A/N: So in my story, "After A Moment", a character asks about the hole in the boho's roof, and Mark replies, "Uh… the short story is that Roger sucks at ping-pong." The long story you may ask? Here it is. Cause why the hell IS there a hole in their roof?

Also, inspired by something called "SoL Ping-Pong" on youtube, where the movie cast sans Diggs, Menzel and Jeremine are playing ping-pong, singing Seasons of Love. Anthony, Adam, Rosario and Traci are playing ping-pong, and Adam kinda sort of… sucks. I think he hits the ball properly… once? I'm pretty sure Anthony points it out a couple of times. Rosario tackles Traci at the end of it and it's a lot of fun to watch and try to figure out what's going on. I highly recommend it.

Anyhow, I present:

Ping-Pong

"I'm cold," Roger complains, pulling on another sweater over top of his already multiple layers.

I don't bother looking up from my work- Roger's always cold lately. "Maybe you should grow your hair out," I suggest. An empty can of mints collides with my head seconds later and I look up, "What?" I ask innocently. I know there's no way that long hair would go with Roger's current 'rocker' look, but who says I'm not entitled to poke a little fun at him after all the teasing I endure. "It'll trap your body heat and keep you warmer."

"And be mistake for a shaggy beast like you?" Roger scoffs in response, holding himself and trying to warm up. I touch the bangs falling into my eyes self-consciously before realizing that Roger's joking. There was some truth to his jib and I knew that it was longer now than I'd ever had it before. But Maureen seemed to like the longer hair so I didn't mind it.

"Put a hat on then," I suggest, "That's what Collins does." Although Collins doesn't need the excuse of cold weather to wear his cap. I feel Roger eyeing me but refuse to look up. The couch depresses less then a foot away from me.

"No thanks. Has it always been this fucking cold?" he demands, inching closer.

I look up from my notebook where I'd been editing one of my screenplays, and eye Roger wearily. I know where this is going. It's been the same question for the past couple mornings in a row and I gave him the same answer I'd been using, "It's winter Roger. We don't have heat- it's going to be cold for a little while longer."

"Well why the fuck do we not have heat?" was the next question and I didn't feel like rewording the next answer so I stuck with,

"Because we couldn't pay the heating bill if we wanted to keep living here."

Roger takes the notebook from my hands and discards it on the floor before claiming my lap as his own. The first time this happened I was surprised and a little creeped out, but now I've just come to terms with the fact that Roger can be a real baby when he wants to be. "Why the fuck do we live here?" he pouts, proving my point and leaning against me.

I let my hands fall to my sides. He may be sitting on me, but he can sure as hell hold himself up. "Roger, if you're just going to keep asking these questions-"

"Calm down Markie," he grins, and I realize that he was just looking to get me riled up. "A little cold never hurt anyone."

"And yet you're sitting on my lap," I remark darkly.

Roger shrugs, "You've got that body heat thing going for you, right?"

"Doesn't mean that I'm less susceptible to freeze to death than you are."

Roger turns to look at me and I can tell he's wondering if I was being serious or not. My resolve to poke fun at him dissolves because I realize that he'd probably give up a blanket or something if I asked for it. "Mark-" he starts, letting me know that I'm on the right track but I interrupt him,

"I was kidding Roger," I reassure, grinning at him.

He narrows his eyes, "Well aren't you just an optimistic albino Eskimo today?"

"Why is Mark an Eskimo?" Collins asks from the door, entering the loft just in time to catch Roger's sentence. I groan,

"You know, I find it sad that anytime someone says 'albino', everyone automatically assumes me."

Collins laughs for a second. "Well, was Roger talking about you?" he asks.

"Yeah," I mumble miserably. Collins flicks a piece of what was once food at me,

"Then shut your white punk ass up. Gentlemen," he says, suddenly giddy. He heads towards the door and both Roger and I know there's something behind it. Collins has a soft spot for theatrics. "I'd like to take this moment and present to you, the savior of the loft, the fashion statement of Alphabet City, the one, the only-"

"Collins, why the fuck do you have a trash can?" Roger asks, interrupting Collins' presentation.

"Because Roger," he says, pulling the can into the center of the room completely unfazed by Rogers disgust, "Every day for the past week and a half you've been complaining about the cold and if you don't stop soon, Mark and I are going to hafta beat you with a parka."

I laughed at the image in my head and shove Roger off me so I can get up and look more closely at the can.

"So you got me a garbage can?" Roger asks doubtfully, sitting abandoned on the couch. "What are you going to do, stuff me in it?"

Looking into the garbage can, I can see a couple objects that look curiously like… "Collins, is that firewood?" I ask slowly.

"Maybe," Collins smirks and I hear Roger getting up from the couch and feel him nudging me aside to get his own look. He looks up, grinning,

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

Roger and Collins are giving one another those shit-eating grins that I know spells bad news for me and everyone within a thirty-foot radius of them.

Collins pulls out a lighter and wiggles his eyebrows, "Anyone here been in boy scouts?"

"Collins!" I cry, trying to snatch the lighter away from him, but he moves before I can get to it. "We can't just start a fire!" I protest.

This isn't like one of the crazy schemes Roger and Collins normally cook up, which results in the creation of a 100 foot extension cord, or even the firing of homemade fireworks off the roof- this was… well, dangerous. And not just to ourselves, but to the other people living in the building.

It was like, actually, dangerous.

I could see the two of them burning down the building because of this.

Accidentally, of course.

Apparently though, my concerns don't count for much as Collins points to the can and says, "Yeah. But we've got a garbage can."

