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There is absolutely nothing worse than being surrounded by hot people you have zero chances with. Jean came to Trost University to get a degree, not to have his heart broken every time a new person gained his affections.
Thankfully, most of these crushes were short lived, nothing to sneeze at. Something or someone else would always come along to distract him. When he first saw Mikasa, his infatuation lasted around an hour and a half before her brother came over and stole Jean's heart with him. That had only lasted about five minutes, the amount of time he was in Jean's presence and was silent. That kid had quite an attitude for only being a freshman with an undecided major. If they had been alone and he started prattling on about how he had his whole life figured out, it was doubtful Jean could resist the urge to kick his teeth in.
Most other students that caught Jean's eye had similar stories. This wasn't new or different at all. Jean, the local raging pansexual, had struggled with it for years. So it was perfectly natural to spot someone, drool over them for less than a day, then move on. No exceptions to the system.
Except him.
Jean instantly spotted him from across the Student Center, the freckled upperclassman angel with the perfect athlete’s body and the heart-warming brown eyes and a smile that seemed to light up the whole goddamn room. It simultaneously made him want to melt into a quivering puddle of love-stuck goo on the floor, hide behind the nearest potted plant, and fake a heart attack just to have an excuse to fall into his strong arms and have him carry the swooning Jean away to the Health and Wellness Office.
Yes, Jean had his fair share of crushes in his three months at good old Trost University. But this guy was something else altogether. He had managed to keep his hold on Jean's heart the whole time he had been there. It was like magic. Jean wasn't complaining.
Obviously, this best way to handle it was to avoid this literal god at all costs.
So what does Jean Kirstein, the master of all things social, manage to do?
Run into the guy and spill his coffee.
He had decided to try and not make eye contact, while also walking in a sophisticated way, so he didn't come off as just another clueless freshman- you know, the kind of walking that's fast paced with heavy footsteps, an 'I have places to be clearly I'm hot shit but I don't think that others do' kind of thing. With the coffee in hand, it could have possibly given off a hipster vibe, but he was wearing his red university hoodie and matching beanie and black skinny jeans. Sorta hipster. Not a real one. God, what if that heavenly being hated hipsters? What would-?
In Jean's haste, he didn't notice that his upperclassman had switched to the other side of the Student Center, right in the path of Jean. Jean, purposefully staring at the floor, crashed into him, plain and simple. They didn't fall, but their arms got tangled together as they each tried to catch their coffee.
“Shit-! "
“I'm so-”
Jean's arm was wet. So were his shoes. So were the upperclassman's. The forgotten coffee cups laid on the floor.
“Shit man, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention!” Jean yelped- well, he tried not to, and he failed. He was blushing, he bet he was blushing, at least it could be passed off for embarrassment instead of his crush.
“No no, it's fine, they got my order wrong anyway, I was on my way to bring it to a friend but this works too!” It's a good thing Jean was preoccupied with looking for something to wipe up the coffee with, because he knew Upperclassman's smile would be blinding when looked at directly.
“Do they just fucking mess up everyone's orders?”
“Not normally. Why, do you have that problem?”
Why, oh why, did he have to sound so concerned? He didn't even know who Jean was, and it was just him bitching over coffee, nothing important at all. Jean sneaked a glance at the upperclassman from the corner of his eye and saw his head cocked cutely, like a confused puppy's, worried about his master's well-being.
Jean could feel his heart on the very verge of exploding.
Why does God hate me.
“Well yeah, like,” Jean's hands fumbled as he tried to grab a roll of paper towels that was conveniently on a desk nearby. He ripped some off the roll for Upperclassman, because Jean was 100% sure it would be wrong to lean down and clean up this angel's for him. “Like I'll be ordering a frappuccino or something and they'll just give it to the girl next to me and hand me some guy's fucking decaf.”
“That happens to me all the time too! People tell me all it's a girly drink so that's why it happens, but it's just a coffee. And it tastes so good.”
“Yeah, what's their problem?”
Jean finished mopping up the last of his coffee from his arm when he heard, “I'm Marco by the way. Marco Bodt.” He extended his very freckled hand and smiled invitingly.
I have to be dreaming.
“Jean Kirstein.” Thankfully, his response didn't come off as too eager and his hand wasn't trembling from nerves.
