His first publication was, to put it kindly, shoddy. In his defense, he had a lot to teach himself, and not a lot of material to work with. He knew it needed work without even being told, but everyone in town was kind enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, apparently chalking this first print up to inexperience.
He nearly cried in relief when he received a letter back from one of Levi's old contacts. The man was named Erwin Smith, and he sent his condolences about Levi's death, informing Jean that he'd be more than willing to trade stories with him, as he'd once done with Levi.
In return for some stories about what was happening in the nearest port city, he asked that he be allowed to write about Levi's death, and suggested that Jean simply write him anytime something noteworthy happened in their little town.
It hardly seemed like a fair trade, in Jean's opinion; He was getting much more information than this Mr. Smith. But he wasn't about to argue it. Maybe Levi had been a particularly wonderful contact, and Mr. Smith felt indebted to him or something like that. He seemed especially remorseful about Levi's passing.
Jean was quick to send a letter back to him, hoping to get something truly interesting in time to put into the next paper. In the meantime, he spent much of his days checking in with people around town. The most interesting news he came across was the butcher's daughter, Sasha, entering an engagement with the boy from the big chicken farm on the east side of town.
Connie Springer, Jean had to remind himself. He needed to start remembering names.
Without much excitement to fill his days, he busied himself instead with Marco's chores. He was a bit incredulous when he realized one day that he'd developed something of a tan. It wasn't much, but he could tell his forearms were a shade or two darker than what was covered by his clothes. Marco only laughed at him, kissing the shocked expression away.
"That's what happens if you work outside so much." He commented, depositing a chubby lamb into his waiting arms. Jean remembered her as the lamb that was having trouble walking on the first day that he'd accompanied Marco on his chores. She bleated at him, but didn't squirm or anything. She was still heavy though.
"I don't even work outside all that much. It's no wonder you're almost as dark as cocoa!" He remarked, tracing down Marco's form with his eyes for emphasis. The other boy chuckled, gesturing at the dogs to get to work.
"I get a lot paler in the winter." He offered. "And my freckles fade a little."
Jean made a face of displeasure, carting the lamb behind the rest of the flock as they were led back to their pen.
"I like your freckles." He admitted, pursing his lips. Marco smiled.
"I'm glad. They don't go anywhere, they just aren't as obvious. And they always come back as soon as I start getting more sun." He promised, whistling loudly once all the sheep were in place. He shut the gate when all the dogs had retreated, and Jean leaned over the fence to deposit the lamb.
"Is she still having trouble getting around?" He wondered, nodding towards the bleating creature as she searched out other familiar sheep. Marco rolled his eyes.
"Not at all. She's long since found her legs. The problem now is that she uses them. She doesn't pay the dogs any mind. Fearless little thing." He lamented, sighing with exasperation. "It's easier to just carry her to the pen, at this point."
Jean allowed himself a smile, glancing once more towards the mischievous animal before turning his full attention to Marco. He watched the other boy close his eyes against a breeze, watched the way his dark hair, which was long enough now to tickle at his eyelashes, rustled in the breeze. It was nearing autumn, and Jean could almost taste it in the air already. Summer was still clinging onto its heat, though.
"Will you be harvesting soon?" He asked, gesturing towards their field. Marco nodded.
"We've already got the summer crops out. We do have pumpkins, carrots, broccoli, and lettuce in right now. Small patches of some other things too. It's mostly pumpkins though. Everyone in the house adores them, and even the people in town will buy them. We grow the biggest ones, for whatever reason." He commented.
Jean remembered the one time his mother had bought one of the Bodt pumpkins. He'd been along to market with her, and she'd made him promise not to tell Joan. It had been the best soup and the best pie he'd ever had, at least, that's how he remembered it. Maybe that was just the exhilaration of defying his father without the man even knowing it.
"Do you make pie?" He asked hopefully. Marco laughed, promising to invite the other boy over for pumpkin pie just as soon as they were ready to pick. Jean tried to play it off like he wasn't excited, but he very much looked forward to the treat.
Once the chores were done, they ambled off into their meadow, laying down side by side, as they usually did. Marco's big wooly dog saw fit to join them for once, flopping down next to Jean and laying her head on his shoulder. Marco took the other one, giggling when Jean huffed something about being a pillow.
