written on — 19 sept 14
inspiration — a hurtful breakup, fancy suits and hair, and the lovely song makes me wonder by maroon 5. you're welcome.
word count — 1,500
artist — check out johannathemad in the external link! her post was of several photos, so i didn't want to pick a favourite between jean and marco. enjoy.
CHAPERONES
The last thing Jean Kirschtein wanted at 10:30PM at night was an emergency phone call, especially when he was indulging in hot pizza and the latest episode of Orange Is The New Black. He took another bite of pizza and answered his phone. "Hullo."
"Jean." Armin's voice flooded with relief, followed by a fit of coughing. "Thank God you're still awake. I have an issue."
"And what would that be?" he asked.
Armin's end was silent for a brief moment. Jean felt one of his eyebrows raise involuntarily, leaning back in the reclining chair he was sitting in. "Sorry," came a mumble. "I had to blow my nose."
"Now that you mention it, you do sound a little sick." Jean's brows furrowed. "Are you alright?"
"Not really. I just got sick with the flu. You—" A loud, almost deathly coughing was heard through the phone; Jean moved the device away from his ear until Armin was done. "You know how I get when I'm sick."
Jean laughed lightly. "Yeah, I do. What favour do you need this time?"
Armin coughed, and not because of his illness. "You know the elementary school I volunteer at sometimes? Trost Elementary?"
"What about it?"
"The seventh and eighth grades are having their Valentine's Day dance. I was supposed to chaperone but now I can't. They can't be short of people, and—"
"Sure."
"What?"
Jean rolls his eyes; he can see Armin's surprise through the phone. "I said sure, I'll take over for you. Dances are normally only, what, four hours long or something? It's not like I have anything better to do."
"But—" Armin sighed. Jean had no idea what he was about to say, but he didn't care. He normally had better things to do on a Friday night; tomorrow was not one of those Friday nights. He could hear Armin's smile through the phone when he continued, "Just make sure you dress formally. It's one of those fancy banquet halls with a formal dress code, so you'll need a bow tie."
This time it was Jean who sighed. "Am I actually going to go out and buy a bow tie to take care of dumb twelve-year-olds for you?"
"Or you can borrow one from Marco..."
Jean cringed. "I'll take that as a yes to buying then. You owe me the money after."
"Fine. Have fun, Jean."
xxx
Jean observed himself in his bedroom mirror once more. He was happy his suit from homecoming still fit, but he had to admit that he was lost when it came to tying his bow tie. Before his mom left for work, he had to begrudgingly ask her to do it up for him. Other than that small mishap, his hair was still perfectly messy and his undercut had been freshened up earlier in the day.
Jean looked at the time. It was 6:05; the banquet began at 7:00.
Forty-five minutes later — after dealing with confusing and lustful stares on public transportation — he was at the local five-star banquet hall with some fancy name Jean couldn't be bothered to remember. When he opened the doors, Eren and Mikasa were sitting at a long white table. The former of the two looked up first, surprise convering his face. "Jean? What are you doing here?"
"Armin called me last night and told me to fill in," Jean explained, looking between the siblings' expressions. Eren had adapted a nervous one with a sheepish smile while Mikasa's lips pressed into a thin line and averted her eyes. "Uh, is there an issue?"
"Not at all," Mikasa said. She scribbled quickly on a sheet of paper in front of her and spun it around so that it faced Jean. He signed in, filling Armin's spot on the list. "You're just not chaperoning alone."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"So," Eren repeated, the smile half gone, "here comes your partner-in-crime."
Jean turned his attention to where Eren had pointed and watched a tall, tanned, freckled Belgian boy shrug into his suit jacket as he walked out of the men's bathroom. Jean's head snapped back to look at the amused face of Mikasa and the shocked one of Eren. "Oh, fuck no."
"Yes, actually." Eren leaned back in his chair. "Didn't Armin tell you?"
