It starts with:
"Hey, dickhead, when are you gonna pass a chemistry test without cheating off Mikasa?" Jean says, side-eying the fuck out of Eren's A minus.
"Is that a challenge, horse face?" Eren says back, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed (Jean still can't believe anyone would think sitting them together is a good idea).
It ends with:
"Fuck," Jean says, months later, when Eren presents a proud C.
Marco sips his slushie in a very solemn way, and then sets the cup down, eyes closed. His hands rest on the table, fingers intertwined like a businessman. Jean can spot the smirk twitching on one side of his mouth, though, and the back of his neck heats up. Connie and Sasha are starting to lose it, their snorts growing in volume.
Sometimes, Jean has these intense philosophical phases in which he questions himself over the quality of his friends. Like, for example, right now, and also mostly all the time. Man, fuck these assholes. He should have definitely gone to another school.
"A maid outfit," Marco eventually says, in the exact same tone Jean's dad uses when he tells him he's not angry, just disappointed. Jean groans, burying his face in his hands.
"A maid outfit!" Sasha and Connie yell, like they're fucking six-year-old twins in a bouncing castle.
"Go suck a dick," he replies, muffled by the wooden picnic table. "The worse part is—"
"The humiliation?" Connie questions.
"Having to shave?" Sasha asks.
"The money," Marco says, and he must be smiling because his voice sounds way smug. Jean groans again, this time for ten seconds straight, but eventually nods his head in confirmation. Marco knows him too well, there's no escaping it. "Are you going to rent a costume?"
"No, I'll just use my own," Jean says, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, of course I'm going to have to rent a fucking costume."
"I can probably help you get a cheaper one," Connie says, and though he's still laughing, he sounds more serious. "I know a guy."
"We all do," Marco points out, sighing.
The super-secret trade happens behind the gym. Jean has bought weed here before, like a billion times, but it's the first time he feels so nervous.
Reiner laughs harder than Sasha and Connie combined and if it weren't for Marco, Jean would have buried himself inside the closest locker and welded it shut. Jean Kirstein, the boy who preferred dying inside school property than to euthanize his dignity. Fuck, he doesn't know what sounds worse, really, but whatever, because Reiner is fast to deliver. It would almost be impressive how he manages to find out a costume while they're all in math period, but Jean is unable to find any silver lining in this situation.
"That has a lot of frills," Jean manages, staring at the stupid maid outfit, looking prim and proper inside a plastic cover. "And couldn't you have brought something a little less—"
He struggles for a word that won't harm his reputation. Doesn't work, though, so he just stares at it.
"Slutty," Marco, Connie, and Sasha helpfully complete, at the same time, and the seriousness in their voices is enough to make Jean realize that yes, it's not just him: the dress is way too small and tight-looking. Can he even wear boxers under that? He's pretty sure they'll show. Fuck. Fuck. This is Jaeger's fault! Fuck!
"It's not slutty," Reiner argues, almost looking offended, hugging the plastic cover protectively. "It's sexy."
"I don't need sexy," Jean hisses, feeling red in the face, "I need to look badass and like I am unable to give a single fuck, which I won't, because I'll be inside a fucking roleplay costume!"
"It's twenty bucks cheaper than the store's," Reiner says flatly. Jean glares at him with all he's got, which eventually amounts to nothing, because Reiner is huge and heavy, in the wrestling club, and no one has ever really managed to intimidate him (Annie and Mikasa don't count).
Well, shit.
Jean gives him the money.
"I feel dirty," he whispers, leaning against the wall and covering his face with his hands as Reiner snorts, licking his thumb and counting the final bucks of Jean's allowance. That makes it hurt even more – his last finances, and he's using them because of Jaeger's shitty bet.
"Mm," Marco says noncommittally, evaluating the dress like an art dealer in a museum. His cheeks are flushed (from laughter? Jeans looks away too quickly to make sure). "If you feel dirty now, just wait until you actually put it on."
"Wow," Jean manages, feeling betrayed.
Sasha and Connie slump against each other, laughing too hard to stand straight.
Jean locks them out in punishment. They throw a fit and Jean resolutely ignores the hell out of them. Whatever.
"Way to shit on your friends, asshole," Connie shouts from outside, and Jean has to remind himself his mother's home, because otherwise he would tell the shorter boy exactly what's on his mind. He hopes she hears Connie, though, because she'll most definitely smack him just as hard as she does to Jean. "It's not like we're not going to see you eventually!"
"Yeah," Sasha whines, dragging her hands down his bedroom's door, "the whole school will! As your childhood friends, we deserve to see you first!"
"You deserve jack shit, assface. I still have my dignity," Jean mutters, throwing his shirt into the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. Marco's eyes follow it, and when he finds the pile, they narrow in horrified disgust. "For now," he adds, under his breath, staring at the end of the black skirt.
"Why can Marco see him and we can't?" Connie mutters, and Jean's shoulders tense.
