(no subject)
It's a long while before Roger can summon up the guts to head out. In that time, he's written twos ongs (both about Mark and him in some way, which is kind of sickening) and has started a third (also about him). Roger recognizes the signs of obessession, and he doesn't want to fall into this. He can't. He can't for himself and for Mark and for Maureen. Gah. Maureen makes his stomach curl. He pauses to allow himself to settle and puts his guitar and his pencil and his notebook down and closes it all, because he does not want Mark to be looking in it. No, he does not.
He gathers his boots and his coat and his everything and leaves a note to Mark about unfinished business before heading out. He hops the subway turnstyle and sits on the subway, heading down to Tom's loft. He's sitting there and wandering what the fuck he's going to say to anyone who's there, something like 'sorry I sent your bassist to the ICU, can I borrow your credit card?' And that just makes him feel sick, because not even he's not that much of an ass. He takes the band's Fender with him, because he's not that stupid, either. So the subway ends up at his stop and he still has no idea what to say or do, and if Tom opens the door and he gets slugged, then he probaly deserves it. But Roger knows he'd do the same thing over again, if Tom said what he said again.
Down the street. His stomach is twisting again, and he hits the buzzer. The door opens and he heads inside up towards the loft. He knocks on the door and takes a deep breath.
An eye through the peephole, and then the door opens.
"What the hell you doin' here, Davis?" It's Jay, and he doesn't sound too pissed. Roger breathes a silent sign of relief.
"Oh, uh, um..." His fingers between to fidget in his pockets. Jay lifts an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side.
"I'm home alone at the moment. Tom is out eating dinner with some girl, and Alex is shopping for something. I don't know. He mentioned something about FAO Swartz. He's probaly getting stoned. Well, do you wanna just stand in the fucking doorway? Might as well sit your ass down."
Roger smiles awkwardly and sits down in the chair. Jay sprawls on the couch. "So, what brought you around with the threats of death hanging around? How's your neck? Nice hair cut."
"Thanks." He mumbles. "They had to cut it short to do the stitches." He shows them to Jay, who winces. "so I just left it like this. How's Tom?"
"Nothing a little cosmetic surgery won't fix." Jay grins to show it's a joke.
"You're not pissed at me?" Roger asks, incredously.
"Oh, you're damn right I'm pissed at you, but I'm just holding that grudge - oh, gimme the Strat. Tom wants it."
Roger hands it over with a sigh. He runs his fingers down the smooth plastic one last time - god, that's a gorgeous work of art right there. Shame he's gotta left it go. He'll miss that guitar. Jay takes it and puts it to the side. "You just here to pick up your shit? It's still all where you left it. Tom said he's gonna return it - I think he means set it on fire - soon though, so I suggest you take that instead."
"Yeah, that's part of the reason I came here."
"And something tells me that one part isn't giving back this gorgeous guitar." He grins. "But now I get to have it, so thanks."
"Ass." Roger replies with a little grin of his own. Jay laughs. But the laughter dies down, and Roger is left with the silence of his own head. "Okay..." He begins, and Jay looks at him. "Well, New Years is Mark's birthday, and I got him a trip to the hospital and a smash into the wall for it."
"You want my money." Jay says, and begins laughing hysterically. Roger frowns at him, and feels a flush spreading on his face. He doesn't know why the fuck Jay is laughing at him.
"Hey, stop it!" He growls, and Jay just looks up at him, slips out his wallet, and hands Roger his Amex. "Don't go too fucking crazy, alright? Keep it below five hundred."
"There is no way I can possibly fucking thank you for this, Jay. Especially after what I did to Tom."
"It's fine. Well, okay, it's not fine. But seriously? It's fine."
"Just shut up before you dig yourself a hole you can't get out of."
"Get the hell out of my house, boho." But he says it with a grin. "And don't spend too much, okay?"
Roger rolls his eyes and goes to shove his clothes into a duffel bag he brought along. He slugs it over his shoulder in place of the guitar and heads out.
"I'll be back with your card."
"You better."
He gathers his boots and his coat and his everything and leaves a note to Mark about unfinished business before heading out. He hops the subway turnstyle and sits on the subway, heading down to Tom's loft. He's sitting there and wandering what the fuck he's going to say to anyone who's there, something like 'sorry I sent your bassist to the ICU, can I borrow your credit card?' And that just makes him feel sick, because not even he's not that much of an ass. He takes the band's Fender with him, because he's not that stupid, either. So the subway ends up at his stop and he still has no idea what to say or do, and if Tom opens the door and he gets slugged, then he probaly deserves it. But Roger knows he'd do the same thing over again, if Tom said what he said again.
Down the street. His stomach is twisting again, and he hits the buzzer. The door opens and he heads inside up towards the loft. He knocks on the door and takes a deep breath.
An eye through the peephole, and then the door opens.
"What the hell you doin' here, Davis?" It's Jay, and he doesn't sound too pissed. Roger breathes a silent sign of relief.
"Oh, uh, um..." His fingers between to fidget in his pockets. Jay lifts an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side.
"I'm home alone at the moment. Tom is out eating dinner with some girl, and Alex is shopping for something. I don't know. He mentioned something about FAO Swartz. He's probaly getting stoned. Well, do you wanna just stand in the fucking doorway? Might as well sit your ass down."
Roger smiles awkwardly and sits down in the chair. Jay sprawls on the couch. "So, what brought you around with the threats of death hanging around? How's your neck? Nice hair cut."
"Thanks." He mumbles. "They had to cut it short to do the stitches." He shows them to Jay, who winces. "so I just left it like this. How's Tom?"
"Nothing a little cosmetic surgery won't fix." Jay grins to show it's a joke.
"You're not pissed at me?" Roger asks, incredously.
"Oh, you're damn right I'm pissed at you, but I'm just holding that grudge - oh, gimme the Strat. Tom wants it."
Roger hands it over with a sigh. He runs his fingers down the smooth plastic one last time - god, that's a gorgeous work of art right there. Shame he's gotta left it go. He'll miss that guitar. Jay takes it and puts it to the side. "You just here to pick up your shit? It's still all where you left it. Tom said he's gonna return it - I think he means set it on fire - soon though, so I suggest you take that instead."
"Yeah, that's part of the reason I came here."
"And something tells me that one part isn't giving back this gorgeous guitar." He grins. "But now I get to have it, so thanks."
"Ass." Roger replies with a little grin of his own. Jay laughs. But the laughter dies down, and Roger is left with the silence of his own head. "Okay..." He begins, and Jay looks at him. "Well, New Years is Mark's birthday, and I got him a trip to the hospital and a smash into the wall for it."
"You want my money." Jay says, and begins laughing hysterically. Roger frowns at him, and feels a flush spreading on his face. He doesn't know why the fuck Jay is laughing at him.
"Hey, stop it!" He growls, and Jay just looks up at him, slips out his wallet, and hands Roger his Amex. "Don't go too fucking crazy, alright? Keep it below five hundred."
"There is no way I can possibly fucking thank you for this, Jay. Especially after what I did to Tom."
"It's fine. Well, okay, it's not fine. But seriously? It's fine."
"Just shut up before you dig yourself a hole you can't get out of."
"Get the hell out of my house, boho." But he says it with a grin. "And don't spend too much, okay?"
Roger rolls his eyes and goes to shove his clothes into a duffel bag he brought along. He slugs it over his shoulder in place of the guitar and heads out.
"I'll be back with your card."
"You better."