Heyyyyy friends so i haven’t written in a really long while because my life has been a real shit show. But now that it’s getting back to normal; I’m gonna try to write again. This a John Deacon x OC because I need me some COMFORT. And if I can’t have it I’ll write about instead. OKAY BYE.
Warnings: Mentions of death, drunk driving, anxiety. Funerals, loss, angst angst angsty angst.
Bouquets of flowers cluttered the dining table, counter space and foyer of the now very empty home. The smell of wilting plants invaded her lungs as she attempted to pour a bowl of cereal.
It had been five days since the funeral. Two weeks since the accident. And what seem like an endless amount nights since her entire life fell apart. The walls were still hung with treasured photographs of the lives that had been so selfishly taken. A loving, somewhat dysfunctional family torn apart over such a stupid decision.
If I ever have the opportunity, I’ll kill him myself. That was the only phrase that ran through her head over the past week and a half.
Her parents and younger brother had been involved in a car accident, her parents killed instantly from impact. Thankfully, her brother was only banged up slightly; a broken rib and concussion. The accident was caused by a drunk driver; slamming into the Ford Cortina that had been so deeply loved by the family.
She’d heard so many people. So many voices complementing how well she was taking all of this. How strong she was for her brother; still an adolescent. How well she was keeping everything together. She could only nod and whisper a small “thank you” ; careful to not express any real emotions.
Her brother had returned to classes today; and she attempted to return to work that morning. Unable to reach the front door without a considerable amount of difficulty, her boss had recommended she take another week off.
She promised him she’d be back tomorrow morning; them both knowing full well that probably wasn’t the case.
What made matters worse; is that her childhood best friend; the love of her life… was nowhere to be found. John Deacon had become her best friend after a dare on the playground had gone sour; both too nervous to kiss the other on the lips. (The then eleven year olds promised they’d wait until they were ready. That day never came.) Unable to form a full sentence for the first few days following the accident; she didn’t bother calling him. When Brian (the lead guitarist from his band) phoned to acknowledge his condolences; even offering to come home early from the tour to be there for her… and yet he still didn’t bother to even write. She’d wanted to feel angry. To feel upset. To be heartbroken over the fact that her best friend couldn’t make it to her parent’s joint funeral.
It was a celebration of life, really. She didn’t want people reliving her trauma for hours on end; it was enough to experience it in cinemascope every moment of every day.
The doorbell rang; jolting her out of the trance she was in. Dropping a Lily she’d picked from one of the many arrangements that had been sent to the house over the past few weeks. She was growing bored of them, really.
Knowing it was either another floral arrangement or takeaway from a concerned neighbor; she opened the door slowly.
John stood in front on the other side of the door frame; a single red rose outstretched to her. Her mouth dropped a bit; blinking furiously at the long haired, handsome man. His eyes met hers softly; him recognizing the pain hiding in them so effortlessly. The guard and shield did not have to be present around John. She’d been bullied, almost tormented through their years of school. For her height, untamable curly auburn hair, and freckles cascading over every free patch of skin. She’d been through the worst (or what she thought was the worst) with him. She’d been through the best next to him, too. The success of his band; her graduation from art school and subsequent portfolio showing at a fancy, London hotel. When the band really started to grow; she’d been put to the wayside. (Or so it felt that way.) The last time they’d had an actual conversation on the telephone was on her birthday, eight months ago. He’d tried to protect her from the media, from obnoxious names in the music industry who’d made fun of the lass when she’d left a party at Freddie’s one evening. He vowed to never let them hurt her again; thus distancing himself from her completely. (Even if it meant breaking his own heart in the process)
“Niamh… you look… tired.” He spoke softly, breaking the awkward silence with a knife.
“Did Brian send you?” Niamh asked flatly, letting him stand in the entryway of the house.
“Freddie mentioned it… actually.”
“Of course he did. As if the four bouquets and takeaway twice a week wasn’t enough.” Niamh rolled her eyes, attempting to quite literally shut the shy bassist out of her home.
“Niamh! You can ignore me all you want. But I’m just here to try and make sure you’re keeping yourself well. The band is concerned.” He rushed out; hoping the words would hit her ears before the door latched shut.
