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Roger shivered against the damp wind that plagued England at this time of year. It was the type of damp that cut through anything that he wore, even his thick shearling coat. The only thing that helped was a warm drink and, if he was feeling special, a pastry fresh out of the oven.
The outdoor seating was desolate at the café, as was usually the case in October. Pushing through the door, he was greeted by the smell of food and coffee beans. The counter was dead, which wasn’t unusual after the morning workday rush. He eyed the menu out of habit, even though he always ordered the same thing.
“Rog, how are you?” the barista asked, letting his customer service face fall away.
“Not bad Ed,” he said, smiling back. “I’ll have the usual.”
“Can I get you a turnover? Jay’s made a new recipe.”
“Ah, I’ve only got the cash for the drink-”
“I wouldn’t charge you for some Frankenstein recipe that Jay’s invented,” Ed replied. “Chocolate caramel raspberry turnovers. Likely a disaster.”
“Oh I bet,” Roger chuckled.
“Take a seat, I’ll bring something over. And one coffee, three cream and four sugars?”
“You know it.”
Roger wandered to the edge of the seating area, carefully balancing his jacket on the chair beside him, pausing as he went to sit down. Something was different in his otherwise familiar routine. Near the back of the room, propped up on a stool, a man was sitting with his back to him. Roger couldn’t believe that it took him this long to see him, with his bright white shirt and hair that took up serious real estate.
And then he turned around to stare directly at him.
Roger spun around, staring intently at the coffee bar, wishing he had a drink to sip. And to blame for his flushed face. In the corner of his eye, he saw the man pick up an instrument. A guitar. So he was playing at the café. That was cool. Roger didn’t know that they let people play here.
“Hello.” Roger spun back towards the man, who was smiling sweetly. His voice was soothing and calming and Roger almost forgot how much he was sweating.
Fuck. We’re not doing this. You’re not falling for this stranger that happens to look like some sort of model. God, you’re so weak and stupid and-
“I hope you enjoy the music.” The man met his eyes, and the smile spread to his eyes. Roger gave him a pained smile back.
He began strumming something, interjecting the chords with elaborate fingerpicking until it sounded like two guitars were playing at once. Roger was entranced by the flow of the music and was shocked as soon as he began to sing.
His voice was calming, like his gentle speaking voice, but also clear and strong. He stared directly at Roger, breaking eye contact briefly, as if embarrassed.
It’s because you’re staring at him like some bloody creep.
Roger was thankful to see Ed bringing him his coffee and the best turnover he had ever seen.
“Thanks,” he said, focusing every ounce of attention to his coffee. “Er, Ed?”
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t know you had live music.”
“Oh, Brian!” Ed said with a smile. “He’s a friend from the college. He’s bloody good if you ask me.”
“Ahem, yeah, very nice. Good. Very good.”
“Need anything else?”
“No,” Roger said, lost in thought. “Thanks for the food.”
Ed nodded, puzzled by Roger’s excessive politeness. Not to say that Roger was ever rude, but he was usually more aloof.
Roger watched Ed wander towards the man playing guitar, setting down a cup near him before nodding approvingly at a particularly good passage. The man, no, Brian, finished his song, looking shyly towards the floor as Ed hollered.
Brian looked towards him as he clapped, making him feel like he was the only one there. Roger supposed he was, asides from the staff. There it was again, that genuine smile that lit up his face and wreaked havoc in Roger’s stomach.
“This next one is a new one I’ve been writing,” he said, quickly tuning the guitar. “Since someone told me I need to mix up my setlist.” Ed laughed, walking back to the counter.
Focus on this coffee. You’re going to drink this, take the pastry and get out of here.
If only his brain could get through to his erratic heart. His eyes wandered back to Brian, taking in what he was looking at now that the other man seemed lost in his new song.
There was the hair. That was hard to miss. It curled every which way, in some sort of orderly chaos, framing his face with a deep brown frame. His eyes shone with an intensity that took Roger’s breath away. His face seemed to be chiselled from a slab of marble, with sharp angles that were carefully worked smooth.
Roger was convinced after his last breakup that he would never find anyone as beautiful, interesting or attractive as Alan. He was done with love, happy with watching the world flow around him and observing people from a distance. So why are you feeling things about this man you’ve just seen? You haven’t even met him!
