Maylor One Shots

💫 Back Chat

Voyeur POV

Brian hated disco. Well, more than hated it. He despised it with every single cell in his body. It wasn't the music, per se, it was what it was doing to his band and his relationships. His band hated him, and it was even worse when one of his bandmates was supposed to be dating him. He knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn't help it. He was falling back into his depressive ways because he felt so unneeded and so useless in the studio.

He felt like one day soon John would kill him, Freddie would kick him out of the band or Roger would break up with him. All 3 seemed inevitable eventually. Anyone who tried to talk to him wouldn't receive anything but childish comments and glares. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to explain to his bandmates that he didn't just hate disco, it was making him severely depressed.

It was so much effort for him to get up every day and to drag himself to the studio just to sit there all day and watch as the other three all recorded their parts with no thoughts of adding any guitar at all. He'd written a song, Dancer, in hopes that he'd be able to add guitar onto it, give him something to do. But he went back to the studio the day after he presented it and the other three had completed it by themselves. Without him. Even though it was his song. And they'd left absolutely no room for any guitar solo. He threw a fit until they let him have his way and he recorded quite a long solo.

He knew that they missed the point of the song. It was a cry for help, a desperate cry to them. He wanted them to figure out what was going on in his head, but he didn't want to say it himself. Hell, he didn't know how. All he seemed to know how to do was sulk and be mean to everyone he cared about, and he absolutely hated it. He hated what he'd become and he hated that he didn't know how to fix it. And he didn't know if this was his future. If this album did well he knew that they'd do more, and he really didn't think he could deal with that.

He thought it couldn't get worse after the whole Dancer incident, but boy was he wrong. Every day seemed to put more and more stress on him and John's relationship, and they seemed to be yelling at each other every second. This was finally proved when John brought his song Back Chat.

"I love it! Great lyrics." Freddie commented as John showed it to them.

"Agreed. It's very witty." Roger nodded along,

"Brian?" John asked, although his tone was cold. He hadn't spoken to Brian in days without it turning into an argument.

"It's fine." Brian replied, trying to appear neutral. However, it came out snotty and the other three shot him exasperated looks. They started to record it, and as usual, Brian was sat on the sofa watching the other three work on it. There was no guitar needed. As John recorded the bass line, Roger came over to him.

"What is wrong with you? You're being horrible!" Roger hissed, crossing his arms.

"Fuck off. I don't want to talk about it." Brian growled, looking away from the drummer. He didn't think he could bear to see the irritation and disappointment in the face of the one he loved. And it was all directed at him.

"You never want to talk about it! You just go around throwing tantrums and sulking all day! I'm not a huge fan of disco either, but I'm not acting like a fucking toddler!" Roger raised his voice slightly, causing Deaky to mess up, so they stopped the track. Freddie and Deaky stood off to the side in case it got too heated.

"Well what else do I have to do! I just sit here all day watching you three do everything because apparently I'm not needed anymore and no-one wants to hear guitar anymore! I hate this! I fucking hate this!" Brian screamed, burying his hands in his hair and feeling tears sting his eyes.

"Just fucking deal with it Brian! Guitar isn't suited for this genre and all we ask is your opinion! But maybe we shouldn't because you just seem to have your head in your arse! Pull it out and stop being such a wanker!" Roger countered, his eyes filled with cold fury. Brian couldn't handle it anymore and just broke down and cried, running out of the room. He was at his wits end and no-one even knew. He ran straight into the bathroom and locked it. He slammed his head against the wall and felt empty inside. The tears soaked his cheeks but he didn't even feel it as he was consumed by blackness.