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As any recent college graduate knows, groceries are a bitch. None of the things you came to get are on sale, and somehow every single coupon you’ve collected has expired. Not to mention how big of a dent it puts in your wallet. Yes, humanity would be much better off if people were still hunter-gatherers, solely relying on themselves to get food.
Marco prowled the cereal aisle, casting his gaze around. Then he saw it. A flash of red and yellow graphics, swirled together in a nauseating mix. He visibly perked up. He could practically taste the cinnamon crunch on his tongue. He hadn’t had the cereal since he was a kid. He reached for the last box, fingers brushing the cold cardboard.
And someone else grabbed the box. Of fucking course. Marco whirled around to glare as the stranger did some sort of celebratory dance. Marco’s eyes narrowed. No one mocked his pain.
Amber eyes met chocolatey brown ones. They both made nearly identical noises of shock.
Jean was the first one to speak. “Uh, you can have your cereal.” He tentatively held out the box.
“I don’t accept charity,” Marco said stiffly. “But I’ll trade it for your number.” Yeah, Marco had always been the smooth one in high school.
Jean’s mouth dropped open. “Uh… Um! I thought, like, I was such a douche when you guys were filming- you were interested in me?” He was still staring at Marco like he had grown two heads.
Marco snorted. “Have you seen yourself? You’re hot. Also, pretty much anyone would react to Eren like that. I like him, but he can be a douche too sometimes. So,” he continued. “Your number?”
“Ah, um!” Jean shoved the box into Marco’s arms before pulling out a slip of paper and scrawling his name. “Yeah, sure.” He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “And you can have the cereal too. I mean, that would be the gentlemanly thing to do. You found it first, after all.”
Marco smiled. “Yeah, okay.” He set the box of cereal in his cart. “Call me? I sort of need to get some vegetables now…”
Jean nodded furiously. “Of course! I mean, of course I’ll call you.” He shifted the handle of the basket on his arm.
Marco smiled as he walked away. What a dork. What a cute dork.
* * *
There was nothing better than a warm cappuccino. And the Titan Cafe was definitely the best place to get one.
Marco sighed, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and coffee. Hunger gurgled in his belly. He adjusted one of the pastel pink clips in his hair. Today was one of those days where he felt closer to his female side than his male side. He was wearing bright blue skinny jeans and a k-pop t-shirt with the clips. If he had boobs and long hair, he might have passed as a girl.
He stood in line, a trace of a smile on his lips. Swaying in place, he hummed Avenue Q. He didn’t even notice the people in line staring at him for being so happy at 7 AM on a Monday. Well, normally he wouldn’t be this happy. (He wasn’t a morning person.) But last night Jean had called him and they’d scheduled a date. Wednesday, 7 PM sharp at the old church. Polka night.
Marco wasn’t a big dancer, but he’d never danced the polka before. Apparently that was different from the standard ballroom dances.
He was at the front of the line. He glanced up at the board, just as he did every morning, even though he already knew what he wanted. “One cappuccino, large, dry, please.”
He looked over at the barista taking his order. Sandy blond hair, undercut, amber eyes. He did a double take. “Jean? You work here?”
Jean nodded. “Yep.”
Marco laughed uncomfortably. “Sorry, that was pretty obvious, I just-”
Jean smirked. “Nah, it’s cute.”
Marco laughed, for real this time. “All right, then.”
Marco’s name was called. He glanced over, shouting a quick ‘goodbye!’ to Jean before walking to retrieve his coffee. Caffeine before Kirschtein’s. He carefully inhaled the scent of his cappuccino.
Jean was staring at him, a small, gentle smile on his face. Marco raised an eyebrow and slowly waved at him. Jean straightened up, aghast at being caught staring. “Uh-! Sorry, I just- your hair clips are cute!” Jean dropped his head into his hands in embarrassment.
A warm feeling spread out from Marco’s chest. “Thank you.”
* * *
The old church was certainly very… old. Marco had never been a church-going person. He was agnostic, couldn’t care less about some old dude in the sky.
Not so with Jean. He was Methodist, went to church every Sunday. Luckily his church was pretty accepting, since Jean was bisexual. As long as you paid your dues they didn’t care who you fucked.
Marco opened the door, stepping inside. Its ceilings were high, the stained glass grandiose, and there was studded leather everywhere. It reminded him of some of the images of gothic buildings he’d seen in his Architecture class.
