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jooniperhun · 4 years

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The End of the Rainbow | ot7 (1)

pairing: tall!black!reader x bts, poc!reader x bts, woc!reader x bts, black!reader x bts

genre: fluff, strangers to friends to (maybe) lovers [later], romance [later], comedy, misunderstandings [later], (slight) angst [later], smut (maybe??) [later], idol!au

rating: PG-14

wc: 2.3k

warnings: swearing

notes: the boys won’t make an appearance until chapter 2 but there is some foreshadowing in there (hint hint); pretend that corona never happened; most of the geographical locations/distances will either be made up or not named because I’ve never been to Korea lol whoops; this reads more like a reader-insert sorry that’s my default writing setting; and the boys’ backstories and such won’t be all that accurate because I’m the author and I say so teehee :)

“Text like this is spoken in Korean.”

“Text like this is spoken in English.”

summary: Your current job as a travelling housesitter has taken you to many places, some strange and many wonderful. When the acquisition of a new client takes you to Korea for three months, you wonder if your self-esteem can survive being around so many other-worldly looking people. Also, not to be paranoid or anything, but maybeperhaps you’re being stalked by the same seven strangers? They’re pretty loud and always surrounded by a tonne of people, so you write it off the first few times.

But this shit is getting excessive, chile. And annoying…

Rhetorical question, but what lies at the end of a rainbow? You hope that it’s a pot of gold, but with the way that your luck has soured, it might just be seven short(er than you), rowdy leprechauns ready to flip your world sideways…

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Usually, when it came to social outings, ___ would go out of her way to make sure that she looked her best. Her wild mane would be tamed, her makeup would be carefully, painstakingly applied, and her clothes wouldn’t hold a single wrinkle. This, however, isn’t ‘usually’— this is an airport, and ___ currently couldn’t find it within herself to give a single, flying fuck about her appearance after the flight that she had just had.

That isn’t to say that it was terrible— she was flying first class, for Christ’s sake! Not to mention that she didn’t have to spend a single dime on it (excluding the multiple new outfits and lashes that she purchased for herself because if she was anything, it was slightly vain). But a roughly 18 hour flight, combined with slight motion sickness? It doesn’t matter how comfortably she had dressed, or how attentive the flight attendants were, or how delicious the food was— ___ walked off of the landing strip probably looking exactly as she felt (read: terrible).

Luckily, the good thing about airports was that she wasn’t the only one. No one paid her any mind, too worried about themselves and finding their respective luggages and families to be giving some rando more than a passing glance.

She was officially in Seoul, South Korea, and she couldn’t read a damn thing.

Okay— slight exaggeration. Most of the signs had English (and Spanish, and Chinese, and Japanese) translations beneath the larger blocks of Korean, but her damn near-blind ass missed that the first time around.

The airport looked as airports tended to look— large, modern, and clean. There was a beautiful netting of glass in the ceiling that let gentle rays of sunlight in. The walls were similarly comprised of the netting design and slanted outwards, away from all of the passengers. Statues and abstract constructions divided the masses. People from all walks of life milled around, looking for their luggage or anxiously waiting for their plane to arrive.

Incheon International Airport, Terminal One, Flight DL27. ___ reminded herself over and over of the number of where she would go for Baggage Claim, scanning the area and mumbling slightly to herself. She adjusted her dark shades and hefted her purse (her only carry-on) higher onto her shoulders, following the crush of fellow passengers into the depths of the fragile looking place.

There were a lot of people walking around with black facemasks and shades on, so she was glad that she wasn’t the only shady-looking sista walking around. Inwardly snorting at her own pun, ___ nearly walked past her destination.

It was honestly this part of each trip that gave her the most anxiety— that is, waiting for her suitcase to come around on the conveyor belt.

She had heard and read multiple horror stories about too many passengers never recovering their luggage. Either stolen, lost, or dropped from the airplane itself— if it could go wrong, it went wrong. But it’s not like hers’ is particularly interesting to look at. It was a simple, standard black. Only a red, knotted ribbon tied around the handle marked it as her own.

Ten minutes of fretful bag checking later, ___ finally found it. She gave a silent sigh of relief and turned towards the exit. Then, her anxiety flared right back up when she realized that she would have to hail a taxi to get to her destination.

Honestly, her people-meter was getting a little bit too full for her to actually be initiating direct human interaction right now.

But she would persevere! Even if her persistence could use a bit of work, she’s faked confidence enough times to make it.

Getting a taxi to stop for her was like pulling teeth. By the time that she had stuffed her menial baggage into the trunk and clambered into the front seat, her temper had risen a few notches. She’s had a long two days. The flight wasn’t kind on her stomach or her sleep schedule— not to mention the fact that she felt disgusting. A shower sounded so nice right now… She didn’t want to be on the streets any longer than she had to be, dammit!

Donning her ‘Customer Service’ voice (as she liked to call it), she politely rattled off her destination to the driver in Korean. He was on the younger side for the profession (at least, from what she’s seen), with neatly laid dark hair and slightly tanned skin. His dark eyes constantly shifted from the road to her when they were stopped for traffic, but he luckily seemed to sense her mood as he did not say anything more than the polite initial greeting.

