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“Remind me why I thought this would be fun.”
Jean rolled his eyes, reaching his limit with Monica’s complaints. “You wanted to come. I told you that I got the invitation, and you immediately wanted to come.”
“You said “Christmas party” and “famous actors” in one sentence,” Monica argued, defensive, as if it was a logical choice on her part and Jean had somehow wronged her.
“And that’s not what you’re seeing right now?” Jean gestured at the elaborately decorated ballroom they were in, the people dressed even more beautifully. Everything screamed of wealth and richness, from the decorations to the plates that the suited staff offered free snacks and drinks on. The Christmas tree at the center was larger than Jean thought they could be, smaller ones in the corners of the room and yet smaller ones on selected tables. There were festive colours everywhere; garlands and balls hung to any surface, ribbons on the walls and tables, flowers in red and white. If not a little formal and uptight for Jean’s taste, he didn’t know what anyone could find fault in. “You’re free to go socialize.”
“Clearly, I’m not. You don’t know anyone, and everyone has brought a date. Am I supposed to barge in and be the third wheel?” Monica sighed, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest. “I’m stuck with you.”
Admittedly, it hurt Jean’s pride a little to hear her say that, even if he didn’t particularly like her in return. The evening had begun fine, perhaps not stellar, but Jean knew that he wasn’t necessarily someone who could talk to people like he’d known them forever right off the bat. He’d been hopeful that they would warm up to each other, but it was evident that that had never been Monica’s intention.
It stung to realise he was being used, too. Monica had become increasingly impatient with the lack of attention from men more famous than Jean, her unsubtle requests to be introduced to celebrities Jean had never met evolving into the latest insults. She may have led him to believe otherwise when they spoke on Armin’s birthday, but Jean recognised when someone wasn’t interested in him, and Monica had never had a grain of curiosity.
Jean wasn’t going to let it ruin is self-image. Or his evening. “Listen, I’m going to get myself something from the buffet. If you aren’t hungry,” Jean emphasised his words, more than clearly not asking her to come along. “There are plenty of groups gathered to introduce yourself to. It’s up to you.”
Jean didn’t wait for a response, but he had handled that with exceptional class. He was brimming with the desire to shout at Monica and put her in her place, but given the location, he really couldn't. Jean would probably be carried out of the room by excessively large guards, and it might as well be the end of his career if he was unfortunate enough.
Jean needed to breathe and regroup. He needed a break, and the furthest end of the buffet table seemed like a fine place.
Heaving a tired sigh, Jean impassively considered the food and reluctantly scooped some onto his plate. Everything looked delicious, but at the same time, Jean wanted none of it. The combination of smells was too strong for his stressed senses, making his stomach turn and killing his appetite. Wanting to get away from the buffet, Jean hesitated when he saw the selection of beverages at the end. As he doubted whether or not to grab a second flute of surprisingly delicious champagne, someone stood beside him.
“She was awful to you.”
When Jean looked up, his eyes grew wide. For a second, his attention lingered on the oddly empty plate the person held, but he soon met a deep, dark and dreamy gaze he had seen at least a hundred times on the big screen.
Was that Marco Bott? No. Yes, it definitely was, but there was no way Marco Bott was talking to Jean Kirschstein. Marco Bott? Of his own volition? What?
Marco pressed for a response. “I hope it isn’t usually like this.”
“Oh,” Jean faltered, gathering his star struck brain to make sense of what Marco said. Oh. Marco thought that… “No, no! We aren't dating. We met through mutual friends and I hoped-- I thought it would be a nice evening, I guess. Well, it isn’t working out.” Jean felt his cheeks heat up, unable to form a proper sentence and making himself look like a mess. Marco was one of the most accomplished actors of his age. Jean had worked together closely with some young stars, but in comparison to standing before Marco, all of that paled.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Marco’s polite smile remained, if not a little saddened. His voice was soft and understanding, reassuring Jean that he hadn’t made a fool of himself yet. “It’s such a let down when it turns out the other person doesn’t care. But I have to say, I’m glad I was wrong about your relationship.” Marco looked at Jean more directly, his eyes a warm, beautiful brown that reflected kindness. Jean swallowed. “It’s much better to find out on the first date than halfway into an unhealthy relationship, isn’t it?”
