"So…? How'd you do?" Marco was looking at him expectantly.

Jean grumbled under his breath and shoved his test into his backpack.

"Didn't catch that." Marco nudged him in the side, grinning.

"Eighty-eight," Jean muttered.

"Eighty-eight? You were supposed to get an A! I've failed!" Marco cried dramatically.

"Shut up, Marco."

"I suppose it's still a thirty-point improvement," Marco mused. "Not too shabby, considering."

"Are you done yet?" Jean said. On impulse he reached over to snatch Marco's test from him. "Ninety-six? Of course," he snorted, shoving it back into Marco's hands. "Fuckin' nerd."

Marco started laughing again. Jean wished he wouldn't. Everything he threw at the guy just rolled right off him. He was beginning to think that Marco didn't take anything he said seriously, which would explain a lot.

"Where's the gratitude?" Marco asked.

Jean huffed. "Thanks for making me study," he grumbled, making it clear that he was still annoyed.

Marco beamed as if Jean had just presented him with an award. "You're welcome."

"Hey."

Jean looked up, surprised. "Hey. Thought you were asleep in the room." It had been nearly midnight by the time Jean had come back from the library, and he'd stopped outside to take a smoke break. It wasn't something he did often—just when he felt things were getting a little overwhelming.

Marco gave him a tired smile. "Nope. Was studying with Armin."

Jean nodded, bringing his cigarette to his lips and inhaling.

"Mind if I have one?"

Surprised, Jean turned to Marco, accidentally puffing smoke into his face. Marco waved the smoke away, still with that same tired smile.

"You want a cig?" Jean asked.

"Yeah."

Was Marco trying to impress him or something? Jean shrugged, taking a cigarette from the box and handing it to Marco.

"Light?"

Wordlessly Jean handed his lighter to Marco. He expected it to take Marco a couple of tries when he brought it to the end of his cigarette, but with a deft flick of his thumb the cigarette was lit.

"Thanks," Marco said, inhaling deeply and handing the lighter back to Jean. Jean said nothing. There was no coughing or wheezing on Marco's part—meaning he'd probably done this before. Who would have guessed?

"You… smoke?" Jean asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Marco smiled wryly at him. "Wouldn't have thought, huh? But no, not often. Just… occasionally, when I want to relax. Take a break from life, you know?"

Jean nodded. He knew better than most people.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes before Marco spoke again. "How are you, Jean?"

"What?"

"How are you?" Marco repeated.

"I… I'm fine," Jean said, confused.

Marco turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. "Are you? Or are you just putting on an act again?"

"What?"

Marco flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "I know what kind of person you are. You think you're one of those people who thinks they don't need anyone else. But it gets lonely like that, doesn't it?"

"You don't know anything about me," Jean muttered irritably. He tossed his cigarette stub on the ground and smushed it with his toe. "What the hell are you even talking about? You're not my goddamn psychiatrist."

"You're right. I don't know a thing about you," Marco said. "Because you're so afraid to share."

" Afraid to – are you kidding me?" Jean asked, starting get angry. "I don't share because it's none of your fucking business. We've known each other for like what, only two months? So why –"

"Yeah, we've known each other for two months," Marco interrupted loudly, "and I still don't know a thing about you, my roommate. I've tried to get you to open up, I've tried to talk to you –"

"How many times do I have to say it? I don't want to fucking open up to anyone! No one's ever bothered listening anyway, so why do you fucking care so much?"

"Because I want to know you, Jean."

The words took Jean by surprise, and he froze mid-rant, his mouth wide open. "What?"

"I want to know who you are. You're a complete mystery to me. And I know it sounds crazy, but hey, I want to get to know you and be your friend. But you won't let me."

Jean heaved a sigh, anger suddenly drained and replaced with exhaustion. He had no idea why Marco, endlessly patient, had brought this up so suddenly, why a quiet smoke break had turned into this.

