Work Text:
Gently, the deep black kohl pencil moved over sensitive skin. Held by a steady hand which has long since lost the trembling it was once haunted by shortly before a show. Now steadily following the same line as many times before.
As much as his hands got used to this routine, the nerves did never seem to end. The steadiness of his hand standing in sharp contrast to the restlessness of his heart. Freddie willed down the ever-present unease in his stomach. It was not the first row of concerts anymore, hell, not even the first year and yet, the tension felt like it was building rather than dropping. It was only the beginning, he told himself, so he had better get used to it.
Taking a deep breath, Freddie leaned back to have a long look in the mirror, contemplating if the first line had come out passably. At least, he often won the upper hand in this fight by now by forcing himself to calm down enough to not butcher his stage look. Redoing it would be a waste of time after all, he thought, while fluffing up his hair a bit.
One deep breath later Freddie brought his face closer to the mirror again to focus back on the task at hand. The fine line got drawn onto his skin with a gentle sweep of the wrist, exposing the artist behind it. Faces as canvas, faces on canvas – what difference could there be?
Just as he was about to admire his finished work, some tingle in the back of his mind made him raise his head. Only when his eyes met Roger's blue ones in the mirror, did he understand what had grabbed his attention. Roger was still leaning on the opposite wall where Freddie last saw him talking to John, who seemed to have disappeared to god knows where.
Only that those blue eyes were now entirely focused on him.
Freddie was just about to avert his eyes, but something in the other’s gaze has been so urgent, making it impossible for him to look away.
It stirred something inside him.
It was not how Roger usually looked at him, is the first thing Freddie realized. That he must have been watching him, is the second. For one numb moment, Freddie was so dumbfounded, he just stared back, holding his breath. The other man looked caught out for a second and moved his jaw as if he were just about to say something but had found no words.
He could not quite read those blue eyes, which is new. There was not the usual sparkle in Rogers eyes, no laughter, no mischief nor even the same nerves he knows so well before a show. He was not able to tell what it was but there was an intensity in his best friends’ eyes, that Freddie could barely take.
The wave of heat that followed caught Freddie completely off guard. Rushing through him, hot and dangerous, from a prickling fire at the crown of his head to where his feet met the floor of the old dressing room. Though the flames are followed by nothing but ashes. What had burned through him blazing hot not a moment ago now left him barely breathing, all turned to dust in his mouth.
Pencil still in his hand, he was rooted helplessly to the spot. Any sound died on his lips, no gesture moved his frozen hands. He willed Roger to take his eyes away, anything, to get him out of this before he suffocates.
The reflection in the mirror was clear and yet somehow distorted. Almost lifeless, it seemed. Showing the space behind him and still none of it was tangible. After all, those two men, blond and dark-haired, light and shadow, they did look like them, but once they lowered their eyes, there would be nothing left of them. Simply faded away.
As the roaring rage in his ears quietens Freddie felt the moment coming to an end like an approaching wave that is about to crash onto the shore. He heard himself drawing a shaky breath. Brown eyes still held blue ones, but what if he turned around now?
What happens once the water breaks on the shore?