Well, he found his favorite sweater vest, but not his nerve. Even when Jean pulled into his driveway and knocked at the door, even when his mother answered it and directed him upstairs to the last door on the left, even when he rapped at the wood of Marco's bedroom door. And, even as he told him to come in, anxiously smoothing down his shirt underneath the vest, he was still searching for it.
He took in Jean's attire. It was the same as any other day, really. Some punk band shirt, a denim jacket with patches sewn in, a few silver rings around random fingers, a pyramid studded belt trying to hold up too-skinny jeans, and the ever-present combat boots. Marco felt silly in his sweater now. What had he been thinking, wearing a sweater to a party? As if he wasn't a big enough dork already!
But Jean only nodded in approval, messing up his hair a bit before grabbing his arm and dragging him out to the car, promising to take care of him as they passed Mrs. Bodt. He felt his face flush, but didn't object, getting in and letting Jean drive them to wherever this party was being held.
Jean parked on the side of the road, as the driveway was already full of cars. It was a nicer house; big and obviously owned by someone relatively well off. Marco followed Jean nervously, whining low in his throat as Jean let himself in, but still following despite his discomfort with the idea of breaking in.
He was surprised when he entered. The music wasn't so blaringly loud that he couldn't hear himself think. There weren't dead people lying in puddles of their own vomit, or couples humping against the wall. No one was snorting crack off of the glass coffee table, and no one was shooting heroin in a corner. He breathed a sigh of relief, tailing Jean into the kitchen.
He was thankful when he noticed that he wasn't the only person not dressed in punk attire. In fact, there weren't many who were. Jean still stuck out.
When they entered the kitchen, Marco nearly stumbled right back out, startled by the sheer height of the man they'd walked in on. But he only grinned, grabbing Marco's shoulder to help steady him. Jean grinned too, clapping the big guy on the shoulder, the gesture looking a tad awkward thanks to the height difference.
"Reiner, this is Marco." He said, gesturing toward the still frozen teen. Reiner. He'd heard that name. Reiner played football. The one in question stuck his huge hand out, enveloping Marco's almost entirely.
"Ah, you're the guy trying to get this misfit through school, huh?" He wondered, voice loud and full of mirth. But Marco liked it. He smiled nervously.
"Um…" He hesitated, not sure what would be appropriate to say. Jean barked a laugh.
"Like you can even talk! If Bertl didn't write your essays for you, you'd have flunked out years ago." He pointed out, and Reiner laughed as well.
"Yeah, fair enough. Anyway, Jean tells me this is your first party." He said, turning to Marco. The teen nodded shyly. "Alright, well, this is my place. Don't break anything that looks expensive. If you need anything, or can't find something, look for me. I'm pretty hard to miss. Drinks are over there." He said, pointing to the kitchen table, littered with bottles of every kind of alcohol Marco had ever heard of, and dozens he hadn't. "Help yourself. If you've never had a drink before though, then have Jean help you out. He can show you the ropes." He suggested. Marco nodded again, nervously eying the bottles.
"There's food all over the place, at least until Sasha gets here. And I've got a room set up for you guys if you do decide to get drunk. Keys, Jean." He demanded, turning to the other teen. Jean reluctantly pulled them out of his pocket, handing them over with a sigh. "They'll be with Bertl." He added, walking off after winking at Marco. "Have fun! Oh, and watch out, Jean gets handsy when he's drunk!" He called.
There was a moment of silence as the hulking teen left, Jean and Marco standing awkwardly to the right of the table. Neither mentioned the latter part of what Reiner had said. Marco, again, turned to eye the bottles. He knew that there was alcohol at parties, but he never imagined it would be so much. And it hadn't dawned on him that he would have to drink when he was getting ready to go. Now he was regretting it.
Jean clasped his shoulder for a second.
"Hey, you don't have to drink if you don't want to." He said softly. It was such a strange contrast to his appearance, all spikes and ripped clothing, but Marco nodded appreciatively. "Not everyone does. Bertl is everyone's designated everything. He keeps keys, helps people to bathrooms, drives them home if they need it. And Krista doesn't usually have more than one. I didn't bring you here to force drinks on you. I want you to have fun." He explained. Marco smiled, heart fluttering at the words.
