A/N: I'm on another RENT kick. What can I say? Hope someone reviews this! It sucks that I can never post anymore, grrrr… But this has been lying around FOREVER, so I'm glad I finally got it out there.

Disclaimer:Jonathan Larson owns RENT, and I can't be him because, well, I don't even have the same parts let alone the same name or genius brain…

Three Words

One: Roger/April

Everything had happened so fast, but then again that was how things had always been between them.

He'd known the moment he realized that April wasn't at his gig that something was wrong. The club was packed, as it always was- their band was getting big, and CBGB's was thriving off of the success of the Well Hungarians. Girls and boys barely old enough to even lie and say they were old enough to enter the club were screaming his name as he stepped up to play the last song for the night, microphone right up against his lips and guitar in hand. A few of the more impaired fans had already been removed from the premises after trying to climb onto the stage with him.

Life was good for Roger Davis.

The last song was for April, and he was eager to see her reaction; she'd been his sex buddy, his drug buddy, for a long while before they'd officially started dating. But now… Roger is pretty sure that his feelings for April are getting deeper, growing stronger, and he's jittery with anticipation.

His eyes scan the crowd in the smoky atmosphere. Earlier he hadn't bothered, just taking his time to revel in the worship of the fans and feel on top of the world. Now, though, his green eyes are restless as they search for his blonde filmmaker, face attached to his camera, and the red-dyed hair of his petite girlfriend.

She's nowhere to be found, though, only Mark with his camera rolling and a shy grin on his face. A bad feeling was starting to grow in his stomach but he ignored it as he sung the last chords of the song and flung the microphone carelessly down, jumping off the stage.

"Mark?" he asked, throat raw and hoarse. It hadn't taken him long to push his way through the throngs of people and grab his scrawny friend's arm. Mark's face is excited, blue eyes wide, but his smile slips a little at the tight frown on the rocker's face. "We need to go."

The ride home in the taxi is silent and tense, because Mark knows that it's best not to try striking up conversation when Roger is in one of his moods. The guitarist grits his teeth and pays the driver, stepping out of the car with Mark on his heels, stalking into the building and beginning his journey up the endless flights of stairs.

In the seconds between finding Mark and flagging down a cab, Roger had decided against going to April's apartment for two reasons: she was more likely at his apartment, anyways, and he knew that he was paranoid. April knew self-defense, hell, she'd grown up in this city. And she knew enough not to overdose on the heroin they planned to share that night. She was fine, wherever she was.

And yeah, she'd never missed one of his gigs before, but she was only human- sometimes people forget. Sometimes they have other plans. So it's no big deal that she missed this one. Roger knows that his ego is probably a big part of what's making him anxious.

He strides into the apartment like everything is fine, plopping down on the couch, and after a bewildered moment Mark rolls with it. He shrugs, shakes the confused look off of his face, and sets down his camera so he can go take a piss. He never gets to take breaks during Roger's gigs, after all, because he's set on filming every single second-

The next thing Roger knows, his roommate is screaming and he's rushing to him, the dread bursting in his stomach just as he enters the bathroom behind Mark.

Blood everywhere- it's scarlet splattered on the walls and pink staining the water in the tub, which April is laying in with a razor floating near her face, limp and lifeless as she is. There's no mistaking it for a trip or sleep, because her head is underwater and her hair floats around her face, red as the blood from her slit wrists.

Mark reaches out, a horrified expression on his face, to touch her but Roger tugs him back roughly by the shoulder. The blonde filmmaker stumbles into him and looks fearfully at his friend, whose eyes are wild.

All that Roger can do is point at the mirror in explanation, where- painted in what looked like nail polish but could very well be April's blood- a cryptic, earth-shattering message scrawled in his girlfriend's loopy cursive.

"We've Got AIDS."

Two: Benny/Mimi

"Mmmm… that was fantastic," Benny muttered, grinning as he kissed lightly up and down the Latina's neck. She arched up into him, purring, and he was reminded once again of how beautiful his lover was. Mimi… She was everything he had ever wanted. "That was fantastic."

"You said that twice," she giggled, twisting around and climbing atop him again. So mischievous and bold, it was no wonder he'd fallen in love with her. She was perfection itself.

Few people knew that Benny had an inner poet, but when it surfaced it tended to get a little carried away. He didn't mind. Mimi really was a stunning individual.

