This is such a fast write…but yeah, ideas run like water in my head so it'll be trickling out soon if I don't do it now…even though I have to leave for class in…20 minutes…

I do not own RENT or any of the characters therein.
This story was kind of inspired by cameragirl's Dreamful Sleeps

His Leather Jacket

"Aw, damnit."

Roger stuck his head out of the bathroom. "What?"

"The sleeve ripped off my coat." Mark explained, holding up the two now separate pieces of fabric.

Roger laughed. "I'm surprised its lasted this long. Duct tape and safety pins can only fix things for so long, Marky."

"It was just safety pins, we ran out of duct tape when we fixed your shoes last month, and it wasn't ripped all the way before." He said defensively, pouting slightly. He paused. "I wonder if duct tape would be able to fix it…just until I scrap enough money for another one…"

Roger walked over, taking the coat from his hands and examining it. "Eh, I don't think so, its pretty bad…and you know what they say-

"If you can't duct it, fuck it." They said simultaneously.

"Yeah, I guess…but damn, we've got to walk all the way down to Joanne's and its fucking cold out."

Roger laughed. "You're whining." He chided. "And over nothing, its not that cold out."

"Well, I get cold."

The musician shook his head, chuckling before heading off into their room. After a moment he came back, holding his leather jacket. "Here, wear my jacket."

Mark stared at it for a few moments. Roger loved his jacket, more than loved: he practically obsessed over it. He didn't like anyone else touching it, and he had certainly never let anyone wear it.

"What?" he asks, deciding he must have heard him wrong.

"Wear my jacket." He repeats simply, as if it wasn't a big deal at all.

Mark's brow furrows as he looks at the pile of leather in the musician's hands. "What about you? Its cold out there, and you can't…I can…its okay if I get sick."

Roger purses his lips, tensely silent for a moment before grinding out, "Its not that cold." Then looking at Mark's face he shrugs. "I'll wear my sweatshirt, it'll be good enough."

"Well, why don't I just wear that?" the filmmaker reasoned. He watched in slight confusion as the other man groaned, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation.

"Look, I want you to wear it, okay?"

Mark stared at him for a moment before laughing softly. "You sound like some guy in high school who wants his girlfriend to wear his varsity jacket. Next thing you're going to want me to wear your class ring and pin."

Roger grinned, stepping up to Mark. "What, you wouldn't wear my pin? I'm hurt, Mark." He teased. He leaned in, resting a hand on the back of Mark's neck and gently stroked the hair there. "I kind of like that analogy you gave. If we were in high school, and I had a varsity jacket, you'd definitely be wearing it." He pulled Mark in, whispering against his ear, "Just so everyone would know that you're mine." He pressed a soft kiss to his lips, only slightly deepening it before pulling away and pushing his jacket into his hands.

"Wear it."

Mark groaned. "This is so…frustrating. I mean…if we were in high school, I'd wear your varsity jacket, sure. But…this is your leather jacket. Its…fucking weird for me to wear it. Its like…its like how weird it would be if you were to wear my scarf. Just doesn't fit."

Roger grinned. Leaving Mark standing there he went into the bedroom again. Within moments he walked out, his sweatshirt in place and a striped scarf wrapped his neck.

"Now put it on. We're going to be late."

With a slight grin, Mark pulled on the jacket.