Disclaimer: It's all Jonathon Larson's. No one could hope to measure up anyway.

Mark

Pictures were strewn haphazardly across the floor as Mark rifled through them, looking for the one that he knew was somewhere in the mess. It was one that he definitely wanted to frame for college; he even had the frame chosen and standing empty and ready on his bedspread.

Deeply immersed in packing, Mark whistled to himself. After a few minutes it occurred to him that the song was one of Roger's, and he smiled, interchanging the softly whistled notes for a quiet rendition of the lyrics.

Earlier in the day he'd been at Roger's, helping the other boy pack the things he wanted to take to the hotel he was going to be staying in until he found a place of his own. His possessions didn't take up as much room as Mark's, and it didn't take long at all. Now he was in his own room, carefully labeling boxes and not thinking about how distracted Roger had seemed all day.

Well, that last part of a lie. He was trying not to think about it, fairly unsuccessfully. There wasn't any use anyway, because when he'd pressed Roger about it, Roger had dodged and evaded his questions.

Finally the picture that Mark had been searching so earnestly for appeared, and he picked it up, dusting it off carefully and holding it back to study.

The photo was from three months earlier, of him and Roger, and shot by Maureen just after graduation. In it, Mark wore his graduation cap and robes, though Roger's cap was falling off of his mussed hair, just about to drop to the ground. Roger was laughing, one hand reaching for his cap, and the other wrapped around Mark's shoulders, pulling him close. Mark had his head tilted towards Roger's shoulder and was grinning, a smile brighter than he was normally able to muster for a camera. Both boys were looking at one another, their faces only inches apart and filled with unadulterated joy.

It was one of the few pictures that Mark had with both of them in it, since normally he was the one behind the camera. As a result, he had a plethora of pictures of Roger, all of which he loved, but none of them had quite the feel that this one did.

Having successfully retrieved the picture, Mark set it in its frame, and was about to place the ensemble into one of his boxes, but couldn't quite bring himself to put it away yet. Instead he set it on the table beside his bed, resolving that he'd wrap it up tomorrow before he put the last box in the car.

Seeing it there, with them in their graduation robes, reminded Mark of how quickly the intervening time had slipped by. Already, he was about to head off to Brown, Roger was going to live in the city with him, and Maureen was leaving for Boston University, only an hour away. The summer had been fast—too fast, he thought, except that even next year he was going to have Roger right there with him, and Maureen close enough to visit whenever they wanted.

Mark was so deep in his thoughts that he missed the voices downstairs until he heard, "Mark, honey, you have a…friend…at the door," float up the stairs.

Immediately he sat bolt upright, running out of his room and nearly hurdling down the stairs to where his mother was standing, one hand on the doorframe, examining a rather uncomfortable-looking Roger. Both of them turned as they heard him pound into the hallway.

"Mark, dear, don't run in the house," his mother said reflexively, and behind her Roger gave a little wave.

Ignoring his mother, Mark stepped up to the door. "Hey, Rog, what're you doing here?" he asked in confusion. They, as well as Maureen, had had a small goodbye party just for the three of them earlier, and the boys weren't supposed to meet until the next morning, when Roger had been planning to stop by before he left for the three hour drive to Providence. Mark was going to call him at the hotel that evening so they could get together and celebrate their newfound freedom.

In the doorway, Roger looked decidedly unsettled in the darkening evening, with the porch light playing over his features as he said, "Could I come in for a little while? Um…you sounded like you might need help packing."

Mark turned to his mother, wondering what this was about. Obviously Roger wasn't here to pack. "Mom, this is Roger…you saw him a couple times over the summer when he was picking me up. Could he come upstairs and help me out?"

Mrs. Cohen checked her watch. "It's nearly nine o'clock. You can have him over for an hour, no more. You need your sleep before tomorrow."

With a nod at Roger, Mark ushered him in. To his credit, Roger offered a hand to shake Mrs. Cohen's. "It's nice to meet you."

She smiled and said, "Yes, you too, finally. My son is always out with you and that girl, but he never brings anyone over."

Behind her back, Mark rolled his eyes. She didn't like him having friends over, but in front of Roger, she made it sound like Mark's fault. Well, in part it was true that he didn't want his friends exposed to his family, but still, she was at the root of it.

Politely, Roger nodded, slipping off his shoes as Mark's mom excused herself. As soon as she was out of sight Mark grabbed Roger's hand and pulled him up the stairs and into his room. Closing the door safely behind them, he started to ask, "What are you doing here?"

