Hmm. Not quite sure how I feel about this.

-----

She is standing outside in the rain.

The night is cool and gives the illusion that the streets were darker then they actually are. The rain is light, gentle, and caresses the ground so softly that puddles have yet to form and probably won't. He guesses that the rain would probably last for at least thirty minutes but not much longer. The storm would eventually past but until then it is cold and unconventionally shadowy.

April is a frail dark outline under a street light. She is thin, almost a sickly thin, but in that way is horrifying statuesque. Her features are sharpened by the dim light, and it exaggerates the dark color of her hair, in which in most cases was a deep orange but is a dark scarlet from where he was standing. Her face was tilted somewhat upwards, as if she was searching for something; her body lifted and perfectly perpendicular. April has the build of the dancer, but is almost too lean and too long for her frame with the grace of a spider flailing in its own web- completely in control and out of control the same time.

The wind stirs up a can at Roger's feet, and he kicks it forward a bit, watching her as she looks up at the sound of the metal scattering with a painful kind of slowness, meeting his eyes for a few seconds before looking away.

Roger is confused. "Hey," He says dumbly, taking a few steps forward, laughing gently under his breath, "Whatcha doing out here?" His fingers slowly touch her shoulder, but he feels her muscles tense beneath his touch and brings it away at once.

She acts as if she didn't hear him, looking at a stop sign that must have been extremely interesting, because her eyes didn't part from it. "April," His voice is half-curious and half-annoyed.

Nothing.

After a breath, he reaches out to touch her again, and this time she pulls away from him more surely, giving him a quick look and holding up a hand, as if to ward him off, "Not now, Roger, I…" She doesn't finish, dropping her arm slowly.

He notices a small piece of envelope wedged into her fingers, noticing the wrinkles in the paper from the force she had put into holding it.

The rain comes down a little bit harder and the wind blows it across his face. "You going out?" He asks at last, his gentleness suddenly gone. His hands have found their way into his pocket of his jacket, his eyes out across the street- to where her eyes lands, looking for something she can see and he can't. Patience has finally fallen out, and he growls her name this time, "April?"

She ignores him.

At last, he peels his jacket of himself, setting it on her boney shoulders. She doesn't even look up at him, doesn't even acknowledge his presence, still looking out. Roger gently plants a kiss on her cheek, suspecting whatever she was thinking about was more important then whatever the hell he wanted out of her. So, he starts off, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants and eyes on the glowing lights of the city that draws him to it like a fly.

"Roger?" The sudden sound of her voice turns him back around, and he watches her as her face falls in upon itself, as her lips close into a set line, waiting for him to say something.

"What?" Her hands are bunched up in the jacket, giving him an uncharacteristic look he couldn't define, giving him the impression that if the wind blew across her the wrong way, if the rain fell too hard, if he was too harsh- she would break. It was an impression and a look that lasted for about a second and then disappears.

She looks him over, as if attempting to sum him up completely in a glance, saying softly at last, "I love you."

Roger echoes her words with out much thought, suspecting he'll have many other times to tell her, starting down the sidewalk. He sits alone. He watches the band. He fucks some girl in some alley way somewhere at some point because he is high enough, not thinking twice about it. The heroin wears off, and he wonders briefly if April is still sitting in the rain outside their building.

But when he returns, she is gone.