Disclaimer: I do not own Rent, obviously. All Jonathan Larson's.
Author's Note: Story written for my bestest, and it's the two story ideas she gave me fused into one, sort of. The requirements:
Sex(ual references), drugs, murder, and Collins. / Roger and Collins stuck in an elevator.
One... two...
Collins leaned up against the wall of the elevator, supporting himself up with his hands on the railing behind him. Roger stood next to him, arms crossing, his slouch similar to that of the Collins. Roger absentmindedly tapped his fingers on his upper arm to the soft tune of the music that streamed out of the speakers above, watching the red number of their current floor level increase slowly.
Three... Four... Five...
"I don't see why we have to see Mo and Jo anyways," Roger pouted to Collins, tugging on his threadbare leather jacket. Collins only replied with a hearty laugh and a playful slap to Roger's back.
Six...
"I guess I could use some lunch, though." Roger reasoned with himself as he ran a hand through his hair. He turned to Collins with a shrug and a weak smile, hoping Collins would agree.
"Rog, boy, c'mon." Collins sighed. "Get some fresh air in those lungs." He teased, pressing a finger into Roger's rib. Roger responded to Collins touch with a stifled giggle and an awkward twitch, fighting off the tickle.
Seven... eight...
Roger groaned, looking back up at the story they were now on. Why did elevators take so long? And why did Joanne have to live on the millionth floor of the building? Roger sighed, adjusting his stance out of pure boredom. Collins watched the antsy character beside him, noting the A.D.D. tendencies Roger always showed.
Nine...
"What floor do they live on?" Roger whined, letting his head roll to his side to look at Collins with pleading puppy dog eyes. Collins gave a chuckle and pointed his head towards the lit button among the many.
"Do you see the number highlighted, Rog? That's the floor we need to get to." Collins scratched at his forehead. "We're almost there." He said as a last thought, joining Roger to watch the floor number increase.
Ten... eleven... twelve... ?
Roger raised an eyebrow curiously before turning to Collins. He glanced back in hopes that the number had changed and he was in fact slowing time with his mind. But it was still beaming those two red digits: 12. Roger took a deep breath, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.
"Collins," he said, worry lining his friends name. "Collins, the number's not going up." Roger ran a hand through his hair as he stood up straight.
"I'm sure it's just broken," Collins replied, pointing to the screen above the metal doors. "We're probably almost to Mo's floor." Collins said, dismissing Roger's panic. But panic struck Roger's face once more when the elevator jerked back down just the slightest before returning to it's spot. The light's flickered while the music skipped, before everything returned to normal – besides the movement of the elevator.
Roger closed his eyes as he took a breath, Collins reaching over to pat him on the back. How could he be so calm? Roger's hands were clutching the railing behind him so tightly his knuckles were white. But Collins had the same easy smile as he always held, obviously sure everything would be just fine.