A/N: I have been in a writing frenzy lately. Feels incredibly good. This one's inspired by something a friend said to me once that made me just want to hug him and kiss him and jump up and down. (Hint: Last line.)

Disclaimer: Don't own Mark or Roger. Don't even own the couch they're sitting on. Kinda wish I did, that couch looks comfy! (Movie...anyway...in the show, I guess it's a table...)

I did it because I was tired of lying to myself. Everything I did was a lie, really.

Besides music. That I could never lie about.

But my biggest lie was eating away at me and I had to do something to stop it. If I didn't, if I kept at this, I knew I would surely go insane.

"So this woman I was filming was telling me about how she came all the way from Sicily to pursue an American acting career. She read in Italian newspapers about stars in America and how luxurious their lives were. But after coming here, she realized how much she missed her family and how much more important they were. So after I filmed her, she told me she was going to buy a plane ticket back! That's insane, Roger!"

I don't even know if I heard one word he was saying. Something about some woman. I didn't care. I just kept admiring his features, how excited he got when he spoke, how his eyes lit up and actually changed to a different shade of blue. And I concentrated on how I would tell him.

I woke up when I saw a hand being waved in front of my face. "Rog? Hello...earth to Roger...see, this is what I can't stand about you, is that I try to tell you something that I find interesting and you zone off into your own little world!"

"I love you."

Everything froze. The room we sat in couldn't be more silent. But it didn't matter to me. It was spoken. I wasn't lying to myself or to Mark anymore. And the way I said it couldn't have been more certain.

Mark slowly put his fingertips to his forehead and shut his eyes tight. "You...you what?"

"You heard me, Mark. I love you. And I think, deep down, I always have, ever since you stumbled into this loft five years ago."

Mark got up, practically running away from the couch. "Roger, you don't love me. You can't love me."

I got up, following him. "It's too late, because I already do. I don't expect you to feel the same way. I'm just sick and tired of lying to everyone, lying to you, lying to myself. I'll leave you to think."

And I did. Or at least tried. It's hard to leave a room when a surprisingly strong scrawny Jewish kid wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you close to him.

He ran his fingers through my hair before kissing me gently, passionately-

-in the most perfect way I could imagine.

"Tell me why I can't love you."

My eyes were closed. I wasn't watching him. But I knew he was smiling.

"Because how many times in my life has the person I loved ever loved me back? How many times has the person I loved even noticed me?"

"Oh, God, Mark..." I breathed. I pulled him closer to me, not wanting to let go. How could I have missed this?

"I noticed you." I smiled, kissing his forehead. "I noticed you."

R & R? Makes me happy :-)