It was the fall of 1989, exactly 1 week ago Roger's girlfriend, April, unexpectedly took her life. She slit her wrists in the bathroom after writing a note to Roger saying, "We've got AIDS."

Roger was the first one home, the first to see April sitting in a pool of her own blood. His only solution was to get high, to feel better, and to remove her from his mind. There was a full syringe on the sink just above her head. He sunk down to the floor, his belt wrapped around his arm, syringe in hand. April's cold and stiff body was lying between his legs.

Sweat and tears raced down his face, he was shaking, he wanted to face it but, he just couldn't. Sticking the needle into his arm, Roger sent the Heroine rushing through his veins, draining out his thoughts as the substance leaked into his mind.

1 week later

Mark stormed in, it was 10:00 PM, and he had spent his whole day fixing things for Maureen. Mark observed the small apartment that he and Roger shared, it was never a mess but, for some reason, today it was. The living room was a mess, April's clothes and balled up papers were strewn everywhere. The guitar that Roger played every day was buried under a layer of sheet music that had been scribbled on. On the table sat a piece of cardboard with traces of cocaine on it, one of the many things he wished Roger would give up. Out of all this mess, which was inevitably Roger's, there was no Roger to be found.

Mark shrugged it off, thinking maybe Roger had finally went back out. Suddenly, he heard a sort of whining coming out of the back bedroom. "Roger?" Mark called out, making his way to the back room. "Roger?" "Ro –" he started, stopping mid-sentence when he caught sight of Roger. Roger sat hunched over in the corner of the room, a full needle hovering over his arm, no belt or anything around it. Mark couldn't help but move in, the idea that his best friend was going to kill himself made him tremble. He just couldn't let him do that.

"Roger?" Mark coaxed, moving his towards Roger, "J – just. . . Stay away!" Roger demanded, hitting away Mark's hand, "Just let me die." He cried. Mark, speechless, rushed to Roger's side, one hand forcing Roger back against the wall, the other grabbing the syringe from Roger's trembling, sweaty hands. He carefully placed it on the dresser above them.

"Hey, hey, what the hell?" Mark asked, sweeping Roger's short hair off of his sweaty forehead. "I – I can't do this. I loved her, she. . . Just let me die!" Roger begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Roger." Mark said, placing both hands on Roger's shoulders, "Just let me die!" Roger screamed again, shoving Mark to the ground. Mark regained his balance just about as fast as he lost it, pushing Roger's back against the wall, "Listen to me!" Mark firmly demanded, "I know you loved her. . . God, I know but, you can't, you just can't."

Roger looked solemnly into Mark's eyes, his body still trembling, "Why? Why not? What good is this life without her? I loved her!" "I know!" Mark screamed in reply. "Then tell me, I'm dying anyways! Why the fuck should I wait?!" Roger spat, "Why?!" "Because, I love you too!" Mark screamed.

Roger looked up at Mark, who had him pressed against the wall, he didn't make a sound. The silence was becoming uncomfortable for Mark, he hadn't intended to say that, ever. Roger's body trembled beneath him, even Mark had begun to shake. Roger's eye were still and focused on his, they were soft and the same time, filled with both fear and shock.

Sinking back to the ground, Mark curled himself into a ball, breaking the silence with his sulking. He hadn't sulked in what felt like forever, he felt like he owed it to Roger, to stay strong, though now all of their friends were dying. Hot tears began to race down his cheeks.

Mark struggled to speak, his throat threatening to close up, "I'm so sorry, Roger. I know you loved her, I know, I can't believe she did this to you." More tears rolled down his face. "It's my fault. . . I let her do this to me!" Roger cried. Mark raised his head wiping his eyes, he crawled back to Roger, "No. No, no, it's not." Mark said softly, "You never could've expected this." His hand wiped away the sweat and tears from Roger's face, "Don't think that, not even for a minute." Roger's eyes closed, his head rested against Mark's hand, "I'm so scared."

Mark pulled Roger's face up to his, firmly placing his lips over Roger's. His nerves were on end, he'd never done this before (neither had Roger, to his knowledge) but, he was reassured when Roger's shaking hand made its way to his side, pulling him in closer, moving his hands down to his belt.

Mark started to undo it, Roger still kept one hand on Mark's chest, the other just under his chin, keeping steady as they kissed. Mark continued with is pants until he was left with boxers, his back was against the ground now, Roger on top. Mark began to wrestle with Roger's pants, slowly slipping them off. Roger's pants were barely below his waist when Mark felt a shove and then nothing. Roger had ran back to his corner where he sat, crouching, mumbling to himself. "Roger, what is it?" Mark asked, his hands moving to Roger's legs. Roger slapped his hands away, "No! Stop!" he cried, "We can't do this." Mark moved a hand to his face, "Yes we –" "No!" Roger yelled, "We can't, it will kill you! What I have will kill you!" He cried, tears rolled down his face.

Mark took both of Roger's hands in his, pulling him up to his feet. "What are –" Roger started, as Mark guided him to the bed. Mark crouched down to level with Roger, "I don't care." he said. With that, he finished the process of taking Roger's pants off. Roger didn't even so much as flinch.

Mark pushed Roger down on his back, placing himself on top, he began kissing Roger from the chest up. Roger's heart raced but, his breathing stayed steady, giving Mark reassurance that it was okay to continue. It wasn't until his lips rested on Roger's that he felt him move beneath him, his hands crawling under Mark's shirt, sliding it off of him. Mark continued to kiss Roger as his hands found Roger's boxers, Roger followed until there was nothing left besides some sheets lying on the bed.

The passion flowed through them, their bodies seemingly became one. The fire was there, and it was burning like it never has before as Mark fitted himself into Roger. The world around them fell away, no sirens or arguing, as if the world was flowing with them.

Roger's silent refrains had Mark at an ease he had never known before, he kissed every part of Roger's body, and he gladly returned the act when the opportunity came. Mark kissed the back of Roger's neck, their bodies growing hard against each other. Every time Mark pulled out, Roger found himself pulling in closer. The passion growing, the kissing intensifying.

An hour passed, and what seemed steady and calm took a dramatic turn as Roger's body began its violent shaking again. Almost as if the effects of withdrawal and loss had hit him once again. Tears flowed once more as he lost control over his long, lanky body. He found himself pushing Mark away, reaching for the syringe laying on his dresser but, he was wrapped up in Mark's arms. He struggled to break free, he needed it, and all of this would stop if he could have it. Mark refused to let go, tightening his grip around Roger.

Roger gave up, letting the tears pour, as his body shook. In the protection of Mark, he buried his face into the arm that was wrapped around his chest, the other rested in his hair as Mark comforted him silently. "I – I can't. . . I –" Roger struggled, "Shhh, it'll pass, this will pass." Pulling Roger in closer.

A while passed, Roger tried to make words but found it impossible with the shaking, Mark still held on, crying his silent tears. "I'm sorry. . ." Roger said, "I know, I know." Mark replied, kissing Roger's forehead, "It's okay." He whispered.

Another moment passed, Roger continued to shake, "I – I. . . Love you" Roger said, his eyes began to close. Tears streaked down Mark's cheeks, "I love you too, Roger. I love you so much." Roger cries began to take on a whimpering sound, pouring even harder. Mark pulled him in close, making him as still as possible, his heart was racing. "You have to stop this," Mark said, "You have to get help."

Although it was silent, Roger's mind was running wild, just being told he needed help by Mark, the words were ringing in his ears. He knew he needed help, he was desperate, and this night had put it all into prospective for him. The compassion Mark had shown and was still showing played on in his mind, and in the darkness, his naked body against Mark's, he whispered, "Okay."