Work Text:
“I don’t know why you have a crush on him.”
Marco’s head whips round, lightening-speed, glaring at Armin through his rectangular-rimmed glasses, his cheeks flushing a vibrant shade of scarlet.
“Stop it, Armin!”
“It’s not like he can hear you,” Eren comes to Armin’s defence, and it’s his turn to receive the same upset look Marco had just given his friend. “The guy’s too dense to notice anything going on around him,” he pauses for a moment to shrug, to nod towards the girl sitting opposite him, beside Marco. “Y’know, except Mikasa. And his dumbass friends.”
“I think Marco is allowed to have a crush on who he pleases,” Mikasa gives Marco a little nudge, a little smile, before her face drops again. “Even if it is him.”
Marco scoffs, shakes his head as he opens his mouth to say something—then promptly shuts it, and lowers his eyes to the sandwich in front of him.
“No, c’mon Marco, what were you going to say?” Armin pries, kicking at Marco’s leg under the table, making him wince. “You were just staring at him and I could practically see the love hearts in your eyes. Were you going to deny your crush once again? Tell us all of his redeeming qualities that we somehow keep missing? I’d really like to know.”
“No,” Marco lies. “It’s not…I know he’s not…and I’m not…I don’t…”
“Marco,” Mikasa’s voice is soft, reassuring, “you’re allowed to like him. Just because he’s a creep—”
“—and an asshole—” Armin adds.
“—and has a face like a horse—” Eren mutters.
“—just because of that,” Mikasa shoots them both a glare from across the table, “doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to like him.”
Marco sighs. He pokes at his sandwich, uninterested, mostly in the food but more so in the conversation, because they’ve had it before. It’s the same vicious cycle, of his friends teasing him for having a crush on someone he hasn’t even admitted to having a crush on, Mikasa coming to the rescue and Marco feeling sad afterwards.
“Can we just leave it, please. Please?” Marco asks—begs—and is grateful when Armin turns the conversation towards the new Mario Kart game, rather than lingering on the one topic Marco is loathed to speak about with his friends:
Jean Kirstein.
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
“He’d be Waluigi.”
“He’d not be Waluigi, he’d be King Boo.”
“King Boo? He wishes. He’d be a Goomba.”
“Can you guys please stop trying to decide which Mario character Jean would be,” Marco shakes his head. Pushes his glasses up his nose as he tries to concentrate on the screen in front of him, “and can we just play?”
“Who do you think he’d be, Marco?” Armin wiggles his eyebrows at Marco, grinning, baring the braces lining his teeth. “I bet I can guess who you’re thinking of.”
Marco stares straight at the screen as his cheeks start to flood with warmth. Waits patiently, as his usual selected Yoshi stares back at him.
“I don’t wanna say.”
“Go on, say it,” Armin teases, but when Marco doesn’t respond, he sighs, “c’mon, we all know you’re gonna say Bowser. Problematically sexy, or whatever you said he was that one time. And that’s exactly what you think about Jean, too.”
“Shut up,” Marco pulls the collar of his shirt over his nose, covering his quickly reddening cheeks in the process, but the tips of his ears still turn a shade of pink, his embarrassment obvious, “leave me alone.”
“Jean, Boswer?” Mikasa laughs, shaking her head. “Boswer Junior, maybe. But not Boswer.”
“I still think he’d be a Goomba,” Eren sighs, “anyway, are we gonna play? I’m bored of talking about Jean.”
“You started it,” Mikasa reminds him, “you asked the question.”
“And now I’m bored,” Eren groans, “let’s just play, alright?”
There’s a slightly annoyed but collective agreement, as everyone finally selects their characters, and starts the game.
Marco throws the first race, dismally, because his mind is far too focused on the topic of Jean to concentrate.
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
“Asshole, ten o’clock, don’t let Marco see. And don’t let him see Mikasa.”
The Mall is packed—obviously it is, because it’s the weekend, and the weekends are always busy—but Marco had spotted him instantly. Even through the crowds he’d found him.
Marco immediately turns his head to pretend he’s looking elsewhere.
