Chapter Text
I've always sort of had shaky hands for some reason, but my fist was suprisingly steady as it punched Eren Jaeger directly in his dumb, smug face.
Eren fucking Jaeger.
Eren and I may have become friends at some point in our several years of knowing each other if we weren't so incredibly similar (we were both massive dicks, to be honest), but seeing that he was unreasonably angry, and I was unreasonably angry, it just made sense that we would unleash our unreasonable anger out on each other. I knew he wasn't a particularly unlikable person, but we were in far too deep to ever revive whatever measly piece of friendship that we ever could have had before we realized that we would make perfect punching bags for each other.
Everything the idiot did pissed me off: the way he disrespected his adopted sister, Mikasa (who was strikingly exotic and beautiful); how he rebelled against authority (I actually did the same thing); and even when he swore as I drove my knuckles into his cheek.
"I'll fucking kill you, Kirstein!" he shrieked in his typical trademark Jaeger bellow as he staggered backward, clutching his cheek. I stepped forward, planning on hitting him again, but he flung his arm towards me furiously, his face contorting into an obsene, bloody snarl.
He was slightly smaller than I was, which I loved to tease him for, but he certainly had quite an arm, which made me regret not taking out the piercings in my face before I had attacked him. I prayed to God that they wouldn't be somehow ripped out as we fought, seeing as I didn't desire having a split eyebrow, lip, or septum. He wasn't an outstandingly good fighter, but sheer determination occasionally led him to ending up with the upper hand in our periodic squabbles, though he pretty much never won before Mikasa could drag him away. We were fairly equally matched, though, him being an obsessive little freak and me possessing an advantage in size.
After landing a hit to the side of my face, Jaeger launched himself at me, spitting in rage like a cat. We scrabbled desperately, both of us unwilling to be beaten. He was aiming a punch to my stomach when his arm was caught by an indimidatingly straight-faced Mikasa Ackerman. I made eye contact with her as I raised my fist again, before deciding to let her take him away. She took a firmer hold of his arm and hauled him away from me with a warning look in my direction. I did not bother trying to pursue, knowing Mikasa would kick my ass if I dared lay another finger on her precious Eren. Even though I was battered and stinging from our relatively short brawl, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction from seeing the punk being dragged away by a girl, scowling and protesting under his breath to her. I decided that the fight had ended in a victory in my corner, and that I'd celebrate by marathoning five hours of Cake Boss when I got home.
I dusted tiny rocks from the parking lot that had materialized during the fight off of my favorite grey sweater. I noticed in dismay that a few droplets of blood from my general face area, and maybe Eren's, too, had dripped onto the front of it. I rubbed at one spot dejectedly, hoping that they would come out. I lifted my hand to my face next, feeling the warm wetness underneath my finger tips, knuckles on fire. All three of my piercings seemed to be intact, thankfully. I sent a bored look to the few people that had gaped at us as we rolled around aggressively. There weren't quite as many spectators as you might expect to watch a fight in high school, but it was twenty mintutes after the end of the school day and I'm sure that everyone had gotten used to the two of us attempting to injure each other. The few people quickly dipersed, most likely made uncomfortable by my gaze, and went about their business.
Everyone besides a tall, dark haired boy adorned in a painfully pastel blue sweater and skinny jeans covered in grey roses standing about twenty feet away from me wearing a concerned expression as he stood in the middle of the school parking lot, staring at me. I shot him a quick nod, a little weirded out, and began to turn around to make my way home.
I had only made it a few yards before I felt a gentle hand on my bicep and heard a soft "Hey, wait."
I turned once again, suprised to find creepy tall guy practically trembling as he released my arm and held a band-aid to me with his left hand.
"It's fine," I said, raising my eyebrows at the offering. I looked back up at him to find a fair amount of freckles smattered across his face and down his neck, particularly on his cheeks, and a pair of large brown eyes blinking at me bashfully. "Besides, it'll probably take more than a band-aid to clean this up." I motioned to my general being listlessly, completely aware that I sounded like a pretencious douche bag.
"Yeah, you're right," he said, dropping his out stretched hand to his side and appearing slighty crestfallen. "I'm sorry."
A sudden pang of guilt surged through me. This dude was just trying to help, and I had shot him down mercilessly. I softened up, attempting to be a little friendlier.
"Don't be sorry," I said, in what I hoped seemed like a kind voice. I didn't often have a reason to use a kind voice, so I probably just sounded pained. "Thanks."
"Do you walk home?" he inquired, puzzled. I bit back a sarcastic remark, since I had obviously been beginning to walk home before he stopped me.
