A VERY HAPPY JEANMARCO GIFT EXCHANGE TO YOU, ALEX!!! I saw that you already commented and I’m so SO glad you liked the story. <3 You’re an angel.
Pairing: JeanMarco
Rating: T
Word Count: 1929
Excerpt:
The sky is tar-black, no remnants of cocktail-blue left, and for all I know that color may never grace it again. The instrument in my frozen fist beeps in terror, but I can barely hear it over the roar of thunder.
I want to fall to my knees but my muscles are too tense, too numb from the cold.
Who knew Jean Kirschtein would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer, watching the end of the world at twenty four years old?
I sure fucking didn't. It’s a shit way to go.
The sand stuck on the wind whips at my clothes, scraping my skin as the storm howls just off the coast. I feel numb with the torrent of rain sinking down through my skin, soaking my clothes, making me feel just as heavy as the world does.
Not that there will be much of a world left after this.
The sky is tar-black, no remnants of cocktail-blue left, and for all I know that color may never grace it again. The instrument in my frozen fist beeps in terror, but I can barely hear it over the roar of thunder.
I want to fall to my knees but my muscles are too tense, too numb from the cold.
Who knew Jean Kirschtein would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer, watching the end of the world at twenty four years old?
I sure fucking didn't. It’s a shit way to go.
We first heard of the storm a couple of weeks ago. It was barely a blip on the radar then, something so innocuous we almost ignored it completely, but our intern was adamant there was something off about it.
Marco had come to us off the tail end of a military deployment. You could tell - just by the way he was built - that he hadn't left because he wasn't tough or strong enough . His resume was impressive enough that he’d already been offered a full-time position once his internship ended in July, but none of us had any idea that we wouldn't make it past June.
He carried himself with an easy attitude, a kindness that most people don't show in Jinae. It was like the sun scorched the care out of them, but it only brightened his outlook.
When the storm was brought to our attention, everyone brushed it off.
We get cells like that all the time in Jinae, Reiner had assured us, not even meeting our gazes, Don't worry about it.
There was a distance to his eyes then, a far-off look, and I wish I had had the courage that day to confront him about it. If I had, maybe we wouldn't be here.
Maybe we could have stopped it.
Marco and I spent god knows how many hours tracking this beast, spent countless nights with lukewarm coffee between us and his reassuring hand on my shoulder as we poured over maps and data. Looking for a solution, trying to figure it out.
We barely showered. Barely ate. I remember so little of it now, the numbers swirling in my head just like the wind and the rain, the formulas trapped in the violent tornado crawling toward our tiny city. I try to cling to the science I've sworn by since I was a child, but none of it can explain the storm encroaching on us.
I find my heart crying out for a different kind of warmth, a different kind of comfort, and I feel childish when, in the face of certain demise, the only thing I can remember from those long nights are the smiles I shared with Marco, the jokes and the laughter. I remember the way my heart soared with every brush of his hand, the way his eyes crinkled whenever I said something he liked, and the way the honey flecks in his irises shined when I dared to meet his gaze.
I think now of the walk we took one night on this very beach. It feels like years ago now, but I can still remember the way the moonlight had framed him, how his broad shoulders filled out his striped t-shirt and how I was certain no one could pull off cargo shorts like he could. I remember how the flip-flop of his sandals against the backdrop of the sighing sea was the most comforting sound I had ever heard in my life.
I think about how our fingers brushed when we walked and I wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to hold his hand in mine and whether the corners of his eyes would crinkle then, too.
I’m almost sure they would have.
As it stands now, there's nothing but the rain and the swell of the water, the dusty taste of salt on the back of my tongue and the sting of tears that I wish could fall.
I don't know how I even hear the crunch of Marco's boots in the sand over the pounding of my heart and the cries of the sky, but I turn to him all the same.
He's so handsome. Flushed and beautiful even with the darkened, deadly backdrop, and I give him a smile I know is pathetic. Somehow, I have a feeling he'll always bring a smile to my face.
“ Jean,” he says, breathless. He gaze is trained on me even as mine averts.
The two-way radio clipped to my belt statics with warnings, but they fall to the wayside just like everything else does in Marco’s presence.
I shift into work mode. It's the only thing I know how to do.
“ Did you see the radar before you left the office?” I yell over another roll of thunder, “The TOTO we left out is already gone. Pretty impressive, huh?”
Marco shakes his head and he looks lost, helpless. He steps closer, into my space, and I don't have the strength to push him back. I don't know if I want to.
I don't know if I ever wanted to.
He says my name again and I can't tell if I'm shaking from the cold or something else. His eyes are intense, as wild as the storm, and I can't bring myself to shake free from the hold he has on me.
“ How fast do you think the winds are?” I ask, choking on the words, trying to get rid of the reality of what lies before us, “I tried to measure it earlier but the anemometer broke - ”
“ Shut up,” he chides. He places his hands on my trembling shoulders and the rain leaves tracks down his cheeks, moisture clinging to his eyelashes. Freckles paint his skin, dancing across the bridge of his nose, and I'm lost in him. I'm lost and I don't think I want to be found.
