Roger can't sleep and calls a random number left of a napkin. He expected to find someone to help tire him out. He never thought he'd find love.
[Reposting and major editing of an old fic I had posted on an old blog & crossed posted on ao3]
Warnings: SMUT, +18 ONLY - MINORS DNI; swearing & cursing; unclear timeline (lmao); Brian is a bit of a douche. It's a long ass one, over 20K words. Read at your own risk!
Sometimes, being a rockstar isn’t all it’s cooped up to be.
Especially when on a world tour because it really has a way of derailing one’s internal clock. It’s the reason Roger can’t sleep. He had been hopeful that between the jet lag, the excitement of being back in his own bed, the hectic rehearsal and recording schedule as well as the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed at the local dive bar with his mates would be enough to tire him out. Apparently, he’s very mistaken.
He'd done what he usually does: counts sheep, lays in the dark, read the really boring book Brian has suggested. Nothing seems to be working this time around.
For what feels like the thousandth time, Roger turns over in his bed. He almost misses those rock-hard mattresses and non-existent pillows in the hotels around the world. He groans, casting his eyes to the red numbers glowing in the dark room. It’s nearing 1.30am and as much as his body is begging for sleep, his mind wouldn't shut off.
Throwing the light blanket to the side, Roger swings his legs off the bed. There’s no point in laying around, letting his frustration build. He eyes his discarded jacket, deciding that a quick smoke might help him relax just enough to be able to finally fall asleep. Stretching his arms above his head, his back cracks and with a loud sigh, quickly followed by a loud yawn, he lazily crosses his bedroom to reach the jacket he left by the door, fishing his half-empty pack of cigarettes from the pocket. As he rummages around the pockets for his lighter, a crumpled piece of paper flutters to the ground.
With furrowed brows and cigarette dangling from his lips, Roger picks it up from the ground. After having found the lighter, Roger starts walking towards his bed. Lighting the cigarette, he takes a deep drag, letting his lungs fill with nicotine, immediately giving him a sense of calm.
Feeling more relaxed, Roger clamps his teeth gently around the filter, using his now free hands to uncurl the piece of paper. Once he sees the hastily scrawled digits, his lips stretch into a massive grin.
Taking another drag and flicking the ash into the empty ash-tray on his bedside table, he tries to recall when the number was slipped into his pocket. It had to be from earlier that evening as the number had the London area code and he hasn’t worn the jacket on tour as he’d forgotten it at home. However, no matter how hard he thought back to his evening, no specific girl sprang to mind. There had been quite a few that came to chat him and the lads up, but none of them stood out. He doesn’t even remember being particularly flirty with anyone of them.
Roger casts another quick glance at the clock. It’s still early enough that if the girl really was out at the dive bar with them, she’s probably getting home now as he left much earlier than regular, hoping that the jetlag and general exhaustion would lead to a good night sleep.
Deciding that the woman had clearly hoped for a call from him, Roger picks up the receiver and dials the number. Making himself comfortable, he waits for someone to pick up.
It rings much more than he thought it would and he debates if maybe he shouldn’t be calling this late, if it’s better to try again during working hours.
Suddenly, the phone stops ringing, and there is a very groggy and angry voice coming through the line, “Someone better be dead.”
Rogers chuckles. “Well, hello to you too love”.
In response, he only hears a groan and it sounds so deep that he questions if he’s actually speaking to a girl.
“Who is this? And why on earth are you ringing my flat at...” there’s a small pause, as the person on the other line is clearly reaching for something “1.17 in the bloody morning?!”
Roger cringes, closing his eyes as guilt floods his body. He really shouldn’t have called but he really isn’t great at making decisions when tired and slightly inebriated. “I’m sorry, love. Thought you’d want me to call as soon as I found your number.” He hates that he can’t recall a name or even a face.
“I am not your ‘love’!” the girl says angrily, “I have absolutely no clue who you are. Or why on earth you are calling me. I certainly did not give you, my number.”
For a moment, nothing is said on either end and Roger decides d to play it cool, act confident and pretend as if he actually remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “I know we didn't spend that much time together but I -”
“Let me stop you before you start,” she interrupts and Roger can hear her shuffle around, most likely sitting up in her own bed. “I have no idea who you think you are but I can guarantee that I did not give you, my number. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any roommates.”
The girl grunts in discomfort, questioning why she’s entertaining this jackass when she can just hang up and disconnect her phone for the night.
“Oh” the syllable is so sound and dejected that she can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, even though he woke her at an ungodly hour.
She has no know why she speaks again. “You must have made a terrible impression if some random bird decided to leave you a fake number.”
There’s an offended scoff that comes down the line almost makes up for the unwanted wake-up call. “No girl has ever done that to me. Or would need to do it. I’m a catch, thank you very much.”
“Sure you are, big boy.” She says concededly.
“Are you saying that I’m not?”
She snorts, short and derisive, “I’m sorry to break it to you but it seems that the girl who gave you the number didn’t think you were all that special.”
Roger pouts, stubbing out his long-forgotten cigarette, “You don’t sound all that sorry to me.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m not.”
Roger can’t hep the small laugh that bubbles out, “And would you feel inclined to illuminate me on why?”
“Could it be because some random bloke decided to call me at stupid o’clock trying to get in my knickers?”
“You wish,” and even though she’s never seen him before in her life, she knows he’s smirking.
“Are you really telling me that you weren’t calling in hope of a shag?”
Roger shrugs, deciding to lay down and make himself comfortable, “I’m not going to lie and say I would be unhappy if it happened but that wasn’t the main reason I called.”
She bites, “Why did you call?”
“I…” Roger pauses. Why did he call?
“Are you ok?”
Roger blinks, surprised by the sudden care that seems to colour her voice. “What?”
“I just mean…” she sighs, laying back down and glancing at her alarm clock. “It’s late. Or early, depending on how you want to see it. And your voice sounded a bit off. There must be something on your mind if you think that calling a random stranger in the middle of the night is a good idea.”
She really can’t explain the sudden interest in the man. She doesn’t know him but he sounds so sad, and is clearly lonely. It tugs at her heart in all the best and worst ways. Thank you, childhood trauma.
A small, grateful smile forms on Roger’s face and his voice softens noticeably. “You’re very kind, love. I’m just a bit jet lagged.”
She hums in surprise, “That sounds fascinating! Where did you get back from?”
“That, I’m afraid, is only for friends.” He tuts, “And I don’t even know your name.”
She laughs and Roger’s heart does something weird in his chest that he pointedly ignores.
“Touché”, she’s still laughing. “The name’s Y/N.”
“Lovely name for a lovely voice,” he says softly. “I’m Roger.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”
There’s a small pause and it would be the perfect moment to hang up but neither seem to want to.
“Well, now that we’re friends, want to share why you’re jetlagged?”
Roger laughs, bringing his free arm behind his neck, “I was in America.”
“Fancy!” She says with a laugh, “What were you doing across the pond?”
“I’m in a band and we were on tour.”
-----
What should have been a one-time thing evolved into something more.
Roger and Y/N find themselves speaking on the phone nearly every day, even when Roger left for tour again.
The first month, it was Roger that called every day. It had started because of a particularly rough day in the studio and remembering the kindness and care in Y/N’s voice, he decided that her friendly voice was what he needed to feel better.
When the second month rolled around, Y/N asked for a way to contact him if she was having a bad day.
And thus, the tradition was born.
It’s been six months now and every time the phone rings, Y/N can’t help the flutter of her heart or the smile on her face. Roger has somehow weaseled his way into her life and she couldn't be more grateful. He’s become her best friend, her confidant, someone she can trust blindly and who would always listen to her and have her back. She feels like she knows Roger better than the people she hands out with daily. They’ve opened up about their lives, their dreams and insecurities. Y/N knows that Roger wants to make it big but he’s afraid that the drugs, the booze and the sex may cloud his mind and stop him from living his dream. He shares how much he loves his band mates but how they tend to get under his skin, especially when writing new music.
Y/N shares how she took over her mother’s bookstore while being an editor on the side to make ends meet. She opens up about her limited social interactions and how she feels like she’s a bit too clingy and overbearing.
They talk about their childhoods and what they do to relax.
The two of them understand each other in such a deep, soulful way that should scare her but only gives her a sense of calm.
Y/N has even come up with a sort of table to help keep on top of the time difference when Roger is traveling. She glances quickly at the alarm next to her bed and is excited to see that Roger should be calling her in a few minutes.
She makes sure her tea is still warm as she fluffs her pillows, settling down on the bed while tucking herself into the blankets. She waits impatiently for the phone to ring and when it finally does, she grins brightly.
“Hello there, rockstar!”
It only takes hearing his voice to know that something is up. “What did they do this time?”
“Who says they did anything?” Roger knows he’s pouting and that his tone is a clear indication that his band mates did indeed do something wrong, but he doesn’t feel ready or willing to talk about it.
“Rog, please don’t.”
They’d done this before: one of them – usually Roger – is in a mood and takes it out of the other, making everyone involved feel like shit by the end of the call. Y/N isn’t sure if she has the energy for it today but has never and will never be truly able to ignore Roger when he’s clearly upset about something.
“I know something is bothering you and I’m almost certain it has something to do with your mates since you were fine before leaving for rehearsal.” There’s a brief pause and Y/n adds softly, “I worry about you.”
Roger sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine.” He knows he’s being a bit too short with her and that nothing was her fault, but he can’t really help it. He doesn’t want to deal with it.
“Rog…I…” her mind can’t seem to form the right words to explain the thoughts running through it. She’s well aware of his temper and how it flares up around his mates; how he likes loads of sugar; how he can’t see without his glasses but still refuses to wear them.
Y/N knows that this time, something is different but she can’t really explain why or how without admitting that she feels more than friendship towards the drummer. And she isn’t ready just yet to wear her heart on her sleeve just yet.
She ends up settling for the next best thing. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I understand. But please, don’t lie to me. I know something is up and I will never force you talk about it.”
Roger sighs in relief, some of his anger evaporation as he finds himself smiling “Thank you. How was your day?”
It’s at times like this, with Y/N talking happily about her day, rambling on and on about things he doesn’t quite understand and people he doesn’t know that he questions how he got so lucky to have gotten a random number that led to having this amazing girl in his life.
“I still can’t believe that no one except Peter Pan warned me about how much it sucksbeing a grown up,” Roger can tell she’s pouting and it makes him laugh.
The laughter however is cut short when she tries asking about his day and the previous night’s concert. “I’m in a rock band. It goes as well as rock concert goes.”
Y/N blinks, surprised by the venom suddenly lacing his tone. “What kind of answer is that?” She tries to keep her tone neutral, not letting it show how affected she is.
“The one I’m giving you.”
They may have been talking for six months but she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to keep up or understand his mood swings. “Why are you taking your shit out on me?! What’s your problem?!”
As understanding as she may be, Y/N has never had much patience for people taking their anger out on innocent bystanders, who just happen to be at the right place for the wrong time.
“You’re my fucking problem!” Roger snaps, voicing raising as he continues, “You ask all these fucking questions and pester me worse than my mother ever has. You’re not her. You’re not even my girlfriend. You’re a stranger that just doesn’t know when to let go.” His chest is heaving as he sits forward on his bed, empty hand curled into a fist. “God, we haven’t even met are you’re already so fucking clingy –”
With tears in her eyes, Y/N hangs up the phone. She tries reasoning with herself. She knows he’s upset, that something got him in this horrible mood but she has nothing to do with that. He’s hurt and wants to hurt others around him and he did succeed, if you ask Y/N. He’d said the one thing that he knew would absolutely shake her confidence and make her feel like garbage. They’d talked about it, multiple times. Roger had even reassured her at every turn that she was absolutely not clingy and that he loved every second they got to spend on the phone together.
He'll apologize when he feels better.
He values you.
You’re his friend.
Y/N keeps repeating these mantras over and over again as she stands on shaky legs, heading towards her small bathroom.
The phone starts ringing but she ignores it. She lets the tears fall, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on her face. The phone stops ringing, just to pick up again a few seconds later, confirming her suspicion that it’s Roger trying to get hold of her.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly makes her way back to her bed, sipping on the now lukewarm cup of tea. She glares at the ringing phone, wanting Roger to feel what she’s feeling, even just a bit.
Almost thirty minutes go by before she feels as if she’s got her emotions under control and is ready to speak to Roger, who hasn’t stopped calling since she hung up.
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and picks up the phone, placing the receiver against her ear.
“I’m so sorry, love!” Roger’s voice floods her system as he stumbles over his words. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Or, I mean I shouldn’t… it isn’t…”
He takes a stuttering breath, collecting himself before he attempts to explain himself again. “You had nothing to do with my shit mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said, I just knew that those were things that would hurt you and it isn’t an excuse and I understand if you’re angry and don’t want to talk to me for a while but please know that I am extremely sorry and that I will do whatever I need to for you to forgive me and I’m such an ass. I’m so fucking sorry Y/N. I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”
“Will you now?” He can tell that’s she trying to be upbeat and wants to make him feel better but that isn’t her job. Not this time.
“I swear it, Y/N. On my drumming career. I won’t ever hurt you like this again and whatever you need me to do to get your forgiveness, I will do it. Name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I s–”
“Really? Absolutely anything?”
Roger nods and realising she can’t seem him, he vocalizes his answer.
“Even if I asked you to rob a bank?”
He laughs, tears of joy springing to his eyes. “Just tell me which one.”
The line goes quiet for a few seconds but Roger’s guilt crawls up his throat. “I really am so extremely sorry, Y/N.”
“I know. I forgive you,” her voice is so soft, full of kindness he doesn’t deserve and his heart does some funky fluttering in his chest.
Roger’s shoulders lose their tension as he melts into the hotel mattress. Knowing she isn’t to upset with him and that they’ll be able to jump back from this soothes his fears of losing her. He’s not sure he’d ever be able to get over it if it were to happen.
“I’m sorry too,” she whispers and he can hear how upset she is and if he could transport himself to London to sooth all her fears with a hug he would. His urge to book the first flight out is almost uncontrollable. “I didn't mean to make you feel like I was pushing you to talk about something you didn't want to. I just worry about you, and I can't do anything if not ask what's wrong.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for love.” He shakes his head, clenching his hand against the comforter. Never before has he felt such a strong urge to hold a girl in his arms. His voice grows softer as he smiles gently, wishing her could be by her side. “You were just...just being a good friend. I should have seen that instead of the inside of my own ass.”
Y/N hums noncommittally. When she speaks again, her voice is a bit uncertain but sympathetic, “You've had a bloody terrible day, haven't you?”
“It wasn't exactly one for the books.” Roger can’t help the twinge of anger that laces his tone. He really doesn’t want to get into it, knowing full well he won’t be able to control his temper if he does.
“You're also tired.” It’s not a question. She knows. She always knows.
Roger smiles sadly, heart swelling in affection for the girl on the other side of the line “Yeah, I am.”
She sighs, frowning as she doesn’t want to let him go but knowing that he needs his rest “I should probably let you rest.”
“Please don't hang up.”
It’s Y/N heart’s turn to beat erratically as she grins ear to ear when she realizes that he cares for her as much as she does for him. “Okay.”
“Just for a little while, please.”
His voice is a whisper and she answer in the same tone, “As long as you want, rockstar.”
Roger lets his eyes drift shut, rolling onto his side as he holds the receiver tightly in his hands so he won’t accidentally drop it. He could never seem to get enough of her and he doesn’t even know what she looks like yet. What will happen when they finally meet? One thing he knows for sure is that he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself.
“I’d do just about anything to be with you right now”
Had he not been holding the phone tightly against his head, Roger would have missed it. She had spoken so softly, lovingly.
The blond smiles. “Really? Anything?”
She hums, fanning her heated cheeks as she thanks her lucky stars that he can’t see her. She hadn’t expected those words to slip out of her moth but they’ve been talking for so long and they’d just had their first fight.
“I'd swim across the bloody ocean if I could.” He means so much to her that she really would do anything to cross the distance separating them.
Roger blushes, eyes bright and cheeks hurting because of his blinding smile. She makes him so giddy, “All that work just for me?”
Y/N feels her cheek warming up even more, “You’re worth it.” She wonders how he doesn’t realize just how much he means to her or that she would do anything for him.
He hums to himself, grin never faltering as his minds comes up with all these different scenarios he’d love to make come true. Y/N laughs, almost as if she can read his mind, prompting him to ask what caused his favourite sound of the world.
“I think you might actually like me when we finally meet,” she admits finally, still laughing and it really is the best sound to ever reach his ears.
He feels a blush start to spread across his face as he realizes exactly what she said. Never being one to censor himself, he decides to push their carefully set boundaries. “You know, I sometimes imagine you’re here with me sometimes.”
“Yeah?” her laughter, just like her breath, is cut off abruptly. This is certainly not the turn she thought the conversation would be taking.
The drummer hums his assent, turning so he’s laying on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling as he imagines the girl of his dreams in bed next to him. “Yeah. I don't even have a picture of you in my head or anything...I know it doesn't make sense but –”
“No, it does!” She reassures. She never wants him to think that she doesn’t understand what was going through his mind.
He smiles, “Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“What would you do if you were with me, right now?” because he knows exactly what he wishes they could be doing but he needs her to want and imagine the same thing.
“Why?” She has to put a hand over her mouth to stop the squealing his question brought to her lips. Why he makes her feel like a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush is beyond her but she wouldn’t give up this feeling for anything in the world.
“I don't know. It helps me picture you.”
She’s quiet for a second as she thinks over how much she’s willing to say out loud. “I'd make you tea...probably make sure you were all cozy, with plenty of blankets and pillows and the works. You deserve to be pampered.”
No one has ever cared about him as much as she does.
“Then what?” He’s aware he’s being greedy, but he can’t seem to help it.
YN swallows thickly, nervous as she forces herself to talk openly “I'd climb into bed with you. Hold you really close to me. I'd run my fingers through your hair –”
Roger moans, low and almost imperceptibly, at the thought. YN giggles, though she feels a warm ache forming below her stomach when she hears the sound. “You’d like that, huh?”
“Fuck yes.” His voice is hoarse and tired and it really isn’t doing much to help the situation between her legs. Y/N shifts on the bed, clenching her thighs while trying to concentrate on anything but the grovelling and sensual sound of his voice.
“What else?” He wants the conversation to take a specific turn but he’s beginning to get extremely drowsy and his voice betrays that.
Y/N smiles at the sudden sleepiness in his tone and her mouth goes dries as she tells him what has been on her mind for at least a few weeks now, maybe more. “I think...I think then I might have to kiss you, Rog.”
The line is strangely quiet and for a moment, she thinks she’s taken things too far and has completely misread the situation.
Roger gives a dopey, sleepy smile, hope filling his chest with a warm feeling. His voice is nearly a whisper in the receiver, “Where would you kiss me?”
She chokes back a sob, relief flooding her system as he doesn’t seem to mind the idea of her kissing him. In fact, she realizes with a start, he’s egging her on. “Maybe your shoulders...or your tummy.”
Roger hums wantonly into the phone as his mind conjures up the images she’s barely describing.
“Where would you want me to kiss you, Rog?”
The question is enough to wake him up. Roger groans, his voice huskier than a few moments ago “I can think of a few places.”
Y/N blushes, stuttering while trying to come up with a response while getting far too hot under the collar for her own good. Just as she’s opening her mouth, she hears a knock sounding through the phone.
Roger barely manages to hold back an angry curse as he gets up to open the hotel door, receiver still held against the side of his face. When he sees Brian, he rolls his eyes, “What do you want?”
Brian flinches at his friend's tone, holding up a tray of food as he grumbles “Fred wants to make sure you eat something before going to sleep.”
“Thanks, but I'm not hungry!” he responds before closing the door in the guitarist's face. He hears a faint mumble of "Whatever" as Brian heads back to his own room.
“Y/N –” he speaks, hoping against all odds that the mood hasn’t been completely lost. He needs to know what her answer is. Does she want to do to him all the things he wants to do to her?
“You should get some sleep, Rog.”
Roger wants to punch Brian for ruining what could have been the best night of his life so far. He was so close to getting somewhere with this amazing girl and that twat ruined his mood once again. He clears his throat, trying to not let tears of frustration gather in his eyes. “Y-Yeah...Yeah. You're right. I'll call you when I wake up?”
Y/N smiles warmly, quickly drying the single tear that had fallen at their lost moment, “I'll be here.”
Roger's chest buzzes. He whispers a faint 'Sweet dreams love' and waits for her reply before hanging up. He sighs, arm over his eyes.
One day, that girl will be his and he will be hers.
—————----------------------------------
“So” her friend drags out the ‘o’, looking at Y/N with pursed lips, “You like him.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, bringing the fuming cup of tea to her lips. She knows she’s just buying herself a few seconds as she debates how to actually address this whole thing. She knew she’d regret telling her best friend about Roger and their unorthodox friendship – or is it a relationship? Y/N shakes her head, aware of the piercing stare locked on her. She also knew that talking to Winnie would be a double-edge sword but she really needs to talk to someone about this whole Roger thing, just to make sure that it isn’t all in her head and that he too feels something for her. And to make sure it isn’t just some fever dream her mind has conjured in answer to her stress levels being through the roof.
It's been over a year since their first conversation. Roger has travelled the world and made his way back to England just to leave again but they had yet to meet. Y/N is starting to think that he might be ashamed of her. That, or he’s hiding who he really is.
“So what if I do?” Her cheeks start to colour as she avoids looking at the person across from her.
Winnie scoffs, shaking her heard “It's worse than I thought.”
Y/N's jaw drops at the remark, chest feeling a bit tight. “What do you mean by that?”
Winnie rolls her eyes, “I haven't seen you blush this much since...Well, I've actually never seen you blush this much. You've gone completely pink.”
Y/N's eyes fall to the table. She can feel her cheeks growing even pinker and hates her friend for being right.
“Y/N/N…” Winnie says with a frown, “I've got to be honest, here. I don't like it. At all.”
Y/N’s heart sinks. She never thought her friend wouldn’t approve of Roger and the words are like a knife to the chest. Sure, she knew that Winnie would be a bit skeptical but she never thought she’d be so against the idea of Roger. “W-Why not?”
Winnie doesn’t want to be harsh or hurt Y/N in any way but she also doesn’t want her best friend to get her hopes up and then her heart broken by a complete stranger. She reaches her hand across to the table and covers her friend’s. “Y/N… Just think about it rationally for a moment. The bloke calls you in the dead of night. You have no idea where he got your number or who he is and he's already trying to get in your pants –” Y/N opens her mouth to argue but Winnie talks over her. “How do you know he's not 70, huh? He could be anyone, Y/N. He could be your dad, for Christ’s sake!”
YN cringes, holding her head in her hand as she rubbed her temples. She feels utterly defeated. And a bit naïve. Even if she explains every detail to Winnie, she wouldn’t understand.
Winnie sighs, “What if he's got nothing to offer?”
Y/N clenches her jaw, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She knows it isn’t fair to be mad at Winnie. That her friend is only trying to look out for her. Still, she feels the urge to protect Roger and their whatever-this-is. “When has that ever been a problem for me? And that's just it, Win. He does...He offers me so much every day and he never expects anything back. He's kind to me...and he's silly and warm and sweet and–”
Winnie's expression softens as she sees the tears burning in Y/N's eyes as she takes Y/N's hands in hers again. However, she doesn’t back down, “You don't even know his last name.”
Y/N sniffles, refusing to let a single tear roll down her face. She takes a deep breath. “I don't really see where the problem is in that.” Winnie's brows knit together and Y/N crosses her arms, “He doesn't know my last name, either. It's not like I'm asking him for anything, Win. He's just great to talk to. He's kind and funny.... he’s smart. Wickedly smart, but he doesn't know it.” Y/N laughs breathlessly, getting lost in her memories of all their conversations. “Acts like this tough, careless thing sometimes but he's so soft on the inside. So good to me. He has the sweetest little laugh, too...gets all croaky when he's tired.”
Winnie squeezes Y/N's hand comfortingly, giving her a sympathetic smile. Realizing that nothing she says is going to change Y/N’s mind, she says softly “Just take care of yourself. That's all I ask.”
Y/N’s responding smile is as bright as the sun, “He's good. I know it. I can feel it. I’m going to be fine as long as I have him.”
“I hope so for you, darling. You deserve some happiness.”
Y/N takes another deep breath, reaching for her cup of tea.
Winnie grins too, “Just know that if he hurts you, I'll have his head. I don't care how old he turns out to be.”
Y/N laughs, rolling her eyes. “Thank fuck I know you've got my back, Win.”
---------------------
Roger is so lost in his thoughts that when John sits down beside him on the small sofa of the tour bus, he flinches, knocking over his beer. John laughs at him, passing him a dirty shirt from the floor to help clean the mess. Roger mumbles a quick "thanks mate" before trying to dry the small table.
“You okay mate?” Brian asks from his spot at the table. The guitarist is barely paying attention to his game of Scrabble with Freddie. For the past few days, he had been paying closer attention to his best friend because something is definitely off. He can’t put his finger on what but he sure as hell is going to find out.
“‘Course I am. Why'd you ask?” Roger is now working on the stain on his trouser, not really listening to his band mates.
Freddie frowns, waiting for Brian to place his next tile and nudges him with a foot under the table to get his attention. When Brian keeps ignoring him, the singer exchanges a quick glance with the bass player, both of them confused about what’s happening.
Brian shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and failing, “You've been acting weird lately.”
Roger's head whips up, eyes zeroing in on the guitarist “What'd you mean?” his tone came out too suspicious and the drummer has a feeling he knows exactly where this conversation was headed.
“You've been extremely well-behaved lately and you spend most of your time holed up in your hotel rooms. What's going on?” Brian decides that beating around the bush wasn’t going to work with the blond.
Roger rolls his eyes, doing his best to hide the smile threating to pull his lips up as he tries to dissuade his friends from asking too many questions or giving them more reasons to be concerned about him. “’S just talking to a friend. No need to get your panties in a twist, old chap.”
“A friend?” Freddie's amused and now feels the need to be part of this conversation, especially if it makes Roger a bit uncomfortable.
The drummer shrugs, his ears going pink as Brian rolled his eyes, already tired of vague answers. “What friend?”
Roger keeps himself busy by wiping the now fully absorbed beer from his pants. “Just a friend.”
John chuckles when he notices how much the lack of tangible information is bother Brian.
“You don't have friends that we don't know!” the guitarist points out.
Roger rolls his eyes, head falling backwards as he drops the shirt to the ground “I do too! We don't do everything together Brian.”
“What's her name, Rog?” Freddie decides to cut to the chase, use to seeing through all of Roger’s bullshit.
The drummer sighs, knowing that the more he tries to get out of this conversation, the more they will pry. He mumbles, “Y/N”
John smiles as Freddie's lights up like a child on Christmas morning. The singer sits forward and leans into the drummer’s line of sight. “And where did you happen upon this friend, hm?”
Roger's cheeks grow pink. He can’t and won’t even try to stifle the pleased smile forming on his lips. Brian’s face pinches in confusion: he's never seen Roger like this in his life. Roger hates when people get all warm and mushy; he always crinkles his nose up with displeasure when John rambles on about Veronica, and yet, here he is, looking as if he’s about to do the same thing.
“If I’m completely honest, I haven't exactly met her in person. Yet.” He confesses sheepishly.
Fred raises his eyebrows, the conversation already taking a turn he didn't expect. “Pardon?”
Roger sighs, rubbing his face as he tries to explain the whole situation as best he can. “We kind of met by accident. Before leaving for tour, I was talking to a girl in a pub back home and well... she gave me a fake number that turned out to be Y/N's.”
John nods, intrigued by the blond's story, “Is it safe to assume you called the number?”
“Yeah.” Roger grins, “Wasn't the bird from the pub, obviously. The girl on the line didn't have any clue who I was. She was pissed, to be honest.” Roger laughs thinking back to the night they met. “She's from London and with the fact that she hadn’t been out and about that night, I accidentally woke her up at one thirty in the morning. She put me in my place for it, too. We started talking after that, I guess.”
Deacy is happy to see his friend so smitten. “How long have you been talking?”
Roger takes a sip of someone's drink, stopping to think. “About a year, I reckon. Maybe a bit more.”
Brian chokes on his own saliva. “A year!? Really?” He looks to the other boys, and even John has his brows raised in surprise.
Roger looks confused, “What?”
“Rog, I don't think I've ever seen you talk to any girl for more than a few hours.” The bass player is quick to point out. “And even when you do, it’s because they’re a good shag.”
Roger frowns, a bit hurt by the comment. He knows he’s never had a serious relationship and that he loves sex but he isn’t some emotionless sex fiend. He is capable of being committed and in a monogamous relationship. He’s just never had the right motivation before. “Tt's not like that.”
Fred smirks, “So you're saying she’s just a friend?”
Roger stutters for a second before falling silent, his face going warmer. “I just… I think she's nice, and easy to talk to.” He knew he wouldn't be able to explain their bond eloquently enough for them to truly understand. It’s more that simple attraction or wanting a relationship. There’s something about Y/N and their bond that he will never be able to explain.
“You realize you broke up with Jo so you could spend more time with your drums? Rog, you're not exactly fantastic at commitment.” Brian feels the need to point out.
Roger’s heart sinks at the lack of support from his friends and wishes he hadn’t let any of this slip. “She's important to me, whether you understand us or not. I want to fly her out here so we can meet –”
Brian scoffs, arms crossing over his chest “You sure she's not just trying to sneak her hands in your pockets, mate?”
Roger is stunned into silence and his temper flares. “What?!”
“How can you be sure that she's not just trying to make a few bucks off you? We make good money now, Rog. People know that.” Again, Brian is pointing something out as if it’s the most obvious reason in the world for a girl to talk with him for so long. Why else would a girl want to spent a whole twelve months speaking to Roger, right?
Roger doesn’t even know where to start or how to respond. The fact that Brian would even imply that YN would ever think about doing something like that is infuriation.
“There are plenty of smart girls out there, mate.” The guitarist carries on, oblivious to the turmoil going through the drummer’s mind. “You've got a keep an eye out for the ones sniffing out gold –”
Roger sees red. “Don't fucking dare finish that sentence, Brian.”
The guitarist rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the drummer's outburst. “All I'm saying is you ought to be careful.”
“I know you think you're smarter than the rest of us but I'm perfectly capable of handling myself.”
Freddie rubs his temples exasperatedly, knowing that this is not going to be the end of the conversation and it’s going to end poorly for all parties involved.
“Roger, you're letting yourself fall in love with this girl and you don’t even know her! She's a complete stranger!” Brian raises his voice, “You've never bloody met her!”
“Fuck off, Brian. You have no fucking idea what or who you're talking about.” Roger slams the bottle against the table and storms off towards the back of the bus “Leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day.”
----------------------------------
Roger’s eyes blink open as soon as he registers the phone in his hotel room starts ringing. He scrambles for the receiver, nearly falling off the mattress in the process as the sheet tangle in his legs.
It's been nearly a fortnight since he's last spoken to Y/N. It seems the two have less and less time as the summer months have rolled around. There are interviews to do, books to edit, concerts to play, shelves to stock. All their work seems to be never-ending.
“Y/N?” Roger chimes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He knows that the likelihood of it being anyone else is nonexistent but he always likes to make sure she knows that she’s always his first thought.
“Hi, Rog.” She smiles to herself. Hearing his voice always makes her days better.
Relief washes over Roger's body at the sound of her voice. “God, I've missed you.” He admits, chest aching happily. “Missed you so much. Every day. Fuck, you don't know how good it is to hear your voice.” Roger relaxes against his pillow, playing with the phone chord as his eyes close blissfully.
Tears well in Y/N’s eyes as she tries swallowing around the knot lodged in her throat. “I’ve missed you too, Rog.”
Roger's brow furrow. Her voice’s hoarse, as if she’s been crying. And tired. Immediately he can tell that something’s wrong but he tries clearing the thought from his head, trusting that she would tell him anything she wanted him to know.
“Had a dream about you last night.” He mumbles, smiling at the memory as he tries to make her smile. “I can't remember what you looked like in the dream but it couldn’t have been anyone but you. It felt like you.”
She smiles against the speaker.
Roger eyes furrow as he tries to recall if they’ve ever shared physical details of each other. He knows they’ve shared what’s in their hearts and minds but never have they spoken about what they look like. He needs to know. “How tall are you?”
Y/N doesn’t answer and Roger's worry comes back stronger than before. “Y/N?”
“Hm? What was that Rog?”
The drummer doesn’t like how tired she sounds. They’ve had had their share of bad conversations but she’s never ignored or not answered one of his questions. “How tall are you?”
“Oh... uhm... I guess /your height/.”
It took her too long to answer. Roger bites his lower lip before sighing, knowing that the only way for him to feel better is knowing that she’s okay. “There's something wrong.”
Y/N pauses, finally fully present in the conversation. Her heart beats a bit too quickly in her chest. “W-What?”
“You're not acting like yourself. Something's wrong.” Roger hates how certain of this he is.
She goes silent while trying to hold it all back, but it’s no use. Her face crumbles as she lets out a sob against the receiver. Calling him had been the best and worse decision she made today.
Roger's heart feels like it’s shattering as he fights helplessly to calm her from oceans away.
“Y/N...” He feels stuck. Someone he loves is sobbing and he’s a million miles away. “Y/N, my love, what’s wrong? What's happening?”
His mind is working a million miles a second. It’s been so long since they last spoke, that there are hundreds of things that could have happened. Is she hurt? Did someone she know get hurt? Has the press somehow found out about their conversations and been harassing her?
She chokes on her words, trying to explain as best as she could but her breathing is still too choppy and labored for her to be understandable.
Roger listens as she struggles to breathe and he doesn’t think he’s ever known fear before his moment. The sounds coming from the woman he loves sound painful and he wants nothing more than to hold her and soothe all her pain. “Y/N, my love, just breathe. Can you do that for me? Take deep breaths.” He does what he’s asking her to do so that she has something to mimic. “Just do what I am okay? I'm right here baby.” He keeps his breathing slow and steady, guiding hers until she settles. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffling painfully. Roger wishes he could reach through the phone and scoop her up in his arms. He's trying to figure out how angry the boys – and the label – would be if he were to fly out to her for a few days.
