"Greetings, my most favorite roommate!" The door opened and Marco stepped in, grinning from ear-to-ear. Instantly Jean was suspicious.

He glared at Marco and pulled an earphone out from his ear. "I'm your only roommate, stupid." Part of him was relieved—he'd been afraid that after his little confession, Marco would treat him differently, maybe a little pityingly, maybe a little cautiously. But Marco was still the same old Marco. A little weird and overbearing, as usual.

"That's why you're my favorite!"

Jean stuck his earphone back in, returning to his laptop. "It's Saturday evening, dude. Please let me have this time to myself."

"I have a better idea," Marco said. "We're going to Stohess!"

"Funny, I don't remember ever agreeing to that."

"Well yeah, 'cause we knew you weren't gonna say yes. You don't have much of a choice, really."

"Who's we? That goober Reiner?"

"Right on the money."

Jean sighed loudly and didn't move.

"Reiner said he would come in and drag you out of here if you didn't get up," Marco said casually.

"You would let him in?"

"To be honest, he could probably break down the door."

Jean frowned. He briefly imagined being hauled up from his bed by Reiner – the dude could definitely pick him up, no problem – and gave an exasperated sigh. "I hate you. And him too. Tell him I hate him."

"You can tell him yourself when we meet up with him." Marco paused. "Dress nice," he added after a moment.

"Dress nice?"

"Okay, nicer than you usually do."

"What's wrong with how I dress?" Jean asked, looking down at himself. It was true that he typically went through his day with old sweats and a hoodie, and fine, he usually ended up sleeping in them too, but that's because they were comfortable.

"At least wear jeans instead of sweats," Marco said, rolling his eyes. "Do you even own any jeans?"

"Sweats are comfy," Jean said defensively, "and yes, I have jeans."

"Lemme guess. Skinny?"

Jean shot Marco a glare. "Sorry I don't have a passion for fashion like you," he said, eyeing Marco's button-down and loafers. "What, you want me to put on a sweater vest?"

"You could borrow one of mine," Marco offered, his face straight.

Jean squinted at Marco, unable to tell if he was joking. "Thanks for the very generous offer, but I'll pass."

Marco grinned. "Your loss," he said.

"Hey!" Reiner waved. "Glad you could make it!"

Jean scowled. "Did we have a choice?" He rubbed his eyes. "I hate you. Did you know that?"

"Come on, a little bonding time isn't so bad. We're meeting up with the others later! You can squeeze in the back with Annie, 'cause I don't feel like putting up the last row of seats." He patted his car, a big black SUV, very fondly. "Need that trunk space, you know?"

Jean and Marco glanced at Annie, who was standing next to Bertholdt and looking very bored. "I'm not sitting in the middle," she said flatly. Jean shivered.

"Me neither," Jean said quickly. "Guess it's up to you, buddy!" he said, patting Marco on the back.

"Thanks," Marco said, shooting Jean a look.

"Oh, one more thing. I've got a surprise for you both!" Reiner sang, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He pulled his wallet out and took out two cards. "For you, and for you," he said, handing one each to Jean and Marco.

Jean looked down at it. "What the –"

"Is this a fake ID?" Marco asked, sounding disbelieving.

"Yeah. Pretty good, aren't they?"

"This is my yearbook picture from high school," Jean said. "How the fuck did you get it?" His senior year self glared back at him, the background of the photo edited white.

"Sorry, bro. Can't reveal trade secrets."

"I look like a fucking dweeb in this picture." Boys at Jean's high school had to wear tuxedos for their senior photos. Bow ties and shit. "Don't you think it's kind of a dead giveaway that this is a fake ID with a fake photo?"

"Most places in Stohess don't really care. This is just a precaution," Reiner reassured.

Jean snatched Marco's fake ID from his hand. "How come you don't get some stupid yearbook photo for yours?"

"'Cause he actually has useable photos, dude," Reiner said. "I just pulled one off of Facebook, did a little background editing, and voilà. Anyway, enough chit-chat and complaining, let's go!"

Grumbling, Jean clambered into the car after Annie and Marco. "How long's the drive?" he asked Reiner. Please, please don't let it be more than thirty minutes with this idiot or I'll go nuts.

