Author's Note: This is my first time at writing Rent FF, so bear with me. I am a big fan of Mark/Roger-ness… because they are so adorable. Of course, I don't own Rent, I just enjoy playing with them. This will eventually turn into Mark/Roger slash, if you couldn't tell from this chapter. Reviews are great, especially since this is my first time at it. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Cold Consuming a Lonely Boy

Shit, I don't remember it ever being this cold before. I swear every winter in the loft it gets colder and colder. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and weary from this lifestyle or maybe it is physically getting colder. I don't know anymore. I look down at my weary hands, holding my precious camera so tightly.

"Pan left, to our broken heater. I don't even think it's ever worked properly. Pan upwards, to the ceiling that no longer exists. Plastic falling down, once covering it, no longer serves its purpose. The place we live." I turn off the camera and set it down on the table. A gust of wind breezed through the loft and I shiver a little. I run over to the windows, closing the two that opened. Great, it's starting to snow.

What's the point of living indoors when the outdoors and indoors mesh into one? Heck, who knows. But these conditions are not good for Roger and I am getting more and more concerned about him everyday. He deserves to be living in a place where he has a chance of a long, happy life. Maybe he likes the cold. I don't know. It seems like we never talk anymore. Ever. An occasional chit-chat here and there… but nothing about our feelings.

The past couple of months have been pretty bad for me. Money seems to be getting harder and harder to come by and with that, comes consequences. I've heard my stomach rumble more than it's been full and my clothes seem to be getting baggier on me. My face seems to be drained of life and I just seem to be like a dead soul occupying a body. I don't know how I got here, but I do know that it's not ideal. But I'll be fine; I'm not the one that's HIV positive. I have to be strong for Roger and help take care of him, with what means I can. So I skip a couple meals so I can give money for Roger to eat. So what does it matter?

I start shivering rapidly and glance over into my room. I think I'll grab my blanket and use that for warmth. I walk into my dimly lit room and glance around. Dark, cold, just like the living room. I grab the blanket and move back into the living room and sit down on the couch. It's dark. Roger's been gone all day; I'm not quite sure what he was doing. He left this morning, said he'd be gone all day, and that was that. We didn't ask many questions any more. We've drifted apart in the past couple of months. I think he knows his time is slowly diminishing and he doesn't want to hurt me when he goes. Of course I'm going to be hurt when he goes, he's my other half. We've been together, as friends, for such a long time, I can't even imagine what will happen when he goes. I try not to think about it too much. Not yet, anyway.

I hear the large door slide open and don't care to even look over at him. I know it's him and I just don't have the energy, the strength, to look at him. He drops his guitar and other stuff by his door and comes over and sits on the couch by me. I wrap the blanket around me tighter. It gets colder as he sits down besides me.

"Fuck man, it's freezing in here," he says, opening the line of communication between us.

"Hence, the blanket," I reply, nodding down to the blanket that is tightly wrapped around me.

"Good idea man," he says while getting up and walking away from me. It's a start. I sit alone on the couch again, to ponder my thoughts, the cold, this life.

He comes back out of his room with his blanket as well and sits back next to me on the couch. It's a start.

"Is this the coldest winter yet, or is it just me?" he asks, and I can't help but laugh a little.

"I was just thinking the same thing before you came home…" I slowly choke out, unable to look him in the eyes.

He shifts in his seat and it seems like he's unsure of how to proceed next. I quickly glance up at him, but when our eyes meet, I quickly look back down. How did we get here? I don't know. But then I felt him place his hand on my shoulder and I knew he was ready to open up and I wasn't sure if I was ready.

"Hey, Mark, I know I haven't been, around at all lately, in every way, but I want you to know, I want that to change. I miss talking to you," he says, the last part coming out quietly than the rest.

"Me too," I barely whisper.

"So I was thinking, how about we go get something at the Life?" he asks me.

Heat, warmth, food? They all sound so exciting. My eyes gleam until I remember, I have no money. "I… well, yeah. That sounds so great. But, how we going to pay for it?"

"No fear my fine friend, I've got that covered," he replies, pulling out a small sum of money. I smile, but then wonder where possibly he could be getting that much money from.

"But Roger, what… how… did…. I don't…" I start rambling, incoherent nonsense.

"Come on, let's go, we'll talk when we get there," he says, pulling me up from my comfortable position on the couch. The blanket falls off of me and I am suddenly confronted with the cold again.

