Work Text:
0 minutes until Marco arrives in the US.
There's something just wonderful about waiting outside baggage claim at the airport. From where Jean's sitting, he can see a ridiculously beautiful ritual take place over and over: all sorts of people crest the top of the New Arrivals escalator, search the crowd for their brother or wife or best friend, and then sprint into those waiting arms. It's like that embrace is the best proof they'll ever get that they're home.
Jean wonders if it'll be different when his own little world traveler makes his appearance. This airport isn't Italian and certainly isn't anywhere close to the sunny hillside of Cortona. But, maybe his boyfriend will make seeing each other in person after five months of long distance communication feel like a true homecoming. No, not “maybe...” Jean's certain that if anyone can make this a moment of pure bliss, it would be—
“MARCO!” Jean hollers so loud his voice cracks, as he spots a familiar tall frame.
The man making his way toward the baggage carousel freezes completely before he turns toward Jean. A stunning smile stretches across his glowing face, freckles lost in a happy flush that Jean's only been able to see in grainy Skype screens and dreams for months. Marco takes a few breathless steps forward and throws his arms out wide in a clear invitation. That's it—Jean meets Marco halfway, enveloping him in a crushing hug.
After a few moments, Jean feels rather than hears Marco mumble into his shoulder, “Jean?”
“Yeah?” he replies excitedly, wondering what romantic greeting his sweet boyfriend will mumur in this once-in-a-lifetime moment.
“...Your armpit smells,” Marco whimpers.
And if that's not a clue into just how swimmingly this reunion will go, Jean's not sure what is.
–-
6 years after Marco (and Jean, for that matter) left the US
“...Merda.” Shit. Marco glares at the paper before him.
“Che cos'è?” What is it? Jean asks, looking up from his laptop. It's not often that Marco curses.
Jean sees what Marco's up to, though, and it all makes sense. He's still tinkering with those watercolors. Honestly, Marco hunched over a drawing board in the middle of the Casa's kitchen, with small paintbrushes stuck behind his ears and watery pigments smeared on his fingertips—it isn't something Jean could ever find intimidating.
But he knows he should tread warily. Slowly, Jean makes his way over to where Marco's set up all his supplies along with the subject of his latest venture in aqueous media. From what Jean can see, Marco's got a pretty good beginning sketch of the pretty vase of daffodils, and most of the broader washes of color are in place. However, a spritz of dull green has landed in the middle of some of the bright yellow painted petals. Jean winces at it; it's probably the result of a fumbled brush, or the flick of low-quality bristles off the textured paper. A tiny mistake that will mark the work permanently.
“Ogni volta,” Marco whines. Every time. He puts his face into his hands, smearing a little muddied color into his hair.
At length, Jean asks, “...Can I fix it?”
Marco peeks petulantly out from between his fingers—in a surprisingly adorable manner, considering he's now 28—before nodding with a tiny “mmf.”
Jean grins and leans forward even more over Marco's shoulder, swiping a pencil up from the table. He starts his “fix-up” with a shakily drawn circle, a set of tiny arms and legs...
A minute later, he puts the pencil down, chest puffed out proudly. “Ta-dah~!” He sings it right into Marco's ear, making his lover yelp in laughter despite his frustration.
Marco gazes at the revised composition—and nearly falls sideways. He's not sure what he was expecting. What he sees now, though, is a tiny version of Jean and himself doodled in pencil. The little figure must be himself, anyway, since the green paint spots have been refashioned into oversized freckles.
And... the two of them... are engaged in... a rather lewd act.
“Jean!” Marco wails. He isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry. “Jean, no.” Marco starts giggling at that point. Laughter it is, then.
It's just... it's so cute. It's the tiniest, most adorable porn he's ever seen—Jean even positioned them so that they're nestled amongst the petals of the daffodil. But—but they're...
“Jeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaannnnnn,” Marco groans.
They end up framing the painting and hanging it next to their bed.
–-
3 days since Marco arrived in the US
Today, they're doing something Jean's been looking forward to his whole life: a couple's motorcycle ride. Yeah, yeah, so he's always had a sap heart, including the time when he was gelling his hair and intentionally distressing his jeans. Bite him.
As they stand outside the apartment complex, Jean helps fasten the straps of Marco's helmet. It's a full-face number that includes a helmet-to-helmet walkie-talkie system, courtesy of his parents' indulgence. Jean also takes note of the way Marco's breath hitches each time knuckles graze skin during all the strap-adjustment. He'd forgotten that his neck was a sensitive spot, it seems.
“...Amore,” Jean tests out the nickname once the helmet's secure, and smiles when Marco's eyes brighten. “I need you to remember one thing while we're riding. Just... when I turn, don't fight it. Follow me, okay?”
“Si!” Marco chirps.
With that done, Jean slides the visors down on both their helmets and makes a few final checks. Can't be too safe, right?
This is only supposed to be a casual ride around town. Still, that doesn't stop Jean from revving the engine once they hit the less crowded roads, and he hears a small gasp from Marco over the static of their radio. He definitely doesn't feed even more fuel to the engine just to get Marco tightening his grip and pressing closer along his back. Nope. Jean? Do something so selfish? Never.
