✨ Oneshots ✨

Life Is Real - Queen (platonic, angst)

Unlike anything else I've written before.
You get to see everyone's point of view (though lots of John's), which is also different.
TW: mentions of illness, relationship problems, drinking and death. Lots of sad stuff.
It's kind of heart breaking to write/read.
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March 1991

Freddie was laying in bed, thinking about what to do. He hated just resting in bed, especially when he could do something more productive, like write music.

But there was an illness that had worsened his body—AIDS.

He didn't know how much time he had left, but he knew it was important to spend time with the people he cared about.

Mary had already visited several times this week, and the singer had now invited the band over.
-

Freddie was aware he didn't look very well and had some trouble walking, but he put those thoughts aside.

Wanting to talk to his band mates, with whom he'd been spending one-on-one time with recently, he did his best to get up.

Jim was taking care of Freddie as much as possible, and as much as the man would so allow it.

So when the doorbell rang, Jim went downstairs to answer it.
-

"Hello, John, Roger, Brian. Come on in." He greets with a soft smile.

Roger and Brian gave polite smiles, though John couldn't make himself do the same.

"Hello, Jim, nice to see you." Brian says, always the most calm and polite of them all. He didn't have a temper like the drummer, but said more than the bassist.

The three musicians start to go upstairs, but stop when they see their ill friend on a sofa in the living room.
-

"Freddie, I thought you were—" Roger starts worriedly.

"Listen, darling, I'm fine. Rog, I can't stand being in bed all day."

Roger just nods, now following Brian and John as they sit on the sofa and chairs.

It was a slightly uncomfortable silence, nobody knowing what to say. They all had a feeling someone had to talk. But the words got lost.
-

"Fred." John's now fragile, even softer tone speaks.

Freddie looks over immediately, not because it's the only sound, but because it's John saying the first thing.

"Yes, dear, I'm listening?" He offers a kind and gentle look.

"Are you—" John pauses, tears in his eyes, "—are you going to be better soon?"

The bassist realised that the pianist likely wouldn't, and it was a childish question, but he thought maybe asking him would help.
-

He was in a stage of denial already, he couldn't lose his best friend. No, Freddie was too young to go.

In John's mind, it was chaotic. At home, it had been a struggle. He'd started drinking his pain away more, but that had put a strain on his relationship with Veronica.

Veronica sometimes made him sleep somewhere else if he was really intoxicated, for the kids' sake.

So to be on the edge of losing it—having a breakdown, when Freddie was visibly getting worse, John didn't know what he could do. What he should do.
-

Freddie patted the spot next to him, making eye contact with Deacy. "Come sit by me, all right?"

The youngest in the group obeyed, his green eyes looking incredibly broken and pitiful.