Chapter Text
Monday:
Jean left the previous night. He’d be gone the whole summer as always.
Unlike all other summers, Marco wouldn’t be here anxiously waiting for the end of summer, nervously biting his finger nails until the day he would hear from his mother that his friend was home again. Sometimes he hadn’t even needed for her to say anything. The mischievous smile playing on her lips and the way her teasing eyes sparkled were enough to let Marco know his days of loneliness were over. One look at her in this state had him bolting for the telephone, fumbling over his own fingers trying desperately to dial his tawny haired friend’s familiar number. He always thought back then that maybe just hearing Jean’s voice, just knowing he was home and within reach would be enough. But it never was. Marco was never at peace until he could see Jean with his own eyes again and give him a lingering welcome back hug full of relief (on his part anyway).
The freckled boy sighed deeply, trying to think of something besides the pain he felt in his heart. Those memories… They were bothering him right now. It hurt to think about it, but at the same time he couldn’t help it. He wanted to remember all of them with as much detail as he could and hopefully that would make them last longer. He wanted to carve homes for them in his brain so that he would never lose them because that was probably the last thing he would have to remember his best friend Jean by. Jean was gone and soon Marco would also be gone. They wouldn’t be seeing each other again anytime soon.
Maybe not ever.
It was the first official day of summer vacation, Marco had woken up with the first rays of the sun but he had no motivation to get out of bed whatsoever. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, playing the previous day in his head over and over, ruthlessly berating himself. Why did he have to push Jean away? They could have enjoyed their last day together, they’d made up hadn’t they? But no, Marco was hurting and he’d wanted to make Jean hurt too. Congratulations. Mission accomplished and now he could mope around all day and suck it.
His mother had asked how his day with Jean had gone and he’d evaded the question saying they’d mostly talked. She had just nodded and given him a hug. He was happy she didn’t try and give him that ‘you’ll make new friends’ speech, because that would really not be helpful at all. Instead she said he could always write to him. He’d smiled and said maybe. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. Jean hated written correspondence with a passion. He might try at first; actually make some kind of effort. It might even be cute and include photographs and drawings. But he knew Jean. The intervals between letters would get longer and longer and then one day, he’d be lucky to get anything at all. He really didn’t want to go through that. Feeling a false sense of hope when, really there was none. In the end it wouldn’t matter, it would honestly just make things worse. They’d drift apart all the same, it would just be a slower lingering death to their relationship. It was something he couldn’t imagine being able to endure, so it had been best to cut all ties. Nice and clean.
It really was for the best, he kept telling himself.
It was early in the morning and it was already starting to get hot and humid. The sun had intruded upon the sanctuary of his room what seemed like moments ago and now it was staring at him angrily in the face. He moved his head to a different position on the pillow, trying to find a cooler spot, but soon that was also unbearably hot. He groaned out loud when he felt the beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. Had he mentioned how much he hated summer? He wondered what summer would be like in California. It was a freaking desert from what he’d seen, so he expected everyday would be like today if not worse. His mom had said it would be different because it was a dry heat. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Heat was heat and he was one hundred percent sure he would loathe it just the same. What a pain.
He pushed the sheets off himself angrily using his feet. His mother chose that time to peek in and saw that he was awake.
“Breakfast will be ready soon,” she said giving him a questioning look.
He shot up immediately, “I’ll be right down.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. Marco fidgeted with his sleep shirt hem, his actions filled with the guilt he couldn’t properly express. He was almost sure his mother was going to give him some kind of lengthy lecture, but instead she just smiled and shook her head. He usually didn’t need any prodding to get out of bed and get ready. He was usually already dressed and downstairs before his mother even started cooking. The freckled boy mentally chastised himself. He shouldn’t be making his mother worry like this. She had enough problems to deal with and was pregnant on top of everything else. Instead of being helpful and supportive he was being a whiny douche and he couldn’t stand himself.
The thing that took the longest was deciding what to wear. What clothes wouldn’t make him feel like candles were melting on his skin in the middle of the day? Tough choice, but in the end he went with khaki cargo shorts and a navy blue cotton tank top. He showered quickly and ran downstairs before his mother had to come looking for him again. In hindsight, that might not have been the best idea. The exercise made him sweaty almost right away, entirely defeating the purpose of his shower.
He bolted into the kitchen and plopped himself down onto his chair before his mother had a chance to say something about him being late. Of course, the guilt was too much so he opened his mouth to apologize profusely.
But nothing came out.
