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Roger woke up on the wrong side. Literally. He woke up with his chest against the mattress and his boyfriend out of the bed. He wiped away the dried drool. He rolled onto his back and groaned at the stabbing underneath the wrapping.
He blindly grabbed his phone off his nightstand. He squinted at the blue light and read through his notifications. He received two thousand more comments on his last post.
I’m so proud of you!!!
You look beautiful. It might suck for a little bit but it gets better.
You looked better when you were a female lmao
He swiped to delete the message and dropped his hand against the sheet. Of course the nasty comments would come, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t upset him. Roger pulled at the wrap and whimpered at the pain.
“Don’t do that.”
Roger nearly jumped out of his skin and snapped his head up. “Jesus fucking christ. Nearly had a heart attack.”
“Aw, I’m sorry, but you know the doctor told you to not touch,” John chided.
He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed Roger’s unoccupied hand and thumbed over his knuckles.
“What’re you looking at on your phone?”
“Oh, uh, just something on Tumblr.”
“Uh huh, can I see it?”
“What? Do you not trust my word?”
“I would, love,” he brushed Roger’s hair from his face,”but I saw the comments on your post already.”
“It’s just,” he ran a hand over his face, letting go of his phone, “ugh! Why do people have to be like that?”
“Because they think they’re the only people that matter.”
He crossed his arms like a toddler. “I don’t like it.”
John crawled back into bed fully and wrapped his arms around his torso, minding the wrap. Roger buried his face in the crook of John’s neck. They laid there for minutes until Roger’s stomach growled.
“Don’t say shit.”
“Not in a million years.”
And then his stomach growled again.
He sighed dramatically. “Can I have a bowl of fruity pebbles and some coffee?”
“Do you want your one and three-sevenths of sugar?”
“Shut the fuck up, I still don’t know why Fred posted that and why you tease me after six years,” he grumbled.
“You know,” he tilted Roger’s head up and gave him a kiss, “I think he posted it because it marked your first month on T.”
“If you’re getting soft on me, Deacky, I swear to god.”
“Hey, I would never,” he held up his hands, offended, “So, fruity pebbles and coffee? Do you wanna go to the couch or stay here?”
“Couch.”
John got off the bed and hovered over him. Roger struggled to sit up, but eventually did with little help. He scooted to the edge of the bed with ease.
“You want a button up?“
He waves him off. “Nah, I’ll just not wear one.”
John nodded and helped Roger to the living room, a news station playing. Unsurprisingly, a top story being on Roger’s surgery. John left him alone to get what he asked for. Roger grabbed the remote to switch over to TLC. A rerun of Sister Wives played.
“Jesus, that dude is an asshole. Those women deserve better.”
He pulled a blanket over himself and cuddled into it.
“No, fuck you, Christine didn’t do shit. Christine, baby, get out of that relationship. He only loves Robyn.”
“I think he started milking the show for the money.” John handed him a hot mug of coffee and held onto his cereal. “I mean he only refers to his kids with Robyn as ‘his kids’.”
Roger lifted the blanket up, and John huddled in, setting the cereal on his lap.
“Oh, not to change the subject, but,” he took a sip of the coffee and winced, “hot. Ah, anyways, when are we gonna get back to the studio?”
“You’re crazy, right? First off, your doctor told you not to get back to drumming until god knows. Second off, that hell of an album we just did won’t allow us to work well together.”
“Jesus, sorry, mom .” He held his mug out to John in exchange for the cereal.
“I’m just saying,” he handed him the bowl, “I think we’re thinking about a break. Just for a bit while you heal… and Brian won’t be a complete ass. ” He murmured the last part.
“Is it, like, a break or a break to figure out songs for the new album?”
He shrugged.
“I’ll only agree if Fred says something about it.”
—
His wraps peeled away a few weeks post surgery. The angry red scars marked his progress. He snapped a photo to post on Instagram.
Wraps are off. Looking so hot rn.
He didn’t think he was hot. Those scars. Those ugly scars, but he smiled in those pictures. He laughed at those interviews. He spoke joyfully when Brian or Freddie called.
Only John saw him breakdown. John watched him suffer before the surgery and after. He told Roger that it’d get better. That those scars would leave.
They did go on that break, upsetting their fans. The backlash of the break announcement broke Roger’s fragile joy.
John didn’t know that was the final straw. He knew of the breakdowns. He helped Roger calm down, but he didn’t know that something simple brought him to his limit.