"I know." Smiling lazily, he gripped her delicate waist and stroked his thumbs over her satiny skin and savored the moment. God, this was the life. What he wouldn't do to stay here forever. Forget business, forget Avenue B, forget Allison- forget everything but this hotel room and this mocha-skinned girl with the cherry lipgloss and the dancer's body who had just spent the last three hours in a passionate tangle of limbs with him, sparkles showering from her curly hair like silver rain and sticking to their sweaty bodies as they moaned and thrusted and touched and tasted.

If only he had met her a month sooner, this wouldn't have to be a secret.

"So… What now?" she asked after a moment of silence. He contemplated it, perhaps for a little longer than necessary because just as he opened his mouth to suggest that they pop in a movie the phone beside his head rang, making him wince.

"Shit." Who could it be calling, calling here and at this hour? A pit of dread began to form in his stomach. It couldn't be…

Before he could intercept it, however, Mimi was reaching one of those long arms over him and picking it up, greeting warmly in her young voice, "Hello? Mimi and Benny's room."

Benny strained his ears but he couldn't make out what was being said on the other end, just frantic chattering, and the cheery smile gradually slips from Mimi's face. It occurs to him that maybe he wasn't being paranoid after all, and maybe he had spent one too many nights here in a row, gotten careless…

"Who is it?" he asked apprehensively, mouthing the words so as not to disrupt the onesided conversation. Mimi, to his horror, blinked back tears as her face contorted in anger. She slammed the phone down on the receiver and scrambled out of bed, wrapping a sheet protectively around her as she stared at him unblinkingly.

He knows then that it's over.

"It's your wife."

Three: Mark/Maureen

It's not going to be long now until Roger is better. He's started eating again and Mark can see the gratitude in his eyes in the brief moments of clarity that the former rock star manages to steal from his painful withdrawal haze. That, at least, is a good thing.

Mark needs something to be happy about lately, so he thanks God for this. The amateur film company that he's been working for is staring to sell out, just a little, to the big leagues- but Mark knows that it's a slippery slope. He and all of his bohemian opinions won't last more than a couple of months in the poisonous environment before he's booted to the side, and it's not a great time to be fired.

After all, no one else is going to buy food for Roger and himself with his friend in withdrawal and Collins out of town.

It comes as no surprise that the filmmaker gets a glass of water thrown at his head when he peeks into Roger's room. The guitarist may be getting better but he's still pretty moody. He sighs, going into the kitchen to fetch a broom. He can't just leave glass shards all over the hardwood floor; not only might he step on them, but Roger might, and then there would be blood, too, and everything would go downhill from there.

He doesn't really mind cleaning up after Roger, though. The cocky, passionate man currently curled up in a tight ball in his room had been Mark's first friend when he dropped out and came to the city, and he felt like taking care of Roger was the least he could do to repay him for all of the tours, the helpful hints, the home and the friendship he'd received from him over the years.

When he finds Maureen in the living room, just standing there awkwardly, Mark does worry a little. Maureen is tall and curvy and doesn't worry about what anyone thinks of her. She never fidgets like this, especially in the loft that has, out of necessity, become her second home these past few months.

If she wanted to see Mark during Roger's withdrawal, it was understood that she would have to come to him.

She never came over wearing shiny lipstick, either, or holding a purse tightly in both hands. And then there was the skirt. Mark has never seen his fiery-tempered girlfriend in anything other than skintight jeans, and for some reason this new look is foreign and frightening to him.

Mark Cohen has never liked change. But then, most people don't.

Twisting her purse ion her hands, Maureen quirks a smile at him. Something is wrong. He can tell, but maybe if he just doesn't acknowledge it it will go away. At least he can hope so.

"Hey, Mo-" he greets her warmly, swooping in for a hug with his broom still in hand.

She steps out of his reach, eyes cast downwards. "I'm a lesbian," she blurts, and starts for the door without another word. Apparently that was all she had to say on the matter.

As for Mark, he's just standing there staring at the empty doorway, broom falling with a clatter to the floor.

Roger's glass wasn't the only thing that was broken that day.

