Author's Note: I love Mark! He has to be my favourite Bohemian out of all of them. So it's right that he's the protagonist of my first Rent fic. And while I adore Roger Rabbit, I must confess that I enjoy Mark/Mimi SO much more. You can't beat unrequited love!

The Show Must Go On

She's sitting right next to me, at a little table in the corner. I know that beneath the appropriate leopard print coat there's some flimsy fabric, strung together to look like clothing. A pang of envy follows the thought that there's only one guy that actually gets to touch her. I say something wry and witty about her improved flexibility. She laughs. God, if I could die with the sound of her laughter in my ear…

"You probably couldn't tell, but I was nervous with you in the crowd. It's different when you've got a friend there, you know."

A friend. Right. I almost forgot. Roger is the boyfriend, I am the supportive, inoffensive pal. I have my role to play in this show, too. But frankly, my part really sucks. Really.

"It definitely didn't show," I murmur. "And I was looking at your face most of the time, believe it or not."

"Or not," she snorts and nudges me with her shoulder, her hair tickling my cheek in the process. She doesn't know how much the simple act affects me. She doesn't know because I am an excellent actor. I've been honing this craft since I realized Roger wanted her, too. He's better for her than I could ever be. That's what I tell myself.

The last dregs of ogling morons have finally disappeared. It's quiet, except for the guy sweeping the floors. This is the first time we've ever been alone like this. Roger asked me to make sure she got home all right while he's at a gig with his newly-formed band. He's been all protective of her since the near-death experience a month ago.

I consented, of course, because that's what best friends are supposed to do. Then again, I have my own agenda.

"You were great, though," I say. "Really…engaging."

She shrugs and looks down, something that only ever happens when she's uncomfortable. "Well, I always try to put on a good show," she says ruefully. She drums her fingernails on the table now. "Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't…think any less of me, do you? Because of what I do?"

The thought that I might have given off that impression kind of takes me aback.

"Of course, not!" I say with all the earnest I can muster. "I mean, you have to make a living, right? And I'm in no position to judge."

She says, "Yeah, you are," and looks up at me. Like an electric shock is the only simile adequate to describe it. "Your job is something to be proud of. You help people. You tell the truth."

I can't help an inane, embarrassed smile. She is the only critic worth listening to.

"I'm not getting accolades any time soon," she sighs. "Except for my spectacular talent in being naked maybe."

I shake my head. "You don't need verification from anybody but yourself." This is what really good friends like myself say. I'm practically a girlfriend. "I for one am elated that you found your niche in nudity." This is not so good.

She cocks an eyebrow. "Okay, you so weren't looking at my face."

"I'm looking at you now." All of a sudden, the distance between us is minimal. I can smell her sweat, and make out the small crack in her bottom lip, even count her eyelashes as they flicker down. I am looking at her, but in the wrong way, and she knows it. This is definitely not in the script.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the janitor is sweeping under our feet noisily. She clears her throat and looks away. The moment is passing, and I find myself trying to sustain it by staring intently at her.

"What time is it?"

Unfortunately, I have a watch, so I have to give up on the gazing. "Eleven forty-five."

"Holy crap! We've been here almost two hours?"

"Felt a lot shorter."

"It kinda did, huh?" she says absently while picking up her bag. "We should head home. I wanna get there before Roger."

Roger. The boyfriend. "Right. Of course."

It's cold outside. We're not quite alone anymore, even though we are. I start to brood all over again about how crappy my role is. Roger is great, but who's to say he's better than me? I can make her happy, too. I do make her happy. I want her. I just don't know if she wants me back.

Suddenly, it hits me. I'm not just an actor. This is my movie. I can write the script, too. Or at least, contribute a few crucial words…

"I'm in love with you…"

Before I can make up my mind to say anything, we're at her door. She sighs and smiles a little.

"It's nice that you came to see me. Roger never does."

I shrug. "He probably can't stand the thought of other guys seeing you all nekked. It's easier for those who aren't dating you."

"Yeah. I guess. But thanks for the support anyway."

"It's nothing that deserves thanks."

She rolls her eyes and mutters, "So modest", before punching my shoulder gently. "You're a cool guy, Mark. And I'm glad you're my friend."

My smile is actually painful, it's so forced. "Ditto," is all I can muster.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Mimi."

I wait until she closes the door on me before I turn around and proceed up the stairs. Nothing has changed. The show goes on.

Why can't they give out Oscars for this crap?

A/N: If you enjoyed this one-shot, you simply must R&R! If you didn't, PLEASE post something that's purely constructive. I'm kinda sensitive when it comes to Rent. Flames will kill me.

Peace and GBU (God Bless U)