"Yeah."
"I could give you a ride," he said, pointing behind him to where several cars were parked. "My house is nearby, I could help you clean up."
"Um, I don't really need help cleaning up," I was trying to sound as bored as I usually did, but kind at the same time, my eyes traveling over his girlish apparel. This admittedly strange dude was just trying to help me out, so it would be pretty douchey of me to act like... well, like my usual self. But I had a reputation to uphold, after all. "My house is pretty close, I'm sure I'll be fine...." I trailed off, beginning to think that I didn't particularly actually want to walk home in my current state.
"Oh," he looked a little disappointed, his freckled face falling. "Well, I hope you're alright." He pivoted, starting towards his car, and had made three strides with his long legs before I sighed and asked him to wait.
He turned, big eyes looking at me hopefully. I sucked up some air, along with some pride, and informed him that I had decided that I would accept his offer and his help, and we were soon in his car driving down the road.
He glanced at me a few times through out the ride, his long fingers (which were also dusted with freckles) drumming against the steering wheel to the beat a soft indie song playing from his stereo.
We were already halted in his drive way when his tan cheeks suddenly turned red, and his eyes widened as he let out a small "Oh!" I sent him a questioning look, clutching my green back pack in my left hand, my free hand resting impatiently on the door handle.
"I completely forgot to tell you my name," he said bashfully. He didn't continue his sentence until he noticed my expectant look. "Oh!" he said again, turning even more red, his neck and ears turning pink. "It's Marco. I'm Marco."
"Jean. Jean Kirstein."
"Okay. Nice to meet you, Jean," his smile was dazzling, white teeth constrasting against his red cheeks and dark eyes.
"Likewise," I chuckled, attempting to loosen up. I found it easy to relax around this boy: his dumb smile was a little infectious and his general being put me at ease.
I exited the car, bringing my backpack with and shutting the door as gently as possible. I knew some people were extremely sensitive when it came to their cars, and I didn't want to get beat up verbally or physically by a smiling giant for accidentally slamming his car door. I quickly wondered whether I could take this guy in a fight, which was a habit of mine. Probably, though I didn't know if I could ever bring myself to hit such a pretty- kind, I meant kind- face. I was careful with his subtley rusted car anyway: better safe than sorry.
It seemed I had no reason for caution, as Marco shut the driver's side door with a loud thud, twirling his keys around his finger.
Marco's house seemed to be just as happy as he did; it stood out from the other houses on his street like a light house in a fog. It was tall and thinner than mine, grey siding giving the place a cool feel. Contrasting the grey, brilliant flower beds placed strategically through out the yard brightened up the place. The yard was immaculate: grass trimmed, flowers vibrant and organized, gnomes loitering around the grounds.
"Cool flowers, bro," I said sincerely. I was honestly pretty impressed with the sheer amount of effort that must have gone into caring for the plants. I would never have the patience for that shit. I was so entranced by this dude's freaking grass that I practically forgot that my eye was swelling up and that my cheek was bleeding. Not to mention my aching and raw hands.
"You should see them during the summer," he said proudly, a gentle smile spreading across his face. He gazed at them fondly as we walked up his drive way, keys still swirling around his finger. He looked like he was seeing his new born baby for the first time, Jesus Christ. "The back yard is even better."
I nodded silently. The door wasn't unlocked, and he threw his back pack to the side and kicked his shoes off as he strolled thorugh it, yelling "I'm home" to whoever was currently in the house.
It was really dim, so I had to concentrate on not knocking anything over as he led me deeper into his house. We tromped through a long hall way plastered with photos until he made a sharp turn into a room on the left, which I could tell was the bathroom. He flicked on the light, and I allowed my eyes to get used to the light for a second before sitting on the edge of the sink and looking up at him as he rummaged through a medicine cabinet. He pulled out a a dark bottle of liquid, a few more band-aids, and a green wash cloth. I had no idea why he had a wash cloth in the medicine cabinet, but I shook it off.
I turned my head a little to look in the mirror above the sink, taking in my haggard expression. My light brown eyes had some serious dark baggage underneath them, but they always did. I wasn't big on sleep. However, one of them was a little swollen and tender looking, and I reached up a careful finger to brush against the inflamed skin. I pulled it back when it hurt a little, continuing to move my eyes down along my face. Dirt and blood was smeared over it, the blood leaking from my nose, various scrapes and a cut high on one of my cheeks. The metal rings in my face were slightly slicked from the red liquid leaking from my body, so I removed them and set them carefully onto the counter next to where I sat. I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of weariness, and I blinked tiredly at my reflection.
