Roger was stumbling in the street, holding a bottle of vodka in his hand. When he walked past a club, he saw a girl and a boy kissing against a wall.

“Bullshit!”

He wandered in the streets until he reached Melbury Road that was not far from the club. Drinking sips of vodka, he stood up outside the house he used to share with Brian. He did not want to admit it, but his inner self missed this place. He remembered how in the summer, Brian and him loved spending their time in the garden, drinking beers whilst listening to music and reading books. In the winter, they would stay inside, curled up in wool sweaters and a plaid, watching a film or reading books, lying in front of the fireplace. And sometimes, when they were in a playful mood, they would play hide-and-seek, or simply running after each other in the huge house. The first time they visited the house, they had the impression it was a castle. He remembered all the good moments he spent with Brian in this house. One afternoon, Brian had called Roger before going home saying he was going to be a bit late and that he was exhausted after a hard day. When he got home, the house was dark, there was only a gleam in the living room. Roger did not jump in his arms like he used to do. With fear, he stepped in the living room and saw Roger wearing a white suit, sitting at the big table that was laid, and a big candelstick was lit in the middle of it. Brian's eyes were shining, and Roger smiled at him before walking up to him and silently removing his jacket that he hanged on the coat rack. He took his hand and led him to his seat. A red rose had been placed on his plate with a small card saying “Welcome home, my love.” Roger and Brian spent the whole evening holding hands across the table, kissing from time to time, talking about everything and nothing. This was one of the best moments they shared.

Now, where had those moments gone? Roger was standing before the house, weeping whilst drinking his bottle of vodka, holding a picture of Brian in his other hand. He saw that the lights were off. Obviously, Brian was sleeping. He stepped forwards and lifted up his chin so he could see his window. There was no doubt, he knew the house too well. He smiled at the idea that behind this window, Brian was lying on the bed, sleeping like a baby. When they were still together, and when he could not sleep, Roger often spent whole nights watching Brian sleeping. Sometimes, he would even let a finger softly run on his face, following the gorgeous lines of it. Surprisingly, Brian never woke up when he did that. All their relationship was love. Every single thing was about love.

Roger hiccupped as his crying was now invading him. His vision was blurred because of the tears, and his eyes burnt. He emptied the bottle and let it crash to the floor. The noise sounded in the whole street. His eyes were staring at Brian's window.

“I'm sorry Brian. John's right. I don't know what I'm doing.”

He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He did not care if this was disgusting or if this stained his jacket. Nothing mattered more than his will to join Brian and slither in his bed, wrapping his arms around him. He touched his pocket and grinned. He still had the keys. He could enter the house and see Brian. The temptation was huge, but he refrained from doing it. Brian suffered enough. He did not want to make things worse. Perhaps he did not want to see him anymore. Maybe that coming in was a bad idea, but nothing forbid him to stay under his window, hoping to see his face. Even just a glimpse. He wanted to see this mass of curls he loved to touch and feel against his skin. He wanted to look into those two hazel eyes that used to comfort him in every situation and in which he could see all the beauty of the world. He wanted to see this nose that he often poked. He wanted to see those lips he loved hearing talking and kissing. He wanted to see those hands that used to dance with his and run through his messy hair. He wanted to see this body that made his life so wonderful thanks to its warmth and softness. He wanted to see this person that meant everything to him, with whom he spent the best days of his life, who lit up every moment. He wanted to see the love of his life. He wanted to see Brian.

“Brian I'm sorry, so sorry...” he wept. “But I can't just come back. I'm afraid of hurting you. And I did it. Forgive me, my love. Forgive me!”

He sat down in the grass and curled up, crying in his knees. He felt like he had lost everything. Yet, he still had somewhere he could sleep, something to eat, he still had money to buy what he needed, he still had a car, even though it remained in Brian's garage. He still had friends, though he did not dare looking at. But he lost his life. He lost Brian.

