Jean couldn't remember a time that he'd been so pleasantly warm in his bed. It was always either too hot in his room, or much too cold. So it was odd to wake up at what he considered the perfect balance of the two. And his body was entirely relaxed, as if he had found the exact position to leave him feeling weightless, as if he were among the clouds.
It took a while to register that he wasn't in his own room. Or rather, not what he'd considered his room most of his life. It was still Levi's room in his mind, though he was definitely beginning to acquire a taste for the foreign space.
Cracking his eyes open, he glanced towards the window, noting that it was still mostly dark outside, guessing that the sun had only just begun its ascent. That meant it was likely very early morning, somewhere between five and six thirty. It was much too early to be awake.
With a noise of contentment, he settled back into the blankets, fully ready to sleep for a few more hours, but his noise had apparently been loud enough to wake a bedmate that he hadn't remembered having.
Marco stirred with a gravelly sigh and an inhale through the nose, and Jean could actually feel his eyelashes flutter against the back of his neck. He'd completely forgotten that he'd asked Marco to stay, but now that he remembered, a smile tugged at his lips. Moving slowly and carefully, he turned to face the other boy.
His eyes were only half open, the normal rum color looking more like cocoa in the scant light. Jean watched him yawn groggily, then a smile began to form, his nose crinkling when the smile got a little too wide.
Unable to help himself, Jean smiled back, moving lazily to press a kiss to the other's chin.
"Good morning." He offered. Marco only yawned again, pressing his face into the crook of Jean's neck as he let his eyes close again.
"Don't let it be morning yet." He begged, breath warm against Jean's collar. "Only an hour more."
The smaller of the two chuckled, sluggishly moving his arm up until he could run his fingers through Marco's hair, earning a blissful sigh.
"If only, if only." Jean replied wistfully, glancing again at the window. It seemed brighter already. "But you said you were to leave early in the morning. As tempted as I am to trap you here, it might be for the best if you did go home for a bit." He admitted, huffing in annoyance.
"If we stayed in bed all day, no one would even have to know." Marco pointed out, his slow breaths bordering on soft snores. Jean's heart adored the notion, but his mind knew better.
"Perhaps not, but I'm afraid I do need to get some work done. And I'm sure you have chores." He added, Marco's groan muffled against his neck, the vibrations pleasant as they made a trip all the way to his toes. He smiled, pushing the fringe of the other's hair back, placing a kiss in its wake. "You can come back later, if you'd like." He offered, hoping that would sooth Marco's apparent reluctance.
It seemed to do the trick, for he found himself staring into those eyes yet again, fully open now.
"What time?" Marco asked, as if he was already counting the minutes.
He had to think on it a moment; His mother would worry after him if he didn't stop in for dinner, so Marco would have to wait until then.
"After supper time. I don't want mother to make herself sick with worry." He decided. Marco nodded, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes a few times, yawning at least thrice more before finally heaving himself up onto his feet.
Jean watched, captivated by his figure in the early sunlight, shirt long and shapeless but hinting at the form beneath, almost silhouetted against the window. He watched him shiver as he walked over to his trousers and began putting them on, watched him fumble a few times in the simple tasks, all of his normal grace replaced by a groggy-clumsiness that he found he rather adored.
When Marco had finally managed to clothe himself, he padded back over to the bed, leaning across it and reaching for Jean, pulling him closer until their lips could meet.
"I'll come again after supper." He supplied. Jean nodded, still much too breathless from a simple kiss.
"If you get here before I do, then let yourself in. I'll leave the key on top of the windowsill." He promised. Marco smiled, pausing for a moment before walking towards the door.
It took Jean a moment to realize his rudeness, and he leapt out of bed when he did.
"I'll walk you to the door." He explained upon a questioning look from the other. Marco just nodded, halting at the door for one more kiss before stepping out into the crisp morning air, waving as he turned down the street for his own home.
Jean watched him for as far as he could see, then shut the door and returned to the bedroom, still intent on getting the extra sleep he'd initially been after.
The bed wasn't quite as warm, but it still smelled like cinnamon and chamomile, which was enough to remind him that he'd truly spent the entire night held close in Marco's arms. He could almost swear that he still felt the warmth of the embrace against his back and ribs.
He allowed himself one giddy breath before closing his eyes and telling his mind to still and his heart to calm, at least long enough for him to find dreams again.
