Waking up took a long time. While his mind started running consciously, his body was putting up a lot of protest. It was several minutes before he could move any part of himself. Even then, it was sluggish and ridiculously slow. He finally forced his eyes open, blinking blearily at whatever was in front of him. It was a pale peachy color and, as he eventually noticed, it was moving minutely.
It was Jean's collar, he put together, the movement was his breath. It took him even longer than that to fully realize what that meant. And then he was feeling everything. He could feel the other teen's breath, his warm arm draped over his waist, his legs trapped between Marco's own. His face got hot. These things could only add up to one conclusion; He'd slept with Jean.
He started thinking through the night's events, trying not to move. He didn't think he was ready to deal with Jean just yet. But the party was hazy at best. It was coming to him in snippets. The earlier parts were pretty clear. He remembered arriving with Jean, remembered the first four or so drinks he had, but then it started to static in his mind. He recalled talking to a few people, remembered going out back with Jean. He remembered smoking.
Marco groaned lowly, bringing a hand up to scrub across his face. He'd smoked! Weed! What on earth had he been thinking? As if the drinking wasn't bad enough! What would his mother say? He knew better than that, and yet…
Deciding to think about it later, he returned to trying to replay the night. They'd come back inside, and he remembered throwing up a lot. But not much else was coming to mind. Well, nothing he was willing to believe.
There was this nagging image of him making out with Jean on the couch. Playing it through his mind, he could almost remember the taste of the other boy. But he refused to trust the memory. It might have just been his mind implanting things it wanted to see. After all, why would Jean kiss him? He wasn't cool, or punk, or even attractive. He was just that good student with too many freckles and a kind heart. Nothing more, maybe less.
But how he wished it was a real memory. All he could do, really, would be to ask Jean about it. If they both had the memory, then it had happened. But what if he didn't have the same memory? Then it would be pretty obvious that Marco was harboring feelings. And that would, almost certainly, ruin any relationship they currently had, platonic or not.
He fretted silently until Jean began stirring. He was a much noisier person in the morning, waking with many sighs and groans, and a bit of curling back into the warmth of the blankets. Marco bit his lip, trying to fight down a smile, failing. Jean was really, dare he say it, cute when he was waking up.
The teen finally opened his eyes after a long yawn, blinking groggily at Marco. He winced though, closing them quickly. A whine came deep from his chest, and Marco's brows furrowed.
"A-Are you okay?" He wondered, debating on sitting up. But Jean nodded slowly, which calmed his fears a little.
"Just hungover." He supplied, voice quiet, as if he was scared his own voice would agitate the headache further. Marco only frowned, bringing a hand up to his forehead, stupidly checking for a fever. He didn't know why he did it, but it was the only motion he could remember from the many times he'd cared for sick siblings. Jean was a little clammy, but not feverish. Of course not; it was just a hangover.
"Fuuuuuck." He whined, and Marco's stomach dropped. He didn't know what to do, and hated that. "Don't you have one too?" Jean demanded, cracking a single eye. Marco jumped, but eventually shook his head.
"Um, I don't think so?" He supplied, taking a moment to gauge any pain, finding nothing besides a bit of dry mouth and a slightly queasy stomach. Jean only let out another groan.
"Fucking freckled asshole." He groused, and Marco forced himself to stifle a nervous laugh. "I'm so sure you don't have a hangover. Why would I even think you would? Of course not. You're fucking perfect." He snapped, and Marco wasn't sure whether to be offended, or to take it as a compliment.
It was quiet for a long moment, a moment in which Marco realized he was still tangled up in Jean's arms. But neither made a move to disengage, so the silence continued. Jean finally sighed, shifting to lie on his side instead, drawing Marco closer. The darker teen made a noise of surprise but went without much protest. They settled again, just breathing for a long time.
"Give me a few minutes. I'm a bear without coffee on a good day. This is not a good day." He grumbled, burying his nose in Marco's collarbone. Marco only giggled, letting Jean cuddle as he pleased. There was a little noise of distress from the two-toned boy. "Alright, well, it's not a totally bad day. I mean, it's the weekend, so at least I don't have to haul my ass to school. And Reiner's beds are really comfortable." He began, counting on his fingers even though Marco couldn't see.
"And I woke up with you, so that makes it a pretty good day, actually." He decided. Marco's face flushed, and he was sure Jean could feel the feverish blush spreading across his chest too. What did that mean? Probably not what Marco wanted it to.