All in all, it was a 30 minute drive filled with determinedly unawkward silence. ___ sent a quick text to her employer to inform them that she would be at the house in a bit, then sent another to her mother to let her know that she touched down safely. Almost immediately, her phone began to buzz.

Rolling her eyes, ___ answered. “Good morning to you too, Ma.” She said as her full lips tilted up in amusement. Upon hearing the English, the driver sent another glance in her direction.

“Hey, baby! It’s night time for us right now (we just got finished eating dinner). How was your flight?” Her mother’s voice gave a slightly tinny echo as she spoke, and the sound of shifting fabric clued ___ in to the fact that she, indeed, was probably on the toilet.

“Tiring. I forgot to buy Dramamine, so it was a fun time for me.” She switched hands with her phone so that she could look out of her window more comfortably. Little snatches of the city flashed by before they turned into a slightly more residential area. The houses here were large and gated, yet closely located. “How is everyone doing? No-one dead yet, right?”

Her mother snorted. “Yet is correct. Turns out, ya’ sister got herself a lil boyfriend—” ___ had to stifle her laugh before she gave herself away, “— and ya’ daddy wasn’t too happy when he found out. Her fast ass is sitting in her room right now, phone taken and everything. Woulda’ gotten an ass whoopin if we found anything triflin’ in it, but she’s clean.” Yeah, only because of her advice. No sending nudes back and forth, no secret folders dedicated to trifling shit, and no conversations going further than normal teen-girl gossip. Those were her three cardinal rules to sneaking around with a boy, and it seems that her little sister had done well to heed them.

“And the lil’ boy? Anyone we know?” ___ asked, playing along. If her parents found out she already knew about him, her ass would be grass, too.

“Yes!” Ma exclaimed frustratedly. The driver jumped at the sudden loud sound in the otherwise silent car. “That nigga, Devin. Lives a block down from us? You know the one.” She gave the appropriate gasp at the news while rolling her eyes. Devin was a sweet boy who had a good future ahead of himself. There was no goddamn way she would waste her painstakingly gathered advice on someone who wasn’t good for her sister.

“Dam— I mean, wow. You think you know the people you live around...” She caught herself quickly before she cursed. Even halfway across the world, her fear of her ma’s wrath was still very, very healthy.

“I heard that, but I’ll let it slide this time.” Her mother’s tone was amused despite her previous outrage.

“Anyways, as I was saying… I don’t see anything wrong with Devin. He was a nice boy, last time I talked to him.” From the cover of her shades, ___ watched the driver watch her from the corner of his eye. The car began to slow.

“Tell that to ya’ daddy. He—” Ma began to rant as ___ pulled the phone away from her ear.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked quietly, hands dropping to rummage through her purse for her wallet as she cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “—Alright, Ma. Imma have to call you back. We just pulled up to the house and I gotta get situated.”

Handing the driver the appropriate amount of Won, they both left the car to remove her luggage from his trunk. “Okay, sweetie. Love you! Call me again when you get settled in.” Her mother echoed as she mouthed a quick ‘Thank you,’ with a shallow bow.

“Gotcha. Love you, too! Bye.” She hung up and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, making it extend before dragging it behind her towards the house that they had stopped in front of.

She couldn’t really see anything past the high, brick walls and iron gate. Spotting an intercom, she quickly checked her reflection in her phone’s camera before she could press the button to call her employer.

Removing her silk head-scarf, she found that her high puff had held up reliably under it. She quickly stuffed it into her purse and pulled out her glasses case to place her shades in. Shoving that back in, too, she smoothed out her black jeans and checked for stains on her yellow top. It was only after assuring that her face was, indeed, clean that she rang the buzzer.

A red light blinked on before a voice answered. So there was a security camera for surveillance? Good. “Good morning! You must be ___, right?” Her voice was smooth and low, like velvet. It hinted towards an older age, especially when compared to the commonly high pitched tones of the youth.

“Yes, good morning.” ____ stepped back slightly to bow. The gate unlocked with a soft click, and she made her way up the driveway. She could only see one car at the moment, but from the size of the house— no, mansion—, she was sure that a lot more were probably in the garages (yes, plural).

The mansion was a modern white with a lot of windows to let in natural light. The lawn was cleanly cut and the rich, emerald grass shined with small droplets of morning dew. There was actually a surprising amount of yard space, which was ideal for pets and children. The only thing that she would be needing to worry about this trip was a dog and some plants, though.

Little solar-powered lights lined the walkway that ___ walked down. They looked nothing like the one-dollar versions from the Dollar Store, and definitely cost a lot more, too. She climbed a few stone steps to reach the porch. On either side of a dark-wooded door, two gold vases stood guard. They were almost as tall as her and intricately carved with little, delicate flowers. The welcome mat that she stood upon was a sensible dark brown and had a looping Welcome swirled across the front in white.

She rang the doorbell and patiently waited.

A few moments passed before the door sprung open. The lady that answered was small and adorable in her old age. Her dark hair was sprinkled with white streaks, and her large, dark eyes were creased with laugh lines. The same lines were also wrinkled around her mouth, but they did not take away from the traditional beauty that she still held. Her cheeks were rounded and scattered with pink, and her skin was the color of milk. She was dressed in a fashionable black pantsuit and wore black pumps that boosted her height.

