Title: Forget Me Not

Author: Seasonal Dreamer

Rating: T

Author's Note: Okay so this is another kinda really long chapter so ENJOY :D and ellielovesdtng: THANK YOU THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY :D hahaha and I loved the little 'gossip girl' at the end haha that made me laugh :D

Read and review please :)


"I'm not going sky diving Dylan," Marco laughed.

"Aw, c'mon you big baby," Dylan's teasing voice came from over the phone. Every time one of them called they often had little debates like this one to keep the other laughing. This time, it was Dylan's turn. "I'm not saying right now, but you know, in the future..."

"You're insane," Marco giggled. He was sitting on the couch, legs sprawled across the entire thing and head resting on a pillow. "What happens if the parachute doesn't open?"

"I'd catch you."

Marco rolled his eyes. "From ten billion feet up? Noooo wayyy."

Dylan chuckled. "I'm pretty sure if we were ten billion feet up we wouldn't have to worry about gravity..."

"Oh you know what I mean."

"Babe, relax, we won't die," Marco could hear the smile on Dylan's face as he continued his teasing.

"You won't. I however, will."

Dylan rolled his eyes. "Bungee jumping then?"

Marco laughed, "The day I decide to go bungee jumping will be the day I no longer want to live."

"So...what, tomorrow?" Dylan asked half-hopefully.

"I'm going to hang up on you," Marco playfully threatened.

"No you won-"

But just to prove his point, Marco did. Then instantly called him back. "Sorry, couldn't resist," Marco laughed. He could feel the mock glare directed right at him.

Suddenly there was an impossibly loud thud and static and several shouts of anger and glee.

Marco stared into the phone, surprised and slightly worried. "Uh...Dylan?"

There was a loud slam of a door and the click of a lock before a loud voice greeted into the phone, "Marco! Buddy! How've ya been?"

Marco laughed. "Ryan, please tell me you didn't damage my boyfriend. I'd hate for him to visit me next week in a sling."

"Ryan! Give. Me. The. Phone!" But he was growling playfully. Ryan had locked himself in the bathroom.

"Sorry Dylan! Marco's mine for the time being. And naw, he's a tough cookie," Ryan said in the cutesy way an overly proud parent would. "Besides, wouldn't you rather have me visit you then Michalchuk? I mean, everyone knows he's my cheap imitation..."

Marco burst out laughing as Dylan chuckled and pretended to sound deadpanned, "Cheap imitation eh? I always knew you wanted Marco..." There came a loud bang and both Marco and Ryan giggled.

"We might have to cut this short Ryan, Dylan sounds like he might break down the door."

"Naw, he's just full of hot air. Beside it's not like he can pick a lo-"

There was a click and Marco vaguely heard sounds of roughhousing and the phone got dropped on to the tile. Marco rolled his eyes but smiled and awaited his boyfriend to rescue the phone from the floor.

Dylan got Ryan into a headlock, but the lanky boy managed to slip away and, obviously wishing for a painful death, grinned devilishly as he hung up the phone. Dylan's gaze flickered between Ryan's smirk and the phone in his hand.

Ryan strategically chucked the phone over Dylan's head and into the living room. Dylan ran after it and Ryan swiftly shut the bathroom door shut.

"I am so going to kill you Chandler," Dylan told him as he quickly punched in Marco's number.

"Why do you think I'm still in here?" Ryan's voice was muffled slightly by the door.

"Is this Dylan or Ryan?" Marco's voice asked amusedly when he picked it back up, quickly dissolving Dylan's disgruntled look into a smile.

"Ryan's going to die later, I hope you said your goodbyes," Dylan replied easily.

Marco chortled. "Ah, so it's Dylan. Where is Ryan anyway?"

"Hiding from my wrath in the bathroom."

Marco teased, "Aww seriously? 'Cause I really was hoping he'd come next weekend..."

"I knew it!" Came Ryan's triumphant voice, just barely hearing Marco's words.

They laughed as Dylan moved farther away from where Ryan was hiding behind the door.