I quickly came back to my senses when I remembered that I was not alone in the room, and I snapped my head to the side to look at Marco, who was waiting patiently for me to finish checking myself out before he began to work on my face. He wasted no time in wetting the cloth with water from the sink and tenderly dabbing it across my face.
"Let me know if it hurts too bad," he muttered, biting his lip in concentration. I nodded, trying not to move my head too much just incase he poked me in the eye or something. I stared at his freckles, which were much more pronounced when he was this close to me.
I noticed as he wiped at my face that he smelt like flowers. Dude smelt like a friggin' pansy. I couldn't help but find it a little endearing, which I would never admit, lest I crack my rock solid punk exterior.
Once he was happy that he had gotten most of the dirt off of my face, he rinsed off the cloth thoroughly and poured some of the liquid onto it, grimacing as he held it up towards me.
"This might sting," he said, looking pained. I braced myself.
"Go ahead."
It did sting. It stung like a motherfucker, but I didn't allow myself to express that, since I didn't want Marco to think that he was hurting me when he was actually helping me a lot. Or that I could feel pain.
"Is that okay?" he asked as he pulled back from my face.
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks."
"Sure," he beamed, then grabbed my hand gently. I raised an eyebrow at him. Did he think that just because he had helped me out that it was okay for him to hold my hand now? He hadn't even graced me with a 'no homo' before doing so.
I found that I didn't even mind that much.
I realized shortly that he had only grabbed my hand in order to take care of my knuckles, and that I was the one being gay. I felt my face get hot, reprimanding myself for seeing the gay in every situation.
After he had finished and the stinging had subsided a bit, he unwrapped a band aid and placed it over the cut on my cheek. Then he smiled at me, shocking me once again with how... familiar he was.
"Done?"
"Yep," the smile was still plastered to his face. "Can I confess something?"
"Uh, okay."
"I didn't really know what I was doing," he laughed, almost nervously. "I just imitated what I'd seen my mom do."
"It worked well enough, I think," I laughed, feeling more at ease than I had in a while. Which was weird, since after I got into a fight with Eren I usually fumed for three hours like a twelve year old.
"Are you hungry?"
"Actually, yeah," I said, realizing that my stomach felt hollow now that he had reminded me that it existed.
"Come on, we'll get something in the kitchen."
I stood up, following him out of the bathroom and down the hallway again. This time, he flicked on a light, so I wasn't forced to be overly cautionous like before.
Once in the kitchen, Marco asked me what I wanted, and of course I gave him one of those "whatever you've got is fine" answers.
He threw an apple to me, which I barely caught, and immediately bit into. I silently thanked God that my lip hadn't been split open by Jaeger, because that would have sucked.
"So," Marco began after he swallowed a bite of the fruit. "Why did you hit Eren?"
"I fucking hate him," I shrugged.
"So you punched him directly in the face?"
I laughed. "No, we had been arguing and he said something that made me really angry."
After a beat of silence, I spoke again.
"I started it you know. Like, the argument. I said something about his boyfriend. Well, his sweater that his boyfriend bought for him."
Marco's eyes flashed suddenly with something I couldn't quite identify... fear? Dissappointment?
"Do you... not like gay people?" he asked hesitantly, leaning back a little, rubbing his thumb against the skin of his apple.
"What? No!" I exclaimed.
"Why not?" Marco suddenly seemed cold, the usual light in his eyes replaced with emptiness. My eyes widened when I realized what I had said, and I kicked myself mentally.
"Wait, fuck, that's not what I meant! I meant no, as in that I don't not like gay people. I don't have a problem with them," I held up my hands desperately, showing I meant no harm or offense. And I didn't. I honestly, truly did not have a problem with gay people. I had a problem with Eren Jaeger. He just happened to be gay. Marco still seemed wary, though, so I continued to talk.
"Seriously, Marco," I said. I didn't want him to hate me just because I accidentally worded something wrong. "I don't care whether the kid prefers boys or girls or freakin' body pillows. I don't hate him because he's gay, Marco, I hate him because he's an angry garbage can."
"Oh," the scary, distant look was gone from his eyes, replaced by curiousity."What did you say about his sweater, then?"
"Um, I think I asked him if his rich sugar daddy found it in his ex wife's closet or something. I don't remember," it hadn't been particularly clever and I was suddenly embarrassed for being such a child.
Marco let out a small giggle, however, causing warmth to spread through out my body at the sound.
"Eren Jaeger has a sugar daddy?" Marco giggled, clasping his hand over his mouth.