Upperclassman- Marco grinned sunnily, then glanced away. He looked a bit tentative for a moment, but then he said, “Per chance, would you want to come grab another coffee with me?”
I absolutely have to be dreaming holy shit.
His answer was definitely too eager, but Jean was too giddy to care.
“Economics major, huh?”
Jean shrugged, being very sure to keep his fingers around the coffee cup, not tapping, not shaking, not reaching over to Marco to wipe the itty-bitty spot of whipped cream from the corner of Marco's pretty lips. “Yeah, it's not bad. It'll pay the bills. What do you do?”
“I'm a biology major, specifically organisms. As opposed to like, the cellular and molecular levels of life. I got a minor too- literature, believe it or not.” Marco smiled bashfully, fingering the label on his cup.
“Now that sounds fun.” Jean deadpanned, thinking back to high school science and English classes, but it was hard to fight a smile from spreading across his face when Marco was across from him, at a table just for two. Almost like a-
Not a date. Calm the fuck down Jean, you just officially met the guy. Jean thought, but his heart pounded when Marco grinned at him cheekily from over his coffee cup.
“I think so, at least. It's funny, I always thought I was going to be an art major, or a music major, or something like that.” Marco added thoughtfully, staring at Jean with pursed lips. There was a stillness in the air for a moment, almost as if the upperclassman was testing how far he could go, how much he could say to Jean.
“Yeah, I could see you doing shit like that. You got a creative, passionate vibe to you.” Oh Christ on a bike did I really just say that. “But I mean why did you end up studying those instead?” Jean added briskly, praying he asked the question quick enough to distract from his embarrassing slip of the tongue.
Marco was- blushing? No, that couldn't be right. Jean watched as the other boy looked carefully into the distance for a moment, then he began to speak, his soft gaze sliding back to Jean as he did. “I think it was mostly because I found out what I was really meant to do. And as much as I love my art, my music, they're not what I'm supposed to be doing, not like, my destiny, or something like that.”
Destiny, echoed in Jean's mind and he felt himself nodding, realizing he was getting a little lost under the spell of Marco's brown eyes.
“Jean?” Marco said, voice so gentle, so smooth and eyes so kind and deep, like there were all sorts of secrets Jean could read if he looked close enough, “If I may, what are you are really meant to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said economics would pay the bills. What are you really meant to do?”
Jean mulled it over, the sounds of the coffee shop fading away. Marco was watching him, patient, sipping his coffee like he didn't mind waiting all day. “I don't know. I knew my whole life I wasn't going to follow my dreams. I was going to be practical like my parents. But if I was going to take that leap... I'd be a writer.”
“A writer.” Marco repeated softly.
“Yeah.”
They seemed to be leaning closer and closer together, almost magnetized, almost mesmerized by each other's bated breath and softening gazes, and Jean had a funny feeling their fingers were going to start reaching out for the other's, when-
The shrill ring of his alarm filled the air.
The two leaped back, Marco blushed slightly, Jean profusely. Something was still sparking between them when Jean pulled out of his phone, desperately turning off the alarm. “Crap, I got class in ten minutes.” he said weakly, staring at Marco. A thought popped into his head- I can't believe my fucking phone cock-blocked me.
“A-Ah, me too. General Philosophy. Don't save your gen eds for the last year.” Marco groaned, standing up and clutching his coffee, like he needed something to hang onto.
“Wait a second. General Philosophy? With Professor Ackerman?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Marco, I think we're in the same class.”
His beautiful brown eyes widened. “How have I not seen you before then?”
“I uh, sit in the back.” Jean was almost amazed that he hadn't noticed his crush in the same class as him.
Marco's mouth hung open for a moment. Then his face broke into a wide grin. “What an incredible coincidence!”
It was even harder to focus in class than usual. Jean tried, he really did try to listen to Ackerman this time. But the professor's 'I-don't-give-a-single-flying-shit' drone combined with occasional sneaky side glances and pleased smiles from Marco from the center middle row? Jean was a lost cause.
For now, he was content to relax and let his knees grow weak with longing.
The plan was to wave to Marco when he was leaving the classroom. Simple, sweet, gone. As much as Jean wanted to, he wasn't going to pounce on Marco, begging for more attention. He was lucky enough that today had gone as well as it had. Jean wasn't going to tempt fate.
