Maylor One-Shots

I'll Be Home For Christmas

1977

The roads were terrible. The radio broadcasters voice echoed through the silent house, ringing in the sad, sad news. A simple look out the window was enough to know: he wouldn't be home for Christmas.

Roger sighed, shutting the radio off and putting a record on his turntable as he watched the snow fall. It never snowed this much, not this early. December 24th was nearly over already and the roads were icy, snowy, and wet.

His hope was as dead as the fire that had burned out an hour before, the simmering embers just barely holding that red glow.

Roger sat back with a heavy sigh. No one wants to be alone on the holidays, but here he was, sat in front of the tiny tree, decorated with twinkling lights and a few colorful ornaments. He found himself staring at the record player as Frank Sinatra's mellifluous voice filled his ears, his eyes slowly drifting back to the frosted window.

John and Freddie had been over earlier, both with their partners on the arms. Ronnie was heavily pregnant, glowing as she held their four year old son, John looking happier than ever with an arm draped around her. Freddie wasn't far from that, his new boyfriend was attached at the hip and he'd even brought his new kitten, Tiffany, that Mary had gotten him.

He was happy to see his friends, of course! And he was glad to see how happy they were with their current lives.

But he couldn't help but feel a bit blue. No one wanted to be alone for the holidays, and he even felt alone in a crowded room. He smiled through it, accepting the little tray of food Veronica made for him and gave him with a sad smile.

"He'll come." She said, placing a small hand on his own.

"He hasn't even called." Roger had replied, barely containing the shakiness of his voice.

It'd been a week since Brian had left for his parents house. A week since the fight. A week since he's last seen that little fanged smile he loved so much.

A week without the love of his life. And now he was going to spend Christmas alone.

He sighed as he tried to push the memory of the pitiful glances out of his mind. Of course they all felt bad, Freddie's new boyfriend even said 'sorry for your loss', which was a bit amusing as he'd definitely misread the room.

He wasn't a widower, he was just a dumbass who pissed off his boyfriend too much.

He said his quiet goodbyes to the Deacon's first, as they needed to get home in time to get little Robert down to sleep and set the presents out. Freddie followed soon after as it was getting quite late and the roads were getting bad. It was a regretful departure, but Roger could do without drowning in their pitied smile, tip-toeing around the lack of one specific person.

His family wasn't an option. His father was off with his new family, his mother was on holiday with her new husband, and Clare was off on holiday with her boyfriend of three years. Each one happy, no one alone. No one besides the twenty-six year old blond left behind in the heart of London, staring at the damn blizzard outside.

Roger pressed his cheek against the cold glass, watching as it fogged up with the hot breaths falling from his lips. A tear slowly slid down his cheek as the memories flooded back.

How could he have been so dense? So stupid? He'd taken the best thing in his life and thrown it away all over some silly argument. Some stupid, stupid thing. Seven years all gone because Roger's fucking temper.

"You're being dramatic, Bri." Roger rolled his eyes, walking away from the scowling man.

"Come on, Rog, I'm not being dramatic! Can't we at least talk about this?" Brian grabbed his wrist, turning him around. "It's worth talking about."