DVD Comments: Touch and Tell Lullaby
More commentary, since I promised quite a few people that I would do the entirety of Touch & Tell Lullaby. I don't know why you people read this except that it is filled with me mentioning how much I hate myself and everything I write. Apparently, you are all sadist.
Which brings up the point that, while the fic is PG-13, the commentary is filled with what might be R rated references.
Author: Stephanie
Series: Touch & Tell Lullaby
Chapter: IV - May Thy Slumber Be Blessed, V - Don't Say A Word
Fandom/Pairing: Rent, Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Roger is starting to figure out that he really just needs one thing in life.
Past Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter IV: May Thy Slumber Be Blessed
Roger doesn't sleep anymore.
(I love insomnia as a plot device. Anyone who suffers from it can tell you, it can be hell when you can't make yourself sleep. It's like angst without the cutting. Krissy can back me up on this, I use insomnia as a plot device way more than I should. Kind of like I use boysex as a plot device way more than any single human should.)
For the first couple of nights he goes through the motions. He lies in the dark with his eyes and wills his mind to shut off and let him sleep. Then he spends all night tossing, turning, and thinking about Mimi and Mark.
(If we replaced he for she and Mimi and Mark for financial aid and grades, we would have me! But not as sexy and not as pathetic. At least I hope I'm not as pathetic as Roger. And I say that out of love.)
He tries to remind himself that it's not forever. Couples get into fights all the time, especially if that couple is Mimi and Roger. He figures they both just need some time to cool down. (This is rather cool headed of Roger, who, as we know from the play, doesn't do well in fights. It must be the lack of sleep.) Then everything will go back to smiles and songs for a while. That's how it always seems to work between them. It's their pattern. As for Mark, Roger isn't so sure when their pattern became so broken and unpredictable. He tries not to worry about it, but there isn't much else to do laying awake at five in the morning.
By the third night Roger is sick of pretending. He stops trying to get any sleep. All day he mopes around the loft, waiting. He thinks about going to check on Mimi's apartment, calling Collin's place to see how Mark is doing, or at least picking up his guitar and trying to play something. He thinks about trying to get his life together, but everything seems too hard. Roger is walking a thin line between sleep and consciousness. He's exhausted and everything seems impossible.
(What did I tell you. Beautiful angsty plot device without the 'OMG! Now I must cut myself to show my pain on the outside!' Why involve blood when not sleeping is just as efficient a punishment? I don't like needles or cuts or sharp things, okay?)
*
Roger doesn't answer the door.
(Obviously, I haven't read this in a while, but I'm pretty sure every section begins like this, with a simple Roger statement. Short paragraphs are easier to read, but they also kind of slow you down, so it fits the mood of this chapter which is ready to collapse. God, I hope I am not making this up and the next section begins with a paragraph on unicorns. This is just what I remember.)
He's lying back on the couch, too tired to move and unable to sleep. His body has been ready to collapse for days but his mind won't let him. Every part of Roger is begging him to just give up. Every part expect for the one that keeps him awake at night.
(Self tortured artists artist the best. You can't create without pain. Everyone knows this. Why do you think so many artist die young or kill themselves or are drug addicts or are gay or, worse, are catholic? It's all about being tortured.)
"Go away," he whispers to whoever is knocking. He can't summon the energy to scream. "I don't care who it is, just go away."
The knocking stops, and there is the squeak of rusty hinges moving as the door swings open.
"Roger?" Roger's mind is sluggish from his week long insomnia. He hears someone calling for him but he can't pin down the voice and his body refuses to react. "Roger? Rog... Oh, God. Are you okay?"
(You know, they never use Rog or Marky or Meems in the play, and I know some people don't like it, but to me it makes sense. When you know someone for so long, you get lazy and close to them, and so you give them nicknames. I haven't called Kathryn anything but Kat in years, Tiffany if Tiff, Nathaniel is 'thaniel. Hell, even Kate which is one of the simplest name in the world is KittyKat. To me, nicknames aren't planned out or right or wrong, they just slip out when you have to talk to that person every single day. You have to mix it up.
I have no idea why I am telling you guys that. You don't care, do you? No, I didn't think so, sometimes my mind just goes on weird rant like tangents and I feel the need to share. So, there is you long, rant like tangent of the day. No more, I promise.)
"Mark?" Roger forces his eyes open. The voice is too familiar for him to ever forget, even if he's slow to recognize it. Sure enough, Mark is leaning over the couch, the usual look of worry on his face. Roger is all to glad to have someone worried over him. He's too worn out to worry about himself.
"You look like shit," Mark says. Roger isn't sure wither he should growl or laugh. He can't manage either. "Collins says you stopped calling."
(True friends don't cry over you and whimper when you're sick. True friends tell you you look like shit. It's just a fact.)
"You're never there," Roger says. His voice is so slurred by exhaustion he almost sounds drunk. That wonderful look of anxiety on Mark's face turns into fear. Roger's half conscious mind grabs it up. He wants Mark to be worried about him. Let him feel responsible for Roger's falling apart. It was only fair, considering that it was all Mark's fault in the first place. Mark shouldn't have ever left him alone. "You didn't want to talk to me. You were getting a new life, remember?" He manages to sound spiteful even now.
(I always try to make my characters as least appealing as I can with their emotional responses to situations. The fact is, when people are put in stressful situations, even if they act properly, they're not always thinking the best things. Like, when I was at my grandfather's funereal, and I loved this guy, instead of being upset or crying I was wondering how they made him look so plasticy, and when we would get to go back to the motel and swim. When my parents threatened divorce, even though it scared the fuck out of me and acted like the best sister in the world, and I cried and took Campbell and Nate out, I remember thinking of it all in manipulative terms, like if I did all this than maybe mom and dad would feel guilty and stop fighting.
My point is, when you read you get to look at character motivation, and from what I have personally experienced I know that when you're stressed out, you don't always think clearly even if you act like it. Yet, still, in most fanfiction you read the motivations are always so good, never manipulative or selfish unless the character is a total jerk. So I like that even though Roger really does feel guilty and he is punishing himself, not Mark, when he first sees Mark he thinks good, he should have to suffer.
I have started reading more memoir based books, fictional and not, like Running with Scissors, and some of the modern, better ones (such as RwS) do this, so I think there is a possibility I will get hooked to the genre.)
Mark looks away. Roger loves his friend's guilt. "They said you hadn't picked up your AZT." Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar bottle. "I thought you might be..."
(I avoid using the word dead a lot in my stories. You ever been talking to someone about something important, and you just avoid coming out and saying that one word, even though you're both adults and should be able to handle it? Why do we do this to ourself?)
Roger groans and rolls over on his side. Mark looks up to meet his eyes. He is close to tears. (Mark, that is. Fucking pronouns) "I feel it," Roger admits.
"You should eat something," Mark says. "And take your pills. Here, let me-"
Before Mark can stand up Roger reaches out to grab hold of his friend's arm. It takes more strength then he really has, but he'd do anything to keep Mark there. "Don't leave." There is an edge of desperation in Roger's voice that scares even him.
(Again, we have a very childish Roger, very clingy who doesn't like to let Mark go. Like a four year old who is a afraid of the dark or, for those of you into BDSM, like a little subboy pouty because his master is leaving him. I write BDSM role plays. I have no shame in admitting this.)
"I won't leave you, Roger," Mark promises. "But we need to get your better."
"I just need sleep." Roger tries pulling Mark over to him. It had been easy before. Even sick he was still stronger than Mark. Now, he's pulling was more of a halfhearted tug. "Please."
(Actually, Mark carries a camera around all day. I'll bet he's got some good arm muscles. Then again, Roger has to lug a guitar and an amp around, but he hasn't done that in a while... Also, Roger has more sex, which is a great form of exercise. I guess it matters what time period you're looking at for who would win in a fight.
Oh, wait, no. Joanne would kick all their asses, that's right.)
"You should eat," Mark says, but he stops trying to stand up. Roger gives another weak tug.
"I just need you to stay with me," Roger says. Mark looks unsure. His eyes go between Roger and the kitchen. Roger doesn't know what he's debating and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything but getting to sleep.
(I have been this tired and it is not fun. I woudl totally sleep with you, Roger. In both ways.)
Finally Mark breaks. "Let me get a blanket." When he moves away Roger can't hold back a whimper. Mark looks back and says, "I'll be back in a second, Rog."
(He's like a puppy! Ohh! He's like... Wait!. He's like Jared:
Look at those puppy eyes, people, and be amazed. God, boys like that are far too cute for their own good. And, while searching for this, I don't know anything about Gilmore Girls, but based off this photo:
I don't think it was girls those two were interested in.)
Roger tries to nod. He's not quite sure if he manages it or not, but Mark smiles back and wonders off towards the kitchen. Roger lets his eyes fall closes. He listens to Mark's footsteps cross the concrete floors, and the sound of hushed voices. Roger screws up his face, trying to concentrate on the words so hard that it hurts. (Thinking can do that, Roger. It's okay. God, now I'm mocking the sick, tired boy. I'm just cruel.) But the whispers are too far off and he can't make himself turn around. There are more footsteps and the sound of the front door closing.
"Mark?" Roger sounds ready to cry. His voice bounces around the empty apartment and he's pretty sure he's going to be sick.
"I'm here, Roger." There's a blanket being placed over him. Roger thinks about trying to get his eyes to open again, but the couch is dipping down under a new weight and a body is wrapping around him.
"Small couch," Mark chuckles nervously. Roger yawns in reply, nuzzling into the nice heat settles beside him. Mark says something else that Roger doesn't quite hear before he passes out.
(So, ignoring the boycuddling for the moment, Mark just told his kind of girlfriend he had to... What, sleep with his best friend? I would love to know how that conversation went.
Mark: Look, Roger is torturing himself and, well, I have to go lay down with him so he can get some sleep.
Girl: You're going to sleep with your roommate?
Mark: Yeah... But, well, he's sick so-
Girl: Is he hot?
Mark: What?
Girl: Can I come?)
*
Roger wakes up to a pair of hands playing in his hair.
(Mmm... Hands in hair are so wonderful. And just for note, his hair is sloppily cut and bleached out. I never have a certain actor in mind, I use the script more than one particular actor (although ever now and then, when they do something just too cute...) so I don't care who you are imagining for Roger. Adam, Tim, Nobert (make it Norbert! You know you want to!), Bill Clinton. I don't care, but make damn sure they have bleached out hair. It's that Billy Idol, still stuck in eighties punk look. I love it.)
It feels wonderful. A mix between petting and a massage. Roger's world is still hazy from sleep, and he prays the feeling isn't the ghost of his dreams. (Roger occasionally has almost poetic thoughts. I suck at writing.) He moans, leaning back into the touch and whimpers for more when the hand almost pulls away. Slowly his mind starts taking stalk of what is happening. He's curled up with his arms around someone's waist. The two bodies are so close their nearly sharing the same space. Roger doesn't know what time it is, but he feels good. He'd feel even better if the petting kept up.
(Hand in hair? Check. Warm body next to me? Check. Dude, I got lucky last night.)
He remembers being really tired. He remembers wanting to let himself die. He doesn't remember why, and he hopes whatever it is Mark has managed to fix it.
(Mature as always, Roger. Let's just hope Mark fix it, yeah.)
Roger's hands find a firm ass. He grabs the body, pushing them together and grinding against the heat. He nuzzles into the crook of the person's neck and bites down, earning himself a loud moan.
