i. Taste at Seventeen
Nanette once told you you had a "poetic mind", but you never really believed her until you met him, because that's when the thoughts consumed your mind.
What would he taste like? you want to know; What would he feel like, sound like, smell like, look like? And the context is there, but it's not spoken, like a look in a movie that says more then ten minutes of dialouge could: Underneath you, in your bed.
You want to know, and you think it might drive you crazy.
He likes to touch a lot, and you think that's part of it; if he wasn't always sitting on your legs, sitting right next to you with his arm pressed up against yours, hugging you -- if he didn't touch you more then you think your father and your sister ever have combined, maybe you wouldn't think of him this way.
But he does, and you do, and you've never been one to what if for long, and you don't see the point in denying yourself for long, so the hell with it, it's time to see how he tastes.
ii. Touch at Midnight
Even though you start half the time, you know it's wrong. You're not teenagers anymore, you're twenty-two, and you've got a fucking girlfriend.
But the nights you're not at Maureen's, the nights you can't come up with an excuse to pass out on the couch and not share a bed with Roger, it happens again -- usually it's his hand, resting on your stomach for a moment before sliding down, but sometimes it's yours on his stomach and sometimes you forget about the hands and just go for each other. It's wrong, and it's not love, it's not even lust, but you do it anyway. Anyone who knew you would assume he was fucking you into the bed, as if that made him less gay and you more so or something, but just as often, more often, you're on top and driving into him. And as wrong as it is, it feels good -- better than it ever has with Maureen or any other girl you've gone home with from a club, a concert, college, high school -- and if it didn't feel so goddamn good after five years you'd probably stop.
iii. Sight at the Corner of Avenue B
"Come get your roomate, he's trashed," the vaugely familiar voice on the other end of the phone (might've been the new drummer, you only met him once) tells you, and of course you're off to the adress given, because god knows Roger's done it for you often enough. Lucky it's not that far, because it's cold, even for the end of March, and you get to the building in minutes.
Roger's got some girl laying on top of him, probably a groupie, with a little but sweet body and short spiky black hair that she seems to think makes her look tough. It's not that you weren't expecting to see him making out with some random girl, because you were; it's not that it hurts to see or some dumbass romance novel crap, because it doesn't; but when you tell him to come home and he stops looking blank and realizes what's going on, he doesn't just shake the girl off. "C'mon, April," he tells her, standing more steadily than anyone that trashed has a right to, and takes her home; you sleep on the couch that night as he fucks her in your bed, and you know something just came to an end.
iv. Sound at the Edge of Insanity
It's not that you love him, it's that he's your best friend and that was all tied up together, and now you're not sure how to take care of him.
April stays in your bed with him every night, and you sleep over at Maureen's until she gets kicked out of her apartment and comes to live with you. Even when the arrangements change and you and Maur get Benny and Collins' old room, because Benny doesn't want to walk in on you two fucking on the couch bed again, your bed is still the one April and Roger use, because it was supposed to be your bed, dammit. And you fuck Maureen to the sound of Roger's moans and April's gasps through the cardboard walls and you remember Rogertaste when you kiss her and Rogerfingers when she touches you and you see his face when you come, and after when she wants to cuddle and you just want to sleep, you remember that he always had to bite down the moans with you and you want to put a hole through the wall, and maybe you could hear them even better then.
v. Scent at the Depths of Despair
The Loft smells like blood and death and April for three days before Collins gets home, because you broke down the door when you saw the note on it and Roger's not sane enough to clean up the bathroom and Collins says he'll kill anyone else who touches the blood. Now Roger's in mourning for himself more than her, and Maureen can't stand being at the Loft because she idolizes Roger and she loved April and she doesn't want to believe in reality anymore, and Benny's throwing himself into the foundations for his studio dream that won't come true anymore if he doesn't get back on track, and Collins keeps going away for longer and longer; so all that's left is you, and it's up to you to keep it together, forget that your best friend is dying, because everyone else needs you. Roger needs you, and you'd stop the world from turning if you had to for Roger, you're gonna find a way to stop time for Roger, you're gonna find a way to beat death for Roger.
Selfishly, though, you're glad to have your bed back; and even though Roger suddenly insists on sleeping curled up against your back instead of on the other side of the bed, even though his hand on your stomach is just because his arm is around you and isn't going anywhere but your stomach, even though things are different and the room still has traces of April and heroin in it, you can close your eyes and just breath in Roger, and maybe you're still hysterical, maybe you're still insane, maybe you'll never say this to anyone else, but the bitch is gone and you can't help but think that's a good thing.