A/N: Oh god. Do you know what? I don't think I'm going to be able to stop obsessing over this til its done now… Good for you, bad for my homework. xD Ahhh well. I hope you guys like this chapter! I got people nagging at me for it and I finally managed to plow through my writer's block JUST for you guys. REVIEW. PLEASE.

Disclaimer: I still, STILL, still still still, do not own RENT.

Chapter Eight: I Know, Oh No

Roger is glad he accepted Mimi's offer. Cherry is HOT.

Well, she's sort of brutally honest and she has a stripper name, but at least she has the body to go with it. She's short in a cute way, pale, strawberry-blonde hair short as well, hanging around her face in an alluring way. Those big blue eyes remind him of Mark's, too, and that helps a little. He just hopes she isn't getting her hopes up for him to be "the one" who will sweep her off her feet, because if he's honest Roger knows his heart is elsewhere.

If only he could figure out exactly where…

She knows this, of course. In fact, the first thing she said to him the moment Mimi left them alone was, "I'm not looking for anything serious, so if you want to spill your little heart out to me, I suggest you leave now." Then, the smirk, so similar to his own that he can feel his eyebrows climbing into his hair.

"You know, I think we're going to get along," he eventually replied, stalking forward with a grin, and the rest of the night is spent in the bedroom. The pizza guy leaves the box at the door after waiting for half an hour and they end up with free pizza, good even though it's cold.

It's the beginning of a beautiful, sex-based relationship. Roger is smiling to himself just thinking about it.

Really, this is just what he needed. Cherry was the perfect distraction. Roger has been having those funny feelings about his roommate for a year now and he still can't figure out what they are, and they're really starting to get on his nerves- all he knows is, this girl's eyes are gorgeous and he's going crazy for her. Or, at least, for her body.

They aren't quiet about their relationship. Roger has never censored himself around anyone, and Cherry certainly isn't the type to do that sort of thing either. You could even ask Mark- he probably knew more about Roger's sexual history than the rocker himself remembered, between all those nights he came home high with some groupie of his band and the ones he spent drunk and depressed, fucking whoever asked for it as long as they didn't ask to stay the night. The poor filmmaker had probably been traumatized the past couple of days listening to the new couple go at it.

Speaking of Mark, he's awfully quiet today. All of the bohemians have gathered without much ado, and they're lounging around the loft as per usual on a Sunday. None of them have to work, with the exception of Mimi, Roger doesn't have practice, and everything is just calm, especially with the pot smoke wafting through the air from the joints Collins is passing around. The atmosphere is relaxed, air full of the quiet sounds of inhaling and giggling, and the rather explicit conversations that they always seem to be having amongst themselves.

Maureen is, unsurprisingly, babbling the most out of everyone. Something about a protest coming up in the next month that she's planned, but Roger isn't really listening. He isn't interested in hearing about the vegans living in Alphabet City. He's far too absorbed with Cherry's blonde hair tickling his neck as she sits in his lap, nuzzling back against his shoulder affectionately.

He isn't exactly complaining when her hand travels teasingly from his knee to his inner thigh, either, stroking slow circles into the fabric of his jeans. That's what they're about. Sex and lust and sometimes, like now, sometimes fun and games and friendship. Never love, but he doesn't need love to get him off. He just needs those blue eyes staring into his as she purrs exactly what she's going to do to him into his ear.

Ah, damn it. Now he's hard and from the smug smile on her face she knows it. Roger sighs, considering for half a moment allowing her to give him a handjob right here with all of his friends watching, but decides at the last minute that it might be distasteful of him to do so as a host.

Right. Well, Roger's morals have never been what one might call "normal".

"And I'm going to be dressed all in fake leather!" Maureen shouts, throwing her arms out over her head in excitement from where she's laying on the floor with her head in Joanne's lap. "And sequins! And-"

"Honeybear won't that be… Ah-" The lawyer shoots Mark a semi-desperate glance, biting at her lower lip in exasperation. "That'll cause a glare on camera, won't it, Mark?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," he mumbles, hardly even looking up at the sound of his name. Roger frowns, suddenly very aware that Mark has hardly said a word all afternoon. He hasn't touched the joint that's crumbling to the last bits of ash in Collins' hand now, nor has he taken even a sip of the Stoli that their friend so graciously blessed them with. It's… It's downright inhospitable and Roger ought to snap him out of it and tell him so, or else he's going to start whining and bucking up into Cherry's hand.

Feeling mischievous, he goes about getting his roommate's attention in a slightly less than conventional manner. "Hey, guys, who wants to take bets on how long it's been since Marky here has gotten laid?" The shit-eating grin on his face, the same one he always wore when he was teasing the blonde boy he'd been living with for over half a decade now, was a testament to what kind of mood he was in but the filmmaker simply continued fiddling with his camera, oblivious. He didn't even flinch at the mocking tone of Roger's voice.

