Complicated Chapter 4: Here Goes, a rent fanfic

Here Goes

- - -

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart. -St. Jerome

"Hey, Mark! Heads up!"

"Shit. … Don't do it, Maureen! If you do, I swear to God – "

A dull thud and a splash as the bright blue balloon exploded onto Mark's shoulder and into the side of his head.

"Ow! Fuck! Goddammnit, Maureen, I am gonna fucking kill you – "

Mark strode towards his house, still yelling.

Maureen leaned out his bedroom window, grinning maniacally. "You can't come in, you're soaking! And you'll track water all through the house," she yelled down to him, unconsciously imitating Mark's mother.

Mark stopped in his tracks. Dammit, she was right. And he'd get in shit for sure.

Maureen waited, saw that he'd stopped, and grinned.

"I'll come down to you," she yelled, disappearing into his room.

Mark flopped onto his lawn, stretching out onto his back and hoping the sun would warm him. Okay, so it was spring. And, yes, it was warmer than it should be this time of year.

But, goddammit, not warm enough for water balloons.

Mark heard the door opening behind him and soon Maureen plopped down beside him, laughing breathlessly. "You should have seen your face."

"I should break yours." Mark grumbled. "How long were you lying in wait for me?"

"Not long. Your mom let me in about twenty minutes ago. Any time would have been worth it, though," she said, grinning in reminiscence.

"I mean it. If you weren't a girl I'd punch your lights out," Mark said, patting the darkened and wet material of his shirt.

"Aw, come on." Maureen snuggled closer and rested her head against Mark's shoulder. "It was funny. Besides, I owed you."

"For what?" Mark sat up abruptly, outraged.

Maureen looked up at him, squinting, and smirked. "For not giving me the dirt on Roger. He drive you home?"

Mark sighed and fell heavily back onto the grass. "Yes. And for the last time, there is no dirt on Roger."

"And you're not Jewish," Maureen mocked.

Mark looked up into the sky a few moments, watching clouds drift by and pondering what to say. He felt his stomach sicken a little bit, watching those clouds but seeing pinky-orange ones in their place.

"Well …" Mark said, hesitating.

Maureen rolled over eagerly to stare at him, propping her head up with her hand, elbow on the ground. "What?"

Mark looked at her. "He plays guitar. And sings." Mark glanced away again. "He writes his own songs."

Maureen exhaled slowly. "Mark, that is not good gossip. Seriously. Hobbies aren't gossip, unless you snort them."

Mark shook his head, smiling. "It's not just a hobby with him. He … he's really passionate about it." He was seeing Roger sitting on a dimly lit stage, deep in concentration and cradling a guitar.

Maureen started to snort, but the sound died in her throat.

"…Mark, are you …" She swallowed, looking away from him. "Are you, like, interested in him?"

"No!" Mark said loudly. "No … I mean, obviously I find him interesting, and I like him, he's a good friend – "

"Well, you spend all your time with him."

Mark made a disgusted noise. "What do you care? You spend all your time with Benny."

Maureen looked at him seriously. "Exactly."

Mark flushed a little; but he was smirking up at the sky. "Right. And you and Benny aren't dating, so …"

"Yeah, we really aren't," Maureen said, a hint of glumness in her voice.

"What?" Mark turned to look at her. "I thought – "

Maureen waved him off and laughed, sounding herself again. "It's nothing. He asked Jamie Reynolds to grad, that's all."

Mark grimaced. "Bastard. Sorry."

She shook her head, smiling. "It's not like I wasn't expecting it, Mark. We both always knew – no commitments, no complications."

Maureen was still smiling, but Mark could see her eyes and could see that she wasn't totally meaning that smile. He placed a hand over hers.

"But sometimes complications happen when you least expect it – even when you do everything you can to avoid them."

Maureen didn't answer, but she didn't pull her hand away. Mark looked at her sympathetically, his own heart twisting a little bit. Everything was complicated now. But there was nothing he could do about it, couldn't help the situation and couldn't help the way he felt.

