Touch and Tell Lullaby
Chapter VIII: In Dreams I Wander

The first time it happens it's completely Mark's fault.

Roger wakes up to an empty bed. Roger doesn't worry. He knows Mark will always come back to him. He's finally starting to remember that.

So he takes his time climbing out of bed, yawning as he pads across the room in search of jeans and a shirt. The bedroom has gotten a little cleaner since Mark moved back in. This makes it nearly impossible for Roger to find anything.

He manages to pull a shirt out from a pile of clothes pushed into a corner. He takes a whiff, trying to judge if it's clean enough to wear. He takes a few more small sniffs at the fabric. He pulls the shirt back and breaths in as deep as he can.

Something is burning.

"Mark?" Roger pulls the shirt over his head and wanders towards the main room of the loft. He keeps smelling the air to make sure the scent of flames isn't just a delusion. "Mark? What's th-? Oh, shit!"

Roger opens his door and chokes on a lung full of smoke. He waves his hand in front of his face to clear some room to breathe. His other hand holds the collar of his shirt to his mouth and nose. "Mark?" He asks, or at least tries to through his coughing fit. "Mark? What the hell is going on?"

"Roger!" Mark is standing over what looks like the charred remains of their hot plate. He looks like a child caught playing in with his parent's china. "You're awake?"

"You're burning down the building?" Roger shots back. Mark is blurred by the tears clinging to his lashes, but he can still make out his friend's embarrassed look.

"I was trying to make breakfast," Mark explains. He offers a sheepish smile as an apology. "I think I might have over done it."

Roger pokes the black lump sitting on top of the plate's coils. "What was is suppose to be?" He asks. It's a fair question. Whatever Mark had been attempting to make is burned well past recognition.

Mark shakes the hot plate and the whole blackened chunk falls over. Roger can make out faint traces of tomato in the air. "Ravioli," Mark says.

Roger chuckles. "Breakfast of champions."

"I think I might have blown the power, as well." Mark nudges the long extension chord snaking through the loft with the tip of his shoe.

Roger walks to the wall and flicks the switch. Nothing happens. Mark groans, covering his face with his hands. "Sorry."

The air in the loft is gray and thick with the scent of burnt pasta. Mark is apologizing over the blackened lump that was once the boy's only cooking appliance. The power is completely gone. Roger isn't sure why, but he can't help but laugh.

Mark peeks through his fingers, watching Roger fall against the wall. He ends up bent over nearly in half, slowly sinking down the wall as his arms wrap around his stomach to hold onto his aching sides. Mark puts his hands on his hips. "What's so funny?"

Roger struggles to inches himself up the wall so that he doesn't fall over. "What were you thinking?" He asks, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. "You could have set the whole building on fire."

Mark shrugs, his fingers unconsciously fiddling around like he's holding his camera. It's one of those things he does when he's embarrassed and would rather be hidden from view. "I thought it be nice to have a hot breakfast before work, you know?"

Roger snorts. "Because the best way to show up to work is without eyebrows." He chuckles when Mark actually runs his fingers over his forehead. Mark is starting to look worried, and not about the condition of his face. It's been a while since he's seen his roommate so happy.

Roger, still shaking a bit, grabs the trash and walks over to the hot plate. He unplugs it and pushes the whole mess in the can. "There. That should keep you safe."

Mark picks his camera bag off the table, tossing it over one shoulder. "My hero." He leans forward and plants a quick kiss on Roger's cheek. "I've got to go. Jesse's gonna get pissed if I'm late again."

"Right," Roger says, but Mark is already gone, leaving behind a very confused roommate. Had Mark actually just kissed Roger goodbye, or had he imagined that. He isn't entirely sure which he'd prefer. He's even less sure of what he should do now. Should he ignore it? Should he have kiss Mark back? Should he check to make sure nobody slipped something into his AZT?

Roger falls into the nearest chair, eyes going back and fourth between the door and the trash, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. One minute he is teasing Mark for being such an idiot and the next Mark is kissing him goodbye. It's not exactly normal best friend behavior.

A nasty little voice in Roger's head reminds him that it's been a long time since Mark and him have done anything that would qualify as normal best friend behavior. Of course, most of it is Roger's fault. Mark isn't the one who has to hold Roger when he sleeps. Mark isn't the one jerking off to images of his best friend.

Roger moans, burying his head in his hands. He'd just as soon not think about it, and maybe it will all just go back to normal.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

There are plenty of things that are easier than thinking about Mark.

One of them is kissing him.

