Disclaimer: I don't own.
A/N: Thanks to those who give feedback! You're my inspiration!
P.S. This is Mark/Roger slash. Sort of.
Cold cold cold and he wishes the heat would just magically click back on, because the sweater he has on is too old and hole-y and worn, and his scarf isn't enough, not tonight. Across the room, a bang echoes to his ears, his head whipping just in time to watch the Strata-Fender hit the opposite wall of the corner with a resounding clang of mismatched notes and dying agony. He wonders if it was symbolic, the falling of the guitar from its' corner perch a symbol for the collapsing of...something. Of his life, maybe. Or his friends' lives. Or of love.
But for now, he can't think about what it symbolizes, because he's cold and he can see his breath and he's curled himself into the tiniest ball he could manage, knees and elbows tucked into corners of his own body, trying to trap body heat. In his head, behind closed eyes, he can hear Roger's voice as he moves about the loft, rough and warm. He can sense the footsteps, the presence coming closer, the arms as they close around him. The warmth of the body as Roger tucks up against and around him, loosening the tiny ball he'd melted himself into and slipping his arms and legs through and against his own, body against body, heartbeat against heartbeat, and he's not alone.
Roger would tuck his face into his shoulder, breathe deeply into his neck, kiss the soft skin there. Whisper about his day, the band, about how Benny was a fucking dick for turning the heat off. And Mark? He'd warm, from head to toe, from more than the body heat. He would slip a cold hand under Roger's shirt and press it to his back, laughing when the guitarist shrieked. Would kiss the shriek right from Roger's mouth, press his head against his chest.
But with an opening of eyes and a second bang, this time of the Fender hitting the ground, he's cold again. He's frozen again. He's alone again.
The notes ring out, echoing echoing, haunting him - a symbol of a collapsing man who's lost quite a bit in his life.
He pressed his forehead to his knees, breathing in the cold air, tucking his limbs into themselves, hands under his arms, in between his thighs, and he chokes the tears down, because he's afraid they might freeze him in that spot forever, a block of cold ice, left alone in a forgotten memory.