September 3rd 1970

Freddie Bulsara watched the world go round from the bedroom window of the Kensington flat he shared with his best friend, Roger Taylor. His big, dark brown eyes saw for miles. His jet black hair came down to almost his shoulders and framed his sculpted face. His face looked like it had been sculpted perfectly, this was down to his Persian ancestry.

His flatemate Roger, on the other hand, also had long hair to almost his shoulders,but his was blonde, and he had big deep blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a warm summer's day. Both were almost too pretty to be male.

Roger came to join Freddie on the bed. "Fred..." He whispered, trying to get his attention.

"What is it My Dear?" Asked Freddie. (He had a thing for adding "Darling" or "My Dear" at least once every conversation)

"Well, I wondered what was wrong, being as you have been sitting here staring into space since ten 'o' clock and you haven't spoken to me since breakfast..." Roger continued.

"I am fine, Darling, leave me be. Now, haven't you, Brian and Tim got a concert tonight? Why don't you throw down a couple of vodkas or play on your drums or something for a while?" Freddie Suggested. Roger obeyed his friend, who was two years older than him. He shuffled out, muttering something under his breath. Freddie checked that he was gone, closed the door and picked up the phone.

(*)

Brian May, who was sitting at his desk, was busy writing a birthday card for his good friend Freddie. His dark brown curls tumbled into his eyes, but he didn't care, as he had grown used to it. His forest-green eyes looked the card up and down, and he placed it carefully in the envelope. He did feel a bit sorry for his friend, as the only good card he could find had a large number "24" On it, and he couldn't help but think this would draw attention to Freddie, Himself, Roger and Tim, that he was the eldest. Freddie never wanted to be the eldest, as he looked the youngest, but other men envied him for that. As if on cue, a large bang was heard, followed by a scream of pain. Brian quickly slipped the card under his desk and went to investigate.

It was Roger. He looked as if he had had a few to drink. He had followed Freddie's advice, thrown down more than a few vodkas, practised his drumming, and come to Brian's house to babble on about something worthless.

"R-r-r-r-roger!" "H-h-how g-g-great it is to s-s-s-see you..." Brian Stuttered, heart now racing faster than a Formula 1 Racing Car.

"Hey...Friend...what's...your...name...again? It's Bridget...isn't it? You're looking Pretty today! How about a kiss...?" Said Roger, now obviously very, very. Very drunk.

"It's Brian, and I am the Guitarist in your group, Smile. And before you ki-"

Roger had already got Brian pinned to the wall.

"...Kiss me..." Brian Went on, "I am a man!"

Roger took 3 steps backwards and studied him. "hmm..." Yeah, I know you." He said, his voice barely understandable with the words slurring out like someone was pulling his tongue out of his mouth at 0.00005 miles per hour.

"So," Brian began, "How is Fred?"

"Oh... Him..." Roger said, busy examining his coffee mug that Brian had given to him. (Brian believed that coffee was great for sobering people up) "He told me go and leave him alone."

"That doesn't sound like our Fred..." Brian said, finger to his bottom lip.

"I think he is doing something. Give me that camera." Roger said, sounding now more sober.

Brian threw the camera to him and picked up a glass from the kitchen.

"Ready?" Asked Brian.

"As I will ever be..." Replied Roger, a bit drab and monotone.

(*)

The phone began ringing wildly. Nineteen-year-old Mary Austin had the day off, but had to look after her father, who was deaf and dumb. Her mother had died a few years previously. She picked up the phone, she knew it was for her, as no-one rang her father. She answered with a shy "Hello?" The voice on the other end was recognisable instantly. Her bright green eyes lit up with the sound of this voice. She couldn't believe he was calling her, when she always assumed he was interested in her friend, not her, and besides, wasn't he going out with Rosemary? She was thinking about it so much she had only heard a few words. "Work. 3pm. Tomorrow. Be there. Favour. Surprise. Birthday." She worked it out-he wanted to meet her properly, instead of a "hello-and-then-avoid" situation. She spent ages thinking what to do with her hair, if it was a formal or informal arrangement-she just couldn't decide-but the pair did seem to wear similar things...What if she just dug out an old cardigan and trousers-surely he wouldn't mind.

(*)

Freddie sighed and put the phone down. He knew she would never really listen. Their unrequited love had gone on for to long, he had to ask her out. He thought he would go and look for Roger, he was no-where to be seen. He called his name several times, came outside, and stopped when he saw him, with Brian, strutting in like a pair of male peacocks trying to impress a female.

"What are you two plying at?" Freddie cried as he saw the pair of them giggling like schoolgirls, one holding a camera and the other with a microphone.

"Well," Began Brian, attempting to sound professional, but he was still shocked by Freddie appearing out of the blue, and it came out sounding like a chipmunk in a blender. "Roger got a bit drunk, and we both just wondered what you were up to, he said that you didn't want him in the room." He explained, his voice still slightly squeaky and panicked, more like a mouse being threatened by a German Shepard dog.

"Okay, shall I tell you what I was up to then?" Freddie sighed and surrendered. "I was on the phone, but you will have to work out who with."

The others looked confused.

"You know..." He smirked, with a slight twinkle in his eye. His smirk could have looked very villainous, but his overbite ruined the mood slightly, this caused the other two to end up in fits of giggles.

(*)

As usual, that night, if Smile were playing, Freddie would loiter around either backstage or on the front row. More often than not he would say, "The music-Great. Things you need to improve on: Let's see, shall we?" and he would take out a large clipboard and read from it, "Lighting, outfits, overall charisma, interaction with audience, sulkiness" he would shoot an accusing eye at Roger, "and, Brian, do grow your hair a bit more, you look like a reggae wannabe." Brian would laugh at this, but he went and grew his hair according to the style of the time. This time he considered it a better performance. Freddie could not think about much, as because of his shy nature, he wasn't very good at talking to new people, like he was tomorrow, he was too busy thinking about what he was going to say to this woman. Tim Staffell, the lead singer and bass player of the group told him that they were doing what they always did, they just looked a bit more presentable. What Freddie didn't realise was that the group was on the verge of breaking up, Tim had received an invitation to join another band and Brian, Roger and Freddie were all sure he would accept.