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Marco’s pencil scratches at the paper. He slides it up and down, making it glide lightly on the section of Jean’s face where his jawline connects to his hair. With a slight swooping motion, Marco draws his bangs, shading them just so it looks like they’re falling across his forehead. He sketches in the eyebrows, and then fills in a small scar that runs from the edge of one down to his ear, barely visible.
Marco stops at the eyes, places the eraser end of the pencil to his lips in frustration. He can never quite get the emotion in them right, something always seems off.
Marco has always been a decent artist, but after getting injured he took it up more seriously. Drawing is one of the few things that calms the shakiness in his hands nowadays. And, well, that wasn’t the only thing.
Marco sits at the edge of the bench in the barracks, tucked neatly in the corner where he has a vantage point of the entire room. He’s leaning forward, completely immersed in his work, but every now and again he looks up from his daze to get a bit of inspiration.
Across the room, Jean is standing with Conny, leaning against the wall with his jacket draped over his shoulders. In the ambient light of the flickering lantern, shadows rise and fall across Jean’s face as he throws his head back in laughter. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, and the corners of his eyes crinkle a bit as he laughs at whatever Conny has said. It only serves to inspire Marco even more, so he goes back to sketching Jean, trying his best to capture the way his hair has grown out to where Jean has to tuck it behind his ear.
His hands start to move more confidently across the page. Marco likes to capture moments like these, ones that seem small and insignificant. Sketching Jean on this paper immortalizes him, Marco’s version of him will last forever. It’s so easy to forget about their world like this, everyone milling about in the common room, a fire crackling in the corner and the wind whistling past the windows. The building creaks and Jean laughs again, echoing off the walls in a light and airy way that Marco feels it’ll get carried off with the wind itself. He finds himself enamored with the sound of it, the emotion it carries, in a way that sinks into his skin and makes him feel warm.
When he’s with Marco, just Marco, it’s soft and fond, not quite like the exaggerated way he laughs now at something Conny said. Sometimes—and Marco really prides himself on this one—sometimes, Jean even laughs until he can’t breathe, clutching his stomach with both arms until he can barely make a sound at all. It’s a comfort in this world, some sort of hope that Marco can latch onto.
Out here, in the common room, he can tell it’s much louder, bursting out of his chest. Jean scrunches up his eyes, and Marco longs to plant a kiss on them. He gets lost in everything Jean does, a feeling he can let himself sink into and forget about everything else.
Marco’s fingertips are twitching again, so he breaks his reprieve and envelopes himself back into his drawing, ducking his head down as he sketches in the corners of Jean’s eyes, lightly marking where the laugh lines of his face crinkle his eyes and nose. He allows himself to get sucked into the process, just letting his hands work. Marco becomes so distracted he almost jumps when two calloused hands are placed over his eyes—well one eye and his eyepatch—and a broad chest is pressed against his back.
“Guess who?”
“Do I have to?”
Jean replies with only a scoff. “Of course you have to guess. Where’s the fun in the game if you don’t guess?”
Marco leans his head back, resting his head against Jean’s chest. Jean’s jacket is still draped over his shoulders, and it hangs a little in Marco’s face as he turns to the side.
“No way. I can smell that cologne you’re wearing from a mile away. Of course I know it’s you,” he replies, feeling a smile stretch across his face. Jean leans down pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“So smart and yet still so rude. Never change, Marco, never change,” Jean says with all the sage and wisdom he can bring into his voice. His hair hangs over his eyes a bit, and Marco longs to reach out and thread his fingers through it.
There’s a short silence and then, “Wait, I thought you said you liked my cologne,”Jean says with an indignant frown.
Marco puts his chin on his hand, staring up at the ceiling. “Hm. I say a lot of things don’t I?”
Jean has the audacity to pout at him, and Marco’s heart aches in his chest. Cute.
“But baaaaabe,” Jean whines, throwing himself over Marco’s shoulders. “Baby, don’t go breaking my heart like this. I’m fragile,” he whines again, slipping himself further into Marco’s personal space.
“Okay, okay, you know I love it. And you. I love you,” Marco says, holding back his laughter as Jean winks at him and makes a ridiculous flashing smile that only he could pull off.
