For those who requested an epilogue of sorts...your wish is my command. It does not hit on a lot of things mentioned in the full story because I wrote this all in one go and without any editing. So certain things are left out completely. But the purpose is to simply show how Marco is fairing now that he is back in Toronto after so long. Cheers
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Snow angels were strange things. The idea behind them was touching, creating something meaningful out of something as simple as snow, only to melt without a trace. But the creator can continue to come to the place, to this patch of unimportant grass and say there was once beauty in this place.
The trouble with snow angels however, is that they were never perfect. Hand prints and footprints always marred the supposed perfections of the angels of heaven. Small animals walked over the already messed up creations. Leaves and dirt fell across the pure surface of these heavenly beings.
And most troublesome of all...was the snow itself.
Marco sighed to the quiet of the house, feeling as if perhaps the air was thick enough that the sound moved more slowly than usual. The cup of tea in his hand was near empty and lukewarm, but a faint glow of heat still rested against his palm as he stared out the window.
Dylan and Paige had bounded out the door half an hour ago intent upon making snowmen, angels, and a general mess of the pristine yard. Marco watched from indoors, remembering the days he had watched Anne and Stephen play similarly in Central Park. He had similarly not joined in but remembering the moment now he felt his throat become constricted. He had not seen either of them for so long now. He gazed out with grave intensity as snowflakes melted on the window panes reminding him of the window that watched over him his first and last night in San Francisco.
Thinking about it, that night was nearly an entire year in the past now and at times, times like now when he was left alone with nothing but the silence, the snow, and his own bad memories, such recollections came to mind no matter how far buried they may have been.
God, but the fear he had felt that next morning as he had ventured out in search of a job. There had been no snow but it had been the most bone chilling of winds that had pressed against his back, leaching through his threadbare clothes and sinking frozen claws into his bones.
Suddenly the front door burst open and a gust of chilly air from outside raced up Marco's spine, causing him to exhale loudly as two brightly smiling blonde's stepped inside, dripping ice and water from their hair and their shirt sleeves, looking as if they could not be more happier despite their ruddy cheeks.
Marco could not even find the energy within himself to smile at their bustling little entrance, only making eye contact with both before heading away to the kitchen with his tea cup in silence, leaving the brother and sister to shrug out of their heavy jackets and snow boots.
The kitchen seemed blaringly bright for unknown reasons and Marco shuffled over to the cabinet for another tea bag, hands brushing along jars of peanut butter, boxes of microwave popcorn, bottles of olive oil. Latching onto the tea box Marco lowered back to the flat of his feet, and as his heels made contact with the linoleum he suddenly felt inexplicably drained.
His head suddenly felt light and he raised burning eyes to look at the hundreds of little boxes and cans within the cupboard above him, picking out each and every thing he could not afford for ten years of his life.
This was how Dylan found him, staring with glassy eyes into the cupboard as if in a trance. The blond man bit his lip as he entered the kitchen, crossing his arms and sizing up the situation. Since bringing Marco here strange moments such as these were seen often. Moments of remembrance, of fear, of regret that caused Marco to stop functioning in order to deal with.
And so he hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, slowly and quietly so as not to startle him, sliding his hands across the much shorter man's bony shoulders, feeling the tensing of muscles beneath his fingers. Dylan kneaded Marco's neck with his thumbs, watching as the Italian's eyes disappeared beneath his lashes and his shoulders slowly but surely relax beneath the touch. Blue eyes glowed as they watched the surrender that Marco allowed and he allowed his fingers to continue massaging the younger man's neck, calmly ecstatic that the cupboard was well forgotten.
"Hot chocolate!?" came Paige's call from the living room, breaking the moment. Marco seemed to all but jump back into himself, twitching back to attention beneath Dylan's hands. The blond watched the other man shake his head as if to clear it before going about finding the cannister of hot cocoa in a very business-like manner. Dylan damned his sister.
Gently taking the box of cocoa away from the Italian, Dylan leaned forward enough to brush his lips against Marco's temple. "Make your tea. I will appease the sibling," he reassured, going about filling two mugs with warm water as he watched his lover out of the corner of his eyes.
Marco caught his eye from time to time, but no smile seemed to be forthcoming this particular day. Many a day the shorter man was simply bursting with giggles and smiles, looking every bit the happy teenager he had fallen in love with ten years ago. However, there were also the bad days, as Dylan knew and understood.
With one last stir to mix the sugar into the tea Marco sighed once again, delicately picking up his cup. Just as Dylan was resigned to finishing the mugs of hot chocolate alone without knowing Marco was all right the man walked beside him, rising up on his sock clad toes to kiss his cheek in much the way he had kissed the other man moments before.
