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Tomorrow.
Jean was headed to the interior tomorrow. With Marco. To serve the King and live in relative peace for the rest of his life.
What day did the Colossus Titan decide on to show up and infiltrate Trost?
Today.
In the interior Jean wouldn’t have to see his friends die; wouldn’t have to hear them scream and beg to a God that doesn’t care. He wouldn’t have to run for his life, coming face to face with a titan.
His mind reeled – he had almost died. He could be roasting in the belly of a titan if it weren’t for Marco.
Sweet, sweet Marco. His best friend.
Marco could be dead because of his stupidity. Because he needed to run out in front of a titan to switch out his gear. Marco distracted the titan from him, and now Jean didn’t even know if his best friend was still alive or not, and maybe he was starting to panic, because his heart was beating so fast and his vision was blurring and he couldn’t hear anything but the screams and the cries and the crunching and –
“Jean!”
Marco yelled his name from a rooftop, just a few feet below where Jean stood. Without hesitating, Jean jumped from his perch, enveloping his taller friend in a bone crushing hug. He felt his tears fall freely and soak into the soft fabric of Marco’s shirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
All he wanted to do was keep his face buried in Marco’s chest, because his friend was warm and he smelled good and the strong heartbeat just beneath his skin was almost enough to drown out the screaming.
“Jean,” Marco repeated, quieter this time.
“What do we do, Marco?” Jean asked, his chest heaving as he desperately tried to stop his tears. “Everyone is dying, and I can’t get their screams out of my head and – and you could have died, Marco, and I don’t know if I could have handled that and we were supposed to go to the interior tomorrow –“
“Jean.”
Marco brought one hand that had been tightly gripped on Jean’s waist to rest on his cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen. Jean stared up into endless chocolate brown eyes, feeling the sun beating down on him from the galaxies in Marco’s freckles.
“You can’t give up yet, Jean. We’re going to climb the wall, and we’ll be away from the titans and we’ll go to the interior,” Marco smiled. “And we’ll serve the King, and since now we have actual experience in battle no one will give us any trouble. We’ll rise in the ranks and become the best and then we’ll retire together and you can complain to me about ‘kids these days’ when we’re old and decrepit and chair bound.”
Jean laughed at Marco’s words, grateful for the distraction. Then his face fell, and his eyes dropped to stare at a freckle on Marco’s lip.
“What if we don’t make it, Marco? Mina died. Thomas died.”
“Don’t think about that –”
“How can I not think about it, Marco? What will my mom do if I die? I know I’ve been a shitty kid, but she doesn’t deserve to bury her son. The titans are everywhere, and I’ve already ran out of gas once. What do I do if I run out again and you aren’t there to save me?”
Marco opened and closed his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue refusing to fall. Jean could see his positive façade begin to break, fear shining through his eyes as he bit at his bottom lip.
Then he did something Jean never expected to happen. Their lips met and blended together, Marco pulling the shorter man closer to him, capturing him in a hug so tight that it left him breathless, gasping for air as he was forced to break their kiss.
Marco caught his lips again, only kissing him for a few quick seconds this time.
“Marco –”
“Just… Wait for me, Jean. When you get to the wall.”
He rested his forehead against Jean’s, cool breath washing over his face.
“Marco –”
“Wait for me to come home.”
-
“Wait for me to come home!”
The words were innocent enough – a mother speaking into her phone, probably to her child, but Jean found himself freezing. His fingers latched too tight on the cup in his hands, hot coffee threatening to spill out, before that same tightness ran through his body and lingered in his chest. He felt it behind his eyes and in his throat, the now familiar feeling telling him he needed to get away from prying eyes.
Jean quietly excused himself from his group of friends, ignoring their raucous laughter and beelining for the bathroom. Once he was safely locked under the soft fluorescent lights, he felt the tightness in his chest explode, making way for the tears that sprung from his eyes and down his face. He stood by the door and sobbed, vicious and violent, until his shoulders were shaking and his stomach was turning.
