A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys!  I wrote that first chapter a long time ago and now it makes me wanna write again.  So…here's some more.  I think it's a little choppy, but anyway.  *The characters are still Jonathan's.  The chapter titles are from Matt's songs.

Mark's POV

            As Maureen and I walked into Starbucks, I couldn't help but smile.  She found me this morning, curled up on the couch with the radio by my side, and knew that I had listened to Roger last night.  It was surprisingly perceptive for Maureen – she usually thinks only about herself.  She dragged me with her for a walk, and to get some coffee.  I was reluctant, but I'm glad I came.  This morning reminds me of when me and her used to date – before she started cheating on me.  She really is a great girl.

            But, god, she never shuts up.  I don't even know what she's talking about anymore.  My mind's been wandering for the past half hour and she still hasn't noticed.

We order our drinks, and go to wait by the counter.  I look around the coffee shop.  There are so many people here; they all have interesting stories to tell.  I wish I had remembered to take my camera before I left.  I'm still looking around, and Maureen still hasn't noticed, when, "Shit."  I grab Maureen's arm and point at the far corner of the room, where a blond-haired man is sitting, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the Voice.  "Look."

"Fuck me," she whispers.  She immediately runs over to him, knocking into a minimum of three people.  "Oh my god!  Roger!!!"  She's squealing now, and everyone is watching us.  "What are you doing here?  And where have you been?"  She goes off on a tangent, something about all the girls he's fucked and the places he's been.  He looks absolutely bewildered.  I probably do too.

He doesn't know what to say to Maureen.  Brushing her off, he gets up and comes over to me, enveloping me in a big hug.  I'm surprised and I stiffen – Roger was never one to hug people.  Tears begin to spill down my cheeks.  "I missed you," he whispers into my hair.

I sigh, unbelieving that this is actually happening.  "Yeah.  Me too."  He keeps hugging me for… I don't know how long.  It might've been seconds, it might've been minutes, but it feels like an eternity.  Maureen finally shut up – she sat down in Roger's chair and left us to our moment.  Finally, he breaks away.

I look into his eyes.  They're still the same shade of blue, like ice.  They're smiling now, happy eyes.  His eyes used to be full of pain – his disease, her disease, the prospect of losing her.  He's accepted her death, I can see that clearly.  'Well, it's been long enough,' I think bitterly.  I turn away from him.

"Mark?  Hey, Mark."  I turn back to face him.  "Why're you…I mean, what's going on?"  I don't know how to respond.  I want to be angry with him, ask him why he left, why he forgot to call, whether he even cared about me.  But I can't.  It's impossible to be angry at Roger Davis.  He has that quality about him.

I shrug.  "I dunno.  What're you doing here?"

"The band's here.  We're working on a new CD.  They all wanted to come back to the city for a while.  You know, catch up on old times."  He smiled a little, and looked down at his hands.  "Have you heard any of our stuff?"  He pauses and looks up.  I nod my reply.  "That's great!  I mean, I'm happy you heard it.  I wanted you to."

What the fuck am I supposed to say to him?  'Yea, Roge.  I heard your stuff and now everything can be back to normal 'cos you decided to come back, and I'm Mark.  I forgive everybody.'  Fuck him.  "Oh," I say, a little too coldly.  He looks hurt and I try to soften my tone.  "It's good.  You've always been talented."  I can tell he doesn't really believe me.  After all these years, he still doesn't know that I would never lie to him.  "Really Roge," I whisper.  "It's great."

"Thanks," he says.  "I mean that."  He looks at the table where Maureen is sitting, watching us intently and drinking his coffee.  "You wanna sit?"

I shrug, and we sit.  I can't help but wonder where this is going to go now.

Roger's POV

            I never wanna let him go.  It's weird – I never used to hug him before, when I got to see him all the time.  I wish I had.  It's been a while since I've realized my feelings for Mark are more than platonic.  I had a lot of time to think.  I realized he's what kept me sane all those years.  Especially during my druggie/April period.  I wish I could tell him these things.  But, I can't.  He's silently crying into my sweater, and all I wanna do is comfort him and tell him that it'll all be ok.  But, I don't, and I let go.

            He looks up at my face, but turns away quickly, not wanting to look any more.  "Mark…hey, Mark.  Why're you…" I was going to ask him why he's crying, why he's turning away from me, but I think twice.  "I mean, what's going on?"

            He doesn't respond right away.  There's so much pain in his eyes – it seems as if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.  I want to hold him and reassure him that I'll never leave again, but instead I just smile, waiting for an answer.

            "I dunno," he says.  "Why're you here?"

            It sounds almost accusatory.  Like, 'Why the fuck did you come back, things were ok without you.'  I hate how awkward things are with me and him.  "The band's here," I say.  "We're working on our new album.  They wanted to come back to the city…catch up on old times.  You know."  I search his face for a sign of approval, but I don't find one.  I look down at my hands.  "Have you heard any of our stuff?"  He nods and smiles – I'm relieved to see him smiling.  "That's great!"  Over-enthusiastic much, Roger?  "I mean…I'm happy you heard it," I mumble.  Then, hopefully, "I wanted you to."

            "Oh," he snapped.  I can't believe a single word can hurt so much.  "It's good," he says, a little softer, more reassuring.  "You've always been talented."  Then, as an afterthought, "Really Roge."  His old nickname for me.  No one ever called me Roge but him.  "It's great."

            "Thanks," I say.  "I mean that."  A silence threatens to overcome us, when I quickly say, "Let's sit."  And we sit, and still I have nothing to say.  I start fiddling with my paper, looking everywhere but at Mark.  I know he's angry with me and I don't know how to deal with it.

            "Hey," I start.  Well, one of us had to begin the conversation.  "I have a gig tonight.  At Irving.  Do you wanna come?"  I'm still staring down at the newspaper.  "It'll be like old times.  Remember when you used to come to my gigs and sit at the bar and film me?"  I don't know whether I should keep going with this.  I look up at Mark's face, searching for some kind of sign.  His face remains neutral, and his eyes are diverted from mine.  I decide to risk it, and keep going.  "All the guys will be there too.  You can hang out backstage."  Still no response.  "Mark?"  He looks up.  "Please come," I say softly.

            He nods.  "Ok.  Should I…" he hesitates.  I give him an encouraging look.  "Should I meet you somewhere before?"

            I wasn't expecting him to ask this, but I am happy that he did.  It's my turn to hesitate.  "Do you think I could, maybe, stop by the loft?  Not to impose, I mean, if you don't want me there, we can meet at Life or something.  But, I just…I wanna see it again."  I hope he's not mad at the question.

            "Sure," he smiles.  "Come by whenever you want.  I'll be home."  He glances over at Maureen.  "Let's go?"  She nods.  "I'll see ya Roge."  And he gets up, and walks out the door, leaving me alone with my paper and coffee once again.