Archive of Our Own

Y/n had rehearsed that conversation more times than she’d like to admit.

Not out loud—she wasn’t that dramatic—but in her head. While crossing the streets of London with her hands in her pockets, while waiting for her coffee to cool, while pretending to pay attention to anything that wasn’t the fact that, at a very inconvenient point in her life, she had fallen in love with her best friend.

The one she grew up with. The one she watched go in and out of disastrous relationships. The one who was a famous rockstar, and who, somehow, was far too intertwined in her life.

She was already too close to the band, to his family now, to simply risk it. To get rejected… or worse, not to. To have to stay there, in the middle of everything, if it turned into just another scandalous breakup on his long list.

Which, in theory, was already a terrible idea. The worst part was that Roger Taylor didn’t help. He smiled that easy, slightly crooked smile, like the whole world would fall for him. Threw comments over his shoulder, called her “love” like it was automatic, like it meant nothing—and maybe it didn’t. Because for him it was normal; for her, it wasn’t.

Even so, that night, after the show, with the sound still ringing in her ears and electricity in the air, Y/n decided that maybe it was worth stopping pretending it wasn’t happening. She watched the entire show—he looked beautiful, as always, energized, happy. Maybe it was a good moment to say what she was feeling, right? Wrong.

Freddie had said something before she left to find Roger, something between a sigh and a conspiratorial smile. Of course he already knew what was going on there—since, well, the beginning. Freddie understood what love was.

— Darling, if you don’t say something, I might.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer. Because, for the first time, it didn’t seem impossible.

She spotted Roger backstage, like always—his hair messy in that way only he could make look intentional, t-shirt damp with sweat, laughing with someone. Normal. Everything normal. Y/n was used to that, to the chaos, to his life moving faster than anyone else’s.

She didn’t go to him right away. She waited for things to calm down a bit, congratulated the boys on the show, smiled through conversations she barely registered and then went to look for Roger. She just didn’t expect to turn the wrong corner.

The door was slightly open. Low laughter. A very specific kind of silence between it that didn’t leave much room for interpretation. She didn’t need to open it further. Didn’t need to see much. That was already enough.

Roger leaning over a girl who clearly wasn’t her, and never would be, the two of them laughing, kissing—she in a skirt far too short, him with hands far too free, her legs wrapped around his waist—and even without anything graphic, Y/n looked away before it could become that.

And suddenly, everything she had built in her head, every possible version of that conversation, every carefully stacked “maybe,” collapsed with an almost irritating calm.

She knew he was like that, knew that the world they were in worked that way. She knew. She always had. She’d been around long enough to see the constant in-and-out of girls, the names he didn’t always remember the next day, the way it was part of the rhythm of his life, just like rehearsals, shows, and interviews.

And still, at some point, she had thought it could be different. Y/n let out a quiet laugh, more to herself than anything else, and took a step back before anyone noticed she was there. What a ridiculous idea.

She didn’t make a scene. Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t cry, even though her eyes burned—at least not there.

She just… left.

Freddie noticed.

He was leaning near the bar when she showed up, quieter than usual, with an expression a little too controlled for someone who normally didn’t bother hiding what she was thinking.

— Oh no — he murmured, not even needing to ask. — What did he do?

Y/n grabbed a random glass, not really intending to drink, just to keep her hands busy.

— Nothing he doesn’t always do.

Freddie made a face, turning fully toward her with immediate interest.

— That sounds ominous.

She let out a short sigh, resting her hip against the counter, staring ahead like it was just a casual conversation.

— I was going to tell him something.

— Finally — Freddie replied, way too quickly.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

— Yeah. Don’t worry, you’re off the hook. You won’t have to meddle in anyone’s love life anymore.

Freddie crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.

— I don’t like that tone.

She spun the glass between her fingers, thoughtful for a second before looking at him.

— He wasn’t alone.

Silence.

Freddie sighed, closing his eyes for a second like he was deeply tired of Roger Taylor as a concept.

— Of course he wasn’t.

— Exactly.

She shrugged, like it was simple. Like it was obvious. And it was.

— We’re not in a movie, Freddie — she continued, calmer than he expected. — People don’t magically become what you need them to be just because the timing feels right.

— That’s a very unromantic take, darling.

— It’s a very realistic one.

Freddie watched her for a few more seconds, trying to find a crack in that controlled surface.

— And you’re just… letting it go?

Y/n tilted her head, a half-smile appearing.

— What exactly would I be holding on to?

He didn’t answer. Because there wasn’t a good answer.

Roger didn’t notice that night. Which, honestly, only made everything more consistent.

He carried on exactly as always—laughing, drinking, living at his own pace, completely unaware that something had shifted irreversibly just a few meters away.

If anyone had asked, he would’ve said everything was normal. Because, to him, it was.

Y/n kept showing up. Kept being herself—sharp, quick, beautiful in a way he never really stopped to analyze because it didn’t seem necessary.

She had always been there. And, in his head, she always would be. Roger had never stopped to consider the possibility that she might want more. Never thought he needed to.

Until the day she walked into rehearsal holding hands with another guy. And, for the first time in a long time, something in him… stalled.

The guy was tall. Handsome. The kind of obvious, annoyingly flawless handsome. Easy smile, confident posture, completely comfortable in a space that, until then, had always felt like it belonged just to them.

