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The two met at one of Jean’s parties. Jean had recently turned 18 and was an eligible young bachelor, ready for marriage or as he called it, “shipped off to live my life in misery.” He was used to this size of celebration, to people flooding his house in order to perhaps stare and wonder at the ornate walls, or walk along the corridors of heritage, or even to get a glimpse of one of the most famous families in Italy.
For Marco, this party was nothing like he’d ever seen before. The only reason he had made it in was through his father, a professor of languages. Marco himself was learning how to speak French, in preparation for becoming a teacher to some (hopefully) rich family.
He had heard that the Kirsteins were holding a party in honour of their son- he couldn’t really care less about him, but more about the house- it was said to be at least 200 years old, and was filled with antiques and articles, some Parisian, some peculiar treasures from the Far East, and even some different foods, imported from around the world.
Marco, desperate to see anything French, had desperately begged his father (who had tutored the family) to ask for an invitation. It had taken weeks of begging, and bribing his father and he was finally allowed to go- on the condition that he try not to get into too much trouble, or stay out too late.
When Marco eagerly ran up to the steps, the first thing that hit him was the sheer size of the house. As a child, when following his father here, he had never really noticed the number of rooms in the mansion, preferring to either play in the garden or sit in the library. His father had never spoken of it, instead grumbling about how although the oldest child was fine; the younger ones were completely intolerable.
The house was built upon a pavilion, with columns stretching out across the lawn. The Kirsteins were one of the most prestigious families, and as a result their castle mansion matched this. He suddenly felt underdressed, looking at all of the women in their gorgeous-one-wear-only-or-face-embarrassment gowns, or the men in their fine-handmade-british-overpriced suits.
Marco knew in his heart that it would take him at least a year for him to be able to afford one of these sets of clothing, if he devoted all of his money to it. Instead, he was currently trying to look presentable- a white shirt which had a small yellow stain near the collar, black slacks with accentuating off-white pinstripes and brown shoes which were only slightly scuffed.
This was also the uniform for his job as a waiter- he had needed some way to pay the rent, and luckily he had managed to find a job in some upper class restaurant, which also had provided this uniform.
Walking along the corridors, he immediately turned away from the ballrooms- he had no desire to dance, and besides, whom would he dance with? Instead, he hurried along to try and find one of the rooms- and there it was. Taking a deep breath, he took out the key, which his father had given him and slowly turned it inside the lock. There was a satisfying ‘click,’ and he could finally enter.
This cave of wonders as Marco would later call it, or the library, was filled with books. He pushed the door behind him shut, so as not to let any unwelcome visitors disturb his peace (he shouldn’t even be in there really, but he needed to see these books) and looking around, he sighed. Breathing deeply to calm himself down, the smell of crisp, new pages filling his nose, Marco looked around at the vast treasure of books.
Running his hands along the bannisters, he raced up the steps and threw himself into a chair. Not noticing the exquisite materials he was sat on (he was a poor boy, and had never experienced such luxuries, such as ‘silk’) he looked carefully at a book.
His hands shook as he carefully lifted one up. Although in England he had heard that very few people were educated, here in Italy he was lucky enough to have a tutor as a father, and he had been taught the basics.
He knew how to read, and how to write- in fact, he was considering writing manuscripts when he was older as he had been told many times how excellent his cursive was. He flipped over the first page, and began reading, his eyes and brain hungry for knowledge.
— — —
Jean slinked away down the corridor. Naturally, this party wasn’t his ‘style,’ and he simply wanted to be alone, but he could spare company for perhaps a few thrilling books. He wanted to feast his eyes on untold stories, to learn new ideas, to simply know. He was about to turn the handle after unlocking it when he heard a sigh coming from within.
Tensing up, he should have known this would happen- after all, he was Jean Kirstein and presumably this vagrant had come to steal his books. Desperately looking for something to arm himself with, and only finding a small decorative vase, he shrugged and picked it up, internally cringing and wishing for something a little sturdier. He quietly twisted the key in the lock and peered in.
He did not quite expect to see what he saw: instead of a thief cramming in as many books as possible into a bag (books were rare in Italy, and only the upper class could afford them) he saw a young man, perhaps the same age as himself, sitting quietly on a chair and reading out aloud.
Jean took this moment to appreciate the small furrow in Marco’s brow, and how his small mouth gently curved it’s way around some of the words before suddenly kicking the door open and charging. Strangely, Marco didn’t even flinch at the screaming idiot in front of him and simply sighed, putting down his book.
Jean was confused. Surely he should have been scared by now? Surely anybody would be scared by a maniac holding a vase from some random dynasty that no one cared about? Pointing the vase at Marco, in what he thought was a commanding tone, he uttered one word.
“Leave.”
Marco sighed. He had already figured out who this was, but figured Jean probably didn’t remember him.
“You’re getting slow, Jean.”