Mark stared into the sky, looking straight at the sun for a moment. When it got to be too much, when it started to hurt and began to get unbearable, he snapped his eyes shut quickly, squeezing them, closing out the world. But behind his eyes he could still see residual sparkings of bright light and Roger's smiling face.

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

Wednesday found Mark sitting in the theatre twenty minutes before class was supposed to begin. The place was empty, and Mark figured it wasn't a bad place to spend the last half of lunch collecting his thoughts.

Okay. So. He liked Roger. Fine. He needed to take this apart and analyze it rationally. Look at it coolly enough and it might start to make sense, might get a little less ridiculous and a lot more controllable.

Fifteen minutes later Mark had made no headway at all. Rationale – when he'd seized on any at all – hadn't made any of this go away. And it didn't help that Roger had entered the slowly-filling theatre and plopped down next to him, slouching down and resting his knee against Mark's.

"Hey. How're you doing?"

Mark flushed, looking away. "I'm good. You?"

"Fine," Roger answered absently, staring intently at him. "Are you sure you're okay? You look kind of red."

Fuckinggoddammitshitshitshit. "I'm good. I – I just was walking outside at lunchtime, and I guess I'm still feeling a little hot."

"Okay." Roger smiled and leaned back in his chair. Mark tried to not look at his knee.

Soon all the usual seats were filled by the usual students, and Maureen and Benny were sitting beside Mark, Maureen a little quieter than usual. Mark shifted uncomfortably, dislodging Roger's knee. See, that is what happened when you let things get complicated. You made an ass of yourself – not that Maureen had made an ass of herself, but in the same situation he surely would – and then you had to nurse embarrassment and hurt while trying to act normal. It wasn't worth it.

Mark decided to forget it. All of it. Friendship was enough – friendship was great. That's all that these feelings were anyway: just the normal, everyday emotions you felt when you were good friends with somebody. Right.

Mark started when he felt an elbow jab him sharply in the side. "What?"

Roger smiled, looking amused. "Class is starting? You might want to pretend to pay attention instead of daydreaming."

Mark half-smiled, and turned towards the stage. Everybody loved watching their friends smile, because they loved those people. Some smiles just … were bigger than others.

Ms. Dalaine was standing in the middle of the stage, talking. "And next week we'll start preparing for the end of year arts showcase. Since you guys are seniors, you get to direct. We'll break into three groups, and each one will create a scene to work on and perform. Each group will have actors and a director." She paused, smiling out over the class. "Now, how many of you want to act?"

Everyone in the room shot up a hand except Mark and one other girl. Ms. Dalaine looked down and caught Mark's eye, the side of her mouth quirking up in a little grin. She put her attention back on the class and sighed good-naturedly.

"Okay, I'll just join the third group as a director. Now, Mark and Allie, I want you guys to think about what actors you want to cast. There's 20 people in this class, so … you can each choose six actors. Hand a list into me by Friday and I'll make sure there are no overlaps."

She turned around and stepped towards her chair, checking out the open notebook that lay there. "Right. I wanted to start with something fun today. Partner up, everybody, and get your butts onstage."

Mark turned to Roger and grinned. They got up as one and headed to the stage. Once everyone was milling around in twos, Ms. Dalaine raised her voice again.

"Okay, sit down on the floor, facing each other. We're going to do the Mirror."

A murmur of recognition went through the assembled group, and Mark looked at Roger, raising his eyebrows as he sat. Roger shrugged, settling in across from Mark and crossing his legs.

"What I want you to do," Ms. Dalaine said, walking through all the pairs sitting on the floor, "Is pretend the person across from you is your mirror image. Everything they do, you do. The space between you is a sheet of mirror. You don't see your partner on the other side of it – just your mirror image." She grinned. "Remember to move slowly so you can follow each other." She threw up her hands. "Go on, start! And see where this takes you."