Y/n was laughing at something he said, leaning slightly toward him like it was natural. This was bound to happen at some point, right? Brian brought his wife, John too, and Roger always brought some random girl he was seeing at the time. Why wouldn’t she bring someone too?

Roger felt his jaw tense before he even realized it.

— Since when—? — he started, too low for anyone to properly hear.

— Oh, look who finally noticed — Freddie commented from across the room, not even looking up from the piano.

Roger ignored it. Or tried to. Because suddenly everything felt… off. Out of place. Like someone had rearranged something familiar and he didn’t know where to put his hands anymore.

Y/n looked at him then, like she felt it, and smiled—the same as always. That was the problem. It was the same smile. A friend’s smile.

— Roger — she called, gently pulling the guy by the hand. — This is Daniel.

Daniel. Of course he had a name.

— My boyfriend.

Simple. No room for interpretation.

Roger blinked once, a little too slowly.

— Right.

He forced a smile that didn’t quite fit.

— Didn’t know you were… — he gestured vaguely between the two of them. — doing that.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amused.

— Dating?

— Yeah.

— People do that, Roger.

Freddie let out a muffled laugh in the background.

Daniel extended his hand, polite.

— I’ve heard a lot about you.

— That makes one of us — Roger replied automatically, shaking his hand for a second longer than necessary.

Y/n tilted her head, watching the exchange with a certain glint in her eyes—not exactly cruel, but… aware.

— Be nice.

— I am nice.

— You’re trying.

She smiled to the side, turning to Daniel.

— Ignore him. He thinks the world revolves around him.

— It usually does — Roger shot back, too quickly.

And there it was. That. The thin tension, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know them well enough—but obvious to those who did.

Y/n held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary.

— Not always.

Roger didn’t have an immediate answer. Because, apparently, the game had changed, and he had no idea when—or how—he had started losing.

Roger had never been the kind of man who realized things too late. Usually, he was attentive. Things stayed there, available, easy, orbiting around him with an almost irritating naturalness—music, attention, women, laughter—and he moved through it all like it was inevitable. Like it was the natural course of life.

Y/n had always been part of that. Not like the others. Never like the others. She was… constant. And maybe that was exactly why he never stopped to think about what it meant.

Until she stopped being.

At first, he tried to act like nothing had changed. Because, technically, nothing had. She still showed up to rehearsals, still threw herself onto the couch like she owned the place, still stole cigarettes from his pockets without asking, still teased everything he did with that dry humor that always left him somewhere between irritated and… something else he had never named.

— You’re off tempo again — she commented, passing behind him, casual, like she was talking about the weather.

— I’m not — he replied automatically.

— You are.

She didn’t even look at him. Just kept walking, like she had said something too obvious to argue about.

Normal. Everything normal.

Except for the fact that now there was someone sitting next to her. Daniel. His hand resting on her leg like he had a right to it. Like it was natural. Like Roger wasn’t standing there trying to remember since when that scene existed. Since when that was… allowed.

Roger started making mistakes.

Small things at first. A beat here, a late entry there. Nothing anyone who wasn’t Brian or Freddie would notice—and unfortunately, they noticed everything.

— What the hell is wrong with you today? — Brian asked, taking the bass off his shoulder.

— Nothing.

— You’ve said that three times.

— Because nothing’s wrong.

Freddie let out a low, amused sound, not even looking up from the piano.

— Oh, something is very wrong. This is delicious.

Roger ignored it. But it was hard to ignore when every time he looked anywhere in the room, she was there.

Laughing. With Daniel.

It wasn’t even anything exaggerated. It wasn’t theatrical, it wasn’t forced, and maybe that was exactly what made it worse. It didn’t look like she was trying to prove anything.

It looked like she was… fine.

And that didn’t make sense. Because, in Roger’s head, if something changed between them, he would notice. He had to notice. It wasn’t possible that something that big had happened without him being part of it.

But it had. And now he was on the outside.

— You’re staring.

Freddie’s voice came low, almost lazy, but loaded with intention. Roger looked away immediately.

— I’m not.

— You are. And it’s pathetic.

— Oh, fuck off.

Freddie finally looked up, a slow smile forming.

— I warned you.

— About what?

— That she wouldn’t wait forever.

Roger laughed, dry.

— Wait for what? We were never—

— Oh, don’t — Freddie cut him off, raising a hand. — Don’t insult me by pretending you’re that oblivious.

Silence. Roger ran a hand through his hair, too frustrated to keep the act for long.

— She didn’t say anything.

— Did you?

That hit harder than it should have.

Because no. He didn’t. He had never needed to say anything to anyone. Things just… happened. But with her, apparently, they didn’t.

The problem wasn’t just seeing Y/n with Daniel. It was seeing how she was with Daniel. The way she leaned slightly toward him when he spoke, the way she rested her shoulder against his without thinking, the way she laughed—that softer laugh, less sharp, less… defensive.

Like she wasn’t always ready to snap back at something. Like she was comfortable. Roger didn’t know how to deal with that. Not because he wanted that kind of relationship—he never had. It never worked for him, never seemed necessary.

But because, in some irritating and completely out-of-control way, he wanted that from her.

— You’re going to burn a hole through them — Freddie commented, passing by with a drink in his hand.