Marco presses his forehead against mine and it jolts something through me – something warm and intense and I don't...We can't do this now, it's not worth it to do this now –
Not at the end of everything.
Marco's grip on me is firm and reassuring, his thumbs brushing my rigid shoulders. I force myself to look up, to meet the intensity of his stare.
I feel Marco's words more than I hear them and it sends me reeling as the space between us ignites. “Shut up for a second,” he breathes. Our noses brush, a delicate gesture, and I can't stop the way my eyes flick down to Marco's lips, can't stop the way I part mine expectantly.
I don't know who moves first. I don't know why . Maybe it was the need for comfort, the desperate pull, the desire for companionship at the end. Maybe it was a build up over sleepless nights and quiet words, or maybe it's just the desire to express all the things we left unsaid, an attraction neither one of us could really deny. Maybe it's the silent promise of what could have been, what we could have had if we could have had tomorrow.
All I know is that the tears that I've held back begin to fall as we slot our lips together.
My hands are shaking, eyes squeezed shut, and I press closer to him than I've ever dared. He's cold against me but I can feel the flutter of his heart through his ribs. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and I fist my hands into his shirt, just to pull him ever closer.
He kisses me hard, desperate, and I wish I could move in a way that brings that warmth back into his skin, that brings that crinkle back into his eyes.
But he's as freezing as the wind, and everything tastes like salt.
I knot my fingers in his hair, using my grip to shift our angle, to kiss him deeper, and Marco sighs brokenly into my mouth.
We only part to breathe, but even that feels fleeting.
When my eyes refocus, I realize Marco has moved me so my back is to the storm and the only thing I see is the torment in his expression. His face is twisted in anguish and guilt and I search for footholds in the deep brown of his eyes but slip on rainwater.
“ This won't make sense to you,” he murmurs, fingers digging into my skin, “But the storm? It’s… It's my fault.”
I shake my head and my heart pounds, stomach twisting in knots. “You can't...Don't beat yourself up over this,” I admonish, “This is just a freak storm – ”
“ - I'm so sorry,” he continues like I said nothing, pulling me close to him and kissing my neck affectionately. My gasp hiccups in my throat as I try to understand the unfurling tapestry of the world around us. “I...I've done this so many times and I just...Just once I wanted us to...I wanted – ” He swallows and buries his nose into my shoulder. “I wanted you . Just once.”
The wind howls, spiderwebs of lighting streaking across the sky, and Marco shakes in my arms with a weight I can't fathom.
I want to ask why. I want to know what he means. I want to know how he knew about this storm, why he insists on taking the blame. I want to understand.
I want to kiss him again.
The sky is darker now - the world around us darker still. It’s almost over, and I think Marco and I both know that by now. This ends one way, and it’s almost time now.
I run my fingers soothingly along the nape of Marco’s neck, playing with the hair I find there, and he sighs against me. Marco nuzzles closer, holding me tight, and it's like the world melts away just for a moment.
“ If this is the end of the world,” I mutter, “I'm glad I get to spend it with you.”
Marco buries his face into my neck. My skin feels wet where his eyes are touching me, eyelashes soft as they flutter and twitch.
“I’m-I’m glad,” Marco starts, voice uneasy as he mumbles against my skin, “I’m glad I got to have you this time.”
This time .
The thunder roars loudly, and the wind screams louder still. It’s getting worse and all I can do is cling to Marco, to breathe him in while I still have strength in my lungs to do so.
Who knew Jean Kirschtein and Marco Bodt would die on a Jinae beach in the middle of summer. I sure didn’t.
But I suppose it’s not the worst way to go.
The sky cracks one last time, darkness comes, and all at once, there is no beach.
No Marco.
No me.
No world left behind to mourn.
The sand on the wind whips at my clothes, scraping my skin as the storm howls just off the coast. and I feel numb with the torrent of rain sinking down through my skin, soaking my clothes, and making me feel just as heavy as the world does.
Not that there will be much of a world left after this, anyway.
Listen here if u ever compare skyrim to the masterpiece that is lord of the rings i will fly back to ohio and come to ur house and beat you with a fuckin spoon DO YOU HEAR ME
The first time they kissed was at an airport. With Jean's hands cradling Marco's freckled cheeks. It was soft and warm and the happiest Jean had been in years. The last time they kissed was at an airport. With Jean's arms slung around Marco's neck so tightly and his nose pressed into bruises he had left there the night before. It was shaky and tearful, but it was just as warm. Neither of them would let that feeling go until the both of them could come home for good.
bringobaggins replied to your post “Okay, I know people are going to consider me stupid or brush me off as...”
Nooo i still cry when i see pics of marco in ch 77. I told my gfs friends how when that chapter came out i had to leave work 20 min early and i got a bottle of coke and a bottle of cherry vodka and came home and cried while getting drunk i was so distressed over it. Don't feel bad!!!
I STILL CRY AT CHAPTER 77 TOO, whether it be from me remembering it or actually reading the chapter
You can ask my gf bc when she had to break the news to me about the chapter, I read it, and cried so hard bc bby Marco
now I’m seeing my new love, guzma, hurt HIMSELF and it’s just too much;;
