Disclaimer: I don't own the character... unfortunately.

It had been five months since Roger lost April. Five months today. I noticed he was more mopey than usual. It had also been one week since Maureen dumped me. She dumped me for a girl. But that's not what hurt. Apparently, they had a "thing" last month. It was the cheating that hurt. I saw them together the other day. Joan or Josie her name was. She was kind of pretty. But not as pretty as Maureen – my Maureen. But I couldn't help but envy her. Now she was kissing Maureen – her Maureen now. Joanne. That was her name. It was hard to keep my thoughts from drifting to Maureen. I'll get over her – sooner or later.

I turned to Roger. He sat dejectedly on the couch, tapping his fingers together. He was in withdrawal. He hadn't played his Fender in five months. When he lost April, he seemed to have lost his music too.

He must have felt my gaze. He looked at me with watery green eyes. Oh no, not the tears. The first two months, he bawled nonstop, but only on the fifteenth. The third month, he only cried when he went in the bathroom. It was hard to look at the bathtub anymore. That's where we found her, all bloody and cut up. Last month, he didn't cry at all. He barricaded himself in his room all day, furiously trying to write a song. That only resulted in lots of crumpled paper and shouts of "Why, April, why?" He didn't touch his Fender though. Only on the fifteenth though. It was a hard day for him.

"You alright?" I asked.

He just stared. I wasn't sure how to help him. I really wanted to tell him to grow up, I lost my girlfriend too. I don't even know if noticed that Maureen was missing yet. But I couldn't. I didn't have the balls. Maureen hadn't really loved me. I was just something for her to do… literally. And I knew Roger's loss was greater. He would never get April back. He loved her, I knew it. He didn't break easily, and he sure was broken. Roger would never admit to loving April, at least not to me. He may have told her, but with Roger, you could just tell. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, then denied them. Even when he did deny it, you could just tell.

I knew he loved me. I loved him too. It was mutual and for the most part platonic. Sure, there was the running joke we had last winter that there was something going on between the two of us and Collins. The girls would tease us about it. It was funny. I missed those times. Roger and I both dropped out of NYU the same day. He wanted to pursue music and I film. That's how we met. We hopped the same bus and sat next to each other. We started making small talk. That's where we met Collins too. He was leaving a job interview at NYU and heading up to MIT in the morning. He was coming home soon. I missed him too. My parents strongly disagree, but dropping out of NYU was the best thing ever happened to me. Sure, I wasn't a hot shot filmmaker yet, but I had Roger. My best friend.

My eyes locked on Roger's. I took it as a cry for help. I went to the couch and sat with him. I don't know how, but it happened. I took him in my arms and hugged him. Surprisingly, he didn't resist. He returned the embrace and buried his head in my shoulder, crying.

"Shh, Roger, it's okay. Mark's here, Mark's here." I gently rubbed his back, my hand running over his bony spine. He was thin. Maybe it was the lack of food. Maybe it was the lack of drugs. The day after she died, Roger threw his crack pipe and heroin needle out the window. He never wanted to see drugs again. Drugs took away his April; drugs took away his health. Drugs took away the old Roger. He was clean though. The only drug he took now was completely legal – AZT. Well, when he remembered to take it.

"Mark," Roger sobbed into my shoulder.

"It's okay, let it all out," I coaxed.

"I miss April."

"So do I." I missed Maureen too. We both missed the romance.

I can't explain why I did what I did next. I moved my hand and pushed back his mop of hair, kissing him softly on the forehead. He didn't freak out. He head lifted and his lips grazed my cheek. We were so close. I could feel his breath. Our lips met, softly at first, but the pressure increased. It felt good. I missed having someone to hold, to kiss … to love.

"Thanks," Roger pulled out. He missed it too. He lay in my arms and I held him, comforting him until he fell asleep, my arms around his neck.

And it hit me. Before I fell asleep, I realized something. Because of Roger. We had love to give. Roger would love again. I would love again. And through it all, we would have each other.

Fin