Chapter 7

The wood lathes of the mezzanine bed above his head were clearer and clearer in the darkness, as his eyes were getting used to the lack of light. He awoke in a start, the cold sweat sliding along his back. Short breath. He turned on his side, with the hope he could erase the images that had just came through his eyes. There was a while since his last nightmares and he still could feel he was falling across the branches without being to stop.

Outside, the light barely enlightened through the small window. He straightened a little, rubbing his face with a cold hand. For many nights now, he couldn't sleep well. Since the day of the accident. And now he feared more and more about the day he would have to fly again. When he thought about it again, he couldn't understand what happened. Why? He just touched a branch, and well, ok, it should have never happen; but he was used to move with his tridimensional gear, now.

So, why? Why his propulsion system didn't work anymore?

The silence answered to the breaths surrounding him. On the bed above theirs, Reiner's usual snores where resonating with happiness, and almost made him smile. Since the day they got injured, the big blond moved with Bertold and Connie to let them have more space and avoid night accidents.

Beside him, the lying body turned his back to him with a sleepy sigh. He could barely discern his hair, and the top of his crane hardly got off the blanket.

Precautiously, Jean lay down again, putting his own thick blanket on himself to find the heat back. The air in the room was almost cold despite the people sleeping in it, and he put his knees up to his chest to find his own heat. He started when his knee met some soft and hot obstacle and then hold his breath for a few seconds. Finally he dawned on he wasn't under his own blanket from the beginning. And it might be the back of a thigh, due to their respective position and high.

He heard a small sigh when he entered in contact with Marco and the freckled boy suddenly turned again; his leg climbed on his and his arm fell on the mattress with a soft noise, half stretched and missing his face from not so far. Jean spent a little moment before he dare move but finally gave up on the idea : Marco's leg was keeping him and his heat was, actually, welcome. As for a human need or just a physical one, his presence comforted him. So much.

A small moan, muffled by the sheets, came to his ear and he opened his eyes again. Marco's face was partially hidden in his pillow and covered by the blankets until his ears. Jean couldn't do as if he didn't hear the discreet sniffles, as he was used to Marco's sad nights when he was asleep. Searching under the thick fabric, he finaly found the hand, fallen close to his face a little before. And after a brief hesitation, Jean wraooed his fingers around the wrist, rubbing softly his thumb in Marco's hand for a few minutes. This too, he was used to it. How many times had he acted that way? Alond the months, he lost the count and just did it, calming his friend before getting back to sleep and praying for Reiner not to open his eyes at that moment. He never told Marco about it, doubting the boy would take pretty well the fact someone had to care about him when he was crying in his sleep. Jean wasn't even sure Marco knew about himself crying.

The sun didn't woke him up, compare with usually. It was terribly hot and he had the weird feeling that he was about to suffocate. But as a contrast, he didn't want to move. He knew he still had some time before waking up: the sun wasn't high enough, the rays barely reached the small window. He wanted to stretch a little but soon gave up the idea; something was blocking him, or rather…Well, it was. There was definitely something.

Surprised, Marco opened a eye, then the second one to be sure when he discovered the blond hair –yeah, the one he knew so well for getting up baside it every mornings. Well, ok for that part, they were the kind of people to move in their sleep and it always put Reiner into some despair. Ok, maybe. But, just…How the fuck could he be like that, his legs wrapped around Jean's body?

He suddenly shivered when he felt the hot breath on his collar bones. The boy's face was close enough for him to feel it going down into his shirt collar, tickling his skin. Marco tried to move softly, but he got confronted to two big problems: his own leg slid under Jean's hips and the hand, wrapped tightly around his. And he just noted it at that moment. He frowned a little at that point, remembering it wasn't the first time it was happening when he woke up. Or rather, I was the first time he was with Jean under his own blanket and he had never thought about having the boy so close and defenseless. And it was difficult to be closer when he was himself almost on Jean.

Marco retained a new sigh due to the situation, blessing at the same time the cover that was hiding both them –even if it could also be kind of traitor according to someone else looking at them- and the fact that Jean was sleeping as deeply as his other comrades when morning was coming. And Marco was now completely, incredibly awoken.

