-1Mark, all burning glares, heavy hands and deep breathing, could think of nothing but the audacity of his best friend at that moment. Up against the cracked plaster wall of their loft, Mark pushed Roger's back against the cool cement with a free hand. His other had Roger's needle-clenched fist pinned above his head. With a knee in Roger's stomach, he clenched his teeth, blue eyes swimming with fear and anger rolling off of him in waves.
"How DARE you, Roger?" Mark hissed, his face moving closer to Roger's, a deep burning feeling of disappointment festering in his chest. Roger, teeth grinding together, trembled beneath his hands, body shaking violently with withdrawal. Roger's angry gaze, which had been burning into his own for the past few moments, faded into one of defeat, and he fell limp against Mark's grip, body racking with silent sobs.
Mark, feeling the tightening in his chest grow weaker, pushed his forehead against Roger's damp one and with a swift push, knocked Roger's fist into the wall. With a weak cry, Roger's grip loosened and the needle hit the floor with a sharp 'click'.
"I leave you for only a few minutes," Mark whispered, allowing Roger to slide to the floor, back to the wall. Kicking the needle clear across the room, Mark slid down next to him, allowing his head to fall into his hands.
Still whimpering, Roger grabbed at his hair, "I'm sorry, Mark."
Mark sat in silence for a moment, recollecting how many times he'd heard just those words over the past few months. He'd thought these relapses had been coming to an end - he believed it. He believed it so much that he had trusted Roger to be alone in the loft for just over an hour so he could go get some groceries.
He shouldn't've believed.
Upon walking into their home, his eyes had immediately fallen on Roger, rubber band wound tightly on his arm, right hand poised over his veins as he had sobbed in defeat. Mark had pretty much ran across the room, tackling his best friend to the ground. It ultimately resulted in Mark pinning him to the wall, an anger he'd never felt before welling up in his body so forcefully that he didn't even feel like himself. He was looking at his best friend but was only really seeing a stranger - a man who felt like the only thing he needed was the faux happiness that only drugs can provide. Roger didn't fight him, and if he ever did, would certainly never lose. Roger didn't need this, he was such a strong person.
Roger didn't cry. But this? This wasn't Roger, not anymore.
The sudden force of Roger wrapping his arms around him pulled Mark back into reality, and he let Roger hug him silently, leaving his own hands to continue covering his face.
"I'm so sorry, Mark," Roger begged.
Mark didn't even recognize him. Not this Roger, not this dependent man holding onto him so tightly. Mark wanted pre-drugs Roger back.
Wanted pre-April Roger back.
And even though it was a terrible thing, and the thought never crossed his mind, not ever again - simply because it wasn't fair…
Just for that one moment, as Roger cried against him and Mark mourned the loss of the man he used to call his brother - Mark hated April. He hated April for getting him into drugs, for killing herself and leaving Roger with the reality that he'd lost the love of his life and his notion of growing old , for stealing the old Roger away.
Because at that moment, Mark realized he didn't recognize his best friend, not anymore, and he'd never get him back, not completely.