Four: Maureen/Joanne

Maureen thought that once she broke up with Mark, proclaiming her newfound affinity for sex with women, she'd be in the clear. When she had been cheating on the poor nerdy filmmaker with her witty, smart, sexy chocolate-skinned lawyer she had always imagined that in the end she and Joanne would be together happily ever after, nothing to tear them apart.

The tears in her eyes at this moment are proving her wrong. It seems that no matter who she's with, Maureen finds a way to screw up her relationships.

She can't help who she is. Maureen is flirty and loves to show off her body, loves to be the center of attention. Growing up with a slew of younger siblings can do that to a person. But one thing that she hasn't ever had to call herself before was a whore.

Until now.

This is only their first breakup of many, but it hits Maureen like a train because she doesn't know that. She doesn't know anything. Not even that stupid waitresses' name.

The brunette shakes her hair around her face until it conceals her from the world, sulking. Joanne wasn't the first woman she'd slept with, not even the first one she'd slept with while she was supposed to be with Mark, but she is the first one that meant anything. The others were meaningless, either threesome partners or drunken, rebellious flings. But Joanne… This was the first time that Maureen had ever actually stuck around to imagine a future with someone instead of just living exclusively in the moment, for the moment. And losing Joanne is a little like losing that future that she had become so fond of by now.

It hurt.

The phone rings and she doesn't really want to answer the damn thing. Maureen doesn't like her apartment but at least no one ever comes there. In fact, even Mark by now probably doesn't remember where it is. Answering the phone might stop that incessant ringing noise but it will mean that she isn't along like she wants to be right now.

It's not like she's going to jeopardize her own misery. She'll let it ring until the machine picks it up, and then she hears to her dismay her fiancées voice floating faintly to her ears.

"Maureen, I know you're home. I just called… to say… Look. I'm sorry. I freaked out, okay? But you should be sorry, too."

Joanne sounds tired and a flash of hope lights up Maureen's world for a second. Maybe there's still a chance… No matter how small it is, she has to take it, because she's starting to realize how much Joanne means to her. And even though she's already dreading facing up to her faults and apologizing, and it will probably, inevitably happen again, she has to get up and run over to the phone.

"One more chance," she breathes into the phone, clutching it so tightly to her ear that her knuckles are white. "Just one more?"

There's a pause and Joanne sighs.

"One more chance…"

And so the cycle began.

Five: Collins/Angel

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

Collins leaned his head against the cold brick of the building behind him, vision still swimming just a little. He couldn't possibly have found himself in a worse situation. AIDS-ridden, coatless- except for the sleeve those idiotic bastards left behind, at least he knew they wouldn't get a decent price for the thing- and bleeding in a dark and dirty alley on Christmas Eve.

The situation could be bleaker, though. At the very least he still had his keys. He could still make his way up to the loft when he regained his balance and then Mark or Roger would clean him up, take him to the clinic down the street…

The tall, dark-skinned man winced when he tentatively touched his knee and his hand came away slick with maroon blood. It was dark and cold and he really wished that he still had his coat, because he couldn't afford to catch even a tiny cold if he wanted to continue living. If only Mark had seen the attack, he might be able to help him back to their building.

A human shape appeared at the end of the alley, holding a plastic pickle tub under his arm and drumsticks in one hand. The boy that Collins had seen playing on the street, perhaps? He certainly could be that drummer, but then he could also be some other malicious soul come to take something else from him, kill him for fun.

At least… Collins laughed at the thought that AIDS might actually be a blessing in this situation. He had a way to prevent himself from being raped.

Not many rapists that he knew of were too keen on contracting HIV.

But no, there is a concerned frown on the other man's face as he approaches and he kneels down in front of Collins as he places a hand on his shoulder.

Two pairs of brown eyes meet.

A spark ignites between them.

The Hispanic-looking man before him bites his lip as if debating what he should say. Collins just tries not to grimace at the pain in his knee. Finally…

"You okay, honey?"

Six: Roger/Mimi

He wasn't aware that they even had a neighbor downstairs. Then again, Roger had been out of it for half a year. They could have moved to California and lived with a troupe of travelling circus performers and he probably wouldn't have noticed until recently.

She's pretty, he thinks to himself, and he's surprised that he's even feeling well enough to notice things like that. Does this mean that his sex drive is back? That he's ready to… get back out into the world? Go on dates? Get his life back together after April and heroin tore it apart?

