Again, sorry about the wait. It took forever. Also, the poem near the end is property of the amazing Anjel919 (Melissa). She is so brilliant and I'm honored that she allowed me to use it. Thank you dear.
Warnings- um, lots of language. Which I suppose is expected. And a makeout. Yep. that's it. Unless I should warn against fluff....?
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For Marco, life continued as it was wont to do. Everything was annoyingly dull. He still woke up and went to school. He still avoided Paige, though to be fair, she had pretty much given up, seeing him as a lost cause. Dylan hadn't showed up at the school, nor had any little letters found their way to him.
Marco did have a yellow flower waiting for him everyday.
He had kept every single one.
The letter from ten days ago was well worn and tearstained, sitting beside his computer in front of his prom picture, blurred boyish handwriting partially obscuring two happy, carefree smiles. He didn't know why he kept it. To remind him he supposed.
The tarot card had been taped to the inside of his notebook. He figured one of the main reasons the daffodil still made a daily appearance was Paige broadcasting his habit of staring at it in class to the whole world. Meddlesome brat.
He seemed to be digging himself a hole, he realized. Doing all these stupid things to silently cry out to Dylan, from staring at the card to keeping the flowers. He might as well just jump into his dark little self-inflicted trap head first, and leave the shovel out of reach so he couldn't climb out and screw up his situation more.
So now he had to ask himself just what in the hell he thought he was doing here.
Marco shook his head in internal agreement with his musings. He was at the hockey stadium. Dylan was out warming up on the ice....and here he was, hiding near the exits, openly staring at the love he had cast aside.
Dylan went about lazily twirling his hockey stick and joking with his teammates, full of pre-game nerves, never noticing the dark boy in the shadows boring holes in his back with his stare.
Which was perhaps lucky too, seeing as how Dylan's game would be completely shot if he knew Marco was here watching. His playing had been off since their "breakup" anyway. Marco had snuck in to watch him practice so many times he had lost count. If the very reason this boy's life was hell was to show up at his game....he didn't want to think what the blonde would do.
Marco, knowing this, intelligently kept out of sight, simply happy to watch Dylan play again. He had missed this. The look of determination, the speed, the power. You could always tell that Dylan played with all he had, and even then, he seemed to steal energy from the lights, and the crowd, and the ice to keep going....to keep dominating the game.
Marco loved to watch him warm up too. Stretching, laughing, moving about in the now familiar listless, unconcerned way he always did. The calm before the storm one could say. Even his eyes changed, going from bright skies and rolling waves to cold, crashing swells, an unadulterated force of nature, once the game began.
Plus he was just sexy.
A buzzer sounded loudly throughout the stadium and the commentary began blaring from all corners, people hurrying to their seats and making as much noise as humanly possible to cheer on their team. Even Marco let out a soft, enthusiastic yell to give Dylan luck.
Worst mistake in history.
In the instant of one thundering breath, the head of golden curls he had had his sight on whipped around in the direction of his yelled encouragement. As if there was no one else in the room, his gaze landed immediately on the dark figure huddled into the wall and partly draped over a handrail.
Caught.
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Dylan's breath stuttered the instant he heard the familiar voice. A voice that had been haunting his dreams and tormenting his waking hours for the longest time, belonging to the only person who had ever made him feel so alive....yet so dead at the same time.
Marco?
Marco hadn't replied to his letter. He knew he wouldn't, he saw it coming....but it still stung. He would sit by his phone some nights and all but dare it to ring...dare Marco to call him. Other times he would simply stare at it and wish he had the guts to call him himself. And after a few hours of mental bickering with the telephone...he would heave himself up from his chair, tell his roommate to shut up and turn his music down, then flop on the bed to fall into a fitful sleep hours later in his clothes.
Those nights were rather hard to get through.
Others were easier...like the one he had visited Paige, staying up late in the night to talk about things. She of course only wanted to talk about Marco, and while he wasn't exactly a willing participant, he was rather good at this topic of conversation. His little sister had given him a detailed description of Marco's reaction to the flower...how later that day, he had picked it up, smelled it, and gently slipped it into a safe place in his bag to take home. She told him how he had done this everyday, for ten days.
