Disclaimer: Not mine. I mean, come on, if I owned these lovely characters do you really think I would be sitting around writing this.

First Impressions Aren't Everything

Chapter 2

Hotshot

Roger's yell triggered a chain reaction of noise in the loft. The sound of movement in the other rooms was evident and just as the echoes were fading both Benny and Collins appeared in the doorways to their respective rooms.

Mark himself had not moved a muscle since recognizing Roger. He remained frozen, standing in the middle of the room.

Roger also seemed frozen, and completely oblivious to the appearance of his roommates, staring only at Mark with blazing eyes and a set jaw.

"Christ Rog." Collins mumbled, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he surveyed the scene in front of him. "I told you when you came in last night that Benny's roommate from Brown had moved in. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Him!?" Roger's voice cracked from overuse in the past three days. "He is Benny's old roommate? He cannot stay here!"

"You don't even know him Roger," Benny snapped. He had always been irritable in the morning as Mark remembered.

"I know him well enough to know he doesn't appreciate talent and originality."

"The fuck are you talking about?" Now Benny was just as confused. Collins also looked slightly puzzled.

"This punk took the tape of the Well Hungarians on Thursday when we performed at CBGB's. I finally got to see it today. There are two solo shots of me in the entire thing, when I'm coming onstage and when I'm leaving. Two Benny. Two in an entire hour and a half."

Benny glanced quickly at Mark before staring back at Roger.

"You have got to be kidding me." He muttered, grinding the palm of his hand against his eyes.

"I was doing my job," Mark snapped, finally snapping out of his trance. "I shot what your bassist told me to, and what CBGB's has told me record companies look for. Your bassist even gave me a list. I'm sorry if he didn't include 'feed lead singer's ego' on it but it's not my fault you're not the focus of the video."

As Roger stood and began advancing on Mark the pale boy immediately realized he would have to keep his inner sarcasm and quick replies in check in this place; Roger was certainly much larger than he was.

He took a quick step back as Roger got closer and Collins put himself between the two of them, putting a hand on Roger's chest to hold him off.

As much as Roger was larger than Mark, Collins was larger than Roger. He gently shoved the musician back into a sitting position on the couch.

"Fucking chill." He ordered.

Roger immediately began to protest, "Did you hear what he-"

Benny cut him off.

"Are you hearing yourself here, Roger? He's right. You're acting like it's all about you."

"I am the soul of that band."

"Sure you are," Benny sounded bored.

Silence settled over the loft again and at the moment it was becoming uncomfortable Roger broke it with a bitter, "He can't stay here."

"How much did you pay for rent at your old place Mark?" Benny asked.

"Uhh… Two hundred."

"I need one twenty-five a month from you. There Roger, not only is he staying with us, but he is paying more rent than you are."

"Hey, I have rent money this month!" Roger yelled.

"Yeah, well he has a steady job."

"Yeah," Roger scoffed, "A wannabe filmmaker who tapes rock bands. What a sellout."

Mark kept his mouth shut. The insult stung, though he knew there was the smallest bit of truth in it. He clenched his jaw.

Though it was only the tiniest motion Roger noticed, and inwardly he grinned. That was all he needed. He had a way to dig at Mark now, a way to make him miserable.

"He's staying." It was Collins, not Benny, who spoke.

It seemed that his word was final as Roger snapped, "Fine." He grabbed his guitar and returned to what Mark assumed was his room, slamming the door behind him.

"I'm going back to bed." Benny's door shut.

"Roger's a good guy, just give him a few days," Collins said quietly. He pointed toward another door. "Bathroom's that way. I'm going to make some coffee."

- - -

The loft felt more like home than any place Mark had ever lived before. Certainly it felt more comfortable than Mark's previous apartment and his dorm room before that. Anything was better than living back in Scarsdale with his parents.

