A/N: Wow, I'm overwhelmed! Katia, Danielle, Liss, Aella, and BabyCaramel, thank you so much for your support and I'm thrilled that my favorite authors liked something that I wrote! Here's the next part of what's shaping up to be a lengthy saga, and I hope it doesn't disappoint! -- Larissa



Mark POV

Roger's been living down at Mimi's for the past two months. It feels strange having the loft all to myself. Last year it was full of people: Collins, Maureen, Roger and April. And now it's down to one. The only remaining survivor.

I hate myself for the jealousy I feel. After seven months of being afraid to leave him alone for fear he'd slit his wrists while my back was turned, I should be happy to see Roger laughing, and strumming on his guitar again while the sunlight turns his hair to a rich golden blond. I loved watching him play; his deft, able fingers plucking out chords that resonated with his strong, rich voice. I should be overjoyed that he's feeling so much better, and yet I'm not. Far from it.

What kind of friend am I?

All I feel is envy for the small, dark-haired girl who sits on his lap and feeds him bits of food, who Roger smiles at as he strums a few notes from the song that he's writing just for her. I spent six years loving him, and she comes into his life and captures his heart within an evening.

It would be so much easier if I could hate her. That was the nice thing about April. I could say that she wasn't good for Roger, and that her wild lifestyle was going to get both of them in trouble. There were so many valid reasons to disapprove of her that I could pretend that I wasn't simply jealous because she was with him and I wasn't.

It's not like that with Mimi. She's sweet, she's loving, and it would be damn near impossible not to like her. And I do like her, which makes my envy that much harder to deal with.

The nights are the worst of all. I lie sprawled on my back across my mattress, staring up into the darkness at the ceiling, trying not to think about what Roger and Mimi were most likely doing at that very moment. I count my breaths, and wonder what it would be like to just stop. To go peacefully into the night, and not have to worry about anything anymore.

I know I'm being irrational about this. I have so much in my life to be thankful. My friends. Career opportunities. My health, and that's more than most of my friends have. I have the rest of my life, whereas Roger isn't as lucky. Mimi's all he has. Well, Mimi and me, except judging by how often he visits, he seems to have decided that Mimi is more than enough for him.

Why has he abandoned me? What have I done to make him hate me?



Roger POV

I woke abruptly and without warning. Mimi was curled up next to me, making that little snoring noise in her sleep that I always found absolutely adorable. The first light of the day was beginning to creep in underneath the blinds, and the bedside clock read five thirty. I could have gone back to sleep, but I felt the urge to drop by the loft and see how Mark was doing. At this hour, he was probably asleep, but every so often he'd stay up all night putting together film segments from the last week or so.

The door was unlocked, same as it always was. The loft was dark, but there was enough light to let me make out the shape of a small figure, huddled at the end of the couch.

"Hey, Mark?" I kept my voice low, in case he was sleeping.

"Hey," he replied dully. "What's up."

"Just thought I'd come by and visit my best friend," I continued, plunking down next to him on the couch. "You working again?"

He shook his head. "Couldn't sleep."

"Hey, it's almost six in the morning. Are you okay?" I asked.

His voice was harsh and bitter. "Do I look like I'm okay?"

"You're not sick, are you?" I continued. "You know, the flu's been going around--

"I don't have the flu," he snapped. I must have looked shocked, because he softened his voice a little. "I'm just being stupid, Roger. Don't mind me."

"Mark, don't talk like that," I told him. "You don't have to put yourself down all the time."

"Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?" he yelled, leaping to his feet and clenching his fists at his sides. "Tell you I think you're a selfish bastard?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I shouted back, more out of surprise than anything. I thrived on conflict. The rush I got from fighting was as close as I got to being high anymore, and I loved it.

"I'm talking about you being a real shithead!" Mark bellowed. "You're a first class asshole, Roger Davis!"

"Jesus Christ, all I did was ask if you had the flu!" I screamed. "How does that qualify me as a shithead?"

"Oh, God, Roger." Mark shook his head. "You don't even see, do you?"

