Part 1

Roger pushed Mark aside as he stumbled through the door. He thoughtlessly dropped his jacket on the floor and blindly made his way to the worn out couch where he collapsed, all the while trying to hide his tears from Mark.

With a distressed ringing in his ears, Mark absentmindedly picked up Roger's jacket, folded it, and placed it gently on the coffee table. The coffee table that they savaged from some stranger's dumpster, along with two stools, a cowbell, and the same couch Roger was currently collapsed upon. A memory triggered as Mark recalled everyone trying to drag the couch up the stairs to the loft. It seemed like so long ago. Mark remembered the laugh on Mimi's face as they dropped the couch and it bombarded down two flights of stairs.

Mimi... the name echoed inside his pounding head with such a ferocity it seemed like the couch crashing its way down the flights of stairs, chanting "mi...mi...mi...mi" as it hit each step.

It was so hard to believe she was dead.

But... it was true. Roger and Mark had only just returned from her funeral.

More tears came to Mark's eyes as a heart-wrenching sob broke from Roger. Mark ached to comfort him, but he was also in the desperate need for comfort himself. He took a step towards the sprawled Roger and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. Roger let loose another harsh sob and buried his face in the cushions, trying to stifle the noise, and turned away from Mark.

Mark's heart ached and he pulled his shaking hand away. He had never before seen Roger cry. It was usually himself who cried as Roger comforted him. The Breakup with Maureen, the death of anger, Roger had always been there for Mark. But now, Roger was the one needing comforting , and Mark... Mark was lost and powerless, still overcome with the sorrow from the freshness of Mimi's death.

He turned away from Roger and ran into the small bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He searched for the faucet through his tears and splashed cold water onto his face in a useless attempt to slow the flow of tears. Face dripping, he lifted his head to look in the mirror at his pathetic reflection. His face was drained of all color, his eyes blotchy and red, his hair scraggly and out of place. Without thinking, he picked up a comb and ran it through his messy hair. Seeing the comb in the mirror, he dropped it as if it were scalding hot. The comb was Mimi's.

Mark collapsed on the floor, grasping Mimi's brush in his hands. It was horrors beyond horrors to lose such a close friend, and only when Angel had dies had Mark also experienced such wrenching pain. But now, the pain was to a new maximum, the shooting in his chest was unbearable. First Angel, Now Mimi. He had lost two best friends in the battle against AIDS and it simply wasn't fair.

Mark leaned back against the door, trying to cancel out his miserable thoughts.

Through the wood he could hear Roger sobbing away.

Proud, strong Roger, reduced to hopeless cries.

Mark covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

He couldn't take the pain.