RENT: The Stories We Say (Chapter Four)
Jun. 28th, 2007 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
find_rightbrainTitle: The Stories We Say
Chapter: 4/14
Characters/Pairing: Mark/Roger, mention of Collins and Benny, mention of a few OCs
Word Count: 1102
Rating: PG
Summary: Maybe that's what Mark is for Roger...
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rentchallenge speed challenge #13.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
<< Previous Chapter
Roger is, surprisingly, awake before Mark in the morning, and Mark only takes notice of it because it's decidedly odd now to wake up in a bed without Roger beside him. The weight at the foot of the bed quickly gives away Roger's position, but that doesn't much explain what he's doing. Mark frowns and reaches over for his glasses on the bedside table, searching for a moment or two before he locates them and puts them on, and the blurry figure of Roger resolves to a clearer image. Almost immediately, Mark wishes he'd kept the glasses off.
Roger looks so terrifyingly serious, his eyes fixed on Mark, and he doesn't smile at him – Mark's gotten used to Roger's smile being one of the first things to greet him, waking up. From the look on Roger's face, it's too early for whatever Roger has to say to him, Mark doesn't want to hear it. So he doesn't ask what Roger's doing sitting there staring at him, just mumbles a soft, "Hey, Roger," and rolls out of bed to get dressed. He makes certain not to meet Roger's eyes – if he's not looking at him, if he pretends not to take too much notice of him, maybe Roger won't find the opening to say whatever he means to say.
It's a stupid ploy, and Mark's not surprised when it doesn't work. "Mark," Roger says, and though Mark's back's to him and he's in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, he answers with a muffled, "Yeah?"
"I just... I wanted to tell you..." Roger's voice is halting and uncertain. Mark keeps his back turned to him, hoping he'll trail off entirely and never finish the sentence. But when Roger speaks again, after a moment or two, his voice has hardened, resolved now. "I have to leave."
Mark turns around immediately to stare at him, frowning a little, mouth slightly open as he searches for something to say in response. He wants to ask, strangely, if Roger's breaking up with him, but that's silly, they aren't even together in the first place, and there's no way to ask that without sounding like a woman or something. So he settles for asking, "What?"
Now Roger looks down, avoiding eye contact. He sits there, legs crossed Indian-style, twisting his hands in his lap. "I'm – I'm not leaving you... Well, no. I guess I am. I don't know what else to–"
"Roger, what're you talking about?" Mark asks sharply. Given how flustered Roger seems by this, maybe he ought to be a little gentler, but it's too early in the day to manage gentle. Roger sighs and slides off the bed, all without looking at Mark.
"I'm moving out."
"What?" There's a bag sitting by the doorway, already packed – how had he managed packing without waking him up, even with as little things as Roger would have to pack? Roger starts toward that bag, and Mark quickly steps between him and the door, putting his hands flat on Roger's chest to stop him. "Why?"
Roger's lips twist into a pained smile. "Because I can't stay."
"That doesn't make any sense," Mark says pointedly.
Roger pushes past him gently, and Mark stumbles backwards, too startled to resist. "One of the guys in my... band has a... place on Broadway. He told me I could stay with him until I found my own place. Or just... you know... stay there for good, as long as I paid rent after a month or so. So I'm... I'm going." He picks the bag and slings it over his shoulder, bends down to pick up the guitar case right next to it, and then glances back to Mark. "Tell Collins and Benny I said goodbye, alright?"
"Roger..." Mark starts to say, but there's nothing to say, and they both know it. Roger leaves, and Mark is left standing there, frowning slightly and trying to process it all.
*
Hunter's apartment is bigger than the loft. Warmer, too, as it's got central heating and – well, it's an actual apartment, instead of a rundown old music factory. The central heating is a nice thing, what with the sudden cold weather, unusual for early September. The roof doesn't leak ever, and Roger appreciates that, with the rain lately. And he likes Hunter – if he didn't, he wouldn't be in a band with him – he likes Hunter's roommates and everything, and he's at least comfortable here.
But somehow this place seems oddly empty, compared to the loft. There may be Hunter and his buddies staying up until dawn with alcohol and joints, talking about nothing of import, but it's nothing like those three AM conversations with Collins that Roger misses. There's Hunter and his girlfriend in the other room some nights, being ridiculously loud, which leaves Roger to wonder if he and Mark were ever that obnoxious, and deciding that they couldn't have been, Collins or Benny would've thrown something at the wall to get them to shut up. In the mornings, he brushes by Hunter and his roommates in the kitchen, getting coffee, and they're all quiet because none of them want to talk that early in the morning, but it's not the companionable silence of the loft, it's the uncertain silence of a group of people who maybe like each other but like is as far as it extends.
And he sleeps on the pullout bed in the couch at night, with no pillow and a kind of worn blanket someone dug out of a closet, and he's never felt the absence of someone so sharply, and he thinks about going back to the loft (back to Mark), and he wonders if it's possible for emptiness, loneliness, desire to stop a heart, because it feels like it, much as it hurts.
But then he remembers the hurt of other absences. The absence of the word "love" in any of their conversations. The absence of concern, when there are some things Roger knows he knows. The absence of certainty of where he stands with Mark. And he decides this hurt doesn't nearly match those other hurts.
Roger curls himself a little tighter into his borrowed blanket, and ignores the fact that the bed's empty and cold and something right in the center of his chest hurts. Maybe that's what Mark is for Roger, maybe that's what he's meant to be, hurt whether he's with or without him.
