Archive of Our Own ^beta

For Jean Kirschtein, meeting Marco Bodt was like coming home.

The concept of home wasn't something Jean had ever really romanticized. Trouble in his own household growing up meant that home wasn't the safe, comfortable ideal that books and movies made it out to be. For him, home was a word with many meanings, but all of them boiled down to ‘a place to lay your head’. None of them had anything to do with permanence or strength, because the places he lived in both the figurative and literal senses were never either of those things. Until he met Marco.

Marco was a place of comfort and rest for Jean. Even in the early days of their friendship, he listened, understood Jean like no one else had bothered to before. He could relate; things weren't perfect for him at home, either. But he also had a sense of peace about him, a cheerfulness that went beyond simple optimism. Marco brought ‘home’ with him wherever he was, and made Jean feel like a part of it. It didn't take long for Jean to want that as often as he could get it. Thankfully for him, Marco seemed to be interested in sharing.

Falling in love with Marco was its own homecoming. It was patience and acceptance and all of the things Jean never knew he wanted until his new boyfriend so freely offered them to him. No matter what he said or did, Marco made him feel like it was okay – like he was okay. The feeling of a hand, always outstretched to help or to hold was new for Jean. But taking Marco’s hand in his felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When he was with Marco, he was home.

Of course, they couldn't really make a home together. The two of them were barely adults, in the truest sense of the word, barely past their teens when their paths crossed. Marco lived with his family for a while, moving to a shared house a few months into their relationship. Jean was dorming during school months and living with his own family during the holidays, but once they were together, they were both home as little as possible. Jean was much happier wherever Marco was, and more often than not, they found themselves tangled up in each other half a tank of gas away from relatives and roommates, just enjoying the frayed edges of their freedom. Jean couldn't take Marco and run from life, but he could sure as hell take him on a vacation from it every now and then.

When school wasn’t in session, things were a little more up in the air. Without the freedom afforded to them by college life, they had less time together, more of it spent appeasing families and working summer jobs to save spending money for upcoming semesters. But they made time for each other, even from that first summer they were together. Jean didn't bother telling his family that the evenings he spent away from home with ‘friends’ were actually spent wrapped in nothing but bedsheets and his boyfriend’s arms, kissing each other until they bruised just to remember each other that much better when they were apart.

Some things were better left unsaid.

“Wish it could always be like this,” Marco smiled one evening, hand raised to lazily trace patterns in the air as he stared at the ceiling. His chest was still heaving, breathing slowing to a relaxed pace as he trailed the other arm across his forehead, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his bare skin. “Not just when we have a free weekend.” He let his hand fall to his side and used it to prop himself up, rolling up onto his hip to look over at Jean, and say what he really meant. “I wish we lived together.”

“We will,” Jean insisted, without a moment’s hesitation. Not that he'd really thought the idea through, exactly. But it had always been in his mind somewhere, along with the still abstract concepts of college graduation, careers and maybe even marriage or kids. He and Marco would live together. They would. “One day.”

Marco reached out to card fingers through Jean’s sweat-damp hair, poking out his tongue in mock disgust at the way the remnants of gel stuck between his fingers. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, just watched the way Jean’s face became harder and harder set, more determined. Finally, he smiled. “I hope so.”

“I know so.” Jean captured Marco’s hand in his, bringing it down to his lips for kisses that trailed into his palm and across the tips of every finger. “I promise.”

And that was it.

They didn't talk about it anymore that evening. They didn't talk about it much at all, for a while after that. Marco was more than content just to enjoy their time together, but he made sure Jean knew that he believed in him, and the things that he said. Whether or not he believed the promises Jean made, Jean didn't know. But he was determined to give him reason to. And every time they parted ways to head home, he would remind himself that one day, they wouldn't have to.

He would make sure of it.

--

It wasn't easy.

In Jean’s daydreams, he would sock a little bit of money away, and then he and Marco would find a perfect place to stay and move in right away, a few months of work from start to finish. But reality was very different, and more than a little discouraging.

It took a long time. Life was expensive, and education even more so. Every time Jean thought he was making progress toward saving up for his future, something would come up – an expensive textbook, a rental fee, car trouble or a medical bill – and he would find himself right back at square one. There was barely enough in his bank account most weeks to get by, much less to put anything into savings. There were more than a few days that left him wondering if he would ever be able to put back any money at all.

But little by little, he did.

Every bonus check, every cent of every raise and refund – every tiny windfall was tucked away, cushioning his meager savings account a little bit more, a penny in a very large jar. Birthdays, holidays and achievements came with checks from family, and every single one was deposited straight into his account, with the only gifts he bought for anyone being gifts for Marco once in a while. They agreed to keep those kinds of things simple, since Marco was saving money, too. After all, even if they didn't say it aloud, it was their future they were both saving for.

