Jean had never paid Levi much mind. Well, no more mind than he was due; Jean treated him as his master, as any good apprentice would. But beyond that working relationship, he didn't think about the man much.
In fact, he didn't really know much about him. He knew that he was a very strange, intimidating man, despite his stature. There was just something about him that kept others out of his business. No one ever really asked about him, they just quietly speculated among themselves. It seemed almost ironic, considering the man's profession, but it was almost fair to say he was the most mysterious figure in town.
Jean came to find out why, much sooner than he had anticipated.
He'd worked harder than usual in a bid to finish earlier. And he had, much to his delight. It was important that Levi let him go home early. For once, it was him that was going to give Marco a gift. But he had to make sure he had enough time to work up the nerve to take it out of his bag in the first place.
Luckily, Levi waved his hand dismissively towards the door a full two hours early, and Jean said his goodbye, quickly taking his leave. So glad was he that he entirely forgot his bag, only realizing when he was in sight of Marco's fence. With a low groan, he turned on his heel, changing his pace from one of leisure, to a near-run. Now he was running behind.
He let himself in when he reached the familiar post house, looking about the small workspace for a moment before locating the forsaken object. After picking it up, he checked the contents, then shouldered the bag, turning around and walking back towards the door.
It was a sound that halted him. It came from the other room, where Levi's office of sorts was. The door to it was just barely cracked, like someone had attempted to close it, but had been too distracted to make sure it actually latched. Jean's eyes darted that way, recognizing Levi's voice. But the sound it had made was confusing. Was he hurt? Frustrated? It was so hard to understand Levi.
Deciding he needed to check, just in case something horrible was happening to his employer, Jean tip-toed over, pushing the door just enough that he could peer through.
He wished he hadn't.
He didn't recognize the other man, at least, not from behind. But he recognized the act. After all, he'd been taught that it was a terrible sin. One of the worst. He'd know it even at just a glance. But he received more than a glance, and knew he'd never be able to look at Levi again without seeing him lain out across his desk, naked and moaning.
It was sinful, the very definition, and it frightened Jean to his core. His mind knew it was wrong, yet he couldn't bring himself to hate, and that was the most frightful thing he could imagine. No matter what he told himself, he'd always come back to the conclusion that Levi must have loved the man. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't seem to convince himself that the love the two men must have shared was incorrect.
He bolted from the building, sprinting for Marco's house blindly, not stopping even for a moment, not even to explain himself to obviously concerned neighbors. By the time he'd leapt over the fence and raced to the meadow, his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he barely heard Marco call his name.
The freckled boy wore his concern on his face, sitting up from where he'd been staring up at the clouds, looking up at Jean instead. He tried to read the expression, tried to understand what was going on beyond the obvious panic.
Before he had a chance to get very far, though, Jean collapsed next to him, trembling as he tried to make himself small. Marco frowned, pausing for just a moment before inching closer, moving slowly as he pulled Jean against him, practically cradling the other in his arms.
He didn't speak for a long time, just letting Jean calm down in hopes that he'd be ready to talk afterwards. He instead offered comfort with gentle touches, petting Jean's hair and embracing him tightly. Not until his shaking had subsided did Marco even bother with words.
"Jean," He began, feeling the one in question wince at the sound of his own name. Marco pressed on though.
"What happened?" He asked, returning to carding his fingers through Jean's sandy hair, ignoring the sweat that had begun to gather at his scalp.
Jean didn't respond, merely shaking his head. But he remained against Marco's chest, his fingers eventually coming up to twist in Marco's shirt. So he waited again, gently rocking them back and forth until Jean pulled away. His eyes were red-rimmed with tears he hadn't cried, but it was proof enough that he was upset by whatever had happened.
"Jean." Marco said, voice low. He didn't say anything else, and that in itself was a comfort of sorts.
It was nearly an hour before Jean could speak, and even then, it was a slow, very broken conversation. Several times Jean would find himself unable to find the right words. But once he'd explained what he'd seen, he felt a lot better. Especially when Marco just nodded, reaching out and gently pulled Jean along as he lay down in the grass. It was a shaky motion, but Jean eventually let his head fall against Marco's chest, ear pressed against him, listening to the beating of his heart. It was slow, rhythmic, and it helped him steady his thoughts.