"Less than an hour."

"An hour?"

"Less than an hour, I said," Reiner corrected.

Jean closed his eyes.

"Hey. We're here. Wake up."

"Huh?"

"We're here."

Jean slowly opened his eyes, disoriented. Then he realized exactly where he was and quickly sat up, flushing.

"Jeez, you really can fall asleep anywhere, can't you?" Marco asked, laughing.

Jean grunted. Christ, he'd fallen asleep on Marco's shoulder. Marco's shoulder. How fucking embarrassing was that?

"Aw, don't worry," Reiner said, and in the rearview mirror Jean could see his eyes crinkling with a smile. "You looked pretty cute back there."

"Shut up," Jean muttered, wiping off the thin line of drool that'd made its way down his chin. God, he'd been drooling, too. Marco probably thought he was disgusting.

"It's okay," Marco reassured him, as if reading his thoughts.

Face flaming, Jean opened the car door and hopped out, taking in the fresh air. Thank god. He glanced around. They were in the parking lot of a quaint little strip mall, shops and restaurants stretching down the street.

"Yo!" Reiner waved across the parking lot, where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were getting out of a car. They waved back – at least, Armin did – and started towards them.

"Hey," Armin greeted as they approached. "Where's everyone else?"

"Late, as usual," Reiner said. "Let's go inside. They can join us later, 'cause I'm starving!"

They had dinner in one of the little restaurants, Ymir and Christa having joined them a few minutes later, and then Connie and Sasha even later.

"All right, kiddos," Reiner said when everyone was finished eating, "we'll meet up at the Vortex later tonight. Go out and have fun now!" He and Bertholdt abruptly stood up, putting on their jackets. "Bye!" Reiner said, wiggling his fingers as they left.

"He's so friggin' sketch," Jean muttered. He watched as Reiner and Bertholdt disappeared through the door. "And they took the car, too." He sighed.

"Hey, walking's not so bad. That's the best way to enjoy Stohess, anyway," Marco said cheerfully.

"I'm not so sure about that," Jean said as they stepped outside. He looked up at the darkening sky. "Looks like it's gonna rain." Damn, he hadn't even thought to bring a jacket.

The group stood outside of the restaurant, no one saying anything for a moment. Jean suddenly felt uncomfortable. He wasn't sure that he wanted to hang out with them – not that they were unlikeable (with the exception of Eren) – but more like he wasn't really sure he belonged.

"Well…" Marco began, as no one moved or said anything. "Um… I guess me and Jean will get going, then."

Jean blinked. What?

"You don't wanna hang with us?" Connie asked, pretending to look hurt.

"Definitely not," Marco said, grinning. "Nah, it's actually just 'cause Jean hasn't been here before, and I thought I'd show him around." Jean remained silent, trying to work out the situation in his head.

"Fine with us," Eren said. "Come on, guys." The group started to head down the street. Annie turned and gave Jean and Marco one last lingering look before turning back.

"Marco?" Jean asked, when they were out of earshot.

"Yeah?"

"What are you… um, why did you –"

"I know you're not comfortable with them yet," Marco said patiently. "Being in big groups like that. Especially with weirdos like Connie and Sasha."

Normally Jean would have at least cracked a smile at that, but now he just stared at Marco. "You – you… really didn't have to do that," he muttered, looking away.

"I didn't. But I wanted to. We're friends, right?" Marco asked, beaming.

Jean gave a one-shouldered shrug, staring at the ground. "I guess."

"Well, that's a big improvement from 'no,'" Marco said cheerily. "Come on, there's a lot of cool stuff in Stohess. And we've got a lot of time before we meet up with everyone."

Somehow Jean found himself in a tiny little thrift store, its shelves crammed with items that looked like they hadn't seen the light of day for many years. Marco, though, seemed to love it. "You never know what you might find," he'd said to Jean before they'd walked in. He'd disappeared farther into the store almost immediately, eagerly perusing the shelves.

Jean picked up a dusty little Hello Kitty lamp and examined it before setting it back down. "Marco?" he called out.

"Polo!" came the answer, farther inside the little store, and Jean wanted to slap him.