"Yeah!" I exclaimed, then stopped myself. "Well, not really... but his boyfriend's like 26 or something. Everyone knows that."
"That's illegal."
I shrugged.
"Do you think they..." Marco's face was the color of a tomato again, and his words quickly came to a halt, leaving his sentence unfinished.
"What, Marco?" I teased playfully, knowing full well what he was going to say. Though I was loath to think that Eren Jaeger could get laid and that I was still a virgin. Ew. "Finish your sentence!"
Marco was avoiding the question by taking a giant bite of the apple in his freckled hand and choking on it (which probably wasn't intentional) when a short, rounded woman appeared in the entry way of the kitchen and we fell silent. She was even more freckled than Marco, and about half as tall. Alright, that was an exageration, but she was tiny.
She rubbed sleep from faraway eyes that had even darker circles than mine did, wordlessly heading towards the fridge and opening it, staring into its contents before grabbing ingredients to make a sandwich. She didn't say anything, and it was like she hadn't even seen us. The room suddenly felt colder, but maybe it was because she had opened the fridge.
"Hey there," Marco said softly. She jumped, dropping a piece of bread and a butter knife slathered in mustard onto the counter as she spun around, eyes wide with recognition and shock. Then they settled on Marco and I, and rapidly filled with tears. I looked at Marco in confusion as to why this tired woman suddenly had tears leaking down her cheeks, and his expression was filled with pain.
"Oh, M-Marco," she choked out. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."
I had no idea how she could have not seen us, since we were literally right in front of her. I looked back and forth between them, trying to keep from drowning from awkwardness.
She didn't acknowledge me, but turned back towards the door, abandoning her unmade sandwich. Before she exited the kitchen, though, she faced Marco again, shaking.
"You sound just like him, you know," and then she let out another sob and fled.
Marco rose from his chair, running a hand through his hair. He walked over to where she had begun to make food, and picked up where she left off. I watched the muscles in his back move as he prepared her sandwich, cutting the crusts off solemly.
"Be right back," he muttered, going the exact same way the woman had gone.
In the few minutes Marco was gone, I threw away my apple core and wondered how this crying woman could possibly be related to sunny, smily Marco. I assumed that she was his mother, and my mind wandered as I tried to think of what could have possibly caused her to act in such a way.
He returned quickly enough, smiling once again and acting as if that little episode had never happened.
"Marco...?" I said questioningly.
"Sorry about that," he said apologetically, as if he had stepped on my foot or called me by the wrong name. "Do you want me to drive you home now?"
I found that I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to ask him what had happened to his mom, and who she had said he sounded like, and why their front yard was so pristine when the woman who probably took care of it seemed to be such a wreck.
"Yeah, that'd be great."
It wouldn't be great you idiot stay stay stay and talk to him don't leave get his number become his friend you're so lonely he's so beautiful he actually smiles at you stay please stay.
I ignored the pleading voice inside of my head and got into his car, stealing one last glance at the flowers as he pulled incredibly slowly out of the driveway, making sure to check all of his mirrors and put on his seat belt. The drive was spent listening to cute acoustic songs he had chosen and me directing him towards my house.
....
The next day in English, I was met with a pleasant, freckly suprise.
"I-I'm sorry," Marco gasped as he tumbled into my English class five minutes after the bell had rang. I wondered how the giant dork had managed to make his way into my classroom. "I'm Marco Bodt and I was told that my schedule had been switched up a little and that I'm supposed to be here I'm really sorry I'm late I couldn't figure out where the classroom was I'm-" his words seemed to form into one long breath, no breaks or punctuation to be heard.
Mr. Pixis smiled kindly at Marco, informing him that he had already been told that Marco would be transferring to this class, and to take a seat at the empty desk in the back of the room.
Fate would have it that the open seat in the back of the class was the desk next to mine. I had sat in the back of the room right next to the window at the beginning of the year, gazing out the glass at the trees spanning out below us, and no one had felt the need to sit next to me, so I sat alone and content every day.
It wasn't that people didn't like me, because I did have a few friends, though they weren't particularly close to me. People to sit with at lunch, you know. They were alright, and I didn't mind their company. None of them happened to have English with me, though, and I couldn't be bothered to meet new people, so I sat by myself. I didn't mind.
But, of course, Marco Bodt came tumbling into my life and my era of solitude was interupted by his tall form leaning over to me as Mr. Pixis passed out worksheets to the class.
"Hey," he smiled, his teeth clean and white against his tan skin.
