He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 2

"Hey, have you heard from Brian lately?" the blonde wondered as he and the bassist walked down the snow-caked pavement, hands shoved into their coat pockets and chins buried in thick scarves. They had just gotten out of class and were going to Tim's place to work on the new song the brunette had come up with—their first recording session just weeks away. "He hasn't been returning my calls, and when I went by his flat the other day, his neighbors told me they haven't seen him in over two weeks."

"'Fraid I haven't," Tim muttered, following his curt answer up with a deceptive, "I wouldn't worry, though. He does this kind of thing sometimes."

Roger arched his brow, stealing a quick glance at the man beside him before shifting his gaze back down to his feet in search of ice patches. "What kind of thing?"

"He likes to disappear sometimes," the brunette lied, keeping his eyes locked forward. "You know, to clear his mind, start thinking straight again. Sometimes it's for a few days, sometimes it's for a few weeks, but he always comes back."

"Always?" the blonde repeated, unable to control the nervous taper in his voice.

"Always," Tim echoed flatly, abruptly dipping into the corner store to his right and dragging Roger in with him. The two walked up to the counter, and the brunette nodded his head at the pack of smokes he wanted to buy. Roger reached around Tim's side and grabbed a Zippo, placing it on the counter at the same time the store clerk set down the small box of cigarettes. The clerk met his gaze with tired eyes—the blonde flashing her an unreciprocated smile before she punched in the keys to register and bleakly informed the boys of their total.

"Grab us two beers, would you?" Tim mumbled while snatching the pack up from the counter and extracting a cigarette. Roger nodded his head and slipped away to the coolers, Tim grabbing the Zippo next and lighting the end of the white stick that stuck out from the corner of his mouth. The clerk narrowed her stare and tapped a few more keys, updating their total as the blonde returned with two amber bottles, one in each hand.

The brunette plucked the cigarette from his lips and blew a stream of smoke to the side, handing off the white stick to the blonde and shoving his hand into his jacket to fish for his wallet. He pulled out a few notes and slammed them down on the counter, winking at the clerk and taking the items with him as he left—Roger following in tow, a small grin daring to break out on his face.

The pair's casual, unsuspecting stride suddenly turned into a full-on sprint, the boys dodging the clerk and her angered shouts that they hadn't paid enough as they wove in and around the passersby on the street, running as fast as they could until they reached the street Tim lived on and plopped themselves down at the bottom of the steps leading to the brunette's tenement. Their smiles stretched from ear to ear as they lay sprawled across the stairs, struggling to catch their breaths and stop the adrenaline from pumping through their veins.

"We really gotta stop doing that, Tim," the blonde chuckled, dropping his head back against the wet, frigid, concrete step and snagging another drag from the cigarette he managed to hold onto during their escape. "We're going to get caught."

"Only if we're not careful," Tim replied, turning his head and watching as Roger drew the white stick away from his lips that pursed to form the streamline puff of smoke he exhaled. He bit his lip when the blonde met his gaze, smiling through the smoke that still spilled from his mouth. Without having to ask, Roger extended one of the two beers out to Tim, the gesture breaking him out of the daze he'd fallen into and encouraging him to sit up.

The brunette twisted the cap off the bottle and brought it up to his lips, feeling the chilled liquid slide down the back of his throat and provide him with some warmth from the wintry cold air surrounding him. With half the drink gone, he dropped his hands into his lap and swirled the brew around inside the bottle, taking another look at the blonde who stared at the gray sky with his fingerless-mittened hands folded atop his rising and falling chest.

"Would you say you know Brian better than I do?" Roger blurted out, a genuine, almost innocent quality to his query.

Tim rolled his eyes, annoyed by the blonde's relentless concern for the guitarist. "Depends on what you think I know about him that you don't."

"I just think it's strange that he would disappear without saying anything to me."

The brunette laughed. "That's kind of the point of disappearing, Roger, isn't it?" When all he got in response was silence, the smile disappeared from his face and he muttered, "Just stop worrying about it, okay? He'll be back before you know it."

"And if he's not?"

Tim smirked, his annoyance evolving into amusement. "I never knew you were so inquisitive, Roger." He brought the beer back to his lips and finished it off, stuffing the empty bottle into the pile of snow that had accumulated in the corner between the step he was sitting on and the one he was leaning against.

"I'm just worried," the drummer mumbled, sitting up with a grunt and examining the bottle in his hands—the still-burning cigarette pinched between his index and middle fingers. "I mean, aren't you?"

The bassist stood up and sighed, his frustrated breath manifesting itself in the bone-chilling breeze. "Like I said, he's done this before, and you worrying about him isn't going to bring him back sooner." He glanced down at the blonde who clearly wasn't satisfied with the answer he'd received, looking up at the brunette with glistening baby blues. "He's fine, Roger."

The blonde clenched his jaw and shifted his attention to his unopened beer, rubbing his thumb over the label while the other hand brought the white stick back to his lips.

"Why don't we go inside and get you a cup of tea, yeah?" Tim offered, hoping to bring back the smile that marked Roger's face just moments ago, as well as the joy they felt from their little excursion. When the blonde didn't move, he stuck one hand in his pocket and held the other out for him to take, urging, "Come on, it's cold out, and I think I've got some biscuits somewhere for us to eat."

Roger only glimpsed at Tim's extended hand, returning his gaze forward, exhaling slowly, and murmuring, "I'll be in in a bit."

Tim stared at the drummer, a similar feeling that bubbled up inside of him the first time he saw Brian and Roger in the library resurfacing. He hated it when people didn't do what he wanted, when they disobeyed him—even without realizing it, like Roger did that day in the library. He wasn't supposed to fall for Brian; he was supposed to fall for Tim.

As he thought about this, the brunette gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, nearly drawing blood. Had it not been for the blonde looking up at him again and repeating, "I said I'd be in in a bit," the brunette probably would've.

Those eight words brought Tim back to reality, though, and without saying anything else, he trudged up the steps and slipped inside the building, closing the door behind him and falling against it—his heart pounding against his rib cage and his world becoming washed in red. It didn't take him long to notice the pair of eyes staring at him through the crimson fog that distorted his vision, and when he did, his entire demeanor changed.

"What did I tell you..." he growled, peeling himself away from the door and running towards the pair of eyes, shouting, "...about being out when you're not supposed to!?!"