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Freshman Year
For as long as he could remember, Jean loved baseball. ‘Ball’ was literally his first word. His mother, who didn’t particularly care for the sport, took him to games whenever she could. High school, college, professional; it didn't matter. If there was a game on TV, he was watching it. He collected everything: cards, figures of his favorite players, hats, anything he could get his hands on. His room was stuffed full.
Unfortunately, he never had anyone to play baseball with. Most children learned how to play catch with their fathers, but Jean wasn’t blessed with that luxury. His mom tried her best, but he quickly surpassed her in skill. The other kids at school always had other things to do during recess; getting enough people together for a game was almost impossible.
But high school was going to change all of that. East Sina High didn’t just have a team, they had a good team, and Jean had just become one of their newest members. He knew he would; during tryouts, he struck out every hitter he had pitched to. All of those hours practicing by himself, throwing baseballs at a chalk-drawn target on the side of his house, had paid off.
Despite the fact that the proper baseball season wouldn’t begin until the following semester, practice was still to be held three times a week, regardless of weather. As exciting as the prospect of playing on a real team was, Jean was already dreading the mid-blizzard December practices… But he would put up with it. He would put up with anything if it meant he could play baseball.
Even the stricter-than-a-nun coach. Keith Shadis was a former Major Leaguer, and even though time had done a number on him (and his hair, of which he had very little left), he still looked like the type who ate nails for breakfast. Especially as he made his way down the line, shaming the new recruits for lack of fitness, sloppy appearances, or anything else he could come up with.
Apparently, this was some sort of rite of passage, and Jean was prepared for the worst, when it was his turn.
“Kirstein! You’re one of the best damn pitchers I’ve seen in years-” It was everything Jean could do to stop smirking; so far he was the only one the coach had complimented. Unfortunately, the praise was short lived, and he continued his tirade. “-But your batting average at tryouts was a disgrace to the game. My grandmother can swing harder than you, and she’s been dead in the ground for almost thirty years. Bodt!”
“Yes, sir!”
Jean vaguely remembered seeing that name on the roster, but it hadn’t stood out to him at the time. No one had, really; he had been too focused on his own success to care about anyone else’s.
“I’m partnering you up with Kirstein. Watching you try to throw a curveball made me sick to my damn stomach. You’re going to pitch to him until you both improve your performance; I can’t put either of you out on the field until you do. Is that clear?
“Yes, sir!” Bodt agreed, without hesitation. Jeez, what a suck up.
“Is that clear, Kirstein?” the coach was so close to his face now, Jean would have agreed to anything to not have to smell his breath for another second.
“Yes, sir.”
Comparatively, their humiliation had not been that bad. Some of the other guys were even in tears by the time the coach was done with them (for which they rewarded with laps around the track), but Jean still felt the harsh sting of embarrassment as he jogged out to outfield to practice, with a sack of balls and a singular bat.
“What was your name, again?” If Jean was going to he practicing with this guy, he might as well learn that much about it.
“Marco,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, apparently unfazed by the coach’s belittling comments. “You’re Jean, right? I remember you from tryouts. You struck me out twice, I was so sure I wasn’t going to make the cut!”
Jean bit his lip. He hadn’t even remembered the other boy. Looking back now, he still couldn’t pick Marco out in his memories.
Oh well. If they were supposed to work together until they both improved, he’d have plenty of time to melt that cute freckled face into his-
Wait, cute? Jean shook his head. Now was not the time for crushes. This was his dream. His hormones would have to take a backseat.
As practice slowly passed, Jean felt his frustration melting away. Sure, he had just had his faults pointed out in front of the entire team, but at least he finally had the one thing he had always wanted: someone to play baseball with.
And Marco, as it turned out, was a pretty nice guy. They had plenty of time to talk between hits and pitches, and after a few hours, Jean had learned all of Marco’s favorite teams (he really liked the Phillies), favorite positions to play (first base, with shortstop as a close second, but he didn’t think he would ever be quite fast enough for it), and hotdogs were his favorite food to eat while watching a game.
Jean spent plenty of time talking about himself too, of course. He preferred the Yankees, but liked east coast teams in general. He preferred to play pitcher, because that was what he was good at, but Jean would play any position as long as he was on the field.
