Roger Taylor X Reader - Blog Posts

Before The Lift (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

A Prequel To Lift Confessions

A/N: okay WOW. First of all, thank you so much to everyone who noted my last fic! I was shocked from all of the positivity I received! As a thank you, I wrote a prequel to it! You can read either first, it doesn’t exactly matter. You can even skip over this, if you want. Like always, comments, requests, and ideas are always appreciated!

Summary: Two years before you and Roger Taylor are stuck in a lift together and your lost friendship is found, your friendship with Roger had to be lost in the first place.

(This can be read as BoRhap!Roger or real Roger, idc)

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol/intoxication, Smoking, Breakups, Fighting, Vomiting, Mentions of sex (but not smut), and Suggested Domestic Abuse (WOW what a long list. (I apologize in advance if I missed anything)

This fic is fluffy af but it turns angsty REALLY fast. I’d rate this fic between a T and an M

In 1974, a usually barren pub in downtown London was nearly filled to the brim with people, most of them with the intention of just being in the same room as the geniuses performing that cold Saturday evening.

Those geniuses were none other than Brian May, John Deacon, Freddie Mercury, and Roger Taylor.

Queen.

These four boys were about to make it big, so it only made sense that this small pub was crawling with crazy fans and starstruck young adults who would kill for a smile from Brian, a point from Freddie, a nod of acknowledgement from John, or a wink from Roger. Honestly, you could see the appeal.

Anyone with a right mind could see the appeal.

The guys on stage were attractive, and it was only expected that these fans would come drop to their knees and worship the musicians as if they were Gods.  

How such a big band like Queen got into such a small pub on a usually dead night, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that the pub owner was probably rolling in a pile of pound sterling in his office right now due to the spectacular turnout.

None of that exactly mattered to you, though; you had the best seat in the house– with a perfectly good view of Roger.

Despite being in a relationship with one of your friend’s cousins, you liked Roger.

A lot.

You and him had a special bond since the moment you two met. You met at one of their band practices when you and Brian reunited after university. He brought you along to meet his band members and needless to say, you and Roger just clicked.

“There was a lot less practice being done that day, and a lot more flirting,” as you remember Brian putting it.

Despite this minor “setback” Brian brought you along more and more. It then just became the norm.

Often times, during practice breaks when the boys would go out for a sandwich or a coffee, you would stay behind with Roger and listen to him play the drums for you.

He even let you play the drums one day. You weren’t very good at it, but you did it, nonetheless.

“You have to be a very special lady to be able to play these bad boys,”

You smiled to yourself at the memory. You honestly weren’t even paying attention to the music anymore. You just watched your boys move and perform they way they always did.

Effortlessly.

Gracefully.

Perfectly.

After the last cord for the Seven Seas Of Rhye stopped echoing through the pub, the crowd erupted into cheers, and enthusiastic girls in the front waving to whichever band member they wanted to grab the attention from and be with for the rest of the night… and nearly all of them wanted Roger.

Despite this, you remained calm, and showed your appreciation to the band by whistling, and clapping. Roger looked over the heads of all the hot and bothered girls trying to get his attention, and he winked at you with a cheeky grin.

You could tell your face was rosy, but that didn’t matter. You felt a little smug when Roger found himself off the stage and all of the girls turning to look at you. You could sense all of the jealousy coarsing through their veins, and you loved every second of it.

Joke’s on you, bitches. I’m his favourite.

It had been roughly an hour after the set, and the boys had retreated to the maintenance room until some of the crowd in the pub gave up on waiting for them to emerge from hiding, and soon disbanded.

You were at the back of the pub, unplugging and collecting all of the cords on stage after putting Brian’s guitar and John’s bass away safely.

“Hello, Pretty Lady,” a voice cooed to you as you bent down to peel up small x’s of tape put on the stage. Even during smaller sets like this, Freddie thought it was important to determine where everyone stood; even if he’d move wherever he wanted just moments after the set began. You look over your shoulder, and brand the same grin the voice had on his face.

“Hey you! You had a great set tonight!” “Well, it must have been that lovely good-luck hug you gave me earlier.” You rolled your eyes and straightened your posture, rolling the tape into a ball and playfully throwing it at Roger’s chest.

“Dumbass. You know luck isn’t real.”

“Now how is that possible? I met you.”

“Touché, Taylor.” This sassy blond could capture your heart so easily and have you wrapped around his finger in seconds. Something told you he knew that. And he loved it.

“Well, Lovely, since you’re working awfully hard, I’m gonna buy you a drink. We can unwind.”

“Have you checked in the mirror lately, Pretty Boy? I’m not the one sweating from all the hard work.” Roger smirked. He enjoyed your sense of humour, especially when it could vaguely have a double, more erotic meaning.

