II.

February 2nd, 1991

"And here, ladies and gentlemen, is 25-year-old Roger Davis, amazingly awake at 7 in the morning and not holding his trusty Fender or any other musical instrument in his hands…"

Roger was scribbling in his journal as he sat cross-legged on their ratty old couch trying to keep warm when he heard the whirring of Mark's camera nearby, as well as Mark's voice narrating what he was doing. He narrowed his eyes at the disturbance, but didn't bother to stop writing.

"Cohen, if you know what's good for you…" he warned. It drove him nuts whenever Mark filmed him unexpectedly. The sound he heard from the camera made him want to growl. He didn't mind being filmed at times, but today he just wasn't in the mood. It was drafty in the loft, with the heating completely out and all, and he was tired. Last night hadn't been a very good one.

"It's too early in the morning, man," Roger attempted again to make Mark go away. "Go bother someone else. Maureen, for instance, so she can kill you for waking her up and then you'd never bother me again."

He stopped writing. He'd lost his train of thought just by talking to Mark. Damn it.

"It's a miracle you're up, actually. Had a good sleep?"

Roger turned around and saw Mark for the first time that morning, all dressed and ready to go to work. He was about to say 'No, so quit bugging me and go to work already' but changed his mind. Mark was right about it being uncommon that he was up so early. Usually, he'd lie in, trying to get warm since their blankets were so miserable. Mimi wasn't of any help with the warmth because she stayed out until late and, when she'd come home, Roger would have already trembled himself to sleep. No, last night hadn't been a good night definitely. In fact, he'd barely slept and had been on the couch, writing, since 3 fucking AM. But he wasn't going to tell Mark that. The little guy was a worrywart. Too much for his own good, actually. Roger didn't want to trouble him any further.

Instead of replying to Mark's question, Roger looked away again and picked up his journal and pen in an attempt to continue where he'd stopped writing.

"New song, Rog?" he heard the guy he once admitted to himself was probably his most loyal and best friend ask. He didn't reply. Instead, he willed his mind to remember the words that he'd been running through his mind just moments before to surface.

Whirrrrrr…

That fucking camera.

Without much thought, Roger made a grab for the orange throw pillow that sat in front of him and hurled it at Mark without looking. His aim, surprisingly, was accurate and he smiled in spite of himself as a "Whoa!" and a thump sounded, signaling Mark had fallen to the floor, unprepared for the unexpected attack. He turned around and laughed as he saw his flatmate on his back, looking dazed. He knew that Mark, scrawny as he was, would retaliate, so he braced himself.

"Mark Cohen, doing one of his graceful exits," he mockingly narrated, still grinning. Roger watched as Mark sat up, grabbed the throw pillow and got ready to go into battle.

"Oh, you're going down, Davis!" Mark declared, smiling widely, a wild, almost childish, gleam in his eyes. He set the camera down on a pile of newspapers that were on the floor next to him. Roger grabbed for another pillow on the couch. It was a wimpy one, since it was smaller than what Mark had and had those girly tassels on them (he suspected it was Mimi's), but he took it all the same.

"ARRRGGGHHH!"

"AUUUGGHHHH!"

Mark charged at him from the floor and they both tumbled from the couch to the ground. They'd been doing this since their school days. It was fucking crazy, how they'd suddenly charge at each other whenever they felt like it and start rolling on the ground. No one had ever fixed rules for it but they had mutually agreed that whenever one started, the main objective was to get either one of them to say "Uncle!", which Roger usually won, since Mark had always been smaller than he was. It was insane and people had always thought they were fighting whenever they were seen. Hell, their mothers had even thought it and Mark's mother had accused him, Roger, of being a bully. They had both laughed at the idea. Living in Scarsdale as an only child had bored Roger to death and he'd been glad Mark Cohen had moved in to share his misery. Why the hell would he bully the kid, geeky as he may have been, when Mark was the only guy in their neighborhood who was able to understand who he really was? He owed a lot to the guy.

"OW! Shit, Roger, that hurt!"

"Get off me!"

Mark was sitting on his chest like the nimrod he was. Roger fought to push him off. They hit each other with the pillows repeatedly and without fear (Mark had put his glasses away which was good because those things ruined everything once they broke…Roger had already seen just how damage broken glasses could cause and neither him nor Mark cared to go through a predicament like it again). Roger managed to get out from under Mark and reversed their positions.

"HAH! You're DEAD!" he said triumphantly.

