#indian flat bread | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spreadyovrwings · 2 years ago

Text

64 Oslo Square

‘Companion’. Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon’, literally ‘one who breaks bread with another’.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it’s more than worth it. It’s worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: None! Except like major flirting (gross)

Chapter Five

Two doors down from 64 Oslo Square, there was an Indian takeaway. John had been meaning to pop in a few times, but the emptiness of his pockets had always far outweighed the emptiness of his stomach.

He stopped and gazed at his own reflection in the glass shopfront, coldly cut off from the promise of good, warm food.

John would never admit it to anyone, but he did take quite a bit of pride in his appearance. He wasn’t vain, he hoped, he just liked to look nice. He dressed casually most of the time, but John never left the house without first making sure that he smelt great and his hair was perfectly set.

He frowned as he pulled at his long curls, then brushed his fingertips over his fringe, making sure he looked just right. Roger and Freddie would be dropping round today, the least he could do was look his best while they were antagonising him in front of you.

As John entered the bakery, he took in a deep breath. It had become a habit, filling his lungs with the incredible smells of fresh bread, vanilla speckled custard, and power-soft icing sugar. He’d never get tired of this place.

When he couldn't see you behind the counter, John began to relax. He was always disappointed when your paths failed to cross, but it was a bit of a relief. Perhaps you had taken a rare holiday? Freddie and Roger would, without a doubt, simply reschedule their plans to darken the bakery’s door, but it would buy John some more time, perhaps enough to properly warn you, make up some excuse, or die, whichever was easiest.

Laughter rang out from the kitchen, bright and pretty. John’s stomach flipped, then a moment later, his shoulders lowered. You were here after all.

His disappointment didn’t last very long at all. He saw you move past the kitchen doorway, soft and beautiful and warm, even at a glance. Then, you popped back into sight and waved at him, even though you had to prop the tray of croissants you were carrying up against the doorframe to do so.

Beaming, John waved back until you disappeared from sight again. As he lowered his hand, he realised his heart was pounding.

He wasn’t sure what would be more rude, to slip behind the counter and make himself a cup of tea or wait to be served. John didn’t want to give the impression that he’d made himself at home, but he didn’t want to be waited on by his friends either.

While he was dithering, he caught sight of Alastair, Gladys’ famed boyfriend. The bakery was, as usual, full of customers, but while they were all seated at the tables dotted around the room, sipping teas and coffees and munching happily on sweet treats, Alastair was standing by the kitchen doorway.

It made John frown. You certainly wouldn’t be happy if you knew about that. Alastair had carefully hidden himself away out of sight, tucked behind the corner so that you and Mickey couldn’t see him as you flitted about.

He watched on incredulously as he realised Alastair was using the bakery’s phone. John could just about hear his deep, impassive voice under the low hum of activity. As he spoke, Alastair turned his body away from the kitchen doorway and the other customers, the telephone cord pulled tight against his arm as he tried to move as far out of earshot as possible.

“Just off the high street. Yeah. Yeah, no. No, it’s closer to the park.”

Curious, John moved closer, keeping his gaze down so that anyone would think he was just having trouble deciding what to eat.

“Yeah. Three stories. There’s a flat above and a cellar. She said they had a flood a few years ago but that’s been sorted now. Yeah, no, shouldn’t be any trouble…”

Perhaps sensing he was being watched, Alastair looked round over his shoulder. When he caught John’s gaze, he gave him a quick, polite but cold smile. John did not smile back.

He wondered if he should say something, challenge what he’d overheard, but then you came out of the kitchen at last. You smiled at him so prettily that John completely forgot all about Alastair for now.

“Alright, New Boy?”

“How are you?”

“Good, good. Just trying to sort an order out for this bloke. Called last minute just before closing yesterday, asked if we could add a ‘few’ more things to his delivery. Of course, Gladys said yes. I keep telling her the cut-off is midday but-” You smiled. “Boring, sorry. How are you doing? Isn’t today your day off?”

“S’pose I just can’t get enough of you.”

You blinked.

John gawped. He had intended ‘you’ as a plural: you, Mickey, even Gladys. But that wasn’t what he said and both of you knew it wasn’t what he meant either. He really couldn’t get enough of you. It was as simple as that.

Luckily, a customer required your attention and you were both saved.

You put up one finger, holding him in place.

“Hang on,” you said, then went to serve the customer.

John let go of the breath he’d been holding.

He really was a shambles. He should just ask you to dinner and get it over with; his heart couldn’t take much more of this. It’s just that whenever he spoke to you, all his carefully prepared words went out the window, and even breathing became a struggle, let alone talking.

John watched you interact with the customer, how you smiled and waited patiently for them to choose a cake.

He liked the way you stood, with your weight on one hip, how you rested your hands on your waist, and how you spoke, confident and disarming with an edge that gave away that you were always two steps ahead.

Even if he could work up the courage to ask you out, where could he take you? John barely had enough money to feed and clothe himself, he wasn’t much of a catch. The thought sank like a stone to the pit of his stomach.

John’s gaze slid wearily back over to Alastair, who by now had hung up the phone and was blowing kisses through the kitchen doorway, presumably to Gladys since he didn’t think Mickey would appreciate the gesture.

Alastair dressed well: his shoes gleamed, his shirts were always neatly pressed, and he reeked of expensive cologne. Off-putting as he was to be around, he could afford to treat Gladys to dinners, dates, and opulent gifts, or so John had heard.

What did he have to offer you but an incomplete degree, a second-hand bass guitar, and so much social anxiety that he had to practice saying hello to you in the mirror for twenty minutes before he left his digs?

“Look at that!