The dog only lingered for about half an hour, then she apparently got worried about her sheep and, after licking a hot, wet stripe up Jean's cheek, she sauntered back towards the pen. Marco had to smother Jean with an embrace to get him to stop screeching about the incident.
It put an interesting spin on their normal daily activities, and Jean had to admit that it was nice to have a change once in a while. That didn't stop him from curling up against Marco's side and napping in the sun though, as he'd taken to doing. He woke to find daisies woven into his hair, but he found he couldn't bring himself to care as he looked up into whiskey eyes full of mirth and love.
He could feel it. Love. Marco loved him. And it was exhilarating. Breathtaking. It was more than he ever thought he'd feel from another person. More than he ever thought he'd feel for another person. He watched Marco's thoughts dance across his eyes, too quick for Jean to keep up with. But it was soothing to see the other boy's thoughts in motion regardless, to know that Marco's mind was racing just as much as Jean's own.
It took him a full week to convince himself that inviting Marco to his building was truly a good idea. He called it his, but it still sort of felt like it belonged to Levi. He'd never even been upstairs, hadn't disturbed the place that Levi had lived in and called home.
Still, it was a place where he could see Marco and not worry about who might see. Because there were walls, and doors that he could lock.
Marco seemed hesitant when Jean first brought it up. And that was only fair; Marco didn't go into town very much, especially not alone. Jean couldn't blame him. But after talking through it a few times, he agreed, and showed up at the back door a few days later bearing an armful of yellow and red flowers. Jean looked at them for a moment, then took them into his own grasp, waddling gracelessly towards one of the vases that had recently been emptied.
"These are tulips, right?" He hoped. Marco made a noise of affirmation, focusing more on looking around. "And I suppose you won't tell me what they mean?" He continued. Marco smiled, eyes still trained on the tables full of papers.
Jean sighed, fetching some water to fill the vase and then filling it to the brim with the bright blooms. Marco smiled fondly, fingers dancing along petals of several of the flowers he'd given Jean before.
"You really keep them all?" He asked, pinching a petal from a honeysuckle flower. Jean tried and failed to bite back a proud grin.
"Of course I do." He replied. Marco positively beamed, walking closer before trapping Jean with a kiss.
"I'm glad." He breathed, his nose gently pressed against Jean's.
When Jean pulled away, he made sure to lock all of the doors, just in case, then lead Marco over to a table that wasn't overflowing with papers.
"Do you want some tea?" He asked, brow quirked. Marco nodded, and Jean went over to the little downstairs stove, putting on a kettle and leaving it to boil.
He joined Marco at the table, sliding into the chair next to him and letting his hand fall onto of the one Marco had resting on the tabletop. Marco smiled up at him, turning his hand over so they could lace their fingers, and Jean eventually let himself slouch into the chair, heaving a sigh.
"How has work been?" Marco asked, squeezing Jean's hand carefully. The smaller let out a huff, gesturing around the room.
"I wish I could just come live with you and do chores for a living." He grumbled. He expected Marco to laugh, but the boy didn't. So Jean looked to him.
"You… You could." Marco breathed.
Jean blinked, then his face fell into a heavy frown.
"You know I can't." He replied, chewing at his lip. "I know your family would be happy to have me, but… My father would never allow it. He'd probably burn your whole house down, everyone, even me, still inside." He pointed out. He wished it was a joke. He wished Marco thought it was a joke.
Marco looked sadder than Jean remembered seeing him before, and he couldn't keep himself from tracing the curve of the downturned lips. They were soft, warm, full, and his lips quickly took the place of his fingers.
He pulled away only when the sound of the water boiling in the kettle overwhelmed the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He got up and mixed their tea, bringing some sugar and crème to the table with him and offering them to Marco first.
He watched as Marco tipped about half of the crème into his tea and stirred, waiting patiently as Jean spooned sugar into his own. Jean didn't take his tea with crème, only his coffee, so he returned that to the little icebox in the floor for later use. Then they got to work on the drinks, sipping quietly since it was still too hot to really gulp it down.
Jean's eyes darted towards the windows, more for distraction's sake than anything else, really. He wasn't sure what to say, and without the sky to look up at as they did in the meadow, the silence felt forced and uncomfortable. He hoped he'd think of something, but the drawn curtains didn't give him much to think about.
