"Kiss me," he challenged his best friend one day. "I bet you won't." But he'd underestimated the competitiveness (and possessiveness) of his 'Rock Star Rising' and was taken aback when he did. And he was even more taken aback that he'd liked it quite as much as he had. Roger seemed a bit shocked, too (maybe he liked it?), but quickly broke out in that incorrigible grin of his and sat back smugly, playing something vaguely Rolling Stones on his guitar as Toby was left to wonder exactly when it was they'd sort of (but not really) fallen in love.

It wasn't something they would admit, ever. They were too different and too alike at the same time. They were perfectly suited to be friends, even best friends, but as lovers there would be too much pain, too many fights. So they went along as friends, never speaking their desires, never commenting on the lingering glances. A year's difference, but he didn't mind being a year younger than his budding rock star. All he cared about was watching him, being near him, occasionally catching the tail end of a longing gaze, and those nights, so few, when for an hour his forbidden fruit would be his.

She couldn't handle it, she couldn't stay and listen to all the stupid people act like they knew him, and then watch them lower that box (he wasn't really in there, you know) down into a huge dark hole and cover it with dirt. She couldn't handle the overwhelmingly sweet smell of all the flowers, or the sad looks, or the whispered voices. He wasn't sad, he wasn't quiet, and he would've gagged at all the ugly flower wreaths that were piled everywhere. She stared at that box (he's not IN there, don't you get it?) without expression through the whole service, and watched in a detached sort of way at the cemetery as they lowered him down. She stood there, motionless, as everyone left, even his parents, and the grave diggers filled in the grave. She didn't cry until she felt strong arms wrap around her, a voice filled with all the pain she was feeling telling her that they were gonna be okay. Then she cried, hating her best friend for abandoning her and hating herself for it.

"Roger?"
"…I don't like the tone of your voice."
"What's not to like?"
"You sound like you're about to ask me to do something you know very well I don't want to do."
"Whatever, you're imagining things."
"Fine… What do you want?"
"Will you do me a huge favor?"
"Depends on the favor."
"Take me to prom?"
"…"
"Please, Roger?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO. ….. Maureen, stop giving me that look."
"What look?"
"That 'you just broke my heart will you please let me have my way?' look."
"I'm giving you no such thing."
"Um… yeah you are."
"… Fine. But I still want you to take me."
"Maureen, I graduated last year."
"So? It's my senior prom, Roger, please. You promised to do something special for me before graduation."
"… I hate you, Maureen."
"I love you, too. Prom's in two weeks, don't forget my corsage."

She was there, still. In every corner of the loft, from the dirt on the floors to the leaky ceiling, there she was, haunting him. It was ironic, really – the one person it was assumed haunted his every thought was easily dismissible (not that he didn't love her, even now), but the one person NO ONE thought would linger in his mind was… always there. In every shadow, he saw hers, in every draft he heard her voice or smelled her perfume. He couldn't get away from her, so he didn't try. He stayed there, when everyone thought he was still depressed, sitting on her place in the windowsill and staring out the window, hoping to see her come around the corner again. But she wouldn't. And even if she did, it wouldn't be to see him. She hadn't been his for a long time. Never again would be. So instead he just sat there, with the ghost of a girl who didn't love him anymore.

He had almost convinced himself that he didn't care anymore, that it didn't matter if he hated how she'd called Mark to help her with the wiring instead of him, that he wasn't jealous of Joanne, that he was perfectly content to be standing there with his hand on the small of Mimi's back, breathing in her exotic smell – nothing like she used to smell, all vanilla and sugar. He'd almost managed it, until suddenly there she was, up on that stage in this filthy lot on Christmas Eve, beaming down at the multitude of homeless people as if they were the most desirable audience in the world. "A leap of faith", she said. And was it just him, or did she look at him when she said it? Accusing him of not taking that leap, of not throwing caution and pride to the wind to get her back. The worst part, to him, was that it was undeniably true, and he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

It was almost panic-inducing, the thought of her being left up on that stage in the middle of all the violence, but there was nothing he could do but get Mimi out safely and hope she'd be okay, just like he was hoping (as he waited outside the Life) that Mark was okay. When she rounded the corner, the relief in his face was so evident, and she was still so obviously shaken, that both of them forgot that they weren't friends anymore and held each other for just a moment too long. And if she noticed that his hand lingered on her back a little longer than necessary, she didn't mention it - maybe she needed it just as much as he did.

The "Celebrating Bohemia" video, as Mark called it, was notoriously bad, out of everything ever filmed on Mark's camera. This was something that, initially, seemed very out of character – even when Mark was drunk, he didn't film as badly as that film was. Then someone figured it out – Maureen said it was her, and Collins said it was Angel – Mark was on camera most of the time (when the camera wasn't pointed at the wall or the floor), meaning someone else had filmed it. And when Mark listened closely to a point at the very beginning of the film, he couldn't help laugh when he heard Roger cursing at the camera as he tried to work it.

"Sisters" they said, even though two of them were lovers. "Sisters" they said, even though none of them were actually related. "Sisters" they said, just to goad the people who would stare at them as they walked down the street. Kend, Lin-lee, and Maur. Three of a kind and then some, friends forever no matter what. Maybe they weren't really sisters, but as she watched them dancing on the table at the Life Café, laughing and celebrating life, bohemia, and her protest, Maureen couldn't help think that if she'd gotten to choose her siblings, these girls would've been on the top of the list.