Work Text:
The bed is empty when John wakes up.
It doesn’t bother him at first. Roger must’ve just gone to the toilet, he’ll surely be back in a moment. He buries his face in the pillow, still half asleep, but it doesn’t take long before the events of the night before come rushing back to him and he sits up quickly, something sharp and ugly twisting inside his chest as he looks around the empty room.
Of course Roger is gone. After their fight he’d come crawling back to John in the middle of the night, let John hold him and fall asleep with him, and then left before John even woke up. The red-hot anger lingering in the pit of his stomach is back, and to his frustration, John feels angry tears sting his eyes. He’d thought that after last night they were… well, not completely better, but it was something, wasn’t it? He slumps back down on the bed and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Suddenly the door creaks, and John sits up quickly.
Roger is pushing the door open with his shoulder, a cup of tea in each hand. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he says, giving John a small smile as he pads over to the bed. He holds one of the cups out to John, and after a moment’s hesitation John accepts it with a small, confused frown. He scoots over a little to give Roger enough room to climb back in bed beside him, sitting up against the pillows.
“I thought you’d left,” is all John can think to say.
It’s Roger’s turn to look confused, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. John finds it frustratingly endearing. “I was just making you a cuppa,” Roger tells him, shaking his head. He always looks so soft in the mornings, pretty even with bed-head and dark circles and pillow creases on his cheek.
John manages a small smile. “Good,” he says, a little awkwardly. “Thank you.”
Roger smiles back, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
John hates this. He hates how weird and strained things feel, he hates the anger and the hurt still smoldering deep in the pit of his stomach, he hates that he still kind of feels like he might cry and he hates that despite it all what he wants more than anything is for Roger to hold him.
They drink their tea mostly in silence. It’s raining outside, the sound of it smattering against the windowpane almost deafening in the quiet, and John can’t stand this. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to endure it for long, because after a few minutes Roger speaks.
“John, I…” he swallows, and John can only bear to look at him for a moment before casting his eyes down the teacup in his hands, just so he doesn’t have to see how horribly guilty Roger looks. “I’m so sorry,” Roger says finally. “What I said to you yesterday was awful. And it isn’t true. I was just angry, and I’m an idiot and I’m really, really sorry.”
There’s a painful sort lump in John’s throat, and he swallows around it. He nods. “I’m sorry, too,” John tries, “I know I said some things that were—”
“No,” Roger cuts him off, shaking his head. “You don’t have to… what you said doesn’t even compare, you don’t need to apologize. I was just being an arsehole and everything’s been so stressful lately and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that.”
John bites the inside of his cheek and blinks a few times. He feels horribly small sitting there on the bed, and he turns to set his tea down on the bedside table just for an excuse to turn his back to Roger for long enough to hastily wipe at his eyes. He takes a shaky breath, turning back around.
“Yeah,” he agrees finally, forcing himself to meet Roger’s eyes. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah,” Roger echoes softly. “And seriously, what I said… I didn’t mean it, not even a little bit. You do pull your weight John, it doesn’t matter that you haven’t written a song yet. It’s only the first album, and you’ve been getting better at it, and I know you’re gonna write us a hit someday, Deaky. I can feel it.”
John laughs wetly, and when Roger moves closer and pulls him into his arms John can’t help but melt into him. He buries his face in Roger’s chest and feels Roger’s arms wrap around him tightly and he feels so warm and safe that it makes his chest ache. He feels home. Roger’s hand rubs up and down his back, slow and steady, and John takes in a few deep breaths, lets himself be held and comforted for a moment.
“If you never end up writing a song, that’s alright too,” Roger tells him after a few minutes. “You’re still our Deaky. You’re what holds us together, you know that. Queen wouldn’t work without you, love.”
John isn’t sure whether or not he believes it, but hearing it still soothes the anxiety that’s been gnawing at his chest. “Thank you,” he says quietly, taking one of Roger’s hands in his and squeezing.
“I’m really, really sorry,” Roger tells him again, and he sounds so sincere that it makes John’s heart ache.
John lifts his head to look at Roger properly, giving him a small smile and leaning in to kiss him, just chastely. He doesn’t know if he forgives Roger yet, so instead he just says, “I love you.” That’s something he does know; something he’s never doubted, even when they fight.
“I love you too,” Roger tells him. “So much.”
John feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. Even though things are hard right now, he knows that at the end of every day, no matter how much they fight, he’ll still have Roger.
It’s all he could ever ask for.