Archive of Our Own ^beta

It felt strange, going back home.

For Marco Bodt, home was Jinae, a modest little town that some preferred to call a village. Tucked underneath forever-snowy mountains, it was a far cry from the bustling cities surrounding it. It was away from neon lights, the rain that hit the pavement and bounced off like silver in the glow of shopfront signs and car headlights. Instead it was quiet, dusty. The only sound heard through the night was the occasional church bell so long as the last person leaving Sal’s café had remembered to turn off the jukebox – a model that, installed in the 1950s, was as much part of the town as the trees and rivers.

Of course, he wasn’t there quite yet. As a matter of fact, at that moment in time, he was stuck in top-to-tail traffic and had been for a good hour and a half.

He drummed his fingers idly on the steering wheel, gazing out at the army of red brake lights but not really seeing them. Snow drifted down in thick flakes, and was already covering the road. In Jinae, it would be deep by now.

It had been a while since he’d been home, and it even longer since he’d brought a small collection of battered cardboard boxes along with him. He’d taken this same journey in the opposite direction when he was eighteen and now here he was, retracing his steps.

And all in time for the holidays, he reminded himself.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from straying from the glowering lights in front of him to his passenger’s seat – his very empty passenger’s seat. Another thing that was different, he thought with a sinking chest.

It was no one’s fault, really. There was no one to blame, to point the finger at. He’d been with Reiner since they graduated university together, moving into their own flat with their own plants and bedsheets and cutlery. All those years, and now just… gone. As if it had never happened. Marco had photographs to remind him, but they were buried in the depths of one of the unlabelled boxes. Not labelling it was sort of a conscious decision.

No one had cheated, or said something they hadn’t meant. There was no big drama or big fight that they could never get past. He and Reiner just… realised they didn’t want to be together anymore. Well. Reiner had realised quicker than him.

But then again, maybe Marco was just kidding himself.  

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. This was usually the time he would call Reiner, ask him about his day and complain about the absolute ball-ache of a journey he was undertaking – but now? Now he wasn’t sure what he could do.

He instead chose to turn the dial on his car radio up, and heard the ironic ‘Driving Home For Christmas’. He switched channels with a grumble – it was only just December, damnit – and turned the dial up still louder when a familiar set of opening bars came tapping through the dashboard. Marco wondered, if he turned it up loud enough, he could burn the lyrics of an early 00s Gerard Way into the back of his skull.

“When I was…a young boy…my father…took me into the city…to see a marching band…”

Marco smiled. Well. At least it wasn’t I Don’t Love You. That would have been far too much for one car journey.

Once the traffic finally cleared, Marco was able to get to Jinae within the next hour. Driving through the town was an odd experience; seeing the bar he’d frequented illegally in school, the park he’d made his own for years before that, and even the main street gave him a kick of nostalgia in his middle.

Jinae seemed a size too small for him now, something he had to squeeze into instead of just stepping right back onto the streets, the park, the bar. A gnawing sensation in his mind made him frown, but he made sure to shove it aside. He couldn’t think about that right now. He was home for Christmas. He was home for… well, the foreseeable future.

It had been his idea to move out. Reiner had insisted that he didn’t need to, that Reiner was looking for apartments that were better for his commute anyway (that part had stung) so it really wasn’t an issue for Marco to stay. But he’d been firm, and even started packing the same night they’d had the conversation. At first he thought he’d just move to another place in the city; Trost was a big place, and had plenty of ways where you could get lost and never see the same people twice. But he’d shopped around and not come up with much in the way of his budget – and then his mother had called.

Marie Bodt was quite shrewd when she wanted to be, and Marco had known the moment she mentioned that the Wagners’ cottage in the town was up for private let that she was dropping heavy hints. She missed him when he was away, after all, and the rent the Wagners were asking for was far better than any of the one bed flats he’d seen in Trost. Since he was self-employed, it made no difference where he was living, just so long as it was ‘somewhere’ and ‘away from Reiner for his own sanity’.

He didn’t go there right away however; no, he passed the turning and kept on for a while longer, turning right at a crooked old elm his family always considered their natural signpost. And then, he really was home. His wasn’t the most usual of houses; aside from all the outbuildings and farm areas, half of the farmhouse itself had ornamental towers and turrets like a small castle had managed to eat its way into a regular house. He smiled warmly at the sight of it. It may have looked a little odd and out of place, but The Folly had been in the Bodt family for generations and wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon. Even though they weren’t really farmers anymore, their animals sold off and the land loaned out long ago, it was still nice to see the old farm buildings he’d played in as a child still standing.

Killing the engine, he barely had time to get out of the car before his mother was running out to see him, crushing him in a strong, country hug. Marie Bodt was a small woman, and rotund in the way farmer’s wives tended to be – but god could she nearly strangle him with affection. “Maaaaaarco,” she sang, rocking him in her arms as they stood there in the middle of the path. She always had a way of singing his name; it was all soft and malleable when she used it, and it never failed to make him smile. For a little while, that empty feeling was filled in.

“It’s not just you coming back for the holidays,” Marie explained, herding him into the warmth and cosiness of the house. “Mina is coming too, she managed to get the time off her studies.” Ah, of course – Mina, his younger sister and the apple of his mother’s eye. “Samuel, too. And Gabriel, and Isaac, and Jacob. All of you! Won’t that be great?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, accepting a mug of steaming coffee with a sinking feeling in his chest. Everyone? It had been a while since they’d all been in the same room. Thinking back to the last time was something Marco didn’t really want to dwell on, and he was sure that seeing them again would dredge it all back up. But of course they would want to be with their mother this year. Of course they’d want to be near, of course they’d cancel plans and get here without worrying about their partners or their jobs.

