Starstruck

Epilogue

Warnings: N/A; there's not even swearing what the hell

Historical Inaccuracies: N/A

Word Count: 2.2k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Madison Square Garden, New York, United States, 1st of December, 1977

Years could pass— years would pass— and yet the feeling would forever remain the same. The rush, the pure and simple thrill of music and theatrics. Queen performing. You would never get tired of it.

Never get tired of Freddie's flourishes and dramatic spins, John's little dance moves that were becoming more frequent and less shy, Roger's funny faces and showing off with those incredible falsettos, Brian's look of concentration through a guitar solo, and the smile that broke it when you caught his eye from the wings.

The huddled conversations before a show, the raging parties afterward that you and Brian would often sneak out from, halfway through, because there were stars and comets and Perseids and planetary alignments to be seen.

You never missed an astronomical event.

Brian had bought a little notebook specifically for the two of you to mark such things in, and it was with a giddy smile that you'd toss him the notebook on a day where he'd forgotten what would be happening in the night sky, and watch him light up as he read your note.

He had also adopted a new tradition, it appeared, leaving you polaroids you hadn't known he'd taken— in the backpocket of the bell bottom trousers you'd laid out to wear the next day, between the pages of whatever novel you were currently reading, on your pillow alongside a bouquet of wildflowers.

You'd never met anyone like Brian, who, for all his absent-mindedness, was ceaselessly thoughtful when it mattered.

Except today.

It would seem that all logic had been thrown out the window today.

But that was fair enough, you thought, because Queen were to be playing at Madison Square Garden.

And Brian's parents would be there to watch.

He was fretting about that fact, it was obvious. He'd walked around all day wringing his hands and chewing on his lip, pacing, chattering, at moments falling entirely silent. He'd even forgotten to bring his guitar with him when Queen had stepped onstage for the afternoon's soundcheck.

The problem was that Brian hadn't had the time to see his parents earlier on in the day, and wouldn't get to do so before the show, because they were arriving in the city only half an hour prior to the concert.

"Sit down, Brian," said Roger finally, and Brian fell back into the chair beside you, completely on autopilot.

You reached out for his hand, and he took it without a thought, grasping a little too tightly. As he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, you rubbed circles into the back of his hand with the pad of your thumb.

"Have a cuppa, darling," Freddie said. He stopped in the act of painting his toenails with a sparkly varnish in order to hand you the cup of tea that John had just poured.

In turn, you handed the cup to Brian, but only seconds after he'd taken the first sip of tea, the cup crashed to the ground and shattered into a thousand little pieces, tea splattering all over his white shoes.

"Oh, you klutz," Freddie sighed. "That was one of our only good cups. The only one without a chip."

Uncharacteristically, Brian immediately mumbled an apology, rising from his seat.