Don't Talk! (Freddie Mercury / Queen)

5. Live At The Bowl

F.M.
Milton Keynes,
5th of June.

Here I was, about to perform in a huge open air venue, whilst being filmed, and I was more worried about whether Hayes Griffith would indeed show or not. I had just arrived in a bloody helicopter to a packed out gig. I should be on top of the world, but no, I wanted to know if a self-declared hater of Queen was attending the show.

Hayes had wormed himself under my skin, like a rather unpleasant splinter. Usually if I dislike someone, I don't give them the honour of gracing my thoughts, I move on. I have decided to blame Phoebe and his terrifying infatuation with the man for this entire situation.

"Is my Hayes here yet?" Peter asked as if reading my mind.

I squinted, "Your Hayes?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe he stood you up."

"My Hayes would never do such a thing."

Speak of the devil and all that, Hayes appeared alongside Roger, both of whom appeared to be engaged in an enthralling conversation. Well, Roger was chattering away, and Hayes was nodding along thoughtfully. A nervous itch worked its way up my jaw. Why was I worried about a judgemental prat coming to my show again?

"I'm going to take his coat." Phoebe exclaimed and glided over towards Hayes.  

Before I could call him back and tell him to stop acting like such a twit, I instead wanted to thank him as Hayes shrugged himself out of his grey overcoat. Usually, I thought men in turtleneck sweaters looked awful. You need a certain body type to pull it off, but good fucking lord, Hayes Griffith in a black turtleneck sweater... What a day to be attracted to men, that's all I'll say about that. Did he paint it on? Does he work out? All important questions, necessary even.

"My god." I muttered aloud.

"Oh now you hop on the Hayes train." Phoebe grumbled, "Well I was here first."

I was too busy counting every raised plane on Hayes' stomach to reply. Oh don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm just window shopping, have you never heard of it!? Can't I admire the human form? I'm an artist you see, that's all this is. I appreciate a well toned body- as an artist. So my point is... something that doesn't make me sound like I am attracted to Hayes.

"A train can have multiple passengers." I finally declared.

"Fine, but I'm in first class and you're in coach."

"The help is in first class?" I frowned, "What sort of train is this?"

Phoebe shot me a glare, "What have I told you about calling me the help?"

"Why have I told you about not wearing your uniform to work?"

"You don't seriously make him wear a uniform do you?" Hayes' expensive voice interjected as he appeared between us.

Phoebe and I tried to pull ourselves together in an effort to appear as though we both weren't calling fucking dibs on a straight man a few seconds ago.

"Only on the weekdays." I shot him a grin, "How are you?"

Hayes had a generic polite smile, but no genuinely friendly smile in his arsenal of facial expressions. I don't know why I expected him to match my grin, or why I was disappointed when he didn't.

His lips barely twitched in the corners, "I'm fine, and you?"

"Good, good."

"And you Peter?"