“When are they heading here?” he asked, trying to ignore the misgivings creeping into the back of his mind.

“A couple of days.” She paused in making her own coffee to look back over at him. “I didn’t tell them anything about… what’s going on with you. I mean, they know you’ve moved back, but they don’t know about Reiner. I didn’t think it was their business. You can tell them when you’re ready. And I’ve told them not to ask too many questions, I know you’re the sensitive sort and I don’t want them upsetting you.”

Marco smiled, the warm feeling blossoming in him again. His mother always knew what to say to put his mind at rest. It was a talent she had, ever since he was small. She just always had the right words piled up and ready to use. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it. But I’m not some fragile little thing, mum. I’m fine.”

“Oh, I know you are, sweetheart,” she answered, her back to him now as she finished pouring the milk into her own cup, “but I also know you like to play your cards close to your chest. You wouldn’t tell me if you weren’t fine.” She winked. “You forget, I’ve known you for just as long as you have.”

Marco chuckled lightly. “I’ll bear that mildly threatening comment in mind.” 

“You better.”

“Still, I can’t believe everyone’s coming back,” Marco said, following her into the living room. “Must be a Christmas miracle.”

“Well this year’s been hard on the lot of us,” Marie explained, avoiding his eye, “ and it’s been a long time since we were all together. I reckon it would be nice to do one of our little family traditions. You know, for a change.”

“Oh?” he took a sip of his coffee as he leant against the fireplace. The hearth, roaring like a lion, was a welcome relief from the cold outside and the unnatural stuffy warmth of his car heater. “Like what?”

“Don’t be coy, you know there are plenty!” Sparks appeared in his mother’s eyes. “We could see a play, or skate on the lake, or...”

Marco laughed aloud at that. “Skate? We’re not ten anymore, we’d probably fall right through. I don’t even think I have those old skates anymore, even if I could fit into them.”

“Nonsense! It’s been pretty cold here lately, the lake’s been solid as a rock for the past few weeks.” His mother beamed at him. “We used to do it every Christmas morning, do you remember? Once the cows were fed.”

“Oh, yes,” he said wistfully, “I remember. Samuel always got on first and used to skate circles around all of us, and I’d always be stuck with Mina trying not to fall over. After a while Dad would rescue me, scoop her up in his arms and…” his voice trailed off. His mother’s face had fallen.

As one, they both looked to his photograph on the mantle. Emmanuel Bodt – Marco’s father – grinned back at him, his image sealed in time and photo-gloss. He looked happy then; that’s how Marco liked to remember him. He had all his hair, all his hope. The cancer had gotten rid of all that. The grin had faded quickly too, under the pressure of chemo and funeral plans.

“A-anyway,” his mother said, bringing them both back to reality, “I just thought it might be nice. I know you’re all grown up now, and you might think it’s silly…”

“No!” Marco set his cup down and gave her a quick hug. “No, I think it’s a great idea. I think they’ll love it.” He paused. “I love it,” he added.

She pulled away from him a little, and though she tried to hide it Marco had seen the tears collecting in her eyes. “Well, I just thought… it’s been a whole year. It’s time to stop making the holidays about being sad. Your father wouldn’t want that. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean we should stop doing the things we did with him.”

Marco just held her tighter. “We’ll do whatever you want,” he said, squeezing her just to hear her chortle out a laugh. “We’ll make this Christmas a good one. I promise.”

He caught himself hoping, with a ferocity that startled him, that his words weren’t as empty as the feeling inside his chest.

He assumed that a couple of days was a perfect amount of time to get everything ready in the Wagners’ cottage, to unpack his boxes and make the place look somewhat presentable and his own. It turned out he was very, very wrong. Packing had been hard enough, but unpacking was even worse. He spent a whole day haunting the cottage’s small, cosy rooms, trying to find the best places to put everything.

The cottage was quaint and typical of Jinae; clearly as old as the hills, it had been modernised as much as possible but there were still the oak beams above his head and doorways that weren’t quite big enough for him to fit through comfortably. He’d set a fire roaring in the hearth the moment he moved in, and there was something extremely comforting about watching the flames crackle and spit and consume.

He unpacked the essentials; the kitchenware, his art supplies and the wood panels that were the fossilised bones of his work desk. He put it back together again over the course of an afternoon, stopping only for dinner when his mother arrived out of the blue. “It looks like you’ve got yourself started already,” she commented brightly, looking around at the small forest of boxes. “Is the rest coming along later? You did book a moving van, didn’t you dear?”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardness falling over him. “Uh… this is it, mum.”

She blinked. “It is?” She crossed the room to peek in some of the boxes, like she didn’t believe him. Maybe she thought they were magic boxes that held far more than it appeared. She’d be disappointed. “Oh. It’s true what they say, city people do live smaller.”

“I have to,” Marco shrugged. “It was only an apartment after all.” An apartment he’d picked out because it was the best spot for both of their commutes. An apartment that was south-facing and sunny all the time, where plants could grow and not die immediately under Marco’s clumsy hand. An apartment that, even though he never owned it, felt like his.