He felt sick, and he didn’t even know why he was crying, but this had become a regular occurrence for Jean. The words – those six innocent words that had tumbled out of the mothers’ mouth – had a habit of bringing him to tears.
When he was a child his lower lip would jut out and quiver, but nothing too serious. He would suppress the gasping breaths when he was a teenager, waiting until he was bundled in three layers of blankets, chalking it up to nothing more than hormones and angst. But since moving to the city and celebrating his 20th birthday, he hasn’t been able to explain the bouts of sadness that overwhelmed him.
It’s not like he could just ask people not to utter those words around him – Hi, I’m Jean Kirschtein and for some unexplainable reason the phrase “wait for me to come home” elicits a visceral sadness deep in me so please don’t ever say them thank you.
He imagined it wouldn’t go over well.
Still, sometimes he wished he could. Breaking down at random moments in the day took a lot of energy from him, something he didn’t have enough to spare.
“Jean?” He jumped at the mention of his name, Sasha’s concerned voice muffled by the warped wood. “You ok in there, buddy?”
“Yeah,” he responded, his voice wavering. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Jean peeled himself off the door to glance in the mirror, wincing at the redness of his nose and puffiness in his eyes. With practiced hands, he washed his face with icy water, knowing it’d counteract some of the effects from his breakdown.
Wait for me to come home.
The words echoed in his mind, in a voice so familiar it hurt, threatening to rip even more heaving sobs from him. He closed his eyes and saw brown; brown hair, brown freckles. Tired brown eyes stared at him, quaking with fear, knowing this could be the last time they ever saw him.
But then the image blurred, and Jean couldn’t see the brown anymore – brown he so desperately wanted to hold on to, comfort and warmth radiating from every freckle he saw.
“Jean, you’ve been in there for a while. You sure you’re okay?” This time it was Connie.
Could he tell his friends about these weird… whatever you call them – visions? The heart wrenching fits of sadness and the beautiful brown he saw after? He knew his friends were understanding, but not even Jean himself could comprehend why a simple sentence was enough to reduce him to a blubbering baby.
So he pushed the brown eyes from his mind, the lingering voice inside his head, and did his best to appear normal before he walked out of the bathroom.
“Thought you died in there,” Connie joked, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. Sasha peeked at them curiously in the distance, worry evident in her eyes.
“If only.” Jean joked back, dropping the conversation as he moved toward the table Sasha sat at. She stopped him from sitting by grabbing onto his hand, squeezing it in her own delicate fingers.
“You don’t have to hang with me and Connie if we make you feel like a third wheel, Jean. Honest. We won’t be offended if you don’t come along some days.”
Jean laughed. Small, and tired, but a laugh nonetheless.
“You don’t make me feel like a third wheel, Sash. I just… Things are weird right now, y’know?” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before sitting by the window again. “I’m just in a slump. I’ll get out of it.”
Sasha nodded, her ponytail bouncing. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said, smiling. “I met someone at the Farmers’ Market I think you’d like.”
“You think I’d like, or you think you’d like?” Jean asked, his eyebrow quirking as he stared at his friend.
Sasha hummed, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Both,” she said eventually. “He was telling me about a roast he made, while wearing a Star Wars shirt, so I think he’s good for the whole group.”
“Okay, but if this is another Thomas situation –“
“Trust me, there’s no sideburns. I checked this time.”
Jean smiled at his friend. Who knows, maybe being set up wouldn’t be so bad.
-
Jean spent the next three days in a constant state of panic. Blind dates are bad, being set up is bad, everything is bad bad horrible why did I agree to this –
What if something went wrong, and he got his hair shaved off? Or what if his nose broke before Friday, or he got a tooth knocked out? What if he suddenly broke out in really bad acne, so painful and so horrible he couldn’t leave the house lest the neighborhood kids run from him, warning their parents that a monster was chasing them?
Jean obsessed over these thoughts, worry gnawing away at his brain, as he shambled down the busy supermarket aisle. He wasn’t even paying attention to the sales, the two-for-ones, the child crying because his mom won’t buy him candy. Not even the tall, dark, and handsome just a few feet away, weighing his options between two brands of chips.