"Hey, yourself," I tried to smirk and say it cooly, but I was caught off guard by a fragrance of flowers. I couldn't lie to myself: I liked it. This dude smelt beautiful and I wasn't going to deny myself the simple pleasure of appreciating the fact that my bro smelt like flowers.
"Mr. Pixis is nice," he remarked.
"Yeah, he's pretty cool," Marco was probably the type of person to think that every old person he met was nice, I thought. "You're in here now?"
"Yeah, I was placed in a Freshman English class before they realized that I wasn't supposed to be there," he looked a little red.
"Woah, and they didn't notice until like two months into the year?" My eyes widened at the idiocy of the school. Poor Marco had been stuck with annoying kids for far too long, and I was glad that he didn't have to deal with them anymore.
"Well, it was only a couple days," he said. "I only started going here on Monday."
I raised my eyebrows. If he had only moved here a short time ago, why would he know so much about the flowers in the garden? Why did his house already look so lived in?
He must have noticed my questioning expression, because he continued.
"I was homeschooled before now," he explained.
It made sense now. Why I hadn't seen him before, why he seemed so awkward around other people, and why he was being so nice to me. He obviously hadn't realized what an angry loser I was, and I decided to not let him find out, for completely selfish reasons.
"Why are you coming to public school now?" I asked, picking at the skin on the side of my finger nail as I observed him intently. His ears turned red under my gaze.
"Um, it's kinda complicated," he muttered. I nodded, facing the front of the room again and trying not to think about how this asshole smelled so strongly of anything and everything floral. Freckled flower child.
...
Marco ate lunch with my friends and I that day. The table had originally consisted of Reiner and Betholdt, who were ridiculously in love or whatever, and Connie, but Connie eventually had made his girlfriend, Sasha, join us too. She was hilarious and all, but her quick hands making their way into my lunch tray to steal my food got old after a while. I'd learned to accept it.
I liked everyone and all, but it kind of sucked being a fifth wheel. Reiner and Bertholdt were all over eachother at all times, and Connie and Sasha were too busy goofing off to pay attention to me, so I pretty much sat there and ate my lunch quietly as the other four messed around.
"New boyfriend?" Reiner asked as he detached himself from a blushing Bertholdt, examining Marco from head to toe. He grinned in stupid gay approval and I rolled my eyes, demanding that Sasha move over to make room as Marco stammered that we were merely friends.
"No, Reiner, this is Marco, my friend. He's new and he's gonna sit with us," Marco gave a nervous wave to everyone, flitting his eyes to each of my friends in turn.
"Hi, Marco," Sasha said with a kind smile, pausing long enough from shoveling food into her mouth to make him feel welcome him. Connie gave a similar greeting, tracing disgusting little circles on his girl's free hand.
"Those two are Connie and Sasha, and I'm Reiner, and this is Bertholdt," Reiner said smoothly, grinning at Marco and I with that stupid grin of his. I recognized the smile. He wore it when he was thinking about something gay, whether it be his friends or Betholdt. I hated it, because most of the time it was aimed at me.
Alright, Reiner thought that I liked dudes because once, just once, I got drunk and made out with one. But that wasn't my fault! The party was crazy and everyone was wasted and everyone was doing weird things, so in the heat of the moment I just happened to grab a guy dancing next to me and shove my tongue down his throat. It didn't mean that I was completely gay, it just meant that I was a horny teenager. I had moved on.
Reiner hadn't. He never failed to remind me of my supposedly repressed homosexuality whenever he spotted the chance.
It's not like I didn't think guys could be hot, because some were, but it didn't mean that I was prepared to engage in a relationship with one. Admiring them from afar was enough for me, and I couldn't be bothered to take my fascination any further.
Once you got past Reiner's hints aimed at Marco and I about our nonexistent relationship, lunch was a lot more enjoyable when Marco was seated next to me. He was immediately accustomed to my friends' humor, and he quickly became comfortable with laughing and joining in on their jokes. Reiner and Sasha talked to my freckled friend about his fashion taste, which was soft and colorful, and he seemed thrilled that they appreciated the effort he put into finding his clothes. I discovered I didn't mind listening to him talk about shopping and clothes and stuff, even though I hated things like that. I actually felt included.
Not that my friends ignored me when Marco wasn't there, but having him there just seemed... right. Feeling him shake with laughter next to me and tap my shoulder lightly with his fist when I teased him made my chest swell with a sense of belonging.
Lunch passed by much more quickly than it usually seemed to, and I was regrettably forced to say good bye to my companions (particularly the freckled flower boy) and slouch off to my next class.