Chapter Text
I remember the day Roger first came to me after April died. It was messy, he was high. I could tell. He was crying. Begging for me to help him, and to help her. I didn’t know what to do; we had drifted apart once he started that band. Once he started doing drugs. I wanted to help him, but when he was high all the time… I didn’t know how to reach him.
When he came to my apartment (if you could even call it that), crying and shaking, I still didn’t know what I could do, so, I did what any best friend would do. Sucked up all the frustration I had towards him, and let him in. If I detached myself from the situation, if I pretended it was a film, I could handle anything.
So, I let Roger into the loft. I wasn’t living with Benny, Collins, and Maureen anymore. Benny married rich, Maureen cheated on me, and Collins said he’d be fine on his own. So, I was alone. Just me and my camera. And then a high, clearly scared, Roger Davis. My best friend from Scarsdale! But that doesn’t feel anything like him.
Then, the nightmare half a year started, when Roger had to deal with withdrawal; the days when he was snappy, and wanted nothing to do with me. The days when he just rotted on the couch, or the days he tried to write music again, and if I ever came anywhere near him, he’d yell at me. Or worse, I’d yell back.
I hated those fights, I hated how he tried to prove me wrong. I hated the hurtful things we’d both say. They didn’t happen often, I didn’t lose my temper on him much, but it did happen a few times.
Flash to now. Another year has passed, since… everything. Angel is dead, and by some miracle Roger is still alive. I was so scared I was going to lose him. Now, I do anything to keep filming him, to keep filming little moments. Like now.
We’re both sitting on the couch, two blankets draping over it and covering us. I point the camera at Roger, who rolls his eyes as I do. “Tell the folks at home what you’re doing, Roger!” I echo, something I had said a year ago. He smiled, a weak smile. “I’m trying to rest.” Was his response as he buried his face into a few throw pillows that were on the arm of the chair.
Roger had always been…defensive, especially in recent times, it was refreshing to see him like this. “Is someone grumpy?” I teased, causing him to let out a muffled groan, then he sat up. He rubbed his eyes, looking at the camera, which I have in my hands, I’m leaning to the side, that way I can catch this video of Roger. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue with you.” He grumbled.
Wait. What time was it? I checked the clock, somehow we had one. 12AM. Shit. I stopped filming. It was really late, how did I not realize that? A while ago, I wouldn’t have considered it late. Back when the sleepless nights worrying over Roger were frequent, back when he was still trying to cope. He still is, but he’s better at it now.
“You’re right..” I mumbled. “Goodnight, Roger.” I said, adjusting his pillows and blanket so he was comfortable. Sometimes he told me I was too “motherly” towards him, but…whatever to help.
With that, I walked into my room, staring at the pictures that littered my walls, placing down my camera on my bureau, and going to bed.