Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape, or form, own Rent and its characters. Jon Larson is my hero.
Warnings: Language.
So, welcome to another story written and completely made up by me. I go to a catholic school and I couldn't help but think about the seven deadly sins; which Rent character would go to each one? Well, you're about to find out.
By the by, this is not Mark/Roger, although it may seem like it sometimes. They're just really close.
Enjoy! (And don't forget to review!)
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Envy is complicated. Sometimes, envy is just a time when a woman passes another one the street, wishing she had that purse. Other times, envy is wanting so desperately to look as good as someone else, that person changes entirely. Their whole life revolves around feeding the envy; an attempt to appease that bubbling in the bottom of their stomach.
Then there are the people who feel like they are surrounded by people who are infinitely better than they are. These people don't necessarily obsess about their appearance, eat healthy all the time, or have natural movie star good looks. These people either go one of two directions. They accept what was given to them and live with it, or they pull deeper and deeper inside themselves until they have no appearance at all. They are void; unnoticed.
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"Roger, we get it. You love how you look. But could you please not stare at yourself in every window we pass?"
"I'm sorry buddy; I can't help it that I was blessed. I'm just naturally gorgeous. Sometimes, it's hard not to stare."
"Whatever Roger; Just don't slow us down every time you do it."
He just laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. His stride slowed as we passed another store on the sidewalk. "Damn, my hair's getting all windblown." A small pout etched onto his face.
I rolled my eyes. "You're such a woman."
"I am not! I just don't like when it gets all…..big."
"Okay Roger, I just don't see how your hair is a big deal. I don't worry about mine like that."
"Yeah, but yours is short. And you cover it in gel. There's no way yours would move anyhow."
"I don't cover it in gel!"
"It's hard as a rock." He knocked two of his knuckles on the top of my head for effect. "See? It's like I knocked on the side of a boulder."
I blew air out of my nose, shaking my head. "Just because my hair isn't gorgeous and I'm not olive skinned, green eyed, or a rockstar…" My head dropped.
"Hey, hey stop." Roger had come back over to me, trying to ease my sudden sadness. "You're not ugly Mark. Any woman would be lucky to have you with her."
I chewed on the inside of my lip, considering this. It wasn't that I hated everything about my life. I loved my friends. I loved my camera and the good film I was able to get from the small amount of supplies I had. It wasn't that my life was bad in itself. It was just the small little fact that I really kind of hated myself.
I was weak. I was always assumed as the rock for everyone else. I was always thought of as the guy who would hold up the rest of the group once it began its slow deterioration to AIDS. But, I never really saw myself strongly in this role. My parents never built me up; my dad constantly made it obvious how pathetic he thought I was.
I was not really giving anything to the world either. The only film that I had completed so far was put on the news maybe twice. It didn't accomplish much; only to make people who watched television aware for an hour.
Most of all, in my life, I saw myself as one of the most unneeded and unattractive members of our group. I was pale as a washed-out ghost, my hair was limp and in no way luscious, my eyes were glazed over with geek glasses, and my body wasn't even worth mentioning. I just wasn't "naturally gorgeous" as Roger so bluntly saw himself.
And I was unbelievably envious of him.
"No Roger, you're right. Not everyone is as blessed as you are. I am a geeky camera nerd. I'm white as a person can be. I am in no way good with women." My face slowly crept over with heat, surely growing ever more red with every word that came out of my mouth. "I'm not a musician, I'm not a model, I'm not a super genius; I'm not special at all." My eyes flickered up to the worried ones of my best friend.
"Don't you get it, Roger?" I slid one of my sleeves up my arm, angry lines formed there from this morning. Jagged lines ran down my face from the tears spilling out. "I hate who I am. I hate how I look. I hate me." My voice had raised considerably, rough from the effort. My whole body shook from the emotional rush that had just passed through me.
Roger was silent for a minute or two. He took my arm gently in his large hands. I winced when he ran one of his fingers over the lines there. His lava warm hands gave me goosebumps from the temperature difference. He slid my sleeve back down my arm, his green eyes finally coming back to meet mine. A large breath rushed out of him slowly. "Mark, you are so stupid." A chuckle fell from his lips. "How could actually think that you are anything less then amazing?" He pulled me into a hug, gaining stares from the public around us. "You are my best friend. You are the only rock of our family. You are a beautiful person inside and out. You are my brother." He pulled away from our hug, the warmth in his eyes giving me new hope.
I sniffed, completely embarrassed from my outburst. "Thank you Roger." I sighed. "I guess I just envied the way they looked at you."
He turned his head to the side. "Who?"
"Everyone, Rog. When we walk down the street, you're the one that catches attention. I might get a look or two but, no way the way you do." I huffed, the wind chilling my lungs. "I will never get the attention that you do."
"You're a different person than me Mark." He shook his head, the smirk on his face telling me how ridiculous he thought I was. "Sometimes, I wish I was more like you."
My brows knit together in confusion.
"You get to be alone sometimes. You get to be alone if you want to. I hate having to fight to be alone. You are luckier than you think."
"What if I'm tired of being alone?"
"Then go out and do something about it, man. Love doesn't just pop out of no where. You have to go out and look for it. You have to go out and live your life. Love will come to you." His eyes glowed, his mind obviously on Mimi.
I nodded my head, finally getting it. I never lived my life like that. I was always too afraid of rejection. I was always so focused on how much envious I was of the world, that I missed being a part of it. "You're right, Roger." I smiled up at him. "Thanks."
A bright smile split his features. "I'm always right, bitch." He said, flicking my ear before moving on along the sidewalk; I was right behind him.
"Roger, that hurt. Why would you—" BAM.
"Hey! That hurt, you ass. Why don't you watch where you're--" A new voice broke through the collision. Beautiful blue-green eyes flicked up to my blue ones. A gorgeous brunette woman was on the ground picking up her journal and the papers that had escaped. "Oh! I'm so sorry." A soft smile flew across her face. I blushed. "I wouldn't have yelled if I knew you were that cute."
I chuckled. "It's alright. I really should watch where I'm going." I happened to pick up one of her papers, a page of a manuscript for a book meeting my eyes.
"Thank you, cutie." Her fingers grazed mine and I thought I saw a blush crawl over her fair skin. Adjusting her papers, she extended out her hand. "I'm Gabrielle."
I took her slender, warm hand in mine. My heart pounded. "Mark. Mark Cohen."
Maybe Roger was right after all.
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A/N: I hope you loved it, guys. That was the deadly sin for Mark. I hope you loved it! There should be seven more chapters for each character. Can you guess who'll be each one? R&R :)