"So where were we?" Dylan smiled.

"I think we w-" Suddenly there was a knock at the Michalchuk's front door. "Oh, hold that thought, I think someone's at the door."

"Popular aren't we?" Dylan chuckled. "Go ahead, I'll be right here."

Marco got up, smiling, to answer the door.

Dylan heard a faint, "Hel-" before there was a gasp.

"Uh...Marco?" Dylan asked tentatively. Ryan peeked his head out of the bathroom door, curious.

Marco couldn't believe his eyes.

"Marco," Mrs. del Rossi said tearfully. "It's been too long."


Marco just gaped at her. Ma...here...what?

She stood awkwardly in the doorway, wanting badly to hug him. But as she made the slightest movement he flinched and backed away. He shook his head, stunned.

"Marco, I've come to apologize," she whispered.

"Come to apol- Ma, you left me for dead," Marco exclaimed, outraged. Dylan looked shockingly into the receiver. Mrs. del Rossi?

The young Italian boy, remembering that he had the phone and therefore technically Dylan in his hand, lowered his voice and hissed, "I have nothing to say to you." He tried to shut the door but Mrs. del Rossi jammed her foot into the doorway.

Marco rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "I'd really rather not break anyone's foot today, but if that's what it takes..." he pushed harder on the door.

"Marco, tu sei padre è morto (your father's dead)," Mrs. del Rossi said urgently.

Marco paused in shock. "What?"

Dylan and Ryan, being completely lost, scrambled for the laptop. "Do you have any idea what she said?" Ryan cried as Dylan quickly started it up.

"Why do you think I'm using this? It's not like we have some random Italian dictionary lying around," Dylan responded exasperatedly. Marco probably would've laughed hysterically at their attempts if he'd been able to see it.

"Uh...she said...um...too...say...pah-dray...eh...mor-toe," Ryan said, sounding ridiculous.

Dylan gave him a look. "It doesn't help if we don't know how to spell it Ryan."

Meanwhile, Mrs. del Rossi had started speaking again.

"Shush!" Dylan cried instantly, slapping his hand over Ryan's mouth as a precaution. Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"Lui è morto. Sono finalmente ... Sono finalmente libero da lui (He's dead. I'm finally...I'm finally free from him)." Mrs. del Rossi said tearfully. Marco was in shock as a silence fell between them. She was free?

Ryan decided to ignore the large hand on his face and instantly typed in how he thought the first phrase sounded. Dylan removed his hand once he saw what he was doing. And started laughing. The first website on the page(thank you Google) read, 'The Complete Idiots Guide to Learning Italian.' Ryan grinned and clicked on it.

"Cosa vuoi dire tu sei libero? Che non ... che non ha alcun senso ... (What do you mean you're free? That doesn't...that doesn't make any sense...)" Marco remarked, completely confused. Were they or were they not married? How could someone say that?

"Quick, write that down, write that down!" Dylan cried and Ryan looked slightly harassed as he jumped into action.

"I hope you realize I have no idea what I'm writing!" Ryan almost shouted back as a flurry of nonsensical letters got typed down. They wouldn't see how silly they were acting until afterwards.

"Once he found out you were gay, he changed completely," Mrs. del Rossi said this like her heart was breaking. "I tried to find you, but he was holding me...ostaggio (hostage), almost. As soon as I was able to leave...I came as soon as I could."

Marco didn't know what to say. He couldn't feel anything, it was all too much, all too soon. His father was dead...his mother had been looking for him...she actually loved him...he actually had a mother...she was here right now... "I think I need some time," Marco finally uttered, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white.

Tears escaped her eyes as she nodded. "Come see me as soon as you're ready," she whispered. Marco nodded robotically and closed the door. He didn't know what to do.

Marco suddenly became aware of the frantic voices on the phone.

"What the hell does caw-sa...v-woy...dee-ray...too..say...lee-bear-oh. .. mean?" Dylan asked, frustrated.

