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Music drifted through the cool night air in the small backyard. The melody was halting, hesitant, with stretches of silence between them. It started slowly, then stopped before starting anew with a slight difference, before that, too, ceased. This went on, over and over again, until boisterous laughter from inside the house drowned out the quiet notes. Brian frowned lightly, bowed down, and turned his head to the side so that he could hear the sound he made with the borrowed guitar better. Beside him, Roger looked at him expectantly, holding a pen above a notebook full of letters and words scrawled with excitement, uncertainty, frustration or all three combined.
“This is harder than I thought,” Roger groused when Brian still failed to find a satisfactory combination of notes many minutes later, after the loud laughter that had interrupted them earlier had receded and left the backyard without even an echo of it.
Brian peered up at him and smiled when he noticed Roger’s restlessness. “It’s not always, but yes, it could be.”
Roger huffed, tapping the pen impatiently on the notebook. “When you said you’re inspired, I thought it’d take an hour at most to finish this song, but we’ve been here for hours now and we’re barely halfway done.”
Brian straightened up, looking at Roger guiltily. In Brian’s defense, the first half an hour or so of this song writing session had gone very well. The music that had followed Brian all day hadn’t been too difficult to replicate on the guitar to then be written down so that it wouldn’t escape his unreliable memory. The words that accompanied them hadn’t been hard to come up with, either, although there were a number of blank beats that he and Roger tentatively filled with humming, the exact words not yet manifesting in their minds. Brian was confident that, between him and Roger, they would be able to fill in the blanks sooner rather than later, though. He had a rather clear idea of what he wanted the song to be about—love as young as the lovers basking in it—so it should be just a matter of time before they found the right words and arranged them in a way that would hopefully appeal to the listeners. Roger had been thrilled when Brian told him that, too new to song writing to know the whimsicality of inspiration, too optimistic to see anything but a future success waiting for them. He was slowly but surely corrected on these opinions as the song writing session went on and on without much significant progress to speak of.
It had come as no surprise to Brian when the creative flow slowed down into a trickle and it took him longer and longer to figure out what notes to play to follow the last. Having a general idea of how he wanted the song to be only helped to a point, and they had gone past that point about half an hour ago. Now, he had to try a million variations before he found something that suited the music in his mind. The lyrics similarly suffered. Brian and Roger couldn’t be more opposite from each other in the ways they approach life, so it was very much expected that they kept disagreeing on how to best express themselves in the song. Roger preferred straightforward lyrics with minimum frills to soften the heavy messages he (unsuccessfully so far) tried to convince Brian to include, although he seemed tickled by the idea of misleading titles, something clever or witty to draw people in before he revealed that the song was nothing at all like what it initially seemed. On the other hand, Brian liked wordplay, liked the mental exercise of coming up with a pretty sequence of words that required close examination to fully understand. He didn’t believe in bludgeoning the listeners with heavy handed messages, liking instead to be a little vague to leave room for any interpretation, not too bothered by the possibility that something might be missing in translation, people not quite getting what he sang, as not being completely understood was a common theme in his life.
Finding a good balance between the two styles was tricky and frustrating. As this was Brian’s song and Roger was inexperienced in song writing, Roger (begrudgingly) deferred to Brian’s decisions. However, precisely because Roger had no experience in song writing, Brian wanted this session to be a fun one for him, so that he might try that on his own in the future. Roger was obviously interested in having his voice heard by as many people as possible through music, and Brian wanted to help him achieve that. He wanted to show Roger how to deal with creativity block, when to step back and move on, and when to return to an unfinished part when inspiration returned. He wanted to teach Roger the importance of patience and resilience because not all songs came easily, some needing to be teased out and carefully untangled from a busy mind before they were ready to be shared. Then, he wanted to show Roger the sweet victory of completing a song, of having created something that not only sounded good, but also reflected a small part of his soul.