I grab my scarf and follow Roger out of the loft. We walk down the street as the snow continues to gently fall. It collects in Roger's hair and on my scarf as well. It seems almost peaceful, the way we walk down the street, just observing the life in the Alphabet City… our life.

We arrive at the Life Café, busy as usual, and I feel the warmth take over my body, which is barely surviving the cold. Roger interacts with the host, which does not seem too happy about our arrival. He shows him the money in advance, in which the man takes us to a table near the back. For once I can take off the layers of clothes I put on to try and keep warm.

Roger sits down first and begins scanning through the menu. He never looks at the menu, he always orders the same thing. He must be nervous; I don't know why he would be doing that. But I sit down and rub my hands together, trying to warm up. I, of course, ignore the menu, but instead study the man sitting across from me.

The waiter comes to our table and we order. Of course, the usual order from us both, and Roger's menu is taken away and he can't hide behind it anymore. That's when it gets weird.

"So…." he starts. I just look up at him, with a confused expression.

"So, where are you getting money from?" I bluntly ask him. I figure we might as well get this awkwardness out of the way.

"Well, um… yeah. So, a couple of weeks ago, I ran into this friend of mine, back when I was with the band, and he's working for this record company now. So, he told me he knew of studio that was looking for a guitarist, and they were the kind of music I would like, so he got me in touch with them, and well, for the past two weeks, I've been working for them!" he says, so excited, and happy, for once.

"Wow, Roger, wow, that's so amazing! I can't believe… you? A job?" I say, surprised, astonished, a little bit of every emotion.

"I know, so unlike me, oh trust me, I was hesitant at first, but these guys, it's just perfect. Getting money for doing what I love and now, we'll have money…" he trails off.

"Are you sure? I mean, Roger…" I stop, unsure how to continue. At this point, I have my hands out on the table, and he puts his out, over mine, in a manner to calm me. I look down at our hands and then back up at his eyes.

"Mark…" he starts, "Things have been so hard lately, and if I can do one thing to make everything just this much better, I want to for once. I know you've been the one trying to take care of me, of us, keeping us all together and alive."

How to respond to that? Roger, Mr. I don't tell anyone my feelings Roger, is here, opening up to me, of all people. Should I be happy? Of course I'm happy, my stomach is doing flip-flops. But… I don't know. It just seems too perfect. This isn't our lives. This isn't what our relationship is supposed to be. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of him.

"Aren't you going to say anything, Mark?" he asks me. I can't, I'm having problems breathing correctly.

"Uh… I… that's great… Rog…" I stutter out.

"You don't seem too thrilled about it," he says, with a hint of anger in his voice. How am I supposed to be thrilled about it? He sold out. I thought we'd never sell out like this. I mean, yeah, I worked for Buzzline, but that was different. I quit after I realized it was interfering with my work. I started shaking my head…

"No, that's great Roger… seriously…" I say, trying to sound confident in my response to satisfy him. He doesn't look too convinced, but I tried my best. "How much will you be working?" I ask, trying to sound interested.

He looks unhappy, but still responds, "Oh, I'll work every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It's enough."

"That's good," I say, unsure, while grasping my cup of tea and taking a timid sip out of it.

It seems like I've really angered him now, because I can see his knuckles getting whiter and whiter. He slams his right hand down on the table and I notice people around us glaring quite unhappily. "Mark, I don't know what your problem is, but it's unsettling. Do you want us to constantly be living just a grade above poverty? Do you want me to die because I can't afford medicine or hospital visits? Would you rather starve to death, be without heat? I walked into the loft earlier and it's colder in there than outside. So tell me, Mark, why can't you be happy for me?

I can't handle this, I'm shaking as his voice is getting louder and angrier, and I can see what seems like thousands of eyes all staring at me. I grab my coat and scarf and run out the door.

I've been running for what seems like hours, but in reality, it's only been probably 10 minutes or so. I stop to catch my breath when I realize that I definitely have no idea where I've ran to. I hunch over, peering down at the snow covered ground. Not only is it getting late, it's getting colder, and the snow is coming down harder and harder.

I don't know what I should do. I could go back to the loft, but then I'd have to deal with Roger. I could sleep out on the street, but that's generally not a good idea. If I had money, I could get a hotel room. I could jump on a bus and go home. That's definitely not a good idea.

