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"I'm home."
Roger glances at the clock above the television set before he looks back at Freddie sauntering through the living room with a frown. "So early?"
Freddie makes a sound of dismissal before flopping down on the couch between Brian and Roger. His arm thrown dramatically across his face. "Apparently."
"I'm guessing the date didn't go very well then," John needlessly says from where he is seated on a pile of pillows in front of the couch, practically between Brian's legs.
It hasn't been longer than an hour since Freddie had left. He spent more time pampering for the date than actually being on it.
"Were you stood up?" Roger asks with a growing heat.
"No," Freddie's face visibly crumbles along with the downward curl of his lips. "After he made an order, he excused himself to the bathroom and never came back."
Roger sits up straighter. "What?!"
"He just climbed through the window. Left me waiting there like a bloody idiot."
"Oh Freddie, how awful. I'm sorry," Brian's shoulders sag simultaneously with Freddie's when he puts a comforting hand on his knee.
"What a massive piece of shit," John adds solemnly.
"That isn't all, he left me to pay for his fucking lobster meal like the knobhead he is. Everyone knows I don't like seafood!"
"Unbelievable."
"Disgraceful, incredibly weak."
"What a spineless piece of trash!" Roger insists more loudly, his voice is laced with injustice at seeing Freddie's eyes water. He gets up from the couch and shoves past John when he tries to grasp at his flared trousers. "No! How much was the lobster?"
Freddie helplessly shrugs. "30 pounds maybe? That's excluding the glass of wine he got too. But dear, it's fine now. I'm home, I'm over it."
"This isn't fine," Roger declares more firmly, he points at his friend. "What is his name again?"
"What does that even matter-"
"Damien Green," John interrupts with a gleam in his eye.
Roger turns his gaze on him. "Is that the one that lives with Ed?"
"Rog, whatever you think you're going to do, this is not-"
"The one that lives right around the corner in the Eastern Student Accommodation. You'll recognize him by his short red hair, green eyes. Yes." John continues while ignoring the horrified expression on Freddie's face. "Dorm 35, second floor, if I remember correctly."
"Blimey."
The other three watch in a mix of terror and curiosity as Roger marches onto the hallway and stomps his feet into his boots and throws a jacket over his shoulders.
Brian is almost too afraid to ask, "you're not going over there are you?"
"As a matter of fact I am," he grabs his ugly patched hat and fixes it on his head. He looks over at his friends and lets his eyes linger on Freddie again. "I'm bringing you your 30 pounds back."
"I'm not sure if that's a good idea-"
"I promise you, I will. If it means wrestling it out of his claws, I will!"
"But Roger-!"
Freddie's voice is drowned out by the door slamming closed, followed by the echo of Roger's, "be back soon!"
Freddie eyes the door as if he wants to get up and stop Roger, but a second hand landing on his knee stops him from actually moving. He glances down at John, "you know what he's like when he's got his mind set."
"This is a stupid idea," Brian slings an arm over Freddie's shoulder once again to force him into a sideways hug. "They'll probably not even open the door for him. He'll be back soon enough."
"I'm afraid it'll be worse if they do open the door," Freddie mournfully murmurs into Brian's shoulder.
"Why is that?"
"John," Freddie peeks at him. "You've met Damien."
John nods slowly, "I have seen him around."
"Who would you bet on in a fight? Roger, or Damien?" Freddie asks, deadpan.
"Chicken-leg Taylor or Damien Schwarzenegger, let me think about that one."
Freddie turns his gaze back on a slightly more horrified Brian. "See my point?"
"Shouldn't we try to stop him?" Brian eyes the door uneasily. "He seemed to be on a warpath."
"Didn't I try to stop him?" Freddie asks incredulously.
Brian knocks at John with his knee. "He was encouraging him."
"You know you can't stop Roger when he's on a mission of destruction. Whether this is self-destruction that is not my doing."
"He's going to get hurt to set it straight for Freddie," Brian pleads with them. "Don't we owe him a little more effort?"