Still, Jean worried that there wouldn't be enough. Not for himself; he would've been happy in a hole in the wall apartment without any decent amenities, if it meant getting out on his own. But he wanted more than that for Marco. He wanted to give Marco something. No matter how tight things were, financially, Marco stayed beside Jean with a smile on his face. He didn't need anything fancy, but Jean ached to give it to him, anyway. He deserved it, as patient and content as he was to let Jean pinch pennies and keep their dates cheap. Marco was someone who merited an arm full of roses, but he was more than content with a handful of weeds.

Marco had always been his safe haven, his security, his home. Jean wanted to return the favor, and he wanted it to be something worthy of a man like Marco. So he kept saving. And he kept waiting.

--

Rather than a source of stress, their waiting game became a running joke for the both of them. The longer they laughed about it, the more like a far-off ideal it became, a life where they could come home to each other, rather than just being home to each other. It was a knowing grin every time Jean found a forgotten five in his pants pocket, and a meaningful shrug every time either of them emptied a handful of change into the jar in Marco’s rented room.

Someday. One day. Their day would come.

When arguments with family sent Jean packing to stay overnight in Marco’s narrow bed, or Marco’s roommates drove him crazy enough to storm out for a long weekend, they almost talked about it. They almost said aloud how much it sucked, waiting for a date that wasn't written on any calendar. They almost confessed, admitted that they were both afraid that the day they were waiting for might never come.

But it wouldn't have done either of them any good.

Instead, they rested in each other’s arms, went out for a cheap meal, and talked about the here and now. And even in the cabin of a car, miles from anywhere, it felt like they were home.

--

They were both juniors in college when things finally began to take shape. Actually bothering to take note of his savings for once, Jean realized that he probably had enough to swing something, even if it wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for. And it came at a good time.

Secrets can only be kept for so long. Jean didn't bother keeping a low profile about his relationship with Marco in public, but he'd never really bothered to mention it to his family, knowing full well exactly how great that wouldn't go over. Never had he been more right about something; when his parents finally figured it out, they were less than excited.

Really, Jean couldn't understand how it'd taken them so long. Marco was basically Jean’s only constant, the friend that he kept as the seasons of summer, school and life changed around him. He spent every free hour with him and didn't really make an effort to talk about anyone else in front of his family. How they'd gone so many years without working it out, he couldn't be sure. But when they did, there was another rousing round of arguments, and he packed his bag, wishing that he wouldn't have to return.

And for once, he almost thought that might be possible.

But the last thing he wanted to do was rush Marco. They'd never even had a serious discussion on the matter, aside from the unspoken agreement they'd made in the early days of their relationship that one day, they'd live together. ‘One day’ was still just a concept, floating out of reach in the realm of distant possibility. The last thing Jean wanted to do was to move too fast, and overstep boundaries that he couldn't really see in the first place. He didn't want to scare Marco off of the idea before they’d even had time to talk about it properly.

When Marco made an offhand comment one day about being fed up with his housemates, though, Jean’s self control – and his sense of caution – cracked.

“You don't have to keep putting up with them,” he blurted out, flopping down onto the tiny bed in Marco’s room. “If you don't want to.”

Marco just looked back at him, confused. Expectant. Jean drew as deep a breath as he could; for some reason he felt nervous, putting words to something that had hung silent in the air between them for so long.

“We could live together. Move in together, somewhere else. We could. We should.”

There was a beat of silence, and a peal of dread tore through Jean. What if he'd been reading the conversation wrong, what if he'd said too much, too soon? What if he'd spent the last few years of his life – nearly his entire relationship with his boyfriend – making an assumption based on absolutely nothing? But then Marco cracked a smile, and despite the cool evening air filtering through the open window behind him, it felt like the sun had just risen, right there in the room. Jean had never heard a sound as beautiful as the ecstatic laughter that followed.

“Jean, really?” Marco sat down beside him, obviously failing miserably at containing his excitement at the idea. Jean couldn't keep himself from smiling with him. “Do you think we have enough? When would you wanna – I just… for real?”

“Yes, for real!” Jean grinned. He hadn't really let himself get worked up about the thought; it was still just a pleasant notion, something not yet tangible to him. But seeing the enthusiasm on Marco’s face and hearing it bubble out of him in his laughter was more than enough to make him a little giddy. “I mean, there's a lot of stuff we’ll have to do first, but. Yeah. We should.”