"Not if I can help it!"

They were in the middle of the fight when he heard his bedroom door creak open followed by the sounds of feet in slippers shuffling on the floorboards towards the kitchen. His heart gave a small flutter, knowing well who it was though he didn't have to look.

"G'morning, guys," Mimi's sleepy voice cut sweetly through their grunts and yelps and growls as they continued to beat the hell out of each other using the pillows. "Baby, be careful. Don't hurt yourselves,"

"Sure babe," Roger smiled at his girlfriend, who he thought looked beautiful dressed in an old kimono that highlighted her bronze skin and who had her curls tumbling freely down her back in a loose mass of mahogany waves. She smiled back at him as she slinked past the kitchen counters, his coffee mug raised to her lips.

"Aaaaw, baby," Mark laughed, getting a clear hit of Roger's head during the distraction. His usually pasty skin was a mottled pink from all their roughhousing.

"Shut up, Mark." Roger turned his attention back to his so-called best friend and forced him to lie on his stomach.

"Ow ow ow! UNCLE! UNCLE!" yelled Mark as Roger finally got the filmmaker's arm bent in the way he knew would make him go crazy from the pain but not seriously hurt him. "I'll have you yell 'Uncle' someday, Roger, I swear!"

"Yeah, you wish," Roger laughed as he got off of Mark. The fight was over. He helped Mark sit back up as the filmmaker rubbed his arm.

"Baby, stop bullying Marky. You might seriously hurt him," Mimi admonished gently from her spot in the kitchen.

"Don't worry, Mimi, he can never hurt me. He doesn't have the guts," Mark said, mock punching him on the arm.

"Yeah, right, Cohen. You'd probably send your mother running after me with a broom again," Roger laughed.

"Honestly, Meems, I've broken several bones I didn't even know a person could break since I met Roger Davis," Mark said, putting on a pity-me act. "I'm telling you, he's unsafe to be around with."

"Aaaw, poor baby," Mimi said, approaching the two of them sitting on the floor. She bent over Mark and kissed him on the cheek. Mark glanced at Roger and gave him a wink and a smile as she did so. "Is that better?"

"Hey!" Roger said playfully, though he didn't fully appreciate the fact that his girlfriend had kissed his best friend.

"Much better, Meems, thanks…but I think my other cheek's swollen where Roger hit it…"

Roger was about to throw another pillow at Mark's direction when their phone rang. Mimi thankfully quit on Mark (though she did give him another kiss on his other cheek) and went back to her coffee. None of them bothered to get the phone. At the ungodly morning hour, it was probably someone any of them wouldn't want to deal with. Mrs. Cohen, for example. Roger suspected that whenever the woman was bored she'd just pick up the phone and call them. It was insane.

"Speak!" the answering machine said. Roger braced himself to hear Mark's mother's voice but was relieved when Joanne's filled the loft.

"Hey, all of you lazybones. I know you're all there and unwilling to pick up this phone. Don't forget to shop for food before you all starve. Do you guys still have enough money for that? Mark, give me a call if you need a hand, okay? I mean nutritious food, you guys. No blowing off of money on Twinkies and soda like last time. Roger and Mimi, take your AZTs, all right? No forgetting. Pay your bills too. You know how Benny gets. I'll see you guys later, okay? Wrap up too since it's cold and we all know just how great the heating is at your place. Maureen and I have extra socks and scarves here if y'all need them. Just give us a call."

The call ended and Roger lay on his back on the floor, exhausted from his and Mark's fight. Joanne sounded more like a mother every day. Maureen could be too at times and whenever Collins was in town he joined in on their boat and acted like a father, even when he didn't really mean to. It drove him crazy sometimes, but it was nice and comforting in its own weird way. He heard Mimi laugh.

"How'd she know about the Twinkies and soda? Collins is such a tattletale," she said.

"Well she's right as always. About time we bought food again. We'll catch food poisoning already if we keep on eating the stuff that's in the fridge. I'll drop by the supermarket later. You guys want anything?" Mark said, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off of his pants.

"No more Cap'n Crunch, please," Roger groaned from his spot on the floor. He'd had enough of the stuff. They'd been eating it for the longest time as if it were part of their religions.

"How about chocolate milk?" he heard Mimi ask hopefully. Typical Mimi. No matter how much she denied it, she was still pretty much the kid she really was. Roger smiled at the thought.