That was easier said than done, though. Brian wasn’t exactly pleased with the lack of progress with his song, but he was used to the frustration, prepared to make the necessary changes and additions for the next few days to come. However, Roger was obviously annoyed that they had been stuck on the same line for so long. He had started twirling his pen and bouncing his leg, unable to stay still where he was sat right beside Brian. Being physical than Brian, he needed to always be moving, his almost boundless energy needing to be let out regularly before it came out explosively. That was why the drums were the perfect instruments for him, keeping his body constantly in motion while engaging his fleeting attention so that he could produce a steady rhythm. However, unfortunately for Roger, it was quite impossible to write a song using drums. For this song writing session, Brian and Roger had borrowed an acoustic guitar from one of Roger’s housemates before they both optimistically retreated to the backyard to write their first song together. It was a fine instrument, only needing a little tuning before Brian was satisfied with it enough to use it, but it didn’t require the constant movement that drums did, and combined with the slow progress with the song, it was no wonder that Roger was getting irritable and bored.
“We could stop now,” Brian offered. “I can continue it later back in my flat.”
At this, Roger stopped and glared at him. “I thought you were going to show me how to write a song,” he said accusingly.
“I was—I am. But, well, it’s going to take a while and you’re clearly getting bored.”
“Because it is boring,” Roger grumbled, glaring at the guitar as if it was the instrument and not Brian’s fickle muse that had inconvenienced him. “But, that’s just how it works, isn’t it? People make it sound like it’s nothing, just a light jamming session that takes no more than a couple of hours, but it’s not always easy. Not all songs are written completely in one evening already perfect. Some takes a lot of work before it’s ready to perform.”
“Yes,” Brian confirmed, a little surprised.
They hadn’t known each other for that long, so it was easy for Brian to forget that despite his hedonistic tendencies, Roger was really quite observant and insightful. Few would guess that, and Roger did encourage that ignorance, happily leaning into the stereotypes of his coloring. However, it had been Roger who had astonished Brian by nearly effortlessly keeping up with Brian’s impromptu lecture when Brian was in a fit of academic passion, and it had been Roger, too, who had completely confounded Brian with impressive analyses not only of the coveted music industry but the complex issues the world had no shortage of. Whenever Brian was foolish enough to spend sleepless nights engaging Roger in a conversation, it was always Brian who bowed out first, struggling to follow the rapid pace of Roger’s thoughts. So, just because Roger had never written any song before, it didn’t mean he didn’t know anything of the uncertain creative process.
In fact, Brian probably should’ve guessed that Roger had prepared himself for a long and frustration session ahead of them when he invited Brian to write the song at his place, anticipating the boredom and still asking to give it a go anyway because, in addition to blindingly brilliant, Roger was nothing short of stubborn. Knowing how Roger was when he had set his eyes on something, insisting on sparing him the frustration and finishing the song alone at Brian’s flat would just ended with them having one of their notorious arguments. Wanting to avoid a fight and adoring the triumphant look Roger had whenever he got what he wanted, Brian was tempted to cave in. However, Brian couldn’t overlook the frown on Roger’s face and the downturn of his lips, the unmistakable signs of discontent that further halted Brian’s creative flow. He didn’t want to argue with Roger, but he didn’t want Roger to be unhappy even more.
“Some takes a long time, and this one looks like it’s going to be one of them. We can try again together next time when…”
Roger groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, stopping Brian. “Just because it’s taking a little long, it doesn’t mean we should up!”
“I’m not saying you should. We’ll pick it back up later. It’s just that we haven’t made any progress for…”
Roger let out another impatient sound. “Give it to me,” he demanded, pulling the guitar from Brian’s lap. “Let me give it a go.”
It took Roger a moment to place the guitar comfortably on his lap and put his fingers on the appropriate spots, but Brian didn’t say anything, still remembering vividly the sheer panic he had felt on his first and last drumming lesson despite Roger’s uncharacteristic patience as he moved Brian’s arms about. Brian had flinched at every loud noise he made himself, making Roger chuckle as he kept Brian’s arms steady with a firm grip on Brian’s wrists. It hadn’t taken Brian a long time at all to give up, rubbing his wrist with red face as he admitted that clearly he wasn’t as gifted in drumming as Roger was. Roger had been amused, assuring Brian that few started drumming without a struggle, encouraging Brian to try again with a gentle push on his bowed back, until Brian hid behind the Red Special and begged Tim to just practice a familiar cover song in their usual formation.
