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shingekinosimpson · 1 year

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You Had Me At B Minor: Chapter 11

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Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x Marco Bodt

Other relationships: Reibert, Springles, Historia x Ymir, Levi x Hange, a smidge of Jearmin

Rating: Mature

Summary: Jean's band needs a new bass player. Cue freckled Jesus.

Warnings/tags: Long fic, slow burn, Jean POV, friends to lovers, British AU with cannon locations, northern Jean, Unsigned band AU, nonbinary Armin, I promise there will be smut eventually! drinking, mentions of death, descriptions of domestic violence, panic attacks, see start of each chapter for more specific trigger warnings

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Trigger warnings: Panic attack, traffic collision (aftermath)

I'm sick of spending these lonely nights Training myself not to care

Things could always be worse.

I can’t tell you how many times I've heard my mam say those five words. It was her mantra when dad left her. It was my mantra when dad left me. A phrase to cling to during moments of intense anger or sadness.

It was by no means a way of forgiving my dad; things were worse because of what he did. Period. No, it was more a means of coping, of grounding myself whenever I felt like I was spiralling.

Things could always be worse.

Well let me tell you, now I know what it feels like when things get worse.

My day from hell starts like this...

It's been six days since I last saw Marco. Or anyone really, with the exception of a couple of nights off I've shared with Connie. Training to be a firefighter serves as a pretty good excuse for being AWOL lately, genuinely or otherwise. Like Wednesday, when everyone helped Marco move into Eren’s, I was conveniently on a longer training session. Did I want to come round for a drink and a few matches on Fifa after work on Thursday? Oooh well today was pretty physical and I have an early start tomorrow so, no can do.

Wednesday was a long day, but only because I purposely stayed an extra hour to do some online training modules. Thursday was pretty physical, but only because I did an extra gym session afterwards.

Half lies are still just lies I suppose.

I do have an early start today though. Once a week we get to ‘buddy up’ with someone in our station to see how they apply what we’ve learnt so far to real situations. We also get to accompany them if a call comes in, though if it’s for anything serious we just observe. I’m looking forward to it. It’s a good way to get used to the everyday routines of the station before I start working there permanently.

Daz and I are buddied up with Hannes; a veteran of the fire service having worked at West Trost station for over twenty years. He takes a very laid-back approach to everything which puts me at ease. Everyone else we meet seems really friendly too, not just with us but with each other; Shadis was right about this place feeling like a family. I find the thought really comforting, especially with how disconnected I feel from everyone outside of training right now.

The morning is enjoyable and informative. We get to explore all the compartments of the fire engine in more detail and observe people carrying out checks on the breathing apparatus (I swear it’s more interesting than it sounds). Then we get to see a training exercise in action – extinguishing a fire in a three-storey building. They even let us help out with a few things, putting our new ladder skills to the test.

It all serves as a wonderful distraction and I don’t think about anything except the job in hand. It’s only during break times that I start to drift off, lost in my own thoughts, all of which concern Marco. Six days is a long time, though I’ve been trying not to think about it. To be honest, I’ve been learning so much recently that I didn’t realise just how much time had passed until I bothered to count the days. The number six just kind of snuck up on me.

That’s not to say I haven’t thought about it, because I have - believe me I have – and the feeling of something digging into my chest, getting deeper and sharper with every day that passed, has been hard to ignore.

Especially at night.

Despite how much of a toll this training is taking on my body, there have been some nights where sleep refused to take me for hours. It’s in those moments that an endless loop of our last conversation plays behind my eyelids. My mind chatters incessantly with half-baked apologies, knowing I want to speak to him and end this silence but having no idea what to say. I’ve tied myself in knots trying to think of a way to start a conversation, but then my anger takes over and I can never bring myself to do it.

I know I have no right to be angry. He doesn’t owe me an explanation. I know I shouldn’t have shouted at him…but knowing that doesn’t make it easier to shut the anger off. I try not to dwell on why I’m so angry, why I’m so upset, why the knot in my stomach twists so tight when thoughts of him and Floch together push their way to the forefront.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hmm?”

Daz is regarding me with a concerned expression. Though to be fair, he always kind of looks like that - I thought his nerves would have lessened by the second week.

“Yeah! Sorry did you say something?”

“No, you just looked kind of spaced out is all. You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Just tired.”

“I know what you mean. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so much in my life since starting this.”

Must be nice.

After lunch, Hannes tells us we’ll be joining him out in the community, carrying out checks for at-risk areas (abandoned properties and the like). We’re just about to head off when the alarm sounds and everybody drops what they’re doing, springing into action.

“Right boys never mind. Looks like we’re heading out.”

We follow Hannes as he makes a beeline for his uniform peg. We don’t have ours yet, so we’re instructed to just put on the jackets that identify us as trainees for the other emergency services. Hannes is suited and booted in the same time it takes me to get the jacket on, and he directs us to one of the fire engines.

Adrenaline rushes through me as the siren starts and we pull out of the station. I know I’m probably not going to be doing anything, but it’s still pretty exciting!

Hannes turns in his seat to give us a debriefing.

“Okay guys we’re heading to a traffic collision on the motorway. If we’re first on the scene, we’ll need you to stay inside while we secure a blockade in the road. Then you can come out and observe. These kind of calls need to be dealt with swiftly to ensure safety and avoid further collisions, so there won’t be any opportunities for you to practise your skills. However, we may need some assistance with removing debris or talking to the public, so you may be called upon to lend a hand. Services will know you’re trainees, so you won’t be asked to do anything above your grade, but please speak up if you feel uncomfortable with any requests. That sound okay?”

“Yeah understood,” I reply as Daz nods vigorously next to me.

We make it in less than ten minutes; the built-up traffic parts like the Red Sea to let us through. I’m excited to see these guys in action and testing myself to see if I can identify everything they’re doing. However, when the collision site comes into view, my heart drops into my stomach.

I take in the scene before me – a broken barrier, crumpled cars and chunks of metal littering the ground, and the people…

This next part will be quick…I don't think I'll get through it otherwise…

Six cars and an HGV. Three dead. I don’t look.

We’re first response. Mike’s group assigned to cut a woman out of her car. Hannes’ group to check status of injured. So much to deal with. Not enough of us here. Where are the ambulances?

I’m called to assist. Talk to girl while they assess mother. Mother in a bad way. Daughter looks fine. Not even a scratch on her. I try not to look at the driver’s side. I talk to the girl. I don’t know how I sound so calm.

Indy – short for India. Six and three quarters. Has a dog. Boxer called Benny. He likes sleeping in her bed but is only allowed to at weekends. Likes school. Favourite lesson science…Indy goes pale. No response. I scream for paramedics. Both taken away in ambulances. I help others but it's a blur. Hours pass in a blink.

Update on injured from hospital. Mother still in surgery but not hopeful. Indy...internal bleeding. Couldn't save her…

Back at the station, I’m taking my bag out of my locker with shaking hands when I hear my name.

“Jean. Can I borrow you for a moment? Daz I need to catch you afterwards if that’s okay.”

I nod and follow Mike into an office where Hannes is waiting. He gestures for me to take a seat next to him and I do.

I feel numb.

“We just wanted to check in before you leave,” Mike starts. “We know today can't have been easy. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, erm…”

My emotions flood over me in a sick wave. I feel like I want to cry for days at the utter unfairness of it all. I want to pick up the chair I’m sitting on and smash it through the wall. I want to scream until I rid myself of all the pain and rage in my veins.

“…not great.”

“Yeah…I know today was rough. It's unfortunate you were thrown in the deep end like that at such an early stage in your career. But if you can go through an experience like this and find a way to move forward, you can take on anything.”

It sure doesn’t feel that way at the moment but I nod anyway.

“The realisation you can't always save everyone in this job is not a nice one. It's hard losing anyone, but losing kids is...well, it's a different kind of pain. But we wanted to tell you how well you handled everything today. You had a really calm manner with that girl.”

He looks down at his desk, sadness crossing his face. My stomach flips and writhes horribly.

