Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of these characters. 'Tis a shame.

Author's Note: Sorry if it's too long, I tend to get carried away. Oops. However, I have decided to make more chapters (though I can't give a definite date, because my life is so unpredictable I'm not sure when I'll have computer time to dedicate to writing this). Though when I put more chapters up is questionable, there will be more chapters. It was originally intended to be a series of Maureen/Mark preRent fluff, but somehow Roger came into it and I decided to actually give it a plot of some sort, with a 'discovering Roger's true character' subplot. Or something like it. This is my first time trying something of this nature, so I hope you enjoy it!

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Mark went over his mental checklist, scurrying nervously and without any apparent purpose around the apartment. He passed his camera bag and stopped to make sure his camera was, in fact, still in the bag, though he knew very well it couldn't have gone anywhere since the last time he checked. He circled the loft, passing the bathroom and catching a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye. He doubled back and walked in front of the mirror, looking over himself.

His wardrobe consisted mostly of monochromatic or horizontally striped shirts. Very plain, he thought, very boring. Not at all suitable attire for his first date with one of the most amazing women he'd ever met. Maureen Johnson was an actress, of course, and Mark had plenty of experience with actresses; being a filmmaker, he was inevitably attracted to them, whether he knew of their profession beforehand or not.

Mark had only ever dated four other women before, and three of them happened to be actresses. He had always thought that the "drama queen" personality was merely an only partially true stereotype of performers. He figured it was only a coincidence that his first girlfriend exaggerated everything, though the second one, with her frequent emotional breakdowns, increased his acceptance of the stereotype and the third one made it official when she would go off at random into theatrical soliloquies.

Now this Maureen girl seemed tame enough, but Mark liked to expect the worst so that he either wasn't surprised when the worst did in fact happen, or he was delighted when things turned out better. He still feared that he would somehow end up offending her in the most unexpected way, no matter how many precautions he'd take. She had already commented somewhat negatively on the black-and-white striped shirt he had worn the day the guys had urged him to ask her out.

"I've never dated a mime before. It should be interesting."

"W-w-what?"

His stuttering earned him an amused stare from Maureen, who proceeded to explain in a flat tone: "It was just a joke."

"Oh."

He wasn't exactly sure where the joke had come from, but he feigned comprehension. Perhaps she was suggesting that he talk more. Or was she poking fun at his pale complexion? Only when he subconsciously glanced down at his watch for the sixteenth time that night did he realize that he was wearing his favorite shirt, the white one, striped black. "Oh!" he cried out, this time in actual realization. "Oh, I get it!"

"Get what?"

"The mime thing… my shirt. It looks like a mime's shirt. I've never… noticed it… before. Yeah…"

He was becoming aware of how stupid he sounded and quickly fell silent, taking off his glasses and cleaning them impulsively. Maureen's full lips twitched into a smile, no, it was more like a sadistic smirk, and she muttered aloud to herself in a low tone. "God, I love the slow ones."

Mark looked up from wiping off the lenses of his glasses with his mime-shirt. "'Scuse me?"

"Ah… nothing."

Now Mark stared at himself in the mirror, his reflection grinning back at him tentatively, donning one of Roger's old shirts. The shirt had been baggy enough on Roger, but on the smaller boy it looked almost ridiculous as it sat draped loosely over his diminutive frame. Mark, however, was blind to the humor of it all, far too concerned the more minor details. "Breath check," he said, checking his breath, though he had brushed his teeth for the third time just five minutes ago.

"Better safe than sorry!" Mark chirped, grabbing his toothbrush and using the last of the toothpaste before frantically brushing his teeth. After a couple minutes he rinsed and smiled at himself, speculating every individual tooth before stepping back and picking apart his reflection once more.

"Hrmm," he slurred, calling up his hypothetical to-do list once more. "Ah! Underarm check."

He wandered into the kitchen area, twisting his neck awkwardly to take a whiff of his armpits, just as Roger shuffled out of his bedroom. He appeared to be barely awake, but his eyes widened when he caught sight of Mark. "Dude, are you sniffing your pits?"

Mark let out a little startling squeak, then spun around, feeling his face grow hot when he saw the taunting look in Roger's eyes. "Y-yes, actually, I am," he said. "First date with Maureen, y'know, kinda… I'm kinda nervous."

"Nervousness isn't gonna make your pits smell any better," Roger said, almost mockingly. "Just calm down, blondie, and you'll be fine."

Mark growled; though Roger's temper was an exhausting thing to deal with, Mark preferred him when he was angry, because that usually made him reclusive, whereas happiness made him just plain annoying to whoever he felt like picking on at the time, usually Mark. However, Roger could be annoying when he was mad, too, and Mark was reminded of this as he turned around, Roger grabbing onto his arm. "Wait up, shit-smear, is that my shirt you're wearing?"

