𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐄.

chapter 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧.

ᵍʳᵒᵘᵖⁱᵉ

˚₊‧꒰ა 🎤 ‧₊˚

[ i need a break ]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝.

He glided his finger across the hundreds of names before settling upon the first Hutton, Jim he found. But the list carried on till the bottom of the page, and then onto the next. It would be very hard to find this Jim Hutton.

A knocking at the door had him looking up, hearing Paul's muffled voice, "Freddie, you in there? Freddie?" He turned the light off, placing the book down. "They're here. We can't put this off any longer... Freddie?"

"MTV banned our video. The youth of America. We helped give birth to MTV," Freddie said, turning around to face the boys.

"It's America," Brian shrugged. "They're Puritans in public, perverts in private."

"I'm never touring in the US again," the singer decided, shaking his head, before chuckling dryly. "And I'm the one being blamed for it. Not you, dear, whose idea, I believe, it was to dress up in drag," he said to Roger. "Not you. Not even you, who wrote the bloody thing. No. Crazy, cross-dressing Freddie. Freddie the freak. Freddie the f*g." He sighed, stopping his pacing. "I'm tired of touring. Aren't you? Album, tour, album, tour. I want to do something different."

"We're a band. That's what bands do," Brian stated. "Album, tour, album, tour."

"Well, I need a break. I'm sick of it."

"What are you saying, Freddie?" Deacy asked, tapping at his chin.

Freddie didn't answer for a moment, instead opting to light a cigarette and gaze out the window at the view. He glanced to the side at Paul, before sighing. "I've signed a deal with CBS Records."

"You've done what?" Roger questioned.

"Without telling us?" Brian asked, turning around on the couch to look at Freddie.

"What kind of deal?" Deacy wondered.

"Look, I'm not saying we won't record or ever tour again. Queen will go on. But I need to do something different. Do you know what I mean? I need- I need to grow. What- what's the song? 'Fly Away'?"

Deacy bitterly smiled, "'Spread my wings and fly away.'"

"'Spread my wings and fly away.'"

"A solo album?" Brian guessed.

"Two, actually," Paul corrected, and the boys glared at the man. "Back-to-back."

"Another word out of you and I'll throw you out the bloody window," Roger threatened.

"But that's years, Freddie. I mean... that'll take years," Deacy explained.

"Ye of little faith."

Roger sighed, "I don't believe this. How much?" Freddie looked back out the window, ignoring the question. "What did they pay you? I wanna know how much they paid you! -."