Then a bad idea, which soon turned into a good idea, popped into my head. I could see if Maureen and Joanne would let me spend the night at their place. Just one night, it wouldn't harm a thing. I peer around the nearest corner and look for a pay phone and lucky for me, there is one just down the street. I have to have enough change in my pocket to make one call and I dig deep into my pockets looking for the round objects. I find just enough and place the coins into the machine.

The phone begins to ring and the thought never crossed my mind that they might not be home. Or that they would say no. But after the third ring, I hear someone on the other end saying hello.

"Hello?" what sounds to be Maureen says into the phone.

"Maureen?" I reply, my voice shaking and unsure what I should say next.

"Mark, is that you?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's me…" pausing a beat before I continue. "Listen, is there anyway, I could possibly spend the night at your place tonight?"

"What happened Marky!" she asks, in her usual tone that gets me reeling every time.

"It's a long story… but seriously, I can't go home tonight…" I tell her. I can sense hesitation in her voice, but she sighs and I know she's going to give in.

"Of course, you can get here okay?" she asks. No, probably not, but I'll manage.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll see you in awhile." I hang up the phone and look around. Now to find their apartment…

Almost an hour later, I arrive on the doorstep of Maureen and Joanne's apartment. By this point I'm absolutely freezing from head to toe and the heat almost stings. I lift my hand up to knock and gently hit the door twice. I hear squealing inside and in a moment later, Maureen opening the door and wrapping me around in her arms.

"What's wrong Marky, I was so worried about you, you took forever to get here!" she says while wrapping me tighter and tighter.

"I just was a little lost, that was all. Don't worry," I reassure her.

Joanne comes over to greet me and wraps me in a gentle hug. After we pull away, she grabs me by the hand and pulls me towards the kitchen.

"Mark, you are freezing! What have you been doing, living in an igloo? Here, I made you some tea," Joanne tells me, forcing a scalding hot cup of tea into my hand. My fingers burn at first, but as soon as the liquid touches my palate it seems to warm my entire soul. I put the glass down and take off my coat and scarf and sit down with them on their sofa.

"So, tell us what happened," Maureen states, so matter of factly.

"Let him get calmed down for a second, Maureen, it's obvious he's still defrosting," Joanne responded.

"No, it's fine…" I start. Then I proceed to tell them what happened in the Life, down to every detail. I keep my eyes down for most of the story, unsure how they would react.

"So… there's that. So am I being silly? Childish? I don't know… I just feel so alone all the time and he goes and does this and acts like he's doing it for us! The last time I checked, he didn't care about what happened to me." I stop, taking a sip of what's left of my tea after my narrative. I look at both women, who return my glance with semi smiles.

"You're upset because you're used to taking care of him, he's always been the one that's needed to be taken care of. Now, he's trying to help take care of the both of you and he's doing it in a way that isn't quite ideal. But he's happy for once and that's why you're scared," Joanne responds.

I look up at her with a blank expression. Her words sting, but they aren't anything I didn't already know and they are what I needed to be told. I sigh… unsure how to proceed next.

I quietly mutter, "I know."

"Marky, no offense, but I can see why he wants to take care of you. You look horrible yourself," Maureen informs me.

I see Joanne smack her on the arm to stop and give Maureen a dirty look. They both look back at me with unsure smiles and I know they are just trying to help.

"So what do I do?" I ask, moving on.

They both seem hesitant to respond to my question, but Joanne gives Maureen a look that could kill, so it was obvious that Maureen had something on her mind that I would not enjoy hearing. So instead, Joanne chose to give me the advice.

"You should go back to him, you should tell him how you feel. It's the least you can do. You guys used to be best friends, you need each other. You are both miserable when you are mad at each other and you both try to keep care of each other, but you don't express your feelings well. Finally Roger has opened up to you, who knows why, and you just want to be angry. You can stay here tonight if you want, but you would feel better if you would go back and be with him tonight."

I can't believe how right she is. I can't believe how well these two women know us. I reach over and give Joanne a hug, while quietly whispering in her ear, "You're right."

"How about I drive you back to the loft?" Joanne asks. "Then you won't get any colder than you already are."

I shrug my shoulders. I've been gone for what, three hours now, so Roger's probably had time to cool off. I can do this. I know I can. "Yeah, that would be great."