(You know, I was going to roll my eyes at Roger, point out how horrible it is that he would grab some guy's ass right after waking up without knowing who it was. But, you know what, if I woke up cuddling with someone who was playing with my hair, and I was in a godo mood, I would grope around a little, too. No shame.)
The petting stops. Roger sighs, forcing his eyes opened. Bellow him is a stretch of pale skin marred by a bright red mark and curls of pale blonde hair.
Also, with my rambling I have missed a few key points. Point one: Boys cuddling is hot. Point two: Biting is hot.)
He remembers Mimi screaming at him. He remembers falling down on the couch unable to move. He remembers Mark coming to rescue him, which makes sense. That's what Mark does, after all.
"Mark?" Roger yawns right in his friends face. "Morning."
(I love how utterly none freaked out he is. Oh, so it's MARK that I just gave a hickey and goosed. Oh, well. Can't win them all. It just occurred to me, I am probably the last person on the plant who uses goosed in these sense.)
Mark wiggles, trying to free himself from Roger's arms. ('Free' might be an understatement. We all know that, in his heart of hearts... Or, well, in his balls, Mark is a slut. He humped a table. That takes hormones.) Roger smirks at the same time that Mark figures out that wiggling isn't the best plan. Roger isn't the only one with sex on his mind.
(Two guys in their twenties who haven't had sex in a while. I'd like to know when sex ISN'T on their minds.)
"Afternoon," Mark corrects. His hands come between the two boy's bodies, giving Roger a little push. Roger moves back a few inches, dropping his hold on Mark's waist so that the other boy has enough room to breathe. "Starting to think you weren't going to wake up. If it weren't for your snoring I would have though you weren't breathing."
Roger rolls his eyes. "Ha ha."
"It's not so funny when it sounds like an airplane engine inches from your ears." Roger laughs, because it feels so good to be well rested and to have Mark smiling like that.
Even as he thinks about it Mark's smile hitches and then disappears. "We should get up, now," he says. He moves away from Roger, hoping awkwardly off the couch. "You need to take your AZT," Mark says over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.
Roger yawns again and stretches out, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He can hear Mark busying himself in the kitchen. "What you doing?" Roger yells over. He has been in the loft alone for two weeks. He knows there is no sign of food in their apartment.
(You know how some people constantly give the boys Captain Crunch? I constantly starve them. Like, there is hardly ever a fic where they have food. Seriously, we should all be amazed how long my Roger and Mark have survived.)
"Getting you a something to eat." Mark comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand, a bottle of pills and glass of water in the other, and a bag of chips between his teeth.
(Mark is like a little slave. Look, I haven't Rped really good, hard BDSM in a while, and I'm withdrawaling, okay? Everything makes me think about it. Romanticized BDSM is my guilty pleasure role play of choice, and I don't care who knows it.)
"Collins?" Roger asks, pulling the chips out of Mark's mouth. Mark hands him the pills and water. "He was over here last night, wasn't he?" Roger asks around a mouthful of bread and ham. His stomach is rumbling even as he chews.
"That was Tina, actually." Mark opens the pill bottle and hands them over to Roger, who ignores them and fixes Mark with a suspicious look.
(Tina? Mark is dating a stripper. You were all thinking it. At least, Roger probably was. It isn't good that my mind works like Roger's.)
"Tina?" He asks. He tries to remember ever hearing about anyone named Tina before and comes up short. "Who's Tina?"
"Take your pills, Roger," Mark says. Roger swallows down the pills, but keeps his eyes on Mark.
"Who is she?" He repeats, wiping a stream of water from his chin. He takes a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting for Mark to explain.
Mark's cheeks turn pink. He stares at his hands, which are playing with the extra cloth of his shirt. "She's just this girl I know. She thought she'd help me out. You know, buy us some grocery. Help with your meds."
(I know a lot of people HATE when Mark or Roger blush and I don't care. I don't care if it's cliche, I don't care if it's romanticized, it's cute as fuck. Also, where do you people live that you have never seen a boy blush? Do know of you have younger brother's to torture or guy friends to mock about crushes?
I am kind of a terrible person.)
Roger remembers Collins mentioning Mark trying to get his life together, seeing some girl. "You're dating her?" It isn't a question. It is an accusation.
Mark sighs and pushes himself off the couch. "It doesn't matter," he says.
The food is forgotten. Roger really doesn't want to eat it anymore. "Sounds like a stripper name," he says, trying to hide his animosity with a conversational tone. "Where did you meet her?"
(Ha, he really does point out that it sounds like a stripper. Oh, that's sad but wonderful.)
"She's not like that!" Mark snaps. He's up from the couch, stalking away from Roger. "I know you wouldn't like her."
"Is that why you left?" Roger sneers, knocking the bag of chips to the floor when he gets up. "Because of some girl who thought I wouldn't like?" If there is going to be a fight he wants to be ready for it.
Mark is ranting and raving, pacing across the loft floor and throwing his hands in wild directions as he speaks. "Why is it every time someone does something nice for you, you have to try and fight them?" Mark asks. "You haven't meant her and already you're being an asshole. Why is that, Roger?"
(Mark is upset, you can tell because he keeps using Roger's name. You only use someone's name that much when you're pissed. At least, I do.)
"It's not my fault I haven't meant her!" Roger yells back. "You're the one who's ashamed to bring her here."
"I did bring her here! And you were slowly killing yourself. Quite the impression you made, by the way." Mark is on the defensive. It amazes Roger that no matter what they fight about, Mark always ends up protecting someone from Roger. It's always Roger who plays the part of the bad guy. The villain to Mark's tested hero. It isn't fair. This isn't Roger's fault. It's Mark who just got up one night and left him here alone. It is Mark who abandoned Roger and refused to return his calls. It is Mark who owed him an apology, not the other way around. Not this time.
(Really, no one is in the right here, and that is what makes it so wonderful.)
Roger can't deal with this. He grabs his guitar and says, "I'm going to see Mimi."
"Fine!" Mark says. "Run away. It's what you're good at!"
"You're one to talk!" Roger yells back before slamming the door behind him.
(They're just so mature.)
*
Roger sleeps just as well with Mimi as he did with Mark.
(See? What is that except a 'suck it, Mark' sort of statement? And not even the good type of sucking.)
It's been two days and Roger can't bring himself to go back to the loft. Mimi didn't exactly welcome him back, but she was to high to say no. In fact, Roger is sure he hadn't seen Mimi sober since he first got there, but it was better that way. She didn't try and talk about why he came back or why he couldn't be up at the loft. What's really important is that he has a warm body to sleep next to and that he has plenty of time to sit and simmer.
It is a good plan until Mimi catches on.
"This is about Mark, isn't it?" She asks when she gets home from work.
(I kind of want to write this paragraph again. It kind of sucks. I'm trying my best to ignore it but.. No, it's too short and even though I am using short sentences at the start to slow the reader down, right here it needs to feel more drawn out, longer. I hate this paragraph. And all the following paragraphs. Skip with me, if you will, to the next section.)
Roger is sitting with his guitar out and paper spread around him. He says, "I don't want to talk about it."
Mimi snorts. "Big surprise." She falls back on the bed, peeling off her shoes. "What'd you do this time?"
Roger glowers. "What makes you think it was my fault?" He asks. "It was Mark who left in the first place."
Mimi laughs. It's not the seductive laugh Roger fell in love with. It's bitter and has a bite to it that strings at Roger's heart. "Don't bother, Roger. It was you who left. Mark was just being smart about it."
"What does that mean?" Roger snaps, but he already knows what it means. Him and Mimi had already had this fight.
Mimi doesn't start screaming, though. She doesn't throw something at Roger from across the room. She just stays at her bed, tangling her hands in her hair and shaking her head. "I can't do this anymore."
Roger thinks that maybe he hadn't heard right. She says it so quietly that he's sure he must have missed something. "What?"
"You're too much," she says. "I can't keep yelling at you, Roger. I don't have the energy."
(Okay, we're out of that part. You can stop skipping now.)
"But you have enough energy for smack?" He shouts, blood boiling over so that he can hear his heart beating in his ears. "You have enough energy to screw every other guy you meet? You have enough energy to string me along but not to actually love me, is that it?"
"No!" Mimi has tears in her eyes, and that's like a hit to Roger's jaw. They fight all the time, but this is different. There is always yelling and screaming, but Roger isn't suppose to make Mimi cry. "That's not it at all. I... You know, I try for you. I get a good job and I... I really try but then all you ever do is think about yourself. I was clean and I wasn't doing anyone but you, and that was never enough, Roger. You didn't want me unless you could control me. You didn't want me unless you could pick me apart." All this spills out before Roger can say another word in his defense. Mimi is sitting on the edge of her bed trembling with tears running down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. The room is so quite Roger can hear the air get sucked into her lungs. "I love you, Roger."
(Yeah, Roger really is kind of a bastard to Mimi. I mean, not even giving her a chance to explain? That is not good boyfriend material. He does it in the play, too, yet she comes crawling back. God, they both need therapy so. fucking. bad.)
"Mimi, I-"
Mimi cuts him off. "All you had to do was love me back." She whispers this last part, and Roger finds that he can barely breathe.
"I did love you," Roger says. "I loved you so much."
Mimi stands up. She thin, Roger notices, too thin and shaking so much she can barely get to her feet. Her hair falls flat and isn't as healthy looking as it once was. He skin has lost its glow. She looks terrible, and Roger wonders when all this happened. When had he stopped looking at Mimi?
(I don't know, but this part always makes me sad. It's heart breaking to me to think you can block out how bad things are until it all hits you at once what you've been ignoring. People are strange, stupid creatures.)
"I... I can't do this right now." She stumbles over the words and stumbles out the door.
Roger is left alone.
*
"Mark?"
The loft echoes with the sounds of an abused victim. Roger knows it all to well. He pushes open Mark's door, trying to stay as silent as possible and not wake up his friend.
He's surprised to see Mark's bed made up and empty.
(You know what would be fun? Instead of Roger walking in on Mark's nightmares, Roger walking in on... I don't know. Mark tied up to the bed being whipped? You were all thinking it. And if you weren't, you sure as hell are now.)
"Mark?" He calls again, listening to the whimpering that bounces off the walls. There are only three real rooms in the apartment, and seeing as Mark isn't on the couch or in his bed that doesn't leave many place for him to sleep.
Roger shuffles across the floor to his own room.
Even with the lights turned off Roger can see Mark in his bed, trying to tear apart Roger's covers. He is doing a pretty good job of it, too.
Roger sighs, happy that Mark is already asleep. It will be easier this way, to just slip in bed with him. Better than trying to talk about what happened or, worse, trying to talk about Mimi.
(I like that the worst tortures Roger can think of in this fic is not sleeping and talking. Seriously.)
He peels off his two day old shirt and pants, leaning his guitar against the wall (Thinking about it, two days old probably isn't bad for Roger.). Mark has his feet tangled in the sheets and most of the blankets are either on the floor or being strangled by his wild hands. There's a bit of a struggle when Roger tries to pull them away, but it doesn't take too long after their lying together for Mark to give up on his fight with invisible monsters and cuddle up to Roger.
Roger is all to glad to have someone in his arms that night, and if he could have picked anyone to be next to right then it would have been Mark.
"Don't leave me," Roger mutters into the nest of blond hair tickling his chin. "Never again, okay?"
Mark gives a halfhearted snore in reply, and for now that's all the promise Roger needs.