His mother put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Well, don’t you worry. This just means it won’t take as long to unpack, isn’t that right?”

Despite her words, Marco didn’t unpack any more, not even after she’d gone. He just sat in one of the armchairs with his collection of boxes nestled around him, a dragon guarding his hoard. His life, it seemed, was pretty small if the boxes were anything to go by. He’d always thought he’d be larger than this somehow, that stepping out of the shadow Jinae cast over him would make him louder, bolder, stronger.

Like him.

He shook himself at the thought. He couldn’t think about him, not now. He’d only just got back. It wasn’t worth the pain.

He wasn’t loud or bold or strong, but being quiet and careful was just something he’d accepted now. It was a part of him, as much as the country was. The first night in the cottage matched his silence, something he was no longer used to. But it was alright. He had a good book and a bottle of wine to keep him company, and that was enough. He wanted to make the most of the silence, knowing full well it wouldn’t last once the rest of his siblings got to the sleepy little town.

True enough, they arrived the next day in a whirlwind of noise. Marco had ventured around the farmhouse for breakfast on his mother’s request, and the cacophony of knocks on the front door forewarned him of the hurricane to come. His brothers and sister all managed to arrive together, a band of shouting and shoving and cries of delight, and he had no choice in getting swept up in the chaos.

Mina, the youngest at nineteen and the only sister of a four son household was the loudest of all of them. She practically flung herself around Marco’s neck the moment she spotted him, and he was forced to swing her around to stop himself toppling over backwards. Samuel stepped out from behind her and said, “Honestly, can’t take her anywhere.” He stepped in and gave Marco a one-armed hug that took him by surprise. Samuel wasn’t the most affectionate of people; maybe his fiancée had softened him a little. Once he was released, Marco spotted Gabriel attempting to slip by without any fuss – sadly for him, the moment he got in range Maria pounced on him with cries of delight. Isaac and Jacob were stood a foot behind the others, and when Maria demanded they, “Come inside for goodness’ sake, you’ll catch your deaths”, Jacob tried and failed to avoid smacking his head on the doorframe. Despite being twins, Isaac definitely got the more graceful genes.

The Bodt brood was a large one, that much was true, and as they all sat around the family table it was a jumble of limbs, dark hair and freckles that Marco hadn’t realised he missed. There was no mistaking a Bodt family member, he thought with a smile, and the whole village knew it.

Talk started simply; Mina told them about her latest assignments at university, Gabriel had somehow picked up a stray cat a few months ago that wouldn’t leave him alone, and Isaac announced that he had finally quit his job as an accountant to take up his true calling: bar work. Marco laughed along with everyone else, drank two whole cups of coffee before realising his mother was refilling it every time he looked away, and felt something settle. This was okay. They would be okay, all of them. No one was perfect, everyone was having a hard time. It wasn’t just him.

But then the questions started.

“So, Marco,” Mina began, spearing a helpless sausage with her fork, “how come you’ve moved back to Jinae?”

And there it was. The question he’d been trying to rehearse an answer to all night. He swallowed his mouthful and replied, “I fancied a change of scenery,” like it was the easiest thing in the world. He burned with all the eyes on him.

“Could get plenty of scenery in Trost,” Samuel commented. “There’s a lot of green spaces, if that’s what you were looking for. I could find you a place, no problem.” The light caught the gold of his engagement ring as he leaned over the table, and Marco bit back his own comment – that it was easy for Samuel to say that, with a good job, a fiancée and a baby on the way.

But he didn’t. He just smiled and said, “Not for a freelance artist who’s living alone, you couldn’t. The rent’s too high, I’ve looked. B-but don’t worry!” he added when faces fell around the table, “it’s fine! This is what I wanted to do. That’s the benefit of being freelance, right? I can live wherever. It doesn’t matter so much.”

God, he hated this. The sympathy. None of them were saying anything but they didn’t need to; it was radiating off them in waves, waves he was soaking up. The pity was weighing him down like water in his clothes. He looked out of the kitchen window and wondered if he could take a running jump and land in the pond.

“Anyway,” his mother broke in, tapping her cup on the old table like a judge’s hammer, “I was saying to Marco that before your partners all arrive-” Three, Marco reminded himself, three, not four like last time “-I’d like to do something together. As a family.”

This got everyone’s attention. Marco breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ma’, no offense or anything but don’t think I’d survive another monopoly game,” Isaac said.

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded, “Mina nearly went feral last time.” He eyed his sister as if the mere mention of it would set her off again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone eat a hotel before.”

“We got it back!” Mina complained, causing everyone around the table to cringe. “And besides, I wasn’t even that bad – Samuel was way worse with the Uno game.”

Ah yes, the Uno Game of 2010. It was legendary. No one wanted to relive that again.

“I swear he nearly killed me,” Gabriel agreed, somewhat gravely.

“All of you, shush!” Maria scolded, “That is not what I mean.”

Marco sniggered despite himself. “Then what?”

“I was thinking,” she continued, giving him a playful smack on the arm, “that we could visit the Kirschtein estate.”

Marco nearly spat out his mouthful of coffee. Instead he elected to choke very loudly whilst Samuel asked, “Oh yeah, the Kirschtein estate! I remember that place, back when we were kids. The family opened it up to visitors, let us look around the stables and… wasn’t there a sleigh ride?”

