February the fourteenth. It was a completely insignificant date, I know that. But somehow it still managed to snap my attention this year. The weather was harsh, it was snowing like every other day here in South Park, Christophe was just on a mission from which you wouldn't return before tomorrow morning. There was something going on in the downtown of a nearby city. We've been rented to take out some loverboys, so that obviously had quite a lot of priority on a day such as today.
Valentine.
From the window of our apartment I eyed lovebirds walking hand in hand on the streets, blushing girls wearing their favorite scarves, holding a bouquet for their lovers behind their backs. The chocolaterie was all sold out. The whole scene somewhat disgusted me. I kept telling myself it was because of the active loverboys, that I was just worried, that I just had seen too many evil for my own good while I was still 17 years old. I wasn't jealous at all. Why would I be?
I had absolutely no reason to envy any of those dumb lovers on the streets. I had a boyfriend, Christophe admitted his feelings long enough ago, I believe at some bloody dangerous mission while we were close to lost. I was still 15 and Christophe had just turned 17 (I would be 16 a few weeks later, the difference isn't that big really) and the bastard bluntly captured my lips in a feverish kiss. I recall him being close to sobbing out loud, saying something along the lines of being afraid he would be too late telling me.
It was so damn romantic.
Of course we made it out (barely) alive, or else we wouldn't be here right now. So it wasn't our first 'valentine day' together. Though he wasn't home last time as well. Fucking loverboy cases every Valentine I tell you. I believe we didn't spent a single valentine without them (we've been working together for over 10 years now of course, and every single valentine day is the same) If everything went well today, he might arrive somewhat after 3 am. No earlier than that. It wasn't worth staying awake, I knew the Mole well enough that he wouldn't risk returning around daytime. He wouldn't try getting home after 5.30 am, as it was too late already, dawn was too near.
I was not alone at all. Or bored. That wasn't the cause of my bad mood as well. In total, I got a grand total of 5 anonymous love letters, 3 roses and 2 boxes of chocolate from girls around town. The usual. I could get a date if I wanted as well, better still, I know that if I would want, I could pick up a girl on the streets within 5 minutes. If I would want. But I don't. Moreover, I have a lot of work to get rid of anyway. The paperwork for all these underground jobs was still surprisingly large. I had huge reports on most criminals in this area, I knew everyone's connections, strengths, weaknesses, tactics and a fairly large collection of their hideouts. I had a single hard disk just for news paper articles, I am currently signed up for about 15 of them and read them every fucking day and scan everything remotely interesting for us. Every single job required reports, the ones hiring us like to see that we know what we do and want all evidence and background information we gather. Without all this, we would never be this successful or well paid.
I sit down in front of my desk with multiple fluorescent screens as I opened the file for this case, which I nearly completed, just a bit more of information on our last suspect, few more pictures from the Mole and the report of how it went and I was actually done. I quickly got to work and finished about half an hour later already and walked back to the window.
I knew I was slightly paranoid. Being paranoid had to be the worst but most important characteristic I had learnt from Christophe. Only when I had become sharp and aware enough of my surroundings, Christophe agreed to take me with him on a field mission. From my first field mission on, it went even harder downhill. Right now, I glanced out of the window, inspecting how suspicious the guys hooking up girls looked, and judged every one of them how trustworthy they were. Though I was still able to laugh of my own paranoia, and laugh at myself for how different I had become from the normal society. Really, it's just absurd. I am absurd. I am absurd and it is funny as hell.
I could somewhat imagine myself sitting in front of a psychologist and simply introducing myself along the lines of "Hello, I'm Gregory of Yardale, 17 years old, I work together with my gay partner for different underground organizations who hire us for dirty work from kidnapping, spying to assassination, I've been doing this kind of work since I was 6 or 7 years old. My intelligence is over-average though I do not know my exact IQ score. No I don't suffer from any psychopathically diseases as far as I know." And so on, and it was hilarious. I often had these kinds of conversations with Christophe, who somehow still took it a bit more serious as I did. I suppose that Christophe does feel some sort of guilt for ripping me away from the society and get me into this scene. Because honestly, once inside of this scene, you never get out. Not alive that is.
We estimated that the minimal time needed to clear this, was until about 2 am. We knew the times when the loverboys were in action or just returned, and if it went absolutely perfect, that would result in Christophe returning in the middle of the night. No matter what, I had to stay home until he returned. He often sent me some necessary information or pictures midway his mission, so I wasn't completely being worthless here. Though the main reason I had to stay home was because I wasn't allowed outside. This mission was one that should be done in absolute secrecy. Christophe had to seek their hideout exactly and sneak in without anyone seeing him at all, not even on the way to the base. They were likely on the lookout for us at the same time, so I should stay hidden at home. That was nothing new. I had been locked in my house for this reason more often but I had enough to do. Sometimes I had to remotely hack some security systems or things along those lines, like checking cameras or robbing other people's files.
