Author's Note: I got the idea for this story while listening to "Things We Lost in the Fire" by Bastille. I hope you like it! :)
Jean fished his keys out of his pocket, leaning tiredly against the door frame as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He pushed the door open and entered the apartment. He dropped his backpack next to the recliner and flopped down in his old couch. He heard the springs creak in protest under the cushions but he couldn't have cared less; the couch was a piece of crap anyway.
At this point he was too tired to care about anything. He'd just gotten home from working the second shift at one of the restaurants downtown. Friday nights usually brought the biggest dinner crowds and Jean, being one of the few waiters working tonight, spent the evening rushing around the dining room, taking orders and delivering food to the hungry patrons. The customers always tipped well, so Jean never complained. This job was helping him pay for his classes at the university after all.
Jean reached over to the coffee table, blindly running his fingers across the wood until they brushed up against the television remote. He turned on the television, eyes squinting against the bright light that filled the dark apartment. It was eleven O'clock, and the evening news was just starting. The screen flashed red with the words "Breaking News" in bold letters as one of the female reporters spoke.
"We're coming to you live from the Trost shopping mall where a devastating fire has broken out in the supermarket," she said. "Fire fighters have been trying to get the blaze under control for almost twenty minutes now. The cause of the fire is currently unknown, but based on eyewitness accounts, investigators believe it may have resulted from a problem in the electrical system. There have been no reported deaths, but we've been told that several employees and shoppers have been taken to a local hospital for minor burns and smoke inhalation."
The women continued talking, but Jean had tuned her out. His eyes were fixed on the screen as images of the burning building were shown. Flames had consumed the space and billows of smoke drifted into the nighttime sky. Jean's eyes grew wide and his breath hitched in his throat. Marco worked at that supermarket.
Jean jumped off the couch, grabbing his phone and keys off the small dining table before bolting out of the apartment. He opted out of taking the elevator – he only lived on the third floor of the apartment complex and taking the stairs would be quicker. As he rushed down the stairwell he tried calling Marco, but there was no answer. Jean cursed under his breath as he ran out of the building to his car, ignoring the questions of "Hey, where's the fire?", and the looks of confusion from the other tenants.
Luckily the supermarket wasn't very far from the apartment and Jean, going a little over the speed limit, arrived within minutes. He got out of the truck, light-brown eyes scanning the crowd that had gather amongst the various emergency vehicles. He rushed into the crowd, desperate to find the freckled boy.
"Marco!" He called as he weaved through the bystanders. Some jerk had the nerve to yell "polo" but Jean refrained from cursing out the man. "Marco!"
He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was proving to be difficult as the minutes ticked by slowly with still no sign of Marco. Jean's heart pounded in his chest and his mind was spinning with the possibility that Macro had been one of the injured employees. That was the only possible reason he could think of as to why he couldn't find his friend.
"Jean?" A familiar voice came from behind him. He whipped around, coming face to face with Marco.
Jean wasted no time in taking Marco into his arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I was so worried. I tried calling your phone, but you didn't answer." A kiss was placed to his boyfriend's lips this time. "Thank god you're alright."
"Jean, I'm sorry, I would've called but we we're trying to get all the customers out." Marco said as the light-haired boy hugged him tighter.
"Don't apologize," Jean said, burying his head in the crook of the freckled boy's neck as a few tears rolled down his cheeks. He could smell the smoke that lingered on Marco's clothes. "All that matters is that you're okay."
Marco managed a small smile when they separated, but he was still visibly shaken by the turn of events.
"Come on," Jean said, slinging an arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."
During the drive back to their apartment, Jean held Marco's hand, their fingers intertwining. Every so often he would glance over at the dark-haired boy as if to make sure that he really was there – that he really was still alive.
"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he asked.
"Every day, Jean," Marco replied. "Every day,"
"Well, I love you," Jean said with a smile. Marco gave a slight laugh.
"I love you too."
Please review! I really appreciate them! :)