"Uh…" Mark stammered, wondering if he should remain in Roger's grasp or if he should try to wriggle away with the possible risk of having his arm snapped in two. "I'm just borrowing it. Erhm, for today. I'll give it back."

"Did I say you could borrow it?" Roger's voice dropped to a dangerously low pitch, his grip tightening on Mark's arm, causing him to emit another squeal.

"N-n-no, b-but I fig-g-gured…"

"We may be roommates, but that doesn't give you the right to steal my shit whenever you please," Roger growled, jolting Mark's arm into a painful position. "Now take it off."

"B-but Roger, sh-she'll be here any m-m-minute and I-"

"Take it off!"

Roger released Mark, who stumbled to the floor in surprise with an unintentional whimper. He cringed when Roger took a step towards his quivering, vulnerable figure, but he managed to shout in his defense, "Give me a minute, and I'll give it to you! Jesus!"

Blinking in shock, Roger seemed taken aback by Mark's outburst, maybe even a little impressed. Mark had never had the courage to stand up to him like that, in all the months they lived under the same roof. He felt his anger melt away and he leaned against the kitchen counter, smirking, as Mark squirmed on the floor in a pitiful attempt to remove the shirt. "Here, buddy, need some help?" Roger asked, extending his hand to Mark, who had the shirt halfway over his head.

Mark peered over the collar of the shirt, eyeing Roger's hand suspiciously, his glasses askew. His clear blue eyes darted from the hand hovering before him to Roger's face, which looked strangely calm, then back to his hand. He reached out timidly but didn't go far enough to grab it. Roger rolled his eyes. "Come on, man, I'm just gonna help you up," he assured him, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I promise I'm not gonna try anything funny."

"Well, you're going to have to meet me halfway."

Roger raised his eyebrows in mild astonishment, and then laughed a little. However, the seriousness in Mark's face remained, and Roger's laughter dwindled a bit and he cleared his throat. "Well, I see how it is," he said, leaning in a little more and clasping his hand around Mark's.

Mark let Roger pull him to his feet, and he grabbed onto the counter for support as he adjusted his glasses and attempted to take off the shirt a second time. As he pulled his arms through the sleeve holes, there was a knock on the door, but as much as Mark had anticipated this moment, he disregarded it, too engrossed in trying to wrestle Roger's shirt off his body.

Roger watched Mark for a few seconds and suddenly his eyes lit up with mischief as he made his way across the kitchen towards the door. Mark was pulling the shirt over his head as Roger opened the door for Maureen, who, upon spotting Mark's pallid and exposed torso, burst into a fit of cackling. Still in a state of partial undress, Mark jumped at the sound of Maureen's laughter, spinning around, though he couldn't see through the shirt.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Maureen gasped when she had finished laughing, glancing from squirming and utterly humiliated Mark to Roger, who was trying so hard to maintain a serious expression.

"Nahh, little Marky here was just getting dressed," Roger said, hints of laughter in his voice. "He was having some trouble getting the shirt on."

The shirt slid back down a little, and Mark's eyes were visible, somewhat confused as they scanned over Roger. Roger shrugged and grinned, folding his arms across his chest. "I think it looks good on him. Wouldn't you agree?"

"He does look very handsome," Maureen agreed, though Mark's belly button was still exposed, for he was unsure whether he was taking the shirt off or putting it on. "I guess he's not going as a mime this time?"

Mark brushed off the mime comment and pulled the shirt on, flattening the wrinkles in it before glancing unsurely in Roger's direction to see his reaction. He was beaming, and when Mark tilted his head slightly, Roger nodded. He was going to let him borrow the shirt. What an asshole, Mark thought. If he'd just let me have the shirt to begin with, Maureen wouldn't have seen me half-naked in the first place.

Stepping gingerly over to Maureen, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, Mark grinned sheepishly. "So… ready to go then?" he asked, averting his gaze from his shoes to Maureen.

"Only if you are," she said quietly, almost shyly, and Mark saw the subtlest hint of pink in Maureen's cheeks; for once, he was making her blush!

Mark, taking advantage of this sudden good fortune, went so far as to link his arm with Maureen's, who looked away coyly as she entwined her fingers in his. They began to leave the loft when Roger stopped Mark suddenly, holding the camera bag. "Here you go buddy," he said, slipping the strap of the bag onto Mark's free shoulder. "Have a fun time, you two."

Seeing Roger smile with genuine cheerfulness was a rare sight for anyone, one Mark had never had the opportunity to witness until now. "Thanks," he said slowly, a little paranoid but definitely less apprehensive as he stepped out into the hallway, watching Roger's grinning face disappear behind the closing door.

"Your roommate's really nice," Maureen said after a minute's silence, looking at Mark as she walked beside him down the stairs.

"Yeah…" Mark pondered, as if realizing this for the first time; in fact, he felt as if he had just met Roger, the real Roger, for the first time. "Yeah, he is."