And yet, he felt some undeniable pull towards the guitarist. One that he was convinced was not entirely physical.
“Moments of time, flash before your eyes,” Brian sang, his eyes closing as he focused on wrapping up the song. “As I long to call you mine.”
Roger sat there much longer than he usually did. He finished his coffee, not even bothering to read the magazine that he had brought along. He picked apart the turnover, enjoying the perfect balance of flavours. He fumed at himself, for being so helpless and consumed by this desire to talk to the musician.
Just get up, he ordered his legs. Walk over, like any of the guys you hit up at bars. Or girls. Go up and blow him away with that Roger Taylor charm.
His heart leapt into his mouth as Brian smiled his way again. “That’s all for me,” he said, nodding towards a few patrons that had trickled in over the last little bit. “I hope you liked what you heard. And saw.”
Roger choked on the air in his mouth. Oh god, he saw you staring at him like a little freak. Another thought crossed his mind, sending his overdriven brain into a further panic. What if he never saw this man again? He was already packing up. And Roger was just going to let him walk away!
He snatched his coat, wincing as his chair squeaked along the floor. Trying to be casual about it, he walked over the other man.
“I, uh, I liked your playing.”
Brian spun around, startled by the blonde who seemed to have appeared behind him in seconds. His eyes lit up with a shy smile. “Thank you. I noticed that you stuck around. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, it was really good,” Roger continued, leaning casually against the nearby table. In his distracted state, he forgot that that was the one table in the coffeehouse that was notoriously lopsided. He let out a startled cry as the table tilted towards the ground. Brian’s coffee went flying towards the floor as Roger caught the table before it flipped.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Roger exclaimed, staring at the spreading puddle on the floor. “God, I’m such a mess, I’ll get you another one, just tell me how you like your coffee and I’ll-”
Brian let out a small laugh, setting his guitar case down. “Don’t worry about it.” Looking down, he noticed the wet spot down Roger’s trousers. “Oh, are you alright? Did you burn yourself?”
“No, I’m fine, I’m really sorry about your coffee,” Roger repeated, frantically trying to mop up the mess with extra napkins. Ed walked over, watching him with amusement.
“Trashing the place again? I might have to keep your deposit.” Roger jumped, bumping his head on the cursed table.
“If you can get Brian another cup of coffee, put it on my tab,” Roger said, rubbing his head.
“Brian?” the guitarist said as Ed walked away. “I didn’t know that everyone knew my name.”
Fuck. He never told you his name. It’s not like you can tell him that Ed told you and you memorized it instantly.
“Er, Ed mentioned it. It is Brian, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Brian said, smiling again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Roger stood up with a wince. “Yeah, I’m just… I’m an idiot.”
“Here,” he replied, handing him a few more dry napkins. “I hope it didn’t stain your clothes.”
Of course, I’d be one to pull something this stupid and end up standing beside the hottest man I’ve ever seen with coffee-stained trousers.
“Thanks.”
Ed returned, handing Brian a fresh cup of coffee as he nodded thanks.
“Mate, it’s all good, I’ll clean up the rest,” Ed said, watching as Roger kneeled back down to focus his attention on anything but the embarrassing situation at hand. He almost laughed at Roger, not out of meanness but because he had never seen the cool and collected man so out of sorts.
Roger felt an arm steadying him as he stood back up, looking up to see Brian’s brown eyes meeting his. His breath stuck in his chest.
“Sorry, I’m not sure that I’ve caught your name.”
“My name?” Roger asked. “Oh. Yeah. The name, my name’s Roger. Most people call me Rog.”
“Well, it was great meeting you,” Brian said, sipping his coffee. Roger sensed a natural end to their interaction and panicked.
“So, uh, have you been playing a long time?”
“Since I was young. I’ve always loved music.” He patted his hair, smoothing a few strands that looked like they were desperately trying to escape his head.
“That’s great. You sound great. I liked that original one that you played. The one about calling you mine.”
“Calling you mine?” Brian joked, raising his eyebrows.
Alarms went off in Roger’s head, as he aborted his pitiful attempts at flirting. It was as if every ounce of charm had been drained out on the floor and cleaned up with the spilled coffee. “Yeah, it was a nice chord progression. And rhyming. Good rhyming. I love a good rhyme.”
