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The restaurant was loud enough that Marcel thought he might be able to get away with pretending he hadn’t heard what Gemma had just asked. Almost. Unfortunately she never let him off that easy.
“Come on, just tell me the truth: have you even bothered opening the app?” She pointed her fork at Marcel as she waited for him to reply, boysenberry syrup dripping from the piece of waffle she’d stabbed but refused to eat until Marcel answered her, apparently. He looked down at the deep purple drops on the table and took a bite of his pancake, chewing slower than he really needed to. Gemma widened her eyes and him and he swallowed, shaking his head.
“Not really since you set it up,” he said, grabbing the carafe of coffee and refilling both their cups. “I’ve been busy, you know? The internship with the agency is going really well, and they want me to keep working there through the summer. Paid!”
Gemma sighed. “You’ve told me that three times now, and while it’s still great news and I’m as proud as any sister could be, I’m pretty sure you’re deflecting.” She took a sip of her coffee and stared him down over the rim of the mug, waiting for him to respond.
“I just don’t think dating is that important. At least not right now, you know? I just finished grad school last month and--” Marcel looked up and caught Gemma rolling her eyes. “What?”
“First off, it’s been two months since graduation. And you spent the past two years moping about not having the time to date anyone, saying you read some article about how if you go into grad school single you should stay single the whole time-- which I said at least eight billion times sounds like a load of shit, by the way --and now? You’re just coming up with more excuses.” Gemma huffed, cutting another bite from her waffle with the side of her fork and stabbing it a bit harder than was absolutely necessary.
Marcel stayed quiet as she chewed, unsure of what he could say to de-escalate the situation in any real way. Of course Gemma wasn’t wrong. College had been pretty kind to Marcel in terms of dating: he’d made friends easily as a first year and had ended up being popular with people in his classes as well as anyone he met through his job at the fitness center, and it wasn’t long before he had found himself flirting with more people than he ever thought possible. He spent his sophomore year sleeping around, his junior year having a series of moderately successful romances, and his senior year with a boyfriend who he’d thought was maybe something serious until they’d broken up two weeks after graduation.
And he really had read an article that said that a key to success in grad school was maintaining a steady home life, which included partnered people staying partnered and single people staying single, and on some level he agreed with it. He’d watched a few people in his cohort get romantically involved and suddenly lose steam in a class they’d previously been acing, and he couldn’t help but think that the change in circumstances had a lot to do with it.
But the real reason he’d stayed single-- the one he didn’t particularly want to talk about, even with Gemma --was that grad school was just far too big a pond for a Marcel sized fish. Where he’d been known and liked by most people he came across at his 3000 person college, moving to a larger university meant most people judged him based on nothing but what he wore or which building they saw him coming out of.
“I guess I’m not sure what dating actually looks like now. Meeting people who aren’t on campus or in a class with me. It’s different.”
Gemma shook her head. “Uh-uh, not gonna fly, marshmallow. Hand me your phone.” She laid her palm out to him and leveled him with a look that meant he really shouldn’t say no.
“Don’t get it all sticky,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket and placing it in her hand. Marcel watched as she thumbed across the screen until she found the Tinder app. She clicked into it and settled back into the cushioned booth, taking the phone with her. Marcel looked down at his pancakes, swirling his fork through the puddle of syrup and butter that was left on the plate and trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.
After what felt like half an hour (but was actually about ten minutes) Gemma set the phone down with a triumphant smile. “Your profile is made.” Marcel held out his hand to ask for his phone back, but Gemma scrunched her nose at him and gave her head a small shake. “I’m finishing this waffle and then you’re samesiding with me to swipe through potential dates. No escaping it this time.”
He knew there was no use in arguing. Draining his coffee cup, he stood to join his sister. “I’ll start swiping while you finish eating,” he said. “No use wasting time, right?” Gemma hoisted her fork in agreement.
Though he started out by clicking in and trying to read each potential match’s profile and scroll through their photos, Marcel quickly realized that the app wasn’t really designed for that. The majority of people didn’t have much to say about themselves beyond their height and a few generic details, and the photographs were mostly bland and predictable: man with dog; guy on boat; bearded boy with beer. It wasn’t long before he started simply swiping through the images, only clicking through if something particular caught his eye.