Roger didn’t answer. Because Y/n had just rested her head on Daniel’s shoulder, distracted, while he said something that clearly wasn’t as funny as she was pretending it was.

That did something strange to his chest. Something he didn’t like at all.

— He’s not even that funny — Roger muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Freddie stopped beside him.

— This is my favorite version of you.

— Shut up.

— No, really. The slow realization? The quiet suffering? The way you have absolutely no idea what to do about it? Exquisite.

Roger turned his head, annoyed.

— I’m not suffering.

Freddie raised an eyebrow, looking from Roger to Y/n, and then back.

— Of course you’re not, darling. You’re thriving.

He wasn’t. Roger Taylor was falling apart—just in a way that no one who didn’t know him well would notice.

Because he still laughed. Still joked. Still flirted with any girl who got close enough. It just felt… empty now.

Automatic. Like he was following an old script that didn’t make as much sense anymore. And worse—he started to notice that. Started to notice he was looking less at other people.

And more at her. Always at her.

— You’re quiet today — Y/n commented, dropping onto the couch beside him like nothing in the world had changed.

That almost felt worse than seeing her with Daniel.

Roger let out a short laugh.

— Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.

— That would be a first.

She turned to look at him, studying him with that far-too-observant gaze. For a second—a minimal second, almost nonexistent—he thought she had noticed. That she had seen it. But then she just smiled to the side, light.

— Don’t get too introspective on me. It doesn’t suit you.

And stood up. Just like that. Went back to Daniel like it was the most natural place in the world.

Roger stayed there, staring at the empty space she had left.

— You’re an idiot — Freddie said, without a trace of sympathy.

Roger didn’t argue. Because, for the first time in a long time, he was starting to suspect that maybe he really was. And that maybe he had lost the one thing he never thought he could lose.

It didn’t happen all at once. Roger didn’t wake up one day different. At first, he just… lost interest. The same girls who once felt like a natural extension of the night were now just… people. Pretty, sure. Interesting, maybe. But not enough.

Not like before. He still did what he always did. Kissed. Laughed. Took someone home when it felt easier than saying no. But now, in the middle of it all, there was always an irritating second layer in his mind.

Y/n.

Always Y/n.

It was in the middle of a kiss that didn’t quite fit. In the strange silence afterward. In the way he caught himself comparing, automatically, unwillingly—the laugh, the voice, the fact that no one there had that same sharp presence she had.

It started to bother him. A lot.

— You’re distracted.

The girl said it once, pulling her face away from his with a slightly annoyed expression. Roger blinked, taking a second to come back.

— I’m not.

— You are.

She crossed her arms.

— If you don’t want to be here, just say it.

He didn’t answer immediately.

— I think you should go — he said, finally, more direct than usual.

She let out a humorless laugh.

— Wow. Charming.

The door slammed harder than necessary when she left. Roger stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, running a hand over his face, frustrated with something he still couldn’t quite put together.

Because it didn’t make sense. He had never been this guy.

But then came the music. And that was worse.

Because music had always been his safe place, the only place where everything made sense. But now even that was contaminated. He sat at the piano, or with his guitar, started something… and she appeared.

The way she spoke. The way she looked at him when she thought he was being an idiot. The way she laughed for real, not that polite laugh she gave anyone.

And he wrote. And erased. And wrote again. All wrong. All incomplete. Because no line felt enough.

— I’m losing my fucking mind.

That’s how he started. Freddie didn’t even look up from the piano at first.

— Took you long enough.

Roger scoffed, pacing like he was trying to burn off too much energy for the space.

— I’m serious.

— So am I.

Freddie played a few notes, too distracted for someone who clearly wasn’t.

— What’s wrong now, Roger? Another broken heart you didn’t know you had?

— It’s not funny.

— Oh, it’s extremely funny.

Roger stopped in front of him, staring.

— I can’t — he faltered, running a hand through his hair. — I can’t do this.

Freddie finally looked at him, interested.

— Do what?

Silence.

Roger opened his mouth, closed it again, clearly hating every second of this.

— I can’t keep seeing her like that.

— Like what?

— With him.

It came out faster, more direct than he planned. More honest too.

Freddie tilted his head slightly, like he had been waiting for exactly that.

— Ah.

— Don’t “ah” me.

— I will absolutely “ah” you.

Roger let out a humorless laugh, walking to the other side of the room.

— It’s fucking ridiculous. She has a boyfriend. I get it. I get it, alright? I’m not stupid.

— Debatable.

— I’m not going to say anything — he continued, ignoring him. — Because if I do, she’ll laugh in my face. And she’ll be right.

That hung in the air for a second. Freddie watched him more closely now.

— You think she would laugh?

Roger shrugged, tense.

— She’d put me in my place. Like she always does.

— And what place is that?

— Not that one.

No need to explain further. Freddie sighed, closing the piano lid with too much calm.

— There was a night.

Roger frowned.

— What?

— A while ago. After a show.

Something in the way Freddie said it made Roger actually pay attention.

— She was looking for you.

His chest tightened, out of nowhere.

— So?

Freddie shrugged, too casually.

— She said she wanted to tell you something.

Silence.

— And?

Freddie raised an eyebrow.

— You were busy.

Roger went still. Completely.

— Busy how.

