Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Notes: Okay, so this is ancient. I wrote it forever ago and just noticed tonight that I never posted it here. I thought I did. Better late than never, right? I actually really like this one, so enjoy.
The walls in the bathroom are a faded pink now. They pawn it off as a Maureen-redecorating-project-gone-wrong, but Mark knows why they're that color. Roger knows why. Maureen never tried to redecorate the bathroom. Hell, Maureen would never try to redecorate anything pink. It was a reason they wanted to forget. A painful memory that would forever flash in close-up in Mark and Roger's minds.
--
"Roger's been in the bathroom since I woke up at 8:00," Mark narrated into the camera. "It is now 10:06. I think we surprise him." He chuckled softly as he slowly pushed open the bathroom door. "Surprise, Rog!" And surprise Roger he did.
Roger looked up at Mark, tears running down his cheeks. His eyes were bloodshot, but not the way they were when he shot up. They were a different kind of bloodshot. The way eyes get when you cry yourself to sleep. He whimpered and looked back down to his arms. Blood was everywhere. Crimson stained the floor, the bathtub, Roger, even the walls.
"Oh shit," Mark tossed the camera aside (careful to aim for the pile of towels in the corner) and knelt beside his friend.
"I-I found her… like this," Roger said through tears, clinging to the body in his arms. Mark looked down. April was covered in her own blood, dry and caked on her arms. It had even turned to brown where it stained her shirt. "And she… she left…" he gestured toward the walls with a nod.
Mark looked around the room. What he thought was just splatters, were carefully written sentences. "We've got AIDS," he re aloud. "Oh god, Rog, I'm sorry." He kept staring. It was written once on each wall, big and sloppy. Some of the blood had even dripped to the floor, leaving puddles as proof it was there.
"Make her come back, Marky," Roger sobbed, shaking his dead girlfriend. "Make her alive."
"Roger, I-I can't," Mark replied shakily. As much as he wanted to, to fix this, he couldn't. "I'm going to call 911, okay?"
"Will they make her come back, Marky?" he whimpered again.
Mark couldn't answer. He left his friend there to call for help – help he couldn't give to Roger.
It was hard for Mark to hold Roger down while the paramedics carried April away. Even in his state, Roger could easily evade the small blond's grip. Mark held tight, wrapping his lanky arms around the rock star trying to hold him still.
"April!" he kept yelling. "Bring her back! Save her!"
"Roger, shh," Mark hugged him, "stop yelling."
"I want her back, Marky."
"I know you do," he replied, running his fingers through Roger's growing hair. "We'll get through it okay?"
Roger didn't listen. Sobbing harder, he buried his head in Mark's chest so hard that Mark fell back against the wall. Cringing, he felt the cold of April's blood stain his shirt. He was afraid to touch it. He didn't want to get sick too.
"Roger," he said again, trying to comfort him. Mark's hand softly rubbed Roger's back until the sobbing subsided and Roger ventured into a sleepless repose. Mark sat patiently whispering reassurances as he waited for someone to find him.
--
Mark still doesn't like going in that bathroom. He sees the pink and remembers. He remembers tears, disease, death, and blood. Things he doesn't want to think about anymore. He remembers seeing Roger cry. He remembers the words that sealed Roger's fate. He remembers April graceful exit. He remembers what made the bathroom walls a faded pink.
Fin
