DISCLAIMER: Jonathon Larson PWNS!

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"Roger, please!"

"Get OUT!"

Mark stepped out of the bathroom in time to see a teary Mimi running out the door. Roger was standing in the doorway of his room, massaging his temples.

Mark spoke hesitantly "You okay, Rog?"

"No."

"Oh… well, uh…" Mark trailed off, not sure how to speak to Roger. When he gets in his moods, he's mostly a lost cause.

"If you knew that she was cheating, you'd tell me, right?"

"Well, yeah, but Roger I honestly don't think she'd-"

"Then where is she? She won't tell me where she goes!" he punched the door.

"Roger she told you she was visiting her mother today."

"Bullshit!" Mark turned his back on the guitarist.

"I'm going to Life Support. You should come." Roger scoffed, and Mark heard the bedroom door shut. He sighed; it had been 6 months since Mimi's brush with death and it had taken only three for her to be forced by Roger back into the place she was before. He was getting tired of hearing the fighting, but more than that, he couldn't stand to hear Mimi sobbing night after night.

Mark, at least, knew how much she loved Roger. Mark, at least, knew that Mimi had never so much as looked at another man. As much as Roger was Mark's best friend, he didn't approve of the way he treated his girlfriend.

The filmmaker decided to walk, instead of ride to the Life Support meeting. Mimi wasn't there. A wave of disappointment washed over him; he had wanted to talk to her.

When the meeting was over, he walked the busy streets, occasionally taking his camera out of his bag to capture various moments in time. One day, he knew, his films would be the only company he had. He heaved a great sigh, and pushed open the door to his building. In the stairwell he could hear Mimi sniffling and he stopped to picture her large brown eyes swimming with tears. She would be sitting on her kitchen counter, swinging her legs aimlessly and wiping the small droplets of water dripping from her nose into her lap. To his own horror, he was pulled out of his daydream when Mimi opened her door; he had walked forward and knocked on it without thinking.

"Mark," her eyes were red and puffy "what are you doing here?"

"I just, uh… are you okay?" his eyes refused to stay in one place, flicking from his feet to her eyes and back again. She smiled gratefully, and stepped to the side.

"I'm okay. Do you wanna come in? It's kinda messy but I'm sure you'll live. You've never seen my place, have you?"

"Once, from outside." He stepped in and Mimi rolled the door shut.

"You can put your stuff down wherever."

"Thanks." He set down his camera carefully on the floor as Mimi headed into her kitchenette. He found himself wanting to pick it back up and film every inch of her apartment; to capture this side of Mimi that he wasn't likely to see much of. She reappeared with two sodas. They sat on her old, busted up couch. She pulled her knees up to her chest and Mark's own legs suddenly felt awkward and stupid, useless and ugly just dangling there. "It's a nice." Mimi rolled her eyes.

"It's a shithole, Mark." He blushed furiously; he had wanted to be polite. But why? He's known Mimi for a long time and there's no real need for the polite niceties people put up for mere acquaintances. "But thanks, I like my shithole." She shifted in her seat to place her soda can on the small, black, cluttered coffee table, "I don't even have a bedroom door…" she gestured behind her. Mark noticed the beads hanging in the place of a door.

"You could probably get that fixed."

"I've got nothing to hide." Mark's mind was filled with images of Mimi sleeping and dressing in that room. He felt his cheeks grow hot, and guzzled his soda. "Did you go to Life Support?" Mark nodded, his throat burning from the bubbles in his soda. "I didn't feel like going."

They sat talking for a while, and Mimi finally got to her feet and stretched after a small silence between the pair. Mark found his eyes on her exposed stomach, and his cheeks flushed red once again. "Well, I need to get ready for work," Mimi said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, "do you mind?"

"No, I should probably go anyway."

"Yeah, Roger's going to start accusing you of sleeping with Benny if you stay much later." She stepped forward and hugged him, then pressed her forehead to his. Mark held his breath, not comfortable with being so close to her. "Thanks for keeping me company," she said, and kissed his cheek. Mark reached for his camera, head spinning, and headed home. When he reached his room, he sat on the edge of his bed and cursed himself. He had to stop this. He couldn't love her. She was with Roger. She loved Roger… but she deserved better…