Jean kisses the top of his head and moves to sit next to him on the bench, resting one arm across Marco’s shoulders. Marco takes the opportunity to turn his paper around so his boyfriend is unable to see. It’s not that he wouldn’t ever show him, but Marco is reluctant to show Jean the unfinished product.
“Anyways,” Marco hums, “Is there something you wanted from me? Or are you just letting me use you as a human back rest today because you’re so nice?”
“Oh, yeah, I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving for the night, but I’ll be back later on tonight, just a little after you go to bed, okay?” Jean says casually. Marco has told him a thousand times he doesn’t need to ask some sort of permission to go off on his own, but he always insists on telling Marco where he’s going to quell his anxiety.
“Where exactly have you been going each night this past week?” Marco asks, eying his paper that still lied face down on the table. He wonders if he should draw his irises bigger, maybe shading them lighter.
He feels Jean tense up behind him at the question, but Marco doesn’t try to pry. They all have their own stuff going on—besides, Jean would tell him whatever it was when he’s ready.
“Just uh, heading out, you know? Working on some top secret scout stuff with, um, Hange, yeah so...I gotta head out real soon,” Jean replies, burying his face in Marco’s hair.
—
It’s late when Jean gets back home, far past dinner time. Marco barely has time to react to the door banging open before Jean comes up to him, eyes bright and excited, and starts pulling Marco up from the couch excitedly. Never one to turn down Jean when he’s making that face, Marco lets himself get pulled up and out the door. He barely has time to gain his footing and ask where the hell they’re going so late at night, but Jean beats him to it, already excitedly chattering on.
“No, babe, listen this is gonna be so cool, I just need you to follow me—no I am not dragging you, you’re following me—seriously it’s not that far, stop whining—“
“Oh Jean, look out, there’s a—“
Aaand, Jean just ran straight into a post. His head smacks against the front of it as he almost falls backwards on his ass. Marco slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing too loud.
Never one to be deterred, Jean gets back up and flashes him a thumbs up and a wink as a purple bruise forms on his forehead.
“Come on, babe it’s just up ahead now,” Jean exclaims, before stopping right in his tracks, his heels digging into the grass with the sudden stop.
Marco peeks over his shoulder to see what Jean is staring so intently at, noticing the lantern hung to the side of the wall. Around it some moths buzz around, hitting the side of it.
“Hey, Earth to Jean? Everything okay—?”
Marco is cut off as Jean suddenly pulls him close, ducking down to hide behind him, eyes peeking out over Marco’s shoulders.
“Babe. Don’t tell me you don’t see those—those nasty things right there,” Jean says his arms wrapped around Marco’s chest. He points one finger towards the lantern, where the moths are lazily flying around it in circles.
“Jean Kirstein. Please do not tell me you’re actually scared of moths. You face humanity’s greatest monsters every day—“
“Monsters like Eren Jaeger,” Jean cuts in.
“Yes—like Eren, but anyway—no stop pushing me towards it, babe, jeez—anyway you should not be scared of a little bug. It’s just like a butterfly, but like at night, you know?”
“There’s a reason they only come out at night Marco. They’re plotting something,” Jean squeezes Marco’s shoulders.
That’s it. Marco cant hold it back anymore. He bursts out laughing, head thrown back and shoulders shaking.
“Don’t worry, Jean, I’ll protect you from the big, scary insects,” Marco says, circling around past the bugs, Jean holding onto his shoulders the entire time. He can’t help but laugh again as he looks back to see Jean shooting death glares at the moths who have yet to move inches away from the light in front of them.
Finally, they make it around, and back onto the path towards the training grounds. Jean lazily throws his arm over Marco’s shoulders and brings him in close.
“Marco Bodt, you are truly humanity’s strongest soldier. Who needs Captain Levi when we have people like you?” Jean laughs only half jokingly, and he leans in to kiss the side of Marco’s face as he says it.
Marco playfully swats him away. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but if protecting you from bugs is all I have to do, I would have joined the survey corps a long time ago. Do you think the moths have their own version of ODM gear?”
