30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON TWENTY FIVE-

July 1st, 1979.

"You know, it's not nice to just sit there and pretend like you're not mad."

"I'm not mad." Roger sighs. His eyes try to skim through a news article on his phone, but fails.

Rosie crossed her arms. She was not going to take this for eight millionth time now—she was fucking tired.

It all started with her leaving for another work-related meeting this morning. She left at around eight, and Roger wasn't up yet, so she kissed him goodbye and left him a text explaining her whereabouts. When he woke up, he was initially baffled seeing as her work meeting always tend to be further noon but brushed it off not too long after.

The only thing was, Rosie was gone longer than she promised.

She told him that she should be back by eleven, given that the meeting would take about three hours. It was nearing pre-tour anyways, so it didn't really bother him since he would usually be the one to leave for rehearsals if she didn't have work.

Eleven passed by, and Roger received a text from Rosie saying that she would be home a little later because of "work stuff". That was fine by him, but he really hoped that she'd be home by five because he had a dinner reservation set tonight. It's been an awfully long time since they've actually eaten at a nice place here in London, and he was hoping this would help ease things up between them because he's not ready to lose her.

But it seemed a little odd because Rosie was never one to stay at work longer because she'd usually want to come home as fast as possible. Her heart didn't belong at work, it belonged at home.

And she was nowhere near home when the clock struck three.

By now, Roger has sent her multiple texts, even telling her about the dinner which was supposed to he a surprise, only to end up with no text in return.

He was frustrated. First, he's trying to be a good boyfriend and set up this nice dinner he paid extra for because he called it just last night. And second, he's trying to win her back with the remaining days he has left, but now it's like she doesn't even acknowledge him.

He doesn't hear from her until six, where she comes through the front door and the fancy, nice dinner reservation is over. But the thing that frustrates him the most is how calm she is when returning home. Did she not give a fuck about his efforts to mend their relationship? Or did she not care about him at all?

When he confronts her about it, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows knitted so harshly together, Rosie responds with a simple oh.

Oh? That's it? No I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you, or let's do it tomorrow?

Roger was in so much disbelief, you wouldn't believe how red his face got. Rosie has never seen him this mad before, too. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it hurt, veins popped out from his forehead, and his eyes spelled hate as they laid on hers.

Maybe she didn't have a valid excuse (or at least she thought so), but she wasn't going to let Roger stare her down with the same anger she's dealt with before.

She started it first.

"Rog, you have to understand this was work—"

"Yeah, work. Everything is all about work isn't it?"

"Why are you getting so mad for? This is my job we're talking about."

"Is it really just 'your job' or are you doing something else? Hm? Are you fucking—"