The Window On the West
The Window on the West
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Roger’s POV
Setting: After “Another Day”, Mark and Roger’s apartment
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I just like to toy with their fictional emotions sometimes
For those who haven't seen the show, Roger and Mimi both have AIDS, only they don't know about the other. Mimi is Roger's neighbor, and has just come by the apartment declaring her need to go out and requesting Roger come with her. He turns her down, basically telling her she knows nothing about life because she's too young, and she tells him to live for no day but today.
Roger stared out the window in disgust. How dare she? This young thing just bursting into his place uninvited, wailing about taking her out somewhere, then preaching to him about living for today. What did she know? What could she possibly know about waking up each morning knowing you were dying?
Slamming his fist on the windowsill, Roger turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He spotted his guitar on the table, where he’d left it when she first came in. Her, that candle, and the damn bag of smack. That was a path he didn’t need to be crossing again. A year. A year he’d been sober now, and he wasn’t going to risk it again. Picking up the guitar, he strummed a few minor chords, then put it down angrily. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Dammit! That dance...the feel of her small frame was still crystal clear on his skin. The moonlight glimmering off of her hair, that sweet smile that completely contrasted the dance club clothes.
A stripper? An S&M stripper? Did he not have any taste anymore? But she was beautiful. That was obvious, of course, but she also seemed to have... He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. An innocence about her. Innocent? This stripping, dope taking, bold sex symbol? And yet, somehow, it was obvious. Those huge brown eyes were just too vulnerable. He could feel the uncertainty about her. One thing he remembered from his group sessions in rehab was that most people starting using due to low self-esteem and poor environments. This girl probably hadn’t asked for her situations to be what they were.
Grabbing the guitar, he tried desperately to play again. He would write a song, it would be famous, and it would be his legacy once he was gone. It would be perfection. If only he could get out something more than a pop version of Musetta’s Waltz. Roger carried his beloved guitar over to the couch and walked back over to the window.
He was suddenly more restless than he’d been in months. It had been months since Roger had gone anywhere. Mark and Collins had both begged him to, and tonight would be the perfect chance. That new guy...girl...whatever, Angel, had offered to pay for everyone. A night at Maureen’s show, and dinner at the Life Café sounded like a good time, and it had been so long since he’d had a good time.
Leaning with his head against the cold windowpane, Roger contemplated the last year. He hadn’t felt anything in so long. But when Mimi...that was her name...when Mimi had kissed him... For the first time since his diagnosis, someone had cut through his shell. He felt different when she looked at him. She looked at him like a person, not as a patient who was knocking on death’s door. He should’ve opened his arms, his heart to her. Instead he’d pushed her away. He was such a jackass sometimes, and this was a classic example. A smart man would’ve invited her in, told her he had AIDS, asked her to dinner if she was still interested after that, and then taken her to Maureen’s show. But he hadn’t. Roger had shown her the door and ignored her desperate plea, and never once acknowledged his condition.
The sky was so dark, but the clouds were building. He couldn’t see the moon anymore. It was snow weather. Soon flakes would fall, and make the non-heated building even colder. Roger stared out at the street, saw the random beggars, dealers, and thieves. He was about to turn away again when a fast movement from below caught his eye. A pair of skintight pants and high heels peeked out from under a tattered tartan jacket. The pants were familiar, but what sparked his memory was the head of thick, curly hair. Hair that gleamed in the moonlight...
He had to go after her. Making his final decision, he grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair. Before he could rethink what he was about to do, Roger ran down the stairs and out into the cold.
Sorry it's late, but it's been a crazy few weeks. Besides which, it's a perfect time to post this, as today is the anniversary of Jonathan Larson's death. RIP, Jonathan...No Day But Today.
Cross-posted to my personal journal.
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Roger/Mimi, Roger’s POV
Setting: After “Another Day”, Mark and Roger’s apartment
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I just like to toy with their fictional emotions sometimes
For those who haven't seen the show, Roger and Mimi both have AIDS, only they don't know about the other. Mimi is Roger's neighbor, and has just come by the apartment declaring her need to go out and requesting Roger come with her. He turns her down, basically telling her she knows nothing about life because she's too young, and she tells him to live for no day but today.
Roger stared out the window in disgust. How dare she? This young thing just bursting into his place uninvited, wailing about taking her out somewhere, then preaching to him about living for today. What did she know? What could she possibly know about waking up each morning knowing you were dying?
Slamming his fist on the windowsill, Roger turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He spotted his guitar on the table, where he’d left it when she first came in. Her, that candle, and the damn bag of smack. That was a path he didn’t need to be crossing again. A year. A year he’d been sober now, and he wasn’t going to risk it again. Picking up the guitar, he strummed a few minor chords, then put it down angrily. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Dammit! That dance...the feel of her small frame was still crystal clear on his skin. The moonlight glimmering off of her hair, that sweet smile that completely contrasted the dance club clothes.
A stripper? An S&M stripper? Did he not have any taste anymore? But she was beautiful. That was obvious, of course, but she also seemed to have... He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. An innocence about her. Innocent? This stripping, dope taking, bold sex symbol? And yet, somehow, it was obvious. Those huge brown eyes were just too vulnerable. He could feel the uncertainty about her. One thing he remembered from his group sessions in rehab was that most people starting using due to low self-esteem and poor environments. This girl probably hadn’t asked for her situations to be what they were.
Grabbing the guitar, he tried desperately to play again. He would write a song, it would be famous, and it would be his legacy once he was gone. It would be perfection. If only he could get out something more than a pop version of Musetta’s Waltz. Roger carried his beloved guitar over to the couch and walked back over to the window.
He was suddenly more restless than he’d been in months. It had been months since Roger had gone anywhere. Mark and Collins had both begged him to, and tonight would be the perfect chance. That new guy...girl...whatever, Angel, had offered to pay for everyone. A night at Maureen’s show, and dinner at the Life Café sounded like a good time, and it had been so long since he’d had a good time.
Leaning with his head against the cold windowpane, Roger contemplated the last year. He hadn’t felt anything in so long. But when Mimi...that was her name...when Mimi had kissed him... For the first time since his diagnosis, someone had cut through his shell. He felt different when she looked at him. She looked at him like a person, not as a patient who was knocking on death’s door. He should’ve opened his arms, his heart to her. Instead he’d pushed her away. He was such a jackass sometimes, and this was a classic example. A smart man would’ve invited her in, told her he had AIDS, asked her to dinner if she was still interested after that, and then taken her to Maureen’s show. But he hadn’t. Roger had shown her the door and ignored her desperate plea, and never once acknowledged his condition.
The sky was so dark, but the clouds were building. He couldn’t see the moon anymore. It was snow weather. Soon flakes would fall, and make the non-heated building even colder. Roger stared out at the street, saw the random beggars, dealers, and thieves. He was about to turn away again when a fast movement from below caught his eye. A pair of skintight pants and high heels peeked out from under a tattered tartan jacket. The pants were familiar, but what sparked his memory was the head of thick, curly hair. Hair that gleamed in the moonlight...
He had to go after her. Making his final decision, he grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair. Before he could rethink what he was about to do, Roger ran down the stairs and out into the cold.
Sorry it's late, but it's been a crazy few weeks. Besides which, it's a perfect time to post this, as today is the anniversary of Jonathan Larson's death. RIP, Jonathan...No Day But Today.
Cross-posted to my personal journal.