Huffing to himself, Jean found those words perfectly true. “You’re right.” From Marco’s perspective, the situation didn’t sound so bad anymore. “Thanks,” Jean said, already more relaxed with the distraction of another person to talk to. He’d still have to find a way to get through the night without going insane, but that was something he could work on.
Marco shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. His timid smile became bolder, a little more devious, as he leaned closer and spoke in a hushed voice. ”Do you want her to go talk to someone else?” he asked, meeting Jean’s surprised look with confident, easy attitude. ”I know some guys who can never get too much attention.”
Gaping, Jean tried to see if Marco was serious. The smug arch of his eyebrows told Jean he absolutely was. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be better for all of us.”
Marco grinned knowingly and nodded. He gestured at the flutes of champagne, taking one for himself. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”
Jean was rooted in place while Marco walked up to one of the waiters as if he’d met him a million times before. Confused and still disbelieving, Jean took the nearest seat and simply let things happen. He couldn’t follow what was being said between Marco and the taller man, but he supposed the plan was being divised. Marco indicated to where Monica stood, grumping to herself, and soon the two casually strode in her direction. They never fully reached her, chatting on about something, but Monica watched them expectantly, and by the small curl of Marco’s lips, Marco knew he’d been noticed.
There was admiration in Monica’s expression, but one that Jean knew to be fueled by greed for fame and wealth, and even though Marco had apparently overheard them talking and was aware of her tactics, Jean couldn’t help feeling protective of him.
After a moment, Marco and the waiter parted ways. Marco headed to the back of the room, stopping to catch up with a group of people. Jean recognised some of them as actors and actresses of various degrees, as well as some less familiar faces that he might have seen in some making-of or behind the scenes footage. As Marco chatted with them, the taller man approached Monica. Whatever he told her, it caught her attention, the initial hesitation gradually fading from her face. She looked in the direction Marco had gone, briefly looking back at the waiter when he offered her a drink and a few more words of advice, before following after Marco.
Jean frowned. He didn’t like where this was going.
Marco clearly kept an eye on Monica. When she neared the group, Marco gave them a quick wave and turned to leave. Jean paid attention to Marco instead of Monica, temporarily drawn to how nice his legs looked in those expensive suit pants as he walked over to a woman a few steps further. Shaking the thought away, his frown returned when Marco leaned closer to the woman and told her something secretive. Marco glanced over to the group from before, indicating something, and Jean followed his gaze. Monica was there, already engaged in the conversation and apparently quite overwhelmed with the livelihood.
What on Earth had happened there?
A scraping noise snapped Jean’s attention back to his table, Marco sitting down beside him like nothing had happened.
“What on Earth did you do?” Jean blurted out, thought filter eliminated by amazement.
Marco blinked innocently. “I invited her to meet some actors. Isn’t that what she wanted?”
Squinting at him, Jean found that Marco wasn’t going to give him any more details. Jean shrugged and let Marco get away with it. He had gotten what he wanted, with the help of Marco Bott nonetheless, so he wasn’t going to argue.
Laughing lightly, Marco offered Jean a hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. Marco Bott. Nice to meet you.”
“Yes. The same.” Jean looked up from his food again, thrown off by the unusual order of events. Like he didn’t know who Marco Bott was. He’d seen Marco’s latest movie three times, but he supposed he wasn’t famous enough for Marco to know him by name. Begging that he didn’t have sweaty hands, Jean took the offered one. “Jean Kirschstein.”
“Jean,” Marco repeated, as if confirming the pronunciation. Jean nodded, in case that’s what Marco wanted. “Are you working on a movie right now?”
“I’m not an actor,” Jean began, immediately snapping his mouth shut. Just because Marco was an actor, didn’t mean he assumed the same of him. Way to go, Jean. “Nor a director, producer, or anything. I actually run a YouTube channel about movies. Kino Kirschstein?”
Realisation dawned on Marco’s face, lips parting in surprise. They looked full and luscious, the same soft pink on warm skin as highlighted on-screen. “I’ve heard of it,” Marco said, eyes scanning over Jean’s frame, trying to fit him into the picture. “I may have seen a video once or twice. I’m sorry, I don’t spend much time on YouTube.”
