Sorry that the wait for this was so insanely long. I had the first half written for about 3 months...I just couldn't finish until very recently. So yeah...not that happy with it, but whatever. I got tired of this being on hiatus.

Do not own RENT or any characters therein. Do own my characters and my plot, and a really cool pair of orange chucks. yep, all mine.

The Date

Shirts, pants and an odd assortment of other clothing littered the room, covering the old, twin mattress and a good deal of the floor. Glue, old hairspray, and a pretty much empty bottle of hair gel were spread out on an upturned cardboard box. An innocent looking slip of unfolded paper sat on the edge of the box, the blue writing fading and the edges worn from having been pulled out of a pocket and checked over and over again. Now it sat open as a steady reminder: "6 pm, outside the café". The rest of the note's contents almost disregarded by the vitality set on those five words, although they weren't causing nearly as much trouble as the sentence that had been added as a last minute post script. A steady stream of muttered curses came from the closet of the room as more clothes flew from inside.

Upon finally running out of clothes to throw, Mark swore loudly and frantically backpedaled out of the closet to check the clock he had put in his room (to prevent him from worrying about the time) for about the fiftieth time. 2:03 p.m.

"Damn it." He groaned. Four hours…only four hours. He groaned again, picking up the paper and reading the post script again. "You might want to dress nice, not fancy, just nice." Mark sighed, looking upon the mess of his room.

First of all, he had no idea what "just nice" meant and secondly, he had absolutely nothing to wear, something only worsened by the fact that most of the clothes he had found in his closet weren't even his. Most of them were Roger's and Collin's, but there were also clothes left by Maureen, Benny and a couple things he thought used to be April's. The presence of all of these made him wonder why his closet had been chosen as the junk closet and why he hadn't been given a vote in the matter.

Sitting in the center of the room, by the bed, he began a new chain of curses as he started going through the clothes again. Suddenly, he was jerked out of his search by his door swinging open. Roger stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning the scene in obvious confusion.

"What are you doing?"

Mark sighed, letting his chin drop to his chest for a moment. Ignoring that, for once, Roger wasn't speaking to him harshly, the filmmaker still decided that he didn't want to deal with the musician right then; he couldn't.

Looking up, he caught his eyes. "None of your business, Roger." He said sharply, turning away to go back to his search. A moment later he winced slightly as his door slammed shut. Oh well.

LINELINELINELINE

Almost three hours later Mark stood in front of the mirror, frowning deeply at his reflection. He'd taken a shower and shaved and made a very passionate, yet vain, attempt at fixing his hair in a way that was "just nice" and didn't make him look like a teenage AV geek. He had, after changing four times, eventually decided on a pair of brown corduroys and a light blue button up that actually belonged to Benny, but it, luckily, fit him well enough. He didn't know if it was "just nice" or too nice or perhaps not nice enough…but he really didn't have time to change again. He really wished Marshall had told him where they were going. Reye had told him that she had done some "innocent snooping" in Marshall's room and found out where they were going, but she refused to tell him because she "respected Marshall's privacy". Mark had been sincerely tempted to throw his camera at her.

Mark groaned softly, carefully fingering a strand of his hair that had, despite the gel and hair spray, decided to be wicked and contrary. He sighed. There wasn't much he could do about it. He ran out of gel and was afraid of the disgusting hard feeling too much hairspray caused. He had experimented a little with glue…but both the clumpy mess it created and the oh so wonderful eau de Elmer aroma it caused inspired him to rinse it out and then chuck the bottle against the wall.

Mark glanced over at the clock he had moved to the bathroom (to prevent him from worrying about the time while he got ready) for the hundredth or so time. 5:18 p.m.

Shit, I need to leave soon…but I have a couple minutes… With that thought Mark grabbed his toothbrush, quickly covered it in toothpaste, and proceeded to scrub his teeth for the fourth time that day. He was not, he told himself, being paranoid or hopeful…he was just being polite. After all, it was only good manners to make sure your breath didn't reek when you were about to spend an evening with someone, date or no.

A nasty part of his mind reminded him that he never brushed his teeth four times when he hung out with Reye. He told that part of his mind to shut up.

Rinsing his mouth out, he dried his face and looked himself over again. Giving himself one last frown, he left the bathroom. Roger was sitting on the couch, strumming nonsense on his guitar. He didn't look up as Mark walked past.

The filmmaker, in turn, ignored him as well and, without a word, grabbed his coat and scarf and exited the loft.

He made it the café by 5:50 p.m.

Walking up he immediately noticed the figure leaning against the wall beside the door. As he came up the figure pushed off the wall and turned to face him. Mark found himself smiling as he looked him over.

Marshall had brushed his hair into a short ponytail held at his nape, the shorter curls around his face pushed behind his ears. A single stubborn curl danced happily in front of his tan-green eyes. He was wearing black jeans and a deep green button up. It looked…fantastic on him. Mark was surprised at the warm feeling that spread over his body as he processed just how good Marshall looked. He was also quite pleased to see that he wasn't dressed inappropriately.

