Leaving. Cowardice ruled him. Leaving wasn't the best option, but the pressure was eating him alive. Watching as every problem hurt them. Why did this group have to be faced with every peril? They tried so hard and fell every time. Yet they kept getting back up. But what if he was sick of it? What if he didn't want to get up, knowing that next time he would just fall back down again?

"Don't do this," Roger, his best friend told him.

"I have to," Mark, our protagonist, said gently.

Later on, as Mark was packing, he heard the light, familiar tapping of Angel's heels against the hardwood floor of the loft. Collins was right behind her.

"So you're leaving," Angel said, rather uncharacteristically monotone.

"Yes," Mark said. Seeing the look on her face, he continued. "I have to. I have to finish my own work. I need a new angle. I need a break, okay!"

"You're not leaving for that. You're leaving because you're afraid. Because of all you hide. Don't give me that face. You know you do. You hide behind that camera. You hide there because you don't want the world to see how vulnerable you really are. You're just as weak as us. You're a workaholic because you don't know how not to be one. You don't want to face your realities, so you try to show everyone's life. Your life is not your life. It's you connecting to other's lives. You're hiding in your job." Angel said, softly. No matter how upset she was, Angel never liked to blow up. It took a lot to get her to.

"From what?" Mark said honestly.

"From facing your fears. Everything you don't want to lose. You're afraid of being alone because you don't have your own identity. You've always been measured by your friends. You've always been measured by your friends. You've always been the friend who helps everyone else. It's time to look out for yourself. We get that. But you still have to see us. We need you." Angel said, almost pleadingly.

"I need to find myself. You act like you're so perfect and that my life is so much better. Poor baby." Mark said accusingly.

A hurt look flashed into a murderous glare. Where did one end and one begin? Just as Angel starts to head angrily toward him, a hand, Collins' arm rather, picks her up and calms her down, then moves her away.

When Angel had finally been able to control her voice, she shakily said, "Fine. Just remember that you don't know what you're going to come home to."

"I know," Mark said softly, "But I'll still back."

"Come home soon," Collins said, before turning away and leaving the loft.

Two days later, Mark was in Santa Fe. Standing on a street corner, he whipped out his camera, filming anything that crossed his path. He sighed. Truthfully, he missed New York. He missed his friends. Here, he had been in New York barely over a day, and he already wanted to go home. He packed up his stuff and used what little money he was able to scrounge up and hopped on the nearest bus back to New York.

Sighing, he turned the key, walking into the loft. Roger sat in his customary position on the table, playing his beloved guitar. But something was different. Mimi, who was ordinarily at his side, was not there.

"Hey," Mark said awkwardly.

"You're home," Roger said sadly.

"Where is everyone?" Mark asked.

"Looking for Mimi. They told me not to come with," Roger shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, to no avail, "Angel's scared out of her mind with all that bad things she thinks are going to happen to Mimi."

"Mimi's missing?" Mark asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Roger said, seeming rightly withdrawn.

"You must be worried sick." Mark said comfortingly.

No answer.

Christmas Eve. Mimi had been missing for two months now. Roger and Angel were still searching frantically for her. Mark was putting together his film from the year, a homage of sorts to this happy year. That is, until two months ago. Roger was playing Musetta's waltz for the thousandth time. Ordinarily, Mark would be chasing Roger around, trying to reach the guitar and smash it into bits (there's only so much Musetta's Waltz one person can take) but do to the circumstances, Mark let him be. The phone rang.

Speeeeak!

"Hey guys, it's us," Collins' voice came from the phone, "Throw down the key."

Mark did just that, and they sat there, Mark and Collins conversing, and Angel and Roger silently sitting there. Then they heard from the window, "MARK!!! ROGER!!!!!!! Anyone, HELP!!!!!" Maureen's voice screeched.

"Maureen?!" Mark yelled.

"It's Mimi! I can't get her up the stairs! Hurry!"
Roger and Angel heads immediately whipped up and by the time Collins and Mark were even able to react, Roger and Angel were halfway down the stairs. After carrying her up to the loft, Roger asked, "What happened?"

"We found her in the park, cold and hungry. We tried to take her to a hospital, but she wouldn't let us." Joanne explained.

Collins had already called 911, but was put on hold. All they could do know was wait, and Mimi was getting worse and worse by the second.

Eventually, when Mimi looked as though she was slipping away, Roger pulled out his guitar and played his special song he had written for her. He held her and hoped and cried. This shocked Mark, because, even though Mark and Roger had known each other since they were kids, Mark had rarely ever seen Roger cry.

Eventually, Mimi's eyes shakily opened. Relieved Roger cradled Mimi and they all ran up and hugged her.

Truly no day but today had never held more meaning.