Long days in class often result in stories like this one. This is the first of (I hope) many more Jean/Marco stories to come. It's all irony, especially the conclusion. I apologize in advance for any mutters of "what the hell...?" you experience at the end of this story. Please have a wonderful day and hang tight, dear readers.

Caution: This fic for readers who are avid Jean/Marco fans. Please do not read this if you do not ship these two characters unless you haven't yet experienced the ship itself, haha. Have fun!

The Conclusion

Marco sat the kitchen island, bare feet hooked into the rungs of his chair. It was almost two in the morning. The midterm project for Marco's intermediary engineering class was due in the morning; even though all he had left to complete was his conclusion, he was still awake, struggling for both words and consciousness.

He and Jean had dressed for bed at the same time, but only one of them was sleeping soundly on the joined twin beds in the bedroom down the hall. Marco took a sip from the mug of tea by his elbow and frowned at the unsatisfactory bullshit transition to his conclusion highlighted on his computer screen. He'd be lucky to get a below-average grade with such haphazard wording.

A thump from the bedroom nearly startled Marco into tipping over his tea. Initially, Marco shrugged the sound off as Jean hitting his knee or elbow against the wall while rolling over. It was silent for several more seconds, during which Marco listened for any more Jean-sounds from the bedroom.

"Marco!" came his boyfriend's muffled call.

The chair's legs squeaked against the kitchen tile as Marco hastily stood. Before he could advance down the hallway, though, Jean came storming out of the bedroom shining with a cold sweat. Heaving hard breaths, Jean stared at Marco with large frightened eyes and his hand clutching the wooden arch between the hall and kitchen. His face was sheet-white.

"Jean?" Marco finally broke the silence with a soft, concerned murmur of his boyfriend's name. Jean sucked in a sharp breath and swept past him into the kitchen. For a few stunned seconds, Marco watched Jean grab odds and ends from the kitchen cupboards and slam them down on the counter one by one.

"Jean?" Marco approached his boyfriend cautiously, "Baby, what are you doing?"

"I'm making coffee," Jean snapped.

Marco eyed the ingredients in front of Jean. "With graham crackers?" He could see Jean's hands trembling as they measured coffee grounds into their filter. "Jean, what's wrong? You called my name. What—"

"Fuck," Jean blurted, "could I have a second here, please?" He slammed the lid of the coffeemaker shut, but he didn't let his hand fall away from the machine until Marco pressed for an answer. Jean replied softly.

"What?" Marco asked, "I didn't hear—"

"I said I'm having nightmares. Just some shitty concoctions of my shitty brain. It's fine." Jean took one of the dirty mugs out of the sink and prepared to wash it. "You died in one of them, so I called to make sure you were there."

"Well, I am."

"Yeah, I know."

"Jean."

"I know."

Marco rolled his own lips together, reading the tense line of Jean's shoulders, the rigidity of his spine. The hands that were usually so sure and gentle were washing the mug in the sink almost violently; scrubbing away non-existent grime like the motion was going out of style. It wasn't ever difficult to sense when Jean was upset. To Marco, he was an open book, a neon sign on a dark street.

Bare toes curling on the tile, Marco went to Jean, saying his name again. Jean hunched his shoulders up to his ears protectively, but Marco's arms went around his waist anyway. Their bodies weren't quite pressed together, but Marco was close enough that he could lean his chin slightly over Jean's shoulder to see his face.

"Hey, easy," he said gently, replacing the mug in Jean's hands with his own; their fingers slid together from the soapy water. "Let's go to back to bed, okay? You don't need coffee, it's like two in the morning. Come on." Marco intelligently grabbed his laptop from the kitchen island and then led Jean by the hand back to their bedroom where he could finish his project and keep an eye on Jean simultaneously.

Fortunately, it didn't take much convincing to get Jean back into bed once Marco was present. The two boys climbed into the blankets. Marco sat up with his laptop resting on his thighs, Jean's head resting on his ribs under his arm. While Marco ran his fingers lightly through Jean's mop of fair-toned hair, his boyfriend attempted to fall asleep again. Marco felt safe to begin fussing with his project again when he felt Jean's breathing even out.

"'And thus, the cycle completes itself,'" Marco read aloud from his document in a low murmur. He raised an appraising eyebrow at the ending paragraph, then scowled and prepared to delete it.

"Don't," came Jean's sleepy mumble.

"Hm?"

"Jus' leave it. S'perfect," Jean insisted, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Marco's t-shirt. "Please."

Marco thoughtfully ran his fingers through Jean's hair a few more times, watching him struggle to stay awake with a fond smile. Jean made an impatient noise at the back of his throat and craned his head to look up at him. Defeated, Marco closed his laptop with a sigh and set it on the floor under the bed where he couldn't step on it.

"Fine, fine," he consented, squirming down into the covers with Jean still resting half on him. "It's a shitty conclusion, though."

"S'fine," Jean yawned, "Promise. Best conclusion ever."

Marco rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

Mmm, just taste that irony.

Thanks for reading!