Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The light is a cold November grey when he opens his eyes to the morning sun streaming silently through rainy clouds and into the room. His world is tipped on its side from where his head still lies on the pillow, body chilled where the blanket had been stolen from him in the night.

Jean can hear the water running in the bathroom, his fiancee showering before starting her day. His eyes are emotionless as he stares at the alarm clock on the nightstand, watching until the numbers change over and the bedroom is filled with the anxious screech that would've awoken him from a dreaming slumber two years ago. Instead, it had become the line drawn in the sand from the monotonous life he lived at home and the even duller one of work.

As he finally sat up and stretched, muscles pulling and joints cracking like every morning, he noticed the absence of sound from the bathroom. He could smell her before he saw her, the overwhelming aroma of sweet pea and vanilla pervading his nose as he went through the motions of shuffling around the room getting dressed. It never took him long, he didn't have much to choose from and everything matched everything else in a monochrome spectrum that started in white and ended with black, every shade of grey in between like the title from a shitty trilogy dubbed 'romance'.

“'Morning, babe.” Hitch sang as she breezed up to him where he now stood at the sink, placing a peck on his cheek as she leaned around him to grab her hair brush, quickly running it through hair almost the exact shade of his own. He grunted his own greeting as she left the room again to rummage through her side of the closet to find two matching heels in the exact shade of red that matched the paint on her nails.

It was an existence that he would never wish upon anyone else. His life was a joke and Jean hated it, but he would never admit it to anyone, or even himself out loud. He would never say that he hated his life. His feelings would forever be confined to the quiet space his mind was before he woke it up with a hasty cup of coffee from around the corner.

It was just like every other morning. Their apartment had a routine, everything fitting into its own place, even them. His life was so monotonous; mornings always the same, filled with all sorts of negative feelings, a slow wake up only to rush out the door on the verge of being late. It never changed, no matter how much he wished it would. Jean could feel himself turning slowly in the rut he'd fallen into as he ran down the four flights of stairs from his apartment to the street below.

The sky was a consistent smudge of doves wing, rain coming down in a constant drizzle. Having forgotten his umbrella, Jean was hunched over, trying unsuccessfully to keep the water out of his collar. The dips in the sidewalk had already gathered enough water to cover the tips of his shoes when stepping in them was unavoidable, sending his already bad mood over the edge.

He cursed when he came around the corner to see how packed his usual coffee shop was. A sign outside stated that you got a free pastry with every purchase of a Suspended Coffee. He cursed himself for forgetting the bimonthly tradition, deciding however that he'd waste more time hopping a few blocks over to a more well known shop than suffering the wait here; so he found himself shouldering his way through the crowd, a string of curse words making a lone parade in his mind.

There were people everywhere. He hated solitude but he hated being in a packed room of people even more. There was no room to breathe, much less hear yourself think. He finally found where the line started, almost to the rear of the shop as it wound around tables of patrons that were somehow enjoying their time ignoring the crotches of people waiting in line to get their own coffee and free pastry.

It took longer than he cared for, longer than he really had time for, but Jean finally made it to the counter.

“Good morning, Sir! How may I help you?” The girl behind the counter was so new that her smile was bright and her voice still held that chipper note of excitement that only a new job could bring.

“Coffee. Black.”

“Would you like to suspend a coffee today and get a free pastry?” Her grin didn't waver as Jean shook his had, somewhat violently, as he thrust a 10 dollar bill into her tiny hands. One of the regular baristas that usually dealt with Jean sat his cup in front of him.

“Straight caffeine. No fun, no nothin'.” Ymir smirked at him as he rolled his eyes and backed away, change crumpled in one hand, coffee in the other.

He was making his way back through the crowd, close to the door when he looked down at his watch and smacked shoulders with someone, crushing the cup in his grasp. He cursed as the top fell to the floor and a mini tide of coffee sloshed down his stomach.

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me.” Jean finally muttered what was on his mind as he stared at the coffee soaking into his white button-up, the cup still half full barely salvaged in its crushed cup still in his hand. He looked up into the bewildered face of a freckled man who was apologizing furiously. His skin creased between dark brows that were pulled up towards his hairline of the same shade. Umber eyes were wide and had caught Jean's in the instant he looked up.

Jean hadn't looked directly into someone's eyes for a long time.

It took his breath away and for a moment he forgot to be mad.

Looking into this strangers eyes was like breathing for the first time after holding stagnant breath inside his lungs for far too long. He almost didn't feel the shirt sticking to his skin until the stranger turned away, breaking their eye contact to grab a napkin off a nearby table and started mopping at Jean's front.

He might've blushed if his face wasn't already flushed from the atmosphere around him. His breath hitched and he pulled the stranger up, his hand as steady as it could be; his palm still holding cash, pale knuckles the only thing he could touch to the mans chest.

“Hey. Thanks, but it's alright. I mean, not alright, I'm soaked but it's...it's whatever.” Jean had taken the napkin and wiped at himself halfheartedly, hoping the stranger would leave while his head was down. Like one of those scenes in a book, he and the stranger seemed to be the only two in the world. It was his action of leaning towards the table again that had Jean looking back at him. What he was greeted with was a business card in his face. When he looked to the strangers' face again, he was now smiling.

“Please take your shirt to my dry cleaners. And here,” When Jean didn't take the card, he clenched the corner in his teeth and shrugged out of his coat and then the silver threaded vest underneath, holding it out to Jean.

“What?”

“Take it.” He pressed the vest into Jean's chest, a smile tugging his lips upward.

“I can't take your vest.”

“Please. To cover the stain. It should do an okay job. You seemed like you were in a rush, I hope I haven't made you late.” His smile was apologetic as he pulled away, leaving Jean to clutch the vest with his full hands, the card tucked into the pocket, to his chest as a tide of people surged around him, carrying him out onto the rain soaked sidewalk. When he turned to look for the stranger he had already disappeared into the mass of caffeine junkies like Jean himself.

As he looked down to his watch, he realized he really didn't have time to wait for the stranger and press further that he didn't need charity. Under the awning of the coffee shop, he pulled his coat off, only replacing it once the vest was securely buttoned over his chest. It was a little loose around his frame but hid the stain perfectly.

A bus rolled past on the street, sending his mind reeling as he ran up the street to catch it before it pulled away.

He stood in the moist air of the bus, damp from the rain and uncomfortably warm from the breath of the other passengers who were packed too closely for anyone's comfort. He couldn't get the stranger out of his head. How apologetic he had been, how kind to give up his vest and his attempt at mopping up the mess they'd unwittingly created. He felt the card in the pocket and retrieved it, staring at it until it made sense.

The card itself looked like a cutout of the cosmos; the card stock was thick beneath the night sky studded with millions of stars. More stars than Jean had ever actually seen in his life. Growing up in the city with so much light pollution makes one appreciate even a stupid piece of paper.

Across the top of the card in thin looping cursive was the golden word 'Bodtography'. Underneath, centered perfectly in consecutive rows were lines of information of how to get in touch with the man Marco Bodt. Because all memories deserve to be captured.

Flipping the card over, Jean saw scrawled in messy handwriting, not quite as bad as his own, the words Suds n Buds 117 Sunset St. stared back at him. Slipping the card into his coat pocket, Jean stared out the window at the passing streets, his mind rolling with thunderous thoughts of this stranger- no- Marco Bodt.

Marco.

He looked like a Marco, Jean supposed. Tanned skin, freckles staining his cheeks under umber eyes. His hair had been windswept and wet from the weather. Jean figures he might've talked to him if he'd had time to wait for him.

No.

Jean hated his life. Jean was too scared to fix his life, really. He was too scared to do anything other than what had seemed to already be laid out for him. It was so easy, it must be the correct path, right? Like a trail in the woods leading you to the end of the forest, leading Jean to the end of his life, that's where he was supposed to go. It had opened up to him and he would follow it. Wasn't God supposed to have your life planned out for you? Isn't there supposed to be some grand plan for your life that you have no idea what it might be? Isn't that the life Jean was leading? He would marry Hitch and see where his life would take him. Maybe he would travel with her on one of her business trips she was constantly planning and just happen to look over and be in the right place at the right time to save someone. Maybe he was supposed to have kids with her that would one day grow up to be the scientist that finds the cure to cancer.

All of these thoughts ran rampant through him, holding hands with thoughts of Marco as they looped around his brain. He was so caught up in them that he almost missed his stop. His cheeks burned as he pushed past the other passengers to get to the driver who was already closing the doors. He didn't particularly like the look the driver shot him but another glance at his watch had it fading to the back of his mind. A memory lost to all the new thoughts that paraded around in his head.

“Kirschtein! Cutting it a little close aren't we?” Reiner was the first to call out on his tardiness, sitting at the desk closest to the door. Jean ducked behind Reiner's desk to get to his own. Sitting his bag down heavily on his desk beside what was left of his coffee, he flopped into his desk chair. It rolled back towards the windows behind them and he looked to his right to see Reiner staring at him.

“What?”

“Nothin'.” He shrugged. “You just look a little more Jean today. Including the lateness.”

Jean sat up straighter, metaphorical hackles raised. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He leaned closer to Reiner, eyes narrowed, which only sent the blond into a fit of chuckles.

“Loosen up, man. It's not bad. You just look a little more like the man I met our first day here. Little less depressed, little more starry eyed. What happened? Almost die on the way here? Someone save your stupid ass and introduce you to the wonders of God?” Reiner jazzed his hands a little from where his forearms rested on the arms of his chair.

Jean hissed between his teeth, face going slack as he rubbed his hands over his face. “Nah. Just runnin' late. Forgot my coffee shop was doing the suspended coffee thing today. It was packed and then I had spilled coffee all over my shirt. Only white shirt I own.” Jean muttered the last part a little more to himself as he looked down at the vest that covered his chest. The top button came about mid sternum, the silver fabric of it well worn but taken care of. Two pockets, one on either side, were functional, a strip of dark pattern adorning the top of the openings. The buttons were a dark contrast to the light material that tied the whole thing together. It actually went perfect with the charcoal tie he had shoved over his head as he ran out the door that morning.

“Jean?”

He snapped his head up to see Reiner, one brow arched in question, staring at him.

“Yeah?”

“Y'alright there? Kinda spaced out there for a minute.”

Jean rolled his shoulders, his hands raising to fix his loosened tie.

“Yeah, no I was just thinkin about the dude that spilled my coffee on me.”

“Yeah you mentioned that, where'd you spill it? I don't see anything.”

Marco's vest had done such an excellent job at covering the spill that, except for the feel of the wet fabric rubbing his skin raw, Jean would've not been able to tell himself.

Jean stood and lifted the edge of the vest where the spill had taken place. The coffee had bloomed across his stomach and around to his sides where it soaked into ever dry fiber it could stretch to. Reiner made a face and shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of his voice, it was their boss who neither had noticed walking from his office.

“Kirschtein, it would fill me with immense pleasure to see you stop in your attempts to flash Braun and get to work.”

Reiner sat up straight and disappeared behind the barrier between their desks while Jean turned, face burning, to see Mr. Rivaille standing behind him with a familiar displeased look on his face.

“Sir, I was-”

“I don't care if you were almost hit by a bus, you made it here, barely on time as it seems, so I suggest you quit flapping your jaw and start editing books. If you'd like to get paid for telling stories of your everyday life, try your hand at writing so people can pay to read you thoughts instead of being subjected to them unwillingly.” His dark eyes bore into Jeans' for only a moment before he turned sharply to walk away, his spine military straight, just like his tone of voice.

Jean sat abruptly, folding the edge of the vest back down over the stain. He could hear Reiner snickering beside him and thumped the wall with the side of his fist before shuffling through the pile of manuscripts that sat in the wire In Box to his left. He picked one that looked promising, the title page bearing the words On an Island of Mist. The red pen fit familiarly in his hand as he flipped to the beginning and started to read.

His day didn't darken like it was prone to as it wore on. Instead, as he walked around the office, sometimes to just refill his coffee, other times to run messages to other floors, it seemed to brighten, even just a fraction. The women that usually paid him no mind complimented how put together he looked, his hair having dried into what he dubbed a 'douche bag comb over' that the girls brushed back with manicured nails, playful smirks that decorated their lips far better than the colored dust around their eyes. It might have made him feel better about himself but he still felt trapped.

It was Reiner that saved him from the gussied up piranhas that had snatched him up on the floor below theirs, his every attempt at escape only succeeding in dialing up the volume of their laughter.

“Ladies, ladies, leave the gentleman alone. He's engaged, and believe me, you don't want to fight that woman for any man, even this scrawny piece of ass.” He had thrown a wink at Jean who just rolled his eyes.

The girls pouted but left Jean alone to retreat, moving on to bigger and better things as they latched their harpy-like talons onto Reiners' muscles that barely fit inside his button up.

Jean hadn't been sitting at his desk long, face still warm from the blood that seemed like it wanted to make his cheeks a regular home, when Reiner settled himself at his own desk.

“What was that?” Jean looked over at Reiner with his honey colored eyes.

“I'm used to it. They always attack me when-”

“Not the cougar show, that. That-that with me. It was weird.”

“Not used to attention?”

Jean looked back at the fake wood grain of his desk. “Not really.”

Reiner sat back, his arms supporting his head. “Well it's all your fault. People are usually put off by depressed sacks like you, even if they are hot. But when that hot sack is happy, even the slightest ounce, they're all over ya like stink on shit.”

Jean made a face, his nose scrunching up as he shot a look at Reiner.

“Now see, that right there is what I'm talkin' about. Don't look so hot when you're making faces at everyone all day long.”

“Maybe that's how I like it.” Jean stuck his tongue out at Reiner which had the blond chuckling.

“That's what I meant this morning. There's the old Jean I remember from day one.” The smile on Reiner's face was genuine and made Jean's heart ache a little in his chest.

He didn't feel any different, and he didn't think he acted any different. He and Reiner had gotten a job on the same day, a mass exodus having swept through the office, they had required a mass amount of new hires and they had been in the same batch of newcomers. They had been placed at the desks they lounged at now, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh from graduation. Jean remembered now how excited he had been, ready for his new job, doing something he wanted to be doing. He could just read all day, fix the mistakes that others' had carelessly made before shipping the manuscript back for a revision. He was helping someone achieve their dreams and he reveled in the feeling that rose in his chest like a bird taking flight. He hadn't realized when that birds wings had grown tired, and it had begun to sink from the skies before falling out altogether.

Jean had never thought that he was depressed. It's not something people do if they don't even know it's depression eating away at them. It had taken away everything but the frail relationship he thought was working, only because he slept next to Hitch every night. He hadn't even noticed it take his friends away. Anyone else he'd fallen out of touch with had stayed that way, Reiner being the only exception, on winning that battle because they worked together.

“You sure you're okay?” Reiners hand on his shoulder startled Jean out of his silent reverie of how his life had taken a sharp dive into a dark abyss without his even knowing it.

“Uh, yeah man. Never better.” The smile was weak, not reaching his eyes.

His eyes.

It brought back a thought that hadn't really left his mind since that morning. Those deep umber eyes of a freckled stranger in a coffee shop. God, what a cliché, he thought.

Looking now into Reiner's own that matched Jean's almost to a tee, he felt his heart give another jolt.

How long had it been since he'd looked into those eyes? Eyes the same shade as his, so similar it had been a joke to them to tell everyone they were brothers. Long lost. Getting a job in the same office, it's like a damn Hallmark movie. He couldn't place the last time he'd even looked at his own face to see the mirror staring back at him.

Reiner turned his face from Jean, his eyes still locked with Jean's. “Mhmm. Well....you feel a little faint from all these blackouts your brain seems to keep having, let me know.” He broke eye contact and Jean shook his head, muttering a 'yeah, sure man' before turning back to the book he had started editing that morning.

It was after 5:30 when Jean turned the corner onto Sunset Street, his pace slowing when he saw the old woman hunched over at the door to the dry cleaners the card had mentioned. He walked slowly up to her, hands stuffed in his pockets, his coat unbuttoned in the cool autumn air.

He tried to act nonchalant, intending to pass if she was locking up, but she looked up as he approached, eyes squinting behind thick round glasses.

“Can I help you sonny?” Her voice was crisp and frail, like the fallen leaves that had gathered along the curb.

He stopped, just a moment before his stride would've taken him right past her. “Uhm, I was wondering when the dry cleaners will be open again. I was told to drop something off.” He looked away from her face and up at the edifice of the building. The sign was faded from the sun, the bricks weather beaten and stained. It looked like it belonged further downtown nestled in between other rundown shops that still operated by their business with the more poverty stricken residents of Trost. But there it sat, only a few blocks away from the upper middle-class neighborhood that sported affordable yet classy lofts and apartments like his own as well as office buildings and more well to do shops like the Rose Cafe.

“You a friend a Marco's?”

Jean brought his gaze back to the old woman so quick he heard his neck pop. “What?”

She brought an arthritis twisted hand up to point at his chest. Beneath the folds of his coat, the silver thread of the vest was visible.

“That vest looks like one of Marco Bodt's. My hands have washed it plenty of times. If you look closely at the pockets, the detailing is hand stitched and the bottom button is held on with navy blue thread, not black. You must be a friend of his.” Her face crinkled up when she smiled, like a used piece of tissue paper a child balled up in their haste to reach their present.

His face burning again, Jean decided to nod his head. “Uhm yeah. We ran into each other this morning. Quite literally and-” He had removed his hands from his pockets and repeated his action from that morning by lifting the edge of the vest away from his stomach. The coffee had dried, the stained fabric becoming stiff and uncomfortable.

“Ah.” The old woman clucked her tongue and nodded her head. Turning back to the door and the key that still hung from the lock, she turned it and pushed the door open. Jean stood there silently, watching her hobble over the doorstep. “Well come on if you're coming.” He wasted no time in shuffling in behind her, more anxious now than he had been in his confrontation with Levi.

“May I ask what we're doing?” Jean inquired as he looked around the shop. He followed her past the counter and through a door that led to the back before he stopped, a wad of fabric hitting his shoulder. He scrambled to grab it before it hit the floor.

“Put that on and leave the shirt here. I'll have it washed and pressed in no time. You can pick it up at your leisure any time after eleven but before five.” She cast him a glance, a sly smile on her lips. Jean started to mindlessly remove his layers as she filled out a tag. “I'm usually home by now, sitting with my cat and drinking a cup of hot tea. Guess it's a good thing for you that I had to stay late cause we fell behind when one of our girls called in sick today.” She continued to prattle around the room, taking his shirt when he'd handed it to her and placing it in a little tub where she'd added water and detergent moments before.

The shirt she had given him was robins egg blue, the words 'Suds 'N' Buds' in light pink bubble letters across the front.

“Well I hate that I bothered you for something that could've waited. I can-”

She waved her hand at him, not turning to look at him as she slid the tub along the counter. “No no. No worries. Any friend of Marco's is a child of mine. Don't worry about it baby.” She turned and patted his arm with her wrinkled hand and smiled at him. “I'm Norma Jean by the way.”

Jean chuckled, the sound surprising him with its authenticity. “I'm uh Jean. Jean Kirschtein.” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. In what probably had been weeks. It was nothing grand, just a little upturn of the side of his mouth, but it made her smile grow.

“Jean. That's nice. French?”

He shrugged his coat back on, pocketing his tie. “Yeah. Immigrant grandparents. Listen, what do I owe you?” He had already taken his wallet out and had it opened to where multiple bills stood waiting to be given.

“Oh nothing. You said Marco sent you here, he's got a free credit. Don't you worry about it.” She patted his arm again, this time using him to steady herself as she turned and walked back to the front of the shop. Jean allowed her to pull him, still spluttering about how he'd really like to give her something in return.

“Jeanny, how about the next time you see someone in need, you help em out, hm?” Her smile was gentle, her eyes unfocused as she looked not ahead, but back into whatever memory she was reliving. “Besides, can't have young'ns like you runnin' around in coffee stains now can we. Gotta look a little more respectable.” She chuckled, casting a look back at him before stepping over the threshold of the shop.

Jean's face turned pink at the thought of just that morning. He had had the chance to do that, to suspend a coffee for someone who couldn't afford one, and he'd been selfish enough to just get his own coffee and leave. If he'd stayed a little longer, he never would had run into Marco, never would've talked to Reiner like he had and never would have met the old woman that he now sheltered from the cold with his back to the wind as she turned the key in the lock and looked up at him.

“You can pay me right now if you would help a little old lady across the street to her apartment.” She smiled warmly at him, her blue eyes dark in the twilight that had crept in with 6 o'clock.

“Not a problem, Norma Jean.” He smiled down at her, his cheeks a little more used to smiling again as he helped her step off the curb and into the street, their feet crunching on the leaves that had gathered there.

“Jean? Is that you?” The positivity of the day seemed to be sucked right from him and out into the hallway as he closed the door behind him; like his ever present personal storm had rolled back into its usual place above him. It was like his chest had deflated, like every good thing that had happened had been a figment of his imagination. If it wasn't for the blue shirt he now wore and the vest over top, he would've thought he'd read the whole scenario in a book that day.

“Yeah.” He sighed, depositing his keys in the basket by the door and his coat on the rack. He was returning from hanging Marco's vest in his side of the closet when he heard her repeat herself.

“Where have you been?” She came around the corner from the kitchen, tongs in hand as she looked at him. “It's after 6. You're not usually home so late. Did something happen?”

If the worry on her face was genuine, Jean was sad to see it. It meant that he was the bad guy for feeling like a shadow of himself all the time. It meant that he felt obligated to place the chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth instead of feeling any drive to do so. It meant that when he wrapped his arms around her, reassuring her that everything was fine, he was not only reassuring her but himself as well.

She giggled when he squeezed her gently, pulling out of his grip to finish preparing dinner.

“So what's with the shirt?” She flicked the tongs at his chest. Jean looked down. He hadn't changed out of the t-shirt Norman Jean had given him. The blue looked odd against his pale arms. He didn't wear much color, come to think of it, but it was nice. It was different. It made those storm clouds above him a little less grey, a little more broken up.

They sat down at the dining table when the chicken finished and Jean told his fiancee about his day. He kept it simple, not mentioning Marco by name or the fact that he let him keep his vest. It's not like he was ashamed of the fact, it's just that it felt personal. He should be able to share everything with Hitch but for some reason, he felt like he wanted to keep Marco away from anything that could tie him to his depressing life.

The two needed to be separate. His life at home that kept him down versus the life of the stranger in the coffee shop. It felt like two lives he was leading, even with two years of time versus two minutes was a big difference. He couldn't shake the feeling that it had been important somehow. A Hugh Prather quote jumped into his mind suddenly. Are there any wholly useless encounters? I know this: there are no insignificant people. There is no one who isn't supposed to be there. Those two minutes of incident had led him to Norma Jean which had ultimately made him to rethink how he treated life.

It was like a chance encounter in all the books he'd read. One encounter that wouldn't have happened if anything in their day had been even a fraction different. If his depression didn't keep him from moving at a pace that kept him from rushing every morning, if he had had time to make coffee at home, if he had even remembered about suspended coffee day and hadn't gawked at the number of people inside, everything would be different.

“Jean? You okay?” He was brought back to reality. The reality where he was eating dinner with his fiancee, leaving the world of fictitious thoughts left over from work.

“Yeah. Why?” He forked a piece of romaine lettuce into his mouth, his gaze hovering somewhere between the scraps of chicken that were like icebergs in the sea of lettuce and Italian dressing he had swamped his greens in.

“Well you just kinda zoned out. You sure you're alright?” Her hand reached to grab his. His chest ached with the want to pull his hand back, but he let her manicured fingers brush along his knuckles instead.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just had some stuff on my mind from work s'all. You had been saying something about Marlowe?”

She straightened up, pulling her hand back with a smile. Happy that he was listening to her once again. Hitch prattled on about her work partner over the rest of their meal, sprinkling in some dates of appointments he had finally set in stone for the course of the coming year. Marlowe and Hitch had known each other since High School when she'd moved to the city. She had acclimated well into the scene and the two had gone to college together. They both went into fashion, Marlowe double majoring with a business degree. They had worked nonstop for the last few years putting together their own line of designer clothes and had finally gotten a loan to travel for researching new designs and trying to sell the ones they already had.

“So you'll be gone a lot now, huh?” To anyone judging the situation from the outside, it would seem Jean's voice was forlorn and sad. To him, he knew it was guilty. Guilty because now he wouldn't have to pretend except when she was home.

“Oh honey,” she placed her hand back on his, somehow catching his gaze with hers, “It won't be so bad. Most of the trips are for a couple days. A few week long ones here and there. We'll still see each other plenty. I've already gotten a few dates set aside for us to plan the wedding.”

The wedding. Perfect. Jean had forgotten.

Fiancee had just become another word to him, like girlfriend. It had been new for the first few weeks but after a couple slips of the tongue it came naturally to him now. But after him asking for her hand in marriage, he had kind of forgotten about it. They didn't really talk about it, this had really been the first time it'd been brought up since almost a year before when he'd proposed. The ring that was on her finger was just a constant accessory to him.

“Yeah, no that's good. I'm glad.” The smile he flashed her was fake but she took it, soaking it up like a flower hungry for sunshine in a constant downpour. His smiles were so rare, so forced, that anything she could get seemed to placate her into believing their relationship was healthy and real.

Their after dinner routine rarely changed. It was much like their morning one, ingrained in them to just function without any real thought. It included either a movie together or each of them retiring to their respective spaces to work on something or get the alone time they didn't get throughout the day. They seemed to have an understanding that Jean was a loner and liked his alone time and Hitch just needed space to work on her passion for fashion. Ha.

It worked for Jean who, tonight, was reclined in his desk chair, the tension he'd felt all day melting away as he reads his well worn copy of Hugh Prathers' Notes on Love and Courage. He had shelves of books, mostly poetry or collections of essays, but this one was his favorite. It was well taken care of but the number of times he'd read it had creased the spine and rounded the edges of the pages. He had carefully underlined some excerpts in black, a few in red that were his favorites. Ever since high school, he had memorized quotes and poems and recited them fondly to himself since he had no one else who enjoyed them like he did.

The window is not the view; the window allows the view

It isn't possible to be enlightened and know it. What you hold yourself superior to is a part of you.

Just because it's what you do best doesn't mean you have to do it.

Jean loved Hugh Prather. He was his favorite poet; he wasn't even a poet, just a writer that had published pieces of his own diary. He would read his excerpts over and over again and he wanted desperately to take those ideas and tuck them so deep into his heart that he was able to live the life he wanted to live.

Yet no matter how many times he read the words, memorized them, he couldn't live them. He couldn't bring himself to stop breaking himself down for the use of others. He couldn't say 'no'. He couldn't break out of the mold he'd started building of his life. He just kept shoring up the cracks and continued on, even when he saw it just wasn't working.

So that's where he sat, reading, until he heard Hitch walk through the apartment, cutting off lights and locking the windows, readying their home for bed. He shut his book, a different poet, without saving his place. There was no need with poetry. It would always be there, nothing to continue while you slept. Nothing to wonder how it would end.

They slipped into their routine, Jean showered quickly as Hitch brushed out her hair and slipped into her pajamas. They then brushed their teeth side by side, far enough apart after years of bumping elbows, the soles of their feet held in the casts of the bathroom rug.

Jean allowed Hitch to climb into bed first before he turned the light off and made his way to the bed through the dark. They had no need for bedside lamps; Hitch didn't read in bed, at all really, and Jean left his reading to his office, his comfortable space. His desk chair was more comfortable than his bed, held more warmth than the space beside him under the covers.

The sheets were cold and Hitch no longer cuddled up next to him as she had at the beginning of their relationship so long ago. Slowly, his own body heat warmed him and he was alone to drift into sleep, the only evidence of another human being so close was the exhale of Hitch's steady breathing. During most nights, she drifted into a her own dreams, leaving him behind to flounder in the waves of anxiety that followed him from the waking world into one that was meant for nighttime healing. Tonight however, his dreams were filled with smiling old ladies and freckled men who gave up their favorite pieces of clothing for a stranger they'd never met while everything else faded into the twilight.

The next morning saw Jean waking to the sound of his alarm clock. His eyes shot open, his arm reaching hastily to hit the off switch. He sat up, a pleasant buzz filling him as he stretched, fully rested for the first time in a long time.

He still wasn't smiling but his usual thoughts of hate didn't take up so much space as he buttoned up a black shirt, pairing it with a tie the same color.

“Morning, babe.” Hitch kissed him on his cheek like every morning but didn't notice anything different when he waved at her instead of grunting. He wasn't happy, but his mind was still full of freckles, and that was enough to keep him buoyed up from the furthest depths of his depression.

He was almost out the door when he remembered the vest, doubling back to slip it on, replace his coat and rush down the four flights of stairs to the street below that bustled with its usual morning crowd. The clouds were still grey but their bellies were no longer swollen with rain that threatened to pour over Jean.

Rose Cafe wasn't as packed, only sporting its most faithful customers. Which was a category Jean himself seemed to fall into if Ymir calling out “No fun, no nothin Kirschtein” was anything to go by.

“Seriously?” Jean scowled as he placed his money on the counter for the petite blonde to take as Ymir leaned on the counter.

“What? You don't like my little nickname?”

“It's not a nickname if it's longer than my real name.” Jean took a chug from his coffee, eyes screwing up as his taste buds seared from the heat.

“Careful cowboy, new pot. I could smell your sourpuss self a block away and made a fresh pot. What's with you anyway? You don't usually talk. I've tried for over a year to try and get you to poke your little turtle head outta that shell and have failed.” She wipes away an imaginary tear as she straightens, “So what is it? Finally left the bitch?”

“Don't call her that.” Jean didn't feel defensive but he had still been the one to propose, still lived with her, still loved her? Love was a strong word but it was what was expected at this stage in the relationship, right? Jean really didn't know anymore.

“Ooooooh so it's not her. Must be someone else.” Ymir winked at him. Before he could form a retort she was motioning him along as another tide rolled in from the street. “Catch ya later, Kirschtein!” She called over her shoulder as she turned to start three separate orders, skilled hands flying between the different pumps of creams and flavors.

He didn't have time to linger but as he turned himself, he couldn't help but look around the shop to see if Marco had made another appearance; maybe spilling some other strangers' coffee.

Jean waited around, feeling foolish, especially when he caught Ymir's eye and saw her smirk. It was the latest possible moment he could've made his exit that he did, looking down both sides of the sidewalk for a freckled face that had only become familiar in his obsession to make sure he wouldn't miss him again. The bus passed him on the street and he begrudgingly jogged down to the stop, almost running over a little old man in his haste to make the bus.

He stood there, on the crowded bus, his face burning from embarrassment for the second day in a row. When had his emotions taken a nosedive into action? When had his blood started to pool into his cheeks when he can't even get it to beat fast through his heart anytime his fiancee was in the room? That's what he'd always read in any book that had a romance aspect to it. Why couldn't he make himself feel that way for the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with?

Jean allowed these thoughts and more to swim around his head like hungry sharks looking for their next meal. They didn't stop, even as he sat at his desk, red pen in hand, trying to focus on the book he was supposed to be editing. He continued to stare at the first page blankly for more than 10 minutes before Reiner shoved him from the side and he was able to gather his thoughts in a cage and lock them away, somehow successfully; back to normal he seemed.

Hi thoughts were periodically eclipsed by ones of Marco, his new obsession. He had taken to keeping the business card in his wallet, the edges well worn from the amount of times he would stare at it. It was his only concrete piece of evidence that Marco wasn't a mirage in the desert of his life. He could easily convince himself the vest had been a gift from someone that he'd forgotten about and found in the back of his closet if he really wanted to, but the messy scrawl on the back of the card stock was too real for him to ignore.

Norma Jean wasn't at the shop when he picked his shirt up that afternoon. It was stain free and nicely pressed just as she promised. He asked the blond behind the counter to thank Norma for him, handing her an envelope with Norma's name on it. He had stuffed some cash and a short, scribbled thank you note into it before rushing off from work, scared he'd be too late. The woman at the counter nodded, placing it underneath the counter before moving to the customer behind him.

He had taken to carrying one of his books to Rose Cafe with him so he could feign reading as he waited at a table facing the door, hoping for the freckled photographer to rush in. Ymir and Krista would make idle conversation with him, his cups permanently read NFNN now and he had started to smile a bit more than he had in the past two years.

It was two weeks before he conceded that maybe a chance encounter with someone was simply a one time thing. His life had gotten marginally better simply by him making friends with the baristas at his favorite coffee shop. He smile a bit more, he had started talking to Reiner again and he wasn't as grumpy at home.

He still didn't feel like his relationship with Hitch would get any better but it wasn't as terrible as it had been since they'd moved in together. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Chapter Text

The cold had settled in, making Jean shiver under all his layers. Snow hadn't fallen yet, but there was frost in the cracks on the sidewalk and his breath misted in front of him so thick it looked like smoke. November had stolen what little sunshine October had offered and turned it into thick clouds that obscured the sun. The leaves had all vacated the branches of the trees that stood in the sidewalk, making the trees look just as cold as those who used their slim bodies to block the chill wind.

It was the frigid gusts that had driven him to stand close to the building as he waited at the bus stop, leaning against the windowsill of the used bookstore that sat on the corner. He had stopped by Suds 'N' Buds on his way home, helping Norma Jean walk across the street before setting out on his own for his apartment, crossing into streets he usually didn't frequent.

Jean was admiring the display in the front of the book store, white window paint made swirling patterns of snow around holiday favorites. If it hadn't been for a particularly well painted bird that had Jean staring with silent appreciation, he never would've seen the movement from beyond the window.

He made an instant double take at the freckles and dark hair, blinking rapidly until he believed that it really was the photographer and not another trick of his mind. At that moment, the bus pulled up at the stop and he turned to see the rest of the people milling near him ascend the steps into the belly of the beast. It wasn't a hard decision to abandon any earlier thoughts of boarding said bus and instead, turn to the warm confines of the book store.

His hands started to shake as feeling came back to them, fingers curling in the heated air.

“Welcome to Silverfish. I'd be pleased to help you with anything, just ask.” The brunette behind the counter looked and sounded every bit as pleased to speak such words as Jean was to hear them. He nodded once, leaving her to flip through a beat up issue of Vogue as he made his way around the store.

It had the pleasant smell of old paper and aged wood; dusty, like the nostalgic memories it dredged up. He was completely thawed, yet nervously sweating as he ambled around, doing his best to look like he was looking for a book and not a person.

He took his time in admiring the store, his heart melting at the sight of so many books. The walls were old brick, dark wood shelves packed with literature of every kind. Handwritten labels told customers what shelves held what genre of book, the tape curling at the edges with age. Towards the back of the store were reading areas, a few tables that had just a few places not already heaped with stacks of books. A few rolling trolleys sat in front of shelves he assumed were unpopular.

On the other side of the store, in front of the other window, were a few tables and chairs with a classic coffee station set up, a stack of paper cups sitting next to a coffee pot the bubbled away cheerfully. Even there, books littered the window ledge, a few shorter shelves having been converted into a part of the seating area with cushions attached to the top.

The place was packed with so many books Jean figured he could take a week off work just to browse happily. It momentarily took his mind off of his true impulsive reasoning to duck into the store.

He wasn't ready when he suddenly turned a corner and ran right into the object of his search, causing the books in his grasp to tumble onto the floor.

“Oh my God, I apologize I-” Jean hastened to pick up the fallen books, and was startled when Marco stopped mid speech to chuckle.

“Holy shit, it's you. We have really got to stop running into one another.” The brush of his fingers on Jean's as he took the books from him was warm and comfortable and made his heart wobble out an unsteady rhythm when coupled with his smile.

He tried a hand at his own shaky smile.

“Hey, uh yeah. Yeah it's becoming a problem. At least we weren't on the street. Think of the mess that could make.” The chuckle that passed from Marco's lips made the unsteady beat faster and Jean wiped his sweaty palms on his coat. Why was he so nervous? He felt like a giddy school boy asking for a first date.

They stood in silence for a moment before Marco started to talk as Jean opened his mouth to speak at the same time.

Jean couldn't help but think Has my life become one big cliché?as he smiled, motioning for Marco to speak first.

“This may seem a little odd but, would you mind if I bought you a coffee? Y'know, to pay you back for the one I spilled last time.”

“Well you kind of already paid me back. With the dry cleaning.”

Marco waved his hand in dismissal. “Free credit at a dry cleaners is not pay back. C'mon, I'll pay for my books and our coffee and we can sit over here and chat. Unless you've somewhere to be.” Marco studied him with his dark eyes, waiting patiently for Jean's answer, a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

Jean hesitated. It's not that he didn't want to, he just hadn't expected this. He blinked and shrugged, another smiling laugh bubbling to the surface. “Sure. Why the hell not?”

He followed Marco to the counter where the uninterested girl rang up the two paperbacks he laid on the aged counter as well as two cups of coffee. With his paper bag in hand, Marco led the way to the other side of the store where they got their coffee and sat down at a table far enough from the window that they couldn't feel the cold air leaking in from outside.

It was quiet for a moment or two, Jean staring at the inky substance in his cup before Marco disturbed the silence again.

“So I'm Marco, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Marco's smile hadn't really left his lips, but it did broaden as one eye brow raised in question. “Oh?”

Jean shrugged. Again. “Yeah. Can't say I wasn't interested to read the other side of that business card you gave me.”

Across the table, Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. I totally forgot I gave you one of those. It was the only paper I had on me other than the soiled napkin.”

Jean huffed in amusement, sipping his coffee. Swallowing the bitter liquid, he grimaced. “Yeah, so a photographer?”

It was Marco's turn to shrug. “Yeah. It's a passion.”

“Make any money off it?”

“Oh yeah. I mean I'm no Chris Rainier but I travel for some of my shoots so it's not terrible. So what do you do...uhm...sorry I don't think I ever got your name.”

Jean stared at him, horrified with himself that he'd never even introduced himself. Being careful of their cups, Jean reached a hand across the table. “Jean. Jean Kirschtein. I edit books.”

Marco's hand was warm and dry, a slight contrast to Jean's which felt like it was sweating buckets, making them clammy. To his credit, Marco didn't grimace or wipe his hand after they drew apart.

“Interesting. Is that what you always wanted to do?”

Jean nodded. “Pretty much. I love to read. Mostly poetry and such but fiction's pretty cool too, it's just not what lines my shelves at home.”

“Once you learn to read, you will forever be free.” Marco's gaze didn't waver from Jean's as he took another sip of his coffee, mirth alight in his eyes.

“Finally good to meet you Frederick Douglas. Give my regards to Marco when he returns.”

Marco chuckled, hand wiping coffee off his upper lip.

“Too easy.”

“Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.”

“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.”

Marco held up his cup in salute. “Touche.”

Their conversation never lulled after that. It was like the old adage 'friendship is one mind in two bodies'. If one asked about one thing, the other knew the answer or could expound on a topic brought up. Jean was smiling and laughing so much his cheeks and gut hurt from over usage. Their coffee had long since been finished by the time the clerk behind the counter had to usher them out so she could close the store.

As they stood outside the storefront as she locked up, Jean looked down at his phone to see he had a missed call and 3 texts from Hitch.

Hitch 6:24 Hey babe, just wondering where you were.

Hitch 7:31 Just tried calling, no answer. Hope you're alright.

Hitch 7:56 Didn't want to cook if you'd died on the way home so I'm assuming you went out with the boys from work so I'm leaving now to grab some grub. I'll see you when I get back.

“Whoops.” Jean's smile died from his lips as he read the messages. For a while he'd forgotten about his home life. He'd never even mentioned to Marco about his fiancee and how they were supposed to get married next year. He'd forgone any mention of his home outside the books he had secured in his office.

“Everything alright?” Marco had stuffed his hands in his coat after flipping the collar up, his purchase secured beneath one arm. Hunkering down, he watched Jean as he stared at his phone; watching as the back light died as the screen blinked to black.

“Yeah, it's fine.” He double tapped the screen and started to type a response to Hitch, apologizing and telling her he'd see her when he got home. “Hey, you hungry?” Jean looked up as he pocketed his phone, waiting for Marco to respond.

“I could eat.”

“What're ya feelin'?” Jean hated making decisions, always scared he'd make the wrong one.

“Hmm. You like pancakes?”

“Sure.”

Marco stared at Jean. “Jean, do you like them or not? Very crucial that you answer honestly.”

Jean shrugged. “Don't think I've ever really eaten pancakes.”

“Excuse you? Did your mother never make you Micky Mouse pancakes as a child?”

“Mom didn't really cook. We had a cook in our house that did all that. If it wasn't healthy or, like, rich people cuisine we didn't eat it.”

“Does that mean you've never had a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles?” The look on Marco's face was pure horror.

Jean shrugged like it didn't matter, but he had just unwittingly armed Marco with enough ammo to last their walk a few blocks up to a hole in the wall diner simply called 'Cakes.

As they sat down, Marco explained the menu simply. “They only serve pancakes.”

“That's it?”

Marco nodded. “Any variation you could possibly want but that's all that's on the menu.”

“Pancakes for dinner, Marco you're gonna make me fat.”

“Yeah, with a 'ph'.” Jean smiled as Marco disappeared behind the menu mumbling 'Can't believe you've never had a pancake, that's child neglect.'

They ordered their cakes, Jean going simple with traditional plain, Marco going southern with pecan pancakes.

More coffee was ordered and their discussions continued. Jean watched as Marco drenched his pancakes with syrup, following suit and shoving a forkful into his mouth.

He didn't know what pancakes were supposed to taste like, but if they were any better than what he was chewing, then he'd have to think he'd died and gone to heaven.

“Oh my God, Marco.” Jean moaned around his mouthful. “These are so fucking delicious.” Glancing across the table, he saw the the smugness that had crept into his face as he readied another bite onto his fork.

“Told you it was a crime you'd never had them in your 20-some-odd years.”

“What's the fun if you're not breaking at the very least a few rules?”

Marco shrugged, his eyes sparkling. “The kind that keeps you running.”

Jean grinned, his lips sticky with syrup. Going into that book store had probably been the best decision he'd ever made.

It wasn't until they were being ushered out of their second business that they decided to end their night.

“Have we seriously been talking so much they've had to throw us out of two places?” Marco watched with disbelieving eyes as the old pancake chef puffed on a cigarette and locked the door behind them. It was now after 10:00 and Jean's anxiety hadn't presented itself for hours. His chest felt light and for once he didn't feel empty.

“Guess we have. Which sucks cause now I should probably get home and get to bed. Looong day at the office tomorrow and whatnot.”

“True.” Marco checked his watch. “I actually have an appointment in the morning I forgot about. Hey,” he looked back to Jean. “You've got my number. How bout texting me sometime and we'll do this again.”

“What? Get thrown out of places? I thought you had me on the straight and narrow.” Jean grinned and gently elbowed the man beside him.

Marco's chuckle made Jean's smile grown and his heart stutter. He'd been listening to it all evening long, but in parting it was like his mind needed to hear it and hold onto the sound until they saw each other again.

“No, I mean hang out. I don't have a lot of friends and this was nice.”

Jeans smile was the first sad one in hours. “Yeah...yeah it was.” He straightened up and cleared his throat. “But uh, I'll text you when I get home and we'll definitely hang before too long.”

They smiled at each other before turning to go their separate ways; Jean's didn't falter the entire bus ride home. Not even when he closed the door behind him. The rain cloud that seemed to have it's own resting place above the door was so small he could hardly feel it as he made his way to the bedroom.

His head was bent over his phone as he texted the number he'd memorized from his constant look upon that starry piece of card stock still in his wallet.

“There you are. I figured that since the police didn't call me to inform me of your untimely death that you were still kicking somewhere around the city.” Hitch's voice from the bathroom was the only thing that soured his mood, but with fresh freckles in his mind, even that didn't make him frown completely.

“Yeah. I ran into Marco on my way home and we hung out.” Pressing send, he put his phone on his nightstand. He passed her in the bathroom and hopped into the shower, drowning out any possible form of communication other than raised voices.

When he stepped back out, Hitch had already left the room, leaving him to perform his routine alone.

She was already in bed when he entered the room, her back facing him until he flipped the switch and the room became dark.

As he settled down on his own side, he remembered his phone and picked it up eagerly.

1 text message

Marco 10:53 Glad to have run into you again! Had tons of fun, can't wait to do it again :)

Jean couldn't suppress the smile that lit up his face as he typed a quick reply.

Jean 11:01 Same here! What are you doing tomorrow around 1?

He'd hit send and the screen had just faded to black when it lit up again.

Marco 11:02 Hopefully eating lol

Jean 11:03 Wanna meet up?

Marco 11:03 Sounds like a plan

Jean placed his phone back on the nightstand and settled in for the night. For the first time in a long time, he forgot to feel lonely sleeping next to someone.

The next few days were spent either talking to Marco or texting him. It was as if there was no shortage of words that could be expressed between the two. It was like Jean had found the one person on earth that seemed to fit him to a T.

It didn't take long for them to become regular lunch patrons at a place a few blocks from Jean's work; a place called The Happy SSShrew that sold nothing but 'Sandwiches, Soups and Sweets'. The name alone had prompted a discussion that lasted the entire lunch hour about how North American Pygmy Shrews ate so much every day of their lives that they only slept a few minutes at a time.

“So my friend Connie must be a shrew.”

“He never sleep?”

“No, he's tiny and never stops eating.”

A new day found him laughing with Reiner.

His smiles and laughter came so easily now. It was like before Marco, he'd been drowning, trying to breathe with his head submerged in the tide, each breath pulling in more sludge from a polluted ocean. It was as if Marco was a filter, taking all the bad out and replacing it with good. He could breathe properly now with Marco either around or in his head.

Reiner definitely noticed.

“Did you finally leave her?”

“What? Who?”

“Hitch.”

Jean's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why would you think that? Why are you asking again? This is the second time in as many weeks.” Jean placed his pen next to the manuscript he'd been reading, an adventure novel that Jean had sped through, and turned his body towards his friend.

“Yeah, I know.” Reiner, always self assured and boisterous, for once looked like he was lost, not looking at Jean; instead he played with a pencil that had more teeth marks in the end than eraser.

Jean crossed his arms over his chest and waited for him to respond in full.

Reiner finally heaved a sigh and laid the pencil on his desk. “I mean you just seem really happy. The happiest I've seen you in literally years and you're always looking at your phone either to reply to a text or waiting for a reply and...I dunno, it just seems like you might've met someone new. You've got that honeymooners thing goin' on.”

Jean let out a short laugh that exploded from his chest and died just as quickly. It was a laugh that was meant to grab attention, not keep it.

“Reiner, I have not met someone new. Well, I did, but he's my friend, not some potential lover.”

Reiner mumbled something Jean couldn't hear.

“What was that?”

Shrugging his shoulders, the blond sighed again. “It just doesn't look that way. I mean that's fine, do what makes you happy, but it just looks like you're having an affair. I just don't want people to get the wrong idea. You're my friend, Jean. I'm just trying to look out for ya.”

Jean scoffed at the idea. Him cheating on Hitch? He would never do such a thing. What the hell did it matter what it looked like as long as that's not what it was?

He turned from Reiner and picked his pen back up. “Well I appreciate you lookin' out for me but I'm fine. I'm still with Hitch and I have a new friend that's just really awesome, alright?” He glanced back over to Reiner who shrugged and turned to his own manuscript. Jean sighed, the muscles in his face relaxing, and he continued reading; the adventurer's had made it to the inner city where the corrupt government sat doing nothing about the giants that threatened all of humanity. There were quite a few errors but Jean figured that once he sent it back and some correspondence was made, the book would sell, making an amazing profit.

“Do you want to come with me?”

Marco's question was what grabbed Jean's attention as he stood outside of The Happy SSShrew. He'd left quickly for lunch, somehow making it down the crowded street to be earlier than Marco, which never happened.

His eyes roamed swiftly over his friend's approaching form. He was bundled up for the weather in his long dark coat and a thick green scarf wrapped around his neck, ends billowing in the fierce gales that threatened to knock everyone down who wasn't holding to something affixed to the ground.

Marco's face was open and bright, his ever present smile kind as always. His right arm was bogged down with the weight of his equipment case, which Jean stole away as soon as he could, watching with pleasure as Marco sighed with the release of the weight. Jean felt himself doing the same, Marco taking the weight of the real world from his shoulders every time they interacted.

“Where are we going?” Jean hefted the case in one hand as he held the door open for Marco, waiting for the couple behind him to proceed inside before entering the warmth himself.

Marco stood next to the door, watching Jean intently until they rejoined, heading together to their regular booth that was magically empty every time they ate there.

They'd sat and ordered, the waitress familiar and smiling, before Marco continued the conversation. “Well, I'm going on a weekend trip. A hike really, to get some more nature shots for my gallery. Plus, I need some new business cards and I just hate to use the same pictures over and over.”

Jean's thoughts briefly found themselves in his wallet with the business card he still kept, the edges worn and frayed. He smiled warmly at his friend. “Sure. You going this weekend?”

The waitress returned with their drinks, a saucer of extra lemons for Marco's water. (They always teased each other about who she had the hots for. Marco being on the receiving end more often than Jean.)

Marco started squeezing the juices into his water, words coming easily through the distraction. “Yeah. I know it's a little short notice but I've got an actual trip on the 16^th and a slew of other appointments that can't be rescheduled before then so this is the only time I can really go.”

Jean nodded along, listening to Marco as he spoke, allowing his voice to naturally soothe his worries away. He didn't think long before he agreed to the trip.

“Why the hell not?” His grin grew at the way Marco's face lit up.

“Great! I'm so excited. We'll leave Saturday morning. Train leaves at 5 a.m.”

Jean's eyes bugged and he choked on the tea he'd ordered.

Marco's eyebrows drew up in concern. “You okay?”

Jean laughed, pounding a fist into his chest. “Yeah, yeah. Surprised me is all. You really are the early bird aren't you?”

“You know what they say about getting the worm.”

“Yeah but the late worm stays alive.”

Marco gave him a playfully scathing look, one that had Jean chuckling.

A few days later found Jean yawning a quarter til 5 at the train station. He followed Marco sleepily, who was bright eyed and bushy tailed as he bought two tickets, handing one to Jean.

“Hey, waitaminute.”

“Save it. I asked you to go on this trip, I wasn't going to make you pay your own way their. C'mon, sooner we get sat, sooner we can get some coffee.”

Jean looked at the glee in Marco's face, his own eyes half lidded. “Have you not had any yet?”

“Didn't have time.”

“So you're just naturally this awake at the ass crack of dawn?”

“It's not even dawn yet, Jean.” Marco responded, rolling his eyes playfully.

Jean grumbled and Marco laughed, leading him across the platform and onto the train. Jean gawked at the amount of people on a 5 a.m. train. There weren't many seats to choose from. The best they were able to do was a couple sitting side by side across from a tired woman in a waitress uniform and a man in a rumpled business suit that held a Styrofoam cup in one shaking hand while the other held a newspaper. Jean sat down while Marco placed their bags in the overhead compartment, staring at the man oddly since the newspaper was upside down. Marco elbowed him in the ribs when he sat, placing another bag in his lap

“What?” Jean's voice was a harsh whisper, like a child in church who wasn't paying attention.

Marco brought his lips close to Jeans ear, breath making his skin tingle. “It's rude to stare.”

Jean grumbled again as Marco pulled back, chuckling. “I'll get us some coffee once we start moving.”

Jean nodded and stared down at his hands. No use in looking through the window, only black stared back, punctuated with city lights brighter than stars. The sun wouldn't rise for another two hours which was something new to Jean. It's not like he'd never woken up before sunrise, but he definitely hadn't since college, and that didn't necessarily count since most of those times he'd seen the natural beauty when he'd pulled all-nighters and hadn't noticed when the sun had risen her pretty head. Now, depression kept him from early morning ventures, keeping him in bed as long as possible. Marco had helped with that, Jean waking earlier just to respond to the brunette's 'good morning' texts that were sometimes hours old. Now he knew why.

He was wrapped up in his own thoughts so much that he didn't notice that Marco had left, only noticing when he returned, steaming coffee in both hands and two bagels wrapped in cellophane cradled precariously in one elbow.

Marco handed the items to him wordlessly, smiling instead of talking; the woman across from them had fallen asleep, her cheek pressed to the shoulder of the businessman who didn't seem to mind.

Jean took a sip of his coffee, pleasantly surprised that Marco had made it the way he liked. The photographer had broadened his view on what just a 'smidge' of sugar to do. Looking over at him, he actually wasn't so surprised. Marco sat with his coffee in one hand, sipping at it while the other held the bagel. He hadn't bit into the bread yet, his mouth half open like he was going to, but his eyes had caught something that had distracted him. The businessman had flipped his paper the right way and Marco's eyes skimmed across the print on the front. Jean glanced, noticed a headline from the previous day that Reiner had already read him. Something about cops targeting only gay clubs when busting people for DUI's and the injustice of it. He and Reiner had already discussed it and Marco didn't seem inclined to talk about it.

Losing interest, he unwrapped his own bagel carefully and situated his phone in a way on his lap that he could easily read a book he'd been putting off. The gentle rocking of the car was soothing, pleasant, something he couldn't remember being so nice. It was so calming in fact that the next thing Jan knew, a gentle voice was rousing him from sleep.

When his eyes fluttered open, he turned his head and saw Marco there, his lips in a gentle smile,

“Come on, we're almost at our stop.”

Jean looked around. The light outside the window was brighter, a lilac grey instead of abysmal black. The city lights had left the landscape and he now looked out at sleepy rolling hills, the occasional old stone house situated in the folds of the land. He found that Marco had carefully placed his phone in his shirt pocket, holding his now cold coffee the rest of the journey.

Jean slid a hand down his face, blinking against the sleep that still wished to claim him.

“How long was I out?”

“Not long. We're a little over an hour from the city. Why don't you go splash some water on your face? We've got a hike to start from the terminal if we want to make the sunrise.”

Nodding, Jean stood, no questions asked. He noticed the businessman was missing, the waitress holding her head up with a chin to her palm, eyes blank as she stared out the window.

The train was slowing down when he returned to their seats.

“Here.” Marco handed him his pack, his own already situated on his back. The pack felt heavy on his back, any familiarity with the weight before was gone with his nap.

They were the first off the train, stepping out onto the platform at the tiny train station. Marco set a quick pace out the door and right onto a track behind the old brick building, a flashlight in his hand illuminating their path. It led into the woods, up a steep incline that had Jean huffing before too long. He tried to keep up, not wanting to complain, but he inevitably lost sight of Marco and had to shout out for him to wait.

Marco doubled back, coming back down the slope, laughing. “Can't keep up?”

“You'd think you were the Flash with how fast walk.” Jean was panting, looking longingly at Marco's face who hadn't even broken a sweat.

He shrugged. “Guess I've done this so many times it's normal to me.”

“How many times do you redo your business cards?”

Marco was shaking his head. “I don't always come out here for that sole purpose. Sometimes I just like to hike out here. The place we're going has an excellent view of the valley.”

“How does such a nice place exist so close to the city?”

Marco shrugged effortlessly under the weight of the pack. “I think the town has a law or something about outside businesses setting up here. It's more like a village from a fairy tale. Y'know those villages that sit at the edge of enchanted forests and the heroine ventures too far and gets kidnapped by the monster? I think that's the kind of air they like to keep.”

Jean nodded along, hands placed on his knees until he'd caught his breath back. Mostly.

Marco walked behind Jean, taking something from a side zipper. He wordlessly passed him a bottle of water which Jean drank from gratefully before handing it back. “Not much farther, it'll level out and the climb won't be so hard.” Jean nodded and straightened, a spark renewing in him.

They hiked for another 15 minutes, the woods around them gradually becoming lighter. Soon, they came out into a small clearing. The land dropped away suddenly on the other side and looked out over the valley. Mountains rose up in the distance and Jean looked out in awe. He lost himself as he gazed out over the sight, taking in the rich colors that continued to deepen as the sun began to peek out over the mountain tops. He forgot about everything as he took the moment in, letting the sun wash over his face. He watched as the sky turned from lilac to shades of gold; the clouds taking on a dreamlike quality as they lit up with pinks and oranges.

He turned, a smile on his face, to look at Marco.

“Marco, this is-”

He heard the shutter for the camera go off and was struck into silence. The brunette came from behind the lens, his ever present smile on his own face. “Beautiful? I hoped you'd like it.” He eased the equipment down from his face and walked closer to the drop off to stand beside Jean. His hands in his pockets, he looked out over the valley. Jean was breathless at the way Marco's umber eyes lit up with the sun; the warm rays turning his dark irises to caramel, melting Jean's insides.

“I come up here when I can. This isn't the first sunrise I've seen, they're not really all that special anymore but...” He looked over at Jean. “Seeing someone else enjoying it makes it worthwhile again.”

Jean's face flared and he was speechless. Not knowing what to say, his smile broadened and he turned back to the view. It was light enough now that he could make out the train station, the tracks coming in from the north. They'd taken a slightly curving path that he hadn't accounted before, too taken over by the need to keep up with Marco.

They stayed up on the ridge for another hour, maybe more. Jean watched the sun climb higher into the sky, Marco's camera clicking away in the background. The sound didn't distract him from his silent appreciation of the view. Jean had taken a seat on a piece of eroded rock that stuck out of the ground like the back of some creature that swam through the soil, content with how the morning was turning out. Marco had wandered off, further into the trees, now approaching Jean after the sky had turned from its rising shades to one of constant cornflower.

“Ready?” Jean looked up at Marco as he sidled up beside him, camera hanging around his neck, hand outstretched.

“Get everything you need?” Jean took Marco's hand with no second thought. His hand was warm in Jean's that had grown cold in the morning air.

Marco shook his head as he picked his pack up, readjusting the straps to fit snugly across his shoulders. “Not yet. This is a full weekend trip, Kirschtein, you're not getting away that easily.”

Jean chuckled, following behind him down the path. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

The trek down the ridge was a lot easier than before. As they neared the bottom, it was nearing a normal time for Jean to be functioning and he grimaced in embarrassment as his stomach growled rather like a wild animal.

Marco chuckled. “Don't worry. We're headed to the best place for breakfast.”

They came out next to the train station, setting out towards the town. A few blocks over, they came to an old stone house; a wooden sign out front proudly stating that it was The Rose Valley Inn.

“They're a bed and breakfast but utilize their dining area as a restaurant too. Especially during the off season when tourists are slim.” Marco explained, holding the door open for Jean.

The inside was as quaint as the outside, full of worn wooden furniture and decorated more like a ski lodge than a country inn. Flames crackled in a small fireplace to one side, keeping the chill outside and the cozy feel of home inside.

They sat down and ordered, a tired looking boy taking their order before scampering off, returning quickly with two hefty mugs full to the brim with steaming coffee. Jean downed almost half of his before the two of them started talking about the rest of their weekend stay.

“So I couldn't help but notice the fact that we're carrying around sleeping bags. You planning on us camping out in the cold?”

Marco, mouth full of coffee, shook his head, swallowing before he answered. “Of course not. I mean if you're brave enough, I'm game. But I don't think you want to go home with frostbite.”

“So you've got lodging in mind?” Jean couldn't help but take another look around the room, noticing the stairs leading to the second floor where he assumed the rooms were.

“Not here. But I do have a place in mind.” He had been leaning over the table, chin propped on steepled fingers, pulling back right as their food came out.

“That was quick.” Jean's eyes were as round the pancakes that sat in front of him.

“Pancakes?” Marco grinned, cutting into the sunny yolks of his eggs.

Jean looked up defensively. “You started this. Now I'm gonna get fat cause of all the pancakes I'll be eating the rest of my life.”

Marco scoffed. “You'll never get fat. Your physique is amazing.” He didn't meet Jean's eyes as he said this, choosing instead to focus them on his plate, scooping hash browns sopping with the yolk that was mixing with everything else on his plate. Jean was glad for his preoccupation as his face was decidedly warmer than the atmosphere allowed. Turning back to his own plate, he dug into his pancakes, both men silent until their plates were clear. They then enjoyed another cup of coffee before heading back out into the watery sunshine.

Renewed after their meal, Marco had a bounce in his step. He walked backwards, watching Jean as they walked down the street. “Okay, so. I figured that we could stick around town until lunch. There's some neat places that I wanna show you. We can stop by the general store and pick up a few things for dinner and hike into the valley. There's a place out there we'll be staying at but it's a bit of a hike.”

Jean nodded, watching to make sure Marco steered clear of any obstacles. “Sounds like a plan.”

They wandered around town, whiling away the time. Marco showed Jean all his favorite places which included a community heard garden behind a crumbling house that served as a museum of the town. Next, he took him to what was called the 'bird perch' where tons of wild birds gathered, allowing people to feed them as they fluttered closer than any city bird. Some were braver than others, perching on hands and shoulders, greedily pecking up the bird seed Jean held in his hands. Marco couldn't pass up the opportunity to catch a few shots of the look of awe on Jean's face as he fed them; covering his mouth with silent laughter as Jean started questioning one little finch if it had pooped on him or not. They visited other places; small stores that sold handmade soap and jewelry, Marco pulling Jean down a side street as they made their way towards the place they'd eat lunch.

“I know you love books so I thought this would be a safe place to end our sightseeing.” Marco's smile was shy as he advanced on a large tree that sat in the middle of the sidewalk. As they got closer, Jean could make out that the shimmery squares on the trunk were pieces of weatherproof plastic that covered miniature shelves of books that had been cut into the tree.

“No way. I've read about these.” Jean pulled a flap up, his slender fingers grabbing a book out to flip through it as he spoke. “I've always wished we had something like this back home. It's just a great idea for people who can't afford books.” A car drove by then, splashing through a shallow puddle, drowning out the sound of a camera shutter.

It was after 1:00 before they started their hike into the valley. They had stopped at the general store to stock up on homemade trail mix, a glass bottle of home made mead and cured beef and fish.

“You sure this is alright?” Jean had stared dubiously at the wax paper wrappings, voice low as to not offend the store owner.

“Yes. I've done it plenty of times. Stop being a baby.” Marco paid the attendant, smiling as he rolled his eyes at Jean, and they were off.

The rest of their day was filled with sunshine as they meandered through wooded tracks, expanses of colorful autumn wildflowers and over streams that bubbled like the laughter that spilled from them. They talked in memorized poems and quotes, bouncing off of each other like a rapid game of pin pong, or walked along in comfortable silences. Jean forgot the weight of the pack tugging at his muscles as he delved into the calm waters of Marco's presence. He'd watch Marco take his pictures, sometimes walking a few paces ahead before he'd hear the shutter and turn to see Marco had caught something he'd have to have forever.

Jean was having such a good day, his cheeks even hurt from smiling so much; from being around Marco, watching him all day with no want to turn his gaze elsewhere.

The sun was starting to set when Marco led them to a spot between a grove of trees and a tiny stream. It looked like it had been used as a camp before, a circle of rocks a man made fire pit with a couple of logs arranged in a rough seating area. Jean followed suit as Marco finally dropped his pack onto the ground. The air had started to turn cold, not just chill, with the coming departure of the suns cheery warmth.

“If you'll start unpacking, I'll get us some wood for a fire.” Marco placed his camera safely on a flat stretch of wood on one of the logs, pulling his flashlight back out.

“Think I can't do some heavy lifting?”

“I mean you've obviously been eating too many pancakes.”

Jean turned from where he'd started unpacking, shooting Marco a dirty look but couldn't help when his lips cracked into a smile. “Go before I find something to throw at you.” He watched as Marco chuckled off into the gathering darkness that had already claimed the space beneath the trees' canopy.

By the time Marco had returned, Jean had most of the supplies from both bags strung out on the ground in some odd fashion of organization. Their food was in a pile on one of the empty packs while the sleeping bags and extra clothes lay on the other.

Jean allowed Marco to start the fire and preparations for their dinner before he questioned Marco again. “Okay so now I'm really confused. You said we weren't sleeping outside but it sure looks like camping to me.” Jean looked around them into the night. “I didn't see any sort of lodging out here.”