“And why should they be? Loss is a part of life. All of you know this.”
“They’re hoping you’ll come out on tour with us.”
“As if I don’t have a life here? As if I don’t have a brother that is LITERALLY my responsibility, John?! But of course you don’t know any of that because you’ve pushed me out of your life.”
“Life gets busy… I just…”
“You didn’t want the public to know about me. About your friendship with the ugly, freckle faced girl from a crappy part of London.” Niamh croaked.
Rain started to fall against the shutters of the once beloved home; now filled with distant memories and painful reminders of all that was lost. She motioned from him to come inside.
“I was trying to protect you, love.”
“Protect me from what, John? That’s not a fucking excuse.” She whispered tearfully, slamming the door shut. The impact of the noise making John’s shoulders jump.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.. love.”
“That’s the last thing I need to hear right now.” Niamh wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her guard up higher than usual.
“What do you need to hear? What can I do, Niamh?”
The cold, frigid exterior she kept was melting away as her heart began process what was actually happening. Her childhood best friend standing in her in her living room; the backdrop of childhood paintings and vacation photos spread across every single each of wall.
“I do believe this oil painting was created right after our first album was released.” John giggled softly, his hand brushing against the artwork.
“You never quite learned to not touch the masterpieces, hm?” Niamh joked.
The only masterpiece I want to touch is you. He thought to himself. He’d harbored feelings for Niamh longer than any one human should; unable to let her go. Unable to get the fire haired, ferocious woman out of his head. Whenever Freddie would sing the haunting lyrics of “Love of my Life.” in concerts and gigs, he’d think of the girl he’d always dreamt of kissing. The girl he knew he would spend the rest of his life pining for.
But I’d rather spend one hundred years pining after you; than losing you because of a puppy dog crush. He’d tell himself as Freddie finished out the beloved song.
“I hung all of these a couple of nights ago when I couldn’t sleep. It makes them seem closer somehow.” Niamh’s eyes filed with hot tears. She grabbed ahold of the pencil silhouette she’d done of John about one year before Queen experienced their first surge of success.
“I meant to always give you this… but… I never did because I felt like you were here with me… even when you were…”
“I miss you, Niamh. I want you in my life forever.”
“Then why did you leave in the first place John?!” She screeched, her voice almost hoarse. A hand flew over her trembling lips; stifling a sob.
“I’m so sorry… please… let me back in… anything I can do… I’ll do anything.”
“I don’t even know what I need right now.”
“Well I’ll stay until we figure it out. Together. We can have a fresh start. Together.”
She could only nod; the sobs controlling her entire being. He felt his heart shatter as he watched his best friend in such a state of misery. To see the strong, beautiful woman he’d fallen so deeply in love with, so broken and in a state of mourning. She turned to face him; her broken eyes filled with such exhaustion. Instinctively; he wrapped her in his arms. It was an awkward angle; as she quite literally towered over him at 6’4.
“As much as I enjoy holding you, I do believe this isn’t comfortable for either of us.” He suggested, nudging her side. She tipped her head back, laughing the hoarse laugh he’d treasured all of these years.
“Lets get you to bed.” He whispered, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She agreed, her body so exhausted from almost two weeks worth of little to no sleep.
Softly climbing the stairs; she’d taken the lead, wanting to retreat to her comforting bed.
He smiled at her room; unchanged since the last time he’d come to visit. The same photo from a summer night was placed on her nightstand. He had decided to play “leapfrog” only to have Niamh’s younger brother capture it on film. Gently pulling the quilts over her (what seemed tiny when she was in such a state of disbelief and heartache) frame; he kissed her forehead. Grabbing an extra pillow and blanket from the linen closet; he plopped himself down on the floor of her childhood bedroom.
“The floor cannot be comfortable. You’re not seventeen anymore.”
“My Mum threatening to call your Mum if you tried any ‘funny business’ when you crashed here?” Niamh laughed.
“Come up here. It’s fine, really.” She convinced him. Thanking the gods above that he wouldn’t wake up with a stiff back; he settled in beside her.
“It feels good to have you home.” She whispered, before letting her eyes droop shut.
