Chapter One: Funny How Love Is

'...So now you know you could be dead before they let you...'

Brian strummed the final chords. John pulled some fast bass licks. Roger hammered on the cymbals as hard as he could, his long hair swishing round his head. Freddie made a move and they all came off at the exact same time.

There was an immediate silence. The four boys just stared at each other. All of a sudden, John made a very un-John-ish whoop, and started jumping up and down, smiling.

'John, you silly teenager...' Freddie said, walking over to him and ruffling his hair. 'Get off!' John laughed, gently pushing him back, 'And I'm only nineteen. You all are barely twenty two!'

Brian grinned, running his fingers through his long black curls. 'We've done it,' he said, and, even without further explanation, the other three knew what he meant. They had finished working on Liar, the twelfth song they had completed since John had joined the band, just three months ago. They now had enough songs for a demo album.

'So, band meeting at Fred's house at... one o'clock tomorrow?' asked Roger.

'That seems fine to me, how about you two?' Freddie replied nonchalantly, taking a cigarette out of his pocket.

'Sounds good to us!' said Brian, packing away his guitar before he could get suffocated by Fred's poisonous addiction, which he firmly disagreed with.

'Group hug!' Freddie said, impulsively. John and Brian ran over, and it was only a moment later, as the hug finished and Bri and Deacy out, talking about amps and such that guitarists obsess over, that he noticed that Roger was still behind his kit.

Freddie watched the drummer as he gently tuned his drums a final time, tested them, and then eventually packed his sticks away. He strode over to where he was kneeling on the floor.

'You know, Roger...' he began, cocking his head to one side, 'you would really suit dying your hair blonde...'

Roger stood up to face the singer, pushing his long auburn hair out of his eyes. Freddie couldn't help but lose himself in their deeply beautiful crystal blue. Roger laughed, breaking his trance and sending shivers down his spine.

'No, I really would not,' he smiled. He shook his head slowly, sending his hair cascading past his shoulders, down his back.

Freddie slowly raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the matter any further. It was a well known fact that Roger Meddows-Taylor was as stubborn as a donkey and twice as strong. Yet, Freddie admired him greatly for it...

'...Fred?' Roger was waving his hand in front of Freddie's face; he had obviously been talking while Freddie was daydreaming about him.

'Huh? Oh, sorry Rog, I was in daze. Pardon?'

'It's fine, I've done that before!' laughed the drummer, 'I was asking you if you wanted to go drinking with me, to that new pub down the road? To celebrate, what with the band and all that?'

'Yes, of course! I'll just run and catch Bri and Deacy, they should be just down the road...' Freddie turned to leave, when suddenly, Roger grabbed his hand.

'No!' he shouted. Freddie turned round slowly. The drummer was still holding onto his hand.

'I mean... Uh... I thought it would be nice if it was just the two of us... and Brian and John are probably busy anyway...' Roger was turning a deep shade of pink.

Freddie smirked. Roger knew fine well that both Brian and John were free, having been discussing it with them earlier. Not that he would say that, of course.

'You're probably right,' he grinned, and lifted Roger's hand, still in his, to his lips, kissing it gently. 'It would be my pleasure to go drinking with you tonight.'

Taking in his best friend's eyes, now seemingly as large as plates, and his jaw nearly touching the ground, not to mention the fact he was totally speechless, Freddie grabbed his arm and linked it in his.

'Ready, Rog?'

'As I'll ever be,' he replied, seemingly as calm as ever. But unknown to Freddie, Roger was panicking. It hadn't occurred to him in his wildest dreams that Freddie would accept his offer, never mind do something like that! His kiss had been like an electric shock, making him shudder. Why did he feel like this? He was too confused to even think about it.

While Roger had been dreaming, they had almost arrived at the pub, down the road from Brian's parents' garage, which they had been using to practise for the past two years.

It was only two years ago that Roger and Brian had been in a band with Tim Staffell, Smile, which never really took off... Two years ago that Tim had left them to join another band... Two years ago that he had first met Freddie Bulsara, and both their lives had changed dramatically...

Roger sighed. He could remember the exact moment when he had first met Fred. He and Brian were practising in the garage, when Tim walked in, late as always, with the strangest character Roger had ever seen.

He had shoulder length, wavy hair, which looked so soft you just longed to run your fingers through it. He was wearing deep crimson crushed velvet trousers, a white shirt with a silhouette of Jimi Hendrix on the front (which surprised Roger, as Hendrix was his favourite guitarist, and he wouldn't have thought from first glance that he shared his music tastes), and spotless white platform boots, so high that he could barely walk, though he was still able to strut like a peacock around the room, as if he owned the place.

'What a desperate poof...' Roger had thought to himself, until the man himself made eye contact with him from across the room and walked towards him, giving him a wicked smile which was so contagious that Roger couldn't help but grin back.

'You must be Roger,' the stranger drawled in a deep English accent, outstretching his right hand. Roger noticed the black nail polish that covered his perfectly manicured fingernails, yet his left hand remained clear, with the exception of the few silver rings he wore on each finger.

'I'm Freddie Mercury, darling. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.'

But Roger was already hooked.

'Two large vodkas, please,' Roger asked, wearily, putting a ten pound note in front of the barman.

'Save your money, Rog. The drinks are on me tonight,' said Freddie, pushing the money back in his direction and replacing it with his own. 'A bottle of champagne and a bottle of vodka, please, with two large wine glasses? With ice?'

Ignoring Roger's protests, and the barman's glare for time wasting, Freddie grabbed the drinks and sat in a booth farthest away from any civilisation. He filled both glasses to the brim, half with vodka and half with champagne, and swirled them around to mix it together. He handed Roger the largest glass and raised his own.

'Cheers, darling.'

'Cheers Fred.'

'To life,'

'To friends,'

'And to Queen.'

The two boys took large gulps, each drowning their own sorrows.

Why was it so bright? Was he dead? Was he still in the bar?

Roger woke up to find that it was actually morning. He tried to remember anything from last night, but the last thing he could remember was he and Freddie finishing the bottles and ordering shots, over and over and over...

And that was when the hangover hit him like a ton of bricks. He clutched his forehead and turned to look at the clock by his bedside. Only there wasn't one. It slowly dawned on him that he was, in fact, in someone else's flat. In someone else's bed. Topless. He looked down to find that he wasn't just that. He looked around. He had definitely been in this flat before, but he was freaking out too much to think about such an inconsequential thing as that.

He then heard someone breathing softly behind him, so he turned round. A brunette was beside him, turned the opposite direction. He couldn't see her face, but he guessed that she was asleep. Poor girl. He would have a lot of explaining to do when she woke. Unless, he could sneak away...

He stood up slowly, taking in the room around him. He definitely recognised it from somewhere, but where...

And then it hit him. Roger froze. He put his hand over his mouth to stop himself screaming out loud. No... it's not... it couldn't be... could it?

He gently walked over to where the girl was sleeping, and gently pulled back her hair to reveal her face.

But it wasn't a she.

Roger gasped.

He had been right.

Roger slowly stood back, then collapsed back onto the bed again, in shock.

'Freddie...?'