He Makes Me (Queen AU)

Chapter 64

The light gray sky suspended above London grew dark, and the blistering snow blown around by the harsh winds finally settled to the ground. Power returned to the complex shortly after Gordon had sped away from it, kicking the furnace back on and warming the empty rooms and corridors that began losing heat.

Tim still felt cold, and it wasn't just because he only had a thin robe draped over his shoulders. The coldness he felt originated from within, and no amount of hot air or layers of clothes could change that.

It was as though a switch had been flipped inside the brunette, and all the confusing thoughts that ran through his head had suddenly disappeared. It was all so clear to him now, what he had to do; what was to happen now that Roger and Brian were gone.

With the former's enduring soreness and the latter's slowly healing injuries, it was difficult for the two of them to make meaningful headway in their escape. Had they been in better shape and the weather not so treacherous, they could've already been halfway to the guitarist's flat, or even Jo's place, but they'd barely made it to the end of the street when Brian begged for them to stop. While his hands and feet had succumbed to the numbness that spread over them, his knees had been set ablaze, and he swore that if he took one more step, they'd shatter.

As the curly-haired student relaxed back into the base of the lamppost, his legs stretching across the snow-covered pavement, Roger turned back to see how far they'd gotten. He scoffed—the prison they'd left behind still visible in the distance.

"I c-c-can't go on, Rog," Brian stammered through chattering teeth, the blonde craning his neck to look down at him.

"You just sat d-d-down, Bri," he replied, crossing his arms over his frostbitten chest and returning his attention to the complex. "Give yourself s-s-some time."

"We don't have t-t-time," the guitarist argued. "I...I th-th-think you should...keep g-g-going."

Roger shook his head, a disbelieving smile tugging at the corner of his frozen lips. "Fuck that."

"I m-m-mean it, Roger." The blonde met the curly-haired student's teary gaze. "You still...You still have a ch-ch-chance."

The snow crunched beneath the drummer's feet as he closed the short distance between them, squatting down so they were eye level and saying as sternly as he could through his cold-induced stutter, "I didn't c-c-come all this way just to l-l-leave you behind, Brian. I won't d-d-do it."

A tear trickled down the guitarist's cheek, the awkward pause inviting a few more to fall. Roger frowned and brought a trembling hand up to Brian's face, swiping away the cold streaks that ran down to his chin and flashing him a reassuring grin. The guitarist tried to return the gesture, but his lips quivered in guilt and his vision blurred in regret.

While he initially blamed Roger for their predicament, he started to wonder if it really had been his fault all along.

His reasoning stemmed all the way back to their first encounter, the day Roger auditioned for their band. The guitarist, like the bassist, was instantly impressed by his skill, but he knew that day that there was something else he liked about him; something he knew would change his life forever. Yet he did it anyway, knowing all along that nothing good would come out of it.

Even when it seemed like there would be, when he and Roger were at the height of their affair, a nagging feeling sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. His biggest fear was that, at any moment, he would wake up from the dream he was having, and when he did, when he realized he wasn't the only one infatuated with the newest addition to the band, it was too late.

He tried so hard to maintain control of the situation, to make sure that it never got out of hand, but he became too bold, too daring in his endeavors. He wanted more out of their relationship; he wanted to have Roger all to himself. He'd let his selfish desires get the best of him, and with his ambitions high and his guards low, he became the first to fall. He knew it was only a matter of time before Roger fell too. He hated himself for it. He could've protected him; he could've protected both of them, but instead, he opened the door wide open for Tim to swoop in and wreak havoc for the both of them. If he'd just been more careful, this would've never happened.

It was all his fault, and the wavering expression on his face showed it.

The blonde, seeing this, leaned in to kiss the pain away, but before any contact could be made, a faint set of lights miraculously appeared in the distance, stealing his attention. Brian curiously followed Roger's gaze, watching the pair of glowing orbs grow bigger and brighter the closer they got.

Without warning, the drummer shot up from the ground and launched himself directly into the lights' path, waving his hands above his head and shouting, "Hey! Stop! STOP!" It was then that the body belonging to the lights emerged from the cold, snowy night, the ice encrusted vehicle flying down the snow-buried road at a dangerous speed. Roger had barely any time to think before the 1959 Mini swerved violently around him and screeched to a stop not that far ahead.

The blonde—having staggered backwards and tripped over the curb onto the pavement—sat on the wet and cold ground with a racing heart, the pounding in his chest beating in his ears. The car idled for a good minute or so before its driver put it in reverse and lurched back towards the boys, slowing to a stop in front of the blonde who scrambled to his feet and watched as the driver lowered the car door's window with a hand crank.

Inside sat a girl who looked eerily similar to Chrissie, Brian's girlfriend, but wasn't her. Instead of having long, straight brown hair that reached down to the middle of Chrissie's back, a voluminous mop of brunette ringlets grew from this girl's scalp and just brushed the tops of her shoulders. She also had hazel eyes instead of green ones—almost identical to the guitarist's—that trailed up and down the drummer's neglected and poorly clothed frame and narrowed.

"Jesus Christ," she greeted bitterly, meeting his gaze. "What the hell were you thinking back there? I could've bloody killed you!"