As A Star Chapter 4, a rent fanfic

Mark is standing outside Roger's door and clutching a mug of coffee. A week later and the sickness is mostly gone, though Mark knows Roger hasn't really slept. He figures caffeine can't really hurt anyway, and the comfort and normalcy of coffee might make Roger feel a little bit better.

Mark doesn't feel angry now. Every time he feels it rising up he's bombarded with images and sensations – Roger's face staring at the bathtub and warm dry lips against his. The anger usually disappears pretty damn quickly.

Sighing lightly, Mark knocks on Roger's door and walks in, coming over to stand beside the bed and placing the coffee on the squat unpainted dresser beside his bed. "Thought you might like some coffee."

Roger looks up, seeming a little surprised. "Thanks."

Mark sits on the bed, next to Roger's body. "You're welcome. Do you need anything else?"

Roger shakes his head, and Mark looks down, struggling to not let anything show on his face. He's determined to act as normal as he can, straining to think of some way to let Roger know that nothing has changed, everything is okay, Mark is as safe as he's always been – without actually saying anything.

"Actually …" Roger looks up at him, into Mark's eyes, and Mark feels a jolt.

Careful.

"Do … do we have any cigarettes?"

Mark hides a grin. This is good. Roger hasn't wanted a smoke in ages.

"We don't, but I can get some."

He starts to stand, but Roger reaches out and takes his hand, looking up at him. Mark can't help but close his eyes, just for a second, trying so hard to keep a hold on everything.

"Can't Collins?"

"I guess he can," Mark says, thinking. He grins a little to himself. "Might as well take advantage of the bastard while we still can."

Roger looks up sharply, and Mark is confused for a moment.

"Oh!" Mark nearly cries out as Roger's grasp tightens on his hand. God, Roger should know better. "Fuck, Roger, no, that's not what I – I forgot that you didn't know. Collins got a job offer from MIT."

A stricken look passes over Roger's face. Mark wants to reach out to him but the twisting of his stomach tells him not to.

"Is he leaving?"

Mark nods, eyes locked with Roger's. "Day after tomorrow."

The other boy's expression gradually neutralizes, tired and blank. Mark turns away and Roger's hand slides off of his. There's a long moment of silence, and Mark can feel that, for the moment, Roger is gone. But he was there for a moment – he was. Mark shivers a little bit, hoping this won't mean another round of drugs and withdrawal. This time. This time Roger will be able to stay.

"Well," Mark says, swallowing uncomfortably. "I – I can go get those cigarettes, now, if you like …"

Roger nods slowly, looking down at his lap. He doesn't reach out for Mark again, and Mark turns and leaves, taking only a moment to grab his jacket and let Collins know where he's going.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Collins is sitting with Maureen on the couch when Mark returns, windswept and red-cheeked. They look at him and simultaneously start giggling. Mark would be a little pissed, after the day he's had, if they both didn't look so damn cute.

"What?" he asks, smiling almost reluctantly, and Collins snorts and stands up.

"Maureen and I were just bonding." Maureen giggles again, a hand over her mouth and eyes sparkling mischievously at Mark. "We decided that you need to have a night."

"A night?" Mark asks, sliding off his jacket and gloves and unraveling his scarf. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Collins says, grinning, digging in his pocket, "That you are as tightly wound as a fucking slinky. You need to blow off some steam."

Collins walks over, still grinning, and hands Mark a wad of bills. "Me and Maureen have started up a Get Mark Cohen Drunk fund. Congratulations, you're our very first beneficiary."

Maureen laughs, eyes on Collins. Mark feels himself grinning, pleased they're getting along so well.

"Okay," he says, looking from the bills in his hands up to Collins's face. "This is great. Thank you."

Collins leans in close. "I'll talk to him. And you really do need to just let go for a little while." His eyes slide towards Maureen. "I think she needs it, too. Walking in on all this shit can't be easy."

Collins pulls away and raises his voice. "So you go out and get the girl drunk."

Maureen laughs again, looking so happy, and jumps up, walking over to Mark and wrapping her arms around his waist, smiling up into his face.

"No, I'm going to get him drunk and take advantage of him." She stretches up and captures Mark's mouth, kissing him firmly and giving his lips the tiniest of licks before stepping away. "And he's going to love every minute."

Collins, amused, glances at Mark. "I bet."

"Shut up, Collins," Mark grins, and he feels the lightest he has in a while. Maureen takes his hand and starts pulling him towards the loft door.