Hardly discouraged, Roger catches Collins' eye and the older man just laughs, knowing exactly what the guitarist is up to and wanting no part in it, content to sit back and watch. The girls, however, seem more than eager to join in on the fun- Cherry and Maureen both giggle, smiles widening on their faces.

"I'll put five on since me," Maureen teases, leaning up to lightly press her lips to her girlfriend's. Joanne obliges happily, glad that she's being paid attention to for once, and probably relieved that Maureen has stopped talking about the upcoming protest.

"Hmm… Well, I don't know him that well but from what you've all said… I'm gonna go with two years," Cherry purred, blue eyes trained on Mark's face. No reaction. Huh… Roger frowned for a moment, not yet ready to abandon the game.

He got up, dislodging his sort-of girlfriend- who squealed and hit him lightly on the arm as she tumbled to the ground, falling on her ass with a huff- and moving to the other side of the couch, scooting right up to Mark and leaning in until his breath was hot on the filmmaker's ear. "Maaaaarky?" he growled, tempted by the sinful voice in his head that Mark liked to call his anti-conscience to lick the shell of his ear and only just resisting.

Either way, he gets the desired reaction. Mark practically shoots up off the couch, fumbling with the camera in his hands and staring at Roger with a flushed face, looking as though he's been caught in the act of something terrible. Roger doesn't see what he's looking so guilty about, but he likes that shade of red on the filmmaker's skin, and he snickers at the horrified face Mark is making as he glances around at everyone, eyes lingering on Roger and then down to Cherry, who has moved to hug Roger's knees as she kneels on the floor beside him.

"I- I'm going to- I'll be in my room," he mutters, voice on the verge of cracking and face beet red as he retreats hastily into his room. The eyes of the other occupants, all five of them, watch him go in confusion.

"What's wrong with him?" Mo asks, pouting. She looks as though she's about to go after him, and the guitarist internally winces at the argument he can feel brewing between the drama queen and her fiancée; however, Collins beats her to it.

"I'll talk to him," the philosopher says with a note of finality. Collins always gets the last word. And with that, they all returned to their conversation as the black man swept out of the room to interrogate their shiest friend about his sudden departure.

Roger didn't know what exactly it was he was feeling, but he's pretty sure it's something akin to frustration. He doesn't know how that's possible when this beautiful blonde is nuzzling at his thigh suggestively; all he knows is, Mark should be talking to him right now.

Cherry breathes against his zipper, though, and he rethinks that.

He'll talk to Mark later…

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

"Mark? Hey, man, what's up?"

The filmmaker's head snapped up at the sound of his ex-professor's voice, deep and powerful even at a low volume. Collins had always had a way of capturing a person's attention; perhaps that was why he was a teacher in the first place, though he claimed to hate the job.

"Col… I'm okay. Don't worry," he sighs, turning away and pretending to be working again. The fact that his camera is on his bed sort of detracts from the façade, but hey, that's his story and he's sticking to it now, no matter how ridiculous it seems. Mark doesn't like to broadcast his feelings to anyone, not even his friends, not even Collins.

Unfortunately, unlike Roger, Collins is perceptive. "Bullshit," he snorts, giving Mark a calculating look. "Something's eating you. You can tell me what, you know. I won't judge you or anything."

"I- I know," he says maybe a little too defensively, too uncertainly. The truth is, Mark knew he'd tell Collins if he told anyone at all about his dilemma. But he wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to know- if it were up to him, he'd take this secret to the grave.

Because really, it isn't his fault that every time he sees Cherry on Roger like that it feels like he's been kicked in the gut. Well, maybe it is a LITTLE- after all, he's the one that let it go this far, to the point where his morning showers are devoted to his roommate's face and his name on his lips, and where he's started thinking of him as "his Roger". But he can't help that he has a crush on the guy who keeps doing these things to him.

Comforting him. Being his friend. Joking around with him. Cuddling with him on the couch. Biting heads off when people insult him. And then, turning around and kissing him on the lips, whispering things into his ear just to make him blush, putting the dirtiest images in his head-

Mark doesn't want to think about it right now, especially with Collins in the room, eyebrows arched in amused skepticism. He just wants to be alone. Alone so he can mope over Roger, who went out and got a girlfriend and crushed any hope Mark might have had.

"I'll make you a deal," the philosopher says after a moment, his tone saying that he wasn't about to take no for an answer. Damn Angel for rubbing off on him. "I'll give you a riddle. If you solve it, I'll leave you alone. And if you can't then you have to tell me what's wrong."

"I-" The bespectacled man cuts himself midway through a protest, knowing that it's useless to argue with Collins when he's like this. "… Okay. Fine. Hit me."

