Chapter Text
They spent the rest of their evening idling around, mostly bickering over what to watch on Netflix, and debating who had worse taste in movies. Both of them seemed to be deliberately avoiding the topic of dinner, seeing as the wound from that morning’s disaster was still fresh. After sidestepping the issue for a couple of hours, they finally agreed on Chinese takeout.
The place they’d ordered from was actually the cheapest place in their city, Jean insisted it was for frugality. But it also could’ve been because Jean was hoping it would be horrible, so horrible that it would overshadow breakfast.
It was surprisingly good for cheap-ass takeout, much to Jean’s disappointed.
Once they’d finished, Jean tipped his chair back precariously for a few moments before shifting his weight forward quickly, causing the rickety legs of his chair to rattle back onto the floor.
“I guess I’ll clean up,” Marco yawned as he stood from his seat and reached out to grab one of the oyster pails that was once full of fried rice.
Snapping out of his food-induced drowsiness, Jean perked up and pushed Marco’s hand away, grabbing the box himself. “No, I got it,” he said as he reached for more of the empty boxes that had collapsed onto the table.
Instinctively, Marco insisted he should be the one to clean up, but Jean was persistent.
“Consider it an apology for this morning,” Jean said with a self-derisive smirk.
Marco blinked. “You really don’t need to apologize for anything-”
“Marco,” he interjected, “just let me, yeah?”
For a moment, Marco just stood there, watching as he started to gather the remnants of their meal. Thinking for a moment, he considered that it might hurt Jean’s pride if he’d tried to offer assistance again.
Marco stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, standing idly by the TV for a moment before deciding to gather blankets from a nearby cupboard so he could build a blanket nest on the couch.
Just as he’d settled into it, Jean slid into the living room in his socks, stopping when he nearly tripped and busted his ass on the hardwood floor. He tried to play it off, but Marco noticed.
“What are you smiling about?” Jean hissed, more playful than resentful.
Marco smiled, close mouthed and self-satisfied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and grinned widely when Jean swatted him over the head and told him to scoot over.
The couch slammed against the wall as Jean leaped into it, his shins narrowly avoided Marco’s legs that didn’t quite fit under the blankets.
Marco grunted indignantly and scrunched his nose. “You’re gonna scratch the paint off the wall if you keep doing that.”
“Maybe then I’ll piss the landlord off enough for him to let me paint it a different color.”
“What’s wrong with this color?” Marco asked, untangling one of the blankets from his cocoon and wrapping it around Jean’s shoulders.
“Whose idea was it to paint this room pastel pink?” Jean muttered, securing the blanket and leaning against Marco so they lied flat against the couch; the side of his head pressed against Marco’s chest. Jean shifted his weight over so he wouldn’t crush him.
Marco placed his hands on Jean’s back to hold him in place, his thumbs circled lightly across the fabric of his shirt. “I think it’s pretty,” he said quietly, “I mean, it doesn’t really match, but it could be worse.”
Jean grunted, scooting farther up his chest so the top of his head was under Marco’s chin. “It could be better.”
Marco shushed him and pinched his arm, making him squirm.
“No, don’t,” Jean muttered, squeezing his arms around Marco.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t,” he repeated.
“Alright,” Marco giggled.
The nightlight in the kitchen provided a little illumination as they lied in silence. Jean wiggled his way up farther so his face rested in the crook of Marco’s neck. Marco’s hands slowed their ministrations, which Jean knew meant he was dozing off.
Jean wanted to see his face when he fell asleep, but couldn’t will himself to move.
He settled for holding Marco’s hand instead, and fell asleep despite the fact he was sure the frantic thrumming of his heart managed to wake Marco up.
-
Though Marco planned to cook an actual breakfast, it simply didn’t cooperate. Meaning, Marco burnt it.
Jean teased him endlessly while Marco despondently prepared their Lucky Charms, he forced laughter and tried not to look annoyed or bring up how Jean had done the exact same thing the day before.
