Without You

It's the middle of the night when Mark wakes up to a freezing cold loft, blankets coiled loosely around his feet, the spot on the bed beside him conspicuously empty. Roger has been doing this over the course of the last few months; getting out of bed in the middle of the night, usually unable to sleep. Normally these nights weren't good nights for Mark either, thrashing and tossing, unable to get to sleep without a warm body next to his.

It usually isn't until hours later Roger returns smelling like the cigarettes that he swears to God he's not smoking and curls in around Mark's cold body, finally making it possible for him to fall asleep to his soft, easy breaths. It's knowing that Roger's here and alive that eventually lulls Mark to sleep two hours before he's supposed to be awake.

Tonight however, he can't lay still.

He's tossing and turning, grunting in exasperation as he finally convinces himself to throw his feet over the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and padding out into the main room. The first thing he does after letting his eyes adjust to the light: or lack thereof, is glance around tiredly for Roger, finding the loft as empty as it had been when he went to bed.

There had been a point in his life when this situation would have sent him into a panic, calling everyone they knew- every dealer in the east village- to find him. Now however, he trusted the guitarist hadn't gone far, just clearing his head. Getting fresh air. Something that would almost interest him if he wasn't scrawny, pale, jewish and all in all: an easy target. Unlike himself, Roger can hold his own.

Seeing a cloud of smoke invade the loft though the open window- the reason the loft was so cold to begin with as Mark realizes in hindsight- he relaxes. Not that he had been worried, because Roger knew better than to get himself in any trouble now. Well, maybe that's not entirely true. And maybe Mark has the habit of being a teensy bit overprotective at times, but they've dealt with this for the last ten years and something tells Mark that it's not about to change anytime soon.

After looking in the fridge out of pure habit- finding nothing edible, of course- he nearly blindly makes his way to the window, wrapping his arms around himself and yawning tiredly.

"Rog?" He yawns, handing rubbing his arms through the thin sleeves of his long sleeved tee shirt. "What're you doing out here?"

Roger snaps his head around, not having heard Mark inside, too focused on the lights and sounds of the city to pay any attention. Instinctively, he stomps out his cigarette, tiny orange embers crumbling and falling through the fire escape, fluttering down to the apartment where Mimi had lived, once upon a time.

"Hm? Nothing." He smiles quickly, faded around the edges. "What are you doing up? Don't you have to be up early tomorrow?"

Mark shrugs, stepping out onto the grated landing with him, arms around his torso, keeping him from shivering in the cold air. "Couldn't sleep." He pauses, almost smirking at the other man. "Don't think I didn't see you smoking. I'm not that blind."

This gets him a light laugh in response; a sound he wasn't aware Roger could make until it was directed at him. The taller man wraps his thinning arms around Mark's waist, pulling him to his chest, cigarette smoke wafting through his nose making him grimace.

"You stink, Rog."

Another laugh, a sound Mark wasn't sure he could ever get tired of coming from Roger.

"It's cold, Marky. You shouldn't be out here without a coat. You could get sick."

"A cold isn't going to kill me, Roger."

He rolls his eyes because sometimes Roger can be just as overprotective as himself, and sometimes it makes him think that maybe he's not the mother hen in the relationship.

Of course he is, but that's hardly the point.

Roger goes quiet and Mark mentally slaps himself. A cold isn't going to kill Mark, sure, but it could mean the end of the world to Roger, who wasn't getting any healthier.

It was the everlasting battle in their relationship. The underlying knowledge that it could be any time. That Roger probably wasn't going to see thirty. The was the checking, double checking, triple checking to the point where sex became a chore and it wasn't fun for either of them anymore. No matter how badly Mark insisted that he didn't care if he got sick, that he wanted to enjoy his time with Roger, even if it meant that he lost out on his own time.

Time didn't much matter to Mark anymore, if he's being honest. His time was measured in Roger's breaths and heartbeats. His songs, his kisses, and his playful touches because he knew that once those were over, he didn't have anything left to offer anyone.