"Do I look like an Italian teacher?" Ryan retorted and Marco amusedly heard a series of clicks and grumbles. "Just let me look it up and-"

"You guys are hopeless," Marco chuckled half-heartedly. His mind was still whirling.

Ryan and Dylan jumped, looking at the phone. "Uh...you are talking to us...right?" Ryan asked unsurely.

"Yes, goofball."

"Oh, good, well in that case-"

"What happened Marco?" Dylan interrupted urgently.

"I...My father...my Ma found me..."

"What about your dad?" Ryan asked.

"He's dead." He replied in a monotone.

Their mouths fell open. "What?" they asked together in unison.

"Yeah...I know...I'm not sure how I feel about it yet..." Marco said without really noticing that he was speaking. "I think I'm going to go lie down..."

"Sweetheart, I'm...I'm sorry..." Dylan started to whisper. But he didn't know what else to say.

"No...don't be sorry until I'm sure I am," Marco conveyed numbly.

Dylan nodded, though he knew Marco couldn't see it. He wanted to hold him. Dylan hated being so far away. "I love you baby."

Marco smiled a little. "I love you too Dyl. I'll talk to you later."

"Please."

They hung up, and it wasn't the first time that Dylan loathed the fact that he was away in University.


Marco lay sprawled out on his bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Despite his hatred towards his father, he couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. All those memories of when he was little splashed before his eyes. The proud look in his father's eyes as he regarded his 'golden boy.' How they would laugh with his mother right beside them. Their inside jokes that would baffle everyone else but them. All of it...gone.

There was now no longer even the slightest possibility of a reconciliation. Not that there was much of a chance before, but he was still alive and therefore there was always a chance...even if it were slim. But he thought everything was over with his father...he thought finally he could get some time and peace away from the problems he would bring before they made up.

The tears had already spilled over and were staining his cheeks, so he didn't bother to fight them anymore, just like how he couldn't fight the age-old questions to come whirling back into his mind. Why did you hate me, Pa? I couldn't help it, do you hear me? I COULDN'T HELP IT! He sobbed into his pillow, sufficiently wetting them. Didn't you know how much your rejection hurt me? Didn't you even care? I was still your boy, Pa! Why couldn't you have just accepted that? Don't you know how much I missed you?

But this wasn't the only problem here.

Marco felt suddenly angry towards his mother. So she never visits me...I almost die twice, and now all of the sudden she decides to come back? Yeah, right.

But his father, according to her and the phone call he had received a little while after her visit, had died. Her reason did fit the story line...

Was his Ma telling the truth? Did she really not come for him because she was being stopped by her husband? Or was that just her excuse? Marco wasn't sure why it mattered. If she wanted to be in his life now, that should be the important thing right? But it wasn't. If she had stayed away on her own accord, Mrs. del Rossi would have abandoned her only son when he needed her most.

Plus, Marco found it strange that the first thing his mother had to say about his father's death was that she was free. Did that mean she killed him or something? Was she not sad or sorry he was gone? Did he know anyone anymore?

Marco had a lot of thinking to do.


Dylan hadn't heard from Marco all weekend. He had no idea what his boyfriend had made of all this. The sad thing was, Dylan didn't know if Marco was sad or just...indifferent. It was his father after all, but then again Mr. del Rossi could hardly be considered a man, much less a father. So Dylan really didn't know, and he was jittery and anxious to talk to him again.

Sighing, Dylan made a feeble attempt and signed on to chat, and was surprised but happy to see that Marco was online.

HockeyPro: MARCO!

delStudley101: hey Dyl

HockeyPro: are you okay?

delStudley101: hmm?

delStudley101: oh. yeah, i'm fine..

HockeyPro: soo not going to work Marco.

delStudley101: relax. i'm fine, i'm just...i've been trying to figure everything out

HockeyPro: i wish i could be there with you

*EpicPopsiclez has joined the conversation*

EpicPopsiclez: don't listen to him he's lying

delStudley101: ryan?

EpicPopsiclez: ha hey everybody.

EpicPopsiclez: so what're we talking about here?

