Work Text:
On a humid night blistering with stars, the sleeping quarters of the 104th Cadet Corps were deserted. The teenagers that tended to occupy them were caught up in the hormonal fray of meal time; shared food and shared laughter and boisterous arguments. Everyone was a little bit manic and incredibly alive, so aware of their own mortality now that they had seen the morbid face of death. The anguish was too much to talk about, so they fought over scraps and teased and punched and flirted.
But from this communal cope, two were missing. Jean Kirstein and Marco Bodt, though enamored with the occasional food fight, preferred to steal away to the cabin together after wolfing down some rations. Quiet moments were so rare in this world, so coveted, and so the titan-killing boyfriends had to work with what they had. Their relationship was no secret to the others, but alone they could touch each other (and really be so embarrassingly sweet to each other) away from the prickling discomfort of being watched. So, because of this, the sleeping quarters weren’t entirely deserted.
The heat was intrusive, but Jean and Marco lay there, bodies intertwined in an affectionate Gordian knot. Their cuddling positions nearly rivaled the madness of a sleeping Bertholdt Hoover. Jean wanted to drown in the feeling of strong hands with soft fingers carding through his hair. Normally, he would be blissfully carried away in the current of the sensations, but tonight something was eating at him. He couldn’t stop chewing on his lip. Clenching and unclenching his fists. Bouncing his leg. He eventually got so fidgety that Marco took notice.
“Jean, what’s bothering you?” Marco murmured. He didn’t have to ask if something was wrong; he could tell.
Jean pursed his lips. He held out Marco’s left hand in front of him, toyed with the fingers. The unanswered question hung in the air until Jean sighed heavily and said, voice soft and detached, “We’re going to have to pick which branch of the military we’re joining soon.”
The silence that followed was oppressive. The implications of that single sentence were so heavy, so crushing, how could one find air, much less words? Since the first day of training, before they fell in love, before they even became friends, Jean and Marco had always intended to join the comfortable ranks of the Military Police. They had the grades, they had the skill. It was possible. It was an opportunity that they were never supposed to consider turning away from.
Jean, his nerves fraying, inhaled sharply. “Look, Marco, I know we’ve always said that we were gonna join the Military Police together...” Jean’s hands shook. He gripped Marco’s arm to steady them. “I just...since Trost, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything without thinking about... about… Thomas, Mina, Franz...Tom...” The final name was laced with guilt, and it choked him. He swallowed it, clenching his jaw. “Every blood stain, every limb, every head, whatever fucking wreckage was left behind… it was all a person . I just can’t stop-”
“Jean.”
“What?!” he practically screamed, the word ragged and strained. He was breathing heavier than he realized. He released his iron grip on Marco’s arm and fingerprints were left behind, appearing with a white flash and then settling into red.
If it bothered Marco, he didn't show it. He tenderly combed his fingers through Jean’s hair, a gesture that he knew to be well-appreciated. “Shh. It’s okay. I think we should join the Survey Corps.”
Jean blinked, finally tilted back and looked into Marco's eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Marco chewed on his lip, pensive. “After all the comrades we’ve lost... all of the anguish, the screams...”
“There’s no going back,” Jean finished in a whisper.
Marco nodded somberly. “No going back,” he echoed.
They clung to each other as if they could be taking their last breaths any minute.
“So, we’re on the same page,” Jean said after a minute, no longer able to wait in the quiet, forever antsy.
“Yeah, we are… You know, I thought you’d try to talk me out of it,” Marco said.
Jean huffed a hollow laugh against Marco’s chest. “Yeah, that does sound like me. But, no... I can’t turn a blind eye to the dying soldiers anymore. I used to, but... well, I think you’ve made me a better person than I’d care to admit.”
Marco chuckled, pressed a kiss to the top of Jean’s head. “You’ve always been a good person. I saw it as soon as I met you. You’re wonderful. Sure, you were an arrogant jackass, and you still kind of are, but-”
“Hey!”
“ -But ...I just knew that you were beautiful.”
Jean’s heart felt so full it could break. He didn’t know how to react when Marco slammed him with those straightforward declarations of sincerity.
He settled for shoving Marco, his hand lingering to swirl patterns across his abdomen. “Shut up.”
“Never.”
Jean rolled his eyes, smiled despite the grim topic of conversation. He loved this guy so much. He sighed, feigning exasperation. “Whatever, pretty boy. Anyway, I thought you’d try to talk me out of the Survey Corps. What about all that ‘serving the king’ stuff?”
“The king doesn’t give a fuck about us,” Marco said firmly, his jaw setting. “Growing up, I always convinced myself that he was righteous. It gave me something to believe in, I guess. I thought that if I helped him, I’d be helping humanity… But watching my friends be torn apart, killed, and eaten without a word of condolence… not even an acknowledgement ... well, I just can’t put my faith in him anymore. The best way to help humanity is to fight for a world outside the walls, not to worship some fat piece of shit.”
