Title: None, yet. I stink at coming up with ones.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Roger/April
Summary: Really, it's a just a short chapter story about Roger and April's dysfunctional relationship.
Disclaimer: I hate these things. Uh, I own nothing.

Chapter 1:

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music do you?

"April, can you come here for a minute?" Roger yelled, probably louder than he had actually needed to, from the front room.

"Rog, can YOU give me a minute. Fuck." April swore from the behind the freshly closed bathroom door.

"But, April, I want you to hear this." He pleaded softly. Although, he doubted she could even hear him under the sound of the running water, but he didn't want the words to go unsaid.

Roger moved, cautiously, towards the bathroom door. Avoiding, any floorboard that he knew would make a sound against his pressing foot. His guitar was clutched firmly in his left hand and his right was pressed up against the, warped, wooden door, prepared to knock.

He tapped it gently. Once. Then twice. Then, finally, a third time. The sound of water hitting the bare bathroom tub had come to a halt.

"Roger?" April's, questioning, voice leaked from under and between the door cracks.

"Can you just give me five minutes, April? I just want you to listen to this song. I wrote it for you." The words came out cracked and swollen.

"I will later, Roger." The sound of her fingers tapping against the bathroom sink seeped out into quiet hallway.

"But, April, I wrote this for you. I want you to hear it. Please, just give me five minutes. I'm sorry, ok." He sighed, loudly. "Listen, I know, I shouldn't have yelled at you for missing our show last night. I was just...I'm sorry, April. I want to make it up to you. Please, just listen."

"Rog, I---" Her words were interrupted by the steady sound of Roger's fingers, gently plucking out a small chord. His fingers moved across the firm metal strings with ease.

"Roger, I don't want to fucking listen to it." She screamed, attempting to drown out her faint cries. "I'm fucking tired of you and your fucking music. Just stop, ok? Just fucking stop."

Roger bit his lip and refused to listen to her pleas. He began to hum softly and gently, preparing the melody for the words that would begin to accompany it.

The gentle splash of the bathwater provided a tranquil backdrop to the quiet song that was beginning to fill every inch of the loft that the two souls were confined in.

His song was finished in two minutes less, than he promised it would take. Roger smiled to himself, knowing in his mind that April could not be upset with him after she had heard the lyrics he had sang to her. He had poured his very heart and soul into those words and the sentiment behind them was evident. At least, he believed that to be so.

"April, what did you think?" He placed his beloved instrument down against the soiled wall beside him.

The loft was silent.

"April, come on. Don't fucking give me the cold shoulder. Just tell me if you liked it or not."

She didn't speak.

Roger was, now, irritated. All he had wanted was to hear April tell him that she had enjoyed the song. The very least she could tell him was that she liked the melody. Even a simple, "The lyrics were nice." But no sound was emitted from behind the closed door.

"April, I told you I was sorry." He let out a small sigh and wiped his hand against his slightly damp forehead. He brought that same hand up towards the door once more. One knock. One more. Just one more, this time.

"April? Fuck, April." The sound of his rapid breathing filled the empty space.

"Damnit, answer me." He closed his eyes. His hand lowered down towards the doorknob.

"April, come on."

The cool metal against his warm skin sent his hand subconsciously back towards his body.

"A, do you need my help?" Roger yelled, loudly, panicked. The sound of his voice echoed back against the obstruction, that was separating him from his lover.

"GODDAMNIT, APRIL! ANSWER ME." His hand, in an anxious gesture, quickly darted out towards the doorknob, once more. He turned it slowly and carefully, expecting the door to be locked. The small clicking sound of the knob fully turning startled him.

"April, I can't believe you wouldn't fucking ans---" Roger peered his head through the cracked door. The sight placed before him caused his breathe to get caught in his throat. His body began to shake and his knees went weak.

He slammed the door, in an attempt to stop his flowing thoughts, as well, and quickly turned around. His back was pressed against it, as he fell to the floor below him.

"No. No. No." He repeated these words over and over. His head was rested firmly in his hands, soaked with sweat and tears. His legs were drawn up towards his chest.

It was this same position Mark found him in the very next morning. Still, whispering words of denial in his restless slumber.

A/N: I have Chapter 2 written, but I'm going to wait until Chapter 3 is done before I post it.

Read and review, please. :)