"Uh, 'cause he's not a dick like you are?" he says, throat a little tight. Marco chuckles, looking at him from his untidy bed, and then shakes his head; Jean exhales, looks away, into the frilly fabric.
"Didn't you wear those pants, like, a month ago?" Marco asks, staring at the pile of dirty clothes again.
"Yeah, so?" Jean replies, picking up the costume by its shoulders. It's tiny, really freaking tiny, and for a second he considers begging Jaeger for mercy. Then it passes and he kicks his mattress with his socked foot. Marco tenses, before he snorts. "Man, fuck Reiner. This is totally a girl's costume."
"Well, fucking duh!" Connie says from the corridor. "It's a maid costume, you moron."
"Connie," Marco starts, very patiently, his eyes scanning the magazine again, "who was it that smoked tea leaves again?"
Sasha explodes into laughter while Connie grumbles, and probably smacks her head against the wood of the door, because there's a dull sound and then a whine. Jean contemplates his life again, and finds that he is only friends with morons. And Marco. Who, speaking of which, is staring at the costume between Jean's hands.
"What? Don't tell me you wanna wear it, too," Jean says, half-kidding, half-serious, and if his voice shakes it's because he's clearly aghast at the idea of putting the stupid thing on. He swallows.
Marco smiles softly, bringing the magazine to his mouth, and then dissolves into calm chuckles, looking away after a beat.
"Yeah, you got it," he replies, smirking, and Jean feels a shiver run up his spine. He looks away, too, stares at the chest of the dress, tries to think of anything to say.
"Have you put it on yet?" Sasha whines suddenly, and Jean almost jumps.
"No, shut up, fuck you," he shouts quickly, feeling red again, and that's when his mother makes her presence known, exclaiming something in a horrifyingly angry voice. Connie and Sasha make a ridiculous amount of noise as they run out of the corridor, the bastards. Jean startles; though his bedroom's door is locked, that's never stopped his mom before, so he only has time to grab the maid outfit and jump out of his window, Marco laughing as he runs behind him.
They take shelter in Marco's backyard, as usual – it's the closest one.
"Planting that tree there was the best idea I've ever had," Jean says, hands on knees, voice wheezy. Marco's stupidly healthy lifestyle guarantees that he's only breathing a little hard as both of them jog to a halt and he hates him for it.
"You weren't even born when they put it there," Marco replies, laughing, and then leans against the wall. Connie and Sasha are late, and Jean fervently wishes they've been caught by his mom, because they totally deserve it.
"Shit, I forgot to bring a shirt," Jean mutters, looking at the crumpled costume in his hand.
"If only there was someone who could lend one to you," Marco says, laughing again, opening his back door. "Come on up, those two will probably still take a while," he adds, without looking back.
"Yeah, 'kay." Jean closes the door behind him, stomping after Marco up the stairs.
His room is as tidy as ever, and Jean suddenly realizes it's been a while since the last time he was up here. Marco throws his backpack on his done bed, and sits by his desk, swiveling in his chair to meet Jean, legs dangling a bit. The window behind him is empty, but everything still smells like him despite the warm breeze.
"You can take whatever you want," Marco says, pointing at the closet. Jean nods, throwing the maid costume beside Marco's backpack, but – "Weren't you gonna try it out, though?" he adds, cocking his head, chin pointing to the costume. Jean freezes, just for a second, and Marco raises his hands, chuckling: "Just thought you'd like to take advantage of the lack of company."
"Oh. Uh. Yeah, I guess you're right." But this is Marco's room – he is not as comfortable donning a sexy girl's outfit here as he is in his own mess. Whatever, he thinks, and makes back to the bed, staring down at the thing. "Fuck me," he groans, picking it up and pulling it down his head.
It's tight around his arms, though his lack of breasts help him ease into it somewhat; the skirt rumples together against his belt, and Jean undoes it, shoves his pants down and kicks them off, trying to flatten the frills around his shoulders. Behind him, Marco smothers a snort, and Jean blushes hotly, he can't help it.
"You're a dick," he says, turning to Marco with a defeated expression. The other boy laughs at him, shoulders twitching.
"Sorry, man, it's just – your boxers—" and then he starts laughing again, slapping one hand across his mouth.
Jean looks down at his legs, and discovers he's wearing his incredibly uncool starship-patterned underwear. Oh. Well, whatever, at least now he knows he can't wear boxers with the costume. Maybe briefs will do it, probably, maybe? Fuck, why is he seriously considering this? He sits on the bed, hangs his head.
"I'll have to transfer out of school, man," Jean says, horrified. Marco calms down, then, though he's still chuckling when he gets up, headed for his closet.
"Or you could just tell Eren you're not doing this," he says, crouching down to find something. "What kind of shirt do you want?"
"I'll tell him a lot of things, but I'm not gonna back out from this." Nuh-uh, no fucking way. Jean Kirstein is a dick, not a pussy. He still leans back on the bed, throws his arm over his face in defeat. "Anything's fine, I don't—no, wait, not that stupid Hawaiian shirt."