“I had to fire them all.” She admits in a whisper.
His stomach drops, “Who love?”
“My employees... I couldn't pay them anymore.” She starts crying again, her voice breaking and he can barely make out the words tumbling from her lips.
Roger frowns, a thought he doesn’t like pushing to the front of his mind. “Who's been running the store when you aren't there?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly and when she finally answers, he hates what he hears. “It's just been you. Oh, love, it's just been you all by yourself?”
Her sobs grow louder as Roger hushes her soothingly through the phone as he fights off his own tears. “Oh baby, I'm so sorry.”
“I-I didn't want to. I had to.” Y/N needs him to understand. She really has no other choice and she hates how powerless she is. She’s trying her best to ground herself but everything hurts.
“I know, sweetheart.” He reassures her, “They understand.”
“M-My landlord threatened to evict me and I've got no food in the pantry and I just didn't know what else to do.” She grabs her hair tightly as the pain in her chest increases.
Roger's throat tightens to the point where taking a breath is painful. “Why didn't you say anything, darling? I would have sent you mone–”
'No. No. I don't want to take money from you.” She states resolutely. “That's not fair and it’s not me. I will figure something out.”
He rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. “What's ‘not fair’ is that you're suffering, Y/N.” He pauses, “When's the last time you had a meal? Like, a whole meal, not just a snack.”
When doesn’t Y/N answer, Roger knows that it has been too long.
“I've been eating little things here and there.” She finally admits with a small, fearful voice, “I don't have time to sit and eat at work, anyway.”
“Y/N,” his tone doesn’t allow for any room for her not to answer, “when was the last time?”
She swallows thickly, “A week ago. I think.”
Roger feels like someone has punched him in the throat. His eyes burn as he fights off tears. Now is not the time for him to breakdown. He can do that once he knows she has some food in her system and she’s taken care of. He counts to five and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Haven't been sleeping either, I bet. I can hear it in your voice. You're exhausted.”
Roger pauses and then add stubbornly, “I'm sending you money.”
Nothing she says is going to change his mind on this. She needs it, he has loads and he will never sit back and let her suffer when he can actively do something to make things easier for her.
“Roger, no.” She counters immediately, “Absolutely not!”
“Y/N, you need it! I want to help you. I need to help you. I need you to be safe and happy and healthy –”
“I can do it, Rog.” She guarantees, “I just need to work harder.”
She’s stubborn but so is he.
He sighs her name. Nothing he says will convince her to take the money. She’s too proud of that but there is nothing she can do to stop him from sending it anyway. Y/N doesn’t need to know until she gets it.
There is one thing that he can’t drop though. “Promise me, and I mean promise me you'll eat and you'll sleep. I want three meals a day and eight hours at night.” Y/N sighs, knowing that keeping that promise is going to be rough but Roger keeps speaking, “I know money is tight and it seems like it's hopeless right now but swear to me that you'll take care of yourself.”
Y/N's voice thickens as she whimpers pathetically. Never had she thought she’d be the kind of girl that needs a man to keep her together, but here she is. “I need you to hold me.”
Pain shoots through Roger's chest and this time, he can’t keep his emotions at bay. Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to not sob too loudly. It hurts. It bloody hurts how badly he wants to be with her.
Roger moves the receiver away from his face, letting out a few sobs before he composes himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as his nose burns because of the tears he’s trying – and failing – to hold back. He does his best to keep his voice steady when he speaks to her again, “What if I fly out to you? Just for a few days. I could –”
Y/N’s tears start anew. “I want that, so badly but Rog, baby, you can’t. The tour –”
“To hell with the tour!” he says through gritted teeth, “I don’t care about the bloody tour! I care about you.”
Her breath catches in her throat. They’ve both tiptoed around their feelings, both making it clear that this is more than a simple friendship but never had either of them been so direct. It gives her hope and now, more than ever, she refuses to let him give up on his dream. She will get through this and knowing he’s willing to drop everything to help her is enough.
“I care about you too, Rog.” She admits softly, “But there are so many people counting on you. It’s your dream.”
“Maybe I have a new one” he mumbles. “Okay. If I can’t come to you then I can fly you out.” He needs to see her and make sure, with his own eyes, that she’s really doing better. He can’t lose her.
Y/N sighs wistfully, wanting nothing more than to accept his offer. “You know I can’t. Not right now, at least. The shop –”
Roger curses in frustration. “It’s not fair!”
“I know.”
Silence fills the line. Roger’s anger quickly dissipates and all he’s left with is unrelenting sadness. He feels so unlike himself; pitifiul and needy. He feels as if he needs Y/N more than he needs oxygen.
“Soon,” Roger’s voice breaks the silence, “Promise me. We’ll be together soon.”
Y/N smiles through the tears, “I promise.”
“And promise me you’ll eat and sleep. I need you to take care of yourself.”
“I promise, Rog. I will get as much sleep and food as I can stand.”
“Good.” He swallows thickly, “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She lets out a wet laugh, “Good thing is you’ll never have to find out.”
Roger finally relaxes a bit, breathing deeply. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you out of my sights once we meet.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
---------------------------
Roger keeps his head down, with his visor of the baseball cap pulled down almost over his eyebrows as moves quickly through the city. He’s hoping that between his disguise and Queen still being relatively unknown in the US will help him avoid any run ins with the press. It had been hard enough leaving the hotel without being seen by his mates or any of the roadies. He really doesn’t need word of his morning excursion getting back to Brian.
With a grimace, Roger walks into the American branch of his bank and lines up to speak to a teller.
It takes longer than he would have liked to get all the documents set up and money withdrawn but Roger definitely feels lighter as he steps back out into the sunlit streets and heads to rehearsals. Luckily, he was careful enough that no one noticed his prolonged absence.
The green room is still empty when Roger enters, heading straight for the vanity against the opposite wall. Slipping off his hat, he removes all the bank documents from his back pocket and sits at the mirror. He slides the signed check and bills into the same envelope, setting it aside as he removes his jacket. He definitely feels a lot better knowing he’ll be able to help Y/N in a way that matters and that will make her life easier. It also helps that their conversations have returned to being a daily occurrence, helping him ensure that she is as well rested and fed as she can be. Although she’s doing much better with his support, Roger doesn’t miss the stressed tone or how her work load seems to be constantly growing.
Roger only wishes he had managed to get to a bank sooner though this way, since it’s been a bit over a month since he offered her the money, she shouldn’t suspect anything.
Roger digs around the vanity for a pen and when he finds none, he uses one of Freddie’s eye-pencils and a tissue to write a short message to his girl. He hesitates, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his friends aren’t going to barge in. He really doesn’t want to try explaining the money or check to them.
Roger sighs, mussing his hair as he tries to put pencil to tissue. There is so much he wants to say but he isn’t even sure where he should start. He knows that no matter what he says, she is going to rip into him so with a chuckle, he scribbles down one line before signing the tissues and placing it delicately inside the envelop with the money and check. He knows he’s doing the right thing, and even if she won’t happy about it, she’ll be grateful.
For once in his life, he’s grateful for his foresight of asking for her full name and address so that he could send small trinkets and post cards when calls aren’t enough.
“Morning, Rog.”
Roger nearly jumps out of the chair, quickly turning to see a confused looking John smiling at him, a cup of coffee in hand.
Roger exhales, laughing at his own reaction. “God, Deacy. You scared the living shit out of me. Didn’t hear you come in.”
John laughs too before sipping his coffee as he takes a seat on the couch. Roger turns back to the envelope, hiding it under his arm.
“Didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, I though you’d still be in bed.” John chimes, brow quirked.
Roger clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Just had to um...run some errands is all.”
John nods though he clearly doesn’t believe him. “What are you doing here so early?” The drummer desperately wants to change the subject before he gives himself away.
John shrugs, smiling “I tend to get here early to help the roadies with the amps. I built most of them from older models that'd been trashed so they can be a bit finicky.”
Roger hums in understanding, slipping the envelope into the pocket of his jeans as Brian and Freddie waltz in. The drummer nods at both, fighting back a yawn.
“Sleep well?” Freddie asks with a smirk.
“Not well enough.” Admits Roger, standing from his chair and lazily making his way over to the costume rack. He doesn’t notice the envelop slipping from his pocket when he bends down to look for his converse. Roger curses under his breath, “I’m going to see if I can track down my trainers. I could’ve sworn I left them here yesterday.”
Brian quirks his brow curiously as the drummer trots out the door, stepping forward to snatch the envelope off the ground. Freddie cranes on his tip toes to peek over his shoulder, curiosity lighting up his brown eyes, “What've you found?”
The envelope hasn’t been sealed yet so Brian doesn’t feel too guilty as he snoops. The guitarist runs his thumb over the hastily scrawled name and address, Y/N Y/L/N.
“What’s inside?” The singer asks, hoping it’s a love letter and that he can take the piss out of the usually emotionally constipated drummer.
Brian pulls back the flap of the envelop and frowns when he notices that there’s cash inside. He moves toward the couch where John is sat, quietly observing the situation as it unfolds. The guitarist clears off a small section of the coffee table and dumps the content of the envelop on it. A wad of cash falls with a small thud, as a tissue and slip of paper flutter down after it. He quickly counts the cash and his eye widen in shock. £500. And the piece of paper is a blank check that has been signed and dated with today’s date. The name on the check is the same of the envelop and it finally hits him: it’s the girl Roger had mentioned on the bus.
Don’t be too angry. R
Brian feels like his brain is going to explode. A blank cheque?! He’s sending her a blank cheque! Anger boils in his veins as he tries to comprehend how his best friend of years goes from dumbing his girlfriend of almost ten years in order to become a successful musician to blindly sending money and blank cheques to a complete stranger. Clearly, something has happened because not even Roger would be that stupid.
Brian grips the empty envelop tightly in his hand as Roger wanders back into the room, muttering about his missing shoes.
Brian walks up to Roger where he’s now lounging on the couch next to John and throws it at him. Roger eyes the envelop before his eyes fall to the coffee table.
The blond lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up into Brian's eyes. For this, his reaction angers Brian even more.
“Mind sharing with the group, Rog?” the curly-haired man asks condescendingly. “Mind explaining why your ‘friend’ who isn't taking advantage of you is getting direct deposits?!”
Roger does his best to swallow back all his annoyance, but apparently, Brian isn’t done digging into him. “A fucking blank cheque, Roger!? A blank cheque, really? Are you trying to get robbed?”
Roger can’t even get his explanation fully out of his mouth before Brian cuts him off. “She's lying, Roger! She's a con artist!”
“She's not!”
“And you're giving her exactly what she wants! She'll be laughing all the way to the bank!”
“SHUT UP!” Roger screams, raising to his feet and pushing Brian back. “You've all got spouses or children. I don't. I've got no one to take care of. Tell me what's so fucking criminal about sending some money to help someone I love.”
The three other people in the room are shocked into silence. Never before has the drummer tossed around the l-word so easily. Roger picks up the money and the check from the table, carefully tucking it back into the envelope and smoothing it out.
Roger heads for the door, turning to look back at the group one last time before he leaves.
Roger chuckles into the receiver. “Well, hello to you too, darling.” He had been waiting for this call for about a week.
“Do not ‘darling’ me right now. I told you not to send money!” Y/N has rarely experienced such a mix of emotions. Anger, love, humiliation, sadness, helplessness, love. She whines into the phone, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “Why didn't you listen? I'm not a charity case!” She hates feeling like a burden.
Most of all, she hates how loved and better she felt when she opened the envelope.
The blond frowns. It was never his intention to upset her, “Love, I –”
“Don’t you dare use your pet names on me right now, Roger Taylor!'’ Roger tries to hold back his laughter.
“I told you I can do this on my own!” she explodes, “I am perfectly capable of handling –”
“Oh, trust me, I know you are.” He interrupts. Roger toys with the phone chord, blowing some of his bangs away from his face. “You could run circles around me, darling. Just because you're able to do it on your own doesn't mean you have to.” He smiled softly to himself, “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I can't physically be there for you, and I hate that. If it were up to me, I'd be stopping by the store to bring you food or help lug books around.” Y/N exhales, hand running through her hair. God-damnit. Why does he have to be so bloody perfect and far away? “And as much as I wish I could change it, I know I can't be there right now to hold you and promise it will all get better.”
“Rog–” There’s so much she needs to tell him.
“Let me do this, Y/N.” He begs, “Just this one thing to help you keep a roof over your head and eat and take care of yourself.”
Y/N gives up all hope of arguing with him about this. And just like that, she’s crying for a completely different reason. Her voice wobbles as she sobs into the phone, “You're so stupid, Roger. You're such a goddamn idiot.”
He laughs as he too starts crying, smiling lovingly to the empty room. “I thought we’d already established that.” She gives a breathy laugh, clutching the money and cheque to her chest like a security blanket. “Hasn't ever kept you from talking to me before, though.”
Y/N wipes her tears with her shirt sleeve, sniffling pitifully. She knows she’s never felt love like this before and she never will again. Not even her parents had shown interest in supporting her; she never thought any less of them because of that.
But here’s Roger. Sweet, stupid Roger forking over hundreds of pounds and sending it to her from worlds away without batting an eyelash. All because he wants to help in any way he can. She can hear him as he rambles on, still trying explain how it “really isn’t a big deal".
“Roger–” her voice’s is so soft that he misses it completely.
“–I just care about you and I wanted to help and–”
“Roger!” She yells with a laugh.
He stops, eyebrows quirking as he smiled. He hears her take a deep breath and waits impatiently for her to speak.
Y/N’s heart is beating like a hummingbird's. “I love you.”
“What?” Roger feels completely frozen until she repeats those three beautiful words to him.
There’s another long silence and panic set in YN's stomach as she bites her lip. She really doesn’t want to pressure him into saying it so it’s her turn to start rambling, “I'm not just saying that because of the money and I don't expect you to say it back but I just needed you to know because it’s true and –”
“I love you too.” He interrupts her panicked mumbles.
Y/N's whole body relaxes. She exhales, hands shakily holding the phone as she lets out a watery, “Thank Christ” that makes Roger laugh.
“God, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Now that he can say it aloud, he doesn’t think he'll ever be able to stop.
Tears well in Y/N's eyes again, “I...I want you, Roger. I want you here.” She sounds selfish but she doesn’t care.
This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Now that it’s out in the open, she needs to see him, feel his body against hers. She wants to show him exactly how much she loves him.
His heart aches, “I know, my love. You have no fucking idea how much I want to be with you right now. Fuck, I'd fly out to you right this second if I knew you'd actually let me.”
Y/N chuckles, sniffling “It's really tempting.”
He grins, “Tempting enough to let me?”
She shakes her head, “I can't be the one to deprive the world of Roger Taylor. I know how that feels and it's too damn painful.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Why can't you just be selfish once in a while?”
“I'm afraid I'm not as strong headed as my rockstar boyfriend.”
Roger smiles brighter than the sun, face red and heart full at her words. “Boyfriend, huh? I like the sounds of that.”
“Do you now?”
His smile seems to grow, “Love it, actually. 'Specially hearin' it from my girlfriend.”
Y/N giggles, loving his ability to make everything better with just a few, simple words. “Be careful saying that in front of all your groupies, might break their hearts.”
Roger scoffs, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Groupies!? Who do you think I am?” Y/N laughs and it’s his favourite sound in the world “You're the only groupie I've got, darling. Take you with me everywhere.”
“That's my official title then?” She jokes, “Resident Groupie?”
“Yes. And it's a paid position so you have to accept the money I sent.”
Y/N gasps, grin on her lips “You absolute wanker!”
“You love me, really.”
Her smile softens, “I really do.”
---------------------------------
Roger's shoulders and hands ached as he plops down on his hotel bed. He winces at the contact between the sheets and the raw skin of his worn hands, biting his lower lip as he reaches for the phone. Hearing his girlfriend's voice always make it all worth it.
The line rings more times than Roger is used to and a very bad feeling sinks in his gut. Even more concerning is the fact that he goes to voice mail. The drummer frowns, setting the receiver back on the base before lifting and dialing again. Still no response. He tries a third time. Nothing.
Finally, on his fourth try, YN answers the line and relief washes over him.
“Hey, Rog.”
“Oh, thank god! I thought something had happened to –” He freezes, heart dropping when he realizes that she’s crying. “What's wrong my love?”
Y/N sniffles, hating herself for being the girl that cries at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice. She isn’t even sure what to do. If she tells Roger that his best friend called her and said she was a gold-digging whore, he’ll react rashly and she isn’t there to stop him from doing too much damage to the band or himself. On the other hand, these phone calls are all they have. Honestly is important, they both said so from day one and fuck, they’re in a relationship for crying out loud. She knows Roger loves her. He’s proven it more than enough times. It’s just that… If his best friend, the people he spends every waking moment with think that of her, maybe it’s because he’s said something. And she’s sure it isn’t only Brian thinking those things. They couldn’t have come to that conclusion on their own. Could they?
“Is it work? Did something happen?”
“No...” She hums, trying to gather herself. She’s not going to tell him.
Roger frowns, worry clawing at his chest. She isn’t tired of him, is she? “Talk to me, love. Please.”
His plea breaks some of her resolution and she fights hard to not start sobbing. She’s sick of crying every time they call. “It's nothing, just having a rough day.”
“No, it isn't.” Roger insists, brow furrowed determinedly. Something is gnawing at him to not trust her words.
Y/N swallows, mind running in circles. “Rog…You know I'd never lie to you, right? I'd never do anything to hurt you.”
Roger blinks in confusion, “Of course I do, sweetheart. Where's all this coming from?”
“Nowhere.” She lies, “I just want to make sure you know how much I love you.” She hesitates a moment. “Promise me you understand that, though. That when I talk to you...I'm never trying to get anything out of you. I'm not...digging for gold.”
Alarm bells ring loudly in Roger's head. Brian. Fucking Brian. “Did Brian call you?”
“No.” She answers too quickly.
“Brian called you, didn't he?” Roger is beyond furious as his voice raises along with the anger in his chest. “He called you and ran his fucking mouth, as he always does and hurt you. The fucking arse can’t accept that he’s not the smartest person in the room and wants to ruin everyone’s happiness because he’s a miserable bastard. Once I get my hands on him, I –”
Y/N sobs, “Don't fight with him! Please, don't. He was only trying to protect y– ”
Roger slams the receiver against the base, fists clenching as he tears through his door and down the hall towards the conference room turned music room, where he knows the lads are still rehearsing. He’ll apologize later to Y/N but right now, he needs to not be talked down. Brian deserves everything coming his way.
Roger slams the door open and as soon as he’s face-to-face with the guitarist, Roger punches him in the face.
Brian stumbles backwards as Roger keeps shoving his chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?!”
Brian's eyebrows furrow as he catches his balance, still trying to keep Roger at bay as he massages his sore jaw.
Roger's face is red, rage clear as day in his blue eyes as he spats his words at Brian, Freddie putting himself in the middle of the two. “Somehow, by the grace of fucking god, I'm happy for the first time in my miserable goddamn life and you have to go and try to fuck it up!” Tears welling in his eyes, Roger shoves his kit to the ground, cymbals crashing as pieces of set scattered across the floor. Freddie is grateful that it was just the four of them in the room, though the ruckus is sure to gather unwanted attention.
Brian rubs his bruising jaw, rolling his eyes at Roger's reaction. “I did it for your own bloody good, Roger! She was just going to keep leeching off you –”
“I don't fucking care, Brian!” Roger kicks his bass drum, foot going through the decal of his own face as he shoves Freddie away. “I don't fucking need it! I don't need any of it!”
Brian's eyes fall to his shoes as guilt filled his gut. Maybe he had been too rash and cruel. Maybe he should've given Y/N a chance to explain herself.
“What am I going to buy with all this money you've saved me, huh? Cars? Drugs?” Brian opens his mouth to argue but Roger cuts him off. “I love her, Brian! I don't care if she takes every fucking cent I have!”
Brian scoffs, guilt quickly being replaced by frustration at how idiotic his friend is acting. “Do you hear yourself? You've never met this person, Roger! You're being ridiculous! You're asking to get your heart broken!”
“I'm fucking grown, Brian! I can handle myself, you condescending prick! She's all I've got!”
The room goes eerily silent.
Brian clears his throat, pursing his lips. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “Since when don’t you have us?”
Roger stares right at Brian, daggers in his eyes. He scoffs sickly, “This? The band? The so-called friends that call up my girlfriend, making her cry and calling her a gold-digger?!” He gestures to the group, knowing that John and Freddie had done nothing to stop Brian from making the girl he loved question their whole relationship. “This is over. The second tour's finished, this is never happening again.”
Deacy knits his brows, “Roger–”
Roger takes a menacing step towards Brian, grabbing the front of his shirt in his tired and sore hands. “You ever speak to her again and I'll rip your fucking balls off.”
The blond turns from the group, retreating down the hall and back to his own room.
Brian, Freddie, and Deacy stand in shocked silence.
Brian sighs as he raises his fist to knock on Roger's door. He feels bad. He really does. And he doesn’t want the band to break up because of a girl. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t still think Roger was acting like a mad man.
The guitarist hopes that the few hours he had left Roger to wallow in his self pity has been enough for the drummer to calm down and reconsider the whole quitting nonsense.
“No, Y/N! I won't! I won't forgive him.”
Brian freeze, dropping his hand to his side. Why on earth would Y/N be defending him? Brian rests his ear against Roger's door, curiosity itching beneath his skin. There’s a pause as Roger listens to Y/N's response.
“I understand that he was trying to look out for me. I get that, but I'm a grown fucking man, Y/N. He thinks he's the smartest person alive and I'm sick of it! I could have lost you!”
Brian rolls his eyes. He doesn't think he’s smarter than Roger. He just thinks Roger is dumber than him.
“No, I'm quitting! Soon as tour's over I'm flying out to you and I-.... No, I'm not! I'm not being dramatic!”
Brian smirks, chuckling to himself. “I wouldn't miss them. Not for a second. I can play drums anywhere. I don't need them! ... It is not bullshit!”
Brian’s surprised. Impressed even. He never thought that this girl would be defending them after everything he'd said to her. “I don't want to talk to those wankers. They treat you like you're some conquest. They don't even see it. I'm not like that anymore, Y/N. I'm just not that person anymore. You need to know that.”
Something in his words give Brian pause. Roger’s right: it'd been ages since he'd heard any moans coming from the other side of Roger's door. The drummer barely showed up at after parties anymore. Hell, even when women throw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, signing whichever body part they present him and returns to his previous conversation with the lads or their entourage.
There’s so many things Brian was used to seeing Roger numb himself with. Booze. Drugs. Sex. Anything that would bring him any sort of temporary relief. It had all stopped suddenly. Roger is now more focused and plays better. He fights less. He even started apologizing for things. He smiles more. It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. No more dark circles under his eyes; no more empty bottles; no more smears of white powder left on tables.
Things are different now. They had been for a long time, he’d just been too conceited to notice. The changes seem to coincide with her sudden appearance in Roger’s life.
Brian bites at the inside of his lower lip, sighing as he knocks on Roger's door.
Roger curses, mumbling something to Y/N and brings the phone with him as he pries himself up off the bed and shuffles over to the door, flinging it open roughly.
“What the fuck do you want?” Roger spats. He’s vaguely aware of Y/N's voice in his ear, telling him to take it easy.
“To apologize.”
“Apology not accepted.” Roger tries to slam the door in his face but Brian’s quicker, smacking his hand against the hard wood.
“Really? I'm trying to be nice and you're going to bitch about it?” the guitarist can’t help but roll his eyes.
“Yep. That's the plan.” Roger is just about to try slamming the door shut again when he hears Y/N call his name loudly on the other line. He holds the receiver to his ear. “What did you say, love? ... No! Y/N, I don't want to hear anything he has to say.... Why should I?” The blond exhales angrily, eyes shooting daggers at Brian as he holds the receiver against his ear. “Come on in.”
The air is tense as Brian sits down next to Roger on his bed, biting at his thumbnail as Roger hits the speaker button on the base of the phone. “He can hear you now, love.” Roger mumbles. “Don't see why you're bothering with letting him apologize after he –”
“Just let him speak, Roger.” The voice from the speaker is crackly with static, sweet yet exasperated.
Brian smiles a little, feeling marginally better about things knowing she’s not too angry or hurt. “I, um...I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I was wretched. I just got worried. Roger can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes and I –”
“I am not! You're the one that bloody –”
Y/N heaves an exasperated sigh, “For god’s sakes, Roger, just calm the fuck down and let him explain.”
Roger grumbles something under his breath. Brian can’t help but smirk. “Brian, I understand where you were coming from. You were only trying to protect him.”
Roger scoffs. “You're really going to side with Brian!?”
Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling a headache forming. Men. “You're being such a baby.”
Roger groans, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenches.
Brian is starting to like this girl more and more. She knows how to put Roger in his place and he lets her. It’s refreshing, “I... I may have been wrong about you.”
Y/N smiles, “No shit!”
Roger can’t help but grin. That's my girl.
Y/N sighs, “But we'll get to you apologizing to me later. Right now, you two need to get your heads out of your asses and forgiving each other. Queen won't end because the two of you can't act like adults.”
Roger scoffs, “Fat chance.”
Brian shakes his head exasperatedly. “I swear, you're a child.”
“And you're a pompous asshole!”
“Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm pompous.”
“Oh, so now you don't think I'm smart?”
“Not when you act like a twat, I don't!”
“Piss off!”
“No! You –”
Y/N drops her phone back onto its base. Roger should have known she wouldn't sit there and listen to that crap. Roger and Brian go silent at the dial tone. The drummer curses, grumbling as he redials her number. It only rings once before she picks up.
“You two finished?” There’s silence and Y/N giggles. “I can't believe two grown men are being such babies.” Both of them open their mouths to argue in self defense but can’t before she’s laughing at them.
Brian sighs, “Rog, I'm sorry. I know you're not stupid and I –”
“You sure bloody act like it –”
Y/N exhales sharply, “Roger I swear to god if you don't stop interrupting, I won't pay my phone bill this month.”
Roger immediately goes silent and Brian laughs smugly. Roger flips him off.
Y/N shakes her head, “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Brian. You're already on thin ice.”
It’s Brian’s turn to go quiet and Roger’s to laugh smugly.
“Why do I feel like a mother scolding her two idiotic children?! Roger, Brian was just trying to look out for you. It was a shitty way of doing it but he loves you and wants you happy. Brian, Roger is hot headed, you know that better than me but because of you, I almost lost him and Roger was right in his reaction. You had no right to call me and call me a gold digger and an actress. You should have trusted your friend's judgment.”
Brian held out his hand, “I'm sorry, Roger.”
Roger takes it, giving it a reluctant shake. “I'm sorry, too.”
Y/N sighs in relief until Roger speaks again, “You need to apologize to Y/N as well. And you should know: she didn't ask for the money. I sent it to her without her knowledge and she yelled at me.”
Freddie walks by the open hotel room door, having heard their screams from the hall and leans against the post, observing the scene in front of him. Brian rubs his neck, cheeks turning red. “I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge.”
“You're right, you shouldn't have but I forgive you. I'm still hurt but I know it was done in good faith.”
Brian nods, guilt eating at him. “I understand completely. I... I wouldn't have forgiven me had I been in your shoes.”
Y/N smiles, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “Lucky for you, I'm very forgiving and understanding. And as much fun as this is, I'm going to be late for a meeting.”
“Make sure to eat something, please.”
“Don't worry rockstar, I'm taking care of myself. I love you.”
Roger smiles sappily, “I love you too.”
After she hangs up, Freddie smiles and makes his way into the room and drops down next to Brian, “I like her.”
Roger grins, “Yeah, she's amazing.”
“I'm sorry I didn't stop Brian.”
The drummer shakes his head, “It's all good mate. You lot were just trying to look out for me. I was just angry because she was already hurting and you managed to make it worse. I hate hearing her cry.”
The two nod, realizing what a mess they had made. Freddie claps his hands, “Well, now that it's settled that you're not quitting the band and we're all friends again, we should celebrate! I won't take no for an answer, my darlings!”
————————————————————
Y/N’s pulled out of her thoughts as the phone rings at nine am. She knows it’s Roger: no one else calls her but she almost never gets calls from Roger this early in the day. There’s only a four-hour time difference, but it’s still rare for her to get a call before the middle of the night.
It’s nine and two minutes, meaning Roger is calling her at five in the morning his local time.
She picks up the phone in an instant, worried that something is wrong, “Rog? Are you ok?”
“Y/N? Y/N! It's me! It's Roger!”
She chuckles, realizing what’s going on. She can hear the smile in his voice as he basically screams across the distance separating them. “Hi, Rog. Sounds like you're having fun.”
He laughs drunkenly, stretching his legs across the couch he’s sitting on. “And you sound –” He groans longingly, “You sound so sexy, Y/N. So beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.”
Y/N giggles, face heating up at his words. “You've never seen me before, Rog.” She hears a few snickers from around him. “Am I on speaker phone?”
Roger nods, forgetting he was on the phone in his drunken state. He’s just happy to be speaking to his dream girl.
“Hello Y/N!” Brian calls, taking another swig from his nearly empty beer bottle. Y/N returns the greeting but Roger frowns, quickly switching her off speaker. “Brian doesn't get to ever talk to you ever.”
YN smiles sympathetically, “Aw, Rog. I told you I forgive him, so did you. He was just being friendly –”
“I don't have to see you to know you're pretty.” He interrupts, drunken mind already returning to the most important thing. “I just know it. I do.” He frowns, grumpy that she dares question how highly he thinks of her. “Prettiest girl in the universe.”
He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “Wanna meet you so bad. I think...I think it's scary.”
YN hums, confused. “What's scary?”
“W-What'll I-...What is-...What if you don't think you like me as much? What'll I do then?”
Her heart stutters, “Oh Rog, of course I'll like you. I love you.”
“But you love hearing me but what about seeing me?” He croaks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “What if you don't like seeing me?”
Y/N sighs, “Roger, I'd love you if even if you were bald with green skin.”
“What if it's worse than all that?”
Y/N laughs, “Worse than bald with green skin!?”
Roger hides his drunken smile, as if she was there to see it. “I'm serious! I'm being serious and you're laughing at me!”
“Aw, Rog, I’m sorry. I won't laugh anymore.” She speaks through her giggles. “I'm listening. Really...”
Roger sighs, self consciously looking down at his body. “I...I'm not big.”
Y/N quirks her brow, intrigued by where this conversation is going. “What?”
“I'm not so big and muscly! I'm skinny! I mean...well...My shoulders are ok but –”
She chuckles, “Roger, my love, I promise I'm going to love the hell out of you no matter how muscly you are.”
Roger groans, “You've got to stop that.”
She frowns, “Stop what?”
“Stop...Just stop being so goddamn perfect all the time.”
Y/N scoffs, “I'm far from perfect, Rog.”
He groans again, “You sound so goddamn sexy.”
She laughs at him, loving how his drunken mind seems to go in circles. “Is it my 'I just woke up and haven't spoken yet' voice?”
Roger moans, running his hands through his hair. “You're just teasing now! You have any idea the kind of things I want to do to you?”
“I might have a vague idea, yes.”
Roger let his eyes fall closed, mumbling. “God, I just want to suck on your tits.”
Y/N's jaw drops, “Roger!” She feels her face turn scarlet, knowing he’s just a few steps away from his band mates and they are absolutely listening in.
“I mean it!” He whines, “You make me so fucking hard –”
“Roger, I am not having this conversation with you in front of your mates.”
He whines again, “'m not asking for full on phone sex!” His lips turn up in a smirk, “Maybe I could just get you off? The boys aren't listening.” He glances at his friends but he’s too drunk to really see, “At least I think they’re not.”
Y/N buries her face in her hand, “They most definitely are, Roger.”
He frowns, not comprehending what the issue is, “But I love you.”
“I love you too, rockstar.” She smiles, “Do me a favor? Put an aspirin and a glass of water by your bed.”
Roger feels himself tear up, “Are you hanging up?”
She knits her brows sympathetically. “I've got work, baby.” The last thing she wants to do is hang up on him when he sounds so adorable and horny but she’s already running late.
“Call me?” he asks, “Once you get home? The minute you get home.”
She’s smiling, “I don't think you'll be awake.”
“Wake me up, then.”
She chuckles, “Ok, rockstar.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Roger wakes up hours later, unsure on how he managed to get back to his room and with a pounding headache. He reaches for the aspirin and water he vaguely remembers putting on his bedside table, as requested by his amazing girlfriend.
While going to wash his face, he notices an envelope by the door. Reaching down to grab it, his heart flutters when he sees the name of the sender: YN LN. It’s priority mail, meaning she probably spent quite some money on it and it’s dated three days ago.
His hands shake as he tears the envelope open and tears filled his eyes as he finally knows what the girl of his dreams looks like.
Y/N makes her way into her small apartment, keys held in her teeth, a grocery bag in one hand and mail in the other. She stops in the kitchen, quickly putting her groceries away before sitting on the sofa and going through the mail.
As usual, there are a few store coupons, a reminder that her rent is due in two weeks and an envelope from Roger. She’s come to love and hate these: postcards are great, full of witty comments and loving remarks. Envelopes usually mean that he either sent her money or a small gift. Stupid, sweet Roger.
Y/N's heart is beating like a hummingbird's as she opens the letter from Roger. She pulls out a single photo, clipped from a magazine with a single word written across the bottom.
Guess.
She smirks, sliding the photo back into the envelope and hurries to her room. She dials his number the minute she gets to the phone, sitting on the edge of her bed. It only rings once before he picks up. He doesn’t even get a chance to greet her. “You think you're so clever, don't you?”
Roger laughs, knowing exactly to what she’s referring to. “Yes, actually, I do.”
“You're such a wanker.” She’s laughing, shaking her head as she looks over the photo of Roger and his band mates.
He laughs, adjusting his pillow as he rubs his eyes, waking himself up a bit more, “Thought that was why you love me?”
Y/N smiles, kicking off her shoes as she lays back, “You want me to play that game? Fine, I'll play it, rockstar. I bet you twenty pounds I'll get it on the first try.”
