A/N: Enjoy! I'm sorry this one took me so long. I've been incredibly busy!
"Your tape?" Dylan laughed, still tightly holding Marco's hands in his own.
"Yes," said Marco, not offering an explanation, but simply kissing him again. He'd been through so much, and he was finally happy.
"So, you have to go," Marco reminded him, pointing out to the driveway without turning his head.
"Right," said Dylan, not moving. He shook his head, remembering that he had other things to do besides stare at Marco. "Bye," he said, kissing his cheek, and letting go.
Marco smiled, letting him walk back to his car. When he heard the car pull out, and he was sure Dylan was close to the end of the block, he opened the front door. He immediately went to his bedroom, picking up his ringing cell phone as he threw open his bedroom door.
"Hello," he said, sitting down on his bed.
"Marco," came the voice of his father, marking his first phone call since the first day of Marco's school year.
"Hey, dad," he said, his cheerful voice disappearing as stress flowed again through his veins. "What's going on?"
"Your aunt and uncle are moving back into their house," said his father, "and it's just me again."
Marco nodded, realizing that, for the first time, he didn't feel any pity for his father. He'd gotten himself into that situation. "Okay," he said simply. "Things are good here," said Marco, surprised at the emotion he was feeling. Was he trying to rub it in?
"Good, I guess," said his father, sounding shocked as well at how uncaring Marco sounded.
Marco no longer cared what his father thought about him, and sadly, Marco's entire view of him had changed.
"I have a boyfriend," he said, not thinking. For some reason, it had seemed like the right thing to say.
His father merely grunted in response, apparently not so keen on the thought of having a conversation about the 'boyfriend' mentioned.
"And he's amazing," Marco continued, feeling slightly that he was bragging or intentionally bothering his father.
"Okay," said Mr. Del Rossi, not clearly showing how he felt about it.
"And I love him," he said, which definitely threw his father off guard.
"You are fifteen!" he said, appalled. "You have no idea what that word means!"
Marco rolled his eyes, having heard that enough in many movies to be able to deal with it.
"You're a divorced forty-one year old, do you know?" Marco hadn't realized how loud he had spoken until he heard his mother's gasp from the other room. Mr. Del Rossi was silent, hesitant to answer that. It was obvious to him that his son had changed quite a bit. In previous arguments, Marco would have let his father tell him he was wrong, and he would have taken it all in cooperatively. But it was not like old times.
Marco didn't feel the need to be treated like dirt, and he wanted to fight back from that moment on. He'd respected his father for far too long, assuming that, just because he was family, he deserved it, but his father had proved that wasn't true. He had never earned his son's love and respect. He'd simply stolen it, too careless to actually pay the price.
"You should not speak to me that way," he said after a few minutes of nothing.
"I don't care," Marco whispered. "Dad, I'm sick and tired of trying to make you proud because nothing I ever do is good enough. Not living with you…it's—it's hard for me to admit I'm angry, but I am. I'm so angry and hurt, and you never even took notice," he finished, happy that he had said it. That small part of him that always wished he could take what he said back was gone.
"Marco," said his father, thinking of what to say, but finding himself speechless. Marco didn't mind; it gave him a chance to explain more.
"When I was moving to Canada with ma, you barely said anything. Then, as if it wouldn't be a bother to me at all, you let them stay with you."
"He is my brother," Mr. Del Rossi defended himself. "He was going through a rough time, and—"
"So was I, and I'm your son! You let your brother stay, and he was never even there. He was probably out gambling and whatnot," said Marco, absolutely done with the poorly thought out excuses.
"Marco," said his father sternly, discovering his voice again, "he is your uncle."
"Just as you are my father," said Marco coldly. "It doesn't make him a good person. You neither." Marco sighed. "After the court case, which I didn't even do, you just let me go back home without a word or question."
"I didn't think you wanted any," said his father.
"I didn't, but you're not supposed to care! You're supposed to hug me, ask if I'm okay…just something, dad! You're supposed to."
"Well, I'm sorry,' said his father, "but you didn't tell me that."
Marco was angry to see he was beginning to cry again. It seemed like that was what he had been doing quite frequently. "I'm not supposed to tell you. Ma just knows, dad. You would know too if you ever paid any attention," he said.
Marco's father sighed. "Are you done?" he asked. Marco took a deep breath.
"Yes," he said, "I'm finished." He assumed his dad was ready to speak his bit, so he waited for it, but his father was silent again. Marco couldn't figure what he must have been feeling, and he wanted his dad to explain, to tell him how he felt.
"I didn't call to be reprimanded," said Mr. Del Rossi, though that didn't come as a surprise to Marco.
"Why did you?" asked Marco.
"I wanted to talk—"
"—because you're alone!" he interrupted. "I could be bleeding to death over here, and you wouldn't call to ask how I was, but when you need me …"
Mr. Del Rossi sighed. "Your mother is brainwashing you, I see," he said.