It was easier to take...knowing Marco still felt the same way, even if he didn't act like it.
One last thing that Paige had helped with was her explanation she had laid out for Marco. She reasoned with him, telling him that Marco was perhaps feeling guilty....that his father's death was the straw that broke the camel's back. Dylan had always known how much the dark teen had idolized his father, and hearing this viewpoint made him come to terms with this predicament, though it didn't stop him from feeling hurt beyond all reason.
And perhaps the greatest evidence that Marco still loved him....was Marco himself. It was the fact that this person was here....at his game. Albeit hiding, but here just the same. Here to cheer him on, here to support him through thick and thin, here to love him for whom he was and what he did best.
Marco didn't break eye contact once it was made. The younger boy did jump horribly at being caught, but didn't flinch away. Marco knew that he at least owed Dylan this much. No explanations, no communication. He owed Dylan a connection.
And Dylan got it.
The buzzer sounded again and one of his teammates yelled at him to get his skinny arse in position and prepare for battle. At his calling, he did indeed move to his place on the ice, breaking the gaze reluctantly. Please let Marco still be here after the game, he pleaded.
Please.
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Dylan's concentration was gone. Absolutely gone. Stare at Marco, enter elbowing, crazy opponent, startled gasp, get griped at by the coach. It was insane! And yet, in the middle of all of this chaos he seemed hell bent on maintaining eye contact with this boy who had walked all over his heart. He was losing a game because Marco was simply there.
No. Way.
With a surge of determination, from God only knows where, Dylan sped off after the puck. He would win. He was better than this. Yes, he loved Marco. Yes, he wanted him back. But, dammit, hockey and one's love life never mixed!
He was going to WIN!! He was almost there. Dylan clenched his teeth, feeling himself being shoved into the glass wall and falling over. A split second on the ground was all it took for him to get mad. He had almost been there! That little....little...! Roughly grabbing his stick off the ice he pulled himself off the ground with almost unearthly speed and raced off after the player who had pushed him. He'd wipe that smug look right off that moron's face, see if he didn't!
Circling around the goal post with murder in his eyes and a grin showing malevolently from his face, he turned sharply, feeling a layer of shaved ice spray up from his skidding skates. He saw something huge coming towards him. Before he had time to even dodge to the side and avoid the hulking object he was rammed into with the force of a hammer. One second he's standing like a deer in headlights, the next he's plastered on the ice with a player in red on top of him.
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"DYLAN!!!!!!"
Marco detached himself from the railing he had been holding on to and sprinted down towards the glass walls surrounding the ice, tripping over his own two feet and shoving his way through awe struck onlookers. Panic was rising quickly inside of him, cutting off his breathing and a horrible, constricting, nasty feeling was rising in his chest. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Dylan wasn't getting up. He was just lying there! Jesus, the ice was turning red! Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Come on, Marco, come on! Get to him. God, freaking learn to fly if you have to! Come on. Why won't these people move! I'm coming Dylan! Just...just hang on, I'm coming! I'm almost...I'm almost....
There. Marco nearly cried in relief as he reached the large doorway that the staff used to get out onto the ice and shoved his way inside, running and falling all the way over to the gawking crowd around the fallen body. Why wasn't anyone doing anything! Marco cried internally again. Could they not comprehend what was going on? Dylan was lying there, surrounding by a puddle of his own blood. Surely there should be medical help out here. Where were they!
Finally reaching the prone boy, he feel to his knees, much as he had many times on his way there, and brushed the blood sticky hair away from his head, kissing his hand, and feeling the overdue tears finally starting to prick around the corners of his eyes.
"Come on, Dylan. Wake up. Wake up, baby." Without looking up, Marco saw three men with a stretcher rushing over to where they were out of the corner of his eye, and he silently thanked anyone who would listen. "Dylan....I love you. Come on...get up. P-please."
