#sorry for being so inactive apparently having a full time job doesn’t make depression go away

[renonv]

Miss Belgium

[sammyspreadyourwings]

“you have the emotional capacity of a brick.” - Maylor.

5) You have the emotional capacity of a brick

CW: Depression

Am I being a little lazy with starting the fic with the requested prompts? Possibly. Is it still mostly thought out, yes. Hope you enjoy!! Tried a new format, bare with me.

Circa 1982 (Hot Space Era is Back)

“You have the emotional capacity of a brick!”

It’s a sharp parting blow, more for the last word rather than any wounding. It still strikes Brian hard, and only makes close the door harsher than he usually would. He doesn’t even know what started the argument, but it had gotten worse and quickly. All the little things they had been ignoring built up.

He hits the sidewalk at the same time the door opens again.

“Don’t bother coming back! We’re through!”

Brian raises his shoulders higher and walks quicker into the night.

Brian hides out in the flat that he bought mostly to keep up appearances. He doesn’t need to go to the studio, at least for a while because they have plenty of material to work on that doesn’t need a guitar. All the guitar parts have been recorded.

John at least is probably having a field day without him there; if half of what he wrote in Back Chat is true feelings. Roger, he knows, doesn’t want to see him. The only one that might want to see him is Freddie, but depending on how much Roger told him, that might be questionable.

Besides, it's only been two days since the argument. If Roger was angry enough to throw him out, space can only do them good, when they finally talk about it.

Two days after that, Brian vaguely realizes that he hasn’t left his bed in three days. It the hardest he’s been hit with that gaping feeling in his chest in a long time. He stares at the wall and debates going back to sleep. Then he reminds himself that he hasn’t eaten anything. Although making something as simple as a sandwich seems a herculean task.

You don’t have to make a sandwich. You can just eat the components.

He doesn’t remember who told him that, but he vaguely John’s accent in the words. Brian forces himself to sit, and then to his feet. It’s progress, but his joints protest after the inactivity.

Slowly he moves to the kitchen. There aren’t any lights on in the house, and it looks like it’s late. He’s moving mostly on autopilot, either way, so running into something is the least of his concern.

The sandwich is probably the most pathetic meal he’s had in a long time. His bread has gone moldy, so he has to make do with rice cakes. He chokes down three slices of cheese as well, and a glass of water. It sits heavy in his stomach, but at least he ate something.

When the door opens, Brian barely reacts to it. If someone is going to rob him, they might as well. Red Special is probably still at Roger’s, or at the studio now. Really, it doesn’t matter where she is, because apparently Queen is moving away from guitars, and there’s no use for her anymore.

He turns just enough when he hears a familiar sigh. John is watching him warily like he would with a wounded animal. Brian might have more fight in him if the pit hadn’t slowly been growing stronger. The food must’ve given him just enough energy to make the pull stronger. It might be like a black hole if he considered it for long enough.

John moves around the couch to kneel in front of him, “let’s get you a shower and food?”

“No food,” Brian murmurs.

They’ve done this dance before. John won’t leave him alone until he’s at least moving, but John is also the only one that doesn’t expect him to bounce back. He doesn’t know if John feels the same gnawing emptiness or if it’s just his nature to not push. Back Chat makes him think it’s the latter.

“Okay, up.”

Brian stands, shaky but he can move under his own power to the restroom. The shower feels nice, it’s probably too hot. His skin is bright red. He stands under the spray but doesn’t move beyond a quick lather with body wash. Trying to manage his curls right now does feel impossible.

Leaving the shower and into fresh track pants and a t-shirt, he feels a little better. Not a lot. He’ll be able to listen to what John has to say at the very least.

John is in the kitchen. There are more rice cakes and water on the counter, but John makes no push towards them. Brian takes a cake, mostly to have something to do with his hands and eats small bites from it.

“Roger’s been worried sick,” John says mildly, “has been after he cooled down.”

Brian rests his head on his arms.

“Considering you’ve been off the radar for about five days, I think it’s fair.”

“Why didn’t he come?”

Bitterness does not become you, Brian.

“He didn’t want to make things worse. He’s rightly pissed at himself for missing the signs.”

“It’s not his job to babysit me.”

“No,” John agrees, “but he is your partner, and he should be more familiar with these things. Between that fight and what’s been…happening at the studio, we didn’t know what state we’d find you in.”

“So, they sent you?”

He’s too tired to feel angry, but he manages a spark of it in the words.

“Freddie would’ve come, but someone needed to stay with Roger, and he’s better at calming Roger down than me. Not as good as you.”

Brian shakes his head.

“He wants to tell you this himself, but he didn’t mean it when said you guys were over. You guys can talk it out yourself before you make me the messenger.”

It takes another day and a half before Brian feels like he can go out in public again. John assures him that they won’t be doing anything in the studio, it’s just the most neutral ground they can find that’s they can also assure will be private.

Freddie wraps him in a hug when they finally see each other again. It’s gentler than Freddie would usually manage, but there’s no less affection to be found. He tugs at a curl and makes a face.

“Once this is done, we can go back to my home and we’ll get these curls back to full volume.”

Brian manages a weak smile.

“I also have a record I want to play you and a song to run by you.”

“That’s a lot, Fred.”

Freddie playfully rolls his eyes, “fine, hair care, but we can listen to the record while we do that.”

He glances at the door. Freddie follows his gaze.

“It isn’t going to be as bad as whatever you’ve imagined, you’re quite creative, darling.”

John pushes him in the small of his back. Brian takes a second and then enters the studio.

Roger is tapping on the snare but cuts off when Brian closes the door. There’s a sharp second of awkwardness but then Roger is moving towards him. Not fast, but clearly no longer angry. His bottom lips his between his teeth and he stops with a meter between them.

“Brian, I’m sorry,” Roger begins quietly, “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry over something so small.”

“That isn’t the… reason. I know how you are, I wouldn’t want you to change.”

Roger tilts his head, “but you’ve never been this bad, not since we’ve gotten together. I thought maybe that. I wasn’t making you happy anymore?”

“You do,” he’s cautious to stay in the present tense, “make me happy, but you know this isn’t something I can control. You can just know that you didn’t cause it. Everything around this damn album.”

“I promise to keep that in mind. I know John told you, but I don’t want this to be over.”

Brian nods, “me neither. But you can’t use that to end an argument again, because I don’t want us to be this on and off again couple.”

“I won’t.”

They stare at each other. Brian inhales sharply at the wave of exhaustion. He still doesn’t feel one hundred percent better. The conversation isn’t over, but they’ve started it. It’s something.

“I think Fred’s planning to kidnap us all and force us to stay over,” he offers.

“He did mention something about it.”

His chest feels a little lighter as he offers his hand to Roger, who offers him a bright grin.