Mark and Roger looked at each other, not letting their eyes meet. Mark could feel himself starting to blush, unsure of how to play this stupid game and of just what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, guys, it's not that humiliating. Besides, you have many comrades to share in your misery."

Ms. Dalaine stood, grinning, and continued on to the next pair. Roger looked silently at Mark for a minute, then one corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. Slowly, he lifted one hand in a slow sweeping wave.

Mark grinned, then caught himself and arranged his face into a half-smile. He lifted his hand, trying to follow Roger's movements. They locked eyes; there wasn't really any other way to do this than to stare.

Intensely.

Mark was sure the same thing was happening to everyone else.

He watched Roger sweep his hand to his side and his face meld into a serious expression. Mark followed, then raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, almost laughing when he saw Roger's expression.

Then Roger leaned forward, putting his hands in his lap. Noses almost touching, Mark raised one eyebrow and then laughed when Roger struggled to copy him. Roger broke for a second, too, grinning before his face got serious again, following Mark as he leaned back to a comfortable sitting position.

Then Roger tentatively reached out a hand, palm outstretched and facing Mark, bringing it so close that Mark had to press his hand right against Roger's. Then Roger raised his other hand, putting it in the same position so they were sitting there, close, hands against each other.

Mark felt his heart pounding in his chest, felt his pulse reverberating through his head. Their hands seemed to be moving of their own accord now, stretching out in an arc that landed beside their knees before lifting up again, coming close together in front of their chests.

Both boys froze in that position, hands together and eyes locked on each other. Forget the fucking game. Mark found that he really just could not move. He saw Roger's chest lift sharply, had an instant to wonder if maybe he was having as much trouble breathing as Mark was, and if so, if it was for the same reason –

Then a loud clap echoed through the room and they quickly pulled away from each other, looking towards the safe territory their teacher presented.

"Okay, guys, good job! That looked great. Now get up, we don't have a lot more time for just the fun stuff, so let's cram today full of improv games! Get in a circle!"

Mark stood up, feeling shaky on his feet, and walked over to where the circle was gathering.

But before he could drop down beside Maureen, he felt a hand lightly land on his shoulder and then skim down his arm. The touch was so light he could barely feel it, and it was gone in an instant. Still, Mark couldn't hold back a little shiver.

Roger leaned down from just behind him and to the side, voice low. "Mark? You're coming to my house after school, right?"

Mark kept his eyes on Roger as he lowered himself next to Maureen. Once seated, he nodded. "Yeah."

Roger broke the eye contact, looked to the door at the back of the auditorium as he sat down, a little farther from Mark than he usually would.

"Good."

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

Mark decided he was going to fail his last year of high school.

But he'd probably get a good grade in drama.

Math and history went by in a vaguely unpleasant and excitable blur. Not that anything had meant … anything. At all.

Right?

All too soon, Mark found himself at Roger's car, leaning against the hood and nervously playing with the bit of material hanging from his backpack strap. He took a deep breath and exhaled, looking up to the sky and trying to relax. He'd been to Roger's house before. God, he had to calm the fuck down.

When he looked down he saw Roger jogging towards him, grinning. He couldn't help but grin back.

"Hey," Roger said, unlocking Mark's door and then heading to his own.

"Hey," Mark said, sliding himself into the car. Somehow, he couldn't think of anything else to say and fell into silence, soon noticing that Roger, too, hadn't spoken as he'd begun to drive. They rode that way, staring forward, silent, until they reached Roger's.

Roger took the key out of the ignition and sighed, letting his head fall forward a bit before turning to face Mark. "Are you – we don't have to hang out here, you know. If you don't want to …."

Mark shook his head, glancing quickly at Roger. "No, I'm good. But, I mean, if you don't want to, if you wanna go somewhere else …."

"No." Roger said, then quickly got out of the car. Mark followed him out and into his house, then through the kitchen. Roger turned his upper body to look at Mark.

