Chapter Text
Marco’s eyes cracked open, blearily adjusting to the faint morning light illuminating his bedroom. He immediately shut them, however, and pulled his comforter up to his nose, rolling onto his side. The gentle light filtering through the drawn blinds was intruding on his sleep, and he let out a long, drawn out groan when he couldn't sufficiently shield himself.
Marco was not a morning person.
Plopping onto his back and peeking over the comforter, he registered the growing stench of burning food: acrid and unpleasant. The bedroom door was ajar and the clattering of plates and cutlery alerted him to something stirring in the kitchen.
Sighing, Marco rose out of his horizontal position into a somewhat vertical one and stumbled across the room. He dragged his feet across the rough, carpeted floor, absently following the scent of what could’ve potentially been an adequate meal, given a competent chef.
Hunched over the stove, fussing over whatever was burning, was Jean. Marco released a yawn to announce his presence, and Jean looked over his shoulder for a split second before quickly turning his attention back to the ruined meal. He prodded it with a spatula, fueled by a newfound urgency now that Marco was awake.
Leaning his chest flush against Jean’s shoulder blades and nuzzling his nose into the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco silently inspected the sizzling mess that Jean was hopelessly trying to salvage. He opened his mouth to speak into Jean’s ratty shirt, and-
“Don’t say anything,” Jean said tersely.
The abruptness of his voice caught Marco off guard, eliciting a soft chuckle from the taller of the two men. “Was just gonna say guh’morning.”
“I know you were about to make fun of my bacon.”
Marco paused, staring down at the sizzling contents of the frying pan; “that’s supposed to be bacon?”
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Despite himself, Jean laughed.
“Kidding,” Marco smiled, “good morning,” he murmured again, pressing his hands into Jean’s sides.
Jean grunted in response, tilting his head to the side so it ruffled Marco’s dark, slightly curly hair; he stood with him a little longer than he should have, doing this distracted Jean and allowed their meal to burn further.
“Did you sleep okay?” Jean asked after reluctantly stepping out of his arms to scrape the forlorn remnants of breakfast from the pan onto a plate. Jean’s absence left Marco swaying slightly, as if Jean was a support keeping him upright and he threatened to crumple to the floor now that the support was gone. Realizing he was asked a question, he nodded slowly.
“How long have you been up?” Marco mumbled. He still hadn’t found the energy to fully open his eyes and simply looked off in Jean’s general direction.
“Like an hour,” he hummed, just before dropping a portion of their already ruined breakfast onto the floor and wordlessly leering at it.
Marco continued, lips quirking to keep from giggling. “You haven’t showered yet?”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“You’re still in your underwear,” Marco observed.
Jean glanced down at the boxers resting low around his hips; “maybe I took a shower and changed back into my pajamas,” he retorted.
“You stink, though,” he grinned, “that’s kind of a giveaway.”
Jean narrowed his eyes and scowled like a child before turning his attention to the bacon scattered on the floor, kneeling and scooping it up into his hand. He winced once he remembered it was hot out of the pan, hissing and shaking his hand scornfully after burning himself.
“Okay, sorry,” Marco placated after once again stifling a laugh. Jean fetched a paper towel, scooped the food off the floor, and tossed it in the trash as quickly as possible.
“We can split it between us,” Jean said, motioning to the bacon that hadn't fallen on the floor. The other resisted the temptation to mention the bacon wasn't worth eating in the first place.
They seated themselves at the counter on mismatched bar stools. Marco couldn't find an appropriate way to ask for something else to eat without invalidating Jean’s breakfast endeavor, so he didn't say anything.
“Oh, uh, we’re out of bacon now,” Jean mumbled after a minute or so of silence.
“You fried it all?”
He nodded in response, frowning as he took another bite of his food.
Solicitously, Marco reached over and pushed the tousled hair out of Jean’s eyes. “We can go to the grocery store today, I guess. I've been meaning to get some things, anyway.”
Jean took another bite of charred bacon and promptly littered crumbs onto his lap. Instead of sweeping them off, he continued eating, albeit at a laughably hesitant pace. With a shake of his head, Marco swiped the crumbs off his legs and onto the floor.
“Why did you try cooking?”
“Uh,” Jean faltered, “I was hungry, and you were still asleep, and I wasn't going to wake you up since you get so grumpy. So I cooked for you- I mean us. I cooked for us because I was hungry.”
At that, Marco raised an eyebrow, . “Oh, um. Okay, thank you, I think.”
