When he walks into the kitchen, he knows what to expect. Marie, of course, always Marie, and she is cooking. Or, rather, she is making something. Her smile is bright, singular eye gleaming, hair held up in a sloppy bun. He wants to sigh: Marie. The entire place smells of chocolate: and why shouldn't it? It's Valentine's day tomorrow, and she's got everything spread out in front of her, a makeshift double-boiler on the stove melting down bars upon bars of dark chocolate.
He hates dark chocolate.
Marie looks up when she hears his footsteps, and he leans onto the wall. She seems to perk up.
"Hey, Joe!" she begins, "would you like one?" The thought made him sick. He didn't want to eat the rejected candies that wouldn't make it into the box of who she was actually preparing them for. There would be no real love in anything he ate that she made in the kitchen that night, not for him, at least.
"No, thanks," he told her, knowing she didn't care too much one way or another. Had he been the object of her affections, she'd never be so casual about it all. She shrugged, popping the offered piece into her mouth and continuing to add food coloring to something that looked like jam.
"Alright! If I have any leftover, I'll just have to eat it all by myself," she teased, still smiling while she checked the molds, deeming them satisfactory and beginning to spoon in a little drop of the jam mixture to the middle.
Joe took a look at the silicone tray, and then at the already half-finished chocolates that made it to the rejected plate.
"Are those…" he began, eyes squinting further.
"Hm?" She was all too busy painstakingly making sure that THIS batch would be perfect.
"Are those…organ shaped?" he almost coughed at the idea of it.
"Yeah! It took forever to find the molds. I had to order them online. You'd think Death City would have a better selection for Valentine 's Day. Not everyone wants hearts."
"The mold has a heart."
"Yeah, but it's actually anatomically correct! Isn't that neat?"
Marie wouldn't think it was "neat" if she wasn't pining after that freaky kid. Joe didn't know what she saw in him, honestly. He was pale, and small, and either angry at everything or indifferent to everyone. Marie took a break in her jam-spooning in order to hold up some of the shapes: intestines, and spleens, and chocolate lungs.
He felt like he wanted to swallow his own stomach. That explained the red food coloring in the jam, then. Only one person in the school would find biting into an appendix-shaped candy and getting a gush of sweet "blood" endearing.
"Yeah…it's neat," he told her. The worst of it all was that she was absolutely genuine about it: she actually found it cool. She didn't flinch away from the idea or find it odd or hide her judgment. She accepted that it was unconventional, and she did so anyway because she honestly wanted to appeal to the guy.
Sometimes, Joe wished Marie wasn't such an open book: maybe he'd like her less. Maybe he could stop being so in-love with her.
Instead, he can't help but feel warmed by her pleased expression, even if it isn't because of him, simply because it is directed at him. He thinks to the card he has in his backpack and stares at how excited she is. He has no doubt she'd need comforting tomorrow, after Spirit Albarn's Meister rejected her, or didn't give her the reaction she wanted. Maybe she'd finally get over him, if he did. Joe didn't want to see Marie hurt: he was just tired of seeing his weapon partner pining after someone who could never give her what she wanted. What was she thinking? As if that guy could ever date her, let alone marry her. Stein put more kids in the infirmary than Kishin Eggs he'd defeated: no one believed he could be sweet on anyone.
"Did you need something, by the way?" she asked, concerned that she was monopolizing their kitchen and the question adequately pulled him from his thoughts. Joe shook his head, immediately placating her.
"No." But that was a lie, too. He came in for coffee, because he was going to spend half the night poring over his textbook. He didn't do the homework Satine Morningstar assigned for their class, yet, too busy fretting over every word he wrote to Marie.
"Oh, okay! Just tell me if you do, alright?" she requested, going back to filling molds and checking the semi-completed chocolates for air pockets or irregularities. She began to hum, softly, her gentle mezzo taking the shape of some love song or another.
"Of course," he said, and turned to walk out.
He couldn't help but think that "Once upon a Dream" started to sound all too melancholy to him.
He could only watch. The card in his bag was burning a hole; he was ever-aware of it. And she'd curled her hair, teased it at the top, wore a pretty dress that exposed her sun kissed shoulders. She was a completely different sight from last night, when she'd stood around in footsie pajamas and a loose t-shirt: this time, she had someone to impress.
