A/N: So...this is my second Rent fic. I've only ever seen the movie, but I really, REALLY wanna see it live. I hope that I get so some day. I hope you guys enjoy this! I have it all typed out so I'll be updating it once (maybe twice) a week. Please leave a review if you liked it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rent or the characters.

Chapter 1

The First Letter

January fifth, 1992 3:00 P.M. EST. On that date, at that time you would find Mark Cohen standing in front of his letter box, pulling out the small stack of mail sent to him and his roommate and best friend, Roger Davis. His camera bag was slug over his shoulder and his striped scar wrapped tightly around his neck. His fingers were nearly frozen from the winter air that crept through the cracks in the plaster of the walls and bad insulation. He climbed the stairs, going through the stack. Junk mail, junk mail, a letter from mom because he would hardly answer her calls, more junk mail. Wait...what was this?

A single letter caught his attention. It was a simple, plain white envelope. There was no return address or even a sending address. Just a name. His name to be exact. It wasn't hand written. It looked like it had been typed out on a typewriter. It was slightly off center too. He stared at the letter as he made his way up to the loft. He was still staring at it when he walked in. Roger was sitting on the couch playing the same three cords over and over, trying to find inspiration. He looked up when Mark shoved the entire stack of mail under his nose except the strange letter. He even jumped a bit. He'd heard Mark come in but hadn't expected that. He took the mail, stopping his playing, and looked up at the filmmaker curiously.

"What's that?" He asked, seeing the strange expression on his friend's face. Mark shrugged and sat down in the chair, placing his camera bag on the floor beside him.

"It's weird," He said, turning the letter over so that Roger could see the strange way it was addressed to him. "It just has my name." Roger shrugged.

"Maybe it's a prank," He said. "Open it. See what it is." Mark chewed on his bottom lip before sticking his finger under the seal and breaking it open. He pulled the single sheet of paper out and unfolded it. There was a coffee stain on the top right corner and the words were typed out in the same fashion as his name had been on the envelop. With a typewriter. His eyes moved over the page as he read the contents of the letter. It wasn't a prank, but a love letter. Or something like it.

Dear Mark,

I'm better at writing my feelings than I am at speaking them, so I'm sorry if this seems weird. I understand if you think I'm being stalkerish, but I really needed to tell you this. So, please. Bare with me?

I've been in love with you for a long time. I never realized it until about a week or so ago. It kind of just hit me smack in the forehead. You know, like when you're half awake and stumble around without really paying attention and end up walking face-first into a wall? Well, that's basically how this realization came to me. In the metaphorical sense.

The way you chew on your bottom lip when you're uncertain about something, leaving it wet and slightly swollen, makes me want to kiss you. And the way you stutter when you're nervous, too. Same thing. But, when you get that look in your eyes when you're worrying I just want to wrap my arms around you and tell you that everything will be okay.

Is that wrong of me to want to do these things? To want to kiss you and hold you? To have you all to myself?

I don't really think it is. For now I'm gonna keep who I am a secret. I'm not quite ready for you to know who I am yet. I hope you'll be patient enough to let me build up the courage.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

Mark read through the letter again. And then twice more. He had a secret admirer? Him? Roger was getting impatient. He stood and leaned over Mark's shoulder to get a look at the letter. He smirked.

"Aw. Marky's got a secret admirer!" He said, ruffling Mark's hair playfully. Mark grimaced and looked up at Roger with narrow eyes. "Oh come on! It's sweet." He was smirking devilishly. Mark sighed and folded the letter, carefully placing it back into the envelope.

"I-...I have no idea who it could be," He finally said, looking at his off-centered name on the envelope. "I mean...it could be any number of people!" He was sure that from some puffy white cloud Angel and Mimi were giggling like school girls over the fact that he had a secret admirer.

"They'll tell you at some point," Roger said, moving to take his place on the wornout couch once more. "That's how secret admirers work. They write you letters until they're ready to reveal who they are."

"Have you ever had a secret admirer?" Mark asked. Roger laughed and looked at him with a grin.

"I had a lot of them in high school," He said smugly. "They kinda morphed into groupies when we came here." Mark rolled his eyes.

"Oh yeah. I almost forgot," He said, sarcasm dripping from his words. Roger shook his head at him.

"Get any good film?" He asked, changing the subject. Mark had almost forgotten about his camera in the shock. He reached down and pulled his camera out of his bag, placing the letter inside. He held the familiar weight of his camera in his lap, running his hand over it.

"Not really," He admitted with a sigh. Roger tilted his head, silently asking for more of an explanation. "Nothing really caught my attention. So, I've got a bunch of crap and wasted film."

"You'll figure something out," Roger said, picking up his guitar and starting to play something. He played more than three notes, so that was a definite improvement. The conversation ended and Mark stood to see what was in the kitchen that could be deemed edible. Cereal. That was all they had left. He poured some into a bowl and looked in the refrigerator. No milk. Dry cereal and water it was. He got a cup of water and sat down at the table, spooning dry Captain Crunch into his mouth.

"Did you remember to take your AZT?" Mark asked absently. Roger made a sound in the affirmative and paused in his playing to lean down towards the tattered notebook to jot down something.

It had been a little over a year since Mimi had left them to join Angel in the great beyond. At first Roger had been devastated by her passing. But he moved on rather quickly. When asked about it Roger simply said that Mimi would've wanted him to go on living instead of moping. Mark had been glad for that, silently thanking Mimi for her influence on him. Though Mark had felt pangs of jealousy every time he saw them holding hands or kissing, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but friendship and brotherly affection for the outgoing dancer. Roger had helped her through her addictions and in return she had helped him become happier, even in death.

Mark knew he had little to no chance with his best friend and crush. So...this new secret admirer just might help him get over him completely. He smiled softly into his bowl of dry cereal, remembering the typed words. It was nice to be admired.

~~~MR~~~

January eighth, 1992, 7:34 P.M. EST. Roger Davis sat at a table in his friend Collins' apartment with his hands in his hair leaning over a typewriter staring at a white page of paper with only two words typed on it. 'Dear Mark'. It was a few minutes later that Collins walked into the room and saw Roger looking like he was about to start moping. He smiled and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, grabbing his attention.

"Here," He said, placing a bottle of beer in front of him. "Take a break. Brainstorm." Roger sighed and leaned back, grabbing the beer. He hooked the top of it on the edge of the table and hit it, effectively popping off the top. He put it to his lips and took two long swigs from the bottle.

"It's just hard to write it without giving away that it's me," He said putting the beer down. Collins grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, looking at the typewriter. It was the day after New Years, January second, when Roger had come to him asking him to help him come up with a way to tell Mark that he loved him.

It had been Mimi, laying against the starch white pillows and sheets of her hospital bed, that had told Roger to stop procrastinating and tell Mark how he felt. No day but today. He was too nervous to just come out and say it, so Collins had helped him come up with the secret admirer plot. They had it all planned out. The letters would continue until February twelfth. The last letter would give a meeting place, date, and time. Then the truth would be revealed and they'd see how it went.

Collins pulled a tightly rolled joint from his jacket pocket and lit it, taking a couple of hits before passing it to Roger. The pot usually loosened Roger's fingers up enough to let the words and ideas flow. Collins knew that Mark would never suspect Roger of being the one behind the letters. He was too convinced that Roger wasn't interested in him. Too busy hiding behind his camera to see what was glaringly obvious and right there in front of him.

They passed the joint back and forth in silence until it was practically gone and Collins had to get a pair of needle nose pliers to serve as a roach clip. When the joint was gone and in the ashtray, the sound of Roger's typing resounded throughout the apartment.