Jean was internally screaming at the fact that Marco knew about his channel at all. Trying to appear calm, he cursed the shaky breath he couldn’t control. “Each to his own. You have a busy enough schedule as is.”
“It’s not that. Strangely, I do badly at sitting down to watch anything these days.” In the cutest exaggeration of confusion, Marco scrunched up his nose and raised his shoulders. When he took a sip of his champagne, Jean was reminded of his own drink and did the same. “Tell me more about your videos.”
“There’s a variety of videos. I started out mostly doing movie reviews and plot theories, but now there’s a lot more interaction with the audience. Recently, I’ve made a few original short films.” Jean was proud of his work, more than content with the results, but suddenly, in the face of someone who starred in actual blockbusters with insane production values, it seemed so meager. “Nothing too grand, since I do it all by myself. It was quite early on that I started getting invited to movie premieres, but now I also get offers to collaborate on more technical areas. It still amazes me, honestly.”
“Of course. It’s amazing to achieve all that by yourself.” Marco’s expression was bright, genuine interest written in the way he twisted his body towards Jean. It was still a little surreal, all of this attention from Marco. “What genre are your films? If there’s a particular genre.”
Jean nodded, although he considered it more of a style than a genre or theme. “I love doing eerie, symbolic, art house kind of films, but I also made a documentary. I think the message is important, but I like to deliver it in experimental ways.“
Marco let his eyes linger on Jean’s face as he saw the pride on his features, enthusiasm sparking behind his smile. Jean almost thought the expression was one of encouragement, of particular attention for what Jean had to say, but he called himself out on his wishful thinking. “I should check out your channel. Kino Kirschstein?”
“Kino Kirschstein.”
“Is that German?”
“Yup.” Jean raised his glass to his lips again, surprised to find it almost empty. He had been so caught up in Marco and the internal turmoil he caused, he hadn’t realised he kept on taking nervous sips. “My father’s German. My mother‘s Swiss, hench my name is a French and German hybrid.”
Humming approvingly, Marco’s gaze landed on the remainder of Jean’s fruit salad as he considered the name of Jean’s channel. He didn’t know much German, but he was quite sure Kino translated to cinema. “Multicultural. Nice.” Marco stole one of the grapes from Jean’s plate, holding it up with a grin before popping the fruit into his mouth. Jean followed the movement with his eyes, but barely responded to it, and Marco wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I have Italian roots.”
“I know.” Jean regretted it as soon as he said it, hoping Marco wouldn’t find it creepy that Jean knew random details about him. Marco seemed unbothered; quirking an amused eyebrow and nodding his head. He must be used to it. “You speak Italian, don’t you?”
“Si signore,” Marco answered, putting on his best stereotypical Italian act with a gesture of his hand. The words rolled from his tongue and rumbled in his chest; a stupid, sexy accent in his stupid, sexy voice. “How about you?”
“I’m a multilingual mess,” Jean began, shaking his head at his own mixups. “I’ve got German German from my dad’s side and Swiss German from my mom’s. You don’t know how many times I’ve confused any of my grandparents.”
Marco could imagine. His own struggles as a bilingual were bad enough. “And French?”
“I can speak French, but I can’t spell it worth a damn,” Jean explained, quickly trying to find the best way to put it. Marco was visibly impressed, interested to learn more about his languages and cultural background. “My mother is from a border area between French and German-speaking communities. She’s proud that she learned French and wanted me to learn too, but she’s the only one who uses it confidently. I never got around to reading or writing. German was more important in the family.”
Jean grinned at the silent ‘wow’ that fell from Marco’s lips, holding himself proudly as he thought of all the stories he could share. Growing up, Jean had been on plenty family visits abroad and immersed in the different traditions. There was so much he could tell, so many mistakes he could amuse Marco with, but just as Jean made to speak up again, an announcer interrupted. Their attention moved to the center stage, where the man welcomed the next band to play.
Cursing the awful timing, Jean realised the previous band had indeed left, taking with them the quiet background music. The announcer told everyone that this was the last chance to grab a dance to live music if people wanted to; this band was the last one, their songs swaying and upbeat. A band member took the microphone next, presumably the singer, doing his own introductory talk as the rest prepared their equipment.
