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Roger had given up on sleep – the pain of losing Mimi still too raw – and was just staring at the ceiling when he hears to the door to his room open. While it’s nice to know that Mark cares, the way he’s been smothering him is also incredibly annoying.
“I haven’t gone out to score, Mark,” he says, more harshly than he intended and then rolls over, his back is to his best friend.
“Shut up, Roger,” Mark says as he crosses the room.
“The hell, Mark?” Roger asks when he feels the bed dip, rolling back over to face him.
“It’s fucking freezing, scoot over,” Mark says, pulling back the blanket to get into the bed.
“Again, what the hell?" Roger repeats, making no effort to move.
“It’s fucking freezing, we don’t have any heat, and I’d rather not have frostbite in the morning. Please scoot over Roger,” Mark all but pleads.
Roger reluctantly scoots over to let Mark get into bed with him. “If you start checking me for track marks, I’m shoving you onto the floor.”
“Aside from her funeral, you haven’t left the loft since we lost her. I know you’re clean,” Mark murmurs, curling up next to him. “And before you complain about personal space, the whole shared warmth thing doesn’t work if we’re at opposite ends of the bed.”
As much as Roger wants to complain, he knows that Mark’s right. And when he wakes up the next morning, he realized that right now, having Mark next to him at night is the only way he’s ever going to get any sleep.