Author's Note: Okay, So I guess I'm continuing it. I just sat down and wrote this because I thought I should...so it may not be as good as it should be, but I feel like I need to just get this done, then go over it all. But without feedback, as many of you may know, I am nothing. So yes...help me out here.


It was almost light again when Roger returned home, the milky black sky being substituted for a washed out bluish yellow one. He was glad to see the sunrise, if nothing else. His weary feet skidded and dragged along the familiar path, leading him towards warmth. Not the loft, not yet. Warmth was first a small plastic bag and its contents. His apartment was warmth only after his first source had been tapped.

His hands nuzzled deeply into their respective pockets, he fingered the bills that had been so hastily shoved into them. He had done well, for what it was worth. He considered quickly the degrading acts he had been put through-no, he had put himself through-as compared to the amount of money he now kept in his small sanctuaries. To even his own dismay, he decided it was worthwhile. He wouldn't be in need for a few more days, and maybe he would find a different way to make some cash by then.

The plastic homes to his beautiful, beautiful powder were slid gently into the right pocket of his pants, and the air seemed a little bit warmer as he strode back to the loft. Upon his arrival, the yellow tint of the sky having condensed itself into one large ball of heat crowning buildings across the city, Mark sat waiting. No. Yes, waiting, but no, he was standing. Standing and pacing, debating himself inwardly. When the door scraped open and he knew he wasn't alone, all his planned dialogues crumbled, twisted, and grew wings, flying out of his mind quicker than they had come. He didn't know what to say.

Roger didn't plan on conversing upon his entrance. He planned only on finding a way to his bed and sitting down on it. Once there, he knew he would make use of his latest purchase and pass out before anyone got a chance to question him.

He had forgotten, months ago, to hide his habit from the person who, unbeknownst to him, most likely cared more about him than anyone had in his entire life. When April died he had become careless, and Mark had discovered his weakness. (No, not weakness. Problem, maybe. Easily avoided or amended problem, but not weakness. Because a weakness was something you couldn't stop. Roger could stopped. Sometimes he wanted to, tried, even. But after days of unbroken skin and numb veins, he would start again. And when he started he would remember how fucking amazing it felt, and he wouldn't stop again for weeks.) Since then, he hadn't bothered to hide it, and it pained Mark more than anything. Roger didn't care though, or didn't know.

The room they shared was strewn with needles and lighters and spoons, empty plastic bags and other mind altering chemicals like crack, LSD, various mixes. Mostly Roger's side of the room, though. Mark's was scattered with empty bottles, though. Bottles, pot, ecstasy now and then. He had his vices too, and Roger wouldn't let him forget it. The other roommates refused to step foot in the room now so poisoned by the boys and their needs.

Mark was still pacing, however, and Roger's plans were deterred. As he opened the door, a pack of cigarrettes lay open on the counter next to him. He took one and lit it with the bluepurple lighter that had been sleeping next to his bags. Mark strode up to him and took the cigarrette away. He kept it as his own, as if he had been meaning to light one just minutes before hand, and had only just remembered when Roger actually did it.

Unwilling to verbalize an explanation for his actions or nerves, he held up a roll of bills Roger had mistakenly placed under the wrong pillow. (In a flash he scolded himself for always forgetting who slept where when he was so high, so happy.) A horribly confused pair of smoldering gray eyes stared at him while he held the money in his left hand and took a brief drag of his cigarrette with the other.

"Where the fuck did you get this?"