Hey hey lovely readers. The damn server is now up. W00t! And I have brought back with me from the dark ages a one-shot! It is chock full of the fluffy marco/dylan goodness.
Also...my hand hates me. I actually wrote this on paper. What a pain. Anyway, I was sitting in my room bored out of my mind, and I dared myself to write a oneshot on the most boring mundane object that came to mind. Thus, the Band-Aid story was born.
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Mr. Band-Aid
Marco sighed softly and buried his hands deeper in his jacket pockets. April had just begun, and while it was by no means the bone chilling cold of January or February, the wind still blew and the weekly rain sure didn't help warm things up any. Marco was cold-blooded. He didn't like the low temperature at all. He usually holed himself up in his bedroom on days like this with the heater on, a comfy pair of pajamas, and a mug of hot chocolate to keep him company.
Thinking of it now quite wistfully, Marco wished he'd chosen the latter instead of braving the cold for a walk.
Marco came to a slow halt and looked across the street. Dylan lived there. Looking at the house, it didn't seem especially welcoming with it's dull grey paint and forbidding dark windows. Marco knew better of course. Beneath the drab exterior lied a warm and welcoming family. Everytime Marco would walk up to this dull, almost intimidating house, ring the doorbell and listen to it's ghostly echo throughout the house, muted behind the thick walls, he would always be slightly scared.
But then the door would open and the cozy light from inside would flood the porch and the toasty air would sigh out and linger on his chilled skin, making him give a sigh in relief. But the main thing that made the inside so beautiful would always be the face that peered out from the doorway. Dylan.
Dylan with his blinding smile and golden curls. The arms that would encircle him and drive away the numbing cold. Dylan. The very reason he was outside today, zig-zagging around puddles and rubbing his frozen arms in vain.
Lately Marco had been thinking quite alot. He and Dylan had been dating for about five monthes now and a single question constantly lurked in his mind.
Did he love him?
He had tried to banish the question from his mind time and time again, but it seemed to have taken permanent residence there. Haunting him. Making him think about it every spare moment. It never failed. He could be doing something as important as an english project and the thought would pop up out of nowhere and never give him a second of peace.
So here he was, staring at Dylan's derelict doorstep from across the street...wondering.
Sometimes, he was pretty sure he loved the older boy. It had something to do with the way he smiled, how it always reached his eyes even when he was sad. Or even the way he fiddled with his shirt sleeve when he was nervous, fraying it. Or bit his lip while he was taking a test.
It was the little things that made Marco think he loved him.
Fat raindrops, cold as ice, began to fall, speckling Marco's nose. He shivered and huddled himself over more, trying to practically melt into the warmth of his jacket. With yet another tired, heartfelt sigh Marco turned away from the dark house across the way and kept walking...kept thinking, kicking clumps of soggy leaves out of his way.
It wasn't as if he didn't want to love Dylan. In all honesty it was his greatest wish. His life had taken such a pleasant turn since he had asked him out. He was rarely depressed anymore and the world always seemed so much brighter now. Almost as if he had slipped on a pair of rose colored glasses.
Dylan could do that to you. He could always make your troubles seem miles away. Marco remembered a time right after New Years. His cat had died. He had loved his pet and had been a total mess for a couple of days in his grief. Then, a day or two later, Dylan had turned up at his house with no warning and a mischevious gleam in his eyes. He dragged him out and they had gone ice skating that afternoon. The memory of it still brought a smile to his face.
While Marco still missed his feline companion dearly, Dylan had made the situation so much more light-hearted. Marco went home with a parting gift from their skating session...a photograph. Dylan had taken it one day during the Christmas holidays. It was a picture of himself and his cat asleep on the Michalchuk's couch, totally unaware they had been watched over. On the back, in Dylan's hurried, boyish handwriting, was written, "Feel better. The fluffball would have wanted it that way."
It was the little things that made Marco think he loved him.
A fork of lightning lit up the velvet grey sky above, making him jump a bit. By now his clothes were absolutely drenched and sticking to his body, squelching with every step he took. God, he was miserable. And confused. He sighed again, watching the ghostly white tendril of breath appear and fade away before him.
"Marco?"
Marco jumped out of skin and spun around. He caught a glimpse of a black sports car and a familiar blonde climbing out before he fell backwards onto the hard ground below.
Opening his eyes he saw endless rolling clouds and rain droplets fell into his eyes, making him close them and grip the cold concrete beneath his back with his too short fingernails. He could hear footsteps mingling with the pitter patter of rain and a second later he was being helped shakily to his feet by a pair of strong arms. Looking up Marco caught sight of Dylan's blue eyes.
"You okay? I didn't mean for that to happen."
"I'm fine." said Marco, still a little dazed, trying to soak up the warmth from the hands on his shoulders. If he screwed his eyes up enough he could almost feel it.
"You're bleeding." whispered Dylan, concerned. Marco could feel the older teen softly brush the hair away from the cut on his forehead, sending shivers down his spine. "Come on. I'll take you to my place and we'll clean it up." Dylan shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Marco, guiding him to the car.
On the very short drive down the block nothing was said. They sat in the comfortable silence and listened to the radio. Marco liked their silences. While he and Dylan were quite talkative in the social arena, around each other they found solace in the silence. Marco felt more attuned to him even, when there were no words spoken. The quiet seemed deeper, almost meaningful.
It was the little things that made Marco think he loved him.
In the blindingly white bathroom Marco sat on the toilet seat while Dylan dabbed at the cut ever so gently with a warm cloth. It was comforting. Made him feel cared for, protected. He almost whined out loud at the loss when Dylan walked the three steps away to the linen closet. Coming back, Band-Aid in hand.
Once unwrapped Marco couldn't contain his giggles. It was sparkly....and pink! Dylan scowled good naturedly and thumped his nose. "Shush you. I happen to like my sparkly Band-Aids." Marco did be quiet. It was cute in a way. Adorable even.
It was the little things that made Marco think he loved him.
Dylan began placing the bandage on his forehead and suddenly it all clicked into place.
It was the little things that made Marco think he loved him.
Looking up into those glittering eyes....he just knew.
With a secret smile Marco caught Dylan's eyes. "Your friend Mr. Band-Aid helped me realize something."
"Yeah?"
"He made me realize I love you."
Dylan's movement stopped and his breathing sped up. Only one thing changed....his eyes exploded into life. The statement hung in the air, and as if in slow motion, Dylan's hands came up to cradle his face and he kissed his forehead where the sparkly Band-Aid now sat in all it's hot pink, shining glory. Dylan gave a breathy laugh that stirred Marco's hair and made him smile softly.
"Thank you, Mr. Band-Aid....because I love him too."
With that Dylan leaned froward to kiss Marco, pouring every emotion he felt into it.
Because it was the little things that made him love him.
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Gah, I'll probably be known as the girl who wrote the Band-Aid story now. Ah, who cares right? Anyway....that button down there? You should click it. Yeah the one that mentions reviewing. It's shiny. You know you want to.