Author's Note: How's this for a quick update? Oh yeah. I'm awesome. Don't worry, next chapter we start with the slash! And it's (hopefully) going to be a Mark-focused chapter. I'm actually planning now. Enjoy. :)
CHAPTER FIVE: Which Way to Nowhere
It hurts to be lonely, it hurts to be near you
It's already over, I'm starting to wear down.
-- Which Way to Nowhere
Roger is disoriented. Finally, after what seems to him like eternity, he's starting to be truly happy again. Although Mark is still oblivious to just how much attention he receives from his roommate, Roger cannot complain. The two friends spend more time together now, and that is enough to make Roger happy for weeks.
Of course, as with all good things, there comes a price. While Roger is happy when he's with Mark, and even afterwards, it does not take long for a sinking feeling to appear in the pit of his stomach. As he grows more and more used to the filmmaker's presence, his longing grows a bit more. It's worse than any addiction Roger has ever had, and it makes him unaware of everything but Mark.
He rolls out of bed, pushing away all thoughts of loneliness and inner pain. Today is the anniversary of when he and Mark first met, and Roger is determined to let nothing spoil the good mood. Feeling a giddiness that he's never experienced before, Roger digs through his room to find the cleanest clothes he has. Unfortunately, his search comes up with a pair of partly torn jeans and a t-shirt. Quickly, he changes and then he makes his way into the living room, ready to wait for Mark to wake up so they can begin their day.
Mark, however, doesn't appear from his room until around noon. Roger is annoyed by this, but does not show it. Instead, he puts down his guitar (which he has been plucking at for the good part of two hours) and grins at Mark from the couch.
"Took you long enough."
Mark gives Roger a bleary look. He is still getting over his sleep, and has a very vague idea about what Roger is so anxious about. As his memory settles, he smiles tiredly.
"Right. Sorry. I had no idea that you would be waiting for me to get up."
Roger just rolls his eyes, clearly amused, and in good spirits. He gets up and places his hands on the filmmaker's shoulders, shivering unnoticeably at the physical contact. He steers Mark back into his room.
"Get dressed. We've got a long day ahead of us." Roger closes the door to Mark's bedroom.
--
By the time six-thirty in the evening rolls around, Mark and Roger are already on their way to being more than drunk. Their day consisted on nothing more than going around the city, acting as out-of-hand children would without supervision, and terrorizing the poor staff at the Life Café. So here they sit, topping off an exhilarating day with a variety of cheap alcohol.
"Nonono … S'not like that," Roger stammers out. "It's like … You take a square. And cut it in half." His eyes grow slightly wide.
"… Like rectangles?" Mark frowns, this conversation actually making some sense in his drunken haze.
"Better than those."
"Wow …"
"I know."
Silence overtakes the two momentarily. The only sound in the loft is that of two bottles being tipped back and some of the contents being swallowed.
"S'been a long time since we've done this, eh, Marky?" A lazy grin spreads across Roger's face.
"Long time," is Mark's echo. "Ought to do this more often."
"I completely agree."
"Yeah … Yeah, I agree too." Mark gives a firm nod. He raises his bottle. "To us!"
"To us!" Roger repeats.
The two men clink their bottles together, and down a gracious amount of their drinks. Roger feels like he might get sick. Mark gets up and goes into the bathroom, where he does get sick. Roger finds this extremely funny. He puts down his bottle and stumbles over to the bathroom, just so he can laugh at Mark.
"S'not funny."
Mark tries to look offended, and fails miserably. Roger laughs more and drops to his knees next to Mark. It isn't until Mark hits him feebly, and rests his head on the edge of the bathtub, that Roger stops laughing.
"Hey … Are you ok?" Roger tries to look at Mark without going cross-eyed.
"Oh yeah … Totally fine." Mark looks up slightly at Roger, with an unimpressed, ill look. Roger's attention was caught immediately, and he didn't go cross-eyed.
Even when he is drunk out of his tree, Roger finds him fully appreciative of Mark's eyes. They're like oceans, he decides. The kinds of oceans people paint or photograph. Captivating eyes, with unknown depth. The musician leans closer. He decides he can drown in those eyes. Then everything goes black.
Author's Note: Reviews make me happy. And, since it's my 16th birthday today, don't you think I deserve them:-P