“Good morning!” ___ bowed lowly with a sweet smile. Her eyes, large and slightly too round to truly be almond shaped, disappeared into crescents. With her face transformed so cutely by just a single smile, one would find it hard to believe that ___ had a mean, mean resting bitch face that, when combined with her not inconsiderable height, gave her a naturally intimidating demeanor.

Endeared, the woman bowed back. “Please, come in.” She invited, stepping aside and letting ___ and her suitcase drag in.

***

She was still getting situated in the guest room when the door slowly creaked open.

Though she couldn’t see anything from where she was seated on the bed, the tell-tale pattern of claws clicking against the hardwood floor cued her in to who was entering— Mickey, a cute, little Shih-Tzu breed with floppy ears and a brown and white coloring. Despite the fact that he was male, Mickey had two tiny, powder-blue bows woven around his ears. His matching sweater creased slightly as he padded towards her.

“Hi, sweetie!” ___ cooed, reaching down to give him a gentle pat on the head, “Are you looking for some company now that Grandma isn’t in?”

Mickey had been (surprisingly) very calm upon his introduction towards ___. He barely reacted (outside of a few weak wags of his fluffy tail) to her squealings of how cute he was. Perhaps it was behavior that he was used to.

He settled down onto the carpet next to her bed, the ideal spot for her to reach down and pet him if she wanted to. It was a good move on his part, because that was exactly what she wanted to do.

___ was a huge dog lover— in fact, she just loved cute, fluffy animals in general. Cats, llamas, sheep— you name it. She tolerated reptiles, and if she had to handle insects, it was usually with gloves and a healthy bit of distance.

The moral of the story is that she adored fur-babies, and until Mickey’s owner came to pick him up or his Grandma came back home, Mickey was her dog.

a/n: Thank you all for reading the first chapter! I really hope you liked it. The fun stuff starts next chapter, so please stay tuned! I have so much planned *evil laughter*

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hearts-hunger · 5 years

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When I’m Not With You || Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: At a party with emotions running high and Roger’s next tour dates closer than either of you would like, you learn the hard way that it doesn’t take much for little misunderstandings to turn into something worse.

Pairings: Roger Taylor x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: accusations of cheating, smoking, language

A/N: This fic is for @fredthelegend‘s writing challenge! Did I wait until the very last possible day to write it and get it posted? You bet! It’s who I am as a person, what can I say? As per the rules of the writing challenge, I drew inspiration for this fic from “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy”. It’s plenty angsty but it ends up fluffy, so it’s not all misunderstandings and screaming matches. Let me know what you think, and I hope you like it! ♡

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You looked over at Roger as he put his hand on the small of your back, the combination of his voice and his touch something you’d come to associate with comfort. He always made sure to do both when you were in big social situations like this, making sure he didn’t scare you and taking the time to ground you and let you know it was him. The ease and gentleness with which he’d handled your anxiety from the very beginning of your relationship never failed to endear him to you; as always, you found yourself incredibly thankful for a boyfriend that loved you as well as he did.

You smiled as you met his lovely blue eyes. “Hey yourself, cutie.” You knew he loved it when you called him that; he always said it was very American of you.

“Just checking in,” he said with a smile. “You alright?”

You nodded, gesturing with the drink in your hand. “One more margarita and I might drag you onto the dance floor,” you teased, “but yeah, I’m great.”

He grinned. “I might take you up on that.”

“You’ve got Freddie set up already?” you asked. Freddie had been flirting with - or, rather, casting longing glances towards - a burly brunette all night, and Roger had taken pity on him eventually and offered his services as Freddie’s wingman.

“You doubt my ability to him the date of his dreams?” Roger teased. “I’m the expert on flirting, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, you don’t have to remind me,” you said, giving him a quick kiss. “I know better than anybody that Roger Meddows Taylor is the world’s biggest flirt, don’t I?”

He grinned. “Only with you, love. Only with you.”

You shook your head, affectionately exasperated. “You’re a mess.”

“Yeah, but I’m your mess,” he said, cheeky. “Lucky girl that you are. I’m going to have quick smoke, but when I get back, you and I have a date with the dance floor.”

You laughed. “Okay. Do you want another drink?”

“Sure,” he said. He gestured with his wine glass. “Just another Chardonnay, if you don’t mind.”

“You got it,” you said. “Don’t be too long.”

He laughed and gave you a kiss as he turned to go. “No, wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled to yourself as you watched him weave through the crowd of people towards the back door, stopping briefly to greet friends who congratulated him on Queen’s latest success. The party had been thrown by EMI Records to celebrate A Day at the Races hitting number one in England and Japan. The boys were just back from the American leg of the tour, and you and Roger had been practically inseparable from the moment you’d thrown yourself in his arms at the airport.

