Summary: Pre-RENT. Rated R for language and probably other junk. Mark and
Roger separate when Roger graduates with a lot of unresolved issues between
them. They meet again in NYC a few years later and happy slash ensues.
(well not really, but shit happens.)
Notes: This is the beginning of my newest epic, thank you kindly to all those who read and reviewed 'From The Soul Of A Young Man', I hope you all enjoy this one just as much. It's a little strange, there are two POVs (Mark and Roger) but Roger's is present day(pre-rent) and Mark's is in the past (while they were in high school). So I'll put the little helper title on the first two chapters but after that figure it out. Also, my timeline of events (particularly when April died and Roger got AIDS) might be a little different than what it is in most stories, but I don't think it's that crazy and it doesn't throw anything completely off. Ok? Super! Enjoy!
Oh and yes I originally intended to only post the first two chapters, but since my precious compy (or I guess just the internet connection) decided to have another bitchy fit tantrum I had a few extra days to make crazies. Therefore here are chapters 1-5. It'll only be a few at a time after this hopefully.
Chapter 1 -You're Better Than This-
+Roger's POV+ -present-
My head rests against the cold brick behind it. I lay sprawled on the ground, one arm draped across my stomach, the other out beside me. I take a moment to glance at my tracks, wondering when the last time I had a hit was. It was either yesterday or this morning, maybe earlier, later. . . it' s been too long either way. I move my arm slightly and it bumps something and I turn my head to look, but it's only my guitar case. I'd forgotten I still have it. I haven't played it in months and I keep leaving it in alleyways. I'm surprised it's still around. For a moment I consider selling it.
I feel my pains coming on, the ones I get when I've gone too long without a hit. My stomach clenches and I shiver slightly. It's almost winter, and it's really not that cold yet, but my shivers aren't caused by the weather. There's a man approaching, bundled in a large coat, a scarf tight around his neck. He's filming, filming the street, the people, a few birds. He doesn't really appear to know what's happening around him, despite the fact he's capturing every moment in his camera. Maybe he's got some money.
"Hey, hey you!"
He looks around, then down at me. He looks surprised. Something in his face triggers something inside me, but I don't know what. He's good looking, not exceptionally handsome, but he has a nice face, a kind face. He looks so nervous, like I'm going to jump and attack him at any moment. I make an effort to lean back into the wall so I don't look like I'm going for him.
"You have any money? I'll blow you for money." I say. It's my usual tactic, I'm not embarrassed by it anymore, though I used to be. It's usually what people want. Especially the assholes that deal. I'm able to look him directly in the eye while I say it. He blushes and looks away, then starts walking again.
"C'mon man, you need some love, I need some life. Even trade."
He shakes his head sharply, and moves to continue. I reach out to him as he passes, my hand brushing the leg of his pants. He stops and looks over at me.
"Please." I whisper.
He's staring at me intently, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes snap open with understanding. I watch him silently, cautious.
"Roger?"
I try to back into the wall, my former confidence gone. "How do you know me?"
His face falls. "You don't remember me."
It's a statement, not a question. He starts to move on, pushing his glasses up on his nose and lowering his head in a way that, now that I think about it, is very familiar.
"Wait!" I call out. I struggle to my feet, using the wall for support. He looks back at me, his face more than somewhat crestfallen and hurt. I take a step toward him, but stop when he backs away. That face, I remember now those glasses. The eyes that were always downcast, except when he smiled, if he ever did. Think, think. Something to do with music, my guitar. School musicals, talent show, tech crew, the stage, yes!
"Mark!"
His face gets lighter and he allows a small smile. I'm shaking my head.
"The drugs, Mark, the drugs." I lift a scarred arm and tap my head with a finger. "I don't remember things too good anymore."
He frowns again and looks at the ground.
"What happened to you?" He asks in a quiet voice.
I lean against the wall and shove my hands in my pockets. I shrug and sigh loudly.
"The guys in the band did it, she did it. I just, I just wanted to be a part of it all."
"She? April?"
I nod and look at the ground. "She's dead, Mark."
Shock registers on his face. "Dead? How. . ."
I look up in his eyes. "She killed herself, slit her wrists in our bathroom. She had AIDS."
"AIDS? But. . ."
"So do I." I close my eyes so I don't have to see the look on his face.
"What! Roger what did you do to yourself?"
"Do you have any money?"
"What!"
