Chapter Text
“Right, well, that’s enough for me for tonight,” Roger announces as he stands up from behind his drumkit and takes his headphones off. “If I have to play this fucking riff one more time it’s gonna be playing in my dreams all night!”
“You mean that hasn’t already happened? I’ve been waking up with scales running through my head for days now,” John says. He’s already set his bass aside but his fingers are still twitching, like they haven’t yet realized that they don’t need to keep playing. “What d’you think the odds are that we go insane before finishing the album?”
“Either that or become alcoholics,” Roger says. He stretches out, groaning in relief as his back and neck pop, and adds, “Speaking of which, I’m off to grab a nightcap. Who’s coming with?”
John is onboard immediately but there’s no response from Brian, who still has his Red Special on his lap and a notebook in front of him as he works out another kink in one of his songs. Roger has to call his name twice before he looks up from what he’s doing, and it’s clear from his puzzled expression that he hasn’t been following the conversation at all.
“Drinks, Brian,” Roger tells him. “Yes or no?”
Brian blinks at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. They could almost see the gears slowly turning in his mind as the exhausted guitarist tries to pull his focus away from his music and back to reality, but it’s obvious that Brian isn't parsing the blunt question that Roger just asked him.
“We’re done for the day, dear,” Freddie explains to him. “Rog wants to grab a few drinks before we turn in for the night. Will you join us?”
His tone is hopeful but Brian is already shaking his head, even before Freddie finishes talking.
“No,” Brian mumbles. He plucks out a few more notes on his guitar and scribbles down something else in his book. “No, that’s alright, I still have some things to work on…”
“We all have things we could be working on,” John points out. “That doesn’t mean you can’t take a break to have one drink with us.”
“I don’t want a drink right now,” Brian says, tensely. “Just go on without me. I’ll see you all again tomorrow.”
Roger rolls his eyes with a loud sigh. “You mean we’ll turn up tomorrow to find you sat in the same fucking spot you’re in now.”
Brian doesn’t respond to that, but his silence is a damning enough answer on its own.
“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” Roger tells him. “We have months of work on this album left, and you’ll never make it to the end of that if you keep spending all your time like this! Not sleeping, not eating, not even fucking shaving-”
“Oh, fuck off!” Brian snaps. “Last I checked I don’t play guitar with my face so the beard is no concern of yours!”
“Fine!” Roger says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Go land yourself in hospital again, see if I fucking care!” He starts heading towards the door and calls over his shoulder, “John, Freddie, are you still coming?”
John starts to follow after him but Freddie hesitates, and says, “You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
Brian has already returned to his guitar and his music, and Freddie takes his seat at the piano again. The makeshift studio is quiet around them, the silence only broken by Brian’s soft playing and the scratching of his pen, or else the occasional sound of Freddie flipping through the pages of notes that they already worked on earlier.
After several long minutes, Brian sighs and scrubs a hand over his face in frustration. Freddie glances over at him and asks, “Problems with the song?”
“Something like that,” Brian mutters. “I know how it needs to sound but then I try to play it, and it just…”
He makes a gesture with his fingers that’s meant to convey where the problem really lies - not with the song itself, but rather with the person trying to work on it.
“Maybe you just need to come back to it with fresh eyes,” Freddie suggests.
Brian sighs again. “Yeah. Maybe,” he says, but he’s already picked up his pen to jot down another correction.
Freddie stands with a quiet sigh of his own, and crosses the room to where Brian is sitting. He carefully plucks the pen out of his hands and closes his notebook, and when Brian immediately tries to start playing his guitar again Freddie gently covers his hands with his own to keep them still on the strings.
“Darling, I know you want to keep working, but you must get some rest,” Freddie says softly. “If you don’t want to drink and socialize that’s perfectly alright, but you can’t live entirely in the studio until the album is done.”
Brian’s hands twitch underneath Freddie’s, but he doesn’t pull away. “Aren’t we all practically living in the studio as it is?” he jokes, but it falls horribly flat.
“Having proper beds elsewhere on the farm isn’t the same as sleeping in the studio itself, no,” Freddie says. “And don’t tell me that you haven’t been doing that because I know you haven’t gone to bed these last few nights.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ve been sleeping in the studio.”
“Then where have you been sleeping?” Freddie asks. Brian ducks his head to avoid his friend’s scrutinizing look, but Freddie is no idiot and he’s already putting the pieces together himself. “Have you even been sleeping at all?”