"The more you take, the more you leave behind. What are they?" Collins asked, cocking an eyebrow. Mark feels his frown deepen. Shit. He's always been horrible with riddles. Prose, screenplays, that he can do, but things like poetry and riddles have always tripped him up. What could it be? Well lets see… The more footage he takes, the more he leaves behind. Right? But this is one of Collins' riddles and he doubts that it's directed towards him. Most people aren't as obsessed with film as he is. After five long minutes of pondering he simply huffed, glaring, signaling that he knew he'd been beaten.

"… I give up," he admits. The taller man gives him a smug smile, hands in his pockets as he closes his eyes and gives him the answer.

"The answer was footsteps. Come on, Cohen, that was an easy one." Mark just glared at him, feeling both clueless and anxious now. There was a sinking feeling in his chest. Well, fuck, now he had to tell… He could always try to lie but Collins was too perceptive to fool and Mark has always been an obvious liar.

Blue eyes roam the room helplessly, trying to find something- anything- that might get him out of this. There isn't much in his room to see, though; in all the years they've lived here, Mark and Roger haven't done very much to make the loft their own. If he were to leave, it would probably only take him a few minutes to pack everything up and be on his way. Just the way Roger had before he'd gone to Santa Fe- since then, Mark has always been slightly nervous whenever he came home to a silent loft. It's been made clear to him just how easy it is to leave the loft without a second thought, and Roger is impulsive. It could happen. Any day, it could happen…

He shakes his head to clear those thoughts from his head, looking one last time at the neatness of his room and the cardboard boxes filled with old reels of film in the corner with his projector leaning against the wall before returning his gaze reluctantly to Collins. The taller man is leaning against his doorframe expectantly, no intentions of leaving him alone, so he takes a deep breath and begins.

"I just- I don't like to-… I don't want to…" He tries to begin several times without success, closing his eyes and centering his thoughts before whispering more steadily, "Roger is distracting."

A large hand settles on his shoulder, patting him, and his eyes fly open again to see Collins giving him a knowing, sympathetic look. "So you finally figured it out?"

"Figured what out?" Mark asks, frowning, his hands clutching at his camera for dear life. If he lets it go he won't have anything to ground himself and he might float right off the face of the earth- or worse, he might have to live in the real world again, and then he'll have to feel that burning jealousy in his gut when he sees Roger and Cherry together, and the breaking feeling in his chest might kill him the next time he's hanging out with his roommate and realizes once again that they can't ever be anything else. "I just- I mean, he's- he's ROGER."

"You love him," Collins says as though it should be obvious, and Mark's heart almost stops beating.

"Love is a STRONG word-" he starts in a high-pitched voice, panicking. No no no he doesn't love Roger. Mark's never really been in love with anyone, and he isn't going to start with the one person he can never, ever have.

"Calm down, boy, alright! So you LIKE him," the black man snorts, crossing his arms. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"What am I- Collins! I'm not going to do anything!" Mark hisses, shocked. Who does his friend think he's kidding? Mark isn't comparable to a stripper. He knows from the noises he can hear from Roger's bedroom through the paper-thin walls every night that he's no match for that kind of girl. "I'll… get over it. Maybe it's just a phase." His small, unsure voice is unconvincing even to himself.

"I'll tell you what you're gonna do," Collins asserts, grabbing both of Mark's shoulders and shaking him lightly. His brown eyes are kind as they stare into Mark's. He wants his friend to be happy, and he thinks that this might be best for the both of them, anyways. Mark has always taken care of Roger; now, it's Roger's turn to do the same. "Halloween is coming up, and you need to have everyone over."

"We were already doing that, weren't we?" the filmmaker confusedly interjects, but the other man plows on with his plan.

"You're going to drag him off to the side, and I'll distract Cherry while you talk to him. Alone. And you're going to ask him how he really feels."

"Tom," Mark tries using his friend's first name warningly to no effect. "He doesn't have any feelings for me. I should know."

"You're too busy crushing on him to see straight!" Collins exclaims, laughing at the scandalized look on Mark's face. "Look. I think that you two would make a great couple. You're good for each other. Roger might not even know he's got a thing for you until you point it out. You KNOW how he is."

Mark does know how Roger is. He remembers April and Mimi and the way that Roger had denied his feelings right up until the first time they'd kissed. He knows all too well how the rocker in the other room is with women, but what about men? What about his best friend?

It's tempting, though, and he has to force himself to deny it. "Collins-" he begins, sighing, but the other man is having none of it.

"Don't 'Collins' me," he mocks, staring the paler man down. "You're going to do it. And that's final." With that he turns to leave, sweeping out of the room with a flourish and leaving a very confused, very anxious filmmaker gaping after him.

At least this Halloween would be interesting…