DISCLAIMER: This is a work of original fan fiction based on characters and situations created by Jonathan Larson. The intent of this work is for the entertainment of the fans of the musical theatre work "Rent" and its 2005 movie adaptation, and is not intended to garner payment in any form.
I only rent. I don't own.
RATED: K
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Socks
"Roger!"
Startled, he hastily replaced the framed photograph that he had been staring at – that he had been using as a catalyst to analyze what the significance of family was – back onto the milk cartons, which Mark used as a bedside table. Roger knew he had already been caught invading what privacy they both agreed to by his presence in Mark's bedroom and, importantly, handling something of personal significance to his roommate.
"Mark, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to …" Why did words fail him when he was able to write meaningful song lyrics? Or, rather, was formally able to do so.
He braced himself against an anticipated lecture. He was not in error. "Roger, now that there is just the two of us here, we agreed that we would not enter each other's bedroom," Mark unnecessarily reminded him, and he strode forward to confront his hermit of a friend, awaiting an explanation.
Not wanting to meet his friend's eyes, Roger told him that he was looking for a pair of socks that he could borrow, since he could only find one moth-eaten one of his own, and his feet were freezing. Amazingly, he pointed at his bluish toes, in a knowingly lame attempt to validate his presence, where he should not have been.
"You won't find a pair of socks in that picture of my sister and me." Realizing that there was something more significant behind the sock story, Mark placed a gentle hand behind Roger's shoulder and guided him onto the ratty couch in the common area of the loft.
The two of them sat in silence for a while. At this stage in their turbulent friendship, there was no need for Mark to prompt Roger to confide his thoughts to him. Neither did Roger feel a need to speak, before he could put words to his emotions.
"Thanks for this," he said.
"For what?"
"For knowing that there's something going on with me," Roger said, "And that I wasn't just sneaking around your space.
"You always know when I'm not right."
Their eyes met, and Mark offered a small smile. "Roger, we've been through hell and back together. I can't help but notice when you are not right, as you put it."
Mark sighed, a little, before continuing. "I am always here for you. You know that, right?"
Roger lowered his eyes, and nodded. He was grateful for the unfaltering sounding board that his friend represented; but, he felt like he as abusing – over-using – that resource. While he had no one else to confide in, he thought that Mark must surely be tired of listening to him.
"I don't have any pictures of my family," he began. "I had posters from my band." Maybe, that was enough of an explanation.
Mark considered that, for a moment. He hadn't been in Roger's bedroom, since the last of their extended roommates, Collins, had moved out to teach at MIT.
"Was your band a substitute for your family?"
This caught Roger off guard. He hadn't considered that possibility. Yet, it meant nothing to him to use the last of what they represented -- the posters for their gigs, as kindling to keep the harsh winter at bay.
"No," he quietly said. "You are."
(c)2007, by: Lynne Freels