It wasn’t exactly a question. Freddie tilted his head, almost pitying.

— Use your imagination, darling. You’re very good at that.

The air suddenly felt heavier.

— She saw?

— Yes.

Roger ran a hand over his face, letting out a low laugh—there was nothing funny about it.

— Fuck.

— Mhm.

— And she didn’t — she didn’t say anything?

— Not to you.

That hurt more than it should have. Much more. Because suddenly, everything made sense.

The way she had been… different. Not distant—worse, much worse than that. Normal. Like nothing had happened. Like he wasn’t… special.

— What was she going to say?

The question came out low. Freddie held his gaze for a second.

— I think you already know.

Roger looked away. Because he did.

— You really are an idiot.

This time, there was no humor in Freddie’s voice.

Roger didn’t argue. He just stood there, trying to swallow the crushing feeling that he had ruined something important before he even understood what it was.

And now… now it was too late. Because Y/n wasn’t waiting anymore. And Roger had no idea how to fix something he had broken himself.

Freddie decided that if it were left up to them, it would take years. And he didn’t have the patience for that.

— We’re having dinner — he announced, like it was a collective decision and not an imposition.

— We are? — Brian asked, not taking his eyes off the guitar.

— We are.

— Why? — Roger muttered, sprawled on the couch.

Freddie smiled, that dangerous smile.

— Because I’m bored. And when I’m bored, I fix things.

Roger didn’t like the way that sounded.

— Don’t.

— Don’t what?

— Whatever you’re thinking.

Freddie just blinked, far too innocent.

— I’m offended you think I have ulterior motives.

— You always have ulterior motives.

— And yet, you’re still coming.

Y/n showed up later than usual. Not alone. Daniel was by her side, a light hand on her back, talking to John about something completely irrelevant—irrelevant enough to irritate Roger just by existing.

He tried not to look. Failed in less than three seconds.

— Oh, this is going to be fun — Freddie murmured, passing by him.

— I hate you.

— No, you don’t. You need me.

Dinner started… surprisingly normal. Laughter. Overlapping conversations. Freddie being dramatic about wine. Brian trying to bring up something remotely intellectual and being ignored.

Y/n was… fine. Relaxed. She laughed, commented, teased—including Roger, as always.

It happened fast. Fast enough that no one reacted immediately. Roger made some comment—distracted, a little sharp—and, in the middle of some random movement, the knife slipped slightly out of the wrong position.

A clean cut. Small. But deep enough to make him let out a quiet “shit.”

Silence. Not complete—just that kind of pause that lasts a second longer than it should. And then—

— Roger.

Y/n was already on her feet before she thought. She crossed the space between them too quickly for someone who, theoretically, shouldn’t react like that.

— Let me see.

It wasn’t a request. It was automatic. Her hand was already holding his wrist before he even answered. Roger blinked, caught off guard—not by the pain, but by her. By the closeness. By the way she was looking at him.

— It’s nothing — he started.

— Don’t be stupid.

Her voice came out low, firm. Familiar. She grabbed a napkin, pressing it carefully against the cut, her face far too focused for someone who didn’t care.

— You have to be more careful — she murmured, almost without realizing she was speaking out loud. — Your hands aren’t optional, you know. You’re a drummer, for God’s sake.

That hit him directly. It was about the way she still thought about him. Instinctively. Like he was still… important.

Roger didn’t answer. He just looked at her. Very close. Close enough to notice every detail he had been avoiding actually seeing for weeks.

And for one dangerous second, everything went too quiet.

— I think he’ll survive — Freddie commented with a smile, casual, breaking the moment like it was nothing.

Y/n blinked, like she had come back from somewhere, and let go of Roger’s wrist a little too quickly.

— Yeah. Unfortunately.

She cleaned her hands, going back to her seat like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t crossed the entire room in two seconds. Like she hadn’t said that the way she did. Like it hadn’t been… that.

Daniel lightly touched her arm.

— He’s fine?

— He’s dramatic, but yes.

Light. Normal. Controlled.

Roger stared at his own hand for a second. Then at her. Then looked away.

The cut didn’t hurt that much anymore. It was superficial, nothing serious—something he would normally ignore without thinking twice.

But now… now it felt important. Because of the way she reacted. Because of the way she said it.

You’re a drummer, for God’s sake.

He let out a low, almost involuntary laugh, running his thumb over the makeshift bandage like it was… something bigger than it was.

Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And still—

— You look pleased with yourself.

Roger didn’t turn.

— I’m not.

Freddie leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching him with that look of someone who already knew exactly what was going on.

— You’re glowing.

— Fuck off.

— Oh, this is even better than I thought.

Roger finally turned, annoyed.

— It was nothing.

Freddie raised an eyebrow.

— Really?

— Yeah. She just — he gestured vaguely, trying to sound too casual. — reacted. It’s what she does.

— Mhm.

— We grew up together — Roger continued, quickly, like he needed to justify it. — Of course she’s going to care. That’s not — it doesn’t mean anything.

Silence. Freddie didn’t answer immediately. He just looked at him.

Calmly. Patiently.

— Say that again — he said, finally.

Roger frowned.

— What?

— The part where it doesn’t mean anything.

— It doesn’t.

— Roger. — Freddie started smiling. — She crossed an entire room in less than two seconds.