After a while he felt Gemma peering over his shoulder. He turned, pushing up his glasses to give her a look. “Comments, boss?” He laughed at his own joke as Gemma bumped her shoulder against his.
“You’re getting the hang of it. See anyone you liked yet?”
He shrugged, looking back down at the app to swipe left. “Not really. A couple of maybes.”
“Did you swipe right on the maybes?” Gemma asked. When Marcel bit his lip instead of answering, she gave him a poke in the side. “Maybes get a right! And yeses.” She watched Marcel swipe left through a couple more guys before clicking her tongue at him. “You have to say yes to someone. Come on. One. Just--” she tried to grab the phone from Marcel’s hand and he jerked it away quickly, bringing it back down in time to see a bright blue star that said You just Super-Liked Louis!
Marcel turned the phone to Gemma, panicked. “What’s that star? What’s a super-like? Who’s Louis? Fix it, Gem, un-super-like him!”
Gemma cringed at the screen before tilting her head at Marcel sympathetically. “You can’t un-super-like, actually.”
“Ok but what’s it do?” Marcel looked at his phone screen, wishing the app would give him an answer.
“Welllll, it sends the person a notification saying you’ve super-liked them, and then they go look at you and can like you back or super-like you back. It’s really not that bad, I promise.”
His phone pinged at him and he opened the screen to see a notification from Tinder saying, “Louis Super-Liked you back!” He yelped loud enough that the people at the next table stopped talking and turned to stare at him for a moment, so he gave them a sheepish smile and wave, mouthing an apology at them until they turned back to their food. He turned the screen toward Gemma.
“Ooh, he likes you too! Is he writing anything? Send him a message!” Gemma prodded Marcel’s side, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’ll help you. Pleaaaaaaase?”
There was really no use fighting her. Marcel tapped open the app and set the phone down on the table in between the two of them, taking his hands off the phone so Gemma could take the lead. She laid her head on his shoulder as a sign of thanks, then clicked into Louis’ profile. Marcel leaned in to find out more about the person he’d super-liked.
“He’s actually pretty cute,” Marcel said as Gemma swiped through Louis’ profile. He had all the stereotypical pictures there, but there was also one of him playing with a baby-- Marcel’s heart may have melted a little --and another of him grinning widely in front of a sea of pride flags and rainbow-clad people. Gemma nodded her agreement.
His bio gave a little more information-- namely that he was born and raised in England, liked (not American) football, and that he was the oldest of seven siblings (the baby in his photos was his only brother). Marcel opened up the message screen and began typing, tilting his shoulder so that Gemma couldn’t see the screen. When Louis responded to his message almost immediately, however, she refused to be kept from reading, attacking Marcel’s ticklish spots until he let her see the phone.
“‘Hiiii, I would normally be a little too nervous to send you a message first, but I’m with my older sister right now and she’s terrifying. Please tell me you don’t keep your younger siblings living in fear of you?’” Gemma read aloud, turning to shoot daggers at Marcel. “You thought you were scared before. Just wait.”
Marcel snickered behind his hand. “Why don’t you keep reading? I barely got to see his answer before you snatched the phone away.”
“Fine. Let’s see. ‘Well the oldest of my younger sisters knows to watch herself around me, but I don’t think she’d say she was terrified. But then I’d never encourage her to get on tinder around me! Maybe you need to toughen up a bit?’ Hmm, I like him!” Gemma smiled, handing the phone back to a blushing Marcel. “Oh, and he ended it with a winking face.”
“I think I’ll continue this chat without your help,” he said, sliding out of the booth. Their check was already paid, but he threw a few extra dollars down in addition to the tip they’d left since they’d stayed so long. “Seeing as there’s an elder sibling conspiracy that could happen otherwise.”
Gemma simply shrugged as she added a few more bills on top of Marcel’s. “I still expect an update. And for you to have an actual date-date with him.” Marcel scoffed, but that didn’t stop Gemma from shaking her head and telling him it should be soon. “All my friends say that Tinder moves really fast. Don’t expect to spend forever chatting with him, just get out there and remind yourself what it’s like to have fun.”
“I have fun!”
“You know what I mean,” Gemma said as she walked through the door he held open for her. “Don’t be stressed about this being your first date in a while, just meet up with him and have a good time.”
