Well, here is the first actual chapter where we meet the dreaded OC…damn Lillia and her cute ass for making me do this! Anyways, don't forget that the focus of this fic is on Roger and Mark. I will do my best with the OCs.

Oh, and for anyone who likes to write, I currently have something up called Challenge Central and it is basically 15 RENT story challenges that my girlfriend and I have put out there for anyone to write. Plus, if we get more than one entry for a challenge it becomes a contest and the winner gets GLORY, and everyone and Roger loves glory...we'll also give you virtual brownies…maybe even virtual special brownies if that's what you prefer. Its under my penname, so check it out, please. We would really, really love it if we got more entries for it. (It has been reported but remains up and you can't get reported for writing for it).

So here's the first chapter. I accept any flames and criticisms, and if I make any mistakes please correct me in a review. I love any kind of reviews, by the way. I've got the next chapter partially written, but I really feel I could get it out a lot faster if I was greeted by a few reviews the next time I check my email ;) Oh and I wrote this originally in 3rd POV, changed it to Mark's POV, thinking it would work betters, but then realized I liked it better in 3rd…which is new for me, most of my stuff is written in the characters POV, but I'm going to keep giving it a shot…I may change POVs later in the story if I feel it would work better. Oh, and Italics are Mark's thoughts.

The Trouble Café

Mark shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He wasn't used to walking around without his camera in his hands, but he had left in such a rush he had forgotten it… it didn't really matter though; it wasn't like he felt like filming anyways.

Roger and he had had another fight. He wasn't even exactly sure what had caused this one; he was just tired of the yelling so he had left. Now he found himself walking down Avenue C, without a coat, scarf or camera. Despite the cold, he found himself missing the latter the most; he was used to having the reassuring weight in his hands. He winced as a sharp wind picked up, stinging his face and making him realize that he missed the other two as well. It was early January and rather cold outside, so he decided that he needed somewhere warm to calm down in.

After walking a couple blocks, he noticed a small coffee shop that he had never seen before. He wasn't surprised; it was just a small door with a faded sign on it that said, Trubbel Café over a chipped painting of a coffee cup. Mark searched his pockets, coming up with a crumpled dollar and a few coins, which probably wasn't enough for anything worth getting, but it was cold so he went in anyways. Directly behind the door was a flight of stairs going down and a short hallway that led to the café. The place was small, but it was pretty empty so it didn't matter.

Mark looked around, feeling just a tad nervous. Basement businesses generally had an ominous feel to them. The only people he saw was a pair of older men playing cards and a couple people quietly drinking coffee in the corner. He didn't see any workers and remembered that he hadn't seen an Open sign on the door, but at least the café was well lit.

He walked up to the counter, glancing around and finding nobody there. He noticed a hand bell sitting on the counter with a sign beside it that read: 'If I'm not out, ring bell'. Biting his lip slightly, he picked up the bell and rang it. Suddenly he heard a thump from directly underneath the counter followed by a muffled curse, and then a dark mop of curly hair and two brown eyes peered over the edge of the counter at him. Mark stared at them in surprise. After a second, the person got up.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

Mark looked her over for a second. She looked young, hardly fifteen, with almond skin. Her hair was loose, curly, wild and a little frizzy. The roots and about four inches of the top were a deep black and then it faded into discolored dyed reddish brown. She was wearing a bottle-green off-the-shoulder blouse over a black tank top and fishnet gloves that went a couple inches past her elbows. She had on about thirty bracelets and at least seven necklaces. Each ear was pierced five times and her eyebrow was pierced. Her mouth was working overtime on a piece of gum as she waited for him to answer her.

Mark smiled at her in amusement. "So, if I may ask, what were you doing under the counter?" He asked her, curious.

She grinned, running a hand through her curls. "Sleeping." She confessed. "It gets pretty boring around here, most of the time."

He nodded. "Yeah, I can tell."