Marco’s agreement was absolute, he was one hundred percent sold on the idea, without needing a breath of convincing from Jean. For his part, Jean was glad, too. He knew the hardest part was still ahead of them, but the part that had given him the most grief was behind. Marco wanted to live with him, too. Marco wanted to make a home with him. Marco was happy, and that was always the one thing guaranteed to make Jean happy, too.

No amount of thrill in the moment gave Jean total confidence, of course. He still had serious doubts that he would be able to do what he really wanted, treat Marco to what he really felt like he owed him. But when Marco pushed him backward and pressed him to the mattress, nose bumping against Jean’s before laughing into a poorly aimed kiss, that didn't matter, so much.

He couldn't give Marco the world, but he could share his world with Marco. Every facet of it could be theirs, rather than just his, right down to the place where he laid his head at night. Every night.

When Marco nudged him from the sleep he didn't remember falling into, early the next morning, Jean started his day with a smile on his face for the first time in a long while. It helped, thinking about their conversation the night before, and the way Marco kissed him just a little bit harder before they parted ways for the day, both of them knowing – for sure – that there would come a day when they didn't have to do so, anymore.

And that day was finally on the horizon.

--

Deciding to move in together was easy. A tiny snippet of a conversation, and Marco was on board, as he probably always had been. Jean wondered if bringing Marco around to the idea of marriage one day would be as easy a sell.

What wasn't so simple was actually finding a place. In his idealization of the whole thing, Jean had dreamt of a smooth, pain-free process that sped right along, full of Marco’s happy tears and christening every room of their perfect new home with sex on every flat surface.

Instead, the weeks that followed their decision were a bog of online ads and local listings to wade through, fenced by awkward phone calls and visits to a few less-then-reputable rental properties. Adding in the occasional spike of tension from family members during uncomfortable stays at home – made all the more irritating knowing that freedom was still just out of reach – and it added up to a waking nightmare. Jean started to have dreams of living in tents or out of cars, all of them still better than dealing with the process of finding four actual walls to surround himself and Marco with.

Saying that Jean was becoming frustrated would have been a massive understatement. And to make things worse, no matter how patient and positive he tried to remain in Jean’s presence, it was increasingly obvious that Marco felt the same way. The closer they got, the farther away their goal seemed to move, inching out of reach again and again. But they’d waited too long, and come too far forward to turn back. They knew they wanted to lie beside each other at night, no matter where they ended up doing so. So they kept looking, and Jean kept pressing quiet promises into Marco’s skin every time his lips got the chance.

--

Changes in luck seemed to come by way of the most unusual routes for Jean and Marco.

Never was that more true than when good fortune came in the shape of two of their classmates, two guys from the sign language class they shared. After knowing them a while, Jean had realized the two of them were a couple, and a hilariously mismatched one, at that. Reiner, a thick-bodied and occasionally thick headed blond liked to sit near Jean and make wagers on the scores of pointless game apps, which Jean almost always beat him at. His boyfriend, a tall, lanky brunet named Bertholdt, was quieter, and preferred talking to Marco, though Jean couldn't really fault him or anyone else for that. The spent a lot of time taking in class, but one casual conversation piqued his attention in a way their friends’ chattering usually didn't.

“Yeah, Bert and I are actually gettin’ ready to move, this summer.” Reiner said it like an exhale, just another drop in the bucket of a rambling conversation. But when Jean and Marco both turned their full attention on him, he continued with a little more purpose.

“Oh hey, that's right – you guys are tryin’ to find a place right now, aren't you?” He bumped his fist against the table and then against Bertholdt’s arm. “Maybe they could take our place when we leave town!”

Most things that Reiner said weren't worth much consideration, if Jean was honest. Reiner just enjoyed talking, never really pausing to see if anyone approved. And usually, Bertholdt didn't. He was the first to shake his head, arms folded or forehead pressed to his open palm while he kneaded his temples and sighed. But this time, he shrugged, tilting his head to one side like he was seriously considering what Reiner was saying. Jean took notice.

“Wait – really?”

“I don't see why not,” Reiner reasoned. “Landlord is a cool guy, and he doesn't really advertise or anything. Just rents to people he finds looking for a place. I don't think he's got anyone lined up for our place once we’re out – we could talk to him for you!”

Jean traded a glance with Marco, and the they both looked to Bertholdt. After a long moment, Bert nodded.

“Would you guys like for us to mention it to him next time we see him?” He looked between Marco and Jean. “We can definitely let him know, if you'd be interested.”

Jean chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking it over. His gut reaction was to nod, tell them to go ahead. After all, he and Marco were looking for a place. And having one fall into their lap seemed like a spot of excellent luck. Maybe too good.