Three weeks later he and Louis were still chatting. They’d moved things off of Tinder after a few days of regular messaging and getting to know one another, but other than exchanging phone numbers quickly, things seemed to be moving at an easy, comfortable pace. It felt just right to Marcel. Until it didn’t anymore.
Marcel was in the midst of getting ready for bed on a Tuesday night, brushing his teeth and thinking about what he was going to wear to work the next day, when his phone pinged with a text alert. He and Louis had been texting back and forth, and Marcel smiled around his toothbrush at the happy little whistle his phone made. He rinsed his mouth and smiled wide into the mirror before opening the text thread, ready to read whatever funny or clever or teasing thing Louis had sent him.
Louis: So...there’s this guy I’ve been wanting to ask to dinner, but I’m not sure how to do it. Think you can help me?
Marcel gripped his phone tightly, his smile falling away immediately. He’d convinced himself that he and Louis had been flirting, but of course Louis was still on Tinder, still swiping and liking and super-liking and messaging. He’d probably been talking with a few guys and found one he liked a lot more than Marcel.
Crawling into bed and pulling the covers up under his chin, Marcel contemplated just ignoring the text and responding to it the next day (or later), but he couldn’t do it. Even if Louis didn’t like him, it didn’t mean that Marcel didn’t want to be friends with him at least. He opened his phone to reply.
Marcel: I can try? What are you not sure about?
Louis started typing immediately, three dots appearing and then disappearing a few times before his answer came through.
Louis: We get along really well over text, but I’m worried he doesn’t want to meet me. Any idea how to ask him without spooking him?
Marcel: Hmm. I usually like a straightforward approach. Or at least that’s what worked for me last time I was really dating a lot.
Louis: So...something like??
Sighing as he typed, Marcel wrote out what he thought of as a pretty basic (but hopefully still useful) response.
Marcel: I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me? I’d like to have a date with you.
Louis: That sounds perfect. When were you thinking?
Marcel: haha
Marcel: That was what you could say. Just an example. :P
Louis: Alright then.
Louis: I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me? I’d like to have a date with you, Marcel. ;)
Marcel felt his heart race as he read Louis’ text over a few times. He felt giddy, covering his face with the hand that wasn’t holding up his phone and squealing as he kicked his feet and fell into giggles. When he’d gotten that out, he took a breath and held up his phone to answer, only to find that he’d accidentally sent what amounted to a keysmash text by accident.
Louis: Is that a yes? Or??
Marcel: Yes!
Marcel: It’s a yes. I just dropped my phone.
Louis: Good.
Louis: About the yes not your phone.
Louis: Do you like mini-golf? And pizza?
Marcel hadn’t really played mini-golf since he was ten or so, but he liked full sized golf just fine and loved pizza, so he said that all sounded great and they made a plan to have a date the following Friday night. He let Louis know he was headed to sleep and wished him a good night, setting his phone to silent and plugging it in on his bedside table. He laid awake in the dark for almost an hour thinking about everything he wanted to do leading up to the date. Louis liked him already. Now he just needed to make sure everything kept going right.
“You have a DATE?” His friend Leeroy shouted over drinks the following night. “I need details immediately! Who’s it with? How did you meet? Did you finally go back to that two step night I took you to that time? I told you it was the perfect place for meeting guys.” Leeroy looked so pleased with himself that Marcel almost felt bad telling him what really happened. Almost.
“Ohh, so you’ve gotten on Tinder! You have to let me play with it some time, I’m so jealous of all the dating apps that are out there now,” Leeroy said after Marcel had told him the whole story. Marcel shook his head.
“You should be glad you don’t have to fuss with them. They’re overwhelming and shallow and terrible.” Marcel sighed, tossing back the end of his cosmopolitan cocktail. “I’d much rather fall in love with my dance partner at a gay tango class.”
At that, Leeroy blushed and laughed to himself, gazing off into the distance for a moment like he was seeing his first meeting with his husband playing out on a screen just over Marcel’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, nodding to himself. “That really is the best way.”
“But at least I have a date now. It’s been so long since I had one that I can barely remember what to do to get ready for it.”
Leeroy nodded as if he understood. “It’s been a while for me too, obviously, but I always liked to buy a new outfit before I went on a date. There’s just something great about pulling out a brand new shirt and getting gussied up, you know? Why don’t you try that?” He sucked down the last of his mudslide, scraping the straw loudly against the bottom of the glass while Marcel contemplated his advice.