The words had barely left his mouth when Roger had grabbed him, a hand on either side of his face, and shoved him up against his wall violently, kissing him fiercely for long moments until Mark couldn't breathe anymore. Finally Roger pulled away enough for Mark to gasp in a few breaths.

"I just needed you, right now, tonight. Before we leave for anywhere else, I needed you here, where we started out," Roger murmured gruffly, his mouth still so close to Mark's that Mark could feel their lips brush together. The dark tone and Roger's nearness sent shivers all through Mark as he replied, "Okay."

From the way that Roger was acting, he didn't think that he had much of a choice in the matter. As soon as he got his reply, Roger let his arms fall to Mark's sides, wrapping them together and kissing him deeply again so that Mark panted against his mouth. Roger licked and nipped at his lips, and then along his jaw line, breathing into Mark's ear and biting down on the junction of just-bare skin where his neck and shoulder met.

It was rougher than they usually engaged in, and with his mouth free, Mark queried, "Rog…what's going on? Are you okay?"

Roger growled slightly, capturing Mark's mouth again in lieu of answering, and despite himself, Mark found that the distraction was providing sufficient. Something in Roger's eyes told him that he really didn't want the answers anyway, not right now, so he didn't force the issue, just let Roger possess him.

He was already so hard that it was painful, and when Roger tore open his jeans and forced a hand into his boxers, Mark had to bite back a scream that would have brought his mother running up the stairs. Instead, he moaned throatily as Roger stripped both of them of clothes and then dropped to his knees. Usually it was Mark that sucked off Roger, but Roger was still undeniably good at it, letting Mark thrust until his green eyes watered, but not flinching.

Mark came more quickly than he had in months, and once he'd started with Roger, he found that he wasn't the only one who was desperately hard and easy to get off. Roger's climax was beautiful, with his back arched and fingers splayed in Mark's hair. Once they were done, they collapsed into a heap on Mark's bed, both of them breathing as if they'd been sprinting.

"God, Roger…"

They squirmed a bit, getting into a position where they could look at one another, foreheads pressed together. Roger bent and kissed the mark that he'd made biting Mark's shoulder, which was an angry red against the pale skin. He was so quiet that it was unnerving, and Mark looked at him curiously.

"Rog…are you okay?"

The words seemed to trigger something within Roger, because he sat up, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up every which way. "I'm fine," he replied, and started gathering up his clothes, hopping on one foot as he tugged on his jeans.

Once he was decent, he walked over to the door to Mark's room, placing one thin hand on the knob. Mark watched his fingers resting on it, the beautiful, long-fingered hands curving slightly with the metal, and then looked up in time to see Roger give him a smile that was beautiful and troubled.

"I'll see you in the morning, Mark. Sorry I wasn't more help with packing."

Still naked, Mark could only stare. "No…it's fine, Roger. This was…better. I'll see you tomorrow. I...you know I…yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," he finished lamely, worried, and not quite able to say what he meant.

-------------------------

In the morning, when Mark awoke, the sun was bright in the sky, and he grinned against his pillow, the previous night's events dulled in his mind so that they seemed less like something foreboding and more like a lover's tryst. And this morning….today was the day. Finally, he and Roger were going to start in on the rest of their real lives together.

Dressing quickly, Mark glanced at the clock and then hurried down the stairs. He grabbed a bowl of cereal, which he took into the living room to eat so that he could watch out the window for Roger.

There wasn't much of a wait. Within fifteen minutes, the battered car was pulling up to the curb outside. Though it was sunny, the air was crisp, so on his way out the door Mark grabbed the jacket that had once been Roger's and pulled it on, crunching through leaves on his way down the driveway. By the time he got to the car, Roger had only just climbed out, and he stood leaning one elbow against it, studying Mark, who grinned.

After a moment, Mark's smile drooped, because Roger still looked so serious. "Hey," he said, finally, and Roger bit his bottom lip.

"Hey," he said at last.

"Are…you alright?" Mark asked, and suddenly his cereal felt like a lead weight in his stomach, even though he didn't know what it was that felt so off.

"I got a place to stay," Roger said, and his voice sounded broken, hushed.

Now Mark was really ready to panic, because he knew that he was missing something. There was something in Roger's demeanor that was terrifying, and so incredibly wrong, something that he was afraid had been there for some time now without Mark even seeing it. Something that he didn't think he would have recognized, or probably would have fought not to, even if he had been aware of it. Swallowing hard, he said weakly. "That's great. That's…Roger…what…?"

