CHAPTER III: Changes

Roger awoke in a sort of stupor, his body positioned in an eagle spread, taking up the entire mattress. His hair was tussled, his eyes red and puffy, and his muscles ached from the shifting during the night – he'd attempted to get comfortable and sleep, but to no avail. His dreams – both waking and sleeping – were filled with Mark. He berated and cursed himself for them, but what could he do? Even his unconscious mind was thinking of Mark and everything that had happened between them recently, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was powerless to stop it.

Stretching lazily, he yawned, letting himself blink away watering eyes a few times before he really woke up. He hadn't had a good night's sleep at all; it was far from that. He must have switched poses a hundred times before he finally dozed off, tossing and turning nonetheless after his eyes closed in a tormented sleep, filled with visions of things he couldn't restrain and memories he thought he'd forgotten – those best left alone.

Languidly, Roger lifted himself from the soft cushions and managed the strength to throw a shirt over his head. He glanced at his watch on the floor: 11:30am? His eyes narrowed a bit in confusion. He was usually awake before this. Then, the thought hit him – Mark usually woke him. He'd locked the door. Groaning, he ran his hands through his hair, unfolding his throbbing physique in the process. With a sigh, he gave up fully stretching his limbs and began to make his way out of his room.

Pushing the door open, he looked around, half expecting to see Mark standing as he'd left him, still staring after him, or perhaps running towards him with open arms, begging to hold him, or even filming – something he'd too often woken up to. However, he was shocked to find Mark absent from the room, his camera gone as well. Surveying with his eyes, he took a few steps to Mark's room and found it empty as well. He frowned. Where did Mark go? He was never one to go somewhere without saying something. Usually, he'd leave a note, a voice message from wherever he'd gone to, a post-it, an address and phone number, etc.

However unlike Mark this was, Roger tried to put it out of his mind. Mark had just gone out for…breakfast? Not without money he didn't. Collins! Yes, of course: Collins took him out to breakfast…. No, Collins was broke, too. And Collins would have wakened Roger to take him out as well, otherwise. Benny? Did Benny come back? Roger scoffed at this thought – Benny wouldn't be seen in public with them – not even for breakfast. Besides, it was lunchtime, wasn't it? Not that the hours of the day really mattered when time was irrelevant, though. Maybe Maureen and Joanne were fighting. Yes, that was a definite possibility. Maureen probably called, begging Mark to come over and talk to her, and, knowing Mark, he'd jumped at the chance to be near her. A twinge of jealousy was sparked then, at the thought of Maureen holding Mark in her arms, stroking his hair like a puppy. He groaned. It definitely wasn't Maureen either. Then, where the hell did Mark go?

Roger ridiculed his own feelings, laughing bitterly at how he twisted what little facts he'd found to some kind of horrifying notion that something was wrong. Mark had gone out. That was all.

But, he couldn't help but feel he'd done everything wrong last night. He'd pushed the affection he so craved away without another thought. No, that wasn't entirely true. He'd thought about it – too long for his own good, in fact. There was always the scary fact hovering above his head that he was HIV-positive. It wasn't going to go away. Mark seemed not to notice that little fact at all, even when they were so close and intimate last night. Roger's eyes fell to a close and he found himself falling into a folding chair, breathing irregularly.

God, how he'd wanted to kiss Mark back – to wind his fingers through that intangible hair, to gaze into those beautiful eyes, and to let his body be pressed close to his best friend and the only man he'd ever felt this way about. How he'd wanted to listen to his breath – that gentle, sweetly perfumed fragrance of wind that wisped so often against his cheek. He longed to simply stand beside Mark and hold him close; to feel his heartbeat and trace his pallid skin….

And yet, he'd pulled away.

Roger's eyes shot open and he swallowed, licking his now dry lips, releasing a long-held breath. He was letting his mind wander to what he wanted and not what he could do, once again.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Mark appeared, striding in as if he hadn't given the situation last night a moment's thought. But, of course, that was far from the truth – it was all he'd thought about, as it was all he ever thought about.

"Hey, Roger," he sang, setting his camera on the table and giving him a smile that said 'everything's fine'. "What's up?"

"Uhh…nothing." Roger had to admit; he was caught off-guard by this new, seemingly uncaring side of Mark Cohen. "You?"

"Nothin', either," he replied, taking a seat beside him, crossing his legs Indian-style and reminding Roger of a little child once again.

"So, where'd you go? You didn't wake me." His voice didn't show any signs of the regret of what he'd done – or better put: did not do – last night. "I was worried –"

"Oh, geez," Mark cried, rolling his eyes and brushing back his hair, "you shouldn't have been worrying. I mean, c'mon, where could I possibly go off to?"

"That's what I'm asking. Where'd you go?" His voice rose just slightly, but it still seemed not to reach the boy beside him.

"Nowhere." He shrugged, yawning. "But, I'm sorry I didn't wake you. I guess I just forgot. I mean, I do have other things to do besides baby-sit you, right?" He laughed to himself, popping out of his seat and making his way into the kitchen area, which consisted of only a small cupboard now. Fishing through it, he noted the odd stares from Roger. "What's the matter with you?"
Roger shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What? Oh, nothing."

Mark smirked, returning to Roger's side with a bag of Lays Potato Chips, messing his hair as he walked by. "You look tired, sleepy head." He munched on them, falling into the chair as he propped his legs up on another, comfortably. "Didn't get enough sleep?"

Roger stared at Mark, completely and utterly bewildered as he fixed his hair where Mark had tussled it. "What the hell's the matter with you?" he found himself asking, although he didn't want to speak at all. "What the hell…?" He couldn't even finish his sentence. Watching Mark nibble away at each chip drove him mad.

Mark made a face, giving him an odd look that resembled forced misunderstanding. "What do you mean?"