Roger wouldn’t be at this point if he weren’t the reason for the break. Those scars just reminded him of it. He hated washing over the scars. He ate less in the irrational fear of weight gain making him uglier. If he told John, he’d be lied to about how “beautiful” he was.
He bookmarked random parts of the self help book John gave him. He smiled at Roger whenever he had his reading glasses on and the book in front of him. Although, he always had his phone hidden from John’s sight.
He didn’t regret the surgery. He regretted that it left scars. It makes him almost as ugly as before. Almost. In the rational part of his mind, he knows this is what he needed.
That part of his brain isn't working as of now.
Unfortunately, John’s taken notice of his new fixation on his scars. He pulls Roger’s hands away when they graze over the raised skin. He tuts when they get irritated.
“I know it feels good to finally have the wraps gone, Rog, but you have to stop touching them.” He stood over Roger, blocking the television screen.
“I want these gone too.” He pointed at the scars. “They make me ugly. Now, move out of the way.”
“You’re not ugly.”
“You’re supposed to say that.”
“What will prove that I’m not just saying it to say it? Wait—”
Roger raised a suggestive eyebrow, waiting for John’s reaction.
“Jesus, put that eyebrow down! I meant like, now, don’t you dare laugh at me, but I could read out a song I wrote about you.”
Roger blinked. Then, he blinked again. After a minute, his eyes filled with tears, and he quickly bit his lip.
“Oh no, no, no, it wasn’t meant to make you—”
Roger cackled. The first genuine laugh since the initial post-surgery. He coughed low in his throat and tears dripped down his face. His face reddened in moments.
“It’s not that funny.”
“It is! I never knew that John Deacon would be a softie!,” he calmed down, “God, you sound like one of those pop artists’ whose songs are about the same guy.”
“I am so glad I could make you laugh.”
“Don’t be mad.” Roger pouts. “I think it’s cute you did that for me, but you gotta admit, it sounds super cliché.”
“You wound me. I’m here, trying to make my boyfriend happy, and he’s making fun of me.”
“You did,” he pulled John onto the couch. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”
“You haven’t even heard the song yet!”
“Fine, fine. You’re a good songwriter, I’m sure it’s not that cliché.”
“You’re insufferable.” He rolled his eyes and reached to open the end table drawer.
He pulled out his little notebook and flipped through. Pages filled with words and scribbles. Some made the albums. He flipped to a page written in red. He crossed out words and wrote others above them.
He gave Roger a shy smile and, with an arm around his shoulders, pulled Roger to his side.
“I might have to change some things, so Fred doesn’t get mad about how obvious it is.”
Roger tucked his legs under himself and listened in.
The first few verses are obviously something out of a Hallmark movie. He nearly started teasing John, but there’s a shift in the lyrics. A plea of sorts. Asking for someone—Roger—to stop hurting and hurting John in the process.
“Ah, and the last part is the chorus again. So,” he covered his face with the notebook, “did you like it?”
“It did, it’s really mature, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting ‘cos of me.”
He laughed and smiled weakly at Roger. “I’m only hurting because I love you. Don’t be sad about that. People get sad or stressed all the time, it’s just a way of life.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Jeez, it’ll pass. It won’t make me love you any less.”
Roger looked down, visibly upset.
“Hey, have you applied lotion to your scars yet?” He shook his head. “Then, how about I do it for you? No, no, don’t give me that face, god.”
“You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
“If anyone heard what we were saying, they would think we’re in a romcom.” He reached over and grabbed their Rainbow Waves lotion. “Just get comfortable, so I can do it.”
Roger laid down, his arm hanging off the couch.
“You’re so beautiful. I’m happy I get to help you.” He popped open the lotion and squeezed some on his finger. “This might be a bit cold.”
He dabbed a bit of the lotion and gently rubbed it on the first scar. He massaged the surrounding area, relieving the pain.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” He does the same to Roger’s other scar. “I’m just showing you that I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He brushed Roger’s hair back and smiled. “Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah, yeah I just felt like I looked so bad with these scars. Still kinda do.”
“I don’t think you do. I’m not just saying that either. These scars show you’re fighting and, frankly, winning. Ah,” he removed his hand from Roger’s chest, “I’m done, so you can sit up.”
Roger sat up and pulled John into a hug. He buried his head in John’s shoulder and arms wrapped around him. He felt lips against his head and smiled.
Maybe, these scars weren’t ugly.