Sometimes Roger just can't stand it. Mark knows this. He knows it because sometimes he just can't stand it either.
There are times when Roger coughs, or sneezes, or gets a headache, or feels an odd pain, and they both start hoping fervently that this isn't the end. That's how it starts. A cough. A sneeze. A headache. Pain. They start thinking of lasts. Last words, last touches, last kisses. What they'll say and do if it comes to that.
Of course, they don't discuss this. They can talk about anything except this. But Mark knows, because he sees the look on Roger's face when this happens. He sees the pale fear in his eyes and he knows it's in his own eyes, too.
It always passes. That moment where they meet each other's eyes and they realize what they're both thinking, and when the thunderclouds or the heartwrenching violins or whatever they're expecting to hear or see doesn't come, one of them smiles.
Usually it's Roger. It's a false smile, more for his own sake than for Mark's, really. He's not quite the same for the rest of the day, either, idly picking the strings on his guitar sometimes, but mostly just spacing out. Leaves for work if he has to, the same expression on his face.
He works late, so he gets in late, and Mark is almost always asleep when he gets back. Sometimes Mark just falls asleep where he's standing when this happens. Worrying makes him exhausted, because when he worries, he films, trying to be constructive, and by the time he gets back to their loft he feels like he's going to collapse any second, and that's the way he likes it. He likes being able to keep his mind off of it, either through his camera or by just sleeping.
Sometimes it's like that. Sometimes Mark is sleeping on the couch when he gets back, his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed, occasionally mumbling in his sleep what he can never bring himself to say out loud. And he doesn't want to wake him up, but sometimes Roger just can't stand it. He has to touch him, because it's the only way he can think of to reassure. So he does, strokes Mark's face, lightly, but of course Mark wakes up, slowly, leaning into Roger's fingers at first and finally opening his eyes. After a moment he returns Roger's smile from hours ago, gripping his hand and urging him down on the couch with him. Gentle but insistent. He rarely insists, unless something's seriously bothering him. He won't say anything, but Roger knows. Roger knows because it's bothering him too.