Marco sighed. “Jean, you need to learn patience. A good photographer knows how to wait for the perfect shot. Knows that not everything is what it seems. Just have some faith in me and you will be rewarded. Now come sit down here and help me drink this mead.”

Jean did as he was told, blushing like a scolded child in the night. He drank his mead from the tin mug Marco handed him, watching silently as Marco cooked their meal. He looked up to the sky, the great expanse a delight as he listened to Marco hum some old tune he'd never heard before.

He was so deep in thoughts about the sky and how wonderful the day had been that it took him a moment to realize that Marco was speaking to him. Whipping his head to look at the brunette, he saw Marco staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

Marco grinned. “Looks like you've rooted out my plan without me needing to tell you.” He held a travel bowl out to Jean as he spoke.

Jean lifted an eyebrow, accepting the hot food, cradling it in his cold hands.

Marco sighed again, like he was trying to teach a child that would just not listen. “Stargazing.”

“Stargazing?”

Marco nodded.

Something clicked and Jean felt foolish. “You brought the sleeping bags so we could stargaze without catching our deaths out here.”

It was useless for Marco to try and hide his smile behind his raised spoon. “I usually don't do these things in the fall but it was supposed to be nice this weekend and I figured you'd like a vacation.”

Jean's insides froze as he instantly thought about what he'd left at home; about the person he guiltily felt as if he'd been running away from. Jean nodded and quickly ate his meal, washing it down with the rest of his mead before he hunkered down into his sleeping bag and stared up at the sky. He thought for a second that his mind was playing tricks on him and that this whole day had been some sick daydream his mind had created, that he was back home sitting in his office, locked away, looking at the night sky printed on thick card stock. The sound of Marco's camera capturing the moment was what brought Jean out of his head and back to earth. There was no dwelling with Marco. No self-hatred that could cause serious damage. He was always bringing Jean away from himself before he could permanently hurt himself.

He listened to the sounds of Marco taking some pictures before packing his camera away and joining Jean, laying down in his own sleeping bag on the other side of the fire, the flames a piss poor wall between them. A breeze stirred, causing Jean to bury his nose into the flannel fabric. He breathed in deep, comforted by the faint scents that mingled there; vanilla, laundry detergent and cedar wood.

“Jean?”

Marco's voice startled him, causing him to jump, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. Looking over at Marco through the orange flames, he saw that the brunette wasn't even looking at him. His gaze was heavenward.

“Yeah?” He watched the firelight dance on his freckled skin, throwing his face partly into shadow before lighting it up again.

“Do you ever feel...lonely? And then...and then you meet someone and you're suddenly filled up? Like our coffee this morning. Warm and to the brim?” Before Jean could answer him he chuckled, the sound more sad than Jean had ever heard him sound. “Never mind. That was a really dumb thing to ask you.” His voice was quieter than before and for a moment Jean wasn't sure if he was actually meant to hear it. His eyes were closed, like he was afraid to see the look on Jean's face.

Jean's brow furrowed and he rolled over in his cloth cocoon. “No it isn't. Why would it be dumb?” He watched as Marco opened his eyes, mirroring Jean, turning his gaze to him.

“Well you've got Hitch. So you've found it, right? That fullness?”

It was Jean's turn to look away, to hide his face by shifting his eyes back towards the stars. “I...” He paused, his heart racing, scared of what he was about to say. Wondering if he even had the courage to say what was on his heart. But that was the thing about Marco; he made you feel like you could do anything. “I feel lonelier when I'm with her.” His voice was quiet, barely audible to his own ears. He waited for a response, suddenly worried that he hadn't been heard, that he'd have to swallow past the knot in his throat and repeat himself. When he looked back at Marco, he found that he too had turned away, facing the stars again.

Silence fell between them and Jean's mind was buzzing with thoughts about Marco. About how he'd become his best friend in only a matter of weeks. His chest ached with the thought of how his life would be if he'd gotten up earlier the day they met; if he'd not been in that crowded coffee shop, what would've happened to him.

Just thinking of how better his life was with Marco, about how much light had filled him since they'd met, made him bolder. He hesitated, the words prickly on his lips, before speaking to the stars again. “I've never....really had a connection. With anyone I mean. Not like the one I have with you.” He could feel the heat in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire still merrily crackling between them. He braved a look at Marco when nothing was immediately said, his heart expanding with the smile he saw that had lip up his face more than the moon that floated above them.

“I mean...we really did have a real connection. A pretty messy one.”

Jean couldn't help but burst out in laughter.

“I can't believe you just said that! I'm bearing my heart to you and you're cracking corny jokes.”

They chuckled together until Marco sobered and began to talk again. “No but seriously. I understand, believe me, I do. You think I'd ask just anyone out here? You're my best friend, Jean.” They smiled at each other until Jean rolled his eyes.

“Well now I see why there aren't many. You should be lucky, actually, since you've got an awful taste.” He heard Marco scoff, watching until the brunette looked back towards the sky, his heart fluttering at the smile that grew there like the stubborn flowers around them.

The sun found them in a small cabin Marco had led them to through the darkness. He hadn't been kidding when he told Jean he had a place in mind. It was cozy, furniture similar to that in the inn they'd eaten breakfast at the day before. A key had glinted in his hand as he'd assured him it was okay.

“I swear if I've hiked all this way just for you to murder me I'm gonna be the pissiest ghost. I'll haunt you and just make your life so inconvenient.” Marco had just shaken his head chuckling and thus began the discussion about sleeping arrangements.

Jean woke with a stiff back, relentless in his claim on the couch. He woke to Marco making coffee in the tiny kitchen that bled into the living room, a small kitchen island separating the two rooms. Their morning was casual, each one getting a glimpse of how the other lived when not in each others' presence. It excited him in an odd way, wondering how Marco was going to move, how he was going to incorporate another human being in his morning routine. Jean decided that it was comfortable, much more so than the life he led currently. He smiled as he brushed his teeth, watching through the mirror as Marco stumbled around with foam and toothbrush in his mouth, searching for the travel bottle of Listerine he was sure he had packed.

Their hike back towards town took half the time as the one to the cabin, Marco claiming that he had all the shots he needed for the time being. They shared a late breakfast of bagels and fresh fruit as they waited at the station for the train that would take them home.

They boarded shortly after 12; the only other passengers in the car aside from three weary looking men in construction clothes at the other end of the car, giving them a nice sense of privacy.

“So when can I see your pictures?” Jean asked as he turned his phone back on, the battery full after almost two days of being turned off. He'd turned it off shortly before they'd gotten off the train, his book forgotten. He'd have no reason to hide behind a screen with Marco either way.

“What?” Marco had been staring out at the scenery as it passed by in a blur. He turned now to Jean, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

“The pictures. That you took. When can I see 'em?” Jean sat his phone aside, not expecting any messages.

Marco closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head like his mind had completely forgotten the whole reason for the trip. “Oh, uhm, I was actually going to ask you about that.” He opened the camera bag in the seat beside him, easily pulling out a sheet of paper, folded over once. “This is an agreement that I'd like you to sign, if you feel comfortable and want to.” Jean skimmed over the first paragraph, listening as Marco spoke. “I may have taken a few pictures with you in them and this disclaimer, if signed, proves that you've given me permission to use any photographs that you appear in. You can read through it fully and just give it back to me later with a final decision. It's something I do with all of my photographs that include human subjects.”

Jean was already nodding, a crooked grin on his face as he looked up at his friend. “Yeah, sure. No problem. Got a pen?”

“What? No. I mean, I do, but you'll want to read it first. It discusses-”

“Look, I know you're not going to screw me over for blackmail or somethin'. I trust you. And besides, I doubt you have any good pictures that have my ugly mug in them.”

Marco snorted and rolled his eyes but produced a pen from his bag, putting it and the signed paper back into his bag before they'd even made it out of the valley.

Chapter Text

Jean had begun to forget how his depression had hung on him like a lead vest, fitting snugly but weighing him down constantly. His personal rain cloud began to follow him again; tainting all the places that held nothing but positivity for him. Without Marco to lift him out of his funk, he'd been splashing around in stagnant waters for days.

Hitch didn't see it, of course she didn't. She was too busy planning her and Marlowe's first business trip; buying the tickets, reserving hotel rooms, worrying with last minute details about, well everything. She'd explained that Marlowe was taking care of things with their sponsor while Hitch did all the 'heavy lifting'.

Jean remembered the day Marco told him about his trip a week prior. He'd been so excited. Marco had texted him to meet him at Rose Cafe as soon as possible. Jean had rushed to get dressed, tossing a few words of farewell to Hitch over his shoulder as he ran out the door, fastening his coat over a shirt whose buttons were mismatched, a tie shoved in his pocket.

He'd run into the cafe looking around frantically through the crowd to find that Marco had somehow found a table in the chaos of suspended coffee patrons. As he squeezed his way through the mass of bodies, he noticed a second cup sitting across from Marco who sat staring at his phone, mouth in an uninterested line.

When Jean sat, Marco looked up, confused at first but as soon as he saw it was Jean, his face lit up and his smile burst onto his face like a morning sunrise.

“Wow. That was quick.”

Jean chuckled, taking his tie from his pocket. “Well you said it was important.” Marco waited patiently as he watched Jean slip the tie over his head, laughing when Jean realized the buttons weren't paired correctly, letting the tie hang there unprofessionally loose.

“So what's up?” Jean sipped from the cup, sighing in bliss as the lightly sugared substance warmed his insides.

Marco leaned forward, umber eyes bright. “Guess who got hired by an advertising company?”

Jean's brows peaked, interested immediately in his friends' professional ventures.

“They were hired by a travel company that specializes in tours of Europe and they want to send me on one of their tours for pictures for the advertisements!”

Jean could feel the excitement radiating off of Marco, waves of positive energy pulsing against his skin. His smile grew wide and he leaned closer to the brunette. “Holy shit! Marco, that's awesome! When is it?” He picked his cup up, greedily sucking up the caffeine.

“I'm leaving in two days.”

Jean's eyes bugged out and he almost choked.

“You alright?” Marco had half stood, worry plastered plainly on his face.

Holding up one hand, Jean continued to cough until he could speak. “Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. That's a little sudden isn't it?”

Marco sat back down, lacing his fingers together under his chin. “Yeah, I actually had to reschedule a shoot around it. They had another photographer but he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his foot. I was apparently their third choice and only asked when they couldn't get a hold of their replacement.”

Jean nodded, picking up his cup again before looking down at it warily, placing it back on the table before speaking again. “So how long is your vacation?”

“It's not a vacation, unfortunately.”

“You couldn't take a vacation without taking pictures so I'm calling it a vacation.”

Marco rolled his eyes, sipping from his less lethal cup of coffee before answering. “Two weeks.”

“Damn. That's great.” Jean's gaze had wandered to a spot on the wall, mind occupied with thoughts of what two weeks without Marco was going to do to him. He'd become dependent on the walking ball of sunshine to light up his day, his life.

“Jean?”

He ripped his attention back to the present, eyes wide.

“You alright?” Marco's gaze had softened as he stared at Jean tenderly, worried.

Jean shook his head. “Yeah, no. I'll be fine. Just thinking how long you'll survive without me.”

Marco reached a long arm across the tiny table, shoving Jean's shoulder as the other chuckled.

“Har har, very funny. Although I think it was you who would've passed out on the trail to the look out had I not stopped.” His eyes glittered at the friendly jibe. Jean couldn't help but shrug and agree, sipping from his mug as they continued their morning routine before splitting up for work.

Marco had been gone for a week now and Christmas was rapidly approaching. Jean had forgotten all about the holiday, either too busy with work or trying to keep his head above surging waters threatening to drown him. Marco had become his crutch, something he needed to get through every day, and that was dangerous. They'd Skyped for an hour after he'd first gotten to his hotel but the time difference had cut the call short when Marco had fallen asleep mid sentence. All had been quiet since then, a lone text reassuring Jean that Marco would call the first chance he got, explaining that the service at the locations he was shooting was super shoddy or nonexistent altogether.

Jean tried to imagine where Marco was, what he was doing. He imagined him lying in the sand, camera up to his face as he stared at a beautiful woman lounging in the waves on the shores of Morocco. Or sipping fruity drinks with a local from Spain who could make him laugh harder than Jean ever had.

He tried to think about Marco, to buoy his mood up, but half the time his thoughts drifted to Marco having more fun abroad than with Jean which inevitably made his mood darker and he withdrew into himself once again. It was easier to just go about his day, filling it with people who knew Marco instead.

“Where's my long lost cousin?” Ymir was manning the counter the day Jean walked into Rose Cafe. His body had grown used to getting up in time to have coffee with Marco, so instead of lying in bed hating himself on his day off, Jean had gone in search of a distraction.

“What?” Jean leaned his arms on the counter, watching as Ymir made his cup without being asked.

“Marco. Tan, dark hair, freckles? Kinda looks like me if I were a dude? Y'know, the one you're attached to at the hip.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “We are not attached at the hip.”

“Oh yeah? Why do I see you guys everywhere together? Huh?”

“You only see us in here.”

Ymir shook her head, a cheshire smile on his face. “Not true. I finally got Krista to go on a date with me and I saw you two at dinner last week.” She rolled her eyes at Jean's confused face. “The ritziest place I can afford on a barista's paycheck. Lolaby's. Looked over and saw you two lookin' in each others' eyes like starstruck lovebirds.”

Something finally clicked and Jean rolled his eyes. “Jesus woman. You and Reiner both. We're not dating, I am not cheating on my fiance and I am no longer having this conversation with you. I came to hang out and you go and ruin it.”

“Hang out? Like friends?” She looked like an excited puppy as she sat his coffee down in front of him.

Jean huffed. “Rethinking terms now, instigator.” He picked up his cup and walked towards the door, Ymir's jibes following him out the door and out into the street.

Jean had momentarily forgotten about the harsh cold that had descended upon the city in week before Christmas. Small flakes of snow had begun to fall, gathering only in the corners of alleyways that never saw the sun. He bundled down in his coat, thinking longingly at the scarf that Marco wore almost every time he saw him. He had told him once that it was handmade and special to him.

Jean instantly knew where he could go to find some quality company.

“So how's Marco doing?”

Norma Jean was pouring Jean a hot cup of tea, holding the delicate tea pot with steady hands. It was like she had known he was coming, her words of welcome including 'Come in, have a seat, I've made too much tea, here have a cup.' Basically.

So Jean had. His coat was hung neatly next to the door on an overflowing rack, fingers thawing from the cold in the comfy little apartment. He'd never been inside, politely declining invitations inside any time he walked her home. As soon as he'd walked inside though, it was like she too had a shelf above her door for his personal rain cloud. Just seeing the cozy living area had lifted his mood further skyward than it had been since that morning before Marco's departure.

It was a tiny place, an assisted living development that primarily held the elderly and the few young people who were lucky enough to land one right out of college. The rooms, all four of them, were so colorful that Jean thought he had stumbled into Wonderland. Which, for him, he kinda had. The walls were covered with everything from framed photographs to tapestries, colorful pieces of pottery cluttering up the shelves that did occupy the space. He could spot her tea cup collection from where he sat next to the doorway; each one hanging carefully by their handles on hooks that extended from the bottom of the cabinets.

At her question, Jean directed his undivided attention to her kind face. She was bundled up in a long sleeved shirt, a thick knit sweater with an over sized cardigan over top. As soon as she sat down, Jean watched as a plump Scottish fold waddled into the room. The grey cat looked at him with ember colored eyes full of distaste before turning its head to its owner. Norma Jean instantly sat her cup down to lean over and pick up the rotund cat, placing it adoringly in the folds of the afghan that covered her legs. “This is Palmer. He loves Marco, but then again, who doesn't?”

Jean nodded, wondering the same thing as he answered her earlier question. “He's doing well. Last I heard, he'd landed in Morocco safely. That was days ago though, so I assume he's gone through fifteen other countries by now.” He'd always heard that when one visited Europe you could go through four in a day; more if you really wanted to.

Norma Jean nodded as she listened to Jean talk briefly about their conversation. It had been nothing of much import. Marco had talked about the flight, how he'd wished Jean had been there to help him through it. That's when Jean found out that Marco was afraid to fly. It had warmed his heart knowing his best friend had needed him for comfort just as much as Jean needed him back home.

Norma Jean became a greater friend to Jean than he had expected. In Marco's absence and continued radio silence except for brief texts letting him know he was fine, he had fallen into another routine of not only walking Norma Jean home but staying for dinner most nights as well.

Hitch had left for her and Marlowe's first show, taken a midday flight while Jean was at work. He'd gotten a text with a picture of her flashing a peace sign. We're leaving. I hope you have a good week, baby! I'll be back on Christmas! Mwah xoxo

He'd idly texted back something about being safe and having fun, no picture included. It didn't really hit him to be sad that she would be gone until Christmas. They'd talked about it at the start of December when they'd bought one of those optic fiber trees that sat on a table. Hitch would be busy with work, couldn't afford to pass up her chance just because of the holidays. “They expect people to not take the holiday trips to be with their families and their window closes. I can't let that happen after all this time and work we've put into this.” Jean had agreed. Not because he wanted to support her but because it would mean he'd get several days of an empty apartment he didn't have to act in.

Jean didn't not enjoy his time in the week following their departures. He had Reiner to get him through work, Ymir and Krista for coffee before and Norma Jean for his evenings after. He hadn't realized he'd done it, but he'd amassed a group of people to keep him company. Maybe it was happy coincidences; maybe he was doing something right, he wasn't completely sure.

What he was sure of, was the odd feeling he'd started to have in his chest every night since Hitch had left on her trip. It wasn't longing or missing her, but it was a sense that he was staying in a place that felt even less like home than before. Coming home to a color changing, fake, plastic contraption should've felt....liberating. That's what he thought this time would bring him. A chance to be himself at home. No acting. No putting on a face or acting interested in the conversations that hung depressingly over the dinner table. The dinner table which now harbored several empty takeout boxes and his keys as he threw them and his coat in the direction; his aim poor with his stupor.

He'd gone Christmas shopping when he found Norma Jean was out visiting with family. He'd shuffled around in the cold for 2 hours, not finding anything suitable until he'd stumbled around the corner to find Silverfish was open.

That was the place he'd felt the best, outside of Marco's warm presence.

The girl behind the counter looked even less pleased than the last time he'd seen her; a Santa hat perched on her head as she flipped through an outdated Halloween edition of Martha Stewart's Living magazine.

“We close in an hour.” She called as he turned a corner to browse; he nodded without really thinking.

His fingers skimmed over the books, the action bringing a stinging feeling into his frozen fingers. He warmed up slowly as he wandered through the shelves. He read the flimsy tags, yellowed by age and obscured by dust, looking for one section in particular. He didn't remember finding it before, he'd been far too distracted last time.

Jean had been fine until he'd come across the section labeled Pregnancy.

His heart had started to hammer against his rib cage and his cheeks grew hot despite the chill that still lingered in his bones.

He'd left without buying anything.

Jean had returned home, mind clouded with thoughts of what time would bring him. He was already a terrible fiance, in his mind. He couldn't see how anyone could even argue the point so he didn't waste time thinking about any redeeming qualities that one could even remotely consider as being good in his situation.

After the wedding, he would be a terrible husband. A few years of working towards her career and then maybe....

He'd be a terrible father.

Now he lay in bed, thinking about how how his parents had been. They hadn't been bad parents, necessarily. All of their energy had just been spent working to make money so he'd never have to want for anything. Their own marriage had always been stressed; there hadn't been time for them to be particularly bad at being anything other than successful.

He was treating her just as his own parents had treated one another. Making idle conversation over dinner but with no real warmth. That's what children did right? Learn their actions from watching their parents? He'd watched as they had stayed together through the years, not arguing but not living either. The only time they seemed alive was when they would throw parties for their other rich friends. That's when he would see them light up. Watch their smiles come from some place that'd been under lock and key until that night; their eyes open like someone had pulled back the curtains on a dark night and someone was home.

He'd grown up like that, watching them wake up when the party was alive only to shuffle through the rest of their lives like zombies.

He'd grown up just like them.

Jean rolled onto his stomach, squeezing his eyes closed as he tried to force himself to fall off into another fitful slumber. No matter how much he tried though he couldn't. He finally kicked himself loose of the strangling bed sheets to wander angrily into the kitchen, phone in hand.

He sat at the counter, glaring daggers out the window and into the night. His heart hammered in his chest as he buried his face into his hands, elbows resting on the hard granite counter. Jean wasn't sure how long he sat like that, trying to control his breathing.

He might've been fine if he had been able to control his thoughts. They had started an avalanche that was tumbling through his brain; taking every good thing out in its descent. When he still couldn't breathe, his chest still seizing up, he drew his tshirt over his head, throwing it towards the couch in anger. He paced around the apartment, hands tearing at his hair, chest heaving as he fought with himself.

Maybe he was just fucked up. Maybe he wasn't allowed the life he wanted because he was too selfish and stubborn. He needed people, no matter who it was. He needed Marco to be happy, Hitch to keep him in check, depressed, anything that would insure he continued through life, whatever life that entailed.

The clock above the stove read 3:34 when he lifted his head, slamming his hands down on the counter. He didn't know what was going on, this had never happened before. Sure, he'd had bad days but nothing to the caliber that he was dealing with now.

Another hour passed before he finally snatched his phone up and dialed Marco. He didn't intend for him to answer, all he wanted was to hear his cheerful voicemail, but he couldn't deny the relief he felt when, after four rings, it was actually Marco on the other side.

“Jean?”

Jean sighed into the receiver, the sound shaky with anxiety.

The smile he had heard in Marco's voice was instantly replaced with concern. “Jean, are you okay? It's like....it's almost 5 there. Did something happen?”

At first Jean shook his head, mouth dry. He swallowed when he realized Marco couldn't see him. “No, no. I'm fine. I'm just....I needed to hear your voice.”

There was static, some sort of interference between the two lines but Marco spoke over the slight crackling. “Are you sure? What's wrong?”

Jean sat on the living room floor, breath hitching as his skin came into contact with the surface of the big windows that looked out over the city. “I just...I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

Tears came to his eyes then and he closed his eyes. His voice was a whisper. “I'm just like my parents Marco. I'm just...they're dead inside. They just don't....Marco I'm hurting and I don't know what it is. My chest. It feels like my heart is being squeezed.” He was unsure if Marco could even understand him with the way he was blubbering over the line. He could feel the tears streaking down his face but his other hand laid balled tightly in his lap.

His thoughts were churning and he was sure that he was drowning with the sweat gathering all over him, his lungs aching; like he couldn't get enough air in them. It took several passing seconds before he could hear Marco on the other end saying his name.

“Jean.” Marco's voice was softer now, soothing Jean's nerves better than any poetic set of words he could've read to ease his mind. “Just breathe, Jean. I think you're having an anxiety attack. Is Hitch there?”

His tears came harder at the thought of Marco thinking he'd need her. But that was him, always thinking he was less important than he really was.

“She's gone. Trip. She...this isn't her, Marco, it's me. I'm just a....a fuck up.” His breathing was ragged but he was trying to breathe like Marco said.

He heard Marco say something to someone on the other end before he came back. “Listen, Jean. Just breathe. Breathe with me. In 2, 3, 4, out 2, 3, 4. In 2, 3, 4, out 2, 3, 4.” Marco counted while Jean breathed until his breaths were no longer stuttering and he could feel the salt dry on his cheeks.

“Jean?” Marco's voice was barely a whisper. Like he was afraid if he spoke any louder he'd frighten Jean away.

He took several more breaths before he answered; his voice shaky but no longer choked with tears, barely audible. “Yeah?”

“You wanna know a secret?”

Jean had closed his eyes, resting the back of his head on the cool glass. “I wanna know all your secrets, Marco.”

The chuckle that ran across the line skittered across Jean's skin and into his heart. “We don't have time for all of them right now. But I'll tell you one.” There was a pause, almost as if he was a magician waiting for his audience to poise themselves on the edge of their seats before revealing his trick. Finally, he spoke again. “I've had two anxiety attacks while being out of the city.”

Jean almost laughed at the absurdity of such an idea.

Marco? Having anxiety attacks? He'd always been so calm and collected. In charge of his life and his destiny in a way that Jean had always been envious of.

“I don't believe you.”

They were still whispering like two kids up past their bed time.

“Well you better. I had one on the plane. I told you I was afraid of flying. The other was when I met this other photographer when we were in Valencia. We were talking and I just felt so....so inconsequential compared to him that I just panicked.”

Jean wanted to say that Marco could never be anything less than a necessity. That he was needed at home but he didn't get the chance. Marco had continued to speak, reducing him to silence with his words.

“I coped because I thought of you, Jean. About how you're doing what you love and you've got a beautiful fiance and how great of a husband you're going to be. You're already so accomplished and...you have a life, Jean. I imagined you on that plane reciting Sylvia Plath to me, keeping me distracted. When I was talking to Claude, I thought of you dealing with your boss Levi who I imagine is a lot scarier than this guy and I just....I got through it. Because of you, Jean.”

Jean listened as he talked, another tear running down his cheek. He cursed inwardly at himself. That he could ever feel so small and alone when it was his rock that drew strength from him.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Just making sure you were there.”

“I'm always here. For you.” He doesn't know what made him tack on those last two words but he could hear the smile in Marco's voice.

“Same. I'm sorry I haven't been in contact. I'm actually surprised this call went through, I've been trying for two days to call you. You must've called at the right moment.”

Or maybe life just knew Jean needed him more than he ever had. They talked for a little longer until Jean was no longer sniffling. He could hear Marco cover the speaker with a hand as someone tried to get his attention until he finally had to get off.

“Just a few more days and I'll be home.”

Jean smiled. “I'll be there to pick you up.”

“You really don't have-”

“I know. But I will be. Promise.”

He didn't sleep after that. He made coffee instead, drinking it as he watched the sky brighten over the city until it was time for him to get ready for work. His last day of work before the holiday break passed and Jean found his heart clenching whenever his mind drifted to close to the icebergs it had come so close to the night before. Any time he felt that squeezing sensation he knew to change the direction of his thoughts into calmer waters.

Christmas came, seeing Hitch back at the apartment and Jean with a fake smile plastered to his face. It was a tired smile, one that spoke of exhaustion even though he hadn't worked for two days. He'd cleaned his mess up, knowing Hitch would appreciate the cleanliness.

Ever since his talk with Marco that unending night, he'd decided to try and be the man that Marco saw him as. He wanted to be a good person, a good fiance at least; so he tried just a little bit more. He cleaned, he bought her a few presents that were stowed under the tree when she got there; wrapped in more tape than paper to cover the holes he kept making.

He even kissed her fully, on the mouth, something he couldn't even remember doing in...months. She herself seemed a bit surprised and blushed, kissing him lightly before backing away to hang her coat on the rack.

Christmas morning came and they slept in, still on separate sides of the bed, like nothing had really changed. Jean finally extricated himself from the covers, yawning as he started their Christmas coffee. He started breakfast, another thing he hadn't done in his near memory. Jean heard Hitch when she got up, yawning as she shuffled into the kitchen, her hair almost as messy as his.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” She kissed him on his cheek and poured her cup, adding two spoons of sugar and another of creamer before curling up in a bar stool, her phone laying on the counter in the same spot his had lass than a week ago when he'd freaked out.

“Merry Christmas.” His smile was sleepy, drained from his trying so hard. Which was sad, he thought, staring down at the eggs frying in the pan. It was sad that doing the bare minimum for her took so much out of him. When he was with Marco he could go on and on for hours and never tire.

She was a sponge and he was the ocean. She took and took, never letting a drop spill until she was too full to take it all; and he gave like there was no shortage of what he could give. Thinking of Marco like the vast ocean made Jean's smile brighter.

They opened presents after breakfast until there was paper scattered about the floor and only two presents remained. One was wrapped, just as poorly as the rest, while the other sat in a festive bag.

“Who's this one for?” Hitch peeked down into the bag, a mischievous smile on her face.

Jean popped his head out of the charcoal cashmere sweater Hitch had gotten him, face red with the heat that had already gathered beneath his arms from the coupling of it and the heater in their home.

“What?”

“This.” Hitch picked the bag up, shaking it around a bit before sitting it in front of him. “Who's Norma Jean?” The smile that had been on her face only moments before had slipped away, leaving behind it an angry line.

“It's no one.” It came to mind then that he had never told Hitch about the older woman. “A friend that I hung out with while you were away.”

She looked taken aback. “A friend? A woman whom I've never met and you 'hung out' with her while I was gone? Did you sleep with her?”

Jean's cheeks flared at the embarrassing thought of doing anything remotely sexual with Norma Jean. He held his hands up in defense. “Look, Hitch, it's literally not-”

Hitch had dug her hand into the bag, ripping out the small box that was inside. Inside the tiny box was an amber colored cat's eye gem hanging from a sterling silver chain that seemed to sparkle defiantly in Hitch's angry gaze.

“Oh and you decided to buy her jewelry?” She flung the box and bag at Jean before standing up and stomping into their room.

“Hitch, wait! You're misunderstanding who she is! You remember that Suds n Buds t-shirt? She works there and-”

“So this has been going on for some time then?” Hitch rounded on him, her eyes gleaming, fists balled tightly at her sides. “I can't believe you Jean!” She turned and continued to their room, slamming the door shut before he could reach it. The door didn't budge as he tried to get in, calling her name and trying to explain the entire time.

He almost sighed when the door opened but noticed right away that she was dressed to go out and followed her in vain to the front door, all the while trying to explain himself.

“I don't want to hear your lies and excuses Jean Louis!” He cringed as she called him by his middle name like a mother scolding her child. He'd always hated his middle name and she knew it.

She was out the door and in the elevator before he could work up anything that could prove to her that what he was saying was true. So he stood there, in the hallway, his bare feet freezing on the tile floor, watching as the elevator made it to the ground floor before turning to go back into his empty apartment.

He didn't remain in the apartment long. Only long enough to dress himself and put the necklace back in the bag before heading out. Most store fronts were closed as he passed by them, not really caring about the ones that were open.

Rose Cafe was dark inside and Jean couldn't help but imagine Ymir and Krista cuddled up on a couch somewhere sharing coffee and their first holiday together. Of course thinking about Ymir made him think about Marco, their physical similarities morphing one into the other until he was standing on the street trying to calm his erratic breathing, Marco's voice in his head talking him through it.

The bus ride to Norma Jean's home was short, not many people out on the street on Christmas day. He didn't even think that she might not be home, just rang the buzzer, almost turning at the sound of silence before her voice came over the crackling intercom.

“Who is it?”

“Just Jean.”

She didn't say more, opting to buzz him in instead.

He didn't know that he was cold until he stepped into the warmth of her apartment.

“Jesus boy, where's your coat?”

“What?” Jean looked down to see the sweater was still visible, his coat still hanging on it's peg by the door at home.

“Come in, come in.” Norma Jean closed the door behind him before shuffling towards the kitchen. He followed her and was surprised to see the blonde girl from her shop sitting at the tiny table that took up most of the space. Her blue eyes emotionless as Norma Jean introduced her as Annie, her granddaughter.

At once Jean could see the resemblance in their prominent noses and blue eyes. He could imagine Norma Jean looking just like her when she was younger.

“It's nice to meet you. I didn't mean to intrude.”

Norma Jean scoffed, sitting down in her seat. “Oh pish posh. It's just Christmas brunch. We already had our family gathering last week. Annie and I are the only two living in the city so we spend every holiday together. Nice change to have a smiling face around.” Jean's eyes went wide and Norma Jean cackled.

“Grandma likes to act as if I don't show emotion.” Annie spoke quietly, eyes staring at her grandmother as she sipped from her mug.

“She likes to act like she has none.”

Jean couldn't help the smile that broke out over his lips at their bickering; finding its life too short as Norma Jean rounded on him, asking questions he'd rather not answer.

“What's got you in such a stupor that you'd forget your coat on a cold day like today?” Norma Jean pushed food and coffee at him, smiling briefly when he finally accepted the latter.

He shrugged. “I...well....me and Hitch got into a fight. I mean....she yelled while I tried to talk.”

“Didn't she just get back from a trip? What flew up her ass while she was gone?”

Jean almost choked on his coffee, spluttering until he could speak again without coughing. “Nothing. She found your present and thought...” Jean rolled his eyes as he handed her the bag that he'd placed in his lap upon sitting. He waited for Norma Jean to open the box before he continued. “She thought I was seeing someone behind her back.”

The astounded look on her face turned to humor as her mouth opened wide and she cawed louder than she had earlier. “She thought that....oh Lord.” A hand flew to her chest as she fought for breath, twin tears sliding down the wrinkles of her cheeks.

“Why didn't you tell her I'm 76 years old!?”

“I tried, Norma, I did!”

“Did you tell her I was a crazy old bat that lived alone with only a cranky cat to keep her company?”

“She wouldn't listen to anything I said! She locked me out of our bedroom and then stormed out!”

Norma Jean's laughter had subsided and she looked at Jean with a more serious look in her eye now, trying her best to help him, her voice soft. “Did you try to call her?”

“Not yet. I usually let her simmer down.” He and Hitch had only fought enough times for him to count on one hand, this time included. She was prone to jumping the gun, which Jean knew, but he had never thought that this would happen when he'd seen the little stone in the window and thought of Norma Jean. It had looked just like one of Palmer's eyes winking at him from the store window.

Norma Jean was nodding as she swallowed a mouthful of her tea. “Sounds like this has happened before.”

“Yeah, but not often. She can be a bitch but we're both so stubborn that it doesn't usually escalate much farther past her locking me out of the bedroom for an hour.”

“Did you get her anything shiny for Christmas?”

“What? Jewelry?”

Norma Jean nodded, folding her hands on the table in front of her.

“Not since our first holiday together. She always said she could choose out her own jewelry or have her friend make it.”

“Maybe she was more upset by the fact that you bought something seemingly more thoughtful for another woman than for her. Something like a diamond goes with everything and has no thought behind it. Something as unique as a cat's eye says that you thought about that person enough to know what they like or that the piece made you think of them for a specific reason.”

“Yeah, I did! Cause it reminded me of your cat!”

Norma Jean nodded. “I know, but she doesn't. Why don't you eat a little something and then after 12 you can go see if you can't find something special for her. I know of a place a few blocks down that opens at noon.” Her eyes sparkled with understanding and a love that Jean hadn't seen since he was a kid.

He sighed, sitting back into his seat, nodding.

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn't hurt.”

“Trying never hurts.” Annie finally spoke up as she stood, placing her used dish in the sink.

“She finally says something worth while.” Norma Jean snickered, rising to her own feet. “Now come on, grab a plate and let's go watch Rudolph.”

It wasn't until after 1 that Jean made his way down the sidewalk, a little more crowded than before, hunkering down in a borrowed jacket Norma Jean had lent him. It had been her late husbands' and was three sizes too big on Jean. He couldn't even imagine the hulking man that would've filled out the jacket holding onto tiny Norma Jean.

She had been correct in the stores opening after noon. The jewelers she had spoken about was teeming with men of all ages, most who wore rumpled business suits, trying to find the best piece for their loved one.

“Can I help you, sir?” Jean's attention was directed at a man with an immaculate mustache, a bolo tie hanging down his shirt front.

“I'm looking for something for my fiance.”

“Who isn't?” The man chuckled.

“Well, she's mad at me. She thinks I've been cheating on her with another woman.”

The man looked at him, eyes narrowed. “And you're not?”

“No, no! The woman in question is like my grandmother. I just had breakfast with her and she wouldn't let me leave until I'd eaten more than my fair share of ginger bread cookies.”

The man chuckled, bald head gleaming in the overhead lights. “I see. Come. We'll find just what you're looking for.”

It was late in the evening when Hitch returned to find Jean sitting on the couch watching The Holiday. She tried to breeze past him but he grabbed her arm, instantly releasing her as she rounded on him.

“Don't-”

“Look, Hitch. Please just give me a chance to explain.” His eyes were begging as he looked up at her, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he waited for a response.

It took her a few minutes of debating with herself, he could see it in the way she looked between the bedroom and front door. Finally she huffed, sitting on the couch beside him.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “But know that if I don't believe you, I'm packing my bag and you will not see me again.”

Jean released the breath he'd been holding and took out his phone.

“I went to see her after you left. To give her her present and to ask for advice.” He tapped at his phone a few times before handing it to Hitch. On the screen was a picture of Norma Jean and Jean, both smiling at the camera. The cat's eye necklace hung around her neck, winking at them like the good twin as Palmer's own amber eyes glared back at them.

“She told me that maybe you thought I appreciated her more than you and that maybe I should show you just how much I do care for you.”

Next he brought a small box out, the one the jewelry store had wrapped for him, handing it to her for her to open.

Her features had softened in the glow of the TV. The scowl she had been wearing like a unique piece of jewelry had been covered up with a hand as she looked at the picture. Gently, she took the box, opening it to find a pair of emerald earrings.

“It's the birthstone of the month we started dating.”

“It's my birthstone, doofus.”

Jean shrugged, a smile surprising him and he shrugged. “It had the added bonus of also bringing our the green in your eyes.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, Kirchstein, if I had known it took walking out to get you to show a little emotion I would've done it ages ago.” She leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you. They're lovely.”

As she stood to go to the bedroom, Jean couldn't help but let out a weary sigh.

He'd done it. He'd saved his already crumbling relationship, and for what? His selfish need to have someone near? He shook his head and looked back to the screen to watch Jack Black imitate famous movie scores in a Blockbuster. His phone vibrated and he looked down to see a message from Marco.

Marco 7:14 Merry Christmas! Sorry it's late, I finally have more than one bar! I hope your Christmas was fantastic! :)

Jean huffed at the message, internally amused at how ironic it was.

Jean 7:16 Merry Christmas to you too! It was eventful. I hope you're enjoying your holiday abroad. Can't wait til you're back in the states.

No reply came but Hitch returned before too long, hair wet from a shower as she sat next to him to finish the movie. Her head rested on his shoulder and Jean sighed. He wasn't entirely content, but he could deal with it if it's how his life was meant to pan out. He could deal with a life of Hitch by his side as long as he had Marco there to get him through the rest of it.

Chapter Text

Hitch had forgiven him.

At least it seemed she had. After a day outside the apartment for business, she lured him out of bed with the promise of a good day. When they left their apartment on the search for coffee, Jean almost mentioned Rose Cafe.

Almost.

At the thought of sharing his personal space with someone he'd been keeping separate from his 'other life' as he'd deemed it, he'd allowed her to pick a place, following her in the opposite direction his feet had grown accustomed to. The day was cold, but the sun shone bright in the sky, peeking out from behind clouds laden with powdery snow.

Jean wasn't completely surprised to find that the coffee shop his fiance had dragged him to had a familiar head of hair sitting at one table.

“Hey Marlowe.” Hitch greeted as they walked passed.

The man sitting at the table looked up, his smile freezing in place at the sight of the couple entering.

“Good morning Hitch. Jean.” He nodded to them in turn, his eyes flickering between the two of them, a hand passing through the air in a quick wave before glancing back at the laptop sitting on the table in front of him.

They didn't linger; getting their coffee and leaving with only a passing wave and a hasty 'goodbye' thrown to Marlowe on their way out.

As Hitch dragged him around the city into department stores to flesh out their registry, Jean couldn't help but wonder the simple question of why? To which he voiced as Hitch scanned a matching set of cookware.

“What's the point of all this exactly?” He picked up the tag from the set she had just scanned, eyes wide at the price.

“So that people know what to buy us for housewarming gifts after we're married.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Well yeah, but we already have pots and pans.”

Hitch let out a sigh and turned to Jean, a look on her face like she was explaining something to a child. “Yes, but honey these all match. And it's got a ll the lids. We won't have to keep using that one lid for every pot when we get these.”

He sighed and nodded, conceding to the discussion, following her and allowing her to scan anything to her hearts content. He still didn't understand why they needed a silicone cupcake pan but he didn't argue further. It had been two days since Christmas and Jean didn't want to spoil her mood again. She'd been humming recently, something he hadn't heard her do since their college days. She'd even laced her arm through his as they'd walked back towards their apartment after an early dinner at Lolaby's.

Jean couldn't help but think of Marco as he sat their listening to Hitch. She was telling him all about her trip; something she hadn't been quite in the mood to do since her return. She didn't ask how he had been while she was away, and that was okay. It had been filled with people from his Marco side of life and he was still hesitant to mix the two together.

His chest hadn't seized up like it had the night he'd called Marco, which he took as a good sign. Maybe it was something that needed to happen for him to see that, in a way, he needed Hitch more than he realized. She was his constant, a security blanket that kept him from screwing up royally. So he sat there, doing his best to listen; failing when he looked over her shoulder to see the table he'd sat at last time.

When the two men had been there, they'd been sat next to the big windows that looked out over the patio garden Lolaby's prided itself on. Living in the city didn't allow much time to see many natural wonders that the rest of the world seemed to take for granted. They'd sat there, looking out over the garden lit up with Christmas lights hangs throughout the skeletal trees and bushes, discussing just how lucky they were to see something so simple in its splendor.

Jean had recited a poem by a poet he'd recently found and it had launched them into an inexhaustible discussion about literature and the arts as a whole being lights in the darkness of their lives. He'd watched Marco glow as he talked, eyes sparkling like the lights outside. He couldn't help but get lost in conversations with Marco. He lit up much like Hitch did when she talked about fashion.

Looking at his fiance now however, he couldn't help but notice how deflated he felt when listening to her talk versus how Marco seemed to fill him with the oxygen he needed to live. He couldn't get lost in her stories, he couldn't even contribute, the way he could with Marco. He decided to pass it off with the fact that it was his lack of interest in her chosen topics and not his lack of interest outside of anything that excluded Marco. Whatever it was, it kept Jean from being the ear Hitch needed. But as he watched her chatter away, hands waving for emphasis, nodding at the appropriate times, he couldn't help but consider that she didn't seem to notice.

When they returned home, Hitch kissed Jean on the cheek before she scampered off to the spare bedroom, her phone already to her ear. She didn't resurface while Jean flipped absently through the TV guide, not really seeing anything worthwhile.

He had almost fallen asleep to the sounds of Queen Latifa having the time of her life when his phone started to ring. Eyes still half closed with impending sleep, Jean answered his phone, laying his head back and closing his eyes once more.

“ 'Lo?”

Marco's melodic laughter greeted him, making him smile up at the ceiling.

“Tired?”

“Mm. Little. Do I sound like I've been almost napping on the couch?”

“Looks it is more like it.”

Jean's face scrunched up in confusion and he pulled the phone from his ear, squinting at it for only a second before Marco's lively face registered. He could see the tiny square in the top corner showing a very unflattering angle of his own face. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jean sat up, yawning as he stretched, phone still facing him as Marco spoke through the video chat.

“Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?”

Jean settled back against the couch, his smile easy at the sight of Marco's smiling face. Simply seeing him had made his day, his week. It only surpassed the week before when he'd spoken to Marco for the simple fact that he could see his face. His skin was darker from his time in the sun, freckles all but crowding the bridge of his nose. His eyes were the same though; that same umber that Jean had come to know as the color of safety.

Jean rubbed a hand through his hair, shrugging. “You know I never need actual beauty rest. I'm just naturally this good looking. No need to worry, you haven't spoiled anything.”

He watched with warmth in his chest as Marco rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Jean stuck his tongue out like a child, laughing when Marco mimicked him, crossing his eyes for greater effect. He could feel his cares melting away as the seconds ticked by.

“So are you surprised?”

“Surprised? Should I be?”

Marco feigned a look of hurt, the tips of his fingers entering the screen as he placed a hand over his chest. “I am hurt. After only one call, two texts and a Skype message for all of two weeks and now I finally managed a video chat...” he shook his head, tongue clicking. “I may need to look for a new best friend.”

The bark of laughter that escaped Jean shook him. It felt foreign since Marco's absence. His cheeks had even started to hurt the longer they talked. After twenty minutes, Jean abandoned the couch, seeking the amenity of his office, quietly closing the door behind him. He could hear Hitch on the other side of the wall, ignoring her tinkling laughter in favor of Marco's sweet tones.

They talked for hours, Marco aiming his phone around the quaint hotel in Dublin he was staying at until his flight home the next day.

“That's a day early, right?”

It took Marco by surprise that Jean knew that fact. He hadn't expected Jean to look so eager at his return.

“Yeah. They canceled the last shoot due to a bad storm heading up the coast so they're sending me home a day early but with the full pay as if I'd stayed.”

“Well that's cool. When will you be in?” Jean couldn't help but get excited over the prospect of seeing Marco earlier than expected. When one thrived on being in the proximity of one other human being, a day was like an eon.

“Flight leaves at 9. There's a connecting flight so , 1 ish?”

Jean's smile grew. In less than 24 hours he would see his best friend again after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life.

“What're you smiling about?” Marco yawned as he asked and Jean suddenly remembered the time difference.

“Nothing. You should really get some rest if your flight leaves in...an hour.” Jean sighed, rolling his eyes at the man on the other end. “Really?”

Marco grinned, stifling another yawn. “I'll sleep on the plane. Will you stay up with me til I board?”

Jean couldn't say no. When Hitch knocked on the door to tell him goodnight, Jean held up a finger to Marco, laying his phone flat on the desk before turning to her as she opened the door. The smile hadn't left his face, lighting him up which seemed to have a positive effect on the way Hitch regarded him as she kissed him goodnight and left. When Jean returned to his phone, Marco teased him, making Jean's cheeks redden with embarrassment.

Marco continued to talk as he left his hotel. As the bus rolled towards the airport, Marco turned the camera so Jean could see everything. Marco was telling him how pretty and green it was outside of winter, much like everywhere else, but that Ireland was still beautiful. Seeing the streets lined with shops, Jean could imagine how it would be the perfect place to stroll through at night. Marco agreed, telling him briefly about the dinner he'd had the night before, the nice walk he'd had from his hotel.

It was also amazing to see the colors of sunrise in real time on his phone when outside his own window was still dark. Marco got to the Airport and bid Jean farewell, a bittersweet look on his face that had Jean's heart swelling. Jean thought back to Marco's silence about the promise Jean had made the week before, his selflessness in full bloom at not asking Jean to pick him up. Jean felt good as he crawled into bed that night, smiling at himself for once as he drifted off.

The morning dawned and Hitch rushed off to meet up with Marlowe to discuss plans for another voyage into the fashion world, leaving Jean alone at the apartment but with no ill feelings. He had woken up with only a moment to digest that it was morning before he was beaming. There was a cheery smile on his face as he started his day, making coffee, even as he waded through the overflow of unread emails waiting for him.

My best friend is coming home. I get to see my best friend. I'm going to make his day for once.

These were the thoughts running through his mind the entire morning and on through noon when he was in a cab making his way to the airport. The sky was overcast, much like it had been all winter, but it couldn't dampen his mood.

It didn't even sour when the clerk behind a counter informed him that the connecting flight from Dublin had been delayed due to storms and that the flight's arrival would be closer to 3 instead. He took it in stride as he ate his lunch outside the correct gate, the book he'd been reading on his phone barely holding his attention between glances at the clock.

Finally, three o' clock approached and Jean watched as a few men in suits lined up outside the gate, talking amongst themselves as they waited for the gate to open. He noticed the signs they held almost as an afterthought in their hands, a few holding them up absently so they could continue to talk out the side of their mouths as people started to filter though the gate.

Jean realized that Marco didn't know he'd be there and looked around to find a makeshift sign. The only thing he could find as more people trickled out was a magazine a woman was reading.

“Ma'am? Can I buy this off of you for twenty bucks?” She was startled out of her reverie and gave him an odd look before exchanging her reading material for a single bill. He glanced at the gate as he sidled up next to the men in suits, ripping through the magazine to find the cover story he was looking for.

He saw Marco's head emerge from the crowd towards the back, not looking around for lack of expectation. Holding the magazine higher over his chest, he waited for him to get closer, only a few feet from him when Jean whistled. It was loud enough to gain the attention of passerby's who gave him quizzical looks. One stopped, right in front of Marco, to read his strange sign, causing the taller man to bump into her. Jean watched as he apologized, looking around to see what had made her stop. He watched as the look on Marco's face changed from one of confusion to shock, his eyes blinking as he looked up to see that it was Jean holding the magazine open.

He was laughing as he pardoned his way to Jean.

“How to count your macros?” Marco's eyes were bright as he looked upon his friend holding the ridiculous sign.

Jean shrugged. “It was all I could find on such short notice. Expensive short notice too.” Jean closed the magazine and looked at the cover of the health magazine. “Cost me twenty bucks to hail your ass out of a crowd.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Don't blame me for your loss of funds. I'm not the one that asked you to be here.”

Jean shrugged again as they made their way to the luggage rack to gather Marco's bags. “You didn't have to.” He shouldered one of Marco's bags and led them towards the exit, smiling at the soft look on Marco's face.

The sun was trying its best to fight through the clouds as they rode back into the city. Jean listened the whole time as Marco talked about his travels. He'd shot men and women on beaches, parades bright with native costumes, dishes of food that made Jean's mouth water when coupled with Marco's description of the smells and flavors. Jean watched his cheeks flush as he recalled all the bars the locals had taken him to buy drinks for 'the cute American' after almost every shoot.

“I've never been a big day drinker, but Jean, you do not turn down a drink on the beach when it's offered to you in a coconut by a man that looks like he belongs on a romance novel. Everyone was so beautiful, Jean, it was like being in a movie.”

Jean could feel his heart twinge at the faraway look in Marco's eyes but smiled regardless. He had nothing to be jealous of; Marco had returned home to Jean after all. He was back and had reassured Jean that he had no plans of taking another trip anytime soon. This led into another story of the modes of transportation he'd had to endure and how he'd found out he gets just as sick on boats as he does on planes.

“Would you like to come up?”

The cab idled by the curb as Jean helped Marco get his bags from the trunk. He looked up at the edifice of Marco's building. It was a few stories high, not as tall as Jean's but much nicer in the way the building itself, and the ones around it, made up a nice little street like the ones you see people live on in rom coms.

“Uhm, sure. Why not?” Jean hefted the same bag over his shoulder as he paid the driver and followed Marco up the front steps. The lobby was small, just a bank of mailboxes affixed to the opposite wall the elevator sat on. A large OUT OF ORDER sign glared at them from the reflective doors.

Marco sighed. “I was hoping they'd be fixed while I've been away.” He turned to Jean, his ever cheery smile fixed on his lips. “Guess we've gotta take the stairs.”

With only five flights to ascend, it wasn't long before they stood outside Marco's door. Jean's heart pounded. Since their time of being friends, they'd never been in each others' homes. There was always somewhere in the city they would perch as they talked or someplace they could walk. Being inside someone's home was like being inside their mind.

His own home would stay a mess if it weren't for Hitch keeping the place clean. She was always saying that a clean space left her mind uncluttered for ideas to take root. Jean had never argued as he'd cleaned up after himself. He'd never invited Marco over for the simple fact that he still wanted to maintain a distinct difference in the two lives he seemed to still lead.

But now he was being offered the chance to see inside of Marco's private life, he couldn't begin to lie and say he wasn't intrigued.

“Don't mind the mess. I obviously haven't been here and wasn't expecting company so soon.”

Jean's chest deflated. “I can leave if-”

Marco waved his hand in dismissal. “Sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm really glad you came to pick me up.” He opened the door then, ushering Jean into his home. They were on the top floor of his building, one whole wall of windows looking out onto the city giving the space all the natural light it needed. There was only one door leading off from the space; presumably leading to the bedroom. The kitchen was sectioned off by an island, the rest of the apartment an open sea of hardwood flooring, interrupted only by icebergs of tables overflowing with all kinds of papers. On the wall beside the one door was a mounted TV, a small case beneath it packed with movies. A lone couch sat facing it, a rumpled blanket the only other homey touch that kept it from being an office.

“Sorry, I tend to leave my work lying around.” Marco sat his bag down on the floor by the front door, striding quickly to straighten the papers on the large dining room table that took up most of the free space.

“No need, I get it. If I worked out of my home I'm sure it would look way worse.”

Marco looked up. “Oh no, I have a studio that I do most of my work out of. It's got a darkroom and plenty of space for my equipment. I just tend to bring work home with me.” Marco let out a nervous laugh as he set a stack of photos on the edge of the table. In his rush to tidy up, Marco knocked the photos over with a misplaced elbow as he moved some stray books that littered the surface of the table.

Marco muttered a curse and bent to pick up the mound of papers and photos that had fluttered to the floor. Jean looked on for a moment, heart warm with affection, before bending to help his friend. He couldn't help but look at the photos as he picked them up, face colored in awe at Marco's work.

“Marco, these are....these are beautiful.” Jean flipped through the pictures carefully, handling them as if they were fragile glass that needed tending with a gentle touch. He looked up to see Marco's red face staring back at him.

“They're not that great. These are actually the rejects from my gallery.”

“Rejects? But these are-”

“Not my best work.” Marco's smile matched the nervous chuckle he let out again as he scooped the photos from Jean's hands. “If you really want to see the good stuff, we'll have to go to my studio sometime.”

Jean brightened at the prospect, not caring when sometime was as long as it was soon.

“So do you mind if I look through these? I mean, since I'm your bestie n all.” Jean wiggled his eyebrows, inwardly patting himself on the back in victory as Marco rolled his eyes, handing him the stack in his hands.

Jean sat at the table and went through them, acknowledging when Marco went to put a kettle of water on in the kitchen as he passed through the pictures deemed 'not good enough'. He was astounded at some of the things he was looking at; bewildered that they could be considered rejections. There were a lot of hands and people standing against plain backdrops, staring this way and that, angling their faces in just the right way for the photographer. He glanced over at Marco, wondering what he looked like when he worked. He stood now at the other end of the table, sifting through some more papers without paying Jean any mind. The red tips of his ears didn't go unnoticed by Jean who looked back at the photos with an intrigued smile on his lips.

“I could be your wedding photographer.”

It took a moment for Jean to realize that Marco had spoken to him. He'd reached the bottom of the pile, squinting at the blurry image on the glossy paper. He looked up at Marco, confusion plain on his face.

“Uhm...no? You can't.”

“Oh do you already have someone?” He looked a bit crestfallen, shoulders slumping so slightly that anyone else would've missed the action.

“No. I just don't see how a picture would be complete without my best man standing next to me.” Jean's words were spontaneous, surprising him as well as Marco, but they held nothing but truth. They were bittersweet, his impending wedding something he'd rather have left in his other life.

“I-I really couldn't, Jean. What about your best man now? How would he feel if-”

“Psh. Listen, it's literally a friend from work. My other two groomsmen are Hitch's business partner and my cousin Ferdi. We decided it would be fine with him walking down two of Hitch's friends but I can just put you next to me and it'll be a grand ole time.”

Marco hesitated a few more moments before he smiled and nodded. “How can I say no now?”

Jean grinned. “That's the point. You can't.”

Marco's laughter rid the air of the melancholy feeling Jean had had about thinking of his two world colliding. He watched as Marco shook his head, tapping some papers together. “You're such a dork. Oh!” He all but runs to the table beside his door. He walks back to Jean, keys in hand as he twists something from the sparse collection on the ring. “Merry Christmas. It's not much but I saw it while I was waiting for the flight to start boarding and...well...here.”

He thrusts something into Jean's hands. It's a key chain not much bigger than his thumb; a four leaf clover encased in a dollop of clear resin. The back was white, the green of the clover showing up neatly against it.

“It glows in the dark.” Marco mumbled. Jean looked up to his face, a sad smile on his own.

“I love it. I had something for you but I left it at home. I forgot all about it.”

Marco waved a hand at him. “Don't worry about it. Your presence is gift enough.”

Jean's heart pounded and his cheeks became ruddy with heat. He shoved Marco with one hand to his shoulder before pulling his keys out to attach the clover there. “God you're so cheesy.” Secretly he was thrilled at Marco's words; mind racing so fast he didn't have time to think about Hitch.

Jean walked to the bus stop that night after take out dinner and a movie at Marco's. Hitch had texted him, letting him know she'd be home late. He'd responded with a vague acknowledgment, much too enamored in his discussion of what constitutes a villain to pay much attention to anything but the man in front of him.

His chest felt free, his thoughts unclouded, as he entered his empty apartment that night. His rain cloud was back on its shelf, worries tucked away in his coat pocket for another day. His life was back to normal.

It was like he hadn't even left Marco's as he loaded the movie 'Alive' onto the screen, texting Marco throughout the entire feature.

Marco 10:40 Now you understand why I don't like flying

Jean 10:43 Are you seriously afraid you'll crash land on a mountain and have to eat people to survive?

Marco 10:50 It's not the people eating that gets me, Jean. I'd rather starve than have that haunting me the rest of my life. But that's not it.

Jean 10:54 ...I can see that. So what is it that makes you fear flying?

Marco 11:00 I'm scared I won't get the chance to tell those I love goodbye

Several minutes passed before Jean could find a reply. He'd flown a few times throughout his life, mostly trips with his family, and had never thought about someone being afraid of flying for that specific reason. He'd always thought it would be the height or a sudden fiery death as the plane plummeted from the sky that got people's hearts pounding.

Jean 11:12 I never thought of it like that

Marco 11:13 I've thought a lot about things that others don't. Like how one of my biggest fears is that I'll fall on my face and my front teeth will get knocked back into my brain, effectively killing me in the stupidest way.

Jean couldn't help but laugh as he texted a quick reply, their conversation steering into safer territory. He was laughing so hard for the remainder of the movie that he didn't realize Hitch had gotten home until her voice pierced icily through din of the movie's score still coming from the TV.

“Were you waiting up for me?” She sounded more than a little defensive; like a grumpy teenager mad at her parent for waiting up after they'd found out she'd snuck out. He turned to her quickly, the smile on his face all but fizzing out of existence completely.

“No?” He looked back to the TV as the end credits rolled over the screen. “I got distracted.”

She seemed relieved but Jean imagined it was due to the dimmed lights and his lack of sleep. She shrugged, hanging her coat on the rack and walked to the bathroom, a bounce in her step.

“Work go alright?” Jean called down the hall, not really interested, but again, trying.

“Yeah. We finished a dress design. Nothing thrilling.” The shower turned on and Jean sat back, unable and uninterested to continue the conversation anyway. Instead, he sent a good night text to Marco and headed to their bedroom.

Marco 12:38 Sure you'll be alright?

Jean 12:40 Unless a plane full of Rugby players crash lands in my apartment I think I'll be fine

Marco 12:44 If you say so

Jean 12:45 Night mom

Marco 12:46 Someone has to take care of you :p

Jean rolled his eyes and laid down, not bothering to wait for Hitch to finish in the bathroom. He was asleep before he even heard the bathroom fan turn off.

Sweat slicked Jean's skin, making the sheet cling to him as he jolted upright from the mattress. His chest heaved, his breathing labored as he fought passed the constriction in his chest. The moon outside lit up the room, reflecting off the snow...

To his left lay Marco, motionless as he struggled through the chilling cold to make sure he was alright. Rolling him over, he could see lifeless eyes staring straight through him as he cried over his frigid body.

He'd never even gotten to tell him...

Tell him what...?

“What're you...Jean, you're hurting me.”

Jean blinked rapidly, mind focusing through the remnants of the nightmare he'd been trapped in. Looking down, he could see Hitch's confused eyes squinting at him through the semi-darkness.

“I thought...I...” Jean released his grip on her arm, falling back to his side of the bed.

He watched as Hitch pat the bed behind her in his direction. “Just go back to sleep, you're fine, Jean. I'm he-” he words were cut off by a yawn and her breathing dropped back into that of a peaceful sleep.

Wide awake now, Jean crept out of bed, taking his phone as he went. The glare from the screen made his head spin, the time swimming in the color of his background.

3:33

He'd been asleep for less than four hours.

Wiping a hand across his eyes, Jean made his way to the bathroom. His chest still felt tight, his breathing ragged as he splashed water on his face. The iciness only made him shiver, the feeling of snow on his exposed skin drifting fresh from his dream.

The apartment was warm but Jean had goosebumps despite the fact that he'd woken up sweating. Creeping back into their bedroom, Jean grabbed his robe from where it hung, unused, on the back of the door before wrapping himself in it and shuffling to the living room.

The time was ticking closer to 4 and his chest hurt every time he breathed, every time he could draw a full breath at all.

He sat on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest, rocking gently. He stared at his phone, double tapping the screen to bring the picture back every time the back light faded.

The picture comforted him, but not to the point he could rest easily. It was a picture Marco had sent him of a bunch of orange tulips from the shoot he'd had to reschedule before his trip. It had been accompanied by the text: new favorite color and had brightened Jean's day. Now it brightened it, but only literally.

As the numbers rolled over to fifteen past and Jean continued to feel as if he were suffocating under a mound of snow, he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and his recent calls.

The phone rang once...

Twice....

A third time...

Just as Jean pulled the phone from his ear to end the call a soft voice came over the line.

“Jean? Are you alright?”

He sighed, relief washing over him, fractionally loosening the pressure he'd felt upon waking.

Jean all but cried with relief. “You're okay.”

Chapter Text

Just listening to Marco talk was assuaging the pain in his chest. It was unreasonable just how much Jean leaned on Marco, how dependent he was on him.

He could hear Marco waking up on the other end, could imagine him sitting up in the bed behind the closed door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Of course I'm okay. Are you okay?” The concern in his voice had Jean's breath.

“Now. I just ...Marco... you're reason for being afraid of flying...the movie...” his laugh was not altogether forced, “the stupid movie.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Jean was silent as he listened to the quiet sounds on the other end of the phone; the rustling as Marco got up, his soft footsteps to his door, the squeal as it opened. He could imagine the only light filtering in through his window; the glow the city lights cast into the open space of his home. He looked out his own window, at the way the lights sparkled in the fumes from the cars still roaming the streets in the dead of night.

“Jean?”

“I'm still here.” His voice was gentle in the darkness. Hitch was a heavy sleeper but he felt raw, hurt with how she hadn't even tried to help him. It was a new development he had to admit, but....when you were marrying someone they were supposed to be there for better or worse. Calming your partner in the middle of the night counted, right? He shouldn't have to call someone outside of the apartment to ease the panic he felt.

“Do you need me to come over? Or....need to come here?”

Jean shook his head, clutching his arm around his knees. “No I think....I'm fine. I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Is Hitch not back yet? It's....it's 3 a.m.”

“No she's back. She got back just before I texted you good night. She...” Jean took a deep breath, steadying himself. The fingers that bit into the skin of his calf as he held his knees to his chest hurt from the intensity of trying to keep himself together. “Can we not talk about Hitch?”

“Yeah. Yeah no. I'm...I'm sorry, Jean.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I just wish I knew how to help you.”

“You did when you answered.” Jean hoped that he was right when he thought he heard Marco smile across the line.

Jean had long turned his body to face the windows, watching the city move below him as he talked to Marco. He watched the sky lighten as the sun rose to the East, breathing color into the dark velvet of night. His breathing had found its regular rhythm over the course of their time on the phone. Watching the morning unfold and hearing Marco's soothing voice had eased him further than he'd expected.

He heard Marco yawn on the other end. “Do you wanna get breakfast?”

Pulling the phone from his ear, Jean saw that the time had flown by. Where it was 3:12 what seemed a matter of minutes ago, it was now almost 7. He'd only wanted to make sure Marco was alright, the terror he had felt making him question if he'd really spent the day before with Marco or if it had all been a dream. Marco had seemed to understand, keeping the topic away from explanations, reading poems aloud to calm him.

“Shit, Marco I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up all night.”

Marco chuckled. “It's okay. Just buy me breakfast and we'll call it even.”

As Jean crept into the bedroom, quiet not to wake Hitch who had woken briefly to turn her alarm off, he thought how he could never fully repay Marco for all the kindness he'd showed him.

“You dreamt that I died?” They'd met at 'Cakes where Jean explained to him his terror in waking. Jean had waited outside until Marco arrived, watching the sky continue to brighten until Marco was in front of him. Without thinking, Jean had drawn Marco into an embrace, a new development in their friendship. He had felt Marco's shock as the brunette had frozen in place, only seconds ticking by before he wrapped his arms around the slightly shorter man.

