PRETTY LOVER BOY - ROGER TAYLOR

XXIV.

NOTE!!: this around a month and a half later :)

♛ ♛ ♛

I flip through the tabloid, taking in yet another person's opinion on my most recent photo shoot. Smoke filters out through one of the living room's open windows, sunlight spilling through the blinds, basking the room in a florid glow.

The days have been going by at a decently steady pace. I've managed to suppress with utmost grace that ache in my ever twisting stomach, with preparations for photo shoots and even a fashion show or two. I've tried my best to make a name for myself over my time alone, though I can't exactly ignore that chunk that seems to be absent. I miss the band terribly, our connection growing more and more strained due to recording their album. I get calls from Freddie every once and a while, but other than that, it's radio silence.

My longing for Roger, on the other hand, had long been suppressed deep down in my chest, and I hardly let it out anymore. I've convinced myself that I don't need him, that it was nice while it lasted but i have shit to get done, and for the most part, it's worked out well for me. However, I do have my moments. My moments of missing how my hand fit so well in his, or how he used to brush my hair out after a particularly tiring shower. I can't deny that some days I just wants to hole up in my flat and filter through all my memories with him, but for the most part, I decide that it's easier to let go of it all. It's easier to quit treating our memories like something that could happen again and not occurrences of the past. Though, there's no trace of doubt in my mind that I would run back to him given the right chance. But I keep those thoughts suppressed with all the others.

I know full well Roger's been having the same issues as me. He's still in the dark as far as I'm concerned and likely confused at the whole thing. I've seen the press photos and other things of the band together. He's no longer playing to the cameras as he used to, and he's now found in the background of the pictures, head down, aviators covering his eyes. He hasn't tried to contact me, however, and I'm not really sure what to make of the whole situation myself. I know I'll have to address it one day, and that means having to face Roger for the first time in a while, but it's something that will eventually be necessary. It's unfair for him, and I know it perfectly well.

The ringing of my telephone cuts through my reading and I set the magazine down on the mahogany coffee table with a sigh, snuffing out my cigarette in the ashtray and padding down the hall to the phone.

"Hello," I say into the receiver, tapping a mindless beat on my thigh.

"Clementine, darling, how are you?" A smile tugs at my lips at the familiar voice of Freddie.

"I've been alright, Fred, how about you?" I lean against the wall, twisting my fingers in the cord.

"Well, I've been better," he begins, "you see, we're recording our album at Rockfield studios, if you've seen."

Yes, I had seen. There've been photos going around of them at the farm, though it's only been a week or so that they've been there.

"And we're having some difficulties." I can hear the hesitation in his voice. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I... we, want you to come to the studio and help with the recording."

My whole world stops spinning, and I almost feel as if I might faint. Just the mere thought of being near the band again both relieves me and makes my stomach churn.