The first time Marco Bodt met Jean Kirschtein, he was terrified, shocked, and more than a little emotional. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, busy checking the lock to his younger sibling's rooms were locked from the inside and then doing his seven and a half hours of homework. He was tired, upset, and just didn't want any shit. He hadn't even wanted to get out of the house that morning.

And yet, there he was, curled against the lockers, cold metal pressing into his bare back as he tried to block out the laughing of the other students. Marco's arms were wrapped around his stomach, head hung out of shame and embarrassment. It was the same taunts as always. Yeah, he was a bit chubby, but he gave up food on a regular basis—more and more often, those days—so that his siblings could eat. Surely he had lost enough weight that there wasn't any reason to be ridiculing quite as much?

But they wouldn't stop. No matter how many times he asked politely, no matter how tightly he clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block their words and their laughs, it didn't work. They just bounced around in his head, as if he had trapped them there with his hands.

That day, though, they had stopped. The backed off, a new voice entering Marco's head. "Oi, cut it out. What the hell did he ever do to you?"

Marco looked up shakily to find someone standing in front of him, one hand placed on his hip in annoyance. The other students looked just as shocked as he was; someone was standing up for Marco Bodt, the biggest loser in the school?

The strange boy tilted his head, his strange, two-toned hair shifting a bit. "Well? Is there any legitimate reason to be saying that sort of shit? Since when is weight an issue. And I see at least half of you being at least twice his weight, and half his height. What the fuck gives you the right to talk shit about him?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortable, unused to being talked back to, and the boy nodded, crossing his arms. "Thought so. Now get the fuck out and stay out."

They scurried off, running like frightened rabbits when confronted. Marco let his head fall limply against his chest, sighing softly in relief. At least it hadn't come to physical blows that time. When he opened his eyes again, though, he found an unfamiliar face right in front of his. He squeaked in surprised, his head jerking back and slamming against the locker. He winced as it clanged against the metal, bringing one hand up to cautiously rub against the probably-bruised area.

"Oh, shit, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You alright?" Marco nodded and looked up hesitantly at the boy crouching in front of him.

His hair was styled in an undercut, the top half dyed blonde and the bottom half dark brown, probably his natural hair color. His skin was pale, much paler than mine, probably because he didn't spend as much time as physically possible outside the house. His face wasn't adorned with any freckles, unlike mine. I was kind of glad; I hated my freckles and only didn't cover them up because my littlest siblings, Marie and Jacoby, liked to trace them when they were upset or bored. His eyes were wide and almost innocent, a honey color that seemed too delicate for someone with his attitude. Maybe it was closer to whiskey; but he refused to compare that terrible, terrible fluid to any trait of someone who, as far as he could tell, was kind.

"A-ah… yeah, I think so. Sorry…" Marco didn't even know what he was apologizing about; it had become a habit over the years.

"Hey, what are you apologizing for? It's not your fault those insensitive bastards have the emotional spans of teaspoons. Don't blame yourself for any of the shit you have to take, man." He stood and extended a hand to help him up, grinning in a way that Marco wasn't entirely sure he liked.

Hesitantly, Marco took the proffered hand, surprised by the other's strength. He was built like a twig, but he could pull the freckled boy off the floor like he weighed no more than a feather.

"My name's Jean, by the way,"

Marco nodded nervously and quickly tugged on his shirt, wanting to show as little skin—as few scars, if he was completely honest—to the first person that had bothered to look twice at him in years. Jean, surprisingly, was actually shorter than him, though only by an inch or two.

"M-Marco. My name's Marco." He hated the way his voice shook, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to make it stop.

Jean just laughed a bit and grinned wider. "Heh, figures you'd have a name like that. It fits you."

"If you mean weak and completely useless, yeah," Marco's words were a soft mumble, but they were loud enough for Jean to hear clearly.

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant soft-spoken, shy, and adorable." Marco's face flushed and he looked down, pressing his hands to his cheeks. He didn't know how Jean could just throw compliments at someone like him so easily.

"I-I'm really not… Any of that. I'm just me. Nothing special."

Jean sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically. "Look, Marco, I know that you've probably been told a fuck ton of times about how horrible and useless a human being you are. But you know what? Everyone who's told you that is wrong."

"How could you possibly know that? You've only just met me."

Jean's smile that time was kind, but a little sad. "They're always wrong,"

He left Marco standing dumbstruck in the corner of the boy's locker room.

