PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

XXV.

♛ ♛ ♛

It's the middle of the night when I lurch awake, throwing the covers off in a desperate attempt to cool myself down. I can't remember exactly what the nightmare was about as I get out of the creaking bed, but I don't care to dwell on whatever had scared me awake.

As quietly as I can, I pad down the hall, past all the shut doors before sliding down the banister like a complete idiot, just to avoid any creaking stairs. Once I'm down, I head directly outside, walking out into the cool night air. The stars stare back at me as I tilt my chin up to the night, shining more brilliantly than I had ever seen them. I walk forward a little bit, until grass is brushing my ankles and I sit down, pulling my knees to my chest.

I stay like this for a while, wondering what constellations beyond the Big and Little Dipper are plastered up in the sky. I've always been envious of those who can read the stars like a map, but I've never put in the time to become one myself. There's a rustling from behind me that I assume is some sort of small animal, until I realize it's the sound of someone's footsteps. I snap my head back to the noise, heart beating in my ears.

I fight that instinct to bolt when I find Roger standing a bit away, having stopped when I looked back. He must somehow sense that I want to run, because he puts his hands up as if it would stop me if I did leave.

"I heard you get up," he says, as if that makes the whole thing just that much better. When I look back to the stars, he must think that it's an invitation, because he walks over to where I'm planted. He sits down next to me, just far enough away that he couldn't touch me if he wanted to, but just close enough that when I glance over at him, I can make out every feature of his face.

He looks tired, and I can tell that it's not the tiredness you feel after waking up. Even still, the moonlight sharpens every feature, from his jawline to the curve of his cheekbone, he looks like an angel descended. His eyes are nearly translucent as he looks to the moon, licking his lips before meeting my gaze.

"Hi," he says quietly, and I relax my shoulders a bit, letting out a breath that I can see float out in front of me.

"Your hair's gotten darker," I comment, crossing my arms over my knees.

"Your eyes have gotten darker," he replies.

"They're brown, Roger, they're always dark."

"No, their pigmentation is the same, but whatever's behind them has changed. It's gotten darker, a whole lot darker." I shake my head, running my tongue over molars as I look back to the night.

"I tried forgetting you," I start, "but something in the back of my mind told me that I was never going to be able to. That I'd always love the color of your eyes and look for you in a room of crowded people. That whenever I'd try and find someone, I would always come back to the way you were. The way you smelled or the way that you knew exactly how to make me laugh. It told me that I would never fully get over you, no matter how hard I tried... No matter how hard I do try."

"But what happened, Clementine? You still haven't told me," he says, "all this time I've been completely unaware of whatever the hell it is that happened, please, just tell me."

"That jean jacket I threw at you," I look back to him, "I left it at your house. I don't know when, but I did, and when I was in the coffee shop a girl came in wearing it."