Something I thought of while scrolling through some JeanMarco fan art. Jeez, I love that stuff.
I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin.
.
Growing up in a small town has always had a way of creating hopeless romantics. Those who are swept off their feet by the mere idea of the fantastic unknown miles and miles away from them. Those who will always be found gazing up at the sky with insatiable curiosity. Those who've watched the sunset countless times yet always find some new, amazing feature every time they do so. Those who stay up late into the night, dreaming of all the impossibilities they have yet to accomplish. Those like Marco Bott.
Marco grew up amongst the swaying high grass, still water lakes and miles of barren landscape surrounded by scattered hills. His hometown of Trost only had 406 inhabitants, 168 of them being under the age of 18 and 9 of those being Marco and his siblings. Living in Trost meant you had your life set up far before you were born. Each possible path kept on a track that hadn't deviated in over three centuries. No matter who you were, you were going to live out your life within that small isolated town. Given his nature, Marco was more than willing to break that cycle.
While he was not the first to lust for an escape, he was the first to have an unbreakable resolve. For years he spoke of his leaving. For years the others spoke of the terrors beyond in attempts to strengthen his shackles. He never listened.
The years had graced Marco with joy. He loved his family deeply, just as they loved him. He was a kind boy, never getting into trouble beyond playful mischief. Everyone in Trost got along easily with the boy. He had what some called 'a quiet country life' and he thanked whatever deity had gifted it to him, but for all it's charm, it was not what the boy's heart wanted.
It was during the spring before Marco's seventeenth birthday.
.
Being born into a nomadic family was never a misfortune for Jean. Always being on the move didn't come without complications, but once he reached the age of six, Jean accepted those with ease. He decided he didn't need the mundane anywhere near him, so embracing the life he was living became a simple task. He relished the fact that he never had to settle down. Jean was more than happy to meander until the world's end.
Jean was not the eldest of the Kirstein children, he was the third-born but he had claimed that title when his older brothers abandoned the family to pursue a much more tamed life. He harbored such deep hatred for them that if anyone were to ask, he'd claim they were long dead. When it came to the younger two, he became more of a guardian then their parents ever were. He practically raised them on his own.
To the outside world, Jean was nothing more than a no-good low-life. A rebellious punk that came from a freak family. No matter where the Kirstein's went, Jean would always end up labelled as such. This became another one of the perks of his life. He enjoyed being seen as a rogue that went wherever the wind guided him. Not only did it boost his ego but it also provided him with a barrier of sorts. It kept him guarded from caring about anyone other than his living family. It kept him from the pain of betrayal.
.
Spring brought the Kirstein's to the town of Trost. Though the family stuck to larger, more urban cities, Trost wasn't their first isolated town. The RV rolled onto the main road at dusk. The men working the fields farther out were already making their way to the outskirts. They watched the unfamiliar vehicle kicking up dirt as it leads a forest green Dodge Charger into the town.
When the morning reached it's peek, most of Trost stood on the main road watching the two automobiles with raging speculation. The kids were the first to step out and greet the towns people, then their parents. They smiled and waved, introducing themselves with cheery voices and friendly handshakes. The crowd began to mimic the Kirstein's actions and soon enough, the family was swept along by the more extroverted inhabitants.
Once no one was seen, Jean made his exit. He never liked that about the smaller locations. The mobs that would form and stare, silently spouting prejudice in their thoughts. He much preferred to wander on his own. He grabbed his iPod before locking up the RV. He unzipped his jacket-a brown leather jacket from the 60's his grandfather had left him-put in his earphones and started walking in the opposite direction the crowd had gone.
.
Marco rarely got the chance to sleep-in. His days were almost always filled with task after task that he hardly time to catch his breathe. Today, however, was one of those glorious days.
He awoke some fifteen minutes before noon, feeling completely rejuvenated. He went on with his morning routine but it wasn't until he went to get some breakfast that he noticed the emptiness of his home. It wasn't unheard of for the house to be left completely alone at times but it was a rare occurrence. Still, it wasn't unheard of, so Marco shrugged it off.
The Bott household was located at the far east side of Trost, giving Marco a splendid view of the hillsides leading down to the creek just beyond the derelict stone-fence the town dubbed Wall Maria from his window. The view look to good to resist this morning, almost as if it were calling Marco. He decided then, he'd spend the day by the creek.