— She would do that for anyone.

Freddie tilted his head.

— No, she wouldn’t.

That hung in the air. Roger looked away, running a hand through his hair.

— You’re reading too much into it.

— Am I?

— Yes.

— So she always grabs your hand like that?

Roger didn’t answer.

— Talks to you like that?

Silence.

— Looks at you like that?

— Alright, I get it — he cut in, faster than he meant to.

Freddie smiled, satisfied.

— Do you?

Roger scoffed, turning his back for a second like that would help reorganize something inside him. It didn’t.

— It doesn’t matter anyway — he said, quieter.

Freddie didn’t buy it.

— Because?

Roger let out a humorless laugh, resting his hands on the counter.

— Because she’s with him.

Freddie shrugged.

— For now.

Roger turned immediately.

— Don’t.

— Don’t what?

— Don’t start with that.

— I’m not starting anything. I’m just observing.

— Yeah? Then observe this — Roger shot back, frustration slipping out unfiltered now. — She chose him.

That landed heavier than anything he’d said so far. Freddie narrowed his eyes but didn’t interrupt.

— She had a chance — Roger continued, his voice lower, more honest than he probably wanted. — And I — he faltered, letting out a bitter laugh. — I fucked it up before I even knew there was something to fuck up.

This time, Freddie didn’t tease. He just watched. Because that… was finally honest.

— And now? — he asked, calmer.

Roger ran a hand over his face, tired in a way that wasn’t physical.

— Now I don’t get to want her… Not like that.

Freddie tilted his head, studying him.

— And that’s working out great for you.

Roger let out a short laugh.

— Shut up.

— No, really — Freddie continued, stepping away from the doorway and walking slowly into the kitchen. — You’re doing wonderfully. Completely unaffected. Very convincing.

— I said shut up.

— You’re miserable.

— I’m fine.

— You’re in love.

Roger went still. For half a second. A full second. Long enough that the answer didn’t come automatically.

— I’m not.

Freddie smiled, almost gentle this time.

— Oh, darling.

And for the first time, Roger didn’t have the energy to argue.

Freddie didn’t believe in coincidences. He believed in carefully arranged opportunities.

— Oh, what a disaster — he murmured, looking at his watch like he had just realized something incredibly serious. — I completely forgot I have to be somewhere.

Brian didn’t even look up.

— You’ve been sitting there for an hour.

— And now I have to not be sitting here.

— Of course.

Freddie ignored him, already grabbing his coat with a theatrical urgency that felt far too forced to be real.

— Roger, darling, could you drop Y/n off?

Silence. Roger looked up far too slowly.

— I can get a cab.

Y/n answered at the same time. Freddie smiled.

— Nonsense. It’s late, and Roger is already going that way.

Roger wasn’t. He didn’t even know where Y/n was going.

— I’m not—

— You are — Freddie cut in lightly, already pushing things forward. — It’s decided.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

— This feels suspicious.

— Everything about me is suspicious, darling, and yet here we are.

She let out a short sigh, crossing her arms.

— If he crashes the car, I’m blaming you.

— If he crashes the car, I’ll write you a beautiful eulogy.

— Comforting.

Freddie smiled, far too pleased.

Mission accomplished.

—

The silence in the car wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t completely unbearable either. It was… strange. Like there was too much there and no simple way to start. Roger kept his eyes on the road, hands firm on the wheel, almost too careful now, like he still felt the weight of what she had said that day.

Y/n rested her arm on the window, watching the city pass by, avoiding looking directly at him.

Two adults. Perfectly capable of talking.

— So.

They both spoke at the same time. She let out a short laugh.

— You go.

— No, you—

— Roger.

He scoffed, but a small smile slipped through.

— Fine.

Silence again. He tightened his grip on the wheel slightly before speaking.

— Freddie set this up.

— Obviously.

— You knew?

— I suspected.

She finally turned her head, looking at him with that ironic glint in her eyes.

— He’s not subtle.

— He thinks he is.

— That’s the problem.

The corner of Roger’s mouth twitched, involuntarily. That… was familiar.

— You’ve been… different.

Y/n said it like she didn’t want to. Like she had tried not to. But said it anyway. Roger didn’t answer immediately.

— So have you.

— That’s not an answer.

— It’s not a question.

She exhaled through her nose, turning her face back toward the window.

— You used to be more… — she hesitated, searching for the word — annoying.

He laughed under his breath.

— I still am.

— Not like before.

That hung in the air.

Because she wasn’t just joking.

— You stopped bringing girls around.

Roger froze for half a second.

— Not really.

— Really.

She turned to him again, more serious now.

— I notice things, Roger.

Of course she did. She always did. He swallowed, eyes still on the road.

— Maybe I just got bored.

— You don’t get bored.

— You’d be surprised.

— I wouldn’t.

The car stopped at a red light. And for a second, he couldn’t not look at her. Y/n was already looking back. No irony. No shield.

— Why?

she asked.

Roger looked away first.

— Why what.

— Why now.

Something in his chest tightened. He let out a humorless laugh.

— That’s a very loaded question.

— I’m asking it anyway.

The light turned green. He started driving again. Buying time.

— You’re with someone.

Wrong answer.

He knew it.

She did too.

Y/n tilted her head slightly.

— That’s not what I asked.