When he woke next, it was much brighter out. Bright enough that it hurt his eyes. But he knew better than to keep sleeping, for he hadn't lied about having work to accomplish that day. So he forced himself out of the warmth of the bed for the second time, actually dressing himself proper this time before going downstairs.
He first put the kettle on, hoping for some tea. If nothing else, it gave his mind something to start with. When the water was boiling, he looked through his options, remembering Mikasa's gift and pulling it from the basket, eyeing the cobbler that he'd forgotten all about. Armin had wrapped it nicely, so it would still be good, especially if he warmed it a bit in the stove. He'd forgotten about the pastry the night before, too busy being coddled by Marco to think of much else.
He'd have to remember to share it when Marco came again that night.
Once his tea was steeping, he got to work pulling out what papers he needed to sort through and put them all on the table, preparing himself to go through and read each one, and decide what would be in the paper this week. He still had several pages to write, and it felt like his deadline was already approaching, though it'd only been a few days since his last one had come out.
Before he sat down, he went out to collect the mail, the number of envelopes as low as it normally was; Not many people received mail around town. Still, he'd have to run out and make deliveries later. For the time being though, he was more interested in the letter with his name written in straight black ink.
Fetching his tea, he sat down and tore the envelope open, unfolding the contents and glancing over them. A small smile graced his features, which he needlessly hid behind the teacup.
Erwin had sent him some news from the port, which meant he wouldn't have to try to make cow-tipping a front page story. With a sigh of relief, he put the letter aside and began sorting through the material he had already accumulated, deciding what would be going in and what would not.
By the time noon came around, he was mostly finished, and very famished. And, seeing as he wasn't very keen on spending two meals with his father in one day, he opted instead to go out and get food for himself. He needed to stock his kitchen anyway, so he didn't see the harm in a short trip to the market.
With a basket hooked over his arm, he walked the few feet to the main street, starting on his normal rounds, stopping in at the bakery first. He'd just placed his order with the baker, who turned to get the requested bread, when the bell from the door jingled, alerting them to a new presence.
Jean wasn't sure how he knew, but before he even turned around to look, he knew it was Marco. He felt it. And he wasn't sure how to proceed, once again unprepared to handle a situation involving himself and Marco in public. He settled for drawing in a breath and refusing to turn.
The baker, however, acknowledged the other, though the change from professional politeness to ill-disguised contempt was visible in his face.
"Oh. You can leave them on the counter. I'll get your money, just one minute." He offered gruffly, shooting Jean a glance that promised he'd be back just as soon as he'd finished with the godless heathen, because heaven forbid he be allowed to fester in the shop too long. It would be a disaster if his pagan rubbed off on the freshly cooked bread.
Jean just nodded, stiffening when Marco sat a large basket of eggs on the counter. They were still and silent until the baker disappeared into the backroom, at which point Marco's arm lifted just enough to brush his hand against Jean's, both of them having to fight the urge to lace their fingers.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you'd be shopping today." The darker boy offered lowly, stepping just barely closer. Jean shrugged, staring at the counter, too scared to look Marco's way.
"That's alright. Are you still coming tonight?" He wondered.
"Of course I am. Should I bring anything along?" The taller asked, fingers seeking another fleeting touch. Jean thought on it a while, then remembered the cobbler.
"A dessert tea, if you have one. I drank the last of Levi's." He finally replied. Marco nodded, the motion visible from the corner of Jean's eye, though his attention quickly returned to the baker who had emerged from the back, an envelope in hand. He placed it on the counter and slid it across in Marco's direction, grabbing the basket of eggs and placing it under the counter in one quick motion.
"Come back for the basket tomorrow." He said, waving Marco off. The one in question nodded, producing a smile for the baker, and one more discreet touch as he passed Jean for the door. Then he was gone, and Jean found himself mobile once more.
"Sorry about that." The baker offered, going once more to get Jean's order.
"Uh, no need to apologize." Jean replied, glancing back towards the door where Marco had gone.
"I hope he wasn't bothersome while I was away. He didn't say anything deplorable to you, did he?" He asked, voice almost hopeful, as if he was looking for an excuse to hate the boy. Jean's upper lip pulled up into something akin to a snarl, but he forced it away, gritting his teeth.