"No," said Marco, "she's not. I've just come to see what has always been right in front of me, and I'm sick of you." Marco wondered if those were going to end up being the last words he'd ever give to his father. "I just can't deal with the fact that you're hurting me while you're so far away."
"Good-bye, Marco," said Mr. Del Rossi.
"Good-bye," Marco replied, ending the call. He knew that the slightly formal good-bye meant more than just for that day. Their relationship was gone forever, and though he felt slightly empty without it, things were improving greatly.
"Good-bye," he repeated to himself, walking out of his bedroom with a smile gracing his features. He was okay.
"Hey, ma," he spoke sweetly, seating himself at the kitchen table.
"Hi," she said, surprised that he was emerging from his bedroom when she hadn't called him for anything.
"How's work?" he asked. It was time to start appreciating his mother. She looked over at him curiously.
"Why?" she asked slowly.
Marco shrugged. "We need to talk," said Marco, "because that's been put off for way too long.
"I suppose you're right," Mrs. Del Rossi pulled off her apron, throwing it onto the counter, and turned the oven off. Dinner would have to wait. Who knew when her son would actually want to have a conversation again?
"So, how's work?" he repeated.
"Work is the same as always. Rather tedious. School?" she asked, feeling the need to constantly make the conversations about Marco.
"Same as always," he smiled. "Dylan and I are getting closer…again," said Marco.
Mrs. Del Rossi was confused. "Again?" she asked. Marco shrugged.
"Problems," he said vaguely, uninterested in expanding. "I'm kind of glad we moved here, though. Crazy as that sounds."
His mother smiled. "I'm so happy to hear you say that," she said.
Marco laughed. "I'm just glad I don't have to hear, 'I told you you'd like it,' and all that crap," he said.
The doorbell interrupted their short discussion. Marco volunteered to get it, ignoring his mother's pleading about how it would be much more sensible for her to get it. He threw open the door, and the smell of the boy's cologne blew into his face. He smiled, throwing his arms out for him. He didn't need to guess. He knew when it was Dylan. Dylan returned the hug gratefully, smiling as soon as he let go. Marco pulled him in behind him.
"Back so soon?" Marco asked, laughing.
"Yeah, I got the stupid work done, and here I am!" he said, throwing his arm around Marco's waist.
"Hello, Dylan," said Marco's mother, coming into the living room to greet the visitor.
"Hey, Mrs. Del Rossi," Dylan replied, just tightening his old on Marco instead of releasing him. Marco found it strange that he wasn't uncomfortable or ashamed with his mother seeing it that way.
"Soo," said Dylan, "your room?" he gestured down the hallway, catching Mrs. Del Rossi's eyes, asking if it was okay.
She waved her hand at him with a smile, returning to her home. The kitchen. Dylan, too, smiled, and led Marco to his room.
"This room," said Dylan, "still doesn't feel like you." He looked around, shaking his head.
Marco laughed. "I'm sorry?"
"It's okay," said Dylan, not realizing Marco was joking, and having a seat on the bed next to him.
Dylan took Marco's hand in his, just staring down at it in silence. It was peaceful, not awkward.
Suddenly, Marco pushed Dylan's hand away from him. "Can I…" he started, not certain of how he was going to ask.
"What?" asked Dylan, confused.
Marco took his hand, and brought it to Dylan's forehead. "I just want to, like…I don't know."
"Go ahead," said Dylan.
Marco gently ran his thumb across Dylan's forehead, trailing it slowly down his nose, reaching his cheekbone. He outlined every inch of it before reaching his closed lips. He traced them in the same way, surprised that Dylan could keep his mouth shut for so long.
"Smile," said Marco.
Dylan did as he was told, which made Marco smile as well. He felt his lips turn upward under his finger.
"I can feel your smile," he laughed. "Literally."
"Okay," said Dylan softly, letting Marco continue his travels.
Marco then put both of his hands gently on Dylan's shoulders, his face screwed up in concentration. While one hand traveled down from Dylan's right shoulder, his other rubbed quickly across the front of his neck. Marco's left hand rested on Dylan's knee, and his right hand ran through his curly hair.
Marco took both arms, and put them around Dylan's neck, leaning his head on his shoulder.
"Done?" Dylan asked, rubbing Marco's back, wondering if he was okay.
Marco nodded. "Mhmm," he answered. He picked his head up off of his shoulder. "I love you."
"I love you too, Marco," said Dylan, kissing him sweetly. "I really wish you could see me," he laughed.
"Dylan, wishing gets you nowhere," said Marco, having made the same wish many times before. "Just be happy that I'm here with you."
"Okay," said Dylan, "I definitely am."
"Me too," said Marco, kissing him again.
A/N: And…. it's over!! I know. I didn't believe it myself, but there it is. I hope you all liked it :) Please review, even if you never ever have before. I don't care.