How did we get here?(Unedited)
Rating: Uh, T?
Length: 2,659 words
Pairing: Roger/Mark
How did we get here? The words rose unbidden in his mind as he slumped into a chair. How the Hell? He added, bitterly.
Maureen and Joanne sat beside him, holding him, trying to soothe him with calming words as the tears flowed freely from his eyes. Three years ago Mark had held him just like this, had held him while he broke, Mimi’s death dragging away another piece of him.
Mark had held him and put him back together again, like he always did, never asking for anything in return but always wanting the one thing he felt like he could never have.
“It’ll be ok Rog. Shh, it’ll be ok.” Mark had whispered to him one night, when memories of Mimi and April had welled up too strongly within him. Mark had walked into the loft’s main room late one night to find Roger slumped on the worn-out couch, head in his hands and lost in misery.
Mark had run to his side, wrapping his arms around him, and whispering in his ear, trying to calm him, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.
Roger turned, cheeks still wet and looked into Mark’s concerned face. He knew he was desperate and he was tired but God he needed someone right now, he needed this right now. No, more than that, he needed Mark right now. He reached up with trembling hands and gently grabbed Mark’s face, pulling the filmmaker’s lips down to his own, giving him no time to react or break away.
That night, everything changed. A simple kiss opened the gates to a flood of new feeling and emotion as Roger realized what he had been ignoring for years. It still made him wonder how he could have missed it, how he had never even realized how deeply he felt for his roommate. Mark, he knew, would always be there for him, had always been there for him. He had stood beside Roger, holding him and being strong for him during his withdrawal and as he coped with the reality of HIV. Mark had always taken care of him and, even if neither of them had known it, had always loved him.
Time passed, as it always does, and the growing feelings awakened within Roger became too much to conceal. He loved Mark in ways that he never imagined were possible. Mark made him feel complete and the following two years had been the best of his life as he gave in to love as he had never been able to with Mimi.
Lying in bed one night, visible only from the moonlight reflected off his naked skin, Mark had curled against him and enfolded Roger in his arms.
“Roger… why me?” his voice broke slightly with nervousness.
Muzzy with sleep, Roger could barely reply with more than a questioning grunt.
“Hey, wake up!” Mark rapped Roger gently on his chest. “Why me?” he repeated “Out of everyone else that you could have, why would you pick me?”
Mark’s words, laced so thoroughly with self-doubt and anxiety, broke through the musician’s sleep-addled brain and he locked eyes with Mark, to prove that he meant every word.
“Because you’re sweet, caring, charming, an amazing cook when we actually have food, and you’ve always been there for me.” He smiled, stroking the younger man’s hair. “Mark there’s no one in the world I’d rather have than you. You’ve also got a hot little ass.” He added, giving Mark’s rump an appreciative squeeze.
The filmmaker squirmed and giggled sleepily. “You really think so?” He asked, his voice drifting off as he spoke. “I’m not good…enough you know…” He mumbled as sleep overwhelmed him.
Roger lay there, stroking Mark’s head for a few minutes as he thought angrily to himself. Not good enough? Why would you even think that? He wrapped his arms around Mark, holding the smaller man tight against his body and closed his eyes. If you only knew how wrong you are, I’m not good enough for you.
They had spent so much time together, laughing and playing, romancing and enjoying life but, he realized now, it hadn’t been enough. Sitting here now, in this cold and sterile hospital with the two women on either side of him, he could see so many hours wasted because Mark hadn’t been in his arms. He felt a drop in his stomach whenever he recalled the few fights they’d had and the years of just friendship that had lain between them like an impassable barrier.
It seemed so surreal, so impossible that he’d most likely never hold Mark against him at night again, never kiss him in the park, sing to him or hear the soft whirring of his camera. The most horrifying realization was that it was all a twist of fate, no rhyme, no reason, just an horrifying bump in their lives that would change them forever.
They’d agreed to meet at the Life Café for dinner because Mark had to go to Buzzline for work and Roger needed to resume his hunt for a job. More precious time between them wasted apart. He had been walking down the empty street when he heard a soft, gasping sound coming from the alley ahead of him. His heart dropped as he peered in, Mark lay on his side, blood seeping from a wound to his head and his chest. His camera lay on the ground beside him, damaged when it fell from its owner’s hands.
