Author's Note/Disclaimer: This is my first Rent story ever... whoo! I got the idea for this from writing a few Rent drabbles on Myspace and Deviantart, but really, this was (and is I guess), an experiment to see if I can write in this category. I'd like to thank my beta reader for this story, Rapp Fan, who went over two drafts of this and helped me out with the plot. I'd also like to thank my little sister, the Ghost Peacock as she calls herself on Deviantart, for reading it. Lastly, I own none of the characters or anything else here. As I've heard this show quoted in disclaimers here before, "I don't own emotion, I rent." Okay, well that about wraps it up, enjoy!

*S. Snowflake

La Chanteuse et la Danseuse

(The Singer and the Dancer)

Part I

* * *

"Nothing; your smile reminded me of-"

"-I always remind people of-who is she?"

"-She died…"

Music played faintly from the loft window on the corner of 11th Street and Avenue B. Soft notes drifted down from the strums of a guitar as the entrancing tune continuously repeated and morphed. It was certainly not a full-fledged song, as the melody seemed to be experimental at best, but for the few who heard it in the run-down building, it was a familiar complement to the ever-Bohemian atmosphere.

Roger Davis, the bohemian musician, was playing the guitar on the top floor. He was the singer and composer, and was working on forming a rock band like the one he had before… well, before his life seemed to end. It was a good idea, but it was more difficult than it seemed. Through his own devices in the past two years, Roger had driven many of his friends away from him. Hopefully though, Roger might still obtain the burning dream in his heart to show the world the one great song he had created now that he was back in Alphabet City.

He formed a more stable melody with his guitar and began to sing:

"The night you came into my life,

When there's moonlight I see your eyes..."

He paused, thinking over the verses again. It's almost ready, but still, I need to change some words.

Without a second longer of pondering, he began to improvise. Sometimes just leaving a project for a moment or two might make some other ideas flow into his mind,. He closed his eyes and thought of what the new song meant. It was about the girl he loved; her hair in the moonlight and her eyes that called to him so. He could just barely see her face in his mind when his song changed once more. The chords were somehow shifting beyond his control or care, and they formed another song.

Am I playing… no, I can't be playing that old song, he thought, but then listened to the music that his fingers were subconsciously creating. It was indeed "that old song", and it made him think about other things: A time not too long ago. A freedom that had once been his. And another girl he had known before.

Again, without thinking, he began to sing:

"That sunny smile I see, when you look at me…

Oh-oh, that sunny smile…"

He remembered the old chords and continued:

"When you smile at me I see springtime all the time.

Oh-oh, that sunny smile…"

The smile belonged to a girl Roger once loved. He had met her during a performance for his old band. As he sang to the screaming crowd, he saw her in the blinding light of the floods above him. She did not scream mindlessly like the rest, she just smiled at him. Her smile had him hooked from that moment and he never forgot it.

Soon after, he asked the girl out. Her name was April, a springtime name for her springtime smile. Her hair was a strawberry blonde, but definitely not naturally so. She wore heavy makeup, making her eyes look almost like a cat's, and her nails were long and painted a shiny black like the midnight sky. April was always interesting to talk to, as she always seemed to want to have fun, but there was something about her Roger found even more intriguing: she was a singer.

When April sang, her smile reflected her feelings. If the song was happy, her smile beamed brightly. If the song was sad, her face could evoke tears, whether they were Roger's or her own. April's voice was the other feature that stood out in Roger's mind as being specifically her own. She never really had formal voice training, as many Bohemians did not in their arts, but her voice flickered through sounds of living and dying, like the dimming glow of a candle. It took some time for him to realize it, but Roger had quickly fallen in love with her. \

"Hey, April?" he would have asked on one of those nights when he was writing a new song and had his girlfriend over.

"Yeah, Rog?" she would have replied quietly on the couch beside him, twirling his hair around with her fingers affectionately or perhaps smoking a cigarette and slowly letting out a puff of the thick, gray smoke.

"Mind singing to this for a sec?" he would ask, and then strum on the guitar. He would sing the words softly to himself, then play the chords over again so that April could hear them. She would breath deeply, and through all the cigarette smoke and dank air of the loft, she could make the music just click.

She liked singing for him. Roger found that out during her more upset nights. She was definitely emotional and very easily upset. When they did get in fights, they were simply awful. The drugs all made things get unreal, and they could no longer think things out by themselves, so they would fight. The final solution required a good smoke or drink, but at least it would stop eventually and they could talk and hopefully sing together. It calmed them both down just to harmonize. Sometimes though, after their ceremonial substances, passion, and music, April would start crying.

"Nobody would care if I was gone, you know," she whispered to Roger one night on the couch as he played.

Roger stopped picking at the guitar. "It's not true, April."

"Sure it is. Mom and Dad didn't want me, that's why I'm here, starving."

"They'd still care if you vanished, or… or worse," he said.

"How d'you know, Rog? You've never met them. They hate me, Rog." She sobbed. "As soon as Mom found out I was on drugs, she didn't want to be around me, and Dad, well, Dad just kept my college money for himself. If I died, they'd still have my brothers to be proud of… Fucking Steve! Fucking Brent!" She growled. "Good boys who got real jobs instead of being a fucking artist!"

"April…"

She sighed and inched closer to Roger as he played his guitar again, singing in an ironically haunting voice:

"Oh-oh, that smile that sings like April showers,

Bring your May flowers to me…"

"You're singing it wrong," Roger said. "You can't sing that song like that."

April scoffed and looked into her stash. "Well, shit. I don't have anything," she muttered and sighed again before leaning her head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, she began to fall asleep as Roger kept playing the song he wrote for her like a lullaby.

"Rog?" she asked, half awake.

"Yeah, babe?"

"I think I need you, or else I'd-I'd really lose it." She gave him that smile he adored so much. "Promise me you won't give up on us… on me?"

He grinned back. "Why would I ever give up on you?"

If only Roger could have known that April had meant those words about losing it at the time. He might have then been able to reverse April's fate.