Before he can finish his joke, Jean perks up beside him, excitedly grabbing onto his arm.
“Oh, right! Your surprise! Come on, we gotta go, like now,” Jean says, pulling him away and racing down the path before Marco can even respond. As they get closer to their destination, Jean instructs him to close his eyes, threatening to cut his hair (it took months of begging to get Jean to grow it out in the first place) if Marco dared to open his eyes too early. He obediently keeps a hand over his eye.
“Alright, uh, just a sec, and, open your eyes!”
“. . . the training grounds?”
Jean doesn’t answer. He’s busy fiddling with what looks like some modified version of ODM gear. Marco walks up to Jean and touches his shoulder. Jean straightens up.
“Oh, right, shit, this probably makes no sense I— I should probably explain what all this is for,” Jean rubs the back of his head like he’s embarrassed.
He begins rambling, words tumbling out of his mouth in rapid succession. “So, you know, like I’ve been leaving every night? I’m sure you’ve noticed, and like you never say anything because you’re so sweet, I love it, but anyway, so, this is the reason I’ve been gone for so long, and why I never really mention what I’m doing, and you don’t even get offended because, like, you trust me, and that’s so cool?
Anyway, I know you loved using the ODM gear because it made you feel like you were flying and now you can’t anymore because of your left side, and I just feel so bad babe, because I know you love that shit. So, I was thinking and I figured that I could probably get Hange to rig something up for you to be able to ride with me, I mean, if you want, and, uh, yeah,” Jean finishes with a big puff of air, like he said all of that in one breath.
Jean’s cheeks are cherry red, flush spreading down to his neck. He’s nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. By the end of Jean’s rant, Marco is smiling wider than he has in a long time.
“You...did all of this...for me?” Marco’s voice is shaky, he can feel his throat closing up like he’s about to cry.
“Of course I did, babe. You have to know I’d do anything for you. This is nothing. Hange did most of the work anyway; I just practiced using it with Connie and Sasha mostly,” Jean says, a soft look crossing his face.
Marco barely registers moving from his spot at the edge of the training yard to being face to face with his boyfriend. Marco almost tackles him to the ground with the force of his hug.
“I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Jean.”
Marco pulls back and slides his hands to Jean’s cheeks, cupping his face. He squishes them until his lips are puckered, and he kisses him until Jean is even more red in the face. They pull away, breathing hard. Marco presses the heel of his hand to his eye, sniffing.
Jean looks down at Marco. He has this look on his face, like Marco holds the answer to every question he’s ever had.
“I—well, you too. So fucking much. Also have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful person alive? Like ever? Because I’m telling you, right now, I mean it,” Jean stammers out, and Marco has half a mind to kiss him again then and there.
“So, are we gonna ride this thing or what? Come on, handsome, take me now, or I’m simply going to die,” Marco says dramatically, spinning to fall into Jean’s arms with a sigh, laying a hand over his forehead.
Jean catches him, holding him tightly to his chest. Marco looks up at him. They’re almost nose to nose. Jean gives Marco a kiss on the nose before releasing him.
“Alright, guess we should strap in then. Let’s get you first.”
Jean leads Marco closer to the gear, which honestly just looks like a jumble of leather and buckles, but Jean seems to know what he’s doing.
He starts at Marco’s legs, hands firm but moving with care. Up close, Marco can see that the gear is almost identical to standard ODM gear but he lets Jean strap him up anyway. His boyfriend’s hands are slow and gentle as he moves up Marco’s body, strapping him in piece by piece. They sit in comfortable silence except for Jean to occasionally ask a quick “Is this too tight?” or “Does this feel good?”
It’s relaxing, being handled like this. Marco feels fuzzy all over and distinctly pampered as Jean pats his hip as if to say all done.
“How is this supposed to work exactly?” Marco asks as Jean begins to strap himself in. He’s now facing away from Marco, but standing directly in front of him (which gives Marco a fantastic view of his back).
“Just trust me,” Jean replies
“You know I do, love,” Marco reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Jean’s ear.