"What about what you saw scared you?" Marco asked after a long lull of silence. Jean's eyes flicked upwards, then back down at the grass. He took a deep breath of Marco's smell, letting the earthy scent dull his lingering panic.
"I…" He began, thinking on it for a moment. "I don't know." He admitted. But Marco shook his head, hand coming to dance across Jean's back, rubbing at a few tense spots that he found.
"You do know." He reprimanded, waiting patiently for Jean to think through it again.
And so, Jean did. Marco didn't say a word while he tried to find the words for his emotions. He'd never really been very eloquent, at least not in regards to what he felt. He'd been taught, from a very young age, that no one cared or wanted to hear it.
But Marco wanted to hear it.
"I suppose… It scared me because… I didn't…" He trailed off, searching again for the words he thought he'd found. "I didn't… Hate them." He finally managed. Marco didn't reply, and Jean didn't elaborate.
"Jean, could you explain what you mean?" Marco finally questioned. Jean swallowed, able to follow the path as every muscle in his throat worked to get it down.
"…I know that I'm supposed to hate them. What they were doing… It's a sin!" He reasoned. "I know that I should be angry at them, and that I should be disgusted. But…"
He seemed unable to finish, again, and Marco squeezed him in something akin to an embrace.
"But?" He prompted. Jean's toes curled.
"But… I… I don't." He admitted. "I don't hate them. And I… Well, I know it's wrong. But it doesn't really feel like it is." He added. Marco nodded.
"And that scares you?" He inquired. Jean nodded, the motion shaky.
"Shouldn't it?" He asked. Marco's hand paused against his back, but quickly returned to its patterns.
"Well, Jean, that's up to you." Marco finally replied, sending a new wave of confusion coursing through the paler boy. "According to what your religion teaches, yes. What you saw is wrong." He admitted. Jean felt something cold drip into his heart, and the chill seemed to seep into his blood. Never in a lifetime would he anticipate a response like that from Marco.
"But," the freckled teen continued. "That's only one way of thinking." He added. Jean actually felt like he could sigh in relief. This was the part that he needed to hear. "I'm sure you know, but yours is not the only religion in the world. There are almost as many different beliefs as there are stars in the sky. Each of those religions has a different way of seeing things. And even people within and without of the different religions can have entirely different ways of interpreting different situations and events." He continued.
Jean shifted so he could look up at Marco, but the other had his eyes on the sky again. Still, Jean's gaze lingered.
"As far as I'm concerned, they're free to do as they please. It's their business. Beyond that, I believe that love, in any form, is beautiful, and it should be treasured." Marco explained. Jean stiffened. He'd never heard Marco's opinion on the matter, but it was positively blasphemous. Yet it sounded so innocent, so reasonable.
"Not everyone in my family agrees. My parents grow lax as they age, but some of my older siblings wouldn't be very happy about my views. They would respect my opinions, but they'd also make theirs known." He clarified, finally looking at Jean. "The difference between me, and you, is this: My family would still love me, even if I told them." He said.
Jean had to calculate the meaning. He would have been mad about what Marco had insinuated, but he couldn't be. He knew it was true.
If he told his father that he thought that sodomy was acceptable, he'd likely be thrashed within an inch of his life. Or maybe Joan wouldn't stop there. Even if he did, chances were that he'd be locked up in his room, lest he attempt to spew such profanity again, in public. Or he'd be sent away. Regardless, the outcome wouldn't be good, in any sense.
If Joan even caught wind of the position that Jean was in at that exact moment, he'd likely leave enough bruises to have Jean sore for a few weeks. But he couldn't bring himself to pull away from Marco, too comfortable enveloped in his warmth and scent. It was enough to keep his fears at bay, at least for the time being.
After several minutes of quiet, Marco sat up, hefting Jean up with him. He patted the smaller boy's back softly, other hand coming up to brush some grass out of Jean's hair.
"My mother made some jumbles." He murmured, standing up. He offered Jean a hand, which the other took, standing up a little wobbly. "Would you like some?" He wondered.
