Bohemian Rhapsody

False Truths Part Two

"Look up to the skies, and see"

YOU yawned, stretching, blinking your eyes in the day light, because in your drunken haze (well your tired haze, it was mostly Roger who was drunk) last night you'd forgotten to shut the damn curtains. The sun made your head ache, and even your usual morning self just wanted to cower away from the daylight and sleep for a thousand years. Travelling this amount in such a small time was tiring, to say the least.

Kicking your legs over the side of the bed, you pulled one of Roger's T-shirt's over your head, and rubbed your head, yawning once again, showing all of your teeth almost like a lion roaring, except yours was just a small grumble of tiredness. You pulled your hair back, tying it firmly in a high ponytail, so much that it strained and snapped tendrils of hair, and making over to your suitcases, to sort them out - the band was leaving New York tonight, and nearly all of your belongings were scattered over the floor, carelessly tossed aside last night, when... well, when you were celebrating the gig. Alone. With Roger. You grinned a little, and picked up a few items of clothing, folding them neatly, and looking over at the catastrophe of makeup scattered over the table in the corner.

"Come back to bed, love." You heard Roger's voice behind you, gravely with tiredness, his head buried in the pillow. His hand patted the space where you had just vacated,lazily.

"It's nine, we need to get up, Rog." You said softly, running a hand through his blonde locks, stood back next to the bed, scribbling down things you needed to do before you left on a notepad on the nightstand.

"Christ, woman, do you ever slow down?" He chuckled slightly, turning his head so he could see you. His cornflower blue eyes looked bleary, obviously hungover. Not that you were surprised- he must have drank fourteen or fifteen pints last night. "You put too much pressure on yourself to get this tour right for me and the boys." It was true - you were pretty much a secondary tour manager at this point, helping avoid disasters, of which Roger was usually the epicentre of. 

"And where would you be without me?" You teased, lying back down next to him, facing him. Five minutes wouldn't hurt.

"We'd be pretty fuckin' screwed." He laughed, that perfectly raucous Roger laugh that you loved. You laughed along with him. And in his Roger way, he had barely a hangover when he drank ten times more copiously than you did.

"Happy anniversary, Rog." You smiled, resting your head against his, looking into those beautiful blue eyes of his. Sometimes, you wished you could write songs just as he could, just so you could write about those eyes.

"Happy anniversary, Y/N." He kissed you, a lingering one, before getting up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and rooting in a bedside drawer.

"Come back to bed." You whine slightly, repeating his words back to him.

"In a minute." He said, mimicking your tone with a grin on his face.

"Idiot." You mumble, burying your face in his pillow. It smelt of stale cigarettes and his hairspray, but still, it was a comforting scent.

"Here." He said, placing something in your hand. A beautiful velvet jewellery box weighed your petite hand down. Even the box looked expensive.

You sat up. "I thought we weren't getting each other anything this anniversary? Your idea, by the way." You huffed slightly, a small smile on your face.