"Money, I need. . ."
"Jesus, Roger! No! I'm broke!"
"Oh." I look back at the ground and then out at the other people on the street. He doesn't seem as interesting as before.
"Roger? ROGER!" He's yelling, snapping his fingers in front of my face.
"What?" I say, irritated. There's really only one thing on my mind now.
He grabs my hand. "Come home with me Roger, please. You're better than this."
I look over at him.
"Where do you live?" He asks me.
I smirk and gesture at the ground and my guitar. "Here, anywhere."
He looks almost angry. "Here! Roger please, come with me." He's pulling me now.
I shake my head. "You don't want me where you are."
"Yes I do! I want you anywhere but here." His eyes go to the ground. "I've missed you."
I pull my arm from him, slowly.
"I'm not the same, Mark. You don't know me anymore."
He moves closer and hesitantly touches my face. His fingers trace the outline of my jaw before he lays his palm flat against my cheek.
"Please, just for a minute then. You can eat something, get warm, we can talk. . ."
The look in his eyes stirs more memories and emotions from the past. What exactly. . . he was my friend, friends at first. Then, summer, he had told me something, I had. . . I had kissed him. We were together. Together and then I graduated and left. I haven't seen him for 3 or maybe 4 years. I think he went to college or something for a while.
I find myself nodding at him, and following when he pulls on my hand. I draw back for a moment, and he whips around, but I'm only grabbing my guitar. The case keeps hitting my legs when I walk. I only keep it out of habit. Why don't I just sell it? I'd have enough money for a few hits at least. I try to think where I can sell it, but Mark starts to pull me in a different direction, around a corner, and I lose track of my thoughts. He keeps turning around to glance at me, like his grip isn't enough to assure him of my presence.
"Where the hell are we going, Mark?" I wheeze a few blocks later. I'm exhausted, this is the most activity I've had in months.
"It's not much farther." He says, looking back at me again. He stops walking and I run into him.
"What the?"
"Do you need a break?" He asks.
I shake my head, breathing hard. "No, I'm just going to. . ."
I fall to my knees and my face hits the ground. I hear Mark yell my name and then his hands shaking my body but I close my eyes and ignore it.
+++
Notes Continued: And that's just the beginning. Please let me know if I've made any errors (grammatical or spelling), cause I suck at that stuff.
Notes: This is the beginning of my newest epic, thank you kindly to all those who read and reviewed 'From The Soul Of A Young Man', I hope you all enjoy this one just as much. It's a little strange, there are two POVs (Mark and Roger) but Roger's is present day(pre-rent) and Mark's is in the past (while they were in high school). So I'll put the little helper title on the first two chapters but after that figure it out. Also, my timeline of events (particularly when April died and Roger got AIDS) might be a little different than what it is in most stories, but I don't think it's that crazy and it doesn't throw anything completely off. Ok? Super! Enjoy!
Oh and yes I originally intended to only post the first two chapters, but since my precious compy (or I guess just the internet connection) decided to have another bitchy fit tantrum I had a few extra days to make crazies. Therefore here are chapters 1-5. It'll only be a few at a time after this hopefully.
Chapter 1 -You're Better Than This-
+Roger's POV+ -present-
My head rests against the cold brick behind it. I lay sprawled on the ground, one arm draped across my stomach, the other out beside me. I take a moment to glance at my tracks, wondering when the last time I had a hit was. It was either yesterday or this morning, maybe earlier, later. . . it' s been too long either way. I move my arm slightly and it bumps something and I turn my head to look, but it's only my guitar case. I'd forgotten I still have it. I haven't played it in months and I keep leaving it in alleyways. I'm surprised it's still around. For a moment I consider selling it.
I feel my pains coming on, the ones I get when I've gone too long without a hit. My stomach clenches and I shiver slightly. It's almost winter, and it's really not that cold yet, but my shivers aren't caused by the weather. There's a man approaching, bundled in a large coat, a scarf tight around his neck. He's filming, filming the street, the people, a few birds. He doesn't really appear to know what's happening around him, despite the fact he's capturing every moment in his camera. Maybe he's got some money.
"Hey, hey you!"
He looks around, then down at me. He looks surprised. Something in his face triggers something inside me, but I don't know what. He's good looking, not exceptionally handsome, but he has a nice face, a kind face. He looks so nervous, like I'm going to jump and attack him at any moment. I make an effort to lean back into the wall so I don't look like I'm going for him.