He didn't know why, but hearing that from Jean meant a lot to him. Oh, who was he kidding? He knew why. He liked Jean. He always had. He just hadn't allowed himself to think it. But it was becoming painfully obvious. It was in the way he would think about the boy long after he was gone; think about his spikes and his zippers and his worn out combat boots, or his chestnut and cream colored hair. Or the way he'd steal his father's ash tray and 'accidentally' spill a few of the ashes along his windowsill, so that the smell would linger in his room. It was Jean's smell, and he hadn't realized that he loved it until he'd started spending time with Jean. Though, it was more than just ashes. It was smoke, and aftershave, and something a little off, sort of like lemons. He was still trying to put it in words. Kind of like the boy himself. Still, he knew better than to mention it to Jean.
Jean had moved over to the table, grabbing for a beer from a big case. He popped the top off of it and took a big drink, sighing with satisfaction. Marco eyed the brown bottle with fear, awe, and curiosity. Everyone drank beer. His mother, his father, his older siblings, Jean. Was it good? Or was it, like, a requirement?
Jean caught him staring, and smiled, reaching to pull another one out. He popped the lid off, and Marco watched a puff of vapor curl into the air, ghosting around Jean's long fingers. He was then handed the bottle, and he held it cautiously. He still wasn't sure if he wanted to drink at all. He'd never done it before, nor had he ever had intentions of trying it before he was twenty-one. But, watching Jean drink it down, watching everyone around him doing the same… It had him curious.
So he took a swig. He then proceeded to hack and regret his decision immensely, lips curling from the terrible flavor. Jean only cackled, patting his back.
"You should try cheap beer. It's even worse." He laughed, and Marco whined.
"Why would you drink it if it's so horrible?" He demanded.
"You stop tasting it after a while. And I'll be going for the whiskey in a bit. I always start with a beer though. At least then you know that it can't get any worse." He offered. Marco's nose crinkled and he eyed the bottle with disdain. But he'd taken it, it was his to finish.
So he set to work, sipping at it occasionally and snacking in between to rid his mouth of the flavor. Jean was already halfway through his second one when Marco finally finished his first, the flavor only getting worse as he approached the bottom. He was glad when he was done, and handed Jean his bottle to be thrown away.
Jean smirked, grabbing one of the red solo cups stacked on one side of the table, fingers tracing over the lips of several bottles before plucking one out, pouring a little in, and handing that to Marco. He poured himself a more generous serving, then put the bottle down.
"Alright, Bodt. This is whiskey. Oh, hmm… You might want a chaser. I usually say no chasers for whiskey, but it's your first time. Hold on." He said, putting his drink down and opening the fridge, taking out a bottle of Dr. Pepper and pouring it in a cup, which he handed to Marco. Marco sloshed the amber liquid, still a little nervous about this whole drinking thing.
He brought the cup to his lips as Jean did, but not before taking note of how stark the red plastic was against pale white skin. He took it all in one drink. It stung, and his eyes watered, but he managed to get it down, frantically drinking the soda to relieve the burn. It worked for the most part, and he winced as Jean took another drink from his own cup.
"That's even worse!" He whined. Jean only laughed again.
"Whiskey is definitely not for everyone." He agreed, peeling the denim jacket off and draping it over one of the kitchen chairs. "Hmm… We'll try one more. It's not a good idea to mix a bunch of different kinds. If you don't like rum, then you're sticking to beer for the night." He said, and Marco sighed. Another one? Well, just one more.
Jean searched through the bottles, finally pulling one out. He then went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of coke, pouring both into the solo cup. Marco raised a brow, suddenly questioning Jean's sanity. But he took the cup, sipping at it hesitantly as Jean watched him eagerly. He was surprised to find that it didn't taste absolutely terrible. In fact, it was kind of sweet, cutting the bite of the alcohol well enough that he kept drinking. Jean grinned.
"Rum and Coke it is, then." He announced, taking the cup and filling it more, dropping in a couple cubes of ice. Marco took it back, and began timing his sips to Jean's. He ended up falling behind a bit, but that was okay. "Drink a lot of water." Jean warned, getting him one as he said it. "Trust me on this one." He plead. And Marco did.
