He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 27

Roger watched intently as Neil, on his knees, took care of the tiny glass shards littering the dark, abandoned, second-floor hallway—the dustpan and brush he held in his hands an ironic extension of his outfit. The pictures Roger had freed from the frames days ago lay scattered and still under the soft bristles that swept over the exhausted and terrified eyes staring up at the ceiling, and the tight lips holding back the screams that wanted to slip past them.

Awkward silence filled the air as the blonde wondered if the teenager knew that it was his mess he was cleaning up, and if he'd cleaned up anyone else's messes—particularly Tim's. He must've...but did he know what he was hiding in his freezer? Roger couldn't imagine the sixteen-year-old being involved in such a heinous crime...but what if he was, and Tim had threatened him into secrecy? How could any sane person bear that kind of burden on their mind? The blonde certainly couldn't.

"How long have you been here, again?" Roger blurted out, attracting the young boy's attention for only a short second before it returned to the mess.

"'Don't know," Neil muttered, tugging the trash bag containing the broken frames closer and dumping the small collection of glass shards into it. "I stopped counting the days after I got to a hundred and something."

Roger nodded, looking down at his skirted lap and twiddling his thumbs. "So, you've been here a few months, then."

"I guess," the young boy agreed, sweeping the remaining glass shards into the dustpan. "That was a while ago, though."

"What do you mean?

"Well, I came here with a perfectly clean face, and now every other day, I have to shave, or Tim will do it for me. He doesn't like facial hair; he doesn't like any hair."

An uncomfortable pause impregnated the conversation before the blonde cleared his throat and dared to ask, "How'd you meet him anyways?"

"He and Gordon started hanging out at the school, playing loud music and disrupting classes and getting all the teachers hot and bothered," Neil revealed, dropping the broken glass into the black, opaque, plastic bag and sitting back on his heels with a sigh. "Next I know, Gordon's introducing us and all of a sudden, every time I see him, Tim's there too, so I had no choice but to hang out with the both of them and, well—" he gestured towards himself and chuckled sadly, "—the rest is history."

"Don't you think Gordon's worried about you?"

The teenager shook his head no and picked distractedly at the tearing fabric of his apron. "We weren't really friends. He was just an upper-classman who liked to pick on me; take advantage of the fact that I was below him and would do whatever he said just to seem cool. I guess I should've known better." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe then it'd be him here instead of me."

"Oh, come on. I don't think he would make nearly as pretty a maid as you do, Neil," Roger teased, a small, amusing grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The young boy rolled his eyes and reached forward, biting back the clearly, you haven't seen him that wanted to slip past his lips as he grabbed the closest photograph to him and then the others.

"Is yours in there?" Roger asked as Neil sat back and stacked the pictures neatly in his hands, tapping them against his thigh until there were no corners or edges sticking out from the rest. Of all the portraits, about ten in total, Brian's was the only one the blonde could remember seeing that day. He had no recollection of Neil's, or even John's.

"Of course it is," the teenager murmured, rising to his feet and standing over the sitting blonde. "Where's yours?" He snatched up the trash bag with the shattered frames and glass and started down the hallway, proposing a question whose answer he didn't really care for.

Roger shook his head at Neil's snark and pulled himself up off the ground, jogging a few steps to catch up to the younger boy who'd thrown the bag over his shoulder to carry it.

Neil glanced at Roger out of the corner of his eye, curious as to why he'd decided to spend his day with him instead of John or Freddie, or rather, by himself. The boys had made it very clear to the teenager that he was a nuisance to them, and while they didn't blatantly turn him away or ostracize him, they certainly made him feel like he was the odd one out; like he was too young to understand what was happening and needed everything sugar coated for him. Though that wasn't the case—his awareness of their situation just as acute as any of the other men in the house—he was sure it was only a matter of time until Roger started to treat him the same way, but for now, for whatever reason, he seemed to view him as an equal, giving Neil the courage to speak up.

"What about you?" the youngest of the two muttered.

"What about me?" Roger replied, going to slip his hands into his pockets when he remembered he was wearing a skirt. Awkwardly, to try and mask his mistake, he patted down the front of the garment, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his head away from the teenager to hide the embarrassed blush washing over his cheeks.

"How'd you meet Tim?" Neil elaborated, a flatness to his question.

The blonde scoffed, following the younger boy down the staircase. "I was the drummer in his bloody band." They reached the first floor and, instead of heading for the front of the building where the entrance was and where escape lay dormant, they turned right and walked towards the back of the complex. "We were actually planning to record our first album in a couple of weeks but then—"

"Hold these for me, would you?" the teenager ordered, leaving little room for argument or complaint as he shoved the photographs into the drummer's chest and pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder and his arm—a strong gust of wind hitting the two of them instantly. The bitter chill of winter nipped at the boys' exposed skin as Neil stepped outside and expertly traversed the icy steps in heels. The cold didn't seem to bother him one bit as he threw the lid to the dumpster open and broke the thick blanket of snow that had accumulated on top of it in half.

Roger shivered in the doorway, holding the portraits tightly to his chest and squinting his eyes to accommodate the new intake of light. As his vision adjusted to the harsh change in brightness, and the frigid air tore through his bones, he slowly came to realize the opportunity he'd been presented with. So did the teenager, and before the blonde could even think to take even one step over the threshold, Neil called out, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He tossed the garbage bag into the dumpster and let its lid fall shut, the snow crunching beneath his feet as he walked back up the steps and slipped back into the building, closing the door behind him.

"W-W-Why not?" Roger stammered with chattering teeth, his body trembling from the cold.

The young boy stood toe-to-toe with the blonde and swallowed the lump in his throat—recalling his own disastrous attempt at outsmarting the brunette and escaping. "It's just not as easy a way out as you think," he explained timidly.

"How would you know?"

"Because he got caught, and so will you," a third voice joined the conversation, turning both boys' heads over their shoulders. Their eyes fell upon Freddie, now adorned in a long, red, sleeveless, sequined gown with a narrow neckline that dipped down to his navel. Along with the dress, he wore matching, fingerless gloves that covered his entire forearm, a pair of red lace stockings and pumps that hugged his legs and made him stand a few inches taller respectively, and a curly, voluminous, red-haired wig that framed his cleanly shaven face and strong jawline. His glossy red lips and lacquered red fingernails were the finishing touches to the outfit that failed to impress the teenager, as he had seen him in it before. However, this was the first time Roger had seen Freddie like this, like them, and he couldn't stop staring—his eyes wide in astonishment.

"I-I was just taking out some trash, Freddie," Neil announced, stepping behind the blonde ever so slightly, as if he would protect him from the potential danger their captor's friend posed.

"I know, Neil," he replied, his gaze shifting to the blonde. "You're not the one I'm worried about."