All of the trouble they'd had in the weeks previous had made him a bit gun-shy, afraid to jump into anything without hesitation. They needed an apartment, yes. But the last thing he wanted was to deal with more of what they'd already been through. He was – understandably, in  his opinion – skeptical.

But Marco was more optimistic, as he always was. He nodded quickly, and looked back at Jean with anxiously bitten lips. Knowing that he had no real reason to say no, Jean nodded along, silently hoping that he wasn't signing himself up for yet another waste of time.

--

The day that they agreed to check out what would soon be Bert and Reiner’s former apartment was not a particularly unusual one. Jean and Marco went to class as they always did, and when their professor dismissed them, they followed Reiner’s truck back to the property. Jean wasn't expecting much to come of the visit. After more than a few let downs, he was prepared for another, admittedly pessimistic and prepared to hate what he saw. But he could tell that Marco was excited.

Marco made him want to try. It had always been the case with them; anytime Jean was in a negative space, Marco bolstered him, gently pulling him back onto his feet rather than pushing. He didn't force Jean to be optimistic, but he made Jean want to be. So seeing Marco smiling and upbeat and obviously enthused about checking out the apartment made Jean walk a little taller, as well. He reminded himself that even if it wasn't perfect, it could still be a home. As long as Marco was there with him.

The apartment was really an entire top floor of a small building, with its own entrance and exit. Reiner bounded confidently up the stairs, and Bert followed after him without much care in his stride; at least the stairs were sturdy then, Jean thought with a quiet laugh. He and Marco followed them in, Marco’s fingers squeezing his excitedly.

Walking inside, they found themselves in a tiny kitchen, smaller than any Jean had ever seen before. Barely big enough to cook in, let alone dine in, its counters and sink were affixed to a half wall, leading straight into a tight hallway. The oven was some sort of ancient relic from at least the eighties, and glancing at it Jean wondered if it might actually be older than he or Marco. But the small space was clean and bright, and it wasn't like they really cooked at home a whole lot, anyway. They followed Bert and Reiner through the small hallway to see the rest of the space.

A tiny bathroom was a few steps further down the hall, with a tub and shower and not much else. Jean wasn't one to linger in a bathroom, anyway, but he knew Marco was, and wondered what he'd think of the little space. But even with a bathroom that mirrored the kitchen in minuscule size, Marco’s enthusiasm didn't seem dampened. He beamed, outshining the light of the tiny restroom, and tugged on Jean’s belt loop to grin his approval.

The narrow hall led out into a living room, so large by comparison to the other rooms that it seemed almost impossible that they were part of the same space. Jean couldn't help the way his eyes widened; it was genuinely impressive. One entire wall was nearly taken up by a massive closet, with plenty of space for everything he could imagine he and Marco would need to tuck away. Another wall had windows built in, letting in just enough light that the whole room took on a warm, inviting ambiance that belied the amount of open floor space. That wall was also fitted with absolutely hideous wooden paneling, ugly enough that even Marco pulled a face looking at it, but that seemed like a small enough blemish. Otherwise, the room was surprisingly attractive. Homey, even.

A small bedroom was tucked away behind the main loft space, a cozy little room with slanted ceilings owing to their being on the top floor. It had hardwood flooring and warm beige walls, like all of the rest of the rooms, and just enough space for a double bed and a few pieces of furniture. It certainly wasn't bad, especially when Marco flopped down on the double bed Bert and Reiner had situated against the back wall and smiled back at Jean, and he had to keep himself from grinning like mad at the thought of them putting their own bed there. Marco made every room in the place look like it could be theirs, simply by standing in it beside Jean.

Of course, with Reiner playing tour guide, poking around their potential new home was anything but boring. Every room came with a colorful story, about anything from incidents with neighbors to killer light fixtures. Marco didn't seem to pay quite as much attention to them as Jean did.

“You're gonna wanna watch that lightbulb right there,” Reiner warned them as they stepped into the long, walk-in closet, just in time to keep them from running into it. “I nailed that thing the day Bert and I were moving in – had to go get a face full of stitches. Wasn't cute.” He ran his hand along the slanted walls and ceiling of the closet, an angle that looked like a guarantee of a bumped head if you moved too quickly. His hand stopped just in front of the light fixture, showing just how low it hung. He grimaced at it as if it could see him do so.

“I don't know, Reiner. I thought it was pretty adorable.” Behind him, Bert grinned, the look of someone waiting to have something thrown in their direction. Reiner only glared.

“You literally cried, Bert. Don't even.”

