ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚

[ the party ]

📍𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙾𝙽, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟶

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞-𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐟𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬. You stood beside Roger, glancing around the expanse of Freddie's brand new apartment. 

Rufus was a sweet boy and had gained fifty-fifty of you and Roger's traits and physical features. He had the drummer's unruly blonde hair, and devilish attitude already, whilst he was blessed with your E/C eyes and, as Roger liked to describe it, the most beautiful smile in the world. 

You greeted Rufus into the world, and not two months later, Roger had popped the question. You said yes, of course. Who could say no to that handsome face? 

Freddie, with his new mustache and haircut, turned around with a smile. "What do you think?" he asked excitedly. 

Roger thought for a moment as he stared at his friend's new appearance, before supplying with a slight grimace, "Gay-er."

You hit his shoulder hard, and he hissed out a delightful little curse word as he rubbed his arm. But Freddie took no offence, just correcting, "Not this, darling, the house. Isn't it amazing?" He walked though one of the large doorways, and you and Roger ventured into the one next to it. "Mary's already moved in next door, so she can visit the cats and me."

"Uh-huh," Roger nodded absentmindedly.

"Each cat will have his own room. Delilah's by the kitchen, Miko's next door. Tiffany, Oscar, Romeo, all upstairs!" You peaked through the joint doorway at Freddie as he continued, "Lilly's room is even large than this one! Spoilt thing."

"Well, I'm not sure the echo is quite pronounced enough," Roger quipped. 

Freddie laughed, before belting loud, "Eh-oh!"

"Again! Again!" Rufus clapped, and Freddie grinned, taking hold of the boy's hand as you and Roger chuckled.

"Oh, I knew you'd love it," the singer cooed to his nephew, before turning to you and your husband. "And I knew you two would appreciate it."

"Rufus wants to see Romeo, would you mind, bubs?" you asked, and Freddie nodded with a gleeful grin, the boys watching as you left the room to coddle one of his cats.

"Stay for dinner. Anything you fancy," Freddie prompted.

"I can't. Wife, kids, you know," Roger joked softly.

"Of course... Well, come on. We'll eat off the floor. It's clean enough."

"Another time, Fred. Besides, Y/N needs her rest. Rufus is a little bugger," he explained. Freddie nodded, and Roger moved in to hug him, wrapping his arms around the singer. Freddie tightened his grip, closing his eyes as he took a breath. 

"What's got you two so emotional?" you questioned, and the pair let go of each other, smiling at you.

"Nothing, dear," Freddie smiled. 

"Well, we better get going," Roger said. You nodded, and Rufus fussed in your arms. With a chuckle, you kneeled to the floor and allowed him to escape your hold. With a jump in his steps, Rufus ran over to Freddie, squeezing the life out of his legs. 

Freddie laughed, swooping down and lifting the boy high in the air, before embracing the child. You shook my head with a giggle as you made my way over, hugging Freddie close. "This is a nice place, bubs."

"Thank you, my darling," he said, and you could feel pressure at your back with how tight he was hugging you. You shut your eyes for a moment, enjoying the embrace, before letting go with a shaky breath and smile. 

"Time to go," you murmured to Rufus, who curled his tiny arms around your neck as you held him close. 

It was night, and opera music was echoing throughout Freddie's fully decorated apartment. Dressed in a silk robe, the singer picked up the gold telephone from its stand and called in a number. "Hello? "

"Mary."

"Hi," she greeted softly.

"Hello, my love," he smiled.

"Hi," Mary chuckled.

"I need you to do something for me, but you can't ask any questions."

"Freddie, what are you doing this time?"

"No, I just told you, you can't ask any questions," Freddie laughed.

"Right."

"I want you to go to your bedroom window. Look out of it," he requested. He heard the slight creak of her bedframe through the phone, due to her walking. He held onto the dangling light switch of the lamp and turned it on and off, and on, and off. He chuckled, "Do you see me?"

"Yes, I do see you," Mary replied.

"Now, you do the same." He smiled gently as he watched through the window at her distant figure in the light, repeating the same action. "Oh... Keep yours on. Come have a drink."

"Now?"

"Right now."

"It's late, Freddie."

"Come on. I can even call Y/N. It would be a wondrous party," he tried. 

"Y/N is probably sleeping away right now."

"Please. Do you have something to drink?"

"I suppose," she sighed.

"Go get it. Pour yourself something. Pour yourself a drink, darling... Do you have it?" he asked after a moment.

"...Yes."

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

"To you, my love."

"To you, Freddie."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Mary whispered.

Freddie sat on his plush couch, waiting for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. "Hello? " Paul's voice came through.

"Paul."

"Freddie?"

"Sweetheart, I want to throw a party," the singer said. 

"Okay. Who do you want to invite?"

"People. I want you to shake the freak tree and invite anyone who plops to the ground," Freddie stated, and Paul chuckled. "Dwarves and giants...magicians, Zulu tribesmen, contortionists, fire eaters...and priests. We're going to need to confess."

Two days later, you and Roger were seated in Freddie's living room, alongside Brian, Deacy and their wives, as well as what seemed to be more than a hundred of freaks, as Freddie called them. You were wearing a light beige dress, with brown leather boots with the Vivianne Westwood purse and bag Roger had gotten you for your anniversary. 

"How's Rufas?" Chrissie, Brian's wife, asked you. 

"Well, I was able to find a sitter for the night. I doubt the poor girl will come back," you joked, Chrissie chuckling as she shook her head.

"So, tell me, Rog," Brian started. "What's the sexiest part of a car?"

