As A Star Chapter 2, a rent fanfic

"Mark?"

The voice doesn't exactly wake him – but it forces him to face reality. He groans, putting a hand over his face and feeling like shit until he feels a slender arm lying across his chest. He doesn't feel so shitty after that.

Mark turns over slightly, careful to not dislodge Maureen's soft arm as he reaches out for his glasses. His mouth and tongue feel all fuzzy and thick when he speaks. "Benny? Where've you been?"

"Hey, man," his friend says quietly, crouching down beside him. "How're things with Roger?"

Fuck. Right.

"He used last night – we're in for a rough twenty-four hours."

Benny winces. "I'm sorry – and I'm sorry I haven't been here as much as I should." He stands, gesturing towards the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

"Yeah," Mark says gratefully, reluctantly sliding out from Maureen's possessive arm. If she were awake he would kiss it as he got up. But she's not. He stands and stretches before walking over to the table Benny's leaped onto.

"So, look, man, we gotta talk."

"Okay …" Mark says, curious, as the scent of coffee starts to fill the loft.

"I'm getting married in a couple weeks."

Mark stops, and he's glad he wasn't holding or drinking anything, because an accident surely would have occurred. "What? Who – the girl – ?"

Benny shakes his head. "I … I haven't brought her here."

"Who is she?" Mark feels like this is just too fucking much too handle. He wishes he were still asleep.

"Allison Grey," Benny says, and Mark doesn't connect the name. "Her father – we've been talking, he came to look at the building, wanted to buy it, and we got to talking … and his daughter came in … With all this Roger shit, I wanted to wait to tell you, but …"

"Wait, wait," Mark says, pinching the bridge of his nose right under his glasses. Suddenly everything hurts. "I know that name …"

Benny looks away. "You've probably read their name in the papers. He's rich, Mark – crazy rich." Benny looks at him again, and his eyes are sparkling. "He owns this building."

The gears in Mark's brain are whirring. This is so sudden. "Do you love her?"

Benny gives him a shrewd look, and that pretty much answers for him. "Yeah. I do, believe it or not. She's incredible."

Mark rubs his eyes; he feels like he doesn't know his friend anymore. These last months he hasn't been here – Mark knows he shouldn't have expected him to not change. "Congratulations."

Benny grins. "Thanks, man. But it gets better."

Mark looks up, forcing a smile. "Yeah?"

Benny nods, serious. "Mr. … Allison's father … he's giving us a couple buildings as a wedding present."

Mark chuckles. "That is seriously fucked up."

Benny smiles and looks down. "Maybe – but it's gonna enable me to take care of you guys. Forget rent ever again. You're golden. And I'll help out with anything else, whenever I can."

Mark looks at him a moment, a lump in his throat. What Benny doesn't realize is that Roger stole money they needed for food and AZT for last night's hit, and Mark, even as he lay in Maureen's arms, had been convinced he was going to have to give up taking constant care of Roger, and work a full-time shit job again to pay for everything. Now everything can stay as it's been – only with a hell of a lot less worry.

Mark gets up and walks over to Benny and hugs him. Surprised, Benny returns the embrace.

"Thanks, Benny," Mark says almost casually as he breaks away and returns to his chair. "That is … more than decent of you."

"Well, well, well," A sultry voice speaks up from behind the couch, and Mark looks over to see Maureen leaning over the back of it, looking amused. "If it isn't Benny Coffin."

Mark looks between them. "You know each other?"

Benny smiles uneasily. "Hi, Maureen."

Maureen stands up and saunters over, sliding her arms around Mark's waist from behind. "Never thought I'd see you again. I assume you thought the same."

Mark can't miss the sneer in her voice. "Are you okay?"

Maureen leans forward, her chin resting on Mark's shoulder. "Benny here was the one to kick me out of my place."

