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“Oh, no. No. Just...No. Why? No.”
Louis tore his eyes away from Kill Bill Vol. 2 and smiled sleepily across the sofa.
“What’s up, my little peanut butter M&M? Why the stress?”
Marcel’s thick glasses slid further down his nose, his pout deepening.
“This is terrible. Just terrible.”
“What?” Louis laughed and faced him. He sat on his foot, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “What’s terrible?”
Marcel gripped the edges of his laptop screen with prim fingers and turned the screen. Louis pulled his glasses down off his hair and onto his nose as he scooted closer. He squinted at the open email, his tongue running over his top lip.
Clip Art featuring confetti, diplomas, champagne bottles. Photos of smiling youths wearing unfortunate clothing from the early 2000’s. An outrageously large ticket price for dinner at a sub-par catering hall.
“Oh,” Louis droned, nodding. “Yeah. Ten year reunions can be rough.”
“You said you loved yours.”
Louis smiled slowly and pushed his glasses into his hair.
“Well, yeah. Mine was fun. Really fun, actually. But I can see being stressed about it. It’s kind of a nervous thing, you know? Seeing all these people you haven’t seen for a while.”
Marcel exhaled and placed his laptop on his thighs, his posture rigid and straight.
“I don’t know why anyone even invited me. I doubt anyone remembers me from high school but you.”
“They probably invite every alumni they can find the email of. Just because you’re invited doesn’t mean you have to go.”
Marcel nibbled his bottom lip.
“Yeah,” he said softly, his shoulders curled inwards.
Louis hurried to say, “Not that you, um, shouldn’t go if you want to! I just...I know you had a different high school experience than me.”
Marcel’s throat bobbed. “Yeah,” he said softer, nodding. “A bit different from being the football star and Prom King.”
“But, hey,” Louis said, stretching his arm around the back of the sofa. “Your skin is so much clearer now, your voice dropped, and your psoriasis and eczema has been under control for years. No more retainer. And you’ve always been so nice and a good student. It’s not like you’ve got enemies or something.”
Marcel rubbed a phantom itch on his elbow.
“Well...Yeah.” He smoothed his pressed, white button down over his arm. “I guess.”
Louis ticked another item off his fingers. “You’re a kickass computer scientist. You have an awesome job in the field you always wanted to work in. You make sure I eat all my vegetables. Just think of all the good you do in the world!”
A tiny smile crinkled the skin beside Marcel’s lips. “You’re very nice, but you don’t have to say all that.”
“But it’s true, mate.” Louis went to squeeze his shoulder, but his hand paused in the air. He tapped the top of the couch behind Marcel’s back. “You’re in a good place. You’re such a special guy.”
“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my best friend.”
“Well, duh, yeah. We’re Donny bros ‘til the end.” Marcel laughed at that, his breath hitching to snort at the end of his laugh. Louis giggled and settled back on the sofa. “But I’m serious. If you go, you can have a drink, check in with people, then leave. It doesn’t have to be a big blowout night.”
Marcel smoothed his hand over his hair. It was hard and smooth beneath his palm, even after a full day at work.
“I know, I just...I only really had you in high school, and you graduated a few years before me, so I don’t really know many other people from school besides you and Liam and Niall.” His laptop pinged. “And they’re older, too, so...”
Louis’ brows rose. His head twitched towards Marcel with his eyes on the television.
“What?”
“Oh. Wow”
Louis slurped his can of Diet Coke.
“Oh, wow, what?”
“Um, my old friend Zayn emailed me. From high school.” Marcel typed for a moment. “He got my email off the class list from the reunion.”
Louis snapped his fingers as he leaned forward.
“See! There you go! A reconnect right off the bat.” He placed his soda on that coffee table. “That’s great.”
Marcel clicked twice, then started to type quickly.
“Wow,” he chuckled, still typing. “He’s done really well for himself, it seems. That’s lovely. He was always really smart.”
Louis peeked at Marcel’s laptop screen, only to find a Wikipedia page without a photo for one Zayn Malik. How boring. He fluffed his quiff and crossed both legs on the sofa.
“I don’t remember you mentioning a Zayn in high school.”
“He transferred halfway through freshman year because his dad got a new job. We used to chat on MSN when we were younger, but then it got hard to stay in touch with uni and stuff. We both really liked computers. We just sort of fell out of touch.”
“Wow, MSN. Taking me back, ManFromMarce.”
Marcel flushed but he continued to type.
“We’re talking on Google Chat right now and...Oh, he’s asking if I have Facebook,” Marcel murmured, worrying his bottom lip. “Which, um, I don’t. But...” His typing slowed. “Oh. He asked if I wanted to go to the reunion together, since he doesn’t know anyone but me. He’d pick me up.”
Louis laughed, “This is all escalating so quickly, but good for you, M. Maybe him being there will make you more comfortable.”
Marcel itched the collar of his shirt, his buttoned up sweater vest shifting over his ribs.
“I...I still don’t know if I want to go. What would I even talk to anyone about?”
“You could go to keep Zayn company, yeah? Catch up. Maybe it’ll be fun?”
“Yeah, may...May…”
Louis swirled his hand towards Marcel.
“Any day now, Peanut.”
Marcel smiled and dropped his face. He typed slowly, as if he didn’t want to make as much noise as when he usually typed. He was a very quick typer.
Louis glanced at his screen.
“Woah,” he said, crawling closer. Marcel sighed and went to shut his laptop, but Louis reached out and held the top of the screen. “Is that him?”
“Yeah,” Marcel whispered. “I guess.”
“Holy fucking shit,” Louis said on a high giggle. He scrolled down Zayn’s Facebook page. “Your friend is smokin’ hot.”
Marcel nibbled his bottom lip.
“Yeah, he is.”
Louis’ eyes widened. He looked to Marcel without turning his head from the screen.
“Yeah?” he asked gently.
Louis could see the bright red flush creeping up Marcel’s neck to burn the cartilage of his ears.
“I mean, yes. He’s...Attractive. But it’s not like it…”
The laptop pinged. Louis and Marcel read Zayn’s newest Google Chat message, their eyes swaying side to side in unison. Marcel’s jaw dropped an inch.
“Oh my God! M!” Louis cackled into his hand, bouncing in place. He ruffled Marcel’s hair, bouncing harder. “He had a crush on you in high school!”
“That’s insane,” Marcel said, slapping his laptop shut. He placed it on the coffee table and stood up, straightening his sweater vest. “That--He--He’s joking, obviously. There was no way anyone in high school had a--a--a crush on me.” He shook his head and stumbled towards the kitchen. “No one does. No. Just...No.”
Louis put one foot on the ground and reached out towards him.
“C’mon, babe. Sit down. Relax.”
Marcel blurted out, “I--I was covered with scales and--My skin was horrible and I had a stutter and I smelled like my special lotions and medicines I had to use. No one liked me like that.”
“I liked you,” Louis said softly, gently.
“But n-not like that. We were neighbors and best friends and--” Marcel looked around the kitchen in a panic, then gripped the kettle. “Tea? Yes? Okay. Lovely.”
Louis stood up from the sofa. He padded to the kitchen, his fingers clasped in front of his groin. He leaned his bum against the fridge.
“Hey,” he said, following Marcel’s jerky path from sink to stove. “If you, um, like Zayn--”
“We just started to Google Chat and haven’t seen each other in over ten years,” Marcel laughed, air running through his voice. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “How am I supposed to like him?
“I know, but…” Louis smiled slowly. “It’s, um, cool if you maybe do. He seems to like you. He sought you out.”
“He’s a multimillionaire tech giant. What would he want with me?”
Louis gently gripped Marcel’s arms.
“Hey,” he said, soft and high. He tilted his head side to side until their gazes lined up. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Of course he’d want you. You deserve the best. The best, mate.”
Marcel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, the skin already chapped and reddened.
“If you say so.”
“I just think it...It would be a good learning experience. It could be fun for you.”
Marcel huffed and shook Louis’ hands off. He pulled open the refrigerator, nudging Louis aside. He pulled out milk.
“I don’t even have anything to wear. And I--I would look so out of place, like, among all these people who…” His eyes darted towards Louis. His words slowed. “Who dress like you and act like you.”
“What?”
“You...You wear clothes that make people like you.”
Louis brows furrowed. “Um, I guess?”
“You do. You always have people asking you out and you always look, um, hip.”
“I kind of just wear clothes that I know will get me laid, which is counterproductive to wearing clothes, but I mostly buy cheap shit that’s tight in the right places.” Louis waved his hand in front of himself. “But that’s beside the point. Why would you want to dress like me? There’s nothing wrong with how you dress. You like your clothes.”
Marcel protectively clutched the bottom of his sweater vest, his serious expression causing his glasses to slide down his nose.
“I know. I just...I thought maybe if I go to a thing that’s...Social. Maybe you could...Um...Help me get ready? Like the way you do your hair with the blow dryer and, um, stuff?”
“Oh,” Louis said, surprised, his voice popping like a bubble. He nodded, smiling warmly. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever I can do to help you feel good.”