Marco turned back to Jean. “Do you dance?”
“Dance?” Jean repeated, unsure despite Marco’s strongly affirmative nod. No, Marco couldn’t be asking him to dance. “What about your date tonight?”
Marco’s expression seemed to fall ever so slightly, but his voice held on to its casual, relaxed sound. “I brought a friend, but I think she found an actor more interesting than me.”
Jean huffed. There was no actor more interesting than Marco Bott. “Who could that be?”
“Connie Springer.”
“She likes comedy?
“She loves comedy. And has a great habit of pranking her friends.” Marco made a dramatically exhausted face and Jean couldn't hide his amusement.
“I bet.”
Marco looked out into the crowd for a moment, probably looking for said friend and Connie Springer, and his already striking profile lit up even more when he found them. Searching the same direction, Jean identified Connie’s slim frame and bald head moving towards the dancefloor with an energetic girl, auburn ponytail bouncing behind her.
“Does that mean the rumours aren’t true?”
“What rumours?”
Shit. Jean hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “You don’t have to answer.” Jean made to assure Marco right away, understanding he may have overstepped a boundary. He almost didn’t explain himself, but now that he had brought it up, he was dying to know. Might as well bite the bullet. “I saw the picture of you and that guitarist from All Burns Red that went all over the Internet. Gotta agree it looked like a date.”
Ever unbothered, Marco very nearly looked pleased with the question. “I’ll tell you a secret.” Marco lowered his voice, eyes crinkling with mischief as he leaned towards Jean. Curious, Jean automatically did the same. “It was a date, but Damien and I mutually decided it would be the only one. We had different perspectives.”
“Oh.” Jean’s brain blocked with the new information, stuck on Marco’s confidential tone and easy admittance. There was a look in Marco’s eyes, an air about his posture, that made Jean feel like there was more to the revelation. Marco had told him many things in that one sentence, some more definite than others, and some conclusions more unlikely than others. “He’s an attractive guy.”
“He is,” Marco confirmed, one corner of his mouth pulling up slyly. “And kind, and funny, but we didn’t work well together.”
A moment passed as Jean let those words sink in, oddly aware of how Marco made sure he repeated that it didn’t work out. Marco looked at him expectantly, the smugness in his voice sending an overt message, but Jean was still not willing to make a false assumption. This was Marco Bott he was speaking to. Mistaking his intention would mean mortification on a whole other level.
“So?” Marco prompted eventually, “Will you dance with me?”
Holy shit. Marco was actually asking him to dance. “Yes.” Jean didn’t miss a heartbeat. “Of course.”
Marco seemed surprised, and Jean suddenly felt incredibly bad about his hesitancy. It wasn’t only him taking a risk here. Marco left himself wide open to someone he barely knew. Jean rarely met men who openly expressed an interest in him, even less actors, and he almost hadn’t taken the chance. What a mistake it would have been to make Marco think Jean didn’t care for a dance, and maybe a kiss, or a date, if any of that was on Marco’s mind.
Marco Bott. Flirting with Jean Kirschstein. Huh. Talk about a turn of events.
There was no denying it now. Marco’s smile was straight up triumphant, and Jean was all in for it.
“Great." Marco raised his glass, barely more than a sip or two left. "Let’s drink up and go.”
Jean wasn’t much of a formal dancer, and the moment he stood from his chair and felt the weakness in his knees, his healthy nerves soared through the roof. Marco politely ignored his stumbling, leading him to the dancefloor with unhurried steps and a pleasant smile. His fingertips grazed Jean’s arm every now and then, trying to keep his attention on him instead of the intimidating people and their impeccable footwork. It was effective, and exciting, all the little signals of intimacy that the touches send up Jean’s spine. Jean’s focus was definitely on Marco, on the handsome features that stopped in front of him and the gentle hand that came to rest on his waist.
“Are you worried about dancing?” Marco asked, waiting patiently for Jean to put his hand in his and show he was ready.
“I don’t really have any experience.” Jean raised a hand, hesitated, and didn’t put it anywhere on Marco’s body. Marco took the hand, helping him with the placement.