"Come on, Maureen, that's not fair – "

"I had no where else to go, and told him that, told him the rent would just be a few more days – "

"I had my orders from higher up – from the owner of the building, there was nothing I could do – "

Maureen stiffens. "You could have shut your big fat mouth." She steps towards Benny, breaking away from Mark. "You could have pretended I'd given you the rent. You could have not offered me a good fuck as a consolation prize for my home."

Benny jumps up. "That is bullshit! Mark, don't listen to this crazy bitch – "

"Fuck you!"

Mark breathes. That's about all he's capable of right now. "Shut up, both of you."

They look at him, angry and surprised.

"I don't believe either of you. I've only known you – " he turns to Maureen. "For one night. So don't expect me to take your side." Then he turns to Benny. "I like this girl. And I haven't seen you in ages, and when I do you drop this bomb on me. I have no fucking idea what to think."

Mark takes a deep breath, closes his eyes a moment. "If neither of you can handle that, you're both free to leave."

Benny deflates. "Maybe I didn't act the best way I could have. But I didn't say that to her."

Maureen crosses her arms. "Maybe not in so many words."

Mark holds up a tired hand, and they both quiet. "Benny, I've invited Maureen to stay here." He ignores the look Benny shoots him. "Please, for my sake, just get along, okay?"

They're quiet, and Mark takes it as agreement. "Now, I'm going to go have a shower," he says tiredly. "Try to play nice."

He's almost in the bathroom when Benny pipes up, "Mark? I wanted – I wanted to ask you to be my best man."

Mark laughs and disappears into the bathroom.

- - - - - - -

When Mark returns to the main room of the loft, Benny's gone. Mark can't exactly say he's surprised. Maureen is sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked prettily beneath her and a lock of hair in her mouth. She stops chewing and pulls it out when she sees Mark.

"Hey, handsome," she says, grinning. But Mark can see the uncertainty there. He smiles back at her, running a hand over his damp hair.

"Hey," he says. "You wanna go dancing tonight?"

- - - - - - -

Collins is more than happy to give Mark a night off, especially after being so late the night before. It doesn't matter that the subway stalled – he wasn't there, and that was what counted.

"But there is no way in hell I'm bringing Jamie to the dark dank abyss. Me and Roger'll talk about rock n' roll and pussy."

Mark laughs. "Good luck with that."

Collins grins toothily. "Yeah, I'll need it. Luck and a cup."

Mark laughs again, and it feels so good. He still kind of wonders at the fact that he still knows how. When he's with Roger he forgets what it's like to feel this way.

Collins's grin gets even wider when Maureen emerges from the bathroom in tight black pants and a revealing red top. He whistles, and Mark flushes slightly.

"I don't think I need to tell you to have fun," he says, and Maureen giggles, walking over to Mark and grabbing his hand, nuzzling his cheek.

"Nope," she answers him. "I've got him covered tonight."

Collins opens his mouth to say something but Mark shoots him a shut up look and he keeps silent as they leave the loft. Mark turns back once to see Collins grinning, and when Collins sees him he thrusts his hips forward sharply. Shaking his head, Mark grins and closes the loft door.

- - - - - - - -

Maureen wants to go to CGBG's, and at first Mark thinks this is a good idea. He associates it with loud pounding music and grinding bodies and fun. But it doesn't take him long to realize that those memories all have Roger in them. Roger playing the music, Roger dancing against Mark, Roger being the fun. Mark sees a poster, and it's half ripped off the wall, but he sees enough to know it's the Well Hungarians. Mark swallows painfully, then shakes his head in an effort to forget as Maureen pulls him onto the dance floor.

They dance together, Maureen flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him close, brushing their hips together occasionally, enough to send jolts of pleasure through Mark, and he's so fucking happy he took that chance with her, invited this perfect stranger into the loft and their lives, because it's just what he needed. So worth it.

After about five songs Mark needs water, but Maureen shakes her head, grinning, dancing, and Mark walks over to the bar to get his drink and when he turns back Maureen is dancing with another guy. Close.

