Roger started to roll over to sprawl out on his bed. Started, and was stopped as he rolled right into a person. He had not been expecting that. He propped himself up on one elbow to blink at the girl - though all he could see of her with the blankets piled as they were was a tousled dark head. "I'm sorry... who are you?"

The head popped up, and a girl that looked... vaguely familiar blinked at him sleepily, squinting in a way that implied a bad headache and a hangover. She still wasn't familiar enough for him to call up a name. "Who're you?"

Roger paused. "So, I must've been pretty drunk last night. Not that you're not attractive, but usually I remember the name."

She considered him for a moment. "You and me both."


She's familiar and safe, a reminder of a time before April, when he was still an immortal, untouchable rock star. She also looks damn hot in that pink fuzzy bra, ridiculous as it is.

And as she's sitting there beside him, bright and smiling, he can't help but lean in, try to sneak a kiss. She pulls away, turning her cheek before his lips touch hers, and she gives him a wordless, amazingly eloquent look, one eyebrow raised, glancing from him to Mimi, just over his shoulder and oblivious - weren't you with her?

And Roger rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, and gives her a mock-pout, which she only laughs at. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy, to get back to something he remembers.