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It's one o' clock on a Saturday morning, and the inscrutable Brian May can't sleep.
Why he can't is a mystery. Maybe it's the Milky Way observation that he heard on the radio, but it's two hours from now. Maybe it's the way Roger smiled at him before heading off to bed. Yes, it's definitely the latter. Running a hand through his curls, he paces quietly, secretly hoping that no one wakes up and sees him in this state. The last thing he needs is a group therapy session. Besides, you can't cure the invisible.
1:15 am. The ticking echoes throughout the darkened walls of the room, chiming loudly in his head. "𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮," the clock seemed to say, its raspy voice sneering at him. "𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮." He knows that it's just his imagination, but it's right, it always has been. So he does what he always does in all of his one-sided conversations with the clock. He takes the nearest pillows and screams, hoping his muffled cries get swallowed by a black hole.
1:30 am. Roger's smile is on replay in his head. The way his lips quirk up whenever Brian says something uncharacteristically stupid, as though to say "𝘖𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶," and shake his head afterward (In another universe, they would have kissed), his blue eyes staring up at him in adoration, and his dimple on the right side of his cheek. He's looking too much into this, but he can see the nebulas in his eyes, on the good days. He can also see the looks of longing when he's with some pretty girl at a bar and they both make eye contact. But he's just imagining things. It's the stress of writing his thesis on interplanetary dust. That, and the stress of producing an album. Add sleepless nights and Roger's beauty into the equation (using the term B as a constant), you get a stunned Brian who's hopelessly in love with his best friend. And that's not good at all.
!!
They're both cuddling on the couch on a Friday night, watching the 1969 moon landing. "Bri," mumbles Roger, turning towards him, the question lurking in the silence. They both know what's coming next.
"Yes," Brian manages to squeak out. "Yes, I love you too. I always have." Roger nods slowly, a smile of comprehension dawning on his face, and his heart hitches because Roger's face is bathed in halcyons. Brian slowly leans in and cups his face, clumsily pressing their mouths together. It's supposed to be fleeting, but Roger deepens it, and they both drown further. Halfway, he hears the sudden ticking of the clock, and everything just fades away. For the second time that morning, Brian buries his head in his hands, weeping for an improbable chain of events, moon landings, and Roger's ethereal beauty.
!!
2:15 am. He just wants to forget all about Roger. Forget that they were ever best friends, forget that they nearly kissed one too many times, forget that they shared a bed every time they're on tour, forget in general. His beauty is meant to dissemble anyone who dares to look, and then you fall - faster than the speed of light - until a swooping darkness descends upon you. Besides, all he needs are the stars. You can scream your problems into an abyss of god knows what, but they listen. They understand. The universe allows him to explore every crook of its' celestial body, to compare it with a Wordsworth verse of some sorts. To do the same with someone is a different story. You have to be patient until an efflorescence of love forms inside your heart. However, it has to be with the right person, and the person has to love you back. Do it with the wrong person, you're just a hollowed out body of wilted plants and weeds. Do it with someone who doesn't love you back, the results are the same, but you get a broken heart in addition. He'd rather stick with the former.
!!
"You have to tell him." Freddie's voice is urgent at breakfast, chewing on his toast as he spoke.
"And what? Risk a friendship over it? The last time I checked, he's straight, Fred! He'll outright laugh at me!" exclaims a beleaguered Brian.
"He's right, you know. You can't just let this consume you, you'll break down. And what makes you think Roger's straight?" mutters John, scared that Roger might walk in at any second.
"Maybe I do want this," Brian whispers back, his words settling in.
Freddie and John both look at each other. "Darling please, Deaky and I have been worried about you, and we just want you to be happy. You never know, he might say yes!" Brian smiles at that, but all conversation is interrupted when Roger bursts through the kitchen door.
!!
2:45 am. He can taste the salt on his skin. "There's no use crying over it, Brian. It's inevitable. Just the ending of another love story." he chides himself, but the tears won't stop flowing. Why did love have to hurt so much? He checks the clock again, and it's still the same. Fifteen more minutes.
2:50 am. He's bouncing his leg after growing tired of pacing. "Come on," he whispers to the darkness. He catches himself in the mirror, only to be greeted by his lassitude appearance. He needs more sleep.
2:55 am. The stars are shining brightly down, and he stares up in wonder. It's exactly like Roger. Tears glisten in his eyes as he slowly steps out into the moonlight, greeting the universe like an old friend. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦.
3:00 am.