“You’re no better at cooking than I am,” Jean groused, scratching the back of his neck. It was indubitable that Marco was better at cooking than him, though that wasn't saying much. The only thing Marco could do was keep things from burning, which was already more than what Jean could manage.
Marco chose not to press him further, noting the pleased glint in Jean’s eyes when Marco managed to finish all of his breakfast.
“You might wanna take a shower,” Marco lilted as he took their plates and stood up to put them in the sink, “if we’re going to go grocery shopping.”
“Can’t I just put on a lot of deodorant, or something?” Jean was only half serious, though that probably wouldn't have been the first time he’d done something like that.
“If you want me to pretend that I don’t know you once we’re out in public, go ahead.”
Jean’s expression lifted into one of mischief. Standing from his bar stool, he slinked over to Marco until he was crowded into the junction between two counters.
“Are you trying to say I’m gross?” Jean barely stifled a snort when Marco tried to push him away.
Marco fought to keep a serious expression as Jean shoved him against the sink and propelled his rank body against him. “Yes, stop- don’t you-- fucking dare-!”
“What? Is something wrong?” Jean wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides as he nuzzled his blond hair against Marco's chest.
They struggled like that for a while, with Marco shouting and laughing and flailing his limbs sporadically, and Jean still refusing to budge.
“You’re gross-- oh my god-” Marco managed to choke out once Jean was attempting to wrap his legs around him. He tried to scowl but was twitching with laughter; the face he made wasn't nearly as formidable as he hoped it would be.
The giggles Jean was holding in spilled from his throat when he saw his expression, making him dizzy as he flopped bonelessly onto the floor.
He fell onto his back with his hands on his stomach,“I-I know you’re, trying to b-be serious-- but you, you look so ridiculous, I’m s-sorry,” he guffawed, breathless with laughter.
“Just- go take a shower already!” Marco added a weak kick to Jean’s hip for good measure, which unfortunately only made him laugh harder.
Jean scraped himself off the ground with one hand while the other gripped his side, “Alright, alright fine- I’m going.” He dragged himself to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and accidentally bumping into a wall in his temporarily sightless state. Making it to the doorway, Jean turned around at the sound of Marco’s uninterrupted snickering.
He was almost mesmerized by the way Marco simply stood there, tittering to himself with a smile adorning his lips and palms circling against his eyes. Transfixed, Jean didn't notice Marco was moving his hands to focus on him, the smile fading into a smaller one that was no less brilliant. A fit of embarrassment forced Jean to duck his head and shut the bathroom door as quickly as possible, leaving a cinder block of discomfort in his chest.
-
When Jean got out of the shower and dressed himself, Marco had the discretion not to bring up their exchange, nor did he comment on the audible singing he heard from the next room over. Jean sung in the shower a lot; this was something Marco had no trouble getting used to, given Jean’s surprisingly pleasant singing voice.
In turn, Jean had the discourtesy to laugh when Marco’s personal playlist came on in the car on the way to Food Lion (“Fall Out Boy, Marco? Really? Is this 2007?”). He did, however, apologize as soon as he saw the look of betrayal on Marco’s face. (“Okay, okay shit, that was too far, sorry.”)
On arrival to the grocery store, Jean was appointed Official Basket Holder by Marco, who still felt the need to get back at Jean for rubbing his B.O. all over him and insulting his music. This wasn't an actual punishment, but it was the closest thing he could manage.
“What stuff did you need to pick up?” Jean peeked over Marco’s shoulder to glance at the shopping list in his hand, unfortunately bumping the hard plastic shopping basket against Marco’s leg in the process.
“Ouch,” Marco hissed, “we need eggs, bacon, other breakfast shit, and Lucky Charms.”
“Other breakfast shit,” Jean parroted, “That’s kinda vague. Did you actually write other breakfast shit on the-oh okay you actually wrote that.”
“I’m tired of eating Lucky Charms every morning,” Marco ignored the latter half of that comment as he used his thumb to cover up ‘other breakfast shit’ on the list. “I thought we could try eating new things.”
“Then why the hell are we buying more Lucky Charms, Marco. We eat Lucky Charms every day.”
“Just in case my ‘other breakfast shit’ plan fails and we need a backup,” Marco had a hunch they would buy a new food, thinking it looked acceptable, only for Jean to take a single bite and decide it was the most abhorrent, unacceptable breakfast food ever consumed. Then he would probably make himself a bowl of Lucky Charms and ask Marco why that’s the only thing he ever consistently buys.
Jean stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Alright, whatever you say.”
Marco simpered, taking Jean's hand in his own as he led him through the store.
-
Minutes into their shopping trip, Marco was already straying from the list.