Even though he’d only gone for a smoke and he’d be back in no time, the months of being apart made every little moment of absence that much keener to you now, especially considering the precious little time you had before he left again. They had a few weeks before they had to head off for the last leg of the tour across Europe, which was slated to last at least a month. You didn’t want to waste a second of the time you had before Roger left again. So far you hadn’t - god, the two of you hadn’t gone so many rounds in one night since you’d first started dating - and you weren’t of a mind to start now. You headed to the bar to get Roger’s Chardonnay, deciding you’d take it outside and keep your boyfriend company while he smoked.

Finally making it through the sea of people carousing on EMI’s dime, most of whom he didn’t even know even though they probably had some connection to the tour or the album, Roger pushed through the back door and took a breath of the cool night air. The sound of Freddie’s crooning on “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” dulled as the door closed behind him and he found himself mildly relieved; though he was proud of the album and its songs, he couldn’t deny he was a bit tired of them after playing them nearly every night for the past three months. But it was a party to celebrate the album, after all - he supposed the DJ could be forgiven for playing it on loop all night. He’d ask them to play something else when he took you out on the dance floor, though, maybe one of the Beatles songs you’d listened to all the time when you first started dating.

He fished a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds out of the inside pocket of his blazer and took a swig of his wine before pulling out a cigarette, drawing a long inhale when it was lit. He quietly sang along with the bridge almost out of habit. “When I’m not with you, I think of you always.” He kicked at the gravel under his shoes as he blew out a stream of smoke, thinking he probably wouldn’t finish the whole cigarette before he headed back in to be with you.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart.”

Roger snapped his head up at the sound of Brian’s voice, fairly sure the guttural outburst hadn’t been directed at him but confused nonetheless. He hadn’t realized Brian was out here; looking into the darkness where his voice had come from, Roger tried to make out the guitarist’s form.

“Bri?” he called.

He heard a few harshly whispered curses from the shadows in response and couldn’t help but smirk, knowing exactly what was going on past the glow cast by the light above the door. A few seconds later Brian stepped out from the shadows, obviously disheveled; a girl with a rumpled dress and smudged lipstick followed right behind him.

“Interrupting something, am I?” Roger teased.

“No,” Brian said quickly, flustered at being caught red-handed. “No, we were just going back inside.”

The girl came up to Roger, eyeing him with interest. She smelled of lavender and vodka. “You’re the drummer, aren’t you? Robert?”

“Close,” Roger told her. “And you are?”

She gave him a smile. “Alice,” she slurred. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

She bit her lip as she looked Roger over. “You want some company, Robert?”

“Oh, ah, I’m good,” Roger said, struggling to keep from laughing as Brian rolled his eyes. “I’ve already got some company I wouldn’t trade for the world. Thanks for the offer, though. I’m sure you’re, um, really something.”

Alice smirked. “Your friend certainly thought so.” She looked up at Brian. “Isn’t that right?”

Brian looked absolutely mortified. “Yeah, well, we should go in before we’re missed,” he said. He gave Roger a withering look. “See you inside, Robert?”

Roger grinned. “Yeah, I’m just finishing up my cigarette.”

“Come on,” Brian said to Alice, though he didn’t wait for her as he went back inside. She made to follow him, but between the gravel and her high heels and the copious amount of alcohol she’d obviously had, she lost her balance and crashed right into Roger. Staggering back a step, he awkwardly caught her against him, wine sloshing over the rim of his glass and onto the sleeve of his blazer and the back of her dress.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Uh, sorry,” she said, seemingly unsurprised at her own lack of coordination. He released her as she got her balance; she pulled back from him without a shred of embarrassment at having careened into him.

“Sorry about your dress,” he said, holding the now empty glass. “Gonna find Bri ok?”

“Oh, probably not,” she said, unconcerned. “He only wanted a quickie, which is fine by me. Sorry for falling on you.”

He chuckled. “No problem.”

He kept an eye on her as she went back inside, making sure she didn’t trip again. He shook his head, smiling to himself. Brian sure knew how to pick them.

He took a few more drags from his cigarette before letting it drop to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. Juggling the glass, he pulled off his blazer, thankful he’d decided not to wear his favorite rainbow one tonight now that the sleeve of this one was soaked with wine. He draped his blazer over his arm as he headed inside, already grinning at the thought of taking you dancing.

“Chardonnay, please,” you said to the bartender. “And a margarita with extra lime.”

You absently drummed your fingers on the bar, a habit you’d picked up from Roger, and looked out onto the party as you waited for your drinks. Freddie was talking with the brunette from earlier and from the looks of them, all smiles and “accidental” touches, it seemed Roger had done a good job as Freddie’s wingman. You smiled. Roger would do anything for his friend, and even if he didn’t know the first thing about chatting up guys on other people’s behalf, flirting was more or less a universal language on some level and Roger was certainly an expert on it.

Your gaze traveled to Deaky, who was clearly enjoying himself on the dance floor. You didn’t know what to make of Deaky’s dance moves sometimes, but he was nothing if not enthusiastic. You grinned and watched as he tried to figure out what to do with his hands usually occupied with his bass and settled on a sort of one-handed clapping motion.