“Besides, I’m still cleaning things up. You go, have a drink, flirt with a gal who looks like you, try and take her home.” Roger’s grin weakened when you said that, but you didn’t notice. You were turned back around, peeling up more tape and searching for the ball you threw at the drummer.

“I’ll just be at the bar. I’ll be sure to save a seat for you, Doll. Don’t think a drink won’t be there waiting for you.” You smiled to yourself, and after throwing the ball of tape away, and placing the cords away with the band’s instruments, you met Roger at the bar.

Sure enough, a glass of amber liquid was waiting in the empty spot next to him.  

“Something clearly isn’t right, here.” You sat down next to Roger, picking up the glass and swirling the drink around, the ice tapping the inside of the glass’ walls.

“I thought pretty girls had their drinks paid for by others,” you teased.

“And that’s what happened.”

“I’m calling you a girl, Roger,“ you retorted. "And I’m calling you pretty, y/n.”

You smiled rather shyly, and Roger happily raised his drink towards you. You clinked glasses before sucking the drinks down rather quickly. No slower than it was to place your glasses back onto the bar, Roger had already knocked on the bench, the bartender moving to prepare more drinks for the both of you.

Not even an hour later, you were four drinks in, and Roger ordered one more for you, as per request. He was sipping at his eighth glass of brandy. At least, you thought it was his eighth.

Or… was it his eleventh?

His cheeks were very rosy, so it might have even been more. You expected the bartender to cut Roger off at some point, but that never happened.

Again, things like this didn’t matter. What mattered was that Roger kept sliding the bartender bills, and he slid Roger drinks in return.

The both of you had finished discussing a funny situation regarding John the other day when the band was packing for their trip.

“Speaking of, do you guys even ‘ave any song ideas for this album?”

“Fred wants to call it 'A Night At The Opera’,” Roger explained, examining the floating ice in his cup.

“He explained it to Ray as 'an album anyone can enjoy’.” Roger quoted Freddie as a sports announcer would have.

“How thoughtful of you boys,” you mused teasingly, your eyelids heavy and your cheeks as rosy as Roger’s.

“Yeah. I got a song I want on the album. I was telling you about it a few days ago.”

“I’m pretty sure when you mean an album for everyone, guys who wanna fuck their cars isn’t on the list, Roger,” you slurred his name, and laughed at your comment.

“It’s a metaphor, y/n!”

“I beg to differ. You really enjoy that car of yours,” you scrunched your nose. “Is that why the back seat has a stain on it?!”

Roger looked horrified. “John wanted ice cream and he dropped his vanilla cone on the seat and it won’t wash out!”

You laughed loudly, a few loners sitting at the bar turning to look at you in mild annoyance. “I’m only teasing!”

Your fifth and final drink of the night was slid over to you by the bartender, and you picked the glass up.

“To your final night 'n greater London?” Roger tapped his nearly empty glass against yours with a soft smile on his face.

“To my final night in greater London.”

“May you not leave me here alone for too long.”

You took a sip of your drink and set it down. Roger was just watching you move, and when he was drunk like this, he never shied away from being obvious, or confident.

In fact, that’s how you often realized he was drunk. His confidence was out of this world. Roger was really good at holding his liquor. He was also the kind of guy who didn’t look or act drunk when in reality he’d be absolutely wasted.

You, on the other hand, were the very opposite.

You turned to look at him, and you opened your mouth to say something, but Freddie interrupted your conversation.

You were somewhat glad because you had no idea what you were going to say.  

“Hello, Lovies. How’s the night?” He grinned his signature smile at you, and you returned it.

“Pretty good Fred, and yours?”

“Oh just wonderful, my dear y/n.” Freddie then turned to Roger.

“Roger, Love, there’s a young lady over there who wishes to speak with you.” He gestured to his right with his head, and sure enough, a woman was there.

She was seated at the bar, her posture a lot straighter than yours. Impulsively, you shifted uncomfortably and straightened your own back.

Despite this, she was the epitome of beautiful, and not even good posture, you thought, could even place you anywhere near her on a “beautiful scale”.

She had very long legs, and long wavy hair. It was a rich chocolate colour, and you impulsively reached up to touch your own bland hair. You envied this woman even more.

She turned to look over at you three and she twiddled her dainty hand at Roger, clearly batting her long eyelashes over her big brown eyes. She smiled a perfect grin and your stomach churned violently.

This woman had everything Roger was into. Judging by all of the women he’s brought along to band practices and parties, you could confirm that this was his type.

She got off the bar stool, and slowly made her way towards your group. Before she got too close, you leaned into Roger, who was too busy looking at this other woman he was going to most likely pursue. “Im'a go out for a cigarette. Make good of tonight, Roger.”

You patted his shoulder, and glumly stumbled out of the bar.

You knew you shouldn’t have been upset. You were in a relationship. Roger wasn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to want to control his love life when you had yours… somewhat under control.