*
Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter V: Don’t Say a Word
(I don't remember if I mentioned this before or not, but I thought I would just because. All the chapter titles are lines from lullabies. Now, I didn't know any lullabies, because my mom never sang to us. She read a hell of a lot, though. So I had to look up lullabies, and as a result I have no idea where I got the title chapters. I do remember that I tried to find lines that fit with the theme of the chapter. Chapter X is the exception, since it is called Day Break because, well, they are waking up from the sort of insomnia that is haunting them through the story. So, there. That is something that is actually about the fanfiction instead of just me rambling.
Also I think... Either chapter 4, 5, or 6 is the longest chapter in the series, as the middles tend to be.)
When Mark wakes up the next morning Roger's been up for nearly an hour. He's been watching over Mark, making sure that he hasn't missed anything. Making sure he didn't stop seeing Mark like he'd stopped seeing with Mimi.
(Lucky, Mark is an understanding soul, because if I woke up to my roommate staring at me like that, I would probably scream and start throwing out accusations of 'creepy'.)
Mark yawns and murmurs, "Roger?" His voice is soft and thick. He blinks a few times before squinting, trying to make the world go clear without his glasses to help him. "What are you doing here?"
"You were having nightmares," Roger explains. His stomach turns at the thought of Mimi closing the door behind her. Roger doesn't think he can talk about it without being sick. "You always have nightmares without me."
(Actually, Mark just has nightmares when he's alone. Way to make it all about you, Roger.)
Mark bites at his lower lip when he thinks, and the way he's looking at Roger is a give away for what he's thinking about. Roger tries not to meet his eyes. He watches his hands ring the thin fabric of the covers, instead. He's ready to start the screaming match if Mark so much as mentions her name.
A whole minute passes before Mark is done thinking. Roger dares a glance up at his friend when he hears a loud sigh. Mark shifts closer to Roger, trapping Roger's worried hands between them. Roger's hands clench into his friend's nightshirt. He doesn't have a choice in this.
"Not true," Mark mutters. His eyes are fluttering closed again. Roger relaxes into him, closing his eyes at the same time so that he can mentally chant a hundred words of gratitude over and over again that Mark isn't going to call him on his lie.
(Kinda sexy, huh? In bed together, laying that close... Mark probably in a snoopy sleep shirt. Okay, maybe not all that sexy.)
When Roger opens his eyes again, Mark's breathing is starting to slow down. He wiggles his hands free so that he can tangle the two bodies together. Mark doesn't try and fight his way out of Roger's arms, and it feels so good to hold onto something as steady as Mark again. "Yes, you do," Roger says. "You cry in your sleep. You're such a girl."
Mark growls, and Roger laughs because it's the least threatening thing he's ever heard. It sounded more like a purr muffled against his chest. "Am not," Mark mutters. He twists and turns under the covers so that he's pressed flushed against Roger.
Roger's hands find the nap of Mark's neck, the perfect place to play with little wisps of hair. "Are so," Roger whispers back. He's lost the conversation, but he wants to keep talking. He wants to keep everything exactly like this.
Half asleep and being lulled further down by Roger's gentle petting, Mark only barely manages something that sounds like "Mnot."
The two boys stay in bed for most of the afternoon.
(Sadly, not in a kinky or fun way.)
*
Roger is resolved not to talk about Mimi.
Mark doesn't force it out of him, but Roger spends a lot of his time avoiding Mark anyway. They take on a rather familiar routine. They wake up, Mark tries to get Roger excited about something and Roger refuses, then Mark goes out to film and Roger stays in the loft all day. It is like going through withdrawal, only Roger can still play the guitar and he spends the nights in Mark's arms.
(Still, sadly, not in a kinky or fun way.)
Still, he doesn't want to face the outside world and each day it gets harder not to scream out. Mimi has become the smack he isn't allowed to inject. She's the drug that tears away at his heart. He shakes when he thinks about her. He needs her. He feels like he's nothing without her.
(Okay, 'You're the smack I can't inject, you're the drug that tears away at my heart' sounds like REALLY bad pop punk lyrics, doesn't it? God, and Roger would probably try and rhyme it with something terrible, too.)
It's like he's lost April and drugs and his health all over again.
(I was just telling David that one of the reason my fics are so damn long (I think I probably average at 3,000 words a fic/chapter) is that I feel the need to add as much canon as possible. So for Mark and Roger to sleep together in one fic, I have to cover Mark's films, the fact that he has dated Maureen, the fact that he loved Maureen but tended to ignore her, the fact that she cheated, the fact that she's ow a lesbian. Then for Roger I have to mention the music, April, drugs, Mimi, and how he loved all of these things and how Mark took care of him. I have to bring up Angel's death, too, which means Collins as well. And that's just the canon, that isn't why Mark and Roger might be interested in sleeping with each other or how they wound up in a certain situation.
And, really, you guys should know this. Yes, Roger 'loved' Mimi. I refuse to qualify it as very great love, since she broke into his apartment while high and was clearly Roger's rebound girl and all they did was fight and have sex which, hello, in the real world is not called love no matter how many romance books tell you it is. But I shouldn't have to cover that he is heart broken that he might have lost her. It's Roger. He's probably heart broken about some shirt that got washed and lost some of it's coloring, okay? Of course he's broke up about it.
On the other hand, in the context of T&TL, I really like how Roger and Mimi's relationship plays out, and I really enjoyed writing some of the parts with her and how broken Roger was, so in this fic it worked well for me. When I'm writing a PWP? Not so much.)
While Roger is sulking around the loft, Mark is trying to keep him from destroying himself. "Eat this, Roger," Mark will saying, shoving food they don't have the money for into Roger's hands so that Roger can prod at it with a fork and refuse to eat it. "Take your AZT," Mark reminds him, setting everything out so that all Roger has to do is follow instructions. "Why don't you try playing something," Mark will suggest, pleading with Roger to do something other than sit around and brood over Mimi. "Roger, you need to get out. Roger, you need to stop being like this. Roger, please, Roger."
For the most part Mark is ignored. Roger lets his friend lead him around, pretending to eat and take his pills and care, but nothing Mark says or does stays with Roger. Mark is in charge of making sure Roger goes on living, and Roger barely acknowledges him for that.
(Roger is sort of fickle, huh? When Mark is gone, he's all Roger can think about and then he comes back and Roger ignores him. Roger kind of sucks as a friend. We were all thinking it.)
The only time he pays attention to Mark is when they sleep. Even then, neither boy is sure who Roger is holding. Arms wrap around each other, faces nuzzle against flat chest, and two very male bodies are pressed together. But body heat is body heat is body heat. Mark is warm in the same way Mimi is, and it's clear which one Roger needs with him at night.
It drives Mark insane.
"You can't do this," He tells Roger. Roger is curled up on the couch. He has spent the morning watching the wall and the occasional cockroaches that scampered across the gritty surface. Mark steps in front of him and Roger doesn't even flinch. "Roger? Come on, you can't do this." You can't do this, Roger. You can't shut off completely. It's self-inflicted rehab all over again.
Roger stares right through him. Mark sighs. He grabs his camera, falling onto the couch with a loud thud that shakes the furniture. He starts emptying the film dangerous fast, fingers slipping and beating at the camera's black body. Roger turns to watch. He'd never seen Mark take his anger out on his camera before.
(See what you do, Roger? You even make Mark go a little insane. Every is so worn out and worn down and frustrated in this fic all the time, aren't they?)
Mark's finger slip a little too far and slices itself against one of the awkward curves of the old machine. "Fuck!" The camera hits the floor. Mark lifts his finger to his lips, sucking up the line of blood. If Roger didn't feel so numb he would have screamed at Mark. Told him he was being a complete idiot for acting so upset just because of the way Roger was behaving.
Mark leans over to rescue his camera. He isn't any calmer. Roger can see his body trembling.
"She left me," Roger mutters. Mark looks up, as if he's not sure he's heard right. "She left me, Mark."
"So you two had a fight," Mark says, trying to sound calming for Roger's sake. It's amazing how fast he can drop all of that anger when Roger needs him. "It happens. She'll be back."
Roger remembers the look on Mimi's face when she left. He remembers the silent tear tracks down her cheeks and the sag in her shoulders right before the door closed Roger inside the apartment without her. All their other fights were loud and passionate. This one had ended in dead quiet. "No she won't," Roger says. "She's not coming back this time Mark. She's gone for good."
(God, this dialog is painfully bad. I really need to change it.)
He says it the same way Mimi had told him she was leaving. A dead sounding tone barely above a whisper. When she told him goodbye, something inside him shattered. (To be honest, I am laughing at Roger's pain. He's hard to write in angsty moments, because the way he is in the play is so over the top angst in that little, 'it bleeds in my soul!' way that when you try and copy that in a fic, well, that is what you get.) He expects the same for everyone else, but when he tells Mark, the cameraman simply stares back at Roger. For once he doesn't offer any calming words or advice. Like he doesn't even think its all that important.
"Don't you get it?" There is a rise in Roger's voice. He moves above a whisper, even if he isn't ready to yell quite yet. "She's gone Mark. She left and she's not coming back!"
Mark takes a moment before he says, "People break up all the time, Rog-"
"All the time!" Roger stands up, lashing out at Mark. "All the time! Mark, I don't have all the time, remember! I had this one shot, this one chance with Mimi and now it's gone."
"You don't know that, Roger." Mark is trying to stay as calm, but something in his eyes is burning. Roger can't tell and doesn't care what it means. "Just because Mimi left you doesn't mean it's your last shot maybe-"
"Maybe what, Mark? Maybe... Maybe I'll find someone else, right?"
"Exactly, Rog-" Mark starts, but Roger is more interested in yelling than listening.
"Maybe the love of my life while just stroll through those doors any minute. Maybe they can over look the fact that I'm walking death and so fucked up that everyone else in my life has to turn to drugs to deal with me. Maybe they won't care about all that stuff but really love me for me. And maybe she'll be everything I'll ever need and true love will over come all obstacles and the AIDs will just disappear and we'll live happily ever after. Is that how it works, Mark?"
(Hey, I think I read that fic once.)
Roger is raving, inches from Mark's face so that they two can share the same explosive air that is over heating the loft. Mark doesn't flinch with Roger so close. He doesn't fidget under his friend's glower or the rising temperature of the apartment. He remains completely still, fist clenched so tight that blood can't make it to his cut. Roger doesn't wait for Mark to think up a reply. "The real world doesn't work like that. This isn't one of your films, Mark. There isn't going to be any nice resolution before the credits."
(Someone should actually give me money every time I refer to something in terms of a film. Especially in Mark based fics. It's a bad habit.)
"I never said that!" Mark cries, somewhere between anger and begging Roger to think rationally. "I never said any of that, but Roger you can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep destroying yourself over Mimi."
"Why not?" Roger shot back. "What else do I have to live for?"
Mark pushes against Roger's chest, hard enough to send the musician tumbling and clutching his ribs. "How can you even say that?" He's screaming now, just as loudly as Roger. "Are you telling me that the only thing you had to live for was Mimi? What about your music? What about Collins? What about me? Or is that all so easy to forget, Roger." The last sentence is spit with so much malice that Roger stumbles again without any help. "Is it so easy to forgot about us when you're hurt? You're the one on the main stage, and every one is expected to listen and do as you tell them. Everything else is background noise to you, Roger, even Mimi."
(And Mark comes back with a music reference. Best fight ever.)
Mark and Roger, they're always honest when they're yelling at each other. Still, there are some things that shouldn't be spoken.
