Hours passed, and Tim and Nana had yet to return. The boys, following Freddie's command, still lingered in the entryway. Neil had resigned to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and picking at his tattered apron. Roger and John had both fallen against the wall, the latter resting his eyes while the former stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks to pass the time. Meanwhile, the oldest of the four had taken a seat at the bottom of the stairs, scribbling in the pocket-sized notebook he'd smuggled in between the cinched waistline of his sequin frock and his hip. He'd pulled it out—along with the miniature pencil tucked behind his ear—when no one was looking.
"Goddammit," Roger whispered, softly punching the wall behind him with both hands.
"Lose your count again?" John guessed, prying open a single eye to glance at the blonde who hummed affirmatively and averted his gaze to the far corner of the foyer, starting his tally over. He didn't even reach double digits before his captor emerged from the shadows—alone.
"Well, that took a bit longer than expected," the brunette remarked, gaining everyone's attention. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, hiding the blood caked into his skin, and approached the group who—all but Roger—jumped back into line. Tim locked eyes with the defiant blonde, the others following suit. Roger, sensing the pressure to conform to the brunette's unspoken expectations, rolled his eyes and peeled himself away from the wall, stepping forward with his arms crossed.
"Thank you," Tim bit out, the two gritty words painful to iterate. The blonde grimaced.
The brunette skimmed the line of misfits before his cavillous gaze landed on his friend. "Why don't you prepare them for supper, Fred? You know, show them where to sit; remind them how to act; teach them how to act." He narrowed his eyes at Roger, the blonde shaking his head before looking away from the brunette. Tim glanced back at Freddie and explained, "I have something to tell you all, and I feel it would be best to hear it on a full stomach."
"Yes, Tim," the dark-haired man agreed obediently.
"Good. I'll see you boys in a bit," he muttered, stealing one more glance at them before retreating upstairs. The sound of his footsteps grew faint, and the weight bearing down on the boys' shoulders in Tim's presence dissipated with each step, lifting entirely once he was out of sight. The four couldn't relax entirely, though, suspicious of the news their captor had to share.
"I wonder what it could be," Neil murmured, his eyes widening with every conclusion he drew—each idea being exponentially worse than the last.
"Well, whatever it is, it can't be good," John retorted, a bitterness to his reply as he matched the blonde's defiant stance.
"How would you know?" Roger asked.
"Because he's never told us anything good over supper," the teenager answered for the boy a few years older than him, reminiscent of past dinners. Things always seemed to change after any supper they had together—how often Tim interacted with them, how often they were allowed to see the others, how cruel their punishments were. It was rarely for the better.
John scoffed. "Neil, he's never told us anything good ever."
"Alright, boys, that's enough," Freddie interjected, cutting their inflating stipulations short and breaking out of formation to usher the three younger men towards the staircase. "Come on. Upstairs, you go. Let's hustle. No time to waste."
"What're you talking about, Fred? We've got all the time in the world to waste," John sniggered, earning a stifled laugh from the blonde schoolgirl in front of him and a pinch in the ass from the man dressed in red behind him. "Ouch!"
YOU ARE READING
He Makes Me (Queen AU)
Fanfiction==COMPLETED== "Who knows who he'll make me as I lie in his cocoon . . . I'm warm and terrified, he makes me so." The flyer asked for a "Ginger Baker type" drummer, but what Smile was really looking for was the next addition to Tim's new "project." A...
