Roger seemed restless, and I was afraid that he might be having a nightmare. "Hey," I murmured, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. He rolled over onto his side, and as he settled into his blankets, his breathing became soft and shallow. He looked so helpless, and I had to turn away. I hated seeing him like this, because he seemed so vulnerable.

Standing, I walked towards the large wooden rocking chair in the corner of Roger's room. I reached for a sheet on the floor and pulled it around my shoulders as I folded my legs beneath me.

---

Mark had fallen asleep in his chair.. our chair. We'd bought it at a flea market for three dollars. That was when we first moved into the loft.

Sitting up, I slipped out of bed and padded towards the door. I heard Mark call my name, questioningly. He sounded so comfortable, I couldn't bother him with my problems. He needed to sleep, I told myself, and I'd be alright on my own.

"Bathroom," I whispered, and I was surprised at how rough my voice sounded. I froze for a moment, when I turned to look at him. His smile would've reflected mine if I hadn't been frowning.

---

Roger left the room, and I stared at his empty bed as tears filled my eyes. I wanted to stop him in the hall, take him in my arms, hold him and make all his hurting go away. Still, it seemed so useless, because I couldn't heal him, and I knew that.

Holding the sheet around myself, I followed him quietly.