Jean realized that he'd never eaten anything that came out of the Bodt house. It seemed like some unspoken boundary that he hadn't been ready to cross. But after all the emotions he'd been forced to deal with, sweets sounded heavenly.
He nodded, following behind Marco towards the house. But he stopped just short of the door. Marco waited a moment, as if to see if Jean would follow, then disappeared inside, coming back out a few minutes later with several of the promised treats in hand, and a cup of milk.
They went around to the other side of the house, sitting with their backs against the wall, and Marco passed most of the cookies to Jean, who got to work stuffing them into his mouth. His mother had only made jumbles once, and then his father had proclaimed them poor man's sweets, and she hadn't made them since.
But, compared to the bland taste of macaroons, Jean much preferred these. They were obviously sweetened with something, probably honey. He'd already had two before he remembered the milk, taking it when Marco handed it to him. He took a little drink, then handed it back, returning to the sweets while Marco had his turn with the milk.
If it had been anyone else, Jean would have commented on sharing the milk. He hadn't shared a cup since he was young. But he found he didn't really mind, if it was Marco.
After finishing the snack, Jean found himself in better spirits. He was still a little bothered about what had transpired, but he felt better after talking with Marco, and the food was just enough to give him the feeling of pleasant fullness.
Marco took the empty cup back into the house, then he took Jean's hand, and they returned to the meadow, walking past where they usually spent time, sitting on the back fence instead. Jean could barely see the house from this distance, which was just as well.
They stared at the sky for a while, Marco still holding onto Jean's hand, their fingers carefully laced. Then Jean remembered the entire reason for all of the day's misfortunes.
"Oh." He breathed, extracting himself from Marco and walking back to where they'd been laying earlier. He found his bag and carried it back to where Marco was waiting. "I forgot. I brought you something."
Marco looked down at the bag, then up at Jean.
"You didn't have to." He promised with a small smile. Jean shook his head.
"You're always giving me things, so now let me try to return the favor." He requested, opening the bag. His nerves were, of course, acting up. But he realized that if he didn't just get it over with, he'd probably end up postponing it indefinitely. Trying not to let himself freeze up, he fished around in the bag until his fingers encountered what he was looking for.
He pulled, and the fabric slid out without too much fuss. Marco looked at it with surprise, at first not recognizing the article. Then his eyes went wide.
"Jean, I can't-" He began, but Jean was having none of it.
"It's too big for me anyway." He argued, thrusting the shirt into Marco's hands. "It's been in my chest for ages, and I haven't been able to use it. And I know you wear the same one every day. It isn't costing me anything to give it to you, so please take it." He insisted.
Marco pursed his lips, fingers subconsciously testing the fabric. It was higher quality than he'd ever even been allowed to look at.
"I really-" He started. Jean held his hand up, silencing him again.
"If you don't take it, I'm burning it." He threatened.
Admitting defeat, Marco carefully folded the shirt, looking down at it almost reverently as his fingers trailed over it again. Jean smiled, closing his bag and letting it fall to the ground. He put the shirt on top of it, seeing as Marco was apparently reluctant to put it on the ground.
"You have to wear it." Jean warned. "Don't just put it away or something. That's not what shirts are for."
Marco pouted. He actually pouted. Jean had never seen that expression before, but he quickly decided it was one of his favorites. It made him look younger than he'd ever seemed.
Jean laughed, sliding down until he was in the grass again, pressing his back against the fence for support. Marco followed, somehow managing to put his hand over Jean's without even looking down. Jean turned his hand over so that he could fill the spaces between Marco's fingers with his own, and his head tilted slowly until it came to rest against Marco's shoulder.
They watched a breeze dance through the grass and wildflowers, imitating the motions of waves, then Jean felt a hand at his jaw. It moved slow, carefully angling his head up until he was looking into brown eyes. He had enough time to pick out seven different colors before his fear sank in and he pulled away, still looking into those eyes from a greater distance.
He was glad that Marco didn't seem hurt by the rebuke. His expression really didn't change, he simply held Jean's gaze. It was almost painful how slowly he moved closer. Jean could count several seconds for each centimeter, but his mind raced too fast for him to make sense of what exactly he was doing, what Marco was doing.