They both stand up after I do and follow me to the door. Maureen pulls me into a big hug, with wet tears in her eyes. All she whispers in my ear is, "Eat something Mark, you look horrible."

I pull away with a small smile. It was with her comment that I realized I had yet to eat anything but a tea that day, but it didn't matter. That's all I had on a lot of days. I'll be fine. Joanne took me outside, where the cold continued to cause havoc on my body. I climb into Joanne's car and the drive is quiet as we make our way back to Avenue B.

When we reach the loft, she reaches across and gives me a hug. "Don't ever hesitate to ask for help when you need it, Mark."

I say goodnight and stare up at the loft as I step out of her car. I wave goodbye and see the car drive into the distance. This is it, now or never. I climb the stairs to the loft and tremble as I open the door. I don't hear any music coming from the loft, so it's entirely possible he's not even home.

But luck is not on my side today as I notice him sitting on the ledge of the loft, staring out the window. I quietly shut the door, but not quiet enough, as he glares over at me. I see hurt in his eyes, hurt that I've had myself countless time. Hurt that he's given to me, I couldn't even count how many times. He says nothing, I say nothing. I grab the blanket that remains on the couch and wrap it around me again. I go and sit by him, watching as the snow continues to come down onto the earth.

I figure I would be the one to start talking again, so I figured it was now or never. I glance at him and quietly begin, "God Roger, I am so sorry. I just… I don't even know. The past couple of months, I've been so lonely, I never see you. Then, all of sudden, you open up to me in ways you never have before." I pause, trying to hold back tears that I can feel forming in my heart, my eyes. "I've always been the one taking care of people, of you. I just don't know if I can handle you taking care of me."

I watch as he turns his head from looking out the window to staring his eyes straight into mine. I see the hurt pouring from his facial expression, but then it turns into something else. I can't define it.

"But I realized something tonight," I start to say, as the words come out of my mouth, I know they are true, "I think I need you to take care of me. I think I need you to take care of me and I think you need me to take care of you. Roger, the past couple of months, I haven't cared about myself, I've just tried taking care of you, and it hasn't worked, because you keep shutting me out."

I think I've said my peace. It's apparent he doesn't have a response for me, so I start to get up to go into my room. But then he grabs my hand with such a force I'm forced back into the ledge of the window. He continues to hold onto my hand, almost as if he's afraid of letting go.

"Why do you think I took this job in the first place? I knew how bad we had things going, I looked at you everyday and saw you getting smaller and I couldn't bare to look at you anymore. I knew I was doing this to you and I couldn't stand it anymore." His voice is trembling and he pulls me closer and closer with every word. "I promise you, with all my heart, that this is not me selling out. You know me, of all people, would never sell out. This is something I enjoy doing and it's giving us money, money to help us survive."

He stops talking and I can tell he's nervous. He's never said anything like this before, well not to me anyway, and I don't know how to proceed. It's like I'm too afraid to mess things up. Things are already messed up, I guess you could say.

"So what do we do?" I ask him, hesitant to ask him the question, but I knew it could evoke the correct response.

"Let's go back to the way things were… you know, you always filming me, me always getting mad at you filming me, you eating something for once, I'll take my AZT every time you tell me to, we'll go out, and we'll get some heat in this place."

I smile at him. That's a good enough answer for me right now. "Yeah, that's good. Especially the heat thing."

"Agreed," he responds. He finally lets go of my hand and walks away from the ledge. I watch him walk into my room, which peaks my curiosity. I walk as quickly as I can with the large blanket around me and peer into my room and notice him lying on my bed.

"What are you doing now?" I ask him, hinting at some playfulness in my voice, trying to liven things up in this quite depressing living space.

"You're room is way warmer than mine, so I am sleeping here tonight," he informs me, so matter of factly. My mouth drops in astonishment as I stare at him quite confused.

"So where am I supposed to sleep?" I ask him in response.

"Dunno. You can sleep on the bed as long as you don't touch me." He says, all seriously, then starts a little laugh. "Just joking, Mark! You're bed is big enough, and if we share all our blankets, then we'll be super warm! Please……." he says, almost in a childlike whining voice. I had to give into him.

"Alright… but you better not slobber on me," I warn him as I start throwing blankets onto the bed.

Looks like things are somewhat getting back to normal.

Please remember to review! Expect another lengthy chapter in a few days! Thank you for reading!