"Son, I need you to back up just a bit okay? We need to get him in the ambulance. Are you riding up there with us?" Marco quickly nodded his head in the affirmative, reluctantly letting go of the older boy's limp hand and sliding away a couple of feet, watching them heave the comatose body onto the stretcher and quickly move him away. Snapping out of his stupor he stood and hastily followed the men, wiping away the tears that had started to fall and pushing his hair back stubbornly, trying to compose himself somewhat.
Marco had never ridden in an ambulance before, and it was definitely not something he wanted to repeat any time soon. It was horrible. The feeling of tragedy hung in the air like an infected fog, making him cry harder. Dylan remained as he had been. Still, silent, and deathly pale. When one of the men told him that he was stable...Marco sobbed in relief but still looked on doubtfully at the too white pallor of his skin.
However, the waiting room was nothing like the ambulance. It was worse. There was a woman in the far corner who was crying into her hands, her long black hair almost touching the ground due to her doubled over state. A doctor stood over her with an air of forced apology, entirely too professional to project sympathy. On the direct opposite side of the room was a family smiling hugely and hugging in teary happiness. Their news had obviously been good. Marco felt like he was at the proverbial waiting room of the afterlife. On one side was the "up" stairs, and on the other were the "down" stairs.
It was a scary thought.
Twenty minutes of sitting alone and listening to the poor woman weep later, Paige and Mr. and Mrs. Michalchuk showed up, windswept and glassy eyed. Upon the confirmation from Marco that Dylan was indeed stable at the moment, Mrs. Michalchuk and Paige fell into a seat and began crying in earnest, Paige clinging to his arm in a desperate hold, and her mother doing the same to the elder Michalchuk.
Now they waited.
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Shit. Why does my head hurt? What in the hell happened?
Dylan squeezed his eyes tightly, hiding from the small light that filtered in through his closed eyelids. Where was he?
What was that?
Out of the suppressing silence a very small voice was whispering, shaking from emotion and very tired. The voice was so familiar...so achingly familiar. Dylan smiled inside, imagining the soft words floating through the air and falling lightly to feather on his face and keep him warm. Who was this? He knew this person....but who?
As the voice continued talking to some phantom being he tuned in to the words that were actually being said. It shocked him deeply when his fuzzy mind linked the words to this beautiful voice. How could someone who sounded so bewitching....sound so sad?
If you are ever going to love me
Love me now, while I can know
The sweet and tender feelings
Which from true affection flow
Love me now
While I am living
Do not wait until I am gone
And then have it chiseled in marble
Sweet words on ice-cold stone
If you have tender thoughts of me
Please tell me now
If you wait until I am sleeping
Never to awaken,
There will be death between us
And I won't hear you then
So, if you love me, even a little bit
Let me know it while I am living
So I can treasure it.
The heavy hearted words filtered through his head, slowly clicking and falling into place. Marco...that's what he felt about Marco. That....that was one of the poems Marco had written for him so long ago. How many nights recently had he chanted that before he fell asleep?
Marco....the voice...it sounded like Marco. So quiet, hesitant, and earnest. No one else sounded like that. The same voice that recited poems to him off the top of his head, giggling in that smitten way when he kissed his nose afterwards. Marco.....
Marco was here?
"M-Marco?" Dylan managed to croak out, using what little strength he had to open his eyes. "Marco?"
A dim room swam into view and stretched out before him, white curtains and walls darkened to a warm yellow under the light of a single lamp by his bed. The hospital. He'd been here before. Twelve times in fact. But who in hell cared? Marco was here! Here beside his bed, whispering the poem that said every word his heart cried out at night.
Marco was looking down at him with the same look as he had had when their eyes had met across the stadium earlier at the game. Caught.
"The Time Is Now," Dylan murmured, words cracking slightly from the dryness of his throat. The title of the poem. It still didn't explain why Marco was here. Why he wasn't walking away and figuratively spitting in his face.
"Marco...w-why are you here?"
The dark haired boy's shoulders drooped ever so slightly, and his eyes gave him away. Caught.
