A/N: Haha...spring break. Meaning I have eleven days straight of nothing to do but write. Well...a Spanish assignment but hey, I can procrastinate with that. Thought of this yesterday (don't laugh) while taking a shower, then I had to go pick up my brother from Rutgers and by the time I got home, it was eleven PM and for some reason, I was exhausted (and the computer was already turned off) so I had to wait until now to write it. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own Roger, Mark, RENT, thought I didn't own the first line, thought I stole it from Angels in America but my variation is different so ha, I do...but that's probably it...and of course, this story. No one ever credits themselves for owning the story. Kind of funny. WOW I am in a rambling mood today. Ignore me, go ahead, read, review, make me happy. (clamps hand over mouth so she will shut up and let the readers do what they do best).
"Fuck you, I'm dying!"
"Yes, Roger, we know. But do you have to dwell on that fact every second of every minute of every hour of every day? God, live the life you have!"
"Easy for you to say, Mr. I'll-Live-Past-Thirty!"
"You know what, I'm sick of this. I can't stand to see you moping around the house all day with this frown on your face. I'm leaving. Maybe by the time I come back, if I come back, you'll grow up."
"Mark, no, come back, I-"
---
And with that, Mark slammed the door closed.
"...can grow up."
Roger collapsed on the couch, holding his head in his hands. His heart was beating so hard, it felt as if it would tear through his shirt.
He'd been like that a lot lately; starting fights that meant absolutely nothing.
But was it really his fault?
How do you not dwell on the fact that in maybe a year, you'll be dead?
Roger groaned from his seat on the couch, a low, agonizing groan.
Get off the couch, Roger. Get off the couch and get Mark back. In 1, 2-
No.
He couldn't bring himself to do it. Roger Davis wasn't one to apologize first. He never, ever, admitted he was wrong to anyone.
But this wasn't anyone.
It was Mark.
He quickly pushed himself off the couch and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could, charging through the city streets after his roommate.
---
"MARK! SLOW DOWN!"
Great...here he comes...
Despite what he heard his roommate yelling, Mark started walking slightly faster, eager to get away from the musician. He worked hard, maneuvering around rain puddles as the rain came down harder and harder.
But Roger, being as fast as he was, caught up in no time.
"Mark, would you fucking talk to me?"
"I'll talk to you when I'm ready."
"I can't wait that long."
Mark laugh cynically. "And why not?"
"Because," Roger began. "As we've established, I'm dying."
Mark looked away as Roger smirked.
"Listen, Mark, I can grow up. I can."
"Yeah? And what makes you say that?"
"When you left, I've never been so scared. Yeah, you've left before. But you've never said something like, 'If I come back.' That scared the hell out of me.
"I'm not afraid to die. I'm not. But what I am scared of is leaving behind my music. My guitar. You."
Roger looked up at the rain falling down.
"And in that small period of ten minutes, I realized that if I want to keep you, I need to be more respectful of your feelings." Roger glanced away at a taxi cab driving past. "And I've got to be honest. Now. Before I never get another chance."
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Honest...about what?"
"I'm not afraid to die. But that doesn't mean I want to. You said I have to live with dying. I'm willing to agree to those terms. Under one condition."
Mark watched him carefully, both confused and anxious. "That would be..."
"That I spend every day of the rest of my life with you by my side."
"Roger," Mark laughed. "That's how it's always been. And you know what I said meant nothing. I'll always be by your side."
"No," Roger said sternly. "I mean...well..."
Roger leaned down quickly and pulled the smaller man in for a kiss. It was soft, with each second going by growing in passion and intensity. Mark pulled Roger close to him and ran his tongue over Roger's lips, begging the rocker to let his tongue in. Roger obliged and realized, here, kissing Mark felt so...
safe.
Roger pulled away, leaning his forehead against Mark's.
"I meant I want to be with you."
Unsure of what else to say and completely taken aback by Roger's actions, he stuttered, "O-okay..."
Roger smiled.
"Rog, you're getting soaked." Mark said, this time more securely. "We better go home. You're going to catch a cold."
Roger's smile only grew. "So keep me warm."
Mark returned the grin and wrapped his arm around the musician, leading him home to stay warm, just as Roger had asked.