Crackerjacks were obviously the superior game-watching snack, but eh, no one was perfect. By the time their coach was telling them to call it a night, Jean was warming up to the idea of practicing with Marco. If for no other reason than he finally had what he’d always wanted: someone to practice, play, and talk to about baseball.
“Hey, wait, before we stop…” Marco tossed him the ball. “You pitch one to me, before we call it quits.”
Jean caught it, frowning. “Why?”
“Well, that’s what you’re good at, right? And I’m a lot better at batting than I am pitching. If we both end on a positive note, we won’t feel so bad about how horrible we are at the stuff we’re not so good at. Heh, that’s what my middle school coach used to tell us, anyway. Can’t hurt to end practice on a good note!”
Jean shrugged. Sure, why not? That was some pretty sound logic, and he was always ready to show off. So he passed the bat off to his new teammate, who accepted it with a smile before jogging back to home plate.
“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, just to make you feel better!” Jean called after him. The fact that it got a few of their teammates to turn their heads and watch was a nice added bonus, but the brief, shocked look on his practice partner’s face was everything he was hoping for.
The expression, as satisfying as it was, was fleeting. He was grinning again by the time he lifted his bat, taking a few practice swings. “I won’t go easy on you, either.”
Jean wouldn’t have had it any other way.
It was a flawless pitch. Just enough wind-up, perfect angle of the arm, a firm pitcher’s mount to push off of. Jean reveled in the way the laces felt against his fingers as the ball slipped from his hand. The sound of the ball crashing against the gate – there was no catcher there to stop it – would sound so much sweeter than the sound of thousands of practice-throws hitting the side of his house, or the garage door-
Except the sound never came. Instead, the loud crack of the ball hitting Marco’s bat rang across the field, and Jean watched as it soared over his head, out into centerfield.
All of the players who hadn’t already left for the locker room clapped and cheered, and on any other day Jean might have soaked up that attention like a sponge. Instead, all of his attention was on Marco, who was laughing as he shook out his wrist.
“Coach wasn’t kidding! That’s some arm you’ve got there!”
“Y-yeah, I uh. I practice a lot.” Jean barely sputtered out. He wasn’t sure what had caught him more off guard; the fact that Marco had hit his pitch, or how that laugh that made his heart flutter.
He chose to ignore the flutter and focus on baseball.
“I can tell!” Marco said. It was getting harder to ignore the flutter, especially now that he was walking closer, hand extended for Jean to shake. “I can’t wait to play on a team with you, Jean.”
“Yeah, sure. Stick with me, and maybe you’ll be able to pitch like that someday.”
Sophomore Year
The logical part of his brain knew that a freshman team member wouldn’t be allowed to play in an important game. The older players were always going to be better, and had college scouts to impress; coach Shadis was always going to put them out on the field when it mattered. It wasn’t like Jean never got to play at all, but when he did, it was always in low stakes games.
It didn’t make it any less frustrating, though. He practiced and practiced just as hard as the seniors did, he wanted his own turn in the spotlight! All of his practice sessions with Marco were really starting to pay off, for both of them.
Marco was the one Jean ever complained to the most, during their long hours of pitcher/hitter practice. The more time they spent together, the more Jean liked him. He was nice, but not a complete pushover. He was smart, but not stuck up about it. He had good taste in movies and music, and Jean had quickly found himself spending more and more time with the other boy outside of baseball practice.
Most importantly, he shared Jean’s passion for the game. Sometimes they would talk about it for hours, until Marco realized it was nearing midnight and they, in fact, needed to work on that they had originally set out to do, or study for that exam coming up, or whatever their original task has been.
Marco never seemed too concerned about his lack of game time. He would tell Jean all of the things he knew were true, in the logical part of his mind; they were still green compared to the older guys, they hadn’t proven themselves yet (‘but how can we prove ourselves if we never get the chance?!’, was always Jean’s response to that one), it would be their turn someday, and when that day did finally come, would they want to be passed up for the new freshman? Probably not.
During last game of the sophomore year season, they finally got their chance. There was no way the East Sina Titans, or the team they were up against, the Maria Roses (what kind of mascot is a fucking rose, anyway? Jean always thought that was stupid) would make the playoffs, and as the game had dwindled into the final innings, coach Shadis started swapping in more inexperienced players.
