Roger's fingertips dance across my arm, and I pull the heavy comforter up over my shoulders, trying to avoid his touch. I can tell by the way his body tenses up beside me that he's confused by my behaviour . Suddenly, I'm straddling the line between love and hate. Part of me wants to hit him, because I need him to understand me right now.

He tries to whisper my name, a muffled "M-", but I cut him off.

"Not right now.."

His eyes narrow, and he reaches for my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Yes, right now. You keep putting this off, trying to avoid the inevitable, and I can't do it anymore. I don't care if you're trying to prevent a fight, we need to talk. Really talk, you know? We don't do that anymore."

He's taking a deep breath, but I still can't seem to get a word in edgewise.

"You never tell me what's wrong anymore. I know you're the kind of person who- you like to solve your problems on your own and all. You don't want us to think you're vulnerable. I get that. But when your problems become, you know, unbearable, I think I need to step in and help you. I think you need to let me do that."

He treats me like I'm a child, like I don't understand grown-up things. It frustrates me - he knows I hate when he makes me feel fragile - and I can't help it now, I'm blinking back angry tears.

"You know I don't want you to hurt. I want to help you get better, but I can't unless you let me in. Do you understand? I'll do anything if you'll just.. I'll give up smoking, I'll write you another song, I'll clean my bedroom.. our bedroom.."

His voice is frightened, and I realize that he's pleading with me. He's bargaining. He's willing to give something up for me. For me.

This isn't like the time he bought me a pool cue for Christmas, because he knew I wouldn't use it and it would end up belonging to him. He's thinking unselfishly right now.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. I can feel you pulling further away from me with every breath you take. I've almost come to dread the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, because it means another second is passing, another moment is wasted. I'm trying to keep our relationship together even though I know that secretly and separately, we're falling apart."

He's crying, and I'm crying. I know he wants me to see his pain, but as I touch the face I've already memorized, all I can see is Roger. Roger, with his tousled blond hair, his long eyelashes, his crooked nose and his beautiful, beautiful smile.

He's not smiling anymore.

My hands travel past his strong shoulders, covered with light freckles. I'm slipping my arms around his waist, pulling myself closer to him. Maybe we can put ourselves back together again if we just hold each other tightly enough.

"I love you," he says, his voice now ragged with emotion, his face wet as it presses against mine.

"Shh.."

"No, I love you.. Mark, I love you."