A short Roger-episode.

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The way his body curled up into a tight ball scared the young filmmaker. The sweat trickled down the musician's forehead (down to his chin) despite the below-zero chill that engulfed the loft. As Roger struggles to keep his fetal pose together in a tight, compressed ball, his best friend could only stand there and watch the agony. This was all his fault anyway, drowning himself through every hit he injects into his bloodstream. After April's death a week ago, his addiction only worsened. Not that Mark could do anything about it.

All he could do was stand there and watch.

After Roger's episode was over, he sat on a ledge and gazed out the window of the fire escape as if nothing had happened. The rocker picked up his Fender guitar and began to tune it, even though he had been doing this every day with no progress. It has refused to sound properly in ages. He noticed his roommate trudge uneasily towards him, but Roger turns away as he continued to randomly pluck guitar strings in a pathetic attempt to play a decent melody. He felt Mar's cold fingers brush against his shoulder, and even without looking at him Roger was aware of the rush of fear that was coursing throughout Mark's system right now.

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but after a muffled sound which was either "a" or "I", he was abruptly interrupted by Roger's clichéd "I don't want to talk about it." That comment was almost inevitable when it came to Roger and his messed-up life.

Typically, Mark would just back away when Roger throws those words at him. Better that line than a punch across the face, right? But today, he wanted to speak up. Roger's little episode that happened barely five minutes ago was one of the worst that the filmmaker had ever witnessed. The scrawny young man sighed and sat across from his roommate.

"You know you should quit, Rog," Mark mumbled, but Roger continued to stare obliviously into blank space.

"My guitar still won't tune," Roger said randomly. Clearly he wasn't listening to a word Mark said.

"Roger… you should really stop using. Were you even listening to me?"

"I still can't believe the band fired me…"

"Roger!"

"What!"

"Were you even listening?" This was making Mark so frustrated with the musician. Sure they were best friends, but seriously, Roger was pushing it.

'Listening to what?"

"Damnit, Roger, you're pathetic!" Mark said hotly before snatching his scarf from the sofa and storming out of the loft. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll – were these all he cared about?

The wooden door to the loft slid shut, causing a shudder that shook the entire fourth floor of the former music publishing factory.

Roger continued to gaze into space.