"January 29th, Nine-Thirty-Two, Eastern Standard Time."
"I am alone. In the loft, all alone. Not quite sure when Roger's coming home. If he's ever coming home. Spend so much time, one floor below, fucking the brains out of a Spanish, Smack-Addict Dancer, you begin to forget her bed is not your own. Nothing against the Dancer. She's good for him, and I've told him so."
Sighing to himself as he thought of the couple, Mark his camera toward the window and began rolling again.
"It started to snow, about three this afternoon. Snow's still falling. Don't know why I'm still filming. Maybe I'm just bored. Maybe I hate silence." The camera's whirring noise comforted him as he moved through the loft, his shoes stepping softly on the wood floors they'd never finished. Roger and Collins had been all for the project at one point, but soon gave it up in the interest of their own sanities and safety.
He found himself lighting the candles strewn about the apartment, more for the smell of the fire than the heat it provided. He liked the smell of smoke. It wrapped around him silently, warming his insides and giving him a calm, open feeling. He flopped down on the couch, breathing in the tainted air.
There were things he still had to think about. His next film, he needed to start it soon. But, he didn't know what he would do. Today 4 U had been amazing. Priceless. Everything he'd dreamed of creating. But… Now, he needed to do something else. Now, Today 4 U was finished. And he had nothing…
"…Mark hides in his work…"
A shiver went through his bones as he remembered that day, and he quickly churned the lever of his camera to begin filming again.
"I think I lit about fifteen candles in this place." He spoke to the camera, scratching his head through his bright blonde spikes. "Fifteen or sixteen. Scented and unscented. I should find the scented ones and blow them out. The smell is killing me."
I think I really do hate silence…
Getting up, he began wandering through the apartment, searching for the scented candles. Wherever they were, they all held the same scent. Some sort of vanilla-ish sugary aroma that would kill him if it got any thicker. He found about five of them, blowing them all out on sight.
It smelled like April's perfume. He knew it the moment the smoke of the last candle swirled to the ceiling, and the label glared up at him, challenging him to say otherwise. Vanilla Sugar Cookie. Same name as the cheap perfume Roger bought her for Christmas, every year that they spent together.
Roger. He remembered Christmases with Roger and April. When Roger's band was still bringing in money, and he could still afford gifts for them all. Handing everyone their packages, he would sit there and grin, dirty blonde hair falling into his face just right. He'd strum his guitar, play spoofs on Christmas Carols just for fun. Then, when everyone left, he would come into his room, hand him his present. It was often something small. One year, it was a bag of organic lollipops. He'd wrapped it in flashy blue and gold ribbon, and he still had it somewhere. He didn't know where.
"I should go out." He heard himself decide, speaking to the camera almost immediately. Almost before the thought reached consciousness. Tugging his scarf a little tighter, he found his jacket and slipped his arms into the sleeves, buttoning it just as he walked out the door.
He didn't look toward Mimi's door as he headed down the stairs. Thinking of her and Roger… He hated it. Them. They were so damn wrapped up in each other, they didn't even know he existed. It was that way before, with April. But, really, who was he to care? Roger had Mimi, Maureen had Joanne, Collins would probably never love again after Angel…
He had no one. No one was close to him. Except for his camera.
He cranked it up again, and began looking around for something to film. Something to watch. His feet were taking him to the Life Café. Deciding he might as well, he headed over, wondering if he would find anyone he knew there. The cold air snapped against his face as he walked quickly, trying to find a place with heat. The Life Café was warm every season.
Finding a table, he sat and waited for the idiot manager to come up to him and try to throw him out. Nothing happened. Looking around, he wondered what was going on. Usually the staff didn't waist much time kicking him to the curb. Turning around, he blinked as he realized the cause.
A tall man with dark, wavy hair, high cheekbones, and striking blue eyes found his gaze. He was sitting at the bar, chatting with the hostess as she tried to look cute. She would normally be the one to push him out the door, but she appeared to be distracted. The man chatted with her lightly, but he wasn't really looking at her. His eyes met Mark's, and there was something about his stare that knocked all the air from his chest.