That is, until Jean quite literally ran into him.
Jean swore, his small basket flying into the chip rack and knocking over bag after bag, while the guy he ran into fell on a small display of candy bars.
“Shit – oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he scrambled to help the guy to his feet, his face burning at the onlookers and passerby. “Are you okay?”
The guy groaned, one freckled hand reaching out to grab Jean’s. His touch was warm, his grip on Jean’s hand firm, and made something jump deep in his gut. When he stood, his eyes were closed in pain, holding onto the side of his body that had assaulted the display.
“Yeah, I just never expected candy bar wrappers to be so pointy.”
He opened his eyes, and Jean was lost in them. There was something so familiar about that shade of brown, the same brown that never decided if it was mud colored, or chocolate, or hazelnut. The same brown that seemed to change in the sunlight, the pupils that restricted and expanded when they looked at him. The same brown that beckoned him home, the color he memorized, no longer dull and half eaten –
“You okay?”
His voice shocked Jean out of his reverie. “What?” He asked.
“Are you okay? You looked a little lost, there.” A smile ghosted over the stranger’s lips.
Jean forced a laugh. What had he been thinking about? The thoughts swirling in his mind had left, leaving nothing but a vast emptiness.
“We should get this cleaned up,” Jean said, clearing his throat. He set his basket by his feet as he turned to the haphazard chips. “Before an employee yells at us.”
He could feel the stranger’s eyes on him. Why did he want to look at them so badly?
“Yeah,” he heard the stranger sigh.
Jean got the chips (mostly) straightened before turning, watching the guy struggle with the cardboard display.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he huffed, blushing when Jean laughed. “This isn’t funny!”
“Dude, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.” Jean snorted.
“Well, I’m not laughing.”
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” Jean said, bending to pick up some of the candy bars. “It’s not funny.”
They worked in silence. Jean gathered the miscellaneous candy, while tall-dark-and-handsome worked on repairing the cardboard.
“It kind of is.” He mumbled as Jean put the candy back.
“Hm? Is what?” Jean asked.
“Funny,” he supplied. “Knocking over the display. Doesn’t stuff like this only happen in movies?”
“Only if it’s a cheesy romcom where they fall in love at the end.” Jean said, grinning. “And I don’t plan on falling in love with you, buddy. I got a hot date on Friday.”
The stranger laughed. “Oh, I’m so upset.” His was delicate, unlike Jean’s brash laughter.
When they quieted, Jean realized he didn’t want to stop talking. There was something about the man in front of him – so familiar, yet so out of reach. He knew he’d heard that voice before, but where? Where had he seen those eyes?
“So, uh,” Jean cleared his throat, nervous. “What were you doing? Y’know, before.”
“Oh,” the stranger grabbed two bags of chips. “I couldn’t decide if I wanted regular or barbecue.”
“Barbecue, definitely.”
“Really?” He asked. “I haven’t had regular in so long…”
Jean scoffed. “Fine. Get the boring chips.”
“Gee, I didn’t know plain chips offended you so much.” He smiled, setting the barbecue chips in his basket.
“Hey. Anything plain offends me.” Jean joked – god, why did he love this strangers laugh so much? – leaving the scene of the crime for the checkout.
He went through the line in silence, smiling politely at the cashier the whole time. He watched as Chip Guy loaded his things on the conveyor belt, giving the cashier a $20 from his wallet.
“Woah, is that a hundred dollar bill I see? Big spender.” Jean smiled.
“Yeah, well, you aren’t the only one with a hot date on Friday.” Chip Guy blushed.
“Oh,” oh.
“Yeah,”
What the hell, Kirschtein? You don’t even know this dude’s name, was that jealousy you just felt? Come on, man. Get it together.
“Well, here’s to great first dates.” Jean grabbed his plastic bag from the counter, bumping it against Chip Guy’s, as if they were toasting. “May your date truly be hot.”
Chip Guy laughed, leading Jean through the sliding front doors. “You too, man.”
Jean smiled, opening his mouth to speak before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down to see a text from Sasha, a ‘come to your apartment I need to help you pick your outfit’ gracing his screen.