“Where should I go? I mostly shop online, but I’m not sure anything would get to me on time.”
“Ooh!” Leeroy clapped his hands. “Alessandro’s, definitely. It’s kind of expensive but everyone who works there is sweet as pie. They’ll treat you right.”
He wasn’t able to go there right away, but when he finally stepped into the surprisingly large shop Marcel felt as though he was entering another world. A few mannequins were posed around the store, some of them dressed in boldly patterned suits or avant-garde blouses while others wore little more than underwear. The clothes were arranged in a rainbow of colors, each display ranging from pastels to jewel tones with just a few pieces. He immediately felt overwhelmed.
“Hi sweetie,” a short, zaftig woman with a shock of orange and pink hair said, appearing almost out of nowhere. “You look lost.”
“I. Um. I’m here for a date,” Marcel said, shaking his head when he saw the woman scrunch her face into a look of confusion. “I mean, I have a date coming up. And I’m here for an outfit.” She smiled back at him, giving a decisive nod, and started walking toward the back of the store.
“C’mon, here we go,” she said, turning back to wave Marcel forward. “I love-- LOVE --finding a date night look for someone handsome. There is nothing I like more, actually.”
When they reached the fitting room, she asked Marcel for his sizes and then clucked her tongue when he told her. Whipping out a measuring tape, she gave him a look and waited for his answer as she asked, “May I measure you?” Marcel nodded, and the woman took his measurements with a brisk efficiency while he just tried to hold still.
She finished, jotting down all the numbers on a slip of paper that she pulled out of an apron pocket and promising she’d give it to Marcel when they were done. Apparently he was ‘very, extremely, incredibly wrong’ about his sizes, and that ‘simply wouldn’t do’ at Alessandro’s.
His measurements taken, the woman-- her name was Stevie, Marcel learned finally --told him to wait right there as she went to collect outfits for him. She came back with her arms loaded down with shirts and suits and jeans and every manner of accessory, all of it probably costing almost as much as Marcel’s graduate education if he had to guess. He almost asked her to cull the pile, but the look she gave him when he opened his mouth was enough to stop him. It wasn’t like he had to actually buy any of it.
Except that after trying it on, he felt like he probably should buy all of it. Every item made him look like a totally different person: in this suit, he was a dapper movie star; in that shirt he was a mysterious artist; in these jeans he was suddenly a rock god. He was still himself of course, turning in the mirror with a grin spreading over his face at every compliment Stevie gave him. When it came time to narrow it down, he put his own clothes back on and sat down to stare at all the things he’d tried on.
“Well honey? Who did you decide you wanna be for this date? A heartbreaker? A dandy? Rockstar? You pulled them all off, you know.” Stevie smiled, looking quite pleased with herself. Marcel chewed his lip.
“Um. I want to be me? But I guess the fancier version of me,” he said finally after much deliberation. “What’s the closest to that?”
Stevie reached into the rack of clothes and pulled out two things: a pair of skinny jeans and a sheer button up blouse. Marcel had liked both of them. He raised his eyebrows at her.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t asked. “These two should be just right. You might even be able to find a, ahh,” she shuddered as she said it, “sweater vest that works with these two. If you have to.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep the sweater vests away from these. Just for you.” Marcel grinned and Stevie smiled back at him before ringing him up for his $200 outfit. Paying for it hurt, but as he walked out of the store, he felt like maybe this was just the thing he needed to show Louis that he was fun and dynamic and interesting. Not that he didn’t think he was those things already (he did), but it might not hurt to have some physical evidence for the first date.
He was excited enough that when he got to his car he opened up his text thread with Louis and sent him a new message.
Marcel: Just bought some new duds for our date!
Louis: What the fuck does that mean??
Marcel: clothes!!!
Louis: Alright, granddad
Marcel: Heyyyyyyy
Louis: Only teasing love
Louis: I’m sure you’ll be cute in anything you wear!!
Marcel blushed, so he sent back a little blushing emoji in response to Louis. With only a couple of days left until their date, he was letting himself be hopeful that it would go well.
When he got home he sent a picture of himself in his new outfit to Leeroy and Gemma, since they’d been the ones to advise him so far. Gemma facetimed him immediately, making him spin around in front of his full length mirror so she could see the full effect of his new clothes.