“A little bit. Here and there,” Brian says, trying to deflect Freddie’s concern. “It’s just been difficult to get my thoughts to quiet down. They start racing and then I can’t fall asleep, and eventually I get sick of just laying there and get up to do something productive with my time instead. I figured that eventually I’d get tired enough that I’d be able to sleep again, but so far it’s just made me fuck everything up.”
“You haven’t fucked anything up,” Freddie says. Brian scoffs and Freddie says, firmer, “You haven’t. God’s sake, Brian, we’re still in rehearsals! We haven’t even put anything down on tape yet! What on earth are you talking about here?”
“Nothing,” Brian mumbles. “Just forget about it, it doesn’t matter.”
“Well it matters to me.”
Freddie gently cups Brian’s chin and lifts his head, taking in everything from the deep circles under his eyes to the untrimmed edges of his beard. There’s exhaustion etched into every line on Brian’s face - but even more worrying is the look of despair that Brian is simply too tired to keep hiding from him anymore.
After seven years of friendship and three albums already under their belts, it’s a look that’s immediately recognizable to Freddie. It’s a look that’s enough to tell him, without any other words needing to be spoken, that Brian’s malaise doesn’t have its roots in some unknown incident but rather in the same nebulous cloud of dark emotions that often seems to swallow him up whole. It’s a look that unfortunately Freddie can’t fix directly but only mitigated, at least until Brian can find his own way back to the light.
“Oh you poor dear. It’s really not fair of your mind to keep doing this to you,” Freddie says as he pushes Brian’s hair out of his face. His curls are messy and undefined, weighed down by grease from days without proper care, but Freddie doesn't care and he still presses a gentle kiss to the top of Brian's head.
“It’s alright, really, I’m fine,” Brian tries to reassure him. “I’d rather have this than the stomach problems from last year anyway.”
“I’d rather you not have to deal with either,” Freddie says. “One album where you aren’t so stressed that you turn yourself into a caveman. Is that really too much to ask for?”
It’s meant to be a teasing comment but it misses its mark, and Brian apologizes, “Sorry, I’m sorry. I know my hygiene is terrible-”
“Your hygiene has been absolutely fine,” Freddie interrupts. “Ratty smelled worse than you today and I saw him leaving the shower this morning, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“But the beard-”
“Doesn’t bother anyone but you,” Freddie tells him. “Everyone only mentions it because it’s an obvious change, not because we hate it.”
“Well I hate it,” Brian snaps. “It itches and looks fucking awful, and it’s going to take ages to get rid of once I have the time to take care of it.”
Except it’s not time that’s the issue here. It’s Brian’s own exhaustion and depression that’s resulted in his beard getting to this point, though Freddie wisely doesn’t point that out.
“First off, it does not look ‘fucking awful’ so get that thought out of your head right this instant,” Freddie says firmly. “And second off, why don’t you let me take care of that for you right now?”
Brian blinks up at him, not quite following the question. “What?”
“Come upstairs with me and let me shave that off for you,” Freddie says, making his offer more clear this time around. “We both have a bit of time tonight and unlike you I’m well-rested enough to be trusted with a razor.”
Brian starts shaking his head halfway through Freddie’s explanation. “Freddie, no, you really don’t have to-”
“But I want to. You can’t be imposing on me if I want to help,” Freddie tells him. He fluffs Brian’s hair a little, and adds, “We could get this washed for you too. If you wanted.”
Brian pulls away from him a little and Freddie lets go of him without fuss, though he doesn’t take a step back out of the guitarist’s personal bubble.
“Look, I appreciate the offer, but you’d just be wasting your time,” Brian says. “It’s… It’s hard to keep up with things while we’re recording. The beard’ll be back in a few days anyway, so there’s no point in doing anything.”
Freddie sighs softly. “The point, you silly twit, is that you’ll be more comfortable for those few days. And that makes it well worth the effort to me.”
Brian swallows roughly but doesn’t say anything, not even as Freddie gently takes the Red Special away from him and sets her back in her case, before offering Brian a helping hand up.
“Come with me, Brimi,” Freddie says.
It’s been ages since he’s pulled out that old nickname of Brian’s but it feels fitting to use it now, somehow. And though Brian seems surprised at first to hear it he doesn’t seem to mind, because after a second he smiles crookedly and agrees, “Yeah, alright then.”