John turned to find you lifting the glass dome from a cake stand. It was only after you’d boxed the last remaining slice and handed it over to the customer that he realised why you were smiling at him. John’s lips parted in surprise as he gazed at the now empty cake stand.

“Was that my..? People actually bought it?”

As Gladys bustled past, she reached over the counter and pinched his cheek.

“Of course they did!” She said. “It was lovely, John. You did a great job.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at your boss as she swept past you.

John cupped his now smarting cheek with one hand, his other fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter. He feared if he let go, his weak knees wouldn’t support him for very long.

“Thank you. Is it…? Is it really all sold out?”

He spoke softly, raising his eyes to you. John would never know how his tender gaze made your heart melt, how the slight tilt of his head made you want to just throw away your dignity and kiss him.

For a moment, your gaze softened. He wished he knew what you were thinking, what it was that made you look at him so sweetly before your smile turned pointed again.

“I said it was for charity; it went in seconds,” you said, making Gladys laugh.

John pretended to look wounded, pressing his palm flat against his racing heart.

“Oof, you’re mean.”

Your smile relaxed into something more gentle, and John couldn’t help thinking how pretty you looked when you were pleased to see him.

“Just kidding, Johnny. People really liked it.”

John’s hand was still resting over his heart. The nickname made it thump against his palm. He had to look away, if he didn’t, he knew a bashful grin would spread across his face, and he would have a hard time explaining away his bright red cheeks.

“Well, you baked it. I just made it look nice.”

“You’re good at that. Why do you think we hired you?”

Gladys reached over and flapped her hand at you without taking her eyes off the tea she was steeping.

“Stop flirting in front of the customers.”

To John’s amusement, you rolled your eyes at her, but then you smiled, tired and pretty, and winked at him.

“Wait till I get you alone in that kitchen.”

You were only kidding. At least he thought so. Still, John couldn't help his mind wandering to what that might entail. Your gorgeous round hips under his hands. The soft gasps he might inspire as he parted your thighs. Your fingers wrapped around his jaw as you kissed him, deep and slow, in a dark, quiet corner of the kitchen where no one would see you.

While John all but melted, Gladys huffed and shook her head.

“You are shameless.” She gave John an apologetic look. “Cuppa?”

“Please.”

He got himself seated, then a few moments later, you came over with a steaming cup of tea and a couple of biscuits.

John hoped you would sit with him but the shop was full today and you just didn’t have the time. He watched your fingers wrap around the seat opposite his and knew you ached to stay. It must have been a busy morning, your eyes were clouded and soft, but even though you must be exhausted, you still made time for him. The thought warmed his chest.

“I’ve got some friends coming round.”

“To your digs?”

Your hair was down today. He thought he could smell your shampoo, something citrusy, sharp but sweet just like you.

“Here,” John suddenly panicked. “If that’s alright?”

You smiled, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Are these your mates from your band?”

“Yes, um…”

There was a streak of flour on your cheek. His fingers ached to brush it away for you, to cup your face and feel you sink into him as he kissed you.

“They’re, er…”

John could never hold your gaze for very long. He meekly glanced away, then back again, but there was something about you looking down at him from this angle that made his cheeks burn. His eyes felt heavy as they drifted down to your cheek again, then the safe, soft curve of your shoulder.

“I wanted to apologise in advance.”

If he’d been brave enough to meet your eyes, he would've seen understanding, then amusement flash across your face.

“Are they coming to embarrass you?”

“Yes,” John sighed, forcing himself to make eye contact again. “And I’ve talked about you a lot so they know your name and- Basically, they’re gonna drive you mad and I’m really sorry. You don’t have to talk to them.”

To his surprise and no small amount of relief, you reached over and rested your hand on his bare forearm. Warmth spread through his veins immediately, all the way up to his now burning cheeks.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” you said gently.

You are so beautiful.

The words almost slipped from his mouth but John clamped his lips together just in time.

You gave his arm a squeeze, then went back into the kitchen where Mickey was waiting to tease you about getting distracted.

John watched you walk away. He hoped you might turn back at the last moment and ask if he wanted another baking lesson, or simply catch his eye and wink at him again. But you didn’t.

Instead, he let his gaze drift down so that he might memorise the shape of your arse, your hips, and your thighs in those tight, dark blue flares. John turned his attention to his cup of tea, his face hot, feeling guilty and exhilarated all at once.

Roger and Freddie had warned John that they’d be dropping by about lunch time, so, of course, they rocked up just as the clock was ticking towards three.

Tucked away in a quiet corner of the bakery with his back to the door, John felt safe. No one looked his way, no one bothered him, and he had a perfect view through the kitchen doorway, where you were dusting cinnamon rolls with clouds of bright white icing sugar.

He heard them before he saw them. 64 Oslo Square’s peace was broken by the door being pushed open with gusto, then the clomp clomp clomp of chunky heels on the wooden floor.

“Sorry we’re late!”

A hand came down on John’s left shoulder. Freddie’s neatly manicured black fingernails shone, his bangles rattling in John’s ear as he shook him gently.

“Bloody hectic morning. You’d think the whole of London was in that market.”

“I am starving!”

Roger dropped into the seat across from John like a sack of potatoes. He immediately flopped over the table, resting his head on his forearms with a long groan.

“Deaky,” he complained. “I’m so cold. Can I hold your tea?”

Huffing softly, John pushed his mug across the table.

Roger unfolded his arms and wrapped his fingers around it, his forehead now pressed against the table. He yawned loudly, his back arching under his big coat.

“What a day, Deaks. It’s bloody freezing out there. I was wearing three furs by the end.”

“Oh, this place is lovely though,” said Freddie, scanning the room with a glint in his dark eyes. “Nice and cosy. Oh, for God’s sake, Roger. Move over!”

