I’ll just leave this right here……. *goes to hide in a corner* ((Thank you Rhue for helping me with the ending!))
"Shut up, I’m working on it." Marco muttered to the monster, growling in his stomach. His parents were out on the town, leaving him with food money and a long night alone to kill time. He got bored about twenty minutes after they left, the novelty of an empty house gone and no one online to entertain him. He sat and stared at the screen, wondering what he normally did for hours on the internet when he began to feel a gurgling in his stomach. Minutes later he was clicking through the brightly coloured, mildly confusing website for Heichou’s Pizza, building whatever kind of pizza he wanted. Why did it matter? He was home alone.
"Mushrooms? Yep." Click. "Olives?" None of his friends liked olives. "Yep. Peppers?" His stomach growled loudly at him again and he frowned, scolding, "No. Peppers are gross."
He clicked to the next page, hoping it would be the end but all it was was yet another long page of questions. He groaned with his stomach, flopping back onto his back and mussing at his hair. Laying on his back he stared at the ceiling and sighed. This was a clear indicator that his night was going to be a total bore. He had tried to go out but none of his friends were free and the thought had occurred to him to see a movie, but by himself? That was just sad. …maybe less sad than this. Another heavy sigh and he pushed himself up. Paying in cash. Address. Wait. No. Wrong number. Okay. Phone number. Special instructions?
He paused, first thinking that his house was so not special. Typical suburban, walk up the front, ring the doorbell. No chance for a mistake. Then his eyes scanned over the question again. He didn’t know why he did it. Probably boredom just rearing its ugly head and making him crazy, but a smirk broke out slowly across his face. He chuckled to himself as he typed. He thought he was pretty damn funny, “Send your cutest delivery boy.”
He clicked send without a second thought, already forgetting what he had done and flopped back on his bed to wait. Now it was just him and his stomach.
About an hour passed and Marco was certain he was going to starve to death and that the pizza guy had eaten his pizza, probably after picking off all the olives. His parents were going to come home to the skeleton of their son on his bed clutching his unused food money in his skeleton hand. It would probably still have freckles. He was probably also being dramatic.
When the doorbell rang he sat straight up, head whipping towards the sound. “Ah! Pizza!” He had almost forgotten what he was waiting for but the sound ringing through the house reignited the creature in his belly and he clambered off his bed, hurrying down the hall. He slid to a stop in socked feet in front of the door, money still clutched tight in his hand and ripped the door open. It was in that instant that he also remembered why he shouldn’t have ever been trusted to do anything while he was bored and listening to his stomach instead of his brain. He thought he was being funny. He didn’t actually think of the consequences.
Standing in front of him was the pizza boy. Jean, his nametag shared with him. He was just slightly shorter than him, his baggy uniform not enough to hide the lean, muscular body Marco knew was underneathe. His jeans fit a little better. Well. It all fit well, but his jeans gave a little more away. His hat, perched hapharzardly on top of deliberate messy hair, showed just how much he didn’t care about this job. If his posture wasn’t enough, one hand rested on his jutted hip, half offerring the pizza, set up top of the other. Marco knew from the scowl and the upturned eyebrow that his request had been fullfilled.
A heavy silence lingered between them. Marco, blushing a deep red under his freckles as he stared at Jean, watching him back with knowing eyes. It was Jean who finally broke the silence, voice low and bored, deeper than he expected and sending a shiver down his spine. Marco swallowed hard, trying to hide any movement his body made in response. “So. Pizza. You ordered this shit?”
"Yes!" Marco finally forced out, too loud. He blushed deeper, clearing his throat and working to get his voice under control. He tried to smile and look normal, but all he managed was a nervous laugh he had never heard himself do before. "Just.. uh.. just me!"
He mentally kicked his ass back inside where he could hide in his bed and never come back out. …he would turn into a skeleton for his parents to come home t-
"Yeah…" Jean interrupted Marco’s slow spiral, his eyebrow shooting towards his hairline again. He handed the box over, holding out his hand for the money. "Well. The pizza sucks and it’s overpriced but at least you have good taste in toppings."
Marco handed over the cash in his hand, eyes widening. Not only was he actually the cutest delivery guy he had ever seen but he was also the only person in the universe who had ever shared his taste in pizza toppings. He was so busy staring at his face that he didn’t notice his fingers brush against his, or the fact that Jean didn’t bother to give him any change back, tucking the twenties into his pocket. Jean did notice the soft brush of fingers, glancing down at the warm sensation. He shifted his shoulders, ignoring the tightening in his stomach. The silence dragged on, Marco frozen, staring like an idiot and Jean’s expression unchanging. He finally let out a small egsaperated puff and shifted his weight off his leg.
"Well… enjoy." Jean paused for another moment, giving Marco one last chance..? Turned, and wandered back to his car, leaving Marco standing in his doorway.
By the time he finally wrapped his brain around speaking again it was a pathetic, too quiet, “Thank you..” to Jean’s retreating back. He watched him all the way down the walk, eyes scanning his every smooth, perfect movement, sliding into his car like he probably had a million times (how could getting into a car with a pizza sign on top be so hot?) and drive away out of his life. He stood, letting himself and the pizza get cold until he couldn’t hear the engine anymore and finally closed the door. Pizza in hand, he turned, dropping back against the door and sliding all the way to the ground. He set the pizza beside him, burying his burning face in his hands with a frustrated growl. “I am such a spaz…” He muttered into his hands before dropping them at his sides. He considered just staying there all night until his parents opened the door to dump him back onto the doormat where he belonged, but his stomach was getting bossy again and the pizza really did smell good. At least he could eat his sorrows.
He dragged himself to his feet, leaning over and scooping the box up to carry into the living room. Halfway there his feet froze onto the hardwood floor, eyes wider than they had been when he saw Jean in the first place. There, on the box… it wasn’t possible… when had he..?
Scrawled in black sharpie, in the bottom right corner of the box: a phone number, clear as day, and written underneathe “Send your cutest customer. Jean.”