When they sat at the table and started eating, Jean’s cell phone began to ring. He cursed and plodded over to the counter to retrieve it before sitting back down and taking another bite of his cereal, leaning back in his chair absentmindedly.
“Is that your mom calling?” Marco teased, poking at his cereal.
Jean glowered at Marco for a good three seconds before answering his phone.
“Good morning, mom.” He said rather cheerily, despite his irked facial expression.
Marco snickered, waving his hand innocently.
After speaking to his mother for a while, Jean’s tight frown lightened into something soft and fond. He even genuinely laughed a few times at the chatter coming from the other line. Whenever he smiled at something she’d said, Marco couldn’t help but smile as well. Though he couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying, Marco did pick up on his mother scolding Jean for talking with his mouth full.
He was such a mama’s boy.
“No, Marco can’t talk right now, he’s, uh, he’s in the shower.”
Marco’s face fell considerably, he shook his head and made grabby hands for the phone as he whispered, “let me talk to her, let me talk to her.”
Jean chattered nervously for a moment before burying the receiver against his shoulder. “No, you’re going to talk about something embarrassing!” he stage whispered.
It was absolutely true; it was part of Marco’s evil plan.
“Nooooooo, Jean I won’t embarrass you,” he smiled dubiously. “Put it on speaker, please?”
Jean gave him a pained grimace before looking at his phone and turning speaker on, placing it flat on the table with considerable hesitance.
“Good morning, Mrs. Kirschtein,” Marco chirped.
“Oh, Jean-bo, your boyfriend Marco is there?” she asked immediately.
It went as one would expect it to go, after that.
After getting over the initial embarrassment consisting of Jean stuttering like a scared little boy and Marco laughing as he tried to direct a conversation topic elsewhere, it wasn’t too bad. Jean’s mom was pleasant, aside from insisting on using diminutives when referring to him, (which Marco found adorable while Jean blushed and childishly hid his face) and fretting needlessly over how each of them were faring: whether they were eating enough and not coming down with any illnesses.
Between having six sisters and two moms, Jean was the only one in his household who wasn’t a girl. He was also babied the most, which he was never able to shake off, even in adulthood. After moving out of his childhood home and into his own apartment with Marco, he was hoping to become a proper, respected grown up who didn’t need long hugs or forehead kisses from his sisters or names like “sweetie” or “Jean-bo” from his mothers.
Well, he was definitely a grown up; not really a proper or respected one. And his sisters still gave death grips loosely labeled as ‘hugs’ and plentiful forehead kisses while his moms refused to give up the diminutives.
Not that he particularly minded, though he’d never admit it. So he had to act like he minded.
He was rather reserved accepting or displaying affection outside of his family. Pulling teeth would’ve been easier for him than telling a friend “I care about you” or “you’re important to me,” without faltering, but he had other ways of expressing affection. Roundabout, ambiguous displays of affection, but affection nonetheless.
So when Jean’s mother insisted on going Full Mom with Marco, he couldn’t help but get flustered and hide his face on the table as Marco tried to end the phone call, which also would end Jean’s suffering.
“Yes, I think we have to go now, but we’ll call you sometime again soon,” Marco said quickly, trying to end the conversation while still being polite. “Have a nice day!”
When it was over, Jean let out a loud, drawn out groan, refusing to lift his head off the table or unhide his face from his arms.
“It’s over now,” Marco played along with Jean’s over-dramatic display of humiliation, somehow without being condescending.
Jean grunted.
Marco rose out of his seat and walked over to him, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “I don’t think she’s any more embarrassing than my mom,” he said. “Well, now that I think about it, my parents are probably more embarrassing.”
Jean tensed a bit when Marco touched him, but relaxed and slumped further onto the table, this time with less chagrin.
“Your parents are pretty embarrassing,” Jean snickered, without looking up.
“What was that, Jean-bo?”
Jean peeked out from over his arms to glare at him. “Shut up.”