The rest of the day I spent my time further criticizing silly lovebirds, (I spotted Stan throwing up over Wendy's shoes again, that guy never grew up) checking my mail, sorting different kind of jobs and declining some ridiculous ones already, reading a French book which Christophe bought me, and in the end my cheesy side took over (I blame that silly book I just mentioned, it's a romantic novel) and I put my heart and soul into baking some crappy cheesy cookies with chocolate. I was very lucky to have all ingredients as I couldn't get out of the house to do grocery shopping though Christophe would probably still get mad for wasting any eggs and chocolate for cookies, but it felt good to do crappy gay romantic shit. I knew the price I would have to pay, but I got butterflies in my stomach again as I watched the cookies, ready to be put in the stove, imagining the blush I would hopefully trigger on Mole's cheeks as he ate one of them. Christophe would have the full right to laugh at me for being this silly I have to admit, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.
I put the cookies in a plastic sachet I found laying around (making a mental note we really needed to do more grocery shopping before Christophe did missions alone. I once ran out of food because the mission ended up to take 4 additional days more than I took as the maximum amount of time it should take. What a hell.) and I read another chapter of that silly French book before taking a nap around 5pm before supper.
As I didn't have any schedule set up, I didn't set any alarm either. I just napped every 4 hours for about 2 hours at times like these. That was actually also a habit I picked up from my very paranoid boyfriend. It was actually a very nice rhythm to live in, I just felt more useful when doing things for about 4 hours and then nap a little and continue instead of just sleeping 8 hours or more in a row and stay up straight for 16 hours. 16 hours were just too much, as was 8 hours of sleep at once. Besides, I got used to it easily enough that I rarely get so tired that I would fall asleep and I managed to just sleep at any moment I wanted, tired or not. Only coffee could interrupt my easy sleep, therefore I cut out on coffee and only drink caffeine-free tea. Caffeine intolerance is the last thing I need, as a cup of coffee often saved us.
I expected to drift into sleep for a few hours and wake up one point where my stomach demanded food, but it never came to that surprisingly. I woke up a little bit, not very long since I had fallen asleep. I was just barely awake, awake enough to know there was something going on, but sleepy enough to not be able to identify anything around me. It was just comfortable in my bed, still warm, but it felt somewhat off. Safe, but off. I somehow wanted to return to sleep. If something was off, I would normally get up to check if nothing was wrong (someone might try to break in and kill me. It did happen before, I have reasons to be paranoid) but I didn't feel like it. I felt safe somehow. I was safe.
"You are so freakeeng adorable when you are sleepy, amour" I heard a very trusted, heavy French accented raspy voice whisper in my ear with so much sweetness he'd nearly be romantic. Too bad he sounded like a dangerous, untrustworthy, filthy, careless chain-smoker. Which he unfortunately enough was. It was a thrilling attempt however. His arm bluntly wrapped around my waist as he flipped me around so I could face him. I had to rub my eyes forcefully before I could even see it was actually him. I had no idea why he was here, but I could care less at this point. "Bonjour," he whispered, making me slightly suspicious, but also making me melt a little, "Well, Surprise, Zey were served like a dish sitting around ze base, making it very eazy to take zem all out. I got ze pictures, everyzing. Ze police handles ze rest, like bringing ze 'ostage girls back to zeir 'omes, silly sluts" he said, planting a kiss on my forehead.
"Are you serious and are you sure?" I first asked, answered with a confirming nod, which gave me all reason to just relax now with Christophe, "So, what are you being so bloody close for?" I asked, a sloppy grin on my face. Waking up after about 30 minutes did make me kinda tired actually, I could nearly keep my eyes open though I wanted to look at Christophe smiling so badly.