Living with Benny was just like it had been in college. When he was there he was a good guy. He joked around with Mark and brought up stories from the two years they had spent together. There had certainly been some good times. However, the memories also reminded him of why he'd left Brown. Hell, Benny reminded him of why he'd left Brown. Benny was the perfect corporate suit. He'd dumped any dreams he'd had upon graduation and thrown himself into the world of real estate and money making.

Collins was very possibly the most amazing human being Mark had ever met. He was smarter, and a hell of a lot younger, than any professor Mark had ever had. He seemed to know something about everything, and if not he was perfectly capable of bullshitting his way out of the problem. He was responsible and always seemed to know exactly what was going on. Yet, at the same time, he always had a supply of pot or alcohol and within the first month that Mark lived in the loft he was arrested for streaking through the Parthenon to protest one presidential act or another. He was the one who brought Mark out of his shell, the one who engaged him, and made him think.

And then there was Roger. Like the soggy, misshapen piece to an otherwise complete puzzle he was there to make everything just slightly uncomfortable. Contrary to the promise which both Benny and Collins had made to Mark, Roger never lightened up. When the four of them were all around the loft he made sure to do anything that would make Mark uncomfortable or leave him out. He brought up experiences from before Mark moved in, effectively cutting him off from the conversation.

He made jabs at the job Mark continued to suffer through and as soon as there were copies made of the Well Hungarians' tape the original film reel was tossed in Mark's direction by the singer with a simple muttering of, 'I never want to see this again' and as with the others, it joined the reels in Mark's crate.

Mark woke up as ice-cold water hit his face and chest. He nearly fell of the couch in his effort to sit up. A paper cup whizzed past his head to land on the floor. He looked to the left to find Roger smirking and shaking his head as he began working toward the door.

"The fuck?" he asked.

"Hey, the couch is public space," he slung his guitar case over his shoulder and shoved the loft door aside.

Mark growled and wiped the liquid from his face. He'd fallen asleep on the couch again. He had been exiled from Benny's room since a few weeks ago. Benny had met a girl while trying to sell an apartment to a friend of hers on the Upper East Side.

Sure, he could have moved that mattress into Collins' room. Oh yes, that would have been a brilliant idea. Collins brought home more 'boy toys' as Benny called them, than Roger and the Well Hungarians had gigs, and after their success at CBGB's they were getting offers from everywhere. It wasn't that Mark minded Collins' lifestyle he just preferred not to be in the room while the two men were moaning and rolling around in bed.

Benny had been crazy enough to suggest he move in with Roger at one point. That would have been worse than rooming with Collins. Roger had more girls and boys than he had unfinished songs, one or two followed him home every night.

So now the couch had become Mark's bed. As lumpy and uncomfortable as it was, it served its purpose and Mark slept four or five hours each night there.

He crossed the room and grabbed a questionably clean dish towel, wiping his face and neck as Collins stumbled from his room, clad only in a pair of boxers.

"What're you yelling about?" he yawned.

Mark took off his glasses and began drying them with the towel and without looking at Collins replied, "Roger decided that I needed a shower."

"Christ," he rolled his eyes.

"And he's going to 'get over it' when?"

"I'll talk to him," Collins nodded.

"Tom, are you coming back to bed?" A young man had appeared in the doorway to Collins' room. Although it was the middle of the day it was a Saturday, and Collins' Saturdays did not truly start until after four pm.

"Mark, I'll talk to him when he-"

Mark held up his hands in front of him, "Don't worry about it. I'll live. Just go back to bed." He glanced back at Collins' latest boy. "I'm gonna go film."

He wasn't sure if he or Collins made it to their prospective locations first, but Mark found himself out on the snowy sidewalk a few short moments later, camera in hand and jacket wrapped tightly around him.

There was no goal to his filming today, he merely wandered alphabet city, the place he'd become much more familiar with since moving in. As he searched for something to film he came upon a young man on a street corner, acoustic guitar in hand and case open on the ground.