Next Chapter >>
Chapter: 4/14
Characters/Pairing: Mark/Roger, mention of Collins and Benny, mention of a few OCs
Word Count: 1102
Rating: PG
Summary: Maybe that's what Mark is for Roger...
Notes: Written for
rentchallenge speed challenge #13.Disclaimer: Not mine.
<< Previous Chapter
Roger is, surprisingly, awake before Mark in the morning, and Mark only takes notice of it because it's decidedly odd now to wake up in a bed without Roger beside him. The weight at the foot of the bed quickly gives away Roger's position, but that doesn't much explain what he's doing. Mark frowns and reaches over for his glasses on the bedside table, searching for a moment or two before he locates them and puts them on, and the blurry figure of Roger resolves to a clearer image. Almost immediately, Mark wishes he'd kept the glasses off.
Roger looks so terrifyingly serious, his eyes fixed on Mark, and he doesn't smile at him – Mark's gotten used to Roger's smile being one of the first things to greet him, waking up. From the look on Roger's face, it's too early for whatever Roger has to say to him, Mark doesn't want to hear it. So he doesn't ask what Roger's doing sitting there staring at him, just mumbles a soft, "Hey, Roger," and rolls out of bed to get dressed. He makes certain not to meet Roger's eyes – if he's not looking at him, if he pretends not to take too much notice of him, maybe Roger won't find the opening to say whatever he means to say.
It's a stupid ploy, and Mark's not surprised when it doesn't work. "Mark," Roger says, and though Mark's back's to him and he's in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head, he answers with a muffled, "Yeah?"
"I just... I wanted to tell you..." Roger's voice is halting and uncertain. Mark keeps his back turned to him, hoping he'll trail off entirely and never finish the sentence. But when Roger speaks again, after a moment or two, his voice has hardened, resolved now. "I have to leave."
Mark turns around immediately to stare at him, frowning a little, mouth slightly open as he searches for something to say in response. He wants to ask, strangely, if Roger's breaking up with him, but that's silly, they aren't even together in the first place, and there's no way to ask that without sounding like a woman or something. So he settles for asking, "What?"
Now Roger looks down, avoiding eye contact. He sits there, legs crossed Indian-style, twisting his hands in his lap. "I'm – I'm not leaving you... Well, no. I guess I am. I don't know what else to–"
"Roger, what're you talking about?" Mark asks sharply. Given how flustered Roger seems by this, maybe he ought to be a little gentler, but it's too early in the day to manage gentle. Roger sighs and slides off the bed, all without looking at Mark.
"I'm moving out."
"What?" There's a bag sitting by the doorway, already packed – how had he managed packing without waking him up, even with as little things as Roger would have to pack? Roger starts toward that bag, and Mark quickly steps between him and the door, putting his hands flat on Roger's chest to stop him. "Why?"
Roger's lips twist into a pained smile. "Because I can't stay."
"That doesn't make any sense," Mark says pointedly.
Roger pushes past him gently, and Mark stumbles backwards, too startled to resist. "One of the guys in my... band has a... place on Broadway. He told me I could stay with him until I found my own place. Or just... you know... stay there for good, as long as I paid rent after a month or so. So I'm... I'm going." He picks the bag and slings it over his shoulder, bends down to pick up the guitar case right next to it, and then glances back to Mark. "Tell Collins and Benny I said goodbye, alright?"
"Roger..." Mark starts to say, but there's nothing to say, and they both know it. Roger leaves, and Mark is left standing there, frowning slightly and trying to process it all.
Hunter's apartment is bigger than the loft. Warmer, too, as it's got central heating and – well, it's an actual apartment, instead of a rundown old music factory. The central heating is a nice thing, what with the sudden cold weather, unusual for early September. The roof doesn't leak ever, and Roger appreciates that, with the rain lately. And he likes Hunter – if he didn't, he wouldn't be in a band with him – he likes Hunter's roommates and everything, and he's at least comfortable here.
But somehow this place seems oddly empty, compared to the loft. There may be Hunter and his buddies staying up until dawn with alcohol and joints, talking about nothing of import, but it's nothing like those three AM conversations with Collins that Roger misses. There's Hunter and his girlfriend in the other room some nights, being ridiculously loud, which leaves Roger to wonder if he and Mark were ever that obnoxious, and deciding that they couldn't have been, Collins or Benny would've thrown something at the wall to get them to shut up. In the mornings, he brushes by Hunter and his roommates in the kitchen, getting coffee, and they're all quiet because none of them want to talk that early in the morning, but it's not the companionable silence of the loft, it's the uncertain silence of a group of people who maybe like each other but like is as far as it extends.
And he sleeps on the pullout bed in the couch at night, with no pillow and a kind of worn blanket someone dug out of a closet, and he's never felt the absence of someone so sharply, and he thinks about going back to the loft (back to Mark), and he wonders if it's possible for emptiness, loneliness, desire to stop a heart, because it feels like it, much as it hurts.
But then he remembers the hurt of other absences. The absence of the word "love" in any of their conversations. The absence of concern, when there are some things Roger knows he knows. The absence of certainty of where he stands with Mark. And he decides this hurt doesn't nearly match those other hurts.
Roger curls himself a little tighter into his borrowed blanket, and ignores the fact that the bed's empty and cold and something right in the center of his chest hurts. Maybe that's what Mark is for Roger, maybe that's what he's meant to be, hurt whether he's with or without him.
Next Chapter >>