Jean let his cup fall to the saucer first, the chink of the glass meeting glass sounding magnified in the quiet space. Marco copied him, settling his own cup with a much quieter noise before looking up at Jean.
"Should I leave?" He asked, looking towards the door. Jean felt his lips fall open as his confused mind processed it. It took him what felt like ages to realize that Marco thought he was looking towards the windows out of nervousness and paranoia.
"No!" He gasped, startling the both of them. He quieted, cheeks flushed. "Sorry, no. I don't want you to leave. I just don't know what to say." He admitted. Marco seemed to relax, and he reached carefully towards the other boy, cupping his cheek and turning his face just so, until he had the right angle to lean in and slot their lips together.
"Sometimes things are better unsaid." He pointed out, offering a small smile. Jean looked down, shyness making him unable to meet Marco's straightforward and loving gaze. He still wasn't sure how to handle it, if he was being honest. But he forced himself to look up when Marco didn't desist.
Marco was still smiling, and he kissed Jean's nose when they finally locked gazes again.
"Some things should be said, though." He added, kissing his lips again, taking his very breath away. He blinked those long lashes once, then pressed his cheek to Jean's gently, so that he could easier speak into his ear. "I love you." He whispered.
Jean felt his lungs catch on the breath he'd been trying to take, and his exhale was shaky. Marco didn't move, remaining there with their cheeks pressed together, warm and still. The words Jean's lips tried to form fell silent before they even left his mouth, but still he persisted, trying to say something, anything.
"I-" He finally managed, hand coming up to grasp at Marco's shirt, trembling. "I… too. I love… you." He managed. When it was finally out, he could feel his whole body slump, both from exhaustion and relief. He'd finally been able to say it. And, from the looks of it, Marco was more than elated. His smile had never seemed so big.
Jean's tea had gone cold by the time Marco stopped kissing him. He didn't really mind.
He made a weak attempt to get some sort of work done, but having Marco sitting at the table leafing through some of his papers was too much of a distraction, and he eventually just pulled to other boy into the parlor.
It wasn't really a parlor, just a sofa and a chair occupying a small space. He assumed that Levi had a real sitting room upstairs. But it suited their needs well enough, and he sat down next to Marco on the plush, relaxing into the smooth fabric and letting his head fall to rest against Marco's shoulder.
After several minutes and a lot of shifting, Jean wound up lying in Marco's lap, staring up at him while Marco ran his fingers through the hair on top of Jean's head. Before he even knew it, he was blinking his eyes open, realizing he'd dozed off. His eyes flicked over to the door, but were quickly distracted when Marco smiled down at him, craning down to kiss him softly.
"You can sleep. It's just me." He promised, hands still carding through Jean's locks. "You locked the doors. If anyone knocks, I'll just pretend we're not here." He added, kissing Jean's forehead this time.
Jean nodded drowsily, giving up his battle with his eyes and just letting them close. The fingers in his hair lulled him to sleep the way his mother used to when he was still young enough that his father didn't scold him for being so dependent. It was familiar, but different, and he found he rather liked the heavier feeling of Marco's hands.
Marco smelled nice too. The cinnamon and chamomile mixed really well with the tea that Jean had made for them. It was a sweet scent, but not too thick, and it helped his body relax. That, paired with the quiet humming that Marco took to lulled Jean to sleep faster than he really cared to admit.
A/N: In my defense, it's the holidays. And I've been busy with a social life, believe it or not. I've been spending more time than usual with friends and family, but I guess that's what you're supposed to do over the holidays? Baffling.
I haven't been inactive, though it maybe seemed that way. I've been working on chapter 20, which is a big chapter for this story. I'm actually a bit stuck, but I'll get it figured out. I've also been working on a second installment of my Trans!Bertholdt story. A very long second installment that is nowhere near finished. Heaven help me.
Well, anyway, you're probably getting tired of hearing it, but you guys are fantastic. I love reading your comments and getting a chance to talk to you. I really look forward to it every time I post a chapter. And I appreciate your patience. I know I suck as far as updates are concerned, but I do try. And I mean, at least I don't keep you waiting for three months. I know how frustrating that can be.
I'm rambling. To sum up, thank you, you are all fantastic, and have happy holidays, whatever you're celebrating!
KuroRiya
九六りや