Disclaimer: Don't own RENT.
Connection – Chapter Three
Girls studying in the library, their brows furrowed, fingers mid fumble over a page turn, pretty pouts turned down into frowns.
Cindy with her favourite book, the cover beaten into a torn and frayed mess, smiling patiently.
Mark's parents eating dinner, his mother watching his father with sad eyes, her fingers wrapped around her glass for comfort.
Three shots of a girl waiting beneath a light post smoking a cigarette in the city.
A young man picking up papers from his ripped bag on a busy street, his cheeks flushed, biting his lip and not meeting anyone's eye.
Nanette playing piano. Nanette fixing her hair in the mirror. Nanette blowing kisses and smiling with small, cold eyes.
Nanette kissing boys that weren't Mark under trees.
City people. Intellectuals, punk rockers, old buildings, new buildings. The culture of the city.
Roger looking melancholy. Roger wiping at his eyes. Roger looking miserable.
Roger and Mark grinning together, meant for each other from the start, as Mark's camera caught its owner's face on film for the first time.
Roger grinned down at the pictures in his hands. He sifted through them once more with an arm thrown around Mark's shoulders, pulling him close enough for Mark to feel the wet smudge left on his temple from Roger's hair gel. Mark didn't mention it. It wasn't the first time something went unsaid between them.
Two in the morning on a school night Roger called Mark in a blind panic, the sound muffled by heavy music in the background and a new timbre of uncertainty ringing in his voice. He stammered a few times, and in the end resorted to simply giving the address and begging to be picked up. Risking much more than he liked to think about, Mark stepped lightly past his parents' room and quietly made his way out of the house.
The night air was cold, hard on the lungs, as Mark started his car and drove toward the party. Not a single star lit the black sky, forcing the world into an eerie darkness that didn't sit well with him.
The party was still raging, teenagers lumped together, laughing, drinking, kissing, smoking and posing. Twirling in their haze they all moved together as one entity of youth and all of its vices. Roger was huddled near the phone, grey-green eyes dazed beneath his mussed hair and confusion etched on his face. Mark can't speak before Roger has his arm around him and leads them out of the house. He wanted to question the situation, but somehow knew that Roger only shared in his own time.
Mark knew the last place Roger wanted to be was home, so he just kept driving.
"I don't even remember her name." Roger's voice came awkward and soft, mingled with a sullen need for the understanding he always received from his friend.
"I should be happy, right?" There was a silence that Mark was supposed to be filling with either a gesture or vocal reassurance.
"I want to take a shower." He muttered, turning away when Mark failed to respond.
Roger had a problem with experiences. He wanted all of them and regretted half of them afterwards. Anything to fill the space when Mark wasn't with him. It was lonely being surrounded by love.
The silence in the car stretched out and wound around both of them, heavy and full, loaded with the damage the night had done. Neither knew what to say and neither could find a good way to physically convey what needed to be said.
Mark found himself again believing that maybe reaching out was the right thing to do, so he dropped one hand from the steering wheel and cautiously laid it on top of Roger's, lacing their fingers together and pressing back when he felt the relieved hand grip onto his.
When Roger left, he wrapped his arms around Mark and left a small wet stain on his shoulder. Roger also had a problem controlling his emotions when he wasn't busy living up to his folklore.
