Roger never used to do things on a whim. I keep trying to think back to anything he did just spontaneously, for no reason at all, and can't think of much. For someone who managed to pull off the image of the badass rockstar so well, it seemed that every decision he used to make was measured and considered, however quickly he did that. Hell, I bet he'd weighed the pros and cons when he first started using.

This, however, can't be anything but spontaneous, so I decide that, ultimately, it's Mimi's fault that Roger has dragged me out to Central Park in the middle of the night, for no stated reason other than that he felt like it. For all of that, and as crazy as it is, I can't blame either Mimi or Roger for it. A little spontaneity can't hurt him.

It might hurt me, though. I stumble down the slight incline we're walking on, barely catching myself before falling flat on my face, and hear Roger snickering behind me. He doesn't even bother trying to hide it, and I turn back to glare at him through the dark. "Did you trip me?" I ask, glancing suspiciously to his cane.

"That was a root you tripped over, genius. Maybe you ought to look where you're going?"

"I would, but in case you hadn't noticed? It's dark."

"I can see that." I stop for a moment, trying to look annoyed as he walks past me, but unable to maintain the annoyance when for once he's... happy, and it shows. With a sigh, I jog to catch up with him – and, as soon as I do catch up with him, trip once again, stumbling over something hard stuck just in front of my foot. I shoot Roger another glare, and he grins. "Okay, that one was me."

I should have been expecting that. He does it a lot.

"You know the park's actually closed this late at night, right? We're not technically allowed here."

"So keep your voice down."

"What are we doing here? It's fucking freezing."

"That's what we get for living in this magical place called New York."

"It's not just New York, it's the whole east coast. Whatever happened to going to Santa Fe?"

"We didn't want to leave the city."

"Well, there is that..."

"Why would we want to leave anyway? We've lived here for our whole adult lives." There's an odd silence after that, like there was something unspoken, and I can guess what it is. Roger had pretty much grown up here, in essence. He wants to die here too.

I try to break the silence, because it's unnerving me. "We're adults? When did that happen?"

"I have no idea. But sadly, I think we are." There's another silence, and then he announces with utmost solemnity, "I'm the king of New York, you know."

I start to respond to that with "You're the what?", but quickly forget the question as I trip over my own feet again, this time grabbing Roger's arm to steady myself. "How the hell are you not tripping? Why am I tripping when you're not? You're the one with the cane!"

He laughs and grabs my arm to keep me upright – which really isn't necessary, honestly, but I don't want to argue with him. "I have a special grace," Roger says calmly. "And you're just... you know, a klutz."

I hit him in the chest – lightly, because I can't hit him too hard these days, he bruises too easily, and I hate to think about that. "Why're we here anyway?"

Roger lets go of my arm and points to the sky, and I look up despite myself, blinking for a minute before I realize what I'm looking at. "There're stars."

"Yeah."

"You can never see stars in the city."

"You're looking at them. Still want to go to Santa Fe?"

I stare up at the stars for a moment longer, and then shake my head with a bit of a smile. "No."