"Maybe I'd know what the fuck you were talking about if you'd just tell me!" I continued, having worked myself into an almost pleasurable rage. "But no, I'm supposed to be a goddamn mindreader, and know what poor little Marky's thinking."

"You know what your problem is?" He shoved a lock of hair out of his face, which was beginning to turn red. "You're so goddamn self-absorbed. You're incapable of thinking of anyone except yourself."

"Yeah, right." I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

"Dammit, Roger!" he cried. "I took care of you for seven fucking months. I've been your nursemaid, and your shoulder to cry on, and now that you're feeling better, I don't matter anymore!"

"I never asked you to do that for me!" I insisted. "If you wanted to, then how is that my problem?"

"You think you can just walk out on me after all we've been through," he continued. "Suddenly I'm not good enough for you anymore, so you just pack up and leave until you fuck up again, and I'm supposed to save you from it. I don't need that, Roger. I don't need that, and I don't need you."

"Fine!" I yelled back. "I don't need you either! Go ahead and leave, see if I care!" I paused, remembering that I lived at Mimi's now. "Better yet, I'll leave! I'm *gone*!"

The door slammed behind me with a resonating thud, and I felt a sense of relief come over me, like I always did whenever I'd ended a fight with the upper hand. I stalked down the stairs to Mimi's, still feeling the adrenaline that was flowing through my blood. It wasn't until later, when I'd let myself back in and climbed back in bed beside my girlfriend that I began to worry.

I'd said some harsh things to Mark back there. That was how I fought; lots of anger, lots of obscenities. It worked well against, say, Benny, who was perfectly capable of going head to head against me in one of my rages.

But this was Mark. Shy, sweet, sensitive Mark. He didn't know how to defend himself like other guys did. I'd always have to defend him when Benny started in on him. I was the one who took care of him, and now I'd turned on him.

You're overdramatizing, Roger, I told myself. Mark's a big boy. He can handle a little conflict. Who knows, maybe this'll be good for him.

I tried to convince myself of this as the room grew brighter and the city came to life outside the window. Finally around six thirty, I fell into an uneasy sleep.



Mark POV

I lasted about ten seconds on my feet after Roger stormed out before I crumpled to the couch in a heap. I'd been determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, but he was gone now, and most likely never coming back. I punched the sofa cushion furiously as the tears dripped down my face, hating myself for being so weak. Why did I have to be born so spineless? Why couldn't I just tell him the truth?

Yeah, right, like that would go over well. Roger, I think you're an arrogant asshole, and I love you. Way to freak him out. Not like it mattered now. Roger held grudges for longer than anyone else I knew. He'd never forgiven Benny for a couple of comments he made about April last year. After this spectacular little blowup, I'd be on his shit list for the rest of my life.

Roger drives me crazy. He's thoughtless, he's insensitive, and as the recent encounter proved, he has a vicious temper. But he can also be kind and gentle and downright amazing to know. I was always surprised that someone as brilliant and talented as him would ever want to be friends with a nerdy little filmmaker like me.

I wasn't sure when I stopped thinking of him as my slightly eccentric, but funny and cool roommate and started wishing that I could mean more to him. I hadn't even known I was gay. Girls were never attracted to me in school, but I attributed that to my dorky glasses and painful shyness rather than any lack of desire on my part. I had dated girls, had kissed them and gone to bed with them. And it was fun, but I always felt that there was something missing in my relationships.

With Roger, my stomach got nervous and jumpy every time he came in the door. When he smiled at me, my world lit up, and when we'd go out for a bite of dinner together, the day was pressed for preservation and stored carefully in the scrapbook in my mind. I knew he didn't feel the same way. I saw the groups of giggling girls who waited for him after every performance of his, and the constant stream of women he brought home.

What Roger and I had was a simple friendship, nothing more. I should have considered myself lucky to have even that. But that night, when I told him I was moving out, and he cried and begged me not to…That night I could have sworn there was something more that I was seeing for the first time. There was a tenderness in that kiss, but also a fire and a passion that wasn't just coming from me. That night, I let myself believe that he might actually love me, not as his friend, not as his roommate, but as Mark, and only Mark.

But that happened over two months ago, and Roger doesn't remember a thing. How can I remind him of it?

I can't.