“Alright!” he giggled and removed his hand from Jean’s shoulder, “I couldn’t help myself, you’re too cute,” Marco’s sincerity shone through before he had a chance to stop himself, and he scratched under his nose before looking away.
Jean huffed, his eyes narrowed and focused on something, anything that wasn’t Marco. He graced him with a courtesy laugh.
Marco, on the other hand, was (mostly) unaware of how his words had shoved Jean into one of his regular ‘was that flirting or is he just being nice to me’ crises.
Marco stacked their empty bowls of cereal and took them to the sink while Jean crushed his face against the table and suppurated with butterflies, unwilling to look up or move for fear his face was painted scarlet with nervousness.
-
“Why are you eating, we aren’t even at the park yet.”
Jean was messily stuffing dry Lucky Charms into his mouth when Marco startled him out of his sugar-trance. He looked over to see Marco send an interrogative glare in his direction, his mouth was set in a hard line.
“Keep your eyes on the road.”
“You’re making a mess, though.”
Hesitantly, Jean glanced at the colorful marshmallows scattered at his feet. He scraped them into a pile with his shoe and hid them with his feet. “No, I’m not.”
Marco glared at him again, offering the most menacing expression he could muster, though it wasn’t very menacing at all.
Jean came very close to laughing at him, but hid his mouth behind the cereal box as his lips quirked into a grin.
“At least clean up if you’re going to do that!”
Jean groaned dramatically as he bent forward to scoop up his mess. He started to roll down the window so he could toss the dropped cereal out, but reconsidered this with a wicked grin. Taking one of the marshmallows from his palm, he tossed it at Marco’s face.
“Don’t- no. Don’t do that,” Marco said, trying to focus on driving despite the colorful cereal Jean was launching at him, “Don’t make me turn this car around.”
“Is something wrong?” he threw another marshmallow, “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” and another, “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re ten years old.”
He threw one of the gross, non-marshmallow pieces, “You’re four.”
“You’re a baby.”
“You’re--, um…”
Marco glanced away from the road once more to look at him, smiling with just the faintest bit of smugness; “I’m what?” he asked.
Jean stared at him for a moment, stammering, trying to think of a comeback. After a few seconds of failing to think of anything, he reached for the volume knob on the radio and turned it loud enough to make the car rattle, and looked away.
Marco was laughing openly now, but managed to drive steadily, “What?” he asked, looking at Jean who was staring forward with great intensity.
“Just drive the fucking car, Marco,” he deadpanned over the thrumming speaker’s bass.
-
On arrival to the park, Jean immediately hopped out of the car and assessed the terrain while Marco was left to deal with the picnic supplies, but he vocally refused to deal with Jean’s cereal catastrophe.
The park was a wide, flat field with a few rows of live oaks whose canopy shielded the ground from the spring sunlight. He could see his friends in the center of the small park and the picnic they’d set up by one of the many trees. He heard the faint chatter of their conversation in the distance mixed with the distinct teakettling of wrens.
“Did you remember to bring bug spray?” Marco said as he shut the door and hung a bag on his shoulder. He walked over to Jean, the gravel of the parking lot crunched under his feet.
Turning, Jean shot Marco a worried frown. “I-- weren’t you supposed to pack it?”
Running his free hand through his hair, Marco sighed, “I told you to pack it.”
Jean slumped a bit, throwing his head back and groaning.
“I saw you packing other shit, you didn’t remember bug spray?”
“I was just getting extra snacks together,” Marco shrugged sheepishly, gesturing to the bag he was holding. “Maybe they remembered to bring some?” he motioned towards the place their friends were currently sitting.
Jean lowered his head, trying to shake off the worry growing in his stomach.
-
They didn’t remember.
“Aw, seriously?” Sasha threw her arms up and fell back into the grass with defeat when Jean and Marco explained the situation. “We were really hoping you would’ve brought some.”
