Jean knew plenty about the Bodt family. They lived on the furthest plot of land from the rest of the town. They let wildflowers grow on their vast lawn. They had several children, some old enough to have their own families, some young enough to be learning English still. They kept sheep and a few chickens, and two cows. They rarely sold anything to anyone, only making enough to keep themselves fed and clothed.
But the most important thing Jean knew about the Bodts was that he should avoid them whenever possible. They weren't god-fearing Christians like the rest of the town. No, they were pagan, and openly so. As if they were proud! That was a dangerous thing to be in that time and place. When Jean had first heard the word, slurred as if it were a curse, directed at the family, he'd immediately made the decision to have nothing to do with them. That wasn't something he wanted to be associated with.
And yet, he found himself glancing at their property curiously every time he passed it. What he was looking for, not even he knew. Perhaps he wanted to see what it was that made these people so different from his family, from all the other families in the area. The Bodt home looked normal enough. It was two stories, which was strange for the town. Most of them weren't wealthy enough to have two stories. But they did have many children, and therefore more need for space.
They'd built onto the house as the years passed, and Jean could clearly distinguish between what was new and what was old. But it was a nice enough house, kept in good repair. They had about as much land to their names as Jean's own family did, though they didn't keep much of a farm; just one small plot, enough to grow what they needed to feed themselves. The rest grew wild, dotted in the spring and summer with various flowers. That was normal enough though. Plenty of people didn't bother trying to tame their land beyond the farm space.
There weren't any sacrificed animals anywhere, or devil altars, or even freaky candles in the windows. No pentagrams as decoration, or random blood. It was just a normal, slightly mismatched house with a low fence and weathered wood, bleating sheep chewing absently at long grass. And that was confusing to Jean, it was overwhelming even. How could this family's property look so completely normal, so average, yet contain something so strange?
And so, he found himself staring, eyes tracing over every inch of the home, over every flower, every sheep. What was he looking for? He still couldn't decide. It was so compelling a question that he sometimes found himself stopped in front of the house, just watching everything that happened within the fence. He'd catch himself, quickly jogging home, avoiding the eyes of anyone nearby lest they question him about it.
This continued for months. He'd just look as he passed. He didn't join the townspeople in their jeering catcalls as they walked home from church. The Bodt land was, ironically, very near to the town's religious sanctuary. It was a bad place for them, as, when church let out, everyone had to pass the pagan land. And they made sure the family knew how bad that was. He wondered how they felt about having to clean up all of the things thrown past their fence, wondered if they heard the swear words, and, if so, how they felt about them. But he knew better than to ask anyone, especially one of the Bodts.
And then, one day, as he was staring, as he found himself doing more and more, he was startled by a voice. It was low and sweet; thick, like honey. And it drew him in, enough so that he was uncomfortable. But he followed the sound, finding a freckled face, earthy eyes staring back at him. And he backed up, fear rising in his stomach. He'd been caught, and by one of the Bodts no less. He knew. That dark skin and those freckles were characteristic of the family.
The boy seemed a bit surprised by his sudden retreat to the other side of the street, but it melted to something akin to amusement.
"Do you need something?" He called, loud enough for Jean to hear across the street. He never received a response, Jean having quickly taken his leave, heading for home, trying to convince himself that he hadn't just been spoken to by one of the Bodts. What if someone saw? Would they think he was friendly with them? He most certainly was not!
No one said anything about it in the days to come, so he surmised that he was likely safe. And so he let himself think about the encounter at last. The boy's face was a little foggy in his mind. He hadn't looked at him long. He remembered the smooth, freckled skin, the color of a dark rum. But his features were fuzzy. He remembered the round, droopy eyes, rimmed with a thick layer of long, dark lashes, and the way the brown shone with flecks of amber when he'd been close enough to see. But that was all he had really seen before he'd run away.
And now, even more so than before, he was curious. Who was the boy, who seemed about his age, and what did he think about? But it was too dangerous to speak with him, or even ask about him. No, Jean couldn't take that kind of risk. He had his family's reputation to think of. As one of the more influential families in town, he knew better than to be caught with the Pagan boy.
To chase away the thoughts, he began spending more time at the Jaeger residence. While Eren annoyed him to no end, he had long fancied Mikasa Ackerman, who also lived in the home. So he put up with the Jaeger boy to give his best attempt at wooing the girl. And she seemed to be responding well, in his opinion. Better than the first time he'd spoken to her, anyway.
He decided, on one of the days he was planning on visiting Mikasa, to pick her some flowers. Girls liked things like that, after all. So before he headed for the Jaeger property, he walked towards the outskirts of town. There were plenty of fields where wildflowers grew, and he was sure he'd find a decent array. Not that he was looking for anything in particular, but he figured, if he got a bunch of different kinds, he'd be bound to find something she liked.
