𝙱𝚊𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎| 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫

II

It's been a few days since I brought Roger over to my flat, and honestly I don't think I'll be running into him any time soon, and honestly it did hurt a little. He was easy to get on with, and fun to talk to.

Ian could hardly remember a thing from that night, or maybe he did and just didn't tell me. Personally, I don't really care, it's only a matter of time before one of us finally cracks, and causes a break up. I found myself eager for that time to hurry up.

Things more or less went back to the way they were. Ian and I wouldn't talk in the mornings, argue at night, when he comes back home from the pub, or probably another girls house, I would go to University and work.

Willow had called me on the same night that Roger left my flat, enraged, to inform me that they got to go backstage and talk to the band, and that we were invited to another gig tonight.

I agreed to go, as I hoped to clear up this situation with me and Roger, but I am a bit nervous of the outcome. I learned that he had one of the shortest tempers I've ever came across, possibly has a worse temper than Ian.

While I was currently stacking records on shelves, I noticed a familiar mop of blonde hair, looking at 'The Beatles' records, and I immediately knew who it was.

I snapped my head back, to continue working, but I wondered if I should go over and just get the apology over and done with, rather than waiting for a chance to talk to him tonight.

I tapped my finger on the shelf to the beat of a David Bowie song was playing in the store, while I was making up my mind on whether I should talk to the drummer now or later - but it was a bit late, considering he had turned his head and noticed me, his features hardening, as our eyes connected.

I decided to put on a brave front, and I walked over to where he was nice standing with his arms folded, and a firm expression masked on his face.

When I now stood in front of him, he still looked at me sternly, making me feel intimidated under his hard gaze, and I looked down to avoid it.

We stood in an unwanted silence for a moment, before he finally broke the silence, by clearing his throat, and opening his mouth to say something.

"What do you want, Ophelia?" he asked, tapping his foot, impatiently, looking down at the ground, while I now looked up.

"Er... I just wanted to talk..." I shrugged, not really sure what to say, as I began chipping the red nail polish of my nails, nervously.

"So, talk" he rolled his eyes, losing patience with me.

"I'm sorry about the other night. I should've told you, I just didn't intend for anything to happen between us, I thought it was just as... Well, friends" I shrugged, digging my index nail in my thumb.

"Friends?" he chuckled, sarcastically, scoffing a little. "You invited me to your house. I expected it to be a more than "friendly"" he finger-quoted, before crossing his arms again.

I knitted my brows together, in confusion, growing irritated. "I invited you to my house? You we're the one who suggested it because it was cold" I reminded him, folding my arms.

"Jesus, you really are slow. We were flirting, I suggested to go to yours not because it was cold, but because I wanted a shag" he said, casually, as if it were the most normal thing to say to a girl.

"You're disgusting." I pointed out, to which he just smugly smirked in response, before I scoffed and turned around to walk away, hearing him chuckle, before resuming to scan through different albums.