Jean and Marco sat on the red checkered picnic blanket that was set up awkwardly at the trunk of one of the huge oaks. Its jagged roots projected out of the ground, directly under their blanket, providing an uncomfortable place to sit. Sasha coughed nervously when asked why they were stationed at the worst possible place.
“It’s shady over here,” Connie offered.
“My ass is being speared,” Jean said, stone faced.
Connie paused, considering this. “It’s shady over here, though,” he repeated.
At that, Jean glared back at him while Marco and Sasha made quick work of unpacking the picnic basket together. The two of them had stuffed the basket to the top, mostly with sandwiches and junk foods and sodas.
“There’s no way we can eat all of this,” Marco laughed, smiling incredulously at Sasha.
“Watch me,” she sneered, already taking a few snacks out of the basket. Marco shook his head and gathered his bag he’d stuffed with a few sweets.
Sasha was enthusiastic with her compliments, though not verbose. She opted for long, pleased moans and shouts whenever Marco announced what he’d packed for them while Connie echoed her almost harmonically. Jean was quick to say “that’s mine” or “no you can’t have that” whenever something he particularly liked was pulled from the bag, though Sasha threatened to beat him up over a slice of chocolate cake that Marco failed to hide in time. After an intense dispute, she put him in a headlock and noogied him until he surrendered. Marco was laughing too hard to intervene.
When he was released, Marco was merciful enough to stop laughing, and straightened Jean’s hair that flew in every direction, though it only embarrassed Jean more.
“That reminds me,” Jean grumbled bitterly, though he intended for it to sound more casual, “where’s the other three? Weren’t Mikasa, Armin, and Eren supposed to be here, or something?”
“They haven’t shown up yet,” Sasha said as the last of her giggles subsided. “Which I guess isn’t too bad, I don’t think I have the energy to fight all of them for that cake.”
“Please don’t fight any of them,” Marco pacified, waving his hands.
She stuck her tongue out at him in response before resting her cheek on his shoulder as he unpacked the rest of their lunch.
-
Half an hour late, Armin, Mikasa, and Eren finally arrived, spouting apologies and excuses as to why they weren’t on time. No one was really complaining though, since the four who were on time had already eaten the best of the foods.
Jean noticed that Sasha and Connie were distracted by the new arrivals and took the opportunity to sneak the piece of cake out of the bag, stuff it into his mouth, and hide behind Marco so no one would see.
They did see.
When Sasha saw the cake crumbs circling his mouth, she shouted and pounced to her feet, abruptly interrupting her conversation with Mikasa.
Jean leapt from his crouched position and darted away into the field, nearly tripping over his own feet with Sasha at his heels, reaching her hands out for something to grasp. Eren stood up and encouraged her from his spot on the picnic when she caught hold of Jean's shirt and wrestled him to the ground, stuck a finger in her mouth and then into his ear as he squirmed beneath her. Everyone cheered (well, Marco started to cheer but made eye contact with Jean and immediately stopped.)
Sasha helped him to his feet afterwards, smiling and patting his shoulder good-naturedly before he could complain.
“Was the cake worth it?” she asked as they stumbled back to the picnic side-by-side.
“Definitely,” he answered with no hesitation, grinning complacently before she smacked him on the back of the head.
When they sat back down, Marco wiped the grass from Jean’s hair and clothes while Jean, shockingly, was laughing rather than pouting.
-
“What the fuck are you doing.”
Eren quirked his lips at Jean’s accusation before looking away casually, acting like he hadn’t heard anything. Jean’s glare bored tangible holes in the back of Eren’s head, forcing him to turn around and look him in the eyes almost immediately.
“Stop throwing grapes at me.”
Eren snorted and closed his eyes tight, trying not to giggle. “It wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?” Jean spat.
Eren flicked his head around a few times before his sights landed on the nearest people. “The only other people here are Marco and Armin.”
Armin turned around, confused. “I- what?”
“Are you throwing grapes at me?” Jean was distraught as fished a grape out of his shirt and held it in Armin’s face.
