Disclaimer: I don't own RENT (and as of right now, I can barely pay it!) RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson. Only the OCs belong to me.

Authors note: Thank you to my fantastic and fierce beta i'like'cheetos for the feedback and help.

Chapter 1: Pilot

Tuesday, January 5th, 1989, 9am EST

NOAH'S POV:

Today is Tuesday, January 5th, 1989. For most of my fellow classmates this is a dreaded Tuesday. I look around to see students skiddishly flipping through their binders and notes looking for the paper they were assigned to write over the Christmas break, groans and yawns coming from all directions when it hits them that they are back to their daily grind. The first day back to class after a long break is hard for them. For me, it is paradise. I look down at my own binder, neat, with my paper stapled together in the front pocket. Professor Collins is now five minutes late, as usual. I turn my head to the door, a premonition that I would see him in the tiny window with his white cap on. I was right. The door swung open and he made his way through the aisles of chairs, putting his messenger bag behind his desk before he walked up to his podium, a warm smile on his face. My classmates seemed to ignore him, complaining about having to do homework over the break in theatrical whispers. Some tried to keep their heads up, simply hung over from all the eggnog they had been chugging the past few weeks.

"Alright guys, you can proceed with your whining after you sit through an hour and a half of my lecture on postmodernism," Professor Collins smirked. In the next few seconds the class began to settle down.

"It's nice to see all your smiling faces again and I hope you all had a wonderful break. This semester, as I just said, we are going to tackle postmodernism as shown in film. You can turn your papers in after class if any of you actually wrote them."

His tone was always slightly amused and sarcastic when he spoke before lecture. Some of the students thought it was his way of reaching out to our generation by speaking in our language. I just suspected he never wanted to be anything more than casual. Professor Collins was my favorite teacher. He was relatable, and his class was an excellent distraction from the rest of my education. He wasn't a teacher just after tenure. Teaching was something I could tell he was passionate about. It didn't just pay the rent for him. As Professor Collins proceeded with his lecture I hung on his every word. I always sat in the front row, becoming immersed in the knowledge I was offered. His intelligence blew my mind at times but being my favorite teacher and teaching my favorite class, I knew I would be invested in processing the new information later when I was studying. Computer Age Philosophy pushed me in a good way. The other students didn't interact with me much. Most of them only concerned with the piece of paper that said they were graduated. A C-average was all they wanted. But it wasn't my place to judge. Sometimes I wondered if the only reason I cared so much was because I didn't really have a life outside of this class. Not the life I wanted to have at least. Burying myself in my studies was the only thing distracting me from the reality I was faced with daily; the fact that I was a big fish in a small pond, the fact that I wanted something beyond my current restrictions of going to church every Sunday to listen to my pastor dad preach things I couldn't disagree with more, going to a high school where everyone was so caught up in keeping up appearances to win homecoming king or queen, and going home to a family that would probably hate me if they knew that I was gay.

Starting my mornings at NYU was a way for me to get away from the rest of my life. I am getting an early taste of college. Being a junior in high school and going to NYU at the same time showed me how much I was missing out on by sticking to a conventional life. The topics Professor Collins explored in class were either unheard of or unspeakable at home. Critical thinking, anarchy, homosexuality, and sexuality in general were new concepts that were ok for me to think about. New were concepts brought to my attention through sitting in this desk every weekday at 9 am. Despite all the bullshit conservative and religious indoctrination shoved down my throat every waking moment I was at home, I found myself thanking God that Christmas break was over and that I was back in this classroom where I belonged.

Class was over before I knew it. After Professor Collins stepped down from his podium, most of the class filed out quickly, not turning in their papers out of protest of having to write over the break, or because they were just plain lazy. A few thin papers were thrown onto his desk. I gathered my things and set my paper down with the few already there. As I turned the doorknob to leave I heard Professor Collins' voice call my name.

"Noah,"

"Yes Professor Collins?" I turned to him, wondering why he needed to talk to me.

"It seems as though you were the only student who found it necessary to write the required amount of pages, let alone write a paper at all." He chuckled.

"Well, that was what you wanted. I hope you enjoy the paper. I enjoyed writing it," I said earnestly as I turned back to the door.

"I'm sure I will! I hope you enjoy getting full credit while the rest of the class flunks this assignment" He said with feigned curtness.

"You have a strange sense of humor, Professor C." I shrugged as I walked out the door.

