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Marco and Jean are sitting outside the barracks—Marco perched on a tree stump, a book held in his hand he stares with intense anticipation—and Jean swallows nervously.
“Um,” he finally grunts in response to Marco's last study question, "Titans just... want to eat everything. Right?”
“No,” Marco sighs heavily, lips a firm line as he stares at Jean with a critical, serious expression. “Begin again.”
Jean scowls and curses under his breath; as always, Marco just waits patiently. The fact is that he can’t afford to fail the next classroom exam.
He reconsiders the question, and thinks about targets.
“Titans don’t eat animals,” he starts again slowly, watching Marco’s face as he speaks for any indication he’s wrong, “only humans?”
Marco’s solemnity breaks into an excited, encouraging nod, lowering the ragged study cards that Armin had let them use. “That’s perfect!” he exclaims. “You’ll do great tomorrow.”
Jean snorts dismissively and crosses his arms, feeling cocky now for getting the answer right.
“So,” he continues with a grin, “Titans only eat human beings? Then if we’re animals, does that mean we’re safe?”
Marco doesn’t answer right away, and Jean realizes after a few beats of silence that he said something awkward. They sit there together quietly; they only have one year left before graduation.
Finally, Marco shifts uncomfortably, and replies, “I guess animals are safe.”
“Well,” Jean replies with a brusque edge to his voice he doesn’t try to fight, “we’re not animals. Right?”
Marco looks up, giving a strained, slight smile. “No,” he replies, his eyebrows raising. “But in real life,” he continues, “you don’t get a second guess.”
Jean immediately feels the urge to dismiss Marco’s cautionary observation the same way he dismissed that salute on the first day as they had baked in the summer-hot training fields.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he looks at Marco, takes the flashcards out of his hands, and replies, “Well, I got it right.”
“You’ll do fine,” Marco replies with a nod, leaning back to look up into the darkening dark sky. “Tomorrow, and after that.”
Jean nods slowly, feeling suddenly reflective.
Years pass much more quickly when the definition of what Titans are hungry for becomes so precise.
= = =
On, forward, march!
That’s what Armin relays to Marco one dark night—the mantra that was spoken to those sent out to go reclaim Wall Maria, which included his grandfather.
It’s the night before graduation, and they all drink pilfered ale and talk about childish things. Who the prettiest girls are in the 104th, who will be in the top ten; but then, as the night gets darker, so does the conversation.
“My sister always used to say ‘dream on,’” Marco says, sitting on the edge of his bed and speaking softly to Armin who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Like, move forward, keep going.”
Armin shakes his head, mouth flat and blue eyes vivid even in the firelight shining into the barracks window from outside.
“I guess we all have to move forward,” he replies finally, his words slightly slurred, but lucid, “even into chaos.”
The conversation ends as quickly as it began, but Marco can’t get it out of his head as he settles down in his bunk to try and sleep. It’s their last night as cadets, and he’s ready to move forward himself.
Jean climbs in next to him shortly thereafter. Once everyone has gone to bed, Marco rolls over on his side to stare at the back of Jean’s shoulders—the last time he’ll ever see them this way—and he’s tipsy enough to poke one.
“Hey,” he whispers.
Jean grumbles at him, but doesn’t totally ignore the gesture. He rolls onto his side so that they’re face to face, yawning and rolling his eyes at Marco. “What?” he grunts.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Marco whispers, staring into Jean’s eyes, suddenly desperate to take it all in, to memorize his features.
“I guess,” Jean yawns, raising an eyebrow quizzically at Marco.
They just look at each other for a moment—Marco’s mind weighing heavy, Jean appearing mystified—until Marco thinks about that word. On—dream on, on forward march.
And he moves forward, surging forward to kiss Jean the way he’s wanted to since the end of their first summer in training.
Just as he’s expecting, Jean pushes him away, sputtering as he skitters back toward the wall on his side of the shared bunk.
Marco’s already apologizing, but before he knows what’s happening, he hears a murmur.
“You’re so shitty at kissing.”
And there are lips against his again, surprisingly soft and tender; Jean pulls him close and Marco can only sigh into it.
They don’t breathe, don’t even move. They just kiss—a breath shared between them as delicate as the night, like a dream, like moving forward—and Marco finally gasps.
“I’m ready,” Jean finally exhales against Marco’s lips, obviously taken off guard, but he has a smile in his voice. “As long as Jaeger doesn’t rank higher than me.”
Marco laughs, his own voice nervous, until Jean kisses him again.
“Dream on, right? Jaeger beating me in rankings?” He pushes his hand under the blankets—it’s shaking, but resolute—and rests lithe fingers against Marco’s hip. “But you might,” he says very quietly, pressing his forehead against Marco’s chin unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” Marco exhales, finally abandoning his own nerves and pressing close, “dream on.” He presses a shameless kiss against Jean’s jaw. “March on.”
“Something like that,” Jean murmurs, before kissing Marco again.
They don’t speak after that.