"I tried," Freddie flat out says, with his hands raised in innocence.
Brian tries John again, but he knows that's a lost cause before he's even said a word based on his little smile alone. He sighs. "John?"
"I'd just like to see him try. Who knows, Freddie might get his 30 pounds back."
"I highly doubt that," Freddie snorts, before settling in the crook of Brian's arm. The tension from the ruined date already bleeding out of him. Brian gives them both a disapproving glare, hoping either of them will break and decide to go after him, but he finds that neither of them take the bait and he doesn't want to do the effort of changing out of his pyjamas before his eyes drift back towards the flickering blue hue of the television.
Thirty-five minutes later, there is a knock on the door, followed by a loud groan.
Freddie uncurls himself from the couch to make his way to the hallway, followed hot on his heel by a morbidly curious Brian and John.
What they find on the other side is half what they expected.
"Hey guys," Roger's voice is muddled from the angle in which he has to hold his head up to keep the blood gushing from his nose into his mouth. "So, that didn't go great."
"Oh God," Freddie does sound remorseful at the pitiful sight of him and ushers him into the flat. "I did try to warn you."
"I see that now."
Brian and John are on stand by, arms stretched out to catch Roger when he takes an unsteady step forward. There is blood all over his coat and a purpling bruise forming around his swollen left eye. He's got an arm carefully wrapped around his waist, like it hurts to move.
At least his knuckles are bruised and bloody, showing signs of a two-sided fight.
"Jesus, Roger," John cringes at the blood that won't stop gushing from his nose. He holds onto his elbow to try and guide him onto the couch without falling over. "Did you at least get a few punches in?"
"I did actually," Roger says in the same funny, slightly dazed voice. "If you see him walking around with a missing front tooth, do think of me."
Freddie holds onto Roger's other hand to guide him into a sitting position, "you knocked his teeth out?!"
"Just the one I'm afraid," Roger sighs once he's finally down. He leans back to rest his neck against the comforting cushions. His body is a wreck and his friends gather around him to assess the damage. Roger's eyes flutter shut. "Am I still pretty?"
"You're still an idiot," Freddie declares affectionately, before sitting beside him to hold a wet washcloth Brian fetched to Roger's swelling nose, cleaning up the mattering blood.
"Hm, you're welcome."
"You didn't get my money back, did you?"
"No," Roger smiles at the teasing edge in Freddie's voice. "M'sorry."
Freddie sighs audibly, in his own dramatic fashion. Roger tries to sit still to let him clean his face. "Well, I suppose I should still thank you for defending my honour so nobly."
"So stupidly," Brian join in with a low voice.
He leans down to start fiddling with the buttons of Roger's jacket, only to have Roger's eyes fly open in alarm and push his hands away. All three others jump in surprise when suddenly he's fully awake again. "Wait!"
"What's wrong?"
Roger ignores him in favour of unbuttoning his jacket whilst looking straight at Freddie, "couldn't get your money back, so I got you something a little better."
"Better than my 30 pounds?" Freddie asks doubtfully.
The other two curiously crane their necks to see what Roger pulls out of his jacket. A smile breaks out on all their faces when he reveals the tiniest little cat peeking out from a grey blanket pressed against his belly. At the first sight of light, she makes the sweetest little meow.
"Surprise," Roger says smugly with his head lulling back against the couch.
"Oh my God, Roger," Freddie instinctively takes the bundle from him to hold against his chest. Leaving Roger with the task of holding the cloth to his face by himself. The cat instantly takes interest in him and tries to butt her head against his chin. Freddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from melting. "You didn't have to."
John tickles her little head with his index finger, scratching just right to have her eyes shut in bliss. At the same time, Brian leans in close to squeeze Freddie's shoulder.
"It's not 30 bucks," Roger recalls, "but it's better isn't it?"
"Much better," Freddie admits with a wide and happy grin, before he leans in to brush his lips over Roger's cheek in gratitude. The kitten meows again at being squished between them. "Thank you."