Those of you who follow me on twitter know that I'm fully aware that I'm bad at writing the two key elements in this. This knowledge should have stopped me from posting. Apparently, it didn't.

Mark sits on the edge of the metal table in the loft. He's facing out towards the fridge and make-shift kitchen area and away from the majority of the loft. More specifically, he's facing away from Roger. They're in the midst of one of their fights, by far their worst in a while. It would easily be the worst, except no one's stormed out and Roger hasn't shot up with heroin and/or broken any of their belongings. They're on opposite sides of the main room in the loft neither looking at each other. Mark glances back towards Roger who's staring at the floor, and he wants to say something, make things right, but he just can't work up the courage. And he hates himself for it, it is Roger after all, and he shouldn't be afraid of Roger. It's not part of a healthy relationship. Then again, he's not really sure if what they have can be considered a relationship anymore. Not if they can't even look at each other.

Outside the loft, sirens wail down Avenue B. This is in no way unusual, and the boys don't let it disturb their silence. Then shouts start accompanying the sirens. Up in the loft, Mark and Roger remain in their own separate miseries. Then the loud shouting world down on the streets and the quiet brooding world in the loft are connected by a single shot from a gun that pierces the loft's wall.

Both Mark and Roger turned at the sound, staring at the hole left in the wall and the smoking bullet halfway lodged into the opposite wall. Another shot follows, whizzing by Mark's head.

Mark winces in surprise and jerks backwards, losing his balance and falling off the table with a painful thump accompanied with a yelp.

Roger stands up and takes a couple steps towards Mark, a reflex to the other's pain, before he remembers that they're fighting and stops, standing awkwardly still.

Then a third bullet comes into their loft, bringing with it a whole barrage of gunfire. Mark curls in on himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and covering is ears with his hands. As if becoming small, deaf, and blind will make it all go away.

Roger falls back into a chair, doubling over and covering his head with his hand and arms. As if doing so will keep him safe.

Mark can feel various bits of debris hitting his body and he adds his own quiet scream to the din coming from the street below.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it's over.

Cautiously Mark opens his eyes and uncurls his body, letting his hands fall slowly back to his side. It's now that he realizes that he shaking. He's completely terrified, never before has he been so close to death, practically feeling it as bullets and bits of their loft flew by his head. Slowly he realizes that this must be how Roger feels when he gets into his depressed moods, the choking feeling of seeing death right before you, ready and just waiting to kick your ass. He understands now. Dimly he surveys the loft, seeing it all as a film. Zoom in on that hole in the wall. Cut to the rest of the holes, quick snapshots of each. Pan to the couch, what little stuffing it possesses floating out of the bullet holes. Zoom out to the table in front of it, the left out beer bottles dripping their contents to the floor. Close on the shattered window. Cut to the full room, the surroundings finally reflecting the absolute destruction of its tenants. Mark finally makes eye contact with Roger, who's standing up again and taking a few more steps towards the middle of the room.

In the hallways of their building and the streets outside mass hysteria reigns. The various cries of pain, and panic, and despair, and anger are ignored by both boys, communicating silently with their eyes.

Mark stands slowly and grabs the ringing phone from beside him. He can't understand anything on the other line; it's just a whole bunch of loud noise and static. Then another gunshot rings out, both on the phone and outside and Mark starts shaking again, dropping the phone on the floor with a clatter that goes unheard in the commotion. Taking a deep breath as he meets the look in Roger's eyes Mark stops his shaking and marches bravely to the center of the room. Roger does the same.

Bullets fly around them, bringing bits of plaster, stuffing and glass with it. It's all ignored by the two boys who stand in the midst of it, rediscovering themselves, rediscovering each other, and rediscovering their love. It's funny how absolutely the certainty of death can change priorities. The light behind Mark explodes, but he hardly notices, Roger and him have met in the middle. Mark raises his arms to wrap them around Roger's neck as Roger moves his arms around Mark's waist, holding him close. They have this move perfectly choreographed. Roger plays with the hem of Mark shirt, traveling up and down Mark's sides. Mark's hand retraces Roger's face, moving up and down from his face to his chest. Their roaming hands are trying to sooth as they try to apologize and memorize each other again. In that moment everything else ceases to matter, HIV and AIDS and illness, gunfire and death all of it. None of that matters as Roger and leans forward and Mark responds, lips meeting in a kiss. Roger is the only significant thing is Mark's world, his lips violent and passionate against his own, Roger's hands roaming and sprawling over his back, the bits of Roger's hair that Mark's able to grab in his hands and their bodies melt together. It's not a chaste kiss, not a soft, loving kiss that says I love you. It's a rough, passionate kiss that says I need you. Suddenly they can't get enough of each other, and the kiss becomes sloppier their heads turning at no apparent cue, tongues and teeth and lips and spit all clashing together. In the background bullets rip apart their home, but nothing else matters except Roger's body heat on his body and despite everything it's probably one of the most beautiful moments of Mark's life. The kiss ends sweetly, the two pulling just their lips apart and returning to a more natural position in holding each other, but all the emotions of the kiss linger on their lips.

Mark simply stares in Roger's eyes, pleading for forgiveness and trying to tell him that he understands.

Roger stares back, trying to apologize for always being an asshole and trying to say that he is more grateful than Mark will ever know.

Mark knows. And Roger understands. And that's all they need, sharing another brief yet passionate kiss as the last bullets settle into walls. They communicate silently again, just breathing in the other's scent as the outside world tries to settle down. Cold air and panic wafts in from the new holes, but Mark and Roger are warm and calm. Roger rests his forehead against Mark's, and that how he knows that everything is going to be alright.

The world is a film again, zoom out to the wrecked loft, and fade slowly to black with the lovers safe and secure in the center.

Like, I said, totally and completely based off Green Day's video for their song 21 Guns. Also, comments on the characterization would be nice, as I'm pretty sure it's dowright awful.