morethansummer1 Hey, everyone. Welcome to my second RENT fic. I really want to thank everyone who responded to me on 'Loved and Lost'. The reviews really meant a lot to me, they practically sent me to the moon. Anyway, this one originally wasn't going to be written. I was working on another RENTfic, and about half way through, my inspiration died. I figured I'd try to focus on another fic, then I could go back and keep working. Well, this one kind of took over for the past few months. I've dabbled in slash quite a bit, but this is the first one I've actually finished. It's that M/R factor taking over my brain. This is also my first attempt at chaptering, mostly as an experiment and so I have some more time to work out the kinks on the ending.

Any comments or feedback would be appreciated. I'm a little nervous about posting this, and I'm not quite as happy about how it's going so far as I was with 'Loved and Lost'. It should turn out to be five chapters. Not extremely long, but I should be getting the chapters up pretty fast. I want to make this fic work, so any constructive criticism is welcome. If there's anything screwed up or slightly off in my story, I'd like to fix it. Anyway. I hope you enjoy it. I've cerainly had fun with it. :) And thanks go to the Angel Cast for bringing RENT alive for me. Trey Ellet and Dean Balkwill haunt my dreams.

WARNING: This story contains a same-sex relationship. While I doubt that any RENT fans really need any sort of special warning, I figured I would anyway. If you don't like the idea of Mark and Roger in a romantic relationship, this ain't the story for you. If you hate sap or DepressedMark, I'd stop now. :)

Disclaimer: RENT and its characters belong to Jonathan Larson. There's no malicious nature behind my writing, I make no profit. RENT's just inspired me, and I needed to share. My eternal praises go to Jonathan Larson.

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More Than Summer

Everyone has something in their life that just doesn't feel entirely right. It seems like a part of the human condition. Some people have ethical questions about their jobs, some are uncomfortable with their accomplishments, some uneasy in their circle of friends. For me? It was something pretty simple, something that people can take for granted, yet for me it was like a glimpse into a different world. I couldn't help being uneasy with it, though I'm probably one of the only people who gets twitchy when, for the first time, I truly feel like I belong and feel... loved.

Love was something I hadn't expected to feel since the naïve days that I spent with Maureen, back when she was my goddess and I was nothing but her servant. Love was alien, love was bizarre. It was something for everyone in the world but me. There were so many times I came close to touching it, only to find that it remained just out of reach. It had been that way most of my life. Since high school, all I could remember was night after night with something missing from my soul, something aching with its solitude.

Love just wasn't for me. A part of me wondered if I was always going to be alone in my heart. Sure, I had my friends, but that wasn't quite what I craved.

Then I found it. Three years after Mimi died, the uncomfortable silence between us melted away and Roger began to heal. A part of me began to heal as well, the innocence lost in Maureen. Somewhere in there, shyness gave way, and we've walked our roads together ever since. Maybe we don't have the best relationship, between my workaholic nature and his brooding devotion to his music, but we've found some sort of happiness. It's the kind no one would ever expect, but it's there, mixed in with our own kind of screwed up love. Some days, it seems like we're living in some kind of perfectly sappy fairy tale. Some days, I don't even know who he is. But you roll with the punches, right?

Yet I've spent most of my life thinking that I would always be alone. When things changed, there was something about it that was distinctly unsettling.

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March 14th
********************

So you say
I'm too quiet
Holding things
Up in my head

I say so much
But you don't buy it
I don't want to wake up
Alone in my head

Oh say that you'll never go now
Don't go
Don't go

I need a lot of you
I want a lot of you
I need a lot of you
All of you
~Vertical Horizon "All of You"




I hate mornings more than anything. People somehow assume that I'm a morning person, and the truth can't be farther from that. I hate the grogginess, the soreness from sleeping in weird positions, acting as a reminder that I'm still alive... "Mrg," I mumbled, rolling over in my bed as the bitter taste in my mouth nearly made me gag. The faint sounds of traffic from outside the window told me that I had already slept a good part of the morning away, but I didn't care. There would always be another time for filmmaking. For this one moment, I wanted to be in bed. Hopefully sleeping. My eyelids refused to open, and after a minute of trying to get up the strength to roll out of bed, it didn't even seem to be worth the effort.

"Mark, get out of bed. Or else." Roger's decidedly grumpy voice pierced through the sleepy haze over my mind. Roger. I could deal with Roger in the morning. No catastrophes so far.

