Marco's entire body is tingling and he doesn't quite know what the feeling means. Is he shaking? Is it adrenaline? He doesn't have the time to focus on whatever it is. With a push forward, he brings one hand to his chest to rest over his heart and bows his head. He turns and does the somewhat of a bow three more times, causing each direction of the crowd to light up when it's their turn. His eyes scan the last section of the crowd as he leaves the ice, and he locks eyes with his mom. He flashes her a stunning smile, but he doesn't know if that's how he feels on the inside.

He can't really remember how he skated. He didn't fall, he knows that much. And if memory serves, he didn't have any scratchy landings or traveling spins, either. Overall, he thinks he skated a clean program, but he seems to be caught in some kind of haze. This moment doesn't feel quite real to him. He was the final skater of the event, concluding the men's long. His fate, along with all of the others he's competed against since yesterday, lies directly in how well he performed his program.

He stops himself at the boards by reaching out to grab them and quickly skidding one foot across the ice. Hanji hands him his guards and in an all too familiar routine, he snaps them onto his blades. Standing up straight, Hanji grabs both of his shoulders and gives them a tight squeeze. She's beaming at him, so he realizes he must have done well to get a smile like that at a time like this. He returns the smile and the fog starts to lift from his brain. If Hanji is this proud of him, he shouldn't have anything to worry about. He must've skated an amazing program.

She leads him over to the kiss and cry and they take their seats. He talks to the camera, thanking the same people as yesterday and ending it with a shoutout to Jean. He can't tell exactly what he's saying, and it turns out that hazy, foggy feeling hasn't totally lifted yet.

He sucks in a sharp breath when the blue sliver appears across the bottom of the huge screen located above the rink. Scores begin to pop up and suddenly, he can't breathe anymore. This was the moment that would determine everything. He knows he's squeezing Hanji's hand far too tightly, but he can't bring himself to stop. In fact, with each portion of the score announced, he squeezes tighter. Going into the long, he was a little more than a point behind the skater in first. He swears his heart is pumping in his ears and he can't really hear much of what the announcer is saying, until -

"The score for the freestyle is 179.09. The overall score is 279.47-"

Marco's heart nearly stops and the rink feels eerily quiet. If he's doing the math right-

"-leaving Marco Bodt in second place. This concludes the men's freestyle event."

Originally, Marco's only intention was to make it onto the podium, but after stepping onto the ice for his first Olympic practice, he knew it needed to be more than that. A gold medal. That's all he wanted. To stand at the top, his country's national anthem playing in the background. It would be so surreal, but so, so amazing.

.62 points. That's it. That's all that separated him from first place. It felt bittersweet to know you're almost the best of the best. Still, Marco was happy. With his naturally bubbly personality, he couldn't dwell on something like this. All it meant was to push harder for 2018 and hope he can do it. (Or, that's what he tells himself, anyways. He's been bubbly for so long, he doesn't know what his friends would do if he suddenly wasn't.) Even then, receiving his medal felt amazing, and this time around he knew he was shaking. It was indescribable. How can someone put into words a feeling so few people will ever get the honor of feeling?

"Tell me," she says, almost impatiently. One of Jean's sisters has come to visit and she's currently standing over Jean, who's perched very comfily on the couch, demanding to know the final results for the skating. She hadn't had the chance to watch any of it, since her dumbass TV, as she put it, decided to die the day of Opening Ceremonies.

"Are you on like, a first name basis with these skaters…?" Jean asks, an eyebrow quirked upwards. He really only knew the results of his friends, so he didn't quite know what to tell her.

"Of course," she huffs, "I've been watching skating far longer than you have. You probably don't know anyone outside of your friends."

"A little demeaning," Jean says with an eye roll, "but fair enough, I guess. You're right. Sasha came in second and Mina came in fourth for the women's freestyle. Eren and Mikasa came in first for pairs, which I guess was huge surprise to everyone. Connie came in eighth and Marco came in second for the men's freestyle. I feel like that's pretty successful, right?" Jean's trying to stop his lips from forming the most ridiculous smile, but he can't really help it. His boyfriend is an Olympic silver medalist. That's about as cool as it gets.

"What about the other girl? The blonde one. I think her name is Historia," his sister questions, finally sitting down beside him on the couch.

"Um…" Jean pauses, thinking about the skaters he's seen over the past month or two at the rink and the women's event. He couldn't remember any blonde girl. After a long pause, he says, "I don't think she trains at the same rink. I don't remember her."

His sister begins to tap away on her phone for a moment and says, "Oh, you're right. She trains in Cali. Although it looks like she's making plans to move to a different rink after the Olympics."

Jean grunts to acknowledge he's listening, but he doesn't care that much in all honesty.

