His Dream Girl, a rent fanfic

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first RENT story, so constructive criticism is welcomed. Tell me if I have any of my information wrong….thanks, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: The characters Roger, April, Mark, and Maureen and the plot of RENT belong to Jonathon Larson. The song that Roger sings is a mix of R. Kelly's Dream Girl and the Dave Matthews Band's Dream Girl.

In a high, dark, yet somehow peaceful loft on Avenue B in the East Village of the grandest city in the world, someone struggled to write the perfect lyrics to a new song. He had the music, but he didn't have the words. Words. Words were a thing he had always had difficulty with. It was complicated to convert your emotions into words. Especially when you had trouble placing what your exact emotions were anyway.

The twenty-three year old plucked a few notes on his fender guitar, waiting for the words to come rushing into his head. He stayed still, cleared his mind, and waited. And waited. And waited.

FUCK!

That was the first word that came into his mind. He had never been very patient. But did he just expect that all of the words would suddenly hit him? He had been, but now he realized he shouldn't have: these things took a little bit of time. Maybe his effort was too immense. Maybe he should just relax and see if anything would come to him if he wasn't thinking so hard. Maybe he should eat. Eat! Ah, that sounded better than anything now.

Sighing, he laid his guitar across the beat-up sofa and strolled five feet into the kitchen. As he scrounged the cabinets for something to eat, he heard the knob of the loft door turning. He looked over his shoulder and got sight of his roommate and best friend Mark Cohen. He closed the cabinet he was currently looking into and slinked his way toward his friend.

They stared at each other for a few silent seconds, and then they both smiled slightly at each other.

"Any luck with the song, Roger?" Mark asked interestedly.

"I got nothing," the musician sighed, running a hand through his cropped blonde hair, "Like usual."

"Oh, now that's not true," Mark corrected, moving into the kitchen, "You rag on yourself too much."

Roger ignored his comment, and pressed forward onto a much more satisfying conversation. "Got any food?"

"Nada," the filmmaker answered, searching the kitchen himself, "We ran out?"

"Yeah, and we can't get any now, at least until Benny gets back from his date."

Mark's and Roger's blue eyes connected for a moment and soon they both burst out laughing.

"Aww poor Benji," Roger remarked in mock sadness, calling Benny by his favorite nickname.

"He doesn't know what he's getting into," Mark put in, shaking his white blonde head, a smile on his face.

"Why do you think he's going out with that Grey chick anyway?" Roger questioned.

"No clue," Mark replied, holding his hands up in the "I have no idea" position.

"Well I'll tell you what I have a clue about: I'm fucking starving."

"Same—Maureen!" Mark suddenly exclaimed, racing over excitedly to the door where his girlfriend, Maureen Johnson, stood in all of her dramatic glory.

Maureen took off her fake fur coat and threw it onto the ground with a flourish. She stepped forward, cupped Mark's face, and kissed him hard on the lips. Mark could hardly contain himself…he looked like a little kid who had to go to the bathroom, actually. Of course, Maureen being Maureen, she did most of the dirty (yet pleasurable) work. Things could have gotten very heated, but a loud, stiff cough interrupted them. Maureen looked angrily towards the "cougher", but her rage turned into excitement when she saw who it was.

"Rog!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, scurrying over to him.

"Mo!" he smirked back, but his reply was a lot quieter than his friend's.

They high-fived each other and then Maureen gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Ick, you're growing some stubble," Maureen remarked, recoiling with a grin, "I demand that you get rid of it straight away."

"Don't think so," Roger responded, touching his cheek tenderly, "I love my stubble. I heard it drives the girls wild."

"Your deaf then," Mo quipped, retreating back to Mark.

She grabbed his arm in a vice grip, hopping up and down slightly. "What do you want to do tonight, Pookie?"

"Eww-a uhh," Mark saved himself from Maureen's wrath. Oh how he hated the name Pookie. "The Life, as always?"

"Yeah, I'm hungry out of my mind," Roger agreed fervently.