“Well, it means the world to me that someone enjoyed it.” Brian sighed, tucking in the edge of his shirt. “Sometimes I feel like I’m writing songs and they’re too personal. You can get stuck in a cycle of writing too close to the heart and ending up separating yourself from an audience.”
“I think it was nice.” Almost as nice as the way the light hits your eyes and brings out more shades of brown than I thought existed. If only I could make this last forever. Standing here, talking to this incredible man.
“I think personal is good,” Roger stammered.
“Do you play anything?” Brian asked.
“Mostly drums. I know a bit of guitar, but I’m rubbish at it.”
“Very nice.” Brian picked up his guitar case, glancing outside at the sound of rain. “I should have planned ahead,” he said.
“Will you play here again?” Roger asked, hating the desperation that was leaking out into his voice. Just ask him. You’re too scared to. You can ask anyone else in the world out, but when you meet the one man that you really want to know, you can’t even get a proper sentence out.
“If Ed’ll have me, I’d love to. Maybe I’ll see you around?”
Maybe he’ll see me around! Does he mean it? Does he actually want to see me around? Maybe he’s panicking, maybe he’s realized that I don’t want to let him walk out and-
Brian turned over to talk to another patron, flashing that shy smile again and Roger felt a twinge of something. You can’t be serious.
Roger Taylor was jealous of someone. Impossible. What witchcraft had this man cast over him?
As time dragged on, he became aware of how awkward he looked, standing there waiting for Brian to finish talking. The natural thing would be to nod his way and head out. Maybe cast him a signature Roger Taylor half-smile, taking his time to walk towards the door. So why had his legs suddenly forgotten how to walk?
The patron smiled, waving to Brian as he left and Roger’s stomach flipped as Brian turned to him again. “I suppose I’ll make a run for it. It was nice meeting you, Rog.”
Rog. He nearly melted at the way his voice twisted his name. “Yeah, you too Brian. Keep writing.” He winced at how cheesy that sounded.
Brian nodded. “I will.” Roger was aware of how close they were standing and of how tall Brian was. He seemed to tower over him, like some sort of graceful deer. Now you’re turning people into animals, he laughed to himself. You really have lost your mind.
His heart sunk as he watched the other man, push through the doors into the blustery English weather. You’re gonna regret this, he warned himself. But you’ll regret it more if you let him get away.
Feeling the surge of adrenaline fill his limbs, Roger strode out of the café, ignoring Ed’s puzzled goodbye from the counter. His coat was in his arms and he didn’t want to waste time putting it on, preferring to ignore the chilling wind. He glanced around, looking for the familiar mop of hair that should cause Brian to stand out like a tree in a field.
Where is he? His mind screamed. He’d gotten a minute head start and had somehow vanished. Roger rushed around the block, rushing into a crosswalk and flipping off a car that stopped too close to him.
“Oi mate, watch where you’re going!”
He brushed past people on their lunch breaks, jostling umbrellas and fighting the flow of pedestrians. Somehow, in the span of mere minutes, he had lost a six-foot-tall model with hair that ought to take up half the sidewalk.
The rain was running into his eyes now, soaking his shirt and likely ruining his favourite jacket as he held it above his head. He was overwhelmed, miserable and cold as people kept bumping into him.
“Oof!” He felt something hard knock his knee, nearly sending him flying into the road.
“Rog?”
His head snapped back, recognizing the soft tone. He saw Brian, standing directly behind him, looking apologetic.
“H-Hey,” Roger said, rubbing his knee. “Fancy bumping into you.”
“Oh, did I hit you?” Brian asked, concerned as he saw the other man holding his knee. “I never know how to carry this case without knocking people about.”
“It’s fine,” Roger said. He stared at Brian, wishing that his usual bravery would return and smooth over the interaction. Naturally, it didn’t.
Brian didn’t move either. People were starting to flow around them.
“Here,” Brian said, pulling Roger under a nearby awning. “You’re soaked.”
“I forgot an umbrella,” Roger said stupidly.
Brian shook his head, knocking beads of water from his hair. “So did I,” he said, laughing.
“This weather-”
“I wanted to ask-”
Roger froze as Brian interrupted him. Brian turned a deep shade of red, urging Roger to continue.