You shakily raised your lighter up to your cigarette, but the ignition never lasted long enough to let you light the cancer stick. “Fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, sitting down on the curb in defeat.

You sat there for a while, taking in the scent of the humid London night. The street was completely dead.

You wanted to lie down in the middle of the road and fall asleep. You scrunched your face up.

Was that really a drunk thought? You very rarely got drunk, but when you did, you doing stupid shit definitely ensued.

“Mind if I join you?” A gentle voice asked you from behind. You glanced over your shoulder and shrugged, looking back down at your unlit cigarette.

Roger found himself seated next to you, and he retrieved his own lighter from his Jean pocket. He ignited it, and you lit the cigarette. You immediately took a deep breath, and exhaled with instability.

Roger opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to make you more upset.

“I thought you went to chase after that girl,” you mumbled before putting the cigarette back between your lips.  

“Nah. She chased after me, and I got away.” You shook your head, the smile on your face nearly invisible.

“What, she have bad breath or somethin’?”

“You have no idea, y/n,” Roger said helplessly. You laughed, smoke leaving your mouth in short puffs.

“It was like a garlic factory!” He tried his very hardest to keep you smiling and laughing.

And it worked.

He liked how pretty you looked when you were laughing.

“So you came out to be with good ol’ y/n.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be with anyone else tonight.” The night got quiet after your giggles subsided. You took a nice long inhale from your cigarette, and blew it out slowly.

A ring of smoke danced over the heads of you and Roger, and you offered the rolled object to him.

As he inhaled from the cigarette, you looked down at your stretched out legs.

“… d'you really have to leave, Rog?” He simply nodded before blowing the smoke into the air.

“Unfortunately.”

“Will you miss me?” He laughed halfheartedly– a simple quick exhale from the nose. He stared out into the street, shaking his head.

“Is that even a question?” You took your cigarette back and drew in another breath of the poison.

As you breathed out, you felt an arm gently slide around you. Roger kept his hand at your waist, and that’s where it intended to stay.

“Why would you even think I wouldn’t miss you?”

“I just don’t want you forgettin’ about your special girly at home,” you explained in a hushed tone. This seemed to be an appropriate time to be a little quiet.

Roger rested his head on your shoulder, his other hand reaching out to take your cigarette for one more drag.

“You mean so much to me. Forgetting you will be impossible.”

You took the cigarette from Roger’s hand and finished it off, snuffing the butt by squishing it into the sidewalk next to you.

“Just don’t want you runnin’ off with a prettier girl.” You slurred, smiling sadly.

“Trust me, everyone in Surrey probably looks like everyone here in GL.” Roger’s free hand reached over to grab one of yours.

“Besides, you’re the prettiest girl I know.” The laugh from your mouth sounded stale.

“Very funny, Rog.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“We’re drunk, for one,” you counted on your free hand.

“Two, I am, and will always probably just be a roadie. To you, n’ the rest of the band.”

Roger lifted his head off your shoulder and looked at you.

“Three, you’re famous. You can have any girl. You can choose them like a little kid picking a candy bar off the shelf.”

You looked down at your feet, shutting your eyes and dropping your hand.

“I know now is the worst time to have this conversation. We’re both very drunk. But… ’M not good enough for you. You can do so much better.”

You felt a hand cup the side of your face, and turn your head to the left. Roger slid his fingers into your hair, and he pulled you in for a kiss.

You didn’t move for a moment, your eyebrows lowering in confusion. But as soon as Roger pushed closer, and caressed your cheek with his thumb, you found yourself closing your eyes and kissing him back.

You were enjoying the kiss much more than you should have been. Roger pulled away too soon, and you found your lips chasing after his.

You caught yourself doing this and Roger smiled, his fingers combing through your hair.

“Even if it were possible, I don’t want to do better. I want you.”

You found yourself kissing him again, but it was you who made the move. Your hands reached up to grab Roger’s face, and his hands moved down to grip your hips.

You tilted his head to the side by pulling his hair, and Roger parted his lips to gasp. This sound of surprise was muffled by your tongue which you slipped into his mouth.

Roger placed a hand on your back, and another at the side of your neck before pulling you flush against his chest.

You could feel his heart drumming against your chest at an insanely quick pace, as did Roger.

But then he felt yours stop.

“Y/n…?!”

You and Roger broke the kiss and turned to the voice, your hands dropping to the drummer’s shoulders.

“Steven…?!” Your boyfriend of nearly two years marched towards you and Roger.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with her?!” His face was burning hot.

He was angry he found his girlfriend sucking face with a famous drummer, and he was humiliated that he was unaware of whatever this was, and how long it was going on for.

“Steven, t’s not what it looks like!”

“Get in the car, y/n!”

You got off of Roger and guarded the blond with your arms outstretched. “If you hurt him Steven, I swear to God, I’ll kill you!” Your warning was slurred, and didn’t sound too threatening.