Compared to that embarrassing first and only lesson, Roger was doing remarkably well. He scrutinized the notebook page with a deep frown, his fingers moving slowly and awkwardly on the strings as he familiarized himself with the partially-written song. Unsure if any advice or assistance would be welcomed, Brian just sat quietly by Roger’s side, watching the light furrow of Rogers brows, the beckoning light reflected by his eyes, and the tempting pout of his lips. When Roger started playing the guitar, Brian was suppressing more than the urge to help and correct him. Brian quickly sat straighter—he hadn’t realized he was leaning forward, and fortunately neither had Roger—and forced himself to focus on what Roger was playing. The music was slow and halting due to Roger’s unfamiliarity with the instrument, riddled with pauses when he tried to remember how to play certain keys. However, the minimum deficiency was soon obscured by Roger’s voice, warm and husky as he sang the verses that he and Brian had spent hours writing.
No matter how many timed Brian heard Roger sing, it still took his breath away. It wasn’t just about the extraordinary range of Roger’s voice or how he could sing very powerfully one moment, then gently the next. It was the way Roger filled the space around him with his presence, not suffocating, but embracing with warmth and tenderness most wouldn’t associate with him. Roger wanted people to listen to what he had to say, and Brian couldn’t think of why anyone wouldn’t. Anyone who knew anything about music would know how wonderful his voice was, just as anyone with sense would understand how brilliant he was. The backyard was quiet save for the voices from the house that had dwindled into a muffled hum, but Brian could easily imagine the roaring cheers and applause of an audience as devoted and enchanted as Brian was right now, when he was taking in in the way Roger slightly tilted his head back in euphoria, lips curving up into a smile both dreamy and present, glow with a light that emanated not from the house but from within him.
He was born to be a star, Brian thought absentmindedly as he traced Roger’s features with adoring eyes. As Roger’s callused fingers danced on the strings, Brian’s heart became fuller, while his hands felt increasingly empty. An incomprehensible longing took root inside him, demanding him to cross the distance between him. Brian was coherent enough to resist it, but not strong enough to not drink in the enticing formation of every perfect syllable by Roger’s lips; the warm contentment in his bright, bright eyes; the gentle rise and fall of his fair, lean chest; and the enviable grip he had on the borrowed guitar. Brian watched in silence, completely transfixed, until the song reached its abrupt end, both music and voice petering off unnaturally, the half-written verse taunting them with its unfinished state. A faint idea tickled the back of Brian’s mind, but he shoved it aside as an irresistible urge suddenly overcame him.
“May I kiss you?” he asked in a sudden burst of longing-fueled courage as Roger’s fingers fell away from the taut strings.
The silent wide-eyed look the request earned brought sense sharply back into Brian. He immediately reared back, panicked. What was he thinking? Of course Roger wouldn’t allow him. Why would he? They barely knew each other. The months they had spent together were spent mostly arguing about one thing or another. Sure, they somehow managed to get along remarkably well despite the arguments, slowly learning when to back off from a disagreement and when to step close for a much-needed company, but they were not that close. Brian knew Roger’s history anyway, knew the sort of glamorous people Roger gravitated to, and despite Brian’s valiant attempt to grow his hair after knowing how much Roger liked it, he knew he would never be like those people. How dare he ask for such a privilege? Who did he think he was to Roger? He was just…
A soft nudge of Roger’s shoulder briefly digging into Brian’s arm stopped Brian’s train of self-depreciating thoughts. When he looked at Roger, he was surprised to see a smile devoid of mischief or smugness. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” Roger admitted, watching Brian from underneath eyelashes like sunrays. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a relationship without kissing for this long.”