"Almost had you," Marco says, from the closet. He sounds like he's smiling, and Jean imitates him, snorting slightly. His bare legs shift across the mattress, and it's soft and cool, despite the warm weather. "Here," he adds, throwing Jean a shirt and chuckling, "unless you want underwear, too?"
"Yeah," Jean replies distractedly, sitting up to see what kind of shirt Marco has given him (like, the dude has good taste, but Jean wouldn't trust him to choose his outfit, ever), and Marco's smile dims at the same time his eyes widen. "What?"
"Uh, nothing, I just wasn't expecting you to, um—just, wait a sec." He turns away, searching for whatever. Jean jumps off the bed, meaning to take off the costume, and then Marco is handing him neatly folded briefs.
What.
Jean's brain distinctly shouts 'oh my god', and the silence is so heavy that for a second he's dead sure Marco hears it.
"Uh," he squeaks, because this is Marco's underwear sitting in his hand, it's Marco's fucking underwear and Jean feels extremely naked and uncomfortable all of a sudden. Marco's cheeks flush pink and he makes to take them back, an apology already slipping out of his mouth, but Jean pulls his hand back without meaning to, and the other boy stills, petrified. "Yeah," Jean adds, inhaling.
"Jean," Marco says, looking horrified and apologetic, "I just – I thought you'd—?"
"Yeah," Jean repeats, stressing the word, standing up, and hurriedly slipping his boxers down his legs before he thinks about how fucked up he's being. Marco's eyes bulge out when Jean steps out of them, unfolding the nerdy as fuck underwear (seriously, Marco, what the hell) and leaning down. Everything is hot, he thinks, feeling his skin sizzle.
It's not, he supposes tremblingly, like they've never seen each other naked, because when you share a class since preschool you're also bound to share a locker room, but this is – this is –
Jean pulls them up, under the skirt, and when he smooths it down, it's perfect. Marco swallows thickly, staring at Jean in a stupid maid outfit, and to be honest it's the hottest thing ever, but that doesn't mean Jean's not feeling guilty for springing this kind of shit on his best friend.
"Yeah," he mutters, feeling his stomach quivering. His throat is tight. "Yeah, man – thanks. They're uh, yeah."
"You're – you're welcome," Marco replies in a tinny voice, face red and Adam's apple bobbing, and that's when Jean leans over and smashes his face against his.
Marco tenses, his shoulders tightening under Jean's shaking hands; the other boy's right hand presses against Jean's cheek, and the bottom of his stomach drops before he realizes he's being pulled closer, and his legs are smacking against the bed, and they're falling and holy shit—
"We're here, assswipes, can you open the door already?" Connie shouts from the yard, sounding definitely annoyed.
Marco pulls back, eyes wide and face flushed.
"Don't you fuckin' dare," Jean hisses, because it's been like five years since he's looked at his best friend and realized he wanted to marry him, and pulls him on top of him again. Marco's grinning, though, and he laughs even as they kiss. Jean holds him by the cheeks, just to make sure he's not leaving, or at least to make sure this is real.
Marco parts to breathe eventually, looking pleased and flushed, and Jean's pretty sure he's going to pop a boner sometime soon, but that's just until he sees Sasha climbing inside Marco's room.
"We still love you, Jean," Connie says seriously, leaning over to press his hand against Jean's. Jean rubs his temples with his free one.
"We were just surprised," Sasha says, parental worry in her voice. "We didn't know you planned on using that for – " and then she sighs with a smirk, that condescending attitude she has pinned down so perfectly practically overflowing out of her, " – other activities."
"Latex allergy," Marco says, looking bored, and Sasha and Connie both turn a bright shade of red. Jean wonders just how well he knows his best friend – err, boyfriend – because sometimes he thinks Marco might actually be an international villain.
"Shut up, man!" Connie squeaks, and clears his throat professionally, eyes closed. "This is a serious—"
"Guys, come on," Marco cuts in patiently, a beatific smile on his mouth, "you've been getting on my case for years. Don't spoil this."
Jean's head snaps up, alarmed.
"Fine," Sasha and Connie say glumly, crossing their arms.
"What do you mean, years?" Jean says, suspicious.
Marco gets up from his chair, still smiling, and leans down to kiss him. Sasha and Connie make gross sounds, which confirms Jean's assumption they'll never find anyone to date apart from each other.
"How smooth do you think you are, Jean?" Marco asks, upon parting, and Jean crosses his arms and attempts his glummest expression. He's blushing, but, for once, his friends aren't dicks, and no one points it out (though everyone bites down on their lower lips, shoulders shaking).
It starts with:
"Congratulations on the sex," Eren tells him, when they have chemistry again.
"Didn't know we were still in 2010," Jean replies, giving him a disgusted look.
"Funny," Eren replies dully, "but not as funny as your bony ass in a maid costume. Is it true there are pictures?"
It ends with:
"You're both suspended," Principal Pixis drones, looking like he's mentally counting the days to his retirement, "and you're going to have to pay for all those beakers."