His chest started to feel warm around the time Jean was pouring him a third cup, and he smiled goofily, taking much bigger drinks now. Jean too had loosened up, and he tried to drape an arm around Marco's shoulders, remembering a little too late that he was a bit shorter, so he ended up having to settle for wrapping his arm around Marco's back instead. Marco giggled, thinking it rather funny. Jean nudged him gently, but was grinning too.
He knew he was getting drunk. Well, maybe not drunk, but at least tipsy. He was aware of the distortion in his perception, but it wasn't impairing him yet. But, seeing as he was already on the borderline, he decided, to hell with it. He was a teenager, for heaven's sake, and he was going to drink at his first party if he wanted to. Jean was there. Jean would take care of him.
They walked out of the kitchen at last, and joined a small group of teens, gathered together and talking about something. Marco wasn't really interested in fireworks, or so he thought until he was animatedly mimicking the explosive conclusion of the New Year's fireworks display. Everyone seemed to think he was hilarious though, as they all laughed at his reenactment.
At some point, after getting a refill and trying a shot of vodka, the group wound up downstairs, someone setting up a card game. Marco had never played, but, after having Jean show him the ropes, he got pretty into it. Not as into it as Jean, who began threatening people with his spiked wristbands, but still into it. Jean's face when he lost, to Marco no less, was pretty priceless.
He wouldn't speak to him for a few minutes, shuffling outside to smoke, leaving Marco to entertain a small crowd that gathered to watch him impersonate Jean. Even Jean himself, who eventually returned, couldn't help but laugh, cuffing him over the head, then apologizing when it actually hurt thanks to the spiked bracelet. Marco couldn't be angry though, because he smelled smoky and wonderful.
Another shot of vodka, or maybe two, and Marco had to take a few extra seconds to do everything. Pulling his pants down to pee for the twentieth time took him about five seconds longer than it should have, but at least he wasn't missing the toilet. Finding Jean after peeing for the twenty fifth time proved a challenge. When he did finally find him, he hugged him close to his chest.
"Don't leave me like that!" He exclaimed, frowning deeply. Jean quirked a brow, patting his back.
"I didn't go anywhere." He grimaced, peeling Marco off of his person. "You better have washed your hands… I think maybe you should stop." He announced, plucking the cup from Marco's hands and finding a surface to put it on. Marco whined, but let Jean lead him away, back towards the front room. They socialized for a bit, Jean introducing Marco to practically everyone. Though Jean didn't seem particularly close to anyone, he seemed to know practically every person in attendance.
Marco was surprised how accepting everyone was of him. They didn't care that he was, usually, a straight-laced student. They didn't care that he didn't usually drink. They didn't care that he was wearing a sweater vest. They didn't care that he had no idea what he was doing, or that, halfway through explaining dolphin sex he'd switched to Jellyfish and their lack of brains. They just laughed and made him feel welcome. And Jean never left his side except to get himself another drink, which helped ease Marco's nerves.
He eventually convinced Jean to let him have a swig of his whiskey, since it'd been about an hour since he'd had anything. It went down much easier this time, and he smiled at the warmth that spread through his chest. Jean quickly reclaimed his glass, his hand finding Marco's back, resting in the small of it as they chatted.
At some point, someone beckoned Jean out back. Marco thought he remembered her being introduced as Sasha, though he'd seen very little of her, only when she came to find food. Jean headed her way, and Marco followed, waving goodbye to the group of new acquaintances. They ended up on the back porch, and Marco looked around at the small crowd that had amassed. He recognized a couple of them that he'd been talking to at some point, like Bertholdt, who had everyone's keys, and Connie, who was apparently Sasha's boyfriend. But he didn't really know what they were all doing outside.
Until he saw the little cigarette that was being passed around. Well, it wasn't really a cigarette, he reminded himself. He wasn't stupid, he knew the difference. He'd been nervous enough about one illegal substance, but two in one night?
Jean took it without question, putting it between his lips and inhaling, holding it in for several seconds before letting himself cough. Marco was concerned, but everyone before him had done the same thing, so it apparently wasn't a bad thing.
