Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jonathan Larson, kiddies.

"I hate Maureen."

"Yes, I know, sweetie. I hate her, t– wait. What!" Mark was suddenly taken aback as the reality of what Roger had actually said sunk in. He stopped nuzzling in Roger's neck and loosened his arms. He pulled back and looked into his lover's eyes.

The two had been lying in bed, covers pulled up to their necks, holding each other tightly. To Roger, this was mostly for body heat, but he knew Mark just liked to lie in his arms. Mark found solace in Roger's arms; it was his safe haven. He craved to just lay there in silence and get lost in his thoughts. It was nice, just to be held.

Roger had to agree with that. But unfortunately for Roger, this time of holding and silence lead to him thinking, as well. Roger wasn't like Mark. He didn't like to think; it gave him headaches. Thinking made the nightmares come back. He thought about heroin and heroin withdrawal. He thought about how much he'd hurt Mark during that time.

Tonight, though, he was thinking about Maureen.

"I hate Maureen. No. I despise her."

"But…why?" This seemed strange to Mark. Setting aside the fact that he'd always thought Roger and Maureen got along, Roger was presenting an honesty that Mark normally had to drag out of him. Sure, Roger was often blunt and hurtful, but this was different. Mark could tell this was something he'd been bottling up for ages. Roger's voice was soft and passionate. It was his "I'm sorry I have to tell you this, but it's killing me" voice.

"She's still in love with you, Mark"

"What? That's crazy! Maureen loves Joanne."

"I'm not saying she doesn't. I think she loves Joanne very much. That doesn't change the fact that she still loves you." Roger said, regretting he'd brought this up at such a nice time. But it was so much easier at these times. "She's holding onto you, Marky; keeping you dangling by a thread in case one day Joanne leaves her. Or maybe she'll realize one day that she's screwed up. She wants to have a normal life, and she wants children. She's trying to make sure you still belong to her when that time comes."

"But– huh? I mean…I don't think–" Mark began, stumbling over words, trying to deny the facts. But the more he thought about it, the more Roger's words made sense. He changed his tone to reserved. "I don't still love her. You know that, right?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I wonder…"

"Oh god, Rog," Mark was concerned by this new development. He wished, more than anything, for Roger to understand the extent of his love for him. He only had eyes for Roger, and it had been that way for some time. "You don't have to wonder, okay? Maureen fucked with me. She cheated on me and purposely drove me crazy. She left me broken; you fixed me. I know that sounds so incredibly cliché, but it's true. You're my breath of fresh air. You've made me see that life is more than sitting in the background, looking through a camera lens. You're…my everything." Oy vey. I cannot believe I actually just said that, Mark thought, groaning internally.

But Roger was smiling. And…was that a hint of red Mark detected on his cheeks? Mark may have sounded extremely corny, but at least he had gotten his point across. Besides, as pathetic as he felt about it, it had all been the truth. And he really liked seeing Roger so happy at the thought of being Mark's everything.

Roger pulled Mark close again, kissing him passionately. "I love you." He said, and they went back to their previous state of holding each other.

A few days later, Mark and Roger are over Maureen and Joanne's. They try their best to make sure they always go to Maureen and Joanne's place because Joanne just happens to be the only one of their friends to receive a steady income. Basically, they have heat. And food.

It's the normal arrangement. Roger is sprawled out on the couch that is more comfortable than anything in the loft, including his slightly battered comforter but excluding Mark's naked body curling up to him as he wakes.

Joanne is standing awkwardly. She has to be on the ready to dash into the kitchen at the sound of a buzz, or, as is often the case, the smell of burning. Joanne is forced to be the domestic one in the relationship. Maureen wouldn't be caught dead in the kitchen, and although Joanne literally wears the pants, it's clear who has control. Despite Joanne's necessity for order, Maureen has an undeniable power over her.

Mark is sitting in an oversized armchair. Sometimes he thinks it might not be that oversized; he's just gotten so thin. Maureen is standing behind him, leaning in close, arms reached out over his body, hands idly playing with his shirt buttons. He thinks about what Roger said. I hope she's doing that idly.

Suddenly Mark can't take it anymore. He grabs Maureen's wrists as forcefully as he possibly can (which isn't very forceful, but it gets the point across), and pulls her arms up, away from him. As he does this he lets out an "angry" noise which comes out a bit like, "Gahhhhhrarggggggggt". It's not very manly, and Roger can't help but laugh a little, though he tries to hold back as much as he can.

Mark gets up, turns around in an angry rage, and looks directly at Maureen's horribly confused face. "Could you not touch me? I just can't stand it anymore!" He says, throwing his hands up into the air. From an outsider's perspective, the entire scene is extremely comical.

"But…Pookie!" She says, pouting her lips, putting on her best puppy dog face. She could bring a room full of men to their knees with that face. Too bad for her, that would have to be a room full of men not named Mark Cohen.

"And that's another thing," he says, pointing the "firm finger". "Stop calling me that. I'm not your Pookie! How do you think it makes Joanne feel when you have your hands all over me, calling me the same pet name you call her by? You need to stop, Maureen. It's getting to be ridiculous."