“Get in the goddamn fucking car y/n!”

“You don’t talk to her like that!” Roger exclaimed angrily.

Steven grabbed your arm tightly and moved you away from Roger, his fist grabbing the front of Roger’s shirt. “I can speak to her however I want, asshole!”

Steven looked over at you, teeth clenched. “Get. In. The. Car!” He shoved you away, and you followed his orders.

Steven turned his attention back to Roger, who tried to shove him away. Despite this, Steven didn’t budge.

“How long have you two been seeing each other, huh?!” When Roger didn’t respond, Steven shook him around like he was a rag doll.

“Answer me!”

“I’m not even seeing her! We just kissed!” Hot tears rolled down Roger’s cheeks, his lip quivering.

He hoped to God your relationship with Steven wasn’t like this. Roger would have sold his soul to make sure you were safe, and happy.

Something Steven wouldn’t have ever done.

“You touch her again, Taylor, and I will fuck up your face so badly that you’d be unrecognizable to your own mother. Do you understand?!” Roger nodded rapidly, and Steven shoved him to the ground.

“Fuck you,” he huffed at your boyfriend.

Steven turned around, and kicked Roger in the side. The blond turned over and threw up all over the sidewalk, sobbing quietly to himself.

“No. Fuck you.”

                                                          “Get the fuck out of here!” You were shrieking at Steven, throwing various things of his at him with the intention of hurting him.

“Why?! So you can invite him over to the house I pay for?! And fuck him in our bed that I bought us?!”

“You are so childish, do you understand that, Steve?!” Steven pulled a suitcase out of your shared closet, and zipped it open.

“Why don’t you two go have sex in the shower I renovated for us?!” He started violently shoving his clothes into the case, moving to leave the bedroom and go to the bathroom.

“Hell, why don’t you just have his kids?! Marry him! Wake him up every Sunday morning with breakfast and coffee and a kiss!” As he rummaged your bathroom cabinet for his things, you shouted back at him. “Well maybe I will!”

Steven picked up a brush, and threw it at you. You shielded your face with your arms, and you shouted when the brush came in contact with your arm. Hard. Steven then shoved you against the door and walked back into the bedroom with his pills and toothbrush.

“I never want to fucking see you again!”

“See if I care, y/n! That pussy can have my sloppy seconds! I can just call up the tens of girls lined up waiting for me! Can finally get between the legs of a woman who’ll actually enjoy what I give them!”

Your eyes were burning as more tears flooded your waterline. “Get. Out!” You picked up a vase of flowers off your bedside table and followed Steven out the bedroom door with it. He struggled a little with getting his suitcase out the front door, but you threw the vase, and it shattered against the closed door.

You screamed, and sunk to the floor, broken glass all around you. All of the photos of you and Steven had either been turned downward or broken. The living room, bedroom and bathroom had been flipped upside down, and you were left by yourself in this massive house.

You curled up into a tight ball, and cried violently until you nearly fell asleep on the floor.

You crawled up the stairs helplessly, and climbed into bed, not even worrying about changing your clothes. You didn’t even care. As soon as your body relaxed into the mattress, you started crying again. This time, you successfully cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning, you knew you were supposed to say good bye to the boys before they took off for the next handful of months. They were to be in complete isolation so they could record parts of their new album.

Unfortunately, just opening your eyes killed your head. You tossed your comforter over your head, and began crying yet again.

You didn’t have Steven, and you didn’t even have Roger.

For the first time in your entire life, you had never felt so alone.

                                                    A/A/N: Wow so I’m sorry if this isn’t as good as my first one, but I still really like it. Enjoy, and don’t be afraid to leave your feedback!

@benders-diamond-earring​ @radiob-l-a-hblah​ @bohemiansweede​ @demo-wise​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Lift Confessions (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Author’s Note: Okay so hello! This is my first piece of writing, so I guess you could say I’m fairly new to this whole writing thing. I’ll get used to it though, hopefully. I really hope you enjoy this. Comments and requests are appreciated!

Summary: You and Queen’s drummer Roger Taylor do not get along, and it’s unclear why until one night when the both of you are found stuck in a broken lift, alone together. 

(This can be read as either BoRhap!Roger, or real Roger. It’s all completely up to you)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Alcohol/ Intoxication, Smoking, Mild Self-Harm (?), Panic attacks, Break-Ups, Etc.

I would rate this fic T just because of the swearing and subject matter.

If you want to read the prequel, you can find it here

He was the one person you hated the most. 

 Why did you have to get stuck in a lift together now? 

 You had been Brian May's best friend since high school. After graduation, the both of you had unfortunately gone your separate ways.

 You'd reconnected a handful of years after university, only to discover that Brian joined a band as a guitarist. The band, according to him, was "not half bad". That band was Smile, which later on became Queen.