Roger tightened his grip on the wheel.

— I didn’t know.

It came out low. Almost without intention. She stayed quiet. Didn’t interrupt.

— Back then — he continued, his voice more tense now — I didn’t know there was anything to know.

That lingered between them.

— Yeah. — Y/n took a deep breath, looking ahead. — That’s the problem, isn’t it?

She said it after a few seconds. Calmer. More distant.

Roger didn’t answer. Because it was.

The car stopped in front of her building. Neither of them moved.

— Thank you for the ride.

Formal.

— Y/n—

He called before she opened the door. She paused. Waiting.

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be honest, to say everything that had been running through his mind for the past weeks, but he just couldn’t.

— Be careful with your hand.

she said, finally, turning just enough to look at him.

And then she left.

Roger stayed there for a few seconds. The engine still running. His chest tight. Because even after he had hurt her that much…

She still cared.

Y/n arrived earlier than usual. The studio was still half empty, that rare silence before everything started—scattered instruments, chairs out of place, the air still.

Freddie was already there. Sitting at the piano, fiddling with something without really playing, like he was just waiting for the right moment.

He didn’t even need to look up.

— You look like you didn’t sleep.

Y/n let out a sigh, dropping her bag on a random chair before walking closer.

— I didn’t.

— Car rides with Roger Taylor tend to have that effect.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. That said enough. Freddie played a few loose notes, distracted.

— So. Are we going to talk about it, or are you going to pretend nothing happened?

Y/n crossed her arms, leaning against the piano.

— Nothing happened.

— Of course.

Silence.

— I’m not… okay with Daniel.

It came out more directly than she intended. Freddie didn’t react immediately. Just tilted his head slightly, attentive.

— Not okay how?

Y/n hesitated, running a hand over her arm like she was trying to organize her thoughts.

— He’s… — she faltered, frustrated. — I don’t know. It’s not that he’s bad. He’s just—

— Safe?

She made a face.

— Cold. Sometimes. And confusing.

Freddie raised an eyebrow.

— Confusing?

— Yeah.

She let out a short, humorless laugh.

— Like he’s there, but not really. Like I’m trying to convince myself it works.

That hung in the air. Freddie watched her for a few seconds, silent.

— And he’s not Roger.

It came out light, but precise. Y/n closed her eyes for a second, irritated.

— Don’t.

— I didn’t say it was a good thing.

She opened her eyes, looking at him with a mix of exhaustion and warning.

— Freddie—

— You were going to say it.

— I was not.

— You were.

She looked away.

— That’s exactly why I’m not doing anything about it.

Her voice came out firmer now. More controlled. Freddie didn’t interrupt.

— I’m not — she took a deep breath, choosing her words more carefully. — I’m not going to fall into that again.

— “That” being?

Y/n let out a quiet laugh.

— Him.

Simple.

— Roger is… — she ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. — He’s chaos. He’s inconsistent. He doesn’t think before he acts, he doesn’t stay, he doesn’t—

— Love?

She froze. For a second too small to be comfortable.

— Not in any way that works.

Freddie stayed quiet. Watching.

— He’s a rockstar, Freddie — she continued, faster now, like she needed to reinforce it for herself. — He jumps from girl to girl like it means nothing. And maybe it doesn’t. To him.

— And you want it to mean something.

It wasn’t a question. Y/n didn’t answer right away. Because it was too obvious.

— I’m not going to be another one — she said, finally. — I’m not going to wait for him to maybe realize something too late again.

Freddie tilted his head.

— Again?

She ignored it. On purpose.

— He’s not the right person.

Freddie took a slow breath, resting his hands on the piano.

— You’re trying very hard to believe that.

She looked at him immediately.

— I do believe that.

— Mhm.

— I do.

— Of course you do.

That irritated her. She crossed her arms, closing off a little more.

— Why are you like this?

Freddie smiled, soft.

— Because I’ve seen this story before.

— This isn’t a story.

— Everything is a story, darling.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hold onto the irritation for long. Because the problem wasn’t Freddie.

— I’m choosing what makes sense.

She said it quieter. More to herself than to him. Freddie watched her for a moment. Then replied, just as quietly:

— That has never really been your thing.

Y/n let out a breath, tired. No answer. Because deep down… he wasn’t wrong.

--

Y/n walked into rehearsal with the same air as always. Relaxed posture. An expression a little too neutral for someone who hadn’t slept properly. A coffee in her hand like it was the only thing keeping her functional.

Normal. Or at least, a very well-constructed version of normal.

Brian was the first to notice.

— Where’s Daniel?

Simple. Direct. No malice. Just curiosity. Y/n didn’t even stop walking.

— Good morning to you too.

— That is my good morning.

— Charming.

She set the cup down on top of an amplifier, grabbing a random piece of paper from the table as a distraction.

— He had something to do.

Too quick. Brian narrowed his eyes slightly.

— Right.

— She dumped him.

Freddie said it from across the room, not even raising his voice. But loud enough. Silence. Y/n froze for half a second.

— I did not—

— Oh, she absolutely did — Freddie continued, now smiling, turning slightly on the piano bench. — It was very dramatic. Very emotional. I was almost impressed.

— You weren’t even there!

— Details.

John looked up from his bass, curious.

— Wait, really?

— No!

