Mark realized around the second week that he'd gotten his hopes up. That he'd thought maybe he had a friend, one for him, as selfish as that was. Maureen had Joanne. Tom had Angel. Roger had....
Yeah. He was being selfish. He had Roger. Roger had his guitar and he has his camera. Pity he'd sold almost all of his equipment by now, courtesy of absolutely no health insurance and the need to do stuff like eat while paying for it.
Still, when someone like Maureen calls you over dramatic, that's when you pause and look at your life and your choices. Like how all he wants to do is film in black and white for some reason. Even though he grins and laughs with Roger, Roger sees right through it. He says nothing, though, and Mark is grateful for it--he knows Roger's a little sad, too.
Shit, if Roger's not being a drama queen then Mark can't afford to be one, too. He gave a powerful moment to his brother-in-arms, now he has to move on. No time like the present.
It's hot--way too hot--and even with all of the windows open and all of their fans pointed in the huge but threadbare apartment, it's smouldering. Roger's away to the Doctors, Joanne taking him, and Tom and Angel have gone on a date. Maureen's god knows where and Mark, as usual, is left alone. He's in the middle of trying to write a script when he swears he hears someone shouting his name. It's only when Lito in the apartment a few floors below yells right back at the shouter that he realizes he hasn't imagined it. Gone are the button downs and jeans, because Mark has actually borrowed Roger's too-big tank top and a pair of cargo shorts to just try to escape.
He opens the window, because he's fairly certain whoever yelled that wasn't a usual goer--not a girl, too high to be Collins, too low to be Angel--and he freezes when he looks down and spots him.
Billy.
Billy McGee.
Is this a mirage?
"Woaaaaah!" No it isn't, and Mark's face feels like it's going to split in two. "You didn't forget about us! Give me a second and I'll throw down the keys."
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Yeah. He was being selfish. He had Roger. Roger had his guitar and he has his camera. Pity he'd sold almost all of his equipment by now, courtesy of absolutely no health insurance and the need to do stuff like eat while paying for it.
Still, when someone like Maureen calls you over dramatic, that's when you pause and look at your life and your choices. Like how all he wants to do is film in black and white for some reason. Even though he grins and laughs with Roger, Roger sees right through it. He says nothing, though, and Mark is grateful for it--he knows Roger's a little sad, too.
Shit, if Roger's not being a drama queen then Mark can't afford to be one, too. He gave a powerful moment to his brother-in-arms, now he has to move on. No time like the present.
It's hot--way too hot--and even with all of the windows open and all of their fans pointed in the huge but threadbare apartment, it's smouldering. Roger's away to the Doctors, Joanne taking him, and Tom and Angel have gone on a date. Maureen's god knows where and Mark, as usual, is left alone. He's in the middle of trying to write a script when he swears he hears someone shouting his name. It's only when Lito in the apartment a few floors below yells right back at the shouter that he realizes he hasn't imagined it. Gone are the button downs and jeans, because Mark has actually borrowed Roger's too-big tank top and a pair of cargo shorts to just try to escape.
He opens the window, because he's fairly certain whoever yelled that wasn't a usual goer--not a girl, too high to be Collins, too low to be Angel--and he freezes when he looks down and spots him.
Billy.
Billy McGee.
Is this a mirage?
"Woaaaaah!" No it isn't, and Mark's face feels like it's going to split in two. "You didn't forget about us! Give me a second and I'll throw down the keys."