So he packed his things, not looking at Marco, because Jean already did that enough during class and it was only hitting him now how creepy he must have looked.
Marco stood up. He glanced at Jean.
Jean waved.
Nailed it.
He was about to mentally pat himself on the back for a job well done and go back to shoving his books on top of the umbrella he had packed just in case, when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Marco walking towards him.
A bead of sweat rolled down his back.
“Need something Jean?”
For a moment, Jean considered that the entirety of his life had been leading up to this- Marco in front of him, waiting, Jean choosing his words carefully. These next few moments are crucial, said Professor Ackerman's voice in his head, but Jean ignored him, cleared his throat, and managed, “No, why?”
Even Marco's perplexed face was cute. “You waved me over, yeah?”
“Oh no no, I was just leaving.” He gestured to the empty desk and depleted classroom.
“Getting lunch?”
Jean was not in the slightest sense hungry. “Oh yeah, was gonna run to the caf real quick before the afternoon rush strikes.”
“Ew, the caf? You must want better food than that.”
“Well, I don't have a car to get off campus.”
Marco grinned, and held up a ring of keys. “Luckily, you have someone who does.”
Once again, things were going impossibly well, and Jean was fairly sure he was hanging onto his sanity too. It could all just be a dream, but selfishly, desperately, he told himself it wasn't. When Marco wasn't watching, Jean would pinch himself, every-so-slightly, just to make sure.
“Much better than the caf, right?”
“Oh yeah. It's been too long since I've had Dairy Queen.”
Marco smiled at him from the other side of the bench, spooning ice cream into his mouth delicately, and Jean felt the urge to grab the spoon from him, steal a bite, then after a moment of pouting on Marco's part, Jean would feed him instead, sneaking kisses in between each mouthful. Hopefully, Marco didn't catch the longing in his eyes before Jean looked away, staring off at the university library they were sitting in front of. It was Marco's idea to sit outside and eat, because of the beautiful weather, and honestly, that alone might have been the cutest thing Jean had ever heard in his life.
“Funny, I was just there last week, with my friends Connie and Sasha. You wouldn't believe how much those two can eat. You might like them actually. I'll have to introduce you some time.”
It was a normal thing to say, but it meant much more than that. It meant that Marco was planning on keeping Jean around for a while. That they might be friends. That Marco liked him. Jean almost felt dizzy at the idea. Maybe he really was dreaming. “T-That sounds fun. Real fun.”
Everything seemed to be moving more slowly, so Jean didn't have the time to worry about his stutter. The only thing he could do was watch Marco's smile grow. He let out a happy sigh, and it felt like they were reaching out for each other again, like Jean couldn't breathe until there was no space left between them.
“Jean-”
God, how could he have lived without this feeling for so long?
Marco's eyes widened. He wasn't staring at Jean anymore, but something behind him, and his eyes turned hard. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Jean you need to get down right now,”
“Down?” Jean's head was spinning for an entirely different reason now. Marco stood up and grabbed Jean's shoulders, pushing him down so he was slouched on the bench. Out from his bag he pulled something that looked like a pencil at first, but then it flashed and turned into a spear.
The only logical thing to do after that was to turn around and try to figure out what the fuck was going on.
Behind them, rearing it's head and stomping the ground, was a horse, bigger and stronger than other horses, as far as Jean knew. It was unnaturally white and gleaming, except for the smoke dribbling out through gritted teeth. Where it's hooves struck, grass wilted and turned gray and splintery. When it's mouth opened, Jean could see charcoal fangs and red flames licking the back of it's throat.
“I said get down!” Marco growled and threw the spear at the creature. It screamed- literally screamed, it hurt Jean's ears to the point where he thought he'd never be able to hear anything else- and the spear lodged in where it's left eye should have been. He watched as Marco waved his hands, and the spear pushed itself deeper into the skull. More smoke erupted from the wound, and it charged.
Jean froze.
“I can't believe my asshole brain would really tease me like this. Give me a dreamy boy, get a demon horse free! Fucking-” He didn't get to finish the complaint because the horse leaped over his head, and the wind rushing past him, choked with the smell of death, felt too real to ignore. But obviously, it couldn't have been. He must have fallen asleep in Ackerman's class. Wistfully, he thought about earlier in the day. Maybe that was still real. Maybe-
Marco dove to the ground to avoid crashing with the horse. He waved his hand again, and the spear pulled away, flying back to his hand. What should have been an empty socket was a gleaming electric yellow eye. “Jean! Run!”