Roger ran forward, cradling the smaller body. His hands examined Mark, probing over the sickly damp cloth, probing for a cut or gash. He gasped and drew his hand back as they felt slick, torn flesh and a deep wound. Working quickly, he wrapped his scarf around his hand, and pressed it tightly against the bleeding hole.
Mark winced in pain at the musician’s probing, drawing in a ragged breath.
“R-R-Roger?” He managed, blue eyes flickering slowly open. “’m cld.” His eyes started drifting closed again as he shivered against his lover’s body.
“No Mark, you can’t sleep now, not yet. I can’t lose you too I can’t!” His voice was quickly rising, filled with terror. “Don’t you dare die before me!”
Mark coughed feebly, holding onto Roger with what little strength remained in his frail body. With a sinking heart, Roger remembered a similar moment, another time when someone weak and dying had clung desperately to him.
"Help! S-Someone help!” Roger screamed, rocking back and forth, Mark clutched tight against his chest.
He heard quickly running feet and then a voice.
“Oh my God! Call 911! Now!”
A woman ran into the alley and crouched down before him. She tentatively reached out a hand to Mark but quickly drew it back as Roger snarled at her. His urge to protect overwhelming his senses.
“Don’t touch him!” His eyes narrowed hatefully at her.
“It’s ok, I just want to help. I’m Lorraine, what happened?”
“I-I don’t know… we were going to meet at-at the Life. I wa-was walking down the street and I heard him. I think he’s been st-stabbed.”
“Oh my God.” She slowly reached out for Roger’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “Just be strong, the ambulance’ll be here soon. Just be strong alright?”
The minutes stretched by as they waited for the ambulance, Roger could only watch helplessly as his lover’s ragged breathing got steadily weaker.
“What the hell is taking them so long!” Roger shouted, startling Lorraine.
“They’ll be here; my friend is waiting down the street to make sure they find us.” She turned her gaze to Mark. “Is-is he your boyfriend?”
“Yes” Roger snarled before softening his voice. “Two years.”
Then the blaring of sirens reached his ears. Mark looked up at Roger, a weak smile playing across his pale lips. “Sry I wasn’t… strng enough to fight him off.” He pressed a weak kiss to Roger’s hand, which had been stroking his face. “’T least I gt to die in y’r arms… Not so bad, it’s c’mfy.” He giggled light-headedly to himself, coughing up some blood in the process before slipping again into near-unconsciousness.
“You’ll be fine. I’m the one who’s got to die first Mark. This is nothing, you can’t die. I need you too much. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. You’ll see Mark. You’ll-you’ll be fine.” He choked down a sob as the ambulance arrived and pried him away from Mark’s near-unconscious form pushing him gently but firmly towards Lorraine who held onto him in an attempt to keep him from attacking the paramedics.
"This isn’t good, this wound is deep.” One of them said. “We need to get him to the hospital fast. Get the gurney and bring the life support! This is going to be close.”
Roger tore away from Lorraine’s grasp as Mark was spirited into the ambulance. His thin body almost lost on the massive gurney.
“I’m his boyfriend, let me in!” Roger tore at the paramedic, trying to claw his way into the vehicle.
“Let him in Toby!” Shouted the driver. “We need to move fast!”
Grabbing the damaged camera Roger clambered into the ambulance, kneeling beside Mark and clasping his hand in his, pressing fevered kisses against the cold skin. Roger’s eyes stayed locked on Mark for the whole drive, never once leaving his still form, willing him to move, to show some sign of life.
The world became a blur of motion and terror as Mark was pulled from the ambulance and brought to surgery.
“Sir! Sir! You can’t go in there!” A nearby nurse shouted as Roger tried to force his way into the surgery room after Mark.
“He needs me, I can’t leave him!” Roger nearly wailed.
“If you go in there.” She began, her voice taking on a sharp edge. “You’ll be contaminating the room and putting him in even more danger, now sit your ass down outside while the doctors try to sort this out.”
The next thing Roger knew he was in the waiting room, pacing insanely back and forth across the room cursing under his breath.
“Roger! Roger!” Maureen was shouting as Joanne and she ran down the hall towards him waving frantically. Maureen crashed into him, wrapping her arms desperately around her. “What’s wrong what happened, you said something’s wrong with Mark!”