Roger had taken the outside seat, so Freddie had to squeeze behind him to reach the empty chair by the window. Muttering and swearing, he lifted one leg high and hopped the rest of the way. Roger didn’t raise his head from the table once but a few customers did look over in interest.

John shrank back into himself, hunching his shoulders with embarrassment. Freddie wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of figures at the best of times, let alone when he was cursing Roger and making a big fuss.

He looked fearfully towards the kitchen doorway but thankfully, you didn't seem to notice the commotion over the rumble of the ovens and the notoriously ancient and unreliable whisk.

Freddie must have followed his gaze because he suddenly gasped.

“Is that her!”

John shot him a pained look. If he shrank back in his seat anymore, he would be in serious danger of slipping right under the table.

“Please, please don’t say anything.”

“What! When we came all the way here to meet her!”

“It’s a five minute walk from the market.”

“Yes,” Roger lifted his head. “But it’s raining.”

Freddie gestured emphatically, as if he’d made a salient point.

“Pouring. And I turned down lunch with Zandra for this.”

“She is pretty.”

Roger was gazing at you too now. He craned his neck, trying to get a better view, and nodded his head approvingly when he did. Something about the way he looked at you made John frown.

“Is she going with anyone?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” John sighed. “Mickey says she isn’t.”

Freddie frowned.

“Mickey?”

“The big lad in the kitchen,” Roger reminded him.

Freddie perked up.

“Oo?”

“He’s married.”

Disappointed, Freddie flopped dramatically back in his chair.

“Typical,” he muttered while Roger pulled a sympathetic face.

John couldn’t resist smiling. As embarrassing as they were, it was good to see his friends.

They were always teasing him, poking fun at each other and generally being a nuisance, but just because they could be silly didn’t mean they were unreliable. Roger, for example, might not care too much for his degree, but drumming was his life.

Passion, they had it by the bucketload, but they also had a wonderful habit of reminding John that he was still young, that he should be having fun, and that sometimes, it was alright to not take things too seriously.

Roger was already practically falling out of his seat with excitement, but when you left the kitchen to talk to Gladys, he slapped Freddie’s arm frantically.

“So how does it work?” he asked. “Do we go order at the counter or does she…?”

Freddie flung up his hand and waved it airily in your direction, his chin raised to the ceiling, reminiscent of a duke or a prince.

“Hello!” He called across the room and beamed when you looked over. “Hello, love!”

John saw the bewildered expression on your face and wanted to melt right into his shoes. The bakery didn’t do table service; hopefully you wouldn’t think they were being purposefully rude.

“Freddie, please,” he hissed.

“I’m just saying hello!”

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see you starting to make your way over.

“Oh, God.” He sat up straight. “Please be normal.”

Freddie just scoffed and waved him off.

Roger began to form what would probably have been a painfully acerbic response, but both he and Freddie looked up when you finally appeared by the table.

“You hollered?”

You sighed the words, resting your weight on one hip in a way John found frankly exhilarating.

You looked down at them, taking them all in, one by one. Your expression was flat, though thankfully, you didn’t seem to be genuinely irritated.

When your gaze finally landed on John, the corner of your mouth flickered, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

Freddie leaned right over the table, stretching out his hand towards you.

“Freddie Mercury, pleasure to meet you.”

As he reached over, he accidentally shoved his shoulder into Roger’s face, who complained and huffed and tried to push him away.

Amused, you shook Freddie’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You know, John hasn’t stopped talking about this place since he was hired,” Roger beamed up at you. “And now I see why.”

You shook his hand too, your eyes flicking towards John, perhaps to see how he felt about that last comment.

“He talks a lot about you too.” You smiled. “You must be Roger.”

“It’s great to meet you. You know, I’ve been past this place a hundred times and I keep meaning to come in.”

“Well, now you have, what can I get you?”

They ordered two cups of tea and two slices of cake, chocolate for Roger and coffee and walnut for Freddie.

You returned with their food quickly. If John didn’t know any better, he’d think you actually were excited to meet his friends.

When you’d expressed interest in them before, he thought you were only being polite. But no, he could see it in your face, you were practically fizzing. The others wouldn’t be able to tell but they didn’t know you like he did.

But why? Why were you so eager? To tease him? To eek more information about him out of his friends? Perhaps. There was a far more likely explanation, one that warmed his chest to even consider. You liked him, you wanted to meet his friends, you wanted to be a part of his life, as he’d become a part of yours.

You set two cups of tea down on the table in front of Roger and Freddie, as well as their slices of cake. To John’s amusement, you set another slice of chocolate cake down in front of him.

He opened his mouth to say something but to John’s surprise, you chucked him under the chin before he could protest.

“So, what’s the verdict?” You smiled down at them. “Are we good enough for John?”

“I think this place has done him the world of good,” said Freddie.

When you glanced at him, John offered you a brave little smile.

He thought it was rather obvious that this place, that you, had had a profound effect on his confidence. John wouldn’t be shouting the others down in an argument anytime soon, but he carried himself in a different way. Yes, you’d done him a lot of good.

“Is he as chatty with you lot as he is here?”

“Oh, Deaks? Can’t shut him up, can we Deaky?”

Roger stuck out his foot and nudged John’s under the table.

You turned your gaze to him. There was a small smile on your lips, soft and gentle. It lacked your usual snark. In fact, John thought it was the warmest look you’d ever sent his way.

“Deaky…”

You repeated the nickname, trying it out for the first time.

John would be the first to admit that he didn’t have the most exciting name. First, middle, and last, it was a title that did the job, a sensible, straightforward, boring old name that he sometimes wished his parents had put just a little more thought into.