A collective sigh rang around the table. “Oh, the sleigh ride,” Isaac said, almost dreamily. “That’s when you knew Christmas was really coming.”

“It sounds like a great idea,” Gabriel added, a smile spreading across his face.

Marco sank down a few inches into his seat. Oh god, Maria could have picked anything. Any activity at all. Why did she have to pick that one, at that place? He would have happily gone skating or sledding or walking – but the Kirschtein Estate? Did she know something about that?

Unfortunately, Mina had spotted him decreasing in height. “What’s the matter big brother? Afraid you’ll… bump into someone?”

“Shut up,” he snapped, and to his horror he felt the tips of his ears start to burn.

But the others had heard him. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Jean, right?”

Marco wanted very much to sink into the floor of the farmhouse and lay there, inert, for centuries.

“That’s right!” Samuel said, a little too gleefully for Marco’s liking. “He used to come over all the time when we were growing up. Skinny little thing, Dad always said he’d snap like a twig if he wasn’t careful. You and him were pretty close, weren’t you Marco?”

“More than close, I hear,” Mina teased.

Marco was very tempted to throw something, anything, at her in an attempt to shut her up. “No!” he said, all of a sudden acting and sounding like a bashful sixteen year old. “We… we were just… nothing happened. We were just friends, Mina, God…”

“Uh huh.” Mina wiggled her eyebrows at him from her place across the table. “Marco was in loooove.”

“Is that so?” Oh no. Now his mum was involved. She looked a little confused, like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before. “Oh, sweetie, I had no idea. I wouldn’t worry, Jean’s not been about for a while now. I think he moved to the city like you.” Her face fell. “Oh, but maybe you’d like to see him again…”

“I don’t! I wasn’t in love with him,” he protested, amid laughs from the table. “Can we stop talking about this?”

“Alright, alright.” Mina brandished a plate of toast at him as a peace offering. “We won’t talk about him anymore.”

“Thanks.”

“…And how you definitely bumped uglies in the stables more than once.”

Marco took two pieces of toast from the proffered plate and immediately threw them at her.

He spent the rest of the morning with his family, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. To their credit, they kept their word and didn’t mention Jean again, which he was thankful for. He had to admit that, despite their noise, being with everyone felt a hell of a lot better than being on his own in the cottage. There was a different kind of warmth that appeared in the family house when they were all there, like the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked together and the house could breathe again. Maria was so obviously delighted for the company that he felt guilty he hadn’t been around the Christmas before, but that didn’t matter. He was there now, and he was going to be just around the corner if she needed him.

Still. The longer he stayed in Jinae, the greater the chance he had of bumping into one of the Kirschteins.

It was one of those ‘funny stories’ between him and Jean, the kind that wasn’t really that funny at all. They had grown up together, in the same village they were both so adamant they wanted to get out of. They were friends almost immediately, and soon they were around one another’s houses so often that Marco knew the inside of the Kirschtein house as well as he knew The Folly. But something had happened, something stupid and reckless, and suddenly their cord was snipped.

God, when had he last seen Jean? Marco thought. Out of his rear-view mirror, he reckoned, back when he was eighteen and leaving Jinae for what he thought was for good. But Jean didn’t belong in that mirror; he was meant to be in the passenger seat next to Marco, choosing the bad songs and making Marco laugh with his terrible attempts at navigating. And he would have been – if that night hadn’t happened.

The chance of seeing him again made Marco feel a little queasy. What was Jean like now? He hoped he was different. He hoped that he had somehow turned into a terrible person, someone he could hate. That way, it would be easier to avoid him, and stop the thoughts from invading his head and taking over his common sense. But then he remembered his mother’s words. Jean wasn’t in Jinae. He’d left, the way he always said he would. He was probably still in whichever city he’d settled in, sat in his own living room with his arm around someone with a wedding ring glinting on his finger.

Marco really didn’t like the way his stomach twisted when he thought about that.

Somehow, the day went too quickly for him to think about it for too long. They all bundled out of the house just before dusk, and as he stepped out of the The Folly’s door Marco looked beyond the little toybox houses to each rolling hill beyond, dusted in icing sugar snow. They seemed bathed in a lazy golden light that he had only ever seen in the countryside. The city was too artificial for such a thing; only the fields and the hills and the mountains could contain that glow, like it was part of them as much as the sky.

He drew his coat tighter around him, swallowing back his misgivings, and followed his family out of their lane and onto the frozen path towards the Estate, hugging himself against the cold that threatened to poke through the holes in his scarf. Gabriel hung back with him, silently offering a pair of gloves which Marco gratefully accepted, and for a while they walked along in silence. When he spoke up, though, there was a sly edge to his voice that Marco didn’t appreciate.

“When did you last go to the Estate?”

Marco bit his lip. “I don’t remember.” It was a lie. He remembered. He remembered the night, with too much alcohol and fumbling, soft lips in the dark. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel chanced a look at him. “Must be weird.”

“I think it might be,” Marco admitted, offering him a weak smile. “But it’s nice to be with all of you again. I… I think I missed you.”

“Alright,” Gabriel snorted, “don’t get all sappy with me.” But there was a smile on his brother’s face too, and Marco knew that he’d also been missed just as much.

“Here we are!” Mina squealed excitedly.