The words died in his mouth when he saw his mother had company other than his aunt and grandmother this morning. Marco’s eyes widened. This could not be happening. He was obviously still asleep. No wonder the sun had seemed a little too bright and had made everything seem fuzzy in his room. This sepia tinted morning was a little too fabricated, it couldn’t possibly be real. It was a dream. He was still asleep.
He was, wasn’t he?
“Took you long enough,” his tawny haired best friend scolded from the other side of the island stovetop. He was helping keep an eye on the pancakes, making sure to flip them when they were perfectly golden brown. He looked up at Marco, his eyes full of uncertainty.
Marco was gaping, and that apology he had previously intended to deliver to his mother was dead in his mouth before it ever got the chance to be uttered.
“Jean?” he finally whimpered out.
He hated the way his voice sounded. He wasn’t a kid anymore! He should be better able to keep his emotions in check. So what if his best friend whom he’d been pouting over all morning was right here now in his kitchen? And making him breakfast no less. Whatever had gone wrong in the world while he’d been sleeping to make such a thing possible could continue going wrong as far as he was concerned. The idea of Jean making him breakfast made his little heart flutter in his chest.
Marco couldn’t really say much since his mother, aunt and grandmother were all staring back and forth between the two boys like they were glass figurines in a curio cabinet. He was already a somewhat nervous and shy boy by nature, the weight of their stares made him feel even more self-conscious than usual. He hung his head over his table setting and shrank into himself as much as he could, hoping to make himself small enough to where they wouldn’t notice him. Small enough to where they wouldn’t see the tint of red on his cheeks and ears.
His mother was the one to finally break the awkward silence.
“Jean was kind enough to help us with our move,” she said sending a wide smile to Jean who was having difficulty with a particularly large pancake he was trying to flip. He perked up when he heard his name, giving Marco a tentative lopsided smile. Marco was too nervous to offer him more than a smile shy smile in return. He felt stupid for even feeling this way. They’d been friends for years. What was wrong with him? “He volunteered to help box things up… and also to keep an eye on you.”
“What about his vacation?” Marco finally asked, feeling like a coward because he couldn’t address his own friend directly.
“My parents let me stay here to help you move,” Jean answered nervously. “I’ll be joining them afterwards.”
“Oh,” Marco said simply.
He wondered if Jean could tell, if Jean could notice that the lack of action or emotion he was displaying on the outside was absolutely no reflection of what was going on inside him. Inside he was so ridiculously happy and having so many feels he literally felt like barfing rainbows. Jean had stayed… for him. He’d given up part of his vacation with his family to spend time with him.
“Jean, go sit down honey,” Marco’s mom ordered once breakfast was ready.
Jean slowly trudged over to the table. He slowly walked around Marco’s chair, ruffling his hair a little before he sat down on the chair right next to him. It was the only seat available, so it made sense. Marco was almost positive his mother and the others had planned it this way the whole time. When his mother got busy serving everyone and the others started to buzz with their usual morning gossip, Marco decided to steal a glance at Jean. He reached over for the pancake syrup, hoping he’d be able to do this unnoticed. But when he looked up, he found Jean was already gazing at him. He wasn’t sure what happened, because he wasn’t normally like this. Normally if something was embarrassing to him, he’d get all flustered and look away immediately. But not this time.
Looking into Jean’s eyes, he saw a bit of the sadness, a small piece of the hopelessness he’d been feeling all school year and it felt so wrong, so out of place. That look didn’t belong to Jean, Jean wasn’t like this. His friend was always happy, confident and self-assured. Marco found it hard to ignore the other boy and look away, and how could he when his friend looked so down? He absolutely could not, so instead he smiled fondly and whispered a simple ‘thank you.’ Nothing else was needed, there was no need to elaborate. Marco knew Jean got the full message when he saw his friend’s dimpled smile and the light return to his yellow topaz eyes before he turned away shyly and lowered his gaze to his plate. Just like that, everything was right in the world again.
The boys ate their breakfast of bacon, eggs and pancakes in a relative kind of peace. Jean and Marco remained mostly silent while the women all made a big deal of Jean giving up part of his vacation to help out. It seemed they would never tire of praising his selflessness and his obvious dedication to his friendship with Marco. This in turn made Jean blush all kinds of shades of pink. Marco tried to save him from any additional embarrassment by pretending not to notice, but he secretly stole glances at him and committed each variation of Jean’s flustered face to memory.
There was no way he wanted to forget this day anytime soon.