Author's note: There's a part in here were the words are underlined. They're like that because it's the same words from the first chapter, and I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that.
It was Christmas now and nobody was feeling the Christmas spirit. During those five months Angel's 'Drinking Night' had not left any of their minds.
Mark closed himself off to the world. He stayed in his room, and barely left it. He had given up on life. Just a month ago he had found out that he had AIDS and now he didn't speak to anyone.
Collins made it so that he only said several words to Angel a day. Such as, "Morning," or "Not hungry." The lack of communication wasn't bothering him at all, at least, on the surface. Inside he was dying. He could feel the disease begin to eat him up, and he felt himself getting weaker and weaker.
The day before Christmas a letter came to the loft addressed, Angel Dumott Schunard. "It's from Mark." Collins said as he threw the letter to her.
Angel sat up in bed and opened up the envelope as Collins left to the living room. She looked at the writing, it was almost illegible, there were tear stains on it, and it was very short.
Angel, it read, I don't blame you for giving me AIDS. It was my fault and mine alone. It's been so hard to live now, knowing that my life will be cut short. I'll never get to do all the things I wanted to do. I can never become a great director; I can never fall in love again. But, remember I will never blame you for it. There's no easy way to say this, but I have to tell you. I can't go on anymore. I can't live with myself. I'm sorry for being a coward, and making my life shorter than it will ever be, but I just can't do it. I'm sorry.
I love you.
The tears were in Angel's eyes as she read the note. She was about to call for Collins but she heard a crash from the living room. She quickly got out of bed and saw a dying Collins on the floor. "Oh my god." She said as she pulled him up onto the couch.
"It's alright baby." She said as she put a wash cloth into cold water. "You'll be fine, don't worry, the ambulance is coming right now."
His only response was a groan. "It hurts."
"I know. I know."
She put the cloth on his forehead dabbing the sweat away.
He was so pale. It looked as though if she moved him he would break. It scared her so much to see him like this.
"It's okay honey." She said as she held his hand lightly.
The tears were pouring down her cheeks.
"Come on, stay with me." She begged as her voice cracked.
How could she have done this to him?
"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry."
The tears poured down her face as she held his weak body in her arms. His face was rested lightly on her chest. He was dying and there was nothing she could do.
His breath was becoming slower, and shallower. "I… love you." He breathed out.
He didn't move again.
Just a week later Angel stood in the cemetery staring at the two new gravestones. The names on them were, Mark Cohen and Tom Collins.