Disclaimer: I do not own Rent.
On the wall, on a white, worn canvas images of years gone by flicker to life. Images from twenty and, the most recent, fifteen years ago played. They were images of eight friends, spanning through the years. They were images of happiness and hope, a bright outlook for the future. Couples kissed and friends joked, they were images of a better tomorrow.
But that was all they were. Images.
The projector that showed the images turned and turned. The familiar piece of equipment was operated expertly, but there was something wrong. Its rightful owner wasn't operating it.
No, it wasn't Mark Cohen's hands flicking the switch that made the machine click to life. It was the calloused hands of Roger Davis, loading the reels and playing them. Roger Davis, now in his forties and well known on the east coast for his music and drive and ability to survive with HIV.
Roger never quite imagined his off time like this, not since the first time he played on stage in his early teens. He thought he knew exactly how life would turn out, but again and again life proved him wrong.
He thought he would be happy forever with April. Life proved him wrong. He thought he would never find love again. Life proved him wrong. He thought that Mimi would stay with him forever. Wrong again. He thought he would die before he even hit thirty. Completely off the mark now that he was in his early forties. He thought his life would go nowhere and that he would be stuck in that rundown loft forever. Now that he was in a modern day apartment with central air, working heat, actual hot water, and enough money to last him for more than just week, it seemed that all his predictions were wrong.
Fifteen years ago, he might have argued that he would never see the new millennium. He would have told his Mark that his films were worth something. He would have anticipated that big movie release Mark so desperately wanted to happen when his script was sold to a major production company.
The movie never happened. Mark didn't live to see it through.
Even now, he blamed himself for what had happened. He should have seen it coming from a mile away, but he didn't because he was too into his music and his fights with Mimi. Somehow he had missed all the signs that were so apparent. He somehow missed how Mark looked, too pale and too thin. He somehow missed the coughing and the labored breathing. Somehow, he missed how much Mark was suffering until it was far too late.
He had found Mark on the bedroom floor, unable to breathe and hardly able to stay conscious.
The hospital later explained that Mark had had pneumonia. Unfortunately, it wasn't taken care of and his weak immune system was unable to fight off the infection, even after the doctors gave him antibiotics. They were in the hospital a grand total of two days and it was over, just like that.
When he had returned to the loft, he found a small scrap of paper on his bed. In Mark's handwriting, it said: Take your AZT. With a stupid smiley face in misshapen glasses drawn in one corner. It was the last reminder he would ever get from Mark and he realized that his friend had cared for him more than he could ever imagine.
Now, some fifteen years after the incident, he still had that note tucked away in his wallet. Just a small reminder for him to live and keep going, even if everything around him wasn't the same anymore.
He knew that Mark would be happy to know that him and Benny made amends and he was now the godfather of Benny and Alison's twin daughters. Mark would be happy to know that Collins died ten years back, peacefully and happily, with all his friends around him. Mark would be happy to know that Mimi got clean and moved to California to become an actress, with much success in the independent film industry. Mark would be happy to know that Maureen and Joanne were still together and were raising a baby boy Joanne had given birth to. Mark would be happy to know that Roger got himself out of the loft and made a name for himself. He found glory.
Roger wished he could write a letter to his friend and just fill him in on all that he had missed, but then he reminded himself that Mark was gone.
And on his downtime, now that he could have downtime, Roger watched the movies that Mark had made in life. He looked back on the past that was permanently imprinted on reels and reels of film because there had been no one there to chronicle life in a long, long time.
Roger knew his time would come, maybe not in the next few days, weeks, months, or even years, but he was certain that when it came, everything would be alright. A part of him knew that Mark would be there, just waiting for him.
"Thank you," he whispered and he couldn't name what he was more thankful for out of all the things he could be thankful for. "Thank you."
And on the canvas, Mark smiled.
Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed that. Please leave a review. Thank you very much for reading.