Roger rolled his eyes, leaning his back, and glared at you from the corner of his gaze as you laughed, Brian snickering along with you. "What?" you innocently asked. "It's a good question."

"Why did I marry you?" he questioned. 

"You tell me," you shrugged.

"Well, well, well!" Freddie suddenly appeared, holding his arms out. 

"Ah!"

"Ah, your majesty!" Brian quipped.

"No, I'm not her majesty," the singer denied as he spun around. "We're her majesty, darlings!" He jumped down onto his seat, and most of his champagne spilled from its glass as the rest of you exclaimed, minds fuzzy from the alcohol. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!" you all complied, putting all of your glasses together.

"Thank you, my loves! Where's Mary?" he questioned.

"It's not exactly her scene, is it, Freddie?" you said with a small smile.

He shook his head, taking off his velvet crown as he grinned at all of you in excitement. "Fabulous, isn't it?"

"If you say so," Brian nodded. Paul, who had been standing like a servant on beck and call, walked forward and poured some more champagne into Freddie's glass. Roger leaned over, but Paul ignored him, looking away. 

Roger glanced at you, and you rolled your eyes, rubbing your hand against his arm. Brian was the first to comment, looking back and forth between Freddie and Paul, "You're starting to look like each other."

"What's wrong with that, Brian?" Paul asked.

"You're supposed to be in a rock band, Freddie," the guitarist continued, completely ignoring him. "Not the village people."

Freddie chuckled, "You might want to think about cutting your hair one day."

"Never. I was born like this." Laughter spilled from all of you as Super Freak by Rick James began playing loudly.

"Come on!" Freddie rose from his seat. "Let's dance!"

"Yes!" Paul agreed.

"I don't dance, Freddie," Brian said, shaking his head.

"I need a few more of these for that," Deacy smiled, holding up his cup of whisky.

"It's my party, and I demand you dance!"

"We should go," Roger whispered to you, and you quickly nodded, picking up your brown, faux-fur-lined coat from the armchair.

"By royal decree!" Freddie exclaimed, him and Paul giggling together.

"We're gonna go, actually," Roger stated, grasping your hand in his as you both stood.

"Oh, God, you're dull! If you were any more dull, you'd be Deacy."

Paul snickered as John sighed. "What are you complaining about?" Roger questioned, looking over at Paul. "You've got your little pet."

"I have... and he's loyal. Loyalty's so important. Don't you think, Y/N?"

Your eyes widened as you glanced at Roger, who warned, "Careful, Fred." He looked back at you with a pained expression. "Let's go."

The blonde walked in between Paul and Freddie, the latter questioning, "Where are you going?"

"Home!"

"Y/N, come here." Freddie snaked his hand around your free one, pulling you away from Roger. "Now, now, I didn't mean it-."

"Let go of me, Freddie!" His eyes widened at your harsh tone, and he did as told, staring at you with hurt in his drunken eyes. "Roger and I have our son to get back too," you mumbled, feeling Roger's calloused fingers twine back with yours, softly pulling you to him. You turned away from Freddie with a sad frown, leaning into your husband's embrace.

"It was...just a joke," he mumbled, watching you leave.

Brian and Chrissie, along with Deacy and Veronica, soon followed, the guitarist clapping a hand on his back. "Freddie, sometimes you're a total prick."

He stood still as he stared down at his glass, before Paul slithered around. "Forget them. Come on! Your guests are waiting. They all want a little Mercury in their cup. Come on."

Freddie giggled and smiled as Paul led him over to the piano, to which he climbed up onto. "Alright!" he called out, gaining the crowd's attention. "My darlings, the time has finally come...to get absolutely shit-faced!" Everyone screamed, throwing their arms up and drinks into the air.

A few hours later, the party had slowly come to a stop, and Freddie's cleaners had arrived. The singer wandered over to his piano, sloppily sitting down and placing his glass on the top. He began playing the instrument, but soon stopped as a server came by, grunting as he picked up numerous empty bottles of wine.

He reached over and touched the man's genitals through his pants. The server gasped, turning around, watching as Freddie slunk back into his chair with a mischievous grin. "You've got a set of balls."

Freddie scoffed, "Go fetch me a drink and find out."

"I may work for you tonight, but put your hands on me again, and I'll thump you. Got it?"

"I'm... I'm terribly sorry. I-I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry. I won't do that again, alright?" The man stopped at the doorway, before sighing and turning around. Freddie sputtered for a moment, "Let me... let me get you a beer."

"I wouldn't mind a beer."

"Can you just tell me where we keep them?" Freddie chuckled. "You're very handsome," he said after a moment. "I love a man in uniform."

The server raised a brow. "So do I."

"So, all your friends have left you alone?" the man asked.

"They're not my friends. Not really. Just distraction," Freddie said.

"From what?"

"The in-between moments, I suppose. I find them intolerable. All of the... darkness you thought you left behind comes creeping back in."

"I know what you mean," he emphasized. 

"Really?" Freddie wondered, before leaning forward. "What is it that you do with them?"

"Spend them with real friends. You look like you could use a friend." They were both silent, until the man moved in, pressing his lips to Freddie's, who held onto his hand. 

Pulling away, the singer whispered, "I like you."

"I like you too, Freddie... Come and find me when you decide you like yourself." The server stood up from the couch, retrieving his jacket from the floor as he walked to the doorway. 

"Can I have your name at least?" Freddie requested.

He turned around. "It's Jim Hutton."

"Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Freddie. Or should I say good morning?"