Another shortie.

AU, Roger and Mark in middle school.

I know, groan away. I hate these too.

But what else am I supposed to do during Italian:

Give it a shot.

---

"You know what's really hard?"

I rolled my eyes, dropped my pen, frowned at him with the most sincere frustration.

"What Roger?"

Not that Roger can ever sense disappointment.

"Algebra."

"Is that why you're failing it?" I quipped.

He grinned wickedly. "No, I'm failing it because I'm stupid," he drawled, like what I said was an insult to his character. "But I like the attempt."

I let my eyes roll over Roger's awkward form, his back on the shag carpet and his legs propped up against my bedroom wall. His dirty sneakers stained the blue-white paint, and I knew I'd get the infamous brunt-of-Ms.-Cohen later, but for some reason I didn't make him move.

No one ever made Roger do anything.

"C'mon Rog," I pleaded from my desk, "it's not hard."

"Maybe for you, Super Nerd."

I scoffed. "Nice."

"I thought so."

I wanted to stab him whenever I saw that cocky smirk.

"Look," I fumbled, going over and retrieving Roger's textbook from its current obscurity. "Here, number 6. All you need to do is solve for x. You isolate the variable and -"

"Mark," he interrupted, "how many times have you explained this to me?"

"Somewhere between six and six and a half billion."

"Exactly." He said, his green eyes deflating. "Just give up on me."

"I'm not giving up on you." It came out before I could even think about it. But I never took it back. Roger and I were in eighth grade, but somehow it felt right to promise him that.

"Why not?" He whined. "Because everyone else will?"

I smiled. "Something like that." I nodded to the textbook again and Roger groaned. "Now, math. Look, all you need to do is isolate the variable and then follow through with the equation. And then you'll find what x equals."

"And x always equals something?" He asked. It was ridiculous, but at least he was participating.

"Always."

"That's bull." Roger spat.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"I'm serious!" He hollered, flailing his arms around. "When in real life do things always add up? Always equal something?"

I folded my hands together in front of me. "Roger, this isn't life. This is math. There's a solution to every problem in math."

"Well, anyone can solve a problem that always has an answer," he rambled, crossing his arms in front of him. "I need to learn how to solve the things that don't work out so easily."

I gave up and closed the textbook. "Does this metaphoric rambling have anything to do with a certain girl?"

He scoffed. "Yes."

Well, there went the possibility of getting any work done at all. Roger was always struggling with his swarm of girlfriends. It was a revolving door, because they kept coming and he kept making the same mistakes. Roger never seemed to learn from the things he did. Not until we grew up.

Me? I was forever destined to hear, in full detail, the pitfalls of Roger's relationships. And with that, the pitfalls of Roger.

"Well?" I asked.

"I don't know, Mark. You're an answer kid. I don't think you can help me on this one."

"Try me." I mimicked Roger's position.

He paused a long while before he asked me, ".. You ever feel like you fell for the one person you were never supposed to?"

My eyes snapped to life and immediately fell on Roger, and the patch of skin that was showing on his stomach where his tee shirt fell. And then I caught myself and quickly brought my eyes to find his but, as always, they were somewhere else.

"Yeah." I said, swallowing the syllables as I let them out. "I do."

Roger rolled over onto his stomach and looked out the open window. I listened to the suburbs' chorus; tried to imagine my greatest dilemma was passing algebra.

"You know what's really hard?" Roger asked.

"Besides algebra?"

"Yes." He sighed.

"What?"

He took in a long breath. "Love."

I, however, only got in a shallow one.

"Yeah, Rog. I know."

I wondered if Roger would ever understand how hard it could really be.