“Ugh,” Armin rolls his eyes, hoisting his satchel further over his shoulder and burying his head in his phone, the screen light reflecting off of his glasses, “I did not wanna deal with him today. Why does he have to be here?”
“As much as I don’t want to see him either, he’s allowed to be here,” Mikasa’s hold tightens on Eren’s arm, as they weave their way through the crowds, “besides, there’s no way he’ll go to the bookstore, right?”
“Right,” Marco tries to join in, to act like he most definitely doesn’t want to see him, but his voice wobbles and his lips feel dry. “Let’s just…hurry.”
Hurrying is hard, especially when there’s people who keep stopping in the middle of the walkways, when there’s children running, screaming, making their brains rattle around in their heads, but eventually they do make it to the bookstore.
Marco heads straight for the manga, excusing himself from his friends for just a few minutes, to catch his breath, and to grab his phone from his pocket and check the notifications that he’d missed after he’d felt it vibrating.
And there, from an unsaved number, are two text messages.
u look cute 2day
miss u x
Marco rolls his eyes, desperate to be annoyed, but as usual, when it comes to him, there’s no way he can fight the smile that edges onto his lips.
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
Marco doesn’t mind home economics. He especially doesn’t mind it when they’re baking something.
Today is something simple: cookies. Chocolate chip, to be precise, and because Marco is an overachiever in most everything he does (apart from gym class, but that’s another story), his cookies have chunks of dark, milk and white chocolate in them instead, which makes them ten times as tasty.
A little bit of cinnamon too, because that’s his secret ingredient. Cinnamon makes everything better.
He gets an A, of course. It’s no surprise to anyone.
At the end of class, with the faint smell of burnt dough in the air, Marco packs away his cookies into his tupperware, but leaves one out, resting on a paper towel, and places it on a specific desk once there’s only three people left in the room.
He tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation the teacher is having with the student he refuses to look at—because it’s really none of his business, as much as he wishes it was—but honestly, it sounds unfair. Not everyone is good at baking. Not everyone is good at home economics. Not everyone is good at school.
Marco is, though.
But still, he doesn’t say anything, because it’s not his place to say. He sneaks out of the room with the tupperware under his arm, and grabs his phone out of his pocket as he walks.
His thumb hovers over the unsaved number, tempted. What he’d say, he doesn’t know, but he wants to say something. Wants to be the one that texts first, for once. Wants to be a little brave.
The teacher sucks, Marco decides on, I would’ve eaten your burnt cookies. Anyway, I hope you like the one I left you :)
Ten minutes later, sitting on a bench just outside the science labs with his friends, he gets a response.
ikr. theyr in the trash if u want one tho lol. ur cookie was fucking ace, how tf did u do that?!
also u look hot af in an apron btw heh, was imagining u baking cookies 4 me in our kitchen when we r married, thts the dream x
Marco has to physically turn himself away from his friends to hide his blushing face.
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
“Mr Zacharias, please don’t put me with one of the nerds.”
Marco listens as Armin tuts loudly, as Reiner, Ymir and Historia burst into laughter. Watches as Mikasa has to put a hand on Eren’s shoulder to stop him from lunging.
“You go where I tell you, Kirstein,” Mr Zacharias responds simply, “you can go with…” his narrow eyes focus on Marco. “…Bodt.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” Mr Zacharias starts to walk away, “Arlert with Leonhart, please. Jaeger with Ackerman, Braus with Springer, Reiss with Fritz and Braun with Hoover, too.”
Why they need to be in pairs, Marco doesn’t know. Why he needs to have been put in this specific pair, he doesn’t know either, but it is what it is. He’ll just have to deal with this forced proximity.
The school field is big, and they’re supposed to run round it five times, yet it’s no surprise by the second lap Marco is completely out of breath. There’s silence between them, but once he starts wheezing, and once he starts to slow down, he’s forced to stop completely, two hands pushing at his shoulders until he falls on his ass, the grass beneath him.
“Are you dying? Why are you breathing like that?”
“Asthma. I—” Marco wheezes, “—have asthma.”
