Page 21 of Run, Run, Roommates
Marco and I split from the crowd and walk a few blocks. Right before the subway station, there’s a small park: bare branches, drooping pines, and a dry fountain. I use my hand to steer him toward the empty space, and he follows obediently.
When we’re alone, standing before a bench that I don’t really want to sit on because I know the cold will cut right through my pants, I turn toward Marco and slide my arms around his waist. Marco’s not a big hugger, but something right now tells me he needs it.
He freezes for a moment. Have I made a huge mistake? But then he collapses over me, embracing my shoulders and letting his chin drop to the top of my head. His coat is open, so when I burrow into him, it wraps around me, tucking us into a cocoon. Marco’s heart beats steadily under my cheek.
Buh-bum. Buh-bum. Buh-bum.
We stand like that for a long time. So long that when I open my eyes, there’s a dusting of snow on his lapel. I nestle in deeper and count his heartbeats.
One . . . two . . .
“Did I ever tell you why I came to the city?” Marco’s voice rumbles.
I shake my head as much as I can while being pressed against his chest. I know Marco grew up in Long Island, but he’s been here for at least a decade.
“When I was sixteen, my brother was home from NYU for the holidays. He was staying in the basement, and Christmas Eve my dad walked in and caught him blowing an old high school friend. My parents flipped their shit. They kicked him out that night, nothing but the clothes on his back. They stopped paying for his school, so he had to drop out.”
Marco’s voice is stronger now. “Joe tried so hard to get them to talk to him again. He begged my parents. He pleaded. He told them it was a mistake. And then one night I realized I hadn’t heard from him in a month. My parents never talked about him. I was terrified.”
I squeeze him tighter, wishing I could close my ears so I don’t have to hear about what happened to Marco’s brother.
“I spent six weeks going into the city as much as I could, looking for him. I skipped school. I checked shelters. I talked to the university, the police.”
Even though I know that Marco finds him, and they live together until Joe’s death, I’m nervous and tense. How could Marco’s family splinter like that?
“When I finally found him he was living in the Meatpacking District in a loft with, like, six other people. I was so goddamn happy to have found him. And I was so mad at my parents, so I ran away and went to live with Joe. Of course, it ticked my parents off even more, but I could see that Joe needed me. He’d been kicked out of leases, lost jobs; he was too nice.”
I smile against his chest. Marco is always telling me I’m too nice, just like his brother.
He continues. “We found our place here in the city. We found our people.” Marco jerks his head back in the direction we came from. “How can our world be so divided that some people are teaching their kids to love and accept everyone, and yet my parents can’t even be in the same house with their own queer son?”
I squeeze him. I don’t have an answer. To me, this world we live in, where our families can’t see past their own bigotry, is unexplainable.
“Thank you for being here with me,” Marco says, and I feel the press of his lips on my hair.
“You’re welcome. I’m here for hugs and art projects and kisses under the mistletoe.”
I feel it in my bones when he lets out a small laugh. “You mean our terrible first kiss?”
And then underneath my arms Marco freezes.
I pull back and look up at him. “Our first kiss?” My lips curl up and I tease him, my heart beating faster in my chest. “Are there going to be more?”
“Come on.” He huffs a laugh, looking away. The snow’s still falling around us in light little flakes, enough to add a wintery sparkle to the air. “You don’t want to kiss a guy like me.”
“Well, it was a pretty terrible first kiss,” I drawl. “Why would I want a second one?”
Marco’s eyes meet mine, sharp now, narrowed on me. “That was a terrible kiss because we were rushed and being watched by complete strangers. Being filmed.”
“You don’t think it’s because we’re two completely incompatible heights? Fundamentally unable to kiss comfortably?”
His gaze drops down. Somehow, despite the obvious height difference, our faces have gotten closer.
“No, I don’t. We may be incompatible in other ways, but it’s not your pocket-sized stature that holds us back.” He takes a breath, and I feel it all over my body, from the expansion of his ribs to the warmth unfurling across my cheeks. “In fact, I don’t think there’s anything physical about us that’s incompatible.”
My heels are off the ground, my toes pressing into the dirt.
He doesn’t stop. His eyes, always dark, are half-lidded black pools. “I think if we wanted to, we could have an exceptional second kiss.”