Jean sighed and pocketed his phone, looking back up to his grocery store companion. “Hey, I never got to ask you –“ But he was alone on the sidewalk. “– your name.”
-
“Jean, stop thinking about grocery store boy! You’re just bumming yourself out.”
“His name is Chip Guy, thank you very much.” He huffed at his friend. “And he could have been my soulmate for all we know, Sasha.”
Sasha groaned. “Shut up, that only happens in movies.”
“That’s what he said!”
“Ok, Jean, listen to me. You’re going to go into that restaurant. You’re going to find your blind date. You’re gonna talk, laugh, maybe get a little drunk, maybe get a little sloppy makeout sesh in the back of his car –“ Jean began to protest. “– But you are not going to sit here and wallow over a guy you’ll never see again!”
Jean was quiet for a moment. “Why does it have to be his car?” He said eventually.
“Because you don’t have one. Now, go.” Sasha pointed Jean to the restaurant, shoving him in its direction.
“Alright, fine.” He squared his shoulders, his jacket bunching on his back. “I’m doing this.” He crossed the street, to the glass doors. “I’m going on a date.” The sound of quiet chatter and silverware clinking on glass greeted his ears. “I’m gonna have fun.” Jean scanned the area for his date. Maybe he should ask the bartender if he’s seen anyone –
Jean’s eyes landed on dark hair and a freckled face at the bar, munching on pretzels as he stared down at his phone.
“Chip Guy?!” He laughed, closing the distance between the two. “Hey!”
Chip Guy looked up, his shocked expression melting into a smile. “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Small world.” Jean sat on the stool next to him. “So, is your hot date here yet?”
“No, I’m still waiting.” Chip Guy sighed. “My friend set me up with her friend, told me we’d be “perfect””. He said, air quotes and all.
Jean swallowed the pretzels he’d been eating. “Weird, I got set up by my friend too. Some guy she met at the farmer’s market who supposedly likes Star Wars and cooking. Really, I think she just wants me to date him for the food.”
Chip Guy laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Uh, is this friend an overly energetic red head?”
“Yeah, why?”
He blushed. “Uh, I think I’m your date.”
Jean blushed, too. “You’re the guy Sasha set me up with?”
“Um, I guess? Listen, if you want we can just go our separate ways –“
“No, man, are you kidding?” Jean smiled. “I, uh, thought you were cute in the store. This is cool.”
“Well, I thought you were cute too.” Chip Guy said.
“Oh, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Chip Guy in my head.” Jean asked.
“Right, of course! I’m Marco – Marco Bodt.”
Jean’s heart stopped.
Marco Bodt.
Marco.
Jean wasn’t in the restaurant anymore. He was in another time, in another body. Feeling his lips and the strong heartbeat just below his skin, knowing they’d spend forever together. He was in his bed, kicking Marco every time he heard a snore, earning grunts and more snores in response. He was training, Marco smiling before tackling him. Marco reassuring him everything would be fine, they just need to get to the wall.
Staring down at the bloody and crushed face of his best friend. His hands shaking, his eyes not wanting to believe what they were seeing, his breathing labored and did anyone see what happened to him? He couldn’t have died alone, what happened –
“Hello?” The sudden voice pulled him out of his reverie. Marco’s face was inches from his, whole and blushing, and his eyes were the same deep brown shade they’d always been. “You okay? You kinda checked out for a second.”
Jean swallowed roughly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you Marco, I’m Jean Kirschtein.”
Jean didn’t know what he expected, but he couldn’t help the jolt of excitement in his stomach at the recognition in Marco’s eyes.
They stayed like that, probably too close together for a first date, as Marco got lost in their past life. His eyes welled with tears, eventually breaking their silence.
“… Jean?”
“Marco –“
Marco cut him off, crushing their lips together with a force he hadn’t felt since – since the day Marco died.
When they broke from their kiss, Marco was the first to speak. “I told you, Jean. I told you to wait for me to come home. And – and you did.”
For the first time in years, Jean didn’t react.
“Welcome home.”