“Thank you,” Marcel exhaled. Louis nudged his knuckles into Marcel’s shoulder. “What?”
“It’s just sweet, is all. Seeing you get excited to do something new.” Louis pinched the edges of Marcel’s glasses. “What are your thoughts on contacts?”
“Unnatural, unsanitary, uncomfortable, unnecessary.”
Louis laughed.
“Oh, c’mon. You should try it!”
“They probably don’t even make my prescription in contacts.”
“M, you last looked into contacts, like, ten years ago. I’m pretty sure there have been some advances in the optical sciences.” Marcel frowned, Louis’ fingers tracing over his hair. “Maybe we could get you some product up in here, as well.”
Marcel’s eyes rolled upwards.
“What?”
“Some new hair product. One a bit less…” Louis flicked the shiny, hard shell of his hair’s wave. “Binding. But, for now, let’s just focus on tea, yeah?”
“Yes,” Marcel said, letting out a breath. He smiled shyly and nodded. “I can do that.”
. . .
“I told you. Unnatural. Uncomfortable. Un--”
“Unbelievable,” Louis interrupted with a grin. He held out the sample sized bottle of contact solution. “Try again. They’re just eyeballs. Nothing to be scared of.”
“It’s not my eyeballs that are the problem. It’s the tiny piece of plastic I’m putting on said eyeballs.” Marcel shook his hand and a sliver of blue fell into a contact case. “It’s disturbing.”
Louis snorted and squirted solution into the case.
“Babe, it’s really not bad. I do it every day, and you’re at least ten times smarter than me. You can handle it.”
A woman popped her head into the tiny exam room. She smiled at them, but rapidly tapped her fingernails on the doorframe, her eyes a touch manic.
“You two almost done? We’re, erm, about to close.”
“Sure. Sorry about the delay.” Louis gathered the boxes of contacts in his arms. “We can practice more at home.”
Marcel whined through his nose and Louis ruffled his hair, gel cracking under his palm.
. . .
“Peanut,” Louis called sweetly. He flicked a page of his magazine. “Oh, Peeeaaaanut? Have you become one with fashion yet?”
Marcel sighed.
“They don’t fit correctly, Lou.”
Louis blinked at the fitting room door.
“How is that possible? They’re your size and you’re, like, the perfect height and build for men’s clothes.”
“They...fit. They’re just…”
“Are they tight?”
“Yes,” Marcel whispered, ashamed.
“Good,” Louis laughed. He tossed his magazine on the table placed between fitting room chairs. “Blazer fits, too?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Excellent. We’re set.” He knocked on the door three cheerful times. “Time to pay and go get pretzels.”
A few moments later, Marcel came out of the fitting room in his regular pleated trousers and an oversized khaki cardigan paired with his blue polka dot button-up. His polka dot bow tie was white and green, but worked in the overall look. He had the new black trousers and blazer looped over his forearm, along with a few paisley print button-downs on hangers.
Louis arched his eyebrows.
“Who are you texting all giddy like that?”
Marcel’s gaze stuttered towards him. “What? Me? Giddy? No.”
“Uh, yeah,” Louis laughed, taking the clothes off his forearm. “You seem happy.”
“Zayn just made a really funny joke about, um, something computer-y.”
“Ah, Zayn,” Louis said wisely, nodding. “The man, the mystery, the millionaire. All on task for the reunion?”
“Yeah. He said he’d pick me up at our place with a car service, so we can both drink, and, um...” Marcel shoved his phone into the pocket of his brown wool trousers. “He has a hotel room downtown, like, since he’s from out of town, and he said we could…” His voice grew softer. “We could hang out there afterwards if the reunion is boring.”
Louis’ eyelashes stuttered mid-blink, but he hummed and continuing walking.
“Okay, cool. Sounds like everything’s planned.”
“Yup.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other in front of the registers. Louis smiled, but he felt like his eyes were not functioning correctly. He wanted to look at Marcel’s face as usual, but the faint pink dusting Marcel’s cheeks made him glance away.
“Um, are you…” Louis took the new shirts from him with his right hand, his left hand itching the back of his hair. “Like...With the hotel. Are you…” His lips twitched to pout thoughtfully. “Are you comfortable with the idea of sleeping over, like, with someone and...Erm…”
“Yeah, it’s--it’s fine.” Marcel sped up his steps, the shiny department store floor tapping beneath his shoes. “It’ll be fine.”
Louis nodded and walked beside Marcel, who continued to stare at the ground. He was tiptoeing around a question he never asked his best friend because Marcel was Marcel. Whether he had sex with people was his business, though, after knowing him forever and living together for three years, Louis would guess the answer was a pretty firm no. He never heard a peep from Marcel’s room at night and Marcel never had overnight guests.
But Marcel’s dad, while a lovely man, was a bashful type, much like Marcel. And what if he never gave Marcel the talk? What if Marcel didn’t know that it was okay to not sleep at Zayn’s hotel if he wasn’t comfortable?
Despite his desire to respect Marcel’s privacy, Louis continued to ramble, “So...You…Have you...”
Marcel shifted his new clothes to his other arm.
“Just, um…Hand and mouth stuff. No--No bum stuff.”
A cackle flew out of Louis’ throat, his brows skyhigh.
“Holy shit, with who!?”
Marcel whined and went towards the register, but Louis gently gripped his elbow.
“C’mon, I won’t tell anyone,” Louis said, laughing through his words. He thumbed his elbow. “I’m just curious. You never said you were into anyone. Ever.”
“I’m not,” Marcel insisted quickly, looking at the ceiling. “I’m not into anyone. I’m not.”
“Then who?”
“Just, like…” Marcel’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his glasses crooked and his lips tight. “Just...Like…” He looked at his pigeon-toed shoes and dropped his voice to a barely there whisper, as if he was admitting to a series of mass murders. “Guys at the gym.”
Louis was certain his eyebrows were now residing on the back of his neck and that the back of his skull had actually exploded due to his brain expanding so suddenly. He guffawed, his mouth wide open.
“You--You hook up with guys at the gym!?”
“Not, like, often,” Marcel said huffily, frowning. “Just...Sometimes. Like, if they offer when we’re going into the showers at the same time.”
Bright realization dawned in Louis’ eyes.
“Oh! Is that--Is that why you go everyday, but you won’t let me and the guys join the same gym as you?”
Marcel inhaled to reply, but a salesman behind the counter--which they were standing directly in front of--cleared his throat. Marcel and Louis looked to him. He fluttered his lashes at them, his chin perched on both palms.
“While this revelation is thrilling to witness, are you gentlemen nearly done?” His smile dropped. “We closed five minutes ago.”
. . .
The night of Marcel’s reunion arrived after weeks of failed contact lens attempts, multiple wardrobe plan changes, a fair amount of fretting, and near constant texts with Zayn.
Louis knocked on the bathroom door.
“You ready for me to come in, babe?”
“No, just a--Just a second.”
“Alright, take your time.” He leaned on the wall, itching his shin with his bare foot. His skinnies bunched up his ankle. “No rush.”
He instructed Marcel to drink a beer while taking a long, luxurious shower. He was ninety-nine percent certain the beer sat untouched on the side of the tub, but he hoped the warm shower eased some of Marcel’s jumpiness.
“Okay,” Marcel said behind the door. “I’m good.”
Louis turned the knob and stepped inside. Marcel was bent over in his floor length, forest green terry-cloth robe, a navy blue towel draped over the back of his head.
“Ooh,” Louis cooed. He turned the fan on and wiped his hand in a circle over the mirror. “Smells good in here, mate, smells good.”
Marcel popped his head up. He ran his fingers through his wet hair before reaching for his glasses.
“Yeah, well, it’s your fancy shampoo and stuff.”
Louis plugged in his blow dryer and started sorting hair brushes of various sizes. He glanced at Marcel in the mirror and pouted.
“No contacts?”
Marcel adjusted his fogged lenses on his nose.
“I couldn’t get them in. I’m just going to wear my glasses.”
“Alright, bub. Whatever you want to do. Now.” Louis cracked his knuckles in front of himself. He lifted his blow dryer. “Sit down and take off your glasses. Time to get those curls a-blowing.”
. . .
While Marcel got dressed in the privacy of his bedroom, Louis sprawled on the sofa and started a Walking Dead marathon. Louis had learned long ago that Marcel did not like to be seen when he wasn’t fully clothed. Even when he was moving from the shower to his bedroom, Louis always diverted his eyes or made himself busy with something. It was the respectful thing to do for his best friend.
“Lou?”
Louis pressed the back of his head into the arm of the sofa.
“Yeah? What’s…” His head tipped sideways, his mouth falling open. “What…”
Marcel stood in behind the sofa in his new tight trousers and nothing else, other than his glasses and his shiny, blown back hair.
Louis knew that Marcel ate healthy and was religious about going to the gym every day. He was also aware that Marcel added regular yoga to his gym routine to help with his hunch. Knowing all of that, he was still unsure if he was hallucinating the delicately formed abs and rounded pecs and long torso and bloody hip dents that had materialized in their living room.
Marcel held a black and white patterned shirt on its hanger in front of his bare chest.
