A/N: It's so cold here today that I just had to write something warm and fluffy. So I hope y'all enjoy it! XD

Disclaimer: The Almighty Jonathan Larson owns all. Except a burning desire to get into Roger's pants, which is co-owned by Mimi and myself.

Roger was a jerk, Mimi decided. A cold-hearted, selfish, angsty jerk. She didn't even know why she'd found him attractive, really, she was just in a weird mood. It wasn't even like he was hot.

Not hot, exactly. More like sex on legs, a particularly treacherous part of her brain added before being sent packing.

"Spike Lee my ass," she muttered, hugging herself to keep out the cold.

"Follow The Man, follow The Man…"

Great. The junkies were up to their usual tricks, traipsing up St. Mark's Place in search of the stuck-up yet oddly seductive dealer. Sighing, Mimi joined their begging and pleading, needing to be included in something.

She jumped when someone touched her shoulder, restraining herself from punching their stupid touchy-feely face in. It was what Angel called antisocial.

"Hey," Roger said.

"Hey," she frowned warily. What did he want? And why did he keep looking at his feet like that? Was there something written on them, or something?

"I just wanna say…"

There go the puppy dog eyes, Mimi noticed bitterly. It was a pity he felt the need to apologise. Otherwise she might have liked him.

"I'm sorry for the way- "

"Forget it."

All guys were the same, she lamented. Selfish one second and needy the next. Or were they basically the same thing?

"I blew up," Roger admitted, then touched her arm. She tried not to flinch, then blinked in surprise at the warm shiver that ran up her arm from the point of contact. Why did she have to be attracted to him?

"Can I make it up to you?"

"How?"

She folded her arms. Make it up to her, huh? Make up for humiliating her and stamping on her poor, innocent nineteen-year-old heart?

"Dinner party?"

On the other hand, she hadn't had a warm meal since Angel had snuck her into the soup kitchen she'd been helping out at last Tuesday.

"That'll do."

His hand was still resting on her arm. She smiled, finally, covering his fingertips with hers. She'd let him live this time, she decided. Maybe he wasn't so bad.

Review? There will be cookies and milk involved.