With the new camera he'd gotten in January in tow, Mark was on a Mission. It was really less of a mission than the kernel of an idea that may or may not become a script that might or might not turn into a new project. For now he was just trying to get some footage for his class so he could brainstorm with Gideon over lighting and camera angles.
He heard the guitar before he ever saw Roger, so when he came to the clear area he already had the camera rolling. Recording. This digital, virtual thing was incredibly convenient, but he had to admit...he missed film.
"The resident rock god sits, basking in the sun," he narrated as he came closer. "Close on strings that his fingers nimbly coax into melody. Pan to the amp that gives the notes voice. Roger Davis of New York City appears to have made himself at home. Stage, subway, or sand, this gifted musician owns every performance." He paused briefly. "And cut."
The cut was less than smooth since he had to lower the camera and fiddle with the buttons to get it to stop and then turn off the power to save the battery.
Roger smiled - he couldn't help that - but he didn't look up. He knew better than that. What Mark wanted was realism, a sense that the island was the same, he assumed, so he just kept playing, solo-ing it up, only looking up after 'cut' was announced.
"Add that to the archives," Roger said, shaking his hair out of his face. "Sup, stranger? Haven't seen hide nor albino hair of you. But people talk..." He smirk, gesturing to the island as a whole. And by 'people,' he clearly meant 'Maureen.'
"People always talk," Mark replied wryly. "When it's good, it's called publicity. How's, um, everything?"
His question was as broad as it was deep. With school and his new project, not to mention Prior...and the whole personality changes that had him scrambling for some solitude until it all passed, Mark hadn't been all that social. Somehow, he didn't think AA counted.
"You're such a tortured artist," Roger murmured, low and alcohol-roughened. He glanced up over his shades at his wayward best friend and cocked his head. "You haven't been coming around." Neither had he, but that was par for the course for Roger. Wherever he went, he expected Mark to follow, and it was fine that he didn't but just... weird.
"Yeah. I know," he said, then looked down at his camera. Five small words had him chastened. There were reasons- sure, he had reasons- things he didn't want to say out loud. Things that would only serve to tear the scab off of old wounds and no matter how satisfying it might be, words would only leave worse scars. Besaides, his feelings about Brian were no secret.
There were worse things than not liking someone's boyfriend. He wasn't certan if it was altruism or guilt that had kept him quiet before, but now it was simple shame.
"I've, um, you know. Busy. With class and, uh...things."
"I know," Roger said, nodding knowingly. "Anyway, I just got a whole lot less busy so. I couldda picked up the phone. So to speak." He shook his head. For a guy that lost his boyfriend, Roger was in pretty good shape.
"They shut my phone off," Mark quipped. It was just enough to get a hint of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. "My mother must be going out of her mind."
With that let out into the air, lightening the threatening tension that radiated from beneath Mark's skin, he took a seat near Roger so he could look at him more directly.
"You okay?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know. His own feelings removed from the equation, he knew in both heart and mind that Roger had loved Brian and that it had been returned. To love and be loved...such a simple desire that few people ever really got to experience.
Roger laughed at that as well, a breathy, raspy sound that Mark once found appealing. Now... he wasn't so sure. If the attraction was gone, he was afraid they were nothing. He didn't want to be nothing. Just because the faces had changed didn't mean the old ones had lost their meaning. Roger had swore he'd repay Mark for all he'd done one day and he wasn't ready to cash out just yet.
"I'm gettin' there," Roger admitted. "I'm... Brian would have wanted me to move on. He said so in his letter. And he loved me and I loved him. And... that's enough for me. To leave it. And move on." He looked down at the surface of his guitar.
It was a sound that made him regret shutting off the camera. He wasn't sure just how much footage of Roger he had where the man was laughing, but however much, it wasn't enough. There were a thousand things Roger did, things he said and ways he moved, and Mark was certain the day would never come that the enchantment he'd felt from the first time he'd seen Roger would ever fade away. It was a sound that was magical. It was a laugh that could banish the worst of his shame.
