Archive of Our Own

At first glance, one would think Porco was a very stuck-up guy.

Colt had thought that was the case too. When they first met, Colt found himself intimidated by him, though as he got to know him better, he’d forgotten why. Sure, Porco had the urge to snap at people, and yes, he did snap most of the time, but in reality, he was more sensitive than tough. Then again, Colt used to be intimidated by everyone in the Warrior program.

“There you go!”

Colt turned his attention back to Porco, who sat beside him on the ground. They’d been trying to get that bottle of champagne open for the past few minutes now, and Porco had finally managed to do it.

“Do you wanna do the honors?” Porco asked, holding it out for him.

“Pieck is going to kill us,” Colt said, but didn’t refuse the bottle, bringing it to his lips.

Porco rolled his eyes. “Pieck is not going to kill us, because she’s not going to find out,” he said, taking the bottle back from Colt. “It’s her fault for not giving that basket to my folks directly.”

It had only been two days since Pieck and Zeke had been sent to the island to check on the Founding Titan operation, and four since Zeke had gotten his hands on some fancy drinks only Marleyans got to enjoy—who then gave some to Pieck, who, with almost no persuasion, gave two to Porco. She did make him promise to give them to his parents (‘I’m sure they’ll want to try it, Pock’, Porco had recited in his best impression of Pieck), but Porco decided to keep one for himself; which automatically included Colt.

Simple things.

Regardless, that’s how the two of them found themselves sitting in the alleyway close to Porco’s house, sharing a bottle of champagne. They didn’t usually do stuff this rebellious; getting caught outside past curfew really wasn’t worth the risk. But ever since the ship to Paradis had departed, Colt felt a new sense of adrenaline wash over him.

Porco bumped Colt’s shoulder with his again, passing him the bottle. Colt took a big chug.

“Woah, there,” Porco said, forcefully taking it away. Colt silently thanked him, when his throat started burning a bit. “Save some for the rest of us.”

Colt felt his face heat up and looked away. “Sorry.”

“How are you downing it so quickly anyway…” Porco mumbled, cringing as he took another sip. “Eugh!”

Colt shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Like?”

“Falco’s smoothies…”

Porco exhaled through his nose and smiled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He took one more sip—his face squinting in disgust as much as the previous time, if not more—before handing the bottle to Colt again.

They found a steady rhythm after that, silently passing the bottle to each other. Soon enough, Colt got used to the bubbly taste of the drink, feeling the burn less and less. He sighed, leaning his back against the wall and looking up; they were surrounded by walls, but he could see the stars, and it almost felt like they were looking back at them.

Colt didn’t know if it was a matter of days, weeks, or even months, but the day of the Warriors’ return was getting closer and closer. He didn’t know any of them as well as Porco did, but for some reason, the thought of them coming back was making him jittery. They were supposed to be the most powerful soldiers of Marley, and Colt was just a candidate from a family of Restorationists. Soon enough, Porco would stop paying attention to him and go back to his friends, and Colt would be alone again.

“Hey.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Porco, not realising he’d been holding that bottle on his lap for too long. “Sorry,” Colt mumbled, passing it to him.

Porco didn’t refuse it, but he didn’t drink either. “So I was thinking,” he said, playing with the label. “You know how you’re always anxious and shit?”

Colt glared at him, gently kicking Porco’s legs. The action only made him laugh.

“Shut up, you know what I’m trying to say!” Porco said through a chuckle. Colt wanted to argue, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the situation kinda funny, not to mention talking would prevent him from holding back his own laughter. Besides, it wasn’t as if Porco was wrong. “Well, today you seem a little bit…”

Colt stole the bottle from Porco and took a sip, in hopes it would help him from giggling. “A little bit what?” he asked, but even he could hear the smile in his own voice as he passed the bottle.

Porco shrugged. “Off?” Sip. “I don’t know. You’ve been like this since the others left.”

“Well, yeah,” Colt said. “I’m just worried about them.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Porco said. He stared at Colt, squinting hard—he looked ridiculous. Colt chuckled, causing him to groan. “Shut up, I’m trying to figure you out!”

“I told you, I’m just worried!” Colt laughed. “Aren’t you the one that said I’m usually like this?”

“It’s different!”

“How?”

“It just is!” Porco said, finally looking away and taking another sip. “It’s like you’re scared or something.”

“That’s what being worried means—”

“Not about Pieck or Zeke,” Porco said, throwing his head back against the wall, just like Colt had a while ago. “About the others coming back.”

Colt didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled his legs closer to his chest and looked up too.

How could he explain to Porco how he was feeling? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a proper friend before him. No one wanted their child to be seen hanging around with a Restorationist, or their family. Colt never met his uncle—he’d been sent to paradise, a few years before he was born—but he didn’t leave their family with the greatest reputation. Joining the Warrior program was the only reason they were alive.