“It’s easy. I’ve got you.” Marco took a few slow steps, too slow for the music, to show Jean the pattern. It didn’t look too difficult, and with Marco’s guiding touch, Jean soon danced along without thinking about it, letting Marco lead and swaying at his command.
“There you go,” Marco said, testing Jean with a quick change of pace. “You seem like you have danced before, even if it wasn’t this kind.”
Normally, Jean would have denied in an instant, but with Marco, it came up in such a positive context that he only blushed and confessed. “I may have taken a year of contemporary dance as an elective in art school, but it wasn’t really my thing.”
Marco nodded. “You’ve got the grace and smoothness. And learning speed.”
Fading in and out of light conversation, Jean’s attention began to go less and less to his footwork and more towards the sweet torture of having Marco so close to him. Whenever he misstepped, it was mostly because he got distracted by a new detail he found on Marco’s skin, in Marco’s eyes, a hint of the figure beneath the layers of his clothes. Jean could see the smaller freckles on his cheeks that even a dramatic zoom on his face couldn’t really capture. He felt the smallest movement of Marco’s strong hand, the briefest contact of a foot, thigh, or hip when someone stepped off the mark and the occasional puff of warm breath when both of them came a bit too close at the same time.
There were moments. There were a lot of moments when Jean thought that he could feel the connection between them, could feel it spark electricity and demand more. They wouldn’t be the only ones to draw closer than necessary, not even the only pair of men, but still, every time Jean thought Marco was going to make a move, he didn't.
Jean chalked it up to being in the public eye. Even though Marco had been quite forward with Jean, that didn't equal wanting to let everyone know. It was understandable for someone with fame to his name not to want everyone’s attention on who he took interest in immediately. Marco had recently been the center of gossip. Like with Damien, the first date was fragile, a test of character and chemistry, and there could be so many reasons for it not to progress. Jean wasn’t exactly on a date with Marco, but after the invitation to dance, he was quite sure Marco was trying to get to know him.
God. What a terrifying, yet thrilling thought.
It would probably be best to let things happen on Marco’s terms. Jean wasn't sure of Marco's reasons, but he wanted to respect them. As much as Marco’s warmth and closeness were affecting him, and as much as Marco’s eyes seemed to reflect the same, he could be patient. Jean didn't want Marco to think it was only about physical contact. The way Marco talked to him, joked with him, touched him; it all fell perfectly in place. Jean definitely wanted to see where this could go.
The moments kept happening, though, and it didn't get easier. Although Jean had been intimidated at first, standing in front of Marco Bott the actor whose talent knew no boundaries, he wasn't anymore. Jean felt at ease, having a good time with Marco Bott the man whose wit was quick, mind was beautiful and love for storytelling was endless. Jean spoke more freely, his speech more animated and his laughter unrestrained. In turn, Marco responded with bolder comments and brighter smiles. Marco's touch crept up a little, towards the center of Jean's back, and there was no doubt that Marco felt the attraction that Jean felt. Marco was making no secret of his interest and Jean finally had the guts to see it, appreciate it, and reciprocate it. The boundaries were fading, Marco showing willingness to push them, and Jean carefully dared to wonder if there was more awaiting them.
They had long retreated to one of the cocktail tables, slowly nursing another champagne, when Jean was reminded why even a private event may not be private enough. It was in part his own fault, too. Everything was going so well, but Jean could feel the blood drain from his flushed cheeks when a familiar voice called for him.
“Hi, Jean,” Monica began, coming to a stop just a few steps removed from their table. Her eyes flicked over to Marco, and Jean could swear there was a short-lived moment of anger in them. Whatever upset her, the trick Marco had pulled to distract her or the fact that Jean ended up spending the evening with Marco instead, she pushed it down and smiled brightly. “I’m sorry to have disappeared so suddenly, but I see you weren’t alone.”
Jean blinked in shock, confused by the sudden sweetness of her tone. “That’s alright. I suppose you found good company yourself.”
“I sure did.” Monica’s gaze darted to the side, where a young actor was unsubtly waiting for her return. “I wanted to let you know that I’m leaving early. I’ve got a ride from a new friend, so don’t worry and stay as long as you’d like.”