Y/n answered too fast. Fast enough to make it worse. Brian crossed his arms, amused now.

— That sounds like a yes.

— It’s not a yes.

— It’s a pre-yes — Freddie corrected, calmly.

She turned to him, incredulous.

— What does that even mean?

— It means she’s done with him, she just hasn’t informed him yet.

John let out a low laugh.

— That’s rough.

— It’s not… oh my God — Y/n ran a hand over her face, already smiling despite the irritation. — You’re all insane.

Roger stayed quiet. Leaning further back. Watching.

Brian tilted his head, analyzing her.

— So you didn’t break up with him.

— No.

— But you’re going to.

— I didn’t say that.

— You didn’t deny it either.

— I hate all of you.

Freddie played two random notes on the piano, completely satisfied with the chaos. Y/n took a deep breath, looking around like she was considering just leaving.

— You’re all projecting.

— We’re all observing — Brian corrected.

— Poorly.

— Accurately.

She crossed her arms, regaining some of her composure. Back in control.

— You’re all very invested in my life for people who should be working.

— Your life is more entertaining than work — John replied simply.

— That’s concerning.

Freddie leaned forward slightly. Y/n grabbed something from the table and threw it in his direction. He dodged it easily.

— Violence. Very telling.

She pointed at him.

— You’re the worst person I know.

— And yet, I’m always right.

Y/n let out a sigh, shaking her head—but the smile was still there. Small. Unavoidable.

Freddie waited. Which, coming from him, was already suspicious. Days turned into weeks. Rehearsals came and went, shows, laughter, routine—and in the middle of it all, small changes.

Y/n without Daniel. Roger… different. Less noise. Less distraction. More presence—especially when she was around. They didn’t talk about it. They talked around it. Jokes. Comments. Light teasing.

Like ignoring it would be enough.

Freddie let it go. For a while. Until he got bored.

— Oh, could you grab that for me?

Y/n didn’t think twice.

— Sure.

Roger was already getting up at the same time. Freddie smiled.

Perfect.

— It’s in the storage room. Back there.

He pointed, far too innocent for someone who definitely wasn’t.

They both went.

Freddie waited exactly two steps.

Then stood up.

And, without making a scene, walked to the door.

click.

From the inside, the sound was quiet. But unmistakable.

— Did he—

— He did.

She closed her eyes for a second, already irritated.

— I’m going to kill him.

— Get in line.

The space was too small for two people with unresolved things. Stacked boxes. Loose cables. The faint smell of wood and dust. Y/n crossed her arms.

— This is your fault.

Roger let out a short laugh.

— Mine?

— You walked right into it.

— You came too.

Y/n stopped halfway.

Slowly turned her head.

— I didn’t know you were coming.

— Neither did I.

Silence. They didn’t move. Not really. Just… occupying space.

— Freddie did this on purpose.

— Obviously.

— He thinks he’s subtle.

— He’s not.

The corner of Roger’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Y/n looked away first, walking toward one of the boxes just to have something to do with her hands.

— So.

— So.

Silence.

— You broke up with him.

It came out direct. No build-up. She turned her head slowly.

— That’s how you’re starting this?

— It’s a question.

— It’s not your business.

That cut. He felt it.

— Right.

The word came out drier than he meant.

— I didn’t do it because of you.

She said it before he could say anything. Fast. Defensive. Like it mattered too much to make that clear.

Roger let out a humorless laugh.

— I didn’t say you did.

— You were going to.

— I wasn’t.

— You were.

— I wasn’t.

Silence.

Heavier now.

— You don’t get to do that.

She said it suddenly.

Roger frowned.

— Do what?

She turned fully to him now.

— Act like this is something you get to have an opinion about.

That hit.

Hard.

— I’m not—

— You are.

She took a step toward him. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to be impossible to ignore.

— You don’t get to look at me like that now.

— Like what?

— Like it matters.

Roger froze.

Because… it did. And she knew.

— It does matter.

It slipped out before he could filter it.

She laughed. Low. Without humor.

— Oh, now it does?

Something tightened in his chest.

— I didn’t know before.

— That’s not my problem.

— I know that.

— Do you?

She tilted her head, looking straight at him.

— Because it feels like you think it is.

Roger ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

— I’m not saying that.

— Then what are you saying?

He didn’t answer right away. For the first time, he seemed… without one.

— You had your chance, Roger.

She said it quieter. More honest, and that hurt.

— I didn’t know it was a chance.

— Exactly. — Simple and true. — You don’t get to want me now.

The sentence landed clean.

Roger swallowed, something tightening in his chest in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

— That’s not fair.

Mistake.

She let out a short laugh.

— Fair?

She took a step back, like the word itself was too absurd to stand close to.

— You don’t get to talk about fair.

He didn’t answer.

Because there wasn’t a good one.

— I was there.

She continued, lower now.

— That night.

The air shifted.

Roger went still.

— I came to talk to you.

Each word measured. Controlled.

— And you were—

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

— I know.

He said it quickly. Low. Laced with guilt.

She nodded once.

— Yeah.

Silence.

— So no — she continued, taking a breath. — You don’t get to show up weeks later, suddenly… whatever this is—

She gestured between them.

— And expect it to mean something.

— It does mean something.

Firmer now. More desperate than he wanted to admit.

She closed her eyes for a second, she was tired.