Jean was now scared. Who was this person? To have the audacity to stand in his home and call him by his first name? He didn’t want to show fear, but was starting to get a little alarmed.
“I’m not slow! In fact, I’ve already caught on. You’re trying to steal things from my home! Leave now, and I’ll consider you pardoned.”
The dead-eyed stare that Marco gave Jean was so patronising that even Marco himself began feeling embarrassed for Jean. Shaking his head, he moved around the armchair and resumed his original position of reading the book. Jean could only stand, stunned.
Nobody had ever treated him like this- well, there was always that other child of his tutor, but this man looked completely different from the young boy he had often played with. Charging around the front to scream obscenities at him, he suddenly noticed the way he was sitting.
Sideways on, legs dangling over the edge of the arm, head tilted up to the ceiling.
He had seen that before.
Where had he seen that before?
He cast his mind back to hazy, carefree summer days where the only thing that worried him was what he would be allowed for dessert, when his eligibility didn’t matter so much, when he was a child. Jean raced around the corner as fast as his short, stubby legs would allow him, chubby cheeks turning red from exertion and a wide grin on his face.
The front left tooth was slightly chipped after he had attempted to climb up a tree and had fallen off. His bestest ever friend called it a battle scar.
“Marco! MAARRRCOOOOOO!” Jean screeched, trying to catch a sight of the taller boy.
They were playing hide and seek, and Jean was currently the seeker. Being the impatient little shit that he was, after approximately two seconds Marco had gotten bored and had wandered off to the library. He was always trying to read like Jean, but he didn’t know how to yet and so was attempting to teach himself with picture books and faint echoes of listening to his father teach Jean.
Said boy was currently stomping his foot in front of Marco, angry that he had stopped playing.
“mARCO! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU’D STOPPED PLAYING?”
Marco calmly sat his book down, swung his legs back over the arms so he was sitting upright again and said in the most serious voice he could muster (which wasn’t very as he had a lisp) and responded,
“I got bored. Why would I want to run around and get tired and mucky, when I could be sitting here and reading?”
Jean seemed confused at this prospect. Surely Marco understood? Jean wanted to play adventure games, but needed a princess to his knight and in his young mind, Marco was currently the best candidate for that.
“Marco! Come play with me!”
“I can’t Jean, I’m trying to learn how to read.”
“What, you can’t read?” Jean snorted.
It was only after Marco turned crimson that Jean realised how harsh that sounded. In an attempt to repair his friendship, in a softer tone he offered: “Would you like me to help you?”
Marco, now looking hopefully up at Jean, could only give a small nod before scooting over to make room. And that was how Jean’s father found the pair, both squashed together on a plush armchair, with Jean sounding out the words and Marco following. They were so absorbed in their books that they had left their tea to cool. Thankfully, he was a kind man and henceforth allowed Marco to come in and sit in Jean’s lessons onwards. Although he was a little slow to start, he soon impressed even his own father with his skills.
Jean, suddenly remembering Marco, started backwards and dropped the overpriced vase on the floor. Marco, having anticipated this, had already stretched a hand out to grab it before thousands of years of culture could smash into smithereens.
“Marco?” Jean asked.
“The one and only.” Jean felt that he should probably say something- anything, after all, it was his fault that Marco had been kicked out of the house, but words failed him. He could only blink and stare as the tall boy resumed his original position, draped over the chair and continued reading.
“You’ve… come back?”
“Clearly.”
Huh. This Marco did not correspond with the small, innocent boy that had once come to take lesson. This Marco was sarcastic, cynical and tall.
“How did you manage to get in? I thought my father had assigned someone to each of the doors.”
At this, Marco looked up abruptly.
“Do you want me to go? If I’m troubling you, I’ll leave now.”
Jean hurried to correct the misunderstanding.
“No, no, in fact I’m glad to see you. I’m just wondering how you managed to sneak past all of the guards.”
Marco suddenly smiled.
“Do you remember when we were children and we used to go play hide and seek? And how you never understood how I managed to sneak into the house past you? There’s some underground tunnels from your garden into the kitchen, so I just used one of those. Thinking back now, I realise that does sound a little creepy.”
Jean was speechless. Apparently Marco knew his house better than he did. Unsure of where they stood now yet desperate to rekindle their friendship, he offered a chance to meet and catch up with each other.
“Do you want to visit some time soon? Like you said, you know some secret passages into my house, so we could always sneak you in that way.. and I’m sure none of the servants would tell on you, they used to love you and…”
Jean’s voice trailed off as he noticed Marco shaking his head ruefully.
“As much as I want to take you up on that offer, I can’t accept. Your father’s banned me, after that incident, and besides I wouldn’t be very entertaining. I’d just sit here and read all day long. And actually, I’ve been here too long. I should probably get going.”
“Not even a dance?” Jean heard himself say.
Wait. What? Jean had a strange out-of-body experience, where he heard his voice, he heard the words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite control what he was saying.
