown at him, John wishing that he could tear himself free and stop this madness. He turned around once again, seeing a delicate white hand grip his and pin it down to the ground.

"Just stay...Just stay...I'm just trying to help..." The girl said in a disembodied voice.

He looked back to where Freddie had been, seeing nothing but blood stains across the leaves and an indent where Freddie had been sitting. Bret was still there though, that wild glare shining in those soulless eyes. His wicked grin sent shivers down his spine, the following footsteps only making him tremble even more. He frantically tried yanking his hand out from her grip, shaking and trying desperately to see around the closing blackness around his sight. As Bret's hand reached out for his throat, the circle enclosed his vision.

John's eyes flew open, the darkness of his room startling him as he reached up for his neck, his body tensing for a moment before realizing it was his own hand and not Bret's. Once the daze of sleep began to slowly wear off, John looked around his room. His room, that's where he was. Not outside and definitely not in those accursed woods. Each thump of his heart felt as though it was rising out of his chest, wanting to break free as to relieve its growing tension. He wiped off the slick of sweat that covered his brow, his breathing finally starting to slow; his heart continued to beat at its hard and quick pace. 

He rolled over, grabbing his pillow and holding it tight against his body. He half expected a pair of arms to reach around him and hold him, trying so hard to comfort him so he wouldn't deal with those horrendous sights that plagued his mind. All he got was the softness of the pillow, the blankets enveloping his shivering frame, and the clock besides his bed and its glowing numbers, making him wish it could be a few hours later or earlier.

Six...Six in the morning. Six being the time that most people would get up and start their day. Six being a perfectly normal time to wake up and stay in bed for another few minutes. Perhaps he should just get up. But having less than six hours of sleep made it feel like it was so much earlier. The dark sky outside wasn't helping, especially since there wasn't even the faintest hint that dawn was coming. He longed to see those beautiful colors streaked through the sky. Unnatural sky colors. Pinks blending with the darkest of blues to create beautiful violets that rivaled a bed of flowers that sat upon the ground. It was as though you'd given a child a batch of watercolors and allowed them to paint an imaginary sky. Yet now it looked like you'd torn it away and given them two colors; could you call them colors? Black and white were just tools for actually lightening or darkening the actual colors...Maybe the actual colors would come back soon; the sky would shine with its bright blue instead of this empty blackness with the few specks of white hanging among the blanket.

During the few moments after having been forced awake, John could faintly hear the door shut from across the hall. It prompted him to sit up, John willingly doing so. Certainly wasn't Freddie, poor bloke better not have woken up yet. But the gentle footsteps told him it was Brian walking down the hall. Was it this early that he was planning to go out and meet his friend? She must've been mental if she wanted to do something so early.

Before he could leave, John got up from his bed, spending just a few moments to fix his pajamas before heading out. Brian indeed was planning to go somewhere, although where, he wasn't sure. No one would be dressed this early unless they had somewhere to go.

"Where you going?"

"Hm?" Brian asked, seeming a bit dazed by his sudden appearance.

"It's like six in the morning...Where-"

"Oh! It's just a bit of studio work I wanna do. Something's been nagging me since last night and I wanna work on it."

"And your friend?" John asked. 

"Ah yes, we're planning for lunch later on. She mentioned that last night. Just a bit to catch up with one another." He answered, John only able to accept the answer before turning around.

For a moment, he paused. He turned back towards Brian. "Have you told Roger?"

"No worries. He knows. He said he'll probably meet me there later. Maybe we could all spend some time there if Freddie's up to it."

"Yeah...maybe." John trailed off once again, deciding to leave Brian alone and hoping desperately that he was telling the truth.

It wasn't until noon that the other two had both awoken and gotten ready, Freddie still looking secluded and just straight up sad. That silence was returning, John wishing that someone would break it sooner than later. Thanks to Roger, for once, something went his way.

"Let's go to the studio. How bout that?" Roger asked, his attention mainly on Freddie. "Singing's always fun."

Shockingly, something lit up on Freddie's face. "You know, that sounds lovely. Who the hell wouldn't love that?" He asked.