But ever since the four Warriors had boarded that ship, leaving Porco behind, the two of them had gotten closer. Even though Pieck and Zeke had remained on the continent, Porco was the only candidate left—the two Titan shifters were always off on missions, so he was stuck with Colt.

Stuck. Because no one would willingly reach out to Colt. The only reason Porco was his friend was that all his old ones left him.

“Besides, shouldn’t I be the one to worry?”

Colt tilted his head slightly, just enough to look at Porco. “Hm?”

“About…” Porco sighed, closing his eyes. He looked like he was about to cry, and Colt felt a knot in his chest. “About Bert, Annie, Braun… Marcel.” The bottle of champagne lay half-empty between them, and though it kind of seemed as if Porco wanted to reach for it, he didn’t. “Hell, he’s turning eighteen in a few days.”

“Maybe you’ll get to celebrate together.”

Porco shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “You heard what Magath said; we might not hear from Paradis in weeks.”

Colt didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t often that Porco talked about his brother, not to mention willingly bring him up himself. He always avoided the topic, snapping at whoever mentioned it. He even got sharp with Commander Magath; after all, it wasn’t a rare occasion for the Commander to compare him to the older Galliard to push him around.

“He’s gonna look so different.” Porco somehow kept going. But maybe that was exactly what he needed; a few moments to talk about his family to someone that wouldn’t get on his ass about it. “I bet the asshole grew his hair out or something.”

Colt chuckled. “Yeah?”

“Damn right,” Porco said. “Mom was always begging him to shave some of it off, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Unlike you?”

“Fuck off, I wanted to shave it, it was my choice!” Porco said, running a hand through his hair. Colt wondered if he knew he was doing it. “But Marcel always just trimmed it. I doubt those island devils know how to take care of his dense head, so it serves him right.”

“But what if he steals your look?”

“Please,” Porco huffed, “Marcel wishes he could look as good as me.”

Colt couldn’t help the giggle that left his lips.

Porco frowned. “I’m being dead serious.”

“Aside from the hair, you guys used to be identical.”

“I swear to fucking Helos, Colt, if you’re one of these guys that says that we—”

“—look like twins?” Colt finished the sentence for him, and Porco gave him the most offended look he had since the day Colt had announced he preferred plums to apples.

Porco reached for the bottle. “No, because I need a drink after this bullshit.” He downed some of the champagne as Colt laughed again, to which Porco responded by holding out a finger in front of his face. “Fuck off, okay. Say what you want about our looks, but Marcel doesn’t have my charisma.”

If Colt was the one drinking at that moment, he would have spat everything out laughing. “Your charisma?!”

“Damn. Right.” Porco said, and he looked so serious that Colt almost felt bad. He could only assume the reason Porco was still holding onto the bottle instead of passing it on was out of spite. “I’m the most charismatic person you’ll ever meet.”

“I’ve never met someone with a stick that far up their ass either,” Colt said, earning a kick from Porco. “Ow!”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just sharing my—”

“Fuuuuuuuck…”

“—humble opinion—”

“… youuuuuuuuu!” Porco finished off with another kick. “Fuck you!”

Colt yelped, but it didn't hurt all that much in the end. “Alright, alright, stop!”

“That's what you get for saying Marcel is more charismatic.”

“Never said that.”

“Good.” Porco brought the bottle to his lips, but stopped. “Because you don't even know him.”

Colt snorted.

“What?!” Porco asked, and his confusion only made Colt laugh more; his stomach felt like it was going to bruise. “What is it?!”

“Um, Porco,” Colt said, barely managing to speak through his giggles. He wasn't even sure what was so funny about the conversation anymore. “I don't know how to break this to you, but I knew your brother.”

“WHAT?!”

It was like straight out one of those supposedly scary stories his dad told him when he was younger—they were starting again, now that Falco was getting older—but Porco turned to face him so slowly that it was almost intimidating. It was only then that Colt realised he hadn't been feeling tense for a while. Quite the opposite, actually; his head wasn't overflowing with thoughts, every response came at him naturally, and he'd even go as far as to say he felt confident.

And yet, the way Porco reacted at the mention of him having had anything to do with Marcel, filled Colt's chest with anxiety.

“Will you tell me?” Porco asked after a while.

Colt's breath got caught in his throat.

There was something about the way Porco spoke, his tone quiet and contained. Or maybe it was the rest of the question, unspoken yet loud and clear.

Will you tell me about Marcel?

Who knew when the last time Porco had heard something new about his brother had been? As far as Colt knew, the only people with whom Marcel had spent a lot of time with at Porco’s absence were with him across the ocean, so none of them could share any stories.

And now that burden fell on Colt's shoulders.

Will you tell me?

Colt hadn’t allowed himself to think about Marcel in a long time, but there was something about the way Porco was looking at him, as if he was silently begging him to say something, desperation filling his eyes.