They lay still for a while, just basking in warm covers and weekend laziness, and the company. Then there was a light tapping at the door, and someone opened the it without waiting for a reply. It was Reiner, and Marco recognized Bertholdt behind him.
"Hey, you guys are already up?" He asked, looking at both boys who'd lifted their heads to see who was intruding. Marco nodded, smiling shyly. "Great. It's about eleven, so you might want to head out. But grab some breakfast before you go. Bertl made too much." He announced, and the man behind him started to sweat nervously. Or maybe it was from embarrassment? Well, he was sweating, regardless. They took their leave when Jean made some strange, guttural noise in their general direction, shooting Marco a glance that let him know fully well that they did not envy his position.
He laughed after they'd left, fluffing Jean's hair a bit while he could, knowing he'd probably never get another chance. Then he gasped, sitting up too quickly, making himself dizzy. Jean looked at him with surprise and concern as he began wrestling with the sheets, trying to untangle himself and get to the floor.
"Babe? What are you doing?" Jean asked. And Marco was too preoccupied to think much about the residual pet name.
"I need to call my mom! I told her I'd be home last night!" He exclaimed, almost to the edge of the bed. Jean sighed, hooking an arm around his hips and tugging him back.
"I called her last night." Jean said quickly, before Marco could start to struggle. This earned him the attention of the freckled teen. "While you were sleeping in the bathroom. I told her that we left early because it was boring, and you fell asleep watching a movie at my house." He explained.
Marco let it sink in, frowning. He didn't like lying to his mother, which he'd done, by proxy. He couldn't tell her that Jean had lied, though. That wouldn't bode well in the Bodt house. To be honest though, he was kind of glad that Jean had taken care of it. What would he have told his mother? The truth was a little too scary.
He burrowed into the covers, already tired of trying to think through it. He rarely lied to anyone, so just this once wouldn't kill him, right?
Jean hummed approvingly, scooting closer and wrapping himself around the burrito that Marco had become, cackling when Marco started struggling to no avail. They eventually fell still again, both laughing and panting for breath. Jean rolled off when it started to get awkward, and Marco emerged from his cocoon, standing up on the carpeted floor. It felt strange to be in only his boxers, but he tried to make his rushing movements towards his clothes look casual. He was still done pulling his clothes on before Jean was even done buttoning up his pants. In his defense, jeans that skinny were probably hard to get into.
Marco stared, unable to pull his eyes away. He hadn't had the coherency to really look at Jean the night before, and he'd definitely missed out. Jean was, simply put, incredibly attractive. At least by Marco's standards. He was lean, pale, lanky, and bony. Maybe that was bad for some people, but Marco ate it up. He blushed at the nipple and navel piercings. Mostly the nipples though. Jean reached for his shirt, and Marco eyed his back, curiosity piqued.
"Jean?" He called, and the boy made a noise to affirm he was listening. "Does that tattoo mean something?" He wondered. Jean glanced over his shoulder, looking first at Marco, then at the tattoo across his shoulder. He held off on putting his shirt on, beckoning Marco over, gesturing that he could take a closer look.
"I got it about a year ago." Jean began, and Marco listened with rapt attention. "My mom died in a car accident. Well, I say accident…" He trailed, sighing. "Anyway, I got this for her." He offered. Marco frowned, hesitating as he brought his hand up, finally working up the courage to trace his fingers over the inked lines. It was pretty, as far as tattoos went. A hummingbird surrounded by irises. And it struck Marco as a little feminine for Jean's personality. But it also warmed his heart, to know that Jean cared for someone so much that he'd do something like that for them. The tattoo represented his mother, not himself, and Marco could easily tell. Perhaps that was the point.
"Any tats, big guy?" Jean asked cheekily, obviously trying to alleviate some of the darkness that had set in between them. Marco flinched.
"Definitely not!" He replied quickly. Jean only barked a laugh.
"I can't say I'm surprised. Never get one drunk." He cautioned, and Marco raised a brow. Jean only sighed, shaking his head as he lifted one of his feet, using the bed to steady himself. Marco quirked a brow, looking at the foot that Jean had raised. It took him a moment, but he finally found what he was supposed to be looking at, etched into the bottom of the foot. And it looked, suspiciously, like a pony. He snorted.
"Is that…" He began, cut off by Jean who slammed his foot down, face red with embarrassment.
