"Pookie, we need to talk." Maureen stood in the middle of the living room, her long, curly brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She looked sleep-deprived, which was fairly accurate; she hadn't come in until four that morning and crawled into bed. Mark, fully aware she was late, and fully aware of why, rolled away from her and snuggled down into his pillow.

"That would be an understatement," he returned sullenly, stepping from the kitchen in a pair of loose khaki pants with a button-down shirt unbuttoned. He really was scrawny, but less-so than most people assumed. In one hand he held a glass of milk, in the other was a pair of underwear that was much too small to fit Maureen's generous rear end. "Last I checked, these weren't yours."

There was a moment's pause before the woman sighed. "They're not. They belong to Susanne, a woman I met at a bar."

"When?"

"About a month ago."

"How long ago was the last time she was here?"

"Three days ago."

"Three--Maureen, that was the night you were supposed to meet my folks! You were screwing some other woman while I was having the dinner you and I were supposed to be sharing with my -parents-! I had to take Roger with me so that I didn't waste a plane ticket, and now my grandmother is entirely convinced that I am gay!" The blond dropped the underwear onto the floor and turned his back on the woman he thought he loved.

"Pookie-"

"Don't. Don't call me that." Both of his wide hands he planted on the edge of the counter as Mark let his head hang, dark blue eyes closed as he tried to control his temper.

"Mark, then. I'm sorry, Mark, but you know how people react to me. And I just love it, and...and I want more of it. People are always flirting with me, and...sometimes I can't turn them down."

"Well, you should learn how to do that, Maureen! When you're in a relationship, you're in a relationship with -one person-! Not the whole damn city of New York!" Flushed with rage, Mark spun on Maureen. "You and I have shared an apartment for almost six months now, I moved out of the loft with Roger, leaving him -alone- in his rehab! And now you're cheating on me! What the fuck do you think you are doing, Maureen? You know what, I'm done with this! I am finished, I'm fed up with it. Unless you can promise me that this won't happen again, I'm packing my bag." He waited for a long time, crossing his arms and glaring at Maureen, who seemed to have wilted.

"All right, Mark. I promise. Will you forgive me?" Her head tipped low, she peered up at Mark through long, thick eyelashes.

Holding out for a long time, Mark finally let his body relax a little. "Of course I forgive you, Maureen. How could I not when you look at me like that?"

Grinning, Maureen bounded across the small space and wrapped her arms around Mark's neck, kissing him passionately and taking his breath away as she did every time. "Thank you, Marky..." she purred, nuzzling him tenderly. "Are you...busy...at the moment?"

"Not anymore," he smiled, dipping his girlfriend and kissing her just as passionately.

"Dammit, Maureen!" Mark shouted to the empty apartment. He had returned home early to hear a very...interesting...message on the machine; the sound of two women making love. One of them had shouted Maureen's name, and then he'd heard a very familiar sound; Maureen's orgasm. Enraged, he had picked up the answering machine and hurled it at the wall, feeling only slightly better when it shattered into a hundred-odd pieces and landed on the floor.

Sitting in the center of the floor, Mark rested his chin on his hands and stared blankly at the wall. It had only been a month since they had argued about Maureen's infidelity. He couldn't believe that she had broken her promise in such a short amount of time. The deep, soul-wrenching fear that Maureen was actually a lesbian, and was simply keeping him around as a living dildo once again surfaced, filling his mind with doubts and concerns once more.

The phone rested on his lap, and he shifted his gaze down to it and sighed. He knew he should call Roger, since he had returned home just a little while ago, and was currently under the watch of the engaged Benny. But Mark was seriously concerned about the repercussions, and the crap he was going to get from Roger. Then again, he had to tell someone.

With a sigh, Mark lifted the phone and dialed the number to the loft apartment. After a couple of rings, the message machine kicked in. "It's Roger. I'm listening. Maybe." There was a click, and Mark sighed a little. "Hey there, Rog. It's...it's me. You're probably ignoring me, so...call me or something." Just as he was about to hang up, he heard another click.

"Mark? What's wrong, buddy? You sound a little down and out." Roger.

"Something like that." He sighed again and rubbed at his temples. "Do...do you have some time to talk, Rog?"

"Of course. Do you want to talk over the phone, or do you wanna come here?" The sound of a fire crackling could be heard over the receiver.

