This is just something I wrote yesterday. I would absolutely love it if you reviewed. My mind always tells me the worst, and now it is telling me that I won't get any reviews and everyone will dislike the oneshot. Make me feel special!
Summary: Just something I wrote set right after Roger's funeral. Mark contemplates what he is missing once his best friend is finally gone.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Pssst...I don't own the charries - I RENT! By the way, I did not create the song. It is called Elaborate Lives from Aida. I doubt I could ever write such a wonderful piece as that.
PS - I would like to thank my best friend, Nicole, for everything she has done for me. Without her, this fanfiction would probably not even be here right now.
Mark Cohen stepped over the threshold of his loft. No more talk of the infamous "shared" loft of Roger Davis, the rocker, and Mark Cohen, the filmmaker and puppy dog of Roger's. No more pedestrians of New York City pausing on the streets to watch Mark attempt to film Roger, or even those who would pause and watch Mark from a couple of years ago "attempt" to stop Roger from meeting a drug dealer, like what he had done every week or so with the little money they had. Now, things were different. There would be more money to be used for food, but also one less person as a friend, a roommate. There may be less of a burden, a hassle in Mark's life, but nobody to share the hardships of life with. He was all alone in this world now, only left to ponder over how long it would take before the next "virus takes hold".
Mark stepped throughout the empty loft, footsteps echoing with a short 'tap' from the soles of his dirty, old dress shoes. The shoes were from a number of years ago, when he was just a teenager. He could feel is toes bending, rubbing against the tips of the shoes; it was worth it for Roger. It was all worth it...
"All worth it..." he whispered, his thoughts coming into words.
He ignored the confused looks he could feel burning holes through his head, which belonged to a concerned Collins, Maureen, Joanne, and Benny. Collins and Maureen had to drag Joanne along with them, for she was always emotional when a loved one was lost, and Benny. Benny was quite a hard fish to reel in. The purpose of them going with Mark was to watch carefully what he was going to do once he got to the loft, and with the rest of his life. They only brought a reluctant Benny along to show that he really did care, and, deep down, there was still the friend that they had spent that year and a half with, spending nearly every night getting drunk, or waltzing into clubs to and fro, leaving Maureen and Mark to...Well, do their business.
Mark continued to take slow strides throughout the loft, feeling as if he was alone in the world; he was the only one that existed anymore, despite the fact that what was left of his "family" was standing right behind him. He would occasionally have to step over papers and such, of old eviction notices, reciepts containing only one or two items each, and song lyrics which Roger had left behind. His gaze then fell upon the old Fender guitar, the same guitar that his best friend had used to write that "one great song" before he left.
Best friend...What kind of best friend leaves you like this?
"I should tell you why I left..."
Why did you leave, Roger? Why did you leave me? You left me for those fucking dirty needles, that's why!
"I'm writing one great song before I..."
You wrote that song, Roger! You wrote it! And then you just leave me...After all I've done, you just write a song and leave me...
"I die without you..."
You certainly did, Roger! Once Mimi left this fucking world, did you just figure nobody else cared anymore? Well, you thought wrong, Roger! You thought wrong!
Mark felt one lost tear slip down his pale cheek, landing on the loft floor, wetting a paper underneath his foot. He raised his foot slightly, bent down, and picked up the paper to find a song Mark had never seen before...
We all lead such elaborate lives
wild ambitions in our sights
How an affair of the heart survives
days apart and hurried nights
Seems quite unbelievable to me
I don't want to live like that
seems quite unbelievable to me
I don't want to love like that
I just want our time to be
slower and gentler, wiser, free
We all live in extravagant times
playing games we can't all win
Unintended emotional crimes
Take some out, take others in
I'm so tired of all were going through
I don't want to live like that
I'm so tired of all were going through
I don't want to love like that
I just want to be with you
Now and forever, peaceful, true
This may not be the moment
to tell you face to face
But I could wait forever
for the perfect time and place
We all lead such elaborate lives
We don't know whose words are true
Strangers, lovers, husbands, wives
Hard to know who's loving who
Too many choices tear us apart
I don't want to live like that
Too many choices tear us apart
I don't want to love like that
I just want to touch your heart
May this confession
be the start
Mark's one single tear which had subsided onto the paper, appeared once more in his eyes, two more appearing and streaming down his cheeks, and smudging the bottom of the paper, which was trembling in his hand. Why hadn't Roger shown this to him? He had thought that he had seen every song, every lyric, every word Roger put onto paper, along with Mark's every film, every clip, every sound he would put into his old camera. It was one of their "deals" that they had made. Mark would show Roger every film he produced, while Roger would show Mark every song that would come intact with paper.
He could not help but think silently, "One less person to make deals, promises, and swears with. One more reason not to worry about my secrets being told, but also one less person as a friend, a roommate..."
"A lover," Mark whispered out loud to the paper he was shaking in his hand.
He dropped the paper, and watched it fall to the floor, hovering every once in a while, causing it to look as if it was flying. As Mark walked away once it became one with the floor, the light caught onto a large smudge at the bottom of the paper. Previously, before becoming impossible to read due to Mark's tears, it had read:
"Dedicated to Mark Cohen, who has always been a friend, a roommate...
A lover."
Reviews are very much welcome!