"No, he wasn't bad company." He assured, taking his bread and paying for it with a curt goodbye. The baker looked a bit baffled, and more than a little confused, but he let it go without another word.
Jean stomped outside, and in his rage completely neglected to notice the figure standing just inside the shadow of the building. When he kept walking without pause, an arm quickly trapped his wrist, pulling him back before he had a chance to utter a noise of fear. He was just about to yelp, but a hand covered his mouth quickly.
It was warm, and big, and overworked, and he relaxed, turning to give Marco a questioning look.
"That's quite a hello." He pointed out. Marco smiled apologetically, hand finding Jean's.
"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have, but I wanted to kiss you." He admitted. Jean's breath left him, and he gave a quick glance around before stepping forward to comply with the wish, fisting his hands in the front of the shirt he'd given Marco and pulling him down for a quick meeting of lips.
They both sighed as they parted, each taking a step back, still feeling close as their eyes danced together.
"I don't want to wait till after supper."
Jean smiled sadly, relishing in the sulky tone of voice but cringing at the implications of the statement.
"I'm sorry." Was all he could give. Marco mirrored his expression, looking down at his shoes for a moment, looking, for the first time, defeated. It made Jean swallow a little too hard, and he coughed. He hated that expression, he decided.
"Shop with me."
He actually balked when he realized that he'd been the one to say those words, but after seeing the way Marco's face truly lit up with cautious excitement, he knew he couldn't take it back. And so, after bracing himself for what he was about to do, he stepped onto the main street, Marco right on his heels.
After a moment, he paced himself to match Marco, so that they'd fall into a similar step. It was obvious that neither of them was really sure how they ought to do this; Marco kept trying to stay behind a bit, and Jean kept accidentally walking too fast. But once they found their rhythm, walking side by side felt a little too natural. If they could only hold hands, it would be perfect. But Jean would likely never be that brave.
His next stop was produce, and, ignoring the concerned look of the grocer, he picked out a few apples, with the help of Marco who knew a lot more about them. Then he picked at the vegetables, somehow letting Marco talk him into buying quite a few, since apparently they were good for him.
When he handed the coins to the grocer, he received a look that spoke volumes about his wariness of Jean's company. He was trying to ask questions with his eyes, but Jean ignored them, taking his change and gesturing to Marco that they were leaving.
People were going to talk, he realized. He was, after all, walking around with one of the Pagans of his own free will, and he didn't even look disgusted. What would happen when Joan got word? He couldn't seem to think that far, though, with Marco radiating happiness next to him. He was sure there would be repercussions, but he'd deal with them. If just walking down the street together could garner this much elation from his love, then so be it.
The last stop he made was at the butcher's shop, where Sasha was busy looking bored while she ran the counter, her teeth frequently sinking into the softened flesh of what appeared to be an entirely plain potato. Jean winced at the idea, but was sort of thankful. She spared them barely more than a glance, apparently too odd herself to consider their companionship much of an oddity.
She took his order, wordlessly putting her potato into a small drawer to be saved for later, most likely. Then she got to work filling the small request, wrapping Jean's purchase carefully before helping him pack it in his basket.
A look was shared between her and Marco, at the end of which she smiled almost knowingly. Jean got a chill as she turned her gaze to him instead.
"I understand the Hemlock, now." She proffered, retrieving her potato for yet another bite. Jean froze, eyes wide as his gaze snapped to Marco. But the other boy seemed relaxed still, so he tried to mimic. "Tread lightly. People are already talking." She added, expression serious.
They left, Jean sort of in a daze. People were already gossiping about them? If that were true, then Joan might know before dinner, even. And he didn't know if he could be prepared to talk about it by then. He'd have to be, though. Marco, at least, was doing his best to be silently reassuring, casually brushing him as much as he could as they walked back towards the post office.
Once there, Jean pulled Marco inside, closing the door hastily and immediately pacing across the floor.
"What am I to tell my father?" He demanded of no one in particular, the question more of a rhetorical.
"That you were interviewing me for a story." Marco answered as if it was a simple solution to come up with. Jean blinked, then turned to look his way, a new calm settling in his stomach.
"Ah, why are you so good at that?" He asked, sinking into the sofa and running a hand through his hair. "You make all my problems sound silly and simple." He complained. Still, he couldn't be mad, since Marco had provided him with the perfect excuse.