They sat now, sipping their coffee as they waited for their pancakes.

Jean nodded, not making eye contact.

Before, he could stare into Marco's eyes for what felt like ages. But today he felt as if he didn't deserve it. That it was a treat he couldn't have. He'd asked of Marco again with no way of repaying him and it would forever be in the back of his mind. He could feel the bags under his eyes, could imagine what he looked like.

Nightmares and fits of anxiety had never been something he'd been prone to in the past. Everything had been laid out for him at home and when he'd gotten his job as an editor and proposed to Hitch, he figured his life would fall neatly into place.

Now that he sat at 'Cakes with Marco in front of him, staring at him with so much concern it made his heart pound, Jean couldn't fathom how his life was ever supposed to turn out, much less how it would now. The pieces had been jumbled up and warped, no longer fitting precisely into place as they once had.

“So you woke her up, afraid....and then she just...pushed you away?” Marco's voice was low, barely audible over the din of the morning crowd.

Jean nodded again, still not looking Marco in the eye.

“Jean....Jean look at me.”

Jean's gaze flitted around the table, sipping at his coffee again, shaking his head.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Jean, why won't you look at me?” His voice had taken a stern edge, something Jean had never heard before. It took the breath from his lungs, but not painfully like hours before. He sat quietly, shaking his head, more now to convince himself than Marco. He watched Marco's hand reach out, only to draw back as plates were sat out in front of them.

“You boys need anything else?” Their waitress was far too bubbly for how early it was, Jean decided. He tried his hand at a smile and shook his head again, his gaze dropping back to the table.

Once she left, Marco started again. “Jean. Please look at me.”

Jean shook his head again, head oscillating on auto pilot as he cut a piece of pancake from the rest, staring at it instead of eating it. He felt sick to his stomach but hungry at the same time. He hated feeling like he did at that moment.

“Why?”

Jean opened his mouth, lips trembling, before shutting it again.

“Why?”

He was getting impatient now, with Marco's constant badgering. He'd never seen Marco like this: harder than his usually soft demeanor, onyx instead of gold.

“Why, Jean?”

“Because I don't deserve someone like you, Marco.” His words were swift as his eyes came up to meet those umber depths and he could feel the breath leave his lungs. There were so many emotions on Marco's face that Jean couldn't comprehend how he'd managed to find such a genuine person. He, who had been surrounded by dolls his whole life, faces carved into preset emotions.

He'd grown up with parents who'd pulled his strings until they'd snapped, only wondering later why he didn't socialize with other kids.

From there he'd clung onto Hitch who's only mode was 'intense', and he'd thought he could draw off that energy, fill himself up every morning to face the day.

It was only after he'd met Marco that other people in his life had responded honestly.

Reiner, who'd always joked and jibed, trying to get him out of his shell until it was Jean's own improved mood that had helped him crawl between the cracks.

Ymir, who'd been trying for years as well to break through the surface, only to slide into the hairline fractures, creating space as she burrowed further into him.

Even Norma Jean, who had treated him far more like family than any of his own ever had, handling him with the blunt honesty he needed in his life, no matter how it would affect her.

Marco's face was a wall of emotion, bricks stacked together so that you couldn't find one individual layer.

“So what, you think I don't deserve someone like you in my life?”

Jean was baffled, his face caving in with misunderstanding. “What?”

“You're sitting there thinking that you're a broken record and that only the ones who love memories behind that record are the only ones that get to keep you, safe on a shelf somewhere hidden from the light of day. But then someone comes along and wants to listen to those songs, scratched as they may be, and you no longer want to play. That it? You think that I'm too good for someone worn like you? What happens when I'm the one who was looking for that very soundtrack to play for my life? What happens when I can see behind the scratches that nobody else can? I'm willing Jean. I wouldn't have answered my phone in the middle of a shoot halfway across the world, or in the middle of the night if I didn't want to listen to those tunes.”

All of the bricks lined up perfectly then, and all Jean could see was hurt. An emotion he'd never seen on Marco before. Something he had hoped to never see on the face of the one person he always turned to for his strength.

As he stared into Marco's tired face, tired but bright, he realized he was drowning. Drowning in all the emotions washing through him. He was hurt by Hitch's reactions, shocked by Marco's words, guilty at how he'd treated his best friend. And scared. He was scared that this would be the last time he'd ever eat pancakes with the most amazing person he'd found in the city; in the world.

He'd never seen Marco so heated; but he'd seen Hitch like this, right before she'd walked out. Her words fueling a fire inside of her that could only be put out with running. He was scared and he could feel himself trembling.

“Jean.” Marco's voice was soft again as his hand reached out, finding Jean's where it sat on the table beside his barely touched plate. “I'm not gonna say that I didn't mean what I just said, but you don't have to worry about losing me. If I didn't want you in my life, I would've left you in that coffee shop with a stain on your shirt and no way to find out who I was.” It was like he could read Jean's mind, like he had felt the same connection Jean had upon their first meeting.

And just like that, it was like they were back on the same wavelength, like Marco had somehow accessed Jean's thoughts and said exactly what he needed to to get Jean back on the level.

Jean watched as Marco's face changed, as the hurt melted away, and he could see the Marco he'd come to know. The man who recited poems and quotes with him. Who took pictures of hands in the sunlight, of someone who took new pictures for business cards instead of recycling through old prints.

Jean watched as a smile broke out on Marco's face and his warm hand tightened slightly around Jean's. “I've got an idea. How about we eat our breakfast and you come to work with me?”

Jean's brow furrowed. “Work?”

Marco drew back, taking his touch with him. The warmth lingered, not in Jean's hand but in his face. “Yeah. Why not? I can even show you my studio.”

It took a few moments for Jean to really grasp what Marco was saying. A chance to watch Marco in his natural habitat, to see that side of him that he hadn't seen since their weekend hike into the hills.

Jean felt his muscles relax, the trembling all but ceasing completely. “I think I'd regret it if I said anything other than 'I'd love to'.” He still felt ragged but he felt stronger now that he knew for sure there was no where else Marco would rather be than there with him.

The sun had risen completely from the horizon, making the day unseasonably bright for a short time. The clouds that had obscured it for the majority of the season had been swept away with the chilling winds, leaving behind a clear swath of sky for the sun to shine through.

They started off bus hopping around the city, Jean listening to the camera's shutter at the most unexpected moments. For the most part, he stood back and watched Marco work. It was interesting watching the brunette in his medium, lining shots up through careful eyes one moment; the next taking a picture at waist level, looking down at the display screen to check his aim the next.

“So you just run around the city and take pictures all day?”

Marco looked up from his camera, face slightly confused. “Yeah? I mean, there's more to it than that. Especially when I'm working on a gallery or building up my portfolio for prospective jobs. Moments pass by so quickly, I've gotta make sure I get what I want. Like now.” His eyes hadn't left the crowd that passed them as they stood under the awning of a flower store. The day had turned darker again, clouds crowding in front of the sun, drowning the light out with a drizzle of rain.

Marco dropped his voice as he explained the scene around them, hands still on his camera as he waited patiently.

“Alright, since we've been standing here, this man has been watching this woman, right?” Jean scanned the throng of people until he saw a man sitting on the window sill, his eyes intently held on the face of a woman who had only been standing at the stop a few minutes. Jean had seen the man exit the shop a few moments before but hadn't paid him any attention. The drizzle increased until it was a steady rain. “Watch.”

Jean looked on as the woman looked in her over sized bag, patting her pockets when she couldn't find what she was looking for. Marco tilted his head to the man who had previously been sitting, now standing to open the umbrella in his hand. He watched as the man walked over to the woman, who had a hand over her eyes, protecting her glasses from the droplets falling from the sky. The stranger stood by the woman, holding the umbrella over her. She looked up in surprise at first,her face registering a known face before quickly thanking him as the bus trundled around the corner. He smiled in return, eyes straight ahead until the bus stopped, opening its doors to receive the woman and a handful of other patrons before it left, leaving the man standing on the corner alone. He walked back to the shop, eyes downcast as he shook the rain off the umbrella before folding it back up and reentering the store. Jean's gaze followed the man as he went into a back room, returning without his jacket and umbrella, to ring up a customer, a plaintive smile on his worn face.

“I've been coming here for weeks at the same time to see if he'll ever actually speak to her.”

Jean's gaze came back to Marco who continued to look through the window at the man now wrapping a bouquet for a customer in a business suit.

“I think he likes her but he's too afraid to say anything.” Jean's face felt warm at the look that passed across Marco's face before he looked back down at his camera. “I've gotten a few of them before. Here's today.” He lifted the camera, angling the display screen so Jean could see. He hadn't even noticed Marco taking the pictures, too intent on what had been happening to pay much attention. He'd been holding the camera at his chest, the two strangers centered perfectly in the frame. The shot on the screen showed the moment before the woman's face had recognized the man, as if it were the first time she was seeing him.

“Marco, this is a great shot-”

“It's not the best but it'll go with the others.” The camera was lowered and Jean was following Marco as he stepped up to the sidewalk, arm raised as he held a cab. They stood for only a moment in the rain, Jean wondering at the look on Marco's face before he'd turned away. The look was gone now, replaced with Marco's usual calm demeanor as they rode through the city streets, side by side in the cab.

“So where are we going now?” Jean watched as the bustling city passed by, taking them further from the noise as they passed into a run down industrial area. Many of the buildings were old; stained brick and busted windows. The driver continued confidently. Jean, however, continued to look out of the window skeptically.

When he looked to Marco, he saw an amused smile replacing his earlier look of distance. “I told you I'd take you to see my studio.”

Jean's pulse raced with excitement as he stared back out the window as they approached a mill. The outside looked just as grimy as the ones around it but the windows were all in tact and the locks on the door were new. Jean waited for Marco to pay the driver, taking in the sight of the building he stood in front of.

“I swear I'm not a serial killer with a secret hideout.” Marco's voice startled him, causing Jean to jump. His eyes settled on Marco as he sidled up beside him, looking at the building instead of him. “The big metal one two buildings over is a night club. It kinda sucks though. I saved up for three years to get this place.” Jean's heart fluttered at the smile that graced Marco's lips. It full on beat his rib cage when Marco turned that smile on him. “C'mon. It's warmer inside.”

Surprise lit up his insides when Jean followed Marco through the side door. It was like walking through a portal into an apartment up town. Bricks and pipes were exposed and high windows let in what light was in the sky; the sunlight through the clouds casting the room in a gray hue. The majority of the space was taken up by white screens and standing lamps. Large bins to the other side of the massive room held frames and other organized tools Marco would need for his work.

Jean listened intently as Marco pointed out everything, informing him on just how his job worked. “When I get my photos delivered, they back right in through those big sliding doors and unload it exactly where I want, then I'm able to frame them how I want.”

“I thought you had a dark room.”

“I do for traditional prints but when I'm doing large prints for galleries, I go through a company that prints the photos for me and delivers them. They'll also provide transportation to the venues if I ask them to.”

Jean nodded along as Marco explained everything, pulling at his collar under his jacket as they walked around the room. There was a line of various chairs and stools sitting beneath the row of windows to the right, a few Z line racks holding clothes of varying styles and sizes.

“I didn't realize you did so much, Marco.” Jean's fingers skimmed over the various fabrics, eyes taking in everything the space contained.

“Do you wanna do a shoot?”

“What?” Jean looked over to where Marco stood, on the other side of the trailing white fabric that lay smoothly along the shining hardwood floors.

“A shoot.” He had removed his jacket, his camera held in his hands as he waited for Jean to respond.

His mouth dry, Jean licked his lips. “Uhm...sure. I guess.” He turned to fully face his friend, happy to see a brilliant smile break over his face. “What do I-”

“Start by taking off your jacket.” Marco was coming towards him now, feet barely making any noise as he approached Jean.

“O...okay.” Jean slipped the jacket from his arms, startled when Marco's delicate fingers took it from him. His face felt hot as Marco stood there staring at him; his eyes roaming up and down his body. He felt self conscious under his gaze. Jean was saved as Marco made a huffing noise, turning his back to look through his props.

“Take this stool over there and sit on it.” Jean obediently took the dark wooden stool from its spot in the lineup, a scowl crossing his face when Marco told him to get on it, only to hop down and move it a foot to the left.

“You're not one of those pushy photographers that's gonna boss me around are you?” He chuckled at the sour look Marco gave him, one hand on his hip as he waited for Jean to take his seat again. Marco then began to mess with his studio lights; eyes focused as he made sure they were perfectly centered on Jean.

Finally, Marco began taking pictures, seemingly out of nowhere. Jean was startled, not knowing what to do with....anything. Hands in his lap or arms braced on his legs? Face to the side or staring at the camera? He wasn't used to being the center of attention.

Thankfully Marco would touch him with strong hands, guiding Jean on how he wanted him posed. Jean's face became ruddy with the proximity of the brunette, his heart beating faster as Marco brushed his hair to one side, his own face flat in a schooled expression.

It felt odd at first for him to sit there as Marco circled him with his camera, snapping off shots when Jean wasn't expecting them. He did as he was told, however; turning his head in the smallest increments when Marco said, head turning at the sound of fingers snapping out of his line of vision.

It was strange, but not unpleasant, to spend time with Marco without conversation. They were quiet outside of Marco commanding Jean to move his body after his first initial adjustments. It was a sort of comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by Marco's demanding voice.

“Alright. I think we can take a break.”

“Finally. I thought my back was going to get stuck with all that hunching like some brooding edge lord.” Jean stepped from the stool, stretching as he did so. He could feel his shirt ride up over his hips, the pull of his muscles ceasing as he heard the camera snap. His eyes were wide as his gaze landed on Marco. “I wasn't ready.”

“I'm the photographer. Let me worry about what's the right or wrong shot.”

Jean peaked an eyebrow but didn't say anything more about it as Marco wandered over to a door Jean hadn't paid attention to before. It was nestled in the corner amongst some props, making it hard to see unless one's attention was brought to it.

Following Marco through the door, Jean was pleasantly surprised when the room opened up before him and they were suddenly in what could have been an apartment. It was a small room, much smaller than the one they had just left. A few plush armchairs and a couch were scattered about, a coffee table stood in the center with a few random magazines strewn about its top. Two more doors branched off from the current room.

“That's my dark room.” Marco said, indicating a door to the left. “And that one is the bathroom if you need it.” The narrow door at the back of the room was a lot more prevalent than the one to the dark room.

“I have clients up here sometimes and I needed a space to make them comfortable.” Marco further explained as he walked over to something resembling the coffee station at Silverfish. “Coffee?” Marco's face had softened once again; coming out of the business look he'd had while behind the camera.

Jean nodded. “Do you ever drink anything else?”

Marco shrugged as he carried the pot to a sink in the corner of the room. “I drink lavender tea before bed and I try to drink water throughout the day but sometimes my schedule is just so erratic that I need all the caffeine I can get.”

Jean nodded as he watched Marco from his seat on the arm of the couch. He had never thought about the kind of schedule Marco must have. He always made time for their morning coffee and daily lunches but he'd never given a thought to how much Marco ran around outside of the allotted times Jean saw him. Seeing what was basically his workshop, Jean could now see that Marco had his hands full with whatever projects he had going on and that he should be very lucky to have time set aside just for him.

“Hey, Marco?”

They had fallen quiet for a brief moment, the sounds of the percolator masking the silence between them.

“Hm?” Marco's eyes quickly found Jean's, like he'd taught himself the Art of Finding Jean. He'd demonstrated it enough times for Jean to now consider him an expert. Marco could find his eyes no problem, no matter the instance, that morning being the exception. He'd lured Jean from his hiding place inside his isolated mind, coaxing him out like a scared animal from its burrow. He'd even found him when his fear had been so great it had overwhelmed Jean himself. Marco had somehow located the kind of person Jean was unaware had even existed within himself. It was astounding.

“Why do you spend so much time with me? I mean, not like I mind, I love being around you, but you seem like you don't get a lot of time outside of work.” Jean's hands worked at themselves in his lap during his halting words; eyes glued to Marco's face as he awaited a response.

“Well...” Marco turned his body to face Jean, hip resting against the counter. “I mean you're my best friend. As I've told you before, I don't have any other real friends. I have one but he lives in a different city.” He folded his arms across his chest before he continued. “The great thing about being a freelance artist is that I get to choose my own hours. I mean outside of the scheduled trip I took at least.” He shrugged, eyes closing momentarily as he did so. “There's no other reason as to why other than just because I want to.”

Jean could feel his face heat up once again and without heat from the lights in the studio to blame it on he excused himself to the bathroom. The room itself held nothing more than a toilet and a pedestal sink, the mirror hanging over it showing him a slightly less flustered Jean than he had anticipated. He ran his fingers back through his hair, sweeping it to the side as Marco had done, imagining different fingers arranging the defiant strands. High points of color made his cheeks light up further, spurning him to turn on the tap and splash cold water until the heat was gone and his hair was sticking to the edges of his face.

Marco clucked his tongue at him as he handed him his coffee upon his return. “Well you've gone and ruined your hair.” Jean tried to hide his face behind the Styrofoam cup but Marco took it from his hands as he stood close, tilting Jean's head down so he could mess with Jean's hair with both hands until it passed his inspection. “That'll do I suppose.”

Jean marveled at the way Marco stepped back to admire his handiwork, hands propped on his hips, a barely-there smile gracing his lips. He didn't look at all like he'd just made Jean's heart a stuttering mess, like he hadn't just touched Jean in a way that was nothing close to intimate, but was more profound than any way Hitch had touched him in months.

His heart stopped at the thought of Hitch and he instantly felt as if cold water had been dumped over him. He had no right reacting the way he was to his best friend. He had a fiance to think about, a wedding to help plan.

Jean cleared his throat and moved away from Marco, grabbing his coffee to distract him from....Marco. The way he looked standing there, proud of his work. The way he smelled, like being home on a rainy day. The way...

The way he just was.

“You alright?”

Even his concern had Jean's heart softening from the way it had tensed up, ready to bolt at the first sign of negativity that never came.

“Of course.” Jean smiled at Marco. It was bittersweet but had Marco giving him his own look of relief.

They finished their coffee, idle conversation flitting between them about Marco's job before they headed back into the studio.

The sun had set by the time they left, startling Jean as Marco turned out the studio lights with only the lights outside casting in through the expansive windows.

“Do you always leave this late?” Jean asked, watching the shadows nervously as Marco locked up behind him.

“Sometimes. It just depends on how big the project is and how cooperative my subjects are.”

Jean's smirk did well in hiding his nervous energy. “So was I being difficult?”

The laugh Marco let out warmed Jean from the inside even as a frigid gust of wind wound its way into any opening it could find in their coats. “Not so much as I just wanted to try a lot of different things after I finally got you here.”

Jean nodded, thinking back to the amount of work they'd done while holed up in the studio. He'd felt like a real model with how many different outfits, positions and scenes he was put into. He'd sat, leaned, lounged on or against stools, armchairs, crates and walls. He'd changed outfits from his plain tshirt to button downs, sweaters and jackets. He'd laughed when Marco had told him to remove his shoes and socks, his reaction caught on film the only smile Marco had managed to wrangle from him while the camera was pointed his way.

He had never imagined all the work Marco put into everything. As they walked back to the street, Marco explained how much he liked to use symbolism in most of his pieces and a lot of the time florists would make a killing off of him, especially during the colder months when he'd need a specific flower that wasn't blooming anywhere in the city.

“Sometimes, if I have a willing client, I'll go to the Winter Gardens and work with them there.”

“I mean if you need someone...”

Marco chuckled. “Thanks for the offer but the shoot I have in mind requires someone with a curvier physique.” He winked and Jean chuckled nervously. Of course Marco had a woman in mind. It was only natural. Just like it should be natural for him to have his fiance on his mind instead of a darker haired beauty that had more of his time than should be natural.

They were coming up through some back alleys when Jean caught sight of an older man sitting at the other end of their own. He wouldn't have seen him if he hadn't held a hand out to another passerby, a tattered paper cup rattling change in his hand. He instantly wanted to retreat, find another alley to pass through, but Marco forged on confidently.

“Spare change?” The man's voice was hoarse, cheeks reddened by the cold.

Jean watched in surprise as Marco reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. There was a kind smile on his face as he retrieved two twenties from the folded leather, tucking them into the little cup without hesitation.

The man looked into the cup, his surprise matching Jean's. “Bless you.”

“Never a problem, sir. You stay warm.” He handed him something else, a small piece of card stock with writing on it. “If you ever need a winter coat, ask for Norma Jean. She'll take care of you.”

From the light that filtered into the alley way, Jean could see the man's bottom lip start to tremble and he nodded and took the card. Marco nodded to him and pulled Jean along as they turned onto a main road, the emptiness of the alley like a gaping hole compared to the busy street they now walked down.

“You know he's probably going to spend that on booze right?” Jean couldn't help the words as they spilled from his mouth.

He watched as Marco shrugged his shoulders. “What he does with it is up to him. I've done my part. You should try it sometime.”

“What? Fund a homeless man's thirst for alcohol?”

Marco rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he held the door open for Jean as they entered a small diner. “No. Giving.”

Jean fixed him with a look, mirth shining in his eyes. “You want me to give? How bout I give you a knuckle sandwich?”

Marco chuckled at his friend, shoving his shoulder and taking his spot in line.

Chapter Text

It was as if Jean's life had decided to throw him not only one curve ball with Hitch's request that they write their own vows, but two. As he sat at his desk over a blank sheet in a notebook, desperately wishing for words to appear on the page themselves; his phone's shrill ringtone bringing him from his miserable mindset.

At first he was thrilled, hoping it to be Marco with plans for lunch; he'd had to skip coffee to work in a client at the last minute. His hopes were dashed, however, as the words on the screen flashed MOM. He watched as the ACCEPT and DECLINE buttons flashed, waiting for him to acknowledge one of them. He waited until the call ended itself, sighing when the voicemail icon popped into the top left corner of his screen.

He decided to get it over with and listen to it just as he heard Hitch in the other room answer her own ringing phone.

“Hi there sweetheart! You must be off somewhere doing something busy, maybe wedding planning with my soon to be daughter-in-law.” Jean groaned at the sound of his mother's recorded voice. To anyone else she sounded friendly and inviting but to him whose ears were attuned to her feigning ways they sounded like cardboard when they should be hearty oak. “I was just calling to make sure you come to our New Year's Eve party this year! I'm so excited to have you both there! Oh and don't be afraid to invite all your little friends so everyone can celebrate together. Darling, please call me back. I'll call later and hopefully catch you. Kisses, Foaly!” Jean rolled his eyes at the nickname he'd come to despise. One off hand comment from an uncle on how your son looks like a horse will give said son years worth of resentments. He was about to delete the message when he heard Hitch's high pitched squeal outside his door before his fiance came barreling in through the door.

“Oh hun, your mother is on the phone and she's just invited us to their party tomorrow night! Oh I'm so excited!” He could tell she was. Her face was glowing like it hadn't in so long. Her smile was vibrant and her eyes were bright.

He smiled along, years of faking it coming in handy as he bluffed his way through his own excited explanation of how thrilled he was when in reality his insides turned and he could feel bile rise in his throat. Jean let out a relieved sigh when Hitch kissed him on the cheek, his body sagging into his desk chair when he heard the front door shut behind her.

He'd managed to get out of going with her to her own studio, explaining that he was trying to write his vows and couldn't help her decide which dress of her own creation she should wear.

“This'll be huge! Maybe I can get some clients and really get our business going!” That's when she'd kissed him and run out the door, happily chattering to his mother on the other end.

Jean leaned on his elbows over his desk, face resting in his hands as his thoughts chased each other around his head. Last year he'd managed to feign sickness, his engagement to Hitch had yet to happen so his mother hadn't had her phone number yet. She'd still been just the girlfriend, in his mother's eyes not important enough to save in her contacts. She'd expected it to last a few months before a dramatic ending; surprised when he'd told her otherwise.

Last year, he'd been content to accompany Hitch along on her New Year venture around the city, bar hopping with her friends, making idle conversation with one of the other boyfriend's being dragged about. He'd kissed her, drunken smile on his lips at one of the other girl's spewing gin and tonic out her nose right as the clock struck 12 and Hitch had pulled him to her.

His head spun just thinking about the hangover he'd had the next morning. He groaned now, wishing he could relive it this year instead of facing his parents. Just the thought of brushing elbows with all his parent's friends made his chest hurt and his head light as he thought about the expensive alcohol he'd have to imbibe in to get through the night.

He could remember in the past how much more elaborate they were to anything else they would throw. They often rented a ballroom in a fancy hotel to host it in, inviting not only close friends but business associates, bosses, someone they'd met around Christmas whom they couldn't wait to impress-- anyone and everyone was invited but this was the first year they'd told Jean to invite anyone he wanted.

Throughout his time under their roof, he'd always been what they deemed as 'silent and brooding'. At school he'd always been called an asshole. He'd never had many friends, none that he would actively hang out with outside of the private school grounds. His parents hadn't noticed, or cared, but he always felt they were afraid of him inviting someone unsavory that would ruin not only the party, but their reputation.

Now that he was successful, engaged and responsible, it was a different story.

If only Marco could come and steady him.

If only...

For once thankful that he could replay his mother's voicemail, Jean listened to it once again, brightening as he heard her specific order to invite all of his friends. In an instant, Jean was calling Marco.

He answered on the first ring. “Wow if I'd known you were this clingy I would've been more careful with my coffee.”

Jean rolled his eyes, something he just realized had become a recent habit. “Haha, very funny. I could just go elsewhere with my big New Years Eve plans and-”

“What was that you were saying my best friend in the whole wide world whom I would die without?”

Jean actually chuckled, his fingers wrapped around his pencil as it scratched absently over the previously empty sheet of paper. “My parents are having a party and told me to invite everyone.”

“Who's everyone.”

“Oh you're like 23^rd on my list of people to call. I've been up all morning talking to people on the phone. I'm parched actually. Could use some coffee.”

“Are you just using your parent's invite as an excuse to get coffee instead of making it yourself?”

Jean shrugged even though Marco couldn't see him. “No I'm using the coffee as a bribe so you'll come. I hate going to the stupid things but Hitch won't let me not attend this year.”

He could hear Marco make his 'decision making noise' before he clucked his tongue and sighed. “I mean, I guess I could come. Gives me an excuse to mingle with the rich.”

Jean snorted. “We're not rich-”

“You had your own cook who didn't make you pancakes when you were a child! That's rich, Jean. Plus, I've heard about Kirchstein parties.”

Jean groaned, slipping a hand down his face. “Please don't tell me they've hired you to advertise before.”

“Oh no. I've never been to one but you hear things when you freelance and use the same flower shops that they do. I can't say I've never wanted to go.”

“I hate you. I'm no longer buying you coffee.”

He could hear the grin on Marco's face. “See you in twenty.”

“So who else are you inviting?” Marco sipped at his coffee as they walked down the sidewalk towards the park, one hand tucked safely into his coat. Jean matched him step for step, his own body language copying that of his companion.

“What?” Jean was genuinely confused, the noise of passerby's having him leaning close to hear Marco's words as the trotted up the steps to the Winter Gardens.

“I asked who else you're inviting. You said your mother said to invite all your friends. Do I know anyone else that'll be there?”

Jean thought about it, his mind blanking for a moment before he finally replied. “I honestly hadn't thought of anyone besides you.”

It was Marco's turn to be confused.

Seeing it, Jean shook his head. “I told you I don't have a lot of friends. No one really outside you. And Reiner.” His coworker came to mind at once and he felt a sting of guilt that he hadn't thought of the burly blond earlier. “I'll send him an email when I get home.”

“What about Ymir and Krista?” Marco took another sip of his coffee, holding the cup up to show the Rose Cafe logo on one side.

Jean rolled his eyes, a palm to his forehead. “Of course! Why didn't you mention that while we were there?”

Marco scoffed. “Like I could get a word in between you and Ymir bickering.”

Jean's lips canted up on one side as he thought of the freckled spitfire. “Can't believe I honestly hadn't thought of them before. In all honesty, I still wish there were a way to get out of it.”

“Not like parties?”

Jean shook his head. “Not my parents'.” He walked up to the edge of a low rock wall, looking across the expanse of red, whip-like stems. “They...it's the only time...” Jean let out a frustrated breath, eyes downcast as he fiddled with the lid of his now empty cup.

He was aware of Marco's steady gaze on his face but couldn't bring himself to look at his friend.

“So...so what is it you wanted to do?” Jean lifted his eyes quickly, looking back out across the copse of dogwood.

“What?” He seemed to have startled Marco out of a daze.

“Your shoot. The one you said you wanted a giiiirl for.” Jean waggled his eyebrows, forcing himself out of the dark place his mind was heading; steering it back into the light that shone beside him.

“Oh uhm, yeah. Well.” Jean's smirk softened to a gentle smile as he watched Marco stumble over his words. He followed him around the gardens as he told him the names of the plants: Camellias, Witch Hazel, and Star Magnolias to name a few, going through what sort of photo he imagined could come of the scenes.

It relaxed Jean; the squirming in his chest dissipating until he could feel the wind raging instead of what lie inside of him. It put him at ease to walk around, Marco's words a soothing balm that quelled any stinging thoughts Jean had had earlier about going to his parent's party. Marco never brought it up again; he didn't have to. He knew Jean like no one ever had before, even his parents. Even himself.

Their fingers were frigid by the time they made it to Norma Jean's apartment. It was close to lunch and she had called Marco to invite him over for the midday meal.

“Jean's with you? Bring him, of course. I have something for him anyway.” Marco had smiled while Jean just looked confused.

“She's like a mother to me so it comes as no surprise that she's done something for you.”

“I juts hope she doesn't think she had to since I gave her a Christmas present.”

Marco's smile had brightened as he'd looked at Jean as they waited for a cab. “You got her a present?”

Jean forgot that he hadn't told Marco about his Christmas mishap, sighing now as the topic arose. “Yeah. It actually caused a big blow up with Hitch.” Marco's brows furrowed, worry evident on his face. “It's better now though. It was a necklace and she thought I was cheating on her but we're fine now.” Jean brought up the picture of him and Norma Jean on his phone to show Marco. “This, my friend, is what we call proof.”

Marco chuckled as he turned his attention to the cab in front of them. “Maybe she wants to repay you.”

“Again, I hope she doesn't think she has to.”

As it turned out, Norma Jean had already been working on his gift before knowing about the necklace.

“I'm sorry it's late but my fingers don't work as fast anymore. Especially with this cold seeping into my bones.” Just as she did every time Jean walked in her home, she'd spared them no time to focus on anything but her own task at hand. She'd opened the door, hurrying them in from the chilly hallway, and shoved something into Jean's hand.

It was a lumpy parcel, not wrapped but bound with a bright golden ribbon. “I was gonna use the bag mine came in but it got away from me and wouldn't fit when I was done.”

Jean untied the ribbon, reaching to catch the unraveling fabric as it exploded outwards from its bonds. With careful hands, he unfolded it marveling at how long it was. It was a scarf, handmade knit just like Marco's except it was a deep scarlet color instead of Marco's pine green one he was untangling from his own neck.

“Norma Jean....this is...” Jean was touched. There were no accurate words he could say to make her understand that it was the best present he had ever gotten.

“I hope you like the color. You're always wearing such sad colors I thought some color would do you good. Put some color in yer cheeks.” He smiled, embarrassed, as she patted his cheek and looked up into his eyes. “Gotta take care of m' boys, don't I? Always taking such good care of me.” She pulled Jean into a hug, arm flapping behind her until Marco joined in. One of Jean's arms wound around her tiny frame, the other finding Marco's waist. He jerked his hand back at first, settling it once he felt Marco's firm hand steady itself along his back.

The embrace was brief, ending once Norma Jean pulled away, clucking her tongue and muttering about feelings being the death of her. The men shared a look before they stripped off their jackets and followed Norma Jean into her bright little kitchen.

Norma Jean shook her head, sitting her tea cup back on the saucer on the small table to her right. She was bundled up in her chair, Palmer on her lap as they sat in the living room for afternoon tea. “Thank you, baby, but I don't do parties anymore. I was a firecracker back in the day but now my body shuts down before 10. Can't make myself do much of anything after that.”

Jean nodded, understanding. He'd offered because he saw her as an amazing friend and would love to have her by his side. He admired her spark and would love nothing more than to have both her and Marco to distract him from the world he wished he wasn't a part of.

“If I was younger, sweetheart I'd love to accompany you.” Her smile was wistful as she looked down at Palmer, delicate hands running over the dark grey fur on his back.

Jean and Marco stayed there drinking tea and talking with Norma Jean until the daylight grew dim and Hitch texted Jean asking if he wanted to get dinner out tonight.

“You should go and spend some time with her.” Marco smiled. “I'm surprised you see her at all with as much of your time as I take.”

Jean scoffed. “I give my time to you willingly, Bodt. Don't think you could ever take anything of mine without my consent.” He stood regardless, bending over Norma Jean to give her a hug without disturbing Palmer. “Thank you so much for my scarf. It's the best thing I've ever gotten.” Her blue eyes were warm with affection as he pulled back.

“I'm glad you like it. Always happy to make one of my boys' day. Now go have a good night with your fiance.” She shoved him gently, teasingly as he stuck his tongue out at her. She chuckled before going back to her tea.

“Add me to the recipient list of that email.” Marco said from where he still sat on the couch. Jean had the urge to hug him like he had the day before but he refrained, waving to the both of them from the doorway after winding the lengthy scarf around his neck.

He was instantly grateful for it as he stepped out onto the street, wondering how it hadn't started to snow yet with how low the temperature had dropped as he lifted a hand to hail a cab.

“But I really wanna wear the gold dress.”

“Then wear the gold dress.”

“But we need to match.”

“Why?” Jean still hadn't turned to look at Hitch as he stared into the mirror, trying to tie his tie for the fourth time. He tied ties for work all the time but he knew that his father would make a jibe at him if it wasn't the perfect Christensen knot his father used. He had on Marco's silver vest, freshly pressed and layered with the only tux he owned, specifically for this sort of event. The suit itself had been a Christmas gift the year he'd graduated college; his parents thinking he'd get 'so much use out of it', when in reality, he only wore it when forced to events such as the one he was currently being dragged to.

When Jean and Hitch had returned from dinner the night before, it had been to the living room draped in eight different fabrics; dresses laid out for Hitch's scrutinizing eye to choose from. She'd finally narrowed it down to a gold dress with matching heels or a black dress with a plunging back that stopped at the curve of her lower back. The black one had off the shoulder sleeves made of lace that Jean admitted made her look stunning.

He didn't know she could make such beautiful pieces of clothing. He knew she spent a lot of time at her office, or studio rather, but he'd never imagined this is what came from those long hours of nonstop working. His heart twinged at the idea of how neglectful he'd been; stuttering out of guilt rather than passion as she stepped out to see her lithe body filling the dress out perfectly.

“Because that's what couples do. I even brought this gold bow tie for you to wear but if you're going to wear that then I might as well wear this one.” She sulked for a moment until Jean sighed, abandoning his fruitless work on his tie to walk over to her.

“You look magnificent. I hate these parties as it is, please allow me this vest. I feel comfortable in it and I hate bow ties. Now, if you feel more comfortable in the gold dress, and really want to wear it...wear it. Don't let someone else's expectation's rule your life.”

She stared at him, a slightly confused look on her face. He watched as her eyes darted between his own; could see her mind working as she pulled away. “That's....that's really sound advice, Jean.” She turned away from him, staring at herself in the mirror before looking back at the gold dress lying on the bed. He watched as she looked back at the mirror, her eyes following the cut of the dress, fingers grazing the lace that hugged her thin arms.

It was strange to see her so unsure, conflicted. It didn't match the self-assured woman he'd met in college, whom he'd followed out into the world as she cut a path through the rubble of life, leading him with brazen words and fierce determination.

“This one does show off my imagination more. It would be the better product if I'm wanting to show off my creativity.” She smiled at herself and he could see the fire rekindle itself in her. She turned to him then, grabbing the ends of the tie and knotting it in a knot he'd never seen before. It wasn't what his father liked, but then again, when had Jean really cared?

The moment between them had been so tender and pure that Jean's heart ached with how wrong it all felt. He did love her, on some level, and he felt he needed her, he just couldn't help feeling that...that it wasn't right. That they were just two pieces of the same puzzle that fit, just not together. He felt there were other pieces between them, bringing them together but putting needed distance between them so the picture could be complete. The problem was that they couldn't find the other pieces and just continued to try and fit and sometimes it looked like it would work, like tonight.

Tonight was a good night for them, even with Jean's misgivings about the party. As they walked up the steps to the hotel, other guests flanking them in stunning gowns and impeccably styled suits, he couldn't deny that he felt okay.

Not the best, but okay.

It wasn't until he walked into the ballroom and saw a group of people he recognized that his heart felt at ease.

His attention was drawn to Reiner first; his shock of blonde hair and booming voice drawing his attention as he laughed at something...Ymir said?

Jean blinked and looked back at the skinny suit standing next to Reiner, one hand holding his beefy shoulder as she tried not to double over in laughter, the other holding onto Krista's hand as she stood next to the chuckling pair. That was definitely Ymir in a slightly ill-fitting suit, the sleeves riding up just far enough to make it known the jacket was short. It made him smile to think that two friends from different worlds were getting along.

The thought struck Jean and he began to panic slightly.

This was the night he'd been dreading but had lost sight of with more pressing worries. When his two lives would collide, he knew everything would change.

Just as he was about to pull Hitch in a different direction, Marco turned and caught Jean's eye, his smile widening as he waved to him.

Jean's breath caught. If he had thought he'd seen Marco look anything less than spectacular, he was wrong.

He was in a suit like everyone else, his tailored to perfection to fit him like a glove. He'd donned a vest beneath his jacket, a pale gold that Jean knew would compliment his skin tone if it were the sun above them and not man made lighting.

“Jean, are those your other guests?” Hitch had followed his gaze to see Marco waving, his actions garnering the attention of the trio next to him.

“Yeah. They are.” Jean's breath was slowly being restored as she tugged on his arm to steer them nearer. The closer they got, the better he could see his friends. The first thing he noticed, with a guilty heart, was that Krista's dark blue gown was the same shade as Ymir's tie.

The second was that he felt better than he had all evening.

He had been okay before, but now he was energized by the sight of people he could trust, by the sight of his closest friend.

That's what he told himself as his heart sped up and Hitch pulled them to a stop in front of their smiling faces.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?” Jean looked wildly at his fiance as she gathered his attention from the brunette in front of them.

“Are you going to introduce anyone?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, acutely aware that it may have messed up Hitch's careful handiwork in the process. “Uhm, everyone, this is my fiance Hitch. Hitch this is my co-worker Reiner. Ymir and her girlfriend Krista, they work together at my favorite cafe and-”

“You must be Marco. Jean doesn't talk about you a great deal but he does talk to you a lot I've come to notice. It's a pleasure to finally meet Jean's friends.” Her smile was charming as she shook everyone's hand.

Jean opened his mouth to say more when he heard his name, the sound of swiftly clicking heels following before he was hauled from Hitch's grasp and into the choking embrace of his mother. When she pulled back to look him in the face he did his best to smile.

She looked just as lovely as he had ever remembered her at any other party. Her makeup was perfect, another layer to her mask; dress bright red and trailing behind her along the shining tiles. Her heels brought her closer to his height, but still short enough that she had to tilt her head back minutely to see into his eyes.

“I'm so glad you could make it, darling.”

Jean rolled his eyes and chuckled. “It's good to see you too, mom.”

“And who are these lovely people you're conversing with?” Her eyes were bright, seeking every opportunity to make the best impression possible. Jean sighed as he went through the introduction process for the second time.

“My friends, Ymir and Krista. Reiner, one of my groomsmen and Marco...my best man.” Their eyes had met as he said the words before Marco turned his gaze to Jean's mother.

“Oh?” Jean's mother turned to him, muttering into his ear. “You didn't tell me you changed your best man.”

“Not now mom. This is not the place.”

They'd been at the party for all of ten minutes and Jean was already feeling the need to run. This was what he'd been trying to avoid in his attempts at keeping distance between him and his parents.

“Melanie?”

Jean's mother turned at the sound of her name, her hand clutching reflexively over that of her son's forearm, successfully barring any escape. Jean sighed, his eyes naturally seeking Marco's out. It shouldn't have been a surprise that when he found Marco's face, his eyes were already locked onto him. He watched Marco's face slide into a look of apology.

“Roderick, dear!” She waved her husband over. Jean could tell she was immediately thinking higher of herself at the arrival of her husband.

“Roderick, meet Jean's friends! He's finally brought worthwhile people to meet.”

Jean could feel his face redden, his chest taking on that squeezing feeling he'd begun to grow accustomed to. He looked around his group of friends, mouthing a silent apology as his dad made his way through the growing crowd, dodging around people as more continued to flow through the doors freely with no end in sight.

His friends smiled back at him, a little nervously in Krista's case, but they didn't seem to mind the interruption to their evening.

“Hallo, freunde von Jean.” Jean knew instantly that his father had been drinking, possibly long before the party had even begun. He could see the way his mothers' face grew stiff and she muttered into his ear, just as she had with Jean.

His father cleared his throat, holding a hand up to excuse himself. “I am sorry. Meine...er...words get mixed after a few...how do you say...”

“He's had too much to drink.” Jean deadpanned to the crowd before him.

“Don't be insensitive, Jean.” His mothers scolded him quietly, the knot in his chest tightening. This wasn't how the night was supposed to start. They were all supposed to be happy go lucky, imbibe to the point where everything was funny, watch the count down and go home. Without incident.

“I don't think it's necessarily the quantity but the quality. Mr. and Mrs. Kirchstein you sure have gone all out with this magnificent party. I just started and I'm already light on my feet.” Reiner spoke up, holding his glass up as if to toast Jean's parents on a job well done.

“Bless you dear. Roderick this is Reiner. He was Jean's best man but now...Marco, was it? Yes, Marco here has moved to that particular position of honor.” Melanie gestured from Reiner to Marco, eyes glittering in the chandeliers' lights from above.

Jean could tell it was passed time to change the subject.

“Mother, Marco is a photographer.”

“Oh really?” She peaked a brow, looking like a devilish, female version of her son. “What kind of work do you do?”

Marco smiled, doing his best to please her. “Well I freelance. I was just over in Europe after Arlert Advertising hired me for my services.”

“I see. Exciting. How long was this trip, dear?”

“A day shy of two weeks ma'am.”

Jean's father had lost interest in the conversation after someone grabbed his attention, pulling him away for another round of spirits. Hitch was itching to get away, Jean could see it, but he was too focused on Marco and his mother to really care it.

“Oh dear. That's a long time to be away from the missus.”

Jean could only imagine the look on his face when Marco chuckled. “Oh no. I don't have a girlfriend.”

“You don't? But you're such a handsome young man. I'm sure there's plenty of girls who would love to have you.” Jean watched Marco closely, knowing he should really change the subject now, but he was too curious to hear what Marco had to say to stop his mother from being....her.

He watched as Marco waved a dismissive hand. “I could really care less, Mrs. Kirchstein. Honestly. I'm passionate about my job and have the best friend anyone could ask for. I don't really need anyone.” His smile was sweet as he directed it at Jean, turning with a rosy dusting to his cheeks the moment he saw Jean's eyes trained on him.

Melanie's laugh was abrupt and in ill humor as she clapped a hand on Jean's shoulder. “Marco you are too funny. It was a pleasure chatting with you, but I've got to mingle with all my guests but I'm sure I'll be back around before the night is over. You all have fun.” She turned to Jean then, kissed both cheeks, leaving red smudges that lingered longer than she did before she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Jean looked back to his friends and feigned a smile as he wiped at the spots of color on his cheeks.

“Wow Jean, no wonder you're such an asshole.”

Krista jabbed her girlfriend in the ribs with a well placed elbow which made Jean chuckle.

He shrugged. “Guess I get it honest.”

His attention was dragged back to Hitch whom he had, at that point, forgotten about.

“Jean, babe, if you'll excuse me I just saw Blythe Bern. I didn't know she would be here tonight, I'm gonna go speak to her.” She left then, a gentle pat to his forearm her only departing action.

“Like mother like son I suppose.”

“Reiner!”

Jean chuckled as Krista continued to be the civil one, trying to keep everyone from being rude, to no avail.

As the night wore on, Jean excused himself, stepping away from their little group to slip behind a large stone pillar. Leaning against the smooth surface, he closed his eyes, head resting against the granite as he tried to calm the racing of his heart.

It wasn't very long before he heard his name once again. Opening his eyes, he peeked around the pillar to find Marco hesitantly skirting the edge of the room, eyes roaming the shadows to find his friend.

“Hey.”

Marco instantly found Jean's face, his own contorted in worry.

“Hey. You alright?” His voice would've been softer if it hadn't been for the cacophonous noise that occupied the room along with the guests making it. A band added to the noise with its music rich in trumpets and saxophones.

“I guess.”

Marco gave him a look as he settled in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Okay, okay. I'm...managing. I'm sorry about my mom. As you can tell my parents aren't.....aren't the happiest of people. These sort of events are the only things that make them smile. Well...that and money I suppose.” Jean couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

Marco continued to stare at him, brow furrowed with worry.

“I just wish I could go home or just be anywhere but here. I feel like I'm suffocating, Marco.” Jean lifted his eyes to look directly into Marco's. Looking into them, Jean thinks he wouldn't be able to have gotten as far into tonight without them.

“I know. I hate that you feel like you have to escape your family Jean. If I had-”

“Jean! Marco! There you are!”

Jean's body instantly went rigid, his heart freezing up at the sound of his mother's voice once again. He turned to watch as she strode confidently towards them, a man and younger woman in tow behind her.

“See, I told you he'd be hiding somewhere.” Even though the words were directed to the two behind her, the words easily stung Jean's ears, making his heart clench painfully.

“It's alright, Jean. I'm here.” Marco's soft words were accompanied by a swift but gentle touch to his wrist. Jean would've smiled if he thought he could get away with his mother not thinking it was because of her.

“I've been looking for you two. Well, specifically our handsome best man. I ran into Mr. Braus and his daughter and we thought that maybe you two should meet.” Jean watched as his mother led the poor woman out from behind her father, placing her in front of them as if on display.

Jean couldn't deny that the woman was pretty; her dark auburn hair complimenting the rose gold dress that hugged her torso but fell away from her waist to flow to the floor. Jean could tell she was nervous by the way she fidgeted with the end of the sheer pashmina that had fallen from her shoulders to catch at her elbows.

“Marco, this is Sasha. Sasha, Jean's friend Marco.” Sasha smiled wanly, her eyes flitting up to Marco once before they continued to stare off elsewhere.

“We were talking and I found out that Sasha is single too. Wouldn't it be splendid if you two went out on a date? Just think about the stories you could tell your grandchildren. How you two met at a fabulous ball, she was beautiful, he was dashing, you just clicked and the rest is history.” Jean rolled his eyes but his mother was too far into her own head to notice.

He was set at ease with Marco's easy chuckle. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mrs. Kirchstein, I do. But you see-”

“Oh Matthew, I must find Roderick. He promised to dance with me to this song. Anyway, you two have fun! I can't wait to receive my invitation!”

The three of them stared after Melanie and Mr. Braus as they left the younger generation to fend for themselves. Jean thought Sasha looked like she was about to pass out.

Jean opened his mouth to say something when he saw Hitch making her way through the crowd, spotting him without much difficulty. “There you are! Come on, I wanna dance!” He could tell she'd been drinking during their time spent apart, her eyes burning with a fire that isn't known to a sober Hitch.

“I'm sorry Marco. I'll catch you in a bit, yeah?” Jean watched as Marco smiled at him, that tender one that held an undertone of sadness to it that Jean very rarely saw. It hurt his heart all over again but there was nothing he could do but be pulled away, watching as Marco turned to Sasha, speaking a few words before they laughed and followed the affianced couple into the center of the room.

With alcohol as fuel in her system, Hitch kept Jean on the floor, spinning him through several fast paced songs until it was closing in on midnight and the band slowed it down for 'one final slow dance for the happy couples out there.'

Jean could feel Hitch sigh against his neck as she nestled close, her pace slowing along with the music. He watched as Marco and Sasha hovered near in their own orbital rotation, speaking softly to one another. Sasha's eyes fell on Jean looking and he turned but couldn't keep his gaze away for long.

He'd realized it once his mother had proposed the date between the reluctant guests, had known why his heart had squeezed at the mention of another wedding, of one that involved Marco being with someone else.

It was a thought that had consumed him, keeping his blood pumping through the dances. How unfair he was being.

Here he was, dancing with his fiance, wishing it was brunette hair tickling his face, strong arms wrapped around him instead; and yet his defiant heart had balked at the idea of Marco with anyone, anyone at all. Here he was staring at him wistfully, being unable to keep his eyes to himself any longer. He watched as Sasha and Marco continued to talk, neck straining to keep them in sight as they slowly revolved around the dance floor.

He could feel his face alight as soon as his eyes made contact with Marco's, knowing he had been caught staring. He felt Hitch move against him, her forehead pressing against his cheek. She pulled back, looking up at him with confusion.

“Babe?”

“Hm?” He looked down suddenly, heart pounding with the prospect of his relationship with his fiance going south in the middle of the dance floor at his parents' party; could imagine the look on all their faces as it came to light that he found his best friend attractive in every conceivable way.

She placed her free hand on his face, slender fingers surprisingly chill against his heated skin. “You feel a little warm.”

“It must be all the champagne. That and you've had me out here prancing like a prize pony for an hour.” His laugh was dry, his mouth devoid of moisture, nerves shaking as he waited; not a drop of alcohol to add to the buzz in his brain.

“Mm. Yes. I just never get to show you off. We work so much and never get to spend time together. I'm sorry, baby.” He blinked, startled at her domestic apology. To anyone else it would seem normal, but to him it was odd.

“It's alright. I doesn't bother me too much really.” He'd gotten caught up at watching the emotions crawl across her face, he didn't realize the music had stopped and turned into chanting.

“That's a surprise.” Hitch snorted, fingers stroking across his face more tender than he'd felt before. “With all the people your parents seem to entertain, I'd think you'd be lonely. But I'm glad you've found someone to preoccupy your time when I'm away. This year will be different, I promise.”

It was like she'd planned everything out, timing her lips locking onto his at the exact moment that the room erupted in confetti and cheers, the band striking up for another fast paced number as the new year cantered in like excited yearlings.

It would've made for a great scene in any romance novel if it hadn't been for the thoughts of Marco occupying the space in his mind that should've been reserved for Hitch. It would've been an amazing kiss if he hadn't been wishing it was someone else. It would've been the best start to a year if his heart could do anything but sink.

Time was creeping closer to 2 by the time Hitch, Jean and Marco were piled into his fathers' car, a driver taking them to their destinations at the request of his mother. The woman in red had made sure that Marco and Sasha had a date set up before turning to her only son and kissing both cheeks hastily before trotting after her husband who had drank himself past the English language and into a verbal pissing match with another foreigner.

Jean had watched with a heavy heart as Marco bid Sasha goodbye at the door. He'd already seen Krista and Ymir off, helping the former steady Ymir as they got her into a cab; finding that Reiner had left shortly before midnight, his phone pressed to his ear and a smile on his face by Krista's telling.

They all sat now, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat as the car crept through heavily populated streets. People ran through them singing, dancing, slinging alcohol from covered bottles as they continued to bring in the new year. Hitch's head lay on Jean's shoulder as she dozed, snoring slightly thanks to the angle of her neck.

Jean and Marco sat in comfortable silence watching out the window as the people outside maintained the festivities. Jean's heart hadn't let up it's consistent stuttering, something he'd noticed had been happening since the photo shoot at Marco's studio. His heart raced like a stallion when Marco was near, but held no pain that had accompanied its' frenzied state before. It was like Marco was the eye of his storm; exciting and scary and calm all at once.

He'd seen Marco place his hands on either side of him on the seat, steadying him as he leaned closer to the window for a better angle from which to see the man on stilts as he walked beside the car, liquid that was no doubt either beer or piss raining onto the car as he passed. Jean could feel the sweat that stuck his collar to his neck as he carefully placed a hand over Marco's own.

He watched Marco's face for a reaction, the lights outside illuminating the side so that all he could see was one side of his mouth tilt upwards as those delicate fingers shifted, curling over Jean's.

Chapter Text

With the new year came the snow. The fall wind had blown in grey clouds pregnant with fluffy flakes that fell on the city in thick blankets. The sky was cotton with no room for the stars to shine at night. Jean was constantly cold, thankful for the scarf that made him match Marco anytime they were out together.

Along with the snow came sickness; hovering over the city like a lower layer of clouds threatening those, like Jean, whose bodies remained stubborn in their relentlessness to stay well.

Reiner had fallen under the weather, stubborn in other ways however as he suffered through work.

Jean looked over to his friend, surprising him with the level of concern Reiner saw there.

“What?” He coughed, muscled arms tensed and shaking with the force, “Scared you're next?”

With a shake of his head, Jean turned in his seat. “I don't really get sick. Maybe a handful of times in my life. I'm just worried about you. You alright?”

Reiner's brow furrowed as he stared incredulously at his friend and coworker.

“What?”

Reiner shrugged, coughing again into his sleeve. “Nothin'.”

Huffing, clearly annoyed by Reiner's actions, Jean turned back to his desk, pulling his phone out.

Jean 10:23 What's good for coughs?

Marco 10:30 Are you getting sick?

Jean 10:31 Not me. Reiner. Coughing like the smoker I know he isn't. Worse actually.

Marco 10:35 Vehement in his will to stay and work?

Jean 10:36 Yes

Jean continued to stare at his phone as the minutes ticked by until it was after 11. Finally Marco texted him back.

Marco 11:19 Lobby

Jean stood so quickly it garnered a quizzical look from Reiner. Noticing Levi's closed door, Jean felt it safe to slide past and into the hallway without a word to the sick blond. The elevator was empty, making only one stop on his way down to let on a couple of the giggling women that had cornered him what felt like years ago.

They kept their distance, unlike their last encounter where Reiner had had to bait them off of him. Looking closer at their faces, he could see the lines in their makeup, the shadows beneath their eyes peeking through the creamy foundation. The redness around their noses a clear indication that they were suffering the same sickness Reiner, and others around the building, had been battling for a week. In an effort to keep their guise up they smiled their venomous smiles, snickering and asking him if he'd left his woman yet.

“Why does everyone continue to think I've left her?”

“Oh honey. Everyone knew what kind of ferocious wolf prowled these hallways before. Now you're an absolute cuddly puppy with the way you've been recently.” The blonde stepped closer, careful to keep her face pointed downward as she batted lashes coated in thick mascara at him. “If you haven't left her, what's changed you?”

Jean chuckled nervously as he tried to make himself smaller, shuffling closer towards the reflective doors. He had to hold back his glee when the doors chimed and opened, saving him from the disappointed predators within.

If he wasn't anxious before, Jean sure was now as he looked briefly around the lobby until his eyes landed on the freckled brunette, bundled up against the cold that leaked from the glass walls that looked out onto the street.

“Marco!”

Jean's voice carried through the almost empty room, making his cheeks flare as the women from the elevator prowled past him, evil grins on their faces.

Marco turned, his eyes lighting up once they had found Jean. There was a plastic bag looped around his wrist that he handed to Jean once he sidled up in front of him. “This is for Reiner. And for you if you contract whatever he's got.”

Jean took the bag and looked inside. A box of Throat Coat tea, acetaminophen,

cold and flu pills, a honey bear and a couple of Cup 'o' Soup's stared back at him.

Jean's brow knit together as he looked up at Marco. “Thanks but I didn't mean for you-”

Marco placed a surprisingly warm hand on Jean's. “Don't worry about it. The least I could do. I've gotta run but give my regards to Reiner in hopes he'll feel better before too long.”

Jean watched as Marco smiled and waved himself out the door and into the snow piling onto the sidewalks. He stood there,dumbfounded, for another moment more before heading back to his office where a grateful Reiner sucked down one of the soups as a teabag steeped beside his computer.

“I dunno how you did it, but you hit the jackpot in life when it comes to that man. Too bad you're with Hitch, I'd suggest goin' after him.” Reiner's words had Jean staring at him, chuckling nervously. His cheeks heated up as he thought about how thoughts of his freckled friend had affected him the last couple of weeks; how nice it had felt when he'd curled their fingers together on New Years.

“What?”

Thankful for Reiner's concentration as he stirred honey into his cup, Jean listened to his coworkers' words as he fought the rosiness of his skin. He watched as the blond shrugged, oblivious to Jean's internal struggle with keeping his feelings secret.

“Well I mean, if you were ever into dudes, he'd be the perfect candidate for dating material. The man is attractive, he's polite, funny and talented. And I mean, I don't even talk to him and he brought all this stuff. Seriously man, I think you're on the wrong side of friendship with this guy.” He was laughing at the last part of his spiel, indicating to Jean his non seriousness of the topic.

“Yeah, well...” His hesitation dragged out until Reiner glanced over at him, making sure he was still a part of the conversation. Jean's face blazed and he rushed to finish his sentence. “Well that's all fine and dandy but I've got Hitch so there's no room for anything but friendship.” He turned back to his own desk indignantly, the sound of Reiner's laughter cut short by his coughing.

The next day passed with little incident. The only thing worth taking in is the lack of Reiner's presence in the office. It's shrugged off, his absence explained away by the sickness that has others' calling in throughout the day.

Without Reiner to lighten up the atmosphere, the day dragged by. Even his regular lunch with Marco is canceled due to the ridiculous weather. Jean almost leaps with joy when his phone chimes with a text.

Marco 2:06 You still alive?

Jean 2:07 why wouldn't I be?

Marco 2:07 watching the news and this snow is anticipated as the worst we've seen in a decade. Plus, Reiner texted me earlier to see if there was anything to do about zombie pains, so I was making sure you weren't sick too.

Jean 2:09 Zombie pains?

Marco 2:10 He's real sick and it sounds like the flu but he assured me he got his flu shot and he hasn't 'shit himself like a newborn' so I'm thinking it's just a cold. You alright?

Jean 2:13 Yeah I'm good. Immune system like a God.

Marco 2:14 Glad to hear. Let me know if you need anything. Keep hydrated regardless :)

With Jean and one other man in the office, it was easy for Levi to shut down his texting until he got off work. Unwilling to remove his hands from the warmth of his pockets, Jean was in his home, freshly showered and bundled in his warmest house clothes before he started texting Marco again.

Like most evenings, Jean ends up on the phone with his friend. At one point, Marco makes a joke that leaves Jean cackling until a cough catches in his throat.

“You alright over there?”

Jean rides the cough out, clearing his throat once more before continuing as if no interruption had occurred.

Marco tried again, concern unmasked in his voice. “Jean, are you getting sick?”

Jean shrugged even though Marco couldn't see him. “Nah. Just a little dryness in my throat.”

He could hear Marco's doubtful humm across the line but changed the topic completely where they stayed until both were yawning and bidding the other good night.

Hitch expressed concern again as Jean coughed as they lay down.

“Dry throat.” Jean muttered as he rolled over, facing the darkness instead of the muted light through the window.

Jean cursed himself as he woke before his alarm, pain stabbing through his throat with every swallow to ease the dryness. He could hear Hitch beside him, her breathing easy and unburdened as he got up to fetch a glass of water.

The sky hadn't even begun to lighten as Jean traipsed around the apartment; the pain in his throat too much to warrant him another two hours of sleep. He thought about calling Marco but decided against it; he'd already interrupted enough of his sleep with his recent influx of nightmares. He watched out his window, over the skyline at the still thrumming city, one hand clenched around his glass of water while the other hugged around his middle; wishing now he'd grabbed his robe.

As the sky finally lapsed into waking sunrise, Jean found himself on the couch, a fluffy throw wound tightly around his shoulders as he stared blankly out the window.

He was vaguely aware of Hitch as she stirred, yawning into the kitchen, letting out a startled squeal at his dozing presence.

“Sorry.” Jean croaked at her, flames licking his throat at he tried to speak.

To his surprise, Hitch rushed closer, one hand reaching automatically to his forehead. She huffed and sat beside him, her knee not quite touching his. “Well you're a bit warm. Not feverish but definitely on the verge if you don't take something. You better call in.”

Jean was already shaking his head, swallowing against the pain even as he moved to stand. “Can't,” he rasped, “I'll put us behind with everyone else out.”

“But you can't get better if you push yourself too hard.”

He shook his head defiantly. “I'll manage.” He said as he made a detour to their room where his alarm had started to wail along with the roaring in his head. If she said anything to him on his way to the bathroom, he didn't hear it over the sound of his own coughing.

The shower cleared his mind and his sinuses enough for him to get dressed and make his miserable way into the office. He was so out of it that he didn't even stop in for his usual cup of coffee; mind in a haze to prove he could make it to work.

When he got there, however, it was to find that he and Levi were the only two in the office.

“Kirschtein. Why are you here?”

Jean lifted his head numbly to the sound of his name being called out. His vision swam with the wetness in his eyes but he finally made out the slim figure of Levi standing in the doorway to his office.

“I figured I'd come in and finish my work so that I wouldn't be behind when everyone gets back. Don't wanna be swamped, right?” In an attempt to make light of their predicament, he set himself on another coughing fit that lasted a good twenty seconds. When the coughing ceased, he looked up to find Levi standing at his desk, his usual look of disgust slightly softened as the older man looked down on Jean.

“You're mad.” He placed a packet of sanitary wipes on his desk. “Don't contaminate everything all over again and for Christ' sake if you feel like you're about to die, go do it on the sidewalk. Death is a lingering smell I don't want in the office.” Jean smiled halfheartedly at his boss's retreating form before he sanitized his hands and set out on a search for the remaining tea bags he knew Reiner had left in his desk.

The day passed slowly, Jean only noticing the time when Hitch texted to check up on him and Marco wondering if they were getting lunch.

Jean 1:12 I'm down with the sickness. Wouldn't want to contaminate you, but thanks

Marco 1:13 :( do you need anything?

Jean 11:17 I've already pillaged Reiner's stash you got him, but I appreciate it :)

Marco 11:17 You're at work? Shouldn't you be home?

Jean 11:20 You worry too much. I'll be fine. Thanks for the concern. Send some healing vibes my way

Marco 11:22 I really think you should be home but knowing your hard head, nothing but the flu will get throughout

Jean 11:23 Don't jinx me Bodt

Marco 11:25 You know I kid

Jean 11:30 I'll kid you right through the wall

Marco 11:31 In your current state, I'm sure I can take you ;p

Jean grinned as he read Marco's texts, unable to contain the way his heart fluttered with each new message received. The day continued to progress, along with Jean's condition, until Levi was shaking him awake.

“Up Kirschtein. If you're so tired you need to sleep, go home.” A stray hand made its way to Jean's face. “Jesus, you're hot. Get up, go home. Don't come in tomorrow or I'm firing you.”

Jean, still groggy from his recent nap, stuttered, trying to make a case for himself.

“Go. Now.” The look on Levi's face was akin to that of Medusa's stare, threatening to turn Jean's already sluggish limbs to stone if he stayed put much longer.

Apologizing, Jean shrugged on his jacket, cringing when he sneezed, hard, right in Levi's face.

“Levi- Mr. Rivaille I-”

“Out!”

Jean jolted, visibly shaken by Levi's outward burst of anger.

“I'm so sorry, sir.” Jean's last words were hurled over his shoulder as he bolted out their office door and into the hallway where he bumped shoulders with Mr. Smith in his attempt to escape death by beheading at Levi's hands.

“I wish you'd just stayed home so I could've taken care of you. I've got an appointment I can't cancel tomorrow and I hate the thought of you here by yourself.” Hitch had found him that evening passed out on the couch, halfway out of his coat with both shoes still on, feet hanging over the arm. She'd woken him, coaxing him out of his pants and button-up as he'd lolled groggily on her shoulder, whining that he could do it until he couldn't and needed help once more. She sat next to him now, dabbing his feverish skin with a cool cloth that grew warmer with each press to his face.