The second time Marco Bodt met Jean Kirschtein, he was sobbing in the snow, terrified; it was another completely incidental run-in. His mother had left again, for God knew how long that time, and left his father to do whatever he wanted to Marco and his siblings. Celia Bodt had been a great mother, once upon a time, but she had started turning to needles and pills around the same time Jason Bodt turned to alcohol. As such, she had started disappearing for longer and longer periods of time, leaving her husband to treat their children as he wished.

Which was never a good thing.

Jason Bodt was not a good man under any circumstances. He had been charged with and found innocent of rape and first degree murder of two twelve-year-old girls when he was thirty—though no one in their right mind thought the was innocent—and had had Marco two years later with a random girl on the street. In Marco's lifetime alone, he had had at least twenty known affairs, and for some reason, Celia was still with him. Probably because of the mass amounts of money he kept stowed away for booze that never actually went to supporting the family, like it was supposed to.

But when Celia was gone or high, it was Marco's job to keep his six younger siblings, three of whom were below the age of five, safe and away from both parents, as well as keep his own grades up and feed his family and keep them living a relatively normal life. As the school outcast, he had no one to talk to, and he never let himself cry in front of his siblings. He was their hope, their pseudo-father when they had literally no one else. The eldest, Ethan, was only eleven, barely beginning to grasp what was going on, only just beginning to wonder exactly why Marco had so many scars. The youngest two, Marie and Jacoby, were only just learning to talk. He had to be strong for them.

Sometimes, it got to be too much, and he'd head to the playground a few blocks down. He'd let the kids play, and seeing them happy and excited cheered him up most of the time. When it didn't, he'd climb a tree, high enough up that none of them could see him, and cry for a few minutes. He always kept a watchful eye, though, making sure no one could get hurt.

That day, though, it was the middle of winter and he couldn't bring himself to take his siblings outside and risk them getting sick. Instead, he made them promise to stay in his room until he got home, door locked, and went out to the park by himself. He didn't have any winter clothes, either, but the cold was a welcome change from the constant numbness and fear that Marco lived with.

When he got to the park, he collapsed to the ground, shaking, and pulled his knees to his chest. He started sobbing, entire body shaking with the force of his cries. They were strangely muted by the snow, but he didn't see that as a bad thing. It just meant that anyone happening to walk by would be less likely to hear him and he'd be left alone.

Someone did hear, however. Over his sobs, Marco vaguely heard the snow crunching under someone's shoes and quickly gathered himself, taping his shattered pieces back together hurriedly and placed his signature smile back on his face. He couldn't do anything about the redness of his face, though he decided that he could probably blame it on the cold.

"Marco? You okay?" Marco's face instantly went red and it definitely wasn't because of the cold. He hadn't seen Jean since their first encounter, but it didn't mean he hadn't thought about him. Marco thought about Jean a lot, actually.

"J-Jean? Um… Yeah, I'm fine. W-what are you doing here? It's really cold." Marco stood, turning to face him.

"I could ask you the same. You're not even wearing a jacket, you idiot; you could get sick." Jean removed his scarf and wrapped it around Marco's neck, making the freckled boy blush furiously.

"I-I'm fine, really, don't worry," Marco prayed that Jean wouldn't mention him crying, but had no luck, as per usual.

"So… why exactly were you out here crying all alone?"

Marco sighed and cut his eyes sideways, tracing imaginary patterns in the snow. "…It's nothing, really. Just me being stupid again. Please don't worry about it."

He smacked Marco lightly on the shoulder, eyes narrowing in exasperation. "Was it those assholes again? I swear to God, if it was them again, I'll—"

Marco shook his head and cut Jean off, a soft smile gracing his lips. "No, no, it wasn't them, don't worry. You scared them off the first time, Jean."

"Then what was it?"

The smile fled his face as fast as a deer fled from a lion. "It was nothing. Don't worry about it, Jean. Please."

Jean sighed, clearly sensing Marco's desire not to talk about it, and didn't push the matter. "Well, alright. Hey, why don't you come over and grab a hot chocolate? You're freezing."

Marco hesitated, worried. If he left his siblings alone for too long, who knew what could happen to them. On the other hand… one quick little drink couldn't hurt, right? Jean had obviously walked, so it couldn't have been too far.

"Yeah, sure. It's kind of cold out here."

Jean laughed and shook his head. "Kind of? Marco, you poor, misinformed soul. It is currently colder than the devil's dick out here." Marco blushed at the analogy and didn't bother to point out that most depictions of Satan were guys with red skin, horns, and a barbed tail surrounded by fire. His dick was probably actually pretty warm. Not that Marco thought about it ever. Nope. Definitely not.

