BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

28 - roger waters ³

For  theskychildren ! I have to admit, I've been toying with this idea for a while. Also, I love the idea of Roger being vulnerable with his S/O.
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It had been a dismal week. Rain poured constantly outside, flooding streets and yards with muddy sludge. The sun hadn't shone in what felt like years, hidden behind the hulking gray clouds. No one had expected a storm like this. Sure, England got its fair share of poor weather, but it seemed like a malevolent cloud had picked your city out specifically, plopping right down and ensuring that the rain would fall heavy and unforgiving.

On the first day of the rains, Roger had been returning home from the studio and got caught up in it. He had came back soaking wet and irritated, cursing the powers that be for his absence of thought to bring along an umbrella. As usual, you didn't put too much stock into Roger's anger, and blew his complaints off with an experienced hand. Whenever his temper flared, Roger would turn into a drama queen about every little insignificance.

You had ignored Roger until you realized that he truly was hurting. He barely had the voice to complain anymore, his throat going dry. His words would get tangled up in coughs and, for once, Roger grew quiet. It was on the third day, when Roger was due to return to the studio for practice, that he slept in past noon.

You were in the kitchen, bustling about and trying to prepare a nice breakfast for Roger to cheer him up when the phone rang. Roger's groaning could be heard even downstairs and you winced, hurrying over to pick it up before he really got himself going.

"Hello?"

"Y/N? Have you seen Rog? He was supposed to show up today."

It was David. He didn't seem particularly perturbed, but there was an underlying trace of worry in his words. Roger rarely, if ever, missed a practice session. He took his work deathly serious and it was troubling that Roger – their self-proclaimed leader – didn't show up.

"Sorry, Dave. I think he's sick. I doubt he'll be coming in today," you said, nervously curling the phone cord around your finger. You tried to keep your voice low, but you could hear Roger puttering around above you already.

"Oh," David replied. "Well, send the sod our best. We all need a break. Good luck, Y/N."

David didn't make you feel very confident. Though you and Roger had been together for quite some time now, you had never seen him sick. You had no idea what to expect, but you had already gotten a small sampling earlier that night when Roger got up out of bed to use the bathroom or have a smoke. He stomped around muttering to himself and, once his throat started up again, he would resort to grunting.

You had no idea how to help Roger since he didn't want to be helped. Since he came home, he pretty much avoided you. Your bed was the only place he would willingly stay with you, and you had a feeling that was because he felt too bad to kick you out of the bedroom completely. Otherwise, Roger spent most of his hours in your shared room, buried under a mound of blankets.

At first, you had offered to give Roger some medicine, but that had been a bad idea. He shunned you like a child would, rolling over in bed and moaning. The only thing that Roger would accept from you was tea and the occasional bit of food that he could stomach.

You tried to give him healthier foods that would stimulate his immune system, but offerings of carrots and soup were only met with scorn.