“He’s been talking to me the whole time,” Marco contributed, “he hasn’t thrown anything at you.”
“Then who the hell is throwing fucking grapes at me?”
Everyone was silent, all except Eren, who was still giggling. He insisted he wasn’t the one throwing them, since he had no grapes to throw. After a few minutes, everyone drifted back into what they were doing.
Then the grape throwing started again.
“Oh my god,” Jean groaned and looked around frantically, trying to find someone to blame. His eyes landed on Marco, who was now giggling and avoiding eye contact with him.
“Marco?” Jean sounded hurt, betrayed. “Are you-?”
“I- no! No, I’m not!”
Jean sent an incredulous, sullen stare in his direction, making Marco squirm and giggle more.
“I promise I-"
“Who’s throwing grapes at me?” Jean knew he couldn’t lie, and wouldn’t be able to make up something believable on the spot.
Marco sat there stuttering for a few moments, eyes darting across the ground as he tried to defend himself. “I swear I’m not doing it.” And he looked up, just for a split second, before his eyes raced back down.
Jean looked up at the place where Marco’s eyes had rested for a single, near untraceable moment. Up in the oak, looking down on them like squirrels, were the culprits.
Busted.
Sasha, Mikasa, and Connie were sitting on sturdy branch a couple of yards above them, armed with a few small bags of grapes. At some point, they’d climbed into the tree without anyone noticing they were gone.
Well, everyone noticed except for Jean, who had been too caught up in poking his own sunburn and swatting mosquitoes off of his legs.
Now that their cover was blown, they were rapid-firing the rest of their grapes at Jean, shouting battle cries and laughing at the way Jean cursed and collapsed in the grass, his hands covering his face as if it would protect him from the grapes.
“Alright, alright that’s enough,” Connie said after they’d run out. “I think we’ve killed him.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Mikasa said, staring down on him impassively.
The three of them climbed down from their perch and situated themselves on the picnic blanket as if nothing had happened.
Jean lied on his side, his face still covered by his hands. After a few moments of not moving, Marco scooted over to Jean and tried rousing him.
“Are you alright?” he asked, not quite hiding the smile in his voice.
Jean bleated softly and rolled over on his back. He frowned wistfully at Marco, shaking his head.
“What?” Marco said, still smiling.
“You weren’t gonna protect me?”
Marco stared. “You needed me to protect you from grapes?”
Jean pursed his lips and turned his head away, breaking eye contact as he considered his pettiness. “Um.”
After a beat of silence, something in Jean’s hair caught Marco’s eye.
“Oh, you have a grape on your head,” Marco explained as he brushed fingers through Jean’s hair, and gave a sheepish smile when Jean looked up at him.
“Did. Did you get it,” he managed when Marco moved his hands away.
Marco grasped Jean’s wrists and helped him into a sitting position before going back to what he was doing. “There’s some grass too, and a leaf,” he clarified while still situating at his hair. “And—okay, that should be fine,” Marco patted his head and smiled.
As they started to eat once more, they couldn’t help but notice everyone was grinning at them. When Jean tried to challenge it, they played innocent and melded back into their previous conversations, however, still stole glances at the two of them. They awkwardly sat next to each other, too bashful to talk now that the others were apparently watching.
Despite that, they sat close enough so their knees could touch, which was good enough. Every few minutes, Marco would look over to Jean and laugh or smile at nothing in particular, which made Jean respond in kind.
Everyone else was thoroughly confused.
-
They lingered around the park until the sun dipped behind the oaks and the sky was mauve flecked with vermilion. Sasha had wrung all the amusement she could get out of poking Jean’s sunburn to make him squirm and was insisting it was time to go home.
The trio left early, since Eren had fallen asleep and Mikasa had to carry him to the car. Mikasa exchanged some words with Sash, concluding with them laughing and Sasha wrapping her arms around Mikasa in a bear hug. Mikasa hauled Eren over her shoulder and left with Armin at her heels.
