Smut
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Roger's POV
"God, Brian! Why in the world are you so fucking stubborn?!" Yelled Roger, who sat at his drum kit, gripping his pair of sticks.
"Roger, it's my song! I can do whatever I bloody please!" Retorted Brian as he stared down Roger, his jaws clenched and his arms crossed over his guitar.
Roger huffed, looking away from Brian, his gaze meeting the floor. He knew he was right, but it just didn't sound great.
"Alright, can you two stop fighting or something? We need to get this song finished with," Freddie told them, who stood on the other side of the studio, inside the control booth with John. Currently, Brian and Roger were recording their guitar and drum parts together or at least trying to.
"I'm getting a drink, " mumbled Roger, who snappily placed his sticks on his floor tom, not making eye contact as he got up from his seat, making way to the door.
"Roger! Where are you going now?!" Asked Brian, who apparently didn't hear Roger.
Roger simply answered him back by flicking him off with both of his hands before marching out of the room.
"Roger!" Brian tried getting his attention again, but it was too late. Roger opened the door and slammed it behind him. He hoped he made Brian feel guilty. He knew it was his song, but Roger and John felt like it should go another way, and Brian wasn't having it. He wanted to get Freddie's opinion on it, but he would always be on the fence.
He walked straight out of the studio and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"It's my song! I can do whatever I bloody please!" Roger mocked under his breath, making his way to the nearest pub. He kept replaying his drum part over and over again in his head, and it just didn't sound good to him. He knew he could make it better.
What does Brian know about drums anyway? Roger thought, opening the door to the pub. Since it was about five in the afternoon, everyone was getting off work, so the bar was quite busy.
He thought about it, wondering if he should get a drink or avoid the crowd and head back to the studio. No, he shook his head and went in. He flicked Brian off, he couldn't just waltz back inside the studio and pretend nothing happened. He had to let that sink in for Brian.
He shifted his way through the crowd, excusing himself to make his way to the bar. To his luck, he found an empty chair and plopped himself down in it.
He looked at the people beside him, looking to his left he saw a burly guy with a huge beard, and he wore jeans and large motorcycle vest on him. He looked very nervous, tapping on his beer bottle. He made Roger seem like some kind of angry chipmunk. To his right, there was a girl with smooth skin, and luscious hair. She had her face buried in her hands, and she looked like she had been sitting there for hours.
Roger looked away from her and flagged down the bartender who walked over to him while cleaning out a glass. "What's your poison?" The bartender asked, looking at the shot glass to see if it was clean enough.
"Uh, whiskey will be fine."
The bartender nodded, turning away from Roger to get his drink. While Roger waited, he looked at the girl to his right, wondering what was wrong with her. He propped himself up on his hand while leaning on the counter. Who is she? She's certainly pretty. What's wrong with her? Roger thought.