"I guess not," Jean muttered. He kept his head down as a pair of polished leather shoes stopped beside his. A finger tapped Jean's shoulder.
"Do you know if they have refreshments out yet?" Marco asked.
Jean didn't respond for a moment. Slowly, he turned his head so that his annoyance was visible to the boy. "No," he said with a strained smirk. "I just got here."
Marco slowly retracted his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Jean? You're here?"
"Filling in for Armin."
Marco was silent. "Great. Just great."
Two hours later, Jean and Marco were standing beside each other, unhappy about the position they were both in. (At least, Jean was unhappy. It wasn't like he was going to ask Marco because that would defeat the purpose of trying not to talk to him.) His eyes flitted through the crowd of pre-teens, half of them dancing and half of them huddled within their own cliques.
"There isn't much dancing, is there?" Jean jumped in surprise at Marco's voice, not noticing that he had leaned towards him in question. Jean bit his lip, trying to formulate a response.
"No. Mikasa and Eren should break the tension." Although they were siblings, they weren't blood related; Mikasa was adopted by the Jaegers at a young age and Eren had had a crush on her for many, many years. He looked over at Marco, waiting for a comment of sorts. A smirk formed on the freckles boy's lips as he ran a hand through his styled hair, fashioned in such a way that it appeared wavy. Jean didn't know Marco liked undercuts until then, what with the way he was sporting it.
"Why them? They're busy with other matters." Marco paused. "Although seeing girls and boys on opposite sides of the dance floor is sort of amusing."
"It is."
The two of them were plunged into silence once more and Jean looked towards the girls huddled on the edge to avoid Marco seeing his blushing face. He was still as attractive as he remembered from the summer, the only difference being the waves in his hair and how these waves were forced, meanwhile the ones that formed in Jean's bed—
Connie Springer, the emcee for the night in Jean's grade at Trost High, spoke into his microphone, breaking Jean's flashback.
"Alright, graduating class of Trost Elementary!" A chorus of cheers erupted through the dance floor. "We're about halfway through the night now. What do you guys say to a slow song to calm things down a bit?"
As expected, the students were silent as the song progressed. It was as if the students had separated even further. Jean sighed.
"We need to do something, Jean," Marco said.
"Like what?" Jean scoffed. "Are you going to ask me to slow dance with you or something?"
The taller boy smirked. He grabbed Jean by the wrist and pulled him into the already-prominent void in the Red Sea, letting go of the wrist and slipping his hands into Jean's so that Marco's were supporting their entire weight. Jean wanted to throw up.
"Jean Kirschtein," Marco began, "may I have this dance?"
All the students stared, openmouthed, at the two of them. Jean nodded hesitantly. Marco placed his hand around Jean's waist — a small flashback to how Marco was always the "male" resonated through his mind — and he took Jean's hand into his free one. His face showed no trace of emotion when he did as such, and a few seconds after the students were done gaping, one brave girl asked a boy to dance.
And finally, two hours in, everyone was dancing. And Jean and Marco were in the middle of it.
Halfway through the song, the shorter of the two boys looked up. "Why?"
"Why what?" Marco asked.
"You said we would only exist for the summer," Jean said, remembering exact words. "I don't know how to feel after believing I've let go of you. It's been six months."
Marco looked away. "I said that so I wouldn't get attached. I told you at the beginning of the summer that I didn't like attachments. And then there was you."
"You don't make any sense," Jean muttered. "I thought you were as into the relationship as I was back then."
"I was," Marco said, his voice barely heard above the music. He leaned closer so that his lips were by Jean's ear. "My feelings haven't left. You distanced yourself instead of hearing me out later on. You always avoided me."
When he pulled away, Jean said, "I would kiss the life out of you right now, but there are children watching."
Marco chuckled. "Save it for later. I've held on to one too many fucks involving you."
"Does that mean–"
"We'll see, Kirschtein."
this is not my best i know i've done better i'm sorry bye