Disclaimer: RENT does not belong to me.

Author's notes: This is the sad ending. If you want a happy ending then go back one chapter. You'll notice if you've read both that they start sort of similar. That was on purpose.

Sorry, but I think this one is even shorter than the happy one. Oh well…it is an ending.

And Mark is not supposed to make sense.

Roger entered the loft, trying to be quiet, figuring that Mark was probably asleep. And as he flicked the light switch on, placing his guitar case on the floor he learned that he was wrong. A hacking cough echoed in the apartment. He rushed in, forgetting about the door and went into the room he was sharing with Mark. Mark was on his side coughing violently. There were splatters of blood across his sheets, and dribbling a bit out of his mouth.

"Oh god." Roger quickly knelt near him starting to rub circles on his friends back, the therapy that had somewhat helped him before. Just the simple touch allowed Roger to feel a great deal of heat through Mark's shirt. "You were getting better." His voice had already gained more emotion, guilt of leaving Mark alone taking over.

Even though he was so hot, a shiver still ripped through Mark's body. It was clear that he wasn't the Mark that Roger had gotten so used to lately. It was the child like Mark, making his first appearance in a long time. "Roger can you hold me?"

"Yeah Mark." Roger didn't even think about it. He quickly got into the bed behind Mark, wrapping his arms around the filmmaker's waist and pulling him in close gingerly, to the point where each curvature of their bodies matched up; they fit together like two puzzle pieces, a fact they had discovered long ago. He then made a quick decision as he felt Mark's chest's rattling go through to his own. "Mark, the night was amazing…" He sighed. "They all loved your film. Everyone was so excited to see it. There was this energy. You would have loved it." He paused until Mark's hacking was over again. "I have it all on film for you…but I wish you could have been there, to see everyone's faces."

Mark sighed a little. "That sounds like…la vie boheme. We should do that again."

Roger couldn't say anything in response. Mark was fading, he could tell, he remembered seeing Angel like this. The very thought paralyzed his speech temporarily. Mark was going to leave him.

"Roger…" He coughed again, and then his voice got more upset, as though he was on the verge of tears. "I don't want to die alone."

"You're not going to die alone." Roger pointed out quickly, his ability to talk back. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." The truth was that he didn't think he would be able to move. If Mark left him he didn't think that he would be able to go on. He didn't want to be alone.

He could see a glass on Mark's table one that was once filled with water. The idea struck him, his mind going back to a time many years ago, when he had walked into the bathroom to find a bloody bathtub. With another sigh he reached, over his long callused fingers wrapping themselves around the glass.

"What are you doing?" Mark coughed again at the disruption of his body.

"Nothing." Roger spoke in his most soothing voice. "I'm just going to go with you." He slammed the glass into the table, a fragment remaining in his hands while the rest fell to the floor. "Just close your eyes."

"That sounds good…" Mark trailed off closing his eyes.

Roger gave a resigned sigh, before bringing the glass to one wrist, dragging it across, then doing the same with the other, and then putting his arms back around Mark. He closed his eyes, and started to breath as Mark did, until the breathing got slower and slower, until it finally stopped all together.

"Speak!"

Musetta froze, in the doorway to Mark and Roger's room at the sound of the answering machine.

"Mark Cohen? This is William Hickory, from Assorline Productions. I was at the showing of your film tonight, and I want to tell you how impressed I was with your work. Assorline productions is interested in talking with you about releasing your film in a more widespread area. We also think your friend Roger Davis might be able to work on a soundtrack for it. Call us back as soon as you get the chance."

He left a number, but Musetta walked the rest of the way into the room. Her paws dipped into the blood that was on the floor before she jumped onto the bed and forced her way in between the two bodies of her former owners, curling up and going to sleep.

That is the end of this story. I will be posting the start of a new one soon.