Did I call them? Roger couldn’t remember talking to Maureen but they were here. Maybe he called them between the surgery and now? The two women were holding him now, supporting him as he let himself go, let himself be supported by his two friends as he collapsed against them. Gently, they let him slump into a chair, sitting on either side of him and holding him close.
Together, the two of them worked hard at dragging the details of just what in the Hell happened out from Roger’s horrified lips. Maureen clapped her hand to her mouth and reached for Joanne’s hand as Roger told them about what happened, how he had found Mark lying in the cold and bleeding all alone. How he had been stabbed, most likely for what little money he had on him.
Hours passed and the three of them sat in silence, the tension rising as they waited for a nurse or doctor to come collect them, to give them the good news that everything would be alright.
Finally, after four hours of agonizing waiting a young nurse walked up to them.
“Roger Davis? For Mark Cohen?”
“Th-that’s me. Is he? Is everything?” Roger stumbled over his words, his voice becoming tight with anxiety. He felt the two women squeeze his hands, as much for his comfort as their own.
“He’s…” The nurse’s face fell as she tried to find the right words to use. “Currently he’s alive but he’s still in critical condition. The doctors have done everything that they could but the wound was deep and penetrated his lung, causing severe internal bleeding. I’m sorry but it’s entirely possible that he won’t survive the next few days. You can go and see him now but he’s still unconscious, if you have anything to say to him I suggest you do not delay.” She turned away from them and, as far as Roger was concerned, walked out of the world.
Maureen reached out and pulled Roger against her while the words washed over them. “Come on Roger, we should-we should go and…”
He rose shakily, leaving the women to follow him as he hurried, trance-like, to Mark’s room. He pushed open the door, entering the sterile white room and his heart skipped in anxiety. Mark lay on the bed, white bandages wrapped around his head and chest, pale as death and connected to a respirator. Stumbling forward the last few steps, Roger fell into a chair by the man’s side and held the unresponsive hand in his. He stared hopefully at Mark’s face, praying for some sign of life aside from the faint pulse of the heart monitor.
He raised his head as the door clicked behind him and Maureen entered, Joanne behind her. A loud gasp of shock came from the diva as she saw how pale and fragile looking Mark had become. She leaned against Joanne for comfort, the two women holding each other and crying softly.
“Mark?” Roger placed a soft kiss on the blonde’s hand. “Mark, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up.” He reached out carefully and stroked the soft blond hair.
“Roger, I don’t think he can hear you.” Maureen offered cautiously.
The guitarist ignored her, talking to Mark as though at any second he was going to wake up and be miraculously cured, like Mimi was. He was praying that Angel would lead his man home just like she did the dancer.
Maureen hesitated before walking to Mark’s other side. She took his free hand, now crying in great sobs as Joanne, tears trickling down her face came with her. Maureen began talking to Mark, whispering apologies to the man, saying everything that needed to be said, in case this was the last time she ever saw him; in case he never woke up.
Thirty minutes of pleas, apologies and tears later, Maureen and Joanne couldn’t take it anymore.
“Roger? Joanne and I… we’re going to be outside for a few minutes. We… can’t do this anymore.” They got up and shakily left the room, leaving Roger alone with his love, which was fine by him.
“Mark, come on wake up please. I-I brought your camera. Please wake up, please?” He leaned forwards and kissed the blonde’s pale forehead before he fell into darkness, exhausted and emotionally drained.
Sleep didn’t come easy for Roger and it didn’t last long either, less than twenty minutes had passed before he was awoken by the most horrifying sound his ears had ever heard. The screech of the monitor yelling that Mark’s heart had stopped. Before Roger could react, he was surrounded by doctors and nurses and forced from the room, cursing in the corridor before he was escorted back to the waiting room.
Joanne and Maureen hurried over when they saw him. Roger could see them speaking but he couldn’t make any sense of what they were saying. It was as though his head were surrounded by fog and there was only one voice that could get through. He just clung, numbly onto Mark’s camera, holding it for comfort and the security it brought.
What seemed an indeterminable amount of time passed before a nurse walked up to them, her face grave.
“I’m sorry Mr. Davies, but Mr. Cohen… didn’t make it.” The words cut through the fog surrounding him, slicing deep into his soul. His hands went slack, dropping the camera onto the floor where it broke apart, a single spool of film unwinding across the ground. Playing, in still frames, their last morning together when they had shared a goodbye kiss.