“You really think you will?” Roger loves how confident she sounds. God, he loves this woman.
“Of course I will, drummer boy. I'd know you anywhere.” Her smile’s soft, the love she feels for the boy knew no limits.
He bit his lower lip, a grin breaking out on his lips 'You're on, sweetheart.'
YN pulls the photo closer, excitement rolling in her stomach. “Let's see...”
Every face in the picture is a beautiful one but she knows immediately that her Roger is the blond one but there’s no reason to make him aware of her discovery just yet.
She grins, the idea of making him sweat extremely amusing. “Suitor number one, here...Tall! He's got some legs on him, doesn't he? And just look at those curls! Gotta love a man with curls.”
Roger feels jealousy boiling in his stomach, but he does his best to ignore it, not wanting to give anything away. He starting to regret sending her a group photo. “Number two...Oh! that jacket is lovely. I like the silk. He knows how to dress, for sure.” Roger chuckles. Good old Fred.
“Number three...Number three looks like he's quite a sweetheart, doesn't he? So smiley! And that little striped vest!”
Roger purses his lips nervously, knowing she’s about to focus on him and talk about her first impression. What if she doesn’t find him attractive?
“Number four is this blond fellow.” Y/N smiles, her heart fluttering as she gazes at the man she loves. “Sparkly pink shoes, looks a bit tired. Might be drunk in this photo, actually. Stunningly handsome. Looks like he's got a bit of an attitude too.” She pauses for a moment, making Roger smile. She’d described all his friends perfectly and he can tell from her voice that she knows. He loves her even more for it.
“Yep, there's my Rog.”
Roger laughs, cursing his mind for doubting her even for a second. “I do not have an attitude!”
“You do!” She counters between laughs, “I would too if I wore pants that tight!”
He smirks, “I just wanted to show off my cute ass for you, love.”
YN grins, “Wait 'til you see mine, pretty boy. I can guarantee it's cuter.”
Roger's face goes red. The power this woman holds over him was astounding.
She hummed blissfully, head relaxing against her pillow as she admires the photo once again. “You're beautiful, Rog. Knew you would be...”
How she ended up being so lucky, she will never know but she will thank her lucky starts everyday from here on out.
Roger's heart stutters. He wants to ask her if she really means it but his heart knows she would never lie, especially about this. He looks over at her picture, propped against the base of the phone. He’s been carrying it in his wallet and keeps it next to his bed when they stop at hotels. His eyes scan her smiling face. “Do you have any birthmarks?”
She giggles, thrown but the sudden question. “What?”
“You know, birthmarks.” He realizes that it sounds random but he wants to know everything he can about her. At this point, he’s aware of her family history, of her interests and hobbies, and friends but he knows almost nothing about her body except for what he can make out from the picture. Roger wants to memorize every inch of her.
She quirks her brows, “I've got a little one on my back but it just looks like a mole. Why?”
“Just curious.” He admits, “What about scars? My hands and arms are covered in small ones because of the drumming and stupid fights.”
Y/N laughs at that, not at all surprised by his sheepish confession. “Mm... I have a scar on my left wrist. Got it when I was probably around five-ish. I was riding my bike and ran into my garage door. The glass window shattered on my arm. It both scared and scarred me.”
Roger smiles, imagining how her body looked liked, her scars and all. “Are you ticklish?”
“Depends on where you try it.”
Roger grins, “I can't wait to figure it out.”
They settle for a moment, letting the familiar silence wash over them. Words hang unspoken in the air and Roger decides to through caution to the wind. “I wish I could touch you. Just explore you. Every inch of your gorgeous body.” He’s wanted to say these words for so long.
Y/N smiles, a warm feeling washing over her. Roger can’t help but imagine her sitting in her room, holding the receiver to her ear. He hums, picturing his hands running down the smooth skin of her stomach. He swallows thickly, arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Have you got a soft spot?” God, he wants to be with her so bad it’s a physical pain.
She smirks, her voice lowering a bit and taking on a sultry tone, “Why ever would you asking Rog?”
He chuckles, pants tightening at her tone and implications but two can play at that game. “Think you know why, love.”
She feels heat pool in her stomach, “Maybe you should wait and find it yourself.”
He groans in frustration, “What if I don't want to wait? What if I want to hear you moan my name right now?”
Y/N clenches her thighs, biting her lip to hold back any sounds that might escape her lips. Roger isn’t done though. “If you like that, just wait till I get my hands on you. I'll ruin you in the best ways. You'll be screaming my name.”
YN's head falls back, hitting the wall with a small thud as she moaned, panties growing wetter by the word. “Is that so drummer boy?”
Roger nearly moans, “Well, you know what they say about drummers, don't you?”
Y/N bites her lip. “What do they say?”
He smirks, “They do it harder.”
The silence is pregnant. Roger's boxers are tented and he’s feeling too hot under the hotel blanket so he throws it to the side before speaking again. “I had a dream about you last night.” His tone leaves little to guess about the nature of said dream.
“Lucky you,” She’s breathless, mind buzzing and body aflame.
Roger chuckles huskily, “And you said I have an attitude. What I am to do with you?”
Y/N smirks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Are you taking requests?”
Roger moans shamelessly, boxers too tight to be comfortable as he rearranges himself. “I wouldn't mind having you under me.”
It’s her turn to whimper, legs rubbing together to alleviate some of the building pressure in her core. “I wouldn't mind having you on top of me.”
Roger closes his eyes, imagining the scene and wishing it was currently reality. “You won't get anything if you keep talking back.”
Y/N giggles, “You didn't think I'd go down without a fight, did you rockstar?”
God, he loved her. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude right out of her. “Honestly, I thought I'd be the one going down...”
Roger doesn’t expect the moan that comes out of Y/N's mouth and he wishes he could hear it in person. He smirks, “I bet you're an absolute mess right now.”
“You're welcome to come over here and find out.”
Roger wants nothing more, “That's tempting, sweetheart.”
She smirks, “It was meant to be.”
“You're such a brat.” He loves it.
“You didn't know that?” She’s playing coy, riling him up and Roger is soaking up each word.
“You've got quite the mouth on you.”
She bites her lip, “You'll love it even more once you feel what I can do with it.”
Roger moans, palming himself over his briefs. “I'm so bloody hard right now. All because of that mouth of yours, you minx.”
Y/N whimpers, “What do you want me to do about it?”
Roger squeezes himself, hips canting up from the bed. “I can think of a few things, actually.”
She palms her breast, bra getting in the way and she quickly rids herself of it. “Yeah? Want to know how wet I am for you? Would you like me to touch myself? Let you hear as I moan your name?”
Roger's breath comes out in pants, hand slipping beneath the elastic of his briefs to grip his cock. “That'd be a great start.”
She smirks, loving how worked up he sounds. “Bet I can finish too.”
Roger laughs breathlessly, “Damn right you will, love.”
Her underwear is soaked, fingers itching to remove them and get some relief and her mouth works faster than her brain. “What are you doing right now?”
Roger swallows around the knot in his throat, “I'll give you three guesses.”
“What if I get it wrong?”
Roger smirks, “Don't find out.”
Y/N has always loved a challenge, “What it I want to?”
“It might involve you not getting to cum, so I'd think about it real hard.”
“Is that a hint, lover boy?”
Roger moans, finally slipping his cock out of his boxers and slowly starting to run his hand up and down his shaft.
“That sure was pretty, rockstar. Let me hear it again.”
“You first, love.” He pants, “Touch yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds I know you make.”
Y/N lets her hand slip past the band of her panties, fingers teasing herself as she slowly circles her clit. She moans, making Roger speed up his movements as he smirks. “So you can follow directions.”
She moans again, applying more pressure to her clit. “Only you for.”
Roger can’t get enough of the sounds coming from the phone. “You sound so sexy. I can’t wait to taste you baby.”
Y/N slides her finger lower, teasing her entrance as Roger continues speaking, “I’ve had some many dreams about you, baby. Dreamt about watching your face as you clench around my cock.”
Y/N moans loudly, the images in her head and the words spoken in her ear driving her mad. “Roger”, she whimpers, fingers sinking into her slick core, “want your cock in my mouth, Rog. Want to feel it against the back of my throat.”
Roger curses, hips bucking wildly as he pumps himself. “God, the sounds you make will be the death of me.” He closes his eyes, holding the receiver close to his ear to make sure he won’t miss a single sound, “I'm so hard baby. Leaking all over my hand.”
Roger swipes his thumb over the tip, gathering the precum and using it to aid his hand. “Wish it was your hand.”
Y/N whimpers, fingers pumping her heat faster and faster. “Feels so good, Roger. I need you so bad.”
Roger curses again, “How'd you want me, love? You want my face buried in your cunt? That make you feel good?” The more he speaks, the closer she gets to her release. “Or would you want me inside you? I'd fill you up so good, baby.”
It’s Y/N's turn to curse, closing her eyes as she pictures his blond hair between her thighs. “I bet you'd look beautiful between my legs, rockstar. I want you so bad. Need to feel every inch of you stretching me. Fuck, Rog.”
She lets out a pathetic whimper, phone held between her shoulder and ear so both her hands are free, one to tweak her pert nipple and the other rubbing her clit furiously. “So close.”
Roger places the receiver on his shoulder, using his now free to cup his balls as the other increases the speed of his strokes. “hat's right love, cum all over your pretty fingers. Let me hear you.”
His vision goes fuzzy, chest warm as he lets himself cum while listening to Y/N whimpers and moan his name as she orgasms.
Roger whimpers as he finally lets got of his cock, breath coming out unevenly. He can hear Y/N's own sounds reducing, breath steadying. Never in his life has he felt such a strong need for aftercare. Through the years, he'd humor the stranger in his bed, playing with their hair or kissing them before they finally left. He never saw the point in pretending that the night of passion they shared was going to lead anywhere but he wasn't a complete jackass.
For the first time in his life, Roger wishes he could hold this amazing girl in his arms, kiss her lips as she relaxes against him. Maybe even clean her up, if she'd let him.
“Rog?” her voice sounds tired yet satisfied, and it makes him smile.
Roger sighs, a smile on his face. “You have no idea! No more sharing a tour bus with those three wankers, I get to sleep in my own bed and eat food that isn't prepared in a restaurant or that comes in a take-out container.”
Y/N grins, putting a pillow behind her knees as she gets comfortable in the sofa, “Sounds like a dream.”
Roger hums, not completely agreeing. His dream is now something more domestic. “And the record label said we'll be in London for a while.”
The unsaid words hang in the air. Roger desperately wants to ask her to meet in person. They’ve been together for a bit over a year, speaking for almost three. If he’s honest with himself, he’s scared shitless. So much could go wrong and he needs her in his life.
“Oh.” Y/N isn’t sure on how to reply. She wants to meet him, hug him, see the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs or how cute his face is when he pouts. She’s scared but she knows she needs him in her life and it’s time she feels his arms around her. “Maybe we could grab a coffee?”
Roger grins, voice full of emotion. “Yeah? You sure you want to hang out with a rockstar?”
“You sure you want to hang out with a book worm?”
Roger laughs wetly, heart beating furiously in his chest. “I wouldn't want it any other way.”
—-—————————————————-
Every corner he turns, Roger can’t help but let his eyes drift over the crowded streets, searching for that familiar face. He keeps a hand in his pocket, thumbing over his photo of Y/N like a security blanket as he trails behind the rest of the boys. He unwraps another strawberry sweet, popping it in his mouth as Freddie grabs John's arm, leading them all into another women's clothing store.
Roger has been back in London for almost a month now, and both him and Y/N have yet to find the time or courage to meet in person. It’s an odd, nervous game each time he goes out now, like a "Where's Waldo" from hell. What if he’s right beside her and he doesn't even know it? He shakes the thought from his mind immediately: he would know her face anywhere.
“C’mon Rog,” John sigh, an arm wrapping around the drummer’s shoulders as Freddie digs through a rack of leather pants. He pulls a pair off the rack, holding them up to Brian but they fall about mid shin against his outrageously long legs, making the guitarist scrunch his nose in annoyance. “You’ll meet her soon enough, mate. You don't have to go searching every time you're out.”
The blond groans, letting his head fall back against his friend’s arm. “You have no idea how hard this is, John.”
The bassist frowns, “Sure I do. I've got a family. I miss 'em more than anything when I'm gone.”
Roger sighs as Deacy gives him a firm pat on the back. “But it's not the same, though. Yeah, you miss Veronica and the kids when we’re away but...but at least you know what it feels like to hold her. Kiss her... All I have is that one photo of her. You get to go home, to a house full of life and love. I went home to an empty flat.” His hand hovers over his coat pocket where said photo sat, tucked away.
Freddie gives a sympathetic look as he folds his arms over his chest. “It’s going to happen darling. You just have to be patient. The universe is waiting for just the right moment to spring her on you!” He winks, grinning brightly.
Roger rolls his eyes, “Fuck the universe.” He doesn’t care if he sounds like a child. He’s waited long enough. “It's been three bloody years. I'm tired of waiting.”
Brian smiled softly, “I'm sure she’s just as eager as you are, Rog.”
Roger wanders outside the shop, tired of their optimism. He just wants to meet the girl of his dreams. Is that too much to ask for? He ends up flipping through a little rack of postcards set up next to the door. He chuckles to himself, trying to figure out how funny it would be if he sends Y/N a 'London' one.
He pulls her photo out of his pocket, admiring it as his eyes wander about the crowd. He knows he'd recognize her in an instant. The moment he sees her, there will be not doubt in his mind. No other smile in a crowd of people could be as bright as hers. He’s so busy people watching that he barely notices it, tucked away on the street corner.
Author’s attic.
He freezes, heart speeding like a train as his eyes fixate on the store on the opposite side of the road. It’s a quaint little shop. Vines climb up the side of it, nearly obscuring the sign. It'd clearly been painted ages ago and cracks had long since riddled the letters. Roger feels like he can’t move a single muscle. It can’t be that simple, can it?
Roger pays the boys no concern, abandoning them in the shop as he forces his feet to move from their spot glued to the pavement. He stumbles across the street, eyes locked on the store as his heart sits in his throat.
Please, let this be the right place.
A small bell chimes as he allows the door to close behind him. The place is exactly the way he'd imagined: books lining every available surface, books piled by the register, books stacked beneath a potted plant. There are even books arranged beside a small armchair under the front window. It smells of coffee and old paper, and it feels welcoming and homey.
“I’ll be right with you!”
Roger feels like he’s stopped breathing: he would recognize that voice anywhere. Tears gloss his eyes, his hand trembles as he reaches into his pocket, fingers grazing over his worn picture of her.
He turns towards her when she buzzes into the main room, arms full of thick story books.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” She chirps, eyes not leaving her work as she flits around her desk, putting things in their right place. “Things have been so busy around here lately.” She chuckles, “I've barely been able to keep my own head on my shoulders!”
He watches her with a smile, tears threatening to fall. He blinks them back quickly, refusing to let her see him cry. His throat tightens with emotion and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. He wants to say something suave, something that’ll make him sound poetic and well-educated. Something that won’t make him sound like the love-struck idiot he is, but his mind seems to only hold her name. “Y/N...”
She turns around so fast he fears she might get whiplashed. Her eyes are wide as she meets his blue ones. The room spins for a second, and she can't quite tell if she’s imagining it or if it’s real. Her rockstar. Home after all this time. Seeing him here, in her world of books, with his messy blonde locks. He’s even prettier than any photo she’s ever seen.
His name is a breath on her lips, “Roger.”
She drops the books in her arms to the side, stumbling over her own feet as she runs to him, falling into his arms. She presses her face against his neck, her arms lock tightly around his shoulders. She can’t even try to contain the sobs that wrack her body. He smells of cigarettes and wood. He smells like home.
Roger can't believe how perfectly she fits in his arms; how normal it feels. He wraps an arm around her waist while his other hand buries in her hair, crushing her tightly against him. Her hair smells amazing, something sweet he can't quite place.
He sniffles, kissing the crown of her head as tears stream down his cheeks. His voice is weak and pitiful when he speaks, “It's so nice to finally hold you.”
Y/N gives a watery laugh, lips pressed against the warm skin of his neck. “You're home.”
Roger moves his hand down to the nape of her neck, making her pull back to look at him as he moves his hands to cradled her cheeks. Never had he seen such beautiful eyes, so expressive and full of love. Roger's thumb grazes her cheek, soothingly. His voice’s barely a whisper. “Knew I was right. You're the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on.”
Y/N laughs, head thrown back. She kisses his cheek, making him grin like a child on Christmas morning. “You're so beautiful, Rog.” She admires him, tucking some hair behind his ears. “Don't even need muscles.”
He tickles her sides, and she giggles, nose scrunching as he pulls her close again. Her laughter trails off as he smiles down at her, forehead resting against hers. He feels her hand rest on his chest, right above his heart as she clutches his shirt.
His eyes linger on her lips before locking with hers again. Her breath stalls. Roger is slow in cradling her face, indulging in her as he runs his thumb over her skin. His hand drops to hold the back of her head, tilting her into him as her nose nudges against his. Their lips graze.
A bell rings.
They jump apart, heads turning to the door to find his three friends staring at them. Brian and Deacy’s eyes are wide with shock and confusion: they turn their backs on Roger for five minutes and here he is, nearly making out with a store clerk after bitching about not being able to meet the girl he loves. Freddie just looks amused.
Roger groans, failing to hide the smile on his face. “God damnit Brian! Why do you always have to ruin everything?!”
Y/N burst out laughing, her head lulling back as Roger's hands holds her hips. Once she cracks, he can't hold back his laughter any longer, her smile infectious. His grin widens at Brian's confused expression. Freddie gives them a knowing smile, waiting to see if Brian could figure it out.
The singer knew who she was the moment he'd seen the two: Roger's protective stance, the starry-eyed look he has in his eyes, the way they are so comfortable with each other. It’s more than enough to hint at the girl's identity. Not to mention that he'd seen Roger fall asleep on the tour bus couch multiple times, still clutching her photo in his hand.
Freddie glances at Brian, chuckling as he decides Brian wasn't getting any smarter about the situation. The singer takes a step forward, lifting his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose. He gives Roger a wink, “So this is the girl you love?”
Roger goes red as Brian's eyes light up with realization, a grin on his face as Freddie smiles knowingly. “What did I tell you, darling? Trust the universe.”
Roger rolls his eyes, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up in a smile.
Brian finally pipes up, “Wait a second, so you're –”
“The actress trying to get in to your best friend's wallet.” She gives an amused smirk, extending her hand to shake his. “It's a pleasure.”
Brian blushes. Honestly, he had hoped that when they finally met, she wouldn't bring up the horrible things he had said to her. Without making eye contact, he timidly shakes her hand, “It's nice to meet you. Again, I want to apologize fo –”.
Brian feels two slender hands rest on his cheeks. He slowly lifts his eyes, meeting hers.
Y/N wears a kind smile on her lips as she speaks, “I'm just teasing. It's all good, Brian. You were just trying to be a good friend.”
The guitarist nods, unsure in his smile as Roger wraps his arm around her waist once again, pulling her towards his body. Brian observes how connected the two seemed to be: their movements are almost synchronized, and although they had just met in person, they somehow work perfectly together, like a couple who had grown up together.
John smiles at the group, “As much as I would love to get to know you, I think it's best to leave you and Roger alone for a bit. You deserve some time to get acquainted.”
Roger grins, kissing Y/N's temple. The girl smiles, her hands resting on the drummer's. “I like that idea. Rog, want to grab that coffee?”
----------------------------------------
“Sorry for the mess Rog! I didn't think I'd be having any visitors today.” Y/N bites her lips as she moves around the messy living room, trying to clean up a bit but Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, making her stand straight. He gently moves her hair to the side, placing a gentle kiss where her neck meets her shoulder.
“I don't care about the mess,” his voice is as soft as his touch, “All I care about is being here, with you.” Y/N hums, relaxing in his arms with her eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth emanating from his body. “It's all I've cared about for a while.”
Roger chuckles, content to stay like this forever. He can’t get enough of her. Her smile, her hands on his, her smell filling his nostrils. If this is a dream, he never wants to wake.
“Did you really keep all the post cards I sent you?” Roger isn't sure why he asked, but he needs to know if those pieces of cardboard were just as important to her as they are to him.
Y/N nods, gently taking one of his hands in hers and silently makes her way through the flat. The drummer lets his eyes wander, taking in as much as he can. She leads him to her bedroom and it feels oddly reassuring to be here. He had imagined this room so many times; he had pictured her laying on that same bed so many times, playing with her hair as she talked to him.
It's surreal. It’s almost exactly like he imagined it to be in his head: soft and warm and homey. He loves it. Every inch of it screams her name. It’s cozy. A big patterned rug covered the wooden floor, and her bed’s made up with a pretty knitted blanket. And there, right above the bed, hangs a little bulletin board, holding every post card he'd ever sent her.
She smiles as she watches him wander around her room, a grin on his face. She stops herself from apologizing for the mess once again, as she moves to her bed to remove some papers and books from it.
Roger runs his index finger over the leather-bound spines of the books lining the few shelves on her walls. She must have hundreds. Her walls are lined with them and still, she doesn't have enough room for them all.
Roger pulls a small red one from the bedside table. The Velveteen Rabbit. He smiles a little to himself, flipping through the brightly illustrated pages. Y/N walks over to him, arms wrapping around his middle from behind as she kisses his shoulder before resting her head against it.
“My mum used to read this to me all the time, especially when I was sad.” He mumbles quietly, stopping on a drawing of the little boy holding the plush rabbit. “It was my favorite.”
Y/N's heart grows a few sizes at the image of a young Roger seated in his mother's lap as she read to him.
Roger's heart stutters as he flips through the pages, recounting the story of the little plush bunny, turned real by love. A knot forms in his throat as he admires the book's last illustration: the rabbit, sitting by a raspberry bush in the little boy's garden, visiting the one who had brought him to life.
Y/N feels Roger stiffen a little, and she meets his glossy eyes as he turns in her arms, “What's wrong, rockstar?”
Roger laughs breathlessly, her gentle touch calming him immensely. “Nothing. It's just...” He shakes his head a little, refusing to let his voice go watery. “It's just that I never really got it until now.”
Confusion knits her brow, “Got what?”
Roger smiles a little, looking back down at the book and then at the girl holding him. “I guess...well...Sometimes it takes being loved by someone to finally make you feel alive.”
Y/N's heart feels full of so much love she doesn’t know what to do with it. She stands there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She does the only thing she feels she can do: she tightens her arms around his waist, giving him the biggest, warmest hug, he'd ever received. His arms wrap around her, stroking up and down her back.
“I love you.” Roger whispers against her ear. It feels amazing to be able to tell her as he holds her in his arms.
“I love you too.”
Their foreheads meet as Roger's nose nudges hers, heat building slowly between them. Y/N takes a little step backwards, knowing if she inches any closer, she'd want to jump his bones more than she already does.
Roger smirks, taking a step forward. She goes a bit breathless, smiling playfully as she takes another step back, only for her back to be pressed flush against her bookcase.
He chuckles, toying with a loose strand of her hair. “Caught you.”
Y/N tries to steady her breathing as his hand cradle her face. He runs his thumb over her lower lip. “What're you going to do now?”
Her eyes trail to his lips subconsciously, “I'm going to wait for you to kiss me, rockstar.”
He grins, pressing into her. He thinks back to that night he first called her. He thinks over every moment he had been so desperate to hold her in his arms.
The moment he kisses her, Roger is brought to life.
Her lips are softer than anyone's he'd ever kissed before. The kiss is gentle, her hand moving to cradle Roger's face as they melt into one another. He tastes of sweets.
Her skin smells of cinnamon and it reminds him of the tea Freddie would drink in the morning.
Roger inhales the sweet, spicy scent as he deepens the kiss. Her fingers laced in his hair, soft and fine between her fingers, and he hums a moan against a sensitive spot below her ear, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.
Y/N feels overwhelmed in the best way. This is what she had craved for over two years and now that it’s finally happening, she’s afraid she won't be able to commit to memory all the feelings. Roger's lips moving against her own, the rapid beating of their hears. The feeling of his breath on her neck as he lays gentle kisses on it. It’s enough to make her mind spin.
She lets his hands grip her thigh tightly as she gives in to the urge to grind against him. He refuses to let his hands leave her body: some small part of him still afraid she'll disappear at any moment.
Roger pulls her closer, keeping an arm against the wall as he grabs at her ass, rutting against her clothed heat. She lets out a whine, thoroughly enjoying the friction as wetness pools between her legs.
Y/N wants more. Craves it. Needs his hands all over her. Needs his red-stained tongue against every inch of her body. She pulls away from his lips, panting as he drags his eyes over the curve of her hips and breasts. He takes one step back, eyes locking with hers as he pulls his shirt off. Her eyes roam his chest, mouth still ajar as she tries to catch her breath. He holds her loosely in his arms, pecking her lips. He will never get enough of her sweet taste. Roger will never get enough of her.
“Rog, I...” Y/N fumbles over her words. “I...” She needs him to know. She needs him to know how much she loves him. She needs him to know how uncomfortably wet her panties are becoming. He chuckles, meeting her eyes, as she tries to remember English. Roger feels a thread of concern build in his chest. Has he made her nervous? Has he gone to far?
He presses a sweet kiss on her forehead, “What's wrong, love?”
Timidly, she takes a step away from the bookshelf, moving so that Roger is now the one with his back to it. His brow quirks with confusion. Her eyes are locked with his, cheeks flushed and hair messy. Roger swallows thickly, heart racing in his chest as he watches her slowly drop to her knees in front of him.
Her hands tremble as she unbuttons his jeans, tugging down the zipper and pulling them down off his hips. Roger has to force himself to grab her wrists, pausing her movements. “You sure?”
Y/N doesn't say a word. Instead, her eyes stay locked with his as she leans forward, mouthing at his cock through his boxers. Roger gives a whimper, his hand lacing in her hair as his head tips back against the wall. He curses under his breath at the feeling of her hot mouth on his cock.
Roger has been sucked off before. In fact, Roger has been sucked off a lot, but never once has it ever felt as good as it does right now and he isn't sure if it’s because he’s in love with her, and he's been dreaming of seeing her pretty lips around his cock for months now, or if it’s the way she’s taking him into the back of her throat, dragging her tongue over his shaft, but he can barely remember his own name. He knows e should be embarrassed by the sounds passing his lips, but he can't find it in himself to care.
Roger hadn't even realized how long it'd been since he'd had physical sex with someone. He'd forgotten how good it could feel.
He whines her name hoarsely, his fingers itching to be against her skin. “Y/N, you've got to stop, love. I won't last.”
He watches as she pulls off of him, kissing the head of his cock one last time before Roger pulls her up to meet his lips again. He has her on the bed in seconds, nearly tripping as he finishes shedding his jeans and boxers. He mounts her, wasting no time in grabbing the waist band of her pants and pulling them down over her ass, taking her panties with them. He wants to tease her. He really does but the moment he sees her cunt, all soaked and ready for him, he loses all coherent thoughts.
Her jaw drops open, seeing stars as he flattens his tongue, dragging up slowly over her sensitive folds. His mouth is hot and wet against her as he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it expertly as her back arches off the mattress.
Roger has never been more grateful that he’s experienced. It’s as if every girl he's ever been with, had been a practice run for Y/N. He knows where to suck, where to prod and lick and devour to make her squirm and buck into his mouth. He watches her face intently as she moans and ruts against his face, the arousal from her inner thighs smearing across his cheeks. He loops his arms around her thighs, her hands clutching the bed sheet like a vice. She gasps loudly as he shoves his tongue inside her, fucking her with it as he explores the inside of her hole. She cries out, head pressing into her pillow as her legs start trembling. He can feel her clit throbbing as he returns his mouth to it, pushing two fingers inside her to replace his tongue. She screams hoarsely, and Roger smirks against her heat as he fucks her harder, crooking his fingers inside her.
“Roger, I'm cumming. Don't stop, Rog, please don't stop!” She gasps, hips rolling as she rides his face, a numbing, warm pleasure washing over her. She gives a breathy sob as Roger works her through her high with his fingers, face still buried in her cunt.
She squirms beneath him as she grows sensitive, overstimulation setting in. She whines as he presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing circles over it as he sucks at her folds. “R-Rog you can stop –”. She whimpers as he hums in response, continuing his tongue's assault on her pussy.
“Rog...” She groans again, her hips settling as the discomfort begins to melt into pleasure. God, she’s so sensitive. It’s so much. So much at once. How is she already this close? Roger chuckles against her, watching her face as his lips finds her clit again. She lets out a high-pitched moan as the pleasure begins to build again, warmth tingling till the tips of her toes. The fire in her belly increases and she grips his hair tightly as she comes on his tongue again with a silent scream. He brings her back to earth, resting his chin against her stomach as she finds her bearings, cheeks pink and chest heaving.
“Want to go again?” Smug bastard.
Y/N fights to catch her breath, “Jesus, Rog, if you go again, you'll bloody kill me.”
Roger laughs, crawling up to meet her lips. She groans, tasting herself against his tongue. “Taste like fucking candy, don't you?” His voice is thick with lust.
Y/N peels off her shirt, leaving her wearing nothing but a thin bra. Roger hooks his finger under one of the straps, pulling it down so that he can roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making her moan and arch into his touch.
Y/N wraps her hand around his cock, pumping him slowly and Roger curses, eyes rolling back as he grinds against her hand. His name slips from his lips breathlessly. Heat bubbles in Roger's veins and without a second thought, he rips her bra down the center, exposing her tits. Y/N gasps at the sudden movement, breasts heaving as Roger kneads one in his palm, mouthing at the other. She barely notices his other hand sinking lower until he has two fingers pressed up inside of her.
Y/N whines, sobbing breathlessly as he fingers her. She’s wet and tight around his fingers, clenching as he hits her g-spot with ever movement of his talented fingers. Roger groans, the idea of his cock buried inside her nearly bringing him over the edge.
“I love you.” She moans, his name like a prayer falling from her kiss-bruised lips.
Roger curses, cock twitching in her hand at the wet sounds her cunt makes against his knuckles. He nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, sucking dark bruises into her skin.
“I need to be inside you.” His voice is desperate and hoarse. “Please, I need to fuck you.” He’s desperate with the need to be buried inside of her, to be connected totally and completely.
Y/N pulls his face up to hers so she crashes her lips to his, cradling his face as he kissed her desperately.
“Ruin me.” She whispers, hands tangled in his hair.
Roger has to grip his cock roughly to stop himself from cumming. He whimpers, lining himself up with her entrance. Y/N cries out as he sinks into her.
“Tight fucking cunt. Shit.” Roger groans into her neck. “Love you so fucking much.”
Tears of emotion well in her eyes. “I love you too.”
Y/N’s breath comes up in short pants, back arching as pleasure flows through her body. “I love you, Rog. You feel so good inside me, baby.”
Y/N bucks into him as he fucks her, the head of his cock hitting her sweet spot with every smack of his hipbones against hers. His left hand finds hers, fingers lacing between her own. He squeezes her hand lovingly, thrusting harder against her. His eyes stay locked with hers as he kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips. “My gorgeous girl.”
He moans as her free hand finds his hair. “You fuck me so good, Rog. Oh god.”
She can feel him throbbing inside her as he watches himself disappear inside of her again and again. Tears stream down Y/N's face, “I'm close Rog.” Her eyes screw shut with pleasure.
“No, look at me, baby. Look at me while you cum. I want to watch you cum on my cock,” He kisses her jaw, releasing her hand so that he can rub her swollen clit, “I've got you, sweetheart. Cum. Cum for me.”
Y/N's eyes lock with his as her body trembles, her stomach pulsing with heat and pleasure as wave after wave of bliss overwhelm her. She sobs hoarsely, clenching around him again and again.
Roger buries his face in the crook of her neck as she tightens around him, letting her pull him over the edge with her. He whimpers into her neck, biting at it to muffle his moans as he spills inside her. Her legs wrap around his hips, heels pressing into his lower back as he relaxes against her, trembling. He kisses her long and hard, emotions pouring through the simple contact.
Y/N's leg go lax, releasing Roger from her grasp but as he tries to get out of bed, she latches onto his arm, forcing him to lay on his back so she can rest her head against his chest, legs tangling with his.
Roger smiles fondly down at her, an arm behind his head as the other wraps around her shoulders, pulling her as close as he possibly can. “I was going to grab a wash cloth to clean you up, but I think you may have other ideas.”
YN nods, placing a gently kiss over his heart. She turns her face upwards, eyes drinking him in. “I just got you, I don't want you going anywhere so soon. Sheets can be washed and we can shower later. I need this moment with you.”
Roger has never felt so happy or content his whole life. He places the hand under his head on her cheek, urging her to move her face closer to his. He closes his eyes as he gently places a kiss to her swollen lips, feeling completely at peace.
Roger never believed in fate or in soulmates. Not until he met Y/N. It had been Fate that had given him her number, it had been their destiny to meet and fall in love. She completes him, understands him and his crazy lifestyle like no one ever could. He wants this moment to last forever.
Roger wants to wake up everyday beside Y/N, kiss her whenever he wants. He wants to see her in the crowd of every single one of his shows. He wants to be the one she calls when she needs help moving around books or shelves in her store.
Roger wants a life with Y/N.
“Marry me.” He wants to spend the rest of his life getting to know every single facet of her body and soul.
“What?” her heart had just returned to normal and now it’s beating erratically again, eyes wide as saucers as she looks at his angelic face.
“Marry me.” There’s no doubt in his mind that this is what he needs to bet truly happy for the rest of his days. “It doesn't have to happen right away. You're it for me. There will never be anyone else. You're the love of my life, Y/N. I want to spend every waking and sleeping moment with you.”
“Ok.”
Nothing about their relationship has been normal. Not the way they met or how they fell in love. She never wants to spend another moment away from him.
Roger can't sleep and calls a random number left of a napkin. He expected to find someone to help tire him out. He never thought he'd find love.
[Reposting and major editing of an old fic I had posted on an old blog & crossed posted on ao3]
Warnings: SMUT, +18 ONLY - MINORS DNI; swearing & cursing; unclear timeline (lmao); Brian is a bit of a douche. It's a long ass one, over 20K words. Read at your own risk!