He didn’t think his nickname was particularly exciting either, but neither his real name nor the one his friends had given him had ever sounded better than from your lovely, smiling mouth.

“A fantastic bassist,” Freddie was saying, while you and John gazed at each other. “Great head for business-”

“Great head. Ow!”

Roger yelped as Deaky’s boot connected with his shin.

“He’s brilliant,” Freddie went on. “You could hang your hat on him.”

“Especially when he’s talking about you.” Roger was faster this time and moved his leg away from John’s swinging platform. “Though, you’ve gotta watch the bruises on him, love.”

“Bruises?”

“Yeah, from all the girls pushing him away with barge poles.”

John looked up at you, hoping his exasperated expression would go some way to apologise for his friends. But you weren’t looking at him, you were watching Roger almost reproachfully. And there was that taut bowstring smile.

“And what do you do, Roger?”

The way you said his name, John had to hide his smile behind his mug. It was very different to the way you said his, always so warm and soft when you were pleased to see him, or staccato and electric when you were teasing him.

Roger didn’t seem to notice the acidity of your tone. He puffed out his chest.

“Oh, you know, I’m in the import/export business. Real premium merchandise.”

John rolled his eyes.

“They have a stall in Kensington Market.”

Your smile cut through Roger’s affronted response.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You waved airily at his friends. “Nice to meet you both.”

They tried to convince you to sit with them, but you politely declined. You were still on shift, you said, you had work to do, but John caught the glance you threw his way before you left. You were lying.

Concerned, he hoped they hadn’t bothered you too much. But that particular worry settled again almost as soon as it shook off its wings. His friends appeared to amuse you, the roll of your eyes told him that, and the little smile that was just for him.

Roger and Freddie watched you leave, grinning.

John hadn’t known him all that long really, but a stranger on the street could tell that Roger loved women, all women. And loved them genuinely too, not for sport but for the way they spoke, the way they walked and held themselves, he loved their nuances and their laughter, and he already seemed to adore you.

It should have made John nervous. It should have made him bristle with envy. Roger was clever and kind, handsome and beautiful all at once, easy to talk to and to get to know, something John just couldn’t seem to get the hang of. But it was him you kept smiling at, his mouth you were always watching, his shoulder you squeezed when you said goodbye.

“Oh, she is lovely,” Freddie watched you walk away with an almost fond smile. “Absolutely wonderful.”

“She is, isn’t she? She’s so…”

Roger grinned.

“Smart and funny and pretty, and bossy in a way that makes your knees weak…”

“All warm and delicious and soft, and you’d frankly let her do anything she wanted to you?” Freddie finished, raising a delicate eyebrow.

John nodded.

“That pretty much sums it up, yes. She’s just… Wow, you know? And I think she really likes me.”

“Ask her out then!”

John snorted.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I’ll die.”

“Oh,” Roger scoffed and rolled his eyes in an almost motherly way. “Don’t be a twat. You like her. She likes you. What are you waiting for? I’ll die of old age at this rate.”

“I’m not- I’m not being a- It’s hard!”

“To ask out someone you like?”

“For me, yes!”

Freddie put a hand on Roger’s arm.

“John probably just wants to do it right. Is that it, Deaky?”

“Yes! Well, it- Yes, I want to make sure she actually likes me.”

“She looks at you like she wouldn’t mind bending you over one of these tables.”

“Roger!”

“Hey, I wouldn’t mind that myself. She’s gorgeous.”

“Please,” John pressed his fingertips against his closed eyelids. “Please shut up.”

“I hope those kitchen walls aren’t too thin,” Freddie smiled, sipping his tea regally. “You’ll give her ideas.”

“Like she hasn’t had them already. She’d definitely have you pinned up against the bread slicer if you gave her half a chance.”

“I want to do this right,” John pressed on gallantly, his voice a note or two higher than usual. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable and lose this job and my friends… I want to… I want to see her outside of work but I just can’t figure out how to… Nothing seems right. Everything I think of either seems boring or too much or… Oh, God, I don’t know.”

John took a bite of his chocolate cake, miserable.

While his mind raced, turning over and over like a sputtering engine as he tried to decide what to do, his friends exchanged a glance that said many things all at once.

Freddie’s twisted mouth suggested they should help John take the next step, while Roger’s raised eyebrows emphasised that they ought to act soon, as John looked like he was about to keel over.

They changed the subject, aiming to reel John back in with talks of their next gig, of a new song idea that Roger wanted to try, and some gossip about the girl Brian was seeing. They ate their cake and drained their tea, warmed by the bakery and its gifts.

At last, the rain began to ease and the staggered buildings that bracketed the street were backed by a rosy sky. The city was slowly turning its face towards the evening, soon the lamps that lined the roads would beckon them out into the dark.

A serious lack of funds and four conflicting schedules meant that the only time Queen managed to book a slot in any recording studio was around midnight, when every musician in their right mind was off having fun. Tonight, the boys were meeting across town, hoping inspiration might find them and bless them with a track or two.

John didn’t want to leave. The rain had almost stopped now but he knew the harsh wind would slip under his clothes until his muscles ached from trying to shake some life back into him. It was a long trudge to the studios in the north of the city, especially in the platforms he’d worn just in case you saw him and his friends standing together and it wasn’t obvious that he was tallest.

Distracted by thoughts of homework, a feeble dinner, and leaving the delicious warmth of the bakery, John didn’t notice Roger slip over to the counter to talk to you until it was too late.

You were chatting with Gladys, haggling over wages again, but stopped when Roger leaned right over the counter and waved at you.

“Here, love, what time do you finish?”

“We close at six?”

Too late, John realised his friend had gotten away from him and marched over to rescue you. He got there just in time to hear Roger ask,

“Perfect, are you free tomorrow night?”