"It's in New York City. Lower East Side."

Mark was hearing things. He was sure of it, because there was absolutely no way that Roger had just announced that he was moving to New York City. Not after all of what they'd talked about, planned to do…they were both going to Providence to be together, dammit, and Roger couldn't just go and change that. How had Mark missed something like that?"

Looking as if he was trying to hold back tears as much as Mark, Roger said plaintively, "Mark…I just couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend like that. I couldn't pretend that everything was going to be great, and things were going to work out so ideally when they obviously weren't. I'm not cut out for something like that….I have to actually try to do something with my life, you were right. I…one of the guys from the band knows someone, and we're moving in with him. We're going to try to start up a band there, a real one."

Mark couldn't move. He was sure that he was glued in place, and this couldn't be real. In a minute he was going to wake up and Roger was going to be there, Roger, who needed him and would never abandon him like this for…what?

"Say something, Mark. I'm so sorry. We can still see each other…I'll give you my address, and my phone number. It's only like three and a half hours for a trip, and—"

At last Mark found his voice. "You're moving to New York City? How long have you known this, Roger? How could you wait until now to tell me about it? The morning of?"

He laughed, and it was a sound bordering on hysteria. "You really got me this time, Rog. Good one. Get me thinking that you actually care enough…what is it? Am I too boring, predictable, nowadays? Being with me isn't enough of a statement? Moving and not going to college isn't rebellious enough? You aren't already causing enough havoc and hurt?"

All of Roger's muscles went taut. "Look, Mark, I'm just doing what I have to do. College is for you, and I'm not trying to stop you from doing that. But that's just not me. I have to find myself. I have to find…I would have told you before, but I thought it might be easier if you didn't know until now."

In his shocked state, Mark had shifted from being purely hurt to absolutely livid as well, and he spat, "Well, you thought wrong. At least I was willing to compromise for you instead of just throwing my life away. At least I tried."

Now it was Roger's turn to make the jump to anger. "Throwing my life away? Is that what I'm doing? Which of us is giving up the dream of what you actually want to do to go into fucking…business, or retail management, or whatever the hell it is that your parents want you to do? At least I'm not giving up who I am just to fit other peoples' expectations of me."

Part of Mark was saying that he should calm down, maybe break down in Roger's arms, tell him that he was going to miss him horribly, but it was okay and they would make it through until they were together again. The rest of him still wanted to lash out and hurt Roger as badly as he was hurting right now, and that was the part that was winning out.

"Obviously you don't try to think of what anyone but you might want. Just…go, Roger. Go to New York. Have a nice life. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

There was a vein in Roger's forehead that was standing out slightly, and Mark couldn't decide if he looked more angry or distressed, because the two were pretty even right then. "Fine," he yelled back, wrenching open the car door again. Mark could see Roger's Fender case on the passenger seat, waiting to accompany him to wherever he was going, and wished that he were that guitar, because it was obviously what Roger needed, rather than him.

Roger was already getting into the car, and if Mark didn't know better, he would have thought that the musician's eyes were glossy. It had to be a trick of the light, though, because Roger never cried. Never. Suddenly, before he closed the door, and before Mark walked away, Roger said, "Wait. Here," and held out a small piece of notebook paper.

Mark considered not taking it, just walking away, because wasn't that what Roger was doing? Just driving away from his pleading? Finding that he couldn't quite bring himself to do that, he instead stepped forward and grabbed the little sheet of paper from Roger's grasp. Though he shoved it into his pocket as if he didn't care about it, Mark glimpsed an address and a phone number scrawled on it in Roger's familiar handwriting, and his chest clenched horribly.

"Just…maybe you could call sometime," Roger said, in the same broken voice that he'd given his announcement in, and then he and Mark just stared at each other. Mark was afraid that if he stood there any longer, he would either break down completely or start punching Roger, he instead he turned around and walked back towards the house. Behind him he could hear the car start up.

By the time he made it up to his room again, he was pouring tears, and after slamming the door to his bedroom, he grabbed the graduation photograph off of the nightstand. His fingers were shaking so hard that he almost couldn't unfasten the back.

Finally the frame dropped to the floor, saved from shattering by the soft carpet, and Mark was left holding the picture with both hands.

In one motion, he ripped it in half, the pieces fluttering to the floor facedown.