Title: Who I Am Hates Who I've Been
Summary: Years of wear and tear, and Collins has had enough of Mark's façade.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Tragedy, some unrequited Mark/Roger
Warnings: Spitting fire
Authors Note: Written while listening to Relient K's "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" and going through PMS-inspired depression.
Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Shy Away from the Specifics

Mark leads the group to Roger's burial section in the cemetery. They stand in a moment of silence and Collins can't help but feel somewhat awkward. It's such a huge day—a fucking huge day, and not one of them can say one thing about Roger. Finally, after a moment, a few of them share feelings and jokes and good times. Mark remains quiet.

Mimi talks about a time that she was performing a strip tease for Roger when she tripped and fell flat on her face. "Roger told me that I was still beautiful, still sexy, though," She laughs, remembering the time, and the rest of us laugh, imagining it.

Maureen informs us of a time that she and Roger fought for twenty minutes about whether condoms have feelings. "Roger looked me straight in the eye and told me," She laughs before continuing, "He told me, 'Yes, Maureen. They do have feelings. They feel like latex over your dick.'"

"We were trying to put something together for Mimi's birthday, after she came back to us," Joanne hugs Mimi as she continues, "So we decided to hire this group that Roger called 'Muchos' to come in and sing at the Life. Do you guys remember that?" They all nod and Collins grins, knowing what's coming next.

"Those were the guys that sang happy birthday in Spanish, right, pookie? The ones with the funny mustaches and accordions?"

"Yeah. Yeah…well, Roger and I thought this awesome under-ground ensemble was going to pop up and sing…and then those guys showed up. When we got back later that night, I asked Roger to let me see the ad we had gotten the name from. He had mispronounced their name—it was Muchachos, not Muchos."

Their laughter erupts, especially Collins as he imagines Roger's face fixed on the ad in confusion. The philosopher can see him clearly in his mind, scratching his head and furrowing his eyebrows.

When everyone's done, they slowly walk away. Except Mark, who stays behind a few extra seconds. If you told Mark that he did this, he'd deny it.

Collins turns back and looks at him while the rest of the group goes. He's mumbling inaudibly, but the philosopher knows exactly what he's saying. If he didn't, he wouldn't be Collins.

"How dare you?" He's asking Roger's casket. "How dare you leave me here? You promised I wasn't alone. Fuck, Rog…the loft is going to be so empty. So fucking empty…Did you ever care? Did you ever really care about me? You cared about your fucking one song glory and your goddamn heroin, but did you ever truly care about me?"

But if I told Mark that Collins knew he was saying this, he'd deny it.

The big man claps him on the shoulder, crying as he rubs Mark's arm. The filmmaker leans in to Collins and pats him on the back, nodding.

"So this is really it, huh?"

"Nah," He sighs sigh, "It's never really it."

Mark coughs in a pathetic attempt to cover up his sob. The lump in his throat, his Adam's apple, bobs as he continues to hold it all together, hold it all up in that pumpkin-head of his. Mark's grip on Roger's Fender tightens, and Collins thinks it's best to pull him away.

"Let's go get a bite, make a night, eh?"

He shakes his head, "I need some time alone with him."

This isn't the Mark Cohen Collins knew four years ago. The Mark Cohen he knew four years ago was bruised from Roger's constant beatings, was mentally torn apart by Roger's stinging words, and looked far too worn out to be 20.

Roger was finishing the worst of his first withdrawal, and April had pulled another one of her famous disappearing acts, which is what prompted Roger to drop his habit in the first place.

Maureen had long been moved out, and she and Mark's on-again/off-again romance had reached a rocky point, the off-again being the choice for a few months.

I had moved out and moved into a place closer to NYU.

Benny married Alison and moved out, although he occasionally stopped by to say hello or drop off some food.

Mark was happy with Roger. Mark was happy to hold Roger when he was shaking so violently that it shook Mark, too. He was happy to rub Roger's back when his head was buried in a toilet, happy to receive Roger's beatings for not letting him have one more hit. Happy to hear about how much of a jackass he was, how he didn't really care and didn't really love Roger.

Mark was happy because he knew that once all of that was over, it would be them and only them. And he was right.

There were nights where Roger would creep into Mark's room just to make sure he was still there, just to make sure Mark hadn't left.

Collins knows this because Mark was awake every time Roger did this, and Mark told him. It was more of bragging, really, because Collins was a lonely old professor and Mark thought it was funny that Collins' stray was getting more action than he was.

There were times where Roger would pretend to shake just so Mark would hold him and tell him everything would be alright, he would be okay and the pain would go away soon. He knows this because he witnessed Roger do it on many occasions where Mark wasn't paying him much attention. And sometimes, only sometimes, Collins thought Mark purposely didn't pay Roger much attention just so Roger would shake and Mark could have an excuse. It was a cycle, really.

There were winter days where the cold had settled in the air and the heating had been cut off, but the loft was hot and the air was moist with sweat and the smell of sex. He know this because Benny was traumatized after choosing the wrong night to stumble into the loft and felt the need to tell me all about Collins as he chugged, chugged, chugged his lager.

And there were times when they would be caught holding each other's hand or kissing each other quickly. Or they would get caught staring at each other, caught touching each other on the arm or leg, caught in the alleyway behind the Life holding each other in a death grip like their lives would end if they were an inch apart. Not even kissing. Just holding on.

Collins knows this because he caught them on several occasions.

These occasions happened even when Maureen and April were there. The looks, touches, hugs, kisses—the love…it was all there from the moment they met.

The Mark Cohen that Collins knew four years ago was head-over-heels, completely, totally, madly in love.

Years are all it takes to attach oneself to something so completely and so utterly that it ends up being what destroys them in the end.