"That's not even funny," he said grumpily when he found Marco standing in an aisle, holding what looked like an old guitar. "What's that? Looks about a billion years old."

"Isn't it nice?" Marco said happily, plucking a string. "Yeah, it's pretty old, but that's the beauty of antiques, right?"

"Is it even playable?"

"Yeah!" Marco strummed the beginnings of a tune, one Jean didn't recognize, but the notes sounded rather sour and unpleasant. "Okay," Marco admitted, "it needs a bit of tuning, but it's playable."

"Huh." Jean frowned. "So how many instruments do you play?"

"Just three. Guitar, piano, violin."

Jean rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Maybe one of these days I could serenade you with my music. You know, sit down at a piano with some roses and candles –"

"Yeah, please don't ever do that." Despite himself, Jean couldn't help but grin a little.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna get this guitar. Then I can serenade you right in our room."

Jean's smile immediately turned into a frown. "You know what, I'm just gonna wait outside."

"Okay! Where to next?" Marco asked cheerfully, stepping outside to where Jean was waiting on the sidewalk.

Jean glanced down at the ratty guitar case in Marco's hand. "That thing looks like it crawled out of its own grave."

"Hey, don't be such a party pooper," Marco said. "It has character."

"That's some hipster bullshit right there," Jean said, starting down the sidewalk. "Walk a little behind me. I don't wanna be seen with some weirdo carrying around a piece of junk like that."

Marco only laughed, keeping pace with Jean. "I'll put it in Reiner's car later."

A low rumble of distant thunder interrupted them. Jean squinted up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving fast, sealing out the blue-gray sky. "What'd I say? Told you it was gonna rain."

"We can wait it out. There's this really neat little bakery just a little further down the street. They're supposed to have really good coffee and sweets. I wanted to go last time, but we didn't have enough time."

"Uh… how far is it, exactly?" Jean asked, as the first fat rain drop plopped onto his face.

"Like a ten minute walk. Don't worry, it won't take long."

The two set off down the street, but within minutes it became clear that the rain was going to turn into a downpour. Jean pushed his wet hair out of his face, hating the feeling of cold rain sliding down his neck and into his shirt.

"My poor guitar!" Marco said, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a few moments later by a clap of thunder.

"We're getting drenched, and all you can think about is your damn guitar? That thing's time on Earth is finished, anyway!" Jean shouted back. "Can we just go inside somewhere?"

"The bakery's just up ahead! It'll be worth it, I promise!" Marco said. Jean gave a frustrated sigh and broke into a jog, Marco following him. Jean's shoes slapped the pavement with unpleasant squishing sounds, and he could feel the cold wetness seeping into his socks and between his toes. He was gonna kill Marco.

"Right there!" Marco suddenly shouted. "See that little yellow sign? It's that one."

Jean sped up, nearly breaking into a sprint. He was cold, wet, and did not enjoy the rain in the slightest. Behind him he could hear Marco bumping along with his stupid guitar. He glanced up at the yellow sign, swinging in the wind, and saw the words Sugar Mountain Bakery printed in bright red. What kind of dumb name is that? he thought, before pulling open the door and stumbling inside.

Warm, sweet-smelling air wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and he stood there for a moment, shivering and dripping. Behind him, Marco patted him on the shoulder. "See? Wasn't so bad."

"Fuck you," Jean muttered. "We're both completely soaked. How is that not so bad?"

The bakery was bustling, but not crowded; there was an empty table by the window, and Jean went over to it. He sat down on the edge of his seat, cringing as he felt a gush of cold water oozing through the seat of his pants.

Marco took the seat across from him, still in a disgustingly good mood. "Hey, don't look so grumpy. It's just a bit of rain." He set his ratty old guitar by his seat.

"Just a bit of rain?" Jean asked incredulously. "Marco, I am literally freezing my ass off here. There is water oozing between my ass ch –"

"Okay, okay," Marco said hastily, cutting him off. "Okay, sorry. I didn't think the rain would pick up that fast. But hey, at least we're here, right? We can warm up and dry off until it's time to meet the others. Here," Marco said, picking up a menu, "pick something. I'll pay."

"You don't have to do that," Jean muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

"Take it as my apology."

