30 reasons why - Roger Taylor

-REASON TWENTY NINE-

July 5th,  1979.

Today is their eight year anniversary.

Eight years of being together, being the biggest dorks in London and the best couple on the planet (because fuck John and Veronica or Brian and Chrissie. It's all about Roger and Rosie).

It's unbelievable. But she's living in it.

She used to always imagine the two of them being together for God knows how long—probably up to fucking eternity.

She loved thinking about the scenario of them getting married, smiling into her pillow like an idiot while he sleeps in front of her eyes. It would be a medium-sized wedding, being wed underneath a chapel (an idea Roger himself proposed), walking in with the perfect wedding dress and flowers in her hair. It doesn't even have to be perfect because in their eyes, it already is.

Ružica Taylor sounded really good in her head, and it sounded even better in Roger's to hear his girl bearing his surname. But there was also a small panic about identity with that name, so she proposed her name to be changed to Ružica Špiljak-Taylor—just to keep in touch with her roots. Roger didn't mind, as long as he was marrying her.

And God, did he ever say how much he wanted to marry Rosie? (Psssst. A bunch of times).

There would be times during training where someone would bring up her name and Roger would talk about her and go on and on about how amazing she is, and how lucky of a guy he is. Maybe he should have married her earlier, but it didn't seem right. Now it does.

He's a fool for her, a real dork. He always makes sure she's right by his side before he goes to have an interview, because who knows him better than her? And when the reporter asks a question about their relationship, he always responds first, proudly talking about it like it was the first time people have ever seen her.

They were meant for each other ever since the first time they laid eyes on each other at Jonas' house party. And you, the reader, know it.

They were meant to fall so deeply in love with each other that the idea of separating was not a possibility. To get married, and have the most perfect and talented children on this universe. You, the reader, know it.

And to see them torn apart by such stupidity and mistakes, it tears your heart. It certainly shatters mine.

It hurts. She's hurting, he's hurting, and everything is a mess right now.

Roger hasn't come home since the incident yesterday and now—at nearly eleven o'clock at night—Rosie is wondering if he'll actually come home.

She's wondering what he's doing right now. Where he is, if he's gone to the bar with the boys and drank a little too much, meaning that she's going to have to care for him when (or if) he comes home. And above all, she wants to know that he's in the hands of safety and isn't in any kind of trouble right now.

It's anniversary night, and usually, they go out to eat on the day of their anniversary. At some fancy restaurant, a food truck Rosie's been eyeing on for the past month, or even at the diner right next to the ice cream parlour. She didn't care if their anniversary night wasn't at some fancy, million dollar place, every day with Roger seemed enough for her.

But this anniversary night, Rosie phoned Roger ten times already. When he didn't come home in the morning, she called him but to no answer. Then she made three more calls at noon, and three more in the afternoon. By the time the clock had struck six, she made two more, and then one last call at eight.

She made dinner tonight—some fettuccini alfredo pasta recipe she found on a cookbook Veronica had given her a few years ago and that sat in front of her untouched. Two hours later, and the melted wax of the candle has hardened into a pool below, and Rosie had done nothing but sit there, alone.