Hi, everyone! I've been wanting to write something for RENT for forever, and I've decided to finally do it! Reviews are always amazingly fantastic! I hope you enjoy the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or any of the characters.

Wishing, hoping, laughing, seeing, dreaming, smiling, looking, wanting, wishing.

That used to be his life.

Mark sits by Roger's bed, listening to the hum of the machines. Those fucking machines. He listens to the sound of doctors rushing past the room, talking, rushing, taking notes, talking, quickening, laughing, whispering, informing, rushing. Fucking doctors.

Everyone is gone by now. Collins was the one to leave first. He couldn't take hospitals anymore. Every corner he turned, every time he looked at Roger in the bed, he felt that familiar sensation of his heart ripping, tearing, screaming. Yeah, Collins was the first to leave.

Then it was Mimi; she'd been getting sick a lot lately, and Benny took her home. No one wants to think of that right now, even though they know where Mimi is headed. She's headed right where Roger is now. Nobody wants to think of her with those dark circles under her eyes, those constant sighs of exhaustion. Instead, they laugh with her, hold her, acting like nothing is wrong. They smile as she sits by Roger's side, holding his hand and pushing his hair back. They smile, and she smiles, and for just a moment, nothing is wrong.

Joanne and Maureen left to meet with an adoption agency. In the midst of everything going on, they had waited so long for this, and everyone agreed that they shouldn't give it up. Mark hated that. He hated that they were adopting. He hated that they were happy. And he hated himself for hating that.

He hated a lot right now.

He hated himself for letting this happen to Roger. If only he had been more attentive. If only he had been there, instead of off filming yet another pointless thing for his shit documentary. Mark hated the fact that he had to spend his days at the hospital, watching Roger die. Roger. He hated the doctors. And the medicine. And the beeping machines, and the constant sounds of sirens, and the sickness. Sickness everywhere.

He hated it.

He hated watching Mimi hold Roger's hand day after day. He hated the way she pushed his hair back from his face, leaning in every so often to kiss him. He hated watching it.

But he had to. He promised to never leave Roger, ever. He wanted to see Roger before he died, and he wanted Roger to see him.

Most of all, Mark hated that it wasn't him sitting by Roger's bed, holding his hand, speaking to him in soft whispers, putting a warm hand on his head.

Mark hated himself for feeling this way. He hated that it could never be.

Mark hated how much he loved him.

Rushing, talking, beeping, whirring, buzzing, humming, alarms, sirens, rushing.

And Mark hated it.