--

Once they’d finished their exploration of the inside, Bertholdt led all of them out, telling Jean and Marco about the neighborhood and talking with wide, sweeping gestures about where stores and restaurants were located. Despite Reiner’s occasional chiming in, Bert’s description of the area made it seem a little more inviting, a little more convenient, and Jean tried to note the things he was telling them, just in case he and Marco walked away with some kind of vague decision that day.

When Marco asked about neighbors, Bert shrugged. He pointed to the living space obviously situated beneath them as he led them back up the stairs. Jean could see that it looked occupied, though no one appeared to be home.

“We've never really had any problems with anybody. Wouldn't have even known the guy downstairs was there, most days. I mean, at least until the arrest thing a while back.”

“Arrest thing?” Jean asked, subconsciously clasping Marco’s arm. Reiner nodded, a grin spreading across his face. Jean could tell by Bert’s exasperated expression that this might have been a story he preferred Reiner keep between them, but discretion was almost an impossibility for Reiner.

“Yeah, it was wild, man. Me and Bert were just layin’ in bed one night – I mean it had to be like three in the morning – and we just hear this noise downstairs. BANG, BANG, BANG!” Reiner rapped his knuckles hard against the wall, grinning wider when Jean flinched. “And we just hear ‘open up, police!’, and then it was dead quiet for a couple seconds. And then next thing you know, BAM, they kicked that bitch down and dragged his ass outta there.” Lacing fingers behind his head, Reiner leaned back against the frame of a nearby doorway and laughed. “Still don't even know what the hell he did, but they were pissed, man. It was crazy.”

Jean threw a glance at Marco, who was instead looking at Bertholdt. With a long sigh, Bert nodded to confirm Reiner’s story.

“But that was really the only incident we've ever had here,” he assured them. “Reiner has a bit of a flare for the dramatic, but I promise you, it's actually really quiet here, most of the time.”

The stories continued, as they looked over the entire apartment, inside and out. As Reiner regaled them, Bert carefully curated and corrected his descriptions, and for that, Jean was grateful. Because the truth of the matter was, the place really wasn't too bad. Occasional midnight arrests aside.

Jean remained skeptical, of course. It still seemed strange that a decent option for their first place would simply fall into their laps. But it was pretty obvious that Marco had been sold as soon as they walked through the door, and no amount of horror stories was likely to change his mind. He laughed at every eccentricity and made light of every quirk Bert and Reiner described, and if his optimism wasn't so damned adorable, it might have been annoying. But when Bert showed them the large, stone fireplace – completely nonfunctional, though an electric heater was stashed inside to keep things warm, he told them – Marco started talking about hanging Christmas stockings and Jean felt himself warming up to the place a little more.

Maybe the warmth he felt was just the glow that came from imagining himself decorating for Christmas with his sweet boyfriend. With a mug of hot cocoa in hand and tinsel to get tangled in, anywhere could feel like home, as long as Marco was the one hanging those stockings.

Jean shrugged one shoulder, but Marco could see the give in his expression. He pressed a kiss to the side of Jean’s face, pulling away with a breath of laughter. He knew damn well he was winning him over.

When they'd finished their impromptu home tour, they congregated in the tiny kitchen of the apartment, and Reiner asked them what they thought. Marco spoke for them, which was probably best, if they actually wanted to get anything done. After telling them how nice he thought it was, Bert suggested that they call their landlord to come by and talk to Jean and Marco.

“He's a real decent guy,” Reiner assured them. “I mean he's a character, but still – nice guy.”

Jean wasn't sure if he was ready to commit to the place yet, but Marco looked at him excitedly, and they nodded in unison. Even as they hovered in the spacious living room, listening to Reiner making a phone call a few feet away, Jean wasn't sure exactly how he felt about the whole thing. But if there was anything Marco had taught him in the weeks prior, as they rummaged through ‘For Rent’ signs and oddly worded newspaper ads leading to one dead end after another, it was that they had nothing to lose. Marco was over the moon about this place, and Jean wanted to be, too. But meeting the landlord without time to mentally prepare himself posed a problem.

Jean was more than a little anxious.

Despite both Bert and Reiner’s assurances that their landlord was a nice guy, Jean wondered if it might've been because he didn't know that much about them. To an outsider, Reiner and Bert didn't seem like a couple, right away. It took Jean a while to figure it out, himself, and he saw them several times a week. A landlord might not know them for who and what they were, and that worried Jean more than anything else. He and Marco had never been very good at playing the ‘we’re just friends, just roommates, nothing to see here’ card.

Waiting on the arrival of a man they'd never met, he hoped they wouldn't have to learn how.

--

The small SUV that pulled up to the property twenty minutes later was unassuming, a white RAV4 in impossibly spotless condition, but once it's driver’s side door opened, it seemed far to small to have ever contained the man that stepped out of it.