Mark's words end and both boy are too shocked to do anything. When Roger does move, he's shaking so badly he nearly trips over his own feet. "Fuck you," he says. He doesn't think he can manage much more at the moment. "Fuck you, Mark."
He storms off to his room, slamming the door so loud that he can't hear Mark's apology.
*
That night, Roger decides he doesn't need sleep.
He stays up in bed with his guitar out, picking at a few random strings that don't amount to shit. Trying to connect them in his mind and force them to form a melody of some sort means he doesn't have to think about Mark or Mimi or anything else in his life.
Mark is set on making this as hard as he can for Roger.
The door opens halfway, and Mark stands there, too nervous to enter. Roger doesn't look up from his Fender's off key strings. "Roger?"
(I don't think I have ever done a fic where Roger played a song well. It is always off key, or he can't write, or something is wrong. Bad music and no food, those are the signs of a real Stephanie fic.)
The heat from this morning has cooled down, leaving the apartment feeling cold and empty. Roger shivers, but otherwise refuses to acknowledge Mark's presences. In turn, Mark refuses to acknowledge Roger's silent dismissal. "Roger? Can I come in?"
"Why?" Roger knows Mark well enough that he can tell when his friend is in one of those moods. Mark won't give up until they're talking, even if talking results in more yelling and near fist fights.
Mark wraps his arms around himself, which only makes his trembling more obvious. Roger isn't the only one left feeling cold. "I'm having nightmares again."
Roger snorts. "Big surprise," he says. "Why don't you go see Tina, then? After all, it's not like I care. I'm to busy being selfish."
(Oooh. That's right, bring it bitch. I am the worst author, ever. I would never help my characters out of fights. This is why T&TL dragged from a one shot to 3 parts to 10 chapters.)
Mark winces when Roger throws their earlier fight back at him, but he doesn't back down. Instead he takes his first step into Roger's room. "I don't want to be with Tina," he says, and then he's sitting down on the other side of Roger's bed. Roger turns himself further away, leaning over his guitar until he can't see any of Mark. Mark scoots closer to Roger, and Roger starts strumming at his guitar again. It's a slow, sad chord Roger doesn't often play.
The notes jump when Mark lays a hand against Roger's shoulder. Roger closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, but he can hear the covers being lifted aside. Roger keeps playing, and Mark props his head up to listen as the notes stretch on. His hand moves to the back of Roger's neck, so gentle that it sends shivers down Roger's spine. The sort that have nothing to do with chilly weather.
There are a lot of things being said, most of which Roger is too afraid to translate in his head.
(So I will. Mark fucking loves you, you idiot, and you love him and you need to stop throwing your life away on drugs and the female equivalent of drugs and Mark needs to have sex that ISN'T with himself.)
When the song ends Mark says, "Are you angry at me?"
Roger closes his eyes again, thinking back to their fight. "Yes."
Mark pulls the sheets over Roger's lap. "Good," he says. Roger raises an eyebrow, finally looking Mark in the eyes. The young man turns red. "I mean... I hate it when you act like that. I didn't mean for it to go so far, but I couldn't stand to see you so depressed, Roger."
"You'd rather I was angry at you?" Roger asks. His tone is noncommittal. He isn't sure wither he should laugh or scream.
(See, now there is a good friend. Someone who will get you pissed just to snap you out of your self destructive mood.)
Mark yawns. He snuggles into one of the two shabby pillows they have in the loft. Both have been moved to Roger's bed in the last few months. "I don't know," Mark admits. "But I couldn't take you moping around the apartment like some teenage girl anymore."
(Isn't that the, like, ninth hundredth time they have teased each other by calling the other a girl? And a teenage girl, this time even. Well, I have to give it to Mark. Roger does act like a teenage girl.)
Roger takes a swing at Mark's stomach. It isn't gentle enough to be entirely playful, and Mark winces and curls into himself a bit. Roger ends up running his hand through his friend's hair. It's easier than an apology, and Roger isn't sure he could honestly mean one right then. "You are so fucked up," he says.
"Because of you." The lights are turned off and Roger lays back in bed, tucked in with covers and Mark to help chase away the last of the chills for their fight. "If I'm fucked up it's your fault, Roger."
Roger stretches out under the covers, using Mark's elbow as a pillow. "Shut up, Mark," he growls. "I'm trying to sleep."
*
"Rise and shine, boy!"
(Collins!)
Roger growls. He's warm and still half asleep. He doesn't feel like getting up, and he doesn't feel like dealing with anyone half as cheerful as the voice calling out to him. Without opening his eyes, Roger picks his pillow up from under his back and throws it at the doorway.
He doesn't remember that there might be something there to stop him.
"Owe!" Roger's hand comes in contact with something that is not air before he can quite let go of the pillow. The resulting yelp forces Roger to gain consciousness.
He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as his mind tries to catch up with the rest of the world. Mark is holding his shoulder, massaging away at a bright red area that is already starting to bruise.
"You okay?" Roger asks, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look.
"Fine," Mark answers with a cross between a cringe and a smile.
"Should I leave you two love birds alone in the nest for a while?" A deep voice asks. Collins is leaning against the door frame, looking more too chipper for the morning. He's wearing a smile Roger knows all too well. Roger doesn't like the way he keeps it aimed on Mark.
(Collins knows something... Mainly that Mark has the biggest damn crush in the world. Hey, if you thought you might be gay, wouldn't you talk about it with Collins? Wouldn't you talk about ANYTHING with Collins anyway? Also, is this the magically POV switching fic where Collins randomly gets a jump in? No, I think that is Feline Jealousy. I loved that jump in, because that is how I mentally picture Collins, acting happy even when he's having Deep None Happy Thoughts.)
"Collins!" Mark jumps out of bed, and Collins laughs before he hugs the smaller boy into a hug. "I thought you were teaching down in Georgia Tech."
(I know people at Tech, and as a result Collins teaches there a lot. Actually, sometimes when I think about his history, I have Collins as having grown up in Georgia and actually attending Tech before realizing that he didn't want to contribute to the capitalist system and transferring to somewhere less computery. Anyway...)
"Couldn't stay away from New York that long," Collins laughed, keeping one arm around Mark's shoulder while he looked back to Roger. "Just like you said, huh Roger?" Collins asks. He's giving Roger the same look from earlier. That slightly mischievous, I-know-more-than-you-do smile that frustrates Roger so much.
(Then again, at this point in the fic who doesn't know more than Roger does? He is so far behind. Stop rubbing it in Collins, you lovable bastard you.)
"But you haven't even been gone a month," Mark points out. He laughs when he asks, "How can you even get fired that quickly?"
It's nice to hear Mark laughing. It feels like forever since him and Mark weren't at each other's throats, but then Mark had smiled for Roger when he'd first came back to the loft. Less than a month since he'd left Collins's place and come home. It seems longer to Roger. They always seem to be going longer and longer between the good times.
"What time is it, Collins?" Roger asks, kicking the blankets off him and struggling to get up. He isn't quite as happy to see his friend. Not after the way he hid Mark away from him, then had the balls to walk in on them like he knew something Roger didn't.
(Hehe. Collins's balls. Yes, I'm secretly a ten year old boy and find these things funny as hell.)
"Nearly noon," Collins answers. "Time for lunch." Mark's stomach gives a well-timed growl. Collins winks down at the younger man. "You sound like you could use something to eat." He reaches in his coat and pulls out a thick roll of twenties, causing both of the other boy's jaws to drop. "And I have just the flow."
"Where'd you get that!" Roger manages to say after the shocks wears off enough that he can move his mouth.
Collins laughs. "A man does not program and tell."
"Bullshit!"
Collins is still laughing, and his good cheer spread quickly to Mark. "You can tell us later," Mark says, squirming out from under Collin's arm. "I'm starved! Let me grab a shirt and we'll head to the Life Café!"
Collins ruffles Mark's hair. "Grab your best sweaters boys. I think this calls for a celebration!"
"Celebrate what?" Mark asks, flattening out his nest of morning hair.
Collins shots Roger a grin that is almost a wink. "I'll tell you on the way there," he says, like Roger should understand. The musician digs around in his mind, but comes up empty.
(I want a friend like Collins so bad, damnit. Only maybe one that is less likely to be arrested for stealing.)
"Whatever it is, there better be beer," Mark calls, heading off to his room to grab a shirt.
(You know, considering how little I give them food, my boys sure do manage to get drunk a lot.)
"Clean pants, too," Collins yells after him. He waits until Mark's door closes to look back at Roger. He's wearing a grin large enough to split his face. Roger still hasn't caught on to any of this.
"So you finally figured it out," Collins asks. He pats Roger on the shoulder like he is congratulating him on a good gig. "It's about time."
"What are you talking about, Collins?" Roger gets out of bed and starts kicking around the pile of clothes on the floor. He owns about three pairs of pants and one hundred T-shirts for various bands, most of which don't fit or have too many holes to wear in the autumn.
Collins's shakes his head and says, "Don't be coy, Roger. I'm surprise Mark still keeps his clothes in his old room."
"It's not his old room!" Roger snaps. "He still lives here, and he's not leaving! If that's what this is about, you can just fuck off."
Collins's smile disappears. He gives Roger a searching look, and Roger returns it with a growl. Collins didn't seriously think that Mark is going to leave him again, did he? Roger wouldn't let him, not even if his other friend tried to stand in his way. But when Collins speaks it doesn't sound like he wants Mark to leave. He says, "You two sleep in the same room?"
Roger shrugs his shoulders. "He has nightmares," he answers. "He can't sleep at night without me."
Collins nods. "That I know," he replies. "But you..."
(Ah, poor Collins thought he had it all figured out, and he was wrong. Actually, he was right, he is just a few chapters ahead of Mark and Roger.)
"I'm a friend!" Roger throws his hands up in the air. "Of course I'm going to help him. Does everything really think I don't care about anyone but myself?"
Collins raises an eyebrow. He crosses his arms, and he's looking at Roger again like he wants to see into his head. "That's what it is? You're helping Mark with nightmares?"
"It's none of your business." Roger isn't sure why he's acting so defensive with Collins, but he doesn't like the way Collins makes it sound. It is just a friend thing. Roger helps fight Mark's nightmares away and Mark keeps Roger company in bed. There is nothing weird about it.
Roger wants to believe that, so why can't Collins let him?
Before Collins can say anything else, Mark is back. He's wearing a pair of clean black jeans that look just like most of the one she owns and a gray sweater without any holes that's just a little to big from him. Roger recognizes it as birthday gift from Mimi. Mark runs a hand through his hair and straightens out his glasses. "Ready!" He announces, smiling up at Collins.
Collins smiles back, but it's nothing like his earlier cheer. "Are you okay?" Mark's face falls slightly.
Roger zips up his jacket to hide his torn up rocker shirt. He pushes Mark out the door and says, "Come on, I'm hungry."
Mark's face lights up. "You got him to come!" He says, looking over Roger's shoulder at Collins. Collins smiles and shrugs, but Mark doesn't notice his sudden lack of enthusiasm. He laughs and grabs Roger by the shoulder, leading the way out the door. Roger can't help but smile, even as he's being pulled from the loft.
(Mark goes through, like, five mood swings right there in the course of, what? Less than ten minutes, right? I am not a benevolent goddess of their world. Although I am a kinky goddess, which I believe helps to even it out.)
While Mark is climbing down the stairs, Collins and him share a look, and Roger silent begs him to drop their earlier conversation. They're getting too close to things Roger doesn't want to discuss. Collins gives a small nod, but his frown makes it clear that he's not doing it for Roger's benefit. Roger doesn't care why, just so long as some things go unsaid.
