dear friends // froger

three: you're kinda sexy when you're mad

Roger

I've never phoned the police – or any emergency service for that matter. My breaths are shaky as I dial the first nine. I have no idea how I'm going to begin when they answer. He's been gone for... how many days? I'm on the second nine now and the phone screen glows up at me, daring me to hit the final nine. When I do it sends a rush of adrenaline through me and I gently bring the phone to my ear.

Before I can answer, I hear the front door open, a familiar click. Did I forget to lock it – or is it John... the phone slips from my hand, crashing down onto the wooden floor below. It's dark outside and the only light I left on is the living room. I crash through the house, my heart thudding. When I reach the front door, I can see the outline of a figure – but it's not John.

I turn on the light, adrenaline rushing through me. Freddie's leaning against the wall, his hair now much shorter, but the familiar softness of it still there. He's biting his lower lip, looking straight at me, boredom plastered all over his face. His grey shirt is unbuttoned almost all the way down, not leaving much to the imagination, and he's wearing casual blue jeans. I realise that my heart rate hasn't yet slowed down. Eventually he breaks the silence, "we alone?" I nod and he rolls his eyes and pushes past me, making his way to the living room. I follow him through and see him staring down at the phone on the floor, his head shaking. He picks it up, juggling the metal around in his hands, although it feels as though he's just playing with my emotions. I sigh and crash down on the sofa. "How can I entertain you?" he offers.

"I dunno," I mutter, "I didn't exactly ask you to come round – how did you get in anyway?"

He smirks, "it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're alone."

His words send a wave of guilt running down my body. I think of John, probably lying somewhere amongst the undergrowth; he'll be camouflaged in the leaves and dirt – bloody, cold and lifeless. The thought makes me feel nauseous and I remember how close I was to calling an emergency service before Freddie interrupted, expecting me to drop everything to be at his service. "The fucking love of my life is probably lying out there, desperate for help and you're stood in my house trying to get me to have sex with you?" I snap, looking directly into his eyes.

"What?" He says, not shocked in the slightest bit from my harshness. "You know you're kinda sexy when you're mad."

I shake my head, furiously shoving him away from me, my fingernails digging into the warmth and comfort of his chest. He steps back, but not nearly as far away as I'd initially wanted. I can feel myself close to tears, collapsing into him and feeling his arms wrap around my torso. "I'm sorry," I mumble, my voice breaking. "I feel so bad for what I did."

He gently pushes me back, keeping me at arm's length away from him, "what did you do?"

I feel it pouring out of me, every single acrimonious detail of that night's events: the gang and the gun; John being overly drunk and then my cowardly decision to run away. Once I'm finished, I look up at Freddie, feeling myself close to tears. He's chewing his bottom lip, deep in thought.

"I've got to find him, Fred," I mumble, breaking the silence.

He nods, "Jesus, man. D'you want my help?" He pulls me closer to himself again, wrapping me in another hug. I bury my face into his clothing, inhaling his familiar scent and nod.

"Yeah," I reply, my voice muffled, "but we need to start by calling the police."

Freddie may be a lot of things, but he's not an ass and he means well. He agrees and hands me the phone. For the first time in the past few days, I feel content and slightly optimistic. It can't be that hard to find John.

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a/n: yoo this is a ridiculously short chapter but writer's block is a bitch but anyways, are you rooting for joger or froger in this? 

- imy x