When he'd finished coughing, he offered it to Marco. He didn't shove it into his hands or anything, but the offer was there. Marco wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He knew it was supposed to be bad, knew it was illegal. He knew he should be anxious, scared. But he wasn't. Maybe that was all the rum talking.
"You don't have to, Marco." Jean said, leaning in close to his ear. He smelled smoky again, but it was different. It wasn't as good, but it wasn't bad either.
Marco took it, taking a little breath before bringing to his lips and trying to copy what Jean had done. But it burned too badly, and he coughed immediately, someone taking the blunt from his fingers while Jean patted his back.
"Hey, it's alright. It gets easier, I promise, baby." Jean cooed, getting Marco back upright, walking him over to a doghouse sturdy enough for him to sit on. He brushed fingers through his hair until he'd managed to catch his breath, and offered him a drink of water for his troubles.
"You're so weird, Jean." Marco announced, sipping at the water. This earned him a hum of confusion. "You wear all these dark, spiky clothes and say you beat people up. But then you're secretly all nice and stuff. What's up with that?" He demanded, looking up at the boy. Jean bit his lip, fighting a smile.
"You shouldn't assume everyone who dresses like a punk is an ass." He pointed out, tapping Marco's forehead playfully. Marco only pouted.
The blunt came around again, and Jean took another hit, passing it back to Marco.
"Alright, babe, when you suck it in, try to hold it in your lungs for as long as you can. You're still going to cough, but you'll feel more of the high if you can hold it in for a while." He explained. Marco nodded, bringing it up and doing as Jean said, managing to keep it in longer this time. He still hacked up a lung, but he couldn't say he really cared, sipping at his water to soothe the feeling.
It got a lot harder to focus after that, and he could barely understand what people were saying, laughing only because everyone else was. He was much more interested in the freckles spotting his arms, giggling to himself as he located not only the big, but also the little dipper. Jean nudged him, and Marco looked up, sharing his findings with his companion, which only earned him some cackling. He liked it when Jean laughed, and he liked the way he smelled. And they smelled the same now. Smoky. Maybe Jean would let him borrow his aftershave if he asked nicely?
They went back inside, finding a couch that wasn't already occupied and just chilling out for a bit, Marco still tracing stars in his freckles. He'd never realized how many he had until then. He tried to think of when he'd earned each one, but ended up just making up stories in his head for each, which eventually led him back into tracing patterns. Jean began doing the same, finger connecting them one by one to form something only he recognized. That was alright though, it felt nice.
At some point, Jean got himself another drink, and allowed Marco another shot of vodka. Marco was going to take it, but someone else plopped down on the couch behind him, knocking into him, and he fell forward, spilling most of the drink on Jean's stomach.
"Oh jeez, I'm sorry Jean!" Marco cried, setting the glass down and patting the wet patch on the band shirt. Jean swatted his hands away.
"It's alright, calm down. It's just a little vodka." He said quickly, taking a sip from his whiskey.
"But you're wet!" Marco insisted, stumbling into the kitchen and finding a towel, which he brought back and pressed into the spot. Jean groaned.
"Babe, that's my stomach, full of booze, that you are pushing on!" He grunted, and Marco gasped, dropping the cloth and holding his hands up in surrender.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" He promised, and Jean shook his head.
"It's fine, just calm down, sweetheart." Jean murmured, getting comfortable again, one arm wrapping around Marco's shoulders, able to do it this time because of their sitting positions. Marco was slouched back, while Jean sat up more straight. Maybe he was only sitting up because he wanted to be able to rest his arm over Marco's shoulders. That seemed a little silly, but, in his foggy mind, it also seemed possible.
His eyes began to feel heavy, and he was just bordering on drowsiness when the person who'd bumped him handed him another shot, explaining that they were sorry for making him spill his last one. He smiled widely at them, taking it and downing it quickly before getting comfortable again, laying his head against Jean's. He miscalculated a bit though, and ended up falling over, barely catching himself before he was in the other boy's lap.