"I can't say I'm sorry." Marco chuckled, sitting down as well, capturing Jean's gaze before leaning forward for a kiss. "But do try to stay calm."
Jean nodded, sighing.
"And Jean?" Marco prompted, waiting till he had the other's attention before continuing. "Your problems are never silly. Simple, maybe, but not silly. If it's something that is causing you discomfort, then it's a problem, no matter how small it may be."
Jean blinked, then rolled his eyes, opting to take it as humorous and change the subject.
"I should leave soon. Mother makes dinner sort of early."
Marco smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'll come back in two hours." He decided, standing up. Jean got up as well, walking him to the door.
"Alright. Don't forget the tea." He urged, absently tangling their fingers when Marco's hand bumped into his.
"I won't. And thank you." Marco replied, squeezing the hand in his. Jean was confused for a moment, so he clarified. "For today. It was nice."
Jean returned the smile the best he could, squeezing one last time before letting Marco go and closing the door. Then he slid down it, pressing his forehead to his knees as he tried to take deep breaths. He missed Marco. He wanted to run after him and pull him back inside and kiss him until someone noticed they were missing and came looking. He wanted to walk down the street and hold his hand and buy bread without being looked at like he'd lost his mind. Without seeing people look at Marco like he was a monstrosity.
He really didn't want to face his father. But then, if he didn't show up for dinner, he got the feeling that his father would show up for a talk. And though he called it a 'talk,' talking was probably the last thing that would occur between them. With a sigh, he got up, adjusting his appearance in the mirror and practicing his neutral expression in anticipation of the upcoming conversation. He put away his new groceries in a daze, not even realizing that time was passing till he looked out the window to see the sun had moved and that he really did need to leave.
The walk to his old home felt much shorter than it ought to have, though his legs burned more than usual, like even his muscles were protesting the notion of this confrontation. Too soon he stood before his door, though, swallowing thickly as he debated between just walking in, and knocking. Which was appropriate anymore? He wasn't sure, but his mother thankfully took care of the problem, opening it to rush out and wrap him in a hug.
"I missed you, Jean." She cooed, guiding his head into the crook of her neck. He tried to act annoyed, but he was honestly in need of the comfort, so he couldn't keep himself from returning the embrace.
"Mother, please." He groaned, sneaking in a little squeeze. She chortled at the contradiction, then pulled back, her fond smile drooping a bit as she seemed to remember something.
"Jean, your father… Well, tread lightly. I think he's heard something about you that has him bothered. Just mind your words." She warned, brows knit in worry. Jean nodded solemnly, following her inside and taking his normal seat at the table, sniffing appreciatively at the familiar scent of cooking.
In his fretting, he'd forgotten why he'd even gone to the market in the first place, and had neglected to eat lunch, so now his stomach growled from the rich aroma of whatever his mother was working on. He could feel his mouth watering, and he doubted anything that Joan said could sate his hunger.
Still, he definitely stiffened when the man in question walked in, glancing in his son's direction before taking a seat and waiting for his plate. It came barely a minute after he'd gotten settled, still steaming and full of food. Jean's followed shortly after, and then his mother sat down with her own plate, smiling as she suggested that Jean say grace.
He had to suppress a shudder as his hand found Joan's. It felt so cold and stiff compared to the caressing warmth of Marco's palm, but he kept still and repeated a prayer he'd grown used to saying, his amen a thanks for release from the grip.
They ate in relative silence, as always, until they were all nearly finished. Then Joan cleared his throat, and Jean took a deep breath, knowing he was going to need it.
"So, Jean." He began, knife scraping the plate as he sliced into his remaining chicken. The noise was grating, but only Jean seemed affected. "I've heard some things today."
Jean's mother glanced between them, a frown finding her lips. It couldn't rival Jean's though.
"Oh, have you?" Jean wondered, going for ignorance, for the time being. That was safest.
"I have. I thought the baker had gone mad, but he wasn't the only one who saw."
Jean gritted his teeth, toes curling nervously in his shoes.
"Saw what, if I may ask?" He squeezed out, idly pushing his food around on his plate, pretending like he was eating. He could tell Joan wasn't buying it, but letting go of the façade would somehow be worse than admitting that he was lying.