Jean wasn’t sure if he was proud of Marco or heartbroken. Jean had always known that believing in the king was idealistic bullshit, but Marco had done it so wholeheartedly, with such pure, blind innocence, that it had been hard to hate. This kind of bitter conviction was so unlike him.
This cruel world broke so much; Jean hated that it had to break his beautiful boy, too.
“Marco...”
“It’s okay,” he said, strong and steady. “I have something better now.” Marco tilted up Jean's chin so that their eyes met. He did not blink, did not look away, did not waver when he said, “I believe in you. And I believe in us.”
And there Marco went, being the sweetest person in what was left of mankind.
Jean got on top of Marco and kissed him slowly on that mouth full of beautiful words. “I love you,” Jean murmured against his lips.
“I love you too, baby.” There was a pause. “Haha, you’re blushing.”
“I can never get used to pet names!” Jean squawked defensively.
Marco laughed. “What do you mean, you call me ‘pretty boy’ all the time!”
“I-” he stammered. “shut up. It’s different when I do it.”
“You’re so cute.”
“ Marco , shut up!”
Marco grinned satisfactorily. “No. I like watching you get all flustered. It’s adorable .”
This only made Jean turn a deeper shade of indignant red.
Marco pulled Jean into another kiss, still smiling, and Jean’s bluster melted away. Marco loved this temperamental firecracker more than he could say, loved the way he’d be fighting one minute and softening up the next. Marco was much steadier, level-headed and amicable. Jean was a flame, ever-changing and intense. Marco was a river, true to himself and unyielding. They were opposites in the most complimentary of ways, and incredibly necessary to one another.
“You know, as scary as it is, I’m glad neither of us are trying to join the MPs. We’re sticking together,” Marco said.
Jean’s face hardened into steely determination, suddenly serious. “Of course. To the very end.”
Marco nodded and repeated, “To the end.”
Jean leaned down and kissed Marco softly, slowly.
“I love you so much,” Marco breathed.
“Love you too, pretty boy.”
When the other boys came back after dinner, Jean was trailing sloppy hickeys and bites over Marco’s collarbone, Marco’s steady hand knotted in his hair.
“That’s fucking gross,” Connie ribbed as he walked by, no real malice in his words.
“Well, you’d better get used to it if you wind up in the Scouts” Jean said, wiping his mouth. “‘Cause that’s where the two of us are headed.”
The rest of the group, who had been tuning out the conversation and preparing for bed, suddenly froze at the word “Scouts”. All of the eyes began to make Jean and Marco feel a little undignified in their position, so Jean stopped straddling Marco and sat upright with his legs crossed on the bed. Marco followed suit, though his shirt was still unbuttoned.
“You guys are joining the Scouts?” Reiner asked, an unreadable edge to his voice.
“Yeah,” Marco said, sitting up a bit straighter. “We are.”
“Even after all the shit we saw?” Daz muttered, his teeth clenched. “Didn’t it show you that the only thing we’re good for is running and screaming?”
“No,” Jean said. “Maybe that’s all you’re good for, but it showed me that humanity’s only hope is to crush those soulless monsters and avenge our friends. I’m done being a coward. I don’t know if I can say the same for the rest of you.”
Silence followed.
Marco rested a hand on Jean’s leg, threw him a pointed look that said lay off .
Jean sighed. Marco could defuse him with a touch and a glance. “Look, you guys can choose whichever military rank you want, but Marco and I are gonna be in the Survey Corps.”
The group, sick with tension, said nothing, got ready for bed as if the conversation had never happened. Connie walked over to Jean, opened his mouth a couple of times, but he couldn’t find any words to say, so he squeezed Jean’s shoulder and walked off to his own bunk.
Jean and Marco looked at each other, unease coloring both of their faces.
Jean shrugged. Nothing to be done.
Marco nodded and murmured, “Let’s just try to sleep,” against Jean’s ear.
“Okay. Good idea.”
After washing up, they got under Marco’s covers, their tangle of limbs warm and familiar, but thoughts of Trost, thoughts of the unknowable horrors that awaited them, plagued their minds and made sleep impossible.
He couldn’t tell how long they had been lying there, but Jean’s eyes were wide and bloodshot all the same. Jean whispered, more to himself than anything, assuming that Marco was asleep, “We’re doing the right thing.”
“Yeah,” Marco responded immediately. He kissed the top of Jean’s head. “Yeah, we are.”
They found each other’s hands in the dark and squeezed. Their thoughts ran wild with morbid monsters and the screams of the damned. They were going to charge headfirst back into it all.
Through the night, Jean and Marco held each other’s hands in a vice grip. They were marching into hell.
But they were doing it together.