They chatted amiably while they walked to Jean's. Well, Jean did most of the talking, but Marco didn't mind. The rise and fall of the other's voice was soothing and rhythmic, calming him down quickly. He could almost feel his hysteria sinking to the pit of his stomach, waiting for a chance to rise up again. Marco couldn't find it in himself to really care, though; it was nice to know that someone wasn't a complete asshole.

Marco stood nervously in the doorway as Jean stomped the snow off his boots and shouted through the house that he was home. A soft scuffle sounded from down the hall and a short, Asiatic woman peered out from one of the doors.

"Jean! Why'd you go out? And where's your scarf, young man? You—" She stomped down the hall, hands on her hips, but paused when she saw Marco.

"Oh! And who's this, dear? A new—"

Jean cut her off quickly, blushing lightly. "Mom. This is Marco Bodt. He's a friend."

Marco was thoroughly confused by the way he slightly stressed the word friend. He shrunk back a bit, trying to hide behind Jean despite the fact that it was highly ineffective.

The woman's face lit up and she held out a hand to Marco, smiling sunnily. "Hello. My name is Estuko; I'm Jean's mother. You can call me Etsie, if you'd like. It's so nice to meet you."

Marco shook her hand tentatively, unused to that sort of cheerfulness from anyone older than him. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am,"

She huffed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "Oh, don't you ma'am me. It makes me feel old."

"Er—yes, ma—I mean, Mrs. Kirschtein," Marco felt awkward; the homey feeling wasn't something he had ever had the luxury of getting used to.

"So polite! You should take a lesson or two from Marco here, Jean. I mean, look at him! Well-fed and polite; the very image of a gentleman. And then you're such a stick next to him. Honestly! It's not like I don't feed you! Put on some weight."

The entire rant was given in a gentle, teasing voice, but Marco twitched a bit when she mentioned his weight. Jean glanced sideways at him and edged a bit closer to the other.

"Mom, stop it. Marco came over in the first place because he wanted some hot chocolate."

Etsie obviously didn't notice the pointed tone to Jean's voice and grinned wider. "Oh, of course! Jean loves bragging about my sweets. I'll be right back."

She bustled off after Jean reluctantly leaned down to let her pat his head. He straightened up, smiling sheepishly. "Um, sorry about that. I know she can be a bit overwhelming, and—"

Marco couldn't help it. He laughed shyly, his cheeks tinting red as he ducked his head to hide his smile. He didn't like his smile; it showed off the chip in his front tooth that he had gotten when his dad had been in a particularly bad rage. It wasn't something he was proud to have, and he certainly wasn't comfortable showing it off.

When he looked back up, tooth comfortably hidden, Jean was staring at him with an odd expression. The feeling of security and the warm fuzziness in his chest was gone in an instant; he was terrified that he had somehow scared Jean off or offended him.

"J-Jean? Is everything alright?"

He nodded and shook his head slightly, as if clearing it. "It's fine. It's just that that's the first time I've heard your laugh. It's cute."

Marco's face was instantly on fire and he buried it in his hands. "No, it's not. It's embarrassing."

"Nah, come on. It's adorable, and that little chip in your tooth only makes it better."

Marco's heart dropped, but quickly sped up again when he felt Jean place a warm hand in the center of his back. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. No one is perfect, Marco."

Marco looked up, surprised, but was cut off before he could say anything by the reappearance of Etsie, this time with two paper travel cups in her hands.

"Here you go, boys! It's hot, so be careful." She said as she passed them out. Jean grinned and grabbed his eagerly, taking a drink and letting out a yelp of pain as it burned his tongue.

"Jean! What did I just say?" Etsie scolded, taking the drink from her son's hands before he could do any further damage with it.

Marco chuckled, though his smile was sad. He felt horrible for it, but he was a little jealous of Jean. He had a family that supported him and was comfortable around each other. His mom, at least, was there to take care of him—Jean hadn't had to grow up as fast as Marco.

"Thank you for the drink, Mrs. Kirschtein. I should probably get going, though."

"Oh. Already? You just got here." Jean sounded disappointed but Marco didn't really have a choice. He had to leave and make sure no harm had come to his siblings while he was gone.

"Yeah, sorry. Thanks again, though."

Marco turned to leave but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, wait. Take this."

Jean handed him a coat, his eyes daring him to object. Marco didn't take the challenge, no matter how much he didn't want the other's charity. He slung it on, deciding firmly to bring it back to Jean next time he saw him.