"Well, it's going to sound ridiculous, but so many people swear to have seen you in the market with one of those Pagans." Joan's voice rumbled, though he was obviously feigning a lighthearted attitude. Jean's body halted in all motion for a moment, then resumed at a much quicker pace.
"Ah, is that so?"
There was a pause without sound aside from Jean's fork against the plate, but the silence was almost worse than the words. It took everything he had not to get up and flee to the post office, but he somehow managed until, with a small smack of the lips, Joan opened his mouth again.
"Well, what say you of it, boy?" He demanded, his gaze penetrating Jean and finally eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with temperature. "Will you deny it?"
Jean set his fork down, eyes still trained on his almost finished dinner, then he looked up.
"Why ask me to lie?" He finally wondered, hearing his mother gasp while his father's eyes only narrowed.
"Then you were with him?" Joan asked, voice level but more frightening than if he'd been shouting. Still, Jean nodded, doing his best to seem confident.
"I was." He agreed, forcing down another bite. Another beat, another span of time with both of his parents staring at him as if he was a circus performer, and then more words.
"And?" Joan prompted dangerously. "What were you doing with him?"
Jean took his time swallowing, doing everything he could to make sure his inner turmoil and fear wouldn't surface before replying.
"I was interviewing him." He finally offered, wiping his mouth on his napkin.
Both of his parents seemed dumbfounded, so he continued.
"There have been some issues with the cows recently. Several have been knocked over recently, and a couple were actually found dead. I wanted to know what he had to say on the matter, since I'm sure a lot of people will blame the Bodts for it. It's good to get the whole story before you publish it." He proffered.
There was more silence, this time stretching on to be uncomfortable. It was clear from the expression that was slowly blooming on Joan's face that he knew he had been beaten at his own game, and he wasn't liking it. But Jean had definitely won this time; There was no way he could be faulted for doing his job well.
"I… See." Joan finally mumbled, releasing Jean from his gaze at last. Jean had to fight a triumphant smile. "I suggest you show more… Discretion next time you decide to do an interview." He warned, getting up and heading for the parlor, apparently done with the conversation.
It was quiet in the kitchen till they heard the creak of the sofa under Joan's weight, then Jean's mother was on him in a flash.
"Jean! What on earth were you thinking? What are you doing, talking to a Pagan! I thought I raised you better than that, honestly, and-" She rambled, but he cut her off.
"That's enough." He said, voice firm. "I'm done talking about it, and tired of hearing people talk about him that way." He murmured the last part. "He's not so bad."
She really gasped, looking scandalized.
"What are you saying! They're godless, and they make sacrifices, and-" She blabbered, cut off once again by her son.
"How would you know? No one bothers talking to them!" He seethed, earning a surprised inhale from her. "If anyone would stop blaming them for everything that goes wrong for a moment, and just talk to them, they might know better. Honestly, what have they ever actually done to anyone? I've never heard of them bringing anyone harm." He pointed out, his mother clearly at a loss.
"If they didn't live here, then we wouldn't blame anyone for the rain. It would just be rain. And if they weren't here to blame for every unfortunate happening, we would all just accept them as unfortunate happenings. It's not fair to them at all!"
He was actually sort of panting by the time he finished, and his mother was at a loss for words. He hadn't meant to rant at her like that, and he was already starting to feel bad about it, taking a few steps back and trying to calm himself down.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I just…"
She held a hand up, halting his apology before he could stumble over his words too much more.
"It's alright, Jean. I don't know why you're suddenly so fond of them, but I'm not going to question it. Just… Be careful. Just because that boy seems nice doesn't mean you shouldn't be wary." She cautioned. Jean bit his tongue, doing his best not to mention that he was way past just fond of them, Marco in particular. She didn't need to know. Bravery was one thing, but stupidity was another, and he got the feeling he was quickly crossing the line into idiocy.
"Alright, mama." He mumbled, shuffling towards the door before she could realize that he'd accidentally slipped back into his childhood for a moment. His father had insisted he call her 'mother' around the same time that 'papa' was disallowed, but it had always been hard to call her by such a stiff name. Not so much for his father.
She saw him to the door when it became apparent he had intentions of leaving.
"Won't you stay for dessert?" She asked in the doorway. He offered her his first smile of the night, shaking his head.