After the figure skating ends, time seems to fly by. Marco is able to talk more, since he's not as focused on competing, although he's staying until the games are over to walk in the Closing Ceremonies. February actually passes quite quickly after Marco's return as well, since he's been off on interviews since the games finished. While Jean doesn't notice much of a change in Marco on a personal level, his social media presence has taken off. Actually, all of his friends have. They all suddenly seemed to have verified accounts with thousands of followers tracking their every move and posting hundreds of heart eye emojis on every post. Multiple fan account for Marco had popped up since his second place finish, adorned with tons of hearts and "I love you Marco!" comments. Jean couldn't help but snort the first time he came across one, immediately screenshotting it to send to Marco.

When the Olympians make a return to school, it's absolute madness. For the most part, they hadn't even been attending school to train for the games, so most of the student body hadn't seen them in months - probably since December at the latest, and today is March 4. Jean gets caught up in it, since he actually got to walk into school with Marco today. This was the first time Jean had ever been in school with Marco. When he moved to Michigan, Marco had already been pulled out of school to train fulltime. He doesn't even know where Marco's locker is, or what his class schedule is like. Marco and the others are only back full time for a week, and then they return to training half time, school half time.

Students are lined up from the front doors of the school and through the main hallway, holding posters and signs with the names and faces of the Olympians plastered onto them. Jean gapes at the crowd, Marco grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He doesn't belong to walk through this craziness, he didn't earn it. Marco glances at him and flashes a radiant smile, and Jean can see from his expression that he's trying to tell him it's okay. Jean still feels stressed about the situation as the crowd cheers at Marco. They've gone on dates in public before, but he never really mentioned anything to his classmates since he doesn't know them and they don't know him. He assumes most of them have social media, but even then Marco hasn't posted anything with the two of them that resembles romance, since he was worried about Russia. Jean wasn't worried about the school knowing about their relationship at all, but he didn't think it would come out quite like… this.

He glances over his shoulder when another wave of cheers erupts. Mikasa, Eren, and Armin are walking up the steps of the school. Not far behind is Mina, and Jean can see Sasha and Connie walking towards the crowd.

Towards the end of the crowd, Marco turns to Jean and says, "My locker is kind of blocked by the crowd. Should we go to yours first?"

Jean nods. His locker is one of the last ones, since he came in halfway through senior year. Jean takes the lead now, continuing down the long stretch of the main hallway. He can hear the crowd beginning to disperse and the normal, loud hallway chatter of high school students begins. At the end of the hallway, Jean opens his locker and stuff his backpack inside. This week happens to be the first week of the new trimester, so Jean has to pull out his phone to check his schedule. "What's your first class today?"

"Mm… I think it's French," Marco hums in return, his fingers gliding over his phone as he pulls up his schedule to double check.

"French?" Jean asks, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah, it's French!" Marco replies, and then continues to answer Jean's questions, "I've been taking French since I don't really speak it with my dad. He always complains I speak Italian with my mom way more, but that's mostly because I think it's more natural to me."

Jean nods, a rare smile on his face, "Well, if you ever need help with French, I'm fluent! And it's one of the few topics I actually like, so. I guess I should've mentioned that when you said you were French, but your house is so big I was a little caught up. My mom is originally from France, but she's lived here since she was, I don't know, seventeen? So she doesn't really seem like it."

Marco's the one nodding this time, taking in the information Jean's told him. Jean realizes there's still a lot they don't know about each other, but it makes sense since Marco's been a bit preoccupied for about half of their relationship. Jean closes his locker, grabbing Marco's hand again and motioning that they can head to his locker now. Marco finally pipes up, "What's your first class?"
"Also French."

Marco gives him a look of confusion.

"I may be fluent, but my written grammar isn't perfect. Also it's an easy A. I forgot to ask, what level are you in?"
"Four," he replies without missing a beat, "I've been taking is since freshman year."

Their French teacher this trimester is a younger woman with bouncy blonde curls, and according to one of their classmates she's "pretty chill". Jean and Marco sit beside each other, talking away before class starts. As the room starts to fill up and more seats are claimed by books, more people also start to stand around Marco's desk and pester him with questions and autograph requests. Jean wants to tell them to piss off, but Marco talks to each one with a smile on his face. How can one person be so nice? He's refreshing to be around.

Jean spends most of class stealing glances at his boyfriend as he focuses intently on what the teacher has to say. He's so caught up in taking notes, he doesn't notice Jean staring at him. How can one person put so much effort into everything they do?

Jean supposes he'll never know. Even if he could put that much effort into everything, he would never have the energy to. After all, his lungs aren't a fan of his being alive and all.

Jean nearly crushes his pencil in his hand when the thought crosses his mind. The Olympics are over. He has to tell Marco.

Shit.

He stares down at his paper, covered in doodles and sparse in French related content.

How is he supposed to do that?