A/N: Alrighty, folks! Here's chapter 3! There's only two more chapters to go! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 3
The Third Letter and Roger's Writer's Block
January seventeenth, 1992 4:03 P.M. EST. Roger is the one checking the letter box this time. Mark is up on the roof filming the streets bellow, hoping to get some kind of inspiration from it. Roger already knew that there was a letter from Mark's secret admirer waiting for him in the stack of mail he pulled from the box. He made his way back up, holding the letter in one hand and the rest of it all in the other. When he reached the loft he dropped the stack on the kitchen table before making his way up to the roof.
Mark's cold had gone from bad to worse to better, and was now just sniffles and the occasional skin around his nostrils was raw from blowing his nose on paper towels. Roger was just glad that it hadn't turned into pneumonia.
"Markyyy," He called when he got up to the roof. Mark was kneeling at the side of the roof, doing a slow sweep of the skyline when he heard him. He sighed and continued, moving in a circle until Roger entered the frame.
"And that would be my roommate Roger," He said in narration. "Come to try and write, probably." Roger laughed and held out the letter.
"Nope. This was in the mail," He said, waving it at Mark. "Thought you might want it." Mark shut off the camera and stood, dusting off his corduroys. He grabbed the letter from Roger and sat down in one of the chairs scattered across the roof, opening it eagerly.
Dear Mark,
I guess by now you're probably extremely curious about just who I am. I'd tell you about myself if it wouldn't give the big surprise away. All you really need to know about me is that I love you. It's the most important thing.
I'm not exactly sure when I started to-
A harsh gust of wind ripped the letter from Mark's hands and he shot up, running after it. Roger was quick to go after it too. The wind dropped the letter against the roof, but it still had it, making the paper flutter and shift against the concrete. Running just out of their reach as they approached it.
"Get it!" Mark shouted, eyes wide. Roger jumped at it just before the wind grabbed it again, slamming his boot down on it.
"Got it," He said with a sigh of relief. He bent to pick it up before lifting his boot from it. He cringed at the boot print left on the page. "Sorry..." He muttered as he handed the letter back to Mark. The filmmaker ignored the boot print and simply hugged Roger.
"Thanks for saving it," He said with a smile. "Let's go inside. I'll finish reading it where the wind can't get it." Roger laughed and nodded. They made their way inside and both sat on the couch as Mark finished the letter.
I'm not exactly sure when I started to love you. It could've been from the first moment I saw you, or when you first pointed your camera at me, or even when you smiled at me over the still rolling camera. I'm really not sure. For all I know my love for you could've been there the whole time.
I still remember what I thought of you the first moment I met you. Thick glasses magnifying those baby blue eyes of yours. I honestly thought you were a skinny dork. But, there was a thought in the back of my mind that was barely there, but more important. Beautiful. You're such a beautiful person, Mark. And I know that I don't deserve you. But I don't care. I'm selfish and I want you all to myself.
Whoops. Gave something away, didn't I? I'm a selfish person. I want all of you to be mine and only mine. I don't want to share you. I know that's probably really unattractive, but I just can't help it! You mean everything to me, and I want to mean everything to you. I know that's probably sick and overbearing and horrible, but...can you blame me?
You're perfect, Mark. You're just so perfect and wonderful and beautiful. And it makes me want to wrap you inside my arms and never let go, never let anything happen to you that isn't something good. I can't imagine my life without you. You've become such a giant part of it. I'm always wondering about what you're doing, what you're thinking, what inspires you, everything.
I'm selfish, and you're perfect, and I love you so much, Mark. Until next time.
Love,
Your Secret Admirer.
Mark folded the letter and placed it into the envelope. He didn't care about Roger's boot print on it. It reminded him that his friend and secret crush had saved it from being kidnapped by the cold New York wind. He greatly appreciated it. He knew it was probably horrible of him to think that this secret admirer was his best chance at getting over Roger. They seemed to love him a great deal, and if he could find a way to return their feelings then...he just might get over his feelings for Roger.
"They admitted that they're selfish," He said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his pale lips. Roger snorted and turned to stretch out across the couch with his head in Mark's lap.
"That doesn't help you know who it is," He pointed out. "We know a lot of people who are selfish." Mark sighed, his fingers automatically going to run through Roger's hair out of habit. Despite Mark's feelings for Roger, this was comfortable. This was normal. This was them. Mark and Roger. Roommates and best friends, and sometimes closer than they should be. But did they notice that last part? Nope.
"True," Mark agreed. "Whoever it is...they're doing a damn good job of keeping me in the dark about it. Using a type writer to mask their handwriting, and keeping the letters vague about anything that could give them away. And then there's the time periods between each one. They're so far apart that it really could be anyone." Roger chucked and reached up to poke Mark's cheek.
"You'll figure it out," He said confidently. He didn't let on that the author of the letters had his head in Mark's lap. They day went on as the days normally did. Roger tried to write a song, Mark filmed him playing Musetta's Waltz and narrated.
"This is Roger. Playing out his procrastination theme song."
~~~MR~~~
January twenty-first, 1992 9:26 P.M. EST. Mark had gone to Joanne and Maureen's to help plan out Maureen's next protest so he wouldn't be back home until the early morning hours. Roger knew how this worked. So, there he sat, three hours later, staring at the two words 'Dear Mark' glaring back at him. Collins sat beside him rolling a joint. One out of many. There was a row of five across the table so far. Where the hell did he get all of this pot?
"What's got you stuck this time?" Collins asked, his fingers tightly rolling the paper around the pot. His fingers moved on their own, having memorized the movements of rolling a long time ago. Roger sighed and dropped his hands against the table with a bang. The completed joints jumped and rolled. Collins stopped them from rolling off the table and looked over at Roger with raised eyebrows, waiting expectantly.
"It's just-...I've gone through the physical and some of the emotional," He explained, already knowing that Collins knew what he was talking about. "And I know there's so much more to what I feel for him, but I feel like I'm grasping at straws with the ideas that I keep coming up with." Collins made a small noise, nodding as he finished up the sixth joint. He held it in front of Roger's face.
"Start that up. I'll get you a beer. Then we'll brainstorm," He said standing and heading to the kitchen area of his apartment. Roger sighed, knowing better than to argue with Collins. He lit up the joint and took three good hits before Collins returned with a beer for him and one for himself. He sat down with a sigh, taking the tops off of both and handing one to Roger. "Alright. When you're around him what do you feel? Nervous, jittery, light-headed? Do your palms get sweaty?" Roger shook his head.
"No," He replied, handing the joint to Collins. "None of that happens. I feel...calm. Excited, happy, grounded, centered. He makes me fell like I'm..." He paused, licking his chapped lips and laughed at the simplicity of what he was about to say, "like I'm home. Like there's nothing more right than me and him just being there together." Collins grinned.
"There you go," He said, clapping Roger on the shoulder. "Writer's block averted." Roger laughed and took another swig from his beer before turning towards the typewriter and starting to write once more.
When he returned to loft Mark was still gone. The answering machine was blinking, signalling that someone had called. Roger contemplated leaving it alone until Mark got home but shrugged and went to rewind the tape and play it, seeing who had called.
"Hey Roger," Mark's voice said through the speaker. Roger smiled. "So...I'm gonna be home pretty late." There were voices in the background. Probably Maureen and Joanne. "We're working through Maureen's ideas. You know how it goes. I'll most likely see you tomorrow. Bye. Oh! Don't forget to take your AZT. Later, Rog." There was a click and the message ended. Roger laughed softly and dutifully took his AZT before attempting to finish a song.