Jean shook his head. "It wasn't your fault," he said grudgingly. "Just – let's make sure it doesn't happen next time." He didn't realize what he'd said until after he'd said it – next time?

"Okay, it won't. I promise!" Marco said happily, and Jean knew that the fact that he'd mentioned a next time hadn't been lost on him. Jean wanted to take back his words, but Marco looked so damned happy. Jean wished he wouldn't.

He picked up his menu instead, his eyes boring holes into it without really reading anything. This wasn't fair. Goddamn Marco. Why'd he have to make it so damn hard for Jean to be a little meaner to him?

Suddenly he was aware that Marco was talking, and he looked up, but Marco wasn't talking to him. A waitress had somehow managed to sidle up to their table without Jean noticing, and she was talking to Marco now, her cherry-red lips curved up in a smile.

"—sure you don't need anything?" She was blushing, and it took Jean a moment to realize that she was flirting with Marco.

It shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did, Jean supposed. Marco was good-looking, and the rain had turned his white button-down as good as transparent, and it wasn't like his years on the swim team hadn't paid off –

Jean abruptly stopped his thoughts, crumpled them up into a little ball, and disposed of them into his mental trash bin.

Marco pushed his wet hair back from his face with a deft flick of his hand, and if it had been anyone else then Jean would have thought that he was flirting back. But this was Marco, and the way he grinned up at the waitress was completely innocent and without intent.

"We're good right now, thanks," Marco said. "Still looking at the menu."

"Okay," the waitress said, still blushing. She glanced quickly at Jean, gave him a strange look, then hurried off.

Jean rolled his eyes. He knew what that look meant.

"What are you gonna get?" Marco asked, interrupting his thoughts. "This stuff all looks really good, doesn't it?"

"I dunno, I'll just get a coffee. Um…" Jean glanced at the menu. "I guess I'll get a… caffè marocchino, whatever the hell that is."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, I'll just ask her to surprise me or something. Get me whatever's good." He put his menu down and glanced around the bakery. "Kinda wanna try some of their pastries, though…" He stopped. "That waitress we had is kinda weird. Keeps looking at you, Jean."

"At me?" Jean asked, only half-surprised.

"Yeah. Maybe she likes you!"

Was this guy an idiot? Jean snorted. "She's trying to figure out if we're a couple or not, and if she can make her move on you."

"Oh." Marco looked slightly put out, which Jean thought was a little weird but also a little amusing. "Darn, I was getting excited for you."

"Do you not know how to read people at all?" Jean asked. "Wasn't it kinda obvious that she was flirting with you?"

"Um." Marco looked embarrassed. "I thought she was just being nice."

Jean almost started laughing. Was this guy for real? "I thought you'd be better at reading people, given how you're so social and all. Come on, most people aren't like you, being nice just for the sake of being nice."

"Okay, okay," Marco said, holding up his hands, "I guess I'm not as good as understanding people as you are, Mr. Jean Kirschstein."

"You're surprisingly naïve, actually."

"Me? Naïve?"

"Like a child," Jean confirmed.

The waitress was approaching them again, having noticed that they'd put down their menus. "Ready to make your orders?" she asked, her pen poised above her notepad.

"I'll take an… um, caffè marocchino," Jean said, pointing to the menu.

"And for you?" the waitress said to Marco, sounding just a little too eager. Marco smiled, a little uncomfortable.

"Uh, surprise me. Give me whatever you think's the best."

Too much, Jean thought, as the waitress blushed a deep red. He had to choke back a laugh as Marco scratched his head nervously.

"Of course!" the waitress – Sheila, her nametag read – exclaimed. "Whatever's best." She scurried away, dark hair flying.

Jean shook his head. "That was a bad idea. She's gonna give you some cheesy latte with a heart in it, I bet," he said.

"No, she won't. That's weird," Marco protested.

Jean just raised an eyebrow and gave him a 'you-just-watch' look. "Bet you five bucks she will."

"Deal."

They fell silent. Jean stared out the window, following the water droplets sliding down the glass with his eyes. He didn't really like the rain. It made everything soggy and wet and gross. Like his shirt. Or his shoes. Or his underwear.