“Which do you think is better for tonight? This one?” He switched it for a pale purple shirt of the same pattern. “Or this one?”
“Um--” Louis fell off the sofa. “Um--” He stumbled to his feet, gripping the coffee table for support. “I…”
Concern flooded Marcel’s eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes! Yeah,” Louis said, laughing easily and ruffling his hair. He quirked a casual hip. “Um...I…” He ran his hand over the front of his throat, which was suddenly damp. “I think the black and white. Yeah. Definitely. Try that one.”
Marcel laid the purple shirt on the sofa and took the other shirt off its hanger. He shrugged it on, twisting his torso and flexing his arms backwards.
Biceps. Shoulders. More abs and pecs. Height.
“Louis? Lou?”
Straight posture. Big feet. Tall. Happy trail. Tall. Tall. Tall.
Louis didn’t realize he was clutching both of his cheeks and staring slack-jawed until Marcel snuffled, “Lou?” and snapped his fingers in front of his face.
Louis blinked rapidly. “Yes? Yeah?”
“I asked if you think it looks okay? Is the black and white party-ish enough?” Marcel held his arms out. “Or should I wear the other one because it’s colourful? What would you wear?”
“Yeah,” Louis exhaled, stepping closer. “Black and white is good. Party-ish. Let’s just...loosen you up a little.”
Marcel watched Louis’ fingers pop open the first three buttons of his shirt. His glasses slid further down his his nose.
“This is a formal event. Should I really be so, um, exposed?”
“It’s, like, five inches of your chest and it’s a school reunion,” Louis countered, popping his fourth button. He fluffed the material away from Marcel’s chest. “People are there to be seen, take flattering Instagram pictures, and get laid. Maybe even all three to complete the trifecta. You’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
Marcel’s phone buzzed in the kitchen. He looked towards the sound.
“Oh, that’s probably Zayn.”
Louis sucked a breath in and turned away, then realized he was turning away towards nothing but Rick Grimes on the television. He exhaled and faced the kitchen, where Marcel was smiling softly and texting, his untucked shirt hanging off his lean frame and accentuating the dip between his pecs. At the first sight of faint chest hair, Louis decided to take his chances with Rick and turned towards the television, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach.
Marcel put his phone on the counter and walked briskly into the living room.
“He’ll be here in five. I’d better finish up.”
“Let me know if you need any help,” Louis said in a robotic voice. He heard Marcel call, “Thanks, Lou. You’re the best!” before his bedroom door nicked closed.
Louis swallowed and went into the kitchen. He took out a beer, popped the cap, and chugged the entire thing in three gulps. He placed the beer in the sink and rested his hands on the edge of the counter. He licked his lips.
“Right.”
He popped another beer and downed it. He swiped the back of his hand over his lips and panted slightly.
“Papers to grade,” he muttered to himself, placing his bottle in the sink. “You’ve got papers to grade, Lou. Don’t get too drunk.”
There was a knock at the door. Louis looked toward the sound. He heard Marcel mumble, “Oh, buttons,” and drop something heavy in the other room. A smile flitted over Louis’ face.
“I’ll get it, M. Relax.”
“Thank you!”
Louis went to the door and checked the viewfinder. He unlocked it and stepped back, pulling the door open.
“Hey, mate,” he said, friendly and calm. He held his hand out. Zayn Malik grasped his hand for a warm shake. “C’mon in. Welcome. So good to see you.”
The amber glow of Zayn’s eyes seemed to throb with heat, his smile so gentle and friendly amidst his soft looking dark scruff.
“Thanks so much, Louis. It’s great to see you again. Marcel’s said the absolute nicest things about you.”
Louis gulped. Marcel’s voice was not the only one to drop since high school.
As Zayn stepped inside, clad in a form fitting, custom black suit and shirt, Louis looked down at his own ensemble. He still had on his wrinkled white Oxford from work, cuffed up to his elbows, but had switched into holey black skinnies and tossed his socks the minute he got through the door. Louis rubbed his hand over his shirt, willing some of the wrinkles at the bottom to smooth.
“You have a lovely home.”
Zayn’s smooth voice made Louis’ face snap up. He smiled and tilted his head.
“Cheers, thanks. That’s all M. He’s the, uh, master decorator. Do you want something to drink? Water? Beer?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”
“Cool.”
“So,” Zayn said, looping his thumbs in his pockets. They smiled at each other, both nodding. Zayn laughed quietly and broke their stare. “Cool.” He pointed towards the television. “Walking Dead marathon?”
“Yes,” Louis said, glancing at Carol as she saved the world on screen. “Marcel and I watch it all the time and he makes this, like, cheesy bean dip that kind of looks like walker guts? Intentionally, of course. It’s our official snack for Walking Dead marathons.”
“Cool,” Zayn laughed. “That sounds good.”
“It is, yeah. Really, uh, tasty,” Louis said, running his fingers through and back of his hair. “So, uh--”
“Marcel said you’re a drama teacher?”
“Yeah, yup, that’s right.” Louis dropped his hand to his side. “I teach drama at a school not too far from here and sometimes help out directing summer stock productions.”
“I had no idea you did drama when we were younger.”
“Oh, well, I was more into sports back then, but I was always a big fan of the school theatre productions. Marcel used to volunteer to do the soundboard, you know? So, I’d go to keep him company in the booth and I guess I caught the theatre bug that way.”
Zayn smiled and nodded, his eyes warm. “Cool. No, I didn’t know he did sound. Makes sense, though. He’s so good with anything electronic.”
“Yeah. He is.”
“Right.”
They stared at each other, both smiling and nodding and digging their hands into their pockets. Louis started to say, “You sure I can’t get you a beer?” but was interrupted.
“Hi, Zayn.”
Louis turned his head left as Marcel walked through the living room.
Marcel’s sensible, orthopedically sound shoes had been replaced by black Chelsea boots with a small heel, only adding to his newfound height and long legs. His clothing clung to his form yet draped loosely in all the right places. Gone were his pleated trousers and sweater vests. His heavily gelled hair had been replaced by soft, blown back waves Louis himself could claim responsibility for, along with the small smudge of deep charcoal eyeliner he had meticulously blended to give Marcel’s eyes that much more green pop.
“Your eyes,” Louis whispered, stunned.
Marcel’s doe-eyed gaze, unhindered by his thick glasses, slid to Louis. He smiled shyly, his dimple popping.
“Yeah, finally got the contacts in,” Marcel said, chuckling. He arched his brows. “About time, yeah?”
Louis opened his mouth with a reply on his tongue, but Marcel walked right past him, leaving him in a cloud of delicate sweetness. A dab of diluted almond oil to his pulse points was another Louis suggestion, as he didn’t want any products to irritate Marcel’s sensitive skin. Apparently, Marcel had taken his advice.
Marcel and Zayn hugged tightly.
“It’s so good to see you,” Marcel said into his shoulder. “Thank you for picking me up.”
“Yeah, mate, of course. So good to see you after so long. I--” Zayn pulled back from the hug and gripped Marcel’s bicep, but Louis watched his other hand smoothly slide down to fit perfectly in the small of Marcel’s back. Zayn widened his eyes and laughed loudly. “Wow, you look amazing, M.”
Marcel smiled, biting on his bottom lip. “Oh, um, thanks. Louis helped me with everything, even my hair.”
Zayn looked at Louis over Marcel’s shoulder like a man who had just hit the lotto.
“Well, thank you, Louis,” Zayn said, Marcel grinning and looking at his boots. “Top notch work.” Zayn tilted his head, he and Marcel smiling at each other for a long beat. “No surprise, though.”
The tension in their living room was so thick, Louis wondered if he could use his stage combat training to parkour over the kitchen island and fling himself out the window without Zayn or Marcel noticing.
“Right, we’d better get going,” Zayn finally said, stepping backwards towards the door. He looped his arm around Marcel’s lower back and squeezed his hip. “You all set?”
“Yup,” Marcel said, nodding quickly. “Ready.”
“Cool.”
Louis gripped the doorknob and rolled up on the balls of his feet.
“Alright, well, you two have fun,” he said in his best supportive voice. It came out more like he was having a problem with his diaphragm, Zayn and Marcel peering curiously at him. His arm rose without his mental consent to wag his finger at them, the unbearably lame, dad-esque words, “But not too much fun,” tumbling out of his mouth.
Zayn smirked while Marcel glared through his tight smile. A strange wave of sadness washed over Louis, formed a fist, and promptly punched him square in the gut. Was this how Marcel felt every time he said goodbye when Louis went out on a date?
“I think we’ll be cool,” Zayn rasped. He offered Marcel a smile and flattened his palm on the small of his back. He held his other hand out towards Louis. “So great to see you again, mate. Have a lovely night.”
Louis clasped his hand.
“Yes, you, as well. Great to see you. Erm.” He swallowed smiled at Marcel. He lifted one hand to wave. “Have fun, Pea--I mean--Mate.” Louis nodded, smiling tighter. “Have an amazing time.”
Marcel smiled down at him and pulled him into his arms. He murmured, “Thank you for everything,” against his ear and squeezed him.
