Disclaimer: Mark's not mine, Roger's not mine… April is not so much mine either. I kind of borrow this version from Evie.
A/N: This was my Christmas present for Evie-dear. Not at all related to Christmas itself, but that is irrelevant.
Mark got almost everything secondhand from Roger. Clothes, often too big for him and a little worn. Notebooks, battered by the time Roger got tired of scribbling song lyrics in them, but still usable when Mark got them to write screenplays. Even girlfriends—Mark was a safe rebound after a fling with the rock star. Almost everything Mark loved and cherished, with the exception of his camera and his scarf, had been Roger's first.
Except for April.
She was that bright girl in his creative writing class, the one who always had a smile for everyone, who'd break into song at a moment's notice for no reason at all. April was his first friend in college, back when Mark was still awkward around even his roommate. Then, she was always sunbeams and light, unbelievably optimistic, and when Mark was with her the world was a little friendlier, a little less gray.
April taught Mark how to see the world, not just pass it by.
"Look," she said one day when they were lying on their backs on the grass in the quad, and pointed up at a cloud. "What do you see?"
Mark frowned at it and tried to make out some shape. "Um…"
When he still hadn't come up with an answer after a minute or two, she sighed in exasperation and rolled over onto her stomach to look at him. "For goodness sake, Mark, it's not a test. It's just… imagination. There's no right answer. Just tell me what you see."
He shrugged awkwardly and mumbled, "I don't know, 'Ril. I don't usually look at clouds…"
She grinned and kissed his cheek before resting her head on his chest. "I'll teach you, then."
And she did, of course, though when he was around her he could rarely pay attention to anything but her. Her smile, her laugh, everything. April was the reason he stayed at school as long as he did, and when he finally decided to drop out of college, it was her he regretted leaving the most.
The day he left, she skipped a class to spend time with him, and whenever he'd start to doubt his decision April would just smile at him and slip an arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry, Mark. You'll go to the city, and you'll turn into a famous filmmaker while I'm sitting here in college doing nothing. Just promise you'll remember me while you're there. Maybe even save a place in your apartment for me."
He looked up at her, startled. "You… um… you'd actually want to… I mean, once you're out of college you'd want to…"
"Of course," she said with a giggle. "Don't be silly. You're my best friend. Why wouldn't I want to follow you to the city? Just… not yet, okay?" She kissed his cheek, right by the corner of his mouth, and he immediately flushed bright red.
"I—uh—okay," he stammered, though to tell the truth he felt much more than just okay.
A few years in New York with Roger, seeing April now and then—weekends when she was free, he'd go to visit her, or she'd come to the city to visit him. In all of that time, she never seemed to change. Still the same shining optimist as ever before, with that same smile made of sunshine. And whenever the two were together there was always the comfort of touch—she'd walk down the street with her arm around his shoulders, or they'd hold hands, or she'd rest her head against his shoulder or curl up next to him on the couch. Even if they were never exactly a couple, everyone acknowledged them as a pair. Mark and April. April and Mark. MarkandApril, a single unit, closer even than MarkandRoger or AprilandMaureen or anything else.
On camera, she had a presence Mark never could resist trying to capture. None of Maureen and Roger's intentional drama, or their need to have all eyes on them, or Collins and Benny's slight reluctance to be filmed. April would simply acknowledge the camera and then move on, completely at ease. Mark could catch every smile, every laugh, the impromptu singing and the graceful dances down the sidewalk. Unconsciously beautiful, natural… The camera gave him an excuse to watch her, and he never could hide his smile when he did.
Those films of her always were his favorite to watch, later—the films from when she was completely his. MarkandApril, and she was the part of him that found beauty on the gray days, pointed him to the light. Once she was gone, he had to find that for himself, and the only things to point the way were those old films, with her smile and her voice.
Her, pointing to something offscreen, didn't matter what, and the same question she'd always ask. "Look, Mark. What do you see?"