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Summary
Marco watches, with a startling attentiveness, the way Jean's expression slowly glazes over. The way it settles from something contemplative to something far beyond either of them.
Marco had seen that look in his eyes before, and in spite of it only having been once, it's a look that had burned into the back of his brain enough for him to feel the effects of it since.
"Marco." Jean whispers beside him, and he'd never loved and feared the sound of his own name more.