I still love you | Maylor fanfiction

2

Roger's P.O.V.

I pulled my coat closer, gave a quick glance to the both sides of the road before crossing it in the highest speed I was able to create, my bag flying right behind me. I was running late to our meet with Freddie which he set up yesterday, without waiting for my response. Of course I had time, I just would head here half an hour later, so I didn't check the schedule of the busses which went here. And I missed it.
As I reached the pavement in front of the club's front door, I could already hear Freddie's voice, arguing with someone, from the opened window.

"-I really don't think you should be doing that, Fred..."
"It's alright dear, I am paying for it."
"But still, it's not a good idea..."
"It's okay! I am leaving the change right here!"
I rushed in, slamming the door open and stepping into the dark room, panting heavily, as I was hardly catching my breath at that point. Freddie was sitting at one of the bar stalls, his leather jacket from yesterday thrown over the counter, with a full champagne glass in his hand. He seemed to have brought a friend with him, a skinny guy in a thick sweater, who was tuning his bass while sitting on the stage.

"Roger, you are late! Whole twenty minutes!" Freddie exclaimed before I could even greet them, as he stepped towards me, sipping from his glass.
"I missed my bloody bus! I'm sorry!" I defended myself between breaths, landing my bag on one of the tables, and taking my coat and scarf off, placing it next to it.

"Fred, you can't just take that vine, when no-one's here," I commented on his drink while I was searching in my bag for drum sticks. When I finally got hold of them, I twitched with them between my fingers a few times, moving towards the stage, where the drums were placed permanently.
"I am paying for it," he sighed with clear annoyance and left his champagne on the counter, stepping afterwards me.
"That's not how it works," I chuckled, reaching for a small chair which was always stored in the backstage, and moving it behind the drums. "But when you're there, get me a beer, please."
"Of course," he grinned, leaning over the bar counter in the last second, as if he expected me to ask, grasping the beer and opening it with a metal spoon.

"This is John, he plays the bass," he informed me, pointing towards the brown-haired guy, as he reached towards the stage.
I gave John a second look. His figure was very petite, with his messy shoulder-length hair and a knitted sweater, he looked as a small child. The way he stood and moved his hand up to give me a slight wave with quiet words:" Hi, I'm John Richard Deacon," seemed very careful, as if he would be shy or even insecure.
"Hi. I'm Roger Taylor," I replied with a smile. I only hoped he played well, so that we didn't have to find a different bass player, if we took this all seriously, and break his heart.
I was thinking about the situation I got in the whole night. Everything seemed as a huge coincidence. Somewhere deep inside, I didn't want to waste everything I sacrificed for drums and wanted to try a band once more. When I got up from the shock when Freddie invited, or more like commanded I went to the practice, I realized how lucky I was. I didn't wanted to miss this chance, and if Fred was good at whatever he played, his and mine will could help us get high.

"So, you and Freddie are friends?" I asked John, as I sat behind the drums, meanwhile checking that they were alright and ready to be played at.
"Well," He hesitated. "I've actually met him only once before, about a week ago."
He gave a quick glance towards the mentioned and smirked softly.
"Well same here. I've met him yesterday."
"I'm right here dears," came from Fred, who now has climbed on the stage, handing me the ice cold beer. "I'm just looking for people who are good at what I'm looking for."
"This sentence gives me a headache. Can't you just explain what the hell are you actually doing?" I asked, taking a shot from my beer, smiling when the cold alcohol poured down my throat, and calmed my mind down.

The black haired guy, sat down at one of the massive speakers, shrugging his shoulders innocently. "Rog, cool down, I'm not trying to drag you in a dark corner and fuck you, okay? I'm just trying to form a band. And I want the people in the band to be the best of the best. And that is fucking hard."
"Well that compliments me."
"It should, you're welcome. Can we start now, when all is clear?"