Mark grabs his jacket on the way, still being pulled, grinning. But he can't help looking back at Collins one last time.

"He didn't know – I just told him today – "

Collins shakes his head. "Mark. Go. I've got it under control."

Mark nods, smiles tightly, but he can't help feeling even lighter. And then Maureen has him out the door and is pulling him down the stairs, and saying coyly how much fun they're going to have, she might even only dance with him, and Mark lets himself slide forward. Lets himself forget.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Collins turns towards Roger's room with a sigh. He doesn't want to leave Roger, and he doesn't want to have this conversation. Most of all, he wants to not have one of his best friends in the world sick and strung out on drugs. Collins squares his shoulders. Like it or not, this is what the reality is – and somebody needs to get Roger to deal with it.

When he opens Roger's door, Roger doesn't turn over to greet him and Collins's heart clutches. Stupid kid. Collins can't believe that some shithead kid he found beat up in front of the building could work his way into his heart so much. He looks so sick and thin and wasted – Collins knows that if he keeps this up much longer, it's all going to be over much sooner than it should be.

"Roger."

Roger doesn't show he's even heard Collins. Not a movement, not a sound. Collins gets a little pissed.

"You know, asshole, there's more than one way to kill yourself. You don't need a fucking razor."

Roger doesn't sit up, but he looks at Collins for a split second, eyes blazing. "Fuck you."

"No, fuck you. Face the facts, Roger. If you're going to do it, at least acknowledge what it is you're attempting."

Roger's face stills, backing away and closing off. Collins can see it, and he knows what it could potentially lead to.

"You know every time you do it, it's gonna be that much harder to quit."

Roger speaks flatly, not really connecting. "Can't help it."

Collins's eyes flash. "Fuck that. You have no control over anything in your life, Roger – except for how you choose to live it. And you keep fucking choosing the drugs. The guys from the band call every Monday like clockwork – "

"I don't care anymore."

"We care. And we – I'm going, but Mark can't take much more of this."

Roger shrugs, stubborn impassivity on his face.

"You can go to a rehab, get clean – call your mom – "

Roger looks at him with a vengeance then, sitting up sharply, eyes burning. "I can't." He falls back down onto his pillow. "I've done enough to her."

Collins waves his hand around. "You think this isn't doing anything to her? You're fucking rotting yourself away in this goddamned loft – "

Roger's face is closed again as he spits out his words. "My choice."

Collins slumps. He hates getting angry like this – hates feeling badly towards the people he loves, hates having to chew them out, hates it when they act so goddamned fucking stupid.

"You can choose to not take the drugs, Roger," he repeats tiredly. "Because if you don't – "

"What? I'll die? I'll speed up the wasting process by a few measly fucking mon–"

"He'll leave," Collins says simply, and Roger falls quiet. Collins gives him a hard look before turning and walking out the door.

"He'll get sick of your shit, he'll pack his bags, and he'll leave."

- - - - - - - - - - -

Mark smiles at the hazy light spilling into the loft. He feels – happy.

He hardly dares to believe it.

Last night Maureen and he had drank and danced until early morning, and true to her word, Maureen had only danced with him, only sat with and talked to him at the bar, and it felt like the whole world was only about him and that she felt that way, too, like all she wanted in the whole world was to be with Mark.

They'd staggered drunkenly into the loft he didn't know when, falling haphazardly onto the blankets on the floor and then kissing for what seemed like hours. They finally fell asleep and now Mark is waking up to sunlight and Maureen's hair spilling over his chest. He's going to have to thank them – both Maureen and Collins, for all they've done for him, and just in that one night.

Mark hears a small noise and raises up a bit, turning his head. He's surprised to see Roger standing at the counter of the kitchen area.

"Hey," he says softly, not wanting to wake Maureen.

"Hey," Roger greets him, staring at him seriously. "You want some coffee?"

Already he's doubted his mind twice this morning. He's not quite able to process all this good feeling and normalcy. Roger is asking him if he wants coffee. Mark nearly laughs with the normalcy of it, the absurdity. But it still feels good.

"Yeah," he says, "That would be great."

Roger gives a little nod and turns around, and starts making coffee. Mark's heart is pounding almost painfully in his chest, and he's telling himself to calm the fuck down. It's just coffee. It doesn't mean Roger is better.

Calm down.

When the coffee is ready, Roger walks over with the mugs in his hands and looks down at Mark, still tangled with Maureen. He averts his eyes.