Which brings up the point that, while the fic is PG-13, the commentary is filled with what might be R rated references.
Author: Stephanie
Series: Touch & Tell Lullaby
Chapter: IV - May Thy Slumber Be Blessed, V - Don't Say A Word
Fandom/Pairing: Rent, Mark/Roger
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Roger is starting to figure out that he really just needs one thing in life.
Past Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter IV: May Thy Slumber Be Blessed
Roger doesn't sleep anymore.
(I love insomnia as a plot device. Anyone who suffers from it can tell you, it can be hell when you can't make yourself sleep. It's like angst without the cutting. Krissy can back me up on this, I use insomnia as a plot device way more than I should. Kind of like I use boysex as a plot device way more than any single human should.)
For the first couple of nights he goes through the motions. He lies in the dark with his eyes and wills his mind to shut off and let him sleep. Then he spends all night tossing, turning, and thinking about Mimi and Mark.
(If we replaced he for she and Mimi and Mark for financial aid and grades, we would have me! But not as sexy and not as pathetic. At least I hope I'm not as pathetic as Roger. And I say that out of love.)
He tries to remind himself that it's not forever. Couples get into fights all the time, especially if that couple is Mimi and Roger. He figures they both just need some time to cool down. (This is rather cool headed of Roger, who, as we know from the play, doesn't do well in fights. It must be the lack of sleep.) Then everything will go back to smiles and songs for a while. That's how it always seems to work between them. It's their pattern. As for Mark, Roger isn't so sure when their pattern became so broken and unpredictable. He tries not to worry about it, but there isn't much else to do laying awake at five in the morning.
By the third night Roger is sick of pretending. He stops trying to get any sleep. All day he mopes around the loft, waiting. He thinks about going to check on Mimi's apartment, calling Collin's place to see how Mark is doing, or at least picking up his guitar and trying to play something. He thinks about trying to get his life together, but everything seems too hard. Roger is walking a thin line between sleep and consciousness. He's exhausted and everything seems impossible.
(What did I tell you. Beautiful angsty plot device without the 'OMG! Now I must cut myself to show my pain on the outside!' Why involve blood when not sleeping is just as efficient a punishment? I don't like needles or cuts or sharp things, okay?)
*
Roger doesn't answer the door.
(Obviously, I haven't read this in a while, but I'm pretty sure every section begins like this, with a simple Roger statement. Short paragraphs are easier to read, but they also kind of slow you down, so it fits the mood of this chapter which is ready to collapse. God, I hope I am not making this up and the next section begins with a paragraph on unicorns. This is just what I remember.)
He's lying back on the couch, too tired to move and unable to sleep. His body has been ready to collapse for days but his mind won't let him. Every part of Roger is begging him to just give up. Every part expect for the one that keeps him awake at night.
(Self tortured artists artist the best. You can't create without pain. Everyone knows this. Why do you think so many artist die young or kill themselves or are drug addicts or are gay or, worse, are catholic? It's all about being tortured.)
"Go away," he whispers to whoever is knocking. He can't summon the energy to scream. "I don't care who it is, just go away."
The knocking stops, and there is the squeak of rusty hinges moving as the door swings open.
"Roger?" Roger's mind is sluggish from his week long insomnia. He hears someone calling for him but he can't pin down the voice and his body refuses to react. "Roger? Rog... Oh, God. Are you okay?"
(You know, they never use Rog or Marky or Meems in the play, and I know some people don't like it, but to me it makes sense. When you know someone for so long, you get lazy and close to them, and so you give them nicknames. I haven't called Kathryn anything but Kat in years, Tiffany if Tiff, Nathaniel is 'thaniel. Hell, even Kate which is one of the simplest name in the world is KittyKat. To me, nicknames aren't planned out or right or wrong, they just slip out when you have to talk to that person every single day. You have to mix it up.
I have no idea why I am telling you guys that. You don't care, do you? No, I didn't think so, sometimes my mind just goes on weird rant like tangents and I feel the need to share. So, there is you long, rant like tangent of the day. No more, I promise.)
"Mark?" Roger forces his eyes open. The voice is too familiar for him to ever forget, even if he's slow to recognize it. Sure enough, Mark is leaning over the couch, the usual look of worry on his face. Roger is all to glad to have someone worried over him. He's too worn out to worry about himself.
"You look like shit," Mark says. Roger isn't sure wither he should growl or laugh. He can't manage either. "Collins says you stopped calling."
(True friends don't cry over you and whimper when you're sick. True friends tell you you look like shit. It's just a fact.)
"You're never there," Roger says. His voice is so slurred by exhaustion he almost sounds drunk. That wonderful look of anxiety on Mark's face turns into fear. Roger's half conscious mind grabs it up. He wants Mark to be worried about him. Let him feel responsible for Roger's falling apart. It was only fair, considering that it was all Mark's fault in the first place. Mark shouldn't have ever left him alone. "You didn't want to talk to me. You were getting a new life, remember?" He manages to sound spiteful even now.
(I always try to make my characters as least appealing as I can with their emotional responses to situations. The fact is, when people are put in stressful situations, even if they act properly, they're not always thinking the best things. Like, when I was at my grandfather's funereal, and I loved this guy, instead of being upset or crying I was wondering how they made him look so plasticy, and when we would get to go back to the motel and swim. When my parents threatened divorce, even though it scared the fuck out of me and acted like the best sister in the world, and I cried and took Campbell and Nate out, I remember thinking of it all in manipulative terms, like if I did all this than maybe mom and dad would feel guilty and stop fighting.
My point is, when you read you get to look at character motivation, and from what I have personally experienced I know that when you're stressed out, you don't always think clearly even if you act like it. Yet, still, in most fanfiction you read the motivations are always so good, never manipulative or selfish unless the character is a total jerk. So I like that even though Roger really does feel guilty and he is punishing himself, not Mark, when he first sees Mark he thinks good, he should have to suffer.
I have started reading more memoir based books, fictional and not, like Running with Scissors, and some of the modern, better ones (such as RwS) do this, so I think there is a possibility I will get hooked to the genre.)
Mark looks away. Roger loves his friend's guilt. "They said you hadn't picked up your AZT." Mark reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar bottle. "I thought you might be..."
(I avoid using the word dead a lot in my stories. You ever been talking to someone about something important, and you just avoid coming out and saying that one word, even though you're both adults and should be able to handle it? Why do we do this to ourself?)
Roger groans and rolls over on his side. Mark looks up to meet his eyes. He is close to tears. (Mark, that is. Fucking pronouns) "I feel it," Roger admits.
"You should eat something," Mark says. "And take your pills. Here, let me-"
Before Mark can stand up Roger reaches out to grab hold of his friend's arm. It takes more strength then he really has, but he'd do anything to keep Mark there. "Don't leave." There is an edge of desperation in Roger's voice that scares even him.
(Again, we have a very childish Roger, very clingy who doesn't like to let Mark go. Like a four year old who is a afraid of the dark or, for those of you into BDSM, like a little subboy pouty because his master is leaving him. I write BDSM role plays. I have no shame in admitting this.)
"I won't leave you, Roger," Mark promises. "But we need to get your better."
"I just need sleep." Roger tries pulling Mark over to him. It had been easy before. Even sick he was still stronger than Mark. Now, he's pulling was more of a halfhearted tug. "Please."
(Actually, Mark carries a camera around all day. I'll bet he's got some good arm muscles. Then again, Roger has to lug a guitar and an amp around, but he hasn't done that in a while... Also, Roger has more sex, which is a great form of exercise. I guess it matters what time period you're looking at for who would win in a fight.
Oh, wait, no. Joanne would kick all their asses, that's right.)
"You should eat," Mark says, but he stops trying to stand up. Roger gives another weak tug.
"I just need you to stay with me," Roger says. Mark looks unsure. His eyes go between Roger and the kitchen. Roger doesn't know what he's debating and he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything but getting to sleep.
(I have been this tired and it is not fun. I woudl totally sleep with you, Roger. In both ways.)
Finally Mark breaks. "Let me get a blanket." When he moves away Roger can't hold back a whimper. Mark looks back and says, "I'll be back in a second, Rog."
(He's like a puppy! Ohh! He's like... Wait!. He's like Jared:
Look at those puppy eyes, people, and be amazed. God, boys like that are far too cute for their own good. And, while searching for this, I don't know anything about Gilmore Girls, but based off this photo:
I don't think it was girls those two were interested in.)
Roger tries to nod. He's not quite sure if he manages it or not, but Mark smiles back and wonders off towards the kitchen. Roger lets his eyes fall closes. He listens to Mark's footsteps cross the concrete floors, and the sound of hushed voices. Roger screws up his face, trying to concentrate on the words so hard that it hurts. (Thinking can do that, Roger. It's okay. God, now I'm mocking the sick, tired boy. I'm just cruel.) But the whispers are too far off and he can't make himself turn around. There are more footsteps and the sound of the front door closing.
"Mark?" Roger sounds ready to cry. His voice bounces around the empty apartment and he's pretty sure he's going to be sick.
"I'm here, Roger." There's a blanket being placed over him. Roger thinks about trying to get his eyes to open again, but the couch is dipping down under a new weight and a body is wrapping around him.
"Small couch," Mark chuckles nervously. Roger yawns in reply, nuzzling into the nice heat settles beside him. Mark says something else that Roger doesn't quite hear before he passes out.
(So, ignoring the boycuddling for the moment, Mark just told his kind of girlfriend he had to... What, sleep with his best friend? I would love to know how that conversation went.
Mark: Look, Roger is torturing himself and, well, I have to go lay down with him so he can get some sleep.
Girl: You're going to sleep with your roommate?
Mark: Yeah... But, well, he's sick so-
Girl: Is he hot?
Mark: What?
Girl: Can I come?)
*
Roger wakes up to a pair of hands playing in his hair.
(Mmm... Hands in hair are so wonderful. And just for note, his hair is sloppily cut and bleached out. I never have a certain actor in mind, I use the script more than one particular actor (although ever now and then, when they do something just too cute...) so I don't care who you are imagining for Roger. Adam, Tim, Nobert (make it Norbert! You know you want to!), Bill Clinton. I don't care, but make damn sure they have bleached out hair. It's that Billy Idol, still stuck in eighties punk look. I love it.)
It feels wonderful. A mix between petting and a massage. Roger's world is still hazy from sleep, and he prays the feeling isn't the ghost of his dreams. (Roger occasionally has almost poetic thoughts. I suck at writing.) He moans, leaning back into the touch and whimpers for more when the hand almost pulls away. Slowly his mind starts taking stalk of what is happening. He's curled up with his arms around someone's waist. The two bodies are so close their nearly sharing the same space. Roger doesn't know what time it is, but he feels good. He'd feel even better if the petting kept up.
(Hand in hair? Check. Warm body next to me? Check. Dude, I got lucky last night.)
He remembers being really tired. He remembers wanting to let himself die. He doesn't remember why, and he hopes whatever it is Mark has managed to fix it.
(Mature as always, Roger. Let's just hope Mark fix it, yeah.)
Roger's hands find a firm ass. He grabs the body, pushing them together and grinding against the heat. He nuzzles into the crook of the person's neck and bites down, earning himself a loud moan.
(You know, I was going to roll my eyes at Roger, point out how horrible it is that he would grab some guy's ass right after waking up without knowing who it was. But, you know what, if I woke up cuddling with someone who was playing with my hair, and I was in a godo mood, I would grope around a little, too. No shame.)