"Dylan....I...." Dylan raised a hand to stop him. He couldn't listen to this. Not now. Not when he was just so ecstatic to be in the same room with him. Memories flashed through his mind. A yelled I love you at a retreating back, a funeral, a confrontation....
"Don't. Just...just tell me....are you going to walk away? Are you going to leave again?"
Right then and there Dylan decided that the feeling that rushed through his body at the slight shake from Marco had to be the best thing he'd ever felt. Except maybe his first kiss with this very same person.
In fact, that was the only thing he could think of right about now.
Defiantly scrubbing away the tears brimming up, he made a tiny movement with his hand, ushering Marco over. "C'mere," Dylan whispered quietly. Marco was back.
As Marco crawled forward into the embrace with a choked sob, Dylan felt the tears fall against his desperate wishes that they would disappear. Marco was back! Marco was in his arms, nose buried in his chest, and hot tears soaking his gown. But he didn't mind. Back. "Oh God, please stay. Stay forever."
The nod he felt pressed into his neck was all he needed. Clutching the small body closer he kissed the forehead under his chin over and over. Small, feather light pecks that he couldn't seem to get enough of. The fact that he could at all lifted him up higher than a kite. Marco was back!
Marco lifted his head and pressed his lips to Dylan's, trembling in relief and entirely too full of pinned up emotions to be slow or gentle at all. All that mattered was that he never stopped kissing Dylan. Never. He needed to stay right here forever, locked in this dizzying embrace until he passed out from lack of oxygen....until they were both too high to ever come back down again, until they somehow melted together, becoming one and the same entity.
Marco lifted himself from where he had been on his knees beside the bed and climbed up, straddling Dylan's waist, feeling strong, yet shaking hands slip through his hair and slide up and down his back. It all felt so familiar, like a homecoming....but also so new and exciting and different, burning away any thoughts that tried to leak into his feverish mind.
He'd been taken back. He was lying in the arms of the only person that mattered. He was internally cursing every single time he had ever walked away or ever denied himself this, while at the same time he praised Dylan. He was back.
Marco's chest began tightening from the lack of air, and he was forced to slow it down and reluctantly part, softening it with a few tiny kisses. His mind was spinning from relief and happiness and other feelings that didn't even have names.
Mingled harsh breathing was the only sound in the overly quiet room...and it was enough. He was back. He'd almost lost this boy...forever. And there was no way in hell he was ever losing him again.
Ever.
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Dylan did later prove to need quite a lot of groveling. Something Marco was only too happy to give. He had screwed up. Royally. And he knew it. Dylan, on his part, healed nicely after his accident, though his sight had been damaged irreparably, forcing him to wear contacts from that day out. He didn't seem to mind so much knowing that Marco had to use a pair of reading glasses, but it was still embarrassing.
They never really talked about the "breakup." There was nothing to actually talk about. A rather large blip on the radar, yes...but one that proved to give insight into what love was exactly. What exactly they had almost lost and what they had gained tenfold.
It was about taking the good...along with the bad. It was about holding out for someone...even when they kicked you when you were down. It was about the "to love and to cherish, until death do us part."
It was about how you could always run....but how hiding from something so pure and perfect was impossible in every way. Because you're bound forever, against your will....though it is a contract that you gladly sign with the blindfold firmly in place.
Love is blind. Love hurts.
Love is not a word; it is a sentence.
And Marco and Dylan knew they had been found guilty...and they willingly walked down the long hall. Trials, tribulations, and pain....what are they in the face of love?
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Marco tucked his flyaway hair behind his ear, glaring at the wind that didn't seem to want to let up anytime soon this blustery, grey Sunday morning. He had gone to mass earlier....to pray for strength, to pray for a blessing. He hoped he had been heard.
A warm gloved hand gently lay on his shoulder, sliding over to caress his neck softly. A voice breathed warmly against his ear, and a nose nuzzled into his hair. "Are you okay?"
Marco turned around slightly, kissing Dylan slowly and softly, trying to ease his nerves, a smile creeping up and making it end. "Yeah....yeah I'm fine," he whispered.
