"A New Light" – A FanFictionby: Courtney

SUMMARY: This story focuses around the characters Mark Cohen and Roger Davis. If you are offended of the two as a couple, you will not like this fic so don't read it! If you are a fan of these two or if you are curious to see if you would be—read! ENJOY and please comment; I love to know what you think. Feel free to speak your mind, don't hold back! THANKS :D

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or story of RENT—but I wish I did! But they belong to the late genius, Jonathan Larson. This fic was made for entertainment purposes only!!

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It was cold, about forty degrees Fahrenheit, common for a March night. It was nearing 3am and Mark hadn't slept at all. He was lying motionless on his back, arms crossed on his chest, staring up at a large crack in the dingy grey ceiling of his small room. He could hear Roger through the thin walls shouting in his sleep. Mark had gotten used to Roger's sudden cries in the dark hours of the night; they were always shouts of "Mimi" or about needing drugs.

Instead of trying to ignore Roger like he usually did, Mark turned over on his left side toward Roger's room. He propped himself up on his elbow and just listened. Mark's eyes widened as he heard of what Roger was yelling about tonight.

"Mark. No, I can't. We can't. It's not right."

Mark traced Roger's lips softly with his finger tips hushing his trembling voice. "It's not right," Roger repeated in a low whisper. Mark brought his hands up and cupped Roger's face in such a loving, tender way. Roger blinked slowly and felt his body start to numb. "Shh," Mark comforted as he pulled Roger's face gently down toward his own. Their lips met for a brief, exciting and tingly moment.

Roger's eyes snapped open. He lay there panting as his entire body shook atop his now drenched bed sheets. After a moment, he removed his wandering eyes from the walls, slowly regaining his self control. He lifted his head a few inches from his pillow and took a quick peek under the sheets to see something he hadn't quite expected to see. He could feel the nervousness coming as he tried to ignore this odd time for an erection by focusing on something else. As he lowered his head back down to his bed, he looked towards the ceiling; he began tapping his right foot tensely, anxiously humming the tune of Your Eyes.

Roger had written the love songfor Mimi early on in the year before she passed away. He was now trying to use it to convince himself that THIS, being Mimi, was what had caused the erection to occur in the first place.

Getting frustrated, Roger found that the song wasn't working, but he needed to do something. He decided that he'd take a cold shower to relieve the stiffness. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. Quarter to three. He pulled off his sweat-soaked sheets as he sat up, sitting sideways on the bed. Roger let out a slight yelp as he pealed his newly stained blue plaid boxers away from his skin that stuck to him like glue.

"You okay Rog?" Came Mark's concerned voice from the dark doorway.

"Jesus!" Roger jumped, putting a hand to his bare chest. He looked towards his door, seeing Mark's small outline standing against the doorframe. He cleared his throat as he ran a hand through his hair, "Yeah, I'm...I'm fine," he said just above a whisper.

Mark looked at the shadowy figure that sat on his roommate's bed. It hardly looked like the Roger he once knew. The once fun, outgoing, rocker he once knew was gone. This new "Roger" sat stiffly and sounded, almost worried. Mark uncrossed his arms and pushed his body away from the frame of the door and slowly began to make his way toward Roger's small twin bed.

"I heard you screaming," Mark began, "Have a bad dream?"

Roger looked up at Mark, whose figure was becoming clearer the closer he came. "Yeah. I…I mean, no. I mean, yeah." Roger stumbled over his words, not sure of what to say or what he should or shouldn't make of his dream. He sighed heavily, "I don't know."

Reaching the bed, Mark sat next to Roger. "You wanna tell me about it?" Mark coaxed, already knowing it had been about him. He looked at Roger's bed sheets and was a little surprised with all the sweat he saw.

Roger noticed where his friend was staring and immediately thought that he would assume the worst. He quickly pushed his sheets aside to prevent any presumptions Mark may have already been contemplating. "It's not what you think," Roger added hastily without even really thinking.

"What's not what I think?" Mark asked, shaking his head in confusion.

Roger opened his mouth as if to speak, but shrugged off the thought. "Never mind," he brushed the air with an open hand as if he were trying to erase his previous sentence.

Mark thought very carefully about what he wanted to say to his roommate next. "You know, Rog, we have to talk about tonight."

"It's not important," Roger shrugged off. "It was just a dream."

"No," Mark insecurely chuckled. "I mean," he sipped the air, trying to catch his shortening breath. "We have to talk about what happened tonight." Mark's eyes left Roger's as he began fidgeting anxiously with his hands in his lap. Mark half expected Roger to get angry again or worse, shut down. He hated it when Roger didn't want to talk about things, but it had, unfortunately, started to become routine ever since Roger had been diagnosed with HIV those few years earlier.

Half of Mark didn't want to know Roger's response, the other half, desperately needed to know. With his decision reached, Mark felt his right eye begin to twitch as he chose to look up and face Roger's reaction, what ever it may be.

With a sheepish, boyish grin playing upon his lips, Mark lifted his head, only to be greeted by two big, beautiful dark green-brown, hazel eyes.

"Hi," Roger breathed quietly.

Mark didn't dare let go of Roger's gaze this time, "Hi," he smiled back, grinning from ear to ear.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have the most adorable little dimples when you smile?" Roger asked playfully.

Mark blinked a few times as his cheeks began to brighten. His mouth then parted an inch or two, making him look a bit like a codfish.

Roger chuckled in amusement at Mark's stunned, silent reply.

Mark's mind was a whirlwind. Had Roger really said those words to him? Maybe he was just imaging things, hearing only what he wanted to hear. He could feel the palms of his hands begin to sweat and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His heart began pounding loudly through his loose fitting, white t-shirt as he felt a suffocating reality slowly close in around him.

After a few seconds, a dumbfounded Mark began to make a few noises, most of which are not translatable in the English dictionary.

Roger chuckled again, leaning backward on his elbows on the semi-soft mattress pad, tilting his head back, facing the ceiling.

Mark rubbed his cold, sweaty hands on his pajama pants. He glanced back at Roger lounging, very relaxed on his bed. Was this the same Roger of just a few minutes ago? Mark couldn't help noticing how muscular Roger looked and how perfect his body was. He had a nice natural tan and a small amount of curly dark blonde hair on his bare chest.

Mark pulled himself together and was finally able to relax a little. He leaned over on his side, much like he did before to hear Roger's screams. "Rog?" Was barely heard above the creaking apartment.

Roger kept his resting eyes closed and almost as quietly as Mark had said his name, he responded, "Yeah?"

Mark drew a sharp breathe from the cold night air, "I'm sorry about everything that happened tonight."

Roger slowly opened his eyes and pulled himself into the same position as his roommate, facing him. His gravely voice sounded almost as if he were disappointed, "Yeah, me too."

Mark put a comforting hand on his friend's arm and they laid together in silence like that until they both fell asleep.

A/N: I am currently working on chapter 3. But I will not post until I get at LEAST two reviews. Thanks!