“I'm fine, I promise. I don't need-” Another round of coughing silenced him, Hitch offering him a glass of water instantly. Once his body had stopped shaking, he continued vehemently, if not a little pitifully. “I'm not a child, I don't need a baby sitter.”

“Oh, Jean, I know but I just don't feel right not taking care of you. Or at least doing what I can.” She pushed a sweat dampened piece of hair off his forehead, the look on her face sweeter than he'd seen it in a long time. His heart lurched, but not with feelings of warm affection for her. He turned his head away, pushing it further into the pillow she'd wedged behind him as she'd helped get him more comfortable.

Her fingers stilled and he could feel the tension fill the space between them as she sat there a moment longer. “I'll go fix you some soup.” Her voice was quiet, but not near as sad as he honestly had thought. It made the pain in his chest relax a little bit and he'd drifted off again before the eye on the stove had heated completely.

He slept fitfully, tossing on the couch underneath the extra comforter from the closet, too hot beneath it and too cold without it. He meandered through sleep and wakefulness, never full of either one to be entirely alert when he finally gained consciousness to the sound of someone humming in the kitchen. At first he thought it was Hitch, but the sun was too high and the voice was too low.

Doing his best to sit up, Jean turned tired eyes towards the kitchen, his already labored breath hitching when he saw broad shoulders and a mop of dark hair standing over the stove.

“Is this the appropriate time to scream burglar?” Jean was startled at the sound of his own voice; at how much worse it sounded in 24 hours. He may have sounded like a wounded Banshee but the man across the room heard him loud and clear, turning with a smile to find Jean half-raised from his nest.

“Only if you don't want bedside breakfast service.”

“You mean couch-side.”

Jean watched as Marco shrugged, following the movement with his eyes, momentarily bemused by the way Marco's sweater stretched across his chest, looking cozy enough for Jean to snuggle into and lose himself for the remainder of his illness. For once he was thankful for the heat in his face, expertly hiding the way his thoughts made him blush. He continued to watch his friend as he worked in the kitchen a little while longer before making one impressive trip, arms stacked with dishes, one hand carrying two mugs carefully, to the couch where he unloaded his arms on the coffee table before helping Jean sit up fully.

“But moooom.”

Marco looked down at his pitiful friend, lip turned slightly upwards, amused. “You wanna choke and die?”

“If it'll end this suffering, I'll be the Pope's bitch, but beggars can't be choosers. Death is just as easy.” Jean smiled at the sound of Marco's deep laughter. His throat tickled, an itch wanting to be scratched, but he held it off just a moment longer to watch Marco's verve.

“Well I don't know about all that but I'm definitely gonna do my best.”

Jean watched gratefully as Marco pointed out his brunch. He'd made a bowl of oatmeal topped with honey and sliced bananas, two pieces of toast slathered with dark jam flecked with seeds and two mugs, one full with the same throat coat tea he'd brought Reiner, the other full of ginger tea. “To help with any nausea.” Marco explained.

“I literally don't know what I'd do without you.” Jean muttered, more to himself than Marco, as he stared at the spread before him.

“Become the Pope's bitch, I assume.”

Jean choked on a laugh, thankful the spoon of oatmeal was still only halfway to his lips.

Between bites, Jean asked Marco questions.

Why are you here?

Hitch called, asked a favor.

Aren't you afraid of getting sick?

Grew up with lots of sick kids, helps build the immune system.

What about work?

Took the day off.

“Besides, the weather is a bit murderous today.”

Marco's comment had Jean looking out the window to where he saw the city fade away after only a few streets; the roaring white gale the backdrop of noise to dreams he can't remember.

“Glad I didn't try to go in today.”

He heard Marco scoff and turned his gaze to his friend.

“What?”

“As if you could've made it off the couch without help. You are to stay put, Kirschtein.”

Jean rolled his eyes, taking a sip from one of the cooling mugs. His senses had quit working to the point he couldn't even gag at the throat coat, only knowing which was which when his throat felt as if it were bathed in warm honey. He hummed, smiling when his voice didn't completely give way to the monster that had made its home in his lungs.

Jean lay back after eating most of his meal, watching Marco as he cleared the dishes, taking the extra step to wash them even after Jean's insistence for him not to. He curled back up into his cocoon of warmth, sweating even in his underclothes, waiting for Marco to come back and entertain him with talk of his latest photo shoots.

His mind wandered until then, circling above him like a hungry vulture, ready to eat him up until there was nothing left. He couldn't help but think how nice it was, to wake up to Marco in the kitchen as he made breakfast to care for Jean. How lovely he'd sounded, humming carols that had stopped playing on the radio, but that Jean knew Marco had a soft spot for as long as snow was in the air.

A familiar stab of guilt accompanied these thoughts, reminding him that Hitch had done the same thing the night before, or had tried to. He thought back to hours before that even, when she'd tried to get him to stay, So I could've taken care of you. Her words came back to him then, sounding almost as if she were standing right next to him.

His heart beat faster as he shook his head, clearing the vision of her as Marco came into focus, standing at the foot of the couch looking concerned.

“You alright?”

Jean sniffled, acutely aware that his nose was running, as he nodded. “Yeah, just zoning out.” He reached for a tissue, noting absently that the box didn't match their décor and was obviously Marco's.

Throughout the day, Marco and Jean talked. Well, Marco talked while Jean squeaked, his voice tuning in and out like an old radio until it went out almost completely. Marco chuckled even as Jean glared at him and he advised Jean to drink his tea and rest his voice.

Jean did as he was told, flicking on the TV, tossing the remote to Marco before hunkering down into his nest, dipping in and out of sleep.

He awoke to the sound of the door clicking shut and soft voices filling the air around him. Jean kept his eyes closed, noting, with mild irritation, the drool sticking the fabric of the comforter to his face. His nose continued to stay clogged, his head spinning when he tried to suck fresh air into his body.

“He okay?” Hitch's words were punctuated by the sound of her keys being placed gently onto the counter.

“Yeah. Still congested and coughing. Sounds like a dog toy but he's getting some energy back. He's been dozing for about an hour. I was just about to start making some soup for whenever he wakes up when you walked in.”

It was odd, he mused, that his worlds had finally collided and had yet not ended. He could remember the panic before the New Years party, the knot in his chest at the very thought of these two people meeting. Now, here they were, both doing their best to care for a man that was their only link between one another.

“I tried to call to ask if we needed anything here but his phone must've died after I called you last night and I don't have your number.”

Jean could imagine Marco smiling and shrugging his shoulders. “I think I got everything before I came over. Thank you, though.”

“Oh no, Marco, thank you! I don't know what I'd have done without Jean having such an amazing friend. You seriously are the best. You'll make someone a very happy wife one day, you know that?”

There was no shortage of amusement in Marco's voice. “So I've been told.”

Jean could feel Hitch hover above him, a frigid fingertip skimming his skin as she pushed his hair back again before retreating to the back of the apartment. She was gone several minutes before returning. “Here's Jean's charge cord for his phone. I've got one more appointment, God willing, and then I'll be back later this evening. Please, help yourself to anything in the kitchen and TV while he's conked out. Seriously, make yourself at home. Thank you again, Marco, really.”

“It's honestly not a big deal. Wouldn't have gotten much done today anyway. It's a pleasure to help.”

Jean listened until Hitch was out the door, feigning sleep until he heard Marco finish chopping ingredients in the kitchen. The sharp sizzling from the stove masked his grunting as he muscled his way out of the comforters' death grip, making it possible for him to creep up on Marco as he sang softly to himself, hips swaying slightly as he alternated between stirring the aromatics and cutting the chicken into chunks.

“What's cookin' good lookin'?” Jean's voice sounded like it belonged to the dead instead of someone with a common illness.

Marco's shout and bodily ejection from the space he'd just inhabited was enough to hide Jean's embarrassment of the words he'd just said. Eyes wide, he stared at Marco whose chest heaved, eyes mirroring his own in their attempt to outdo the full moon.

“Jean! Jesus!”

He watched Marco, eyes swimming in mirth. “Which is it? Jean cause I look so sickly or Jesus cause I've risen from the dead?” Jean croaked.

Marco blinked, shaking his head a few times until he could fill the kitchen with his own laughter. “I thought you were asleep.”

Jean shrugged, pulling a stool around so he could sit and watch Marco. “I was. Funny thing about sleeping is you wake up sometime.”

“Unless it's a coma.”

“Do you want me to be in a coma?”

It was Marco's turn to shrug. “You might be before too long if you don't quit it with the speaking.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “You're worse than a mom.” He coughed, the hot air making his throat sting again, only adding to the pointed look Marco shot him over the wooden spoon.

Huffing, Jean made a scene of slouching off the stool and out of the kitchen towards the bathroom, mocking his teenage self as best he could. When he turned to sneak a look at Marco, he found his friend already watching him.

For the second time that day, he was thankful for the masking quality sickness allowed him.

“Throat feeling better?”

Jean nodded, feeling refreshed and more like himself after a hot shower and the alternating soup and ginger tea into his stomach, the latter helping to ease the nausea in his stomach that wasn't entirely due to the food.

His shower had been longer than most, his mind racing every which way as he'd taken in great gulps of steamy air to help clear his head. He'd emerged with his towel around his waist to hoof it to the bedroom for fresh clothing, unable to keep himself from glancing down the hall towards the living room. His chest had deflated without a glimpse of Marco before he'd turned around to scold himself for having such a thought.

They sat now, Jean mute and Marco appeased with said silence, until Jean stood and retreated to his office. His heart leapt as he came back into the room with Marco's eyes trained on him. The light outside had dimmed throughout the afternoon, the snow continuing to writhe across the sky and cover the sun until she had given up and let her lover take over the sky for a similar evening.

Jean came closer, pausing to turn on the lamp beside Marco, the kitchen light no longer enough for what Jean had in mind. Laying a book on the table, Jean swiftly regained his spot on the couch, moving his pillow to lean against Marco's lap before the brunet had gathered his wits to understand what Jean wanted.

“Jean?”

Jean held his breath, praying that his actions were acceptable, heart hammering as he answered with a choked “Yeah?”

There was a pause, a moment where Jean heard the book being held aloft, the pages whispering against each other as he found the first page. “Are you comfortable?”

Jean imagined his breath was as strong as the gales outside in its haste to be released as he closed his eyes, a hidden smile playing about his lips. “Yeah.” He felt Marco's other hand situate itself gently where his own arm tucked tightly to his chest, falling naturally into the space like it was meant for him. He couldn't close his eyes as he heard Marco start to read, too afraid he would wake up from a dream.

Jean had gotten lost in the narration and the feel of Marco's arm holding him when their haven was interrupted by the shrill ringing of his phone. They both jumped, startled, Marco's arm tightening around Jean instinctively. After the third ring, Marco held Jean back from raising, standing himself after gently sliding from beneath Jean's pillow, a few hurried steps bringing him to the phone as it sat screaming on the kitchen counter.

“It's Hitch.” Marco looked back to him, phone raised in question. Jean nodded, allowing Marco to answer the phone for him.

He couldn't hear Hitch's side, only watch Marco and listen as he spoke briefly before hanging up.

“She said the storm is really bad out on the streets and that she's staying with a friend that lives a block from where their appointment was.” Jean's curiosity was not bated with this information, not tickled in any way. He simply sat there, nodding, looking like a toddler that had just woken from a nap. Which he could certainly attest he felt like, not fully believing he hadn't made the last two hours up in his feverish mind.

Jean watched as Marco checked the time on the phone, watched as his eyes widened and looked back to him.

“It's already 9:30.”

“Time flies when you're havin' fun.” Jean's voice was ragged, throat sore, but he couldn't help but love the look Marco gave him or the shrug he returned.

“Well, I'm going to make you another cup of tea and then I'm gonna go.”

Jean could imagine the look of offense that flashed onto his face as he straightened fully.

“Uhm, no?”

Marco's surprise brought him facing Jean again, a slight smile on his lips. “Excuse me?”

Jean cleared his throat, sitting up as straight as he could. “I said no. You're staying here tonight.”

Marco's posture relaxed, one hand finding his hip as he leaned the other against the counter. “Am I your princess and you're the big bad dragon? Keeping me locked up so I can never see the outside world?”

Jean rolled his eyes and stood clumsily, one foot catching in the coiled comforter bringing him off balance, making him look less regal than he had hoped. Once righted, he walked over to Marco, feeling small compared to Marco's healthy bulk. “You live on the west side. Hitch was...well across the city but even she doesn't want to come home and let me tell you, that woman is more afraid to go without her face moisturizer than fight the elements.” He checked his snark as he continued to look into Marco's umber depths. “Please stay. The office doubles as a spare room.”

Watching the emotion play over Marco's face, Jean was happy, and even smiled, when his friend nodded his head. “Alright. I suppose I can't lie and say I wouldn't be a little worried about leaving you by yourself.” His playful grin had Jean reeling back dramatically, rolling his eyes and throwing his aching limbs into the air.

“What is it with you people in your disbelief that I can take care of myself?”

He didn't see Marco shrug or the way he tilted his head to watch Jean traipse off down the hallway towards the bathroom, but knowing Marco was still there had his mood lifting again.

They shared another round of hot tea before Jean went looking for extra pajamas for Marco. After some hunting, he found a pair of old sweats and a band tee that had been tucked in the back of his closet from when he was in college.

“Here's this. There's a spare toothbrush on the counter and towels above the toilet if you need a shower.” Jean handed the clothes to Marco, lingering a little too long from the feel of Marco's hand covering his as he took the stack offered. He did his best not to think about Marco in the shower as he lay down in his empty bed, thoughts spiraling into dreams before the water had even cut off.

Jean woke to darkness. No moon shimmered through the window to light the room as he sat up. He could feel the bed shift beside him. He turned towards the motion, frustration and dread mixing in his gut as he's met with the same blindness he awoke to. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Jean tried to raise his hands, maybe something was impeding his sight, anxiety coiling tighter as his hands remained by his sides. He could feel twisted fabric, the sheets on the bed tangling around him, making it impossible for him to move.

At once he started to panic, fear leaping in his chest as he struggled to escape from his gloomy prison. He fought against the restraints, his mind forgetting the weight that had settled next to him in favor of liberation from his bonds. He tried to call out, could hear the words in his mind that he wanted to call, his voice failing as it came out in frail gasps and squeaks.

Sweat broke out over him as the presence beside him moved, touching his shoulder gently but so cold it seared his skin. At once her reared back, toppling over the edge of the bed. The brisk hardwood of his apartment did not meet him. There was no impact; only the rushing of air around him as he fell.

His stomach plummeted faster than his own descent, beating him to the ground. Jean could feel the same presence, lingering behind him, waiting for him to struggle upwards, anticipating the chase. He found his footing, and somehow, still with no light to guide him, struck out as fast as he could. He could feel the sheet still tangling around his arms and hands, the ends dangling around his legs, trying to trip him; to stop his progress. He could feel the tears mixing with the sweat as it dripped steadily down his face, eyes wide even though they were of no use to him.

The itch in his throat, the need to scream, to call out burned as he ran, igniting his will to try. At first, it was like before; strangled sounds that made no sense but after what felt like ages: ages of fleeing, of being frightened, of shouting with no voice and no answer, he succeeded in finding his voice.

With a sound much like that of a wailing specter, Jean roared.

“Marco!”

Like a popped balloon releasing all the air inside of it, Jean called out in great gusts of breath until his lungs were empty and his voice was hoarse; the same name, over and over again. He screamed until his throat was raw. He ran until his feet were bloody. He stumbled and fell, his face hitting the ground so hard he finally saw light, bursting so violently it made his stomach turn.

He could feel the breath of his pursuers on him, felt his own tears pool beneath him as he lay there, sobbing out the one word he could manage.

“Marco....”

“Marco....Marco.”

Jean woke to damp fabric pressing into his sweat slick skin. At once he felt uncomfortable in the gloom; yellow street lights outside highlighting the room in a sickly glow. The storm outside still raged, amplifying the light as it bounced around the flakes whirling through the air. He sat up in a rush, kicking at the covers until he was free and he could make his way off the bed. He stood in the middle of the room, breath heaving as he allowed the cool air to chill the heat of his skin.

The sound of the storm made his skin crawl, had him reliving his plunge through unfailing darkness. Within a matter of seconds, he was down the hall, stepping into the spare room. The sound of Marco's sleeping breaths calmed him at once. With the nightmare still fresh in his mind, Jean approached the bed, feeling childish in his need of physical comfort.

“Marco?” Jean's voice was ragged and he had to remind himself it was from his being sick, not from screaming.

At once, he could hear the slight change in Marco's breathing, could hear him start to stir. Jean waited patiently, feet tingling with an itch he wouldn't scratch.

“Jean?” Marco's voice was groggy with sleep but he was alert instantly.

Jean cleared his throat, speaking as gently as he could, hating the tremor in his voice. “I had a nightmare. A bad one. Marco, I'm so sorry, can I...can I sleep with you?”

The answering shuffling as Marco moved was instantaneous. “Come here.” Marco's voice was soft, soothing, no trace of exasperation as he pulled the covers back to allow Jean to slide in the warm spot he'd vacated. It didn't take long for Jean to settle in beside the brunet, realizing just how cold he was by how warm he felt as Marco threw the cover over him.

His breath came easier now, a slight trembling on the edge of every exhale, but he knew he was safe. He knew that, here with Marco, nothing could get him, nothing could hurt him.

He lay on his side facing Marco, aware of Marco mirroring him in the dark.

Several minutes pass, both men still awake, even if just barely, before Marco speaks, voice quiet like a shared secret. “Are you okay?”

Jean nodded, aware of the darkness hiding his movements. “Now.”

Hands drawn to his chest, Jean reached out in the dark, hesitant fingers searching. Jean finds what he's looking for, curling his fingers into Marco's palm. He halfway smiles to himself as Marco laces their fingers together; lips coming back to a neutral line as guilt stabs him in the chest once again.

“You're so warm.” Jean mumbles, more to himself than Marco.

“Hm?”

Jean hesitates, not having intended Marco to hear him at all. There's a lump in his throat but courage wells up and he whispers again. “You're so warm.” He pauses, clenching Marco's hands firmly before adding, “And Hitch is so cold.”

There's no answer from Marco but Jean knows he's not asleep. Not completely. He doesn't know what to think when he feels a feather light brush of lips on the back of his hand before it's being pulled closer as it's cradled against Marco's chest, a soft sigh emanating from where he lay.

He didn't know what to think but he closed his eyes and drifted into a safe slumber, far away from his everyday woes and into the most restful sleep he'd had in months.

Jean woke early.

Earlier than he would've liked.

There was a wailing in the distance that had roused him, but the tenderness he was wrapped in held him more firmly than any desire he had to find out the source of the sound. It stops after about a minute, allowing Jean to relax into the warmth he's woken in.

Curious as to why he feels so warm and so at ease, Jean cracks his eyes open, taking in the sight before him. He's tangled up, but not like in his dream. Instead of sheets twisted around his legs, he finds another set there, pleasantly anchoring him to the bed. His back in bent, curled into the bigger body that he faces, hand still laced into another as it's pulled across a strong chest and into the covers beyond. His face is pressed into Marco's neck, other hand tucked between the two of them; the only thing keeping them from being flush against one another.

Jean pulls his face away a few inches, taking in the sight of the sleeping photographer. His lips are slightly parted, easy breaths of air escape as he continues to drowse. There's no window in the spare room but Jean imagines how lovely the sight would be with sunlight and morning birdsong.

Heart clenching at the thought, Jean tears his mind away from fantasy and enjoys his momentary reality. Pushing his face gently back into Marco's skin, Jean lies there for a short while, breathing in the moment before it crumbles.

The wailing starts again, this time causing another body to stir. Jean feigns sleep as he feels Marco start to awaken beside him. He can feel muscles coiling as Marco stretches his legs out, can hear the popping of joints that will one day hurt but for now make the start of a daily ritual.

Jean allows his limbs to lie limp, to be moved around as Marco takes the time to fully wake. He can feel the way Marco stiffens initially at their position, is pleased by the way calm engulfs him easily enough. It's the way Marco moves the arm Jean is resting on, brings it up and around to brush fingers lightly down Jean's side, resting his hand briefly on Jean's hip before moving it back up and out, flopping gently back to the mattress. Jean forces himself to continue his charade, even as his heart pounds, bruising itself on his rib cage as he prays that Marco doesn't notice.

They lay like that for another minute or two, riding out Jean's alarm from the master bedroom again before Marco extracts himself from Jean. Jean doesn't cling, not wanting Marco to know he's alert, as Marco begins the task of sliding carefully from Jean's grasp.

Jean stays where Marco leaves him, unraveled and alone, waiting. He's aware of Marco's hesitation by the bedside, his heart somehow beating faster as Marco sighs gently before leaving the room completely.

Heaving his own sigh, Jean curls back into himself as he counts out the seconds until the third alarm begins, listening as Marco pads up the hallway to cut the sound short. He can hear his footsteps slow as he passes the door, but can't be sure if he hears another quiet sigh or not.

Jean counts another two minutes and allows the sound of the percolator to pierce the morning air before he decides to cease his farce and join Marco.

He pads into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face as he enters the room to find a humming Marco, much like the night before; standing over the stove as he cooks breakfast for the two of them. Jean announces himself with a loud yawn, careful not the startle the brunet again.

“Good morning.” Marco's cheery demeanor sparks something in Jean's chest that makes him hum in agreement as he opens a cabinet to grab a couple of mugs for the coffee.

“Did you sleep well?”

Jean is halted by the inquiry, thinking over how best to answer the question. He turns to look at Marco, finding that the other man's cheeks are pink with color that he's not sure is from the heat of the stove or the natural heat of his thoughts.

“I did....afterwards.” He watches as Marco's gaze flicks up to his own for a quick second before back down to the skillet. They were quiet for a minute, skillet sounds filling the air, before Jean speaks again. “Thank you.”

He watches as Marco shrugs, his smile back in place. “Any time.”

Jean's own lips tilt upwards and he turns away, giddy as he fills their mugs.

Their day is spent much like the one before. Jean still sniffles and coughs but not to the fierce degree as the day prior.

Jean and Marco sit on the couch, now turned towards the windows, as they watch the streets below. Few pedestrians are out, braving the cold as they plod through the thick snow around city workers and their trucks as they do their best to clear the streets. The mugs in their hands and the blankets around them keep the chill off as it leaks through the wide windows in a comfortable silence Jean is positive he's never found with another person.

It's Jean's phone that breaks the spell, bringing with it their return to reality.

It's Hitch on the other side, letting Jean know she'll be home later in the day. Marco sits beside Jean, eyes intent on the cityscape below them as Jean mumbles his way through the call.

“I should probably try my hand at getting home.”

It's the first words Jean's heard from Marco in at least an hour; words that have his breath escaping far too quick than should be acceptable.

“Hitch said the subway is the only thing that's running right now. Why don't you wait a few more hours and see what the roads do. The sun's out today...” Jean turns his head back to the windows, his sentence fading like the mist from the morning. When they had paid attention to the world outside their own, they'd noticed the storm had subsided and the clouds had been driven out by the ghastly gales, giving the sun room to shine and help break up the snow the plows had left behind.

Jean turns back to Marco, watches him nod his head twice before sipping the remaining coffee and standing. His heart sinks a little as he watches Marco walk away. Turning back, Jean scolds himself for feeling like he does. He'd made a commitment to Hitch and he'd be damned if he would be the scandalous prick that ended it for his best friend; not knowing for sure the repercussions of either action. He sighs and drains his own mug, sitting it down on the hardwood beneath him instead of following his best friend.

They find their rhythm again soon enough, joking and laughing as the day progresses until they're winding around each other in the kitchen, making dinner as the TV plays gentle tunes in the background. The day had been nice. Jean was getting over the worst part of his illness and was so well rested he hated to even think about sleeping another night isolated in his bed of two. He left those thoughts alone however, too intent on keeping Marco laughing to worry too long on what was to come once the photographer went home.

When Hitch arrived, their playfulness all but ceased, easy smiles unable to be completely removed from their faces.

“Well you two look like you've had fun. Feeling better, babe?” Hitch placed her chilled fingers on his skin, causing him to grimace and retreat from her touch. She frowns, touching her lips to his forehead instead, pulling back with a satisfied look on her face. “Well you definitely feel as if you're returning from your visit on the sun.” She turns to Marco, a pleasant smile widening her lips. “Thank you so much, Marco. You're a lifesaver. Truly.”

Jean watches as Marco shrugs, his eyes finding Jean's face before his gaze moves to Hitch. “It's nothing. I know Jean would've done the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

Hitch says something that Jean doesn't catch, his attention focused on Marco as he interacts with Jean's future wife. Instead of the woman with a ring on her finger, he watches the man with the card in his wallet. The one he'd held so many times he's sure his overlapping fingerprints could paint the surface with black if it were dusted.

Even as they sat down to dinner, enjoying the meal Jean and Marco had worked together to make, Jean couldn't keep the anxiety from mounting in his chest. Anxiety bred from the departure of his best friend. Anxiety brought on by having to face Hitch again after waking from the most peaceful sleep in someone else's arms.

Anxiety.

Fear.

Lust.

“Jean.”

What?

“Jean?”

His emotions were really getting out of hand.

“Jean?”

A touch to his hand made him jump, startled out of his reverie of thoughts. Looking to his left, he saw Marco's concerned face, fingers still lingering on his own.

“Yes?”

Hitch's voice pulled his attention to his right where he saw her with a similar look on her own face. “You zoned out, honey.” Her gaze turned to across the table, to Marco. “This isn't the first time.”

Jean looked back to his friend, amazed that their fingertips still grazed one another. He watched as the brunet shrugged, finally pulling his hand back. “I've caught him a few times too. I think he's just got too many thoughts to sort through when alone.”

Jean nodded, surprising himself. His heart welled with affection for the man that just got him instead of trying to make him seem mad. Not that he wasn't.

He listened as they continued to talk, not really hearing what Hitch had to say, remembering anything Marco had to offer.

It was later than Marco had planned to head out when he finally did, standing in the doorway in his freshly laundered clothes, bidding the couple goodnight before setting out through the bitter cold to his own home.

“I'm so glad you finally have a friend like Marco.”

Jean heard the words Hitch spoke as they got ready for bed, responding when appropriate. He didn't speak any of his own thoughts out loud until they were about to lay down.

“I think I'll go sleep in the spare room for tonight. I still feel sick. I don't want to wake you up with my coughing.” He saw her stare right at him, confused at first, nodding when she understood.

“Okay. That seems smart. Well...thank you.” She leaned over the bed, not having to beckon him as he leaned down for her to kiss his cheek. “I hope you do get some rest. Good night.”

He mumbled a good night to her as he took his charger and phone into the spare room, curling up in a ball on the side Marco had slept on, breathing in Marco's scent as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The snowstorm was only the beginning of the icy season. Snow continued to fall but the city and its people found ways to thrive in the cold. The season was lax with work, seeing Marco traversing the city with Jean in tow more often than not. They would match with their handmade scarves, brought up around their faces to keep warm; the wind always finding it's way between the folds to redden and numb Jean's extremities.

It was a bitterly chill evening when Jean found himself walking beside Marco down a part of the city he'd never really been to. He'd waited as Marco had met with a potential client, not at all perturbed when the meeting had run over. Jean didn't want to think he'd imagined the look of relief on Marco's face when he came out of the office, spotting Jean waiting for him as he thanked the client for his time.

“So what'd he think?” The pair now walked down the street, the freezing wind blowing at their backs. He glanced to his right to see Marco shrugging, the strap of his portfolio bag cutting through the fabric of his coat.

“He seemed to like it. He asked if I could do an impromptu modeling session and I agreed. He's going to send some models over to my studio later in the week.”

Jean nodded along, gaze shifting to the path before them. The sidewalks weren't bustling, but there were enough pedestrians to brush shoulders with as they continued to travel closer to the heart of the city. They walked in silence for a few blocks, a comfortable one that Jean was positive could not be achieved with anyone else. They had just crossed a street when he was brought out of his thoughts, a solid shove to his shoulder sending him tumbling into a lit doorway.

Jean turned his surprised face to that of his friend, only to find lips lifted in a smile, laughter bubbling forth from them. “I knew you weren't listening to me. Come on, this place looks cheery and I could go for a hot drink.” Marco motioned behind Jean, making him turn to face the edifice they currently blocked.

Windows opened the corner shop up, giving the outside world an amazing view of what awaited inside. The lights were low, giving the place a cozy feel when coupled with the haphazard furniture that reminded him more of Norma Jean's home than a public space. The place seemed to be crowded, even though he could clearly see less than ten patrons about the shop itself. The space in front of the right window seemed to be the only clear spot; a tiny stage with a single mic stand looking like the new kid on his first day of school. Jaunty letters embossed the window, boasting a warm welcome to The Coffee Corner.

Jean felt Marco nudge him from behind, guiding him up the two steps and into the dim lights of the shop. A chime above the door announced their arrival, gaining the attention of a barista who chattered to her associate, interrupting herself to welcome them.

Jean instantly felt at ease, noticing idly the way the other customers seemed to exude nothing but warmth and cheerfulness, the atmosphere positively charged. He couldn't help but look around at the walls, cluttered with what looked like original art pieces, as he followed Marco to the counter.

He heard Marco order for him but his attention wasn't attained until his friend tugged his sleeve, pointing to a bubble-gum pink sheet of paper taped to the register.

“Jean, look. They're doing poetry readings on Friday. You should do it.”

It took him a moment to comprehend what Marco was saying, his own response cut off before he'd begun to speak by the smiling barista.

“It's so much fun. A tradition the owner started when her daughter was young. She died a few years ago. Her daughter just started it back up in remembrance of her mother. You should do it! We're trying to fill the place.” The barista's smile was bright, eyes twinkling in the lights as she talked, excitement emanating from her.

Jean looked to Marco, could see her elation had been contagious. “Hitch wanted you to write your vows, yeah? No doubt they'll be poetic coming from you.”

He felt trapped, but not anxious. No one could be anxious when in Marco's presence. He looked into those deep brown eyes, the color of rich soil in the summer time, lit by a fading sunset. He couldn't say no.

He smiled. “Only if you do it too.”

His heart fluttered as Marco rolled his eyes at him, smile becoming bashful, a Marco he rarely got to see. Jean was sure he would've downplayed his own talents had the barista not interjected once again with her energetic enthusiasm.

“Great! We'll see you on Friday, 7:00 sharp.” In what was an impressive stage whisper she added, “Maybe get here a little early to get a seat and your coffee. Orders are expected to get pretty backed up.”

Thursday evening found Jean in his office, staring at a new sheet of notebook paper as he mulled over the words that threatened to drown him. He'd had almost the entire week off, going in the day before to work four hours until Levi sent everyone home for lack of work load. Reiner had been happy, brightening at the prospect of having some time off.

Jean had seen it as time he felt needed to be spent writing his vows, something Hitch had become more adamant about the more time he spent at home. She walked by now, a smile on her lips as she talked on the phone, passing by his open door with a outstretched hand into the room signifying that she saw him and appreciated the time he spent in the room working on something she'd asked him to do.

Their relationship since the new year had begun hadn't changed drastically. They still barely saw one another outside their time at home in the mornings and evenings, Hitch busy with work and Jean trailing Marco any chance he got, but she'd been true to her word. She had worked harder at showing him her affections; little touches as she passed by him, kisses before bed that could've led to more had Jean actively thought about sex.

Jean had tried putting words about her on paper. Words that were true, words that a man should be able to say honestly about his fiance. Words that would make her heart melt and eyes grow teary, yet anytime he tried, he blanked. He had so many poems and quotes ingrained in his mind that he often found himself plagiarizing, balling the paper up in rage, filling his waste basket with half written sentences about seas and mountains and being happy with the one you've found.

It was all a farce and he was finally seeing it.

He wanted to write about rich soil in sunlight.

About smiles full of teeth instead of lips.

Eyes behind lashes so naturally thick and beautiful one didn't need makeup.

Pigments like stars and hair as dark as twilight.

Hands folding on fake leather seats as the world passes by without notice.

He wanted to write about all the beautiful things one should write about his fiance instead of his best friend.

Jean lay his head down, his chest deflating as he closed his eyes and wished the right words to the surface, hand moving sideways across the paper, making it hard for him to decipher when the time came.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

Friday had come and Jean was rummaging through his closet for a shirt that wasn't on a monochrome scale of color. He'd felt the droplets of his rain cloud again, trying their best to dampen his spirits the last few days. He wanted color in his life, brightness he didn't have to search for. The best he could do was a navy button up crammed between two shades of grey that made him think of novels that shouldn't have passed the editing desk. It was dark, but not black. It would have to do.

“Jean?”

Jean pulled his head out of the closet, listening to Hitch as she repeated her question.

“Oh, yeah. Uhm, Marco and I are going to a poetry reading...thing.” His mind jumped with the sudden realization that he didn't want her to join him. He started thinking of excuses, each one more outlandish than the other, about to spout one out when she saved him.

“Okay, cool. I was going to invite you out to have drinks with us but it'll be mostly girls from work anyway so you're sure to have more fun with Marco.”

Jean nodded, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief, immediately feeling bad for doing so. “Sounds good. Yeah, I would've invited you along had I thought you'd have fun.”

He watched in the mirror as she smirked. “Good call. Poetry really isn't my thing.” He nodded again, in agreement this time, the folded piece of paper in his back pocket keeping his attention more fully than the conversation at hand.

“So you don't mind?”

“What?”

“That I'm going out to the bar?”

At first, Jean was taken aback by the question, not understanding why he would have a problem with it. It took him a few seconds before it dawned on him that his fiance might get hit on whilst out.

“Of course not.”

Her face softened and for an instant he saw the same look she'd worn briefly on New Year's Eve. “So you trust me?”

Jean shrugged, turning again to look in the mirror as he ran his fingers through his mop of hair. “Why wouldn't I?” He made eye contact with her through the mirror again, smiling at her to assuage negative emotions she may have been feeling. “You're my fiance, of course I trust you.” Giving up on his hair, he turned back to her, feeling his stomach churning with his own unease as he pulled her in for a short embrace. He couldn't even trust himself, let alone worry about the one person he should be able to trust. When Jean pulled away, he placed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Just go have fun with the girls and don't worry about anything else. Alright?”

Her smile was minuscule, more confused than anything. “Okay. Well, you have fun tonight. I'll see you later.”

Jean nodded once, accepted the kiss she gave him, and rushed out the door with a restless glance at his phone.

They had agreed to meet at The Coffee Corner at 6:30, knowing that if they were early they would have no problem sitting and chatting until it started. Jean couldn't believe how many people were inside as he jogged up to the store front, looking around anxiously to find his friend.

His phone chimed and he found a text from Marco, informing him that he was running late, asking Jean to hold him a seat.

With the daunting task at hand, Jean curled in on himself, made bold only by the fact that he didn't want to disappoint Marco. Making his way through the crowded space, he found his way to the counter where the barista they'd talked to before stood, a harried energy about her person as she took orders in such rapid succession, Jean wasn't entirely unconvinced she was a robot.

“Hey! You made it!” Jean didn't want to know how she remembered him from days before, just smiled and nodded before ordering his and Marco's preferred drinks. Jean stood by the bar, waiting for his drinks, knowing he'd never hear the call out for his order in the din of the shop. As he waited, he scoped out a place to sit, noticing glumly that the only empty seats seemed to be ones closer to the tiny stage.

Once his hands were full, Jean made his way, much more carefully than before, through the crowd, smiling politely when someone moved out of his way of their own volition. Forging ahead, Jean claimed the only two seats he could find together, at a small table right by the door. As he sat waiting, he could feel the chill air sneak its way through the door every time a new patron entered.

It was nearing 7:00 when Marco showed up. Jean could see the frustration wrinkling his brow before it was wiped away; one look at Jean causing a smile to wearily break the surface. He all but collapsed into the waiting chair.

“Bad day at the office, dear?” Jean slid the, surprisingly, still warm coffee to Marco, heart warming at the smile the brunette gave at his quip.

“You know it, darling.” Marco chuckled before taking a deep swig from his coffee, eyes closing in bliss as he sank further into his chair.

Jean watched his friend; could see the tension that still clung to his mind even as his shoulders relaxed and foot stopped it gentle tapping; a habit that only presented itself when Marco was stressed beyond his usual load.

He watched as Marco cracked an eye, felt the blood rush to his face when Marco catches him staring, his gaze instantly dropping to the empty cup that sat in front of him.

“So how was-”

“Good evening everyone!”

Jean's head snaped to the right as a woman spoke into the microphone, cutting Marco's words short. Even though he's sitting as close as he is, it's through a speaker at the foot of the stage that he really hears her voice emanate.

“There's no way for me to express my deepest heartfelt gratitude to all of you who have showed up to participate and support this project that I am starting. Those of you who knew my mother will know that she was a great supporter of the arts and even encouraged me to find my own path through an artistic outlet. I stand here now, an accomplished poet and song writer because of the love my mother showed me. In her memory, this will be the first night of tradition that will continue every other Friday evening at 7. So without further adieu, I'll kick this off with something I wrote the night after my mother died.”

Jean listened to to the soulful words the woman spoke, voice lilting with the natural flow of the poem. A tear shone on her cheek but instead of breaking down, she smiled and continued; voice strong until she delivered the last line and motioned someone else to take her place on the tiny platform.

The pair continued to listen as the more eager readers hopped up, confidence radiating off of them in caffeinated waves, until it calmed down enough that people were looking around, waiting for the next person to step up.

“Guess I'll go.” Marco smiled at Jean, knowing his introversion, not expecting Jean to precede him.

The crowd was very encouraging as he made his way to the stage, lightly clapping, snapping and smiling at him until he was staring back out at them. He looked out over the crowd, his smile nervous as he spoke into the mic.

“I've never done this before, never really written any poetry actually. But I told a friend that I would do this if he did and he's really talented so I felt I had to.” There were a few encouraging words from his audience, something that made Jean smile even wider as he watched the scene.

“Thank you. And a big thank you to him, whom, without him, I may not be where I am today.” Jean's smile became sheepish as Marco made eye contact with him, turning eyes and grins his way. Jean hunkered down in his seat, watching Marco exclusively until he was sure no one else was staring at him; their looks making him feel as if they knew what lie beneath his facade.

“Without any further stalling, here goes.” He drew in a shaky breath, the paper in his hand more stable than his voice. The words rang out, wobbly at first, gathering strength as he lost himself in the words.

“The beauty about

Being behind the lens

Is the ability

To see people as they are.

Hidden from view,

You get to see their

Ocean eyes.

The way their lives

Undulate like waves

That only a few

Get to catch.

Presented with something

So breathtaking

As an unadulterated

Life

is a gift

Not to be squandered.

I've seen

Romance bloom,

The smile of a

Child reunited with his mother,

The fall of a soldier

On his knee.

I've witnessed the beginning

Of a lifetime

Of love,

The shaking of faith,

The end of careers.

To be given such

Privilege

Is an honor,

One that I'll uphold

Until my own

Aperture

Closes completely,

Snuffing my own light

To let another shine.”

A beat passed between Marco's words and the quiet applause that filled the room.

“And because a promise is a promise, Jeanny-boy you're next.”

There was scattered sniggers throughout the room as the applause died down, a few keeping it up as Jean made his way up towards the stage, cheering him on. Marco's smile was beaming as Jean ascended the platform, hand warm as he patted Jean on the shoulder before making his way back to their table.

“Uhm, hello. I...” Jean cleared his throat, his heart racing, tying his tongue up like a roped calf. Glancing around the room, he saw a few people smile brightly, encouraging him. The owner, sitting at the back, gave him a thumbs up, a soft smile on her lips.

Clearing his throat a second time, Jean reached into his back pocket, pulling out the folded notebook paper, hands shaking.

“For the best person I've ever known.” Jean muttered into the mic by way of introduction. His eyes flitted towards Marco who was smiling his favorite smile; one so soft and sincere, he knew it was given in a moment like the one Marco himself had been talking about moments ago. An ocean eyes smile. It made Jean's heart stutter in its race; a momentary lapse in speed that had it doubling to catch up with its previous pace.

Looking back to the paper quivering in his hands, Jean began to read the words he'd transcribed to a fresh paper from the one he'd scrawled the night before.

“You're the sunshine.

Scorching me with that blinding smile.

You're the rain.

Quenching me when I've gone too long

Without sustenance.

You're the soil I've trusted my roots to,

The wind that replenishes

My breath.

You're the guiding moon,

Nestled amongst stars so bright,

I'll never need another light.

You're the sunrise I greet every morning,

The sunset I wave farewell to

Until waking brings me back to you.

You're a wildfire,

Raging through the undergrowth,

Clearing the path for new growth.

You're a twisting river,

Weathering away the

Rubble I've stacked

Around my heart.

You're a shooting star,

Making my wishes come true.

You're everything.”

Jean's gaze found Marco's face first and he didn't understand how these words of affection could be mistaken for the one who had actually asked for them. But the pain he saw in those umber eyes said it all; thinking they were meant for someone who held his heart far away from her own body. One who gripped tightly, with no real conviction in her grasp.

These words were meant for the freckled man sitting two tables away, eyes cast downward, long fingers twirling the empty cup before him.

The world rushed back to him, the snapping and clapping, when the owner's face appeared before his.

“That was beautiful, Jean. Thank you for sharing with us.”

Her eyes were like liquid gold, shining at him like the sun he'd just depicted. A firm hand on his back gave him the slight nudge he needed to get his body back in motion. Sitting back down next to his friend, Jean felt his throat dry up like a wasteland.

“That was amazing, Jean.” Marco murmured, the side of his mouth canting upwards as he looked over at his friend sheepishly.

It was for you. Jean thought, his words scratching against the sandpaper in his throat until the only thing he could cough up was a strangled “Thanks.”

It was times like the one he was in that Jean sometimes wished he could go back to that day and watch where he was walking. After a hesitant moment however, he shakes his head, knowing he would never wish Marco out of his life, even in moments like these where the silence was awkward, far from the comfortable quiet they so often were able to share.

The walk back to Marco's apartment was strained; Marco's stiff posture and Jean's thick tongue keeping both from easing each other into gentle banter that would lift the others' spirits.

Only when they rounded the corner Marco's flat was on did the brunette speak up.

“Did you want to stay for dinner? Hang out a while?”

Jean thought, not very hard, about leaving; about going home to an empty apartment that would stay that way for the better part of the night. When visions of him moping around the apartment crossed his mind, he shook his head, forcing a smile to look at his friend.

“Absolutely.”

As the newly fixed elevator ascended, Jean could almost see the stress that had been weighing Marco down melt away the higher they went. By the time they were through the front door and Marco had shrugged off his coat and scarf, Jean could sense a change in the atmosphere.

He watched as Marco slunk into his kitchen, like a tiger in the jungle, at ease knowing he's at the top of the food chain. Comfortable in his environment. Marco went through his cupboards, scowl big enough for Jean to see from his spot by the door.

“How's pizza sound?” Marco continued to scowl, even as he opened the fridge.

“Pizza's fine with me. I'll order.” Jean couldn't say if he was elated or disappointed seeing the lack of messages on his phone as he pulled it from his pocket. Deciding that he was with the only person her really ever wanted to talk to anyway, he felt happy would not be an unwelcome feeling, even if it was followed with guilt.

As Jean placed the order, he couldn't help but stroll around the room, taking in everything that was different from his last visit. The dining room table hadn't been cleared off but had been organized, piles of prints and papers no longer threatening to topple into the floor at any given moment. At the head of the table, facing out towards the rest of the room, sat a laptop he hadn't seen before. A couple stickers littered the sleek surface, a few scratches showing the age of the electronic device. Two books were stacked to the left, a dictionary and a thesarus, while a notebook sat to the right, a pen wedged between pages almost halfway through the book.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask Marco about it, a voice came over the line, wearily inquiring the reason for the call. Standing with his fingers skimming the surface of the laptop, Jean placed the order, hanging up before turning to find Marco still in the kitchen, fishing two mugs out of a top cabinet.

“Hey, Marco?”

“Hm?” He seemed distracted, busying himself by inspecting one of the mugs.

“You planning on adding writer to your job list?”

This caught Marco's attention who's head whipped sideways so quickly, Jean was sure he heard his neck pop. After a brief surveying second, Marco chuckled, placing the mug gently to the counter.

“Oh. That. Well I've always wanted to try. I like dabbling in the arts.” His shrug was casual but Jean knew Marco, easily reading the strain on his face as he watched Jean's fingers skim over the notebook's cover.

“Can I read it?” Jean's question was innocent, curiosity making his fingers itch with the urge to open the notebook.

“How about you be the first to read it when it's done? You are an editor, maybe it'll come across your desk.” Marco looked away, robotic as he went through the motions of making a pot of coffee; body tense.

“Marco, when it's done, I'll read it and personally deliver it to my boss and demand that he publish it.”

This sent the light dancing back into Marco's eyes, his shoulders releasing their tension as Jean moved away from the dining table, joining him in the kitchen. His laughter was sweet and unhindered by whatever was holding him back moments ago.

“Well now I can't wait til it's finished.”

Jean snorted, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Now you're mocking me.”

Marco's eyes locked onto Jean's in an instant. “Me? Never.”

Rolling his eyes, Jean huffed but smiled, glad that his friend was joking instead of clamming up. He hated when they couldn't talk to one another; when something unseen stood between them that neither seemed to know how to make the next move. Like moments ago, they'd move around it, leaving it in the past as they'd continue to stroll through life. These obstacles didn't appear constantly, thankfully absent from their lives.

Marco moved, busying himself with getting a spoon, unscrewing the lid on the sugar jar in a less mechanic fashion. Jean couldn't help but admire the way his sweater fit him, tight across his shoulders, wrinkling slightly closer to his hips where his waist tapered in. He'd pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms to the florescent bulb overhead.

He watched as Marco measured out what must've been a very precise amount of sugar into both mugs. Jean loved the look on Marco's face when he turned his gaze to his friend only to find it already upon him. He could see the delight on his face but was aware of the flicker of some emotion he couldn't place as he moved away, back into the living space.

Jean followed him, trying his hardest to keep his gaze anywhere but below his friend's belt. He chastised himself, mentally shaking a finger in his own face at the thoughts he shoved to the back of his mind, into a room where he turned a key in the lock.

Bringing himself back to the present, Jean watched as Marco sat cross legged on the floor in front of the tiny case that overflowed with movies.

“Alright, so I don't have a grand selection but I'm sure we can find something.” Jean sat beside him, not minding when their knees pressed together. He browsed the shelves, two high, packed tightly together; titles separated by genre. As his eyes wandered over the titles, a finger on the spines keeping his place, he noticed just how many he'd seen back in college when he and Hitch had first started dating.

“Dude, you've got a lot of chick flicks.”

Marco made a noise of disbelief, drawing Jean's mischievous gaze to his face.

“Excuse you. I prefer the term Romantic dramas and or comedies. I lump things like Mean Girls, 10 Things I Hate About You and 27 Dresses in with the term chick flicks. Australia, Serendipity and Titanic are lumped in between romantic comedies and dramas.”

Jean rolled his eyes, finger roving back over the colorful cases as he muttered “Whatever.”

Laughter burst out of his chest as Marco shoved him, ripping him away from his place and onto his side. Rolling over, he put his hands up in defense as he continued to laugh.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry I made fun of your movies. But Titanic is definitely a chick flick.”

The look of outrage on Marco's face made him laugh even harder.

“Get your ass on that couch. I'm forcing you to watch this just like Rose is being forced to marry Cal.”

“Well shit.”

Marco looked over at Jean, a sly smile on his face.

The coffee had long since been consumed, pizza devoured; popcorn having been popped by the time Rose and Jack met, half of it ending up in the floor from being thrown at the screen every time Cal or Rose's mother appeared on screen.

“So?”

Jean looked away from the credits and back to his friend. “That's seriously fucked up. She had plenty of room on that headboard!”

It was Marco's turn to explode into laughter, eyes closed with the intensity of it.

“That's seriously all you took away from that?”

“Well no. I mean, yeah I get that love conquers all and she's probably never gotten a decent night of sleep since then but seriously woman, neither one of you is bigger than a stick pin, that shit would've held you.”

Marco continued to chuckle as he got up to reheat the coffee. Jean strayed into the kitchen behind him, their discussion continuing until Jean's phone interrupted their topic of the amazing Molly Brown.

Jean heard the pulsing music before Hitch began to speak.

“Hey babe!”

Two words in and Jean could tell she'd had more than a couple of drinks.

“Hey, what's up?” Jean turned his back on Marco, unable to bear looking at him while talking to Hitch.

“I was just calling to let you know that I might be out a little later than planned. We met some girls at a Bachelorette party and asslimilate....assim...we joined their party!” She was shouting over the music, laughter and alcohol making her words nearly indistinguishable from the bass in the background.

“Cool, I'm glad you're having fun.”

“What?”

Jean rolled his eyes, wondering how both conversations he'd had in the last two minutes could happen in the same span of time. “I said I'm glad you're having fun. Be careful.” He'd raised his voice, pulling the phone away from his ear and closer to his mouth as he did so.

“I might be home a little late. These girls are wild! I want a party just like this one!”

“Alright, well be safe. I'll see you when you get back.”

Jean could hear her shouting to someone in the background, the line going dead after a quick goodbye on her end. Jean sighed, with relief or exasperation, he wasn't sure, and turned back to Marco who looked from the counter directly into his eyes.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just Hitch. She's out with the girls tonight.”

“You must be pretty secure in your relationship.”

Jean's brow wrinkled in confusion. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Marco shrugged, sipping from his renewed mug before answering. “Nothing negative. It's good really. Just that you trust her to be out at a bar without you. It's a good quality to have in a relationship.”

Jean watched him, letting the words sink in before he replied. “I don't....think I'm that secure.” He watched Marco's emotions slide over his face. “I just....I don't really care?”

Marco's face instantly became disbelieving in it's appearance. “You don't care about your fiance?”

Running a shaking hand through his hair, Jean huffed out a strangled breath. “It's not that I don't, I do I just....” Jean sighed. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

Marco's face softened. “Jean, you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know. I just don't want to right now. Can we just....can we watch another movie?”

Sighing, Marco nodded.

They made their way back into the living room, where they had a brief discussion as to why Marco had the entire, up-to-date Resident Evil set but not Die Hard, (“In my defense, it was a gift from my oldest friend who thought I needed more action in my gallery.”) settling on Resident Evil: Retribution on the account that Jean had yet to see it.

“I can see what your friend meant, you do have a loooot of chick flicks.” Jean teased, motioning to Marco's movie collection.

The brunette rolled his eyes but his smile grew. “They're not all chick flicks, damn it, romantic movies. I don't own chick flicks. We've been over this.”

It was Jean's turn to roll his eyes. “Uh-huh. Right. That why you seem to have every Leo Dicaprio movie ever made?”

Marco chuckled, raising his hand in front of him. “Alright, in my defense, he plays in a lot of really good movies. Like I seriously don't understand why he doesn't have an Oscar yet.”

“Sure. Right. It's not the blond hair and blue eyes? That weird....squinty thing he's got goin' for him?”

Marco scoffed. “No way. Hitler's perfect human just doesn't do it for me.”

Jean's curiosity peaked at that. “Yeah? What does?”

He was watching Marco, could see his face darken as he blushed. He was no longer looking toward Jean, his attention on the movies as he straightened the cases on the tiny shelf. “Well...I don't know but it's not that. I like...more of a natural look, y'know? Less of a catalog model, more...human I suppose.” He shook his head and finally brought his attention to his friend. “But I tend not to take stock in looks. You know that Gabriel was the most beautiful angel and look at him now. I tend to like people based on their personalities.”

Jean nodded, understanding. He could take so much from the conversation happening right now. He could ask so much but with the way his thoughts spun around like a cyclone, he was sure he'd say the wrong thing and mess up everything.

“I still can't believe you own all of these.” Jean steered the conversation away from what he really wanted to pursue, thinking there was no use with the things were going in both their lives. He stood, taking his seat back on the couch. “You know there's a reason I'm not caught up, right?” He watched as Marco prepared the movie, following him to the couch quickly.

There was a new glimmer in Marco's eye as he looked at his friend sideways. “Oh?”

“Extinction was the last good one. After Afterlife, well it was dumb.”

Marco clucked his tongue.

“You insinuating that anything after that is worth my time?”

“No. But I would hope that I am and if you have nothing better to do than you might as well, yeah?”

Jean huffed and grumbled, scooting into the center of the couch instead of his previous spot at the end. The truth was that after Afterlife, Jean didn't want to see them because the graphics had gotten better and he could no longer keep the images out of his brain as he went to sleep. He'd watched horror movies before but had always hated them; trying to stay away whenever possible.

Thinking about his friend sitting next to him however, about what he said, he couldn't think of any time with him as being wasted. Even if it included movies he wasn't too keen on watching.

About halfway through the movie, Jean jumped, his hand seeking out Marco's instinctively. Jean could feel his cheeks color but didn't pull his hand away immediately. After a few seconds, he felt Marco's hand release his, briefly, before tangling their fingers together more comfortably. From the corner of his eye, Jean could see Marco's lips twitch in a smug smirk, the sounds from the movie drowning the soft sigh that escaped him.

Despite the carnage onscreen, Jean found himself nodding off, blinking his eyes awake to catch glimpses of the movie as the war still raged between humans and the undead. Thus far nothing had really stayed in his brain until he saw a victim getting dragged underwater. He remembered having fallen sideways, his skewed vision further messing with the images that were now being ingrained in his dreams.

It started out innocently enough; he and Marco on a ship, enjoying the sunset on the ocean and the salty breeze. Seagulls flew overhead, their shrill calls turning from normal bird noises to those of screaming patrons. Jean couldn't see what was happening at first, could only hear people screaming, but couldn't see anyone.

That's when the ship hit the iceberg, a giant mass in the darkening twilight, glinting what would've been serenely in the rising moonlight. The force knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the deck.

“Marco?” Jean looked up, frantic in his inability to locate his friend. He looked up to see the seagulls, dead things held aloft in the air seemingly by magic; their decaying skin rotting from their wings, no physical ability to keep them flying.

A pain pierced his heart and he stood, all but leaping to the railing to gaze down into the icy waters below. There he saw the source of the mangled screams. Scores of people, alive, dead and everything in between churned the waters into pink froth with flailing arms. Amid the chaos, Jean was able to lock onto Marco's gaze.

Marco, who seemed to be relatively calm in the midst of the tumultuous waters.

“Jean!”

Turning, Jean saw his fiance, dressed in what would've been an impressive gown had it not been torn to shreds, showing her half decaying body through the slivers of fabric.

His feet rooted to the deck, Jean stared in horror as Hitch advanced upon him, steps uneven with one heel missing. She opened her mouth to speak again, her jaw hinging open unnaturally wide until her face split four ways.

Jean's throat was a desert as he looked upon the gruesome sight.

“Jean!” Another shout from below broke his paralysis; had him swinging his head until he was staring down at Marco as he clung to a large piece of wood.

A headboard.

The turmoil in the waters seemed to have dissipated, dead bodies floating in the water; red waves melting into the blackness as night swallowed them up.

Jean was ready to jump, ready to plunge into the icy water to be with Marco, ready to make the leap. Slinging one leg over the railing, Jean hoisted himself up, eyes locked onto Marco's in the dying lights from the ship as the power surged on and off.

Just as he was about to swing the other leg over, Jean felt death's grip on his shoulders. Turning as he fell, Jean could see Hitch's dead gaze as they plunged into the surging current below.

When Jean came to, he was adrift on the headboard, his face tilted towards the sky. His legs were numb, a quick inspection making him pull them from the water. Looking around, he was alone. Or almost. There was a spluttering that brought his attention to the head of the makeshift raft.

There was Marco, clinging onto the board with frostbitten fingers.

“Marco.” Jean's voice had been reduced to almost nothing in the freezing temperature.

“Jean.”

Jean leaned over, plunging his arms once again into the water, wincing as the sensation of knives up his arms stabbed him over and over. He tried to drag Marco onto the board, shrieking in terror when he tried to grab Marco's belt to heave him up, his hand groping Marco's insides instead as they spilled out into the inky blackness.

Warmth came to Jean then, in the form of tears rushing down his face. He tried in vain to hoist Marco onto the board, the constant mantra of we can both fit, I know it the only other sound he could hear.

“Shhh.” Jean quit his ministrations as he heard Marco speak, pulling back to look him in the eye. Despite the bone chilling cold and the fact that he was missing half his body, a light still glowed in his umber eyes; black in the night but no less beautiful. “Jean. Listen. I want you to fight. To survive and live life to the fullest. But you have to let me go now, so that you can do all that. Promise me you'll do that. Promise.”

Jean couldn't speak for the tears that choked him, he couldn't even nod, his muscles frozen stiff.

“Promise him Jean. Promise and let go!” He could hear Hitch's dead voice before he saw her, before she emerged out of the water, her split face gripping with needle sharp teeth onto Marco's neck and dragging him down into the water.”

“Marco!” He could feel the water biting into him, causing irreversible damage as he clawed through the water; an unnatural light source giving him an excellent view of Hitch and Marco sinking down, down, down-

“Marco!” Jean jolted awake, his shout lingering on his lips. He couldn't feel his arms, pins and needles making his arms tingle as he wrestled himself from where he lay halfway atop of another form.

“Jean? Jean!” Marco was awakened by the frightened man that lay on him, his arms winding around him, fingers swirling soothing circles into Jean's back as he whispered reassurances until his friend calmed down.

“It's okay. You're safe.”

“You're alright. You're fine, Marco. Oh God.” Jean was on the verge of tears as he looked around them, down at Marco's hips and legs, choosing to press his face to Marco's neck in lieu of staring into those concerned eyes; instead of letting him see the tears he was trying to blink away.

“Of course I am.” Marco's voice was not condescending, not rude in his tired state. It was as it always was: calm, soothing, steadfast in his need to make sure Jean was alright.

They continued to lie there, one soothing while the other recovered, until Jean fell back to sleep, dreaming of nothing more than a strong presence around him as he walked through a field of wheat, the sky the color of lilacs.

Jean woke a second time to the sound of his phone ringing. At first he ignored it; his comfort and the warmth that surrounded him more important than anything anyone outside this moment had to offer him. He couldn't remember where he was at first, the fright of his nightmare having faded into the recesses of his memory, replaced with the feeling of peace he'd had while sleeping through the early morning.

A second round of ringing, incessant in its persistence was what found Jean stirring. Much like the last time he had found himself asleep in Marco's embrace, Jean did not want to leave. He could feel the other stir beneath him and sighed,extricating himself carefully, making as little contact with him as possible.

His phone had gone silent for a moment, only to start back up again in the five seconds it took Jean to stretch, back arched, legs and arms tingling with disuse. Picking the phone up, Jean huffed as he checked the screen, padding quietly into the hallway before answering with a soft greeting.

He could hear Hitch's dramatics on the other end as she began to explain how worried she'd been.

“I got home and when you weren't here I figured you'd be by the time I woke up. When you still weren't I got really worried.” That explained the five missed calls, two prior to his waking knowledge.

Jean rubbed his face, desperately wishing he'd been able to sleep longer. “Sorry. I fell asleep while we were watching a movie and crashed on Marco's couch.” He leaned against the wall, his hand stilling on his face. He heard Marco in the kitchen, focusing more on him than the title holder on the other line.

“That's okay, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” Her words were left open ended and he knew immediately that he should get home.

Jean nodded, ending the call shortly after with a few quick words. Quietly he made his way to the bathroom, returning to find Marco looking down at his phone as he waited for the coffee pot to finish it's job behind him.

“Hey, uhm...thanks for last night. I had fun at the poetry reading. I didn't mean to fall asleep. But thank you for...well...”

When Jean's gaze locked onto Marco's he noted that his friend looked like a dog, doe eyes big, patiently waiting to see what good he could do to ease any pain the other might have.

“Not a problem. I'm just glad I was there. Are you alright though? You've been having a lot of nightmares. Has this always been a problem?”

Jean stood there, racking his brain with the appropriate answer. To say no would start an inquisition as to why they'd started up recently. To say yes would beg the question as to why they've gotten out of his control. He settled on a shrug, hands deep in his pockets.

Marco's lips pressed into a line, not convinced with the answer he'd been given. “Would you like some coffee? Maybe you could tell me about your nightmare and we could figure out what it all means. Our every day lives have a lot of impact on what our brain delivers us in the night.”

Jean gave a wan smile, shaking his head with such little forcefulness he wasn't sure he'd completed the action at all. “I think I'm just gonna go home. That was Hitch on the phone, worried I'd died in a ditch.”

He watched Marco nod, just as he had, his heart fluttering when he aimed a smile at him. “Well I'm glad you enjoyed Titanic. I'll be sure not to hold it over your head for too long that you like a chick flick.”

The mood instantly lifted and Jean chuckled as he moved to grab his coat. “Hopefully I don't do anything bad enough to warrant blackmail.” He could hear Marco humming his agreement as he wound his scarf around his neck, pleased with the warmth that surrounded him, inside and out. He tried his best to hold onto that feeling as he waved goodbye and stepped out into the hallway.

Chapter Text

Jean's hands were warm in his pockets, safe from the continued onslaught of frigid winds as he and Hitch strolled through the city. She clung to him tightly, burrowing into him when the harsher winds stole their frosted breath from the air, making him feel what he'd imagine normal would feel like.

He and Marco hadn't had lunch in the last week, their morning coffee pressed as Marco rushed to shoots that had somehow become crowded together in the last two weeks. They'd talked throughout the days but with a weary tone to Marco's voice that had Jean bidding him good night for the sake of his friend's health.

Mid afternoon was upon the couple when Hitch offered the idea to hit the florist to pick out the floral arrangements and then retire home to start dinner. Fatigued from an early start of wedding ventures, Jean readily agreed, following the tug on his arm as Hitch led them four blocks over to The Flower Crown; a colorful shop boasting 'Arrangements fit for royalty!'. The perfumes of so many flowers hit Jean like a brick wall as soon as they entered, the sales floor looking like a floral paradise as they weaved through buckets and baskets full to the brim with so many different blooms.

“Welcome to The Flower Crown! I'll be happy to help in any way just let me know!” A bubbly young woman crowed from the back as she cut a bunch of stems to the appropriate length; looking small next to the large blade.

“Well actually...”

Hitch unlaced her arm from Jean's, making her way to the counter where she and the florist entered an energetic conversation that had them touring the entire store. Jean looked on with bored eyes, nodding and feigning interest when the instance permitted. It wasn't until they were discussing out of season flowers, a catalog open on the counter before them, that would be perfect for their end of summer wedding that Jean's attention was drawn to the next patron entering the shop.

“Mina, hey I was wondering if you had those flowers I asked for.” Marco came around a rather large display of vine like flowers that had wound up the center column and up into the metal rafters of the shop; Hitch had taken one look at the Wisteria and while she thought they were beautiful, they did not go with her color scheme. Jean himself had loved them simply for the florist mentioning how hard one had to work to keep the plant from killing itself. It was a show of how much one cared for it, a glorious display of affection that Jean couldn't help but smile about.

The group looked to the sound of Marco's voice, one looking on in amusement, one smiling with business related force while the last simply beamed at him.

Jean watched Marco as he was taken aback, startled at finding his best friend and fiance by chance.

“Well if it isn't the man trying to steal my fiance.” Hitch joked as the florist ran off to grab Marco's order, leaving the three of them to chat in the meantime.

Marco chuckled. “Oh yes. I was coming in to place an order for the most beautiful Valentine's bouquet for him as a token of my affections. But alas, you've ruined it.” Marco's hand was over his chest as if he was barely able to hold back his feelings of sorrow.

