Chapter Text
"I wish you would focus on yourself, Jean," Marco furrows his eyebrows,
"I am," Jean looks away, "I'm always focusing on myself,"
When he looks back at Marco, the sunset is blocked by his face, clouds in the distance promising a storm in the next few days, promising a break from this heat. Jean swallows the spit he's been holding up, still tense but releasing some pressure. Marco looks him up and down, not entirely convinced by his words, but when is he ever? He looks forward and away from Jean, his head still blocking the intense colors of the sky beside him, yet the indent of his nose and lips leaves some room for the sun to shine before it turns dark. Jean faces forward too, but keeps his eye peeled on Marco; Just for a little bit.
"You know," Marco begins, "My mom has some extra sunflowers from this harvest to use if your mom still isn't feeling well," he swings his feet from the bench, lean legs kicking back and forth and Jean shakes his head side to side before responding, "You know she won't accept it, she hates when you give her stuff,"
Marco turns back to Jean, mainly smiling with his eyes, "That's why she wants you to bring it to her,"
"Me?" Jean slightly gawks, he usually stands beside Marco and his mom as they swap gifts whenever they go outside to play, Jean has never been the one to give gifts.
"Yeah, I think it's a good idea, and she's been sick for a long time now so she needs some medicine,"
"But if I tell her it's from you then she-"
"-Then don't tell her," he leans forward, whispering, "Just say... they got knocked over from those high winds on Wednesday, and right before you got home you found them, so- you took them home, okay?"
Just a couple of inches from his face, Jean nods, and Marco grabs the basket full of sunflowers and places them in his arms, "There's some cloth on the bottom that my mom borrowed from you guys she wanted to give back, so there's a reason for the basket too," He winks and smiles, hopping off the wooden bench. Jean adjusts the basket in his arms and swats his eyes back and forth at Marco, he knows Marco will wait for him. As soon as he stands up Marco turns him in the direction of his house, shuffling along the rocky road and grassy fields. The wildflowers sway in the light wind, not as intense as a couple of days ago, but enough to keep cool before the night turns frozen. Marco believes that's why Jean's mom got sick because she's been up all day and all night working, but Jean doesn't feel the need to talk about how she got sick, just what they can do for her to get better. He doesn't talk about his mom.
When the clouds of the nearby storm grow loud, and Jean's mom is waiting outside the house with her hand above her eyes to block the sunlight, she calls out, "Let's go, Jean!" before leaning forward a bit and shouting again, "Marco! You go home now!" she waves her other hand to swat him away like some fly, so Marco and Jean stop before they get to his house and face each other.
"I'll see you when the storm clears," Marco smiles,
He looks at Marco, "Okay-"
Before he can give an awkward side hug while Jean holds the basket, a bright zap of lightning strikes not too far from beyond the wall, and results in the birds in the trees to all scatter in the sky, and a loud rumble to follow after. They both look up at the sky to see dark gray clouds loom over them and bright flashes of light that sparkle above them, to then feel cold wet spots of rain drop on their face. Marco takes a couple of steps back to prepare for the long run in the rain he has to make to his house, but Jean grabs his arm and starts jogging back to his house instead, where his mom waits for the both of them on the front lawn.
"I have to go back home!" Marco shouts as Jean drags him to the front porch where the rain stops,
"You'll get a cold if you run in the rain! Or lost!" Jean pushes him inside the house as his mom brings in the basket of sunflowers,
"Jean-"
"Marco," Jean and his mom speak in sync before Jean hides his face from embarrassment and his mother places her hands on her hips, "First off, you're not going back in that rain, your mother should know you spend all your time here anyway, and second off, what are these?" she points to the basket of sunflowers on the steps.
Marco stutters a little before responding, "The- The bottom has all the fabrics my mom borrowed, we just- we just found some leftover sunflowers on the way here,"
"Leftover? They weren't on anyone's property?"
Jean peaks out, "They got blown off from the wind storm on Wednesday, we found them on the road, and that's public!"
Marco nods along with Jean's excuse and they stand beside each other, a little damp from the rain, Marco taller than Jean, and mud along their legs. Mrs. Kirstien sighs, "Right boys, go wash up please, if any mail comes by I'll have them let your parents know that you'll be here until the storm clears," she turns to grab the basket as the boys race up the stairs, quietly giggling as they make their way up to Jeans rooms.