"Um, I'm not really hungry, but if you want some ice cream or something …"

Mark shook his head silently, wondering where Roger was leading him. They'd hung out in the kitchen before, and the den in the basement, but Roger had already bypassed both places …

Roger suddenly stopped, and Mark barreled into him from behind.

"Fuck," Mark said quietly, hurrying to steady himself and step back. "Sorry."

Roger looked at him. "We could hang out in my room."

"Okay," Mark nodded and swallowed, following Roger up the short winding staircase.

"It's a little messy," Roger said, an enviable ease in his voice as he opened the door. "But not too bad, or I wouldn't even invite you in."

Roger hesitated a moment, then walked in and stepped over to a bookcase crammed with books and cassette tapes, stopping to stand beside a guitar case leaning against the shelves. He grinned, watching Mark slowly walk in and look around.

Mark chuckled, thinking of the dirty plate and glass on his floor next to a pile of dirty clothes and the Close Encounters of the Third Kind poster over his bed and feeling embarrassed. "You are never getting to see my room."

Roger looked up. "Why?"

Mark shrugged. "Yours is definitely neater. And I don't have a bookcase – just a desk with all my shit piled on it."

Roger shrugged one shoulder, turning away a bit. "Well, it's a little neater than usual. Don't feel bad or anything."

Mark smiled, rubbing one hand over his upper arm. Roger suddenly walked towards him, the movement causing him to jump.

"Here," Roger said. "Give me your backpack, you can just leave it beside the guitar."

Mark let the backpack slip off his shoulder and handed it to Roger, watching him and feeling idiotic. He didn't even remember bringing it in. He should have left it in Roger's car. But once Roger had taken it, he kind of missed holding onto to that strap.

Roger leaned over, placing the backpack on the floor, and then slowly straightened up. Mark watched, heart pounding suddenly, as Roger's shoulders lifted and dropped before he turned around.

"So," Mark said, then grimaced inwardly. So what? It wasn't like he had anything to actually say. God, why was this so weird and awkward? He'd been in Maureen's room a million times before – they'd even laid together on her bed.

Mark just snapped his mouth shut, determined to not say anything else stupid. So he'd just have to not say anything, for as long as he could stand it.

The silence stretched throughout the room, and Mark looked down at his feet, already casting about for something to say - anything!

He sensed rather than saw Roger walking toward him, then saw Roger's boots in front of his shoes. He looked up to find Roger right there, so close his breath caught in his throat.

Roger didn't say anything – just looked at him, eyes locked on his, face unnaturally serious. Mark swallowed, feeling – he didn't know. Like those eyes were stripping away at him. Not his clothes or anything ridiculous like that, but – but stripping away everything that wasn't him. Like he knew every thought. It was terrifying.

Roger suddenly smiled, and Mark cocked his head a little, questioningly, as Roger lifted an arm, his palm exposed and facing Mark.

Mark looked down at that hand, confused, then looked up at the other boy, raising his eyebrows, but put his hand up, placing it against Roger's.

He nearly leaped back when Roger abruptly lunged forward, wrapping his free arm around Mark's waist and pulling him close, their hands trapped between their chests. Mark breathed in sharply, surprised, then looked up to see Roger's face leaning down towards him, a soft little smile on his face.

Roger caught his eye and stopped, just a centimeter from Mark's face, raising his eyebrows a little. Then the smile left his face as he closed the rest of the distance between them and pressed his lips to Mark's.

Oh my god.

Mark froze, his chest tight. Breathing was impossible. But after a second, after realizing what Roger was doing – what Roger was doing – he let his eyes close and took his hand from where it was wedged between them and slowly slid his arms around Roger, tentatively returning the kiss. He could feel Roger smile against his lips.

Mark pressed himself a little closer to Roger – pressed Roger's lips a little harder with his own. Roger slipped his arm away from Mark's waist and brought both hands up to rest against the sides of Mark's face, holding him, and Mark felt a huge rush of emotion hit him. He couldn't define it – it was nothing like he'd ever felt before, and wholly and completely overwhelming.