"No." Plain, simple, to the point. I didn't have the energy for anything else.

Of course, that wouldn't work. "Get up."

I managed to weakly raise an arm, shielding my eyes with it as I blearily peered up at him. Roger was looming over me and I could just make out the fuzzy image of his face, with its dark eyes and soft golden curls. Sleep. Sleep good. Waking bad, I thought drowsily. "Make me."

"You really want me to?" Roger's voice held a slightly amused undertone and a distinct edge that would have made me worried if I was a little more awake. Normally, it was an indication that I was going to find some trouble.

I rolled over, burying my face in the inviting softness of my much-beloved pillow. "Nraaaugh."

"Fine," Roger answered, barely containing the faint snicker in his voice. I ignored him, the pleasant weariness once more blanketing my brain. I could have drifted here forever. The bed was so warm, so comfy...

A spark of awareness leapt into my brain suddenly. Roger's callused hand drifted across my bare foot. His fingers lightly traced along the heel, making me squirm slightly as they brushed along the sole. I bit my lower lip, trying to ignore the laughter threatening to escape. No, I am not ticklish, I am not ticklish... Denial didn't help much. His fingers worked their way up to the more sensitive skin around my ankle.

"Maaaark," Roger crooned, almost playful. I could have gladly murdered him, if it weren't for the fact that I was too tired and he had the upper hand. Not to mention that he wasn't normally this cheerful, so if he wanted to play, I'd let him. He leaned over me and I drew in a sharp breath as he traced a finger along my cheek, tucking a few strands of hair back behind my ear. There was no way he didn't know I was awake now. I felt him lean closer, his lips barely grazing my ear. "Wakey-wakey," he whispered, his breath gently tickling while simultaneously bringing a slight flush to my cheeks.

I couldn't hide the faint smile on my lips, and I could practically sense his own. "So, Mark's awake," he murmured, and the amusement in his tone finally registered with me. There was something up, he was planning something.

And suddenly, I wasn't in bed, but rolling on the floor, letting out a wild yelp that surprised even me. "AUGH!" Cold! So fucking *cold*! In my sleep-muddled brain it took me a moment to process it, but as my eyes snapped open, I found myself staring up at Roger, who was holding an empty pitcher with a few stray ice cubes still at the bottom. I was soaked. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He couldn't just mope like he usually does, nooooo, he had to wake me up, I mentally grumbled, wincing as I unbuttoned my pajama top and threw it on the floor. Dammit, *cold*. Dragging a still-dry blanket off my bed, I wrapped it around myself and glared up at Roger.

Unfortunately, my glare of utter rage and homicidal intent isn't very threatening. Roger just stared evenly back into my gaze, a slight smirk on his expression. I wilted, trying the other method that I've found works with him: sorrow. My face screwed up into a slight pout, and I hung my head with all the sadness I could muster.

"Sorry Mark," he said softly, meeting my eyes with his amused cerulean gaze. At least there seemed to be a little regret for his prank in there... My frown deepened as I suddenly became conscious of the water dripping down my nose, of the fact that my feet were freezing, and that I was on the floor instead of my nice warm bed. The look got a response out of Roger, if not the kind that I wanted. He began to laugh with his low, warm chuckle. "You just look so... sad. Like a drowned puppy."

A puppy? Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my reflection in the mirror by the door, and couldn't help the tiniest of smiles. I looked pretty stupid, sitting there, my hair up in drenched spikes and a blanket wrapped around me. I whimpered, and Roger patted my head in response. "Okay, good boy. Now, you need to get up."

Oh yeah. Morning. That part. Once more a little annoyance took over my brain, and I scowled up. "Why the hell were you waking me up early, anyway?"

"*You* told me to wake you up. Remember? Work, shopping with Collins, yadda yadda..."

"And you listened to me?" You'd think he'd know better than that. "What are you going to be doing?" My mind was beginning to churn, the creaking cogs coming up with an idea to cast off grocery shopping onto him.

Roger's gaze abruptly left mine, the gentle smile vanishing into what seemed to be his perpetual look: a pensive, faraway stare. "I have some things to do," he said simply.