"Haven't you had a girlfriend?" he asked suddenly, the question coming out of nowhere. Maybe he was being a bit blunt, a bit too forward, but that was Jean. Besides, he was curious. For a guy who could charm the pants off of girls, Marco didn't seem to be particularly experienced.

"Yeah. Just one. It… didn't really work out." Marco shrugged. "She wasn't the one, you know?"

Jean squinted at Marco disbelievingly. "Don't start spewing some corny love shit at me."

Marco laughed. "Okay, okay, I won't. But… you know. I haven't found the person who I really… think I could be with. Whether it's a guy or girl."

That caught Jean off guard. "You're bi?"

"I guess?" Marco shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I am. Not that it matters to you, right?"

"I mean…" Now it was Jean's turn to shrug. "I'm not… straight, either." He suddenly felt uncomfortable under Marco's scrutinizing gaze. "I'm just… attracted to who I'm attracted to." He cleared his throat and was relieved when Sheila appeared out of nowhere, tray balanced on her hand.

"For you," she said, setting Jean's marocchino in front of him. Jean had to admit that it did look pretty good. He watched as the waitress, cheeks pink, set Marco's cup in front of him.

Marco stared at it, then looked at Jean, looking almost accusing. Jean coughed to cover his laugh. Sure enough, the waitress had set down a latte with heart drawn in milk on the surface in front of Marco.

"I hope you like it!" Sheila said breathlessly, before turning and retreating. When she was gone Jean started to laugh.

"Oh, man, that was gold," he said. "The look on your face –"

"I've never seen you in such a good mood," Marco said, rolling his eyes. "Is being right that rare of an occasion for you?"

Jean's mouth nearly fell open. What was this, was Marco sassing him? Perfect, innocent Marco?

But Marco was grinning, and he pulled out his wallet. "Guess I owe you five bucks."

"Yeah!" Jean said, taking the bill from Marco and shoving it into his own wallet. "That's how we do it!"

Marco shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

They grew quiet as they sipped their drinks. Jean's marocchino was quite good, and okay, maybe it wasn't so bad after all, sitting in the cozy little bakery drinking hot coffee.

"The rain stopped," he said suddenly. Outside, the evening was growing darker; street lamps had flickered on, lighting the sidewalks.

"That's good," Marco said, finishing his latte. "What time were we supposed to meet up with the others, again?"

"I don't think Reiner mentioned a time."

Marco pulled out his phone. "Of course he didn't. I'll text him, since I need to put my guitar away anyway."

While Marco was texting Reiner, Jean raised his hand to get Sheila's attention. She hurried over. "Finished?" she asked, picking up Jean and Marco's cups. Jean saw her eyes flick to the screen of Marco's phone.

"Yep," Jean said.

"I'll bring out the check in a moment." Sheila left, glancing at Marco one more time, who hadn't said a word during this time.

"That was pretty cold," Jean said. "Ignoring her like that." He smirked.

Marco looked up, putting his phone away, actually looking guilty. "I know, and I feel kind of bad, but… I don't want her to get any ideas."

"Too late," Jean said, rolling his eyes. "I don't think you really understand the way you present yourself to other people, you know?"

"I suppose not," Marco said thoughtfully. "You know, I never would have thought it, but you actually understand people pretty well."

Jean shrugged, staring at the table now. "I've had a long time to just sit back and observe," he said quietly.

Sheila reappeared by their table's side. "Here you go. I'll be back in a moment!"

Flipping open the check book, Jean was amused to see that she'd separated the checks without asking. "Yeah, so she's going with the assumption that we are, in fact, not a couple." He snickered. "Bet you another five bucks that she's gonna give you her number."

"No deal," Marco said flatly. "Here," he said, handing Jean his credit card.

Jean tucked both his and Marco's credit cards into the check book, and Sheila came over to collect it. "Sure you don't wanna take my bet?" Jean wheedled as she left.

"Surer than sure."

"Ah, fine." Jean sat back and folded his arms. His clothes were still rather unpleasantly damp, but he could deal with it.

When Sheila brought back the check book with their credit cards, Jean couldn't hold back his grin as she handed it directly to Marco. "Here you go! Thank you for coming! We'd love to see you again!"

