Title: Figure In Love
Pairing: Mark/Roger
Rating: PG, I think
Summary: How do you figure a last year on Earth?
Author's Note: My first attempt at Mark/Roger, ever. I've been inspired by, of all people, my crush and my best gay friend, and their newfound relationship. Funny how things work out like that, isn't it? This idea is probably way over-done, I know, and totally cliché, again, I know. But I couldn't resist. In my opinion, "Seasons of Love B" is one of the top five saddest RENT songs, landing somewhere in between "I'll Cover You Reprise", and "Finale". Anyway, enjoy.
FIC!
In diapers, report cards, in spoked wheels, in speeding tickets/in contracts, dollars, in funerals, in burns/in 525,600 minutes/how do you figure a last year on Earth?
Roger could have measured his last year in the bad things.
He could have counted the lesions that began appearing on his skins in increasing numbers.
He could have counted the coughing fits that woke him up in the middle of the night.
He could have measured the increasing amount of T-cells he lost each month.
He could have counted the times he wished he was back on heroin, so he could 'accidentally' overdose and just die, finally.
He could have counted the emergency trips to the hospital.
He could have counted the times they were so close to running out of AZT.
But he didn't. He measured it in the good things.
He counted the number of smiles Mark would give him.
He measured the comfort he felt when Mark's arms were around him.
He counted the times when Mark would use the little money they had to get Roger's favorite takeout, just to make him feel better.
He counted the memories he had of Mark, and of all the things he had done for Roger. Sticking around during withdrawal, forgiving him after he ran off to Santa Fe, comforting him when Mimi left, sticking with a job he hated so they could pay for Roger's meds.
He counted the little kisses Mark would give him, the words of reassurance, the times they fell asleep in each other's arms.
He counted the times Mark would spend the evening in Central Park with him, then go home, sit on the balcony, and watch the sun set behind all of the buildings that made up New York City.
He counted the times Mark said 'I love you.'
Roger could have measured his last year in the bad things. But he didn't.
He measured it in Mark.
Figure in love.