A/N: Thanks to Michelle, who beta-ed, and thanks in advance to Zi, who will be beta-ing this belatedly. I'm sorry this is taking so long to really get a plot started. It's going to go to just before the beginning of the musical, probably. Next chapter will come once I get finished with the curses known as college and scholarship applications. They're evil.
Roger woke up to an empty loft and a Post-It note left on his shoe by Mark.
"Idiot," mumbled Roger, but he smiled as he picked up the note to read it.
Roger-
Went out for milk and cereal. There's some stale bread by the sink if you're hungry. Be back soon.
-Mark
Roger laughed and decided to risk the bread. Stale, fresh, it's all the same toasted and buttered.
After placing the bread (for which he thought "stale" had been a bit of an understatement) in the toaster, Roger walked over to the phone and dialed Rick's place, knowing it was too early for him to be at the bar.
"Yo. Rick Miles here."
"Hey, man, it's Roger Davis."
"Hey Rog, what's up?"
"I was wondering if you needed another bartender?"
"What shift?"
"Whenever that Mark kid's working."
Roger could practically hear Rick's teasing grin through the phone lines.
"I didn't know you were into guys, Rog."
"Ha ha. Screw you, Rick. He walks home by himself every night. I don't want him to get mugged or anything."
"That's noble, Rog. Seriously. You're a good guy."
"So you've got an opening?"
"Sure. You can start tonight if you want."
"Great. Thanks, man."
"No problem. You're the one looking out for the well being of my sound man. Hey, have you guys found a new drummer for the band yet?"
"I think Jered has a friend who's gonna fill in for a while. Don't worry. We'll have something together by Thursday."
"All right, I trust you. Well, I'll see you tonight."
"See you, Rick."
He hung up and went to attend to his toast, which was burned pretty badly. Fortunately, as he was scraping the blackened bits off, Mark walked through the door, carrying more edible breakfast items.
"Breakfast! Breakfast that doesn't bear a remarkable resemblance to something out of the Petrified Forest. Thank God."
Roger grabbed the bags from Mark and poured himself a bowl of cereal.
"I thought you might be hungry by now," remarked Mark, obviously amused by Roger's reaction to the groceries. "Do you want to go get your stuff after you eat?"
"Sure. I can get it by myself, though. I don't have that much."
"All right. Then why don't you give me some money and I'll get you a mattress and a copy of the key while you get your things."
Roger reached for his wallet, but then paused, smirking slightly.
"Are you planning on carrying a mattress back here by yourself?"
Mark laughed.
"I hadn't thought about that. Guess you'll be getting an air mattress, then."
"That's fine. I should probably go ahead if I want to catch Dave before he leaves for work."
"All right. Oh, that reminds me, Benny wanted us to meet him for lunch. He didn't say where, so I guess we should just go to his office. I know where it is, so I'll just meet you back here and we'll walk over there."
"Yeah, okay, I'll see you then."
Roger put his bowl in the sink—already filled with stacks of dirty dishes—and walked out the door, leaving Mark sitting at the table giving the mutated toast an odd stare.
When Roger got back to the loft, Mark was still out. He put his bags down in Mark's room and, tenderly, removed his guitar from its case. His "Lady". He had missed her greatly in their one day of separation. Caressing the Fender lovingly, he sat down in what passed for a living room and began to tune the instrument.
For a while, Roger didn't really play anything. He merely held the guitar, feeling its curves beneath his hands. God, he loved music.
Really, he reflected as he began plucking out a melody of his own, music had quite literally led him to his current state of being. In a new home, with new potential friends.
And Mark.
Roger didn't entirely understand Mark, but he liked him. He sensed some inexplicable connection between them.
Actually, Roger had no idea that he was thinking all of this. As far as he realized, he was just staring at a particularly unusual stain on the wall and playing the guitar, very far from deep, reflective thought that was usually reserved for chambers of his mind that he didn't know existed, due to lack of exploration. Consciously, he figured Mark was just a nice guy who had offered him a place to stay.
But his subconscious was busy as hell.
Roger was so absorbed in his music and deep, reflective thought that he didn't notice when Mark entered. He didn't see Mark standing there, lips parted in surprise and eyes widened in something like awe. Roger had no idea that anyone else was in the room until he got up to put his "Lady" back in her case.
"Why'd you stop?"
Roger turned quickly, surprised as much by Mark's presence as he was by his question.
"God, Mark, you scared the hell out of me."
"That was beautiful. Did you write it?"
"Yeah."
"You're incredible. Why don't you play stuff like that with the band?"
"It's acoustic. We're a rock band."
"You should play that sort of stuff sometime. Without the band."
"I guess. That'd be kind of weird. I'm used to the Hungarians."
"You could do it. I've never heard you play that thing before when it wasn't plugged in and accompanied by lots of loud stuff."
Roger laughed as he walked into his and Mark's room to put the guitar away.
"I'm starting to think you've never heard a guitar before at all, the way you're freaking out about it. I'm not that good. And I'll be sure to tell the band that you think our music is 'lots of loud stuff'," he teased, walking back towards Mark.
"Leave me alone, that's not what I meant. You're mean. I should kick you out."
"Ha! You would never do that. You're too nice. See? Being mean like me has its advantages."
"I guess. Here's your key. You can inflate the mattress when we get back from lunch. I'd help, but I have no lung power. I don't think I even have lungs. Maybe we can convince Benny to do it. He's full of hot air."
Roger laughed again, giving Mark a good-natured whack in the arm.
"Hey, I thought I was the mean one."
Mark grinned.
"You're a bad influence on me. Besides, if you can't make fun of your best friends every once in a while, who can you make fun of? Come on, we need to go. I told Benny we'd meet him at twelve, and we're already going to be late. I think Collins is meeting us there, too."
"Yeah, okay, cool."
And with that, both men grabbed their jackets and headed out the door to develop that force stronger than duct tape: the bonds of friendship.