Disclaimer: RENT Jonathan Larson's. The song Roger sings is The Eagles'.
"Hey, Roger, look what I found."
Roger finished shutting the door as his last student of the day (Annette, Tuesday 5:00) left the loft then turned to see Mark holding up a jigsaw puzzle and grinning maniacally. "You… found a jigsaw?"
"Yeah," Mark affirmed, nodding. "I thought… it's so cold… we could just spend the night in pajamas drinking cocoa and tea and doing a jigsaw, like we used to." When you were in withdrawal and needed me every damn minute. Mark's eyes widened in surprise. Had that truly been a feeling of nostalgia for the days of withdrawal?
Roger shook his head. "I'm taking Mimi out tonight. But hey, we'll do that tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah," Mark said, certain now. He did miss those days. He missed not needing an appointment to see his best friend.
---
Rain pounded, carrying slicks of oil into gutters and forming torrential rivers where gutters were blocked by piles of garbage. The wind picked up, as well, snatching up anything not soaked into the ground, sending rain in lashes against windowpanes and sprays into the faces of young couples foolish enough to be out in this weather, naïve enough to be happy, laughing through their awkward, clinging run.
Roger carried the umbrella-- his height made that decision. As he and Mimi huddled by the door to the building, he laughed. "Don't you love the rain?" he shouted over the noise of the weather, watching it rearrange the trash of Avenue B.
"I'll love it more when I'm inside," Mimi replied, smiling as she fumbled with her keys. The lock turned, and she pushed the door open. Roger ushered her inside, then raced in after her and pulled the door to. The din of the rain diminished to a dull rumble.
Roger folded the umbrella and set it aside. He looked at Mimi and began to smile, but smiling wasn't enough. He chuckled and felt as though a pressure had been drained from his chest.
They kissed.
"I had fun tonight," Mimi said. She rested her arms around his shoulders and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.
"That's a surprise?" Roger asked, mocking offense.
Mimi laughed. "No."
"Come on. Let's get upstairs, it's freezing down here."
They giggled up the stairs, hanging on to one another. Roger looked over his shoulder to smile at Mimi as he unlocked the door. He hooked an arm around her hips and guided her in, nuzzling her neck. They laughed, trying and failing to stifle the sound.
"Let me just get the condoms."
"Can't believe we bother."
Roger pulled away from Mimi and immediately stopped laughing.
Mark was sitting on the couch with his back to the door, his face pressed into one of the cushions. His hair was matted down, damp, and he was only wearing a pair of jeans despite the cold. He was crying.
"Oh, G-d. Um, Mimi… can we pick this up tomorrow?"
"Wha--" Mimi began, then followed his gaze. "Of course." She rested a hand on his shoulder to lever herself up to kiss his cheek before slipping out the door, leaving behind the sounds of sobs and rain.
"Mark?" Roger crossed the room quickly and settled beside his friend on the couch. He rested a hand on Mark's arm and one on his trembling back. "What's wrong?" Roger asked quietly. The hand on Mark back began to move, petting him slightly. "Is it something… did someone… did someone do something, did something happen, or… is it just one of those nights?" Roger knew all about "those nights". He had his fair share.
"Oh, G-d, Roger," Mark sobbed. "Just go away."
Roger shook his head. His hand moved to Mark's head and fluffed his hair. "I can't do that, Mark."
"Please! Go to Mimi's."
"You know I'll do anything for you, Mark, but I can't do that. I can't--"
"Go away! Go away!" Mark raised his head sharply, throwing off Roger's hands. "Go away! Go! Go, dammit, it's what you do, isn't it? Go away!"
Roger recoiled. A year. An entire year had gone and still Mark had not forgiven him. No, he's hysterical, he doesn't mean it "Mark--"
"Leave me alone!" he begged, the words torn from his throat with great effort.
"Mark." Roger did the only thing he could think of: he pulled Mark against him and held him tightly. "It's okay, Mark. It's okay. Shh." Mark didn't struggle. He allowed Roger to hold him, rock him and comfort him. Roger felt tears rising and shook them away.
Mark kept sobbing. To keep the noise from engulfing them both, and because it frightened him more than a little, Roger began to sing:
"Tell me the truth, how do you feel?
Like you're rollin' so fast that you're spinnin' your wheels?"
He slowed the tempo of the song considerably, making it a soft lullaby.
"Don't feel too bad, you're not all alone.
We're all tryin' to get along."
It was a song Roger had given Mark before, a song he thought eternally applicable to Mark's specific situation.
"No man's got it made till he's far beyond the pain
And we who must remain do on living just the same."
When the song ended ("We who must remain go on laughing just the same") Roger pulled away. Mark looked up at him, blinking and shivering, unable to speak as Roger pushed tears off his cheeks. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to bed. This'll be better tomorrow."
Roger led Mark into his bedroom and pulled back the covers; Mark pulled away. "I need a sweatshirt," he mumbled, and found one, not too dirty, on the floor. He dragged it over his head, then lay down dutifully. He pulled the blankets over his body and pressed his crying face into the pillow.
"Hey." Roger stroked his hair. "Do you want me to stay in here tonight?
"Go fuck your girlfriend." The acidity of his tone surprised Mark.
It was the first time Roger thought to smell for alcohol; he frowned, surprised at himself, but could not detect a hint of it. "Are you sure you want to be alone--"
"Yes," Mark snapped, "I'm sure. I know what I want. Go away!"
In his own bed, Roger brought his knees to his chest and closed his eyes. The darkness stifled him, pressing down with the knowledge that he was powerless and had done nothing as Mark's heaving sobs filled the loft. Roger pressed his hands over his ears, but the sound poured through.
What am I doing? Oh, yeah. I'm lying in bed trying to ignore the fact that my best friend is crying. What the hell is wrong with me?
Roger kicked off the blankets and strode into Mark's room. He didn't ask anything, just crawled under the blankets with his friend. Mark stopped crying. "Hey," Roger said.
"Hey."
TO BE CONTINUED!
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