Title: Something About You
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.
Distribution: Fanfiction.net. If you want it for an archive, or just to make fun of endlessly, ask me first. Yeah.
Feedback: If you're so inclined, go ahead. AliQG@aol.com, or that fancy review box on ff.net works too.
Notes: So, uh, I tried to keep it non-slash. And technically it still is. I mean, they don't kiss or anything, anyway. ::smiles innocently:: Whatever, decide for yourself. Knowing me, this'll probably turn into M/R eventually, but I'm not sure yet. The whole pre-Rent thing kinda puts a damper on that (unless I make it an A.U. fic, which I might very well do). We'll see.
Summary: In which a conflict arises between the old friend and the new one. (Yep, still bad at summarizing.)

- - - - - Chapter Two - - - - -

Don't get your hopes up, it's not much, I warned as we walked up the six flights of stairs to the loft.

It's a roof and walls anyway, and that's all I really need. Roger adjusted the strap of his guitar case.

Well, we worry about the roof sometimes. I paused at the fifth floor landing to take a breath. Roger noticed my windedness immediately.

What, are you tired? Poor baby, he joked.

Shut up, I shot back, blushing. I have asthma.

Oh, yeah? Here, allow me. Before I knew what was happening, he wrapped his arms securely around my waist and hoisted me up.

You fuckin' idiot, put me down, I laughed.

And let you have an asthma attack? I wouldn't dream of it. He struggled up the stairs, ignoring my protests. Finally -- Roger couldn't move very fast, considering the amount of weight he was carrying -- we reached the top floor. He lowered my feet to the ground but retained his grip on my waist.

I swallowed hard and willed my face not to turn bright red. Umm... Roger?

He didn't move.

Could you...

His arms left my body quickly. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you.

Great, now he thought I was homophobic or uncomfortable around him or something. No, I didn't mind -- I mean, it's okay, it doesn't bother me.

Oh, so you're able to look past the fact that I swing both ways? That's so decent of you.

I didn't mean it like that! I was just saying--

He pressed a hand to the side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. It's a joke. Lighten up. With an amused grin on his face, he slapped my cheek lightly and withdrew his hand.

I nodded mutely. Why did he have this effect on me? Had I always been such a complete social dimwit? Change the subject, before you make a bigger fool of yourself. Well, this is it. Our humble abode. I poured all my concentration into unlocking the door and throwing it open.

Roger stepped inside and looked around with a nod of approval. Not bad. How long you been living here?

Just a few weeks.

And your roommate, what's his name again?

Benny. He's probably out and about though -- hates to waste a single minute of the day. You can stay in my room. There's only one bed, but it's pretty big. I mean, if you don't mind sharing.

Sharing a bed with you? What's there to mind? He arched an eyebrow, in a manner I could only interpret as seductive. God, was he coming on to me?

More importantly, I thought with a gulp: did I mind if he was?

I turned away and strode quickly to my bedroom. Here it is. You can put your stuff wherever.

All he had was a backpack and a guitar case, so it didn't take him long to find space, despite the room's clutter. Is that everything you own?

Basically. Don't need much when you live on the streets -- a little money and some clothes. My ex-roommate threw out the rest of my shit, anyway.

That's awful.

He shrugged. I've got my guitar. It's all I care about.

Do you write your own stuff?

I try. Most everything I come up with blows.

I'm sure you're great.

You say that now. Roger dropped onto the mattress, smirking.

Well... I'd love to hear you play sometime.

He glanced at me skeptically. You shouldn't ask a question if you don't want the answer. And believe me, you don't.

I'm serious. Please? I whimpered with the best dejected puppy-dog face I could manage. Hey, it seemed to work on everyone else, might as well try it on him.

Roger rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. Oh, all right. Don't say I didn't warn you.

He carefully extracted the instrument, tightening his fingers around its neck. He handled his guitar the way I did my camera: gentle and loving, with delicate precision. I'd always had images of violent rock stars thrashing around with their guitar, but Roger's method shattered that myth. It was almost... well, almost like he was making love as he played.

After a while he began to sing. His eyes fell shut while he concentrated on the music. He had a voice that reminded me of honey and brown sugar and every other stupid cliche known to man, but it was true. I watched the muscles in his arms stretch and contract with each chord his fingers created.

He was beautiful. Did I look like that when I filmed? Or did Roger just have something special?

I closed my eyes as the final note faded away, trying to capture and preserve it in my memory forever.

"Well?"

I opened my eyes again to find the musician watching me anxiously. "What'd you think?"

"That was God, it was wonderful, Roger. You're really talented."

A faint hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks. Well, at least I wasn't the only one around here who got embarrassed occasionally. "I wrote it last year," he said. "Never really finished, though. I lost inspiration somewhere down the line, and everything I wrote after that just sounded wrong."

"I thought it was great."

He peered at me closely, his lips finally forming into a smile. "Thanks. That means a lot."

I nodded. We were silent for a minute, our eyes locked, until I turned away and he cleared his throat.

