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“You should stop wearing yourself out so much, you know?”
Marco tears his eyes away from the page, to look in the direction that the voice comes from.
Jean’s voice, specifically, who stands in the doorway of the small barracks library, arms folded across his chest. He wears a stern face—the sort of expression that Marco is often the giver of, Jean being on the receiving end.
But it’s the sort of rare look that says Marco should do what he’s told.
Still, he doesn’t close his book.
“I’ve got another chapter to read,” he assures Jean. He diverts his attention back to the pages, as Jean steps over, resting his hands on the slatted back of the chair beside him. “Then I’ll be done, I swear.”
“A night of no curfew and you spend it here,” It sounds like a question, almost, but it’s definitely a statement. Marco has been here all night, since supper ended. He’s sure it’s past ten, at least. The moonlight is evidence of that. “I don’t get you, sometimes.”
“You don’t need to get me, you just need to let me finish this chapter.”
Jean makes a hmph noise, but quietens. He pulls out the chair he’s leaning against and sits down in it. Crosses his leg over the other and rests his hands against the wooden table.
Marco tries not to be distracted by him, but it’s hard. Jean is distracting. Jean is always distracting, because even when he’s just sitting, just breathing, Marco feels the need to look. To study his face more, more than he already has done over the past three years. To map the sharp angle of his jaw and the pointed length of his nose. The way his lashes are short but dark. The greens and golds in his eyes.
But he needs to finish this chapter. He’s so close to finishing, just a few more pages and he can be done. He’ll be ahead of the class then, prepared for the next lessons before anyone else. More knowledgeable, more informed.
“You bite your lip when you concentrate.”
Marco turns his head. Looks at Jean who watches him, his head rested in his hand, eyes focused on his lips.
“What?”
“If you bite it any harder, you’re going to make it bleed.”
“Well—” Marco starts, but he doesn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. Doesn’t know how to tell Jean to stop staring at him, to stop staring at his lips, without it coming across weird. Though, Jean had been the one staring at his lips in the first place. “—why does it matter?”
“Just told you,” Jean rolls his eyes, “you’re going to make it bleed.”
Marco doesn’t respond. He forces his gaze away from Jean.
Back to the book.
Only on the book.
“You look so serious,” Jean says with a small laugh. “This book really that boring?”
Marco scoffs. “It’s not boring. It’s interesting. If you ever read rather than just asking me to summarise everything for you, maybe you’d know.”
“But classwork is boring. Studying is boring,” Jean responds with a huff, “besides, I’d much rather listen to you talk, even if it is boring. It makes the information stick in my head if it sounds nice.”
Marco blinks at him. He tries to work out if Jean is joking, tries to look for even a glimmer of humour on his face, but there’s definitely none.
He doesn’t look like he knows the weight of what he’s just said, though.
“Whatever,” Marco shakes his head, “could you give me five minutes? You can go back, if you want. I’ll meet you there.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” Jean sits up straighter, “a bunch of us are going down to the lake. Thought I’d come get you, see if you wanted to join us,” his mouth lifts at one edge, “some of the girls are coming too.”
“There’s no curfew, but we’re not allowed out, you do realise that, don’t you?”
“And you’re a killjoy, you do realise that, don’t you?” Jean shakes his head, unamused by how much of a stickler Marco is. “Come on, man. The Commandant isn’t even here. How often do we get nights that we don’t have a curfew? Never. Live a little.”
Marco sighs. “I think I’d really rather just finish my book.”
“Finish?” Jean’s voice jumps an octave. “A minute ago you said you were finishing a chapter! Not the whole damned thing!”
“I changed my mind,” Marco turns his head back to the book, “if you’re spending your whole night at the lake, I’ll spend my night here,” he shrugs, “I was only going to come back to our bunk so I didn’t disturb you.”
“And I was only going down to the lake if you were coming with me.”
Jean leans backwards in his chair, putting some distance between the two of them.
“What do you need me there for?” Marco asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.
He’s good at talking to the girls. He’s friends with the girls. Aside from Sasha, Jean is not.
“Because it’s not fun without you,” Jean responds honestly, without hesitation, causing Marco’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. “And I gotta get you to stop being a goody-two-shoes eventually, right? So, tonight is the night. Be a rebel for me. With me.”
Marco almost argues. Almost. But Jean’s honesty takes him aback. Makes him want to rebel a little. Makes him want to see what other honest things Jean is hiding.
So Marco takes a deep breath. Nods. “Alright,” he then gives Jean a look, “but I do want to finish this chapter. Five minutes?”
Jean grins. “You got it. I’ll be quiet.”
Marco concentrates. Really, he does try, but he can still feel Jean’s eyes boring into his skull, and the words aren’t sinking in in the way he’d like. He pretends to read, flipping the pages, instead counting a minute, two, three, before he closes the book, and turns his attention back to Jean—
—who is smiling at him. The sort of soft smile that Jean so rarely wears. When he’s happy—truly happy. Like the time Mikasa complimented his skills with the ODM gear. Or the time one of the pretty girls with long, dark hair in town told him he had a sweet face.
Marco frowns. “What? Why are you smiling?”
“I don’t know,” Jean answers. He’s usually got an answer for everything, so he’s being honest again. “You’re just—”
Marco holds his breath. Waits for the rest of Jean’s sentence. Hopes it’s something, anything, that proves that Jean is just as brave as Marco truly believes him to be. Braver than Marco, at least, who keeps his feelings, his true feelings towards Jean, hidden deep, deep down.
“—ah, I don’t know,” the wooden legs of the chair scrape against the wooden floor as he stands, “I just thought…you know what? It doesn’t even matter,” but he holds his hand out for Marco. An invitation, palm-side up. “Let’s get going before they leave without us.”
Marco hesitates. Worries, wonders, until he decides he can be brave. He lifts his hand, and places it in Jean’s. Allows the feeling of Jean’s fingers curling around his, fitting together perfectly, just like he’d expected, to warm his body and his brain and his heart.
Marco gives Jean a smile as he stands too. As their joint hands drop between them, naturally, together at their sides.
“Okay,” Marco decides that this is enough. For now, anyway. One day he’ll be braver. “Lead the way.”