Freddie, assuming that Roger had meant right now, was already standing by the door, slipping his shoes on and now awaiting them. Hoping as to not let that fire go out, John leapt up, Roger following a second after, John figuring that he was sensing what he had. It was clear that Roger was offering to drive and both of them didn't mind the offer, although Freddie didn't really have a choice unless he decided to walk there.

John took a seat in the back, Freddie joining him back there a second after. Despite the cold weather, the car felt like a sauna an instant later, Roger turning on the car and eventually the heat only made the situation even worse. God why couldn't he just get over this already? It was Freddie, that's all. He just wanted to stop feeling so stupid around him. This was like a bloody high-school situation and it was just childish, especially considering what was going on.

He added a quick look towards Freddie, taking notice that he'd been watching him. Both turned away, John turning his attention back to the window. A grey sky hovered above them, John wishing that it would just be snow instead of rain. The seat creaked, Freddie seeming to have moved just a tad bit closer, John's nerves firing off like he was in a sinking ship. Roger...Drive faster will ya?

The suspense was maddening. How he wished it would just end already. Wouldn't that be nice? A normal drive to the studio and a normal day! No drama, no one running out of there because they're angry, just some mellow time for them to make music and, if anything, bicker about nonsense again like if the sky was grey or a light blue or if tomatoes were a fruit or vegetable.

And yet...John couldn't help but relish in the closeness at the moment. Even with Roger's presence, it felt so nice to be that close to him...Just the aura that sat around their singer made the situation feel so much better, despite the constant pangs of fear. He shut his eyes, moving ever so slightly only to feel his hand brush against none other than Freddie's. No one pulled away. His hand stayed where it was and Freddie's stayed right there. Those few seconds of contact were completely insane, John just wishing he could stay there forever but also pull away.

The choice was made for him; as the car pulled up to the studio, Freddie pulled away, leaping out of the car before Roger had even shut the engine off.

"Well!? Come on loves!" 

The renewed energy was slightly jarring to both he and Roger, especially after dealing with such a mopey attitude from Freddie after what felt like forever. He wanted to believe it, he wanted it to be him recovering, but there was something artificial about this. John would've taken him feeling terrible than him putting on this performance to make them think he was okay.

Both of them took their time in getting inside, although Freddie had already rushed ahead. Before he could enter, Roger's hand gripped his jacket's cuff, pulling him back ever so slightly. He looked over at their drummer, whose eyes were staring straight through his soul.

"I don't like this." He stated.

"I don't either; but what do you want me to do?" John asked, pulling himself out of Roger's hold.

"Talk."

"I tried...Roger please trust me when I've said I've tried. He just...he just won't listen."

"He should. I saw you two back there. Poor thing looks like a lost puppy. John he's gotta have something for you and you're probably the only one who'll pull him out of this state."

"It's probably 'cause of me he's in this place anyway. God it's like he's a bloody robot! Or some actor..."John rambled, now tightly gripping a fistful of hair. "It's not him...Yet it is. I hate how he's acting and I know it's cause of that lousy prat and just-"

"Stop with that already. Bret's gone. I doubt he's gonna come back. Now's your chance to get Freddie back to who he was. I mean, he's trying already, but he might just need support right now." Roger told him in a pleading voice.

"Why don't you try anything then?" He accused. "You want me to do everything and-"

"I've tried but he won't listen to me, not like he listens to you. The bloke's gotta have something for you. John I saw it, just now...Fred's only gonna listen to you right now and I suggest you do so before he runs off again." Roger explained.

John just shrugged, not wanting to deal with this again. He just wanted a normal studio day. Progress, music, relaxation, anything along those lines would be so much better than the last few times. He made his way inside, not bothering to hold the door open for Roger. Once he got to the back, he could already make out Brian's tall frame hovering over the control panel while Freddie sat inside the recording booth. The emotions strewn across his face nearly hit him with a brick. He looked absolutely furious, John wishing he could hear whatever it was he was singing. Even without sound, John could tell that Freddie had messed up, the papers soon flying about telling him even more.

"What the hell's he singing?" Roger asked from behind him.

"Your track. The punk song about how you hate punks." Brian answered. "Sounds right pissed if I'm being honest. You've any idea what set him off?"

