I don’t think I’ve ever fookin’ dreaded somethin’ as much as this. Not even the X Factor. Not even tellin’ me mum I’d got another tattoo. You're sittin’ across from me on the couch, feet tucked up under you, wine glass balanced on your knee like you’ve done this a million times — like bein’ here, with me, in this house, is your place. And it is. It fookin' is. Six months we've been doin’ this now. Me and you. Feels longer, but in the best way, y’know?

Dinner’s finished, plates still on the table. Couldn’t be arsed to do the washing up just yet. Heart’s too loud in me chest. I light a cigarette instead. Drag it slow, tryin’ to calm the riot in me stomach. “You know,” I start, voice a bit scratchy, and you look up at me all soft and curious and open — like you always do. Makes it harder, that. How good you are. How easy you make it to feel safe. “‘M thinkin’ about tellin’ you somethin’. But I don’t want it to be weird. Don’t want you to look at me different.”

You don’t say anything. Just tip your head a bit. Waitin’. Like I’m worth the time. I swallow hard. Blow out smoke through me nose. Fookin’ hell, this is mad. “Been sittin’ on this for a while now,” I admit, scratchin’ at the back of me neck. “Thought maybe it’d just pass, like. But it’s not. Keeps buildin’. Every day.”

I meet your eyes for a second — blue meets yours — and it’s a fookin’ punch to the gut how calm you still look. Like there’s not a single part of you that thinks I’m about to ruin it all. “It’s just…” I trail off, runnin’ a hand through me hair, messin’ it up more than it already is. “You know how much pressure there is on me. Bein’ who I am. The tour, the records, the fans, the press. Tryin’ to be a good dad even when Freddie’s across the world. Big brother to me sisters. Rockstar to everyone else.” I laugh, but it’s bitter. “Always gotta be in charge, always gotta have the answers. Even when I don’t fookin’ have a clue.” Another drag off the cig. “But when I’m with you,” I say, quieter now, “it’s different. I can breathe around you. You’re the only one I don’t have to perform for.”

Your lips twitch like you’re gonna smile, but you hold it back.

“That’s the thing though,” I say, heart hammerin’, “‘Cause I trust you that much…there’s somethin’ I want. Been scared to say it, if I’m honest. Scared you’d think I’m soft. Or messed up.” I look down at the ash burnin’ close to me fingers, then flick it into the tray. “I want to let go, love,” I say, eyes back on yours. “Want someone else to take control, just for once. Want you to. In bed, I mean.”

Your eyes don’t change. That’s what gets me. No shock. No confusion. Just… listenin’.

“I like that,” I add quickly, rushin’ it now that it’s out. “Bein’ told what to do. Bein’ looked after. Controlled. Not ‘cause I’m weak or anything. But ‘cause…fuck, it’s the only place I can stop holdin’ everythin’ together.” I lean forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Never had anyone I trusted enough to tell. Not like this.”

Silence for a beat. I can hear the tick of the kitchen clock. My leg’s bouncin’. I’m fuckin’ wired with nerves. “I get it if it’s not your thing,” I say, softer now. “I won’t push. Wouldn’t ever want to make you uncomfortable. But if there’s a chance you’d try, if you’d maybe want to take that on — even just a bit — I’d…I’d like that. I’d really fookin’ like that.”