He does slow up eventually, though. Marco yelling “YOU WILL GET US BOTH KILLED, PRINCIPE,” might have something to do with it. And as they come to a full stop, at last ready for a truly relaxing cruise through Jean's peaceful college town... clunk.
Their helmets thwack into each other.
They both jump slightly at the noise, Jean checking that's Marco's alright by making a thumbs-up gesture along with a questioning face, and Marco nods eagerly. Bumping the helmets together again.
Jean gets uneasy. This is supposed to be his dream-come-true, a magic carpet ride that only he could give Marco. But they keep...
Bump. As they brake and then idle at a stop sign, Jean's fingers work tensely over the handles of his bike. He's trying to fight off the dejection, but he's got a strong sense of pride and an equally strong aversion to embarrassment. Jean's truthfully about to give up faith in everything he's ever believed in, when he feels Marco shift against his back.
“Jean,” he mumbles into the microphone feed.
“...Yeah?”
“Go faster.” Marco tips their helmets together one more time, with a click and a tiny chuckle. “You always worry so much, Principe.”
The bike is still for a few moments. Jean sits, absorbs Marco's way of unwinding his tangled nerves, and basks in the luminous air of the rural edges of town. It's funny; Jean only just noticed the shine of the road, how it must have rained recently but the sky is bright blue now.
“Okay,” he finally replies. And, with a twist and pump of the handles, Jean sends them both careening into the countryside.
Jean's university may have the beginnings of urban sprawl cropping up around it, but a quick 20 minute drive gets you thick into farmland and open roads. Really, it's his favorite place to ride—he can't help sparing a glance at the sun-soaked fields between periodic checks of his mirrors and the road ahead.
It's during one such check that Marco startles Jean as, quite suddenly, he shifts his weight away from the driver. Until that point he'd been perfect about leaning with Jean when they took on turns. Jean chances a look over his shoulder, back at Marco, to see what's going on.
Marco's kept his arms linked around Jean's middle, but has otherwise separated his torso from Jean in order to lean back and let the wind rustle the layers of his jacket and shirt. The relaxed arch of Marco's spine leads to where he's tipped his head back, a look of peaceful bliss settled across his face. Jean can't help but smile as shadows and diffracted sunlight slide over Marco's close eyelids.
“You likin' the ride?” Jean whispers over the connection.
“Molto...” Very much.
Jean grins, urging the bike toward the final stretch of their ride.
It's once they're nearly back to Jean's apartment, passing university satellite facilities with more and more frequency, that the final metaphorical bump in their ride comes up. They go by the athletic department's golf course (if families like Jean's are sending their kids to school here, it apparently better damn well have a golf course) and Jean just happens to make eye contact with one of the men standing within its fence. The man is wearing a sun visor, polo, and has a sweater tied around his shoulders; something about the outfit and stance and vaguely displeased expression ticks Jean off. Their tense stare holds as Jean begins the long curve along the outside of the course. And, try as Jean might, he can't quash the peacock instinct he has until it's too late.
Slowly, he reaches back with on hand to grip along Marco's knee, up along his leg, to slide carefully around his ass... and cop a good squeeze, all while staring down the croakie-wearing, ritzy man opposite him.
Marco locks Jean out of the bedroom for an hour that night.
–-
16 years after Marco and Jean left the US
A young man named Vittorio has been staying at the Casa for the last few weeks, the longest anyone has stayed there for several years. He's interesting—though he's not too far into his teens, the boy is remarkably independent, sporting the skill set of some kind of wilderness survival expert. In their spare moments, Vittorio teaches Jean some basic whittling techniques.
Not a week later, Jean considers himself the newest innovator in the field of wood carving. He dives into a new project—Marco's been asking for decorations to fill out the Casa's new patio, after all, and what would be better than a few hand-carved woodland creatures?
It's after his third botched rabbit that Marco strolls over to Jean, puts his hand over his lover's, and pries the latest piece of wood from his clutch. So dies Jean's ambitions.
That evening, though, Jean makes a discovery: Marco had taken the first two attempts, sanded and painted them, and then placed them on the bedside table beneath the infamous Daffodick picture.
What had Jean in stitches was the fact that, somehow, Marco had sculpted them into... morning wood.
–-
8 days since Marco's arrival in the US
Looking back, neither Jean nor Marco are sure what possessed them to watch La Vita è Bella around midnight. Marco had suggested it, and Jean hadn't see it yet, so he figured why not, and then...
Two hours. Two hours of the greatest joy and greatest sorrow Jean has ever experienced. Marco, having seen the movie two times already, is still turned into a shaking mess of sobs by the conclusion of the WWII-set movie. Two grown 20-somethings lay curled in bed, trembling amongst a pile of blankets and collegiate snuggies, as the computer screen shifts into Jean's screensaver of 60s Spiderman captions.
Once the quaking breaths have subsided into sniffles, Jean lifts his head away from Marco's chest. “Hey, Marco?”
“Hm?”