"…You wanna come into my room? Talk?"

Mark catches himself staring and starts a little, then nods. Roger wants to talk. Okay. He gets up, holding his breath until he sees that he hasn't woken Maureen. Then he follows Roger into his room.

Roger holds up a mug of coffee from his place on the bed, which Mark takes before sliding into his usual place beside the door and against the wall.

Mark takes a sip of the burning liquid, feeling suddenly unsure and even a little shy. He's not sure how to act. Be normal, he knows to be normal … but what is normal around Roger? He's never had to think about it before. He doesn't really know what to say – he doesn't want to bring up that it's been nine days now, for fear of jinxing it, or somehow shaking it out of existence. After a moment, remembering with an unpleasant jolt, Mark finally speaks.

"Benny was here."

Roger looks up, his brow furrowed. "Oh, yeah? When? What did the asshole want?"

Mark's a little shocked. "What? Why – "

And there's that little smile again – one corner of Roger's mouth pushed up just a little, in a tiny sarcastic grin. "Don't think I'm gonna forgive him for leaving you to deal …" Roger pauses. "Well. With me. Don't think I'll forgive him for pushing all this on your shoulders."

Roger lifts the cup to his lips, and Mark hides the smile that's threatening to come out. He lets just a little show on his face. "He's getting married."

Roger lets the cup fall back to his lap, almost spilling some of the burning liquid. "Shit! What? Are you serious? Who?"

Mark grins, and answers as if he's asking a question. "Um, Allison Grey?"

And Roger laughs. He actually laughs, and Mark can feel the warmth spreading through him as if he were covered in coffee, can feel that other side that he's not been letting himself imagine for so long.

"He actually got Muffy?"

Mark scrunches his face. "Huh?"

"Muffy – Allison." Roger explains. "Benny has been scamming on that chick – and her daddy – for ages."

"Really." Mark says, thinking back to his conversation with Benny. "That's interesting."

"Yeah," Roger says, stretching his back a little. "I can't believe he actually got the little priss to agree to marry him. She refused to come here, you know."

Mark had thought he and Benny had been the better friends, not Benny and Roger. "Seriously?"

Roger nods. "And he gave up on the book."

Mark bites his lip. "No fucking way."

"Yeah. Apparently Mr. Grey – his new sugar daddy – was working him a little too hard. Didn't have enough time anymore." Roger pauses, then chuckles. "Man. Benny getting married to Muffy. That's gonna work out real well."

Mark smiles, leaning his head against the wall. "It's no more ridiculous than a veritable rock god spending all his time with a nerdy filmmaker."

Roger looks at him. "You're not nerdy, Mark. You're smart. Be glad you are," he says, looking faraway, and Mark can feel them slipping, is desperate to hold onto this feeling they've built up in Roger's room, a taste of their old ease and friendship.

"Benny asked me to be his best man."

Roger looks back at him, in the same room again. "You're joking."

Mark shakes his head, breathing again. "Nope. I'm gonna tell him no."

Roger chuckles again. "I should be offended. But I suppose there was no way in hell he could've have asked me."

"Why not?"

Roger smirks. Mark hasn't seen that for a while, either. "Because Benny knows I would have fucked her before he got a chance to."

Mark laughs a little. "You're so full of it."

Roger grins wolfishly. "You know a chick like that – with a daddy like that – is gonna be waiting until her wedding night. To fuck the groom, anyway."

Mark laughs again, shaking his head, loving every minute of this. After striving for normalcy for so long, this actual easy normalness is almost too wonderful.

But even as Mark feels this, he can see Roger leaving again, can see that distant look in his eyes. "Not that I could." He looks over at Mark. "Have sex with her, I mean."

Mark doesn't break eye contact, looking straight at Roger. "That's not true, and you know it. Collins has sex all the time." He forces a chuckle. "We've both heard enough disturbing details to know."

Roger looks to the side. "It's different for me, Mark. That … It wasn't just – " Roger sighs, running a hand through his hair. "April took that with her, too."

Mark sits up, rigid in his fear and sudden desperation. "That's not true," he insists, willing Roger to look at him again. "I know you feel that way now, but … but people love you, and will love you. I – "

Roger holds up a restraining hand. "Don't, Mark," he says, and his voice is saying there's danger ahead, but Mark just ignores it. He feels like he has to. "You can't understand."

"Roger – "

"Just go, Mark," Roger interrupts him, finally looking at him again, his face pinched. "Please, just get out, go."