"Well then let's go!" Maureen shouted, pumping a fist into the air and soon dragging both Mark and Roger out of the loft.

The trio entered the Life Café, and went to sit in their usual spot in the corner without consulting the waiter first. There was always a waiter that they tried to avoid because he would always tell them to beat it. Something about how they couldn't pay. Mark and Maureen squashed themselves into one side of the booth, while Roger slipped and stretched out easily in the other.

"Ok so," Maureen started, "I've decided I'm going to perform at the lot in a couple of weeks. I know I can rent the place out. They always let me go in for free because I'm so great at what I do, and because they think I'm sexy."

"Well you are," Mark agreed, nodding his head, "I really do think you should perform. You haven't in a long time."

Roger loved Maureen, he really did. But sometimes it pissed him off how she seemed to have total control over Mark and make everything seem about her. Sure, it wasn't so bad when someone else was in need, but when nothing was going on, Maureen always tried to snag the spotlight. Mark now had trouble concentrating on his work because of Maureen, and he hated to see Mark's talent go to waste. But he had to admit, they made a great and very entertaining couple.

"Thanks Pookie," Maureen acknowledged, "Anyway, I'm thinking of doing a rendition of a lot of different things. Here, I'll paint the scene. There's a dark stage, with no lighting. The audience whispers to each other in confusion…isn't there supposed to be a show? And suddenly, one light from above the stage flickers on, and there's an extremely irresistible woman on stage—"

Ugh. Roger couldn't bear to listen to the rest. He wasn't in the mood for the story of Maureen's life, which was sure to be full of making out and overly dramatic fights. He heard the little bell that signaled the arrival of someone in the restaurant tinkle and directed his attention to the person who just entered. His deep, ocean colored eyes widened. His large, musical mouth opened slightly. Through that door entered the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on.

A slender woman of about twenty two made her way to a single table. Roger stared as if in a trance as she moved gracefully. Despite her smoothness when she glided across the restaurant, she plopped down into the chair. She rubbed her pale hands together and breathed on them, trying to give a little heat to her body. Roger wanted nothing more than to place her in his arms and warm her; to run a hand slowly through her matted, dark red hair, to gaze into those ice blue eyes, to kiss those pink lips passionately.

He honestly had no idea why he felt for her so simply. He didn't know her. He didn't even know her name. But she was truthfully the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But there was something else about her. It was the way she carried herself, the air around her. She seemed so…mysterious. She looked like she was hiding secrets. In yet, she still remained looking blissful.

A waiter approached her table, but Roger kept his eyes determinedly on the girl. The waiter must have said something, because the girl smiled. And Roger felt something. A spreading of ecstasy…it was almost as if he'd stabbed a thousand doses of smack into his body. This smile made everything seem ok. Like he could be carefree for the rest of his life. The brightness of the teeth shocked him. The way that they were perfectly straight shook him. The very tiny dimples that formed on her cheeks drove him crazy.

It hit him: this girl was absolutely flawless.

"Zoom in on Roger…who's zooming in on a cute redhead. Tell us, Rog, do you plan to sing and seduce her with a sexy electric serenade? Or are you going to admire her from a distance and write thousands of songs of anguish and heartache that you'll never get her?"

Roger turned towards Mark, his face calm and serene, yet his insides were on fire.

"Film this, asshole," Roger ordered fiercely, and then flipped the camera a graceful bird.

"Hey, don't tell Camera to go to hell!" Mark objected, "When did Camera do anything to you?"

"Are you seriously referring to your camera as a person?"

"Would it bother you?"

"Yes."

"Then hell yeah."

"Hey, I know that girl you were staring at," Maureen remarked, studying the girl.

"You do?" Roger asked excitedly, "How? What's she like? Will you introduce me?"

Maureen yawned radically, opening her mouth wide. "Maybe some other time. I'm exhausted. Let's beat it."

Roger's insides twisted with fury. He would have rather mock-fought with Mark about his stupid camera instead of ask Maureen about the mysterious girl if he had known that she would have turned the subject around to benefit her need.