It made Jean's heart ache with both restrained feelings of affection and guilt to hear his friend and fiance laugh together. Thoughts of how much different this scene could play out if he'd just do what he felt was both wrong and right filled his head. Right with how he felt...wrong with the way he was as a person. He just couldn't do that to Hitch, but then, why he was doing it to Marco was a mystery. If only-

“Jean? Earth to space cadet.” Hitch was waving her hand in front of his face when Jean tuned back into reality.

He shook his head quickly, shaking off intruding feelings before looking back to his company. “Sorry. I was just imaging how magnificent it would be. Pretty lush to impress me right?” He smiled, lips tingling with the lie.

Hitch rolls her eyes and laughs, settling her gaze back on Marco as she winds her arm back through Jean's as she asks, “No but really, what's up?” He can't be sure if he imagines the way Marco's eyes flicker to their touching arms, deciding it's too troublesome to allow himself to daydream at this exact moment.

“Oh, I've got one more shoot this week and I really want to get some shots from it into my gallery.”

Hitch is instantly intrigued, Jean can tell. If there's a reason to dress up, she'll go. If there's potential sponsors, she'll be there.

“That's like one of those events where you have all your work hanging up for people to ogle over right?”

Marco's laugh is the life rope Jean clings to.

“Precisely. I was going to invite you guys earlier but I've been so caught up in my work It'd slipped my mind. Good thing we ran into each other I suppose.” Marco was distracted, glancing at his watch every minute they were talking.

It irritated Jean that Marco was making so much eye contact with Hitch, his heart beating with jealousy over someone he couldn't have talking to the one he couldn't leave. It was silly, ridiculous actually, but that's how jealousy works: non sensibly.

“When is it? I need to make sure I have something ready to wear for it.” Jean rolled his eyes and looked away, not even seeing the way Marco looked at him before he returned his gaze to Hitch.

“Wednesday, the 11^th. 7 'o clock.”

Jean was brought back to the conversation at the sound of Hitch's exaggerated noises of protest. “Damn it, Marco! I'll be out of town that whole week!”

Jean couldn't help but live for the soft look of apology on Marco's face. “I'm sorry. I've got all the originals, I'll give you two a private viewing sometime.”

Hitch bobbed her head in a serpentine pattern, mulling over her thoughts before she spoke. “Alright, that sounds cool. Better than nothing I reckon. Hey, you're pretty cool. No wonder Jeanny wants to hang out with you constantly.” She nudged him on the shoulder, winking. “The woman you marry one day will be one lucky gal, eh?”

Jean was positive he didn't imagine the flickering look his friend aimed at him, or the blush that started to color his cheeks as he chuckled again. “Yeah, I guess so.” As if on cue, another familiar face walked in through the door. Sasha walked up to the group, cheeks red with cold, shivering in her designer coat.

“Sorry I'm late Marco, I couldn't get out of my meet- hey!” She interrupted herself as soon as she saw the couple talking to Marco, smile bright as she took them in. “Holy wow, I didn't know you two would be here.”

“Neither did I. They're picking out flowers for their wedding.” Jean didn't miss the strain in his voice as he turned his face fully to Sasha. Her eyes went wide as she turned her attention back to the couple.

“Oh! Right, that's right! I forgot you two were getting married this year.” Her smile was pleasant but held none of the fervor it had moments ago. They stood there together for a few awkward moments, not at all minding when the florist reappeared carrying a large bundle of yellow-orange blossoms.

Marco quickly paid for them, ignoring the couple for a moment as he spoke to the florist. He turned back to them to bid them farewell, blaming his crazy schedule. “Good luck choosing your flora. I recommend the Wisteria myself. Gorgeous on a trellis. I'm sure whatever you choose will be amazing.” He graced them with a forced grin before ducking out, Sasha on his heels, waving awkwardly as she carried one of the bundles out. Jean and Hitch's own words of farewell and thanks were lost to the chiming of the bell.

“Do you really need all of these dresses?” Jean stood holding at least 12 dresses between both hands as Hitch slipped dress protectors around each individual dress. He thought it was asinine to take so many, especially since they weren't even the line her crew was taking.

Hitch rolled her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath as the zipper caught on the hem of dress 10. “For the last time, yes. Blythe asked to see the dress I wore on New Years up close and personal and these are the best ones I own so I'm hoping she'll want to inspect all of them and we'll hopefully get the deal with her instead of just flying out to some getaway she's having.” Her words had become more venomous the longer she spoke as she struggled with the zipper. “And while we're there we might be able to appeal to some other designers as they lounge around drinking champagne that costs more than- WHY WON'T THIS ZIPPER ZIP!?”

Jean was momentarily shaken by her outburst, having been drowning out most of her speech after the word 'yes'. He pulled the dress from her grasp, earning a glare in return. “Just fuckin- here.” With as much grace as a raccoon threading a needle, Jean finagled the dress out of the zipper, creating a snag in the fabric upon doing so.

“Jean!” Jean was sure someone would call the police by how blood curdling her screech was. He visibly winced, setting the dresses down so that he could inspect the garment closer. He'd just knelt to get a closer look when he was swatted away by his screaming fiance. “Don't touch it again! Leave it be- oh look what you've- this is what I was trying to avoid!” Sentences stopped and started with no real coherent end as she fussed over the snag he'd created in the lace.

“Hitch, it's a dark fabric, you'll never be able to tell. You don't even wear it!”

If she hadn't been leaving that day, Jean knew he'd be sleeping in the guest room that night with the piercing look she gave him. “That's not the point! The point-” Her phone started ringing, interrupting her with a call. Furious, Hitch ripped the phone from where it sat charging on her nightstand, startling the caller with a high pitched “What!?”

Jean watched for a moment before going back to his attempt to fix the snag. Gently this time, he managed to remove the zipper tooth from the black lace before the sound of his name came roaring from the other side of the room.

Giving up, Jean stood, throwing his hands in the air before exiting the room; retreating to his office until she calmed down. He could hear her talking on the phone, loudly proclaiming his idiocy, as she finished her packing.

“Yeah, I'll be down in a minute. Can you just come up here and help me with my bags?”

Jean looked towards the open door as she passed, noting the way she blatantly ignored him as she did so. Rolling his eyes and feeling like a child, Jean got up and closed the door, not even looking out to watch her leave.

With Hitch gone, neither of them in the mood to talk to one another, and Marco busy with setting up for his gallery, (and spending time with Sasha it seemed) Jean fell back on Reiner and Norma Jean as his main source of company. Throughout his work day, Jean would hold long conversations about menial subjects with Reiner. Reiner who was brash and loud and made Jean laugh, even with his feelings of abandonment. Jean knew he shouldn't feel such negative thoughts, especially given the circumstances with Hitch, but emotions were fickle things that didn't care how one should feel.

Norma Jean was his blanket, the person he could cry on, though he never legitimately did; the one he could tell his woes to without fear of judgment. They talked about real things; how the world was working, philosophized on the differences between right and wrong. Yet, even with Norma Jean whom knew both him and Marco, and was very adamant about doing the right thing, he could only tell her so much.

Of course he couldn't tell her the jealousy he felt after seeing Sasha and Marco together, knowing that he'd been giving time to her the past few weeks instead of him. Not only would she get the wrong idea, or really the right idea, it wasn't fair. He'd struggled with his inner feelings regarding the two of them on New Year's Eve, knowing he shouldn't feel jealous when he himself was more or less flaunting his relationship with Hitch in his face.

It was tiresome hiding ones' emotions all the time. He'd talked to Marco about the episode with Hitch but their conversation had been short lived and over the phone, definitely not doing as much to lighten his spirits as a personal conversation. Sasha hadn't even come up, which was probably a good thing, seeing how Jean wasn't even sure of his own ability to keep his emotions in check anymore.

Wednesday morning finally dawned, bringing with it an electricity Jean hadn't felt in a few weeks. The bed was cold but the sun shining through the window was warm as he stretched and prepared himself for another day of monotony that would end in a blaze of color and energy.

It was thoughts of getting to finally spend more time with Marco, once the whole gallery madness was over, that had Jean smiling, even though a text from Marco made his morning coffee a solo one. He couldn't even be upset over the thought that maybe it was an auburn beauty that was sipping coffee with him, knowing that his time would be more available after today. Ymir definitely noticed his exuberance, rolling her eyes and making some snarky comment that had Krista affectionately smacking her with a spoon. Both had been invited to the gallery and yet neither would be attending; previous engagements holding precedent over the current one.

“I'd say she doesn't really mean what she says but when it comes to annoying you, she means every word.”

“Oh come on Kris, it's cause I'm right! You've got it bad and for the wrong person!” Ymir called out over the heads of other customers as Jean retreated, sticking his tongue out like a child only to have her mimic him. The morning was bright and so was he, despite everything.

Jean was ending the day on a positive note with a quick visit to Norma Jeans', inquiring if she'd be at the gallery, when Marco finally texted him.

Marco 5:37 Be sure to dress up! :)

Jean sighed. Hitch was the one that got excited about dressing up, not him. Now he'd have to go home and fret over what to wear, and with no help from the aforementioned party.

“That must be Marco with the way you're smiling.”

Jean looked up, cheeks instantly ablaze, as he looked to Norma Jean. She was smiling, looking much like the cat who caught the canary.

“Well yeah. I mean, of course it is. I'm just happy that after tonight I'll be able to spend time with my best friend again.” He burrowed his face further into his scarf, trying to hide the smile that he couldn't seem to get rid of.

Norma Jean sipped from her tea. “What about Sasha?”

Jean's brow furrowed at the question, his smile becoming more forced. “What about her?”

“Well I know she's been helping Marco with this gallery for a few weeks now-”

“Weeks?”

Norma Jean looked both surprised that he didn't know this knowledge and amused at his reaction to not knowing.

“She modeled for him and when he needed someone to help she was the first person he called.”

Jean sat back, instantly deflated. She'd been the first one, even though he was sure he was Marco's best friend. Hurt filled his heart now, freezing the warm feeling he'd felt in his chest at the start of the day.

“Are you alright?” Norma Jean inquired gently, hand stilling mid-stroke across Palmer's fur. The cat's eyes opened to slits, glaring at Jean for interrupting his owner's affections.

Jean racked his brains for a quick subject change, not wanting to divulge in this sudden heart crushing revelation. “Yeah, I'm fine.” Realizing he'd never gotten an answer to a previous question, Jean jumped at the chance to steer the conversation back to her. “Hey, you never answered my question. Were you invited to the gallery?”

Norma Jean scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course I was. I was the first to know about it when he got the invitation to set it up. I'd go but these old bones hurt in that wind. Maybe if it was in the summer time. Marco promised he'd take me to his studio and show me all the prints when it gets warmer. Such a thoughtful young man.”

Jean got lost in his own mind, thinking about just how caring Marco was. How could he ever really feel betrayed by such a wonderful person? The answer was that he couldn't. Especially not given the circumstances. Jean steeled himself for the evening ahead, pushing negative thoughts aside, as he agreed with Norma Jean. “Yeah. Yeah he really is.” Jean nodded, lapsing into a shared silence with her, the only sound between them, Palmer's jet engine purr as Norma Jean continued to pet his smokey fur.

Heart struggling between the heaviness with thoughts of Sasha and being light at the chance to see Marco, Jean showed up at the address Marco had texted him earlier. He thought he'd showed up early but was wrong as he stared at the amount of people gathered in the lobby. Wine was being served, held in the hands of men and women he didn't expect to see at a formal event.

The first woman he noticed would be hard to ignore in a crowd, no matter what size. Her white hair was shocking for the youth she held, skin pale and makeup dark. She commanded attention in her electric blue two-piece, midriff exposed to show off a simply beautiful tattoo of a moth nestled below her breasts.

Two girls a few feet away were bubbling over with laughter. One had red hair and lipstick to match, her dress flowing over bountiful curves, stopping just above her knees, showing of freckled legs. The girl she talked to was just as vibrant in a yellow summer dress, bright against her dark skin, layered smartly with a pink pea coat for the weather; a fashion scarf tied expertly around her head.

Looking around the crowd, Jean could spot several other guests that didn't seem the type to be there. A kid in jeans and a suit jacket, sleeves pushed to his elbows and a snapback on, stood to the side, fiddling with a toothpick that jutted from his lips. There was an older woman in a thin looking dress, a shapeless grey cardigan thrown over it; sleeves rolled up to expose knotted fingers.

In his survey of the crowd, Jean spots Sasha, inwardly sighing with a mixture of relief and envy as he made his way to her. Mentally slapping himself, Jean smiled at her once she noticed his approach, her own smile bright as the sun. He couldn't help but notice how lovely she looked in a flowing burgundy dress. She was reminiscent of a fall painting the way the dress fell to the floor like petals, clinging to the sun for as long as possible; hair tousled beautifully, reminding him of the soft fur of a fox.

Jean shook his head, the images lingering in his mind as she began to speak, smile unwavering. “So glad you could make it!” She actually hugged him briefly, surprising both parties as she pulled back laughing. “Where's you fiance?” She looked around eagerly, waiting to greet Hitch.

“She couldn't make it. Business trip. She'll return Friday.” Jean didn't divulge his suspicion that she might only return to pack her bags and leave forever.

Sasha's face didn't flicker with any knowledge that Marco had told her about his situation. “Well it sucks she couldn't be here. But hey, just in time for V-Day right?” She pointed a finger gun at him and winked. He felt warm as laughter sprung forth from him.

“Hey, nice vest.” Sasha poked him in the stomach, causing him to curl up protectively; trying his best to keep the fact that he was severely ticklish to himself. She pulled her hand away to admire the vest, one that she'd only seen once in darker lighting after imbibing throughout the night. Jean himself looked at the vest, silver fabric familiar to his eye, bringing back the memory of the first time he'd ever met Marco.

“Thanks.” He met Sasha's eye, a smile twitching over his lips, unable to help himself as she grinned up at him.

“Y'know, you look a lot better with a smile on your face.”

His lips contorted as his brow wrinkled with confusion at the odd statement. “Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean? I've only seen you twice.”

Sasha shrugged, her smile devilish. He allowed her to change the subject with ease, losing interest in her previous words as they observed the people around them.

It was nice, the time they spent together as they waited for the doors to open. Finally Jean had to voice his thoughts. “I am actually very curious as to who all these people are.” He went on to briefly identify the people who didn't seem to be included in the 'high class' crowd that seemed to gather at events such as these.

Sasha got a sparkle in her eye that had him instantly thinking of Marco again. “Just wait til you get inside. You'll get it.”

Jean squinted at her, one eyebrow raised. “Speaking of inside, is that where Marco's hiding?” Sasha just nodded, hands behind her back and smile on her face like she had a secret. Jean opened his mouth to inquire further when the doors themselves mocked him, opening wide, effectively silencing him. Marco is suddenly there, standing on the steps, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

He looked nervous but nothing could gain Jean's attention now that Marco was in his sights. He fumbled with his hands before opening them wide in invitation as he spoke. “Good evening everybody. I'm overjoyed at seeing so many faces here tonight, excited to share my life with you all. My heart is in every piece, those displayed here for your pleasure as well as the ones that didn't make it. Thank you all so much for everything you've given me. Please enjoy.” He stepped aside, one arm still held out, inviting people to enter.

Jean and Sasha were ushered along by the flow of people, both smiling brightly at Marco as they passed. Jean could see the sweat on Marco's brow, very aware at how shot his nerves must be. Another pang in his heart had him wishing he'd just asked Jean for help. He would've been there at a moments notice.

As they crossed the threshold and took in the room before them, all previous thoughts that had occupied his mind for the last two weeks vanished as he stared in awe. He'd been to galleries before in his youth with his parents, but he had never see one display the art quite like this. Instead of standing walls where the photos were hung, there were fixtures of black pipes that were affixed to wires hanging from the exposed metal rafters. Marco's art hung from these fixtures, naked bulbs shining warm light down on the frames, looking like stars that had strayed from the sky.

At once, Jean could tell there was a theme. Out of all the photos, about half were black and white, another quarter displaying splashes of vibrance while the rest were in full color. There was no obvious pattern of how one was suppose to view the photos themselves but when he saw Marco speaking to people of the out-crowd, noticing how gently he guided them to stand beside certain pieces, he was instantly intrigued.

Not knowing if Sasha had followed him, Jean found the girl with the white hair, staring in awe at the pieces she stood between. One was a closeup shot of her face; she sneered into the lens, black lipstick a smudge as she dragged her middle and ring fingers across her lips. This one was monochrome, making the one next to it stand out. This one was still of her, though no face was shown. One could link the tattoo under her breasts to the one in the photograph. The top of the frame cut her chest in half, the bottom ending several inches down her thighs. Sunset orange petals, from the flowers Marco had picked up mere days ago, were a thick blanket that covered sensual areas that would have otherwise made the photo too outlandish to display in public.

“It's for sale if you really want to be that guy.” The girl in the photos had spoken, her voice breathier than he'd imagined it would be, eyes narrowed in obvious distrust.

Jean conjured up his most apologetic smile. “These are lovely but I assure you my intentions are not...those intentions. I'm a friend of the photographer and was just admiring his work. I was there when he bought those flowers.”

She nodded, looking like a punk girl from a 90's movie he'd once seen. “Alright, alright.” She moved to stand next to Jean, gazing at her own naked body. “He was talking to my tattoo artist when he was doing it, asking him about inspiration, creativity; y'know, artsy stuff. He asked what my ink meant. I told him and that's when he asked if he could shoot me.”

Jean nodded the whole time she spoke, now curious himself as to what it meant. “And the meaning? If I may be so bold.”

She turned to him then, eyes dark like the night, natural accessories to her aesthetic. “Some people hurt others in such a way they need a reminder that they need to look for the light.”

His heart went out for the girl instantly. He didn't know what kind of hurt she meant, he didn't press further, but pain was pain and it was something no one should have to endure from that of another human being.

“Don't moths get hurt when they follow the light? Like that saying 'a moth to a flame'.”

Her lips canted upwards, a coy smile as she narrowed her eyes. “Follow a pure light, like the moon, and you won't be hurt.” Her attention was garnered by some others who vied for a word with her. She turned back for a brief word of farewell. “It was nice talking to you. Remember to follow the pure light.”

Jean opened his mouth to retort but stayed quiet, her focus already gone. Smiling to himself, he turned away to wander through the rest of the displays.

Further along he found the redhead standing with the same girl from before, the duo having been joined by and older African woman with dreads that fell to her waist. All three had smiles that lit up their faces, much like the ones in the photos beside them. The biggest one had them standing together, laughing towards the camera, crowns of white flowers nestled comfortably on their heads. The scarf had been removed from the head of the dark skinned girl, a blanket of fuzz covering her head where in the photo there was no hair. A few more showed the redhead in stages of laughing and crying; held onto by the other two as she wept.

Art was everywhere, whether it was hanging or standing, telling its story in a way a photograph alone could only have you guessing as to the purpose of its composition.

The boy with the snapback grinned nervously beside a trio of him spray painting inspirational messages on public properties; a subway wall, a sidewalk, a billboard.

Don't allow your wounds to turn you into a person you are not -Paulo Coelho

Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them -A.A.Milne

Normality is a paved road; it's comfortable to walk, but no flower s grow -Vincent Van Gogh

A woman in a red dress looks calmer than her printed counterpart; not needing to hold her hair back from blowing in the wind as she watches for a break in traffic.

A handsome couple stares lovingly at one another between questions, not having to act like the bodies in the piece aren't them; entangled together on dark sheets, the red smears and hand prints covering their skin the only color. A protective hand on her slightly swollen belly told the ending to the story presented in print.

And hands. Hands were everywhere. A pair with well worn wrinkles holding a cup of steaming tea. One captured as it swung through the air, mid punch. A few curled in anger, their knuckles white even in shades of shadows. Some softly caressed cheeks, animals; while others held on together or to something valuable, such as a smaller version of itself.

There was no end to the beauty that Marco had captured. Even when one had seen all the photographs here or in his studio, no one could ever see the shots he saw but didn't take. Those moments that are so treasured even he feels wrong if he were to capture such a thing. He'd told Jean once 'some thing are just meant to be, without a beginning or end'.

Jean was still mulling over just how magnificent Marco's talent was when he felt a hand grab his wrist. Turning, he saw Sasha's cheery smile aimed at him. “C'mon! Marco's making his first sale.” He followed, awkwardly, as she pulled him through throngs of people, catching a smile on his way as he heard passing words of praise for his best friend.

They came to a stop in front of the biggest display, at the back of the room that took up the majority of the rear wall. Jean outwardly gawked. There they were: him and Sasha in all manners of living. He took her in first. Photo after photo, one right after the next. There were some of her in what he could tell were the Winter Gardens in varying outfits that ranged from a white sun dress to a thick coat with a fur trim, snow dusting the collar. Others of her sitting in various positions in front of plain backdrops in the studio. His favorite was a close up of her eyes, full color, whiskey in the sunlight, skin crinkling at the edges with the intensity of a smile you could not see.

Finally, he took a look at himself. He couldn't believe it, couldn't even imagine that Marco would ever display him like that. That the brunette thought he was worth a strangers time was lost to him. He could pick out memories that went with the shots. One was of him scowling at the camera, fingers curled next to his face; the time they'd met in Silverfish and Jean had asked bout the camera. A few were from when they'd had the mock photo shoot; one shot Marco had taken whilst he'd stretched, white shirt riding up, showing the skin between his hips. He remembered mocking Marco and his response of his knowledge of when to capture a moment.

Jean's attention is grabbed by that very man who had a smile on his face, waving for them to join him. A man in a wine colored suit placed a small black dot on the bottom right corner of a picture of Jean's eyes, placing an identical one on the one of Sasha's as the two sidled up to Marco.

“Congratulations. First sale of the night and the doors opened 40 minutes ago.” Marco handed both of them a small wad of bills, grinning from ear to ear.

Confused, Jean flicks through the money. “What's this?”

It's Sasha that answers him. “It's the money you just made on the sale.”

Marco chuckled at a still confused Jean, placing a warm hand on his back to steer his gaze to point out the people of the out-crowd. “Everyone who has art of them on display signed a waiver. That waiver, which you also signed on the way home from the valley, gives me the permission to use their art. In the fine print it explains that they will be compensated should their works be purchased.” He points to the woman from the traffic photo. “Take her for example. I took the picture without her knowing. When she crossed the street, I explained my profession and allowed her to take the waiver and to mail it to me, signed, if she wished.” He pointed to the couple in the red paint and the punk girl. “In both of their cases, I saw an opportunity and propositioned them before the shoot, having them sign before the shoot began.”

Jean stood, amazed, unable to fully comprehend Marco's mind.

Suddenly, Jean is pitched forward, Marco dragging him along as he himself is shoved by a newcomer. The two turn to find a shorter man with a severe buzz cut smiling at them.

“Connie!” Marco's outburst startles Jean. “I can't believe you made it!”

Connie shrugs, smile goofy. “I couldn't miss your first monumental gallery. 'Sides, it's been too long. What, six years?”

Jean watched as Marco nodded. “Too long.”

Connie nodded in agreement, gaze taking Jean in from top to bottom. Jean honestly didn't know what to think.

“So who's your boyfriend?”

Jean is reminded of Sasha's presence by her outburst of laughter. Cheeks blazing, Jean's gaze swivels between Connie and Marco, one of which is chuckling whilst the other patiently waits to be informed as to why his question was so funny.

“This is my friend, Jean. He's engaged but she couldn't be here tonight. And this is Sasha, a friend I made on New Year's Eve.”

Jean looks between his friend and Sasha, heart clenching in his chest. “I thought you two were...y'know.” Given the looks they both gave him, Marco and Sasha did not know. Jean fanned his hands between the two of them. “I thought you two were together.”

Connie's voice took on a comical tone as he chuckled. “Unless things have changed since high school, 'ol Bodt here is about as straight as Elton.”

Jean could see the strain on Marco's face as his friend outed him. He hadn't really entertained the thought of Marco being gay, it not really mattering to him in the grand scheme of things. He had never really thought about what that meant for himself, honestly, in his newfound attraction to the brunet.

“You're gay?” By the way Marco's face fell, Jean knew instantly that it was not the right thing to say. He blinked, shook his head. “I mean, you had a date and I found out from Norma Jean that you've been spending loads of time together. I just literally thought you two...” His words lost their momentum, no more emphasis needed to explain what he thought or why.

He couldn't stand the hurt in Marco's eyes as he explained himself. “Well...we went on one date where I explained my sexual preferences. I didn't say anything at the party cause I knew it'd be rude. She was completely fine with it.”

Sasha took the reins, seeing his discomfort. “Yeah, my dad is always setting me up with people and Marco wasn't a creep so I went. Good thing I did!” She hugged him, erasing traces of fear from his eyes, but the majority still remained as they locked onto Jean's.

“I hope this doesn't change our friendship.”

Jean was at a loss for words, so baffled that he actually laughed. “Of course not!” He pulled the brunet into a hug, squeezing him, hoping he'd feel his heart beating, wild with abandon. Jean pulled away, staring at the only person in the room that mattered, mouth open to speak when a woman interrupted their moment.

“Excuse me, Mr. Bodt?” Marco pulled away further, his hand lingering on Jean's shoulder as he listened to the woman addressing him. “I was directed to you, the artist, yes?” Marco nodded, letting his hand slip back behind himself, creating an air of business as the woman continued her inquiry of a specific piece. It was a large canvas, depicting a crowded sidewalk where an old woman sat wrapped in rags, smiling at a soldier who was crouched, handing her a bouquet of colorful flowers.

“Yes, that piece is six hundred, cash. May I inquire about the new home my photograph will decorate?”

“No home will see this. I sponsor a non profit center where those without homes of their own can receive help and guidance to better their lives. I was wishing to display this in the main office, to remind everyone that the homeless are people too and should be treated just as well as anybody.”

Jean looked over to where the old woman in the grey cardigan stood next to an attractive man, long hair pulled back into a neat bun. The two were smiling, talking pleasantly between themselves and the curious viewers.

He looked back to Marco just as he ended his brief words with the attendant in the wine colored suit. He thanked the woman as she paid him, waiting until she walked away and he was sure their interaction was over before he nudged Jean. “Come on.” The group of four waded easily through the crowd, voices low as they excused themselves until they were standing in front of the woman and the soldier.

“Good evening madame, sir. I would like to inform you that your piece was just bought for six hundred dollars. I've come to pay you.”

The man's face was curious, much like Jean's had been earlier, while the woman stared up at Marco in disbelief as he handed her three hundred dollars' worth of bills.

“My gallery tonight is all about the kinds of change we, as humans, experience throughout our lives. I hoped to make a change here tonight, so I decided that with every photograph that sold, the money would go to those who helped make it possible.”

Jean drank every word in, watching Marco so closely he was sure he could see the stars in his eyes. That man held the world in his soul and didn't even know it. He could end worlds just as easy as he could create them.

“Here's the rest. You deserve it more than I.” The soldier's eyes closed as he smiled and handed the rest of the money to the old woman. With her fists clenched around two handfuls of cash, the woman started to tear up and she threw her arms around the necks of Marco and the soldier, pulling them down to her level as she thanked them over and over. Jean watched as the soldier lost his balance, righting himself with a hand to Marco's hip which was drawn away as soon as they were both released.

Jean's heart beat fierce with renewed jealousy as he watched the two grin and blush, apologies flowing quickly between the two before they part, fresh ink on Marco's palm displaying the soldiers' name and number.

“Ooooh, somebody got them digits!” Connie crowed, earning several glares from nearby patrons. The soldier himself also heard from his spot next to the woman and their photograph, blushing brightly as he turned to another curious viewer.

“Hush.” Marco was stern for only a moment before his smile broke his face in two. “He was just wondering if I could do some stuff for his squad.” The foursome wandered off, Marco smiling at those who grabbed his attention, shining brighter than any star.

“Suuuuure.” Sasha and Connie harmonize together, already in sync with doing their best to cause Marco playful discomfort.

Heart in his throat, Jean jumped to Marco's defense. “Hey, hey, hey. Leave the guy alone. This is his night to shine, not burn.”

Marco looked over to his friend, a grateful smile replacing the one the soldier had brought on moments before. He mouths a quick thank you to Jean who pats his shoulder instead of replying. He keeps his remaining thoughts to himself, knowing he couldn't live with himself if he became the flame that burned his friend instead of a guiding light.

The night wore on, driving Sasha and Connie out the door after complaining about empty stomachs. “Now that I've got cash we can go to a buffet and really get our money's worth.” Connie had jumped at the idea, holding the door for her as he waved goodbye to Marco and Jean who rolled their eyes, refraining from laughing outright.

“They're just alike, my God.” Jean chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

“Don't I know it. When we went out to eat she forced us to pay dutch cause she ordered half the menu. We were there for two hours.” The memory made Jean laugh again before his heart squeezed in his chest.

“Hey Marco?”

The crowd had started to dissipate, Marco's bank account full from nature and abstract shots; the purchased pieces dwindling down as people left. It left the two of them in a mostly empty room, so much space between them and the rest of the world it was easy to get lost in the moment together.

Jean's heart wedged itself between his ribs, making it hard to breathe as their eyes met.

“Yes Jean?”

“I....” He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. There were a thousand words he could say, hundred of topics he could jump to, but there was only one thing he truly felt that would sound like a lie if he gave life to the words at this moment.

“You alright?” Marco's brow furrowed with Jean's hesitation, a hand gently cupping his elbow.

Jean laughed, running a nervous hand through his hair again, definitely mussing it up. “Yeah. I just wanted to say...I think you're amazing. Fantastic. Just....what you did here tonight...nothing compares to the kindness you show to everyone.”

He watched as Marco's eyes teared up, eyes following the hand that wiped the tears away before they fell. “Anyone could've done this. I just-”

“But no one did. You did and that's what makes it wonderful.”

Marco drew back the hand on Jean's arm, needing both to run over his face. “Jean, I swear if you don't shut up right now I'm going to punch you.” The comment had both of them laughing.

Jean looked around, the smile on his face and his aching heart making the memory bittersweet.

The only people that remained were the attendants that stayed behind to clean up and make sure Marco's stuff was out by midnight.

“Come on. Let's get the rest of these packed up.”

They had shed their jackets as they worked to take down the remaining pieces, placing them carefully in the protective covers before leaning them next to the door in the back room of the building. Most of the unsold shots were of Jean and Sasha, gathering Jean's curiosity once again.

“Not saying I deserve to be bought, but why were none of these sold? I'm sure Sasha would've made a great poster child for the Winter Gardens.” Jean was holding the picture of himself stretching, staring at himself like anyone would, seeing themselves maybe for the first time in a way they didn't despise.

Jean looked over to Marco where he stood placing one of the photos of Sasha in it's cover. The photographer turned, shrugging when he sees the indicated piece.

“Those weren't for sale.”

“Oh?” Jean turned back to look at the picture.

“Yeah. Some I just didn't feel would sell or were too...personal. Like the one with Meghan was restricted to only her own purchase or that of a family member. Like that one in your hands. It just... it's kind of...provocative...in a way.” Jean watched him shake his head. “I just couldn't stand the thought of someone buying something of mine and misreading the body language of someone I saw in that light.”

Jean raised a brow, making Marco sputter and blush, zipping the cover over the work in his hands a little too forcefully. “Not that I see you in that light , Jean Kirchstein. I didn't want it bought for the wrong reasons.”

Jean's heart had yet to relent in its race against his thoughts. “Mhmmm. I see how it is.” Jean winks at Marco, toying with his own emotions as he did so.

Marco huffs, turning fully away from Jean as he marched to grab another photograph from where it hung. Jean snickered, catching the brief glimpse Marco gave him from where he feigned full concentration at readying the last few artworks.

Jean stayed to make sure Marco's product got into the back of the transport van before Marco turned him and his help away, sending him home before he 'turned into a pumpkin'. Reluctantly Jean left, but not before procuring a cup of coffee for Marco's journey home.

“You're exhausted. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?”

Marco nodded wearily, rubbing at one eye as he watched the driver closing the doors shut. “You've got work in the morning. I'll be fine. Thank you for the coffee.”

Jean waited a few moments, taking in this Marco he'd had yet to see. It was a Marco that was less in control of his emotions, drained to the point he could no longer keep everything in check. This Marco cried over simple words, watched his precious photographs loaded up without fretting over every move. This was a Marco whom Jean was both eager and wary to know. This was a different Marco altogether, no longer his anchor, but someone who needed him just as much as Jean needed Marco.

Those tired eyes looked back to Jean, a sleepy smile crossing his lips. “Go Jean. I'll be fine. Let me know when you get home.” He turned away, dismissing Jean, again, in a way that he had never previously done before.

Jean nodded, making his way quietly through the building to the street where he hailed a cab to take him home to an empty apartment.

Jean 12:21 Alright Cinderella I'm home safe and sound. Let me tell you, it's hard to text with vines for hands.

Marco 12:45 har har

Jean 12:46 Thought you'd like to know for scientific purposes

Marco 12:49 Very helpful I'll be sure to credit you in my sources when I publish a book of my findings

Jean 12:50 :p

Marco 1:18 Jean? Thank you.

Jean 1:23 For?

Marco 1:25 For coming tonight. I couldn't have done it without you

Jean 1:26 No problem. I'll always be here for you

Marco 1:30 Same here :)

Chapter Text

Jean stood in the living room, staring out the window at the amount of snow that had fallen in the last two days. He'd thought the snow that had kept Marco there overnight had been bad, but the temperature had dropped so drastically snow had poured from the sky as if Mother Nature had upended a bucket of fake powdery snow onto a miniature Christmas Village. It had accumulated but, with no real weight to it, had been trampled by the cities' population that had missed too much work to miss much more.

“If you got snow there, multiply it by 5.”

He'd just gotten off the phone with Hitch, the first phone call since she'd left Monday. He hadn't been surprised by the lack of communication; a text informing him that she'd gotten off the plane safely the only words in a week. The call itself startled him a bit due to the radio silence but he'd surprisingly been looking forward to talking to her again. With nothing to take his mind off of recent events, Jean had been consumed with guilt at how he'd treated not only Hitch, but Marco and Sasha as well.

Without her knowing, Sasha had been the brunt of all the jealously he'd been feeling, for no reason. It welled up inside of him now and he knew he needed to fix things with those he cared about before he pushed everyone away and he was left alone.

He'd felt an unexpected sense of positivity when he'd called the day before and basically bid for reservations at Hitch's favorite restaurant on Valentine's day, one they hadn't been to recently, preparing himself for the clubbing he'd planned afterwards. He wasn't a big partier but his fiance was and he knew that forcing himself through social events she enjoyed would help him gain the forgiveness he felt he should pursue.

And now...

Now he had a fiance who wouldn't be home for at least another few days, leaving him alone on Valentine's Day.

Now he stood by the window, letting the cold sink into his bones; allowing himself to become a poorly written cliché as the chill was met with that already hibernating inside of him.

Looking over the way the city glittered under the fresh coats of snow, Jean couldn't help but think of one other who might be interested in spending the evening with him. It warmed him a bit, his soul lifting at the thought of an evening out with one he harbored secret feelings for.

Another cliché, he decided, as he battled with the feelings writhing in his chest as he unlocked his phone, staring at the factory setting background for a minute before placing the call.

Marco picks up on the second ring. “Well this is a nice surprise. Called to admit your undying love for me, Kirschtein?”

Jean chuckles, his cheeks ruddy. “Oh you know it.” He paces in front of the window, suddenly jittery with nerves.

“Everything alright? Sorry I couldn't make it to coffee this morning, the snow really did a number on my building.” Jean pictures the old structure, imagining all the different ways weather could be a problem in a dated building such as it. The windows alone probably caused issues with heating when the temperature dropped as drastically as it had within the last few days.

“No, that's fine. I totally understand. I was just calling to see what you were doing tonight. I have reservations and-”

“What about Hitch?” Marco's voice sounded anxious. He didn't usually interrupt Jean when speaking, which was an oddity in and of itself, but his voice was off as well. Where, seconds before it had been his sweet, buttery tones, now it had an edge to it; as if he were the mother of an ex wondering why you'd broken her daughters' heart.

“I...well...” Jean sighed, turning his gaze back to the wintery scene outside. “Her flight got canceled and...well I was trying to make up for the dress but now that she's not going to be here I figured that maybe you...” He allowed his voice to end without finishing the sentence. Marco knew what he was asking without having to be told.

He could hear the softer notes of Marco's voice coming back across the line. “Oh, Jean. I would love to but...Eld asked me to dinner tonight and I've got to organize this mess on my table before he gets here.” There was an apologetic lilt to his voice, something Jean wasn't used to hearing. He was usually Jean's go-to. The one that never let him down. The stars when the sun was shining. Always there even when he didn't need him.

But of course that was a lie. Jan always needed Marco. A fact he always tried to hide from everyone, including himself.

“Eld?” Jean could see half of his face in a reflection from a shadow on the next building over. The word incredulous came to mind then, the way his face writhed with the ugliness that was jealousy; an emotion he couldn't seem to escape in recent weeks.

He could hear Marco moving on the other end, papers shuffling as he inevitably looked for something in the mess that was the dining table the brunet used for a desk. “Yeah. Eld Gin, the soldier from the gallery?”

Realization dawned on Jean then and he easily pictured the blond stud in a suit and tie picking Marco up with a bouquet of roses extended in one hand. Slapping a hand to his face, Jean tried unsuccessfully to smooth the wrinkles from his skin. “Oh. Him. I thought he just wanted a shot for his battalion.” 'Of buffoons' Jean finished in his head.

He could practically hear the blush on Marco's cheeks as he stuttered, the shuffling in the background halting briefly before picking up in a frantic pace. “Yeah well...well we'll be discussing that tonight, I'm sure. But he asked me on a date last night and with nothing better to do I accepted.”

Nothing better to do.

The words echoed in Jean's mind momentarily before he remembered that Hitch was supposed to be home and that, if he continued to play the loving fiance he was supposed to be, they would have obviously had plans, making Marco appropriately think that he had nothing better to do.

The tone of Marco's words, how rushed they were, how hurt, finally registered. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound-”

“Jealous?” The edge was back, but with how softly he spoke, Jean knew he felt just as bad as he did for being short with his best friend.

Jean's heart hammered in his chest with that one word and for a few moments he was speechless, tongue held in silence at the one thing he didn't want Marco to catch onto.

“I-”

As if reflecting the pounding of his heart, a knock sounded at the door. Feeling like Edgar Allan Poe, Jean's eyes shot to the door and he had a feeling of uneasiness come over him. He didn't need this, not now, not when he had more important things to worry with.

“Marco, hold on. There's someone at the door.”

If he'd been paying attention, he would've heard the soft sigh over the line.

Upon opening the door, he was met with a very similar image to the one involving Marco and Eld he'd just envisioned. A woman stood there, in what was meant to be a cherub outfit with cheap wings strapped to her back but it had lost its intent at her visage of spreading love with her bundled up in winter clothes, looking very unhappy to be delivering a single rose.

Her voice was strained, not even an attempt at a smile showing as she wished him a “Happy Valentine's Day, may it be filled with the love of those around you.”

“Uhhh thanks.”

“Don't forget to tip her.” Marco's voice startled him, he'd forgotten the phone still held to his ear, instantly baffled by the poor woman's arrival.

“Oh wait- miss.” She turned around again, clearly scowling. “I've got more deliveries, if there's a problem-”

“Here.” Jean rooted around the key dish on the entryway table, drawing out a few crumpled ones he hastened to unfurl before handing to her. The look on her face was low key surprised, like she was holding back a greater emotion. “If you like coffee, Rose Cafe is great. Tell them to put it on Sourpusses's tab. I’m sorry you have to work today.” He tried to smile, to not be such an ass. He felt his heart flutter at just being nice, wondering if this was what Marco felt on a daily basis. It was easy to be full of life when your heart beat hard enough for you to remember to live.

The surprise stayed on her face, emphasized by a crooked half smile. “Thanks. Enjoy your day.” As she turned to walk away he could see her shoulders were less hunched.

“That was sweet of you.”

Jean closed his eyes, having forgotten, for a second time, about the man on the other end of the line. Maybe it was the conversation they'd stumbled on that had made him lose his willingness to continue it. Maybe his mind had skipped pages in the proverbial book of his mind, wishing that if he just passed over the painful parts they could get back to how they were day to day.

Not wanting Marco to know any of this, however, Jean let out a breath and headed back into his apartment. “Yeah well...it's disgusting out there and she looks like she hates her job.” Excuses. Always excuses. Even when none were needed.

“Still. Never knew you were such a caring man.” To anyone else it would've seemed a heartless thing to say but Marco knew Jean better than anyone else, knowing full well that he usually kept from such charitable givings.

Jean chuckled, glad to be back to a normal conversation with his friend; relieved that he'd been able to jump ahead in his own narrative. “Well I guess you're rubbing off on me.” As he said it, he looked at the rose in his hand. It was a little wilted from being crushed in his elbow as he'd searched for the tip but otherwise a beautiful scarlet.

“Can't be helped. So is it nice?”

“Well yeah I mean I may have crushed it but- Marco?”

“Hm?” It was quiet on both ends now. No shuffling papers, no pacing footsteps, just their quiet breathing mingling over the line.

“Did you do this?”

“Why would you ask?” Jean could hear the soft smile he knew Marco wore.

Jean let out a huff of amusement. “Dude, you told me to tip the delivery woman without me telling you what the hell was going on.”

“Guess my surprise is ruined. The guys hauling my pictures from the gallery mentioned what a good thing it was I had had it before the snow hit so I looked up the weather and....well I wasn't surprised when you told me Hitch wouldn't be home. I was hopeful but....I just didn't want you to not get something special today.”

Jean's heart was ready to explode with affection for his best friend as he admired the rose. A red ribbon tied in a bow around it held a curled slip of paper.

“Hold up. There's something else here.” Cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, Jean carefully untied the ribbon, unrolling the tiny scroll to read what was inside. Written in loopy cursive, the red ink standing out on the stark white background, was a Hugh Prather quote. He read it aloud, heart a wild staccato in his rib cage.

“Don’t condemn yourself for your feeling. Not even for the condemnatory ones?” The words were a whisper as Jean fought to understand how Marco could know...

“Jean?”

“That's my favorite Hugh Prather quote.” Jean could remember the day he'd read it. He'd just bought the book, after having just discovered Hugh Prather, and had been feeling...empty. He'd just purchased the ring for Hitch the day before after a lengthy conversation with his mother about family. The ring sat in its burgundy box in the desk drawer, unceremoniously tossed in there for safe keeping. The book had held more for him by way of feeling which had led to the void of nothingness he felt at the thought of his future.

The quote had struck him as soon as he'd read it. As if the universe was trying to tell him that it was okay. Jean had searched for a red pen, a fresh one from the pack he kept for home editing, underlining it carefully and committing the page to memory.

“How did you know?” Jean was still standing near he door, his walls breaking as he waited.

He could imagine Marco shrugging as he continued to wade through the sea of papers on his desk. “I was flipping through one of your books one time and saw it underlined.”

“I underline a lot of stuff in my books.” Jean argued gently, still not wanting to believe that he was special enough for someone to go through that kind of trouble for him.

“It was the only one in red. I checked.”

Jean rolled his eyes but his smile wouldn’t leave his face as he moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinet under the sink. He drags out an entirely too large vase, one meant for a bouquet of long dead roses for Hitch on their first anniversary. Placing the rose in it felt silly, all the wasted space that could be filled with more flowers. He liked it, however. The way it felt more intimate; like he could appreciate this one rose’s beauty instead of it being over crowded with competitors.

“What if it was the only pen I had lying around at the time?” Jean couldn't understand his need to disprove this show of affection. Something in the back of his mind would probably always tell him he wasn't meant to be loved, that he wasn't allowed.

Right now that voice was small, so tiny, that it was hard to hear from the drumming of his heart.

The exasperated sigh in his ear makes his chest fill with warmth. “Jean…”

Just hearing his name come from Marco made Jean clutch at the countertop, fingers splaying over the quote. He has to squeeze his eyes shut as he feel the burning behind his eyes. He can feel the whining in his chest and covers his mouth quickly before any sound can escape. He’s quiet for a minute, long enough to make Marco whisper softly again.

“Jean, are you okay?”

Breathing deeply, Jean chokes back a sob. “Yeah…I….yeah. It’s the most…” He has to clear his throat, turning his face from the phone briefly to do so, “It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done…for me.” Wiping the tears that were stubborn enough to find his cheeks, Jean laughs, trying to lighten the mood. “Thank you, Marco. I love it.”

His heart continues it’s thundering in his chest as Marco hums. “I’m glad you do.”

They talked on the phone well into the afternoon. Jean listened with a heavy heart as Marco described Eld; how nice he’d been when he’d signed the waiver, how he’d been an absolute gentleman when asking Marco on a date.

Jean piddled around the apartment, feeling the need to clean as he listened to Marco sort his papers and photos, helping Marco come up with silly names to file certain shoots under.

“Is that the one with Sasha in the Winter Gardens?”

“No. It’s the ones from when we went to the winter gardens.”

“Ah.” Jean said simply, picking at stray string in the couch seem. “Name it Weirdo’s Wander Through a Winter Wonderland.” His smile had yet to diminish as, with every word, he made Marco chuckle on the other line, listening to the pen scratch across the tab on the folder he was labeling.

Marco listened to Jean’s tirade about not understanding what the deal with having new cookware after he and Hitch had been living together for years as he cooked himself a grilled cheese in the oldest pan they owned. The handle wobbled and the lavender bottom was stained with grease that refused to come off no matter what they cleaned it with.

“I mean, it’s a little sad but, I can fix the wobble. Just gotta find the screw driver. Plus! It gives it character! Old Lav here's never burned anything!” He continued to talk as he ate his sandwich, crunching through, what he felt, was perfectly toasted bread.

Jean wanders into his office where he finds Notes to Myself, slipping the piece of parchment between the pages containing the same quote. Seeing his notebook lying there, Jean sits and does something he hasn’t done in a very long time.

The sketches are on lined paper, so he knows they’ll never be something he shows to anyone, especially not the one they’re of. Stars stretch out over a white and blue sky, crosshatched with clouds, sinking lower on the horizon until they’re sitting on the cheeks of a smiling man.

Another, messier, smaller sketch is of nothing but hands. Freckled fingers holding a camera delicately but fiercely.

An ear, graced with Jean’s favorite freckle.

A lone smile and nose, the way he imagines them to look that very instant as Marco is cracking up over the name of a file Jean just told him to write.

“Jean-“

“Just do it.”

“I seriously can’t! What if he sees?”

“So what? You don’t think Prince Charming will find it funny if you write Mr. Steal Yo Girl?”

The resulting cacophony had Jean wishing he could see the look on Marco’s face in person.

“Hey Marco? Why don’t I just come over there? I could actually help instead of hinder.”

“Oh you have been helping.” Jean can hear Marco scrabbling for the phone he’s placed on speaker hours ago. “I don’t see why you couldn’t- damn.”

Jean’s eyebrows rise, his hand motionless as he hears Marco frantically cleaning up what must be the remainders of the stack. He’d taken a break around 2 at Jean’s insistence that he eat something, singing Mr. Brightside off-key until Marco’s microwave beeped in the background. Another hour had been wasted as they’d read poetry back and forth, Jean’s socked feet stepping over the couch cushions as cabin fever set in, made only bearable by Marco’s voice.

“Jean, it’s almost 5!”

Shrugging, Jean’s hand moves again; slower this time, his mind occupied as to why Marco was having a meltdown.

“Eld was picking me up at 5!”

Jean scoffs. “Who goes to dinner at-“

“Dinner isn’t until later but he wanted time to actually talk and- Jean, I’m sorry, I’ve immensely enjoyed talking to you today. I missed it. But I need to get ready for dinner. Happy Valentine’s Day, Jean.”

He’s barely able to stutter out a quick goodbye before the line goes dead and the hours of their record breaking talk flash at him. Finally seeing the screen, Jean sees the poor mobile is on its last leg; a measly 3% keeping the battery alive.

Plugging the device up to charge, Jean wanders around the apartment for a few minutes, trying to find something to occupy his time. He'd been fine once they'd gotten back into their usual groove; but with his mind no longer occupied, he could feel it wander to negative thoughts. He turned to the window where the sky outside was growing dark, onset earlier from the way the snow laden clouds obscured the sun.

A few thoughts passed through his mind then; likening people in his life to everything from the clouds, to the sun, even to the streets below: cold with snow, a mess from all the steps having trampled over it in their haste to get to warmer places.

He watched the world under the darkening sky, how the streets seemed brighter, extra lights hanging from storefronts in garish pink and red, and all at once dimmer. A shadow passed over his heart as he imagined his friend bundled up in his best, walking through those very streets on the arm of some man who probably could get any man or woman he wanted. He could clearly see in his mind’s eye, the way the still falling snow would collect in Marco’s hair, or how those same gaudy lights would look spectacular dancing in the umber of his eyes; stars in the night sky that no one else could see.

Immediately, Jean needed to get his mind out of the real word.

Making his way back into his office, Jean grabbed up one of the books Marco had been buying in Silverfish the first time they’d had a chance to properly meet.

It was paperback, a little worn from use but not falling apart, two pages dogeared. A boys face peered out from the silhouette of a tree, the words A Separate Peace in timely script sat over the image. Marco had relented that it was older, written back in the late 50’s, but that the story and writing itself were worth the age the book held. It was one of his favorites, a time honored piece that he’d read several times but had yet to own it himself until that day.

Jean had already read a few chapters in, his own despair and life bouncing between Marco and Hitch keeping him from continuing further. With nothing to do for several more hours, Jean retreated to the couch, a new cup of coffee accompanying him, and started to read.

There were no clocks, just the one over the stove, in the apartment. Time passed without Jean really noticing. His phone blinked on the table, showing a full charge, but it went unnoticed, much as he was enraptured by the story. Only when he’d let out an astonished breath close to the end, after speeding through the last chapter, did he grab up his phone, ready to call Marco and discuss just how good the book was, did he see the time. He saw that it was closer to 8 now, the light having diminished fully from twilight into night as he’d read.

Marco would have been out with Eld for a few hours now, probably having had coffee and laughed until dinner. That’s probably where they were now, sharing intimate details of their lives over pasta and wine, enjoying their evening out with the other saps of the world.

Jean put his phone down, face flushed from embarrassment at just how jealous he was of Eld. Suddenly, the apartment felt emptier. Silence was all around him, the only light pooling around him from the lamp on the side table. It felt colder without someone around, even if they were just a voice on the phone.

He needed out of the house. Jean stood abruptly, his pace swift as he layered up to go out. Once on the street, Jean didn’t really know where to go. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he’d only consumed coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich all day. He thought of his reservations, how they were for 8:30, perfect timing if he wanted to walk there. He wasn’t dressed for such a fancy place but if he was alone, he was going to drink an entire bottle of wine and look miserable anyway so what did he care?

Jean felt warm under his collar, the handmade scarf feeling as if it was choking him along with the bitter jealousy stuck in his throat. Everywhere he looked, love was literally in the air. Couples holding hands, kissing, the hearts reflecting in their eyes from shop windows- it made his mood even worse.

Jean cut through a side street, isolating himself from the world. He came out on the next street over, beside a movie theatre a block from the restaurant. It was no surprise to see a line outside, or the marquee letters displaying titles like The Notebook and Save the Last Dance. Jean rolled his eyes, intent on making it to the restaurant with time to spare when he heard his name called from behind.

Turning, he saw Connie and Sasha exiting the theatre, an almost empty bag of XXL popcorn in Sasha’s hand. The two of them looked nice, Connie in slacks and Sasha sporting leggings under the long skirt of a dress. Her hair was down, curled into ringlets that bounced with every step; snowflakes were suspended in the auburn strands, adding an extra something to an already wordless beauty.

“Hey guys. What’re you two doing out in this weather?” He really didn't know why he asked, it was obvious. It didn’t take their flustered faces for him to even act like maybe he'd been wrong.

His smile was already fake and plastered on when they muttered that they were on date. “A date? Cool. I hope you’re having fun.” Jean meant it, he really did, but the way he felt at the moment, the news didn’t really warm his heart. It was too cold, too used to disappointment, stuck in its mold of bitterness.

“Yeah, we’ve had fun.” Connie looks away, a smile showing how excited he was. Sasha was quiet for a moment before the silence became awkward and she spoke again. “What about you? Are you meeting Hitch for something?” He saw the way her eyes took in the jeans, his coat hiding his ratty t-shirt from her curious eyes.

Jean sighed, something that was mistaken for sadness, but was really his reluctance to further the conversation, even though he liked them. “No. Unfortunately, her flight got canceled.”

“Oh, Jean! That sucks!” The look on Sasha’s face was endearing, genuine in her shock and hurt for him.

Jean shrugged.

“Seems like everyone but you is actually out tonight,”

Connie’s statement drew a surprised chuckle from Jean, prolonged by the way Sasha hit his arm, her voice reprimanding as she said his name.

Rubbing his arm, Connie looks between the two of them. “What? It’s not like I’m lying. Hell, Marco is even out tonight and he never goes on dates. Not even in school. Guy works too much if ya ask me.” He continued to rub his arm, more to pester Sasha instead of any pain he felt.

Curiosity piqued, Jean shifted his weight, no longer in as big of rush to leave. “Yeah, so...is he like…into this guy?”

Sasha’s attention was instantly drawn back to him, a devilish twinkle in her eye that had nothing to do with the lights around them. “Why do you ask?”

Knowing at once what he’d done, Jean tried his best to feign interest. Shrugging again, he did his best to hide his true feelings. “No reason. Just curious. I know you two are close, thought maybe he’d tell you something he wouldn’t tell me.”

Connie’s eyes lit up and he nudged Sasha with an elbow. “Oooooohohoho. Jean-bo’s got the hots for our freckled saint, Sasha.” He sang the words, getting the attention of a couple who stood in line close to them.

Jean’s cheeks went red and he was actually grateful for the crimson letters shining above them. “No. No. I’m engaged remember? I’m just wondering. He’s my friend, I have a right to know the well being of my friends.”

The two gave him identical looks of skepticism, looking more like they were made for each other with every passing second. Jealousy flared in the pit of his stomach again, but this time it was less bitter and more affectionate.

“Uh-huh.” Connie begins. “Well, if you must know, apparently Eld is super into Marco. He’s like a puppy dog. A steely…aloof puppy dog that only gets excited when Marco is near.”

Sasha jumps in, ready to add weight to the conversation, reminding Jean of just how much time they’d been spending together. “Yeah. He probably thinks Marco is just gonna fall head over heels in love with him and his good looks. I dunno though. Marco isn't the type to fall for looks alone.”

Connie nods his agreement.

Jean’s jaw goes rigid as he grits his teeth, remembering just how good natured Eld seemed at the gallery.

Just like Marco’s recent failure in hiding his emotions, Jean let his slide, catching Sasha’s attention. “You alright, Jean? You look-“

“I’m fine.” His voice was a little strained with her and regretted his tone immediately. It instantly came back down on the drop that was the roller coaster his emotions had decided to become tonight.“Hey, have you two eaten yet?”

Sasha looked at Connie, her eyes questioning silently if he had anything planned.

Connie’s cheeks flushed as he floundered. “I mean, I had better plans but seeing how many people are out, I dunno if- “

Jean held up a hand. “Go to Terra and Mare. There’s a reservation for Kirschtein at 8:30.”

They both looked at him in surprise, Connie opening his mouth to protest.

Jean smiled, naturally this time. “Go. Have a good night. It was nice seeing you two, you look lovely by the way Sasha.”

Feeling lower than ever despite his moment of altruism, Jean turns on his heel, heading in the opposite direction of his original destination. He heads several blocks down, away from the glitz and glam of a happy Valentine’s, following the footsteps of those before him as he heads into the streets full of bars. Some boast the red and pink decorations, full of gaggles of girls and their Galentine’s Day parties, but he heads to a grittier front. One where you could buy an entire pitcher of beer and not get strange looks when drinking it by yourself.

The dive itself is clean; dark woods and low lighting making everything look dingier. Jean hadn’t been there in a while, probably over a year or more, not since Hitch had started dragging him out to clubs where he’d be forced to stand the majority of the night, drinking overpriced drinks out of skinny glasses that held little more than a shots’ worth of alcohol for twice the price.

Here, there were no women, having been driven away by the naturally dank look, to flirt with him or try to take him home. When he walked through the door, he could hear the bass of an old 90’s one hit wonder, the words overshadowed by the conversations of the men that occupied the booths. No one looked up to see who’d just entered, too engrossed in their beer or company. Some sat alone, two on either end of the bar nursing what could’ve been their first or eighth beer, who really knew with the sad looks on their faces.

Jean walked up to the middle of the bar and ordered a single beer, taking it to a an unoccupied table close to the door to sit and watch whatever was being displayed on the TV. He wasn’t sure if it was something the bar had done on purpose, but he sat and watched reruns of Cheers through three beers and two shots before he decided to head out.

Lightheaded with alcohol as he traversed the streets back home, Jean felt marginally better. He felt warmer by the spirits, the lights around him no longer bringing him down. Instead, they buoyed him up, making him laugh at the cheesy decorations, the bubbling sensation in his chest as he looked at a particularly chubby cherub in a window a welcome change from the weight he'd carried before.

While he walked down the still surprisingly crowded streets, Jean decided that there was no reason for this stupid holiday to go to waste. Ducking into the brightly lit pharmacy, Jean bought himself a six pack, a bottle of red wine and browsed what little boxes of chocolates they had left, leaving with the biggest, most expensive one he could find. As he walked back to his apartment, hands cold from carrying the bags, there was an odd bounce in his step.

From the outside looking in, one would think Jean was a happily engaged individual; one who had planned for a night in, heading home to surprise his fiance. To an outsider, the smile on his face held no alcoholic influence, the light in his eyes was mirth, not bitterness.

As soon as Jean walked through the front door, he slung off his coat and shoes, for once not caring where they landed, regardless of what little cleaning he'd attempted earlier in the day. He wastes not time in popping the cork from the wine, chugging deeply from the bottle, pulling away with a scowl and a shiver. Finding a box of slightly outdated popcorn in the cupboard, Jean shrugs and throws a packet into the microwave, taking another long swill from the bottle as he punches the popcorn button.

Feeling particularly self-destructive, Jean turns on the TV and the satellite that's rarely used, browsing the guide until he finds Valentine's Day playing. He's pleased with himself, laughing at the irony, as he gets his popcorn, chocolates, and wine, sitting down to laugh and chug away his feelings of abandonment.

He finishes his movie, the bottle of wine gone, chocolates half devoured, popcorn scattered in front of the TV as he'd thrown it when he'd deemed parts of the movie and its characters stupid.

It's going on 11:00 when he syncs his phone to Hitch's bluetooth, finding the most ridiculous, upbeat love song playlist he could find online. Taking a beer with him into the shower, he sings over the noise of the water, outlandishly and purposefully off key.

He bathes until the water runs cold, tripping out of the tub and laughing at himself as he ties a towel around his waist and dances his way through the apartment. Thoroughly intoxicated and unable to find his shower beer, Jean shrugs and opens another, guzzling it down like the water it tastes like at this point.

Midnight finds him sitting on the back of the couch, yelling at the TV as he watches Stucky backhand Vivian in Pretty Woman. Having nothing else to throw, Jean chucks the empty cardboard heart at the screen, missing completely and losing the box behind the entertainment center.

He's far too gone another hour later after he's broken into the brandy his dad had given him for Christmas, using the remote control as a microphone as he sings to the lamp that he would die for it. In his inebriated state, it takes Jean a confused moment to realize that the high pitched chirruping isn't from the song, but from the phone he'd neglected on the kitchen counter several hours before.

Still swaying to the music, Jean makes his way to his phone, his tired eyes lighting up when he sees that it's Marco calling him. In the time it takes him to turn the music off and unsync the phone, the call has ended and he has to redial his best friend, setting the phone in the crook of his neck as he reties his towel for the fourth time since his shower.

Marco answers on the first ring. “Did I wake you?” Marco's voice is full of concern, quiet like he'd rather not wake his friend further.

Jean smiles, laughing into the phone as he saunters back into the kitchen to pour another two fingers of brandy into his tumbler. “No siree! I'm just a havin' myself a good ole' time.” He giggles drunkenly over the line, the redness in his face having nothing to do with the embarrassment his sober self would've felt in this situation.

It made his heart flutter to hear Marco chuckling on the other end. “Sounds like someone's a little drunk.”

Jean throws the tumbler back, gulping his brandy down like a shot, not at all savoring the drink as it was intended. Whipping his head side to side, he slams the glass down, sucking in air through his teeth as the fire erupts in his stomach. “If that's what it takes to enjoy tonight then so be it!”

The TV still plays in the background, keeping Jean from a silent apartment. Keeping up with the romantic theme of the night, Johnny and Baby dance together to Love is Strange.

Marco chuckles again, reminding Jean of where he's been all evening.

“How'd your date go?” Jean keeps dancing even when Neil interrupts the dancing duo, keeping his momentum as he struggles to retain the high he's on going as long as possible. Yet, being the friend Marco needs, inquiring about the date, is much like Neil interrupting the dancing couple.

Marco sputters on the other end. “I-it went fine, I suppose. He just dropped me off.” Jean can imagine him blushing as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck, slipping his shoes off on the mat by the door. He can also imagine what Marco might have looked like only moments ago sharing what might have been his first kiss with the blond stud.

The bitterness Jean had felt at the start of the evening started to seep back, sliding easily into the spaces between his ribs, choking him. “And you wanted me to be the first to know that you're head over heels in love with some blue eyed blondie so that I can tell you I told you so, yeah?” Jean's insides felt like stone, his voice harsher than he'd intended. They were back to the conversation he thought he'd been able to skip over earlier in the day.

He noticed he'd stopped moving about the room. Shame poured through him, quenching the fire in his stomach, loosening the stones around his heart. His voice was low as he apologized to his friend who hadn't spoken up to defend himself. Almost like he'd known that Jean had only needed a moment to see the error in his drunken ways. “I'm sorry Marco. That...that's not what I meant. I'm glad you had a good time.”

There's a silence between them, only broken on Jean's side by Baby validating Johnny and his ideas.

Finally, Marco replies. “Yeah. It was nice. And Jean?”

Jean perks up a little, a scolded dog lifting his head to a soft word. “Yeah?”

“His eyes are brown.” Marco chuckles and instantly Jean's insides are melting again, the magic his friend holds over him working faster than any liquid courage he could've consumed to get him through a lonely night for lovers. His head spins and he's not entirely certain it's due to the alcohol.

“Psshht. Whatever. He still has Leo syndrome.” From his position in the living room, Jean squints at the clock over the stove. “Hey, wait. It's almost 2, what did you guys do for...hours.” Mathematics were far beyond Jean at this point who was honestly surprised he hadn't broken the lamp he'd been singing to before.

With someone to finally bring him down from the mania he'd been cruising on, Jean could feel just how tired he was. And not altogether physically, but emotionally as well. At the start of the evening, he'd fooled himself into thinking that a night of booze and distractions was all he needed to escape the reality that he may lose his best friend in a way that he hadn't even had him. He hadn't wanted to think of the man that was treating him to a nice dinner, getting to know him as potential lovers do.

So he'd drowned himself.

But now he stood there in the living room, towel sagging again, all the lights from the bathroom to the front room blazing, a headache forming as he spoke in softer tones, listening to the only voice that mattered. He listened as Marco told him about his evening, turning the TV and lights off as he made his way to the bedroom. The towel falls to the floor and Jean climbs into the cold bed, shivering but unwilling to move again to clothe himself.

With no sound on his end and his eyes closed, Jean can hear the sounds of living as Marco moves through his apartment. He can hear him pad through the loft, his bedroom door squeaking as he opens it. The tap turns on and his words are paused as he quickly brushes his teeth. There's soft clicks as lights are turned on and off.

