More than just a friend || Roger Taylor

2- Answer when it rings

2nd January 1978

And fate it must've been.

There he was again, his smirk too similar and eyes too gentle walking through the door frame to the little cafe I was certain no other famous Londoner knew about.

It had been two months since my eyes last met him, his figure and his face, including his subtle smirk, but it seemed like he hadn't changed. He walked through the door in the exact same way he had done that night in the bar, only this time I knew more than just his name. He was the famous drummer I remembered too well and thought of too often.

He was wearing a heavy, thick jumper that looked the same as him- the sleeves worn and thread pulled at as if they needed a rest. The jeans he wore were sat more loosely on the lower half of his torso, and his hair was the smallest big longer yet scruffier since our paths last crossed. But the changes in his appearance were only very subtle, and only noticeable if you of course seemed to analyse him as well as my eyes liked to.

His eyes didn't scan the room as he stepped into it, they instead scanned the menu board as I almost spilt my coffee down me in shock. Of all the men to step through that door, he was of course the one I least expected to.

I only let my eyes focus on him until he finished ordering his drink, and then quickly distracted myself in a hope he might not notice me. We'd only met once, for a snippet of time, and I thought there was a good chance he might not even remember. But I think I just liked to tell myself that, purely because it excused my mind for being so blank and clueless as to how to play out the next few moments in time.

I gently placed my mug back down on it's saucer, and lit a cigarette to try and relive a sudden nerve building up. As I pulled the lighter away from the end of the cig, I took a brief glance up and unexpectedly found an unfamiliar blonde girl with a bright smile walking towards where I was sat, perfectly blocking my view of the blonde I was slightly more invested as her smile shone.

"Are you the model ? The one that does those adverts on tv ?" She asked, biting her bottom lip with nerves as she waited for me to release the cloud of smoke I'd inhaled and answer the question I somehow knew was gonna be asked.

She couldn't of been old, only a teen, but she dressed older. A skimpy little dress and her hair sat in a bundle of curls on her shoulders that bounced with every step she took.

I nodded a little, my lips in a fake smile and eyes trying to discover where the drummer had gone since he'd last escaped my view as she gasped with excitement.

"Adelynn Petrov ? You're on the cover of those magazines my mum buys all the time. You're very pretty." She laughed, her eyes wrinkled as she smiled, slightly hiding the emerald green boarding her pupils as they focused on me.

"Thank you." I let my cigarette sit in the edge of the ashtray. "You could be a model too with eyes like that. Gorgeous." She instantly blushed and tried to hide her smile as it beamed brighter, earning a small laugh from me.

"Thank you. You're very kind. I hope you have a nice day."

"You too." I replied, letting my eyes fall down to the ash tray on the table as she turned on her heel and left the shop, her bouncy blonde curls following her. I only looked down at my cigarette for a split second before I let it rest between my two fingers again, and as I looked back up and pulled it towards my lips, the girls place in front of me had been replaced by another blonde.

The smirk was still there, his eyes still oddly gentle, and of course his hair in a ruffled mess as he sat down in the chair opposite mine. Now that he was closer to me, I could see in more detail the tiredness his expression wore. He seemed so worn, so tired, but as a rockstar I didn't expect he got much time to have a break.