Sometimes, being a rockstar isn’t all it’s cooped up to be.
Especially when on a world tour because it really has a way of derailing one’s internal clock. It’s the reason Roger can’t sleep. He had been hopeful that between the jet lag, the excitement of being back in his own bed, the hectic rehearsal and recording schedule as well as the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed at the local dive bar with his mates would be enough to tire him out. Apparently, he’s very mistaken.
He'd done what he usually does: counts sheep, lays in the dark, read the really boring book Brian has suggested. Nothing seems to be working this time around.
For what feels like the thousandth time, Roger turns over in his bed. He almost misses those rock-hard mattresses and non-existent pillows in the hotels around the world. He groans, casting his eyes to the red numbers glowing in the dark room. It’s nearing 1.30am and as much as his body is begging for sleep, his mind wouldn't shut off.
Throwing the light blanket to the side, Roger swings his legs off the bed. There’s no point in laying around, letting his frustration build. He eyes his discarded jacket, deciding that a quick smoke might help him relax just enough to be able to finally fall asleep. Stretching his arms above his head, his back cracks and with a loud sigh, quickly followed by a loud yawn, he lazily crosses his bedroom to reach the jacket he left by the door, fishing his half-empty pack of cigarettes from the pocket. As he rummages around the pockets for his lighter, a crumpled piece of paper flutters to the ground.
With furrowed brows and cigarette dangling from his lips, Roger picks it up from the ground. After having found the lighter, Roger starts walking towards his bed. Lighting the cigarette, he takes a deep drag, letting his lungs fill with nicotine, immediately giving him a sense of calm.
Feeling more relaxed, Roger clamps his teeth gently around the filter, using his now free hands to uncurl the piece of paper. Once he sees the hastily scrawled digits, his lips stretch into a massive grin.
Taking another drag and flicking the ash into the empty ash-tray on his bedside table, he tries to recall when the number was slipped into his pocket. It had to be from earlier that evening as the number had the London area code and he hasn’t worn the jacket on tour as he’d forgotten it at home. However, no matter how hard he thought back to his evening, no specific girl sprang to mind. There had been quite a few that came to chat him and the lads up, but none of them stood out. He doesn’t even remember being particularly flirty with anyone of them.
Roger casts another quick glance at the clock. It’s still early enough that if the girl really was out at the dive bar with them, she’s probably getting home now as he left much earlier than regular, hoping that the jetlag and general exhaustion would lead to a good night sleep.
Deciding that the woman had clearly hoped for a call from him, Roger picks up the receiver and dials the number. Making himself comfortable, he waits for someone to pick up.
It rings much more than he thought it would and he debates if maybe he shouldn’t be calling this late, if it’s better to try again during working hours.
Suddenly, the phone stops ringing, and there is a very groggy and angry voice coming through the line, “Someone better be dead.”
Rogers chuckles. “Well, hello to you too love”.
In response, he only hears a groan and it sounds so deep that he questions if he’s actually speaking to a girl.
“Who is this? And why on earth are you ringing my flat at...” there’s a small pause, as the person on the other line is clearly reaching for something “1.17 in the bloody morning?!”
Roger cringes, closing his eyes as guilt floods his body. He really shouldn’t have called but he really isn’t great at making decisions when tired and slightly inebriated. “I’m sorry, love. Thought you’d want me to call as soon as I found your number.” He hates that he can’t recall a name or even a face.
“I am not your ‘love’!” the girl says angrily, “I have absolutely no clue who you are. Or why on earth you are calling me. I certainly did not give you, my number.”
For a moment, nothing is said on either end and Roger decides d to play it cool, act confident and pretend as if he actually remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “I know we didn't spend that much time together but I -”
“Let me stop you before you start,” she interrupts and Roger can hear her shuffle around, most likely sitting up in her own bed. “I have no idea who you think you are but I can guarantee that I did not give you, my number. And before you ask, no, I don’t have any roommates.”
The girl grunts in discomfort, questioning why she’s entertaining this jackass when she can just hang up and disconnect her phone for the night.
“Oh” the syllable is so sound and dejected that she can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him, even though he woke her at an ungodly hour.
She has no know why she speaks again. “You must have made a terrible impression if some random bird decided to leave you a fake number.”
There’s an offended scoff that comes down the line almost makes up for the unwanted wake-up call. “No girl has ever done that to me. Or would need to do it. I’m a catch, thank you very much.”
“Sure you are, big boy.” She says concededly.
“Are you saying that I’m not?”
She snorts, short and derisive, “I’m sorry to break it to you but it seems that the girl who gave you the number didn’t think you were all that special.”
Roger pouts, stubbing out his long-forgotten cigarette, “You don’t sound all that sorry to me.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m not.”
Roger can’t hep the small laugh that bubbles out, “And would you feel inclined to illuminate me on why?”
“Could it be because some random bloke decided to call me at stupid o’clock trying to get in my knickers?”
“You wish,” and even though she’s never seen him before in her life, she knows he’s smirking.
“Are you really telling me that you weren’t calling in hope of a shag?”
Roger shrugs, deciding to lay down and make himself comfortable, “I’m not going to lie and say I would be unhappy if it happened but that wasn’t the main reason I called.”
She bites, “Why did you call?”
“I…” Roger pauses. Why did he call?
“Are you ok?”
Roger blinks, surprised by the sudden care that seems to colour her voice. “What?”
“I just mean…” she sighs, laying back down and glancing at her alarm clock. “It’s late. Or early, depending on how you want to see it. And your voice sounded a bit off. There must be something on your mind if you think that calling a random stranger in the middle of the night is a good idea.”
She really can’t explain the sudden interest in the man. She doesn’t know him but he sounds so sad, and is clearly lonely. It tugs at her heart in all the best and worst ways. Thank you, childhood trauma.
A small, grateful smile forms on Roger’s face and his voice softens noticeably. “You’re very kind, love. I’m just a bit jet lagged.”
She hums in surprise, “That sounds fascinating! Where did you get back from?”
“That, I’m afraid, is only for friends.” He tuts, “And I don’t even know your name.”
She laughs and Roger’s heart does something weird in his chest that he pointedly ignores.
“Touché”, she’s still laughing. “The name’s Y/N.”
“Lovely name for a lovely voice,” he says softly. “I’m Roger.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roger.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”
There’s a small pause and it would be the perfect moment to hang up but neither seem to want to.
“Well, now that we’re friends, want to share why you’re jetlagged?”
Roger laughs, bringing his free arm behind his neck, “I was in America.”
“Fancy!” She says with a laugh, “What were you doing across the pond?”
“I’m in a band and we were on tour.”
-----
What should have been a one-time thing evolved into something more.
Roger and Y/N find themselves speaking on the phone nearly every day, even when Roger left for tour again.
The first month, it was Roger that called every day. It had started because of a particularly rough day in the studio and remembering the kindness and care in Y/N’s voice, he decided that her friendly voice was what he needed to feel better.
When the second month rolled around, Y/N asked for a way to contact him if she was having a bad day.
And thus, the tradition was born.
It’s been six months now and every time the phone rings, Y/N can’t help the flutter of her heart or the smile on her face. Roger has somehow weaseled his way into her life and she couldn't be more grateful. He’s become her best friend, her confidant, someone she can trust blindly and who would always listen to her and have her back. She feels like she knows Roger better than the people she hands out with daily. They’ve opened up about their lives, their dreams and insecurities. Y/N knows that Roger wants to make it big but he’s afraid that the drugs, the booze and the sex may cloud his mind and stop him from living his dream. He shares how much he loves his band mates but how they tend to get under his skin, especially when writing new music.
Y/N shares how she took over her mother’s bookstore while being an editor on the side to make ends meet. She opens up about her limited social interactions and how she feels like she’s a bit too clingy and overbearing.
They talk about their childhoods and what they do to relax.
The two of them understand each other in such a deep, soulful way that should scare her but only gives her a sense of calm.
Y/N has even come up with a sort of table to help keep on top of the time difference when Roger is traveling. She glances quickly at the alarm next to her bed and is excited to see that Roger should be calling her in a few minutes.
She makes sure her tea is still warm as she fluffs her pillows, settling down on the bed while tucking herself into the blankets. She waits impatiently for the phone to ring and when it finally does, she grins brightly.
“Hello there, rockstar!”
It only takes hearing his voice to know that something is up. “What did they do this time?”
“Who says they did anything?” Roger knows he’s pouting and that his tone is a clear indication that his band mates did indeed do something wrong, but he doesn’t feel ready or willing to talk about it.
“Rog, please don’t.”
They’d done this before: one of them – usually Roger – is in a mood and takes it out of the other, making everyone involved feel like shit by the end of the call. Y/N isn’t sure if she has the energy for it today but has never and will never be truly able to ignore Roger when he’s clearly upset about something.
“I know something is bothering you and I’m almost certain it has something to do with your mates since you were fine before leaving for rehearsal.” There’s a brief pause and Y/n adds softly, “I worry about you.”
Roger sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine.” He knows he’s being a bit too short with her and that nothing was her fault, but he can’t really help it. He doesn’t want to deal with it.
“Rog…I…” her mind can’t seem to form the right words to explain the thoughts running through it. She’s well aware of his temper and how it flares up around his mates; how he likes loads of sugar; how he can’t see without his glasses but still refuses to wear them.
Y/N knows that this time, something is different but she can’t really explain why or how without admitting that she feels more than friendship towards the drummer. And she isn’t ready just yet to wear her heart on her sleeve just yet.
She ends up settling for the next best thing. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, I understand. But please, don’t lie to me. I know something is up and I will never force you talk about it.”
Roger sighs in relief, some of his anger evaporation as he finds himself smiling “Thank you. How was your day?”
It’s at times like this, with Y/N talking happily about her day, rambling on and on about things he doesn’t quite understand and people he doesn’t know that he questions how he got so lucky to have gotten a random number that led to having this amazing girl in his life.
“I still can’t believe that no one except Peter Pan warned me about how much it sucksbeing a grown up,” Roger can tell she’s pouting and it makes him laugh.
The laughter however is cut short when she tries asking about his day and the previous night’s concert. “I’m in a rock band. It goes as well as rock concert goes.”
Y/N blinks, surprised by the venom suddenly lacing his tone. “What kind of answer is that?” She tries to keep her tone neutral, not letting it show how affected she is.
“The one I’m giving you.”
They may have been talking for six months but she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to keep up or understand his mood swings. “Why are you taking your shit out on me?! What’s your problem?!”
As understanding as she may be, Y/N has never had much patience for people taking their anger out on innocent bystanders, who just happen to be at the right place for the wrong time.
“You’re my fucking problem!” Roger snaps, voicing raising as he continues, “You ask all these fucking questions and pester me worse than my mother ever has. You’re not her. You’re not even my girlfriend. You’re a stranger that just doesn’t know when to let go.” His chest is heaving as he sits forward on his bed, empty hand curled into a fist. “God, we haven’t even met are you’re already so fucking clingy –”
With tears in her eyes, Y/N hangs up the phone. She tries reasoning with herself. She knows he’s upset, that something got him in this horrible mood but she has nothing to do with that. He’s hurt and wants to hurt others around him and he did succeed, if you ask Y/N. He’d said the one thing that he knew would absolutely shake her confidence and make her feel like garbage. They’d talked about it, multiple times. Roger had even reassured her at every turn that she was absolutely not clingy and that he loved every second they got to spend on the phone together.
He'll apologize when he feels better.
He values you.
You’re his friend.
Y/N keeps repeating these mantras over and over again as she stands on shaky legs, heading towards her small bathroom.
The phone starts ringing but she ignores it. She lets the tears fall, turning on the faucet and splashing some cold water on her face. The phone stops ringing, just to pick up again a few seconds later, confirming her suspicion that it’s Roger trying to get hold of her.
Taking a deep breath, she slowly makes her way back to her bed, sipping on the now lukewarm cup of tea. She glares at the ringing phone, wanting Roger to feel what she’s feeling, even just a bit.
Almost thirty minutes go by before she feels as if she’s got her emotions under control and is ready to speak to Roger, who hasn’t stopped calling since she hung up.
With a deep breath, she closes her eyes and picks up the phone, placing the receiver against her ear.
“I’m so sorry, love!” Roger’s voice floods her system as he stumbles over his words. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Or, I mean I shouldn’t… it isn’t…”
He takes a stuttering breath, collecting himself before he attempts to explain himself again. “You had nothing to do with my shit mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said, I just knew that those were things that would hurt you and it isn’t an excuse and I understand if you’re angry and don’t want to talk to me for a while but please know that I am extremely sorry and that I will do whatever I need to for you to forgive me and I’m such an ass. I’m so fucking sorry Y/N. I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”
“Will you now?” He can tell that’s she trying to be upbeat and wants to make him feel better but that isn’t her job. Not this time.
“I swear it, Y/N. On my drumming career. I won’t ever hurt you like this again and whatever you need me to do to get your forgiveness, I will do it. Name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I s–”
“Really? Absolutely anything?”
Roger nods and realising she can’t seem him, he vocalizes his answer.
“Even if I asked you to rob a bank?”
He laughs, tears of joy springing to his eyes. “Just tell me which one.”
The line goes quiet for a few seconds but Roger’s guilt crawls up his throat. “I really am so extremely sorry, Y/N.”
“I know. I forgive you,” her voice is so soft, full of kindness he doesn’t deserve and his heart does some funky fluttering in his chest.
Roger’s shoulders lose their tension as he melts into the hotel mattress. Knowing she isn’t to upset with him and that they’ll be able to jump back from this soothes his fears of losing her. He’s not sure he’d ever be able to get over it if it were to happen.
“I’m sorry too,” she whispers and he can hear how upset she is and if he could transport himself to London to sooth all her fears with a hug he would. His urge to book the first flight out is almost uncontrollable. “I didn't mean to make you feel like I was pushing you to talk about something you didn't want to. I just worry about you, and I can't do anything if not ask what's wrong.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for love.” He shakes his head, clenching his hand against the comforter. Never before has he felt such a strong urge to hold a girl in his arms. His voice grows softer as he smiles gently, wishing her could be by her side. “You were just...just being a good friend. I should have seen that instead of the inside of my own ass.”
Y/N hums noncommittally. When she speaks again, her voice is a bit uncertain but sympathetic, “You've had a bloody terrible day, haven't you?”
“It wasn't exactly one for the books.” Roger can’t help the twinge of anger that laces his tone. He really doesn’t want to get into it, knowing full well he won’t be able to control his temper if he does.
“You're also tired.” It’s not a question. She knows. She always knows.
Roger smiles sadly, heart swelling in affection for the girl on the other side of the line “Yeah, I am.”
She sighs, frowning as she doesn’t want to let him go but knowing that he needs his rest “I should probably let you rest.”
“Please don't hang up.”
It’s Y/N heart’s turn to beat erratically as she grins ear to ear when she realizes that he cares for her as much as she does for him. “Okay.”
“Just for a little while, please.”
His voice is a whisper and she answer in the same tone, “As long as you want, rockstar.”
Roger lets his eyes drift shut, rolling onto his side as he holds the receiver tightly in his hands so he won’t accidentally drop it. He could never seem to get enough of her and he doesn’t even know what she looks like yet. What will happen when they finally meet? One thing he knows for sure is that he won’t be able to keep his hands to himself.
“I’d do just about anything to be with you right now”
Had he not been holding the phone tightly against his head, Roger would have missed it. She had spoken so softly, lovingly.
The blond smiles. “Really? Anything?”
She hums, fanning her heated cheeks as she thanks her lucky stars that he can’t see her. She hadn’t expected those words to slip out of her moth but they’ve been talking for so long and they’d just had their first fight.
“I'd swim across the bloody ocean if I could.” He means so much to her that she really would do anything to cross the distance separating them.
Roger blushes, eyes bright and cheeks hurting because of his blinding smile. She makes him so giddy, “All that work just for me?”
Y/N feels her cheek warming up even more, “You’re worth it.” She wonders how he doesn’t realize just how much he means to her or that she would do anything for him.
He hums to himself, grin never faltering as his minds comes up with all these different scenarios he’d love to make come true. Y/N laughs, almost as if she can read his mind, prompting him to ask what caused his favourite sound of the world.
“I think you might actually like me when we finally meet,” she admits finally, still laughing and it really is the best sound to ever reach his ears.
He feels a blush start to spread across his face as he realizes exactly what she said. Never being one to censor himself, he decides to push their carefully set boundaries. “You know, I sometimes imagine you’re here with me sometimes.”
“Yeah?” her laughter, just like her breath, is cut off abruptly. This is certainly not the turn she thought the conversation would be taking.
The drummer hums his assent, turning so he’s laying on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling as he imagines the girl of his dreams in bed next to him. “Yeah. I don't even have a picture of you in my head or anything...I know it doesn't make sense but –”
“No, it does!” She reassures. She never wants him to think that she doesn’t understand what was going through his mind.
He smiles, “Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“What would you do if you were with me, right now?” because he knows exactly what he wishes they could be doing but he needs her to want and imagine the same thing.
“Why?” She has to put a hand over her mouth to stop the squealing his question brought to her lips. Why he makes her feel like a twelve-year-old girl with her first crush is beyond her but she wouldn’t give up this feeling for anything in the world.
“I don't know. It helps me picture you.”
She’s quiet for a second as she thinks over how much she’s willing to say out loud. “I'd make you tea...probably make sure you were all cozy, with plenty of blankets and pillows and the works. You deserve to be pampered.”
No one has ever cared about him as much as she does.
“Then what?” He’s aware he’s being greedy, but he can’t seem to help it.
YN swallows thickly, nervous as she forces herself to talk openly “I'd climb into bed with you. Hold you really close to me. I'd run my fingers through your hair –”
Roger moans, low and almost imperceptibly, at the thought. YN giggles, though she feels a warm ache forming below her stomach when she hears the sound. “You’d like that, huh?”
“Fuck yes.” His voice is hoarse and tired and it really isn’t doing much to help the situation between her legs. Y/N shifts on the bed, clenching her thighs while trying to concentrate on anything but the grovelling and sensual sound of his voice.
“What else?” He wants the conversation to take a specific turn but he’s beginning to get extremely drowsy and his voice betrays that.
Y/N smiles at the sudden sleepiness in his tone and her mouth goes dries as she tells him what has been on her mind for at least a few weeks now, maybe more. “I think...I think then I might have to kiss you, Rog.”
The line is strangely quiet and for a moment, she thinks she’s taken things too far and has completely misread the situation.
Roger gives a dopey, sleepy smile, hope filling his chest with a warm feeling. His voice is nearly a whisper in the receiver, “Where would you kiss me?”
She chokes back a sob, relief flooding her system as he doesn’t seem to mind the idea of her kissing him. In fact, she realizes with a start, he’s egging her on. “Maybe your shoulders...or your tummy.”
Roger hums wantonly into the phone as his mind conjures up the images she’s barely describing.
“Where would you want me to kiss you, Rog?”
The question is enough to wake him up. Roger groans, his voice huskier than a few moments ago “I can think of a few places.”
Y/N blushes, stuttering while trying to come up with a response while getting far too hot under the collar for her own good. Just as she’s opening her mouth, she hears a knock sounding through the phone.
Roger barely manages to hold back an angry curse as he gets up to open the hotel door, receiver still held against the side of his face. When he sees Brian, he rolls his eyes, “What do you want?”
Brian flinches at his friend's tone, holding up a tray of food as he grumbles “Fred wants to make sure you eat something before going to sleep.”
“Thanks, but I'm not hungry!” he responds before closing the door in the guitarist's face. He hears a faint mumble of "Whatever" as Brian heads back to his own room.
“Y/N –” he speaks, hoping against all odds that the mood hasn’t been completely lost. He needs to know what her answer is. Does she want to do to him all the things he wants to do to her?
“You should get some sleep, Rog.”
Roger wants to punch Brian for ruining what could have been the best night of his life so far. He was so close to getting somewhere with this amazing girl and that twat ruined his mood once again. He clears his throat, trying to not let tears of frustration gather in his eyes. “Y-Yeah...Yeah. You're right. I'll call you when I wake up?”
Y/N smiles warmly, quickly drying the single tear that had fallen at their lost moment, “I'll be here.”
Roger's chest buzzes. He whispers a faint 'Sweet dreams love' and waits for her reply before hanging up. He sighs, arm over his eyes.
One day, that girl will be his and he will be hers.
—————----------------------------------
“So” her friend drags out the ‘o’, looking at Y/N with pursed lips, “You like him.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, bringing the fuming cup of tea to her lips. She knows she’s just buying herself a few seconds as she debates how to actually address this whole thing. She knew she’d regret telling her best friend about Roger and their unorthodox friendship – or is it a relationship? Y/N shakes her head, aware of the piercing stare locked on her. She also knew that talking to Winnie would be a double-edge sword but she really needs to talk to someone about this whole Roger thing, just to make sure that it isn’t all in her head and that he too feels something for her. And to make sure it isn’t just some fever dream her mind has conjured in answer to her stress levels being through the roof.
It's been over a year since their first conversation. Roger has travelled the world and made his way back to England just to leave again but they had yet to meet. Y/N is starting to think that he might be ashamed of her. That, or he’s hiding who he really is.
“So what if I do?” Her cheeks start to colour as she avoids looking at the person across from her.
Winnie scoffs, shaking her heard “It's worse than I thought.”
Y/N's jaw drops at the remark, chest feeling a bit tight. “What do you mean by that?”
Winnie rolls her eyes, “I haven't seen you blush this much since...Well, I've actually never seen you blush this much. You've gone completely pink.”
Y/N's eyes fall to the table. She can feel her cheeks growing even pinker and hates her friend for being right.
“Y/N/N…” Winnie says with a frown, “I've got to be honest, here. I don't like it. At all.”
Y/N’s heart sinks. She never thought her friend wouldn’t approve of Roger and the words are like a knife to the chest. Sure, she knew that Winnie would be a bit skeptical but she never thought she’d be so against the idea of Roger. “W-Why not?”
Winnie doesn’t want to be harsh or hurt Y/N in any way but she also doesn’t want her best friend to get her hopes up and then her heart broken by a complete stranger. She reaches her hand across to the table and covers her friend’s. “Y/N… Just think about it rationally for a moment. The bloke calls you in the dead of night. You have no idea where he got your number or who he is and he's already trying to get in your pants –” Y/N opens her mouth to argue but Winnie talks over her. “How do you know he's not 70, huh? He could be anyone, Y/N. He could be your dad, for Christ’s sake!”
YN cringes, holding her head in her hand as she rubbed her temples. She feels utterly defeated. And a bit naïve. Even if she explains every detail to Winnie, she wouldn’t understand.
Winnie sighs, “What if he's got nothing to offer?”
Y/N clenches her jaw, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She knows it isn’t fair to be mad at Winnie. That her friend is only trying to look out for her. Still, she feels the urge to protect Roger and their whatever-this-is. “When has that ever been a problem for me? And that's just it, Win. He does...He offers me so much every day and he never expects anything back. He's kind to me...and he's silly and warm and sweet and–”
Winnie's expression softens as she sees the tears burning in Y/N's eyes as she takes Y/N's hands in hers again. However, she doesn’t back down, “You don't even know his last name.”
Y/N sniffles, refusing to let a single tear roll down her face. She takes a deep breath. “I don't really see where the problem is in that.” Winnie's brows knit together and Y/N crosses her arms, “He doesn't know my last name, either. It's not like I'm asking him for anything, Win. He's just great to talk to. He's kind and funny.... he’s smart. Wickedly smart, but he doesn't know it.” Y/N laughs breathlessly, getting lost in her memories of all their conversations. “Acts like this tough, careless thing sometimes but he's so soft on the inside. So good to me. He has the sweetest little laugh, too...gets all croaky when he's tired.”
Winnie squeezes Y/N's hand comfortingly, giving her a sympathetic smile. Realizing that nothing she says is going to change Y/N’s mind, she says softly “Just take care of yourself. That's all I ask.”
Y/N’s responding smile is as bright as the sun, “He's good. I know it. I can feel it. I’m going to be fine as long as I have him.”
“I hope so for you, darling. You deserve some happiness.”
Y/N takes another deep breath, reaching for her cup of tea.
Winnie grins too, “Just know that if he hurts you, I'll have his head. I don't care how old he turns out to be.”
Y/N laughs, rolling her eyes. “Thank fuck I know you've got my back, Win.”
---------------------
Roger is so lost in his thoughts that when John sits down beside him on the small sofa of the tour bus, he flinches, knocking over his beer. John laughs at him, passing him a dirty shirt from the floor to help clean the mess. Roger mumbles a quick "thanks mate" before trying to dry the small table.
“You okay mate?” Brian asks from his spot at the table. The guitarist is barely paying attention to his game of Scrabble with Freddie. For the past few days, he had been paying closer attention to his best friend because something is definitely off. He can’t put his finger on what but he sure as hell is going to find out.
“‘Course I am. Why'd you ask?” Roger is now working on the stain on his trouser, not really listening to his band mates.
Freddie frowns, waiting for Brian to place his next tile and nudges him with a foot under the table to get his attention. When Brian keeps ignoring him, the singer exchanges a quick glance with the bass player, both of them confused about what’s happening.
Brian shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and failing, “You've been acting weird lately.”
Roger's head whips up, eyes zeroing in on the guitarist “What'd you mean?” his tone came out too suspicious and the drummer has a feeling he knows exactly where this conversation was headed.
“You've been extremely well-behaved lately and you spend most of your time holed up in your hotel rooms. What's going on?” Brian decides that beating around the bush wasn’t going to work with the blond.
Roger rolls his eyes, doing his best to hide the smile threating to pull his lips up as he tries to dissuade his friends from asking too many questions or giving them more reasons to be concerned about him. “’S just talking to a friend. No need to get your panties in a twist, old chap.”
“A friend?” Freddie's amused and now feels the need to be part of this conversation, especially if it makes Roger a bit uncomfortable.
The drummer shrugs, his ears going pink as Brian rolled his eyes, already tired of vague answers. “What friend?”
Roger keeps himself busy by wiping the now fully absorbed beer from his pants. “Just a friend.”
John chuckles when he notices how much the lack of tangible information is bother Brian.
“You don't have friends that we don't know!” the guitarist points out.
Roger rolls his eyes, head falling backwards as he drops the shirt to the ground “I do too! We don't do everything together Brian.”
“What's her name, Rog?” Freddie decides to cut to the chase, use to seeing through all of Roger’s bullshit.
The drummer sighs, knowing that the more he tries to get out of this conversation, the more they will pry. He mumbles, “Y/N”
John smiles as Freddie's lights up like a child on Christmas morning. The singer sits forward and leans into the drummer’s line of sight. “And where did you happen upon this friend, hm?”
Roger's cheeks grow pink. He can’t and won’t even try to stifle the pleased smile forming on his lips. Brian’s face pinches in confusion: he's never seen Roger like this in his life. Roger hates when people get all warm and mushy; he always crinkles his nose up with displeasure when John rambles on about Veronica, and yet, here he is, looking as if he’s about to do the same thing.
“If I’m completely honest, I haven't exactly met her in person. Yet.” He confesses sheepishly.
Fred raises his eyebrows, the conversation already taking a turn he didn't expect. “Pardon?”
Roger sighs, rubbing his face as he tries to explain the whole situation as best he can. “We kind of met by accident. Before leaving for tour, I was talking to a girl in a pub back home and well... she gave me a fake number that turned out to be Y/N's.”
John nods, intrigued by the blond's story, “Is it safe to assume you called the number?”
“Yeah.” Roger grins, “Wasn't the bird from the pub, obviously. The girl on the line didn't have any clue who I was. She was pissed, to be honest.” Roger laughs thinking back to the night they met. “She's from London and with the fact that she hadn’t been out and about that night, I accidentally woke her up at one thirty in the morning. She put me in my place for it, too. We started talking after that, I guess.”
Deacy is happy to see his friend so smitten. “How long have you been talking?”
Roger takes a sip of someone's drink, stopping to think. “About a year, I reckon. Maybe a bit more.”
Brian chokes on his own saliva. “A year!? Really?” He looks to the other boys, and even John has his brows raised in surprise.
Roger looks confused, “What?”
“Rog, I don't think I've ever seen you talk to any girl for more than a few hours.” The bass player is quick to point out. “And even when you do, it’s because they’re a good shag.”
Roger frowns, a bit hurt by the comment. He knows he’s never had a serious relationship and that he loves sex but he isn’t some emotionless sex fiend. He is capable of being committed and in a monogamous relationship. He’s just never had the right motivation before. “Tt's not like that.”
Fred smirks, “So you're saying she’s just a friend?”
Roger stutters for a second before falling silent, his face going warmer. “I just… I think she's nice, and easy to talk to.” He knew he wouldn't be able to explain their bond eloquently enough for them to truly understand. It’s more that simple attraction or wanting a relationship. There’s something about Y/N and their bond that he will never be able to explain.
“You realize you broke up with Jo so you could spend more time with your drums? Rog, you're not exactly fantastic at commitment.” Brian feels the need to point out.
Roger’s heart sinks at the lack of support from his friends and wishes he hadn’t let any of this slip. “She's important to me, whether you understand us or not. I want to fly her out here so we can meet –”
Brian scoffs, arms crossing over his chest “You sure she's not just trying to sneak her hands in your pockets, mate?”
Roger is stunned into silence and his temper flares. “What?!”
“How can you be sure that she's not just trying to make a few bucks off you? We make good money now, Rog. People know that.” Again, Brian is pointing something out as if it’s the most obvious reason in the world for a girl to talk with him for so long. Why else would a girl want to spent a whole twelve months speaking to Roger, right?
Roger doesn’t even know where to start or how to respond. The fact that Brian would even imply that YN would ever think about doing something like that is infuriation.
“There are plenty of smart girls out there, mate.” The guitarist carries on, oblivious to the turmoil going through the drummer’s mind. “You've got a keep an eye out for the ones sniffing out gold –”
Roger sees red. “Don't fucking dare finish that sentence, Brian.”
The guitarist rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the drummer's outburst. “All I'm saying is you ought to be careful.”
“I know you think you're smarter than the rest of us but I'm perfectly capable of handling myself.”
Freddie rubs his temples exasperatedly, knowing that this is not going to be the end of the conversation and it’s going to end poorly for all parties involved.
“Roger, you're letting yourself fall in love with this girl and you don’t even know her! She's a complete stranger!” Brian raises his voice, “You've never bloody met her!”
“Fuck off, Brian. You have no fucking idea what or who you're talking about.” Roger slams the bottle against the table and storms off towards the back of the bus “Leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day.”
----------------------------------
Roger’s eyes blink open as soon as he registers the phone in his hotel room starts ringing. He scrambles for the receiver, nearly falling off the mattress in the process as the sheet tangle in his legs.
It's been nearly a fortnight since he's last spoken to Y/N. It seems the two have less and less time as the summer months have rolled around. There are interviews to do, books to edit, concerts to play, shelves to stock. All their work seems to be never-ending.
“Y/N?” Roger chimes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He knows that the likelihood of it being anyone else is nonexistent but he always likes to make sure she knows that she’s always his first thought.
“Hi, Rog.” She smiles to herself. Hearing his voice always makes her days better.
Relief washes over Roger's body at the sound of her voice. “God, I've missed you.” He admits, chest aching happily. “Missed you so much. Every day. Fuck, you don't know how good it is to hear your voice.” Roger relaxes against his pillow, playing with the phone chord as his eyes close blissfully.
Tears well in Y/N’s eyes as she tries swallowing around the knot lodged in her throat. “I’ve missed you too, Rog.”
Roger's brow furrow. Her voice’s hoarse, as if she’s been crying. And tired. Immediately he can tell that something’s wrong but he tries clearing the thought from his head, trusting that she would tell him anything she wanted him to know.
“Had a dream about you last night.” He mumbles, smiling at the memory as he tries to make her smile. “I can't remember what you looked like in the dream but it couldn’t have been anyone but you. It felt like you.”
She smiles against the speaker.
Roger eyes furrow as he tries to recall if they’ve ever shared physical details of each other. He knows they’ve shared what’s in their hearts and minds but never have they spoken about what they look like. He needs to know. “How tall are you?”
Y/N doesn’t answer and Roger's worry comes back stronger than before. “Y/N?”
“Hm? What was that Rog?”
The drummer doesn’t like how tired she sounds. They’ve had had their share of bad conversations but she’s never ignored or not answered one of his questions. “How tall are you?”
“Oh... uhm... I guess /your height/.”
It took her too long to answer. Roger bites his lower lip before sighing, knowing that the only way for him to feel better is knowing that she’s okay. “There's something wrong.”
Y/N pauses, finally fully present in the conversation. Her heart beats a bit too quickly in her chest. “W-What?”
“You're not acting like yourself. Something's wrong.” Roger hates how certain of this he is.
She goes silent while trying to hold it all back, but it’s no use. Her face crumbles as she lets out a sob against the receiver. Calling him had been the best and worse decision she made today.
Roger's heart feels like it’s shattering as he fights helplessly to calm her from oceans away.
“Y/N...” He feels stuck. Someone he loves is sobbing and he’s a million miles away. “Y/N, my love, what’s wrong? What's happening?”
His mind is working a million miles a second. It’s been so long since they last spoke, that there are hundreds of things that could have happened. Is she hurt? Did someone she know get hurt? Has the press somehow found out about their conversations and been harassing her?
She chokes on her words, trying to explain as best as she could but her breathing is still too choppy and labored for her to be understandable.
Roger listens as she struggles to breathe and he doesn’t think he’s ever known fear before his moment. The sounds coming from the woman he loves sound painful and he wants nothing more than to hold her and soothe all her pain. “Y/N, my love, just breathe. Can you do that for me? Take deep breaths.” He does what he’s asking her to do so that she has something to mimic. “Just do what I am okay? I'm right here baby.” He keeps his breathing slow and steady, guiding hers until she settles. She wipes the tears from her cheeks, sniffling painfully. Roger wishes he could reach through the phone and scoop her up in his arms. He's trying to figure out how angry the boys – and the label – would be if he were to fly out to her for a few days.