In the top of the ninth, Jean had successfully struck out two batters, and the two that had managed to hit his pitches were taken care of by the outfielders. It had been thrilling, standing on that mound, looking the enemy straight in the eye, and watching them miss pitch after pitch.
But now that it was his turn to bat, Jean felt terrified. All of those practice sessions with Marco had more than paid off, but he knew he was still lagging behind the rest of the team in that particular department. The Giants had one more out before the game was over, but needed one more point to win the game.
Marco was on third.
All he had to do was not fuck up. He didn’t even have to score himself; he just had to buy enough time for Marco to make it to home plate.
Jean was so nervous that he almost forgot to swing at the first pitch. That was strike one, and the umpire almost sounded smug as he made the call.
“C’mon Jean, you can do it!” Marco called out to him from third. “Just like we practiced!”
“Yeah, Horse Face, just hit the damn ball!” Eren Jaeger – the incredibly annoying but equally talented shortstop hollered from the dugout.
Maybe I should go down there and hit your ugly mug instead, Jean thought, but he knew (another) fight with Eren could wait. He lifted his bat again, watched as the pitcher lifted his arm-
Jean didn’t remember the ball leaving the pitcher’s hand. He didn’t really remember swinging, or the sound of the ball cracking against his bat. It was like his brain was filled with white noise, until he heard Eren, once again yelling at him from the dugout while the rest of the team cheered.
“Run!” Eren shouted. “Run, you idiot! Run!”
I did it, Jean thought, as he finally took off for first. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marco, making a mad dash for home. I’m not sure how, but I fucking did it!
Jean only made it to second, which, admittedly, felt a little anticlimactic, but it didn’t matter. He’d gotten Marco home.
They’d won the game.
Junior Year
Things only got better for the two of them, and for the rest of the Giants. Now that Jean had proven himself a capable player, he was made a regular on lineup. Marco was usually on that list, as well; he never did become even a passable pitcher, but he was one hell of a first baseman. He always seemed to be exactly where he needed to be, and sometimes Jean swore those strong, perfect, freckled arms could somehow extend just a little bit, just enough to catch the ball.
Jean had just watched exactly that happen. They were already winning their game by a long shot; it was almost merciful of Marco to catch that poor guy’s hit and put that last inning to an end, before they could even hope to pull off a last minute win. It put the whole team out of their misery.
In true victory style, the entire team rushed onto the field. Hats were thrown, Gatorade splashed in every direction (except onto coach Shadis, no one ever dared to get a single drop on the coach), whoops and hollers so loud that Jean couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He quickly found himself in the middle of the throng, arm across his best friend’s shoulder.
“Nice going!” he said, pulling Marco close to him. He’d gotten so much bigger than he was when they first met. Intense practice sessions had really built his muscles. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and the armpit stains on his uniform were only slightly less prominent thanks to the dirt caked to the front, from when he had slid into third base during the seventh inning.
And he was smiling, so big and bright and genuine, and without really thinking about it, Jean was leaning forward, eyes closed, until their lips touched-
It only lasted for a second, but that was more than enough time for everyone to see. The spontaneous celebration halted instantly, but Jean hardly noticed. He stared at Marco, who was staring right back, red faced and mouth open. He looked absolutely horrified, and Jean felt his heart plummet into his stomach.
“I…”
Jean didn’t wait around to hear the rest of that sentence. He didn’t even bother stopping by the locker room to shower and change. He mad a break for the parking lot, his mind running a million miles a minute
Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. I fucked up. I fucked up bad. What the hell was I thinking?!
Fuck!
Senior Year
Senior year was supposed to be the best year of your high school life. Easy classes, teachers letting you slack off because they know you’re almost out of their hair for good, prom, college scouts coming to your games just to see you play. Graduation parties. Finally getting the hell out of the mess that is puberty and moving onto bigger, better things.
Instead, Jean spent most of his first semester being utterly miserable. He had hardly spoken to Marco since The Kiss. Most if their teammates, even (surprisingly) Eren, hadn’t brought it up, and Jean was thankful. That little shit could be obnoxious as hell, but at least he knew when to leave hell enough alone. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all?