Mark followed the line of Roger's gaze and smiled at the guitar. Unlike the laughter, he knew exactly how much footage he had of the man playing, singing to a crowd...or just playing for a one man audience. Mark knew how it felt to be that audience. He wasn't going to linger on who else might know in the same way he did except to hope that they had better have fucking appreciated it.
And in Mark's own five words, everything seemed as it should be, and Roger kissed his head.
"Absolutely, Markie," he said softly, affected by the familiarity and certainty of it. He picked up his electric and began playing one of Mark's old favorites. It was one of the first he'd ever played for Mark one-on-one, and every time he played it, he could feel Mark in the chords.
And when he sang the words to Beautiful Song, there was a damn good reason Roger had named it that.
By the time the song ended, Mark had his eyes closed and wore a wistful, small smile. Living in the moment meant there was rarely time to truly indulge in nostalgia, but sometimes...sometimes he didn't just indulge. He wallowed in it.
"Love that one," he finally said quietly. Again, he wished he'd left the camera on. At least for the audio.
Mark sighed. Turning to look at Roger, he opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight a little before he focused on his face.
He heard the guitar before he ever saw Roger, so when he came to the clear area he already had the camera rolling. Recording. This digital, virtual thing was incredibly convenient, but he had to admit...he missed film.
"The resident rock god sits, basking in the sun," he narrated as he came closer. "Close on strings that his fingers nimbly coax into melody. Pan to the amp that gives the notes voice. Roger Davis of New York City appears to have made himself at home. Stage, subway, or sand, this gifted musician owns every performance." He paused briefly. "And cut."
The cut was less than smooth since he had to lower the camera and fiddle with the buttons to get it to stop and then turn off the power to save the battery.
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"Add that to the archives," Roger said, shaking his hair out of his face. "Sup, stranger? Haven't seen hide nor albino hair of you. But people talk..." He smirk, gesturing to the island as a whole. And by 'people,' he clearly meant 'Maureen.'
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His question was as broad as it was deep. With school and his new project, not to mention Prior...and the whole personality changes that had him scrambling for some solitude until it all passed, Mark hadn't been all that social. Somehow, he didn't think AA counted.
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There were worse things than not liking someone's boyfriend. He wasn't certan if it was altruism or guilt that had kept him quiet before, but now it was simple shame.
"I've, um, you know. Busy. With class and, uh...things."
Things that started with H, mostly.
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With that let out into the air, lightening the threatening tension that radiated from beneath Mark's skin, he took a seat near Roger so he could look at him more directly.
"You okay?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know. His own feelings removed from the equation, he knew in both heart and mind that Roger had loved Brian and that it had been returned. To love and be loved...such a simple desire that few people ever really got to experience.
Reply
"I'm gettin' there," Roger admitted. "I'm... Brian would have wanted me to move on. He said so in his letter. And he loved me and I loved him. And... that's enough for me. To leave it. And move on." He looked down at the surface of his guitar.
Reply
Mark followed the line of Roger's gaze and smiled at the guitar. Unlike the laughter, he knew exactly how much footage he had of the man playing, singing to a crowd...or just playing for a one man audience. Mark knew how it felt to be that audience. He wasn't going to linger on who else might know in the same way he did except to hope that they had better have fucking appreciated it.
"...Play me a song, Roger," Mark said quietly.
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"Absolutely, Markie," he said softly, affected by the familiarity and certainty of it. He picked up his electric and began playing one of Mark's old favorites. It was one of the first he'd ever played for Mark one-on-one, and every time he played it, he could feel Mark in the chords.
And when he sang the words to Beautiful Song, there was a damn good reason Roger had named it that.
Reply
"Love that one," he finally said quietly. Again, he wished he'd left the camera on. At least for the audio.
Mark sighed. Turning to look at Roger, he opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight a little before he focused on his face.
"Thanks. That was...thanks."
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