“I had to fire them all.” She admits in a whisper.
His stomach drops, “Who love?”
“My employees... I couldn't pay them anymore.” She starts crying again, her voice breaking and he can barely make out the words tumbling from her lips.
Roger frowns, a thought he doesn’t like pushing to the front of his mind. “Who's been running the store when you aren't there?” Y/N cuts herself off abruptly and when she finally answers, he hates what he hears. “It's just been you. Oh, love, it's just been you all by yourself?”
Her sobs grow louder as Roger hushes her soothingly through the phone as he fights off his own tears. “Oh baby, I'm so sorry.”
“I-I didn't want to. I had to.” Y/N needs him to understand. She really has no other choice and she hates how powerless she is. She’s trying her best to ground herself but everything hurts.
“I know, sweetheart.” He reassures her, “They understand.”
“M-My landlord threatened to evict me and I've got no food in the pantry and I just didn't know what else to do.” She grabs her hair tightly as the pain in her chest increases.
Roger's throat tightens to the point where taking a breath is painful. “Why didn't you say anything, darling? I would have sent you mone–”
'No. No. I don't want to take money from you.” She states resolutely. “That's not fair and it’s not me. I will figure something out.”
He rolls his eyes at her stubbornness. “What's ‘not fair’ is that you're suffering, Y/N.” He pauses, “When's the last time you had a meal? Like, a whole meal, not just a snack.”
When doesn’t Y/N answer, Roger knows that it has been too long.
“I've been eating little things here and there.” She finally admits with a small, fearful voice, “I don't have time to sit and eat at work, anyway.”
“Y/N,” his tone doesn’t allow for any room for her not to answer, “when was the last time?”
She swallows thickly, “A week ago. I think.”
Roger feels like someone has punched him in the throat. His eyes burn as he fights off tears. Now is not the time for him to breakdown. He can do that once he knows she has some food in her system and she’s taken care of. He counts to five and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Haven't been sleeping either, I bet. I can hear it in your voice. You're exhausted.”
Roger pauses and then add stubbornly, “I'm sending you money.”
Nothing she says is going to change his mind on this. She needs it, he has loads and he will never sit back and let her suffer when he can actively do something to make things easier for her.
“Roger, no.” She counters immediately, “Absolutely not!”
“Y/N, you need it! I want to help you. I need to help you. I need you to be safe and happy and healthy –”
“I can do it, Rog.” She guarantees, “I just need to work harder.”
She’s stubborn but so is he.
He sighs her name. Nothing he says will convince her to take the money. She’s too proud of that but there is nothing she can do to stop him from sending it anyway. Y/N doesn’t need to know until she gets it.
There is one thing that he can’t drop though. “Promise me, and I mean promise me you'll eat and you'll sleep. I want three meals a day and eight hours at night.” Y/N sighs, knowing that keeping that promise is going to be rough but Roger keeps speaking, “I know money is tight and it seems like it's hopeless right now but swear to me that you'll take care of yourself.”
Y/N's voice thickens as she whimpers pathetically. Never had she thought she’d be the kind of girl that needs a man to keep her together, but here she is. “I need you to hold me.”
Pain shoots through Roger's chest and this time, he can’t keep his emotions at bay. Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to not sob too loudly. It hurts. It bloody hurts how badly he wants to be with her.
Roger moves the receiver away from his face, letting out a few sobs before he composes himself. He takes a deep, shuddering breath as his nose burns because of the tears he’s trying – and failing – to hold back. He does his best to keep his voice steady when he speaks to her again, “What if I fly out to you? Just for a few days. I could –”
Y/N’s tears start anew. “I want that, so badly but Rog, baby, you can’t. The tour –”
“To hell with the tour!” he says through gritted teeth, “I don’t care about the bloody tour! I care about you.”
Her breath catches in her throat. They’ve both tiptoed around their feelings, both making it clear that this is more than a simple friendship but never had either of them been so direct. It gives her hope and now, more than ever, she refuses to let him give up on his dream. She will get through this and knowing he’s willing to drop everything to help her is enough.
“I care about you too, Rog.” She admits softly, “But there are so many people counting on you. It’s your dream.”
“Maybe I have a new one” he mumbles. “Okay. If I can’t come to you then I can fly you out.” He needs to see her and make sure, with his own eyes, that she’s really doing better. He can’t lose her.
Y/N sighs wistfully, wanting nothing more than to accept his offer. “You know I can’t. Not right now, at least. The shop –”
Roger curses in frustration. “It’s not fair!”
“I know.”
Silence fills the line. Roger’s anger quickly dissipates and all he’s left with is unrelenting sadness. He feels so unlike himself; pitifiul and needy. He feels as if he needs Y/N more than he needs oxygen.
“Soon,” Roger’s voice breaks the silence, “Promise me. We’ll be together soon.”
Y/N smiles through the tears, “I promise.”
“And promise me you’ll eat and sleep. I need you to take care of yourself.”
“I promise, Rog. I will get as much sleep and food as I can stand.”
“Good.” He swallows thickly, “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She lets out a wet laugh, “Good thing is you’ll never have to find out.”
Roger finally relaxes a bit, breathing deeply. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you out of my sights once we meet.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
---------------------------
Roger keeps his head down, with his visor of the baseball cap pulled down almost over his eyebrows as moves quickly through the city. He’s hoping that between his disguise and Queen still being relatively unknown in the US will help him avoid any run ins with the press. It had been hard enough leaving the hotel without being seen by his mates or any of the roadies. He really doesn’t need word of his morning excursion getting back to Brian.
With a grimace, Roger walks into the American branch of his bank and lines up to speak to a teller.
It takes longer than he would have liked to get all the documents set up and money withdrawn but Roger definitely feels lighter as he steps back out into the sunlit streets and heads to rehearsals. Luckily, he was careful enough that no one noticed his prolonged absence.
The green room is still empty when Roger enters, heading straight for the vanity against the opposite wall. Slipping off his hat, he removes all the bank documents from his back pocket and sits at the mirror. He slides the signed check and bills into the same envelope, setting it aside as he removes his jacket. He definitely feels a lot better knowing he’ll be able to help Y/N in a way that matters and that will make her life easier. It also helps that their conversations have returned to being a daily occurrence, helping him ensure that she is as well rested and fed as she can be. Although she’s doing much better with his support, Roger doesn’t miss the stressed tone or how her work load seems to be constantly growing.
Roger only wishes he had managed to get to a bank sooner though this way, since it’s been a bit over a month since he offered her the money, she shouldn’t suspect anything.
Roger digs around the vanity for a pen and when he finds none, he uses one of Freddie’s eye-pencils and a tissue to write a short message to his girl. He hesitates, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his friends aren’t going to barge in. He really doesn’t want to try explaining the money or check to them.
Roger sighs, mussing his hair as he tries to put pencil to tissue. There is so much he wants to say but he isn’t even sure where he should start. He knows that no matter what he says, she is going to rip into him so with a chuckle, he scribbles down one line before signing the tissues and placing it delicately inside the envelop with the money and check. He knows he’s doing the right thing, and even if she won’t happy about it, she’ll be grateful.
For once in his life, he’s grateful for his foresight of asking for her full name and address so that he could send small trinkets and post cards when calls aren’t enough.
“Morning, Rog.”
Roger nearly jumps out of the chair, quickly turning to see a confused looking John smiling at him, a cup of coffee in hand.
Roger exhales, laughing at his own reaction. “God, Deacy. You scared the living shit out of me. Didn’t hear you come in.”
John laughs too before sipping his coffee as he takes a seat on the couch. Roger turns back to the envelope, hiding it under his arm.
“Didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, I though you’d still be in bed.” John chimes, brow quirked.
Roger clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “Just had to um...run some errands is all.”
John nods though he clearly doesn’t believe him. “What are you doing here so early?” The drummer desperately wants to change the subject before he gives himself away.
John shrugs, smiling “I tend to get here early to help the roadies with the amps. I built most of them from older models that'd been trashed so they can be a bit finicky.”
Roger hums in understanding, slipping the envelope into the pocket of his jeans as Brian and Freddie waltz in. The drummer nods at both, fighting back a yawn.
“Sleep well?” Freddie asks with a smirk.
“Not well enough.” Admits Roger, standing from his chair and lazily making his way over to the costume rack. He doesn’t notice the envelop slipping from his pocket when he bends down to look for his converse. Roger curses under his breath, “I’m going to see if I can track down my trainers. I could’ve sworn I left them here yesterday.”
Brian quirks his brow curiously as the drummer trots out the door, stepping forward to snatch the envelope off the ground. Freddie cranes on his tip toes to peek over his shoulder, curiosity lighting up his brown eyes, “What've you found?”
The envelope hasn’t been sealed yet so Brian doesn’t feel too guilty as he snoops. The guitarist runs his thumb over the hastily scrawled name and address, Y/N Y/L/N.
“What’s inside?” The singer asks, hoping it’s a love letter and that he can take the piss out of the usually emotionally constipated drummer.
Brian pulls back the flap of the envelop and frowns when he notices that there’s cash inside. He moves toward the couch where John is sat, quietly observing the situation as it unfolds. The guitarist clears off a small section of the coffee table and dumps the content of the envelop on it. A wad of cash falls with a small thud, as a tissue and slip of paper flutter down after it. He quickly counts the cash and his eye widen in shock. £500. And the piece of paper is a blank check that has been signed and dated with today’s date. The name on the check is the same of the envelop and it finally hits him: it’s the girl Roger had mentioned on the bus.
Don’t be too angry. R
Brian feels like his brain is going to explode. A blank cheque?! He’s sending her a blank cheque! Anger boils in his veins as he tries to comprehend how his best friend of years goes from dumbing his girlfriend of almost ten years in order to become a successful musician to blindly sending money and blank cheques to a complete stranger. Clearly, something has happened because not even Roger would be that stupid.
Brian grips the empty envelop tightly in his hand as Roger wanders back into the room, muttering about his missing shoes.
Brian walks up to Roger where he’s now lounging on the couch next to John and throws it at him. Roger eyes the envelop before his eyes fall to the coffee table.
The blond lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up into Brian's eyes. For this, his reaction angers Brian even more.
“Mind sharing with the group, Rog?” the curly-haired man asks condescendingly. “Mind explaining why your ‘friend’ who isn't taking advantage of you is getting direct deposits?!”
Roger does his best to swallow back all his annoyance, but apparently, Brian isn’t done digging into him. “A fucking blank cheque, Roger!? A blank cheque, really? Are you trying to get robbed?”
Roger can’t even get his explanation fully out of his mouth before Brian cuts him off. “She's lying, Roger! She's a con artist!”
“She's not!”
“And you're giving her exactly what she wants! She'll be laughing all the way to the bank!”
“SHUT UP!” Roger screams, raising to his feet and pushing Brian back. “You've all got spouses or children. I don't. I've got no one to take care of. Tell me what's so fucking criminal about sending some money to help someone I love.”
The three other people in the room are shocked into silence. Never before has the drummer tossed around the l-word so easily. Roger picks up the money and the check from the table, carefully tucking it back into the envelope and smoothing it out.
Roger heads for the door, turning to look back at the group one last time before he leaves.
Roger chuckles into the receiver. “Well, hello to you too, darling.” He had been waiting for this call for about a week.
“Do not ‘darling’ me right now. I told you not to send money!” Y/N has rarely experienced such a mix of emotions. Anger, love, humiliation, sadness, helplessness, love. She whines into the phone, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “Why didn't you listen? I'm not a charity case!” She hates feeling like a burden.
Most of all, she hates how loved and better she felt when she opened the envelope.
The blond frowns. It was never his intention to upset her, “Love, I –”
“Don’t you dare use your pet names on me right now, Roger Taylor!'’ Roger tries to hold back his laughter.
“I told you I can do this on my own!” she explodes, “I am perfectly capable of handling –”
“Oh, trust me, I know you are.” He interrupts. Roger toys with the phone chord, blowing some of his bangs away from his face. “You could run circles around me, darling. Just because you're able to do it on your own doesn't mean you have to.” He smiled softly to himself, “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I can't physically be there for you, and I hate that. If it were up to me, I'd be stopping by the store to bring you food or help lug books around.” Y/N exhales, hand running through her hair. God-damnit. Why does he have to be so bloody perfect and far away? “And as much as I wish I could change it, I know I can't be there right now to hold you and promise it will all get better.”
“Rog–” There’s so much she needs to tell him.
“Let me do this, Y/N.” He begs, “Just this one thing to help you keep a roof over your head and eat and take care of yourself.”
Y/N gives up all hope of arguing with him about this. And just like that, she’s crying for a completely different reason. Her voice wobbles as she sobs into the phone, “You're so stupid, Roger. You're such a goddamn idiot.”
He laughs as he too starts crying, smiling lovingly to the empty room. “I thought we’d already established that.” She gives a breathy laugh, clutching the money and cheque to her chest like a security blanket. “Hasn't ever kept you from talking to me before, though.”
Y/N wipes her tears with her shirt sleeve, sniffling pitifully. She knows she’s never felt love like this before and she never will again. Not even her parents had shown interest in supporting her; she never thought any less of them because of that.
But here’s Roger. Sweet, stupid Roger forking over hundreds of pounds and sending it to her from worlds away without batting an eyelash. All because he wants to help in any way he can. She can hear him as he rambles on, still trying explain how it “really isn’t a big deal".
“Roger–” her voice’s is so soft that he misses it completely.
“–I just care about you and I wanted to help and–”
“Roger!” She yells with a laugh.
He stops, eyebrows quirking as he smiled. He hears her take a deep breath and waits impatiently for her to speak.
Y/N’s heart is beating like a hummingbird's. “I love you.”
“What?” Roger feels completely frozen until she repeats those three beautiful words to him.
There’s another long silence and panic set in YN's stomach as she bites her lip. She really doesn’t want to pressure him into saying it so it’s her turn to start rambling, “I'm not just saying that because of the money and I don't expect you to say it back but I just needed you to know because it’s true and –”
“I love you too.” He interrupts her panicked mumbles.
Y/N's whole body relaxes. She exhales, hands shakily holding the phone as she lets out a watery, “Thank Christ” that makes Roger laugh.
“God, I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Now that he can say it aloud, he doesn’t think he'll ever be able to stop.
Tears well in Y/N's eyes again, “I...I want you, Roger. I want you here.” She sounds selfish but she doesn’t care.
This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Now that it’s out in the open, she needs to see him, feel his body against hers. She wants to show him exactly how much she loves him.
His heart aches, “I know, my love. You have no fucking idea how much I want to be with you right now. Fuck, I'd fly out to you right this second if I knew you'd actually let me.”
Y/N chuckles, sniffling “It's really tempting.”
He grins, “Tempting enough to let me?”
She shakes her head, “I can't be the one to deprive the world of Roger Taylor. I know how that feels and it's too damn painful.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Why can't you just be selfish once in a while?”
“I'm afraid I'm not as strong headed as my rockstar boyfriend.”
Roger smiles brighter than the sun, face red and heart full at her words. “Boyfriend, huh? I like the sounds of that.”
“Do you now?”
His smile seems to grow, “Love it, actually. 'Specially hearin' it from my girlfriend.”
Y/N giggles, loving his ability to make everything better with just a few, simple words. “Be careful saying that in front of all your groupies, might break their hearts.”
Roger scoffs, putting a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Groupies!? Who do you think I am?” Y/N laughs and it’s his favourite sound in the world “You're the only groupie I've got, darling. Take you with me everywhere.”
“That's my official title then?” She jokes, “Resident Groupie?”
“Yes. And it's a paid position so you have to accept the money I sent.”
Y/N gasps, grin on her lips “You absolute wanker!”
“You love me, really.”
Her smile softens, “I really do.”
---------------------------------
Roger's shoulders and hands ached as he plops down on his hotel bed. He winces at the contact between the sheets and the raw skin of his worn hands, biting his lower lip as he reaches for the phone. Hearing his girlfriend's voice always make it all worth it.
The line rings more times than Roger is used to and a very bad feeling sinks in his gut. Even more concerning is the fact that he goes to voice mail. The drummer frowns, setting the receiver back on the base before lifting and dialing again. Still no response. He tries a third time. Nothing.
Finally, on his fourth try, YN answers the line and relief washes over him.
“Hey, Rog.”
“Oh, thank god! I thought something had happened to –” He freezes, heart dropping when he realizes that she’s crying. “What's wrong my love?”
Y/N sniffles, hating herself for being the girl that cries at the sound of her boyfriend’s voice. She isn’t even sure what to do. If she tells Roger that his best friend called her and said she was a gold-digging whore, he’ll react rashly and she isn’t there to stop him from doing too much damage to the band or himself. On the other hand, these phone calls are all they have. Honestly is important, they both said so from day one and fuck, they’re in a relationship for crying out loud. She knows Roger loves her. He’s proven it more than enough times. It’s just that… If his best friend, the people he spends every waking moment with think that of her, maybe it’s because he’s said something. And she’s sure it isn’t only Brian thinking those things. They couldn’t have come to that conclusion on their own. Could they?
“Is it work? Did something happen?”
“No...” She hums, trying to gather herself. She’s not going to tell him.
Roger frowns, worry clawing at his chest. She isn’t tired of him, is she? “Talk to me, love. Please.”
His plea breaks some of her resolution and she fights hard to not start sobbing. She’s sick of crying every time they call. “It's nothing, just having a rough day.”
“No, it isn't.” Roger insists, brow furrowed determinedly. Something is gnawing at him to not trust her words.
Y/N swallows, mind running in circles. “Rog…You know I'd never lie to you, right? I'd never do anything to hurt you.”
Roger blinks in confusion, “Of course I do, sweetheart. Where's all this coming from?”
“Nowhere.” She lies, “I just want to make sure you know how much I love you.” She hesitates a moment. “Promise me you understand that, though. That when I talk to you...I'm never trying to get anything out of you. I'm not...digging for gold.”
Alarm bells ring loudly in Roger's head. Brian. Fucking Brian. “Did Brian call you?”
“No.” She answers too quickly.
“Brian called you, didn't he?” Roger is beyond furious as his voice raises along with the anger in his chest. “He called you and ran his fucking mouth, as he always does and hurt you. The fucking arse can’t accept that he’s not the smartest person in the room and wants to ruin everyone’s happiness because he’s a miserable bastard. Once I get my hands on him, I –”
Y/N sobs, “Don't fight with him! Please, don't. He was only trying to protect y– ”
Roger slams the receiver against the base, fists clenching as he tears through his door and down the hall towards the conference room turned music room, where he knows the lads are still rehearsing. He’ll apologize later to Y/N but right now, he needs to not be talked down. Brian deserves everything coming his way.
Roger slams the door open and as soon as he’s face-to-face with the guitarist, Roger punches him in the face.
Brian stumbles backwards as Roger keeps shoving his chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?!”
Brian's eyebrows furrow as he catches his balance, still trying to keep Roger at bay as he massages his sore jaw.
Roger's face is red, rage clear as day in his blue eyes as he spats his words at Brian, Freddie putting himself in the middle of the two. “Somehow, by the grace of fucking god, I'm happy for the first time in my miserable goddamn life and you have to go and try to fuck it up!” Tears welling in his eyes, Roger shoves his kit to the ground, cymbals crashing as pieces of set scattered across the floor. Freddie is grateful that it was just the four of them in the room, though the ruckus is sure to gather unwanted attention.
Brian rubs his bruising jaw, rolling his eyes at Roger's reaction. “I did it for your own bloody good, Roger! She was just going to keep leeching off you –”
“I don't fucking care, Brian!” Roger kicks his bass drum, foot going through the decal of his own face as he shoves Freddie away. “I don't fucking need it! I don't need any of it!”
Brian's eyes fall to his shoes as guilt filled his gut. Maybe he had been too rash and cruel. Maybe he should've given Y/N a chance to explain herself.
“What am I going to buy with all this money you've saved me, huh? Cars? Drugs?” Brian opens his mouth to argue but Roger cuts him off. “I love her, Brian! I don't care if she takes every fucking cent I have!”
Brian scoffs, guilt quickly being replaced by frustration at how idiotic his friend is acting. “Do you hear yourself? You've never met this person, Roger! You're being ridiculous! You're asking to get your heart broken!”
“I'm fucking grown, Brian! I can handle myself, you condescending prick! She's all I've got!”
The room goes eerily silent.
Brian clears his throat, pursing his lips. His voice is soft when he speaks again. “Since when don’t you have us?”
Roger stares right at Brian, daggers in his eyes. He scoffs sickly, “This? The band? The so-called friends that call up my girlfriend, making her cry and calling her a gold-digger?!” He gestures to the group, knowing that John and Freddie had done nothing to stop Brian from making the girl he loved question their whole relationship. “This is over. The second tour's finished, this is never happening again.”
Deacy knits his brows, “Roger–”
Roger takes a menacing step towards Brian, grabbing the front of his shirt in his tired and sore hands. “You ever speak to her again and I'll rip your fucking balls off.”
The blond turns from the group, retreating down the hall and back to his own room.
Brian, Freddie, and Deacy stand in shocked silence.
Brian sighs as he raises his fist to knock on Roger's door. He feels bad. He really does. And he doesn’t want the band to break up because of a girl. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t still think Roger was acting like a mad man.
The guitarist hopes that the few hours he had left Roger to wallow in his self pity has been enough for the drummer to calm down and reconsider the whole quitting nonsense.
“No, Y/N! I won't! I won't forgive him.”
Brian freeze, dropping his hand to his side. Why on earth would Y/N be defending him? Brian rests his ear against Roger's door, curiosity itching beneath his skin. There’s a pause as Roger listens to Y/N's response.
“I understand that he was trying to look out for me. I get that, but I'm a grown fucking man, Y/N. He thinks he's the smartest person alive and I'm sick of it! I could have lost you!”
Brian rolls his eyes. He doesn't think he’s smarter than Roger. He just thinks Roger is dumber than him.
“No, I'm quitting! Soon as tour's over I'm flying out to you and I-.... No, I'm not! I'm not being dramatic!”
Brian smirks, chuckling to himself. “I wouldn't miss them. Not for a second. I can play drums anywhere. I don't need them! ... It is not bullshit!”
Brian’s surprised. Impressed even. He never thought that this girl would be defending them after everything he'd said to her. “I don't want to talk to those wankers. They treat you like you're some conquest. They don't even see it. I'm not like that anymore, Y/N. I'm just not that person anymore. You need to know that.”
Something in his words give Brian pause. Roger’s right: it'd been ages since he'd heard any moans coming from the other side of Roger's door. The drummer barely showed up at after parties anymore. Hell, even when women throw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, signing whichever body part they present him and returns to his previous conversation with the lads or their entourage.
There’s so many things Brian was used to seeing Roger numb himself with. Booze. Drugs. Sex. Anything that would bring him any sort of temporary relief. It had all stopped suddenly. Roger is now more focused and plays better. He fights less. He even started apologizing for things. He smiles more. It’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. No more dark circles under his eyes; no more empty bottles; no more smears of white powder left on tables.
Things are different now. They had been for a long time, he’d just been too conceited to notice. The changes seem to coincide with her sudden appearance in Roger’s life.
Brian bites at the inside of his lower lip, sighing as he knocks on Roger's door.
Roger curses, mumbling something to Y/N and brings the phone with him as he pries himself up off the bed and shuffles over to the door, flinging it open roughly.
“What the fuck do you want?” Roger spats. He’s vaguely aware of Y/N's voice in his ear, telling him to take it easy.
“To apologize.”
“Apology not accepted.” Roger tries to slam the door in his face but Brian’s quicker, smacking his hand against the hard wood.
“Really? I'm trying to be nice and you're going to bitch about it?” the guitarist can’t help but roll his eyes.
“Yep. That's the plan.” Roger is just about to try slamming the door shut again when he hears Y/N call his name loudly on the other line. He holds the receiver to his ear. “What did you say, love? ... No! Y/N, I don't want to hear anything he has to say.... Why should I?” The blond exhales angrily, eyes shooting daggers at Brian as he holds the receiver against his ear. “Come on in.”
The air is tense as Brian sits down next to Roger on his bed, biting at his thumbnail as Roger hits the speaker button on the base of the phone. “He can hear you now, love.” Roger mumbles. “Don't see why you're bothering with letting him apologize after he –”
“Just let him speak, Roger.” The voice from the speaker is crackly with static, sweet yet exasperated.
Brian smiles a little, feeling marginally better about things knowing she’s not too angry or hurt. “I, um...I wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I was wretched. I just got worried. Roger can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes and I –”
“I am not! You're the one that bloody –”
Y/N heaves an exasperated sigh, “For god’s sakes, Roger, just calm the fuck down and let him explain.”
Roger grumbles something under his breath. Brian can’t help but smirk. “Brian, I understand where you were coming from. You were only trying to protect him.”
Roger scoffs. “You're really going to side with Brian!?”
Y/N rolls her eyes, feeling a headache forming. Men. “You're being such a baby.”
Roger groans, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenches.
Brian is starting to like this girl more and more. She knows how to put Roger in his place and he lets her. It’s refreshing, “I... I may have been wrong about you.”
Y/N smiles, “No shit!”
Roger can’t help but grin. That's my girl.
Y/N sighs, “But we'll get to you apologizing to me later. Right now, you two need to get your heads out of your asses and forgiving each other. Queen won't end because the two of you can't act like adults.”
Roger scoffs, “Fat chance.”
Brian shakes his head exasperatedly. “I swear, you're a child.”
“And you're a pompous asshole!”
“Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm pompous.”
“Oh, so now you don't think I'm smart?”
“Not when you act like a twat, I don't!”
“Piss off!”
“No! You –”
Y/N drops her phone back onto its base. Roger should have known she wouldn't sit there and listen to that crap. Roger and Brian go silent at the dial tone. The drummer curses, grumbling as he redials her number. It only rings once before she picks up.
“You two finished?” There’s silence and Y/N giggles. “I can't believe two grown men are being such babies.” Both of them open their mouths to argue in self defense but can’t before she’s laughing at them.
Brian sighs, “Rog, I'm sorry. I know you're not stupid and I –”
“You sure bloody act like it –”
Y/N exhales sharply, “Roger I swear to god if you don't stop interrupting, I won't pay my phone bill this month.”
Roger immediately goes silent and Brian laughs smugly. Roger flips him off.
Y/N shakes her head, “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Brian. You're already on thin ice.”
It’s Brian’s turn to go quiet and Roger’s to laugh smugly.
“Why do I feel like a mother scolding her two idiotic children?! Roger, Brian was just trying to look out for you. It was a shitty way of doing it but he loves you and wants you happy. Brian, Roger is hot headed, you know that better than me but because of you, I almost lost him and Roger was right in his reaction. You had no right to call me and call me a gold digger and an actress. You should have trusted your friend's judgment.”
Brian held out his hand, “I'm sorry, Roger.”
Roger takes it, giving it a reluctant shake. “I'm sorry, too.”
Y/N sighs in relief until Roger speaks again, “You need to apologize to Y/N as well. And you should know: she didn't ask for the money. I sent it to her without her knowledge and she yelled at me.”
Freddie walks by the open hotel room door, having heard their screams from the hall and leans against the post, observing the scene in front of him. Brian rubs his neck, cheeks turning red. “I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have been so quick to judge.”
“You're right, you shouldn't have but I forgive you. I'm still hurt but I know it was done in good faith.”
Brian nods, guilt eating at him. “I understand completely. I... I wouldn't have forgiven me had I been in your shoes.”
Y/N smiles, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “Lucky for you, I'm very forgiving and understanding. And as much fun as this is, I'm going to be late for a meeting.”
“Make sure to eat something, please.”
“Don't worry rockstar, I'm taking care of myself. I love you.”
Roger smiles sappily, “I love you too.”
After she hangs up, Freddie smiles and makes his way into the room and drops down next to Brian, “I like her.”
Roger grins, “Yeah, she's amazing.”
“I'm sorry I didn't stop Brian.”
The drummer shakes his head, “It's all good mate. You lot were just trying to look out for me. I was just angry because she was already hurting and you managed to make it worse. I hate hearing her cry.”
The two nod, realizing what a mess they had made. Freddie claps his hands, “Well, now that it's settled that you're not quitting the band and we're all friends again, we should celebrate! I won't take no for an answer, my darlings!”
————————————————————
Y/N’s pulled out of her thoughts as the phone rings at nine am. She knows it’s Roger: no one else calls her but she almost never gets calls from Roger this early in the day. There’s only a four-hour time difference, but it’s still rare for her to get a call before the middle of the night.
It’s nine and two minutes, meaning Roger is calling her at five in the morning his local time.
She picks up the phone in an instant, worried that something is wrong, “Rog? Are you ok?”
“Y/N? Y/N! It's me! It's Roger!”
She chuckles, realizing what’s going on. She can hear the smile in his voice as he basically screams across the distance separating them. “Hi, Rog. Sounds like you're having fun.”
He laughs drunkenly, stretching his legs across the couch he’s sitting on. “And you sound –” He groans longingly, “You sound so sexy, Y/N. So beautiful. Fucking gorgeous. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.”
Y/N giggles, face heating up at his words. “You've never seen me before, Rog.” She hears a few snickers from around him. “Am I on speaker phone?”
Roger nods, forgetting he was on the phone in his drunken state. He’s just happy to be speaking to his dream girl.
“Hello Y/N!” Brian calls, taking another swig from his nearly empty beer bottle. Y/N returns the greeting but Roger frowns, quickly switching her off speaker. “Brian doesn't get to ever talk to you ever.”
YN smiles sympathetically, “Aw, Rog. I told you I forgive him, so did you. He was just being friendly –”
“I don't have to see you to know you're pretty.” He interrupts, drunken mind already returning to the most important thing. “I just know it. I do.” He frowns, grumpy that she dares question how highly he thinks of her. “Prettiest girl in the universe.”
He yawns, rubbing at his eyes. “Wanna meet you so bad. I think...I think it's scary.”
YN hums, confused. “What's scary?”
“W-What'll I-...What is-...What if you don't think you like me as much? What'll I do then?”
Her heart stutters, “Oh Rog, of course I'll like you. I love you.”
“But you love hearing me but what about seeing me?” He croaks, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “What if you don't like seeing me?”
Y/N sighs, “Roger, I'd love you if even if you were bald with green skin.”
“What if it's worse than all that?”
Y/N laughs, “Worse than bald with green skin!?”
Roger hides his drunken smile, as if she was there to see it. “I'm serious! I'm being serious and you're laughing at me!”
“Aw, Rog, I’m sorry. I won't laugh anymore.” She speaks through her giggles. “I'm listening. Really...”
Roger sighs, self consciously looking down at his body. “I...I'm not big.”
Y/N quirks her brow, intrigued by where this conversation is going. “What?”
“I'm not so big and muscly! I'm skinny! I mean...well...My shoulders are ok but –”
She chuckles, “Roger, my love, I promise I'm going to love the hell out of you no matter how muscly you are.”
Roger groans, “You've got to stop that.”
She frowns, “Stop what?”
“Stop...Just stop being so goddamn perfect all the time.”
Y/N scoffs, “I'm far from perfect, Rog.”
He groans again, “You sound so goddamn sexy.”
She laughs at him, loving how his drunken mind seems to go in circles. “Is it my 'I just woke up and haven't spoken yet' voice?”
Roger moans, running his hands through his hair. “You're just teasing now! You have any idea the kind of things I want to do to you?”
“I might have a vague idea, yes.”
Roger let his eyes fall closed, mumbling. “God, I just want to suck on your tits.”
Y/N's jaw drops, “Roger!” She feels her face turn scarlet, knowing he’s just a few steps away from his band mates and they are absolutely listening in.
“I mean it!” He whines, “You make me so fucking hard –”
“Roger, I am not having this conversation with you in front of your mates.”
He whines again, “'m not asking for full on phone sex!” His lips turn up in a smirk, “Maybe I could just get you off? The boys aren't listening.” He glances at his friends but he’s too drunk to really see, “At least I think they’re not.”
Y/N buries her face in her hand, “They most definitely are, Roger.”
He frowns, not comprehending what the issue is, “But I love you.”
“I love you too, rockstar.” She smiles, “Do me a favor? Put an aspirin and a glass of water by your bed.”
Roger feels himself tear up, “Are you hanging up?”
She knits her brows sympathetically. “I've got work, baby.” The last thing she wants to do is hang up on him when he sounds so adorable and horny but she’s already running late.
“Call me?” he asks, “Once you get home? The minute you get home.”
She’s smiling, “I don't think you'll be awake.”
“Wake me up, then.”
She chuckles, “Ok, rockstar.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Roger wakes up hours later, unsure on how he managed to get back to his room and with a pounding headache. He reaches for the aspirin and water he vaguely remembers putting on his bedside table, as requested by his amazing girlfriend.
While going to wash his face, he notices an envelope by the door. Reaching down to grab it, his heart flutters when he sees the name of the sender: YN LN. It’s priority mail, meaning she probably spent quite some money on it and it’s dated three days ago.
His hands shake as he tears the envelope open and tears filled his eyes as he finally knows what the girl of his dreams looks like.
Y/N makes her way into her small apartment, keys held in her teeth, a grocery bag in one hand and mail in the other. She stops in the kitchen, quickly putting her groceries away before sitting on the sofa and going through the mail.
As usual, there are a few store coupons, a reminder that her rent is due in two weeks and an envelope from Roger. She’s come to love and hate these: postcards are great, full of witty comments and loving remarks. Envelopes usually mean that he either sent her money or a small gift. Stupid, sweet Roger.
Y/N's heart is beating like a hummingbird's as she opens the letter from Roger. She pulls out a single photo, clipped from a magazine with a single word written across the bottom.
Guess.
She smirks, sliding the photo back into the envelope and hurries to her room. She dials his number the minute she gets to the phone, sitting on the edge of her bed. It only rings once before he picks up. He doesn’t even get a chance to greet her. “You think you're so clever, don't you?”
Roger laughs, knowing exactly to what she’s referring to. “Yes, actually, I do.”
“You're such a wanker.” She’s laughing, shaking her head as she looks over the photo of Roger and his band mates.
