Author's Note: Thank you so much to the reviewers for the last chapter. They're really great motivation for me to keep writing. Thanks to those that are reading as well. I see you! Actually, no I'm just trying to freak you out.

I wanted to make a note of the OOCness that might occur or people might bring up. To me, Mark has always been a slightly awkward person. He isn't so much shy as awkward in social situations and once he's comfortable he eases in as easy as anything else. That is how I see Mark. I don't see him as so shy that he blushes at everything and so out of his head that he can't for real sentences when around people. So, yeah... you'll understand why I said this once you start reading.

Chapter Three:

Mark cleared his throat as he wound up his camera. He felt the undeniable tingling of a sore throat coming on and knew that if he didn't take care of it, which he probably wouldn't be able to, it'd grow to become a full-blown cold. Sighing, he hoped he wasn't catching the flu. He knew it would cause a lot of unwanted complications what with Roger and Mimi being HIV positive and Collins with AIDS.

With steady hands, he focused his camera on a group of teenagers sitting on a bench in front of a building. Many of them were dressed like punks, making the filmmaker think of Roger's days back on stage. He remembered so well the black, black, black kohl eyeliner and fingernails. He remembered the bleach blonde hair, sometimes tinted with the most random colors he could imagine. Most of all, he remembered that carefree smile. A part of him almost missed that Roger, but then he would remember that it lead to drugs, April, and eventually withdrawal.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Mark began to record. A teenaged boy in a leather jacket was smoking, talking animatedly with his hands as his friends watched. There were four boys and two girls, each with their hair colored differently and wildly. The boy with the cigarette exaggerated his movements so much that he nearly fell off his seat causing the entire group to laugh loudly. Mark smiled as he lowered his camera.

He watched as one of the girls pointed in his direction. The others slowly looked his way, but non-threateningly. In fact, the boy that had nearly fallen off the bench waved for him to move closer. Slowly, he made his way over, not too sure how to react. They're just kids, Mark told himself.

"That's a nice camera," a boy with blue hair said, "You a director?"

"Filmmaker," Mark answered, feeling extremely out of place.

"Were you shooting us?" the boy with the cigarette asked, grinning, obviously a person that was very fond of attention.

"I was just looking for my next big idea," the filmmaker answered, "Thought maybe you guys could inspire me."

One of the girls laughed, "Jason is all the inspiration you'll ever need. He's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, he's got some stories to tell," the boy with blue hair added, "Give him the spotlight and he won't be able to shut up for weeks on end."

"Yeah, like anyone would want to shoot a movie about that fag," one of the other boys said with a laugh.

"I shoot documentaries," Mark explained, still feeling a little awkward, "Maybe you guys can enlighten me about your lives?"

"Our lives are fucked," the second girl with black and red hair said, "We're the kids teachers tell have no futures and the kids that parents hate cause we're not normal. You really think we can give you material, mister?"

Mark shook his head and smiled, "My teachers told me I had no future as a filmmaker and my parents hated me for not wanting to be a doctor or lawyer. Now I'm in New York, trying to get by on a couple of bucks a month. Think I can't relate?"

"Don't we scare you?" the boy named Jason asked, taking a drag from his cigarette, "Us and our teenaged rebellion?"

"I live with a musician, you tell me if I should be scared."

Jason smiled and flicked his cigarette to the ground, "So, what do you want to know, mister?"

"Mark," the filmmaker said, "That's my name."

"So, Mark, what can we do for you?" Jason asked, as laid back as any kid could pretend to be.

And an idea began brewing in Mark's head as he lifted his camera and started recording, "So, tell me about you, your lives and who you are. What does the next generation have in store for this world?"

It was late when Mark walked into the loft. Roger noticed because Mimi had left four hours ago to get some sleep so she could get up early and head to an audition. That and he had been staring at the cheap plastic watch he had picked up off the streets, the minutes just ticking by, reminding him that he wasn't able to write a single song in all those hours.

"Hey," Mark greeted quietly as he set down his camera and bag, "What are you doing over there?"

"Just trying to write," Roger answered, not quite ready to admit that he had started to worry about his best friend.

"Is the power out again?" the filmmaker asked, flicking a switch. The lights came on, "Well, that answers my question."

"I just wanted to be in the dark for a while," the musician spoke, not sure why he felt the need to justify his actions.

"I know. It helps you think. Right?"

"Yeah. Of course you'd remember that."

"I'm your best friend, of course I'll remember."

"Then why can't I remember every detail about you?" Roger asked, a strange sense of guilt coming to the surface.

"Cause you don't have to," Mark answered with a smile, "You're Roger. The big rock star."

"How does that make any sense? I can't remember your favorite color or favorite tea. I can't even remember what your favorite holiday is and I've known you for years."

The filmmaker gave a small laugh, "Of course you know. My favorite color's blue. I like tea no matter what and my favorite holiday is Christmas."

"You're Jewish, Mark."

"See, you do know something about me."

Roger took a deep breath and set down his guitar. Getting to his feet, all he could do was look at Mark, looking at him, half calm and half anxious. He knew under normal circumstances he wouldn't be doing this, but the night before had really bothered him. He actually lost sleep over it.

"What happened, Mark?" Roger asked.

The filmmaker's brows furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"What made you so afraid of that storm?" the musician pressed on, "When you first moved in, we used to watch those storms together and you'd talk about how you loved lightning. What happened?"

And Roger watched as Mark struggled to find words, to form a coherent sentence. He watched as Mark's strong resolve start to crack, his façade wearing away from a few simple questions.

