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A/N: A million thanks to all my reviewers! I was dancing with joy when I saw all your wonderful reviews. They really made my day! Thank you so much! Enjoy the next chapt!
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Mark awoke to the sound of silence the following morning.
Silence and white.
His eyebrows rose even before his eyelids, wondering why the bed felt so unreasonably cold. His hand soon followed his eyes when he realized that Roger was oddly absent from the warm blankets of their bed.
That explained the silence, he thought as he groped the air for his glasses on the stool he used as a table next to his bed. But why was there so much white? And why was Roger…ah, that's better…awake at…9 am already?
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he took a quick look out the small window in his room. Pale white light streamed through the tattered curtains, erasing the room of color until only a watery color remained.
Another snow, he thought miserably, now taking extra care to not let any warmth escape through the seams of his blankets. It would probably be the warmest he would get today and not having Roger anywhere nearby seemed to make it colder.
"Roger?" His voice was hoarse from sleep. He coughed. "Roger?"
There was no answer. Silence filled the loft as aggressive as the snow's light. Sighing, Mark flipped out of bed; keeping one blanket firmly wrapped around his body as he made his way across the cold wood into the living room.
"Roger? Are you here?" Nope. Just a missing leather jacket and empty coffee cup on the table gave him the answer he needed. Damn him, he thought casting a worried glance outside to the white city. He's a fuckin' idiot to go out in this cold. Especially today. I swear, I'll kill him before the snow does if he doesn't come back.
Heaving a great, foggy sigh, Mark wandered over to the coffee pot to heat up the dregs of Roger's coffee, thankful to see a good amount still left. As he reached onto the cabinet, he noticed a yellow post-it note sticking on the rim. His heart immediately warmed as pulled a note that had been sloppily placed.
6 AM Eastern Standard Time
My Swooning Choir Boy—
I went out so don't go crazy on me when I come home. I'll be back as soon as I can.
Mark's eyebrows shot up. Six o'clock? In the morning? Was Roger even aware that there was such a time in the world? His lips curved into a smile as he read the last line.
I'm looking forward to today.
Love,
Roger.
Still grinning, Mark folded the letter and placed it on the counter, just about to pour the warmed coffee into his kettle when he realized—wait!
He frantically unfolded the note to check the time again. 6 am? That means he had been gone for 3 hours already. He glanced out the window and then to the door as if expecting Roger to come in at any moment. The knob did not move. He said he would be home soon…
Okay breathe, Mark, he told himself sternly. He's probably on his way home right with what ever the hell he got and the snow slowed him down. It's hard walking through the snow. It's happens all the time, right?
Yet, Mark was not reassured at all. He went over to the window, wiping away some condensation and peered up and down the road but all he could see was white. White, white, white. On the railing, on the balcony, on the street, on top of cars, hell, even in the cracks of the window; it was everywhere along with that biting cold.
I'll give him time, he thought. A few minutes and he'll be waltzing through that door with a silly smile saying I worry too much for my health and then life will go on…
To busy himself meanwhile he would make some coffee, scavenger for some firewood, take out Roger's gift from his hidden spot…even though he had a strong inkling that Roger had not even looked for it because he had probably forgotten that it was their day. He rolled his eyes. Typical Roger.
1 Hour Later
Okay, this is just fuckin' mad.
Mark coiled his old stripped scarf around his neck one last time, pulling on the ends to wrap in every last bit of warmth he could. He wore every warm shirt he had along with one of Roger's large coats that had a lighter and a pack of cigarettes in the pockets. He took the pack out and threw it in the trashcan.
"Sorry, Roger," he said grimly. "But you should hide these things better if you don't want me finding them."
He kept the lighter for safety. The power might go out again as it had been all winter and they would be doomed without any light from candles against the long nights.
He went to scribble down a note on the other side of Roger's when a sharp knock at the door made him start and nearly crack the pencil in half. Roger?
Nearly flying to the door, he flung it open but only to meet the smiling face of a rather cold Mimi. His heart fell but he returned the smile, beckoning her in with a gloved hand.
"Hi, Mark," she said in a tone too bright for this kind of weather but infectious nonetheless "Merry Christmas eve Eve!"
"Same to you," he answered with a half-hearted chuckle, looking down at a brown bag she held in her thin hands. She looked just as cold as he did. "What's in the bag?"
She walked in, heels clicking a steady rhythm on the wood floor and placed the bag on their ancient metal table. Her large chocolate eyes gazed around the loft curiously. "Is Roger here?"
"No," Mark answered as his heart sank lower. "He went out but I was about to go out to look for him."
"He's out there?" Mimi asked, eyes now wide with worry as she looked outside. "What the fuck is he thinking? It's gotta be below zero by now!"
"I know, I know, I know." Mark ran a shaky hand through his hair. "That's why I have to go out and find him."
"Oh, no way, Mark. You are not going out there. You're freezing in here even now." She strode over to him and placed an icy hand on his skin. He winced and flew back from her touch. She nodded deeply. "See, my hands are freezing and your face feels even colder than them."
"Mimi, what about Roger? What if something happened to him and he can't get home?" He paused and added softly. "What if he gets sick?"
Mimi sighed and nodded solemnly. Ever since she and Roger had broken up a year and a half ago, they remained good friends; Roger acted like the older, protective brother of Mimi who likewise became his loyal younger sister. The three of them had grown into their roles over the past year and remained as tightly as ever. Mark knew he could depend on Mimi with anything. She had been off the drugs for nearly half a year.
"When did he leave?"
"About four hours ago." The corners of Mimi's lips lifted slightly.
"Roger doesn't wake that early often, does he?" Mark shook his head.
"That's what I thought."
"I'll help you look for him, Mark. We'll cover more distance if we separate anyways and I don't him out there anymore than you do." She smiled her eyes aglow with so much compassion and love that Mark had to smile back. Roger (and he) were lucky to have such loyal friends.
"Thanks, Mimi," he breathed as she began to walk out the door. He went to the table to grab his key when he saw Mimi's brown bag next to it. Curiosity got the better of him as he moved to peer inside.
"Wait, Mark!" Heels clicked again and a hand just as brown as the bag crumbled the top tightly. "It's a surprise for you and Roger. Don't think I forgot what today was."
Mark started, glancing up. How…?
"Because unlike, Roger, whom we both know completely forgot, I write things down." She chuckled and walked back to the door. "So let's find this bastard and give him a good talk, how's that?"
Mark chuckled. "Will do."
Fuck, Roger Davis, he thought as a gust of wind ripped through his too-thin clothes as he made his way down the soggy streets. What I do for love.
TBC…