“It wasn’t important, go on,” Roger replied.
The calm energy around Brian seemed to dissipate as he looked shyly away. “I just saw you rush out and I didn’t know…”
Roger held his breath. “I couldn’t have lived with myself.”
Brian looked perplexed.
“I- I’m not like this.” Roger laughed, trying to make the situation lighter. “I don’t go out of my way. But I really… God, I don’t know how- Can I get your number?”
Brian stared at him, turning even for red. Now you’ve done it, Roger thought, mentally stabbing himself. You’re some freak chasing him down in the streets, begging for him number.
“M-mine?” Brian stammered. He set his guitar case down, balancing his coffee on a nearby window ledge. For a man that seemed so graceful earlier, he seemed almost unsure of how to carry himself.
“If- I mean, that would be- yes.”
“Oh.” Brian continued to look at him, his mouth agape.
Fuck.
“I-” Brian dug in his pockets, looking for something. Roger noticed that his hands were shaking.
Good going, Rog. You’ve scared him.
“I don’t have a pen.” Brian laughed. He tugged at his hair, looking like he wanted to say something.
Tell me, Roger begged. Tell me how badly I’ve messed this up.
“I- I didn’t think you were- I thought I was going crazy,” Brian said, searching his pockets again. “I messed up most of my set once you came in.” He looked shyly at Roger. “I wanted to ask you, but I figured you wouldn’t be interested in me.”
Roger stared at him, processing what he had just heard. Wanted to ask me? Me?
“That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” Brian said nervously, laughing. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to do this.”
“I have a pen,” Roger said, handing over the damp magazine that he had stored in his coat.
“You really want my number?” Brian asked, meeting his eyes.
“I mean. Yeah. A lot. Not in a creepy way. Just in another way. One that’s not creepy.” Roger shrivelled up inside.
Brian laughed again. “Well, in that case, I’d love to give it to you.” He scribbled something down on the cover of Roger’s ‘Automobile Monthly’ magazine.
“Thank you,” Roger said. He carefully folded the magazine up.
“Did Ed put you up to this?” Brian asked.
“No, God no,” Roger replied. “It’s all my doing.”
“I’m a little… no one’s every asked me for my number before. Especially not someone as… as hot as you.” His voice fell to a whisper at the last few words.
Roger’s jaw fell. “Are they blind?” He immediately snapped his mouth shut.
“Are you blind?” Brian joked back.
“I hope not.” Roger screwed up the ounce of courage that returned to him. “Then I wouldn’t get to see you again.”
Brian blushed, tugging at his hair again and Roger thought that his nervous ticks were the cutest things he’d ever seen.
“I’ve been acting like an idiot all morning,” Roger said, finally letting his thoughts flow out. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And talented. Like seriously, bloody talented. I know it sounds crazy, because you can’t really know someone the first time you see them. But, I’d… I’d like to know you.”
Brian bumped against this guitar case, seemingly unsure about how to respond. “That’s not crazy.” He appeared lost in thought for a moment. “I thought I knew you. You felt familiar. But I knew that I didn’t know you. I would remember if I did.” He laughed again. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit out of sorts. I still can’t believe this is real.”
Roger felt as light as a cloud, he wanted to leap on top of the awning and tell everyone how happy he was. He couldn’t believe that this was real either.
“I don’t know how to react to people saying things,” Brian said. “I never did.”
“That’s okay,” Roger interjected. Anything’s okay, just don’t be scared off. Just give me a chance to get to know you and show you that you can trust me. And I won’t screw things up.
“Okay.” Brian smiled, relief washing over his face. “I’m usually out of sorts. Just so you know.”
“I’m not usually out of sorts,” Roger said. “But I’ve been out of sorts every moment that I’ve been around you. Just so you know.”
Brian blushed again, unsure of what to say.
“So, I’ll call you?” Roger asked, feigning nonchalance.
“I- I’d like that,” Brian replied, biting his bottom lip.
Fuck.
“I will.” Roger slowly backed away, letting a smile light up his face.
“Good. Maybe I’ll see you again?” Brian picked at his hair again.
Bloody hell, does he know what he’s doing to me?
“Yeah,” Roger said, nodding his way. “I’d count on it.”