RENT: The Stories We Say (Chapter Eight)
Aug. 7th, 2007 04:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
find_rightbrainTitle: The Stories We Say
Chapter: 8/10
Characters/Pairing: Mark/Roger, Roger/April
Word Count: 945
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Mark leaves him feeling empty; April leaves him feeling cleansed.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rentchallenge speed challenge #22.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rent, Mark, Roger, April, Collins, Benny... any of them. If for some reason you thought that would have changed by now... well, it didn't.
<< Previous Chapter
Roger doesn't want to ask why Mark came back. He's afraid the answer will be something like... loneliness. Boredom. That Roger was the best option available, but by no means the first choice. And no, Mark never says those things, and Roger doesn't honestly think he would say any of that, but when he never says any of the things Roger wants him to say either – not even love, just some indication he cares beyond a sort of friendship – he can't help but assume...
He watches, quietly, as Mark pulls his shirt over his head, runs his fingers through his hair in some attempt to smooth it or tame it or something. It doesn't work. Roger grins despite himself, and Mark notices out of the corner of his eye, turns to look at him. "What?"
Roger looks down and shakes his head, though still smiling a bit. "Nothing."
Even without looking up, he can tell Mark's still watching him. It's a couple seconds before Mark says at last, "Alright."
He grabs his coat, and Roger looks up then. "Are you going?" He tries to keep his voice neutral, as devoid of hurt, concern, hope as he can manage. He knows it's still there, and he knows Mark can hear it.
Mark meets his eyes. Roger had forgotten how much he missed that shade of blue – April's eyes come close, but don't quite meet it. "I figured I should go before your roommates show up."
"I don't mind if they see you," Roger murmurs, though he can well imagine Hunter's slightly mocking smirk, taunting comments. If Mark would stay, Roger wouldn't care.
Mark doesn't answer for a couple seconds, and when he does it's not directly, because that would be too simple. "Are you actually living here?" he asks.
Roger's silent for a moment. "All of my things are here."
"So you're staying here." Mark shrugs his jacket onto his shoulders. "But..."
Roger bites his lip, wishing he actually understood what went on in Mark's head, wishing he could guess his motivations, because all of this would be so much easier if he could just... "What?"
"I just wondered if you'd be coming back."
"Back?"
"To the loft." Mark pauses, and there's a silence that makes Roger's stomach twist uncomfortably, and he's not even sure why. "I never wanted you to leave."
God, Roger's chest hurts, and he barely resists the urge to rub at his chest like there's an actual physical hurt. He also just barely resists the urge to tell Mark yes, absolutely he'll come back, as soon as possible. He's not stupid, he's not going to trip all over himself just so Mark can turn away from him again – however much he wants to.
"I'll think about it."
*
It's a few days before April finds it, lying on the floor beside the couch. It's a guitar pick, dark against the cream carpet, and she wonders how she didn't notice it before this – it must have fallen out of Roger's jacket pocket when he left. She picks it up, holds it in her palm, so light that its weight barely registers. After a moment she tucks it into her wallet, because she can think of no other place to put it.
Roger had called her, last night, to ask if she would come to his next show, the night after tomorrow. Maybe she'll give it back to him then. Maybe she'll just keep it there in her wallet, a reminder, though of what she's not quite sure.
*
Mark comes to see Roger two, three times a week, sometimes when Roger's roommates are there, sometimes when he's alone. It's usually unannounced, a surprise, and Roger almost wishes he could pretend it's an unpleasant one. The first few times, after that first, half-desperate reunion, Mark takes the lead, gentle but demanding, but after that Roger won't let him. He grips Mark's wrist, bites his lip, presses against him roughly, and if he notices bruises on Mark's wrists, if Mark sometimes winces, if Mark occasionally murmurs "not so hard," Roger tells himself he doesn't care, because he's not Mark's fucking toy. If Mark can take this so casually, and not care what comes of it, God damn it, so can he. When Mark leaves, he always feels empty, used up. When Mark's there, he feels alive, he feels happy, he feels dirty and tainted – hurt, with or without.
He calls April sometimes, after Mark leaves, and he knows he sounds tired and distant but he can't help it, and April always asks what's wrong and Roger always tells her it's nothing. He asks her if he can come over, and she always says yes – he ends up in the Upper West Side at two, three in the morning, she lets him in and she's gentle and sweet and warm, and they just lie there afterward, his head on her breast, her fingers running through his hair.
She tells him she loves him, one night, and he's too startled to speak. Maybe she thinks he's already asleep.
April is at every show, even if Roger only mentions it in passing. Mark is at none, though Roger drops every hint he can think of, and goes unheard.
Where Mark leaves him feeling dirtied and spent, April leaves him calm, and cleansed. Mark is desire and disappointment, April is solace. Mark is heroin, wearing on him, addictive, killing him bit by bit but it feels so good that it doesn't matter; April is music, a natural sort of high, the kind that leaves him feeling whole again.
