After explaining to his mother, at breakfast, that he'd accidentally dozed off while working on some articles, Jean had found himself painlessly out of trouble. She didn't even bat a lash at the story, only chiding him for working too hard before setting a plate full of fluffy eggs and well-cooked bacon before him.
He hated to lie to her, truly he did, but he found himself with few options. It wasn't as if he could say that he'd snuck over to the Pagan house for ritualistic sacrifice and a nice dinner. She would surely tell Joan, who would either beat him, burn him at the stake, or send him to the big city for a church school that might have better luck stamping the devil out of him. Probably all of them, if he was being honest.
So he kept that to himself, as well as the little frown that his dishonesty put on his face, and got on with life.
As much as he wanted to be gone from the house before his father returned for lunch, Jean knew he needed to breech the subject of him moving into the post office with the man, before he lost the nerve that Marco had given him.
So, instead of hurrying down the main street or down the familiar side street to the Bodt home, he lingered with his mother. While he waited for Joan, he helped her with little things around the house that had been bothering her, but had been ignored. He repaired part of the oven, cleaned out the fireplace in the parlor, and even managed to replace one of the wooden stairs that had begun to split dangerously, all before Joan got back.
When he did, they all sat down for lunch together, a tense, silent affair as most of their meals were. It wasn't till most of the food was eaten that Jean dared speak, hoping the food would have his father in a rare good mood.
"So, I've, uh…" He began, regretting that he'd started talking without rehearsing what he wanted to say. "I've been thinking about… Moving into the post office." He announced. Being straightforward was probably the best way to go, especially with Joan. He didn't like niceties.
His mother's fork hit the plate a bit too hard, and her mouth was open in surprise. Joan, however, didn't indicate that he'd heard anything at all. His face remained sternly unemotional, and his body language showed no difference. Jean was about to repeat himself, even, when the man finally looked up at his son.
"Have you, now?" He asked, eyes trained carefully on the one in question. Jean swallowed the saliva that had gathered in his mouth, which seemed like much too little, for his throat felt entirely too dry. How was he to form words?
"Er… Yes." He replied, a bit of rasp to the words as his hands busied themselves with wringing together nervously under the table. "I'm…"
His heart was racing, and he wished it wouldn't. He couldn't seem to hear himself thinking over the sound, couldn't concentrate on all the good reasons why he ought to. He tried instead to remember what Marco had said, to picture his face as he had listed one good point after the other.
"I'm already there most of the day." He finally pointed out, looking down at his plate, imagining soft freckled skin and smiling lips. "And I'm certainly old enough to be by myself." He added, glancing up in hopes of gauging how well his words were being taken. Joan didn't show any changes in demeanor though.
It was silent for a moment, then it was his mother who spoke.
"But Jean, darling," She cooed, a deep frown set in her features. "You're not even eighteen yet! Why the rush, all of a sudden? You aren't married, and…"
It was obvious that she was well prepared to list off hundreds of reasons why he should stay at home. But Joan cut her off.
"Why not?" He decided, letting his lips quirk into the smallest of smiles. More of a smirk. Jean was baffled.
"Joan!" His mother cried, looking bewildered. "Don't say that! He doesn't even know how to cook for himself, or do his laundry, or-"
Again, she was cut off.
"He'll learn. And he wouldn't be living very far away. He could just walk home for dinner whenever he needs to. Getting away from your babying might man him up a bit." He pointed out, putting an end to her protests. For when Joan decides something, there is no sense in fighting it.
His mother seemed distraught the rest of lunch, but she kept her feelings to herself until Joan left to return to his office. Then she turned on her son, brows knit and lips pursed.
"That was sneaky! How could you do that without talking to me first?" She demanded. Jean winced, patting his mother's arm in hopes of comforting her.
"I'm sorry. I knew you would try to talk me out of it." He offered, shrugging.
"Of course I would have!" She cried, covering her face with her hands as she walked towards the kitchen. He sighed, following behind her.
"Mother-" He tried. "Try to understand. I can't keep living in this place."
She turned on him again, eyes wide and glassy with tears that hadn't spilled.
"Jean?"
He realized what he'd said, and chewed at his lip, trying to decide what he could say to explain himself.
"It's just… It doesn't feel like home anymore." He admitted, sighing. "I shouldn't be scared to come home every day. I shouldn't have to wonder what I might get yelled at for, or how hard I might get beaten because of what I might say." He tried to elaborate, but his words only made her eyes wetter and wetter till the tears really did fall, and he had to pull his mother to his chest for an entirely uncomfortable embrace.
He remembered the way he used to cry into her lap or her shoulder, the way she'd rock him back and forth, and promise that he'd be alright. Even only months ago, the time he'd been thrashed because he'd made friends with a doe eating out of the garden instead of chasing it away or bashing its skull in. Apparently that was no behavior for a true man.
After Joan had put his belt back on and left for the office, Jean had tried to shut himself away in his room. He hadn't cried in front of his mother in so long, and he'd managed to keep it back, but then she blocked his way upstairs and tugged him into the parlor instead. After she sat down, she tugged on his arm, and just like the child he truly still was, he'd scrambled into her lap and crushed his face against her shoulder while she patted his battered body gently.
He always cried the hardest when his mother was comforting him. But now, it seemed that things had changed, for now it was she that was crying. He patted her back softly, sighing.
"It's not that I don't love you, so don't think that way." He requested. "But I think it's time for me to have my own space. And I'll still be around. Chances are I'll come for food more often than not, and I'd really only be a few minutes away. The only real difference would be that I sleep somewhere else." He promised.
