"Go away Jaeger."
Eren's emerald eyes spat daggers at him, his eyebrow twitching angrily. "Excuse me? I'm just trying to get you involved back in our group again. Mikasa is worried that you're drifting away again, so to reassure her, you should come to a party with us this weekend." Eren reasoned, repressing the colorful language he would so much rather use right now.
"I'm not 'drifting away,' Jaeger. Whatever that means."
"You're as stubborn as a horse." Eren whispered to himself. Or so he thought.
"What was that, you asshat?!" Jean whirled around on him and grabbed him by his collar.
Eren smiled wickedly. "There he is! The Jean I am oh so fond of."
Jean released him tiredly and began walking off.
"C'mon Jean! One party."
"Didn't I tell you to go away."
"Go with us to this one party, and if you don't enjoy yourself, I will never ask you to another party again."
Jean turned around. "You sure?"
Eren nodded.
He huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess there's no choice then. I'll go for a little awhile, but that's it."
Eren clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "Sweet! I'll let Mikasa know."
"Yeah, okay. See you around." Jean began walking off once more.
"You know I'm just looking out for you, right?" Eren shouted from behind him.
Jean waved and didn't look back.
What could Eren have meant anyway? He wasn't any different than he'd always been. Maybe. What did it matter anyway? People change all the time.
Jean slowly buttoned his shirt and plopped down his couch. Man, did he not want to go to a loud party with a bunch of drunken teenagers drowning in cheap alcohol and pent up sexual frustration. No, this was not going to be any fun. But it would bring Eren and Mikasa some ease of mind. Three knocks rapped on his door. "Come in, it's open!" he shouted lazily.
"You can't even open the door, you lazy bastard?" Eren spat. Jean glared at him.
"Stop acting like fools." a quiet voice from behind Eren stated simply.
"Oh, hey Mikasa." Jean smiled.
"Are you ready to go?" Eren looked him up and down and nodded. "Who knew you could actually dress fashionably for a party."
"Shut up." Jean grunted as he rose from his couch and slipped on his shoes. "Let's get this over with."
Jean massaged his temples and sighed. The loud music and smell of alcohol penetrated the cool night, the booming waves of laughter and party games warning him not to enter.
"I really don't want to do this." he mumbled.
"You'll loosen up after a drink or two."
Eren grabbed his arm and steered him into the large house whose guests seemed to take no notice of them. At least, they didn't notice Jean.
"Yo, Jaeger! It's been awhile!"
"Hey, it's Jaeger!"
"Mikasa, looking good!"
"Eren, how you been buddy?"
Jean glanced over at Eren, who was obviously enjoying the attention. He took his opportunity to escape into the kitchen, which was occupied by unconscious teenage jocks and a few couples whose boundaries were nonexistent, obviously. He shook his head and looked around for something to drink. He noticed a large clear bottle standing alone and untouched on the counter.
"How weird." he murmured to himself as he grabbed it. "Must be a sign from God." he joked to no one in particular as he headed outside to the large backyard, mostly uninhabited.
Jean plopped down on a lawn chair and studied the bottle of vodka. "Why not?" he sighed and took a swig, and then another.
"I'm pathetic." he laughed, as he took another gulp.
Suddenly, some of the party-goers began jumping into the large heated-pool next to him, splashing water on him.
God, how annoying.
He stood and began to walk off further into the yard, somewhat unsteadily. "I hate people." he spat, drinking more of the depleted bottle. Jean noticed a small path bordered by trees beginning to lose their leaves and began to walk down it, not caring where he ended up. "Who even needs a yard this big?" He huffed.
He stopped walking after a few steps and looked up at the patchy starry sky that shone through the tree tops.
"How pretty." he slurred.
Somehow it looked familiar. He shook his head to clear it. "That's impossible, all skies look the same.
Then, he could hear a banging noise coming from his right. "Who's over there?" he asked loudly, slowly approaching the noise coming from behind the tall bushes lined just behind the trees. "Is everything okay?" He peered through the bushes cautiously, just to see a slightly ajar wooden gate door banging open in the wind. "That's it? I thought this could at least have turned into some kind of scary movie." he slurred as he opened the door wider and entered the dark expanse laid out before him.
He took a swig and began to continue looking around when he suddenly fell forward and he thudded to the ground. He wish he could say it hurt, or that he at least felt something, but he didn't. His mind was too hazy, his body kind of fuzzy and cold. He mustered up the last of his energy to roll over onto his back, and look up at the sky, now unblocked by trees. Jean studied the blanket of stars laid out above him and sighed. "How beautiful." And then, everything went dark.
"I'm warm. So warm. No, it's hot. I'm burning. Am I dead?"
"No, you're not dead." a quiet voice drifted into his mind.
"Where am I?" Jean croaked.
"In my bed."
"Why? Is this a form of hell."
Lilting laughter floated around the haze in his mind. "Jean, just open your eyes."
"Open my eyes? To what? Have I yet to realize my potential for this world, and now I am too late? Have I taken those closest to me for granted, and now I'm being punished for it?"
"Well if you know you're taking them for granted, shouldn't you fix you're behavior?" The voice sounded amused. "I meant it literally. Jean, open your eyes."
"I can't. I must repent." he whined.
"Honestly," the voice seemed far away for a moment.
"Where are you going?"
"To grab your breakfast."
Jean bolted upright, and a little to fast. He began to sway, and he grabbed his head. "I feel terrible."
"Well, I did find an almost empty bottle of vodka next to your unconscious body this morning." The voice moved closer once again. "Here."
A glass of water was placed next to him.
"Thanks, Jaeger."
"Jaeger? That's not my name."