“Here you go, love,” the bartender said behind you. You turned and took the drinks he put on the bar for you, smiling your thanks as you carefully made you way towards the back door. You were nearly there when you saw the door open; a girl with smudged makeup and messy hair came in, teetering slightly as she pulled the strap of her dress back over her shoulder. You didn’t think anything of it, really; it was almost a given at any party you’d been to with the boys that disheveled groupies were to be found around every corner, usually with someone in tow behind them. The girl stumbled off and she probably would have never crossed your mind again had it not been for the next person that came through the door.

The first thing you noticed was his grin, that beautiful smile you loved more than anything in the world. He wasn’t looking at you; you were still somewhat hidden by the people between you and Roger. What was he beaming at like that?

The next thing you registered was that he’d taken his blazer off. The champagne-colored jacket with multicolored birds stitched into it was draped over his arm, his empty glass held casually in his hand. Ever keen on fashion, Roger wouldn’t have taken his blazer off without good reason.

Oh, you thought as you saw the collar of his shirt. It surprised you how easily you resigned yourself to it, how quickly you went from confusion to rage to despair to resignation. In the space of a second, you’d seen the streak of red lipstick on the starched collar of his white button-down and felt absolutely nothing.

“Well hello, lovely.”

You startled a little, realized Roger was talking to you. He’d spotted you and come over, the smile on his face showing no hint of shame or remorse. You didn’t know what you’d expected. His expression was eager and affectionate as he looked you over, his baby blue eyes shining as they met yours.

“I was just coming back in to find you,” he said, setting his empty glass on the table nearby. “Thanks for getting my drink.”

He took it from you and took a sip, his head tilted back; you found yourself looking for love marks on his neck despite the numbness that had swept through your whole body.

“I believed you said something about another margarita and a dance, hm?” he said.

The thought of dancing with him, in front of everybody - in front of that girl, whoever she was - made you feel sick.

“No, I - ” You swallowed thickly. Your grip on your glass was so tight your knuckles were white. “I changed my mind.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “I promise it’ll be fun. We can’t be worse than Deaky, anyway.”

He took your hand and tried to pull you closer to him; you reacted to his touch as if he’d burned you.

“No,” you said, louder this time. You cradled your hand close to your chest. “I don’t want to, Roger.”

His easy smile disappeared at your outburst; he searched your face with a sickening worry in his own.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

You felt a hysterical laugh rise in your throat. “Nothing.” As much as you wanted to, you weren’t going to make a scene. Not here, not in front of your friends, not in front of the girl your boyfriend had snuck out to be with, the girl whose lipstick marked his shirt like a scarlet letter.

“It’s not nothing,” you heard him say. You met his eyes and saw the concern there, the kindness in his expression that you hadn’t ever had reason to question until now. A horrible thought struck you - was this the first time he’d masked guilt with affection, or had it happened before? How many times had he left you to be with someone else and fooled you with his pretty smiles and pretty words? How many times had he not had to, since he was halfway across the world and he could wash out the smell of perfume and the color of lipstick before you ever saw?

You suddenly felt lightheaded, swaying slightly on your feet. He reached out to steady you and you tried to back away from him.

“Don’t,” you said. It came out weaker than you wanted.

“Easy, love,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard you. He set his glass down and pried yours from your hands to set it down too, gently gripping your arm to steady you.

“How much did you have to drink?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

You felt a flash of anger. “Does it matter?” Of course he’d like to think you felt this way because you were drunk. Was he really arrogant enough to think you hadn’t noticed, that your fight-or-flight reaction to him since he’d walked through the door was just because you’d had one too many drinks?

“No, I suppose not,” he said. “But maybe we should go home if you’re not feeling well.”

“I feel fine,” you snapped. The last thing you wanted was to go home with him. You sucked in a breath and your head spun. You could smell her on him, the scent of lavender that neither you nor Roger wore plain as day on his shirt and in his long blonde hair. You felt yourself react to the smell of her perfume and the acidic despair that welled in your already rocky stomach.

“Rog,” you said weakly. Your voice sounded strange, calmer than you felt.

“Yeah?”

You put your hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Unhindered by the same numbness you were, Roger quickly opened the back door and steered you outside. He held your hair back as you retched.

“Okay, love, that’s it,” he said soothingly. “I’ve got you.”

When nothing more would come, you straightened and reached a hand to wipe your mouth. You noticed your hand was shaking.

“Let me go get you some water,” Roger said. “I’ll be right back.”

You stared blankly out at the darkness as he went inside, the air cool against your face as tears finally fell. You wanted nothing more than to let him take care of you, to let him hold you and tell you everything was going to be ok. You wanted to forget what you knew, what had broken the way you looked at him and maybe could never be repaired. You loved him; you loved him so much you could hardly stand it. Maybe he loved you, but not that way. Not enough.

He came back with some water and you washed your mouth out with it, avoiding his worried gaze. You hated that you couldn’t stop crying; though it wasn’t the heaving sobs you thought might come, not yet anyway, it was still a relentless stream of tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how you tried.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” he said gently.

A part of you wanted to. A part of you wanted to tell him you’d seen what he had been too arrogant to hide, that you knew how easily you’d been discarded. How pathetic you must seem to him, a broken girl so easily fooled by his charm. You ran the heel of your palm over your cheek.

“It’s nothing,” you said. Your voice was soft with grief and shame. “I just - I just don’t feel good.”