Length: 2,659 words
Pairing: Roger/Mark
How did we get here? The words rose unbidden in his mind as he slumped into a chair. How the Hell? He added, bitterly.
Maureen and Joanne sat beside him, holding him, trying to soothe him with calming words as the tears flowed freely from his eyes. Three years ago Mark had held him just like this, had held him while he broke, Mimi’s death dragging away another piece of him.
Mark had held him and put him back together again, like he always did, never asking for anything in return but always wanting the one thing he felt like he could never have.
“It’ll be ok Rog. Shh, it’ll be ok.” Mark had whispered to him one night, when memories of Mimi and April had welled up too strongly within him. Mark had walked into the loft’s main room late one night to find Roger slumped on the worn-out couch, head in his hands and lost in misery.
Mark had run to his side, wrapping his arms around him, and whispering in his ear, trying to calm him, trying to let him know he wasn’t alone.
Roger turned, cheeks still wet and looked into Mark’s concerned face. He knew he was desperate and he was tired but God he needed someone right now, he needed this right now. No, more than that, he needed Mark right now. He reached up with trembling hands and gently grabbed Mark’s face, pulling the filmmaker’s lips down to his own, giving him no time to react or break away.
That night, everything changed. A simple kiss opened the gates to a flood of new feeling and emotion as Roger realized what he had been ignoring for years. It still made him wonder how he could have missed it, how he had never even realized how deeply he felt for his roommate. Mark, he knew, would always be there for him, had always been there for him. He had stood beside Roger, holding him and being strong for him during his withdrawal and as he coped with the reality of HIV. Mark had always taken care of him and, even if neither of them had known it, had always loved him.
Time passed, as it always does, and the growing feelings awakened within Roger became too much to conceal. He loved Mark in ways that he never imagined were possible. Mark made him feel complete and the following two years had been the best of his life as he gave in to love as he had never been able to with Mimi.
Lying in bed one night, visible only from the moonlight reflected off his naked skin, Mark had curled against him and enfolded Roger in his arms.
“Roger… why me?” his voice broke slightly with nervousness.
Muzzy with sleep, Roger could barely reply with more than a questioning grunt.
“Hey, wake up!” Mark rapped Roger gently on his chest. “Why me?” he repeated “Out of everyone else that you could have, why would you pick me?”
Mark’s words, laced so thoroughly with self-doubt and anxiety, broke through the musician’s sleep-addled brain and he locked eyes with Mark, to prove that he meant every word.
“Because you’re sweet, caring, charming, an amazing cook when we actually have food, and you’ve always been there for me.” He smiled, stroking the younger man’s hair. “Mark there’s no one in the world I’d rather have than you. You’ve also got a hot little ass.” He added, giving Mark’s rump an appreciative squeeze.
The filmmaker squirmed and giggled sleepily. “You really think so?” He asked, his voice drifting off as he spoke. “I’m not good…enough you know…” He mumbled as sleep overwhelmed him.
Roger lay there, stroking Mark’s head for a few minutes as he thought angrily to himself. Not good enough? Why would you even think that? He wrapped his arms around Mark, holding the smaller man tight against his body and closed his eyes. If you only knew how wrong you are, I’m not good enough for you.
They had spent so much time together, laughing and playing, romancing and enjoying life but, he realized now, it hadn’t been enough. Sitting here now, in this cold and sterile hospital with the two women on either side of him, he could see so many hours wasted because Mark hadn’t been in his arms. He felt a drop in his stomach whenever he recalled the few fights they’d had and the years of just friendship that had lain between them like an impassable barrier.
It seemed so surreal, so impossible that he’d most likely never hold Mark against him at night again, never kiss him in the park, sing to him or hear the soft whirring of his camera. The most horrifying realization was that it was all a twist of fate, no rhyme, no reason, just an horrifying bump in their lives that would change them forever.
They’d agreed to meet at the Life Café for dinner because Mark had to go to Buzzline for work and Roger needed to resume his hunt for a job. More precious time between them wasted apart. He had been walking down the empty street when he heard a soft, gasping sound coming from the alley ahead of him. His heart dropped as he peered in, Mark lay on his side, blood seeping from a wound to his head and his chest. His camera lay on the ground beside him, damaged when it fell from its owner’s hands.