"Shoot, sorry!" He laughed, shakily sitting himself back up. He grinned at Jean, but the gesture wasn't returned. Jean was just staring, and Marco's smile fell. Was Jean actually mad? He hadn't meant to fall over! He was just about to give a better apology, but he was cut off as Jean's arm came back around him, pulling him closer until their faces met in the middle.
It took him a good ten seconds to realize that he was kissing Jean. Maybe it was because it was the last thing he expected to happen, or maybe it was the alcohol, or the drugs, or the late hour. Whatever the reason, his late reaction was laugh-worthy. If he wasn't currently lip-locked with Jean Kirstein, he probably would have laughed at himself. But he was lip-locked with Jean Kirstein, so he bit it down, trying to focus on the feeling of it instead.
He didn't know what to think. It was his first time kissing anyone, especially a guy. He'd never thought of himself as gay, even when he'd admitted to himself that he liked Jean. But, thinking back on it, it probably should have dawned on him that he was at least a little queer. It didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. But, though he didn't have anything to compare it to, it seemed to him that Jean was a good kisser. And he was so wrapped up in the lips against his that he forgot to be afraid, forgot to be embarrassed about all the people at the party probably watching them.
What was Jean thinking? He'd never given off any indication that he was interested in guys either, and definitely not Marco. They'd studied together, and had dinner with the Bodts a couple times. But, the party aside, that was as far as their relationship really went. Then again, Jean didn't show many emotions in the first place. And, honestly, how did one know if someone liked them?
There was always the possibility that Jean didn't like him at all. Maybe he was just drunk, and wanted to make out with someone. Maybe Marco was just convenient. Reiner had mentioned that Jean got 'handsy' when he was drunk. Maybe, when they both sobered up, Jean would ask him to pretend like it'd never happen. Maybe he wouldn't even remember. And it would hurt if that was true, because Marco knew he'd never forget it. But he still couldn't force himself to stop, arms shaking as they slowly wrapped around Jean's neck.
His head was spinning, and everything but Jean began to fade into the background. Noises didn't make sense, words were lost to him, his eyes closed against the whirling of the room, and his nose could only detect the overwhelming amount of cologne that Jean had on, and the smoke, the ashes. It was so much, and Marco felt his stomach twisting, and barely managed to shove Jean off of him roughly, stumbling towards the bathroom.
He nearly didn't make it, but somehow managed to get to the toilet, stomach clenching as he emptied about half of its contents. He was in the middle of coughing and sputtering when Jean rushed in. Marco could see the panic on his face, but it melted into concern when he saw the state Marco was currently in. It was strange, and Marco had to wonder why he'd panicked. Was he worried that Marco didn't like him? With as hard as he'd shoved him, it might have seemed that way.
He wanted to tell Jean that he liked him just fine. Quite a lot, actually, if he was being honest. But his words were lost as he began retching again, his eyes watering as he threw more up into the porcelain. Jean quietly shut the bathroom door, then walked over, taking all of his bracelets off before he sat down next to the vomiting boy. He rubbed his back soothingly, patting any time Marco started coughing or heaving. When it seemed that Marco was done, he pulled him back, flushing the toilet before he let Marco lean against it again.
"You're probably not done, sweetheart. I'm going to go get you some water, I'll be right back." He murmured, rubbing Marco's back for just a few seconds before disappearing for a moment. Marco felt a bit better, his cheek pressed against the rim of the toilet. He thanked the stars that it was clean, as far as he could tell. He'd had the fortune of stumbling towards the less-used bathroom in the house.
Jean came back quickly, a cup full of water in hand. Marco didn't want it, but Jean made him sit up and rinse his mouth out and take a few sips. And that made him feel a little better too, but he wanted to lie back down on the toilet. The coolness felt nice.
Jean set back to rubbing his back, finding a soothing pattern, and Marco dozed off, eventually waking when he heard some loud thrumming. Someone had turned the music up. He lifted his head warily, listening to the beat for a bit. But it began to make his stomach churn, so he tried to block it out instead. But it suddenly became the only thing he could hear. He could feel it, and it felt like drowning, and before he knew it, he was retching all over again. Jean, who had apparently dozed off as well, quickly snapped back to attention, patting his back gently as he heaved again. Not much came out this time, but he couldn't stop coughing, which only induced more heaving.