 You befriended the frontman, Freddie Mercury, faster than it took for you to introduce yourselves to one another. Not only did he enjoy your company, but your generosity when it came to willingly helping them set up, and pack up their sets when you attended their small pub gigs.

 You did it so many times that it just became a norm for you to tag along with the band in order to be of assistance to them. That was also how you ended up becoming a "full-time roadie" for the band, as John Deacon liked to put it.

 One of your most important jobs, according to Brian, was not just to manage their coordination and placement on stage, but to follow them around like a lost puppy, all day, everyday. Although the guitarist insisted your presence everywhere was beneficial to your work, as well as theirs, Freddie told you at a later date that Brian just really liked having you around again.

 All of the boys liked having you around.

 All except for him. 

 You could see him, Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen, forcibly laugh, and shake his head from the corner of your eye; and before he opened his big mouth to start complaining like always, you raised your finger up.

 "One word, Meddows, and I will strangle you." 

 "It was your fault, y/l/n!"

 "How so?!"

 "You pressed the buttons last!" What a weak argument. "I should have taken the fucking stairs like everyone else."

 It was clear Freddie, Brian, and John took the stairs to narrowly avoid the arguing between you and the hot-headed blond. Even when there were others around, it was hard for the both of you not to bitch at one another.

 You didn't even understand why you two chose to ride the lift down together. Neither of you ever complained about it, though... you had noticed, however, that it was becoming a rather common occurrence.

 You assumed it was better to ride the lift with Roger, and suffer for a handful of seconds rather than having to endure a long, dreadful walk down the stairs with him, anyways.

 You reached out, and tried the open door button, like you had moments before. It didn't do anything. You hit the button again. And again. And again.

 "Don't expect shit to change, y/n! Jesus Christ--"

 "Do you have any other bright ideas, Car-Fucker?" Your words were cold as you turned to stare down the blond who'd retreated to the back corner of the lift.

 Roger's mouth twitched threateningly, and you turned back to the refusing doors. You huffed, and hit the call button before moving to sit at the very opposite of Roger in the lift.

 He watched as you sat yourself on the floor, and cross your arms over your chest.

 "Take a photo. It'll last longer."

 He simply shook his head, leaning himself against the wall and staring at the yellow light in the ceiling.

 "... Bitch."

 "Dick."

 And then there was silence.

 Roger spent nearly ten minutes staring at either the wall in front of him or the ceiling light, and you picked at the dirt underneath your fingernails.

 There was something very uncomfortable about the lift's silence. It was so odd to be in the same room as Roger and not be verbally attacking him the entire time, and vice versa.

 Roger, after standing against the wall for about five minutes more, moved to the button panel next to the door. You opened your mouth, in preparation to ask him what he was doing, but when he began to mash the open door, and call button, and then kicking the steel doors as hard as he could afterwards, you knew very well not to piss him off.

 You had never physically attacked one another, and today was not going to be the day that reality would change.

 "What a load of fucking bullocks," Roger's voice shook, and his shoulders heavily rose and fell with his chest. He pounded his fist one more time against the door before pacing back to his original spot against the wall. You watched him sit on the floor, and after realizing you were watching him, he crossed his arms like you had before.

 "Take a photo. It'll last longer."

 The mock made you even more uncomfortable. Not because he quoted the bitchy line you used beforehand, no.

 Something about him not only seemed irritated, but anxious... And it struck an unpleasant nerve in you.

 You had never seen the Roger Taylor unnerved in your life... and you didn't like it.

 Roger's gaze was now on his hands, which he'd resided to wringing in his lap. His right foot tapped rapidly on the lift's floor, as if he was getting more restless as time ticked by.

 Soon enough, the drummer was back on his feet, pacing towards the button panel and pressing the call button over and over, like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

 "... Rog--"

 "Come on, open up!" Roger began to slap the lift's doors with the palm of his hand, his pleads strained with distress. Sooner than later, he tore himself away from the panel to sit back on the floor. His movements were quick, and only then could you see the panic in his glassy eyes.

 That's when you realized it.

 Roger was claustrophobic.

 You could see him looking at the lift's walls as if they were way too close for his liking. His feet began to tap against the floor like before, and he swallowed thickly before squeezing his eyes shut.

 "Open up," you could hear the blond whisper to no one in particular. He brought his legs up to his chest, and buried his face into his knees.

 "Oh god, get me the fuck outta here."

 Considering the situation, Roger must have really thought his song about his "love for cars" was strong enough to be on the B-side of Bohemian Rhapsody if he was willing to sit in a tight cupboard for hours until Freddie agreed to cooperate with his wishes.

 But seeing Roger shake in his panic made you feel sick, and even though you felt unwillingly sympathetic towards him, you also felt like you were compelled to do something.

 When Roger lifted his head up next, you were relocated, right next to him, your brows furrowed with-- as much as you hated to admit-- worry.

 "Take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me, Roger?"