“I know,” he said, sympathy in his voice. “Let’s get you home, ok?”

A sharp bitterness shot through you. “You sure there’s nobody you’d rather stay and talk with?”

He shook his head, seemingly unhurt by your tone. “Nobody as important as you, love.”

What a joke, you thought. Was that all you were to him? A joke, something to amuse him, something to make fun of without you realizing?

“Come on,” he said. You followed him back inside, not really having a choice - where else were you going to go? You could have told Roger you wanted to stay with one of the boys tonight, but you didn’t want to drag them into this. Besides, Roger would ask you why you didn’t want to come home with him, and then you’d have to tell him you knew. No other answer would convince him. But you didn’t want to be the one to break the ice about it. You wanted him to have the decency to tell you, to beg for your forgiveness; you wanted him to man up and take responsibility for what he’d done to you. For you to bring it up would only make it easier for him.

Thankfully no one stopped you on your way out. You didn’t know if you could manage pleasantries or ribbing from the boys that you and Roger were sneaking off early so you could have time alone. The thought of being anywhere close to Roger was painful to you; you’d rather die than sleep with him now, let him touch you with those hands that had felt another woman’s body and made her feel the things he made you feel.

When you got in the car, you moved as far away from him as you could manage, curling up against the passenger door as he started the drive home. It only briefly occurred to you to wonder whether Roger was sober enough to drive; your implicit desire to trust him with your well-being had been proved foolish, but you hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to get the two of you killed. You pressed your cheek against he cool glass of the window, shutting your eyes as the lights and shapes passing by threatened to make your head swim.

Roger didn’t say anything the whole ride home, but you didn’t know what you’d expected. You wished he would just say it, just admit what he’d done. That would be better than this tension, this thickness in the air that choked you.

You got out of the car before Roger had really even parked, eager to put some distance between you. You fished your keys out of your purse and tired to unlock the door, but between the alcohol clouding your head and the tears that refused to stop, you couldn’t get the damn key in. You bit back a sob as Roger’s hand came over yours and took the keys from you, unlocking the door and pushing it open for you.

Leaving your keys with him, you brushed past him and headed straight for your bedroom. Your chest tightened at the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him tonight, but you pushed that off to deal with later. Right now you wanted to get a shower and wash the night off of you, wash off his touch and the pain and the grief and the stubborn tears.

Despite everything, you were a little surprised that Roger didn’t ask to come in the shower with you. That was Roger’s favorite thing; even more than he liked making love to you in the shower did he like just being with you, washing your hair, feeling your skin against his.

He’s probably had his fill for tonight, you thought, nearly tasting your own bitterness. You made the water as hot as you could stand and closed your eyes as you stood under it, shoulders shaking as you kept your sobs as quiet as you could.

When the water grew cold and your tears had finally run dry, you got out of the shower and hesitated before opening the bathroom door. You didn’t know if Roger was in your bedroom, and you didn’t want to see him. You couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, though. You took a steadying breath and opened the door.

He wasn’t there, but you saw he’d laid out some comfy clothes for you on the bed, the exact ones you would have picked out for yourself. Just past your bedroom door you could hear Roger in the kitchen, humming “Here Comes the Sun” to himself. You felt a wave of sadness like a physical pain in your chest.

Too tired to find any other clothes, you put on the ones he’d put out and sat on the edge of the bed. You didn’t know what to do. You watched the shiny droplets of water fall from your hair to darken the fabric of your sweatpants. You noticed your hands were shaking but couldn’t make yourself care.

A few minutes later, you guessed - it could have been hours for all you knew - you heard the door open. You felt a surge of adrenaline as your fight-or-flight kicked in, but you were too numb to actually move.

“Hey, love,” Roger said, his voice gentle. “Feeling any better?”

You didn’t answer. You watched as he set a mug of tea on your bedside table.

“I made the peppermint kind,” he told you. “Thought it might settle your stomach a bit.”

He didn’t press you for a reply and you didn’t give one; he went to the dresser to get himself a change of clothes and you noticed he was still wearing his clothes from the party. The smudge of lipstick on the collar seemed to mock you, the scent of lavender you swore you could still make out bringing your headache back with a vengeance. He hadn’t even bothered to wash it off, to crumple up the shirt and put it in the laundry to get rid of the evidence on the off-chance you hadn’t noticed. It was like he was mocking you too.

“How many, Roger?” you asked.

He turned at your voice. “What’s that, love?”

You looked up at him, a determined set to your jaw. You wanted the truth, and you were done waiting for him to tell you.

“How many others were there?”

A confused frown tugged at his features. “What do you mean?” he asked. “How many others of what?”

Was he really going to play dumb? You felt anger spark into a fire in your chest.

“How many other girls, Roger?” you asked, your voice rising. “How many other girls were there before the one you had tonight?”

He looked genuinely confused, and you felt a burning self-hatred that you’d been fooled by him for so long. He was a terrific actor, you had to give him that, but no more. The game was up and no amount of playacting was going to fool you ever again.

“I don’t know what you mean, love,” he said, his voice disgustingly desperate. “What are you talking about? What girls?”