I didn't question it. Long ago I learned about where he'd vanish off to. It was stupid, I know, but about a month after we became more than best friends, I couldn't contain my curiosity about where he would go every month or so. He'd vanish off, and all my pestering couldn't get it out of him. So I followed him. Sometimes he went out of town, just driving and never stopping. Sometimes he would drift by clubs, slowing outside for a moment before continuing on. But he always drove to the cemetery to visit Mimi's grave. She was buried right next to Angel. Someday, I think we were all going to be there.

I never asked him about it again.

It's hard to love a guy like that. Sometimes I see a look on his face, and I know he's remembering her. I'll never begrudge him the place in his heart that will always belong to her. I'll never try to take that. But it hurts sometimes, and every now and then when the loft is empty except for my lonesome self, I wonder if I even have a place in his soul. He's not the most affectionate guy, or the most open. Trying to crack his walls only results in more indifference. Still, I think he feels a love for me. While he does have the look for Mimi, I discovered something interesting last month. Rewatching a film I had made during one of Maureen's recent protests (I still don't understand the point of the sheep costume, but that's Maureen...), he turned to me with a quiet, lazy smile that I recognized on him. It was then I realized that it faded the moment he looked away. That smile was mine. That's the way I know he cares.

"Well, I'll see you later, then..." I shrugged slightly, reaching for the closest sweater after a quick up-and-down glance. It didn't smell that bad, and it didn't have any visible stains. It'd be fine. Roger leaned down, planting a light kiss on my forehead before pulling away. I slipped the sweater over my head, and as I looked around again, he was gone.

Me, myself, and I. Welcome back, I thought, grabbing my camera and aiming it towards the mirror. "Close in on Mark, the infinitely tortured boyfriend," I announced, grinning. I looked like a goof with that stupid smile, I knew it, but Roger did that to me sometimes. "And soon our woeful hero shall have his revenge. But first, shopping."

I kept up the monologue as I threw on some pants and grabbed a bagel that didn't seem *too* stale. Definitely time to get some groceries. Cradling my camera in my arms, I passed our makeshift table with a cursory glance down, before quickly doing a double take. A yellow post-it note was half hidden under the phone. Curiosity getting the best of me, I picked it up and smiled slightly at Roger's crooked scrawl. It was a few numbers, '11:15', '3/14', and the letters 'DS'. Strangely familiar.

11:15, 3/14, DS... The numbers swam for a moment in my head, confused, before I finally glanced at the clock. It was 10:50. March 14th. But DS... Let me tell you about the downside to being me. I remember things. I've always had to, between spending my youth trying to balance school and film, and then moving in with Roger and having to be sure that he didn't miss gigs, or dates, or taking his AZT... I remember things very well, and it took only a moment for it to click.

DS. Doctor Sutter, Roger's doctor. Collins's unorthodox methods of getting cash had given us the luxury of medical help. Fuck. Roger *hates* going to the doctor, and he hates dealing with anything medical. Normally, the routine was me forcibly dragging Roger down to appointments. Never once did he go voluntarily.

A strange coldness settled over my mind, the familiar numbness that tickled at the back of my mind. Roger was going to the doctor. Okay. That's fine. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all... Fuck, okay, I was worried. God. Roger. Something *had* to be wrong... Closing my eyes, I let the scrap flutter to the ground. It was immaterial. C'mon, everything's okay. Don't be stupid. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine... You worry too much. Stop it. Now.

The door flew open, sending me reeling in momentary shock and nearly falling into the newly-arrived Collins. If he hadn't caught me, I would have probably ended up with a permanently flattened nose.

"What's wrong?" He could immediately tell that there was something wrong with me, even if the slight look of panic that was probably crossing my face wasn't enough of a hint.

Roger was okay. He had to be. I was overreacting completely. Just because he didn't tell me that he was going to the one place he hates... Desperation clouded my gaze as I looked up at him. "N-nothing," I stammered, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my palm. "But something came up, I've got somewhere I need to go. You don't mind handling it alone this time, do you?"

His searching gaze met mine, and it was barely a second before he nodded. "Sure thing. I'll even get those Coco Puffs for you." The man certainly knows my weaknesses, but I was too busy with the fretting in the back of my mind.

"Thanks," I responded quickly, a certain amount of relief washing over me. First step completed. Now, get to Roger.

Collins, his lips quirked into a sat sort of smile, patted me on the shoulder. "Just relax and *breathe*, Mark." He turned and headed back down the stairs, his footsteps echoing away on the concrete floors as I was left alone, clutching the doorframe.

