His mother's visit was unsurprising. After all, Marco was always right, so it was expected.
The sun hadn't even risen enough to light the path, yet she'd walked it, a warm breakfast tucked into a basket and tears in her eyes. Jean welcomed her inside and made her some tea to sooth her aching heart, eating the breakfast while she sipped at the warm beverage. He showed her around the ground level, since she'd never been inside, but he made her wait to see the upstairs. He wanted it to look like home before she saw it, after all.
It was about seven by the time he managed to get her out the door, only convincing her by proving that he had something to work on. She made him promise he'd come home soon to visit before she would be persuaded.
He sighed as he shut the door after watching her disappear down the street, trying not to be too annoyed, for he knew that he'd soon be missing her something terrible. But, at the time, he was antsy for a different visitor.
He knew Marco wouldn't be coming for at least another hour or two, so he tried to occupy himself instead with moving in. For the first time since Levi had died, feet creaked up the stairs, unfamiliar with which were weak where. He made it up nonetheless, glancing around the part of the building he'd never entered before.
The upper floor matched the lower one rather well. It was just as simplistic and just as coordinated. There was no excess, but then, there was nothing important missing either. Jean found he rather liked it, and he mentally complimented Levi's memory for his taste.
He first looked around, opening cabinets and drawers to see what was inside, working up enough dust that the place looked misty inside, and his nose was flushed from sneezing. Most of the things he found were rather commonplace, just tools and the like. But in one drawer, in the nightstand next to the bed, he found a stack of letters, tied together carefully with a small section of twine.
He pulled one out carefully, lifting the slightly yellowed flap of the envelope and unfolding the neat creases in the paper. His eyes traced the first few lines.
Dearest,
I find myself wondering how you fare while I am away. I wish I could visit you more. If only there were another of me to take care of my duties here, so I might spend my days with you in my arms. You'd probably hit me if I was there, and call me names for saying so, but that's somehow charming, coming from you. Sometimes I-
Jean forced himself to fold it back up and put it back into the envelope with just as much care as he'd taken it out. Then it went back where it'd been in the stack, and he headed downstairs, finding a drawer to put them all in.
The only thing he'd seen that he needed was the name signed at the bottom. And, he decided, he'd return them to the sender. He had his address, and frankly, he felt wrong keeping something that personal, or getting rid of them. Erwin would surely appreciate the gesture. And even if he didn't, it was his grief to deal with, not Jean's. He'd send it out with the next posting.
Since he'd been through just about everything, he began the process of taking his own belongings upstairs and finding places for them, getting mostly unpacked before he heard some knocking on the door downstairs, and he couldn't keep himself from racing down, feet thudding loudly on the stairs, flinging the door open with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary.
It was definitely more enthusiasm than was necessary, for it wasn't even Marco outside. No, the person staring back at him was none other than who had once been the object of his affections.
"M-Mikasa?" He stuttered, backtracking just a bit and trying to straighten himself up. She looked a bit surprised by his excitement, but she quickly returned to her normal demeanor.
"Hello, Jean." She greeted, dipping into a small curtsey. "I'd heard that you moved in here, and I thought I'd visit." She explained.
Jean stared at her, likely looking rather foolish before he stepped back, gesturing for her to enter.
She did, following him into the parlor and waiting until he gestured to the sofa before taking a seat on it. He himself chose to use one of the chairs, sitting across from her.
"So, er… Welcome?" He offered, gesturing to the surrounding space awkwardly. She gave a small little smile, picking up a basket she'd set next to herself on the sofa and holding it out to him.
"I've brought you a housewarming gift." She said, and he took the basket from her. "When I say 'I' I actually mean we. There's a cobbler in there from Armin, and some flint from Eren, and I packed you some tea." She elaborated. Jean peeked inside, then gave her a grin.
"Thank you. Tell them as well, if you would. I appreciate it." He replied, though he hated to admit that he was thankful to Eren Jaeger. She nodded, waiting as he took it to the kitchen and put it on one of the counters. The cobbler smelled fantastic, and he was excited to have a bite, but he knew it would be impolite to do so while Mikasa was waiting on him. Maybe he'd share it with Marco when he came.
He returned to the parlor, sitting down again before glancing at the girl.
"Oh, uh… Would you like tea? I can put the kettle back on. Or I might be able to find some coffee if you'd rather have that. I don't really have any snacks, aside from that cobbler, but, uh…" He rambled. Mikasa held up a hand to halt his babbling, shaking her head.
"Jean, I'm fine." She assured, waiting for him to relax back into his chair before speaking. "To be honest, I wanted to check up on you." She admitted, folding her hands in her lap.
Jean's brows shot up towards his hair, surprised to hear that Mikasa even cared to give him the time of day, let alone worried for him. He'd never known her to care much for him, a fact that he'd accepted after she'd kindly rejected him. And yet, here she was.
