"Roger, hey Roger!"
No answer.
"...Roger?"
Peering around the room, it didn't take long for Mark to realize that his roommate was nowhere in the loft. There were no sounds of a guitar, no sounds of something shuffling around in Roger's bedroom or even light snores from the couch (Mark always found it a little amusing when he'd find Roger sleeping on the couch, just because that was the only time the musician actually snored).
"Huh," the filmmaker said to no one in particular. "That's...a little weird." It wasn't exactly unusual for Roger to leave the loft, after all it wasn't like he was tethered down and had to wait to ask Mark's permission to leave, it was just...Mark usually knew where the rocker was headed, and in truth it tended to work both ways.
Then again, it wasn't like there was an obligation between them, to tell each other anything. Shaking his head, the filmmaker curled himself on the couch, eyes darting the door, at every little sound. There was no obligation, but Mark has just got used to knowing anyway.
He didn't stay there long though, the filmmaker was anxious and couldn't bring himself to still. Picking up his camera, he headed for the roof, intending to perhaps distract himself and, he laughed a bit, put a new perspective on things.
Reaching the top of the building, he was a bit surprised to see a figure already up there, but surprise faded into relief at the realization of who it was. Silently coming to stand next to Roger, Mark offered him a hand and a concerned look. The rocker didn't come to the roof often, only when something was on his mind, when it was troubling him.
The other blinked at him for a moment, eyes focusing on the blond before the edges lips turned upward and he shook his head, lightly pushing the hand away but in return wrapping an arm lightly around the filmmaker's wait.
And together they stood a glimpse of love in the city of chaos.