The creek was never given a name, the people of Trost had always believed it to be a tainted area so they avoided it entirely. Marco however, ventured over whenever he had the chance to. After five or six visits, he claimed the creek as his own. It became his private sanctuary.
There was a small road leading to the lake some twenty-two miles away. Somewhere along the mile mark the corn fields began. Marco always walked through the fields to get far enough to climb down to the creek safely. The walk usually took about forty-five minutes and then another twenty to reach the creek.
Marco reached the creek just under two hours. He was moving around the tangled trees to get to the open area where he always sat. A few more trees and he'd be there but the sound of splashes made him stop. No one ever came down here, at least as far as he knew. Was there really someone else that he never ran into? No. It's probably just some animal he thought. He began to move again, each step cautious. Once he rounded the last tree, he stopped again.
.
Jean had walked in no particular direction for at least two full length albums and ended up in the middle of freaking nowhere. Well this place was better than the actual middle of nowhere he'd wandered away from. There were plenty of trees reaching high, with their branches intertwined overhead, forming a natural patched roof over a trail of running water. He had thought of going back, but then he would have to face the mob. He moved closer to the creek, seating himself on the exposed roots of a tree. After a while, he repositioned himself and started to throw pebbles into the water.
He heard footsteps coming and stopped his hand from tossing the last pebble. Hopefully it be someone who knew their way around this place.
The footsteps stopped. Jean kept still, waiting. The footsteps started up again. They were getting closer, coming from the left. He turned his head towards the trees.
.
Marco blinked. Sitting not five feet away was another boy. He looked to be about his age and also very much lost. He wore dark gray jeans that almost looked like they were fitted for him, a loose white V-neck with a faded image of a red hammer, a worn out leather jacket and just as worn out black combat boots. Though, what stood out the most was his two tone hair. This guy definitely wasn't from around here.
.
Jean focused his eyes on the approaching figure, another guy about his age. Black hair, face full of freckles, work boots hidden under faded, tattered blue jeans, green plaid button up-also tattered-over a plain white T-shirt. This guy was definitely from around here.
They stared at each other motionless.
"..."
"..."
"You from around here?"
"Y-yes."
"You know your way around?"
"Yes."
Jean stood, brushing off his pants and walked over to Marco, "I...," Jean narrowed his eyes inspecting the other more closely, "I'm not from around here."
"You're lost," Marco stated.
Jean snickered, "That obvious, huh?"
Marco nodded, "I've never seen a farmer wearing pants that tight before."
"You see a stranger and the first thing you noticed is how tight their pants are? Checking out the outsider, are we?"
Marco's eyes grew wide while his face grew red. He shook his frantically, "N-no! I wasn't! I-uh, I mean-"
"Relax, Bobby Jo, I'm only joking," Jean said, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Or is it that you were actually checking me out? I mean, your face is seriously red."
"I-I. My name's not Bobby Jo, you ignorant hooligan!"
"Woah, easy now! I'm not trying to get caught up in a rumble up around the bend," Jean said through his laughter. He raised his arms, palms open facing Marco. "Honestly, I mean no harm to you..."
Marco sighed easing some of his anger.
"...Or your cows," muttered Jean.
"I might be from a small town and all, but at least I'm smart enough not to insult the only person who can help me when I'm lost," Marco turned and began to walk away.
Jean's mouth hung open. He was expecting the other to swing at him not to pull a smart-ass move as composed as he did. "...Hey, hold on."
Marco turned back to Jean.
"Look, I kind of have this bad habit of saying crappy stuff like that all the time. It gets me in a ton of trouble, but, uh, don't take it seriously. I'm lost and I need you to help me. And I really am sorry about the whole name thing."
Marco stared, "So what you're saying is, you're always this big of an ass?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I'm Jean by the way," he stretched out his hand.
"Marco," he took the others hand.
"Marco, huh? I like it. It's straight to the point. Kudos on the cursing, by the way."
Taking a moment to take in the outsider, Marco let out a soft chuckle. He reached down to grab a pebble to toss, "Jean. Isn't that a girl's name?"
.
.
.
What both thought to be a spring spent as always turned into something much more precious. While it took some adjusting from both boys, they managed. In truth, they both wanted to be around the other as much as possible. Marco because Jean offered him a window into the unknown. Jean because Marco offered an extraordinary view of the world only few could behold despite his rooted existence. They remained oblivious to the fact that they were drawn to each other from the very first time they exchanged glances.
