So, yeah, these things are happening. I adore writing Jean's stupid housemates, and expect plot developments next chapter! Like, actual plot developments for Jean-boy.
Please enjoy!
Chapter Ten:
My head was positioned squarely in between my knees. I should get a medal for managing to be so damn flexible in Levi's stupidly cramped car. A warm hand rubbed circles into my back, and their owner spoke in a quiet, soft tone to try and comfort me. It may have been helpful if it wasn't for the stench that was filling the car despite all the windows being cranked open.
"If that shit touches any part of my car, you're road kill!" Levi snarled at the person in the passenger seat. Eren had been hurling into bags pretty much every half hour or so throughout this four hour drive back home – and when he wasn't, I was. The two of us had formed a strange comradeship over this terrible morning, cheering each other one throughout the torturous hangovers we'd both woken up with.
It had been originally planned that Levi and Hanji (who'd driven up together for the cast and crew 'gathering' we had that previous night) would take Eren and I back home, as many of the crew were staying on location to film some more of Reiner's scenes. However, after we all met in the lobby this morning and Hanji caught a glimpse of the green tinge in mine and Eren's faces, she bailed.
Thankfully, that didn't mean a sick Eren and I were stuck alone with the angry short-stop for the trip home, oh no, God sent down a heavenly messenger in the form of a certain freckled angel.
So, yeah, long story short, Marco bagged a lift home off Levi too (and consequently, bagged the position of the car's nurse).
"Are you feeling any better, Jean?" aforementioned angel asked as he squeezed my shoulder.
"I'm never drinking again," I moaned. "Never. Ever. Again."
Eren showed his agreement by pitifully throwing up yet again.
There was a soft snort of amusement from Marco, and I felt the car start to slow.
"Alright, throw his hung-over ass out before he starts spewing again," Levi ordered. With Marco's help, I sat up and realised we had come to a stop right outside the front door to my apartment complex. I was elated to get away from the smell – it only made me feel worse – but my body ached with every slight movement, and it was a painstakingly slow task getting out of the car and onto to the pavement. I turned to give my thanks and say goodbye, but found myself watching Marco clamber out after me.
Reaching inside the open passenger window to take the full bag from Eren (who was immediately provided with a fresh one by Levi), Marco smiled and gave a grateful nod. "Thank you for the lift, sir. I'll make sure Jean gets home and into bed."
"Into a shower first, I hope," Levi scoffed. His eyes looked my way, and I could have sworn they weren't as fucking scary as they usually were… "Get better before the weekend's over."
I only nodded, and Marco began ushering me into my apartment building. As I glanced over my shoulder to try and say bye to Eren, I realised he wasn't looking my way at all. He was still hunched up in his seat, bag to his face, clearly about to burst into tears (guy was probably holding it all in since I was there… couldn't blame him). Levi was completely obvious to the fact he was still double parked and pissing off other drivers, and instead was muttering something to Eren. I quickly averted my gaze when he petted Jaeger's hair a little too affectionately.
I cannot begin to stress how grateful I was not to run into any of my neighbours in the lobby. The elevator we got in was empty too, and headed straight up to the fourteenth floor without any stops. Marco had insisted that he carry my bag – adamant that I could barely carry myself in my state. I would've disagreed, but he was totally right.
When we stood in front of the flat door, Marco took it upon himself to open the door. This involved sticking his hand into my jeans front of his own accord to grab my keys (the only reason I didn't thoroughly revel in the moment was because of how much the hallway was spinning.
"Jean's home!" a shrill voice shrieked as soon as the door swung open.
"Jean! My love! Home from war at last!" another chimed in from a different room.
Colourful curse words filled my head as I desperately tried to make Marco get in and over to my room as fast as possible before we were attacked. Unfortunately, my room just so happened to be the one at the very other side of the flat, and it wasn't like I could move that fast anyway.
Connie's head peeked out from inside the living room, his broad grin fell into shook when he spotted Marco standing by my side. He just stood there, gaping and staring at disbelief for a moment before narrowing his eyes.
"It's the bodty-boy…" he whispered dramatically.
Kill me now.
"Huh?" Marco asked, as adorably confused as some stupid little puppy.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse… it did.
Sasha came out the bathroom.
Brushing her teeth.
In her underwear.
Just her underwear.
And by underwear, I mean just her knickers.
Numerous things happened at once after that. I couldn't even begin to try and work out the exact succession, so you'll just have to deal.