“What’s this?” Jean had been zoning out for a few moments and initially failed to notice the plastic container Marco put into the basket akin to the way a child tries to make off with stolen cookies. Jean took the item out of the basket and stared at it in pure bewilderment.
“It’s oregano,” Marco stated when Jean peered at him expectantly.
“Why?” Jean said.
Marco's eyes darted to his feet. “Well, um, you see… I was hoping I could maybe start cooking more at home?” he scratched his nose and looked up at the ceiling. “That, or we could cook together and start eating food that isn’t take out or Lucky Charms.”
Jean, still bemused, searched Marco’s face, “you've given me that same speech the past eight times we've been to Food Lion together. We have a cabinet filled with like, a billion oreganos that you haven’t even opened. Neither of us can even cook.”
“Well…”
“This is like, 6 dollars for a jar of tiny leaves.”
“They’re not just leaves.”
“I promise we have plenty of oreganos at home, we don’t need more.”
“I don’t think ‘oreganos’ is a word,” Marco put the container back on its shelf, sighing louder than was necessary.
-
Jean had, inexplicably, gotten lost in the supermarket.
Armed only with a plastic basket, now weighed down slightly with groceries, he was on his own in this reasonably sized, brightly lit, tile-floored labyrinth. He journeyed for several minutes through the same aisles over and over again in search of the tall, square-jawed man known as Marco Bodt.
Jean felt, admittedly, like a lost puppy in here without Marco. If this place was a little more crowded, he would definitely be anxious right now, especially without a support to keep him from freaking out. Thankfully, it was only a Sunday morning and there was no threat right now.
After accidentally wandering into the tampon aisle for the third time, he started to wrestle with the possibility of going to the front of the store and asking a clerk to call Marco to come get him. That’s something little kids do, though, and Jean wasn't about to go up there feeling like a taller, less snotty-faced version of a lost child.
“I’m not a fucking kid,” Jean proclaimed to himself, forgetting he was in public. He rushed out of the aisle with determination, hell bent on finding Marco. In his rush, he failed to notice there was another person in the aisle when he made his announcement.
-
Walking a few more laps around the store with no sign of Marco, he trudged to the checkout lines with heavy feet and his head hung low; he sought out the cashier who looked the least threatening.
“I- uh,” Jean started, looking them in the eyes before focusing his gaze on the racks of candy and gum next to the conveyor belt, “I need help finding someone,” he muttered.
This was only a less pathetic way of saying, “I’m 23 and I’m scared and lost in Food Lion,” but the look on the cashier’s face told him he wasn't fooling anyone.
“Uh, okay, they’re still in the store, right?” they spoke to him as if he was a child, which was exactly what Jean was fearing.
Jean glanced at their nametag. “Yes, Nanaba, if that’s even your real name,” he crossed his arms.
Nanaba looked up at him, put off by his attitude. They sighed, “Alright, what’s their name, I can call them over the intercom for you,” they suggested as they picked up said intercom and ran their free hand through their blonde hair.
“Marco,” his voice wasn’t audible.
“What,” they deadpanned.
“Marco,” still unintelligible.
Nanaba lowered their eyebrows, hesitating as they pressed the button and began to speak.
“Rocco, please come to the front,” their voice boomed throughout the store.
“I said Marco,” Jean willed his voice louder this time.
“Marco, Marco, come to the front,” Nanaba added quickly.
They made brief, uncomfortable eye contact with each other before Nanaba put the intercom down and excused themselves, leaving Jean alone in the check-out lane.
-
“Where were you?” Marco’s voice came out of seemingly nowhere, making Jean flinch.
He turned around quickly to meet Marco’s concerned eyes before noticing his arms were filled with groceries.
“I could ask you the same thing, Christ, I walked like 500 laps around this goddamn store looking for you.”
Marco let out a breathy laugh, “I ran into my grandma, she wouldn't stop talking.”
“Did you meet up with her in Narnia, is that why I couldn't find you for like 3 hours?”
“You were lost for 20 minutes, if even that.” He shook his head, “Narnia time doesn't even correspond with regular-world time; get your children’s literature trivia straight, Jean.”
When Jean squinted in response, the other couldn't help but giggle. Marco emptied the groceries from his arms into the basket before taking it from Jean's hands, silently pleased when this wasn’t met with a complaint.
Jean took the cylindrical container of chocolate chip cookie dough out of the basket and scanned the packaging, “You’re going to bake cookies?”
“Well, I was sorta hoping you would help me, since they’re really easy to make. The instructions are even written on the side.”