And he did just that, walking back into town with a fistful of brightly colored flowers that he didn't know the names of. He was just passing the Bodt property when his eyes fell on the same boy that had spoken to him across the fence last time, and he tensed. He knew he should hurry, before the boy could spot him. And yet, he was frozen in place, watching him pick up a lamb and carry it to its mother, who was bleating in distress. He laughed when she immediately quieted, and the sound carried all the way over to Jean's stiff position on the other side of the fence.
Seeming to suddenly realize the existence of another human, the boy turned, meeting eyes with Jean, and he began walking over. Jean wanted to go, just as quickly as he had last time, but something compelled him to stay. And, before he could even realize he was still standing, rooted to the spot, the boy was upon him.
"Hello." He said, voice still thick and sweet like honey, but more cautious, quiet this time. It was as if he was trying to avoid scaring Jean away. He nearly did.
It took a long time for Jean to work up the nerve to reply. But he did.
"Hi." He offered. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was, apparently, plenty, because the boy's face broke into a pleased grin.
"I'm glad you're talking to me this time. My name is Marco." He offered. His hand didn't come out for a shake, as if he already knew that Jean wouldn't take it. "And you're Jean. Pretty much everyone in town knows your family." He added. "Everyone knows mine too, but not for the same reason. There are a lot of us, though, so you probably haven't heard my name."
And Jean hadn't. He didn't know any of them by name, actually. Just that title, Bodt. It was almost like a condemnation.
"Are you taking those to Mikasa?" He wondered. Jean flinched, looking up at him with surprise. How did he know that? Sure, it was common knowledge that Jean was pursuing the girl, but nobody talked to the Bodts. Where had he gotten that information? But how could he ask that? No, that wouldn't do. He simply settled for nodding, not trusting his voice not to betray his disbelief.
"Well, I suggest you start over. She won't like those." He said, as if it should be obvious.
"What?" Jean demanded, voice harsher than was probably necessary. But honestly, what right did this boy have to belittle him like that? He'd worked hard to pick the flowers. And how could he presume to know what Mikasa would and wouldn't like?
"Mikasa is a mature girl, at least in sensibilities. A random bunch of flowers wouldn't suit her personality. You should pick one type of flower for the main body, and then accent it with one other." He explained, bending down. "I suggest these." He added, holding up an orange colored flower, spotted with red along the petals.
"They're commonly called tiger lilies. And you could use those white one's you've already got to accent."
Jean, though wary, took the words for what they were. By the way he spoke, Marco obviously knew more about flowers than Jean did. And his assessment of Mikasa's personality had been accurate enough. And, honestly, what could listening to him hurt? She'd be getting flowers either way. And he'd rather not get on this boy's bad side. Who knew what might happen if he did.
"Alright," he agreed, and Marco smiled at him again, his thick lips capturing Jean's attention. He took a moment to look at the boy's face, recalling his fuzzy remembrance from before. His lips were full and looked smooth, just a little chapped. And his nose was long, barely upturned at the end. It was a handsome face, and Jean thought it too bad that, most likely, the boy would never find a wife. Not in this town, anyway.
"Here, you can come pick some. We have them all over." Marco offered, gesturing for Jean to hop over the low fence.
It was a terrifying idea to the teen. He got the feeling that, if he did, he'd somehow be committing to something he wasn't sure he wanted to commit to. What though? To Marco, to paganism, to sin? Surely just stepping on the property wouldn't mean anything. He was only picking some flowers. There weren't tiger lilies anywhere else he could think of, so it wasn't as if he could go to some other field instead. And Marco had made no moves to try and convert him to the devil's religion, so he had no reason to fear the boy. In fact, he'd been nothing but friendly.
He made his choice, dropping the flowers he'd already gathered and hopping over, planting his feet firmly on the ground. It still felt strange to him, foreboding even. This land was so forbidden, so feared by the townspeople. Yet, there he stood, perfectly intact and still just as Christian as when he'd woken up that morning. And Marco looked just as pleasant as he had from the other side.
The boy beckoned, wanting Jean to follow him, and he did, walking to a patch of the yard where the lilies grew thickly. They were vibrant against the green of the grass, and Jean knelt, looking them over.
"Pick as many as you like." Marco said quietly, laying down in the grass while Jean got to work. He didn't try to make conversation, only laid there, staring up at the sky. Jean tried not to pay him any mind, picking a decent bouquet before he stood.
"I'm done." He offered, and Marco got back up, nodding, leading him back towards the fence. Jean jumped over quickly, feeling a strange anticipation building up inside. He just got the feeling that something bad would happen if he stayed any longer. But, of course, Marco called out to him.
"Wait!" He shouted, and Jean turned around, looking at him. Again, Marco smiled, waving him back over. "You forgot the baby's breath." He said simply, picking up the discarded bunch of flowers, fishing the white ones out. Then he reached for the ones in Jean's hand, and they were nearly dropped in Jean's haste to let it go. Marco didn't mention it though, interspersing the small flowers between the lilies before handing it back.