“The nature of her injuries...please understand there was nothing you could have done to save her Jean. No signs you should have looked out for, nothing okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble weakly, unable to meet his eye.

“And I don't know if this will be of any comfort but, if you hadn’t been there today, that girl would have been scared out of her mind. By talking to her, you made sure her final moments weren’t spent in distress. You should be proud of what you did today.”

I guess I hadn't thought of it that way. The tension in my chest gives a fraction.

“Others who've been in your position…have decided this career is not for them after all - and there's no shame in that - but I thought you should know how impressed we are with you so far Jean. You’ve shown great leadership when it’s asked of you. You make quick assessments of situations and support the team to tackle them. That kind of decisiveness saves lives Jean. We need more people like you in the service.”

Hannes nods in agreement and clears his throat before speaking.

“Most of our call outs end in success Jean, but as you now know, losing the people you're trying to protect does happen sometimes. It doesn't get any less painful, but it does get easier to cope with when you're part of a well-established team like me and Mike.”

“He's right. We look after each other and we're all very open when something is bothering us. We have access to great counsellors too if needs be. Hannes and I can both vouch for them, can't we?”

“Yep. Certainly can.”

They both smile at me and my breathing becomes less shallow. I feel a lot less alone in this than I did moments ago.

“Listen,” Mike says, “I'm going to shuffle things around next week and look at well-being with everyone. It's not scheduled until week four, but I think, given what you and Daz have gone through today, it makes sense to do it sooner rather than later. That sound okay to you Jean?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Okay good. Now you've got the weekend to yourself which, if you're anything like me, means you're at risk of ruminating on this. Do you have family or friends you can rely on if you need to talk about anything?”

“Yeah. Yes I've got people. I live with my best mate.”

“Good, that's good. Don't bottle anything up, okay? And I'm going to give you my number and email. If you need to talk at any point you can get in touch with me.”

He scribbles his info down on a post-it note and hands it to me.

“You have access to our counselling service as well. You don't need to make a decision now - take the weekend to think it over - but the option's there if you need it.”

I don't think I've ever felt so well-cared for in my life. At least not by anyone that wasn't my mam. I can't believe the level of support they're giving me with this. It feels above and beyond.

“Okay,” I say standing to leave. “Thank you so much.”

“Not at all. You look after yourself.”

“Yeah good work today Jean,” Hannes adds, patting me on the shoulder.

I bid them both farewell and finish collecting my things. Daz offers me a weak wave as he’s called into the office next.

______________________________________________

I drive home on autopilot, my mind swimming with Hannes and Mike’s words.

How impressed we are. Great leadership. You had a really calm manner. Nothing you could have done. Proud of yourself. Need more people like you. We look after each other.

It’s strange to be devastated but also…hopeful, I guess is how I would describe the feeling. Having some validation about how I’m performing feels good. And I don’t think they were saying it just to make me feel better. I feel like they want me to succeed and by extension, care about me.

A flicker of optimism starts to glow in my mind - maybe I will get through what happened today. I think, with their support, I can do it.

The upcoming lights change to red and I slow to a stop at the crossroads. The radio is on and I find myself humming along, tapping a beat on the steering wheel. There’s still a fragility to my voice, but I tell myself I’m okay.

Another car pulls up in the lane beside me, and when I glance over…it feels like the world has given way beneath my feet.

There’s a little girl with long dark hair in the passenger seat, bouncing her teddy up and down on her knee and chattering happily. She looks just like Indy.

I stop breathing. My fingers tingle as a prickling starts running up the back of my neck. I stare at the girl and see Indy’s face turn pale as her head slumped forward. I remember the way her eyes fluttered closed as she lost consciousness and the prickling gets worse, my chest tightening, head buzzing.

My gaze follows them as they pull away and wait to turn right, but then the sharp blast of a car horn jolts me back to reality and I realise I’m holding up traffic. I pull away as fast as I dare, gripping the steering wheel with both hands whenever I don’t have to change gears.

Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t cry. You’re okay.

By the time I make it home I’ve just about got myself under control. I feel like my chest is bruised on the inside, but my breathing is steadier and some feeling is returning to my fingers.

You’re okay. You just weren’t expecting to see someone that looked like her so soon after. Bad luck that’s all. You’re home now. You’re okay. You’re okay.

If I say it to myself enough times it might come true.

I must have just missed Connie leaving for work, because nobody answers when I call up the stairs after locking the front door. I was psyching myself up to act normal – I wouldn’t want to worry him when he has to go to work – so I thought I’d be relieved when I didn’t hear his voice. To be honest though, now that I’m walking into a silent living room, I really wish he was here.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

I get changed into my sloppy house clothes and think about what to do. My mind’s still too on edge to concentrate on TV and I’m not in the mood for the PlayStation. Maybe I should eat something. It’s been quite a few hours since lunch and making something will keep my jittery hands busy.

You’re okay.

I put the TV on just for some background noise and set to work looking in the fridge for something decent. There’s a few things hanging around in here that are definitely past their best – Connie loves cooking programmes so will often come home with random items that he half uses or just forgets about completely. However, I do find some okay looking veg and half a tub of green pesto, so I set about making a pasta dish.

‘A collision involving multiple vehicles resulted in five fatalities today.’

I drop the pan on the countertop with a clatter and whirl round. It’s on the local news. The collision is on the local news.

‘Emergency services were called to the M7 on the outskirts of West Trost after…’

Images from today flash up on the screen – scraps of metal littering the road, the barrier where it was twisted and mangled by the HGV, a close up on one of the cars - badly damaged with a front that looks like a concertina.

‘One of the victims was India Begum, a six-year-old girl from…’

A photo appears on the screen of a girl. It’s a school picture. She’s smiling, vibrant and full of life. It’s the Indy I never got the chance to meet, that so many others will never get the chance to meet.

The tingling in my fingers is back with vengeance, sick chills rolling up my arms making me nauseous.

‘…while her mother remains in a critical condition in hospital. The family are said to be devastated by the news.’

A sudden whimper leaps up out of my throat and I press my hand to my mouth like I’m trying to push it back in.

Why? Why are they reporting this? Why are they reminding me what happened?

It's like the world is taking a sick sort of pleasure in torturing me when I least expect it, tearing into me and laughing as I frantically try to stop myself from bleeding out.

I choke out a sob against my hand, the burning in my throat almost unbearable, and look around for something to hold on to. My other hand slams down and grips fiercely along the edge of the countertop as tears sting my eyes...and then I break completely.

Horrible, violent sobs tumble from my mouth but my body can’t keep up with them. I gasp for air, trying to fill my lungs before the next one hits, but it feels like nothing’s going in. I’m drowning, struggling in quicksand. My vision blurs with tears and I’m pulled under, choking and crying and pulling at my hair.

When I finally resurface, I’m sat on the floor in a ball, with my head on my knees and my back against the oven. My breathing is shallow, but at least it feels like it’s actually working now. I keep my fingers twisted in my hair and my forehead resting on my knees. The feeling helps to ground me, and I start to feel in control of my body again.

I’m not sure how long I stay like this, but eventually the seriousness of what’s just happened starts to weigh cold in my gut and I realise, I don’t want to be alone right now.

I’m not okay.

I could call Connie - I’m sure he’d find a way to leave work - but (and I know it's pathetic) I want to be held. I need to be held, because I genuinely fear I might fall apart at the seams again any second.

My mam is an obvious choice - I have no doubt she'd hold me close and stroke my hair just like she used to when I was a kid – but I'll make her worry, and when my mam worries, she tends to make things worse. She means well but sometimes she overreacts, and I end up getting more stressed trying to put her mind at ease.

So, I'm really only left with one person. Or more accurately, there's only one person I'm desperately craving the company of right now.

It's so selfish of me to ask though, to hope all is forgiven. I haven't properly apologised to him yet and I don't want him to think I'm only doing it now because I need something. But then again, I'm struggling to think of anyone else whose eyes overflow with the kindness and understanding I’m in need of right now.

I shift and slide my phone out of my pocket. With shaking hands, I hit the green call button and will myself to gain some composure as I listen to the dial tone.

I freeze when he picks up, bracing myself for a curt hello...

