Hey! This is my first completed RENT fic. I have another Roger/Mark story in the works…one much longer. I can't decide whether to do it all at once or make it a chapter story. Hmmm… Anyways! I was listening to the song "Hey There Delilah" by Plain White T's and the idea for this story just hit me.
It's one in the morning, so I apologize if there are misspellings/mistyping or grammatical errors. Please forgive me!
If you have never heard the song "Hey There Delilah" I would download it, because it's a great song. ;)
DISCLAIMER: RENT is not mine – it's Jon Larson's. "Hey There Delilah" is not mine – it belongs to The Plain White T's. I did change a few words of the song – maybe five at most – to make it fit a bit.
Hope you enjoy!
Mark sat in the loft, piecing together his latest film. Or at least that's what he appeared to be doing. Really his hands were simply running over the film while his thoughts ran back to whom they always had for the past four months – Roger. Roger had up and left four and a half months ago today.
Mark's hands paused as he hit that thought. Four months and two weeks ago today. That thought inevitability lead him to thinking about the day before Roger left. Four months, two weeks, and one day ago Mark and Roger finally stopped the dance they had been locked in ever since Mimi's death. Their feelings were out in the open. Those feelings then acted upon. Several times, actually. Mark had never felt more comfort in his entire life than the night he slept in Roger's arms. Mark thought Roger had felt the same, for when Roger thought Mark was asleep, he pulled him closer into his arms and softly whispered "I love you, my little filmmaker" into Mark's hair before drifting to sleep. Mark had lain awake for hours after that, trying to memorize the feeling of being in Roger's arms, of being in love with Roger…of Roger being in love with him. When sleep finally claimed Mark, he closed his eyes thinking that everything would be better now – now that he was finally with the man he loved.
When Mark awoke the next morning, he was in an empty bed. He stumbled into the loft looking for Roger. He wasn't there. He hurried across the cold wood floors into Roger's room, gently pushing open the door expecting to see Roger sitting on his bed with his guitar across his lap. The room was bare. Upon the stripped mattress was a note explaining that Roger had left for L.A. where he was offered a record deal and apologizing for leaving like he did, but he couldn't say goodbye – it would be too hard.
The first month after he left, Mark moped around the loft missing Roger terribly and fell into depression. He didn't leave – not even to film and ended up getting fired from Buzzline. The second month after Roger had left, Mark became angry. Why had he left? Why after all that happened? Why hadn't he called! The third month Mark became apathetic. He completely ignored the fact that Roger was ever in his life. He went back to Buzzline begging for his job back – which they happily gave to him. Mark's documentaries were bringing in thousands of new viewers. Mark worked nonstop during the third month, doing anything and everything to keep his mind off his ex-roommate.
The fourth month, which he was just half way through, he became worried. He hadn't heard anything from Roger. He wondered if Roger had made it to L.A. and gotten that contract he left for. He wondered if Roger liked L.A., was happy…was ever going to come back.
Mark decided to leave that trail of thought alone; it was far too painful. Mark sighed and went downstairs to collect the mail – hope always remained that today would be the day a note came. What Mark found was a package. He brought it back upstairs to the loft and opened it with curiosity shining in his eyes.
It was tape. A tape? Who would send him a tape? He flipped it over to see if anything was written. Nothing. A blank tape. Then he noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor with two words scribbled on it: play it. Even if it was only two words, Mark still recognized the handwriting. It was Roger's. Roger had sent him a tape. Mark found the old tape player and pushed the tape in, hitting play. The voice that Mark had been missing so much sounded from the recording.
"Uh…hey, Mark. It's Roger. Um, I've been trying to give you a call because I know you're worried. I just know how it would go. We'd chitchat, make small talk about whatever is going on – how's your film, how's my record. What's L.A. like? Then there would be this horrible awkward silence and we both know that you're thinking about how I left you alone. Then we would make hasty goodbyes and promise to call soon. Promise that we'll see each other soon, and that everything would work out. I just couldn't bear that, I'm sorry."
Mark could hear Roger sigh. After living with Roger for so long, Mark could decipher all of Roger's sighs. This one was the "God damn it! Just do it and get it over with, consequences be damned" sigh.
"I, uh, I wrote you a song. I know it doesn't make up for me not calling for four months and you being worried…but…I've never worked harder on anything – ever. So uh…yeah. Here it is. Oh! It's called "Hey There, Delilah". Hope you like it."
Mark laughed as he remembered Roger giving him the accursed nickname. When Mark had first moved into the loft, so many years ago, he had gone out and bought a whole bunch of peaches – his favorite food – to make it feel more like home. Roger laughed and made fun of him calling him a "Georgia Peach" who must have been missing the plantation back home. Roger decided that from that day forward, "Mark" was gone and going to be replaced with "Delilah". It was all Roger would call him for months. Eventually Roger got tired of it, and only used it on special occasions or when drunk. Mark wondered how much of the song was written while sober.
The smooth sounds of Roger's guitar filled the loft. Mark didn't realize how much he missed being woken up in the middle of the night by that damned guitar until that very moment. Roger's rough and gentle voice came on, and Mark sharpened his listening and focused on the words.
"Hey there, Delilah.
What's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away but man tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Time square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true
Hey there Delilah
Don't you worry about the distance
I'm right there if you get lonely
Give this song another listen
Close your eyes
Listen to my voice it's my disguise
I'm by your side
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me
Hey there Delilah
I know times are getting hard
But just believe me boy
Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar
We'll have it good
We'll have the life we knew we would
My word is good
Hey there Delilah
I've got so much left to say
If every simple song I wrote to you
Would take your breath away
I'd write it all
Even more in love with me you'd fall
We'd have it all
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
A thousand miles seems pretty far
But they've got planes and trains and cars
I'd walk to you if I had no other way
Our friends would all make fun of us
and we'll just laugh along because we know
That none of them have felt this way
Delilah I can promise you that by the time we get through
The world will never ever be the same and you're to blame
Hey there Delilah
You be good and don't you miss me
Two more years and you'll be done with filming
And I'll be making history like I do
You know it's all because of you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Delilah here's to you - this ones for you
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me"
Roger's voice faded off as the guitar finished the song. Mark sat with tears brimming in his eyes.
"So. That was the song I wrote. I hope it can…god. I don't know. I just hope you like it." Then Roger's voice got really quite. "I miss you. I didn't mean for that to happen that night you know. Not that I regret it or anything. It's just…I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want you to think you were some one-night stand or a mistake." There was a pause and Mark could feel his heart pounding in every inch of his body, and was sure Roger could here it on the other side of the country. "You could never be a mistake Mark. I love you. If you want to give me a call…I'd really like it. But if you don't, I completely understand." Roger's voice rattled off numbers. Mark sat for about five seconds before bounding across the room, ripping the telephone off the receiver and speed-dialing Roger's phone number.
Mark's heart raced as the phone rang. On the third ring, just as Mark felt he was going to pass out, Roger answered. "Hello? Roger? I really liked the song."
The end!
Hope you all liked it! Not too bad for my first finished fic written in 25 minutes with no pre-thought to it, huh? I'm giving into peer pressure and asking you to click the pretty blue button and let me know what you thought. Thanks!