Who Needs a Dream? Who Needs Ambition?

That drew a long exhale from Roger, hand swiping over his mouth in a move that was pure, 100 percent Dean emulation. It was fucked beyond belief, but Roger's first thought was that Anatoly was unattached and in his bedroom. Jesus. Jesus.

"Anatoly, I'm so sorry," Roger managed to say, a little surprised even himself at the sincerity and timing of it. For once, words hadn't failed the songwriter. "Of... course you can't let it go. He just... left like that? That's fucked." Defensive, of course, because it was something Roger would have done in the past, and once that was no longer true, it was certainly something Brian would have done.