John wrapped his fingers around the scruff of Roger’s shirt and pulled him away from the counter, shooting you an apologetic look at the same time.

While Freddie went up to pay for their drinks, John cornered Roger.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

“You’re meddling.”

Roger smiled, wide and unapologetic.

“No...”

“Roger Meddling Taylor.”

“I just thought I’d see if your gorgeous boss has plans this week!”

“Why would you..?”

“You know how I’m your favourite person in the whole wide world?” Roger grinned. “Well, after your lovely new friend.”

“Roger…”

“And how I would never steer you wrong?”

John only grimaced.

When he went up to say goodbye, you were there waiting for him with a soft smile.

“They seem nice.”

“They’re…” John huffed. “They’re a lot. They’re nice but they’re idiots.”

“They love you to bits.”

“You think?”

You just smiled again, then asked,

“You off, then?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah. I was um…” John glanced back over his shoulder to find his friends watching him with eager expressions. “We’ve got a gig. Tomorrow night. It’s not far from here, actually.”

“That’s ni-”

“Do you want to come?” It came out too quickly, too nervous. John winced. “Sorry, I- Sorry. It’s, uh, it’s the first one I’ve organised myself and I’m terrified no one’s going to show up. Or worse, only a couple do and- Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, I’d really love for you to come.”

He watched your smile grow, but before it could meet your eyes, it changed shape, hollowed out, and turned downwards.

“Tomorrow night? I’ll be-”

“Working, I know.”

You were always working. In all the time that you’d known each other, John couldn’t recall you mentioning any friends, any hobbies, or any life outside of this bakery.

He knew all about loneliness, how you could sink so deep before you even noticed, and trying to break through the surface to catch your breath felt impossible. He thought you might be able to help each other.

Still, he didn’t mean that to come out quite so sharply. He saw something flicker across your face. John tried to soften his expression, hoping you’d see that he was trying, at last, to reach out, to make a connection.

“It’s at eight.” He placed his hand flat against the counter but was too cowardly to brush his fingertips against yours. “One night, that’s all I’m asking. My way of thanking you for helping me settle in. And, hey, there’ll be popcorn. Maybe even a beer if you’re lucky.”

For a moment, he thought you might decline. Between your uncertain gaze and the unmistakable sound of Freddie and Roger practically vibrating with anticipation behind him, John almost caved and told you not to worry. He was glad he waited. That one second meant all the difference, just one moment of bravery.

You moved your hand forward, so now the very tip of your middle finger was pressed against his.

“Okay, yeah. Alright, New Boy, you’re on. I’ll see you then.”

As you spoke, you slipped your hand over his, your index, middle and ring fingers now resting over his.

“Really?”

“Yeah! Yeah, no, that sounds like fun. I’ll be there.” You laughed. “I’ll even make a sign with your name on it, make sure everyone knows who I’m there to see. I’ll shout ‘that’s my delivery boy!’”

John smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache.

You glanced over his shoulder at Roger and Freddie, beaming away, and pulled your hand back.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” John gave a little wiggle he’d want to punch himself for later. “And your dancing shoes.”

As he turned to go, Roger cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke loud enough for the whole bakery to hear.

“And preferably something revealing so Deaky has something to look at while he’s-”

John grabbed him by the shoulders, span Roger around, and pushed him out the door.

“See you later!”

Bedford College was a tall, imposing building, red-bricked and impressive, even in the half light of a blustery spring evening. You felt the eye of the clock tower follow you as you crossed the campus, following the signs sporting Queen’s scrawled logo.

You tugged at your velvet flares, then the front of your top. You looked good, hopefully, but not too good, like you’d made an effort but effortlessly. You didn’t want John to know how eager you were to see him outside of work, but you didn’t want him to think that you didn’t care about the gig, about him.

You found the sports hall with little trouble. Concerned, you realised you couldn’t hear any music. Perhaps you’d got the time wrong? You checked your watch. No, a few minutes before eight, you were right on time.

The sports hall doors were heavy, you had to lean your whole body against one to push it all the way open. When you stepped inside, the air was warm and close, the unmistakable odour of a school gymnasium.

For a moment, you thought you must have come to the wrong place. The room was practically empty. Through the low light, you could see six or so teenagers floating around near a makeshift stage, and a low drinks table dotted with paper cups and homemade bags of popcorn.

Finally, you saw John. He and his band mates were standing beside the stage. He looked decidedly nervous. Next to him, Roger and a tall man, who you knew must be Brian, seemed to be spatting at each other like alley cats. Even unshakeable Freddie was tugging at his silver bangles, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You moved slowly towards the stage, keeping an eye on the other attendees. Perhaps something had happened? Maybe rather than being late, you were actually too early?

The band moved onto the stage. They got into position with practice ease, though you were sure John’s restless fingers, Roger’s scowl, and the half-interest of the meagre crowd were not part of the act.

You watched John with such obvious interest, you couldn’t believe it took him several moments to notice your eyes on him. He seemed relieved to see you.

While Freddie introduced the band, John lifted his fingers from the sleek black body of his bass guitar and waved them at you. You smiled back in what you hoped was an encouraging way, but the four lads and two girls that made up the rest of the audience were beginning to grow restless.

John was just starting to mouth something to you, something you couldn’t make out in the low light of the sports hall, when suddenly, Brian swung his arm and a shriek shot across the room and hit the back wall.

The sound reverberated through you, then Roger threw up his arms and brought them down again hard, the sound of the toms smacking the crowd with such force it took your breath away.

Freddie ricocheted across the stage, a tightly coiled spring finally set free. He thumped his foot in time with Roger, his microphone angled downwards as he held the gaze of everyone in the audience, almost like he was daring you all to try and stop him.