Louis’ head fit into the crook of his jawline and neck, his fingers digging into the bottom hem of his blazer. His eyes shut without his control, his nose pressing deeper to the soft skin beneath Marcel’s jaw.
“You’re welcome.”
Marcel stepped back and turned to Zayn. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” Zayn said, holding the door open for him. He held his arm out and Marcel walked through. Zayn turned back to Louis. “Thank you so much, mate.” He hugged him, Louis standing still. Zayn whispered, “Thank you for helping him see how beautiful he truly is.”
Louis swallowed dryly.
“Sure. Of course.”
Zayn stepped back and smiled. He turned away and pulled the door shut. Louis gave his wrinkled shirt one more press with his hands before he spun on his heel and walked into the living room.
He flopped on the sofa and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. The sound of walkers slobbering filled the living room. Louis tapped his toes against the arm of the sofa, biting his bottom lip.
His phone vibrated on the coffee table.
Louis reached out and grasped it, expecting to see the name The Peanuttiest of Peanut M&Ms!!! with every heart Emoji possible. Instead, he saw Li Li with the muscle arm Emoji.
burger and a pnt w/neil?
*pint
*nail
**Niall
“Yes,” Louis exhaled, typing the same for his reply.
. . .
Marcel studied the golden fizzies that speckled the inside of his champagne flute. He glanced at Zayn and smiled shyly.
“This event is a bit weird, isn’t it?”
Zayn chuckled into his champagne. He licked tiny bubbles off of his top lip and placed his glass on their table, a small, round cocktail hightop near the bar they had camped out at for the past hour.
“You’re right. It is. The nerds from high school get jobs that pay well, put on a new suit, and suddenly we’re Prom King.”
Marcel sipped his champagne.
“Not to be vulgar, but I think saying your job pay well is an understatement.” Zayn smiled and thumbed a droplet off the corner of his mouth. Marcel wrinkled his nose and slapped his lip together. “I just can’t get into the bubbles in champagne. They make me feel like I’m having an allergy attack.”
“Oh, yeah?” Zayn waved down a passing waiter. He fluttered his fingers in front of the colourful cocktails and picked one from the back. “Try this.” He handed it to Marcel. “Looks like it’s an amaretto sour. They’re sweet and pretty easy on the allergies.”
Marcel barely took a full sip of his new drink before another pack of people walked up to him and Zayn. It had been that way all night.
When they walked in, the guests already mingling froze and stared at them. Besides the visible difference in their appearances since high school, Zayn was widely known for his company’s success and wealth. Marcel, though not nearly as wealthy, worked for a similar sort of start-up and had gotten in on the ground floor. He was pretty set financially compared to most other graduates.
That’s not to say they did not reconnect with some old friends that were pleasant surprises. They were happy to see two members of the Computer Club, along with their wives, and some other friends from their honors classes.
In general, everyone, no matter their high school clique, was very nice and open to chatting. Everyone was happy to learn of the successes, marriages, child births, and exciting news of their graduating classmates. Marcel surprised himself by only stuttering an average of once per conversation, though Zayn’s hand warming the small of his back likely had something to do with his sudden ease with small talk.
“Keep in touch, M!”
“Will do,” Marcel said, smiling at the retreating group. They waved and went out to the dance floor, Zayn muffling giggles in his champagne. Marcel stirred his drink, letting the straw push a cherry around. “This hasn’t been a bad experience, at all, and we’re totally having fun, but it’s...”
“Weird like champagne?”
“Yeah, a little,” Marcel chuckled, his shoulders hunching up with each laugh. Zayn smiled warmly. “I was never, like, properly bullied. Louis always made sure everyone was decent to me. But now all these people who didn’t know us in high school want to take selfies and drag us into the photobooth. It feels so fake, and an insult to the people who actually cared about us back then.”
Zayn smiled and propped his chin on his hand.
“You’re an interesting Cinderella.”
Marcel snorted, “What?”
“You’re an interesting Cinderella,” Zayn repeated, laughing softly. He wrapped one of the small springy curls near Marcel’s temple around his finger. “You and I were both...not conventionally attractive in high school.”
“You were fine. I was a skin-shedding pimple beast.”
Zayn laughed so hard his eyes crinkled shut. He thumbed Marcel’s cheekbone.
“You were not. A lot of kids have eczema and acne. You grew out of it. And you weren’t a beast.” He ran his fingers behind Marcel’s ear, fresh pink rushing up Marcel’s neck to meet his gentle fingertips. “Never.”
Marcel’s lips formed a perfect circle.
“Oh...kay,” he breathed.
Zayn smoothed his hand to Marcel’s shoulder.
“I just meant that...I had a crush on you back then, yeah, but you look very different now.” He tilted his head to the group of student in ill-fitting cocktail dresses taking selfies beside them, without notifying Zayn or Marcel that they were being photographed. “There wasn’t anything wrong with how you looked. You just look more, uh,” Zayn chuckled, breathiness lightening his voice, “outwardly stunning now.”
Marcel snorted, his hand flying to his nose.
“I’m not stunning.”
Zayn grinned and tilted a shiny butter knife towards Marcel.
“You kind of are, mate. That’s why I said you’re an interesting Cinderella. Most people kill themselves to look hot at the reunion and prove that they weren’t unpopular in high school. You are hot, but you don’t care if you were unpopular in high school. You’re you and are secure in that. You’re not lapping up the attention like most people probably would.”
Marcel looked away from his reflection. The warp in the metal made his forehead look enormous--though his hair still maintained its shiny, bouncy height.
“Well, the same can be said about you,” Marcel said. “You were cute in high school, but you’re so handsome now, that…” Zayn dropped his gaze and Marcel trailed off, laughter creeping into his questions. “What? What’s up?”
Zayn smiled up at him.
“Nothing, just...Just funny to hear you say I was cute in high school. I think you’re the only one to think that.”
A former lacrosse player named Allen leaned his elbows on their table and interjected, “I, for one, always thought you were quite handsome, Zeke.”
Zayn’s long lashes gifted the lacrosse player with one lazy sway.
“Thanks. It’s Zayn, actually. I may be handsome now, but I didn’t forget that you dumped chocolate pudding down the back of my shorts while I was getting changed for gym class.” He smiled sweetly. “Or that you stomped on Marcel’s binder in the back of pre-calc when he wouldn’t let you copy his exam.”
Allen’s blue eyes widened.
“Well, we’ve--we’ve all matured since then,” he sputtered out. “Surely we can put our differences behind us?”
Zayn smiled kindly.
“Leave our table, please.”
“Yeah, of--of course. Cheers. Go Tigers!”
Marcel and Zayn blinked at him.
“Tigers were our, uh, mascot,” Allen said, backing away. He held his glass up in cheers. “Go...Tigers?”
Allen backed into a group of dancing pregnant women and stumbled, spinning away from them as if it was an intended dance move. Marcel giggled into his amaretto sour.
“Was that rude?” Zayn whispered through his giggles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“No, it wasn’t. It’s all so silly.”
Zayn smiled and rubbed his hand between Marcel’s shoulder blades.
“Wanna get out of here? The hotel I’m at has a much lovelier bar with an amazing charcuterie selection and live jazz all night. I don’t eat meat, but I can never resist fancy cheeses. Unless...” Zayn fist pumped and jutted his head forward and back to the beat of I Got A Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas. “You want to totally raaaaage, man.”
Marcel laughed again and shook his head, placing his drink on the table.
“Nah, let’s get out of here.”
. . .
Louis used a small, burnt chip to push a flabbier, undercooked chip into his pond of ketchup. He picked up the remaining half of his burger in his basket and lifted it. The bite he took was unsatisfying, mostly soggy bun with only a bit of cheddar, but he swallowed it anyway.
“You’re quiet tonight.”
Louis looked across the table to Liam.
“Am I?”
“Yeah.” Liam dipped a chip in Louis’ ketchup. “What’s wrong? You seem blue.”
“Nothing. I’m good.”
Niall laughed with burger in his mouth. “Aw, are you jealous, babe?”
Louis wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Jealous? Of what?”
“That Marcel’s on a date with a millionaire. That sounds like a dating show, doesn’t it? Marcel Dates The Millionaire.”
Louis blurted out, “It’s not a date, they’re just going to their school reunion.” Liam and Niall smirked at him with their their burgers poised for a bite. “I mean, no.” Louis snorted and lifted his pint. “Why would I be jealous? I’m happy for him. He seemed really excited. It’s a big thing for him to open up to dating, being so shy and all, you know?”
“Well, yeah,” Liam said, widening his eyes. “Didn’t think it would ever happen, him living with you.”
Louis watched Liam and Niall bite their burgers at the same time. Even the chewing motion of their jaws was in sync.
“What’s that mean?”
Niall looked at Liam over the top of his black-rimmed glasses. Liam shrugged. Both directed their attention to Louis.
Slowly, Niall explained, “Like...Since he’s always been into you. Into you, into you.”
Louis guffawed before laughing loud and brash. He shook his head to laugh again, and then again even louder.