 When he didn't answer, and his silent tears spilled over his waterlines, you sighed, and slowly reached out to rest your hand on his shaking shoulder.

 "I'll breathe with you. Okay? Just breathe in..." you took a deep breath in through your nose, watching as Roger began to cooperate. As he did this, you rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. 

 "... And out."

 You both exhaled through your mouths, although his came out shakily. You could feel the smallest of smiles on your lips, and you nodded your head in approval.

 "Good. Do that a few more times, Rog."

 Roger slowly drew in, and released some deep breaths, like you had asked. You found relief to see the distress physically cease from his being. A few minutes passed, and after Roger had calmed down, he rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his hands.

 "... You gonna be good, Meddows?"

 His gaze moved to your face, and his eyes narrowed as he stared into your own. He opened his mouth, and closed it. He did it a handful of times before frowning, and clenching his jaw.

 "... Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?"

 His question wasn't meant to be condescending; even you knew that. Honestly, if you were Roger, you would have been asking the same question.

 The tone in his voice was soft... which threw you off guard. You hadn't heard Roger speak in such a gentle manner towards you for... a very long time. You felt like you were talking to a different person entirely.

 "I..."

 Roger raised his eyebrow expectantly, and that made you hesitate even more. He was listening to you.

 He never listened to you.

 "I was..."

 You stopped again.

 You didn't know whether or not you wanted to tell him the truth. If you told him you felt sympathy for him, you feared it'd only inflate his already-large ego, and he wouldn't be grateful for your actions at all.

 "... I could hear your mumbling as clear as day over there." You decided to go the harsher route.

 "I wanted the noise to stop."

 Roger's eyebrows lowered, and he opened his mouth as if to speak...

 But no words came out. 

 You sighed again, and shifted to a kneeling position in order to pull yourself back up to your feet, but once you were halfway up, Roger suddenly grabbed your elbow, and gently pulled you back down to the floor.

 You landed next to the drummer with a thud, and you stared quizzically at the hand cuffing your appendage.

 Your eyes moved from Roger's now soft grip on your arm, to his face, your eyebrows lowering in confusion. Your stare was enough to ask the question you were thinking. 'What?'

 "... What even went wrong between us, y/n?"

 That was a question you were not expecting to hear.

 "... Excuse me?"

 "You heard me."

 You pursed your lips, and looked back down at Roger's hand, which was still planted at your joint.

 "I don't even know why you and I even started fighting," he confessed gently.

 After a beat, as if he had been thinking about doing this beforehand, his fingers began to glide down the length of your forearm. Very slowly.

 For the first time in your feud, you let Roger touch you. The contact, although minimal, brought an ironic sense of comfort to you.

 "I just woke up one morning... and it was like we'd hated each other since birth..."

 Roger watched himself trace mindless patterns slowly over the back of your hand once his fingertips reached it.

 You would have been repulsed by his actions if he would have been doing this minutes beforehand; but now... you honestly didn't want him to stop.

 "We hit it off the day we met... why did that have to change?"

 You could hear your heart beating hard, and loud, and fast against your rib cage, which was an issue since Roger's voice was barely even a whisper.

 The blood rush in your ears only grew more intense when Roger unexpectedly, yet slowly, curled his warm fingers around your own. Even if you wanted to pull away from Roger, you didn't think you had the strength to move.

 "... You don't remember what happened... do you?" 

You asked, just as quietly as he had. At the response, Roger's gaze moved up to meet yours, his face branded with confusion.

 "I don't." 

 "You were shitfaced. No wonder you don't remember..."

 You finally pulled your hand away from Roger's touch, and the fingers that were once keeping yours warm hovered in the air for a moment.

 The blond eventually dropped his hand in his lap, pursing his lips, and silently waiting for you to continue your explanation. With a sigh, you continued. 

"Remember Steven?" The name made the corner of Roger's mouth twitch unpleasantly. 

 "How could I forget him?" he said tightly. 

Your stomach sank at Roger's tone, and you took a deep breath or two as a natural remedy for your mild nausea.

 "... Why do you think you haven't seen him in, what, two years?" 

 Roger's cold gaze softened, and he parted his lips after putting two and two together.

 "You two--" 

 "He left me," you finished. Roger ran his tongue over his teeth before hollowing out his cheeks in thought.

 "... What's this have to do with me, though?" 

 "We were hanging out at that one pub you guys met me in. You were doing a gig that particular night, and I was helping you guys pack up." Roger tried his best to remember the night that ended your friendship. 

 The night that birthed your rivalry.

 "The last time I remember you ever being nice to me, I went to get you a drink from the bar..." Roger's face twisted. He was clearly bothered that he couldn't remember much about that night.

 "You got blackout drunk," you reminded the drummer with a tight-lipped smile. "... you offered to buy me one drink, but one turned into five, and God knows how many for you." Roger then smiled the slightest bit, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. That did sound like him.

