Disclaimer: Totally don't own RENT
Author's Note: Chapter Ten isn't cooperating with me, but it has been too long since the last update. Enjoy for now.
Connection - Chapter Nine
The sunlight in the dorm was sparse, peeking in through the cracks of the bedsheets the roommates had stapled over their windows, only enough for Mark to make out the outline of Roger's nose and his slightly parted lips, only enough for a few strands of Roger's long blond hair to catch the light and gleam despite the dirt and sweat.
Mark was not entirely sure where he ended and Roger began, tumbled together as they were, legs meshed into a knot of flesh beneath the blanket. Roger's breaths came in little snores, soft and barely audible, coupled with the dull thud Mark felt in his ears of his heart pounding in his chest. Perhaps an unexpected situation for any boy would be to wake up terribly naked beside his best friend. Mark wasn't entirely surprised, but reluctant to admit his anxiety, though that feeling passed when Roger turned his head to press his nose into Mark's hair and exhaled deeply, pulling him closer.
Some distant part of Mark was pulling on his insides, twisting his gut with a fear of being discovered. But every other part of Mark was thinking of the nights he spent studying with a flashlight under the bedsheet while his roommate argued seductively with his girlfriends.
Mark shook Roger awake in another hour, the two of them stumbling together wrapped in the blanket toward the community shower, neither one really caring how indecent it was to be stopping to kiss in the hallway while only partially covered.
Mark pressed Roger up against the wall of the shower, dropping light kisses on his smooth chest and touching him just to feel. Roger was tall and too thin, cheekbones like razors and flat belly dusted with hair dampened from the water. Mark leaned into him and kissed his neck just to taste. His hands on Roger's arms, long muscles feeling hard and familiar and his hands on Roger's hips, sliding up his chest, just to know. When his hand dropped too low and his eyes flicked up to meet Roger's, it was just to see.
Two hours after dawn, Mark and Roger were down in the empty cafeteria, sharing coffee and counting change for a vending machine breakfast. Roger stared at his shoes, stared into the paper cup and stared anywhere but Mark.
"I was starting to wonder if I was dead." He admitted, finally looking up.
Mark didn't know if it was an apology, or a form of acceptance or even if Roger ever meant anything he said, but he understood regardless, because he always did.
The roommate came and went, and Mark and Roger watched movies in the dorm room, smelling themselves on the blanket and fighting silently over a single mug of tea. Mark wanted the taste, Roger needed the warmth.
When his head felt too heavy, Roger pulled the blanket away from Mark and fell asleep on his bed, and Mark noticed that without the smudged eye makeup Roger appeared almost human.
Roger was gone when he woke up and the room smelled horribly of cigarettes and dirt. Mark buried his nose in the blanket and waited it out, hoping his intuition would serve him right again and that Roger would come back on his own. He waited in silent anxiety for a few hours, squinting at the clock and rubbing his hands over his face until he left the door unlocked and went to class disheveled with his homework untouched.
In the evening Roger was on his bed, drinking vodka straight from the bottle, looking very much like hell with a bad bleach job, eyes unfocused and distant. Mark was getting tired of watching Roger destroy himself.
"Why don't you let me take this?" He held out a hand, his fingers begging as they wrapped around the neck of the bottle before Roger pushed him away.
"Come with me to New York." Roger said, as if nothing had happened.
And Mark no longer knew what to think about anything.