Mark's hand closes a little more tightly against his glass, and Maureen dances a little closer to this new stranger. Her arms are around his neck, his are on her waist, and their eyes are locked –

And Mark wants to go home. He strides over to them, pushing through the jumping and gyrating bodies, the music pounding painfully through his skull, and puts a hand on Maureen's shoulder. She turns to him, grinning.

"Oh, hey baby," she says, and Mark marvels how one little word can be so intimate and possessive, without them having any history or understandings between them at all. Mark remembers that she's a stranger.

"Hey," he calls, leaning close. "I'm not feeling well – you wanna go for a walk?"

She looks at him, concerned, and nods, taking his hand and pulling him off the dance floor. When they emerge into the cold nighttime air, she slows her pace but keeps his hand in her soft grip.

"What's the matter?" she asks, her breath puffing whitely into the night. "Do you feel better?"

"A little," Mark mumbles, pondering his next move. What the hell is he gonna do, ask her to wear his class ring? Maybe last night hadn't meant what he'd thought.

She stops, steps closer and puts her arms around him, pulling him close and looking up into his eyes. "You sure? Do you need anything?"

He looks down at her, and then suddenly they're kissing, and it feels so good, and Mark hates that guy who's probably still dancing, hates him, and he hates himself for not being more forceful and clear. He breaks away slightly, then uses his body to make Maureen step back, gets her against the wall of the club. He grabs her arm, pins it against the brick, but he's smiling.

"Do you always flirt like that?"

She looks up at him, eyes shining. "Was I flirting?"

Mark nods, losing himself a little in those eyes. "Most definitely."

Maureen places her free hand on Mark's hip. "I know I was having fun." Her voice drops, becomes deeper, sounds more seductive. "You don't like watching me have fun – dancing with that guy – rubbing up against him …" And she presses her body against his, looking down between them before making eye contact with him again. "And knowing that I'm going home with you?"

Mark looks at her. "Are you?"

She knows what he's asking. "Yes," she says incredulously, like she can't believe he's even asking. She stretches up, kissing him gently a few times, making his stomach drop and dizziness take over his mind. Mark swears this girl makes him more drunk than a gallon of wine could. "I like you."

"I like you, too," Mark says softly, looking down, knowing this is probably the stupidest thing he's ever done, falling for somebody like this when so much is going on already, when he already has so much to deal with. As good as it feels … something about it feels wrong, too. He leans his forehead against hers. "Unfortunately, I really like you."

"I don't see what's so unfortunate about that," she giggles, freeing her hand from his grasp and bringing it to his cheek. "You're a sweetheart. Come on, let's go home – the home that I'm going to with you."

And Mark grins, and they start walking, and she wraps herself as close to him as she can without them both toppling over, and Mark thinks that it really doesn't get much better than this.

- - - - - - - -

When his bedroom door opens, Roger doesn't move at all, and keeps staring at the wall.

"Fuck off, whoever you are."

Collins chuckles at the tired voice from his spot in the doorway. "What a welcome. Nice to see you, too."

Roger takes a deep breath. "Sorry – I'm just – I'm so tired."

Collins stands there, arms crossed against his chest. "You look like goddamned Grizzly Addams. You also fucking stink. Come on."

That gets a reaction. Roger turns over quickly, looking concerned as Collins walks over to the side of his bed. "What? What are you doing?"

Collins grabs his arm and hauls him off the bed and towards the door. "I am making you take a fucking shower."

Then Roger fights. He grunts as he tries to yank his arm away from Collins's grip, twisting his body unnaturally and frantically, trying to plant his feet and not move another inch. Collins watches these struggles a moment before stopping.

"Roger."

He looks up at him, breathing hard, eyes darting. He doesn't want to face Collins like this.

Collins looks into his eyes, trying to convey the caring and rightness of what he's trying to do. "You've got to get used to it eventually, man. You've gotta face this shit."

Roger looks at him, silent, but when Collins leads him away he doesn't fight.

"There," Collins says when they reach the bathroom, shoving Roger in. "Turn on the water, get yourself clean, and then you're gonna shave."

