30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON TWENTY-

June 26th, 1979.

It seemed a little awkward to have your friend's girlfriend in your house. Just you two. Alone.

Not to mention that she willingly came here.

Brian didn't know what to do—Rosie showed up at his door with a backpack and just herself. I mean, the man was practically dreaming when he saw her at his door, so he had to let her in.

She spoke nothing of what happened between her and Roger, but the brit already knew once he opened the front door.

It was a lot to handle, well, for Rosie. She had never been spoken to in such a way from Roger, and honestly, she just couldn't handle it in there.

She just had to get out.

Sooner or later, Roger would have come to find her—she was the rock that kept him steady, and he was the angel that kept her alive.

He was the only person in this world that would die for her safety. To protect and love and nourish. He was her saviour, a child a God and all the above.

Roger was everything to her.

But he never did come to find her.

Rosie ended up spending the night at Brian's place—possibly the worst location to flee to at the moment considering the situation, but what was she to do?

Fly back to Dubrovnik? She had no home there anymore. Crash at John and Veronica's? Fuck, Rosie knew they had kids to take care of. It was all guys and the hint of a lady or a few old friends from her childhood years in Croatia.

But Brian didn't mind. He was a good soul whose intentions with Rosie were never bad.

She was his good friend, and he couldn't find the heart to say no when he found her standing in front of her door yesterday with a duffel bag stuffed with bags and a forced smile upon her lips. Just the first looks made his heart drop and go all lovey dovey protective boy who is horribly friend-zoned by her.

Specifically—he took her in for a good hug and invited her in. He cooked her food and everything.

Helped her get settled into the guest room right next to his. Wipe the tears away from her face as she cried out of frustration and exhaustion when she spoke of Roger. Let her make herself at home for the time being, whatever it was.

All the things Roger Taylor had failed to do in the past months.

Now the next morning, Rosie was lying on the couch with her head right next to Brian's thigh as he sat. She was dressed in simple shorts and a sweater, nothing too promiscuous, but the curly-haired brit had wished that this precious little woman right next to him was his.

They were watching Community—a favourite of Rosie's—for the past few hours now. Much to Brian's dismay, there weren't any subtitles to it, but if it was what she wanted to watch at the time—so be it.

"Are you going to go home?" he asked.

She sighed. How could she return home in a state like this? Surely, it would make things more difficult if she chose to go home now. "I don't know. I don't think Roger really wants to see me after everything that happened yesterday."

"Well, he texted me last night asking me where you were, but that was it."

"It's never really been that big of a fight. You know, it was usually him and I exchanging stares and rude sentences, but we were yelling at each other yesterday," she told him. "He came home drunk the other night, and I was annoyed and angry and hurt all at the same time. But he used my mother as a form to attack me and—oh my God, I'm an idiot. Maybe I shouldn't have left in the first place because I really want to see Roger right now and I—"