“Come on. Father won’t catch us. I’ll even dance the role of the woman. What are you afraid of?”
Marco’s mouth twisted into a reluctant grin.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt. But isn’t it just a little…”
“-don’t finish that sentence. I missed my best friend.”
Suddenly the music, drifting in under the crack in the door and the window cracked open a little, changed from its swinging theme to a slow, stately waltz. Jean internally cringed. This music wasn't persuading Marco at all. He debated whether or not to still ask him to dance, but one look at the cowering boy proved otherwise. He sighed.
"Wait here, I'll go and change the music."
As Jean happily bounded down the corridor, he made one small mistake which cost him his current level of friendship with Marco. He left the door open. A bodyguard, who happened to have managed to get lost in the maze of corridors, caught sight of Jean leaving a room and noted that he appeared too happy- the young heir had complained for weeks about how he desperately didn't want to go to this ball, and couldn't they postpone it later, and why did he need to dress up, and the list went on and on.
To be honest, he truly was starting to resent Jean. Did he not realise how fortunate he was? The guard was incredibly envious of Jean, and some days even imagined throttling him to death. Who would ever use that much money in their lifetime? The Kirstein could easily bathe in money every single day if he wished too, throwing the money out afterwards for the rest of his life and yet he could barely afford to pay for food for his family, let alone the massive privilege of inviting around one person to dine with them. That alone would take a few months to save up for.
Intending to create a small jab at Jean, he decided to look around the door and try to destroy what made Jean so happy. Maybe the fool finally would take notice of him. He dallied around the entrance, unsure about what to do when at last; he pushed the door open, weapon in hand. Instead of finding some woman, or food, or some stupid contraption, instead the bodyguard found a man sitting in one of the weirdest ways, with his legs over the chair.
But not any man.
The lead Kirstein had drilled his face into each guard's head, telling them that if they ever saw this ruffian even 50 metres within the property, they were to tie him up and bring the boy straight to him at once. Silently walking around, bubbling with excitement at the sure promotion he was to get, he hit the boy with such force that instantly it starting swelling up. He slumped to the floor unconscious, book falling out of his grasp.
Instantly the bodyguard set to work, tying him up and eventually slinging him over his shoulder like some slab of meat. Marco awoke to the sudden friction along his back. The bodyguard, having tired of carrying him, had simply resorted to dragging him along the floor. He could feel the accusing eyes staring at him, confused as to why a partygoer would be treated with such disdain. He tried to protest, but all he could make was mere noises, which sounded barbaric.
The bodyguard had thoughtfully gagged him before he could scream. At the sight of Jean's father, Marco stopped wriggling around and froze, too afraid to imagine his current fate. Currently he was talking to a few young women, most likely in the hope of arranging another marriage proposal, which would undoubtedly be rejected by Jean. He hunched over, trying to make himself as small as possible in the faint hopes that he wouldn't be seen.
Marco could already feel the humiliation seeping in as he made eye contact across the room.
~~~~~
Jean had just finished persuading the orchestra from performing their pre-planned hour-long romantic songs to something more lively, when he saw his father getting up to make a speech. That was never good.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. It seems I didn't need to provide any entertainment for this evening. The entertainment has apparently come to us."
With that final sentence, he raised up Marco, holding him by a few tufts of hair. Jean froze in horror. How had they found him? Nobody at all was meant to be even near the library, nobody should have seen them together, nobody should be holding Marco like that.
"I don't know if anybody remembers this piece of scum," he said, tossing down Marco roughly,
"but he is the one who corrupted my son. When they were younger, I caught them... playing. I treated this boy LIKE MY SON!"
He shouted, aiming a harsh kick at Marco's ribs.
"And what were they doing? I saw this maggot take hold of my son, and KISS HIM!"
Even through the haze of people laughing at him and the repeated punches to the gut, Marco still remembered that day vividly. They were growing up, just passed the cusp of teenage hood.
"BUT MARCO!" Jean shouted, a pouty expression displayed on his face.
"Look Jean, in the nicest way possible, I really don't care."
"WHY NOT!"
"Because I'm trying to read."
In the end, Jean resorted to running around in circles, attempting to catch the books he was throwing up in the air. Even with Marco admonishing him, Jean was bored, and a bored child did what he pleased. Until he smacked his head running straight into a bookcase. Jean landed with a thump, his head ringing from the sudden smack. It was loud enough to make Marco suddenly look up from his head, realisation all over his face when he saw Jean lying on the floor, apparently unconscious.
"Jean? jEAN?"
Marco screamed as he ran over, frantically shaking Jean's lifeless, doll-like body to wake him up, he had to wake up, why wouldn't he just wake up oh my god if only Marco had taken notice of Jean what had happened to-
"HAHAHA! GOT YA!"
Jean screeched, jumping suddenly into Marco and jolting him so strongly that they flipped positions, Marco on the bottom and Jean on top.