“You’re--You’re nuts! Marcel doesn’t like me that way. We’re best friends.” Niall and Liam exchanged another shifty-eyed look. Louis’ stomach dropped. That strange wave of sadness that could form appendages returned to slap him in the face. “What? What are you talking about?”
Liam placed his burger in its basket and steepled his greasy fingers.
“I don’t think he ever wanted to make you uncomfortable, but, c’mon. Lou.” He smiled kindly. “You…You had to have known. He’s been in love with you forever. Well, until now, I guess.”
“What!?” Louis laughed, the sound strained.
Niall chuckled, “I’m shocked you didn’t see it. I thought everyone could see it. You’re basically a married couple, minus the sex.” He tilted his head as he chewed burger with his mouth open. “You don’t have sex with him, do you?”
“No,” Louis cried, pushing his chair back. “No. No. It’s--It’s not fair to him. No.” Louis shook his head frantically. “This isn’t fair.”
Liam and Niall reached across the table for Louis’ forearms.
“Hey, mate, relax,” Liam said, rubbing his wrist. Burger grease spread over his arm, but Louis was too busy looking for a paper bag to hyperventilate into to worry about a bit of grease. “What’s not fair?”
Louis’ breathing sped up the more he spoke, his eyes stinging with hot, unshed tears.
“It’s not fair to him that I’m a fucking idiot and it took me this long to find out how he felt. How he apparently felt for a long time. It’s not fair that I’m having this revelation now that he looked so--” Louis looked down at the table. “So fucking beautiful tonight, when I should have felt it all along, no matter what he looked like. Because he’s him. I’m supposed to be his best fucking friend and I didn’t even know guys were blowing him at the gym and this is all just--” He buried his face in his hands. “This is a fucking mess.”
“Is that why M won’t let us join his gym?” Niall whispered to Liam.
Louis dropped his hands to the table as dead weight and glared at Niall. “His gym is not the issue here, mate.”
“Alright, alright, relax,” Niall laughed, holding his palms out. “There’s a simple solution for this.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“Do you love him, too?”
“Do I love--Do I love Marcel?” Louis scoffed and threw his shredded napkin into the air like confetti. “Of course I love him. He’s my best friend.”
“Yeah,” Liam said slowly, he and Niall glancing at each other. “Right. But...Do you like him how he likes you?”
Louis’ head involuntarily swayed forward and back as he stared at Liam and Niall. As his head swayed, so did his brain. Thoughts and memories swirled uncontrollably, one right after the other, in a relentless, tear-inducing montage of moments.
Track: Wouldn’t It Be Nice - The Beach Boys
He could look back on every year of his life, every goddamn month of his life, and find an example of Marcel supporting him so selflessly, so happily, that it should have been clear to Louis that Marcel’s love went past friendship.
Countless football games, dances, and student events where Marcel would take pictures of Louis receiving awards or being crowned king of whatever function he was attending, since Louis’ mum often had work and couldn’t be there.
The night Louis lost his virginity and ended up shimmying up the drain pipe outside of Marcel’s bedroom window, drunk and giddy, excited to blabber to his best friend all about what transpired in Chloe Renna’s basement not an hour before. Marcel smiled and nodded along to his rambling recollection, but was otherwise silent, even when he held a rubbish bin under Louis’ face and rubbed his back while Louis vomited up the contents of his stomach.
Marcel proofreading every one of Louis’ entrance essays for university and providing endless encouragement that Louis should go into education to become a drama teacher, even though his school advisors were pushing for him to go into something more financially secure.
Or when Louis was overworked and miserable at his old drama teaching job, which paid well but was a soul-crushing commute to work with students who were spoiled brats, never listened, and were outright rude. He applied, with Marcel’s encouragement, to a school closer to home and in need of a drama teacher.
He got an offer on the job, but the new school paid significantly less than the miserable school. He was hemming and hawing about accepting the new job when Marcel offered to pick up the majority of the rent for as long as it took for Louis to figure out his finances with the new lower salary.
No questions asked. No stress. He offered to financially support Louis for as long as it took so he could be happy at work.
Countless bouts with the flu. Broken bones. Movie marathons. Errands to the grocery store or pharmacy. Deaths in the family. Rough breakups.
Louis stared straight ahead with tears tracking down his cheeks and whispered, “Oh my God.”
Niall and Liam clinked glasses.
“We ought to get this pub a plaque or summat,” Niall said, sipping his pint. He held his hand out for each word on his invisible plaque. “This pub is the location that Louis Tomlinson finally got his shit together and saw who was in front of him the entire time.”
Liam laughed and reached across the table to squeeze Louis’ shoulder.
“Aw, mate, it’s alright. You just took a while. Nothing to be upset about.”
Louis swiped his hands under his eyes, his chest shuddering.
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t he say anything?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Liam suggested.
“I can’t,” Louis said, his voice high and raw. Niall pushed his pint across the table and Louis gulped it gratefully. “He’s out with Zayn now. Zayn. You guys probably never met him in high school, but he’s fucking gorgeous now--”
Niall said, “Yeah, we Googled. He’s smokin’ hot.”
“--and rich and so, so nice. I can’t even be mad about Marcel getting with him because he’s legitimately nice and he liked Marcel when we were younger. He liked him for him. It’s...It’s not worth me even saying anything.”
“Yeah, but…” Liam’s brows pinched. “He’s not you.”
“What does that matter? What would he want with me when he could be with Zayn?”
“Mate,” Niall said quietly, wrapping his burger grease covered palm over Louis’ hand. He arched his eyebrows over his glasses. “He’s. Not. You.”
. . .
Marcel and Zayn clapped for the jazz trio playing in the centre of the hotel bar. Zayn brought his martini to his lips and sipped quickly. He lifted his toothpick out of the glass.
“I used to give my dad so much shit for liking jazz.” Zayn bit the olive off the end of his toothpick. “Now, I’m like, ‘Wow, childhood Zayn. You were kind of a brat.’”
Marcel smiled and swirled his red wine.
“I doubt you were a brat.”
“When I was upset about something, I’d lock myself in my room and blast Hoobastank’s The Reason.”
Marcel laughed with his head thrown back, Zayn laughing just as hard.
“Oh my God,” Marcel said as he chuckled, sniffling and dabbing tears from under his eyes. “That’s so awful, but so perfect.”
Zayn handed the bartender his empty glass. Another chilly martini with three olives was placed in front of him.
“My poor parents. I’m just glad I went to university and realized what a gift it was that my dad was a software engineer. I should have listened to his advice about jobs and stuff sooner.”
“My dad still doesn’t know the difference between texts and emails on his iPhone, so he writes in all caps and and signs all his texts, ‘LOVE, YOUR DAD.’”
Zayn chuckled, his eyes crinkling.
“That’s really sweet. He always seemed nice.”
“Yeah, he is nice,” Marcel smiled. He sipped his drink. “I’m lucky both my mum and dad are nice. Do you get to see your parents often?”
“Yeah, actually, since I got a private jet it’s been a whole lot easier.”
Marcel hummed and nodded, his eyes wide. “Oh. Right. I...I can see how that would make it easier.”
“Excuse me, gentleman. Sorry to interrupt,” the bartender said. He placed a thick wooden cutting board in front of them. Various cheeses, meats, pickles, and nuts rested artfully on top with a basket of warm bread nestled on the corner of the cutting board. “Here we are, gentleman. Our charcuterie selection of the day.” He gave them each a small white dish. “May I get you anything else? Fresh drinks?”
“No, thank you, this looks lovely,” Zayn said, sitting up straighter. He placed his napkin on his lap, Marcel doing the same. “Thanks so much.”
The bartender left them to attend to a pair of older women in shimmery silver gowns at the end of the bar. The jazz trio went back on stage to a round of polite applause. Marcel and Zayn went about portioning themselves bits of cheese.
“I love the little pickles they always give with food like this,” Marcel said as he placed two on his plate with the tiny pickle fork. He popped a third pickle into his mouth. “I don’t know why I never buy them at the grocery store.”
“You can eat them all. Please eat them all. Pickles disturb me.”
“Pickles disturb you? But you love olives,” Marcel laughed, Zayn smirking as he sliced himself some brie. “That makes no sense. Anything else I should know? Any other charcuterie secrets?”
Zayn thought seriously for a moment, squinting and scrunching his lips side to side.
“I’ll probably hog all the nuts. I think I probably eat more handfuls of nuts every day than regular meals. I’m nuts about nuts, one might say.”
Marcel smiled and cut into a crumbly block bleu cheese.
“Louis calls me Peanut, which is a derivative of Peanut M&M. He calls me that, too, because my name is Marcel and it starts with an M. I’m not sure why I’m specifically a Peanut M&M, but those are Louis’ favourite, so…” Zayn chuckled and Marcel looked up from the cheeses. “What?” he asked on a soft laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Zayn smiled while resting his chin on his palm.
“Nothing. It’s sweet, that’s all.”
“What is?”
“When we were kids, you were…” Zayn narrowed his eyes as he smiled, his lips moving slower to describe, “A big Louis fan. I’ll put it like that. And you still are a big Louis fan. He seems to be a big Marcel fan, as well. It’s sweet, how close you two are.”