He sounded so desperate, but his face was determined and fearless, which was unfairly hot, because this wasn't real. Jean didn't move, transfixed by the scene before him, how the creature's tail flicked up and a tree uprooted itself from the ground, suddenly rotten and flying towards Marco. At the same time, it screamed again, this time the flame Jean saw billowing from it's mouth, smoke intertwining with it, crawling towards Marco. He let his spear shot up to stop the tree midair, while he scrambled back away from the fire.
“Are you listening to me?! You need to get out of here!”
The creature was rearing up, preparing to charge again. Marco had no where to go.
Jean, oddly, began to feel grounded, thinking more clearly than he had all week. Something was rising up within him, a fighting spirit he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Where did Marco pull the spear from? That would have been useful. He tried waving his hand as well, but apparently his idiot brain didn't feel like being generous.
“Jean! ”
He didn't need to think twice. He grabbed Marco's discarded bag and threw it at the horse thing, to distract it. It bounced off it's shoulder, but it was enough. I need to act quick, shit shit shit- he thought, opening his own bag as the creature turned towards him, one eye narrowing. “Yes!” he grinned when he was able to pull his umbrella out of his bag without having to toss out most of his textbooks. If he wasn't going to get a spear, this was the next best thing. “Come at me, bitch!” Jean screamed, using his backpack as a makeshift shield.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Marco roll out from the under the tree and away from the flames.
A shadow passed over Jean. The bench had lifted off the ground. It was about to squash him while the horse began to rush at him.
Like it was instinct, Jean sprang backwards, and watched the bench crash to the ground, leaving cracks in the ground. Using adrenaline more than muscles, he pushed the bench into the creature, watching as the places where it touched the wood began to rot. He heard the cracks as it snapped against the horse's legs, trapping it for a moment.
One shot. That was all he had.
He copied what Marco did on the first attack, minus the telekinesis or whatever it was his brain had come up with. The horse screamed again when the umbrella jabbed into it's right eye, and Jean pushed it in as much as he could before it managed to free it's legs. It reared up again, and the umbrella was jerked out of his hands.
Weaponless, Jean said, “Now would be a good time to wake up, brain.”
Smoke was wrapped around him, and it felt like his skin was trying to crawl away.
In another flash of light, Jean watched as Marco's spear tore into the horse. It came out clean from the other side of it's body, and the gleaming white began to flake away. The horse whirled around to face where the spear had come from, but Jean could see the cracks beginning to spiral across it's body. It couldn't handle another attack.
“Come on, come and get me.” Marco grinned sharply, spear in hand once more.
Jean could feel shivers run down his spine.
Apparently, he wasn't alone, because the creature screamed one more time and galloped away off the school grounds.
A moment passed.
“Um, I hate to ask you this,” Marco started, spear flashing again and turning back into a pencil. “But do you think you could help me move this bench?”
Numbly, Jean had managed to help put the bench back in it's proper place. He was surprised he didn't wake up yet, and that the dream hadn't shifted into something by now. Marco seemed hesitant to speak. Only when they sat down again did he finally say, “You weren't supposed to see that.”
“That's alright, because I'm pretty sure this is a dream. I wish I got a cool spear.”
Marco smiled slightly, then let out a sigh. “Well, the thing is Jean, it's not a dream. Come back tomorrow, you'll see the ruined bench, the marks on the ground.”
“What was that thing?”
“I really don't know. I'm sure someone at Hidden does though.”
“I know I'm asking a lot of questions here, but what's Hidden?”
Marco kicked his feet back, at ease now that the fight was over and Jean didn't seem to be freaking out too much. “The organization that fights the supernatural. Oh!” He bolted up again, staring at Jean with shining eyes. “You were really good in that fight, for not knowing what was going on I mean. You'd be a natural.”
Jean scoffed. “Are you asking me to join?”
“Actually, I am.”
Jean blinked, slightly taken aback, and said, “If I wake up in the morning and this is all still here, and like, real, you can count me in.” It might have been the wrong choice, but all Jean could think about what how he was really meant to fight by Marco's side. That, he could live with.