Roger ran forward, cradling the smaller body. His hands examined Mark, probing over the sickly damp cloth, probing for a cut or gash. He gasped and drew his hand back as they felt slick, torn flesh and a deep wound. Working quickly, he wrapped his scarf around his hand, and pressed it tightly against the bleeding hole.
Mark winced in pain at the musician’s probing, drawing in a ragged breath.
“R-R-Roger?” He managed, blue eyes flickering slowly open. “’m cld.” His eyes started drifting closed again as he shivered against his lover’s body.
“No Mark, you can’t sleep now, not yet. I can’t lose you too I can’t!” His voice was quickly rising, filled with terror. “Don’t you dare die before me!”
Mark coughed feebly, holding onto Roger with what little strength remained in his frail body. With a sinking heart, Roger remembered a similar moment, another time when someone weak and dying had clung desperately to him.
"Help! S-Someone help!” Roger screamed, rocking back and forth, Mark clutched tight against his chest.
He heard quickly running feet and then a voice.
“Oh my God! Call 911! Now!”
A woman ran into the alley and crouched down before him. She tentatively reached out a hand to Mark but quickly drew it back as Roger snarled at her. His urge to protect overwhelming his senses.
“Don’t touch him!” His eyes narrowed hatefully at her.
“It’s ok, I just want to help. I’m Lorraine, what happened?”
“I-I don’t know… we were going to meet at-at the Life. I wa-was walking down the street and I heard him. I think he’s been st-stabbed.”
“Oh my God.” She slowly reached out for Roger’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “Just be strong, the ambulance’ll be here soon. Just be strong alright?”
The minutes stretched by as they waited for the ambulance, Roger could only watch helplessly as his lover’s ragged breathing got steadily weaker.
“What the hell is taking them so long!” Roger shouted, startling Lorraine.
“They’ll be here; my friend is waiting down the street to make sure they find us.” She turned her gaze to Mark. “Is-is he your boyfriend?”
“Yes” Roger snarled before softening his voice. “Two years.”
Then the blaring of sirens reached his ears. Mark looked up at Roger, a weak smile playing across his pale lips. “Sry I wasn’t… strng enough to fight him off.” He pressed a weak kiss to Roger’s hand, which had been stroking his face. “’T least I gt to die in y’r arms… Not so bad, it’s c’mfy.” He giggled light-headedly to himself, coughing up some blood in the process before slipping again into near-unconsciousness.
“You’ll be fine. I’m the one who’s got to die first Mark. This is nothing, you can’t die. I need you too much. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. You’ll see Mark. You’ll-you’ll be fine.” He choked down a sob as the ambulance arrived and pried him away from Mark’s near-unconscious form pushing him gently but firmly towards Lorraine who held onto him in an attempt to keep him from attacking the paramedics.
"This isn’t good, this wound is deep.” One of them said. “We need to get him to the hospital fast. Get the gurney and bring the life support! This is going to be close.”
Roger tore away from Lorraine’s grasp as Mark was spirited into the ambulance. His thin body almost lost on the massive gurney.
“I’m his boyfriend, let me in!” Roger tore at the paramedic, trying to claw his way into the vehicle.
“Let him in Toby!” Shouted the driver. “We need to move fast!”
Grabbing the damaged camera Roger clambered into the ambulance, kneeling beside Mark and clasping his hand in his, pressing fevered kisses against the cold skin. Roger’s eyes stayed locked on Mark for the whole drive, never once leaving his still form, willing him to move, to show some sign of life.
The world became a blur of motion and terror as Mark was pulled from the ambulance and brought to surgery.
“Sir! Sir! You can’t go in there!” A nearby nurse shouted as Roger tried to force his way into the surgery room after Mark.
“He needs me, I can’t leave him!” Roger nearly wailed.
“If you go in there.” She began, her voice taking on a sharp edge. “You’ll be contaminating the room and putting him in even more danger, now sit your ass down outside while the doctors try to sort this out.”
The next thing Roger knew he was in the waiting room, pacing insanely back and forth across the room cursing under his breath.
“Roger! Roger!” Maureen was shouting as Joanne and she ran down the hall towards him waving frantically. Maureen crashed into him, wrapping her arms desperately around her. “What’s wrong what happened, you said something’s wrong with Mark!”