“You look great, Marshmallow! Those clothes are definitely Tinder-worthy!”
Marcel rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his phone. “All my clothes are Tinder-worthy. You just need to acquire some taste.” He fiddled with the buttons of the sheer shirt, debating closing one more up when Gemma interrupted him to tell him to leave it.
“Uh-uh. You need to leave all those buttons undone if you want to impress him. And what about your hair?”
“What about my hair?” Marcel ran his fingers through it self-consciously.
“It’s getting a bit long is all. Maybe you can go in for a trim before your date, get it all cleaned up?” Marcel shrugged, but Gemma pushed until he agreed with her and didn’t let him off the phone until he made a promise to call his barber for an appointment.
When they hung up, he had a string of excited texts from Leeroy, all of them saying that he looked fabulous and would have Louis “wrapped around his finger” by the end of their date. It was a sweet sentiment, and as Marcel undressed and carefully hung up his date outfit, he couldn’t help but feel butterflies rising up in his tummy.
They didn’t decrease as his date neared, only growing more intense until he woke up the morning of feeling oddly calm, as if everything would go alright. That only lasted for a few brief moments, sadly, but he kept thinking back to it as the day went on, trying his best to recapture that feeling. He was as close as he’d gotten when he walked into the salon for his appointment with his barber, checking in and taking a seat by the window to thumb through a magazine while he waited.
“Marcel Styles?” An unfamiliar voice said. He looked up to see a man in a black half apron and the sleek all black outfit of a professional stylist. “We’re ready for you.” Marcel stood to follow him to the back, and the man turned and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid your usual barber called out with the stomach flu today, so Zayn will be your stylist today. I’m assisting.”
Marcel nodded, trying to tamp down the wave of fear he felt at the prospect of having his hair cut by someone new. “I have a date tonight, so I just want to freshen it up a little, nothing too serious if that’s ok.”
Zayn nodded and sent Marcel back to have his hair washed by the assistant, who waited until he was sudsing up Marcel’s hair to start speaking to him.
“So, big date tonight? First one or a special one?”
“First,” Marcel replied, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to make too much eye contact with the man. “Someone I met on Tinder.”
“Ooh, a Tinder date! Nice! I’ve had a few of those myself!” He rubbed conditioner into Marcel’s hair and laughed to himself. “It’s cool you’re getting fancy for it, though.”
“Ni, can you get Marcel back up here please?” Marcel could hear Zayn sigh after he said it, obviously impatient already. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
The haircut was a whirlwind. Zayn stood in front of Marcel for the consult, toweling off Marcel’s hair and running his fingers through it roughly, then turning Marcel’s face from one side to the other.
“You have gorgeous bone structure,” he said mostly to himself. Marcel swallowed, unsure if he should respond until the silence finally got to him.
“Thank you?”
Zayn stepped behind Marcel and fluffed up his hair as their eyes met in the mirror. “So. Freshen it up, nothing serious, right?”
“Right.”
At that, Zayn turned Marcel’s chair around so he was facing away from the mirror and got to work. Marcel tried to close his eyes and relax, breathing through the feelings of worry that were starting to build as his date got closer. It felt like no time had passed at all when Zayn brushed the stray hairs from Marcel’s neck and turned the chair around so Marcel could have a look at his hair.
Except...it wasn’t his hair. It was definitely someone else’s. Someone whose curls, instead of being tamed by product to lie down flat, were allowed to be loose and free. They looked soft and touchable, actually-- kind of nice, if Marcel was being honest --but they were really very much not what he was expecting. He realized his mouth was hanging open and he shut it abruptly when Zayn began to speak.
“So you said you wanted something fresh, and I knew right away we needed to lose that slicked back look. It’s dated, of course, and super serious, which you said you wanted to get away from. Your natural texture is gorgeous, and the softer curls set off your jawline really well. How do you like it?”
Marcel smiled and bit back all the things he could say about Zayn’s interpretation of what he’d asked for, knowing there was no time to change it now. “It’s really something!” He said, fingers drumming against his thighs beneath the drape he was wearing. “Totally different from anything Paul’s ever done for me.”
“Yeah, he tends to style things a bit more old fashioned.” Zayn smiled, looking casually pleased with himself, and Marcel decided to let go of any residual worry he had about his haircut. It was going to be fine. Hopefully.