"Jean! You can't do that! I was really scared!" Marco admonished.
"But I had to, otherwise you wouldn't have stopped reading your silly book!" Jean protested, starting to look upset.
"And besides, my head hurts a lot. What if I bleed to death?"
"That's never going to happen, Jean, I'll look after you." And with that sentence, Marco gently pressed a soft kiss to Jean's cheek, just where a bruise was starting to blossom, just as his father used to do.
“WHAT… IS THAT." Unbeknownst to the duo, Jean's father had peeped in just as Jean had tackled Marco. Curious, and fearful about what was about to happen, he had stayed hidden in the shadows but at the sight of the kiss he had to step in.
"Oh sir, no I didn't mean anything by it, it was just a get better kiss like how my father does it-" Marco had started, but naturally Jean just had to contribute to the conversation.
"Marco's gonna take care of me forever and I love him like how you love mother because he's my bestest friend in the whole wide world and we're going to stay together forever!"
Jean never saw Marco again after that outburst. Up until this very moment, when he was quietly ushered away from his best friend, Marco had suddenly stopped visiting their house. Perhaps now would be the perfect opportunity to find out why. His father was waiting for him to say anything. But what could he possibly say? Should he defend Marco, and be ostracised with him? Or join in with the savage hits? Being the coward that he was, Jean could only tremble, give one last glance at Marco and stand in the shadows.
~~~~~ 2 months later ~~~~~
Marco was starting to pack up his bags. After the debacle at the Kirstein's mansion, he was practically shunned by the entire town. People would stop, point and whisper about him in the streets. He was starting to become a regular victim of muggings and violence, particularly from people he had been friends with. He needed to pack up now before they began to murmur of a lynch mob, before it got too far.
Luckily some shop owners were sympathetic to his plight and had given him their expired food that wouldn't sell, as long as he promised not to tell where he got his food. Hopefully, he could work on some farm, which offered a safe haven to ‘rejects.’ He needed to leave as soon as possible, just in case somebody decided to take this matter into his own hands. Why couldn’t people understand?
He was no different from any other person- he had his own dreams, goals, these ‘sinner’ stereotypes didn’t apply to him, love didn’t have a gender so why were people so concerned about whom he loved? Besides, it’s not as if it was their business who he liked. He would have been fine if people simply disliked him but kept their opinions to themselves, but they felt the need to constantly persecute him and hound him.
Just as he was about to go, feeling the heavy weight in his heart again, a sudden slam on the door knocked him out of his internal soliloquy.
This was it.
They had come to tear him down, piece by piece.
But instead, a softer few knocks came on the door, almost tentative.
Marco frowned. What was the point of that? They would come in unannounced anyway, and besides he was now ‘beneath humans’ so they, in theory, had the right to enter his home.
“Marco?” A thin voice called out. It was rough and broken, and Marco knew who it was. He kept silent.
“Marco, I know you’re home. I can see the edge of your head in the window.”
Oh, so he had presumably come to gloat then. If it had been anyone else, Marco couldn’t have cared less, but every word that came out of that mouth was like another paper cut. It wasn’t like one massive stab wound that he would be attacked with, but more like a million little cuts and bruises that built up day after day until eventually the overwhelming pain just carried him over the edge and-
“I’m sorry.”
Yeah right.
“I mean it.”
Did you mean it when you left me to those words? Watched as I was called a dirty piece of scum, with kicks and blows at my body?
“I… I shouldn’t have done that. Back at my house, I should have-”
At this, Marco stopped internally replying and started verbalising his anger.
“No, I’ll tell you what you should have done. You should have left me alone in that library and not even come in. You should have played the role that daddy wanted you to play. Hell, you should have been dancing with all the ladies in their stupid ball gowns and winning over all the men with your wit and sarcasm. But instead, you thought you were better than them, above them and so you loftily walked straight past."
"In fact, I’m betting that you ran off to tell the nearest person to arrest me. You wanted to show the world that you were so, so much greater than it that you just had to give me in. Jean, I’m sick and tired of your pathetic games. Just go.”
There was a long pause before he answered.
“Alright. If that’s what you truly want. Just open the door, look me in the eye, and tell me you want me to leave. And I’ll go, humble and never come back. If that’s what you truly want.”
Marco could only roll his eyes in exasperation, yank the door open with a great force and start the damning words until suddenly, gently, Jean’s lips were on his.
He couldn’t quite describe the feeling of euphoria that first rushed through him. Perhaps Jean had known, but Marco had always wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.
But that was forbidden. Then, turning his mind over to anger he threw Jean back until he suddenly slammed the wall.
“What the hell was that? Do you think you’re being funny? What was that about?” Hands balled into fists, colour flushing his face. Jean slowly picked himself up from off the ground and dusted himself down with the biggest, cheesiest grin on his face.
“You kissed me back." His sudden rant at Jean interrupted, Marco could only blink owlishly back.