“Stop pretending, Roger!” you spat. “You don’t have to keep up the ruse any more. I just want to know how many girls you fucked when you thought I wouldn’t find out.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

You stood, feeling tears come again; this time, they were borne of rage instead of sadness.

“Please don’t make this any worse than it already is,” you said. “Just admit it. Be a man and own up to it, that’s all I ask. You owe me that much.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” he insisted.

You could have screamed. “I saw you, Roger!” you said. “I saw her putting her dress back on and I saw you come inside with that grin on your face like - ”

Like she’d been better than I have ever been. You couldn’t make yourself say it.

You met his eyes, wanting desperately to see anger or guilt or shame, something that would tell you he had finally dropped the act and felt the weight of his own guilt. When you saw only hurt, you couldn’t help the cry of frustration that escaped you.

“I don’t know what you thought you saw,” he said, his voice showing his distress. “But nothing like that happened, I promise. When I came in, I was - ”

Your breath came in a sob. “Please,” you said, cutting him off before he could give you some fabricated excuse. “Please, Roger, just stop.”

His hands went up in a gesture of helpless exasperation. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what to tell you. I swear to you that nothing happened.”

You pressed your hand to your mouth, anger and debilitating sorrow taking your breath away. Your sobs came as groans of pain as you tried and failed to keep them at bay.

“Did you ever love me, Roger?” you managed to say.

“What kind of question is that?” His voice was angry now. “I’ve always loved you, and I love you now despite whatever the hell this is you’re going on about.”

You sucked in a hitching breath. Of all the things you had imagined would come from this, his willingness to inflict such pain on you was something you had never considered. Why wouldn’t he just admit it?

“You can’t,” you sobbed. “You can’t love me. If you did you wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn't lie right to my face when I told you I saw her, I saw what you’d done to her when you thought I wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t stand there with her fucking lipstick on your collar and tell me nothing happened.”

He looked at his shirt, pulling the collar out to see it better. You saw his face pale and realized that he hadn’t even known it was there.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice panicked and desperate. “This isn’t what you think.”

“What are we, in a fucking movie?” you said. “At least think of something more original.”

“No, sweetheart, I promise,” he said, his expression pained. “I'm so sorry. I didn't notice she'd got lipstick on me and if I'd seen it earlier I would have told you. It wasn't like that at all.”

“What was it like, then?” you spat.

“I went outside for a smoke, just like I told you,” he said, practically tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. “Brian was out there with this girl, and when she walked by me she tripped and I caught her. Her lipstick must have gotten on my shirt when I caught her.”

“Oh, right,” you said waspishly. “She fell and you caught her.”

“She did,” he said, distressed that you didn't believe him. “And if you’d asked me when I came in, I would have told you the same thing. I’m sorry I didn’t notice the lipstick before; I wish I had, and I wish I could have told you what happened before you got so upset.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Oh, God, this is all my fault, isn't it?” he said. “I'm so sorry, love. If I'd have known you thought - all you saw was her and then me coming in right after with her lipstick on me and my clothes half-off - God, and you've been thinking this whole time that I'd been with her. I had no idea. You were so upset and I couldn't even see it. I just thought you didn't feel well. I'm so sorry. But why didn’t you say anything at the party?”

You twisted your fingers together like you did when you were nervous; none of this was going the way you’d thought.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” you told him, your mind racing to account for what he’d told you and how he was reacting to you. “I didn’t - I wanted you to tell me instead of me having to ask.”

For the first time you saw a flicker of hurt in his expression, a shadow of pain in him that didn’t come from realizing he’d hurt you. You’d hurt him in this too, and he couldn’t hide it.

“You wanted me to tell you I’d cheated on you?”

His quiet voice was like a dagger in your heart. “What am I supposed to think, Roger?” you said, lashing out in defense of yourself. “I’m not crazy for thinking that.”

He shook his head; you were surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“When have I ever given you reason to think that I’d cheat on you?” he said. “I mean, I’ll admit it doesn’t look great, and you don’t know how sorry I am - but do you really think I’m capable of that? Was it really that easy for you to take one look at me and assume I’d gone off and been with some other girl?”

“Easy?” you repeated. “No, Roger, it wasn’t easy. None of this has been easy.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.

You bit your lip. Your vision was so blurred with tears that you couldn’t even see his face.

“Why didn’t Brian come in with her?” you asked. “If he was out there with you, why didn’t he come in?”

“He went in before her,” Roger said. “Maybe you didn’t see him come in. But he went in before her, and when she tried to follow, she fell.”

“Why did you take your jacket off?”

“I spilled my drink when I caught her. It got all over the sleeve of my blazer. Here,” he said, retrieving the jacket from where he’d thrown it in the laundry basket. “Feel it.”

Hesitantly, you reached out to feel the proffered fabric; it was damp and smelled like Chardonnay.

“I promise you, sweetheart,” he said, the seriousness of his tone only made weightier by the love that also colored it. “That’s all that happened. That’s all. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t do anything with her. She tried to come on to me and I told her I didn’t want anything to do with her.”