He had just enough time to run home and change into his date outfit, shimmying into the skinny jeans as he stood in front of his mirror, trying not to think about how ridiculous he felt doing it. That morning he’d changed out his glasses for contact lenses, and as he gave himself a final once over he debated taking them out just to preserve a little bit of his usual style. In the end, though, he thought he looked okay. Definitely cooler than usual.
And maybe a part of him worried that Louis would see him like this and expect it every time they got together in the future, but he did his best to quiet that voice as he drove to the mini-golf course. “You’re gonna have a good date,” he said, looking himself in the eyes in his rearview mirror. “He asked you out, he likes you, and it’s going to be great.” Taking a breath, he got out of the car and went to wait in front of the plaster model of a T-Rex that marked the entrance to the mini-golf course.
He was a few minutes early, so he texted Louis to say he was waiting out front and then pocketed his phone, trying to look cool and casual even if he felt like neither of those things. He was staring off into the distance when he realized another man had come to stand on the other side of the T-Rex and was looking around as though he was meeting someone.
Even out of the corner of his eye, he recognized Louis right away. He was wearing the same white shirt that he’d worn in one of his Tinder pictures, the only difference a couple more tattoos decorating his arms. He cleared his throat and Louis turned to look at him, giving him a cursory nod hello before going back to casting his eyes around the parking lot.
“Louis?” When Marcel said his name, Louis’ head turned so fast Marcel wondered if it might have hurt him. “Hi?” He couldn’t be sure, but he felt as though the look Louis gave him wasn’t a particularly friendly one. Barely a moment later, though, it was replaced by a smile and Marcel found himself grinning back.
“Marcel? Sorry I didn’t see you there,” Louis said, his accent causing Marcel to giggle like a school child with a crush.
“It’s alright,” Marcel replied, moving in to give Louis a welcoming hug. At the same time, Louis stuck his hand out toward Marcel’s for a handshake, laughing awkwardly when Marcel backed away and took his hand instead. And maybe it wasn’t alright, but their date was just beginning and Marcel refused to let himself feel down about a bad start.
Louis led the way inside the mini-golf place, laughing when Marcel made a pun about the cheesy Flintstones-ish dinosaur theme the place had going. Louis countered back with a dirty comment about handling balls that had Marcel snorting with laughter before they’d even grabbed their clubs, and that seemed to set things right.
“So, how many dirty jokes do you think I can make over eighteen holes of mini-golf?” Louis asked as they waited to tee up at the first hole. Marcel looked up at the sky and laughed.
“Judging from our texts? I’d be surprised if you averaged less than three per hole, though you might have some repeats in there.”
Louis raised his eyebrows. “And if I do more than that? What would I win?”
“Oh,” Marcel said, moving to push up his glasses even though they weren’t really there. “So we’re betting? Loser buys dinner, maybe?”
“Weren’t you going to buy my dinner anyway?” Louis gave an exaggerated pout and then backed away cackling when Marcel nudged him. “Kidding, kidding. I think loser should have to do something silly, like ride the T-Rex out front.”
“Okay,” Marcel said, nodding. “You’re about the right size for that anyway.”
“Oi! I’m quite big I’ll have you know.” Louis puffed up a bit, and Marcel turned away, shaking his head and laughing as he set down his pink golf ball in one of the divots at the start of the hole.
“That doesn’t count, you know. Only golf puns.”
Louis huffed, putting his foot over Marcel’s ball to stop him from playing. “Alright then, we’ll do a contest instead. See who can do the most golf-themed dirty jokes over 18 holes. Loser rides the T-Rex like a bull in the winner’s instagram stories.” Though what he’d just said was ridiculous, his expression was 100% serious.
“Deal.” Marcel fixed Louis with a look, schooling his face before he continued. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve simply been dying to dive into this first hole.” He giggled at his own joke, noticing that Louis had to bite back a laugh of his own. He was feeling better already.
By the time they reached the ninth hole, their game had devolved into little more than a series of bad and/or dirty jokes and laughter, their score pad a mess as they attempted to count both the number of strokes-- heh --they took to reach the hole (ahem) and how many jokes each of them had made. It was getting difficult to tell who was in the lead on either count, and Marcel decided to let the people behind them play through so that he and Louis could regroup.
“Is this your way of giving in, Marcel? I thought you’d have a bit more in you than nine holes.”
