Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the long delay and this short, short chapter. I did this mainly so I can give you guys a heads up as to what was going on. My updates will be a bit less... well, they'll slow down basically. This is happening mainly because of the fact that my job is killing me. Hopefully when I get into the grind of things I can update at least two or three times a week.

So, for now, enjoy and please understand that my life comes first. Thank you.

Chapter Seven:

Mimi was growing concerned. Roger just hadn't been the same in the past few days, especially since Mark was still recovering from his cold. From what she was told by Maureen, the filmmaker should be back at the loft by the next day, which was a very good sign. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that it would stir up drama and not the good kind.

Lately, she had taken to trying to start up conversations. She wanted to get Roger going again, like she did when she first got into his life and asked him to light her candle. It was proving to be hard. He was decidedly stubborn and unresponsive, even going as far as playing dumb when she tried to get him in bed.

Mimi hated being ignored. She hated feeling like she didn't exist.

A part of her, even if she didn't want to admit it, hated Mark. She hated him for being completely selfless and then suddenly becoming all about himself, even for a few days. She hated that he was closer to Roger than she'll ever be. She hated that he could make Roger not notice her.

Mimi gave a sigh as she poured herself a glass of orange juice, something she hadn't had in weeks, and walked towards the livingroom, where Roger was sitting on the couch. She sat down at the end, where the seat was partially free.

The silence was driving her mad.

There was blood on his hands, staining everything he touched. It spread and spread like a shadow, claiming territory that wasn't its to take. More and more gathered and he realized that he was holding something in his hands. Droplets of blood dripped down the thin strand he held taunt. It looked like wire. No… it was a guitar string.

A guitar string? He wondered. He knew he would never do such a thing to his instrument. He took care of it as if his life depended on it.

"Roger, stop!" a familiar voice called. It was far away, distant. "Roger, you're hurting me!"

Then his own voice, sounding foreign countered, "You had no right! You had no fucking right!"

"Roger!"

"Shut up, Mark! I'm so sick of hearing your voice!"

Roger shot up from the couch, startling Mimi, who nearly fell to the floor. His eyes scanned the room and then traveled to his hands. They were clean.

"Baby, are you okay?" Mimi asked, placing a hand on his arm.

"Y-yeah," the musician answered, "I'm fine. Just… bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." How could he tell her that he just dreamed about hurting his best friend? How could he explain that he feared that it had happened before? She would look at him differently. He knew she would.

"Baby, can we--"

"No."

He heard Mimi give a frustrated sigh before getting up and walking out of the loft. The door shut and he was left alone.

"You know, Mark, I love having you over," Joanne said with a fond smile, "But a week was way too long for me."

"You could have told me to leave," Mark countered with a smile.

"Yeah, then have you come back complaining about how you don't want your germs to infect someone? That would have been real smart of me."

"At least I didn't get you guys sick."

"You brought kids into my apartment. I'm sure they breathed it all in."

"Jason and Kim caught it. I should really apologize."

"Apologize by finishing your film."

Mark smiled before wrapping his scarf around his neck, stifling a minor cough as he did so, "Really, thanks."

"Always glad to help," Joanne answered, opening the door, "Take care of yourself or you'll have to answer to Maureen's wrath."

"And you know how much I don't want that," the filmmaker laughed, "See you soon, Jo."

And with that Mark made his way out of the building and into the streets, where fresh air invaded his lungs and made him feel alive. Finally being able to get out and just walk was a relief. He felt like a caged animal when all he could do was stay in Joanne's apartment and talk to teenagers. Although the upside was that he had enough material to start editing and fine-tuning his documentary.

I wonder what Roger and Mimi are up to, he thought as he started to make his way home. He had missed his roommate, missed the dancer, even missed telling them to take their AZT (which he hoped they had take while he was gone). He was glad that he was heading home. As comfortable as the last week had been, he missed the loft. The loft was home, no doubt about it.

The building came into sight sooner than he thought and it made him smile. He was ready to go back to his life. Quickly, he walked into the building, raced up the stairs, and knocked on the door. He hoped someone was home because he wasn't quite sure if he had misplaced his keys or not.

The door clicked and then slid open. Roger seemed surprised to see him.

"What? No welcome?" Mark asked as he brushed pass Roger and stepped into the loft.

"So, you're back?" the musician asked.

"Well, yeah," the filmmaker answered, "I didn't want to stay with two girls for the rest of my life."

"So, you're feeling better?

"Yeah."

Roger closed the door and there was a silence that Mark wasn't quite sure why existed. Then the musician stepped forward and began to speak. It all clicked into place.

"We should talk."

Things weren't going to go back to normal.

"Please, don't start this." Mark didn't want to talk about it.

"Mark, please."

"Roger, I always let you get away with being silent, with not answering me," Mark argued, finally realizing why being home was a bad idea, "Can you please, just let this slide? I'm not ready to talk about this."

"Then when will you be?"

"I'll let you know."

Mark sighed, picking up his things and heading towards his room.

"I had a dream yesterday," Roger said, stopping the filmmaker in his tracks, "It was really strange, but I know that it probably happened. I may not remember it, but some parts of it was pretty vivid."

Mark closed his eyes and held his breath, please don't let it be about that night.

"There was blood everywhere," Roger continued, "And my guitar string was being used. What happened that night?"

The filmmaker shook his head, "It was just a dream, Rog."

And the musician watched as his friend walked into his room and closes the door. Roger ran a hand through his hair and gave a frustrated sigh.

"Just a dream." He repeated to himself.

Author's Note: Okay, that was it. Again, sorry for it being so short. My next chapter will be longer. Please leave a review. Thank you so much for reading.