 "And at some point in the night, I went out for a smoke... I think Brian called Steven to come and pick me up."

 Roger's mouth twitched again, and he nodded his head slowly after his smile completely disappeared again. 

"... alright."

 "You stumbled out of the pub at some point. Sat down on the curb right next to me..." The entire night was coming back to you, almost as if it were a film you hadn't seen in years, but just the mention of a scene or two had you remembering every little detail about it. You could have recapped the whole night to Roger; everything that happened in blunt detail. In times like this, you were glad to have the gift among few that allowed you to easily remember things while under the influence.

 And in times like this, you were a little disheartened that Roger was not one of those people.

 "... You were getting a little clingy. Physically." You laughed a little, your eyes trained on the loose dirt on the lift's floor. You didn't want to see the look on Roger's face from then until the end of your recollection.

 "Shocked me, really, seeing as you're very much a "hands off" kinda guy when it comes to romantic stuff. You had your arm around me, your head on my shoulder..." You took a deep breath, and cleared your throat awkwardly. Following this was a strained huff of laughter. 

"... Then you kissed me."

 It was hard to keep your eyes off Roger's face in that moment, especially since he didn't say anything in response. You hoped to God the blond believed you, and didn't think you were trying to make a joke out of this whole situation. But knowing Roger, if he had suspected this to be a joke, he would have called you out on it already. 

"You actually cut me off during a conversation with it..." You frowned again, your fingers moving to clasp together in your lap. You shook your head, and huffed another sarcastic laugh.

 "And I was with Steven at the time. I-- I knew it was wrong for that to happen... But I kissed you back."

 Your fingers began to curl in at the memory, and you watched as your fingernails began to press harshly against the skin of the knuckles on your opposite hand. 

 "And Steven-- he fucking showed up at the worst of times! He showed up while we were sucking face, and I had to spend the rest of my night fighting with him!" 

You hadn't noticed your calm tone had blossomed into a shout. Even when you shot up to your feet, bounded towards the steel doors to the lift, and kicked them as hard as you could, you couldn't tell how scary you'd become.

 You listened to the sound of the door's assault ricochet through the elevator shaft, and you dropped your tense shoulders when nothing could be heard anymore.

 Roger said nothing.

 The people who may or may not have been outside the lift said nothing.

 You said nothing.

... You said nothing for a very long time.

 And when you did, your tone was miserable, and your voice was full of tears.

 "I told h-him I l-loved him! I s-started to believe it l-less and less with every time I s-said it...!" You peered through your tears at Roger's disfigured reflection in the lift's door. Even though your back was to him, he still watched you as if you were facing him. You took a few deep breaths to relax yourself, and when you decided you'd spent enough time calming down, you spoke again, in a better-controlled tone. 

 "He ended things. He told me you could have me."

 You frowned, crossing your heavy arms over your chest. 

"... He said it like I was some kind of toy he was just tossing away."

 You opened your mouth, but hesitated with your next words. 

"... I couldn't help but blame you at first, for everything that happened." A pause.

 "And then I blamed the both of us... I blamed us for a very long time."

 You finally turned to look at Roger, who was staring at you with empty eyes. When he still didn't respond, you continued.

 "Months after the separation... and my pointing of fingers... I knew I fucked up. You were my friend, and just because we kissed while we were drunk, our friendship was sacrificed to make me feel better about myself."

 You swallowed thickly, your eyes surveying his to see if he was going to say anything yet.

 Nothing.

 "I realized it was me who tore us apart. And when I finally came to terms with myself, I thought it was too late, and you could never forgive me." 

 One of Roger's eyebrows slowly raised, and you shifted from one foot to the other. 

 "All this time I'd pretended to hate you because you hate me. I was too scared to ever apologize because I feared rejection..." You looked around the lift, and pinched your bottom lip between your teeth.

 "... And here we are, now. You know what happened, and..." you rested your eyes on Roger one more time. "... I just want you to know that I forgive you. And... I'm so sorry, Roger."

 The blond's eyes softened, and he shifted a little to sit up straighter against the wall.

 "... C'mere," he finally spoke.

 After a pause, you uncrossed your arms, and moved to sit next to Roger again. He gestured down to your hand with his eyes, and you raised it up, to which he took in his own grasp.

 The physical affection shocked you, even if Roger had been doing this with you minutes prior. The touching was just so unlike him, even if he were doing this with someone he genuinely liked.

 "... God, y/n I don't even know where to begin..."

 "... Begin?" You questioned, to which Roger nodded his head.

 "My Doll, I never hated you. The distancing was a charade. I've lied to myself every day for the last two years. I told myself I never cared about you, and I don't love you. I thought that was what you wanted. I kept it up. I never believed it; those lies. I never could. You're just too... special."

