Disclaimer: Because someone needed to write their history.
Author's Notes: Because RoMarc 1.0 and teen!JeRo deserve more love. Title from a Pink Floyd song, if anyone cares.
Marc's eyes were glued to the figure on the ice. Roman Wild always skated with such purpose, and only now, after months of watching from the sideboards, was Marc beginning to figure out what that purpose was.
Perfection.
No falls, no stumbles, no mistakes. Not to be the best, like the Steinkamp girl, but to be infallible. To make sure no one could fault him.
The interesting thing was, though, that perfectionist or not, Wild had the best expression Marc had seen in a kid that age.
As the boy finished, a small, well-poised figure appeared next to him, the air of a Steinkamp plain in every gesture.
"He's good," he said. The girl's mouth flickered with a fond smile, before becoming stern again.
"He needs to work on his landings," was her response. Marc glanced at her sceptically, when it occurred to him that perhaps she meant it kindly.
Sometimes Jenny stayed over. On those nights, Roman didn't sleep with Marc.
The first time it happened, Marc had woken up early, wanting to make up for some missed training. He passed the couch on his way from the bedroom to the small kitchen. On his way past the couch, he did a double-take. He'd assumed that Jenny and Roman had gone back to the Villa late last night.
Jenny and Roman lay together on the couch, curled into each other, strangely kitten-like, an air of playfulness about them even in deep sleep. Jennifer lay on her back, Roman's head was tucked into her neck, his hand resting casually on her breast. Their legs were tangled together in a way that probably wouldn't be possible were they not both trained skaters.
Marc tried and failed not to smile at the sight.
He didn't think he'd ever seen Jennifer so calm.
Marc started as he heard a loud yelp coming from the bathroom. It was followed shortly by a terse, high-pitched curse and a low, evil-sounding chuckle.
Curious, he tossed his clipboard onto the table in front of him, left the couch, and quietly padded across to the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, stifling a snort.
Roman sat on the edge of the tub in trackpants and a tight tank top, back facing the door, feet in the tub. His hands were out of sight, in front of him. Marc raised an eyebrow as he watched the muscles in Roman's back and arms shift methodically. A smirk lit his face. He bit his lip.
Just as he was about to say something, Roman gave a sharp tug and elicited another yelp. Suddenly, Jennifer's face appeared, visible over Roman's shoulder and glaring at him poisonously.
"You're never doing my hair again."