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Although Marc excelled at writing, he could not, for the life of him, put into words how much he loved Nathaniel Kurtzberg. At least, not out loud. He could hide behind as many journals as he wanted, but it would not change the fact that he longed to express this love right to Nathaniel’s face.
When Nath showed up for their sleepover tonight, Marc would be able to do it this time. He had to. He came so close during the school dance. It was perfect—holding hands at the top of the Eiffel Tower, surrounded by twinkly lights and celebratory cheers. After getting interrupted several times, Marc let his anxiety get the best of him, perceiving such moments as bad omens.
It's been months since that night and not one day has passed by without Marc wishing he had just said it already. It wouldn’t be some insane revelation; all he had to do was say the words. He knew it in his heart. Nathaniel knew it, too. Everyone did.
Almost everyone.
Perhaps they did know, to some degree, that their son was romantically involved with Marc. That is most certainly why they forbade the boys from seeing each other for so long. Nath’s mom blamed it on the comic books, but it didn’t take a genius to read between the lines. Worst summer of his life.
Sure, Nathaniel managed to sneak out a few times, and they texted every second they weren’t writing/sketching, but they were mostly counting down the days until the new school year. Under the guise of homework and school projects, they were back to seeing each other almost daily.
The day dragged on as Marc waited for Nathaniel to come over. Then it dragged on further as they waited for Marc’s parents to head to bed. It’s not that they weren’t accepting. In fact, they were wonderful. A far cry from Nath’s parents, but the boys still preferred their one-on-one time.
A few board games later, amid a less than riveting round of Monopoly, a yawn prevailed from the couch across from them. Marc’s mom covered her mouth as another yawn escaped.
“Sounds like our carriage is turning into a pumpkin,” Marc’s dad said, trying too hard to be funny and relatable, although it could translate as endearing. He gestured to the game in front of them. “We can finish in the morning. Come on, honey.”
Marc’s mom took her husband’s hand, allowing him to escort her to bed. “Good night, boys. Behave now!” She winked. “Just kidding! We don’t care what you do, as long as you’re using proper protection!”
“Take it easy, there,” Marc’s dad said. “You’re going to break Nathaniel.” He turned back once to say, “She’s right, though. ‘Night!”
Marc groaned, Nathaniel blushed, and then they were alone.
“I’m so sorry about that. Them. Ugh. How embarrassing,” Marc whined. His embarrassment shed itself as he saw the look on Nathaniel’s face—a sort of longing that Marc associated with Nath’s parents.
Marc put a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “What’s up, Nath? You know you can tell me anything.”
Nathaniel smiled. “It’s silly.”
“It’s not.”
“How did your parents take so easily to our relationship?” Nathaniel hugged himself, looking down at the carpet. “They’re just so amazing. It’s surreal, you know? Having parents who accept you the way you are, who only care that you’re happy and healthy.”
“I guess, well, my parents have always been like this.” Marc frowned. “I wish everyone had parents like mine. Especially you, Nath. You deserve all the support in the world.”
“I mean, I know they want me to be happy. I’m their son. I love them, but it’s like, they only love me under their conditions.”
“That’s awful.” Marc wrapped his arms around Nathaniel, who reciprocated the hug, kissing Marc on the forehead. They got more comfortable on the couch together. Their knees, clad in matching comic book pajamas, touched, spreading warmth through Marc’s whole body.
“You really think they’ll never accept you?” Marc asked carefully, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s thigh. Nath covered it with his own. “Even if it’s at the expense of your happiness?”
Nathaniel shrugged, gripping Marc’s hand tighter.
“I’ve been hearing it my whole life,” Nathaniel said, putting on a stern face to imitate his mother. His soft, boyish features did not allow for a proper imitation, for which Marc was grateful. “I don’t care who you bring home—as long as it’s a nice Jewish girl!”
“So, you set your sights on Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” Marc started giggling up a storm. In between giggles, he choked out: “At least you got two out of three there.”
Nathaniel groaned behind his hands. “Remember that time a few minutes ago before this conversation started? Let’s go back to that.”
“Hey!” Marc tried to maintain a frown, which quickly proved impossible in the presence of the boy he loved. “That’s rude. I’m just asking an innocent question.”
“Innocent. Uh-huh. That’s a good one.” Nathaniel grew a cheeky grin, looking smugly into Marc’s eyes. “You may not look it, but we both know you’re a feisty little minx when you wanna be.”
Marc let out a shallow breath, taken aback by the sudden shift in Nath’s demeanor. Bashfully turning his head, he broke eye contact, but Nathaniel grabbed Marc’s chin, forcing him to look back into his eyes. Nath’s grin remained, delighted he had Marc right where he wanted him, quite literally under his thumb.
Marc loved this side of him. And all the other sides, of course, but the mischief on Nath’s face here never failed to fluster him.
“There’s truth in your eyes, Marc.” Nathaniel cupped his cheek, stroking the blush on his face. “Why don’t you let me see it, hm?”
How could Marc resist turning to putty in the shine of Nathaniel’s light? He had written about swooning before, but this was the real deal. It felt like transforming into Roosterbold—it was the same powerful sunrise of creative spirit. It made his heart pound. It made him want to write.
“Don’t be afraid to speak with your eyes,” Nathaniel said, tracing over the brightly colored designs on Marc’s temple. Up until recently, Marc was more frugal with makeup, only wearing the occasional black eyeliner. After all the time he spent with his friends and Nath, Marc found himself emboldened to show more of his inner self to the world.
“My eyes—they, uh…” Marc stuttered, scrambling through the overlapping thoughts in his head. “Love…your eyes?”
The room was silent for a moment as Marc held his breath. Did he just say that? All the ideas in his head and that’s the one that emerged victorious. Why not? That was just his luck. Anxiety reigned supreme again. Marc Anciel, everybody.
Before Marc’s subconscious could torture him any further, his ears lit up at the sound of Nathaniel’s breezy, unyielding laughter.
“God, Marc. You’re too precious,” Nath said, pulling Marc in close. Upon his lips, he whispered, “My eyes love your eyes.” He kissed Marc’s temple. “My nose loves your nose.” He kissed Marc’s nose. “My mouth…” he drifted off, pressing a lasting kiss on Marc’s lips. “…loves your mouth,” Nathaniel finished in a whisper, kissing him again for good measure.
Marc blinked away a few tears. His smile brimmed with radiance, which seemed to have a positive effect on Nathaniel, if the next few kisses were any indication.
“My heart…” Marc said, taking Nath’s hands in his, just like at the dance. Except this time, he didn’t need the magical romance of Paris to speak for him. “My heart loves your heart. Every part of me loves every part of you. I love you, Nath. I love you so deeply it scares me. I’ve written plenty of love stories, but feeling that love for real? It’s kind of blowing my mind.”
“Mine, too,” Nathaniel said, kissing the back of Marc’s hand. “I thought I knew what love meant. To love a girl, to love art, to love life. But there was always a missing piece…until I started loving you, Marc.”
On the couch of Marc’s childhood home, he and Nathaniel met in a fierce, desperately loving embrace.
“My life may not be perfect,” Nathaniel said, holding Marc’s face in his hands. “But with you in it, everything feels all right.”