Hey, sorry it took so long. Here you guys! It was going to end here but it just kept getting longer so we'll finish it up next chapter. Enjoy!
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Dylan stealthily made his way down the deserted hallway, a bright flower in his hand. The school's doors had only opened just seconds ago, and what few students who were actually there this early in the morning were staring into thin air like zombies in their half asleep fog.
Not Dylan, however. He marched down the silent halls with a steeled expression and very alert eyes staring out from his tired face. Ever since Marco had let it slip that perhaps his past feelings were not completely gone he had decided, if the emotion truly remained, he would win him back. At all costs, he would do anything in his power to have that boy back in his heart, his mind....his arms. For where else did he belong anyway?
Halting in front of one of the lockers, practically identical to every other, he let out a deep sigh and did the combination, silently thankful Marco had given him the code a year before.
Opening the door, Dylan allowed himself a moment to gaze into the other boy's domain and take in every little detail. It hurt, he mused, seeing his past love's possessions seemingly staring at him in their sightless way, reminding him of all the old times he had lost.
A book of poems by Frost rested on the top shelf, whispering a memory of the nights Marco had read the verses to him in his hesitant voice out of boredom and a need to share the wonder. His gaze shifted to a little lime green hackey sack situated next to the volume, scenes where he had been pelted in the head with said object for stealing kisses flooding his mind. Even the seemingly innocent textbooks at the bottom were giving off flashbacks of late night homework sessions to his wind swept mind. It was a lot to take.
And it hurt so much, though the small, sad smile on his face would perhaps lead one to think otherwise. Sighing tiredly and running a hand through his unkempt hair, Dylan placed the bright yellow flower he had walked in with on top of an English book.
A daffodil. Marco's favorite. Don't ask him why, but in a way the slightly strange looking flower reminded him of the dark boy. Strange? Yes. Odd? Yes. But beautiful in a soft way. Cute, endearing, and warm. It always reminded him of spring and youth and innocence...things Marco radiated in waves. So perhaps it wasn't all that strange that Marco was so taken with them.
Or even that he was so taken with him. Smile disappearing a bit, he reached into his back pocket and took out a letter and gently taped it to the inside of the small door, the pages fluttering slightly in the stirred air. Lastly, he reached into his other back pocket and withdrew a bent piece of heavy paper. Flipping it to the other side he stared at two figures reaching across the distance, close enough to touch...but still so far away.
A lovers card form a tarot deck. It might be a bit silly, Dylan knew, but he kept this card tucked in between the paperbacks on his bookshelf. A reminder. He would take it out sometimes, usually when his loneliness became so great that it was a physical pain in his chest. Lately, he'd had to take it down more often than usual...to ease the pain.
A psychologist would say he was too dependent on another human being, and it was terribly unhealthy to be so attached to someone. But dammit he didn't care! He just wanted Marco back. Any little bit of him he could manage to get.
A slammed door down the hall by the janitor caused Dylan to jump, shocked out of his melancholy stupor, and reminding him to close the locker in front of him. He watched wistfully as shadow slowly fell over the items inside, until he was only staring at a small metal door, and not the sea of memories that lurked behind it.
He should leave, he thought. And he did, trailing a delicate touch of fingers upon the locker before sadly walking away.
Dylan didn't know how many times he looked back over his shoulder as he made his slow way down the hall. Ten? Twenty? A lifetime of ephemeral glances?
"I'll wait forever," he whispered to the quiet.
One last glance.
"But....please....please don't make me."
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Marco's morning was not going well. No not at all. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be going wrong. He woke up to find his mother on the couch, passed out from too much alcohol, a TV screen full of snow glaring in the corner. By the time he was done dragging his not entirely functional mother upstairs, he was ten minutes late and he was feeling depressed yet again over her state of well-being.
