Flowers

One could view at the hours

Representing both elegance and grace

Whilst remaining in their place

Their beauty peerless on the battlefield

However, one must yield

Not to disrupt their beauty

By using them as a mockery

Jean only scoffed at the blatantly horrible poem. Normally, he wouldn't read such poetic injustice, however, his English teacher had much different tastes. Mr. Smith tended to really enjoy those flowery, almost girly, sounding poetry. Whilst Jean was everything but interested in this class.

In fact, the only reason why Jean decided to take literature class was because of his friend, Marco. Almost as flowery as the poetry Jean hated so much, Marco was too. Always bright and positive, never having anything bad to say about anyone, pretty much the polar opposite of Jean.

Jean would only give a cheeky smirk as he would think of him; as he was doing right now. He normally drew a quick glance at Marco and try his best to decipher the expression on his face. Normally noting the fact that Marco liked to work diligently and jot down note even when they weren't necessary. A model student.

His expression was the same as always, just the way Jean liked it. Or in more specific terms.. how he liked Marco. In fact, Jean had very conflicted and indecisive thoughts on Marco. He didn't know how to feel about this since in his mind, he was believed to be an ordinary high school student: straight as an arrow. However, he started to gain weird feelings towards Marco after having him sleep over a few nights. And no, nothing special happened on those dates. They just- hung out. Like normal best friends do. They would stay up until 3, play video games, Marco having to listen to Jean ramble on about girls that he liked, etc. This went on for about 2 years before he started coming to terms with himself.

In fact, they were scheduled to have a sleepover that very night: right after this very class was over. Still, as a senior, it was hard for him to face himself—let alone Marco. In reality, Jean was both excited and dreadful for when the bell would ring. One part was telling him not to give into the pressure and just come out to everybody that he had feelings for Marco-and exclusively him.

Jean seemed cool on the outside during class time but was panicking when he had time to think to himself. Only a few minutes had passed since the aforementioned scoff over the flowery poetry was made and Jean was now dreading the next few minutes to pass. 5 minutes remained of the otherwise boring and dreaded class. And for once in his lifetime, Jean wasn't excited of the fact that the next minutes following class would be the start for his weekend. If it weren't for Marco, that is.. If it weren't for Marco, Jean wouldn't be so reluctant of getting out of his seat and having to face himself and use Marco as a mirror. If it weren't—

Ring.

Once. Once it rang. Until it sounded yet another time.

Ring

"Fuck" was the only thing that came through Jean's lips upon hearing the second bell. Now out of time to compose himself, he slowly rose from his seat and turned his head to meet eyes with the ones he didn't want to meet.

Exuberant and full of life, just like the person those pair of eyes belonged to: none other than Marco Bodt himself. He was lean and tall (having lost weight from his previous years), tanned skin which was complimented by the millions of freckles adorning his body. And God was his laugh cute. Which was in fact, Jean's favorite feature of him next to his smile.

Marco was the type of person who always kept to himself; someone who wasn't as reckless as Jean was. Secluded. But welcoming if he liked you. He was patient and endearing- however he does endure a lot (thanks to Jean, of course). Jean would normally hear in the hallways, "Have you heard of that Marco Bodt kid? I have him in my class and I can tell already that he has the world going for him. It'd be a shame if anything ever influenced him negatively." The sad part is, is that he hears this from both teachers and students. However, he knew exactly who most people were hinting at whenever they said 'an influence.'

It was him. Jean Kirschstein. 17, wild cart, reckless, and daringly handsome. You see, he himself had quite a reputation at school as well. Of course, being a teenager, he had dated around and admittedly slept around in his days. Thank god for him being a boy, most would think. He was often referred to as 'The boy who makes the good girls turn bad'. Admittedly, he was an awkward puddle of pudge in his middle school years, but as they say; Summer changes quite a lot. His freshman, sophomore, and good into his junior year, he changed dramatically. All except for one thing: Marco. It wasn't until the summer prior to his senior year that he started coming to terms about his feelings with Marco. Much like what was previously stated about the sleepovers those two would have: which brings us back to the dilemma at hand.

Marco only made his way over to Jean as his smile remained plastered on his face.

"Jean!" the freckled boy called. His lips curved into a cute, wide smile.

"Hey, Marcssss" Jean trailed as he felt his anxiety rising at the sight of his friend. Still shook up from his previous thoughts, he tried his best to play it cool.

"So, we're walking over to your place?" Marco began as he slipped his binder into his messenger bag.

"Of course. Maman's still at work so we have some time to yell 'fuck' and 'shit' without being scolded"

"You mean you being scolded." Marco chuckled as he began to make his way to the door with Jean in tow.

Honestly, Jean wasn't paying attention to the walk home. So whenever Marco would start up a conversation, Jean would only pretend to be interested and only reply with "mhm"'s and "ok"'s. In fact, Jean was more worried about what they would do once they arrived at his house. Which was much sooner than Jean expected: much to his dismay.

"Jean? You got keys?"

"Yeah. Give me a sec.."

Click.

"MAMANNNNNNN?!" Jean called as he opened the door

"Vous êtes ici, vous vieille dame? (are you here, you old lady?)"

Marco only chuckled at Jean.

"Oh, right. Please excuse my French. You nerd." Jean said as he rolled his eyes, knowing that Marco loved using that joke whenever he spoke to his parents in front of Marco.

Without hearing a response Jean only shrugged and decided to yell multiple cuss words throughout the house, including many in French.

"Jean! I was wondering if you can help me with my French? I have some phrases here I'm not too sure about.."

"Oh yeah. Meet me in my room. I'll go get us some snacks." Jean called back as he rummaged through the fridge before finally selecting two Arizona iced tea cans and a bag of BBQ chips. Making his way upstairs, he decided to take some deep breaths before facing his friend.

Upon entering his room, he noticed Marco observing the contents of his bookshelf. Hearing his friend enter, Marco only smiled as he turned his head to face Jean.

"I find it cute how you kept all of the paper flowers I made you when you were sad."

"Yeah, well.. They helped me. To think that someone would go out of their way to make these tedious little flowers just to make me feel better."

Marco only blushed at the indirect compliment.

"I used to always make you chrysanthemums, huh?"

"Yeah! Those used to be my favorite flowers. And I had no idea why."

"Well, there were two reasons why I specifically made you chrysanthemums. One because, obviously, they were your favorite. And two, because chrysanthemums signify support within a friendship so I thought that was perfect.. But they were so hard to make..!"

Marco laughed as he sat back down on Jean's computer chair.

"So, what were the words you wanted me to look over with you?" Jean began as he sat down on his bed.

"Well, I know what they mean but I don't know how to pronounce them," Marco sighed as he drew a paper from his very organized binder before handing it to Jean.

Jean only looked at them and motioned Marco to sit down next to him on the bed; which Marco obediently complied to.

"Alright. Repeat after me."

He said as he began to read the words that were listed on the paper, with Marco repeating them without a single hitch in his speech.

"Y'know, I always found it kinda odd how you could just.. speak French."

"Why? You've met my mom before. Such a fresh off the boat French hag."

"I just wonder.. why DO you speak French even if you don't like to?"

"Because of the hag." Both friends began to chuckle amongst themselves.

Random conversations began to arise and spring up out of nowhere until both seemed to lose track of time.

Everything would seem completely normal until the clock stroke 8.