As he does it, Jean pulls the ODM straps tighter against his own shoulders, and they snap back against his chest. He checks one more time to make sure Marco’s own straps are tight enough, before grabbing the buckle that would hook from his back to Marco’s chest.
“You’re gonna have to jump onto my back, okay? And then just clasp the two buckles at the top of your chest and near your belly button to mine.”
Marco hops on his back, swinging his legs around his waist as he secures the buckles in place, squeezing his knees against the outside of his boyfriend’s hips to keep them from dangling in the air. They’re so close, Marco can feel the heat radiating off of Jean, and he squishes his cheek against the back of Jean’s neck. Marco presses a kiss into Jean’s neck with a sigh, shivering a bit as the cool breeze floats in around them. Jean’s back is warm against his chest, so Marco buries his face deeper into his neck, nuzzling into the soft hair at the base of his neck.
His hands hang limp at his side until he remembers he’s literally laying on top of his boyfriend, so he wraps his arms tightly around his chest, clasping his hands together. Marco squeezes his arms, hugging him tightly as if he can put all of his emotion into the one movement. Jean seems to understand his sentiment, as he squeezes Marco’s knee pressed against his thigh with a smile.
“Are you ready to fly, lover boy?”
“Born ready,” Marco responds with a kiss to the side of Jean’s neck.
Jean squats a little bit, bending his knees as he gets in position. Marco feels the familiar click and zing of the ODM cables and then they’re flying.
God. It’s been so long. He had forgotten what it feels like to be so high up, untouchable. The rise and fall of Jean attaching and reattaching the anchors is achingly familiar. There’s wind rushing through his hair and he can see Jean’s hair whipping around his face. Marco can feel his strong body flexing and straining to use the gear. Marco can’t even imagine how difficult it would be to carry another person on your back while also flying through the air. Jean has to brace himself each time the anchors latch on to another tree or portion of the wall, the tight wires lurching him forward. He can tell Jean’s trying to make the ride more comfortable for him, keeping steady and moving as smoothly as he can.
It’s a little slower than standard ODM gear because there’s two of them, but it still gives Marco the same rush it always did, when he wasn’t being chased by titans anyway. It’s different this time—in a good way. He’s not running from something, but instead it’s like they’re racing to chase the moonlight, each lurch of the gear pulling them closer to the stars. He squeezes Jean tighter, his fingers interlocking around his boyfriend’s waist. He tilts his chin up right next to Jean’s ear, the wind whipping past them making it difficult to hear otherwise.
“So, are we going anywhere in particular or are we just going to fly around all night?”
Jean glances back at him and says, ”You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
The destination—at first glance— seems to be a little underwhelming. They land at a spot on the wall that seems to be pretty abandoned. There’s cracks and vines running up and down the side. They’re attached about half way up the wall and after a few seconds, Jean pulls them the rest of the way up so that they’re standing on top of it.
It’s been years since Marco has been this high up. He feels like he can reach out and touch the sky, grabbing a constellation and holding it in his hand. He stares up at the sky, eyes wide.
Jean helps him out of the gear and Marco finally tears his eyes away from the sky. His boyfriend’s cheeks are flushed from the wind. His hair is messy, windblown into tangles around his face. They’re smiling at each other wide and bright, eyes sparkling with the rush of the soaring through the air with no other motive except to experience it.
Marco turns his face up towards the sky and stares at the stars, mouth hanging slightly open. There’s so many. He can see for miles from up here. It’s so beautiful. It makes him feel tiny compared to the expanse of the horizon.
“Pretty up here, isn’t it,” Jean says, but when Marco tears his eyes away from the stars, Jean is only looking at him. Marco’s chest tightens with affection.
Jean jerks his head towards something behind him, ”Okay, let’s go sit down. I’m tired as shit.”
Marco awkwardly laughs at his comment as he follows Jean to a spot that looks like it’s been used before, most of the dirt cleared away and a blanket already on the ground. They sit down together, Jean ducking his head down to rest on Marco’s shoulder
Marco rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how hard carrying both of us would be on you,” he says, almost instantly regretting it when Jean flashes him a look of guilt.
“Oh, no, babe, really it wasn’t any trouble at all! I’m the one who wanted to take you out here, so please don’t feel bad,” Jean reassures him.
