Chapter Text
Marcoh definitely didn't know how to react to that invitation. Instinctively he said ‘okay, sure’ and just after a good amount of time he fully processed what was happening. Daniël told him that he would love to chat more while they both enjoy a good cocktail and a warm and well prepared meal with chill jazz for the background music. The boxer asked shyly if this was him trying to have a moment only for them and Daniël promptly replied with an almost whispered ‘yes’.
Then the doctor “formally” invited the other one to have dinner with him. PRHVL Bop was chosen and Marcoh’s head couldn't stop imagining how the Von Dutch will present himself: what clothes he’ll wear, if he’s going to change his usual hairstyle; maybe he’ll smell like tobacco and some musky perfume. The doctor looks expensive , except for the checkered pants, but somehow he manages to look good .
Good is not enough to stress how fine he is wearing them.
So, it came. Foggy weather in addition to the chilling night breeze obliged Marcoh to choose a coat to warm him a bit. Fortunately he brought another one: dark beige and a little worn, nothing too noticeable. It was simple, but it did its job well. His outfit consisted of an off-white shirt, a black tie, high-waisted pants and his usual shoes. Marcoh tucked the shirt inside his pants to adjust the outfit to his liking and that was it.
Before the boxer left the safety of the train, Abella approached him; puzzled eyes looking at him. She seemed confused.
“It's 09pm, it's not that safe outside these hours. Why are you leaving and why are you so… dressy ?”
“Going to PRHVL Bop. I’m having dinner with Daan tonight; wanted to talk to me. Don't know what he wants.” Marcoh tried his best to disguise his anxiety. “Guess this type of ‘event’ needs me to look more… fancy.”
“Well, you're right. He’s already there?”
“Probably. Last time I saw him he was smoking outside. 2 hours ago.”
“I see. I’m not gonna bother you more, go or you’ll be late for your date. ” she winked, turned her back to him and left. Abella didn't even let him reply.
However, what she stated is true. He should go and the sooner the better.
The chosen place was quiet and Marcoh could only hear his own footsteps when he arrived. The boxer took a seat by the bar counter and waited. His eyes glanced over the bottles and over all the different glasses, picturing a past scenario where he and his acquaintances would drink cheap beer or gin after their matches, celebrating whoever won. They would probably be scolded by their bosses for spending their money on such futilities. Most of Marcoh’s past “colleagues” wanted to leave their current situations, quit being part of mafia but they all know it's a hard task. They must have enough money to restart from zero and complete a shady “ritual” before. Things are never too simple.
And he made an already complicated matter become worse by “escaping” from Vatican City.
He didn't got time to mourn over his own sad history. Suddenly Marcoh heard jazz playing faintly, then footsteps. His body became stiff and unconsciously he started fidgeting with the only accessory he decided to wear that night: an old ring, a gift from his little sister years ago. Maybe Marcoh was just thinking more than he should, maybe it was his expectations for the moment.
And the world stopped when he appeared in his field of vision.
Daniël chose a purple suit — or it was a tuxedo? — for the occasion and he paired it with a black shirt and a vest of the same color. His pants were of a dark brownish gray and surprisingly not checkered ones. The hairstyle was something partially slicked back and Marcoh didn't want to admit that — again — another man was making him feel lost, like a teenager who just discovered his true preference . The doctor looked like a fight, 3 assaults won, quick jabs and excellent footwork, being the champion by unanimity. Perfect .
Never in his whole life he put his eyes on such a handsome man. Surely his past adventures were good looking ones, most of them elegant too, refined manners and language, educated in various topics, always well-dressed…
Oh .
Reality hit him harder than a punch on his ribs. He definitely had a type for men, but what could Marcoh do? He’s only a good guy with a bad taste. An awful taste. A taste that looked like a Rondonian doctor wearing a purple tuxedo — or a suit? — on their “date”. Abella could be right, that really seemed like a date.
“Good night, Marcoh. I’d love to know if i’m not late for our dinner tonight.”
“No, you're on time. Who almost messed up was me.” the boxer chuckled, trying to appear less nervous.
“That’s fine, we're here right now. Shall we start?”
“Sure thing.”
Both men were now at the bar counter on different sides. Daan is more familiar with mixing and preparing drinks, so he took the role — again — of the bartender. When their group first found PRHVL Bop, the doctor promptly stayed behind the counter, preparing good drinks for all of them. It helped a lot since they were struggling with maintaining their minds sane. Now, he did almost the same, except it's only Marcoh and Daan this time.
“Hmm, it seems i’m your exclusive bartender tonight, Marcoh.” he rested his elbow on the wood, leaning a bit towards the boxer. “Tell me, what would you like to drink today?”
“An Old-Fashioned, please, Mr. Von Dutch.” Marcoh’s voice tone evidenced his obvious joking intent.
“We don't need these formalities here.” he laughed timidly and the sound reverberated through Marcoh’s body. He's doomed . “By the way, you know my surname but I don't have a clue of yours.”
“It's Santoro…”
“It suits you so well…” Daan’s velvety voice sent a quiver of a strange pleasure through his core.
It was an absolute challenge not to feel attracted when a handsome dandy talked to him that way. Marcoh feasted his eyes with the sight of the man in front of him, paying attention on each detail of his face. He even noticed some moles decorating Daniël’s fair skin. Impossible for someone to be so pretty .
And the night just started.