"You have any money? I'll blow you for money." I say. It's my usual tactic, I'm not embarrassed by it anymore, though I used to be. It's usually what people want. Especially the assholes that deal. I'm able to look him directly in the eye while I say it. He blushes and looks away, then starts walking again.
"C'mon man, you need some love, I need some life. Even trade."
He shakes his head sharply, and moves to continue. I reach out to him as he passes, my hand brushing the leg of his pants. He stops and looks over at me.
"Please." I whisper.
He's staring at me intently, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes snap open with understanding. I watch him silently, cautious.
"Roger?"
I try to back into the wall, my former confidence gone. "How do you know me?"
His face falls. "You don't remember me."
It's a statement, not a question. He starts to move on, pushing his glasses up on his nose and lowering his head in a way that, now that I think about it, is very familiar.
"Wait!" I call out. I struggle to my feet, using the wall for support. He looks back at me, his face more than somewhat crestfallen and hurt. I take a step toward him, but stop when he backs away. That face, I remember now those glasses. The eyes that were always downcast, except when he smiled, if he ever did. Think, think. Something to do with music, my guitar. School musicals, talent show, tech crew, the stage, yes!
"Mark!"
His face gets lighter and he allows a small smile. I'm shaking my head.
"The drugs, Mark, the drugs." I lift a scarred arm and tap my head with a finger. "I don't remember things too good anymore."
He frowns again and looks at the ground.
"What happened to you?" He asks in a quiet voice.
I lean against the wall and shove my hands in my pockets. I shrug and sigh loudly.
"The guys in the band did it, she did it. I just, I just wanted to be a part of it all."
"She? April?"
I nod and look at the ground. "She's dead, Mark."
Shock registers on his face. "Dead? How. . ."
I look up in his eyes. "She killed herself, slit her wrists in our bathroom. She had AIDS."
"AIDS? But. . ."
"So do I." I close my eyes so I don't have to see the look on his face.
"What! Roger what did you do to yourself?"
"Do you have any money?"
"What!"
"Money, I need. . ."
"Jesus, Roger! No! I'm broke!"
"Oh." I look back at the ground and then out at the other people on the street. He doesn't seem as interesting as before.
"Roger? ROGER!" He's yelling, snapping his fingers in front of my face.
"What?" I say, irritated. There's really only one thing on my mind now.
He grabs my hand. "Come home with me Roger, please. You're better than this."
I look over at him.
"Where do you live?" He asks me.
I smirk and gesture at the ground and my guitar. "Here, anywhere."
He looks almost angry. "Here! Roger please, come with me." He's pulling me now.
I shake my head. "You don't want me where you are."
"Yes I do! I want you anywhere but here." His eyes go to the ground. "I've missed you."
I pull my arm from him, slowly.
"I'm not the same, Mark. You don't know me anymore."
He moves closer and hesitantly touches my face. His fingers trace the outline of my jaw before he lays his palm flat against my cheek.
"Please, just for a minute then. You can eat something, get warm, we can talk. . ."
The look in his eyes stirs more memories and emotions from the past. What exactly. . . he was my friend, friends at first. Then, summer, he had told me something, I had. . . I had kissed him. We were together. Together and then I graduated and left. I haven't seen him for 3 or maybe 4 years. I think he went to college or something for a while.
I find myself nodding at him, and following when he pulls on my hand. I draw back for a moment, and he whips around, but I'm only grabbing my guitar. The case keeps hitting my legs when I walk. I only keep it out of habit. Why don't I just sell it? I'd have enough money for a few hits at least. I try to think where I can sell it, but Mark starts to pull me in a different direction, around a corner, and I lose track of my thoughts. He keeps turning around to glance at me, like his grip isn't enough to assure him of my presence.
"Where the hell are we going, Mark?" I wheeze a few blocks later. I'm exhausted, this is the most activity I've had in months.
"It's not much farther." He says, looking back at me again. He stops walking and I run into him.
"What the?"
"Do you need a break?" He asks.
I shake my head, breathing hard. "No, I'm just going to. . ."
I fall to my knees and my face hits the ground. I hear Mark yell my name and then his hands shaking my body but I close my eyes and ignore it.
+++
Notes Continued: And that's just the beginning. Please let me know if I've made any errors (grammatical or spelling), cause I suck at that stuff.