"Breathe, Mark," I ordered myself, and managed to will my heart to slow. I was calm, I was in control. "Now be rational. Roger would have told you if something were seriously wrong. He's probably just going in for a check-up or to get some more of his prescription filled." Yeah right, like he'd tell me.

The specter was always hanging over me. Angel. Mimi. AIDS has taken down the best of us. Collins seemed like he was going strong, but it was hard to forget that someday he would be gone. But Roger was the one I always tried to forget. Every fucking day I try to forget that he wouldn't be with me forever, even if I had the romantic notions that I want him in my arms for the rest of time. He's Roger. He's my soul.

I hadn't even noticed that I was already down the stairs and out of the building. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own, so used to guiding me when distracted that they instinctively took off running down the block. The familiar scents of decay and garbage mingling with car exhaust seemed so far off. Everything did.

One block. Two blocks. My body wasn't made for running, and I slowed down, my breathing labored, but I kept walking. Every now and then, I would walk a little faster. Four blocks. Five. After a mile more, I was practically ready to drop. I *definitely* was more than a little out of shape.

When you get tired, it's harder to control your mind. Among the exhaustion, thoughts you wanted to ignore pop up. Frustration tends to build. By that point, I was only a few blocks from the small medical offices, and those thoughts that I wanted to ignore crept up, mixed in with frustration.

Who the hell does he think he is? He says he *loves* me, yet he won't tell me about the damned visit to his doctor... I'm supposed to know about these things. Of course, it's not like he even talks to me lately, always out with his damned *band* or with his *buddies*. Fuck, he complains about me always being with my camera, but you can't take that guitar away from him for a *second*... As my mental rant went on, my steps turned more into stomps, and I could feel my expression turning into more of a glare than anything else. Any 'Thanks for getting the groceries, Mark?' or 'Let's go get dinner, just you and me, Mark?' Nope, just leaving me alone, because I'm always alone. Mark's used to being alone, Mark must *like* being alone...

My teeth were nearly jarred out of my skull as I slammed into someone and was smacked back to reality.

"Mark, honey! Slow down!" Laughing, the goddess Maureen blessed my simple soul with a kiss on the cheek. My teeth were practically cracking as I ground them, yet as I was pulled into a hug, my anger deflated slightly. Maureen's got this aura. Even if she drives you nuts, frustration against the world tends to lose its edge around her. "Where's the fire?"

"Nowhere," I said, shrugging. "I'm just going somewhere."

Her cattish eyes met mine, and feline grace seemed to fill her every pore as she brushed a hand along my cheek. I wonder sometimes how she doesn't drive Joanne completely off the edge. "Well," she answered lightly, "you don't seem to be too happy with wherever you're headed. I swear, you look like you're going to rip someone's throat out with your teeth."

"I might."

The light-hearted exterior gave way for a moment, her eyes narrowing and giving a glimpse of the shadows behind them. "Mind it being Joanne?"

The tone in her voice told me that it was the usual situation. "Fighting again?" I couldn't help a slight grin.

"You could say that," she murmured, a hard edge on her tone. "She wants everything *her* way. I've never met a woman so unwilling to compromise."

Now I *did* have to try and stifle the laugh. "I see."

Maureen didn't even seem to hear my response, continuing with a dramatic wave of her hand. "And she never tells me anything! She left on a week for her law conference without even telling me! Just a note on the table, 'see you in a week, love'. A week?! Really! And she'll just come in and never tell me anything! Not even listen to me when *I* try to talk!"

Sounds familiar, doesn't it? I wish I could kill my mental voices. Preferably with something sharp.

"I just want to up and leave her. There's other women. I don't need her, do I?" That was when she turned on the old Maureen charm, looking at me with moonlike eyes that were practically glinting with innocence and pleading.

I kept in the sigh that I wanted to exhale, instead giving in with a docile nod. It's the Mark thing to do, after all. You can't win against Maureen. Besides, even though Roger's stolen my heart, Maureen's still got a little power over me. "You could have half the men in the clubs at your feet, Maureen. And the women."