The petting stops. Roger sighs, forcing his eyes opened. Bellow him is a stretch of pale skin marred by a bright red mark and curls of pale blonde hair.
Also, with my rambling I have missed a few key points. Point one: Boys cuddling is hot. Point two: Biting is hot.)
He remembers Mimi screaming at him. He remembers falling down on the couch unable to move. He remembers Mark coming to rescue him, which makes sense. That's what Mark does, after all.
"Mark?" Roger yawns right in his friends face. "Morning."
(I love how utterly none freaked out he is. Oh, so it's MARK that I just gave a hickey and goosed. Oh, well. Can't win them all. It just occurred to me, I am probably the last person on the plant who uses goosed in these sense.)
Mark wiggles, trying to free himself from Roger's arms. ('Free' might be an understatement. We all know that, in his heart of hearts... Or, well, in his balls, Mark is a slut. He humped a table. That takes hormones.) Roger smirks at the same time that Mark figures out that wiggling isn't the best plan. Roger isn't the only one with sex on his mind.
(Two guys in their twenties who haven't had sex in a while. I'd like to know when sex ISN'T on their minds.)
"Afternoon," Mark corrects. His hands come between the two boy's bodies, giving Roger a little push. Roger moves back a few inches, dropping his hold on Mark's waist so that the other boy has enough room to breathe. "Starting to think you weren't going to wake up. If it weren't for your snoring I would have though you weren't breathing."
Roger rolls his eyes. "Ha ha."
"It's not so funny when it sounds like an airplane engine inches from your ears." Roger laughs, because it feels so good to be well rested and to have Mark smiling like that.
Even as he thinks about it Mark's smile hitches and then disappears. "We should get up, now," he says. He moves away from Roger, hoping awkwardly off the couch. "You need to take your AZT," Mark says over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen.
Roger yawns again and stretches out, letting the blanket fall to the floor. He can hear Mark busying himself in the kitchen. "What you doing?" Roger yells over. He has been in the loft alone for two weeks. He knows there is no sign of food in their apartment.
(You know how some people constantly give the boys Captain Crunch? I constantly starve them. Like, there is hardly ever a fic where they have food. Seriously, we should all be amazed how long my Roger and Mark have survived.)
"Getting you a something to eat." Mark comes out of the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand, a bottle of pills and glass of water in the other, and a bag of chips between his teeth.
(Mark is like a little slave. Look, I haven't Rped really good, hard BDSM in a while, and I'm withdrawaling, okay? Everything makes me think about it. Romanticized BDSM is my guilty pleasure role play of choice, and I don't care who knows it.)
"Collins?" Roger asks, pulling the chips out of Mark's mouth. Mark hands him the pills and water. "He was over here last night, wasn't he?" Roger asks around a mouthful of bread and ham. His stomach is rumbling even as he chews.
"That was Tina, actually." Mark opens the pill bottle and hands them over to Roger, who ignores them and fixes Mark with a suspicious look.
(Tina? Mark is dating a stripper. You were all thinking it. At least, Roger probably was. It isn't good that my mind works like Roger's.)
"Tina?" He asks. He tries to remember ever hearing about anyone named Tina before and comes up short. "Who's Tina?"
"Take your pills, Roger," Mark says. Roger swallows down the pills, but keeps his eyes on Mark.
"Who is she?" He repeats, wiping a stream of water from his chin. He takes a handful of chips and stuffs them in his mouth, waiting for Mark to explain.
Mark's cheeks turn pink. He stares at his hands, which are playing with the extra cloth of his shirt. "She's just this girl I know. She thought she'd help me out. You know, buy us some grocery. Help with your meds."
(I know a lot of people HATE when Mark or Roger blush and I don't care. I don't care if it's cliche, I don't care if it's romanticized, it's cute as fuck. Also, where do you people live that you have never seen a boy blush? Do know of you have younger brother's to torture or guy friends to mock about crushes?
I am kind of a terrible person.)
Roger remembers Collins mentioning Mark trying to get his life together, seeing some girl. "You're dating her?" It isn't a question. It is an accusation.
Mark sighs and pushes himself off the couch. "It doesn't matter," he says.
The food is forgotten. Roger really doesn't want to eat it anymore. "Sounds like a stripper name," he says, trying to hide his animosity with a conversational tone. "Where did you meet her?"
(Ha, he really does point out that it sounds like a stripper. Oh, that's sad but wonderful.)
"She's not like that!" Mark snaps. He's up from the couch, stalking away from Roger. "I know you wouldn't like her."
"Is that why you left?" Roger sneers, knocking the bag of chips to the floor when he gets up. "Because of some girl who thought I wouldn't like?" If there is going to be a fight he wants to be ready for it.
Mark is ranting and raving, pacing across the loft floor and throwing his hands in wild directions as he speaks. "Why is it every time someone does something nice for you, you have to try and fight them?" Mark asks. "You haven't meant her and already you're being an asshole. Why is that, Roger?"
(Mark is upset, you can tell because he keeps using Roger's name. You only use someone's name that much when you're pissed. At least, I do.)
"It's not my fault I haven't meant her!" Roger yells back. "You're the one who's ashamed to bring her here."
"I did bring her here! And you were slowly killing yourself. Quite the impression you made, by the way." Mark is on the defensive. It amazes Roger that no matter what they fight about, Mark always ends up protecting someone from Roger. It's always Roger who plays the part of the bad guy. The villain to Mark's tested hero. It isn't fair. This isn't Roger's fault. It's Mark who just got up one night and left him here alone. It is Mark who abandoned Roger and refused to return his calls. It is Mark who owed him an apology, not the other way around. Not this time.
(Really, no one is in the right here, and that is what makes it so wonderful.)
Roger can't deal with this. He grabs his guitar and says, "I'm going to see Mimi."
"Fine!" Mark says. "Run away. It's what you're good at!"
"You're one to talk!" Roger yells back before slamming the door behind him.
(They're just so mature.)
*
Roger sleeps just as well with Mimi as he did with Mark.
(See? What is that except a 'suck it, Mark' sort of statement? And not even the good type of sucking.)
It's been two days and Roger can't bring himself to go back to the loft. Mimi didn't exactly welcome him back, but she was to high to say no. In fact, Roger is sure he hadn't seen Mimi sober since he first got there, but it was better that way. She didn't try and talk about why he came back or why he couldn't be up at the loft. What's really important is that he has a warm body to sleep next to and that he has plenty of time to sit and simmer.
It is a good plan until Mimi catches on.
"This is about Mark, isn't it?" She asks when she gets home from work.
(I kind of want to write this paragraph again. It kind of sucks. I'm trying my best to ignore it but.. No, it's too short and even though I am using short sentences at the start to slow the reader down, right here it needs to feel more drawn out, longer. I hate this paragraph. And all the following paragraphs. Skip with me, if you will, to the next section.)
Roger is sitting with his guitar out and paper spread around him. He says, "I don't want to talk about it."
Mimi snorts. "Big surprise." She falls back on the bed, peeling off her shoes. "What'd you do this time?"
Roger glowers. "What makes you think it was my fault?" He asks. "It was Mark who left in the first place."
Mimi laughs. It's not the seductive laugh Roger fell in love with. It's bitter and has a bite to it that strings at Roger's heart. "Don't bother, Roger. It was you who left. Mark was just being smart about it."
"What does that mean?" Roger snaps, but he already knows what it means. Him and Mimi had already had this fight.
Mimi doesn't start screaming, though. She doesn't throw something at Roger from across the room. She just stays at her bed, tangling her hands in her hair and shaking her head. "I can't do this anymore."
Roger thinks that maybe he hadn't heard right. She says it so quietly that he's sure he must have missed something. "What?"
"You're too much," she says. "I can't keep yelling at you, Roger. I don't have the energy."
(Okay, we're out of that part. You can stop skipping now.)
"But you have enough energy for smack?" He shouts, blood boiling over so that he can hear his heart beating in his ears. "You have enough energy to screw every other guy you meet? You have enough energy to string me along but not to actually love me, is that it?"
"No!" Mimi has tears in her eyes, and that's like a hit to Roger's jaw. They fight all the time, but this is different. There is always yelling and screaming, but Roger isn't suppose to make Mimi cry. "That's not it at all. I... You know, I try for you. I get a good job and I... I really try but then all you ever do is think about yourself. I was clean and I wasn't doing anyone but you, and that was never enough, Roger. You didn't want me unless you could control me. You didn't want me unless you could pick me apart." All this spills out before Roger can say another word in his defense. Mimi is sitting on the edge of her bed trembling with tears running down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. The room is so quite Roger can hear the air get sucked into her lungs. "I love you, Roger."
(Yeah, Roger really is kind of a bastard to Mimi. I mean, not even giving her a chance to explain? That is not good boyfriend material. He does it in the play, too, yet she comes crawling back. God, they both need therapy so. fucking. bad.)
"Mimi, I-"
Mimi cuts him off. "All you had to do was love me back." She whispers this last part, and Roger finds that he can barely breathe.
"I did love you," Roger says. "I loved you so much."
Mimi stands up. She thin, Roger notices, too thin and shaking so much she can barely get to her feet. Her hair falls flat and isn't as healthy looking as it once was. He skin has lost its glow. She looks terrible, and Roger wonders when all this happened. When had he stopped looking at Mimi?
(I don't know, but this part always makes me sad. It's heart breaking to me to think you can block out how bad things are until it all hits you at once what you've been ignoring. People are strange, stupid creatures.)
"I... I can't do this right now." She stumbles over the words and stumbles out the door.
Roger is left alone.
*
"Mark?"
The loft echoes with the sounds of an abused victim. Roger knows it all to well. He pushes open Mark's door, trying to stay as silent as possible and not wake up his friend.
He's surprised to see Mark's bed made up and empty.
(You know what would be fun? Instead of Roger walking in on Mark's nightmares, Roger walking in on... I don't know. Mark tied up to the bed being whipped? You were all thinking it. And if you weren't, you sure as hell are now.)
"Mark?" He calls again, listening to the whimpering that bounces off the walls. There are only three real rooms in the apartment, and seeing as Mark isn't on the couch or in his bed that doesn't leave many place for him to sleep.
Roger shuffles across the floor to his own room.
Even with the lights turned off Roger can see Mark in his bed, trying to tear apart Roger's covers. He is doing a pretty good job of it, too.
Roger sighs, happy that Mark is already asleep. It will be easier this way, to just slip in bed with him. Better than trying to talk about what happened or, worse, trying to talk about Mimi.
(I like that the worst tortures Roger can think of in this fic is not sleeping and talking. Seriously.)
He peels off his two day old shirt and pants, leaning his guitar against the wall (Thinking about it, two days old probably isn't bad for Roger.). Mark has his feet tangled in the sheets and most of the blankets are either on the floor or being strangled by his wild hands. There's a bit of a struggle when Roger tries to pull them away, but it doesn't take too long after their lying together for Mark to give up on his fight with invisible monsters and cuddle up to Roger.
Roger is all to glad to have someone in his arms that night, and if he could have picked anyone to be next to right then it would have been Mark.
"Don't leave me," Roger mutters into the nest of blond hair tickling his chin. "Never again, okay?"
Mark gives a halfhearted snore in reply, and for now that's all the promise Roger needs.
