Notes: Ah, this turned into a long chapter (for me, anyway)! I wasn't even going to continue this, but I thought it might be nice to get Roger's POV. I have a question for all you people who have actually seen RENT. Is Collins living with them at roughly this time? I'm not exactly sure. PLEASE tell me if you know! Ok, on with the fic!

I am lost in the music. The notes swirl around me, a dark whirlpool of grief and despair. All my pain, all the anguish I felt over April, is spiraling down into the music, a song of tears for my lost love. The music gushes out of the guitar, flooding the room with pure emotion. The chords fill the small apartment, drenching the walls with their hopelessness and sorrow.

I play harder, louder, fiercer. My fingers tear into the guitar, ripping the emotion out of my soul. I know the only way I can survive April's death is to be cold, cold like frozen steel. My heart must be shrouded in ice and frost. I am playing to cleanse myself of this pain, of this humiliating love I feel for her. I play to rid myself of all feelings, to kill them now before they can hurt me. I play to destroy all despair and grief and misery.

And love. Especially love.

Love betrayed me. It ripped my heart out and left me bleeding and helpless. It promised me the world and then left before I knew what I had. Love disappeared in a cloud of smoke and left me stranded and alone.

So terribly alone.

Still, I played on. The melody was weaving into a shimmering tapestry of sadness and loss, beautiful in its darkness. I was falling into the all–consumng music, fading away until I was no longer the creator but the instrument. It was as if I was being acted upon by an outside force, as if someone was playing the music through me.

Time lost all meaning. The only thing I cared about was the melody, the song. I never saw April's broken body huddled on the bathroom floor, drowning in a river of blood. I never saw her delicate wrists slashed to the bone, never saw her beautiful face pale and lifeless. I never saw her being lowered into the ground in a cheap coffin, her grave marked only by a simple stone. None of that had happened, none of it was real. The only thing that mattered was Here and Now and Forever.

The music rose higher and higher, piercing the air with sharp and glittering notes. The emotions were leaving me, flying away into the stars. The sorrow and anguish were pouring out of the wound in my soul, deserting me in favor of blessed numbness. I was succeeding; the pain and love were in the sky now. I would no longer hurt, no longer cry.

No longer feel.

I played the final note, the last drop of love left in my soul. The silence, shimmering and beautiful, wraps me in numbing comfort. The pain, the torture that had been my shadow for months is gone. I can breathe without inhaling poison, walk without sinking into quicksand. Now, at last, I am free. Free of my darling, my life. My April.

I sit with head bowed, savoring the quiet. I don't know how long I sat there. Seconds, hours, what does it matter? But suddenly I heard a sound–the door creaking open. I looked up. Mark was home. He walked in quietly, his light footsteps echoing in the bare apartment. He didn't say anything, just gave me a soft smile.

He reminds me of her.

Oh God, what was I thinking? How could I delude myself into believing that I was free, that I was beyond pain? How could I ever hope to give up loving April when he was here? Him, a living breathing reminder of my lost love. He was the sum of what attracted me to her, everything I missed after she died. Her caring, her love of life. Mark has her pale skin, her beautiful, almost elvish face. They both have that certain way they walk, with unconscious grace. He is the true artist, the essence of creative passion.

"Roger?"

How does he do that? How can he make one word say so much? How does he shade his voice with so many overtones–worry and concern blended with caring and warmth. And a slight tint of fear. Not fear for himself, but fear for me.

"Roger?"

A little more intense, a little louder now. The worry is stronger. So is the fear. He's afraid that I'll follow April down the dark road to suicide. The thought had occurred to me before, right after she died. It seemed like the only way out was to die, that there was no purpose. I felt that now that April was gone, death would be my lover. But then I had a feeling, a premonition that underneath the velvet blackness there was something horrible, so horrible it didn't have a name. Something would grab me with razor sharp claws and pull me into a world where all that existed was blood and tears and pain. I'm afraid, so terrible afraid. Oh God, I'm slipping, I'm falling into that that cold, cold darkness. I'm afraid that once I fall, I'll never get out again. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!

"Roger!!"

Two burning irons on my shoulders, searing me with their heat and bringing me back. I look up into Mark's scared face, his blond hair flying everywhere. His hands are on my shoulders, radiating heat. I realize that I'm shivering, shivering so hard I can barely speak.

"I–I–"

"My God Roger, you're like ice!"

He quickly snagged a threadbare blanket from the table and wrapped it around me, but it did no good. The tremors wouldn't stop. Finally, he simply wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me with warmth. At first, I struggled. This was too much, I couldn't take it. I'd finally made myself believe that I didn't care anymore, and here he was holding me, giving me his heat and his love.

"Roger, I'm just trying to get you warm," he said soothingly, rubbing his hands in circles on my back.

The ice was calling to me, beckoning me. It wasn't asking, wasn't hurting. But it was empty, so horribly empty. And Mark was calling me, too. In his own, quiet way he was seducing me back to the land of the living.

I surrendered. I wrapped my arms around him and held him, stealing his warmth and his heat. Make me warm, Mark. Surround me with your essence and your emotion. Be my light, be my life. Be my love.