"I think I'll come there, if you don't mind. I'll be there in about an hour or so." Mark had made his decision, and now just needed to get off of his ass.

"Sure. I'll be here. It's not like I have anywhere else to go." He laughed a little and bade his friend farewell before hanging up the phone.

Letting the phone fall to the floor, Mark bit back a sob and rose to find himself facing Maureen. She held out a suitcase to him, full of his clothing. "Here."

"Kicking me out?" Keep yourself composed...

"Well, you were going to leave anyway, and I need the room."

"For what?" Mark took his suitcase and walked past Maureen to grab another box to put his possessions in.

"The woman I am in love with." The suitcase fell to the floor with a thump. "I'm a lesbian, Mark."

"...I see." It wasn't nearly as easy to hold back his tears when he heard her actually say those words. "Well then...I guess I'd better hurry up." He walked away from Maureen, not even bothering to listen to her quiet apology.

Trying to be careful so as not to break anything in his rage, Mark gathered all of his possessions that mattered; clothing, manuscripts, and his precious camera. Once all of those were ready to go, after about ten minutes, he hoisted them from the bed and headed for the door. Pausing to grab his suitcase, Mark couldn't bear to look at the woman; instead, he just walked out the door, leaving his key on the end of the bed.

It was a long walk to the loft apartment, but Mark didn't care. He had no money on him, and he didn't want a cab anyway. The walk was needed, so he could figure out just what to say to Roger. It wasn't like he could just ask to move back in; he'd abandoned his friend when he needed him most because of a woman. Who liked other women, it turned out.

This was not going to look good.

About an hour later, Mark stood at the bottom of the apartment, staring up past the peeling paint to the dark window of his old loft. People walked around him, not really noticing him standing in the middle of the sidewalk, frozen. "Roger!" he shouted. "Hey, Roger!"

Roger's head appeared out the window, smiling. "Hey buddy. Catch." The small tan pouch fell from the window, landing in Mark's waiting hand. "Come on up." Nodding slowly, Mark headed inside.

Mark was curled up on the couch, his suitcase and box back in his old bedroom again. Roger was perched on the edge of the table, his forearms resting on his knees. "...so, it turns out she's a lesbian, and her new girlfriend is moving in with her in the next few days."

"I wish there was something I could tell you to make you feel better, Mark, but I know that there isn't."

"Not really. But it isn't personal or anything." Lying his head back, Mark stared at the rough wood ceiling.

Shrugging a little, Roger slid off the table and wandered across the room. "I take it you need somewhere to sleep tonight?"

"Just for the night, if you don't mind." He sighed and reached for a pillow to bury his face in. "I hate to be a burden."

"This place is a tomb with just me around here. Why don't you move back in? It's not like you have another apartment." Roger turned and shrugged at his friend. "I'm not exactly the most inspiring person to live with anymore, but...I could still use the company."

"Are you sure? I mean, I won't be a burden or anything?"

"No. You'll provide more money for groceries and firewood."

"You know that I'm utterly broke, right? Maureen was making all the money." His blue eyes peered over the edge of the pillow, looking quite pathetic.

"Well, then, I guess we'll starve. Come on, Mark! Just move the fuck in!" Picking up his guitar, Roger sat down on the table again, his back to Mark as he stared at the strings he hadn't even dared look at for over six months. "...I miss you." A sign of weakness wasn't something Roger showed particularly often, especially after April's death over a year ago.

"Yeah...I guess..." Mark said with a sad sigh, letting the pillow fall to the floor. "Is your guitar tuned?"

"Not yet." One hand rose to lightly stroke to strings, just barely whispering over them before he hastily set aside the instrument and rose. His tension and apprehension were written all over his posture, and the man turned away from his precious guitar to look at his blond friend. "Are you moving back in or not?"

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to go. Besides, I work better here than I ever did at Maureen's." Shrugging a little, Mark rose from the couch and patted Roger on the shoulder before he headed for the bedroom. "Have you taken your AZT?"

"No. My beeper--" Suddenly, there was a loud beeping from a small square contraption on the kitchen counter. "--hasn't gone off yet." Roger grumbled unintelligibly about the drugs and his life as he trudged over to the kitchen. "Are you sure you moved out?"

"Ha! All too sure. Take your AZT and stop bitching."