He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 30

"Oh, Tim," Freddie frowned, extending a comforting hand over the corner of the table to the brunette. The pitying gesture went unnoticed—Tim's eyes locked on the chipped bowl in front of him and his hands tucked beneath his arms. Freddie slowly retracted his hand, placing it in his sequined lap with the other one.

"Nana's going to be staying here to help out for a bit too," he added flatly.

A distraught groan slipped past Neil's lips, the teenager covering his face with his hands while John heaved an irritated sigh, leaving Roger to wonder if his reaction should be the same. He'd really only had one interaction with the woman in question, and while it wasn't very pleasant—the old bird nearly suffocating him with his necktie—he didn't understand their strong repulsion to her extended presence. It wasn't like their experience was any more enjoyable without her.

Tim's brows furrowed at the boys' negative response, but surprisingly, he made no comment, saying instead, "That means you'll do what she says, when she says it, and how she says it. No questions asked, alright?"

"I still don't know who the hell she is," Roger blurted out, three sets of wide eyes finding their way to him.

"It doesn't matter who she is," the brunette growled, pounding his fists into the table and sending a ripple through the surface—the bowls and silverware rattling. "You'll do what she says, when she says it, and how she says it. No questions asked."

"Well, what's in it for us?" the belligerent drummer continued his interrogation, failing to read the room who couldn't tell if the blonde's defiance was deliberate or unintentional. If it was the latter, maybe he was just too stupid to realize that fighting Tim any step of the way was only going to make things worse for himself. However, if it was the former, his resistance would make things worse for them all.

"Roger, stop it," Neil warned in a harsh whisper.

"What's in it for you?" Tim repeated, rising up from out of his chair and leaning over the table. "What's in it for you, Roger, is that your smug fucking arse gets to live another fucking day. That's what's in it for you."

"What if I don't wanna—" the blonde started to argue when John jammed his elbow into his arm—the sudden but dull surge of pain distracting him from finishing his thought, followed by the appearance of the older woman who caused the dispute. Having shed the fur coat she arrived in to reveal a very plain but expensive, designer outfit—consisting of a solid, white, long-sleeve blouse and a pair of sleek, black pants and matching stilettos—she brought in a large pot, held onto with a pair of mitts twice the size of her small hands. The steam billowing up into her face didn't seem to bother her as she set the pot down on the table with a loud thud—miraculously not spilling any of its contents.

"Who's hungry?" she smiled, resting her hands on her hips.

Tim rolled his eyes and plopped back down in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and turning his head to the side. The room buzzed with silence as Nana waited for someone to speak up.

Her eyes flickered from one boy to the next, hoping to gain just one of their attentions—their gazes pointed in every direction but hers. It was obvious the scattered eyes were in avoidance of the others, the argument that came to an abrupt end plaguing their minds. Roger wanted nothing more than to see how far he could push Tim over the edge, whereas the latter envisioned himself lunging over the table and tackling the former to the floor, tussling it out until he came out victorious—the blonde pinned beneath him and their waists dangerously close to one another's. Had Nana not shown up, the other two boys would've spectated the fight, John rooting for whoever drew the most blood while Neil bit his fingernails and prayed for the opposite, knowing it would be his responsibility to clean up the mess afterwards.