"Armin made some cobbler for me, and I forgot to eat it yesterday." He explained. "And Mikasa gave me tea. So I'm going to take that tonight. I'll come again soon." He promised, kissing her cheek. She waved him off, lingering in the doorway as he took the path back towards town.
He didn't allow himself to rush till he knew he was out of sight, at which point he strained his legs to get back home, letting himself in quickly and collapsing just inside the door, breath shaky as he exhaled.
Somehow, and he honestly had no idea how, he'd managed to avoid any real suspicion. And it wasn't as difficult as he'd anticipated. Actually, with an excuse at hand, it'd been relatively easy to fool his father. He reminded himself not to get used to that, running fingers through his hair as he recounted all of his conversation, checking to make sure he hadn't let anything incriminating slip.
He could only hope his mother would keep their conversation to herself. It wasn't as if he'd told her that he and Marco were together, but he'd definitely come off as attached to the family, he was sure. But she knew better than to leak that to Joan. She cared more about Jean's safety than Joan's need for control.
"Jean?"
The calling of his name made him jump, and his eyes shot into the dim light of his home, only a few candles making it bright enough to see anything. He recognized the voice after a while and calmed down, standing up and trying to regain some semblance of his normal countenance.
"Marco, where are you?" He wondered, stepping further into the entryway after locking the door.
"I'm in the kitchen." Came the reply, and Jean followed it into the mentioned room. He found Marco there, a fire built in the stove, cobbler already inside and a kettle above. "I started the tea." He added.
Jean smiled, a sense of relief flooding over him at the mere sight of the other boy, soft candlelight painting his cheeks in an orange glow. The pastry smelled good already.
"What sort of filling do you think he used?" Jean wondered, sniffing the air. "Blueberry?"
Marco smiled, checking the kettle.
"Smells more like blackberry to me." He suggested, and Jean rolled his eyes.
"So of course it's going to be blackberry." He mused. Marco shrugged, stepping forward to tangle their hands.
"How did it go with your father?" He inquired, leaning to kiss Jean's cheeks as he awaited a reply. Jean sighed, kissing back before bothering with words.
"Not terribly. I might have said a little too much to my mother, but I think father actually believed my story about just interviewing you about the recent cow-tipping incidents.
Marco snickered, swaying in place almost as if they were dancing.
"We really didn't have anything to do with that. You might ask the Springers if they've any ideas in regards to that." He hinted. Jean growled.
"Connie Springer, I swear-"
Marco interrupted him with a kiss, soothing him before he even had a chance to get worked up.
"The tea will be done in just a moment, if you want to take it off. I'll cut the cobbler." He offered, and Jean did his delegated task, preparing the tea that Marco hadn't forgotten to bring, finding it on the counter. He let it steep while Marco carefully sliced the dessert into squares, prying two out in almost perfect shape with what appeared to be minimal effort.
Jean could tell that Marco cooked at home, and imagined it must be nice to be able to do that without getting reprimanded by his father for emasculating himself. He didn't comment though, bringing the tea over, along with sugar and crème.
Once the table was set, they sat down, scooting their chairs so close to one another that their arms were pressed together and their legs would bump if they moved them too much. That was alright though, they found, doing it on purpose as they finished mixing their tea to their liking and, after Jean picked up the fork he'd managed to drop, took their first bites of cobbler.
It was blackberry.
A/N: Oh man you guys, I'm such a mess right now. There was no reason for this to be so late, and I'm seriously sorry about the wait. I've been in a weird state for a while now, but I'm trying to dig myself back out. Give me some time to get settled back in and things should be back to normal, I hope.
In recent news, I have acquired a couple of ferrets. I've got a panda boy noodle named Jasper, and a cinnamon lady noodle named Opal. They are terrible and wonderful and I am a happy ferret mom. They just got a bath today, and let me be the first to suggest you see a wet ferret as soon as possible. It is the best thing I've seen in a while.
Other than that, I've been very busy with being very not busy and incredibly antisocial. It truly comes in waves for me, and I'm sorry to those that wait for responses from me, or for chapters, or for anything really. I tend to focus on one aspect of my life more intensely than others, and that's been work lately. I'm trying to iron everything out again. Thanks for the patience thus far, though, and all of your support. Seriously, I can't put my gratitude into words.
Until next time!
KuroRiya
九六りや