Mark paused and lifted his camera, capturing the young man in the frame as he started a slow, sad song. There were no words, just a simple, calculated tune that seemed somewhat familiar. Some people passed by, throwing small coins into the guitar case. There was nothing larger than a lonely, crumpled dollar bill. Even after Mark had stopped filming and just stood watching the young man move on to another song he thought about Roger's favorite nickname for him.

Sellout. It was simple. Mark had sold out by getting his job, one that paid him to do what he loved; filming a subject he did not care about. Watching this boy crafting his own art reminded Mark that Roger was nowhere near innocent in the abundance of sellout artists.

He finally tore himself away from the scene and started down the street in the direction of CBGB's. He had footage to edit for another local band.

- - -

Roger was lounging across Steve's couch, waiting for practice to begin. He plucked at the strings of his beloved fender as Steve reentered the room, carrying with him a few cold beers. Without prompting he grabbed one, easily pulling the cap of with his keys.

Steve aimed a kick to the guitarist's arm as he handed off another bottle to Mike.

"You could have asked, brat."

"You would have given it to me anyway, so why bother?" Roger smirked.

"Actually that was for Hunter, you know, he and Mike who on occasion bring their own beer."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Well Hunter's the one who called this practice and yet," he motioned around the room, "he's the only one who isn't here."

The timing could not have been better. At that very moment the front door was flung open and in strolled Hunter, bass in one hand, with a wide grin crossing his features. He stopped dead in the middle of the room, looking around at them all.

"You're late," Roger told him, as though to drive home the point he had been making to the others.

"Yes, but with good reason." His bass dropped to the ground and he threw his hands into the air. "Next Friday, the Well Hungarians have a gig at the previously out of reach, club Voodoo."

Mike sat straight up in his chair, nearly choking on his beer. "No fucking way."

Hunter nodded enthusiastically.

"Liar," Roger accused, "Voodoo's been turning us down for the past two years. Why the hell would they let us play now."

A mischievous smirk made its way across Hunter's face. "Funny you should ask, Davis. The thing is Voodoo loved the tape that, what did you call him again…? Oh that's right, that untalented, sellout, minor with a video camera who filmed us at CBGB's."

Roger clenched his jaw.

"Yeah, they said the tape was really good, and hearing the singing was enough. Next Friday. That means we need to practice, what are you guys just laying around for."

The other two began pushing themselves up off of the furniture, eager to get to their instruments. Roger slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, taking his time.

"C'mon Rog," Hunter nodded. "We need your energy on this one; after all, Voodoo was your dream place, not ours."

Roger gulped down half of his beer before meeting his bandmate's eyes, "Right."

- - -

The practice lasted well into the night, the four young men adding solos and rearranging music to better fit the verses. They even tried out one of Roger's newer songs, thankfully not a total flop. Mike headed out first, leaving the three of them. Steve and Hunter lived there so Roger was really just putting off his return to the loft a little more. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and climbed out onto the rickety fire escape.

As he stood there thinking he was brought back to the present by a rough slap to the back of his head. He turned to the side, catching sight of Hunter standing next to him before he turned back to the dark street.

"Get out of this mood Davis, talk to me."

"I just wanted us to be one of those bands who got gigs based on word of mouth and our music. It just sucks that it took a fucking video, that they had to see us to decide if they wanted us or not."

"Look, Roger, I know you're mad that you weren't in the video that much but they didn't-"

"That's not it!"

Hunter gave Roger a look. "You flipped out at the kid after we saw it. Listen, you may be the 'pretty-boy frontman' but we all work just as hard as you do. So, the video wasn't all about you, but hey, I most commonly hear us referred to as Roger Davis' band so I think you can live with it."

"He lives with me you know. Mark, I mean. The kid with the camera."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess he was Benny's roommate during college or something. I don't like him."

"Roger."

