Summary: Roger is inspired by the rain. M/R FRIENDSHIP.
When it Rains
The thunder is what wakes me up in the first place, which is weird because I've always been a heavy sleeper. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, listening to the rain pound against the roof. It's cool in my room, which is a nice change from waking up drenched in sweat and thinking I'm dying of heat stroke. I glance at the clock and groan when I see that it's only eight. I hear Mark puttering around in the kitchen and, knowing I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep, I roll out of bed and make my way out into the loft.
Mark is making coffee, humming quietly to himself. I plop down at the table and watch him for a moment, grinning as he starts swinging his hips to whatever tune he's singing.
"Dude, is that Barbie Girl?" I ask. He yelps and jumps a foot in the air, nearly spilling the coffee. He catches himself and turns bright red.
"Morning Roger," he says casually.
"You know, that playing it cool thing would work if you hadn't screamed like a little girl," I told him, laughing. He scowls at me.
"You startled me."
"Yeah, sure. Sorry." I laugh again. He hands me a cup of coffee and sits down across from me. We're silent for a few minutes. Neither of us are really morning people, so breakfast is usually a silent affair, has been ever since Collins went off to MIT.
"It's raining," he announces suddenly.
"Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you, Captain Obvious," I say sarcastically, but smirk to let him know I'm kidding. He makes a face at me. We are silent again for about thirty seconds before I announce, "I'm going to write a song today."
He looks at me in surprise. "You are?" he asks.
I give him a sour look. "You sound amazed," I tell him dryly.
"Well, it's just that you don't normally…I mean, it usually takes…I mean, uh…" he stammers, trying to backpedal. I let him squirm for a few seconds.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say, getting up from the table and picking up my Fender. I sit on the window sill and run my fingers lovingly over the strings. Then I begin picking out various notes, not really playing anything in particular.
Mark lets me play for a few minutes before speaking. "What are you writing about?"
"You," I reply without looking up.
"Me?" He sounds confused. "What about me?"
I give him a wicked smile over my shoulder. "Oh, you'll see."
He approaches me an hour later. "Are you finished yet?"
"Nope," I reply, looking up at him. I can tell he's curious and frustrated at my lack of helpfulness.
"Well let me know when you're finished. I want to hear it."
"Will do, Marky." I strum a few chords and then set my guitar down. "I'm going out to the roof," I inform him. He looks at me like I'm crazy.
"Roger, it's raining," he says. I roll my eyes.
"Yes, Mark, good job. You say that as if it hasn't been raining for the past three hours or something." Thunder rumbles, and I grin. "You coming?"
"Actually, I'd prefer to not die," he tells me. "Have fun."
"Oh, I will." I climb out the window and up the fire escape to the roof, nearly falling twice because the metal is slippery.
I'm drenched by the time I make it to the roof, which is saying something since I only had to climb about five feet. I sit on an overturned crate, letting the rain soak through my clothes. I've always loved the rain, ever since I was a kid. I used to climb onto the roof of my apartment building during storms and sit there for hours, just letting the rain wash away all of my problems.
I hear footsteps behind me and know that Mark has joined me without even having to turn around. He's always worrying. Heaven forbid I should get struck by lightning or something without him around to cry about it. I smile affectionately at him as he sits on the ground next to me.
"Knew you couldn't resist," I tell him. He grimaces and tries in vain to wipe the rain from his face.
"We're getting soaking wet sitting up here," he informs me unnecessarily. "You'll get sick."
"You sound like my mother," I grumble. "Shut up and enjoy yourself for once. Let's dance."
"What?" he asks in shock as I leap to my feet. I grab his hands and haul him up.
"Let's dance," I repeat. "Come on, Marky, haven't you ever wanted to dance in the rain?"
"Um, no," he said uncertainly. He yelps in surprise as I spin him in a circle.
"And there's that girly noise again," I tease him. He yanks his hands out of mine and places them on his hips.
"Roger, get inside, now," he tells me sternly. I pause for a moment, staring at him, before bursting out laughing and spinning around. He watches me helplessly as I leap in a circle around him. "You look like a ballerina," he says, smiling slightly. I stick my tongue out at him and spin around again, my arms outstretched.
"Marky, aren't you the one that's always telling me that I need to live my life to it's fullest? To stop moping and have some fun?"
"Well, yes," he admits reluctantly. "But not if it's going to get you sick. Roger, you're dancing around in the rain like a crazy person. Get inside before you catch a cold."
"But the rain inspires me!" I protest. "Want to hear my song?"
"I thought you weren't finished yet."
"Do you want to hear what I've written or not?" I ask, pretending to pout.
He sighs. "Fine. Go."
I spin in another circle, singing loudly. "Marky is my friend, he says he is a boy. But I disagree; I think he is a girl. He makes funny noises, and he likes to cook!"
He's laughing despite himself. "You jerk, that's the tune to Barbie Girl!" he says.
"So you didn't write it, idiot, you just stole the tune and made up your own lyrics. Lyrics which suck, by the way."
I pretend to be offended. "My lyrics do not suck!"
"Roger, a two year old could have written a better song than that!"
"You know what, Mark, you just don't appreciate good music, okay?" I grab his hands again and skip around the roof, dragging him with me. This time he lets me, laughing and shaking his head.
"You're right, you're right," he tells me, humoring me. "How about you go inside and write more of that wonderful song. I'd love to hear it."
"Liar," I say fondly. "Let's go to the Life."
"Roger, we're dripping wet. And we don't have money."
"Mark, you suck the fun out of everything, you know that? Fine. Let's go back inside and I'll cook us up a feast." I head back down the fire escape and crawl in the window. He follows me.
"Great. I'll alert the fire department."
"Shut up!" He picks up his camera and trains it on me. "Mark, put that damn thing away."
"I don't think so." He grins at me. "I'm going to make a new documentary. When Idiots try to Cook. The rain inspires me too."