"Well, thanks. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Kirschtein." She nodded and went back down the hall, smiling fondly as she left.

Marco was once again stopped by Jean's hand on his arm as he went to leave. This time, though, it wasn't a jacket he was given, but a kiss on the cheek. Marco felt his cheeks turning red, but wasn't alone. Jean's face was approximately the color of a cherry as he walked further into the house after a quick, embarrassed goodbye.

Three weeks later, Marco still couldn't get that kiss out of his mind. It had been quick and not even on the mouth, but every time he thought of it, his face seemed to burn where Jean's lips had touched his skin. He hadn't seen Jean all but two or three times in those weeks, but he would always flush and smile embarrassedly when they saw each other. It was nice, though, to know that there was at least one person outside his siblings that didn't hate him.

That was what crossed his mind on the day before Thanksgiving when he was trying not to flinch every time his father's fist slammed against his locked door. His siblings were all huddled on his bed, clinging to each other for reassurance and looking at Marco with confused, fearful eyes. Ethan's eyes were knowing and terrified; Marco knew that he knew exactly what was going on.

He chewed on his bottom lip worriedly, trying not to let the fear flooding his mind and his pounding of his heart keep him from figuring out what to do. Marco didn't know if the door would hold; he didn't know exactly how strong his father was. His mother wouldn't make a miraculous appearance that time, and he knew it. The kids didn't. The day before, they had all asked him over and over again: Why's Mommy sleeping? When will she wake up? Why does she look so pale? Why is she so cold? What happened?

Marco had done his best to reassure his siblings, and had skirted around the truth. He could tell that it had hit Ethan hard, and was worried for him, but with so many other things on his plate, he didn't spend nearly enough time comforting and talking to his little brother. But he just didn't have the heart to tell any of them the truth: Celia Bodt had overdosed and died in a cold alleyway, found three days later because her rotting corpse was starting to stink.

But now, he was the only thing standing between his father and his precious little brothers and sisters. He didn't have time to mourn.

Marco glanced out the window and realized that it wouldn't be that much trouble to climb out of it and get away that way; they were only one story up. It was snowing, but it was the only way he could see himself getting out of the situation. And, if he was right, they did have a place to go, at least for a little while. He hated to be a burden, but he'd do it as long as his siblings were safe.

As quietly as he could, he bundled the kids up in blankets and as many layers of his clothing as he could fit on them. He didn't want them to get sick; that would just make the nightmare worse. His family was notorious for having horrible immune systems; Marco couldn't handle losing anyone else.

He gently lifted them out the window, waiting until they were all huddled outside before dropping to the ground himself. Marco took Ethan's hand, carrying Marie with the other arm and having his eleven-year-old brother carry her twin, Jacoby. Lou took care of his other two siblings, six-year-old Jared and four-year-old Angie. He hated the way Lou's shoulders stooped, as if the weight of the situation was something physical that was weighing down the nine-year-old.

Marco led them to the park and past it, moving by memory. He wasn't sure it was right at first, but when Jean's house came into view, he let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Marco… is Dad going to follow us?" Ethan's voice was soft and sad; Marco was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was only a kid. None of them deserved what they had been put through.

Marco shook his head and squeezed his brother's hand. "No, he won't. We're going to be safe, Ethan, I promise."

He was only certain of half of what he said. He knew that Jason wouldn't follow them; he didn't care enough to look. Marco wasn't sure, though, if they would all be welcome in the Kirschteins' home.

Marco's thoughts got darker and darker with every step he took, and he could feel tears pricking the back of his eyes. He kept them back, though, because he couldn't be anything but strong in front of his siblings. He couldn't.

Marco briefly let go of Ethan's hand to ring the doorbell, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Pounding footsteps sounded from within the house and the door opened. Marco's heart seized. Jean was the one who had answered, barefoot and wild-haired and sleepy-eyed, like he had just woken up from a nap.

"Marco? Hey, what—" Jean's eyes widened slightly as he realized that it wasn't just Marco standing on his doorstep. "What's going on?"

Marco was careful to keep his voice from trembling as he responded, but it wavered a bit before he managed to get it under control. "I'll explain later. Just… let us in, please."

Jean nodded, eyebrows furrowing worriedly at Marco's tone, and stepped back. The Bodt siblings shuffled in. Ethan eyed Jean wearily, though the rest were just eager to get out of the cold and away from the open street where they all feared that their father would find them.

The third time Marco Bodt met Jean Kirschtein wasn't an accident, but one was still just as broken as the first time.