He laughs, adjusting his pillow as he rubs his eyes, waking himself up a bit more, “Thought that was why you love me?”
Y/N smiles, kicking off her shoes as she lays back, “You want me to play that game? Fine, I'll play it, rockstar. I bet you twenty pounds I'll get it on the first try.”
“You really think you will?” Roger loves how confident she sounds. God, he loves this woman.
“Of course I will, drummer boy. I'd know you anywhere.” Her smile’s soft, the love she feels for the boy knew no limits.
He bit his lower lip, a grin breaking out on his lips 'You're on, sweetheart.'
YN pulls the photo closer, excitement rolling in her stomach. “Let's see...”
Every face in the picture is a beautiful one but she knows immediately that her Roger is the blond one but there’s no reason to make him aware of her discovery just yet.
She grins, the idea of making him sweat extremely amusing. “Suitor number one, here...Tall! He's got some legs on him, doesn't he? And just look at those curls! Gotta love a man with curls.”
Roger feels jealousy boiling in his stomach, but he does his best to ignore it, not wanting to give anything away. He starting to regret sending her a group photo. “Number two...Oh! that jacket is lovely. I like the silk. He knows how to dress, for sure.” Roger chuckles. Good old Fred.
“Number three...Number three looks like he's quite a sweetheart, doesn't he? So smiley! And that little striped vest!”
Roger purses his lips nervously, knowing she’s about to focus on him and talk about her first impression. What if she doesn’t find him attractive?
“Number four is this blond fellow.” Y/N smiles, her heart fluttering as she gazes at the man she loves. “Sparkly pink shoes, looks a bit tired. Might be drunk in this photo, actually. Stunningly handsome. Looks like he's got a bit of an attitude too.” She pauses for a moment, making Roger smile. She’d described all his friends perfectly and he can tell from her voice that she knows. He loves her even more for it.
“Yep, there's my Rog.”
Roger laughs, cursing his mind for doubting her even for a second. “I do not have an attitude!”
“You do!” She counters between laughs, “I would too if I wore pants that tight!”
He smirks, “I just wanted to show off my cute ass for you, love.”
YN grins, “Wait 'til you see mine, pretty boy. I can guarantee it's cuter.”
Roger's face goes red. The power this woman holds over him was astounding.
She hummed blissfully, head relaxing against her pillow as she admires the photo once again. “You're beautiful, Rog. Knew you would be...”
How she ended up being so lucky, she will never know but she will thank her lucky starts everyday from here on out.
Roger's heart stutters. He wants to ask her if she really means it but his heart knows she would never lie, especially about this. He looks over at her picture, propped against the base of the phone. He’s been carrying it in his wallet and keeps it next to his bed when they stop at hotels. His eyes scan her smiling face. “Do you have any birthmarks?”
She giggles, thrown but the sudden question. “What?”
“You know, birthmarks.” He realizes that it sounds random but he wants to know everything he can about her. At this point, he’s aware of her family history, of her interests and hobbies, and friends but he knows almost nothing about her body except for what he can make out from the picture. Roger wants to memorize every inch of her.
She quirks her brows, “I've got a little one on my back but it just looks like a mole. Why?”
“Just curious.” He admits, “What about scars? My hands and arms are covered in small ones because of the drumming and stupid fights.”
Y/N laughs at that, not at all surprised by his sheepish confession. “Mm... I have a scar on my left wrist. Got it when I was probably around five-ish. I was riding my bike and ran into my garage door. The glass window shattered on my arm. It both scared and scarred me.”
Roger smiles, imagining how her body looked liked, her scars and all. “Are you ticklish?”
“Depends on where you try it.”
Roger grins, “I can't wait to figure it out.”
They settle for a moment, letting the familiar silence wash over them. Words hang unspoken in the air and Roger decides to through caution to the wind. “I wish I could touch you. Just explore you. Every inch of your gorgeous body.” He’s wanted to say these words for so long.
Y/N smiles, a warm feeling washing over her. Roger can’t help but imagine her sitting in her room, holding the receiver to her ear. He hums, picturing his hands running down the smooth skin of her stomach. He swallows thickly, arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Have you got a soft spot?” God, he wants to be with her so bad it’s a physical pain.
She smirks, her voice lowering a bit and taking on a sultry tone, “Why ever would you asking Rog?”
He chuckles, pants tightening at her tone and implications but two can play at that game. “Think you know why, love.”
She feels heat pool in her stomach, “Maybe you should wait and find it yourself.”
He groans in frustration, “What if I don't want to wait? What if I want to hear you moan my name right now?”
Y/N clenches her thighs, biting her lip to hold back any sounds that might escape her lips. Roger isn’t done though. “If you like that, just wait till I get my hands on you. I'll ruin you in the best ways. You'll be screaming my name.”
YN's head falls back, hitting the wall with a small thud as she moaned, panties growing wetter by the word. “Is that so drummer boy?”
Roger nearly moans, “Well, you know what they say about drummers, don't you?”
Y/N bites her lip. “What do they say?”
He smirks, “They do it harder.”
The silence is pregnant. Roger's boxers are tented and he’s feeling too hot under the hotel blanket so he throws it to the side before speaking again. “I had a dream about you last night.” His tone leaves little to guess about the nature of said dream.
“Lucky you,” She’s breathless, mind buzzing and body aflame.
Roger chuckles huskily, “And you said I have an attitude. What I am to do with you?”
Y/N smirks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Are you taking requests?”
Roger moans shamelessly, boxers too tight to be comfortable as he rearranges himself. “I wouldn't mind having you under me.”
It’s her turn to whimper, legs rubbing together to alleviate some of the building pressure in her core. “I wouldn't mind having you on top of me.”
Roger closes his eyes, imagining the scene and wishing it was currently reality. “You won't get anything if you keep talking back.”
Y/N giggles, “You didn't think I'd go down without a fight, did you rockstar?”
God, he loved her. He can’t wait to fuck the attitude right out of her. “Honestly, I thought I'd be the one going down...”
Roger doesn’t expect the moan that comes out of Y/N's mouth and he wishes he could hear it in person. He smirks, “I bet you're an absolute mess right now.”
“You're welcome to come over here and find out.”
Roger wants nothing more, “That's tempting, sweetheart.”
She smirks, “It was meant to be.”
“You're such a brat.” He loves it.
“You didn't know that?” She’s playing coy, riling him up and Roger is soaking up each word.
“You've got quite the mouth on you.”
She bites her lip, “You'll love it even more once you feel what I can do with it.”
Roger moans, palming himself over his briefs. “I'm so bloody hard right now. All because of that mouth of yours, you minx.”
Y/N whimpers, “What do you want me to do about it?”
Roger squeezes himself, hips canting up from the bed. “I can think of a few things, actually.”
She palms her breast, bra getting in the way and she quickly rids herself of it. “Yeah? Want to know how wet I am for you? Would you like me to touch myself? Let you hear as I moan your name?”
Roger's breath comes out in pants, hand slipping beneath the elastic of his briefs to grip his cock. “That'd be a great start.”
She smirks, loving how worked up he sounds. “Bet I can finish too.”
Roger laughs breathlessly, “Damn right you will, love.”
Her underwear is soaked, fingers itching to remove them and get some relief and her mouth works faster than her brain. “What are you doing right now?”
Roger swallows around the knot in his throat, “I'll give you three guesses.”
“What if I get it wrong?”
Roger smirks, “Don't find out.”
Y/N has always loved a challenge, “What it I want to?”
“It might involve you not getting to cum, so I'd think about it real hard.”
“Is that a hint, lover boy?”
Roger moans, finally slipping his cock out of his boxers and slowly starting to run his hand up and down his shaft.
“That sure was pretty, rockstar. Let me hear it again.”
“You first, love.” He pants, “Touch yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds I know you make.”
Y/N lets her hand slip past the band of her panties, fingers teasing herself as she slowly circles her clit. She moans, making Roger speed up his movements as he smirks. “So you can follow directions.”
She moans again, applying more pressure to her clit. “Only you for.”
Roger can’t get enough of the sounds coming from the phone. “You sound so sexy. I can’t wait to taste you baby.”
Y/N slides her finger lower, teasing her entrance as Roger continues speaking, “I’ve had some many dreams about you, baby. Dreamt about watching your face as you clench around my cock.”
Y/N moans loudly, the images in her head and the words spoken in her ear driving her mad. “Roger”, she whimpers, fingers sinking into her slick core, “want your cock in my mouth, Rog. Want to feel it against the back of my throat.”
Roger curses, hips bucking wildly as he pumps himself. “God, the sounds you make will be the death of me.” He closes his eyes, holding the receiver close to his ear to make sure he won’t miss a single sound, “I'm so hard baby. Leaking all over my hand.”
Roger swipes his thumb over the tip, gathering the precum and using it to aid his hand. “Wish it was your hand.”
Y/N whimpers, fingers pumping her heat faster and faster. “Feels so good, Roger. I need you so bad.”
Roger curses again, “How'd you want me, love? You want my face buried in your cunt? That make you feel good?” The more he speaks, the closer she gets to her release. “Or would you want me inside you? I'd fill you up so good, baby.”
It’s Y/N's turn to curse, closing her eyes as she pictures his blond hair between her thighs. “I bet you'd look beautiful between my legs, rockstar. I want you so bad. Need to feel every inch of you stretching me. Fuck, Rog.”
She lets out a pathetic whimper, phone held between her shoulder and ear so both her hands are free, one to tweak her pert nipple and the other rubbing her clit furiously. “So close.”
Roger places the receiver on his shoulder, using his now free to cup his balls as the other increases the speed of his strokes. “hat's right love, cum all over your pretty fingers. Let me hear you.”
His vision goes fuzzy, chest warm as he lets himself cum while listening to Y/N whimpers and moan his name as she orgasms.
Roger whimpers as he finally lets got of his cock, breath coming out unevenly. He can hear Y/N's own sounds reducing, breath steadying. Never in his life has he felt such a strong need for aftercare. Through the years, he'd humor the stranger in his bed, playing with their hair or kissing them before they finally left. He never saw the point in pretending that the night of passion they shared was going to lead anywhere but he wasn't a complete jackass.
For the first time in his life, Roger wishes he could hold this amazing girl in his arms, kiss her lips as she relaxes against him. Maybe even clean her up, if she'd let him.
“Rog?” her voice sounds tired yet satisfied, and it makes him smile.
Roger sighs, a smile on his face. “You have no idea! No more sharing a tour bus with those three wankers, I get to sleep in my own bed and eat food that isn't prepared in a restaurant or that comes in a take-out container.”
Y/N grins, putting a pillow behind her knees as she gets comfortable in the sofa, “Sounds like a dream.”
Roger hums, not completely agreeing. His dream is now something more domestic. “And the record label said we'll be in London for a while.”
The unsaid words hang in the air. Roger desperately wants to ask her to meet in person. They’ve been together for a bit over a year, speaking for almost three. If he’s honest with himself, he’s scared shitless. So much could go wrong and he needs her in his life.
“Oh.” Y/N isn’t sure on how to reply. She wants to meet him, hug him, see the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs or how cute his face is when he pouts. She’s scared but she knows she needs him in her life and it’s time she feels his arms around her. “Maybe we could grab a coffee?”
Roger grins, voice full of emotion. “Yeah? You sure you want to hang out with a rockstar?”
“You sure you want to hang out with a book worm?”
Roger laughs wetly, heart beating furiously in his chest. “I wouldn't want it any other way.”
—-—————————————————-
Every corner he turns, Roger can’t help but let his eyes drift over the crowded streets, searching for that familiar face. He keeps a hand in his pocket, thumbing over his photo of Y/N like a security blanket as he trails behind the rest of the boys. He unwraps another strawberry sweet, popping it in his mouth as Freddie grabs John's arm, leading them all into another women's clothing store.
Roger has been back in London for almost a month now, and both him and Y/N have yet to find the time or courage to meet in person. It’s an odd, nervous game each time he goes out now, like a "Where's Waldo" from hell. What if he’s right beside her and he doesn't even know it? He shakes the thought from his mind immediately: he would know her face anywhere.
“C’mon Rog,” John sigh, an arm wrapping around the drummer’s shoulders as Freddie digs through a rack of leather pants. He pulls a pair off the rack, holding them up to Brian but they fall about mid shin against his outrageously long legs, making the guitarist scrunch his nose in annoyance. “You’ll meet her soon enough, mate. You don't have to go searching every time you're out.”
The blond groans, letting his head fall back against his friend’s arm. “You have no idea how hard this is, John.”
The bassist frowns, “Sure I do. I've got a family. I miss 'em more than anything when I'm gone.”
Roger sighs as Deacy gives him a firm pat on the back. “But it's not the same, though. Yeah, you miss Veronica and the kids when we’re away but...but at least you know what it feels like to hold her. Kiss her... All I have is that one photo of her. You get to go home, to a house full of life and love. I went home to an empty flat.” His hand hovers over his coat pocket where said photo sat, tucked away.
Freddie gives a sympathetic look as he folds his arms over his chest. “It’s going to happen darling. You just have to be patient. The universe is waiting for just the right moment to spring her on you!” He winks, grinning brightly.
Roger rolls his eyes, “Fuck the universe.” He doesn’t care if he sounds like a child. He’s waited long enough. “It's been three bloody years. I'm tired of waiting.”
Brian smiled softly, “I'm sure she’s just as eager as you are, Rog.”
Roger wanders outside the shop, tired of their optimism. He just wants to meet the girl of his dreams. Is that too much to ask for? He ends up flipping through a little rack of postcards set up next to the door. He chuckles to himself, trying to figure out how funny it would be if he sends Y/N a 'London' one.
He pulls her photo out of his pocket, admiring it as his eyes wander about the crowd. He knows he'd recognize her in an instant. The moment he sees her, there will be not doubt in his mind. No other smile in a crowd of people could be as bright as hers. He’s so busy people watching that he barely notices it, tucked away on the street corner.
Author’s attic.
He freezes, heart speeding like a train as his eyes fixate on the store on the opposite side of the road. It’s a quaint little shop. Vines climb up the side of it, nearly obscuring the sign. It'd clearly been painted ages ago and cracks had long since riddled the letters. Roger feels like he can’t move a single muscle. It can’t be that simple, can it?
Roger pays the boys no concern, abandoning them in the shop as he forces his feet to move from their spot glued to the pavement. He stumbles across the street, eyes locked on the store as his heart sits in his throat.
Please, let this be the right place.
A small bell chimes as he allows the door to close behind him. The place is exactly the way he'd imagined: books lining every available surface, books piled by the register, books stacked beneath a potted plant. There are even books arranged beside a small armchair under the front window. It smells of coffee and old paper, and it feels welcoming and homey.
“I’ll be right with you!”
Roger feels like he’s stopped breathing: he would recognize that voice anywhere. Tears gloss his eyes, his hand trembles as he reaches into his pocket, fingers grazing over his worn picture of her.
He turns towards her when she buzzes into the main room, arms full of thick story books.
“Sorry to keep you waiting!” She chirps, eyes not leaving her work as she flits around her desk, putting things in their right place. “Things have been so busy around here lately.” She chuckles, “I've barely been able to keep my own head on my shoulders!”
He watches her with a smile, tears threatening to fall. He blinks them back quickly, refusing to let her see him cry. His throat tightens with emotion and he can feel his palms starting to sweat. He wants to say something suave, something that’ll make him sound poetic and well-educated. Something that won’t make him sound like the love-struck idiot he is, but his mind seems to only hold her name. “Y/N...”
She turns around so fast he fears she might get whiplashed. Her eyes are wide as she meets his blue ones. The room spins for a second, and she can't quite tell if she’s imagining it or if it’s real. Her rockstar. Home after all this time. Seeing him here, in her world of books, with his messy blonde locks. He’s even prettier than any photo she’s ever seen.
His name is a breath on her lips, “Roger.”
She drops the books in her arms to the side, stumbling over her own feet as she runs to him, falling into his arms. She presses her face against his neck, her arms lock tightly around his shoulders. She can’t even try to contain the sobs that wrack her body. He smells of cigarettes and wood. He smells like home.
Roger can't believe how perfectly she fits in his arms; how normal it feels. He wraps an arm around her waist while his other hand buries in her hair, crushing her tightly against him. Her hair smells amazing, something sweet he can't quite place.
He sniffles, kissing the crown of her head as tears stream down his cheeks. His voice is weak and pitiful when he speaks, “It's so nice to finally hold you.”
Y/N gives a watery laugh, lips pressed against the warm skin of his neck. “You're home.”
Roger moves his hand down to the nape of her neck, making her pull back to look at him as he moves his hands to cradled her cheeks. Never had he seen such beautiful eyes, so expressive and full of love. Roger's thumb grazes her cheek, soothingly. His voice’s barely a whisper. “Knew I was right. You're the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on.”
Y/N laughs, head thrown back. She kisses his cheek, making him grin like a child on Christmas morning. “You're so beautiful, Rog.” She admires him, tucking some hair behind his ears. “Don't even need muscles.”
He tickles her sides, and she giggles, nose scrunching as he pulls her close again. Her laughter trails off as he smiles down at her, forehead resting against hers. He feels her hand rest on his chest, right above his heart as she clutches his shirt.
His eyes linger on her lips before locking with hers again. Her breath stalls. Roger is slow in cradling her face, indulging in her as he runs his thumb over her skin. His hand drops to hold the back of her head, tilting her into him as her nose nudges against his. Their lips graze.
A bell rings.
They jump apart, heads turning to the door to find his three friends staring at them. Brian and Deacy’s eyes are wide with shock and confusion: they turn their backs on Roger for five minutes and here he is, nearly making out with a store clerk after bitching about not being able to meet the girl he loves. Freddie just looks amused.
Roger groans, failing to hide the smile on his face. “God damnit Brian! Why do you always have to ruin everything?!”
Y/N burst out laughing, her head lulling back as Roger's hands holds her hips. Once she cracks, he can't hold back his laughter any longer, her smile infectious. His grin widens at Brian's confused expression. Freddie gives them a knowing smile, waiting to see if Brian could figure it out.
The singer knew who she was the moment he'd seen the two: Roger's protective stance, the starry-eyed look he has in his eyes, the way they are so comfortable with each other. It’s more than enough to hint at the girl's identity. Not to mention that he'd seen Roger fall asleep on the tour bus couch multiple times, still clutching her photo in his hand.
Freddie glances at Brian, chuckling as he decides Brian wasn't getting any smarter about the situation. The singer takes a step forward, lifting his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose. He gives Roger a wink, “So this is the girl you love?”
Roger goes red as Brian's eyes light up with realization, a grin on his face as Freddie smiles knowingly. “What did I tell you, darling? Trust the universe.”
Roger rolls his eyes, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up in a smile.
Brian finally pipes up, “Wait a second, so you're –”
“The actress trying to get in to your best friend's wallet.” She gives an amused smirk, extending her hand to shake his. “It's a pleasure.”
Brian blushes. Honestly, he had hoped that when they finally met, she wouldn't bring up the horrible things he had said to her. Without making eye contact, he timidly shakes her hand, “It's nice to meet you. Again, I want to apologize fo –”.
Brian feels two slender hands rest on his cheeks. He slowly lifts his eyes, meeting hers.
Y/N wears a kind smile on her lips as she speaks, “I'm just teasing. It's all good, Brian. You were just trying to be a good friend.”
The guitarist nods, unsure in his smile as Roger wraps his arm around her waist once again, pulling her towards his body. Brian observes how connected the two seemed to be: their movements are almost synchronized, and although they had just met in person, they somehow work perfectly together, like a couple who had grown up together.
John smiles at the group, “As much as I would love to get to know you, I think it's best to leave you and Roger alone for a bit. You deserve some time to get acquainted.”
Roger grins, kissing Y/N's temple. The girl smiles, her hands resting on the drummer's. “I like that idea. Rog, want to grab that coffee?”
----------------------------------------
“Sorry for the mess Rog! I didn't think I'd be having any visitors today.” Y/N bites her lips as she moves around the messy living room, trying to clean up a bit but Roger wraps his arms around her from behind, making her stand straight. He gently moves her hair to the side, placing a gentle kiss where her neck meets her shoulder.
“I don't care about the mess,” his voice is as soft as his touch, “All I care about is being here, with you.” Y/N hums, relaxing in his arms with her eyes closed as she enjoys the warmth emanating from his body. “It's all I've cared about for a while.”
Roger chuckles, content to stay like this forever. He can’t get enough of her. Her smile, her hands on his, her smell filling his nostrils. If this is a dream, he never wants to wake.
“Did you really keep all the post cards I sent you?” Roger isn't sure why he asked, but he needs to know if those pieces of cardboard were just as important to her as they are to him.
Y/N nods, gently taking one of his hands in hers and silently makes her way through the flat. The drummer lets his eyes wander, taking in as much as he can. She leads him to her bedroom and it feels oddly reassuring to be here. He had imagined this room so many times; he had pictured her laying on that same bed so many times, playing with her hair as she talked to him.
It's surreal. It’s almost exactly like he imagined it to be in his head: soft and warm and homey. He loves it. Every inch of it screams her name. It’s cozy. A big patterned rug covered the wooden floor, and her bed’s made up with a pretty knitted blanket. And there, right above the bed, hangs a little bulletin board, holding every post card he'd ever sent her.
She smiles as she watches him wander around her room, a grin on his face. She stops herself from apologizing for the mess once again, as she moves to her bed to remove some papers and books from it.
Roger runs his index finger over the leather-bound spines of the books lining the few shelves on her walls. She must have hundreds. Her walls are lined with them and still, she doesn't have enough room for them all.
Roger pulls a small red one from the bedside table. The Velveteen Rabbit. He smiles a little to himself, flipping through the brightly illustrated pages. Y/N walks over to him, arms wrapping around his middle from behind as she kisses his shoulder before resting her head against it.
“My mum used to read this to me all the time, especially when I was sad.” He mumbles quietly, stopping on a drawing of the little boy holding the plush rabbit. “It was my favorite.”
Y/N's heart grows a few sizes at the image of a young Roger seated in his mother's lap as she read to him.
Roger's heart stutters as he flips through the pages, recounting the story of the little plush bunny, turned real by love. A knot forms in his throat as he admires the book's last illustration: the rabbit, sitting by a raspberry bush in the little boy's garden, visiting the one who had brought him to life.
Y/N feels Roger stiffen a little, and she meets his glossy eyes as he turns in her arms, “What's wrong, rockstar?”
Roger laughs breathlessly, her gentle touch calming him immensely. “Nothing. It's just...” He shakes his head a little, refusing to let his voice go watery. “It's just that I never really got it until now.”
Confusion knits her brow, “Got what?”
Roger smiles a little, looking back down at the book and then at the girl holding him. “I guess...well...Sometimes it takes being loved by someone to finally make you feel alive.”
Y/N's heart feels full of so much love she doesn’t know what to do with it. She stands there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She does the only thing she feels she can do: she tightens her arms around his waist, giving him the biggest, warmest hug, he'd ever received. His arms wrap around her, stroking up and down her back.
“I love you.” Roger whispers against her ear. It feels amazing to be able to tell her as he holds her in his arms.
“I love you too.”
Their foreheads meet as Roger's nose nudges hers, heat building slowly between them. Y/N takes a little step backwards, knowing if she inches any closer, she'd want to jump his bones more than she already does.
Roger smirks, taking a step forward. She goes a bit breathless, smiling playfully as she takes another step back, only for her back to be pressed flush against her bookcase.
He chuckles, toying with a loose strand of her hair. “Caught you.”
Y/N tries to steady her breathing as his hand cradle her face. He runs his thumb over her lower lip. “What're you going to do now?”
Her eyes trail to his lips subconsciously, “I'm going to wait for you to kiss me, rockstar.”
He grins, pressing into her. He thinks back to that night he first called her. He thinks over every moment he had been so desperate to hold her in his arms.
The moment he kisses her, Roger is brought to life.
Her lips are softer than anyone's he'd ever kissed before. The kiss is gentle, her hand moving to cradle Roger's face as they melt into one another. He tastes of sweets.
Her skin smells of cinnamon and it reminds him of the tea Freddie would drink in the morning.
Roger inhales the sweet, spicy scent as he deepens the kiss. Her fingers laced in his hair, soft and fine between her fingers, and he hums a moan against a sensitive spot below her ear, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.
Y/N feels overwhelmed in the best way. This is what she had craved for over two years and now that it’s finally happening, she’s afraid she won't be able to commit to memory all the feelings. Roger's lips moving against her own, the rapid beating of their hears. The feeling of his breath on her neck as he lays gentle kisses on it. It’s enough to make her mind spin.
She lets his hands grip her thigh tightly as she gives in to the urge to grind against him. He refuses to let his hands leave her body: some small part of him still afraid she'll disappear at any moment.
Roger pulls her closer, keeping an arm against the wall as he grabs at her ass, rutting against her clothed heat. She lets out a whine, thoroughly enjoying the friction as wetness pools between her legs.
Y/N wants more. Craves it. Needs his hands all over her. Needs his red-stained tongue against every inch of her body. She pulls away from his lips, panting as he drags his eyes over the curve of her hips and breasts. He takes one step back, eyes locking with hers as he pulls his shirt off. Her eyes roam his chest, mouth still ajar as she tries to catch her breath. He holds her loosely in his arms, pecking her lips. He will never get enough of her sweet taste. Roger will never get enough of her.
“Rog, I...” Y/N fumbles over her words. “I...” She needs him to know. She needs him to know how much she loves him. She needs him to know how uncomfortably wet her panties are becoming. He chuckles, meeting her eyes, as she tries to remember English. Roger feels a thread of concern build in his chest. Has he made her nervous? Has he gone to far?
He presses a sweet kiss on her forehead, “What's wrong, love?”
Timidly, she takes a step away from the bookshelf, moving so that Roger is now the one with his back to it. His brow quirks with confusion. Her eyes are locked with his, cheeks flushed and hair messy. Roger swallows thickly, heart racing in his chest as he watches her slowly drop to her knees in front of him.
Her hands tremble as she unbuttons his jeans, tugging down the zipper and pulling them down off his hips. Roger has to force himself to grab her wrists, pausing her movements. “You sure?”
Y/N doesn't say a word. Instead, her eyes stay locked with his as she leans forward, mouthing at his cock through his boxers. Roger gives a whimper, his hand lacing in her hair as his head tips back against the wall. He curses under his breath at the feeling of her hot mouth on his cock.
Roger has been sucked off before. In fact, Roger has been sucked off a lot, but never once has it ever felt as good as it does right now and he isn't sure if it’s because he’s in love with her, and he's been dreaming of seeing her pretty lips around his cock for months now, or if it’s the way she’s taking him into the back of her throat, dragging her tongue over his shaft, but he can barely remember his own name. He knows e should be embarrassed by the sounds passing his lips, but he can't find it in himself to care.
Roger hadn't even realized how long it'd been since he'd had physical sex with someone. He'd forgotten how good it could feel.
He whines her name hoarsely, his fingers itching to be against her skin. “Y/N, you've got to stop, love. I won't last.”
He watches as she pulls off of him, kissing the head of his cock one last time before Roger pulls her up to meet his lips again. He has her on the bed in seconds, nearly tripping as he finishes shedding his jeans and boxers. He mounts her, wasting no time in grabbing the waist band of her pants and pulling them down over her ass, taking her panties with them. He wants to tease her. He really does but the moment he sees her cunt, all soaked and ready for him, he loses all coherent thoughts.
Her jaw drops open, seeing stars as he flattens his tongue, dragging up slowly over her sensitive folds. His mouth is hot and wet against her as he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking it expertly as her back arches off the mattress.
Roger has never been more grateful that he’s experienced. It’s as if every girl he's ever been with, had been a practice run for Y/N. He knows where to suck, where to prod and lick and devour to make her squirm and buck into his mouth. He watches her face intently as she moans and ruts against his face, the arousal from her inner thighs smearing across his cheeks. He loops his arms around her thighs, her hands clutching the bed sheet like a vice. She gasps loudly as he shoves his tongue inside her, fucking her with it as he explores the inside of her hole. She cries out, head pressing into her pillow as her legs start trembling. He can feel her clit throbbing as he returns his mouth to it, pushing two fingers inside her to replace his tongue. She screams hoarsely, and Roger smirks against her heat as he fucks her harder, crooking his fingers inside her.
“Roger, I'm cumming. Don't stop, Rog, please don't stop!” She gasps, hips rolling as she rides his face, a numbing, warm pleasure washing over her. She gives a breathy sob as Roger works her through her high with his fingers, face still buried in her cunt.
She squirms beneath him as she grows sensitive, overstimulation setting in. She whines as he presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing circles over it as he sucks at her folds. “R-Rog you can stop –”. She whimpers as he hums in response, continuing his tongue's assault on her pussy.
“Rog...” She groans again, her hips settling as the discomfort begins to melt into pleasure. God, she’s so sensitive. It’s so much. So much at once. How is she already this close? Roger chuckles against her, watching her face as his lips finds her clit again. She lets out a high-pitched moan as the pleasure begins to build again, warmth tingling till the tips of her toes. The fire in her belly increases and she grips his hair tightly as she comes on his tongue again with a silent scream. He brings her back to earth, resting his chin against her stomach as she finds her bearings, cheeks pink and chest heaving.
“Want to go again?” Smug bastard.
Y/N fights to catch her breath, “Jesus, Rog, if you go again, you'll bloody kill me.”
Roger laughs, crawling up to meet her lips. She groans, tasting herself against his tongue. “Taste like fucking candy, don't you?” His voice is thick with lust.
Y/N peels off her shirt, leaving her wearing nothing but a thin bra. Roger hooks his finger under one of the straps, pulling it down so that he can roll her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making her moan and arch into his touch.
Y/N wraps her hand around his cock, pumping him slowly and Roger curses, eyes rolling back as he grinds against her hand. His name slips from his lips breathlessly. Heat bubbles in Roger's veins and without a second thought, he rips her bra down the center, exposing her tits. Y/N gasps at the sudden movement, breasts heaving as Roger kneads one in his palm, mouthing at the other. She barely notices his other hand sinking lower until he has two fingers pressed up inside of her.
Y/N whines, sobbing breathlessly as he fingers her. She’s wet and tight around his fingers, clenching as he hits her g-spot with ever movement of his talented fingers. Roger groans, the idea of his cock buried inside her nearly bringing him over the edge.
“I love you.” She moans, his name like a prayer falling from her kiss-bruised lips.
Roger curses, cock twitching in her hand at the wet sounds her cunt makes against his knuckles. He nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck, sucking dark bruises into her skin.
“I need to be inside you.” His voice is desperate and hoarse. “Please, I need to fuck you.” He’s desperate with the need to be buried inside of her, to be connected totally and completely.
Y/N pulls his face up to hers so she crashes her lips to his, cradling his face as he kissed her desperately.
“Ruin me.” She whispers, hands tangled in his hair.
Roger has to grip his cock roughly to stop himself from cumming. He whimpers, lining himself up with her entrance. Y/N cries out as he sinks into her.
“Tight fucking cunt. Shit.” Roger groans into her neck. “Love you so fucking much.”
Tears of emotion well in her eyes. “I love you too.”
Y/N’s breath comes up in short pants, back arching as pleasure flows through her body. “I love you, Rog. You feel so good inside me, baby.”
Y/N bucks into him as he fucks her, the head of his cock hitting her sweet spot with every smack of his hipbones against hers. His left hand finds hers, fingers lacing between her own. He squeezes her hand lovingly, thrusting harder against her. His eyes stay locked with hers as he kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips. “My gorgeous girl.”
He moans as her free hand finds his hair. “You fuck me so good, Rog. Oh god.”
She can feel him throbbing inside her as he watches himself disappear inside of her again and again. Tears stream down Y/N's face, “I'm close Rog.” Her eyes screw shut with pleasure.
“No, look at me, baby. Look at me while you cum. I want to watch you cum on my cock,” He kisses her jaw, releasing her hand so that he can rub her swollen clit, “I've got you, sweetheart. Cum. Cum for me.”
Y/N's eyes lock with his as her body trembles, her stomach pulsing with heat and pleasure as wave after wave of bliss overwhelm her. She sobs hoarsely, clenching around him again and again.
Roger buries his face in the crook of her neck as she tightens around him, letting her pull him over the edge with her. He whimpers into her neck, biting at it to muffle his moans as he spills inside her. Her legs wrap around his hips, heels pressing into his lower back as he relaxes against her, trembling. He kisses her long and hard, emotions pouring through the simple contact.
Y/N's leg go lax, releasing Roger from her grasp but as he tries to get out of bed, she latches onto his arm, forcing him to lay on his back so she can rest her head against his chest, legs tangling with his.
Roger smiles fondly down at her, an arm behind his head as the other wraps around her shoulders, pulling her as close as he possibly can. “I was going to grab a wash cloth to clean you up, but I think you may have other ideas.”
YN nods, placing a gently kiss over his heart. She turns her face upwards, eyes drinking him in. “I just got you, I don't want you going anywhere so soon. Sheets can be washed and we can shower later. I need this moment with you.”
Roger has never felt so happy or content his whole life. He places the hand under his head on her cheek, urging her to move her face closer to his. He closes his eyes as he gently places a kiss to her swollen lips, feeling completely at peace.
Roger never believed in fate or in soulmates. Not until he met Y/N. It had been Fate that had given him her number, it had been their destiny to meet and fall in love. She completes him, understands him and his crazy lifestyle like no one ever could. He wants this moment to last forever.
Roger wants to wake up everyday beside Y/N, kiss her whenever he wants. He wants to see her in the crowd of every single one of his shows. He wants to be the one she calls when she needs help moving around books or shelves in her store.
Roger wants a life with Y/N.
“Marry me.” He wants to spend the rest of his life getting to know every single facet of her body and soul.
“What?” her heart had just returned to normal and now it’s beating erratically again, eyes wide as saucers as she looks at his angelic face.
“Marry me.” There’s no doubt in his mind that this is what he needs to bet truly happy for the rest of his days. “It doesn't have to happen right away. You're it for me. There will never be anyone else. You're the love of my life, Y/N. I want to spend every waking and sleeping moment with you.”