"I realize that I was the one that put an end to your romantic pursuit, and I understand if you've found yourself bitter as a result. I wouldn't blame you." She began. Jean frowned, realizing that, indeed, he hadn't seen Mikasa since that day. That probably did come off as bitter, though he hadn't meant it to be so.
"However, I know you to be a stubborn man, Jean." She pointed out. "I find it hard to believe that this one rejection would keep you away."
Jean blinked. What was Mikasa playing at? Was she actually interested in a relationship? He'd heard of girls playing hard to get, but he doubted an actual rejection could really fall under the 'coy flirting' category.
"Now, before you begin thinking of something foolish, I'd like to assure you that my opinion on the matter hasn't changed." She said, her words coming quickly, as if she knew what Jean was thinking. He deflated just a bit, and she gave another small smile.
"And I'm not trying to encourage a repeat. I only came because… Well, I'm worried. This isn't like you. At least, not the you I know." She finished. "So, what I've been trying to ask, in a needlessly wordy way, is this; Have you been alright?"
He sat back, mind reeling a bit from the words. Someone other than his mother cared enough about his wellbeing to check up on him? To worry about him? He'd never thought so, especially since he hadn't thought that Mikasa cared for him at all. She'd never shown much interest. But then, maybe he'd just never noticed.
"Er… I mean, yes? I've been fine." He said quickly. And, thinking about it, he really had been. She still looked a bit doubtful, though.
"Jean, have you really?" She asked seriously.
His mind went through flashes of memories, of days in the meadow, in warm arms, with soft lips. He really had been fine. Great, even. Sure, Mikasa had been his goal for years, but once he was free from thoughts of her, a whole world opened up before him. And, instead of his normal miserable countenance, he could say, with all honesty, that he was happy.
"Yes." He repeated, this time with conviction. "I've been good." He amended, not even noticing that his lips quirked into a true smile.
That seemed to sate her, and she sat back, shifting her dress a bit as she looked at him with interest. Now, instead of worry, she teemed with apparent curiosity.
"So I've heard. I was speaking with Sasha some time ago, and she mentioned that you might have an admirer." She said, covering a smile with a hand. Jean felt a flush and a dropping of his heart simultaneously. He should have known better than to talk to Sasha. She was spreading gossip? What if word got around?
But then, no one had to know his admirer was Marco. He'd never mentioned it, after all. For all they knew, he was being pursued by one of the many young ladies around town. Without anyone to say otherwise, they could think it to be whoever they like.
Mikasa actually laughed, albeit quietly.
"No reason to look so fretful. I'm happy for you." She promised. "It's relieving to hear that you really have been alright. I was worried when you didn't come back, but I can see that there was no need for my concern."
Jean smiled as well, face still feeling warm, but heart back where it belonged.
"But I'd love to meet the person that can put up with your attitude." She added slyly, retaining her polite posture despite her words. Ah, right, that's why he'd liked Mikasa. She didn't know her place, and he loved it. Granted, at that precise moment, it was causing him no small amount of grief.
"E-Er, I, uh-" He stuttered, her apparent amusement only growing as he fumbled for words.
He was saved by another round of knocking on his door. He first sighed in relief, but his posture quickly stiffened, for he recognized the pattern. He was frozen in his chair, unsure of what he ought to do. If it was anyone else, he'd simply deal with whatever questions they might have, but it wasn't anyone else.
It was Marco.
Mikasa quirked a brow, looking at him expectantly.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" She wondered, nodding towards the door. Jean bit his lip, glancing at it.
"O-Oh, uh, yes." He agreed, getting up and walking to the door with a stiffness that surely gave away how uncomfortable he was with the situation he was about to be in. He used the few seconds he had before reaching the door to try and prepare himself for what he'd have to say, what he'd have to do.
He opened the door too slowly, as if prolonging it might help in some way.
Of course, on the other side, Marco stood, a bright smile pulling his lips up at the corners as soon as he saw Jean.
"Good morning, Jean. Sorry that I-" He trailed off, quickly picking up on Jean's expression. His smile faded, and his brows knit.
Jean could already feel his heart ache as he looked at his love, trying to convey his preemptive apology with his expression.
"Can I help you?" He asked, voice more harsh than he'd ever used to address Marco. And he could see the pain, but also the understanding.
"Oh, um…" Marco paused, peering into the building. "I um… I had a question about postage." He finally managed. Jean bit his lip, frowning.
"Well, could you come back later? I have company." He spat, wincing as he watched Marco shrink away. He wanted to reach out, to pull him inside and crush their lips together and curl up against him in the parlor. But he had to let him backtrack, had to let him hurt.