*
Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter V: Don’t Say a Word
(I don't remember if I mentioned this before or not, but I thought I would just because. All the chapter titles are lines from lullabies. Now, I didn't know any lullabies, because my mom never sang to us. She read a hell of a lot, though. So I had to look up lullabies, and as a result I have no idea where I got the title chapters. I do remember that I tried to find lines that fit with the theme of the chapter. Chapter X is the exception, since it is called Day Break because, well, they are waking up from the sort of insomnia that is haunting them through the story. So, there. That is something that is actually about the fanfiction instead of just me rambling.
Also I think... Either chapter 4, 5, or 6 is the longest chapter in the series, as the middles tend to be.)
When Mark wakes up the next morning Roger's been up for nearly an hour. He's been watching over Mark, making sure that he hasn't missed anything. Making sure he didn't stop seeing Mark like he'd stopped seeing with Mimi.
(Lucky, Mark is an understanding soul, because if I woke up to my roommate staring at me like that, I would probably scream and start throwing out accusations of 'creepy'.)
Mark yawns and murmurs, "Roger?" His voice is soft and thick. He blinks a few times before squinting, trying to make the world go clear without his glasses to help him. "What are you doing here?"
"You were having nightmares," Roger explains. His stomach turns at the thought of Mimi closing the door behind her. Roger doesn't think he can talk about it without being sick. "You always have nightmares without me."
(Actually, Mark just has nightmares when he's alone. Way to make it all about you, Roger.)
Mark bites at his lower lip when he thinks, and the way he's looking at Roger is a give away for what he's thinking about. Roger tries not to meet his eyes. He watches his hands ring the thin fabric of the covers, instead. He's ready to start the screaming match if Mark so much as mentions her name.
A whole minute passes before Mark is done thinking. Roger dares a glance up at his friend when he hears a loud sigh. Mark shifts closer to Roger, trapping Roger's worried hands between them. Roger's hands clench into his friend's nightshirt. He doesn't have a choice in this.
"Not true," Mark mutters. His eyes are fluttering closed again. Roger relaxes into him, closing his eyes at the same time so that he can mentally chant a hundred words of gratitude over and over again that Mark isn't going to call him on his lie.
(Kinda sexy, huh? In bed together, laying that close... Mark probably in a snoopy sleep shirt. Okay, maybe not all that sexy.)
When Roger opens his eyes again, Mark's breathing is starting to slow down. He wiggles his hands free so that he can tangle the two bodies together. Mark doesn't try and fight his way out of Roger's arms, and it feels so good to hold onto something as steady as Mark again. "Yes, you do," Roger says. "You cry in your sleep. You're such a girl."
Mark growls, and Roger laughs because it's the least threatening thing he's ever heard. It sounded more like a purr muffled against his chest. "Am not," Mark mutters. He twists and turns under the covers so that he's pressed flushed against Roger.
Roger's hands find the nap of Mark's neck, the perfect place to play with little wisps of hair. "Are so," Roger whispers back. He's lost the conversation, but he wants to keep talking. He wants to keep everything exactly like this.
Half asleep and being lulled further down by Roger's gentle petting, Mark only barely manages something that sounds like "Mnot."
The two boys stay in bed for most of the afternoon.
(Sadly, not in a kinky or fun way.)
*
Roger is resolved not to talk about Mimi.
Mark doesn't force it out of him, but Roger spends a lot of his time avoiding Mark anyway. They take on a rather familiar routine. They wake up, Mark tries to get Roger excited about something and Roger refuses, then Mark goes out to film and Roger stays in the loft all day. It is like going through withdrawal, only Roger can still play the guitar and he spends the nights in Mark's arms.
(Still, sadly, not in a kinky or fun way.)
Still, he doesn't want to face the outside world and each day it gets harder not to scream out. Mimi has become the smack he isn't allowed to inject. She's the drug that tears away at his heart. He shakes when he thinks about her. He needs her. He feels like he's nothing without her.
(Okay, 'You're the smack I can't inject, you're the drug that tears away at my heart' sounds like REALLY bad pop punk lyrics, doesn't it? God, and Roger would probably try and rhyme it with something terrible, too.)
It's like he's lost April and drugs and his health all over again.
(I was just telling David that one of the reason my fics are so damn long (I think I probably average at 3,000 words a fic/chapter) is that I feel the need to add as much canon as possible. So for Mark and Roger to sleep together in one fic, I have to cover Mark's films, the fact that he has dated Maureen, the fact that he loved Maureen but tended to ignore her, the fact that she cheated, the fact that she's ow a lesbian. Then for Roger I have to mention the music, April, drugs, Mimi, and how he loved all of these things and how Mark took care of him. I have to bring up Angel's death, too, which means Collins as well. And that's just the canon, that isn't why Mark and Roger might be interested in sleeping with each other or how they wound up in a certain situation.
And, really, you guys should know this. Yes, Roger 'loved' Mimi. I refuse to qualify it as very great love, since she broke into his apartment while high and was clearly Roger's rebound girl and all they did was fight and have sex which, hello, in the real world is not called love no matter how many romance books tell you it is. But I shouldn't have to cover that he is heart broken that he might have lost her. It's Roger. He's probably heart broken about some shirt that got washed and lost some of it's coloring, okay? Of course he's broke up about it.
On the other hand, in the context of T&TL, I really like how Roger and Mimi's relationship plays out, and I really enjoyed writing some of the parts with her and how broken Roger was, so in this fic it worked well for me. When I'm writing a PWP? Not so much.)
While Roger is sulking around the loft, Mark is trying to keep him from destroying himself. "Eat this, Roger," Mark will saying, shoving food they don't have the money for into Roger's hands so that Roger can prod at it with a fork and refuse to eat it. "Take your AZT," Mark reminds him, setting everything out so that all Roger has to do is follow instructions. "Why don't you try playing something," Mark will suggest, pleading with Roger to do something other than sit around and brood over Mimi. "Roger, you need to get out. Roger, you need to stop being like this. Roger, please, Roger."
For the most part Mark is ignored. Roger lets his friend lead him around, pretending to eat and take his pills and care, but nothing Mark says or does stays with Roger. Mark is in charge of making sure Roger goes on living, and Roger barely acknowledges him for that.
(Roger is sort of fickle, huh? When Mark is gone, he's all Roger can think about and then he comes back and Roger ignores him. Roger kind of sucks as a friend. We were all thinking it.)
The only time he pays attention to Mark is when they sleep. Even then, neither boy is sure who Roger is holding. Arms wrap around each other, faces nuzzle against flat chest, and two very male bodies are pressed together. But body heat is body heat is body heat. Mark is warm in the same way Mimi is, and it's clear which one Roger needs with him at night.
It drives Mark insane.
"You can't do this," He tells Roger. Roger is curled up on the couch. He has spent the morning watching the wall and the occasional cockroaches that scampered across the gritty surface. Mark steps in front of him and Roger doesn't even flinch. "Roger? Come on, you can't do this." You can't do this, Roger. You can't shut off completely. It's self-inflicted rehab all over again.
Roger stares right through him. Mark sighs. He grabs his camera, falling onto the couch with a loud thud that shakes the furniture. He starts emptying the film dangerous fast, fingers slipping and beating at the camera's black body. Roger turns to watch. He'd never seen Mark take his anger out on his camera before.
(See what you do, Roger? You even make Mark go a little insane. Every is so worn out and worn down and frustrated in this fic all the time, aren't they?)
Mark's finger slip a little too far and slices itself against one of the awkward curves of the old machine. "Fuck!" The camera hits the floor. Mark lifts his finger to his lips, sucking up the line of blood. If Roger didn't feel so numb he would have screamed at Mark. Told him he was being a complete idiot for acting so upset just because of the way Roger was behaving.
Mark leans over to rescue his camera. He isn't any calmer. Roger can see his body trembling.
"She left me," Roger mutters. Mark looks up, as if he's not sure he's heard right. "She left me, Mark."
"So you two had a fight," Mark says, trying to sound calming for Roger's sake. It's amazing how fast he can drop all of that anger when Roger needs him. "It happens. She'll be back."
Roger remembers the look on Mimi's face when she left. He remembers the silent tear tracks down her cheeks and the sag in her shoulders right before the door closed Roger inside the apartment without her. All their other fights were loud and passionate. This one had ended in dead quiet. "No she won't," Roger says. "She's not coming back this time Mark. She's gone for good."
(God, this dialog is painfully bad. I really need to change it.)
He says it the same way Mimi had told him she was leaving. A dead sounding tone barely above a whisper. When she told him goodbye, something inside him shattered. (To be honest, I am laughing at Roger's pain. He's hard to write in angsty moments, because the way he is in the play is so over the top angst in that little, 'it bleeds in my soul!' way that when you try and copy that in a fic, well, that is what you get.) He expects the same for everyone else, but when he tells Mark, the cameraman simply stares back at Roger. For once he doesn't offer any calming words or advice. Like he doesn't even think its all that important.
"Don't you get it?" There is a rise in Roger's voice. He moves above a whisper, even if he isn't ready to yell quite yet. "She's gone Mark. She left and she's not coming back!"
Mark takes a moment before he says, "People break up all the time, Rog-"
"All the time!" Roger stands up, lashing out at Mark. "All the time! Mark, I don't have all the time, remember! I had this one shot, this one chance with Mimi and now it's gone."
"You don't know that, Roger." Mark is trying to stay as calm, but something in his eyes is burning. Roger can't tell and doesn't care what it means. "Just because Mimi left you doesn't mean it's your last shot maybe-"
"Maybe what, Mark? Maybe... Maybe I'll find someone else, right?"
"Exactly, Rog-" Mark starts, but Roger is more interested in yelling than listening.
"Maybe the love of my life while just stroll through those doors any minute. Maybe they can over look the fact that I'm walking death and so fucked up that everyone else in my life has to turn to drugs to deal with me. Maybe they won't care about all that stuff but really love me for me. And maybe she'll be everything I'll ever need and true love will over come all obstacles and the AIDs will just disappear and we'll live happily ever after. Is that how it works, Mark?"
(Hey, I think I read that fic once.)
Roger is raving, inches from Mark's face so that they two can share the same explosive air that is over heating the loft. Mark doesn't flinch with Roger so close. He doesn't fidget under his friend's glower or the rising temperature of the apartment. He remains completely still, fist clenched so tight that blood can't make it to his cut. Roger doesn't wait for Mark to think up a reply. "The real world doesn't work like that. This isn't one of your films, Mark. There isn't going to be any nice resolution before the credits."
(Someone should actually give me money every time I refer to something in terms of a film. Especially in Mark based fics. It's a bad habit.)
"I never said that!" Mark cries, somewhere between anger and begging Roger to think rationally. "I never said any of that, but Roger you can't keep doing this to yourself. You can't keep destroying yourself over Mimi."
"Why not?" Roger shot back. "What else do I have to live for?"
Mark pushes against Roger's chest, hard enough to send the musician tumbling and clutching his ribs. "How can you even say that?" He's screaming now, just as loudly as Roger. "Are you telling me that the only thing you had to live for was Mimi? What about your music? What about Collins? What about me? Or is that all so easy to forget, Roger." The last sentence is spit with so much malice that Roger stumbles again without any help. "Is it so easy to forgot about us when you're hurt? You're the one on the main stage, and every one is expected to listen and do as you tell them. Everything else is background noise to you, Roger, even Mimi."
(And Mark comes back with a music reference. Best fight ever.)
Mark and Roger, they're always honest when they're yelling at each other. Still, there are some things that shouldn't be spoken.
Mark's words end and both boy are too shocked to do anything. When Roger does move, he's shaking so badly he nearly trips over his own feet. "Fuck you," he says. He doesn't think he can manage much more at the moment. "Fuck you, Mark."