Mark's completely red from head to toe and panting from screaming. Maureen just stands there staring at Mark. Everyone watches silently as her expression changes from blatant shock, to recognition, to extreme hurt. Mark is surprised. Maureen has always been a drama queen, and he expected her to yell back. He really thought it was going to get ugly. He's not sure whether this silence is good or bad, but for now it's a combination. He's grateful to not be berated by Maureen, but at the same time he feels horrible. He knows this means he's really hurt her, and even though she's done so much worse to him in the past, she's still one of his best friends. He hates the fact that he's hurt her like that.

As soon as Mark notices a glint in Maureen's eyes, she claims she has to check on the pot roast and scurries to the kitchen. There is the faint sound of sobbing in the background. Nobody even bothers to mention that Joanne is making chicken.

And for a couple of minutes, the sobbing is all that can be heard. Finally the tension lets up a little bit, and Mark relaxes his body. He goes over to the couch where Roger scoots over to let him sit. They don't exchange words, but there is a silent understanding. Mark lays his head in Roger's lap, and Roger strokes his hair absentmindedly.

Roger wears a smile on his face. He is shocked, proud, and overjoyed. He cannot believe Mark stood up to Maureen like that. Furthermore, he now has no reason to doubt Mark. My Marky loves me, he thinks to himself. He gets silly when he's giddy.

Joanne sits down in the chair previously occupied by Mark. The irony is not lost upon her. It's clear she's holding back tears, but she keeps her composure almost gracefully. It takes a while, but she manages to mumble out a meek, "Thank you, Mark."

Roger echoes her. "Yeah, thanks."

Mark just sighs heavily.

Upon the arrival of Collins an hour later, things begin to get back to normal. Everyone is laughing and drinking. The events that have passed are almost completely forgotten. Collins can do that to a room.

After dinner, they sit around the living room again, chatting lazily. After a good meal and plenty of wine, they are all a bit tired. The only one missing is Mark, who sits alone in complete darkness. The room in which he has isolated himself is small and cozy, and it was never quite finished. It contains two armchairs, a broken table, and an ornate but half-empty bookshelf. Mark has always liked this room, though he has never been quite sure why. Perhaps it's the fact that before he was with Roger, the room's emptiness reflected his own.

At the moment, he is just thinking. He is sitting still, holding onto his camera in his lap like it is his life support, but not using it. He's trying to come to terms with the fact that he blew up on Maureen. He has no trouble replaying it in his mind, which isn't really helping. But, he knows it was right. He just wishes there had been an easier way.

Mark barely notices when Maureen walks into the room. Her steps are cautious, which inevitably causes her to sneak up on him. He jumps with a sharp intake of breath, suddenly thankful he was holding onto his camera so dearly.

Maureen had excused herself from the living room to "go to the bathroom", so Roger is surprised when he goes to check on Mark and sees Maureen tip-toeing into the room. He knows it's wrong, but he can't help himself. He watches the two interact. He needs to see where this is going. It's easy since their backs are turned from the entrance of the room, and both places are in darkness. Of course, due to these same factors, he doesn't exactly have a great view.

"Geez, Maureen, you scared the shit out of me." Mark says, after catching his breath and settling down. Maureen turns on a dim lamp.

"Gosh, Pook– Mark," She catches herself, "You're so uptight today." She sits in the armchair next to him and puts her hand on his knee.

Mark lets out a sigh. He feels like a drama queen for all the sighing he's done today. "Is that all you think this is? A little uptightness?"

Maureen scrunches her features. "Is that even a word?"

"Meh. Probably not," he laughs. Then he regains his composure. "I'm serious, though. It's not just today. It's been building up." He not so subtly removes her hand from his knee.

Now it was Maureen's turn to sigh. "Oh, come on, Pookie. Did you really mean all those things you said?" She says it in her cutesy voice, while running one hand up and down his arm lightly as the other strokes his chest, and she follows it all off with a pout.

Mark says his "Yes." as calmly and evenly as possible. He doesn't want it to come off as mean or blunt. Just honest.

And just like that, she's off him. Mark sees a sad and frightened girl looking back at him, directly into his eyes. Maureen is taking off the act. This is something she needs for her real self. She needs to hear this. "Oh…" she says, sounding defeated.

"Listen, Maureen. It's just…I love Roger. More than anything. And, I'm almost positive you love Joanne just as much."

"I do. I know I do crazy things sometimes, but I do. I love her so much." The desperation in Maureen's voice scares Mark. He's seen this side of her once before, and it was when they were dating; when they thought they were in love.

"Well don't you see that this is killing them? Both of them. You're hurting Roger and Joanne with this…this flirting. I don't even get it. If you love Joanne so much, why do you hang all over me like I'm still your boyfriend?" Mark knows why, but he wonders if she'll actually say it.

"I…" she trails off. Tears are welling in her eyes now.

"Never mind. You don't have to answer that. Just, could you please stop? I would really appreciate it. It makes me uncomfortable, and it's upsetting my boyfriend."

"Yeah…I will." She responds through uneven breathing. Roger scurries away feeling very "Mission Impossible" and incredibly ecstatic as Mark gets up to leave Maureen alone in the room. He feels much better now, and he doesn't want to be alone. He wants to be with his friends. He wants to be with Roger.

That night, Mark gets a reward. It involves his beloved scarf being wrapped tighly around his wrists, securing them to the bedpost. A naked Roger looms over him with a devilish smirk.

"You've been a very good boy." Roger says playfully, before kissing him on the cheek and beginning a night full of Mark-pleasing.

Mark loves to be dominated.