“Besides,” he says with an obnoxious wink, raising his fists to flex his arms, “with guns like these it was no problem at all, baby.”
Marco reaches out to touch his bicep with a single finger. He looks up at Jean with the widest eyes he can manage.
“Oh wow,” he says teasingly. “Are these things real?”
Jean smiles so wide it looks like his face is going to crack. Marco wants to reach over and smooth out the lines around his cheeks.
“You know, Jean is French for ‘strong man’. That’s the origin of my name. It was clearly some kind of prophecy,” Jean explains, smacking his bicep with one hand.
Marco quirks one eyebrow up. “Hmm, is that what your mom told you, Jean-boy?”
Jean pretends to fall backwards at his comment, back pressed flat against the ground with his hands covering his eyes.
“Ugh. Marco, I love you but please shut the hell up. I’m begging you to never call me that again.”
Marco lays down next to him on his stomach, his arm propping up his head as he stares down at Jean’s face. His hands still cover his cheeks as he groans.
“Just put me out of my misery right here! Better way to go out than Eren accidentally stepping on me or some shit—stupid asshole,” Jean grumbles to himself, scooting closer to Marco so he can rest his head on his shoulder.
“Ew, now you’re the one who needs to shut up. I can’t believe you ruined our romantic moment by talking about getting squashed by titan Eren,” Marco complains, flicking his forehead.
Jean perks up at this, suddenly completely revitalized. He rolls over to his side and beams up at Marco.
“Oh, so you think this is romantic, huh? I always knew I was the king of romance—seriously they should write plays about me—but really, I’m so happy you like it,” Jean says, his voice growing softer as his sentence tapers off.
“I love it, Jean. This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. Really, thank you,” Marco says, tilting his head to press his forehead against his boyfriend’s.
Jean pushes up into the contact, pushing his nose into Marco’s cheek. Marco is just about to kiss him when they’re interrupted by his growling stomach. Jean laughs and sits up. He leans away from Marco to grab a pack that he must’ve brought here earlier.
“You hungry? Don’t worry babe, once again your smart, strong, cool, and all around handsome boyfriend thought of everything.”
Jean reaches into his backpack to pull out a couple loaves of bread, the crumbs falling over his pants as he does it. He pulls out some cheese to stick in between the loaves, and a small flask of water.
Marco sighs happily. “Oh, my great prince, whatever would I do without you?” He says sarcastically, but moves to put his arms around Jean’s waist.
He hooks his chin over Jean’s shoulder and opens his mouth expectedly as Jean tears off a piece of bread to feed him.
“Wow, you really know how to wine and dine a guy, huh?” He hums softly, closing his eyes as he buries himself deeper in between Jean’s shoulder and his neck.
“Mhm, sure do,” Jean says in a sing song voice just as softly. He has a few crumbs stuck to the side of his lips, and Marco gently wipes them off with his free hand.
They finish the rest of their small meal like that, breaking off bits of bread and cheese. Marco thinks it might be the best meal he’s ever had, here underneath the stars with his boyfriend. He feels warm inside, at peace in a way he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time.
Jean props the packs he brought up behind them to use as pillows. They lay back to look at the stars, Marco snuggling into Jean’s side. He slides an arm around Marco’s shoulders to pull him even closer.
Stargazing doesn’t last very long when you’re laying next to your very attractive boyfriend. Marco lasts maybe five minutes before he takes his eyes off of the sky to look at Jean. They’re so close his eyes almost cross. He cranes his neck to brush his nose along the light stubble on Jean’s jawline. His boyfriend opens up to the touch like a cat, tilting his chin up so Marco can press his face further into Jean’s neck. He wraps his other arm around Marco’s torso and turns to tangle a leg in between Marco’s with a little hum. They’re pressed together head to toe, and Marco thinks he could probably lay like this forever.
Jean’s slides a hand up from the dip in Marco’s waist to rest on the back of his neck. He finally turns his face towards Marco, eyes flitting all over Marco’s face like he’s trying to memorize it right then and there.