A tut. “Right, I forgot,” there’s a pause, then, “where’s your inhaler?”
Marco looks up at the figure standing over him for a split second, then looks back to the floor. “I-in my bag.”
“Idiot,” a head shake, a very light kick to Marco’s shin, “I’ll go get it.”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Marco says assuringly, “just…need a minute.”
There’s no one else around. Reiner and Bertholdt are almost finished with their laps. Armin is lagging a good few feet behind Annie, and Eren and Mikasa seem to be walking and talking rather than jogging.
And because of the lack of people to overhear, because it’s just the two of them, the usual cold attitude Jean has, the usual frustration he portrays melts away, if just for a moment.
“I meant it, when I said I miss you the other day,” Jean lets his usual furrowed brow soften, “being grounded sucks.”
Marco laughs just a little. “I’m sure it does.”
“Ah, I forgot, mister goody-two-shoes has never been grounded before, has he? Never done anything bad in your life, huh?”
“Of course not,” Marco answers. “I’m not a rebel like you are.”
Jean scoffs. “I’m not a rebel, I just do what I want.”
“Is that why you haven’t ignored your mom’s rules and snuck out of the house to see me, then, like you usually do?”
Marco doesn’t mean to say such a thing. Doesn’t mean for his inside thoughts to come out into the open. He’s ready for the response to be annoyance, dismissal, even ignorance.
But Jean chuckles. “Is that what you want? You want me to risk being grounded even longer to come see you? Want to risk getting grounded yourself if I show up?” He bites at his bottom lip, trying to hide the small smile forming on face. “‘Cause I will. This weekend. I’ll do it. Just watch me.”
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
“You know he’s never going to notice you, right?”
Marco’s eyes avert from Jean, where he stands opposite, at his locker with Reiner and Historia, down to Armin, who is shaking his head.
“I mean, he’s never going to notice you in the way you want,” Armin continues, “he’s never going to look at you as anything other than the nerdy guy that’s friends with Mikasa.”
Marco almost laughs. He presses his lips tighter together to stop himself, though.
“Alright.”
“Marco,” Armin says his name seriously this time. The way he says his name when he wants Marco to really listen. “Just give it up. It’s not like you know him, not really. I get that you think he’s hot, and I get that you think there’s more to him than what he likes to present, but,” Armin shrugs, “I hate having to watch you pine over a guy that’ll never like you back. Especially when you could do so much better.”
Marco looks at Armin for a few seconds. Weighs up his options: denial or acceptance.
Instead, he tries something different.
“So…what if I told you one day that we were dating? That he’s not been interested in Mikasa for years, because he likes me. That he asked me out and I’m happy, really happy, and…and I love him. What would you say to that?”
Armin is silent for a little while, then, “I’d say that’s bullshit.”
“Armin.”
Armin sighs. “Fine. I…I don’t know. I’d be shocked. I honestly don’t think I’d believe you. There’s no way…because he’s straight.”
“But if he wasn’t? Just…how would you react if I told you we were together?”
“I’d…I don’t think I’d be happy. I think he’s an asshole, really. But…if you’re happy, if he treated you right then I guess that’d be fine. I’d get used to it. I can’t promise Eren would do the same, but…” Armin pulls his glasses off his face, to wipe them on his t-shirt, “…anyway, it’s not going to happen, is it? So I mean it, you gotta move on from him, alright?”
Marco stares at Armin just for a few moments, before he nods. “Alright.”
Then Armin chuckles, in the scary and a little evil way he sometimes does. “So, was that finally an admission that you do like him?”
Marco rolls his eyes, slams his locker shut, and starts walking.
── ⋆⋅♡⋅⋆ ──
It’s late. So late, that Marco is drifting off, eyes struggling to stay open as the credits roll on the movie he’s been watching.
He yawns, covering his mouth, before he shuts the lid of his laptop and places it on his bedside table.
12:05 is the time on his alarm clock. There’s no school tomorrow, but it’s still far too late for him. He’s going to be a lightweight at college, he’s sure of it, but he can worry about that when the time comes for it.
