A/N: I've been obsessed with stars today. I don't know why. Just am. So this was the result.
Disclaimer: I forgot one of these last time. I don't own. Don't own Mark, Roger, the Tin Man, East Village, stars, April, drugs (crack is whack!)...yeah, I'm done lol.
The loft was eerily quiet. Mark wasn't sure when it was last that he took a nap. As a teenager maybe?
Didn't matter. With Roger going through withdrawal and Mark watching him every second of every day, there wasn't time for a nap.
Roger...
Mark sat up quickly. Where was Roger? How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep! Roger could be suicidal or dangerous or-
-what's he doing?
Mark got off the couch and inched closer to the window, where Roger sat on the fire escape. He was staring up at...something, Mark couldn't see what, and for once he looked content. His brow wasn't furrowed in confusion, his eyes relaxed, his lips not exactly smiling but not frowning either.
A light of recognition went on in Mark's head as he put a name to the expression on Roger's face. Wonder. Amazement.
Innocence.
He slowly opened the window, trying not to make a sound which was virtually impossible. Every time one of them opened the window, it sounded like the Tin Man in need of his oil can.
Finally opening the window wide enough so he could slip through, Mark wiggled through the gap and walked up quietly to his roommate.
"Rog…what are you doing?"
Without looking away from the sky, he began to talk. "Stars. God, Mark, when was the last time you saw stars in the East Village?"
Mark thought about it and seriously couldn't remember a time. "Roger, they're just stars...nothing too impressive."
"Yes, they are impressive." Roger's tone was defensive. "How many times in New York are you going to see this many stars?"
Mark gave in; the musician was right. The filmmaker sat down next to his best friend and gazed at the stars above.
"I don't want to die." Roger whispered.
"I know." Roger cringed. It was the first time where Mark didn't reply, "You won't." or "You'll get better."
But it was better. Roger couldn't live the rest of his life listening to false hope crap.
"You think when I die, I'll get to see the stars up close? Not just pea shaped lights but big, huge celestial lights?"
Mark smiled and looked over at Roger, still staring up at the sky. "Yes. You will."
The roommates spent the rest of the night watching the stars, where both Roger and Mark were certain the musician would end up one day.
And for the first time ever, not once did Roger talk about drugs or April or how much pain he was in from the withdrawal.
He just stared at the stars above.