“We’re best friends,” Marcel said quickly. “Just friends. I--I don’t mean to talk about him all the time. I’m not, like, obsessed with him.”
“No, no, mate, I didn’t mean it like that,” Zayn said gently. He flattened his hand on top of Marcel’s wrist, thumbing over his warm skin. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just nice that you two stayed such good friends. That’s all. No worries.”
“Okay,” Marcel exhaled. He nodded. “Cool.”
Zayn’s soft smile slowly bloomed to a full grin. He cradled Marcel’s jawline with the heel of his hand and leaned in. He looked from Marcel’s eyes to his lips, then tilted his head and let their lips nudge, opening his mouth enough to suck ever so gently.
Marcel blinked with their lips touching, then shut his eyes. He let his head fall to the side to follow Zayn’s guiding hand, their lips pressing together again. Zayn’s beard made his nose itch just a little bit, but Zayn’s lips were soft and warm; his hand a soothing pressure on the side of Marcel’s neck.
The jazz trio continued to play quietly in the background. There was no swell or crescendo. The bartender continued to shake a martini a few feet away. The lights in the room stayed comfortable and tasteful, but did not dim to a single spotlight to illuminate their kiss.
Zayn pulled back an inch, then pressed a soft peck to Marcel’s pursed lips. Marcel opened his eyes. He and Zayn stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
“That was nice,” Marcel eventually whispered.
“It was,” Zayn whispered back.
Marcel gulped. “Um.” He looked lost. “Thank you?”
“Yeah,” Zayn said slowly, leaning back in his seat with his arm resting on the bar. He smiled and rubbed his fingers through the back of his hair. “That’s what I figured. And it’s not just because you”--he licked his lips-- “taste a bit like pickles.”
Marcel’s jaw dropped.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.” He wiped his lips with a napkin. “Sorry, Z--”
“It’s alright, mate, it’s alright,” Zayn chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. Marcel’s wide eyes peered at him with half his face blocked by stiff white napkin. “And, I hate to break it to you, but our kiss being…” Zayn’s eyes narrowed as he smiled. “Pleasant, yet a touch dull, ain’t about the pickles.”
Marcel lowered his napkin and stared at his knees. He gripped the material with both hands, his hands clasped on his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Zayn ran his fingers through the front of Marcel’s hair and guided his face up. He leaned in and kissed his cheek, smoothing his hand down the back of his neck.
“Nothing to apologize for, mate. We can be friends.”
“You’re sure?”
Zayn nodded. “I’m sure. I want to be friends with you, that’s the most important thing. We can be friends who order fancy cheeses and listen to Hoobastank”--Marcel started to laugh into Zayn’s shoulder--“and text each other silly jokes.”
Marcel turned his face up with his head still resting on Zayn’s shoulder.
“What’s a computer geek’s favourite snack?”
“What?” Zayn asked, already grinning.
“Microchips.”
Zayn laughed and pet the back of Marcel’s hair.
“See? It’s all good. I’m just glad we’re back in touch.”
Marcel sat up, blowing a relieved breath out of his lips and reaching for his wine. He downed the remainder of his glass, nodding at the bartender with big eyes before he even swallowed. A fresh glass of red was placed in front of him.
“Me, too. Right. Sorry,” Marcel laughed, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know why I just had this need to annihilate my wine.”
“Go for it. I plan on celebrating the end of my childhood crush on you with gallons of vodka. Although, actually,” Zayn said, spinning the base of his martini glass, “are you still in touch with Niall Horan? The show choir kid with the glasses?”
Marcel’s brows rose.
“Niall? Yeah, we’re good friends. He’s great. He’s one of Louis’ good friends, too.”
“Maybe we could…Double date?”
“You and me and Niall? That’s three people, not four.”
Zayn snorted. “Um, you and Louis. Me and Niall.” He bopped Marcel’s nose. “Wow, you really have to get with the picture, mate.”
Marcel feigned outrage with a hand flat on his chest.
“Niall? What happened to your childhood crush on me? I’m hurt, mate, truly wounded.”
“I mean, my crush on you is still a totally valid period of my life,” Zayn said as he laughed, Marcel giggling delightedly. “But Niall was…” Zayn smiled wider, ducking his flushed face down. “He was always another one who sort of stuck in my brain, even though we never talked to each other or anything. Dunno why, but he’s in there.”
“I could definitely put you two in touch. He actually just became single a couple of weeks ago. He likes silly jokes, too.”
Zayn tipped his head back to finish his drink. He bit an olive off its toothpick.
“Now, we just have to get you to admit your love for Louis, and we’ll be all set for our double date. Does Niall like Mexican food?”
Marcel’s smile fell. He reached for his wine, Zayn holding up two fingers to the bartender.
. . .
Louis unlocked the door to his flat and burst inside. He dropped his keys on the floor and went straight towards his bookcase. He got on his knees and sat on his feet in front of the shelf.
For the walk (run) home from the pub, he tried to figure out the best way to express to Marcel that they might be, possibly (hopefully), in love with each other. He thought about flowers and candy, but decided they would never last long enough to honor their lifelong friendship. He thought about a stuffed animal, but Marcel was afraid of sleeping with anything small and stuffed, incase it fell in his mouth while he slept and accidentally smothered him. A handwritten letter was his top prospect, which is what led to him ripping into his bookshelf.
He could do this. He could totally do this. He was a drama teacher, for Christ’s sake. He made his living reading Shakespeare and dramatic monologues. There had to be something in his books that would be a perfect fit to handwrite on a note--using the fancy stationery Marcel gave him for Christmas (which he had yet to take out of the box)--to leave on Marcel’s bed for him to read the following day, when he returned from his night out with Zayn.
“Goddamn it,” Louis whispered, tossing books off the shelf with both hands. “Where the fuck is that stupid--”
“Lou?”
Louis’ head whipped over his shoulder. Marcel stood in the open doorway, his red wine stained lips pursed forward with confusion rumpling his face.
“Hi,” Louis said. He laughed high and frantic under Marcel’s focused stare, then cleared his throat and deepened his voice. “Hello.”
Marcel picked up Louis’ keys and placed them in the designated key bowl on on the table beside the front door. He shut the door. He stepped closer with his hands on his hips.
“What are you doing with your books?”
Louis dropped the stacks of books balanced on each palm and let out a casual chuckle.
“Just some light reading.”
Marcel nodded, though his brows were still pinched. “Okay. Cool. Um.” He sucked on his merlot-stained bottom lip for a moment. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah, of course. Lemme just--”
Louis placed his hands down to stand, but accidentally pushed off with one hand on a book’s shiny cover, which flew out from under his palm and caused him to face plant on the carpet. He shut his eyes and whined, “Why?”
Marcel ran to him.
“Oh my God, Louis, are you alright!?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” He allowed Marcel to hold his shoulders and tilt his torso up like a broken doll. He got to his knees and stood without touching any traitorous books. “I’m good, I swear.”
“Okay.”
Louis rubbed his rug burned cheek, an arm’s length between them. His gaze flickered from Marcel’s boots to his face. He turned away and stepped over his pile of books. His eyes ached to look over his shoulder, his head tilting back towards Marcel even as he walked to the sofa.
“Why are you home so early? Was everything okay with Zayn?”
“Yeah, Zayn’s lovely. We had a great time, even at the reunion part. It was actually fun, in a weird way.”
Louis swallowed and flopped on his corner of the sofa. He picked up the remote.
“Cool,” he said, his voice rough. His foot wiggled aimlessly against the floor. “So, what’d you want to talk about?”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
Louis pressed his lips together, the remote sliding out of his hand to plop on the sofa. The hurt in Marcel’s quiet question brought back that invisible wave of sadness that had haunted Louis all evening. Instead of punching Louis in the gut, the wave formed two pushy hands, which lifted him from his bum and propelled him to where Marcel stood.
“I’m sorry,” Louis said, just as quiet. He crossed his arms, then dropped his hands to shove them in his skinnies. “Sorry, babe. What...What did you want to talk about?”
“Um. So, when I was out with Zayn, we were talking a lot.”
“Okay.”
“And you kept coming up.”
Louis nodded slowly. “Okay.”
Marcel’s body twitched forward and back as his mouth open and shut. It was as if he was rocking himself without realizing he was moving, his jawline tensing over and over with his stare glued to the wall behind Louis’ shoulder.
“And...And.” Marcel swallowed and dropped his face to the floor. “And...And--”
“M.”
The soft exhalation of the single letter lined up with Louis’ warm hands wrapping around his biceps. Marcel lifted his face, wide-eyed.
“Yeah?”
“I know.”
The small shivers running through his body only multiplied, Marcel’s muscles rebelling against the warm firmness of Louis’ gentle grip, all with their eyes locked.
“What do you know?”
Louis smiled with his lips shut, just a small upturning of the corners of his mouth. He flattened his palm on the side of Marcel’s neck.
“I know that you...That you like me. As more than my best friend.”
Marcel’s face crumpled, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling with his jawline clenched tight.