"I-I don't want to talk about it, Roger," Mark finally said, moving to get out of the livingroom and into his own room.

Roger crossed the room in an instant, reaching out and taking hold of Mark's arm before he could get away. And Mark did the most unexpected thing Roger could imagine. The smaller man pulled out of his grip and shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble backwards a few steps.

"Don't!" Mark shouted, his entire body, always so guarded, reflected conflicted within himself, "Just don't!"

"I don't understand," the musician tried, not knowing what else to do. He had never seen his friend like this. Mark was always the one that was composed.

"There's nothing to understand! Just fucking leave it alone!"

A deafening silence fell over the loft.

Then, suddenly all the anger and conflict drained from Mark's face and the filmmaker was shaking his head. Roger saw those eyes trained on him, but he couldn't understand what it meant.

"I'm sorry," Mark said, softly, "I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry."

And it seemed that Mark couldn't stop apologizing. Roger was by his friend's side in an instant, catching the other man as he crumbled and fell to his knees.

"Just, please, stop asking…" Mark whispered, his voice shaky.

"Why can't you tell me?" Roger asked.

"I'm not ready to do this, Rog. Not to you."

Then Mark was pushing Roger away again. This time, the musician stayed put and watched as his friend walked into his room and shut the door.

He wished he knew what to do in moments like this.

When Mark woke up in the morning, his throat was burning and his head ached. Oh great, he thought to himself as he threw back his blanket. This is exactly what I needed.

He needed to film. The kids he had met the day before said they hung out at the same place almost every day after school and on the weekends. Then he also remembered that he had to face Roger when he walked out that door. That fact alone made him not want to get dressed at all.

He hated weeks like these, ones where he was so out of his element that he couldn't keep himself focused on his work or keeping his composure. He was supposed to be the strong one, the wall that everyone could depend on. Then one stupid storm brings it all down and he has to spend days putting himself back together, at least enough so that he could face everything without lashing out or coming undone at any moments notice.

Changing out of his sleep clothes, Mark pulled on his boots and picked up his scarf and jacket before opening his bedroom door. Walking out, he saw that Roger's bedroom door was closed. With a sigh of relief, he walked into the bathroom. He dropped the items in his hands onto the floor as he closed the door. Turning on the water, he let it run until it was lukewarm. Pulling up the sleeves of his sweater, he proceeded to wash his face and then brush his teeth.

Once he was done, he dried off his face and hands, pausing slightly to look at his left arm. Shaking his head, he pulled his sleeves back down, gathered his things and walked out of the bathroom.

"It's freezing out. How are you guys still sitting here smoking?" Mark asked as he wound up his camera.

"Well," Jason answered with a smile, "There's nowhere else for us to go. Besides, you're going to make us famous!"

"Or something," one of the girls piped up with a laugh.

Over the past few hours Mark had learned that the normal group that gathered was only five teens, three boys and two girls. The boys were named Jason, who was established to be the leader of the pack, Ryan, and Adrian. The girls were Jess and Kim. It surprised him how much these kids reminded him of his friends, his extended family.

"You said you lived with a musician?" Adrian, the blue haired boy from the day before, asked. He had a guitar in a case resting against the bench and he was constantly fiddling with a guitar pick.

"Yeah, why?" Mark asked.

"Well, how's he do it?" the boy asked, "I mean, he's probably gotten gigs before and stuff, right?"

"Well, yeah, but it's been a while for him," Mark answered, trying to stifle a cough. The act in itself caused him to go into a coughing fit.

"Hey, man, you alright?" Jason asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.

The filmmaker nodded, "I'm fine."

"Man, you're talking about us being out in the cold and you're the one that's getting sick," Jess rolled her eyes, "Maybe you should be the one that's more concerned about the cold."

Ryan laughed, "Hey, Mark, you going to let her talk to you like that?"

"Shut up, Ryan!" Jess retorted, "I was just saying!"

Mark couldn't help but laugh at the way these teenagers acted.

"Hey, baby," Mimi said softly as she walked into Roger's room, "I thought I'd come see if you were up. You haven't called me all day."

Roger gave a sigh, pulling his blanket over his head. He didn't feel like talking or interacting with anyone.

"Roger?"

"Go away."

"What's wrong?"

"I want to be alone."

"Baby…" but Mimi already knew that there was no use in arguing when Roger was upset, "I'll come see you later then."

The dancer couldn't stop the hurt that welled up inside of her as she walked out of Roger's room and out of the loft. She couldn't stop the tears from forming in her eyes as she stood in the stairwell, not knowing what to do with herself. She had given up her vices for Roger and all she could think about was going back at times like these. She just wanted her boyfriend to be responsive, to love her.

Since the day she came back, Roger had told her that he loved her a grand total of four times. She knew that he loved her, but she wanted him to say it rather than let it be something unspoken and mutual. She needed that sort of assurance. Didn't Roger learn anything from the past Christmas?

But she couldn't blame him for being upset. She knew that the only other person who could get him this upset, besides her, was Mark and she was determined to find out just what the hell was going on. She needed to know just what the filmmaker did to make her boyfriend so withdrawn lately, especially from her. He had better not have done anything stupid, Mimi thought as she decended the stairs.

Author's Note: And that's the end of that chapter. I don't know if I've been leaving cliffhangers or not, but it seems I am. I'm sorry. It really wasn't intentional at all. I swear. Thank you guys so much for reading and please be so kind as to leave a review. Thank you!