So he took a deep breath, before gazing up at the stars again.

“Okay.”

Colt had known that joining the Warrior program would have been hard, but for all the wrong reasons.

There was training, of course; running, hand-to-hand combat, learning how to load a gun… Every Warrior candidate went through these, until it became second nature.

But not everyone was assigned to cleaning duty every single day like Colt was.

Every so often, he had company. Candidates who fell behind in open training, or talked back to one of their superiors. They’d be told to scrub the floor till you could see your reflection in it, as punishment.

But Colt didn’t do any of these things to get punished. He had decent scores, he was obedient, he was always on time. And yet, almost all of his afternoons were spent sweeping, or dusting, or taking out the garbage, whether someone was with him or not.

If he were honest, Colt preferred it when he was alone.

What difference did having other people in the building make, if they didn’t dare do so much as glance at him? It only made him feel worse about being there, and it wasn’t as if leaving was an option. Colt would rather spend these hours alone than in deafening silence with someone else.

Sometimes, he found himself wondering what it’d be like to head home directly after training. Did other kids make it in time to have dinner with their families? When Colt joined the Warrior program, his mom suggested that they start eating later than usual, so they could all be on the same table. Waiting for Colt to get home was getting harder and harder now that Falco was growing older.

The thought of going home to see his little brother was what kept him going most days. Falco was almost two, always running to the door to hug Colt’s legs when he came back from training. As much as he wished he could be with him all day, he knew that if he ever were to abandon the Warrior program, he’d been putting him in danger, and wouldn’t be able to talk to him at all. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to his family if he went against Marley’s orders.

Colt had to endure it for them.

Besides, it could have been worse. Colt would pick cleaning windows over being sent to paradise any day.

“You missed a spot.”

Colt jumped at the comment, fear creeping its way into his chest as he expected the worst, before realising the voice didn’t belong to any of his superiors, but rather someone way younger. Colt turned around, only to see a boy his age, upright posture, brown hair, and an upturned nose, looking at him curiously with kind eyes.

“Here, let me,” the boy continued, grabbing a cloth from the cleaning cart and spraying the window Colt had just been finished with again. With a swift motion, he wiped the glass, but the mark didn’t go away. “What…”

“It’s not a stain,” Colt explained when the boy frowned, trying again. “Just a scratch that looks like one.”

The boy looked at him, then back at the window, then back at him… before finally letting out an, “Oh.”

Colt was expecting that to be the end of the conversation, but the other candidate simply reached for the spray bottle again, walking around Colt in the hallway, and using it on the window at his other side.

Colt stared at him dumbfounded.

“What?” the boy said, in the middle of wiping. “Don’t tell me these aren’t stains either—”

“No, no, no,” Colt interrupted, shaking his head. “I just haven’t gotten to that window yet.”

“… That’s why I’m doing it.”

Now Colt was getting confused.

“I wasn’t told I’d have a cleaning partner today,” he said, going back to wiping. He’d get in trouble if he was found slacking off. “Usually they tell me so we can split the chores equally, so I was just surprised—”

“‘Usually?’” the other candidate asked, and Colt could feel his eyes on him, how judgemental they probably were. “How often do they make you do this? You don’t seem like the kind of person to cause trouble, no offense.”

“None taken,” Colt chuckled. He tried to focus on one of the benches outside, so he wouldn’t have to witness the expression of horror on the boy’s face when he realised who he was talking to. “I kinda have to do this every afternoon… you know, cause I’m—”

“Grice, right?” the boy finished for him, and it was then that Colt turned to look at him again; he still had the same kind look in his eyes. “Colt Grice?”

Colt couldn’t believe this was happening.

Not only had someone reached out to him, they did so all while knowing who he was. For a split second, Colt considered the possibility that maybe the boy hadn’t heard about his family, but he quickly crossed out the thought. The names of past Restorationists circulated around Marley like wildfire, because no Eldian wanted to accidentally associate themselves with their families and be accused of being traitors. Not to mention that the person in front of him was a Warrior candidate, in the same group as Colt; his uncle’s history had been used against him during training in front of everyone more than once.

Colt suddenly realised that he should have said something instead of standing there like an idiot, so he cleared his throat.

“I—yeah.”

The boy looked completely unphased.

“I know we haven’t really talked before,” he continued, scratching the back of his head, “but I’ve seen you around in training.” He offered Colt a smile, and for a second, it was almost as if the two of them weren’t in the dirty hallway of HQ, but rather somewhere else, doing fun things like the kids outside the internment zone. “Oh, shoot, I should probably—” He held out his hand, as if expecting Colt to take it. “My name is—”

“Marcel,” Colt interrupted, staring at his hand. “Galliard.”