“Sure. I’m glad you had a good time.“ Jean wasn’t sure how much of that he truly meant, but he really had no interest in ruining the mood right now. At least Monica respected Jean enough to let him know she was leaving so he wouldn’t end up worried and searching when the night drew to a close. That had to be worth something. As long as he could go back to shameless flirting with Marco, the interruption could be forgiven.
Exchanging quick greetings with the both of them, Monica turned to leave and linked arms with the boy Jean was sure he had seen in some kind of gangster movie. The two disappeared in the crowd before long, and Jean breathed a sigh of relief. He’d feared a storm, but it had amply passed him by.
“Wow. What a date can’t do for a person,” Marco commented, his unusual sarcasm making him sound almost more offended by Monica’s attitude than Jean was.
“Let’s not talk about her,” Jean suggested, reaching out to run a caress along the arm that Marco rested on the table. Marco didn’t object and Jean dared to wrap his fingers around Marco’s wrist, resting his hand there. Marco willingly let Jean steal his attention. When Marco gave him that knowing look, it must have been the hundredth time Jean cursed the remnants of the invisible barrier between them. They both wanted to come closer. It was so evident in the way Marco leaned forward over the table, just for a slight moment before catching himself and straightening up again. Jean tried not to focus on it too much. “Where were we?”
“Are you bringing someone to the Year End Awards?” Marco asked, new confidence blooming on his face. It was a complete change of topic, and it was unfortunate that it only served to reminded Jean of the difference in their social circles and status.
“I wasn’t invited.”
“Would you like to go?”
Jean’s eyes widened, looking incredulously at Marco’s smiling eyes. “Absolutely.”
Smugly, Marco held out his free hand. “Perfect. Let me give you my number.” Taking Jean’s phone when offered to him, Marco let their fingers brush and Jean earned a grin with his awkwardly late attempt to graze the other’s skin in return. Marco began to type away, then paused, studying the screen, before adding something more. “Wouldn't want to waste this chance,” he said, a buzzing sound coming from his pocket as he handed Jean’s phone back. Marco checked his own phone, nodding contently.
Looking at the screen in his hand, Jean saw the message Marco had sent himself.
* Kino Jean
Amused at the weird combination of his name and the name of his channel, Jean quickly messaged back with the proper username. His family name was hard to spell without knowledge of German, to the point he’d actually considered changing his channel for the sake of people finding him more easily, and Marco better be able to find him later.
* Kino Kirschstein
Marco looked up at him and smiled, before returning to his phone to reply.
* But I like looking at you, cinema :)
Jean had no doubt his cheeks were red as a tomato, but that was one of the most ridiculous texts he had seen in a long time. ”Firstly, Kirschstein is still me. Secondly, “cinema”?”
“Cinema,” Marco corrected, supplying the Italian pronunciation. “Stupid same spelling.”
“It still doesn’t make sense.”
“Do you prefer bello? Caro?”
Jean quirked an eyebrow. “Now you’re trying too hard, Süsser.”
Marco shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”
It was funny, especially when Marco looked at Jean hopefully like that. Jean’s heart raced with the obvious Italian terms of endearment, even when he wasn’t entirely sure of their meaning. Marco was teasing him and it could only mean that Jean was doing something right. He had a follow-up date to the Year End Awards and compliments in Marco’s smooth voice to go by, hours together and neither of them backing down, and Jean thought it couldn't get any better. This was getting real. This was what all the uncertain moments had been for. Jean was going to meet Marco again, and he had a real chance at becoming close with him.
Jean wasn’t deterred when Marco checked the time and met Jean’s eyes apologetically.
“I’m going to have to leave soon, too,” Marco explained, “I have to be presentable tomorrow morning. Early shoot.”
“I’m glad you came despite the schedule.” Jean didn’t let Marco look away, bold with the new certainty about their potential. This confidence was amazing. Jean felt comfortable and attractive, wanted under Marco’s intense gaze.
“Me too.” Marco grinned back, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as the moment stretched into silence. The distance between them seemed to grow rather than shrink, the tension only growing stronger. If Marco wasn't going to do it now, he wasn't going to do it at all tonight. Jean had been letting Marco take the lead all this time, but he was so tempted to do it instead. Someone had to do it. Someone had to take the initiative and go for the goodbye kiss. Jean didn't think Marco would push him away, not at all, and still he couldn't bring himself to do it. The sense from earlier in the evening remained; the idea that Marco held back for a reason, waited for something to be assured, and Jean couldn't rush him.