"What?"
"You kissed me back. So you do like me.”
“Liked. Past tense.”
“Liar.” Jean grinned at Marco. Suddenly sensing that Marco was only a millimeter away from throwing a punch, he rapidly rushed out the words:
“Look, I know what I did was wrong that night. And I’m sorry. I was scared of what would happen to me, so I’m here now to make it right. I’ve had time to think about what I’ve done. I was angry at when you abandoned me, but I think I know the truth now. You never left me, you were sent away. I know you’re trying to leave town, but please, all I ask is that you let me show you my apologies.”
And with those words, he swept up and left. Marco, with the sudden adrenaline fading out of his system, hobbled over to his house, shut the door and slowly sunk down onto the ground, back against the wall. He could only place his head in his hands and ponder what Jean meant.
Perhaps he would leave another night.
It was only a week before Jean showed up again, but this time in the form of flowers left on his doorstep. Another day, another gift.
Chocolates.
A small vase.
A book.
Food. (Marco was especially thankful for this, as every shopkeeper had stopped selling to him.)
It was after a month that Marco finally waited outside, sitting on his front step waiting for Jean. When he finally did saunter along, only Jean’s broke into a massive grin as he raced along the pathway.
“Look Jean, you’ve got to stop.” Marco announced quickly, before Jean could even open his mouth. He deflated quickly.
“Why? I really am very-”
“If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll kill you. Look, you’ve got to stop coming here- what must the people think of you?”
“I don’t care what they think of me- all that matters is what you think of me.”
“Jean… I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but it’s not going to work. You can’t just turn up one day and expect me to forgive you.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve been coming every single day.”
“I’m meant to leave town soon, you won’t be able to follow me then.”
“I’ll try my hardest.”
With these final words, Jean flounced off down the small lane, leaving behind only a small box. When it was opened, Marco saw a small necklace with some sort of decorative symbol dangling off, a set of wings. However it was Jean’s note that made his heart at first flutter, but soon sink at the realisation that Jean would never stop.
Marco, I was thinking about you when I saw this. Do you like it? Once, these wings were the symbol of the army. I think it’s because the army were fighting for freedom, to fly away. For me, these wings represent hope. I hope that you’ll forgive me. I hope that you’ll come back to me. What I did was inexcusable. Have you ever acted only out of fear and hated yourself later? Goodbye for now, I’ll see you again tomorrow.
Before Jean could fully run off, tail between his legs, Marco ran up to him.
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?” Confusion coloured his voice.
“I’ll forgive you. I’ll… I’ll try to understand why you called me a… a… that thing. But you’ve got to stop coming here.”
The smile that had bloomed on Jean’s face was soon cut down and replaced with sadness.
“But that’s the thing Marco, I don’t want to stop coming here. I like you. I like your house. I like the way your eyebrows crinkle together when you’re thinking. I want to grow old with you. I want to come in from work and find you reading something in that position you always sit in. I want to share my forever with you.”
At this, Marco could only sigh.
“Jean… I just forgave you. I don’t know if I can bring myself to loving you just yet.”
“Then let me take you out! Not somewhere we’ll be seen, I know you’re afraid of that. I’ll come round again tomorrow, and show you a magical place. Please, Marco. For me.”
With his heart sinking into despair, Marco could only nod and watch Jean skip off happily. Closing the door behind him, it occurred to him suddenly that this could be his final move, to love Jean. The next day, Jean was true to his word. He showed up dressed slightly smarter than yesterday with a different tie and the same large smile. Marco on the other hand, honestly hadn’t expected Jean to show up and so was wearing his ratty grey trousers that were worn and ripped.
They appeared to be one of the most mis-matched pairs, but Jean didn’t care- Marco had finally finally agreed to meet up with him. He had taken all the care he most possibly could to impress Marco- after all, it wasn’t as if he’d get another shot at this. He had decided to go all out, making sure everything Marco loved was there. When they arrived at their destination (the lake just a little way behind Marco’s house), the setting was surreal.
Small lanterns had been strung up along the trees and plants, even though the sun had just reached its peak. Light bounced off the lake, creating tiny little rainbows scattered across the surface. A large picnic blanket had been spread, with a mountain of pillows to jump around on and perhaps most importantly, a feast had been set out.
Every single food that Marco had ever loved was set out. Most of these things were delicacies that he had eaten as a boy with Jean, before he was banished and never to be seen again. Bittersweet memories resurfaced for him, but Marco resolved to just enjoy himself once before he left tomorrow.
The young, innocent boy Marco had once known was gone, replaced with a flirtatious, charming man. Even though autumn was coming, it seemed as if summer was holding itself out just for this very moment. Light filtered through dappled leaves and shone gently on the duo, talking animatedly. Soon, as the sun finally began its descent, night followed soon after. Jean was telling his rendition of how the sun and moon came to be.