He focused back on the path, and almost doubled back. There it was. The Kirschtein Estate. It was an old, crumbling manor that had been in the family for hundreds of years. Far past the point of repair, it now stood like an ancient creature, swaying in the strongest breezes and threatening to topple at the slightest threat. As they made their way up the drive, past the old iron gates with the crest of the family above it, Marco couldn’t help but feel the flash of familiarity. He’d never thought of Jean as particularly rich; with the Manor falling apart and the carriage and polo horses they bred not selling as well as they used to, it was easy to think of him as just another member of the village. But now, six years later, it was all too clear that he came from money. That his ancestors, whoever they were, probably owned the entirety of Jinae. Marco could practically smell it on the air.

There was a trail of lights leading away like a row of fireflies from the main path and down towards the stables and coach house, and there was a small group of people already heading down that way. Marco hesitated before going down, remembering each step and footfall like it had only been a few days since he’d last visited. Coming back to the Estate was like trying on an old jacket; it smelt of age and didn’t fit quite the same as it used to be, but the memories remained in every stitch. As he looked around, he could see it all, like little ghosts running past him.

The day Jean had tried to jump off the roof of the outbuilding, and Marco tried to stop him.

The day they’d opened the stable door of a particularly menacing stallion and got chased around the yard for the better part of an hour.

Watching a foal being born.

Holding Jean’s hand.

The expensive wine, stolen from the family cellars, passed from hand to hand. Fingers brushing against one another. Long, drawn-out looks.

Marco shook himself. No. Focus. He couldn’t think like that. Jean wasn’t here. He was far away. He wasn’t here to-

Marco turned the corner and stopped dead.

Of course, the universe liked to be very, very cruel to him.

At the sight of the carriage house and stables, Marco first saw the impressive shape the famous Kirschtein sleigh cut in the frosty dusk, the black and gold paint a little worn and peeling but clearly well-loved. It was the same sleigh as always; he’d been told it was Victorian, back when the lake froze over thickly enough for the family to take it out on the ice. Pulling it were a pair of elegant dapple greys, their ears pricked forwards with interest at the new arrivals and their nostrils flaring like they were ready for a chase. A family were just stepping down from the sleigh, a little girl’s eyes large and filled with wonder, and helping them down –

The bottom dropped out of Marco’s stomach.

“Well, would you look at that,” Mina observed, a little too loudly. “Jean is back.”

Yes. Jean was definitely back. He was taller now, his hair long enough to tie back despite the undercut still being very much in evidence – but it was him. The same eyes, the same quirk to his smile that made it look sharper than he ever wanted it to look, the same way of holding himself. Marco couldn’t believe that he could somehow be so similar and yet so different.

“Yeah,” was all he could say. He hated how squeaky it sounded when it came out of his mouth.

Mina rolled his eyes. “Hopeless. I’m calling him over.”

“No…” Marco took a step back. “No, please… please don’t…”

Maria looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come…”

“Come on, Marco,” Isaac encouraged, giving his shoulder a smack. “Don’t worry mum. It’s fine. You can do this. You should be happy, you haven’t seen him in ages.”

Marco couldn’t do it. He really, truly couldn’t. He thought he was strong enough, but he wasn’t. But he didn’t have much of a choice; Mina was already shouting.

“JEAN! COO-EEE. GUESS WHO.” And then she was shoving Marco forward, ahead of everyone else.

“Mina,” Marco hissed, panic flashing through him, but it was too late.

Jean, fussing over one of the horses, turned to look over at them, his eyebrow raised. He froze when he saw Marco. A bolt of energy shot through him.

Jean let go of the horse’s head and walked over to them, ignoring the shouts of farewell from the family who was just leaving. Marco wanted to hide away; behind one of his brothers, in his car, back in Trost. But Jean was heading over, there was no stopping him and oh god what was he going to do-

“Marco?” he asked. “Marco…Bodt? Is that really you?”

At the sound of that voice, a memory returned to him, slamming him in the chest so hard he almost had the breath knocked out of him. That same voice, telling him that he wasn’t going to Trost with him anymore. That he was sorry, but he just thought it was best they make it on their own, give each other a chance to make a new start. The owner of that voice in the small rectangular mirror, tears rolling down their cheeks but their face as solid as stone. Marco’s own urge to turn the car around and call the whole thing off – but instead, his stubbornness kept him driving, even when he had to pull the car over half an hour into the journey so he could cry on the side of the road. The pain – god, the pain of it came back, stealing through him like a thief.

Marco nodded, putting his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “Y-yeah, it’s me.”

Jean didn’t look mad, he decided. He didn’t look upset, either. He was surprised, sure, but there was something else. Something – warm. “Jesus,” he breathed, his eyes raking over Marco’s body like a fine comb. “I can’t believe it’s – you’re – I’m –”

“Ugh, boys,” Mina commented, nudging Marco out of the way. “C’mon Mum, let’s go look at the horses. Jacob, I call shotgun and you better let me keep it.” Like a tidal wave, the Bodts surged past them and swarmed around the sleigh, looking it over with admiration and covertly feeding the horses tidbits out of their pockets.

Marco didn’t care. They could have been feeding dragons, for all he cared. Because Jean was smiling at him – actually smiling. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he said. “It’s been so long, man!”

“Yeah.” God, he was beginning to sound like a broken record. Shaking himself, he added, “Yeah, it really is.” He couldn’t stop the smile that sprang to the surface. “You’ve changed.”