Not romantic kisses. There are no teeth and tongue and hot, sweaty bodies rubbing against one another. It's just quick lips-to-cheek or lips-to-forehead or, when Roger's feeling extremely brave, lips-to-lips, but even those are chaste and hurried. They have to be quick and casual, or else Roger ends up imagining all those things - teeth and tongue and hot, sweaty bodies rubbing against one another - and has to excuse himself from the room before he does something stupid.

There is a part of Roger that insists it can't be normal, kissing your best friend like that. When had Collins ever kissed Roger good night? When did Benny ever need to kiss Mark before going to work? But all these thoughts are guaranteed to vanish the second Mark is leaning in, gently pressing his lips against Roger. It never lasts more than a second, but that's all it takes to scramble Roger's thoughts.

Somewhere in the middle of all this kissing, Roger starts to figure a few things out.

First is that he almost always smiles when Mark smiles. There's something addictive about the way Mark grins, a little lopsided a goofy looking but sweet and addictive nonetheless. Maybe Roger should worry that he's started doing things just to make Mark happy, just so Mark will smile like that for him.

Second is that Mark has the cutest pout. Mark will sit on the couch, huddled over his camera as he works out shots in his head, and the ends of his lips will turn downward. He'll worry his lower lip, moving the camera this way and that in his hands. After a while, he'll look up at Roger, squinting his eyes behind the thick rims of his glasses. "Stuck on a song?" He asks, and Roger goes back to playing his guitar, because it's easier than answering, "Staring at you."

Third is that Mark's body seems to fall next to Roger's naturally. It's not just when they're in bed together. It's sitting on the couch, the way Mark can lean against him and Roger can put an arm around his neck. It's pushed together in the subway with Roger holding on to the bar and Mark with one hand on his camera and the other on Roger's shoulder. It's the way they could have been crammed into a box and still managed to get comfortable.

Fourth is that there is something wrong with Roger. Not all those obvious things like AIDs and mood swings and all the mistakes he's made in the past. There's something more.

Normal guys don't pay that much attention to their best friend's lips.

Normal guys don't have the urge to hold and lean against their best friend whenever possible.

Normal guys don't get hard-ons every time their best and very male friend brushes against them or smiles at them or laughs.

It's just a phase, Roger tells himself. He spends time out of the loft, time with girls and other guys and anyone who isn't Mark, but it's not the same. Maybe if he just ignores it will go away. Maybe if they just act normal Roger will get over this whole mix up where he thinks he actually wants Mark.

Still, there are plenty of things easier than figuring out what's wrong with him.

One of them is kissing Mark.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"And for the director of The Public Theater for finally recognize my talent, and Pookie for-"

"We get it, Maureen."

Thanksgiving has rolled around and the gang has gathered at the loft to celebrate. Joanne and Maureen brought the food, some pick up from a nearby deli. Collins brought the drinks, and there were already a number of empty wine bottles spread out over the boy's floor. Mark and Roger, well, they tried squashing as many of the cockroaches as they could and stole some chairs from an outdoor café in preparation.

Maureen decided to start to toast, which Roger judges to have been going on for about ten minutes now. There's only so much of Maureen's constant thankfulness that he can take before he feels ready to snap.

Joanne steps in before Roger and Maureen ruin the meal for the rest of the table. She lays a gentle hand against her girlfriend's shoulder. "Maybe you should let someone else go, Honey-bear."

Maureen cross her arms over her chest and pouts. It's over dramatic and not at all as sweet as Mark's, but Roger stops himself from telling her this. "I'm not done yet."

Roger rolls his eyes. "We get it. You have a girlfriend, a job, and are really fucking pretty." All of this pretty much wraps up Maureen's little speech. "Can we move on now?"

Someone places a quick kick to Roger's shin. Roger growls across the table at Mark, who is doing a wonderful job at not looking at Roger. "Well," Mark says, before Maureen can think up a comeback. "I'm thankful for this wine." He holds up his plastic cup.

"I'll drink to that," Collins agrees, tapping their glasses together. Roger joins in, all three boys quickly drowning the rest of their drink.

Before anyone else can pick up on the toast, there is a knock on the door. "That's probably Toby. He lent me his amp," Roger explains. He leans across the table and kisses Mark on the forehead before grabbing Toby's equipment and hurrying to answer the door.

Toby is standing in the hallway, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The whole building is going through another cold spell, same as every winter. "Here you go," Roger says, handing the other guitarist his amp as the loft door swings shut. The boy nods his thanks.

"It work for you, man?" Toby reminds Roger a lot of himself from a few years ago. He's constantly pulling his sleeves down over his arms. Roger knows exactly what he's trying to hide.

"Worked fine," Roger says. "Nice quality."