Brian ducked his head in embarrassment. It was true that in the month they had been together Brian had never dared to ask for any form of physical intimacy. He didn’t even dare to hold Roger’s hand, waiting instead for Roger to cross the distance between them and lace their fingers together. Anything more than that felt like a lot, or even too much to want. It wasn’t for his lack of interest, of course, because Brian was very interested in more, in touching Roger, in kissing Roger, in having Roger in any way his limited physical body could. He was just not sure Roger wanted it, wanted him. Every morning, Brian woke up expecting a succinctly-worded letter from Roger informing him that they were over, and every time they were together, Brian held his breath for the moment Roger realized he could be with someone so much better than Brian. Neither had happened so far. Roger always came back to him at the end of every fight and they found each other pressed together whenever opportunity permitted. Roger didn’t seem to mind him despite their uncountable differences, but Brian wasn’t sure what privileges he was allowed, how much Roger allowed him in his space and in his life.
“Sorry. I wasn’t sure you wanted me to. I thought for sure…”
“Brian,” Roger interrupted him not unkindly. “Kiss me.”
Brian’s breath was caught. He studied Roger closely, looking for any sign of jest or doubt, but there was none. Roger looked at him steadily, unwavering in his permission, in his invitation. As always, Roger knew exactly what he wanted, and this time—inexplicably—what he wanted was Brian’s kiss—Brian’s and not any glamorous people he could get if he so desired them. Overwhelmed by the thought that he was somehow wanted by the most incomprehensible, frustrating, yet endlessly enchanting person he had ever known, Brian leaned forward, heart thumping in his chest as loudly as a bass drum. With every scant inch that disappeared between them, he expected Roger to change his mind, but he never did, gaze as warm and welcoming as he had ever shown Brian in the full privacy of the darkest nights, until his eyes fluttered close, eyelashes caressing his cheeks, and Brian was lost.
With a shuddering breath, Brian closed that final inch between them, his lips pressing on Roger’s impossibly soft cheek. There was a quiet gasp whose origin Brian didn’t bother thinking. He skimmed his slightly parted lips over Roger’s cheekbone, following the lovely path up to his ear before tracing the delicate line of Roger’s jaw. His hands clenched on his lap, his fingers aching to be buried in Roger’s soft hair or caress any patch of Roger’s skin that was exposed. Brian breathed tremblingly against the underside of Roger’s jaw. He wished to leave a mark, something to remember, at least for a little while, that he was allowed this precious, daring moment, a reminder that Roger wanted Brian as Brian wanted Roger. But, that was too risky—how would they explain it if any of Roger’s housemates asked about the sudden appearance of a love bite after Brian and Roger spent a few hours alone in the backyard? So, Brian moved away from temptation to nuzzle Roger’s temple, inhaling the fresh scent he would now forever associate with Roger, and sighed in contentment.
The moment only lasted a few seconds, but Brian’s lungs were burning for air when he pulled away and there was a tremor in his fingers when Roger slowly opened his eyes to watch him withdraw. Soon, self-consciousness would start seeping in, making Brian question his actions, wondering if there was anything he should’ve done differently to keep Roger wanting him. But, for now, his overworked mind was silent, fixated on the light flush on Roger’s cheek and the affection softening his eyes.
“I thought you’d give me a proper kiss,” Roger said huskily
“Oh,” Brian breathed dazedly, overwhelmed by the realization that Roger’s permission didn’t just cover a kiss on his cheek. Brian’s gaze slid to the tempting plushness of Roger’s lips, now curved into a mischievous smile that Brian indeed yearned to taste. He began leaning forward again—and noted with awe that Roger did the same—when a burst of laughter came from the house behind them. Brian quickly leaned back and glanced behind him nervously. Roger didn’t move with such urgency, but the light furrow between his brows indicated that he was unhappy with the interruption. “Another time,” Brian promised, though not without a small amount of disappointment.