His eyes weren't watering anymore, he was crying. And he was embarrassed to admit it, but it was miserable, sitting there, wishing he could just throw up and be done with it. But there wasn't much left to purge, though his body was definitely trying. Jean waited patiently till he went limp, and made him wash his mouth out again, and drink some of the water. Marco only groaned, lying down on the floor, letting the tile cool his feverish body.
"Jean," he croaked, voice hoarse from vomiting and not speaking. Jean hummed to show he was listening while he refilled the cup in the sink. "Go back to the party. I can throw up by myself. There's no sense in you missing out on the fun." He pointed out. Jean ignored him though, sitting back down. Once he was situated, he pulled Marco's head into his lap.
"I'm not going anywhere, baby. You'll start feeling better in a bit, and we'll go lay down. Reiner has a room for us. But we're going to wait till you can get up." He cooed. Marco only sighed.
"Jean, I'm alright. I'll be here for a while." He urged, cuddling into the other boy's thighs despite his words.
"And so will I. Go ahead and sleep for a bit. I'll be right here when you wake up." He promised, brushing the sweaty bangs from Marco's forehead. Lucky for him, Marco didn't have the energy to protest further, and he did as he was told, dozing off to Jean's breathing instead of the thrum of the music. Somewhere in his mind, he registered Jean moving every once in a while; resituating his legs, rubbing Marco's back, taking something out of his pocket. But it didn't stir him long enough to even open his eyes.
He did wake up when someone knocked on the door, lashes fluttering a few times before he managed to keep them open. Reiner stood in the doorway, looking down at the two on the floor. He didn't make any snide remarks, only knelt down, big hand resting against Marco's cheek.
"Not feeling too good, are you?" He wondered, and Marco shook his head. Jean brought his fingers to Marco's hair, scratching lightly against his scalp. It felt wonderful.
"I let him have too much. I wasn't thinking. Hazing's not his thing." Jean announced, and Marco looked up to see his face set with a deep frown.
"Well, at least you know now. I'll go get you some crackers for when he's done puking. And, like I said, I have a room for you two. Second on the right." He replied, standing back up and leaving for the kitchen.
Marco sighed, closing his eyes again. He was feeling a lot better, and eventually convinced himself to stand. That, he quickly found out, was a mistake. He wasn't on his feet two seconds before he had to sit right back down in front of the toilet.
It was only dry heaving this time, but that was almost worse. Jean sat behind him, resting his head against Marco's back as he sobbed and coughed between retching, rubbing his sides, pressing kisses to his shoulders and whispering soothing words.
It worked, and Marco accepted the toilet paper he was handed, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, then taking a drink of water when it was handed to him. He downed nearly half of it this time, gasping when he'd finished. Jean chuckled, hugging him from behind after he set the cup aside.
"Almost done, sweetheart. We'll stay just a little bit longer, just in case." He murmured, and Marco nodded, body exhausted. He heard the door open, and Reiner handed Jean a little package of crackers, then took his leave.
Marco eyed them warily, the thought of eating anything making his stomach hurt. Jean noticed, and he set them aside.
"I know you don't want to, but you need to eat them in a bit, baby. It'll make you feel better, trust me." He said, and Marco huffed, leaning back against Jean's chest. He just waited like that for a long time, trying not to fall asleep again. It seemed every time he woke up, he'd feel bad again. So maybe, if he could just stay awake, he'd feel better.
After about twenty minutes of nothing, Jean opened the package of crackers, pressing one to Marco's lips. He shut them stubbornly, refusing the food.
"Hey, we just talked about this. You'll feel better if you eat them." Jean reminded him, pressing again. Marco couldn't see how, but he opened his mouth and took a bite. It was hard to swallow, his mouth and throat feeling dry, but he did manage to get it down. Jean offered him a drink of water, which he gratefully took.
As it would turn out, Jean was right. The cracker made him feel a little better. So he ate both of them, and drank all of the water. Jean waited a few minutes for the food to settle before he attempted to get Marco on his feet. Even then, it was slow going. He first got him sitting on the toilet, head still bowed. Marco had to take a second, resting his forehead on the sink this time. Jean waited there, until Marco shooed him out. He had to pee.
