Mark bent over his camera, engrossed in his work. Roger sat... somewhere, doing something. He wasn't actually paying much attention. He was busy, working on patching together a new film about people with mental illness.

He heard humming from behind him. Now, living with Roger, you get used to noise. But Roger didn't usually hum. He sang, or played, or hell, even screamed. But he never did anything as soft and dainty as humming. So consequently, Mark found he just could not ignore the new sound. Finally, he turned around, irritated, to face his roomate.

"Do you mind!"

Roger stared at him with round eyes, "What?"

"That humming. Could you please stop?"

"But I'm writing a song."

"Well, could you write it somewhere else?"


Now Mark was starting to get really frustrated, "Why the hell not?"

"Because my inspiration's in here."

"Then take it with you!"

A pause, and then, "Mark, would you like to retire to the bedroom with me?"


Roger rolled his eyes, "I'm writing a song about you, duh."

Mark was incredulous, "Oh. Since when?"

His friend just shrugged, "Since just now. I was watching you, and a couple verses just popped into my head."

Now Mark was interested. Rog was writing a song about him? But he wasn't anything special, certainly nothing poetic enough to spark a song, "Well, okay then, let's here it."

"I guess. But I still haven't gotten the tune down. and it's only a couple lines."

"That's okay. I want to hear it."

"Alright," and with that, Roger began to sing softly.

He tries to capture passion,

Beauty, laughter and romance.

He studies all the moves,

But will never learn to dance.

"That's all I've got right now, but I was playing around with something having to do with windows."

Mark was silent for a moment, then he spoke, "That was... well, honestly? It was kind of depressing. Is that really how you see me?"

It seemed only then that Roger realized his mistake. He sat down besides Mark, "No, no no! It just.. came to me, you know. It... I mean..." He was floundering, and Mark regretted having said anything. Now the guitarist was uncomfortable, and it was his fault. He sighed.

"Never mind. It's nice. I thought it flowed nicely, and they're a clever bunch of lines. It's really good. Keep with it."

Roger smiled, and Mark inwardly sighed. If even Roger, master of his own inner turnoil and self-absorbed brooding, can see that something's wrong, he obviously haven't been doing a good enough job at hiding. He'd have to work harder on that.