Forvgive Me || JeanMarco

"See you soon." Jean smiled, ending the phone call. Before setting his phone down, he took a quick glance at the caller info on the illuminated screen. He smiled at the picture of his boyfriend of three years, Marco. His eyes were the color of whiskey, warm and inviting. They contrasted well with the burst of freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. "Better freshen up," Jean thought to himself. It had been at least 3 days since he had seen Marco, and his heart just couldn't take it anymore. He needed to feel the softness of his lips, his smile, see the light set the golden flecks in his eyes dancing.

It didn't take very long for Jean to clean himself up; his hair was short, and his clothes didn't have to be fancy, considering he'd most likely be taking them off, after Marco arrived. That's how it goes; when Marco's around, things like tidiness and outfit choice didn't matter, because he had a special knack for turning awkward moments into nights of passion and fondness. Soft kisses in the dark, bare skin on hot nights, it didn't matter, Marco knew Jeans weaknesses. And that was one of the many reasons he fell for him.

Jean recalled the first time they met, about three and a half years ago, on a crisp autumn day. It was back when Jean was in highschool, back when his hair was long, and he had braces. He had worked at a Starbucks, lazily attending as a barista for hours on end, heading home tired, and waking up the next morning to go to school and repeat the cycle. One day, not a special day in particular, something, or better to say someone, caught Jean's eye. When he first saw him, his heart skipped a beat. He had to remind himself that there was nothing special about Marco, tough he knew it wasn't true. His feelings got the best of him. When Marco showed him that brilliant, heart melting smile that oh-so complemented his freckles, Jean had snapped. He decided to do something bold, but not too bold. Before he could hand him his order, Jean hastily scribbled his phone number under the words "call me." He was reluctant at first, but nearly shoved the drink into Marco's hands when the time came. He ran into the back room but not before adding a quick "thank you come again."

The next day, he received a phone call, then a week after that, there was a date. It had taken jean almost half a year to convince Marco to become his boyfriend, and even longer before Jean exposed himself, completely, in front of Marco.

And today, this lovely, summer day, nearly three years later, they were celebrating their their anniversary.

It was in their plans to do something special, watch a move, and maybe crack out a bottle of wine. At least, that was Marco's idea. Jean had something else planned, something that involved talking a risk.

He reached into his back pocket, carefully pulling out the small,velvet box and giving a quick glance at the expensive, handcrafted ring inside. He stared at it, admiring the way the onyx steel caught the light.

"Perfect," he murmured, closing the box curtly and stuffing it in his pocket.

In the meantime, he could prepare dinner. Waiting for Marco would do no good. He opened the spice cabinet, considering the possibilities. He pulled out a few that seemed would go well together, closing the door and opening the refrigerator at the same time. He pulled out some frozen chicken, setting it in the sink to thaw and wiped his hands on his tight pants. Everything was in order, dinner was on its way to being complete; Jean checked off his mental list. Now it was the fun part, setting the dinner table romantically. He straightened out the vase of roses he had bought the previous day, spreading handfuls of loose petals around the large, mahogany surface. He light some candles, making sure the scent wasn't to strong, and stepped back to admire his work. "Right, right." He said to himself with a humble nod. Seeing that his work was done, he made his way into the living room and slumped onto the couch. Jean switched on the tv, the channel playing Glee or some other silly show, and closed his eyes. He played the scenario over in his head;