He’s just about to turn the lamp off, when he hears something hitting his bedroom window. Frowning, but still fighting sleep, he holds his breath, listening out for any more noise.
It comes again just a second later, and it wakes Marco up a little more, his frown deepening. He pulls back the covers, and swings his leg out of bed. Lets his bare feet hit the carpet of the floor, as there’s another noise.
“What?” He mutters to himself, heading over to the window, drawing the curtains back to find nothing but the night sky and the streetlights casting an orangey glow over the world. That is, until he notices another stone that pings against the glass.
That’s when he realises exactly what’s happening. He pushes the window up, leans out of it, and sees Jean standing in the yard, holding a handful of stones and carefully aiming another up towards Marco.
“Ah, finally!” Jean smiles when he sees him, lowering his arm, and dropping the rest of the stones back into Marco’s mother’s flowerbed. “Took you long enough.”
“Jean!” Marco hisses, because he wants to tell him off, wants to tell him to go away, but he can’t quite believe he came. That he actually showed up like he said he would. “What’re you—”
“Told you I’d risk it, didn’t I?” Jean responds, and Marco can’t help but smile. “Now, are you gonna let me in, or am I gonna have to climb up to you?”
“Well, I can’t let you in, my parents’ll hear,” Marco tries to think of another way. Maybe he could go down and sneak out, or maybe—
Before he has the chance to think, Jean’s hands are already on the trellis that scales the house just outside of Marco’s window, covered in a thick ivy that he battles with, trying to find his footing in the spaces available, but thankfully it’s only one floor up, and he makes it quickly, impressively, crawling in through the window as Marco steps back to give him some room.
“You’re…you’re crazy,” Marco whispers as Jean stands, dusting himself off, face splitting into a grin. “That was so stupid.”
“Yeah, but I made it, didn’t I?” Jean might be insane, but he’s correct. And here. He steps forward, the tips of his boots coming toe-to-toe with Marco’s bare feet. “Came all this way, did all of that, just to see you.”
Jean smells like cigarettes and cologne, and he looks indescribably handsome in the low light of the room.
“Was it worth it?” Marco’s voice lowers, his breath hitching as Jean’s hands find his hips, pulling him closer.
“Are you gonna make it worth it?”
When Jean’s lips brush against Marco’s, when their noses bump and Marco’s hands come up to rest on his shoulders, everything feels right again.
No hiding. No lying. No pretending.
Just the two of them, in the quiet of Marco’s room.
“Ah,” Jean breaks their brief kiss a moment later, before it’s even really started. He pulls back just an inch, and Marco wants to chase after him, needy. “Your nerdy friend…the little blond one? Arlert, right? He was glaring at me earlier. Guessing he still doesn’t know about—”
“No,” Marco shakes his head immediately, “no, none of them do…it’s probably better if it stays that way. They’re still pretty mad at how you were freshman year.”
Jean rolls his eyes. “Ugh, seriously? That was three years ago. I was a kid with a crush on a girl—”
“But you were a little creepy,” Marco says.
“—I had a crush on a girl and her friends were weird and always hanging around her. So what? Anyway,” Jean tightens his hold on Marco’s hips, digs his fingertips into his skin through the fabric of his loose t-shirt, “turns out one of her friends was way hotter. I’d much rather be a creep around him, now.”
Marco hums lightly, slipping a hand over Jean’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. They still hold it against you. So this is a secret. For now, at least. I’m still trying to work out how to get them to come around to the idea.”
“But they know you like me, right?”
Marco shrugs a little. “I…yeah, they do.”
“They just don’t know that I like you back.”
“…no. Definitely not.”
“Hm,” Jean pulls Marco in close, so their chests are pressed together, so their breath mingles, so their faces are just an inch apart, “so no one at all knows about us, huh?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Yet here I am, midnight, in your bedroom, and not for the first time, either. Hey Marco, y’know, I think you might just be a little bit more of a rebel than me.”
Marco leans forward. Steals a kiss from Jean, threading his fingers into the short, ash-brown hairs at the nape of his neck.
Right where he wants to be, right where he belongs.
“Impossible.”