I entered the street outside, noticing that I would probably be late to my first class at East Side Community High School. It was hard for me not to linger in the classroom with Professor Collins. A part of me wanted to stay even longer. I wanted to talk to him about things I didn't want to share with anyone else in the world. I wanted to know if my discontent with my sheltered life was unwarranted. If I should just be lucky if I had a family or a God to believe in at all. I wanted to finally share with someone how much I loved boys, and not girls, and ask him why people like my parents would think that was so wrong. The weight of all of my anxieties was hard to bare alone and I knew that Professor Collins, with all of his insight on the way humans work and think would understand. I had never had that kind of connection with someone before. But he was the one adult I would go to if I ever had the courage to say any of this out loud. I crossed the street and snapped out of my thoughts. It was time to be good, Christian, straight Noah Green for the rest of the day.

Tuesday, January 5th, 1989 5pm EST

COLLIN'S POV:

As I walked through the door to my apartment I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. The first day back from break was really, really long. Apathy was running rampant at NYU which was to be expected considering it was cold outside and most of my students were still in Christmas spirit comas. Most of them were on the path to graduation and planned to breeze right through their last semester, not giving much thought to the subjects they were studying, especially mine. As hard as I tried to get through to those kids they couldn't care less. If I was paying thousands of dollars to take a class at a prestigious school I know I would listen. I stepped inside and saw Angel, my angel, heating up some cocoa on the stove. The smell wafted through the chilly air and I kissed her before I melted into the couch.

"Hey honey! How was the first day back?" Angel's warm smile was enough to melt away all the stress of the day. Angel smiled with her eyes. It was bright and genuine. At least somebody cared about what I had to say.

"Ah Ang it was alright. But the best part was when I walked back up to the apartment and saw you," I grinned.

"Finish that cocoa so you can come and curl up with me," I added. "Where did you get that cocoa anyway? Did you go drumming today, baby?"

"No way! I love the snow but it was way too cold out. Roger came over to give it to us. It's our belated Christmas gift."

"Well we are going to have to thank him later. We are still meeting everyone at the Life tomorrow, right?"

"Mhmm!"

Angel continued stirring, humming Silent Night just loud enough for me to hear. She poured the cocoa into two recycled jars and walked over to the couch, placing the cocoa on our uneven coffee table before she joined me.

Angel folded her legs and laid her head in my lap. She was in boy drag today. Comfy blue sweats and one of my old white t-shirts. I stroked her short hair and let the relaxation sink in, a direct contrast to what the rest of the day was like.

"Mmm let's just stay here forever," she purred. She loved it when I touched her hair.

"I'd love to," I replied "As long as you don't mind me grading papers in the process."

"Grading papers?" she whined playfully, "But honey you just got home! Give yourself a little break. You do too many things and you're gonna get an ulcer." I kissed her forehead before pulling a tiny stack of papers out of my bag.

"Don't worry baby I only have a few. None of my students really invested any time into this. Most of them didn't do it at all." I flipped through the papers while rolling my eyes. I had six papers out of 28 students. It was typical after a break, but that made it even worse.

"What about that one?" Angel pointed to Noah's paper.

"Oh, that's Noah's. He is a dual enrollment student from East Side High. He always does well. The kid listens a lot harder than everyone else, meaning he actually gives a damn. He wrote even more than the required amount. Overachiever that one. Kinda quiet. But he is a good kid."

Angel picked up his paper and started reading it. She was rarely around when I graded papers. I saw her eyes dance around the page. She read fast, but she processed things pretty well. I could get used to Angel helping me grade. I would never get stressed out with her curled up beside me. She was a constant light I would enjoy while trudging through the more tedious work in academia.

"Wow, looks like this kid actually knows what he is talking about. He writes a little like you, Collins. Maybe a prodigy in the works?" She smiled, looking up at me.

"I don't know about that. He is extraordinarily bright though. Less outgoing than me from what I can tell. To be honest, I don't know much about him. He is quieter than any sixteen year old boy I've ever met. Skinny white boy that looks sort of like Mark with brown hair. I get glimpses of him through his papers. I know he takes a lot of time on them. Sometimes he sends me second and third drafts before the assignment is due."

"Second and third drafts?" Angel said, "I was an okay student but I never did anything like that." She sat the paper back on the table and looked at me as I wrote in red pen on the work of another student.

"Yeah he is a planner alright. I was the same way, but I always seemed to piss my teachers off. I would never write the way my teachers wanted me to because I could always tie any assignment back to the concept of anarchy." Angel giggled and sat up.

"If I could just get Noah to come out of his shell a little bit I think he could really be something. He just needs to find his own voice, that's all. But you, Ang, don't have any problem with being you. You might be a good influence on him."