"I swear to God I was just about to ring you when my phone started go off in my hand! You scared the shit out of me!" he chuckles breathlessly. “I’m so glad you called.”

Hearing his reaction, I should be relieved – like, over the moon, pissing my pants with happiness relieved - and I'm sure a part of me is, but it’s overshadowed by the painful clench in my chest, twisting up into my throat and around my vocal cords.

"H-Hello?" comes Marco's voice again.

Calm down. Calm down.

"H...Hi, erm."

My voice barely chokes out those words and I'm painfully aware of the quiver at the end. This is not how I wanted this to go.

"...Jean what's wrong?"

He knows. He knows something's not right. He can hear it in my voice.

My words stick in my throat when I try to speak again. "So...today, erm...a-at work I..."

That's as far as I get. There’s a half-second moment where I’m just numb and floating before the weight of everything smacks into me like I’ve just landed face first onto concrete, and I disintegrate into strangled sobbing again. I wince at the pain behind my eyes, trying to hold back the flood gates, but they've already been breached.

"Jean!?"

I gasp a breath, trying to gain my composure long enough to speak. "I'm sorry, I just- Can I come over p-please?"

"No."

Wait, what?

"I'll come to you. Are you at home?"

"Y-yeah."

"Okay I'll order a taxi and come over now. Do you want me to stay on the phone until I'm there?"

"N-no...well, I-I dunno. Maybe?" I stammer pathetically. I hate how weak my voice sounds.

“I’ll stay on the line,” he says firmly. “I’m just going to put you on speaker phone so I can order my taxi, but don’t worry, nobody else can hear you.”

“O-okay.”

His voice is assured and filled with so much tenderness. It helps to steady me and the panic starts to melt away.

“Okay, I’m just on the app now. It says there’s a car three minutes away so it shouldn’t take me long to get to you.”

“Okay that’s good,” I reply, my voice finally finding a little more strength. I already feel better knowing he's on his way and some of my anxiety shrinks back on itself.

I can hear movement that sounds like him gathering up his keys, or maybe his wallet with the chocobo key ring attached. Listen to him, just listen to this boy dropping everything to come help me when he doesn’t even know what’s wrong…even after I acted like a complete and utter arsehole.

My heart twinges painfully and I realise just how much not speaking to him has affected me. I’ve fallen out with friends before, but this has been different; a deep, festering sort of discomfort that’s been slowly eating me from the inside out.

And the worst thing is I’ve been letting it. Why the hell didn’t I pick up the phone sooner?

I can’t hold it in anymore.

“…’M so sorry Marco.”

His voice sounds distant. “Sorry Jean what did you say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Marco.”

No sounds come through the line for a moment and I feel my eyes burn once again, forewarning the next bout of tears.

“Jean, there’s nothing to be sorry for okay?”

“N-no there is! I’m so sorry about what I said to you.”

“Jean.”

“And that I haven’t called or text you until now!”

“Jean.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Jean!”

I clamp my mouth shut and let the tears run silently down my face.

“Jean listen you don’t need to…I’m sorry too.”

Despite my best efforts to hold it back, I start sobbing again. I don’t understand how my body is still capable of producing tears at this point.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey you’re okay. Jean? Jean listen to me I’m leaving now. Just take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

I cling to Marco’s voice like a lifeline and do what he says, heaving air into my lungs as slowly as I can.

“Okay, I’m in the taxi now alright? It won’t take me long to get to you.”

He stays on the line for the whole journey, describing exactly where he is and what he can see. When I hear the rumble of a car engine outside, I drop my phone and run down the stairs, wrenching the front door open to make sure he’s really there.

His arms encircle me and I collapse against his chest, my hands sliding up his shoulder blades and squeezing him tightly. I cry, but it’s not the uncontrollable sobs I had before. I tremor from how cold my body suddenly feels, but my breathing is calmer now that I have his warmth against me.

“Jesus you’re shaking,” he whispers.

He guides me to sit on the stairs and keeps hugging me, running soothing circles over my back and stroking my hair. A minute passes like this before he leans back and looks at me, his deep eyes full of concern. He has one hand on my knee, the other holding the side of my head.

“Shall we head upstairs?” he asks in a gentle voice, his thumb running across my cheek to catch a stray droplet.

I croak out a reply and he stands to lead the way, holding my hand and checking over his shoulder every two seconds, like he’s scared I’ll stumble or something. He guides me over to the sofa, taking a seat beside me when I draw my legs up to hug my knees.

My skin is covered in goose bumps and I rub at my biceps in an attempt to ease my shivering. Initially, Marco reaches a hand out to rub at my arm too, but then he retracts it and pulls his hoody off over his head.

“Here,” he says, gently putting it over my head and encouraging me to reach my arms into the sleeves. I just sit there like a small child and let him, still too shaken to do much else. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

The hoody is warm and smells like him. I take a deep breath and recount everything from the collision today, breaking down again when I talk about Indy. I get through it though. Marco doesn’t say anything beyond and occasional hum or an ‘oh god’ when I get to an especially upsetting part.

“God Jean, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah…me too. You know, signing up for the fire service, I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew things would sometimes be hard, but actually seeing the reality of it...five people died today Marco.”

I swallow hard as my vision swims with more tears. I quickly wipe them away and move to sit cross-legged.

“…I don’t know if I can do this.”

His gaze drops to my hands, which are currently wringing the life out if each other. He pries them apart, unbelievably gentle with me.

“Jean there’s no shame in walking away from this if that's what you need to do. Everyone would understand.”

They would, I know they would. They’ve all been so supportive, knowing how much this means to me. They’d get me through it if I decided to walk away.

But then I think of the people that were saved today, like that woman we freed from her car. I think of Indy and imagine how traumatic her final moments could have been if I wasn't there to talk to her and keep her calm. I think of what Mike said about my leadership and I think of letting down my team.

My mind is made up in an instant. I can't walk away from this. I refuse to disappoint anyone by giving up before I've barely started. I can do this. I know I can.

“No. I don't want that.” My voice sounds firm, though that doesn't save me from sniffing unattractively before speaking again. “I'm not ready to give up yet.”

Marco takes a deep breath and I swear my own lungs fill with air, a kind smile gracing his beautiful features.

“God Jean, I think you’re so brave.” He doesn’t look me in the eye when he speaks, so he doesn’t notice the way my jaw drops.

Is this guy for real? The shit he’s had to go through and he thinks I’m brave?

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Maybe if I was braver this whole thing wouldn’t have got to me so much,” I sniffle.

Ugh. I sound so bunged and disgusting.

“I don’t think that has anything to do with bravery Jean. I think the fact that this affected you so much just shows you care. What’s brave is you’re not letting it stop you from helping the next person.”

This time he does look at me and the tenderness I see in his watery eyes almost makes me want to start balling again.

“Thanks Marco.”

“No worries,” he smiles. “Hey have you eaten yet? I was thinking I could make us some food if you like.”

I feel a warm tug on my heart strings and have to metaphorically pinch myself. How did I get lucky enough to find someone like Marco in my corner? And how did I get so stupid as to almost throw it away because I can’t keep my feelings in check around him?

I won’t make that mistake again. I don’t care if he never feels the same way I do. He’s doesn’t have to like me back; it’s enough to just be in his orbit.

“Yeah but I need to do something first.”

“Okay, what’s that?”

I shuffle closer to him and nearly laugh at the way his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. My hands reach his shoulders and I pull him to me, sliding my arms around his strong back and nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you. Thank you for coming over and…just being you I guess.”

He chuckles softly into my shoulder and squeezes me back, letting his chest melt against mine.

“ S’alright.”

“And I’m sorry. I know you said it doesn’t matter but it does. I’m so sorry for shouting at you. I was completely out of order.”

I hold him close as I speak. Not seeing his face makes it easier to say what I need to say.

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have got so defensive. I’m sorry I yelled.”

“S’okay.”

He gives me another squeeze before pulling away. He looks sadly at his lap before speaking again.

“I’m not back with Floch by the w-”

“You don’t have to tell me anything Marco.”