Marco felt suddenly self conscious in his dress. Usually he couldn’t care less what people thought, but this was Jean. He didn’t want to get them kicked out of the dance. Jean had said this church was accepting, but maybe it wasn’t if you weren’t cis.
If someone had asked what his gender was, Marco probably would have said he was genderqueer. He used male pronouns, and usually he felt like a guy. But sometimes he felt like there was something else in the mix, and sometimes he felt like wearing dresses or skirts or high heels. It just depended on the day, really. And when he’d heard there was going to be a dance, he’d gone right to the more feminine side of his spectrum.
He was wearing black flats and a touch of bronze eye shadow with his maroon dress. The dress was one of his favorites. Collared and sleeveless, with a shear section above a heart neckline. It went to slightly above his knees. And of course, he’d shaved his legs.
He could hear the oompah of the tuba through the building. He followed the music to a large open room. Inside were people dancing. A band played in the backdrop, wearing traditional Polish clothes. A snack table lined the side of the room.
He carefully stepped inside, looking around for Jean. He found him dancing with an older woman, laughing and swaying to the music. Jean brightened up when he saw him and excused himself from the dance.
“Hey,” he panted, a flush in his cheeks from the exertion. Jean glanced down at Marco’s outfit. He looked at him uncomfortably. “Um, if it’s okay for me to ask, why are you wearing a dress?”
Marco had prepared for this question. “I’m genderqueer,” he explained. “So sometimes I like wearing more feminine clothing.”
Jean nodded. “Ah, okay! I have a friend, Armin, he’s non binary too. He’s a demiboy.” Jean looked suddenly chagrined. “Shit, what pronouns do you use?”
Marco smiled softly at the care Jean was taking. “He, but they is okay too.”
Jean nodded slowly. “Alright, he it is then.”
Right then the band stopped. A woman stepped forward. “Alrighty folks, now we’re going to play the Beer Barrel Polka! Feel free to sing along if you know it.”
Jean’s eyes lit up. “Ooh! I love this one! Come on, Marco!” He grabbed Marco’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. “Okay, so I’ll lead.” He placed his hand on Marco’s hip. “You’re the follower, so you put your hand on my shoulder. And then with your other hand, you hold my hand.” He held out his hand and Marco clasped it. “It’s really easy, don’t worry. Now for the actual dance part, you hop back and forth. You stay on one foot for three beats. Hop two three.” He demonstrated, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Jean started, and Marco followed tentatively. A small smile lifted his features as he hopped from one foot to the next. This was actually pretty fun. (He was glad he had chosen these flats over heels.)
Jean leaned in a little and spoke in a whisper. “Just so you know, you look fantastic in that dress.”
Marco blushed, but he couldn’t help his smile morphing into a grin at Jean’s words. Not many people he’d told about his gender were this accepting. They didn’t understand how a guy could want to wear a dress and still be a guy. For a while, his parents had actually thought that he was trans, and just confused. But after a few years of sending them non binary resources and having them go to GLSEN meetings they’d begun to understand. Now they were pretty accepting, and luckily they hadn’t done anything drastic when he’d first came out like throwing him out of the house or disowning him. He knew a few people who’d gone through that.
The woman conducting the polka band started singing. “Roll out the barrel! We’ll have a barrel of fun! Roll out the barrel! We’ve got the blues on the run!”
Jean started singing along as they started the second verse. Marco was dancing more confidently now and occasionally he started in on the lyrics along with Jean. The dance really was simple. (Though his joints were starting to hurt from the constant jumping around.)
“Roll out the barrel! We’ll have a barrel of fun! Roll out the barrel! We’ve got the blues on the run!”
The music stopped with a final loud chord, and Jean and Marco clapped loudly. They turned to face each other once the musicians had taken their bows. Jean’s face was pink and hot. They were both panting quietly from the exercise.
Without thinking, Jean leaned up to kiss Marco. Marco froze in shock. Jean was kissing him. That was happening. Kissing. Him. He realized that Jean was beginning to pull back, concerned at Marco’s lack of reciprocation. Oh no. That wasn’t happening on his watch.
His hand clutched at Jean’s hip, and he crushed their lips together again. Jean responded hungrily, but still keeping the kiss as chaste as possible. After all, they were in a church. In front of people.
Marco was the first to pull away. “Wow,” he panted. “That was- nice. Surprising, but nice.”
Jean laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
* * *
Well, they certainly looked forward to all their kisses after that.