"Yeah, I could be the good influence to your bad influence," Angel smirked, tugging at my shirt.

"Oh so now I'm a bad influence?"

"Yeah, maybe a little," Angel pecked me on the cheek and I picked her up, running her toward the bedroom.

"Let me influence you a little bit more then," I said, lowering my voice. I was complimented with my Angel's joyful squeals as I tossed her onto the bed. My happiness was guaranteed until tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, January 6th, 1989 3pm EST

Noah's POV:

Walking through the noise of the East Village after a long day in the trenches of high school was always very therapeutic. I am surrounded by noise, lights, and people. Professor Collins' class spoiled me in the morning. Today was an easy day, not much information to take in. Most of the time was spent with Professor C's improvised speech about how those of us who didn't write the paper were only disappointing ourselves, something I tuned out while I looked over my graded paper. As promised, I got full credit, still, the note at the end of my paper surprised me, wishing I would have simply gotten a lower grade.

Noah, where are you? You did the research, you do the work. Now I want you to find a voice. Your voice. A paper is only as strong as the person who writes it.

The words were still circling around in my head. I tried to figure out what he meant. It was easy for me to slip into paranoia. I used distractions like school and my walks to build a wall between who I am and who I am expected to be. I know who I am, but being brave enough to express it is an entirely different story. Instead of wishing for blissful ignorance, or to become the man my family wants me to be, I slip into my distractions, and put off being authentically me for another day. And another. And another. But after reading the note at the end of my paper, I wondered if Professor Collins could see right through me. Did he know that I was gay? Was my façade as invincible as I thought? If he is pushing me to be more expressive, why?

I let this big 'why me' consume my thoughts as I sifted through the background noise of the city until I saw her. Or him. My eyes attracted the smile of a drag queen drumming on the street. I saw this drummer every day, walking by the pulsing beats he played on a plastic pickle tub. Today was something different, enough to pull me out of the dreamy state I often found myself in when I walked by. Today he was wearing a skirt, heels, and a short black wig, not to mention the makeup caked onto his face. I drew nearer instead of passing him by. I was being tugged by something inside me, even as I looked around to make sure nobody I knew saw me. My fear as I approached was dizzying, but my intuition was winning the battle. Curiosity got the best of me. At that moment, I understood that this was what I wanted to be, who I could be if I took Professor Collins' advice to heart.

"Uh, here," I said. I dug a few dollars out of my pocket and let them drop on top of the tub. The drag queen looked up to me, smiling.

"Thanks dear!" She, or he, stopped drumming for a moment to pocket the money. "That is probably going to be my most generous donation today."

"Oh, well, no problem" I shrugged. What was I doing? Why was I still there? I urged myself to keep moving, to pass the drummer and move on. But I stayed planted firmly in front of him. Several moments of awkward silence followed until he thought up something to say.

"So, I see you pass me all the time. Why tip me today? Not that I'm ungrateful or anything…"

"I just liked your outfit," I said. I shrugged again. "I mean, it's really different, you know?"

"I'm Angel." He said, extending his hand.

"Noah." I replied. I slipped into a nervous smile as I shook his hand.

Angel's hands felt like silk. His nails were painted a neon blue color unlike anything I'd ever seen. Did I fear the difference in us, or the sameness? Through the lashes and the eye makeup, I could see his eyes; a deep, compassionate brown.

"It's nice to meet you, Angel."

I said as I finally made my legs walk ahead. I practically flew home. Even with my heart pumping out of my chest in fear and revelation, I quickly and compulsively unlocked the door and headed into my parents' room. Nobody would be home until late. My little brother Moses was sleeping over at a friend's house and mom and dad wouldn't be home from the adult church retreat until late tonight. I swung open the door to my mother's closet and pulled out the red dress she wore in our Christmas pictures. What was I doing? I undid my belt and pulled off my pants and shirt and put on the dress. I walked over to the long mirror on the opposite side of the bedroom. Once again I could only stand still, dumbfounded at what I saw. The dress fit me like a glove, except for the loose fitting part around my chest. I crossed my legs and put my hands on my hips, a natural reaction to my new state. I thought back to Angel, his kindness- his smile. I thought back to the feeling I had when I saw him and realized that it was the same feeling I was having now. It was a feeling new and foreign to me. I felt free. I felt right. I felt like I belonged in this dress somehow. I took a deep breath. I was a lanky, teenage boy. I was a boy in a dress. And this was exactly what I wanted to be.

Thank you for reading chapter one! Please review if you like what you read, or if you don't, or if you just really really like puppies.