Unfortunately, that also meant that avoiding the subject was easy, at least outwardly, so the problem lingered. Inwardly, Jean thought about that kiss every day. It always seemed to come up, when he was bored in class, when he was standing in the outfield, when he was in bed awake at night.
It usually went one of two ways. Jean would either imagine a world where the kiss had never happened, and life at East Sina High continued as normal. Sometimes he liked to think of possible scenarios where they both laughed it off. And sometimes, more and more often, as time went on, Jean imagined a completely different scenario. A bolder, more passionate kiss, that Marco returned with just as much urgency. The rest of their team cheering for them, maybe even the crowd too, because the kiss was just that awesome. That was usually followed up by daydreams of prom, or Marco wearing his letter jacket (even though he had one of his own), and definitely an indefinite number of those awesome, crowd-pleasing kisses.
It was stupid to think about it. The way Marco looked at him after a split-second kiss, there was no way he would be interested in something like that.
And, to make matters worse, Jean and Marco were both still on the team, and even though their one-on-one practices had long been a thing of the past, they still had to see each other three times a week, and it was only a matter of time before they were placed on cleanup duty together. It finally happened in November, right before Thanksgiving break. Jean had a feeling Shadis was avoiding pairing them up, but that could only go on for so long.
The unavoidable had finally come around to bite him in the ass. He was alone with Marco in the equipment shed, sorting the practice uniforms for washing and loading the equipment up for the weekend. It was cold and damp, and worst of all, uncomfortably quiet. He’d caught Marco’s eye, a few times, but the other boy would always look away before Jean could think of what he wanted to say. Otherwise, he kept his eyes on the ground, so much so that Jean wondered how he was getting any work done at all.
“I can finish up the rest,” Jean said, when the silence got to be too much for him. “You can go on home.”
“I’m not leaving you with all of this work,” Marco said, frowning. “It’ll take you a long time on your own.”
“Yeah, well…” Jean hesitated. From the start, he’d had a soft spot for Marco. Even now, it felt a little unnatural to show his harsher side. “Anything’s better than this. You’re miserable too, aren’t you? So just go home and-“
“I’m sorry I kissed you!” Marco blurted out, his gaze still clued to the floor. “I’m really, really sorry Jean. I know I should have asked, but I just got caught up in the moment! I-I mean, I won’t lie, I’d thought about it a lot, before it happened, but-“
Jean shook his head. What the hell was Marco going on about? “Wait, no, I’m the one who kissed you.”
Finally, Marco looked up. “No, I’m sure I was the one who-“
“It was definitely me,” Jean interrupted again. “I remember, I got so caught up in the moment, and I just-“
Before Jean could finish explaining himself, Marco started to laugh. That beautiful, perfect laugh that Jean hadn’t heard since that fateful game almost one year ago.
Jean frowned, “What’s so funny, huh?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just… Jean, that means all this time… Jean, I thought you hated me-“
“What? But-“
“Because you stopped talking to me-“ Marco stopped again, wiping a tear from his eye that Jean hoped was from all that laughter. “-After I kissed you, I just assumed-“
Jean didn’t need to hear the rest of the revelation. Now that all of the pieces had fallen together, there was only one thing that needed to be done. He grabbed Marco by the shoulders, pulled him closer, and kissed him hard on the mouth before he could keep talking.
This kiss was so much smoother than their first, once they got going. Marco had one hand on his hip, and one on the side of his face, slowly inching up into his undercut.
Jean whimpered against Marco’s lips when his fingers started tracing the line where the shorter part of his hair met the longer strands on top. Damn, that felt good.
He was disappointed when Marco pulled away, but the sentimental, almost too sweet to be real look on his face told Jean he had plenty more of those kisses to look forward to.
“So…” Jean looked up into Marco’s bright brown eyes, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling even if he wanted to. “Do you, uh, maybe want to go to the prom with me?”
“Jean, I-“ Marco pressed their foreheads together, his expression so endearing that it made Jean’s heart ache. “I would love to, but it’s still three months away.”
“Oh, right. Well, maybe I could take you on a regular date between now and then?”
“I would really,” Marco paused, giving Jean another quick kiss. “Really like that, Jean.”