“Hey,” Louis said softly, smoothing his palm over Marcel’s jaw. “Why the stress?” Marcel wrenched his face away from Louis’ touch and turned towards his bedroom. “Hey, no. No, no, no.” Louis jogged around him and blocked the hallway. He shook his head and dipped side to side, but was unable to get Marcel to look him in the eye. “We’re talking about this right now.”
Marcel nodded, but stepped away from Louis, putting some distance between them. Louis stood beside his pile of books, Marcel standing in the living room with his back to Louis.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis finally asked.
“I couldn’t. I just...I couldn’t.” Marcel’s back expanded beneath his blazer, then released. “I’m sorry.”
Louis took one step closer.
“Why?”
“I just couldn’t, okay? I--I couldn’t. I’m sorry I...I’m sorry.”
“But, why?”
“Because I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.”
Louis stepped around Marcel to face him.
“You’ve ruined nothing. Stop apologizing. I don’t know how you kept it to yourself for so long. How did it not drive you insane?”
Marcel’s gaze flitted to Louis, but he spun on his boot’s heel and went towards the kitchen.
“I was just happy to be around you. I didn’t--I don’t need more.”
Louis followed after him, sidestepping the pile of books. “But whenever I had a boyfriend or a girlfriend and you were around them, or I brought them back here, that must have been…” He frowned, his stomach turning. “That must have been torture for you.”
Marcel shook his head jerkily.
“No, it--It was fine.” He smiled over his shoulder. “You were always a respectful roommate with overnight guests and your, um, exes were generally very nice to me.”
“C’mon, M, I’m not asking for a review of my skills as a your roommate,” Louis said, taking another step forward. “I’m talking about me as your best friend. I’m talking about me not...not picking up on signals. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Marcel laughed a wet, sputtered sound. He dropped his gaze to the floor, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“I--I couldn’t. That’s why I tried with Zayn.”
“But why? Did you think I’d be mad? That I’d make fun of you? Babe, that’s--”
“No, I just--I didn’t know what to think,” Marcel said, his voice shaking in that raw, hollow way it got when they watched the beginning of Up. Louis tilted his head to make eye contact, but Marcel turned away. “I didn’t want to risk losing our friendship because I had a silly, stupid crush. A silly crush that, um, extended for years. Many years. Like, all the years. You’ve always been my...You’re...You’re…”
His shoulders rounded and he took off towards their bedroom hallway.
“Marcel--”
Marcel paused in the living room, his back hunched and his hands covering his face. Louis ran the remaining three steps between them and touched his shoulder.
“Hey, what’s--Are you--”
Marcel turned towards him and held out his palm, revealing two withered, blue pieces of plastic. He dropped his contacts onto their end table and let out a deep breath.
“I’ll sanitize the table later, but I had to get those out.” He pulled his shirt away from his chest and gasped to breathe in, shuddering it out. “This is...This is getting into such deep rooted, personal stuff from so many years ago that I was definitely going to cry if I had to keep my contacts in any longer. They’re irritating, and I didn’t want to ruin your eyeliner work.”
Louis smiled despite the swirling mass of new thoughts that had settled inside his head.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we could tell each other everything?”
Marcel sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, Lou. You were my first friend--my only friend for a long time. You were nice to me when I...When I was…” Marcel’s lips closed and trembled together, his nostrils flaring. “I…”
There was a special sort of buzzing pain that always lingered under the skin of any person who had been unattractive, unpopular, or came from a family with money struggles during their formative years, even if they had moved on and life had gotten better. Those formative years all flashed through Marcel’s mind in one swift gut punch of awkwardness.
Money for the School Book Fair that never seemed to be in Marcel’s rucksack…Money that Louis would slip to him in the cafeteria, even if it meant not having enough to buy lunch.
Marcel telling his parents he wasn’t feeling well every time it was the weekend, to avoid questions of why he was staying in both nights...Nights when Louis would sneak into his bedroom window after whatever party he attended so they could read comics or play video games; sometimes talking, sometimes not talking.
Cystic acne so inflamed and painful that Marcel developed a hunch from keeping his face down for so many years....Acne that was healed partially by the magic of dermatological medical advances, but also by Louis’ encouragement to, ‘Get his sweat on and get moving,’ and play footie with him every day after school (while slathered in SPF).
Marcel took a slow breath in and exhaled through his rounded lips.
“You never made fun of me or judged me. You were the most popular guy in school, the bloody Prom King, but you humored your loser, kid neighbor--”
“Hey,” Louis said firmly with a head shake. “You weren’t a loser or a kid. You were shy and quiet. That’s all. Just--Just tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what happened on your date with Zayn. Why are you back here and not at his hotel?”
“I told you, Zayn is lovely. He was the perfect date. Getting me drinks, walking around with his hand on the small of my back, introducing me to people, looking me in the eye and listening to me when I talk.”
Louis nodded. “Alright. That all sounds good.”
“Yeah, it was good, but…” Marcel smiled sadly, nibbling on his bottom lip for a beat. “But all I could think was how you usually do that for me. Even when you had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, you always took care of me that way, which, I’m sure, your exes didn’t like. But you did it and you always took care of me. Since we were kids. Always made me feel included. And I was with Zayn, who is so...He’s so, so nice and smart and he’s really good looking and he was doing all the right things, but I--I--” Marcel sucked a breath in through his nose, his voice wobbling to say, “I really just wanted it to be--to be you with me.”
Louis pressed the heel of his hand to Marcel’s cheekbone in time to catch fat tears rolling down from his watery green eyes. Gently, he murmured, “Peanut--”
“I’m sorry, Lou,” Marcel whispered, hiding his face in his hands. He turned away and walked square into the end table. “Ow,” he cried weakly, stumbling blind sideways and clutching his knee. “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.”
Louis smoothed his palm to the centre of Marcel’s heaving shoulder blades.
“You haven’t, though. Stop it. Please, love--” Louis’ voice broke, but he put on a smile. “Please, don’t cry. When you cry, I cry. We’ll have to fight each other for the eye makeup remover to get rid of our raccoon eyes and then where will we be?”
Marcel sniffled on a breath in. His nostrils stuck together, his head rhythmically jerking backwards. Louis held his shoulders and slowly turned him. Marcel couldn’t look him in the eye, but he held still while facing him.
“So…” Louis bit his bottom lip. “So, um, you like me?”
Marcel’s watery gaze eyes lifted to Louis’ face. His forehead was wrinkled, as if Louis spoke to him in a foreign language.
“I don’t like you, Louis. I love you. I think I--”
His head dropped forward, his hair falling in soft springs around his temples. He barked a rasped laugh and looked to the ceiling.
He whispered, “I think I’ve always loved you and I think I always will. And I’m sorry if that makes things weird with us. I never wanted you to think I was a stalker or obsessed with you--It’s not like that.” He sucked in another shaky, nostril-wobbling breath. “I loved you as a friend for a long time, but then it...It became something more. And I’m so sorry if--if that ruins us. We can pretend this never happened, and I can go back to--”
“Shhh, love.”
Marcel looked from the ceiling to Louis with frantic eyes.
“What?”
Louis cradled his jawline, his other hand warm on the side of Marcel’s neck. A small smile crinkled Louis’ face as he took a step forward, Marcel moving backward in time with his steps.
“I said, ‘Shhhh,’ but maybe you didn’t hear me?” Louis stroked his cheekbone and smiled wider. “Shall I say it again?”
Marcel’s back bumped the wall. He half looked behind himself at the wall, but kept his confused gaze on Louis, his lips open and pursed. The heat of Louis’ body seeped through Marcel’s clothes, replacing the chills that kept sending him into fits of shaking. Marcel went cross-eyed as he watched Louis lift himself onto the balls of his feet, Louis’ smiling mouth coming closer.
“Shall you--Shall you say, ‘Shhh?’” Marcel’s eyes darted from feature to feature on Louis’ face, trying to catalogue how he looked the closer Louis came to him. “Is that a question? I--I don’t get it, Lou. I--”
Louis laughed as he said, “Shhh.” He smoothed his hand over Marcel’s neck. “S’alright, Peanut. S’alright.”
Track: Don’t Worry Baby - The Beach Boys
Marcel’s eyes fell shut the second Louis lips warmly fit to his own. There was no curious blink, like with Zayn. There was no question in his mind as to what he should do. His body did what it felt was right, which was to squeeze Louis’ hips and moan softly into his slightly open mouth, his head lolling on his neck.
There was no jazz trio in their living room, but the pleasure portion of Marcel’s brain felt as if he was in a music video from the sixties, all flying flowers and sunshine and butterflies and open fields and Louis.
Louis. Louis. Louis.
Marcel arched away from the wall, Louis’ hand sliding to the small of his back and pulling them to stand flush. Their groins pressed together to create even more sparks of heat between them, but the tumbling, gentle play of their lips made both hug each other that much tighter. Marcel held Louis’ face with both hands and pushed a firmer kiss to his lips.
Louis smiled into their kiss.
Puzzle pieces. Marcel. Puzzle pieces. Home. Puzzle pieces.
Louis’ eyes were shut, but he could see puzzle pieces of all shapes and sizes floating around their living room. The pieces found each other mid-air and linked together, gliding weightlessly to the ground as vibrant photos of memories. Piece by piece. Moment by moment.