The boy smiled again, and it was him that awkwardly stared out the window this time. “You know who I am.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone in the entire Warrior program that doesn’t know who you are.” The words came to Colt so naturally that it was embarrassing, but oddly enough, he didn’t regret saying them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d exchanged more than three sentences with someone that wasn’t his brother, or parents.

“That’s not—”

“I mean it,” Colt said. “They say you’re gonna be the next Jaw.”

Marcel blushed—actually, physically, blushed—and chuckled, his gaze still not meeting Colt’s. “I guess.”

There was silence for a bit, the offer for a handshake long forgotten, and it was taking everything in Colt not to start shifting his weight from one foot to another to calm himself down. He wondered if he should have said something, squeezing and begging his brain to feed him with ideas, but soon enough, he ran out of time.

“Galliard.”

There was a voice coming from the end of the hallway, and both kids turned towards it. Commander Magath was peaking his head out of his office, staring directly at Marcel.

“I gotta go,” Marcel said, placing the cloth on the cart. “I’ll see you around?”

“Y-You, what?” Colt stuttered, then cleared his throat. “I, I mean, you will?”

Marcel offered him another smile, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“I hope so.”

And with that, he was gone.

Long after he was done scrubbing every window in the hallway, Colt was still thinking about him.

~~~

They did see each other the next morning. Marcel was walking with his brother and their friends, most of whom Colt recognized as other high-ranking candidates, when his gaze fell on Colt at the other side of the court. He didn’t walk up to him, and Colt wasn’t expecting him to either, but he did wave in his direction, and Colt waved back. A few minutes later, open training began.

It was a little bit more bearable, knowing there was someone in the crowd who actually cared about how much he tried, so it went by faster than usual, and soon enough, Colt found himself with a cloth and a spray can in hand, the task of cleaning the opposite wing of headquarters ahead of him.

Even then, he was thinking of Marcel. He knew there was no chance of seeing him a second time that day, but he kept playing their conversation in the back of his head as he cleaned, content with himself. He’d talked to someone, they hadn’t hated him, and they’d remembered him when they ran into him again. It’d been a good day.

He was about halfway done, his hand and shoulder stiff from all the circular motions, sighing at his reflection on the window.

Except the face staring back at him wasn’t his own.

“AH—!”

Colt took a huge step, which resembled a jump a little bit too much, back, a gasp dying on his lips, the cloth slipping from his hands.

On the other side of the window stood no other than Marcel Galliard himself, a huge grin spread on his face. Colt took a few deep breaths, trying to process the situation, before finally reaching for the window’s handle and pushing it open, Marcel’s laughter filling the room.

“Did I get you?”

Colt blinked a few times. “S-Sorry?”

Marcel giggled. “I scared you good, didn’t I?”

“Oh,” Colt said before chuckling nervously. “Yeah, I suppose you did.”

“Sorry about that,” Marcel said, putting his arms on the stool of the window and resting his chin on them.

Colt reached for the fallen cloth, his eyes never leaving Marcel’s. “What are you doing?”

“I told you I’d see you again today.”

“We saw each other this morning.”

“That was nothing,” Marcel said, and it took everything in Colt not to stop him right there and then and tell him no, no it wasn’t nothing, it meant everything to him. “How long does this usually take?”

Marcel was pointing at the cleaning cart with his eyes, but Colt already knew what he was referring to. “Uh… depends.”

“On what?”

“How fast I get it done,” Colt explained, spraying the window next to Marcel. Some of it must have gotten on his face, because Marcel blinked intensely, before finally standing still again. He showed no intention of moving, and it suddenly occurred to Colt how bad it’d look if they found them there together. “You… you’re done with training for today, right? I-If anyone catches you here with no business, then—”

“It’s okay,” Marcel interrupted, clearly not sharing his panic. “I’m just waiting for my brother. The Commander asked for him.”

“Oh,” Colt said, letting go of a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. “Just like with you yesterday?”

Marcel nodded. “They’re running background checks again,” he said. “They’ll probably call for you too, sooner or later. All high-ranking candidates are getting one.”

Colt didn’t have the heart to tell him that such meeting was never going to be in store for him. The Marleyan government knew more about the Grice family than probably even he did, and he bet it took less than a third of the story to decide he wasn’t to be trusted with a Titan.

“You must not get home early at all then.”

Colt looked at Marcel again, who was now resting his entire cheek on his arm.

“What?”

“You said you can go home once you’re done cleaning,” Marcel explained, “and considering you haven’t been doing anything for the past two minutes, that must mean you’re a slow cleaner. Therefore—”

Colt huffed, throwing the cloth on Marcel’s head. “I was just thinking!”

He worried he might have overstepped, because, for a while, Marcel didn’t move. But just as he was about to apologise, Marcel removed the cloth from his face and aimed for Colt’s, throwing with the same intensity, and laughing.

Colt uncovered his face and started laughing too, and it felt so natural he could almost convince himself this was an everyday thing. Spending time with other people. With Marcel.

And yet, he knew, in the back of his head, that none of it was for real. The only reason Marcel even approached him in the first place was that he got bored waiting for his turn in Magath’s office, and today, he got bored waiting for his brother. He wasn’t going to be there when Colt had to sweep the first floor tomorrow, or clean out the storage room the day after. They couldn’t talk during training, not with everyone watching, even if Marcel said otherwise. Colt had to stop himself from getting attached before it was too late.

“Thinking again?”

Colt wasn’t sure when they had stopped laughing, but he missed it, and he hated himself for it. He wondered if Marcel missed it too.

“Marcel?”

The other boy was resting his chin on the window stool again, staring at him with the same curious look. Colt wanted to look away, but he couldn’t risk missing out on it for the last time.

“Why are you acting so nice to me?”

On the building behind Marcel, Colt caught another boy walking out with the corner of his eye, walking to words them with a proud stomp in his step, and calling out Marcel’s name. Marcel turned around to wave at him, and though Colt was expecting him to leave him right then, he didn’t. Instead, Marcel looked at him, with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“You looked like you needed a friend.”

For the first time, Colt could safely say he had one.