The thought of having to do all that makes a chill go down his spine and Roger thinks that maybe he isn't so ready.

At first he was sure that she was Mark, since he'd only just left and no one else ever came knocking on their door. But when the door swung open it revealed not a scrawny, too-pale filmmaker but a young Latina with big brown eyes. She smiled at him, tilting her head and thrusting a candle out towards him in both hands.

"Got a light?" she asks, and is it just him or is she fluttering her eyelashes? No, she is and she's coming closer until she's inside the loft with him, that alluring smile still on her face.

"I know you…" He muttered, trying to place where exactly he'd seen her before. That face was familiar but it's hard to remember things from way back before withdrawal. Then, he notices something out of the ordinary. "You're shivering."

Roger feels stupid the moment he points this out. Duh, she's shivering- the loft is an icebox and her apartment is too, seeing as no one living in the building is any better off than Mark and Roger are. It's not like any of them can pay for the luxuries like heat.

"It's nothing. They turned off my heat," she laughed, waving it off. She walks further into the loft, observing- he realizes that she's invited herself in but can't really make himself care, seeing as she has a dancer's body and a musical voice that he just wants to keep hearing, forever and ever. She stumbles and waves that off, too. "And… I'm just a little weak on my feet."

Before he can react, before he can voice his concerns or berate himself for being concerned for a girl he met two minutes ago, the girl is already talking again. She's suddenly much too close, holding that unlit candle between her hands and licking at her full lips.

She's already cast her spell on him. He misses the first part of what she says , lost in her eyes thinking about what it would be like to watch them in his bed…

"…light my candle?"

This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Roger grins.

Maybe he's ready to face life head on after all?

Seven: Mark/Roger

It's been over a year and a half since April slit her wrists in the bathroom, closing in on two. Things have changed, but the loft looks the same as ever.

Mark has always been quiet, an introvert. He hides behind his camera as often as he can, just thinking to himself. He muses about things that have happened and things yet to come.

Sometimes he still can't believe that Maureen is a lesbian. He would never have guessed- then again, his ex-girlfriend has always been unpredictable. And even though at the time he was crushed, Mark understands now that he could never really have loved her, not all the way. He and Maureen, they're great friends, always have been. And that's how they should stay.

It was probably for the best, in the end. At the time he'd been too focused on Roger to pursue a relationship with anyone, let alone attention-seeking Maureen. And Joanne could provide her with attention. It left a funny taste in his mouth to think that the two of them were on their way to Canada now to get married like they couldn't in New York, but he was happy for her.

Collins was doing remarkably well since Angel's passing. It's June, but he still goes out every say in the rising temperatures to visit the headstone. Despite what Angel probably instructed him to do, he isn't moving on. Mark knows that Collins could never let a new love into his life now, but he can be happy if he chooses to be. As he grows weaker, as the virus takes hold, he can only think that he will see Angel again even sooner than he'd hoped.

Roger is a different story. Mimi didn't hang on much longer after that terrifying Christmas Eve but she stayed long enough to give him his closure. Her heartbreaking smile as she recited her credo lingered behind his eyelids. "Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.

She slipped away quietly with Roger by her side, holding her hand all the while. They put her headstone next to Angel's and after a small funeral, there was nothing left to do but move on.

So that's what they did.

When he thinks about it, Mark is glad that Roger met Mimi. He's evolved from the frightened, scarred individual that April had left him and although he isn't the cynical person that he was when he met her he's also not the same man he was before April, before withdrawal. He's a new Roger, whose learned some hard lessons and still come out in one piece.

It comes as no surprise that he kisses Mark on the anniversary of April's death. It may have been slightly gruesome but it was the silver lining he'd been looking for as they stared down at her headstone, remembering the fiery redhead as she'd been when she was alive. He dropped the blood red roses at the foot of it and slipped his hand into Mark's, and just like that the pieces fall into place.

"I love you."

Maureen and Joanne are together, Benny is with his wife, Collins will be joining Angel soon up in heaven. And it only seems right that Mark and Roger are left to each other, because everyone- especially Angel- has known all along that they love each other more than anyone else in the world loves them.

As they walk down the sidewalk towards the Life, Mark smiles, hand held loosely in Roger's. His camera has stopped rolling but he doesn't see a reason to rewind it.

Mark has gotten everything he ever needed out of life and all it took was three little words.