She sobbed for a bit longer before she got ahold of herself, at which point she followed him upstairs and helped him to pack away what few things he'd be taking with him. And, before they even sat down to eat dinner, he'd already taken his belongings over.
He did stay for dinner, too giddy about having a whole building to himself to really be too offended by anything Joan deemed necessary to say. And, when dinner was over, he bid them goodbye, kissing his mother's cheek and waiting till she'd stopped crying again before he headed over to his new residence.
Of course, he was only there a few seconds before he walked right back out and continued down the road to the outskirts, hopping over the fence he came to and walking to the field.
Sure enough, Marco was there basking in the moonlight, eyes closed and arms outstretched in the grass. Jean sat down next to him, wondering if he'd fallen asleep.
"Hello, Jean."
That answered that question.
"You're a bit late today." He added, opening his eyes and glancing over at the shorter boy. Jean smiled, lying down next to him, using one of his tanned arms to cushion his neck.
"Want to guess why?" He asked. Marco craned his neck so he could still look at Jean, his lips curling at the edges as he stared.
"He said yes, then?" He guessed. Jean sighed dramatically, though his own lips couldn't keep from a grin.
"It's not even fair, making you guess. Honestly." He groused, rolling over to curl against the other boy's side. Marco's arm bent over his frame, holding him loosely.
"When are you moving in?" He asked.
"I already have. I'm staying there tonight." Jean replied, elation rising up in his stomach. "Maybe you could come stay there too? I mean-" He began.
"Jean." Marco interrupted, kissing his forehead. "Not tonight."
Jean's face fell, hurt rising in his stomach. Wasn't the whole point of moving out so that they could be together? After all, he hadn't faced his crippling fear of his father for his own sake. He'd left so they'd have a place they could be together, away from ever prying eyes and judgmental gossip.
"Don't misunderstand, please. I do want to. But your parents will probably worry after you, at least your mother. She might come to check up on you. It would be safer to wait a bit." He explained. "Let her see that you're capable of managing on your own, so that she doesn't think to make sure every day."
Jean hated to admit it, but Marco was right. Marco was always right. The way his mother had acted, chances were that she'd be at his door with the sun. And, no matter how much he wanted Marco, he knew he needed to be careful not to be caught with him. He sighed.
"Oh, alright. It's going to be lonely all by myself. And I'll have to go upstairs… Maybe I'll sleep in the parlor, just for tonight." He mused. "Go up and clean tomorrow."
Marco kissed his cheek then, and he sighed.
"I feel sort of bad just taking Levi's things like this." He admitted, frowning to himself. Marco hummed lowly, the sound vibrating through his body into Jean's, the sensation pleasant and ticklish.
"Levi was the type who hated to waste things." He pointed out, fingers stroking through Jean's hair slowly, almost lazily. "So I'm sure he would have wanted someone to use them."
He had a point, as he always did. And that certainly made Jean feel better about the whole thing. Levi had been very no-nonsense; He wouldn't have liked perfectly good things going to waste because of something as silly and fleeting as sentiments. It made more sense, the more he considered it.
"Promise you'll visit me soon?" Jean hoped, looking up seriously. Marco smiled, using the angle to his advantage and pressing a kiss to Jean's nose.
"I could come tomorrow, if you won't be busy. Maybe mid-morning?" He offered. Jean nodded quickly, pressing closer as a cool breeze swept through the sea of grass, a few long blades tickling his arms. If his mother did stop by, he could get her to leave by then. And that would be the time that Joan was most busy at his office.
"I'll bring you some lunch, while I'm at it." He added, and Jean kissed his chin in appreciation.
"That would be nice." He agreed, moving his hand up to rest against Marco's chest, feeling the beating of his heart even under so many layers.
He stayed with Marco in the meadow for a few hours, mostly just basking in his presence as opposed to really speaking. They said goodbye when it became a bit too chilly to stay out without at least a light coat. Jean walked briskly to the post office, almost walking past it before remembering that that was where he dwelled now.
True to his word, he pulled a blanket out from his small pile of things and settled on the sofa, looking around the dark room warily. It was both nice to be on his own, and terrifying. He tried to keep his eyes closed, but his excitement and a feeling of disconnection left him wide awake for hours.
It wasn't until he imagined laying in a bed, upstairs in the moonlight, Marco pressed close to his back, his heart beating softly as they both drifted to sleep, that he finally managed to get some rest.
A/N: I was trying not to make you guys wait a month, but here we are. I've been sort of having a hard time with keeping up with things lately. I've just felt a little overwhelmed with everything on my plate. I might have bitten off a bit more than I can chew, but hopefully things will start to calm down soon. It tends to come in waves, I've noticed.
Anyway, this chapter is not as exciting, I think. It's one of those bridges, I suppose. Necessary, but not exactly fun. The next one is definitely more interesting, promise! And I'm working on chapter 21, and looking back to this chapter to edit… A lot happens between now and then. So I hope you guys are still hanging on!
I seriously need to start my sewing! I've been procrastinating on it so hardcore, but my convention is in two weeks! Luckily, it's a relatively easy costume, but I need to get to work. I keep putting it off because I'm so sleepy and have very few days off to sleep in, but gah. I need to put on some Paradise Kiss and get my butt in gear.
Because of Planet Comicon, I am going to be sort of pressed for time as far as writing goes, just so you guys know. So if there's a delay, I'm sorry in advance, but I get sort of con-minded around this time. So it's coming soon!
Anyway, see you guys next time! Thank you, as always, for all your patience, and for all the feedback. You're all very sweet, and I appreciate your time!
KuroRiya
九六りや