A/N: Sorry this took so long. I wrote the first paragraph within about a week of my last update, and didn't write anything more for about a month. I'm blaming it on lack of chocolate. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter, although the ending feels a little rushed and the whole thing didn't turn out anything like I expected. This was supposed to be the beginning of a chapter, but it got pretty long and turned out being its own thing. I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, though. One last bit of fun before things get ugly. Oh, one more thing before I stop rambling: I've decided that I absolutely cannot write Mark without having him be a little bit in love with Roger. This will not be a slash fic, however. It will always remain unrequited subtext, but it's there, nonetheless. Now, I apologize for both taking and talking so long, please read and review!

A few weeks after Maureen moved in, it was as if she had always lived there. She was a lot wittier than anyone had expected, and could be a lot of fun. She could also be extremely aggravating, and watching Mark gaze adoringly at her twenty-four/seven was, at times, borderline nauseating. However, everyone had learned to get used to these drawbacks, and it never hurt to have another person to split the rent, although Maureen was not exactly the most reliable person in the world when it came to financial matters.

Roger's biggest concern about Maureen's move-in had been that it would hurt his friendship with Mark, but even that had turned out alright. True, Mark didn't hang out with Roger nearly as much as he had before Maureen's big entrance, but it wasn't like they weren't sharing an apartment. He understood that Maureen was a demanding girlfriend, and he tried to respect Mark's patience and devotion toward her. To be perfectly honest, however, Roger was more inclined to think that Mark was a downright wimp when it came to Maureen, but he figured that mentioning that would be far more likely to hurt his and Mark's friendship than Maureen herself.

Besides, when it came down to it, they still had the walks home from the Barracuda. That had become a sort of small-scale boys' night. True, all they did was walk home and talk a bit, but it was a tradition they both enjoyed. One of those moments of stability in the crazy lives of Modern Young Men.

However, even these walks weren't as common as they once were, although this had nothing to do with Maureen. Although Roger almost never played solo gigs anymore, the Well Hungarians had been doing better than ever, playing in a lot of different clubs, and that got in the way of his and Mark's little ritual. Sometimes they were able to bring Mark with them as their perfectly sound tech and there was no problem, but that wasn't very often. Whenever they played somewhere near the Barracuda, Mark and Roger would just meet up afterwards and walk home together as usual. But they didn't always play near enough to meet up later. And sometimes Roger forgot. He didn't mean to. But every so often someone would offer him a joint or just a beer and before long he would be there past four AM, sometimes on ecstasy, often making out with some barely legal groupie whose name he would have forgotten by morning, if he'd ever known it to begin with.

Roger only got caught up in the parties once a week or so, maybe twice, which he didn't think was unreasonable. He told himself that he deserved some fun every once in a while. After all, maintaining a successful band was hard work. He always asked Mark to take a cab home if Roger wasn't able—or forgot—to walk with him. Mark always promised that he would, but Roger knew he never did. He didn't press it, though, because Mark always commented that he wished Roger wouldn't come home stoned so often, and that hadn't really stopped him. Roger didn't see what the big deal was. It wasn't like it was every night, and Mark rarely had to deal with him when he was in that state, because those were the nights Mark walked home alone. So they broke each others promises occasionally. In a weird way, Roger saw it as a fair trade. Apparently Mark did as well, because they didn't argue about it. At least, not very much.

Tonight, however, Roger was not even mildly stoned, and Mark was not walking home alone. The Well Hungarians had just played a particularly good show at the Barracuda, leaving both Mark and Roger in particularly good moods. April had been there. Roger hadn't talked to her since they'd met two months ago. She hadn't approached him again, but she came to almost every gig. Roger got the feeling that she was waiting for him to give in first and acknowledge her, but he had a stronger will power than that. Treating the whole thing as a kind of game, Roger had decided not to call her, although he hadn't thrown away her number. He had eventually mentioned their encounter to his friends, and had pointed her out to Mark once. Sometimes he wished hadn't, as his friend loved to rib him about it. He couldn't really blame him. The guys teased Mark all the time; he was just so easy. It wasn't as easy to get a rise out of Roger, but Mark sure as hell was going to try.

"So, Roger, I saw your mystery girlfriend at the show tonight," Mark teased him when they were a couple of blocks away from their building.

Roger rolled his eyes and refused to take the bait. He almost smiled, but he didn't want to encourage Mark too much. Roger considered pointing out that "mystery girlfriend" would more accurately apply to the party hook-ups whose names he could never remember, but that would just make his friend scowl and turn sullen for the rest of the walk, and Roger didn't feel like dealing with that.

However, Mark was beginning to get annoying.

"Roger and April, sittin' in a tree—"

"Geez, Mark, I thought that song died in the fifth grade."

"Classics never die, Roger. K-i-s-s-i-n—"

Mark found himself struggling against Roger's headlock for the remainder of the journey home.