It was almost more uncomfortable than the possibility of rejection, but Jean looked away and suggested they would leave.
Heading to the cloakroom together, Jean could feel the apprehension of the imminent goodbye in the air. Jean didn’t dread it; he knew they would meet again, but he didn’t know what to say about it. He didn't know how to greet Marco, how to keep his distance and still show his interest, and most of the walk was spent in thoughtful silence. The coat Marco took from the attendant looked expensive and it looked even better wrapped around his broad shoulders and tucked around his waist. Jean’s fingers missed the button they were working on, his mind too occupied eyeing Marco and wondering if he could claim any sort of relationship with him.
They stepped into the chilly outside air, a stone path leading them off of the property. Even in the low light, the clematis flowers along the fence stood out against the dry winter grass. The same, sparkly white ribbons of fake snow that hung from the ceiling inside were laid out throughout the garden, little lights bringing out their reflective colours. Jean was still trying to figure out a proper way to say goodbye, the tense silence losing its last grain of comfort, when Marco suddenly stopped in front of the open gate. If Marco wanted to say something, he wasn’t looking at Jean. Following Marco’s gaze, Jean didn’t know what he was supposed to see. There was nothing, nobody following behind them.
Turning to ask about it, Jean’s eyes fell upon something right above the Marco’s head.
A mistletoe. Strung to the arch was a mistletoe.
No, Marco was waiting until…
Marco grabbed Jean by the arms and pulled him close, dragging him under the mistletoe with him. In the blink of an eye, Marco had leaned in and pecked Jean on the lips.
Marco had a big, playful smile on his lips when Jean looked up at him, and he could feel his own expression mimicking it. They had been close when they danced, but his beat everything. It was simple, but there was something so right about it, so welcoming, Jean could only think fondly of what the future offered. When Marco made to step away, Jean stepped forward to stop him. If Marco hadn’t kissed him at all, Jean could have been patient. He had given it his best to do that, but Jean hadn’t been walking on the edge all evening, holding back whenever he felt the pull to lean in, to take this tiny teaser and leave it at that.
“You’re not getting away with that.”
Jean freed his arms from Marco’s hold and placed his hands on the other’s jaw, tilting his head and closing the gap. Marco's lips were pliant, lush and full, and Jean groaned at the feeling. It was a sensation he'd been waiting for, the anticipation releasing into the moment. Marco opened his mouth ever so slightly, allowing Jean to run his tongue across the button lip, pulling it between his teeth, alternating the pressure with smooth caresses. The low sound Marco made was music to Jean’s ears, but he didn’t push on. If he did, he wouldn’t be letting Marco go. This wasn’t the time or place to get caught up in each other. Letting his hands slide down to Marco’s shoulders, Jean slowly distanced himself.
“I deserved that,” Marco said when their eyes met again, light amusement in his tone.
Jean grinned. “Hell yes you did.”
Marco reached out to brush a stray strand of Jean’s hair into place. “I’ll try to make sure my schedule for the day after the Year End Awards stays clear.” Marco shuffled a little on his feet, almost nervous. “Save some time for me?”
Jean didn’t need to think about that. “I will.”
Leaving Jean with another quick peck and a goodnight wish, Marco headed towards the underground parking lot. Jean’s own car was parked outside, but he got sidetracked long enough to catch Marco sending him a wave and return it. Even though Marco wouldn’t be able to see it, Jean smiled at him, and the smile didn’t fade as he made for his car.
Once seated, Jean took a deep breath and let his head fall back against the seat. Not a second later, he sighed loudly and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly, exhaustion was catching up to him. What a ride the night it had been. From hopeful, to stressed and furious, to disbelieving, to well beyond light flirtation and simple attraction.
In the moment, everything had become easy. In the moment, Jean quickly learned to read Marco’s expressions and manners, coming to enjoy the interactions and let himself be carried away. Now that the moment was over, he realised what had actually happened.
Jean had arrived with one date and left with another.
Jean Kirschstein had kissed Marco Bott.
His whole world was upside down, but in the best way it had ever been.