“No I know but, I get why it would be a shock after what he did…I did see him again, but only once. I was feeling pretty down last Thursday and then he sent me this text saying he missed me.”

Thursday. I knew something had been wrong with him that night.

“I shouldn’t have gone ‘round – I knew exactly what would happen if I did – but I just felt so shit and lonely and…we’ve only slept together that one time since we broke up. And I felt like fucking shit afterwards…It wasn’t even that good,” he huffs through his nose with a sad laugh.

It shouldn’t make me smile but it does. He catches me trying not to and we both let out a soft breathy chuckle, our cheeks tinging slightly red.

These past few days, having no contact with Marco, I’ve woken every morning with a heavy feeling in my chest, like a stone was lodged there. Now I can feel it crumbling into dust.

“He text me a couple of times afterwards but I didn’t know what to say so I ignored it, hoping he’d get the message, which was pretty shitty of me I guess.”

“Marco nothing you’ve done to him could be as shitty as what he did to you.”

His face twists in a way that tells me he’s not convinced, running a hand through his hair as he turns to flop back against the sofa.

“I have spoken to him now though. After that message you saw, I told him it was a mistake, that it wouldn’t be happening again and I couldn’t forgive him for what he did.”

Good. You need that creep out of your life Marco.

“It’s stupid. I know I’ve done the right thing, and it was my decision, but I still feel so shitty about everything. I thought cutting ties with him would make me feel better, but it hasn’t really.”

“Marco, it’s okay if you still…” I’m already wincing at what I’m going to say. “If you still have feelings for him. You were together a while. It’s understandable that you can’t just switch it off.”

“No, no it’s not that…not really. It’s more that…that I still don’t understand what went wrong.”

Anguish skates across his face as he stares at the ceiling. He swallows audibly and then in a soft voice that breaks my heart adds, “I just wish I knew…why wasn’t I enough for him? Why am I never enough for them?”

At first my voice won’t come out. Seeing how much pain he’s still in grips my throat despite how much I want to rave and scream that he’s asking the wrong question. Of course he’s enough. He’s more than enough. Floch and those other arseholes should be asking why they couldn’t be enough for Marco.

But when I hear him sniff, my strength comes rushing back to me. I have to make him see.

“Marco, I think I know you well enough by now to know you are more than enough for anyone. You’re a fucking amazing guy. Nothing that happened was your fault. Floch doing what he did had nothing to do with you. That shitty choice is on him. All of it. And there’s nothing you could have done to change it.”

He nibbles on his bottom lip as he nods, still staring at the ceiling.

“Some people are just, well…dicks.”

Wow. Eloquent. How the fuck are you a song writer?

He slowly turns his head towards me and I worry I might have overstepped the mark, but then he snorts and starts laughing, his red eyes regaining their sparkle.

“You never did like him did you Jean?”

I’m laughing too and finding it really hard to look coy.

“Shit. Was it really that obvious?” I ask scratching the back of my head.

“I mean…Yeah. Yeah it was.”

We both descend into giggles, catching stray tear drops on the back of our hands, some from laughing, some from earlier.

“God we’re a right mess aren’t we?” he laughs, wiping his damp hand on his jeans.

“Well, at least we’ll be a mess together,” I smile.

His own smile softens. A short moment passes between us where he just looks at me fondly, but then it’s ruined by my stomach making an ungodly growling sound.

“Bloody hell. You’d think I hadn’t eaten in days!” I laugh.

Marco chuckles and stands. “C’mon let’s see what we can rustle up in the kitchen.”

He offers a hand to help me up and I follow him to the fridge.

______________________________________________

After a short debate, Marco convinces me that a few more ingredients will transform my pasta dish from ‘bland to grand’ and I agree to go to the shop with him. I keep his big hoody on over my comfy clothes, deciding I’m going for the ‘I’m feeling sorry for myself don’t fucking @ me’ look. I offer him one of my hoodies in return, trying to not blush at the fact we’re wearing each other’s clothes.

The fresh air makes me feel better, helping to calm my red cheeks and clear my nose. Marco grabs a basket when we get there, looking very domesticated.

“Right we need some cherry tomatoes and some mozzarella…Oh the fresh basil’s reduced! We’ll get some of that too.”

I can’t help but quirk a smile at him. How the hell does he manage to make food shopping enjoyable? Though, I’d probably find just about anything enjoyable with him by my side.

“Hey Marco, do you like macarons?” I call out as he scans the bazillion types of cheese they’ve got here.

“Yeah why?”

When he turns, he sees me waggling my eyebrows and holding up a huge platter of them - reduced from the party food section.

“Oh man. Do they have pistachio ones?”

“Yeah but you’ll have to fight me for them,” I smirk, chucking the platter in the basket.

“Excuse me, I am about to cook you a fabulous meal. I think that merits at least half of the pistachio macarons!”

Suppose I can’t argue with that, and I certainly can’t argue with the butterflies doing loop-da-loops in my stomach at the thought of Marco cooking for me.

“Fair enough, we’ll share them. It’ll be nice to have a meal that isn’t just stuff from the freezer. I’m not much of a cook. Connie likes to think he is but his experiments in the kitchen definitely go wrong more than they go right!”

“I love cooking. I know everyone says this about their mum but, my mum is literally the best cook in the world. I’ve learnt a lot from her. She makes amazing Italian food.”

“Oh yeah, your Grandma was Italian right?”

“Yeah. My mum was born here but every summer my grandma would take her to Florence to stay with my Great-Aunt and all they’d do is cook together. Sundays are the best at my house when Mum isn’t working. She always goes all out with a three-course meal for me and Mia and any other family members we happen to drag along.”

“Three courses?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “You’ll have to come some time. She’s always desperate for people to feed.”

He says it likes it’s nothing but the gesture gives me a wide, bashful smile, imagining myself sitting around the kitchen table like one of the family. “Never say no to a free meal,” I say, jostling him in the shoulder.

We head down the aisle with the dental products after I remember I need to pick up some toothpaste, but when the brushes catch my eye I stop, something dawning on me that I hadn’t thought of until now.

Marco waits patiently as I give a hum, thinking about what I want to say.

“Marco.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, erm…”

Fuck. I really wish I’d thought of this when we were still at the flat and not now, in the middle of Sainsbury’s with people all around us.

“I was just thinking…” I start again.

“What?”

I let go of the packet I’d been fondling and grab my toothpaste instead. “No, it’s dumb.”

I feel a gentle tug on my shoulder as he turns me back around. “Jean, c’mon what’s up?”

“Well…please feel free to say no but, I was just gonna ask…I mean…I’m just a bit worried about being on my own tonight and Connie won’t be back ‘til quite late so…d’you think-” a lady with a pushchair squeezes past us. “Would you mind staying over?”

He blinks at me owlishly, but smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah of course I can,” he answers to my relief. “I mean, I’m working at Bean’s tomorrow so I’ll have to leave early enough to go home and get changed but…Yeah, I can stay over.”

He rubs my arm soothingly and I let out a breath. “Thanks. I’m just worried I’ll be…I dunno-”

“You don’t have to explain Jean. I’m happy to stay over,” he grins turning to the toothbrushes. “Guess I’ll be needing one of these then.”

He goes to grab a plain blue one but I cut him off, reaching over him.

“I think you’ll find you’ll be needing this one!”

He shakes his head at me and laughs, chucking the Hello Kitty brush in the basket and heading towards the tills with me sniggering behind him.

______________________________________________

Witchcraft. Literal black fucking magic. That’s the only way to describe how Marco takes a few simple ingredients and transforms them into something so delicious, it’s borderline orgasmic.

“Oh my god,” I mumble around a mouthful of heaven. “I’m having a foodgasm.”

He replies with a hum and a nod, too busy tucking in himself for anything more articulate. We decided to be total heathens sit on the sofa instead of at the breakfast bar, using a couple of cushions to balance the plates on our knees.

We don’t say much beyond an occasional laugh or comment at the TV. Marco got way too excited when he discovered Spaced in my DVD collection so we’re watching it from the beginning – something that will no doubt result in a lot of silly gifs and memes in the coming days. It acts as a nice buffer between us and the raw feelings still hanging in the air from earlier.