Then came a moment Jean moved a little, revealing the danger of the situation to Marco when Jean's pelvis also moved, prisoner between his legs and…So close to his own. Surprised, Marco could hardly retained a soft moan when he felt a light touch against his crotch, and put his lips firmly tightened.

Fuck. That was bad.

No time to think; he suddenly unhooked his legs, feeling Jean's body starting at the harsh movement. A small and painful moan resonated in the air and Marco immediately closed his eyes, moving away from a few centimeters –or at least as he could. Even with Jean's hand still xraed around his, the situation would look less abnormal to anybody's eyes. But he missed the heat of his body, his legs back to the cold sheets. He hated that feeling, already shivering from the cold.

"Mmh…Marco…?" he heard softly.

Marco felt guilty for acting that way and almost crossed his fingers for not to have injured Jean again. After all, not Marco nor Jean was responsible of their respective positions and he didn't really have to get off it. Then he half opened an eye, acting like he was just awaking and his heart missed a beat at the view of the boy's face, still half asleep. Those sleepy eyes, his lips, half opened, and the tip of his tongue that came out to humidify them as they might feel dehydrated by the night heat, that shirt that Marco didn't even know where was the first button –or if he even took the time to buttoned it by the way…

Marco closed his eyes, trying to put all those pictures off his retina, and tried to act in a normal way for someone who was supposed to just wake up.

"What?" he sighed.

As if nothing, he pulled on his hand, turning on his back. Like this, he managed to take his hand off Jean's as if he didn't notice. Jean stretched a little before rubbing his hips, visibly perplexed but Marco kept on acting as if he didn't know and mimicked some of a yawn, sliding an arm under his head for a few minutes before sitting up. He just had the time to see Jean's hand appearing in his view and the boy had taken the helm of his sleeve between his fingers.

"Why are you always waking up so early?" the blond muttered in a waking up slurred speech.

Marco raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by the late question. After all, that wasn't as if I was something new: he had always acted that way, since the beginning.

"That's more quiet," he just said in a low voice, giving a look at the window. "It's rather calme and nobody come and disturb me."

He felt like the time was gone so fast. But not at all. A few minutes only ad passed since the moment he had opened his eyes. Sighing, he finally slided again under his blanket, noticing that Jean didn't let him go, his sleepy brown eyes almost closed again.

"Eh, stop with that…", he whispered while he unhooked the fingers one by one from his sleeve.

Jean moaned a little, indistinctly. Was he even conscious of his own acts, Marco wasn't sure and doubted a lot when Jean wrapped his arms around his waist without preventing. Then he didn't move anymore. His breath was regular and quiet. Jean was just…Sleeping. Simply a tender smile as he was looking his sleeping face rubbed against his arm, Marco just decided to put the blanket back on both them. He just wanted to hide them from the others, in case of. Then, he closed his eyes, taking the time he still had before really waking up.

"So?"

Taking care about not disturbing Connie who was sleeping like a rock, Bertold was set across Reiner and tried to see from their mezzanine where they slept together.

"They're not moving anymore," he murmured, pliting his eyes to see Marco and Jeans's bed. "Can't hear what they said. Maybe they're sleeping now…"

Reiner stretched an arm, his hand sliding on the tall boy's waist, as if nothing was happening, and acted like he was just holding him from falling. And to point it, he moved a little, receiving some insult.

"What'ya doing?" Bertold hissed turning his attention to him. "Stop moving!"

Reiner obeyed by putting his hand down, right on Bertold's low waist and the bay immediately took a nice reddish color, trying to get off the hands, blocked on the big blond who was maintaining him firmly. "Eh, stop it, that's not funny…"

"That's weird, it amuses me a lot…!" Reiner muttered with a wink.

With his big hands, it was easy for him to move Bertold's thin body, taking him against him. He wrapped his waist with an arm and made them roll on a side without listening to his friend protestations. There, he let his other hand go down, almost on a cheek, despite of the brown boy who was debating softly, trying not to make the bed move too much.

"Ah, stop it," Reiner groaned. "Ans sleep."

Even in this position, if Connie had to wake up, the small boy would only see Reiner big back. Bertold was hidden on the other side and he sighed, getting a bit more quiet again.

"try anything more and be sure I'll kick your ass," he threatened while closing his eyes. He tried no to pay attention to the chuckle he received.

But well. That was not so bad. At least not, it was hot. He might think about forgetting for this time.