The park was cold and gray in the January months. Nothing was the color it should have been, and half of what made this place beautiful was dead and shriveled. The air was choke-worthy, but if they could ignore the homeless men saturated in their own urine and feces, they could ignore a little smog.

Gray storm clouds tried to dampen their spirits where the rest of the scenery had failed, but the group marched on. No bad weather or appalling street scenes could put a damper on their good time, and that's really the only reason that they were still alive in the city.

But it wasn't all perfect—they couldn't pretend that it was. And they didn't—they just ignored it. That's all that could be counted on these days, the ability to avert your senses from what they didn't want to sense. To overlook the broken bodies on the streets, pretend that you didn't hear young teenagers making drug deals with shady men on block corners. You learned to grow numb to it all.

Nevertheless, they sure stood out. The sanest of them could only imagine how ridiculous they looked. Seven of them walking along, two half-holding hands in the middle of a heated argument that they managed to keep under volume control; one talking to a camera that didn't record sound; one cross dresser in loud, flashy clothing and the man all over her; and, of course, the woman at the front of the line, which was really more of a bunch if anything, loudly singing nursery rhymes with the spin de Maureen; and the one observing all of the madness, trying to get her other half to be a little quieter.

It was a fruitless attempt, of course. Joanne was surprised at how much bits of, sometimes one-sided, conversation she could hear over Maureen's 'nursery rhyming'.

"Roger, he isn't here! Stop pulling me!"

"Zoom in on the lover's quarrel—"

"Can it Mark."

And, "Now how do you expect me to walk in these with you all over me, Honey?"

"How you walk in those in the first place is what baffles me."

And, of course, "They sang 'Rock a bye baby' as they pushed the cradle out of the tree!" could be heard over all of this.

"Maureen! Stop singing about killing babies!"

"How else do I protest abortion?"

Joanne huffed. "Then do it a little quieter, please."

Illusion wrapped around them like a thick, warm blanket. Living in a world full of poverty and disease, that's really all they had. Not that it would last, or fool anyone else, but that's not what mattered. Right now they had today, they had this moment. Everything else, past and future, was illusion in a thick mist.

0----0

"Oh, I knew that I should have worn something rain friendly," was the young one's sigh as hands rung wet clothes into the bathtub. It was a young man, who would put on a pout if you called him such. Angel Dumott Schunard, in flat-chested, small muscled glory, and very unhappy about it.

"Stop worrying about it and come in here." Twas the deep, soft voice of Thomas Collins, roommate and lover to the drag queen.

"Fine, fine. Just give me a minute." Angel took one last look at the purple spot forming on her skin before pulling down her sleeves to hide its presence.

The apartment was full of toasty air spilling out of the vents, and the heater's low hum was almost unnoticed now that he'd lived there so long. The man of his dreams lay stretched out on the couch, his feet with socks that were about three sizes to big, hung off the side and Angel pinched them as she walked by.

"Something wrong?" he asked as Angel perched herself on his chest with the slightest worry in her eyes.

Angel wrapped her hands around his head and pulled it to hers. "No. Nothing at all."

They met in a feverish kiss, and neither tried to ignore the worry that clawed at their hearts because it had been come too hard to ignore. But they didn't speak of it—that would make it real.

0----0

Across town, another couple was perched on a bed, and their voices kept growing louder and louder until one finally exploded.

"Roger, why can't we take a simple walk in the park without you being paranoid about me running off to meet evil drug dealers?"

"Why do you think?" he snapped.

Mimi stood from the bed and crossed her arms. "Can't you even try to trust me?"

"Would you?" he retorted.

Mimi's brown eyes burned. "Roger Davis—I can't believe you!"

He didn't bat eye. "Good, so now we're on the same page."

Mimi gave an exasperated shriek and let a pillow loose at his head. She didn't say another word as she trucked, rather loudly, down the stairwell and into the apartment below.

Roger wasn't good at trusting people. It was one if his emo-boy flaws. Apologizing was also on the flaw list. So, as expected, he just picked up his guitar and ignored the angry noises from below his bedroom floor.

0----0

"Maureen, I'm trying to work."

The singing kept up, loud as ever.

"Maureen—"

"Pookie, I'm trying to work on something here. I'd really appreciate it if you kept it down."

Joanne resisted the temptation to chuck the table at her. "So am I. Something very important, so if you could just be a little quieter—"

Maureen simply stormed off, stomping around on the wooden floors. Joanne's eyebrows snapped together. Whatever Maureen's problem was, it had been affecting her all day. First she took a ten minute bathroom break on the way home, and she had been out of it ever since. Joanne glanced at the calendar that hung on the refrigerator with a cow magnet. Oh. Maureen was due for a feminine reminder this week. That's why she was in the drugstore bathroom for so long…

Joanne cracked open the bathroom door, where she knew Maureen had retreated to. The other woman quickly dropped something into the trash.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Maureen hurried to the door.

Joanne couldn't question that face. "Good."

0----0

He was the analytical one. The calculated one who saw things. And yet he didn't' want to see things, he didn't want to understand. Mark didn't want to see the hungry look in Mimi's eyes, or the way Angel's step was slowing, or the way that Maureen hadn't looked straight at him for a day or so now. Mark wouldn't step in front of the camera because he was afraid of what he'd seen in his own eyes. Maybe fear, maybe realization, and maybe a little resentment. That was the only way he'd ever know himself, if he let himself be featured through the lens. So he carefully stayed behind—he'd never let his emotions show.

0----0

Two of them were hiding secrets, another on the brink of deception, three who wanted to pretend that everything was okay, and one who didn't want accept any of it.

They're the great illusionists, changing their worlds as they see fit.

The only problem, as they were soon to learn, is that once the illusion shatters you're left with nothing at all.

0FIN0

This is my new baby.

My first attempt at anything that isn't a one-shot in a very, very long time. I love it.

If I owned RENT, do you honestly think that it would be closing?

I have changed the time-line just a bit so that it would fit together. Thus, it becomes AU. Not that I really care either way.

Please review and tell me what you think—I'll need all the criticism I can get for a multi-chaptered fic!