Chapter Text
“Haha, dork—OCD much?”
Marco looked up from where he had been carefully aligning his pencils and notebooks on his desk, to glance at the smirking punk in the seat ahead of him. Jean Kirschtein, with his two-tone undercut and flashing line of cartilage piercings, always seemed to find something to pick at when it came to Marco.
The freckled boy tried to let the comment slide off him, like water off an adorable otter’s back. “Just thought I’d straighten up my supplies, since I couldn’t find any other productive things to do in the last two minutes of class.”
Jean rolled his eyes and elbowed Connie (one of his well-known cronies). Jerking his head toward Marco, he sneered, “What a busybody, huh? He can’t loosen up for a minute, even!”
Connie, glancing over, nodded and snickered, “More like a ‘busy Bodt-y,’ huh, Jean?” Even with his edgy buzzed haircut, Connie still managed to look like a complete goof as he smiled at his own joke.
“Heh, yeah—wait.” Jean stared, dumbstruck, at Connie. “Did you just…”
Marco, having sat back through the exchange, let out a small chuckle at the truly unamused hang of Jean’s slack-jawed expression. This brought the delinquent’s attention back, and his eyes narrowed at the derailment of his ridiculing. “What’re you fucking giggling at, nerd?”
Marco gave an almost apologetic smile. “J-just… your face just now…”
“My face?” Jean huffed. “At least I’m not the one with the awkward-ass forehead. And seriously,” he grinned, “did your mom hold the bowl on your head for you, or did you manage this dumb bowl-cut all by yourself?” Jean even jabbed a finger to point at Marco’s perfectly level bangs, but stopped about foot short of the black locks. Marco had noticed something, actually—Jean always seemed about to touch him, but would halt in the middle of his movement, as if he’d run into some kind of forcefield. As if…
The bell rang. One person who had no problem invading Marco’s space, on the other hand, was Eren Jaeger. “Fuck this, Marco, let’s get out of here. You don’t have to listen to this asshole.” Eren had practically ripped himself out of his seat at the sound of the bell, and now grasped Marco’s arm to pull him along.
“A-ah, wait, Eren, I need to put my things in my backpack—” Marco, attempting to turn back to his desk, was tripped up by the way Eren’s fingers still dug into his sleeve. Momentum arrested, Marco jerked back unexpectedly, flailing for a moment before thumping onto the ground.
“Marco!”
Before he could really register that he’d fallen, Marco heard no one else but Jean’s voice calling out in concern. He looked up with wide, bewildered eyes as Jean hopped up from his seat to kneel by Marco.
Haltingly, Jean’s hands reached toward Marco’s general vicinity, and twitched around in the air as if unsure where they could appropriately go in order to assist the tripped boy. Finally, Jean growled and pulled his hands back, instead focusing his flustered glare upward. “God damn it, Eren! Look what your reckless ass did now!” After a few more jarring, awkward gestures, Jean’s expression changed to one of alarm; Marco thought he almost looked trapped, between the closely spaced desks, chairs, and… himself.
“Fuck!” Just as rapidly as he’d neared Marco, Jean managed to spring back toward his desk, snatch his bookbag, and bolt out the room. Connie ran after him, shouting in confusion, while Eren looked guiltily at Marco and others came forward to help him up.
All Marco could think about, though, was the way Jean had reacted; how, when it came down to it, Jean was always smiling when he teased Marco.