Jean gave him a few minutes, then knocked. He received no answer, but opened the door anyway, finding Marco asleep again. With some effort, he brought the boy to consciousness, and got him to his feet, albeit shakily, and led him to the stairs after flushing the toilet for him. That was even slower going, and they had to stop and rest about halfway up. But, with some persistence, they managed to find the room they'd been allotted.
Jean let Marco sit on the bed, then got to the task of pulling his sweater and shirt off, then his pants. Marco whined lowly as his clothing was taken from him, blearily trying to cover himself.
"Oh, quit it you dork. You don't have anything I don't. And trust me; you'll be thanking me later. Sleeping in your clothes is horrible when you're drunk." Marco only sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Come here." Jean commanded, and Marco did his best, getting up and stumbling over, just barely making it. Jean lowered him to the floor, making sure he was close enough to the wall to lean his back against it.
"I'm going to grab all of our stuff from the bathroom, and get a wash rag to wipe you down. Don't move, alright? I'll be right back." He promised, and Marco nodded, sinking his fingers into the thick carpet and drawing random shapes until Jean came back. He had gathered all of his bracelets and wristbands, as well as Marco's phone, and a washcloth, as promised.
Marco was already half asleep, so he let Jean wipe his face and chest down without much protest, aside from the initial shock of the barely-warm wetness of the cloth. Jean hung the cloth on the doorknob, then set to the task of taking his own clothing off, leaving them both in boxers. Marco couldn't appreciate the view though, too exhausted and miserable. Maybe in the morning.
Jean grabbed a trashcan from a corner in the room, bringing it to one side of the bed, likely Marco's side. He made sure it was close to the head, where Marco could easily get to it if he needed to.
Jean helped him off the floor again, hefting him into the bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin. Marco groaned, shoving them down. He still felt feverishly hot, and didn't want anything to do with the thick comforter. Jean sighed, getting into bed as well, and pulling his half of the bedclothes over his form.
"You're going to get really cold in a while, sweetheart. You should get the blankets warm now, so it's not so bad." He suggested, brushing Marco's bangs aside. Marco just shook his head, rolling over to face away from Jean, falling asleep almost immediately. Jean only sighed again, but let him do as he pleased.
It was dark when Marco next opened his eyes, and he didn't know at first what had woken him. Then he realized that he was shivering violently, and he reached for the comforter, fumbling with his shaking hands. Apparently he'd woken Jean too though, for the boy huffed, pulling the blanket over his bedmate easily.
"I told you." He said quietly, arms working underneath the sheets to pull Marco closer to him. Despite his embarrassment, Marco couldn't keep himself from snuggling up to the body heat, shoving his toes against Jean's warmer feet and pressing his icy nose against his collarbone.
"Fuck, babe!" Jean cursed, but he didn't push him away. On the contrary, he pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the shaking frame, squeezing till he stopped shivering. Once his body was warm enough to relax, Marco got comfortable, pacing his breaths with Jean's until the both of them fell asleep for the last time that night.
A/N: This is pretty quick for an update, but I think I got a big enough reaction to go ahead and get the real story started. Like I said, the pacing of this story is a bit quicker than my usual work, but hopefully everyone's keeping up?
So like, they were pretty naughty in this chapter. All that illegal stuff and whatnot. But you kind of have to accept that this kind of stuff happens. I myself had a rather mystical experience like Marco's at my first party. (I'm eighteen too, go figure.) I too puked my guts out for hours. Everyone that gives drinking a go does it at least once though, so at least now I know where my limit is. And I'm pretty heavy-weight for my size, apparently. If you haven't gone drinking before, here is my warning; Beware jello shots. They may seem harmless enough, but they are typically a full shot of vodka, and they'll mess you up right quick. And my other warning; Go with someone you trust, and you know will take care of you. My night could have been a lot worse without a certain someone looking after my sorry ass.
Alright, well, I'm a busy gal. I must get back to work on something or other, so until next time, adieu! Thank you for reading, and feedback is always appreciated!
KuroRiya
九六りや