My half-hearted reassurance still seemed to satisfy her. "Well," she said with a pained sigh, "I do love Joanne, even if I'm going to scream the next time I hear 'let's just go to bed' when I try to start a decent conversation. I think the love's left our relationship. But I'll stay with her... I do wish it would work..." Her eyes took on a faraway look, and felt the slightest pang in my chest. I used get that feeling a lot and wish that she had even once gotten a look like that thinking about me. Over time it had faded, as Roger captured my being. As his image invaded my mind, I realized that I felt like I was truly over Maureen.

Wistful thinking. I grinned slightly, the half-hearted attempt slipping as my thoughts once more took on a slow pulse. Roger. Roger. "I really have to go," I took a slow step back, my heel scraping the sidewalk.

"Aww...." She looked about to pout, when suddenly her head tilted, turning slightly as she gazed at the street. "Hey, isn't that Roger?"

She was right. The beat-up, run down station wagon that we called our own was stopped at an intersection. Roger was leaning back, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He promised that he'd quit, I thought, a little miffed. Belatedly remembering my purpose, I stood still, my fingers digging into my camera case. Without thinking, I drew it out and managed to shoot the back of the station wagon, disappearing around a corner. The loft wasn't even in that direction. The cemetery. Duh.

"You okay?" I felt Maureen's hand on my shoulder, and brushed it off without a thought.

I did manage a slight nod. "Yeah, fine..."

"Well, want a ride to wherever you're going?" Like a magician, she held her hand up in the air, dangling a ring of keys from her fingers.

I looked at her strangely, my eyebrow raising as I swung my camera over and aimed it at the gleaming keys. It was sort of an interesting shot. "Where'd you get those?"

"Joanne's out of town. Why does she care if I borrow her car?" Maureen was definitely smirking now, and I zoomed in on her gleaming eyes.

I whistled, letting the camera drop. "Braver than I. Man, if she finds out..."

"I can handle Joanne." I finally noticed the familiar dark blue Camry parked next to the curb, glittering under the sun. Following Maureen, I got into the car and winced as she turned on the radio, blasting some sort of esoteric, local rock music as loudly as possible.

"Can you drop me off at the cemetery?" I yelled, jamming my fingers into my ears and letting my camera drop to my lap.

She looked at me for a moment, smiling that devilish grin, before taking off with a wild screech of tires. "Anything for you!"

We arrived faster than I ever had before. I'm not quite sure how I managed to not fly through the windshield, but I did proudly survive. I even managed to pick up my camera halfway through and get some amazing shots. It's got the potential to be a great chase scene. Maybe some sort of interpretation as the hard push and fast pace of city life, which seeks to crush artists...

God, I practically sounding like Maureen.

Even when the city's baking in the sun, the cemetery always seems to have a chilly wind lightly caressing it. There's a perpetual cloudiness over it, which is probably appropriate. With a brief smile to Maureen, I unbuckled myself from the death trap of a Toyota and almost fell out onto the ground. As she pulled away, I turned to face the dark and dismal sight. Rows of headstones were lined up neatly, like teeth ready to dig in. The grass even seemed sad, small patches gone and baring the hard soil below. I don't like cemeteries. It's why I only go near them when I have a purpose.

Striding down past the aging, cracking stones, I headed for the familiar section. It was marked by a few saplings, which stood strongly, despite the wind. A crowd of mourners, dressed in black and with heads bent in sorrow, obstructed my view. Nodding to them as I passed, I continued silently on my way, the only sounds being the step of my shoes and the occasional sob from the mourners.

They were small headstones. Benny wasn't going to pay for much, but it was nice all the same. Two, nearly identical, despite the years between the deaths. I knew what sight I would see, even the way his blonde head would be bent just enough that I wouldn't see his face on approach.

He was there, standing the same way I had seen him in before. It was the same pose that he had the day that we laid her into the ground. I paused for a moment, not entirely willing to go on. Did I want to bring such stupid paranoia up in a place like this? Angel hated fighting, and Mimi was in love with him... I didn't want to bring this up here. I didn't.

No matter what I wanted, my feet had other ideas. They drew me forward, step by step. At least my hands obeyed, and my arm hung limp, my camera carefully nestled into my side.

"Roger."

He turned to me, barely offering a glance before looking back at the pair of headstones. I knew it was Mimi's grave that he was focused on, though. My eyes gazed past him, tracing over the familiar letters and winding roses that were engraved into it. Unwillingly, my stare strayed to the empty area beside it. We were on the outskirts, and someday, the rest of us wanted to be laid here, too. I don't know if Benny would pay for all of us, but I'd sell everything to ensure we'd always be together.