Jean slowly glanced up at the soft voice. He reeled, pulling the blanket up to his chin and backing up against the headboard of the extremely comfortable bed he was lying in. "Who the hell are you?!" He shouted pointing at the tan boy who looked about his age, with light brown, fluffy hair and almond eyes. "And what the hell is all over your face?"
The boy blushed and looked away. "Those are my freckles. I was kind of, um, born with them…"
"Who the hell has that many freckles?" Jean asked in disbelief. Although, to him, they didn't look bad, at all. They were somewhat endearing and made him look innocent.
"I-I'm Marco. I found you passed out in my backyard in the middle of the night."
"Your backyard? But I thought I was still at the house having a party last night…"
Marco shook his head. "You walked through the gate, which leads to my yard."
"Oh, that's right." Jean murmured, rubbing his face. "Wait, how do you know my name?"
Jean looked up at the boy, who's eyes suddenly looked tired and timeless. "I've known you for a long time."
"Like, from around town?"
Marco looked away and began to leave the room. "Yeah, that's it. I'll be right back."
Jean watched him go, and settled comfortably back in the bed. He didn't feel threatened, rather, he felt oddly peaceful. Tiredly, he began to reach for the cup of water Marco had placed on the side table. Jean retracted his hand as Marco walked in with a tray of delicious smelling food.
"Um, sorry but, I guess I spilled the cup of water you gave me when I moved the blanket."
Marco handed Jean the tray of food and picked up the emptied glass, and the weird rectangle-shaped piece of wood it had spilled onto. "What's that?" Jean said through a mouth full of eggs. Marco turned it around to reveal a beautiful, half-finished landscape painting of silhouetted mountains laid out on a pink and orange sky, now blurred by water.
"I'm sorry."
Marco shook his head and threw it in the small waste basket across the room.
"It wasn't that good anyway."
"So you're a painter?"
Marco smiled shyly as he nodded.
"That's cool. What do you paint?" Jean questioned as he tore into his toast.
"Mostly skylines. I like them."
Jean pointed his fork at him. "But don't you run out of things to paint, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, all skies look the same."
Marco smiled and shook his head, gazing out the window at the gray sky. "Each view, each place, each time, each night, is different. Different colors, different circumstances, different feelings, different memories." He looked back at Jean. "I never run out of skies to paint."
Jean studied his face, then returned to eating.
"Well, I washed your clothes and folded them, they're in the bathroom, first door to your left, whenever you get done. You can take a shower when you're done eating, if you want. I'm going to wash the dishes. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
Jean nodded as Marco left.
This kid was weird. Who allows a drunken man they found in their yard into their home, feed them, provide them clothes, and allow them to sleep in their bed? Jean grunted as he slowly stood, unsteadily, and made his way to the bathroom. A shower would be nice right about now.
He turned on the bathroom light and gasped. He looked unruly, even more so than usual. His sandy hair pointed every direction, his face was red and splotchy and the pajamas he was wearing were tight in some places…Jean reeled. Obviously, these weren't his pajamas.
"T-that means he undressed me while I was unconscious." Jean whimpered.
No way. Could Marco actually be a pervert? Jean shook his head. There was no way he was a pervert. He had taken care of him while he was knocked out. Slowly, he unbuttoned the pajama topped and discarded it in the laundry basket in the corner. His body ached too much to move quickly. Slowly he pulled off the pants, which were a little to short for him, and blushed. He wasn't wearing any underwear.
"How embarrassing." He groaned and put the pants away too, and turned on the shower. He needed to get home. Jaeger was probably going to kill him for leaving without saying anything and worrying Mikasa. Jean grunted as the hot water rolled down his soar body. Despite the soarness, he felt rested and calm. Even his head wasn't pounding too bad anymore. But he didn't want to face the kid who had found him unconscious, it was too embarrassing. Maybe he could just sneak out.
"Would that really work though?" he mumbled to himself as he grabbed a towel and shut off the water. Carefully he dried himself and pulled on his underwear and pants that, as promised, had been cleaned and folded on the bathroom counter. As he picked up his shirt, a loud crashing noise came from inside the house. He opened the bathroom door quickly and began looking for the source of the noise.
"Marco?"
He found the kitchen, and noticed broken glass everywhere.
"Oh Jean, sorry. Watch where you walk." Marco's voice shook slightly, but Jean could hear it.
"Are you okay?" Jean asked, eyeing the arm Marco had cradled against his chest.
Marco smiled and nodded. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
Marco looked away and began picking up large pieces of the shattered plate scattered on the ground. Jean carefully walked across the kitchen and bent to Marco's level. Roughly he grabbed Marco's right arm and exposed it, and gasped. "What the-"
Marco wrenched it back. "I said I was fine, didn't I." Marco quivered.
"What the hell happened?"
Marco stood and threw the pieces of glass away. "Nothing."
"'Nothing?' You have a giant ass scar on your shoulder and arm!"
"I was born with it."
"Really?" Marco nodded shyly, rubbing it.
"What a disappointment." Jean grunted as he rubbed his chin.
"Huh?"
"I mean, it would've been cool if you had said that you had murdered someone for their arm and sewn it onto your own body or something."
Marco laughed, catching Jean's attention. It wasn't a loud laugh, but it resounded within him, it was beautiful, and sad.
"You watch too many movies, Jean."
Jean blushed and looked away. "What do you know anyway."
"I know you need to go put your shirt on."
Jean's blush deepened then as he realized he had discarded his shirt when he had heard the crash. "Shut up!" he shouted as he raced back to the bathroom.
Jean was bothered. Who was this kid, and why did he seem familiar? Jean shook his head furiously. It was impossible that this kid seemed familiar. Although Marco said he knew him, he had no clue who Marco was. And besides, he couldn't be familiar to Jean. Everyone was the same, essentially.