Marf
Ficlet because i couldn't physically cope with the fact that in the Rent off-Broadway revival, they took away Mark's scarf.
Title: The Marf
Fandom: Rent
Rating: Fine line between PG/PG-13, for content
Characters/Pairing: Mark Cohen, Roger Davis (allusions to Mark/Roger)
Warnings: brief mentions of blood, and death. Know Rent?
Summary: The scarf binds their history
A/N: Written to soothe my own wounds, and for caughtfire , who feels my pain
Only two people knew the truth about the scarf.
People could speculate all they want, whether Mark Cohen was a mama's boy, or just someone who got cold easily. Maureen tried to convince their friends at one point that it was from one of her wilder nights with Mark, but as most things Maureen did, that tale never took root.
Mostly, Mark played along with the teasing that his mother had made him the scarf, and wearing it was just his pathetic way of staying close to home.
Nobody needed to know about the night so many years ago that Mark's father left, and Roger Davis opened the door to find his best friend on his doorstep, chilled to the bone, eyes red rimmed behind foggy glasses.
Nobody needed to know about how Roger yanked him inside, made them both hot chocolate with a rebellious helping of brandy from his parents liquor cabinet, and watched old movies until they both fell asleep, Roger's arm thrown protectively over his friend's shoulder.
Nobody needed to know about the story of the scarf that remained tucked against Mark's neck, folded from view, that had stains from the night Mark had come home to his best friend kneeling in the blood of his girlfriend from when Mark had propped Roger up, and wiped the visible scars away.
Nobody needed to know that the scarf, despite how many times it was washed, held the history of Mark and Roger's relationship- blood, sickness, pain, heartache, depression, hope, darkness- wound into its very fibers.
Nobody needed to know why Roger tugged at Mark's scarf after he returned from Santa Fe, playfully winding it around both of them, and why they both stood, laughing quiet and a bit helplessly at some unheard joke.
Nobody needed to know about that scarf the Mark Cohen wears would one day lie in the coffin of a man who would die young, but not as young as some predicted.
But since that day wasn't happen anytime soon, if they could help it, the scarf remains closer to Mark's skin than Roger could ever be, and over his heart where Roger always was.
Title: The Marf
Fandom: Rent
Rating: Fine line between PG/PG-13, for content
Characters/Pairing: Mark Cohen, Roger Davis (allusions to Mark/Roger)
Warnings: brief mentions of blood, and death. Know Rent?
Summary: The scarf binds their history
A/N: Written to soothe my own wounds, and for caughtfire , who feels my pain
Only two people knew the truth about the scarf.
People could speculate all they want, whether Mark Cohen was a mama's boy, or just someone who got cold easily. Maureen tried to convince their friends at one point that it was from one of her wilder nights with Mark, but as most things Maureen did, that tale never took root.
Mostly, Mark played along with the teasing that his mother had made him the scarf, and wearing it was just his pathetic way of staying close to home.
Nobody needed to know about the night so many years ago that Mark's father left, and Roger Davis opened the door to find his best friend on his doorstep, chilled to the bone, eyes red rimmed behind foggy glasses.
Nobody needed to know about how Roger yanked him inside, made them both hot chocolate with a rebellious helping of brandy from his parents liquor cabinet, and watched old movies until they both fell asleep, Roger's arm thrown protectively over his friend's shoulder.
Nobody needed to know about the story of the scarf that remained tucked against Mark's neck, folded from view, that had stains from the night Mark had come home to his best friend kneeling in the blood of his girlfriend from when Mark had propped Roger up, and wiped the visible scars away.
Nobody needed to know that the scarf, despite how many times it was washed, held the history of Mark and Roger's relationship- blood, sickness, pain, heartache, depression, hope, darkness- wound into its very fibers.
Nobody needed to know why Roger tugged at Mark's scarf after he returned from Santa Fe, playfully winding it around both of them, and why they both stood, laughing quiet and a bit helplessly at some unheard joke.
Nobody needed to know about that scarf the Mark Cohen wears would one day lie in the coffin of a man who would die young, but not as young as some predicted.
But since that day wasn't happen anytime soon, if they could help it, the scarf remains closer to Mark's skin than Roger could ever be, and over his heart where Roger always was.