"No, really, I don't." Roger took a sip of his beer. "He walks around with that camera of his almost attached to his face. He's like me with my guitar. He goes out and films whenever he gets a day off but he never does anything with it. He never even looks at it again. But he spends hour upon hour at the club editing. It would be like me going and playing back up for some lounge singer, or signing a solo deal. He's fucking sold out before he even tries to do anything with it and it just pisses me off okay?"

"Yeah," Hunter prompted him to keep going.

"He's a kid. He just doesn't belong in New York. This city is going to swallow him whole. He should go back to Rhode Island or upstate, or wherever the hell he comes from and stop wasting everyone's time and energy. Everything he says, everything he does just…" He sighed, aggravated.

"He's a sellout. That's all there is to it. If he's going to sell out so early I don't trust him so far as I could throw him." He paused to take another sip of his beer, frowning once he found it was warm, "And I certainly don't like him."

There was no way of convincing Roger of something once his mind was made up. Unless Roger's opinion changed on its own it was not going to change due to someone else's words.

"Just let him try to get it together Roger. Don't chase him off before he has a chance to figure things out. If I remember correctly you had no idea what you were doing when we started up."

"Whatever." Roger had heard enough and climbed back in through the window, scooping his guitar up and heading out the door.

- - -

Collins lay almost lifelessly on the couch and Benny in a chair as Mark fiddled with the projector. He had promised to show them some of his film eventually and Collins had nearly pounced on him when he'd come in the door. The young man from the night before was gone, and Roger, it seemed, was still at practice.

Collins' excuse was that he needed a break from grading finals, and he had gotten Benny on board pretty easily. Benny, however, knew what he was in for. He had seen Mark's films before; he knew they were good.

A sheet had been stolen from Roger's room and hung against the wall. It lit up as Mark tuned the projector on. The whirring sound the machine made helped Mark to relax, the anxiety that usually accompanied publicly showing his work swelling less quickly through his body.

Just as an interior shot of the loft lit up the room the grating noise that accompanied the door reached Mark's ears. He and the other men turned to the door to watch Roger walk in, grunt his hello, and make his way into their makeshift kitchen to get himself something to drink. If he noted the film being viewed he ignored it completely.

Mark turned back to the projector He introduced the scene, giving the date and quickly zooming in on Collins who was, amid piles of papers and books, attempting to construct a final for his class. He looked up when Mark approached and held out the joint in his hand as an offering. The camera shook in Mark's response.

The camera and Mark's narration moved on to Benny who was walking in the door, looking over a newspaper. His only response to the camera was to bat it out of his way as he had so many times at school. As the narration called him 'the future yuppie scum' the Benny who was now sitting on the couch laughed and threw a pillow in Mark's direction.

Roger walked over to stand behind the couch with a cigarette as Mark's film turned to the final inhabitant of the loft.

"This is Roger," Mark's voice said quietly as the camera focused and zoomed in on the young man, his guitar cradled in his lap as he sang lyrics to himself. "The musician." He zoomed out again as the film cut to exterior shots.

Mark turned his head slightly to see Roger glaring at him, a scowl crossing his face. The few times he had caught Mark attempting to film him his responses had been nasty and harsh. Here he wasn't even doing anything important and he looked angry that Mark had caught him unaware he was being watched.

The film cut again, this time to a shot of a young man with a guitar, the footage Mark had shot that afternoon. He began playing his slow, sad song. Benny looked immediately bored with the film when Mark did not cut away from the guitarist, and Collins did not look particularly interested, but Roger's eyes were glued to the screen. Mark grinned, hoping it would be a small victory, helping him win Roger over.

As the film cut off and the room went dark Roger turned to Mark, a glare returning to his face.

"That was personal," he snarled. "You had no right to film that."

"Oh, give it a rest," Benny muttered under his breath.

"I wasn't talking to you Benny," Roger snapped.

"Sorry." Mark replied.

"Don't do it again." With that said he turned and strode back into the kitchen yelling over his shoulder, "and when you idiots are done messing around I'd better get my sheet back."

