Categories > Theatre > Rent > Blood Brothers
Roger isn't sure if he should feel guilty. The events of the previous night are a jumble of images and sounds, and he's not sure where reality ends and the dreams from his restless half-sleep on the couch begin, if the needle that slid into Mark's vein (so easy, so very easy) was ever really in his hand or only in his mind.
There's an easy way to find out, the voice of reason whispers. You remember where you hid the needle. Go. Look in that drawer, see if deep inside it there's a plastic bottle with an empty syringe in it. Just look.
He doesn't.
He looks down instead, at the empty street through the windowpane, and he wonders what it would mean, if he did what he remembers doing. Betrayal, devastation, a death sentence. He could confess, but what would that gain either of them? If he did it, if he did it... Mark will die, likely not long after him. This will happen whether or not he knows.
If he doesn't know, Roger won't be alone. If he doesn't know... If he doesn't know, if Mark just... finds out... then who will he turn to? His best friend.
He's sick for thinking like this, but wasn't he sick already? This was what he wanted, to drag Mark down with him, to claim him in a way that no one else could. Even if he dies tomorrow, Mark will always have part of him. Forever.
If it happened at all.
If it did, Mark will have this whether or not he knows what happened. Whether or not he hates him. And who will protect him? Who will look after him, make sure he sleeps, who will notice when he comes or goes, who will pry him away from his camera? Who will give a damn about him? Not Maureen. Not Joanne. Collins is back in Boston. Who will he have? Who can love him and understand him like Roger can? No one.
So why should he say anything, real or not? Friendship, he thinks. Honesty. He believes in those things, in theory, anyway. But what if the preservation of one means the sacrifice of the other? Mark will suffer more if he knows, and it won't change anything. He's been over this.
His thoughts are interrupted by the door to Mark's room opening, and everything else is forgotten as Mark shuffles out, his shirt discarded sometime in the night. His skin glows in the weak light filtering through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes look like they were painted there by a master. He's even pretty hung over, for fuck's sake.
"You're up early,"Mark says, squinting into the morning sunlight, but there's no surprise in his voice. This is a familiar scene for the two of them.
"You know me," Roger says. "If I sleep more than once a month, they take away my tortured artist license."
"We can't have that." He gives Roger a pained smile. "Does your head hurt as much as mine does right now?"
"More."
"You should drink some water or something. Not coffee. It's dehydration."
"Do you want to drink the tap water?" Roger counters.
"On second thought..." Mark shuffles over to the refrigerator and peers inside. "I'm pleased to report the milk is now a solid mass, and is well on its way to developing sentience."
"Good for it. Maybe you could interview it for your documentary." Only a small part of Roger is actually taking part in the conversation. The rest is just staring at the way Mark's pants are clinging to his hips.
"I would, but last I checked, 'documentary' wasn't a euphemism for 'horror movie'." Mark shuts the fridge door and immediately leans into it, pressing his forehead into the cool smoothness.
Roger manages to grin at him. "So why the hell do you film me?"
"Touché."
It's good. It's comfortable. This is what he wants to jeopardize, for what could have been a dream. And then Mark rubs at the crook of his elbow and frowns, and Roger freezes.
"I think something bit me," Mark mumbles, and scratches at it. And Roger can see this scene playing out now... The confession, the look of confusion and betrayal and hurt on Mark's face, and then... then, he doesn't know. He can't predict beyond that moment, but it's going to change everything. And, when he sees how Mark looks at him, the trust... It's going to break them both.
He can't tell him.
So... he's the concerned friend. Mark hasn't been tested in a long time... He can tell Mark that he's worried. He can even wait until the next time Maureen gets bored enough to take Mark out so they can "catch up", which is Maureen-speak for "fuck in a dirty bathroom somewhere and never speak of it again". It's happened once or twice, and Roger's willing to lay odds on it happening again.
After that... There's going to be a period of adjustment. Mark may be as tired of being alone as Roger himself is, but he's not going to welcome death. It's necessary, of course, but even after April, even after he didn't particularly want to live, he was angry... Angry because he should have had the choice, damnit, he should have gotten to pick his own death.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's denied Mark the same choice. It's the step Mark wouldn't have taken, and so Roger's taken it for him. That's how their friendship works. The rationalizations are piling up, but he's had a lot of time to lay the foundations for his own denial. Ever since Mimi's death, in fact. The world just got smaller and smaller until the only thing in it was Mark. Mark and Roger, and love and friendship and closer-than-brothers, but never close enough.
And really, it is better this way. There are no more if-onlys. If only I wasn't sick. If only Mark was willing to risk it. If only I knew that when I died, he'd come with me... This is it. He has everything he could want. He can give Mark this time to live as if he's not dying, and Roger can look at him now without his stomach twisting with frustration and longing and need. And then, when he finds out, when the test comes back positive... Roger will be there to pick up the pieces.
He should feel guilty for what he's done. But somehow, guilt feels a lot like relief.
"Hey. You look almost happy for once." Mark comes over and feels his forehead, pretending to be concerned. "Are you sick, or did you actually enjoy yourself last night?" Mark's hand is cool and slightly calloused, and Roger closes his eyes and just feels.
"...Roger? Getting disturbed, here."
Roger's eyes fly open and he's smiling suddenly, really smiling in a way that he hasn't since Mimi got sick for the last time. And then their arms are wrapped around each other, and Roger is laughing, and Mark is laughing with him even though he doesn't know the joke, but it doesn't matter because Roger's smiling again.