Halfway to homeroom his bag's shoulder strap ripped and he was now subjected to carrying it around like an overly large rock. Once actually in homeroom he made the discovery that, not only had he left his money at home, but his homework was mysteriously missing also. The second chat in the same week from Mrs. Kwan certainly did not help matters.
To say the least, he was having a very bad day.
After the end of fourth period he rushed off in the hopes of perhaps finding a couple of crumpled bills hiding in his locker, because he was starving from not eating that morning. Or the past few days, he chided internally.
The confrontation with Dylan four days ago had been bouncing around his rather numb mind at a constant rate, never even allowing him to sleep properly. Not that that was out of the normal anyway. He was missing the older boy like his right arm and he truly didn't known what he was going to do. In the beginning, it had been so easy to think about.
Leave Dylan. Live relatively happy knowing that he was at least not disgusting in his deceased father's eyes. But the moment Dylan had showed up at the funeral with tear filled eyes and his choked words his promising plan was reduced to mere dust.
Clearing his throat in a subconscious way he pushed the disturbing thoughts away and began to fiddle with the combination on his locker.
The first thing he noticed was yellow.
Marco swore he had jumped a mile in the air at the sight of the single, well-formed flower situated before him amongst his school books. It looked so innocent. Lying there, begging to be picked up and smelled and cherished. He stretched his arm out, reaching towards the velvet petals, only to come back to himself with a shake of the head and let out a shaky breath he had been holding.
No one knew his favorite were daffodils. No one.
Except Dylan. Marco closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the memory of the first time he had received a flower from this very same person.
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Something was tickling his nose.
That probably wasn't that big of a deal...except for the fact that he had been sleeping rather peacefully before said tickling occurred. Who had the audacity to bother him right now anyway? The tickling continued however, obviously dead set on driving him up the wall and making him a very grumpy person.
The smell that was floating around him was familiar though. One he instinctively knew before most everyone else's. But it wasn't exactly. Something was missing, but it was very close.
"Ma, go away. Quit tickling me."
To his great surprise a deep male voice laughed softly in his ear, raising the hair on the back on his neck. Opening his eyes to see who was waking him up, smelling like his mother no less, Marco was surprised yet again.
"Dylan? What are you doing here?"
The blonde smiled down at him charmingly and lifted a hand, the source of the tickling apparent, as he brushed the petals of the daffodil against his nose. "Ma, huh? What happened to 'good morning love of my life, and don't you look edible this morning?"
"Where did you get that flower?"
"I got it from your mother actually. She was fixing up a vase of them downstairs and asked if I'd like one. Why?"
Marco blushed and looked away, playing with the other boy's blonde curls as they fell down in his face. "They're my favorite," he said quietly, feeling rather embarrassed.
"They are, huh? Well, then, it's only suiting that you take it then. Happy birthday, love."
"Thank you."
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Marco shuddered slightly, wishing he had a better rein on his thoughts. Little memories always had a habit of popping up at the most inopportune time. Drawing a shaky breath he moved to somehow get his English text out of from under the flower without actually touching it. It almost hurt to watch the delicate blossom slide and lay inelegantly on the locker bottom. Pitiful almost.
Pulling the book up against his chest, staring at the fallen flower, he noticed what lay beside it. A card it appeared to be. Bright colors. Yellows and reds and blues. An angel looking down on a man and woman. At the very bottom, in the grey border stood two bold words that spoke for themselves.
The lovers.
With a small gasp he grabbed the hat that hung from one of the hooks inside his locker and tossed it on top of the card, not wanting to see something that Dylan chose to give him for the blatant meaning behind it. It was too much.
His breathing very shallow by now, he backed away and was about to all but slam the door shut, but on the way closed a flutter of white made his heart stop. Scrunching his eyes up tightly he very slowly guided the door open again, not wanting to see what was taped there...but knowing it wasn't going to go away.
Could he perhaps tear it down and throw it away? One look at his name in the familiar scratchy handwriting told him no...no he could not. Because to get rid of it would be to miss out knowing.