I got a million ideas and they're probably all correct. John thought as he watched Freddie bang on the window to get Brian's attention back on him. After resetting everything, John could only watch Freddie shout into the mic along to Roger's words. Every bit of fury and annoyance could be seen by the blindest of people. Freddie nearly tore the sheets of paper in half after messing up the lyrics again. With them back on the floor, John watched him grit his teeth and march out, a painful sadness sneaking up onto his face. 

"Fuck it, I'll do it later." Freddie told them before marching to the back of the room.

Brian headed into the booth, picking up the sheets of paper and putting them back into a neat pile on the stand. Plastic cracked behind him, Freddie nearly downing a bottle of water within a few seconds and continuing to avoid eye-contact with any of them.

"Any other songs?" Freddie tried, still staring at the wall in front of him.

"Yes. Quite a lot actually." Brian told him. "Since you haven't been here much, we really just need your vocals for what we have done."

"Well sorry I don't spend my whole life here." Freddie snarled.

"Be nice if you spent some time here instead of with your boyfriend." Brian retorted, John nearly whacking him over the head for the comment. Freddie's eyes ignited.

"Shut it May." Freddie barked. "Don't you dare throw the fact I actually do something back in my fucking face while all you do is lounge around at the bloody house! You just have to have it your way right?"

"When the hell did I say-"

"Doesn't matter if you say it or not! That's all you bloody want! Oh follow me, do this, do that, blah blah blah! Make it perfect but not like that! I'm ever so sorry that I haven't been here so why don't you shut up for five seconds and leave it alone!"

"Don't talk to him like that!" Roger interjected, making his way to Freddie's location.

"And why not? Now you wanna be all protective of him?" Freddie retorted.

"He didn't do anything wrong! Just 'cause you're all pissy doesn't mean you gotta take it out on everyone else."

"But it's just fine for you, right?!"

"Don't throw this on me because you're all angry 'cause your bastard of a boyfriend left you!"

Freddie hurled the plastic bottle right at Roger, tears brimming the edge of his eyes before he marched off to one of the nearby rooms, slamming the door shut behind him. Brian was instantly at Roger's side, although he was shooing him off, claiming he was just fine; it was a water bottle after all.

"You guys really thought it'd be a smart idea to bring Bret up right now?" John asked.

"It's what's causing his mood, isn't it?" Roger replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a second. "Give me another reason as to why he's so pissed off."

"So what if it is? He's still upset with what happened and-"

"He shouldn't be." Roger told him. "He should be happy he doesn't have to deal with him anymore. The guy was a loser! He was probably just using Freddie for bragging rights and cash. Freddie bought the dude a car and his repayment is to sock him in the jaw?!"

"He bought Bret a car?" Brian added. 

"Not just that! Let him go to all those five-star restaurants, helped him pay rent every month, took him shopping to hundreds of stores, brought him to so many concerts, the guy got to live like Freddie but without any of the bloody work!" Roger ranted. "And Freddie honestly thinks that brat loved him? He doesn't need to repay him with devotion or any of that crap. He...He was treated like shit, Bret should be too."

Roger turned around, digging into his back pockets and grabbing a cigarette. Something darkened Brian's eyes for a second, but John was already on his way back out the door. Just an hour...that's all he wanted for something to stay normal and it blew up within ten minutes. Outside, Roger already had his cigarette lit, the hot ashes falling to the frozen ground and Roger seeming to wish the cigarette had more power.

"You okay?" John asked.

"Fine. Just fine. I just...don't get it..." Roger admitted. "Why would he want to go back to him? Why does he want acceptance from someone who hurt him? If someone's hurting you...why would you want to be with them? Aren't you afraid?" He asked, almost as though he was asking himself the very same questions.

"I dunno Rog. But it's Freddie, give him a few minutes, he'll be back out here and apologize or whatnot. Just give him a break, please?" John pleaded.

"You gotta be tough with them sometimes. Babying him won't do him any good, John." Roger replied, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his foot.

He didn't say anything else and walked back inside, holding the door open for him. Brian was relaxing on one of the seats, toying around with his guitar while they'd been absent. He looked up at both of them, motioning to the back of the room, Freddie staring back at them, regret tinging the edges of his puffy eyes.

"I'm sorry love..." Freddie said. "Lot going on lately..."

Roger just sighed. "It's alright."