"Wanna buy it?" Toby asks. He's almost jumping around the floor, continuously shifting his small amount of weight from one foot to the next. Roger wonders if he ever made Mark sick when he did that. "I can sell it cheap."

Roger knows exactly where that money would go. "Don't have the flow," he answers. Mark's got this script he's trying to film, so any money he has goes towards that. Roger's band doesn't pull in enough for any extra cash on the side. Besides, he doesn't really need the new amp. His last one blew a few fuses after the hot plate incident, but he's sure he can figure out how to fix it.

"You sure, man?" Toby asks. His eyes are blood shot, the bags under them so dark they make him look like he's wearing a mask. "I'm not asking much."

"I swear, Toby, I've got nothing." Roger holds up his hands as if to show how broke he is. One look at Roger's clothes should pretty much answer that question. "Look, I've gotta go. See you around."

"Yeah, see ya." Roger sighs, shaking his head as Toby turns and almost crashes into the stairs. He wasn't even that dumb when he was using, he tells himself. He wasn't ever desperate enough to sell his equipment.

Back inside, Joanne is saying, "That's not norm-"

Mark looks up from his hands when the loft door squeaks open. "Roger!" He practically shouts, almost jumping out of his seat when Roger walks in.

Roger smiles, but most of his holiday cheer is starting to wear away. "So, where were we?"

He pretends not to notice the looks everyone exchanges. "Err... Maureen was just going over her list," Mark says after a seconds pause.

Maureen smiles, leaning across her chair to hug Joanne. "I was just saying how lucky I am to have a girlfriend like Pookie whose totally out to her parents and me and herself and-"

"We get it, Maureen!" Mark snaps. Roger glances over at his best friend who has turned a bright shade of pink. He cocks an eyebrow to ask what's up. Mark is usually the one telling Roger not to be rude.

Mark purposely avoids Roger's eyes. "Maybe someone else should go."

Joanne clears her throat after another awkward silence. "I'm thankful for my job," she says. "And for my Honey-bear, of course." Her and Maureen exchange a quick, loving smile. Roger pretends to gag, and Mark has to turn his laughter into a fake sounding cough when Maureen glares at him.

Joanne just smiles and says, "Next?"

Collins raises his glass. "Well, I'm thankful for good friends," he says, holding his cup up to each individual. Roger and Mark both toast him back. "And the family we have patched together with patience and love."

The rest of the gang echoes, "To love." Across the table, Mark still refuses to meet Roger's eyes.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Kind of chilly out here, isn't it?"

Roger turns around, smiling as Collins walks out onto the fire escape. He kicks himself up so that he's sitting on the railing. Collins joins him, rubbing his hands together for heat.

"I guess," Roger answer. It's cold enough that his breath comes out in puffs of white, but the night air feels good. At least he's out of the loft, where Maureen has convinced Mark to listen to every detail of her audition. Mark has always been a push over when it comes to Maureen.

Collins crosses his arms and leans against the railing. Roger turns his head upwards, looking at the light polluted sky. "You know, I never saw stars until that trip to Santa Fe."

Collins follows Roger's eyes. "Yet you came back to us and our electronic blue night sky."

"They weren't that great," Roger answers. His entire trip had been spent missing New York. No amount of clean air could have changed that.

"The movements of stars supplied the early civilization with their first glimpse into mathematics," Collins explains. "Some cultural thought that every light in the sky represented another world that revolved around Earth."

Roger looks back down at Collins. "Very 'we are not alone', huh?"

Collins smiles. "Even on a planet filled with more population than it can handle, we still feel isolated."

Bellow them 11th Street is filled with people who have nothing to be thankful for. "I know the feeling," Roger answers. "Sometimes the people you're with every day, they make you feel alone, and you just want to be the center of someone universe."

"But you came back," Collins says, still staring up at the dark blue sky like he's trying to figure something out.

Roger shrugs, as if was no big deal coming back to this place. In reality, he didn't have much of a choice. "Better things here."

Collins stops gazing at the starless heavens to look straight into Roger's eyes, searching for the answers he couldn't find in the sky. "Like Mark?"

Roger ignores the way his stomach twists up. "Stretches of deserts, dusty bars off dirt roads, not one single person accusing me of being a demon sent to kill their dog. It's not exactly my kind of scene."

Collins laughs, holding onto the bar as he stretches his back out. One the street a man is shouting at someone to stop taking a piss on his tires. Collins asks, "Did I ever tell you how I figured out I liked boys?"

Roger shakes his head. He's afraid to ask where this is headed. Collins isn't one to talk about the small things. With him, there is always a bigger picture. "I always figured you just knew." Because it seems to Roger that Collins knows almost everything.