Jean’s smile softened. “So have you.” Quieter still, he added, “You look good, Marco.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Y-yeah, you look pretty great yourself.”

Jean’s laugh made him smile. “Thanks. Dad hates this haircut.” He tugged at a few strands of ash blonde. “He’s always threatening to sneak into my room and cut it off in my sleep.”

“Your room?” Marco frowned. “You… you’re living here again?”

“Yep.” Jean looked a little uncomfortable. “City life, it… it didn’t sit well with me. I missed the open air and the horses too much.” He paused. “I missed you.”

“Oh.” Marco flushed. Subject. Changing. Quickly. “W-what happened to your Dad? He always used to do the sleigh rides. Every year.”

“He’s not been feeling so good, lately. S’partly why I moved back, to take the pressure off Mum a little.” He looked down at the snow between them, scuffing his shoes in it. “I couldn’t stop a Christmas tradition for Jinae, though. S’not fair.”

Marco looked over at the sleigh, and the stamping horses. His mother was currently tickling one of them on the nose and laughing at the way it snuffled her jacket for treats. “Can you drive it well?”

Jean grinned. “Excuse you, I can drive exceptionally well. Turns out that carriage driving is a skill passed down through the male line.”

“Sure.” Marco bit back a smile.

Jean scoffed. “Shun the non-believer. Here,” he brought his hand out form his pocket, wiggling the digits pink with cold, “I’ll show you.”

Marco hesitated, wondering if it was a trick. But those fingers wiggled again, asking, and he answered by slipping his hand in Jean’s. The smile that came in answer was brighter than one he’d ever seen on Jean’s face – and the pink tinge had to be due to the cold, right? …Right?

“Okay, let’s head out,” Jean said, leading Marco over to his family and the sleigh with their hands still very much connected.

It turned out that Jean knew a lot about sleigh driving. He talked at great length about the mechanics and innermost workings of the sleigh and how he’d worked on it for weeks to get it restored and looking the way it did, as well as clueing Marco in on the horses that pulled it. “The darker one is Hail. The lighter is Snow,” he explained, pointing out the harness and bits that were gentler than the usual ones as these two geldings were young and had soft mouths. All of this he did with his hand still in Marco’s.

When they got aboard, Mina forfeited her shotgun for the first time and sat in the back with the collected group of Jacob, Isaac, Gabriel and their mother. If he was honest, Marco wasn’t sure there would have been room if he’d tried to get in there too. Once they were all ready and seated, Jean clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The sleigh jerked into life as the horses broke into a bouncy walk, and then they were heading out of the yard and into the grounds of the estate. “Where do you fancy going?” Jean asked him, taking his eyes off the horses for a moment to look back at his small gathering.

“How about by the orchard?” Isaac called back.

Jean smiled. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He turned to the horses. “Hah!” he shouted, flicking the reins again. The pair sprang into a trot, and a chorus of woops from the back of the sleigh made Marco laugh.

The ride took them through the fields and down to the orchard Marco had such fond memories of, back when he was a child and his father put him on his shoulders to reach the highest apples. There were no apples at that time of year, of course, but the small green buds on the skeleton trees held the promise of a spring around the corner. “Oh gosh, remember gathering apples in the Spring?” his mother was asking them all. “We had so many we would eat apple crumble for months!”

“And then Dad would make cider with the rotten ones,” Samuel recalled. “I made the mistake of drinking that one day. I think I was five, I lost my mind.”

“Yes, coming back from milking to find a drunk toddler wasn’t one of your father’s finest hours,” their mother sighed.

Marco laughed lightly despite himself, and felt Jean’s eyes on him. “I’m sorry about your Dad,” Jean said, quietly. “You must miss him.”

Marco’s humour faded. “Every day. But… but we can’t just stop living because he’s not here. He wouldn’t want that.” He lowered his gaze to the floor of the sleigh and added, “Actually, he’d probably love to know that we were talking about his questionable parenting skills. He always used to find the stories funny.”

“True.” Jean steered the horses around a particularly gaunt looking sapling. “That explains why you’re all here, though.”

“It was Mum’s idea. And don’t worry, we’re on our best behaviour.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mina remarked from behind him, “Samuel just threatened to throw me out of the sleigh.”

“You called my unborn child ugly!”

“It’s got your genes, it’s going to be a gremlin.”

Marco gave Jean a pained look, but all he got in return was a laugh.

As they arrived back at the courtyard, Jean halted the horses and turned to the Bodts gathered in the back. “It’s been great to see you all. You can come up to the house if you like? The mulled cider this season is the best, and I’m not just saying that because I picked the apples.”

Maria smiled warmly. “We’d love to, but we should be getting back. I promised to get the Bodt Famous Festive ham in the oven.”

“It would be a true tragedy if it wasn’t cooked in time for lunch tomorrow,” Jacob added, and the others agreed wholeheartedly.

Marco could sense the others getting restless. They wanted to get back to The Folly to warm themselves by the fire and stuff themselves silly with food – he could relate to that. But he felt a sense of great loss at the idea. He didn’t want to go back just yet. He wanted the moment on the sleigh to continue, wanted Jean’s hand in his once again. He could see it in Jean’s eyes, too, as he hopped down from the driver’s position and waited for their answer. He wasn’t looking at anyone but Marco. The smile looked defeated, conceding, but his eyes seemed to hold something more. Stay, they seemed to say. Please. Stay.