HockeyPro: dude, get out of here.

EpicPopsiclez: oo someone needs a nap

HockeyPro: i'm serious

EpicPopsiclez: oddly enough, so am i

HockeyPro: grrr

EpicPopsiclez: okay.

EpicPopsiclez: since our little dyllie's being a suck...what's up with you del studley?

delStudley101: ha actually ryan i was just about to go...i'll talk to you guys later

Marco exited quickly and sat back, staring at the blank screen. He knew signing on would be a bad idea.

The Italian did miss Dylan. But he couldn't talk to anyone just yet, which made him wonder why he signed on in the first place. Distraction was the only word that came to mind.

He didn't feel anything anymore when it came to his father. Not anger, not full on sadness, just a numb sort of grief. The kind that makes your mind go blank and stare unseeingly at the wall, but feeling no need to cry. He wasn't fully over it, that he knew, but he was just in this awkward stage between truly moving on and holding on to the tragedy.

Now, his mother was a different story. He had finally gotten used to not having a real mom and dad. Well, maybe 'used' was a bad word. More like he accepted it, even though he didn't like it. But now all of the sudden his mother wanted back in his life, and things needed to be put back into perspective again.

*delStudley101 has exited the conversation*

EpicPopsiclez: huh. he sure left in a hurry...think i'm finally starting to scare him?

HockeyPro: i hate you.

EpicPopsiclez: wow, i'm a popular guy today

EpicPopsiclez: don't you find it strange that we're in two separate rooms, talking over messenger?

EpicPopsiclez: shouldn't we be talking, oh i dunno, in person?

EpicPopsiclez: i mean, i know we're lazy...but this is just sad...

"Okay, I hate you," Dylan said bluntly as he appeared at the doorway of Ryan's room, leaning against the frame and crossing his arms. He glowered at his friend.

Ryan leaned back into his chair, hands behind his chair as he looked unconcernedly back at him. "And may I ask why?"

"You interrupted my conversation with Marco."

Ryan looked disbelievingly at him. "Did you forget what happened a few days ago? It's really nothing new."

Dylan wasn't feeling any less angrier. "But he's going through a hard time right now, and I haven't talked to him all weekend."

Ryan leaned forward in his chair. "Is that... with the phone conversation?"

Dylan nodded.

Ryan's face shifted into sympathy. "Ouch. How's he taking it?"

Dylan through his arms up in frustration. "I don't know! You interrupted us before I could really find out anything!"

Ryan grinned apologetically. "Oops, my bad."

Dylan groaned as he left the room.


Marco had stayed home all week. It really didn't help him out of his homework situation, which, sadly, he was still drowning in, but it did give him some space to think. To breathe, because to be honest, the house had begun to feel rather stuffy.

The only real interesting thing that happened was Paige, so far out of the loop, got irritated and started shouting random accusations at Dylan for putting Marco in this mood. The older blonde had tried explaining to Paige soothingly that something had happened and Marco was just taking some time to think things over, but she didn't buy it. At least until a bemused Marco told her bluntly that his father died. And so, the apologies began.

Paige had stared horrifyingly at Marco, two hands cupped over her mouth as if that would stop her from speaking. But as everyone can guess, it didn't work. "I'm so sorry Marco!" she cried, hugging him. Marco imagined that's what Dylan would have done had he been in his sister's position.

"No worries Paige, but I would appreciate a little alone time," Marco had told her in a formal, slightly deadpanned voice.

He surprisingly got what he wanted.

Now, however, was Friday, and Marco felt like he was about to pull his hair out. Dylan would be coming later that evening, and he wanted to get this whole thing sorted out before he got there. Unfortunately, that left him with very little time.

Believe her...or no?

It was a good thing Marco had gotten up so early that day, because he honestly didn't have a clue what to say. He felt completely stuck, and then, it eventually hit him.

Marco sprung off the bed he had been lying like a corpse on, startling the perfectly even covers as they flew off of him. Why not go ask her himself?