I hoover my food up in no time, lying back against the sofa with a satisfied sigh once I’ve cleared every last morsel from my plate.

“Seriously, did you sell your soul to the Church of Gordon Ramsey? That was so fucking good.”

“Ha! No. But if churches dedicated to chefs actually existed, I’d be praying at Nigella Lawson’s.”

“Hmm, I’m sure that has everything to do with her food!”

We relax and let our food settle, happy to be in each other’s company. It feels so comfortable. Eventually though, the temptation of dessert becomes too much for both of us, and I heave myself off the sofa to go get them.

“D’you want a beer?” I ask when I open the fridge.

“With macarons? Are you mad?” he says aghast. “Put a pot of tea on!”

So I do, and there we sit a few minutes later, eating macarons and sipping tea like two old ladies on a Saturday afternoon.

“Mate, if my teenage self could see me now. What a wild way to spend a Friday night,” I laugh.

Marco quirks an eyebrow at me. “Would you rather be doing something else?” he asks, taking a bite of a pink macaron and smirking at me.

It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. “No way. Tea and sweet treats – what more could a person want?”

“Exactly.”

______________________________________________

We make it through the whole of season one, ending with one of my favourite Mike Watt moments - leading the club in a dance routine to the A-Team theme song.

I snort unattractively and look over at Marco with a smile, but see he’s fallen asleep – snuggled in my hoody and slumped against the huge cushion between us. He’s breathing softly through his nose, which at this proximity, I realise is covered in an assortment of freckles. Usually just the darker ones stand out, but now I can see the lighter ones that pepper his skin too.

I try not to think about what it would be like to kiss each one.

Instead I watch the throw that’s draped over us both move up and down with his steady breathing, and then let my eyes wander back to his serene expression. I stare down at those beautiful, dark eyelashes fluttering prettily against his cheeks, a tranquil smile curling at my lips. I’m starting to think I could write an entire fucking album about those eyelashes if I tried hard enough.

A lock of hair has fallen in front of his face, tickling his eye and making it twitch every so often. My hand decides to move without consulting me, reaching forward…

I’m not stroking his hair. I’m just…helpfully brushing it back for him.

The wavy strands are soft to the touch when I gently move them aside and out of his eye. The lock doesn’t quite go back far enough though, so I push it again, my fingers carding ever so slightly through his hair in my attempt to tuck it away.

The ache in my chest is palpable as I watch the rise and fall of his, my fingers yet to stop their steady back and forth motion. It’s damn near excruciating how much I want to lean down and brush a soft kiss against his forehead and knowing I can’t...yet I can’t tear myself away.

“Mmm.”

My hand snaps back like it’s been electrocuted when he stirs and snuggles further down into my hoody.

Fuck! What are you doing?

Fearing his eyes will snap open any second, I jump from the sofa and start gathering our plates off the coffee table. I’ve just placed them on the kitchen counter when I see his eyes flutter open. He sits himself up straight and pushes the throw away so he can stretch.

“You okay?” I ask, praying to god he didn’t feel anything in his sleep…but then he hits me with a gorgeous smile and I find it hard to care.

“Yeah thanks. Sorry for dozing off.”

“S’alright,” I reply relieved. Then a cheeky thought crosses my mind, “I could’ve done without the loud snoring though.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You do. Sounded like a tractor getting fucked by a motorbike.”

His jaw drops with a huge smile as he grabs a cushion and launches it at me. I duck behind the breakfast bar with an ‘eeeep!’ to avoid it.

“I do NOT snore!”

“I know. Just wanted to see if I could convince you otherwise,” I laugh, chucking the cushion back.

He yawns gently and itches his eye in a way that’s a million times more adorable than it should be.

“Should we call it a night?” I ask.

“Yeah, probably should. Do you have spare blankets or anything? For the sofa?”

“Oh…erm…”

Crap. I’ve got plenty of pillows, but I don’t actually have a spare duvet to give him.

“Or just a sheet to go with this throw will do to be honest.”

“Marco, I’m not letting you kip on that with just a sheet and a throw. A leather sofa’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on at the best of times, never mind without proper blankets…Just kip in my bed…if you want.”

“You…you sure that’s okay?”

Is it okay? Am I really about to do this to myself?

“Yeah of course. Don’t worry I don’t bite,” I grin. “It’s big enough for two people anyway. C’mon.”

I don’t wait for an answer and lead the way to my room, my sudden wave of bravery carrying me along. He follows me inside, glancing around at the various pictures and old posters on the walls. I move my bag and a couple of other things I’ve left lying on the bed and notice him shuffling awkwardly on his feet, like he’s not sure where to put himself.

“I sleep on the right side in case you were wondering.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “That’s good. I prefer the left.”

The butterflies in my stomach make themselves known again at that comment, twitching and flipping around. I savour the discomfort.

“That works out well then. Do you want something to sleep in?”

“Yeah please if you don’t mind.”

“’Course not.”

“Thanks. Can I pinch a t-shirt?”

I turn to my chest of drawers and start rummaging through my stash of old band t-shirts. Marco’s a little wider across the chest than me so I try to find a baggy one.

“Is Sonic Youth okay?” I ask, chucking the bundle and laughing when it hits him in the face.

“Oi! he squawks. “Yeah that’s fine. Oh, I’ve got The Simpsons version of this!” he chirps as he unfolds it.

“A Simpsons version?”

He strips off his top and my hoody with a smile, chatting away and thankfully oblivious to the way I have to force myself to keep looking at his face.

“Yeah it’s got Bart and Milhouse on and the writing’s about their squishy bender.”

“Aw that sounds-”

I momentarily forget how to brain when he ducks to pull the top over his head and I get a really good view of his torso. He’s got a smattering of freckles across his slightly fuzzy chest, lessening in their frequency as they lead down his smooth stomach. That’s a nice view in of itself, but when my eyes lock onto his hips, I almost have a nosebleed - his happy trail and follow-me lines daring me to do just that. I try really hard not to think about where they lead.

“Ahem,” I cough. “That sounds cool.”

I look at him again thinking I’ll be safe now that he’s got a top on but have to catch my breath for the third time in less than a minute. There is nothing sexy about the shirt I’ve given Marco, but…there is just something about Marco wearing my clothes that gets me more hot and bothered than I care to admit. And the realisation that I’m about to have Marco Bodt in my bed (even if it’s not in that way) makes the feeling ten times worse.

Crap. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Oh, I’ve left my toothbrush in the other room,” he says turning to leave.

“It’s in the bag on the bench,” I call to him.

I thank my lucky stars for the few seconds peace I have to collect myself. With fumbling fingers, I quickly pull my joggers off, giving my dick a quick check to make sure it hasn’t gotten any funny ideas, and grab a t-shirt for myself. Marco strides back in just as I’m stretching my arms up to pull it on.

He stops in the doorway. “Oh,” he says with a flat expression. “I was really hoping your underwear would be more ridiculous than that.”

My eyes bulge out of their sockets as I look between him and my plain burgundy boxers. “Wh-what!?”

“Okay promise not to laugh,” he grins, putting his toothbrush down and unbuttoning his jeans.

Hoh boy. Like watching this guy undress could ever make me laugh…

“Ta-da!” he cries with a smile, pushing his jeans to the floor and lifting his arms.

Oh!

I splutter unattractively before my body gives way to full-on belly laughs.

Marco Bodt is standing in my room…wearing blue and white Cookie Monster boxers.

“Hey! I said don’t laugh!”

“Yeah but I never promised I wouldn’t!”

“Look, it’s not like I knew I’d be joining you for a sleepover when I put them on this morning!”

“Why did you decide to put them on at all!?” I wheeze.

“They’re really comfy! You’re just jealous your unmentionables aren’t as cool as mine.”

He smiles brightly when I burst into giggles again, awkwardly kicking his jeans off the rest of the way.

“Clearly. I’m gonna leave you to think seriously about your life choices while I go brush my teeth.”

