A/N – First RENT fanfic! Yay. Just pointing out how much I love Mark. Don't do acid, kiddies. Anyway, I rather like this, but the end is a bit not-flowing. Ah well.
Mark's brow furrowed of its own accord, as it tended to do when he was worried, scared, or very, very nervous. His hair was artfully messed up, to look like it wasn't artfully messed up, his shirt was new, and his shoes…well…at least they were clean.
However, there was something he knew he had forgotten, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Honey, I'm hoo-oome!" Roger's voice sang through the loft, obviously in one of his rare good moods. He strode into the bathroom, flipped his hair, and took one look at Mark.
"Who's the lucky girl, and how much are you paying her?"
Mark raised an eyebrow.
"Who said I had a date?"
"You're wearing a new shirt, and black jeans, instead of that red piece of crap, and those God-awful corduroy pants. You've cleaned your shoes, and your hair? That's the first time I've seen it brushed, Mark, and I've known you for eight years now."
He was about to retaliate when Collins appeared in the doorway.
"About time, cracker, I was beginning to think you didn't have anything in your pants!"
"…Excuse me?"
"Is it with Maureen?"
Mark flushed red, but feigned ignorance.
"Who?"
Roger snorted with laughter.
"It's Maureen, isn't it? That leather wearing drama queen downstairs?"
If it was possible, Mark went even redder.
"That's none of your business," he muttered, going into the kitchen, ducking as he passed so Collins couldn't ruffle his hair.
He checked his reflection once more, and remembered to smell his breath, wincing slightly. Spotting a handful of mints on the table, Mark snatched up a few and swallowed them, attempting a cheesy grin and a wink at the mirror before he left.
Needless to say, Mark's date wasn't going well. After a large amount of sexual innuendo at Maureen's choice of food, asking to see the male waiter in shorts, and falling (and shattering) the windowpane because he liked the "pretty colours", it ended in Maureen storming from the Life Café, her chocolate curls bouncing as she went.
"You weren't such an ass when you bought me beer yesterday!" she shrieked, slamming the door behind her, leaving a confused and insane Mark to fall onto the wet pavement outside.
"SPEEAAK."
"Hey, Marky, it's me. Uh…look, I'm sorry about getting so angry, I just kinda thought you were the first guy to hit on me who wasn't a junkie or a pervert, even though you should be apologising, you hallucinogenic asshole. But yeah, even so, you're kinda cute, and entertaining when high, and fuck, I need some excitement. So just give me a call any time, I know this great shop where we can buy this really kinky leather..."
Collins turned off the machine before he got any disturbing mental images involving Mark and leather, shooting Roger a quizzical look.
"What's got into Mark?"
"I don't know." Roger said, as the man in question burst into the room, clearly dazed and disorientated.
"Mark, wha…" Roger trailed off, the colour draining from his face as he looked at the table.
"Cohen, what happened to those white pills?"
"Calm down Roger," Mark slurred, stumbling over his feet, "My breath reeked, so I took a few."
"Mark," Roger said in a dangerous whisper, "What the hell did you think they were?"
"Tic-tacs?"
Roger's lips thinned, his eyes wild with rage, as Collins took the liberty to bolt from the room.
After a few minutes of angry raised voices, squeals of terror, and Mark emerging covered in water, his new shirt ripped, and his underwear somewhere around his shoulders, Collins didn't think Mark would confuse acid with breath mints again.