John sat in the corner of the room feeling decidedly numb. He could hear Roger and Brian talking, but he couldn't make out their words. He was curled in on himself with his arms wrapped around his knees and his chin touching his chest. It was the best he could do to hide in that moment, hoping he wouldn't have to face reality. The bassist could feel his tears leaking through his shirt quickly even though he didn't make a sound. He didn't want any attention to be brought to himself. He didn't want to have to talk or explain or accept comfort. Brian had tried to hug him when he first found out, and that had been too much for the shorter brunet. It was the reason he had pushed himself into the corner.

Freddie was gone. His best friend. Of course, Roger and Brian were also his best friends, but he and Freddie had always been closer. Just as Roger and Brian tended to hang around each other more, Freddie and John shared a close bond that no one else could touch. It was what made losing the singer so incredibly unbearable.

John's chest burned. He swore he was going to die from a broken heart right alongside his friend. He couldn't help but think that it would be better that way- to stop living instead of trying to live in a world without Freddie's incredible light. Brian and Roger's voices continued on. He partially registered them trying to talk to him, but John didn't acknowledge them. How could they bear to even breathe at a time like this? John felt white hot anger course through him. Didn't they love Freddie!?

As quickly as it came, the anger melted away to more sadness. John knew his band mates adored Freddie. They were a family, after all. Roger had apparently done his fair share of crying on the way over when he had gotten the call. It was understandable that the blond was trying to control his emotions now. Brian had always been one to keep eerily calm until he was alone, so John didn't doubt the tall man would be just as much of a wreck as he was once he was home alone.

John still couldn't understand, though. With every minute that passed, the pain of living grew. Freddie didn't deserve to be taken, and John wished desperately that he could go with him. His head pounded longingly at the thought as he sucked in a strangled breath, the voices in the room fading in favor of a terrible ringing. His nails bit roughly into his skin as the pain increased.

The voices became louder again, closer. John could feel hands attempting to pry him out of his position, but he was stronger. His resolve to hide was stronger. For a moment, he heard a familiar voice calling his name, and then the sounds and hands faded completely.

Startled by the sudden nothingness, John lifted his head, eyes barely open as he struggled to see through his tears and the puffiness of his eyelids. The room was different, warmer, but just as familiar. He quickly tried to blink, a mangled sob ripping from his raw throat as a different type of panic set in. He didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there. Where were the others?

Yelling. There was yelling somewhere...upstairs? But they had been on the top floor of Freddie's house. Had someone moved him to a different room instead of trying to get him to open up? John appreciated the thought, but he didn't remember anybody carrying him. A sudden crash and more screaming had John flinching and partially curling up again. Why were Roger and Brian yelling at each other? He assumed they were working through their grief as well.

Tears continued to stream down his face, only now they were slower. Confusion was taking over part of his mind, giving him a small distraction from the mourning he was suffering through. If anyone would call it mourning. John refused to accept that Freddie was gone.

He sniffled to himself as he looked around, frowning at the space around him. The area was all brick, something Freddie wouldn't have ever allowed in his all too modern home. So, they weren't in Freddie's home, then? John began to tremble, everything overwhelming his foggy mind. What was going on?

Three keys on a piano played. It wouldn't have been significant if it weren't for the voice that followed the keys. John's eyes grew wide. That lovely voice...He must be hallucinating. John took a moment to thank his mind for trying to bring him some happiness while his world was falling apart. More questions swirled in John's head, but none of them were louder than the muffled muttering of a song coming through the ceiling above him. When he looked up, John finally recognized the space.

He was back in that quaint farmhouse room, the one with the floppy pillows and scratchy blankets. It was the birthplace of their most successful album. The bassist looked down at his hands cautiously to find them wrinkle-free. It was like he was really back. That meant...

John scrambled off of the bed as quickly as possible, stumbling onto the floor more than once on the way to the stairs out of his room. Not even the return of his tears, this time happy and hopeful, stopped his mission to the top floor of the old house. The beautiful notes grew only a little louder as he loped up the stairs and into the small open area between the bedrooms where the piano was.

There, singing softly and taking notes on paper, was Freddie. Long-haired, bright, beautiful, alive Freddie. John didn't give his mind a moment to doubt the situation. He was going to take what he could get, even if it was a hallucination. With another broken sob, he flung himself at the man, nearly knocking Freddie from the piano bench.

"John?" Freddie asked in surprise as he quickly braced himself on the bench with one hand behind him, the other wrapping around John to keep him from falling as well.

John lost the ability to speak just as he had done earlier. The rush of quickly changing emotions was making him tired, but he knew better than to close his eyes for even a moment. Freddie might disappear. Instead, he clung to Freddie tightly, his body trembling weakly in an attempt to keep the singer from going anywhere.

"John? Goodness, darling, you look a fright. Whatever is the matter?"

John nearly groaned. Hearing those words with that soft tone of love and tenderness Freddie had always taken with him made him want to hide again. He knew it couldn't be real, but he couldn't let the hallucination go.

"Come along, my dear. This is no place for a fit," Freddie told him before gently helping him stand. John didn't release his hold on Freddie's soft sweater, only clinging harder when the singer moved to walk away.

John found his voice again. "Don't go!" he begged frantically, his knees nearly buckling below him.

"Hush now. I'm only moving us to my room. The bed is much more comfortable than the bench, yes?" Freddie didn't get a response. He continued on towards his room anyways, his arms hooking tightly around John as if afraid the pale man was going to topple on the spot. It was possible.

