Pairing: None, yet. Right now it's Mark/Roger friendship (or broken friendship, rather) May eventually turn into M/R slash.
Spoilers: If you've seen/know of what goes on in the stage production, you should be alright.
Warnings: Mention of suicide, drugs. But if you've seen Rent, I'm sure that's the least of your worries.
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson came up from the grave and handed me the rights to Rent. At least, he did in my dreams. But until that joyful day comes to be in reality, I'm only borrowing the boho boys and having a bit of angsty fun with 'em.
A/N: Oh my god. Please don't kill me? I sware if anyone is actually still reading this, then God has mercy on me. I'd love blame my four months and one week of not writing entirely on writer's block, but I can't. That did have some part in it though. The rest? Computer problems, new fandoms, and of course, the dreaded schoolwork. It's just basically been hell. So basically, if you're still reading this, then you're my hero. No kidding. Let me know you're still reading this, and I'll worship you.
Oh, and I'm warning you now - I've been attempting to improve my writing in my 'hiatus', so things may sound different from the way they've been said before. I'm eventually going to go back and re-edit previous chapters (I'm re-reading my stuff and already cringing!) but for now, you and I will both have to deal. Sorry!
Mark's anger finally got the best of him, and he rammed right into Roger's stomach, knocking him towards the floor, but managing to keep himself upright.
In the few moments that he had to seethe while Roger was knocked unconscious, Mark looked around the loft. Suddenly his anger was trampled by fear.
Roger's guitar…it was back in its corner by the window seat. His AZT was sitting on the metal table in the center of the loft. The trashcan was overflowing with what Mark immediately recognized as Roger's trademark --- unfinished songs.
It was all so…familiar. But at the same time, completely different from what Mark had accustomed himself to.
"No…no…no…" Mark started a mantra. "All wrong…wrong…can't…"
Without completing a coherent thought or checking to make sure the still-Roger had a pulse, Mark bolted for the door and ran out into the streets. He had no idea where he was going. He just had to get away from there.
Mark quickly flew back down the stairs of the building. A sensible voice in the back of his head was telling him that he probably should have made sure Roger was at least breathing before he left, but Mark didn't have time to listen to sense. There was only one thing going through his mind.
He just couldn't wrap his mind around it. Two years of absolute silence. Two years of finally learning to live on his own and move on. Two fucking years and now Roger shows up worried about him?!?!? It just didn't make sense.
Again, that sensible voice in his head told him to turn around now. Go back to the loft. Get answers. But he couldn't do it, so he just kept walking.
30 minutes later found Mark sitting on the doorstep to Maureen and Joanne's apartment. Just...sitting. In his effort to get out of the loft, he'd completely forgotten his camera. He hadn't rung the buzzer yet. He didn't want to disturb his friends so soon. Turns out, that choice wasn't up to him.
"Pookie?!" a shrill voice from behind him, cried.
"What're you doing out here?!" Maureen said, pulling him up with her hands.
Maureen's 'better half' suddenly appeared behind the duo, shock on her face.
"Mark! What're you...we were just...Oh Lord, you'd better just come in." she said, grabbing the arm that Maureen wasn't clinging to, and pulled the man inside. Joanne was good at reading people - that was part of what made her such a good lawyer. She knew right away that something was wrong with Mark. But she also knew the man well. He wouldn't talk about whatever was troubling him until he was good and ready. Her quick mind reasoned that they might as well be comfortable inside, instead of sitting outside in New York City's bitter cold August weather.
Mark was sitting on the couch in Maureen and Joanne's apartment. It had been an hour since they had brought him in from the cold, and he hadn't moved, or said a single word, yet.
Joanne had brought him a cup of tea nearly half an hour ago. Now Mark set the mug on the small sidetable next to the couch, stared directly at the wall between the two women across from him, and broke the news.
A/N: I sware - to whatever god is listening. It doesn't matter how many reviews I get between now and later. The second part of this chapter will be up no later than TONIGHT. I'm writing it now. I'm just so exicted to finally be able to get this out.
Extended A/N (1/29): Okay, so it's not quite later tonight, sorry xD I fell asleep while writing the next chapter out in longhand. So, for no particular reason, I've decided to make Ch. 9 longer than it is now. So, to make up for that? I added the extension to this chapter. It makes it better to end here anyways, in my opinon. Hope y'all don't mind! ) OH! And thanks to everyone that has reviewed already. You have no idea how much I was smiling when I checked my email this morning! D