Collins smiles and shakes his head. "Angel, she said she just knew. She told me her first memory was of her parents going out. Looking between her mother's beautiful, satin dress to her father's tuxedo... She said she knew right then she wouldn't be caught dead in what her father was wearing." Collins's laugh is mostly melancholy. Everything about Collins has this slight sorrowful taint to it since Angel's death, but that never stopped Collins from smiling. He's not like Roger who shut himself in the loft and tore up anything he could get his hands on. Collins never stopped living.

"Angel," he says, "She could be herself so easily. That girl..." Collins chuckles, as if some memory of his boyfriend is playing over in his head. "That girl had spirit in her." Now it's Collins who is staring into the sky like he expects to see stars. "It's not that easy for all of us."

Roger can't say anything. He always feels like he's being himself, unsure and destructive. The question is wither being himself has ever helped Roger. Collins leans back forward on the railing. "You and Mark seem close."

"I guess," Roger answers, not really thinking over Collins question. His friend keeps looking at him, as if he expects more than that. There is plenty Roger could say about how close he's been getting to Mark, how close he finds himself wanting to be with Mark, but he can't tell any of that to Collins. "I don't know." It's honest, at least.

Collins stands up. He pats Roger on the shoulder, giving a reassuring smile. "You need to figure it out," he says. "Before both of you end up hurt."

Roger nearly falls backwards off of the railing. He's staring at Collins like his friend has suddenly gone mad. In fact, Roger's pretty sure he's the one whose gone insane, and Collins is just the first to notice. "What do you mean?"

"You have to ask yourself," Collins says, already heading back inside the loft. Roger can see Maureen and Joanne hugging Mark goodbye. "Can you take the risk?" He stops right before he goes back in, turning around to meet Roger's eyes. His friend's face is more serious than Roger has seen him in a long while. "We don't have all the time in the world, Roger."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"I'll never eat again."

Roger laughs, watching Mark fall back into bed with a groan. "You have to stop gorging like that," Roger teases. "Collins thinks I'm starving you." It's not a hard impression to get. Mark is way too thin, but then he's always been a little on the scrawny side. Every time anyone brings food to the loft, Mark eats like a starving man.

"They're trying to kill me," Mark moans. "They want to see how much food it takes before I explode."

"No one made you eat that third helping," Roger reminds him. "Or two slices of pie."

Mark lifts his head off the mattress just enough that he can glare at Roger. "You're suppose to stop me."

Roger is sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets, watching over Mark. He's mind is still trying to figure out how Collins knows.

Is he really that obvious? Roger has made an effort to get out of the apartment, to spend time around people that weren't Mark, and yet Collins still figured it out.

It's not just friendship and almost brotherhood that keeps bringing him back to Mark. It's not just safety and habit that keep them together. Roger is finally starting to figure that out. He has no idea when it happened or why the fuck it had to be with his best friend, but there is no denying that Roger Davis is actually attracted to Mark Cohen. It's quite possibly the stupidest thing he's ever done.

"I think I'm going to pass out," Mark says, trying to wiggle under the covers. Roger refuses to move, and since most of the crumbled blankets are under him, Mark eventually just gives up.

"As long as you don't throw up," Roger answers. Mark groans again, pulling his shirt up so that he can pop the button of his pants. Roger can almost count his ribs. A small line of light blonde hair travels down from his bellybutton to disappear under the waistline of his jeans. There's a nasty part of Roger that wants to slide his hand along that trail.

Mark's eyes are already closed. "Goinaeep?" He asks, words distorted when he yawns half way through his sentence.

Roger says, "In a bit." He just wants to wait until Mark is a sleep. He just wants a little time to clear his head.

"Mm'kay," Mark murmurs, already drifting off.

Mark is Roger's little brother in their patched together version of the modern American family. He means more, has always meant more, to Roger than he can admit to himself. You don't go fucking up that kind of relationship with things like sex and commitment. Besides, how would Mark take it? "By the way, you know how we've been sleeping together all these nights. Yeah, well it turns out that every time I jerk off I can't think of anything but you. Just thought you should know."

Collins told Roger that he's going to hurt Mark. Roger would like to believe that he is incapable of hurting his best friend, but he knows himself better than that.

After a few minutes of listening to Mark's even breathing he turns off the light. He tucks the covers in around Mark before sliding under them himself. His pillow goes between the two boys. They're close, but they can't touch. That's they way it should be, Roger thinks. That's they way he's going to have to make it.

There are some things worth risking. Mark isn't one of them.