She stood up and, despite her exhaustion, trotted out the door. Mark followed like a loyal puppy, and Roger gloomily took up the rear. He glanced over at the redhead who was gazing at him. He suddenly did a double-take. She was looking at him? He immediately caught her dark blue eyes. They were so beautiful, yet so peculiar. It was like he was staring into…into a dream. Their color and intensity seemed so unrealistic, like a dream. But as Roger sauntered out the door, his eyes catching one last glimpse of the stunning girl, he realized that she was a dream. She was his dream girl.

"January 25th, 11 p.m., Eastern Standard time," Mark narrated, his camera in hand, "It's Roger's first big gig in two months. Roger, tell the folks at home what's on your mind!"

Mark zoomed in on the ruggedly handsome rocker who was fine-tuning his sleek, electric guitar backstage at The Max, a rowdy bar and club where many of starving musicians of Bohemia could play their music on stage and in front of a live audience. If the owner of The Max liked them and they received good reviews from the crowd, they would get to stay and perform….paycheck guaranteed.

He looked up into the camera, smirked, and stated nonchalantly, "Sex, drugs, and rock'n roll, baby."

"That's it?" Mark questioned mockingly, "Nothing awe-inspiring for your new soon-to-be fans?"

"Doubt I'll snag any of those," Roger muttered.

"Don't be so modest," Mark instructed, moving around, trying to capture his friend at a different angle, "Your music will go to the soul. Soon, you'll make records and do live concerts for benefits and be invited to all of these top-secret celebrity parties—"

"Shut it, Mark."

"No, you don't understand. You'll become so famous, that when you die, there will be people lighting candles and swaying them back and forth slowly in the air in honor of your memory—"

"Stuff it."

"No, really, Rog….you'll be on the walls of thousands of horny teenage girls who will be ma—"

"MARK!" Roger roared furiously, causing some of the backstage crew and the other three band members of the Well Hungarians, "I really don't give a flying fuck about horny girls who will love me."

Mark did a double-take and zoomed in on Roger. "Well, that's a first."

Suddenly, a tall, burly man with a clipboard in hand strolled up to them. "Which one of you is Roger Davis?"

"I am."

"The Well Hungarians are up next," the man announced and then walked away.

"Oh," Roger responded quietly, "Ok."

"Well," Mark started, slapping his best friend on the back, "I'll see you after the show. Or back at the loft. I'll be filming you the entire time."

"Thanks," Roger quipped sarcastically, but he knew that the filmmaker meant well.

Once Mark left and the band was all set and ready to walk on stage and perform, he got extremely nervous. It wasn't that he was anxious about playing and singing in front of a live audience. Quite the contrary, he lived to jam on his guitar in front of everyone, impressing them with his fancy, quick tricks, or showing off his ability to do extremely difficult riffs and bar chords. What Roger was so uneasy about was the fact that he hadn't written a new song in awhile, and he wondered how well the lyrics would go down with the crowd.

He was the last one to enter the stage, and he received the most applause and cheering from the audience. This gave him some confidence, and his usual rock'n roll stage presence returned. He waved and sent a smirk at brunette chick who looked like she'd go weak in the knees at any moment. He stood at the mike and took a deep breath.

"A one, a one, a one, two, three, four!" Roger counted for the band and they began to play.

A major, G, C minor 7th, D, F major, E minor. And then he started to sing.

"Baby this love we make is too good to be true,
Heaven must really love me because heaven sent me you.
Keep bringing me joy, I don't wanna wake up.
I stay asleep as long as I can have you right here in my dreams," Roger crooned passionately, trying to show deep, true, admiration for this girl he was singing about.

He then turned, strained a heavy, electric note on his guitar, and continued.

"Still you're my best friend
And after a good, good drunk
You and me wake up and make love after a deep sleep
Where I was Dreamin', I was Dreamin' of a
Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl

I was feelin' like a creep
As I watched you asleep
Face down in the grass,
in the park, in the middle
of a hot afternoon
Your top was untied
And I thought how nice
It'd be to follow the sweat down your spine," Roger sang viciously, trying to capture the sexual and hungry energy the song, and himself, contained. "

"You're like my best friend
and after a good, good drunk
You and me wake up and make love after a deep sleep
Where I was Dreamin', I was Dreamin' of a
Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl."

