Author's note: Thanks for all the positive feedback guys! I hope you're liking where this is going… I think I know what I wanna do with it, but I have yet to write it. However, soon school is over and I can write better, longer chapters.
Disclaimer: They're still not mine – all Jonathan's. Titles are from Matt songs. Any lyrics that might end up in this are Matt's too.
Mark's POV
I'm sitting on the floor looking around Roger's room. It hasn't changed much in the two years he's been gone. People came and went – some even stayed around for a while. It never felt right for me to live alone, so I made sure there was always someone here. They made the loft their home, bringing their stories and knick-knacks with them. But the door to Roger's room was never opened. When asked what the door was to, I always said it was a closet full of junk. No one ever looked for himself, taking my word for truth.
I haven't been in here since a few days after he left. It's weird – everything is exactly the same. The bed is still unmade. A few of his old shirts are on the floor. I walk over to the desk and find that it is strewn with old notes and receipts. I'm smiling now. Roger was always so messy. I begin to unconsciously sift through the old papers. There's an unfinished lyric written on a piece of paper on the desk. It's beautiful, a love song, undoubtedly for Mimi.
"Everything I've ever done I've done because I love you…silly you should ask. I'm afraid that I'll spend the better part of next year scared that I might need you – bring me down and I'll feel again. You left your mark – you left your face in the corner of my mind. You left your mark and you left yourself."
I don't recognize them – it's not a song that's on his CD. There are some doodles in the margins – a bunch of hearts and squiggles, and a pair of eyes. He must've written this before Mimi got really sick for the second time. When she was healthy, he was so happy. He had learned what loss was that night he sang "Your Eyes" to her, the night she almost died. After that, he really did "live every day as if it were his last". He even started going to Life Support meetings. Then, she died, and he gave up hope. He left New York soon after the funeral – his band soon followed. This is the first time he's been back here – at least to my knowledge.
"Wow," I whisper. "Roger's really back." And, I'm not sure why, but I start to cry. I don't even notice at first, but when I bring my hand up to touch my face, I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. I'm sobbing now. I can't help it. I sit in his room for a long time, rocking back and forth and crying.
Then, "Fuck. It's 5:30." I'm surprised at how shitty I sound. My voice is hoarse from the crying. I go into the bathroom and wash my face, and examine myself in the mirror. My hair is matted with sweat and there are bags under my eyes. I look at my watch. 5:45. I have time for a quick shower. I turn on the water and while waiting for it to get warm, I get a towel and slip out of my clothes. Finally, the water becomes tepid – it rarely gets warmer than that in the winter. I stand in the shower and let the water wash everything away – all the fear, worry, hurt. The questions: 'Where the fuck were you Roger? Why didn't you call me? You called everyone but me, you know. Did you forget?" None of this matters now. I feel cleansed. Soon, the water gets icy, and I get out, drying off and getting dressed. Taking one final look in the mirror, I leave the bathroom.
"Hey."
The voice, although familiar, makes me jump. Roger is sitting on the couch, smiling at me. "How'd you get in?"
He shrugs. "My key still works. I guess you never changed the locks after I left." He pauses. "You took a long shower. I've been sitting here for a while."
"Yea. Well…I…need to be clean." God, I'm sounding stupid even to myself. He must think I'm a fucking moron.
He laughs. "We wouldn't want you to smell Pookie," he teases, imitating Maureen's voice.
"Hey! Fuck you!" I pick up a pillow and throw it in his direction. He dodges it easily, laughing all the while, and then picks it up and throws it at me. I can't help but join in his laughter too. It's nice to have Roger around again. I knew he'd come back.
We both calm down after a while, and sit quietly. He looks around the loft, taking it all in, and then turns back to me, and gives me his signature Roger grin. "Welcome home Roge," I whisper. "Welcome home."
Roger's POV
"Welcome home," he whispers, smiling at me. It's weird, being here again. I haven't had a real home for two years – I slept in various cheap hotels with my band, whatever we could afford. Now, sitting on the worn couch, I feel complete again. I know everything about this loft – every nook and cigarette burn. I love it here. A guy's never complete without a place to live.
"Thanks," I say softly. I get up and walk over the place where he is standing, and give him a hug. He hugs me back for a while, but then pulls away, and smiles at me.
"All this hugging isn't like you Roge." He lightly punches my arm and gives me a big, lopsided grin. I've missed seeing him smile. I've missed making him smile.
I laugh. "Yeah, I guess not." He never stops grinning at me. There's so much love in his eyes. I can't believe that after I left him so abruptly, he can still find it in his heart to love me. "So. You wanna give me the grand tour?"
Mark shrugs and blushes. "I haven't done much to the place. It's all still pretty much the same."
"I wanna see it all the same."
He pauses. "Ok. Lemme get my camera."
"Filming me already Marky?" He blushes again. He looks adorable when he blushes, like a little boy. "It's alright. I know I'm sexy…" His blush deepens, and he turns away from me.
"Follow me."
I follow him around the loft, and he narrates, probably more for his camera than for me. He wasn't kidding when he said he hadn't done much to the place. There's no new furniture. The sheets on his bed are still the same – white with blue stripes. The shampoo in the bathroom is the same -- Neutrogena. The food in the cupboard is the same – Captain crunch and Cup Noodles. Mark hasn't changed a bit.
He takes me into my room last. It's exactly the same as I left it – a mess of clothing and papers littered all over the place. It seems as if he hasn't been in here at all. 'That's so like him,' I think. 'Coping by hiding from things, avoiding them.' I mentally kick myself for thinking such harsh thoughts – I'm the one who left him.
"Roger?" he says softly. "What're you thinking about?"
"I…yea. It's just weird to be back here. I mean, it's all the same." I walk over to my desk. There are some lyrics on top – words to a song I never finished. I read them over, thinking about how much I can still relate to them. I must've stopped writing the song after Mimi died. It couldn't have been for anyone but her – she was my one love then. I slowly fold the paper up and put it in my pocket. I want to finish writing this song.
I walk out of my room, fingering the paper in my pocket once in a while, and he follows, filming all the while. I know he is going to watch this later and scrutinize my every move. That's just the way Mark is. "Roger?"
"Mark."
"It's 6:30. Should we get something to eat before your gig?"
It got late fast. "Yea. Life?"
He smiles. "Where else?"
We both get our coats, and we're out the door.
