BUTTERCUPS//JeanMarco Short Story

Chapter 1

          Jean smiled and bashfully looked over at Marco. He was sitting next to him and was picking bright yellow buttercups out of the grass field. They only grew during April, and they were Marco's favorite flower so why wouldn't Jean take him?

          "I love them so much. They are so pretty and they remind me of you, always happy." Marco said while gentlty brushing the yellow petals of a buttercup he was holding. Marco turned towards the blushing Jean and stuck the flower firmly in his sandy hair.

          "Really?" Jean asked, touching the flower with his fingertips.

          "Of course!" Marco beamed as Jean adjusted the flower. They kept picking the bright yellow and pink buttercups, until a patch of empty field formed around the two and the sun was setting. The flowers were strewn among them as they collected. Their conversation lasted for endless hours and the atmosphere was sweet.

          Picking a flower, smelling the sweet aroma, and putting it in the pile. Little moments with Marco like this were what Jean loved most. Jean started to twist long blades of grass together and stuck the smallest buttercups he could find between the braids.

          "A flower crown?" Marco giggled and grabbed the crown before putting it on his head. Their smiles were brighter than the sun. "Perfect." Little dots of yellow parted his chocolate hair and caused it to stick out in some places.

          The setting sun shone on Jean's skin making him glow, and its rays illuminated all of Marco's freckles. Jean couldn't help but stare at his beautiful boyfriend. The flowers, the setting sun, the two of them... it was a perfect moment.

          Marco rested his head on Jean's shoulder and reached over to grab his hand, lacing their fingers together. He gave a little squeeze. "I love you Jean."

          "I love you too Marco." Jean pressed a light kiss onto Marco's forehead.

          The hospital monitor beeped steadily. Jean hated it. The continuous beeping, the constant reminder that his boyfriend was in the hospital. Being in the sterile room could cause tears, and even seeing the hospital building was enough to bring him to his knees.

          "Marco?" Jean whispered, hoping for an answer. All he wanted to know was if he would be okay. Marco was asleep in the hospital bed, and Jean was watching the rise and fall of his chest like his life depended on it. He hadn't left the hospital since Marco was admitted.

          Jean curled up on the white couch in Marco's room, he didn't dare leave the room and he had been in the hospital for four days. He hated the couch and the hospital food but didn't leave Marco's side.

          Tears dripped down his cheeks. Why did this have to happen to him? Why not me? The trickling tears quickly turned into choked sobs. The silent room was broken with pained sobs, and occasional cussing. He covered his face with his hand, and muffled his crying. He didn't want Marco to see him like this if he woke up. All teary eyed and a mess.

          Jean didn't know how much longer he could cope. If Marco didn't recover from his wound, he wouldn't be able to live anymore. Small speckles of dried  blood were visible from Marco's hospital gown, drops covering his stomach. The doctors managed to remove the bullet, but he sustained life threatening injuries.

          Doctor Zoë came into the room quietly, poking her head around the corner of the door before stepping inside. "Jean?"

          Jean popped his head up with a sudden jolt and faced Doctor Zoë. He inhaled and wiped his red eyes. Jean asked with a broken voice, "Whats going on?" He was anxious, fiddling with his fingers probably gave it away.