— That’s the problem.

Silence.

— I’m not doing this.

She said finally, calmer.

More distant.

— I’m not going to fall into something that’s going to hurt me again.

The silence after the argument wasn’t immediate. It hung there.

Like any wrong move would break something for good. Y/n was still near the door. But she didn’t leave. Not yet.

Roger took a step toward her. Slow. Like he was testing the ground.

— Y/n—

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t tell him to stop either. Another step. Closer. Now too close to ignore.

She turned her face.

And for one dangerous second… they were at the same distance they’d been a thousand times before. But never like this. Her gaze dropped—quick, involuntary.

Mouth.

Back up.

Eyes.

Roger didn’t think. This time, he didn’t think. He just… leaned in slightly. Slow. Giving her time to pull away. To stop him. To say no.

She didn’t. And for a split second… it felt like it was going to happen.

But then— She froze. Her whole body. Like something yanked her back hard.

That night. The half-open door. The low laughter. Another girl. Him not even noticing she was there.

Y/n stepped back too fast. Almost stumbling. Breath caught.

— No.

Low, but firm. Roger stopped immediately. Like he’d been hit.

She let out a laugh. Bitter. No humor at all.

— Of course.

She ran a hand over her face, shaking her head.

— Of course you’d do that.

— Do what?

— This.

She pointed between them. Frustrated.

— Make it feel like it means something.

That cut.

— It does mean something.

— No, it doesn’t.

Faster now.

More defensive.

— This is what you do, Roger.

She took another step back, creating space. Protecting herself.

— You get close, you say the right things, and then — she stopped, laughing without humor. — There’s another girl. And another. And another.

He opened his mouth.

— That’s not—

— I’m not going to be one of them.

The sentence came out clean. Hard.

— I’m not going to be another name on some list you don’t even remember in a week. — Her voice wavered slightly. Just a little, but enough. — That would be cruel.

Quieter now. More honest. She looked away, taking a breath.

— And I deserve better than that.

That hit him differently.

— You would never be just another.

It came out firm. Immediate. No hesitation.

She laughed. Small. Disbelieving.

— That’s what they all think.

— No.

He stepped forward. No caution now.

— No, Y/n. Not you.

She looked at him.

Direct.

Challenging.

— If I had known — he faltered for a second, his voice dropping, more raw — if I had known there was even a chance — he let out a short, incredulous laugh at himself. — I wouldn’t have thought twice.

Silence. She didn’t interrupt.

— I don’t care where I was. I don’t care who I was with.

More intense now. More honest than he had probably ever been.

— I would’ve come running.

That did something to her. But she didn’t move.

— Because I love you.

The air changed.

Completely.

Roger ran a hand through his hair, almost laughing at himself.

— You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

His voice faltered slightly, but he kept going.

— There isn’t anyone else.

He stepped closer.

Slower this time.

— Comparing anyone to you is stupid.

A small smile. Almost sad.

— Because you’re… you’re ridiculous, Y/n.

Lower.

— You’re brilliant, and sharp, and impossible, and— he exhaled, frustrated at not being able to organize it — and I was lucky.

Softer now. Heavier.

— I was lucky you even thought about giving me a chance.

Silence.

— Because I never thought someone like you would.

Almost a whisper. Y/n didn’t answer. Not immediately. She just looked at him. Processing. Feeling. Fighting.

Because all of that… It was exactly what she had wanted to hear.

Before.

And now?

She swallowed, stepping back. A sad and small laugh.

— You’re late.

Low. Almost breaking.

Roger felt something slipping through his fingers again. And for the first time, he didn’t just stand there.

— Then give me another chance.

It came out fast. Y/n wanted to leave, wanted to tell him they were better off as friends.

— I’ll make it worth it.

His voice faltered, but he kept going. Firmer now. More desperate.

— I just— I just need one more chance to prove I’m not that person with you.

Silence. She didn’t move.

— I won’t let you slip away again.

A step toward her, slow. Like each word was being built in the moment.

— I’ll make you feel like you’re the only girl in the world. — his gaze was steady. — Because that’s what you deserve.

Quieter now.

— And I didn’t understand that before, but I do now.

Y/n closed her eyes for a second.

Breath caught.

— It was always you.

It slipped out.

— From the beginning.

Roger was closer now. Looking at her like he was finally seeing her.

— You’re the only one who ever — he faltered, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh — who ever made my heart mess up like this.

— You’re the one I think about when I try to write anything that means something.

Calmer. More honest.

— And maybe I didn’t realize what that was before…

He stepped closer. No space left now.

— But I do now.

Y/n swallowed, her gaze locked on his. It felt real. Too real.

— You don’t get to just say all of that and expect me to—

She started. But didn’t finish. Because he was too close. And she was too tired of fighting it.

And then— She pulled him in.

The kiss was urgent. Full of everything they hadn’t said before. His hands on her face. Hers gripping his shirt, pulling like she was angry—and maybe she was.

Lost time. Built-up feelings.

She pulled away first. Breath uneven. Expression conflicted. Roger didn’t move. Not even a little.

— I’m not letting you go again.

Y/n closed her eyes for a second. Like she was deciding something bigger than the moment.

And when she opened them…

She was still there.

Looking at the man she had always seen.

And he was finally looking back at her.