Hey. So yeah, I haven't written anything in a long time, so I'm kind of getting back into the hang of things. So if you've got any constructive criticism, and I mean constructive, and not a flame or just miniscule spelling errors, I'd appreciate the help.

So yeah, I haven't decided if this is slash or not yet. So, review and tell me what you want it to be. Reviews are greatly appreciated!

…

It had gotten bad.

The glass window door had opened, and a very confused Benny had peered out with a perplexed, "Roger?"

It had gotten very bad.

Roger's hand immediately dropped from where he had been knocking on the door. "Benny, um…"

What else could he do but swallow his pride? It couldn't go on anymore.

"Listen, Benny…" It killed Roger to do this. He hated his ex-roommate with a passion. But he had nowhere else to turn. And it had gotten bad.

…

"Mark, what are you doing in there?"

He could hear Mark's gasping breath, choking on something, sputtering and coughing. He heard the toilet flush.

"Mark?"

A few seconds later, his roommate, his skin the color of starched white sheets, tumbled unsteadily out of the bathroom. "I'm fine."

"Mark…" Roger tried again, following his best friend until they got to the door of his room.

"I'm fine." The door was shut, and Roger had been locked out of Mark's life. Again.

…

"Mark's sick. Really sick, and uh, well…we don't have any food left, and he can't go back to work, and Collins is away…" Roger tried to explain hurriedly, his words rushing together. Benny motioned for him to come inside, and closed the door behind him. Roger took in the plush carpeting in the hall, and the expensive looking paintings on the walls with resentment. "We need help."

Benny nodded his head. "What's wrong with him?" Benny had always gotten along better with Mark then Roger ever had with their ex-roommate. Roger had always resented this fact.

"He, uh," Roger searched for the right words. He had never been good at putting things into words in real life; only in song. "He hasn't eaten anything in…well, in a long time. He kept, uh, y'know, throwing up and stuff and he'd always lie and say that he's eaten just to make me eat…"

Roger watched as Benny's face filled with concern, which the older man immediately tried to mask. "Does he need to go to the clinic? How bad is it?"

Roger shook his head; "I tried to get him to go to the clinic already. But we didn't have any money, and he kept saying that he was fine. Maureen and Joanne tried to get him to go too, but he wouldn't. They ended up just giving us some money, which he went out and spent on AZT for me and a box of Captain Crunch, which he didn't even touch except to pour me a bowl."

Benny looked thoughtful for a moment, "Can I come see him?"

Roger obviously had never considered that Benny might want this, and stared at the man with a slightly flabbergasted expression, "Uh, why?"

"Because even though the rest of you might hate me, Mark never could." Benny replied, putting a hand on Roger's shoulder, which he quickly shrugged off. "I want to see how bad he is. Maybe I can convince him to go to the clinic."

Roger mumbled something which sounded like, 'I doubt it', but shook his head again and said, "It'd be better if you just maybe, um, gave us some money for food…"

Roger had no idea why he was denying Benny the chance to see his friend. He could feel a surge of jealousy and protectiveness coursing through him, Mark wasn't Benny's to take care of; he was Roger's.

Now it was Benny's turn to shake his head in confusion, "Roger, I really want to see him."

The musician sighed, running his hands through his curly blonde hair. "Okay, just…fine, let's go." He walked quickly out the door, followed by Benny who had grabbed the keys to his Rover and locked the door behind him.

…

Roger watched as his best friend leaned over the coffee to plug in the hot plate. The bones in his spine were seen easily though his thin t-shirt, which they had dug out of a children's clothing bin outside the Salvation Army. He watched as Mark straightened back up, his skinny arms pouring the coffee into a mug and holding it out to Roger.

"You're not eating?" Roger asked as Mark pushed a bowl of Captain Crunch towards him, setting only a cup of tea in front of himself.

Mark's cheeks took on a tinge of pink; a strange quirk that he had that always gave away when he was lying. "I already ate before I made you coffee."

Roger had no choice; it seemed, but to pretend to believe him.

…

The ride to the loft was silent and uncomfortable, punctuated only by questions such as, "so when did this start?" answered by, "awhile ago" and a heartfelt "thanks for turning the heat back on", replied back with a "it was getting cold."

The vehicle seemed stifling to Roger, the seatbelt felt like it was crushing him, and the heat pouring out of the vents was becoming too hot. It had been a long time since he had been in a vehicle where he was required to wear a seatbelt, and it only added to his sensation of complete awkwardness. He was only too happy when his apartment building came into view, and he almost jumped out before the vehicle even came to a stop.

"Home sweet home." Benny mumbled sarcastically as he looked up at the building, most of the windows having been smashed into and covered with plastic and garbage bags, and a homeless man sleeping on a pile of newspaper beside the front door.

Roger just eyed the older man warily, grumbling in response as Benny held the door to the stairs open for him. "Yeah, whatever."

…