Did I call them? Roger couldn’t remember talking to Maureen but they were here. Maybe he called them between the surgery and now? The two women were holding him now, supporting him as he let himself go, let himself be supported by his two friends as he collapsed against them. Gently, they let him slump into a chair, sitting on either side of him and holding him close.
Together, the two of them worked hard at dragging the details of just what in the Hell happened out from Roger’s horrified lips. Maureen clapped her hand to her mouth and reached for Joanne’s hand as Roger told them about what happened, how he had found Mark lying in the cold and bleeding all alone. How he had been stabbed, most likely for what little money he had on him.
Hours passed and the three of them sat in silence, the tension rising as they waited for a nurse or doctor to come collect them, to give them the good news that everything would be alright.
Finally, after four hours of agonizing waiting a young nurse walked up to them.
“Roger Davis? For Mark Cohen?”
“Th-that’s me. Is he? Is everything?” Roger stumbled over his words, his voice becoming tight with anxiety. He felt the two women squeeze his hands, as much for his comfort as their own.
“He’s…” The nurse’s face fell as she tried to find the right words to use. “Currently he’s alive but he’s still in critical condition. The doctors have done everything that they could but the wound was deep and penetrated his lung, causing severe internal bleeding. I’m sorry but it’s entirely possible that he won’t survive the next few days. You can go and see him now but he’s still unconscious, if you have anything to say to him I suggest you do not delay.” She turned away from them and, as far as Roger was concerned, walked out of the world.
Maureen reached out and pulled Roger against her while the words washed over them. “Come on Roger, we should-we should go and…”
He rose shakily, leaving the women to follow him as he hurried, trance-like, to Mark’s room. He pushed open the door, entering the sterile white room and his heart skipped in anxiety. Mark lay on the bed, white bandages wrapped around his head and chest, pale as death and connected to a respirator. Stumbling forward the last few steps, Roger fell into a chair by the man’s side and held the unresponsive hand in his. He stared hopefully at Mark’s face, praying for some sign of life aside from the faint pulse of the heart monitor.
He raised his head as the door clicked behind him and Maureen entered, Joanne behind her. A loud gasp of shock came from the diva as she saw how pale and fragile looking Mark had become. She leaned against Joanne for comfort, the two women holding each other and crying softly.
“Mark?” Roger placed a soft kiss on the blonde’s hand. “Mark, baby, can you hear me? Please wake up.” He reached out carefully and stroked the soft blond hair.
“Roger, I don’t think he can hear you.” Maureen offered cautiously.
The guitarist ignored her, talking to Mark as though at any second he was going to wake up and be miraculously cured, like Mimi was. He was praying that Angel would lead his man home just like she did the dancer.
Maureen hesitated before walking to Mark’s other side. She took his free hand, now crying in great sobs as Joanne, tears trickling down her face came with her. Maureen began talking to Mark, whispering apologies to the man, saying everything that needed to be said, in case this was the last time she ever saw him; in case he never woke up.
Thirty minutes of pleas, apologies and tears later, Maureen and Joanne couldn’t take it anymore.
“Roger? Joanne and I… we’re going to be outside for a few minutes. We… can’t do this anymore.” They got up and shakily left the room, leaving Roger alone with his love, which was fine by him.
“Mark, come on wake up please. I-I brought your camera. Please wake up, please?” He leaned forwards and kissed the blonde’s pale forehead before he fell into darkness, exhausted and emotionally drained.
Sleep didn’t come easy for Roger and it didn’t last long either, less than twenty minutes had passed before he was awoken by the most horrifying sound his ears had ever heard. The screech of the monitor yelling that Mark’s heart had stopped. Before Roger could react, he was surrounded by doctors and nurses and forced from the room, cursing in the corridor before he was escorted back to the waiting room.
Joanne and Maureen hurried over when they saw him. Roger could see them speaking but he couldn’t make any sense of what they were saying. It was as though his head were surrounded by fog and there was only one voice that could get through. He just clung, numbly onto Mark’s camera, holding it for comfort and the security it brought.
What seemed an indeterminable amount of time passed before a nurse walked up to them, her face grave.
“I’m sorry Mr. Davies, but Mr. Cohen… didn’t make it.” The words cut through the fog surrounding him, slicing deep into his soul. His hands went slack, dropping the camera onto the floor where it broke apart, a single spool of film unwinding across the ground. Playing, in still frames, their last morning together when they had shared a goodbye kiss.