Finally breaking the comfortable silence that has settled into them, Marco turns his head away as if he’s a little embarrassed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he says softly.
Jean takes one thumb and rubs it in circles around his cheekbone. His eyes shine in the moonlight.
“I never want to forget this. Forget this moment. Or forget you,” Jean answers, as though that’s the only thing that makes sense.
Marco’s heart is practically beating out of his chest. He looks back at him, any growing feelings of self-consciousness melting to nothing with the way Jean says it—with the way he stares at Marco like he’s is the only thing he wants to look at forever.
Feeling a little braver, Marco raised a hand to run gentle fingers through Jean’s hair. It’s gotten so long. His bangs are long enough to curl around his ears. It’s soft and smooth as Marco combs through it. He untucks a piece to weave around his finger, twirling it this way and that. Marco tugs at the lock lightly and Jean’s eyes—which had previously fallen shut—slide open to look down at him.
“What’re you doing there?” He asks, his voice gruff like he was about to fall asleep. “It’s gotten a little long, don’t you think?”
Marco hums to himself, still running his hands through his boyfriend’s hair. His face is so close he can smell the shampoo Jean uses. He smells clean, and he feels safe and at ease in it all.
“Mm, no I don’t think so. It suits you, really. I like messing with it. You should let me braid it sometime,” Marco replies quietly. He can feel his eyes start to slip shut, but he feels compelled to stay awake just to look at Jean for just a few moments longer.
Jean smiles at him, in a special way that only Marco gets to see. This smile is softer than his usual flashy grins, and his eyes crinkle a little as he does it.
“Hmm,” Jean contentedly responds, “I think I’d like that.”
Marco cups the side of his face. “Well, I think I’d like to kiss you,” he says, the words falling out of his mouth before he can even process them. All he can focus on is Jean, the way their legs are tangled together, the way Jean’s eyes widen when he asks. They’ve done it a million times, but Jean’s reaction is always the same.
Jean’s already leaning in for it, his eyelashes fluttering against Marco’s temple.
“Now I know I’d like that,” Jean replies.
They’re so close that Marco can feel Jean’s heart beating in his chest. Jean brings both of his hands up to the sides of Marco’s face as he pulls Marco close to press their lips together. Jean’s lips are soft against his, and some of his stubble scratches the side of Marco’s face as Jean deepens the kiss further, tilting his head to the side. He leans even further into Marco’s space to press him down into the blanket. Marco lets himself be moved, too focused on kissing Jean. It’s slow and deep, molten heat burning through Marco’s body. He slides both hands up his boyfriend’s broad back, leaving one to curl into Jean’s hair.
Jean is a warm weight above him, pressing flush against his chest. Marco’s entire body is heating up. He’s aware of every single point of contact between them, from Jean’s fingers smoothing down his neck to their legs tangling together. Marco almost hopes they never break away, content to be held like this forever, with Jean’s hair falling in his face and his mouth pressed against him.
Eventually, they do break away, breathless and red in the face. Marco is positive he looks ridiculous, his hair tousled in all directions. Jean, however, looks incredible as always, his lips kissed as red as the blush settling on his cheekbones. His hair is disheveled, falling across his face. Marco has to restrain himself from jumping his boyfriend right then, but something tells Marco that getting busy on top of a wall isn’t as good of an idea as it sounds in his head.
He’ll save those thoughts for later, when they’re back at home in bed, where he can whisper his racing thoughts against Jean’s skin. Marco’s sure his boyfriend is thinking the same thing, as he rolls over on his back again next to him with a content sigh.
The both stare at the stars, the night sky an inky mixture of blue and black. They lay in a content silence, their shoulders pressed together and Jean’s hand softly gripping Marco’s. Jean’s thumb rubs circles into his palm, and once again Marco is hit with a wave of peace, his eyes begging to droop and his head falling to the side to lay on Jean like his own personal pillow. He feels Jean’s head tilt to rest a cheek on top of Marco’s. With a lazy hand, Marco points at the sky above them.
“They’re beautiful aren’t they? The stars,” he hums softly.
Jean looks at him before he answers, fingers still intertwined in Marco’s.
“Yeah, yeah they really are.”