She shrugged. "Yeah, so you want anything?"

Mark looked up at the menu that's written on a chalkboard above the back counter. There weren't any prices listed. "What can I get for…" he reached into his pocket and counted through his money. "A dollar and…sixty-seven cents?" he asked with a hesitant smile.

She chewed her gum for a few seconds. "Not a whole lot. But, if you want, I can lend you whatever you're short."

Mark's eyes widened slightly. Okay, this one's not a native. "How do you know I'll pay you back?" he asked, half joking.

She shrugged with a smile. "I don't…but I like to trust people."

Trust, in New York? This girl is hilarious. Mark smiled again, shaking his head. "Mm, as much as I'd like to take your money, I can't. I don't like borrowing things, not because I wouldn't want to pay you back but because I know I really can't afford to."

She just grinned at him. "Okay…I'll fix you something for a buck sixty-seven then. You look like an Italian roast…yes?"

He smiled. "Actually, that used to be my favorite coffee type."

"I knew it…so, cream, black or milk?... milk right?"

"Yeah."

She made his coffee, and then grabbed the sugar. "I know you want sugar… Two teaspoons?"

Mark smiled sheepishly, "Um, more like four. I have a sweettooth."

She laughed. "Perfect… hmm, but not the coffee. I think it needs just a hint of…vanilla. What do you think?"

"Sounds great, I love vanilla. You know, you're pretty good at this guessing thing."

She shrugged, handing Mark his finished drink. "It's a gift…or a sign that I've been working here for way too damn long, take your pick. That'll be a buck sixty-seven exactly, Sweettooth."

Mark smiled as he handed over his money. "What a funny coincidence, just the right amount." She grinned, and Mark could tell his large coffee cost more than a dollar sixty-seven, but he decided to just accept the gift.

Mark tasted his coffee, Damn this girl is gifted or something.

The coffee barista deposited his money into the cash drawer and then hopped up and sat on the counter.

"Well, I'm awake now, so do me a favor, and talk with me awhile, Sweettooth."

He thought about it for a second. He really didn't feel like going back to the loft and, with Collins at NYU, conversation was a rarity for him, so it was certainly welcome. Besides, he owed her for the discount.

"Sure." He agreed, taking one of the stools near the counter. There was no other business for her anyways.

"So, Sweettooth, what's your name?" she asked.

"Mark. Yours?"

She popped her gum again. "Reye." She stuck out her hand, which he shook. "What brings you here, Mark? I don't think I've seen you around here, before."

"I never really noticed this place before. I just went out walking today and stumbled on it."

Reye nodded. "Upset about something?" she asked.

Mark stared at her, surprised. "What makes you think I'm upset about something?" He asked, hoping that he hadn't somehow been obvious about it.

Reye rolled her eyes. "This is New York City, who honestly walks alone for no reason unless they got something heavy on their mind? It's not like there's much scenery to take in." She explains.

Mark was silent for a moment before giving in. "Okay…I'm upset at my roommate…" Her look urged him to explain. "See his girlfriend died in September and ever since he hasn't been himself…especially with me. We haven't exactly gotten along since Mimi went."

Reye nodded as if in understanding. "Did you get along well before?" she asked.

He sighed, nodding slowly. "Yeah. We were--are best friends…at least we're supposed to be. I mean…we've had rough patches before…when he was going through some other stuff…but nothing like this…and he had a better reason before. Lately, all we do is fight and if we're not arguing about something, he's basically ignoring my existence."

Reye patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Maybe he's still just getting over her death. If he loved her, it might take a while. I'm sure he doesn't mean to treat you badly."

Mark shook his head. "But he wasn't like this when… I don't know, I don't think that's all there is to it. Sometimes, its like he is purposely trying to upset me… I just… don't know."

She nodded. "Well…I could probably give you some advice, but I know close to nothing about you or your roommate, Sweettooth… How about you tell me your story and then we can really talk?"