“Ok.”
Nothing about their relationship has been normal. Not the way they met or how they fell in love. She never wants to spend another moment away from him.
their first day in pre-school ❤️❤️❤️ packed their bag with dino nuggies and celery ❤️❤️❤️ i hope the teacher has quick reflexes ❤️❤️❤️ because they bite ❤️❤️❤️ and they have rabies ❤️❤️❤️
SUMMARY: When your meddling sister takes the liberty of mailing one of your hidden love letters, it’s just your luck that he doesn’t receive it. Though his pesky little brother does instead. And he’s hellbent on playing cupid.
WORD COUNT: 14, 385
Dearest Noel,
The first time I saw you, I was pretty sure my heart fully stopped. I had liked other guys before you, had written them letters like these as well. But none of them made me feel like you did. What was once just a flutter of my stomach turned into a roar, hard to ignore. Which is why I’m writing this, in the hopes that putting pen to paper would make me feel less like this feeling would eat me alive.
Not that you’ll ever read this, mind.
It all started when I was thirteen years old, biking around the council estates when I saw you walking back to your home, wearing a blue jumper and carrying groceries in your arms. I just about fell down to the pavement at the sight of you. I didn’t have the guts to ring my bell at you or smile at you or even ask for your name. It wasn’t until a week later when I saw you again that I knew your name. Noel. Your little brother had been yelling it at the top of his lungs at the park, it was quite hard to miss, yet I do thank him for somehow introducing you to me by way of his tantrums.
Since then, you’ve always been in my periphery. And steadily, you began to notice me. Just in tiny ways; nodding your head at me when I passed, picking up my stack of books when they got too heavy on my walk home, staying with me at the bus station so I wasn’t alone late at night. You’ve always been kind to me, courteous, I would even say. And that made me fall even harder for you.
I know you don’t see me in the same light. How could you? I’m just your younger neighbor that likes to knock on your door to give cookies. You are kind to me because that’s just the kind of man you are, not because you like me like I like you. And that’s what pains me the most.
I hope I never lose you in my life. You are a light, Noel Gallagher, and I hope you know that.
Love,
Your silly neighbor
***
You had always worn your heart on your sleeve. It was most likely a byproduct of the cheap paperback romance novels you loved reading, but you were a lover at heart; you loved giving your friends their favorite baked goods, you loved watching romantic comedies that made you swoon, you loved taking pictures to keep in your glitter-filled scrapbook, and you loved writing letters you’ll never send. You loved finding love everywhere in your life.
Maybe a little bit too much.
“Hey!” Amy called out from where she was biking right next to you. “Hellooooo?” she singsonged. From the tinge of exasperation in her tone, you could already tell that you’ve done it again. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop daydreaming while on the way to work?”
You shot her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” you said, inconspicuosly trying to pedal faster to avoid the impending lecture.
Your efforts to cycle quickly away were in vain. “I swear, one day you’ll bump headfirst into a pole and there’d be nothing any of us could do about it!” she huffed in frustration, pedaling her bike closer to you to lightly shove at you.
You wobbled. “Careful!!” You took one hand off the handlebar and swatted at her. She rolled her eyes and dodged it easily.
“What were you even daydreaming about this time?” she said wryly, already exasperated by your antics. Her face took on a teasing look that you dreaded as she cooed, “Was it Noel Gallagher?” she giggled, too loudly for your taste.
You whipped your head around all directions before scolding her. “Amy!” you say, affronted. “Shhhhh!”
She only laughs in response, a bellowing thing that echoes down the streets of Burnage. You redden in embarrassment. “I swear,” she says, still chuckling under her breath. “All this daydreaming, yet still no action. Your love life’s drier than the Sahara.”
You grumble something unintelligible under your breath.
Amy forges on. “You’re gonna have to make a move,” she says, urging. You’ve heard this spiel many times now, and not just with your infatuation with Noel. Amy’s said it when you first started having a crush on Samuel from your class, when you hid behind your hair whenever you saw Gary deliver your eggs to your house, the time when you liked Jonathan from the park so much that you couldn’t even look him in the eye. Amy’s always been in your ear telling you do something about your crushes. You’ve always just stared her down and told her you were content with loving them from afar.
You didn’t quite know if you were saying a lie when you said that then.
You sighed. “Yes, Amy,” you say frustratedly, legs pedaling faster and faster. Amy matches your pace much to your dismay. “I get it.”
Amy tears out a ragged breath beside you. “I don’t think you do, kid,” she declares. “It’s been how long since you’ve liked Noel?” she prompts.
You frown. She knows very well how long you’ve liked Noel. You grumble your response, “Two years.”
“Two years!” she shouts into the nearly empty street. You shake your head at her dramatics. “Two years and still no progress.”
“Who says there has to be progress?” you shot back. “Just because I like him doesn’t mean something has to happen.”
Amy gives you a flat look. “I can see you’ve convinced yourself of that,” she says flatly, the mild ire coating her tone prompting you to frown. “Just … try?”
You huff. “Try what?” you ask petulantly.
She shakes her head, a motion that was more for herself than for you. “I can feel that big things are coming, kid,” she says, gaze now back on the road. “And I’m gonna need you to try and ride the wave, yeah?”
You wrinkle your brow in confusion. “Well, that’s not cryptic at all, Amy. Thanks,” you quip drily.
Amy gives a half smile and kicks at your pedals, careful not to do any real damage. “After all I do for you,” she grumbles, but the upturn of her lips tells a different story.
You smile at her. Amy truly did so much for you. “Diner’s just up ahead,” you told her. “You gonna be okay without me?”
Amy was still chortling by the time that you veered into the diner’s parking lot and chained your bike to the post, Amy continuing onto the main road to get to her own job at the pharmacy a couple blocks ahead.
Sweetheart’s Diner was an old Manchester relic. Maintaining much of its original 50s charm, it’s a cultural staple that has been in the neighborhood for as long as anyone can remember. Everyone has a memory from Sweetheart’s — for you, it was the taste of their strawberry milkshake on that one summer day after your parents had saved up enough money to get you your own bicycle.
That was your first taste of freedom.
You had always just borrowed Amy’s bike from her when she allowed you to. But she was strict with how long you could have it for and where you could take it. She claimed that the diner was too far away for you to bring her bike, so you stuck to just pedaling around the estates like a clown on a unicycle.
But on your twelfth birthday, your father had brought home a bicycle, not exactly brand new like Jessica Bailey’s cobalt blue bike, but not beat up like Cyrus McConnell’s scuffed up monstrosity. It was pale pink with a matching pink bell on the handlebars, a seat that you suspected your father had reupholstered himself, a few faded stickers that hadn’t quite been scraped away, and dent marks in a few places. But you didn’t mind its imperfections, your eyes locked into the bike and you instantly knew that it was yours.
The first place you went to that afternoon was Sweetheart’s where Mrs. Pillock, the original owner’s grandaughter (or great-grandauhter, or great-great grandaughter — no one quite knew how old this woman was) had spotted your beaming smile and sold you a strawberry milkshake at half price.
“Not for free,” she said sternly, though it felt less like being scolded and more like a maternal lecture. You smiled up at her, straw in your mouth. “Because nothin’s for free, yeah, hon?”
You giggled then, high off having the wind in your hair, the solid feeling of your own pedals on your feet, the sound of the bell chiming in the bright afternoon. That’s what you remember from Sweetheart’s the most, the freedom.
It wasn’t a hard choice to apply to be a waitress at Sweetheart’s for the meantime. After all, a uni scholarship only paid a certain amount of bills, and you needed to cover your half of it. So you walked up to Mrs. Pillock, handed her your resume, to which she snorted and hired you on the spot.
“You didn’t even look!” you protested.
“Don’t need to, kid,” she said roughly. “You start on Monday, yeah? You’re on the day shift.”
You’ve been donning the Sweetheart’s frilly pink waitress apron since then.
It wasn’t horrible, all things considered. The days were busy, but it was miles better than the night shift, or worse, the graveyard shift. Working in a twenty-four hour diner in Manchester has its ups and downs, and you were glad that you were on the up of it all. You served customers with a smile, Mrs. Pillock dealt with the rude customers with efficiency, Asa the cook set aside enough food scraps for all the waitresses and baristas that they could be considered as full meals, and Noel Gallagher tended to buy two bacon butties on his home from work every Friday, an hour before your shift ended.
It was always a great pick-me up in the end of your week. Your bones would set in with a tiredness that you can’t seem to shake, your smile would begin to turn less and less genuine with each passing hour, and your wrist would ache something fierce everytime you carried a whole tray of orders. It’s always been just much of the same.
Though this Friday, it was a different face you were met with.
You had just finished serving a table full of old ladies playing cards on a corner booth, their cooing over your appearance still ringing in your ears when he walked in.
The shaggy cut of his hair was unmistakable, though you were quite sure that you’ve seen the shirt he’s wearing on Noel once. His blue eyes were drooping slightly as he scanned the neon signs displayed on the far wall by the entrance, and his fingers tapped a beat similar to the Elvis song playing on the old jukebox. He was unmistakable in his unbothered stance, the swagger of his walk, and the way that he lifted his chin just so — like he knew how good he looked and wasn’t above putting it to good use.
Liam Gallagher was trouble. Everybody who knew him knew that. Hell, just a few years back, you remember your mam telling you about how Liam was rushed into the hospital with a cracked skull from a hammer. Poor lad, she had lamented.
He was loud, he was obnoxious, he was annoying, he was irritating, he once almost ran you over while driving his mate’s motorcycle, and he was …
Holding a suspiciously familiar stack of envelopes in his hand?
Your heart dropped to your stomach.
“Fuck,” you whispered harshly, eyes wide at the impossible sight in front of you.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fridays were for the old ladies playing bridge, the single mom who took her young son for a vanilla cherry coke after footie practice, the couple who ordered waffles in the early part of your shift, the little girl who spends her allowance on a banana split, and Noel Gallagher coming home from the construction site to buy his bacon butties. That’s what Fridays were more or less about — there was a balance to the world with Fridays at Sweetheart’s and Liam Gallagher was not about to ruin it.
Amy’s words from this morning echoed dully in your head as your heart began to race where it had migrated to your stomach. I can feel that big things are coming, kid. And I’m gonna need you to try and ride the wave, yeah? You grit your teeth and cursed her. Of course, she’d do this. Who else knew about those letters? Who else was annoyed enough at you to mail them to their supposed recipient? Who else had the balls to drop the letter in the Gallagher’s letterbox, unafraid of the consequences she might face.
“Y’alright, kid?” Maria, a waitress you were on shift with saddled close to you, her brows knit in concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Looking at Liam Gallagher, a stack of frilly love letters in his hand, you feel like you’re seeing worse. “I just —” you stutter, not taking your eyes off Liam who got sidetracked by the jukebox and was now rummaging in his wallet for some loose change.
Maria turns to see what’s got you looking so shell shocked and cocks her head at the sight of Liam. “Ex-boyfriend of yours?”
“What? No!” you protest indignantly, a bit too loudly that Maria raises a brow and Liam turns to see the commotion. You hiss, backing away from the counter slowly as he prowls your way. You send Maria a pleading look. “Just stuff from the neighborhood!” you tried to reassure her shakily.
“Uh huh,” she says, unimpressed.
You pout. “Maria, it’s nothing serious,” you say, the distance between the two of you growing as you begin to slowly back yourself towards the staff exit. “But I’m going to need you to cover me for the last hour of my shift.”
She sighs, deep and fond. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says warningly as she marches to the time clock and punches you out early.
That’s all you need, you see Liam finally at the counter trying to get Maria’s attention but you’re already gone, past the kitchens where you loudly bid Asa goodbye. You didn’t even hear his response as you shouldered the heavy door open and ran to your chained bike.
The bell above the diner rings as a customer steps out, your hands shake where they try to find your lock key in your pocket. “Oi!” Liam calls out to you. “Neighbor girl! Yoo-hoo! Wait up!” he calls out as he makes his way down the tiled steps, smiling jovially at you as his hands grip the unmistakable envelopes that contains your bare heart.
There was no way that you were going to have that conversation with Liam Gallagher of all people. Hell, there was no way that you were going to have that conversation at all! No one was supposed to see those letters in the first place.
You curse as he gets closer, the key not anywhere near to being found. In a desperate bid for escape, you search your surroundings and your eyes quickly alight as they catch sight of a pale blue bike with a scuffed up handlebar.
“Aye, lover girl! Slow down!” Liam calls, seconds away from you, his scuffed up trainers making quick work of the distance.
Your heart beats unnaturally fast in your ribcage, your palms sweat as you wipe them down on the frilly apron you forgot to take off before leaving, and you ask for silent forgiveness as you take hold of the bike’s handlebars and swing yourself on top of the seat.
You left Liam Gallagher in the dust, pedalling hard enough for you to be panting like a dog seconds in. It wasn’t until you had made it to your neighborhood that you saw the initials etched on the bike.
LG
Amazing. Absolutely top. The day started out well enough, it had been too chilly for you to wear your favorite skirt, but you thought your misfortunes would end there. Amy had given the last of the milk up to you for cereal, she had given up the first shower, and she didn’t even rush you when you insisted on finishing the lasat chapter of your book before leaving. Amy had been gracious and generous the entire morning and you were blissfully unaware that she was hiding an ace up her sleeve.
You really should have known. The moment that you accidentally let the existence of those letters slip, you should have already burnt them. Because of course, Amy, the all-action go-getter that she is, would take matters into her own hands.
You pedaled faster, a bit unused to the unbalanced way that Liam’s shoddy bike tipped to one side. Your hair whipped around your face as you let out a quiet shriek of embarrassment. Had Noel read your letters and sent Liam to come reject you because he couldn’t do it himself? Had Amy mailed out all of your letters? Did Liam find your heartfelt scribbles to his brother so amusing that he showed it to all his dodgy mates?
You could cry with frustration, trying to ransack your brain for every line and ever sentence that could be deemed incriminating in those letters. You sighed as you realized that they were all quite incriminating.
You make it back home to the estates at a record time, pausing by the Gallagher’s home with your head cocked as you watched for any sign of life. When there isn’t a creak or cough to be heard from the inside you look quickly to the side to see if anyone’s watching as you haul Liam’s bike over your shoulders, wincing in pain at the heaviness. You attempt to get it over their wooden fence and into their yard safely without any knuckleheads attempting to steal Liam’s bike. After all, that was not a crime you would like to be pinned onto you.
For the next five or so minutes, you spend your time with Liam’s bike over your shoulders, trying to make it go over, but instead having it fall with a loud clang everytime it fell on the pavement at your feet instead.
A door creaks open, a head pops out to see you still panting, “You alright over there, dear?” Liam’s kind neighbor, Doris, had her glasses perched on her nose and her hand clutching a pack of biscuits. You smile and wave at her, trying to look like you weren’t returning Liam’s stolen bike.
“Peachy, Eden! Absolutely swell!” you say, voice cracking as you shot her a thumbs up.
She smiled warmly at you. “It’s nice to see those Gallagher boys finally having a good egg like you around them,” she said before closing the door and leaving you to your own devices.
You huff, bending down to a squat and lifting the bike above your shoulders before finally tipping it over with a loud crash. “Shoot,” you mumbled at the sound. “Hope I didn’t break that.”
Then you run. In hindisight, it was quite stupid. There was no one but little kids and old people milling about the streets and the Gallaghers weren’t even home to watch your numerous attempts at getting their youngest’s bike in their property. Your hands were stained from where the bike scuffed as you lifted it, you were pretty sure there were some marks on your face as wel, but you were determined to get home.
You ran down the street, into your yard where Amy’s bike was already parked, ripped the front door open and dashed up the stairs into your room. You didn’t yell for Amy yet, no, you needed to be sure. You got down on your knees on the shaggy pale pink carpet of your bedroom and lifted up your bedskirt to rummage for the old hatbox that had your letters.
A swift count of them revealed that there were seven letters missing. It was no coincidence that you wrote seven letters to Noel Gallagher. You grit your teeth.
“Amy!” you screeched, pushing yourself off the floor and nearly taking out your bedroom door from the hinges as you crossed the space between your bedroom and hers. “Amy, I can’t believe you did that!” you screeched, walking into her room and finding her smiling at you sheepishly.
“Hey,” she greets, turning in her swivel chair to greet you. The nerve.
You march up to her, looking down at her from where you stood as you stomped your foot. “You sent my letters.”
“Not all of them,” she said plainly. “Just all of Noel’s.”
“Why?” you grit out, frustrated at her lack of understanding of the situation.
She shrugged, you smacked her arm hard enough for her to protest. “Because you weren’t going to do anythin’ about it!” she exclaimed, still rubbing her arm. “You weren’t goin’ to send them!”
You groaned, stepping away from her and falling back into her bed. “They weren’t meant to be sent,”” you cry, putting your hands up to your face to hide in them.
Amy sighed. “Then were they meant to sit in that ugly old hatbox of yours forever?”
You took your hands away from her face to glare at her icily. “Yes,” you said emphatically. “And my hatbox is not ugly!”
You feel the bed dip beside you as Amy sinks and lies down right next to you. You cross your arms petulantly as she turns her head to look at you. “To each their own,” she muses. “But about those letters … kid, y’know it had to be done. You’ve been pinin’ away for two years now, sighing everytime Noel passes and it breaks my heart that you won’t give yourself the chance to fall in love because you’re stuck in this kind of bubble.”
You hum, half stewing in your butthurt feelings, half listening to Amy’s spiel.
“The truth is that you won’t get anything you want without going for it. And the way I saw it, you wanted Noel Gallagher —”
“Want is a strong word,” you interrupt wryly.
“You want,” she continues, sending you a sharp look. “The kind of love you read about in those books of yours. And you’re not doin’ anythin’ about it.”
You sigh, finally turning to look at her. “Well, it wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I know,” said Amy. “It was a risk I was willing to take.”
You give her a look. “On my behalf?”
She shrugs, looking away from you and turning her gaze to the ceiling. “Big sisters know best, yeah?”
You snort and shove her lightly. “If this turns out badly, promise me you’ll go to Noel and tell him it was an elaborate prank.”
She laughs. “Promise,” she says. “But I have a feeling it’ll turn out fine.”
You look at her flatly. “Liam Gallagher barged into Sweetheart’s this afternoon with the letters. I had to clock out early and have Maria cover my shift so I wouldn’t have to speak to him,” you admitted. “Then I stole his bike. I had to lift it back into their yard before going home.”
“Well, at least this is entertaining?”
You shake your head in exasperation. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I kinda saw that coming. But I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just stick with this for a hot minute, yeah?”
“Just a hot minute?” you ask.
A hot minute is like an eternity when your heart is in a stack of envelopes in Liam Gallagher’s hands. Are you curious to know why he has them in his possession? Obviously. But are you curious enough to go up to him and ask him about it? Absolutely not. In fact, you spend the entire weekend hiding away in your room, not so much as going into the view of any street facing windows lest either Gallagher brother catch sight of you.
You felt like a wanted woman on the run. You refused to go out with Amy when she asked you to go to the shops with her, you had Amy buy the groceries your mam trusted you with, and you didn’t dare attempt go back to Sweetheart’s to get your beloved bike. You watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then The Philadelphia Story, then Sabrina. Then you read a few novels to keep your mind occupied. Because it it wasn’t, you tended to bury your head in a pillow and scream in embarrassment for your predicament.
You didn’t work weekend shifts. Anyone at Sweetheart’s could tell Liam that. But that doesn’t erase the fact that Liam very much knew where you lived.
“Your bike’s back,” Amy said on Sunday, pouring herself some cereal as you munched on some toast.
You blinked. “My bike?” you asked, dumbfounded. “How –?”
“How else d’ya think?” Amy asked flatly, speaking with a mouth full of Cheerios. You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Liam picked the lock on your bike chain. Brought it over here last night.”
You wrinkled your brow in confusion. “Liam?” you said. “And how do you know all of this?”
She sighed, burdened. “The bastard kept throwin’ pebbles at my window thinkin’ it was yours.”
You raised a brow. “And did you tell him that it wasn’t?”
Amy shook her head, hair a tangled mess where it fell. “Nah,” she said. “He ain’t the brother you’re goin’ for, aye? Why bother?”
So you go back to eating your toast, heart a bit more full with the thought of your bike returned to you. At least you weren’t going to work in the morning on the back of Amy’s beat up bike like a toddler.
But to every high, there was a low. Monday inevitably came. And you weren’t in the position to skip work, you needed that check. So you heave yourself up and off the bed, getting ready to march yourself into the outside world once again.
And what do you know, you clock in at eight o’clock in the morning on the dot to see Liam Gallagher already seated at the diner’s high chairs by the counter, sipping on a chocolate milkshake and swinging his legs off the seat with that carefree attitude of his.
You sigh and make your way behind the counter. Liam clocks you instantly. “Wa-hey!” he cheers, mouth stained with a bit of chocolate. “It’s the bike thief!”
You whip your head around to glare at him. “Shhh!” you hiss. “Keep it down.”
He clucked his tongue at you. “I had to walk all the way home, me.” He shook his head in mock sadness, but the playful glint in his eyes told a different story.
You scanned the diner for a way out of this conversation, a customer to tend to, maybe? But it was an abnormally slow morning. Great. “You could have taken the bus,” you told him.
He shrugged, back to swinging his legs on the seat restlessly. “Didn’t have any more money. Put it all in that jukebox of yours.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Well, that part isn’t my fault.”
“Aye,” he nodded. “Just the bike stealin’ part.”
You sigh before handing him a napkin and gesturing to his lips. He dutifully wipes the chocolate off. “Listen, Liam,” you began. “I’m really sorry for stealing your bike, yeah? But I had an emergency —”
“The emergency bein’ that you ain’t wanna see me?” he asks cheekily.
You look at him flatly. “Well, no. I —”
He nodded. “Saw that I had your letters and had to run,” he continued your sentence for you.
He kept hitting the nail on the head. But he didn’t have to know that. “What letters?” you deny, a bit stupidly in a bid for control over the situation.
Liam is unimpressed, he leans his forearms onto the counter to be closer to you and raises a thick brow. “You expect me to believe that?”
You swallow thickly before nodding. “Yeah, Liam. I dunno what you’re talking about. Really, I just had an emergency that I needed to get to.”
He blinked before nodding, reclining back into his seat and slurping his chocolate milkshake loudly. You let him drink in silence, turning to do some work in the counter and to serve a few customers milling about. It isn’t until nearly fifteen minutes later when Liam speaks again, “Dearest, Noel. The first time I saw you, I was pretty sure my heart fully stopped. I had liked other guys before —”
You shriek and all but clamber over the counter to cover Liam’s mouth with your hand. “Jesus!” you hiss, pressing down on his smug smile. “Why do you have it memorized?” you bite.
The vibration of his laugh under your palm is unmistakable. You let go with warm cheeks and stare him down. “Got a fine memory,” he said, tapping his temple. “Hammer to the head can’t do damage on this baby.”
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively in front of you. “Why do you even have the letters in the first place?”
He snorts. “You sent it, yeah?”
You huff. “Technically, I wasn’t the one who sent it,” you corrected. “My sister went snooping around my room and decided to play matchmaker.”
He shrugs. “Well, either way, it was sent to my gaff.”
“But it isn’t for you,” you grit out.
He grins. “Yeah, I got that bit, lover girl. Saw the swirly glitter pen on the envelope sayin’ Noel Gallagher and everythin’.”
“Then why did you open it?” you whisper shriek.
Liam was having way too much fun with the situation. “Was bored,” he said simply. “And Noel ain’t home.”
“What?” you ask blankly.
“Noel ain’t home,” he repeats. “He’s off with that magic carpet band of his. Won’t be back for another two weeks.”
“Inspiral Carpets,” you correct absently before shaking your head as if to clear it. “Wait, I’m sorry. So, Noel doesn’t know about the letters.”
Liam shakes his head and bites his straw. “Nah,” he said.
Your grin widens as you begin to giggle. It was a modern day miracle! “Great!” you say through a laugh. “That’s great! Oh, I’m so relieved.”
Liam’s thick brows knit together in confusion. “Uh,” he mumbles. “How is that a good thing?”
You sigh. “I didn’t want those letters sent out, okay?” you explain. “I don’t want Noel reading them, or finding out how much I like him, or that I even wrote him letters in the first place.”
Liam pouts in confusion, head cocked to the side. “But,” he begins. “Those letters were class. Proper fuckin’ love letters they were. Was almost jealous that Noel’s got seven of ‘em.”
You chuckle. “Well, Noel doesn’t need to know, alright?” you say. “Please, Liam. Can you promise me that you won’t tell?” You bat your lashes, helplessly trying to get Liam to side with you on this one.
Liam barely stops himself from laughing in your face as he plucks the cherry garnish of the milkshake from the dregs of his cup and pops it in his mouth. Stem and all. “Well,” he begins, mouth full. “I have an interestin’ proposition for you, lover girl.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
He continues on as if you hadn’t interrupted. “What if I set you up with Noel? Give you the juicy goss on how to woo him? Ain’t that a dream?”
You wrinkle your nose. “And why would you wanna do that?”
He pops the cherry stem out of his mouth. “You’re a kind bird. I always kinda liked you. Wouldn’t mind my brother havin’ you.”
“I’m not something to have, Liam,” you explain, patience dwindling. “And you expect me to believe that you’re just doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”
He reacts as if he’s been shot, hand to his chest and an overexaggerated groan leaving his pink lips. “You don’t think I can be a kind lad?”
You sigh. “You’re deliberately being thick,” you tell him, flatly. “Of course you’re a kind lad. But I have trouble believing that there isn’t something in it for you.”
Liam hangs his head and pushes the milkshake glass your way. You deftly take hold of it and bring it to the kitchen’s dishwasher. You return to find him with his head propped on his chin, watching you. You raise a prompting brow and he relents. “Fine,” he says petulantly. “I figured if my brother fell in love with some nice bird, then he’d write some nice tunes for my band.”
“You’re in a band?” you ask, shocked.
He gives you a dry look. “You know Noel writes songs but you ain’t noticed that I’m in a band.”
You shrugged. “There’s a reason those letters say Dearest Noel instead of Dearest Liam,” you tease.
He laughs easily, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, our songs are kinda shite now and Noel alway has some good stuff. But he ain’t been writin’ as much as he used to. I figured some good ol’ lovin’ would make him pick that pen back up.”
You hummed, piecing it all together. “So you want to set me up with Noel so he’d fall in love and write songs about it?”
He nodded eagerly. “He needs a muse, yeah?”
You smile sadly at him and his excited expression. “Liam,” you say gently. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be anyone’s muse.”
He pouts, bottom lip dragging downwards. “That’s a load of shite, c’mon!”
You shake your head resolutely. “No can do, Liam. Sorry.”
He retreats into his seat, looking at you a bit lost. Like he can’t quite understand you before sighing and saying, “Noel would like you if you just gave it a shot,” he said, picking at the hem of his shirt. You open your mouth to say something before he beats you to it. “You’re smart an’ funny. You live just down the road from us which would be great whenever he wants to visit. You have a job that pays well which means that you won’t have to rely on him all the time. You’re sweet, and you’re pretty, and you’re a nice bird. I don’t get why you think you ain’t a muse.”
You blink, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know you paid enough attention to me,” you laugh stiltedly, assessing Liam in this new light.
He shrugs as if it was no big deal. “Ain’t hard,” he says. Then, in an act that balances his sweetness out, he burps and asks you, “Now, d’you got any of those basket of chips, please?”
He doesn’t take the chips to go like you hoped he would. He sits by the counter, humming tunes to himself as he eats like supplies are running low. The thing about Liam Gallagher that you were currently learning was that he was persistent. Once he knew what he wanted, he grabbed onto it and wouldn’t let it go. Which meant that for your entire nine hour shift, Liam sat on that counter seat and waited. Not patiently, god no, never patiently. He chatted with every patron that came, played a number of Beatles tunes, went out for a smoke a total of five times, and even began charming Maria.
“He’s a nice lad, aye?” she said to you as she passed, winking.
You flushed. “He’s my neighbor!” you explained.
“Mhm,” she hummed, leaving you and Liam to your own devices.
He pouts as you. “How long is your shift,” he whines pitifully.
You laugh, “Five more minutes then I could clock out,” you say. “You don’t have to wait up, y’know? It’s not like I agreed to your weird suggestion.”
“It ain’t weird!” he protests.
You stick your tongue out at him as you leave to take care of your last table.
Liam watches eagerly as you clock out and hang your apron, giving him a look that made him stand up hastily and follow you out the main entrance of the diner. You catch sight of his bike next to yours and smile. “Hey, I never thanked you for returning my bike,” you said, walking next to him. “That was very sweet of you.”
“No sweat,” he said. “Figured it was a thank you for hauling my bike up our fence. Doris said it took an age for you to do.”
You groan as he laughs loudly. “I didn’t know she watched the whole thing!”
“Said it looked like you were out there trying to catch a stroke,” he giggled.
You sighed. “It was a heavy bike,” you grumbled.
He smiled warmly. “Thanks for bringin’ it back, yeah?”
You take the key out of your pocket and unlock the chain, putting it in your bag as you swung your legs onto your bike. You raised a brow at Liam, “I forgot we’re going the same way.”
“Don’t get sick of me yet, lover girl!” he says, pedaling away. With a sigh, you pick up your pace and ride next to him. The ride home after your shift was always a peaceful thing. As much as you loved the diner, it could be loud nad overwhelming. Being on your bike, the wind on your face, and houses rushing past you in a haze was a way for you to finally breathe.
Beside you, it seemed like Liam was doing the same thing. Just breathing it all in.
You thought about Liam’s proposition and you thought about Amy’s words. An opportunity seemingly landed in your lap. What better way was there to woo Noel than to find out more about him from his brother? Noel and Liam were close. They liked to pretend they weren’t, but they’ve always been thick as thieves. If you have the approval of one brother, you’ll gain that of the other.
You looked to Liam, his hair a mess in the afternoon wind, and made up your mind. You weren’t a betting woman, but you’ll place your bets on this.
It wasn’t until you two had passed his home and had stopped at yours that either of you spoke.
“Please think about my suggestion —”
“I’ll do it —”
You two spoke at the same time, facing each other, still on your bikes. Liam blinked, having caught the start of your sentence, and pushed his bike off him to give you a big bear hug. “Fuckin’ class!” he cheered. “‘Ya won’t regret it, lover girl!” he said, shaking you in his joyful embrace.
You laughed and smacked his chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you said. “Better make it worth my while.”
“Oh, you’ll be Noel Gallagher’s bird in no time, babe,” he guaranteed.
You were still smiling as you shut the door behind you, watching Liam pedal away from your house, turning to wave at you with only one hand on the handlebar. “Eyes on the road!” you warned. His laugh rang jovially down the street.
“See ‘ya tomorrow, bike thief!” he yelled loudly, heating your cheeks up as you closed the window in embarrassment and drew the curtains.
You ignored Amy’s smug smile as you went up the stairs to your room.
***
Liam doesn’t have the patience to stay for another round of your nine hour shift. Instead, he waits outside Sweetheart’s in your last ten minutes on the clock, and comes in to order two milkshakes to go.
“One chocolate milkshake and one of whatever your favorite flavor is,” he says, taking out his busted wallet and wiggling his brows. “My treat.”
You snort as he gives you a crumpled up bill and tell him to wait outside for you.
You have the barista whip up the creamiest milkshakes before you hang up your frilly pink apron, clock out, and leave with Liam. The milkshakes were definitely an obstacle that you didn’t foresee, one hand occupied with holding it tight while the other kept you upright on the bike. Liam, for all his swagger, kept swerving into you.
“Liam,” you warned as he bumped into you again.
“I’m tryin’” he whined.
You huffed. “Where are we even going?” you asked, beginning to tire from biking with one hand.
“It’s just up ahead!” he said defensively.
“Where?” you asked curiously.
“The chippy by the estates!”
The chip shop near your neighborhood was a staple. Gertrude had been manning the shop with her husband Michael since the seventies and had made it a cozy space to land after nights out, tiring afternoon shifts, or early mornings. You and Amy often bought from the very same chip shop on days that your family didn’t quite feel up to cooking anything. It was on those days that fish and chips felt like a meal fit for a queen.
Gertrude greets you with a coo and a cheer, asking after your sister and your parents fondly. But she greets Liam with a gigantic hug and a motherly kiss to his cheek. “Oh, Liam! It’s nice to see you, sweetheart! You don’t come to visit here as often as you should. Haven’t seen your cherubic face in so long!”
You bite your lip to prevent a laugh from escaping, Liam sends you a look beforee taking Gertrude’s hand in his and kissing it charmingly. “Missed ‘ya, Gorgeous Gertie!” he crowed.
That’s how you ended up with a gigantic free basket of chips.
“You’re well loved around here,” you say, more of a statement than a question. It was true, the way Gertrude fussed over Liam, the way Michael made sure to make his fish just the way he likes it, the way that their youngest son came up to Liam to show him his new football. It was endearing, a side of Liam you didn’t know.
He shrugged, shoveling a gigantic portion of fish into his mouth. “I’m well loved everywhere, me.” He puffs up his chest and winks jokingly.
You shake your head, eat your chips, and sip on the strawberry milkshake Liam bought for you. Liam devours his meal in the eeries way that young men often do. Which meant that as he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket and extracted a pen from the other, you had only take five bites out of your meal.
“Strategy time,” he says, smoothing the creases of the paper and beginning to write. You smiled at his concentration and leaned back to let him do all the talking. “So it’s gonna be like school, yeah? Gonna have one of those curriculum thingies to follow.”
You hummed and bit your straw.
“First,” he starts, writing sloppily on the paper. “Is gonna be about Noel. Everything there is to know about him; what he likes, what he dislikes, what he listens to, what he does, where to take him, how he showers, how he shits —”
“Ew!” you protest.
Liam rambles on, “Every fuckin’ thing, lover girl. That’s where we’ll start.”
The scribbles on the paper where unintelligible, but you let Liam do his own thing, too endeared to even tell him that you couldn’t read what he was frantically trying to write.
“Next,” he says. “Is putting you in Noel’s life. Introduce you to his friends, to his family, the works.”