He smirked to himself. The song was going great; the crowd had responded very well the lyrics so far. This was definitely his moment, his spotlight, and he wanted to bathe in it for as long as he could. He hadn't felt this great in awhile….his eyes scanned the crowd as one of his band members took his instrumental solo. And there, at table in the back, he saw her. The girl from the Life Café. The Dream Girl.

It was clear that she was enjoying the song. She was tapping her high-heeled shoe on the dirty floor, and bobbing her head a little to the beat. But her face was set, and her eyes were boring right into his. Roger's stomach tightened and his heart started beating quicker than it already was from singing. Ah, just like a schoolboy crush. But it was like that, but it wasn't one.

He gazed into her deep blue hues and felt like he was falling into an ocean. He was fully mesmerized by this girl. Shit, and the second time too. Through all of this, he somehow managed to hear the key chords that gave him the signal to start singing again. Roger kept staring into her eyes as he sang the rest of the song.

"Caught by a wave
my back to the ocean
it knocks me off my feet and
just as I find my footing
here you come again
Dreamgirl, aww Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl, Dreamgirl."

He then started singing softer, his voice full of devotion and affection.

The crowd went wild. As he and his band went backstage, he thought he could hear screams of "I LOVE YOU ROGER!" But he didn't care. He kept his eyes on his Dream Girl.

When Roger exited backstage and onto the floor, he found that the Max was near closing. There were a few drunken people slouching over tables and chairs, and then there was her. He took a deep, sharp breath and headed towards her single table. The pretty girl sat, looking bored, stirring her straw around in her drink, her eyes downcast. Roger stood in front of her, and she looked up. And she smiled that smile. He felt himself get weak. And it was weird; because no other girl he was ever with made him feel that way.

"Hi," he blurted out loudly.

The girl's smile widened. "Hey. How ya doin'?"

"Fine," he answered, suddenly smooth, "And you?"

"I'm great," the girl responded.

"Uhh…is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing towards the empty chair opposite her.

She was positively beaming now. "Not at all."

He gave a ghost of a smile and promptly sat down. He didn't know it would be this easy.

"I'm Roger Davis," Roger introduced, "And you are…?"

"The name's April Ericsson," April replied, putting her hand out for him to shake.

Roger instead took it and kissed it gently, making April's smile brighter than the spotlights that were shining on Roger just an hour before.

"You're into all of that classic romantic stuff, huh?" April giggled.

Roger smiled up at her, but he was shocked. No girl of his had ever found out that he liked to give kisses on the hand, pick a flower or two for her, take a walk in the park. He surely didn't look like the guy who'd romance a girl that way. But he was. And he was surprised that this girl just found after two minutes of talking.

"You could say that," Roger agreed.

"Your song was fantastic, by the way," April praised, changing the subject randomly, something that Roger would notice she would do throughout the time they were dating.

"Thanks."

"You must be in deep with that Dream Girl."

Roger's eyes widened. "What?"

"I said, you must really be in love with that Dream Girl you wrote about in your song," April repeated, smiling, "Who is she?"

Roger wanted to tell her desperately that it was she whom he was singing about. But that would sound like he was some psycho stalker, but he wanted to give her a little bit of a hint while being cheesy. Girls loved cheesy, right?

So he just leaned back, putting his arms behind his head, and answered nonchalantly, "I have no idea. But I hope I just met her."

April brightened, with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her pale face. "Kind of hokey, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you would like it," Roger responded dejectedly.

"I love hokey. And maybe after this…it'll prove that I'm your Dream Girl."

April leaned across the table and kissed him. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. He couldn't smell. He couldn't think. At least not about anything but this kiss he was currently receiving. Of course, he kissed her back. And when they broke apart, they both felt dizzy and disoriented, but right.

"Oh yeah," Roger breathed, "You're definitely my Dream Girl."