DISCLAIMER: Shit! I don't own "Rent".
A/N: I am undecided regarding whether or not to continue the story. One question is left unanswered. Why is Roger aggitated? Otherwise, it's fine as a short story.
Of Things Hard and Things Fuzzy
The cold was bitter enough to rouse Roger, who curled up smaller and pulled the thin blankets tighter around his head. He wasn't about to leave the relative warmth of his bed for the thick, icy air that he knew settled in the rest of the loft; so, he lay, shivering, hoping that sleep would return.
He was worried and exhausted. He couldn't turn his mind off and, eventually, his eyes settled on the guitar he had propped against his bedroom wall. At first, he was not really sure if what he was looking at was real. Curious, he sat up to get a better view. As the cold floor bit through two layers of socks, a smile lit his face.
Sometime in January, New York was usually relieved from its harsh winter by a warm spell, relatively speaking, that lasted a few days when temperatures spiked enough that Mark could move his fingers. He must have slept through it this year, because February would burst through the cracks in the windows next week, and it didn't look like the temperatures were going to drop their vexatious minus sign.
It was sometime around mid-day, and there had been no sound from behind his room mate's door. Normally, Mark would go about what business he could find for himself, without much thought given to when Roger chose to rise from the dead.
Lately, however, it was obvious that something was bothering him to the extent that Mark was becoming concerned, allowing the grim shadows of their circumstance that he tried to keep incarcerated to darken his thoughts. The cup of hot water, that he used to warm up his hands, had quickly turned cold; so, he rose from the uneven stool in the kitchen to check on his friend.
Listening at the bedroom door, he thought he heard a sound, but it wasn't something he could identify as movement about the room.
"Roger?" No response.
Weighing his intrusion's consequences of annoying Roger, or discovering that he needed help, Mark cracked the door open. The room was light enough to see his friend underneath blankets on his bed; but, the sound he was making was strange.
Venturing inside for a better look, he almost laughed out loud at what he saw. There was his best friend, hardened by the city and life's crap, curled up around a purring kitten.
Quietly, so as not to disturb either of them, he went to his room to get his camera.