Mark shakes his head firmly, still trying to connect with Roger's eyes. "Roger, I'm not going to – "

But Roger jumps up and in one quick stride has Mark's arm in his hand, surprisingly strong as he yanks Mark upwards and pushes him towards the door, coffee spilling to the floor. "You won't go on your own? Fine, I'll show you the door," he says harshly, and forces Mark right out.

Mark turns around, tries to speak, tries to think of how to recapture that feeling from only moments before, but Roger's face is closed and he's closing the door.

"And thank you for visiting Roger's den of death," he says bitterly, before the door slams right in Mark's stunned face.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Fuck.

Roger's sitting on his bed, hands against his stomach and feeling sick. So he finally felt a little of that anger he's been expecting. Not a lot, but enough.

Enough to hurt Mark.

"Fuck!" Roger puts in the energy for a shout, but it comes out as practically a whisper. He angrily clears his throat.

Why the fuck did he do that? Pushing away the one person … the one person … He'd been trying, he'd wanted so bad to be normal for Mark and try, just try, to make things up, even the littlest bit …

Roger jumps up, feeling agitated, and then stops. There's nowhere for him to go. If he leaves the loft now, he knows where he's going to end up.

Slowly lowering himself back onto his bed, Roger tries not to think. Nine days. Nine days nine days nine days nine days nine days nine days nine days nine days ….

Roger takes a deep breath, covering his eyes with his hand. He can almost hear April's voice, can almost hear her saying that she loves him, that she's sorry.

But Roger knows, shakes his head infinitesimally in the loneliness of his room. She has nothing to be sorry for.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning when Mark goes a little nervously to collect Roger's laundry, he takes a sharp breath, heart pounding, body just gone.

Roger's not here.

Mark drops his big laundry bag, turns in place, looking around frantically. He's been waiting for this, he knew Collins leaving would set off another round, he thought he was ready, but shit, he's not, Roger was doing so good –

Mark starts a light jog through the loft, trying to feel hopeful despite the evidence. Maybe he's in the bathroom, in Mark's room, maybe for whatever reason he's decided to crash on the couch, maybe this is a good thing, maybe he'll bring out his guitar …

Mark stops, squinting out the loft window. All the air leaves his body in a relieved whoosh, and he stands there a few minutes, trying to collect himself, before climbing out the window and onto the fire escape.

Roger looks up, cigarette burnt almost all the way down and dangling from his fingertips. "Oh, hey, Mark."

Mark turns suddenly into his mother and almost laughs. Don't you 'oh, hey Mark' me!

Mark sits beside Roger on the top stair, forcing himself to relax and let go of the fear that had gripped him. He wants to ask Roger what he's doing out here, what's going on, but he knows by now not to.

"Hey. It's freezing out here – you wanna come back inside?"

Roger shakes his head. "It's not that bad – besides, I couldn't stand another minute in that goddamned loft." He takes a quick drag, blows the smoke out slowly. "I just needed to get out for a minute."

Mark is surprised by the dread this inspires. Isn't this what they've all been wanting? For Roger to leave his room, the loft, start living again? But Mark feels terrified by these words.

"Mind if I stay with you?" he asks, and Roger silently shakes his head, looking out over the buildings around them. Mark stays quiet then, too, just watching Roger smoke and look out to the sky.

Mark swallows, feeling this silence in every part of his body. There was a time when silence didn't exist whenever Roger was around. Mark wants some of that back, a little, the boy who constantly played music and talked loud and laughed. These memories always seem to assault him in the silence.

Mark looks up, sees a faraway bird streak across the sky. Maybe after having Roger so close, he's afraid to lose him again. To lose that closeness, that dependency Roger has on him now. Mark doesn't think he's that selfish, but it could be part of it.

No, Mark thinks, leaning back on his hands and looking at Roger, that's not it. Roger has been hurt so much – and Mark can't turn his face from the fact that a lot of that hurt has been Roger's own doing.

Roger grinds his cigarette on the black mesh beside him and looks back at Mark seriously, staring at him for just a moment.

"I'm gonna go back in now," he says, starting to stand. Mark nods and follows him through the window, unable to keep his eyes off the body in front of him.

He just doesn't want him to be hurt anymore.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Mark can hear Maureen's delighted laughter before he's even opened the loft door. He grins, bag of laundry in hand.

"There's no way! I could never!"

"Aw, come on, sweetheart. Everything's better naked."

Mark enters the loft and sees Maureen beside Collins on the couch, giggling so hard she can barely speak.

