Freddie Mercury - One-Shots and Imagines

Drama, Trauma, and Everything In-Between

Requested by SleepInPeaceBruh

1977
~~~~

"Just because you don't care about anybody but yourself doesn't mean that you get to be an entitled brat!" Brian shouted, glowering down at Roger.

"Well how is it my fault that your a grown man who doesn't know how to look after himself?" Roger retorted.

"Not our problem that your parents didn't love you, Rog." Deaky chimed in, his arms folded over his chest, sprawled out in an armchair.

This is the third time this week.

"Y'know, it would be great if you could all shut up." I chided, glaring pointedly at Roger. "Especially you." I added.

"Can we just please keep working on the song?" Roger begged, exasperation practically dripping from his words.

"Fine." I murmured, trying my best to avoid decking him right then and there.

"Do it." Brian mouthed, as if he had read my mind.

But no. As much as I would love to slap him across the face, I don't do that sober.

We all ambled over towards the table, where a singular notepad with an assortment of lyrics was scrawled over the first paper.

"You see, I think that-" Roger started.

"Your opinion doesn't matter, Rog." Deaky dismissed without breaking intense eye contact with the paper.

I choked back a laugh. I swear they're going to be the death of me. 

"Stop..." Roger whined, annoyance weaving into his voice. "Anyways, Fred, I think you-"

"Don't call me Fred." I demanded. "It makes me sound like an old man."

"But Brian gets to call you Fred!" Roger groaned, glaring crossly at the rest of us. "You're playing favouritism because Brian's your type!"

"Roger, can you just go away?" Brian scoffed.

Silence fell in the room.

"You accuse me of not caring about the rest of you? I would sacrifice myself for any of you! And yet I still get treated like this because I'm just the dumb blond who can't write songs, the dumb blond who can't sing. Don't any of you realise how unfair that is?" He exclaimed, his voice trailing off into a whisper.

"We don't sympathize with thieves, Roger." Brian huffed, shooting a reproachful glance back at Roger before turning around again.

"We have deadlines, you know, right?" I tapped my foot impatiently against the ground. "He's going to scold us again like a bunch of children if we don't get this song done in time." I lamented.

"Yeah, yeah, let's keep working." Roger nodded.

"Nobody cares, Roger." Brian grumbled.

"What the-" 

"Everybody be quiet, I have a headache." Deaky murmured.

"Do you need me to get you anything?" Brian piped up. "Do you want water?" He offered. 

Deaky nodded delicately, earning an indignant stare from Roger.

"No, I do think I need to change a couple lines instead of just doing the repeat, it makes it sound repetitive and annoying." I gave a half-hearted attempt to get the vehicle that was our band (which happened to be careening off a cliff at the moment) back on track.