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A few hours later, Roger returned. I was now sitting on the sofa, angry and drunk.
"Hey." he said.
"Hey."
"I'm sorry about before."
"So am I. Maybe not for the same reasons, though." I said bitchily.
Roger sighed. "Sorry I haven't exactly been... transparent with you about our uh, relationship."
"It's okay," I said, automatically. "Well, actually it's not okay. I just don't want to make you feel bad. Because that's what decent people do. They consider other people's feelings."
Roger pursed his lips.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I get it. I'm selfish and insensitive and I'm really sorry. I should've been more considerate of you." he said.
"Yeah, you should've. But who cares? You're Roger Taylor. You could get any girl in the world if you wanted her. So of course I don't matter to you. I'm just a toy to play with until something with better parts comes along." I said, aggressively.
Roger didn't respond. His expression changed. He wasn't apologetic anymore. He was hurt. And angry.
"Well, that's what I get for actually liking someone." He said under his breath. He looked at me. "You know, Dinah-Jean, I really didn't think you were that shallow. I was dumb enough to believe you weren't like everyone else who thinks of me as some heartless fucking womaniser who doesn't give a fuck about anyone except himself."
I was slightly taken aback, unsure what I should say.
Roger sat down on the edge of the bed, clearly exhausted. He looked up at me.
"It's not true, you know." he said quietly. "What they say about me. None of it's true."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Roger sighed.
"It... it started out as this joke with me and the band. There was this newspaper article that basically was just a slam on Queen and when they talked about me, they just said I was in it for money or girls. We'd only just started out, so getting publicly shredded really did affect us, but we didn't want to look like we couldn't handle hate. So, we turned it into a joke. At first it was a joke about all of us being whatever the article said, but my thing stuck. And the jokes about me being a... 'slut' just kept coming up in every conversation until eventually people outside the band started to believe it. But in truth, I haven't slept with any more girls than Brian and Freddie have. Less, probably, because I have you."
I paused a moment, trying to figure out what to say.
"Wait, so... you haven't... slept with anyone else while you've been with me?" I asked.
"No!" He cried. "Why would I?"
I knew it was totally inappropriate, but I couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh my god... this whole time I was convinced you were sleeping with other girls and now I find out I've been losing my mind over nothing." I chuckled. I sat next to him on the bed. "I'm really sorry Roger. I just... I didn't know it was a joke. It doesn't help that after every show you get practically mauled by hundreds of some of the prettiest girls I've ever seen."
He laughed. I hugged him tightly.
"Look, I'm really drunk and my judgement isn't great right now, but... I think I should tell you this anyway. I want to be your girlfriend. I get it if you don't want a label or you don't want to be... 'serious'. But I think we should both just tell each other what we want because clearly we haven't been too good at that so far." I said. He laughed.
"Yeah. Lucky for you, we want the same thing." he smiled.
A rush of joy surged through me.
"Really? You want me to be your girlfriend too?!" I cried.
"Yes. But right now I think you need to lie down. You are a LOT more drunk than I thought you were." he laughed.
He took off my dress and gave me a t-shirt to sleep in before tucking me into bed and kissing me on the forehead like a child. The clock on the nightstand read 5:04 am.

Roger went to sleep on the couch. I wanted to tell him to sleep in the bed with me, but I was so tired I could hardly open my eyes