~~~

Colt had been right about one thing; seeing each other was going to be hard.

Turned out, Marcel was too kind for his own good. “You should sit with us at lunch,” he'd told him one day that they both happened to be done with a written test at the same time. As much as Colt had wanted to accept the offer, he forced himself to turn it down. He'd hate for his newfound friendship to be cut short because Marcel's other friends talked him back into his senses by pointing out how suspicious he looked. Marcel may have been sympathetic, but he wasn't an idiot.

In the end, they saw each other inside the internment zone more often than the training grounds. There was a local market once a week, and curfew was a little bit more flexible then, since many chose to leave the internment zone to attend it. It was easier to sneak around without their parents home, although they didn’t manage to meet every week—turned out, Marcel was a very popular guy outside of training too, and there was always someone who wanted to talk to him.

It was more than enough though. Their talks didn’t last more than a few minutes, but Colt always found himself looking forward to them.

There was one time that Colt was never going to forget. It was flu season, and half, if not most, of the candidates spent a few days at home, fighting off a terrible cold. His parents had caught it too, but Colt and Falco had stood lucky.

And so had Marcel.

They separated the candidates into groups to avoid spreading the bug further. Not only did Colt share the same schedule as the Galliard brothers, but Porco also happened to get sick at the last moment, so he was sent home. It didn't take much convincing for Colt to finally give in and sit with Marcel at lunch. It felt nice to finally sit with him in public, not worried about being seen by his friends. It was the most fun Colt had ever had eating an apple.

Weeks went by, then months, and the two boys kept seeing each other. Ironically enough, they'd come full circle; almost an entire year had gone by, and Colt once again found himself cleaning that very same hallway, all while Marcel was busy in Magath's office.

“Need any help?”

Unlike that first day, Colt didn't jump at the sound of his friend's voice. “I'm almost done.”

Marcel raised an eyebrow at him. “No, you're not.” He walked up to him, inspecting the windows. “There is a stain,” he said, pointing at the scratch that started it all, “right here.”

There was something off about Marcel that day. Colt couldn't quite place it, but the way he carried himself wasn't as confident as usual, and his joke, although obvious, didn't hit the same way. There was something on his mind, and he was clearly trying to hide it.

So Colt wasn't going to ask. If he wanted to keep it a secret, he had a good reason.

“You should try cleaning it off then,” Colt said, deciding to play along, and passed him the cloth and the spray can. “If you're up for it, of course.”

“Yeah?” Marcel said, grabbing the spray bottle and aiming it at Colt. “You wanna see how well I can clean?”

Colt yelped when the droplets hit his skin, covering his face with his hands. “Marcel!” he squealed, but Marcel didn't show any signs of stopping. He sprayed Colt again, and again, until both of them were giggling.

“Grice,” Magath's voice filled the corridor, causing both of them to freeze, “they need the building for a meeting, so you're free to go… Galliard, what are you still doing here?”

“S-Sir!” Marcel said, saluting. Colt joined him seconds later. “We were just—”

“Save it,” the Commander interrupted, and pointed at the cart with his finger. “Just put that thing back in storage and get a move on.”

“Yes, sir!” they said at the same time, and he nodded, leaving them alone.

They cleaned up their mess in silence and were out of the building heading for the gate less than a minute later.

The moment they were past the gate and into the internment zone, Marcel grabbed Colt's hand tightly, pulling him along and starting to sprint. He didn't give Colt much of a chance to do anything other than follow him, and despite the sudden change of pace, he caught up with Marcel with no difficulty.

“Where are we going?” Colt asked, allowing himself to be pulled by Marcel.

Marcel only smiled. “I don't know!”