“Why are you complaining, Rog?” he said to himself out loud. “It's you who caused all that. You looked for it, why are you complaining, huh?”

He started to punch the brick wall, making his fingers bleed. Then, he grabbed locks of his hair and in a desperate gesture, he started to tear them. It hurt like mad, but he did not care; there could not be a more painful one than this of losing Brian. It was driving him mad. The blues he had a few days before was nothing compared to it. Maybe leaving Brian was not a solution. It was not the solution.

“Nothing happened too fast, that's bullshit!”

He stopped tearing his hair out and looked at his hands. Full locks of blond hair were stuck between his thin fingers. Another wave of tears crashed on his cheeks. He clenched his fists and sobbed harder and harder. He threw the locks on the ground and looked up to the window again. A wave of anger seized him, making him punch the wall again and again.

Brian could not stop twisting and turning in his bed. He went to bed two hours before and he could not sleep a wink. His mind was haunted by Roger's face. By those two baby blue eyes that used to light up as soon as they saw him, this cute nose that loved tickling his and those lips that matched his so well. The lyrics if one of Pink Floyd's new songs was playing in his head without interruption.

“How I wish, how I wish you were here, we're just two souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year...”

As he softly sang the lyrics, his eyes filled with tears and he hid his face in his pillow, biting its fabric to refraim from crying. Unfortunately, he started sobbing, his fingers clenching over the pillow. Even though he did everything to change the atmosphere of the house, Roger's smell was still scented on the sheets and his pillow. Yet, Brian did not smell it even once. He did not sleep on Roger's side of the bed, still hoping and believing that he would come back.

“Roger, come back, I beg you” he wept. “John promised you would come back! Show me he's right!”

He sobbed in his pillow and finally tried to get a grip on himself. There was a strange feeling inside of him. He felt like he was being... watched. As if someone was staring at him. But it could not be possible, right? He was sleeping upstairs, and nobody else was here. Suddenly, noises made him jump. It was like someone was pushing something, but the noise was far, almost muffled. When he realised the hits were against his wall, he stood up and wiped his tears away, walking up to the window. At first, he saw nothing. He opened the window and leant out of it, looking down. He gasped as he saw the top of someone's head. It was a tall blond man, punching the red bricks of the house. There was something lying at his feet and there was broken glass behind him. He immediately recognised him. Who else would come here? He smiled through his tears and whispered in the night.

“Roger?”

The man jumped and lifted up his chin, his blue eyes meeting his. The two eyes he missed so much widened. Roger's jaw dropped and he swallowed his saliva. Brian could see that he was crying too. The drummer smiled through his tears, though his lips were trembling. They were staring at each other's eyes with such intensity that it scared him.

“Roger” Brian whispered again. “Are you coming back?”

It was like a terrible punch in the stomach. He wanted to speak, to kneel down, to weep and apologise, but a tightening prevented him from doing it. Afraid of Brian's eyes, he cowardly ran away from the grass, without saying a word. Brian gasped and ran out of the room, rushing downstairs, widely opening the front door. He ran outside, looking all around. Roger had vanished.

“Roger? Roger! Where did you go? Please come back!”

Unfortunately, the drummer did not show up. He walked up to the grass, where his lost love was standing a few moments earlier. There was a broken bottle of vodka and a picture he picked up. It was the picture Roger took to inaugurate his new camera. The camera that he gave him. His tears crashed on the picture and he immediately wiped them away. Locks of blonde hair were stuck in the grass. He took them too and clenched his fist over them. He looked all around.

“He came here, and it wasn't a dream...”

He still looked all round to make sure Roger was not here anymore. Feeling the sadness coming again, he got into the house, slamming the door behind him.

At the corner of the street, Roger was leaning against the wall, his legs shaking and his lips trembling. Brian saw him. He felt happy and unhappy at the same time, as their eyes met again and he heard the beautiful voice of his favourite guitarist. He broke down into tears and collapsed on the floor. As he was too drunk to get up, he curled up on the ground, weeping again and again.