Roger hummed, still dismayed, but understanding nevertheless. He played random keys on the guitar while Brian looked over his shoulder nervously for any sign of Roger’s jeering or, worse, repulsed housemates. The unusual silence did nothing to comfort Brian, who began to chew on his lips anxiously, replacing the ghost of Roger’s soft skin with the sharpness of his gnawing teeth. “I think we should take a break writing this song,” Roger said a long moment later.
“Hmm?” Brian wondered as he was startled out of his growing conviction that Roger’s housemates were planning to kick them both out of the house.
“Yeah. We’re clearly getting nowhere. A good night’s sleep might help.”
It did, sometimes, although Brian sincerely doubted he would get a wink of sleep tonight, and not because he was filled with ideas for the song. He nodded, however, as Roger was right. He was out of inspiration and full of distraction, the song in his head periodically drowned out by the memory of his daring, foolish kiss and the anxiety of having been seen. There was no way he would be able to make any progress tonight. Brian was a little disappointed about that, although not as disappointed as he felt for no longer having any excuse to stay here with Roger. Although the courage that had driven him to ask for a kiss had mostly deserted him, the desire to be with Roger hadn’t waned. In fact, it had only gotten stronger, amplified by Roger invitation for a proper kiss, stoked by the still-fresh memory of Roger leaning in for it. Brian was all out of courage and so wouldn’t dare to even insinuate wanting another kiss, but he would love to at least be by Roger’s side to watch him, listen to him, and maybe, hopefully, finally get it in his head that somehow Roger wanted him.
“We should continue tomorrow. I’ve got nowhere to be all day and my housemates should all be gone by midday, so we wouldn’t be bothered.”
Brian perked up. “Do you?” he asked. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite conceal his growing interest.
“Yeah,” Roger confirmed all too neutrally. “What do you think?”
Anxiety was still thick in Brian’s blood stream, but he struggled to care about it when he saw the contradictory mischief sparkling in Roger’s eyes, the faint pink dusting Roger’s cheek, and the warmth in Roger’s eyes that mirrored his own. Many things could go wrong, but for once, Brian didn’t let himself be detained by apprehension. “Yes,” he breathlessly agreed. “Yes, I think that’s a great idea.”
Roger grinned, dropping all pretense of nonchalance. “Glad you approved.”
Just as Brian got himself worked up, anticipating what might happen tomorrow (would Roger let him kiss him again? But what if Roger’s housemates came back early? Would Roger allow Brian to touch and hold him? But what if they suspected something more than song writing was happening? Would Roger…) Roger began playing the guitar so dreadfully that Brian’s couldn’t help but correct him. Brian gently moved Roger’s fingers to the appropriate positions, but Roger stubbornly returned them to where they had been. Brian paused, wondering if Roger didn’t want his help, but then caught the look Roger sent him: the slightly raised eyebrow and small curl of a naughty smile, the challenge, the invitation, the flirtation. Joy and affection fought for space in Brian’s chest. He bit his lip bashfully, inexperienced but eager to learn from Roger. He shifted close to Roger until their thighs pressed together. Encouraged by Roger’s pleased smile, Brian kept up the pretense. Dutifully, he moved Roger’s fingers over taut guitar strings, his touches lingered on the calluses, his attention riveted to Roger’s steady breaths, and his heart stuttered when sometimes instead of the strings, it was Brian’s hand that Roger gently ran his fingers over.
The music that filled the backyard this time was far less melodious than before. At an irregular interval, laughter and conversations erupted from the house and drowned it out. The stars blinked impassively above, their faint lights barely touching the unkempt backyard. This stage was far from the blindingly bright and massive one of Brian and Roger’s dreams, although admittedly fitting for the tuneless, arrhythmic sounds they were making. But, when their fingers were flirting on the guitar strings, Brian’s arm slung loosely over Roger’s hips and Roger’s side resting daringly on Brian’s torso, they couldn’t care less. On and on they continued as the moon climbed higher and higher in the sky above, carrying their acoustic offering to urge the sun to come a little faster and bring them the promised music, love, and magic of tomorrow.