He swallowed noisily and stepped forward, kneeling on the cold grass and staring at the two granite stones that stood out tall and proud among the many red poinsettias and roses.
"Hey ma, pa." He stopped, tenderly brushing a finger across the silver band on his left hand. "I know I never told you...and now is a bit too late...."
He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at Dylan who was crouched behind him and waiting to see if he was needed. Marco stared at him for a long moment, thinking back to every thing that had happened over the years. It had been worth it. It still was. With a determined glint in his eyes Marco turned back to his parents.
"....but I'm in love with someone. Have been for almost four years now. And I'm so sorry I never said anything while you were both alive...I had wanted to. I had planned on it even....but..." Marco cut off, covering his mouth to muffle the sobs that had begun. "...But, I was afraid. And I know you've been watching over me...you know what Dylan is to me..."
Marco heard Dylan shift restlessly behind him but shook his head to warn him. He had to do this. For himself.
"...I- I can only hope that you are both happy that I've found someone, regardless of who they are....and that you can continue to love me and look at me like you always have....because I love him more than anything. More than absolutely anything....and I'm upset that I didn't realize that years ago."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted....a perfect straight son. A man. I am so sorry. And I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that I will never know what you thought of him."
A hand landed on his shoulder and Marco covered his eyes with his hand, hiding his tears and struggling to find the words, to find what to say. He had planned to say so many things....he'd been writing little speeches in his head since tenth year. But now the words just weren't coming. He finally settled on something he'd been thinking about all day.
"It's Christmas today. Did you know? I keep thinking what it would have been like....all of us together. Sitting around the table, eating and laughing....Dylan there too....So many what-ifs that keep running around in my head." An arm snaked around his shoulders and held him close as the tears started rolling down onto the daffodils he held in his hand.
"I can only hope that you can hear me...that you're listening. That you understand.....that you love me just as much as you always have. I'll never know though....but at least I've told you now...even if it's too late."
With a sigh that seemed to steal away a little bit of himself Marco turned his body to lean into the warmth offered behind him, burying his face in Dylan's neck and bringing his arms up to hold him close. For several minutes the two of them stayed in the embrace, the harsh wind lifting their hair and their clothes, sending miles of goose bumps up along their exposed necks.
"C'mon love. Let's go home," Dylan whispered into the black hair under his nose, kissing his crown a few times in silent support. "It's freezing." Marco nodded slightly, and with the help of the taller man, righted himself and placed the bundle of fragrant flowers on top of the cold tombstones staring at the pair of them in their sightless way. Marco hoped with approval.
Dylan drew Marco up from the ground and tucked an arm around his waist, a hand coming up to cup his face. "How does it feel?"
Marco thought about it. His whole life had fell down a bottomless pit the day his father died....and it had taken a hell of a long time to climb back up. But Dylan had been there, pulling on the rope to drag him back to safety. A couple of rockslides....his mother's death from prolonged malnutrition two months after their reconciliation, Dylan's knee injury that kept him from playing any longer....so many little speed bumps....but they had made it.
"It hurts," Marco answered truthfully.
"Yeah, it will for awhile. It'll get easier. I promise." Marco rose up on his tiptoes and pressed his lips fervently to his husband's, closing his eyes and losing himself in the timeless feeling that was kissing Dylan. He hoped that would never change.
With a blissful sigh and a soft smile, Marco lowered himself back down. "Let's go home, Cariad. Paige will kill me if I'm not there to keep your mother away from the Christmas food. Is there a rule somewhere that says Michalchuks can't cook? You're all hopeless, I swear!" Dylan smiled cheezily and grabbed his love's hand as they walked out of the quiet cemetery. He watched Marco throw small, almost unnoticed looks back at his parents and pulled him closer.
Love is an endless act of forgiveness, a tender look that becomes habit.
And deep inside Dylan knew that Marco's parents would have accepted them....because they loved their son. As did he. A never ending cycle. It never stopped. Love always caught up with you. And while you perhaps didn't know it at the time, in this game of tag, you want to be caught.
Because you can run....but you can never hide.
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Finis.