Jean nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand at his shoulder, and he whirled to face the owner of the appendage. Mikasa looked out, glancing at Marco and offering a nod.
"That's alright, Jean. I don't really have anything else to discuss with you. Keep well." She offered, walking past him and down the stairs. "You ought to be more polite to your…" She paused, glancing at Marco who had halted at the bottom of the steps, and moved to touch his arm in a gesture that was so quick Jean almost missed it.
"Customers." She eventually finished, the tone of her voice obviously denoting an understanding that Jean couldn't guess at, and she nodded once more before walking away.
The two remaining shared a look, but Jean found himself back to square one, suddenly unable to know what Marco was thinking. He'd gotten so good at it, at looking deep into those ale orbs and sorting out the meanings to words unspoken. But now he felt shut out, like they'd closed to him.
After a tense silence, he nodded towards the interior of the post office, walking in and holding the door until Marco was inside, at which point he pushed it forward until he heard the click of it shutting into the frame.
Still, it was silent, and they both looked at different things, the air suddenly thick and stale. Marco apparently had better patience, though, for Jean spoke first.
"Marco, I-" He began, but his voice caught on the words. His mouth moved, but his vocal chords would not cooperate. Not that his mind could tell his mouth what to say in the first place.
Since he couldn't coordinate words, he tried instead to explain himself with actions. And Marco let him lay a hand against his arm, let him squeeze.
"Marco." He breathed, stepping closer. Marco stepped back, his heel clicking with a nearly mocking sound, making Jean swallow. His advances had never been rejected before, and even the tiny gesture scared him. "Marco, please."
Marco walked towards the sofa, taking a seat, Jean close on his heels. Jean sat next to him, staring at his hands, fingers twitching, wanting more than anything to lace with Marco's. But he could sense that it was unwanted, that his actions had been more painful than either of them anticipated.
Silence reigned for minutes, a hundred eternities before Marco finally broke it. Jean's head snapped at the mere sound of his preparatory inhale.
"I'm sorry that I came at a bad time. I should have been more careful." He said, long lashes casting shadows on his high cheeks, gaze trained on the floor, voice carefully smoothed. Jean felt like his stomach curled in on itself, like his heart had stopped altogether.
"Marco, I didn't expect Mikasa to-" He began, halting when Marco shook his head.
"You don't need to explain. It was my mistake."
Jean swallowed, focusing too hard on blinking, on breathing, on anything but the feeling of being eaten up by the ground below, of falling endlessly.
"Please, I… I just-" But he had nothing to say, no way to explain himself. What could he say that wouldn't hurt? What could he say that wouldn't be a lie?
Marco sighed, posture slackening as he slid down the back of the couch, shoulders hunching.
"Marco, it wasn't a mistake." He insisted, hands fumbling, torn between reaching over and knowing better. The darker boy finally turned to look at Jean, his face neutral but his eyes sad. Jean felt his breath hitch, and he finally willed his hands to do their job, to do something. His fingers brushed softly over dustings of freckles, trailing down to barely parted lips, his eyes holding contact.
"You aren't a mistake."
The silence came back, but it was less deafening and more jarring, almost surreal. He'd said the right thing. For once in his life, his mouth had said what his heart wanted it to, rather than what his rationale insisted on.
Marco's tears were warm, and Jean did his best to wipe them away, pulling him close enough that he could press their lips together, continuing forward until he could really wrap his arms around the other boy, holding him with more urgency than he usually allowed himself.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, close to his ear, kissing beneath the lobe. "I wasn't ready. I-" He kissed his jaw, inhaling heavily. "I froze up, and I was too harsh. I didn't mean to be. I love you."
If he wasn't so busy kissing them away, he might have envied how beautiful Marco's tears were, how beautiful Marco was. He wished he could look half as lovely when he cried. Marco didn't even sob, his face calm aside from a soft updrawing of his brows.
Jean kissed his nose, trailing down for his lips again.
"I'm sorry." He repeated. "I'm sorry."
Marco quieted him with another brushing of lips, his own hands coming up to cup Jean's face. He pulled away, his cheeks wet and eyes glassy but dry.
"I knew it would happen, sometime. I just… I guess I just wasn't expecting it to hurt so much." He admitted, finally looking up at Jean, lashes heavy and sticking together. Jean would have gasped if his lungs were working properly.
"I'm so sorry." Another whisper, another kiss, another desperate meeting of skin.
"She knows, Jean." Marco pointed out, holding Jean while he shivered, while his fear rose and made him nauseous. "She won't say anything. But…" He didn't continue, lying back against the sofa, drawing Jean to lie on his chest.
Jean shuddered, turning his head to push his nose into the fabric of Marco's shirt. He let the smell calm him. Chamomile. Soil. Sweat. Marco.