Sasha started gaping just like Connie had. The toothbrush she was holding between her lips tumbled to the floor (don't expect me to describe the mess that made on both the floor and her face). Marco's body stiffened briefly before he tried to turn around and cover his eyes – forgetting that I was standing behind him and there was nowhere to run to other than into me. Connie leapt into action with the girliest scream I've ever heard, sprinting across the hall and tackling Sasha's exposed chest.
"Jean what are you doing?" Connie screeched towards me.
"What the fuck do you mean, what am I doing?"
"You've let Sasha's dignity be tainted!"
"What fucking dignity?"
"Jean! Jean! That's freckles right? You were doing the freckled butt, weren't you? Connie! Jean's brought his boyfriend home!"
"I know you've never seen one naked, Jean, but girl's have different anatomies to us! And you've just let Sasha be seen!"
"He's taller than you, Jean… Connie! That means I was right about the sex, right?"
"The hell? How many fucking times has Sasha stripped when she's drunk?"
"Jean, are you the bottom?"
"That's around our friends!"
"Is that why you look so pale? Did he ride your perky little ass till morning?"
"Oh my god, shut the hell up!" Finally having enough, I grabbed Marco's wrist and stormed down the corridor. Marco still had his reddening face hidden behind a hand, so it was my job to kick (and yes, I mean that literally) Connie out the way – making him fall onto Sasha.
The last I knew before I got Marco and myself safely behind my bedroom door, was that there was nothing to see of the two idiots except their entwined legs sticking out the bathroom door after their fall.
I fell against my door, running my hand that wasn't still securely wrapped around Marco's wrist over my face and up through my hair. Jesus fuck, I had never been so embarrassed in my life. And, apparently, neither had Marco – he was staring at my floor like he was wishing it would disappear and send him falling into a big black pit.
"So… my flatmates get worse with every meeting… huh?" I offered, hoping it would lighten up the mood a little.
Marco did look at me with a small smile of agreement. "Our bags are still at the door, you know?"
"That's no problem…"
No, that really wasn't the problem.
Marco was saying something, but I was too busy noticing the problem.
Then he was touching my arm, and I was too busy begging the problem to stay the fuck down in my stomach where it belonged.
The problem came anyway.
So, I narrowly avoided throwing up on poor Marco Bodt for a second time, only to throw up in my bedroom bin instead. Yet again, he took on the nursemaid role with ease and sat on the floor with me as I emptied my internal organs into the bin for the next fifteen minutes (I assume that's what it was, since there was surely not enough food in my stomach by then). Somewhere in those minutes, the housemates-from-hell knocked on the door to announce they were heading out "to avoid hearing gross sex noises". I tried to shout back that I dreaded to think what they sounded like it bed if me throwing up sounded remotely like sex noises, but I doubt the comment reached anyone's ears but Marco's.
Once the idiots had left, Marco helped me to the bathroom; leaving me hanging over the toilet bowl as he went on search of a glass of water and something to settle my stomach. Before I knew it, he was back at my side forcing some sort of tablet down my throat.
Another good fifteen minutes later and it seemed like my body was at least down with hurling – that or there simply was nothing else to hurl. Utterly exhausted, I flushed the toilet and leant back against the bath beside Marco.
"Alcohol is my enemy…" I groaned.
Marco's shoulders shook as he laughed silently – I only realised because he shuffled closer so our sides were touching. "Only when you have as much as you did last night."
"I hate everyone who let me drink to that state."
"Does that mean you hate me?"
"Huh?" I rolled my neck until I was looking more in Marco's direction. "You didn't keep handing me drinks. I didn't even see you until Levi tossed me at you."
Marco's head turned too. "I should have been sitting with you, though. So, technically, that most mean you hate me too."
Yeah, he looked way too calm to be serious. This bugger was trying to make me say something.
I frowned, dropping my gaze to the floor. Fuck, my cheeks were totally heating up.
"Nah… I don't."
"Don't what?"
Little shit.
"… Hate you."
"What! You hate me?"
"NO! I'd never hate you, idiot!"
It was only after I'd looked over to Marco in shock that I realised my outburst had been totally unnecessary, and I was playing right into this bastard's hands. The stupid freckled hand of his that slowly crept across the space between us and covered my own. And he wore such a pleased fucking smile. He was so fucking adorable and I was seriously thinking that maybe I did hate him for making me blush as much as I was.
"I… don't hate you," I repeated – this time significantly quieter.
Marco chuckled and slowly started running his thumb across the back of my hand. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me, Jean."
"Really? More romantic than 'maybe I'm a little gay'?"