Upon reaching the stairwell, Roger reasoned (something he did occasionally, a trait most likely picked up from living with Collins) that dragging Mark up the stairs in a headlock would be more trouble than it was worth, so he settled for giving Mark the Ultimate Noogie of All Time and released him. Mark rubbed his neck, and glared at Roger. Eventually, despite a lot of effort on Mark's part to keep it going, the glare faded and was replaced by a smile. He had, after all, deserved it. Roger gave his buddy a playful, manly shove, and Mark returned it in the interest of male bonding. With that rather cute and fluffy, although somewhat painful, moment out of the way, they began the ascent of the stairs.

When Roger opened the door, he and Mark were rather taken aback. It was pretty late, and usually their roommates were asleep at this hour. On the occasions that they were awake, they were usually involved, at least, in some sensible activity such as watching television, playing a board game, or just talking. Tonight, however, Roger and Mark found Collins, Benny, and Maureen sitting silently, staring at the door. Maureen and "silent" didn't normally fit in the same sentence, and Roger was tempted to ask if there had been some sort of zombie replacement mission taking place in the loft. However, judging from the look on Maureen's face, he decided this would be a bad idea. She and Collins both looked slightly cross, as if they really just wanted to go to sleep. Benny, however, looked wired.

"It's about time you boys showed up!" exclaimed Maureen. "Benny has been driving us crazy."

"What's going on?" asked Mark, obviously puzzled.

"Who knows?" sighed Collins, looking a tad exasperated, despite his patient nature. "Benny has some kind of big announcement to make, and he said we had to wait for you guys before he'd spill it."

"Well?" Roger turned to Benny expectantly.

"Please be seated, gentleman," Benny replied calmly, although he looked anything but calm at the moment. In fact, Roger reflected as he sat down on the table, Mark taking a seat in a chair next to him, it wouldn't have been too shocking if Benny started laughing hysterically at this moment.

"All right, Benny, we're sitting down. What's the big news?"

"I'm engaged."

Despite the simple delivery, or maybe because of it, four sets of jaws dropped. Okay, so that was big news. Roger had half-expected Benny to announce that he'd won the Golden Swivel Chair award or something.

Mark was the first to break the silence.

"Congratulations, Benny." He walked over and gave his friend a handshake which turned into a sincere hug.

Apparently, Mark had started a trend, because Collins, Roger, and Maureen were soon falling over themselves to give Benny a pat on the back.

"You devil, Benny! How long were you planning this without letting us in on it?"

"That's so romantic! How did you propose?"

By the time they settled down, Benny had a delirious grin on his face, as if their congratulations had reminded him one more time that he really was engaged to be married.

"Anyway, I want you all in the wedding, of course. Naturally, we'll have to talk to Alison first for you, Maureen. And Mark, well, you've been my best friend for nearly five years now, and," he paused, "I'd be honored if you would be my best man."

Mark beamed. "The honor's all mine, Benny. I'd be glad to. Do I get to make a speech?"

"Yes, but no embarrassing college stories allowed," warned Benny, grinning at his friend.

"Aw, you're no fun."

"Well, man," began Roger, "all I can say is that it's a good thing after all that you made Collins and Maureen wait up for us, because I would have pummeled you if you'd told them all this tonight and not mentioned it to us until morning."

"I'm glad I made them wait, too, then. I'd hate to be all bloodied up the next time I see my fiancée." Benny paused, savoring the word. "That reminds me, Alison wants to meet all of you. I was thinking that maybe we could all have lunch together on Saturday."

"That'd be great!" exclaimed Maureen enthusiastically. "I know the cutest little restaurant we could go to, it's—"

"Actually, I was thinking we could just eat here," Benny explained, cutting her off.

Roger raised an eyebrow. "You want your future wife to see that you lived in a place like this?"

Benny shrugged. "Her father's the landlord; it's not like she doesn't already know. So, what do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan," replied Collins.

"Yeah," agreed Roger, "I'll tell the guys that I can't make it to practice on Saturday."

"Yeah, Roger, try not to stay out partying too late the night before, either."

"Mark…" Roger's voice took on a warning tone.

"Geez, Roger, chill. I was just messing with you. You take everything so seriously. Hell, I'm going to bed. Congratulations, Benny."

Maureen raised her eyebrows. "Guess I'll go see what's wrong with our little party pooper. Way to go, Benny, even if you did keep her hidden away from us until you were engaged." With that, she walked after Mark into the room that Roger had once shared.

"Well." Collins clapped his hands together and yawned. "I'd say that's enough excitement for one night. In the words of Shakespeare, 'I'll to my truckle bed.' Good night."

Benny rolled his eyes as he followed Collins into the room they shared. "Only you could quote Shakespeare on going to sleep, my friend. Night, Rog."

"Oh, yeah, good job tonight, Benny."

Roger remained alone in the living alone. He crawled onto the couch with a blanket and fell promptly asleep.