A/N: Chapter 2! I think this might only be about 3 chapters long, we'll see. Thanks to those who read and reviewed!
Mark was not a morning person, by any means, so when he lifted his head off the pillow and squinted at the clock, he was utterly surprised to find that it read 5:36. He rubbed his face, frustrated and wondering why he was awake so early, and burrowed back into his thin blanket. He was almost back asleep when he heard it. A cough. It sounded muffled, like someone was trying to conceal it, but soon enough, one cough turned into two and two turned into too many. Mark sighed, swinging his legs to the side of the bed and rubbing his face again, attempting to fully wake up.
Roger coughing at 5:30 in the morning was not a good thing. Roger coughing at any time was never something to pass off lightly, but coughing this early in the morning meant one of two things: that Roger had woken himself up coughing, or that Roger had spent the entire night awake and coughing. Not good.
Mark stood, grabbing the blanket off the bed and wrapping it around his shoulders as he noticed the frigid temperature in the loft. He shivered. Apparently the heat wasn't working again. Excellent timing.
He padded over to Roger's room, stopping and listening as Roger coughed again. He shivered again, a mixture of cold, tiredness, and worry.
"Roger?" he asked, knocking on the door in front of him. The coughing immediately stopped, and there was silence. He knocked again. "Roger, are you okay?"
"Yeah," came a muffled voice from inside the room. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go back to bed."
"Are you sure?" Mark asked, pressing his ear to the door. He heard rustling, and Roger's voice became a little clearer.
"Yeah, Mark, it's just a tickle. I'm fine. Promise."
"Okay," Mark said, not believing Roger for one second. "Do you need a glass of water?"
"No. I'm fine. Go to bed, its fine."
"Alright, Roger. Wake me if you need something."
Roger didn't reply. Mark sighed, stepping away from the door and starting back towards his room. He realized, though, that he was now wide awake. Looking longingly at the deserted bed, he made his way into the kitchen and started a pot of tea.
Settling down on the couch as he waited for the water to boil, Mark couldn't help but feel that familiar pang of worry creep into his stomach. The same pang of worry he got every time Roger was sick, every time Roger sneezed or coughed or just looked a little pale. He rested his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes and smirking a bit. It was almost funny, the way he worried about Roger. Roger had no need for a mother or a father, Mark could do enough worrying for the both of them.
Mark practically took full responsibility for Roger's care. When people asked why Mark took on so much for Roger, he said that it was because Roger didn't have anyone else. That Roger needed someone to care for him, to watch out for him, to make sure that he didn't do something stupid. But the truth was, Mark needed to take care of Roger and much as Roger needed to be cared for.
Mark had stayed with Roger all through his withdrawal, when April and everyone else was gone and Roger had no one to cling to. So, acting solely on instinct, Roger had clung to Mark. And Mark had accepted him with open arms. Slowly, their relationship developed from roommates to friends, from friends to best friends, from best friends to practically brothers. But from brothers……what else was there?
Mark cringed as the tea kettle whistled, and jumped up to stop the noise that, on the off change that Roger was asleep, might have woken him up. He poured himself a cup and sank back into the couch, reclaiming his train of thought.
What were his feelings toward Roger now? Of course they were closer than most roommates, most friends. Staying with someone through the worst bouts of withdrawal had a way of forming a bond like no other. A bond of absolute trust and loyalty. That was normal enough for Mark.
But did a sudden appreciation of Roger's laugh (a singsong yet sexy chuckle that was infectious), Roger's smile (a burst of light and happiness with a simple upturning of lips), Roger's hair in the moonlight (almost like a halo, innocent, angelic, so ironic), Roger's ass (enough said there)……did that have anything to do with platonic brotherly love? With a bond such as theirs, could these feelings be avoided? Mark didn't think so.
"Mark?"
Mark jumped and looked over towards Roger, who was now sitting on the arm of the couch, resting his head sleepily against the cushion with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as well.
"Thought you were asleep," Mark lied, and Roger shook his head.
"Sorry if I woke you up before," Roger said, yawning and smiling sheepishly. "How come you're still awake?"
Mark shrugged. "Not really tired anymore. I just got to thinking, you know how it is."
"Yeah," Roger said, looking towards the kitchen.
"Tea?" Mark asked, and Roger shook his head. They sat in silence for a minute, listening to the ticking of the clock, before Mark spoke again.
"You stopped coughing."
"Mmmhmm," Roger mumbled, eyes closing. "I told you I was okay."
"How do you feel?" Mark asked, scooting over and stretching his hand out to feel Roger's forehead. To his dismay, it felt warmer than usual. "You're warm."
"Hmm?" Roger mumbled again, leaning into Mark's touch, and Mark could tell he was falling back asleep. "No, I'm cold."
Mark's brows furrowed in concern. He stood and moved to where Roger was sitting, placing his blanket around his friend's shoulders. Roger's eyes fluttered open.
"'M okay," he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders weakly in protest. "You need that. It's cold."
"You need it more than I do. You're sick."
"Am not."
"That's not what you said last night."
Roger's eyes immediately turned downward, and he blushed. "I had a rough day."
Mark sat back down on the couch, closer to Roger. "Wanna talk about it?"
Roger shrugged again. "I was just thinking about Mimi, how she got sick on Christmas Eve and it just all went downhill from there. I thought about the people at life support, how they were there one day, gone the next. I thought about Angel."
He paused, meeting Mark's eyes again. "I thought about you."
Mark blinked. "Me?"
"Yeah, you," Roger said, smiling slightly at Mark's surprise. "How hard this must be on you. How you have to watch everyone around you slowly deteriorate until you're the last one standing."
"Poor baby," Mark whispered with a slight chuckle. Roger didn't laugh.
"I'm serious, Mark, I didn't realize it before. I know you're not ready to let me go yet." Roger looked down at his lap again. "I'm not even ready to let me go yet."
Mark felt tears welling up in his eyes as he watched Roger try and get his own emotions under control. His hands were clenching and unclenching the blanket, his chin was trembling slightly, and his eyes were uncommonly bright.
"Anyway," Roger said, after a moment of silence, "that's what happened yesterday. I just got to thinking and……"
"I know how it is," Mark said, his voice slightly choked. Roger smiled.
"Yeah."
Mark nodded, resting his hand on Roger's knee gently. "Go to bed, Roger. I think you've done enough thinking for one day. I know I have."
Roger nodded and stood, taken off guard as a cough bubbled up from his chest. He tried to suppress it, which made him cough even more. Mark rested a hand on his back and rubbed it slightly until Roger was done. He moved around to the front of Roger, taking in his friend's tired and gaunt appearance, and took Roger's face into his hands.
"I'm not ready to lose you yet," Mark whispered, and Roger closed his eyes. "So go to bed, get better, alright?"
Roger nodded again, and Mark placed a gentle kiss on Roger's forehead. Roger looked at him with an odd expression on his face, before turning around and heading back to his room. Mark watched his door close, then sank back down into the couch, letting a tear fall.