He storms off to his room, slamming the door so loud that he can't hear Mark's apology.
*
That night, Roger decides he doesn't need sleep.
He stays up in bed with his guitar out, picking at a few random strings that don't amount to shit. Trying to connect them in his mind and force them to form a melody of some sort means he doesn't have to think about Mark or Mimi or anything else in his life.
Mark is set on making this as hard as he can for Roger.
The door opens halfway, and Mark stands there, too nervous to enter. Roger doesn't look up from his Fender's off key strings. "Roger?"
(I don't think I have ever done a fic where Roger played a song well. It is always off key, or he can't write, or something is wrong. Bad music and no food, those are the signs of a real Stephanie fic.)
The heat from this morning has cooled down, leaving the apartment feeling cold and empty. Roger shivers, but otherwise refuses to acknowledge Mark's presences. In turn, Mark refuses to acknowledge Roger's silent dismissal. "Roger? Can I come in?"
"Why?" Roger knows Mark well enough that he can tell when his friend is in one of those moods. Mark won't give up until they're talking, even if talking results in more yelling and near fist fights.
Mark wraps his arms around himself, which only makes his trembling more obvious. Roger isn't the only one left feeling cold. "I'm having nightmares again."
Roger snorts. "Big surprise," he says. "Why don't you go see Tina, then? After all, it's not like I care. I'm to busy being selfish."
(Oooh. That's right, bring it bitch. I am the worst author, ever. I would never help my characters out of fights. This is why T&TL dragged from a one shot to 3 parts to 10 chapters.)
Mark winces when Roger throws their earlier fight back at him, but he doesn't back down. Instead he takes his first step into Roger's room. "I don't want to be with Tina," he says, and then he's sitting down on the other side of Roger's bed. Roger turns himself further away, leaning over his guitar until he can't see any of Mark. Mark scoots closer to Roger, and Roger starts strumming at his guitar again. It's a slow, sad chord Roger doesn't often play.
The notes jump when Mark lays a hand against Roger's shoulder. Roger closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch, but he can hear the covers being lifted aside. Roger keeps playing, and Mark props his head up to listen as the notes stretch on. His hand moves to the back of Roger's neck, so gentle that it sends shivers down Roger's spine. The sort that have nothing to do with chilly weather.
There are a lot of things being said, most of which Roger is too afraid to translate in his head.
(So I will. Mark fucking loves you, you idiot, and you love him and you need to stop throwing your life away on drugs and the female equivalent of drugs and Mark needs to have sex that ISN'T with himself.)
When the song ends Mark says, "Are you angry at me?"
Roger closes his eyes again, thinking back to their fight. "Yes."
Mark pulls the sheets over Roger's lap. "Good," he says. Roger raises an eyebrow, finally looking Mark in the eyes. The young man turns red. "I mean... I hate it when you act like that. I didn't mean for it to go so far, but I couldn't stand to see you so depressed, Roger."
"You'd rather I was angry at you?" Roger asks. His tone is noncommittal. He isn't sure wither he should laugh or scream.
(See, now there is a good friend. Someone who will get you pissed just to snap you out of your self destructive mood.)
Mark yawns. He snuggles into one of the two shabby pillows they have in the loft. Both have been moved to Roger's bed in the last few months. "I don't know," Mark admits. "But I couldn't take you moping around the apartment like some teenage girl anymore."
(Isn't that the, like, ninth hundredth time they have teased each other by calling the other a girl? And a teenage girl, this time even. Well, I have to give it to Mark. Roger does act like a teenage girl.)
Roger takes a swing at Mark's stomach. It isn't gentle enough to be entirely playful, and Mark winces and curls into himself a bit. Roger ends up running his hand through his friend's hair. It's easier than an apology, and Roger isn't sure he could honestly mean one right then. "You are so fucked up," he says.
"Because of you." The lights are turned off and Roger lays back in bed, tucked in with covers and Mark to help chase away the last of the chills for their fight. "If I'm fucked up it's your fault, Roger."
Roger stretches out under the covers, using Mark's elbow as a pillow. "Shut up, Mark," he growls. "I'm trying to sleep."
*
"Rise and shine, boy!"
(Collins!)
Roger growls. He's warm and still half asleep. He doesn't feel like getting up, and he doesn't feel like dealing with anyone half as cheerful as the voice calling out to him. Without opening his eyes, Roger picks his pillow up from under his back and throws it at the doorway.
He doesn't remember that there might be something there to stop him.
"Owe!" Roger's hand comes in contact with something that is not air before he can quite let go of the pillow. The resulting yelp forces Roger to gain consciousness.
He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as his mind tries to catch up with the rest of the world. Mark is holding his shoulder, massaging away at a bright red area that is already starting to bruise.
"You okay?" Roger asks, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look.
"Fine," Mark answers with a cross between a cringe and a smile.
"Should I leave you two love birds alone in the nest for a while?" A deep voice asks. Collins is leaning against the door frame, looking more too chipper for the morning. He's wearing a smile Roger knows all too well. Roger doesn't like the way he keeps it aimed on Mark.
(Collins knows something... Mainly that Mark has the biggest damn crush in the world. Hey, if you thought you might be gay, wouldn't you talk about it with Collins? Wouldn't you talk about ANYTHING with Collins anyway? Also, is this the magically POV switching fic where Collins randomly gets a jump in? No, I think that is Feline Jealousy. I loved that jump in, because that is how I mentally picture Collins, acting happy even when he's having Deep None Happy Thoughts.)
"Collins!" Mark jumps out of bed, and Collins laughs before he hugs the smaller boy into a hug. "I thought you were teaching down in Georgia Tech."
(I know people at Tech, and as a result Collins teaches there a lot. Actually, sometimes when I think about his history, I have Collins as having grown up in Georgia and actually attending Tech before realizing that he didn't want to contribute to the capitalist system and transferring to somewhere less computery. Anyway...)
"Couldn't stay away from New York that long," Collins laughed, keeping one arm around Mark's shoulder while he looked back to Roger. "Just like you said, huh Roger?" Collins asks. He's giving Roger the same look from earlier. That slightly mischievous, I-know-more-than-you-do smile that frustrates Roger so much.
(Then again, at this point in the fic who doesn't know more than Roger does? He is so far behind. Stop rubbing it in Collins, you lovable bastard you.)
"But you haven't even been gone a month," Mark points out. He laughs when he asks, "How can you even get fired that quickly?"
It's nice to hear Mark laughing. It feels like forever since him and Mark weren't at each other's throats, but then Mark had smiled for Roger when he'd first came back to the loft. Less than a month since he'd left Collins's place and come home. It seems longer to Roger. They always seem to be going longer and longer between the good times.
"What time is it, Collins?" Roger asks, kicking the blankets off him and struggling to get up. He isn't quite as happy to see his friend. Not after the way he hid Mark away from him, then had the balls to walk in on them like he knew something Roger didn't.
(Hehe. Collins's balls. Yes, I'm secretly a ten year old boy and find these things funny as hell.)
"Nearly noon," Collins answers. "Time for lunch." Mark's stomach gives a well-timed growl. Collins winks down at the younger man. "You sound like you could use something to eat." He reaches in his coat and pulls out a thick roll of twenties, causing both of the other boy's jaws to drop. "And I have just the flow."
"Where'd you get that!" Roger manages to say after the shocks wears off enough that he can move his mouth.
Collins laughs. "A man does not program and tell."
"Bullshit!"
Collins is still laughing, and his good cheer spread quickly to Mark. "You can tell us later," Mark says, squirming out from under Collin's arm. "I'm starved! Let me grab a shirt and we'll head to the Life Café!"
Collins ruffles Mark's hair. "Grab your best sweaters boys. I think this calls for a celebration!"
"Celebrate what?" Mark asks, flattening out his nest of morning hair.
Collins shots Roger a grin that is almost a wink. "I'll tell you on the way there," he says, like Roger should understand. The musician digs around in his mind, but comes up empty.
(I want a friend like Collins so bad, damnit. Only maybe one that is less likely to be arrested for stealing.)
"Whatever it is, there better be beer," Mark calls, heading off to his room to grab a shirt.
(You know, considering how little I give them food, my boys sure do manage to get drunk a lot.)
"Clean pants, too," Collins yells after him. He waits until Mark's door closes to look back at Roger. He's wearing a grin large enough to split his face. Roger still hasn't caught on to any of this.
"So you finally figured it out," Collins asks. He pats Roger on the shoulder like he is congratulating him on a good gig. "It's about time."
"What are you talking about, Collins?" Roger gets out of bed and starts kicking around the pile of clothes on the floor. He owns about three pairs of pants and one hundred T-shirts for various bands, most of which don't fit or have too many holes to wear in the autumn.
Collins's shakes his head and says, "Don't be coy, Roger. I'm surprise Mark still keeps his clothes in his old room."
"It's not his old room!" Roger snaps. "He still lives here, and he's not leaving! If that's what this is about, you can just fuck off."
Collins's smile disappears. He gives Roger a searching look, and Roger returns it with a growl. Collins didn't seriously think that Mark is going to leave him again, did he? Roger wouldn't let him, not even if his other friend tried to stand in his way. But when Collins speaks it doesn't sound like he wants Mark to leave. He says, "You two sleep in the same room?"
Roger shrugs his shoulders. "He has nightmares," he answers. "He can't sleep at night without me."
Collins nods. "That I know," he replies. "But you..."
(Ah, poor Collins thought he had it all figured out, and he was wrong. Actually, he was right, he is just a few chapters ahead of Mark and Roger.)
"I'm a friend!" Roger throws his hands up in the air. "Of course I'm going to help him. Does everything really think I don't care about anyone but myself?"
Collins raises an eyebrow. He crosses his arms, and he's looking at Roger again like he wants to see into his head. "That's what it is? You're helping Mark with nightmares?"
"It's none of your business." Roger isn't sure why he's acting so defensive with Collins, but he doesn't like the way Collins makes it sound. It is just a friend thing. Roger helps fight Mark's nightmares away and Mark keeps Roger company in bed. There is nothing weird about it.
Roger wants to believe that, so why can't Collins let him?
Before Collins can say anything else, Mark is back. He's wearing a pair of clean black jeans that look just like most of the one she owns and a gray sweater without any holes that's just a little to big from him. Roger recognizes it as birthday gift from Mimi. Mark runs a hand through his hair and straightens out his glasses. "Ready!" He announces, smiling up at Collins.
Collins smiles back, but it's nothing like his earlier cheer. "Are you okay?" Mark's face falls slightly.
Roger zips up his jacket to hide his torn up rocker shirt. He pushes Mark out the door and says, "Come on, I'm hungry."
Mark's face lights up. "You got him to come!" He says, looking over Roger's shoulder at Collins. Collins smiles and shrugs, but Mark doesn't notice his sudden lack of enthusiasm. He laughs and grabs Roger by the shoulder, leading the way out the door. Roger can't help but smile, even as he's being pulled from the loft.
(Mark goes through, like, five mood swings right there in the course of, what? Less than ten minutes, right? I am not a benevolent goddess of their world. Although I am a kinky goddess, which I believe helps to even it out.)
While Mark is climbing down the stairs, Collins and him share a look, and Roger silent begs him to drop their earlier conversation. They're getting too close to things Roger doesn't want to discuss. Collins gives a small nod, but his frown makes it clear that he's not doing it for Roger's benefit. Roger doesn't care why, just so long as some things go unsaid.