Louis kissed the corner of Marcel’s lips and murmured, “Fucking hell, M.” He cradled his face and sucked lazily on his puffy lips, Marcel humming as their lips pursed together over and over. “You’ve been holding out on me all these years.”
“Louis,” Marcel moaned breathily, tightening his hold on Louis’ hips.
Louis breathed against his lips and smiled, tipping his forehead against Marcel’s. He palmed Marcel’s jawline and up to his cheekbones.
“Do you feel like you’re on the moon right now? Holy hell,” Louis said, his voice extra high and raspy. He sucked another hit of Marcel’s lips, Marcel humming and hugging him closer. Louis gasped out, “Do you feel that?” They kissed again, both of their heads swaying with their lips joined. Quickly, Louis panted, “It’s like we’re--It’s like we’re on the fucking moon and my student loan is fully paid off and I just want to keep kissing you.”
“I was thinking more like an open field in the summertime, but--but--” Marcels’ eyes darted right. “Is this happening?” His eyes darted left. “This is happening.” He looked to Louis. “Is this happening?”
Louis laughed, fresh pink dotting his cheeks and sweat shimmering on his top lip.
“I know, right? Why weren’t we the type of best friends who experimented on each other? Would have saved us a hell of a lot of time.”
He went in for another kiss. Marcel’s eyes lulled half shut as he fell forward to meet him, but Louis stepped back at the last minute, Marcel’s lips just missing him.
Marcel shook uncontrollably, his swollen throat pushing out the words, “I’m sorry, I--”
“Shhhh,” Louis said, chuckling as he hushed him. He nosed Marcel’s Adam’s apple. “Shhh, love.”
Marcel let his head fall to the side, Louis pressing soft, slow kisses along his neck. He felt Louis reach inside his blazer and feel around for something. More kisses trailed up to his jawline, Louis’ nose dragging under his ear.
“What,” Marcel gasped, his head tilting to the other side. “What is--” A renegade giggle escaped and he squirmed, pulling his arms to himself. He felt Louis chuckle as he eased his hand away from his side. “What is happening?”
Louis snuffled and kissed the underside of his chin. He continued rooting around inside Marcel’s jacket as he gently sucked the center curve of his neck. Marcel’s right foot tapped repeatedly on the floor, his eyes fluttering shut. Louis chuckled and pulled his hand out.
“You’ve got a smidge of Thumper in you, but....” Louis slid Marcel’s glasses onto the bridge of his nose. The closer his lenses came to his face, the wider Marcel’s eyes grew. “Your eyes are all Bambi.” Louis smiled and pinched the corners of his glasses. “There.” He arched his eyebrows. “Can you see me now?”
Marcel stared at his best friend’s face. Louis’ eyes were just as blue as the first day they met. His smile was just as sweet and kind. His hair was the same lovely, dynamic brown, though he styled it in a more chic, effortlessly messy way compared to his earlier years with his sister’s hair straightener.
There were a touch more wrinkles beside his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but his endlessly buoyant, boyish mischief made him look not a day over eighteen. He made Marcel feel not a day over eighteen.
“Peanut?”
Marcel’s eyes refocused on Louis’ face as a whole, instead of counting how many eyelashes he had framing his left eye.
“Y-Yes,” he nodded. “I can see you.”
Louis cradled his face with both hands. He touched Marcel’s temple, his fingertips gentle, as if he was afraid of smudging a painting.
“Good. I’m…I’m...” Marcel tilted his head to press his lips to Louis’ palm. Louis blinked rapidly, though he still smiled, whispering, “I-I’m sorry it took me so long to see you.”
A touch of sadness darkened Marcel’s eyes for one final time before light took its rightful place, his smile slow.
“Shhh,” he hushed, resting his hand over Louis’ heart. “S’alright.”
Louis laughed loudly and stood on tiptoe, kissing Marcel hard enough for Marcel to whimper into his mouth. Marcel flattened both palms on Louis’ chest.
“Wait,” Marcel breathed, tilting his lips away. Louis blinked owlishly at him, Marcel panting and licking his lips. “Louis, I...I can’t do his half measure.”
“What?”
“I need to know this isn’t just going to be tonight. I--I won’t be able to take it if that’s what this is to you.”
Louis cackled, “Just tonight? Are you kidding me!?”
Marcel’s lips pouted forward.
“It’s not funny, Lou. I’m serious.”
“You came home about two minutes before I left a handwritten love letter on your pillow, which probably would have just been composed of my tears and some smudged, misspelled Shakespeare. Maybe a little snot, as well. You know how congested I get when I cry.”
Marcel smiled so wide his dimples showed, his cheeks flaming with heat and his head lolling forward on his neck.
“You--” He started to giggle lightly, his shoulders bumping up with the bubbly sound. Louis kissed his nose and he giggled, “You love me?”
“Of course I love you! I love everything about you. And now”--Louis straightened his glasses--“we get to find out all these new things about each other that we love.”
“What do you mean?”
Louis drawled, “Like,” while soothingly rubbing circles on the small of Marcel’s back. He sucked a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to Marcel’s lips, Marcel smiling and kissing him again. “Like that your glasses fog when we do that.”
“Oh,” Marcel snorted.
“Or that you taste sort of like wine and sandwiches. And pickles.”
Marcel’s jaw dropped. “What!?” He buried his face in Louis’ neck, both laughing loudly. “Oh my God, I need to go clean my teeth immediately.”
Louis stroked the back of his hair, tilting his head to smile at him. He pecked his lips.
“I, personally, love it. S’like there’s a picnic in your mouth. I love picnics. And you, of course.”
Marcel’s only reply was to whimper, “Okay, cool,” smile, and sink three inches lower against the wall.
“Sorry, is this weird?” Louis asked, stepping back. “Am I moving too fast? And are your knees legitimately knocking?”
“Um, no and no,” Marcel answered, his voice cracking. He held onto Louis’ belt loops and pulled him into his body. “Can we…”
Louis planted a wet kiss on his lips.
“Hmm?”
“God, this is awkward, but can I please go take my new trousers off? They’re, erm, really tight. Now--Now especially. Uncomfortable. My boots, too. Hurts.” Marcel blinked quickly. “My toes hurt.”
Louis nodded along with his each of his rambles, then smiled.
“Hey, here’s an idea: How about I take your trousers off for you?”
“Okay! That’s--” Marcel grinned, ducking his face down. He cleared his throat. “That’s a good idea, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Y-Yeah. Definitely.”
Louis laced their fingers together. “No pressure, love. We can just kiss tonight. For the next month. For the next year. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
Marcel’s head snapped up, his lips rounded.
“Um, no. I want more, please. With you. Tonight. And always.”
Louis smirked and started to walk them to Marcel’s bedroom.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes.”
Louis lifted their joined hands, pressing his lips to Marcel’s knuckles.
“Even…” He coyly rolled his eyes to Marcel and whispered, “Bum stuff?”
Marcel smiled and ducked his face away, but he nodded.
“Yes, please.”
“Oh, baby,” Louis said, shivering his shoulders. “It’s like prom night, with a wee little ten year delay.”
“But, um, right.” Marcel held Louis’ hand to his chest and navigated the path of their walk in the opposite direction. “Maybe we should go to your room.”
“Why? Yours is cleaner.”
“All I’ve got in mine is my vibrator and lube. No condoms.”
Louis held his bedroom door open.
“You have a vibrator?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Marcel smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, looking away from Louis’ curious stare. “A couple, actually, if we’re being honest.”
“How have I never known this about you?”
“You’re a heavy sleeper, especially after big meals or more than four beers. When the snores start, so does my vibrator.”
Louis laughed, “I’m learning so many things tonight,” and gently pushed on the centre of Marcel’s chest.
Marcel sat down on the mattress. Louis looped his arms around the back of his neck and straddled him, Marcel’s hands settling on the small of his back.
“This alright, love?” Louis whispered, joining their lips for one gentle, quick suck. Marcel nodded and kissed him again, both hands sinking lower on Louis’ arse. Louis’ brows shot up to grin. “Damn, M. Who knew you were such a bum guy?”
Marcel’s cheeks coloured, but he smiled, peering up at Louis from beneath his dark lashes. He shifted his hands much higher on Louis’ body to his ears of all places, his fingertips soothing the back points of Louis’ jawline
“I’ve been in love with you for years. Is the fact that I love your bum really that much of a surprise?”
“Fair enough,” Louis chuckled. “Niall and Liam said we were like a married couple and I thought they were crazy, but…we’re totally an old married couple, aren’t we?”
Marcel fell onto his back and took Louis with him, both laughing. He smiled against Louis’ lips, their hands clasped between their chests. Louis broke their kiss to move lower, nibbling the right arch of Marcel’s neck while murmuring what sounded like, “I love you, I love you, I love-a-love you.”
“Yeah,” he giggled, smiling wider. His right foot twitched rapidly, Louis laughing as he kissed higher. Their lips smacked together, Marcel running his fingers over Louis’ cheeks, Louis cradling the sides of Marcel’s neck. “We totally are.”