He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 33

A tense silence blanketed the room as Tim sat on the edge of the stage, trying to decipher his grandmother's surprise announcement—his back hunched and his head in his hands. Beside him lay Brian, resting on his side with a small puddle of blood pooling around his wounded shoulder. He'd endured so much pain that it didn't even faze him that the shoulder he landed on was the one the hook tore through.

Meanwhile, the other four, still tied to the chairs, grew restless. Neil reflected painfully on his interaction with Nana, her haunting touch upsetting him further with each passing moment he couldn't distract himself with his chores. Freddie ruminated on his anger as well, tapping his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. He couldn't wait to be untied so he could launch himself at his friend and wail on him until he was just as bruised and beaten as the tortured project curled up beside him. John, on the other hand, wanted to be set free to scratch his itchy ankles, wrists, and back, writhing in discomfort and gasping with each splinter that wedged itself into his skin. Roger shook his leg anxiously in the next chair over, perched on the edge of his seat with eyes locked on Brian's chest, watching his ribcage expand and contract with each faintly drawn breath.

"How long are you just going to sit there and do nothing, Tim?" Freddie snapped, earning the brunette's attention—along with John's and Neil's. Even Roger stole a quick glance at the dark-haired man before returning his worried gaze to the stage.

"As long as I want to, Fred," he answered flatly.

"Of course," John muttered while Neil rolled his eyes, the younger of the two teenagers shaking his head in disappointment. The blatant display of annoyance would normally earn the both of them some sort of punishment, but their captor was too concerned with his own situation to notice.

"Well, how long will that be?" Freddie dared to ask, his rapping fingers curling into the palm of his hand.

A chuckle slipped past the brunette's lips, his slouched posture straightening and his hands clasped in his lap being tucked under his arms. "What does it matter to you? You got somewhere to go?"

His accomplice scoffed. "No, but—"

"But what?" Tim bit out, narrowing his eyes.

Freddie, unintimidated by the slighted look directed his way, clicked his tongue. "What about our agreement? Have you just completely forgotten about that?"

"No, I didn't forget about it, Freddie," the brunette mumbled, hanging his head and covering his hands with his face, disappearing into the dark world created by the palms of his hands. If it weren't for his increasingly impatient friend, ready to burst at the seams, Tim could've lost himself in the quiet buzz of the halogen bulbs shining down on him, their warmth reaching down and embracing him tightly, providing him the respite he desperately needed to solve his problem.

However, his friend's voice pierced through the succoring hum with an infuriated, "Then why the hell am I tied up like the bloody fucking rest of them!?!" the dark-haired man tugging at the restraints that were actually quite loose—just not enough for him to slip his wrists out.

"Maybe because you're not as special as you think you are," Neil whispered, feeling the sharp glare Freddie instantly hit him with.

"Speak for yourself, darling," he sneered, snapping his head back to flip his synthetic hair over his shoulder. The brunette whose hands had fallen back into his lap and whose attention returned to his accomplice heaved a sigh, recognizing the argumentative look tainting Freddie's pointed gaze, and jumped down from the stage, kneeling before the dark-haired man and untying the knots with the trained mastery of a Boy Scout.

The blood-spattered ropes instantly fell apart and to the floor, the soft thud of the restraints synced with the creaking of the hardwood as Tim stood. "Happy?" he asked, a bitterness to his curt remark.