Brown eyes held amber until Marco's lashes, after fluttering for a moment, closed. Jean snapped out of his reverie, but a second too late. Already Marco's lips were pressed to his.
The kiss was light, short, barely more than a small peck. Each motion was slow, big, leaving Jean room to flinch away and flee. But, even as his stomach churned with unease, and his mind screamed at him to leave and never return, his lips wouldn't shy away from the other's, not the second, third, or fourth time they met.
When it became apparent that Jean wasn't going to run, or that he was too frozen in fear to even do that, Marco moved closer, gently circling his arms around Jean's waist, letting his hands rest against his hip. Jean jumped just a little, his breath more of a shudder as he forced himself to stay still as Marco kissed him again.
It felt nice, having barely-chapped lips pressed against his own. It made his heart race, and left his mind so foggy that he had a hard time paying much mind to his anxiety. Still, he knew, almost instinctually, that he was doing something very wrong. As much as he wanted to slot his lips against Marco's, as right as it seemed, he knew he wasn't supposed to.
What if someone saw? What if Joan saw? They were outside, in broad daylight. Anyone had a chance of seeing.
But then, no one had seen them before. The meadow had always been a sanctuary, and he knew, somewhere deep down, that it was still serving that purpose. He knew his mind was desperately trying to think of reasons why he shouldn't be closing his eyes, why he shouldn't be clinging to Marco's shirt and craning his neck. But it was too late for him anyway.
It was clear that he wanted to, and that in itself was enough to damn him. What more damage could be done by indulging? He was already too far gone to bother with it anymore.
Marco pulled away just as Jean decided that he didn't care anymore, and he made a noise as he lunged forward to steal another kiss. Marco smiled, hands cupping Jean's face as they moved their lips together again for a moment. And, even when he pulled away again, they remained there, forcing Jean to look at him. But Jean was done with shying away.
Eventually, Marco let his hands fall, and he reached for Jean's far hand, lacing it with his own. The other wrapped around Jean's hip, pulling him closer, close enough that Jean could feel Marco's heart pounding in his chest, and he again let it sooth him, let it calm his thoughts.
And, when the sun began its descent, he got up and walked home, steps sure, even as he passed Joan smoking in the parlor. Even as he sat to dinner, and listened to Joan commenting on the wickedness of the town. Even as he lay in bed, hand reaching up for the flower he'd left, fingers brushing the soft petals just before he let the sounds of crickets and frogs drifting in from the window lull him to sleep.
And when he got up the next day to go to work, he faced Levi with a new sense of camaraderie and understanding, albeit unbeknownst to his employer. All he thought about all day while he organized documents was how much he was looking forward to kissing Marco again.
Damned or not, he was tired of being scared.
A/N: I have lost any self-control I might have had in regards to this story. It hasn't even been a full four days since I updated, but gosh, I can't stop. Chapter 17 is intense, and now I just want to get to it! But this chapter is definitely important too, if you guys can't tell. (I'm sure you all noticed)
This chapter does mark a huge step forward for our two boys, but it actually sets a lot of other things in motion as well. You'll know what I'm talking about a few chapters down the road, I promise. I'll leave it at that.
For a small update in regards to me, personally; I got a new job! It's still in the food industry, but I'll be making about double what I have been. It might be 40 hours, but that's definitely worth a cushy lifestyle. I'll be able to afford things! I can buy food! As long as I pass the physical exam, which is on Tuesday, the job is mine. And I should, hopefully, not have any trouble with the exam.
The extra money would seriously help with the whole living on my own thing. And the travel goals. I might actually get to go to Italy next spring! Fingers crossed on that one.
Alright, so, I mentioned some fanart last time, but was too tired to give you guys a way to find it. As I'm sure you all are aware, though, FF won't let me post a link, so the best way you can get to it would just be to search the tag 'fic wwfg' on tumblr. It should come up, pretty quick too. There's not much in the tag at the moment, unfortunately.
If there's anything that you want me to see in regards to this story, be it art, questions, concerns, or just some feels you're having, you can tag it there and I will see it!
Alright, I'm going to try to accomplish something else before my shift, so I bid you farewell for now! Thank you guys, as always, for reading and for all of the feedback. You really keep me going, so thank you for that.
KuroRiya
九六りや