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Marco watches the quiet, new kid lurk in the dark corners of the room, mouth occasionally pinching like he’s biting off the bitchy comments he wants to make but has no one to share with.
He’s here playing the Halloween Dance, trying not to watch Elle, who looks fucking adorable dressed as a ghostbuster but who also has a shitty college boyfriend who doesn’t deserve her. She’d flirted when she saw him, like always, and then pushed him away when he got too close, like always.
He gets back on stage to sing and play another set of pop favorites and vaguely Halloween-adjacent songs. He doesn’t watch Elle dance with Lee or get in a fight with his girlfriend or do whatever the hell else she’s doing. It’s surprisingly easy not to watch her, actually, once the shaggy haired boy looks up from his punch and locks eyes with Marco.
He almost fucks up a line but recovers quickly, feeling the heat of the boy’s stare. His gaze is intense and he looks like he’s up to something. Marco wants to find out what.
On his next break, he heads straight to the corner he’d last seen him. The boy isn’t there, so he starts a slow lap of the room, eventually finding him in another dark corner. He notes with a smile that there’s a better view of the stage from here.
“Did you like the music?” Marco asks.
The boy’s mouth curls into a smirk. Marco gets a little distracted by his lips. He wants to press his thumb into his full bottom lip, pull it free from his tooth and see how soft it is.
“It was alright. Not really my genre, I guess.”
“What about the lead guitarist? Is he your genre?”
That makes the boy laugh, and Marco wants to study the way it changes his face. Wants to make him do it again.
“Maybe.”
“I’m Marco,” he offers, taking a step closer. “No costume for me since I’m singing. What’s your excuse?”
The boy smiles, a little one, like he’s trying to fight it. He raises an eyebrow at Marco and peels back his jacket to reveal a ‘Hello my name is’ sticker stuck to the shirt underneath. It reads ‘GOD.’
“It would be better if had a Joan of Arc with me. Really sell it. You’d look good in chainmail.”
“Next time,” Marco offers. “What’s your name?”
“Elliot.”
“Dance with me?”
Elliot rolls his eyes but lets Marco pull him onto the dance floor and wrap his arms around him. They sway together, and Marco pulls Elliot just a little bit closer, enjoying the warmth of his body under his hands and brushing up against his front.
He doesn’t mean to kiss him, really, it’s just that Elliot looks up at him with wide eyes and chews on his lip again and this time Marco can’t help but reach out to pull it free, and then soothe the spot with his mouth.
Elliot’s lips are soft and he melts under Marco’s touch, swaying into him when Marco pulls him in close with a hand at the small of his back. Elliot tastes like cigarettes and too-sweet punch and Marco wants to kiss him all night.
“I’ve got a couple more sets to play,” he pants when he finally drags himself away from Elliot’s mouth. “Wait for me?”
Elliot rolls his eyes, but he smiles like he can’t help it when Marco winks at him from on stage and serenades him with ‘Batman, Wolfman, Frankenstein or Dracula.’
The bassist misses a note when he changes the words a little, but it’s worth it to see Elliot’s face when he sings, “when I hold him, he’s like a dream, if only he can hear somebody scream.”