Sasha and Connie left after gathering the picnic basket, kissing the boys’ cheeks, and jogging to their car. They shouted goodbyes from across the park as they drove away into the cool night air. Now, only Jean and Marco were left at the park.
The two of them sat and talked by the oak until the twilight was night and the mosquitoes were attacking Jean full force. (“You’re kidding me, you haven’t been bitten at all? I’m getting bit through my fucking clothes, Jesus Christ.” “They’re probably attracted to your weird AXE deodorant” “Yeah well, you use flowery deodorant.” “But I smell nice.” “Are you saying I don’t smell nice?” “...I never said that.” “Eat a dick, Marco.”)
After more bickering that led to Jean chasing Marco around the park, they collapsed in the grass far from where they were sitting before, laughing while trying to catch their breath as they looked up into the rapidly changing sky. The sound of cicadas’ buzzing filled the silence and nearly lulled Jean to sleep.
As Jean was about to drift off, he was disturbed by the sound of Marco sitting up and yawning.
“We should probably get going,” Marco said eventually. “It’s getting dark.”
Jean groaned and stretched out wide, rolling in the grass as he did so. “Help me up,” Jean said, even though he was perfectly capable of standing by himself. Jean was sure Marco could see through his flimsy excuse to hold his hands, but he couldn’t have cared less at that moment.
Marco complied, grabbing his hands and hauling him to his feet. Jean swept the dirt and grass off his clothes; once he deemed himself presentable, he reached out to reclaim Marco’s hand and started walking before Marco could call him out on it.
Their hands were haphazardly entwined, which was uncomfortable, but Jean was too nervous to fix them, since doing that would acknowledge he’d held his hand in the first place. He was grateful when Marco let go and laced their fingers together properly, even giving his hand a small squeeze paired with a reassuring smile that made Jean want to sink into the earth.
-
On the car ride home, Jean fell asleep.
Marco was careful to drive as gently as possible so he wouldn’t be jostled awake, but he still winced every time Jean flopped limply in his seat after a particularly tight turn.
Once he’d parked the car as slowly as he could, he sat still for a moment. He needed to wake Jean up so they could walk back inside, but he felt a pang of fondness in his chest when he saw Jean scrunched in his seat awkwardly, his mouth agape and drooling on his own shoulder.
“Jean,” he said, prodding him, “we’re home, you can wake up now.”
Jean tightened his eyes for a moment before opening them, blinking blearily. He seemed angry about being woken up at first, but his expression softened when he registered Marco’s presence. He grunted something incomprehensible about being sleepy before dragging himself out of the car and stumbling to his feet. Marco got out of the car and walked over to him.
“Can you walk?” Marco joked, putting a hand on Jean’s bicep to hold him steady.
Jean automatically glared at Marco for teasing him, but took his hand from his arm and held onto it, giving some half-hearted explanation about how he was too tired to navigate efficiently, or something, and needed to hold Marco’s hand for balance. Marco would’ve said something about it if it had bothered him.
The way Jean periodically brushed his fingertips across Marco’s knuckles paired with the poorly hidden, sleepy smile on his face made him an open book for Marco to read. His excuses were redundant at this point.
Marco bumped his shoulder against Jean’s and squeezed his hand a little tighter. He couldn’t bring himself to mind.
-
After a disappointingly brief shower (cut short by the water going cold, thanks to Jean taking too long before him), Marco scurried into his bedroom, threw on his pajamas, and dragged himself into the living room to say goodnight to Jean.
Jean had fallen asleep on the couch, curled upright in a blanket so only the top of his head and his legs poked out. Marco smiled fondly to himself as he made his way across the room and shut the TV off.
“I was watching that,” Jean muttered from his cocoon.
“With your eyes closed?” Marco grinned. He padded over to him and mussed up his hair. “Go to bed,” he said.
Jean groaned in annoyance, but stood up anyway, releasing a mute yawn and stretching wide enough so his joints cracked, making Marco cringe at the sound.
