So, I am fully aware that I am unable to finish a story, so one-shots are becoming a love of mine. Review, or don't but I'd prefer if you just did.

Now I know,
That I can't make you stay.

For the tender age of 24, Mark had seen more than his fair share of death.

In fact, he'd seen more than a lifetime's worth.

It was absolutely terrible to think of Roger's as the last death he'd have to endure, but that's how Mark thought of it.

But where's, your heart?
But where's, your heart?
But where's, your...

"Mark."

Roger looked so tiny in his hospital bed, so abandoned and alone. It made Mark instantly regret his thoughts and push them from his mind.

"Yeah, Roge?" Mark was by his side in an instant, holding his thin, frail hand.

"Nothing," he smiled sleepily. "Just wanted to make sure you were still here."

Mark was glad he didn't want to talk. Collins had wanted to talk. He didn't need anyone to say anything back, but he'd wanted to talk, about life, about love. About Angel.

Mark had never really been good with words, which was what drew him to filming in the first place. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words and moving ones were probably worth more.

Besides, no matter how many times he went through this same scene with different actors, he couldn't find the right script. He always fumbled.

And I know.
There's nothing I can say.
To change, that part.
To change, that part.
To change.

"Where's Mo?" Roger asked after a moment.

Mark wasn't about to lie, that one stung. "She's outside with Joanne." What Mark didn't say was that they were also getting Roger's sorry affairs in order.

"Is it bad to say that I'm glad?" Roger chuckled stiffly. "I love her, you know that, but she always tries to make things better." His green eyes locked in on Mark's blue ones. "I'm not stupid though, you know? I know things aren't going to get better."

"They could you know, remember Mimi-"

Roger winced as if he'd been physically hurt. "Not you too Mark. You know better."

So many,
Bright lights they cast a shadow,
But can I speak?

During these final moments, Mark became aware of everything that was ever wrong with his and Roger's friendship.

Roger had always been a god, always been an enigma.

Even through withdrawal, he'd been this larger than life caricature.

And now, with all that stripped away, Mark didn't know how to act, didn't know what say, didn't know what to think of the man before him.

So he did nothing.

Well is it hard understanding,
I'm incomplete?

When Roger was younger, he never would've believed this was how was going to end.

He'd thought or, really he'd hoped that he would die in some fantastical, exciting way. Maybe killed off a cliff doing some Evel Kaneval stunt.

He hadn't even considered that he would die in a hospital, wasting away from a disease.

Even know, he could hardly believe it.

It was also hard to believe that he had Mark standing right next to him.

Mark was never the person Roger had envisioned standing at his deathbed.

Even when they were the best of friends, Roger knew, that Mark would tire of him, of his dumb stunts and his dramatic flair.

He'd always understood why he loved Mark, but never got why Mark seemed to reciprocate.

He knew Mark had considered himself inferior for the better part of their relationship, but Roger knew something Mark just didn't.

Without Mark, Roger was just an immature fuckwit who could do little right.

With Mark, he was an immature fuckwit with a great friend.

And that really made all the difference.

A life that's so demanding,
I get so weak.

He didn't even really know how he'd gotten here, in this cold hospital bed in this fragile city.

What had been so bad about home that he'd had to run here?

He couldn't remember.

It must've been bad, must've been really bad to think that the big bad streets of New York were his only alternative.

But what had driven him from safe, dumpy New Jersey?

Maybe nothing had.

Maybe that was the story of his life, running away from pretended dangers, protecting himself from almost getting hurt.

And yet danger and pain always seemed to find him anyway.

That was what Mark probably meant about irony.

A love that's so demanding,
I can't speak.

Mark was the only reason he was hurting so much now, he knew that to be true.

If it wasn't for Mark, if they'd never met, none of this would be happening.

He wouldn't have lost Mimi, wouldn't have lost April, wouldn't be losing Mark.

Because that's what hurt the most, not the people who had left him, but the ones he was going to leave.

Mark was so strong, so independent, but he couldn't see that.

In a sick way, he needed Roger, needed a project, needed someone to save like a stray, wayward puppy.

And when roger left, he would just find someone else to pour his love and devotion into.

That's what hurt the most.

These bright lights have always blinded me.

And for a moment, Roger could see clearly what would happen to Mark from here. He would find a nice girl, settle down and forget about how he'd gone slumming once in his idealistic days. He would become successful and lead a wonderful life untainted by the friends he'd had in his youth.

These bright lights have always blinded me.

And for a moment, Mark could see clearly what would happen to himself from here. He would always remember this day, always remember this feeling and he would spend the rest of his life trying to forget the people who had left him behind. But he never would.

'Cause I see you lying next to me,
With words I thought I'd never speak,
Awake, and unafraid.
Asleep, or dead.

Mark looked back and saw Roger lying so still his first thought was that he must be dead. Then he shifted in his position.

"Roger?"

"Yeah." Roger spoke to confirm he was okay.

"There's so much I want to say but-"

"You don't have to. I have so much more, but I'm not sure you'll get to hear it."

"You know I'll never forget you right? I know that sounds dumb, but I don't care. You do know that?"

Roger was silent.

"Roger?"

"Mark," he spoke at last. "You do know you never needed me, right? I'm not…your savior. You were mine."

I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone

"And promise me you won't pull a Roger, promise me you'll keep on living. I wasn't strong like you but…you'll be okay."

"I'll be okay," Mark repeated uncertainly.

Honey if you stay you'll be forgiven,

"But I'd be better with you around," Mark continued almost desperately. "I'm not sure if I can be as strong as you think I am…"

"You can," Roger said, his head rolling to the side a bit. "I know so."

"Roger?" The machine began going blank. "Roger!"

"Bye love," Roger's voice melted into the noise of the machine flatlining and Mark's quiet sobs.

Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

I've been thinking that I might eventually make this into a multi-chaptered fic, each story based on a different song by MCR. But I'm not sure...we'll see...