The Italian quickly got dressed into fresh clothes and ran out of his bedroom. His hair was a complete mess, but it was the least of his concerns. Marco flew past a surprised Paige as he headed towards the door.

"If you're planning on going to school today, it would be nice of you to wait for me," Paige said sarcastically. She obviously woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Marco sent a silent prayer towards Spinner as he furiously choked out, "Got to...back soon...Ma..." and he was out the door.

Marco bounced down the steps until he paused at the end of the driveway, suddenly realizing that he didn't know where exactly his mother was staying. Not at his old house surely...

But, Marco thought it'd be better safe then sorry, and he turned sharply on his heels towards the right and walked swiftly on the sidewalk. He thanked to god that his old(could he really call it his home? More like a prison...) house was only a few minutes away. Of course, that was in a car...and he did have a car...but he hardly used it too much. Marco didn't know why, but he liked walking better. Unless, you know, it was twenty miles away.

He was just a scenery type of person. And in a car, you can hardly stare fixatedly out the window without successfully killing yourself and whoever else was with you at the time. Now, however, he could. His heart beat rapidly in his chest. Marco had no idea what he'd find there...he hadn't seen his old house since he got brutally mauled by his father...and he hadn't expected to see it so soon either. Or ever, really.

And he didn't know what he'd leave knowing. That Mrs. del Rossi was a liar and a worthless mother, or a poor lady held like a captive by her so-called husband. As horrible as it sounded, Marco secretly wished on the second one. Though the thought of his mother being a 'hostage' by his now deceased father was disturbing to say the least.

And before he knew it...he was there.

Marco stood at the edge of the property, just staring at it. A cold sense of dread and misery threatened to engulf him, but he fiercely bit it back as he took half a step forward. He kept his mind determinedly blank as he unsurely knocked on the door, and waited.

There was a little squeak as the door flew open and Mrs. del Rossi instantly threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. However Marco remained stock-still, hands buried in his pockets. His mother didn't seem to care until he became more and more stiff and attempted to back away. She looked at him, a little hurt and confused.

"Marco? Cosa c'è di sbagliato? (What's wrong?)"

Marco's eyes were dark and stormy, his face appearing much older than it was. "Just because I'm here, doesn't mean I believe you. That's actually why I am here. I want the truth, Ma."

The way he said this sounded much more powerful than just an almost seventeen year old speaking to a parent. It sounded like the reverse, truthfully.

Mrs. del Rossi regarded her son with a bit of fear. Not in the sense like she was afraid he'd hurt her or something, but she had become afraid of the man he was slowly becoming. He wasn't quite there yet, but he had certainly changed a lot since a year and a half ago. And she had missed it all.

"Come sit."

Marco obeyed, though he felt a sickening nausea sweep over him. Being in this house...it felt all too real. Tears threatened to start up again. No, I thought I was over that! Marco growled in his head. He perched himself on the edge of the couch as if expecting to dart out of there at any moment.

Mrs. del Rossi sat in the same chair Mr. del Rossi had sat in as he waited with a goofy smile to hear what Marco's 'news' had been, though Marco didn't think she realized. But that only made this whole experience even harder.

She watched him closely, but he kept a carefully blank visage as his dark eyes watched her with careful consideration as well. His eyes held all the bent up emotion he hid so well which, unbeknownst to him, had somehow transferred it into sheer strength.

"I would never lie to you Marco. I've missed you," tears leaked out of her eyes. "And I love you. The day you...the day he...when the paramedici (paramedics) took you away...I couldn't believe my eyes!" She looked lost in her own retelling, subconsciously shifting more and more back into her Italian language. "I...I was so afraid, but dopo che avevo ottenuto ... superato lo shock (after I had...gotten over the shock), I tried to go see you! But he...he minacciato (threatened) that he would..." she burst out into tears, covering her face with her shaky hands.

Marco couldn't stand it anymore. He got up and pulled her into his arms, rocking back and forth slightly like she would always do for him when he was little. It was then that he finally believed her.

