Classes got cancelled today thanks to the amazing blizzard we're having here. Level 3 Snow Emergency. YAY. I thought I'd never have another snow day when I got out of high school…hopefully the snow keeps going all night and I have another snow day tomorrow! (although, no matter what, I still have to go to work tomorrow, which REALLY sucks. I walk there too, blargh)

Anyways, my point is: thanks to a whole day off, I had lots of time to write…and I actually really felt like it….I didn't feel like cleaning my dorm or doing any of my homework with my ample amount of time, so none of that got done…but that's a different matter. So yeah, here's an update.

I do not own RENT or any of the characters therein. I do own my plot and characters…if I ever get really poor, I may sell them for earth moneys…but for right now, mine.

More Messages

Mark sighed. Hitting the button, he listened to the message again:

You've reached Mark and Roger. Leave a message.

It was so bland…but he couldn't get himself to say anything remotely clever or witty… it just didn't feel right. He'd asked Roger what he should put on the machine, some dim part of him hoping that they would be able to record 'Speak!' again…but Roger had just replied that it was an answering machine, what did it matter?

We had that message for over five years…we did it right after Benny moved out…It was just a stupid message but…it wasn't.

Not that Roger would care about any sentimental feelings I have to the message.

Mark smiled a little sadly. That day Roger had come home, he'd left for a couple hours. When he came back, Roger hadn't mentioned the broken machine again. As a matter of fact, he'd actually talked to Mark a little since then. Nothing really wondrous, just a bit of civil conversation about the lack of food, the cold, his aggravation over not being able to find a lyric that rhymed correctly, etc.

It was…kind of nice, but somewhat confused Mark.

He wasn't going to give it much thought at the moment, though. At the moment, all he really cared about was a certain message he was supposed to get.

Three aggravatingly slow days had passed since Reye had dropped that hint, and there hadn't been any word from Marshall. Reye hadn't even brought it up, and Mark wasn't about to. Sure Reye didn't work at the café Saturday or Sunday, but he had hung out with her all day Saturday when they had gone to get the answering machine he was currently setting up, and he had gone to the café Monday.

He knew he was being immature$ by being so impatient about it…but it was over a week since he had met Marshall and every day that passed put more doubt in his mind.

What if he changed his mind?… What if he decided he didn't like him after all?…What if it was all some kind of sick joke?…What if he met someone else and forgot about him?…What if he was absolutely paranoid?

Reason told him the last option was probably most likely, but he couldn't completely convince himself of this.

With a sigh, Mark grabbed the machine and left his room. He quickly set it up on the coffee table and then looked at Roger, who was sitting on the couch, reading the paper he'd probably stolen from Mrs. Sheets downstairs. There were only two residents who got papers in the whole building: Mrs. Sheets and Mrs. Powers. They only stole the paper from Mrs. Sheets because Mrs. Powers baked them cookies if they so much as said hello to her when they walked by. Mark felt sorry for the old woman, her husband was dead and her daughter, who she was always talking about, hadn't been by to visit her in three years. He always made a point to stop by her place on Christmas, for a little while at least.

"Its set up, so you can plug the phone back in if you want to." Mark informed him. He received a rough grunt in reply and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Grabbing his coat and scarf he grabbed his bike and headed out.

LINELINELINELINE

Mark walked down the stairs and paused in slight surprise when he saw Reye already out of her cave. She was standing in front of the counter, a strange grin on her face as she stared at him.

"What's going on?" he asked suspiciously, entering the room completely.

"Marshall left you a note." She said in a singsong voice.

Mark felt his heart skip a beat and hoped he wasn't flushing. "Really?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

She nodded. "Yep." And then continued to stare at him, still grinning.

"Well, can I have it?" he asked, a touch impatiently, after a few moments.

"Maybe…I'm not sure where I put it…"

"Reye…" there was a warning in his tone.

"Maybe I threw it away…"

"Reye!"

She laughed. "How bad do you want it, Cohen?" she teased.

Mark bit his tongue. "Not bad, but its mine so give it."

She grinned wickedly. "Oh, but what do I get out of being your guy's little messenger?"

Mark resisted the urge to smack his head against the counter. "Have Marshall come up with something, this was his horrible idea."

Reye laughed before a mischievous look crossed her face. "You have to tell me everything, and I mean all the little details, or I'll not give you a thing."

Mark stared at her for a moment, amazed by how meddlesome she was before groaning. "Okay! Okay, I'll tell you everything. But you can't read the notes from now on."

She grinned and pulled a folded paper out of her back pocket. "I didn't read this one." She said, handing it to him. "I like to respect my brother's privacy. Its not like I'm nosy or anything."

Mark glared at her. "Oh no, you're not nosy at all. How dare I suggest such a thing." He muttered sarcastically.

She laughed as she hopped up onto the counter.

Mark sat at his usual stool as he carefully unfolded and read the note.

Mark-

How have you been? I hope well. I've been fine…Sorry it took me so long to send you a message, I've been…preparing.

I was wondering, would you like to go out with me this Friday?

Send your reply with Reye…but don't let her read it. That girl is entirely too nosy.

Marshall

Mark stared at it for a while. Short, simple…yet he couldn't stop himself from reading it over and over again. Marshall had messy handwriting: a just readable scrawl with exaggerated tails on his Ys and Gs and disproportionately large capital letters. He'd written in a very fine tipped blue pen and the folds in the paper weren't symmetrical.

Mark loved it all.

"Do you have any paper?" He asked, finally looking up from the note.

Reye grinned. "Sure. Hold on a second." Disappearing under the counter, Mark could hear her going through things before she appeared again, a pen and notebook held triumphantly in her hands.

Tearing him out a sheet of paper, she handed both it and the pen to him. Mark set the paper down and stared at it for a while. Finally he picked up the pen and slowly wrote:

Marshall: Friday sounds great. What time? Mark

Mark sighed, read it over and over, fought urges to rip it up, sneered at his slightly feminine handwriting, and finally folded the paper and pushed it towards Reye.

"Remember, don't read them." He warned her.

She laughed. "Don't worry, I won't. Besides, I'm pretty sure I know what they say without having to read them; guys are so transparent."

Mark stared at her for a second before deciding a subject change was in order. "So have you heard about that restaurant that kills chickens in front of the customers?"

LINELINELINELINELINE

Mark fell back onto his bed. He wasn't really that surprised this time, he was expecting Roger's demeanor to change eventually…he just wished he had waited at least another day…wait until he wasn't so…happy, or close to it. Thanks to the note, Mark actually felt pretty damn good for once…and then Roger had to ruin it by picking another fight with him.

At least he didn't walk out this time… Mark sighed. He had retreated to his room before the argument got that far out of hand.

He had gotten mad over such a stupid reason, though. Mark had just asked him if he could read the newspaper Roger had sitting next to him. Somehow, the musician had turned that into Mark "trying to own everything in the loft".

Mark laid on his back, stretching out and staring at the ceiling. He needed to get his mind off Roger. Suddenly, a soft smile crossed his face as he remembered the message, remembered that he had a…date Friday…with Marshall.

With the fight firmly out of mind, the filmmaker thought and daydreamed about Friday until he finally fell asleep.

LINELINELINELINELINE

Okay, really short, I know. Like I mentioned before, this was originally supposed to be tacked onto the end of the last chapter…but I don't know, I felt like giving it its own. Anyways, please, please, please review! Reviews are like energy drinks and chocolate covered espresso beans: delicious and essential to my functioning.

Much Love