Work Text:
Roger’s PoV
I wake in the middle of the night, Mark still asleep beside me—his hand, as it always is, gripping my shirt like if he lets go, I’ll disappear into the dark. Even now, I can almost hear him—his laugh, his voice telling me he loves me, that he never wants to let me go. And I hear myself promising I won’t.
Like I have almost every day since I came back from Santa Fe and finally admitted—to him and to myself—that he’s all I’ve ever wanted. I watch the slight twitch of his lips, the softness in his expression, and something warm spreads through my chest.
Carefully, I brush the hair from his forehead and press a quiet kiss there.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t stir. He doesn’t need to hear it every time. I just need to say it—to be able to say it without fear. After years of wanting. Of denying. Of almost letting myself lose him completely.
I don’t know how I ever held back.
How I stood this close to him and didn’t pull him in.
Didn’t kiss him.
I couldn’t stop now, even if I tried.
It makes him laugh—the way I interrupt him mid-sentence just to kiss him, or pull him into something deeper. I think I’d go insane if I had to go back to pretending I didn’t need this. Didn’t need him. I shift slightly, tightening my arms around him. I don’t think I could ever sleep without him again.
My thumb brushes over his cheek, slow and careful, and I press another kiss to his hair. That feeling has always been there—that quiet buzz under my skin, like something waiting to spark. Ever since Collins introduced us, since he stuttered through his name and reached out his hand—
He’s had me. Even when I refused to admit it. And knowing he felt it too—
God, that part hurts.
Knowing how long he waited. How much it must have cost him to stay, to stand beside me while I figured myself out. Especially when I left.
After Angel died. After Mimi and I fell apart. I ran—and part of me wants to ask what he was thinking while I was gone.
But I don’t.
I don’t want to know how many nights he cried. How many times his heart broke while I was out there wasting time on faceless strangers and cheap highs.
I don’t deserve to know.
But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving again. I can’t.
Because every time he kisses me, I swear—
I’m floating.
Mark’s PoV
Roger is still asleep when I wake up. He usually is.
Slowly—just a little reluctantly—I loosen my grip on his shirt. My hand lingers for a second before I let it fall away. I bring my other hand up instead, cupping his cheek, my thumb brushing over the rough edge of his five o’clock shadow.
I smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, careful not to wake him. His arms are still wrapped around me, my head tucked where his shoulder meets his chest. His warmth is everywhere—the faint smell of his shampoo from last night, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my ear. Everything is him.
And here, in his arms, I feel safe. I always have.
That’s why that first hug—when he came back from Santa Fe—felt like everything at once. Relief. Fear. Hope I didn’t want to name. All of it just… faded. The loneliness. The waiting. The quiet kind of hurt I never let myself say out loud. None of it matters when I’m here.
Even now, when things get bad—when I start to spiral, when the doubts creep in and everything feels too heavy—he’s there. He always pulls me back. Anchors me. Holds on until the shaking stops, until I can breathe again.
I shift a little closer without thinking, pressing into him, letting my hand rest over his heart. He’s still here. And this time—I let myself believe he’s staying.
It took us so long to get here. From the day I met him, I could feel it—something like static between us. Every small touch lingered, left warmth behind, left me wanting more.
And it’s still there.
In every touch. Every hug. Every kiss.
God, he’s a good kisser.
It makes me want to reach up and thank gods I don’t even believe in—that we made it here, that we weren’t too late. And I’m never going to take that for granted. I’m never going to take him for granted.
The way he makes my heart race just by walking into a room.
The way my arms ache to hold him whenever we’re apart.
I have always loved him.
I will always love him.