Roger looks at him sharply, and Collins puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'll help, don't worry."

Roger nods, quietly leaning over and turning the water on. Collins steps outside, and within five minutes the bathroom door opens, Roger standing there in a towel and dripping wet, his eyes on the floor.

"Sit," Collins says, pointing to the toilet. Roger sits on the closed seat, hands clasped together in his lap. Collins goes to the cabinet under the sink and rummages before emerging with what he needs.

"Look up," he orders, and Roger complies, stretching his throat as Collins gently spreads the thick cool cream over his neck and face.

Collins swipes his hand on a washcloth crumpled on the counter and then brushes Roger's dripping hair, long brown with bleached tips, out of his face. Roger simply stares, silently. Collins grabs another towel and throws it on Roger's lap.

"I'm gonna shave you now, okay?"

Roger doesn't nod or look away as Collins leans down and carefully scrapes all over Roger's face, clumps of white hair falling onto the towel. When he's done he pulls up the towel and drops it on the floor, and tosses the razor in the sink before he turns back to Roger, smiling a little. He picks up the washcloth and rubs it against Roger's skin, wiping off any leftover shaving cream. He's surprised when Roger suddenly presses the side of his face hard into Collins's palm.

"Hey, man," Collins says softly, cradling Roger's face. "We're all here for you, you know that, right?" Roger doesn't react, but Collins continues. "We fucking love you, and that really does mean something, whether you can believe it now or not."

Still no reaction. Collins sighs lightly, pulling up Roger's face to look at him, putting his free hand on the other side of Roger's face, holding him there, forcing him to connect. "Listen to me. Your life is not over. I know – I know. I know it feels that way, but it's not." He grins. "I'm living proof you can live a good life after all this shit." Collins leans a little closer, wiggles his eyebrows. "A very fucking sexy life."

But Roger doesn't smile, and Collins sighs. He looks at him hard. "Do I need to grab your crotch just to get a smile out of you? I'll do it."

Roger smiles, so small his face barely changes, but Collins is satisfied. "Now go to your room, try to get some sleep." Roger gets up, and Collins slaps his ass as he walks by, rewarded by the little jump Roger gives as he goes through the door. A moment later, Collins follows him to his room, watching him climb naked into bed and under his covers.

"Roger?"

He turns on his side, looking tired and so young, Collins's heart wants to break. "Yeah?"

"You been jerking off?"

"Collins! Fuck," Roger says, irritated, and turns away. "It's none of your business."

"Maybe not," Collins agrees. "But you haven't been showering and Mark sleeps in here and I was just wondering if you – "

"What does it matter?"

Collins stops. "Well, maybe it doesn't. If you're not jerking off just because you don't feel like it, well …" Collins shrugs. "It's understandable. But," he continues, "If you're not jerking off in an attempt to close yourself off, off from your body and feeling good and – and fucking life, well, then you've got a problem."

Roger just stays still, staring at the wall in front of him and not acknowledging Collins, who sighs.

"Just think about what I said, all right?"

And Collins leaves, giving Roger the space he thinks he needs.

- - - - - - -

When Mark and Maureen return to the loft, after kissing frantically up all four flights of stairs and only breaking away from each other to actually open the door, Mark sees that Collins is asleep on the couch.

He feels a little stab of fear in his gut, but tries to ignore it. He can't blame Collins – the responsibility is sometimes too much, and Collins needs to sleep whenever he feels like it. Besides, he said Roger might need time alone.

Mark's still pretty goddamned skeptical about that part, much as he'd like to believe it.

Maureen's arms are around him and she's pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, all warm goodness. Mark smiles, leaning into her, and she chuckles a little breathlessly.

"Where are we gonna sleep?" she asks, her hands running up his back.

Mark looks at Collins again. "Benny's never home anymore – we can sleep in their room."

Maureen looks up at him and wrinkles her nose in distaste. Mark laughs at her, and drops a quick kiss on that nose. "It's no worse than Roger's room – or even the couch, for that matter."