For as long as he can remember, they've been MarkandRoger. Roommates, lovers, friends. Mark's life has been so intertwined with Roger's for so long that he doesn't know who he is without the blond man at his side.

Really, he wasn't eager to find out.

Seeing the conflicted emotions pass over his face- partially because he's an open book and partially because Roger knows him so well- he sighs, cradling Mark to his chest.

"Cigarettes aren't what's going to kill me, Marky. Relax, would you?"

Mark closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of cigarettes, cheap cologne and the late winter air and sighs with him, leaning into his embrace. "It's not doing you any favours, you know."

Roger rolls his eyes, leaning back into the cool metal railing that's stopping him from tumbling the long distance to the ground. He feels like his life is headed that way as it is.

"Stop worrying."

"Can't help it." Mark frowns, shivering and looking up at him. "Really though. Why are you out here? The bed is lonely without you."

Roger chews the inside of his lip as of pondering an answer before shrugging. "I… It's nice sometimes. It's too quiet when you're asleep. I like coming out here to think.""And to smoke, evidentially." Mark's teasing this time, soft blue eyes blinking up at Roger's tired worried ones. "What's on your mind?"

Roger's eyes close, his smile lines fading as he arches his neck up, facing the sky rather than Mark. "Nothing."

Mark's arms find their way around his neck, tangling in his short blond hair, tilting his head down to look at him. "Don't lie to me, Roger. You should know by now that it's useless."

Roger cracks a smile like Mark knew he would, cracking his eyes open a little. "It's not fair."

"Well.." Mark raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. "life's not fair, as it's proved to us time and time again. Which part in particular isn't fair?"

Roger inhales sharply, closing his eyes again, speaking quieter and more sincerely. "It's just… It's not fair that you get to make me happy for the rest of my life, and I don't get to make you happy for the rest of yours." He swallows thickly, arms tightening around his lover. "I just can't handle the thought that one day someone else is going to love you and touch you like I do. For me, this- you are the entire rest of my life.

For you, I'm only the beginning. A bad memory. A story you get to tell your kids one day. Poor dead uncle Roger who daddy used to love before he found someone else to spend the rest of his life with." He spits, swallowing back tears. "I know I'm a selfish bastard, but I don't give a fuck. I don't want to lose you to some yuppie slut because I can't live long enough to make you happy."

Mark looks up blankly, tears pricking the back of his eyes as he tries desperately to detach from the situation, unable to draw himself away. "You know… if you're Uncle Roger to my kids, I think you need an education as to what brothers do in bed together." He tries a smile, lips turning up at the very edges, looking frayed and cracked as he kisses the other man softly.

"Roger… do you really think I'm ever not going to love you?" He whispers, eyes flickering around his face to gauge his reaction. Roger snorts quietly, rolling his eyes."Ten years of me isn't enough to last you the rest of your life, Mark. You're going to meet somebody eventually and move on, but I'm always going to be right here. Twenty eight and in love with you. I'll be nothing but an era of your life, but you'll be all I can ever remember living for."Touched, Mark's hand moves to touch his cheek softly. "Are you insane? Roger you have been my entire life since I was eighteen years old. I've spend so much time taking care of you, loving you, that I can't imagine a life with anybody else. Loving anybody else. I might live till I'm eighty for all I know, but I know it'll always be you." Trying his best not to cry, Roger pulls him closer, pressing his lips against his forehead. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough and shaky.

"Marky?"

"Hm?" Mark makes an interested noise, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

"Don't wait until you're eighty. You know I'm impatient. I don't want to wait that long for you."

Mark sniffs, laughing shakily as he shakes his head at Roger, lips pressing against his cheek softly. "Only if you quit smoking." Roger grins widely and finds the ability to laugh freely with him, hugging him tightly. Somehow, in the way their bodies shook with silent laughter and soft, telling kisses, Roger knew he really didn't have anything to worry would always be his- even if he wasn't always Mark's.

"Deal."