 You watched with an open mouth and big round eyes as Roger raised your hand to his mouth and pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles. He then opened your hand and slowly kissed the tips of your fingers, his glossy blue eyes watching your face as his lips made contact with your skin. 

 "Roger..." 

 "My Doll, I have been in love with you since the moment I set eyes on you, and I never stopped."

 Your heart pounded in your chest. You feared it was loud enough that Roger could hear it.

 While his one hand held onto yours, his other hovered just above your waist. His eyes moved from his free hand to your eyes. You granted him permission to touch you with a small, single nod. At the signal, Roger's fingers gently settled onto your clothed skin, and he squeezed your hand.

 "Steven made me so goddamn jealous, y/n. How much I wanted to be him when he'd pick you up after our gigs, holding the car door for you like you were a princess. How I desperately wanted an oversized rain jacket so during pouring days I could offer you space in my arms and warm you up until we got somewhere dry..."

 As Roger continued on, your eyes began to tear up. At first you assumed all of Roger's wishes had you missing Steven; but your heart knew that was wrong.

 You wanted these things to happen as much as Roger did.

 "What I would give to dance with you under a streetlight in the middle of the night like a cliché film," Roger let go of your hand, and reached up to curl a piece of loose hair around your ear. "Or what I would give to taste your strawberry-flavoured lip gloss I can smell from a room away." While he mentioned your lips, Roger didn't shy away from admiring your slightly opened mouth.

 He swallowed, and looked up to you, his eyelids falling ever so lightly as his hands found their way to your elbows, and the two of you found yourselves gravitating towards one another.

 "Y/n..."

 Your mouths were just inches from each other when the lift jolted, and it began to move down to the ground floor. You and Roger watched as the floor numbers became smaller and smaller, and you rose to your feet, offering a hand to Roger to help him up as well.

 He held your hand for a moment or so after he properly got to his feet, and he looked down at you. You returned his gaze, and he opened his mouth to speak.

 The lift's doors finally opened and a man in a maintenance outfit greeted you and Roger with a curt nod of his head and a twirl of his wrench. "Sorry 'bout that, kids. Lift's been actin' up lately. Thanks for bein' patient." He moved out of the way, and you and Roger left the building after thanking him.

 The two of you stepped out into the pouring rain, and you cursed.

 "After all that time, I forgot my helmet upstairs." You turned to make your way back into the studio, but Roger grabbed your hand. "Princess, you're not biking home in the rain. I'm taking you."

 You didn't argue. Roger unzipped his jacket and stretched it to the side. "There's room in this jacket for the both of us."

 You just grinned, and slipped into the area under his arm, and the both of you rushed to Roger's car while he did his very best to shield you from the elements. 

He opened the car door for you, and made sure you were in fine before closing the door and climbing in on his side. He blew hot air into his hands and rubbed his palms together, glancing over to you.

 You were looking out the window until you took notice of the vehicle's silence, and you turned to look at Roger, matching his toothy grin. You laughed and shook your head 

 "What?!"

 "I'm just so glad to have you back in my life."

 "I never left, Meddows," you teased.

 "You know what I mean." You reached over and grasped his hand, giving it a squeeze as he started the car. Before putting the car into drive, he glanced at you. "I'm glad too, Roger."

 The next little while was you directing Roger to your house as you listened to the music on the radio, Roger's thumb rubbing the back of your hand gently. You could tell he was enjoying your company, as did he with you. 

 Eventually, you told him which driveway to pull into, and Roger was almost reluctant to put his car into park. He didn't want to leave you just yet. 

 "Hey,"

 You looked at him with a tilted head, and you kissed the back of his hand, something you weren't expecting to do this morning when you greeted him with your regular insults. 

 "I just miss this," he explained, gesturing between the both of you.

 "I miss being near you, and touching you, and..." He stopped talking on his own, and he moved his eyes up to look into yours.

 "... D'ja wanna go to dinner, y/n?"

 Your face burned hot, but you never hesitated in nodding, trying your best to hold back a grin. Roger on the other hand, wasn't scared to show his teeth when he grinned. He smiled so much it looked like it hurt.

 "Brilliant," he exclaimed with an exhale. 

"How does Friday night sound? Seven o'clock. I'll take you to a really special place for a really special lady." He winked at you to which you laughed in reply. 

"That sounds perfect, Roger."

 He got out of the car, and opened your door in the pouring rain, offering you protection from the weather in his jacket again. After escorting you to the door, Roger watched as you unlocked your door. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and watched as you turned to look at him one last time.

 "Friday?"

 "Friday," you confirmed, leaning up, and kissing Roger's cheek. He rested his hand where you kissed him, and watched you leave with starstruck eyes, and a goofy smile on his lips. "Drive safe, Lover Boy."

 You closed the door to your place, and you leaned against the wall in the main hall. 

You were already impatient for seven o'clock Friday.

                                                                Author’s After-Notes: Let me know if you want a sequel. I’d be down to write some more