Notes- Alright, PG-13 for talk and action. Mark/Roger with a post-April Roger and a post-Maureen Mark. Set before RENT. Umm...what else? I own niether of them, all credit goes to Jonathan Larson. So, Mark thinks about Roger, Roger confronts Mark, things unfold...

Since Then

April wasn't the one who in the middle of the night sat up on the couch with Roger when he shivered like that and gripped his wrist so tightly it left bruises and cuts. Mark has scars from his fingernails on the inside of his left wrist that Roger doesn't like to look at. They remind him too much of...then.

But he doesn't like to look at much anyway these days. Except that guitar. He thinks one day it will come to him, the song he's been waiting for for years, just like in the movies. Mark wishes it could come true, just so that Roger would feel what it's like to be happy again. But sometimes he thinks that song has already passed him.

"I'm going out."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck, the one Roger bought him for Christmas three years ago when he was sick of hearing Mark's complaints about the cold. Mark had smiled and worn it ever since, joking about the blue matching his eyes, something Roger hadn't noticed until he'd pointed it out. Now he couldn't get it out of his head.
Roger never answered. So Mark grabbed the camera and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

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April wouldn't have come back so soon. She would have stayed out all night, bringing home her drugs and alcohol and cigarettes at 4:00 in the morning. And Mark would pretend he was sleeping, listening to them talking softly until he fell back into sleep.
But that didn't matter now, April was dead. And too often Mark thought it seemed like Roger was as well. Mark didn't like to think about that. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
When he got back Roger was still there, guitar in hand.

"Maureen rang."

Mark threw his coat onto the couch. "Did she?"

"I told her you were out."

"Good."

Niether of them spoke for a few minutes while Mark rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out two coffee mugs and sitting them on the counter.

"What're you doing Mark?"

Mark looked up, Roger was watching him. He felt his eyes even before he'd asked the question.
"I'm making coffee, it's cold in here."

"No, with all of this, what're you doing?" Roger waved his hands around him, gesturing to the rest of their apartment, the rest of their lives. Well, life was more like it.

"You spend your money on drugs to keep me alive and inside I know you're killing yourself over your films, over me, over Maureen, over this goddamn life of ours...what do you think you're pulling? You're not fooling me Mark!"
He hadn't realized he was shouting until he hit Mark's name. It sounded hard on his tongue, and it reverberated off the empty walls. Mark was silent. Roger stepped forward, trying to form an apology.

"I...Mark I'm sorry. It's just, it's been a year since, you know...everything, and...And I don't need those drugs if you're going to paying for them with your money...you should be making your movies Mark."
Roger put a hand on Mark's arm, watching his face for any sign, any clue to what he was thinking.

"Roger you've got to have those drugs," Mark choked on the words, "not for you, but for me, because I can't just let you die. I could care less about the money, the movies, the rent, about Maureen...But you have got to stay alive Roger, for my sake."

Roger pressed his forehead to Mark's, breathing in. His eyes looked almost panicked behind his glasses. "Mark, Mark...I'm not going anywhere..."

They locked eyes, and in an instant everything they'd been thinking was finalized. Mark leant forward, knowing even before they kissed what Roger's every move would be. The arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him in, backing him up against sofa, Classic Roger. He wrapped his fingers up in Rogers hair and opened his mouth just enough...because two could play at this game.
After a minute Roger pulled back, laughing quietly. Mark raised an eyebrow "Too intense?"
Roger tied his hands up in Mark's scarf and pulled him closer, moving his hips just like that and Mark drew in a sharp breath, pushing forward against him.
Roger grinned "Hardley."