Disclaimer: It's Jonathan's. I'm just playing.
Roger waited in the rain for the usual four rings before the machine answered, all the while sniffling and pushing away tears, though the rain drenched him so much it hardly mattered. Fucking rain… fucking dark… doesn't much look like noon. The machine picked up. "M-Mark?" Roger could barely stammer his name. Deep breath. "Mark, it's Roger. I'm... outside, and..." and it's cold and I'm getting soaked and I can't deal with this and please, Mark, please. Please.
"Roger?"
"Mark? C-could I come upstairs, please?"
"Oh god, baby, are you crying?" Mark asked. "You don't even have to ask, just come on up."
"I... I don't have a key."
"That's right. Okay, I'll throw them down." Mark hung up and went over to fire escape. He spotted Roger standing out on the pavement, shivering. "Rog!" He tossed down the keys. Roger missed the catch and as he scanned the sidewalk, Mark disappeared into the loft. Coffee, he decided, if only because Roger would not drink tea.
Roger tried to pull himself together on the way up the stairs, breathe, just breathe and try to keep himself sane. Stop crying, he told himself. It didn't work. Mark stood at the door and Roger hugged him and started to cry. "Oh, G-d, I'm so sorry!"
Mark hugged him tightly and rubbed soothing circles on his back. He bit his lip. What is going on? What if something awful has happened? Oh, G-d, what if his grandmother died? What if someone-- no. No, that was too awful to even think. "Shh, baby. Tell me what's wrong...' Mark managed to slide the door closed and he led Roger to the couch.
Every breath trembled through Roger's body. He sat on the couch and Mark sat next to me, but he didn't hug Mark only because, hell, who needs to be hugged by a soaking, hysterical kid? "I'm really sorry," Roger told him. "I just... needed to be somewhere safe, with someone... with you... I'm sorry. My… cat…" It sounded like a stupid explanation, a silly thing only a child would possibly cry over, but it was the truth. "She had... she was sick... and..."
Mark pulled Roger into a tight hug and told him, "I'm so sorry about your cat, Roger."
He held Roger until he had cried himself out. "Thank you." Roger shook his head. "I really loved that cat. She was like family, she came with me from Los Angeles."
"You need to change into some dry clothing. Don't want you getting sick. Your shirt is clean if you want to put that on... Do you want some coffee?"
Now that he was some semblance of calm, Roger felt a stab of guilt. "No, it's... oh, Jesus. I'll... I'm sorry I just walked in on you like this."
Mark rubbed his back. "Hey… it's okay. Let me just take care of you, hm? Here, my projector is all set up. Feel free to look at any of the reels you see around, okay? I'm gonna go make you some coffee." He hurried to the kitchen, not wanting to leave Roger alone for too long, then returned and planted a kiss in his forehead before going back again.
He returned with a cup of coffee, which Roger took gratefully. "Thank you." Mark moved towards one of the chairs, but Roger stopped him: "Please-- sit with me?" Mark did. "Thank you." Roger sat cross-legged, holding the mug and trying suppress shivers. He rank, hoping the coffee would warm him.
"Is there enough sugar in the coffee? I know you like it kind of bitter, but maybe I skimped too much on the sugar--"
"No, no, it's perfect. It's... thank you." Roger couldn't taste it. He knew it was warm and soothing on his throat, and made him feel less cold. "I'm sorry to walk in like this--and thank you. I can't say how much I appreciate this." He could not stress the importance of comfort, the ease of letting his guard drop for the first time since his cat was given the shot almost twenty-four hours ago.
"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm kinda happy you came to me. It make me feel… heh. Do you want me to show you a movie I've been working on?" There are clips in there of you.
"Yes!" Of course he wanted to see his movie. I've wanted to since the day we met.
Mark bit his lip. "It's nowhere near finished. I just work on it when the mood hits, you know?"
For a moment after the film ended, neither of them spoke0. Roger couldn't decide how he felt. Half of me is so damn happy because Mark... because I mean as much to him as he does to me. The other half knows that Collins is right, and I need to tell him the truth, now, right now. Not right now. I just lost Angelino, I can't lose Mark, too. No, no, I'm being selfish, I--
Roger felt his hand go to the scabs on his wrist, the last remnants of his cat, and he shook himself.
Mark was watching him carefully. "Oh," he said. "Mark... G-d, you're... amazing. You're gonna win a Nobel Prize someday."
Mark snorted. "Don't be afraid to tell me it needs major work. You don't have to sugarcoat it for me. You want something to eat? It won't be anything near your culinary genius, but it's better than nothing."
Roger shook his head. He wasn't hungry. "Mark... I really think you're great. I'm not just saying that. I think it needs a lot of work but it has--you have more potential than all of Hollywood combined. I guess you don't believe this, but I do think you can change the world. You can make people see."
Mark kissed Roger's forehead. "Just tell me if you're hungry later. Now, I insist you change out of those clothes, they're still dripping wet and you're freezing."
"I... I'll have to borrow some of yours, if that's okay." Roger had not exactly planned the trip. No, he had simply run: hopped the fence and sprinted off as quickly as his legs could carry him, running a long way before he rested himself in a subway car.
"You can borrow a pair of my sweats. It's no problem. The shirt you left is clean, too. Let me go get 'em."
"Thanks. Can I change in you room?" Of course. Roger changed into the dry clothes and rejoined Mark on the couch.
Mark pulled him into an embrace and held him tightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Roger pressed his face against Mark's shoulder and murmured, "I hate death."
TO BE CONTINUED!
Sorry this took so long... wow. We're nearing the end now.
Reviews would be very much appreciated!