"What are we going to do?" He finally asked, looking up at Marco. The other boy just stared back at him, taking a breath through his nose, his lips smacking softly as he parted them to speak.
"What can we do?" Marco returned, looking up at the ceiling. "Be more careful? Be more secretive?"
Jean nodded, fisting the loose fabric tightly, focusing on the up and down motion of Marco's chest as he breathed, and trying to mirror it. Marco was right. They were already careful, already secretive. But now someone knew. Mikasa wouldn't say anything, but if she figured it out just by seeing them interact once, then who was to say others wouldn't do the same?
But, what else could they do? Jean knew better than to think he could do without the other boy, knew better than to think they had any chance of being apart.
"We should… Figure out what to do in situations like that." He decided, fingers finding Marco's and slotting them together. "So that I don't freeze up." He added, kissing Marco's chin. "And so that it doesn't hurt so much."
Marco hummed, pulling his hand away so that he could wrap his arms around Jean's waist instead, squeezing him almost painfully to his chest, burying his nose in the lighter locks at the top of Jean's head.
"I can still come here?" He asked. Jean nodded quickly.
"Please. It's lonely here by myself." He admitted, listening to Marco's heart thrum, fingers trailing up and down his sides for lack of something better to occupy themselves with. "Move in. Teach me how to cook. Kiss me."
His last request was obliged, and he keened happily, even as Marco pulled away.
"I wish I could." The larger boy sighed, fingers squeezing at the small of Jean's back.
"Why can't you?" Jean whined, knowing full well that he was acting like a petulant child. Marco scoffed, head lulling to the side.
"You know why." He replied, voice small. Jean let out a huff, sitting up, forced to straddle the other boy's tummy thanks to the arms entrapping him.
"I think somewhere in my mind I do, but I always forget as soon as you touch me." He offered, fingers tracing idle patterns into Marco's chest. "I forget most things when you touch me, honestly. Why can't we stay like this always?"
Marco watched him pensively, as if searching for some hidden meaning, as if he expected one.
"We… We could." He said carefully, stroking down Jean's sides, tracing his hips. Jean exhaled, eyes closing slowly. "But not here." He added, pulling Jean forward. "This town is too small, too scared. Too full of hate."
Jean leaned over, his lips feeling chapped where they met Marco's, prompting him to lick them wet again. Marco shuddered. He hummed.
"Why does your family stay here?" Jean asked, opening his eyes again to look at Marco seriously.
"For my parents, it's because they're too old to uproot themselves for no reason. We've never been in real danger, and as long as that's true, they'll stay here. But some of us do leave. I've had older siblings that left. They live in other places." He replied, hands still smoothing up and down Jean's sides languidly.
"And you?" Jean prompted, shifting on his knees a bit. "Why did you stay all this time?"
Marco's face lit up with the most beautiful smile Jean could remember seeing. It looked like sunlight and ambrosia and love, so much love.
"Because I knew you were here." Marco replied, easily pulling Jean down for another meeting of lips.
Jean sighed breathlessly, fingers slipping into Marco's hair, heart shuddering with affection, with too much love. Marco drank in his breaths, rubbed at his back until he'd forgotten how to use his bones and lay instead without internal structure, practically melted against the other boy's body.
"Stay here." Jean finally managed, lifting his head with no small amount of effort. "Please. Just tonight."
Marco tried to frown, but only managed to look neutral as his mind and heart fought to make a decision. Jean was on his heart's side though, and his desperate look was more than enough to win the freckled boy over. He huffed, rolling over to carefully tuck Jean between his body and the back of the sofa.
"Just tonight." He echoed, looking into hazel eyes seriously. "And I leave early." He added. Jean nodded quickly, hands fumbling for a moment before finding purchase at the back of Marco's shirt this time, pressing ever closer with the new leverage.
"Just tonight." Jean repeated, eyes closed as he let bliss take his worries away, if only for a fleeting moment.
A/N: I am terrible, I know it. I thought I'd get a lot of work done over break, but I definitely got a steam account and definitely did little else than play video games. But I don't really get the chance to do that regularly, so give me some leeway, if you would.
I do believe things picked up in this chapter, and if I'm remembering right, they continue moving at about the same pace from here on out. Thank you for your patience!
PCC was fun, though I didn't wind up cosplaying much. We had shirts we had to wear while working, which sort of killed the point of cosplaying, so we only did it on Friday. But it was still a good con, and I'm glad we went. And I was very good and didn't spend way too much money. I feel particularly reasonable. Maybe I'm growing up or something.
Alright, I'm about to get hit with school hell, so just be prepared. Your continued and seemingly endless patience is seriously appreciated, as well as all the feedback. You guys light up my days with your sweet comments. Thank you! And until next time~!
KuroRiya
九六りや