It took a mere two months for the boys to realize what it was that made the season so amazing-so wondrous. They cared for each other and with each moment spent amongst the other only served to deepen those emotions.
Still they hesitated. Both unaware of what to do in the situation.
Jean had never shown interest in romantic relationships. His traveling only helped to distract him from any chance to take interest in it. However, when it came to more physical acts, he had his fair share of experience-though never with a man. That making him far more insecure than he'd ever been. How would he tell him? Did he even...was he even?
Marco had had his group of female admirers growing up. He had had a girlfriend. Once. Though he hardly thought that could count given it was in the first grade and they only ever spent recess together. He had kissed someone before. For more than two minutes! That had to be a make-out session, right? He wasn't entirely clueless. But he just knew that Jean had more knowledge in the matter. Then there was the issue with Jean being male. Trost was filled with religious nuts. Homosexuality wasn't exactly welcomed. That was the least of his worries though. Trost would be nothing more than a footnote in his life story anyway. He would be happy! Nothing would get in the way of that. Still he doubted a guy like Jean would be into...him.
With summer around the corner, the guys were on the brink of breaking. They had both had enough of quietly admiring from afar. They ached for more. More emotion. More interaction. More affection. More touches. They craved each other. They harbored an overwhelming desire to kiss the other.
Then came a day at the creek. They had returned to where it all began a number of times throughout the months. This time, however, was far more memorable.
The sun hung low in the still blue sky when they arrived. The plan was to sit around a small campfire discussing whatever thoughts ran through their minds as night crept up on them. Then they would pack up and head back.
Marco began to set some firewood while Jean messed with his matches.
"Hey, Jean?"
"Yeah?"
Marco dropped the last twig but remained in his kneeled position, "Have you ever...actually it's nothing," he said smiling halfheartedly.
Jean scrunched his eyebrows, "What?"
"It's nothing. I was just-it's, uh, it's fine," Marco rubbed the back of his head with his left hand, "it was a dumb question anyway."
"The hells up with you all of sudden?"
Standing, Marco stopped to go into what appeared to be a state of deep thought. Jean noticed he was biting his lower lip something he only did when weighing his options on difficult decisions. Eyes only centimeters above scattered freckles focused on Jean, making him stiffen and blush slightly.
"Uh, Marco? Are you feeling..." Jean's words faded as his mind began to offer theories of Marco's sudden thinking session. It was as if they had somehow picked up the same frequency because they both had the same image in their minds.
Gulping down any air in his mouth, Jean began to move toward the other.
"J-Jean-"
Marco's lips were captured before he could utter another word. His eyes widen only to shut almost immediately. He couldn't even process his thoughts; his body was determined to act out what he spent all those night's imagining. He pressed his body closer to Jean's, wrapping his arms around the other's neck. Jean made to steady himself but fell backward on to his butt. Marco landing in between his legs. The fell didn't stop them, they continued ravaging each other's lips giving no importance to breathing as they desperately clung to each other. Jean pressed his palms against the small of Marco's back, his fingers gently taking hold of the fabric of the other's shirt. With their lungs threatening to burst they broke apart. Eyes glazed over, chests heaving they searched each other's faces. Both not knowing what exactly they were looking for but both immensely joyful when they found a spark once hidden.
Affected by their current position, Marco's cheeks grew red, "J-Jean, I-"
"Me too," Jean nodded slightly before smiling. "Me too," he said exasperated before taking Marco's lips again.
Jean and Marco didn't make it home that night; their bodies allowing them to express all the pent up emotions they had within them.
.
.
.
They spent the summer running off into the fields, the creek-their creek. Though neither had claimed it so, they were both well aware of it ever since the night they christened as their know. When in town, they found whatever excuse to be around each other, waiting for everyone else to disappear so they could love without any limitations. And with every kiss, Jean and Marco felt themselves becoming even more drawn to the other.
Marco wanted nothing more than to be with Jean until the end of days. He would follow his love anywhere he chose to go just as long as they could keep loving each other. It was Marco's one and only desire.
Jean needed to have Marco. He only ever thought of his lover. How they were going to travel the land together like he had promised Marco time and time again. How they would always be together.
They had found eternal happiness within each other. They had found a love many dreamed of but only few ever got to experience.
But with the sweet comes the bitter.