Marcel raised an eyebrow as he tried to suppress a smile. “I have the typical number of holes, I’ll have you know.”
“Ahh, not an alien then? Or all pierced up or summat?” Louis poked at Marcel’s side and pretended to peek down his shirt. “Not that you could hide much in that.” Marcel blushed.
“I’m covered enough! You can’t see my third or fourth nipple right now.”
Louis’ eyes widened at that and it was his turn to blush just a bit. “Touch é. ” He turned to look at the next hole, nodding toward it. “Alright, think we can finish this up? I’m dying for pizza now.”
They continued on, still joking and having a good time, yet Marcel couldn’t help but feel that there was something just slightly off about their evening. He knew it could just be nerves, but it didn’t feel like that. It was as though there was something different about Louis was with him-- not that he wasn’t having fun or that there was anything wrong with him, because that didn’t seem true. No, it was like he was meeting the Louis he expected, but with everything just a half step off. He pushed it aside, though, wanting to try to get as much enjoyment out of this date as he could.
By the 18th hole they were definitely annoying anyone who happened to be playing near them, hardly paying attention to the golfing aspect of mini-golf in favor of doing almost anything else. They’d jousted with their clubs, pretended to play golf-pool (so named because pool-golf sounded like something that you’d do in the water), and treated the 17th hole like a mini soccer field with Louis kicking the golf balls up and down the green until he got one (Marcel’s) into the hole.
In terms of their dirty joke contest, Louis had rallied near the end and Marcel had decided to accept the loss simply because the idea of sitting on the T-Rex seemed more amusing than embarrassing to him. It didn’t hurt that he was also very hungry, having skipped lunch in order to leave early for his haircut. The idea of having pizza made losing seem just a bit more tolerable.
The pizza place was only a few buildings over from mini-golf, so after Marcel climbed onto the dinosaur, sitting side saddle for a proper photo session, they left their cars in the lot and walked over. Louis talked excitedly about pizza toppings along the way as Marcel smiled, just enjoying his energy and the sound of his voice. Everything he’d liked about Louis over text translated perfectly in person, and he found himself really, really hoping that they’d get to have a second date.
They ordered their pizza at the counter, agreeing on toppings with shockingly few arguments, and Louis followed Marcel to a corner booth to get comfortable while they waited. The pizza place was almost as cheesy as the mini-golf place was, the whole restaurant decorated after the song “That’s Amore” (also the name of the pizza joint). The booth Marcel chose had a giant moon hanging over it that doubled as a light. Louis reached up and poked it, cackling when it wobbled back and forth precariously.
There wasn’t much basic stuff they didn’t know about one another because they’d been texting for so long, but Marcel quickly decided that didn’t matter. Their conversation flowed easily, so much so that when their pizza arrived they both realized they’d barely even touched their drinks.
They’d both just finished their first slice when Louis took a sip of his beer and leaned in toward Marcel. “I don’t wanna sound like a complete dick, but I need to admit something to you if that’s alright.” He looked apologetic, and Marcel sucked in a breath, his hands tensing atop his thighs.
“Go ahead.”
“Right, so. God, this is such shit. I swear I’m not a prick, fuck.” Louis shook his head and took a deep breath, scooting just an inch closer to Marcel. “I feel like I’ve been just a little bit off tonight, and it’s just that you, eh-- you look really different from your profile, and it totally threw me at first. Sorry, sorry. I know that’s really superficial, obviously. I mean we’ve texted enough that I quite like you, and I can tell you’re the same person I’ve been falling for, it’s just.” Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Sorry.”
“I don’t think I follow,” Marcel said. He actually did follow, kind of, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was getting it right. “You don’t like how I look tonight, or?”
“No, no, fuck, you’re well fit! It’s just, um. I tend to go for guys who look a bit buttoned up, usually? I mean literally, all the buttons done up, maybe a nice little, eh, bowtie at the neck?” Louis touched his neck and smiled, looking down at the table for a moment. “I mean I got the message you super-liked me, right, and I took one look at your first picture and sent one right back because you were almost too perfect looking for me.”
Even in the dim light of their little fake moon, Marcel could see a slight blush on Louis’ cheeks. He tapped the toe of Louis’ shoes with his own.
