Starstruck

Part 18

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sentiments of sadness

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A

Word Count: 4k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You would come to miss those days on tour.

Those days were some of the best days of your life.

It was the eclectic array of nights spent dancing in clubs somewhere halfway across the world, where you had hardly any idea what the reference point for 'halfway' was.

You no longer measured the distance from home, because it was with you always now.

You finally understood all those stupidly sappy people, with their stupidly sappy sentiments about how home was not a place but a feeling.

Because Brian was that feeling.

It was the mornings in the UK where you discovered you had not seen all there was to see, the afternoons on the East Coast of the United States where you met a thousand new people, the evenings on the West Coast where you learned to surf, the nights in Japan where you didn't speak the language and relied on universal symbols to do the talking for you, incoherent late-night-early-morning hours spent on god knew what tour bus or flight, leaned against Brian who slept as little as you. He awoke at every little jolt or sound, but did so with his hand in yours or resting lightly on your thigh, a small smile on his lips to ask if you were alright. You were always far better than simply alright, because it was all those little things that you lived for, because now, they were your life. And they made you feel alive. At home and alive.

When you'd returned to the tour bus on the route to Taunton, you'd been holding his hand, and it seemed that everyone had been anticipating this change, because the reactions were immediate.

"Did you two fucking finally get together?" said Roger, and the rest of the Queen entourage turned to look at you.

"Y/N!" Heather cried. "You didn't think to tell me?!"

You reddened, fighting the urge to pull your fingers from Brian's and run out the door. "It's sort of a new thing—"

"When?" John piped up. "When did it happen?"

"Deacy!" Freddie cried. "Interrupting is rude. Finish your sentence, Y/N darling, then tell us when."

You stammered, "I— um—"

"Liverpool," said Brian firmly, wrapping his arm around your waist and dropping a kiss to your head. "We'll be taking no further questions at this time."

He then swept you with him to the seats at the back of the bus and proceeded to read to you from one of the many Hermann Hesse novels he'd packed, and his voice lulled you into a much-needed sleep.

And from that day on, the two of you became inseparable.

Every word you breathed was with Brian in mind, orchestrated in sentences to make him laugh in a way that warmed you down to your fingertips and toes, uttered for him because he was there and he would understand what you were talking about. It wasn't a conscious thing, but it seemed that he was everywhere, influencing all that you did, because everything about him made you so ridiculously happy.

Those days were some of the best days of your life.

And some of the worst.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Bournemouth, 23rd of November, 1975

It was in Bournemouth, on the way down to the lobby, that you found the door to Freddie and Mary's hotel room open, and the latter packing up her things.