Left Behind (Marcel FanFiction)

{Olivia's P.O.V}

I smiled brightly as Frisco dazzled Marcel's hair. Marcel coughed and choked on the hairspray. Every time he complained of the spray making his allergies work up or he would scream about his collar chafing, Frisco would give him a small slap on side of his head. Marcel would gasp at the impact and finally learned to shut his mouth. Frisco continued on his hair, giving a loud wa-la and jazz hands, turning to me.

"Presenting, the new and improved, Marcel.." Frisco announced, his French accent giving it more of a dramatic flare. I watched intently as Frisco slowly turned the chair around. I gasped. Marcel coughed and blinked a few times as the hair spray fumes died down.

He gave me a cheeky smile, "how does it look?"

I gasped, "You look so.." before I could answer, Frisco handed him a mirror. Marcel peered in and gasped, too, at his new reflection. I smiled widely as he slowly handed Frisco his mirror back and looked up at me.
(Marcel's reaction to his new look)



"Olivia, I-" He started and I cut him off.

"You look wonderful, Marcie." I said, smiling.

He blushed, "thank you." he reached onto the counter, grabbing his glasses and slipping them onto his face. "Do you think I should get contacts?"

"We could stop at your doctor and get them if you want," I shrugged.

"Nah, I have them at home.." he trailed off, "I just never used them."

"I'm glad you like your new style, Mr. Marcel." Frisco giggled.

Marcel smiled at the French man, "I love it, thank you, Frisco."




I paid and Marcel and I were off. Marcel ran his hands through his, smiling at the feeling of it.

"What if it flattens by tomorrow?" Marcel gasped, "what if I don't look this good for school?"

"Relax, Marce." I chuckled, "Frisco sells the stuff he uses, and I bought some." { Does anyone else's hair stylist do that? Mine does. The place I go to for my hair cuts and stuff sell the products they use. Maybe that's just here. I think it's helpful c: #random lolol -author }

"So you'll do my hair tomorrow?" Marcel squealed.

"Of course I will." I smiled as we walked out of the mall. Marcel was holding two big bags, one full of shirts and one full of jeans. I carried the same thing.

"How will we fit everything in my closet?" Marcel asked, looking at the bags.

"Simple," I smiled as we neared his house, "we're going to ditch all the nerdy gear and replace it with your near stuff."

"Oh!" Marcel smiled, then his face dropped, "wait what?!"




"Olivia, we can't just get rid of my stuff!" Marcel gasped. I was sorting through his closet and he was sitting on his bed, glancing toward his mirror every now and again.

"Yes, we can." I laughed, grabbing a Mick Jagger tee shirt and turning to him, "why didn't you tell me you had this?"

"Didn't think it mattered." Marcel shrugged.

"It does," I shot, throwing the shirt back into the closet, "now, help me get all this crap out of here."

Marcel stood up, joining me at his closet as we began pulling everything off of hangers and tossing it on the floor, "what are we going to do with all this stuff?"

"We can box it up, or throw it out." I said, "your choice."

"Box it up, these are memories." Marcel frowned.

I smiled, "yes, Marcie, I know."

Notes