"Yes, it's a fucking My Little Pony tattoo, and I don't want to talk about it. Fruity drinks are not a good idea for me." He spat, Marco only able to snicker as Jean finished dressing. "Couldn't walk straight for weeks..." He grumbled under his breath, only earning more giggles from his companion.
"Well, that's interesting." Marco pointed out. "Kind of a juxtaposition, you know? So many chains, and then ponies on your foot. " He giggled, trying to stifle it and failing utterly. Jean only grumbled, shoving him gently as they collected their things and headed downstairs.
"At least we know you have a pretty high tolerance." Jean suggested, not-so-tactfully changing the subject as he focused on walking down the stairs, Marco hot on his heels. The taller teen quirked a brow at the news.
"I do?" He wondered, voice properly mystified. Jean snorted.
"Do you even know how much you threw back last night?" He demanded. Marco smiled sheepishly, shaking his head. Jean sighed. "Of course not. Freckled perfect asshole." He groused. Marco's eyes widened.
"H-How much did I drink?" He inquired. Jean scoffed, cuffing him over the head.
"More than I should have let you." Was the only reply he got before they'd found the kitchen. It was much tidier, lacking the sea of liquor bottles from the night before. Instead, there was a hearty breakfast, still steaming and looking positively amazing. Bertholdt smiled at them as they entered, gesturing towards the table, which Jean quickly took a seat at. Marco was a bit more hesitant, but eventually sat down as well, taking a plate that was handed to him and taking some of the prepared dishes. He noticed that Jean took his eggs sunny side up, whereas Marco himself preferred them scrambled. Luckily Bertholdt had made both, as well as fried eggs, and one had been cooked into a piece of toast, but that had already been claimed by another plate.
Jean took bacon that was slightly burned, and Marco reached for the pieces that didn't have any black around the edges. Jean buttered his toast, Marco used Jam. Jean took apple slices when Marco reached for the strawberries. And, somehow, Marco was loving the differences. Even such little things set them apart, made Jean almost an alien. That was what Marco found exciting about him though.
Everyone in his family ate like he did. They would have taken scrambled, and strawberries. But Jean wouldn't. And that was interesting. Just like the tattoo. Just like the clothes and his personality. Jean was interesting. Of course, the strange maybe-memory Marco had of them kissing was interesting too, but he was still a little too scared to bring that up.
Bertholdt handed Jean a mug of coffee, then turned to Marco.
"What would you like to drink?" He wondered, offering a friendly, but still nervous, smile. Marco smiled wholeheartedly at the other, hoping to put him at some kind of ease, to no avail.
"Orange juice would be great, if you have it." He replied. Bertholdt nodded, going to the fridge to get the drink for him. Then he sat with the other two, eventually followed by Reiner who sat in front of the plate with the bird in the nest, and a few other people that Marco had a blurry recognition of. And they all ate, and a bit of conversation was traded. (Most of it consisted of grunts and groans, since apparently everyone but Marco and Bertholdt were hungover, but it was conversation nonetheless.)
After breakfast and helping out with cleanup, they said their goodbyes and received Jean's keys from Bertholdt. It was just after noon, and Marco frowned. His mother would have questions, and he knew he didn't want to deal with them. But he didn't really have any other choice. He couldn't just avoid his family for the rest of eternity.
But even scarier than talking to his mother was the idea of talking to Jean. This memory he had was driving him insane, and it seemed to be all he could think about. But what if it was a false memory? What would Jean think? And what if Jean didn't want to acknowledge it? He'd been drunk, and therefore didn't technically have to own up to his actions. He could simply claim he was drunk, and Marco had been close.
"What're you fretting about, babe?" Jean asked, drawing Marco from his thoughts. The boy pursed his lips, forcing his eyes to remain on the scenery passing by his window. There it was again, that pet name. Did it mean something? Or was that simply Jean's way of talking? Marco had met people that simply called everyone by pet names before, and Jean could easily be one of them. Yet it hadn't appeared until the night before, though Marco couldn't pinpoint when exactly. It felt flirty, but was it intentional?
"Um… Nothing, just thinking about last night." He replied, purposefully vague. Jean shot him a quick look.
"Which part of last night?" He prompted. If he had to pull teeth…
Marco frowned, heart speeding up beyond his comfort zone.