“And you see, the sun and moon loved each other dearly. Everyone saw how the sun shone a little brighter, how the moon gleamed a clearer, when they were together. But unfortunately, they were never meant to be. They should have been married to some other stars. When their relationship was found out, they were punished.”
“But even though the sun moved on, free and as happy as could be, the moon still loved the sun. And so every night, the moon died to let the sun walk across the skies.”
“They remind me of us.”
So this was it. Jean had been anticipating this moment for a while, the “I-want-to-stay-but-I-can’t” speech.
“Look Jean, what you need to understand here is-”
“No, I don’t need to understand anything. You need to understand. I was never told that you had been sent away. In fact, I was told that you didn’t want to come over and be with me any more. That time I saw you in the library? That was my chance to find out why you stopped coming. It wasn’t until my father accused you that I realized. But by then it was too late, I couldn’t stop it or do anything."
"Marco, when I saw you being attacked like that, my heart died. I didn’t know what to say, I froze on the spot. I swear, I didn’t attack you or anything. The second I saw you pass out; I called for an end to the violence. Perhaps too little too late, but I’m trying to make amends. I’ve never forgotten you, and this is my way of showing it.”
“Look, how do you expect me to just forgive you?” explained Marco. “I understand. You’re trying your hardest. But sometimes your hardest just isn’t enough.”
“You can’t do this to me. Please.”
“I’ve tried to forgive you Jean, but I don’t know if I can do anything else.”
“…Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?”
“Just leave me alone.”
As Marco stood up to leave, for the second time, Jean surprised him with a soft kiss.
All at once, Marco was reminded why he had to forgive Jean, why they needed to at least try and work harder for this to work. An hour later, bruised lips and stupid smiles on face, they exited the forest, holding hands. They even attempted to skip along the path, before tripping over one of the innumerous plants and landing on each other.
“Jean…” Marco sighed. “What’s going to happen when we get back to town? Are you just going to leave me behind and pretend I don’t exist?”
“Do you want me to? I’ll do-”
“Yes. You can’t be seen with me.”
“Why not? I want everyone to know about us!”
“And I don’t. If you’re seen with me, you’ll be brought down too. They’ll massacre you along with me.”
“But Marco, I don’t want to be like this. I want to hold hands with you and not be afraid of who’s watching us.”
“How much do you love me?” Marco suddenly interrupted.
“More than the moon loves the sun.”
“I was thinking- they say that England is a free country, where they are fair and just. If we managed to go over to there, perhaps we might be accepted. But it’s a bad idea, it’s too far away and besides, we don’t even-”
“Marco, that’s an excellent idea! I’m sure you learnt English when you were younger, we could get jobs there and live together!”
“I can’t see you with a job. The mighty Jean Kirstein, doing menial labour. I’ll pay to see that day.”
“I’d would pay you, because it would mean we got over safely and started a life together.”
At the mention of ‘a new life,’ Marco suddenly reconsidered. Of course he wanted to spend his forever with Jean, but was it likely? They didn’t have the money or resources, and who knew if Jean really did want to be with him- was it just a trick? This would be another ploy, source of entertainment for the villagers or perhaps…
“Marco, stop thinking.”
“Hmmm?”
“You’ve got that look on your face when you overthink. Think about what a great time you had with me.”
“Who said it was great?”
“I’m sorry! I’ll try again next time! Please give me another chance!”
“Jean calm down, I was only fooling around.” At the sudden silence that ensued, the words seemed to fly out of his mouth, faster than birds in flight, than the wick of a candle snuffed out, than the whoosh his stomach did every time they touched lips.
“I want to be one hundred and still be with you.”
“Well then, I hope to be one hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.” Jean simply said.
“You must stop coming up with these romanticisms, I have nothing nearly as sweet to say back.”
“Well your name is music to my ears so you could just say that?” Jean suggested with a grin. Eyes rolled, they both got up and dusted themselves off. When they reached the clearing just before the village, suddenly it felt like the ending to a first date. Neither could look each other properly in the eye, knowing that they would now return to their separate lives.
“Well…I had fun today.” Marco offered up, with a shy smile.
“Me too. I want to see you again, soon.”
And so they met up again and again. At first, they were overly cautious, both taking care to spend less than an hour away, lest other people realize what was happening. Meanwhile, the pair was both slowly selling off their belongings, in order to raise enough funds to travel overseas. Marco had refused point blank for Jean to ask for money from his father, as he wanted to try and earn as much by himself.
Slowly and painfully, enough money was put aside to leave.
Jean had finally bought the tickets and had prepared. He had packed food, clothing for both of them and even money and valuables to bribe anyone who might stand in their way. Wanting it to be a surprise to Marco, he decided he would knock on his door and suddenly announce their departure.
