A/N: One shot. For Before the Sun Sets

Disclaimer: I don't own, I RENT

What Am I?

"Roger…" the filmmaker asked.

"Wha Mark…" the half-asleep songwriter drawled. He'd been trying to catch forty winks on the ancient duct-taped couch in the pair's flat, but…Mark had always had a hatred for his afternoon naps. He'd had a feeling his attempts at sleeping would fail.

"What am I?"

Roger took less than thirty seconds to ponder the odd question. "Annoying."

"No, Roger, I didn't mean it like that," the young man frequently known as Albino Pumpkin Head told his roommate in an exasperated tone. "What am I to you?"

That one was harder. After a few minutes, Roger replied.

"My roommate. My friend. Someone who's dependable, fun to talk to if a little self-deprecating most of the time, someone I wish had better luck with his love life cause I often get the feeling you're jealous of me."

"Hmm…Interesting…" As Mark pondered the other's response, Roger prayed that he might finally get some sleep.

No such luck. "What type of ice cream am I most like?"

"Wtf, Mark…"

"Just answer the question."

"Um…vanilla, cause you're almost albino?'

Once again, a sigh and a soft "hmm…." from Mark followed his answer.

"What animal am I?"

"A turtle."

"Why a turtle?"

"Cause when things get tough, you withdraw into your shell."

"Hmm…."

Roger waited.

Five minutes later, the filmmaker had not responded. Glancing up, Roger thought he saw tears glistening in his best friend's eyes.

"Mark…are you OK?"

The filmmaker turned to the songwriter, a strange look in his pale blue orbs. He cleared his throat, twitched nervously for a few seconds, then spoke.

"Roger Davis, to me you are more than 'annoying,' though you sometimes are, and 'roommate,' though that is true. To me, you, Roger Davis, are someone I am jealous of, but not for reasons you think. You are the best friend who for years I wished would be more than that, because I've always loved you as more. If you were ice cream, you'd be chocolate because you are so sweet, and if you were an animal, you'd be a cat because—frankly, you're sexy."

Following this outpouring of his soul, Mark turned away, the tears coming faster now.

Roger sat up

He was stunned.

All these years, all these times spent with his best friend, all these secrets shared, and he'd never guessed. Never guessed that Mark's love for Maureen was superficial because there was another person that he loved, and that person was him.

Snuffles. Mark was really crying now. Probably thinks I hate him now, Roger thought, And I haven't exactly given him reason to think otherwise.

Laying a hand on Mark's shoulder, Roger gradually maneuvered the filmmaker's head until he was facing him.

"Ask me again, Mark," he said softly.

Looking up at him with confusion in his tear-filled eyes, Mark Cohen whispered "Roger…what am I?"

And with a smirk, Roger replied, "Someone who will in the next thirty seconds find themselves unable to speak because I will be kissing them like I have wanted to since I first met them."