Hello! Welcome to my little writing shindig. I've been out of the fanfiction and anime game for at least 10 years so I'm a bit rusty. There's just something about SnK/AoT that made me want to write again. (I'm sure there are others out there who understand!)

This fic was (sort of) inspired by a prompt I saw somewhere on tumblr. The main difference between that promp and my story is that it's Marco who is homeless—not Jean. I pounced on it because I have…more than enough experience when it comes to being a resident of homeless shelters.

Most of the events Marco will experience in this fic when it comes to his homelessness have been inspired by my own. There is truly no need to exaggerate the kind of treatment one receives from the general public when their housing situation (or lack thereof) is known. Trust me on this.

With that being said, enjoy!

Chapter 1

If there ever was a moment Marco Bodt wished he could control time, this was it.

He would just push the hours forward a bit to make up for his early arrival, or he maybe would fast-forward days—possibly weeks—into the future to put this whole ordeal behind him. Perhaps he would even go so far as to go back to the time before he was born, giving him a second chance at having a decent life. There was one thing he was sure of; he would not be standing near the entrance ramp of a cramped parking lot, becoming another nameless individual waiting in line to claim a bed at the Springs of Hope homeless shelter.

Marco stepped to the side of the growing line and made a mental tally of the number of people ahead of him. There had to be at least forty, all bundled up in worn-looking outerwear and most chatting gaily amongst themselves. They looked so carefree and unburdened by their situation—as if this were something completely normal. He wondered if he would ever feel that way. Could he ever consider this his new normal?

He had learned from another resident that the shelter didn't open its doors again for hours. He had just missed the tail end of the dinner service when he arrived and wouldn't be able to have a meal until the next morning, making him eternally grateful for being smart enough to have a sandwich before leaving his apartment for the last time. The thought of standing up for nearly three more hours, however, was not appealing in the slightest. He had already spent most of the day on his feet, meticulously removing all traces of his life from his apartment with the help of a mop and numerous rags. He had even volunteered to clean some of the building's common areas, trying anything to chip away at the monstrous mound of guilt crushing him for having to break his lease and leave without paying rent. It just wasn't something he liked to do.

But what was done was done, and as he stepped back in line, the soles of his feet throbbing in his boots with each movement, he knew he could only look towards the future. Time machines be damned.

Marco busied himself with a book from his rucksack to pass the time. It had always been one of his favorites, hand-picked by his mother the week before he began his freshman year of high school. She had even taken the time to inscribe a message to him on the first page. He must have read it over twenty times in the ensuing years, and could recite a great deal of passages verbatim. But this night the words just weren't coming to him.

He stared at the slightly yellowed paper, trying to read at least one passage. One paragraph. One word. All he saw was a blur of black ink stretched across the pages. Each turned page revealed the same thing. It took a few seconds for him to feel the slight burn of moisture gathering around his eyelids. The hardcover was slammed shut and shoved back in his bag, garnering a few glances from those nearby. He promised himself he wouldn't tear up about this—it was a common situation nowadays with the town's rapidly declining job market. But why did it have to happen to him? What could he have ever done to deserve this fate?

Marco wiped his eyes with the sides of his fingers and struggled to calm himself, shallow breaths emitting translucent puffs of steam in the chilly night air. It was a bad idea to break down in front of strangers, to show a sign of weakness. Life had taught him that much. And as he looked at the grizzled faces of those ahead of him in line, mostly careworn with wrinkles and sun-damaged skin, he knew they could probably sense his fear. It was like high school all over again, only the jocks and cheerleaders had been replaced by frazzled war veterans and protective mothers who hovered around their children as if they were their shadows.

So he let the familiar mask slip into place, felt his lips curve back into the sunny smile that charmed everyone: his mother, former bosses and landlords, even the kind cab driver who had helped him with his luggage only an hour before. It seemed to have the desired effect on those who were still looking in his direction after his recent spectacle. A couple people returned the smile while the rest simply turned away. A minute sense of calm began to wash over him, slowing his pattering heartbeat and allowing his lungs to take in soothing gulps of cold air. Crisis averted.

The tranquility was shattered as he felt a hand clamp down on his right shoulder, a slender thumb digging into the tense area above the curve of his shoulder blade. The hand belonged to a man who looked to be around Marco's age, if not a few years older. He was holding out a cigarette in his other hand like it was an offering of peace, more of a proverbial olive branch than a slightly crumpled smoke. Marco dismissed the offer with a shake of his head, yet followed behind the man when he shrugged and moved away from the slowly growing line of people. They both sat down on a cracked concrete slab in front of an occupied parking space, their backs pressed against a worn chain-link fence and knees pulled up towards their chests. It was an unconventional place to rest, but his muscles appreciated the break from standing all the same. Cars flew by on the road behind them, producing small gusts of wind that knocked leaves from the overhanging tree branches and sent them cascading over their heads.

The young man didn't make any physical acknowledgement of Marco's presence. He took a hard drag of the cigarette Marco had just refused, sharp amber eyes looking out towards the hunk of rusted metal, glass and rubber in front of them. They sat there for a few minutes, neither of them saying a word. Marco preferred it that way. He wasn't in the mood for talking about himself, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested in learning more about the young man he was sharing a seat with. Had he been there a long time? What circumstances led him to the shelter? What were his plans for life afterwards? He didn't dare ask such personal questions, and settled for idly twirling the stem of a fallen leaf in his fingers while quietly observing the way other man's calloused fingers reached out to break any smoke rings he created when he exhaled.

Sitting with him was almost…comforting. Familiar, even. Perhaps he was overreacting a bit over having a seat next to a complete stranger, but there was something soothing about finally being able to relax—even a little—after days of being completely wound up.

The calm was short-lived as the man reached the end of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground, smashing the filter into the gravel with the soles of his ratty Converse. Within seconds he was up and walking away, the tips of his closely-cropped blond hair briefly illuminated from a nearby light. Marco didn't want the guy to leave thinking his kind gesture was wasted.

"Hey," The word came out strained and barely carried over the raucous racket of car engines and the loud voices of the nearby crowd. He paused and cleared his throat before speaking again. "Thanks. For everything."

He almost believed the other man didn't hear him until the guy turned and looked Marco's way, the corner of one side of his thin lips quirking into a small smirk.

"Just thought you needed something." With that said, the man was gone. He sprinted across the parking lot and disappeared into one of the shelter's many side doors, only leaving the faint odor of burning tobacco in his wake.

Needed what? Marco stared in the direction the man had gone off in, large brown eyes focusing on nothing in particular. He could simply take the man's words at face value and presume he meant the cigarette that was offered, but a niggling part of Marco's mind wanted to believe he had meant something else entirely.

Comments are always appreciated, but not required. Feel free to point out anything you feel that's off or wrong. Like I mentioned before, I'm a bit rusty when it comes to fanfic and am always looking to improve. I won't bite.