"Yeah, Marky. Chocolate milk would be great," he agreed. He hadn't had chocolate milk in a billion years. Well, not really. The last time he'd had some was when he was eight years old. "And some macaroni and cheese while you're at it,"

"We should ask your mother to bring down some if you want some so badly," Mark teased, knowing pretty well how disgusting a cook his mother was. Roger had spent majority of his life in Scarsdale after the Cohens moved in eating at Mark's' house just so his stomach would be saved from having to forcefully digest whatever gloop his mother came up with.

"Shut up."

"You be good little kids and take your AZTs at the right times and I'll get you your chocolate milk and mac n' cheese. Right now, I gotta get to work," Roger watched as Mark wound the black-and-white striped scarf around his pale neck, his precious camera already in his hands. Sometimes he wanted to tear the thing off of Mark since it was almost ridiculous how the filmmaker was never without it. It was some sort of lucky charm, he supposed. Mark's grandmother had given it to him one Christmas. "You guys gonna be okay here?"

"I have to head for work too in a while. The Life doesn't like it when I'm late," Mimi said. She'd quit on her work at the Cat Scratch a few weeks after Angel died, and Roger could say all of them, especially him, were happy with the decision. Mimi was starting to look as young as she really was, despite the virus, since she started working in a 'healthier' environment. Hell, the Life wasn't Heaven on earth but it was definitely better than the Cat Scratch. At night, Mimi went to a class so she could at least still learn while there was still time. They'd all been supportive of the idea, since they all believed that education was still vital. Roger felt guilty sometimes that both Mimi and Mark had to get jobs just so they could pay for the medication he needed. Mimi still needed the AZTs too of course but after her brush with death, she turned out to be a lot healthier than they all expected. It was him who needed the AZT and other medicines more. He'd tried to get a job before but he could never keep them because he was never consistently healthy. Now he depended on his friends for his survival and he hated the feeling, even though they were more than willing to help. He wasn't a fucking cripple, for God's sakes. He hated being so helpless when he was so used to doing everything for himself.

"You going out, Rog?" he heard Mimi ask, knocking him out of his stupor.

"Uhhh…" Roger paused to think. "Maybe not,"

"You feeling okay?" he heard Mark ask worriedly from the front door. Great. Fuck. He had to be careful not to turn anything into an issue the poor guy would worry over.

"I'll live, Pooky," replied Roger, using Mark's most hated nickname and a tone he hoped would convince Mark. He laughed as he felt another pillow hit him.

"Shut up. Okay, you guys, gimme a call if you need anything. I'm running late," Mark told them.

"Okay," both he and Mimi said. Roger heard the door close, then heard as Mimi approached him. She lay down next to him on the floor and rested her head on his chest. She smelled of sleep, coffee and strawberry shampoo. Roger breathed in her scent, loving how it made him feel so safe and comfortable, and held her close, kissing the top of her head.

"Are you really feeling okay, baby?" she asked softly. "You had a rough night last night,"

She looked up at him, her beautiful brown eyes gentle like a puppy's. He could drown in her eyes, drown in the love she knew she had for him. Just looking at her reminded him always of how much love he was actually capable of, which at first surprised him once he realized he loved Mimi more than he'd loved April. He kissed her again.

"How'd you know that?" he asked.

"You kept tossing. Then you got up several times. I don't remember if you ever came back to bed after the nth time you got up. Couldn't you sleep?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I was just tired but I couldn't sleep for some reason. But I'm okay. Really. Don't worry so much, babe. It's unbecoming,"

Mimi laughed and kissed him on the lips.

"I love you, babe," she told him, their faces so close the ends of their noses touched.

"I love you too," he told her and he meant it. Mimi ran a hand through his hair, getting some of it out of his face. He loved the way she did it, with her fingers going in and out of the strands and her nails tickling his scalp.

"Get some sleep after I leave. I'll pass by Joanne's and Maureen's and grab a couple of those socks so you can keep warm," Mimi told him.

"I'll be fine, babe…" Roger kissed her again. "I love you."

"Sweet talk won't get you out of this one, Roger Davis. You're going to bed to get some sleep. I'll check on you around lunchtime and bring you a little food, okay?" Mimi said, getting to her feet and pulling him up with her.

"Mmmkay, Mommy," he teased. He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend's waist and reminded himself for the nth time not to do anything to fuck what they had up, his exhaustion having disappeared the minute Mimi cuddled up next to him.