I chuckle to myself as I wet my brush and squeeze a blob of toothpaste onto it. I’ve just started brushing when I see him walk towards me in the mirror. He bumps his hip into mine to shuffle me along the sink and I narrow my eyes at him, unable to make a snide remark with a mouthful of toothpaste.

I wait until he’s just about to squeeze some toothpaste over his brush and knock him back, causing most of the toothpaste to go over the back of his hand. My look of smug satisfaction smiles at his reflection as he grits his teeth and tries really hard not to laugh.

“Dick,” he mutters, scraping the paste onto his Hello Kitty brush.

I snigger around my brush. We elbow each other a few more times, my giggles getting the better of me again when he puts his Hello Kitty brush in the glass next to mine with a cheeky grin.

Marco turns to leave before me and the tug in my lower abdomen makes me really wish I’d walked out first, because Jesus Christ - Marco Bodt might actually have the nicest arse in the entire fucking world. My cheeks are already pretty hot from laughing but I feel them flare even more as I watch him walk away.

Fuck me, it’s actually perfect.

I try really hard not to think about how firm and round it looks. I especially try not to think about the satisfying sound it would make if I brought my hand down on it, but then he turns around and that dirty thought is quickly replaced by another one.

“Am I alright to grab a glass of water? I sometimes get thirsty through the night.”

Oh for fucksake! This cannot be good for my health!

I’m momentarily lost in the shape of a different curve, this one at the front of his underwear, accentuated by the stretch of the cotton - I am clearly not the only one in danger of feeling thirsty tonight!

Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.

I quickly avert my gaze. This would be the worst possible time to get caught creeping.

“Y-yeah, help yourself.”

I turn the light off but leave my bedside lamp on and climb under the covers to give myself a talking to.

Right that’s enough now! He’s going to be sleeping in your bed in a moment and you CANNOT make this weird.

He returns with his glass of water and a coaster from the coffee table to rest it on. He’s such a nerd. At least thinking about how cute he is isn’t as bad as perving on his arse and dick.

“Hey, have you spoken to Sasha recently?” he asks, climbing in beside me.

“No why?”

“She’s invited us all to stay at her Grandma’s holiday cottage.”

“Holiday cottage?”

He rolls over to face me. “Yeah. She told us all at Eren’s the other night. Her Grandma has a cottage in Dauper she uses for holiday-lets. She told Sasha she can use it for free one weekend next month so we’re making it into a road trip.”

“Is there enough room for us all?”

“Apparently yeah. She said it’s two cottages that got knocked through into one.”

I’ve never been to Dauper, but somewhere that far out in the countryside is bound to have pretty low levels of light pollution. I feel a smile stretch across my face at the realisation that this might be the perfect opportunity to do some star gazing.

“If the sky’s not too cloudy, might be a good chance to see the night sky in all its glory.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can’t remember the last time I went star gazing,” I say, looking up at the ceiling and imagining I can see right through it. “Plus I can put my new knowledge to the test.”

“What knowledge?” he asks.

I turn back to him with a smile. “You know, from the book you gave me.”

“Oh yeah.” There’s a hint of a blush on his face as he struggles to maintain eye-contact. That, coupled with the sleepy look in his glittering eyes, does nothing to stop the twinges in my chest. “You had a look through it then?”

“Yeah course! I really like the illustrations.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“For what?”

“When I bought it for you, I didn’t realise you couldn’t read,” he teases, biting his tongue to keep from laughing.

“Hey!”

I reach out to jab him in the side, and then go for a full-on tickle when he yelps. I take pity on him pretty quickly though, too sleepy at this point to fight when he pushes my hand away with a giggle.

“Serves you right, calling my adulthood into question. You’re the one lying there in Cookie Monster kecks!”

“Haha. They’re not even the worst ones!”

“Seriously??”

“Yeah. I’m a total nerd for silly underwear. My favourite ones are BMO.”

“Oh my god they sound amazing. You’ll have to show me sometime. No wait! I don’t mean…Oh no.”

His eyes crease up and he descends into giggles, rolling onto his back to clutch his stomach. I may have just made an idiot out of myself, but I’m finding it really hard to care when Marco Bodt is snuggled in my bed and laughing his head off without a care in the world.

“I didn’t mean it like THAT!”

He gives himself a moment to breathe, before smirking at me.

“Pervert.”

His wicked little giggles give way to uncontrollable laughter and cries of ‘Ah stop!’ that fall on deaf ears when I tickle him again. His legs tangle with mine as he gives up trying to throw me off and rolls onto his side to grab my hands.

“Stop! Stop!” he laughs breathlessly, finally succeeding in grabbing both my wrists and holding them still. I don’t try to wrench my wrists from his grip, and I definitely don’t think about how easily he could pin my wrists above my head if he wanted.

“Truce?” I ask with a quirk of my eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he pants smiling. “Truce.”

I retract my arms when he lets go and snuggle further under the blanket. My eyes are starting to feel heavy after that burst of energy.

We chat a little longer about how he’s finding living with Eren, speaking in hushed tones. We don’t have any real reason to lower our voices – Connie isn’t back from work yet – but we do anyway, as though neither of us wants to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

And I really do feel at peace. I may have had the day from hell, but this evening is one I’ll remember for a long time. That twist of melancholy is still there, but with him lying next to me, I can live with it.

When both of us start yawning like crazy, we agree to knock the lamp off and try to get some shut-eye. He shuffles further down and draws the duvet closer with a contented sigh. I can no longer see his face, my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, but when he mumbles, “G’night Jean”, I swear I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Night Marco.”

______________________________________________

She’s here.

She’s okay.

Indy smiles at me from a table covered in crayons and paper.

There are desks and chairs and bright pictures on the walls. I think we’re in school, but there’s other people rushing around us – too blurry and shapeless for me to grasp who they are. Indy’s drawing a picture. When I walk over, she starts to hold it up for me to see. It’s a car. Two people are sat in the front…but their faces…

My eyes whip back to Indy but it’s already too late. Her pallid face and lolling head steal every scrap of air from my lungs. I lunge to catch her and try to scream but no sound comes out. I look to the figures around me, some now more distinct in their uniforms. Why is nobody helping me? Somebody do something!

Nobody helps. I’m on my own. And I’m useless. Utterly useless.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

My hands shake her frantically as guilt eats at me from the inside out. Wake up! Wake up!

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

But then someone wrenches her from my arms. A woman. She sees what I’ve done, and when she opens her mouth, my blood turns to ice. Her pale, sickly face contorts around her too big mouth; manic eyes bulging at me. And then she screams. A horrid, wailing screech, like a train that’s just slammed its brakes on, deafeningly loud. I want to cover my ears but I’m too terrified to move.

I stare at Indy’s tiny, limp body in the woman’s arms.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

I’m sorry.

I’m alone. I can’t save her.

I’m so sorry.

“Ah!”

I gasp sharply, my eyes snapping open. Darkness engulfs me. There’s nothing but the sound of my harsh, shallow breaths coming in quick succession and my heart thudding violently in my ears as it pinballs around my chest.

Fuck…Fuck!!

The sound of my heaving breaths and the continued blackness start to freak me out. Am I even awake? Is this just a horrid continuation of the nightmare? But then I blink. My eyes adjust to the lack of light, catching the outline of familiar shapes like my wardrobe, and my mind begins to find a foothold in reality again.

You’re in your room. You’re not back there. Breathe. Breathe.

I focus on my breathing and slowly my attention is drawn to other parts of my body; like my fingers, which currently have a white-knuckle grip on my blanket; or my face, which is red-hot despite the sickly feeling of cold sweat running over my body in chills.

My fingers are stiff when I try to flex them and release the bunched-up fabric, but once I do, I feel the pressure in my chest begin to ease. My hand reaches up to drag itself down my face and comes away damp. I scrub harder at my eyes, trying to erase any trace of tears. You’d think I’d be all cried out by now…guess not.

Adjusting my legs is an effort but it helps to relax my body further, or at least it would if something else didn’t feel wrong; not alarmingly wrong just…odd. Then I realise, it’s the feeling of the mattress dipping beside me. I turn my head and feel an instant wave of relief when I see Marco sleeping soundly next to me.