He whispered sweet, consoling nonsense into her ears, holding her tightly. "It's okay Ma, just...just stop. I don't need to hear anymore," he whispered gently.

Mrs. del Rossi nodded into his shoulder, tears staining it. "I. .. io non l'ho ucciso ... non ho ... è successo così all'improvviso (I...I didn't kill him...I didn't...it happened so suddenly)..."

"Shh. I know," Marco replied. And he did. He now knew his mother was too fragile...too gentle to do anything so treacherous. He knew it wouldn't make sense.

They stayed in their embrace for a long time, the tables turned as Marco held his mother instead of the other way around. And even when they broke apart Marco still didn't leave. He couldn't, not after almost two years of never seeing her.

Mrs. del Rossi was gloriously relieved Marco was accepting her back. She knew they still had a long way to go before he was ready to fully say she was his mother again, but the fact that he stayed the entire morning and well into the afternoon said something.

They cooked and chatted about aimless things, just wanting to keep the other talking so there wouldn't be any awkward silences. But as it got close to being sundown, Marco suddenly realized that Dylan had come home a good two hours ago, and was probably anxiously waiting for him. He could feel a smile creep on his face at the thought of seeing him again, though his mind was in a slight panic.

It had been a little while since he had to go back to University, but they had been planning on this day for a while, and now that it was finally here, he was late?

Marco bounded towards the door, startling his mother for a few seconds, saying, "I'm sorry I have to go! I'm late for...something."

Mrs. del Rossi gave him a gentle smile, as if knowing exactly what he was running to. But her smile was sad too, just like any mother would at seeing her child grow up and away from her. She knew he'd be well taken care of, though, and with that thought she called out her goodbyes as the door swung shut behind him.


Marco walked quickly back to his home, this time not paying any attention to what was around him, because not of it would be as impressive as the older boy.

As he barreled through the front door, a huge pair of arms engulfed him almost instantly, holding the Italian close to his chest in a tight hug. That musky scent filled Marco's senses and he smiled widely as he buried his face into Dylan's shoulders, his own arms going around Dylan's waist.

After a moment, Marco felt, as well heard, a deep chuckle vibrate through his body. The younger boy looked up into Dylan's face, slightly confused. "What's so funny?"

Dylan's eyes twinkled down at him, a smile etched into his face. "I just realized how much I missed you." But there was an underlining of worry in his expression.

Marco beamed up at him however, heart lighter than air. Paige stared, openly confused, at the grin on his face. Sure, she figured he'd be ecstatic to see him again, but he looked ten million times more...peaceful, somehow.

Marco and Dylan still hadn't pulled out of their embrace. Dylan had moved on to kissing the head of hair underneath his chin lightly over and over again before nuzzling his face into it. Inhaling deeply, Dylan felt his heart swell larger than the universe. The soft locks of dark hair were almost impossibly soft as they caressed his face. The love that was between them crackled and sparked in the air, too obvious for anyone who had eyes not to notice.

The older boy every so sweetly bent down to graze the gorgeous Italian's lips with his own, cherishing the feeling and committing it to memory for a rainy day. He pulled back and smiled, his hands moving down to hold one of Marco's hands as he lead him to the living room silently. The blonde sat on the couch before pulling Marco on his lap, holding him around the waist snugly.

The younger boy kissed him on the neck as Dylan whispered concernedly, "Is everything okay?"

He felt the boy nod and respond, "Better. Everything's fine." But Dylan hated that word 'fine.' It was too often used as a substitute for what they actually meant, which was normally the exact opposite.

Dylan pulled Marco back slightly so he could look into those deep, rich brown eyes, searching for any signs that he was lying. There seemed to be a wall up behind them, shielding Dylan's piercing blue sapphires from his thoughts, before it gradually fell away. Dylan was sad to say that that wall had been built because of him.

But he saw everything that he felt. Pain was still evident in the tornado of emotions in there, but it looked...somehow like it was healing. Don't ask him how he figured that just by looking in his eyes, but it was the first thing that came to mind and it seemed to fit. Happiness and a little uneasiness, too, had come forward, along with several enigmatic feelings Dylan didn't have a name for.