And beneath it all, beneath Brian’s soulful guitar, beneath Roger’s pounding beat and Freddie’s glorious voice, was the steady, faithful, perfect thrum of John’s bass guitar, keeping everything tied together.

You watched him with tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You weren’t even sure why. The sound was just so warm, so safe. The others were unpredictable and fantastic, but John, standing there with his eyes almost closed, his head tipped down towards the neck of his guitar, his legs parted in a wide stance, he was the heart and soul of it all.

“You were right. They are good.”

You turned your head and saw two boys whispering to each other, smiling at the music washed over them. Their enjoyment made you smile. You couldn’t be more proud of your delivery boy.

You didn’t take your eyes off John for the whole performance, which, with its limited audience, the band seemed to be treating as more of a rehearsal. They chatted between songs, swapping notes and fiddling with their equipment. That didn’t mean they didn’t give it their all though.

You kept waiting for John to turn and chat to you, but he kept his voice low, only speaking to his bandmates when they spoke to him first. Whether it was the nerves of the low turnout or not wanting to break the barrier between audience and performance, you weren’t sure.

It wasn’t until the last song that you remembered what John had said. Bedford College had been booked under his recommendation, he’d organised the whole thing and only six paying punters had turned up.

“Oh, New Boy,” You murmured, as the last notes of this shambles of a gig circled your head. “This is gonna set you back.”

The boys took their bows, nodding gratefully when you all applauded, then gathered at the back of the stage to talk.

Unsure of what to do, you hovered vaguely in the direction of the drinks table. The rest of the audience were either chatting, glancing hopefully towards the band or stuffing bags of popcorn into their pockets, while you stood alone, off to the side, feeling so awkward it was almost painful.

You wished John would just come over and say hi. You were a couple of years older than everyone else here and the only one who’d come alone.

A small voice in your head wondered if it would be better to wait outside, away from their watchful eyes. Would it be cooler to catch John on his way out? Or would he think you didn’t care? You worried your bottom lip, torn and uncertain of yourself, a feeling you hated above all else.

As you poured yourself a cup of water, you watched the band out of the corner of your eye. The boys were discussing something important in hushed voices. You wouldn’t be surprised if John had completely forgotten you were there, seeing as the snatches of conversation you could hear seemed to be about the low turnout.

You saw John roll his eyes, his lips pressed together with thinly-veiled irritation. But then he caught your gaze and his expression brightened, as if with relief.

To your surprise and no small amount of delight, John jumped down from the stage, his heels clacking against the worn wooden floor as he hurried over.

“Hey! Hey, Skip!”

You smiled awkwardly at a gaggle of teenagers with clothes much cooler than yours as John clomped over to you. Thankfully, Roger and the others had hopped down from the stage too now, capturing the kids’ attention, so you and John were left alone.

“Hey, rockstar! You-”

He’d jumped down from the stage so quickly that he still had his bass slung around his neck. With a move that would have your heart racing whenever you thought about it in future, John swept the heavy guitar behind him so that he could wrap his arms around you.

“You came!”

He held you tight against his chest as he laughed, so soft and sweet that only you could hear it.

“It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

John’s narrow frame felt so small against your own, yet you seemed to fit together perfectly. His long hair tickled your nose as he bent his head and rested his chin on your shoulder, his heart hammering in time with your own.

He smelt like sweat and cheap aftershave, and to your delight, a little bit like the bakery. 64 Oslo Square had a way of embedding itself in all your clothes, your hair, even, it sometimes seemed, under your skin. It didn’t occur to you until then just how much John had come to feel like home to you.

The thunk in your chest when he moved away jarred you for a moment. You’d been toying with his bass behind his back, tugging at the thickest string to feel the reverberations. You wondered if he could feel them echo from the guitar through his spine.

“Wow, you look...” John shook his head, looking you up and down so unabashedly that it made your face heat up. “I mean, you’re… Do you always..? You look… I’m-”

You smiled.

“Hi, John.”

“Hi.” He shook his head again. “Wow.”

Blushing and lost for words, you shook your cup of water at him.

“I was promised a beer!”

He laughed.

“Well, I did say ‘if you’re lucky’.”

“I should’ve known you’d cheap out on me. You could always buy me a drink to make up for it?”

“Then I’d be the lucky one.” John’s smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry about tonight. I promise, next time there’s a gig it won’t be organised by me and the room will be… Well, it’ll be better.”

“I thought you were amazing.”

It was John’s turn to blush. His gaze dropped to the floor as if it suddenly weighed a ton, his forehead all scrunched up and serious.

“Well, we’ve been working really hard. We rehearse almost every day.”

“It shows. But I meant… John?” You slipped your fingers under his jaw and gently lifted his head. “I meant you were amazing.”

Slowly, he began to smile again.

“Yeah?”

You laughed and squeezed his hand, hoping he’d be able to feel just how proud you were of him, as if the words were written on your palm, now pressed against his, a secret message just for him.

It must have brought back some of John’s courage because suddenly he said,

“You look beautiful.”

Taken-aback, all you could do was smile, bemused.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not just tonight. Always. You’re beautiful.”

He pressed his lips together, almost like he wasn’t sure whether to say what he wanted, but then John huffed a tiny laugh, the battle in him an apparent surrender.

“I fancy you like mad.”

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No! No, I’m just really, really nervous.” John pulled a face. “Actually, okay, yes, I might have had one little drink. Freddie says it’s good luck before a show.”

“Mm, Dutch courage.”

“I think his family’s from Zanzibar, actually.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Muppet.”

John grinned.

“Anyway, I- It’s mostly just- This’ll sound daft but I’m just really pleased to see you.”