"U-Uh… Right before I threw up?" He replied quietly. Jean took a moment to process it, and Marco could practically hear the wheels in his head turning as he went through the night's events. It seemed to click, at last, and Marco winced when Jean pulled into some empty parking lot they were about to pass. He parked the car sloppily, then turned to look at Marco seriously.
"Alright, I'm going to assume I know what you're talking about." He began. Marco got the feeling he did. "I'm sorry for coming onto you like that when you were messed up. That wasn't fair of me." He offered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not usually that much of an asshole. I was pretty messed up too, and you looked really fucking wonderful last night. I know that isn't an excuse or anything, but, uh… Fuck, I'm bad at talking." He growled, biting his lip for a few seconds before turning to Marco again.
"Uh… Do you want to, you know, date?" He asked, pale face already getting red. Marco thought it looked a little silly with all of the metal the boy had in his face, but forced himself to remember what was important.
Jean was, dare he think it, asking him out? His heart lurched as he thought of how very possible it could be that this was all some elaborate prank. But Jean seemed really earnest, if he was being honest. But then there was the question of how Marco should respond. Sure, he liked Jean, but was it really in that way? He'd never thought of liking a boy as more than a friend. He tried to imagine himself on a date with Jean, and pictured some cheesy dinner and movie deal in his head, and it warmed him to the core.
And he'd liked kissing Jean the night before. He'd like to do it again, if he was being truthful. So that, surely, meant that he liked Jean enough to date, right? What other conclusion could he come to? And what was he fretting about in the first place? Agreeing to go out didn't mean he was eternally devoted to someone!
Jean's face seemed to fall with each passing second, so Marco quickly nodded.
"S-Sure!" He finally agreed. Jean initially winced, but then he seemed to realize what Marco had actually said, and his face lit up.
"Really?" He demanded, a grin already taking over his face. Marco nodded shyly with a smile of his own.
"As long as you don't mind my inexperience." He offered, his own cheeks beginning to feel warm as he admitted to his lack of relationship knowledge. Jean only grinned wider.
"You assume everyone has a lot of it." He murmured, and Marco blinked at him owlishly.
"You've never dated?" He wondered, and Jean scoffed.
"Of course I have! But you're not the only person that hasn't." He explained. Marco smiled, looking down at his lap.
"Yeah, I guess not. Everyone has to start somewhere." He agreed. Jean nodded, reaching over and stealing a hand from Marco's lap, eyes tracing patterns in the freckles for a moment before dropping it between them.
"You should have seen me on my first date. It was her first too, and we had no idea what we were doing." Jean recounted, shuddering at the thought. "Let's just say that that was an awkward breakup. But we'll go at your pace. If it feels too fast, just let me know, and I'll slow down, okay? You're going to have to teach me your boundaries, but I'll do my best to learn them." He promised, and Marco smiled.
"Well, the same goes for you. If I'm being too slow or something, tell me. I can be a little dense sometimes." He said sheepishly, glancing down at their linked hands. Jean was silent, and Marco, out of curiosity, looked up to see if something was amiss. He jumped as he felt lips against his, but they were gone as quickly as they'd come, too fast for him to even register the little metal studs poking out from under Jean's bottom lip against his skin. He couldn't speak.
Jean grinned, letting go of his hand to properly devote himself to driving again, pulling back onto the road and heading for Marco's house. The freckled teen lost himself in daydreams about all of the possible dates he and Jean could go on, of all the ways he could earn different kinds of kisses, or hugs, or hand-holding. Then he thought of something.
"Jean, do you still want me to tutor you?" He wondered. Jean spared him a glance.
"Uh, yeah? I really do need the help. That wasn't just a ruse to get you to date me." He replied, and Marco giggled, a bit nervous. "Well, not entirely." He added.
"Huh?" Marco looked to Jean for answers, seeing the embarrassment on the teen's face. Jean was quiet for a while.
"…Well… It's not like I planned it or anything. I really had no intention of going to class or sitting next to you or anything. It just kind of happened. But I knew who you were when I sat next to you." He offered. Marco's eyes widened.
"You knew me already?" He wondered. Jean laughed.
"You're a pretty admirable student, you know? You get really high marks, and are on honor rolls and stuff. But I knew you because I'd seen you watching me." He offered. Marco flushed, not realizing someone had noticed at all. And Jean himself? He wanted to hide in a hole for a few months.