As Mark started to take apart the projector Benny mumbled something about Roger needing new roommates soon as he jumped to pull down the sheet. Collins gave Mark the briefest of nods before going after the disgruntled musician.

- - -

Roger jumped as a hand shoved him roughly into the table from behind.

"The fuck is the matter with you, boy?" Collins asked him. Collins only referred to Roger as boy when he was lecturing or angry at him so Roger knew he wasn't getting out of this easily.

"I don't know what you mean," he feigned innocence.

"Like hell you don't," Collins scoffed. "Why did you have to go and give Mark shit like that? He barely shows anyone his own stuff as it is and you're discouraging it. So what if he filmed you playing your precious guitar."

"Like I said, it was personal."

As Collins lifted his hands from his sides Roger barged on, knowing the professor meant to interrupt him, "It was. I haven't played that song for anyone, even the band, not a fucking soul yet."

"Roger, we hear you playing and singing around the loft all the time, it's no different than tha-"

"There's a difference!"

"No there's not."

"I don't want him filming me. Is that such a big deal? Plus he got in that dig about me being a sellout with the film of that kid playing his guitar on a street corner."

"What the hell are you talking about? That wasn't what he was doing."

"I don't like him Collins, okay?" Roger threw up his hands. "I'm sorry that you and Benny are so attached to him but I just don't like him. I'm sorry but that's not going to change."

He stalked across the room, ignoring Collins' continued shouts after him. He slammed the door to his room shut behind him. He knew the loft had amazing acoustics so he was fairly certain Benny and Mark had heard their entire discussion. To be frank, he really didn't give a shit. It was late, and they had a gig tomorrow. He may as well get some sleep.

There was a knock at his door an hour later after the talking and moving around in the loft had ceased.

"Go away Collins," Roger called, keeping his eyes focused on the ceiling.

Another knock echoed through the room.

Roger rolled his eyes. Persistent bastard.

"Fine. Come in."

The door creaked open but no one spoke.

Roger averted his eyes from the ceiling to find Mark standing in the doorway.

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry about filming you, and I wanted you to know the footage of that kid wasn't supposed to be a jab at you."

"Though you did think of it before I said anything," Roger supplied, sitting up.

Mark shrugged, not moving farther into or out of the room.

"Anything else?"

"I don't want to live here if you're going to hate me-"

"Then you may as well start packing."

Mark trudged on, "Can we start over? Just forget about that stupid tape?"

"This isn't about the tape," Roger snapped. "Sure, I think the tape is a piece of shit, but I don't think you should be here, and I don't like you. Starting over isn't going to change that." He lay back down and resumed his careful surveying of the ceiling.

After a moment he looked back to find Mark still in the doorway.

"And you're still here why?"

"Collins threw all of the blankets in here earlier. I need one to keep from freezing tonight."

Roger was tempted to keep the blankets to himself and risk Mark getting sick but he knew Mark wasn't going to leave his doorway until he gave in.

He grabbed one of the bunched up blankets from the floor and threw it in Mark's direction. As Mark gathered the entire blanket into his arms and turned to leave Roger spoke once more.

"There, now get out of my room fag."

Mark stiffened. Roger highly doubted it was the first time he'd been called such, but the fact that Mark did not say anything in return made him raise an eyebrow and consider what this piece of knowledge could be used fir later.

This was going to make things very interesting.

A/N: Ahh… I haven't updated in over a month. I am so sorry! Well, apparently I lost my beta. I promise I will try to add more to this story in the next few weeks. I have a few other projects I'm working on and it's midterms time at school but I will try to write some more. Hopefully I can get one more chapter up before nanowrimo and possibly another during the month. If there are any volunteers for betas…

As for reviews. They are loved more than anything else. But some of you people put me on alert and favorites lists and didn't review, what's up with that. Please leave me some feedback. I so greatly appreciate it, especially the questions and constructive criticism.

Well, until next time.

Hotshot