You’d never seen a man so nervous. John could hardly hold your gaze. His skin, scattered with tiny beads of sweat, shone pale under the low lights, his fringe now plastered to his forehead from the exertion of the show. When he nervously swept at his hair, you could see that his hand was shaking. He looked like a dream.

“Not that daft,” you said, hoping he’d catch your meaning.

John’s usually impassive eyes softened just a little.

“No?”

Before you could respond, Roger appeared from nowhere and jumped on John’s back, clinging to him like a monkey as he laughed. When he saw you, Roger practically fell into you, his bandaged hands gripping the tops of your arms.

“You came!” Roger kissed both your cheeks with gusto, grinning from ear to ear. “I knew you would. Didn’t I say Johnny Boy? He was worried you weren’t going to show but I told him, I said to him, ‘Deaky,’ I said ‘That girl will be here front and centre and you won’t be able to string two notes together’. But didn’t he do well!”

Over Roger’s shoulder, John looked like he wanted to sink right into the floor.

You just laughed and gently peeled Roger off you. Lovely as he was, he was all sweaty too.

It was a nice glimpse into his character though, the others too, that even for a crowd you could count on two hands, they’d put everything they had into the show. You couldn’t imagine how John would look performing in front of hundreds, maybe even thousands one day.

“You all did brilliantly.”

As if he’d heard you thinking about him, John slipped his arm past Roger and hooked his fingers through yours. He dipped his head down so that he could speak by your ear, and though you were distracted by his warm breath on your skin and the knowledge that John’s fingers were so long, his fingertips brushed your wrist, you just about managed to catch him ask,

“Don’t suppose you wanna go for a walk?”

You ended up walking to the nearest tube station together. John simply slung his guitar case over his shoulder, waved goodbye to his friends, then led you from the sports hall with a hand pressed to your lower back.

You could still feel it now, even though he’d long since stopped touching you. It was like his handprint was seared onto your skin, warm and steady and surprisingly possessive in a way that made your heart pound. John was often so quiet and unsure of himself, the sudden surge of confidence was enough to make you dizzy as he guided you out into the night.

You wanted to ask why he didn’t say goodbye to his friends properly. You wanted to tell him again how wonderfully he played tonight. You wanted to tease him about the low turnout. But the hand that had felt so big and confident against your back kept brushing your own as you walked, and it was enough to stun you into reticence.

He surprised you again by breaking the comfortable silence first.

“No stars.”

John’s gaze was fixed on the dark sky. There were no clouds tonight for the first time in weeks, but still, the night was empty and lonely.

“No, it’s funny, innit. Completely black.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“C’mon, you’re hardly a country boy.”

“There are more stars in Oadby than in London.”

John pulled at his thin red jumper, squaring his shoulders against the cold night air.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked.

“Are you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You laughed and tugged at your scarf.

“C’mere.”

As always, John did as he was told. He stopped and bent his head so that you could reach up and wrap your scarf around his neck.

John mumbled a thank you as he buried his nose in the soft material. It smelt like you, of sweet things and good dreams. He rearranged the scarf around his neck so the cold air wouldn’t sneak inside the collar of his jumper.

“Is it my colour?”

Beaming, you flipped one of the ends over his shoulder, unable to ignore how good it felt to see him wearing something of yours.

“You know, I think it might be.”

John’s gaze fell to the pavement as he smiled. You could practically see the gears turning in his head and knew he wanted to say something. Your heart hammered at the endless possibilities of such a bashful expression. Before you could prompt him to talk, he raised his head and surprised you yet again.

“I’m so glad you came tonight. I know it was rubbish. I promise it’s not usually that depressing. We usually pull a pretty good crowd, actually. I was hoping you’d see that side of the band.” John’s gaze slid away out of habit, just for a second, then he was back. “Of me.”

“I’m glad I came too, you really were brilliant, John... To be honest, I was a bit nervous. I almost called to say I couldn’t make it.”

“Why?”

The bluntness of his question caught you off guard. You didn’t mean to admit that, but something about John and his clever grey eyes made you want to say things aloud about yourself that you couldn’t imagine telling anyone else.

When you didn’t say anything, John tilted his head to the side.

“When was the last time you went out?”

You opened your mouth but no sound came out. You realised you had no answer.

“Gigs aren’t really my thing, usually,” you said instead.

The station was just a few steps away but there was no one around, and the little shops that lined the street were empty and dark. Every house had its curtains closed. Even the Thames seemed to be whispering as it slinked past behind you, it’s waters endless and ancient.

You stepped back and leaned against the brick wall behind you, subconsciously putting some space between you and John. You pulled your coat around you, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and hoped he would think it was just from the cold.

The tables had turned and now the spotlight was on you. It was fun teasing John, peeling back his layers and getting to know the parts of him he didn’t often show, but you hadn’t expected him to turn it back on you.

John followed you, keeping close, and as much as you hated yourself for it, the proximity made your chest flutter.

“Not just to a gig. To a club or out for dinner, or something?”

Again, you said nothing. You didn’t exactly feel interrogated but John’s sudden interest was surprising. If it had been anyone else, you would have fought back, but his expression was so earnest, his voice low and gentle. He was asking because he cared.

John sighed, and for a moment he looked conflicted. You wondered if he was alarmed by his own actions, if he too was surprised by how much he cared. Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe John just wasn’t used to expressing how he really felt. It was certainly interesting to watch.

“You work so hard. That bakery is going to be yours someday but it’s not right now.” John squeezed his eyes shut, like he always did when he was trying to think of the right words. “What I mean is, you’re young, you deserve time off, you deserve the chance to see your friends.”

“I don’t really have many friends.” Embarrassed, you quickly added, “Why do you care anyway?”