Roger's grip on his face tightened; he pulled his lips away for just a second before returning to lightly suck Mark's bottom lip between his lips; running his tongue along Mark's mouth.

Mark felt something sharp run through his gut, opening his mouth to Roger just as the other boy started pulling him towards his bed. They almost fell over each other as they walked clumsily, their faces still connected in their kiss even as Roger fell onto his bed, pulling Mark with him, on top of him.

Mark was barely aware of how they'd even gotten there, didn't know how either of them was lying; he just knew that their bodies were pressed together, that Roger was running one hand through Mark's hair and was caressing Mark's cheek with the other.

They kissed more passionately now, Mark feeling an almost unbearable heat building through his body as they continually quickly pressed their lips, their tongues against each other, pulling away the smallest of distances and then crashing back together.

Roger made a small noise, a little moan, and Mark felt his own rising from his chest, surprised at how quickly this had happened and at how easily he had lost control of his entire body. His hands ran along Roger's shoulders, to his neck, feeling as if he was breathing Roger's breath, had completely lost his own –

"Roger? Sweetheart, are you home?"

Still pressed together, Roger murmured against Mark's lips, "Fuck. She was supposed to be working late."

"Honey, get down here, help me make dinner," the voice called out cheerily. "I know you're home, your keys are in the bowl."

"Fuck fuck fuck," Roger muttered as Mark awkwardly slid a bit and rolled off Roger right onto the floor. He sat there for a moment, dazed, before standing and striding over to Roger's bookcase, grabbing his backpack.

"Mark, no," he heard, and turned to see Roger sitting on the side of his bed, his shirt riding up a little bit over his stomach and his face looking flushed. "Stay. You can stay for dinner, I know my mom won't mind – "

"No," Mark said quickly. "I – should really go."

Roger stood, gesturing towards his door. "It's really no problem to stay – "

Mark shook his head. "No. No, I've … I've gotta go."

Roger's face tightened. "Okay. At least let me walk you out."

Mark looked at him, silently nodded. Roger brushed past him and opened his bedroom door, waiting for Mark to go past before letting it fall closed again. He followed him silently down the stairs, brushing past him again when they reached the living room.

"Mom, this is Mark. He's just leaving."

Roger sat carefully in one of the kitchen table chairs, eyes on Mark.

"Oh, hello, Mark," Mrs. Davis smiled at him, her face looking kind, but Mark simply nodded and looked at the floor, walking past her. When he reached the back door, he turned and attempted a smile.

"It – it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Davis. I – I'm sorry I'm in such a rush."

She waved a hand at him, still smiling and leaning back against the kitchen sink. "That's fine, hon. I'm sure I'll be seeing more of you."

Mark smiled tightly and nodded, disappearing out the door. As soon as he was out of the house, he stopped and took a deep breath. Good thing he had grabbed his backpack earlier – he wouldn't be getting a ride home and he never would have thought to grab it out of Roger's car. Not when he was like this.

He walked through the backyard, almost to the opening that led to the front yard, when he heard a door clanging open behind him.

"Mark! Wait!"

Mark stopped, and turned slightly. Roger walked towards him, coming close but catching himself, hanging back a moment. Then he caught Mark's gaze, locked eyes, and stepped forward, leaning his head in close.

"Mark." He spoke softly, reaching a hand up to brush across the hair just above Mark's ear. Mark's chest hitched, breathing hard. "Don't – don't freak out on me, okay?"

Mark looked up at him, Roger's eyes looking troubled, the light of the setting sun glinting against them.

"Yeah – I mean, no. I mean – "

Roger laughed a little. "Okay." He leaned forward, dipping his head closer to Mark's –

"I've gotta go," Mark said, feeling stupid, barely hearing his own words as he reared back a little and turned, half-jogging away from Roger. He didn't look back.