Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson

"Roger! I'm goin' to work. Do the fucking marketing!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

"Ladies and gentlemen…" Collins trailed off. He smiled, amused when the students in his Freshmen Seminar recoiled. "Today, you get back your papers." He looked at the students: twenty-three of them, not too big a class but not small, either, for NYU. Some looked bored, some a mix of hopeful and terrified, and some-- "Jason, you're excused."

Jason was one of the few students Collins knew by name. He was also the only person (other then Roger) who had ever thrown up on him. "Oh, God!" Jason squealed. He ran from the room, trembling, muttering, "Oh, no, oh, no, oh--" Then came a brief silence, and the sound of vomiting.

A girl raised her hand. "Uh, Professor? Could I go make sure he's okay?"

"Yeah, go." Collins watched her leave. He hadn't meant to make a student sick, and a momentary flash of pity crossed his face. Then he turned to the remaining twenty-one students and chuckled. "Very disappointing, children," he said, and almost enjoyed the tremors this raised. He chuckled. "Well, I won't torture you any longer." He picked up a stack of papers and read off the top name. "Austin, David. Did I alphabetize these?" he asked himself.

Other than the occasional reminder to a student-- "Breathe. You're not gettin' your paper back until you start breathing again"-- Collins called names until all but two papers had been returned (Jason's and… Emily's, the girl out helping him). "Guys, it's okay," Collins said. His students looked more than dejected. "That was your first paper, most of you fucked it up-- but that's okay! 'Cause you get to redo it. See all those red marks in the margins? Read them, do what they say, and get these back to me by Friday, okay?"

The door opened, and Emily crept in. Her attempt at quiet failed miserably. "Uh… Jason just went to change his clothes," she told Collins. "Is that okay?"

"It is immensely preferable," Collins said. Emily, and a few other students, laughed. "Here is your paper. You can redo it. Now go sit down and take notes. Okay!" He picked up a stick of chalk and began his lecture.

Roger pulled on his jacket, stuffed a few bills in the pocket and headed for the market. He went over the list in his head: beer, bread, peanut butter, tinned soup, milk. He checked his funds and was pleased to see that there was enough even for some almost-off fruit from the back of the store.

Or some gummi bears…

When Mark returned home that afternoon, he whimpered and collapsed onto the couch. Roger pulled aside the 'door' to his room and peeked out. "Mark?" Roger edged nearer. "Hey. What's wrong?"

Mark raised his head from his arms. "Ugh," he moaned, and dropped his head down again.

"Long day?" Roger asked, as though he could have any empathy. Mark only nodded. Roger wrapped his hands around Mark's shoulders and dug his thumbs hard against the base of Mark's neck.

"Ooh! How do you do that?" Mark moaned. "God, that's nice… wow, Roger, that's good. Keep going. Ooh… No, don't stop!" he whined as Roger's hands left his neck. Roger plopped down on the couch beside Mark. "I think you're my hero," Mark whimpered.

Roger reached over and pressed Mark's back with his thumb, eliciting another happy moan. He continued eliciting those sounds until Mark's eyelids fluttered and his mouth was open to faciliatate breathing. Roger used that opening for something else. He pressed his lips to Mark's, pushing them open, daring to probe his tongue into Mark's mouth.

And Mark responded, though his eyes opened in surprise. He kissed back, and one hand found Roger's free one. Roger moved forward, pressing their bodies closer--

and a rolled-up newspaper smacked him over the head.

Roger pulled away. "Ow," he complained, rubbing his head. "Dammit, Collins!"

Mark's body shuddered. He touched his lips gently, then rose. "I... I should..." Without finishing, he dashed into his room.

To be continued!

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