“...You stole my nickname from the movie, didn't you.” It's not a question. Jean thinks about the likeable main character of the film, constantly greeting his love interest with the phrase, “Buongiorno, Principessa!”
Marco briefly feigns shock... before shrugging. He's been found out. “I am still the more romantic one,” he trills.
“Hah?” Jean raises himself off the bed, coming to kneel above Marco. “Waitwaitwait, I'm the one who bought us matching rings.”
Marco's quiet for a moment, then rather abruptly sings, “Money can't buy me love! Can't buy me loooove, no, everyb—"
Jean shoves a pillow over his face.
There's laughter, and then a muffled: “So romantic, Principe.”
–-
17, 18, 19... years after Marco and Jean left the US
Jean hadn't ever pictured himself raising kids. Marco had, but when he and Jean talked about the subject years ago, they'd agreed it shouldn't happen until they'd really settled down. Jean just thought he'd make a sort of crappy parent, anyway. There were so many things that could go wrong, right?
It isn't until they find out the reason for Vittorio's varied skills and extended stay that Jean reconsiders. On a chilly evening in December, the boy confesses that he ran away from home at a young age, and then learned what he had to in order to survive. He'd only planned to be at Jean and Marco's bed and breakfast until he heard back about a certain job offer, but when that fell through, he'd had no where else to go.
Across their largest dining room table, Jean gruffly asks, “Perché non hai applicato qui?” Why haven't you applied here? He knows the Casa del Tesoro can afford to hire some help, and Vittorio has thoroughly proved himself capable of managing errands and repairs.
Vittorio looks in bewilderment between Marco's beaming face and Jean's attempted disinterest.
A few months later, Alessandra shows up in the rain. Marco takes her on as an assistant in the kitchen, and in a year's time she's learned all his recipes as well as organized the pantry within an inch of its life.
Simona, Rosario, Maurizio, Paola, Marcello, and many others have their turn as staff at the Casa; it seems their little establishment has gained status as a sort of refuge. Jean still doesn't think he's doing much, let alone raising children... but he's not sure how to describe the feeling in his heart when Vittorio thanks him for all he's done.
One morning, as Jean sits on the Casa's patio and watches snow drift into Marco's hair, Jean decides he's been right about half the time when it comes to guessing the future.
–-
5 months until Marco arrives in the US
The toughest thing about missing Marco, Jean thinks, is needing him in all the little moments. The lulls in parties, the time spent waiting on a bus, dinners taken alone in his apartment; that's when the desire to hear his boyfriend's laughter, to see his smiling face hits the hardest.
Marco seems to feel the same way, if his attempts to contact Jean throughout their first week apart are any indication. Unfortunately, they hadn't been able to adjust Marco's cell service to allow for robust international messaging quite before Jean left Cortona. Marco's unreliable internet connection just compounds the problem, until all Jean can count on are sporadic messages sent via Mina's facebook mobile app. Not exactly ideal.
Eventually, Jean takes it upon himself to communicate with the Italian phone service provider, arguing and interfacing until, at last, Marco should be all clear to bombard Jean with messages. It's late for Jean when he gets the confirmation email, around 2 in the morning. He collapses into his bed to pass the fuck out, but not before he sends off a tentative:
Me (2:07 AM): Hello?
That night, Jean dreams of vague sounds, hazy shapes—was someone laughing? God, they felt so close... They're wearing something kind of funny, he thinks, but he can't figure out what. When he wakes up, Jean spends a minute trying hard to remember everything he can about it... but then, he gets a feeling, like it's alright if he doesn't pin down every detail. It's alright.
He has 31 unread messages.
Jean scrolls through them one by one.
Marco Hott (4:17 AM): principe!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Marco Hott (4:17 AM): ciao~~~
Marco Hott (4:18 AM): how are you? :-) :-) :-)
Marco Hott (4:19 AM): oh. you are asleep.
Marco Hott (4:19 AM): I will wait
Jean checked the timestamps, and the texts really did relent for a few hours, until...
Marco Hott (7:08 AM): ...
Marco Hott (7:09 AM): …...............
Marco Hott (7:09 AM): …............
Marco Hott (7:17 AM): do you know
Marco Hott (7:17 AM): why there are animals on the keypad?
Marco sent a cat emoji.
Marco Hott (7:17 AM): what
Marco sent another three cat emoji, two dogs, a whale, and a snowflake.
Marco Hott (7:18 AM): lol
Marco Hott (7:18 AM): jean we should build a snowman
Marco Hott (7:18 AM): do you want to?
There was another skip in time.
Marco Hott (11:10 AM): Principe, I have a surprise for you
Marco Hott (11:11 AM): I wanted to wait to tell you but I can't
Marco Hott (11:13 AM): I will visit you in a few months!
Marco Hott (11:13 AM): my mother said you have winter break at that time?
Marco Hott (11:14 AM): you must show me everything!!
Marco Hott (11:14 AM): I want to see your home <3
Marco Hott (11:16 AM): wake up soon principe
Marco Hott (11:17 AM): it is getting late :-P
And the last message, sent just a few minutes ago, is the best start to any day Jean could ask for.
Marco Hott (11:21 AM): Buongiorno, Principe. <3