Maureen glances back at the couch, looking disgusted, which just makes Mark want to laugh more. But then he hears a sound, a muted thumping that's like an electric shock to his gut. He disentangles himself from Maureen.

"I've gotta go check on Roger, okay?" he says. "You go on to the bedroom – you'll find it fine."

Maureen nods, smiling, and leans forward to kiss him again before she turns away. She tries to keep him there, kissing him possessively, but he's practically turned away before the kiss even begins.

Mark doesn't see her reaction as he leaves her, hesitantly walking towards that muted noise that gets louder as he gets closer to the bathroom. The door is closed, but light is leaking from the bottom of the door.

Mark knocks, lightly. "Roger?"

There's no response, and Mark's body that was so warm from Maureen a moment ago is now freezing cold. Mark tries the door, completely unsurprised to find it locked.

"Goddammit, Roger," he mutters to himself, rattling the knob hard. This place is so damn old and broken down that this could potentially work. But it doesn't – Mark shoves and shakes the thing for a good five minutes before finally stepping back and bracing himself, kicking hard at the door. Three good kicks, and it flies open.

Mark stumbles in, expecting to find a belt around Roger's arm and a fucking dirty syringe in his hand. He inhales sharply when his eyes focus on Roger, curled up into the tiny space between the toilet and the bathtub, hunched down and rhythmically hitting the side of his head against the hard edge of the tub.

"Roger," Mark breathes, hurrying to crouch beside him, desperate to put his hand between the tub and Roger's head. "Fuck, Roger – what are you doing?"

Roger shakes his head, trying to get around Mark's hand. "It's back – it's back, and I can't move, and I can't, I can't …"

Roger trails off, mumbling softly to himself, and Mark takes it all in – the clean uncluttered bathroom and Roger shivering so hard his teeth are chattering. The drugs are out, and withdrawal's set in. One sickness for another.

Mark grabs Roger's arm, standing and pulling the other boy up with him. "C'mon, Rog, we're gonna go to bed, okay?"

Roger just nods, and Mark's relieved, because there have been times when he's fought it. They step outside of the bathroom, Roger's head down, and run straight into Maureen, who's standing there holding her hands together and close to her chest, looking scared out of her mind.

"It's okay," Mark says quietly. "It's just a bad night, but we've had them before."

Maureen nods, staring at Roger's shaking form.

"Listen," Mark says, his arms around Roger, supporting his weight, "I need to stay with him tonight – it … it can get difficult. You'll have to sleep alone, okay?"

Still silent, Maureen nods again, frozen for a moment before turning on her heel and escaping to Collins and Benny's room. Mark hitches forward, redistributing his weight and getting a better grasp on Roger. Slow, steady steps that take a while eventually bring them to Roger's room, and Mark helps him lay down, covers him up, even though he knows Roger probably won't sleep. For days.

Mark slides down to the floor once Roger is settled, his back against the wall and staring at his friend. It's hard not to compare this wasted person to the guy who was so friendly and vibrant and affectionate not long ago.

Roger turns his head, eyes looking feverish and glittering. "I'm sorry, Mark."

Surprised, Mark stares at him. "It's okay."

Roger violently shakes his head, then stares at the ceiling, overcome by the shudders of his body.

"Never again," he mumbles, teeth clacking. "Never, never …"

Soon he quiets, and Mark feels himself drifting off a little, as hard as he tries to fight it. He tries to get comfortable, head resting against the wall, but not so comfortable that he gives in to sleep. He thinks he's perfectly awake even as his eyes slip closed.

- - - - - - - -

Mark wakes when a hand touches his shoulder. Startled and disoriented, it's a moment before he realizes Roger is standing over him in the black of the room.

"Mark," he whispers. "I'm cold."

Mark nods, and starts to get up as Roger shuffles back over to his bed. When Mark walks over, Roger is back under the covers, all curled into himself and still shaking. Mark lifts the covers and slips under them, sliding over close to Roger.

