Generally Roger thought himself to be quite comfortable around birds; he'd never had any distaste for the animals, nor did he ever have any bad experiences with them. However recently he was finding that his opinion of a certain species was changing drastically. That was the thought that brought him climbing the stairs to the roof. Roger had a problem and for once in his life he planned to face it head on.
"Fuck you," were his first words as he stepped out onto the roof. "Fuck you all. I was here first." A dangerous glare was sent to the group of pigeons in the corner of their roof. They were stored in rickety wooden cages that had been there before either he or Mark had ever come. The birds themselves Mark had collected over the few years they had lived in the building.
They didn't even acknowledge his existence.
Picking up a broken-off piece of concrete he hurled it at the birds, taking satisfaction as he heard it hit the cages, causing the pigeons to flutter about and coo angrily. "Serves you right." He growled, taking a few steps forward. "I was here first, I knew him before any of you fucking birds ever did." He could even remember the day he met Mark: Collins had introduced them after finding Mark...somewhere, he couldn't remember exactly. Before the end of that night the two had managed to rub each other the wrong way. It had been the only time Roger ever struck Mark with the real intention to harm him...Well, the only time when he wasn't high
Roger could remember those times too, though they were fainter of course, but the memories still lingered. Sometimes he would catch himself studying Mark, staring at the faded scars that he had placed on the other boy, and something inside him would shudder. To his knowledge, Mark never noticed when he was eyeing the marks and if he did he never mentioned it; somehow it had become an unwritten rule. Mark and Roger had a few of those, but then again they were good about speaking without words.
"What does he see in you?" questioned the musician as he rested his hands atop the cages. "You wouldn't stay if he let you out. You're only using him for food I bet. I've stayed with him though, I've stayed the whole time."
In his mind he knew that was lie though, he never stayed with Mark, Mark stayed with him. Mark stayed with him even though he would occasionally beat the hell out of the smaller boy, and even when he got moody and distant, and even when he'd run off for days on end and not do a thing to contact him. In truth Roger never understood why Mark even did it, hell, he himself couldn't even manage to stay, but Mark would always be there, waiting with a cup of his disgusting tea and the soft whirring of his camera.
Sometimes it felt like Roger talked more to the camera then he did his roommate. Sometimes it was actually easier then having to look Mark in the eye. That camera lense never gave away any emotion, letting whoever was in front of it be the emotional one. Sometimes Roger wondered why he never got into filmmaking.
"Fuck this." he said to himself, tossing one last glare to the birds. "I'll never get it." Shaking his head Roger retreated inside, back into cold comfort of the familiar loft and into the arms of its other occupant.