"Here," Jean waves Marco over, "Hang your shoes here so they can dry," and they both sit on the floor to untie their shoes and grab some metal clips to hang them near the window, either the heat or the cold wind will dry them throughout the night. Marco clips his shoes to the small rack and watches Jean place his dirty socks and shorts into a small basket that'll be washed the next day, "Should I put my clothes there too?" and Jean stands up, looking around and humming before answering his question, "Hang them on the edge of the basket so we know it's yours,"
"I think them being baggy on you should say enough," Marco smiles before Jean elbows him, "Hurry up before I lock you out!" Jean runs off as Marco undresses, slipping before following behind him into the bathroom. Jean grabs 2 smaller towels instead of 1 large towel for both of them and throws Marco his towel before pouring some water into a bucket. Jean turns around to see Marco strip naked, throwing his pants and underwear into a dry metal box in the corner of the room, and whips his head away, "Uh- I'm- I'm gonna try to warm up the water, my mom taught me how to do it last week,"
Marco turns back around with the small towel tied around his hips, covering his knees, and sits down on one of the stools, "Throw me your clothes first, I'll put them in with mine so they don't get soaked,"
"I mean- we're gonna wash them anyway right?" Jean shrugs, still avoiding where Marco is as he heats a small fire in the stove newly added to the room.
"Not with this soap," Marco responds, "I tried once, and it just doesn't feel the same anymore,"
"Oh," Jean pauses, thinking about how he washed himself and his clothes at the same time, "Uh, here," he keeps the water above the fire and undresses as Marco grabs his clothes and places them with his in the box, "The water won't be bubbling but it should be warm," Jean says as he ties his towel around himself. Marco leans beside Jean and watches the water, "How will you know if it's warm enough?"
"My mom said to make it a little hot so then it doesn't get completely cold by the time you're done," Jean says, avoiding how close Marco's face is on his shoulder.
Marco rests his chin beside Jean, a little hunched over with their height different and they both wait for the water to grow warm. Jean keeps his eyes on the bucket and the fire but uses his peripheral to look at Marco, shins covered in dried mud, forearms a little pink from being in the sun all day, freckles scattered so far Jean wonders if it ever stops. Although Marco is taller, and they both just turned 14, Jean seems to be more affected by puberty than Marco; he has more hair on his body, and his voice is getting deeper. He wonders how he'll look when he gets older; if he'll grow a beard or if his hair will get longer, how tall he'll grow, how strong he'll be; but he can't picture it, and his mom doesn't like to mention a thing about if he'll look like his dad one day. Marco, however, Marco has a younger brother and his dad is reaching his 40s, so not only will he get to see what he might look like in his adult years, but he also gets to see himself like a kid again with his brother. None of his sisters have his freckles, and neither does his dad, but he once told Marco to draw dots on his face and picture his dad as himself. As for now though, when Marco reaches for the bucket and grabs the bar of soap on the side with his smooth arms only touched with freckles, he doesn't seem to be getting older anytime soon.
"You go first," Marco says,
"But-"
"You have dirt all in your hair, hurry up, sit down," he pats the stool and Jean sits down,
Marco cups the warm water in his hands and pours it on Jean's head, letting it drip down his face. The towel is still wrapped around his hips, and his arms and legs grow goosebumps as the water slides down his back and chest as soapy hands begin to scrub his scalp down to his neck and shoulders. When Marco rinses his hair and the soapy water slides down his body, he takes off the towel so it won't get wet. As the towel hangs far from the water, Jean closes his eyes and listens to the sounds Marco makes as he dips his hands in the bucket and holds his hands as he lathers them with soap and scrubs the dirt away from his back and his legs. He scrubs the most at his shins and on the sides of his chest, mainly because he has the urge to mess with Jean where he's sensitive the most, but he looks like he's falling asleep, and Marco doesn't want to ruin that moment. Instead, he rinses the soap off again and uses the leftover watery soap from his hands to wash his face, and Jean doesn't move.
