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When times get really tough, Jean hides away.
Some days, he scrunches himself in the back of his closet, cramped up with old childhood clothes. The smell of old wooden toys and sun dried clothes helps him forget the bloodstained drops all over his shirt, and hands, and face. He would turn to his mother for comfort, but after becoming a teenager, it was too embarrassing, even though he was one of the only students to have a mom at all.
During testing, Jean would replicate the feeling of being in his closet again with the thin blankets and pillows, backed into a corner, or maybe even a closet if he was alone.
Ever so rarely, he would ask only one person to help him.
Marco.
Marco always offered, it was wether or not Jean accepted. When he did accept the offer, Marco would embrace him in his arms, usually at night when their gear was off. and Jean would really sink in his chest. Sometimes he'd think that this was the closest he would get to him, the most raw that Jean would ever see him.
As testing season passed and graduation began to grow closer, Jean didn't really have a reason to look for help anymore. Mental strain was becoming just another fork in the kitchen. Marco still offered though.
One night, over 2 weeks before graduation approached, Marco left dinner early to catch up on chores. In particular, he owed someone else a repair in their ODM gear, and Marco wasn't an expert but he was pretty good at taking it apart and putting it together, which was all he needed for this chore. Jean followed him to keep company, and because he wanted to try avoiding another fight with Eren that night. Marco was very happy to have company with him, sometimes when Jean was in the mood, he would talk and talk about whatever he was fixing. Usually, ODM gear problems all came from rust and basic lack of care, but when things were truly broken or complicated to arrange, Marco would sort of narrate himself reparing everything to Jean. This repair was the same old stuff, just some maintenance, but Marco didn't stop talking that night. The moon was low in the sky, barely visible above the wall, the wind whipped at the creaky wooden building, and spring had brought in an abundance of rain.
Jean sat close to Marco to learn ODM maintenance, he struggled with taking it all apart, but he really took in everything Marco said that night.
"Sometimes, if the parts squeak like a mouse when you take it off, it just needs some lubricant, and the oil that powers the most of it helps a lot," he would mumble, applying the oil to the dried out metal.
"Don't put too much though," he said as he tied back on the lid to the oil, "that'll make it too sensitive and maybe even shake more,"
Jean took notice to these small details, when something was too much or too little, and on that night, he was half listening and half sleeping. Marco took it upon himself to wrap an arm around Jean as he screwed on some of the finishing touches on the ODM gear, letting Jean get comfortable leaning on him. Marco's affection is so casual he never saw Jean growing close with it, and so when Jean tilted his head up with droopy eyes and a half goofy smile, brown eyes locked onto everything he wanted to see, it made his stomach flutter a bit.
Only that night will Marco remember the feeling of goosebumps on his arms, clicking and released tension from his uniform, and a slow, long, sweet kiss.
Sitting on a wooden floor with an oil lamp barely lighting either of their faces, the two would sit there, arms gliding on back muscles, knees bumping into one another, heavy breathing through noses, and a warm ambiance that glided their thoughts to other places. Hands up in shirts, tracing shoulder blades, down the spine, grabbing hip bones, teasing underwear. Much a blur in terms of visual, but not in feeling.
When Marco volunteered to clean the horse pen, Jean followed as punishment for a bratty attitude. Jean really liked this punishment though. After sunset, and after chores became "good enough," Jean would back Marco up into a corner mainly covered by haybails and kiss him until their chins were covered in spit. Marco would always lightly trace his fingers above Jeans stomach, making him flinch. Marco loved to slowly unbuckle jeans belt and tease the thin fabric his underwear was made out of, so thin that Marco could feel some pieces of hair poke through. He would rub his hips and thighs until his cold hands turned warm, until Jean felt useless without those hands there.
In the winter, everyone hated showering in barracks, as they would have to manually warm up the water until it was sort of warm, and wash with a towel and a drop of soap. Usually, to keep things clean, people would go in groups and wash themselves for a couple of minutes, switching with another person as they finished. Jean and Marco liked to go last, which many avoided due to lack of water and having to clean up. This would give them time alone though, enough time to look at each other, wrap their arms around one another, touch skin to skin for once. Jean liked to wash Marcos back and he would push as far as he could go, sneaking under his arms, the backs of his ears, maybe even tease between his legs if he promised not to look. He would leave the wash cloth on Marco's shoulder, and close his eyes as he used his hands to rub the insides of Marco's thighs. If Marco was confident enough, he would let Jean get closer, but sometimes, he would back out and they would go back to kissing.
Marco's favorite memory was when Jean got in another fight with Eren, resulting in a big black eye and a sprained wrist. This incident terrified Jean, not only to due the pain, but mainly his place within the 104. Marco spent the whole night forcing him to relax. Jean was laid in his lap while he sat against a wall behind a big building, dry grass beneath their feet and a strangle comfortable silence between the two. Marco was petting Jeans head, going down to rub his arm every once in a while, and Jean could only bring his face to Marco's stomach. He would take a deep breath in to smell Marco's clothes. Then, after not talking for over an hour, Jean would unbutton Marco's shirt, completely untucking it from his pants and leaning further in to kiss his stomach. It wasn't just pecks, he would press his whole face into Marco as he kissed his stomach a couple seconds apart.
He got so into it, he began slwoly licking underneath Marco's belly button, kisses in between, un-sprained hand wrapped around his back. Marco became enamored by this, especially when Jean began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, slowly dragging them down as Marco sat up slightly to encourage him. jean tucked his head deep in between Marco's hips, touching, kissing, smelling, licking. Jean dragged his underwear far enough to melt his face into the short brown hair, getting a taste for the skin nearby. Marco would cover his eyes in maybe a small feel of an embarrassment, looking up and knocking the back of his head into the wall behind him, anything just to not look. Jean could remember every taste, slightly salty, incredibly warm, hint of a lumber scent, and overall, Marco.
Jean would drag Marco out of his embarrassment to Jeans own hips, letting him rustle with his pants before Marco was also laying down on the grass, Jeans hips in front of his face, Jeans face kissing in between Marco's legs. Marco only got so far as to bite Jeans hips, tracing his his bones to make him flinch again, but Jean didn't care. He was to focused on actually getting between Marco's legs. Jean would drop Marco's pants down a little below his knees and fit his head between his thighs, one resting on a thigh, the other squishing his ear on top of the other side of his face. Marco didn't dare to look down, but the feeling of his breath, the warm kisses, the sudden licks, Marco could only imagine what Jean looked like.
When Marco finally gave Jean permission, Jean only brought down his underwear about halfway, just enough room to not really be exposed, as they were outside. But Marco closed his eyes and continued to kiss and touch Jeans hips, purely just as a way to distract himself as Jean licked Marco and made his legs tremble.
When the night ended, the two giggled tipsy until they went to bed in the barracks, staring at each other across their bunks.
Some years later, the sky is blue and Jeans window only shows a sunrise from the east, instead of brick. His stress has been long gone, but not forgotten. He still gets the sweats at midnight, tensed muscles cause cramps, aching headaches and ringing ears even in the comfort of his home, stacked with food, with laughter, with new memories always better than the last. Some nights he can only think of the taste in his mouth. He can only smell the warmth he pulled himself into.
Sometimes when times get tough, Jean traces his hip bones and closes his eyes.