"My story?" he asked, slightly confused.

She grinned again. "Your story, man. Everyone in New York has a story, that's what this city is all about: a million people, a million stories."

He thought about pointing out to her that there were more than a million people in New York, but decided against it. "Okay… Jeez, my story…Where should I start?"

She grinned, popping her gum. "The beginning, of course… not your birth, just wherever your life actually started."

He thought for a moment. "Okay, well I'm from Scarsdale…"

LINELINELINELINELINELINELINE

Reye laughed. "Jeez, this Benny is a character. He sounds like some friend."

Mark sighed gently, shaking his head. "Yeah, he sure was. He could charm any lady within fifty yards, and he was funny, most people didn't see that side but he really was funny. He couldn't tell jokes but he was real sharp, real witty... But he hasn't been like that in a long time. He was always the serious one, but now he's all about his business, even his relationships are more about business. He turned into a royal ass. He's a fucking yuppie now."

Reye nodded in sympathy. Mark opened his mouth to say something else when the sound of the door shutting and someone coming down the stairs interrupted him. Reye turned towards the doorway, a smile in place that immediately turned into a grin as the person stepped out.

"Heya Lactose."

Mark looked over at the person that walked up to the counter. Lactose was a real tall girl with milky skin and short, pale lavender hair that was in a pixie cut. She had these big, sad brown eyes that made her look younger than she probably was. She had a large, solid frame for a girl. She wore black jeans, a man's baggy T-shirt under a big, worn, brown leather jacket and filthy red chuck taylor high tops.

She smiled at Reye. "Hey."

Reye motioned to Mark. "Lactose, this is Mark. Sweettooth, this is Lydia." She introduced.

Lydia smiled at him politely before turning back to Reye. "Reye, you will not believe what happened to me today." She said, her tone indicating that whatever happened was not a good thing.

The filmmaker glanced at the two of them and taking a hint, decided to take his leave. "I'm going to go now." He said, standing, not expecting either of them to hear him.

Reye immediately turned to face him. "Okay, Sweettooth. Hey, if you're not doing anything tomorrow, or anytime, come on back here so you can finish that story of yours."

Mark started, looking at Reye in surprise. "Uh, sure… I mean, if you want me to."

She laughed. "Of course I want you to. You can't just leave me hanging! You just met Benny, you just left college. You haven't even gotten to the part where you met your roommate, Roger, or how you decided to come to East Village." She practically exclaimed. "Same time, if you can?"

Mark grinned. "Sure. I'll see you then, I guess."

"Yep, see you later." She gave him one last grin and a wave as he left.

In a much better mood than when he had left, Mark made his way back to the loft. Going in, he found Roger sitting on the floor by the window, scribbling in his lyric notebook.

"Hey." He muttered at Mark as he came in.

"Hey." Mark answered back as he went to his room. Roger was pretending like it hadn't happened, Mark realized. That was the way most of their fights had ended lately: one of them would leave the room or the loft, depending on how bad the argument was, and when he got back they would just pretend nothing had happened. It was usually Mark that left too, because if Roger left he didn't come back for a day or two. But there was nothing when Mark came back. No apologies, no talking it out, no mentioning it at all. Mark hated it, but he just went along with whatever Roger decided because pretending the fight hadn't happened was better than continuing the fight.

Mark sighed, falling back upon his bed. It was too cold to film, too expensive to do anything else, and he didn't want to go near Roger in fear of getting caught in another fight. The only thing left to do was sleep.

LINELINELINELINELINELINELINELINELINELINE

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. I have part of it done, but considering how much work I have in my classes, that doesn't really mean much. I'll do my best…and reviews help motivate me. Oh, let me know how I did with the Mary Sue (please remember she was part of the challenge, I do not normally write OCs…) and also please remember that she is not the focus of the fic, Mark and Roger are….Their deteriorating relationship will become more and more the center of my fic.