"You'd always stare anytime I passed. I mean, a lot of people did, but you looked at me differently than anyone else. I never really felt like you were scared of me, or like you thought I was cool. You just seemed interested." He offered, shrugging. Marco flushed, looking out the window. Jean could be pretty observant, apparently.
"I was pretty surprised you let me cheat." He admitted, and Marco winced. "But I'm glad you did. My grade aside, it gave me an excuse to talk to you." He explained. The freckled teen sighed, trying to push that to the back of his mind. He was still in denial that he'd helped someone cheat, even if it was Jean.
"You were sassy." Jean recalled, smirking. Marco turned to him quickly, brows furrowed as he tried to remember. "You said something like 'If you came to class, you'd know about tests," I think." He reminded, laughing. "I never expected that from you. You looked kind of… Timid. But that made me curious about you too."
Marco smiled. Sassy wasn't a word he was described with often, but if it's what got Jean to agree to tutoring, then so be it.
"And then you started tutoring me, and you're fucking brilliant, Bodt. Your family is awesome too." He announced, and Marco flushed.
"Seriously? I was so worried they'd scared you off!" Marco groaned. Jean shook his head.
"No, I adore them." He assured him, voice low and conspiratorial for a moment. Then he went sober again. "They're… Well, like I said, my mom's gone. And my dad… We uh… We don't get along so well. I know, stereotypical punk upbringing, right? He doesn't hit me or anything, we just don't have the same views, and it causes some issues between us. We end up yelling at each other most nights, since neither of us will back off, and I've run off a few times before. I usually end up over at Reiner's place." He explained. "So, anyway, your family is amazing compared to that." He concluded.
Marco frowned, taking in the new information and processing all it meant. It meant a lot. He could only guess what Jean and his father argued about, but it wasn't something he was going to ask about. Jean had a right to his privacy. If he wanted to talk about it, Marco would listen. But if not, then Marco wasn't going to push it.
"You're always welcome at our house, Jean." Marco announced softly, hesitantly leaning over and pecking the teen on the cheek. He liked how fast Jean's face went entirely red, even his ears.
"T-Thanks." Was the reply, but that was plenty for Marco. "Uh… Mind if I hang out for a bit longer today, then?" He asked, hope in his voice. Marco realized that they'd just pulled along the curb in front of his house. He smiled warmly, nodding.
"Of course not! Come on!" He encouraged, opening his door and getting out, waiting for Jean to kill the engine and join him, stealing his hand as they walked up the steps to the front door. He could feel Jean's hesitance at this, and he wondered why. Jean was looking straight at his house, eyes darting to each window, as if looking for someone. And Marco decided that he knew one of the things that Jean and his father didn't agree on.
He took the hand despite Jean's initial avoidance, holding it firmly in his, even after he'd let himself in. And he continued to hold it until his mother found them in the entryway trying to get their shoes off without letting go of each other. Jean pulled his hand away abruptly, eyes wide. But Mrs. Bodt paid it no mind, wrapping first Marco, then Jean in a hug, and shooing the boys upstairs with a knowing look. And he loved his mother just a little bit more that day, and he thought Jean probably did too.
A/N: So this is a more typical wait for one of my chapters. It can be longer or shorter, depending on how productive I'm being at the time. But my rule for this story is a little different. I'm actually working on finishing chapter 9 as I post this, but I'm not letting myself post these chapters until I update another one of my stories. So I updated Violet Eyes today, meaning I got to post chapter three of this. Once I get an update out for What Lies Beyond the Walls, I can post chapter four.
But still, I'd say 2 and a half to three weeks is the most you'll ever wait. I'm kind of busy with Finals, but after I finish at school, I'll have a lot more free time to write, so these should come out a bit faster. This story just warms my heart a lot, so I can't put it down. Even when I'm in class I'm thinking about writing another chapter.
I'm just going to warn you guys, this is going to be the mushiest, teenageriest, gooiest shit I've written in a long time. Like, cuddle puddles and tickle wars and a general state of homos being happy and in love and canoodling. So like, don't take this too seriously. Yeah, Jean has a few family issues, but that isn't the focus of the story. So if you're expecting a sudden character death or something, you're looking in all the wrong places.
That said, I think we all need a break from the sad JeanMarco stuff. A good round of Punk!Jean being a total love bucket is something everyone needs, in my opinion. So if you're still up for it, I'll see you next time! As always, feedback is always appreciated!
KuroRiya
九六りや