Thinking about it for a few seconds, Jean grunted in affirmation and put it back in the basket. “Sure, we can do that.”
A small smile graced Marco’s lips. “Are you ready to go now?” he asked as he craned his head to look for an open check-out lane.
“Please never bring me back here again,” was Jean’s answer.
-
“Jean, why do you only have 3 balls of dough on your cookie sheet?”
At the sound of his name, said man looked up, still licking dough off his fingers. “Hm?”
“Did you really-” Marco trailed off.
Jean paused. “I didn't eat all of it.”
“You ate a lot of it.”
His eyes darted to Marco’s cookie sheet where little balls of cookie dough were placed scrupulously, equidistant from each other and all equal in size. His own cookie sheet was blatantly inferior to Marco’s, the dough that made it to the (ungreased) sheet was spiky and misshapen and placed with little care, since he was more focused on eating the raw cookie goodness.
“You didn't have to eat so much of it,” Marco muttered.
Before speaking, Jean took another chunk of cookie dough from the package. “The cookies are gonna turn out like shit, anyway,” He stuffed it into his mouth.
Marco stared at his own cookie sheet blankly.
“The dough is the best part,” Jean added when Marco didn't acknowledge him.
“You’re going to get sick.”
“You’re going to burn the cookies,” Jean countered.
“We haven’t even burned them yet!”
“Yet.” Jean repeated, “They’re going to be burned.”
Marco took a deep breath and exhaled quickly, deliberately choosing not to say anything further as he returned to his previous task of loading the cookie sheet with dough. The look on his face would've seemed neutral to any stranger, but Jean could feel the exasperation radiating off of him.
Despite his perpetual tactlessness, Jean knew it was not a good idea to continue eating while Marco was calmly seething next to him. He took another gob of dough from the package and mimicked Marco’s technique, rolling it into a sphere before placing it on the sheet. In minutes, his sheet was as full as possible with the dough he hadn't eaten.
Marco noticed and smiled to himself.
-
Once they finished preparing the cookie sheets and put them in the oven, Marco went to take a shower. It was a display of trust to leave Jean in charge of those cookies, trust he very much did not deserve after today. Jean was determined not to fuck this up; he periodically checked the cookies to ensure they didn't burn.
Though he was going to watch them like a hawk, there were over 40 minutes left on the timer, and there was no way he was going to sit on the floor in front of the oven for that long; especially since Marco liked to take his sweet time in the shower, always opting to waste as much hot water as he could. Jean rose to his feet and sought out his phone so he at least wouldn't be idle as he waited. After minutes of searching through drawers, couch cushions, and coat pockets, he found it buried under a pile of clothes in his bedroom.
Remembering that he was responsible for the cookies in the midst of texting Sasha, he quickly made his way back into the kitchen and sighed with relief when he saw they were fine. He sat on the floor with his back against the cabinets and fiddled with his phone as he waited for Marco to finish his shower.
-
The sound of bare feet padding across the tile floor snapped Jean back into consciousness. He found himself propped against the cabinet with his phone still in his hand. Marco was standing adjacent to him at a counter, eating the fresh cookies off of one of the metal sheets. Shifting his legs to stand up, he discovered a blanket draped over his lower half.
When Jean emitted a sleepy groan, Marco turned to face him, smiling softly at his scrunched-up expression.
“Are the cookies okay?” Jean asked eventually, as he was currently too lazy to stand up and see for himself.
“I got out of the shower in time to save them,” he assured, “they’re surprisingly not that bad. Do you want one?”
Jean hesitated, reflecting on his definition of ‘not that bad.’
“Yes, gimme,” he stretched out a hand, still not standing up.
The cookie wasn't bad, like Marco said. They also weren't that good either, but this was a huge step up compared to that morning’s disaster. It was a little burnt around the edges, but the middle was pleasantly gooey and warm, and he made an effort not to spill crumbs on himself.
Jean pulled the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak and stood up, though he was still groggy from his cat nap. He made his way over to Marco and took another cookie from the metal sheet, feeling satisfied that they were at least edible. The previous times they’d baked together usually ended in disaster: a smoke alarm, a myriad of dirty dishes, a trashcan full of ruined cake, etc.
“Where are mine?” Jean asked, referring to the cookies he’d prepared himself: the sheet they were eating off was too clean, too symmetrical to be the one Jean prepared.
Scratching his nose was Marco’s instinctive response, which already wasn’t a good sign.
“Oh, well,” he started, “you didn't grease your pan, so I had to… scrape them off, which sorta ruined them. Most of them were already burned anyway, so I guess it wasn't a huge loss.”
