I'm not sure what possessed me to write this...I was never planning on writing anything more about Roger...it just kinda happened. You should read After It All to understand this. You don't need to read Glow, although this does make allusions to that fic (they take place at the same time...different perspectives. You don't need one for the other). Basically, this is like a separate sequel to After It All, not a part III.

Don't own RENT. Period.

Three Years

He'd been gone for almost three years before he finally came back. He was dying now, he could feel it: he didn't have that much time left. He wanted to be with Mark when it happened.

In three years, he hadn't made any new friends…or even acquaintances. Going from city to city, working his way around, he'd made sure that he never got too close to anyone; he just couldn't bear being around people anymore. People equated loss, cause whether they died or he did, he would still lose them. Loss was no longer anything that he could stand.

Las Vegas, Austin, Salt Lake City, and every other city in California…he'd traveled the whole region, doing drugs, sex, and rock and roll…and as much alcohol as he could handle…anything to escape…anything to keep his mind off them. Finally, he felt himself getting worse and he knew that he had to get back to New York.

He couldn't die alone. He needed Mark.

What he hadn't counted on was walking into an empty loft; a loft that looked like it had been empty for a long time. Aside from a flat bicycle tire and a couple filthy rags of clothes in random corners, there was nothing left. And not a single sign of where Mark could be.

He was pacing up and down the sidewalk, desperately trying to remember what Mark's parents' number was, when a young girl approached him…

Twenty minutes later, he sat in an alley, against a brick wall, knees pulled up to his chest as he cried. Mark, his Mark, was dead…had killed himself…had jumped off the fucking building with his camera.

Figures he would die with his camera…oh god…

Sitting there, in that dirty alley with the cold from the concrete seeping into his skin, he couldn't even remember why he had left Mark. He knew why he'd left…he couldn't stay in this city any longer…everywhere he turned there were memories of April, Angel, Mimi, Collins…and he couldn't take it anymore.

He knew why he'd left…but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he had left Mark. He wasn't sure if he'd even asked Mark to go with him…or even properly said goodbye.

A harsh sob wracked through his body at the thought that he'd never said 'goodbye'.

He heard a scuttle from the far end of the alley, but didn't move. He didn't care if he got mugged, he didn't care if he got killed…none of it mattered anyways.

Nothing mattered, because he was alone…The Family was gone.

And Roger just sat in the alley, letting the chill from the concrete seep into his skin. The sun shone bright in the sky, but Roger Davis lay in that alley, cold as death.