Marco nodded, giving her a brief but not unfriendly smile, and slowly opened the check book.

"Well?" Jean asked. Sheila had retreated to the bakery counter, and from the corner of his eye Jean could see her watching them.

Marco heaved a sigh. "Glad I didn't take your damn bet." He took the scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it and shoved it into his pocket.

Jean started laughing again. "Damn."

"Don't make eye contact with her," Marco muttered as he handed Jean his credit card. "Come on, let's get out of here." He stood, grabbed his guitar, and walked hurriedly to the door.

Marco's cell phone beeped as the two of them stepped outside, and he pulled it out to check the message. "Reiner says we can go meet him now."

"Okay," Jean said, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was fully dark by now, but a good number of people had come back out onto the streets after the rain. Jean stared into brightly lit shops as they walked by, then grimaced as he caught sight of his reflection in a store window. He reached up, trying to arrange his damp hair the way he liked it, but all he did was get it to stick up in odd places.

"What are you up to, beauty queen?" Marco asked slyly.

Jean quickly dropped his hand. "The rain messed up my hair, okay?" he said petulantly.

"It looks fine," Marco said, and before Jean could stop him, he reached up and tousled Jean's hair. "There. It's perfect."

"You messed it up even more!" Jean protested. He sighed loudly. "I'm gonna mess up yours too, then." He reached up, but Marco dodged his hand, ducking beneath it. "Hey!" Jean said.

"Back off!" Marco said, holding his guitar case between himself and Jean.

"That's not fair. You messed up mine!"

"Life isn't fair," Marco said, sticking his tongue out at Jean, and then Jean was laughing, cause what was this guy, five?

"You suck," Jean said, still trying to reach for Marco's hair, and now Marco was laughing too as he dodged Jean again, keeping Jean at bay with his guitar.

"Better stop before I whack you with this," Marco warned.

"You wouldn't want to damage your guitar, would you?"

"True. I know how thick-skulled you are," Marco said thoughtfully.

"Damn you." Jean lunged and was met squarely in the stomach by the end of Marco's guitar case. "Shit!" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

Marco was bent over now, too, but not from pain; he was laughing so hard he couldn't stand straight. "I'm so – so sorry," he managed. "I didn't – I mean, you launched yourself right onto it – I didn't even have to do anything –"

"Fuck you," Jean said, giving Marco the finger. Then, catching Marco by surprise, he quickly reached over and rumpled his hair, leaving him looking thoroughly disheveled. "There. My plan all along!"

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Marco asked, and now he was running his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out.

"Don't know why you would, 'cause I'm –"

"Hey! Jean! Marco!"

Jean was abruptly cut off by the booming sound of Reiner's voice. Both Jean and Marco turned. In the light of the street lamps, Jean could make out the unmistakable stocky figure of Reiner, accompanied by a taller figure that was no doubt Bertholdt.

"We came to find you 'cause you were taking a while," Reiner said as they approached. "That your guitar?" he asked, nodding towards the case in Marco's hand.

"Yeah."

"Looks pretty cool. Come on, everyone else is waiting." He and Bertholdt started back down the street, Jean and Marco trailing after them, suddenly very quiet.

Jean's eyes lingered on the way Reiner and Bertholdt's shoulders brushed against each other as they walked, the way Bertholdt murmured something to Reiner that made him laugh. He blinked and shook his head, feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment, and glanced at Marco. Of course the guy was completely oblivious, strolling along cheerfully.

Jean returned to his thoughts, feeling a little restless and unnerved. The appearance of Reiner and Bertholdt had sort of slapped him back to reality, and he felt his face burn as he thought about the exchange he'd had with Marco. He'd been so open with anyone before, had never played around like that with anyone. He'd completely let his defenses down, and it was unnerving how easily he'd done so in front of Marco.

"Jean? You okay?" A hand touched his shoulder. Jean shook it off.

"I'm fine," he muttered, not wanting to make eye contact with Marco. "Just thinking about some stuff."

Marco nodded, then let out a long sigh. Jean glanced over to see that he was staring up at the pitch-black sky. "Yeah. Me too."