I wait for something more substantial than 'we've got a garbage can' but nothing comes. "SO?!" I almost screech. My worries draw a grin from Roger and a laugh from Collins.

Yeah, I thought, they were definitely going to burn the building down this time.

"Look," Collins starts after catching his breath. I glare at him. "You want Roger to shut the hell up or not?"

"Yeah man," Roger pips up, "I can get pretty annoying."

And that's something I can't really argue with at the moment. "Yeah, but…" I look at their two faces, and wonder if what I say will actually matter to them. "I don't know…"

Ten minutes later I shred newspaper and wonder how the hell I manage to get myself into these kinds of situations.

Fifteen minutes later Collins and Roger disappear for something with more 'ompff'.

Twenty minutes after that Collins and Roger return with a small can of gasoline, giggling like maniacs.

Five minutes later I'm downstairs asking to call the fire department from the telephone of the nice-girl-who-must-have-just-moved-in, wondering once again, how the hell I managed to get myself into these situations.

- - - - -

Roger and Collins stand at my shoulders on the opposite side of the street, across from the cold. We're hunched against the cold because it's fucking freezing. I look up and watch the smoke that's currently snaking out from the open fire escape window.

"I told you this was a stupid idea," I mutter between them.

Collins and Roger nod along but Roger says, "But it was fucking cool," while Collins says,

"A little fire never hurt anyone," and I know that their hearts aren't really into agreeing with me.

I don't say anything because I'm honestly not sure if I'm mad at them or if I just find the entire thing a little bit funny.

"When do you suppose we can go back in?" Roger asks after a minute and I assume the question is directed to me, because I'm the one who called the fire department. This, in Roger-logic, means I have all the answers to all his fire related questions.

I shrug. "The fire people said that once the fire went out it would take a while for the smoke to air out. Once there's no smoke we can go back in without worrying about CO2 poisoning." Roger nods along like what I've just said is the most normal thing in the world to say; like its common sense. I drop down to the curb, shoving my hands deeply into my pockets, shivering and wondering why I chose to live like this. "You know, it was warmer in the loft than it is here," I muttered bitterly and Roger plops down next to me,

"Yeah, but now we know not to try and start first with cases of gasoline," he says optimistically.

I glare at him. "We knew that before Roger."

"Aw, lighten up Mark…" Collins grins at his own stupid pun, and I can't believe I understand it. He drops to the other side of me, "At least we didn't go up in flames."

I don't understand where their optimism comes from.

Apparently smoke pouring out of our loft wasn't cause for worry. "Roger almost lost his eyebrows and what little hair he has," I point out and Collins shrugs,

"Roger deserves to lose his hair for sticking his face over top of the can," he says, expressing that cynicism I'm looking for.

Roger tires to hit Collins and of course I get caught in the crossfire that ensues.

"Oh look, Maureen," Roger points out randomly. I uncover my head to see that Maureen's just turned the corner of the street and is heading to the front door of the building. She's holding a bag in her hands and fixing her hair with the other. Her lips are moving and I'm pretty sure she's mumbling to herself. The three of us stay silent while Maureen walks past us without so much as a first glance, opens the door and disappears into the stairwell.

"Think she'll be mad?" I ask. I watch the door and count down to when Maureen bursts back through it.

"Nah, why would she-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Maybe," Roger changes his answer quickly. The door to the building flies open and Maureen scans the street wildly before she spots us.

"You," she utters. It's the kind of forlorn uttering that is usually preceded by a serious ass kicking.

I can't help but squirm, and try to defend myself, "I didn't do anything!"

"Every time these morons come up with some godforsaken plan to do heavens knows what, you're always sitting there with them at the end of it with a burning building behind you saying, 'I didn't do anything!'. Grow a fucking backbone and actually don't do anything for once," Maureen screams. She continues on, but about halfway through the speech I realize that today I'm not in the mood for any Maureen bullshit. Roger and Collins have already worn me out enough.

"Mark!"

I sigh and Roger inches away from me. "Whatever Maureen," I say tiredly, "Quit being so dramatic and come sit with us."

I can see Collins eyes widen from my peripherals and Roger noticeably shifts away from me with a side-long look. Maureen glares at me for a couple more seconds but I don't cave and soon she's marching over to me. Roger winces and I know Collins is getting ready to pull a clawing Maureen off me; I finally start wondering if it's the greatest idea to be mouthing off to Maureen when she's in such an obviously bad mood, but to my complete surprise Maureen plops down on my lap.

A look at the space Roger has created between us by me is enough to set her off again. "You can fuck yourself tonight if you think I'm going to sit on the ground," she hisses before she crosses her arms and huddles into me, "It's fucking cold."

I timidly wrap my arms around Maureen's body, wondering how it was I'd escaped bodily harm. Between Roger and Collins' pyromania and Maureen's moodiness, it was a miracle I was still alive.

"You know," Roger says after returning to my side, "If we kept the window open in the first place, I don't think the smoke would build up so much."

"Yeah, but if the window's open it'd be even colder inside and the fire wouldn't be as effective."

"What the hell are you two goons talking about?" Maureen demands from where she's snuggled into my shoulder.

"Collins took a trash can off the street and we tried to build a fire in it," I explain and Collins looks at the smoke spilling out of the window thoughtfully,

"You know, there's no reason why we couldn't use it as a stove too…"

"Yeah," Roger agrees after a beat, "Like… a wood burning stove."

I groan and pull Maureen closer to me. "Help me," I whisper through her hair, into her ear and she smiles at me, kissing me sweetly.

"Just wait till tonight," she promises, and suddenly I have another reason for my cynicism of fires.

A/N: Leave a review!!! =)