You’re not alone.

It all slowly comes back to me – our phone call this evening and everything that followed. A surge of affection and gratitude ripples through me and I let my body turn fully towards the source of it.

The moonlight streaming through the gap in the curtain illuminates him just enough to make out his beautiful, serene face; that strong jawline that still has a softness to it, those freckled cheekbones and matching nose, those soft round lips…he’s sculpture-perfect. Part of me desperately wants to run my fingers through his hair again, but I’d never forgive myself if I disturbed how peaceful he looks now.

My pulse slows as I watch his drowsy form bob up and down and I focus on my breathing until it syncs up with his. It’s amazing how much he grounds me, even in slumber. The sound of my own breath going in and out, panic-inducing only moments ago, now acts as a comfort...something that tethers us both together. I breathe with him and feel calm.

My eyes grow heavier and I let the rhythm of his steady inhales and exhales lull me back to sleep.

______________________________________________

A snippet of birdsong gently wakes me on Saturday morning. I keep my eyes closed as other sounds come into focus – the breeze rustling the tree outside my window, a car rumbling up the street. I breathe deeply through my nose and sigh softly.

“Mmmm.”

I could get used to this – waking up with the calming scent of Marco all around me. He smells like a forest on a summer day – like a mixture of rich earth, fragrant herbs and wildflowers, but in the evening when everything is still warm and the sun’s just beginning to set. It’s unbelievably comforting.

I crave more of it, so I snuggle my nose in closer and take another deep breath, letting it out slowly with a satisfied hum. It’s warm, too warm with him pressed against my chest, but I can’t find it in me to care, tightening the grip I have around his waist.

He shifts against me with a sleepy huff and I feel myself drifting back towards the unconscious.

“Jean?”

He pats the hand I have on his stomach, pulling me back from the brink of slumber.

“Jean?”

Fine, I’m awake…sort of. “Mmm.”

“Jean…erm.”

I lift my head and squint a sleepy eye at him. “Hmm?”

He twists to look over his shoulder at me. His cheeks are bright red. Why does he look so awkward?

I lift my head and squint a sleepy eye at him. “Hmm?”

He twists to look over his shoulder at me. His cheeks are bright red. Why does he look so awkward?

“Oh!” I slam face first into reality when I realise what I’m doing and scrabble back over to my side of the bed. “Sorry man! I didn’t…sorry.”

Fuck! What the fuck were you thinking!?

Christ I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve fucked things up. Everything that happened between us yesterday and I go ruin it all by acting like a total creep in my sleep. I am so fucking lucky I don’t have morning wood!

His cheeks are still red when he rolls over to face me. I’m about to start babbling another apology but as he sits up, an amused grin starts to tug at his lips. “It’s fine Jean don’t worry about it. I like a cheeky cuddle as much as the next guy,” he chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

My cheeks burn hotter than the sun. At least he’s not mad or freaking out though. “Sorry. I guess I get a bit, err, ‘spoony’ in my sleep.”

Apparently.

“Sheesh, you could’ve warned me before I agreed to share a bed with you,” he teases, his grin turning into an all-out smirk.

“I didn’t know I was gonna-! Shut up!” I squawk, smacking him with my pillow. “Bet you loved it anyway!”

Laughing at my obvious embarrassment, he holds up a hand to defend himself against my vicious attack. I’m starting to think I’ve had the last word, but then he looks at me and smiles in a way that screams ‘up to no good’.

“You’re right Jean. I’m sorry. Let’s hug it out.”

“Ah!”

At first I succeed in shoving him away him away, but then before I can comprehend what’s happening, he launches himself forward again and pins me to the bed, lying sideways across my stomach and trapping my arms either side.

“Ahh! What the hell!” I wriggle and kick but he’s strong and it gets me nowhere.

“Sorry,” he grins up at me from my stomach, “Do you only like hugging me when I’m unconscious?”

“I hate you. I hate you so much right now.”

“No you don’t,” he chirps with an ungodly amount of glee for this time in the morning, moving off me and jumping up from the bed before I can retaliate.

I feel like my cheeks are starting to calm down, but then he turns to stretch his arms up, and all the blood comes rushing right back again. I’d almost forgotten how ridiculously good his arse looks in those tight Cookie Monster boxers. And if that wasn’t enough to set my face ablaze, I also catch a peek of the cutest fucking back dimples when his t-shirt rides up.

Welp.

After a few satisfying shoulder clicks, he turns to grab his phone from the bedside table.

“Hey, do you know which buses run from here to South Trost?” he asks, shaking me out of my staring.

“Buses?”

“You sure you’re awake? Yeah buses. You know, those big metal things with four wheels and lots of people inside,” he snarks, eyes glinting and a smirk tickling his lips.

“I know what a fucking bus is Mr Sassy Pants!” He sniggers cheekily when I scoot over to shove him in the arm. “Why do you need to know?”

“‘Cos I need to go home and get changed first, remember?”

I stare at him with knitted eyebrows until my sleep-addled brain catches up. “Marco, I’m not letting you get the bus you dumb-dumb. I’m giving you a lift!”

“What? No. Jean it’s your day off, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Getting the bus is a pain in the arse from here Marco. It’ll only take me ten minutes to drive to yours and then I’ll drop you at work.”

He chews his lip. I’m just about to argue with him but the offer must start to tempt him. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asks with an apologetic expression.

“’Course not it’s no problem. Although…after the bullying I’ve received this morning, I’m tempted to make you walk home.”

He chuckles at my teasing. “No, please. Don’t make me pull the puppy dog eyes on you.”

“Try me. They can’t be that convincing.”

Marco drops his head down, and when he looks back up I swear it’s like that moment in Shrek with Puss in Boots. His big brown eyes look close to tears and his bottom lip sticks out and trembles. It’s a good job Marco’s a kind person, because I imagine he could convince anyone to do anything with that look. I’m half tempted to fall to my knees myself and vow to do whatever he commands.

Instead I just laugh, “Okay I take it back. It’s fairly decent.”

“Told you. Seriously though thanks for the lift,” he says sincerely. “I won’t need to rush around as much now. D’you mind if I have quick shower? Saying as I’ll have more time to get ready?”

The thought of Marco having a shower makes my voice squeak like a total dork when reply, “N-no! ‘Course not. Erm, here.” I stagger to my feet to retrieve a towel from the top of my wardrobe. “Just help yourself to any shower gel or whatever.”

“M’kay. Thanks mate.”

He strides off towards the bathroom and I allow myself the pleasure of watching him go before flopping down to the mattress with a huff. Still feeling a little flustered from the spooning and the wrestling and…everything, I take a moment to lie starfish in the middle of my bed.

Okay, so that happened. You spooned Marco. Lucky for you he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

As awkward as my snuggling was, it really was nice to be close to him like that. God, imagine what it would be like to wake up with him every morning, with his warm, solid torso in my arms. I roll over to his side of the bed and rest my face on his pillow. It still smells like him. I inhale deeply but…it doesn’t have a calming effect this time. Instead, it draws my attention to a hollow sensation in my stomach and an ache in my chest.

Ugh. Maybe I was better off not knowing how he feels in my arms. Maybe having a taste of ‘what ifs’ and ‘could bes’ is worse than living in ignorance, because now I know exactly what I’m missing.

The annoying thing is, I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. I was the one who asked him to stay over, I was the one that invited him to sleep in my bed and I was the unconscious idiot that wrapped myself around him like a damn octopus.

Great going Kirschtein.

I’d rather Marco didn’t find me lying in bed clutching his pillow and looking like a kicked puppy, so I drag myself out of bed and head into the kitchen to put the kettle on. I assume Marco will appreciate some breakfast before we go, so I poke about in the fridge and cupboards to see what our options are.

“Gooooood morning!”

“Jesus! Fuck!”

Apparently Connie has the power of teleportation, because I swear he just fucking appears next to me.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me you dick!” I yell, swatting him across the head when he laughs at me.