There was a moment of silence; both of their heads were lowered with an air of solemnity.
Jean snickered. “I told you they were gonna turn out like shit.”
Marco scoffed and opened his mouth to speak, but Jean cut him off.
“At least yours are good though, like, at least they’re edible,” he smirked.
Marco responded with a tiny smile and a modest shake of his head, “they’re not, that good.”
He must have liked them, though, since an entire row was missing by the time Jean had joined him.
So they stood there together, stuffing their faces with cookies and regretting it once they’d cleared all of them in under five minutes.
“This was,” Marco mumbled after Jean put the last cookie in his mouth, “not a good idea. This was a terrible idea.”
Jean groaned painfully in response, though for some reason still was eating the cookie.
Crossing his arms over his stomach, Marco announced he was going to take a nap, and he limped off in the direction of his bedroom. Jean nodded, hesitating before following Marco.
-
When Marco sat down on the bed, he noticed Jean was in the room with him, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. Their eyes briefly met before Jean shrugged and crawled onto the opposite side of the bed, pulled the comforter over himself, and curled into a ball. He was facing away, purposefully not saying anything.
A little confused, but not bothered in the least, Marco crawled under the sheets as well and faced Jean, though Jean still refused to turn around. Marco scooted in closer, cautiously placing a hand on the other's side. His heart did a back flip when Jean scooted backwards, pressing his shoulder blades into Marco's chest ever so slightly.
-
“Armin called while we were asleep,” Marco said as way of greeting when Jean came out of his bedroom. “I called him back and he asked if we wanted to meet up with everyone tomorrow,” he was sitting on their couch in the tiny living room, playing with his phone.
“We slept all day, pretty much; it’s like 5pm now,” he added when Jean didn't respond.
“Where are we going?” Jean finally asked after rubbing the rheum out of his eyes.
“They want to go to a park for a picnic; him, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, and Connie are all going.”
Jean tilted his head to the side in thought before shrugging and taking a seat next to Marco on the couch.
“You don’t want to go?”
“Don’t ask me difficult questions, I just woke up,” he responded scratchily as he stretched and draped himself over Marco’s lap like a cat.
This elicited a soft laugh from Marco; he rested his elbows on Jean’s back and continued using his phone.
“Sasha says you need to text her back,” Marco notified him after a few minutes of companionable silence.
Jean grunted and went to retrieve his phone from the kitchen; he felt a little guilty remembering how he’d fallen asleep talking to her earlier.
“jean???” “JEAN!! JEAN WHERE DID YOU GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” sent 4 hours ago.
“i fell asleep wtf do you wa;nt”
Sasha’s reply came seconds later, giving Jean just enough time to lie on the couch with his head comfortably on Marco’s lap.
“yes marco told me that already!!! :/ did he tell you about the date we planned”
“dont call it a date that makes me so uncomfortable”
“ok FINE did he tell you about the picnic”
“yeah but why a picnic”
“food. plus we haven’t hung out in forever,” by forever, Sasha meant a week, “also you are too lazy to take your boyfriend on actual dates so we’re arranging one for you”
“we went to food lion together this morning though,” realizing the implications behind this, he sent another message immediately after, “wait no. hes not my boyfriend we arent dating that wasnt a date we were just going to food lion. i wouldnt take marco on a date to food lion”
“calm down omfg” “wait. you arent dating??”
Caught up in the conversation, Jean almost didn't notice Marco's fingers tracing through his hair and gently across his scalp. It felt natural, nauseatingly innocuous; Jean’s stomach dropped when he realized this had been going on as soon as he’d lied down. The act itself didn't bother him, but the familiarity of it, the warm surge of affection it induced sent a jolt of realization through his gut. Oh, goddamn it, Jean thought.
“no we arent dating what even made u think that”
Sasha took a bit longer to reply, “i just looked off into an imaginary camera like I was on the office except it was real life. you are so dense”
"fuck u”
“ok but seriously. you cant act all surprised about this when youre basically hanging off of each other all the time. are u having some crisis over your sexuality”
“is this your way of saying i come off as a hyper masculine dudebro"
“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT!! its just really weird that youre not actually together. u must be too scared to ask him out or s/t”
Jean was eager to end this conversation. “when is the picnic”
“tomorrow at 3, and marco knows the place so just ask him ok”
“ok see ya then”, he tossed his phone to the other side of the couch so he didn’t have to see her reply.
Marco looked slightly concerned, “What was that about?”
“Sasha is a bully,” Jean furrowed his brow petulantly.
Marco smiled, patting Jean on the head, “I know she is.”