Freddie took in a deep breath and headed over to the group. Brian was next to Roger a second later, just in case Freddie's temper seemed to act up again. But it didn't. Instead, he just walked back into the booth and grabbed the papers, motioning to the control panel for whoever wanted to take charge. Roger took a step forward, Brian holding him back for a second so he could plant a kiss on his cheek.

John watched as Freddie took to singing again, this time without as much rage or frustration that had been present the first few times. Roger occasionally fixed what he needed for his song to sound right, this time looking pleased now that it was fully coming together. Despite the lack of anger, Freddie kept up the energy, even though it still didn't feel right. Yet John wasn't able to focus on that. For now, he was just happy that everything felt normal.

...

The day had been so much better after the first brawl in the beginning. Roger's song was just about completed, after many, many more takes and a quick rehash of the instrumentals. They got to work on Brian's basic stomp-song that he had yet to name, although the title seemed to be obvious. That track's vocals were nice and simple. Hell, they even had some time to fix up some parts of his own song so that when six rolled around again, all were exhausted, but pleased with what they'd gotten to do.

"I'm gonna head out." Brian said suddenly, already packing up his guitar as quick as possible.

"This late?" John questioned, Roger raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

"Yeah, just gonna go out with some friends. It's alright." Brian answered, not giving them any time to answer before rushing out the door.

The instant dejectedness upon Roger's face sent a jolt of empathy through him. Unlike him, Freddie got up and walked over to where Roger was seated, instantly laying his hand on top of his shoulder.

"Alright, what're you worried about?"

"Hm?" Roger asked. 

"Now c'mon love, I'm not blind. You two fight or something?"

"No, no it's just...He's been distant lately and I just hope everything's alright."

"Bah! It's Bri love, he'll be okay. You two've been together forever, I doubt anything will happen." He told him, that usual longing seeping back into those lovely brandy eyes of his.

"I know...it's hard not to worry though."

"Listen to Fred, Rog." John said, earning a wide-eyed look from Roger. "He's just going out for a bit. He'll probably be at home with something to eat when we get back. So don't worry, alright?"

Yet that fear persisted, even though Roger refused to keep talking about it. What was hurting him the most was that untiring shadow inside of Freddie's eyes. To think that just the mere mention of a relationship, whether it be his or someone else's, would make him look so upset. If only he could see inside of that busy mind of his, maybe he could see how to help. Lord knows he just wanted him happy...

For some reason, he felt a bit annoyed with it. Freddie had been in relationships before meanwhile he'd hadn't truly had one, he didn't dare count the one with that wretch. Surely having experienced multiple failed relationships were better than having none at all, right? But that look upon Freddie's face only answered the question for him. While both of them always dealt with their bandmates' successful relationship, they always had to bear witness to all that affection and trust between them that they never really got. It killed him inside to think that that was what both of them wanted and yet...he couldn't ever find the nerve to say something to him. Instead, he resigned to trying to let him find his way, thinking it'd be easier in the long run. Oh how wrong he'd been.

Even now, the longing and yearning for something lurked inside his eyes. Though he looked so much more relaxed and content than earlier, even having that nonchalant look upon his face, it wouldn't hide that busy stare of his. Roger's questions from earlier came back up: Why did he stay with him? If he was hurt...why go back? Couldn't he just fling himself at some other guy that would actually care about him. There's gotta be someone out there he'd want to be with...

Freddie suddenly jumping up startled him and Roger. He didn't say anything, just resulted to shaking his head and grabbing his coat from where he'd tossed it. John wanted to ask the usual question, but he already knew, though he wasn't looking forward to him being drunk later on or hungover the next day. Perhaps he'd spend the night somewhere, least then he'd be distracting himself instead of sitting there with his own thoughts.

"Should someone drive him?" Roger asked.

"Nah...He's probably going to the bar around the corner. He'll find his way home. The guy could run a marathon in ten minutes." John replied, although he wanted to make sure he got to his destination safely. Leave him be...He doesn't need any of us there.

"C'mon, we could get a bit done on your track. Didn't you wanna fix the percussion?" Roger asked, desperate for something to do to put his mind off whatever he was thinking about.

"Yeah, yeah come on." He answered, silently agreeing with the notion of doing something.