However, when he knocked on the door, there was no excited Marco bouncing up and down to greet him. There was no secret smiles or glances at each other. There was no Marco. Jean frowned. Perhaps Marco had gone out? But he had left the lamp on, and it was flickering closer and closer to the curtains. Gingerly testing the door, Jean was stunned to find it was unlocked. He pushed onwards and was horrified at what he saw.
Clearly, he was not the first visitor of the day. Furniture had been upturned, the wallpaper shredded and- was that a smell of fuel? Dear god, the curtains had been soaked in it, and the lamp was edging closer and closer. Hurriedly he attempted to put out the lamp, and there was one close accident when he almost dropped the entire lamp on the floor.
Now that the second largest issue was resolved, the first came to light: where was Marco?
He was eventually found, lying in the bathtub like a broken rag doll. Bruises were scattered across his painfully thin ribcage, blood was swelling and oozing out of his mouth. Presumably he had attempted to put up a fight, but there must have been so many men attacking and savaging. With shocking horror, Jean could easily lift the scrawny man out of the tub with minimal effort. When was the last time he had eaten?
Now that he thought about it, he did remember Marco looking thinner from the first time he had seen him. He grimaced, and set to work. For once, he thanked his father for being so commanding. Jean had never wanted to become a doctor, but he was grateful for it now. Clearly (and luckily) no bones were broken, but it was clear that Marco would barely be able to walk.
The only major problem was the deep incision in his side, which could possibly require stitching up. As Marco was already unconscious, Jean had to pray he wouldn’t wake up and feel the needle in his side. For once, fortune was on their side and Marco awoke only a few minutes after the surgery. Groggy, dazed, confused, he struggled against the bandages restricting his movement until Jean came into his line of sight.
“Hold on there, you’ve some serious damage. You’re lucky you haven’t broken anything.”
“Jean? Why are you here?”
“Well, I was coming to tell you that I’ve acquired the tickets- in fact, we can go as soon as you’ve recovered.”
“But I- I need to pack, and bring food, and bandages if we get hurt, and-”
“I’ve already packed some things for both of us. And right now, the only one hurt is you. What happened?”
“The town is what happened. It’s fine Jean, this isn’t the first time it’s happened, I can still walk to the pier.”
“Not without damaging yourself further. Stay, let me take care of you.”
Wincing, Marco drew himself up to his full height.
“No. I say we leave now. I am sick of those… those bastards always trying to hurt me. I want to stand up to them in the only way I know how.”
“…By running away?”
“By removing their source of enjoyment. If they can’t hurt me, I’ll have beaten them.” Jean simply couldn’t argue with Marco. Of course, there were rational arguments against his theory, but he wasn't able to agree against that fierce expression, nor the pleading look in his eyes.
"Alright then. I guess if you think you can handle it. But if you ever feel that you're struggling, you have to tell me. I can't lose you."
"You won't, Jean. I'll never leave you."
With these solemn words, they set off on their trek. At first it was harsh, as they had to stop frequently to change Marco's bandages. The stink of unwashed skin rose up the first time; Jean was too afraid to let him properly shower- what if Marco slipped? Then he would break something and then they would have to slow down- and instead gently patted his skin with a damp sponge.
As Marco got stronger, their pace increased and soon they had travelled across countries before stopping for the nights. They still had to pretend to be mere friends, but they were hopeful for a future in England. Eventually, they began to near the coastal towns. They began to feel hope, hope from finally being able to leave this oppressed country.
Haggling their way onto the ship was no more difficult than getting a room at night, and then they were checking their passports, and then boarding the ship and then-
Freedom.
Strangely, it tasted rather salty.
And was quite windy. But it was freedom. They had earned it.
They set their first tentative feet onto solid ground again when dawn had just broken.
At first afraid and scared, they looked around the town nervously. This was considered 'Southampton.' Both were fluent in spoken English, and they enquired about any available jobs.
Two weeks had gone past. So perhaps England wasn’t really as safe as they thought it would be. They would never be able to walk down the street holding hands, they would never be able to go to church together, they would never be able to truly be together; but it would not be as bad as Italy.
Here, they were able to hold their own property and at least live together. Everything seemed to be acceptable. They had spent a happy three months in blissful ignorance, and Marco (being the awful attemptive chef that he was) had decided that he would try and cook for Jean. He jogged along to the market. The sun was shining, too brightly for England, and he shivered having remembering lying under the blistering sun, beaten up. It was almost as if he was back in Italy now. That would become reality the second he woke up; after having been struck heavily at the back of his head.
Jean paced up and down the cramped corridor. It wasn’t like Marco to be gone so long. Perhaps he was trying to find yet another job. Teaching was difficult when neither side could fully understand the other, yet Marco persisted in his English. He smiled.
God, he hoped never to live a day without that man. Jean remembered his crinkly-eyed smile, the shy way he laughed with his hand covering his mouth, the way Marco seemed to light up at the littlest things. He never wanted to be separated. Their little slice of heaven was shattered when Jean looked up to find eyes matching his own. Cackling, his father had dragged Marco off suddenly even while keeping his iron grip on Jean’s arm.