After a moment of hesitation, Roger's head turns a little bit. "Mark? You there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Mark says quietly, and he wraps his arms around Roger, molding his body to his friends'. Mark can feel his warmth transferring; can feel the heat building and being trapped under the covers. Roger gives a quiet little sigh, and Mark's heart constricts, feeling sick, remembering Roger beating his head against the side of the tub. Mark tightens his arms around Roger a tiny bit.

Fuck space. He's never leaving Roger again – not when Roger needs him like this.

Mark doesn't wonder why it is that Roger needs him. And he doesn't stop to wonder why he needs so much to be there for him.

He just knows, just goes to sleep, body pressed against Roger's in the darkness.

- - - - - - - - -

Roger doesn't remember waking up Mark. He doesn't even remember feeling cold. He just knows he was suddenly so fucking scared he could hardly bear it.

He doesn't feel like he's using Mark. He's just relieved that Mark's able to make that go away, a little.

- - - - - - - - -

Mark's heart beats fast, and his fingertips tingle a bit.

Two weeks. 14 days.

Early spring has hit New York, and this is how long Roger has gone without a hit now.

He sits in Roger's room, watching his roommate lay there quietly, clenching his hands in his bedsheets. When Roger wants to talk, he talks. Otherwise, they're both quiet, Roger laying in bed and Mark reading books that Collins brings him. He always seems to know when Mark's almost finished the most recent one.

Mark doesn't mention to Roger any of the changes he's seen. He doesn't mention Roger's clean shaven face, or the fact that he's started taking showers again, and he never acts surprised when Roger gives him a tiny little smile. Mark doesn't mention to Roger that it's been an awfully long time since the last hit – doesn't tell him that he's happy and proud.

He's too terrified of somehow fucking it all up.

And lately it's becoming a little clearer to him just how badly fucked everything could get.

Another night of the shakes and cold not long ago, and Roger had come into the living room where Mark was again sleeping on the floor, Maureen wrapped comfortably around his body.

"Who's that?" Roger had whispered in surprise, eyes darting from Mark's face to the sleeping girl beside him.

"Maureen," Mark had whispered back, searching Roger's face. " … I guess you don't remember seeing her before."

Roger shakes his head, silently staring down at Maureen.

"Roger? Are you okay?"

Roger shakes himself a little, returns to Mark. "Yeah. I … yeah."

Mark sits up, leaning on his elbows. "Hey, come on. What'd you come out here for?"

Roger looks away, face closed, and steps back. "Nothing. I just … never mind. I'm sorry."

He turns away, walking back towards his room and Mark tries to hurriedly scramble up without disturbing Maureen. When he rolls away from her embrace, she simply gurgles sleepily and turns over, pulling the blankets closer around her body.

He catches up to Roger just as Roger is about to close the door to his room. Mark shoots out a hand and catches it.

"Roger – seriously. What's going on?"

Roger turns away, looking at the floor. "I was – I was just cold. But I didn't know you had a girl here, Mark – I never would have …"

"Shut up," Mark says softly, and moves his hand from Roger's door to his shoulder, gently leading him towards the bed.

"Mark – ?"

Mark gently pushes him, and Roger lightly falls back onto the bed, looking up at him.

"I never want you to feel like you're bothering me, okay?" Mark looks to the ceiling and sighs. "Anything you need, you can ask me."

Roger looks at him, eyes dark and confused, but he lays down and pulls the covers over himself. Mark walks to the other side and climbs into the bed, wrapping his arms around Roger, who feels unusually warm. They're silent for a minute.

"I'm sorry, Mark," Roger says in a small voice, and Mark can tell he's embarrassed. Mark smiles, hoping it transfers to his voice.

"It's okay."

He sees Roger nod, feels him shift and press his body a little closer into Mark's. And Mark watches the darkness, thinking. It's not like Roger is so sick tonight – it's not a danger night. And Maureen is sleeping right in the next room.

Mark sleeps about as much as Roger. That night is a bit of a revelation.