“Ow! I didn’t! Not my fault you were in your own little world.” Then his ears prick up and look out the door. “Is someone in the shower? Oh my god did you pick someone up last night!?”

“No, Connie it’s just-”

“Is it someone from work? Did you pick up a hunky fireman!? C’mon Jean who is it?” he babbles.

“It’s Marco!” I say exasperated.

His reaction is fucking weird. He just freezes and blinks at me.

“You’re fucking Marco?”

“Wha- ?? No!! The hell is wrong with you!?”

He ducks away from another head swat.

“I dunno!? I just thought- Well why did he stay over then?”

“We didn’t plan it on it! He just came over to hang out and it got a bit late so I offered. Is that okay Mam?”

“Alright touchy don’t get ya knickers in twist!”

I will tell Connie what happened at work yesterday – I know he’ll be really understanding – but now does not feel like that moment. I’ll tell him later when he’s not flapping about someone being in our shower.

“D’you want a coffee?” I ask to change the subject.

“Yeah go on then.”

He hops up onto a breakfast stool and rubs his hands down his face, his muffled yawn sounding something like a dying mongoose.

“Work alright last night?” I ask.

“Meh, not bad. New person is a bit serious though.”

“New person?”

“Yeah, Yelena. They’re only doing Fridays and Saturdays. No bloody craic though. Thank god Thomas was working too.”

“Maybe they’re just shy or something,” I say, turning to place a steaming mug in front of Connie.

“Yeah, maybe.” I’ve just let go of the handle when Connie puts his palms on my cheeks and squishes them. “I sure do miss working with my little Jeanbo though!”

“Ger’ off!” I cry, half scowling half smiling.

He chuckles at me. “How’s your training been this week? I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

My stomach sinks into my feet. “Oh…well, erm.”

“Hey man! You alright?”

Thankfully Marco saves me from a conversation I’m not quite ready for when he enters the kitchen. He’s put on his clothes from yesterday (so no awkward spluttering from me) but still has a towel around his shoulders to catch any drips from his hair. It looks longer – I guess he’s taking my advice about growing it. The thought makes me smile.

“Alright?” Connie smiles. “How’s your head?”

“No complaints yet mate!”

What the hell?

“Have I missed something?” I ask to interrupt their laughter.

“Yeah you missed Marco cracking his head off the kitchen cupboard at Eren’s the other night. I’ve never heard him swear so much in one breath.”

“Oh, haha.” My laugh sounds really disingenuous and I regret it instantly. I hate this side of me - the petty jealous side that comes out just because something Marco-related happened without me. “You didn’t split your head open did you?” I ask quickly, hoping to mask my odd laugh with genuine concern.

“Nah, still got a bit of a lump though. Here, feel.” He cocks his head to the side as an invitation for me to prod his head but I freeze, remembering just how much I enjoyed running my fingers through his hair last night.

“Oh erm,” I try to be gentle without making it weirdly intimate, running my fingertips over his head until I find the lump near his crown. “Oooh yeah, quite a bump you’ve got there!”

“It was classic,” Connie grins.

“So sympathetic as always Con.”

“What? Friends hurting themselves is funny. I don’t make the rules!”

Quick as anything, I take the teaspoon I was using to mix Marco’s coffee and whack Connie on the head with it.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Guess you’re right, it is pretty funny.”

“Ow Jesus! It was still hot from the fucking coffee you dick!” he squeaks, rubbing his head while Marco and I chuckle at his expense.

“D’you want some breakfast?” I ask Marco with a smile, ignoring Connie’s continued complaining.

The three of us sit at the breakfast bar enjoying our toast and cereal, having a laugh and talking crap. It’s nice to do this with Connie included. He was right when he said he’s barely seen me. I guess I’ve been too wrapped up in my own head to realise I’ve kind of missed him.

I duck out of the room to put some proper clothes on and we bid Connie farewell soon after. The streets are pretty quiet with it being a Saturday morning, so it takes barely anytime at all to get to Eren’s – or I guess Eren and Marco’s as it’s now known.

Eren’s up and playing Mario Kart when we arrive. After offering a quick hello, Marco heads off to get changed and I flop down next to Eren, grabbing the second controller.

“What'd you do? Slip him a roofie or something?”

“You what?”

“Getting him to stay over. Bet you thought all your Christmases had come at once.”

“Fucking shut up will you!” I snap, keeping my voice as low as possible and shoving him with my elbow. “He’ll hear you!”

He starts to laugh but it quickly turns into screechy complaining when I land a shell right in his path.

“Serves you fucking right…knob.”

I snag the first victory but Marco still hasn’t appeared, so we go for another game.

“You got any plans today? After you’ve dropped Marco off?” he asks.

“No. Why?”

“I’m heading into town to pick up a few things. Wouldn’t mind the company if you fancy it.”

I’m not daft. Part of me knows he’s just desperate to get the gossip on Marco staying over last night, but if I’m honest it would be nice to talk to someone about what’s going on – not just with Marco but with work too.

“Yeah go on then. I could do with picking up a few things myself.”

“Sound.”

Then Freckles re-enters the room. “Hey, I’m good to go.”

Godammit. Why does Marco look so frickin’ cute in his work uniform? It’s literally just a black polo with a logo! Though I’m guessing my opinion on his adorability has less to do with what he’s wearing and more to do with the 100-watt smile he’s throwing my way right now.

“Cool. I’m finished kicking this one’s arse anyway.”

“First time for everything bitch,” Eren smirks. He jabs me in the butt with his foot as I stand up, which I promptly yank, almost pulling him off the sofa. “Ahh no!”

All three of us laugh but Marco’s seems a little awkward for some reason. He does that nervous neck scratch and looks away from both of us. Weird. Maybe he’s still finding his feet with Eren and doesn’t feel comfortable taking the piss out of him the way I do.

“Should I swing by when I’ve dropped Marco off or meet you in town?”

“Just swing by. I’ll start getting ready soon.”

“Okay later.”

“Later. Have a good day at work Marco.”

“Thanks mate,” he replies and follows me down the stairs and out the front door.

Marco says nothing for the first few minutes of the journey, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something on his mind; there’s a definite shift in the atmosphere between us. I drive in silence while my brain whirrs with possible causes, but I quickly realise my lack of conversation is making things worse.

“So what time-“

“Hey thank-“

We glance at each other sheepishly and I break first. “Sorry Marco, what were you saying?”

“Just err…I wanted to say thanks for last night. For letting me stay over and...what you said about Floch and stuff…it really helped.”

“Oh! Yeah of course. Anytime. Though I feel like I should be thanking you more for coming over, and y’know…babysitting me.”

I force an awkward laugh. Marco’s not having any of it though. “You don’t have to do that,” he says seriously.

My eyes flick nervously between his and the road in front. “What?”

“Make it sound like you were overreacting or something. You’re more than allowed to need your friends after going through what you did you know?”

Images of the crash flicker through my mind so I double down on my concentration, focusing on the streets of Trost, which are busier and more hazardous now that I’m nearing the city centre.

“Yeah…I know. I just mean, I really appreciate you coming over and…staying.”

“Anytime.” I hear the fondness in his voice before I turn and see it beaming out of his face. The last of the uneasy atmosphere disappears completely as I turn back to the road with a smile.

“Am I okay dropping you at the end of this street? I think I’m gonna struggle to get any closer with all the one-way systems.”

“Sure, anywhere is fine.”

When I stop, he twists in my direction to unclip his belt and I feel like, in another world or another timeline, this would be when I lean in for a quick kiss and wish him a good day. As it is, I settle for just the latter.

“Thanks,” he replies climbing out the car. “Look after yourself today alright? And if you need anything just drop me a text or something okay?”

“I will, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. Thanks for the lift.”

He flashes me another one of those 100-watt smiles and I melt into a puddle in the footwell.

“No worries. Catch you later.”

There’s no traffic behind me, and it’s just as well given how long I sit in my car staring after him. Even from the back he’s gorgeous.

There’s a tug in stomach as I watch him turn the last corner and move out of sight, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. It’s a pleasant sort of discomfort. Just as well really - I can’t imagine it’s going away any time soon.

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