"Your turn. I wanna see one of your films."

"What? Oh, no, I can't," I insisted. "I mean, I haven't exactly finished them yet--"

"I don't mind."

"But I don't like to show unfinished stuff!"

Roger rolled his eyes and laid back on a pillow. "Okay. When you finish, then?"

"Sure. I guess." Not like I'd ever complete a film, anyway, at the rate I was going. I fell back onto the mattress beside him with a sigh. Just as my eyelids began to flutter shut, I felt an arm brush against mine. I swallowed hard. Maybe it was just an accident.

It happened again; this time, his hand rested lightly above my wrist. Warmth seemed to radiate over my skin from the point of contact.

Suddenly the bedroom door swung open, and Roger pulled away quickly. I sat up to see who had entered, commanding the pang of disappointment in my stomach to go away.

Benny appeared in the doorway, staring suspiciously at Roger. "What the hell is this, Mark?"

Swallowing hard, I scooted a few more inches from the songwriter. Benny was a great friend, but he had a jealous streak like no other when he felt his position being threatened. "His name's Roger Davis," I replied. "We met in the park earlier this morning. He, uh, he's gonna be our new roommate."

"Were you planning on consulting me in this decision?" He fixed his glare on me and I flinched reflexively.

"He just needed a place to--"

"This isn't your mommy's house, Mark, you can't just bring home all the little lost puppies in the Village and beg me to let you keep them."

"Look," Roger interjected, standing and stalking towards Benny, "believe it or not, I am a person, so maybe you should stop picking on him and take your problems up with me. Unless you're too scared to mess with someone your own size."

"Roger" I said pleadingly. This was not turning out the way I'd hoped at all.

Benny gave Roger a condescending snort. "You think I couldn't take you on, cutie pie?"

"Is that supposed to be a threat? I've lived here two years, Barney--"

"Benny," he corrected icily.

"--And I've seen more than you probably have your whole life. I'm not scared of some polo-playing Ivy League dropout who still lives off his parents' credit card."

"Then why don't you go to a fucking homeless shelter where you belong and stop stinking up my loft?"

"Guys, chill!" Finally the two noticed my presence and shut their mouths.

"We'll talk later," Benny told me as he headed for the door. "I'm out." He slipped his sunglasses on and flashed a peace sign before disappearing from the room.

I sighed and leaned back against the headboard. Talk about a disaster. Probably just a few minutes, I mused, until Roger decided to pick up and take off.

"Nice guy," Roger stated dryly.

"I'm sorry about that. He's not usually such an asshole, I swear. He only likes change when it's on his own terms."

"Well, he's just gonna have to get used to it this time."

"Wait, you're not -- I mean, I thought for sure after that you'd..."

Roger shrugged. "I've had worse roommates. Believe me. I'm not letting him push me around."

"Wow." I grinned, a mixture of relief and admiration in my voice. "I'm not sure if that makes you brave or stupid."

"Probably both," he muttered. "Hell, I get a kick out of it, really. I like things rough."

Was it my imagination or did he just wink at me?

"Um." I coughed and jumped up from the bed. "It's awfully stuffy in here."

"Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"Maybe we should I don't know. Go do something. I hear Central Park's beautiful in the winter."

He smiled. "But you'd never be able to tell with all the tourists clogging it up."

"Come on," I whined, "it'll be fun. We can go ice skating, and see the Christmas tree."

"Oh, goody!" Roger jumped up, stowing his guitar case under my bed. "And maybe we can get mugged while we try to find our way on the subway! Then we'll get the full New York experience!"

"You're such a spoilsport."

"Hey, it's not my fault you make it so easy." He approached me then, hesitatingly, slung an arm over my shoulders. "Take a jacket, you'll freeze out there. You've got nothing on your bones to insulate you.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a smile at his sudden display of motherliness. I hadn't exactly pegged him as the responsible type.

We made our way to the living room/kitchen/dining area, where I grabbed my coat and scarf. Roger still had his leather jacket on. It looked fairly new; I wondered how he could afford luxuries like that but not food or an apartment.

Birthday present, he explained, gesturing toward the jacket as if he'd read my thoughts. My ex got it for me, just a week or two before... um, before she left me.

What was her--

A shadow fell over his face. It was three months ago.

What happened?

Roger shrugged and swallowed hard. We just, you know... differences. She's probably somewhere better now. He cleared his throat, turning for the door. So are we going or not? If we get there early we can miss the crowd at the ice rink.

I followed behind him silently. Something was amiss here: he'd changed the subject way too quickly. Of course, it had only been three months. If she'd done something to really hurt him, he might not be over her yet. If only I knew, maybe I could--

No. You're not pressing the issue, Cohen,
I thought resolutely. He hardly knows you. Nobody wants to divulge their life story to complete strangers.

I just had to win his trust first, then maybe he'd open up. Couldn't be that difficult. Sure, it'd take some time... but spending time with Roger was one thing I didn't think I'd mind at all.