So for a while, they kept running around aimlessly. Even though he was being led around with no destination in mind, Colt felt safe under Marcel's guidance. Eventually, the running turned into jogging, and the jogging into walking. The one thing that didn't change though was their hands firmly clasping.

Liberio was coated in a bright orange that only got stronger the more the sun set. They'd never been out together this late, so Colt couldn't help but glance at Marcel as they walked. The way the sun reflected itself in his eyes was so breathtaking that Colt almost didn't notice how disoriented he looked. And yet, he still decided it would be best not to say anything.

They ended up sitting on a bench near Colt's house. The lack of movement made him realise just how cold he was, so he reached for his bag, taking out his blue jacket and throwing it over his shoulders. It was new, and he was supposed to be careful with it, so Falco could have it one day.

“I can't believe the Commander actually let us get away with this,” Colt said, making himself comfortable on the bench. Marcel made a humming noise in response, which Colt took as a sign to continue. “You know, you never really struck me as a troublemaker.”

“I'm not,” Marcel said, chuckling. Colt gave him a look. “I'm serious!”

“Riiiight,” Colt teased.

Marcel bumped his shoulder into him playfully. “I mean it! Porco's usually the one that gets us into trouble, and I'm supposed to be the voice of reason. But when I'm with you it's like—”

Marcel stopped talking abruptly, reminding Colt of when he had to force himself to shut up before saying something he'd regret. He'd never seen that expression on his friend before; his eyebrows were creased, and his mouth hung slightly open, almost as if he was scared. It only lasted a second though. Whatever was going on in his head, Marcel managed to snap himself out of it, glancing at Colt.

“… like I'm a different person.”

It felt as if Colt's chest had detached itself from his body, and was currently floating a million miles away from the ground. The weirdest part was that the feeling wasn't unpleasant. In fact, Colt quite liked it… and he liked the fact that Marcel had been the one to trigger it even more.

He could have sworn Marcel's face looked redder than it was before—did he feel the same way too?—but with the sun as it was, he couldn't tell for sure. What Colt did know was that he couldn't put off asking Marcel about the way he was acting any longer. “Marcel, are you—”

“I can't believe they still have you doing chores after training,” Marcel interrupted, looking away. Was that why he had been down in the dumps all day? Because he was pissed about the way Colt was being treated? “You're one of the best candidates they have.”

Colt's face heated up, and he chuckled nervously. “I'm not really—”

“Your scores are exceptional,” Marcel continued, which didn't help with Colt's embarrassment. He held out his hand, counting with his fingers. “You’re a faster runner, for one. And you hold out for longer than most candidates. Seriously, where do you even keep all that stamina?” Colt bit his lip, hiding a grin. “You can load a gun faster than anyone. You’re great at hand-to-hand combat, even Annie struggled to beat you that one time. Not to mention you’ve aced every written exam so far. You should definitely be ranked higher than me.”

Colt laughed again, shaking his head. “Than you? No, that's not—no.”

Marcel still wouldn't budge though. “I mean, yeah. You try harder than anyone else,” he said. “Everyone knows it. I don't get why they won't just put it on paper and make it official.”

The worst part was that Colt wanted to believe Marcel. He wanted to share his frustration, he wanted to feel like he had been wronged… but it was the least of his worries. As long as it kept his family safe, Colt was okay with anything they had him do. And if that didn't involve going to war simply because they didn't trust him, well. At least he was safe from that.

He sighed deeply. “You know why…”

“No, I don't,” Marcel said, surprising Colt with his stubbornness. “They're saying Zeke is going to inherit the Beast Titan, and his family were Restorationists too.”

“Marcel.” Colt hated the way he sounded; harsh and final. “They're not giving me a Titan.” But Marcel wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't consider the fact that Zeke was the exception, didn't do so much as mention that the reason he even made it this far in the first place was that he turned his own family in.

“… good.”

What.

“What?”

“I said, good.” Marcel's voice was louder this time, more confident. “I'm glad you're not getting one. It's better this way.”

“Marcel!” Colt exclaimed, frantically looking around them to make sure they were alone. Voicing reluctance to become a Warrior was more than enough to send someone to heaven, if they caught a higher-up on a bad day. “You shouldn't say things like that…”

“But it's true!” Marcel said, and then, because he must have finally noticed how terrified Colt was of being overheard, he lowered his tone. “They promise you and your family a life outside the internment zone, but everyone knows that's not true. When was the last time an Honorary Marleyan lived outside these walls?” Marcel sighed, pulling his legs close to his chest. “They'd eat us alive.”

Colt opened his mouth to say something, but his voice got caught in his throat. He couldn't argue. Marcel was right.

“Thirteen years,” he continued. “We only get that. And we're the youngest candidates there have ever been.”

He was right again. Or course he was.