"You know what?" Marco tossed his own cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. "Forget it. Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. That was rude of me. You don't have to share anything with me if you don't want to."

The worst part was that Jean could tell that he meant it, that he was sorry for pushing Jean. Marco had started to turn away, and Jean almost let him go, telling himself that it was easier this way, it was better –

"Wait, Marco."

Marco turned back around.

"I – no, you're right. You're right. I've been – an ass." Jean was staring at the ground.

"I think that's more of a personality trait than anything else. But keep going."

"I – what? Hey!" Jean said, looking up now to see that Marco was grinning.

"Do you deny it?"

Jean frowned. "Fine. No. But that's beside the point." He heaved a sigh. "Look. I just… I like being alone."

"Do you like it, or do you do it for some other reason?"

Jean fidgeted. He wondered if Marco had guessed more than he was letting on. "Okay, fine. You really want to know it?" He paused, trying to work up to it, taking a deep breath. "When I was little… I'd get these horrible nightmares."

Marco was staring at him, probably wondering what this had to do with anything. Jean hurried to go on.

"I could never remember them. Just that they were awful. I'd wake up crying, or screaming, and my parents would ask me what was wrong and I never knew." Jean swallowed. "All I could remember… was this horrible feeling of guilt. Anxiety. Fear. And then… and then my dad died, and they got worse." Jean's hands were trembling, and he shoved them into his pockets to hide them.

"Jean," Marco said softly, "look, hey, you don't have to tell me this if you're not ready. You don't need to tell me this if you don't want to."

Jean shook his head. "I want to," he said quietly. "I want to tell someone."

Marco looked concerned now, and opened his mouth to say something, but Jean cut him off. He couldn't stop now that he'd started.

"I was always scared. It was hard… after my dad died… that feeling of guilt. Like, why had I been so helpless? Why couldn't I have done anything to change it? The nightmares were terrible. I stayed away from other kids, and they stayed away from me. I was scared, like something bad would happen if I became friends with them, like whatever awful thing that happened in my dreams would come true. Everyone thought I was weird, and they would have thought I was weirder if I ever told them stuff like this." Jean was staring at the ground now. "It was stupid, you know?" he said quietly. "But the fear… infected my mind. I don't know why. I guess it made me kind of paranoid." He took a deep breath.

"That's not stupid at all," Marco said, but Jean shook his head.

"It's stupid! After my dad died, I couldn't pick myself back up. Other people deal with loss, they handle it – even Eren, he's found some way to channel his grief into some kind of purpose – but me, I'm over here with these stupid nightmares and too scared to do anything about them." Jean's hands were clenched into fists in his pockets. "That's why I don't really talk to anyone. I can't. I'm afraid something will happen – I don't know why, I just – it's easier to stay away, 'cause then you don't have anything to lose, you know?"

"Jean. Hey, Jean." Marco took a step closer to him. His voice was soft. "You don't have to be afraid. We're all here for you."

"But that's just the thing!" Jean said. "I don't – I don't want anyone to be there for me! I'm not a nice person, I'm not a good friend, I don't have anything to offer anyone –"

"Jean." Marco closed the gap between them and enveloped him in a hug, taking him completely by surprise. "You're a good person, okay?"

Jean leaned his chin on Marco's shoulder, shaking. He hadn't realized how the visions from his nightmares still affected him, how the fear preyed on his mind. He'd kept it shoved in the back of his head for too long. "How would you know?" he whispered.

"Because you have a good heart. Because you were only trying to protect yourself, not to hurt others."

Normally Jean would have scoffed at the idea of something so cheesy, but Marco was solid and steady and warm, and Jean clung to him. "Sorry for being a douche to you," Jean said quietly.

"Hey. It's okay. It's not your fault." Marco's hand came up to rub soothing circles on Jean's back, and Jean leaned into the embrace, so tired, so wanting to have someone else to rely on instead of just himself.

When Jean finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but they were so close together that Marco caught them anyway. "Thank you, Marco."