Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson.

Roger took a full shift that night; he called the loft. "In case anyone worries about me, I'm staying on late tonight. Terrence called in sick. Um… guess I'll see you tomorrow, then." And he stayed on, mixing drinks and pouring beers, wiping the sticky counter with a germ-soaked rag and making small talk with the regulars while one-timers watched football without sound.

As he pulled away, Roger felt his arm brush against something soft and yielding. He glanced over. Shit. He had thumped against the not-nearly-ample bosom of his fellow bartender.

He blushed hot red and began to stammer an apology.

"Roger, do you know anything by Tony Kushner?" Candy interrupted.

Roger was called away to take an order. "Have we got London Pride on?" he asked Candy. Roger's partner behind the bar was a short, perky twenty-one-year-old with dyed black hair like feathers and at least seven piercings (left ear three, right ear two, one through the nose and on through the puppy-fat around her belly button). She had only been on a few months, but she and Roger had hit it off at once, although their conversations were mostly brief agreements about their appreciation for the work of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young against corporate strangleholds.

"I loved Zillah's letter to the President. The osmosis of my poison..."

She shook her head. "We're getting a delivery on Thursday. I liked her passion, like how she knew her letter would never be taken seriously but she wrote it anyway."

"Sorry, sir, it's not on," Roger told his customer. "We do have Guinness draft, Pale Ale--"

"Guinness is fine."

At midnight, Candy tapped Roger's shoulder. "You want to do the honors?" she asked, indicating a bell hanging near the bar.

Roger yanked the rope. "Last orders!" he bellowed from his deep in belly, enjoying the loudness and privilege as the sound reverbrated through his trachea. He and Candy mixed and distributed the last four drinks of the evening. When their customers were gone, he wiped down the bar while she swept up. The kitchen had closed at 10, so Roger and Candy were alone.

"Listen, tonight was fun," she said.

"Yeah," Roger agreed. "All that Kushner-- you're in college, aren't you?"

Candy nodded. "I'm in the Gallatin school," she said. They stopped by the door to gather their coats. Candy pulled a pink knit cap out of her pocket and jammed it over her hair.

Roger laughed as he shrugged on his leather jacket. "I went there," he said. "I had this professor who changed my life. I had his Freshmen seminar and kept taking his classes as long as I could."

"Oh, I've got a great one this semester. I'm only sorry I've just met him. Who was yours?" She locked the door and they headed down the street.

"Professor Collins."

"No shit, me too!"

Candy was half a step ahead of Roger; he reached out and smoothed down her collar.

"Woah--"

"Roger!"

Roger turned and scanned the environment. Mark was standing at the corner waving. Roger waved back. "Hey, Mark!" he called. To Candy, "My roommate. Just moved in two weeks ago."

"Not your… something more?" Candy asked, raising an eyebrow and giving a wicked grin.

Roger chuckled. "That obvious, huh? I wish." He cut off as they reached the corner. "What're you doing here, Mark? You have work tomorrow, you'll be exhausted."

"I… can we talk?" Mark asked, casting a meaningful glance at Candy.

"No problem," she said. "Good night, Roger. And, um, Mark, right?" They shook hands. Candy jogged off. She turned once to wave and give Roger a thumbs-up, then dashed towards the subway.

"So?" Roger asked Mark. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry about Saturday."

Roger shook his head. "Wasn't anything."

"Well, can I make it up to you?"

"How? We're roommates, things even themselves out-- with buying the milk or--"

Mark interrupted by blurting, "Can I make it up to you as my boyfriend? I mean, maybe. Will you give me a chance?"

Roger paused. This was what he wanted-- Mark, a relationship, a reason to pull himself out of his cas-fucking hell. But… "I don't want you to ask me out because of what you overheard between me and Collins." He exhaled slowly, watching his breath form vague wisps of cloud.

"Makes sense," Mark admitted. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know the time and place."

Roger folded his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders against the cold. The motion had the added benefit of bringing his face within inches of Mark's. "How about now?"

"What?" Mark felt a burst of warmth then cold damp as Roger's words peppered his face.

"Yeah. I just got off a six-hour shift and I haven't eaten all day. Come to dinner with me?" He felt his shoulders hunch inwards against the cold, crisp air and knew Mark was probably freezing despite his hunter's jacket.

Mark nodded. "Okay," he said. "Where are we going?"

Roger took his hand. "To the subway," he said.

"So, I've never been on a date like this before," Mark admitted. He glanced around himself at the sticky plastic tables under glaring false light.

"Yeah?" Roger dunked a chicken nugget in honey. "What kind of dates are you used to?" he asked. He took a bite.

Mark considered. "Well… dancing," he said. "Nice dinners." He watched Roger swallowed the honey-soaked nugget and bit into a French fry. "Romance."

Roger mulled this over, chewing a couple of fries, then he swallowed, took a sip of Coke and said, "I'll never be falsely romantic with you." Mark was taken aback; Roger continued, "I'll never put on an act, because you're there in the morning. There's no point in us doing the usual dating dance of pretending to be the people we think our partners want. I already know I'm interested in you, and you… what you see is what you get."

Mark struggled against a frown and failed. He rubbed his forehead. This was stupid. He had been foolish to think someone like Roger... who ever said Roger liked boys? Mark gave himself a tiny shake. Roger had comforted him, slept in the bed with him, sure, but he had made no advances. One comment over breakfast? He had been fucking joking!

Mark felt the sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. Roger hadn't brought him here to talk about dating. He wanted to let Mark down as lightly as possible.

Roger loudly sucked honey off his fingertips before continuing, "But I can tell you right now, I wouldn't be here if I didn't consider you, potentially at least, the person with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I brought you with me, here, to sit at a sticky table and eat Happy Meals at one in the morning, because that's what my life is like. That's what I can share with you. Although, yes, there will be dates," Roger admitted. "I will take you dancing. If that is-- if I am what you want," Roger concluded.

To be continued!

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