He tossed the jacket on the bed and closed the distance between you, taking your face in his hands. He brushed your tears away with his thumb, looking at you with love and an unmistakable hurt.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you more than anything. I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never do anything to jeopardize what I have with you. I know how lucky I am to be with you, and I’d be an absolute fool to throw that away.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had been so consumed by anger, by despair, by the certainty that he had done the one thing you couldn’t forgive that you didn’t know what to feel now. Everything in you ached to trust him, to trust what he told you was true.

“I’ve never lied to you, sweetheart,” he said. He let his hands drop. “I’ve never kept things from you. If you don’t believe me, we can ring Brian right now and he can tell you what happened, but you can trust me. I’m not lying to you about this. I would never cheat on you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I made you feel like I would.”

You studied his face, his features so dear to you, the expressions that showed his emotions like an open book. He was right; he’d never lied to you. Despite everything, despite the evidence that you had collected like weapons to use against him, he hadn’t gotten defensive towards you. He’d explained what happened and apologized over and over for unknowingly causing you pain.

You felt a crushing weight in your chest. If what he said was true and you'd misread the whole situation... You’d accused him of something horrible. You'd thought him capable of cheating on you. Roger, the sweetest man alive, the love of your life - you’d really thought he could do something like that to you. Though he had never hurt you before, though he had been nothing but good and kind and loving to you from the moment you met, you had been able to think that of him.

You suddenly felt sick, but for a reason different than you had before.

“Roger,” you said quietly.

He looked up at you. “Yes, love?”

Your face burned with shame as you realized how much you’d hurt him and how much he still loved you despite it. You breath hitched.

“Why aren't you mad at me?”

He softened and you couldn’t bear to see it, you couldn’t bear to see the love you didn’t deserve so plainly on his face. Your expression crumpled and you hid your face behind your hands, shoulder shaking with renewed sobs.

“Oh, love.” You heard the sadness in Roger’s voice as he pulled you close, holding you against his chest as you cried. He rubbed a soothing hand up and down your back. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not ok,” you sobbed. “I said those awful things and I - I thought you cheated on me and I didn’t trust you and I - ”

“Shh, hey,” he soothed. “Sweetheart. Take a deep breath.”

You tried to do as he said, your inhale hitched with sobs. You pulled back and tried to wipe the tears from your face.

“You should be yelling at screaming at me,” you said miserably.

“What for?” he asked gently. “I’m not angry with you, love. I’m sorry for what happened, and I’m sorry I’ve done a poor enough job loving you to make you think I could cheat on you, but I’m not angry with you. This whole thing is my fault, not yours.”

“That’s not true,” you said. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I just assumed that - ”

“You just assumed what anyone would have in your position,” he said. “Unfortunately everything aligned to make this a disaster, and I can’t fault you for thinking what you did. I only wish I’d have known sooner and could’ve avoided hurting you like I did.”

“But Roger,” you said, your voice pleading, desperate for him to know how sorry you were. “I hurt you so much worse, I didn’t trust you, I blew everything way out of proportion and I ruined your party and I said terrible things to you and I - ”

You sucked in a breath, feeling like you heart was in a million pieces. “I’m sorry, Roger,” you said, your voice soft with pain. “I’m so sorry.”

He hesitated only a second before gathering you in his arms again, any anger he’d felt at your words dissolved at the sincerity of your pain at having hurt him. Your accusations had been hurtful but not irrational; he was more sorry than he could say for the way one misstep after another had eventually come to this. The months of being apart, the whirlwind of emotions that this week had been, the clawing grief you both felt at the inevitability of being apart again - added to the seemingly little misunderstandings, it had grown into something much bigger and much more painful than it might have otherwise. He wasn’t angry at you for thinking what you had. Tours always made things strained between you, and he knew something like this was bound to happen eventually. You had been frightened that your separation had weakened his utter devotion to you, that during the months away from you it had become easier and easier for someone else to turn his head. He told himself he’d do better next time; he’d do everything in his power to make sure you knew that being halfway across the world wouldn’t make him love you any less. Nothing could change that, no matter how long you had to be apart.

The words of Freddie’s song came back to mind. When I’m not with you, think of me always; I love you, I love you.

“I’m sorry too,” he said gently. “I love you, you know? More than anything in the entire world. You don’t ever have to be scared of me leaving you or cheating on you or doing anything other than loving you with everything I have. God, you were the only thing I thought about while I was gone. You always are.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. You could still make out the scent of lavender but you ignored it, focusing instead on breathing him in, his scent of cologne and Marlboro Reds and something uniquely Roger. He was warm, his heartbeat strong and steady against your cheek.

“I missed you so much,” you said quietly. The thought of him leaving again brought tears back to your eyes, those miserable tears that never seemed to stop when he was gone. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

He sighed. “Me either, love.”

You looked up at him, gazing at the man you loved more than life itself. The man who had proved that no matter what, you couldn’t make him stop loving you. The man who tirelessly loved you despite everything about you that was unlovable.

“I love you, Roger,” you said.

He kissed you gently, with all the tenderness of the first flush of love and all the devotion of someone who had weathered the storm with you.

“I love you too,” he said. He drew you closer, resting his cheek on your head, memorizing the feel of you so he’d have it when he was thousands of miles away. “Oh, my love. I love you too.”

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl

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