Marco smiled, slightly amused, at himself. He felt like he was being severely scrutinized by the teen's eyes as they bored into him. It made him feel uncomfortable, being watched that closely, and after a while Marco couldn't take it anymore. "You alright there?" He asked with a slight smirk.

Dylan, seeming to come out of the trance those eyes had put him in, replied, "Me? I'm good. You? I'm not so sure."

Marco tried his best to simper reassuringly. "I really am fine, Dyl. I went to go see my mother today..."

The older boy looked at him with shock. "What?"

"She wasn't lying. You can just see it in her eyes...she really did feel trapped. And I mean, can you really imagine my mother shooting my dad? Just because we're Italian doesn't mean we're part of a mafia," Marco rolled his eyes.

Dylan grinned. "I guess I can't really picture it, but what about..."

Marco looked a little downcast. "The funeral's next week, actually. But I'm not sure I'll be able to stand being stuck in a room with a million loud del Rossi's all either mourning my father, or trying to stab me with a fork. Being gay isn't exactly one of my family's favourite things."

"Don't you think a knife would work better?"

Marco smacked his arm, but smiled in spite of himself. "You shush," he playfully instructed.

Dylan saluted him and Marco groaned, sliding off his lap and walking into the kitchen. The blonde instantly followed him, slipping his arms around the boy's waist as Marco turned on the coffee maker, randomly remembering that he didn't have his almost religiously followed standard cup of coffee. Dylan rested his head on Marco's shoulders as he started putting it together.

"You know, I've become sort of a caffeine addict," Marco remarked as he worked.

"Huh, really? You used to hate it nearly two years ago." Dylan smiled. "Before I asked you out. Didn't you call it like a fake high and threatened to beat me with a wooden bat after I said I'd force you to drink it some one day?"

Marco burst out laughing, "I can't believe you remember that!"

Dylan beamed. "I'm just that amazing."

Marco turned around and kissed him gently but briefly. "Yes you are Michalchuk. But don't get a big head about it, I still have my wooden bat." He waved a finger at him threateningly.

Dylan chortled and leaned down to kiss him more deeply, pinning him against the counter. They hardly noticed that the coffee maker's light had gone on until the hot pot suddenly burned Marco's back. He shrieked against Dylan's lips and jumped forward, whirling around to see at what had burned him. Dylan, surprised at first, started chuckling at the bewildered expression on Marco's face and rubbed his shoulders comfortingly.

"Ow," Marco murmured as he poured two large mugs with the steaming liquid.

"Poor baby," Dylan cooed, kissing his cheek in thanks as he took a heart felled sip of his cup.

Marco grinned, but as he turned around he found himself pondering what he would do. Go to the funeral? The family, to be honest, wasn't sure they'd let Marco come. It was cruel, sure, but to them they didn't consider him a del Rossi, especially after his father practically disowned him. And this was the part that hurt him the most.

Though the other side, mostly his mother's side, supported him whole-heartedly and looked down upon his father's side, but Marco wasn't really sure whether he'd want to start World War III just yet.

Plus he did hate his father to an extent. But he was still his father, and despite what his father tried to make everyone believe, he was still his son. And he still had this obligation.

He toyed with the idea of asking Dylan to accompany him to the funeral, but he couldn't put him through that. And he certainly wouldn't want Dylan to see him like that.

Dylan watched Marco carefully as he stood, dazedly staring out the window with coffee in his hand. He looked conflicted and pained, but suddenly he seemed to come out of his reverie and his face smoothed over. Marco sipped his drink, completely unaware of the piercing blue eyes boring into him.

Talk to me Marco. What's going on in that beautiful head of yours? Dylan thought urgently.

Talk to me.


Okay so sadly..

The next chapter is the last one :(

I'm actually really sad.

But I guess it has to end sometime right? :(

Please review anyway though :) they make me happy :)

But please review anyway! :)