“My brother… he's not even going to make it to twenty-five.” The more he spoke, the more defeated he sounded. “If I could switch places with him, I would. In a heartbeat.” It was then that Marcel looked at him again, and the hurt in his expression made Colt's chest tighten. “Does this make me a traitor?”

It all made sense. The extra, longer meetings in Magath's office, the sudden carelessness in Marcel's attitude, as if he was trying to forget whatever happened in there. They were getting closer and closer to selecting the next Warriors, and it was the only thing on Marcel's mind. He looked tired, and he was worried.

All he wanted to do was protect his family, a task Colt knew too well.

So Colt shook his head. “No, of course not,” he said. He hesitated at first, but ended up gently placing his hand on Marcel's knee. “It just makes you a good brother.”

It felt as if time stopped the moment the words were out of his mouth. Marcel's gaze was pinned on Colt's hand, and Colt worried he might have said something wrong, but then Marcel unwrapped his arms from around his legs, and placed a hand on top of Colt's.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, finally turning to face him. The warmth of the sun was still reflecting in his eyes. Colt thought it suited him.

Marcel didn't say anything more, so Colt didn't push him any further either. He didn't know how long they spent there, looking into each other's eyes, but it was vulnerable, and comforting, and scary, and exciting, and the most divine experience of Colt's life. Up until that moment, he'd never felt this connected to another person.

No one had ever looked at him like he was the only one in the world like Marcel had.

“Colt?”

The way he said his name made his heart skip a beat, or ten. He hadn't realised he was flipping his hand around until his fingers clasped with Marcel's, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Marcel shifted in his seat, tucking his left foot underneath his right thigh. His knee was digging in Colt's leg, but it was comforting. Their hands were still joined together, resting lazily on Marcel's leg.

“Hm?” Colt hummed, because he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He didn't want to accidentally mess this up. He couldn't.

Marcel looked away for a brief moment, like he was struggling to remember something. Colt almost went down a path of panic again, but stopped when he felt another squeeze on his hand. He glanced down, only to see both of Marcel's hands protectively wrapped around Colt's. The sight made his stomach flip.

He found himself squeezing back, maybe a bit harder than he should have, but he couldn't help it.

“I was just thinking…” Marcel said, turning towards him.

When his eyes found Colt's again, a smile full of certainty stretched across his face.

“… you look good in blue.”

Colt hadn’t thought about that day in a very long time, but the conversation came back to him almost naturally. A few details had slipped his mind, but there was no forgetting Marcel’s gentle smile, or the kind look in his eyes, even if he tried. And yet, he’d tucked the memory in the further back of his head, as if he was purposefully trying to leave his first friend behind.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Marcel had done the same.

“Are you BEING SERIOUS?!”

For now, he had another Galliard to deal with.

Porco was on his feet, staring down at him dumbfounded, as if he was standing face-to-face with the biggest traitor in Marley. He’d been pacing back and forth in the alleyway for the longest part of the story, disbelief spread all over his face.

“I-I think?” Colt said, chuckling nervously. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to say that either, but—”

“No, fuck your blue cardigan for a second,” Porco said, showing no sign of calming down. “You and Marcel?”

“I—”

“You and Marcel?”

“Well—”

“You and Marcel?!”

“Yes!” Colt yelled, letting his head rest against the wall. “Yes? Yeah, we… we were friends.”

Porco scoffed. “‘Friends…’” he repeated under his breath, but loud enough for Colt to hear. “You’re gonna steal the show when he comes back.”

Colt laughed. “I doubt it,” he said. “We didn’t know each other that well. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Porco said, groaning as he sat back down. “Hard to forget your first crush.”

Colt suddenly shot up from the wall, his entire body turning towards Porco. “Your what?”

“We all thought it was Annie,” Porco said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “I think we even got her to believe it at some point, and we’d tease him all the time.” He laughed, but Colt couldn’t find himself to join in. What was Porco even on about? “He was always looking for excuses to stay at the training grounds for longer, or to take out the trash at home—do you even know how much shit Mom gave me for that? ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother, Porco?’ But I always knew he had another motive, fuck!”

“Porco,” Colt said, carefully. “What are you implying?”

Porco raised an eyebrow. “Well isn’t it obvious? Even I could figure that out,” he said. “Honestly, I’m more surprised about him having a crush on you rather than knowing who you are. Marcel knew everyone.”

This couldn’t be possibly happening.

Sure, maybe he’d been a little bit closer to Marcel than he remembered. He was willing to admit that was his own fault for avoiding thinking about it. But to go as far as to say that the two of them were… no.

… Right?

Colt wasn’t an idiot. He would have noticed if Marcel had a crush on—yeah, no. It didn’t even sound convincing in his own head. He wouldn’t have noticed even if Marcel held out a sign in front of his face and spelled it out for him. Hell, he wouldn’t have noticed if he was the one with the crush on Marcel… oh.