“Do you really think I wouldn’t know? I had suspected you of being one of… them. You’ve just confirmed it. I’m prepared to forgive you, but that other one must die. Throw the scumbag below the deck. I’ll clearly need to beat some sense into Jean.”
It was only a quick boat ride back to Italy, and their summer romance was over.
The trial was absolutely agonizing for Jean. England was supposed to be their haven, their little secret. But apparently, even they looked down. Although in the darkest corner of his mind he knew there was no hope, he still prayed and prayed. He had no idea what Marco was saying about them.
“I was the one who corrupted him.”
Jean just hoped he wasn’t taking the blame himself.
“I used witchcraft to lure him, because I wanted to ruin the Kirstein family.”
Maybe Jean could plead madness; that was why he had fallen in love.
“I’m the one guilty. Not him.”
Finally, finally, Jean was allowed in to hear the verdict.
Everyone wanted to hear what would happen to the young man who had tainted a Kirstein. He looked around desperately but could only the judge, about to pronounce the final accusations.
“The decision is final. Marco Bodt is found guilt of: stealing, kidnapping, bribing, witchcraft and homosexuality.”
"The punishment: death by hanging.”
With those last words, Jean could feel his knees go weak. Desperate not to let anyone see him in such a state, he fled back to his room. Gone. These last few weeks spent with Marco would be all he could take. There was nothing left. With an abnormal amount of resolve, Jean straightened himself up.
Thoughts were fuzzy, sluggishly moving around his head. Yet there was clarity around one. There was only one thing to do now, the only thing that he could do. Jean went to speak to Marco in his cell. Stopped by the guard at the door, Jean hurriedly took out any money that he had thoughtfully taken beforehand and all but threw them at him. As the guard stooped to pick up the gold coins rolling through his fingers on the floor, Jean elbowed past him and looked up and down the cells.
There, not quite the last cell, was a thin, skeletal-like body that rested. Jean ran, his heart thumping against his chest.
“Marco!”
The skin and bones looked up.
“Jean?”
His arms stretched out, Jean could just caress Marco’s face. Marco flinched back.
“Don’t touch me.”
A confused face met an angry storm.
“What? Marco, love, what’s happening?”
“You’ve not heard, have you? There’s to be a procession of criminals. There’s to be killings next week. And I’m the headline event.”
“My darling, it’s all right. I’ve found a way out for you, I can save you.”
“Like how you ‘saved’ me form those townspeople?” Jean was stunned. Where was all this anger coming from?
“If it wasn’t for you, I would never be in this mess. You were the one that got me beaten up every single week. You were the one that turned my friends against me.”
“You killed me.” Physically recoiling back, Jean was aghast.
“No, that’s not true- I.. I never!”
“How surprising, you think yourself innocent. Because Jean Kirstein does no wrong, everyone else around him has faults.”
Insult after insult, sneer after sneer. Jean could take no more and fled.
Marco, his heart shriveling with those last forced accusations, turned over and tried to make himself comfortable. At least he was sound in the knowledge that Jean wouldn’t do anything foolhardy. Days seemed to either go past like the sudden abruptness of death, or move as slowly and languidly as vultures following their prey.
Jean alternated between loathing himself and hating Marco. My Marco would never say that. But I ruined his life. Marco loves you. Why would he love a person whose father condemned him? Jean brooded, often internally debating about whether or not to break Marco out.
Before he could even try, it was suddenly announced that the prisoners were to be executed today. Jean could only be startled and slip in horror. If the execution had been moved forward, there was no way to save him. Memories suddenly flashed and left his mind, as if there never was a relationship between them.
He tried to hold on to them, but they were as difficult to catch as an eel in murky water. Staggering over to the window, he caught sight of Marco standing solemnly on the platform, noose around his neck.
Surely now, surely someone would help him. Jean tried to be that someone, the person that saved him.
But his father had anticipated that. Jean was marched, with his bodyguards, to a seat in full view of the crowd.
Many believed he had come to watch and enjoy the hanging of his lover.
Others, that they had had a lovers’ quarrel and this was his revenge.
Fewer still realized that Jean was in absolute despair.
Marco’s thoughts were frantic. Perhaps he should have let Jean save him, he didn’t want to die without apologizing.
With the last breath he could fully take, Marco whispered out two words before looking up and making eye contact with Jean.
I’m sorry.
Suddenly the platform fell from beneath him; suddenly every breath was an uphill struggle; suddenly-
Maybe the sun knew what the moon did every night.
Killed itself, for his lover to have one more shot at life.
Maybe the sun tried to live life in the brightest way possible, to honor the moon’s memory.
Perhaps Marco knew that Jean would never forget him, not even when he was married off to some woman called Julia.
Perhaps the moon was glad to die for his lover to have a better future.