With Roger poised on his drums, John gave him the signal to start. But both of them were far too busy within their own thoughts to properly do their job. John wasn't really listening to the music Roger was creating and the bits that he did actually hear didn't sound nearly as fervent as Roger usually would make them; every sound seeming to be forced out of him and the constant mistakes only felt worse.

"Oh fuck this..." Roger finally grunted, throwing his sticks on the ground and glaring at the ceiling. "You're not even paying attention!"

"And you're playing like a five-year-old." John retorted.

"So?" He barked.

Knowing that this conversation, if you wanted to call it that, wasn't going anywhere, John decided it was best to just start packing up. Roger got the message, immediately getting up from his spot and getting his coat on. His bass now sat on its stand, the light bouncing off of it in a way that allowed him to see his reflection. He could barely make out Roger in the background, who was now fidgeting about like a restless toddler.

"C'mon already." Roger said, breaking his focus on the instrument. 

Once both were in the car, each situated in their seats and car started, Roger let loose.

"It just doesn't make sense to me! Why would he feel like this?! Someone like him should just let it be and move on already."

It was with that reiteration that John finally snapped. "You know what Roger, put yourself in his shoes. You've been with someone for a decade. His longest relationship is just over a year. That's it. That's bloody it. Imagine that. He's heartbroken that it's another failure. Yeah, yeah, it'll get better, look on the brightside, blah blah blah, but it gets pretty fucking hard when it's been like that most of your life."

"So what if we've been together for a decade? It still doesn't make sense to me that he'd want to be with someone that hurt him..." His jaw clenched for a second as he bit back whatever was hanging at the edge of his lips.

"I don't get it either but dammit just leave him alone!" John's voice began rising. "If he wants to do it, let him. It's his bloody life after all."

"A pretty shit life then." Roger muttered, forcing John to slam on the breaks. Roger was thrown forward, only being saved by his seatbelt.

"What was that for?!"

"Just because your life has been all golden doesn't mean everyone else's has been. You two got a lovely life don't you, but it's not life that for everyone, now is it?"

Hurt filled Roger's face. He stayed silent, giving a long sigh and turning his head away from him. "Just drive." He told him. His brow furrowed as he turned his attention back to the outside.

They drove in silence until they pulled up to their building. Brian's car sat between a slender crimson car and a rusted truck that looked like it was older than London itself, neither of which they recognized.

"Roger." John started, the look on his face still gnawing away at his thoughts. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything..." He admitted, Roger turning around to face him, trying his best to hold that brave face. "I'm just pissed off with him right now. Pissed with a lot to be honest."

"It's fine...It's fine." Roger told him. "I shouldn't have said that anyway." He smirked for a second, pulling that confident look that they'd grown used to for years. "C'mon, let's get a beer from upstairs and see if any good shit's on TV tonight."

"Like there ever is. It's the same old stuff but with a different name." John said as they walked up the stairs.

"Got that right. Maybe it'll change someday."

"Yeah, and then we'll have everything on TV. Movies, music, and God knows what."

Both began laughing as John pulled out the key for their flat. He stuck it into the lock, only to turn it with little effort. Brian would've locked the door. He thought. His caution took hold of his mind as he slowly turned the doorknob, hoping to make as little noise as possible. He motioned to Roger to keep quiet as he pulled the door back.

John wished he could've seen cameras around them, lights covering their flat, and various people around them directing their movements. Perhaps that would've made the scene in front of him less real or even believable. But it was that wide-eyed look upon Roger's face that made it all too real. Brian sat up on the couch, the girl who had just had her lips pressed against his pulling back and looking at both of them. She said nothing, quickly gathering her stuff and rushed off, only pausing to grab her coat before leaving the scene completely, not even saying goodbye. 

"Is that what you've been doing?" Roger finally asked after a few more seconds of silence. His voice was trembling, yet he still tried to stand tall.

"No! No of course not!"

"So you just brought a random bitch to our flat?" He spat back.

"No no no no!" Brian stuttered. "She's my friend, the one I told you about and-"

"And you just wanted a change from me, is that it?" He growled, stepping forward, John still wishing that this was all just a dramatic scene from a movie. If flames could erupt behind Roger, that might make it true.