Next Chapter >>>
Chapter: 8/10
Characters/Pairing: Mark/Roger, Roger/April
Word Count: 945
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Mark leaves him feeling empty; April leaves him feeling cleansed.
Notes: Written for
rentchallenge speed challenge #22.Disclaimer: I don't own Rent, Mark, Roger, April, Collins, Benny... any of them. If for some reason you thought that would have changed by now... well, it didn't.
<< Previous Chapter
Roger doesn't want to ask why Mark came back. He's afraid the answer will be something like... loneliness. Boredom. That Roger was the best option available, but by no means the first choice. And no, Mark never says those things, and Roger doesn't honestly think he would say any of that, but when he never says any of the things Roger wants him to say either – not even love, just some indication he cares beyond a sort of friendship – he can't help but assume...
He watches, quietly, as Mark pulls his shirt over his head, runs his fingers through his hair in some attempt to smooth it or tame it or something. It doesn't work. Roger grins despite himself, and Mark notices out of the corner of his eye, turns to look at him. "What?"
Roger looks down and shakes his head, though still smiling a bit. "Nothing."
Even without looking up, he can tell Mark's still watching him. It's a couple seconds before Mark says at last, "Alright."
He grabs his coat, and Roger looks up then. "Are you going?" He tries to keep his voice neutral, as devoid of hurt, concern, hope as he can manage. He knows it's still there, and he knows Mark can hear it.
Mark meets his eyes. Roger had forgotten how much he missed that shade of blue – April's eyes come close, but don't quite meet it. "I figured I should go before your roommates show up."
"I don't mind if they see you," Roger murmurs, though he can well imagine Hunter's slightly mocking smirk, taunting comments. If Mark would stay, Roger wouldn't care.
Mark doesn't answer for a couple seconds, and when he does it's not directly, because that would be too simple. "Are you actually living here?" he asks.
Roger's silent for a moment. "All of my things are here."
"So you're staying here." Mark shrugs his jacket onto his shoulders. "But..."
Roger bites his lip, wishing he actually understood what went on in Mark's head, wishing he could guess his motivations, because all of this would be so much easier if he could just... "What?"
"I just wondered if you'd be coming back."
"Back?"
"To the loft." Mark pauses, and there's a silence that makes Roger's stomach twist uncomfortably, and he's not even sure why. "I never wanted you to leave."
God, Roger's chest hurts, and he barely resists the urge to rub at his chest like there's an actual physical hurt. He also just barely resists the urge to tell Mark yes, absolutely he'll come back, as soon as possible. He's not stupid, he's not going to trip all over himself just so Mark can turn away from him again – however much he wants to.
"I'll think about it."
It's a few days before April finds it, lying on the floor beside the couch. It's a guitar pick, dark against the cream carpet, and she wonders how she didn't notice it before this – it must have fallen out of Roger's jacket pocket when he left. She picks it up, holds it in her palm, so light that its weight barely registers. After a moment she tucks it into her wallet, because she can think of no other place to put it.
Roger had called her, last night, to ask if she would come to his next show, the night after tomorrow. Maybe she'll give it back to him then. Maybe she'll just keep it there in her wallet, a reminder, though of what she's not quite sure.
Mark comes to see Roger two, three times a week, sometimes when Roger's roommates are there, sometimes when he's alone. It's usually unannounced, a surprise, and Roger almost wishes he could pretend it's an unpleasant one. The first few times, after that first, half-desperate reunion, Mark takes the lead, gentle but demanding, but after that Roger won't let him. He grips Mark's wrist, bites his lip, presses against him roughly, and if he notices bruises on Mark's wrists, if Mark sometimes winces, if Mark occasionally murmurs "not so hard," Roger tells himself he doesn't care, because he's not Mark's fucking toy. If Mark can take this so casually, and not care what comes of it, God damn it, so can he. When Mark leaves, he always feels empty, used up. When Mark's there, he feels alive, he feels happy, he feels dirty and tainted – hurt, with or without.
He calls April sometimes, after Mark leaves, and he knows he sounds tired and distant but he can't help it, and April always asks what's wrong and Roger always tells her it's nothing. He asks her if he can come over, and she always says yes – he ends up in the Upper West Side at two, three in the morning, she lets him in and she's gentle and sweet and warm, and they just lie there afterward, his head on her breast, her fingers running through his hair.
She tells him she loves him, one night, and he's too startled to speak. Maybe she thinks he's already asleep.
April is at every show, even if Roger only mentions it in passing. Mark is at none, though Roger drops every hint he can think of, and goes unheard.
Where Mark leaves him feeling dirtied and spent, April leaves him calm, and cleansed. Mark is desire and disappointment, April is solace. Mark is heroin, wearing on him, addictive, killing him bit by bit but it feels so good that it doesn't matter; April is music, a natural sort of high, the kind that leaves him feeling whole again.
Next Chapter >>>