Marco's words halt as he sets the phone down. Ruffling assaults the phone, followed by the sound of a zipper. Jean's eyes open to the wintery darkness as he imagines Marco undressing. Knowing he shouldn't, Jean closes his eyes, shaking his head to clear the images. He lets out a pained sigh as the booze in his blood seems to magnify the thoughts instead of clear them.

“Did you say something?”

He is very aware of the fact of what his friend just heard. Even if he hates the way it makes images cling to his brain, Jean can't help the way the alcohol makes his tongue loose as he chatters away. “What? No? Pshh. You're insane,Bodt. That wasn't the sigh of some drunken sourpuss on the eve of Valentine's killing his kidneys as he talks to his best friend at two in the morning.” He laughs entirely too loud and for too long for it to be played off.

However, Marco laughs. Cause that's what he does.

Jean smiles, unable to help himself. Even after he's barely kept his heart out of his words, the sound of Marco laughing makes him know that the night will end on a good note.

“Thanks.” Jean speaks to the darkness behind his eyelids, sleep not far off but his stubbornness keeps him talking.

“For what?”

Jean wants to say all the words that only this level of inebriation could allow. Pausing, he thinks of what's safe. “For making my day. More than once.” His thoughts turn to the single rose he'd moved to his office to avoid looking at it in his previous state.

“O-oh. No problem.”

Jean smiles, warring with himself over whether or not he should tease his best friend or play it safe a second time. “I can hear you blush over the phone, darling!” Jean's besotted self won out and there he was, smiling the darkness, listening to his best friend defend himself over the line.

There's a rustling and he knows they're sharing the same place now.

“Are you in bed?”

He can hear Marco stifle a yawn, his minds eye imaging him nodding even though Jean can't see him. “Yeah.”

“I can get off if-”

“No, it's fine. I want to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

Silence glides in then. Not uncomfortably. It's their silence, a warm one that's so serene Jean briefly wishes he could bottle it up for emergencies; like tonight.

“You in bed too?” Marco's words are nighttime quiet.

“Yeah. In the nuuuude.” Jean singsongs, his voice a little louder than Marco's, the spirits still doing their best to work every ounce of his raucous self out of him before sleep takes him.

“Jean!”

“What? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No, that's just not what I expected to hear.” His quiet chuckle makes Jean hum.

“Besides Bodt, I'm home alone. Relieved of every responsibility.”

They talk for another hour, where Jean tells Marco about seeing Connie and Sasha and Marco tells Jean that the coffee shop Eld took him to was nice, “But it was no Rose Cafe.”

When Jean can no longer act like he can't hear Marco's muted yawns, he prepares them both for a goodbye. “Hey, look...it's,” pulling his phone from his ear, Jean notes the time with a snort, “It's almost four. I always seem to lose track of time when it comes to you.”

Marco hums through a yawn. “Me too.”

Jean smiles sweetly. “I'm gonna let you go, Sleeping Beauty. Get some rest.”

A vivid image of a sleepy Marco pops into his mind as he hums again. “Okay.”

“Have sweet dreams of me.” Jean's words are so soft he's barely aware if he actually said anything.

He hears a faint 'always' from the other line before he's smiling and slipping silently into slumber. No nightmares haunt him tonight as the sounds of Marco's breathing on the other end keeps the demons at bay until Jean's phone dies from being left on call throughout the night.

Chapter Text

            Sunday passes much like Saturday, the only real difference being Jean channel surfing instead of talking to Marco. He finishes the remaining alcohol in the apartment, allowing the filth of the previous night to continue to build without care.

            He and Marco talk again that night, about nothing of real importance; mostly Marco's worried voice at the amount of spirits Jean had managed to consume within the last 48 hours. With still no Hitch to be heard from or seen, Jean continues his nude sleeping, walking around in little-to-nothing as he talks to Marco before bed. There may be no warm body in his bed that night, but that hardly matters to either man as they settle down for the night, their phones lying beside them as they slip into contented slumber.

            “Jean...”

            He was having a dream. An actual dream for once instead of the nightmares that had plagued him for the last few months.

            There was a chill wind blowing through the snowy streets as he walked through the city. No coat adorned his back but his shoulders were relaxed, not drawn up in tension the way one without a jacket at the end of winter should be. He could hear his name being said somewhere in the crowd that filled the sidewalk, not shouted like it would be in truth; but softly, like that of a lover rolling over in bed upon waking, greeting the warm body next to them with a smile.

            Jean wakes to pale sunlight streaming in through the white curtains. His phone lay beside his head, slightly obscured by the pillow it'd slipped under in the night. The screen was muted, not black with sleep, the colors dimmed in disuse.

            Yawning, Jean tapped the screen, his phone call from the night before still running.

            “Jean.”

            Blinking between the dregs of the dream and his reality, he realized that it was Marco on the other end, his name whispering across the line. “Marco?” His voice was petal soft, falling from his lips in quiet question like the last flower shedding its petals. When no response came, Jean assumed Marco was still sleeping, his lips turning upwards into a smile as he closed his eyes again at the thought; curling back into himself under the warmth of the covers. He sank so easily into sleep he wondered how he'd ever come to know nights where it had been impossible.

            “Jean?”

            When he wakes again, the light outside is stronger in its conviction to break through the curtains and the phone beside him lies dead. It takes him a moment and the repetition of his name before he realizes there is another body in the room. Rolling onto his back, Jean stares at his fiance standing in the doorway.

            “Sorry if I woke you.” Her voice is subdued, as if there were another sleeping form in the room she was trying not to wake. Through his grogginess, Jean shakes his head, sitting up in bed, the covers pooling around his naked stomach. His head pounds like war drums; an unpleasant staccato that has his heart racing in anticipation of when he'll take the first step onto the battlefield and feel the worries of the day rip through him like arrows; painful to endure with little relief when they're removed.

            Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he can feel her gaze on him. When he blinks the spots from his eyes, he can see the cocktail of emotions on her face as she continues to stand there, watching him. It's quiet in the apartment, the sounds of the city muted as they peck at the glass like a curious bird.

            “I'm going to make us some coffee.” She turns slowly, almost as if she was submerged, taking her leave with the kind of silence people say speaks volumes.

            It was another ten minutes before Jean slumped out of the bed, his skin prickling at the cold in the room as he made his way to the bathroom. There, he stood in the spray longer than usual, the sound of the water assaulting his senses but the heat a welcome weight as it washed the burdens of the night before away. When the water starts its descent from equator to the poles, he turns the tap off and towels himself dry before trudging back into the bedroom to clothe himself before joining Hitch in the kitchen.

            He wasn't at all pleased to see the mess he'd made from the past two days tidied up; embarrassment at how he'd left the space seeping into his bones, leaving his skin hotter than it had been in the shower.

            Hitch stood in the kitchen, stirring creamer into her mug, head down. Her hair wasn't the pristine crown she usually wore; frizzing in the dry air of the dying winter. When she looked up at him her makeup was a day old, eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes while faded lipstick did its best to cling to the corners of her mouth.

            “Good morning.” Jean's voice was somber, keeping up with the mood of the room.

            “Morning.” Hitch's tone was just as dull, accentuated by the yawn she tried to cover with the lip of her mug.

            “Tired?” Idle conversation wasn't something one should have to have with their significant other and Jean could feel his skin tingling in anticipation of...something. It was like static electricity, he couldn't see it but he could feel it there. A charge to the air; whether it was positive or negative he wasn't quite sure.

            Hitch nodded her head, settling her hip against the counter beside the coffee pot. “They were still trying to fix the flight schedule. We tried taking turns sleeping at the airport but there were too many people. Too loud.” She chuckled, her voice strained. “Believe it or not, I got home a lot sooner than I expected.”

            It was Jean's turn to nod as he stirred a spoonful of sugar into his caffeine. When he sipped at it, it wasn't like Marco made. Thinking of his friend in his current situation for once made him feel worse, not better. Marco was usually his light, the thing that lifted him up when he was down. Not this morning.

            The couple was quiet for a minute, the silence broken only by the sounds of the city outside the window.

            All at once, words seemed to fill Jean's chest and he opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to tell Hitch just how...how everything...

            It was like a car crash, words from both parties twisting together like ruptured steel, deafening in its abrupt collision. They fell silent again, tight lipped and unsure.

            “Go ahead, Jean.”

            Jean shook his head. “No, no. You go on. I haven't been listening to you...”

            Hitch nodded once, steadying herself, it seemed, before speaking again.

            She placed her mug down, her hands coming together in front of her, curling together, reminding Jean of the Wisteria in the flower shop they'd seen only weeks ago. In the morning light it seemed like a lifetime ago.

            “Jean. I..I wanted to apologize. For this past week.” The surprise on Jean's face might have concerned Hitch had she been looking at him. It was odd, watching this confident woman not only apologize, but not be able to look Jean in the eye. She had always been the one anyone could look up to; a role model a child could write a paper about and receive an A.

            “It was wrong of me to get so upset over the dress. You were only trying to help and I just got carried away and-” her mouth hung open, hands halting on either side of her body, fingers splayed in the air as she mimed indecision. She finally looked to Jean, eyes misty. “I was just so overwhelmed with everything, the wedding planning, how much I've been doing with work and I know you've been lonely, having to seek out the company of others because I haven't been there. I'm just...I'm sorry.” Her eyes fall back to the ground and Jean's heart broke as he watched the light catch in her tears as they fell, glittering, to the floor.

            Jean sighed, pulling her into a hug against his bare chest. He could feel the tears sliding over his skin and he wondered briefly how he'd gotten here. How he'd become the shoulder to the woman he'd not only fallen out of love with, but was too stubborn to leave.

            Anything he'd been about to say dried up like morning dew in the desert.

            They stood like that until Jean's coffee grew cold and the salt was dry on his skin.

            Jean makes breakfast while Hitch showers. His head pounds, full with his hangover and thoughts of just how tangled his life has become. He couldn't even make sense of what had just happened; lost in a churning sea of emotions that wouldn't allow him even one breath.

            When Hitch walked back into the kitchen, two plates sat ready on the counter, eggs steaming, bacon on the crispier side of done.

            “This looks great. Thank you.” Hitch touched his arm, her smile bashful as she sat down to eat. They were quiet for a few minutes before Hitch breaks the silence again with a question of how the gallery had gone.

            Just thinking of that night brought memories to the forefront of Jean's mind that made his heart fall into time with the pounding of his head.

            “It went really well.” Jean goes into a short explanation of how Marco conducts his business with the public. “And I got to meet one of his childhood friends. I actually ran into him and Sasha the other night on a date.”

            “Her and Marco?”

            “No, Connie. It's insane just how alike they are.”

            Hitch looks up from her plate, a look of confusion passing over her face. “I thought her and Marco were dating.”

            Jean smiles a little, amused, as he shrugs. “I did too.”

            Jean leaves Hitch at the apartment, to rest as he heads off to work. Phone dead in his pocket, he's forced to wait until he's sitting at his desk at work to use the landline to call his friend.

            “Hello?” Marco's voice is confused.

            “Hey, Marco. It's Jean.”

            “Oh hey! What's wrong? I tried texting you this morning about coffee.”

            “Sorry about that. My phone died and is still dead. Hence the unknown number.”

            He can hear the noise of understanding cross the line, his heart welling up with emotions that didn't mix.

            They talked for a few minutes, their conversation cut short when Levi walks in, eyeing Jean suspiciously. “Lunch?”  

            Marco agrees and the two say their goodbyes. The rest of the morning is spent anxiously watching the clock until Jean can grab up his coat and bolt out the door, everything else, even his charging phone, left behind as he punches the elevator button in excitement.

            “She apologized?”

            Jean nods his head, swallowing his food down before he speaks. “Yeah. Which is weird, definitely not like her. At all.”

            He'd told Marco everything that had transpired that morning; the car crash moment, the apology, the tears, breakfast.

            “So what were you going to say to her?”

            “What?” Jean feigned stupidity even as his heart beat faster.

            “You said you were both saying something, the 'car crash moment' you called it.” Marco was watching him expectantly, almost as if he was watching for a specific reaction.

            Jean wanted to shrug it off, to say he couldn't remember, but Marco knew better than that. He knew him better than he knew himself.

            He did shrug, nonchalantly, before sipping at the water he'd ordered, giving himself time to think of a good excuse. With deliberate slowness, Jean sat his glass down, swallowing thickly before looking back to Marco who sat, waiting patiently.

            “I was just trying to explain to her how much I'd worried about her and that I was glad she'd arrived home safely.” The smile he wore was fake and they both knew it. Marco nodded, a flash of emotion glinting behind his eyes before he looked away.

            Jean cleared his throat. “So what about you and Eld?” He felt like a coward with the way he changed the subject, focusing the spot light on his friend but he couldn't stand the look of disappointment he'd seen on Marco's face. He wanted his friend to be happy, to think of someone that made him smile.

            Thoughts of Eld did make him smile, but it was the kind of smile you give someone when you say “I'm fine” and want them to drop the subject. “We're good. Last night was nice.”

            Jean nodded; he seemed to be doing a lot of nonverbal communication. “Good. Well I'm glad you're happy.”

            Marco huffed before he chuckled.

            This intrigued Jean who rose an eyebrow. “Mr. Perfect not so perfect?”

            Marco rolled his eyes, his smile a little less stiff, a little more...sad.

            “No. He's great. I just...”

            “Tired of him already? Good looking guy like him, seems polite. The guy buys flowers for little homeless ladies for crying out loud, what's there to tire of?”

            Marco loosened up a bit at the jab, his shoulders not as tense. Jean smiled softly.

            “I'm not tired of him Jean, geez.” He chuckled again, swirling the remains of his soup around as he talked. “I just don't think we feel the same about each other. I know we've only seen each other a few days but he seems to think we...he says he sees us 'going places'.”

            Jean's voice was quiet as he watched his friend. “And you don't feel the same?”

            Marco shook his head. “I mean...I'd always dreamed of a knight in shining armor coming to rescue me but...I don't need rescuing anymore, Jean. And he seems to take the role pretty seriously. I just want...I..can we change the subject?”

            Jean nods, muttering 'sure, sure' as he pulls back, not realizing he'd leaned closer to Marco as he'd listened to him floundering in his own thoughts.

            “So how was Hitch's big week trip?”

            Jean shrugged. “We actually didn't touch on the subject.”

            “Oh. Well...what did you all talk about over breakfast?”

            It was Jean's turn to play with his food, to stare at the crumbs left from his sandwich until he could gather up the words.

            “Oh, well...not much. She asked about the gallery. I told her about seeing Connie and Sasha too.”

            “Did she understand...about that night?” Jean didn't look up. He knew that Marco's umber eyes would be tender, upturned like fresh earth, waiting and ready for Jean to plant his fears and insecurities and watch them bloom into something better; something beautiful.

            Jean blinked down at his plate, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. I guess. I mean…I didn’t tell her exactly about me but she saw the wreck the apartment was, she probably figured it out.” Jean could hear his thoughts being spoken in his head, somewhat unsure if he was saying the whirlwind of words out loud or if he was sitting like a stone at the table. He didn't even think he understood about the night before. Not really. “I don't really know...I mean...I was going to breach the idea of...” Jean huffs, aggravated with himself that he couldn't even admit it to himself, let alone to Marco but he'd started now. He opened his mouth again to try a second, third, fourth time to-

            “You're not ready?” Marco prompted quietly from across the table. Jean lifted his eyes, swallowing against the knot in his throat, nodding silently as their eyes meet.

            “I just feel so bad that I feel like this. Even worse that I feel like I can't tell her.”

            Marco smiles as he reaches across the table to grab Jean's hand. “Oh, Jean, that's normal. Your life is changing. That's why it's called cold feet. You're still warming up to the fact that you're entering a new stage of life and it's something daunting and unknown but you'll have Hitch there holding your hand every step of the way.”

            Jean smiled at Marco, glad he had his friend to help him through...everything. Even if he was completely wrong about why he felt like he did. It wasn't Marco's fault that he wasn't a mind reader.

            When he gets back to the office and checks his phone, he smiles at the text waiting for him.

            Marco 1:01 A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor

            When Jean gets home, it's to the sound of Rihanna and the smell of dinner being made. Shutting the door behind him, Jean abandons his coat and makes his way to his office, returning Hitch's smile as she sings Please don't stop the music as she continues to stir the sauce to the spaghetti she's making. There's a fresh bottle of wine sitting at the end of the counter, a red ribbon tied around the neck in a belated display of Valentine’s Day affection, a glass half-full and one empty, waiting for him. He pours himself a glass, not even considering how much alcohol he'd consumed since Saturday.

            Swigging the majority of the red down, Jean all but collapses into his desk chair, leaning back with a sigh, his eyes closing automatically. The day hadn't been terrible, just a roller coaster of events and emotions that had exhausted Jean to the point that he dozed off until Hitch touched his shoulder, startling him awake 20 minutes later.

            There was a crick in his neck that ached as he ate at the table, working on his second or third glass, it was hard to tell with his mind groggy from sleep, Hitch refilling their glasses at leisure while he listened to her talk about her day. He tried to focus, making the effort after her teary confession that morning. He tried smiling at her too, finding that it wasn't that hard after the wine, especially when he took the time to notice how she lit up when she discussed her passion; much like Marco lit up when talking about his photographs.

            As if merely thinking about him had summoned him, Jean's phone started to ring, right before Hitch's lit up as well. The two of them looked to one another at first, eyes darting to their respective devices, before grabbing them up, quick smiles to the other acknowledging that 'family meal time' was over.

            “Marco.”

            “Am I interrupting?”

            Jean shakes his head and stands, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he clears his place at the table. “Not at all. We just got done eating. What's up?”

            He could practically hear Marco shrugging, the sigh playful as it transcends over the line. “Oh nothing. Just watching Eld make dinner.”

            Chuckling, Jean makes his way from the kitchen to his office, noticing Hitch has already moved to the corner of the living room she keeps a work bench at; lamp on as she flips through a sketchbook. “Some help you are. Don't you know it's more fun to help your date in the kitchen?”

            Marco let out an indignant squawk and Jean could hear Eld laughing in the background. “I tried, but I was forcibly removed.”

            Jean closed his eyes, doing his best not to imagine what 'forcibly removed' might have entailed.

            “Suuuure. I've got your number Bodt. Lazy.”

            They bicker for a while, Jean's heart fluttering, his cheeks burning. They talk through another glass of wine and until dinner is finished on Marco's end bidding each other a good night much earlier than the past two.

            “Was that my competition?” Hitch said it playfully as Jean reentered the living room, perched comfortably on the couch, her own phone in hand, her sketch book still open on the table behind her.

            Jean rolled his eyes, a leftover smile still clinging to his lips as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “As if anyone could compete against you and win.”

            She seems pleased by his answer, swinging a leg over his lap as he sits down in the middle of the couch. He can feel the surprise on his face, even as his hands automatically come to her hips to steady her as her knees find purchase on either side of him. Hitch wraps her arms around Jean's neck and he can see the fiery determination in her amber eyes, lighting them up with an intensity he can't remember seeing within recent months.

            “So... while I was away...I was thinking.” She speaks between peppered kisses to his neck and face, slow and deliberate. She pulls back, her eyes half-lidded in lust. “It's been a while since we've...” She wiggles her hips, sending signals of pleasure to Jean's brain that he can't help but feel. Having just gotten off the phone with the man he's fallen hopelessly in love with and the stimulation he'd received numerous times before made a dangerous combination to his resolve.

            Resolve to what, at this moment, he was unsure; his brain foggy with lust and spirits as it responded to something it hadn't had in quite some time. She was right, they hadn't been with each other sexually in....months. Definitely not since he and Marco had been friends, and even then, it had been a while. When they had first gotten together, it was a drunken hookup in his college dorm room, all hushed giggles and moans, back in a time where he was happier with the path he was traveling than he has been currently.

            Jean lolled his head back on the couch, eyes closed as he allowed Hitch to attack his neck, teeth and tongue working away, making his fingers dig into the fabric of her jeans as he pulled her closer. His cheeks burned with more than just alcohol and his heart and head pounded. It wasn't fair to her, or to him, but all he could think about was Marco. His laugh fresh in his ears, it was easy to imagine...

            Standing abruptly, Jean held onto Hitch, listening as she hooted and laughed, wrapping her legs around him as he fought his way around the coffee table and back through the hallway to their bedroom. It was a lot less cold in here now, the memories of lying alone obscured by the way his head spun as he collapsed on the bed, a tangle of arms and legs and laughter and just too much for his brain to comprehend.

            It was much like their first time, Jean grinning at her even as he envisioned someone else, working with clumsy fingers at his belt while she pulled at their shirts, rushed in her appetite for sex. There was no foreplay, no heavy petting or sloppy kisses down her stomach like once upon a time. When enough clothing had been removed the urge had become too much, denied as it had been, for either of them to wait any longer.

            Exhausted as he was, Jean lay there in the aftermath, staring up at the ceiling. Hitch lay cradled against him, naked and satiated, the sweat cooling along the curve of her back as it shone in the glow of the city lights casting through the window.

            His eyes itched with the need for sleep but every time Jean closed his eyes, all he could see was Marco. He hadn't said a word the entire time they moved together, fear overpowering the drunkenness, too scared that he would even pant the wrong name. The memory replayed in his mind and he couldn't remember what color skin he was supposed to actually be kissing. Dark, peppered with skin tone stars, or light, not a flaw to be found. In the night, he figured it didn't matter. That's why people had sex with the light off, right? Only for him, even the sounds he'd elicited hadn't been in the right key; he supposed that was why cheating, even in your mind, was so much easier for heterosexuals.

            That thought in itself brought forth a whole new set of questions that successfully kept him awake longer than his body wanted. Was he straight? Gay? Was it wrong of him to have feelings like this towards his best friend and then go home to a woman and still portray to the world that nothing had changed? That he was still the same when he knows that he isn't?

            Jean dozed off once, only to wake back up, the sky still dark. Sweat pooled between him and Hitch, sticking their bodies together uncomfortably. Gently, Jean pried himself from Hitch, holding his breath until she sighed and rolled over in her sleep, pulling the remaining covers along with her.

            With continued carefulness, Jean stood and found his briefs in the chaos on the floor, making his way towards the lights still blazing in the apartment. With deliberate stealth, made clumsy by his intoxication, Jean did his best to clean up, starting up the coffee maker, knowing he wouldn't sleep any more that night.

            Much like those nights he'd had the nightmares, Jean sat at the counter with his mug, watching as the sky slowly colored itself, shedding its navy silk, lethargic as it dressed itself in sunrise colors of indigo and gold. He wanted to find beauty in it, wanted to call up the memory of another sunrise, but it just wasn't as beautiful. It held none of the splendor that first sunrise had.

            He was brought back to reality when Hitch's phone started sounding its alarm, startling him as it vibrated and chirped on the coffee table. He let the phone silence itself, only moving to wake her when it started back up, pulsating with fervor, the volume growing louder until it was manually disabled.

            They moved around the apartment in a sleepy slow dance; Hitch kissing him on the cheek with a smile before he walks out the door, fatigue pulling him through the morning with as much care and precision as a newborn calf walking for the first time.

            The sun shines bright, bringing with it the first real warmth of the year; yet it does nothing for Jean's sour mood. Reiner can tell something is up, trying in vain all day to get it out of Jean, but to no avail. Jean doesn't know why, but he doesn't feel too talkative.

            Not even to Marco.

            Marco texts him, to which he responds with clipped answers; shame pooling in his gut.

            Shame not only from his failure in talking to his friend, but residual shame from the night before. How do you talk to your friend when all you can think about is how you thought about him while you had sex with your fiance?

            Marco 10:40: SSS for lunch? :)

            Jean 11:14: Can't. Behind at work

            Marco 11:16: That's fine. Are you okay?

            Jean 11:40: Yes

            Jean's lunch is less than exciting. He joins Reiner and Bertholdt from accounting in the break room, making use of the few dollar bills in his wallet for a lunch of peanut butter crackers and a can of orange Crush. He almost falls asleep, pretending he's listening to the conversation between his two coworkers as they discuss payment methods of writing in the 1800's.

            Jean isn't even excited when the work day comes to an early close and Levi is ushering them out of the office for a monthly meeting.

            “And Kirschtein, get some sleep before you come to work tomorrow. I don't want drool stains all over my paperwork.”

            Jean grunts an affirmation and leaves the office, noting absently that the sky has turned white with overcast, raindrops spattering the glass of the lobby windows as he exits the building.

            “Jean!”

            With unrestrained exasperation, Jean turns, only to find Marco standing there, raindrops in his hair, the biggest smile painted across his lips. There's lingering negativity from the day, however, Jean can't help but melt at the sight of Marco. Even with all the thoughts going on inside his head, he's too tired to do anything except allow the feeling of shame grow and face his friend.

            “What are you doing out here in the rain? You'll get sick.” Jean's voice is weary but he can't seem to bring himself to mind much anymore. It used to be easier to sulk throughout the day; to allow the rain cloud to follow him in all its sullen glory, affecting his mood to the point of blatant ignorance.

            He watches as Marco shrugs, the smile becoming softer. “Old wives’ tale. Besides, the receptionist doesn't seem to like me very much.”

            This made Jean's lips twitch a little. He never could stay in a bad mood around Marco, his rock, his light. “That's probably because you get soaked and drip on the floor.” Jean looks at his friend, realizing for the first time he’s even here, in the middle of the day.

            Marco shrugs again, unresponsive as he turns to stand beside Jean. “Walk with me?”

            Jean looks up, blinking as the water continues to pour down. “In the rain?”

            “You'll be fine.” Marco leads them down the sidewalk two blocks until they're at a cafe where he buys them two, very strong, coffees. “Reiner texted me.”

            Jean groans and sips at his coffee, realizing for the first time that Marco had somehow known he’d get off early. “What did he say?”

            “That you've reverted back to the Dark Ages.”

            “He said that?” Jean cocks a brow, giving Marco a sideways glance as they stand on the curb, attempting to hail a cab. He could feel the cold seeping through his coat, rainwater dripping straight from his hair down into the collar of his shirt; grateful for the yellow car that pulls up to them.

            Marco grinned. “I embellished it a bit but we have called it that before.”

            “Called what that? And when do you talk to Reiner?”

            The brunette holds the door open as Jean slides in, leaving a wet streak across the faux leather seat as he makes room for Marco. “The time before you came out of whatever stupor you were in for the last 2 years. And Reiner and I talk sometimes. Mostly in regard to how you're doing.”

            Jean scoffs and turns to stare out the window, sipping from his cup to hide his burning face, sending a silent prayer to anyone listening, thanking them for Reiner and his inability to keep himself out of anyone’s business.

            He's surprised when they head towards the studio, the sun attempting to peek out from behind the clouds as they make their way into the building. Jean goes to shed his coat but is stopped when Marco grabs him by the hand, hauling him through a door he'd never asked about before, into a narrow staircase that leads them all the way up to the roof.

            When they get there, the rain is little more than misty drizzle, shining bright in the rays of sunshine that fight to win in the battle for the sky. Jean can't help but think of the term pathetic fallacy, which leads him to agree with how pathetic he really is.

            “What are we doing up here, Marco? I'm drenched and my body is tired but my mind, thanks to you, is now wired. I'm useless.” Jean flaps his arms out from his side as emphasis, blinking up at the sky again.

            “Stop whining and come here.” There was a muffled noise now as Marco shoved his phone into his back pocket, reaching out to Jean as he pulled him close. The music starts with drums, guitars tawnging into the rhythm. Jean opened his mouth again, but Marco silenced him with a smile as they revolved around each other. “This is my contribution to the wedding. I thought Hitch would get couples dance lessons but if the way you were dancing on New Years was any indication of if she did or not, I'm helping you out.” His voice was soft, as was his smile as he closed his eyes, guiding Jean along the roof.

            Rain continued to sprinkle around them, glittering in the fighting sunshine. Jean was thoroughly soaked through now but refused to be bothered as thoughts swamped him. Marco was watching me dance seemed to rotate around his mind just as steadily as they did with the music. There were of course some hiccups, where he’d step on Marco’s shoes but they work through it, Marco smiling as he hums along with the chorus and Jean couldn't help but feel as lost in the moment as the man singing stated. The worries of the day melted, leaving only perfection of the moment, allowing Jean to close his eyes too and enjoy the next few minutes as his best friend spun him around.

            The chorus continues to repeat as it fades out and Marco tips himself back, startling Jean out of his thoughts, almost dropping his friend as Marco starts to laugh.

            “This is where you're supposed to dip your new wife and kiss her!” Marco rights himself, clutching to Jean as the laughter overtakes him and Jean can't decide if those are tears in his eyes or rain drops clinging to his lashes. The moment is broken, but so is the funk that had been dragging Jean down for the last 24 hours.

            Marco's umber eyes are bright as he focuses them on Jean. “You really don't know how to dance, do you?” His smile is lopsided and Jean has never wanted to kiss his friend more. Instead, he shakes his head, squeezing the bunched fabric of Marco's coat once more before letting go.

            “I really don't.”

            Marco grabs at his phone and stops the next song partially into the first verse, motioning for Jean to follow him back down the steps. “Well, Kirchstein, we're gonna fix that.”

            The day only gets better as Marco hands clothes to him from his shoot wardrobe and they change out of their wet clothes. Jean laughs at himself in the mirror in the black skinny jeans and a silver silk shirt, complete with a bowtie. He steps out of the bathroom with a grin on his face, only to double over at the sight of Marco in a flowing white skirt and white tuxedo shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

            “I figured Hitch would pull out all the stops with her dress and believe it or not, skirt hems make a difference. Especially in a wedding gown. That's the one dress you'll go to hell for ruining.” Marco speaks casually as he grabs Jean's hand and pulls him out into the middle of the studio floor. They dance for about an hour, a playlist of popular wedding songs playing from a speaker across the room. Marco talks Jean through simple steps, giving him pointers on how to find the right speed at which to dance, the best way to twirl her out and bring her back in, how to lead correctly.

            They laugh and Marco hums to the choruses of all the songs, describing to Jean what kind of wedding he shot to the accompanying music. Most are country songs, Jean finds out, a genre he'd never really listened to.

            “This one,” Marco twirls expertly away from Jean, talking about a Shania Twain song, “was played at a 50 year anniversary where they renewed their vows.” He spins back in, allowing Jean to lead him confidently. “Jean, it was beautiful. I actually cried.” Marco chuckles and regales Jean with another story about the bride and groom dressing in altered versions of Elvis' costumes as Can't Help Falling in Love starts to play.

            It's at this song, with Marco laughing and Jean smiling, that Jean dips his partner expertly at the end of the song, both breathing hard as they attempt to regain their breath. Jean stares into Marco's eyes, can't help noticing Marco doing the same, his face flushed, breath harsh as his lungs fight against gravity to breathe.

            Jean leans in, stopping himself at the last moment to press their foreheads together. He pulls Marco back up, holding onto him, pressing his face into Marco's neck. He's so sad, so happy, all at once and he wants to cry. Instead, he clings to Marco, not saying a word, comforted by the silent support Marco exhibits as he holds onto Jean just as tightly.

            Another whole song plays before Jean starts to sway, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to him. His brain buzzes as the caffeine from earlier wears off, nothing to distract him from the headache building behind his eyes.

            “Marco...I-” Jean starts to mumble into his friends' shoulder, unsure if her can even hear him, when his phone starts to ring, breaking any and all spells. He huffs a sigh, not ready to let go but unable to stay, as he moves to retrieve his phone from where it sat abandoned on the bathroom sink.

            “Hey baby. I was thinking of making something special for dinner but I need a few things from the store.”

            Jean pulls his slightly less damp clothes back on as he talks through the speaker, head down, not looking at himself in the mirror. “That sounds fine. I'll be there in a bit.”

            When he returns to Marco, it's to find him back in his own damp pants, pulling his shirt on over his head. His back is to Jean who stares longing as the soaked shirt gets caught on the skin at his shoulders. He's still fighting with the fabric as he turns around, face pink.       

            “Hitch needs some things from the store for dinner. I'll call you later, okay?” Jean tries to smile, to meet Marco's eyes. He softens at the look on Marco's face. Confusion and hurt.

            “I had a lot of fun today. I really needed it.” Jean steps closer, embracing Marco in a lingering hug before he leaves, the sounds of Jason Mraz contradicting every decision Jean had been making since realizing his true feelings for his friend.

            When Jean gets home, loaded down with grocery bags for what seemed to be an easy, yet ingredient rich recipe, he dumps the bags on the counter, shoots a fake smile to Hitch, and makes a beeline for the bathroom. There, he showers until the water runs cold, his extremities aching with needle pricks at the sudden warmth after an afternoon in the rain.

            Feeling like the biggest creep in existence, Jean can't help when his body responds to thoughts of Marco in the rain. Half-dressed Marco with his shirt rucked up, his sun bright smile as he taught Jean to dance. He couldn't help but take care of himself, cleaning the extra filth from his body with the now cold water, body shivering as he wraps the towel around himself, no better after the shower than when he'd entered it.

            It isn't until after dinner that Jean calls Marco. Not until after he's read the slip of paper with his favorite Prather quote at least a dozen times, the words a mantra in his mind as he paces the apartment until Marco picks up. Hitch watches him, eyes bright with excitement as she waits for an answer to a question she'd asked over dinner.

            When Marco picks up, Jean can't help but blurt it out.

            “So Hitch was wanting to know if you wanted to go on a double date.”

            He can hear Marco's bafflement on the other end, a choking sound and the sound of a glass settling on a hard surface. “What?” Marco coughs, chuckling, easing Jean so that his shoulders aren't so tense as he sits down next to Hitch on the couch.

            Taking a breath and getting a handle on his word vomit, Jean tries again. “Well, Hitch and I were talking over dinner and she thought it'd be fun to have a double date.”

            “Yeah, sure. That sounds great.” There's a strain to Marco's voice and it surprises Jean when Marco says he'll get back to him with Eld's answer.

            “What? No dinner date with Prince Charming? Sick of the glare of shining armor already?”

            Jean is sure Marco rolls his eyes on the other end before he responds to Jean's joke. “No. He was over last night and I just wanted a night to myself for once. We've been out almost every night since my gallery.” This was news to Jean who quickly scolded himself for thinking he was entitled to know every detail about Marco's life and who he was spending time with.

            Hitch moves beside him and Jean looks to her, flashing her a smile. “Well enjoy it while you can. One day you'll be living together and won't be able to get away from him.” Jean smiles into the phone, at Marco, but starts laughing as Hitch smacks his arm.

            Marco laughs over the line. “We'll see. I'll get back to you on the date thing. I'll let you two get back to your evening.”

            With Jean's attention divided between fending off his fiance with another playful shove and talking to his best friend, it's no surprise when a quick “Alright. Love you.” comes from Jean. Hitch stops and the line on the other end has gone silent.

            Jean tries to recover with another laugh. “Shit, man. I'm sitting here looking at Hitch. You know how that happens.”

            “Yeah, no, understandable. Have a good night, Jean.” There's tension in Marco's words and Jean silently berates himself, emotions conflicting as he keeps a smile plastered on his face for Hitch's sake.

            “Night, Marco.” Jean hits end hastily, covering his moment of weakness by attacking Hitch's sides, leaving her laughing so hard he doubts she thinks anything of the exchange that just happened.

            The rest of the week passes by in a merry-go-round like blur. It hadn't taken Marco long to get back to him with a text that included an affirmation to the double date, complete with a smiley face.     Since then, Jean had been worrying that once Hitch found out that Marco was dating a man that all of his awkward behavior and spending so much time with Marco might come into question. She'd been listening to his call so he knew she already knew about Eld and she didn't seem to mind, but that didn't keep Jean from worrying. It seemed to be a normal thing, much like it should be anyway. She never even questioned it; not even Saturday when they ventured out for lunch before that night’s date.

            “Okay, so.” She started off, interjecting her own words as she stuffed her mouth with a forkful of salad. They sat outside of an Italian restaurant, enjoying the weak sunshine as it wrestled once again against the onslaught of cloud coverage. “I'm not trying to pry, I feel that, as your fiance, you'd tell me if something was wrong but you haven't soooo are you alright?”

            The question stops Jean as he's loading his fork full of Risotto. He glances up at Hitch, straightening his back as he does so. It takes him a moment to decide what he's going to tell her. His first, and favorite option, is to feign that there is any sort of problem and shrug it off per his norm. However, ever since his lunch with Marco a week ago, his friend's words have been stuck in his head, more so than usual.

            He sighs, setting his fork down. “I just...with all of the wedding planning, I've been thinking about our future and it's....it's kind of freaking me out....I guess.” He throws the last part in hastily, as if it might soften the blow.

            Her face instantly screws up, in total offense to what's just been said. “Excuse me?” Her words are cautious, as if she's thought about them herself; as if it's a normal thing to think but unnatural to actually speak aloud.

            Jean sighs, dragging his hands down his face. He finds himself repeating words similar to Marco's, finding courage as he does so. “I mean to say that my life is going to be changing in a few months. And yours will too. It'll be different and I'm...just trying to cope with it I guess. Doesn't everyone feel like that when they're about to get married?”

            He watches her face, can see how it softens and understanding replaces indignation. She looks back to her salad, picking at it much like he had been when discussing the same subject with Marco. He's suddenly struck by how similar they may actually be. Not so different as he's been thinking since November.

            “I mean...I guess. It's just hard, y'know? Hearing it come from someone who's supposed to love you forever.”

            Jean is again struck with a swelling in his chest. He knows it's love just... not the kind he's supposed to reassure her he has for her as he reaches across the table for her hand. She looks up at him and he can see the wetness that has gathered in her eyes. “I do love you.”

            He's not lying, not completely. He's still wading through all of his conflicting emotions, waist deep and sinking as he feels the courage from before being washed away from him, watching it sail away as another wave comes to submerge him further into the ever-growing ocean of emotions he's created for himself.

            As they're getting ready for dinner that night, Jean pairs a black button down with Marco's silver vest, eliciting a response from Hitch that he feels he should've done more to keep from coming to light.

            “You wear that vest a lot.” The comment seems offhand as she fastens a silver chain around her neck, her eyes glancing at him through the mirror.

            Jean looks down at himself. He hadn't really thought about it, it's just always the first vest he grabs out of the three he owns. It's worn and comfortable and it's like he has Marco close to him. He tells her so, omitting the last part after the pain he caused with their conversation over lunch.

            She nods once before leaning closer to the mirror to apply her lipstick.

            They've opted for semi-casual, but of course Hitch still looks stunning in dark slacks and a shimmery, pale pink top. The white blazer she pairs with it has them looking like Yin and Yang as they walk into the lobby of the restaurant. Marco and Eld are waiting for them, dropping their discussion as Marco spots the couple walking in through the door.

            “Hey!” Marco's smile is bright as he leads Eld over, introducing him and Hitch, Jean and the soldier nodding at each other with pleasant smiles before Jean turns to check in his and Hitch's coats before they're led to their table. Eld pulls Marco's chair out for him and Jean rushes to do the same for Hitch, pleased with himself when Hitch remarks to Marco what lovely gentlemen they have. A few butterflies flutter in Jean's gut when Marco's eyes cut to him briefly before he smiles at Eld and agrees.

            Wine is ordered and it doesn't take long for the group to get a little rowdier than any of them would have suspected. To his own surprise, Jean's laughing at something Eld says, enjoying the freedom the alcohol has allowed him.

            When their entrees arrive, the conversation becomes calmer, more civilized as they ask questions, learning about one another.

            “So Marco,” Hitch says, switching the topic from Eld's last tour, “How did you get into photography?”

            Jean's eyes snap up from his plate, immediately interested in the change of topic. He'd been focusing on his plate as Eld had talked, not really concerned with anything that was being said. Although now he had suddenly lost all interest in what his plate of pasta had to offer him.

            Marco seems to notice, hiding his smile behind his wine glass as he considers his answer for a moment longer.

            “Oh well, it's nothing too interesting. When I was younger, we didn't have a lot to do at the orphanage so-”

            Jean chokes on his wine, successfully pausing Marco's words. He coughs a few times, Hitch's hand rubbing a soothing hand over his back, before he can find his words. “You never told me you were an orphan.” Jean's a little hurt but realizes that he'd been so caught up in his fascination with the present Marco, he'd never really thought to ask about what he did before.

            Marco cocks his head to the side and Jean is reminded of a dog, listening intently, trying to figure something out. “You never asked.”

            Hitch shoves Jean, the wine making her more playful in public. She looks back to Marco. “Anyway, regale us with your childhood, Marco. Now I'm extremely interested to know something Jeannyboy doesn't.” She smirks and winks at Marco, making Jean roll his eyes and refocus his attention on the man seated across from him.

            Marco clears his throat, wiping his hands off on the napkin in his lap before settling his elbows on the table, making himself comfortable. “Alright. So now that everyone knows, I grew up in an orphanage. Once a month, Ma, that is, our caretaker, would take us all out for a special treat. Most of the time the other children wanted to go to the candy shop a few blocks down and then spend the rest of the day at the park or zoo or whatever. I, however, was less interested in things such as toys and candy so one day, Ma gave me a disposable camera after watching me walk around the park just staring at things. She showed me how to look through the little lens and capture the picture.” He pauses to take a sip of wine and to catch his breath.

            “After that, she would buy me one every month and while the rest of the children were at play, I was carefully observing what moments I wanted to hold onto forever. One camera a month, I only had 27 pictures so I had to be quite selective. Most of the time I would struggle with my control to take only one picture a day.” He casts his eyes down now, bashful.

            Jean doesn't trust himself to not show his true emotions in front of everyone so he sits back, holding his tongue while he watches Eld take Marco's hand and smile at him.

            “Marco, that's adorable.” Hitch's words break the silence in the group and she's suddenly mirroring Eld, reaching to take Jean’s hand in hers, a fond look in her eyes.

            “So how did you two meet?”

            Eld's voice startles Jean and he's aware of the two other sets of eyes now watching him. He can feel his face heat up and lets out a strained chuckle that's drowned out by Hitch's genuine laugh. She lets go of his hand to place both of hers flat on the table, effectively grabbing the attention away from him and onto her.

            “Okay, so. We were in college, me for fashion, duh, and Jeanny was double majoring in English and Publishing. Well, you know how colleges want extra curriculars and junk right? Well, we had to take a mandatory self-defense class and-” She breaks off in laughter again, the wine and story getting to her so that Jean continues himself.

            “The instructor had us pair up and I was supposed to act like I was coming at her with a knife.”

            Having calmed down, Hitch jumps back into the story, renewed with the need to tell the story her way. “Alright so, before he gets this wrong, yes he did end up pinning me to the floor, however it was not easy.” She glances at him and he rolls his eyes for effect. “He likes to think that there wasn't a struggle in which we were both out of breath by the end of it.”

            Eld makes her laugh even harder with a wolf-whistle that has the surrounding tables looking at them as if they're a bunch of teenagers and not the well-to-do adults they actually are. Jean's cheeks burn hotter and he has to focus his gaze back on his fiance when he realizes Marco's stare is on him.

            “We went to the bar that weekend, separately of course, and by the time we found each other we were both a little worse for wear and I don't remember the actual comment that was made but it had to do with stabbing or something.” She waves a hand through the air as if it isn't important, making a face before finishing off her glass of wine. “And we've been together ever since.” Her hand finds Jean's again and he smiles at her, fully aware of Marco and Eld staring at them as if they were so in love.

            The night continues and the wine bottle is almost empty by the time Jean and Marco stand to go retrieve the coats, leaving Eld and Hitch to their, surprisingly deep, conversation about weddings. The thought of discussing it in front of Marco makes Jean nauseated so he excuses himself, startled when Marco does the same.

            They're waiting for the clerk to locate their garments in silence before Jean feels the need to speak up.

            “I'm sorry.”

            Marco seems surprised as he turns to face Jean. “For?”

            Jean sighs, opting to look at the ground, his shoulders hunched. “For any time that you felt you couldn't talk to me. I know I can be grumpy and stand-offish at times but-”

            “Jean.” Marco's gentle chuckle brings him to a halt. “I wasn't intentionally keeping my past from you. It doesn't bother me to talk about it. I was never short of love in my life and I'm not bitter that my parents abandoned me, they had their reasons.” He shrugs. “I just don't tell people unless they ask. I don't figure it's pertinent.”

            “But it's part of your history, of who you are. It's why you're so selfless and kind and just...amazing. It's important, you're important!” Jean ducks his head, a little embarrassed by the way his voice had risen there at the end.

            He gives Marco a sidelong glance, happy to see the smile on the brunet's face as they lapse into silence. Without looking away, Jean reaches a shy hand out to take Marco's, squeezing gently. Marco's smile widens, and he squeezes back. They accept their coats after a few more moments of waiting, hands clasped, before Marco gives a final squeeze and lets go, leading them back to their table and waiting dates.

            “Well this was fun, we'll have to do it again.” Hitch says as they exit the building, already snuggling closer to Jean as the night wind slices through her blazer.

            “I agree. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Dreyse.”

            “Maybe you'll be around long enough to address me as Mrs. Kirchstein.”

            Eld smiles, looking over at Marco as he pulls the other man close with a hand to Marco's hip. “I certainly hope so.”

            Jean isn't sure but he thinks he sees Marco's cheeks darken in the lamplight above them, casting his eyes towards the street.

            Clearing his throat, Jean wraps an arm around Hitch, his hand a lot higher than Eld's on his own date. “So uhm, both of you have a good night.” He smiles, almost condescendingly so, as he accepts good night biddings from the other couple and turns to leave. His heart squeezes, much like his hand around Marco's earlier, and he turns, unable to keep himself from looking at the two retreating forms.

            The hand around his heart loosens, allowing him to breathe easily once more, when his gaze is met by umber eyes shining in the night. He smiles and turns once more to focus on the path ahead of him, lost in the moment thinking about a night of umber eyes and studious gazing.

Chapter Text

            “You're not sleeping well, are you?”

            Norma Jean's voice reaches him through the constant static that had taken up his mind in the last week since Marco had left on another business trip, followed by Hitch, leaving him seemingly alone in the city. He looks up now to see Norma Jean’s soft face lined in what he's come to know as concern.

            It was a look that, while he'd seen it directed at him before, it was one that confused him every time he saw it. Jean had yet to learn that he was like one of those Christians who always prayed for everyone else around them, even strangers, without taking time to pray for themselves.

            Jean could feel the sand in his eyes now that it had been mentioned; an itch that hadn't needed scratching until brought to his attention. Rubbing a hand over his face, Jean shook his head before taking another sip of the coffee Norma Jean had poured him upon his arrival.

            After having left work, Jean hadn't felt like going back to an empty apartment again. He'd allowed his mind to wander as he'd gotten on the bus, exiting a block from Suds 'N' Buds where he'd said hi to Annie who had barely nodded at him. He'd crossed the street then, thinking of that fall evening that seemed like a lifetime ago as he made his way to Norma Jean's.

            “Speak to me Jean, tell me what's wrong.”

            When Jean didn't immediately speak, Norma Jean huffed and growled “Don't make me start calling you Annie.”

            The comment had broken through the radio silence, his lips twitching as his honey eyes rose to meet hers.

            “I just...I've got a lot on my plate right now with the wedding and all.” Jean watched her as she nodded, watery blue eyes closing as she took a sip from her own teacup. They sat in another short silence before the old woman spoke again.

            “Cold feet?”

            Anger rose within Jean, short lived as shame and exasperation crashed over him, smothering his initial feelings like a tidal wave over a beach fire.

            “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

            Norma Jean's frail shoulders shrug as she sets her teacup down, her withered hands coming to a rest on Palmer's back as the old cat stares at Jean; his yellow eyes silently judging him.

            “Probably because everyone but you can see how this relationship is working on you.”

            “Yeah, working as in making me a better person. That's what couples do they-”

            “I wasn't talking about your relationship with our friend the photographer.”

            Jean's jaw snaps closed and he doesn't miss the spark of amusement and...knowing that lights up her eyes like lightening in a summer sky, lighting her up with an energy Jean senses but doesn't see. He levels his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Neither was I.”

            His heartbeat is too fast and he struggles to find his breath, her statement having driven the air from his lungs.

            “Ah. Playing dumb. Or are you playing as if I am the dumb one, hm?” There’s an edge to her words, the kind that parents have when pushing their children to do what was right.

            Jean couldn’t say he’d ever heard this tone directed towards him, just that now that it was, a spring of tension filled his chest; akin to an anxiety attack but not bursting forth as such. It was something that sat, waiting.

            They sit staring at each other for a short time before Jean huffs a defeated breath, hand coming over his face, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles and lines in his face.

            “You’re not dumb, Norma. I’d like to think that I’m not either but…” His soft words lapse into another silence between them. Norma Jean’s eyes narrow and her lips twitch upwards into a smile.

            “Oh Jean. You’re not dumb just…” Her eyes wander from his, alighting around the room until it stops on a picture of an older version of Annie standing with a handsome man in a crisp suit. She points to this picture, bringing Jean’s attention to it before she starts to speak. “That man right there was once my fiancé. You see how fancy he looked? How fancy I looked?” Jean nods as he takes in the way her blonde hair was curled and pulled away from her face, her small hands clasped in front of her floral dress, ankles crossed and shoulders squared. The man next to her smiled brightly for the camera, a hand disappearing behind her back where only his fingers reemerged high on her waist.

            “His name was William Grand. That picture was taken three weeks before the date of our wedding. Now look over here…” Her hands trails through the air until it is pointing at a different photo. This one is of a man with a bloodied face, one tooth missing as he smiles big up at a slender figure above him. The bill of a newsboy hat sent a shadow over the eyes but there was no mistaking the blonde hair that was falling out of the hat in a messy braid.

            “That right there is Annie’s grandfather. The day before my wedding, we were supposed to run off together to the city.”

            Jean’s gaze snapped back to her face, watching hers as she gazed lovingly at the photograph. He said nothing, unable to break into her thoughts, waiting patiently for her to continue.

            Norma Jean sighed after another moment, her eyes dropping to the cat in her lap. “My mother could feel my restlessness, knew that I was planning to run. I’d never been the lady she’d raised me to be. Always running off in the night to watch the boys and men boxing in the alleyways, stowing my hair up in boys caps’, stealing my brothers’ overalls to hide myself so that I could just….enjoy life. Sneaking out was always a risk, my parents were always threatening to send me off to boarding school but I couldn’t help myself. I met Rudy the same night William had proposed and knew instantly that even though I had said yes…I would never be able to marry William Grand.” She paused, taking a sip of her coffee, making a bitter face, steely eyes narrowing at the cup as she sat it back down. When she looked up at Jean her eyes were wet with moisture that hadn’t been there before.

            “I’d been so depressed after he’d proposed but of course depression wasn’t a great concern back then, definitely not recognized in women who were supposed to be quiet and reserved ladies to begin with. The only time I felt alive was when I snuck out and searched the alleys and bars until I found Rudy. He didn’t treat me like the princess William had promised I’d be. He taught me how to fight. Taught me how to fend for myself. He treated me like a human being.

            “I loved him so much but the night we were supposed to meet up, my mother caught me sneaking out and stayed up the entire night, making sure I didn’t leave.”

            Jean could feel the tightness in his chest growing, feel the way his heart hammered in his chest. He knew what she was talking about. How trapped she had felt. How trapped he’d felt.

            How free he felt with Marco…

            “I married William Grand the following morning.” She paused, looking Jean in the face. “Come Jean, I can see you want to say something.”

            “Once upon a time I might have interrupted to state that you said you’d never marry Mr. Grand however…”

            “However you’ve changed and I’m glad that you aren’t so childish as to interrupt me. Thank you Jean. Now where was I?” She sips at her coffee again, making the same face and smacking her lips. “Jean, be a dear and refill this cup of mine. It’s gone cold, much like my heart.”

            Jean sighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he stands to retreat to the tiny kitchen to refill both mugs before returning to find her staring back at the pictures again. He waits a few moments before stepping back into the room, his eyes never leaving her face as he places her mug beside her, settling down back in his usual spot.

            She heaves another sigh, drawing her eyes away before continuing.

            “Now… You may be wondering why I have a picture of Mr. Grand and I hung on the wall after stating that I’d never be able to marry him.” Jean nods when prompted, silently sipping at his steaming mug. “The truth is that, with a heavy heart and feet too cold to move any which way but that in which my mother directed me, I walked down that aisle, said my ‘I Do’s’ and walked back down that same aisle on the arm of a man I loved but was not in love with. My mother watched me with a satisfied look, pleased that my new status would bring my family everything she’d dreamed of.

            “I was unable to sneak out after that. I was a newlywed and once we’d gotten back from our honeymoon, I was expected to lie with my husband. Now, of course when I was out in town, I searched for Rudy. None of his friends recognized me but after being unable to run into him I started to inquire when my husband was not beside me. Finally, a month after my wedding, and spilling my secrets to the right person, I was told Rudy had left for the city the night we were supposed to elope together.

            “Naturally I was heartbroken and at first, took it as a sign from God that I was where I was supposed to be. That was until our first winter together saw me at my brothers’ bedside here in Trost while William stayed back home. He was the bank’s manager and the holidays are always so busy, he couldn’t accompany me. One night found me out at the grocery for some soup and who did I run into but Rudolph Leonhardt.”

            She stopped and Jean waited until it seemed like she wasn’t going to continue.

            “Well?”

            She seemed startled at his sudden burst of interest after sitting quiet for so long.

            “Well what?” That edge had returned to her voice again.

            “What happened? I assume you’re telling me all of this to teach me a lesson or something. You ran into him and then what?”

            Norma Jean sighed, her shrunken hands stilling over Palmer’s smoky fur. “I thought that was obvious Jean. I left William, moved here and Rudy and I lived happily ever after until the day that he died.”

            It was Jean’s turn to sigh as he leaned forward, eager to hear more. “Yes but how did you do it? What happened exactly? How did you fix all of your problems? Why is William still on your wall?”

            “Oh yes, about that. I forgot about that.” Norma Jean chuckled and Jean rolled his eyes, settling back against the aged cushions.

            “Let’s start off by saying that Annie’s father was born approximately nine months later.” She chuckled again and Jean smiled at the glint in her eye and the way her cheeks reddened before she cleared her throat and continued. “I felt horrible but I knew that after that night there was only one thing I could do. So once Eddie got better, I went home and explained what had happened with Rudy. I told him all about everything, Jean. About the sneakin’ out, about how unhappy I’d been livin’ every day of my life. Finally I had to admit that while I loved him, I was in love with Rudy and that I was going back to Trost one way or another. The gentleman that William was, he sat there and listened the whole time I spoke, the whole time I cried. He was much like you, Jean. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t say I was stupid. When I was finished I watched as William stood up, grabbed his coat and left the house. I didn’t know what to do so I began to pack my bags and when he hadn’t come home by midnight, I went to the guest bedroom and tried to sleep.

            “Of course I couldn’t. Too anxious. So I heard when he came home. Could hear him walking around downstairs. Heard the stairs squeak as he came up. He stumbled, I knew he’d been drinking. At first I was scared. Scared that I’d have to use everything Rudy had taught me. But William’s steps were so quiet when he went to our bedroom. I heard him softly call my name in the doorway and when I didn’t answer he came lookin’ in the guest room. I didn’t say anything, I was still scared. So I feigned sleep until I heard him slip out of his shoes and felt the bed dip down. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said my name again.

            “Finally I rolled over, the blanket clutched to my face and I remember that night was a full moon cause I could see the way his face crumpled when he saw how scared I was. That moon was watching everything happen, witness to the moment William took me into his arms and we cried together. Surprised me honestly but I held on tight and he rocked me and apologized for being someone that I couldn’t be honest with. He told me that he’d seen my bag, seen the restlessness but had chalked it down to my flighty nature and that we’d go down to the courthouse in the morning and get our marriage nullified. I was on a train back to Trost the next day with the promise that I had a lifetime friend in William. I was there when he married his childhood sweetheart, Allie Mae and he was there when Annie’s dad was born.”

            Jean sat, astounded. With how many stories he’d read, he’d expected nothing more than William to become enraged and take it out on her only to find that she could fend for herself. He’d assumed nothing close to what had actually happened.

            “You said I was telling you this story to teach you something. You learn anything?”

            Jean looked up at the two photographs and instantly thought of his own troubles where his own fiancé and the man he’d come to love were concerned. He looked back to Norma Jean, found that a stray tear had escaped her eye. Watched as she blotted at it with her sleeve.

            His heart had yet to stop pounding. First in anxiety, cantering further into a wild eagerness to hear the story and now it was galloping furiously as if the next words he said were the answer to a life or death question.

            Jean swallowed, stalled for more time by taking a scalding, large drag from his mug. He coughed and spluttered to the amusement of Norma Jean.

            Unable to find his words, Jean nodded, slapping at his chest until the tears in his eyes could be explained away by the violent reaction to almost choking.

            That night had Jean bypassing his floor when he’d gotten to his apartment building. He’d never done it before, but finding the door to the roof and sitting beneath the stars seemed like the kind of thing Marco would do and right then, he needed the freedom Marco had granted him more than ever.

            He needed to be away from the space that was designated as ‘His and Hitch’s’. He needed a head that the chill breeze cleared out, blowing the fog from his mind as it buzzed with incessant thoughts brought on by Norma Jean’s story. He needed to be alone, to just be by himself. Away from everything but his own heart.

            The night was a lot colder than he had been expecting but the view was spectacular. The last time he’d been on a roof, it had been daytime and he’d been too entranced by Marco to do any sightseeing. As he emerged from the roof access door and made his way to the edge of the roof, his breath was lost for an entirely different reason than anything he’d felt in the last week.

            The lights sparkled in the darkness, the city alight with a blazing beauty that had somehow been hidden behind the pane of glass he’d often looked out from down in his apartment. From his vantage point, he could see more. Not only more lights, blazing through the streets, but also more stars. The air was crisp, lacking the smog from the cars on ground level, rewarding him with such an amazing view he couldn’t help but stare.

            He forgot about everything as he looked over the city, up at the night sky. His mind blanked for a glorious, unknown amount of time. He simply enjoyed life, enjoyed looking up at the twinkling lights that even through the light pollution seemed to shine brighter so that he may enjoy them, mind unclouded and heart unhindered.

            After a spell, Jean sat his back against the parapet, hunkering down to escape the crosswinds that blew through the coat that had been enough during the day but was not enough protection from the elements now. He knew he was being silly, that his apartment was just a few floors below him and that he could retreat to it any time.

            But Jean couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything in that moment but feel sorry for himself, his knees drawn to his chest, chin pressed to his knees, arms wound tight around himself, holding himself together in a way that no one else could.

            Unsure of how long he was up there, alone with his thoughts, Jean stewed, thinking about Norma Jean and how it had all worked out for her, about how he should just call off the wedding, let Hitch get over him and on with her life. Jean could imagine himself sitting her down, much in the same fashion that Norma Jean had her own husband. He imagined what all he’d say, his mind filling with a rush of words that, even misplaced, sounded phenomenal; a better solution to how he was handling his life currently. His thoughts were a storm, the wind around him a perfect natural analogy to what he was experiencing within himself.

            He stayed up there until his fingers were frozen and his stomach cramped from lack of sustenance. He’d made a deal with himself that he’d only leave when he’d figured out what to do about the entire situation he found himself stuck in.

            Once again, he disappoints himself by retreating back down the stairs, heaving a great sigh as he unlocks the door to his apartment, a pizza already on the way to his home.

            Saturday dawns on an overcast day with no work to keep Jean’s mind busy. He could stay home, smothering himself within his homemade prison cell but the thought has his chest pulling tight and his stomach churning; so instead he gets dressed and heads out into the morning drizzle, making his way down the block and around the corner.

            “Jean!”

            Krista’s excited welcome has Ymir’s head turning behind the counter, wearing a look of surprise.

            “Shit. I’m gettin’ a little rusty. Little later than normal, eh sourpuss?”

            Jean huffs and takes a seat at the far end of the bar, steering clear of his and Marco’s usual table.

            “I take it Bodt’s gone?” Ymir sidles up a few minutes later, Jean’s usual in hand. He takes a swig, making a face and smacking his lips before adding some sugar.

            Too sweet.

            Jean sighs aloud. “Unfortunately.”

            “Good thing for us, you came after the morning rush. Now we’ve got loads of time to dedicate to our second favorite customer.” Ymir grins at Jean’s look; the scowl he used to wear during the “Dark Ages”.

            “Second favorite to Bodt cause I mean, c’mon, dude looks like me only without boobs so of course he takes higher priority.” She flounces away as Jean sticks his tongue out.

            Jean sits there, nursing his cup as Krista and Ymir take turns in their attempts to cheer him up throughout the morning. When Krista goes on lunch (leaving behind a pouting Ymir), she invites him to the Thai place across the street.

            The change of pace is nice and has Jean’s spirits lifting at the break in monotony.

            “You can tell me what’s really wrong, Jean. I’m your friend.” Krista smiles at him and he almost chokes on his noodles.

            “What d’you mean?” Jean’s spluttering, trying to catch his breath.

            Krista looks sweet as she flicks her gaze down from his, her cheeks coloring as she fidgets with her straw wrapper. “Well, I know how Ymir can get and understand why you may not want to talk in front of her. You just always seem so down when Marco is gone and with the wedding coming up…I can see as to why life may be getting you down.” She glances up at him through thick lashes, quickly looking away again, her cheeks heating from blush pink to cherry red. “I just don’t want you to think that you don’t have other friends besides him. You can talk to me, no judgement.” Her smile is shy.

            Not to mention contagious.

            Jean breathes easier as they sit and talk. He doesn’t reveal to her his newfound feelings- feelings he realizes now have been there since day one, only now letting himself come to terms with his affections- but after the night before, after hearing Norma Jean’s story and dealing with whirlwind thoughts in the cold…

            “Sometimes we can’t see people for what they truly are or who they’re meant to be for us.” Krista’s eyes have turned- if possible- softer than normal; cornflower blue instead of their incredible cerulean, and she’s drawn little hearts on the table in the condensation from her glass. Her words make Jean’s smile disappear, his brow furrow. His thoughts turn dark again, thinking of the one night he’d woken from his feverish nightmare and, in the night to Marco, had whispered his feelings of comparison between fire and ice and his best friend and fiancé. His thoughts spiral, like some bad movie montage of Reiner and Ymir’s faces and their voice overs claiming Hitch and her rhyming personality, how people kept assuming he was getting cold feet, of people-

            People, people, people.

            Always thinking they knew his life when they didn’t-

            When even he didn’t.

            When only Marco seemed to.

            “Krista?”

            The blonde looks up, startled that Jean had spoken so softly. When she looks into his face, his eyes are downcast, misty.

            “Yes, Jean?”

            He looks up at her, heart breaking in his eyes. “Do you ever feel that sometimes…there are people that know you better than you know you? Like… how you think you’re a bad person and they just...it’s like they look inside of you and pull the sun out from behind the clouds?”

            She tilts her head and smiles, her eyes squinting a bit as she does so. “Yes. I think…I think very special people have that ability. And…if you find one…you need to hold onto him. It’s like finding a gem in a riverbed, if you let it sit too long, the water will wash it away on another shore.”

            Jean smiles, a tear slipping from its cage and he starts chuckling, wiping at his face in embarrassment. “Nooo. Krista, you can’t just say all these nice things and expect me not to be a big…baby.” More tears are slipping down his cheeks and he’s laughing, trying to keep the sobbing at bay.

            Krista starts laughing too, wiping away her own empathetic tears. “Don’t be afraid to let it out.”

            “Believe me, it’s not the letting it out part, you give me no choice. It’s just that I don’t want to let it out in Thai Food Fever.” This cracks them both up and before long, Jean is silently vowing to eat out with Krista more often.

            “Jean…do you believe in soul mates?”

            The question has Jean’s laughter quelling, but his mood doesn’t darken. He’d definitely thought about them before, it had just never been a notion he’d given deep thought or conversation to.