“We’ll see you around, dear,” Maria said, patting Jean on the cheek with one gloved hand. “We might take you up on that offer another day, if that’s alright.”

Jean stopped looking at Marco. Focused back on the woman in front of him. “O-oh, that’s alright Mrs Bodt. All of you, you’re welcome here whenever you like.”

“Don’t promise that,” Gabriel muttered, “or you’ll never get rid of Mina.”

“Hey!”

“Merry Christmas, Jean,” Maria said, as the others began to set off down the path. “Give my love to your mother!”

“I will.” Jean’s smile faltered when he looked back to Marco. He hadn’t moved, too busy fighting with his conscience to pay attention to much else. With Jean’s eyes on him, the resistance failed just a little bit more. “Merry Christmas, Marco,” he said, low and soft and ever the gentleman. “It really is good to see you again.”

Marco nodded stiffly, and he noticed the rest of his family moving off behind him. He turned to go – and thought back to the rear view window. Watching Jean as he left, seeing the pain and the tears that ran down his face like silent rivers. Marco took two steps away, back to his family – and then stopped. His heart pounded in his chest as he said, a little quieter and nervously than he would have liked, “G-guys, go on without me.”

They all stopped. Jean looked up from the point on the ground he’d been staring at.

“Oh Marco, are you sure?” Maria asked, frowning at him. “You’ll not get much of a look in where the ham’s concerned.”

“That’s alright,” he said, looking back to Jean, “I think we’ve got some catching up to do.”

He flushed as a chorus of “oohs” sounded from his siblings. “Come on, you’re not teenagers!” his mother scolded, giving the nearest arm a severe whack. “Of course, Marco, you don’t have to ask. Jean, could you be a dear and drop him back to The Folly when you’re done?”

“Sure.” Jean smiled. “I’ll get him home before midnight, Mrs Bodt.”

“You better.” Maria gave Marco a wink that shrivelled up any sense of bravery he’d had before and set off back to the gates, dragging Mina along by the arm amid her protests.

“My family,” Marco said with a brief laugh, “they’re an acquired taste.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jean said, sticking his hands in his pockets, “I think they’re great.”

“You didn’t live with them for eighteen years.”

“But I know you.”

That silence again. Marco wondered if this was such a good idea. The wounds from Reiner were only just beginning to heal, and the risk of opening them all again for someone like Jean was sending flickers of fear into the depths of his stomach. But something overtook them, something stronger. Jean was shuffling his feet in the snow, his breath coming out in soft clouds as he looked Marco over, and this was a more private look, more personal. He was trying to figure Marco out, just as Marco was trying to figure him out.

“Do…” Marco coughed. He tried again. “Do you think the horses could take another ride?”

Jean looked over at them, considering. Hail and Snow were chomping their bits and throwing their heads around, causing the harness to jingle around them merrily. They certainly looked fresh to Marco, but he’d never been too good with horses. Jean just seemed to have a knack with them. After a moment, Jean nodded. “I reckon another ride would be okay.”

“But it’s dark…”

“They’ll be okay.” Jean shrugged. “Besides, we’ve got a lot of the Estate lit up for the Groundskeeper.”

They walked back over to the horses together, their hands swinging dangerously close but never quite reaching. Marco wanted to reach out and snatch Jean’s from the air, to tangle their fingers together and keep them connected, but the whole movement felt loaded with a meaning that wasn’t there with his family around. This would mean something more. Marco was a little nervous of that.

Jean gestured to the passenger seat beside the driver and smiled. “Your chariot awaits.”

Marco gave him a playful smack and got in, settling himself down once again in the comfortable leather seating. The ears of the horses swivelled and twitched in front of him atop elegant, crested necks, and as Jean got in and shut the door tight Marco commented, “it feels weird, you know. Being so far back.”

Jean smiled. “You get used to it. I drive this thing and the carriages almost as much as I ride now.” He flicked the reins and clicked his tongue, and the necks came up as one as the sleigh began to move off into the night.

The emptiness of the sleigh meant that the horses’ job was far easier. With a bit of encouragement from Jean, they moved through the snow at gentle canters, sending white spray up either side of them as they went. A flurry of panic shot through Marco as they veered a little erratically to the left, but Jean’s hand grasped his arm and pulled him back, and everything was alright again.

Marco took the opportunity, since the light was failing, to watch Jean as he drove. He commanded the horses with his voice rather than the reins, his mouth always slightly open as if ready for the next instruction, and his eyes were glued to the tips of the horses’ ears. He didn’t look away, not once, and Marco wasn’t sure if it was because he was concentrating or if it was because he was trying not to look at him.

“How about we take a detour?” Jean asked, and before Marco could ask what he meant he cooed an encouragement and turned the sleigh off the path they had created in the snow before. They were heading towards the entrance of the Estate.

“Jean…?”

“It’s okay.” Jean smiled, but didn’t look Marco’s way. “The roads are quiet this time of night. Don’t you remember?”

Marco sank down in his seat and focused on the jingle of the harness, the creak of the leather and the snorts and blows from the horses. Jean looked natural like this, as though he was born in the wrong century. He would have made a good coachman, Marco thought to himself, or a groom. Maybe if they both belonged to the world of back then, he wouldn’t feel so out of reach.

