“So, would you care to explain where that bleeding nose came from?”

“If you’re asking like that, no, actually.”

“Hajime, this looks broken. What happened to you?! … let me look at your wrist. Oh my god, what is that? I didn’t know skin could turn that colour.”

“No. It’s nothing, really. Tooru – no – relax, I’m fine!”

“You’re not. God, what – why? You never pick fights, not since middle school.”

“I had to punch him. That guy in class, that asshole, he called you a slut.”

“…so?”

“You – I had to defend you! You’re not a slut, you never were! It’s not forbidden to enjoy sex, alright, and you’re my boyfriend now and I’m gonna fuckin’ stand up for you, Tooru, will you get that into your stubborn head one day?!”

“That’s got to be the sweetest thing you ever said to me, but I’m still taking you to the hospital. …and I love you, too.”

“Ugh, shut up. Just value yourself a bit more. You’re – you’re more than – you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Hajime.”

“…it’s alright. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine when you are. Now let’s go.”

‘All I Ask of You.’

“You should be proud, Jeanbo. There are only a few men who stay a soprano even after voice break.” His mother smiles, warm fingers running through Jean’s hair as she hugs him tightly. Jean hates that he’s still comforted by this even at sixteen, that his tears and dark sobs stop coming after an hour or so, that he almost forgets about the teasing of his classmates about him singing the solo in the town’s small choir. They’ve always looked down on him. Now, it’s bullying.

A soprano. He had hoped for tenor, at least, but his voice break came and went without any change to the melodies echoing in his throat. Speaking, yes, that works, but he’s got no friends to talk to anyways, and as soon as the ‘gay’ rumours start, all is lost. It’s true, yet he wishes it wasn’t. He loves singing and he loves boys. None of it is right to the people that share a classroom with him.

“It’ll be alright,” his mother hums, a melody of Jean’s favourite song on her lips. “Everything will be fine. You’ll find your place, somewhere, believe me.

Jean finishes school without knowing what a camping trip with friends feels like, but knowing very well what the words ‘fag’ and ‘disgusting’ feel inside his chest.

His mother cries and kisses him goodbye when he leaves for a town that’s bigger in mind and smaller in space than the cold village he grew up in. It will take time to figure out a major, but he’s got a flat and food and a warm bed, and – his university has a choir.

On his first day of university, Jean enters the rehearsal room. There aren’t a lot of people to audition, and he’s up quicker than he’s hoped. The choir’s leader is a short man with dark hair and even blacker eyes that frown at every applicant equally. He points out that Jean’s choice of song is “a bit unconventional, isn’t that a duet?” And before Jean can say anything else, the choir leader waves another singer closer, and asks whether he’s familiar with the score.

The answer is a yes. The other singer has a nightsky of freckles on his nose, and a smile that drags the floor away from underneath Jean’s feet. He quickly looks down when the man stands by his side.

“I’m Marco,” he says, but the choir leader orders them to start already, and Jean’s world blurs into a caleidoscope of music and melodies as soon as the first word leaves Marco’s lips.

No more talk of darkness
Forget these wide-eyed fears
I’m here, nothing can harm you
My words will warm and calm you

The warm shivers running through Jean’s blood shouldn’t feel so good. He closes his eyes and listens, floods away with the heavy drawl in Marco’s voice, some accent he doesn’t know and cannot care about. It’s like they’re singing together, for each other, voices and words melting together. His part comes up – and Jean breathes, natural, opens his mouth.

Say you’ll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summer time
Say you need me with you now and always
Promise me that all you say is true
That’s all I ask of you

The room is quiet around them. Jean doesn’t notice the taste of salt on his lips until a hand comes down on his shoulder. Somewhere, in the back of his vision, he can see the rest of the choir staring as he opens his eyes. But right in front of him is Marco, fingers curling around Jean’s shaking shoulders, and the words

Love me, that’s all I ask of you

on his lips. Marco smiles. He brings a hand to Jean’s face to wipe his tears, and says something that sounds like “welcome” through the daze of emotions inside Jean’s head. Jean blinks and smiles back, weak, overwhelmed.

“I like your voice,” Marco says, suddenly.

Jean’s first day at university is new and strange and nerve-wrecking. And still, he couldn’t have asked for more.

December 3rd

Jean has perfected the art of forgetting. Things, people, old bruises on his heart that’s always been too loyal and good until the day he brought someone home, and their laced up fingers had his father take his half-empty bottle of booze and throw it against his head along with the word “fag”. It’s been lonely and cold since then. Scholarship, study of medicine. Honorable doctor. What a talented young man, his colleagues say. His bed’s only for him, has been ever since the laceration on his forehead healed.

It’s 3 am and a gurney is shoved into his emergency room; several bruises and slashes on a young scared face, tears in dark fearful eyes and a sky full of freckles scattered over warm cheeks. Broken arm. Jean stitches what he has to, holds a calloused hand when the man who’s almost still a boy cries all night. He hears his story, and he knows that he’ll be lost and spiralling down an abyss that he’s barely just crawled out. “Fag”, the boy sobs, he’s been called. It echoes in Jean’s head, booms and roars and fucking sings.

His shift ends, and it doesn’t. He spends nights by his side. His name’s Marco. He’s beautiful and so heartbreakingly good that Jean curses the world, and it’s weeks after Marco’s out of hospital and on his couch “for just some time” when Jean comes home at 5 am, greeted by bright eyes with hope rising in them, and he wraps his arms around Marco, lips finding his, finally, and a little whisper between gasped breaths – “stay”.