"You know what the fuck I mean, Mark," Roger found himself yelling.

Mark rolled his eyes, tossing another chip in his mouth. "Someone didn't get enough sleep, I guess." He smirked. "Either that or you woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Chuckling, Mark's eyes searched through the bag as he reached inside, unaware that Roger was grimacing at him. "Y'know, sometimes I just think you are so much like –" Suddenly, without warning, the bag of chips was shoved out of his hands, strewn across the floor. "What the –"

"Are you doing this to piss me off, Mark, 'cause it's working if you are," Roger growled, looking down on the tiny form of Mark, who, for one, was not recoiling from the musician's dangerous stance.

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked, still keeping with the innocent demeanor.

Roger groaned, stalking off. "Fine, Mark."

"What?"

"Fuck off… I don't need this. I was gonna talk, but it looks like –"

"Maybe I don't wanna talk," Mark interrupted, so softly that Roger barely heard. But, he heard, nonetheless. It was bitter and full of hate, but at least it was something.

"What was that?"

"What?" Mark looked up, startled, the uncaring gaze faltering. "Nothing." He was loosing it, slowly but surely. "I…uhh… What did you want to talk about?"

Roger composed himself a bit before taking a few steps towards the filmmaker. "I was going to apologize –"

"For what?" Mark cut him off, purposely.

Roger's eyes narrowed. "For forgetting to water the plants," he retorted, sarcasm dripping from each word. "Jesus, Mark, what do you think – for last night."

"What about last night?" Mark continued. He knew he was pushing it by acting this way, but he wanted to get something out of Roger, and he wasn't about to stop until he did.

Roger sighed helplessly, losing his mind. He knew what Mark was doing to him, but he couldn't do a thing about it, because it was working. "Y'know, I don't need this from you, Mark, and –"

"Don't need what from me?" Mark couldn't keep the hurt from his voice, faltering in his plan. He couldn't hide it forever – he was upset, angry, even wounded by the events last night.

"This bullshit!" he cried, clenching his fists to keep from hitting something – or worse: someone. "I'm trying to apologize here, damn it."

Mark sighed, his gaze dropping as he shrugged. "Great. Another apology – add it to the list, Roger."

"What?"

"Add it to the list," he replied, articulating every word slowly. "It's a fairly long one, though, so you might need to start a new sheet of paper." Mark stood up and retrieved his camera, toying with it as he resumed his seat, back towards Roger now.

"Fuck you…" he breathed angrily, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, that's right – that's your favorite phrase, right? Poor, poor Roger is always saying 'fuck you', but he really needs that term turned around to him." He held up the camera, turning it on and facing it towards the musician. "Smile Roger, your secret's out."

Roger growled, "What the hell do you –"

"You're scared of me."

"Huh?"

"Just admit it, Roger," Mark continued, swinging his legs around the chair so that his chest rested against the back of it and his legs straddled either side, resting his elbows on the top while maintaining his recording, "you're afraid of me."

"Why the hell would I –"

"Because I said what I did last night – and meant every word of it." He looked to Roger with emotion-filled eyes. "I love you. And I'll never take it back. You're scared that I will, or that I won't – either way, you're petrified, because I hold all the power now: I can give you pain or I can give you pleasure – not that you'll take either one when offered, but still, I have that influence; and that worries you. Doesn't it?"

"Fuck –"

Mark laughed, interrupting him, "Fuck you. Seems to be the only two words you know lately." His eyes glared now. "Tell me I'm lying, Roger. Tell me you're not afraid of me. Tell me I'm wrong and that you're not terrified to get close to me." He saw Roger's shiver and shook his head, gesturing towards him, still filming. "See? You can't even stand the thought of wrapping your arms around me, can you? You can't even comprehend the notion that someone might love you like I do, right? Goddamn it, Roger, just tell me I'm lying! Just tell me."

"You know I can't, damn it!" Roger cried suddenly, moving forward and pushing Mark's camera out of his hands. It landed on the floor with a thud, the little red light wavering slightly. "You know you're fuckin' right, so why torture me? Yes, I'm scared! I'm so terrified that I didn't even sleep last night. All I could think about was going back out there and taking you in my arms – forgetting I ever said no."

"So, why didn't you come back out?" Mark asked, more quietly now. "I was out there for a good hour or so, hoping you'd do the same thing. Finally I just gave up. Not that you ever take initiative anymore. Heaven forbid you actually do something that'll benefit yourself."

Roger faltered for words. He would've said 'fuck you', but he reconsidered, noting just how right Mark was. He fumbled, stuttering, "Y'know, you don't have to –"

"Look, is this little talk over yet? I've got things to do today, so if we can move this along, I'd be very appreciative."

Roger clenched his jaw tightly, bowing his head and turning his back on Mark. "Yeah. We're done here. Bye."

"See ya." Mark had to fight to keep the sadness out of his voice. This was all for Roger's own goodness, right? Suddenly, it seemed that maybe he was being too cruel. Maybe he should show some emotion, take some more initiative, maybe push him father…but no. Mark walked off instead, towards the door, picking up his camera and dusting it off on the way. Before he even opened the door, he felt hands roughly turning him back. "Roger, what are you –" His words were silenced with a tender, albeit awkward, kiss as he felt the musician's arms wrapping desperately around his back; one pressed against his spine timidly. After a few moments that seemed to spin in Mark's head for an eternity, he pulled away, looking up into those lovely eyes. "Roger…?"

"Huh?" he replied, breathless and somewhat dizzied.

"Say it." Mark smiled softly, toying with a bit of those long tendrils. "Please…?"

Roger shivered, his gaze anxiously meeting Mark's. "I-I love you."

Mark smiled. "I love you, too."

***Yes, still more to come!!! It's not over 'til I say it is! lol***