Marco waddled back towards his room, throwing a goodnight over his shoulder before he realized Jean was following him down the short hallway; up until they were standing in front of his open doorway.
“Did you want to sleep in here?” Marco took a step inside his room and looked back at Jean, who stared intently at the floor.
“What, no, I was just. I was going,” he looked at Marco for a second, blinking rapidly, stumbling over his words, but still not leaving his spot. “It. I thought. The.”
“I don’t mind,” Marco interjected, quirking his lips into a faint smile that he hoped was reassuring.
“Yes, I mean. Okay,” Jean sputtered out, mentally cursing his social ineptitude.
Marco made his way over to his bed and situated the sheets while Jean stood robotic in the doorway, trying to quell his nervousness. He scuttled to the opposite side of the bed and waited for Marco to finish with the sheets, feigning disinterest.
He couldn't quite pinpoint why he was so nervous. They'd slept together a few times before, he'd even slept in Marco's bed earlier that day. It felt different this time.
“Alright,” Marco said once it was ready. He started to lie down, but was confused when Jean didn’t follow.
“What’s wrong?” Marco said, an unintentional amount of worry seeped into his voice.
“It’s just,” Jean said, squirming.
Marco waited.
“I want to sleep on the left side.”
His mind processed Jean’s request, and Marco stared silently for a moment more. “Is that it?” he asked after a moment.
Jean nodded.
“You slept on the right side of the bed when we napped, though.”
“I was just being nice because you looked like you were gonna chunder after eating all those cookies.”
Marco shook his head, “Go to bed,” he said, lying down completely and pulling the sheets up to his chin before he turned away.
Jean huffed. He shut off the lamp on the right side of the bed, where he was standing, and tottered over to the left side of the bed where Marco was lying. Jean’s Rightful (Leftful?) Side of the Bed.
Lifting the sheets to reveal a very surprised Marco, Jean slipped into the little space on the mattress between Marco’s body and the edge. He pulled the sheets over his face before whispering “goodnight” as smugly as he could.
Now, it was Marco’s turn to huff. He wasn’t having this.
In a fluid motion, Marco wrapped his arms around Jean’s waist and rolled over, dragging him to the right side of the bed.
Jean groaned with defeat, flopping limply on his back as Marco deposited him there. “At least let me have the left tomorrow night,” he turned his head to face Marco and pouted.
Marco thought for a moment. “I think I can live with that,” he hummed and smiled.
Jean smiled back and made a pleased noise, closing his eyes again. He intended to drift off, but opened his eyes as he remembered something.
“Hey, ah, Marco,” he said sotto voce.
“Hm?”
Jean shifted with unease. “I’m shit with this sort of thing, um, are you okay with me sleeping in here?”
Marco smiled and laughed breathily to himself. “You are kind of shit with this,” he said automatically, “but you’re welcome to sleep here as much as you like, I don’t mind at all.”
Jean relaxed a bit, but he still seemed hesitant to believe him.
“Really, you don’t need to worry,” Marco said, restraining himself from going any further so he wouldn’t risk making Jean more uncomfortable.
“Just making sure,” Jean mumbled.
Marco offered a sincere smile and shut his eyes, whispering a quick goodnight before he started to drift off.
Jean hesitated, inhaling silently as he worked up the nerve to roll over and scoot closer to him, close enough so he could rest his face by his chest and put a shaky hand on Marco’s.
Marco smiled to himself slightly, but shook his hand off, much to Jean’s mortification. Marco immediately wrapped his arms around Jean’s waist and pulled him close so they were flush against each other.
For a moment, Marco worried that maybe this was too audacious, but his worry washed away when Jean copied him, sliding one arm under Marco and draping the other over his waist.
“G’night,” Marco whispered.
“Goodnight,” Jean said back.
“Sleep well.”
“Go to sleep,” Jean nestled his face further against Marco’s chest, blushing. “Sleep well,” he muttered.
And they slept.