Bert and Reiner’s landlord was a few inches shorter than either of them, but made up for it with a personality bigger and louder than the both of them combined. He strode right up to the group of them, congregated near the stairs, and shook Marco’s hand first, introducing himself as ‘Dot Pixis’, a name as peculiar as he was. Marco winced, even through his beaming smile, and when the man turned to slap his hand against Jean’s for a shake, Jean understood why. Mr. Pixis had a vice grip that demanded you return it, the most freakishly firm handshake Jean had ever participated in. When he pulled his hand back he jammed it into his back pocket, out of sight.

The landlord was sharply dressed as well, out of place with the rest of them on a simple Thursday afternoon, and strange in contrast to his thick, backcountry accent. He was slick, shining from his balding head to his shoes, and his voice was almost as sharp as he greeted Reiner and Bert cordially.

“So, you boys friends of Bert and Ray, here?” The landlord asked, turning back to Jean and Marco. Jean cast a glance in Reiner’s direction at the name ‘Ray’, to which Reiner merely rolled his eyes in a way that promised an explanation, later. Jean quickly turned back to the older man in front of him and nodded.

“Yes, sir. My name’s Jean, and this is Marco.” Jean motioned between them. He saved the explanation of, ‘and he's my boyfriend’, holding out on that info as long as possible. But the landlord nodded, gesturing behind them at the building.

“You two lookin’ to rent this place out once these folks move?” Again, Jean nodded.

“We’re definitely interested, yes. They, uh… They showed us around, and it seems like it would work for us.”

“That’s good to hear,” Pixis replied. He propped himself on one elbow on the railing of the stairs, and Jean wondered if the dark metal would mark up his pricey-looking suit jacket. “Now I'll need to know a few things about you two before we talk business, alright?”

Jean swallowed, wishing he could take Marco’s hand, while also silently hoping Marco wouldn't move to take his.

“I trust these boys told you what I ask for this place every month,” Pixis said, waving in Bert and Reiner’s direction. “I'm firm on that. That sound like it’ll be doable for you two?”

With a quick glance to Marco, Jean nodded again. The landlord hummed.

“Mmkay. How about jobs? You boys both employed somewhere?”

“I’m not working full time, right now,” Marco said honestly. “But Jean is. And we're both students.”

Mr. Pixis nodded. “I see. Any arrests, drug problems, things I should know before I reach for lease papers?”

Jean shook his head without pausing to look back at Marco, knowing he would be doing the same. They had nothing to hide. At least, nothing like that.

The next few minutes involved lots of one-sided discussion about the importance of the lease agreement, and ‘adhering strictly to it’. They would be expected to pay their rent in full, on time each month, and not to get behind on their utility bills. But for the most part, the things the landlord was insistent about sounded like easy enough guidelines, and Jean’s only real annoyance came from his apparent game of ‘see how many times I can say the word lease in one conversation’.

When he seemed satisfied that he’d talked them through everything, he asked them again if they were interested. Marco seemed more ready than ever, but Jean paused for a moment to think, feeling rushed and a little overwhelmed. Oblivious to his apprehension, Pixis chuckled, looking back and forth from Reiner and Bert to Jean and Marco.

“This place is perfect for a young couple,” he offered, and Bert nodded in response. “Real good place to start out.”

Jean’s breath caught in his throat, and as soon as the words hit his ear, Marco’s hand bumped against his. Jean took it, circling his thumb over Marco’s knuckles to vent his palpable relief.

They never needed to hide anything, at all.

Jean spoke for them to tell the landlord that they were definitely still interested, and only flinched a little bit when Pixis barked a laugh and clapped him hard across the back.

“I’ll give you boys my card and you can let me know a day that works best for you all to come out here and sign a lease, then. Just bring all your paperwork with you then, alright?”

They took his number, shook his hand once more each, and then settled in a heap in Bert and Reiner’s living room – a room that would soon be theirs, instead – and traded smiles at the thought while they listened to Reiner’s story of why the landlord called him ‘Ray’.

“Well, see – the old guy doesn't hear too well, and I didn't wanna be a dick, so…”

--

After that, waiting became harder than ever.

Once he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to be living with Marco, being almost anywhere else seemed agonizing. Every hour elsewhere felt wasted, when all he really wanted to do was pack, buy things for their new home, and work on making it feel like one. But life meandered on, moving at the dragging pace that it always had. At least then he could see the finish line. Their dream wasn't so distant, anymore. They just had to wade through a few weeks of restlessness and boredom to get there.

That wasn't to say that their days were without incident.

