Author's Notes: Rated for language. Chapters are named after the songs that inspired them. This will probably be the only time I write notes, so I hope you enjoy and please review!

"From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death; I have suffered your terrors and am in despair."

–Psalm 88:15

Chapter 1: Heal me, I'm Heartsick

Sometimes the days were too long…but more often they were too short. Live for every moment; make every moment count so that when you looked back on your life you weren't ashamed of what you did and who you were. That's what Mimi taught him.

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But she had died a long time ago. Months…almost a year. It still hurt to think of her, to think of her smile. About the way her dark eyes danced with her and the way she taught him to live again. It still hurt to think about her. So he didn't.

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Roger strummed at the cold guitar in his hands trying not to think about her or April or Collins or Angel. He tried not to think about joining them soon.

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Roger felt the beat within him and played.

Every day he felt weaker. It's a terrifying thing… feeling yourself die. On some level, he rejoiced at the thought of joining Mimi and his friends, of getting that final release… like a breath of fresh air. On another, he hated leaving Mark alone.

"Fuck…I can't win either way…" He muttered, fingers continued moving effortlessly up and down the guitar.

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Mimi, Angel, Collins...had all lived their lives to the fullest every damn day…every moment. But he... had wasted so much time being depressed, wallowing in self hatred for the situation he was in. He used to blame April, but now he only blamed himself.

And still he wasted every day… wishing he had more days to waste.

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Mark entered the loft then, wiping snow off his worn jacket. He looked at Roger, and attempted to smile. It was small and forced, but it was there. "Hey."

Roger only nodded in response. …words are highly over rated.

The filmmaker's blue eyes clouded over with understanding. 'Oh this is one of your quiet days. Okay,' they seemed to be saying, mocking Roger's silence. …stupid eyes! Mark turned towards his bedroom, camera in hand.

Well, fuck him if he thinks he knows me so well!

"Hey, Mark."

Haha, take that eyes!

Mark turned, his eyes wide with surprise. "…yes?"

Oh shit…there's more? He had to say something? Shit. Say something!

"Where were you?"

Stupid…stupid question. He knew where Mark had gone…to visit graves. Mark's face hardened, trying to hide any emotion…but his blue eyes gave him away as they clouded with painful memories. Roger could see the hurt in that blue. It must not have been a good visit.

"…Out" Mark answered at last, surprising Roger with the vacant sound of his voice.

"Oh…"

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"It's cold in here. Are you sure you don't want a… blanket or tea or something?"

Roger made a face at the mention of tea. "No...I like it cold."

"Yeah, I know…" Mark pushed his glasses up delicately on his nose, "but you could get sick…"

"Mark." Roger tried to suppress a growl. "I like it when it's cold."

The subject should've dropped then.

"But Rodge…"

"Look I like the cold. I want to be fucking cold, okay? Why the hell can't you leave it at that? Let me enjoy the cold while I still fucking can." Roger let the anger fall out of his voice with his last words.

Mark said nothing, blue eyes waiting. As though they knew what would come next. Stupid eyes…

Roger sighed and broke the delicate silence that had descended on the loft. "…I'm going to die anyway, so I don't give a shit about…about blankets or tea."

It wasn't angry, wasn't desperate. It just was. He'd come to say that a lot lately, it was his way of accepting death. Kind of his way of fighting back. I know I'm going to die soon. It's here... you can't fucking surprise me anymore AIDs. You can't take anything else from me.

But he shouldn't say it. He shouldn't say it because of the look in Mark's eyes, the look of abandonment and terror that Roger knew he tried so desperately to hide. But the filmmaker couldn't hide it from Roger, nor could he hide the backwards step he took every time the words left Roger's mouth…as though he had been pushed.

"Don't… I…" This time Mark couldn't hide the weakness in his voice, "Fuck. Roger do you have to say that?"

Roger shrugged so that Mark wouldn't see him shudder. Only Mark's desperate voice could bring him back to the reality of his own fears. To what his death meant. The end…

I can't do this…I can't…I can't…

And Roger had to struggle to keep breathing, because suddenly it hurt like hell.

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His hands shook as he cradled his guitar, but he kept playing. He couldn't stop playing. Don't think. Don't fucking think for a second.

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Something warm was placed around his shoulders, and he turned to see Mark putting a blanket on him. Roger let out a frustrated sigh, but couldn't stop a smile from crossing his face.

"You stubborn little shit…"

Mark grinned and bowed to Roger, "Learned from the best."

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The filmmaker moved to the kitchen area getting out two cups and putting them on the counter. Roger stopped playing as he watched Mark in confusion.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"…Making us tea."

"What? Why?" Roger made another face to enforce his disgust. "You know I hate that shit, but you still make it for me all the time."

"And you still drink it every time I do." Mark replied giving him a pointed look.

"Well, yea, only cause… you made it and I didn't want to…" Roger shook his head, "But why?"

"Because…I, well…I have to do something."

Roger nodded, understanding, as he turned his focus back to the guitar in his hands, back to the melody that his fingers plucked away to.

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Sometimes the days are too long, sometimes they're not long enough.

Roger played to his internal beat, and felt himself get weaker, paler. He was slipping away day by day by day by day… and soon there'd be nothing left of who he was. Nobody left but…

Mark gave him his tea, and retreated to the table to fiddle with his camera. Roger took a drink, and tried not to make a face at the taste. But of course Mark was watching him, and laughed at his sorry attempt. Roger just smirked. If only he could hold on to moments like these forever

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It's a terrifying thing, feeling yourself die…

Roger knew his time was coming soon. They had little food, no heat, no money for doctor or hospital bills… and Roger was dying, but frankly at that moment while he took another gulp and cursed Mark's disgusting tea… he didn't give a shit.