“So you don’t mind all this,” Marcel said, gesturing down at his own outfit, “but you’d prefer a sweater vest if you got to choose?”
“And glasses,” Louis said, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just admitted. “Were they only for fashion or reading or something?”
Marcel barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Oh no, I’ve needed them since I was eight. I don’t think anyone wears coke bottle lenses for fashion, Louis.”
“You’re not angry, then?”
“Oh gosh no! Actually it’s kind of funny, all of this happened by accident, really. Or. Well, you can’t accidentally buy a $200 outfit, I guess, but my friend suggested getting a special outfit for my date and then my sister mentioned I should get a trim but my barber was gone and the stylist misunderstood, and I ended up looking like. Well. Not my usual self tonight.” Marcel pulled at the front of his shirt a bit, laughing when a button came undone.
“It didn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous,” he continued. “And the first person I’ve tried to go out with in two years. I got scared that you might have liked me in spite of how I looked.”
Louis reached out and put his hand over Marcel’s, stroking it gently with his thumb. “Nah, now you know looks are clearly, obviously, incredibly important to me and so of course I thought you were gorgeous right away.” He bit back a little smile. “Half wondered if you weren’t interested in me when you didn’t seem to get the hints that I was dropping about wanting to go out with you.”
All Marcel could do was roll his eyes at that. “Apparently I’m pretty thick,” he said with a shrug. Louis snickered, giving his hand a squeeze and then waggling his eyebrows suggestively until Marcel realized what he’d said and burst into giggles.
They both made a valiant effort to go back to their food, but figuring everything out had caused a shift in the energy that was passing between them, and after a second slice of pizza it was clear that they’d rather not be there. Marcel suggested they go over to his house, which wasn’t far away, and they packed up the pizza in a to go box and headed out.
When they made it to Marcel’s, the first thing he did after showing Louis to the living room-- he was a good host, after all --was go to the bathroom to take out his contacts. They really were incredibly itchy, but more than anything he missed the familiar weight of his glasses resting on his nose. Sliding them into place, he sighed with relief and took a look at himself in the mirror. “Better,” he said to his reflection. It felt good knowing Louis would probably think so too.
Back in the living room, Louis was flipping through an art book that Marcel kept out on his coffee table, shoes off and already looking comfortable and at home on the couch. He looked up when he heard Marcel walk in, and his eyes twinkled a bit as a big grin spread over his face. “Glasses, eh?”
“Glasses.” Marcel nodded, reaching one hand behind his ear to make the frames move up and down comically. “You like them?”
“Yeah,” Louis said, shaking his head and looking away. “Seems like I do.”
That was all it took to remind Marcel that, in spite of having taken some time off from dating, he really wasn’t so bad at it after all. He sat down next to Louis, close enough that their legs brushed against one another, and gave him a gentle nudge. “If you like that,” he said quietly, leaning in closer to Louis’ side, “you might enjoy this too.”
Louis turned to him, breath catching for a moment before a laugh bubbled up from his chest at the sight of Marcel doing up the last of his shirt buttons.
“Getting all buttoned up for me too?”
Marcel shrugged. “Since you told me what you liked. Thought it’d be an appropriate thing to do before asking if I could kiss you.”
Louis smirked back at him. “Well?”
“May I?”
Louis gave him a small but decisive nod, and Marcel let himself tip forward into Louis’ space, their mouths crashing together indelicately. It wasn’t the perfect start for their first kiss, but it quickly shifted into something much better, Louis’ hands tangling in Marcel’s hair as Marcel’s teeth tugged gently at Louis’ lower lip. The longer they kissed, the more it felt familiar and right, all of the ease of their texts and conversations translated into physicality. When they separated for a moment to catch their breath, it was all Marcel could do to keep from pulling Louis on top of him to dive right back in.
Crashing back against the couch, Louis shook his head in disbelief. “You’re going to hate me for saying this, love. But I’m afraid those buttons need undoing.” He gave Marcel a sidelong glance, teeth toying at his kissed-pink lips.
“All of them?” Marcel asked, playing coy. “Every single one?”
“Afraid so, darling.”
Louis was more than willing to help with shirt buttons and jean buttons and taking advantage of Marcel’s already slightly messy hair, and Marcel had no problems at all reciprocating. Buttons and things could be tough, after all. He’d forgotten that during his dating hiatus...which was now blissfully and completely over.