With their move-in approaching, Jean tried desperately to acquire some of the skills he'd never really bothered with learning before, while also acquiring the tools and furniture to use them on. He wasn't much of a handyman, but he figured that there wasn't anything he couldn't teach himself to do, with patience. If nothing else, it would help to pass the time.

Gifts of mismatched, well-worn furnishings came from every direction, relatives and friends handing over things they didn't need, and that sometimes looked like they belonged in a landfill, rather than a living room. But with help from Marco, Jean dutifully patched them up, reminding himself that one day they would do better. Until then, they would make do, together.

A threadbare ottoman, some busted up bar stools and a very used couch left behind by Reiner and Bert rounded out their ragtag collection. (Jean bought a slip cover for the oversized love seat. The deep gashes left behind by a cat, he could deal with. The stories Reiner had told of he and Bert breaking the couch in – while Bert alternated between glaring at him and groaning in embarrassment – were the deal breaker.) But despite everything, it all somehow looked alright, together. They were actually pulling off creating a home of their own.

Jean’s pride took more than a few hits in the process, though. Probably none more so than the day he had to make what would forever be known as The Call Of Shame to Marco. After trying to carry a table up a narrow flight of stairs, alone, he found himself stuck in the stairwell, with nothing but his phone in his pocket to help him out of a very literal tight spot. Why he’d decided to haul it up the steps fully assembled, he couldn't really explain. But Marco didn't really press him to. He just showed up with a wrench fifteen minutes later, prying Jean and the table out of the stairway without damaging either, and only laughing once he was sure Jean was okay. The grin he wore for the rest of the evening only kind of teased Jean, but the incident behind them, they had a table and a tale to tell. As the days passed, Jean got better at moving furniture – and smarter about knowing when to ask for help.

For his part of preparing for domestic life, Marco didn't really make any major changes. Things that he was already good at – cooking, cleaning, keeping things organized – came in increasingly handy as they played moving box Tetris in and out of bedrooms and cars. While Jean worried about getting things ready, all Marco really seemed to be doing was getting even more perfect, despite that seeming impossible. Jean would have preferred to spend his time kissing that perfect, adorable face, rather than repairing old chairs and refinishing end tables, but he reminded himself daily that it was all going to add up. It was all for them. All for Marco.

At the end of the day, it was work he was glad to be doing.

--

Signing the actual lease felt like a dream.

Not in the way Jean had expected that it would. Jean was nagged by a sense of reluctance, even before the ink was dry on paperwork that listed them as ‘Marco and John’. The small apartment was nothing like the perfect palace he’d always wanted to put Marco in. Every time even the smallest drawback of their new home was mentioned in conversation, Jean would wince, mourning the loss of what he'd hoped for. But all in all, it was still surreal that they were even going to have their own place, at all. Even empty, clean and ready to moved into, it felt like someone else's home. Just a collection of rooms. Jean wondered if that feeling would ever fade.

Apparently, he wasn't very good at hiding the lingering sense of emptiness that the impending move had laid on him. On their last evening before the move, he spent the night with Marco at his family’s home, sneaking into his bedroom once everyone was asleep. They’d long since mastered making love in near-silence, quiet kisses muffling breathy moans. But afterward, the quiet that settled between them had little to do with trying not to wake Marco’s relatives. And Marco could tell.

“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” He brushed Jean’s hair back from his face, tucking wisps of it behind his ear. There was no point in lying to him; Jean knew Marco could see through him like a pane of glass.

“It's just… the move. Thinkin’ about it.”

Marco pulled his hand away, using it to pull himself up so that he could pull his knees to his chest, arms crossed over them as he looked down at Jean. “You still want to, though – right?” The anxiety in his voice hit Jean hard in the chest; in all of his worrying about making their new home perfect for his perfect boyfriend, he'd allowed Marco to believe that he was anything other than thrilled to be moving in with him. The last thing he wanted was for Marco to believe he was having second thoughts. He pushed up onto his own knees and reached out to cup Marco’s face in his hands.

“Baby, yes. Of course - I've been wanting this since we first got together.” He stroked thumbs across the sharp line of Marco’s jaw, over warm, freckled cheeks and back down again. “I just want this place to be perfect. For you. And for me. I want it to feel like home, but it just… doesn't, yet.”

Marco’s worried expression gave way to a softer one, the gentle slope of a smile pulling at his lips as he turned his head to press them to Jean’s open palm. “It will,” he promised, turning to give the other hand the same attention. “Because you'll be there, and I'll be there. We'll be together, every day. Just us. Isn't that what home is?”

Jean twisted his mouth to one side, wriggling his nose to keep his lips from quivering. He nodded, robbed of words by the simplicity of Marco’s. He was right, of course. As usual.