            He shrugs, relaying these thoughts to Krista who nods. “Well…do you think that maybe Marco is yours? Or at least one, I mean people can have more than one but…y’know…I’ve seen the way you act around him, how different you are when he’s gone…I just thought that maybe he’s…not necessarily your other half, people don’t need others to be complete but…” Her words come to a stop and her cheeks brighten with the color that had faded earlier, now the one embarrassed for her rambling.

            It makes Jean smile, how this quiet woman, usually so reserved, can find a voice when cheering him up, trying her best to guide him when he’s so lost.

            “I think…maybe you’re right.” He stirs his fork around in the remainder of his noodles, smiling softer than he had since…since Marco had left.

            It’s a few days later when Jean wakes up to banging on the front door. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, not wanting to spend another night in his lonely bed, leaving his phone to die on him.

            He sits up, hair mussed and a sour look on his face, squinting at the sun as it comes streaming through the vast windows of the living room. The knocking resumes and he grumbles as he hefts himself to his feet, wiping drool from his cheek with a scowl.

            “What!? What is so important to be banging on my door at-” Jean’s words come to a halt after he wrestles with the security chain, twisting the knob and wrenching the door open to find a grinning Marco, suitcase in hand.

            “Felt it pretty damn important when I couldn’t get my best friend on the phone after finally returning.” Marco’s voice is all sunshine and rainbows as he drops his suitcase and sweeps Jean into a crushing hug. Still too stunned to say anything, Jean clings to the shirt on Marco’s back, pressing his face into his collar. He’s not sure if he’s smiling on the outside or if he’s still got his morning zombie face on but he’s definitely smiling on the inside.

Chapter Text

“Oh honey, I am soooo glad your bachelor party is tonight. I feel rough. I need a girls night in.” Hitch gives Jean a quick kiss on his cheek after leaving her suitcases unceremoniously piled by the front door. He watches as she strips off her jacket, leaving it to dangle from the back of a dinner chair. Her shoes get stranded in the hallway and he's left to simply follow her to the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Jean dealt he flutter of anxiety at her simply wishing to rest. Logically, his mind told him that this was normal for someone who worked as hard and as often as his fiance. On the other hand, he'd never seen Hitch shrug off everything as she just had before. She'd always been meticulous about how her belongings were kept: her jackets always hung up while her shoes held their own place in the shoe organizer that had been the first installation in their closet upon moving in together. For her to simply leave these items, along with her other luggage that he knew first hand held delicate hand-made pieces, pieces she frequently called her babies, sitting in the entryway had him questioning her actions. No matter how Jean might feel -or not- about Hitch romantically, he still cared about her well-being.

“I'm sure it's nothing but jet-lag and the airplane food.” Hitch called from where she stood at her side of the bed, throwing the clothes to the floor as she stripped them from her body. She crawls into bed with just her underwear on, sighing as she settles into the cool sheets. She was darker than when she'd left. The tropical climate had allowed her skin to darken; a few freckles scattering about her shoulders and the bridge of her nose. If Jean squinted he could imagine Marco lying there.

Marco who would be there any minute to take him out for a night on the town for a Bachelor party co-hosted by him and Reiner. Jean still didn’t want to think about what this night might hold.

Jean's face didn't relax from its concerned pinch, his brows drawn together tightly as he watched her slide under the covers with a sigh. The last few rays of afternoon sunlight didn't seem to faze her as she snuggled down into her pillow.

Hitch cracked her eyes open and sighed again. “You're going to get wrinkles if you continue to worry about me. Go out tonight and have fun for me. Please?.” When Jean's forehead refused to smooth itself, Hitch grumbled like a petulant child. “Alright, mom, I promise to call you if I need you. Even if a drunk Jean is less helpful than a sober one and if I don't feel better in the morning, I'll go to the doctor. Happy?”

It was Jean's turn to sigh as he slowly made his way to the bed, sitting on the edge, turning his torso to face Hitch. “I just don't want you to have gotten something while there. You know the kinds of viruses people get when they go out of the country. I'm just worried that-”

“That I'll be like Piper and die cause a fly bit me. I know, I know believe me Marlowe was scared of the same thing. Honey, I really would just like to sleep now. Can you just leave my dying ass alone and tell me all about your party when I wake up from a self-induced coma?”

Hitch grins up at Jean who scoffs at her, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile. “I'm going to call and check up on you to make sure you haven't actually died.”

“Woe is me? Just leave me to die in peace.”

Jean leans down to kiss her temple quickly. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“Ten million dollars and a trash can to puke in?”

Jean's smile is tender as he stands, the tight knot in his chest relaxing only a fraction as he leaves the room.

“I thought the thing with Bachelor parties was that there were no women involved.”

Jean tried to be cross with Ymir as she slung her arm around his neck, but he couldn’t for once. The smile on her lips was genuine exuberance with the situation. He’d not expected to be dragged out that weekend by all of his friends-girls included- for a bar hopping night that everyone claimed he would not forget but when Marco says he's picking you up for a Bachelor party experience, one automatically agrees, right?

“Yeah we overheard Marco at the café and decided to crash the party. Not my fault he’s particularly LOUD with details.”

Marco is laughing but his eyes are huge at the accusation. “Excuse you! I was having a very private conversation with Reiner and you just happened to butt in like you always do!”

Ymir shoves him in the shoulder, her other still anchored around Jean’s neck, pulling the two off-balance. There’s a loud squawk and Jean pulls back, choking himself on Ymir’s arm. “Well if you two don’t stop your old goat bickering there might not be a Bachelor left!” Jean extracts himself from Ymir, walking a little faster to catch up to Krista, Sasha and Connie.

As they all walk down the crowded streets of Trost, Jean can hear Ymir and Marco continuing their bickering, smiling as he listens to laughter generated between all of his friends. The only thing that would make the scene complete would be to add Reiner.

Scratch that. Jean figures he may have actually choked in Reiners' grasp, unable to swat his arm begging for mercy and instead of being nervous about anything, Jean would no longer have to worry. Jean sighs, his friends’ laughter battling away any rain cloud that threatened to show itself on this clear, beautiful night.

Looking around, Jean takes a deep breath, taking in everything around them. They were downtown, in the heart of what the locals of Trost called Bar Run, dialects long ago running the two words together to create one, easily slurred words for those who needed rides from their sober friends after last call. Bar Run was a bright place, reminding him of The Moulin Rouge in contrast to the rest of the city. Even the most beautiful streets Trost offered to the world were no match for the vibrancy of this 10-block row of old buildings that now posed as the “most fun place in Trost.”

Jean’s heart caught at the thought of what masterpieces’ could come from Marco’s camera of this place. The lights glittering from where they hung between awnings and lampposts, radiant patrons en-robed in the brightest patterns, laughing and making friends with complete strangers. Especially during the festival of languages, where one week in the summer, the row was like a circus, the street closed off and you could find someone from just about any ethnicity, speaking in their native tongues and selling their goods. Jean vowed then to make sure he’d take Marco this year.

After another block of walking, the group finally makes it to the bar where they’re supposed to be meeting Reiner. It had been the only place Reiner could guarantee they could get into without having to wait in line. Which, Jean took stock of, stretched halfway down the block with no signs of dwindling.

He also noticed the bouncer who looked not so different from Reiner except for the fact that this man stood at roughly 6’7” and looked like he wanted to end the world merely by glaring at the Earth’s core. And then there was Krista...sweet little angel that she was bouncing up to this mammoth of a man, Sasha on her heels.

Ymir must have seen the worry on Jean’s face as he’d started forward, pulling him back with a firm hand. “No way boy scout. You’re gonna let my angel do her thing and feel good about doing something for our night out.”

“But he looks like he devours kittens for breakfast. Reiner said he could guarantee-”

“Reiner never said he could get us in. He said that we could get in. But only if we played our cards right. And thus, the reason we are here.” Ymir fanned her hand out as if presenting Jean with a new car at the sight in front of them. “Well that and I just couldn’t let Sasha be the only party-crasher. Not gonna be shown up by a redhead with an appetite the size of Africa.” Jean wanted to laugh but was still struck by the sight of Krista standing next to The Mountain.

He watched as the man’s eyes took her in, flickering up to take the rest of them in, at Connie who was waving...like an idiot, then back to Krista. Jean’s face got red and he grinned nervously when those laser-like eyes met his. The Mountains’ eyes narrowed a bit but something Krista said had him struggling not to crack a smile. He coughed, ushering the 6 behind the velvet rope as the rest of the line groaned, shouting how unfair it was.

Jean was slack jawed as they made their way inside. “What kind of witchcraft does Krista practice? She needs to come work her magic on my boss.”

“No can do bud. This was a one-time gig. No more freebies and you can’t afford it.” Ymir winked, patting him on the shoulder before marching off to save her girlfriend from some creep right out the gate. Marco sidled up beside him but Jean didn’t have time to say anything before Sasha was jamming something- somethings-over and onto his head. Jean spluttered indignantly, catching a glimpse of himself in Sasha’s phone set to selfie mode. A bright pink sash was slung from one shoulder to his hip while a-slightly broken- tiara perched haphazardly on his head.

“Sasha! What is- what?” Jean looked down at the sash, could see that the last few letters had been scratched off, some of the gold glitter clinging for dear life. He took the tiara off and saw that it, too, had been tampered with so that it only said BACHELOR instead of the alternative for which it had obviously been manufactured for.

“Jeeeaaaan! Put it back!” Sasha whined, her voice garnering the attention of several patrons around them who smiled at the scene, some laughing aloud while others tipped their drinks to Jean.

“No way! This is silly!” Jean’s cheeks flared red with embarrassment as he struggled to shove the items back into Sasha’s grasp. “When did you even-?”

“Yeah but you’re too hot, Jean, someone might try to legit take you home without the proper gear!” Sasha not-so-gently placed the tiara back onto Jean’s head, securing the sash to the belt loop on his pants with finality.

“I wouldn’t argue with her Jean! You know how she is!” Connie wrapped his arms around Sasha’s waist, pulling her away.

“If I catch you without that Jean, Hitch won’t have a groom-to-be coming home to her cause I’ll choke you with that sash!” Connie was laughing as Sasha struggled until she gave Jean the stink eye, waiting for him to sigh and shrug before she happily turned to wade through the mass of people towards the bar.

“I mean, you can’t really argue with a woman who’s always right, can you?” Marco shrugged and smiled, holding a hand out for Jean to take and lead him into the lion’s den. It was odd seeing this side of his friend. His eyes lit up with the throbbing lights, his smile a little more carefree than usual. It had Jean’s own smile erupting as he took Marco’s hand, allowing himself to be absorbed by the crowd.

Time held no value in a place with no clocks and alcohol so potent that even if you’d looked at your phone all you would see were squiggles and dashes—like waking in a dream and trying to read the time or read a sign. Jean wasn’t sure how long they’d been there before the group pulled him out onto the dance floor.

It was like they were an unsynchronized flash mob; there together but definitely not dancing to the same rhythm. Jean was sweaty, unsure if it was the Jack’s he’d downed and the handful of shots they’d all taken together or the claustrophobic amount of bodies surging around him. He was having fun although they still had yet to catch sight of Reiner. Someone had suggested to call him, but another had insisted he’d be there eventually if he wasn’t floating around somewhere already.

The girls took turns dancing with the guys, Krista and Ymir trading Jean and Marco out for each other more often than not, leaving them to awkwardly dance close together in the pressing crowd. It wasn’t too long before Marco decided to go find them a table, his time for dancing already cashed out. Krista and Ymir were locked around each other, undulating between laughing and making out, allowing the sea of other drunk patrons to swallow them whole.

It was only Jean, Connie and Sasha for a while until a particularly fast song came on that had Connie and Sasha wearing the same goofy grin as they swirled around the dance floor in perfect cadence. Jean glanced around, his laughter fading a bit as he scanned the crowd for known faces. He started to panic a little, his struggle to find the edge of the dance floor becoming a harder task than he thought necessary.

He could feel his anxiety rising, the cord in his chest pulling taut until he came upon a couple who pulled him into their orbit. The woman’s blonde pixie hair glowed rainbow in the kaleidoscopic lights as she twined her arms around his neck while her partner pulled Jean against his body, a strong hand anchoring itself to Jean’s stomach, his fingers bunching up the sash Jean was surprised was still around his body.

Although he didn’t know this couple, the alcohol seemed to make him forget to worry now that his mind was distracted. He figured this was what if felt like to be a girl in a story of how she’d met her soul mate best friend at the bar one night because they’d bonded in the bathroom, only for them to never see each other again.

Jean was smiling and having a good time swaying to the music--for a while. After a few songs, the heat of the man behind him and the woman in front pushing in at such close proximity had his head spinning. As the night dragged on, it seemed like the lights shuddered more spastically than before and the music was louder. His head started to pound and his vision swam with colors in the pixie girls’ hair. His heart rate spiked every time the man behind him decided to grind into him, wet lips dusting the shell of his ear, his temple, his throat.

It was all too much and the panic began to well inside him again.

Not knowing how to go about politely extricating himself from this pair, Jean simply stated “I need some water.”

Pixie girls’ eyes were like a cats’ in the dark, measuring how to make sure her prey didn’t escape as she pulled her lips close to his ear. “Tall glass behind you not enough?”

Any other time, Jean would have felt like smiling at the play on words however his chest was so tight he already felt like he couldn’t breathe. Jean did not want to know if this was the kind of place where he would die by trampling if he fainted.

No longer worrying about being polite- wondering why he had been worried in the first place- Jean pushed against the woman’s hips, reaching up to untangle her hold around his neck. The hand on his stomach was less an anchor, more a vice now, as the man behind him ground their hips together again, teeth grazing unwanted on Jean’s earlobe. “One more song, babe, you’re a great dancer.”

“I am not your babe, I’m- I’m engaged, look!” Jean tried to reach up to point at the tiara that had somehow made it through the nights’ shenanigans so far but the woman with tentacles for hands grabbed at his own, winding them behind her, holding them to her body with a strength Jean might be impressed of if he ever escaped the situation.

The panic had set in and now Jean’s breath was really labored as he thought of the statistics of date rape and toxic masculinity and how no one would believe him and this is why women go to the bathroom in groups-

“Mind if I cut in?”

The music was loud and his head felt like it might explode but Jean knew an angels voice when he heard it. The clarity it brought was like none Jean had ever felt before. Turning to the source, Jean’s face split into a smile as Marco stood within arms-length, eyes glaring at the two who held Jean hostage.

The pixie girls’ hold on his hands slackened, allowing Jean to wrench his grasp from her hips and reach out for Marco. Marco took his hand, Jean grateful for the contact, an actual anchor in this choppy sea he was drowning in; Marco, the lighthouse that spelled out his safety.

“Why don’t you join us, freckles?” Jean could feel the rumble of the man’s words against his back as he spoke. He watched as a look came across Marco’s face that he’d never seen before. His eyes held none of the light they had before; they had darkened to the color of the night sky before a storm, his mouth a straight line, a fissure about to crack in an earthquake.

His face held all the chaos of natures’ wrath, but his words came out even; untethered to the fury in his eyes, marred only by the edge that slipped out. “I don’t think that's such a good idea.”

The hand on Jean got tighter. “Mind showing me why?”

Marco slunk closer, the hand not holding Jean’s slotting between their bodies. “Because if you don’t release him, I won’t release you.” Jean felt a pressure where the man’s crotch had been previously, could hear his intake of breath, loud and sharp in his ear over the music. “And I have a feeling you still want to enjoy tonight.” Marco’s hand gripped tighter and suddenly the pressure of the man’s hand was gone from Jean’s front and he was shoved away and into Marco’s chest.

Jean didn’t turn to see where they went, wanting to be as far from the dance floor as he could get. The tension in his chest slackened as he clung to Marco who led him confidently through the churning bodies until they were at the end of the bar.

After ordering two waters, Marco turned to Jean, the destruction in his eyes replaced by the gentlest look Jean had ever seen. “Are you okay?” Their faces were close, his words half-shouted over the music above.

Jean nodded, unsure of how else to respond. Marco smiled, squeezing the hand he’d yet to let go of.

Waters in hand, Marco led them to a set of steps to the second level, a ring of balcony that overlooked the rest of the club. A corner booth wedged itself in a random offshoot that seemed to make the booth dangle in midair over the crowd held everyone else who cheered when they say the bachelor and his savior.

“The prodigal son has returned!” Sasha slurs, her head flopped onto Connie’s shoulder who looked even worse for wear than she did.

“I almost didn’t return! You left me to die!” Jean slides in next to Ymir who has Krista in her lap, smiling happily as she plays with her girlfriends’ hair. Jean turns to Marco, becoming almost serious. “But thank you for saving me. I was seriously starting to freak out.”

Marco smiled a little, his brow furrowing at the memory of seeing Jean in a panic. “No need to thank me. They were creeps, I would’ve done it for anyone.”

“You would’ve given a guy a dick cast for anyone?”

Ymir chokes on her drink and Connie and Sasha burst into laughter and shouting starts about ‘Wait what happened?’ ‘You goin’ around grabbin’ dicks, Bodt?’ ‘Dick handler!’ as Marco chuckles. “Dicks don’t go in casts.”

“You know what I mean.”

Marco opens his mouth to say more but then a man in leather hot pants doused in glitter comes strutting up with a tray of shots and the night regains its dreamy nature as the group sings a terrible rendition of LMFAO’s Shots as Jean takes 3 in a row, his throat burning from so much alcohol in so little time.

The dance floor does not make a reappearance in their night, everyone content to now just dance in their seats and play very loud rounds of Would You Rather and Never Have I Ever. After another hour, Jean is in stitches and there are tears in his eyes. The room is spinning but he’s sitting still, propped up against Marco as they empty their lungs of air as a bare-chested Connie lifts one leg to the table top and does his best impersonation of Captain Morgan in their newest round of Truth or Dare.

Connie gets down, ears red as he hastens to replace his shirt. “Alrighty there Jeannyboy, we’ve got to find something gooood.” Connie comically stroked an imaginary goatee as he looked around the club that was still swinging at full pace. He turned, scanning the crowd below, and stopped. His eyes went wide, and he pulled a squalling Sasha to his level, pointing out over the balcony until she stopped whining and a wicked grin appeared on her lips.

“Jean, did you ever hear from Reiner?”

Jean looks up, brow furrowing in confusion. “What? Reiner? He’s-ooooh. No?” He struggles getting his phone out of his pocket, falling onto Marco in the process, his laughter returning as he breathes in the scent of Marco mixing with the scents of the club. Pulling back, his hand planted firmly on Marco’s knee to push himself up, he squints at his phone, the screen swimming to him through the strobe lights and alcohol saturating his brain.

“He texted meeee two hours ago? No- what time-?” Jean shakes his head, unable to focus. “He’s here, that’s all I know. Where at is a history of mystery.” Sasha lets out a bark of laughter before trying to regain her own drunken composure.

“Jean...oh my God. Well the good news in- I've found him!”

“You did?” Jean perks up a little at the mention of his friend. A wave of guilt crashes over him for completely forgetting about Reiner but it is quickly replaced when he realizes said friend can join them and that the fun can multiply.

“Yeah. C’mere.”

“Whyyyyy?” Jean had long since found comfort in his spot wedged between Marco and Ymir and struggled –not altogether accidentally- sliding across Marco, his friends’ warm hands steadying him as he almost face plants in the floor. He huffs and puffs like the big bad wolf as he makes his way to the other side of the table where Sasha sits on her knees in the booth, hands on the railing of the second level as she scans the crowd.

“Why is it so important that I find Reiner from up here? If you’ve found him, we can just go get-” It took Jean a moment for his drunken gaze to follow Sasha’s guiding finger to where she’d found Reiner but his words came to a halt as soon as Jean’s eyes locked onto his friend.

Reiner was certainly having fun by the looks of it. His chest was bare, and his blond hair shone with sweat. He was close to the center of the dance floor, dancing like a dream, his arms pulling another man closer until their lips lock and-

“Is that Bertholdt?” Jean feels like his reaction is a little....less...than how he might have reacted a couple shots in the past. Presently, all Jean can seem to do is stare at how free Reiner looks right now. Free from the stress of work. Free from any social restraints other than obviously keeping his pants on. He looked like how Jean wanted to feel. Wild and free to do dance, to sing...to kiss a handsome man that Jean had assumed was his best friend. “I seriously thought they were besties.”

Jean didn’t see the gleam in Sasha’s eye as she looked at him sideways. “Besties? Do besties kiss?”

He couldn’t seem to look away as Bertholdt cradled Reiners’ head gently while Reiner’s fist balled up in his shirt, pressing their bodies flush together. “Sure. I mean....I’m sure they can. Y’know...”

“Like that?”

Jean felt nervous now, his neck growing hot as he imagined what might have happened had he and Marco stayed on the dance floor. Had he not almost freaked out. If he’d been a little more drunk, would he have pulled Marco, his own bestie, closer to him, watched the lights pulsing in his eyes before delving into that pit in which they would either escape from with a story to tell or drown in each other...

“Major Tom. Earth to Major Tom.” A set of fingers snaps in front of his eyes and Jean takes a few faltering steps backwards, tripping his own feet and imagination. “You alright?”

A strong hand at the base of his spine sets Jean’s face aflame, his insides tingling with want. Without looking down at his friend, Jean goes to sit, Marco sliding over to make room, his hand sliding to the back of the booth.

“Yeah, totally.” Jean waves a hand at a mischievous Sasha.

“Yeah totally? Totally if Connie dared you to kiss Marco like that it’d be totally cool tomorrow and we could still go to the movies without you two groping each other under the popcorn?”

Jean was speechless, his mouth agape as he looked between Sasha, Connie and Marco, the last of which was taken aback, having stayed in his seat and not witnessed a thing that was happening below them.

“Well I can’t just...” Jean’s words fade out with a chuckle and he’s thankful for the dark atmosphere that envelopes them. His head is even fuzzier now than it had been with strictly alcohol. His mind was now racing, thinking of how to respond, what he wanted to say, what he should say-

“Sure ya can!” Sasha has now turned fully back around in her seat, hands creating thunder as they meet with the table. “That’s what’s so fun about this game! Either you do the do...do the dare, shit Braus” she giggles, her own alcohol coming back to haunt her, “do the dare or face the consequences.”

“Wait, wait, I can choose truth if I want-”

“Krista chose truth before Connie did his dare and it’s two dares and a truth. Sorry babe, ya gotta.” Jean was once again not thankful for Ymir and her ability to interject at precisely the right moment.

Jean’s groan echoed in his head as he turned to Marco. “Alright,” he sighed. “Let’s do this.” Marco’s eyes were wide and he became rigid.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m daring you and Jean to kiss each other like his business partner down on the floor with his bestie. No biggie, right Jean?”

Jean licked his lips, nodding as he leaned in close to Marco.

“Jean?” They were so close Marco didn’t have to shout so loud for Jean to hear him.

“Yeah?”

Marco’s eyes darted between Jean’s flickering down for a few seconds to his lips. “Are you sure you want to? It’s your night, you don’t have-”

For the one instance of clarity that Jean held, the one moment he felt like Reiner, Jean nodded once again. “I want to.”

And finally, finally, Jean was kissing his best friend.

His insides burned and his lips seemed to tingle as the kiss quickly went from a simple press to the mouth, to Jean tilting his head and shamelessly burrowing deeper into Marco, stealing his breath, finding his freedom in the one place he’d forbidden himself to go.

He pulled Marco closer with one hand to his chest-not meaning to directly copy Reiner but it was the most effective way- his other hand securing itself over Marco’s which had grabbed at his waist.

Jean couldn’t tell you how long he was lost in the empty feeling of falling but his head got lighter and lighter until he was forced to pull away, loss echoing from his lips and straight to his heart.

Eyes eclipsed with desire, it took all Jean had not to delve back into that wondrous space he’d found. He watched Marco’s lust blown eyes flutter between his own and his lips, like a butterfly unsure of where to land. He couldn’t hear Marco’s ragged breathing, but his own heartbeat mirrored Marco’s as it beat against his hand, a creature wanting release. The same one inside of him, begging for deliverance to be with what was his.

It took several moments before the world came back into focus. Ymir was wolf whistling while Connie and Sasha cheered, Krista clapping and whooping like a mini version of her girlfriend. As the fog in Jean’s mind got thinner, he knew that their night at the club wouldn’t last much longer and that he wasn’t going home.

Jean almost regretted completing the dare since it meant that he now had to act like nothing had changed. Like he wanted to be there for another hour instead of devouring every inch of Marco’s skin in a well-lit room so he could watch his universe grow from just the few constellations he knew, the sky opening up with each piece of clothing removed. He had to act like the hand at the back of his neck, idly playing with his hair, wasn’t keeping the fire in his bones lit, stoking it higher each time a finger dipped beneath his collar.

He had to act,

Act,

Act,

Still,

After getting what he wanted.

No.

After sampling the first page of a three-part series he hoped didn’t rile him up, setting him up for the best ending, only for the author to decide the main character needed some great tragedy in his life and wasn’t allowed the happy ending, instead getting a cold, misty evening standing in front of a grave-

Jesus, Jean. Jean shook his head and attempted to guide his attention back to the present. He caught Krista in the corner of his eye, nuzzling sweetly into Ymir’s neck while said woman stifled a yawn. He watched as Ymir smoothed a hand down Krista’s back before stringing words together to make the sentence that would disband their little gang out into the streets of Trost.

“Sorry guys but I think we’ve gotta call it a night. Our little angel seems to have tired herself out.”

Jean and Marco slid out of the seat, making room for her to awkwardly shift across the booth until the four of them- three and a half- were standing, saying their goodbyes. Connie and Sasha both moaned about party poopers but rose as well and they all made their way to the bar where everyone paid respective tabs, everyone splitting Jean’s between them, before moving through the still buzzing crowd until they all stood on the sidewalk.

“I think we’re going to make sure beauty and the beast make it home safely. You two be careful going home too.” Sasha winked, her observant eye catching the way Marco’s hand had yet to untangle itself from Jean’s. Once upon a time-literally an hour ago- Jean's face would have lit up but right now he was free. Free like Reiner and nothing could bring him down.

“Thank you, guys, for tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

They all waved to one another before turning in opposite directions and departing. They’d barely gotten another block before Jean was surprised to be tugged into a darkened doorway where Marco pulled him in for another suffocating kiss.

They stayed there, pressing and pulling and panting until their heads and hearts were light. When they pulled apart, it wasn’t very far. They continued to breathe each other in, foreheads touching, breaths and heartbeats loud on the quiet side street.

Jean could barely whisper, too scared to break the spell. “Can we-”

“I don’t want to question your intelligence, but you’d have to be dumb to think I’m kissing you goodnight on the sidewalk.” Marco’s voice was dripping with greed, still another side to the ever-more complicated puzzle that was Marco that Jean was experiencing firsthand.

Jean just nodded, his hands to Marco’s chest the only things keeping him from falling into the man in front of him. There was no possible way to fall harder in love with him. For how muddled his mind was with alcohol, it clarified the one thing Jean hadn’t been able to say to himself: I love Marco. I am irrevocably in love with my best friend.

They somehow make their way in and out of a taxi and up the five flights of stairs to Marco’s apartment- “This sucks, I really wanted to make out with you in the elevator”- without breaking their necks. As soon as the door was shut, Marco was pressing Jean against the door, his one superior inch and greater bulk helping him in this endeavor. Jean moaned into Marco’s mouth, tilting his head back into the door until that stupid tiara falls off, clinking to the floor, as Marco's expert fingers skirt under his shirt, making a home at the dip in his lower back, fingertips brushing teasingly beneath the denim there. Marco drinks in the sound, savoring how the real thing sounded, noting how his imagination had never been able to come up with anything as good as this moment. Through licking flames, the spiraling heat, Jean can sense Marco holding back but his addled brain defaults to his lust and he ignores the sensation, even when Marco breaks the kiss.

“God,” Marco panted against Jean’s cheek as Jean peppered kisses across his skin, tongue touching every freckle he came across until he came across his favorite one he’d found- on a clothed Marco- at the tragus of his right ear, “I have to admit that...this is seriously hotter than anything I’d conjured up.”

“You think about me? Like... well-” Jean chuckles, a breathy sound that has shivers skating down Marco’s back.

“I’m sorry. I felt a little weird, our friendship and all but...Jean, I couldn’t help it. You...” He sighs, his shoulders sagging.

“Marco,” Jean relinquishes his hold on Marco’s neck, and pulls back to look into those umber eyes he fell in love with the first time he saw them as he cradles his face in both hands. “Believe me when I say, I understand your feelings. I felt like a really bad friend that one time...and the other time...and well you get it.” Marco does chuckle, placing a sweet kiss to Jean’s lips.

They kiss languidly for a while, still pressed against the door, until Jean can’t help himself and pulls his hands forward, creating a slow grind between them that feeds the fire, stoking it until their breath becomes broken again and Jean isn’t so much standing as he is clinging to Marco who is basically holding him up.

Jean groans at the loss of Marco’s lips against his as Marco pulls away, untangling his hands to grab onto Jean’s as he leads him across the floor, attempting to kick out of his shoes as he walks. With the city lights being the only source of light and more alcohol in their system than sense, the two attempt to make their way towards the door at the far end of the apartment. Jean walks so close to Marco, attempting the same feat, when he strays too far to the left and slams his knee into the back on Marco’s couch.

“Shit! Ow, ow, owowowow.” Jean can’t seem but laugh through the pain, tears pricking the edge of his eyes as Marco stumbles, his arm wrenched back as Jean grabs for his knee in the dark. The sash that he somehow still has around his torso catches his knee and he almost going reeling, hopping around to keep his balance before ripping the offensive article from his body, flinging it into the darkness.

“Oh my God, Jean are you okay?” Jean can hear the worry as Marco tries to stifle his own laughter from coming through the dark to meet him.

“Nothing hurt but my pride, I guess.” Jean winces as he prods the place, his minds’ eye already conjuring up the bruise he knows he’ll have later.

“Well if that’s all.” Jean can hear his friend rolling his eyes as he helps haul him up. “Come on, you clumsy heifer.” Jean squalls, not prepared as Marco bends down in front of him, somehow successfully pulling Jean onto his back. Jean clings to Marco for dear life as he gets them through the door into the bedroom.

Marco all but throws Jean against the mattress, clipping his own foot against the pallet bed frame as he deposits them onto the bed. He comes down hard, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

“Now who’s the clumsy heifer!?” Jean’s buzz is surely coming down but the natural high he’s on has him crawling over to Marco who sits on the edge of the bed, cradling his foot as he tries to laugh through the pain. “Look at us, a pair of stumbling calves.” Jean winds his arms around Marco from behind, pressing his face into his friends' neck. Marco's core tightens beneath his fingers, his foot slowly sliding back down to the floor. Marco leans back until Jean's chest is fully pressed against his back.

They're still for a few moments, until Marco turns his head and Jean lifts his, their mouths meeting in a sweet caress. Marco hums in the back of his throat as Jean kisses him deeply, deeper than the oceans and space combined. Jean kisses him and lights his world up; if his eyes were open, he’s sure he’d see starts.

Marco presses back until Jean gets the idea, understands what Marco is telling him without words. His hand comes up to Marco's chest and he helps guide him until Marco is laid out in the middle of the bed. Jean leans over him, drunkenly kissing Marco as he maneuvers himself until he's straddling Marco, his knees precariously perched on the edge of the bed. Jean finds his hands drifting over Marco’s stomach, tracing the line of muscle that is exposed to his touch, revels in the intake of air as he grazes a thumb over the hard muscle there. He swallows, suddenly nervous. “Would it be weird for me to ask for you to turn on a light?”

Marco doesn’t answer at first, just pulls Jean’s mouth back to his and makes Jean breathless again. “I’ll do almost anything for you tonight, Jean. Just say the word.” He leaves a chaste kiss lingering on both their lips as he rolls from under Jean and flounders his way up the bed, until a soft light floods the room. Jean is greeted with the sight of a very ruffled Marco whose lips are kiss swollen, his ever-neat hair disheveled. Jean smiles to think that this Marco is his doing.

Jean crawls up the mattress towards Marco, stretching his body over that of his friends', kissing his way up his-still, annoyingly present- clothes until he’s nose-to-nose with him. “Well that’s good to know.”

There’s a hunger in both of them, their inner beasts roaring to get out, pounding against their rib cages as they twist together, hollowing each other out until both are comfortably curled into the others’ chest. The blankets become a nest, one that has them laughing heartily as they try and untangle themselves so they can remove layers and layers until heated skin meets heated skin and Jean in settled back on his heels, overlooking the inverted universe he’s been dreaming of exploring.

“You know, I can’t think to a time when the night sky satisfied me. It pales in comparison to the systems of stars you hold in your skin.” Jean allows his fingers to chart each and every constellation, his slurred words a whispered secret he’d thought he would always keep to himself.

“You really are a poet.” Marco looks up lovingly at Jean, one hand resting easily on Jean’s thigh, unable to keep his hands to himself now that they have finally crossed that line.

Jean scoffs as he brings his face close to Marco’s stomach, his nose trailing teasingly up his skin, tongue a serpent striking into Marco’s navel that has the brunet gasping, lips curling, body settling back from the upset.

Almost within kissing distance, Jean lets out another squall as Marco kicks a leg out, a strong arm wrapping around Jean’s middle as he pulls him back up, capsizing them and it’s Marco who is in charge. He’d played nice before, allowing the man he’d foolishly fallen for some time to do as he pleased but Marco could no longer take it.

“You are. The words you speak tie me up until I can’t breathe.” Marco’s words are sprinkled between feverish kisses that Jean can barely keep up with, that have his insides roiling beneath the surface. It was Jean who couldn’t breathe, his whole body pulled taut, waiting for Marco to release his metaphorical hold on him.

Jean tries to speak again, his mind buzzing with more words to please Marco, but those lips trailing down his skin has left him speechless and he can no longer think past the feeling of those soft grazes getting closer to the only article of clothing either of them wore.

He makes a keening sound as Marco’s chin bumps the bulge in his boxer briefs and he involuntarily bucks his hips upwards. His right hand stutters to Marco's shoulders, that same inkling of a rein being held back intensifies instantly. There are no more touches after that and Jean peels his eyes open to look at Marco who seems to be at a loss.

“Marco? Are you okay?”

Marco blinks, as if waking from a trance. His eyes are clearer than before, like thin clouds had moved from in front of the moon. His cheeks were red and he had a pained look on his face, something Jean had hoped would not be something that would accompany this experience.

Marco's hands come to rest beside Jean's hips, barely touching as he stares seemingly through the comforter bunched beneath Jean's left hand. “Yeah, I just...Jean, I want you to feel good. I want to treat you to all the love you deserve, I just...I guess I wasn't really thinking something like this would happen, would ever happen, especially not tonight and....” Marco pulled himself up and away from Jean, still close, but no longer touching the man he'd been dreaming of. “You are so....so lovely like this Jean, but....honey you're drunk, we both are and...and you're engaged...and I-”

Marco seemed for the first time to have lost control of his breathing, his arm shaking where his hand rested next to Jean's naked torso. Even with the sluggishness hindering him, Jean sat up, as quickly as he could manage, scooting closer to wrap his arms around the brunet who for the first time Jean could remember, Marco had tears of sorrow piling up, ready to spill.

And spill they did. Jean could feel how slick his neck was as Marco curled into him, his face pressed against his skin. He was babbling and Jean was shushing and rubbed gentle circles into Marco's speckled skin. His back started to ache at the angle from which it was turned. Carefully, Jean twisted their bodies, guiding them to the bed until Marco's body was folded into Jean's side, fingers almost bruising in their relentless grip on Jean as words continued to fall from his mouth like rain.

“I'm sorry Jean, I shouldn't be like this....I fell for you, for someone who has- I never imagined you would, we would....I tried to not let it go this far, I tried to stay away but damn it Jean....you're like the sun and I'm cold when you're gone...And then tonight I tried to- but temptation just...won and...” His words continued until they were quiet whispers, almost as if to himself, like he was sleep talking but the erratic beat of his heart against Jean's chest did little in the way of slowing down.

It felt like ages before Marco quieted down and his breathing and the racing of his heart started to even out. The vice like grasp around Jean loosened and the only thing he heard were sniffles.

Finally...

“I'm sorry Jean.”

Feeling ill fit for the part he'd been thrown in, normally the one being consoled, Jean's hands stilled and he shifted until he was sure he had a triple chin while gazing at the beautiful man he embraced. “Sorry for what?”

It took Marco several long moments before he finally looked at Jean, those umber eyes holding the oceans, little drops having spilled over. “I'm sorry for falling in love with you.”

At first, Jean had no words. He was completely astounded that he lived in a world in which Marco could be sorry for anything. Craning his neck awkwardly, Jean brushed their lips together. “I'm not.” His eyes closed as he tried a second time, pulling Marco closer up his chest to lock their lips together. He felt the gasp Marco uttered before the moan he wasn't sure which one was responsible for, eating it up along with the tears, the emotions, the love.

They lay there, languidly pressing lips and tongues and hands wherever they wanted to be. The heat had left little by little in the moment they would both come to realize was a true expression of love; one devoid of the rules society had cast on them, that true romantic feelings only showed themselves in their greater form when both parties were naked and came together, doing their best impressions of wild animals procreating to extend the length of their legacy.

They simply existed on that bed, pressing soft feathery kisses to their favorite pieces of skin; a freckle at the corner of an eye or the place on Jean's hip that was ticklish. They lay there until Jean woke up, startled to find that the two had fallen asleep, lips pressed together. He blinked and chuckled, dragging Marco with him as he turned the bedside lamp off only to find the sun had started to leave fingerprints on her lovers dark skin, burnishing the navy to lilac. He watched it for a moment, listening to Marco sighing contentedly against his skin as he attempted to burrow impossibly closer to Jean, until sleep overtook him without warning.

Jean wakes feeling like a puddle of liquid sunshine. He’s warm and loose, his limbs strewn about the covers until they come to be interwoven with those of the body lying peacefully next to his. He opens his eyes, blinking them until the sunlight shining through the gauzy curtains no longer blinds him. He’d found himself in this position once before and had cowered from actions his heart had wanted to take.

Now, emboldened by the actions of the previous night, Jean curls inwards, no longer scared to gently shuffle closer, to press his lips against the still sleeping form next to him, making sure to kiss every freckle he’d dreamed of kissing. It’s not long before parts of his body are waking, and he has to stop himself from grinding into Marco’s hip. He lays there for a while, listlessly kissing Marco’s shoulder and neck, his fingers making feather-light patterns across his lovers’ torso.

He guesses he’s been awake for close to twenty minutes, enjoying his days’ tranquil start, when Marco starts to stir. At first, he groans, as if waking up is the last thing he wishes to do, until he registers the feeling on his skin and he’s turning his head, a smile stretched upon his lips, eyes blinking blearily in search of the one face he’s dreamed of waking to for months now.

“Good morning, Jean.” The sounds of Marco’s morning voice, the way he pronounces his name like it was meant to be caressed instead of spoken, has Jean shivering. He lets his hand fall to Marco’s waist as he kisses Marco, morning breath and all.

“Mmm, a very good morning.” Jean mumbles as he pulls away, unable to keep himself from continuing his new ritual of kissing every visible freckle.

“I can’t believe...” Marco scoffs and Jean halts his actions, raising his head to look at Marco. “I can’t believe that you’re here. That last night wasn’t the best damn dream I’ve ever had.”

Jean's gaze softens and he brings a hand up to tenderly cradle Marco's cheek. “I can't believe I fought myself so hard on giving myself what makes me shine.”

Marco stares lovingly at Jean, nuzzling his cheek into Jean's palm, turning it to replace it with his lips. He sighs. “I can never grow old of the words your lips speak.” Jean grins, a bit sheepishly at the obvious compliment, nestling his face into Marco, unsure of how he’ll be able to leave this bed and walk out into the real world without feeling Marco’s skin next to his. He’d never felt this way, had never been able to comprehend that people could feel this way. Of course, over the last few months, in his journey of falling for his friend, he’d experienced other feelings he’d never felt before, little tremors to the earthquake that this massive love was.

Love... A blizzard threatening to snuff out the dying embers of loneliness. A sun drenched sea, molding broken glass into alluring gems that hold the restorative powers of nature inside of it. A photographer bundled up against the cold as he seeks out the warmth that a snow laden garden can still exude, even in the dead of winter, when everything else has perished.

“Jean?”

Jean shakes his head, eyes heavy-lidded, a smile reappearing on his face. “Yeah?”

“I said do you want me to make us some coffee?”

Nodding slowly, Jean kissed a few more beauty marks people had to gall to call blemishes, before he slung his leg over Marco’s body, settling there like the spot was made for him. He settles closer to Marco, chest to chest, pecking his lips all over. “I would love some coffee, but I'm not quite ready to give this up.” The smile that lights up Marco's face is enough to power Trost for seasons to come.

The clock above the stove reads 12:14 before the two men with slight hangovers emerge from the bedroom and make their way to the kitchen. Jean goes for the coffee pot, can feel the cool glass brush his fingertips before he’s fully grasped, his body being turned around until his butt is pressed against the cabinets and Marco has his arms wrapped snugly around him, his face buried in Jean’s neck.

They stand like that for a few minutes, Jean’s fingers swirling over the cotton shirt Marco had donned, swaying in tiny increments where they stood. Marco bends slightly, grasping Jean by his backside to haul him up onto the counter.

“You know there are easier ways to get me where you want me.” Jean smirks, his hand over Marco’s that grasps his knee possessively as the brunet goes about one-handedly setting up the coffee maker.

Marco hums in his throat, a pleasant smile gracing his lips. “Ah yes, but how much fun would simply asking be? Now that I have you...” Marco presses the brew button as he steps between Jean's legs, meeting Jean's gaze. “I hope to kiss you whenever you'll allow, for as long as you wish.” Marco's breath ghosts over Jean's lips as their faces close in on one another, his words turning to a low moan as Jean licks into his mouth, desperate fingers clutching the back of Marco's shirt. He guides them into another of those deep-ocean-space kisses they'd been sharing all night. One that steals their breath like the vacuum of space and has them gasping when they come up for air.

Jean pulls back, breathless, Marco stopping himself from following those intoxicating lips. “I think I can handle that.” Jean lets out a chuckle as he rests their foreheads together. He closes his eyes, his chest squeezing slightly, but so full of light it balloons itself against the anxiety attempting to choke him. “I really wish this was real life. That I could do this every morning.” His words are a whisper, a shadow of the sunshine echoing inside.

When he blinks his eyes open, Marco is staring at him, his eyes gentle but pained. The brunet brings a hand to cup Jean's cheek, mirroring the action from earlier. “Jean. I'm not a selfish man but...you can.” The tears are back and Jean's heart explodes, rushing to his throat at once and he panics. He is now the cause of those tears and he chokes on his own distaste for himself. Marco chokes on the tears threatening to spill. “You can, you can, you absolutely, selfishly, can, Jean.”

It broke Jean to hear the pain in Marco's voice. His stronghold crumbling like a sand castle against the sea spray, the tide having finally reached him. “You're right, Marco. You're right.” He smiles, his brow furrowing as both hands cradles Marco, guiding their lips back together. “You're right and-” the kisses are feverish. “We can just be together. Blooming and-” a man drowning in his need for water. “Orbiting around each other until the sun goes out.” There are tears and tongues and laughter and Jean doesn't know when his heart lifts back up impossibly high but he thinks it was somewhere between Marco lifting him off the counter to lay them down on the couch and the shriek that escapes his mouth when Marco blows a sloppy raspberry on his skin.

It takes a while for Jean to realize that there’s a noise that shouldn’t be there. A thorn in their proverbial side, threatening to burst their happy bubble. It’s his phone ringing, repeatedly shouting for his attention. He groans. “They’ll leave a message.” The two continue their lethargic actions, petting and caressing like it was the first day after their honeymoon, until the phone silences itself briefly before starting another round of its shrill cries.

“Oh my God, hold on.” Marco moves to allow Jean to hoist himself off the furniture and he hurriedly steps across the floor to the bedroom where he roots around until he finds his pants and thus his phone. He’s honestly surprised the battery hadn’t died-as if 7% is much of a battery- and is instantly doused with cold water as he sees the number of text messages from Sasha, Reiner and Hitch, the last of which is in the process of calling him for the fourth time since 10:00.

He swallows past the lump that has quickly formed in his throat and swipes to answer it.

“Hey, babe.”

Chapter Text

The two weeks before the wedding were the most blissful Jean had ever felt in his life. He couldn't get enough of Marco. It was like popping a seal; once it was broken it wasn't quite as secure. Jean found himself staring openly at his freckled friend, pressing legs together under tables, fingers touching any part of him that he could whenever he got the chance.

He was over the moon, finally souring between the clouds and into the stars. Lips always buzzing with the need to touch Marco's, but satisfied with any skin available. He tried to keep it dialed down, like a dog told to 'stay' who listened, his backside wagging excitedly as he waited for the command to come closer.

Marco was anything but reserved, now that he knew his feelings were reciprocated. Jean counted on him to be the strong one, to hold them back from looking like two horny teenagers in public but he didn't complain when they were walking back to work from their daily lunch and he was pulled down an alley or into a shadowed alcove.

Jean had never smiled so much, had never felt so buoyant in his life. Even the few times in college he'd smoked pot it had made him laugh in a corner until he'd started to hyperventilate, unable to breathe, and the tears had come, choking him further, but he couldn't stop laughing. Even when he was convinced he was going to die like that, a smile on his face and tears in his eyes, he'd tried again, talking himself into thinking this time would be different.

Well this time was different. His time with Marco had erased everything from his mind. He'd untied the weights, letting the sandbags drop so that he could rise and rise and rise. For two weeks, he could float along the warm current, Marco's touch boosting him again and again when the ground got a little too close.

But no matter how high on dopamine he got, all Jean had to do was close his eyes and listen for a moment to the low rumble of thunder on the horizon behind him and he knew he couldn't escape the storm.

Hitch is a lot less angry than Jean would have expected when he walks into their apartment shortly after his phone call with her. He'd had a panic attack while on the phone, Marco holding him as he tried to steady his heart from outpacing the winner of the Kentucky Derby, his body heavy after hanging up, his full weight pulling them to the floor.

The panic had not fully left him as he walked home, alone, not Marco's idea but his, feet heavy, almost dragging the ground as he made his way up to the apartment he once called home. The cheery sunlight that had woken him with such grace had turned hard, sharpening the edges of everything. There seemed to be a filter over his eyes, one that was so subtle he couldn't place what was wrong with the picture. It was more of a feeling; it made the city itself, always seemingly so open to him, crush in on him, like his world was caving in no matter how much sky he could see.

The early afternoon light was streaming in through the windows as he walked through the door to find Hitch settled on the sofa. Knees drawn up to her chest, a pair of her sweatpants he'd gotten more use out of and an old sweatshirt from college hugging her disheveled frame. He wasn't used to seeing her like this.

His first thought was alarm, that something wrong had happened at the doctor, but on the phone she had seemed much more resigned; if she had been crying he couldn't tell over the line. It was as if he was looking at a staged picture of her, as if she were an actress and this was just one of the many faces she could slip on and off at will. That this was something that happened all the time.

He places his keys in the basket on the entryway table, depositing the tiara and sash gently on the coffee table as he sits down beside her. Jean was nervous, unsure of how to react to whatever situation the next few moments found him in. His heart pumped double time and he felt the tightening of his chest as shame and guilt, a two headed monster that had crawled its way into his chest the moment he'd answered his phone, licked at his insides.

“Hitch?” His voice was softer than he'd thought, softer than he'd imagined she could hear.

She turned her head, a watery smile on her lips, not quite reaching her red rimmed eyes. It was that very moment that Jean's heart broke for her. He'd grown so distant, so selfish, he couldn't even hear when his fiance had been crying over the phone. This was a connection that people in love, people who would spend the rest of their lives together were supposed to have, right?

He opened his mouth to add to whatever was making her cry, to be that bad person he knew was inside, the one he'd unknowingly reserved for her, to break it off when she spoke.

“I'm pregnant.”

Any words that had blossomed on his tongue withered and died instantly.

For two weeks Jean had been living like someone with a leaky ceiling, trying to live life normally, go about his business, all the while in the back of his mind worrying when the leak would have gathered so much water out of sight and burst unexpectedly.

Jean had grown elatedly exhausted, spending any and all time that he could with Marco, kissing and cuddling and making memories he thought would be enough to sustain him for whatever future was to come. He'd grown into a restless, selfish beast. He took and took and took, hands greedy as he held onto Marco while also holding Hitch's hand as they finished the last minute preparations for the wedding.

He was in a panic of what to do, of what to say, to either of them so he just...

He just held on.

Jean was stunned at the news. If someone were to make a movie of his life, all the sound in the room, the honking horns outside, it would all turn into a low, barely audible static. It would fill him up, a feeling of pins and needles until everything would come rushing back at the sound f her laughter.

The confusion would be what brings him back, has him blinking saucer-sized eyes back to normal; a crease between his eyebrows at the joyous sound finding its way out of the face of a person who shed tears simultaneously.

“At least the dress will still fit. They told me that I really should have gained more weight by now but you know how I am with my diet. Guess I'm gonna have to start eating more now.” There was a waver in her voice at the end and she turned her head back to the window, a hand to her mouth as she tried to stifle a whimper.

Jean was unsure of what to say. He didn't want to lie to her, he wasn't happy. Maybe one day he might've been but...

He could feel his face soften and he scooted closer to her, grabbing hold of her hand that lay clenched in her lap.

“I know we've never really talked about children before...I...do you want...?”

Jean really didn't want to finish the question he'd started. He could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat as he waited.

He watched her, head slightly tilted, barely catching the gentle nod of her head. Once. Twice.

“I think so. It's...” She took another shuddering breath and turned to look Jean in the face. “I want children and I know now isn't ideal but who is ever really ready to have a baby?” The smile on her face looked pained, like she was walking toward him on broken glass, head high as she tried not to show weakness.

Marco was alive beneath him, writhing like a caged animal. He looked like how Jean felt: like he was high on adrenaline, blood pumping, hair disheveled, a smile on his face. It was 3 days until the wedding and Hitch had gone out with her bridal party for her more traditionally timed Bachelorette party. Hitch had assured that no alcohol would be consumed but that she didn't expect to be home until noon the next day.

Jean had selfishly invited Marco over to his apartment, pulling the man in by his belt seconds after he'd knocked, unable to keep himself from kissing his friend in the open doorway. There was tension in Marco's shoulder's, tension that Jean didn't want to think about. Even as Marco melted into the kiss, body becoming slack, Jean could sense that Marco was holding onto something just as hard as he was holding onto the two people in his life he couldn't imagine losing.

Marco for the fierce love they shared and Hitch simply because he must have loved her at one point, right? To build one's life around another was normal, human, no matter how wrong it really was. People couldn't be homes. Their purpose was not to sit there and allow you to curl up inside of them, to protect you indefinitely. They had their own lives to lead, their own aspirations and dreams to achieve that could not happen if they were stuck in one place, allowing you to feed off their energy. Jean knew this to be true, somewhere, deep down, but he'd allowed himself the luxury of “everyone else does it”.

With Marco he had freedom, with Hitch, security. He couldn't help himself.

That's why he pulled Marco into the living room, anxious and thrilled all at the same time as he collapsed onto the couch. Marco laughed and the sound brightened Jean's heart. It was like a shot of heroine to his system, a drug he could no longer live without. He'd dabbled before but now he was ravenous, couldn't get enough.

He couldn't get enough of Marco's lips as he pressed kiss after kiss to them. His tongue running over the swelling flesh after nipping at them, drinking in his moans like a parched desert traveler. He'd noticed the urgency had increased with each passing day; could hardly remember what it was like to look at Marco and not feel the itch to leave as quickly as possible to somewhere he could just sink his teeth into his friend.

Jean never grew tired of peeling away Marco's layers, of charting the stars in his skin, making up his own little constellations along the way. His fingers were experts now, tracing imaginary lines until someone broke: it usually Marco who would explode off the bed, wrestling Jean until he lay in submission, eyes hazy as he stared into the sun that he continuously claimed was Marco's face.

After Jean had gotten Hitch another cup of coffee, settling her down to take a nap in the afternoon sunshine, he disappeared into his study. It was dark when he shut the door and for once he welcomed it. He sat on his bed, staring blankly into the darkness as he listened to his heart beat faster, wondering if it would beat right out of his chest.

He would honestly not mind dying like that, he decided. He'd found love and he'd had the most amazing night but he didn't want to leave Marco and he couldn't break Hitch's heart, leaving her baby fatherless just because he was selfish enough to run away with the love of his life.

A face-hugger-like chest cavity explosion would be the best way to go.

But he couldn't. He had to face life, had to face his own actions. If he'd just come clean about his evolving feelings for Marco, about how his feelings for Hitch had dwindled...

Jean could feel the heat behind his eyes, could feel the first tear trace a path down his cheek and knew it was the beginning of the end.

Caving into himself, Jean grit his teeth and pressed his palms into his eyes, the skin sliding against skin as it became slick with salty tears. A sob escaped and he knew Hitch could hear, knew how long it took her to fall into slumber in the middle of the day; unsure of how to make her happy with any kind of explanation other than the obvious one.

It felt like hours later, when Jean's spine felt like it would never be straight again, like his eyes would never not burn, when the tears ran dry and he had gathered himself enough to call Marco.

The light from his phone blinded him momentarily as he quickly brought up his call log.

The line rang only once before it was answered.

“Jean?” Marco was breathless on the other end, like he'd sprinted miles to answer as fast as humanly possible, as to not keep Jean waiting.

Jean opened his mouth to respond, a choked ghost of a sound the only thing escaping.

He couldn't tell him.

He wasn't sure what would happen in the next few weeks but he couldn't figure it out now.

His coward heart crumbled under the weight and he faked a smile.

“Hey there.”

“Jean you sound...off. Is something wrong? What was the matter with Hitch?”

Jean's smile grew and he could feel tears well in his eyes at the unbridled worry Marco's voice, his heart, held for not only the man he loved, but the woman he believed was sharing Jean's heart. He loved Jean so much that he understood what this situation meant, how hard it was. He loved him so much that he didn't hesitate to meet him at Rose Cafe.

Jean woke two days before the wedding, a smile already on his face as he stretched in the queen sized pallet bed he'd come to love almost as much as the man it belonged to. The sheets were rumpled, navy an warm, having absorbed their body heat and the sun streaming in through the window. It was still pretty early if the noise filtering in through the window was telling the truth and not lying to him.

Lying to him the way he was lying to everyone else.

The thought was an unwelcome one, one that made him pause for only a moment before he rolled closer to the body beside him, soaking in the heat, the smell, planting kisses to awaiting skin as if planting a forest to correct deforestation.

Marco stirred under the ministrations, a fire burning through the foliage to awaken sleeping beasts.

“Jean” he groaned, doing his best to roll over but the other had him pinned, skin flush together. “I love you but you have got to be kidding me. We fell asleep like...2 hours ago. You cannot have had enough sleep to warrant starting the day yet.” His words were breathless, an attempt at sounding like he had authority in the situation even though he couldn't help the press of his face in the pillow or the feelings lighting up inside of him as Jean refused to respond, only pressing more kisses to any piece of skin he could find, pulling the sheets away to expose Marco to the still chill air of the morning.

He'd shifted his weight to place a kiss on Marco's hip when the brunet heaved his body over and grabbed Jean into an awkward embrace. Jean started laughing and rectified their position, covering them both back up with the covers as he hunkered down to steal Marco's breath away.

It was mid-afternoon when the two finally decided to actually wake up and brave the day. Hunger of one sort or another had roused them and after a few minutes of playful arguing of who was going to call the Chinese place down the street to deliver, Marco relented and grabbed around on the nightstand for a phone.

The first one he picked up was not his and the playful air in his lungs was sucked out instantly, like a vacuum chamber in a bad sci-fi film, when he saw the texted picture waiting for Jean on his unlock screen.

Jean felt the change in Marco immediately and did not hold the other man down as he struggled from beneath his grasp into a sitting position.

“Jean? What is this?”

Marco's face was white, the expression as if he'd seen a ghost would be on par with what Jean was seeing. It was a haunted look, one of disbelief. Correction, one of someone who had desperately tried not to believe even when the signs were all there and had been shown clear evidence that they had been wrong the entire time.

He held Jean's phone aloft, away from his body like if he held it too close it would suck him into a void he'd never escape from. Which is how Jean felt that moment staring at the black and white photo of an ultrasound. It wasn't big, the setting in his phone showing just enough details to show the viewer what it was before clicking to open it, but the photo was unmistakable.

“I...” Jean could feel all the excuses dry up in his throat, all the stumbling words tumble out of his brain, down the channels in his body to squeeze his heart. He couldn't even begin to think about lying to the one person he truly loved, not about this. He'd not been completely truthful the last two weeks and now he would pay for it.

He sighed, taking the phone and placing it face down in the covers. Jean grabbed Marco's hand gently, surprised when the brunet didn't pull away, agonizing over the tremors he felt beneath his skin.

“Hitch...well it's obvious...she's pregnant.” Jean wanted to look into Marco's eyes, those deep pools of beauty and understanding he'd fallen in love with, but shame kept his gaze on the freckles scattered over his knuckles. He wanted to touch those spots of beauty, to rub the pad of his thumb over them, as if polishing a stone. Marco's hands began to shake outright and he finally pulled the one away softly, as if he might crumble if Jean held on too tightly. But he didn't, he let him retreat, his own hands balling into fists created of the rage he felt at himself for making Marco feel all the negative feelings that he was choking on.

“You said...that you and her had decided to call the wedding off...” Jean could hear the way the tears were building in Marco's throat, the waver that was there no matter how desperately brave and tough he was trying to be. It brought tears to Jean's own eyes, ones that fell quickly onto the sheets balled in his grasp.

“You said...that that was why she called two weeks ago. That you and her decided to stay in the apartment until next month when the lease was up. You said-”

“I lied, okay?” Jean's voice was battling between too loud and too soft for what the situation required. A parent raising a voice to their child for the first time versus an abuse victim trying in vain to stand up to their abuser. It was not a good sound and it tore Jean apart when he finally looked into Marco's face. His eyes were cauldron's of clashing potions, bubbling over onto his face as the fire beneath raged.

“I lied because I didn't want to hurt you and, I swear, that was my intent that day but that's what she was calling to tell me and....Marco she wants to keep the baby and I didn't know what to do! I was scared of what would happen to her without my income, without me to help with it- I was scared of losing the best thing I've ever experienced in my entire life. I was just trying to figure out how-”

“No.” Jean's rambling came to a stop and he blinked through the tears to see the hardness that had found its way into Marco's eyes. That browned honey color had solidified almost black, obsidian that would cut through Jean in self defense.

“You didn't know what would happen to you if you called the wedding off because you fell in love with a man and no longer loved your fiance. What were you going to do? Divorce her afterwards? The wedding is in two days! You...you were scared for you Jean, and you were selfish, and unkind and...and...”The hardness melted away, a virus ejected from an ill suited host that had always been incompatible, and Marco was left to hold the crumbling mess of his face in his hands, sobs muffled as he curled in onto himself, a star turning into a black hole, becoming smaller and smaller until nothing was left.

Jean reached out to touch him, to pull Marco into him, to comfort, but Marco flung his hand away, rolling to the side to come to a stand. He walked to the windows, hands shaking as he held himself together. Jean could see his reflection, the fact that his eyes were closed, his lip held painfully between his teeth to muffle any sound leaking out.

Jean sat for a moment in the rumpled sheets, unsure of what to do.

“I think it's best you leave.”

Marco's voice was quiet, words sprinkled between spasming breaths.

Jean sighed, licking tears from his lips. “Marco...” His voice wasn't argumentative. It was an apology, a love note wrinkled with tear stains.

Nothing more was said as Jean quietly dressed himself, his eyes never far from Marco as he stood at the window, heartbreak evident in the hunch of his shoulders and the soft sounds he couldn't hide.

Jean woke with anxiety and guilt crushing his chest. Hitch had stayed the night before with her bridal party at the urging of her mother for “traditions sake”. She had confessed that she still hadn't told her mom of the impending grandchild yet, “one major life altering news bomb at a time thank-you-very-much”.

He sat up, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, and just sat, staring out the window. He'd set an alarm but he hadn't slept well since his and Marco's... talk and really hadn't needed any sort of prompting to get out of bed and end the insufferable passing of time as he tried in vain to rest.

There was no rest for the wicked and wicked he was. Wicked for not being truthful with Hitch as soon as he'd come to terms with his feelings. Wicked for allowing Marco to think that their time was unlimited, to love him only a few hours of each day. Downright wretched for being so selfish with the hearts of two people who did not deserve it.

Getting up to start his morning routine, he left his phone on the nightstand on charge. If it wasn't for his own gang of groomsmen, he'd have let it die when his battery had flashed two nights before after having sent Marco one lone text. He'd stared at his phone, checking it every time it had made a sound until he'd realized there would be no reply. He'd resigned to never look at his phone again until Hitch had plugged it up for him.

He hadn't told anyone about the last two weeks. When Connie and Sasha had asked about it only a few days after the club, their eyebrows dancing, he'd shrugged it off, saying it had just been a dare, nothing to get worked up over. Connie had sat back with a disappointed look while Sasha had remained skeptical. Jean had smiled and stated “not everyone falls in love after just one kiss”. It hadn't been a lie.

He'd fallen much earlier than that.

No kisses needed.

If he could just go back, he'd been content with the ability to stare at the stars on a rainy day and be blinded by the sunshine in the middle of the night.

After he'd sat in his own despair for the better part of the early morning, his coffee long since gone cold, Jean decided the only thing he could do would be to start the daily errands. The wedding wasn't until that afternoon. He would meet Marco, Reiner, Connie and Marlowe for lunch where they would go as a group to a park an hour outside of Trost where the venue was.

At first he'd been unsure if Marco would show up but he knew what kind of self-sacrificing Marco was and knew that it would hurt both of them but that he would be there. Tears pricked his eyes for a moment as he got dressed and thought about the situation. Ever-unsure of how to deal with situations, Jean played many out in his head. In one scenario he just left with Marco before the ceremony even started. Just hopped on the train and went. He shook his head as he scanned his closet for his vest. That would never happen. He could never just walk out on Hitch, especially now.

Several minutes of searching showed no signs of the vest and for a moment Jean panicked. This was the one thing of Marco's Jean had always been able to keep so close without being scrutinized. He'd always gotten compliments, cheeks burning, knowing that Marco made him look better on the outside as well as on the inside. There had been no shortage of days where Jean would look back at what last year had looked like, seeing the instant change in his life and happiness starting the moments he'd had coffee spilled on him in a busy coffee shop.

Tearing the wardrobe apart, Jean saw no sign of the vest and immediately felt his heart drop.

He'd been wearing it two days ago and it had been the first article of clothing to go when they'd started out on the couch attempting to watch a movie. They hadn't gotten very far before it had been abandoned in favor of other activities. The memory was now bittersweet, the bitterness choking him up until he couldn't breathe, sat heavily on the edge of the bed, hands fisted in the comforter as he grounded himself. He pulled in great, shuttering breaths, eyes streaming until he stopped shaking.

Buttoning his shirt the rest of the way, Jean made his way through the apartment, tugging his shoes on and grabbing his keys. The cab ride to Norma Jean's apartment felt like it took an eon, the shamrock key chain in between his thumb and forefinger a worry-stone stand-in. He remembered when he'd come to her to invite her to the wedding, that weathering look on her face as she'd smiled and nodded. She'd known then, an instinct, as if she could see the way things would play out.

When she opened her door, Jean gently enveloped her in a hug, his body scrunching down so that he could hold her right. He hadn't meant to cry. Hadn't meant to do a lot of things and look where it got him.

She allowed him a couple minutes of standing in the doorway but soon patted his arm gently until he eased up and she could lead him further into her home; a sanctum to him now.