"You are so much more worse than me," she says when she can catch some breath. "I have my limits."

Collins laughs loud. "Girl, you don't fool me, I've seen what you wear. It's not that much of a leap."

Mark chuckles at Maureen's mock outrage, dropping his bag and walking over to them. "What are you guys talking about?"

Maureen leans on Collins's shoulder and looks up at him, eyes sparkling. "Did you know Collins ran through the Parthenon, naked?"

Mark grins wryly as he flops down beside Maureen. "I may have heard something about it once or twice."

Collins, his head resting on top of Maureen's, turns to grin at Mark. "You know you're just jealous."

"Of what?"

"Well, A, that you couldn't get a piece of this."

Mark snorts, and Maureen bursts into more laughter, putting her hand on Mark's thigh.

"And, B, that you couldn't run anywhere naked if Antonioni himself asked you to."

"I could, too."

Collins joins Maureen in her laughter then, and it rings through the loft. Mark can't help thinking what a perfect send-off for Collins this is – laughter to say goodbye. He laughs, too, and waggles his eyebrows.

"I might have even already done it."

Collins stops laughing. "I don't believe it."

Mark nods at him, desperately serious. "I have photographic evidence."

Collins's eyes widen, and Mark has to bite back his grin, but after only a few seconds it's spreading across his face.

"I might have been a little young," he concedes, laughing when Collins heaves a pillow at him, "But my mother has shown that picture to every potential girlfriend I've ever had."

"Explains about how they stayed potential."

Mark laughs again, putting an arm around Maureen when she transfers from Collins's shoulder to his.

"What you never hear about when Collins talks about the Parthenon is the three days he spent starved in an underground jail."

Collins laughs raspishly. "I was naked, they had shoes. It was only a matter of time before I got caught. Greece isn't quite as loose as I would have anticipated."

Maureen giggles again, leaning a little more heavily into Mark. "I'm sorry you're leaving."

Collins smiles. "I am, too, baby. But hopefully I'll get to make a couple trips home." He looks over to Mark. "I'll make it work somehow for Christmas. I promise."

Mark nods, smiling even as his heart clutches. What will Christmas be like this time? One year …

At this moment there's a noise and all heads turn towards Roger, who is standing there tentatively, as if unsure if he should be there or not. Collins holds out a hand.

"Wasn't sure I'd have the pleasure," he says, smiling a little more gently. "You gonna come over here, give me a hug goodbye?"

Roger stops, pauses. When he speaks his voice is cold. "I didn't think it was necessary. I know you're sick of my shit. Why pretend we care?"

The room stops. And Mark is fucking furious at Roger for ruining this moment.

"Roger!"

"It's not like I care that he's leaving."

"Roger – " Mark sits forward, danger sparking in his eyes, but Collins holds up a restraining hand to him.

"Roger, I'm not leaving you. I promise that's not what this is about. And I'll call all the time – "

"Did you not hear me? I don't fucking care," Roger says, turning back to his room now. "Besides, it's not like I didn't already know I wasn't worth sticking around for."

The door slams, and Collins falls into the back of the couch, looking stunned. But then he turns a little dazedly and sees Mark's face. He laughs, snapping back to himself.

"Take it easy, Mark, I haven't been shot."

"But – Collins – "

Collins shakes his head. "It's okay. I understand." He sighs a little, but he's still smiling. "I knew it could go this way."

Mark swallows, looking towards Roger's door. He could kill him with his bare hands right now, to hurt Collins like this. To have this be their goodbye.

"He loves you."

Collins gives him a look, and Mark knows he knows that Mark's trying to comfort himself as much as he's trying to comfort Collins. Maureen turns and nuzzles her face into Mark's neck, her arms around him.

Mark closes his eyes a minute, listening to the silence of the room and Maureen's breathing. He lifts his head a little reluctantly and looks over in time to see Collins checking his watch.

He looks at Mark. "I've gotta go if I want to catch my train."

Mark nods, grins a little sickly. "Shit. Are you – are you gonna be okay?"

Collins laughs, but he keeps his eyes steady on Mark. "It's not me I'm worried about."

Mark grins wryly, not really meeting Collins's gaze. "I think by now I've got a pretty good grasp on how to take care of him."

The look turns piercing. "I'm not talking about him, either. I want to know if you can take care of yourself."

Mark makes a face, rolls his eyes, and stands up with Maureen, and they all head towards the door of the loft.

But he never really answers.