"Thanks." Jean offered, already backing up again.
"I'm not catching, I promise." Marco replied. It was as if he knew. But it wasn't spoken with anger or hurt. It was just a statement. Jean made sure he was gone before Marco could demand a response.
He walked straight to the Jaeger home, knocking frantically, as if he were being tailed. But, looking back, there was no sign of the Bodt boy. Still, he was relieved when the door opened, even when it was Eren on the other side, looking at him curiously and maybe with a hint of annoyance. But, after seeing the flowers, he called for Mikasa.
The girl came down the stairs, looking as neutral as always. She came to the door and gave Jean that unimpressed look, eyes glancing to the arm he had behind his back, hiding the flowers. Without much finesse, he thrust the arm forward, and she looked at the flowers with the smallest amount of surprise. And then, to his amazement, her lips pulled into a small smile, and she took them.
"Tiger lilies… My favorite. How did you know?" She wondered, heading back towards the kitchen. Jean followed, at a loss for words as she pulled out a vase.
"I… I don't know, just a feeling." He offered. Mikasa nodded, filling the vase with water and pushing the stems in.
"They're beautiful. Where did you find them?" She inquired, and he tensed yet again.
"O-Oh, um… Just one of the fields outside of town." He replied.
"I'll have to look again. Most years I can only find them on the Bodt property. They don't mind if I pick some though." She said, and Jean's eyes widened.
"You've been on their land?" He demanded. She turned to face him, though he couldn't read her expression.
"I usually pick the ones close to the fence, but yes, I've been inside. Marco, one of the older boys, invites me in whenever he sees me looking at the flowers. He's very nice." She explained. Jean, despite having just done the same himself, wore a face of horror. Mikasa rolled her eyes. "I do not see the point in fearing a family that has done no one any harm. I understand that they don't have the same beliefs as everyone else, but they keep to themselves, and don't bother anyone. They've never been anything but polite to me." She supplied. And Jean couldn't dispute it.
No matter how much people said about their devil worshipping and their animal sacrifices, there was never once a story about them bringing harm to anyone. No one had a horror story of crossing a Bodt's path, of being attacked. No one could say that they'd been coerced into devil worship themselves. In fact, the vast majority of the town couldn't even say that they'd spoken to any of the Bodts.
And, from his brief encounter just before coming to visit Mikasa, Jean could honestly say that Marco Bodt had been one of the nicest people he'd spoken to, even if only for a moment. Most people bothered him with formalities, forced their expectations of his social standing on his every word. He always felt stiff and removed when he spoke to most people. But Marco had given off a feeling of acceptance, of comfort. No matter what Jean had said, the boy would likely have taken it in stride. And that was a foreign concept to him.
He talked with Mikasa for a bit, then excused himself and headed home. Thoughts of the Bodt boy followed him. For someone who never spoke to anyone, Marco was very observant. He'd remembered that Mikasa liked tiger lilies. He knew who Jean was. He knew that Jean was trying to woo the girl. How had he gotten that information? Before that first time a few weeks ago, Jean had never even seen Marco.
He tried to put it from his mind as he entered his home, as if his father would be able to tell just by looking at him that he was thinking about the freckled boy. Maybe he would be able to. And that was a scary enough prospect to have Jean trying to chase away thoughts of whiskey colored skin and sweet chocolate eyes.
But the words stuck.
I'm not catching, I promise.
A/N: I've been dying to start posting this story, to be honest. It's a little tough to write, and I've had it looked over by several people already in a bid to improve it in any way I can. And, well, I've finally decided that it's time to get started.
As is probably obvious from this first chapter, this story is going to be a little less lighthearted than my other JeanMarco story. It's going to have more of a serious, heavier atmosphere. While there are some moments of peace and happiness, the general tone is supposed to be sort of subdued.
I'd also like to say; I have no real religious opinion. I am not Pagan, nor am I Christian. I don't particularly like or dislike either religion either. I understand that religion can be a really touchy subject as far as writing and fanworks are concerned, so I want to make it perfectly clear that what you read in this story is not necessarily what I think or feel. Take it for the artistic value, if you can? I do take some liberties, but I've got someone from both religions checking me for any huge mistakes.
That said, religion will play a pretty important part in the story. Not so much for plot advancement. At no point will I be preaching or trying to convert anyone. I don't put either religion in a perfect light. The religion is mainly used to fuel the way that the characters think and feel. For example, Jean's fear stems from his religion. It's things like that.
I make it sound scarier the longer I talk about it, hmm? Well, I promise, this is still a story about Jean and Marco, and how they fall in love. The religion is just sort of a spice added to make it interesting, I suppose. I'll have the next chapter up soon, and I'm going to go ahead and stop here before I say anything else that might scare readers away.
Thank you to anyone who took the time to check it out, and if you have time, feedback is appreciated! I hope to see some of you come back for the next chapter!
Till then,
KuroRiya
九六りや