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Marco Bodt is an angel sent from heaven to Earth. I swear he is. He is the friendliest, kindest, most energetic socialite I’ve ever met. He’s friends with everyone, can’t go two steps without saying ‘hi’ to someone in the hallway. He’s a hard worker and very driven in all that he does. The teachers love him, every social clique respects him, and even the seniors don’t treat him like every other freshman because he’s just too dog-gone cute. His smile could light up the underworld, his eyes stare at you with the sweetest sincerity that you melt like chocolate in the sun, and the freckles on his face look like the stars dotting the Milky Way and there’s just something about that that I find so captivating it hurts.
I still haven’t figured out why this pure ray of sunshine chooses to spend his time with me. I’m nothing like Marco. I’m shy, I’m grumpy (I used to say in the morning, but it tends to last all day), other people irritate me; I’m just not really a people person. I choose my friends carefully, and stick to them. But what does it matter? I’m just not like Marco, okay? That’s all you need to know.
Moving on, Marco and I met this year in band. He plays the clarinet. I play the trombone. We somehow became friends right away. Maybe cause Marco’s personality is magnetic, who knows? But we became friends, and have been ever since. We’d hang out together at football games. He’d help me with my geometry homework. I helped him carry his books when he sprained his ankle in September. We go to each other’s houses on weekends, just to chill or do homework or whatever. He texts me ridiculous puns and sends me horrible snapchats that I naturally respond to with puns and snaps of equally embarrassment-worthy caliber. He pushes me to be social. He tells me about his family and childhood and listens to my stories and complaints about school and Eren Jaeger. He hugs me goodbye like he means it. He makes me smile…
Okay, as wonderful as all that sounds, things are exactly fan-frickin-tastic here. Nope. There’s one big glaring problem in the way.
I don’t want to hold Marco’s books; I want to hold his hand. I don’t want to read his lips across a crowded room at a party; I want to kiss his lips alone in my bedroom. I don’t want to be his best friend; I want to be his boyfriend.
The problem? One does not simply ask an angel to be his boyfriend. You have to do something creative, something worthy of such a divine being that…
“Jean?”
I jump, shutting the note app on my phone and powering down the device as Marco appears at my side. I smile, feeling my face heat up as I shove my phone into my pocket.
“Hey,” I say, lamely.
Marco smiles. “Ready to go?”
“Of course,” I nod, following as Marco leads me towards the center of town. Every year, the city puts up a giant display of holiday lights in the city square. It’s gaudy as all get out, but it’s tradition, and there’s no way they’ll ever stop doing it. I usually try to avoid it at all costs, because I don’t like people or cold weather, but Marco wanted me to go with him. So, here I am, bundled up hat, scarf, gloves and all with a grinning, freckled, 5’10 five-year-old otherwise known as my best friend I secretly have a crush on. I don’t think I could deny Marco anything, my heart included. If only I knew how to ask him to take it… I realize Marco’s speaking to me and I’m not hearing it. I hate myself sometimes.
“What do you think?” the brunette is asking, gesturing to the lights before us. I survey the grounds carefully. Archways of lights cover all the paths. There are multiple structures moving, but there are too many lights to discern what they are. The thin layer of snow covering the ground reflect the light back, looking like a beautiful mosaic. I nod with approval.
“They’re nice,” I reply. Marco laughs, rolling his eyes as he takes my hand. My heart skips a beat.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me through an archway covered by multicolored lights. I try to bury my face deeper into my scarf in order to hide the blush on my face. What would Marco do if he knew his touch was driving me crazy? I have to tell him. I have to do it. Tonight. Or tomorrow. Maybe next week?
“Hey, are you okay?”
I blink, staring back into Marco’s wide, brown eyes. I nod. “Yeah. Never better. Why?”
“You’re just… distant tonight,” the freckled brunette says with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’re sure you’re okay? We can go home if you want.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I promise.” Marco’s smile widens.
“Well good, because there’s at least one thing I have to show you,” he says, pulling me towards the gazebo in the center of the square. It’s strung up with white lights, glowing like the heart of an ice palace. I can see why Marco would want to see it; it’s beautiful. And surprisingly empty.
Marco leads me right up the steps into the center of the gazebo. I look around, taking in the sight of the lights twinkling around us.
“This is beautiful,” I say quietly. Marco nods. He looks positively angelic under the bright lights, his dark eyes twinkling. I hope I can remember this image for the rest of my life.
“Jean, do you believe in love at first sight?” Marco asks out of the blue. I blink, shrugging my shoulders.
“No,” I reply plainly.
Marco tilts his head to the side, eyebrows knitting together. “No?”
“No,” I shake my head, looking off at the dark, holiday light littered night beyond our gazebo. “I think it takes longer to realize you love someone than just one look for one second.” I look back at him. Marco nods thoughtfully.
“But what about falling in love,” he persists. His dark eyes are searching mine for something. “Can you fall in love with someone at first sight?”
“Perhaps,” I shrug.
“Okay,” Marco shrugs back, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looks up at the lights hanging above our head. I feel my eyebrows arch up.
“Why do you ask?” I question suspiciously.
Marco looks down at his shoes, the most sincere smile breaking on his lips as a light blush covers his freckled cheeks. “Because I think that’s when I fell in love with you.”
My eyes go wide as my heart stops for a second. My stomach drops to my feet. Time stops. Marco’s looking at me. He’s still smiling. He leans forward.
He’s kissing me. He pulls away. He smiles.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask, my voice very small.
“To make sure you felt the same,” Marco laughs. “I was starting to think you didn’t like me like that. You were taking too long to ask me out. So I figured I’d just do it myself.” I can feel my face lighting up brighter than the display around us. “So, Jean Kirschtein, will you be my boyfriend?”
I nod. “Yes. Yes. A million times yes.” I throw my arms around my freckled best friend. Correction: boyfriend. Marco hugs me back, tight, like he means it. Like he always does. I smile, digging my face in his shoulder, absorbing the sweet smell of cinnamon and laundry detergent. “Was I really taking too long?” I whisper.
“Just a bit,” Marco replies, resting his head against mine. “Sorry I was impatient.”
“Oh no, Marco. You’re perfect,” I answer. “Absolutely perfect.”
We stay like that, holding on to each other in the gazebo, until the night becomes unbearably cold. I wrap my fingers around Marco’s and lead him back to the car. He drives me home. He kisses me on the cheek before I get out. I peck him back on the lips and laugh at his blushing face. He texts me as soon as he gets home. I fall asleep smiling like an idiot.
Guess that’s love, isn’t it?