Chapter Text
Tim kept on and on about the guy he wanted Roger to meet. Tim said Freddie Bulsara was quite the character, and that Roger had probably seen him at some of Smile’s shows, hanging back away from the crowd. He described Freddie, but, for the life of him, Roger could not seem to picture the man.
When Freddie walked through the door of Roger’s flat in Shepherd’s Bush, though, Roger did a double take. That slight, awkward looking bloke was who Tim had talked about for the past few weeks? Brian had met Freddie before too, at the side of the stage at one of the gigs. Brian told him Freddie had a mouthful to say about the set and plenty of suggestions to give. Roger thought if someone gave him a load of critique after one of the shows, he might just have some choice words for him. But Brian said it wasn’t like that at all. He had an inkling Freddie knew what he was talking about, or at least enough bollocks to say it, which counted for something.
Roger had a hard time believing the lad standing in his doorway with his hands in his pockets had made Brian May think he knew was he was talking about. Though his mum had told him not to judge a book by its cover, Roger was judging.
“Roger, this is Freddie,” Tim said, a satisfied grin on his face.
His mum also taught Roger to be polite, so he stood and shook Freddie’s hand.
“Hiya, Tim’s had a lot to say about you! I’m Roger Taylor.”
“Oh, I know,” Freddie said, shaking his hand and grinning, with his mouth closed. “I am a fan of your group. You’ve got quite a knack for drums.”
Roger could not help but smile back. There was something about Freddie. Even within one bloody minute of meeting him, he could see that.
“Thank you,” Roger replied, nodding. “I try.”
“Although,” Freddie continued, chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, you see on your last show, during the second song, you were a little heavy handed. I think you’d benefit from keeping that one a little more up tempo, not as hard on the cymbal smash. Do you know what I mean?”
Did Roger know what he meant? He’d been trying to say the exact same thing to Tim for a while, to no avail. Tim had not understood what he meant, but here was this foreign-looking fellow who went straight to the point.
“Yes, of course I know what you mean. It’s too…heavy-handed. It’s so funny you should say that. I was just telling Tim here the same bloody thing. But he’s a bit thick if you didn’t already know.”
Tim pretended to smack Roger playfully. “Yeah, and this guy wants to be a dentist. Go figure,” Tim joked back.
Roger watched Freddie smile at their banter and could not help but think that this Freddie person was quite intriguing indeed. And Roger wanted to know more about him.
Luckily, the night had ample opportunities for Roger to see Freddie’s personality shine through. And he quickly realized just what Tim had meant. Freddie was unlike anyone Roger had ever met. It took him a moment to get accustomed to the crowd, but once he did, he commanded the room. It was almost as if Freddie doubted even himself, but he had a natural charisma that no one could deny. Roger would have been jealous if he weren’t so intrigued.
As the night wore on, Roger drank more and more cheap beers but realized that Freddie had nursed the same bottle almost the whole night.
“Hey, want me to get you a fresh one?” Roger asked, sliding in next to Freddie, nodding toward the bottle between his thighs.
“No, darling, thank you. I am sort of a lightweight where alcohol is concerned, I’m afraid. So, this is just lovely.”
For some reason, another bloke calling him darling did not faze Roger in the least coming from Freddie. It fit him. And Roger felt as though he had known Freddie for years before then.
“Well, then you’re a cheap date,” Roger blurted, and realized just how strange it was to say such a thing to another man.
Freddie raised his eyebrows but did not look offended at all. In fact, he smiled broadly—with his teeth—for the first time that night. Roger stared at him and felt an overwhelming urge to pull him close.
“You have a lovely smile,” Roger said, and then mentally kicked his own arse for having said such a ridiculous thing.
“I hate it, thanks,” Freddie said, pulling his lips down over his teeth deliberately.
“Don’t do that,” Roger was just drunk enough to command, putting his hand up to Freddie’s cheek, in a movement that would have been far too intimate if anyone else was watching, or if one of them wasn’t pissed off his head. “Don’t cover your smile.”
Just then, Tim burst into the room from the loo, singing something at the top of his voice, swaying unsteadily.
Roger snatched his hand away from Freddie’s face and brought it down to his lap. When he dared to look up again, Freddie’s eyes were narrowed, and he had a shy smile on his lips.