A/N: First attempt at anything Rent. Reviews are loved, even if they're flames. Crappily written, perhaps, but I needed to do it.
Hallowe'en
Mark hated Halloween. He supposed it was because of that day, so long ago, when it all ended- the day it all began.
Irony must be an ever-present force at funerals, he decided, for each of his friends' services had been cruelly juxtaposing.
It was cold and windy the day Angel had died. He- she- had always been so warm and cheery, always seeing the bright side of things; the bitter chill foreshadowing winter stung even more than it should have- Angel's warmth was gone, forever.
Mimi's funeral occurred in February, barely three months after her friend's death. The day had been a dreary one, sleet mixing with the typical New York filth to dampen any remaining hope the Bohos had. She had been supposedly getting better- now they were laying her to rest.
Collins' followed soon after. Angel and Mimi's death had consumed him, forcing him to make irrational decisions that worsened his condition. Roger, Joanne, Maureen, and Mark cried on a cruelly cloudless day.
It was pouring the day Roger and Mark buried what was left of Maureen and Joanne, cynically opposite to the fire that had consumed them. It made sense, that they had went together. Maureen had found her partner in life; the two of them would be partners in death. Roger and Mark had been the only two at the double-service- two friends who knew their time was slipping away faster than expected.
Three years passed between their funeral and Roger's. It was a bittersweet surprise: the two of them had far longer a time together than either had hoped for, yet each day was riddled with drugs, alcohol, arguments, and tears. Mark, the only one left, didn't shed a tear as Roger's body joined the other six's in the same graveyard: he supposed he had no more tears to shed.
It was Halloween again, five years to the day since his happiness ended and his long, slow death began. He hated Halloween. He hated seeing children go about the city, collecting candy, laughing without a care. He hated seeing the teenagers befoul houses and cemeteries. He hated seeing businesses exploit the day that caused him so much pain for something as simple as money.
With trembling fingers, Mark opened a box that had rested in the back of his closet for far too long, extricating a simple outfit from long ago: jeans, leather jacket, t-shirt, scarf. He discarded his more modern outfit for the other, overwhelmed with the memories it invoked.
As soon as he had finished tying the scarf around his neck in a simple knot, he buried his face in his hands.
I need a drink.
He walked to a local bar, ignoring jibes from passersby about his outfit and being 'stuck in the nineties'. The route was hauntingly familiar- too often had he debated over whether or not to leave the city. Everywhere he looked, he was plagued with memories. And yet, he was bound to this place- forever entangled in a web of failed promises and abandoned dreams. How long would it take before he could move on?
By the time he reached the door, the smoky, loud atmosphere was a warm welcome. He headed straight to the counter and motioned for the bartender.
"You do know you're supposed to be dressed up?" the man said, a hint of amusement seeping into his voice.
Mark let out a disdainful chuckle as his eyes swept the room. "I am."
The bartender also laughed, though his was far more genuine than Mark's had been. "Oh really?" he asked. "What're you supposed to be, then?"
There was a long pause in which Mark's eyes drifted downwards to the familiar ensemble and then slowly rose to meet the bartender's gaze.
"Happy."