With a silent prayer and a scared sigh, he snatched the letter off the locker and slammed it shut with a bang of finality. He would read it.
In a fit of nostalgia, Marco opted to go back to the bench outside of the school where he had been the four days prior...the day of the confrontation. It seemed a fitting, he supposed, to go where he had messed up so royally to read his little death note. A way of reminding himself that his slip would cost him his sanity in the long run.
On the warm bench, feeling the sun rays hit his shoulders and neck like small needles, he unfolded the note, almost expecting it to burst into flames. When it did not, he leaned back, reassuring himself he wouldn't cry. Crying was weak as his father said. Real men dealt with their problems with their heads held up high.
Marco,
Where to begin. Hardest question of the day really. I just....I feel lost, Marco. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what to do. I don't know even know what to live for, for heaven's sake.
And I really don't know what I'm doing here either. I mean, every time I ask, you hole up inside yourself and stare at me like I'm an idiot for questioning you. Why do you look at me like that? Why do you talk in that dead voice?
What did I DO?
I lie awake at nights thinking about Christmas. Do you think about it at all? I suppose you must not considering you gave the ring back. Why did you say yes anyway, if it mattered that little to you? I...god, this is hard..
What do you want me to do? I'll do anything. You want me to never touch you again, I can do that. You want me to never ask for commitment, hell I can do that too! But please. Please don't keep doing this. I'm freaking afraid. I've never been this depressed. I don't like it, Marco. It feels wrong. I'm scared what will happen....
I'm sorry. You don't need that. Forget about it. Look...all I'm asking is to at least know why you seem like you can't even think about me anymore. I need to know.
I love you. I LOVE you. I L-O-V-E love you. I will be standing here waiting for you. Because...because I need you, cariad. More than anything.
With all my heart (which doesn't exactly belong to me any longer anyway),
Dylan
The signature at the bottom blurred slightly as a drop of liquid fell down and drug the ink down the page with it. He was crying. God, what a day.
Why do you look at me like that? Why do you talk in that dead voice? Do you think about it at all? Why did you say yes anyway? What do you want me to do?
The many questions were everywhere. There was nowhere to hide. He'd been hiding for such a long time...and the emotions still always found him. Ever damn time.
It HURT. It hurt more than anything. Dylan talking about being afraid of what will happen. He knew what he had meant...and the startling reality of that statement hit him like a falling piano. Surely the boy wouldn't do something that drastic would he? Surely he wasn't so stupid.
But then again, hadn't he himself at least considered it on more than one occasion? God, this whole situation was so screwed up. Something would have to happen. But he couldn't. As much as it hurt...he was doing what had to be done.
It had to be done.
Roaring at the whole damn situation, at his life in general, Marco stood up abruptly and ripped the paper into shreds, screaming and crying out.
"I CAN'T DYLAN! YOU CAN'T ASK ME TO DO THIS!! IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! IT'S MINE! I JUST..." The tears were flooding down his face as he continued to shriek to the silence and tear at the note, feeling more helpless than he ever had before...too packed with emotion to think straight at all. "MY FATHER!! HE'S...HE'S GONE! AND WHAT DO I HAVE? I HAVE THE BIGGEST FREAKING GUILTY CONSCIENCE ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET AND A FAST APPROACHING MENTAL DISORDER!! I CAN'T DO THIS!!"
"I CAN'T DO THIS!! GOD....I-I...I...I can't. Oh Jesus, I CAN'T!" he finished weakly. Slumping bonelessly to the ground, utterly exhausted, more emotionally than physically and still crying a literal monsoon.
This wasn't hell, he thought.
Hell looked like a relaxing vacation at this point.
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cariad- a welsh endearment, like love or sweetheart.
I hope you guys liked it. That was hard to write too. lol. Well...I'll be back soon with the next chappie. Until then please do review...for they are nummy and fun to cuddle.