"Hi." Marshall greeted softly.

"Hi." Mark responded, just as shyly. They stared at each other for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

With the tension now cleared, Marshall came up beside Mark. "So, you ready to go? I figured we could go grab something to eat first…we've got a little time."

Mark smiled. "Sure, sounds great…Where are we going anyways?"

"I'll tell you when we get there…I mean, its not a big deal or anything but…I mean, its kind of a deal but not really…like I just want it to be a surprise and well.." he stopped when he heard Mark laughing.

"I'm sure you have your reasons and that I'll love it." He assured him with a grin. Mark was becoming very aware that Marshall, although very confident about most things, had a large tendency to babble when he did get nervous.

The photographer beamed at him. "Great, I really hope you will…Now, I'm starving. Let's go."

They walked down the street, talking a little but mostly in comfortable silence. Then Marshall turned to him and asked,

"Do you like Vietnamese food?"

Mark looked at him for a second, but he wasn't thinking about Marshall's question, he was thinking about a different question he had been asked years ago.

"Hey Mark."

Mark turned his attention away from Maureen who he'd been attempting to talk into taking a bite of his hamburger, to Roger who was smirking at him for an unknown reason. "Yeah?"

"You ever had Cambodian food?"

Mark hesitated, silently hoping that this wouldn't be another thing he was going to be teased over having no culture for. "No, I haven't."

Roger grinned wickedly. "Neither have they."

Mark stared at him in shock for a moment as Roger burst out laughing. After a moment Mark laughed too, not at the tasteless joke but at the nerve Roger had at saying it…and at Maureen who was expressing her disgust by ranting angrily at Roger and pelting fries and breadrolls (that she wouldn't have eaten anyways) at both of them.

A roll smacked Mark directly on the side of the head and as he turned to snap at her indignantly she said, "Don't say a word, you are as bad as him! I can't believe you two."

At this, they just started laughing more, eventually starting to throw food back at Maureen until they got kicked out of The Life.

"Uh, Mark?"

Mark snapped back into present time to see Marshall starring at him, still awaiting an answer.

"Um…I've never actually tried it."

Marshall smiled. "Well, good. You can try it today."

Mark agreed and smiled, his memories pushed aside for the time being.

They spent a more than pleasant dinner at a very small Vietnamese restaurant. The people were kind, the food was quite good, and, since it was so small, quite cheap as well. Mark let Marshall order for him, since he had no idea what to try and ended up pretty happy with the photographer's decision, although he liked what Marshall had ordered better; Marshall had ordered them different entrees so they each ate half and then switched plates.

As they ate they talked, about movies mostly. They both had the same interest in the independent, artsy movies that never made sense and usually had camera techniques so random you got disoriented watching them… And they both had guilty-pleasure movies: Mark liked Hollywood slasher films (Halloween, not Psycho like he told his friends, being his favorite) and Marshall loved "chick flicks", Fried Green Tomatoes being his all-time favorite movie, something that only Reye knew about and she had found out by accident.

All in all, it was one of the best meals of Mark's…year.

Afterwards, Marshall led them to a subway. They kept talking the whole way, but Marshall kept quiet about their destination. Walking down the street, in the nicer side of town Mark noticed, they finally stopped. Mark immediately noticed what they were close to.

"We're going to a Broadway show?" he asked, caught somewhere between affection at the cute innocence of the action and just awe.

Marshall blushed slightly. "Yeah…have you ever been to one?"

Mark shook his head. "Actually no…you'd think I would have, all the years I've lived here."

Marshall smiled. "I haven't either…most people who live in New York never do, its one of those strange wonders."

Mark chuckled. "So…" he looked up at the theatre billboard. "Sweeney Todd?" he grinned. "Terrific."

"Thought so."

LINELINELINELINE

"So, what did you think?"

Mark grinned. "It was fantastic! Really."

"That's great! I wasn't sure if you liked it." He sounded so relieved Mark couldn't help but find it cute.

"I loved it." He assured him before acting on impulse and pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you." He added quietly as he pulled away, face pinker than before.

They were silent for a moment, Mark's face pink and Marshall's home to a big smile, before Marshall straightened his face. "Well, I'm glad because I'm probably not going to have that kind of money for all our dates…um I mean-" his face turned beet red. "I mean-if there are any more-um…"

Mark smiled. "There'll be more." He said softly.

Marshall beamed. As they went to walk home, Marshall reached for his hand. Mark surprised himself in letting him take it.

LINELINELINELINE

Sorry this chapter was so…non-dramatic…and rather sappy. I was going to throw a little turmoil in for Mark but decided to let him have a fully happy chapter.

Not quite sure what my next move is, but I know all my eventual moves. I've actually got about 5 future chapters half written…I just have to write the chapters leading up to those.