It took a couple minutes for him to look away. He looked down at the menu, then realized he had no money. Staring at the prices for a while, he considered ordering, then skipping out, but he didn't feel like pissing off the manager even more, so he decided to wait for someone to ask him to leave. Until then, he would sit in the warmth.
He looked up when he heard the chair across from him scrape the floor. The man from the bar. His eyes met blue as he watched him sit down and grin.
"So, the hostess over there said you're about to get thrown to the snow." The grin the man gave was dazzling. "I take it you come here often?"
Mark smiled softly, liking the guy already. "Often enough."
"How 'bout some coffee first, then? Before you hit the road?"
He looked out the window, watched the snow fall and stick to the sidewalk. It was far too cold out there. He didn't want to leave just yet. And coffee sounded more than inviting. Turning back, he grinned at the man in front of him. "Sure. Why not?"
A hand reached across the table and took his. "Tyler."
He shook it lightly, finding it warm and soft. "Mark."
Laughter burst from his lips as Tyler walked with him, telling him stories about his six months at NYU. The man had decided to walk him home, seeing as he had nothing better to do. Mark didn't mind, and to be honest, felt happier near him than he'd felt in a long time. Soon, they were outside the building, and he turned to Tyler and sighed.
"This is it." He said. And, funny thing, he didn't really want to go inside anymore. "I guess… Nice meeting you."
But, as he moved closer to sake his hand, Tyler's blue eyes flashed with a look that burned right through him. He felt his own eyes widen, and he moved to step back, when the man's soft hand reached to caress his cheek. His whole body froze.
"Tyler…" He breathed, confused and a little frightened. "Tyler, I'm not-"
Tyler's lips found his quickly, and they melded together in sweet, slick friction. The strong, bitter taste of coffee touched his lips, and his mind went completely blank. He was so confused, unsure of his own will. Did he want this? Was he sure? Why was he kissing back, moving closer, slipping his tongue between Tyler's lips and wrapping his arms around him? As Tyler's fingers trailed down his neck, making him shiver at the chill, his whole body lit on fire as his tongue explored his mouth, taking full control.
When he pulled away, Mark was stunned. Confused. Probably more than he'd ever been. He'd never… What was he… But his whole body trembled with tension, and he knew he wanted more. He'd never felt this for Maureen. Or Nanette. Or any girl, as far as he could remember. Sure, he'd considered men before, but only in passing. Now… Tyler…
Dark hair fell into the ice blue eyes Tyler had captured him with. He was still catching his breath.
"Mark, I…" He stepped closer. "I want to see you again."
Roger strummed his guitar, wondering what was taking Mark so long. He'd come home from Mimi's, hoping for a little sleep, when he realized Mark wasn't there. Candles were lit, and his camera was gone. A little funny, this late. But, he ignored the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, and picked up his guitar to take a crack at a new song that had been on his mind for a little while.
After about an hour, just when he was starting to get real anxious, the door's heavy lock sounded, and it slid open. Discarding his guitar, Roger looked up. The way he stumbled in, Mark was either drunk, high, or dazed. Roger watched him throw the keys on the table and take off his jacket. He wondered if Mark even noticed he was here.
A little smirk found its way to his lips, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Am I gonna have to guess where you were?"
Mark stopped. He looked almost frightened. He turned his head, and in the light, Roger could see his face. A heavy blush sunk through his cheeks, his hair was strangely disheveled, his lips were bruised and soft-
Roger blinked. His stomach flip-flopped.
"Just the Café." Mark tried.
"With Maureen?" Roger shot back, trying to keep the venom from his voice.
"No! I'd never-…" He broke off, as he realized how he must've looked. Roger watched him closely as his eyes darted away, his hand ran through his hair to tame it. Mark was acting… off. Way more than usual, anyway. "I wouldn't do that to Joanne. You know that."
"So," Roger got to his feet suddenly, trying to keep this light. "Finally over her, then? This calls for a celebratory beer."
"No, I… Mark shook his head. "I think I might just…" He nodded toward the door to his room. "Take your AZT, okay?"
Nodding, Roger watched Mark close the door to his room. He turned back to his guitar and strummed a few chords. But… He just couldn't get those lips out of his mind…
First RENT fic. I love this pairing. Please let me know what you think. Or, at least, give me a little feedback. Something. Anything.