Well, that was certainly an interesting turn of events.

It had been almost six years since he met Marcel. Why was he thinking about a stupid, childhood crush he didn’t even know he had in the first place now?

Maybe it was the adrenaline of his newfound discovery, or maybe it was just the alcohol, but all Colt could do was lean back against the wall, bring the bottle of champagne to his lips, and mutter, “Who’s got the charisma now?”

Needless to say, Porco kicked him again.

The bottle had been empty, so at least he didn’t make a mess spitting out the liquid as he giggled. He set the drink aside, trying to push Porco off him. It felt like they were wrestling, but neither of them was really doing anything other than pushing their shoulders against one another’s.

They even stopped doing that, eventually. Colt found out that the warmth radiating from Porco’s body was quite comforting, and resting his head on his shoulder was rather tempting; so he did that. Porco didn’t seem to have any complaints as Colt snuggled closer, yawning a bit.

“What happened next?”

Once again, Porco didn’t have to clarify for Colt to know what he was talking about. “Then,” he said, “they got their Titans.” He sighed quietly. “And then they left for war. And… you know.”

Colt suddenly remembered why he’d chosen to stop thinking about Marcel; he missed him. After that day during the sunset, although it felt as if the two of them had gotten closer, they grew apart.

He knew it wasn’t on purpose. He couldn’t imagine how draining inheriting a Titan really was, and he didn’t think he was ever going to be ready for it, even if that was supposed to be his goal. The two of them still waved at each other whenever they met, they still exchanged a few quiet words and hidden smiles, but Colt never got to hold Marcel’s hand again.

“Oh.”

He hadn’t meant to get all gloomy, and he certainly hadn’t meant to make Porco sad, but the sorrow in his voice was loud and clear.

“Yeah,” Colt agreed.

The silence that followed was ear-splitting.

The more he thought about it, the more stupid he felt. Porco had even said it himself, it was a childhood crush. These things never lasted. But Colt wasn’t even upset because of that. He just missed the simplicity of it; he missed the delight he felt when he realised he’d made his first friend, he missed the way his chest puffed when they joked around together, he missed it when his biggest concern was how he was going to hold his hand again without sounding too needy, when all it took was a smile from his friend or his brother to make his innocent little problems go away, he missed being a kid, he missed Marcel.

He really, really missed Marcel.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew my brother?”

Colt shrugged, playing with the hem of Porco’s sleeve. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s… It’s not like I was hiding it, or anything. But it just got weird after a while, you know?” That was probably a good explanation in itself, but Colt felt as if he had to clarify. “I couldn’t just walk up to you one day and be like, ‘Hey, Porco, nice weather today! By the way, did I ever mention your brother was my first friend? Sorry for not telling you, I was just too scared of you getting mad at me and punching my face!’”

Porco huffed through his nose. “Yeah, I guess that’d be kinda weird.”

“I am sorry though,” Colt said, hugging Porco’s entire arm. “I should have told you, I just… think I kinda forgot about it myself after a while.”

He hadn’t realised how sleepy he’d gotten until he stopped fighting off the drowsiness and closed his eyes. When was the last time someone had let him hug them like this? Colt didn’t know, but it was the coziest he’d felt in a while.

“He never told me either,” Porco said, and Colt hummed in response. “So, uh… don’t apologise. There’s no need.”

He was barely registering Porco’s words, but the way his voice rang in his ear was soothing. Colt kinda wanted him to keep talking.

“I think it was because he thought I wouldn’t have taken it well,” Porco continued. “Because… because of your family, or something. I don’t know, he may have been right. I was an idiot when I was a kid.” His free hand found its way on one of Colt’s, rubbing circles. “But Colt?”

Another hum.

“You know that we’re fine now, right?” he said. “I don’t care what your uncle did. You’re… you’re pretty cool.” A pause. “I’m happy we’re friends.”

Colt smiled at the comment. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“God, Marcel is way better at this than I am.”

Somehow, Colt found some strength in him to chuckle. “I know.”

“Oh, you—” Porco shifted under him, taking his arm away, and Colt straight up whined, blinking his eyes open. He was about to curse at Porco every swear he knew for taking away his pillow, but soon enough, Porco’s arm found its way around Colt’s shoulders, ruffling his hair with the other one. “You know, I bet it wouldn’t be too hard to find out where Zeke is keeping the rest of the drinks. So when my brother is back, we’re doing this again. And you two better tell me everything that went on behind my back.”

“Mmmfine,” Colt mumbled, wrapping his arms around Porco’s waist, and burying his face in his neck. He yawned, nuzzling him. “Now lemme nap…”

He thought he heard Porco making a sound of protest, but he wasn’t sure. Colt was drowsing off again, thinking of warm hands and kind eyes.

Months later, the ship that returned from Paradis had neither of those things.