Jean can feel Marco's hands rub circles on his cheeks and caress his jaw and clean his ears, and he has the urge to open his eyes just a little bit; just to see how close Marco is to his face; just to know if he's on his knees or bending over or sitting on the stool across from him to clean his face like this. He's curious how close you have to be to hear their breath, to feel it shake nervously like he's going to do something but is backing out.
An act of courage bubbling in his stomach makes him do stupid things sometimes, but stupid is fun.
Stupid is fun, he thinks as he uses his courage to pull his hands up to Marco's wrists and slightly opens his eyes as he leans forward, closing the space between them. It probably lasts no more than 3 seconds, but it's warm, and it's slow, and it's innocent. For a moment they part, and look at each other with an emotion in their eyes that isn't readable, but they don't have to read it when they both kiss each other again. Still slow, still warm, maybe a little less innocent. Their hands hold each other's heads, Marco's fingers holding Jean's ears, Jean's hands ruffling through Marco's hair. The wind outside shutters against the old broken house, but it doesn't scare either of them. Their feet and legs interlink as they scooch closer and closer to make the kissing easier and faster. Jean's hands drop by Marco's shoulder blades and hold his neck until a large shock of lightning shakes the house and they push each other back in confusion. They look to the small window high up near the ceiling of the bathroom and hear the rain patter on the roof and a long rumble of thunder echo in the sky. They both look back at each other and don't need any longer than a second to turn pink and avoid mentioning what just happened.
Instead, Marco unwraps his towel and turns around on the stool across from Jean as he grabs the bucket of water and rubs his back with the small bar of soap. Jean moves forward to easily apply the soap and rub it from his nape to his hips. He also lathers his arms and hugs him as he cleans Marco's chest and stomach, lining his collarbones or waist when he goes back to rinse it all with the warm water. Jean chips off a small piece of the soap to lather in his hands as much as he can before he stands up and begins to scrub his dark hair. When he parts it in the middle, he rubs at the scalp to get rid of the dirt that's been accumulating since the last time Marco bathed and slicks the hair back before rinsing it with water.
Jean steps back as Marco turns around to grab the water and soap to wash his legs, Jean clears his throat quietly, thinking of something to say as he stops Marco from grabbing the soap; he gets on his knees directly in front of Marco, chest to his shins, head resting on his knees, ignoring whats going on in between and looks up at Marco. Marco places his hands in his lap, awkwardly trying to think of something, or do something, and Jean bites his lip, wondering what to say. The rain pattering outside keeps the silence from ruining the moment, and the thundering and lightning give both of them the chance to look away, but eventually, they both look back at each other. Jean's dripping hair leaves cold drops of water on Marco's leg, and Marco's slicked-back hair looks good on him. Of course, it looks good on him.
"You can use the clothes you left here last time," Jean manages as he leans away to scrub Marco's legs, "They're still in my dresser,"
Marco watches Jean clean off the mud from his shins and work his way up, legs only slightly parted, "Okay,"
•••
As they change in Jean's room, curtains covering the windows yet still seeing flashes of lightning outside the house, Marco watches Jean as he buttons up an old shirt to use to sleep. Marco has on his change of clothes he left in Jean's room last month, but a part of him wishes to wear Jean's clothes, because, yeah, he is sleeping over, but wearing his clothes feels more intimate than a hug, and most people don't bat an eye when 2 kids share clothes.
"it didn't get any colder tonight," Jean complains, "I'm just gonna leave this, c'mon, my mom made you a plate," Jean opens the door as Marco ties the front of his shirt and they both walk down the small stairs, Marco behind Jean. Mrs. Kirstein has 3 small bowls placed on the kitchen table, an extra chair from her room is being used for Marco's seat, and with an extra person in the Kirstein home, it looks a lot more lively. Marco thanks Jean's mom as she places a bowl of vegetable soup and toasted bread in front of him, grabbing some napkins next and another plate of bread in the middle of the table.
They all grab hands, Jean and Marco trying to keep themselves steady as they close their eyes, and Mrs. Kirstein begins to murmur a small prayer, thanking for the food they have tonight, and the rain that nourishes the food for tomorrow.
When they finish praying, they all open their eyes and let go,
Maybe Marco's hand brushes a little longer against Jean's under the table,
Maybe Jean's hands tried to interlink with Marco's during the prayer,
Maybe for now they'll just keep it to themselves.