John took the tiniest step closer. He wasn’t quite invading your space yet but he was within arm’s reach. You had to raise your chin to meet his gaze now. It made you feel small, a feeling every instinct told you to challenge, but you held on, trusting John to know you and to understand your limits.

“Because I like you. I wanted to make you smile.”

John spoke matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious. Did he know what he was doing? Did he know that he was making your heart pound? Or was he just as uncertain as you, just as slow to fall and as quick to worry.

He sighed then, slipping his hands into his pockets. You thought you saw a little of his nerves slip away, as if he’d realised that he was asking for a lot of honesty from you without giving anything back.

“I know what it’s like to feel… Stuck,” he said.

“I’m not-”

“I know. I know. But you can miss a lot of living while you’re waiting for your life to start, you know? You’re… You’re kind, and beautiful, and you deserve to have some fun.”

He was right. You had been feeling lonely. The bakery was your whole life, you worked every day, you lived above it, socialised there… Now that he’d asked, you really couldn’t recall the last time you saw friends or went out and enjoyed yourself.

You let his words wash over you like warm water over golden sand. John cared. John saw you. John wanted to know you and help you and make everything better.

“That’s twice you’ve called me beautiful tonight,” you said.

For once, your forwardness didn’t make him retreat. John simply smiled.

“My turn.”

“Hm?”

“To flirt with you outrageously.”

“I don’t flirt with you!”

“Yes, you do! Outrageously! You’re a menace!”

“Is it working?”

John raised his eyebrows.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Pleased and blushing, you could only smile as you struggled to keep your eyes from drifting down to that intriguing mouth of his.

“You’re here because you just played an incredible gig to a heaving crowd.”

Even though it made John laugh, you couldn’t help feeling bad. You’d accidentally burst the bubble of tension building between you. Strangely, you missed it. You couldn’t help wondering what might have been, how much closer John might have stepped, how bravely you might have spoken if you’d let the moment go on just that little bit longer.

“Sorry about tonight.”

John shrugged.

“Something to learn from.”

“Are you always so..?”

“What?“

“I don’t know. ‘Easygoing’ doesn’t seem like the right word, but…”

“No point worrying about what you can’t change.”

“The others agree?”

“Rarely. On anything.” John looked down at the pavement again. “I think I’m different. From them, I mean. They all seem to slot together pretty well and I’m… I don’t know. The odd one out. I don’t really know who I am in the group.”

“Aren’t you the cute one?”

John huffed through his nose, shaking his head. You’d flustered him. With a smile, you realised you had the upper hand again.

“Have you seen Roger? He could charm a tortoise out of its shell.”

“Oh, he’s got nothing on you, New Boy.”

You pushed off the wall and stepped closer, and now you were invading his space. John didn’t move back though. He held his ground, his peculiar eyes fixed on yours.

“Mickey told me you said I was pretty,” he said eventually.

That stunned you for a second but you quickly recovered.

“Mickey’s an idiot.”

“So you don’t think I’m pretty?”

The street was completely empty, no cars, no people. There was only you and John, the only two people in the whole wide world. Under the amber light of a towering lamppost, you watched each other, waiting, daring, hoping.

At last, you said,

“I think you’re beautiful.”

John smiled, and you finally had an answer for him about where all those missing stars had disappeared to.

Feeling bold and drunk on the surreality of the evening, you asked,

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Mickey said you weren’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Gladys thought you might be.”

“I’m not, Skip.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You had to laugh. “No, no, I’m not. Not for ages. I mean, not ages. I have dated. But there’s not been anyone since- Not for ages.”

“Right.”

You watched each other again, just for a moment. John’s gaze dropped first. You knew to him it would feel like mere moments, but to you, the difference between his eyes on yours and his eyes on your mouth was staggering. It left you breathless.

When you stepped forward again, testing the waters, you were sure you saw John’s hand jump inside his pocket. What had its intended target been before he stopped himself? Had he felt cornered? Was it to press against his own racing heart? Did he itch to pull you in closer? You weren’t sure which option made you the most nervous.

His eyes were still fixed on yours though. John was a bundle of nerves but he was still here, he was still holding your gaze. What would happen if you took that final step closer?

It felt like an age before either of your moved again. It was John who finally surrendered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Breathless and brimming with every emotion under the sun, you forced a grin that slowly became more real as your heart began to settle again.

“Yeah, see ya. Don’t stay up too late, New Boy, you’ve got about a hundred orders to deliver in the morning.”

John laughed and rolled his eyes, muttering something like ‘great’ or ‘can’t wait’ under his breath, but you were still recovering and didn’t quite catch it.

You stepped into the warm, stark entrance to the tube station together. John had to take the Circle Line, so you parted ways after passing through the barriers. You waved goodbye to each other, both of you feeling suddenly very lonely.

You were just about to head towards the escalator down to your platform when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Almost forgot.” John slipped your scarf off and wrapped it around your neck, then bent down and kissed your cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

He said your name, your real name, so softly and so lovingly that you could hardly believe it. Then he was gone.

You stared after him, bewildered and flushed and fizzing with delight. It felt like every nerve in your body was alight, even your fingertips seemed to be tingling.

It wasn’t until the station guard sent you a warning look that you realised you were blocking the way. You hopped on the escalator, still feeling dizzy.

You pressed your fingers to the spot on your cheek where John had kissed you, then let them slip down to where his fingertips had grazed your neck as he tied your scarf for you. Though you weren’t sure why, you looked back up the length of the escalator, back to the spot where you’d said goodbye.

“Fuck,” you said, and laughed.

Master List

#john deacon #john deacon reader #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #queen imagine #queen fic

26 notes · View notes