“And you know what else?” Marco continued, leaning forward to nose at Jean’s cheek. “I've still got a little bit more money in savings, and we've got some cupboards and closets to fill at the new place. So we can go blow some cash at that home and garden store tomorrow, okay? We’ll get whatever we want for once and it'll be great.”

He kissed the skin just below Jean’s eyes, his eyelids as they fluttered closed. There wasn't much that Jean could say in response, especially nothing that could articulate just how grateful he was for Marco in that moment. He settled for nodding his agreement, and Marco seemed satisfied with that response. He pulled Jean into his arms, collapsing back onto the bed and taking Jean with him.

At peace for the moment, Jean let himself sleep. Even there – as long as Marco was beside him – he was already home.

--

True to his word, Marco planned a shopping trip for them the following day.

His parents were less than thrilled to wake up to he and Jean piled into bed, together. But Marco didn't bother apologizing, and Jean realized that it was because as of that day, he and Jean officially lived together. One stop at the home goods store, and then they would be on their way home, to their home. Even if it didn't feel like it yet, Jean was determined to call it that until it did.

A few last boxes tossed into the already crowded backseat of Marco’s small car, and a brief pit stop for snacks, and they were on their way, pulling into the store’s parking lot less than ten minutes later. It was still morning, the air still crisp without the humidity that would settle in as the sun rose. It was a beautiful day, and when Marco stepped out of the car to stand just in front of the rising sun – it's light surrounding him like an angelic aura – Jean couldn't think of a better morning he'd ever had.

Shopping was a loose term for what followed. At least half an hour they wasted, just strolling around the store, hand in hand, idly looking at things they had no intention of buying. It was slow, it was relaxing, and it was fun, nothing like the chaos of the last few weeks. They roamed for a long stretch of time before they actually made it down a useful aisle to look at anything. And it was only kitchenware, nothing of real importance.

But standing in front of shelves stacked with dishes, something changed for Jean.

Beside him, Marco was happily looking at plates, singing under his breath as he debated different colors and patterns. Bowls with blue boxes or plates with pretty purple flowers, humming to himself as he weighed their options. Everything was entirely mundane. They were just two ordinary people, one couple in an aisle with several others, just looking at things to buy for their home.

Their home.

The words that he'd been vaguely aware of for months resounded clearly in his head for the first time. They weren't hoping for, dreaming of, or waiting on anything, any more. They had their own place – their own home. Whatever they bought that day would go home with them, to a place they would come back to every day. A place where they would be together, free from the people and things that make them anything other than happy. A place that would be more and more their own, with every day spent there, even if that just meant eating dinner together at three in the morning on their own plates.

It was really happening for them. There, standing in front of stacks of bowls and racks of plates, it hit him.

And he cried.

Marco didn’t make fun of him. He wasn't even alarmed, despite the fact that Jean took pains never to cry in public. Maybe it was because he felt the same way.

He did laugh, though. He laughed until it cleared the aisle, other shoppers probably concerned for their sanity as Jean joined him, laughing through tears that refused to stop falling. He babbled into Marco’s chest about ‘their own place’ and murmured into the folds of his clothes about ‘going home’, and they kissed each other like no one was watching.

When he'd finally collected himself enough that he was laughing more than crying, Jean hauled a heavy box of pale, pretty stoneware into their cart, and they headed down the next aisle. They made it as far as the shelves with plush bath towels displayed across from coarse rugs that said things like ‘Welcome Home’ before Marco was kissing Jean’s tears away, again.

--

Marco’s birthday fell just after their move.

The apartment was still rather bare, boxes stacked high in corners, waiting to be unpacked. In the sweltering summer heat, it was a task they put off as much as they could. They had far more entertaining things to do in the barely furnished rooms, anyway.

They were tired from moving and exhausted by the sun on their backs as they hauled in furniture, suitcases and bag after bag of groceries, but none of that mattered, because they were home.

Too broke from spending the last of their savings on dishes worth crying over, Jean decided to cook dinner for Marco’s birthday. But after a small fire and a valiant fight with their relic of an oven, Jean ended up with a burnt tray of lasagna, and an unfairly amused boyfriend.

But even over delivery pizza and cheap wine, Marco assured him that he'd never had a better birthday meal. And despite the smell of burnt food still wafting out of the kitchen and the heat lingering with it that their fans just couldn't seem to knock down, Jean believed him. Because they ate it on the plates they'd picked, together. The plates Jean had thoroughly embarrassed himself crying over.

Their plates. In their apartment.

There on their living room floor, sprawled out beside Marco, Jean was finally home.