Marco's laughter seemed to chime. I just sat there, content in watching the way his eyes creased, and his nose scrunched up a tad as he chuckled. Eventually, he fell silent and just gazed back at me.
After a while, he sighed. "I really want to kiss you, right now."
"Oh? Well please, come here and taste just how gross my mouth is right now."
"Oh god, no!" I shifted towards him, grabbing at his shirt as he desperately tried to lean away from my puckered lips – laughter cutting his sentences up. "No, Jean, please! Ew! Spare me!"
He toppled over onto his side, and I let myself flop there, resting my cheek on his hip (and probably crushing his poor legs).
"I'm tired…" I muttered.
"Anyone would be after throwing up for nearly twelve straight hours."
"Shut up." I could have closed my eyes and fallen asleep right there; no matter how uncomfortable the position was, it was perfect for me with Marco's warmth, and the feel of his body moving.
He moved a bit too much, however, and then began pulling me up to my feet. "Come on, you need to get to bed and sleep the rest of this thing off."
"Are you coming too?" I smirked as he led me back through to my room.
"I do actually have a place to go back to, you know," he sighed, digging through my drawers until he found something comfortable for me to wear. I guess he was looking for pyjamas, but I didn't even own any, anymore: the pair of joggers he chucked at me were more than I usually wore. He then headed out to go get my bag from the doorway, whilst I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the trousers in my hands. When Marco returned, he placed my bag to one side and looked at me with an expression that sort of mirrored my mum when she found me both irritating and endearing. Hopefully Marco's expression meant the same thing.
"You supposed to get changed now."
I didn't let how long my blinks were lasting stop me from pulling a smug-ass face. "Maybe you should just do it for me?"
Marco's tongue briefly wet his lower lip, before he sucked his lips both in entirely. His mind was clearly reeling with (what I hoped was) a want he was trying to control. Finally, with a shake of his head, he moved across to my window and shut my curtains.
The room was thrown into darkness except for the light that spilled in from the hallway through the open door. I watched Marco's body moving back towards me, until he stood right in front of me – his legs touching my knees. There wasn't a smile on his face now, and his hands ran along my shoulders before holding my arms and pulling me to my feet.
Our chests were pretty much touching they were that close, and he made no effort to create any more or less distance. I stared at his face; the calmness of his body seemed to only just hide the intensity in his eyes as he stared to slip my jacket off my arms. It was discarded onto the floor without any thought as his fingers worked their way to the edge of my shirt. He pulled it off over my head and dropped it into the newly forming pile of clothes. My heart was pounding, and not because I was feeling sick. He gave me nothing but the slightest of touches, but it was overwhelming me. I was going mad; I just needed him to touch me properly.
Marco's eyes remained fixed on whatever his hands were doing, and when he undid the button of my jeans I let out an involuntary whimper of desperation that definitely made his lip twitch in pride. Rolling my waistband down, Marco moved them lower and lower, until – with one brief glance up to see my reactions, he knelt down.
I was oblivious to the pain from how hard I was biting my lip; the sight of Marco on his knees in front of me was just too much for my brain to handle. When he made me step out of my jean legs one by one and tossed the trousers aside, my whole body trembled with excitement as he reached back up. Underwear going next… right…?
Wrong.
With the smuggest fucking smirk on his face, Marco reached behind me and grabbed the forgotten jogging bottoms off the bed. He made me step into those legs too and began pulling them upwards. He stood, dragging the waistband the rest of the way up until he let it rest of my hips, then looked up at me with a devilishly innocent smile.
"There," he said. "I changed you."
"I take it all back. I hate you. I definitely hate you."
He laughed again. The smugness slowly vanished and when he looked at me again he actually seemed as disappointed as I felt. "Sleep, and get better quickly, yeah?"
"Yeah," I grumbled – still not entirely willing to forgive him so easily. "Text me when you're home safe."
"Ok."
As I clambered into bed, Marco put my mobile and a fresh glass of water on my bedside table. He went off for a moment and returned with my bin (now empty and clean) to put it on the floor nearby 'just in case'. He stayed lingering by my side, ordering me to close my eyes and sleep before he left. It was only when I turned onto my side and shut them like he told me to that he leant down and pressed his lips against my temple. I had to hold back another whimper.
Then I had to listen as he said goodbye and headed out. My bedroom door shut, drowning me in the dark. I listened to his footsteps heading down the hall, him shuffle around in the doorway a little, and soon even the front door clicked shut.
I pulled the covers over my head and curled myself as small as possible.
I missed him already. My whole body seemed to ache more without him near.
Fuck, I was in trouble.