(no subject)
For the 7_deadly_sins_ community challenge.
No April bashing in this one, which is pretty rare for me. *laughs* Envy is up next, for anyone who cares.
Title: Sloth
Author: DF
Timeframe: Set after Maureen has dumped Mark but before Christmas.
Summary: Roger's not usually too slothful, but things change.
*
Normally, Roger wasn't a very slothful person. Oh, cure, he slept in until noon every morning almost unfailingly, but he was so full of energy the rest of the time that it didn't matter. He was always partying until 3 or working on a new song or rocking out with the Well Hungarians, or just bouncing around the loft with more energy than it could possibly be healthy to have.
The drugs, and then death and disease, changed all that. Mark considered it strange seeing someone who used to be so alive stay in bed all day, or just mope around the apartment without doing anything. He couldn't fault his friend for it, of course, but it was surreal.
The old Roger was dead, and the new one was a zombie.
Mark had his own problems, of course. He had cared about April too, after all. Maureen had left him, Collins was gone.Roger was sleepwalking through life. And, most of all, his friends were dying. He would be all alone, and what made it worse was that it was a certainty and not just his own morbid musings. The only thing he didn't know was when.
Sometimes he just wanted to curl up in bed like Roger and sleep the day away, but every time that thought flashed into his mind, he angrily pushed it away. He didn't have a right to do that. He wasn't dying, was he? It wasn't his girlfriend that had died.
He didn't have a right.
So, when he wasn't taking care of Roger he was downtown, relentlessly filming the beautiful in the everyday, trying to remind himself that, damnit, his life wasn't so bad.
Sleep was anathema, unnecessary and unwanted. He worried that if he fell asleep for more than a few hours, he'd somehow be tempted to sleep the day away, pity himself more than he had a right to.
And he was also afraid: if he slept, would he become one of the somnambulant, the sleepwalkers that Roger had joined the legions of?
So he filmed and he fussed, and if he was a little more tightly-wound, well, it was his way of showing exhaustion, and was better than the threat of sloth.
He was fussing over Roger one morning, and had just turned to leave when his friend grabbed his wrist.
"It's okay," Roger murmured, half-asleep and drowsily placid. "Stay."
It meant: You need to relax once in a while.
It meant: I'm worried about you.
It meant: Stay.
So Mark kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed next to Roger. Roger threw an arm around his smaller friend, and buried his face in Mark's hair.
And they slept the day away.
No April bashing in this one, which is pretty rare for me. *laughs* Envy is up next, for anyone who cares.
Title: Sloth
Author: DF
Timeframe: Set after Maureen has dumped Mark but before Christmas.
Summary: Roger's not usually too slothful, but things change.
*
Normally, Roger wasn't a very slothful person. Oh, cure, he slept in until noon every morning almost unfailingly, but he was so full of energy the rest of the time that it didn't matter. He was always partying until 3 or working on a new song or rocking out with the Well Hungarians, or just bouncing around the loft with more energy than it could possibly be healthy to have.
The drugs, and then death and disease, changed all that. Mark considered it strange seeing someone who used to be so alive stay in bed all day, or just mope around the apartment without doing anything. He couldn't fault his friend for it, of course, but it was surreal.
The old Roger was dead, and the new one was a zombie.
Mark had his own problems, of course. He had cared about April too, after all. Maureen had left him, Collins was gone.Roger was sleepwalking through life. And, most of all, his friends were dying. He would be all alone, and what made it worse was that it was a certainty and not just his own morbid musings. The only thing he didn't know was when.
Sometimes he just wanted to curl up in bed like Roger and sleep the day away, but every time that thought flashed into his mind, he angrily pushed it away. He didn't have a right to do that. He wasn't dying, was he? It wasn't his girlfriend that had died.
He didn't have a right.
So, when he wasn't taking care of Roger he was downtown, relentlessly filming the beautiful in the everyday, trying to remind himself that, damnit, his life wasn't so bad.
Sleep was anathema, unnecessary and unwanted. He worried that if he fell asleep for more than a few hours, he'd somehow be tempted to sleep the day away, pity himself more than he had a right to.
And he was also afraid: if he slept, would he become one of the somnambulant, the sleepwalkers that Roger had joined the legions of?
So he filmed and he fussed, and if he was a little more tightly-wound, well, it was his way of showing exhaustion, and was better than the threat of sloth.
He was fussing over Roger one morning, and had just turned to leave when his friend grabbed his wrist.
"It's okay," Roger murmured, half-asleep and drowsily placid. "Stay."
It meant: You need to relax once in a while.
It meant: I'm worried about you.
It meant: Stay.
So Mark kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed next to Roger. Roger threw an arm around his smaller friend, and buried his face in Mark's hair.
And they slept the day away.