Roger will be beside her, I thought, before willing away the horrifying image that came to my mind, of a lonely stone with his name on it. Fuck! *No*, Mark. No. That was the last thought I wanted right now. It was the one I never wanted to have again. Still, it crept up on me, a nagging voice in the back of my head. He'll leave you someday, Mark. You'll come here and weep for him, won't you?

"Roger," I repeated, trying to block out my mind.

"You knew I was here." There was no emotion in his voice. No anger, no regret, no love, not even the mildest hint of interest. Damn him! Fuck, is he even alive? It was driving me nuts. I wanted to scream, to smack over the head with my camera, to try and get *some* reaction.

"Yeah. I saw you headed this way." I hesitated, knowing that I had to say it. It may not have been the time, but there was no better. "I also saw the note. You went to see the doctor?" I tried to keep my voice causal, but there was a faint stress to it that I knew he would pick up on.

"Uh-huh." No reaction again. Dammit, I wanted to throttle him.

As some sort of unconscious mechanism, my finger began to rub my camera, and I ached to turn it on. I could film him, then maybe it wouldn't be so real, so aching. But I tried again. "Any reason?" My 'not concerned' grin felt more like a pained grimace.

He glanced back at me, his eyes clearly conveying a mixture of irritation and pain. It was a clear message of 'back up, Mark'. And there was no way in hell I was going to let this go. Not with him.

"I mean, you don't normally go to the doctor. And when you do, you tell me. Right?" The cheerful note in my voice dropped, and to my embarrassment, my voice practically cracked on the last word.

A moment's silence by Roger was followed by a heavy sigh. "Look, I had my reasons."

Reasons. Ha. The courage that welled up at that moment was fueled by frustration. "Look, you can tell me anything, Roger," I said quietly. "I love you, okay? You mean a lot to me. I hate you hiding stuff like this, so quit fucking with me."

Another sigh, and his head drooped farther. "They wanted to talk to me. I also had some more tests that needed to be done."

"Tests?" My breath caught in my throat. Tests were never a good thing.

His lips quirked in that purely Roger smile, a sorrow flickering in his pale eyes that made me want to cover my ears. I changed my mind, I don't want to hear this... "Tests," he affirmed, nodding slowly. "Remember when I was sick last year?"

"Yeah." He had a hacking cough that lasted for weeks. For awhile, his fever was so high that I thought he was truly going to leave me. But he recovered, he's Roger. He's supposed to be invincible.

"Well, it was worse than you guys were told. It wore down my immune system pretty bad. It didn't help anything." The somber grin fell away, revealing Roger in a state I'd seen maybe once or twice before: the walls down, the guard set aside. "Seems the estimates say that I've got a few less years than I thought."

I didn't know how I was going to talk. "How long?" I croaked.

He shrugged again. "Not sure. I'm not doing too bad, I'm sticking with whatever shit they tell me to take to help... They're thinking another three years, maybe four, with how my levels have been." My stomach lurched. I always thought he was hiding how bad things were, I'd always suspected.

"But... Roger, you're strong. You'll live longer than that, I mean, look at Collins. He's still healthy as ever. And Gordon, the guy down the street. You're... You're not going to die. You're not." My words became slightly strained as I clutched my camera to my chest, shaking my head. If I denied it enough, even God would have to believe that Roger couldn't be taken from me.

"Don't be stupid, Mark." Maybe it came out harsher than he intended, but he practically growled it at me. My heart sunk as I turned away.

My gaze lingered up on the sky, the hints of blue being hidden away by the darkening clouds. Rain soon. "Yeah, stupid," I muttered bitterly. "I'm just a fucking joke to you, aren't I?"

He softened for a moment, and I could feel his eyes on me. "You're not a joke to me. Never. But you can't kid yourself."

"Yeah, sure."

"Look," he murmured, his hand gently brushed my shoulder, his finger trailing up to my neck. I twitched slightly. Damn him, he knew all my sensitive spots. "Let's just go, okay?" I could hear the sadness in his voice, and all I wanted to do was to reach out and hug him. I wanted to tell him that I'd always be with him, that he was my anchor to everything and anything.

But I didn't. As the rain began to pour, I quickly stepped forward, letting his hand fall from my shoulder as we made our way to his car in silence.

(End Chapter 1)