Class wasn't started yet: Ms. Morningstar seemed to have been sidetracked, and she was late. Likely, she wanted them to get Valentine's Day out of their systems. He'd gotten a few people indicating genuine interest in him, but he could only smile politely, not saying yes, nor no. His eyes were trained on Marie.
Honestly, everyone's eyes were trained on Marie. She was a pretty girl, even after she lost her eye to a demon egg, and she attracted the attention of more than half the population. In a dress, more-so. And furthermore, her choice of affections, which everyone was aware of, got her more than her fair share of looks, on top of all that.
Walking to the quiet, weird kid in the corner of the room, doodling Death knows what, that had been abandoned by his all too flirtatious weapon, of course she'd be the center of attention. Not that she noticed. She may only have one eye, but he was in the center of it. The box she was holding was plain, almost ridiculously so, even though Marie had always been one for theatrics. Joe thinks that he wouldn't mind a garish box: but that fact doesn't matter. He isn't the one receiving it.
The kid, Stein, must have sensed her, because he looks up before she's even 10 feet away from his desk, and his pale, dull eyes focus on her. She smiles at him, warmly, but he keeps his face blank, and impassionate.
"Marie," Joe thinks he says. He should know. He's uttered her name in the mirror more times than he can count; practicing telling her he thinks she's amazing. The look, the thought of someone else's mouth shaping her name like that makes him feel sour and heavy.
Her hair is covering most of what he can see of her face from his spot across the room, so he can't read her, but she puts the box down in front of Stein and she fidgets, no doubt biting her lip. Stein doesn't look surprised, but the smallest hint of affection comes onto his face. Marie was still his friend, regardless of everything, and it was hard to dislike her, no matter how anti-social or misanthropic. It morphs into the creepiest smirk when he takes the lid off and notes all the organ-shaped sweets.
Marie turned slightly, in embarrassment, perhaps, maybe shyness. She tucks a lock of her painstakingly styled hair behind an ear, and from what Joe can now see of her, she looks downright smitten. She is hopeful, blushing: downright radiant. Stein pays that no mind, and instead, picks up the anatomic heart, the one right in the middle of the box, because there is only one in the human body, Marie would later tell Joe while she gushed and squealed. He looked impressed, as he should have been: Marie was impressive. Though, Joe wasn't too good at weeding through Stein's expressions, particularly; he just didn't know him that well. Impressed or amused, affectionate or irritated, it was almost impossible to discern.
Regardless, when Stein bit in, chomping a good quarter of the heart in one go, the jam dripped out, coloring his mouth and teeth red and getting over his hand. Some of it collected at the corner of his lips, and he brought a thumb up to wipe at it, looking at the droplet for a second before his gaze locked on Marie's and he licked it off, swiftly, as though he were practiced at getting blood off of his hands. Marie was practically glowing pink, her singular eye trained on his hand, but beyond that, her expression was adoring, face open. After a second, she turned to look at Stein, completely, turning her back to Joe. He could see nothing of her, anymore, save for her particularly neat part-line from the back.
When Stein stood up, to an unimpressive height, though he was still taller than Marie, to put his clean hand on her shoulder, Joe could imagine what expression she would have.
Awestruck, charmed, stars in her eye.
It was the farthest thing from a rejection, though she'd get no love confessions from Stein. Bitterly, Joe thought that all she would get from him was a series of being strung along. But Joe was done with torturing himself, with thinking about it. Everyone else was already engrossed with other things, other cards, other couples: he should be, too. Besides, Marie was a big girl: if she could spend half a night making a box of chocolate and then get up early to doll herself up, she could handle herself. Joe was done with that hollow ache culling out his gut. He turned away and looked at his bag, the card ever-present in his mind.
He didn't sign her name, but he thinks, were he to give it to someone else, it just wouldn't be fair.
Usually, I headcanon that Marie met Joe after she became a Death Scythe, but I thought the idea of this was fun! Embrace the Joe feels. Embraaaaace.
In any case, this was inspired by Ilarual, who mentioned the headcanon that Joe made Marie a Death Scythe and that she liked the love Rhombus of Joe pining after Marie who was drooling over Stein who was married to Science. And thus, this fic was born.