"Don't say that." Brian told him. "Don't you dare go on assuming anything right now." Brian started.

"And what the hell should I assume!? You had some slag on you while I wasn't home."

"She came onto me and-"

"Then why didn't you kick her off?! No, you kept kissing her and didn't...didn't bother to pull away." Roger growled.

"That was on her! Goddammit Roger you need to stop thinking that I'm gonna cheat on you with someone! Just because I look at someone, doesn't mean I'm going to leave you for them! Jesus Christ you're such a jealous-"

"You're the one who always goes and dances with all those girls at our parties or gets to goggle those broads while we're on tour. Hell you're even looking at other guys when I am right there! Tell me why I shouldn't get jealous!" Roger retorted, his face going a shade darker every second.

"Because you should trust me! You wouldn't even be by my side when we first started, always keeping me in the back so no one would question you. Lord the amount of broads you had around you just to hide it. How do you think that made me feel?!"

"You did the exact same! The difference? You still do. I see your eye wander all the time-"

"I'm looking! People look! I'm not gonna snog them right in public!" Brian argued. "Stop thinking that way already!" 

"Then why the hell was she on you like that?!" He paused for a second, his eyes glowing with anger. "Do you even know her bloody name?"

"Chrissy and-"

"Such an achievement! Surprised I didn't find you two shagging on the couch if I'm gonna be honest." Roger admitted.

"Oh fuck off with that!" Brian shouted. "You keep thinking I'm going to leave you for stupid reasons. You're so protective and nosy that I can't go two seconds without you asking where I'm going. I have a life! I want to have my privacy! You can't even begin to trust me, can you?"

"You keep giving me reasons not to!" Roger's lip twisted upwards into a nasty sneer. "God I don't know why I even try sometimes. You people can't even make a bloody choice about who you wanna be with! Pick a side! Make a fucking choice!"

"Oh and you know all about choices now don't you." Brian spat.

All the energy instantly came to a halt, Brian's face going white with regret while Roger's eyes grew blurry with tears. His whole body was shaking as he tore his gaze away from Brian.

"Roger I didn't mean-" Brian started.

"Get out." Roger interrupted in a slow, quiet voice.

"But-"

"GET THE HELL OUT!" He barked, hurling anything that was near him right at Brian. Keys, shoes, even a paperweight, flew right past John and went directly for Brian, who was only hit by one of their shoes. Brian did what he could in that moment and rushed out, not even bothering to grab anything of his while Roger continued to hurl stuff at him in hopes of relieving some of his anger.

The door was open. John could still feel the cold from outside clinging to his face. All he could do was turn to Roger, whose face was twisted into a terrible expression of pain and pure anger. And yet...he couldn't stop crying. Despite his bared teeth and clenched fists, the poor thing looked as if he'd collapse onto the ground in a matter of seconds. 

"Roger-" John finally said.

"Shut the hell up." Roger managed, his voice coming out hoarse and still shaky. He said nothing more and marched down towards his room, slamming the door behind him.

This time he wasn't taking this as an answer. He swallowed his fears and walked forward, not even knocking on the door before he opened it. Even before he had opened it, John could easily hear Roger's sobbing and the occasional crash of an object or tear of a paper.

The scene was even worse when he entered. Shards of glass sat on the ground, alarm clock laying on its back, and a lamp shade hanging off of the nightstand, barely able to cling onto the lamp it was attached to. Various papers were ripped to shreds, Roger in the process of tearing apart another magazine while still crying his eyes out.

"Lying-fucking-bastard." He shot out, giving another hard rip at the magazine. He whirled around to him, halting for a second before letting the magazine fall to his bed. Roger's body went slack as he just shook his head.

John just walked over and sat down. He rubbed Roger's back, hoping it'd help in some way. Roger tried to keep him from moving his hand too far up, yet his attempts just made him more curious about why he was preventing him. In his weakened state, Roger stood no chance and just let him do as he pleased, still continuing to sniffle and sob. He pushed his hair back, seeing various faded dots across his neck, the skin dry and rough around it. They were almost perfect circles and John could already see the burning embers as if they'd been done right there. But there wasn't a lingering smoke smell and there was no lit cigarette. Once his hand hit one of those circles, Roger stiffened, only able to shake his head in response.