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When Marco first meets Eren, he’s a grungy kid from the city who smokes too many cigarettes and smiles like the world is always on his side. There’s no way that can be true, because Eren lives in a small studio apartment with the shittiest central heating system and a fridge that only gets down to 60 degrees. He’s always late on paying his bills because his job gives him his paychecks irregularly, but none of that seems to bother Eren.
Marco isn’t living in much better conditions, but at least he has a roommate and can pay his bills on time and has heating that keeps his toes warm.
The met at a poetry slam, as fucking hipster as that sounds. Marco’s roommate Armin insisted on taking him, and Marco had nothing better to do, so he tagged along, and that’s where he met Eren for the first time. Eren was climbing on stage right as Marco and Armin found a vacant couch to settle on. He was wearing ratty jeans with holes in the knees big enough that Marco could see his thighs almost, and a knit hoodie three sizes too big, hanging over his knuckles as he wrapped his fingers around the mic.
Marco’s learned over the years of knowing Eren that that first initial meeting between them was an intricate display into the boy’s mind, and now a days, at night when Marco is awake with dry eyes, Eren will speak to him, mumbling into his chest words that don’t go together but still somehow make sense.
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“Eren,” Marco calls out, closing the door behind him and toeing his shoes off, but keeping his socks on because Eren has all cement floors and it’s like walking on an ice rink in the winter. “Are you awake?”
He hears an unintelligible noise from the mattress in the corner of the room, and Marco snorts and makes his way over, kicking stray articles of clothing out of the way. Eren doesn’t have a closet, or a dresser, so the floor and random boxes are usually where his clothing is kept. It’s not like Eren even has that many, though. He’s always usually in a plain tee shirt, jeans, and the same purple knit hoodie with holes in the elbows that smells like cigarette smoke and sweet tea.
When Marco gets close enough, he barely manages to make out a tuft of dark hair peeking out from the covers, and Marco kneels down, not hesitating in sliding his fingers into the locks and scratching gently.
Eren seems to almost purr, and he sleepily lifts his head to look at Marco, eyes bleary and one side of his face pink and dented with pillow marks. “Thank god you’re here, m’fuckin’ freezing.”
“Wow, it’s like you only like me for my body heat,” Marco teases, but he slides underneath the covers anyway and lets Eren adjust him to his liking.
“Mm. Maybe,” Eren mumbles, curling up against Marco’s side and tugging Marco’s arm so it’s curled around his body, tight and warm. “Your body heat and your dashing good looks.”
“Of course,” Marco snorts, reaching up with his other hand to run through the boy’s hair again, “How was work today?”
“Same old shit,” Eren replies, but Marco can hear the lightness in his voice, because the ‘same old shit’ to Eren is the adventure that he lives for every day. Marco doesn’t know how he makes such light of every curve ball thrown his way, but he does, and Marco’s starting to see why it’s like getting struck by a lightning bolt whenever he’s around him.
“Did you fall asleep as soon as you got off?” Marco asks, “You haven’t eaten anything yet, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Eren says, and then he’s rolling on top of Marco, propping his chin up on Marco’s chest and grinning at him all sleepy-eyed and calm. “Let’s eat later though, okay?”
Marco grins and nods, reaching up to curve his hand around the back of Eren’s neck to draw him in for a kiss. Eren slides up a bit more so he doesn’t have to crane his neck up, and Marco lets his other hand slide down to rest on Eren’s bare thigh. He slips the tips of his fingers up under Eren’s boxers, the skin warm and soft under his touch, and Eren arches against him slightly. It’s not anything needy or lustful, though. It’s just them being together, touching skin riddled with goose bumps and tasting the tired warmth from each other’s mouths.
It’s fucking hypnotic, kissing Eren. The boy’s all pliant limbs and smooth movements and lazy flicks of his tongue. One of Marco’s favorite things to do is kiss Eren, and he isn’t ashamed to admit that it’s also one of his top stress relievers. The first time they really kissed was a few weeks after they met at the poetry slam. Marco had invited Eren over, and some shit had gone down with Marco’s dad a few days prior so he was wound up tight, like a coiled, electrified ball of wire, and Eren had slide next to him on the couch, took Marco’s face in his hands and said,
“Calm down, it’s okay, it’s fine, yeah?”
And Marco didn’t know what came over him, but he had surged forward and kissed Eren and it was like someone threw water and doused the flaming ball of anxiety right out of him. It was like a breath of fresh air. Like the first drink of cold lemonade on a hot summer day, and Marco felt every nerve in his body go lax. Eren had laughed against his mouth when Marco nuzzled against his cheek, and that day was the start of something incredible.
“The trees were alive today,” Eren whispers against his lips. “I could feel them, when I was walking home from work.”
“Yeah?” Marco says, entranced almost, because Eren can reel him in with just his voice, and it’s a blessing and a curse because Marco’s never felt so out of control before.
“Mm-hmm. They ran their branches through my hair, just like you do,” Eren says quietly. “I’m thinking of talking about them the next poetry night we go to. I think they’d like that.”
“I think they would to,” Marco says, cupping Erens cheek. Eren grins at him and tilts his head into the touch, like a puppy looking for affection, and Marco presses their foreheads together.
“You alright there?” Eren teases, because Marco’s face is flushed and his eyes are closed and it’s like he’s sinking in the presence of this moment right here, just inhaling it as if it’s a dire part of his life, right here and now.
“Sometimes I think you saved me,” Marco whispers, and when Eren makes a quiet, confused noise, he continues, “From myself, or something. I don’t know. I was just… I wasn’t anything special, before I met you.” It’s like you breathed life right into me, he wants to say, but doesn’t for fear of giving away too much.
“Shut up, you were special the moment you came into this world, Marco Bodt,” Eren chides, his eyes glittering and determined as he sits up a bit, placing his hands on Marco’s chest to stare down at him.
He’s wearing an old ratty baseball tee that he had cut into a crop top, and it stops just above his belly button. Marco scans his eyes down, sees the softness of his belly and the dark trail of hair that leads even lower, and when Marco looks back up, Eren’s blushing just a bit, but still giving him a determined gaze.
“If you think you were saved or some shit, it wasn’t because of me,” Eren supplies, and then he reaches down and boops Marco’s nose, causing the taller boy to grin and roll his eyes. “It’s because of you. You never needed me, you know?”
“Yeah, okay,” Marco agrees, because he’s tired and warm and he’s still not giving up the thought that Eren did save him from his shitty, boring life, but all he wants to do right now is kiss Eren again, so, “But, I still want you. Is that okay?”
Eren grins and settles more comfortably on Marco’s hips, cupping Marco’s cheeks with both of his hands before leaning down and nudging their noses together as he whispers,
“That’s totally okay.”