He kissed me another few times, he was still smiling so beautiful that I actually became really confused. He would grin sometimes, but honest laughing was somewhat rare. "Mon amour. You read ze book I gave you, oui?" I nodded again as I let myself being pulled up in a hug, "You are very predictable, did you know zat?" he laughed a little again before he continued, "Merci, for ze cookies, I zought you might do somezing silly for valentine like zis. I bought you ze crappiest romance I could find because you would read it anyway because I gave it, and voila, you turn into a cheesy romantic fag"
His whole reaction surprised me, he didn't think I was completely stupid for making him bloody cookies. Even better, he hoped me to react like this apparently. I grinned, my face turning slightly pink. "Sound like some bitter Frenchman likes crappy romantic shit"
Christophe cupped my face and held my face in front of his, "Gregory, I seriously broke one of our rules" he suddenly said, sounding dead serious. "We are not allowed to take anyzing from our enemies, but today I did," and from behind him, he presented me with a bouquet of red roses. "I know you find zem disgusting, but I still stole zem for you." He said, finally looking away, blushing with an angered expression he focused at the end of our bed.
"Red roses are absolutely awful yes, didn't they have anything better? Like a stuffed valentine bear or something?" I laughed at him, taking the bouquet. Really, red roses are unoriginal.
"But ze roses will die within a week and ze bear won't" He explained while he lit a cigarette, which was strictly forbidden in our apartment, that's why we still use 2 packets of cigarettes a day. "'ow is your French going? I have a 'orrible poem for you" he continued.
"What is seriously wrong with you Mole? When did you become such a cute little faggot" I said as I kissed his cheek.
"Beetch, I try to wrap up quickly for you and give you romantic sheet because you are such a pussy, you're nearly a woman, so I try zis and you call me a faggit! I am not giving you zat poem anymore, maybe next year, or on anozer faggy day like our anniversary," Christophe spat, crossing his arms in some sort of pout.
I suddenly realized that I really was lying to myself earlier. These silly romantic things might be very pathetic, but they do somehow stir up the black butterflies resting in my stomach. "Christophe," I whispered romantically as my lids fell a little. I looked at my smaller brunette again, loving everything I saw, my whole body tingling already. "To make it more cheesy for you," I kissed him on the cheek once more, "Roses are red, Violets are blue, No matter what happens, I'm always there for you. Do you like that crap Frenchie?" I asked, not sounding as mean as I did before.
"Just fuckeeng kiss me," Christophe hissed, grabbing both my wrists tightly, "Don't you fuckeeng worry, you are romantic enough by yourself, ah just look at you! And zen zere's me, and I am French for god's sake, I should be the romantic one, but instead it's you, a British faggit, and I do not know what I can do!" He actually sounded truly upset about it. He was absolutely right, but I never expected that to bother him at all.
I obediently kissed him, being kissed back feverously. Christophe soon put me down on my back and towered over me with his muscular beautiful body. "Christophe, if you wanted to wake me up romantically, you absolutely succeeded." I ensured him between our kisses. "And I love you, I love you, I love you, and I don't remember falling for you because you were romantic at all, quite on the contrary actually so stop worrying you silly" And then he took over my mouth completely. His teeth sunk into my lips accidently while he let his tongue go berserk with mine. This was what I fell for, his raw emotion, all of his rawness, his rough and demanding nature, his untamable need for me. I can't imagine anything better than having The Mole love you. It was absolutely the best, he was protective or even obsessive, he was exciting, amusing, interesting.
"I am sorry, but I took out some dinner for ze two of us as well" he said after parting the kiss.
"Pancakes?" I guessed, smiling again.
"Biensûr, Stupide." He mumbled as he got up to prepare the table.
"How cheesy"
"Oui, I put cheese on zem for you" I heard him call from the table, and as I started laughing he continued, "I'll bake you some by myself wiz Chocolate spread for breakfast, as I couldn't be 'ere zis morning"
Putting on a silk dressing gown I followed Christophe who had our supper already prepared and served on the table. "I could easily get used to this though," I said snickering as I sat down
"Don't even zink about it, British piece of sheet, eat your pancakes before zey are completely cold" Christophe ordered.
It was a nice change of pace, but admittedly, it would get honestly boring if Christophe would turn in a cheesy romantic French fag. (He was already a fag though, and he was French too.) But being so unpredictable and loyal was the best of it.
During the evening, I noticed that Christophe had already eaten all of my cookies and the rest of the week following I would find 'I love you' or 'Je t'aime' written all over my works and everywhere. Before he went on his next mission alone, I made sure to leave a note in his backpack telling 'I won't forget. It's unconditional. Take care.'
I don't know where he got the idea, but I was far from great at writing anything remotely romantic. Though I might sound like it, every feeling put on paper looked like rubbish. But that rubbish was enough for Christophe to return with a ring he demanded me to wear from now on.
From that moment on, we never looked up from Valentine's Day again; this valentine couldn't be topped anyway. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I'm not quite sure, Christophe still got cheesy once in a while.