You frowned, suddenly nervous. “Isn’t that like … a girlfriend thing?” you say. “I mean, it would be kinda embarassing to be introduced as the girl pining after Noel to all his mates.”
Liam sighs. “You’ll be introduced as my friend, ‘ya nutter,” he grumbled, as if confused by your confusion. “Him and I have the same mates, the same mam, the same everythin’. Would be easy to introduce you to them. And trust me, they’ll like you.”
You scoff. “How are you so sure?”
Liam looks at you intently as he says, “I’m sure.”
You bite into your fish to avoid ensuing eye contact. “And next in the curriculum …?” you prompt him.
Liam perks up, writing steadily on the paper you were sure he was gonna give to you and you were going to have to pretend to understand. “Next in the curriculum is all about you. Gettin’ you ready to see Noel again and make your move.”
You nod, trying to look determined. But your voice wavers when you ask, “When’s he back again?”
Liam steals a handful of chips off your plate. “On the fourteenth.”
“Right,” you say drily, the situation only making itself known to you right at that moment.
“Valentine’s Day,” Liam wiggles his brows. “Day of love,” he singsongs.
You groan and slump in the viny seat. “Perfect.”
“It is!” Liam says enthusiastically, not catching your tone. “Mam’s gonna throw a little welcome back for her boy, and you are gonna be there.”
You nod, having the sense that you’ve bitten off more than you could chew. “Okay,” you say, voice a higher pitch than normal. “That’s okay.”
It definitely was not okay.
Liam worked quick, and he worked efficiently. He spent the succeeding hour in that chippy doing a play by play of all Noel’s favorites; color, song, food, movie, which jumper he liked using, which aftershave he prefers, what ice cream he pretends not to like, which restaurant he’d always wanted to go to, his favorite spot to go smoke a joint. Liam puked up all information on Noel that you could possibly need.
You went home dizzy and overwhelmed and you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.
Another thing about Liam is that he seemingly didn’t rest. The moment you woke up, you were bombarded with pebbles hitting your window. And there could truly only be one perpetrator for that. You sigh as you turn in your bed, rip the sheets off your body and march over to your window to open it with an agressive pull.
“Ow!” you yell as a pebble hits you square in the forehead. “Liam!” you hiss, looking down at Liam’s sheepish figure rubbing the back of his head.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, flashing a smile that crossed with a grimace. “Can I come up?” he asks, gesturing to the trellis of roses leading up to your window.
You yawn and retreat from the window, but not before calling, “Help yourself.”
Liam crawled up the trellis in a startling show of athleticism. Grunting and groaning as he climbed, and landing with a heavy thump on your carpeted floor. “Whoa,” he breathed as he stepped into your room, gazing at the frilly mess of it all. You were quite proud of your room; it was like one of your scrapbooks come to life. It had polaroids of your loved ones, pieces of lacy ribbons strewn everywhere, glitters and gems on surfaces that didn’t usually have glitters or gems, vintage furniture from the charity shops, and books shoved in every surface.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say as you fix your bed. You point to a pale pink foot stool, “Take a seat?”
Liam obliged, looking abnormally large as he sat. “Nice place,” he said, still assessing the room. There wasn’t any passive aggressive or joking tone to be found in his voice. In fact, he seemed kind of awed as he turned his head this way and that. He smirks and stands up, beelining for a picture you knew he’d take notice of. “Look at the pair of ‘ye.” He taps the polaroid, booping picture-you’s nose. “The perfect couple.”
It was taken last year during your birthday. Amy had taken to surprising you with a party at Sweetheart’s, filling it with your favorite people. Noel had come, an hour late but bearing a stuffed bear that sat on a place of pride on your book case. Pictured was Noel’s arm around you as you leant into him, beaming as you held the bear up to the camera.
You blushed. “Shut up,” you mumble.
Liam just grins and sits back down, doing his best to look laidback in his seat. “So,” he drawls, rummaging in his rucksack to pull out what must have been twelve CDs, all of them clacking on their jewel cased plastic. He handed them to you. “Came here to bring ‘ya this.”
You blink and quickly take it from him. The Smiths, The La’s, The Stone Roses, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Sex Pistols, The Kinks. You looked at each cover and smiled gratefully at Liam. Even you knew how much music meant to Noel. “Thanks, Liam,” you said, truly grateful.
He beamed. “Start with The Smiths. I don’t like ‘em, but ‘rkid thinks they’re amazin’”
You set the CDs down on the made bed turn to Liam. “You’re a bit early today,” you say, leaning on the foot of your bed. You should really start getting ready, but you very well couldn’t do it while Liam was in the room. The thought made you blush. “I thought you were gonna swing by after work?”
He shook his head, shaggy head of hair shaking. “Nah. Got a gig later, d’ya know what I mean.”
Your brows raise. “Ah. The infamous The Rain.”
“Well, don’t say it like that!” he protests with a frown. “We’re class!”
You laugh, not unkindly. “I’m sure you are.” He’s still frowning when he mumbles something under his breath. You lean in closer to hear him. Honestly, this boy. As petulant as a puppy denied a treat. “What was that?” you ask.
“I said,” he repeats loudly. You resist a snort at his tone. “You should maybe come to the gig tonight. Couldn’t hurt havin’ one more familiar face in the audience.”
“Wow,” you say wryly. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”
He huffs, fidgeting with his hair, mussing it up. “You know I want you there,” he says, surprising you. “But this could also help with introducing you to Noel’s mates. They’re gonna be there tonight.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Oh.”
Liam gave you a look. “C’mon. They ain’t gonna bite.”
You frowned. “I’m not gonna know anyone there, Liam. All I’ll know is you and you’ll be up onstage doing god knows what!”
“I sing,” he corrected easily.
“You’ll be up onstage singing!” you continue, distressed. The thought of being at a place as lively as a gig, knowing no one in the crowd was intimidating. Knowing you need to make a good impression on top of that was even more intimidating. “Maybe Amy’s free tonight,” you mused.
Liam’s look sharpened. “Hey,” he scolded. “We both know that if ‘yer sister’s there, you’ll just end up clinging to her. You need to broaden your horizons, lover girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” you respond automatically.
“C’mon,” Liam coaxed, his eyes a shining pool of blue.
You sighed gruffly. “I’ll think about it.”
Liam’s smile began to grow. “Really?”
“I’m still not sure, Liam,” you try to say but Liam’s already whooping with joy, gathering you in his arms and rendering you unbalanced enough to fall into his lap.
It was then that Amy wrenched open your bedroom door. To the odd scene of you in Liam Gallagher’s lap as he thanked you profusely. She raises a brow.
“Hello!” Liam greets jovially, you still seated firmly on his lap.
Amused but trying not to show it, Amy says, “Hello?”
“I’m Liam,” he introduces uselessly, seeing as he and Amy have known each other for more than a decade.
“I know,” she says. “Say, Liam. D’ya mind unhanding my sister and letting her get ready for work? We’re gonna be late.”
It’s only then that Liam lets go.
And it’s only after Liam clambers joyfully out the open window where he came, crying a See ‘ya tonight! to you with an ear splitting grin that Amy turns to you with a baffled look.
“Now what the fuck’s all that about?”
The rest of the day passes by in a haze, your palms unbearably sweaty, the Peter Pan collar of your dress too tight, and your leg twitching for the entirety of your shift.
You ignored Amy’s badgering on the way to work, steadfastly explaining the situation and refusing to bite at every sly joke she makes.
You spend the rest of the day with your mind preoccupied, nervous for tonight. Because you knew that even if you told Liam that you’d think about it, that meant that you’d actually be there. It would be a disservice to you not to, and it’d be a mild disappointment on Liam’s end. You owed it to yourself to try, even though the thought scared you shitless.
“Your boy ain’t here?” Maria says, bumping your hip with his.
You huff. “Not my boy,” you correct. “And he’s got a gig tonight.”
“Oh,” she says, brows flying to her hairline. “He’s in a band?”
You nod. “I hear they’re pretty great. Liam’s the singer and everything.”
She smiles. “That sounds lovely. Enjoy tonight, hon. I remember goin’ to my boyfriend’s gigs at that age. What a time!”
Before you could protest, Maria sidles away to tend to a customer. You don’t have much time to mull over what she said as a man asks for a refill of his coffee.
Before you know it, the clock ticks to five o’clock and you’re waving goodbye to Maria who hugs you goodbye and kindly asks Is that what you’re wearing to the gig? Which you interpreted to mean Don’t wear that to a rock gig.
So you add Go home to change on your agenda and cycle home with a racing mind. What if Noel’s friends don’t like you? What if you spend the night miserable and in one corner? What if you realize that you’d rather be anywhere than at The Boardwalk listening to local bands? What if it’s too tight, too crowded, too amped up, too loud — You nearly miss the turn to the estates and have to double back to get on the right track.
The evening is spent rushing. You wash the grime of the day with a quick shower, you put your usual make up on, you curl your hair prettily, and you spend an age picking out something to wear. “Amy!” you screech, though she was just in the room beside yours. “Amy! C’mere!”
She drags herself to your room, dead eyed and unimpressed as you show her your pick of at least seven outfits. “Are you going to be doing a quick change every set?” she bites.
You frown. “Help me!” you plead.
She rolls her eyes and enters your room. With efficiency, she throws out three of your outfits (Too school girl, too posh, trying too hard to be a rockstar). You’re left with four, all laid out neatly on your bed as you and Amy stand side by side to look at it from every angle.
“I think the red one’s chic,” you blurted out after moments of deliberation. “Simple enough but still cool.”
Amy shoots you a look. “Then wear that.”
You drag out a breath. “But what if it’s not good?”
“As long as it’s good with you, then it’s perfect,” she says. “I can’t believe I have to tell you that. Just be yourself tonight, yeah? Don’t go actin’ like someone you’re not. They’ll all love you. See, Liam likes you, and his and Noel’s mates are just like ‘im. You’ll be a star!”
You nod jerkily, bundling up the outfit in your arms. “Okay,” you breathe. “Be myself, okay,” you mumble to yourself, not unlike a mantra.
Amy pats your shoulder. “Atta girl,” she says before moving to leave. “Have fun tonight. Don’t be late for curfew. And move a bit quicker because you’re late.”
That lights a fire under your ass. You get dressed quickly, do one last check of your outfit before grabbing your essentials. You yell a quick goodbye to Amy as you slam the front door closed and start your trek to the bus stop. Biking there could very much kill you and render you an hour late. The bus would still make you late, but at least you won’t be panting and sweating on it.
To your delight, the bus arrives early, and you greet the driver with an enthusiastic hello! that he chuckled at. You sat close to the door and watched the world pass by in colors as the bus sped away.
You rocked your foot nervously, tapping an uneven rhythm that had the old lady across from you handing you a sweet to ease your nerves. You smile grateful at her and put the caramel toffee in your mouth, eager to have something to occupy you.
You were only eighteen minutes late when you got to The Boardwalk. But with the way Liam was scanning the crowd from the bar, he didn’t even think you were gonna make it. You smile as you catch sight of him, brows knit as he searched the faces in the space, hand cradling a cold lager, and his lips forming a small frown.
You grin and raise your hand high in the air to wave. “Oi!” you shout, catching his attention. He brightens immediately, his frown turning up into a fond grin as he catches sight of you.
“Lover girl!” he cries out, arms spread wide as he welcomes you with a tight hug. You reciprocate, winding your amrs around his middle and swaying a bit as Liam rocks you back and forth. He lets go and all the warmth goes with him. “Thought ‘ya wouldn’t make it?”
“You thought I’d chicken out?” you said with a raised brow.
He raises his glass to you and grins cheekily. “Bawk bawk!” he clucks, imitating a chicken. You laugh and smack his arm to which he dodged easily. “Aye, don’t hit the talent. I’m on in a few minutes!”
You smile up at him. “Oh, good luck! Can’t wait to hear this class band of yours.”
He matches your smile. “And speakin’ of a class band,” he says, winding an arm around your shoulder and facing you in the direction of his mates who were all sporting amused grins at Liam. “These are mine and Noel’s mates!”
You smiled sheepishly at them and give a wave. “Hello,” you say. “Nice to meet you all.”
Liam points to various people. “That over there is Bonehead, lead guitar and pain in the arse. Over there is Guigs, if ‘ya need any ganja, ask him for some. And then we have Tony on the drums, class act,” he says. “And over there, just millin’ about are our mates.” Liam jostles you in his grip then addresses the group. “Now, you lot take care of ‘er while me and the band are up there, aye. She’s funny, this one, so make sure to get that out of her.”
A few people roll their eyes but they all rush to meet you, offering you a drink. You accept and go up to the bar, but not before shooting Liam a smile as he disentangles from you and heads to the stage. “Thanks,” you say quietly.
“No problem,” he answers. ‘Now, wish me luck.”
You grin, giddy. “Luck!”
All your worries melt away as the lights dim, Liam’s mates make earnest conversation about how the two of you met, and to be quite frank, when the drinks enter your system. Someone asks you if you were the one to steal Liam’s bike and you have the time of your life rehashing that whirlwind of a story.
It wasn’t long until you were laughing along with them that the band finally took the stage. There wasn’t much conversation after Liam started rasping into the mic.
Watching him up there, all swagger and confidence, you could see just how much he was meant to be a rockstar. He looked so at home on that stage, not a single amount of trepidation in his body as he looked over onto the gathered crowd and made them dance to songs that they didn’t even know the lyrics to. He was a magnetic force, drawing in the attention of every person in the room. You knew then that he was destined for greater things.
Drunk on a a number of gin and juice, you tell him so at the back alley of The Boardwalk, leaning against the brick wall as him and his mates smoked. He grins, wide and boyish when you tell him this, as if he’d just found the secret to eternal happiness. “Really?” he says, eager and sincere all at the same time.
You nod, tilting your head up to meet his gaze as he draws another breath from the cigarette. He outstretches one to you, brow raised, but you shake your head. He shrugs and makes no comment. “Manchester’s next big thing,” you muse.
He smiles, more subdued, only half listening to Bonehead’s drunken rambling beside him. “Add Noel in the mix and we’ll be the entire world’s next big thing.”
Noel. Right, you haven’t even thought of him all night. “Yeah,” you say. “I’ve never heard him play live but I bet he’d be amazing.”
Liam tilts his head at your comment but shakes it off instead of blurting out something. He takes a drag of his cigarette and leans his head back on the brick wall. You watch the column of his throat bob and swallow thickly.
“Listen, Liam,” you begin, but then sigh instead. “I gotta go.”
Liam blinks, looking at you a bit wounded. “Now?” he asks incredulously, which catches the attention of his mates.
You smile at all of them and wave, clinging onto your jacket. “Sorry, lads and ladies,” you say jokingly as some of them begin to protest. “Gotta run soon. I’ve got a curfew and everything. If I get home even a minute late, you won’t be seeing my face for another decade.”
Liam pushes himself off the wall and stubs out his cigarette with no hesitation. “Well then,” he says. “Let’s go.”
You blink at him and ignore the wolf whistling from the group. “You’re walking me home?”
He rolls his eyes and keeps you close with an arm across your shoulder. “Takin’ the bus,” he corrects pedantically. “And yeah. Your parents would kill me. Or Amy would first. Either way, I’m dyin’.”
You huff in amusement and pat his chest. “Then let’s go, rockstar. We got a bus to catch.”
You say goodbye to the group, exchanging numbers and addresses, laughing with held hands, making plans for the next few weeks, and trading a few new inside jokes. Liam raises a brow at you as you finally separate from his mates and make your way to the bus stop.
“Look at Ms. Popularity over here,” he crows. “Told ‘ya not to worry. They love you!”
You laugh and let Liam pull you in closer as you walk a bit criss crossed and tipsy. “I think I love them as well?”
Liam laughs loudly, a booming sound in the night. You giggle with him. “And I thought I heard you make plans with Mike and his bird? What’s that all about?”
“Oh!” you say, bright eyed with a pep in your step. “We’re gonna go to that new drive-inn thing to watch Barefoot in the Park!”
Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “Noel is so gonna love you when he gets back.”
You squeal with joy, a bit tipsy and a lot happy. You couldn’t wait to see Noel again.
***
The weekend arrives with little fanfare. Save for your frantic baking and distressed complaining of Amy, if you take a sample out of that batch, I swear I’ll combust.
The last two days were uneventful, with Liam bringing you hangover cures the morning after his gig, then dropping you off at work before heading over to rehearsals. Friday was spent with the same customers and the same routine, your body on autopilot as you served the customers with a smile.
Saturday came and went, but not without Liam knocking on your window to tell you to get ready for tea with him and his mam the next day. He climbed down the trellis so quickly that you didn’t even get to protest.
Which is how you end up on the Gallaghers’ front porch, holding a decadent chocolate cake, apple tarts with vanilla creme, homemade donuts, and honey butter biscuits.
You don’t even wonder if you’ve gone overboard with the baked goods until Peggy opens the door, Liam at her heels like a dog gearing up to run out into the street, and exclaims loudly at your haul.
“Goodness, dear. ‘Ye didn’t have to go through all the trouble!” she cries, ushering you inside. You smile as you go in, eyes taking in every bit of their home. It was much of the same layout as yours, but the way they used the space made everything feel different. The pictures on the walls, the records on the shelf, the VHS tapes scattered everywhere. You smile at the warmth.
“It’s no trouble, ma’am,” you say.
“Ha!” Liam laughs. Peggy shoots him a glare. “She called you ma’am.”
Your face heats at the possible mistake and Peggy rushes to comfort you. “Oh it’s no big deal. You were just bein’ respectful unlike some people,” she says pointedly to Liam who pouts. “But you can just call me Peggy.”
You smile at her. “Yes, Peggy,” you say dutifully before sending Liam a pointed look. “D’ya mind bringing this into the kitchen with me?”
Peggy sighs as Liam rushes to take the bundle of goods out your arms. “I swear I raised the lad better than that,” she mumbles to you. “So sorry my other lads can’t be here today. I remember Noel talks quite a bit about you.”
You perk up. “He does?”
She nods, heading towards the kitchen. You follow her. “Aye. Says you always serve him his bacon butties on Fridays.”
You stifle a grin as you enter the kitchen, giddy and nearly floating off the linoleum. Liam catches sight of you from where he’s setting the plates up on the table and winks. “Her and Noel would make a grand couple, yeah, mam?”
Peggy gives him an odd look before shaking her head with a sigh. You and Liam exchange a confused look. “Never mind,” she grumbles. “Sit down, sweetheart. Liam will bring us our tea. We’ve got Spaghetti and bread sticks for tonight.”
You sit down on the seat she’s patting next to her and listen as she regales you of the tale of her sons. “Oh, dear. Did ‘ya know that my Liam used to cry and cry and cry so much as a babe that he’d throw up on himself?”
“Mam!”
You leave the Gallaghers’ with a tub full of leftovers, a full stomach, your cheeks aching with laughter, eyes satiated with baby pictures of the brothers, and Liam by your side as he dutifully walks you home. Not because my mam would clip me ‘round the ear if I don’t! he was quick to correct.
“You already fit right in,” he muses as he matches your unhurried pace down the sidewalk.
You turn to look up at him. “Yeah?”
He nods. “He’s gonna come back and find that you’re in his life forever. His mates like you, his mam likes you, his brother likes you.”
You raise a teasing brow. “Oh, does he now?” He rolls his eyes and moves to shove you with his body. You stand your ground and pout, “Hey! Careful or I’ll tell all your mates about the story of you in the lake when I see them again next week!”
Liam groans. “Menace,” he says before perking up. “You said you were going to be hangin’ out with me mates next week?” he asks.
“Yup,” you say. “Dunno if you’re invited, though.”
“Haha,” he says drily. “I’ll invite myself.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course.”
“Keep your schedule open for tomorrow night, though,” he says.
You frown in confusion. “Why?”
He grins wildly. “Got plans for us. You’ll see. I’ll pick ‘ya up at work tomorrow? Make sure to dress comfortably!”
The next day, Asa and Maria greet Liam with a smile and a free milkshake as he comes to pick you up. Grinning as they pinch at his cheeks and coo over him. You roll your eyes and drag him away as soon as you clock out, waving goodbye to the pair and to Mrs. Pillock watching you with a smile in a corner booth.
On your bikes, you laugh as Liam leads you to the destination looming at the distance. After all, it wasn’t that hard to miss the ferris wheel and the rollercoaster that wasn’t usually there.
The fair was in town just in time for Valentine’s Day. In the darkening dusk of the evening, it was idyllic; the sparkling lights, the loud roar of the rollercoaster, the ringing of bells for each carnival game. It was straight out of a movie.
With an arm around your shoulders, Liam leads you to the heart of it all. You frown in confusion. “Are we not here to go on some rides?” you ask.
Liam chuckles. “Maybe later,” he says. “But we are here for educational purposes, d’ya know what I mean?”
“No,” you say flatly.
Liam doesn’t let your mood bother him. “The fair, lover girl,” he begins his explanation. “Is a breeding ground for single lads to pick up cute birds.”
You don’t catch on. “So?”
He shakes you a bit in his arms. “So,” he grits out in a combination of frustration and laughter. “This is where I’ll teach you to get your flirt on!”
You push away from him in horror. “No!” you shriek, he only laughs harder, nearly bent over. “That’s not in the curriculum!”
“The curriculum,” he begins through a wheeze of laughter. “Is going as planned. Learn about Noel? Check. Integrate you into his friends and family? Check. Focus on what you need to improve? Still no dice.”
You cross your arms defensively. “Need to improve?” you shriek.
He rolls his eyes and holds his arms out in what’s supposed to be a calming motion. “Easy, girl,” he says. “I just mean that you need to get used to the whole romance and flirtin’ thing, yeah? ‘Cos so far, you’re not that confident about all’at yet.”
You grit your teeth. “And why’d you say that.”
He shrugs. “You don’t believe that you could pull my brother. You don’t think you’re half as good as you actually are. And I need you to start believing that, yeah?”
You sigh, looking pleadingly at Liam. “Do I have to?”
Liam matches your sigh and gives a soft kiss to your temple. “Sorry, lover girl. You’re gonna have to.”
“Can’t I just do it with you?” you ask desperately, twisting to see him eye to eye.
He balks, taken aback. “What? Flirt with me?”
You scoff. “Don’t sound so disgusted.”
“I’m not —” he protests loudly before groaning, hands mussing up his hair. “That won’t work,” he says.
You stomp your foot petulantly. “Why not!”
“Obviously I’ll be a bit biased!” he cries. “You’re my friend!”
You frown deeper. “Damn it,” you grumble before sighing heavily. “Fine. Just show me what to do.”
He gives you a high five that you reluctantly return. “Atta girl!”
Your first mark, funnily enough, was named Mark. According to Liam, he had been in Noel’s class, was recently single, and had nothing going on for him. When asked why he’d like to saddle you to such a guy, he just shrugs and claims it’s in the name of practice. You sigh and go in for the kill. Your walk is that of a newborn foal, your opening line of a drawled out yet unpracticed heyyyyy was horrendous, and your wink was just an exaggerated blink that made him think you were having a stroke. Still, you sauntered over to Liam, waving about a piece of paper with Mark’s number on it.
“I got his number!” you yell triumphantly.
He smiles and boldly turns you over in another direction, pointing to another lad. “That one. Go.”
Through some conversation and small talk, you find out that his name was Jacob and that he was attending uni in the city. He had a deep love for Pink Floyd, which meant that you got to finally put Noel’s borrowed CDs to good use as you spoke to Jacob about it. You leave triumphantly with his number. Liam sends you a thumbs up and a goofy smile as he points to another lad down by the ring toss.
You saunter up to him, ask him his name, and turn around quickly when you find out he has a girlfriend. You apologize and grimace, and run to Liam with a tail tucked between your legs.
“Huh,” he says. “Didn’t know they got back together.”
He instead redirects you to a guy manning an empty game booth where you ask him about how the game works, how many people win in a night, which is his favorite carnival game. And you don’t end up with his number but he let’s you do a free game at the booth where you win a gigantic puppy dog.
“I’m gonna name him Liam!” you tell Liam giddily as he laughs and points to another guy, this one waiting in line for some corn dogs. You hand over Dog Liam to Human Liam before confidently stepping forward.
You ask over his day, ask what is it about corndogs was appealing, have bit of banter about your food preferences, and he ends up giving you his number. You return to Liam with a pep in your step. “Easy there, heartbreaker,” he laughs, cradling the puppy in his arms as he gives you an enthusiastic high five. “Wanna take a break from being a Casanova?”
Liam ends up knowing the guy who mans the ferris wheel, having the two of you (three if you count Dog Liam) skip the line and ride the carriage immediately. You sigh and lean back as the ferris wheel begins to rise and spin. “That was nice.”
Liam smiles and digs his elbow into your ribs. “What did I tell ‘ya, lover girl?” he says smugly.
“Liam’s right, I was wrong, this is the best night ever, and I got a cute puppy!” you said. “If this is what happens when you’re right, then I wouldn’t mind being wrong.”
He raises a brow. “You wouldn’t?” he asks skeptically.
“Oh, I so would,” you say. “I’d be pissed for about a week.”
Liam laughs loudly enough to rock the carriage, you squeak and smack him in the arm. “We ain’t gonna fall, trust me,” he says.
You chuckle drily. “Oh, I trust you. It’s these carnival ferris wheels I don’t trust.”
He shakes his head in amusement. “Don’t worry, we’ll live to see the day that Noel comes home.”
You smile and pretend that you don’t hear the traitorous pitter patter in your heart as you lay your head on his shoulder, the evening air breezing past you as the carnival lights shine like it was just for you and Liam.
***
Everything comes to a head soon enough. You couldn’t go back to just ignoring it. Your days pass by quickly, the routine of working at Sweetheart’s broken by Liam’s presence and his smile.
You do your best impression of a girl who isn’t confused as all hell with Amy by your side as the two of you watch Casablanca on the couch in your living room.
“So,” you say in between scenes. Quite frankly, the two of you have the entire film memorized by that point. You knew what was gonna happen before it happened. “Noel’s back tomorrow,” you say.
Your sister hums, eyes glued to the telly. You grit your teeth as she pops in a piece of popcorn in her mouth. “Have fun at his welcome back party.”
You sigh. “Yeah, I will.”
“I’m sure Liam’ll be a hoot.”
“Yup,” you say.
“He’s a good lad.”
“I know.”
Suddenly, Amy jerks and turns off the telly. You leap up to protest but she silences you with a glare. “Just admit it?”
You shrink back, already knowing what she wants to hear. But you stand your ground. “Admit what?”
She looks at you sharply before groaning in frustration. “Let’s see. There’s this boy who takes you home from work, sometimes he’d bring you there as well, he takes you on carnival dates where you win stuffed puppies and name them after him, you go to his band’s gig and become best mates with his best mates, you meet his mam, he climbs the trellis on your window like goddamn fucking Tarzan, and he’s not the guy you’ve been in love with for the past two years.”
Your eyes well with tears. “I’m sorry,” you squeak.
Amy immediately softens. “Oh, hon, no,” she breathes, gathering you into her arms. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
You sigh wetly. “I know.”
“It’s just that you need to make a choice, yeah?” she says gently, hands gently cradling your skull. Just like she did when you first scraped your knee riding on her bike. “And I, for one, think it’s a very obvious choice.”
***
Noel comes home on February 14th, the afternoon bright as he steps into his home and is greeted by his friends and family.
The sight of Noel used to send shivers down your spine, you used to think that everytime you saw him, cupid struck right to you. But as he drops his baggage down by the door and greets everyone in attendance, you only feel a prickle of fondness.
“Go get ‘im, Casanova,” Liam whispers in your ear. You shiver as he disappears to give his brother some stick. Then, he points to you and both brothers turn to look at you. Liam with a shy smile, Noel with a jovial one. You wave, and both of them wave back.
You spend your afternoon with Noel and Liam’s mates, talking about the drive-inn you went to with Mike and Isla, Bonehead’s new bird, Guigsy’s run in with the coppers. Noel is in the middle of each conversation, the prodigal son returned, as he shoots you periodic looks of bafflement and wonder at the fact that you slot into his life so perfectly while he was gone. The bafflement increases when Peggy kisses your cheek and hands you the first slice of pie.
You don’t get a moment alone with Noel until sunset when he’s taken a moment outside to have a smoke and the air inside the house began to get too stifling for your tastes. “Oh,” you say as you catch him there.
He turns to look at you and smiles, cigarette between his lips. “Hello,” he greets quietly. “Didn’t know ‘ya smoked,” he said.
You shook your head and stood next to him by the wall. “I don’t,” you said. “But it was getting a bit rowdy inside.”
Noel snorts in amusement. “Tell me ‘bout it.”
The silence stretches on, you steel your resolve and decide that now was the time to do it, his cigarette was getting shorter with each drag and the night was beginning to grow dark around the edges. “Hey, Noel?” you ask. “Did ‘ya ever know that I liked you?”
Noel turns, his attention fully on you as his brows draw together. “You’re shittin’ me,” he breathes.
You chuckle. “Yup,” you say, amused as you shake your head. “Wrote you a bunch of love letters and everything. I’ll have you read them someday.”
“Huh,” says Noel, astonished beyond words.
For the first time, you admit, “I don’t like you anymore, though. If that’s what you’re wonderin’. I just … used to. A lot. And it feels wrong not to tell you. I dunno, I just feel like you should know. Close this whole chapter of my life and everything.”
He nods. “Wow,” he says. “I did not see that comin’, yeah?”
You laugh. “Neither did I.”
He joins in on your laughter. “Imagine that,” he says. “My brother’s girl used to fancy me,” your heart skips a beat at that.
“Wha— How do you —?” you stutter, trying to get the words right.
He stubs out his cigarette. “‘Rkid never shuts up about you on the phone. Been hearin’ your name for weeks. Then he introduces you to our mates, then to mam,” he shrugs. “Figured you were his girl.”
You stare at Noel, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you breathed, “Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”
Noel smiles at you, begininning to head back in. He looks back at you from the stone steps and asks, “You comin’ in?”
***
It’s the second time you’ve stolen Liam Gallagher’s bike, but you think this time he’d forgive you much quicker. You find him where Noel said he’d be, sulking like a toddler in the football field, and you smile when you see him kicking the ball around like a man with nothing to his name.
“Thought you used to be quite the player?” you ask him, jolting him from his mood and making him look up at you with furrowed brows.
“Hey,” he says softly. Softer than you’ve ever heard. It made your heart ache with something fierce as you walked closer to him. “Why’d you leave the party? We’re on a mission, yeah?”
You step closer to him, close enough to touch as he heaves a heavy breath, hair a mess and his chest rising and falling erratically. “Why’d you leave?” you snap back. “Thought you’d be by my side, yeah?”
He shakes his head with a sad chuckle. “You don’t need my help anymore.”
You look up at him earnestly before revealing, “I told Noel I fancied him,” you say, his head snaps up to meet your eyes, the blue impossibly deep.
“And?” he prompts urgently.
You shrug casually. “He doesn’t like me back.”
Liam blinks before taking your shoulders in his palms and turning you around into the direction of the bike. “Then get back there!” he yells. “There’s no way that that fucker could ever turn you down. C’mon, I’ll knock some sense into the bastard. Honestly, rejecting you, the gall —”
“Liam,” you interrupt softly, fondness swimming in your eyes as you turn to face him, his arms still on your shoulders. “I don’t like Noel anymore.”
“Yeah?” Liam breathes, licking his lips nervously as his fingers stutter a beat on his thigh.
“Yeah,” you nod, smiling dorkily up at him. “See, he has this brother that I—”
Liam Gallagher kisses you like a million love letters poured into one simple action. You could feel the smile on his mouth as he presses your lips to his, a triumph that you were proud to call yours.
***
My darling Liam,
Happy Valentine’s, silly boy! If you look in the fridge, I left you a chocolate cake with a cheeky milkshake to go with it. It’s not like the ones we used to have at Sweetheart’s but it would do for our first Valentine’s away from Manchester. (And yes, I will pretend that I didn’t see the strawberry milkshake you’ve got specially ordered from Sweetheart’s. Prick. You really had to upstage me with my own Valentine’s Day gift?)
Say, I think there’s something else that’s important that’s happening today … I just can’t quite put my finger on it …
Kidding! Happy Anniversary, Liam. Four years around the sun with you. Could you believe it? We still have a whole forever to go! Can’t wait! A forever with you would be like a dream come true (Could that maybe be a lyric for the new album?)
Now, listen, I have a few more surprises in store for you today. But I think it will all have to wait until after you get out the recording studio. Unless Noel would be willing to call it a day off in the name of true love? I do worry about him sometimes, maybe I could set him up with one of my girl friends.
Anyway, there isn’t anything to say in this letter that I haven’t already said. But you know me, I’ll still say it again and again. I love you, you are my world, you are my best friend, you are my partner in crime, and because I know you’ll roll your eyes if I don’t include it; you are the most gorgeous man to walk the earth.
See you in a minute, rockstar. Don’t forget to wipe off the glitter from this card!
Love always,
Your lover girl
P.S. Peggy called and wished us a happy anniversary
P.P.S. NOEL CALLED TO CANCEL REHEARSAL! Says he’s caught the flu but Bonehead told me it was just a hangover. What do you think of a quick trip back to Manchester?
To the prettiest loveliest fittest smartest beloved bird in all of England,
Your letter writing is cute but you really could have just said all that to my face. We share the same house, we sleep in the same bed, and I’m pretty sure this was the same letter you were scribbling away on last night when I told you to come and have a kip with me. You chose this letter over layin’ in the couch with me?
To make it up to me, I am suggesting you do a live reading of the letter right in front of me. Dream date, aye?
And don’t think you’re the only one in this relationship with a few surprises up their sleeve. (It ain’t just the milkshake in the fridge, babe)
See you later, my lover girl. Happy Valentine’s and Happy Anniversary.
Love you long time,
LG xx
P.S. I will call mam after I get to kiss my lovely girl. She’ll understand, yeah?
P.P.S. You think Noel cancelled the rehearsal on his own? Call that surprise number one, baby. Pack your bags, that’s surprise number two.
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