As they cantered out of the wrought iron gates and down to the main road of Jinae, Marco looked around him and was struck with the quiet beauty of the place. Jinae was like a model village, shaped by time yet stuck inside it like a snow globe. Marco watched the first few flakes of snow tumble down from the sky and imagined that they had stepped back in time, the two of them, and nothing had changed. Jinae was the sort of place that stood apart from the rest of the world; life didn’t move as fast, as crazily, and as Jean slowed the horses and turned down a particular road Marco felt a sense of belonging, of coming home. Every cottage and farmhouse was the same as it had been when electricity was nothing but a passing thought on the wind, and the road was worn smooth from the generations of hooves that shaped it.

When Jean pulled the sleigh to a stop, Marco was surprised to find the salty sting of tears on his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Jean asked.

Oh god, he’d noticed too. Marco scrubbed at them feverishly, shaking his head. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just… I was so worried about coming home, about feeling like it wasn’t mine anymore, and…” He sniffled. “It’s stupid.”

“No, go on.”

“I think… I think it’s more ‘me’ than it ever was.”

Jean leant back in his seat and let out a long sigh. “I know the feeling. You try so hard to get away from it all because you think that’ll make you feel better, but it turns out it’s what you needed all along.”

“Mmhmm.” Marco let the silence hang loose for a little longer before he added, “Jean, there’s a guy. Back in Trost.”

Jean stiffened. Marco knew he tried not to, but they were too close together for him to hide it. “Okay,” he said.

“He and I, we’ve known each other a long time.”

“Okay.”

“I should be with him right now.”

Jean put a hand over his face and exhaled slowly. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

Marco frowned. “What do you-?”

“It’s nothing. It… It’s nothing.” Jean mumbled from underneath his arm. When he pulled it away, there was a fierce look in his eye. “No. No, it’s not nothing, actually. It’s everything, because I’m too late.”

“Jean, I don’t-”

“Marco, I meant it back there. With your family. I came back because I missed you.” He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. “And I thought, like an idiot, that I’d get a second chance.” He bit his lip. “But I didn’t. I haven’t.”

“Jean.” There was a flutter. A small, pathetic flutter that Marco really didn’t want to be feeling, but it was there anyway. It grew like a wave, pulling back and back and cresting because he was hoping, he was beginning to hope and that was dangerous… “Jean, I’m telling you this because I broke up with him.”

Jean sat up straight so fast that it made Marco jump. “You did?”

“Y-yeah…” Marco frowned. “And it was because – god, you’re going to hate me for this – but no matter what I say, it’s not because we didn’t love each other anymore or we grew apart. It’s because I never… I never got…” Ugh. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t admit it, not right in front of him.

Jean got the picture, though. “You never got over me…?” he finished, his eyes growing wide.

Marco nodded, somewhat pathetically. “I’m sorry. You can hate me, if you want.”

Jean blinked. “What?”

“You… you can hate me. I don’t mind.” Marco shut his eyes, waited for the pain to come. “I’m just glad I got to see you again.”

“Wait, Marco, stop.” He felt a hand on his, and his eyes snapped open. Jean’s eyes were still wide, and his breathing quickened. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because you did,” Marco replied. “Back then. You hated me, I know you did. I ruined it all, that night. That night where we…”

He didn’t want to say it. The night they’d snuck into Jean’s family cellar and taken a couple of bottles of wine to the stables to drink. What happened afterwards. Jean’s scorching mouth on his, how tightly they clung together… and how quickly it stopped.

Jean was there too, Marco could see it; the events were playing out behind his eyes, and he didn’t want to see it anymore. He thought about them too much, even now six years later. But then Jean did something Marco didn’t expect; he tied the reins of the horses together and put them between them on the seat. Marco stared at them, not understanding, but then Jean’s hand brushed his cheek. It was a whisper of a touch, something so delicate Marco would have missed it – but he looked at Jean, looked at his face, and knew.

“I was scared,” Jean said, his voice low as he skimmed his fingers against the freckles he found there. “I was just scared, Marco, that’s all. I was eighteen and a first class idiot, you can’t expect too much from that.”

Marco let out a weak laugh, but it died quickly. “I don’t understand,” he said, frowning. “Why didn’t you come to Trost with me?”

Jean paused. “Because I’m a first class idiot, I thought this was already established.”

Marco smiled, the flutters twisting into a furious, blazing warmth that blossomed through him despite the cold. He dared to move closer, nudging their heads together as he said, “Well. First class idiots are clearly my type.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jean breathed, and before Marco could say anything they were kissing.

It wasn’t the kiss from six years ago; it wasn’t sloppy, fuelled by alcohol and tinged with mild panic. This was slow, careful, soft. Marco sank into it like a pillow after a long day. They had both had practice now; they had kissed other people, held other people, touched other people in ways they had never done with each other, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was them, as the snow came down and the horses pawed and stamped in the middle of the quiet, village road.

Jean didn’t take Marco straight to The Folly. They made a stop at the cottage, Marco’s cottage, and arrived at The Folly’s door the next day looking considerably worse for wear but grinning like rumbled schoolchildren. A chorus of cheers rose up from the living room and Maria ushered them inside, shrieking at them all to be quiet and stop making a scene. Jean was allowed to stay for breakfast, even after Gabriel found Hail and Snow in the Folly’s feed room with their heads in the cow troughs.

And, as he watched Jean pass the marmalade to a slyly grinning Mina, Marco realised that coming home wasn’t a defeat: it was the best kind of victory.