"There we are. Much better, see? Now, what's bothering you so?" Freddie didn't release John as he asked this, something John was extremely thankful for. He wondered idly how hallucinations could feel so solid, but he quickly shook off the thought. Even thinking about why he was such a mess made him upset again, and all of his attention quickly returned to his terrible morning. He wanted so badly to explain everything to Freddie. The singer always made him feel better about terrible situations. The longer he dwelled on the thought, the more John figured it wouldn't matter. It was his hallucination, right?

"Y-You're dead! You're dead and I didn't even get to say goodbye! You were so cold..." John winced at his own yelling, having never been one for loud noises.

"Dead? John, darling, I'm right here. Did you have a nightmare?" Freddie asked softly, always softly. It had irritated John in the beginning, the way Freddie would always speak to him like a frightened rabbit. Over the years, he'd grown to enjoy it. Even now, it brought a level of comfort to him that Brian's hug never could.

"I-I don't know," John replied honestly, his breath catching as he spoke. He looked up to find that Freddie was holding him close again, their heads resting together. He could feel Freddie's warmth seeping into him.

"Well, you can see I'm not dead, right?"

John nodded against him. It was true, the Freddie in front of him was very much alive. How long that was going to last, John didn't know, but it was the truth at the moment.

"Then there is no need to fret, my dear. You nearly gave me a heart attack when you rushed at me looking so absolutely shattered. I thought something had happened." Freddie's voice was only a little higher than a whisper when he said this. John blushed as he realized how odd it must have been to see him like that. He'd always been the more sensitive one of the group, but he wasn't prone to breakdowns.

"It was so real...It still feels real. This feels like a dream..." John looked up at Freddie again, eyes glossy and inflamed. "I don't want you to die, Freddie."

Freddie opened his mouth to assure John, but the look in his friend's eyes made him pause. Whatever John had just experienced was no simple dream. It was clearly tearing the man apart. He knew it was selfish of him to think so, but it warmed his heart to know John was so worked about a dream about his death. After all, Freddie knew he wasn't a dream. At the same time, it tugged painfully at Freddie's chest to see John like that.

The singer tightened his hold on the bassist, one of his hands finding the small of John's back while the other gently cupped the back of his head. Their bodies were flush against each other in a way that made both of them relax. Neither said a thing for a while. Freddie gave his affections freely, even toying gently with John's long locks and stroking his back. John soaked it all up, mostly too exhausted to do much else. Not that he wanted it to stop.

"Hmm. Feeling a bit better, lovey?" Freddie asked after what seemed like hours. John nodded silently, his grip never leaving Freddie's body. He did feel better than he had earlier. His tears had finally stopped, and his heart had calmed.

"Wonderful. Now, what do you say to a bit of rest? You need it," the singer told him without letting him go. John stiffened again because he was afraid of closing his eyes and going back to that horrible time. Freddie could feel John tense against him, so he did what he knew would calm John enough to get him to sleep. The singer laid them both down on his bed, moving only enough to tuck John against his chest. It was a bit awkward with their similar height, but John fixed that by curling up into a small ball. Freddie noted with amusement that John could probably fit into a suitcase in his current position.

John really did try his best to keep his eyes wide open. It worked at first, but the feeling of being held by Freddie, the warmth the other man's body was producing, the heady scent of tobacco and French cologne that Freddie wore combined with Freddie's quiet humming had John's eyes closing in less than ten minutes. As John drifted deeper and deeper into sleep, Freddie let his thoughts wander.

Despite being almost the same size, John always held himself so much smaller. The bassist was also much more fragile. Freddie recalled the scathing comments he'd received after one of their first shows as a band. Roger had exploded and nearly killed the man while John had been near tears. Freddie had assured them both that it didn't bother him. It was to be expected. Roger had shrugged and grinned with pride, a tooth missing from his mouth, while John had hugged him tightly for the first time and assured him that what the man had said wasn't true.

Since then, the band had only grown incredibly closer. They were never shy with each other, and never held back any friendly touches. John in particular had become quite clingy with Freddie after the incident. It didn't bother the singer one bit. Freddie usually encouraged it by freely giving his own affections to the man whenever they were close enough to do so. It was starting to become more comfortable to have John in his arms than it was to be apart.

Just as he had that day, Freddie felt protective of the man in his arms. He knew the others felt it as well. It was the reason they all had a silent agreement to hide the gossip mags and the newspapers from John. Even though Roger and Brain were in agreement that John was to be protected, Freddie knew it was different for himself. While the other two watched out for John in the way older siblings would look after their younger ones, Freddie fought to keep John as soft as a flower for different reasons- ones he hadn't come to terms with himself yet. With a smirk, Freddie reminded himself that John was only a flower around them. In public, John was quiet, but he could show his thorns when people were wearing on his nerves.

Freddie looked down at the man pressed so tightly against him. It was different than anything else he had ever experienced in bed. Somehow, cradling John so gently was more intimate than any other acts he done while in bed with another. His experimental flings before never lasted long enough for a cuddle. Freddie didn't want them anyways. Why would he want to hold a simpering, fame-crazed harlot after an hour or so of stress-relieving activities? It didn't interest him at all. No, cuddling felt too personal for that.

The singer was making himself exhausted with his own thoughts, not to mention the swirl of questions he still had about John's fit. He'd definitely be bringing it up later, just not when the drummer was still so fragile about the topic. For the moment, he decided to bask in the gentle affection of another as well. Freddie fell asleep humming to the beat of John's heart.

There's not enough Queen slash fanfiction out there! I'm hoping to help with that. Anything you're desperate for? I'm taking suggestions for other Queen/Bohemian Rhapsody movie fics.
Hope you all enjoyed reading so far! Feel free to drop a comment :)