Norma Jean made some tea silently, neither of them speaking a word until both had steaming mugs in front of them and were sitting comfortably. Palmer for once had abandoned his owners lap in favor of sitting next to Jean.

“He knows you're hurting.”

Jean lifted his puffy red eyes to hers, at first not understanding what she had said. At first he thought of Marco, always Marco, until she lifted her chin, indicating the now purring cat who had shifted closer to Jean.

He looked down at the dark grey fur, could hear the soft motor-like sounds coming from him. When Jean didn't speak, Norma Jean continued. “Animals can always sense when someone is hurting. They sometimes will go against their habits to comfort because it is important to them. It's in their souls to heal. But of course healing comes with trust, Jean. You can't expect an animal to help heal you if neither party shares trust. You have to show your heart or you'll never feel it.”

Jean raises a hand slowly, stroking his fingers lightly down the fur on Palmer's back, barley applying pressure. It brought tears to his eyes again just thinking of Norma Jean's words.

“You knew this would happen.” His words were softly spoken, wobbly as he spoke.

Norma Jean sighed. “I knew that you are a person who suffers the weight of the world, Jean. I hoped that in your descent into love with a special person like Marco would help you see that while life is not always easy or filled with easy choices, that it was better to choose what your heart says instead of anxieties that had yet to arise.” She placed her mug on the table beside her and leaned forward until he brought hi gaze back to her. “Marco has made a hard decision in not allowing you to break his heart further than you already have. He still loves you and wishes to give you that healing you need, but you broke his trust.”

Jean closed his eyes to stem the tears that fell regardless of any action he took to prevent them from doing so. “But how do I get him back? He won't answer my texts, I have to be at my own wedding in 4 hours, Norma Jean I-” his words were cut off with a choked sob. He sat there feeling foolish as he cried hard, harder than he had in a long time while his friend sat patiently waiting for him to finish.

Unable to bring himself to look such a well of wisdom, Jean lay his head on the back of the couch and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. There was another stint of silence until his heartbeat slowed to a regular tempo, Palmer's purring overtaking the sounds in the apartment.

“Today is going to be a very hard day for you, Jean. I am no fortune teller but I can tell you that by following your heart today instead of the expectations of everyone around you, you will lead a happier life whether or not you ever get that trust back. Our lives aren't scripted films; sometimes we have to make the decisions because no one is there to alter our stories for us.”

Jean sat with Reiner and Marlowe waiting for the other two groomsmen. Connie had called to tell them he'd be running late, an altercation on the subway had delayed him, but so far no one had heard from Marco. Jean had tried once more, nervously, to call Marco but it had rang twice before he'd been sent to voicemail. He'd hesitated a long moment before saying anything, a quiet “I'm sorry” the only words he'd been able to choke out without alerting the other two men that there was any problems.

“There he is!” Reiner shouted, a smile on his face. Jean's heart pounded as he looked up, hoping against everything that it was Marco.

“Sorry guys. It took longer than they said it would. Good thing you don't have to sew yourself into a dress or we'd be screwed.” Connie jogged up to them, talking between gathering hard breaths to fill his lungs.

“So we're just waiting on Marco, right?” Marlowe turned to Jean after one more cursory scan of the crowd.

“I...I don't think he's coming.” Jean's response had his heart beating painfully but if he allowed himself a moment to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd known since the day he was asked to leave that Marco wasn't coming for him. He was trapped for a few moments stuck remembering the sound of Marco's voice as he was asked to go. It was a sound he'd never wanted to hear and never would forget.

He came back to reality to hear his other friends arguing for Jean's sake, not understanding why Marco would do such a thing.

Taking a deep breath, Jean put up his hands to stop the onslaught. “Guys, it's okay. We got into a fight a few days ago and I don't think it's something he can forgive me for. It'll be alright. Marlowe, you'll just have to walk the last two girls out, stuff like this happens at every wedding, they're seldom the perfect day that wedding planners try and sell you.” He chuckled lightly, the warmth not making it to his eyes. He was unsure how his explanation would be received but grabbed what he needed and turned towards the rental desk, trusting his groomsmen to follow without further comment.

Chapter Text

The venue was beautiful. The vivid green of the rolling hills made the peach and white and soft silver pop. Everywhere there were people running around; armfuls of bouquets of peach colored roses accentuated with baby's breath and silver ribbon, white fold out chairs being moved, women rushing with bags overflowing with slips, shoes, makeup bags and curling irons.

It was definitely the kind of scene Jean did not expect to be greeted with as he exited the rental car, but he figured it was par for the course. The ride itself had been eventful. There had been arguments on why Marco hadn't shown with several calls going straight to voicemail of which all were shut down with a snarl from the groom himself. It was hard to make them understand that he himself had been the cause of this, not Marco.

Jean couldn't fault Marco for this. He was the only one to blame. He'd taken the love and the trust Marco had given him freely, no strings attached, and thrown it to the wind, testing to see if it'd come back.

The outcome had left him wanting; void inside, his heavy sighs echoing throughout the empty halls of of his heart.

The boys found the room they were allotted to change in. A large room in the main house on the property. The venue was what had once been a plantation but was now used for the sole purpose of hosting weddings and their receptions. The property spanned for several acres, containing the house which the owners lived in upstairs while the bottom story had been put to use as storage for the ceremonies as well as allowing the catering companies use of the kitchen should they need it.

The house itself was old, built to house the family that had previously owned and ran the plantation in its peak. Jean, Connie, Reiner and Marlowe had been given a master bedroom on the first floor that had its own bathroom for ease of access. They deposited their belongings, opting to wait until closer to the ceremony before they changed.

Jean and his groomsmen helped without being asked, only directed. Reiner was helping cart the sound equipment from the DJ's van while Connie did his best to help the Caterers. Marlowe went to check on the girls, his expertise in fashion design with the plus of not being the groom allowed him instant access to the inner sanctum.

“Foaly! Oh darling don't you look...actually, why aren't you dressed yet?” Jean's mother plucked at the plain white undershirt that covered Jean's torso for the time being. He released a sigh, not expecting her to understand that it took him less than 30 minutes to get changed and fix his hair.

“Hi, mom.” The smile on his face was pained but she didn't notice as she went about fussing with his hair, asking questions and generally being herself.

“Where's dad?”

“Oh he's coming. He's still by the car on the phone.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. “Business. Even on the day of our only son's wedding.” She herself lets out a sigh and Jean wonders for the first time if she's entirely happy with their relationship. “Come on honey, let's go get you cleaned up.”

Back in the room, alone with just his mother, Jean watched as she fussed around with his suit. He studied the way the rings on her hands were all shiny, how the wrinkles in her face were less prominent than most women her age but that she still had worry lines around her forehead and mouth. She was a beautiful woman, no one could doubt that, but for someone who had known her his whole life, Jean could see the wear and tear where others might miss it.

It was in the sigh as she ran her fingers over the soft peach cumber bun laying flat on the bed with the rest of his groomsmen's clothing. The soft, longing smile as she looked out the window at the path the ceremony would take place on. White chairs and lanterns took up the space on either side of the aisle.

“Mom?”

She seemed a bit startled when he spoke, taking a moment to right herself before turning to face her son, a quiet hum on her lips.

“Are you happy....with dad?”

They were both quiet for several heartbeats as she weighed her words.

“Jean, I am about as happy as I can be in the life I have chosen. Do I still love your father? Yes. I guess on some level I do. Even when it's more like living with a roommate than with my husband.” She stares wistfully out the window again before continuing. “I know I've always pushed you to be one thing and you've always pushed back, going your own way. Maybe not in grand gestures, but I can see the rebellion. Like when you went into book editing instead of your father's business of trade.”

She was quiet for a few minutes.

All of it stunned Jean. The way she'd been acting since there was no one else to see them, the words she'd spoken, the soft signals and the silence. Not wanting to break this odd spell, Jean waited.

“Jean. You don't seem happy.” She turns to him again, a small, sad smile on her lips. She walks quietly towards him, her heels not even making a sound on the hardwood. It was as if this was the ghost of his mother, the true entity that had been behind the mask this entire time.

“Pre-wedding jitters I would understand. Nervously pacing, I could see. Silence and stillness that would put a gargoyle to shame? This is not the look of a happy groom on his wedding day. I won't pretend that we have the kind of relationship where you can tell me why, but I do want to be the mother that tells you to think before you act. Before you're stuck and don't know how to get out. Or maybe don't think.” She let's out a breath of a laugh. “Maybe you've been thinking too hard, baby.” She reaches a hand to his cheek. “I want you to be happy. That's all.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and smiles before making her way out of the room.

Jean stands there, utterly baffled by the display he had just witnessed.

His heart hurt. Not just for him now, but for his mother too. It hurt for all the time he could've been getting to know her instead of leaving her to rot in that porcelain and gold hell that was his childhood home. He'd always pulled away from her attempts at bonding; the shopping trips, the horseback riding lessons, he'd never thought that she was trying to do more than just groom him.

A bitter laugh escapes as he realizes he's doing exactly what he'd never wanted to do.

What was expected of him. He'd thought he was doing the right thing never stopping to think that maybe it was the expected thing. What everyone thought he should do.

The ceremony itself wasn't supposed to happen until that time of day where the sun has started its descent towards the horizon, its rays filtering through the newly crisp, green leaves of the towering oak trees. This gave Jean longer to flounder in his self-pity; rolling around in the bed of shame, bitterness and guilt he'd made.

It was on the back steps of the main building that Sasha found him, about an hour before the ceremony. Jean had helped until he'd no longer been needed, listened to his mother's advice and then he'd hid. Hidden and wallowed and dealt with the tightening rope in his chest. Away from prying eyes until the only person who could somehow be both a clumsy disaster and demonstrate a good sense of time management found him. She was both the storm and the eye. An enigma that Jean was glad to have in his life. Once, he couldn't have imagined knowing her in such a way, but now he couldn't imagine going through today without her.

She didn't say anything at first, just sat on the steps next to Jean, gathering her skirt beneath her to sit, her knees drawn up to her chest, arms under to hold her dress to her legs, chin on her knees as she gazed out over the great green expanse of field behind the house.

“You know...it's going to hurt you a lot more for a lot longer if you do things that don't make you happy.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, both of them still staring out from the porch. “Did my mom find you and ask you to talk to me?”

Out of his peripheral vision Jean saw her shake her head. “No. Just been talking to the guys and seeing how bummed you are at your own wedding....I think....that I know the problem.”

“Oh yeah?” Jean huffs, not knowing how he wants this conversation to go or how to respond to it in any way that it may go.

She finally turns her head to look at him. Closing his eyes, he swivels his head, opening them and focusing on her face. On the beautiful face that he's seen in photographs, happy and jubilant. Out of the time he'd known her, he'd never seen the pained, sad look he saw now. He realized then that her and Marco were similar in the fact that they should never have certain looks on their faces. The look of pain, sadness, of disappointment.

“You love Marco.”

He spluttered, intending to deny it but her twinkling laughter stopped him.

“Your face right now is literally the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life!”

“Well-of course it is when you go around-”

“Telling the truth?” It was indescribable to watch the amount of emotions a face could hold. A sly, knowing look had crept into her skin and her grin softened. “Listen, I don't fault you for that. For being...defensive. People still get hurt because of who they love. And, y'know...being engaged definitely puts a damper on things but Jean...you have to take care of you, of your life....you can't worry about what everyone thinks and you can't try and be Superman and save everyone from every little decision you make. It looks to me that...that...” She got a wicked gleam in her eye. “That I was totally right in making Connie dare you two to kiss! I knew you two were meant for each other!”

“Shhhh! Jesus Sash, you want everyone to hear you?”

“I mean if it gets me out of this dress. Ugh, it's beautiful but synthetic fabric in any kind of heat that makes me sweat is hell.” Her legs shoot out from beneath her dress, bare feet (really Sasha?) reaching towards the grass, arms gesturing wildly as she talks. “Marco never made me wear synthetics. It was always cotton or linen and man he is the man. It's no wonder you're in love with him or that he's in love with you or that he had to skip this shindig.” She paused her theatrics and looked back at Jean seriously. “It would be hell to watch the man you love marry someone else, knowing all he had to do was tell the truth.”

Those words stung and had Jean's heart racing at the same time. Like this whole time he'd been running away and he finally felt the sting of losing stamina.

She hugged him then, a real bumbling thing before kissing the side of his face and standing to walk through the grass and around the house. He watched her sway with the wind through the chiffon panels of her dress, loose pieces of hair having escaped her updo scuttling around her shoulders.

The image of her breaking into the sun would have been such a beautiful moment to capture.

And then her remembered a time when Marco had said that sometimes he doesn't take the photo. Sometimes, it's enough to just witness a moment. Jean had witnessed so many breathtaking moments already and he hadn't even made it to the alter.

Jean sat on his stoop for maybe another ten minutes gathering the courage to do what he was about to do. Shaking his head, Jean stood and made his way around the side of the house closest to the bridal cabin. Everyone was running around, making sure that everything was as perfect as it was going to get.

On his walk over, Jean spotted 4 peachy wisps by the refreshment tables in the reception area. He could see Reiner's bulk, could hear his laugh, and shook his head, imagining Reiner trying to beat off the women with a verbal stick. A soft, pliant, more pillow-like stick knowing how nice his coworker was.

Jean counted his blessings none-the-less. Knowing all the girls were out of the cabin took a little of the strain off his heart which was beating so fast he felt it would come crashing through the cage of his ribs and shatter underfoot.

The small cabin itself seemed big enough to only be one room, maybe a small bathroom at the back. The outside door wasn't shut all the way when he stepped onto the little porch out front. Raising a hand to knock, Jean paused when he heard two voices inside. Straining to hear, Jean identified one as definitely Hitch's while the others' was a man. A familiar voice but...

Ducking to the side, Jean stepped over to an open window to peer inside. There were several chairs and a table overflowing with anything and everything Hitch's bridesmaids would need to prepare for a wedding. Cans of hairspray, curling irons, flat irons, sooo many makeup bags, the clothes they'd arrived in. It was a sight.

As was seeing one of his grooms men arguing with his fiance.

“I just don't understand why we're at this point. Why didn't you call it off when you found out?” Marlowe had his hands up in desperation, the look on his face achingly familiar to the one he's seen three days ago.

“You don't understand! It's hard enough with this baby growing in me no matter whose it is!” There came a sob and Jean's heart broke a little further. He looked at her, at the way she was facing the vanity, trying to wipe the tears away.

He took in what a beautiful sight she was. At the simplicity of her dress. He could see the deep plunge in the front; gathered at the waist beneath a lace and bead belt before flowing delicately downwards. It was so minimal, not like the Hitch he knew but...there was a Hitch he didn't know and he was finally witnessing a side of her he didn't think he'd ever see.

She turned to face Marlowe, eyes red and watery. She kept blinking, trying to keep the tears from falling. “I'll be slandered if anyone knows that you're the father. A scandal right as we're about to make it big. You think being a man is so hard? You think it's so bad for a man if he cheats on his girlfriend, you watch the people around a woman turn on her once they find out the baby is a bastard. They'll be toasting one moment with a glass in the air and then throwing not only the champagne but any and all insults they can think of and ruin me because women can't be themselves. I know I should've left Jean a long time ago but I loved him at one point and... he looks so lost half the time and then other times he's the perfect fiance. I just...Marly...” Her hands ball into fists and she presses her forehead into Marlowe's chest.

She sniffles as his hands come up to caress her back. “I made a mistake and it's gone this far...I don't know what to do...”

Jean watches long enough to see Marlowe's lips brush the top of her head as he shushes her, unable to make out the murmured words he says.

Back against the side of the building Jean's mind races trying to not only process what he's just seen but to decide what to do. He could fix everything. He could bust in there and just break it off. Just tell them the truth. That he'd fallen in love and that he no longer wanted this life with her. He could-

There was a bang and a shriek and Jean could suddenly hear multiple voices cooing to his fiance, could hear a fake giggle from her as she fends off her flock.

Shit.

“Marlowe, you need to go help find Jean and get him ready. His mom said he wasn't even dressed last time she saw him!” The voice was unidentifiable but it had Jean panicking again. Marlowe couldn't find him out here.

Ducking beneath the window, Jean made his way around the cabin and through the brush to the back of the little rustic barn-like building where the refreshments had been earlier. He could see the catering crew readying it for their 3 course meal and slipped through them until he came chest to chest with Connie.

“Dude! We've been looking everywhere for you. Thought you'd jumped ship for a minute. Come on, we've gotta get you dressed!”

Jean's head was spinning and he didn't think twice as he followed his friend into the main house.

They'd passed Sasha on her way to the Bridal cabin, her smug little face contorting in confusion, assumingly at the fact that the wedding was still on. He heard her say something about him and turned to see Marlowe headed their way and his heart dropped. He couldn't make out the look on his face but it made him nervous none-the-less.

When they got inside, Jean was thankful once again for being a man and needing much less to be done for him to be presentable. No one would be looking at him anyway. Weddings were the bride's day, the groom was just along for the ride.

“Jesus Jean!” Reiner's voice was loud and worried but he looked happy to see his friend. “You wanna give us a little less time?”

“Sorry, I...look-”

“Okay so Sasha was in here just a minute ago cause were were kind of worried about the whole you not having your vest thing but she said it would look intentional.”

“Good fashion instincts.”

Jean almost jumped out of his skin hearing Marlowe's words behind him. He hadn't heard him follow them in even though he'd known his arrival was imminent.

“Alright so here, throw on your pants and shirt, Marlowe can tie your bow tie and I'll try to work on that mop on top of your head.”

“I'm not letting the bald man mess with my hair.”

“Hey I'm bald cause I shave it! It's a fashion choice!”

Jean heard a low chuckle escape from Marlowe and for one shining moment believed everything would be okay.

It seemed that where time had seemed to be moving so slowly before, it was doubling its efforts to catch up with itself. In no time, Jean no longer looked like a ruffian pulled off the streets and his hands were sweating as he stood at the alter, alone, watching the guests watch him.

He could see Ymir in the back row with Krista by her side. His heart thumped happily seeing that two more of his friends would be by his side tonight. He'd been unsure if they'd make it on time but Krista was a blessing and there they both sat, hand in hand, smiling up at him.

He could see his parents in the front row, his mom smiling fondly at him, seemingly ignoring her husband as he fidgeted in the seat next to her. At the end of the second row, Jean watched as Norma Jean bowed her head in a silent prayer, her watery blue eyes meeting his as her head rose. She smiled and nodded, blinking slowly, reminding Jean of when Palmer would do the same to show his trust in her.

He swallowed and smiled, his foot tapping as they waited for the show to begin. He still didn't know exactly what he was going to do but he thought about what his mom had said.

Maybe you've been thinking too hard, baby.

Maybe he just needed to act. Just let his heart make a way for him.

As he waited, he thought of all the people who cared about him. About the words of wisdom he'd been given, whether knowingly or not. He thought about those who wanted the best for him, tried a mental fuck you to anyone who cared how the day would end.

He felt a sliver of pride for himself for such a small step but instantly felt his nervous heart start pounding again as the music for the bride's maids and groomsmen started.

It was the instrumental version of Lost in This Moment and Jean felt tears prick his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that this was the song that had been chosen. Maybe if he'd paid attention during the decision making process...maybe

Maybe this was a sign.

Marco wasn't here but....he was.

Jean watched as Reiner led the Maid of Honor down the aisle at the perfect pace. Their smiles were bright and you could tell they loved supporting their friends on such an occasion. They looked like a celebrity couple. Blonde hair and such beautifully contrasting eyes of cerulean and honey, white smiles and fit bodies. If Jean didn't know better, he would assume.

Next was Marlowe. He moved smoothly down the aisle, the woman on his arm seemingly floating alongside him. He had a smile on his face but it didn't reach his eyes. Jean's heart broke for a man he barely knew and he just....knew. All of a sudden he knew what to do.

Connie brought up the rear with Sasha on one arm and another woman who was shorter than her friends but still humorously taller that Connie. Jean chuckled to himself at his friends. Sasha had been brought up in the same social circle as he had and had probably been to a dozen weddings, if not in a few herself, and was able to glide along in her silver heels no problem.

Connie however...

Connie had been asked to fill in last minute when John's cousin Ferdinand had broken his leg. He sat now in the front row, had given Jean a thumbs up when their eyes had met earlier. If Jean thought he was nervous, he had nothing on Connie. Connie was visibly sweating, doing his best to escort both women as a reasonable pace while still having them both slow him down from rushing up the aisle.

When both women had been deposited and Marlowe had discreetly handed Connie a handkerchief, the music faded out and Hitch's song started to play. The gentle plinking of a piano started and A Thousand Years started to play. Jean chuckled to himself, thinking back to Marco's comment about how many young brides had chosen this as their bridal march. It fit perfectly. For a couple who were both in love with each other.

A thousand years I have loved you.

A thousand years I still have to love you.

Oh Hitch. Marco. Marlowe. They all just happened to find each other at such odd times.

She looked so stunning. In her handmade gown, her makeup flawless, even seeing her tears earlier Jean still could never tell she had been upset. She didn't have a veil but she did wear a crown of flowers atop her head.

Her smile matched Marlowe's and once she'd made it halfway down the aisle, her gaze darted from Jean to Marlowe, blinking her eyes before she stood before her groom.

She stood smiling but Jean could see the sadness behind her eyes, could see the tension in her smile. She placed her hands in his and Jean squeezed, smiling, trying his best to let her know that all would be okay.

His heart had finally lifted. He finally had the courage to make sure that even if he never received it, Hitch would have the love she deserved. His heart was so full he couldn't even feel the pain of the thought of never being on the receiving end of another of Marco's smiles, of his touch, his love. He was so full of love...courage...

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join Jean and Hitch in matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

A beat passed. Just as the minister opened his mouth to proceed, Jean spoke.

“I must confess that...I can't marry you.”

Jean tilted his head as he spoke, the smile on his lips gentle, his eyes soft. He could see the confusion on Hitch's face, could hear the audible gasps from the guests.

“Are you sure?”

Jean squeezed her hands again, pulling her closer so that he could speak to her quietly. “I love you Hitch but my heart belongs to someone else. And so does yours. It's not my place to ruin everyone's love.” He kissed her on the forehead and pulled back, dropping her hands tenderly. He turned to the guests, speaking to them directly. “I apologize that you won't witness the wedding you'd hoped to. But I can't wed this lovely, amazing, beautiful woman when my heart beats for another. My vows were written with someone else in mind and I can't speak them to another.”

A commotion rose, especially amongst those present on Hitch's side. Jean gazed over his own side, smiling when he met the eyes of both his mother and Norma Jean.

He felt a pressure on his elbow and turned to see Hitch, tears streaming from her eyes. The minister looked confused behind her but there was Reiner, pulling him aside to explain. He could hear Sasha cheering and the other bride's maids muttering in confusion.

“Jean...”

Jean hugged Hitch, pulling his once bride-to-be to his chest. With his mouth to her ear he finally told the truth to the first person he should've come clean to. “I'm in love with Marco.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I heard you and Marlowe and...I understand. I did my best to save your reputation although I don't know what you'll do about the timing and the baby. I'm sorry I can't help more but...I do love you. Just...”

She chuckles, wiping her tears away. “I don't want to be rude but I don't love you either- like that.” Her smile turns to a frown and more tears start to fall. “Jean I'm just so sorry I didn't tell you earlier. If I had only said something-”

“Come on. I think we can talk about all this later. Why don't we enjoy your party?”

“What-”

“Hey, attention everyone!” Jean tried to get the crowd's attention who were very confused and very loud at this point.

“HEY!”

“LISTEN UP!”

Never had Jean been so glad he had friends as loud as Reiner and Ymir who were thankfully on the same page, working together to round up everyone's attention.

Everyone turned to stare expectantly at Jean and Hitch, maybe hoping there was a wedding after all.

“Sorry to disappoint, the wedding is NOT back on. However! Hitch and Marlowe have been working very hard at their job creating such lovely fashion, such as you see here on our beautiful model” Jean spun Hitch around to which she let out a dazzling giggle. “And I think that since we're all here dressed to the nines, why don't we use today to celebrate them in their success?”

Jean heard clapping and turned to see Sasha and Connie side by side clapping and whooping until everyone else joined in around them, successfully defusing the tension.

He hadn't fixed everything, but Jean could finally breathe more freely than he ever had before.

After a while, the wedding guests seemed to accept the turn of events, most of the family members interacting with each other a little less enthusiastically than hoped but Jean counted it as a win. He watched as everyone moved to the reception area where their meal was served before everyone broke off to dance and talk and generally have a good time.

“I was holding my breath. Didn't know when you would spring that on us.”

Jean turned to see Norma Jean had settled up beside him in the seat Sasha had just vacated.

“Wow. Yeah. Definitely found my courage a little late up there but hey, better late than never, yeah?”

Norma Jean smiled, nodding her head. “Just be sure to show Marco the copy of the wedding tape. He'll get a kick out of this.”

“If he-”

“Not if, Jean, when. He loves you and you love him. You'll have to work on that trust for a long time but you'll get there eventually.”

He smiled and hugged her, sending up a silent thank you for freckled photographers in crowded cafe's.

The hours had wound down and most of the guests except for the bridal party had left. Jean had danced with both his mother and Norma Jean, ignoring his father when the inevitable talk came up. He'd been dragged across the dance floor by Sasha and Krista, laughing when Krista made Ymir dance and she wobbled like a newborn calf in the heels her girlfriend had conned her into wearing.

(“They're not even that high!”

“SHUT UP KIRSCHTEIN OR I WILL SHOVE BOTH THESE HEELS UP YOUR ASS!”)

With alcohol and good friends in company, Jean could almost pretend like he wasn't heartbroken. He'd promised himself one last dance with the woman he had intended to marry, what felt like decades ago.

“Would you join me in a dance?”

“Why Mr. Kirschtein, I had hoped you'd dance with me one last time.” She bid Marlowe farewell, her fingers lingering on his hand as she was pulled away.

They walked to the dance floor, the other dancers leaving them blessedly alone.

“Who says this will be the last? I intend to dance with you when you and Marlowe get married. And what about New Years? You think you're not getting an invite just because we're no longer an item?”

She laughed, such a musical sound when happy. “Jean, I'll have a new born. I'll be asleep hours before midnight.”

“Ugh. You're right. Damn.” He shook his head, a steady smile on his face. It was easy, now that the people that mattered knew the truth. “Good thing I won't be there. I'd be a horrible parent.”

Hitch clucked her tongue at him, shaking her head. “No, Jean, you wouldn't. You won't. If and when the time comes, you'll be an excellent father.”

“Yeah? You think so? What life lessons do I possibly have to offer my offspring?”

“Well...for one...you can teach them how to dance. Like seriously Jean, you're so much better than New Year's. Did you go to a class?”

“No. This is Marco's doing.” He told her about that afternoon, why the song was so special to him.

“Well you'll have to thank him for me. This is the best first...last dance I've ever had.”

“If he ever speaks to me again.” Jean's mood dipped for a moment and they were quiet as they continued to dance.

“Listen. He will. Wanna know why? Cause you're stubborn. I mean who else could've fallen in love with their best friend and continue to tell themselves they weren't?”

They both chuckled. “Shut up. Don't remind me.”

“Why not? It can be such a good quality, when used for good. Listen, your kids will learn to be steadfast and brave. You will have this wonderful story to tell them of how you put your own head on the chopping block to save my image. I should've done more- could've just married Marlowe instead but I know for a fact mama Marly would murder me if she wasn't invited to her sons wedding. And...I will tell everyone the truth. I'm just glad we could have this. Thank you.”

They danced quietly for a few more beats before Hitch spoke up again.

“Jean, you have so many amazing qualities, I can't wait for you to share them with your own children. And even with mine. I have a feeling we'll be friends for a long time.”

Tears were pricking both their eyes and they ended the dance with a crushing hug.

“Promise me you're not going to let him go again.” She whispered into his neck.

“I'll do my best.”

Chapter Text

It was nice.

Odd.

But nice.

It was two weeks after the would-be wedding and Jean was a starfish in the middle of a cotton ocean. Alone in the world as the sun rose over the waves of sheets and comforter. He breathed in through his nose and let a great gale out through his mouth. He smiled to himself, his eyes still closed, the world glowing on the other side of his eyelids.

It was two weeks and Jean woke alone to an apartment that was empty except for the things that were either his or that Hitch and Marlowe had had no need for when Hitch moved in with her best friend and subsequently, the love of her life and true father of her child.

Jean got up now, looking around the room, yawning. The bed had been left but the headboard had been removed as Hitch had bought it. Her vanity was gone but the dresser still remained, packed only with Jean's socks, underwear and pajamas. A few sets of exercise gear had been found in one of Hitch's drawers but they'd remained untouched, much like they had been when they'd been together. The closet had so much room Harry Potter would've felt like royalty living in it.

Making his way towards the kitchen, Jean realized just how much had been removed. Not out of spite, but just for the simple fact that Jean had never had to worry what his living space looked like. Of course she'd left Old Lav which was a funny episode in itself as he'd helped her pack. He hadn't needed nor had he craved useless bits of décor to fill his space in college and he definitely didn't need it now.

She'd left the couch but had taken the coffee table, it had been her grandmother's after all. Her office had been cleared out, now just another empty room Jean didn't know what to do with. Maybe he'd move his office in there and have a proper guest room. Y'know, for whenever he'd need that.

His movements had loosened up in his walk to the kitchen where he loaded the coffeemaker -“My house leaving present to you.” - and stood to wait for his magic potion to brew. He stood at the island looking out at the living room. She'd taken the curtains- something he'd always taken for granted – so the sun now washed the room in early morning light with nothing to stop it. It really showed just how empty the room was, with hardly anything to cast a shadow into the brightness that was now his living room.

Objectively his since Hitch's name was still on the lease for another two months but they'd come to the agreement that she would still pay her part of the rent but not the utilities. It hadn't been a hard decision to make for her. Blythe Bern had picked the couple up and was granting them enough money to make their dreams come true and Hitch had practically flung the money at him in full.

The one thing that she'd left decorative was a print of himself on the wall by the door. It was the one Marco had given them when Hitch had begged to see the photo's from the shoot. Jean remembered Marco's smile as he'd give the print to Hitch, free of charge. “Your wedding gift from me.”

He could remember that smile, could now understand the strain in it. Marco had loved Jean, even then, and hadn't wanted to part with a piece of him, but he'd done it for love. For the love he thought Jean had for this woman.

Jean stared at the picture. It was the one of his from their time in Silverfish. He'd been scowling at the camera. Hitch had joked, saying that Marco had captured his essence in the photo. He liked the photo well enough and struggled with the feeling of his insides tangling. He wanted to take it down, put it in the closet, facing the wall, just so he wouldn't have to see himself.

But.

Marco had made that. Marco had seen the beauty in that shot. Had seen past the scowl and seen the light in Jean's eyes. The crinkle at the corners. He'd seen the art painted on the window behind him, the creative angle of the words printed there, the books out of focus at the edge of the frame.

This wasn't something Marco had just decided to do. He'd sat there, taking in the beauty of the moment, waiting patiently to catch it.

Jean left the print, hoping it would remind him to be patient.

He was halfway done with his first coffee of the day when his phone started to ring.

It made him jump. He hadn't looked at his phone for the better part of two weeks and had forgotten where he'd left it. He was surprised it was even charged. He could hear it and followed the ringtone to his office/guest bedroom setup and found it laying there beside his ragged copy of Hugh Prather's Notes on Love and Courage.

He picks the phone up, an odd little smile on his lips.

“Hey mom. No. Sure. Would you like to go shopping?”

“So she took everything?”

“Not everything. Just what was hers. I mean, she even left some of her stuff. I think out of pity.”

He chuckles and his mother smiles as she runs her hand over a baby blue Hampshire Tufted sofa. “I'm sure it's not pity. It seemed like you two understood each other more than such a simple, uncaring emotion such as pity to be thrown in the mix. What about this one?”

“Mom, she left the couch. I need a coffee table.” Jean lingers over what his mother had just said. Maybe they had known each other a little better than they'd thought at first. Maybe they'd been drawn to each other on purpose, so they could be in the right places, the right situations, for everything to work out the way they had.

After the last couple of hours, he and his mother had been going through stores looking for pieces to fill his apartment back up. They'd gotten breakfast where they'd had a long talk about pretty much everything while their coffee mugs and eyes couldn't help but be continuously refilled.

“Hm. Well what kind of look are you going for in your apartment? I know you probably don't want anything like what we have but I couldn't resist, this sofa is beautiful.”

Jean sits on said sofa for a moment in thought.

What did he want?

That's been the question all along, hasn't it?

“Well I'm no designer but if being in love with an artist and having been engaged to a fashion designer has taught me anything....” he let his words trail off with a smile, knowingly not needing to finish the thought as his mother snorted before he continued. “The walls are white and the floor is beige so I guess those are my base colors. I don't really want pops of bright colors. Maybe some greys. Like charcoal grey. And woods.” Jean smiles picturing Marco's apartment, so much empty space but wood made up the floors, the furniture, the exposed beams...

“What about a house plant? Do you have one of those?”

Jean laughs, a hardly, full thing that has his eyes closing. “If Hitch hadn't killed the only plant she's ever brought home, I'm sure I would've been stuck with it.”

He looks over to his mother who is smiling at him.

“What?”

“It's just nice to hear you laugh so freely. I don't think I've heard you laugh like that since...well...since you were a kid.”

They sit there for another few moments until some other people come over to look at the couch. As they move on, Jean pulls his mother into a hug. “I'm sorry mom. I'm healing. I'm trying.”

The two of them are sitting at the island, waiting for the furniture to be delivered as they sip coffee well into the afternoon.

“I don't think I've ever been to this apartment.”

“No? Hmm.” Jean didn't know what to say. To say the truth would sound insensitive but his mother already knew the truth. And that was that neither of his parents had ever been invited because Jean didn't want to be judged.

Now he could see that maybe if he'd just been a little more open with his mother, maybe that wouldn't have been an issue.

“I like it. It's small. Quaint.”

“Mom it's a three bedroom. It's bigger than a lot of apartments in the city for the price we got it for.”

“Yes, well, you know what I mean.” She's taking another sip, her eyes roaming the walls when her eyes stop on the print. “Oh, Jean, what is this?”

She stands and walks over to it. Jean's face burns in embarrassment and he clears his throat before he speaks from his seat on the stool.

“That was an early wedding gift from...from...”

“Marco?”

“Y-yeah.” This was the one thing they hadn't talked about: the reason the wedding had been canceled. Of course everyone knew he was in love with someone else but they didn't know who that someone was. His friends were already aware without having to be told. They were smart and had known all along. But his parents...

He was afraid of what would come of telling his parents. He could already imagine how his father would react.

But his mother...

“He's the one you're in love with, isn't he?”

Jean nearly spit out his coffee.

His mother chuckled. “Oh, come now. You don't think me that dense do you? Your best man, who happens to be the person you spend more time with than anyone on this green earth, doesn't show up to your wedding. The only time you were apart from one another at our party was when Hitch had you dancing. I bet you were wishing to dance with him weren't you?” She looks back at him, seeing his fiery face and makes her way back to him. “I'm not trying to embarrass you, baby. I wasn't lying at the wedding when I told you I want you to be happy. If Marco makes you happy, you should try again.”

She places a hand on his shoulder and he lifts one to squeeze it. “I will mom. I just need some time. I've gotta...figure out who I am. I can't...I can't make a home in someone. People aren't homes.”

He leaves it at that and it seems to satisfy her, satisfy the moment.

They're eating dinner curled up on the couch that Hitch picked out, their drinks sitting on the new coasters Jean's mom had picked out so the glass top of the table he'd picked out wouldn't get water rings. Thinking about it, Jean figured that people couldn't be homes, but homes could be pieces of people. There were four of them in there now, making up the space Jean finally felt comfortable in. Him, Hitch, his mother, and Marco.

There were pieces of each person, the style a little mixed up, but it was finally home. It was the place he came to to unwind, instead of to hide from. It was the place where he could watch bad movies with his mother as she unwound herself, bare feet pulled up under the throw she'd picked out; the only 'pop of color' she'd conned him into. A deep navy that reminded Jean of Marco's sheets.

Thoughts still pained him but they also brightened him from the inside. Those memories that were pure sunlight were just that. Sustaining but painful if one sat there too long.

A new entryway table had been bought, one where two new potted plants sat on either end beneath the print of Jean. New life brought into a barren wasteland of things that had been left behind.

Spring turned to summer and Jean was set into new routines by the time the sun started to set earlier and everyone was getting a taste of the seasonal depression that was to come. He still went to Rose Cafe, but only to see Ymir and Krista. He'd stopped sitting at the table he and Marco had claimed, but that was mostly because while he was healing, he could also still feel the hurt. But he surged ahead, forging new paths in his life. He went to eat lunch once every two weeks with Krista at the Thai place they'd gone to what feels like so long ago.

Reiner finally came out to him, spurned on by Jean's courage at the wedding. Jean was invited over for dinner every few weeks where he would sit with Reiner and Bertholdt and smile and laugh but ultimately work on himself, on the way he feels, pushing down the envy, replacing it with light and love for his two friends.

Norma Jean was a staple in his life. A couple of times while he sat on the couch drinking his tea, Annie would stop by, the mail in her hand. There would be the occasional post card from Marco. Shiny surreal pictures of beaches, mountaintops, wildlife native to the area. As if they were one, Norma Jean and Jean would smile sweetly, Norma Jean reading the postcard as Jean sipped, before it would be tucked away. Sometimes they would talk about it, but most of the time they remained silent on the matter, deciding instead to reminisce about the day or other happenings.

When they did talk about Marco at length, it felt like Jean was describing a film. The best film he had ever watched where there was only one copy and he'd been foolish enough to lose it.

“You know, I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. It's been months now, Jean. I know you both miss your best friend. You two were inseparable.”

“I know NJ.” He stared wistfully at the pictures lining the walls. “I'm just...I'm still learning to heal. I need to be dependent on myself, and not expect someone else to try and heal me. I need to be me. Besides, the times I have called his phone, it goes straight to voicemail.”

Norma Jean just nodded, a small smile on her lips as she sipped from her mug, Palmer purring happily on her lap. “But you still love him?”

There were no words to put to the feelings Jean felt for Marco. Not enough words in any language to accurately describe how full his heart was when he thought of Marco, of the times they got to spend together. A sad smile tugged at his lips. “Every day, more and more.”

“Would you go see him if you knew where he was?”

Jean was silent for a long time, staring into the depths of his tea. “I think...that maybe I'm waiting on a sign. That I'm okay. That we can be okay. I did a really shitty thing and he deserves the world and all the good things in it. I don't want to give him anything less.”

Norma Jean nodded, taking in his words. “Just make sure that you don't wait too long. There is never a time any of us are truly ready for any situation we are put in. Whether we've been given two minutes or two years to think it over.”

Jean nodded as he sipped his tea, heart glowing with love for the woman who sat in front of him. He could see the amber gem that hung from it's silver chain around her neck. It glinted in the light as she moved to stand. He smiled, knowing in his heart, just as he had when Marlowe had laughed in the Bachelor's suite, that everything was going to be okay.

Another few months passed, the coats and scarves came back out. Jean unpacked his thick red scarf, nestling down into it when out in the cold. He'd never get enough of the blessings he'd received since Marco had come into his life. Not only had he made new friends, he'd strengthened the relationships he'd already had.

He was on his way to meet Hitch at the coffee shop near her apartment. They'd seen and talked more than they really ever had, now that both of them were happy...er. Happier.

She was easy to spot when he walked in, bundled up in a bright red coat the lit the place up. She stood to hug him and Jean gawked at the size of her belly.

“Hitch, I think you're about to explode. I might want to get my coffee to go if a face-hugger is about to escape.”

Hitch swatted at his arm as they took their seats. “That's not a very nice thing for you to say about your soon-to-be goddaughter.”

“You know I tease. I just couldn't resist.” Jean ordered his coffee, his mind processing what Hitch had said as she stared him down.

“Okay now you were saying?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“Yeah you said...wait...”

Hitch grinned, laughter on her lips as his face scrunched up in concentration.

“Goddaughter?”

“Only if you'll agree.”

They sat without saying anything, a tableau of a Shakespearean play just before the opening line, long enough for Jean's coffee to be delivered. As the waitress sat the cup down, it's as if a spell had been broken and Jean laughed nervously.

“Hitch...I don't know what you're asking of me. I don't know if I'm the one that should...are you sure?” Having your ex-fiance who'd slept around on you with her best friend (like you can say anything Jean) ask you to be her daughter's godfather was...an extraordinary feeling. It was like a hot air balloon had expanded in his chest and he was in awe at the sight but scared to death to fall.

“Yes. Marlowe's brother is still in college and frankly is terrible with kids and his sister already has 3 to worry about. And I don't have any siblings. I'd ask my friends but they're mostly resigned to never have children.” She places her hand over his and looks at him with such raw hope that his throat closes up.

“Jean. I can never repay you for what you did for Marlowe and me. That took real courage and I'm so sorry that I didn't pluck up and do something before it was almost too late. You are such a strong, caring and kind man. Sure, you've got flaws but who doesn't? You've worked so hard since...well...since you met Marco to become the man you truly are meant to be. You've learned the hard way but you're also working really hard on yourself and there's no one else that I would want to raise our child if anything happened to both of us.” There were tears in her eyes and Jean couldn't help but link their fingers and squeeze.

“Well there's no chance of that happening...I'd be honored to be her godfather. As long as I get to play the part.” He winks and Hitch groans, using her other hand to swat at his arm again.

“Jean, if you murder a man on my daughter's wedding, there will be no body left for anyone to find!”

They sit and chat for a while, until Jean's lunch break is up. They talk about a lot. What's come of their budding business now that she's pregnant.

“I can draw the designs, easy now with a built in table. Sewing can be a hassle but it's not impossible. Plus, that's what Marlowe is for.”

How Jean's parents decided to get a divorce and he'd helped his mother find a lovely apartment and helped her buy new furniture.

“She was one reason I dumped your ass at the altar.”

This had made Hitch snort into her coffee. “Oh. What-ev-er!”

How Jean was coping.

“I still think about him every day. And dream about him every night that I sleep. Sometimes insomnia gets me but only when I let the sadness take over. It's easier to deal with in the daylight when everyone is awake.”

Marco had always been the one he'd call when he'd have nightmares or couldn't sleep. Now that he was gone, he was learning to cope on his own. He could do it for the most part but there were just some days, every once in a while that he couldn't fend off.

“Jean...you deserve love. And I know you've found it. Just keep your head up. You'll both find your way to each other again. You're trying to mend yourself and that's what matters.”

Her smile and her words sparked that piece of his soul where he knew it would all be alright.

When Jean returned from his break, Reiner was waiting, face peeking over the divider like the dorsal fin of a shark.

Jean was still buzzing with electricity at the conversation he and Hitch had just had. He was jittery, couldn't seem to stop moving. When he wasn't walking, he'd tap his thumb to each of his other fingers in quick succession just to be moving. It was like he was excited for this baby to be here because he would get to be in her life. He hadn't even felt this way when he'd thought he was the father. He didn't want to admit how relieved he was that he wouldn't have to actually care for her in a parental way; more like a grandparent spoiling a long-awaited grandchild.

Maybe he'd known. Maybe, somehow, in his soul he'd known that the baby wasn't his.

Maybe he wasn't ready to feel this way because he'd been so stagnant and this new growth had given way to feelings he'd never known he could feel.

“You alright there?” Reiner had a grin on his face as he wheeled his way closer to Jean.

“I'm gonna be a godfather.”

“Really? Huh.” Reiner looked stumped for a moment. “Well, wouldn't it be better if you had someone to help you with a kid?”

“Not a father, Reiner, a godfather. Only if something happens to Hitch and Marlowe which isn't gonna happen. I think I'm just excited to spoil something.”

“Like you spoiled your wedding?”

Jean clucks his tongue at Reiner as he finally sits, having wrestled his scarf and coat off. “Wrong kind of spoiled. I dunno. I'm just...” he rolls his shoulders. “I think I'm just ready for...something.”

He turns to his desk, cracking his knuckles before reaching for the packet in his In box. Slapping it down onto the desk, he reads the name and title on the front of the packet.

You're Like The Sun

By: Marco Bodt

Jean's breath left his lungs and he felt dizzy.

“Jean?”

He could hear his friend, but he couldn't focus on what he was saying. He had a different scene playing in his head. The best night of his life. The love of his life murmuring words that sucked the life right out of him, apologizing for loving him.

I tried to stay away but damn it Jean....you're like the sun and I'm cold when you're gone...

“Levi gave it to me but I saw his name and thought...”

Jean came back to the world with Reiner looking worriedly at him, both hands on his shoulders. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. I thought it would make you happy.”

Blinking his eyes, shaking his head to get out of the trance he was in, Jean brought a hand up to scrub over his face. A smile crept onto into his lips and he couldn't hide it. It had Reiner heaving a sigh of relief, collapsing back into his own chair.

“Oh my God. Listen, I thought I'd sent you into a panic attack or something.”

“Nah, just a little warning would've been nice.” Reiner stuck his tongue out at him before Levi got their attention and told them off for not working.

Jean was ready to get to work. The energy that had filled him earlier was just a precursor to the voraciousness he felt now. He was hungry for the words Marco had worked so hard on. The words he had so lovingly poured his soul into.

He opened to the cover page and stopped. It was like a sucker punch to the gut.

There were all of his contact details. Following these details were the words of paragraphs he'd read hundreds of times over, but none had captivated him such as this one had.

Dear Maria Press Editor,

I have recently completed a romance novel titled: “You're Like the Sun” I have enclosed the 100,000-word novel for publishing considerations.

“You're Like the Sun” is a story of true love. One that centers around the protagonist who falls in love with his best friend and is forced to give him up because he loves him too much. And that's the measure of true love, is it not? The ability to allow love to flourish, even if it is not in the garden it's meant to grow in.

No other publishers have received my manuscript and I have no previous background in written publications.

I have enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope along with my manuscript. Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Marco Bodt.

There were no words to describe how furiously Jean devoured the text printed on the next couple hundred pages. He sat there, eyes skimming over their story, uninterrupted until a brown bag from the sandwich shop down the street appeared on his desk along with a bottle of water.

Looking up, Jean realized his coffee had gone cold, untouched, and the light had spun itself from the serene white light of morning into the brilliant gold of early afternoon.

“A little lost, are ya?” Reiner smiled over the divider and sat down to his own work. Jean stood and stretched, forcing himself to take a 30 minute break before delving back into a life that was both his and not his. He was more than halfway through their story, the names having been expertly changed.

Marco had changed them all from any variation of the real names, both characters and places. He'd done such research to keep their names respective to their heritage but that was it. He'd stayed true to the story as best he knew. His side.

Jean chuckled a lot as Emilio and Spencer met, as they joked and became friends. He learned a lot about Marco; about likes and dislikes he had yet to discover. Jean's heart rose and fell with Emilio's as he fell in love, as he struggled – much like Jean had it seems- with his feelings. He'd come to realize his romantic feelings much earlier than Jean had apparently which meant he'd struggled with shutting off the love that had been growing inside of him this entire time.

It hadn't withered though, like a plant in a dark room. It had only multiplied, grown bigger and bigger until he'd been able to contain it.

“Jean!”

Jean jerked upright from where he'd been curled over the manuscript at his desk. Looking around wildly for a moment, Jean had to come to the sudden realization that he was at work and not at his parent's New Years Eve party.

Levi stood next to him, an irritated look on his face.

“Do you intend to stay the night?”

Looking around again, Jean realized they were the only two still there.

“I'm sorry, Lev-er-Mr. Rivaille. I'm just- this is really good.”

“Well then take it home like any other sensible person. Just log your hours in the computer when you get back.” Levi turned to leave, still muttering under his breath.

As Jean rode the bus home, he checked his phone. There waiting for him were a couple of texts, one from Reiner apologizing for leaving early without a goodbye. Two were from Connie and Sasha, bot respectively asking him to hang out. Another two were from his mother and Hitch, both also asking for his time. Apparently Marlowe was out of town and Hitch thought maybe Jean needed to get out of his hermit ways. Jean's heart was light with love for all the people who cared for him. Shooting off a couple of texts, he declined all invitations.

There was something more important at the moment and he wasn't going to be distracted.

That night, Jean had pizza delivered way passed the time he usually ate because he'd spent that time so close to crying over the fact that Marco had wanted to kiss him on the rooftop. His best friend, teaching him to dance with someone that wasn't him, had turned his heart inside out, showing every crevice as he'd done everything, everything for Jean.

There were pages of Marco waxing poetic about every little thing Jean thought he did that was of no consequence. Little things that he'd never taken into account that someone might love about him. It was all so over whelming.

Jean ordered a pizza and chugged at the wine his mother had left as a “house rewarming” present, smiling happily at the delivery guy, tipping him well before going back to his lowest high point he'd ever experienced. It was a very surreal feeling and he honestly loved it. He loved being able to understand how the love of his life had felt. It really put everything he himself had done to Marco into perspective.

This was the justice he truly deserved. To feel how Marco had. To break his heart so that the light and the truth could make it to his core.

He read on as Emilio broke it off with Kirk before a work trip, telling him the truth. That, although he was such a gentleman and he'd enjoyed their time together, he was in love with someone else.

“Honestly? I kind of figured.” Kirk huffed a sigh, on this side of laughter.

Emilio sat, silently waiting for his newly made ex to rise to anger like he'd seen in movies or to blame him for any number of things. Instead, he sat, baffled, when Kirk blessed him with one of those beautifully genuine smiles of his.

“You can tell when you're dating someone who can't stop talking to or about one specific person. Love is radioactive. It can seep out of whatever careful container you've put it into and sink into your skin. Before you know it, you're glowing and there's nothing you can do.”

Jean couldn't help the tears and the gratitude he felt for Eld in that moment. He read of the tearful goodbye, the promise to remain friends, of hopeful wishes. He read on through the amazing trip Emilio had taken. About the sun drenched bodies, the night club his employer's agent had taken him to, the way Emilio tried to drown his sorrows in foreign booze and the rough hands of a local. He read of the disappointment in the man's eyes when Emilio couldn't do it, when he asked the man to leave and he'd flinched at the sound of the hotel door slamming.

He couldn't believe it. The comfort he'd brought Marco upon his return. How he'd been the first one Marco had sought out. Not Sasha. Not Norma Jean.

Jean.

It was always Jean.

It was around 2 in the morning when Jean came upon the last page.

So there he sits. Alone in the wilderness he used to love so much. Staring into a new dawn each day, the beauty having lost its magic. Maybe one day the heart will thaw and love will bloom again, in a new season of adoration. But for now, he sits staring, words lost in his heart.

“You're like the sun, and I'm cold when you're gone.”

Jean lays there, in the bed he'd created, the manuscript open on his chest and tears in his eyes as he falls into a slumber rampant with dreams of sunlight and umber eyes smiling back at him.

Jean wakes with a start.

He's lost at first, staring around at his bedroom, the bedside lamp still burning while the sky behind the blinds remains cold and lifeless.

Rubbing his eyes, Jean struggles to remember the beautiful dream he was having. Of valleys and a cabin in the dark.

“Shit.”

Jean grabs his phone, makes a note of the time and wastes no time changing into jeans and a sweater, shoving tennis shoes onto his feet before folding himself into the layers of his coat and scarf, rushing out the door as quickly as he could, manuscript in hand.

His breath came in great, billowing clouds as he jogged up to the train terminal. He had just made it in time for the 5 a.m. train. He slumped down in his seat, the first empty one he'd seen. Checking his phone, Jean chuckled to himself. The screen was darkened with the notification that his phone was at 15%. He'd left without anything he may need if he didn't find Marco, his wallet and the clothes on his back the only things he'd figured he'd need at the moment as well as the manuscript he clung to like a life raft. Smoothing it flat on his lap, he lay his head back, giving into the gentle rocking motion of the train.

After having been woken up by another passenger just in time for him to slip off the train, Jean yawned his way through his purchase of a coffee at the closest convenience store.

“You're going to walk to the cabin? In the dark? I think you should wait until sunrise and rent a vehicle. There's no telling what could happen, especially if you don't know the area.”

Jean nodded along with the advice of the cashier. Thanking her, Jean exited and took a seat back at the train station. He sat facing the wall of windows set into old stone that had been there for longer than he'd care to imagine.

He would be patient. Patient like Marco was.

He waited for the sun to rise, another agonizing 40 minutes that had him wishing his pone hadn't died on the ride out to the middle of nowhere. 40 minutes that felt like eons as he waited for the light to finally spill over the mountaintops.

Finally, finally, light raked over his legs and Jean stood. He made his way to the information desk and after a couple of inquiries and the exchange of money, Jean was on his way to his rented Jeep wrangler, a map in his hand and a smile on his face.

A selection of classic rock crackled quietly over the speakers as Jean made his way slowly through the valley, taking in the sights, remembering the hike they'd made to get out to Marco's shared slice of paradise.

After a while, of which he had no measure since he'd long since forgotten to keep track of the time, Jean finally started to approach the juncture that would take him up the track to the cabin.

Sunlight spilled over the tranquil scene as he pulled up to the structure beside a truck already parked there. His breath catches and his heart starts its race towards the finish line.

This was it. After months, he was going to tell Marco to truth, all of it, and they would go from there. He was hopeful but not stupid. He'd made a rash decision without considering the half a chance that it wouldn't work out in his favor.

He didn't care. He grabbed the stapled stack of papers and exited the vehicle, taking careful steps towards the cabin. Jean's heart beat against his ribs, a caged bird excited to be released.

When he got up to the porch, he heard the lock turn and the door opened.

There stood Marco, a bewildered look on his face.

“Jean?”

“Marco. Hey...” Jean smiled bashfully, a child about to ask their first crush out on date, scared of a negative outcome.

“What are you doing here?” Jean noticed his hands fidgeting, something he'd never noticed to be one of Marco's habits.

“I...I was...” Jean cleared his throat nervously. “I read your manuscript.” He brings it up into the air as proof. As if he'd needed proof. “It was beautiful. I...I laughed and...and I cried.” He didn't know where this was going. He was just rambling at this point. “I fell in love alongside you and I felt my heart break every time I chipped a little piece away until it was a crumbling mess and...and the last page really...really got me.”

Jean watched as Marco's eyes filled up, as the grim line of his lips trembled and he blinked rapidly to dispel the tears gathering there.

Jean brought the manuscript up to his chest, wringing it between his hands, holding on for dear life.

“What I did to you....frankly it shouldn't be forgivable. I wouldn't want to forgive me but...but I fell in love with you and it's hard to not want forgiveness and a second chance, even when you know you don't deserve it.”

“I wanted to tell you that I've really grown...I've changed the last couple of months. I called the wedding off and....and Hitch and Marlowe are expecting their baby any week now and....and I'm her godfather...but I'm not allowed to murder anyone on her wedding day-”

A hiccup of laughter escapes Marco who stands, shivering on the threshold, his arms wrapped around his body. The tears have fallen but there's a smile on his lips now.

“Damn it, Jean. You're not supposed to make me laugh. I'm supposed to be mad at you.” Marco's words are soft as a trembling hand wipes the tears from his cheeks.

Jean takes a step closer, brows furrowed. “I know. And you deserve to be mad at me for the rest of our lives but....Spencer? Really?”

Marco lets out a burst of laughter. He throws his head back, eyes closed, and the tears reflect the sun and he is glowing. Righting his face, Marco looks at Jean and pulls him closer with a hand around his wrist.

“I heard you pull up and couldn't believe that someone was out here. When I saw it was you I wanted to just say no and leave you standing out here but...Jean...I love you too much. I've been hurting and I thought that if I just cut you out completely it'd be okay...” Jean drops the manuscript and cups Marco's face in his hands.

“And I am so sorry. I will never stop being sorry. I intend to do anything and everything to earn your trust again. I'll never....never do anything that I know will hurt you. The truth is that I love you and I don't want to live without you. I want you and your weird process of choosing names for characters that are us. I want you and the way you mix your cheese dip and salsa together at restaurants. I want you and all the little quirks and feelings and love that comes with you.”

He steps close enough to kiss Marco, to do the one thing he'd been wanting to do since the morning of the ultrasound. Their lips met and sparks didn't fly, the sun and moon didn't spin out of control. Their lips met and the small part of their world was put right again. Neither one held secrets that would destroy them. Jean had learned to live on his own, without being held up by the affections of another person and Marco was finally set free, able to love as he'd wished he one day could.

They pulled apart, umber and honey drowning in one another.

“Come on, Emilio. How about we go inside and talk about some edits that need to be made. I wouldn't normally come in person, but we at Maria Press aren't in the market for unfinished books.”

Marco laughs and Jean grins, pressing his nose into his lovers' neck, breathing deeply once more before they walk inside, hand in hand.

Chapter Text

“I promise to continue to work on myself, to never let my head win out over my heart. I promise to kiss you every morning and thank God for you every night. I promise to read poetry to you when you're sick cause chicken noodle soup has nothing on Gregson.” Jean smiles in the middle of his vows at the laughter he'd elicited from their guests and the gentle eye roll he'd gotten from Marco.

“I promise to love you forever until the end of time, because sweetheart, our love is endless. Like the sun loves the stars, I will use up my last breath showering you with light and laughter and love.”

Jean can't stop smiling as he says his vows, his vice strong and confident as he stares into the umber eyes that he'd woken up to every morning for the last two years. Two years of loving and kissing and just being together without worry of who would see.

It had all led up to this moment. To hear the minister tell him he could finally kiss his husband. The trials they had been through, the battles they'd fought to be here together.

He thought back to that morning when he'd arrived on Marco's doorstep, spilling his heart out like the overflow of a chalice too full to contain the sweet, intoxicating nectar Marco had poured into him. How they'd talked for hours, tearful moments where they'd held each other, moments when the laughter was loud, when it was soft.

He remembered the outfit Marco had chosen to wear on their first official date: the silver vest with dark wash jeans and a dark blue button up, an homage to the first time they'd met. Jean wore a similar outfit now, the only difference was that they'd swapped the navy shirt for navy slacks and simply white button ups under the vest. It was a reminder that they could always start with a new day when something goes wrong.

He remembered going with Marco on a business trip back to Ireland and the look on his boyfriend's face when he got down on one knee in a cafe in the country to ask him to be his forever. That moment had been similar, but not as grand, as the one he was currently experiencing. Tears had pricked his eyes at the realization that that moment was Marco letting him know he'd gained his trust back. He'd gained his full, unyielding love.

He can feel the metal of Marco's ring as he cups Jean's neck and they come together in a saccharine sweet kiss that has the guests clapping and, in Ymir's case, whistling.

They forced themselves apart, grinning like hyena's as Marco, like the dork he was, lifted their hands in the air like he'd just won the best prize life could give him. Which, to ask him, he had. He'd done everything right, and sure, there had been some mishaps, but he'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted.

They both laughed as Brynn ran into the aisle in front of them, upturning her hand basket and letting the rest of her blue hydrangea petals fall in a heap in front of the happy couple before Hitch could stop her daughter. Scooping her up, Hitch blew them a kiss and stood next to her own husband. Everyone stood as Mr. and Mr. Kirschtein-Bodt walked down the aisle.

They held hands and waved to the small group of friends and family that had been invited.

Jean's mother sat in the front row with her date, a songwriter whom she'd met at the coffee shop near her new apartment. (Jean had teased her relentlessly about watching out for artists in coffee shops. Maybe it's a family thing she'd joked.) Norma Jean sat in the front row on Marco's side next to Annie, even though no sides had been delegated as a specific party's.

All of their friends were there, including Eld, with whom Marco had kept contact with even after their breakup. When they mingled, there would be good-natured jokes about letting Marco get away, to which Eld's girlfriend would laugh at and punch him in the arm. She reminded Jean of Krista with her short stature and light colored hair, along with the ability to keep her other half in check.

As the evening wore on, Jean and Marco would dance with each other as well as their mother figures to the delight of everyone around them.

“You've grown into such a good man, Jean.”

Melanie, Jean's mother, smiled at him as they spun in slow circles around the dance floor. They had grown together, spending more time getting to know one another, figuring out how the other had lived outside of their peripherals.

Jean's heart squeezed, but this time, out of affection instead of fear or guilt. He was so happy that tears touched his eyes with a gentle kiss.

“I'm so proud of you.”

Clearing his throat, Jean nodded. “Me too.”

“Jayjay!”

Jean looked close to the ground as Brynn came rushing up to him, toddling through the legs of everyone else around. The dance floor was packed, every couple revolving around each other, smiles on their lips, faces blushing with the fine wine Melanie had insisted to buy for the occasion.

The toddler threw her arms skyward, demanding that he pick her up.

“What is it, baby?” He held her on his hip expertly, one arm wrapped around her silver and navy dress that her mother had designed and made while the other hand strayed back to his husband's arm that still held his waist.

She wasn't the best with words so she started bopping her head, one arm moving in the air while the other balled in Jean's collar for security.

Jean and Marco both chuckled, Marco placing a hand on her back to steady her as all three of them began to spiral through the crowd, laughing and humming to the song that washed over them.

“When you love...someone....you're heartbeat beats so loud....when you love...someone....you're feet can't feel the ground....shining stars all seem....to congregate...around your face...”

It was the last dance of the night. Their last dance before they got into a rental car that Jean was both excited and fearful to see. He was sure that there were a couple of dicks and lewd jokes on the windows in specialized paint, having had spied the white smears on Sasha and Connie's hands, not to mention the stripe of white on Connie's forehead anyone and everyone had “forgotten” to mention.

Ben Harper serenaded them as they held each other close. No one existed outside of their bubble. Jean could hear only Marco as he softly sung the words of the song into Jean's ear, his mouth pressed close to his skin, peppering kisses that made his new husband shiver when no words accompanied the music.

“But no not me, I won't let my forever roam...and now I hope I can find my forever home...so give me your forever...please your forever...not a day less will do, from you...”

They murmured to each other, not noticing the music had stopped, alone in their own little galaxy where Jean was the sun and Marco the stars. One couldn't know how important one was without the other. And just like that sun loved those stars, so did Jean love Marco, infinitely; without measure or end.

Chapter Text

Hello friends!

This isn't an updated chapter, but news about this works' impending deletion. 

I am working through what will hopefully be the final edit before beginning to send it out for queries to get it published. In my querie, I've mentioned that it's gotten a few thousand hits to hopefully entice an agent into picking it up. With it being published, it will hopefully be enjoyed by a broader range of readers since it will at that point have names changed and a few updates to the original story. (Not much, just a few chunks here and there to help the narration's flow).

I am extremely grateful to anyone who has liked and commented on this story throughout the years. I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for all the interaction I've had. I've always wanted to be a professional writer and this story will hopefully be the jumping point of a career. If I can get this published, I feel I'll have the time to work on other, bigger projects that I have planned.

I will be making announcements on my tumblr (in my bio) as this happens, so if you would like to hopefully one day purchase this updated story for yourself, please check that out. I won't be able to have this free version up when/if it gets published, but I didn't want to give 0 notice to those who have inspired me to continue this journey from the very beginning. I intend to have a thank you in my acknowledgements to everyone who interacted with this (not everyone individually, but I intend to take screen shots for my little hoarder heart for possible future social platform updates). I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and I sincerely thank you for helping me work towards my dreams.

My working title is The Art of Finding Francis Rose. Obviously this may change with time but I seriously hope not. It's like when someone is pregnant and haven't thought of a name, they keep calling the unborn baby "bug" or "button" and it turns into their first nickname. I can't imagine not calling it TAOFFR. I also have the original pinterest board I may end up linking eventually along with WIPs of ideas for the cover. 

I'm so excited for this, I hope you all truly understand how grateful I am. The kudos and comments have brought me to tears in the past and it's about to bring me to tears just thinking of the support of strangers. Y'all really are the best, whether you've been here from chapter 1 or just now finding it. 

Thank you, I love you dearly and with all my heart 💖