Photograph, a rent fanfic

A/N: Don't own Rent. Don't own the song Photograph by Nickelback. Enjoy.

PHOTOGRAPH

Mark clutched a photograph tightly in his hands. It was of his best friends in high school. He sat in the middle, pressed between the dark-haired Joey with some sort of paper hat on his head, who died in a car crash involving drunk driver's the night of prom, and spiky haired Roger, only a few weeks gone, after his long battle with AIDS. He laughed at the picture, unsure if the redness around their eyes was because of the camera or if they were drunk or high.

Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
How did our eyes get so red
And what the hell is on Joey's head?

Mark couldn't believe he was back here, he had promised himself not to return. NYC was his home now. It didn't matter that his parent's no longer lived here; this is where he had planned his escape. The new owner's had redone the carpet, and painted the walls, but Mark had still found the box of almost forgotten photos in the back of his old closet. He hadn't even believed that the new owners, let a stranger root around in their house, but they had. Mark held the photo close to his chest, and stared out the window. He smiled, remembering how many times he had managed to slide down the drain pipe, it cause him many scrapes and bruises, but it was the only way down. It had been hard, but it hadn't stopped Mark, he snuck out at least once a month to go drinking with Roger.

And this is where I grew up
I think the present owner fixed it up
I never knew we'd ever went without
The second floor is hard for sneaking out

Mark thanked the new owner's and left quickly, holding the box of old pictures awkwardly, with his most treasured one sitting on top. He passed his high school, and glanced at the newly installed security cameras. He shook his head, wondering how many times he had skipped class to go film Roger smoking the park, or Joey skateboarding along the road.

Then, he smiled, remembering the times when he had gone to school, when he wasn't supposed to. At night, he had been caught by the police twice, once to retrieve his camera which had been confiscated by a teacher. A second time to save Roger's guitar, he had left it in the cafeteria after the bell had rang. But those were only the times they were caught, he remembered, tagging along with Joey and Roger to pull pranks, and graffiti the walls, things normal teenagers did. And the police had only caught him twice.

And this is where I went to school
Most of the time had better things to do
Criminal record says I broke in twice
I must have done it half a dozen times

Mark had dropped out of college, had finished high school only to please his parents, he had gotten A's, but he was sure he could've graduated early if he had wanted too. His teacher's always said he had much more potential, but Mark was never interested in school. Maybe he should go back and take a couple of courses. He snorted. The teacher's may have seen his potential, but they never liked him. It wouldn't be the same without Roger anyway.

I wonder if it's too late
Should I go back and try to graduate
Life's better now than it was back then
If I was them I wouldn't let me in

Oh, oh, oh
Oh, god, I

Back home at the loft, Mark spread out the old photos, with the new ones, long-lost friends, and those who have passed recently, and finally, those who were thankfully still with him. He searched and searched, and looked for every picture he could find with Roger in them, he placed them, into a cheap photo album, he bought at a drugstore, he couldn't ever forget him, and he needed the photos to help him through. He needed his photos to be able to say goodbye to his best friend, to the friend he had loved more then his blood related sibling.

Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.

Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.

As Mark sorted his photographs he drifted into memories. Memories of everything he had ever done with Roger. There had been an arcade, of sorts, which he and Roger had gone to, just to be away from their houses. Every time they could scrape enough of their allowances to get a couple of games in, they would. It had burnt down, according to his mother. When Roger and Mark both got part time jobs, they spent all of their paychecks their.

Remember the old arcade
Blew every dollar that we ever made
The cops hated us hangin' out
They say somebody went and burned it down

Having a job was something that Roger hated from the start. Mark was undecided, he liked the money, but wasn't sure about the work itself. Roger stayed only long enough to save up for a car. They used to listen to the radio. And Roger would belt out every song that came on, claiming that one day he would be more famous then the rest of them. They promised each other to stay friend even when Mark was a famous director, and Roger a rock star.

We used to listen to the radio
And sing along with every song we know
We said someday we'd find out how it feels
To sing to more than just the steering wheel

Mark remembered preparing for his date, straightening his tie, and glasses. Roger laughing at him, from his bed, and making kissy faces. "Marky's got a girlfriend!" he sang, "Marky's gonna get his first kiss!"

Roger had only called him Marky when he was teasing. And of course, Roger who was a girl's dream, the bad boy singer in a leather jacket, had had his first kiss many years ago. Mark gave him the finger. But later that night, after the date with a girl from his English class Kim, he snuck out his house, and told Roger the details of the date, and how he couldn't believe he had missed out kissing for so long while Roger laughed hysterically. The relationship didn't last. Kim had moved out to California and the last Mark had heard from his mother was that she had two kids and another one on the way. Mark hadn't seen her in years.

Kim's the first girl I kissed
I was so nervous that I nearly missed
She's had a couple of kids since then
I haven't seen her since god knows when

Oh, oh, oh
Oh, god, I

Mark fought back the threatening tears, as he placed as many photos as he could into the pages, overlapping each other, the years that he had been Roger's best friend, had past so quickly, so amazingly fast, there had been so many days, weeks months, years, and yet not enough. Not enough to have time to say goodbye. Mark didn't want to say goodbye, he wanted to pretend that Roger was still in the next room that Angel would walk in at any moment, that Collins and Mimi didn't have AIDS. That his friends would still be alive in ten years, he didn't want to say it, but it was time.

Every memory of looking out the back door
I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.
Every memory of walking out the front door
I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for
It's hard to say it, time to say it
Goodbye, goodbye.

Mark missed the carefree days of Scarsdale High. Mark missed the faces of friends that were more like family. He preserved them in films and photos, but films and photos can't change the past. He wouldn't let his memories erase, and he is sad to admit that he can no longer replace the bad memories of him and Roger with new ones. He can't believe he even misses the fights they used to have. He'd love to forget some, and leave the others, it was hard to remain in the loft, but the loft was his home, their home.

I miss that town
I miss the faces
You can't erase
You can't replace it
I miss it now
I can't believe it
So hard to stay
Too hard to leave it

If Mark could do everything over again, he knows that everything would be different. But maybe different would not be better, maybe different would be worse. He knows there is one thing that would never change though. Roger would still be, is still, his best friend.

If I could I relive those days
I know the one thing that would never change

Mark felt the tears finally escaped. He was almost done with the album, the pages over-filled and messy, but the memories protected by the clear plastic that covered his treasures. Mark tugged on his scarf, closed the album, and wrote Goodbye Roger, on the cover. He sighed, it was still missing something.

His eyes, blurred with tears, were drawn back to the picture of the 16 year old Roger, the Roger without track marks, and scars, and dark circles under his eyes. The Roger who smiled without inhibition, the Roger who didn't need heroin, the Roger who didn't have AIDS, was what this photo was. He stuck it on the cover. Perfect. He started to laugh, though the tears remained, as he noticed Roger was giving him bunny ears in the photo, this was the untroubled Roger others would want to remember. And Mark knew that that would keep other people happy, while he could look at all of the pictures of Roger inside. Those would be for him alone. And Mark finally felt as though he could breathe normally, Mark finally felt that the time to say goodbye was right.

Look at this photograph
Every time I do it makes me laugh
Every time I do it makes me...