Finally Roger pulls away, grinning broadly and wiping tears from his eyes. "Sorry. It's just I think... I think last night was just what I needed... I think things are going to be okay now."
And Mark is smiling back, and everything is the way it should be.
There's an easy way to find out, the voice of reason whispers. You remember where you hid the needle. Go. Look in that drawer, see if deep inside it there's a plastic bottle with an empty syringe in it. Just look.
He doesn't.
He looks down instead, at the empty street through the windowpane, and he wonders what it would mean, if he did what he remembers doing. Betrayal, devastation, a death sentence. He could confess, but what would that gain either of them? If he did it, if he did it... Mark will die, likely not long after him. This will happen whether or not he knows.
If he doesn't know, Roger won't be alone. If he doesn't know... If he doesn't know, if Mark just... finds out... then who will he turn to? His best friend.
He's sick for thinking like this, but wasn't he sick already? This was what he wanted, to drag Mark down with him, to claim him in a way that no one else could. Even if he dies tomorrow, Mark will always have part of him. Forever.
If it happened at all.
If it did, Mark will have this whether or not he knows what happened. Whether or not he hates him. And who will protect him? Who will look after him, make sure he sleeps, who will notice when he comes or goes, who will pry him away from his camera? Who will give a damn about him? Not Maureen. Not Joanne. Collins is back in Boston. Who will he have? Who can love him and understand him like Roger can? No one.
So why should he say anything, real or not? Friendship, he thinks. Honesty. He believes in those things, in theory, anyway. But what if the preservation of one means the sacrifice of the other? Mark will suffer more if he knows, and it won't change anything. He's been over this.
His thoughts are interrupted by the door to Mark's room opening, and everything else is forgotten as Mark shuffles out, his shirt discarded sometime in the night. His skin glows in the weak light filtering through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes look like they were painted there by a master. He's even pretty hung over, for fuck's sake.
"You're up early,"Mark says, squinting into the morning sunlight, but there's no surprise in his voice. This is a familiar scene for the two of them.
"You know me," Roger says. "If I sleep more than once a month, they take away my tortured artist license."
"We can't have that." He gives Roger a pained smile. "Does your head hurt as much as mine does right now?"
"More."
"You should drink some water or something. Not coffee. It's dehydration."
"Do you want to drink the tap water?" Roger counters.
"On second thought..." Mark shuffles over to the refrigerator and peers inside. "I'm pleased to report the milk is now a solid mass, and is well on its way to developing sentience."
"Good for it. Maybe you could interview it for your documentary." Only a small part of Roger is actually taking part in the conversation. The rest is just staring at the way Mark's pants are clinging to his hips.
"I would, but last I checked, 'documentary' wasn't a euphemism for 'horror movie'." Mark shuts the fridge door and immediately leans into it, pressing his forehead into the cool smoothness.
Roger manages to grin at him. "So why the hell do you film me?"
"Touché."
It's good. It's comfortable. This is what he wants to jeopardize, for what could have been a dream. And then Mark rubs at the crook of his elbow and frowns, and Roger freezes.
"I think something bit me," Mark mumbles, and scratches at it. And Roger can see this scene playing out now... The confession, the look of confusion and betrayal and hurt on Mark's face, and then... then, he doesn't know. He can't predict beyond that moment, but it's going to change everything. And, when he sees how Mark looks at him, the trust... It's going to break them both.
He can't tell him.
So... he's the concerned friend. Mark hasn't been tested in a long time... He can tell Mark that he's worried. He can even wait until the next time Maureen gets bored enough to take Mark out so they can "catch up", which is Maureen-speak for "fuck in a dirty bathroom somewhere and never speak of it again". It's happened once or twice, and Roger's willing to lay odds on it happening again.
After that... There's going to be a period of adjustment. Mark may be as tired of being alone as Roger himself is, but he's not going to welcome death. It's necessary, of course, but even after April, even after he didn't particularly want to live, he was angry... Angry because he should have had the choice, damnit, he should have gotten to pick his own death.
It doesn't even occur to him that he's denied Mark the same choice. It's the step Mark wouldn't have taken, and so Roger's taken it for him. That's how their friendship works. The rationalizations are piling up, but he's had a lot of time to lay the foundations for his own denial. Ever since Mimi's death, in fact. The world just got smaller and smaller until the only thing in it was Mark. Mark and Roger, and love and friendship and closer-than-brothers, but never close enough.
And really, it is better this way. There are no more if-onlys. If only I wasn't sick. If only Mark was willing to risk it. If only I knew that when I died, he'd come with me... This is it. He has everything he could want. He can give Mark this time to live as if he's not dying, and Roger can look at him now without his stomach twisting with frustration and longing and need. And then, when he finds out, when the test comes back positive... Roger will be there to pick up the pieces.
He should feel guilty for what he's done. But somehow, guilt feels a lot like relief.
"Hey. You look almost happy for once." Mark comes over and feels his forehead, pretending to be concerned. "Are you sick, or did you actually enjoy yourself last night?" Mark's hand is cool and slightly calloused, and Roger closes his eyes and just feels.
"...Roger? Getting disturbed, here."
Roger's eyes fly open and he's smiling suddenly, really smiling in a way that he hasn't since Mimi got sick for the last time. And then their arms are wrapped around each other, and Roger is laughing, and Mark is laughing with him even though he doesn't know the joke, but it doesn't matter because Roger's smiling again.
Finally Roger pulls away, grinning broadly and wiping tears from his eyes. "Sorry. It's just I think... I think last night was just what I needed... I think things are going to be okay now."
And Mark is smiling back, and everything is the way it should be.
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