Dylan watched the small figure of Marco disappear out of the kitchen and he felt a small sad smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
In the living room Paige was rummaging around the Christmas tree in a pair of tatty looking sweat pants and a shirt proudly proclaiming Banting University across its frayed front. Marco did not truly acknowledge her presence, only taking a seat on the sofa with his tea, bringing his legs up against chest as he watched her.
She seemed to have other ideas though, as she gave up on her endeavor to shake every box within reach and instead moved to plop down beside him as well. "What is with this teenage angst routine, Marco hun? We totally graduated Degrassi a decade ago."
Marco cocked an unamused brow in her direction before turning his gaze back to the Christmas tree, eyes near riveted on the warm glow of white lights and the multi-colored glass surfaces of ornaments. This reaction was apparently not at all the one Paige had been searching for.
"You know, you've become such a wet blanket now that you're older, Marco. I'm worried about you. So is Sean and Hazel," the blonde insisted, placing a manicured hand on his thin arm. Marco could not find anything to say to this.
He knew, logically, that when someone took you in, fed you, clothed you, employed you, and loved you, that there was a certain amount that you are required to give back of yourself. But on the bad days it was simply too hard. He could never find the enthusiasm to even smile let alone be cheerful and create pointless snow angels outside.
Thankfully, Dylan chose this time to come back, two steaming and marshmallow topped hot cocoas in hand. Hearing the end of Paige's sentence he scowled at her suspiciously, placing the mugs on the coffee table before jerking his head as a signal for Paige to scoot over so that he may sit in between them, both as a mediator as well as to simply be close to the quiet and obviously disturbed Italian.
The uncomfortable conversation not cut short, Paige turned her efforts to Dylan instead, beginning to once again whine about not knowing what presents she was receiving this year (Dylan aren't we a little old to keep these secret?) and the two simply chatted beside Marco as if they truly enjoyed each other's company, enjoyed this closeness, enjoyed this cozy little moment.
Beside them Marco's mind was elsewhere, namely in a blood soaked bathroom, a rundown New York apartment, a dingy little post office, and a rundown warehouse in San Francisco. Paige and Dylan were perfectly capable on focusing on the present, able to laugh and smile and enjoy the beauty of Christmas filling every inch of this room.
Without even thinking Marco ended up whispering to the chatting siblings. "Ellie always hated Christmas."
Two light colored eyes jumped from each other to focus on the dark haired man scrunched at the end of the couch staring lifelessly at the Christmas tree. A silence followed and it was Dylan who finally moved first to place a rough atop the other man's.
For several minutes nothing was said. Over Dylan's shoulder, Paige was seen to be mouthing half thought out responses, quickly resembling a goldfish. And in front of her Dylan only stared at the numb face of his boyfriend with intense blue eyes.
It was so long before anything happened in fact, that when Dylan moved to stand, Marco was startled enough to look in his direction. Knowing he had Marco's attention, Dylan moved to the Christmas tree, disappearing behind it. The two on the sofa watched the tree tremble as the man moved behind it until he reappeared, a large, thin package in hand.
Moving forward, Dylan knelt down on knee in front of Marco and placed in his fragile hands the golden wrapped gift. Quizzical brown eyes searched the man's face before he delicately ripped into the package. What was revealed was a simple black and white photograph, the sarcastically smiling face of Ellie Nash near dazzling in contrast to the gold surrounding her.
Marco choked on a breath, feeling his face crumple and his eyes burn and sting with tears. However, it was not the feeling of caged anxiety that filled him as she looked on that beautiful face, quickly becoming blurred by tears until he was forced to close his eyes.
He was filled with longing, longing to simply hug Ellie one last time.
As he opened his eyes the concerned gaze of Dylan was staring back at him and Marco shuddered with repressed emotion. Again he could not muster a smile or a nod. The only reaction that seemed physically plausible was a sob, and one followed the other until he was crying into Dylan's shoulder as the older man wrapped an around his thin body.
When Marco finally pulled away nearly half an hour later he felt emotionally and physically drained, as if perhaps every ounce of energy and emotion had leaked out with his tears. And though his eyes were red and puffy, and his hands shaking...his heart felt light.
Sniffling pathetically, Marco leaned forward just enough to wetly kiss the corner of Dylan's mouth before turning to Paige, giving her a watery little smile. "Will it snow tomorrow?" he asked, voice muffled and hoarse, but the sincerity in his question was tangible.
Paige looked confused, eyes jumping to Dylan's for guidance, before flashing back to Marco. "I um...y-yeah. There will be snow tomorrow," she murmured, overly quiet in the face of such an emotional display, unable to figure out how to react.
Dylan however appeared calm, his hold still firmly around Marco's waist despite the breakdown and despite the oddity of the question. Marco looked peculiarly frail in his hold, but something in his eyes seemed undeniably strong as he spoke again.
"Show me how to make snow angels tomorrow."